#its a shame it's blurred like that

[hooked-on-elvis]

EP Playing Touch Football

This ripped shirt reminded me of something Jerry wrote in his book. I wonder if this shirt ended up ripping accidentally, with a random, non-directed pull (maybe E even ripped the shirt himself, somehow), or if the guys still gave El a harder time than they did the other players every time he played with them (I didn't notice any other guys with the torn clothes).

JERRY SCHILLING'S MEMORIES OF PLAYING FOOTBALL WITH ELVIS:

At one of our bigger games in the spring of 1955, we’d been playing for a while when a couple of very large men showed up and asked if they could get in the game. They explained that they were semipro players, had heard about the Elvis games, and wanted to be a part of it. The rest of us were not so eager to play with these big guys, but as far as Elvis was concerned, these players were stepping onto his turf and he wasn’t going to stand down. He wanted them in.

We worked out the teams again to include them and got set to play. On one of the first offensive drives, Elvis was taking a break from quarterbacking duties and was on the line blocking. When the ball was snapped, this 200-pound-plus semipro hit Elvis hard and ran right over him. Elvis took his time getting up — he was obviously a little shaken.

Now, we played tough at these games, with all-out effort, and we regularly knocked the hell out of each other. But the point was that everybody got knocked around — nobody ever specifically targeted Elvis. You wouldn’t think twice about hitting him if that’s the way the play went, but nobody was ever going out of their way to try to hurt him. From the look of that semipro player’s first hit, it seemed that maybe these guys weren’t so interested in playing ball for fun they were going to teach “Pretty Boy” Presley a lesson.

As we got back into a huddle, it was clear that Red West was furious. “I’ll take that son of a bitch out,” he said.

“No, Red,” said Elvis sharply. “Damn it, no. Just play the game.”

We ran a few more plays, and it was the same thing each time —Elvis got a tremendous hit from this charging rhino. But Elvis made a point of hopping up a little faster each time and just shaking it off. It got to a point where the day just didn’t feel like fun anymore. All the regular players were furious, and we were all telling Elvis that the game couldn’t go on like this, but he wouldn’t hear it. He wanted to play through. I found myself lined up next to Elvis, with the same big guy ready to charge at him again.

“Hit me from the left side,” said Elvis. “What?” asked the rhino. “Hit me from the left side.” “Why?” “I got a few bones over there that ain’t broke yet,” said Elvis.

The big guy started laughing, and by the time the ball was snapped he was laughing hard enough that he didn’t have the strength to steam-roll Elvis. After the play, we took a break and the guy went over to his fellow rhino. In a few minutes they walked back toward Elvis. Now the big guys were all smiles.

“Excuse me, Elvis,” said the one who’d been knocking him down.

“We sure did enjoy the game. Hope there aren’t any hard feelings.”

Red was still ready to lunge at them, but Elvis just shrugged.

“No hard feelings,” said Elvis. “Just bruises. Good luck with your season.”

Their big faces lit up like they’d just been blessed by the Pope. They started to walk away, when the guy who’d been knocking Elvis down turned around and came back.

“Uh, just one more thing, Elvis? Our wives are over there—can we bring them over to meet you?”

“Sure,” says Elvis. “Bring ’em over.”

As Elvis signed autographs for their wives, it all came together for me; if he had let Red and the rest of us go after these guys, then he would have ended up with some more enemies. Instead, he took a little punishment and ended up with four new fans.

There were a lot of people in Memphis that wanted to knock Elvis down, figuratively and literally, but what I saw happen on that field with the semipro guys was something I’d witness over and over again: A lot of people thought they had something against Elvis, but I never saw anybody who spent any time with him walk away not liking him.

Excerpt "Me and a Guy Named Elvis: My Lifelong Friendship with Elvis Presley" by Jerry Schilling (2006)

December 27, 1956. Elvis played touch football at the Dave Wells Community Center in Memphis with some friends.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

every morning 4am this is what i see when i wake

[toxicanonymity]

EVERY INCH 4

SERIES MASTERLIST | SLASHERS MASTERLIST PAIRINGS: ghostface x f!reader; dark javi x f!reader LENGTH: ~6.6k words. The next one will be shorter.

SUMMARY: after what you did on the metro, you're ashamed and paranoid. javi crosses a line. ghostface does something he's never done before. so do you.

WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon, piv and various acts, somno, drugs, degradation, dirty talk, angst/shame, yearning, r-word in ref to past acts, breeding and "daddy" kinks, descriptions of (not actual) pregnancy. Restraints, blindfold. And idk, it gets weird. Anonymous ghostface. We enjoy surprises in this series, soo WRITER CHOOSES NOT TO WARN IN FULL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

A/N: Thank you for your patience and enthusiasm and omg all the love on the fics 🖤. Thank you negraarmadura (@theblackarmor) for your valuable input and inspiration. Also, @lunitawrites can shoulder some blame for the excessive breeding kink. Ty @saradika for the dividers.

🚨 FIC ART: banger collage by @aurorawritestoescape and action packed movie trailer by @carminepoison

Overnight, your fury and humiliation fades into gloom and confusion. Ghostface. You wake up itchy and dehydrated. 

You never imagined things would go this far. You should kill him, right? Ghostface? Don’t you have to? Think about what he did to you. What he made you do. You should kill him, but you don't have the energy. And you're too angry at yourself to have much ire for anyone else. 

Ghostface, a notoriously brutal killer, called you a serial rapist, and he wasn’t even really lying. How much of the metro disaster was planned? Did Ghostface orchestrate it, or did he simply seize the opportunity to watch, fascinated by your blind lust and rage? 

You didn't want to know. As long as you weren't certain, you still had that little sliver hope that you didn't rape a stranger at gunpoint all on your own. But either way, you did hold the gun. Either way, you took the man’s dick out and degraded him as you forced yourself on him in the middle of a public train. Lost in the moment. Feeling like it was just you and him, Ghostface. Until it wasn’t.

The day after the metro, it feels like everybody knows what you did. Every time you close your eyes, images of crowds on train platforms blur through your mind. An infinite audience to your terrible crime. 

You stay in bed, frozen, not wanting to face reality. Telling yourself it’s a dream. Sleeping off and on. Batting away uncomfortable thoughts–like when will you see Ghostface again? Is he going to call you? What will you do? You can’t get him off your mind. 

Two mornings after the metro, you drag yourself out of bed, then out into the world. At the grocery store, you bump into your older pothead neighbor, and he asks if you're okay. Your heart races, thinking he must know. It takes you a moment to remember why he’s asking – your friend Marla was stabbed to death just days ago, and she wasn't the first.  

In the checkout line, you space out until a man’s voice jars you from your trance. You apologize and put your items on the conveyor belt. When you’re just about to pay, you receive a text message from an unknown number, a fact which on its own makes your tummy tingle. When you read the text, your whole body turns hot: 

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine. 

The words land straight between your legs. As the grocer hands you your bags, he asks if you’re okay. You shake yourself out of it and nod.  The grocer wishes you good luck. At least, that’s what you think he says. Good luck not getting caught? Good luck not getting killed? Good luck with what? You decide you must have imagined it. 

In the parking lot, before heading home, you sit in your car for a few minutes, spaced out, wondering if you'll ever be able to go out in public again without feeling like this. Like everyone knows something awful about you.

On the way home, you can't get your phone to charge. You’re fiddling with the cord when blue lights flash in your rearview mirror, making your stomach drop. The lights turn off only after you're parked on the grass shoulder of the two lane road. 

Every second feels like a minute until a tall, blonde cop in aviators gets out of his car, stretches, and strides over like he has all the time in the world.  You roll down the window. He plants two huge hands on the top of your car and ducks down to look at you. For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything, just leisurely chews his gum. 

Then, he shifts his stance and asks, “How ya doin’, ma’am?”  Deep voice, smooth as butter. 

Out of nowhere, you feel on the verge of tears. Avoiding your reflection in his shades, you swallow the knot in your throat and answer, “fine.” 

He stops chewing and asks,“Yeah? You sure?”

You suck your lips together and nod. 

He looks from you to the groceries in your front seat and the mess of junk in the back, then asks, “Where ya headed?”

“Home.”

He bobs his head in understanding and glances down the road, chewing his gum again. 

Your heart continues to race as you watch his face for a long moment of silence. Finally, he speaks. “Well, put your fuckin’ phone down for me.” He raises his eyebrows and tips his shades forward, forcing his sky blue eyes on you. “‘k, darlin’?”

Your lips part, and you forget to blink until he winks at you and flashes a smile. Then you nod and mumble, “Uh. Yeah, sorry.” 

He fixes his aviators back. “Careful out there, ‘k?” After a nod and a casual tap on your roof, he walks off. You watch him in the rear view mirror.  

Are his legs that long, or is it the monochrome outfit? He adjusts his belt before getting in his car. Your chest bubbles with interest, attraction, and you curse yourself under your breath. 

At home, you try to distract yourself by watching a show, but it’s just not possible. After what he did—what you did–on the train, you’re terrified to know what’s next. What you might do next in this absurd state you find yourself in where he consumes your every thought. And it hits you, the sickest part of all—why you attacked who you thought was Ghostface. Not because Ghostface attacked you, not because he tried to kill you, but because he left you after getting you worked up. Ghostface walked away from you. He left you alone and alive in that alley, and it upset you. 

You find yourself at the bizarre revelation that you and Ghostface are the only people in your world that feel real right now. You’re inextricably linked. He’s the only one who really knows you. He knows your darkness. 

Are you the only one who really knows him, too?

Your phone dings with a text. It’s a political campaign, but you take the opportunity to re-read:

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine.

It gives you butterflies. It sounds like him. It has to be him. That’s the only thing that helps you relax.

(Some hours and a nap later. . .)

"What would you do if you had Ghostface cornered," Javi asks, sitting back and manspreading next to you on your sofa. He's nursing a Mike's Hard Lemonade from a case he brought and crammed into your fridge, pushing aside expired condiments and old takeout containers. 

You should never have let Officer Javi in when he knocked on your door. “Heard ya had a rough day,” he had remarked. “Pulled over?” he raised his eyebrows. There was something about him that made you uneasy, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice, so you opened the door.

It was impossible to miss the way he sniffed the air after crossing the threshold. You imagined he was smelling the cum of Ghostface and amateur Ghostface, even two days and several showers later. 

Pulling yourself back into the moment at hand – Javi’s question isn’t easy – what would you do if you had Ghostface cornered? What would a normal person do? 

You ask, "if I had him cornered?"

"What, you wouldn't do anything?" Javi challenges you. 

"I wouldn't get within ten feet of him," you claim. 

Javi chuckles skeptically. "You wouldn't kill him?" 

“No. . . .should I?”

"I think you have it in you,” Javi replies, then drops his voice. “Or you want it in you." 

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t let it go. You challenge him, "What are you talking about?"

"You don't want to be a victim. You're determined not to be." 

In a gesture that could pass for reassurance, Javi’s cold, broad hand rests just above your bare knee for a moment. Then he trails his fingers up your thigh, all the way to the hem of your shorts, close to where you’re now tingling. 

His voice goes down in pitch and volume.  "It's an attractive quality. . . Your lust for control." His face is dark with lust. 

You take his hand off your thigh and place it on his own leg. 

“See? ” he asks with a condescending twitch of his mustache in the corner of your eye.  

"Pervert," you mutter.

"You wouldn't shoot Ghostface with my gun?" Javi glances down at himself. Eyes following his gaze, you do a double take at the shape in his tight pants. 

Shame prickles your face, and you swallow as you admit, "Your gun was stolen." 

"I know," Javi nods with just the hint of a smile. "It was turned in." 

With an air of nonchalance, he takes the gun out of the back of his pants. He subtly rubs the side of the barrel against his hard cock as he pretends to inspect the firearm before setting it on the coffee table. "Now you can shoot him.”

He watches you look at the gun on your coffee table. The one that was buried in your cunt less than 48 hours ago. Javi continues, “But you won't shoot him, will you?"

"No," you agree. 

"Don't want him to leave you alone."

"No," you argue, mouth getting dry. “That’s ridiculous.”

"Oh,” Javi seems to be acting. “Too scared to shoot a gun?  We'll practice."

“No,” you shake your head, then ask, "How do I know he's the right one? The one who’s cornered?" 

"Ah," A smile creeps across his face. "The real Ghostface, and not just some guy in a Stab costume? " He raises an eyebrow. 

Over the next few seconds, your face goes ice cold.

"Shhh. It's okay,” Javi rests a hand on your back, then rubs it slowly. “I know, sweetheart.” 

He knows what? Is he involved in this somehow? Your question spills out before you can stop it. “What are you getting at? What did you do?”

The large palm on your back slows to a halt between your shoulder blades. Javi pouts in contemplation, looking at the ceiling like he's racking his brain. Another twitch of his mustache. Before meeting your eyes again, he subtly shakes his head, "Nothing," then bends forward, picks up your drink, and hands it to you. He puts his hand on your back again, lazily caressing it with his knuckles this time. 

Trying to calm yourself down, you take a sip. He nods encouragingly. 

You ask, "Are you even a cop?"

"Yeah, I’m a cop," he laughs. 

“Okay, pig. Who’s your supervisor?”

Javi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ouch! ” 

Another sip of your drink. 

“Good girl,” he whispers as he watches you swallow. His eyes are right on your throat. The tingle simmers between your legs. Javi’s hand slides up your back to slowly rub the nape of your neck with his thumb and fingers while his hungry eyes scan you head to toe. How hard is he right now? You don’t allow yourself the glance.

“Listen sweetheart,” his tone shifts,  “I can’t make this any easier on you.” His thumb gently glides over the peach fuzz on your neck.

“Make what easier?”

Javi’s only acknowledgement of your question is to breathe out a small laugh, then continue, “But I can make it harder.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s in your best interest if I keep you company tonight.” 

With Javi’s crotch tugging at your peripheral vision, a mild arousal stirs in your gut, but you muster a look of disgust. “Or what?”

“Let’s not find out, ” he threatens. 

You scowl and take another sip, catching a flash of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He continues to caress the back of your neck, then says, “Unless you want to find out.” 

His thumb freezes right in the dip at the base of your skull. “Maybe I read you wrong. Maybe you do want to be a victim.”  He taps his thumb twice and takes his hand away. His dark eyes scan your face as he reaches for the remote control.  

Are you paranoid, or does he know something? You no longer trust yourself to see things as they are. You pray he’s just a creep, taking advantage of his assignment to protect you. If he were a worse looking creep, you might be more concerned. 

Two hard lemonades later, you’re lying on your side on the couch, watching Rosemary’s Baby with Javi spooning you and lightly caressing your lower abdomen, right at the top of your shorts.  

“Are you on birth control? ” he asks, which catches you off guard and makes your face and insides tingle.  

“Yeah, gonna put that in your report?” you answer. 

“Mm,” he sighs. “Bet you take it real well, too.” 

A pool is forming in your panties. 

“Same time every day? ” He doesn't wait for an answer before adding, “Even with all this going on? ”

No response from you.

With the softest flick of his thumb, he unbuttons your shorts. 

“You really think i’m going to fuck you, don’t you?” you ask as his hand plunges into your panties. At least those are fresh. Or they were. 

When Javi’s fingers reach your wetness, he groans softly. “I told you, sweetheart. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Rubbing circles over your most sensitive place, he lightly grinds his hardening dick against your backside. The warm pressure of his arousal makes you throb. 

This goes on for a minute, then he cruelly slides his hand out of your shorts. He smells his fingers. The crudeness makes you twitch and seethe. A moment later, he’s urgently tugging down your shorts. His forearm vein bulges as he wedges his hand between your legs again. Your knees open for him, you can’t help it. His cock is pressing so hard against your ass, throbbing for you. He’s rubbing you at a steady, desirous rhythm, and your body is helping your mind forget everything. 

Need is rushing through your blood. The only thing you can see is a climax in sight.  Your insides swell and throb for him. You think about his cock, you want his cock, but no, you’re not going to give a pig that honor. This will have to do. 

He breathes heavier, and so do you. Your hips move with his rhythm. Every once in a while, his middle finger goes down and teases your hole as he gathers more slick to bring upward. Then one time, his finger stays at your entrance. He wriggles the tip of his middle digit into you, then plunges it in with a grunt, as far as he can get. 

He pumps his finger and grinds his palm against your clit. Your hips begin to rock into his hand. He mutters, “mierda” (shit), to himself as he slides his ring finger in. His thick digits stay buried inside. His cock twitches, and he calms himself, slowing down. A moan slips out of your mouth when you’re on the edge, desperate for release. 

“You want this, don’t you? ” he sides an arm under your neck and across your breasts to pull you tight against him. The swell of his cock sends a wave of pleasure upward, through your chest. 

“No,” you choke out, but your hips roll into his hand. 

“If you want to cum, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between heavy breaths. You’re almost there. Then, you grab his hand and hold it still against your cunt as you send yourself over the edge, grinding against his palm, gasping vocally, spasming against his hand, pathetically trying to hold back your moans. 

As it fades, you want more. Of course you want more. But you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

You wriggle out of his embrace to sit up and kick your shorts off your ankles. 

“I’m going to wash the cop off me,” you mutter in self-disgust. 

Javi is bemused. “He doesn’t make you ask, huh? ” 

Heat rises to your face. You stand up and don’t even look at him. “Fuck you, Javi,” you mutter. 

“Does he even make you cum? ”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you lie. 

Javi stands up, braces his thumbs on his lower back,  and pushes his hips forward in a stretch. A spot of precum on his pants draws your eye as he steps forward, his engorged dick straining to get out.  

After his stretch, he steps forward. His jaw clenches and his eyes are cold. He takes your jaw in his hand and looks from your lips to your eyes and back.  “Everyone’s going to know who I’m talking about if you’re not careful.”

Your stomach drops, but you manage not to show it, you think. “Be gone when I’m out of the shower,” you warn as if you could do anything about it. 

“Suit yourself,” he smiles slightly. “This time.” He adjusts himself with his dry hand. 

You give him one last glare. Then, your eyes fall to his hand, where he’s inspecting his two wet fingers, glimmering in the low light of the movie credits. His mustache twitches, and he walks in the opposite direction of your front door. You don’t bother redirecting him. You’re just glad he’s leaving when he exits out the back.

In the shower, you start to feel woozy. Did you drink more than you realized, or did Javi slip you something? It could have been either.  You end the shower sooner than you otherwise might, wrap yourself in a robe and lay on your bed. Aching to be filled, you think about retrieving a toy from your nightstand, but your sudden fatigue wins over.  Not getting off to the thought of Ghostface is a victory, even if it’s on a technicality. Instead, you fall asleep, thinking about the only man you’ve thought about for weeks. 

Your dreams are wild. 

Ghostface is working at a grocery store, with his mask on. He has a black button down shirt under a long black apron with a name tag that says Daddy. He’s rolling up his sleeves as he walks toward customer service. It feels like he runs the place. He stops in his tracks when he sees you. You stand frozen as he approaches swiftly. He grabs you roughly by the elbow and marches you toward the produce section as if you shouldn’t even be there at the store. 

He bends you over a crate of citrus fruit, and a fake thunderstorm booms from a nearby produce cooler as the vegetables get misted.

Standing behind you, holding you down on the fruit with one hand, he kicks your ankles to spread your feet open, exposing your cunt to the cool air. “You couldn't wait, could you?”  He asks, hiking up your dress. You aren't wearing anything under it. “Couldn’t wait for Daddy to get home...” 

There's a surge of need at the crux of your thighs, and you eagerly await his cock. Instead, what you feel is the cool, taut skin of a lime gliding against your dripping pussy. 

He slides the fruit up and down your dripping seam and pauses to grind it against your clit. The man knows what he’s doing. You throb and twitch and sigh as the smooth skin of the lime warms up. 

“That’s right, princess.” He wedges your legs further apart, so far apart the stretch burns. Then he resumes his work with the fruit. 

One end of the lime teases your entrance, then he pushes it into you. Your body sucks it up with ease and spasms around it. 

“Good girl.” His hand remains between your legs, hooking under your body to reach your clit. You whine as he rubs your sweet spot. The lime seems to thrust inside you with each rub of his hand against your front. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

He makes you cum on the lime, and with each of your spasms, your body sucks the fruit further into your channel. 

As your orgasm fades, Ghostface zip ties your hands over your head, fixing them to the sale sign in the middle of the produce crate. He leaves you with your dress still pulled up, ass and cunt exposed, twitching with aftershocks. 

“Please, wait,” You beg him to come back. 

Another worker notices you and fails to hide his erection. The man’s face is pink and spellbound. He stands there and rubs himself through his pants. He looks around furtively as he does it, watching you. And you’re a vision — pathetically bent over the fruit, spread wide open, moaning and whining for your man to come back and fuck you raw. 

A new sensation eclipses your awareness of the small audience. It begins to feel like the lime is growing in your womb, spreading your insides apart. You're increasingly aroused, feeling less and less control over your body as it swells with desire. You find yourself wishing for anyone to shove himself inside you—staff or customer. If only anyone with a cock would stop and use you. Please, you think to yourself. “Please,” you whimper out loud. You’re desperate to cum again, desperate to relieve all this pressure building in your belly. 

An older man approaches, undoing his belt, and he looks you over as he runs his hand over the outline of his erection, deciding what to do with you. He gets close enough to spread your cheeks and examine your cunt. Your hole tremors at his touch, and you whimper. You can feel from the air that you are spread wide open. It feels like you’re going to split at the seam. After examining your parts, the man mutters, “oh,” before deciding against it and walking away. 

Your whole torso feels like it could burst with the amount of tension swelling inside you. Your nipples are tight and sensitive, and you feel one of them bare against an orange under your chest. You look down to see your breasts, noticeably swollen, falling out of your dress. 

The fruit beneath you begins to dig into your tummy and it hurts. It's too much, paired with the aching need between your legs.  You cry out, and the other worker pages the general manager, Ghostface, over the intercom. 

-

When Ghostface returns, he snips your zip ties then roughly flips you over so you're face-up on a big pile of fruit. He ties your hands over your head again, this time using a plastic produce bag. 

“Well, look at my pumpkin,” he admires your body as he removes his gloves. Until you see the way his mask seems to stare at your middle, you don’t realize your midriff is exposed. Your dress has ridden up over your belly, which is rounder than before. It feels tight and distended, and you just feel so full.  He places both hands on your belly, feeling your shape. When you look down, you hardly recognize yourself. Your nipples are leaking. The one still in your top is creating a wet spot. Your other breast has broken containment completely. 

“What did you do to me,” you demand, with Ghostface massaging your belly tenderly. 

He groans and reaches up with one hand. Suddenly he clamps his hand over your eyes. The next thing you feel is a mouth sucking at your exposed tit. It feels amazing, all the tension rushing out of your breast, along with the stimulation of his tongue. He breaks away with a moan. 

“I knew you'd be delicious.”

So much pressure is built up inside you, you're dying to cum. He holds you by both your sides. You’re painfully spread open, inner thigh muscles aching. He puts himself between your legs. He grinds himself against you, and it makes your walls clench and convulse almost instantly with a groan that echoes. 

He pulls his hips back and watches between your legs as you surrender to another orgasm. “Look at you, drizzled all over the fruit,” he marvels as he watches your fluttering hole. With each wave, you feel your belly and breasts swell a little more until you feel and look like you're in your third trimester. 

“Please make it stop,” you beg.  It feels so good, but you don’t want your body like this.

He rubs at your dripping cunt, his flattened fingers gliding soothingly between your puffy folds. Soon, you're grinding against his hand. 

“Please,” you beg. “Take it out, take the lime out.”

“Might be too late, angel.” 

“Please try.” 

He relents and wedges three fingers together. The fingertips tease your dilated hole, then his three thick digits slide right in, the ease of it making him groan. The obscene squelching practically echoes as he fucks you with three fingers, and soon he adds a fourth. Your body accepts him, and welcomes the addition of his thumb. Soon his hand is reaching deep inside you, fist and forearm flexing as he searches for the lime. 

“Daddy’s trying, baby.”

Your body hugs his hand. “Please,” you cry, tears running down your face, from pleasure and pressure more than pain. 

“Let me see,” he muses to himself as he withdraws his hand and moves a finger down to your asshole. He teases the rim of it and you feel it open up for him like the rest of your body. Then he slides two dripping fingers in. With his fingers buried in your ass, you feel some relief. You breathe with the rhythm of his fingers, but when you see your belly heaving with each breath, you remember. “Please, please put me back to normal.” 

Ghostface sighs. “Are you sure, princess?” His fingers slide out of your asshole. 

“Yes,” you insist. 

He crouches down, puts your legs over his shoulders, and positions himself with his mask right at your cunt. He rests his dry hand on your belly, and his wet hand grips his mask at the edges. 

Just as he goes to take the mask off, the whole scene melts into a moving mosaic of fleeting thoughts. 

Everything but the pleasure fades away. 

Everything but the pleasure. . . and the feeling of being spread wide open. . . and your legs over someone’s strong shoulders. . .

Yes, there’s a head between your thighs, two strong hands holding you open, and a hungry mouth feasting on you with abandon. He’s grunting into your cunt with his tongue intruding into your deepest places, making your insides hum with need. 

Did Javi never leave? It doesn’t exactly sound like Javi. Javi is far too measured to be so—ohh, God, that feels good. It feels so good, you barely notice that you’re blindfolded. Or that your wrists are tied above your head, securing you to the bed frame. 

He licks up your cunt to suck at your clit, and he does it well. Fuck. A moan slips out, muffled by something damp and lacy. Your mouth is sore and gagged.  Your heart races as he sucks, and your sensitive nub swells with pressure. 

You’re still waking up, and your traitorous hips are grinding into his face. You’re close. His hands are on your thighs. You’re on the edge of climax, trying not to make any sound or sudden movements. 

When his tongue slips down to your asshole, you flinch. You squirm, but the hands hold you still. His thumbs spread your cheeks, and he licks a wide circle around the rim, getting closer and closer until his tongue is teasing your hole. 

Your nose twitches. You sniff the air, and breathe a shameful sigh of relief. It’s not Javi. It’s him. Thank God, it’s him. And it smells like he smoked in your room.

Ghostface pauses to mutter, “Good girl,” and the voice comes from between your legs, and from your right, as though he’s separated from the voice changer. 

And separated from his mask. Wow. You never thought he’d— his warm mouth returns to your ass, and he thrusts his tongue into you. A pit in your gut deepens with each thrust of his tongue. Your eyelashes flutter against the folded bandana that covers your eyes. 

You grunt and whine into the gag, then he begins to rub your clit while his tongue is buried in your ass. Before long, the tension snaps, and your vision goes from black to white. A muffled moan marks the start of your peak. His tongue slides out, and your body jerks with each spasm. 

“Attagirl,” you hear from both directions.

As you finish coming, he lays a cheek on one thigh and a hand on the other, stroking your skin with his thumb. 

“You were on a silver platter, princess. I had to take a bite.” Your nipples harden—you’re naked and your sweat is cooling. “You know how it is.” You don’t try to respond. “Had a feeling you wouldn’t mind,” he taunts. “And ohhh, Pumpkin. We’ve been having *fun*.” 

Can’t exactly ask what he’s been up to with a mouth full of your own panties. But you wriggle and groan in disapproval.  His face lifts off your thigh, and his hands are quick to hold you down and keep you still.

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledges your halfhearted effort, and you stop resisting. The fact that you both see through this charade puts you more at ease somehow. 

When you feel his breath on your hip, it’s clear he’s not done, and you’re not mad about it. You’re in a daze—Ghostface is in your room, unmasked. Between your legs. 

His teeth press into your skin, then his lips. He sucks hard, then harder, and the bruising suction makes you throb. You grunt into the panty gag. He releases your skin, then drags his lips to your mound. 

He licks up your mound and presses wet, hungry, open-mouth kisses along your exposed torso, licking upward between each kiss, all the way to your breast where he pauses to suck and moan into it. You whine into the gag as your nipple hardens in his mouth and you gush and throb.

He drags his tongue up your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The closer his head gets to yours, the more clearly you can smell him - his unique blend of pheromones, his sweat, the way it mixes with the weed. 

And then it slaps against you. His cock. Smooth, and warm, and hard against your hip, and your chest swarms with butterflies. You moan softly. His face is in the crook of your neck. He latches on for a suck and the dull pain makes your hips lift, seeking more of his cock. You feel an emptiness, a longing to be filled. 

His bare face nuzzles at your jaw. He drags his lips up your chin, to your cheek, to your ear. 

“Shhh,” he whispers, despite your silence. 

His lips slowly drag toward your mouth, dragging along the gag. With his mouth on your cheek, your lips tingle with an urge. And then he gets there. His mouth lingers, open against yours, his breath, hot and humid, enveloping your lips. His teeth scrape the corner of your mouth. He bites down on the gag while one hand fiddles behind you to untie it. His cock, now on your mound, swells harder against you and Good God, you need him bad. 

With a backward nod, he tugs at the panty gag, then lets it fall away with a vocal exhale, thrusting his stiff manhood against you. The loss of his lips on your face resembles heartache. 

Barely above a whisper, you ask, “what are you doing?” and brace to hear his real voice. 

Instead, his hand seizes your jaw, forcing your mouth wider open. And then he spits in your mouth. You taste it as it slides down your tongue, down your throat, and desire stirs in your gut. 

He releases your jaw. “Daddy needs to hear ya, princess.” He mutters breathily, and it echoes from your right, “Daddy needs to hear you, princess.”

You pull your knees up. He braces a hand behind you against the wall and grinds his stiff manhood against your slick mound. “Fuck,” he whispers, with no digital echo. Then, in both voices, “You want this. . . Don’t you, pumpkin?” He grinds against you, harder. “You want Daddy’s big cock,” he confirms, and you can imagine him nodding. 

“Yeah,” you admit in a whisper.

“Oh, yeah,” he replies. The slow, throbbing grind of his warm cock is devastating so close to where you need it. 

“Please,” you ask. 

“Please what?” he replies. 

“Please,” your chest tingles, “Please, Daddy.”

“Uh-huh,” he thrusts against you nice and slow. So stiff and warm. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you plead. 

He pulls his hips back, letting his cock slide and drop to where his tip notches at your entrance. “Who’s gonna fuck you?” 

“You are, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, that’s my girl.” His tip pushes into your yearning cunt. 

“Please, Daddy.” 

“That’s right,” his tone sharpens as he abruptly shoves his length into you, pushing your slick walls apart.  He shudders as he bottoms out. There’s a tingling burn in the stretch, but it quickly fades as your body gives way to the intrusion. And then, the overwhelming feeling is fullness and need for friction. 

His hips pull back, and your legs wrap around him, begging him all the way back inside. He slams into you, and you grunt with the impact as his flesh fills yours again. “Good girl,” he praises. His cock — How did you ever mistake another man for him? He slams in again, making you whole. 

As he fucks you, your thighs tremble, and you whimper, “Daddy,” drawing a groan from him.

He rails in, and slides almost all the way out. Each time, your cunt is pulling at him, begging him back in.  

“Whose little slut are you? ” He asks, his thrusts becoming sharper.  

“Yours, Daddy.” 

A bead of sweat hits your sternum, then your forehead.

“That's my girl,” you hear in surround sound. 

A salty drop falls into your mouth.

“Daddy’s little slut,” he breathes, “can really take a cock,” and the voice changer catches the last half.

He hovers his body lower, closer to yours. A thick steam condenses between you as he pounds you unforgivingly, even from the closer angle. Your chest, your whole torso, you’re all dewy with heat. And his skin, it’s so close, you want to feel it. You neeeed to feel it. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. 

Yearning to put your hand on his chest, you try to wriggle out of the rope and your wrists begin to burn. Your breasts jiggle and jut into the air with the effort.  His chest grazes your tits, and you gasp with the pleasure that seizes your tummy. 

You take a deep breath through your nose, drowning yourself in his masculine scent and the weed that hangs in the air. 

He thrusts sharply and stays all the way in, grinding against you. His chest grazes yours again as he brings his mouth to your ear, and feeling his breath makes you weak. “Cum for Daddy,” he whispers, and his lips graze your temple with another thrust. He raises his volume, catching the modulator. “Cum on this cock, princess.”

“Mmm,” You bite your lip and whimper. 

“One more for Daddy.” His thick, hard manhood drags heavily through your tight, wet channel, then he grinds again after bottoming out. His pubic bone is nudging your front just right. 

“Mmgh,” you whimper, “Daddy,” and the pressure bursts. You whine, overtaken by your rhythmic release, hips lifting into him. His heavy breaths seem to echo to the beat of your climax. 

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, fucking you through it. “Ohhh,” he thrusts sharply and shudders as he begins to pulse. Your spasming cunt milks his cock. Your heels dig into his back. 

He shoots a thick, hot rope deep into your cunt, and with a slow thrust, another one.  Then his cock cruelly slides out. Your heart falls, and your legs reflexively tighten around him. You whine, “no,” with your desperate cunt grabbing at nothing. 

But it's only a split second before his dripping wet cock shoves into your ass. It’s just in time to pulse again as his girth spreads you open and he claims another hole. “Yeah,” He bottoms out and your whole body heats up. In surround sound, you hear, “Hell yeah.” 

He groans as he pulses, and over a few more beats and moans, the rest of his hot seed floods your guts. Each twitch of his shaft makes you shudder. You let yourself get lost in the warmth.

He breathes vocally as he finishes. Then his nose grazes yours ever so briefly, and you bite your lip. As he slides out of your ass, his breath is humid on your cheek and the corner of your mouth. When his face pulls away, your face feels cold.

He reaches toward the corner of your bed. Then you hear him rustling around as he puts his mask back on. 

“Untie me,” you beg. He gets off the bed. More rustling. When he comes back, you feel his pj pants graze your bare skin and you’re offended. 

He lightly braces a hand on your shoulder as he gets closer to where your hands are tied. The cool metal of his blade hits your palm and gives you a chill. The flat of the knife presses into your skin as he slices part of the rope and it loosens. You free your hands and bring them in front of you to caress the burn marks from your attempts to free yourself. He gets off your bed again. 

“You had company tonight,” he remarks. 

“Uninvited,” you clarify. 

“Ohhhh. *Uninvited*,” he taunts with skepticism. The location of his voice has changed—he’s pacing. 

“Jealous?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Want him to bleed out anyway? ” 

“Yeah,” you answer. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“He’s not a good guy,” you offer.

“Oh, princess. If he was a good guy, you wouldn’t let him in your pants. . .Wouldn't give it up that easy.” 

“I didn’t–what–If you were here, why didn't you do anything?” 

“Oh, I did a lot. Just not to him.”

“How long have you been here?” 

He ignores the question.  “Tell me, princess. Why would Prince Charming knock you out, and then just. . . leave?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “But I'm glad he left.”

“Cause he got what he wanted,” Ghostface answers his own question. 

“He didn't even cum”

“Oh, that's not it, princess.” 

“How would you know?”

“Think, Pumpkin.”

You’ve got nothing. 

“There’s gotta be one brain cell left.”  He sits down on the bed to put on his shoes. 

“You're not gonna tell me?” 

He stands up. You hear the woosh of his robe as he puts it on and walks away.

“Wait,” you protest. But he doesn't say a word. His footsteps recede, and you tug the blindfold down to see his robe trailing behind him toward the back door. 

“Asshole,” you mutter to yourself.

When you go to the bathroom, cum is leaking out of both holes, which shouldn’t surprise you. After cleaning up, you get back in bed and keep the blindfold with you. It’s faded green, stiff with sweat. You sniff it. His sweat.  Your chest feels light with forbidden affection. 

Then you’re back to thinking about the question he left you with.

What did Javi want? You push through the shame and replay it all in your head. And then, you see the way he held his wet fingers so carefully as he left, not letting them get contaminated. And it makes your stomach drop. He might be trying to do his job, after all. It unsettles you and keeps you up. 

You curl up under the covers, hugging a pillow. The bandana is wrapped around your hand, pressed against your nose and lips. The scent is comforting. You dart your tongue out for a taste, and find even more comfort in the salty tang. Then ,you take a wrinkled corner of it between your teeth. Your lips wrap around the cloth, and your body finally relaxes fully. You drift off suckling at his sweat. 

Thank you for reading! PLEASE READ THIS NOTE

Thank you for being here and sticking with me. I value each one of you. I can't overstate how much your comments and reblogs really help and motivate me. Your asks, too. I love knowing what you enjoyed most.

As for what's next - no promises, no time estimates.

When people simply demand the next one (ignoring the notes at the end of the fic, on the masterlist, and in my pinned post) without saying anything about the one they just read, it does NOT make me write any faster or prioritize this story. It's actually pretty demoralizing. I work hard on these and if the only thing Im gonna hear after the next one is NEXT/MORE, what kind of incentive is that for me to do the next one? I'm glad you're excited but please try to show it in a different way by appreciaging/acknowledging what you just read. Please ❤️

[gurorori]

okay very srs vent / trauma dump ahead i seriously advise No1 reads this..

tw for the same described in last rb i am sorry

i apologise for usin this acc for ventin a lot heh i prommy i try 2 keep it silly.. but its more convenient here than on instagram. 🙏

[wildestdreamsblog]

The Story of Us

Pairing: Mahwa Character!Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You wake up in the body of the second female lead in a manhwa, determined to rewrite your fate. No longer willing to be trapped in unrequited love for the elusive main lead, Min Yoongi, you set out to change the ending of the story. But leaving him behind isn’t as simple as you thought. As the lines between fiction and reality blur, the narrative begins to shift in unexpected ways—Yoongi, who was once only devoted to the main female lead, starts to see you in a new light. Can you escape the cycle of heartbreak, or will you find yourself entangled in a love story you never asked for?

or in which Yoongi found out you aren't from that world and refuses to let you leave.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Mention of death, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Happy 6k to me!!! It's finally here. Those who already read the unedited fic know the scenes I added here... I went crazy again and wrote additional 3kish words. I hope you enjoy!

“Does self-love mean nothing for you?”

You commented lightly at the second female lead as you flipped the page. In your hand was the manhwa your friends were gushing about. They went on and on about how dreamy the main lead was for weeks and how annoying the second female lead was until you finally gave in and went to a bookstore one late night. The cover was unassuming, a mere illustration of a man with dark hair and a milky white skin. Despite the chatters of the few customers, it was like it all went silent when you held the manhwa in your hand. You had no rationale as to why you were staring so hard at the main lead, nor why you felt a jolt of electricity when you traced your finger on his face.

The sudden and inexplainable zap of electricity was enough for you to put the manhwa back to its shelf where it belonged. You had enough for today, you thought. It must be your late nights that finally got to you. You turned and started to walk away when you heard someone called your name.

“Are you not going to buy that?”

You blinked owlishly, turning to look your surroundings before realizing that the voice had come from behind you where an old woman with a pleasant smile on her face stood. You didn’t hear her walk, sure that it was only you in that section of the bookstore.

“Excuse me?” you asked in confusion with her sudden question.

She offered you a smile before reaching for the manhwa you were touching moments ago. “This. Are you not going to buy this?”

You glanced at the book in her hands, the cover innocuous enough—a pale-faced man with dark eyes, his expression unreadable, a haunting sort of beauty that seemed to shimmer under the dim light of the store. The same man whose face had burned into your mind the moment you’d traced your finger over it.

"Huh?" you muttered, not entirely sure what to say. "Oh, no... I—" You fumbled with your words, caught between politeness and that unsettling pull you couldn’t deny. “I’m just looking.”

She tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering, but there was something deeper there now—an unreadable warmth and perhaps... a warning? "Such a shame. This is the last piece," she continued, her fingers running over the cover with a tenderness that made your heart race. "Are you sure you don’t want to enter his universe?"

You stared at her, perplexed. The bookstore was quiet again, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of other customers. But it felt like there was something else in the air now—something heavier. More alive.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking the strange tension that had settled between you and the clerk. You fumbled it out, your heart still racing. It was a text from one of your friends: "Did you finally get the manhwa? He's sooooo hot, right?!?"

You looked from your phone to the manhwa and there it was again. It was like something was calling you to touch the book. On the other hand, your flight or fight instinct had never been this high, urging you to walk away as soon as possible. The old woman’s gaze never left you, her expression still serene, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. The tension between you felt palpable, like a tether was drawing you back to the book, back to the man on the cover.

"You know what, dear," she continued, her voice now almost conspiratorial, "since we're almost closing, it’s on the house. Let me wrap it up for you."

When you asked her why, it was a line you should have taken in face value.

She said that reading this will change your life.

All that was how you found yourself on your bed with the manhwa and feeling bad for the second female lead. Okay fine, she was not exactly kind. She was a bit bitchy and the typical rich kid who fell for her childhood friend who of course, fell for another woman below their stature. She devised devious ways to get the main female lead out of their lives which only managed to push Min Yoongi, the male lead character, away from her. She wanted him so badly, and she had nothing else to cling to. In the end, he left her alone when all she had was him.

She was left alone, Yoongi gone from her life, and all she had left were her schemes and bitterness. You couldn’t help but wonder what she could have been if she had just let go. If she had let him go, instead of holding on so tightly that she suffocated herself.

She wasn’t a villain, you told yourself, though you knew she was far from a saint.

It wasn’t that you were defending what she did. It was just that you felt for her, strangely. You had no family of your own too, and maybe that was why you held on to your friends. You thought that if you were as pretty and as wealthy as her, then you wouldn’t spend all your time and energy pining after Yoongi. You thought about her—so pretty, so polished—and you wondered, If I were her, would I have acted the same way? If you had that beauty, that wealth, that presence, would you still feel this same deep ache for someone who couldn’t love you back? Sure, he was all that. He was handsome, smart, and so manly. For a while, it was just the two of them in their little world until he met the female lead. But then again, if you were her, you would let them be and look for someone who would love you as you were. Surely, there was someone out there for her. You wondered if it would be easy to just walk away, you thought. But then, you didn’t know what it was like to have everything and still lose the one thing that mattered most. To feel like there was no one left who could make you feel whole.

The story was so intriguing with the right amount of suspense that kept you up all night. Despite you being a non-mahwa reader, you could not bring yourself to stop reading until you reached the ending.

The words of the final chapters echoed in your mind as you read through them. Yoongi’s happiness came at her expense, and as you turned the page, you saw the final blow: She died. She died because Yoongi decided to save the main female lead from drowning instead of his childhood friend. Just like that. No grand redemption, no change of heart. She was gone. “Of course, she dies,” you murmured in annoyance as you flipped the page. “Was that really necessary for this Yoongi to get his happy ending?”

You put the manhwa down on your chest and looked up at your bedroom ceiling. You felt tears forming in your eyes and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks and onto the manhwa. “Poor you. You deserved better,” you whispered as sleep took you away.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next time you opened your eyes, it felt like you were in a dream. More precisely, you woke up to a familiar room. You just couldn’t place it yet where you saw this room before. You sat up from the most comfortable bed you had ever been on, your eyes roaming over the whole room. Where were you?

You looked down and noticed that you were wearing a silk sleepwear…You didn’t own this. In fact, you never liked it because you couldn’t afford it. Did someone dress you in this? Were you kidnapped?

Panic surged through you like a wave, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. The thought alone pushed you to stand up quickly, your head turning rapidly to every corner of the room when a mirror across the room caught your eye. You walked over, unsure of what you were even looking for, but the reflection that met you made your heart stop.

Holy shit.

You froze in front of the mirror, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and panic. The face staring back at you was undeniably familiar but was definitely not yours. It was her—the woman from the manhwa.

Your hand lifted slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, and touched your cheek, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw. The reflection mimicked your every move, except there was no mistake: it wasn’t you. This version of you was flawless—her skin porcelain smooth, her lips full and painted in a soft, understated pink. You blinked hard, willing the image to change, but it remained the same, impossibly perfect.

And then it hit you, harder than any realization should have: You were in her world. You were in her body. You were the second female lead.

What the fuck was this dream?!

You pinched yourself, willing yourself to wake up from this peculiar dream where you were not you, and instead, you were someone of a fictional character. All that it did was reddened her fair skin. You truly tried not to panic, but no one and nothing could have ever prepared you from waking up in someone else’s body! More so of a fictional one. Similarly, you knew this could not be possible. You must have been dreaming.

You were just dreaming…right?

The knock on the door snapped you out of your stupor, your mind reeling as the panic tightened its grip.

“Miss? Sir Yoongi is here to see you,” the voice outside the door called, timid, hesitant.

You blinked, the words barely registering at first. Yoongi? No. No, no, no. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and the world around you seemed to tilt at an impossible angle. You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a shaky, disbelieving breath.

"Y-yoongi?" Your voice sounded strange, foreign in this body, yet with an edge of authority, the voice of someone accustomed to being looked at, obeyed.

“N-no. Why?”

“T-to visit you, Miss. He went straight here from the airport after his three-month work in New York,” she explained with a terrified tone in her voice as though one wrong word would upset you. It did upset you upon horrifying realization that you were in the first chapter of the manhwa. He was coming to see the second female lead, the one who would only ever be a part of his life for the briefest, most painful moments. The one who would disappear when the main female lead entered the picture, leaving behind nothing but heartache and regret.

This was the moment—the beginning of her unraveling. The beginning of your unraveling.

You stumbled back from the mirror, almost tripping over the hem of the silk nightgown that clung to your skin. It felt wrong. This wasn’t your body. This wasn’t you. You couldn’t be her. You couldn't.

But there you were—she was—standing in front of a mirror, and it was your face that stared back, the same face that would soon be abandoned in favor of the main lead. The face that would die tragically, just as Yoongi chose someone else.

A cold sweat broke out on your skin as you pressed your hand to your chest, feeling your heart race, the pulse throbbing in your throat. The maid outside the door was waiting. She was waiting. Yoongi was waiting.

“Miss? Are you coming?” The maid asked again, sounding more nervous now. “Sir Yoongi is waiting.”

You felt your legs walked to where the door was as though they had a mind of their own, as though they were simply following the plot where you had to face her childhood bestfriend, as though you had no choice in this. The door creaked as it slowly opened, and the maid stepped back with a small, nervous bow. “Miss,” she murmured softly, her eyes flicking between you and the hallway.

There he was. Yoongi. Standing in the hallway, waiting for you.

His broad back was turned to you, his focus was on the huge window overlooking the garden below. His hands were in his pockets. You couldn’t help but notice the bags of designer clothes and jewelries beside him. It was always like this. Yoongi would spoil her with everything, his love a quiet promise wrapped in material things. His affection was given in expensive packages, just because he missed her. It was a thing the main lead, Yoongi, and her had for the longest times. He spoiled her rotten, and in turn, she loved him unconditionally until he realized that it wasn’t her love that he wanted. It was someone else’s.

You felt your chest tighten as you stepped forward, closer to him. And then, slowly, he turned around, his gaze landing on you, his eyes sharp and calculating, as though he was seeing you for the first time. He was just as handsome as you'd imagined, his sharp features bathed in the soft light of the chandelier overhead. His expression, however, was unreadable—his usual aloofness on full display. He had on a simple black jacket, the sleeves rolled up slightly, revealing his forearms.

He was standing there, just as he had been in the manhwa—distant, untouchable, and perfect. The kind of person who seemed to have everything. Everything except the one thing that would make him whole. His lips curved into a faint smirk, the usual aloofness settling over him like a second skin. Yoongi. So damn confident. So certain of himself. Yet there was something flickering beneath that exterior, something you couldn't place.

He took a step toward you, his gaze unwavering, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy, too real. The space between you both seemed like an eternity, but somehow you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

He raised his brows when you remained motionless – so dissimilar to how the second female lead threw herself in his arms in the first chapter. “What?” he said, his voice a quiet challenge. “Didn’t you miss me?”

His words hit you like a cold wave. Didn’t you miss me?

The phrase was so familiar, but it made you flinch. It was the same thing he had said to her. The second female lead. Her. The woman you had now become. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his gaze leaving you paralyzed. How were you supposed to feel? What was the right answer?

Yoongi’s smirk deepened as he took another step closer, his presence commanding the space between you both. He wasn’t giving up.

“Aigoo,” he muttered, as though your silence had amused him. “Is my princess mad at me?” He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands and squishing them gently, his thumb brushing across your skin in a familiar, playful gesture. “I promise I won’t be away for that long again, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. My princess. Mad at me? It was just like the manhwa. Just like how the second female lead had fallen for him—how she’d craved his affection, how she had convinced herself that he was the only one who could make her whole.

How could she not fall for him? How could she not love him when he was this—this?

See, who wouldn’t fall for that? You understood the second female lead for falling in love with him, or why she did all those terrible things when he suddenly withdrew all his affections from her. But maybe…you could change the ending. Maybe you could find a happy ending of your own away from him. You could choose differently. You could walk away. You could find your own path, away from him, away from this tragic loop. Maybe—just maybe—there was a way for you to have a happy ending. Not the one written in the manhwa, but one you could choose. One where you didn’t lose yourself in the love of a man who could never return it.

What if you and him could all have your separate happy endings?

But also, what if this was just a dream where you’d wake up later and be in your own bed?

It was almost a week later when you realized that this wasn’t a dream. Despite repeatedly pinching yourself, you still couldn’t wake up from this nightmare. You hadn’t gone out of your room since Yoongi visited, and all messages and calls from him were promptly ignored.

You couldn’t even rule out that you were actively going insane because there was no way that this was now your reality. Something inside you was telling you to do something. It was urging you to fight, to survive, not matter how difficult it would be. It was proven when he visited you and you had no control over what happened. However, you also noted that you could do things somehow differently like not hugging him when he visited, or not being affectionate to him.

There were canon events, yes. There were things that should happen as were already dictated by the manhwa. But you also had a will in this story. And if there was a chance that this was your new reality, then you would do absolutely everything to make sure that you end up living.

You had to be smart. You had an edge, you surmised. You read the entire manhwa and you knew what was going to happen. You knew what to anticipate. And the next scene? The next scene was where Yoongi met the female lead and it would be in a charity ball you and him were attending.

You were dressed to the nines, your makeup was impeccable. Around your neck was one of the second female lead’s extravagant necklaces. The dress that she chose was immaculate, a light-colored floor-length gown that would later on be ruined by the female lead’s accident in the ball. You looked down from the unfamiliar eyes staring back at you in the mirror as your maid informed you that the car was waiting downstairs. You got this.

You weren’t used to her life of extravagance and you could feel a shot of anxiety pumping in your veins as the car neared the event. You could see reporters and cameramen lining up to capture the entrance of the wealthiest of the wealthiest. Nothing in your life could have prepared you for this. You were not a confident person…but she was. You only needed to get through this night and then slowly let the events happened. You would let the two of them fall in love with each other like it needed to be.

“We’re here, miss,” your driver announced, meeting your eyes from the rearview mirror. You took a deep breath and counted to three.

1…2…3-

The door opened and just when you opened your eyes, there he was.

Camera flashes illuminated the scene from his back, yet his focus was on you. His hand was outstretched, waiting for you to reach for it. But damn it, Min Yoongi was impeccable. Just like you, he was dressed to the nines with his tailored dark suit and his brushed up dark hair. He was the epitome of what a main lead should look like. Still, you couldn’t fault both the main and second female lead for falling in love with that face. If only you weren’t trying to stay alive, then you would most probably fall for that face, too.

Too bad you were trying to stay alive.

The weight of the moment settled heavily on your chest as you stared at his outstretched hand. The flashes of the cameras were relentless, their bursts creating a kaleidoscope of light and shadow that painted Yoongi's face with an almost ethereal glow. His dark eyes bored into yours, and for a split second, the world seemed to pause.

You hesitated, your hand hovering just out of reach. This was one of those moments, wasn't it? One of the canon events you couldn’t avoid. Taking his hand was expected, a necessary step to ensure the night unfolded as the manhwa demanded. Yet, the knowledge didn’t make it any easier.

“I don’t think you can hide from me now, princess,” Yoongi’s voice was soft but firm. In fact, there was no annoyance in his tone, only a quiet patience as though you didn’t spend the past days dodging him in every turn.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to push past the whirlwind of nerves. You had to remember who you were now—or at least who you were pretending to be. She wouldn’t falter, wouldn’t hesitate. She was poised, confident, the kind of woman who could command a room with a single glance. She was a woman who knew the power she had over society.

Plastering on a polite smile, you placed your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and for a moment, the contact felt grounding. You couldn’t help but notice how his hand completely engulfed yours, how he made your hands seemed dainty in comparison to his. He helped you out of the car with a practiced grace, his touch lingering for a fraction longer than necessary. You didn’t want to dwell on the fact that you felt the same electricity that you did when you first touched the manhwa.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You knew you had no choice as he guided you up the grand entrance. This was a canon event. The canon event leading up to their meeting. You had to play your part if you wanted to not experience dying in her body.

The flashes of cameras almost blinded you had it not been for Yoongi’s broad back that shielded you from them. The two of you stopped in the middle to smile for the camera, a PR thing Yoongi had to do for his company. His hand rested on the small of your back, gently pushing you closer to him. You knew what would happen like the back of your hand, and just as written, one of the reporters asked him to define his relationship status with you.

She’s the most important woman in my life.

“She’s the most important woman in my life,” Yoongi declared with unwavering sincerity, his deep voice resonating through the flashes and murmurs of the crowd. As he looked down at you, his lips curved into that signature, disarming smile—the kind that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

The ball was just as grand as you imagined. It was apparent that the rich spared no expense in this and you couldn’t imagine that you would experience this in your life. Yoongi’s gaze lingered on you, an unreadable expression flickering in his eyes as he watched you take it all in. There was something almost amused about the way he observed you, though he said nothing. It was almost comical to him how you were impressed with this when the friend he knew practically grew up in this extravagance. You were in awe at the intricate details, the food and drink being served, and the expensive jewelries that would be auctioned tonight.

“What do you want me to bid for?” Yoongi asked, his voice low and smooth as he tipped his wineglass to his lips, his dark eyes not straying from you.

You let out a short chuckle, already knowing what to say. “I want that old ring the Queen once owned,” you answered monotonously. It was the most expensive item in the auction, and exactly the kind of thing the second female lead would desire. You, on the other hand, felt that it was ridiculous to desire something that was given by someone who dearly loved the Queen. Yoongi merely lifted his dark brow before nodding his head.

As always, her will was always his command– until it wasn’t.

The bidding war for the final piece, the ring, didn’t take that long as Yoongi continuously bidded ridiculously high amounts that the businessmen could not keep up with the younger man. Yoongi didn’t even flinch as the bids shot up. He stood there, effortlessly cool, his back straight and shoulders squared, his eyes locked on the auctioneer like a predator stalking its prey. The others tried to keep pace, their offers becoming desperate, their faces flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation as Yoongi continued to raise the stakes, his voice cold and assured as he increased his offer without hesitation.

In the end, Yoongi won. And it showed with the way he turned back to you, that same smirk still dancing at corner of his lips.

This was it.

This was the moment.

Yoongi was walking to you, his expression still that of a triumphant victor as he made his way to you. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes to him. The way his dark eyes were trained on you was captivating and you were captivated. It was as though you were the only one in this room to him, like all other people could disappear and he wouldn’t even blink. In fact, you were too captivated that you almost forgot what the next scene was.

But just as was written by the author, a waitress tripped, your light-colored dress now splashed with red wine, a stark contrast. The sound of glass breaking, the accident itself, was enough to silence the whole ballroom. Your mouth hanged agape as you looked down at your dress, and then slowly, you lift your eyes to the waitress.

Your eyes met the female lead’s. Hers was comically wide as she continuously apologized to you, her expression that of panic as her manager and more people flocked to where you were.

“What happened?” Yoongi’s voice was sharp, his usual calm replaced by a low, controlled edge. His hands clasped your arms with a firm but steady grip, his gaze darting between your face and the ruined fabric of your gown. The pristine, light-colored dress was now stained with crimson, the deep red wine soaking into the fabric and spreading like an ominous bloom.

Your eyes flicked back to the waitress—her—the female lead. Just as the manhwa dictated, there she was, the unassuming heroine, standing in front of you with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she stammered apology after apology, her hands trembling as she bent down to pick up the shards of broken glass at her feet. You saw her flinched.

“I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please forgive me, Miss!” she pleaded, her voice shaky and sincere. The panic on her face was painfully familiar. You’d read this scene before. You knew every word, every gesture.

And yet, being in it now, living it—felt different.

Your dress was ruined, yes, but more importantly, this was the moment. The one where Yoongi, the ever-distant, untouchable main lead, would first notice her. Where his protective instincts would be stirred, his curiosity piqued by her clumsy, honest nature. This was where it all began—their love story.

Except right now, he wasn’t looking at her. He was still looking at you

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his brows furrowed as his thumb lightly grazed your arm, checking for any sign of injury. There was no recognition in his gaze for the woman kneeling at your feet, no acknowledgment of her presence.

You blinked, caught off guard. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. By now, he should have been helping her, offering her a reassuring smile, gently lifting her to her feet. That was what the script demanded

But here he was, his focus entirely on you.

“I…” Your voice faltered as your mind raced to adjust. You needed to steer this back on track. The story needed to progress, or everything could spiral out of control. “I’m fine. It’s just the dress,” you said, forcing your tone to be light, dismissive, as though the ruined gown didn’t matter.

Yoongi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “It’s not fine,” he said, his voice firm. He turned, his sharp eyes landing on the waitress. The poor girl visibly flinched under his scrutiny, her hands freezing mid-motion as she tried to gather the broken pieces.

“It was an accident,” you said quickly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “Yoongi, it’s fine.” Your words were deliberate, almost desperate. You needed him to look at her, to notice her, to play his part in the story.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but at last, his gaze shifted to the waitress. There it was—that flicker of recognition. The moment his eyes softened, his expression melting into something less severe.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her, his tone still carrying a note of authority, but the sharp edges were gone. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for.

The girl shook her head quickly, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red. “N-no, sir! I’m fine. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough,” Yoongi interrupted gently but firmly. He crouched down, his movements slow, deliberate, as he began picking up the shards of glass alongside her. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath, all eyes on the enigmatic businessman lowering himself to help a clumsy waitress. “Be careful. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said with a much softer voice. His gaze lingered on her face, and it was apparent that you were now forgotten.

And there it was—their first connection. The moment the story truly began.

You exhaled slowly, stepping back as the crowd around you began to disperse, the murmurs of the guests returning to their usual buzz. This was how it had to be. You just had to step back now and let their love story grow.

You reached the balcony and you thanked heavens that you were alone. You breathed a sigh of relief, both for the gratitude that you were alone and for surviving that scene. You were looking up at the stars when you felt a suit jacket landed on your shoulders, safely engulfing you with warmth and against the cold night.

You turned, not knowing who to expect but he was definitely not it. You didn’t even know who he was.

The handsome man met your eyes before flashing you a charming smile of his own that was enough to disarm you. “What a shame…”

You blinked, confused by his sudden appearance, your heart still racing from the scene inside. "What is?" you asked, voice quieter than you'd intended, as your eyes darted back toward the ballroom doors.

"That your dress was ruined," he said smoothly, his tone playful, though his eyes seemed to hold something more—curiosity, maybe, or perhaps something deeper. "You were the most beautiful girl there. You managed to catch everyone’s attention when you entered the room– including mine."

Sputtering at his confidence, you felt your cheeks heated up from his statement. “Were?”

The side of his eyes crinkled as he looked at you. He couldn’t believe that the elusive and untouchable you were giving him the time of the day. You were always in Yoongi’s orbit, and everyone knew how powerful his family was. It was always the two of you in your own little world, and Yoongi was seldom far from you. It was the reason why suitors couldn’t reach you. No one needed the Min Yoongi for an enemy.

It was safe to say that the relationship between the two of you were always a question mark to the onlookers. In the world of the rich, the two of you should have been long engaged if that was the case. And a chance that Yoongi was far from you was not to be wasted. And so, he took the chance.

“You still are,” he breathed honestly. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were so magnificent and he understood why Yoongi was similar to a guard dog when it came to you. He extended his hand to you. “I’m Kim Taehyung.”

You only had to wait, but the waiting got boring. When you’d read the manhwa, the pacing had felt seamless, the love story unfolding with a rhythm that kept you turning the pages. Here, however, their love story took time.

It turned out that not only were you bored, but you were also extremely wealthy in this life. You rationalized that it would be okay to enjoy her life just a little.

Leaning on the balcony railing, you released your fifteenth sigh of the day, staring blankly at the sprawling estate below. Behind you, the ever-dutiful maid hovered, hands clasped nervously in front of her. Her expression flickered between concern and trepidation, as though bracing for one of the infamous tantrums her mistress was known for. Lately, though, you’d given her nothing of the sort—no sharp words, no impatient outbursts. That, in itself, seemed to unsettle her.

However, another sigh from you finally prompted her to ask you what was wrong.

Her eyes widened, startled by the question. “I… I suppose I’d pay off my family’s debts,” she admitted, voice small. “It’s been weighing on us for years.”

“How much?” you asked, your tone casual, as though inquiring about the weather.

“Three million,” she murmured, her cheeks coloring as though the very amount embarrassed her. “But I couldn’t possibly—”

“Consider it done,” you interrupted breezily, waving off her protests. “Next?”

“Maybe…I’d go to Paris?”

You nodded, your eyes gleamed as the spark of inspiration ignited within you. A brilliant, slightly impulsive idea. “That’s perfect. Grab your passport.”

It turned out that Paris was also someone’s favorite place.

You were sitting in a café one late afternoon, willing the time to pass by quickly so you could return to your life as evidenced by your poor attempt at reading a book when the chair in front of you was suddenly occupied. With your peace suddenly gone, you looked up and met his eyes. He was smiling at you, his dark hair brushed away from his face, so dissimilar to how formal he looked when you met him.

“We must stop meeting like this.”

He chuckled at your expression before he leaned in on the table. “In Paris, of all places. I have to say, this is starting to look like fate.”

Who was he exactly?

You tried to rack your brain of his scenes in the manhwa, and you had been ever since you met him in that ball. He wasn’t supposed to be in the scene…or was it possible that that happened behind the scene when the focus wasn’t on you, but on Yoongi and the female lead?

“Do you believe in fate, Mr. Kim?” you titled you head in curiosity, looking at him intently for any sort of familiarity that may come your way.

“I do and I don’t. I think that fate is an abstract concept that no man can ever define. There are some things that we are just too powerless to stop; and there are some things that we are too powerful to accept,” he stated with a smile on his face. “You’re here because of fate, Y/N. Don’t you think so?”

“What?”

Taehyung chuckled and patiently waited as the waiter placed his cup of hot chocolate on the table. “I think that you’re fated to be here at this exact moment.”

“What are you saying, Taehyung?”

“I’m saying, have dinner with me tonight.”

It was your second week in Paris when curiosity finally got the better of you. On the other hand, you could say that the past few days were one of the most interesting days of your life. You never knew that that little dinner with Taehyung could result to you gaining a true friend here. He was interesting, quirky, wise, and full of life. You also learned that he went to the same school as the original second female lead and Yoongi attended, and that he could never befriended you before because Yoongi was always with you. He offhandedly noted that it was so rare for him not to be with you when before, wherever you went, he would follow. Speaking of the character that you assumed, her phone—your phone now—sat untouched on the marble nightstand of your hotel suite. You’d avoided it so far, reasoning that it felt like rifling through a stranger’s diary. But tonight, as the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower illuminated the room, you gave in.

Plugging it in, the device vibrated to life, and a flood of notifications lit up the screen. Your jaw dropped slightly as you skimmed through the endless stream of missed calls and messages. Most of them were from Yoongi.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, scrolling through the list. There were texts, voicemails, and even some emails from him, all timestamped over the last two weeks.

His messages started casual enough, asking you where you were and if you were still avoiding him. He even stopped by the mansion only to find out that you weren’t there, let alone in the country. Not one in your mansion could tell him where you were despite his endless threats. As days passed by, however, his tone shifted to frustration.

I’m not kidding anymore. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming to find you.

I am hiring a team to find you, princess.

His final message was dated today.

I do hope you remember that it is my birthday today. We always celebrate it together. We’re not gonna stop now just because you’re hiding from me.

You stared at the phone for a moment longer, the screen dark now but somehow still demanding your attention. Should you respond? What would you even say?

The phone vibrated in your hand, the screen lighting up with his name. Your stomach did a little flip, but you shook your head firmly. No. You weren’t going to answer. It was better this way—for him, for you, for the storyline. Yoongi belonged with the female lead, and the longer you stayed out of their orbit, the better. If you wanted to live, you had to do the opposite of what the second female lead did.

Instead, you grabbed your jacket, ready to explore the city some more with Taehyung. Paris was too beautiful to waste time fretting over a fictional man’s messages. Let Yoongi wait.

But just as you opened your hotel room, there he was with his signature stoic face, his dark brow raised. He pointedly looked at your phone, his name on the screen. He had his phone on his ear, while you had yours in your hand. You were literally caught red-handed ignoring his calls.

He ended the call with a deliberate tap and tucked his phone into his pocket, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Going somewhere?”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, shocked at his sudden appearance. He was supposed to be with her. The story said that he was supposed to be with her, celebrating with her, saving her from any other accidents or situations she found herself in. You did your part by staying the hell away from them….so why was he here?

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” His tone was calm, but the edge was unmistakable. He stepped inside as though he owned the place. He didn’t ask for permission, didn’t wait for an invitation. He was just… there, filling the room with his presence like he always did. “And Paris, of all places? You’re more predictable than you think, princess.”

“I-I mean, I didn’t think you’d notice,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper, already regretting how ridiculous it sounded.

“What? How could I not? You literally disappeared on the face of the earth. You think I wouldn’t notice when you disappeared? When you’re not there?”

The intensity in his gaze left you momentarily stunned, your thoughts scrambling for coherence. “Y-you’re not supposed to be here…” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your disbelief bled into your words, your mind struggling to reconcile his presence with what you knew—or thought you knew. “The story says you’re supposed to be with her. This isn’t—this isn’t how it goes.”

“What story?”

You blinked owlishly, realizing what you’d said. “Huh? Nothing!” you exclaimed a little too quickly, waving your hands as if to physically push the moment away. “Anyway! Happy birthday!” you added, your voice unnaturally bright, hoping to distract him.

His squint deepened, a mix of curiosity and frustration flickering in his eyes. He clearly didn’t buy your deflection, but he let it slide—for now. Without a word, he crossed the room to the small bar cart in the corner, casually pouring himself a glass of whisky.

The tension in the air was thick as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass, his movements deliberate. He raised the glass to his lips, his gaze never leaving yours. You could practically see the wheels turning in that intelligent brain of his as he sized you up. After taking a slow sip, he finally spoke, his voice low, “Glad you remember my birthday, princess.”

Okay, fine. You were at loss. How were you supposed to know what you should say? This was not in the manhwa! Yoongi was basically going off-script!

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned your gaze to the door, silently willing him to leave. But Yoongi didn’t move. If anything, he seemed more determined, his presence as unyielding as ever.

“Fine,” he said after a long moment, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “If you won’t come back, then I’ll stay. Paris is nice this time of year, isn’t it?”

He stuck by you like a shadow and he all but bought the entire hotel floor. He was adamant on spending every moment with you. The most baffling part? He still kept in touch with her. He called, he texted, he checked in on the female lead—but here he was, right beside you, refusing to leave. It made no sense. To add confusion to the mix, Yoongi kept on shooting dark glares at your phone whenever it chimed from Taehyung’s messages and he felt himself getting irritated. He wondered who was brave enough to message you when no one used to before except him.

You had been away for him for just a short time and yet, he felt like you were so far away already, like something shifted, like your entirety changed. It was like you were not the best friend he used to have.

You looked down at your phone as soon as it chimed again and you couldn’t help but chuckled at the silly selfie he took with a duck. You were too engrossed in your phone that you missed the way Yoongi gripped his utensils. You and him hadn’t spent time together since you were so busy evading him and now that he finally caught up with you, your attention was somewhere else.

Why were your attention not on him?

Who was stealing your attention away from him?!

Was this how you punished him because of his current fling?

The sound of Yoongi’s sharp exhale pierced the air, and you glanced up just in time to see his fingers grip the edge of his glass with more force than was necessary. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed—not at the phone in your hand, but at you. He didn’t say anything, but the silence between you both was thick with something unspoken, a tension you had been drowning in since he followed you here.

It wasn’t that you wanted to ignore him, but the truth was... you didn’t know how to deal with this version of Yoongi. The one who wasn’t following the script. The one who was here in Paris, beside you, watching you laugh at Taehyung's ridiculous duck selfie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“What’s so funny?” Yoongi’s voice was quiet, but it was sharp. He didn’t bother to look at your phone. Instead, his gaze stayed locked on your face, his eyes a shade darker, deeper than you remembered them being.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in his mood. “Oh, nothing, just a ridiculous selfie from my friend,” you said, still chuckling to yourself. “He’s with a duck.”

“He?” His voice held a dry amusement, but there was an edge to it that made you uncomfortable.

You could feel the subtle tension thickening in the air, like the weight of a storm about to break. Yoongi's question hung between you like a spark in dry tinder. You shrugged, pretending to be casual, though the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. "Yes, he. My friend Taehyung," you said, not looking up from your phone.

But you could feel Yoongi’s eyes boring into you, every syllable of his next words like a tightening coil. “Taehyung,” he repeated, his voice cold and deliberate, as though testing the name on his tongue. His grip on his glass had tightened to the point where his knuckles were white, but it didn’t stop the slow, calculated sip he took, his gaze never leaving you.

The way he said his name made it seemed like your friendship with him was a mistake, a simple blunder on your end that shouldn’t have happened. It did feel like you stepped on a live mine, and you wondered why you were feeling like this when from what you knew about his character in the manhwa, Yoongi was a pure person. However, right now he felt like a dangerous one.

What were you supposed to do?

“You’re thirty now,” you said instead, steering the conversation away from an unfamiliar territory as you placed the phone facedown. The two of you were having brunch in a famous restaurant and you were thoroughly enjoying the croissant moments before the conversation turned sour.

He regarded you for a moment, fully aware of how you this was your sad attempt at changing the subject until he decided to put you out of misery. He nodded, waiting for you to make your point.

“You’re not getting any younger-”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “What’s the point of this conversation, princess? You’re starting to sound like my grandma." He paused, as if savoring the thought. "By the way, she keeps asking for you. Says, and I quote, ‘her favorite grandchild never comes to visit anymore.’ Not even a phone call. Meanwhile, I’m still here, the actual grandchild, and I get nothing."

His glare was sharp, but there was no real venom behind it—just the familiar teasing edge that made you both roll your eyes and laugh, despite yourself.

“W-well! I’m just concerned that you won’t have a wife and any children of your own and that you’d grow old alone! I’m just a friend expressing concern over her best and oldest friend…” you rationalized. Fine, you were having fun teasing him while nudging him in the right direction. Yoongi was fun to mess with, you thought, if he was being himself and not the confusing and quite off-putting mood he was in a while ago.

You thought that he would react the way you anticipated him to, that he would get defensive and after which, hopefully, that he’d go back to their love story.

He did none of those things.

Instead, Yoongi leaned in, his manly scent permeating. He tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, all while looking at you. “Why are you saying that I’ll be alone when I have you?”

You blinked, trying to process what Yoongi had just said. His voice, low and warm, carried a weight that wasn’t there a moment ago. You wanted to laugh, to brush it off like the teasing banter you two always shared, but the way his dark eyes held yours made it impossible. “I have you for always, right, princess? You’re not going to leave me for someone…beneath us, right?”

What?

His words seemed like he was pointing to another thing, like what he was asking you was a promise to be set in stone and not a mere assurance on his part. What was the real second female lead to say in situation like this?

“O-of course! We’re best friends! N-now let’s get out of here. I saw this beautiful necklace in that shop. It’s going to look beautiful on her. Maybe if you buy her that, then she’d forgive you for spending your birthday away from her,” you joked to deflect him, standing up and gathering your purse to escape the situation you found yourself in before he could even blink.

Think, Y/N. Think.

You gripped the stem of your wine glass, staring blankly at the flickering candle in the center of the table. The plot was veering off course, drifting further from the original narrative you knew by heart. Yoongi wasn’t supposed to be here with you, his steady presence upending the delicate balance of the story.

The main lead wasn’t supposed to stay by your side like this

Across the room, Yoongi was speaking with one of his father’s acquaintances, his posture relaxed but exuding the quiet authority that came so naturally to him. It gave you a few precious moments to breathe—and to think.

Ever since Paris, Yoongi almost never let you out of his sight. He would spend every free time of his with you. You couldn’t even refuse because he would get so suspicious. His best friend never said no to him, he knew that. Your previous actions of distancing yourself from him resulted in him latching on to you. What could you do to push him in the right direction which was to be with her?

What was the next canon event?

And then it hit you.

The company gala. The turning point. That was when he would bring her, the female lead, into the lion’s den. His family’s icy disapproval, their sharp-edged words of disdain, and their outright rejection of his choice would culminate in a dramatic declaration. Yoongi would stand by her side, rebel against his family, and announce that she was the one he wanted to marry.

It was a pivotal scene. A non-negotiable in the grand arc of his story.

You exhaled shakily. If you could just steer him toward that event, everything will fall back into place. You just needed to figure out when it was happening now that the timeline was unraveling in ways you couldn’t predict.

You just had another problem, though. The man that was now walking back to you was acting like someone who had his heart set on another, so unlike the Min Yoongi from the manhwa who only had eyes for her. His attention was unwavering, but it should not have been pointed to you but to her. The way his gaze softened whenever he looked at you, his refusal to leave your side—it was all wrong. None of it fit.

“Sorry about that,” Yoongi’s voice broke through your thoughts as he returned to the table. He slid back into his seat, his sharp eyes scanning your face. “You okay? You look… distracted.”

You forced a smile, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Just lost in thought.”

“About what?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious, and the warmth in his gaze made your stomach twist. He did hope that your attention was not being diverted by someone he didn’t even want to mention. He couldn’t even understand why the thought of you with someone else didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t understand why he had this urge to remove the pest away from you.

“Doesn’t you company have an annual gala? I was thinking of what to wear. When is it again?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink to hide your nerves.

He was looking at you as though deep in thought, as though you were forgetting something. He tilted his head to the side, “You know it’s always in December. You always choose your dress a year in advance, princess,” Yoongi said, his voice laced with mild curiosity. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied you. “Why? You’ve never been one to care much about those kinds of things before.”

Your breath caught at his words. You always choose your dress a year in advance, princess. The familiarity, the ease with which he said it, threw you off. That line—it didn’t belong here. Not in this timeline. Not in this version of the story where your role was supposed to be temporary, a placeholder in the grand narrative between him and her.

“Right,” you said, forcing a light laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Guess I forgot for a moment. Been busy, you know.”

Yoongi didn’t buy it. His gaze sharpened, a hint of amusement mingled with curiosity. “You? Forget? That’s not like you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes piercing. “What’s really going on?”

The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist again. Stay calm. Don’t let him see.

“Nothing’s going on,” you said, a touch too quickly. You took another sip of your drink, using the motion to avoid his eyes.

“Anyway, December’s coming up fast, and I’m guessing you’re planning to bring her, right?” You kept your tone light, as if the question didn’t weigh heavily on your chest.

Yoongi’s expression shifted, the smirk fading as his brows furrowed slightly. “Her?”

You swallowed hard. “You know… the one you’ve been calling and texting all the time.” You gestured vaguely, hoping to seem indifferent. “The woman you’ve been—well, I thought you were planning to introduce her to your family at the gala.”

Yoongi smiled again, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Let’s see, princess.”

“Admit that you had fun,” Taehyung teased you as he drove you home.

You couldn’t help the smile that crept across your lips. Against all odds, you’d genuinely enjoyed yourself. You did have fun. You always thought that movie dates were boring and full of cliché, but not with him. With Taehyung, everything felt effortless—light and uncomplicated, like breathing.

“Fine,” you conceded with mock reluctance, your tone carrying the weight of faux irritation. “It was a fun…”

“Date,” he finished smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement as your voice trailed off.

Your cheeks burned at his audacity, the straightforwardness of the word stealing your ability to respond for a moment. A "date"? Could you even call it that? The way your heart fluttered betrayed any argument you might have tried to form.

You glanced away, fidgeting with the strap of your bag as thoughts tangled in your mind. Was it okay to feel this way? To bask in fleeting moments of happiness when the life you were living wasn’t truly yours? When you were still determined to set things right, to restore the balance of a narrative that had gone astray?

So caught up in your musings, you barely noticed the car slowing to a stop in the estate’s driveway. The towering grand doors loomed ahead, a stark reminder of the world you’d return to the moment you stepped out.

“Thank you,” Taehyung’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. It was quiet, genuine, and when you turned to look at him, his face was softer than you’d ever seen it.

“For what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For being here,” he replied simply, his gaze holding yours.

The weight of his sincerity pressed against your chest, making it harder to breathe. Before you could respond, he leaned in, closing the distance between you. The world seemed to slow as his hand moved to cup your face, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your heart stutter.

Your breaths mingled, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips hovered so close to yours it was almost unbearable. You could feel the moment hanging on a fragile thread, teetering on the edge of something irreversible.

The room’s golden hues seemed to dim as the sound of the car horn echoed through the driveway, shattering the fragile intimacy between you and Taehyung. You jolted back, your heart pounding in your chest as if caught in an act of betrayal—though you hadn’t technically done anything wrong. Yet.

Taehyung sighed, his expression softening as he glanced toward the car behind him. “Looks like your knight in shining armor doesn’t know how to wait,” he said lightly, though there was a hint of tension in his voice.

You managed a shaky laugh, your hand gripping the strap of your bag tightly. “He’s just… overprotective.”

“Right,” Taehyung said, leaning back in his seat. His eyes met yours, warm and understanding, but with a flicker of something else—something that made your chest tighten. “Still, I meant what I said. Thanks for tonight.”

Before you could respond, the honk came again, sharper this time, as if Yoongi were making a point. You turned to glance at his car, the sleek black exterior glinting under the estate’s lights. Even from this distance, you could feel his piercing gaze locked on you.

“Goodnight, Taehyung,” you said hurriedly, fumbling with the door handle.

Taehyung smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You stepped out of the car and started toward the grand door, the cold evening air biting at your skin. Yoongi’s car door slammed shut behind you, and the sound of his footsteps was a quiet storm approaching. You didn’t dare look back, your heart a riot of guilt, frustration, and confusion.

“Princess,” Yoongi’s voice cut through the quiet, smooth and controlled, but laced with an edge you couldn’t ignore.

You stopped in your tracks, turning slowly to face him. He was already close, his dark eyes scanning your face like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. His suit was immaculate, as always, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his posture—shoulders just a little too stiff, jaw a little too tight.

“You’re back late,” he said, his tone deceptively casual.

“I went to see a movie with Taehyung,” you replied, keeping your voice neutral.

At the mention of Taehyung, Yoongi’s gaze flicked past you to the car that was now idling at the end of the driveway. You followed his line of sight and felt a pang of unease as his expression shifted. His brows raised slightly as he studied Taehyung through the window, his head tilting just enough to convey an air of quiet disdain.

And then he smirked—a slow, deliberate curl of his lips that sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the Yoongi you were used to seeing. In that moment, he was something else entirely: sharp, commanding, almost cruel. The kind of presence that demanded submission without a word.

“What did you say his last name was, princess?” he asked, still watching Taehyung with that same unsettling smirk. His tone was light, but there was something in it—something dark—that made your heart beat faster.

“Kim?” you replied thoughtlessly, your mind too preoccupied with wanting to escape the tension. “Why did you ask?”

Finally, he turned his attention back to you, his gaze softening just enough to make the moment feel surreal. The shift was so subtle, so practiced, that it left you second-guessing the sharpness you’d just seen. He reached out, his arm sliding around your shoulders with an ease that felt both natural and calculated.

“No reason, princess,” he said smoothly, steering you toward the grand doors of the estate. “Just… curious.”

The warmth of his arm contrasted sharply with the coldness that lingered in the air. It was disarming, the way he could shift so easily between roles—between the man you knew and the one you weren’t sure you ever wanted to meet again.

As he guided you inside, you cast one last glance over your shoulder. Taehyung’s car hadn’t moved, the figure inside still watching. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined the tension mirrored your own.

When the doors shut behind you, the weight of Yoongi’s presence beside you grew heavier. His hand rested lightly against your shoulder, his touch far gentler than the unease simmering just beneath the surface.

"Don’t you have better things to do than come to my dress fitting? Like, I don’t know, actually run your empire or something?" you asked, stepping out of the fitting room with a huff.

Yoongi sat sprawled on the plush sofa, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, a glass of champagne balanced effortlessly in his other hand. He looked utterly at ease, as if this boutique was his second home and not a place he had followed you to.

He shrugged, “Well, we can’t have you running away from me again, can we?”

“For the last time, I didn’t run away! I was in Paris because croissant sounded nice that day-”

“Sure, princess,” he agreed condescendingly. Yoongi’s gaze swept over you, lingering a moment longer than you expected. “On the other hand, you look immaculate in that dress,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You’re going to make the rest of the gala feel underdressed.”

Heat crept up your neck at his words, but you quickly masked it with a scoff. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Yoongi. Save it for the boardroom or—better yet—for her.”

He raised an eyebrow, swirling the champagne in his glass as if you hadn’t just tried to divert the conversation. “Her?” he echoed, tilting his head with mock curiosity.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yes, her. The one you met in the previous ball? The waitress? The one you’ll be introducing to your family at the gala, remember? Does she ring a bell?”

“We’re still talking about that?” Yoongi asked, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned back into the plush sofa. The glass of champagne in his hand tilted slightly, catching the light as he swirled the golden liquid. “Why are you so invested in my relationship with her?”

“I’m just concerned and curious as a friend.”

He chuckled softly, setting his glass down on the table beside him. “Curious, huh? And here I thought you were just jealous.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Jealous?”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving yours. “You keep bringing her up. You’re obsessed with the idea of me introducing her to my family, of me texting her. You sure this isn’t just about you not wanting to share me?”

Your face burned, and you turned away, pretending to adjust the dress in the mirror. “You’re ridiculous and I refuse to discuss this further,” you muttered. “I’m going to buy this!” You announced before stalking back to the fitting room to avoid wondering about why your heart was skipping a beat and why you shouldn’t venture into that.

You were huffing as you tried to reach for the zipper behind you when the curtain suddenly opened and Yoongi stepped in, making the room felt impossibly small. You instinctively turned your back to him, clutching at the unzipped dress as though a protection against whatever this was.

“What are you doing here?!”

Yoongi leaned casually against the side of the fitting room, his smirk firmly in place. “Helping you, obviously,” he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I don’t need your help!” you snapped, tugging at the zipper yourself but struggling to reach it.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said smoothly, taking a step closer. His fingers brushed against yours as he gently moved your hand away. “Relax, princess. I’ll take care of it.”

You froze, your heart pounding as his hands moved to the zipper. His touch was surprisingly delicate, his fingers grazing your back as he carefully pulled the zipper up. The sound of the zipper seemed deafening in the silence.

“There,” he said softly, his voice low and close to your ear. “All done.”

You were about to turn around when he stopped you. You met his dark eyes through the mirror, and the intensity in his gaze held you captive. His hands lingered lightly on your shoulders, warm against the smooth fabric of the dress. There was something unreadable in his expression—a mix of curiosity, amusement, and something far deeper that you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re very beautiful, princess. Do you know that?” he whispered, resting his chin on your delicate shoulder.

“Yoongi, what are you doing?”

He was quiet for a moment as though in contemplation whether to say what he wanted to say. Like in the manhwa, Yoongi was calculating. He never did anything without a reason, one of which would benefit him. “I had a nightmare the night after the ball,” he finally confessed, his voice low and almost distant, as if recalling something that lingered in his mind. “We were on the yacht. I think it was a party. You were there… She was there. I was there. And the yacht… it slammed into a rock. The two of you were thrown off.”

If he felt your body went rigid, he didn’t mention. He never broke eye contact, his arms around your waist as he told you of his dream. The one exactly what happened in the manhwa– the one where the main lead chose to save the main female lead first, only to find out the it was already late for the second female lead.

His body was so close that you could feel the slight tremble in his arms as he spoke, his fingers grazing your waist with the same careful intensity.

You met his gaze in the mirror again, and something twisted in your stomach. There was an almost predatory look in his eyes, but there was something else too—something far more vulnerable, raw. He didn’t break eye contact, and his grip on you tightened just slightly, as though he wanted to hold on, as though he was afraid you’d slip away.

“In my dream,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “I saw you die because I saved her first. It felt so real, like I was remembering something that already happened.” He paused, and you felt the weight of his words sink in. “Why would I save her first when I know I can’t lose you?”

 “It’s just a dream…” you tried to console him. How could he remember something that happened in the ending? Was the barrier between the characters and the plot weakening? What was changing? And how could you go back to your own world when he was holding onto you so tight as though if he looked away, you’d disappear?

“It is, right? It’s not going to happen... I’ll make sure of it.”

December came.

It was the month you were both dreading and anticipating. You were almost at the end of the story, and so far, you did your absolute best to let their love story unfold without a second female lead antagonizing it. You did your part by staying away from them. One problem though, the male lead was not acting like he was written in the manhwa. He was not acting like a man in love should be to her. Instead, he was out there sticking to you like

It was safe to say that Min Yoongi went rouge.

You did not know what to expect in the annual gala. You no longer have the upper hand. You were in the blind as though you were a real character and no longer a reader. You feared that the longer you stayed in this fictional world, the more likely that you’d be incorporated in the story and no longer as a second female lead that could just easily disappear.

You needed answers on how to escape from this fictional world. Answers eluded you. Worse still, so did the only person who seemed to see you for who you were. Taehyung. Since that night, not once did Taehyung answer you calls nor respond to your numerous messages. You tried asking your trusted staff about him, but even they were mummed. It was only your closest maid who whispered to you what transpired and how Taehyung’s budding business empire had crumbled overnight, crushed under the weight of lawsuits—tax evasion, fraud, and other accusations you couldn’t fathom. The news left you hollow. You hadn’t seen this coming. The man who had been your one source of normalcy, the one who made you feel like a real person instead of a pawn in someone else’s story, had disappeared into the shadows of scandal. You thought to yourself that maybe you really didn’t know him at all and that it was best to just focus on how to once and for all, leave this universe.

But who could you ask?

You continued anxiously tapping your heels on the marbled flooring, observing the guests. You were in the corner, trying to hide in the shadows so you could freely look for her. He would be bringing her, right?

Where is she?

Your eyes scanned the room again, trying to keep your presence hidden in the shadows. The guests were mingling, lost in the glitter of conversation and champagne. Laughter bubbled up in the air, but none of it felt real. Not like it should have. None of this was real, in fact. This was a fictional world where you were stuck in.

You wondered what would happen if you stopped playing her role. But before you could dwell on that thought, the door opened again, and you stiffened. You were expecting to see the main female lead, yet instead, it was Yoongi. The man of the hour. He entered the room and all the guests he passed greeted and congratulated him for setting another record in his empire, yet his eyes always returned to you. Where was she? This was not supposed to be like this. Yet, you knew in the back of your mind that something integral changed. You were in denial about how you no longer had control over this, that you might as well be truly in the story now, no longer an observer, no longer able to hide behind the pages of the manhwa.

You stepped back involuntarily, no longer feeling the courage you had faked for so long. You lost control. You had to find a way out. However, when you slipped away and turned the corner, you bumped into an old, yet dignified woman. You bowed in apologies when it dawned upon you.

You have seen her before.

Slowly, your eyes lifted to hers. You knew her. She was the woman who gave you the manhwa… How was she in this world?!

Your mouth hanged agape as the corner of her lips lifted, her eyes crinkling when she saw the dawn of recognition on her face. “I told you reading it will change your mind.”

“It’s you,” you whispered, taking an unsteady step back. Your eyes darted over her, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t belong in this world. “H-how… How are you here? What’s going on? Y-you have to help me. Why am I here? How can I leave?!”

She studied you for a moment, her gaze steady, unreadable. “You’re here because someone wants you here, dear.”

“I don’t want to be here! I want to go back.”

Her head tilted slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “But why? What do you have in your old life that you so desperately want to return to? Aren’t you alone there? Didn’t you have no one to love you?”

“That’s not the point!” you shot back, a tremor running through your voice. “And it’s not different here. No one loves me—no one even knows the real me.”

Her smile deepened, a glint of something—mischief, perhaps?—in her eyes. “Ah, but who do you think was desperate enough, filled with enough sorrow, to pull you into this universe?”

Your breath caught, confusion clouding your mind. “I… I don’t understand.”

“When she died,” the woman began, her voice lowering, as if unveiling a truth long buried, “the manhwa ended. But did you think the characters would simply cease to exist? No, dear. They continued, burdened by the pain of their story. Yoongi was devastated. He regretted everything—every word, every choice, every moment that led to her death. He mourned her. His sorrow was so great, it transcended the story’s limits and reached you.”

Your head spun. “Me?” you repeated weakly, disbelief dripping from your voice.

“Dear, you are her. Just in a different universe. It’s the reason why you sided with her, why you felt for her, why her character called on you, why her pain felt like your own. You are her.”

“I don’t want to be her,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose this. Please—just send me back to my own universe.”

The woman sighed, her expression softening, though her eyes retained their strange, knowing glimmer. “The only way out,” she said slowly, “is through. The manhwa will only release you when its story ends. And you know how it ends, don’t you?”

A cold realization began to settle in your chest. “When he marries the female lead,” you murmured, dread weaving through every syllable. Your words hung in the air, heavy and final.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, breaking your trance. You barely had time to gather your thoughts before a familiar voice cut through the suffocating stillness.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you. What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s low, commanding tone sent a jolt through you, but it was his grip—firm but not harsh—as his hand closed around your arm that made your breath hitch.

You turned to face him, his dark eyes locking onto yours. They were intense, holding a darkness that made your stomach churn. Something simmered beneath his composed exterior, something unsettling.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, your voice unsteady.

His lips quirked into a small, unreadable smile. “I just arrived, princess,” he said, the pet name rolling off his tongue like silk. “What are you doing here? Alone?”

“I…” You hesitated, your mind racing for an excuse. “I was just talking to—”

When you turned back, the old woman was gone.

Your heart sank, panic surging through you. The corridor where she had stood moments ago was now empty, as though she had vanished into thin air.

Yoongi frowned, his grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Talking to who?” he pressed, his voice dropping.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but the weight of it was crushing. “No one,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “She must’ve left before you got here.”

Yoongi looked down at you, his expression calm, his gaze steady. Yet, something about the way he held himself—the deliberate gentleness, the faint curve of his lips—made unease coil tightly in your chest. A part of you whispered that this tenderness was a mask, that he wasn’t as naïve or benign as he seemed.

But then he smiled.

It was a tender smile, soft around the edges, and for a fleeting moment, your doubts dissolved like mist under the morning sun.

“Let’s get back to the party, princess,” he said, his voice a soothing balm against the tension humming in your veins. “Your parents arrived.”

Your steps faltered. “My parents?”

The mention of them sent a jolt through you. They were a peripheral presence in the story, barely more than a footnote in the manhwa’s narrative. They were always overseas, managing their company, distant figures who left their daughter to fend for herself. Their absence was a plot device, a catalyst for your dependence on Yoongi.

But now, they were here.

“W-why are they here?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your effort to steady it.

Yoongi stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His expression didn’t change, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes softened, like he was trying to calm a skittish animal. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone quiet yet resolute.

The words only made your pulse quicken. He offered his arm to you, his demeanor so effortless, so composed, as though he hadn’t just upended everything you thought you knew about the storyline. “Shall we?”

Were you imagining things, or were the guests’ gazes lingering just a little too long as you and Yoongi re-entered the ballroom? Conversations paused, eyes flickering in your direction, a murmur of whispers spreading like ripples across the sea of elegantly dressed attendees.

Yoongi, as always, was composed. His hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with an ease that belied the tension curling in your chest. You tried to focus on the glittering chandeliers, the music, the familiar opulence of the space, but the weight of the stares made it impossible.

“There’s our little girl!”

The warm, dignified voice cut through the hum of the crowd, pulling your attention to its source. Your mother stood near the edge of the room, resplendent in a gown that rivaled the grandeur of the occasion. Her face lit up with delight as she strode toward you, arms outstretched.

“Y-you’re here…” you stammered, shock rendering you momentarily immobile as she pulled you into an embrace. Her movements were graceful yet firm, as though she’d been waiting for this moment.

“Of course, we’re here,” she said, stepping back to study your face, her smile warm but tinged with something calculating. “Why wouldn’t we be? It’s not every day that our dear daughter gets engaged.”

Your heart raced, panic rising as you tried to process what was happening. “I… I don’t understand,” you managed, your voice trembling as you looked between your parents and Yoongi.

Yoongi stepped closer, the warmth of his hand on your back turning into a subtle yet firm pressure. His voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for your ears, as his sharp eyes held yours in an unrelenting gaze.

“It’s all been arranged, princess,” he said softly, his words almost tender but laced with steel. “Your parents and mine have been discussing this for some time. They thought tonight was the perfect opportunity to make it official.”

Your heart pounded in protest, the world around you narrowing to just him and the enormity of what he was saying. “I didn’t agree to this,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “This is wrong! You don’t want this, Yoongi. You have her. And I—”

“You what?” he interrupted sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You have Taehyung?”

“No!” you snapped, shaking your head. “This isn’t about him. This is about them deciding for us. This is about tying your life to mine when you don’t even want to!”

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning but without any real humor. “Who says I don’t want to?”

“Yoongi—”

“Look, princess,” he cut you off, his voice soft but commanding. “We just have to act like we’re going along with this. Just pretend. Can you do that for me?”

Your breath caught, and you searched his face for some hint of his true feelings. But all you found was a calm determination that left you more uncertain than ever.

The murmur of the crowd reached you, the polite applause growing louder as you turned toward the center of the room. Yoongi extended his hand, his posture exuding confidence and charm as he guided you toward the raised platform where your parents and his waited.

The spotlight followed the two of you as you ascended albeit reluctantly, every step feeling heavier than the last. The room seemed to hush, the weight of their expectations bearing down on you.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Yoongi began smoothly, raising his glass in a toast. His voice carried easily, commanding the attention of the entire ballroom. “Tonight is a special night, not just for our families, but for me. I’m honored to announce my engagement to this incredible woman beside me, my childhood best friend, the only woman who have never left my side. I cannot live without her, and soon, I’ll never have to.”

The applause erupted, deafening and overwhelming. You felt trapped, the walls closing in as Yoongi turned to you, his smile perfectly composed for the crowd.

“Shall we make it convincing, princess?” Yoongi murmured, his voice low and unreadable, carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place. 

Before you could respond, he cupped your face with a gentleness that felt at odds with the deliberate precision in his movements. His touch was warm, grounding, yet it sent a jolt through you—a mix of dread and something far more dangerous. 

Your breath hitched. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you think Min Yoongi—the composed, untouchable Min Yoongi—would lower his head to capture your lips. Even more unthinkable was the way his kiss shattered every expectation, unraveling something deep within you. 

Yoongi kissed like a man starved. His lips moved against yours with a consuming intensity, a hunger that left no room for hesitation. It wasn’t gentle or tentative; it was deliberate, almost punishing. He took and took, claiming you with every movement of his mouth. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing and demanding at the same time, leaving you breathless. 

His free hand cradled your face, tilting it to him as if to ensure you couldn’t escape—not that your body seemed capable of responding. Your knees felt weak, your heart thundered in your chest, and the noise of the crowd faded into an inconsequential blur. 

For a moment, there was only him. 

The crowd erupted into applause, the sound jolting you back to reality. The cheers and whistles surrounded you, the noise pressing in like a tidal wave. You blinked, realizing that your hands had gripped the fabric of his jacket, as though anchoring yourself to him. 

Yoongi pulled back slowly, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes were dark, burning with something you couldn’t decipher. His lips curled into a faint, triumphant smile, as if he knew exactly what effect he’d had on you. 

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he took your hand in his. The velvet box you hadn’t even noticed being opened now sat empty in his other hand. And then, before you could process what was happening, there it was—a massive diamond glinting on your finger, its size almost blinding under the ballroom lights. It was familiar. How could it not when it was the same ring he won in the auction?

Why did he have this now? When was this entire fiasco prepared?

Your chest tightened as you stared at the ring, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should have. 

Yoongi raised your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. To the crowd, it was the perfect picture of a devoted fiancé. But to you, it was something far more unnerving. 

“You wear it well,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. 

The applause swelled around you again, the sound nearly deafening as you tried to steady your racing thoughts. 

This wasn’t part of the story. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

But Yoongi, ever the master of control, seemed to have rewritten the script entirely. And you were left standing in the middle of his narrative, unable to tell where the performance ended and the truth began.

The evening air outside was cool and calm, a sharp contrast to the warmth and chatter of the grand party you had just left behind. As the crowd dwindled and the night settled, Yoongi offered you his arm, escorting you toward his sleek black car. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and his dark eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual.

The night seemed to be endless. You were never left alone even for a moment. You wanted nothing more than to lie down and plan your next step. You had to, or else you were stuck here.

“I’m sorry I missed your speech,” you said as the car pulled away from the glowing mansion. “I’m sure it was great.”

He glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s fine. You’ll always be here to hear my next speech anyway.”

You returned his smile, but it was brittle, not quite reaching your eyes. Had your plan succeeded, this would be one of your last moments with him. You’d return to your world, leaving this Yoongi—and this universe—behind. The thought tightened something in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

“I’m sorry about the sudden engagement, princess.” His voice was soft, laced with what sounded like regret, but his eyes told a different story. “My hands were tied. Our families went behind our backs, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Lies. All of it.

What you didn’t know was that Yoongi had orchestrated everything. He had whispered into the right ears, pulled strings behind the scenes, and crafted a perfect storm to ensure this engagement would bind you to him. He didn’t care what the truth was, whether or not you were from this world. He cared about one thing only—keeping you by his side.

Something in him had shifted the moment he realized how easily you could slip away. The very idea of losing you—to this world, to Taehyung, to anything—was unbearable. It drove him to actions he never thought himself capable of, cruel and unapologetic. Taehyung was out of the picture now, his budding empire crushed under the weight of scandal. Yoongi had ensured that, and he felt no remorse.

What mattered was you.

You offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes because if what you were planning was successful, you’d return to your own world and he’d be left in this universe. Yoongi quietly offered you a champagne as the driver smoothly drove back to the mansion.

“Are we celebrating something?” you asked, eyeing the sparkling liquid.

“Just…for always, princess,” he said softly, the words carrying an undertone you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, but took the glass, sipping the sparkling liquid. The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of shared humor, mutual interests, and a surprising depth of understanding. With each exchange, you were reminded of why you had felt drawn to Yoongi in the first place. For all his intensity and mystery, he was undeniably charming, and being with him felt easy in a way you hadn’t expected.

The spirit of alcohol definitely made you forget about the ruckus that happened tonight. If he said that he didn’t have anything to do with it, who were you to question him when he was characterized in the manhwa as someone who was good?

Your conversation with him was fun. It was grounding.

Until the world began to tilt.

Dizziness crept over you, subtle at first but quickly overpowering. Your fingers loosened around the champagne flute as your head grew heavier, and before you knew it, your cheek was pressed against his shoulder.

“Yoongi…” you murmured, your voice weak as you leaned against him.

He steadied you, his hand moving to cradle your head as you slumped against his shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of finality.You tried to sit up, to stay awake, but your body refused to cooperate. Everything blurred together, and then, there was nothing.

Yoongi’s hand moved to steady you, his touch gentle as he adjusted your position so you rested more comfortably against him. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, before shifting his gaze toward the driver.

“To the airport,” he instructed, his voice calm but firm.

The driver nodded without hesitation, changing course.

Yoongi turned his attention back to you, his jaw tightening as he studied your sleeping face. He’d heard everything earlier—the old woman’s cryptic words, your desperate plea to leave, and your determination to escape this world.

It all made sense. The nightmare that brought terrors in his heart really happened. You died because of his foolishness, because he chose someone else over you when he knew he couldn’t survive a world without you. It had been like living his worst nightmare all over again, the fear of losing someone he wasn’t ready to let go. But this time, he refused to let it happen.

He wasn’t a religious man, but your presence in this universe felt like a miracle—a second chance, no matter how strange or impossible. Whether you were the original her or not didn’t matter. You were here. You were his.

And he wouldn’t let you leave.

His gaze darkened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly.

“You’re not going anywhere, princess,” he murmured softly, more to himself than to you.

The first female lead was no longer his focus. She was gone.

Now, it was you.

And Yoongi would do whatever it took to keep you by his side—even if it meant tying you to him so tightly you could never untangle the threads.

[lacroixqueen]

you're too pretty to kill (18+, noncon)

deadpool x fem!reader

Summary: deadpool was hired to kidnap and kill reader but reader is just too cute so it puts him in a moral dilemma

Pairing: fem!reader x deadpool

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Tags: bondage, brat, gun kink, gun play, praise kink

You loved days when you could just rollerblade around the city without so much as a care in the world. The feeling of the warm summer breeze running through your hair. Watching as the lights zipped by like dust lost in the wind. You wish you could do this forever. After all, it was your peace, your one true happy place. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Out of nowhere, you felt an arm wrap around your waist and a leather glove holding a handkerchief cover your nose and mouth. 

You tried your best to fight whoever your assailant was back, pulling on his wrist in a desperate attempt to rip it off your face. But before you knew it, you felt your vision blur and your head begin to spin. It felt like the world was melting right before your very eyes. 

Next thing you knew, you woke up to a sea of black. You could feel a piece of fabric cloaking your vision and tied securely behind your head. You tried to move your hand to hoist yourself up, only to find that both your hands were roped together behind your back. You tried to scream into the void, only to find that your mouth was sealed with a piece of tape.

“Mmfffhn!” you managed to sputter out, leaning against what felt like a cold, concrete wall. In fact, it was quite chilly wherever you were. Was it a basement? Warehouse? Regardless, you were shivering from head to toe. The tiny crop top and mini skirt you threw on this morning before going rollerblading was just not cutting it, unfortunately. 

You quickly snapped your head in the direction of what sounded like heavy footsteps and… clapping?

“Well, well, well,” a sly voice rumbled from the opposite end of the room. “Now what do we have here?” 

The unknown person gradually made his way over toward you, knelt before you, and removed your blindfold and gag. 

You looked up, only to lock eyes with what you could only describe as two white ellipses, narrowing ever so slightly amidst the shadows. Your eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness. 

“Such a shame,” your captor sighed to himself. “You’re so pretty too. As in, way prettier than most of my other victims. Normally my clients pay me big bucks to knock out assholes with beer bellies, bad breath, and a name on the registry but you.” He made a rectangle with his thumbs and index fingers as if to take your photograph. “You are perfect.”

“Wh-what are you going to do with me..?” you stammered, almost too afraid to ask. You never took your eyes off of him. He was tall, lanky, even. Dressed in all red and black. You took note of the gun in his holster and the two massive swords strapped behind his back.

“Oh, nothing to write home about,” he assured, ruffling up your hair like you two were childhood best friends. “Well, I guess if you are really dying to know. Someone important wants you dead. So I guess you could say, I, being one of if not the most popular hitmen on the black market, was hired to.. Uh, what’s the word, kill you! Yeahhhh, that sounds about right.”

“I don’t understand,” you muttered to yourself. “All my life, I can’t think of a single thing I did that could possibly warrant this, I mean.. why me?”

“Oh how tragic,” Wade remarked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear while a tear slowly rolled down your cheek. “I mean, who in their right mind would want to kill someone like you? You are the literal picture perfect definition of the girl next door who wouldn’t hurt a flea. It would take a psychopath to even dream of such a thing!”

You glared at him while he carried on his little performance. “Don’t mock me.”

“Oh.” Deadpool stopped mid-sentence as he lifted up your chin with the tip of his index finger. “So it’s going to be like that, then.”

He leaned back slowly, only to gingerly remove his pistol from its holster. 

“Tell me, Y/N..” he whispered softly. “Have you ever held a gun before?”

“I.. no..” you replied, gasping as he pressed the cold barrel against your cheek. 

“Would you say you’ve ever, oh I don’t know, felt it on your skin?” he teased, dragging it across your neck and collarbone. He took notice of how you swallowed the lump in your throat nervously, and the way your lip quivered ever so slightly. 

“Or what about in your mouth..” his voice suddenly took a dark turn as he shoved the front of the handgun in between your lips, forcing it into the back of your throat. 

You felt your blood run cold. At first, it all felt like some sort of a game. Like one sick, twisted joke. But now, it suddenly became real. 

Wade was absolutely giddy, watching your soft, plump lips part open and accept the icy metal. He liked seeing how your pink tongue was forced still and how you squirmed like a helpless animal he had total control over. And the adorable little noises you made when your mouth was full. It delighted him in a way even he couldn’t explain. 

“Would you say you’ve ever.. choked on one?” he said, barely being able to contain his laughter. Without another word, he pushed the pistol even deeper, causing it to squeeze against your uvula, eliciting your gag reflex. 

“Whghnnn..” you muffled out, trying your best to mentally distance yourself as far away from this entire ordeal as possible. Your mind was racing at a pace you couldn’t keep up with. You were trying to formulate a plan, something, anything to have him show you mercy. 

“Wow, you really are so good at this,” Wade mumbled, not relenting at all as he continued to shove the gun further down your throat. “Definitely better than I thought. Hey, do you like practice or something? Because God, you are a natural! If I weren’t about to kill you right now, I’d hire you on the spot.”

You rolled your eyes at the innuendo. 

Realizing he wasn’t getting any further reaction from you, Deadpool slowly removed the pistol from your lips, watching with glee as a string of saliva connected your tongue from the tip of the barrel. 

He then proceeded to drag the side of the handgun across your chest, over your bare stomach, and finally, resting on the waistband of your skirt. 

“So.. Y/N was it?” Deadpool rambled on, as he played with the pleats of your skirt with his free hand. “Right. You know, I would say I don’t have a lot of weaknesses in this world, wouldn’t you agree? So anyways, after I got mutated and all fucked up from that bastard Francis and became who I am now, there’s very little out there that truly phases me these days. But this..”

He gestured towards your pastel pink miniskirt. “This is something else.” 

And with that, he gently lifted up the cloth with the front of his gun to reveal your lacy magenta underwear.

“A thong! Boooold,” he commented, pressing the cold metal of the barrel right up against your labia. “I was wondering if you were wearing something underneath, and this answers the question. God, that’s hot. You know what’s hotter, though? One of my best friends, Logan. There’s just something so je ne sais quoi about that beautiful man. Anyways.”

Your breath hitched. Suddenly, a wave of goosebumps cascaded over your skin, and it was like the world just stopped making sense. Why did this suddenly feel sort of.. good? Minus the incessant yapping and endless sidetracked one-sided conversation, you wanted more. More of whatever this was. 

And Wade granted your wish. He pulled the fabric of your thong to the side with his other hand and gently prodded your clit with the tip of his pistol. 

He was taken aback when you moaned softly at the sensation. 

“Oh?” he said as he raised an eyebrow.

He pressed the gun even harder onto your pink pearl, eliciting another sigh. 

“Huh. Color me impressed,” he muttered. “This entire time I thought you were fighting for your life but you are actually enjoying this? You dirty little slut! And here I thought you were prim proper little miss perfect..”

“Why.. why are you stopping?” you breathed, a splash of pink brightening up your cheeks, causing him even more of a surprise. “Just keep.. Keep going.”

And to his own dismay, he obliged. 

“How would you feel if I did this?” Wade asked, but before you could even react, he had already shoved the barrel of the gun deep into your cunt. 

You tossed your head back in response, moaning helplessly as he pushed the pistol in and out of your swollen pussy.

“Ah, ah~” you cried out, instinctively spreading your legs open to allow him even more access.

“Now that’s a good girl!” he encouraged, taking note of your subtle invitation and pushing it even harder and deeper than he did before. “Wow. You know, this has been truly enlightening, Y/N. I never in a million years would have guessed you of all people would turn out to be a freak! And you, my friend, are the freakiest of the freaks.”

“I-I am not!” you protested, gasping as you felt the cold steel pushing heartlessly against your walls. “I like normal things too.”

“Uh huh,” Wade said as he continued to fuck your insides relentlessly with his gun. “And I am a three-headed sabertooth tiger named Richard. See? We can all tell lies to ourselves! It’s fun.” 

You could feel yourself practically melting into his hands, your soul floating into the ceiling until you heard it. The click. 

“Well, it has been real Y/N,” Deadpool sighed, his index finger resting comfortably on the trigger. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell had the time of my life! Shit, if we didn’t meet under these circumstances, we absolutely would have hit it off in another reality. As in, I would have fucked you in a multitude of positions in a variety of exotic outdoor locations! Unfortunately, however, the fun and games have to come to an end somehow. I mean, wouldn’t you agree?”

You felt as if your heart was about to both break and jump out of your chest simultaneously. 

“B-but..” you tried to reason with him. Not that it was any use, of course. “I really liked this..”

“I know, babe,” Wade cooed, his free hand snaking up and gripping around your throat tightly. “But if I don’t kill you now, I probably never will because you are just too cute. And sometimes I just can’t help myself but make stupid decisions.”

“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, looking up at him. 

Wade was just about to pull the trigger until you caught his eye.

“Aw, FUCK!” he shouted, immediately removing the gun from your dripping snatch. “Don’t.. don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you inquired innocently, tilting your head to the side. 

“That!” he exclaimed, gesturing towards your face. “Looking up at me with those big, stupid adorable eyes. You know I can’t help myself when you do that.” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you shrugged. “Besides, I thought you had already made up your mind. You sounded pretty sure of yourself after all.”

“You know, you really are a little shit, you know that?” Deadpool fired back, placing his hands on his hips. “God, and this was supposed to be sexy and dangerous, but you totally ruined the atmosphere.”

You smiled to yourself, self-assured in your victory. “Well, does that mean you are going to let me go?”

“Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself,” Wade responded, untying your ropes and smacking you on the ass as you stood up. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Before you walked out of the warehouse, you stood on your tippy toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek over his mask. “Thank you.”

“Go, GO!” he yelled, pushing you towards the exit of the dingy building. “And don’t come back.”

And as soon as you came, you were free. The moonlight poured through the cracks of the tree branches outside and lit up your face. The door slammed behind you in a dramatic fashion. And with that, you finally felt yourself settling into another moment of peace. 

[starlightsearches]

All Yours

"I'm going to fucking ruin you." / "I won't apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken." / "I don't want anyone else. No one can make me feel like you do."

@somethingvicked tagging you because I accidentally deleted the original ask 😬 just wanted to say thanks for the request and a big, fat SORRY for taking so long. i was scrolling through my drafts the other day and saw this was like a year old and the shame managed to motivate me enough to finish this. Ooops again and I hope you enjoy!! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always cherished 💖

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

AN: 18+ only!!!!!!, car sex, partially-clothed sex, piv, semi-public, titty worship, humping, dacryphilia, unwarranted jealousy, porn with a little plot, eddie's self-depricating at the beginning but he fucks like a god, very possesive! eddie, multiple orgasms, one (1) mention of pregnancy but it's off-hand and mostly unrelated to the sex, unprotected sex, I took the spirit of the prompts more than the literal wording, this is very different for me and maybe rushed? idk you tell me 🙃

Eddie always jokes that you're his second love.

His van—with its stained upholstery, rattling frame and the battery on its last leg—was here first, he says. And despite everything previously mentioned, he treats that car like his baby.

So when he slams his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the window, it wouldn’t take a genius to know something is up.

Eddie sits silently in the half-light, gripping at the steering wheel with both hands and gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin turns white.

"Everything okay?"

He won't even look at you when he shoves the key in the ignition.

"Sure," Eddie says, but there's a bite to his voice, quiet over the roaring grind of the starter, "why wouldn't it be?"

The car does start—despite his abuse to the engine—and you prop your feet up on the dash, raising your brows as he tears out onto the empty street.

"Ohhh-kay. Is this about—"

You don't even get a chance to take a guess.

"It's not about Steve."

Eddie spits Steve's name at the window and the passing trees, their leaves blurring into inky smudges. You watch his jaw tick, eyes flashing from the road to the rear-view mirror, but never to you.

His resolve falters with the press of your hand against his on the gearshift.

"Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask if this was about Patrick Swayze?”

The speedometer ticks up for a quick beat, and then drops, and Eddie squirms in his seat.

He steers off to the right, and the van shakes as the tires bump off the smooth pavement to the gravel edge of the road, little twigs snapping off on the trees outside against the fading paint.

"Fuck," Eddie grumbles, quiet, like he's having a conversation with himself. His fingers catch in his curls when he takes the other hand from the steering wheel. It's dark out here, away from the street lights, but you still catch the shine glazing his lower lashes, the way he blinks to keep any tears from pooling there.

"I mean, it's no big deal," you tell him, petting over his knuckles with your thumb, "I just wish you would have said something."

You're not sure what lies were spread to make sure the goofy little pre-teens didn't show up for movie night and try to break down Steve's door. You just knew that—for once—everybody piled on the couch in the living room was of legal age.

It seemed like an exciting prospect when the night started, but everything was pretty much the same: just more beer, and fewer voices shouting about whatever movie you were gonna watch.

Nancy and Robin were a united front when they pulled out Dirty Dancing, and you joined them, mostly to annoy Steve when he pretended he wasn't interested.

Eddie grumbled about the choice, arm slung around your shoulder, but he came around, eventually. Nobody can resist the allure of Johnny Castle.

However many beers you had may have been one too many, though, because as soon as the credits started rolling, Steve had yanked you from Eddie's grasp and onto your feet as Nancy and Robin were cheering jump jump jump and you ran, stumbling into Steve's arms with a surprisingly powerful leap. Then you were floating, high above the living room with a bird's eye view of the crushed beer cans and Hostess wrappers littered over the carpet for one glorious second.

Until you landed in a giggling heap with Steve groaning beneath you, the room shaking with laughter to the point of tears, until Robin threatened to pee her pants.

Now that you've sobered up a little, you recognize that Eddie hadn't been laughing along.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest, eyes big as saucers, pathetic like a little dog who's about to get yelled at for pissing on the couch, and he twists the hand that's resting beneath yours until your fingers intertwine, gives you a squeeze—a move you recognize as an apology before he's got the words for what he's feeling.

"You know I'm not interested in Steve, right?" you ask, squeezing back.

Eddie nods, but his eyes tell a different story. He carries this thing with him—a kind of self-conscious bewilderment each time you reach for him in a crowd, press your lips to his, call him your boyfriend when there are people around to hear it.

It's kind of funny how much it doesn't make sense to you, how you assumed that, deep down, Eddie knew that you loved him, but also how badly you wanted him. That it wasn't some kind of fluke or coincidence or apathy that kept you here.

Eddie's breath catches in his chest, like he's trying not to cry, and you know you were wrong. You're not doing nearly good enough a job at making Eddie feel half as loved as he is.

You slip your hand from his, resting it just above his knee—an innocent start for your more illicit plans—scooting in your chair until you're almost nose to nose, lower your voice into a whisper.

"I'm serious, honey. You've got nothing to worry about."

Your plan is working already. Eddie swallows hard enough you can see his adam's apple jump in his throat, and his gaze keeps flickering from your eyes to the hand you've got on his thigh, climbing higher with each soothing stroke.

"Yeah, I-I know, baby, it's just—" his breath hitches, but he's fighting to get the words out, wet lips parting with a heavy breath as your fingers travel higher, thumb in the crease between his thigh and his crotch, "it's Steve Harrington."

His voice jumps an octave on Steve’s name, and your quiet laughter comes out in little breaths.

“I don't want to talk about Steve Harrington."

Your words hit his mouth in a puff of hot air, and Eddie gasps into the kiss that follows, moaning a little when your palm meets the zipper of his jeans and his swelling cock beneath. The tip of his nose digs into your cheek, one of his big hands finding your waist, trying to pull you closer, or as close as he can with the center console in the way.

"God, baby. Need you- need you so bad," he huffs, but you’re already breaking from the kiss, lifting your hips from the seat as you crawl into the space between Eddie’s warm chest and the steering wheel.

“Then you can have me,” you tell him, settling your weight in his lap, grasping around for the lever that’ll give you a little extra space. The seat rattles back until it stops with a heavy clunk, and Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep quiet when your body lurches into his.

He won’t meet your eyes, looking out the blackened windows, checking the car like somebody’s gonna pop out from the back seat.

“What? Uh, I mean—like, here?”

You take Eddie’s face in both your hands, relishing the scratch of the sparse stubble peppering his jaw. Out of habit, his hands come to rest on your thighs, and you hum in approval.

“Whenever–“ you whisper, shifting your hips back just to bring them forward again, the crotch of your jeans meeting the bulge in his, rattling the chains hooked to his belt loops. Eddie’s neck goes taut, head pressed back against the seat.

“Wherever– “ you place your lips at the delicate skin he’s revealed, just brushing along the column of his throat. When you meet his eyes again, Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.

“And however you want me, Eddie. I’m all yours.”

“You’re all mine,” he repeats back to you, and his hands echo the sentiment, his confidence growing as he moves around to grip at your ass cheeks, pulling you more fully against him until he can grind up on you, his lips at your neck now, planting messy kisses at the edge of your throat that have you digging your fingers into his hair just to keep him there.

Your boyfriend's got a big dick—fucking hung like a horse, although he doesn't seem to know it, and he's already throbbing and heavy in his jeans, bucking his hips into you like he's trying to get you pregnant before he’s even inside you.

"Eddie," you sigh his name, just to admire the feeling of it, and he lets out a groan that has you dripping, the damp fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt and dragging over your clit with each shift of his hips.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, and you hardly notice his hands at the zipper on your jacket, trailing it down, down, down until he can slip it from your shoulders, gripping at your tits through your tank top.

"You feel so—fuck," he's cut you off mid-sentence, pulling the neckline of your top down until your breasts are free, nipples already pebbling in the cool air. Eddie pinches one of them in between two fingers, the metal of his rings biting at the other until you gasp.

"Yeah?" he repeats, harder this time, the word mumbled into your tits. Eddie's smothering himself, licking and kissing and teething his way as he moves to replace one of his hands with his mouth over the dark, stiff peak.

He sucks the bud between his lips, glides his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sound of your moans fills the car, and suddenly the pressure of his cock isn't enough when there's so much fabric between you. You can't pull away, though, not with how his free arm has circled your waist, forcing the sway of your hips.

"Eddie," you call out again, but he just grunts, onto the other breast now, fucking devouring you in a way only he can.

He's not stopping, teeth scraping at your skin and his lips pursed, sucking the life out of you while his other hand pinches and flicks the other stiff bud, still damp with his spit.

It's almost frightening how close he's gotten you, and just from this—the movement of his hips and his worshiping mouth.

"Eddie."

There must be something different in the way you say it this time, because he listens, finally, snaking his hand down between your bodies, slipping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside until they reach the apex of your aching cunt. Your vision goes foggy, on the verge of tears from the relief of something solid pressed right up against your clit.

And his mouth doesn't stray from your tits, single-minded in a way only somebody like Eddie could be, sucking at your nipples until they both shine.

His fingers curl, perfect, sitting right where you need them as you grind and grind and grind your hips, brain turning to jelly with the way he's making you feel.

You feel Eddie's teeth bite a perfect circle on the inside of your breast, and that's what pulls you under.

You're practically screaming, and Eddie still won't stop, letting you ride out the perfect feeling of him, maybe hoping you'll remember this moment the next time Steve sees you. Just the idea of meeting up with your friends again after this has you flushing so deep you think you might combust right here.

The sparks fade slowly, your pussy still shaking and empty, wet enough you're sure you've soaked Eddie's fingers and he finally relents, his plump, pink lips tracing your collar bones, stopping at the edge of your jaw. He takes the delicate skin their between his teeth and sucks, hard.

That jolts you from your stupor. You press his head back, one hand on his forehead so you can make him look you in the eyes.

"Hey—that's gonna bruise."

You're scolding has no effect; Eddie's on a different plane now, cocky from making you cum so easily and still a little peeved from earlier, pressing past your hold on him until he can reattach himself to your neck.

"Not sorry," he tells you, marking you up between staccato shifts of his hips, "wanna make sure everybody knows you're mine."

It's impenetrable logic—you couldn't argue with him if you wanted to, and you really, really don't want to when he makes his way to your mouth, kissing you, his tongue against yours and his hot, heavy breaths, one hand balled in the fabric of your tank top at the middle of your back.

"Turn around," he tells you, guiding you into compliance with his hands at your waist, and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you'd end up on the ceiling if Eddie didn't keep his grip on you, pulling you tight against him until your back meets his chest.

It’s like he's touching you everywhere, hands on your hips and your tits and pushing your hair up off your neck—looking for more skin that he hasn't painted yet—so you're not prepared when the chair falls back, left breathless and unmoored, staring at the stained upholstery on the roof of Eddie's van.

"You good?" Eddie asks in response to the gasp you let out, urging your hips into the air as he tugs your jeans and your underwear down around your thighs.

You just nod, too desperate for any explanation, to say anything at all. Eddie's turned you stupid, has you whining into his neck when you lean your head back on his shoulder, looking up at his jaw with wild, tear-filled eyes.

"Gonna ruin you for anybody else, sweetheart," he tells you over the sound of his jangling belt, his hot cock pressed against your back. "Gonna make sure you never leave me."

You nod, fucking rabid when he shifts and you can finally feel the fat tip of his dick at your entrance, smearing the first taste of his cum over your lips.

"Nobody else, Eddie," you promise him, "just you."

Eddie takes his cock in his hand, teasing it over your pussy, nudging it against your clit until you jump in his arms. He grips tighter at your waist, holding you just under your tits to keep you still.

"Promise?" he asks.

The tears that slip down your cheeks and onto his neck must be answer enough, because Eddie slides inside you, just the tip, and the relief at even this small feeling of fullness has you crying out.

Eddie's thrusts are methodical and relentless, slow at first, but they build quickly, his hips slamming into you, his grunts from exertion and from pleasure low in your ear. And you're moaning, too, like putty against him, totally enraptured as you watch the muscles in his jaw flex, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline.

He keeps hitting this spot inside you, has you full to the brim, and you're so wet you half-wonder if your pussy juice is soaking into the seat.

It feels like the van is rocking with the force of his thrusts, steam collecting around the edges of the windows from your shared breaths. It’s obscene how in to this you are, how loud it sounds, the wet squelch of your poor cunt echoing around the interior of his van.

"You're gonna cum for me, baby," he tells you, "wanna feel you squeezing my cock."

Four of his fingers meet at the top of your thighs, rubbing steady circles over your clit. You think you might be screaming.

Eddie has you cumming like you're being raptured, twitching in his lap, tits bouncing as he fucks into you, deeper than before until your vision blacks out and you can't see or feel or think of anything but perfect Eddie Munson and his perfect fucking cock.

It's dark when you come to. Maybe he fucked you blind.

Your vision returns, though, just in time. Eddie's chest heaves beneath you, and he pulls out with a grunt, his cum and yours dripping down your thighs in a sight so lurid it's got you flushing down to your neck.

That's definitely going to stain the upholstery.

Eddie doesn't seem to care, stroking his heavy hands over your thighs, pulling your clothes back into place—gentle where they had been rough, his mouth dotting soft kisses against the back of your spine.

Eddie shifts you around in his lap, let's his big eyes find yours. Your fingers twine with his, and he laughs a little when you kiss at his knuckles.

"You know," Eddie says, cheeks pink and a stupid smile on his face, "now that I think about it, Dirty Dancing might be my new favorite movie. I mean, who doesn’t love Patrick Swayze?"

[miabebe]

Camp Seventeen: Chapter 1

Pairing - Afab!reader x ot13 (Reader x Seungcheol, Reader x Soonyoung for this Ch)

Word count - 13K

Genre - Greek Demigod AU! We’ve got crack, smut (tags for the chapter are under the cut), fluff , angst, hurt, comfort, all of it in this series, buckle up!

Chapter summary - It's been a week since you stepped foot in Camp Seventeen - as you navigated the days trying to wrap your head around the 13 boys, one's touch and another's voice start to become a bit too bothersome....

A/n - And the series has finally kickstarted! Please read the prologue before this! Big thanks to @okiedokrie and @c-oupsie for helping beta read this, y'all are the sweetest <3

I do have a taglist so comment on this post to be added! And if you enjoyed reading, please don't forget to leave feedback in the comments or tags - we've got lots of chapters to go and hearing thoughts really helps <3

Smut warnings - mutual masturbation, fingering, use of a very questionable dildo, is this considered cheating? Idk it's all blur here, jerking off, cum feeding, cum eating and I hope that's all?

“Fucking hell.” 

You mumbled, waking up the same way you had been for the last one week - startled and nearly jumping off your bed. 

While most people began their days to the ringing of alarm clocks (or roosters if they preferred the countryside), you regularly woke up to the sound of Seungcheol’s eagle screeching in your ear. 

Turning your head, you glanced at Zephyr perched on the window before it gave you a short nod of acknowledgement and flew off into the darkness. Yes darkness, because unlike most people, your day also began at 4 fucking am in the morning. 

Groaning and stretching, you sat up, holding back the large yawn that was threatening to pull you back to sleep. If Zephyr was here to wake you up, that meant you were late yet again and you hated that - you had done too many walks of shame to the training field and were in no mood to be conspicuously stared at by 13 boys as you stumbled over, carrying all your gear. 

Knowing you didn’t have enough time to drop by the washroom, you popped a mint and sprayed some deodorant before quickly grabbing your things and running out into the darkness. 

The sun was just starting to peek from between the mountains as the House Of Zeus became smaller and smaller behind you. Although you had a long list of concerns living with Seungcheol, an unbeatable advantage was how close his residence was to the training grounds. Still, you could somehow never manage to be punctual. By the time you reached, you were 15 minutes late and Seokmin had already begun the morning drills. 

“Two laps around the field newbie.” He muttered as you walked past him, habituated to receiving the same punishment everyday. 

While you begrudgingly jogged around the perimeter of the grounds, your mind wandered to everything and nothing that happened over the past few days. 

Life at camp so far had been…. strange. 

You would be lying if you said you were already accustomed to life here. You most certainly were not. And forget a week, not even a year could prepare you for what living in the wild was like. 

To begin with, there was no electricity here. That’s right, no lights, no air conditioning, no Internet, nothing. 

Member’s began their days at sunrise and ended it as sunset - after all nothing much could be done in the dim illuminance of the fire torches scattered all around the base. So of course for you, who functioned best from 1 to 3am, this archaic way of life was highly inconvenient. 

The only place that had even a trace of something technologically advanced was the Great Hall - some of the more brainy boys had managed to set up a small circuit for kitchen appliances, laundry machines, a small charging station and that was about it. Rumor was that Wonwoo's residence had its own circuit too, but no one could really confirm that intel - it was as though none of them had ever ventured into the House of Hades. 

And as though the lack of scientific inventions was not enough, showers…..were communal. Apparently it made more sense that water lines were directed to one common bath house rather than to each individual house. For them it was definitely more convenient to have the baths, jacuzzi and sauna all in one place, but for you that meant waiting everyday after training for the whole lot of them to be done washing up before you could do the same, with some privacy. 

Oh and speaking of privacy, in the last week you spent here, you had come to realize that in this all-boys-greek-mythology world, it was privacy that was the real myth. Obviously after years of living together the boys were close but sometimes, they were perhaps a tad bit too close - like the time you had walked in on Mingyu and Seokmin boxing in just their underwear or when Soonyoung and Seungkwan sat right next to you, loudly comparing their dick sizes. You usually drew the line at phallic discussions.

The one place on camp that perhaps gave you some alone time and space away from the mess that the boys were, was the library. Considering you had shifted the last year of your University to an online study, you had a shit ton of assignments to complete and that was the only place you were able to get anything done at all. It was like the boys didn’t even know the study building existed - no one cared enough to go there so yeah, maybe occasionally, you also allowed yourself to let down your hair, sing in your horribly off pitch voice and dance to beats from your walkman. Outside those four walls it was impossible for you to feel even a little peace and quiet. 

Surprisingly, not even the temple, which one would think would be a place of sanctity, was spared from the deviant actions of the boys. The altar was less a place of worship and more a place for bargains and exchange deals - it was the only way to connect to the gods, aka, the parents in Olympus. 

You had come to learn that just like the human world, not all God parents loved their kids the same - some members were regularly showered with gifts and goods, others would not receive so much as a response. You found yourself falling in the second half. Your father never cared for you in the human world and apparently, neither did your mother. 

Brushing off the thoughts of the woman you had thought was dead for the last 25 years, you wrapped up your punishment and joined the boys for morning exercises, ready to start yet another tiring day. 

“All done!” 

Joshua gave you a sweet smile as he stepped out of the bath house, rubbing the towel into his wet hair. Thanking him softly, you walked into the showers, stripped out of your clothes and turned on the hot water. The mud that Minghao had you rolling in today as part of combat training washed off as the heat worked to soothe your aching muscles. Lathering shampoo onto your scalp, you finally felt yourself relaxing, letting your favorite citrus smell take over your senses. Outside the bath house, you could hear Seungcheol raising his voice, instructing all the members to head for breakfast, loud footsteps following his words. 

Choi Seungcheol….. Living with him so far had been frustrating. 

When you first stepped into his residence, you told him that you’ve always lived alone so it might take you a while to adjust to living with someone and Seungcheol seemed to inwardly decide that giving you space was his life's purpose. After that, whenever you appeared before him, he politely greeted you and walked away. Whenever you stood as much as two feet near him he took a step back, like he didn't want to intrude on your personal space. Whenever you sat in his vicinity, he excused himself stating he'll give you some ‘me-time’. 

You wish he knew how much you were in fact craving for the exact opposite - You wanted Choi Seungcheol. God you so badly wanted him. 

It wasn't like you could just make a move on him because 

1.Hell no you didn't want him or anyone in this camp to realise just how (as Jihoon called it) thirsty you were and 

2. Seungcheol wasn’t just anybody, he was the leader. Members bowed to him when he walked by, even the companions, specially Patricia who listened to no one, obeyed him - anything and everything on this camp premises held him at the highest regard. You couldn't just walk up to such a man and tell him, “hey, you're hella hot and I'm hella attracted to you, I wish you would ravage me.”???? 

All you could hope was that Seungcheol somehow approached you on his own but that seemed questionable given the clear line he had drawn between the two of you. 

The one person you wished would actually draw a line was the first one to always cross it - Yoon Jeonghan. You knew he and Seungcheol were the same age and that they were close but you didn't understand just how close they had to be for Athena's son to barge into the leaders residence whenever he wanted? Even at times you were changing your clothes or lying casually on the bed in your night dresses that barely covered anything. 

The most infuriating part was Jeonghan did not ever apologize - he'd just laugh and walk away and you wanted to do nothing more than throw a shoe at him. For some reason he enjoyed getting on your nerves, he enjoyed making you angry and it wasn’t just you - in the last one week, it was evident that Jeonghan was a pain in everyone's ass but somehow they all adored him? You didn't get why they all seemed to love a man who always liked to pull their leg, never leaving any chance to fool them with his wit - you assumed they just preferred to be on his good side so all his harmless fun remained harmless. 

Even Joshua, who was one of the sweetest people you knew, seemed to have a soft spot for Jeonghan. 

When you asked him why he said before Jeonghan joined camp, Seungcheol was very uptight and ran the camp like a military barrack - it was the former’s pranks and carefree attitude that allowed members to be at ease. Though he was talking about Jeonghan, you knew what Joshua’s words truly reflected were his own good nature. He just seemed like the kind of guy who could do no wrong - like a pure, sweet soul. The days after you first arrived at camp it was Joshua who showed you around, guided you with everything and tried to make you feel at home. No one else really tried to get to know you as a person - they were all more interested about how and why you landed in their camp. 

It also helped that Joshua was extremely pleasant on the eyes - at times when you didn’t want to feel overburdened by thoughts, you loved to sit next to him and watch him work on his little craft for the day or write that new novel of his. Yes he was good looking and yes when he smiled, you felt dazzled, but it was his sweet disposition that made you choose his company over the other members.

On the days he would go off to the city for some work, the next best place you found yourself was on Jun’s farm. Not that he was particularly nice to you or anything, Jun was…. quiet. He seemed to always do his thing, not bothering anyone, only speaking when required. When the evenings rolled around, you liked to take Natalie on a walk to visit the man she had a big fat crush on. Honestly though, who wouldn’t have a crush on someone like Jun - though he was the one working in the fields, it was you who was sweating, just watching him. 

Although you did want to talk to him, try to get to know him a little bit, you chose not to - as someone who enjoyed the peace and quiet, you decided to let at least some member offer you that because guys like Soonyoung sure as hell could not. 

Soonyoung was…….. A teenager stuck in a man’s body. Oh yeah he was hot as hell - just the nice build with muscles popping in all the right places. He knew how to dress better than most people on camp too - if you had seen him somewhere else, you would have thought he was one of those cool kids you always saw on campus. 

But that image of him was destroyed the moment he sat on a Leopard and insisted it was a tiger. Over the last week, that was the predominant discussion between the two of you. That and his incessant flirting. Or rather, attempt to flirt. All he came across was cheesy, kinda humorous and loud. Extremely loud. 

Wonwoo on the other hand was as silent as the night. 

Most of the time you didn’t even know if and when he was around, it was like he was non-existent. The members too didn’t seem to bother much with what he did - you noticed he didn’t wash up with the others, often hitting the showers after you were done. He never came for any meals on time, he always stayed back, even after all the members dispersed for the day - he just seemed to function however he liked and no one questioned him. He never questioned you either - Not once did Wonwoo ever attempt to make conversation with you or even meet your eye. It was like he couldn’t care less and that wasn't very pleasant for you. 

Someone who seemed to care a lot though, was Jihoon. Oh Jihoo was quiet too, but somehow he had his eyes on everything. Everything you did, everything you saw, even everything you felt seemed to find its way into Jihoon’s radar - he just knew. It terrified you that he was able to see right through you but the good thing about Jihoon was that he generally kept his mouth shut and wasn’t too keen on discussing his observations. Regardless, his presence made you feel extremely conscious and a part of you often tried to not be alone with him, lest he could read your mind or something. 

As the last of the soap rinsed off you, you turned off the water and grabbed your towel, patting yourself down. Your body was sore and aching all over - Minghao said that was because you were not used to such combat routines and in a few months time you would get used to it but you weren’t really sure if you had it in you to tolerate all this for that long. 

You also still had no idea what exactly these skills were needed for but from the conversations you overheard, it sounded like some sort of competition? That was both unlikely and terrifying cause who really competed with swords and spears anymore but if it was true, then what the actual hell??? Minghao said he didn’t want to scare you with the details just yet and would explain everything when the time came. For now, you were to focus on building your core strength and basic self defense, in case the camp is ever attacked…. Yes, cause that is less scary, way to make one feel better. 

But that was the thing about Minghao - he did not have the habit of sugar coating things. He was honest with his feedback no matter how rude it sounded and though sometimes it did make you feel like shit, he also made sure to push you to do better. You knew if there was anyone you could approach for a real, unbiased opinion, it was him. 

The same could not be said for Mingyu though - everything that came out of his mouth was saccharine sweet to the point it actually annoyed you. There was no doubt he was a nice guy - he was handsome, goofy, really good with his hands, really really good with his brain but the same didn’t extend to his mouth. His style of getting your attention was to ceaselessly seek validation and unfortunately for him, you weren’t really someone who was great with words of affirmation. When he was not trying so hard to please though, Mingyu was truly the biggest sweetheart with the fattest, most caring heart you had ever come across - the kind one wanted to wrap in bubble wrap and tuck away safely. 

Seokmin too fell in the same category - the type who was so precious, it was hard to believe people like him even existed. The only reason you were able to survive these few weeks of training despite coming late was because Seokmin had your back every time Seungcheol wasn’t watching - allowing you to take breathers, overlooking the fact that you were doing less sets than you were supposed to, things of that sort. He was always sweet and calm, giving you soft smiles and sweet eye crinkles. 

With his members though, Seokmin was a whole different person - he was unnaturally loud, extremely energetic and all over the place. The problem was, you didn’t know which of the two was the real him. You weren’t really sure why but something told you Seokmin wasn’t the man he seemed like and a strange curiosity coursed through you every time you interacted with him. 

Seungkwan on the other hand was the exact opposite, he was exactly what he seemed like - always annoyed, unabashedly honest and unnecessarily snarky. In a way, you understood him - Seungkwan had the habit of taking on many things at once and keeping him unbelievably busy. In university, you too were like this - you took extra modules, signed up for multiple clubs, worked an internship alongside a couple of part time jobs and more. You liked to be occupied, to not allow yourself the room to think about what your life could have been otherwise. Maybe that’s why you saw yourself in Mr. Busy Boo - always roaming around with that bluetooth in his ear, attending some meeting or the other, frequently heading to the city to get work done - ‘rest’ was just not a word in his dictionary.

But even amidst all this business and even though his automated response was to snap back at people, he still managed to bond really well with the members despite having joined the camp only a few months before you had. It was like they all needed him to be their constant reality check. 

The one who you thought required his presence more than anyone was Hansol. A man like him whose entire personality was avoidant needed someone like Seungkwan who would drag him into everything forcibly. Hansol wasn’t like Wonwoo, who was unbothered, couldn’t care less and pretended like you didn’t exist. Hansol was well aware of your presence and chose to actively avoid you every time - if you remembered right, there were even instances when he had practically run away from you. Something was just weird about that guy. 

Perhaps the most normal of them all was Chan - actually he was just as loud and consistently blabbering much like some of the others but something about him made you feel very fond of him. Sure he was the same age as you but he felt like a child, always babied by his members, always grinning like a cheshire cat. And consequently, you too naturally babied him and Chan too enjoyed it - the two of you were perfectly content with your dynamic. 

If only you got that same feeling with everyone else……

As you grabbed your things and stepped out of the bath house fully dressed, Wonwoo was standing outside with a towel slung on his shoulder, scrolling through his phone. Without so much as looking at you, he walked past you, into the shower room, loudly shutting the door behind him. 

“Can you ever be on time?” Jeonghan sighed, handing you a plate of pancakes as you looked around realizing everyone was nearly done with breakfast. “It’s not my job to wait your table every morning.” 

“Until you lot arrange for me to have my own shower,”  You grabbed an apple, taking a bite into it as you sat at the extra long dining table. “I’m afraid this is exactly how late I will be everyday.” 

“You know what they say sweetie,” Soonyoung whisked the apple from your hand, taking a bite of his own. “If you can’t beat the crowd, join the crowd.”

You looked at him exasperatedly, knowing that he was just talking out of his ass. Maybe if it was someone else you'd be offended but seeing his childlike face and full cheeks, you were only mildly amused. 

“I'm more of the ‘don't join the crowd, let it follow you’ kinds.”

“Oh I'd follow you anywhere Y/n.” He sighed dreamily as you laughed, taking a bite out of your pancakes that were still too hot. 

“How about you start following your own girlfriend instead Kwon?” Minghao walked around the kitchen island shooting Soonyoung an unimpressed look. “Rumour is that she was seen outside the Dreamboys Disco and we all know exactly what one goes there for.”

“She's not my girlfriend anymore.” Soonyoung muttered. “We broke up.”

“Weren't you just planning an anniversary trip two days ago?” Seokmin looked at him quizzically. 

“Yeah then we argued over a location and she said it was better we broke up for a while.” 

“This is what, your third breakup this month?”

“Fifth.” He whispered sadly in a way that made you want to pat his back. “Sixth actually, if you count the one that lasted for 3 hours.” 

“I'll never understand these on again off again kind of relationships.” Seungkwan clicked his tongue, hurriedly grabbing a banana, balancing all the files in his hand. “The only thing it screams to me is disrespect.” 

“Okay Mr. Seung-I-am-the-son-of-Hera-and-marriage-is-the-way-of-life-Kwan” Soonyoung rolled his eyes. “Not every traditional relationship is healthy, and not everything unconventional is toxic.”

“Yes, except yours is both unconventional and toxic.” Seungkwan scoffed, raising his hand before Soonyoung retaliated. “I can’t care enough right now, tiger boy, I’m already late. We can reschedule your relationship counseling session sometime later.” 

“How about never?” Soonyoung grumbled as Seungkwan rushed off, attending a call on his bluetooth. “Who’s idea was it for him to join the camp again?” 

“Mine.” Seungcheol slid onto the seat across you, raising an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?” 

“Nope.” Soonyoung shook his head fast. “Absolutely not.”

Smirking just a little, Seungcheol turned to you, sliding a couple pieces of chicken breast off his plate onto yours. “You need to eat more Y/n, that little won’t last you through the day.” 

“Same goes for you..” Jeonghan mumbled, placing a bottle of protein shake near Seungcheol who gave him a grateful smile. From the corner of your eye, you saw Jun increase the portion of chicken to buy on the huge shopping list scribbled on the white board.

If there was anything you absolutely loved about this camp, it was the brotherhood. No matter what each member was like individually, as a team, they loved and cared about each other immensely. You weren’t really sure if and when they could extend the same for you but having lived alone nearly all your life, a part of you craved to be one of them, to be cared for like that. 

“I won’t be able to make it for the meeting tonight.” Wonwoo, as usual, strolled in much later than you and no one, as usual, had any complaints with that. In fact rather uncharacteristically nicely, Jeonghan handed him breakfast, shooting him a worried look.

“Why, what’s wrong?” 

“I need to drop by the headquarters today.” He sighed, sitting a couple of seats away from you. “There’s an important official coming and apparently my presence is needed.” 

“Will you be back by nightfall?” Seungcheol asked, looking concerned. You knew why he was worried - if Wonwoo wasn’t there on camp grounds at night that meant all the members had to take their places on the perimeter to guard overnight. Sleep was not an option that night. 

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replied, not looking up. “I will just have to miss out on the meeting for the lawsuit.” 

Right that meeting. The one you, Jeonghan and Wonwoo, had been trying to have for days now to sort out the biggest mess of your life. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem, Nonu.” Mingyu patted his shoulder, shooting you a wink. “Y/n has other plans with me today anyways.” 

You frowned confused as Mingyu clarified. “You were going to finalise your house plan so I could start construction, remember?” 

Oh yeah, you had that too. 

“Awesome, then I can go to the city today.” Jeonghan clapped cheerily, taking his apron off. 

“You don’t work today though…..” Jun muttered, looking at the shortage in the lunch boxes he had packed. 

“Don’t worry about food, I got some friends to meet over lunch.” The older man shot him a two-fingered salute before jogging out of the dining hall, earning Seungcheol’s tired sigh. 

“I can never keep up with him-” 

“Cab leaves in five!” Chan shouted, poking his head through the window. 

The members around immediately stuffed the last of their breakfast, grabbing their things hurriedly, rushing out to get the front seat in Chan’s car. Afterall, the ones behind had to squeeze to fit themselves in and the one hour bumpy ride to the city was not fun. From their collective groans though you could tell Jeonghan had called shotgun - the asshole was lucky as usual. 

Seungcheol downed the last of his breakfast with a fond laugh before turning to you. 

“Have a nice day Y/n, I’ll see you later.” 

You tried not to smile back at him too widely as your eyes followed him leaving the premises. When you turned back to your meal, you could feel a set of eyes keenly looking at you. Looking up, you saw Jihoon staring at you with a small smirk, his expression all knowing. Gulping, you excused yourself from there. 

You stared at the blueprint before you, humming skeptically. 

“Are you still not happy with the design?” Mingyu sighed, crossing his arms. 

“I don’t know.” You drawled. “Something about it feels….off.” 

“Something about your own design that you made for your own house feels off?” 

“Gyu.” Joshua chastised, standing up from the couch and walking over to you. “Artists second guess their work all the time, have some patience.” 

“I am patient.” The bigger man pointed. “But she’s unbelievably indecisive.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” You looked up at Mingyu guiltily. “It’s just, I’m wondering if having a bathroom in my residence is a good idea or if I should just have another small one built by the bath house? I mean think about it - my residence is so far from the training grounds and the dining hall, if I had to walk all this distance everyday, I’m only going to be more late-” 

“I get it.” Mingyu patted your back. “I get your concerns but the sooner we finalize this, the sooner I can get to building it and the sooner you can get out of Seungcheol’s house and into your own space.” 

Ahhh. 

Right. 

A part of you was thankful that Jihoon wasn’t a part of this discussion otherwise he would’ve seen right through your subtle attempts to delay this process. You didn’t want to be an inconvenience on purpose but….. You were just a girl and you wanted to get to know Cheol a little better. It didn’t help that he was barely ever at home, leaving at the crack of dawn for training and only returning very late at night, after he finished attending night school doing that stupid astronomy degree of his. The only time you ever got with him was on Sunday because members did not train on Sundays - everyone was free to do whatever they wanted. And you wanted to do Cheol. 

So far you only had the chance to spend one weekend alone with him and maybe just maybe if you pushed your house construction a little you’d have the chance for another weekend or two. Then perhaps, you’d be able to take this unresolved, unnecessary tension with him somewhere. 

“How about you take a few days and work on your plan again Y/n?” Joshua rolled up the large paper carefully, handing it to you. “Whenever you’re ready let me and Mingyu know - we’ll try and figure out the materials, budget, feasibility and all that.” 

“It’s times like this I miss Jeonghan’s brain.” Mingyu clicked his tongue, disappointed. “Where did he say he was off to again?” 

“When does he ever tell us?” Joshua mumbled. “He should be back by nightfall though. Jun said he needed help with the fertilizer composition and Han told him he would help.” 

“Wow, he’s capable of being useful.” You rolled your eyes, stashing the blueprint into your bag. Mingyu and Joshua laughed, amused.

“Jeonghan is always useful..” 

“We still haven’t managed to figure out a thing about my lawsuit and my hearing is in a few weeks-” 

“Han and Wonwoo will sort it out Y/n, don’t worry.” Joshua rubbed your arm comfortingly. “They’re the best one can ask for.” 

“Yeah except I can’t seem to ask Jeonghan for anything cause he’s a little bitch or ask Wonwoo anything because for that he would need to realise that I exist and I don’t think he does.” 

“Wonwoo hyung is….” Mingyu trailed off. “He’s a little hard to understand. Just give him some time. Once you figure him out, you’ll know why he’s like this.”

Exasperated, you shook your head and walked away. Time was the one thing you never seemed to have. 

Like always, as the sun began setting you glanced out of the window of the library catching sight of the varied hues in the sky. On the camp ground you could see Mingyu riding his big mechanical bull, lighting up the fire torches around for the night. Pulling out the lighter from your bag, you stared at the candles stacked in the middle of the table. 

Sighing you cast the lighter aside and snapped your fingers, watching the flames come to life in your hand, dancing across your palm. Stretching your fingers, and moving your hand around, you watched the orange yellow light just glide across your skin like it was a pretty accessory and not literal fire that should have obliterated your hand by now. 

Fire never did burn you - how could it when a mere thought could make it come alive in your hands. You first discovered this when you were 16 and accidentally dunking your hand in a pot full of boiling water did not leave so much as a scar. Even though you were unscathed you roamed around for a few days with a fully bandaged hand - the world would have thought you were some sort of freak otherwise. Over the years you tried to play with fire in many ways, just to test your limits, just to see how far you could go and each time, much to your own dismay, the limit didn’t exist. Each time proved just how much you didn’t fit in the world, just how much you deserved to be alone because you really were a freak. 

But that was until a few weeks ago. 

Until you discovered it wasn’t the inability to burn that was the true madness - it was your ability to create fire itself. 

From there things spiraled. You learnt you weren’t the anomaly but a part of a rather large group of such circus acts - a world completely hidden from your own. In a cascade of events you were thrown into camp seventeen out of no will of your own and now, this was your life, this was your world. 

Holding your flaming hand over your redrawn sketches you glanced at them. Thanks to the two boys yet again canceling the meeting with you, you found yourself working in the library earlier than usual, exhausted by the time the sun set. As you debated between working a little more or heading back, the door opening with a slow creak made the decision for you - if it was windy outside, it was most likely going to rain and you didn’t want to stay long enough to get drenched. Quickly dousing the flame and blowing out the candles, you grabbed all your things and saw your way out. 

In the darkness, the camp was quiet as usual. You figured most of the members must’ve retired to their residences for the night and when you reached the House of Zeus, surprisingly, so had Seungcheol. 

“Y-you’re home.” You stuttered, watching the shirtless man, doing sit ups in the middle of the living room in the dim golden light of the paraffin lamps. 

Evidently Seungcheol hadn’t expected your presence so soon either because at the sound of your voice, he got up with a jerk, pulling a muscle in his abdomen. 

“Cheol oh my god-” 

“You’re early.” He got up wincing, holding the side of his trunk. “I’m sorry I should have been doing this in my room-” 

“I mean, the whole house is yours-” 

“There’s a heavy rain forecast today, not really much astronomy I can do-” 

“Yeah I came back because of the rain too-” 

“Yeah me too….” Seungcheol trailed off realising how silly he sounded. 

Grabbing his shirt from the floor, he attempted to put it on, groaning miserably at the pain shooting up his abdomen. Watching him struggle, you quickly dropped your things and tried to reach for him to help out, but just as your finger barely grazed over his skin, he stumbled back like he was electrocuted, pushing your hand away. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Cheol…. “ You frowned, confused. “I was just trying to help-” 

 “Seungcheol.” He corrected. “And I don’t need your help Y/n. Please just…. stay away from me.” 

You blinked at a complete loss of words at his unwarranted behaviour. Unsure about how you felt, you grabbed your bag from the floor, turned on your heel and walked out silently, the same way you came in. 

As usual, bad luck had followed you on your way out. 

Not only was your life miserable, the weather too decided to be a pain in your ass and it started drizzling the moment you stepped out of Seungcheol’s house. 

Even though the water was cold and you were shivering, you took off in the rain. You needed to get as far away from here as you could. 

You were such a fool. You should have known that Seungcheol wasn’t being nice or giving you your space, on the contrary he was keeping his distance, putting you at an arm’s length. It was evident today - not only was he uninterested, but somehow it seemed like your very presence was disturbing him in some way. 

And there was you who was always desperately wishing for the smallest interaction with him.. What an idiot. 

Hugging yourself, you walked further down the cobbled path. Tomorrow you were going to finalise your house plan with Mingyu and get out of Cheol’s house as soon as possible. But as much as you wanted to avoid him and pull yourself away, a part of you was still aching at the loss of something that you believed had a lot of potential. Why did it have to be him of all people? Why couldn’t it have been someone like Mingyu - he was hot as hell and unlike his leader, he actively showed interest in you all the time. 

As you raised your head, Mingyu’s house loomed before you and your feet, as if they had a brain of their own, took you towards his mini mansion of a residence. That was until you saw Jihoon stepping out of the same place and instinctively took a swift u-turn. 

The last person who could see you right now was Jihoon - that man would read you like an open book and know exactly how fucking embarrased you were. Hoping to god he didn’t spot you, you quickly ran, entering the nearest gate for temporary refuge, till you got out of his sight. 

But in hindsight, perhaps falling in Jihoon’s line of vision was better than the situation you had landed yourself in….. You weren’t really sure who’s house you had trespassed until the low growling expressed just how much his companion disliked it. 

Horang. 

Realising you had quite literally thrown yourself into the den of a wild cat, you froze, praying that it didn’t notice you and you could slip out as easily as you slipped in. But before you could do anything, a hand grabbed you quickly, leading you into the neighbouring cottage, shutting the door behind you. 

“Are you insane?” Soonyoung looked at you confused, shaking the water off his hair. “Why would you enter Horang’s enclosure unless you wanted to be ripped apart.” 

“I didn’t know….” You rubbed your arms, generating heat. “I was just….trying to escape the rain.” 

“You should have knocked on my door then..” He muttered, disappearing for a split second, returning with a towel in his hand. “Horang isn’t used to you yet so please don’t venture near my tiger in my absence - he only listens to me.” 

You tried not to hyperfixate on the inappropriate labeling of Horang in the off chance that an annoyed Soonyoung threw you back out. Instead, you accepted his towel, patting yourself dry, still shivering a little. With his hands on your shoulder, Soonyoung led you to the fireplace, guiding you to sit on the couch across. As you did, you glanced around his residence.

This was the first time you were in Soonyoung’s place and in all honesty, it looked much like that designated room in college dorms where all the parties happened - he had party lights everywhere, streamers hanging from the ceiling and techno music softly playing over the speakers. 

When you turned back to him, Soonyoung held out a christmas mug, with a grin. “Mulled wine.”

“I can’t.” You shook your head although in the headspace you were in, you could really use some alcohol. “I won’t be able to wake up on time tomorrow.” 

“It’s not like you’ll be on time even if you were sober.” He chuckled, immediately regretting his words as you narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re in the House of Dionysus. This is literally the only hot drink I have to offer.” 

Sighing you took it from him, desperate to have something warm coursing through your body after all that coldness you experienced earlier. 

“So, why are you out and about in the rain?” Soonyoung sank into the couch beside you, sipping a drink of his own. 

“I….just needed to be away from that house for a while.” You mumbled, taking a sip. 

“Why? Has Seungcheol gotten overbearing already?” 

“It’s not him….” 

“It’s always him.” Soonyoung sighed. “But it’s not his fault. He just has a lot of pressure on him to be perfect as a leader, you know? That sort of thing gets to you.” 

“I know. It’s just….. “ You sighed, not knowing how to explain things to him. “Forget it, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“No, tell me.” He whined making you turn to him, finally noticing he was fully dressed from head to toe like he was about to march right into a party. 

“Are you going somewhere?” 

“Work?” Soonyoung stated like it was obvious. “Don’t tell me you forgot what I do.” 

You looked at him sheepishly. “I’ve been here for just a week Kwon and there’s thirteen of you so I’m sorry if it’s taking me some time.” 

“Forgiven.” He nodded amused. “I own the Midnight club in the city centre.” 

“Right, that big Demigod rave place.” 

“No, the Midnight club is for humans. There’s another club hidden behind it, After Hours - That’s for Demigods exclusively.” 

You let out an oh of realization as Soonyoung continued. 

“Business usually runs fine on its own but I try to drop by from time to time to just remind everyone who the boss is.” 

“I heard there’s a life size portrait of you behind the DJ booth to do the same.” 

“Obituaries are portraits too.” He rolled his eyes. “I need to let them know I am alive, kicking and always in charge.” 

You shook your head laughing. “Well then aren’t you getting late? You should probably leave by now-” 

“I don’t think I’m going.” He mumbled, downing his drink in one shot, red slowly creeping on his face. “Not in the mood.” 

Glancing at him silently, you just blinked at him. You knew guys like Soonyoung could not keep a thing in them - he would share whatever was bothering him without you even asking in three, two, on-

“The intel is that my ex is going to be there tonight.” 

“Ahh.” You crossed your feet on his couch, settling in. “And you don’t want to see her?” 

“I don’t want to see her with other men.” He gripped his mug tight. “With the news out that she’s single, guys will be falling all over her and I know she’s going to play along just to make me jealous.” 

“Well two can play that game right? You can do the same?” 

“What makes you think there are girls fawning all over me?” 

“Do you just want to hear me say you’re hot and that you could pull if you wanted to?” You cocked your head at him. “Cause I can. I have a little wine in me so I can use it as an excuse.” 

Soonyoung laughed, throwing his head back. “No I know I’m hot, but do you know who she is?” 

You shook your head, drinking up more. 

“Aphrodite’s daughter, the femme fatales of the demigod world - boys want her and girls don’t want to mess with her. No one is going to so much as look at her ex, forget trying to hit on me.” 

“Huh.” You pondered, the cogwheels in your brain turning. “Well technically, no one in the human world knows her so I’m sure one of them will-” 

“There’s no point of that. She knows I won’t go for a human.” 

“Why is that?” 

Soonyoung stared back at you a little hard before a small smirk formed on his face. “Y/n, are you a virgin?” 

You blinked, breaking out into a laugh. “I sure am drunk cause I seem to have missed why this intrusive question is relevant now?” 

Taking your empty mug from you, Soonyoung filled it up again from the pot. “What I mean is, demigods don’t sleep with humans sweetie.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because we’re half gods, do you think humans can really satisfy us?” Soonyoung raised his eyebrows. “Mortals can’t keep up with our sex drive.” 

As you looked confused, the smirk returned back to Soonyoung’ face. “Which is why I asked. If you haven’t realised that a mortal man can’t pleasure you, then either you’ve never had sex……. or you’ve never had an orgasm.” 

“I don’t have to answer that.” 

“Come on, humor me.” 

“Maybe I’m starting to get why your girlfriend dumped your annoying ass.” 

Soonyoung pouted, feigning hurt as you rolled your eyes. 

“So now if you want to get her back, you won’t be hit on by another demigod and you can’t be hit on by a human which means your only chance of making her jealous is with……” You looked at him intently. “Kwon Soonyoung, why are your eyes glimmering with mischief?” 

“You.” He took the cup from your hands and set it on the table, much to your dismay. “You’re the only one who she doesn’t know about and the only one who doesn’t know her…..” 

“So?” 

“Oh you’d be the perfect bait.” Soonyoung clapped his hands. “One look at you next to me and she’s going to be quaking in her boots.” 

“If you think I’m about to stroll into a nightclub and pretend to hit on you to make your ex girlfriend jealous you’re sorely mistaken.” 

“Why?” He whined. “Why can’t you do me a small favour. I saved you from Horong-” 

“Number one. If you didn’t pull me into your house, I would have ran out of the gate and been safe anyways-” 

“Sure.” 

“Number two, I don’t know what the hell is in this wine. Normally it takes a whole bottle to knock me down but two glasses in and I’m already buzzed-” 

“It’s a special blend.” 

“And number three, unfortunately for you, women are really observative creatures. One look at me next to you and she’s going to know there’s absolutely nothing going on between us.” 

Soonyoung opened and closed his mouth like he was thinking about what to say. “It won’t work out Kwon.” 

“This always happens.” He sighed. “She breaks it off with me for any small thing, goes on to have her fun, pushes me till I have to beg for her forgiveness and then she accepts it whenever she feels like. Everything is always whenever she feels like it. We haven’t even had sex in like two years-” 

“Okay.” You cut him off before he went into details you didn’t need to know. “If you’re so aware of what she’s doing, why do you always give in to her? Do you really like her or… is she just a habit?” 

“I don’t know.” Soonyoung stared at the floor, lost in thought. “I just know that we’ve been together since we were 18. And I can’t throw that away.” 

“I never knew you were such a romantic Kwon.” 

He laughed, sinking further into the couch. 

“You really want her back huh?” 

“I do.” 

“And this time do you want her to make the effort?” 

“A man can hope.” 

“Well then.” You turned to him. “Point number three was relevant only if she saw me…do you have your phone?” 

Soonyoung nodded, patting his many pockets and finally finding it, holding it out. 

“You're going to call and tell her you're hitting on me?”

“No…. If you give her a missed call will she call back?”

“Not immediately.” He sighed. “She'll take her time to pretend like she didn't see and then get back to me-” 

“Do it.” He continued to look at you confused. “Call her and cut the call.” 

He followed through but the frown didn't leave him the whole time. “Y/n what exactly are you doing?” 

“This may be a bit diabolical but it should do the trick.” You took a deep breath glancing at Soonyoung. “When she calls you back, she's going to hear us having sex.”

“W-what?” 

“Before you get any ideas, I'm not going to have sex with you Soonyoung, we're just going to make her think that we are.”

“How exactly will we do that?”

“We'll fake it.” You shrugged. “Make a couple of wet skin smacking sounds-” 

“and you could moan my name, say how good I'm making you feel.” 

“Didn’t you get onboard this real fast.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I'm going to make it really clear once again that this is for her not-” 

Ring! 

At the sound of the ringtone both of you glanced at his phone and in a split second, Soonyoung picked up the call, holding it against his ear. Thankful that you got the opportunity to execute your idea so soon and determined to put up the show you promised, you immediately got to it, clearing your throat.

“Fuck yes Soonyoung, that feels so good-” 

With widened eyes and a swift movement, Soonyoung shut your mouth with his hand, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, yeah I remember…..Oh no that was just…. our cow?…..Yes Daisy, she's just having a rough night….. Anyways thanks for the reminder Hyungwon.”

You stared at him mortified, all the wine threatening to exit your system. 

“Yeah sure, see you tomorrow bro.”

Soonyoung brought down both the phone and his hand at the same time. 

“Oh god I’m so sorry, I thought it was-” 

“That’s your idea of having sex??” He looked at you shocked. “Thank god it wasn’t Mina because there was no way in hell she would have believed that?” 

“Hey, I had no preparation time, you try faking it off the bat.” You mumbled. “Besides, it wasn’t so bad.” 

“Wasn’t so bad?” Soonyoung looked scandalised. “Do you even know what you sounded like? Fuck yes Soonyoung, that feels good-” 

You leaned back inching away from him. 

“What the…..what was that?” 

“That's what you said.” 

“I know but” You frowned unsure if you heard right or if you were starting to get too drunk. “You sounded exactly like me. Like your voice, it….it was mine.” 

“Oh.” Soonyoung scratched the back of his head. “Yeah well um being the son of the God of Theater comes with its own skill set. Imitation helps confuse opponents during war - it has actually saved us in quests many times.”

“You can imitate anyone?”

Soonyoung nodded.

“Any sound they make?”

He nodded again as you let out a low whistle. 

“Well that's brilliant, then you don't even need me. You can make your girlfriend jealous by simply impersonating me.” 

“The keyword is imitate. I can only repeat sounds I hear, I can't just make them up.” He shifted in his seat. “So if I should impersonate you, I need to hear what you actually sound like during sex.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Don't push your luck Kwon.”

“I'm kidding.” He laughed leaning back into the couch, his eyes fluttering shut. “But you really have to work on the faking.” 

“Yeah I've been told.” You muttered as Soonyoung sat up again.

“Aha, so you have never had an orgasm!” 

“Because of a man, no I've not.” You confessed. “But bold of you to assume that I'm not perfectly capable of my own.”

Soonyoung looked confused. 

“Ever heard of masturbation, genius?” 

Soonyoung's mouth formed an O of realisation. “Well I've been in a relationship for almost 10 years so I've never had to take care of myself.”

“Don't rub it on my face Kwon.” You scoffed but regretted immediately knowing some dirty joke was going to come out of the man. So shutting his mouth with your hand, you held a finger to your lips. “Not a word. You're going to shut up till your girlfriend calls back.”

“That could be a very very long time.” He mumbled against your hand making you press it harder against his mouth with a shush. 

5 minutes later you were on your fourth mug of wine and Mina still hadn't called. 

10 minutes later, you were nearly falling asleep and Soonyoung was already snoring away beside you. 

15 minutes later the sound of the rain began to get softer outside. 

And 20 minutes later was when you finally lost your patience, shaking Soonyoung awake. 

“It’s getting late, I should go….” 

Soonyoung looked up at you sleepily as you got off the couch, standing up. 

“You should.….. I’m sorry, I shouldn't have roped you into this” He glanced at the blank screen on his phone. “Clearly Mina is either too busy having fun on her own or she doesn’t care.” 

You smiled at him sadly, as he pulled his feet up, snuggling into the couch. 

“I'm so sorry.” You whispered. “Goodnight Kwon.” 

“Goodnight sweetie.”

Setting the mug down, you grabbed your bag and opened his front door, relieved that the rain seemed to have stopped. But something was also stopping you from stepping out. 

Giving it a thought and sighing, you turned around, looking at the half asleep man again. 

“You said you could imitate me right?” 

Soonyoung's eyes slowly fluttered open.  

“So if you listen to how I actually sound, if and when she calls back, you can execute the plan on your own right?”

Soonyoung looked at you in a mix of confusion, drunkenness and sleepiness.

“Are you saying that…”

“No, I'm not going to sleep with you Kwon Soonyoung.”

“But you're horrible at faking.” 

“Yet again I'm going to remind you about masturbation.” 

You sighed, looking at his eternally lost expression. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him off the couch, leading him to his room. 

Soonyoung's room was just how you expected it to be - a mess. There were things scattered everywhere, all kinds of band posters up on the wall, snack wrappers all over the floor. 

He quickly kicked the trash under his bed and looked at you pleadingly. “You cannot tell Mingyu how messy my room is. And you most definitely cannot tell Seungcheol I'm snacking - he does not understand post break up slump.”

You gritted your teeth annoyed to be reminded of him again. Of course he didn't understand anything remotely related to feelings.

“Don't worry, no one's gonna know anything because you too are going to keep your mouth shut about whatever happens tonight.” 

“I still don't know what's happening tonight.” He mumbled as you walked around his room, glancing at everything. 

“I'm going to get myself off and you're going to listen and take notes.” Soonyoung's eyes finally widened in realisation.“Do you have a towel?” 

He nodded, quickly going through the stack of clothes piled on the chair across his bed and pulled out a long white one. Taking it from him you laid it down on his bed, the two of you staring at it mindlessly. 

“Could you also close the curtains?” You fidgeted with your fingers, putting your bag down at the foot of his bed as Soonyoung nodded. “Also dim the lights please.”

Following through your requests he tried not to look at you as you stripped out of your jacket and threw it on the bed. But when you unclasped your bra and pulled it out from under your shirt, Soonyoung was quite literally gawking. 

“I’m hot.” You mumbled as he walked back, standing much closer to you than he was before. 

“Yeah you are…. I mean,” He cleared his throat when you raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah it's a little hot in here.” 

Both of you tried to ignore the sound of cold raining softly falling against the window. 

“On second thoughts,” You took a step back. “I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“W-why not?” 

“If you haven’t noticed I am buzzed as hell and I’m not sure I can do…. a great job on myself right now.” 

Lips slowly curling into a smile, Soonyoung cocked his head. “I can help.” 

“Yes and I can finally use all that combat training and kick your ass. Soonyoung I am not sleeping with-” 

“What? No, no I mean….. just wait here.” 

Your eyes followed him as he jogged out of his room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You must be crazy to suggest this. Sure there was alcohol in your system and sure you were trying to get your mind off Seungcheol, avoiding going back to his house but this…..

“Here you go.” 

Soonyoung strolled back in with what you could only describe as a wooden looking, very phallic instrument. 

“That’s…” 

He nodded. “A dildo.” 

“I have so many questions.” 

“Let me clarify. Yes I have used a dildo before-” 

“Oh god.” 

“- Although my girlfriend isn’t the biggest fan of it-” 

“This wasn’t my question.” 

“-I do occasionally enjoy it myself.” 

“I don’t think I should be a part of this conversation.” 

“But this dildo in particular, has never been used by either of us before.” 

“That!” You pointed out. “That’s all I needed to know.” 

Soonyoung held it out to you, looking at you expectantly. You gulped. 

“You know, I don’t think I can do this. I’m actually more of a vibrator girl myself.” 

“Now who’s indulging in the TMI?” 

You rolled your eyes. “My point is, I don’t need this, I can just do it myself-” 

“I haven’t even gotten to the story behind this.” He giggled. “This is my father’s.” 

“Aaaand I’m done here.” 

“No what I mean is-” He shuffled closer to you like he was revealing a big secret. “My father may be the god of wine and ecstasy and madness and theatre and so many things but he is also…. the creator of the dildo.” You stared at him vacantly. What?? “I don’t think you wanna know the story behind it, it’s disturbing as fuck-” 

“More disturbing than everything so far?” 

“-but basically, a few years back, my father was temporarily exiled from Olympus and while he was in the human world, he had, what he calls, a magnificent business idea….sex toys. Dildo’s in particular. That’s when he made this.” He held it up and you wished he did it a little less proudly. “This isn’t an ordinary dildo Y/n, no. This baby can take on the shape, size, dimensions and every single tiny detail” He gave a dramatic pause. “Of the person you are imagining while going at it.”

“W-what?” You blinked at him stumped. “You mean to say it…. morphs into a replica of someone’s actual dick?” 

Soonyoung nodded fast. “This piece is a prototype that Dionysus made but when he brought the idea to Zeus it was shut down immediately because Gods aren’t supposed to interfere with human business and all that hoo ha, so he left it with me before he returned home.” With a small smile dancing on his lips, he held it out to you. “So if you want, it's all yours.” 

You stared at it. 

A magic dildo that could take the shape of any dick you wanted? 

You would have to be insane to say no to that. 

Pretending to hesitate just so you didn’t come across completely deranged, you slowly took the toy off Soonyoung’s hand, feeling the weight of it in your own. As you tried to picture how exactly this night might go, Soonyoung took a few steps back, grabbed a fistful of the material behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head. 

“What?” He smirked as your eyes ran down his chiseled body, mouth moving but no words leaving it. “Didn’t you say it was hot?” 

As Soonyoung moved all the clothes stacked on the chair to the floor and sat down, you watched as the minor oversights in your plan came into play. If he had to take notes,  then Kwon Soonyoung was going to watch you. 

Tongue in the cheek, you glanced around the room, thanking all the gods in Olympus when you spotted a lacy blindfold hanging on the headboard. Without questioning its existence in his room, you quickly grabbed it and threw it at him.

“The deal was for audio Kwon, no visuals.” 

In complete contrast to his hot as fuck appearance he pouted like a child as you shook your head and looked at the blindfold pointedly. Sighing, he reached for it and put it over his eyes, tying it behind his hand. Not trusting him entirely, you walked up to him, slotting yourself between his legs and pulled the knot. Soonyoung’s hands gripped your thighs in both surprise and pain. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled, fingers softly grazing your legs as he pulled his hands away. “I promise, I can’t see a thing.” 

You nodded, then realised he said he couldn’t see and cleared your throat. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Okay.” He breathed, leaning back, waiting expectantly. 

Taking a few seconds, you let out a deep determined breath, preparing yourself for what was coming. As you unbuttoned your jeans, shimmying both your shorts and underwear down your legs, your eyes finally took a good look at the man of the hour, Kwon Soonyoung. Yeah he was one of the members who often trained shirtless which meant you had seen this display many times before but this was perhaps the first time you were actually paying attention to it. Before this, you hadn’t quite realised just how beautifully tanned and toned he was or how much that undercut suited him or how hot he looked biting his lower lip. 

Kicking your garments away, you pried your eyes, reminding yourself that this man was taken. Or at least would be taken again pretty soon. You shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t be looking at him, you shouldn’t be thinking about him and he sure as fuck cannot be the inspiration for your new magic sex toy. 

That unfortunately meant that there was only one other person in your mind who could be the muse - Choi Seungcheol. Despite his dismissal earlier and despite being someone who held herself as a very high level of self respect, it was evident that your body shamelessly still craved him - he was the only one running in your mind. Trying to block him out, you arranged the pillows on Soonyoung’s bed against the headboard, adjusted the towel and slowly climbed on. In all the time that you took leaning against it, spreading your legs and settling in, Soonyoung remained incredibly quiet. Patient. 

Although he couldn’t see you, watching him felt weird, given the man and the dick on your mind were not him. Sighing, you glanced at the object you were gripping - it had already taken shape of what you desired and the sight of it made you gulp. 

Lord was Choi Seungcheol thick.

Given his beefy exterior and broad build you had always assumed he was packed between his legs but this was nowhere near what you were imagining, not even close. Earlier, you were worried how you would get yourself off when you weren’t even wet enough but now you were practically dripping with the thought of that inside you. Still, you didn’t think it could fit, not without any prep. 

Slipping two fingers in your mouth you wet them messily before guiding them to your folds, smearing the spit with your very evident arousal. When you let out a soft sigh, Soonyoung shifted in his seat like he was alert and when your fingers teased your hole, slowly slipping in, an unintentional moan left you too, making him practically grip the armrests of his couch tight. 

“I'm going to need more than that Y/n.” He whispered. “What are you doing right now?” 

“I’m prepping myself, it’s…” You gulped. “It’s too big.” 

“Do you need lube?” He frowned. “Although I don’t know where it is….or if I even have any-” 

“That’s okay.” You shook your head. “I think I’m wet enough. Almost.” 

“Do you need any help?” 

You glanced at his tense body. “How can you help?” 

“Are you the kind that listens to instructions?”

“Occasionally.” 

“Then push your fingers further.” He exhaled. “Curl them up.” 

Although that was what was on your mind anyways, you obeyed. As your fingers brushed that spot, a soft fuck escaped your lips. 

“Feel good?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Yeah that’s good.”

“Then move.” He cocked his head. “Slowly at first, then pick up speed.” 

Even before he finished his sentence you had followed through, fingers pumping faster, head falling back as the grip around the dildo in your hand tightened. 

“Add another finger.” 

“This feels good enough.” 

“This will feel better.” He urged. “Stretch yourself a little and add another finger.” 

Scissoring yourself open, you held back the moan that was threatening to tumble out, terrified Soonyoung would hear you. Belatedly you realised - Soonyoung was supposed to hear you. 

“Fuck that does feel better.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Are you ready for more?” 

“.......I think so.” 

“Then wet the dildo.” He shifted. “Put it in your mouth.” 

Hesitating just a bit you brought it up to your eye level, still taken aback by its sheer girth. In the dim light of the lamp on the nightstand you can see a stark vein running along his length, the sight of it nearly making your mouth water. Oh you wanted him to fill your mouth, you wanted him to fill you just about anywhere so bad but it was clear from earlier that Seungcheol didn’t want the same. So you were just going to take this chance and fuck him out of your brain. After tonight you were not going to think of Choi Seungcheol anymore. 

Determined, you wrapped your mouth around the tip, humming against the weight on your tongue before pulling it out with a wet pop. As Soonyoung’s breath hitched, you sunk your mouth down on it again, taking it further in, not far enough to let it hit the back of your throat, but enough to just slightly choke around it, drool running down the corner of your mouth. 

“Y/n,” Soonyoung’s voice sounded almost choked too. “Please….” 

You’ve never had a man beg for you like this before and it wasn’t enough to touch him but to touch yourself? Something in you swelled in pride, but something was also terrified about what things would be like once this was over - could you and Soonyoung really be the same again? And if things were going to change, how would they be? 

“Sweetie, you have to do something….” 

Knowing you needed something in you more than he did, you drove the thoughts away before aligning the tip at your dripping hole and slowly pushing Seungcheol’s girth in. 

“Holy shit..” You sighed as you thrusted his length further, the stretch serving a sting that slowly ebbed from pain to pleasure. 

“Is it all the way in?” Soonyoung groaned as you shook your head gulping.

“It’s not…” You panted, glancing down to see barely any length disappearing in you yet you were so full. “I can’t.”

“You can.” He licked his drying lips. “You can Y/n, come on - fuck yourself like you want to be fucked.” 

Yes you knew Soonyoung had a horrible habit of pointless flirting but you did not think his mouth was capable of spewing such filth too. 

“Tell me how you like it.” 

“Deep.” You whimpered, answering him as you shoved it in more, feeling it hit all the right places. “I like it deep.” 

“And fast?” 

“And fast.” 

“Then move.” 

And you did, pulling it out, pistoning it into you, sharp intakes of breath and curse words leaving you as you did. You felt your eyes roll back, threatening to shut but when they landed on Soonyoung they widened - he had slid down his chair, manspread now a lot wider and stark against his pants was the imprint of his uncomfortably trapped boner.

“Soonyoung….” You accidentally moaned, simply trying to get his attention. “Are you… hard?” 

“Unbearably.” He confessed immediately. “I’m s-sorry, it’s been a while-” 

“Do you want to touch yourself?”

You don’t know why exactly you asked him that but you wanted him to feel good too. Just as good as faux Seungcheol was making you feel. 

“I think I can cum without that.” He half laughed, half groaned. “But god yes I want to.”

“Do it.” You directed him, halting your own movements, watching him. “Touch yourself.” 

Without wasting a second, Soonyoung instantly unbuttoned his pants and stuck his hand down, wrapping it around his erection. As he shifted uncomfortably, you could tell he would’ve felt a lot better if he could completely free himself.

“Careful. Otherwise I’ll see you…I mean it…” 

“Do you mind?” He raised his eyebrows at you. “Would it bother you if I….” 

If you were being honest, since the moment you laid eyes on the outline of his dick you were curious…

“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t.” 

“Then I don’t give a flying fuck.” 

He raised his hips a little, just enough to pull down his pants as his erection sprung free, resting against his abs, pink and flushed. 

Oh he was long. 

Seungcheol might be thick but Soonyoung was long, like he could reach places no one else could. As he spat in his hand and smeared the pre cum along his length pumping it in his fist, you gulped, forgetting that you too were in the middle of doing the same thing, just staring. 

“Y/n,” He moaned your name, throwing his head back, setting off a strange fire in your groin. “Match my pace.” 

You nodded, thankful to not have to put your own brain to this which was threatening to shut off any moment now. Watching him half lidded, you let him set the pace for your movements, matching him almost perfectly. 

“Fuck this feels so good.” Soonyoung whimpered. 

“It does.” You agreed, with struggling breaths. “Soonyoung please…. Faster.” 

“Faster?” He smirked, but listened. “You really are one of us huh.” 

“I need more.” You whined, feeling yourself at an edge you were just not able to cross. “Soonyoung….” 

“I wish I could help, baby.” He sighed, “I really do wish…” 

“What would you have done?” 

“I’d have my mouth everywhere…marked your neck…. marked those pretty breasts….fuck Y/n, you’d have to beg me to stop.” 

“Don’t.” You moaned, pushing your shirt up with your free hand, grabbing a tit, squeezing it painfully hard. “Tell me more…” 

“I’d hold the toy for you, watch you fuck yourself on it….” He stroked himself faster, almost erratically. “Maybe give it to you from the back so I can see how your ass-” 

Groaning annoyed at the sound of music coming loudly from his pocket, your movements faltered, eyes widening. It was different from the ringtone earlier which probably meant-

“Is that Mina?” 

“Yeah.” 

“P-pick it up Soonyoung.” 

“Ignore it.” 

“Soon-” 

“Ignore it.” He emphasized. “Go on Y/n, I don’t know how long the effects of that toy are going to last.” 

And that’s what made you stop wondering why Soonyoung wouldn’t pick up the call when this was in fact the most ideal situation the two of you were meant to be caught in. You didn’t want to lose what you were pumping inside you, you didn’t want to lose the feeling of Seungcheol stretching you out. As you resumed the pace, Soonyoung’s voice left him like a croak. 

“Do you like the thought of this? Someone listening to you get off?” 

You didn’t want to answer that. Wasn’t the kind of things you liked evident by the fact that you were fucking yourself to one man while watching and listening to another? 

“Because I love that you’re watching.” He whispered. “It’s driving me insane.” 

“I wanna see you cum.” You pulled the toy out of you, tossing it onto the towel before your fingers found your clit rubbing circles hard.

“Fuck I'm close.” He pumped himself faster, losing rhythm, broken moans and whimpers leaving him. “So close.”

Words left your mouth too as incoherent babbles as you felt your back arch and insides tighten pleasurably. Eyes crossing and shut tight, you finally came, chest heaving, trying to catch a breath. As you slowly came around and ran your fingers down your folds realising just how much you came, Soonyoung continued to push himself over the edge, like he just needed a little more nudge to finally find his release. Gulping you swung your legs off the bed and silently walked up to him, standing between his manspread, leaning till your lips were right by his ear. 

“Cum for me Soonyoung.” 

Almost immediately, with a guttural moan, his head fell back, baring his neck as spurts of cum shot onto his hand and torso, painting them white. Once the sheer amount left him he finally slumped back into his chair, breathing again, like he had been holding it in for too long. The sight of his cum all over his abs against the sheen of sweat on it made you clench unwillingly and you ran two fingers over it, collecting it. You knew his lips parted to catch his breath but you took the chance to slip your digits into his mouth, letting him taste himself. Surprised but not unpleasantly, Soonyoung ran his tongue along them, licking it clean, pulling away with a pop.

“You taste as good as you sound.” 

It's only then that you realise your own arousal was coating your fingers too. 

Scoffing awkwardly, you shuffled back, picking up your shorts and panties from the floor, putting them on slowly.  

“I'm not dressed yet!” You shrieked, futilely trying to cover yourself as Soonyoung attempted to remove his blindfold. Holding his hand up, he allowed you to get dressed in the silence that followed. Silence that was too much to bear, silence that if he hadn’t broken, you would have. 

“I wasn't sure if I heard right but I thought…” He let out a deep breath as he tucked his flaccid self back in his pants. “I thought you took someone's name as you came.” 

You froze. 

You hadn't realised but now that you thought about it…. maybe, just maybe, you had taken Seungcheol’s name as your orgasm hit you. Yes you were incredibly turned on by Soonyoung and the sight of him and the sounds that left him but there was only one thing running at the back of your mind - cheol, cheol, cheol. 

“I'm not sure what you heard.” You brushed away his concerns, trying to sound casual. “I don't even know what I was saying, I was in some other zone entirely.” 

Soonyoung hummed in response and didn't push you for any further details. Grateful, you wiped your hands on the towel laid out before grabbing it, the bedsheet as well as the dildo and stuffed them all in your bag, throwing it over your shoulder - this was your mess to deal with.

“You done?” 

“Yeah just….put fresh sheets please.” 

“Oh don't worry about all that.” He got up, attempting to take his blindfold yet again. “I got it. If you want you could-” 

“Goodbye Soonyoung.” You stepped back, knowing he was offering for you to stay the night. Instead you headed for the door, hoping to leave before your eyes met his again. “I hope I was of help.” 

And as you left, you heard him sigh, revealing something he probably didn't mean for you to hear. 

“I don't think so Y/n.”

—

When you left Soonyoung’s house the rain had stopped but as you stood in the dining hall before the laundry machines the storm had returned yet again, much heavier this time. You glanced outside the windows at the obscurity sighing. It was like things just hated being in your favour. 

When the ding of the washer went off, you shifted the sheets into the dryer and decided to leave it there for the night considering you couldn't carry them back in the rain - you’d deal with them in the morning anyways, you weren’t ready to see Soonyoung just yet.

When you grabbed your bag from the floor, the weight had not reduced much - the dildo was still in it except it was back in its original popsicle-like shape, any trace of its resemblance to Seungcheol lost. You'd simply washed it and put it back in the bag, unsure what else to do with it. A part of you was annoyed that it had taken after Seungcheol of all people but the other was terrified that if you were to ever use it again, it would probably still model after him yet again. 

Disappointed with yourself you took a deep breath and shook your head. No. No more Choi Seungcheol. This ends here. 

Glancing at the machines one last time, you held onto your bag and ran out into the rain, hoping that Seungcheol had retired to his room by the time you reached. Instead, just as you approached the House of Zeus, you heard his voice. 

“Y/n!” 

He was drenched from head to toe, his blonde hair sticking to his face much like his shirt plastered against his pecs, like he had been soaked in the rain for hours. Letting out a struggled breath, you walked straight into his house, ignoring him. Seungcheol jogged over as fast as he could, putting himself in between you and the doors. 

“Y/n please listen to me-” 

“I don’t want to.” You attempted to go around him, only to be blocked by him again. 

“I just want to explain what happened earlier-” 

“I don’t care enough for an explanation.”

“I do!” 

You rolled your eyes as you pushed him away, a lot less gently than you intended to and Seungcheol immediately caught your hand, pulling you towards him.

“Seungcheol-” 

“You…. you can touch me.” He looked at his fingers wrapped around your wrist in awe, then at your palm flat against his chest.

“Didn’t you say you didn’t want me to-” 

“You shouldn’t be able to.” He muttered like he was amazed, unable to tear his eyes away. “How can you….” 

“Seungcheol, you're not making any sense.” 

He let out a deep breath. “In all the powers a demigod has, some are protective, acting like a shield."

"Okay..." You frowned.

“As the son of Zeus, mine is….a force field.” Oh. “At times like war, or in adrenaline driven situations, I become highly charged, rendering anyone who so much as comes two feet near me electrocuted. It's supposed to be a way to weaken enemies.” He sighed, “That’s why I was afraid of you touching me. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” 

“But…..Seungcheol I’m not an enemy and this isn’t a war-” 

“I get nervous around you.” He avoided your eye. “I don’t know, I just….. I can feel my skin prickling around you but……” He glanced at where your hands met his again. “You don’t feel anything?” 

“No, no I don’t but why do I make you nervous?” 

Seungcheol smiled softly. “Do you really not know?” 

You suppressed the grin forming on your own face. Fucking finally. 

“No.” You shook your head feigning innocence. “Tell me.” 

“Can I show you?” 

Maybe you nodded a bit too eagerly, because Seungcheol chuckled, pushing himself up against the door, pulling you along with him. As your body pressed against his, his hands found your waist, gaze darkening. He leaned in, lips hovering over yours, whispering your name softly, like he loved the sound of it. As your breaths mingled, lightning went off behind you, the silver light illuminating his gorgeous face and all its sharp angles. And just as you moved closer, eyes fluttering shut, Seungcheol cleared his throat. 

“Y/n I’m sorry, I forgot that it’s late and we have training at 4 tomorrow.” He muttered, drawing his hands away. “You should sleep. I can’t excuse your lateness everyday.” 

And yet again Choi Seungcheol left you completely baffled as he opened the door behind him and walked in, away from you. 

Next Chapter

a/n - please send me your thoughts - this kind of writing is waaaay out of my comfort zone, I need to know I'm not completely messing shit up and if I missed you in the taglist, please lmk!

[barnacles34]

Mr. Rager, Can I Tag Along?

Part I

Synopsis: Mr. Rager finally joins the birds in the skies. Dedicated to the song Mr. Rager by Kid Cudi.

tags: 8k, smut, so much romance, fluff, addiction, recovery, virgin Ryujin

Ryujin x Male OC

CHAPTER I: 

You might hear the birds singing flying around,

You never see them too long on the ground,

You wanna be one of them, yeah.

Cocaine toxicity. Solipsism finally vindicated. He was going to die—truly. That cloudy feeling of mind and body separation, as if the ribbons of heaven had finally let him grasp their reins, swaying him toward some version of forever happiness.

Mmmm.

He thought he’d care about dying right there in the nightclub. The shame of weakness, of collapsing with foam at the corners of his mouth—he’d truly thought he’d care more about it. But now, one worry gone, he was worriless. Life had its charm, but it wasn’t for him; he’d been walking on sticks until the very end. Now, the floor felt so right. His body sank into it, slipping slowly, as if turning to slime and merging back into the earth.

Each second, his grip over his fingers weakened, a constant slackening with every passing moment. His eyelids grew heavy, and the outline of the nightclub around him blurred. He couldn’t control his fingers anymore; he was truly sinking. When would heaven begin? When would this fantasy end? Mind-death, a complete and utter submission to the lifeless realm - he’d never recover.

The faint tingling of powder lingered at the rim of his nostrils. At least, he’d had a good high - a nice ecstasy haze along the fine columbian - before dying. Finally, his eyes closed, nerves shutting down, and he felt free, unchained from his body like a ghost.

"Stay with me!" A voice, deep and feminine.

Hm?

"Don’t close your eyes!" Again, that voice.

What?

Whatever. It was too late anyway.

"How many fingers am I holding up!?" Still images flashed through his fading consciousness, fingers held up just before his face, barely visible, though he couldn’t tell how many anyway.

"What’s your name?" He couldn't place a face on the voice, but it was distinctly feminine - separate from his inner voices.

They were trying so hard. If they’d responded any faster, he might’ve been forced to go back - to life.

Go back…

Did he want to go back?

Hell.

Mr. Rager - that’d be a good name, he thought. If he were reborn, given another chance, that’s who he’d be.

"Mr. Rager!"

What? Could the paramedic hear him?

"Mr. Rager! Come back! Fight back! Don’t go off on an adventure!"

—

Flash. Eyes open. He was alive - he was… alive.

"Mr. Rager. You’re okay; don’t make any sudden movements." A soft, padded palm rubbed his forehead with a gentle, compassionate touch. He looked up. A young woman, petite yet strikingly beautiful, looked back at him.

"What’s your name?" he asked, despite himself. Still a bachelor, after all. "My name is Ryujin." She was dressed in a way he couldn’t quite place, something different from what he expected. "I’m part-time, by the way," she said, noticing his confused look. "That’s why my clothes are different." He rubbed his forehead; it was pounding, but with a distant sort of ache, incongruous with a proper headache. “What the hell happened?” he asked, properly confused. “You went into shock, someone already administered naloxone to your body, thankfully; otherwise, you would’ve-” she abruptly bit her tongue, preventing herself from talking about a potentially sensitive topic that Mr. Rager was subjected to.

“And, by the way, this was my first call ever.” A subtle transition, a conversation starter.

He blinks, trying to relieve the soreness in his eyes, “God, I’m sorry, this is such a fucking shitty situation.” And the way he said it, that emotional self-deprecation.

She might’ve realized something, “Were you trying to commit suicide?” She asked, very bluntly.

“It’s none of your business. Thank you for the hospitality, I’ll be taking my leave now.” When he tried to take the IV fastened to his vein, Ryujin softly, with the firmest grip and tone, said, “You’re going nowhere.”

All Mr. Rager could think of were cuss words, cusses against the world, against destiny to be alive for the foreseeable future. 

A resolve to suicide is the moment the mind, at the cusp of mind-death, truly enters a dead mind. The inescapable rock-bottom, a self-fulfilling prophecy where one feels truly and utterly fastened to the floor - inhibited of all its freedoms, its happiness.

–

Mr. Rager, or better known as Min amongst his peers - not friends. At the hands of his peers, Mr. Rager sustained a traumatic head injury that tormented him with chronic migraines right from the start of it all - the drunk brawl, that he decisively lost in, at just the age of 17. 

See, Mr. Rager had not a single family member except his aunt who embezzled all the funds Rager’s parents left for him. And the last time he tried to talk with his aunt was when he sustained a knife wound on his forearm from her - a deeply tormented individual, she was locked in a home-made cage for most of her adolescence.

And, unfortunately, there’s not a single time where his life is measurably better than the year before - only getting worse until the overdose.

–

Ryujin didn’t inquire further, she was hoping somewhat that her presence might help Mr. Rager. She sat next to Mr. Rager, her hand still on the side of the hospital bed, feeling its soft fabric. Mr. Rager, still irritated, asked, “Why are you still here?”

“Cause I want to be here.” A joking undertone, perfectly acted out. In truth, Ryujin pitied him so much, her first patient, a successful businessman who tried to kill himself at the age of 29 - now that’s fucking rare, usually the cases accelerate at the age  of 50 or so.

“Why’d you take this job?” 

She replied, “Artistic inspiration.”

“Hm, fantastic idea by the way.” He was sincere about it.

“Thanks.”

“Do you have enough material now?”

“Oh. Plenty. Plenty enough.” She giggled.

“What if I don’t consent to my likeness being represented in your art - medium, whatever?”

“Mr. Rager, don’t you worry, I’ll refurbish it so much that it'll be closer to the likeness of… let’s say… me.”

“Quit the teasing,” he stated, straight to the point.

“I don’t want to.” She replied back, he was one of the few people where teasing seemed to genuinely improve their immediate well-being, and for someone like Mr. Rager - it’s huge. And, he was finally laying, no longer trying to plan an escape, on the flatbed, staring at the ceiling, observing the music player. “By the way, is this music player provided to everyone recovering?” He’s not one to mix words.

“You’re pretty smart.” She replies, a confirmation, fiddling with her torn skirt, presumably from rushing into her para-medic role.

“That’s what I owe you for?”

“Mhm.” Still fiddling, a pouty sort of face formed on her face, it was her favorite skirt.

“How do you want the debt paid?” He inquired, he’s one to never ignore the nascent attachment to his favorite items - thus, he understands: the exorbitant value placed on favoritisms. “I dunno. You’ll still owe me. Big Time.” She stared back, this time, their eyes entwined with a sort of friendliness that is almost, just almost, ethically wrong in hospital circumstances.

“Very well then.” His tired eyes kept pulling on his eyelids. Genuine sleep had seemed to completely take over his body, and yeah, that’s all the meds he’s under: naloxone, antibiotics, withdrawal medicine, and a lovely dose of morphine. “I feel new.” His voice was dozing as his intra-reflection began. As he nodded off, he felt the faint grasp of her hand, so small, yet filled with so much conviction. He’s tripping balls, but she’ll never tell him - presence was what was required of her.

And that was all the validation he needed: for sleep.

As Mr. Rager finally slept; Ryujin stayed for a bit, or about 4 hours. And, still, she’s sitting beside him - making sure that he sleeps and recovers. Just from the chance encounter of a paramedic call, she felt the compulsion to guard Mr. Rager. Poor girl, if she’d seen a dead body for her first call then she’d vomit a week’s worth onto the ground. 

After another hour, Ryujin finally decided it was time to leave. She wrote a thoughtful letter, of things that needn’t be said - obviously. But she also left a partition, finagling a creative way to demand what she’s owed. After, she let her boss know that she quit on the spot, that she’d also come back to the same room - a reservation of some sort. She left, leaving the stale, minty air of the hospital with a melancholy that wouldn’t be fixed until she saw him again. Because, when she was writing the note, she wished she asked more questions - Mr. Rager just seemed to lead on the conversation to a charming degree, that other circumstances were of lesser importance. 

Ryujin, outside, breathing in the fresh air of the summer, caught the last bus of the route. This route, passing by the road that she was taken on inside the paramedic van, also led to her apartment. Unfortunately, it’s an old, decrepit apartment where only the rudest sort of parties happen. Half the time, the floor above is vibrating thump, thump, thump from the heavy jumps, or the lower floor blasts some of the most needlessly, eardrum-breaking music.

At least she has solitude. Finally free from the dictates of those she didn’t get along with, finally separated from her friends who’d get too boring if she hung along for too long. Now, her family is charming - easy to get along with; now, her friends are always interesting - fascinating to be around. Distance is a marinating technique, or whatever.

Ryujin, the charming shut-in, finally arrived at her place, and began on her art piece. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to list that’s positive about her obsession with art. It’s the time where she vents her frustrations of being a failed trainee - rather, a placement that was restricted from becoming an idol; wallows in the misery of the color tone she loves the most: dark; and, to top it off, she gets bored of visual arts when she tries to make money off of it. Some dastardly sign from the man above, “Your hobby will stay a hobby.”

All that displeasure would be the paint upon the canvas: checkmate, mental turmoil turns to art, she thought. Swipe and swipe, the dirty colored watercolor painting had nearly no form worth thinking - almost entirely brown from the intermixing of the wet, damp color. Then the second layer, an apparition of segmentation, a deeper color, colors that entice and bite back. Then the specificity of the lines, things left unspecified were on purpose. But, this recurring thought, this pounding idea, that she left a man that fell in the depths of the void alone - really began digging into her soul. This thought unto Ad Nauseam brought her nausea that really can’t be eliminated with the will of her conscience. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve stayed” - the recurrent thoughts that never seemed to leave her. With a sad howl, she fell to the side, crying deep, ruining all her pretty into the sheets - a room so small that her chair was the bed.

–

“I’m still alive”, Mr. Rager repeated this to himself over and over after waking up - not sure whether to feel some sort of rendered triumph. For a moment, he was truly tip-toed in the void, almost encased into the endless hope, of unrendered reality and a horrible sadness; now, he’s alive, breathing, with a full control of his body.

Nothing had caught his attention, the environment, whether there were people around him or not, only life as he knew it - coursing through his veins. The feeble thumps of his chest - his heart, still persevering.

–

Several days of this sort of morning locomotion went on, it was also the time that Ryujin came over. Poor girl brought over new confectionaries - mostly of her favorites; brought lunch boxes she herself fully funded; found ways to amuse herself and Mr. Rager during the listless hours.

“What’s the interest rate of this debt? Surely, a person like me, fastened to the bed with belts (a pure exaggeration), wouldn’t be extorted with dubious rates?”

“Mr. Rager, you’ll have to declare bankruptcy by the end of it, seriously. You owe me. Big time.” She joked back, of course, she didn’t really expect much. By her own goodwill, Ryujin was looking after Mr. Rager, an exchange of her goodwill would almost sour all her community service - again, a flash of her trait, a blithely weak trait in modern society, a subtle revulsion to being paid for her services.

Mr. Rager, however, was the opposite. Rogue-man, Rager man, Mr. Rager, a name that fits him so closely, from the early onset of consciousness, an unruly rebelliousness coursing through his veins at all times, with flourish - with the crimonest red. He’s done it all, disowning his billionaire politician parents, who still relish the thought of meeting Mr. Rager one day; losing all his wealth, gaining it back the next; then, enjoying it all on a single roulette wheel, then forgiving the casino when they couldn’t pay his winnings; and then dying for a few seconds, under the angelic influence of the so-called hellish “nose candy”. But for his closure, his preference—he’s pastless, futureless.

That’s the dilemma, Ryujin hadn’t learned a single thing about Mr. Rager that was worth pulling a strand on. Contradictory statements only confounded her further, and a reply to her joke - of bankruptcy and debt - he’d say, “I’d have to find it buried somewhere.” And she’d think, “What? What the hell? What’s buried? What’s ‘it’ ?”

Often the thought was interrupted, never fully leaving its conception—Mr. Rager wanted to keep it that way. Ryujin, often on her phone, never leaving her eyes off Mr. Rager, spent her delicate hours in the breezy, spacious hospital room.

Mr. Rager, of course alarmed, would ask - every day - “why do you visit so often?”

Then, Ryujin, really not knowing an answer, would default to a bland answer of so and so - real political talk. This procession, of nothing happening, stretching on for days was repetitive. It also made them happy. She’d put on her makeup, with her artsy hands - quick and fast. The rapidity with which she approached this situation, so contrary to all the aspects of her life - seemingly, Mr. Rager had brought vitality to Ryujin.

And in comes the day of withdrawal, the hospital withdrawal - where Ryujin and Mr. Rager resided comfortably. The door clicked softly as the nurse entered; simultaneously, Ryujin and Mr. Rager’s hairs stood up - what are they alarmed for? It was not, the nurse, no, absolutely not, the nurse was jovial, happy, thinking that she was delivering happy news.

She didn’t know that both of them found their only sources of joy inside this hospital. The nurse thought that she was relieving them of a most ludicrous bill, by ending it as soon as possible - as this hospital in particular, charges in hours, yeah, real dystopian shit. And so, it was a surprise when both the people had an almost disdainful stare towards her - it’s just my imagination, the nurse thought.

–

“Are you sure? You know overdraft schedules cost significantly more?” The nurse asked, confused, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I just want to stay here for one more day.” Mr. Rager replied.

“But, but - do you have any ailment? That’ll bring down the price.” 

“None at all, I just want to stay here for another day more.”

Rich people are nuts, the nurse, still, complied, letting him stay, leaving him for another day.

–

As the day progressed, Ryujin came back, again, in the evening. “Your schedule, how do you do that?” Mr. Rager was genuinely impressed with how Ryujin utilized her time, imagine his surprise when she just says, “I just skipped some stuff.”

“Alright, well, thanks for coming.” And that got Ryujin thinking, was this his first time thanking me? Which, in fact, did make her day. And, she wouldn’t dare challenge this once in a lifetime behavior - that’d be a quick way for that behavior to be stashed away, forever. Again, as soon as she entered, the atmosphere changed. 

It’s about damn time they understand the euphoric peacefulness they rouse for each other. And, today was one of the moments where Mr. Rager gives a slight glimpse of his life - the confounding ones that really led to nowhere. “I think my aversion to alcohol comes from the fact that I had kids with this chick, married this chick, bought a mansion for us to live in - and, only too late, realized that it was really the alcohol that talked.”

Ryujin’s heart sank, “what? You have kids?”

“Not anymore, don’t have custody over them anymore.” He was so unbothered, utterly unbothered.

“I’m sorry for asking, just curious—what happened to them?”

He chuckled, “No more personal questions after this, alright?”

She nodded, her beady eyes on full alert. The pillow that she borrowed from the hospital bed, on her lap. She was intently listening from the comfortable armchair. 

“I let her take the kids, she didn’t ask for alimony or anything like that—just that, on the condition that I don’t contact them ever again.” He stared at the ceiling, sorting some of it out, not sure if it was some traumatic experience. Nevertheless, he continued, “she found me unbearable after a while, and I found her unbearable as well. I was never there too: too busy with money. She probably didn’t chase after alimony because she already had a sweetheart - with money - to get back to.” With so much ease, as if he’d been through too many lifetimes - too many he can remember.

“Oh,” that’s it, that’s all the reaction she can give.

“Oh, what’s with that reaction?” He chuckled.

“I-I’msorryIdon’treallyknow-” she paused, “Hey! You’re being so annoying today.”

“Sometimes, a flipped script - like teaser gets teased - leads to masterpieces.”

“Any examples?”

“Nah, I just made it up.”

From then on, the conversations continued; the deep introspective pauses continued, listlessly; and both began to feel the drowsy effect of the combination of warm light and black-out curtains.

And a tired Mr. Rager loves beauty. 

“Ryujin.”

“Hm?” She looked back, staring at him with her doe eyes.

“You’re like marijuana.” One can say he has a way with words.

“What?” Her brows stitched in confusion.

“You’re fucking amazing to have around. But, I swore to never, nev-” He fell into a deep sleep, so contrary to his habits: he’s never fallen asleep with his own mind’s permission.

Her doe-like eyes opened farther open. Her heart began beating listlessly, skipping beats. I’ve got to leave, before I-. Yet she magneted closer to the bed, where Mr. Rager slept so peacefully. Did I do that? He’s always complaining about sleeping, yet- yet he slept so easily. She was making up all sorts of situations, scenarios, theories - none of them healthy for the mind.

And, before she knew it, under the bright moonlight radiating into the room, gentle shadows across his face, she leaned closer, letting her soft lips touch the peak of his cheekbone, causing shivers across her spine, and she thought fuck, fuck, I’m really doing it - and when that wasn’t enough - then his forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from his forehead on her lips. But no more, that’d be too much, too much.

Under her own shame, her bright flush cheeks, her dilated pupils, twin pools of dark moons: she quickly left the room, carrying all her stuff such that it’d be guaranteed to fall in the middle of the hallway, a real mess she made of herself.

CHAPTER II: 

Keep movin' forward, keep movin' forward

I'm so-I'm so reborn, I'm movin' forward

Along the way home, the realization washed over her like a molotov flame - its gentle but fiery shimmer covering the entirety of her body. And the way her heart pumped, any performative act she could do to stop it was useless - ultimately doing nothing, nada, zilch. The sound of his roaring laughter from her jokes, the curve of his smile, the messy stubble, god, she was really losing it inside the bus. Her every thought, motion, every constriction of her body - pulse and all - was consumed by him. Her legs rubbed together desperately, and the slightest, faintest moan left her quivering lips as she let her imagination go wild. 

And the fact that… that an elderly lady was behind her, judging her provocative movements, just nudged her on further - full on deviant shit.

As soon as she’d be home, she’d have a towel under her.

–

Fortunately, past the hospital departure, they wanted to see each other again - platonically. However, it’s been days, and though that may seem quite short, they’ve never been separated for more than 12 hours. 

And these days, these listlessly long days, let Ryujin know of her sympathetic entanglement, and, seemingly intensifying it. Ryujin, with her sore body, stared at Mr. Rager’s phone number on her phone - the curves of the numbers kept reminding her of everything she thought about days before (the curves of the numbers some dubious correlation with Mr. Rager). She’s about to do it again, two fingers, knuckle-deep, into her folds until she’s a drooling mess on the bed. She was already a mess to begin with, a crook in her neck, half her bed unmade, sleep-deprived.

That isn’t to say that Mr. Rager wasn’t just as affected. He never succumbed to the pleasure of the hand, but the dreams, the wistful dreams. Imagining her close smile against him, moaning soft and goading phrases right into his ear - melodiously erotic. Her soft palms against his broad back, pressing deep - trying her best to not scratch up his back. You’re fucking me so good, mm- she’s whimpering, right on your ear, fuck, shivers throughout. Then, halt. It’s the fucking alarm.

Both awake, going through their groggy morning routines to finally meet again. Would it be as magical as it was in the hospital? Would it ever be so calm?

–

The time to meet was approaching quickly. Ryujin got ready, her perfect face, judiciously given with all her perfect talents, was colored with minimal effort, any more and she’d show off her inexperience with makeup - Mr. Rager would’ve lost it all regardless. Because, she was dressed in this tight dress, the type of dress that a girl like her deserves, expensive, ornate, sexy; but, she was a special case, she’d never worn something so ornate and so revealing, and the mirror would reflect a little doe desperately pulling on the hems that revealed her taut thick thighs, the cusp of her petite bosom, and any effort to cover was an ultimately futile effort, this was something she had come to terms with, before leaving her small studio.

And, as if she were in a Wong-Kar Wai movie, she entered the bus: all glammed out in a shitty environment. And the nervous eyes in the bus quickly looked away, intimidated heavily; still, some passengers hoped that they could get a glimpse with the spasm of their pupils to her direction - that’s how good she looked.

She sat down mindfully, crossing her legs - alarmingly aware of the stares. Her face adopted a natural blush - a face too beautiful to hide. Her eyes, set beneath her delicately arched eyebrows, stared at the reflection of herself from the wide glass. She’d never be able to understand her own beauty, too often enveloped in imposter syndrome, and the only person, Mr. Rager, would be the one, who could tell her the beauty of her cascading black hair; her large eyes, accentuated by a deep-set gaze; the beauty with which she carried herself, awkward, yet enigmatically, always, the most beautiful person in the room.

Mr. Rager, gaunt from the opioids, still looked herculean, a fitful combination that fit any clothing piece. With an androgynous face that was covered with sharp eyebrows, dark under eyes, high cheek-bones, and a sort of asymmetrical face that was almost better than the conventional symmetry: in summary, he was someone you couldn’t miss. This inherited comeliness comes with its risks, from the ease of life to the women, things that Mr. Rager succumbed to in violent fashion. Other than that, his preparation was pretty rapid, hopping into his entirely dark-tinted - for obvious reasons - car and set off into the gentle night.

Ryujin landed at the closest bus point to the meeting point. Her dress was unsuited for the weather, and her body began going frigid under a chilly summer day. That’s until a black car, a mercedes s-class, stopped ahead of her. It was nothing to be worried about, she’d just pass by it, acting as if she didn’t see it. However, the figure that exited the car was all too familiar: Mr. Rager.

“Ryujin.” Mr. Rager took a look, scanning her body - making it all too obvious with his pupils - instantly realized why he’s been thinking constantly about her - she’s just the most beautiful person.

And Ryujin, the way her knees slightly folded from seeing Mr. Rager, a slight spasm in her joints - she really missed him. And her hands crossed together between her loins, her eyes opened slightly larger.

“Don’t be so nervous.” He chuckled, that chuckle, that deep chuckle - Ryujin could feel the heat in her core. “Come in, you still have a long way to go,” she gladly accepted, entering into the car: feeling the soft seats, the fragrance of the unusual smell of vanilla and sandalwood (in a car?), and the overwhelming luxury around her surroundings.

“Be sure to dial the temperature or dial whatever you need, I’m sure you were pretty cold outside.” Mr. Rager said, aware of how Ryujin is not one to engage in something without permission - only if he knew what she’d done, the moment before she left, that day. However as he talked, all Ryujin could respond with was a chuckle, she was too focused on how the sentence sounded, how his eyes placed on her face, and occasionally, how it landed on her chest. And that was just the pinnacle for her.

He couldn't stop his gaze, this fermentation of a pending calamity was bounding closer and closer, and thrilled both parties to no end - they couldn’t even hide their own temptations behind the screen of a platonic hang out. By the seconds, the passing seconds, they got bolder, he got bolder. He let his eyes wander far down, her creamy white legs, her meticulous maintenance of it all. And Ryujin was wallowing in it all, his sharp gaze made her feel warmer, wetter - enticing her to dial down the temperature, a contrast from when she was so cold outside.

Still, they’d say nothing, despite it all. The silent hum of the tire scraping against the asphalt was all the credence, the distraction, they were allowed. The rest was this endorphin-filled, endorphin-crazed environment where both of them knew that they were pushing too quickly, given the fact that this companionship began from a suicide attempt.

Still, there’s this slip of time, where they could, possibly, love each other. Though, before these exponential entropic forces caused all sorts of calamity, they arrived at the spot. This run-down complex, that hid a quaint restaurant with private rooms, was a source of nostalgia for Mr. Rager. Ryujin followed, climbing the stairs, ascending just behind him, pulling down on her dress, sticking her thighs together as she climbed (a natural precaution). The restaurant was exactly that, quaint. They entered one of the tight-fitting cubicles, where they sat across from each other, a small sitting-table separated their bodies - unfortunately.

“Don’t be too worried about this restaurant, it may be run down, but it’s a great experience.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not worried about that, I frequent far more run down establishments than this.” As the words left her tongue, Ryujin cringed, frequent? What am I? A prostitute? Her eyebrows knitted.

“Relax Ryujin,” he chuckled, “enjoy yourself, I’ll pay for it all.”

“That’s the first step to the debt?” Ryujin grinned, loosening, gaining her natural confidence.

“Perhaps. Come on, go crazy.” There it is, that nice toothy grin, her cheeks ripple into some sort of whiskers - god, he’d do anything for that, again and again. 

The dishes came, oily dishes full of food, and Ryujin’s eyes glazed in excitement. After a brief, too quick, moment of eating, both of them leaned back - absolutely full.

“You got a bird’s stomach for your ambition, Ryujin.”

“And you’re a head taller than me, but you’re leaning as well!”

“Good point.” He chuckled, fighting indigestion through it.

“I don’t even like oily food.”

“Me too.”

This time, a collaborative laugh.

Mr. Rager paid the meager bill, leaving all the food to rot on the table - the plight of abundance.

–

“Anything you want to do today?” Mr. Rager asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“It’s really late, I really wanted to punish your wallet, you played your cards right going out so late..” Ryujin relaxed into the seat, fully comfortable, in-tune.

“Well, if you don’t have any plans. Mind if I go the reservation for us?”

“What reservation?”

“That’d ruin the surprise, Ryujin.” The ambient sound of the tires against the ground in combination with the dark night - the darkest night before morning - was an even more intense atmosphere.

This peaceful atmosphere, intense, yet peaceful, again, just like the hospital visits. This interesting continuation of happiness, so foreign to his life, was something that he could get used to. His forearm pressed against the storage compartment, letting his hand spill over; his other arm was loosely steering, as loose as the gentle dark night. 

As he trailed the road, occasional peeks at Ryujin showed her transition to sleep: drowsy eyelids that infrequently close for periods of time, then, longer periods, then, sleep. 

Who was this angel? This angel that wrought Mr. Rager all manners of hope, of happiness, of reflection. If he hadn’t been so stubborn about his affliction towards personal information, maybe, just maybe he’d understand her more, this girl - so beautifully clad in a flowery dress.

Is this love, this elusive feeling? How could it be so cruel? So cruel as to bring it to me at a time so random, and so heavily…

Again, he forgot his bad habit: speaking his thoughts out loud.

He realized too late, and he could feel her large eyes staring at him, confused. 

Yet, and yet, he felt the gentle warmth of another palm on his forearm - a reassuring grip.

“Min, I love you too.”

CHAPTER III: No Longer Mr. Rager

I want to kiss you on your space below your navalette

The place you keep so neat, so moist like a towelette

Ryujin, her beautifully beady eyes looked at you, as she lifted your forearm, planting little kisses all over it.

“Oh Ryujin.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that, Min.” A statement that left her lips as she continued worshiping his forearm.

Jesus, this woman.

He pulls into the closest parking spot, giving not a single fuck that there were a few cars there - all likely empty, anyway.

And, with all pretenses and courtesy removed, the forearm that was so judiciously worshiped, wrapped around her nape, pulling her into a searing kiss. That deep moan, that accepting moan as his mouth opened against hers. He almost forgot the most essential question - suddenly, slightly pulling away from the kiss.

“How’d you find out about my name, Ryujin?” Min asked.

“A woman doesn’t disclose her secrets, besides, how could my love not have a name?” Cheesy, feisty, what a woman.

“Good point.” Another searing kiss, dynamic, evolving, every step more depravedly romantic than the previous.

He was pretty sure that he’d break something, in the middle compartment, that separated you from total body connection. Again, you pull away, this time, it brought out a desperate whine out of her, her arms that wrapped desperately around you kept pulling you in - like a vortex.

She understood the memo as soon as he exited the car - love connection. This time, with a wider space, still constricted, was the best they could do, and they’d relish this extra space. Min, naturally assumed dominance over Ryujin, her body acclimated against his aggressive pulls and pushes - all for the pleasure of Ryujin, and she didn’t take it lightly, each breath heavy with the densest pleasure. Oh, oh, oh, keep manhandling me. She’d whisper. And he’d obey.

As Ryujin, with her tight dress, splayed against the seats on her back, took initiative to take off Min’s clothes, button-by-button. “Oh I’ll fuck you so good, Ryujin, so fucking good.” He’d repeat, over and over, and Ryujin would get more aroused by each iteration: “Yes, yes! Please.” Occasional soft bites were felt all over his collarbone, his neck, his earlobe. “Possessive little bird, I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed her head, making sure that he’d also mark her, a heavy hickey on her neck.

And Ryujin fucking loves it, she softly caresses him, soft grasps against his back, locking her taut legs around him, begging for continuations. And, Min would obey, in his own rebellious way, tightly grabbing her breasts - hidden behind the dress - then pressing kisses all over her neck, nearly all of them hickeys. 

“Fuck the reservation,” he grunted, it was an expensive reservation, but he doesn’t give a fuck: Ryujin’s right under him, begging for him to ravage her taut body. And she replies, “That’s right, that’s right, mister, master!” The end of her sentence was capitalized by Min’s heavy grasp on her breasts.

“That’s right, little bird.” Low grunts against her ears, his thick shaft, covered, grinded against her body, while his mouth assaulted hers.

And she cums, her head turns up, looking wherever - straining her neck - to release her pleasure. “Ngghhh!!!” A heavy whine, so enthusiastically human, straining against the seats that held her back. “Holy shit! That was so amazin-” enough talking, he’d motion, locking mouths together.

Silent moans, “mmmf..” hummed against his tongue, Ryujin was so turned on, and he’d love to fulfill all her wishes. Each rotation of his hip against hers were accentuated by Ryujin’s deep moan, squeaky moans, the moans that she couldn’t hide by covering her mouth. His hand, fixed onto her breasts, finally ventured below, feeling her lithe abdomen - the slightest abs - then letting his hand rest on her pelvis, just above her pussy. 

He finally released himself from the hypnotizing kiss, staring at her body - mostly still covered by the dress: now, that, won’t do. He pulled on the bottom hem of her dress, revealing her wet core, an embarrassed squeak along with it all. “You’re so fucking hot, Jesus,” he had a taste of what her body looked like, and he just can’t get enough. All precaution thrown out the window, the expensive dress was about to be ruined, and Ryujin - ever resourceful - seemed to allow it. He pulled the upper hem of the dress down, breaking the straps that could’ve been removed easily - this is a statement, I own you - Ryujin seemed to get the memo - all beady and begging.

Her soft breasts, creamy, smooth, with pink nubs spilled out from the tight dress. He pressed both his hands, all over her body, exploring the transitions from her taut skin to the scrunched dress, making sure to remember every facet of it all. “How badly do you want it?” He whispered, wholly focused on her body, subtly noticing her wet core, the outline of her pussy growing clearer by the second. And Ryujin didn’t even have to answer the question, locking her legs around his waist, frantically trying to get her hips on his covered shaft - yeah, she’s fiending for it.

And Min, ever the indulgent, gently moved and hovered his hand over her neck, waiting for that confirmation, that wink, that nod - and, Ryujin, calming down from the intense pleasure, nodded. That first grasp, tight, measuring her tolerance, measuring just the moment when the eyes go back to her eyes - and he seemed to completely pinpoint it, that slight spasm of her body, and her inner thighs are just soaked.

Finally, Min decided it’s time to give her sopping cunt some attention. Peeling the layer to the side, wet with the highest arousal, hid her bright pink core - and it, her core, was begging to be sated, pulsing, glistening, beautifully fragrant.

Firstly, he let a single finger prod, then entered. And Ryujin was already shaking, her eyes went straight to the back of her head, and her neck vascularized - all veiny - from the soft choke. It would’ve been too cruel to give her too much pleasure, so he took his hand off her throat, instead, patting her head - letting her know that she's doing so good, so good. 

In and out, motion of the ocean, slick covering his finger the deeper he went, earning the most virile moans out of her cute mouth. “You like that, huh?” He dug deeper, until his knuckle - a loud moan. She had never felt anything like this, her two fingers could never compare, and she’s a virgin after all, and she’s about to get deflowered in the backseat of a car - and, she loves it. 

In a swift motion, where Min continued his manhandling of Ryujin, he pulled his finger out - in a hook motion to agitate her g-spot, earning a girlish yelp - then, let Ryujin taste her own juices on his finger.

“You’re doing so good.” Min whispered, so overly joyed by Ryujin, how her petite body convulsed in pleasures beyond what he could ever imagine.

“I know.” Ryujin replied, defiant to the end. She knew exactly how this inspired him to be rougher - and she loves it. He gripped her waist, gripping harder, letting her firm abdomen mold against his grip, dug deeper into her cunt, placing his thumb over her engorged clit. One. Two. Three motions around her clit, three motions of his finger into her cunt - before she squirted onto the side window, far more girlish yelps, and desperate panting. This time, Min with his wet hand, spread it all over Ryujin’s face - the essence of her arousal, via his hand, spread on her face, where makeup was placed so thoughtfully, only to be ruined by her own squirt. She’s panting amidst all this, unable to process anymore than her overwhelming second orgasm. 

“You’re a fucking mess, Ryujin, cumming this quickly?”

“You made me this way…” She huffed, “you fucking brute.”

This time, all Min does is press against her pelvis - specifically, the pelvic bone, where just below is her g-spot, and the slight pressure, was absolutely deadly. All the while, he declared, “That’s right, little bird. I’ll press you against the seat, face-down, slam into your ass with all the force I can muster - then, when I’m deep, too deep, cervix-level deep, I’ll release all my cum into your precious little womb.”

“Nghhh~~!” And another squirt, where her legs closed together, toes curled, and her head hung back. While Ryujin was trying to recover, Min placed a quick and wet kiss on her lips, but that'd be the only romanticism that Min allowed her. Quickly, he let her sit up, pulling her by her thin wrists. Then, he pulled down his own pants - letting his shaft free from the restraints of his tight clothing, the painful onset of an early blue balls in its conception, that was only fuel to the fire to fuck Ryujin good, and hard.

“Sit on my lap facing me, Ryujin.” He demanded. And no matter how much Ryujin came, squirted, panted, and yelped - she’d always oblige in Min’s demands. She quickly hooked her other leg over him, in a hovered position rather than sitting. This time, he passed his fingers through her wet hair, letting it pass behind her ear, “safe word is Mimetic,” and he earned a soft nod from Ryujin, and consent to batter her sopping, wet, sticky, engorged pussy.

He slithered a hand around her waist, holding her in place; then, placed his other hand around her neck, just on the nape. He pulled her in for one last kiss. The last bit of eye contact before penetration, and all that could be seen in Ryujin’s eyes - beady and all wet from pleasure - was a fiending desire to be fucked silly.

Slowly, he let her descend, right up until his tip kissed her wet folds. She winced from her sensitivity, just from the touch. And that’s when it flashed in her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was ready, given the fact that she hadn’t told him about her virginity. Before she could realize her thoughts through speech, she felt the intense heat of something foreign entering - something so thick and large - and it wrought every emergency signal in her brain - all of them, positive. “Oh–OH, fuck…” is all that Ryujin squeaked out before he pushed in deeper, feeling her gentle pussy wrap around his shaft - all wet and moist. A constant sizzling whisper could be heard from Ryujin as he buried his cock deeper, until, halfway in, where she let out a deep moan. “Holy fuck,” she moaned again, deeper. Holy fuck is right, her body was so resistant, tight right at the start to the end, yet, the way it also sucked his shaft into its wet folds - Min was already addicted.

“Ryujin, you’re so tight.” He said as he kept nudging Ryujin to move farther down, waiting for her glistening pussy to completely wrap around his shaft - then, eventually, completely devour her in the backseats of his own car. Yet, as he went through it with her, he began clueing in on the note - Ryujin is very.. Too sensitive. Why Ryujin focused on getting herself down, skewering herself on his length - desperately breathing, her chest dilating in and out. Through it all, as Ryujin tried to, adorably, hide her inexperience, Min pressed a compassionate kiss right into her mouth. 

“I love that. The fact that you’re so horny for a virgin.” He whispered against her mouth, breathing hotly, immeasurably hard.

And Ryujin needn’t respond at all, all she needed to do - well, did - was reach out with her tongue for his mouth, with those prey eyes, begging to be taken, testing her fickle fate - a sign that he needed to kiss her, devour her, again and again until hell freezes over. And finally, during the desperate haze of a reunification of mouths, he finally buried himself straight to the hilt, in her pink, glistening, sopping, beautiful core. And slowly, the wet sounds of sex, so blatantly loud in this claustrophobic environment, reverberated inside the car; the wet sounds of her moans covered this hazy atmosphere, coming from her lips that detached from his mouth, streaks of saliva still connecting them both; and that feeling, this mutual feeling of utter bliss, how her back bent - contorted - into every pump.

They couldn’t stop staring at each other, two perverts, two soulmates who couldn’t go for a second without looking at each other. Even when Min pushed up harder, letting his full length pass through her virginal hole, they still maintained that sensual eye contact - that essential eye contact.

“You fuck me so good, Min.” Ryujin said as her two small breasts jolted from every pump, every contraction of his length leaving her one step closer to ruin - until her eyes went back to that dangerous place, that orgasm line. And the resulting pressure, that heavenly pressure, pressed against his shaft so strongly, that his tight-lipped mouth let out a few growls of pleasure, a sign that he’s close to painting her womb in baby batter. 

Ryujin, ever the caretaker, felt the convulsions, and began pressing desperate kisses over his face - anywhere she could reach, whilst patting him on the back. And Min would never admit he liked it, that he loved it, and he didn’t need to admit it, Ryujin already knew. 

And she knew exactly, that this was the final straw that she needed to break before she was filled with his essence, the catalyst of that final convulsion. Min immediately seized, grabbing Ryujin in a bearhug - one that could’ve bruised her - and pumped hard, that final wet sound of sex, before, rope after rope of release entered deep inside her, splashing against her cervix, filling her womb.

“FUCKKK!!” He growled, he hadn’t felt this good since ever. And the same for Ryujin, who cried a leaky yelp, where her last bits of squirt flowed down the slightest nook from their love connection. They were static for a moment, relishing in the deviant copulation they engaged in, where, almost, the condensation of their lovemaking was visible in the air of the car.

“I love you.” She kissed him again, staring all lovey-dovey, as if her pupils had gone and turned into hearts.

“I love you.” He stared at her, happy, smiling.

“I love you more.” She added, exaggerating her laugh, trying to tease.

“I concede.” He replied.

“Heyyy! You’re supposed to say it back!” “I’m more for physical demonstrations. Wanna see?”

“Uh no. Please. It feels like it's about to fall off.” She was mentioning her pussy, all swollen and gummy to the eye.

“I love it, it’s so beautiful.” He replied, fully serious, digging his mouth into her neck, he was absolutely crazy about her.

“Min, I gotta take a shower, you’re being gross-” that’s when Min pressed a finger onto her - still engorged - clit, and proceeded to say, “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 

“Ngh! Stop! Seriously, it’s about to fall off.” Unfortunately, the collected accumulation of their love juices swiftly dripped down as Ryujin jolted back from him touching her clit.

“Isn’t this gonna stain your car until the end of time?” She stared at the significant puddle of who knows what.

“Let it. A commemoration of our intense copulation.”

Ryujin blushed, quickly grabbing the tissues that Min offered her, and wiping off all that she released, her entire lower half, essentially, was wet. And Min got aroused from watching Ryujin cleaning herself - her little winces when she slightly grazed her cunt only adding fuel to the fire. “Clean my cock.” Min demanded, but when Ryujin grabbed the tissues - ready to oblige - he replied, “with your mouth.”

To be continued...

Ahhh, I love cliffhangers. Enjoy waiting for 10 months! (just kidding!)

Honestly, I wanted to take months with this project, but I just can't seem to stop myself (from writing mid stuff).

[bunny-1111]

Eyes dont miss - Theo Nott x reader

Description: When you try to hide your anxiety from your observant boyfriend Theodore, it comes in crashing on you in the middle of the night, and you can't run from it any longer.

TW: anxiety attack

Word count: 1.3k

Fluff, unedited

...

There was little that Theodore missed.

In his eyes, he carried a loaded gun.

Ammo full of meticulous attention to detail.

He had you studied, fluent in you as if you were a language, the twitches in your eyes a verb, the tone in your voice an adjective.

You thought you hid yourself well, well enough to go unnoticed.

But he watched, even when you insisted on being ok.

He was demanding, a trait both good and bad, his stern demeanour insisting on answers, meeting your same stubborn answer, you were okay. Liar.

When it came to you, Theodore wouldn't allow himself to leave the slightest detail unscathed.

He watched and observed as you drew on your arms during class.

How you picked at the skin around your nails under the table of the great hall during dinner, your twitching hands fiddling as if your fingers depended on it.

How would you chew the gums at the side of your mouth

How he felt your fingers claw a little deeper into his shoulder when he suggested you both turn in for bed.

To Theodore, these things were concerning, though, when he would approach and accuse you of being undeniably going through it, you would deny, deny, deny.

Until you both hit the worst of it, in a cold winter night when you couldn't run away from it anymore. In the still and quiet hour of three am, you pant, in a hot sweat, string in a nightmare until Theo woke, immediately halting you up much to your fright.

As you sat up, the heavy rise and fall of your chest began to set him off too, his own breath hitched watching you fall apart for reasons above him.

His heavy hand polished up and down your back, he meant to be gentle, but he couldn't stop his mind to remember to be tender.

"What's going on" his voice echos through your ears

"Why are you yelling?!" you scream, your hands glued to your head, you wanted to rip your hair out there and then.

"What? Darling, talk to me," he quietly softly. He wasn't yelling, though to you. To you, his voice boomed with volume; just focus, you reminded yourself, come on idiot, stop this, stop it, focus, focus, focus.

Your hands fall in front of your face as you dig your nails into your skin time and time over.

When Theodore's hands take hold of your own, realise the almost bloody palms spread out, lacing his palms into yours.

"Feel my hand, hear my voice, c'mon" he whispered out.

His words cut through the fog like a lifeline, grounding you in their gentleness. Your head spun, reality blurred at the edges, but the steady warmth of his hands kept you tethered.

"Look at me," Theo urged softly, voice barely a murmur, as if afraid to startle you. He didn’t pull you out of the moment harshly, didn’t demand you shake it off. No, he anchored you, the pad of his thumb brushing along the back of your knuckles, each slow pass soothing, steadying.

He kept as much distance as he could, as if you were roadkill like he was gently aiding you off the road.

"Feel that, love?" he whispered, his dark eyes locked on yours with an intensity that was grounding in its calmness. "That’s me. I’m right here. I’ve got you."

You nodded, though the tremor in your hands betrayed you. Theo’s gaze remained unwavering, watching every flicker in your expression, the tiny cracks forming in your armour. You felt his hand drift to your cheek, warm and solid, the weight of it reassuring.

"I—" you started, words tangling in your throat, the shame of it making you flinch. The anxiety had been building for days, creeping up on you like a shadow. You'd convinced yourself you could manage, that you didn't need anyone, but Teddy wouldn't have that.

You weren't clueless. You brushed off his attempts of interrogation, but at this point, you were defenceless.

“You don’t have to explain it all, you know,” he murmured, his voice carrying the hint of a smile, as if he already understood without needing your words. "Just breathe. With me."

He guided you, slow and rhythmic, his own breathing soft and even. You mirrored him, matching his inhales and exhales, feeling the wild storm inside begin to quiet.

“Better?” he asked after a moment, not rushing, just waiting for you. His hand didn’t leave yours, fingers laced like he wouldn’t dare let go. And somehow, that small gesture made you feel safer than you’d felt in days.

You nodded again, feeling your heartbeat slow, the panic that had gripped you loosening, dissolving under his patient watch.

“Theo…” your voice broke a little, shaky and raw, but he just shook his head, his lips quirking up in that way that made you feel seen. Not judged. Not pitied. Just seen.

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispered, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll always be here, yeah? I've got eyes on you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

And in that moment, you knew he meant it.

Theo's gaze softened even further, though his grip on your hand remained firm, grounding. The quiet between you both was filled with his silent assurances, a warmth that felt like a promise of safety. Your heart felt exposed, raw, but under Theo’s watchful eyes, vulnerability didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like trust.

He shifted closer, closing the small gap between you, his knees brushing against yours as he sat across from you on the bed. “This… whatever it is you’re carrying,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You hesitated, your mind flickering back to the countless times you’d brushed off his concern with a casual smile or a quick change of subject. You’d thought you were sparing him, protecting him from the weight of it all. But Theo was persistent, as if each little gesture you’d thought went unnoticed only made him more determined to understand.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, bringing you back from the haze of your thoughts. “You don’t have to be okay all the time, you know?” His voice was calm, unwavering. “Not with me. I’d rather have your truth than your silence.”

A shiver ran down your spine, the walls you’d built up crumbling in the quiet of his words. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you nodded, feeling a strange sort of relief wash over you, like a weight finally lifted.

"I… I didn’t want you to worry,” you whispered, your voice so soft it almost felt like a confession. “Didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it.”

Theo tilted his head, an understanding smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Love, if handling it means suffering alone, I’d rather you not handle it at all.” His tone was gentle, but the conviction in his words was unyielding. "You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a sense of warmth through your chest, leaving you feeling exposed yet comforted in a way you hadn’t felt in so long. Slowly, he reached up, his hand brushing the hair back from your face, his touch feather-light but grounding.

You took a shaky breath, letting yourself lean into his touch, allowing the weight of the moment to settle. For the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, it was okay to not be okay. Because Theo wasn’t going anywhere. And for him, your honesty mattered more than anything you could hide.

The panic and the anxiety might not be going anytime soon, but you knew neither was Theo.

“Thank you,” you breathed, the words barely audible, but Theo heard. He always did. He listened, and watched and understood, he loved with all his senses. He never missed.

...

A/N, my darlings, I'm back writing again. Requests are open, and if any of you suffer from anxiety, my inbox is always a safe place for you to come and talk about it, or anything in general.

Peace and love,

B.

[celiime]

thinking about how life with satoru would be if he had survived. how there’s just something about living with gojo, something so domestic, something so…heartwarming. especially after the war has ended.

living in heaven.

your eyes softened, fingers softly trailing down the side of his face as your thumb smoothed over the scar by his eye—delicately, as if you were afraid to break this god sleeping infront of you—only an addition to the multitude of other scars on his features.

for a moment back there, you thought you had lost him, you thought you wouldn’t be able to see him again—that you would have to wake up in this bed alone, without him.

“i don’t…” for the first time since you’ve known her, shoko ieiri—your former classmate—seemed hesitant to speak, as if her breath was lodged in her throat, “don’t think i can guarantee you anything.”

at those words, though you knew you’d hear something similar to that, your breath hitched, eyes immediately drifting to land on the sight of your husband—torso separated from his lower half (you already threw up at the sight earlier)—gaze blurred by tears.

it wasn’t fair. what did she mean she can’t guarantee anything? does she mean that you won’t get him back?

despite your inner turmoil, the anguish tearing apart all the muscles in your chest—atrial, ventricular, and all the other muscles that you could distinctly feel being torn apart right this second—going all the way up to your throat, wanting to tear its way out—to demolish everything in its path. to avenge what should’ve been.

you think you could feel your body almost giving out.

you only nodded your head, gaze drifting to the floor tiles, the smell of antiseptic and everything unpleasant wafting into your nose, drowning out all your senses, “i trust you.” and you did, you trusted her.

she had always been trustworthy, doing her best, and you knew she wouldn’t let herself rest as long as gojo was on that table.

as much as he was—no, is—your husband, he was —is—also her best friend.

the woman infront of you—still upholding her composed features—bit down on her lip, a small sigh escaping her after a few seconds of silence, “in case anything happens…” in case he died right on that table, in case she couldn’t save him, “do you want to have a few words with him?”

shoko was never one for sentiment, she never really thought of saying her goodbyes to her loved ones as the first thing when she sees them on the table.

however, she knew you. she knew that you needed this, and she would keep you content—as she had promised gojo.

a few minutes passed, that ended up with you sitting beside him, on a chair that dug so persistently onto your side, your hip bone persisted—yet the pain was soon dismissed by the one in your chest, the ache stronger than any pain or dull ache in your side.

your hands, marred with scars and blood, trembled as you placed your hand in his own—fuck, it was so cold—weakly intertwining your fingers within his own, ignoring the shudder going through your body as soon as you held his hand fully.

your breaths quickened, shoulders trembling as you stared down at him, wanting nothing more than to rip out your own heart and replace it with his own.

to give him a beating heart once more.

despite your best efforts, a sob slipped from your lips, not bearing the sight of him laying so lifelessly before you. no sign of a smile or a playful glint in those eyes of his that—much to your dismay? relief?—were still wide open.

you have full faith in shoko, you really do. however, you just can’t help it, you can’t help the fear that crawls to your heart, suffocating you. but most of all, you can’t help the guilt you feel, the regret, the shame.

why didn’t you say goodbye? why did you allow yourself so foolishly to think that gojo is invincible? fuck—you still remember your last—no, don’t think like that—interaction with him.

“wish me luck!” your husband chirped, that wide beam never departing from his lips as he stood proudly in front of you, never hunching his tall stature despite the weight on it.

you quirked an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on your own lips, “do you really need luck, ‘toru? Is my faith not enough?” you managed to utter out, despite the concern and fear residing in the depth of your heart.

at your words, a small chuckle left his lips, eyes softening—the edges of his lips softening into a smile full of fondness, “nah, you’re right. you’re my good luck charm.” he placed a hefty palm on your head, a small snicker escaping him as your glare directed up at him as soon as you felt him messing up your hair.

“though—“ his voice was quick to interrupt the serene moment, a teasing lilt to his voice—that, maybe if you had focused enough, had an edge to it, one that carried doubt, worry, and…fear?

(you think so, you just couldn’t catch onto it before it dissipated from his tone.)

“shouldn’t a wife wish her husband a farewell when he’s heading into such a tough battle? you know! to smother him with worry and kisses?” he inquired, a teasing smile on his lips, “maybe wish him a goodbye if you’re so gracious! who knows if i’ll make it back?” he pouted, finding the time to insert in his theatrics even when uttering such words.

you should’ve put some consideration into his words, should’ve took them to heart—but you didn’t. you didn’t. because why would he be serious if his words were spoken so playfully? when you know that he’s the strongest? when you were so sure that he was sure that he would also make it out alive? he had to be, right?

you huffed out a playful scoff, shaking your head fondly, “you’re being dramatic. you’re going to see me later, anyways. no need for farewells, ‘toru!” you hated farewells, he knew that.

you flashed him a bright smile, hoping it would express the love you had for him despite how you seemed to turn down his request. “we’ll both see eachother later.”

were you?

were his words really genuine?

…

maybe they were. you should’ve taken them seriously. now you’re paying the consequences, the consequences of not being perceptive enough—oh, how your heart aches for your husband.

“maybe wish him a goodbye if you’re so gracious! who knows if i’ll make it back?”

another sob ripped out of your lips as you held his hand tighter, the tips of his fingers turning a faint purple from how tight you gripped onto his hand. “please—“ you don’t think you’ve ever sounded so weak, so defeated, “i’ll say goo—goodbye! anything you want, i’ll—i’ll give you anything you want. please—“

he would’ve cooed at you, had he seen you this mess of tears, snot, and cracking tone.

oh, your baby.

“at least—“ you lowered your forehead to rest upon his chest, shoulders caving in once you realized the absence of a heartbeat, “at least wake up for a few seconds so i could say goodbye, so you would die assured!”

you wanted to hear the sound of his heartbeat, the sound of his faint breaths, the sound of his lashes fluttering as he blinked. you wanted to listen to anything and everything as long as it indicated that he’s still with you.

you desperately prayed that day, drowning in your own tears and snot as you begged and pleaded for shoko to succeed.

to spare you the loss of a beloved.

shoko is indeed a gift to the world, a woman who deserves all worthy praise.

your eyes drifted downwards to your husband, his eyes fluttering open in an attempt to open them, before scrunching them shut as soon as the rays of light seeping through the windows struck them. he huffed out a low groan—a sound that had your heart jumping in ecstasy, even though it normally wouldn’t—reaching one long arm out and wrapping it around your waist.

a small giggle fled from your lips as soon as you felt him burying his head in your chest at an attempt to escape the light.

“what’re you laughing about, huh? you’re so evil.” he huffed, seeking comfort in the warmth of your chest. “you left the curtains open so your poor husband could suffer in the morning!”

yet, despite his protests—the sound of your giggle was enough to alleviate his mood. enough to make him silently thank the stars that he got so lucky to live another day to be able to wake up next to you.

he doesn’t know what would’ve become of him if there happened to be an afterlife, doesn’t know how he would’ve fared with the realization that he’s left you all alone.

he’s thankful he doesn’t get to discover if there is an afterlife or not. hems thankful that he never died on that operation table. he’s thankful for so many things and the most important one being—

his eyes drifted over your face, watching the way your lips quirked up into a smile as you tried to suppress another upcoming giggle, a prominent dimple appearing on your cheek, eyes almost scrunched shut in the enjoyment coursing through your body.

you.

your expression was a stark contrast to the that day, the day when he woke up, the tears long gone from your eyes, voice no longer hoarse.

“you’re so dramatic, ‘toru.” you fondly rolled your eyes, burying your hand in his hair and running it through it—internally cooing at the pleased breath that leaves his lips—

you can’t believe you would’ve had to live without this had the universe decided to torture you. had the worst case scenario happened.

“you know i’d never purposefully set you up like that.” you hummed, a disappointed sound leaving your lips as he drew away from your touch.

his heart melted, almost folding and going right back into your embrace.

his little wife was so smitten with him. he could melt right in his spot.

instead, he placed a hand on the back of your head, gently tugging it towards his chest—heart aching with the need to hold you close to him, to give you a feeling of a shield protecting you, to be gentle with you and grant you everything you want.

his poor baby. he can’t imagine the worry you must’ve been in. his heart aches with both fondness and sorrow as he remembers the state you were in.

“let’s sleep some more..” he mumbled, already feeling his eyelids start to flutter shut; the feeling of you in his arms both intoxicating and comforting, inducing sleep.

“baby, we slept for 14 hours??”

“shhhh…might as well complete the whole 24, you know i’m tired!”

“tired from sleeping, maybe.”

“mean! you know i need my beauty sleep! you can clearly tell who doesn’t get their beauty sleep here…”

huh?!

“what the—you take that back!”

[rileyslibrary]

A/N: Based on @salbeitraeume’s comment and that anon’s story with the coolest mom. Thank you both 💕

———————————————————————

It all started with an apple—a simple snack that you chose to enjoy under the July’s sun.

Yes, it was without your lieutenant’s permission, but you assumed he forgot to excuse you from your duties, so you decided to take that break anyway. You worked hard today, shovelling dirt, piling sandbags, and creating the perfect setting for your next field exercise. You deserved that damn apple.

However, you made two mistakes: The first one was that you decided to take the matter into your own hands without asking or reminding him that breaks are vital under such heat. Your second mistake was standing in plain sight, indulging in your snack while making yourself an easy target for the lieutenant.

He gave you the lecture of your lifetime and then some more. Rhetorical questions poured out of his mouth, such as “You think you can defy me like that?” and “Would you like me to wave a palm branch in your face while I feed you grapes?”

He made you stand on the tractor’s roof where everyone could witness your shame as a punishment. Whenever someone dared to ask why you were up there, he ordered you to stand in attention and scream at the top of your lungs:

“MY DISTORTED SENSE OF SELF-IMPORTANCE PREVAILS OVER TEAMWORK, SO I DECIDED TO TAKE A BREAK, WITHOUT THE LIEUTENANT’S PERMISSION, AND EAT MY SNACKY WHILE MY FELLOW COMRADES KEPT BUSTING THEIR ASSES OFF IN THE HEAT.”

But the lieutenant made two other mistakes of his own: The first one was that he forgot to give you and the rest of the team a break, making you work non-stop under the heat. The second mistake was that he chose one of the hottest hours to deliver your punishment.

Exhaustion was the first sign, but you brushed it off since you were already tired. Soon enough, you could feel your pulse in your throat, and your ears began to ring. You looked at the ground, and the world started spinning.

Everything was a blur after that: the lieutenant rushing towards you, ordering others to give you space, a cooling sensation against your skin, and the medic murmuring the words “heat exhaustion.”

Heat exhaustion, huh? No shit.

Blinking your eyes, you find yourself in a sterile room, lying on a bed with an IV in your arm and a cold pack wrapped in cloth at the back of your neck.

You attempt to sit up, but a voice from your left cautions you.

“Don’t,” it says softly, “You should lie down.”

You turn your head towards the voice; it’s the lieutenant. He’s sitting with his elbows on his thighs, resting his chin in his hands. He stands up and comes closer, but you flinch and back away.

He outstretches his arms to show you he means no harm. He touches the cold pack under your neck, then gently cradles your head, removing it from its position. He leaves the room and returns moments later with a fresh one. He wraps it in a dry cloth, lifts your head, and places it beneath your neck again. He joins you on the bed.

You can see him struggling to find the right words. Each time he opens his mouth, he hesitates and closes it again. Finally, he stands and walks to his chair, picking up something before returning to your side.

It’s an apple.

“You were eating an apple, weren’t you?” He asks.

You nod.

He retracts a folding knife from his pocket and begins to peel it.

“Lt.,” you say, “I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re sorry?” He asks, continuing to peel the apple, “No, I’m the one who should apologise to you.”

You look at him with half-lidded eyes. He continues speaking.

“I forgot to give you a break during a heatwave, and then I made things worse,” he confesses, cutting a piece of the apple. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

You look at him, then at the apple. “W-well, if it gives you any comfort, I forgive you, sir,” you murmur.

He extends a piece of apple towards you. “Here,” he says, “eat this.”

You accept his offer and watch him as he adjusts your headrest to a comfortable position. He walks towards the fan.

“Is the air okay?” He asks, “Should I move the fan, or are you comfortable?”

“It’s fine, sir,” you reply with a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

He picks up a water bottle from the cabinet and opens it up. Waiting for you to finish the piece of apple, he guides the bottle to your mouth and advises you to take small sips. His other hand supports your chin, ensuring it doesn’t spill on you.

You remember your earlier conversation, and a chuckle escapes your lips mid-drinking. You begin to cough, almost choking, and he pats your back.

“W-wait, Lt., wait,” you plead, “I have to tell you something.”

He stops and looks at you, confused.

“Remember when you were scolding me?” You ask.

“I do, soldier, and I’m not proud of it.”

“No, no, that’s not it,” you reply. “Remember when you asked me if I would like you to wave a palm branch in my face while you feed me grapes?”

He signs and looks at the peeled apple, then at the fan. He lets out a huff and shakes his head.

“Yes,” he says, struggling to suppress his laughter, “yes, I do.”

———————————————————————

[sixosix]

STAY, TOO | AETHER

desc you were afraid that aether would break your heart, but that all flew out the window the moment he got sick and demanded only you take care of him

notes wc 2.8k, FLUFF FLUFF bit of angst with reader’s mindset but happy ending i swear on my asia server genshin acc + this draft had been in my docs since 10/15/2023. its a miracle that i decided to pick up on it again and actually finish it !!!!!!! enjoy fellow aether kissers

Evenings were always eerily silent; because of that, your thoughts were loud. Not in the way that screamed—no, it was much worse. It was his voice that whispered, that made you shiver and reach out for something that never existed. 

You didn’t know if you were dreaming or if you were awake and letting your mind wander away to a familiar face. Your mind always ended up back to him, no matter how much you tried to stray away. No matter who you talked to, he haunted you. Who you kissed, his face flashed in your mind. You wanted to curse his name out—it was his fault you were like this. It was his fault for deciding to come into this world and rid yourself of your defenses, left helpless to his whims.

“Um, Y/N?” A hand moved to your shoulder.

You jumped out of your seat, heart racing as his grinning face dissipated from your mind. You turned and breathed a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here, Sucrose?”

“It’s past midnight,” Sucrose murmured, her expression nervous, but apparently, she was too worried to leave you be. “I saw light from your window and thought you fell asleep…”

You didn’t even know if you were—everything before felt like a distant blur. Your eyes darted back to your desk, and then your face paled at the sight of a grinning face staring back at you. How long had you been mindlessly doodling Aether’s face? You quickly snatched them away from Sucrose’s view.

“I—I’m fine. Sorry, I did fall asleep.”

Sucrose’s bottom lip jutted out. “This has been happening for too long now. You’re not fine.”

What were you supposed to say to that? You were so hopelessly infatuated with someone who was ruining your life and possibly your job with Mr. Albedo. That would be a fast way to get yourself fired.

Sucrose sat on the chair beside you, her expression determined. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing that serious, Sucrose,” you stammered. Hopefully, the candles were dim enough to hide how flustered you were. It was more embarrassing than serious, really.

“Is it the Traveler?” She knew how to strike hard for someone with such an innocent face.

When had it not been the Traveler, honestly?

“Ugh…” That was a yes for her, apparently.

Sucrose smiled in relief. Her eyes darted around your face, studying you. “What’s wrong? Was he affecting you that much?”

“Yes. Disturbingly so. Like, seriously, it’s disturbing me.”

Sucrose’s eyes sparkled with wonder. “How?”

“It feels like swallowing a crystalfly whole and feeling it flutter around my stomach whenever I even think of him.”

Sucrose’s face turned serious. “What have you been doing to the crystalfies we’ve been collecting?”

“Never mind,” you muttered. “I’m fine, Sucrose. I promise, okay?”

You weren’t. Sucrose must’ve thought the same, too, because Lisa barged into your office the next day.

“What else are you expecting? For him to notice your wallowing and say something about it?”

Lisa’s sweet, melodious voice sounded torturous now when she was poking at all the things you were desperately trying to keep hidden. You sink against your seat, feeling a lot like a scolded kid, caught red-handed skipping chores—skipping responsibilities, hoping to stay oblivious for a bit longer.

“He already said something,” you grumbled, finding it difficult to meet the mage’s sharp eyes.

For someone who sounded as gentle as a mother to her only child, Lisa’s disappointment made you feel a lot more shameful than if she were to chide you in the middle of Mondstadt’s streets.

“A week after we met. He told me he likes me,” you continued.

Lisa’s jaw dropped, a funny expression you’ve never seen on her before. “A week after you met? Let me get this right—”

You groaned, “Lisa, trust me, I know—”

“—Our dear Traveler confessed to you ages ago. When was it when Aether helped us with Stormterror? He’s in Fontaine now!” Lisa looked a little frazzled, her eyes wild. You were expecting her to chide you some more until you saw how her entire expression was sparkling. This felt foreboding, somehow. “He keeps visiting to see you! After all these years of you foolishly rejecting him—”

“I didn’t reject him!”

Lisa hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, but isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”

You were not rejecting Aether. You didn’t outright tell him you’re not interested because you are. He had been haunting your thoughts since you first laid eyes on him, returning from battle, cold breath billowing from his mouth, a pixie by his side, his hair aglow gold, Festering Desire in hand—and, oh, you desired him. It reached a point where Albedo himself had to ask if you wanted a check-up from how much you were burning with want.

Aether had grinned at you so brightly, and you damn near melted on the spot, even in the unrelentingly bitter weather of Dragonspine.

You found yourself liking him for more than his quite literally alien nature, his out-of-this-world body, and his abilities that had your hands itching to reach for a pen and paper to write down everything about him and figure out what the hell he was. Instead, you started falling for him as just Aether. His boyish smile, his witty jabs, his glimpses of personality.

And then he confessed to you—you, no one but one of Albedo’s assistants—and said he likes you, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything at the time. You thought of him leaving one day, and then you just couldn’t say the yes that was chanting in your brain.

To no one’s surprise, he did leave. Not to that extent yet, but away from Mondsadt. Even in Liyue, Inazuma, Sumeru, and Fontaine, he invaded your thoughts as if cursing you for not saying what you were thinking. You could only wish he thought of you just as much as you did to him. Maybe he’d end up hating you, and not loving him would be easier.

“Are you kidding?” If it were so easy, you would’ve already jumped in his arms and kissed him breathlessly. “He’s—he’s not like us. He doesn’t belong here. He’d leave, eventually. Just like he always does with the other worlds.”

“Is that what’s stopping you?”

“That’s reason enough to be stopping me,” you said sharply. “He’s got millions of worlds to flirt with as he pleases, and this is my only one. Who knows if Aether is the type to even visit?”

Lisa crossed her arms. “Maybe you should ask. Communication is key.”

“Even if that was the case, I can’t handle it. I already miss him enough while he’s still in Teyvat—I don’t know how I could live with myself if I let him into my heart, and he’s a world away.”

“You’ve already let him in your heart,” Lisa said softly. “Just talk to him, alright? I’m not the only one worried about you when you drive yourself to a corner like this—especially over a boy!”

“I’m perfectly alright,” you said, ignoring Lisa’s amused smile. “I’m not losing my mind. Especially over a boy.”

You definitely were losing your mind. That boy was Aether; how could you not?

“I think it’s adorable,” Lisa cooed, cupping her cheeks and sighing dreamily. “He’s still waiting patiently. Who knew the Traveler would be so willing to wait for love?”

You wished that it wasn’t like that.

“Y/N! Are you here?”

Crap. Did you fall asleep in your office again? Might as well stop paying rent if this was going to be a recurring thing.

Once again, by routine at this point, you threw your notes that had Aether’s face inked by the edges. Memory be damned, You couldn’t let anyone see how detailed your drawings of Aether are.

“Y/N?” The voice rang out again, and it sounded more familiar now.

You went to open the door and frowned. “Lisa? It’s so early—did something happen?”

Lisa smiled in greeting, so beautifully devious with what she was about to say: “Our Honorary Knight is back in town!”

“Did you come all the way here just to tell me that?” Were people just seeing you as one of Aether’s admirers?

“Of course not,” Lisa chuckled, patting your head. How did she look so good this early in the morning? “He’s sick and needs someone to look after him.”

You wanted to close the door. You wanted to crawl back to your desk and go to sleep, but she had that look in her eye—one that told you that you had something to do with where she was going. And you did not like where this was going.

“So?” Dammit. You really wanted to see Aether again.

“Why, who else better to take care than his dearest alchemist?”

“Albedo is everyone’s alchemist. Sucrose is everyone’s dearest alchemist.”

Lisa shushed you. Why was she so invested in this? “No, no, his. Not everyone’s.”

You felt your face burn at the thought of being his dearest alchemist. Or anything his. “Absolutely not! Wasn’t he in Fontaine just yesterday?”

“Why don’t you go ask him that yourself?”

You scowled. You weren’t agreeable in the mornings. “How did you even know about this?”

Lisa smirked, poking your nose. “Because he asked for you, specifically.”

You laughed dryly—good one.

“I won’t let you do anything you wouldn’t want,” Lisa said seriously, “but would you change your mind if I told you that it’s Aether that wants you?”

And so you ended up in Aether’s teapot, which was hanging around Jean’s office for safety. Jean only smiled knowingly when you knocked on the door and zipped straight to the teapot. You were only doing this on the off-chance that Lisa was telling the truth and that Aether demanded he didn’t want anyone else but you checking up on him.

His teapot was familiar. You had been here a few times, but you didn’t have your own room. That was too embarrassing to ask, no matter how much Aether suggested it.

“Y/N!” Aether lit up the moment you entered the room.

“Aether,” you greeted, and as much as you wanted to hide it, a smile bloomed on your lips. It was hard not to smile when Aether was looking at you like that.

He looked like a mess, with strands of hair spread all over his pillows. His blanket was only up to his hips, showing that he was out of his usual look, and wore a simple white shirt. You were grateful for that shirt; you didn’t want to end up helping Aether strip because he definitely would have suggested that.

“I’m sick,” Aether whined. “Tend to me.”

You would’ve doubted his fever, but it was worryingly hot when you reached out to check his forehead’s temperature.

Immediately, your suspicions fly out the window. Aether was burning, and you were the only one in the same room (teapot?) who should take care of him. The Honorary Knight was reduced to a fever.

You cupped his cheek and watched as Aether pressed his face closer. “Does your head hurt?”

“Yes.”

You tore your hand off. “I’ll make something to ease the pain.”

“You can ease it right now. By kissing it away.”

“Aether,” you sighed. Unbelievable. How did he still have enough energy for this while positively rotting on his bed? “Take this seriously. I haven’t seen you this sick— Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you sick. How did this even happen?”

“Stayed too long underwater,” he said.

Aether? Getting sick from swimming? You made a face, which Aether laughed softly at.

“No, seriously. It was an emergency commission. Even when I had to resurface, it was pouring. Someone was making the Hydro Dragon cry hard yesterday.” Aether’s face scrunched as he looked up at you with round eyes. “I was so cold.”

Although it sounded absurd that Aether would get a fever from that, you suppose that having to stay drenched for a long time would affect even someone like him. You couldn’t even imagine having to shiver your way back to Mondstadt after being thoroughly drenched the whole day.

You pulled the blanket further up Aether’s chest. Even if you suspected he was lying, he was trembling underneath the covers.

“Alright.” You’ll believe him because right now, it is a fact that Aether is undoubtedly sick.

You were well aware that he was and sounded like he was dying, but he looked cute, flushed, and staring at you expectantly. It felt nice to be needed by someone like him—made him feel less like a faraway dream.

You cleared your throat and looked away; you knew you looked flustered. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Why? Will you cook for me?” he asked.

You knew how to cook, but for someone who had traveled regions and tasted all kinds of foods, you would probably disappoint. Still, it wasn’t time for a competition with other chefs in Liyue or Fontaine. Aether needed food to fill his stomach.

“Any suggestions?” You hoped for nothing unfamiliar and crazy. You loved Aether, but having to fetch ingredients from oceans away was too much.

“Make it with love,” Aether said cheekily because he was a bastard who didn’t have any mercy on your heart.

And so you left the room and ignored Aether, laughing and coughing as he called after you. You had to leave either way—your chest was almost as warm as Aether’s forehead.

You decided to make a Radish Veggie Soup. You hoped Aether wasn’t too picky about his vegetables. The water was comfortably cold, enough to make you search around his cupboards for towels to soak it into. As you waited for the water to boil, you decided to check up on Aether again.

He was still lying there, but with his eyes closed now. You felt terrible seeing someone you witnessed defeat dragons battling a fever. You drew closer and placed the towel on his head. He didn’t flinch at the stark change of temperature, but he did react instantly, his warm hand clasping your wrist.

“Stay,” Aether rasped.

You bit your lip, your heart sinking. Was he dreaming about his sister? You always worried when he was feeling down because of their separation.

But then his eyes opened, and he stared right at you. “Y/N,” he said, “please stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Just this once.” Aether’s voice sounded so quiet, so unsure of himself.

You really couldn’t. You had a Radish Veggie Soup to attend to.

“I’m staying,” Aether said, and you had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the bed. “I’m staying here for you.”

You frowned. “Don’t lie to make me feel better right now. That would hurt more when you have to leave.”

Aether’s face softened impossibly. “I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth—I’m not leaving Teyvat. Even if I find my sister, I’m staying.”

Seriously? Just like that? “What made you change your mind?”

You couldn’t tell if Aether was blushing or if it was his fever. “How could I leave Teyvat when I see how cute you look taking care of me?”

You threw a pillow to his face.

He swerved away and laughed brightly. “I’m joking! I’m joking—drop that pillow, please. I’m kidding. Well, sort of.”

His face was once again attempted to get assaulted by another pillow. Aether grinned as he blocked it off with an arm.

“For someone so sick, you seem awfully lively,” you said, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“You breathe life into me; what can I say?”

You groaned. You couldn’t deal with this today—you needed at least three business days to process this and find another reason to reject him. Yet, as you moved to get some fresh air (anything to get Aether’s stupid face out of your view), a hand abruptly reached for your wrist.

Aether’s face was close to yours in a blink of an eye. His breath was hot on your face. “I’m serious,” he said, “so if— if you feel the same way, the least you can do is stay, too.”

“I— You—” You gaped at him. That sounded like it could be a proposal. Who would’ve thought—the Outlander, the Traveler, begging for you to stay?

Aether’s gaze flicked to your lips.

“Don’t kiss me,” you said in warning. “Are you an idiot? You’re sick!”

“That’s fine. I get to take care of you when you do,” Aether said.

Your face paled. “No! I have a job, Aether—”

Aether frowned. “And I have a world to save, but that can wait. We’re busy.”

You pushed his face away, his laugh smothered by your palm. “No, we are not. I’m busy making food for your sorry ass, away from you.”

Aether’s face crumpled. “Do you actually not want to kiss?”

Not when he’s sick and snotty, yeah.

Instead, you leaned in to kiss his forehead to make up for it. It was brief and faint, but Aether looked satisfied, smiling softly when you pulled away. It would do for now.

“I’m staying,” you said. “So long as you do, too. I’ll stay with you.”

THE SOUP TURNED OUT OKAY STILL. this is just how my mom takes care of me when im sick LOL but the idea of doing it to a sick aether was too good i had to write a fic about it. also i love angst about aether being the traveler aaghgh

thank u sm for reading. as always, lmk what u think and i hope u liked it!! <3

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Hi i have a jude bellingham request. Shy introverted reader that is scared of social interactions, who starts pulling back from jude after a bad event and he comforts her. Some angst mixed with fluff pls(u can add some smut if u want to idrc) thankss🫶🏾

Insecure

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You're insecure and he reassures you.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x You

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 6.8k

Warnings! Angst (but only a little bit for the plot), FLUFF!! Jude being the best boyfriend, NSFW! SMUT (18+), oral sex (f receiving), sweet love making, protected sex (for once),

The notifications on your phone felt relentless.

Each buzz, each ping, eating away at your self-esteem.

It had all started a couple of weeks ago when Jude invited you to a gala. You hadn't thought much of it—an evening spent in a sleek gown by his side, pretending to enjoy the swirling champagne and over-polished conversations.

Jude had introduced you to a few people, his arm around your waist the entire night. For a moment, you'd felt like you belonged.

Until now.

You had only taken a few seconds to scroll through the comments, the ones you could bear to look at before your fingers began to tremble and your throat tightened. The first one caught your eye, cruel and biting, its words harsh and unforgiving.

"How did he end up with her? She’s so basic. 🙄"

The words stung, a visceral ache, but you read on.

"Girl’s shaped like a fridge and dating a star. Make it make sense. 🥴"

You should’ve closed the app, should’ve thrown the phone across the room, should’ve stopped. But you couldn’t. You needed to know, needed to see, needed to feel the weight of it all like a punch to the gut that you couldn’t escape.

The comments piled up, each more venomous than the last, each one cutting deeper than you thought possible.

"Bet she’s just in it for the fame. 🚩"

"Wow, he downgraded HARD. Can’t believe this. 😂"

You felt the familiar sting in your chest, the way your breath caught in your throat as you read them. Each word a dagger, each sentence an echo of your worst insecurities.

"Imagine thinking you’re hot enough to date him with that body. 🤡"

"If I had her face, I’d be embarrassed to leave the house, let alone post. 😬"

You couldn’t breathe now. The phone felt like a weight, pulling you down as you sank further into the dark hole of self-doubt that had always been there, lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to pull you under.

"Pathetic."

You felt the tears before they came, hot and salty on your cheeks. You hated this. Hated what people were saying. Hated how it made you feel. Hated that you'd thought it was a good idea to scroll in the first place.

And hated even more that Jude would see.

The tears fell faster now, and you couldn't do anything to stop it.

You tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming, never-ending like the messages on your phone. Each drop a reminder of how small you felt, how unworthy you were. Your chest tightened with the kind of suffocating shame you hadn’t known since high school.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, ready to block the app, to retreat, to hide. But the instinct was stronger. You wanted to see more. You wanted to know if the cruelty would ever end, or if you were doomed to be the punchline of a joke you hadn’t asked to be part of.

But what if they were right? What if he did downgrade? What if you were just a blip in his life, a temporary distraction until someone else, someone better, came along?

The thought gnawed at you, whispering its doubts until you weren’t sure which way was up anymore.

You did the only thing you knew to do.

You deleted the app, and anything related to it from your phone. It wasn’t the bravest move, but it was better than reading the same comments over and over again. Because at the end of the day that's what you were.

A coward.

The next few days went by in a blur.

You barely remembered them.

The world outside felt muffled, distant, as if everything was happening on the other side of a thick glass wall. You went through the motions—work, meals, sleep—but there was a hollowness to it, an absence where joy should’ve been. The phone sat untouched, the social media apps gone, erased from your life like they never existed.

And you were ignoring Jude.

The calls, the texts, the messages. All ignored. You didn't know how to face him and the possiblity of those comments being true.

He had never once made you feel bad about yourself, but the fear remained, eating at you like a living, breathing thing.

If you could just stay away, stay quiet, he'd never know. And you'd be able to save face.

The phone buzzed again, shrill against the quiet of your apartment. You ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

When it stopped, you let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived. It started ringing. Loud. Insistent.

You knew who it was before you even saw his name across the screen.

You hesitated, the phone in your hand feeling like a live wire. You could almost hear his voice through the screen, warm and persistent, the kind that always made you feel safe. But now? Now, all you could hear were the words from those comments, echoing in your mind. You’re not good enough for him. You’re just a placeholder, a filler for when someone better comes along.

The ringing continued, each ring a painful reminder that you were avoiding the one person who could make this all better. But he’ll know, you thought, he’ll see how weak I am, how fragile this all really is.

With a deep, shaky breath, you answered.

“Hello?”

There was a pause. A soft, hesitant exhale from his side. “Hey. I… I’ve been trying to reach you. What’s going on? You’ve been distant, and I’m—” His voice wavered, the worry clear even through the brief exchange. “You okay?”

You swallowed, but the lump in your throat refused to go down. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice cracking at the seams. “Just… been busy. Lots of stuff to catch up on.”

Another silence. This time, it wasn’t filled with the usual comfortable hum of him shifting in his seat. It felt different. Weighted.

“Baby, you know I love you right?” Jude asked quietly, as though he could hear the lie even through the distance. “You know you can talk to me—right?” His voice softened even more.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, your hands shaking now, fingers pressing tightly to the screen. He knows. He had to.

“I just… I’m not feeling great. That’s all. I’ll be fine. Really.” You couldn’t look at the screen. You couldn’t face him.

"Sweetheart, isten to me," Jude said, his tone firm but gentle. "You're not going to lie to me, and you're certainly not going to avoid me." He paused. "If something's wrong, then you're going to tell me and we're going to get through it together." He was quiet for a second before he spoke again. "Now. Let's try this again. Are you okay?"

The tears were back now, hot and biting as they fell. “I can’t do this, Jude,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady even as the sobs started.

“Can’t do what?” Jude’s voice rose. His worry was palpable now. “What happened? Tell me.”

But you couldn’t tell him, couldn’t risk it. You weren’t sure you could even say the words out loud. What would he think of you then?

“Maybe this was a mistake, Jude. Maybe we should just stop.”

Another pause. “Stop what?”

“Us.” You had to swallow before you could continue. “I think it’s best if we stop.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. The weight of them, the finality, nearly crushed you. You stared at the screen, willing yourself to breathe, to not let the panic rise higher than it already had. Maybe this is better, you thought, but the thought felt hollow, empty, like you were lying to yourself.

Jude’s silence on the other end of the line felt like an eternity. It stretched out, each passing second pulling you deeper into your own spiraling thoughts, drowning in the fear that this was the end, that you'd finally done it. You’d ruined everything.

Finally, his voice cut through the tension, soft, almost broken. “Are you… are you serious right now?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah,” you whispered, “I’m serious.”

The phone trembled in your hand, as if it, too, was unsure of what to do next. It was as if the world had tilted, your stomach twisting in knots. You had never wanted this. Not really. But the fear, the shame, the constant feeling of inadequacy—it was too much. And maybe, just maybe, walking away from him would spare you from the pain of having him see who you really were, of letting him down.

“Baby,” Jude breathed, his voice thick with disbelief, “what happened? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You wanted to explain, wanted to tell him everything—the comments, the hurt, the way they ate away at you, leaving you raw. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t find the words. Not when you felt so small, so insignificant, like the version of you he deserved was locked behind a wall you couldn’t break down.

“You deserve better than me,” you finally choked out, your voice barely audible. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but it felt like the only truth left. “I’m not good enough for you.” The tears fell faster now. You couldn’t stop them. You didn’t want to. The ache in your chest swelled, filling you until there was nothing left but the echoes of those cruel, cruel words. “They were right. I’m not good enough.”

For the first time in a long while, Jude’s response wasn’t immediate. But when it finally came, it felt like a gentle breeze against your flushed skin, soft and warm. “Is this about the articles? The ones from the gala?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

“I see,” Jude said quietly, the words coming slow as he processed. “Well, let me tell you something.”

He paused as though collecting his thoughts, as if he needed to be sure of what he wanted to say. “First of all, there’s no one better than you. Not one.” His voice deepened with conviction. “Every person at that gala would’ve killed to be in my place that night. Every one of them wanted to be you, sweetheart.”

You wanted to laugh. To scoff. How could he say that? How could he even believe it? But a small voice in your head reminded you that Jude wasn't one to lie, that he had always been honest with you. It whispered that maybe, just maybe, he could be telling the truth. But you didn’t dare believe it. Not yet.

“And second,” Jude continued, “You have to be stupid to think for one moment that you're anything less than amazing.”

The words washed over you like a wave, gentle at first but growing, pulling you under before you could catch your breath. You felt the weight of them settle in your chest, and for a split second, the storm inside your head stilled.

But only for a moment.

“You think you're just some filler in my life?” Jude’s voice was quieter now, but there was a rawness to it, a crack that betrayed the calm exterior. “But I’m here to tell you—you’re not. You’re everything I want. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The finality in his voice, the quiet intensity, almost broke you. Everything I want.

How could he say that? How could he be so sure ?

You couldn't help it. The fear, the doubt, it all spilled out, the words a jumbled mess of tears and desperation. “But what if you realize I'm not the one? That you can do better ?” Your voice trembled as you spoke, but you couldn’t help it.

Jude was silent for a long time. You could almost feel the frustration that radiated from the other end of the call. You could feel him wanting to reach through and grab you. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice rough but gentle, “you are mine. That’s not going to change.”

“How can you be so sure?” The words came out of their own volition, as if your brain and your mouth were on different wavelengths. You wanted to take them back the moment you heard them, but it was too late.

“Because,” Jude murmured, his voice softening again, almost too gentle. “Because I love you, and that’s never going to change. I don’t care what they say about you. You’re my person. And I don’t want to lose you to the lies in your head.”

And there it was, the thing you’d been trying to run from—the thing you were terrified to hear. Love. The word felt so foreign, so big, and yet, in that moment, it felt like the only thing that could make everything right.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, a single tear slipping down your cheek. It wasn’t from sadness anymore.

It was from something more vulnerable, something raw and tender that you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in so long. The possibility of being loved, of being seen—not for how you measured up to anyone else, but for who you were.

“Then don’t push me away,” Jude said, a quiet plea in his voice. “Let me in, okay? Let me help you. Let me love you.”

You inhaled shakily, the walls in your chest crumbling just a little.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to let him in, to trust him the way he trusted you.

But the fear that clung to you like a second skin, made it hard to even breathe, let alone surrender.

You thought you were protecting yourself by keeping him at arm's length, by pushing him away, but now, his words—his steady, unwavering belief in you—began to crack the walls you’d built around your heart.

“I don’t know how to stop being scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The admission felt like an exhale you hadn’t realized you’d been holding for years.

Jude’s response was immediate, his voice tender and full of understanding. “You don’t have to stop being scared, love. You just have to let me be there with you through it.” His words were quiet but firm, something unbreakable. Loving. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

A small sob broke through you then, uncontrollable and raw.

The tightness in your chest, the constant ache, the never-ending flood of doubt—it all spilled out in that single moment, like the dam finally giving way to everything you had been holding back. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear those words until now. How much you needed him to hold you through this mess inside your head.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your voice shaking. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away. For being so… so scared.”

Jude’s tone softened, his voice a balm to your raw nerves. “No need to apologize, babe. You don’t owe me an apology for feeling the way you do. Just… don’t shut me out again. Okay?”

You nodded, though you knew he couldn’t see you. The weight of his words hung in the air, pressing against the tightness in your chest, but for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to feel a flicker of hope.

The terror that had ruled your every step began to loosen its grip, if only a little, as Jude’s quiet insistence filled the spaces where your insecurities once roamed.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling but steady. "Okay."

"Good. Now, can I come over? I want to see you. I miss you, baby." His voice was soft, like he was whispering a secret that only the two of you could know. His words made you feel safe, seen, loved.

"Yes." It felt like a sentencing. But one you would subject yourself to everday if it meant you would have him by your side.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” Jude asked, a hopeful edge to his voice.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a slow, tentative smile tug at the corners of your lips. “Soon.”

*********

You were in your room when you heard the knock on the door. You stood, your heart quickening. It felt as though hours had passed since the call, but in reality, it had only been 20 minutes.

You opened the door slowly, and Jude was already there, his eyes locked on you as you stepped out into the hallway.

He moved first, his footsteps sure as he crossed the distance between you. He didn’t hesitate before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest.

The hug was tight, almost fierce. “I missed you,” he whispered against your hair. His words were a little shaky, as if he’d been holding it in for so long.

You felt yourself melt against him, allowing yourself to be held for the first time since this had all started.

His arms were warm, safe, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

“I missed you, too,” you murmured into his neck.

You stood there for what felt like forever, the two of you holding onto each other like your lives depended on it. You felt him press a kiss against the top of your head. The touch was gentle, loving, and your eyes fell shut as you absorbed it, the warmth seeping into your chest.

Jude held you like he would never let you go. You didn’t want him to. You needed the safety he brought, the shelter of his arms.

Jude had never been your crutch before, but in this moment, you felt so helpless, so broken, that you weren’t sure you could stand without him.

He didn’t let go of you. Not once.

His hands stroked up and down your back, his lips pressing kisses along your hairline, his arms holding you close like he didn’t want you to go. The only sound was his breathing and your own heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what the future held, but in this moment you were content to just hold onto him and have him hold onto you.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, standing in the doorway of your room, but it felt like time had slowed down, just for the two of you.

You weren’t sure when you stopped holding back, when you finally allowed the tears to spill over. Maybe it was the feeling of his hands gently cradling your face, or maybe it was the quiet understanding in his eyes when you pulled away just enough to look at him.

Jude cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. His gaze was unwavering, full of love and something else—a quiet sadness, a longing to reach you, to help you see what he saw.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice low, almost a plea. “You’re beautiful and lovely and perfect just the way you are. You’re mine and I love you. You’re my beautiful girl, and you always will be.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead, the softness of his lips dragging across your skin. It was warm, gentle, comforting.

Jude lifted his head, his eyes locking on yours again. His fingers were still curled around your face, and he moved slowly, his lips tracing over your skin, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. He pressed a soft, sweet kiss against your lips, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest.

You couldn’t look away from him. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you, his expression full of emotion and need. Your heart tripped, stumbling as your own need swamped you.

He pressed another kiss to your lips, this one light, almost reverent. You shivered as his hands stroked over the back of your neck, his fingertips tracing along your shoulders and down your arms. He moved slowly, each touch a promise of love, of passion, of want.

You felt your legs tremble at his touch, and Jude was there immediately, his arms coming around you and holding you up. He pulled you against him again, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Let me show you,” he murmured against your skin. His hands moved over you, dragging up your back and back down, "Let me show you how beautiful you are." They dropped to your ass, his fingers curling around it as he pulled you into him, grinding slightly against you.

Your body reacted on instinct, arching into him. He groaned, the sound vibrating against your neck.

"Please, baby girl," he whispered, the words a prayer. "Please." He pressed kisses against your throat as you lifted your head to look at him. His eyes held yours, pupils blown with desire and need. "Please, let me show you what I see every time I see you."

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your ears as you stared back at him. You saw the truth in his eyes, and for the first time, you let yourself truly believe it. You were perfect to him, just the way you were.

You nodded, and a soft smile spread over his face before he dropped his head to kiss you again. This time, there was more passion in his kiss, more emotion. He kissed you like you were the only thing he wanted or needed. He kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, until you were trembling against him, your arms wrapped around him and your fingers tangled in his coily hair.

He pulled away, a breath of air between your lips. He was breathing hard, his eyes wide with the same need that burned in yours.

"Bedroom," he whispered, and you nodded.

He followed you to your room, closing the door behind him and pulling you into his arms again. The kiss you shared was longer, hotter, more intense as you reached between you and started to undo his belt.

"Wait, baby…Hold on."

You pulled back, your brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

He smiled, his expression soft, loving, and he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "This is about you, baby, not me. I want to see you." He leaned in to kiss you again, soft and gentle, and you felt yourself melt under his hands.

He kissed you for little longer before pulling away again. He gently tugged on your hands, guiding you to the bed and pushing you down to sit on the edge.

He moved to his knees between your legs, spreading them as he went. The light from the window shone down on you, and he stared up at you for long moments, his eyes roaming over your face and neck. He touched you as if he was memorizing you—your skin, your eyes, your lips.

He leaned in and kissed the skin just beneath your collarbone, and your breath caught. You felt a shiver work over your skin as he kissed down to the top of your breasts.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered against your cleavage, "Perfect, gorgeous…beautiful, beautiful girl." He trailed kisses across your chest, moving back up to kiss your lips again. "I love you so much, baby," he said between kisses, and then his mouth moved back down.

"Can I?" His fingers drifted over the top of your shirt and you nodded. He smiled softly, his lips moving over your skin. "Good girl," he breathed, and the sound of his voice was like a caress over your skin.

You watched, wide-eyed, as he undid the buttons of your shirt and slipped it off. The top of your bra was visible, and his hands drifted down to cup you through the fabric. He squeezed lightly, groaning when he felt your nipples harden through the fabric of your bra. You could feel his eyes on you, could see the heat in them.

"Look at you," he murmured, "So beautiful…" He moved to slide the straps down your arms, his mouth moving down your skin to kiss between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to taste you. Your hands found their way into his hair and you tugged him closer, sighing when he sucked one of your nipples between his lips. His tongue swirled over it through the fabric of your bra and your hips jerked.

His hand slid around to unhook your bra, and he looked up at you as he slipped it off. "Oh, baby…" He leaned down to kiss the side of your breast, his breath hot and full of promise. "God, you're perfect."

He kissed over your breasts, sucking your nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue over them. You arched up under him, your head dropping back, and he moaned.

"Fuck, baby…" His hands slid down your sides to your jeans, and he popped the button. "These look good on you," he whispered, "but I want you naked." His hands moved to zip open your jeans, and you watched as he stripped you.

He stared down at you, a look of pure lust on his face. Your skin flushed at his perusal and you fought the urge to cover yourself.

He kissed over your stomach, his lips moving up to your chest and then to your mouth. "God, baby, you're beautiful," he breathed against your lips before kissing you again.

His hands found their way between your legs and he groaned when he felt how wet you were. His fingers rubbed over your clit through your panties, and you sighed. He leaned back to kiss your inner thigh, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses on your skin.

"All mine," he whispered as he dropped more kisses on your thigh. "Right, baby?" He kissed closer and closer to your pussy, his hands moving to the waistband of your panties. He hooked his fingers under the fabric and tugged them off.

"I'm all yours," you gasped as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "All yours."

His hand moved between your legs, his finger circling your clit. "yeah, that's right" he breathed. A cry fell from your lips and you dropped your head back, arching up into him. His arms came around your thighs, holding you open as his mouth dropped down to kiss you.

You shuddered at the first touch of his mouth. His tongue was hot, wet, and perfect as it licked over your clit, flicking over the little bundle of nerves. You sighed, dropping your hands into his hair, and he groaned against you. His tongue pressed harder against you, circling faster and you could feel the pressure building inside you already.

"Jude," you gasped, "Oh, god…"

He growled against you, the vibrations of his voice making your legs quiver. He pulled back and you felt his breath on your wet pussy before his tongue was back on your clit.

"Please," you whispered, "Please, Jude…"

He licked faster, his tongue pressing harder against you. You could feel the building pressure rising higher and you gasped.

"Fuck," he muttered, his lips moving back to press kisses against your inner thighs. "Fuck, you taste so fucking good." His mouth dropped back down to your pussy and his tongue stabbed into you, and you felt the first wave of your orgasm roll through you.

You cried out, arching against his mouth as he licked through your orgasm. He didn't stop, his tongue moving over and around your clit, teasing you towards another.

You screamed as the second wave hit you, harder than the first. Your legs jerked, trembling under him. He held you open, his mouth moving over you. He licked and sucked, teasing you through your orgasm.

When you could finally breathe again, your legs trembling under you, he pulled back. He kissed your inner thighs again, smiling as you gasped and shivered under him.

He moved back to his knees, his hands still holding you open. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he said as he looked down at you. His hand moved down between your legs again, his fingers slipping inside you. He pumped slowly, his thumb moving over your clit, and you fell back with a gasp.

"Baby…" You tugged his hair gently, watching as he stared down at your pussy. His mouth dropped open and he groaned. "Such a tight little pussy," he panted, "All for me…" He leaned forward, his tongue dragging over your clit. His hand worked faster, pumping two fingers into you and he sucked your clit between his lips.

You screamed, your entire body shaking as you fell over the edge again. His name fell from your lips as his tongue licked and his fingers thrust into you, teasing the orgasm out of you.

You collapsed back onto the bed with a sigh, feeling boneless and sated. You smiled lazily at him, watching as he pulled his fingers from your pussy and brought them to his mouth.

"Fuck, you taste good," he murmured, sucking his fingers clean. "God, I need you, baby." He tugged his t-shirt off, dropping it on the floor beside your jeans. His eyes stayed on you as he unzipped his pants.

He pulled his boxers and jeans off in one go, kicking them off to join the rest of your clothes. You couldn't help but stare at him. His body was beautiful, all lean muscle and sharp edges. His cock jutted up from between his legs, hard and leaking for you. Your eyes were glued to it and you licked your lips.

Jude groaned and moved over you, his cock brushing against your thigh as he kissed you. You wrapped your arms around him, tugging him closer to you. He dropped his weight onto you, his hips grinding against you. You sighed into the kiss, your tongue tangling with his.

"You got condoms in here?" he mumbled against your lips, "Because I really, really want to fuck you right now."

You gasped, your mouth dropping open in pleasure. "Uh… Yeah?" You shook your head, clearing the lust-induced haze from your mind. "In my dresser…" You nodded towards the dresser and he got up, moving to it.

He came back to you, condom in hand and a smile on his face. "God," he groaned, "You're so sexy…" He tossed the condom on the bed beside you and leaned over you. "Spread your legs for me."

You nod shyly, spreading your legs wide. He dropped down between them, his mouth kissing your inner thighs. You shivered, sighing as he moved closer. His mouth dropped to your pussy, his tongue licking over you and his finger playing with your clit. He looked up at you, grinning as he watched your face.

"God, you're so sensitive," he muttered as you shivered and sighed under him. His tongue dragged over your pussy and he pressed a finger into you, groaning. "Fuck, I need to be inside you now."

He stood, towering over you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, his fingers working to tear the condom wrapper open. The sound was sharp, a deliberate break in the tension that hung thick in the air.

Your eyes drifted down, drawn to the sight of his cock—hard, proud, and already slick from his arousal. Your lips parted instinctively, tongue darting out to wet them as you watched him roll the condom down.

Every movement of his hand, every deliberate stroke as he adjusted it, felt like a tease meant solely for your eyes.

He let out a low growl, almost inaudible, as he gave himself one last firm stroke. His gaze locked with yours, dark and full of need, before he shifted forward, positioning himself between your legs.

His hands found your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin as he spread you wider beneath him. You gasped softly at the sensation, a shiver of anticipation rushing through you when you felt the blunt heat of him pressing against your entrance.

“Jude…” you murmured, his name a breathless plea that you couldn’t hold back.

His head dipped lower, his lips brushing your ear as he let out a strained groan. “You ready for me, baby?” he asked, his voice rough, thick with the effort it took to hold himself back.

You nodded, your chest heaving as your heart pounded like a drumbeat. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “I’m ready.”

His lips curled into a mischievous grin, though his eyes burned with intensity. “Good,” he rasped, his tone laced with both promise and intent. “Now I’m gonna show you just how much I love you—since words don’t seem to be enough for you.” His grin widened, cocky and devastatingly sexy, as his hands slid beneath your thighs. With a fluid, effortless motion, he lifted you, pulling your hips up to meet him.

You gasped again, louder this time, as he pressed forward. The first inch of him slid inside, the stretch slow and deliberate. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed, pausing for a moment to savor the sensation. “Your tight little pussy is gonna squeeze the cum right outta me…”

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted to him, the delicious burn and fullness making you shiver. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him deeper, urging him on. “Jude,” you sighed, his name rolling off your tongue like a prayer, filled with pleasure and longing.

He growled at your response, his hips rocking forward slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside you. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his breaths coming out in ragged bursts. “Fuck, yeah,” he groaned, his voice heavy with satisfaction. He began to move, his hips grinding in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Goddamn, your pussy feels so good…”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, the pleasure blooming between your legs as his cock filled you perfectly. Every thrust sent a shockwave of heat through your body, leaving you gasping and moaning beneath him.

It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before—your soul, your body, every part of you was being worshipped and driven higher with each stroke.

His lips traced over your neck, his teeth raking over your skin and sending shivers down your spine. His hands clutched you tighter, holding you firm against him as his body began to move faster. His thrusts lost their slow, deliberate rhythm, his need and hunger taking hold.

“Fuck, baby…” His voice was almost a growl, the words slipping through his lips on gasps of air. “So fucking perfect…” You felt your walls clamp down around him and he groaned louder, his hips slamming into you harder and faster. “Oh god, baby,” he moaned, “Oh fuck, yes…” His hands slid under your ass, tugging you up into his thrusts and sending his cock deeper inside you. “God, fuck, you’re gonna make me come so hard…”

You nodded, unable to form words with the pleasure overwhelming you, but you knew. You felt it too, the heat and pressure building inside you like a storm.

His hips snapped forward faster, pounding into you with a brutal intensity that had your legs shaking and your body trembling. His moans and gasps matched yours, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he fucked you.

"Jude…" you gasped his name, your voice trembling and barely audible as the first wave of pleasure surged through your body. Your nails raked across his back, leaving faint trails as if you were desperately trying to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation. Your thighs quivered uncontrollably around his hips, your breaths coming in shallow, broken sobs. “Oh… oh God…”

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough and ragged, dripping with unrestrained desire. “Fuck yeah, baby…” His thrusts grew more forceful, more insistent, driving you higher and higher until your body felt like it might shatter from the intensity.

His hand slid between your bodies with practiced precision, his thumb finding the swollen bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves of pleasure tearing through you.

When he flicked over your clit, you cried out, your voice raw and filled with pure ecstasy. The sensation raced through you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying every inch of your skin and leaving you utterly undone.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your ear as his hips pounded into you relentlessly. “I can feel your pussy squeezing my cock… Jesus, you’re so fucking tight… so perfect… oh fuck…”

His rhythm becoming harder, faster, and more erratic as he teetered on the edge. His muscles tightened beneath you, every sinew in his body straining as he chased his release. The throbbing of his cock deep inside you was almost enough to push you over the edge again, and you whimpered, your body still convulsing with the aftershocks of your own climax.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice hoarse and guttural as he surrendered too. His thrusts faltered, each movement now slower but no less intense as he came, filling you with a warmth that made your breath hitch. “Oh… fuck…”

Jude’s weight pressed against you as he collapsed, his body heavy yet comforting as his arms enveloped you. He held you close, his chest rising and falling against yours as his cock pulsed one final time within you.

Your head fell back against the soft pillows, your lips parting as you fought to catch your breath. The room now filled with the warm, intimate haze of the moment, charged with the aftermath of passion. Your heart raced as a satisfied smile ghosted across your lips, your mind a swirling storm of euphoria and peace. Every inch of you felt alive, buzzing with the warmth of his touch.

He nestled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses. The tenderness of his lips sent shivers down your spine.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion, the words slipping out like a sacred vow against your ear. His fingers lightly traced circles on your hip, grounding you. “I love you so goddamn much.”

A lump formed in your throat, your heart swelling at his words. No matter how many times he told you, you would never get used to hearing those words. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned your head to meet his gaze. You reached up to press a soft kiss to his forehead, the gesture tender and intimate, a silent reassurance of your feelings. “Thank you for coming over…”

His lips curved into a smile, soft but full of affection. “Anytime, baby,” he promised without hesitation, his voice steady, sincere. “I’ll always be there for you.” The words weren’t just said—they were a declaration, a vow.

He rolled away reluctantly, leaving the warmth of your embrace to take care of the practicalities, disposing of the condom before returning with a warm, damp cloth. His movements were gentle, careful, as he cleaned you up, his touch never wavering in its tenderness. When he was done, he slid back into bed, pulling the covers over both of you as he gathered you into his arms, holding you close like you were the most precious thing in the world.

You nestled against him, pressing a lingering kiss to his chest before looking up at him with a small, content smile. “I feel better now,” you murmured, your voice soft and light, carrying an undertone of relief.

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and reassuring. “Good,” he whispered, his tone gentle and full of love. “Love you, baby.”

“Love you too,” you replied, snuggling deeper into his embrace as you let your eyes drift shut. His arms wrapped securely around you, his warmth seeping into your skin and calming every frayed nerve. For the first time in a while, you felt truly at peace, safe in the knowledge that he cared for you in a way no one else ever had.

The way he held you, the way he whispered those words, left no room for doubt.

To him, you were perfect—flaws and all—and in his arms, you began to believe it too. You knew, with unshakable certainty, that he would always be there, the love you deserved.

As your breathing slowed and sleep began to claim you, you felt him tighten his hold ever so slightly, a soft hum of contentment escaping his lips. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and you heard the faintest whisper as his voice broke through the quiet stillness.

“I’m so lucky to have you…”

Your lips tipped up into a soft smile. You were so lucky to have him too.

-Bianca🌻

[planetaryupscaled]

The Bet

Male OC x Tzuyu

Tags: 1k, smut

The story is not ours; we simply alter the original story to our preferred settings.

Tzuyu was sitting in the deserted communal lounge, her face buried in a book. She wasn’t, technically, hiding. That would have gone against the rules.

She was just getting some alone time without all those hands running aimlessly over her body, fingertips trailing her figure and peering beneath her garments, lips and teeth caressing and nibbling every inch of her skin...

Her cheeks flushed, and she felt scorching hot in the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing. She bit her lip and sighed.

The words on the page she had been reading and re-reading for the last ten minutes without really understanding the meaning blurred, as she became engrossed in her thoughts once more, still puzzled as to how she had gotten up in that situation.

A shy, prudish, inexperienced freshman like her was playing with fire. Or worse, with the rampaging hormones of a bunch of college boys.

She made a lighthearted, drunken mistake, but she was paying its price with her body and no end in sight.

Betting with her buddies while inebriated sounded innocuous, and she was confident it wasn’t anything they were going to follow up on anyhow.

But she was wrong - dreadfully wrong.

It was all a game in her eyes. And she was pretty sure she was going to win at the time. But she lost, and the guys eagerly demanded their prize.

She had turned into a real-life sex doll for them: she had to let them touch her body, grab, and grope her as they liked, and offer herself whenever they wanted.

This was her retribution for being so irresponsible and stupid. Worst of all, she was beginning to like it, even though she would never say it out loud.

She had been feeling so dirty and depraved. Tzuyu had only had one previous boyfriend, her high school beau, and she’d never experienced sex or pleasure.

And now, whenever a hand reached for her, a small bolt of electricity would rip through her body, giving her shivers and stealing her breath. Being forcefully exposed in front of others was humiliating, but it gave her sensations she had never expected to feel.

Even though the guilt and shame were eating at her, her body was sending her new signals and feelings that she had never experienced before.

She was drawn sharply back to reality when she was pulled back by her hair.

Electricity coursed through her as she saw two dark eyes upside down, mischievously staring at her.

“Did you plan on staying hidden for much longer? We were worried by your sudden disappearance...” Hyeon inquired, keeping her head tilted and caressing her throat.

His fingertips were ice cold, but her skin felt like it was burning under his touch.

“I had to study. You know, exams...” she mumbled, while he played with the sweatshirt zip, loosening it. His hand crept under, reaching for the bra.

Hyeon cupped his hand around her breast and began massaging it. He let her hair go and did the same with the other hand.

“I see,” he said quietly, “then go ahead and read. I’ll help myself.”

Her vision blurred when he gently pinched and twisted her nipples. She was embarrassed by who she had become, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop it. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to put a stop to it.

Tzuyu sighed as she felt a twitch in her womb. She closed her eyes and leaned against Hyeon’s body, allowing him easier access to her. Against her neck, she could feel already the bulge in his pants.

She blushed again, both from her thoughts and from his gentle touch on her skin. She could feel she was getting wet.

Hyeon drew his hands away from her sweatshirt after what seemed like an eternity. As he leaned over her, he reached for her skirt. He unceremoniously lifted it, revealing her underwear. He slid the fabric to the side, A light touch on her labia made her moan.

“You’re such a slut Tzuyu, you’re already wet...” he chuckled as he gently stroked her.

He pushed two fingers into her warmth, provoking her another moan. She held her breath and widened her eyes as she grabbed his wrist with both hands.

Jisung and Suho were sitting on the desk on both her sides; she hadn’t noticed their presence. They were stroking their erections through their shorts while enjoying the little show.

They laughed as she violently blushed and tried to cover herself. Jisung smiled, bending over to grab her cheeks and kiss her, pushing his tongue into her mouth and sucking her lips.

“Come on baby, stand up,” Hyeon said, pulling his fingers out of her and grabbing her arms.

He pushed her against the desk, ignoring her weak protests and whining. Her hair covered her face completely, blocking her view. She could hear the other two guys unzipping their shorts and the light clank of their belts hitting the ground.

Several hands caressed her skin and lifted her clothes to reveal her body. Someone took her wrists and pressed them against her back.

As fingers grabbed the hem of her undies and pulled them off, she bit her lower lip and held her breath.

A hand caressed and squeezed her buttocks, followed by a slap. As she tried to wiggle out from underneath the guy who was blocking her, she was hit with a harder slap that took her breath away.

“Stop squirming or you’ll hurt yourself,” Jisung said, pulling her head up by her hair. Her gaze met his as she groaned beneath his hands. He kissed her once more, firmly holding her head. While Jisung’s tongue was playing with hers, someone gently rubbed his sex on hers. He pushed his way through her soaked labia and inside. Her moans got lost in Jisung’s mouth, which was still devouring her lips.

The third person let go of her wrists and grabbed one of her hands, pressing it against his erection.

Tzuyu noticed it was Suho masturbating with her hand. She gave in to his grip, wrapping her fingers around his hardness and letting him guide her. Jisung let her mouth and head go, and Hyeon grabbed her by the hair, pushing his length deep into her.

Jisung then kneeled on the desk and presented her with his member, stroking it on her cheek, and lips. She disclosed them and welcomed him, clasping her semi-closed eyes in his as he entered her warm mouth slowly. Hyeon’s tight grip on her head guided her rhythm as her tongue twisted around his girth.

It was the first time they pulled something like that on her, she had never been taken by more than one person at the same time.

Tzuyu thoughts were clouded by pleasure.

With each thrust in her mouth or sex, electricity scurried through her entire body. Her desperate, rising moans were suffocated in her mouth.

Hyeon let go of her hair, which was replaced by Jisung’s grip, and groaning sank his fingers into the soft skin of her hips.

She tilted her head, her senses dulled and inebriated, as they both went faster and deeper. Shivers ran down her spine, and a tingling warmth propagated through her like wild, uncontrollable waves.

Hyeon came into her depths and collapsed on her back. His skin was warm and sweaty, his breathing heavy.

Then it was Jisung’s turn, who came into her mouth, pressing her head against his groin while his throbs slowed and he softened, slipping off her lips.

Suho let go of her hand and rushed for her.

He rolled her over, moved her to the edge of the desk, and positioned himself directly above her head.

Then bent over her and plunged his erection into her mouth.

Tzuyu grasped his thighs, overwhelmed, her mind empty of all but bliss.

One of the guys parted her legs and buried his face in her, holding on to her knees.

Two hands completely unzipped her sweatshirt and reached for her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples.

She was totally helpless, which really just heightened her arousal. Her body was stiffening and twitching as tension built up within her.

The guy eating her, bit her labia, ascending to the clit, then circled it with his tongue, first gently caressing it, then with frantic strokes that left her screaming and squirming under his mouth. He firmly gripped her thighs, lapping and sucking her and pushing her over the edge.

When she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, he slid two fingers into her, moving them slowly.

Her orgasm burst violently, her back arched, and every inch of her body shivered, pervaded by a tickling ecstasy that released her tension.

Suho came soon after, filling her mouth once again.

She stopped shaking after a good minute or two. She could feel her heart rate lowering, but she kept her eyes closed.

She was feeling warm and fuzzy. She didn’t want to face yet the actuality of what had just occurred.

The three guys were busy pulling up their pants and composing themselves.

to meet the three pleased stares. Tzuyu quickly shut her legs and tried to put back her hoodie, embarrassed.

Jisung seized her hands and held her back.

“Don’t bother covering, cutie; no one else is here. Even if that were the case, anyone would have adored the show.” He reached for her mouth and kissed her.

“When is this prize thing going to end?” she sighed, as she sat on the desk.

“Oh, you don’t like it?” Suho joked as he buckled his belt. “ You seemed to be having a good time two minutes ago.”

She blushed again, looking away.

“It will end when we unanimously decide that the payback for the lost bet is adequate, obviously. And I’m sure tonight at least a couple of gentlemen will be interested in discussing with you what just happened, so don’t go and hide again,” Hyeon added.

He gave her a wry grin and a nonchalant nod before heading out of the room, followed by Jisung and Suho.

Tzuyu was alone again.

The sun had begun to set, and the communal lounge was getting darker.

She retrieved her underwear and put it on.

Her mind was a whirlwind of feelings and thoughts. She was heated and out of breath. She couldn’t understand why she would enjoy the whole bet and prize thing; it was so wicked and dirty. It wasn’t like her, to do things like this, but she couldn’t bring herself to end it.

Tzuyu knew she could demand they stop at any point, and if they refused, she could simply go talk to the student representative. They’d be in big trouble.

But perhaps she just didn’t want it to stop.

She sat at the desk, her head buried in the soft sleeves, until it was completely dark, with just the streetlamps from outside shedding some light on the walls through the large windows.

She took a deep breath and smiled, wondering who would be the first to take her that evening.

[nereidprinc3ss]

omg i'm obsessed with the idea of spencer and a university student and i looooved the one you wrote with reader struggling with finals (i relate so much </3) i'm not sure if you write requests or not (if not, then i'm sorry and please ignore this hahaha) but i would love to see more of their dynamic? maybe spencer for once arrives earlier from a case and goes to pick up reader from university as a surprise? i don't really know but i would love to see more 💗 thank you and i hope you have a good day!

AHHHH omg you have NO IDEA how excited I was to open my inbox and see a request!! i am absolutely obsessed w spencer x uni student too

i kind of took this and ran w it so its a little angsty and random LOLOL but here is (drumroll)

spencer picking up reader after you fail an exam (sorry lol) and you are NOT in a good mood but he loves you so its fine

Tears, partly from the bitter wind and partly from shame, blur your phone screen as you exit the lecture hall. Another missed call from Spencer. It’s the third one today—you've been ignoring them in an attempt to remain focused on the final that you just bombed. Part of you now wants to keep ignoring them out of sheer embarrassment. How can you admit to your super-genius boyfriend that you are a bona fide academic failure? Still, you don’t want him wondering about you while he should be working. Your numb fingers fumble with the phone as you try to call him back without running into anybody on your walk back to student housing. 

It doesn’t reach the second ring before he’s picking up. 

“Hey,” he sighs. “I was starting to worry.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy,” you exhale, cutting through some trees as you approach your building. “What’s up? How’s the case?” 

“Well... that’s actually what I’ve been calling about. We wrapped up this morning.” 

“What? But last night you said it would be at least three more days.” 

“Rare instance of me being wrong, I guess.” 

“So when are you flying back?” you ask, not wanting to get your hopes up. You know sometimes his team stays behind to help with processing a case. He doesn’t reply for a moment. “Spencer?” 

“I’m... thirteen minutes away from your school. Twelve.” 

Your brain short-circuits as you process his words, the cold metal of the door handle biting into your fingers as you stop dead in your tracks. 

“You--are you driving here right now?” 

“Yes,” he begins, sounding embarrassed, “I kept calling because I wanted to ask first, but I know you had your last final this morning and you were going to come over when I got back anyway so I thought you might want to come stay with me for a few extra days. You can say no, obviously—” 

Some of the icy despair melts in your chest. 

“Of course, I want to.” 

“Good,” he exhales a laugh. “It would have been awkward if you said no. Can you have a bag packed by the time I get there?” 

You’re speedwalking through the lobby now, hitting the up button for the elevator more times than is necessarily effective. 

“Drive faster.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

By the time you blindly shove enough clothing in a bag, text your roommate to let her know you’ll be gone for the rest of the week, and make it back outside, Spencer’s familiar vintage car is already pulling up to the curb. He doesn’t even bother cutting the engine—just puts it in park and gets out, rounding the vehicle as you close the distance between one another. His smile is brilliant, and though you don’t feel particularly deserving of it, it’s for you. 

“Hi,” you breathe shakily as he loops his arms around your waist. 

“Hi, pretty,” he says, already leaning down to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet over too quickly, but then he’s gently pulling you into him. You drop your bag and bury your face in his jacket, trying to right yourself before you go into an emotional tailspin. 

As usual, he smells like lavender, clove, resinous amber. It makes your head spin. Right away you feel yourself relaxing; feel your guard slipping, like it always does when he’s around. 

“I missed you.” The words are quiet to begin with, muffled further by the fabric of his coat, but you know he’ll hear you. 

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “Everything okay?” 

Why are you always surprised when a man who works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI accurately analyzes your behavior? 

“Just tired. Can we go home?” You pull back enough to look up at him, meeting his fond—and just a little concerned—gaze, averting your eyes before he has time to discern your... omission of truth. 

“Yeah, angel. Of course we can.” 

He opens the passenger side door for you, making sure you’re settled before tossing your bag in the back seat and circling around the back of the car. 

“Is that coffee?” You say as soon as he slides into the driver’s seat. His eyes dart down to the tumbler in the center cupholder as he buckles. 

“It’s from the jet. You won’t like it.” 

Despite his warning you reach over to grab it, taking a small sip as he puts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. You make a sour face. Spencer glances over. 

“I told you it was bad.” 

You yawn, putting it back in the cupholder. “It was worth a shot.” 

Jazz music plays quietly from the speakers and the heat is blasting, but you’re too busy mentally rehashing question 37 to find it relaxing. 

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he states. Not a question. Outside, the brick buildings of your campus roll by. You wonder if all the students rushing about on the sidewalks and side streets failed any of their finals.  

“Couldn’t,” you mumble flatly, picking at your nails.  

There’s a moment’s pause, and you’re imagining all the things you could have done differently. You’ve never failed a final before. If you’d just studied a little bit harder—if you’d stayed in instead of going out last weekend, if you weren’t so— 

“I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Spencer says. 

“Mhm,” you hum, too afraid to speak because your eyes are already stinging again. Honestly, you’re surprised you made it this far without him getting the truth out of you. He offers his hand across the console as you slink down in your seat, and you take it, allowing him to run his thumb over yours in soothing lines. 

“How do you think your final went?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bare branches of the trees outside blurring as you stare unseeingly. 

“Not good. Like, I definitely failed, not good. I'm an idiot.” 

“You absolutely are not an idiot.” 

“You didn’t see me taking the test, Spencer. I literally just sat there staring at it for ten minutes before I even answered one question. It was pathetic.” 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” 

The question takes you by surprise. Your frown deepens. 

“What? I don’t—that’s not—" 

“Just answer the question. Did you sleep at all last night?” 

“Yes!” 

“Don't lie to me.” 

“Fuck you! I slept for like two hours and had coffee this morning!”  

He squeezes your hand. 

“That’s why you failed.” 

The first tear traces its path down your cheek, composure overwhelmed by the confrontation. 

“I hate when you use your stupid interrogation tactics on me,” you say, voice wobbling. And then the crying begins in earnest. 

“I know, baby.” 

His hand moves to rub your back when you let go to cover your face. Torrential evidence of your frustration and utter exhaustion well over, slipping through your fingers despite your best efforts to stop them from coming at all. Having an emotional breakdown in the passenger seat of his car is far from how you’d wanted to greet Spencer’s surprise arrival, but you’re too worn out to mask your emotions—especially when he is so adept at drawing them to the surface. 

A moment passes like that before you take a shuddering breath, raising your head slightly and wiping your cheeks with your sleeves in vain. 

“I should have been able to do it. I just—it was like I was reading the questions and I knew that I should know the answers, but I couldn’t remember anything.” 

“You’re exhausted. Sleep deprivation has an immediate, devastating effect on cognitive functioning levels. My recall and processing speed start to fail when I’m tired, too. It has nothing to do with how smart you are.” 

It makes sense—but it doesn’t make you feel much better. You wanted to ace this exam. Of course, Spencer wouldn’t understand because school was as easy as breathing for him. He barely had to try to get three doctorates. It’s possible, you suppose, that dating a genius has put an academic chip on your shoulder—maybe you’ve set impossibly high standards for yourself.  

After a few minutes the crying finally ebbs, if only because you’re running into supply and demand problems with your tear ducts. You rub your weepy eyes on your shoulder, leaning against the cold window and watching DC go by. 

“You know, the final isn’t as important as you think it is. You’ll still pass the class.” 

“It’s symbolic,” you mumble, breath fogging up the glass. Spencer hums, still rubbing your back. 

“I know. I know it matters to you, but I don’t want you to think one bad grade is a reflection of who you are. Do you understand why it doesn’t make sense to measure something as abstract as intelligence by a metric as one dimensional as a standardized test?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

You shift in your seat, wiping your face with your sleeve and prompting Spencer to take your other hand once more. 

“Can your FBI friend hack the university database and give me an A?” you ask after a moment, sniffling. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Pretty please?” 

“Nope.” 

“It’s like you don’t even love me,” you mutter, angling yourself away from him.  

He pulls your hand toward him and presses a kiss to the back of it. 

“I love you so much that I don’t want you to get expelled for academic dishonesty.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably just drop out.” 

You both know you’re just being overdramatic, but Spencer has a tendency to be sweet even when you don’t deserve it. 

“I’ll love you no matter what you do.” 

You blush, unable to come up with a sufficient reply. His eyes slide to you briefly and he smirks, clearly enjoying his ability to fluster you, and by extension, get you to shut up. 

“Eyes on the road, genius,” you grumble. But for the first time today you’re fighting a smile instead of tears.