#just single pin bun

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

I have succumb to the reality of my own mortal existence :( (I got sentimental looking at older pics of me and miss my stupidly long hair-)

Like yeah getting it chopped was good for my hairs health- Before I did a "big chop" I hadn't gone to the barber in like 5 years???

It was long overdue and I wanted a change- I dont mind my shorter hair but I used to be able to do fucking SPACE BUNS and braids to my lower back- I could make the most elaborate shit and I loved it

But that just means constantly battling the demons in my mind that want me to chop it off again in the process

ANYWAYS- Im projecting my complicated relationship with hair onto Tim for a future chapter shit so just heads up

[ravenna-reid]

The Jade Ghost

Blue Spirit Zuko x Bloodbender Reader

This story is completely different to what I usually do, but I've been watching Avatar: The Last Airbender lately and really hope ya'll love Zuko as much as I do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was insufferable. Zuko, the crowned prince of the fire nation, was now a fugitive and stuck in some sort of village begging for spare change on the ground with Uncle Iroh. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, those who decided to mock him and his uncle made it all the more worse, the deep, unsettling anger within him turning into an unhinged rage. So he waited.

And when the sun would set and the darkness came to help hide Zuko's doings, he adorned his blue mask. The oxtail sabers in each hand felt good, like he'd gained some sort of control over his situation. Then he'd prowl through the night as though he was a ghost. The Blue Spirit. Taking change and food from those that looked like they had enough, or taking revenge on those that had mocked him or his uncle. He'd swiftly managed to throw one of the men that spat at Iroh into a wooden barrel. Splinters decorated the floor as well as the change the man had taken from them earlier in the day. Zuko grabbed the gold pieces and slipped them into his pocket. As he turned down the street, an opulent looking home being his next target, a blurred figure metres before him quickly caught his attention.

Zuko ducked his head to the side, just missing a dagger as it found its home in the wooden beam beside his head. Zuko turned on his heel to see three hooded men coming his way, armed and ferocious. He was able to swiftly disarm the first thug, throwing him into the wall of a nearby home. The other two put up a better fight. Zuko was focused on pinning the second ones arms, given he happened to be an Earthbender, but focusing his attention on the man almost made him forget the third thug. As Zuko turned and expected the blow to his head, something glinted in the air. Flashed as quick as a light. A swoosh sound came after it and the third man hit the ground hard.

Zuko dealt a devastating strike to the Earthbender before training his attention onto another person. Someone new. Adorned in an emerald green robe, her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, a single gold chop stick running through it. Her face, however, was concealed. An immaculate mask that looked as though it was carved from jade sat on her face, a mask almost similar to Zuko's. Steady eyes watched the third man through the jade mask as she spun a long, gold staff between her fingers. Her eyes flickered up to Zuko though, and he barely caught what she said. "Behind you."

The Earthbender was on his feet and tore two large boulders from the pavement either side of him. Zuko slipped past each boulder as they were thrown at him. After that, Zuko's next movements were a blur as he, the two thugs, and the Jade Ghost all fought relentlessly. She seemed to be helping, so he let her help...for now.

The Earthbender managed to get his first hit of the night and knocked both Zuko and the Jade Ghost to the ground. Zuko was on his feet, ready to attack yet again, but then something happened. Something odd. Something Zuko couldn't explain.

The Earthbender's arms twitched before they tangled together. Then, with an agonising cry he dropped to the ground. Zuko's eyes cut over to the girl that laid beside him. Focus was evident in her eyes as she manoeuvred her hands in a fascinating way. Hand flat, resting in the centre of her face before she lowered her arm and moved it in a wave like formation. Zuko clutched onto his sabers. Felt his hot, laboured breath against his mask. The Earthbender suddenly fell unconscious...and then Zuko realised.

Bloodbending.

The Jade Ghost panted as she got to her feet and picked up her staff. Turning to run, she was met with the ocean blue dragon mask. He was tall, dressed in black, ready for a confrontation as he gripped onto his sabers. The Jade Ghost just stopped herself before bumping into him.

"Who are you?" He asked, tone severe.

"Hey, I'm not asking you questions. Am I?"

"I suggest you answer." He threatened.

"Listening, I've been watching you. You're not bad...you've helped a lot of my people whilst wearing your little mask. Like me. So how about this..."

She slipped down an alleyway and with the shake of his head, Zuko quickly followed. She didn't want a confrontation, not when the sun was soon to rise and she didn't see the man in the mask as a threat.

As she sprinted and took the chance to look over her shoulder, relief spread through her chest. The Blue Spirit wasn't there. But suddenly, he was jumping down from a nearby roof. He grabbed onto her as he dropped down, and the pair tumbled over the ground before coming to a stop. The Jade Ghost tried her staff before it was knocked from her hands. Then, she resorted to using hand-to-hand combat. The strikes were fast and precise, but Zuko was just as fast and precise as her. She slipped his arm behind his back and put him in a hold before he broke out and pinned her against the wall.

Masks centimetres from each other, he leant in to ask another question.

"That was bloodbending, wasn't it?"

"Wanna find out?" She hissed.

His determination faltered. They stood and watched each other, and Zuko felt something he couldn't ignore. What was it? Was he impressed? Was he admiring her? He almost wanted to hit his head against the wall.

Suddenly, a light, green dust was thrown into his face. An irritable itch began in his eyes as he quickly let go of her. And just like that, she slipped away into the night. Just like a ghost. As he tried to search for her, Zuko quickly became annoyed. Dumbfounded. Curious.

Zuko made it back to the sorry place him and his uncle were calling 'home' for a while, hiding his mask and sabers inside of a deep crevice in the house they were staying in.

"Where did you go?" Iroh asked, sipping his fourth cup of tea as he watched his nephew angrily enter the room. The sun was filtering into the room, it's beams warm and welcoming.

"I had to clear my head. Tell me uncle, do you know anything about the Jade Ghost?"

"The Jade Ghost? Hmm," His uncle stroked his beard as he sifted through his memories. "Nope, never heard of him."

"Her." Zuko corrected as he stared out the window and wondered where she went. Who she was. How she learnt to bloodbend.

"Until next time Jade Ghost."

[ch4mpagnedrought]

friendly game

[full series]

mdni ! art, tashi, patrick

summary: pinning two of the greatest tennis players of our future will not work with you and tashi, in fact, you’ve learnt to share your prizes.

deep breaths. you take deep breaths when taking your racket out of its bag, all five fingers wrapping around the grip tightly, that is so intensely watched by two pairs of curious eyes from above in the stands, inaudibly gawking at the way your black tennis dress, sporting a small nike logo above your left breast, flourishes from around your thighs to expose the surfaces of your skin that don’t see the sun very often.

maybe the single most important game at the 2006 US open, between two upcoming tennis prodigies that also happen to be best friends. an oxymoron on the court really, tashi’s in white, you in black, her in adidas, you in nike, her hair in a tight braid, yours slicked into a low bun. eyes are torn completely apart as the both of you travel across the court, rebutting every single one of each others moves like a choreographed dance, the jaws of your audience slacked open. everybody remains paralysed, leaving the squeaks of your shoes and the heavy grunts of your labour to echo across the stands—until hands grip onto neighbouring knees and the final shot is swung.

“yes!” you shriek, throwing your racket to the ground in ecstasy, letting it bounce back behind you and the strings to shrivel from the force. from across the court, tashi heaves with squinted eyes, watching your celebration with parted lips and stepping closer to the net where you meet her—your arms wrapping around each others glistening shoulders and chests pressing firmly against one another, “good game” she tilts her head to whisper her appraisals and you hum a sweet note, flashing her a smile while the two men blink down at you. their minds completely empty apart from a state of euphoria, seeing two of the most beautiful women they had ever laid their eyes on embrace after a game that was essentially life or death. already replaying the erotic extensions of your legs at every side step, hips swivelling and slender arms extending to shape an image from within the deepest depths of their minds.

the same way that they stood completely still and fixated onto the images of you at the celebratory party hosted for you and tashi. the blonde haired boy taking sips of his drink between all the thoughts that expel from the image of you, mid underhand serve, and run through his mind. while the other faces an image of tashi, mid overhead, and tries not to make it obvious that his gaze slips into imagining anything other than what is underneath those clothes she endorses.

even when you notice their toying eyes, approaching you sat knee-to-knee with tashi at a table having just spent the last twenty minutes dancing with one another that hadn’t gone unnoticed by them either, “art donaldson and patrick zweig, right?” their eyes are momentary frozen wide before art exhales an exasperated breath, choking up on nothing. “in the flesh” patrick mumbles, fidgeting with the rim of his coke bottle. your eyes dart from one boy to another, left to right, both of their shoulders tensing as they watch tashi’s lips uncurl from the pink straw of her orange drink, guiding the bottle towards your own lips, pressing the straw into your mouth nonchalantly to share a sip of the beverage, and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“that, that game…it was seriously breathtaking” art chokes out to the both of you, looking down admirably at you and noticing the small freckles the sun has peppered on your nose that hadn’t been visible from the top of the stands. tashi thanks him, putting the straw back into her own mouth and projecting a mental image of you and her swapping more than saliva into patrick’s mind.

his feet shuffle on the spot, shaking away the thought, “you dealt with the loss much better than i would’ve.” lightheartedly he jokes, gesturing towards tashi and sending her a small smile, “how do you two stay friends?”

“we’ve been friends since childhood,” tashi takes a glance at you, but you’re already looking back, “there’s no bad blood, we learn from eachother.” the palm of her hand flattens on your thigh momentarily, leaning back further into the couch. patrick and art huff, elbowing one another, “just like us.”

they flatter the two of you, showering you with compliments, all while trying to make it seem as if they hadn’t been discussing what exactly they would say to you for the past couple hours, until you and tashi were standing in front of their hotel room door, silently leaning closer to hear whatever was going on inside. “they don’t have time to come here” a muffled voice speaks from behind the door, and another groans loudly.

you and tashi share a small smirk, holding back laughter when she knocks on the door to hear a sudden ruckus.

“hi” “hey” they sing simultaneously, mouths agape like two little dogs, panting at the sight of a treat, or drooling at the ring of a bell. neither you nor tashi even have the time to greet them, patrick opening the door a little wider and beckoning you inside, coming together on the floor of the questionably coloured carpet with a single can of beer in the middle.

patrick leans back onto his hands. “so, when did you two become friends?” tashi points a finger between the two, wrapping her arms around her knees and tilting her head in curiosity. “we’ve been bunkmates since we were twelve” he answers, and art glances down at his crossed legs with a nervous smile. you nod your head, whispering a small “cute” under your breath and brushing patrick’s wrist with your fingers when taking the beer he offers, making the hairs on his arms stand upright. the beer is warm and bitter, and you pass the can to tashi after leaving a wet imprint of your lips that art would try to discreetly swipe his tongue over only moments later.

“you share girls often?” you ask and patrick’s brows quirk up, corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “this is our first time.” art says, pinkish blush spreading across his nose and the apples of his cheeks that implies his mind is drifting somewhere else. “why? are we not your type?” tashi laughs, leaning over towards art and tucking her hair behind her ears, his eyes following her closely, “aren’t you two everybody’s type?”

the boys shift in their positions, patrick lifting his hips up into the air briefly to get a little more comfortable and art pressing his hands into his knees, sharing a glance between them. all of the breath you exhale meshes into a palpable energy, and your gaze switches between art and patrick in a way they’ve already grown to love, their faces twitching with an eager awkwardness, “are you each other’s type?”

art chuckles out, “no…no.” he denies with a head shake, patrick peering over his shoulder at him silently, “no, we’ve never done anything like that.”

your’s and tashi’s eyes meet briefly, lips turning up into a smile.

“well…” patrick begins and art immediately jerks his head towards him, hoping that he wasn’t about to say the one thing he didn’t want to share, “i mean…”

“patrick, no.”

“don’t be shy, you have to tell us now” you tempt, a playful glint in the glance you give art.

patrick clears his throat, “you know, i just, taught art how to jerk off” he explains casually art’s right of passage while he holds his head in shame, painting an image of him being covered in his own ejaculation, over his stomach and legs like he had just “spilled milk” all over himself.

“that was a really adorable story” tashi hums, placing a hand on your shoulder to hoist herself up from the floor, and reaching out to help you up too. two pairs of eyes follow you around intently, admiring the tips of your fingers that swipe over various objects in their hotel room and feeling a little embarrassed about how obvious it is that they cleaned it only around 10 minutes ago. random pairs of boxers making an appearance from underneath the two single beds that they had pushed together, and an alarming amount of cigarette ash on the surface of the drawers.

tashi’s hand finds your wrist and guides you onto their bed where you take a seat patiently, criss-crossed, waiting for one of the boys to catch on and join you, while they are utterly immersed in the idea that the two of you are real and really in their bed.

silently, you usher them towards you with a tilt of the head, both of them jumping to their feet, basically leaping onto the bed so all four of you make a square, knees very slightly brushing against one another. theres a silent anticipation, tension weaving around all of you and luring your bodies closer. you take a quick look at each of their faces, their dilated pupils and irregular breaths, and move your lips closer to art’s, watching him inhale deeply like he wants to take all the air from your lungs for himself. then patrick, that selfishly attempts to lean his face closer before you can pull away.

you look towards tashi, who inches her face closer to yours, lips parted slightly and meeting in the middle for a kiss. in your peripheral vision, it’s hard not the notice the way that art and patrick are restraining themselves from punching a fist into the air out of joy, loud and shallow breaths caressing your cheeks. your mouth opens wider, leaning in deeper to consume every part of tashi’s lips in a hungry craze while her hand reaches into your hair to pull you closer. the two other men that keenly wait had slipped out of mind, still staring with a captivated stillness when you pull away from one another.

all you have to do is lean back onto your hands for art to pounce onto the side of your neck that becomes exposed, while patrick leans in to plant a kiss onto tashi’s jaw. on the surface their lips travel across the curve of your necks, heads fallen back, suctioning until they can taste the flavour of your perfume that lingers on your skin, while your hands exchange messily beneath; art’s touch feathering on your arm and reaching for tashi’s shoulder, and patricks arms intertwining with art’s to extend and touch your’s and tashi’s thighs.

patrick nuzzles his lips into divot the beneath tashi’s ear, journeying across her shoulder and onto your own in one smooth line, nearly head-butting with art when he shuffles to grace tashi with the same tender attention.

your hands scrunch into patrick’s dark hair, body involuntarily aching until you draw him closer to your face by the chin to connect with his lips. he balances himself in front of you, planting his hands at your sides to allow him to move even closer to you all while tashi hums into art’s gently mingling lips.

pulling back from patrick, you move onto art’s swollen mouth that glistens with lip gloss, tasting the remnants of tashi and yourself on them. all four of your faces coming together in the middle, so close that there is a dangerous lack of oxygen.

tongues pressing flat on top of another, swiping over bottom lips to feel every ridge and an accumulation of hot air. you become lightheaded at the different hands that grope over your figure, being pulled in by the back of your neck. there’s a contrast in the way each one of them kisses; tashi’s lips are familiar and firm, patrick’s are similar in their starved manner, and art’s yearn to take every molecule you are made of and ingest it.

tashi catches on immediately to the way that your left hand squeezes hers and pulls back to leave only art and patrick breathlessly grasping onto the others torso, noses pressing against each other at every tilt of the head and tongues slipping astray. the moment is only short, you and tashi glancing at one another, unbothered at whether they have noticed that you’re gone or secretly fulfilling a guilty hankering.

“okay.” tashi says, slapping her palms across her legs and sending a smile at the two boys. bottom lips slicked with one another’s saliva they remain frozen, only inches apart.

“goodnight, we have an early morning tomorrow.” you buzz, patrick and art separating only to let you slide past them on the bed, tashi following close behind and you wrapping your arms around her bicep absentmindedly.

neither one of them are able to make a sound, mouthing a “goodnight” that isn’t audible, admiring the way both of your curly brown hair sways behind you, walking out in the matching shorts they wonder if you ever swap.

they look at one another, then at the imprints in the floral blanket that your bodies left, scrunches where exactly you sat that they are both ready to smush their faces into. all while you and tashi stand outside of their hotel room once again, tuning in to the muffled dialogue about art’s grandmother before scurrying down the hotel hallway—hand in hand.

[heauxvibez]

Tension

warning: Smut (+18)

She currently served as a physical therapist for the WWE, her work quickly capturing the attention of the towering 6 ft 3 wrestler. From the moment their eyes met, a spark ignited. Vivid fantasies consumed his mind and he imagined himself held captive in the curves of her thick thighs, her hands helplessly pinned above her head while she begged for his touch.

Although his thoughts of her were lustful, genuine feelings lingered below. Roman's approach, however, focused on the pursuit of feeling her warm, wet walls around him.

Reclining on the table he had specifically ordered for these sessions, Roman's anticipation ate him up as he awaited her arrival. His hamstring troubles had forced him to not perform at the best of his abilities, he was looking forward to the relief her skilled hands would bring to his aching muscles.

As he mindlessly scrolled through Instagram, he was interrupted by her entrance into the room. He watched her appreciatively, taking in the sight of her pretty, black curls claw-clipped into a wild bun, much like his. Soft tendrils of hair dangled near her sideburns. She had done a quick wash and go and was proud of herself for making it look as good as it did.

She exuded a quiet confidence, her small frame enveloped by the vibrant hues of her floral scrubs.

"Thanks again for coming to my house to do this. I know today was your day off," he acknowledged, his voice portraying a hint of gratitude tinged with longing.

"No, it's fine. I didn't have anything better to do," she replied with a soft smile and a shrug. Honestly, if anyone else had asked her to do so, she would’ve immediately denied. But, in this case, every fiber of her being yearned for his presence. She found herself captivated by him, his presence easily invoking a mix of emotions that she struggled to contain.

He carefully placed his phone on the table and flipped onto his stomach. He crossed one arm over the other and laid his head comfortably on top of his arms.

Each time he felt her touch, it felt like electric shocks hummed through his veins. He often found himself battling the urge to pull her close, taken over by the need to explore every single part of her body.

"You know, just because you're here to work doesn't mean you have to wear those little flowery scrubs." he teased, a playful grin dancing on his lips.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and amusement, a nervous laugh slipping past her lips as she dispensed a dollop of oil into her palms, rubbing them together with practiced ease.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of self-consciousness as she prepared to begin.

As her hands glided up the smooth fabric of his basketball shorts, she couldn't help but notice the subtle tension in his muscles. She was sure she was just as tense as him though. But despite her nerves, she focused intently on her task, determined to ease his discomfort.

With each skilled movement of her hands, soft groans of pain and pleasure slipped from him as she melted his knots away.

Her arousal was coursing through her veins, her touch both tender and purposeful. Just touching him was leaving her breathless.

By the time she finished working on his legs, she found herself soaked, her mind reeling from the intoxicating mix of his muted groans and the scent of his skin. She found it almost impossible to resist him.

As he rose from the table, she couldn't help but admire the newfound grace in his movements, the progress they had made together over the past weeks was tremendous. His praise washed over her like a wave, filling her with a pride and accomplishment she hadn't known before.

"Your hands are like magic," he murmured appreciatively with a small grip on her shoulder. His touch sent a shiver down her spine.

"Thanks," she replied softly, another nervous giggle bubbling up from within her as she gathered her belongings, almost running away from the tension between them.

With a final glance, she turned and made her way toward the stairs, the weight of his gaze lingering on her like a caress. As she disappeared from view, she couldn't shake the feeling that it would somehow, someway be a while before she would start heading home.

She found herself lost in the sensual melody of "Earned It" by The Weeknd as she placed the massage oils in the cabinet. She had realized she'd been over to his house a lot more often to treat him, so she figured why not keep them here to maintain his plan of care.

Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but fuss over the loose tendrils of hair, each rebellious strand mocking her efforts. The bobby pins seemed to have a mind of their own, failing to secure the unruly locks in place.

With a heavy sigh, she rested her hands on the cool marble countertop, feeling the weight of frustration settle upon her shoulders. The pressure mounted as she attempted to tame her hair, her fingers fumbling with the stubborn strands.

She paused to catch her breath, dipping her head down and closing her eyes, searching for any sign of composure amidst the sexual tension. Was it truly the bobby pins that troubled her, or was she just frustrated? Frustrated with the way the Samoan man was engraved in her mind.

As she continues to fight her silent battle in front of the mirror. Roman had other plans..

Her heart skipped a beat as strong arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her into an unexpected embrace. Keeping her eyes closed, she threw her head back, trying to figure out if this was just a figment of her imagination or reality.

"Roman, wait..." she murmured, attempting to break free from his grasp, but his hold remained firm, a silent insistence that she stay.

"Let's not pretend that you don't want me," he interjected with a sly grin, his hands venturing beneath her shirt to explore the contours of her stomach.

She finally opened her eyes, meeting his. The weight of his gaze put her in a trance.

Her breath hitched as he turned her to face him. With trembling hands, she traced a tentative path down his now bare chest, each touch eliciting a low groan of pleasure from him. Pressed against the cool surface of the sink, her senses heightened by the heady scent of his cologne and the warmth of his skin against hers.

With a mixture of nervousness and excitement, she slid his shorts down, her fingers lingering over the tantalizing curve of his hips. As she began to stroke him, his hips moved in sync with her rhythm. The soft caress of her hand had him weak-kneed.

Her pussy grew wetter with each stroke, she couldn't help but softly moan at his easy submission. With a sense of power she had never known before, she brought him to the brink of release, his ragged breaths and whispered pleas urging her on.

“Don’t stop, please,” he whimpered with his eyes locked in on her own. His hands reach behind her, placing them on the counter, knuckles almost turned white at the grip while his precum dripped down her fingers and into her palm. She literally had him in the palm of her hands melting like chocolate.

“Mmm, but you don’t want to finish like this daddy. I know you don’t..,” she moaned while slowing down her strokes. He smirked and so did she, they knew exactly how to drive each other wild.

He grabbed her hand and took her finger into his mouth tasting himself, his precum lathering his tongue. He moaned softly staring deeply into her eyes as he stuck his tongue out and danced it around her fingers.

A moaned escaped her throat as she watched. She had never seen something so sexy in her life and the fact that he was staring into her soul while doing so was enough to make her juices slowly drip past her lips and down her thighs.

He chuckled darkly as he watched her fall into a trance and turned her around to face the mirror. With a hunger, he stripped away her scrubs, revealing the full extent of her beauty in the soft glow of the bathroom light. As he used his teeth to remove her panties, she gasped at the soft drag of the lace against her smooth skin, her body thrumming as he slid off the thin piece of clothing.

With each touch, each caress, she felt herself unraveling in his arms, her desire for him reaching a fever pitch. As he rid her of her bra, she surrendered herself completely to the moment, her body trembling with pleasure as they got lost in each other.

As his hands explored her torso, she basked in his touch, each caress leaving trails of goosebumps.

When he eased himself inside her, she couldn't help but gasp at his girth. It was as if every nerve ending in her body had come alive. His size stretched her in a way that both thrilled and challenged her, almost pushing her over the edge with each thrust.

Roman paused, his movements becoming slow and deliberate. His gaze, dark with desire, bore into hers through the mirror. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, the sight of her was so fulfilling.

"Damn, girl," he murmured huskily as he began to move, his hips setting a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of her heart. His thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over her, building the tension between them to an almost unbearable intensity.

With every touch, every stroke, he worshipped her body as if it were a precious work of art, his hands exploring every curve with a reverence that made her heart swell. And when he finally wrapped his fingers around her throat, applying just enough pressure to send her into a state of euphoria, she couldn't help but whimper.

"Say my name, baby," he growled, his voice a rough whisper.

And as she complied, her voice barely a breathless murmur, he rewarded her with a slow, sensuous kiss behind her ear that left her head spinning and her body aching for more.

"Louder," he demanded, his fingers teasing her clit with a skill that bordered on torture. And as she cried out his name,

"Daddy!" her voice echoed in the bathroom, he knew that he had finally broken through her defenses, unleashing a raw passion.

Their bodies moved together in a symphony, sounded like one too. Her pussy gushed, making the sweetest sound. The wettest sound.

His middle finger continued to move in mind-numbing circles. Her body wanted to crumble forward but he held her throat with a tight grip, a grip that kept her stable.

"Give me my nut baby, it's mine. I want it over my dick.", he whispered behind her ear, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder while he gave her some not-so-gentle strokes.

With him hitting her g-spot and rubbing on her clit, she felt her climax approaching. Her breathes with getting shorter, her curls were sticking to her forhead, and this man was tearing her up.

And when she finally reached her peak, her release crashed over her. He followed close behind, his own climax tearing through him with a force that left him gripping onto her body for dear life.

They stood together in the quiet, their breaths echoing throughout the room. She leaned into his embrace, their bodies entwined, the lingering heat between them melting into a shared warmth as they savored the aftermath.

His lips trailed feather-light kisses along her neck, before pulling away. A soft whimper escaped her lips at the loss, a smile forming as their eyes locked silently.

With a turn, she reached for him again, her arms enveloping his neck, drawing him into an embrace. Their lips met in a deep kiss.

As they pulled away, their breaths mingling in the stillness, he tenderly brushed his thumb against her parted lips.

"How about we go another round, baby girl," he murmured, his voice low and husky. She smiled, feeling her core tingle once more.

"Mmm, I like the sound of that." she hummed in agreement, her voice tinged with anticipation as she leaned in closer to him.

---------------------------------------------

Hope y'all liked this! Please excuse any and all mistakessss, thanks!!! lololol

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[samkerrworshipper]

between thighs

short little thigh riding quickie smut blurb lol

warnings: thigh riding, soft smut, porn without plot lol

Quickies are kind of a rite of passage when you become a professional athlete.

You claw for every single moment in which you can find time to spend with your partner, especially when your schedules are so jam packed.

That’s how you and Alexia got yourself into this position, the two of you jammed against the wall of Alexia’s bedroom with five minutes before she has to leave for an event.

You’re still in the first few months of your relationship, still navigating how to balance work and life, having Alexia looking all dolled up to go out on her night off for the week did things to you, things that had ended up with you pushed up against the plaster with Alexia’s lips mouthing at your neck.

“Ale-Ale, not fair, you have to leave soon.”

You’re mad that you don’t get to accompany her, that you don’t get to galavant around with Alexia. Actually you’re more mad that you won’t get to fully appreciate Alexia in her current outfit. She’s in a skintight pink dress, a piece that you aren't even aware was in her closet until she walked out of the wardrobe with it clad to her body. Whilst you aren’t a big fan of events, you’d push past your social anxiety for the opportunity to ogle at Alexia for the night.

No words would describe just how wet your panties had suddenly become when Alexia waltzed out of her wardrobe, dressed to the nines and looking mouth-watering, your cunt all of a sudden soaked with the sight.

“Lex, what the hell?”

Alexia’s head cocked, a little smile in the corner of her mouth whilst she toyed with the hem of her dress. Your eyes are dragging up and down the pink mesh kind of material that sinches Alexia everywhere.

“This little thing? It’s from my clubbing days.”

You roll your eyes at the way that Alexia implies that she is beyond her partying days, your summer in Ibiza would argue that claim heavily.

“Little is definitely a way to describe it, not leaving a lot to the imagination Lex.”

Alexia blushes, her awkward self shining through as she tries to pull the hem down, all for it to stay put where it was.

You stood up from your seat on the edge of your bed, walking your way towards your spaniard.

“No need to be shy, I’m just jealous that I don’t get the opportunity to appreciate this number fully.”

You bite down on your lip, closing in on Alexia with your voice dropping a few octaves as you speak.

Alexia’s brow lifts in questioning, her hair tilting with her head as she looks you up and down. Whilst Alexia is completely done up, you are quite the opposite, your hair is scruffily mounted on top of your head in a bun, instead of a tight dress you are in a tank top and a plain pair of silk pyjama shorts.

“Jealous? You know I’m only going because it’s opening night and I promised Alba I’d be there. A night that you had an invite to.”

You roll your eyes, groaning at Alexia’s explanation.

“I might have reconsidered had you given me a sneak peek to your little outfit earlier on, are you sure you can’t be a little bit late? I’ll make it worth your while.”

Alexia stares down at you, as you try your hardest to convince her with your pout. She brings her hand up to your cheek, her fingers are long enough to stretch from one end of your jaw to the other, she traces the soft lines of your bones and face, her eyes following her fingers.

“I won’t be late, there are a couple of minutes until Mapi is supposed to be here.”

You nod your head dutifully, standing up on your tiptoes so you are able to pull Alexia into a kiss.

For a few seconds it’s soft, the two of you falling into your normal rhythm, Alexia is pushing you up against the wall of the bedroom, her hands pinning your hips to the wall and slotting her knee in between your legs whilst her tongue explored your mouth and lips.

“Ale-Ale, not fair, you have to leave soon.”

You tried your hardest to grind down on Alexia, but her two hands were big enough to keep you pinned to the wall, unmoving completely.

“You’ve got three minutes, that’s all you’re getting, you can’t touch me and you can’t mess with my outfit, you touch or mess with anything and we stop, understood?”

You nod your head, your mind now completely set on how to achieve your own release.

“Go ahead then babygirl.”

Your hands are nudging at Alexia’s almost immediately, pulling them from your hips so you can slip your shorts off of your ass, leaving you naked in front of Alexia.

There isn’t time for you to be insecure, you instead push yourself off the wall, nudging your way away from Alexia’s knee up to the muscular part of her thigh.

You leave a trail of wetness as you move up and down, your desire spreading up and down Alexia’s olive skin.

Alexia’s lips move to your neck, allowing your mouth to gape open, big deep guttural moans exiting your mouth as you grind up and down Alexia’s skin.

You’ve done it before, but every single time you are once again met with Alexia’s thigh you have to rediscover and locate the different ridges and muscles that felt best against your sensitive clit.

It’s not as good as how fingers or a toy would feel, but it’s something, and something is definitely better than nothing.

“Lex, please, more.”

Alexia’s lips continue at your neck, it’s helping with getting you close but you aren’t sure that you are going to be able to get off solely just from Alexia’s thigh.

“My thigh or nothing, two minutes bebita.”

You nod your head, it’s not the answer you wanted but the upside is that once Alexia is done murmuring against your neck her lips return to your pulsepoint, sucking down hard and undoubtedly leaving a deep red mark.

You force yourself down as hard as you can, allowing gravity to take the reins as you remove the pressure from your feet, relying on Alexia’s muscly quad and your core balance to hold you up.

It’s not the best thing you’ve felt, but with the mixed sensation of Alexia’s mouth, leg muscles and hands on your hips, her fingernails gripping into the bones resting below your skin.

You know that you are on a clock, so you hone in on the sensations, focusing on all of the different things you are feeling.

Raking your eyes up and down Alexia’s outfit of choice seems to be enough, it’s like a rush of endorphins hit your bloodstream as you look at Alexia’s body and all of the features that are being displayed to you.

Your thoughts of lust are shattered by the sound of knocking at the door, Alexia’s lips lit from your chest.

“Are you close, bebita?”

You nod your head furiously at Alexia, pressing yourself down as you nudge your clit hard against one of the particularly accentuated muscles in Alexia’s thigh.

“Quick, Maria’s here and I don’t want to keep her wanting, or walking in and seeing something that belongs to me.”

The possessiveness definitely sends you directly towards the edge, the urgency of your situationship coming to light.

“Ale, fuck, going to cum, Lex I’m coming.”

Alexia’s mouth presses itself to your own, silencing your moans whilst your body spasms against her own body, your pussy pulsing against her warm and wet skin.

As soon as your cunt has stopped spasming and your limbs are reconnected to your brain Alexia lifts you off of her, dumping you unceremoniously onto the mattress of her bed whilst she rushes into the bathroom to clean herself up.

“Drink some water bebita, you don’t have to wait up for me, I'll be back late.”

The pool between your legs is enough of a motivation to stay awake for Alexia, even if it means suffering for a couple of hours.

“I’ll be up, have fun, you look amazing Lex.”

The banging at the door has only grown louder, Alexia is tugging on her shoes aggressively whilst trying to make it out of the door. You enjoy the sight from your spot sitting on her bed, your body covered in the sheets.

“I will, text me if you need anything and no touching without my permission, wait up or sleep, I love you.”

You nod at her, snorting as Alexia clips the corner of her doorway whilst trying to make it out of the room. A string of curses leave her mouth, her body lurching forwards and out of your sight, undoubtedly towards the door to stop Maria’s insistent banging.

You think about the feeling of her cold, big, stong hands on your hips, the heat still spreading from the marks she’d sucked into your neck and the pleasure spread across the apex of your legs from Alexia’s thigh that had fit so perfectly between your own thighs.

[merakiui]

Rollo loving anon here! The Rollo piece about him falling in love with a tourist and keeping her there really got my brain thinking about *how* he would teach his lover French~

Keeping her on his lap, bound and cockwarming him as he tutored her... how he would praise her for getting things right and punish for wrong pronunciations...

And of course one she is fluent he would give her the best prize of all~ a wedding ring and a bun in the Oven that they can raise together-

Thank you for supplying Rollo content! I love the way you write him!! 🙏

(♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) omg this is so perfect!!!! Thank you, dearest anon, for also supplying more Rollo love!!!! He deserves to be talked about frequently!!!

Poor darling who can barely understand what Rollo's saying when he first kidnaps you. >_< you're so scared, trembling in the corner and avoiding him. Rollo is patient and genuinely wants you to be able to enjoy the wonders of his language. Additionally, it will be best if you can understand what he's trying to express to you so that you won't feel so nervous whenever he's speaking. He's a very good teacher and, despite all of your apprehensions, you manage to learn. He takes his time and helps you whenever you're struggling with pronunciation or grammar.

Of course his methods are questionable. ^^;;; keeping you pinned on his cock while you read through and translate the paragraph he's written for you. Rewarding you by letting you fuck yourself on him when you've done a good job, and when you've done poorly he edges you until you're sobbing, desperate for release. Maybe he'll give it to you...if you can ask for it properly in French. <3

Or maybe he only teaches you so much just to ensure you'll still need to rely on him. Not that you'd ever go outside on your own, but if you were to escape it may be easier to find you if you can't quite communicate with the locals. :) but that will never happen. Even so, he'll teach you the minimum for now. Just enough to allow you to talk with him.

When he knocks you up, you'll finally be able to understand all of what he's saying. Every single depraved comment, every lustful, obsessive remark, all of it translates clearly in your head. You're not sure if you feel better now that you can understand him. Perhaps it's not important now that you have other matters to focus on, namely matters involving the family you'll build with your captor.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bowling Pin

Debut: Bowling

Yeah, Bowling! It's the pin, from Bowling! Bowling is a game, so it is fair game for this blog. And the pins are Weird Enemies! The whole point of Bowling is to Defeat as many pins as possible. You are taught to HATE them! It's messed up. I will teach you to love them.

When anthropomorphizing a bowling pin, are you on Team Face On Tip or Team Face On Base? I think both have their merits. Tip is good for if you want to give it a humanoid impression, like it could walk up to you and shake your hand. Hug you. Even... kiss you?! Base, however, is more of a creature, which I imagine waddling around on a bunch of legs or tentacles emerging from the bottom. It would hobble up to you and ask you, "Gleep gwanorb?" Answer carefully, or it might aim its Space Ray Gun at you! In the base design, the tip of the pin could be an antenna, or it could be read as a long-haired creature that tied its hair up in a tall bun!

You know something messed up? There are more types of bowling pins! No one ever told me that! The classic one we all default to is the Ten-pin, but there are two others! We'll get to them. Biologically, a Ten-pin must abide to the specific standards set by the United States Bowling Congress, adopted by World Bowling. They MUST be 15 inches (380 mm) tall, 4.75 inches (121 mm) wide at their widest point, and weigh 3 pounds and 8 ounces (1.6 kg), give or take 2 ounces (.057 kg). Wow! These would be some unrealistic standards to live up to, if these were not chunks of carved and coated wood produced specifically to match up to these measurements.

The reason the different pins are pictured with different balls is that they are used in different variations of the game! Candlepin is pretty self-explanatory. It's shaped like a candle. But Duckpin? That looks like a smaller, cuter, more marketable Ten-pin. What's its deal?

My first thought was, it's called a Duckpin because it looks like a duck! It has the one red line like the ring around a male mallard's neck, and it is rather shaped like a duck as seen from the front, overall! How cute! In reality, they are called Duckpins because the way they scatter when hit reminded a duck hunter of a scattering duck flock. Always comes back to violence with poor little Bowling Pin. They have it so rough! They could really use a friend, who's always there to pick them up when they're down.

Name: Pinsetter

Debut: Bowling

Pinsetter is just the sort of friend a Bowling Pin needs! No matter how many times Pin is knocked down, Pinsetter will be there to pick it up and put it back in its deserving spot. If any mean ol' stray Bowling Balls try to land a cheap hit, Pinsetter's sweep bar will block them. Play fair, you bully ball! Pinsetter's job used to be done by human Pin Boys, but there can still be a human in the mix, making sure the machine is clean, and unjamming it if need be. I can only assume this beautiful relationship between human and machine is just like that of horse and rider.

The more I think about it, though, is Pinsetter really helping? It's just putting the pins back in harm's way every single time, facilitating their unending torment. It blocks incoming balls, but only briefly, allowing them to crash through the pins as soon as they're all reset. Why does it do this? Who does it work for? Who is sending all these balls?!

...It's Pinsetter.

Pinsetter does not only set the pins. It detects the score, encouraging players to hit as many pins as possible. It returns the balls, giving them the weapons to do so. Humans think they're playing a game, but Pinsetter is playing them all! It controls the whole operation, driven by nothing but pin bloodlust! Maybe Bowling Ball has been misunderstood, another tortured soul, an unwilling pawn in Pinsetter's twisted game!

Bowling Pins are beautiful creatures. They belong in the wild, or with trustworthy, knowledgeable caretakers. To bowlers, they are an Enemy. To me, they are a Friend.

[beansprean]

I just think she's neat

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Knees up of the Guide in her maid uniform from s5e6 Urgent Care: a knee-length white smock over a knee-length black dress with a turtleneck, turned-up white cuffs at the elbows, starched white collar, elbow-length black leather gloves, black tights, black heels, and a scalloped white kerchief on her head. Her hair is pulled into a low bun at the base of her neck and she is posing with a big smile at the viewer, holding a silver tray with a single ornate goblet in both hands and one foot popped up cutely behind her. 2. Full body of the Guide, hair gathered up in a large loose bun with several curly strands falling free, wearing Yvette's maid outfit from Clue (1985): a short black dress with a poofy skirt, long sleeves, and a revealing Queen Anne neckline, white ruffles decorating the bust and wrists; a small white apron tied around her waist, a black choker at her neck, fishnet stockings, black peep-toe heels with a bow, and a white doily hat pinned to her head. She is smiling coyly at the viewer, leaning forward with one leg straight and the other cocked flirtatiously, both arms held down and braced on her knee to push her breasts together. 3. Full body of the Guide, hair half-up in a small bun, wearing a party city style sexy maid costume: a short black dress with a deep v neck and poofy mutton sleeves, white ruffles at the cuffs and underneath the equally poofy miniskirt; a white apron with a frilly hem tied at the waist and behind the neck, ruffled sleeves covering her shoulders; a small ruffled cap, a tattoo black lace choker, black leather half palm gloves, white thigh high stockings with black lace trim and suspenders, and black slingback heels. The Guide winks at the viewer with a smile, posing with one leg cocked flirtatiously, one hand on her hip, and the other holding up her thumb and first two fingers. The background is mottled reddish-pink. /end ID

[kthecutest]

darlss,<33 your backkk I miss u tbh I was worried of what happened to you. and I have another req

legal line and how they tell you there needy!

so yah I don't know how to be more specific but love you darls<3

xoxo

-🤍anon

૮(˶╥︿╥)ა I'm sorry for making you worry! I've just been so busy with work I couldn't get any writing done for the past few days. Sorry for the inactivityyy (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) Your requests are always so creative and amazing! Love you too! ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ Hope you'll enjoy this! ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

How &Team legal line tell you they’re needy˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊

•✩──────✧✩✦✩✧──────✩•

Pairing : &Team legal line x f!reader Genre : NSFW (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ 🥕 A/N ೃ⁀➷ MINORS DNI

K : Three words. Aggressive big puppy. He’s the loveliest boyfriend ever and treat you like a queen all the time but when he’s needy; he transitioned from a human to a wolf-in-heat, boi doesn’t know anything else than to pin you down to the nearest surface and run his face all over your body.

It’s a late afternoon, you’re on your way back to your room after having some refreshments. The house was quiet as expected; your boyfriend has promised you to not disturb you during work hours or short breaks so you were glad he was being obedient. But the thought was cut short when you were pinned straight to the hallway wall aggressively; your eyes forced open at the sudden attack and the figure towering above you. The boy staring down at you with hungry lustful eyes and without a single word starts kissing and biting at your neck – his thigh pressing right between your legs, up against your core; forcing whines and whimpers to elicit from your mouth. It seems you were too invested in the work all day, you’ve forgotten to give your poor puppy and his leaking cock some attention.

Fuma : He leans more to the relaxed and reasonable side. He doesn’t just launch at you or becomes aggressive unless he’s way too horny to even keep his brain in-tact. He would come to you like a good boy, no shame too; since he thinks wanting you at certain times of the day is pretty normal to be open about – I mean you’re his girlfriend after all.

You were sat on the couch, scrolling some videos through your tablet. You weren’t particularly busy – but you just didn’t think your boyfriend would need you glued on him; and onto his dick. Within a moment of a few thuds of footsteps in the background, you could feel equal weights on your shoulders as your turned your gaze upwards to face his eyes glossed up in desperation. Tongue entering straight in between your lips, not giving you time to process nor make a move. His huge hands trailing slowly down your neck and cupping them, squeezing oh so lightly, cutting off your airways as he ate up the muffled moans eliciting from between your pre-occupied lips.

Nicholas : We all know K and Nicho are literally the same breed – so it’s not a surprise he’s exactly just like K – except that even when he’s all worked up to the thought of you, he’ll still have his brain doing the proper thinking unlike K who is basically thinking with his dick at that point.

About 6.30 pm – you’re preparing dinner for you and your lovely boyfriend who has been awfully quiet the entire evening unlike his normal self. You just brushed it off, your stare shifting to the strawberry that had fallen off the kitchen counter. You bent down to the floor, picking it up; until you felt a figure stopping its steps right in front of you, towering above you – making you look up. Your eyes widen in shock, not at the person but at a really huge bulge, casting a shadow on your small face. Your boyfriend staring down at you with a lustful smirk, entangling his hands in your bun-ed up hair – pushing your face straight forward – to the point your nose was basically buried on his bulge.

Ej : When this baby boy gets needy, omg please the whole room’s air will just switch up so fast. As harmless as he can be (and I’m talking he isn’t aggressive like his K hyung) but he will still eventually have his heat crawl up to your mind and to your core in the sweetest whiniest ways.

You could be laid comfortably on your bed, just reading a manga, bored out of your mind; when you felt the sudden weight on your entire body from on top. Before you could turn around to rule out the person, you could feel them sniffing and nuzzling their face and hair all over your neck. Whimpers and desperate whines flowed into your ear nonstop; it wasn’t long until it started to effect you as well, drawing out soft whimpers from you, your fingers unnoticeably gripping onto whatever fabric material nearby. The touches and sounds were hot to your skin; you hid your face in the pillow, revealing more of your nape allowing your obviously in-heat boyfriend to have his way with you.

Yuma : When this kitty gets needy, he can get reallyyy aggressive. Not like in a way of pinning you down with immense strength (ahem- KNICHO) but in a way of he’ll do anything to get what he wants.

You’d be sat in front of your desk, books and scratched up notes scattered straight across the surface. The determination streak didn’t last long when you felt a set of hands in your inner thigh – making you look straight down – to see a figure underneath the desk. While in the comfort of your own home, you pretty much just stay in your panties and a bra-less shirt; so this pretty much gave direct access of your core to your horny boyfriend – who was now licking at the fabric like a needy kitty licking its bowl of milk. Your legs couldn’t help but to close from the electric shocks being sent through your body from each of his lick at your core; as you begged him to stop – the thought of studying slowly fading away from your pile of thoughts.

Jo : Getting needy is a rather rare occasion for Jo since he’s always so chill and calm – surely is never the type to be the one to insist on that kind of stuff. But there are days when he’s got to catch his own release as well and when this happens he becomes absurdly quiet but clingy at the same time.

Yells could be heard throughout the bedroom, your hands moving aggressively on the keyboard and mouse Your raged complaints towards the teammates on the other side of the call were consoled quickly when you felt your boyfriend applies all his body heat right to your side and back, sticking to you – not a single sound – yet you could tell he was unusually clingy today. You just took note of it as him feeling a little clingy but you were proven wrong when you felt two fingers enter into your panties, poking at your clothed clit; slowly the fingers gliding against your folds. You let out a gasp quickly but before you could reach out to the mute button, he’d whisper in your ear telling you to just keep playing, well that is; if you can of course.

[pinkydevil16]

Stepfather Daemon Targaryen smuttt pleaseeee!!!!!

Stepfather Daemon Targaryen x Reader

i do apologise for how dark this got as i don't think that's exactly what you wanted!

TW 18+ dark themes, non con, loss of virginity, blood, threats of violence, manipulation TW do not read if it will upset you

Y/n tried to push down her hatred for the man marrying her mother, her eyebrow twitching as he looked past his bride to stare at Y/n. His eyes not leaving her own as he kissed her making Y/n sneer at him before hiding her face. 

She pitied her mother, feeling so inlove with the man before her and yet Y/n knew exactly what the Prince was like. A man child.

Someone who threw his toys out the pram when he didn't get his way, and that was exactly what this was. 

Him getting his toys back. 

Y/n held her dress up as she walked out the banquet hall, sick and tired of the charade and wishing to be alone in her chambers. A sword coming infront of her as she froze, the heat of his breathe against her neck as Daemon circled her until his sword was facing the ground and his smirking face was in it's place.

"Y/n." 

"Daemon." Y/n spat as she sneered at him, her fists clenching her dress tightly until her fingers ached.

"Why are you leaving the festivities? You haven't even seen the bedding ceremony." Daemon's eyes were dark, his hair cut shorter after battle as Y/n glared at him and scoffed.

"I do not wish to see such an atrocity or i fear my eyes will melt from my sockets." Y/n practically spat out the last words as she moved to the side ready to pass him but his arm was quick to slip around her waist and force her against the wall, his body caging her in. Her face full of thunder and eyes stormy as his hand pushed her hair out her eyes.

"You should not speak so callously to me or i might have to punish you." Y/n pulled her head away from his hand and grit her teeth as he relished in her hatred.

"You are a despicable animal unable capable of any emotion but jealousy. Do you honestly not have anything else in your life but the urge to torment me?" His hand was quick to grip her chin before moving down to her throat and yanking her forward, forcing her to look up and into his eyes as he grinned sinfully. 

"I could show you a true animal. Perhaps after your mother is asleep i will creep into your chambers and fuck you until you understand who you belong to." Y/n's hands grasped him, trying to dig her nails in but as she felt the warm liquid spill onto her fingertips without a single twitch she knew he would have to let her go to be free.

"I suggest your next words are ones of affection and not an attempt to scare me off." Daemon tilted his head as he squeezed his hand tighter, watching her face become red and her nails scrape desperately to get him off.

"T-that would be lovely Daemon." As she spoke his grip loosened until he barely held her throat, running his thumb up and down the column of her throat with a sweet smile.

"I expect you to be ready for me then." Daemon let her go fully as Y/n held her throat and glared at his figure walking back to the hall, tears in her eyes as she tried not to show how fearful she was. 

Y/n slammed her hands on her bed as she squeezed her eyes closed and tried not to break down, her handmaid untying the laces of her corset as Y/n opened her eyes and stared out the window.

"My lady is everything alright?" Y/n just nodded as she fisted the sheet and grunted at the corset releasing her chest and waist, taking a deep breath before standing allowing the red dress to fall to the ground. 

"I am exhausted Marie, please leave me." 

"But My Lady your hair-" 

"I will be fine." Y/n snapped back as she grabbed a hairpin pulling it from her hair as she tried to undo the intricate bun, the pin stabbing into her hand as she yelped and looked down. Fresh crimson burst from the soft skin on her palm making her eyes widen before she smirked.

Daemon smirked to himself as he wandered the halls of the grand castle, a pep in his step that would look unnatural to those who knew him. Rounding the corner his smirk become wolf-like as her door laid ajar, candle light bleeding through the doorway as he creeped closer. His hand on the heavy wood as he pushed it open, the burning flame in the corner flickering as he entered, his eyes focused instantly on his prize. 

The door closed quietly as Y/n remained where she stood, her hands on the back of the tall chair covering her night dress, one hand tightened around a hair pin whilst the other gripped the fabric. Her eyes icy and accusing as Daemon stepped closer, the candle light glowing against the red fabric that covered his torso, his hand moving quickly and pushing his white hair back.

"You look ravishing." Daemon's words made her lips curl up into a snarl as he approached, her hand on the chair keeping it between them until he was only a foot away with the chair protecting her. Daemon letting out a small laugh as he looked at the chair and back to her eyes, silently mocking her.

"Do you wish to play this game because i am not above dragging you to the ground. Or would you prefer the soft bed?" Y/n glared at him as she kept her eyes on him, his hand now carelessly pointed at her bed, the same bed she had had since a child that felt so safe and comforting to her. He wished to steal that from her, to make her feel alone and helpless. 

"Do not touch me you insipid wretch." Y/n spat the words as she watched Daemon's face drop, the smirk he held now turned into a sneer as he grabbed the chair, forcing it out her hands and shoving it across the flooring with a horrid squeak. Y/n's eyes widening as she slammed a hand against his shoulder, her other gripping the hair pin as she brought it down on his chest, panic filling her eyes as she heard it pierce the skin. 

And yet he did not move, a small grunt escaped his lips and as she looked at him she felt fear course through her veins, could feel the ice cold run down her torso and seize her heart.  "That was not very nice Y/n." His voice was too deep, too calculated and far too terrifying for Y/n to be able to do anything as his hand clamped down her own and yanked the hairpin from his chest. Squeezing her hand until she cried out and dropped the hair pin, her knuckles cracking and fingers aching as he glared down at her.

"Stop." She could feel red hot tears flow from her eyes as she begged, her other hand on his shoulder keeping her steady as she watched him squeeze her hand to the brink of breaking. His eyes sizing her up before throwing her hand from his, grabbing her throat within the second and tilting her head to meet his own.

"You are testing my patience." Daemon's words were pushed through gritted teeth as he walked Y/n backwards, her hands reaching out for anything. Daemon pushed her harshly backwards, her throat burning as she coughed and spluttered, her body landing like a log on the bed. Scrambling to move as she clawed at the bedding, barely on her knees when his hand grabbed the back of her night dress yanking her backwards as she cried out. Her hands gripping the bedding as he forced her to kneel, his front against her back as his hand travelled up and tangled in her hair. His fingertips gripping the roots making her yelp in pain and clutch his hand, her elbows pointed upwards and back arched to alleviate the pressure on her skull. 

"I went through too much trouble and killed far too many pathetic men for you to be such a brat." His voice echoed in her skull as he yanked on her hair to show his point, his lips next to her ear as he laid a kiss beneath it, a moan escaping his lips at the feel of her skin.

"Now, apologise." His words punctuated by a bite on her neck and his nails scraping her head. Y/n trembled as she squeezed her eyes closed in pain and gasped at his teeth marring her skin.

"No...leave me be." Y/n tried to find her voice but it came out hoarse with her vocal cords rumbling from the bruise forming across her skin. Daemon chuckled darkly against her neck, his other hand sliding around her waist and up her sternum, her own hand rushing to his. Her eyes open and staring at the ceiling as tears welled in her eyes, one hand gripping his own in her hair whilst the other tried to push his hand away from her breasts but she could not stop him. His hand roughly gripped her right breast, the thin fabric of her night gown, her legs shaking from holding herself up as her body went into shock. His calloused hand squeezed and pressing against her breast and she whimpered in pain, his head pressed into the crook of her neck.

"I am going to give you until the count of three to say sorry before i punish you." 

"One." His fingers twisted her nipple and his had dug into her breast, mouth open and teeth ripping at the skin of her neck as he bit down. Y/n crying out as her head was pulled back to make her stare directly above her. 

"Two." Her night dress ripped as his hand yanked down, fresh tears running down her face, dripping from her chin and onto her bare chest as he dragged his hand down further until her dress hung off her shoulders and pooled around her thighs. Her legs spread as she tried to change her position but she had no advantage, his hand making goosebumps arise on her skin as he passed her cunt and gripped her inner thigh with a bruising grasp. His mouth trailing down her arm as her hand gripped his wrist to try to pull him away. Her mouth hung open and panting as his hand pulled her head further back, her throat stretching and the skin burning with pain. 

"Last chance." His voice sounded far away as Y/n cried harder, trying to shake her head but the grip on her hair was brutal.

"Fuck you." Her voice broke as she continued crying, refusing to submit to him. Daemon smirking against her arm as he bit down, feeling his teeth pierce her skin and sweet blood to prick to the surface and onto his tongue.

"Three." His voice was muffled by her skin as his hand rushed up her thigh and two fingers thrust into her cunt, a loud scream coming from her mouth before his hand left her hair and clamped down on her lips, sobs wracking her body as he curled his fingers and brutally pulled them out. Laughing as he looked at his fingers, sitting up and putting them near her eyes as he watched her tears soak his hand.

"Look at that. I said Look!" Daemon screamed in Y/n's ears as she tried to look away, his grip on her face bordering on breaking her jaw as he pulled her face back, Y/n's eyes wide open and blown out from pure terror.

"Good girl." Y/n cried harder at his praise, despising how he spoke so softly.

"That is what determines your worth, and now. Now you are worthless, nothing but a burden to this family a hole for anyone to take." Y/n sobbed against his hand as he moved his fingers, the blood coating it moving around as he ran his thumb over his forefinger. Her hand raising and trying to push the bloodied hand away. Daemon grabbing her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back, hearing it crack as she screamed against his hand, his fingers coated in her tears and spit as she panted in pain.

"All because you don't have a cock." Her hand pressed against his as he wrapped his hand fully around her own and gripped his cock, a deep moan coming from the back of his throat as he closed his eyes. Y/n shaking as she tried to pull her hand away, feeling blood trickle from her cunt as waves of pain lapped at her body. Daemon opened his eyes with a sigh and released her hand, pressing his hand to her back as he removed the hand on her face her body falling forward as she clutched at her bedding and buried her face against it. 

"You cry an awful lot for someone who stabbed me. Did you not think i would do anything to harm you?" Daemon mocked Y/n, a chuckle coming from his chest as he watched her curl into herself, her hand shaking as she shook her head and cried into the sheets. 

"Turn on your back and show me your cunt and i might make it feel better." Y/n continued shaking her head as she shook, her whole body urging her to run away but she was stuck, unable to even speak as she heard Daemon tut. Hands gripping her hips and throwing her onto her back as she cried out, gripping her sheets as he wrestled with her. Her hands wildly flying out to try to get him away, nails scratching at anything she could get to. 

"Seems my little step-daughter enjoys it. Well then, i guess i will do as you please." His hands wrapped around her wrists and roughly shoved them onto the bed, her body contorting and wiggling to try to free herself as she thrashed against him. Daemon rolled his eyes as he pinned her down, fighting with her hands until he had them both in one and grabbed her jaw, focusing her back on him.

"My patience is running thin and very soon i will simply cut you open and take what i want anyway." Y/n whimpered as he stared down at her.

"Do you understand?" Y/n nodded as Daemon smiled at her.

"Good. Now open your legs like a good girl for me." Y/n felt tears fall from her eyes as she slowly opened her legs, Daemon dropping his eyes and groaning before meeting her eyes.

"I am going to let you go and if you so much as twitch to get away from me. I will snap your neck." Y/n nodded quickly, Daemon smirking as he removed his hand and watched her closely before letting out a sigh and leaning down to kiss her forehead. Y/n trying her hardest not to flinch away and scream for help but the grip on her wrists told her she was in no position to behave against him. Daemon sat back as he slowly loosened his grip on her wrist and laid his hands on her hips, Y/n watching him with caution as he looked away from her face dropped his eyes to her cunt. His eyes almost sparkling as he ran his hands down her hips and to her thighs, gripping them as he forced them upwards until her thighs touched her chest and stomach. Y/n whimpering in pain and closing her eyes as she felt his eyes taking in every detail of her most private and concealed area. Daemon snapped his eyes up to her.

"Hold your legs, if you let go i will break your fingers." Y/n jolted and gripped the back of her knees, her body curling in on itself to keep her grip as he grinned and ran his hands along the back of her thighs as she quivered. 

"I have imagined this for months since i saw you at the banquet. If you had of just been a good girl then i would not have to go to such lengths. But now i have you all to myself. Whenever i want." As he spoke his fingers ran through her folds, the blood collecting on his fingers as he used it to push his fingers inside her cunt, Y/n yelping in pain as he gave her a pitiful look.

"You did this to yourself. Remember that." Y/n cried harder, her eyes blood red and cheeks stained with tears as she felt his fingers go deeper, twisting and playing with her insides as he looked back at her cunt. His fingers working inside her as she cried, hands shaking and clutching onto the back of her knees for dear life whilst Daemon released his trousers. The sound of the fabric hitting the ground made Y/n sob harder, her nails digging into the back of her legs until she felt blood trickle down her fingers, Daemon staring at her as he ran his hand along his cock.

"Since you are being such a good girl i will help you." His voice was that of a parent speaking down to their toddler, condescending and mean as he leaned over and spat on her cunt. The action washing more shame over Y/n as she closed her eyes and wished for it to be over, every movement of his hand making her twitch and want to close her legs. Daemon swiped his thumb across her cunt, pushing his spit around his clit until he felt her cunt loosen enough that he could thrust his fingers in and out with ease. Y/n shook as she felt sharp bursts of pain and pleasure run up her stomach, her nipples hardening as she willed any sort of feeling to leave. She wanted to be numb, to not feel anything but hatred. Every movement of his fingers made her despise her body as she heard them moving in and out, disgust washing over her as Daemon chuckled. 

"Look at me when i take you." Her eyes opened revealing glassy blood shot eyes, no tears able to come out as she watched in horror as he lined himself up. His hands on the back of her thighs as he leaned over her, her eyes widening as he thrust in and forced his lips onto hers. Kissing her harshly, teeth gnashing together and cock splitting her open. The pain making her cry out and open her mouth, his tongue eagerly entering as he explored both her holes. Her cunt squeezing him, trying to push him out hopelessly as he pulled out and slammed back in. His balls slamming against her as his hands gripped the back of her thighs, pulling her onto his cock with every thrust. His mouth stealing her breath and holding her hostage as he savoured every inch of her body. 

"Fuck this was worth the wait." Daemon moaned against her mouth as Y/n clenched her eyes shut, his breath mingling with her own as she panted in pain. His chest rising and falling, pushing himself upwards with her thighs making her whimper in pain as it stretched her cunt further for him, his head falling back as he growled out and slammed harder into her. A squeal escaping her throat as the grip on her leg wavered, his hands pushing higher until he gripped the back of her knees. Shoving them upwards before travelling towards her ankles, throwing them over his shoulder forcing her hips to raise off the bed every time he pulled out only to be roughly forced back onto the bed with a thrust. His hands wrapped around her ankles, dragging her onto his cock as his whole body rocked with his hips, eyes closed as his moans became louder and each thrust was meaner, deeper and pointed. Y/n placed her hands over her face, sobs falling from her lips as her body jolted and jiggled with each sob. Daemon's eyes shot open as he suddenly came, a gasp escaping his mouth as he stilled, cock half inside her cunt as he barely let out a breath. His eyes wide and chest puffing in and out with each intake. His eyes head slowly dropping to look at Y/n as she stared at him in horror, his eyes moving down to her cunt as he pulled out, shock in his face before he let go of her ankles. Hands coming to his hair as he let out a loud laugh, a genuine joyous laugh, his body moving with each one and allowing his soft cock to slip from her folds. His eyes still on her cunt before he moved to look at her with a fondness that made Y/n want to throw up. 

"You...are something else." His head shook as he leaned down, Y/n flinching as she expected pain for interrupting him not understanding what had happened, a yelp of shock escaping her as his hands came and scooped his cum from her cunt. Her eyes wide and body curled in on itself as he leaned over her, his fingers lingering in front of her lips with a pointed look that made her open her mouth. His fingers thrusting in and making her gag on the salty flavour as he ran his fingers across her tongue and cheeks, watching as he pulled his fingers free, clean. 

"I was planning on cumming in your pretty little mouth but if you are so desperate to be my breeding bitch then i will only cum in your cunt." His hand came down and slapped her cunt, sending a jolt of electricity through her body before he stood straight and grinned down at her.

"Clean yourself up and do not let your mother see the bruises or i will kill her. You are mine." His trousers were pulled up quick as he walked out, leaving her alone on the bed crying. 

Y/n stared at the bed, a knife in her hand as fresh tears flowed down her face, the blood and cum mixed together making her scream out. Plunging the knife into the bed over and over until her sheets were torn to shreds, feathers and fabric destroyed and covering the floor as she collapsed in a ball. 

[colourstreakgryffin]

AHHHH CAN YOU PRETTY PLEASE DO IF REQUEST ARE OPEN A ALASTOR X A SMALL READER (SHINOBU READER BASICALLY) WHERE SHE INSECURE ABOUT HER SELF SINCE SHE SMALL

Yessss. Yesss. Yessss! Alastor is like, what, 6-7ft tall?! So, he got a small girlfriend and he loves that small girlfriend! The comfort will be good since Al will be able to finally realise that his jokes are harmful and take responsibility for them! So, let’s doooooo it~!

Alastor- Beauty From Within

“My dear” After so long of just rather comforting hollow silent, the alarming, almost screeching sound of a radio dialing up and halting slightly then the familiar transatlantic accent of your secret boyfriend rings out. As if materialises from thin air, Alastor just suddenly appears on your right, comfortable, fully-dressed with dressshoes on and his microphone-cane at the ready exactly where your faced as you both laid on your Hotel room’s bed

You were cuddled up in the blankets like a little butterfly cocoon, your mind racing and requiring some peace for the day but here is your boyfriend… here to ruin that need

Immediately jolting back in shock and a natural defensive instinct from being jumpscared by your partner without a single bit of warning, a classic Alastor move, you were flung off onto the soft carpet-lathered floor of the Hotel room. Unlike with most where Alastor would just smirk through the fall and find it amusing to see whoever fell harm themselves, Alastor blinks a bit more concerned and slightly leans over to check on you

“What the fuck, Al?!” You growl out, shaken and irriated when you gather back your wits and ability to think upon recovering from the fall as you go from half-flopped on your back and on the half-cushioned floor, to on your knees with an annoyed, dishearten expression on the floor

Alastor simply and smoothly leans over the edge of the bed where you are sat and his grin grows, curious and just a breath away from asking the million dollar question on his mind, drawing your discouraged and self-conscious darken gaze up to him

“Why aren’t you down in the Lobby, darling, Tora?”

You didn’t even want to answer him with the truth but when it comes to Alastor, it feels like it’s almost impossible to genuinely lie to him without him being able to sniff it out effortlessly. Should you even try? Well… you figure Alastor will notice that you’re not telling him your reality and just make it harder for you. That’s how Alastor is, he’s protective and he jumps right to the worst conclusion if you don’t open your mouth

Okay… here goes nothing

“It’s just… I needed some time alone. I don’t want to go out there and have everybody laugh at me”

Hearing this from his beloved little girlfriend makes Alastor’s ears jolt up in surprise, eyes widening and lips parting as he remains in place leant over the bed’s bottom edge but still on top as you lean against his soft cool darkly pale cheek like it’s a pillow, closing your own eyes whilst just letting out all your self esteem problems in just a few words. Alastor can recognise something’s very wrong and he is determined to find the cause

“Laugh at you? Who would laugh at you? You’re incredible, you’re intelligent, you’re ladylike and gentle, your personality is made of sugar and cream, your little butterfly features are gorgeous. What is there to mock? I don’t see a single thing” You couldn’t help but feel offended that Alastor is pretending he doesn’t know or is generally oblivious to what the problem is and how he regularly fuels the burning fire himself. A bigger clawed hand grips the pretty purple, white and aquamarine patterned butterfly ornament hairclip pinning your pitch dark hair into a thick bun, he loves that little butterfly accessory. It makes your adorable little look even more precious

You’re a beautiful fluttery butterfly within Hell, he can’t see why anybody in the Hotel would find you a laughing stock

“Alastor… just… stop” You softly bark, nothing to be rude or uncaring or harsh to your beloved but nothing to be firm, to have him take you seriously, to have him hear you out. Alastor immediately retracts his skilled fingers away from your hairclip, leaving it to stand out against your darker features effectively before he leans back slightly, upon you pulling yourself away from your boyfriend a bit roughly and climbing back up onto the bed to gather the quilts in your palms

Alastor takes a long moment or two to speak, his voice a bit heavy in a small but noticeable tint of rejection and heartbreak. He is now actually worried, worried that you are upset over the desire of wanting to break up with him. Alastor overreacts in this relationship and jumps to conclusions so at this very moment, the Radio Demon is internally begging that the next time you speak, you don’t say ‘it’s over’ in any fashion

“Darling… what’s wrong? You know you can talk to me about anything—“ Alastor didn’t even get the chance to finish and with other people, he’d be greatly annoyed at being cut off so rudely but with you, he cares more about what’s wrong with you than a gesture of respect, such as waiting to speak, so he stays quiet and listens to you, tall deer-like ears sitting up and flicking as a sign that his full attention is on you

“I-It’s… that. You and your friends often… y-you know, ridicule my height. Call me such mean names, call me shortstack, call me a midget, say I can fit into a box, say I am a weak little butterfly. It really hurts hearing that shit from you, of all people, Al”

Alastor didn’t even realise how insecure you are over your height. You’re 4’11, shorter than Vaggie and your beloved seven foot boyfriend loves to mock you about it, right in front of you and to the other Hotel inhabitants. He finds it amusing, he finds it funny, he views it as a joke and as harmless. But he isn’t aware that calling you ‘a caterpillar’ or ‘a baked bean’ just really kills your self-confidence. Yeah, you agreed with Alastor that you’d never show off that you’re dating him but does that mean you have to sit around and listen to him ‘joke’ about your height

“Leitora… I didn’t know you felt that way about my public nicknames for you. Why didn’t you just tell me to stop? I can easily shut Angel and Niffty up from all the remarks” Alastor wonders outloud, clearly now much softer, curious, if not regretful for his mountain of mistakes that lead to your distress. You’ve never seen Alastor feel remorse over anything he had done but here is he, desiring fully that he didn’t beat you up at your most vulnerable spot. He just didn’t know, he thought it was okay since you never brought it up with him. His crimson bloody eyes shine with a glittery gleam of concern and protectiveness

“I couldn’t, Al… everybody would be suspicious if you did something for me without any deal or some bullshit, and not do the same for anybody else when they ask” Alastor can seriously understand that, you’re just doing what you promised him. Not a say word about the relationship… but now, he almost wants to just give up on this covering up the truth nonsense so he can never deliberately, even if regretful, make fun of a factor about you you cannot control

Maybe… he should just suck it up, man up and admit the truth, even if it hurts his reputation. Hurting you hurts his undead soul a lot more

“It also doesn’t help that you’re basically a giant and next to you… I feel like I could be crushed any second and you wouldn’t even notice me. Are you sure you don’t… want a woman whose normal height. A lady you can actually kiss without needing to pick up?” You wouldn’t even mind if Alastor genuinely despised your height and preferred you to be taller. Every single second of you admitting how you feel you’re not good enough for Alastor breaks his undead black emptiness for a heart. He can’t stand that you think so low of yourself, all because of a physical factor you have no control over

He’s exactly 7’3 foot tall, he’s a mighty man with mighty legs and mighty towering length on him. He’s your guardian angel… or guardian demon, since he can oversee you and everything around you easily. You do like that he’s taller but you know it must be painful for him to deal with something two to three feet shorter than him

However, Alastor actually doesn’t want a different woman, he loves you and no matter what you have, he won’t stop loving you. So, Alastor, after taking a another needed moment to absorb the way clear tears hit your pretty delicate face, takes one of your hands and kissing the back of it, his returning voice cutting off the radio effect entirely to make this even more meaningful and sincere as his sharp crimson eyes draw open when he finishes the soft kiss to your hand, held in his in the most gentlemanly way possible, and his natural voice imbued with passionate love

“My dearest. A butterfly may be small but that insect species is a beautiful symbol of grace, elegance and life, you are quite the butterfly since it represents you so well. You may be a shorter woman but the best things come in small packages”

[mojogojocasahouse]

Blushing Confessions - Suguru Geto

Suguru Geto x f!reader

When your best friend finds out there’s something you haven’t experienced, he takes it into his own hands to show you what you’ve been missing.

Words: 1.9k Content:NSFW, friends to lovers, first time oral f!receiving, unprotected p in v, oral m!receiving, multiple orgasms, overstimulation 18+ ONLY

Satoru Gojo version || SatoSugu version

It’s just past midnight when you finally spot the wreath of flowers hanging on your front door. Your ankles and calves are throbbing from the long walk home in heels, the chill in the air blocked out by a black leather jacket that didn’t belong to you.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you sigh, beginning to shrug it off to return it to its rightful owner, “and for this.”

“I’ll get it inside,” your best friend Suguru Geto chimes from behind you.

Suguru follows you in before gently pulling the thick coat from your shoulders, leaving you in the short strapless dress you’d begun the night in, your keys and purse going on the hook behind the door.

“I overheard you talking to Shoko tonight,” he confesses, your blood running cold and a shiver shooting down your spine.

There had been enough words shared between you and Shoko that night you wouldn’t want anyone to hear, most of all Suguru. A few drinks earlier in the night had your tongue loose, and the conversation had gotten much more suggestive as the laughs had flowed. You were freshly single, breaking it off with the guy you’d been with since high school, and Shoko had been eager to get all the dirt on him that she could. That, and you’d finally admitted that the crush on a “mutual friend” she always teased you about having had actually been true all along.

“Is it true?” Suguru whispers soft and deep, he’s close enough you can feel his breath hot on your ear, “That no one’s tasted you before?”

Air leaves your lungs as the backs of his fingers graze down your arm, that was certainly one of the things you hoped he hadn’t heard. In fact, you’d wanted to take the words and shove them back down your throat the moment they left your lips. Frozen in humiliation, you feel the tight skirt of your dress being pulled up to bunch at your waist, your bare ass pressing against Suguru’s linen pants as he closes any remaining space left between you, nothing but the small triangle of fabric of your thong shielding your lower half from view.

“If only you knew how long I’ve wanted this,” he purrs against your throat, “Maybe you’d have taken pity on me a long time ago.”

Through all the nights you’d thought of him as you pleasured yourself none of your fantasies had done him justice. Your body is limp when he pins you against the door, sinking down to his knees and slinging your left one over his shoulder, your sharp stiletto heel thumping against his back. He doesn’t bother slipping off the pathetic excuse of panties you’re wearing, he just nudges the thin satin fabric aside before burying his tongue in your slit. A strong forearm pressing against your stomach keeps you upright when you keel over forward, the leg you’re still standing on already quivering and threatening to give out. 

It’s just long languid strokes at first, but he’s already groaning as he swipes over your dampening skin. Your limbs are on fire, and it’s taking all your focus to concentrate on the dark eyes transfixed on every gasp and expression on your face. Every muscle is shaking, you don’t notice the way you’re slinking down to the floor until the cool wood hits your ass, and somehow Suguru has followed you down without stopping his onslaught until he’s flat on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs and taking advantage of the new leverage he has at this angle.

Immediately, his lips lock around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud until your little whines go silent. Your mouth is just hanging open now, fingers running along the sleek black hair tied back neatly in a bun. Every purse of lips and flick of his tongue is stronger than the last, and he stops to collect your slick whenever he pauses for a breath, humming in appreciation for every drop.

The top of your dress slips down as your chest heaves and body slackens against the door, and his hands immediately find your newly exposed skin. You’re lost in him. His thumbs rub circles over your hardening nipples as he palms the plush of your breasts, his mouth still greedily lapping at your cunt. It’s hard to breathe, pressure bearing down on your chest and stomach like a vice, and subconsciously you begin flicking your hips over his face. 

A wicked smile settles on his lips at the sight of you so undone, so wild and feral for him. You’re using him now, fucking yourself on his outstretched tongue until every muscle tenses, the dam breaking and sending a wave of relief through your body from the middle outwards. Air burns your lung as you gulp it in with loud, whimpering pants, your lidded eyes watching his hair fall over his shoulders as he pulls it free. 

Before you even stop twitching from the aftershocks, his mouth is once again adhering to your slick, swollen folds. You scream out in shock, your body still too sensitive, but Suguru has no intention of relenting. 

“It’s too much,” you slur, but your fingers thread in his silky locks gently, combing through them affectionately, “I can’t—“

“Try,” he purrs, kissing your overstimulated bundle of nerves, “You can take it. For me?”

That poisoned honey tone could command you to do anything. 

“So sweet,” he hums after his tongue swipes over your fluttering hole, “You’re still dripping.”

“Fuck me,” you beg, not even in control of your own thoughts anymore, “Fuck me, please.”

“Soon. But there’s something I want first.”

Pleasure won out over discomfort beneath his skilled ministrations, heat bubbling in your belly once again as his teeth grazed your inner thigh. You’re so swollen, just his middle finger feels like a stretch when he pushes up into your pussy, his chuckle over just how tight you are hot against your soaked skin. 

After a few strokes, he stuffs you with a second finger, curling them to massage along your inner wall. White-hot heat prickles your skin as a thin sheen of sweat has you glowing in the dim light, it’s an entirely different level of bliss now. This feels heavier, every drag of his thick digits can be felt all the way in the tips of your fingers, the added wet heat of his mouth shamelessly running through your slit and over his own fingers drenched in your juices making it unbearable. 

Wriggling your hips, you try to get away, but you’re keeping his head in place between your legs with an iron grip. You know your neighbors can hear your wanton cries, they’re echoing off the walls as a wildfire burns through your veins. Suguru is unrelenting, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder, scraping against the soft patch he’s pinpointed with proficient accuracy until you're gushing around him.

His teeth are bared in a greedy grin, his lower face drenched as he props himself up onto his elbows like he’s crawling from the trenches. Gripping the bunched mess of your dress pooled around your middle, he yanks you upright into his chest and crashes his lips down onto yours. 

“See? You taste simply divine,” he says, your tongue darting out to taste yourself still strongly saturating his mouth, your fingers working on the buttons of his shirt.

As you come down from your high, you enjoy the kiss you’ve waited years for. It doesn’t feel like the first time, his lips moving fluidly with yours, the dance is graceful as you wind your arms around his neck and find his hair once again while he shoves his shirt off his shoulders. Large, warm hands slip from your waist and over the soft curves of your ass to grip the backs of your thighs, your body leaving the ground as he stands. 

The blankets on your bed cushion your fall when he drops you, immediately twisting you to lay flat on your stomach and lifting your hips. 

“Gorgeous,” he sighs, smacking his palm down onto your ass cheek, the sting searing down your leg. 

“Please,” you beg, knotting your hands in your bedding as he notches at your opening, “Please, Suguru.”

“Have you ever thought of me?” he asks, teasing you with the tip, “When you were with him.”

“Yes.”

He groans at your admission, thrusting in and bottoming out in one stroke. There’s no time to adjust to the stretch of his cock splitting you open, he’s already dragging through your velvety walls in search of friction, slamming back in harder than the first. With each punctuated piston of his hips, your whines are choked from the force of his movements, your bones turning to jelly in his grip. 

“We’ll stay in tomorrow…sleep in,” Suguru plans, his voice barely audible over the smacking of his hips against your ass, “Order delivery for lunch…Then I’ll cook you dinner…”

How could he even be thinking coherently right now? You were drooling, face down on your bed, your body limp as he ruts into you with enough force to have you sliding up the sheets. 

“I’ll fuck you to sleep,” he continues as you mewl beneath him, “Soft and slow. Because I know you’ll be sore.”

You’re clenching around him at the suggestion. As his movements grow more frantic and sloppy, you’re building towards your third orgasm of the night. Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to encapsulate what you feel, the only word you can manage to babble is his name, and it only fuels him faster. 

“I won’t come without you,” he coos, curling his chest around your back, “Tell me what you need.”

With one hand, you drag his to your center, his fingers immediately beginning to rub circles over your clit once again, and with the other, you drag his left to your throat. He chuckles in your ear, pulling you upright with him, his hair falling down over your shoulder as he mouths at the hollow behind your ear. Your tits are shaking as he fucks you somehow harder and faster, his hand squeezing around your windpipe while he kisses your gasping lips. 

“Where do you want it?” he murmurs, his voice edging on desperation.

“In-inside…” you answer, and it’s the last word you utter before your air is cut off completely with his tightened grip. 

It’s nothing short of euphoria when your vision begins to blacken around the edges and stars begin to speckle across the room. You hear him moaning behind you as you tense, the feeling of his cum spurting hot and thick inside of you sending you hurtling off the precipice. When he released your throat, a hoarse cry finally chokes free, both of you collapsing down onto the bed, his arm slung over your lower back. You’re both heaving for air, burning and sweating but not caring enough about the heat to separate. 

When your eyes flutter open to the sight of his face you can’t help but smile. His eyes are closed, bangs sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed red, and his lips are still swollen; he looks serene. Your fingers drift to push the hair from his brow, moving down to cup his cheek and there he lays his hand over yours, nuzzling against you in a silent plea to stay.

“Shall I run a bath?” he asks, his lips pressing to your palm, and you hum in agreement, “When I feel like moving then.”

Your lips find his in a slow, lazy kiss, no longer frantic and desperate like before. There's safety in it—a promise—as you both affirm it won’t be the last. 

The other two will be out soon! Thank you so much for reading, comments and reblogs=love

{{Masterlist}}

[avenging-fandoms]

after met one on one time with pedro. IMMEDIATELY. PLEASE IM BEGGING

"My god.. what time is it?" Pedro whines and you click on your phone, showing him the time. "Oh, 3am. This old fart's gotta get to bed" he grunts as he stomps up the stairs and you hold your stomach as you laugh. The stomps stop and his shoes squeak. "Babe, get up! I'm ready for bed. And if you aren't there, I can't sleep"

"That was.. that was just hilarious" you manage to get out in giggles and he chuckles with you, grabbing your bicep and helping you up and you catch your breath. You reach your bedroom and don't even bother touching the light, jumping on your bed and kicking off your heels.

"Ow! Jesus Christ" Pedro grumbles and turns on the light, rubbing his shin. "My legs are exposed, and you hit my shin with your goddamn heel" he laughs softly in between words and you hold your mouth as you laugh.

Pedro takes off his coat and drapes it on you after you moved up to the pillows. He lays next to you while laying on his bicep, dragging his fingertips over your eyebrow.

"Did you have a good time?" he asks and you nod, smiling.

"Did you flip off a camera?"

"I plead the fifth"

"You were on video! And there's pictures!" you laugh and he licks his lips. "You really know how to make every carpet yours, Pedro" you scrunch your nose and he blushes.

"You are too kind, princesa. But you.." he inhales and growls a bit as he exhales while sliding his hand down your side. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on. My sweet girl"

It was your turn to blush and you kiss his nose with a smile. His arm wraps around you and pulls you close to him, your arm under his. "I'm glad we just took pictures, but it was still so loud. I wanted to run inside"

"I know how you feel, thank God there were drinks" he huffs and you giggle, pecking his lips. Your index finger traces his features and pull his bottom lip down. He kisses you slowly while rubbing his thumb over your cheek.

"Are you ready for bed? I'm ready for bed" you throw his coat over his head and head to the bathroom. You take off your jewelry and every single clip, bobby pin and hair piece. You take off your eyelashes off and grab a makeup wipe.

Pedro enters the bathroom in his pyjamas with yours in hand and sets them on the counter. He moves your hair and unzips your dress, helping you step out of it.

He slides on your shorts - but not before. kissing your bare ass - while you scrubbed away at your face. With your face your dripping wet, Pedro slid on your shirt and you laugh. You apply your lotion and grab your toothbrush while Pedro grabs your hair brush.

Starting from the bottom, Pedro gently brushed the Met out of your hair and you brushed your teeth. He put your hair in a very messy bun and you thank him.

Pedro started to brush his teeth as you swished water. You kiss his back through his t-shirt and climb into bed. You plug your phone in and check on Twitter and Instagram as you wait for Pedro.

You were his biggest fan, retweeting pictures of only him and posting him on your story. You were his biggest cheerleader and he adored every ounce of you.

Finally, Pedro made it into bed next to you, pressing his front into your back and tucking his chin into your neck. "Are people being mean?"

"You need to stop worrying if people are being mean. You're sexy as fuck and they can suck it" you shrug and Pedro laughs, kissing your cheek over and over, your phone sliding out of your hand.

"I'm so thankful for you" Pedro whispers with his nose pressed against yours. "You're my date forever"

"And ever, Pedrito" you press your lips against and he rolls back onto his side, holding the small of your back. "I just adore you"

"Like music to my ears" he sings and you laugh, covering your eyes. "We need sleep, you can't stop laughing and I'm.. on Space Mountain I don't know"

You couldn't contain your laughter, even when Pedro tried covering your mouth. You finally calmed down and Pedro shut off the light, turning his back to you and you pushed your leg between his and arm over his waist.

"Goodnight Pedro"

"Goodnight Princessa"

[cybrsan]

Vignette: Duty — P.SH, K.HJ

STORY SUMMARY: For as long as he can remember, Seonghwa has dedicated himself to a single goal: making his father proud. To do so, he needs to win the Nightingale commendation, become the best of the best. But when he falls a step behind Hongjoong, he has to reconsider what it is he truly wants.

PAIRING: N/A, Seonghwa POV ft. Hongjoong (Future OT8 x Reader in main fic)

RATING/GENRE: PG-13 ; dystopian AU, steampunk AU

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol use (in a very unhealthy sort of way), self-deprecating thoughts and behavior, blood/injury, violence, strained father-son relationship, minor character death

A/N: This is the first out of six prologue stories that will be posted prior to the release of mine and Orion's main fic, Through The Darkness. Stay tuned for more <3

LINKS: ATEEZ Masterlist. Cross-posted on AO3. Story masterlist and glossary will be added once posted.

BANNER CREDIT: @kwanisms

General Elowen Nightingale makes for an imposing figure, dressed head to toe in military regalia. Her uniform is a stark white, not a crease to be seen, and decorated with numerous patches and medals that are a testament to her years of service and hundreds of battles won. Her honey-colored hair, streaked with silver, is pulled back into a perfect bun, and her piercing, grey eyes burn with an intensity that can make even the most hardened soldiers avert their gaze.

As she scrutinizes the crowd of cadets from behind her podium, Seonghwa finds himself having to make a conscious effort to maintain his position and not falter. His fingers itch to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles of his own—far less decorated—uniform, his heart pounding in his chest. He has been in the Vanguard Program for a few years now and has known her since he was a child, but he’s still not used to being in her presence.

Hongjoong snickers from his place beside him, whispering, “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa hisses through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes trained forward. “The last thing I need is to get in trouble for talking out of turn.”

“You have no reason to be nervous, Hwa, seriously. You’re one of the best in the class.”

“Says the General’s favorite.”

“Well, yes.” Seonghwa doesn’t have to look at Hongjoong to know there’s a smug grin on his face. “But that doesn’t make what I just said any less true. You have as good a chance as any to get the Nightingale Commendation.”

The Nightingale Commendation is a tradition of 30 years standing, named after the General’s family who established the program. It is the highest honor that can be bestowed upon a young, eager cadet, marking them as the one to watch (or the one to beat, in the eyes of their peers). It’s a ticket to swift promotions and the most coveted assignments. Naturally, everyone wants it.

Seonghwa can hardly even imagine being considered for such an award. He wants it, of course he does; after all, his name means “to be a star,” so being the rising star of the Vanguard Program would suit him. Or so his father says. But the idea of actually standing at the general’s side, his first medal pinned to his jacket… it’s almost too overwhelming to bear.

Though he won’t openly admit it due to the risk of relentless teasing, Seonghwa does feel put at ease by Hongjoong’s words. He glances toward him, momentarily forgetting the fear of being reprimanded. Hongjoong’s gaze is still cast forward, though he seems completely unfazed by the general or her commanding presence. He’s always been confident in a way that Seonghwa envies.

Suddenly turning his head, Hongjoong’s eyes meet his. In the harsh light of the auditorium, they seem a shade or two lighter than their usual brown. He smiles, though it isn’t the teasing grin Seonghwa was expecting. Instead, it’s soft, reassuring.

“Let’s promise each other that no matter who wins, we’ll celebrate together. Deal?”

Heat rushes to Seonghwa’s face against his better judgment. He’s so used to their competitive banter that this show of such genuine camaraderie has taken him aback. Still, he agrees without hesitation. “Deal.”

With that, the knot of anxiety in his chest unravels near completely. Having someone else be so confident in his abilities, someone who is so outstanding in their own right, is deeply comforting. Before either of them can say more, General Nightingale’s voice booms over the speakers.

“Attention!” she demands, and Seonghwa would swear she’s looking directly at him. “The time has come to announce this year’s recipient of the Nightingale Commendation. As you all know, this award is not given lightly. The cadet who is bestowed the honor will have earned it through their hard work, unwavering courage, and dedication to the cause.”

Sweat prickles at Seonghwa’s temple, a lone drop dripping down the side of his face and disappearing underneath the neckline of his shirt. This is it.

“Over the past few years, I have seen growth in all 46 of you; the Vanguard class of 1018 has been one of the most promising in our history. And while many of you have exhibited extraordinary promise, there is one cadet who has consistently exceeded all expectations.”

She pauses for a long moment, her eyes sweeping over the crowd. It’s as if she wants to savor the anticipation and make everyone squirm for as long as she can. Seonghwa can feel his heartbeat picking up again, and he even sees Hongjoong begin to fidget out of the corner of his eye.

Her gaze lands on Seonghwa and, for just a moment, he lets himself believe. But she passes over him without hesitation and immediately, he knows. He closes his eyes and prepares himself for what she is about to say.

“Congratulations, Cadet Kim Hongjoong. Please come up to the stage and accept your award.”

Seonghwa’s eyes remain closed as applause erupts around him. Deep down, he’d always known this moment would come, always known it would be Hongjoong and not him. But disappointment is not an easy pill to swallow.

“Seonghwa?”

Hongjoong whispers his name, and Seonghwa comes back to reality, opening his eyes to meet his expectant gaze.

“Congrats, Joong.” And he means it. He can get over his own disappointment in order to celebrate his friend.

He brings his hands together, mustering up a smile as he watches Hongjoong take the stage. General Nightingale hands Hongjoong the framed commendation before shaking his hand firmly. She then pins the matching medal onto his lapel—his first medal—and allows the crowd to cheer for a few moments longer.

“Cadet Kim,” she begins. “You have demonstrated exceptional skills throughout your time in the program. You are an example to all cadets of what an elite member of the Vanguard should be. I am confident you will uphold the Nightingale tradition of excellence in service.”

Hongjoong’s face, lit up with pride, is something Seonghwa will fondly remember for a long time.

“You’re welcome to give a speech,” General Nightingale says, stepping back as she gestures to the podium.

“I want to share this honor with all of you.” Hongjoong’s voice is strong and unwavering as he addresses the entire class. “We are all the future of the Sector. We are in this together and I am honored to fight at your side.”

He pauses for a moment, his gaze landing on Seonghwa once again. “There’s someone in particular I want to acknowledge.”

The auditorium falls silent as everyone follows his line of sight. Seonghwa feels himself flush with embarrassment, but he can’t bring himself to look away.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, his voice much softer now, as if he were speaking only to him. “You have been both my fiercest rival and my closest friend. Always there to push me beyond what I thought was possible, or to pick me up when I fall. This award,” he holds the commendation up in the air for emphasis, “Would not have been achievable without you. Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Seonghwa feels like he might pass out from all the blood rushing to his head.

“And if you or anyone else brings up the fact I got so emotional, I’ll take you to the mat.”

Just like that, the tension is broken. Laughter and cheers erupt as the crowd surges to life. The noise is enough to break Seonghwa from the trance Hongjoong’s words had him under and he can’t help but laugh as well.

Hongjoong takes a final bow and steps down from the stage, receiving some congratulatory pats on the back as he walks back down the aisle. Seonghwa notices the general watching Hongjoong closely, her gaze alight with something he can’t quite decipher. A mixture of approval and curiosity, perhaps? Yet he barely has time to question it before Hongjoong reaches him and claps him on the shoulder.

“Bet you weren’t expecting that, huh?” he says, his grin widening as he scans Seonghwa’s flustered expression.

“Expecting what?” Seonghwa’s proud he doesn’t stutter. “That you have a sentimental side or that you would actually admit it in public?”

Hongjoong chuckles. “Hey, you’re the one that complains I don’t give you enough affection.”

“Still, I never would have dreamed of you publicly declaring your love for me,” Seonghwa teases. This banter is good—it’s what he’s used to. His heart finally settles in his chest.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, the act belied by the softness that lingers in his expression. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’ll try not to.” Taking a deep breath, Seonghwa allows some of his sincerity to shine through. “All jokes aside… Thank you, Joong. Your words really do mean a lot. And I hope you know that they’re returned tenfold.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Before either of them can say more, General Nightingale reclaims her place at the podium. “Cadets,” she begins, her voice cutting through the clamor of the crowd. The room quiets almost instantly, and everyone returns their gaze to her. “As you all know, this ceremony isn’t just about the Nightingale Commendation. It’s about all of you and how much you have achieved over these past few years. Some of you will move on to other assignments, and some will have to report for further training, but all of you are part of what makes our Sector so great.

Hongjoong, of course, will become a member of the Vanguard Elite squad. Like all the past commendation recipients, he will be awarded Flight status, which gives him access to the most advanced machinery, classified assignments, and even travel outside of the Sector. Considering his outstanding performance throughout his time here, there is no doubt that he'll excel in his duties."

There is a momentary pause as she locks eyes with Hongjoong, and a curt nod of approval is exchanged before she turns back to the crowd.

“Alongside him, the top 5% of the class will also become part of the elite squad. We have evaluated the performance of these three cadets on various fronts: combat skills, strategic planning, adaptability, teamwork, and overall growth. The names I am about to announce are the individuals who have consistently excelled across these parameters. When I call your name, please join me on stage.”

If Seonghwa had thought the auditorium was silent before, it was nothing compared to the hush that fell over the room now. For a moment, he wonders if it’s possible Hongjoong might be able to hear his heart beating from his spot at his side. The general calls the first name. Not him. Second name. Also not him.

Then, finally, “Cadet Park Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s knees almost give out from underneath him. He wasn’t expecting this. He had been so focused on receiving the Nightingale commendation that he failed to consider the possibility of being in the top 5%—of still being part of the Vanguard’s most sought-after squad. In his shock, his gaze instinctively drifts to Hongjoong, who smiles and mouths, “I told you so.”

Walking on autopilot, he joins his new squad mates on stage. Surely, this must be enough to please his father. He may not be the best, but he is still among the elite; that has to count for something. Turning to General Nightingale, he bows slightly before shaking her hand.

“Congratulations, Cadet Park.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I present to you,” her voice rings powerfully through the auditorium once again, “the top 5% of the class, our Vanguard Elites!”

The rest of the class cheers and stomps their feet, the stage shaking from the force of it all.

“Moving forward, the remaining cadets will be assigned based on their individual strengths and overall rankings.”

She begins listing the remaining names, but Seonghwa is too lost in thought to hear them. He's on stage, a member of the Vanguard Elites, standing shoulder to shoulder with some of the academy's most talented cadets. He might still be a step behind Hongjoong, but surely that doesn’t matter. They’re still a part of the same squad, the same team.

“Our ceremony has come to an end. Congratulations to each and every graduate; you have all worked hard and should be proud of your achievements. To those who did not graduate—this should serve as motivation for you to work even harder in the future. Is that clear?” The crowd responds with a short cheer of understanding. “As always, we commit our hearts, bodies, and minds to service—”

“For the glory of the Sector!” The entire class finishes the alma mater in unison.

Seonghwa is flush with pride, standing straighter and more confidently than he ever has. This is it. This is what he has been working for. As the crowd erupts into a final round of applause, he takes in the sight before him: the sea of uniforms, the smiling faces, people hugging and congratulating one another. Everyone disperses, wandering off in different directions, presumably to go celebrate.

But Seonghwa only has eyes for one person.

Hongjoong approaches him, still beaming, and salutes him. “I’m excited to work with you, soldier.”

Seonghwa returns the salute. “You’re not sick of me yet?”

“Well…” Hongjoong draws out the word, letting it linger in the air for a moment before laughing. “No, not yet. We’ll see if that changes, though.”

Seonghwa wraps his arm around Hongjoong’s shoulder, pulling the shorter man firmly against his side as they continue to walk. “Oh, shut up. You confessed your love to me, remember?”

Hongjoong curls his lip. “Keep bringing that up, I dare you.”

“Cadet Kim.”

Seonghwa almost jumps out of his skin when the general speaks up from behind them. Hongjoong flinches slightly as well but has a much smoother recovery; Seonghwa never would have even noticed if he didn’t have his arm around him.

Hongjoong separates from Seonghwa and turns around, standing at attention. “Yes, General?”

“At ease. I need you to come with me to my office. There’s much we need to discuss concerning the commendation and the benefits you have been awarded.”

“Oh,” a glimmer of surprise crosses his face. “Of course. Hwa, I’ll see you later, okay?”

Seonghwa just nods, watching as the two walk away. A pit settles in his stomach but he tries to ignore it. He decides to head back to their shared quarters on his own, his footsteps bouncing off of the polished stone floor. He begins the careful ritual of removing his dress uniform, his hands shaking slightly as he undoes each button, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

While shrugging into a more comfortable shirt, Seonghwa glances at his nightstand and is surprised to find his aurvox lit, indicating he has a message waiting for him. He presses play and instantly tenses as his father’s voice comes over the speakers.

“Seonghwa. I watched the ceremony. Call me immediately.”

A wave of apprehension rolls down Seonghwa’s spine. In the message, his father’s voice sounds stern, almost frigid. It’s the voice he always uses when he is about to scold him, but surely that can’t be right. He got on stage and his abilities were acknowledged by General Nightingale herself. He made it into the Vanguard Elites. It’s not the commendation, but it’s still something.

He takes a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking as he returns the call. The aurvox rings once, twice, before his father answers.

“Seonghwa.”

“Father. I—”

“You didn’t win the Nightingale commendation.”

Seonghwa’s shoulders fall. Any excitement he may have been feeling, any pride, is instantly extinguished by those six words. “No. I didn’t.”

“You need to try harder. Your win this year was supposed to make up for your brother losing the commendation to that rusted piece of scrap from the Outer Sector.”

“I know. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be sorry—be better.” Seonghwa isn’t even given the time to respond as his father continues, “We are going to host a celebratory dinner for Hongjoong. His mother will be there so I expect you to be on your best behavior. After all, if you can’t beat him, at least make sure to use him. He might be able to aid you in the future, and Sunhee has plenty of connections.”

Seonghwa knows his father wants him to agree, but he can’t bring himself to say those words out loud. Use Hongjoong? He’s his friend. He won’t do it. He can’t.

“Seonghwa?” His father’s voice sharpens and Seonghwa flinches despite being nowhere in his vicinity.

“Yes, sir. Of course.” His words sound strained, but his father doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good. I will see you tonight. Dress well.”

His father hangs up without even saying goodbye, signaling that the conversation is over. Seonghwa places his aurvox back on his nightstand and immediately flops face down on his bed, groaning into one of his pillows.

He can hear the distant sounds of the other cadets, their conversations and laughter drifting in through the thin walls of his room. But they seem a world away to him now. He wonders if he's supposed to be feeling elated, liberated from the years of hard work and all-nighters that led to this moment. Instead, he feels numb.

He’s not sure how much time passes before the door swings open and Hongjoong walks in, a grin on his face. “Hwa! Both the general and I got the invite to your father’s dinner party tonight. You won’t believe what she told me—” He stops short when he notices Seonghwa’s current state. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. How was your meeting?” Seonghwa manages to muster up a weak smile, hoping it’s convincing enough. By the look on Hongjoong’s face, it’s not, but he doesn’t press for more information.

“It was good,” Hongjoong answers after a moment, his smile slowly returning as he begins to fill Seonghwa in on the meeting. He babbles on and on about all the different benefits he will be able to take advantage of, unaware of the bitter taste filling Seonghwa’s mouth.

Seonghwa listens, nodding at the right moments, but he finds it hard to fully focus. He should be focused on his friend, celebrating with him. Instead, all he can think of are his father’s words. “Use him.”

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong’s voice breaks through Seonghwa’s daze. “What’s going on?”

Seonghwa’s gaze snaps back to him, seeing the concern written all over his face. He attempts a smile again but it feels more like a grimace. “I’m okay, really. Just… there’s a lot on my mind.”

Hongjoong moves closer, shrugging off his overcoat and draping it over a desk chair before taking a seat next to Seonghwa on the bed. Their knees brush and Seonghwa jolts, pulling his leg away slowly enough for it not to be noticeable. As much as he wants the comfort he knows Hongjoong can provide, he can’t allow himself to indulge. Not now.

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” Hongjoong says, voice gentle. “Yeah, we compete, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be there for each other. We’re in this together.”

“I know, Joong,” Seonghwa replies, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s complicated, that’s all.”

Hongjoong stays quiet for a moment as if searching for the right words to say. “My mom always used to say that sometimes it’s the most complicated things that help us grow. They force us to confront parts of ourselves we aren’t comfortable with.”

Seonghwa feels a lump forming in his throat, his eyes shining with unshed tears. How can he explain that the uncomfortable thing he’s confronting is not a singular part of himself, but who he is at his core? That it takes into question his very values of duty, family, and loyalty? He can’t.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmurs, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Then, getting up, he heads over to the wardrobe in the corner of their room, pulling a bottle of some top shelf liquor out from behind a loose panel. They aren’t usually allowed to keep alcohol on site, but that hasn’t stopped most cadets. “How about a drink? We should celebrate.”

Uncorking the bottle, he pours two generous servings into crystal glasses and offers one to Hongjoong. Hongjoong hesitates, his gaze switching from the glass to Seonghwa and back again, but then he reaches out and takes the drink.

“To us?” Hongjoong raises his glass.

“To us,” Seonghwa echoes. He downs his drink in one go, the burn of it helping distract from his thoughts. The alcohol slides down easily, too easily, and he pours himself another glass.

“Careful,” Hongjoong warns. “Don’t forget we have that dinner later.”

“I remember,” he retorts, a little sharper than he meant to. It was only for a split second, his tone barely changed, but it’s enough for Hongjoong to pick up on it. He picks up on everything. Hurt flashes across his features and Seonghwa immediately backtracks, adding, “Maybe I just need a little liquid courage.”

“Liquid courage, huh?” Hongjoong sighs before downing his glass as well. “Just don’t get too drunk or you’ll leave me to face your father all alone.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

The opulence of the dinner party is overwhelming. Seonghwa expected it, of course, but still. Instead of being held in the Nexus Chambers like most work-related events, his father decided to host it in their manor which has been adorned with gold and crystal as far as the eye can see. Velvet chairs and couches have been set up to form intimate conversation circles while the occasional serving automaton weaves its way through guests to offer champagne and hors d’oeuvres. There’s even an auto-orchestra in the grand hall despite Seonghwa’s continuous complaints that their music is nothing compared to that of the street performers he heard during his mandatory field trip to the Outer Sector a few years ago.

He finds himself following from a distance as his father leads Hongjoong around the room, introducing him as the newest addition in the running for the title of the Symposium’s best and brightest. Everything he says is perfectly polished, enough to praise Hongjoong while simultaneously reminding everyone of his own affluence. Seonghwa can see Hongjoong’s discomfort, the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the polite, robotic nodding as he is passed from conversation to conversation. As a friend, he should intervene. As a jealous son, however…

He refills his glass.

At one point, Hongjoong walks over to him, a drink in each hand. He seems to hesitate for a moment before extending one to Seonghwa. “I just bumped into Wooyoung and his friend, Yeosang," he says, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

"You did?"

"They were with some new girl Woo has taken under his wing. I didn't catch her name, but apparently, she's the sister of the new Watch Master."

"Oh, them," Seonghwa sighs. "Watch Master Luxe, right? My dad won't stop berating my brother because of that whole situation."

Hongjoong takes a sip of his drink before answering. "Yeah, I know he still hasn't gotten over Junghwa losing the commendation to him."

"Let's not talk about it. But is that what you have in store? Watch Master Kim?"

"Shut up, Park."

That’s the only time Seonghwa gets to talk to Hongjoong before his father comes back into the picture, whisking him away. After that, Seonghwa’s descent into total, blackout levels of intoxication is swift, the drinking he did earlier in the night definitely not helping. His mind is fuzzy around the edges, making it hard to process what he’s doing or saying. He becomes a blur of motion, stumbling from one group of attendees to another, slurring his words and laughing at jokes that aren’t even funny.

The dinner bell rings and with unsteady legs, Seonghwa makes his way into the dining room. The table is long enough to fit 50 people on each side and is covered with more food than anybody could possibly eat. Guests begin to settle into their seats and he goes to join them, only to find that Hongjoong has taken his usual spot to the right of his father.

For a moment, Seonghwa stands frozen, the room spinning around him. That spot is typically the seat of honor, the seat reserved for whomever the patriarch of the family deems most worthy. First it belonged to his brother, and then it belonged to him. Now, it seems, it belongs to Hongjoong.

“Oh, Hwa,” Hongjoong begins to stand, sensing his distress. “Is this your seat? I’m sorry, Speaker Park said—”

“Hongjoong, please, I told you to call me Soohyuk,” Seonghwa’s father interrupts. “And you’re the guest of honor tonight, so you should sit at my right hand next to General Nightingale. Seonghwa can sit next to his older brother at my left. That’s alright with you, isn’t it Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa’s vision blurs momentarily as heat floods to his face. He tries to form words, but can’t seem to make a sound. It is as if his breath is trapped in his throat. The longer the silence stretches on, the harsher his father’s glare becomes.

“Seonghwa,” he repeats. It isn’t a request—it’s a command.

“Of course,” Seonghwa finally manages. “It’s fine.”

He slumps into the seat next to Junghwa, who claps him on the shoulder and whispers, “Guess neither of us are the favorite son anymore, huh?”

“Not funny, hyung.”

Junghwa scoffs, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I’m not trying to be funny. This is what happens—displease father enough times and you are easily replaced. Get used to it. I have.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply, instead reaching for the glass of wine that is being served with dinner. His hand shakes a little as he does so, enough for his brother to notice. Junghwa raises an eyebrow at him but mercifully stays silent.

After piling some food onto his plate, Seonghwa can do little more than pick at it, the appeal completely lost on him. His tongue feels numb in his mouth and all he can taste is the bitterness of the wine. He watches his father converse excitedly with Hongjoong, his eyes shining in a way they never do when looking at him.

“Seonghwa, how have you been, dear?”

Seonghwa startles, so lost in his own thoughts that he almost forgot he would be expected to entertain guests. He looks up to see Hongjoong’s mother, Speaker Kim Sunhee, smiling at him from across the table. Even if the dinner wasn’t being held in honor of her son, she is still apart of the same council as his father and would have been in attendance anyway, yet he failed to consider she might try to engage him in conversation. She’s a pleasant woman, and at any other time, he would have been happy to talk to her, but tonight, he can barely hold himself together.

“I… I’ve been well, thank you.” He hopes he isn’t slurring his words too much. “And you, Speaker Kim?”

“Well, I’m thrilled! After all, my son has received such a prestigious award—I couldn’t be more proud.”

Seonghwa nods, plastering a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you are. No one deserves it more than him.”

“Thank you for saying that. You’re very kind.” Her voice is soft with the kind of appreciation only a mother can have. Seonghwa can’t help but feel a twinge of envy; would his own mother have been as proud? “But I have to say, you’re a big reason my son is where he is today. You’ve been such a good friend to him, Seonghwa. He speaks very highly of you.”

The praise sneaks past his defenses, warming him from the inside out. For what may be the first time that night, he smiles genuinely. “I’m really happy to hear that. Hongjoong… he means a lot to me.”

His gaze involuntarily drifts to where Hongjoong is seated, his attention still occupied by Soohyuk. The light casts a warm glow on his profile, softening his features. For a moment, Seonghwa is captivated by the sight before the weight of his father’s order pulls him back to reality, and the guilt returns in full force.

“I can tell,” Sunhee says.

Before he can reply, his father stands, tapping his fork on his glass. “Everyone, can I have your attention please?” Once he’s sure that all eyes are on him, he continues, “As you all know, we are here tonight to celebrate the recipient of the Nightingale Commendation, Kim Hongjoong. I decided to host as he is a cherished friend of my son, Seonghwa.”

His father makes eye contact with him and smiles—that sick, twisted, vindictive smile. Seonghwa’s stomach sinks with dread.

“Before we continue, I feel it is only appropriate that he make a toast to celebrate his future squad mate’s accomplishment.”

The room falls silent, the air heavy with expectation. Seonghwa should have expected this, why didn’t he expect this?

“No pressure,” Junghwa says, a twisted sense of amusement in his voice.

Seonghwa glares at him before rising to his feet, swaying in place. He steels himself by gripping the edge of the table. His heart is pounding in his ears, his skin prickles with sweat, and the room seems to be closing in around him. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady both his hands and his voice as he raises his near-empty glass.

“To Hongjoong,” he begins. “To a friendship… a friendship that has meant so much to us both. And to… to a future that…”

His voice trails off, his words failing him. How is he supposed to toast to a friend he might betray, to a future that is so uncertain? He can’t, he can’t do this. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass and suddenly, it cracks, shards digging into his hand.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong gasps, shooting up from his seat. It almost seems as if he’s about to rush to his side, but Soohyuk stops him in his tracks. Hongjoong’s eyes narrow, but he obeys.

“Stay where you are, Hongjoong. Everyone, please excuse my son’s poor manners; it appears he has had too much to drink.” His father addresses the crowd rather than him. “Seonghwa, apologize and then go get yourself tended to.”

Seonghwa swallows hard, the taste of bile stinging the back of his throat. He barely notices the blood dripping down his fingers, staining the tablecloth red and pooling around shards of glass.

“I… I’m… I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I’m so very sorry.”

He bows his head before quickly turning and bolting out of the room, his vision blurring with tears. He barely makes it to the grand staircase before tripping over his own feet. His knees hit the ground with an audible thud, and he grabs the banister to keep from going down completely. He’s too far gone, too drunk and too devastated to get back up. His grip slackens and he lets himself slide down onto the bottom step, ignoring the bloody handprint he leaves behind.

Nausea roils his stomach, and that, combined with the hot tears streaming down his face, makes him want to retch. He places his head between his knees and takes some deep breaths. He vaguely registers that he should be worried about keeping up appearances in case a guest walks by, but it’s hard to give a damn about that when he feels like his world has turned upside down.

An automaton servant walks over and comes to a stop in front of him. Its glowing, mechanical eyes don’t show a hint of concern, but it wordlessly offers him a clean, white cloth. With shaking hands, Seonghwa takes it and wraps it around the wound. The fabric quickly darkens with his blood, but it staunches the flow enough for him to gather his composure.

He drags himself upright, leaning heavily against the banister. He hauls himself up the staircase, one agonizing step at a time. He isn’t particularly fond of the idea of staying in his childhood room, but going back to base and having to face Hongjoong might be even worse.

He stumbles into his room, the door creaking as it opens. Seonghwa sobers a bit as he’s hit with a wave of nostalgia, the unchanged interior reminding him of his youth from before he was a soldier. Moonlight peers in through the window, bathing his old desk in a soft, silver light. It reminds him of quieter, simpler times, hours spent studying in his room, playing with building blocks and paper dolls.

He takes a seat in his desk chair, and his eyes drift to the portrait of his mother hung above the fireplace. He barely remembers her face outside of what it looks like in the painting; she smiles down at him with a warmth he can no longer feel. Sighing, he takes a first aid kit out of one of the drawers and begins the familiar routine of treating his wound, years of muscle memory kicking in. He peels away the blood-soaked cloth, grimacing at the sight of the jagged shards of glass still embedded in his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he starts to extract each piece, ignoring the stinging pain that shoots up his entire arm. He sterilizes the wound with a stinging splash of alcohol and then hastily wraps it with a clean bandage.

Once he finishes, Seonghwa collapses onto his bed, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He doesn’t know how much time passes before he is brought back from the edge of sleep by a gentle knock on his door.

“Go away,” he croaks, his voice barely audible as he speaks into his bedsheets.

The knock sounds again, more insistent this time. Seonghwa immediately tenses. Is it his father, coming to berate him further?

“Seonghwa,” a voice murmurs from the other side, the timbre so soft, so hesitant. It isn’t his father—it’s Hongjoong. A rush of anxiety and embarrassment shoots through Seonghwa at the thought of facing him, so he buries his face in his pillow and pretends he doesn’t hear.

The knocking persists until it becomes too much of a nuisance to ignore. “I’m trying to sleep, Joong.”

There’s a pause before Hongjoong responds. “I know. I just wanted to check on you. Can you open the door?”

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The knocking stops and, for a moment, Seonghwa thinks that Hongjoong really walked away. But then he begins to speak again.

“Okay. We don’t have to talk. But listen to me, alright? What happened tonight… I’m not upset, and I don’t blame you. What your father did to you, putting you on the spot like that, it wasn’t right. Especially with you being as drunk as you were. I…” His voice hitches and Seonghwa can almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he struggles with what he wants to say. “I should have stopped you from drinking that much. I knew something was bothering you, but I didn’t press you on it. That’s on me. Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Seonghwa bites his lower lip to keep his cries from becoming audible; Hongjoong is kind, too kind, and he doesn’t deserve that kindness. Not now.

A moment of agonizing silence passes before Hongjoong says, “I’ll just leave you to rest then. Goodnight, Hwa. I… goodnight.”

Months pass with Seonghwa avoiding Hongjoong whenever he has the opportunity. Between spending most nights sleeping at home instead of their shared room and investing himself in his new duties, It’s surprisingly easy. Even though they’re part of the same squad, Hongjoong is always on elite missions, carrying out confidential orders, or out to dinner with other high-ranking officials. Rarely do they go out on missions together, and when they do, there’s little time for personal talk as General Nightingale usually accompanies them.

It’s not that Seonghwa doesn’t want to make things better with Hongjoong—he does, truly. But every time he thinks about facing him, about bringing up that night, his stomach lurches with fear. He’s not ready to confront the guilt that still gnaws at him endlessly, not ready to face the gentleness he knows he will find in Hongjoong’s eyes.

It doesn’t help that his father, after inevitably finding out about their falling out, has been pressuring him every chance he gets to fix things. Not out of love or care, but because of the prestige Hongjoong now holds as a commendation winner and the connections he and his family have. If they do become close again, Seonghwa worries that, through him, Hongjoong will just become a pawn.

It’s a cold, winter evening when Seonghwa accidentally bumps into Hongjoong outside their quarters. He had just stopped in for a moment to grab a heavier coat, not expecting anyone to be there. Hongjoong is dressed from head to toe in his winter event uniform, the same striking red and black as usual but with synthetic fur lining the collar. He looks like one of the princes from the old-world storybooks Seonghwa’s nanny would secretly read to him when he was little.

“Hwa,” Hongjoong says, surprise evident in his voice.

“I was just leaving,” Seonghwa mutters, trying to move past him, but Hongjoong blocks his way.

“Please, don’t. We need to talk.”

Seonghwa worries his bottom lip, trapped between the desire to flee and the knowledge that Hongjoong is right and a conversation is long overdue; he’s been running for far too long. “Okay,” he agrees. “You’re right.”

Hongjoong walks into the room and Seonghwa follows. The space feels oddly unfamiliar to him now, even though it’s the place where they used to share countless meals and stay up late into the night talking. They sit down on their respective beds, the distance between them feeling far larger than it actually is.

“Hongjoong—”

“Seonghwa—”

They start to speak at the same time and immediately stop, cutting themselves off with awkward laughter. The tension eases, but only slightly. Hongjoong gestures for Seonghwa to begin first.

“I… I’ve been avoiding you,” he admits, his gaze fixed pointedly on the floor. “And I know that’s not fair. Especially not after the mess I caused at your celebration dinner. I—”

“Hwa, wait. You don’t have to apologize for what happened at the dinner. You were obviously hurting, and you needed someone. I should have been that someone for you. I’m sorry.” Seonghwa opens his mouth to speak but Hongjoong continues, “Wait. While I will apologize for that, and I don’t blame you for what happened that night, I am upset that you have been avoiding me. In fact, I’m livid. Since when do we not talk about our problems? I thought we were closer than this.”

The silence stretches on as Seonghwa struggles to form a reply. “You’re right,” he finally admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We… we are closer than this. I’ve just been so… God, I’ve missed you, Joong. I’m so sorry. For all of it.”

Hongjoong’s stern expression softens at that. “I’ve missed you too. More than I can say. Do you know how many nights I stayed out late, expecting to come home to one of your homemade dinners? Or to you nagging me about working myself too hard, or not cleaning up my side of the room? I didn’t realize how much I depended on you until you just disappeared. Maybe I should have appreciated you more, or—”

“No, no, you did more than enough for me. You are one of the only reasons I have made it this far, not just in the program, but in life. I mean, I was such a scared little boy before I met you, I—” Seonghwa takes a shuddering breath. “I still am. I was scared to death of what you would think of me after that night, scared of what my father might do, scared I would lose my position, lose you—”

Hongjoong jumps up from his bed, coming to sit next to Seonghwa so he can wrap him in a hug. “You won’t lose me. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says or does, you will never lose me. Promise.” His grip tightens as he says this, as if to emphasize the sincerity of his words.

Seonghwa feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he buries his face into Hongjoong’s shoulder, refusing to let them fall. He just allows himself to be held, to soak in the comfort. This feels familiar—safe, like home.

“I don’t want to run away anymore,” Seonghwa says.

“Good, because I can’t bear you running away again,” Hongjoong replies, his voice barely audible. “Move back in. Please.” Something about the way Hongjoong says this sounds like a confession.

“Okay, Joong. I will.”

They spend the rest of the night talking, laughing, making up for lost time. They agree that they won’t discuss their achievements, that they’ll put aside their differences, and just try to go back to the way things were. Time moves on, and slowly but surely, it seems to work. The following weeks are a whirlwind of vigorous training, missions, events, and more training, yet there is an underlying sense of peace and contentment that had been missing for so long.

Occasionally, Seonghwa still feels a tug of guilt, especially whenever his father decides to make some offhand comment. But when that does happen, all he has to do is look at Hongjoong and remember his promise. He won’t let anything get in the way of their friendship again.

One night, months after their reconciliation, Seonghwa walks into their quarters to find Hongjoong asleep at his desk, the dark circles under his eyes relaying his exhaustion. The sight is a familiar one; he remembers the countless times in the past when he found Hongjoong in a similar state. He quietly approaches him, taking in the numerous reports and other documents strewn about.

As gently as possibly, he picks Hongjoong up and carries him over to his bed, laying him down on top of his blankets. He softly brushes a stray lock of hair from Hongjoong’s forehead, smiling down at him as he sleeps. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, his body relaxing further into the comfort of the bed. Seonghwa contemplates waking him to eat, certain that he hasn’t, but decides against it. He seems like he needs sleep more than anything. Heading to his own bed, he crawls under the covers, ready to get some rest of his own.

Another year passes in a blur, with both Hongjoong and Seonghwa falling comfortably into their new roles. Hongjoong rises in rank, becoming a sergeant, while Seonghwa focuses on his own responsibilities, earning a solid reputation amongst their squad mates thanks to his meticulous eye for detail. Throughout it all, they try to carve out time to spend together when they can, refusing to let things get as bad as they were before.

One night, they’re out to dinner with Soohyuk, Sunhee, and General Nightingale to celebrate a recent win in which they managed to dismantle part of a criminal ring based in the Scrapyard. One of the leaders was captured and detained, thanks to the general’s brilliant plan and the Vanguard Elite’s flawless execution.

“Seonghwa?” His father holds up a bottle of wine, gesturing to Seonghwa’s empty glass.

Seonghwa clenches and unclenches his fist. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure? It’s a fine vintage.” The smirk on his lips suggests it’s more than a simple question.

Hongjoong clears his throat and turns to General Nightingale, smoothly redirecting the conversation. “So, General, can you tell me more about the new opportunity you mentioned earlier?”

Elowen stirs in her chair, eyes shifting around from person to person before settling on Seonghwa. He gets the subtle feeling that this is something he isn’t supposed to know about.

“We’re starting a new program at the beginning of next year,” she says. “The Affiliates Assembly has worked out so well that we want to open up more opportunities for those who already have a place in the Symposium and Inner Sector.”

“And what do you want with my son?” Sunhee asks, eyebrows furrowing. “I think he has plenty of opportunities open to him already.”

“Certainly he does. But, he’s one of our strongest soldiers and he could be an asset—”

Soohyuk clears his throat, putting a stop to the conversation. “I think it is best if you finish this conversation later.” He glances at Seonghwa. “Not everyone here is privy to this type of information, after all.”

Seonghwa feels a pang of irritation at his father’s needless remark. Hongjoong shoots him a sympathetic glance from across the table and opens his mouth as if to say something before deciding against it. The topic switches to that of the new flu that seems to be sweeping through the Outer Sector. Soohyuk reassures everyone that he has spoken with the Outer Sector representative and it is being contained—it shouldn’t spread to anyone inside the Ring.

Seonghwa forgets about the conversation entirely, having not wanted to focus on it for fear of his jealousy rearing its head. At least until a few weeks later, when Hongjoong bursts into their bed room, the door slamming shut behind him. Seonghwa nearly jumps out of his skin, dropping the book he was reading onto his bedsheets.

“Joong—” Seonghwa stops short, the words dying on his lips as he takes in the sight of the man before him.

Hongjoong’s chest is heaving with panicked breaths, his eyes wide with a fear unlike anything Seonghwa has ever seen before. His hands are clenched into fists, shaking at his sides. He doesn’t seem to even process the fact that he isn’t alone in the room, beginning to pace as he mutters frantically under his breath.

“Fuck, what the fuck… I can’t… the fucking lab… cogbrains, all of them…”

Seonghwa can’t make out everything he says, but it’s enough to send a chill down his spine. He gets up, approaching Hongjoong calmly, carefully.

“Easy, Joong,” he says. “It’s alright. Tell me what happened.” Hongjoong doesn’t seem to hear him, still muttering. “Hongjoong, hey!”

Seonghwa reaches out and grabs his arm with a firm grip, forcing him to still. His touch seems to jolt Hongjoong back into reality and he whirls around to face him,

“Hwa?” he whispers. His voice sounds so broken, so terrified, so unlike the friend Seonghwa has come to know and love. It’s heartbreaking.

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay,” Seonghwa murmurs, pulling the shorter man into his arms.

Hongjoong stiffens at first, but then his knees seem to buckle from underneath him as he collapses into the embrace. A strangled sob escapes him, muffled against the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt, the same shirt that he’s grasping onto so desperately.

“I’m not okay… It’s not… I can’t…”

“Shh, shh… I’ve got you.”

Seonghwa wraps his arms more tightly around Hongjoong’s trembling body, rocking him gently, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Even after he finally calms down, something about him is still so on-edge. He refuses to tell Seonghwa what he was upset about, no matter how much Seonghwa pries.

“Hongjoong, come on! Is it confidential? Does it have anything to do with what the general mentioned a few weeks ago? Why can’t you tell me?”

Hongjoong takes a shuddering breath. “I just can’t, Seonghwa. The situation is too complicated. I need to figure it out on my own.”

“What happened to our agreement to handle things together?”

“This isn’t… it’s not the same. I don’t want to bring you into this mess, it’s dangerous.”

“I can handle myself just fine—you don’t have to protect me!”

Hongjoong just shakes his head, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He looks like he wants to say more but instead gets up and storms toward the door.

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa calls after him, but it’s too late. The door slams shut behind him, leaving Seonghwa alone in the room.

In the following days, Hongjoong becomes a shell of his former self. He is silent and distant, avoiding everyone, especially Seonghwa. He disappears for hours on end, returning each time looking more drained than the last. Usually, around this time of year, he’d be talking about his upcoming birthday, pretending he doesn’t want anything while simultaneously dropping hints about the latest tech or some book he’s been eyeing.

Even without Hongjoong showing any indication of wanting to celebrate, Seonghwa is determined to do something to lift his spirits. He won’t let whatever secret Hongjoong is holding onto change their yearly tradition of celebrating together. So, he goes all out with the planning, and spends days scouring the Nexus shops for the perfect gift. He even debates heading to the pier to take a look at a different variety of items, but with the flu that has been plaguing the Outer Sector, that’s probably not the best idea.

He finds a leather-bound journal in an old-world antique shop, it’s pages yellowed by time but in perfect condition otherwise. Hongjoong loves to write, and he’s never owned anything quite like this. Seonghwa purchases it without a second thought, barely even glancing at the price. It’s perfect.

The morning of, Seonghwa comes back to their shared quarters at a time when he knows Hongjoong should be at training. His arms are full of decorations, and the journal is tucked safely away in a gift bag. He struggles with the door, having to balance everything on his hip in order to turn the handle, but when he finally manages to get it open, he freezes.

The room is empty.

Not empty as in Hongjoong just isn’t in there—empty as in every single trace of him is gone.

Seonghwa lets go of the decorations, dropping them to the floor with a resounding crash. Candles escape their packaging, rolling on the hardwood, disappearing under furniture. The journal lays abandoned next to a string of silver stars. He stares at the room in disbelief, taking in everything that’s missing. The usual clutter of papers on the desk—the clutter Seonghwa would always complain about—is gone. Hongjoong’s shoes aren’t haphazardly stashed in front of his wardrobe. His aurvox, his tablet, all of his devices are nowhere to be found.

He’s gone. Hongjoong is gone.

No, Seonghwa thinks. Maybe he went to another Sector on an urgent mission. Surely there’s a logical explanation as to why he would leave without saying anything. Seonghwa rushes out of the room, praying that General Nightingale will actually be in her office for once. The halls are eerily quiet as he sprints down them, and he can hear his own blood rushing in his ears.

Reaching the general’s office, he barely knocks, forgoing the usual protocol of waiting for her permission to enter. Elowen is seated at her desk, pouring over some files which she quickly closes upon his intrusion.

“Ah, there you are. I was hoping we would have a chance to talk.”

“Wait, before you say anything—do you know where Hongjoong is?”

She raises an eyebrow. “That is exactly what I was going to ask you.”

Seonghwa’s heart drops into his stomach, and his mouth goes dry. He has to wet his lips before asking, “But… but he was with you, wasn’t he? At training this morning?”

“No, he wasn’t,” she sighs and puts down her pen, rubbing her temples. “He never showed up for training today. In fact, he’s been MIA since yesterday.”

Seonghwa’s knees nearly buckle and he stumbles toward the nearest chair. He’s vaguely aware of Elowen saying something more, about how if Hongjoong isn’t found he’ll be marked AWOL, he’ll lose everything he has been working towards, so on and so forth. But he can’t focus on her words, not when he feels like his world is crumbling to pieces. Nothing he has ever felt, not losing the commendation, not what happened at the dinner, even comes close to comparing to the devastation he feels now.

One day turns into two, two into three, but Hongjoong never shows up. His family confirms that he has had no contact with them, and he is officially marked AWOL. Now, even if he does come back, he will never be able to return to the same life he had before.

Seonghwa’s initial shock turns into anger. How could he throw away everything he’s worked for? How could he abandon his responsibilities, his squad, his family… Seonghwa? How could he leave without so much as a goodbye? How could he break his promise? Each day, the betrayal and hypocrisy of it all festers, like a scab that refuses to heal.

To make things worse, the flu from the Outer Sector makes its way through the Ring, into the Inner Sector, the Symposium, and even the Nexus. It’s as if Hongjoong leaving started a chain reaction of unfortunate events. Soldiers are falling ill left and right, spending days or even weeks in the infirmary. The base seems to become quieter and quieter. At night, when Seonghwa lays in bed, alone in his room, it’s so silent that he feels suffocated.

One morning, one of his squad mates approaches him, a forlorn look on their face. “Hey, did you hear? Apparently Larkin is sick with whatever flu has been going around.”

Larkin is another member of the Elites, someone Seonghwa has grown quite close to over the past almost two years. The news is worrying—they still don’t know what’s causing the sickness, or what can cure it. Luckily, most people seem to recover with no lasting issues, but that isn’t much of a balm to his nerves. Maybe it’s because Hongjoong’s disappearance still feels so fresh, but the idea of anything happening to someone else he cares about makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

After he finishes up with his daily training routine, Seonghwa heads to the infirmary to pay Larkin a visit. It’s a cold, sterile place, the stark white of the walls and harsh lighting making everything seem so impersonal. The pungent smell of antiseptic fills the air, turning Seonghwa’s stomach. Trying to ignore it, he heads toward the reception desk, smiling at the woman working.

“Hi. I’m here to see a Mr. Ashwell?”

The nurse fiddles with the knob of her eyeglass, pupils moving rapidly as her eyes follow text only she can see. After a moment, she says, “Larkin Ashwell? I’m sorry, he’s in the restricted wing. No visitors allowed.”

“The restricted wing? Is this flu that contagious?”

She gives a non-committal shrug. “I’m just telling you what his file says, sir.”

“Oh… Well, thank you.”

He turns around as if to leave, but, when she looks away, he quickly slips down a side corridor. He can’t shake the nagging feeling that something weird is going on. If he leaves without seeing Larkin, he fears he’ll never get any answers.

He holds himself confidently, knowing that the key to deception is acting like you belong. He walks past all of the nurses and doctors with what he hopes is a determined look on his face. He nods at them, as if he is familiar with them, as if they should be familiar with him. Luckily, no one spares him a second glance, and he makes it all the way to the restricted wing with no issues. However, once he tries to open the door, an alarm blares.

“Shit,” he curses, glancing at the wall. He didn’t notice the ID reader.

Panicking, he backs away from the door, but it’s too late. Two guards turn the corner and spot him, looks of surprise crossing their faces; they’re both from his graduating class. He tries to explain what he’s doing there and, as sympathetic as they are, they can’t let him off the hook. He’s given a stern talking to from General Nightingale, as well as a warning that one more infraction on his record will terminate his status as a Vanguard Elite.

But the worst confrontation is, of course, the one with his father.

“Attempting to break into a restricted area? Must you continue to bring shame to this family? To me?”

“Dad—”

“Stop. If I hear about you doing one more thing—one more stupid, idiotic thing—the General will be the least of your worries. Do you understand?” His father’s voice is laced with pure venom and Seonghwa can’t help but flinch. “I said do you understand?”

Seonghwa bows his head, making himself seem as small as possible. “Yes, sir. I do.”

He should stop there. He should listen to the general’s warning, to his father’s. But whenever he tries to sleep, his thoughts go haywire. He remembers Hongjoong’s fear, the secret he was holding onto. He thinks about Larkin scared, alone, sick with some unknown disease. He can’t just do nothing.

And so he returns to the infirmary no more than a day later.

The same nurse is stationed at the desk and Seonghwa ducks around a corner, waiting for an opening. He’s learned his lesson—running into this blindly won’t get him anywhere. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually she leaves to go check on a patient. He hurries up to the desk, grabs a spare ID card, and throws it around his neck, heading back to the restricted wing.

This time, he's ready. He scans the ID and the door opens with a satisfying click. He slips inside before anyone can see him. The restricted wing is dimly lit and eerily silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of machines. He searches everywhere for Larkin, looking at every bed, ducking his head into every private room, but he’s nowhere to be found.

Eventually, a doctor walks up to him, a questioning look on their face. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

Seonghwa’s heart jolts but he tries to temper down his panic. Confidence is key. “I’m looking for Mr. Ashwell.”

They activate their eyeglass, and, after a moment, confusion crosses their features. “Hm, it doesn’t look like we have a patient here by that name.”

“What do you mean? I was just told that he was in the restricted wing.”

“I’m sorry, but there must be some sort of mistake. I can go talk to my supervisor and see if we can get this all cleared up for you.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. He shouldn’t press his luck any further. “No, no, don’t bother. It’s fine. Thank you for your help.”

Feeling defeated, he leaves the infirmary, dropping the ID card on the floor near the reception desk to make it look as if someone had just misplaced it. He feels a prickling sensation of unease as he walks out into the crisp night air. The base is nearly deserted at this hour, save for the on-duty guards standing watch and a few people prepping for early morning drills. He pulls his collar up against the bite of cold and heads back to his quarters.

It all seems too suspicious: Hongjoong is AWOL, Larkin is sick with some mystery flu yet missing from the infirmary… Something is going on. It can’t be a coincidence.

The next day offers no respite from Seonghwa’s worries. General Nightingale sends out an announcement to everyone’s aurvox—Larkin is dead. The news hits him hard, knocking the breath out of him. He can hardly make sense of it. The illness, as far as he’s aware, hadn’t killed anyone. Why now?

He can’t stand not having any answers, so he goes to the one person he knows who should. His father. Soohyuk’s position as a Speaker means he has access to information few others possess, or at least that’s what he always boasts. Normally, Seonghwa would avoid his father at all costs, and the idea of depending on him for any kind of help doesn’t sit well with him. But he can look past his father’s misgivings for something this important.

He finds his father nursing a glass of whiskey in his study, the amber liquid catching the light in a way that makes it seem to glow. Soohyuk raises an eyebrow at his entrance.

“Seonghwa. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Dad. I need answers. About this flu. About Hongjoong. You have to know something.”

Soohyuk looks at him thoughtfully as he takes another sip of his drink. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and Seonghwa fights the urge to squirm under his gaze.

“I know a lot of things,” he finally says. “But that doesn’t mean I can share all of them.”

“Someone is dead! If you know something, you should feel obligated to do something about it!”

“The world is full of death. There’s nothing I, or anyone else, can do about that.”

His father’s cold response sends a chill down his spine—Seonghwa can’t believe how callous he is. But he can also tell that he is trying to avoid something.

“There’s something more going on, isn’t there?” he asks.

Soohyuk puts down his glass, standing up and brushing invisible specks of dust off of his pants. “I think we’re done here.”

Something inside Seonghwa snaps. He walks up to his father, getting in his face. “Stop! Stop treating me like a useless child! I am a soldier, a member of the Vanguard Elite squad—tell me what you know!”

Soohyuk finally loses it, pure rage slipping past his mask of indifference. He grabs Seonghwa by the collar, slamming him against the wall and knocking the wind out of him. “Fine. You want answers? You’re right. There is something big happening. Something that I cannot tell you about. Maybe if you got the commendation instead of your friend, you’d be able to be a part of this.”

“I’m your son! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“You are not my son. A child of mine would never be so weak.”

With that, he lets Seonghwa go, leaving the room without sparing him so much as a second glance. Seonghwa falls to his knees, gasping for breath. His back throbs from where he hit the wall, and he’s certain that there will be a nasty bruise there come morning.

For a moment, just one moment, he considers letting it all go and falling back into the role of an obedient soldier and son. But after everything that has happened, he can’t. Determined, he returns to his room and starts to pack.

He waits for an opportunity, and it comes in the form of a mission in the Outer Sector. The job is a simple one, something about discontented citizens and potential rebellion. It’s the Vanguard’s job to make sure nothing goes awry. But that’s not what he’s there for. Not this time.

With the rest of his squad distracted with their orders, he slips away from the group, putting his stealth training to good use. He sticks to alleyways and small, unlit streets, moving farther toward the outside of the Sector. The buildings become more and more dilapidated, some even missing parts of their walls or roofs. He feels like he never truly realized just how stark of a difference there is between the comfortability he grew up in and the harsh reality of those not as lucky. But his eyes are open to it now.

There’s something wrong in the Symposium. Something wrong with everything he has ever known. And if he doesn’t try to get to the bottom of it, who will?

He takes some materials out of his pack and, after some careful manipulation, creates what he hopes is a realistic looking fight scene. Signs of a struggle, torn clothing, even his Nexus ID thrown haphazardly on the ground. All that’s missing…

Seonghwa cuts open his palm, letting out a hiss. He clenches and unclenches his fist, encouraging more blood flow. He smears it on the clothes, on the ground, until enough of him has been left behind to paint a convincing picture. He knows this is it. There’s no going back from this, not after what he’s just done. Not that he wants to. He feels oddly free, despite the pain throbbing in his hand and the uncertainty of his future.

Bandaging the cut, he starts moving again. He knows there’s one place he can go where no one would ever think to look for him. The Scrapyard. A place for all of the Symposium and Inner Sector’s trash, broken technology and rusted metal. He thinks most of the upper class has forgotten that it even exists. He knows he has to be careful there, since it is a place home to scavengers and outlaws—people hardened by years of living in the underbelly of society. But he also knows it is a place where it is easy to disappear, to start anew.

Pulling his hood up over his face, he steps past the threshold, a small entrance hidden by piles of discarded machinery and rubble. As he moves deeper inside, scrap turns into ramshackle buildings. Surprisingly, it’s not nearly as dismal as he imagined. There's a strange charm to the place, with twinkling string lights hung between stacks of old cargo containers, casting everything in a warm glow. He stumbles upon an open area where a market bustles with activity, despite the late. Even some children run by, chasing a dilapidated automaton that zips through the dust.

As he ventures further, he finds himself at a makeshift bar, crafted from old metal panels and street signs. The bartender is a burly man with a wild mane of hair and a scar over his left eye.

"You’re new here,” he observes, wiping down a cracked glass. "Name's Brio. What can I get ya?”

“How about a place to stay?”

He gives a hearty laugh and looks Seonghwa up and down. "Ain't much for lodgin' here, pal. The 'yard ain't exactly a popular vacation spot. But there's always someplace to squeeze in if you ain't picky.”

“I’m not picky.”

“I find that pretty hard to believe, lookin’ at ya. You seem like the Inner Sector type.” Brio squints at him. "On the run from something or someone, are we?"

“I just need a place to lay low for awhile, that’s all.” Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

Brio grins at him, showcasing his missing front teeth. “Not at all, kid. Welcome to the Scrapyard.”

Somewhere, a stolen letter sits in a locked drawer.

To: Hwa

[jakescaravel]

Starving

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3,526

Warnings: smut, slight exhibitionism, kissing, touching, spit, overstimulation, head, slight mentions of spanking, drinking, being drunk, I think thats everything and as always 18+ MDNI!!!

Summary: “Baby, I can’t wait until we’re home. I’m starving.”

It’s no secret that Jake has money. Thinking about the 0s in his bank account makes your head spin and Jake loves to spoil you. About an hour ago he gave you a little hint about your evening plans, “go get dressed up nice babydoll, I’m taking you out.”

Getting ready to go out like this was always exciting, even if you were unsure of the location. You locked yourself in the bathroom and took the time to get perfect, making sure not a single hair was out of place. You picked out a satin dress of deep burgundy, one of Jake's favorites, the one that falls just above your knees and hugs your body in all the right places. Over the dress, a sheer lace black shawl paired with black heels and a black handbag. Your hair is pinned back in a low bun with two curled pieces hanging perfectly by your ears.

Your phone vibrates on the bathroom counter and you see a text from Jake.

Jake 💍💕

Leaving in 5, can’t wait to see what you’re wearing 😘

Oh shit 5 minutes. You quickly swipe a thin layer of eyeliner across your lash line, a coat of mascara, just a touch of blush, and a little bit of highlight on the end of your nose. Also some silver earrings and a red lip to match the color of the dress. Finally, you press some perfume behind your ears and a little bit on your wrists.

You take one last look in the mirror and smile at the pretty face smiling right back. Stepping out of the bathroom, you see Jake on the bed looking at his phone. Upon hearing the door open, he immediately tosses it to the side like it's some piece of junk and moves to stand. His eyebrows raise as he walks closer. He takes his time looking you up and down, taking in every little detail, eyes lingering on your thighs.

“Baby.” There’s just a hint of desperation in his voice and his lips curl into a sinister smile.

He places his hands on your hips and pulls you in to kiss you but you turn your head at the last movement. He pulls back, brows pinch together in confusion.

“Lipstick!”

He shakes his head and laughs to himself. “Oh you are so gonna regret that.” He smacks your ass. “Come on, let's go.”

You both walk outside to wait by the curb and Jake pulls out his phone, probably to check on your ride. Now it's your turn to look him up and it’s clear he’s taken some time to get ready, himself. He wears a dark blue cloth shirt, held together by only two buttons and simple black slacks with the faintest pinstriped lines. His hair, parted to the side and freshly shampooed, shines under the moonlight and a single atocha coin necklace adorns his perfectly tanned chest. He looks so effortlessly perfect, and expensive. That’s the Jake Kiszka charm, laid back but dripping with sex, and he knows it.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and returns his attention to you. You let him place a little kiss on your cheek and you interlock your fingers with his. Only a few minutes pass before your ride arrives.

Your jaw practically drops in shock as a shiny black limo pulls onto your street. You look at Jake and he’s watching the limo as well, smirking. He walks to the side and opens the door for you.

“M’ Lady.” He holds his hand out and you take it as you carefully step into the back seat. He’s not far behind you and you both settle in as the door shuts.

The limo has one long seat covered in leather and a table in the middle with a vase of colorful flowers. He picks out a tiny red rose and tucks it behind your ear. 

“This is nice right?” He says, still smirking.

“Yes I.. I don’t even know what to say, this is so nice Jake.” You rest your head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you close.

For the rest of the short ride, Jake flirts with you, whispering into your ear, kissing you on your neck, and other little acts of affection, all while sliding his hand slowly up and down your thigh. When you pull into the parking lot and exit the vehicle, you and Jake walk hand in hand to the door of the restaurant.

“Good evening sir, are you Jake Kiszka?” 

“Yes, that's me.” Jake looks to you, flashing his perfect teeth, you know how he likes to be called sir.

This place is nice. The tables are lined with a white table cloth each with a set of dimly lit candles. The live Jazz band plays a soft ballad in the back.

When the hostess leads you to your table, Jake pulls out your chair for you and you take a seat. Even the chairs are fancy, varnished wood and padding of a dark black color. You take a closer look around and see that the restaurant is mostly made up of other couples, mostly older ones. You two seem to be the youngest people here in fact. Yougest people to be able to afford it no doubt.

A cute brunette waitress approaches the table, and immediately seeing Jake, her eyes widen. Trying to play it off she quickly introduces herself as Katie. Then she hands you both menus and reads out the specials. Her eyes are practically glued to Jakes the whole time. Katie leaves the table but when she walks away she does a double take before going into the kitchen.

You roll your eyes when she finally turns and Jake is looking all too smug.

“Wow she was not subtle.” You say.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “I think I actually heard her whimper when I said thank you.” You laugh and he sends you a wink before returning to the menu.

You both decide on a nice bottle of red to start and she returns shortly taking your orders. 

Jake leans forward as he orders, smiling sweetly at her as she takes the wine menu. “Thank you Katie.” He sends her one of his heart stopping, teeth flashing smiles and she blushes and looks at the floor.

“Thanks, I mean… sorry I-I'll have that right out for you!” She scampers away nervously as the two of you try to stifle your laughter. She comes back just a minute later with a bottle of some expensive looking french wine. Chalk it up to Jake to pick out something like that. She sets the bottle chilled in ice, down and walks away very quickly.

Jake fills up your glass very generously and you take a sip. You’ve never been too critical of wine. As long as it's red, you’ll drink it but you have to admit, this is delicious. Jake seems to feel the same way, given his similar satisfied expression. You look over the food menu and finally decide on the spaghetti and when Katie comes back Jake says, “We were waiting for you Katie.”

She laughs, too loud, and then straightens out. “Alright what would you like to start off with?”

Jake nods at her, holding eye contact and smirking. Oh the poor girl.

“Yes I'll have the spaghetti and my fiancé will be having the same.” He hands her the menus, slightly brushing his hand against hers.

You can hear her breath literally catch in her throat and she takes both of your menus and descends once more.

“Wow Jake, that was a little evil. Now she’s gonna have to wait hours until the end of her shift to relieve herself.” He giggles.

After your food arrives at the table, and you’ve each had a little bit more wine, you let yourselves fall into a comfortable silence while eating. The food is delicious and it pairs perfectly with the wine. You can taste the fresh tomato and basil. After you’re both done with the small portion, you finish your glass and Jake fills it right back to the top. You can tell he’s on his third glass already by the way his cheeks are flushed and he keeps staring at you, looking at your lips and chest. 

You’re starting to feel it a little too. Your body feels lighter and relaxes into the cushion. You stare into his eyes as you sip on the sweet red liquid. As it enters your system you start to feel looser too. You almost knock over your glass reaching for the salt but Jake grabs it and sprinkles some over your plate for you. As he does so he leans in and curls his finger at you. You move forward and turn so that he whispers right into your ear. “You look so gorgeous y/n. I’m having a hard time controlling myself.” He sits back in his chair and winks at you. The raspiness of his voice ignites something in you and you move your leg to brush against his, desperate for any sort of touch.

You look up to find him trying to contain his smirk as his foot meets yours and travels up the inside of your leg. He moves a little higher and you send him a look as if to say, ‘we’re really doing this right now?’ His lips curl into an evil looking smile and he slowly nods his head.

After a few minutes of staring each other down and playing under the table, you feel your patience growing thin and the tension getting stronger. Where is this waitress with the check so we can get the fuck out of here?

Jake relaxes back in the chair, moving his shoulders up to stretch as he does so. He looks so sexy when he rests his forearm on the table and puts his other elbow up, resting his chin in his hand. You quickly finish the rest of your wine and pour yourself another glass. Your mind starts to slip away, thinking things you shouldn’t be thinking of in public, but Jake’s is already there. You continue to stare, eye fucking each other until the waitress returns with the check.  

Jake never looks away from you, never breaks the stare as he opens his wallet and takes out a few bills. He doesn’t even check the amount, he couldn’t be bothered, he knows the crisp hundreds he’s pulled out will do the trick. He always carries cash with him, no matter the impracticality of it, it is the Jake kiszka way. He puts the money on the table and slides it towards Katie.

“Skipping dessert tonight?”

“Desert is waiting for me at home.” Oh fuck.

That shuts her up and she looks nervously from you to Jake as he smirks, still staring into your eyes. He playfully kicks your foot under the table. After the bill is paid and Jake gives her a generous tip, you both stand. Jake immediately wraps his arm around your waist, tightly holding you to him. You can see the jealousy in her eyes as you move away from the small table.

Walking towards the door of the restaurant proves to be a difficult task. It's almost as though you’ve partially lost control of your legs, they feel like jelly. However, Jake walks tall and proud and in turn, holds you up as you exit the building. When you get outside, the same limo is already waiting for you.

As soon as the door is closed and you are both concealed in the back seat, he wraps his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in to kiss him. You kiss him back as you throw your leg over to straddle his lap. You place your hand on the back of his head, moving your fingers through his hair, grabbing and pulling, holding onto anything. Your heart rate starts to pick up as you kiss him back with more fervor. You both fall into a perfect rhythm, pulling back and forth, bodies pressed tightly to one another. With his other hand he grabs onto your thigh, kneading into the skin and working his way up higher. A second heartbeat starts to form and you’re aching to get home.

You pull back to take a breath and you both just stare at each other for a moment, chests rising and falling heavily. His lips curl into a smile and you move in to kiss him more softly. Your lips meet in a slow embrace, moving your heads in unison as your tongue slips past his lips. He lets out a soft hum and you pull away again. 

He whispers into your ear, “Baby, I can’t wait until we’re home. I’m starving.”

For the rest of the ride, he’s trying to refrain from fucking you right there but he touches you like he’s addicted. He brings his face to your neck hungry breathing in your scent. He mutters a low “fuck” that you can barely hear and holds you, placing sloppy drunken kisses along the length of your neck, licking and sucking at any exposed skin he can find. His hand reaches around to clamp your mouth shut, preventing you from making any noise in front of the blissfully unaware driver.

After what seems like hours, the limo pulls up to your house and you exit, walking hurriedly towards the door, the result of the heated car ride evident between your legs. Jake is hot on your trail as you fumble with the lock on the door. The second you’re both inside he crashes his lips into yours with force almost knocking you off your feet. He holds you steadily as he walks you backward towards the living room. Once your back is pressed against the wall he pushes his body into yours and you can feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your stomach.

In his drunken state, his movements are messy and uncalculated but he moves swiftly and with purpose. His hands travel down from your breasts to the bottom of your dress where he roughly pulls the fabric up and hikes it around your hips. Jake pulls away and smirks looking down at the lacey pair of painties you picked out. He drops to his knees until his eyes are level with your cunt. He looks absolutely taken by you, as he looks you over hungrily. He looks up to your face with dark lustful eyes and your breath catches in your throat. The way he looks up at you from his submissive position mixed with the dominance in his glare sets your body on fire. You can feel yourself pulsing, aching to be touched. 

With no warning, he roughly pulls your panties to the side and attaches his mouth to you, burying his face in your cunt. His expression softens at the mere taste of you and he whimpers against your clit. Your hips buck up into his mouth from the harsh vibration and a moan of your own ripples through you.

You swear that he does this for his own pleasure rather than yours. The way he looks when he's enjoying you like this… eyes shut in concentration, the thin line of sweat forming at his forehead, the moans of his own. It seems like you're not even there, like the only thing that matters to him is your taste.

He pulls away and spits right onto your clit, his eyes never leaving your center. The visual itself is one you wish to remember for the rest of time. He crashes his lips back into you, sucking your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over and over you. The sensation builds and builds and you know you’re teetering over the edge. You pull your hips back slightly and his hands find their way around your waist pulling you onto his mouth, holding you there. 

He speeds up his movements, sending a jolt of electricity through you and you grab onto whatever you can, which happens to be his head as he continues to devour you. His arms tighten around you and he flattens his tongue moving his head back and forth against your clit. The noises it makes are obscene but neither of you could possibly begin to care. He stops moving all together and you don’t even realize you're rocking into him chasing your release until he squeezes you tighter forcing you to stop.

He slips his tongue inside you, rubbing his nose against your clit with every nod. His tongue curls deep inside you and your leg twitches involuntarily at the soft pressure of his nose against your clit. He slows his movements, allowing you to find your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you let yourself feel every little sensation. The small flicks of his tongue, the way his nose feels against your center, his hands gripping into your skin, sure to leave bruises.

This new mix of pleasure carries you further to the edge until you’re almost letting go but at the last second, he pulls away. You groan with disappointment and he opens his eyes, narrowing in on you. He looks up at you with those puppy dog eyes as he sticks out his tongue, carefully delivering a slow lick from your center right up to your clit where he swirles his tongue around. 

He looks so innocent.

You hiss as he repeats the action a couple more times, your legs start to tremble. He starts to move a little faster now, licking tight circles around your clit. Your whole body feels white hot and you’re so close you know it's only seconds before you fall apart. He knows it too, you can see it on his face. His expression changes, his eyes glossing over and turning dark, the look he gives you says, ‘Give it to me. Now.’

He nods his head slightly as he pulls your clit into his mouth. You feel his tongue moving in fast circles and ever so softly, he closes his teeth around the sensitive bud. That's what does it. You grab fistfuls of his hair as your body shakes around his mouth. You’re being transported into another world, entirely unaware that you're chanting his name into the room. He licks over you as you ride your high, no end in sight.

After a surprisingly long time, you feel yourself coming down but Jake has other plans for you. His gaze is locked on yours as he moves even faster and harder. You feel your pleasure starting to turn into overstimulation but there is no cease in his movements. Your legs start to shake more aggressively and you can’t seem to stop.

You manage to choke out “Jake… it’s.. it's too much” but he dismisses you with a simple shake of his head and he begins to move even faster. He growls into your soaked cunt and he seems to be lost in his own pleasure too.

His tongue moves fast, buried deep in you soaking up anything he can. It’s like he's starved for you and he can’t move fast enough to collect every last drop on his tongue.

Your second orgasm hits you like a train, pulling you under faster than you could ever have imagined. This time you can hardly hear anything as your whole body goes limp against his kneeling frame. Time doesn't exist and your screams fill the air as he holds you steadily. Your whole body is shaking and you hold the back of his head so tightly you’re afraid you might hurt him. “Fuck fuck fuck” falls from your lips like a mantra, the pleasure is overwhelming and is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

After you possibly can't take it for another second you pull his face away and he gasps for air like he was drowning in you… which he sort of was. Jake looks up at you, covered and shining with your release. His chest heaves up and down as he looks over you with a satisfied smirk. 

“Good job baby, I knew you could do it.”

As your breathing starts to calm down he returns his attention to your cunt. He takes his time slowly cleaning up the mess he's made, dragging his tongue from your clit to where your cum drips down your inner thigh making sure not a single drop is left. He detaches just for a moment to say, “you taste fucking fantastic” and soon his kitten licks turn into kisses and he makes his way up placing little pecks along your stomach. 

Suddenly tiredness washes over you and standing becomes impossible. The alcohol still swirls around in your system as you feel like you could collapse. Jake gently fixes your dress and scoops you up, princess carrying you to your shared bedroom where he will clean you up and get you ready for bed. He laughs, somewhat taunting you but really, he thinks you’re adorable.

“Tired, my love?”

.

.

.

.

[itsbeeble]

Chapter 1: Big Ego, Slightly Bigger Bank Account

SUMMARY: Choi Chanhee has a hard time trusting others, and when his mother ropes you into a favor, he makes it clear that he doesn't like you one bit. After a few tense run-ins, Chanhee realizes that he needs your help to get his...persistent ex-girlfriend off his back. The problem? You're not exactly in a forgiving mood. But for his mother's sake, you're willing to play along— just this once.

GENRE: Angst, fluff

PAIRING: Choi Chanhee x fem!reader

WC: ~8k

THE BOYZ Masterlist EWO(TYRA) Masterlist

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie @captain-brie

FIC TAGLIST: @sanaxo-o @from-izzy

WARNINGS: Chanhee's mom is kinda weird, for the sake of the plot his parents own a shoe store, chanhee openly mocks the reader's social status, stalker accusations, mentions of toxic and somewhat abusive relationships, swearing, Changmin playing peace keeper, chanhee is actually a total douche he is like the entire warning the warning is just CHANHEE, mentions of blood and bodily injuries but very brief

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

A/N: I'm not late I was just edging you (totally definitely wasn't at a birthday dinner)

Her eyes burning into the side of your head is all you can think about. Dark, determined eyes that haven’t left your figure since you’d stepped onto the train. You’re sure you look a mess— hair falling out of the bun you’d carefully pinned up at the crack of dawn, mascara smudged from rubbing at your eyes repeatedly, shirt untucked from your skirt and entirely unflattering on your body, feet shifting uncomfortably in the well-worn heels you’d worn practically every day since starting your job in Seoul two years ago. Maybe she’s judging you. People like to do that. 

It’s starting to bother you, however, and you can’t seem to distract yourself hard enough from how she stares almost unblinkingly. You’ve tried to distract yourself by staring out the window, putting on your headphones and blasting music, playing game after game of Sudoku on your nearly dead phone, but nothing seems to work. 

You huff, your body sagging a bit as you finally cave and look at the woman, expecting her to be where she had been for the entire twenty-minute train ride so far. 

She’s not, and you’re becoming more confused by the minute. I could’ve sworn she was right—

“Jesus fu—” you cut yourself off, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your yelp when the woman appears directly to your left, that same determined look in her eyes but now with a bit of…is that…is that mischief? You aren’t sure, but it’s creeping you the hell out. Heads turn to look at you, but you shoot them a look that tells them to mind their own business. Nosy bitches. “Can I help you?” 

The woman clicks her tongue. “Let me look at you.”

You blink. “Excuse me?” 

“Let me look at you,” she repeats and grabs you by the arms to turn you fully toward her.  

“What is your problem?” You try to pull away from her, but for such a small woman she is incredibly strong, holding you in place as she looks you over once, twice, three times before humming. “Hey, ma’am, I don’t know what your problem is but—”

“I have a son your age, you know,” the woman interrupts with a charming smile. “He’s very handsome, very single.”

“That’s…great?” You shuffle away from her as best you can, which is quite difficult when there are dozens of people crowded into one subway car trying to get home. 

“You’re single, aren’t you?” 

“I—I mean—”

“What am I saying,” one of her hands slaps against her forehead. You look up, praying that the next stop is yours. “Of course you are! Look at you, no ring, no light behind those eyes.” 

Your eyes bug out of your head, your jaw dropping. What the fuck? 

“I— who do you think you are?” 

Her eyes meet yours briefly, the mischief overtaking the determination. The way she looks at you is unnerving, and you can only thank god that your stop is coming up next. 

“I’m sorry, dear. I can be a bit too direct sometimes. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” She squeezes your bicep and pulls back slightly as the doors open. You walk toward them. She follows you, and your eye twitches. “My husband always says it’s my biggest flaw.”

“There are worse flaws to have,” you dismiss, glancing around quickly to try to find a quick escape route. There is none, the crowd funnelling you and this woman toward the only exit to the station. 

“You’re correct,” the woman smiles at you, her arm looping with yours like you were her child. “You look like a hard worker. My son would like that.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mm. He’s famous, you know. You might know him!” 

“I don’t think I do,” you tell her, “I don’t keep up with media that much.”

“Ah, you like to disconnect?” She nods approvingly. Why are you letting this woman figure you out? Maybe you’ve been single for a bit too long if you’re letting a desperate mother try to set you up with her “rich, famous, handsome son who happens to be about your age.” She could be spewing total bullshit for all you know. Her son could be forty years old. She might not even have a son! “He would like that about you.”

“Do you…is there something I could help you with?” You turn to face her, stopping just outside of the train station and enduring the nasty comments you get about being in the way of everyone. “Is there a reason you keep bringing up your son?”

“My son has been horrifically single for a very long time,” the woman admits, tugging you along so you aren’t in anyones way. “His friends are all starting to date now that their company is allowing them to, but he’s been struggling. He’s very particular about the people he goes out with.”

The setting sun casts a warm glow over the two of you, and you squint when the light hits your eyes. “And that’s my problem because…” 

“I think you would be exactly what he’s looking for.” 

Oh?

You look down at her curiously. She’s looking straight ahead.

It’s another moment before you speak, the sounds of the city echoing around you but somehow they feel muffled in comparison to your conversation. 

“You don’t even know me.” 

She smiles.

“Oh, but I think my son might like to.” 

Your heel catches on a crack in the pavement, and time seems to slow as you fall. The shoe fully comes off your foot, and pain shoots through your knees when you hit the ground. You don’t yelp or cry out. You barely make a sound save for the pained whimper you can’t catch. The woman practically cries for you, dropping to her knees next to you and shifting you so you’re not pressing the fresh wounds into the ground any longer. Your tights are ripped, slowly soaking in a thin layer of blood. Your palms are covered in scratches, not bleeding but raw and stinging. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking helplessly at the shoe that had come off your foot. The heel is completely detached, the leather torn and entirely impossible to fix at this point. “Shit.”

“Are you alright?” The woman holds your hands in her own, examining your palms and pulling a small packet of tissues out of her purse to help clean your knees a bit. “I’m so sorry, dear. I shouldn’t have distracted you—”

“It’s fine,” you tell her and take the tissue from her hand with a little smile. You’re dying inside, sure, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I promise, it’s all good. It wasn’t your fault. I was the one careless enough to not look where I was walking.” 

She frets nonetheless, scolding herself and helping you stand. A smile, oh-so faint, crosses your lips. That boy, her son, is lucky to have her. Anyone would be lucky to have her in their lives— as a mother, a daughter, a sister, wife. You don’t know much about this woman, hell you don’t know shit about this woman, but your friends have always said you were good at reading people. 

“Even still—”

“Ma’am,” you put your hand on her shoulder as both a reassurance and a stabilizer as you remove the destroyed shoes from your feet. The relief is immediate, as is the ache in your tendons from suddenly flattening your feet. “I promise you, you did nothing wrong. Thank you for helping me.” 

She smiles back at you, kissing her teeth a bit at the sight of your heels. “You better have another pair of those at home.”

Your smile becomes a grimace and she gets her answer. Her forehead creases as she frowns again. 

“How often do you wear these?” 

You almost don’t answer her, too embarrassed. “Every day.”

“These are at least…” she examines the shoes— the leather wrapping them, the heel, the soles, everything. She looks like a professional. “These are at least from the spring of two years ago. They’re practically worn down to the nub. How are you still comfortably wearing these?”

“Just don’t have the time or money to get new ones, I suppose.” You shrug your shoulders, and her frown deepens. “It’s fine. I have, like, super glue at home that I can use and get them fixed.”

The woman gasps and clutches her chest as if you kicked a damn puppy, her eyes going wide and her jaw practically hitting the sidewalk. 

“Absolutely not!” She holds the shoes close to her chest, ensuring that you won’t be able to grab them back from her. “You will never be wearing these godforsaken shoes again, not if I have anything to do with it!” 

Your shoulders slump. “Then what am I supposed to wear for work?” 

“My husband and I own a shop a few blocks from here. What time do you work tomorrow?” 

“I don’t. Fridays are my day off.” 

“Good,” she nods approvingly. “A good work week, hard worker— no, that’s not what we’re focusing on now. Come to our shop tomorrow morning, I’ll get you fitted with brand new shoes— two pairs, even. On the house.” 

It’s your turn to gasp. “I— I couldn’t ask that! That’s your shop— your income! I could never take two pairs, let alone one without paying—”

“You forget that my son— again, your age— is famous. We won’t be missing much. We mostly keep the shop open to keep ourselves busy.” The woman (you still don’t know what her name is. It’s bothering you just a bit) beams at you. “Please. Let me do this for you. I can even introduce you to Chanhee.” 

Ah, so that’s her son’s name.

You bite down on your tongue, thinking carefully about her offer. The shoes, not meeting her son. 

“Let me pay for one pair at least,” you bargain. She goes to argue, but you hold up a hand to stop her. “One pair, or none at all. Take your pick.”

A smile laced with…—is that pride? You’re almost certain it’s pride— causes her lips to curl. “One pair of free shoes, and one paid for. Sounds like a deal to me.”

The sun has set and the street light above you flickers to life. There’s a bit of a breeze now, goosebumps rising on your arms. 

“It’s dark out,” you murmur. “Let me walk you to your shop. I’m sure your husband is worried about you.”

The woman nods. “He’s been calling me since we got off the train.”

Silence for a moment, and then the air is filled with bubbles of laughter. You laugh until your cheeks hurt, until they feel as if they’ll be trapped in a permanent smile. 

“I like you Missus…” you trail off, your feet padding lightly across the ground as you walk.

“Choi. Missus Choi,” Mrs. Choi finally tells you her name, and you almost hit the ground in relief. Why wasn’t that the first thing you asked? “And soon that’ll be your name, too.”

Chanhee deemed himself to be a lucky man. Loving parents, good friends, his dreams being achieved left and right at such a young age. 

Yes, he certainly was lucky. 

Most days, that is.

Today, unfortunately, it seemed his luck had run dry and likely went down the drain like most of his coffee. Or, perhaps, it went wherever Eric brought his only good umbrella, leaving him stuck with the shitty leaking umbrella. Or it was in the nearest trash bin alongside his favorite shoes having torn the sole clean off. 

“I don’t understand how you managed to do any of that.” Changmin clicks his tongue, his head rolling back as Chanhee vents his frustrations. Only 8AM and Chanhee was already sick of this day. “The coffee I get, but the umbrella and your favorite shoes? Someone has to be out to get you, I fear.” 

“Tell me about it,” Chanhee scoffs. “Honestly, I feel like it may have been Taeha.”

Jung Taeha, his most recent…ex of sorts. Chanhee had met her outside his parents’ shop which, in hindsight, should have been a bit of a sign for him. She’d been there, almost as if she was waiting for him, and introduced herself in a manner which was most definitely rehearsed.

My name is Jung Taeha, let’s go out for coffee some time!

A smarter version of him, in some other universe, would have spotted the red flags from miles away. Alas, this universe’s Choi Chanhee was dumb as a rock on occasion. On many occasions, in fact. 

After six months of temper tantrums, his bank account being slowly chipped away, constant phone calls, and many attempts at dragging him away from work under the guise of “being lonely”, Chanhee finally snapped. Six weeks ago, he had broken things off as gently as he could. He couldn’t stand her, couldn’t stand how demanding she was. 

This isn’t working out. Get your things and leave.

She’d destroyed his apartment on her way out. She threw lamps, knocked over tables and his dresser (a fact that still stunned him), broke plates, cut holes into his Gucci shirts. Chanhee wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if she had cut his shoes apart. 

“You sure they weren’t salvageable?” Changmin asks, his hand wrapping around the handle of the little shoe shop on the outskirts of Seoul. “Maybe, like, buy some gorilla glue or something.” Chanhee’s jaw nearly hits the ground, his hand coming to press against his chest in dismay.

“I can’t believe you would even suggest something so…so…so…” 

Chanhee stutters over his words, inevitably falling silent as he lets his eyes fall on a figure laughing with his mother. A woman, likely his age, gripping the seat she was in and tilting her head back as she laughed unabashedly. He could see the way her eyes wrinkled at the edges, a smile curling over her face and nearly reaching her ears.

The door Changmin had been holding open closes on Chanhee, forcing him to stumble forward and tripping the motion sensor above the door. A bell chimes and startles him out of the trance that had been placed on him. 

“Chanhee!” His father beams, rounding the corner and clapping him on the back. “What are you doing here so early? Or at all, really. Shouldn’t you be at the studio? And you, Changmin. Shouldn’t you be there  as well?”

Changmin rubs the back of his head sheepishly, tucking into his chest a bit. 

“My shoes broke,” Chanhee says, mourning the loss of the sleek black Dior loafers. “I need to pick up a pair to hold me off for the rest of the week at minimum.”

His father hums, turning to look at where his mother had finally risen to her feet, the woman with her rising as well. Chanhee locked eyes with her, and noted how quickly she became red in the cheeks, turning her gaze to the ground. Great, he thought and kissed the back of his teeth, another stalker trying to get to me through my parents.

“I can help you in just a few minutes, darling.” His mother promised, grinning widely as she led the girl to the counter. “Now, Y/N dear, I know we discussed you paying for one pair rather than the two, but—”

“If you try to get me to pay for anything less than what we agreed on,” you say with a teasing lift in your voice, “I’ll walk out of here with nothing at all. Alright, Mrs. Choi?” 

Chanhee quirks an eyebrow, his lip curling with disdain. So you’d hunted for his family, then?

“Dear,” his mom places a gentle hand over yours, “I can’t help it if suddenly there’s a deal on this particular brand that says you get a free pair with every pair of socks you buy.” 

What?

You seem to echo Chanhee’s thoughts, hardly able to process what was happening before his mother had rung in the socks and marked both shoes as free, taking your card and swiping it. You jump forward, practically bending over the counter to try and grab her before she can finish processing your purchase.

“Mrs. Choi!” You exclaim defiantly. “I told you that I wanted to pay!”

“And you did,” Chanhee’s dad jumps in gleefully, “just not for what you expected.”

“You both are terrible!”

“What’s going on?” Chanhee finally jumps in, having enough of this interaction. He couldn’t fathom how his parents were just…letting you use them. “Who is this…girl?” 

His lip curls, and you flinch. Good. Know who you’re messing with. Changmin jabs him in the side, shooting him a nasty look. 

“Oh, Chanhee darling, this is Y/N!” His mother chirps, grinning and ignoring the clear attitude he was flooding the building with. “I met her last night on the train home!”

“And she’s here for…?”

“Shoes, clearly.” Changmin rolls his eyes. “God, Chanhee. You’re so dense sometimes.” Your shoulders sag with relief, but Chanhee hardly gives you time to breathe. 

“Did you really have to manipulate my parents?” It goes so quiet that you could likely hear a pin drop from across the store. 

“Excuse me?” Your eyebrows furrow, your lips parting slightly with your confusion. Chanhee hates to admit it, but you play the part of the fool rather nicely.

“If you wanted to get my attention that badly,” his words are icy and Chanhee sees you curl in on yourself a bit more, “you should’ve just stalked the company. Why did you manipulate my parents into your little scheme?”

“What company?” The confusion on your face is so close to genuine that Chanhee is almost impressed. 

“Choi Chanhee,” his mother hisses, taking a small step toward her son to knock some sense into him, but you stop her with a small motion of your shaking hand. 

“Don’t act dumb,” Chanhee’s nose curls and you nearly bark out a laugh. “We both know you’re just here to score my number or something.” 

Your whole body is trembling, not just your hand. Your body is shaking like a leaf, your lip quivering to hold back words that could make this situation far more embarrassing and hurtful than it already is for you. Chanhee sees the well of tears in your eyes and how you blink rapidly, tipping your head back or to the side in order to keep them at bay. In normal circumstances, he may have offered comfort, however he was far too aggravated to bother. 

“Mrs. Choi, thank you so much for the shoes.” You finally tear your gaze away from Chanhee, pressing your hand into her arm. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” 

“Y/N, dear,” the woman starts, but you just shake your head.

“I think your son would prefer if I left. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” A meek smile, and you start to make your way to the door. Chanhee’s narrowed eyes are on you the whole time, his arms folded across his chest. 

“It was nice meeting you!” Changmin calls out as you push the door open, grinning and waving like you’d been the best of friends. Something about that creates an irk in Chanhee, his teeth grinding together and his lips twisted into a scowl. You don’t turn around or do anything to respond to the man, just letting the bell chime above you as the door swings open. When it shuts again, there’s a tense silence between the four. 

“Did you have to be so rude?” Chanhee’s father grunts, shifting behind the counter to organize a stack of gift cards and receipts. “She was a lovely girl.”

“She was stalking you guys!”

“She was not!” His mother snaps, shutting down any chance of him arguing with a nasty look that sends shivers down his spine. The last time he’d seen that look, she had been about to punish him for sneaking out in the middle of the night when he was fifteen years old. “If anything, I was basically stalking her.”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” He can feel a headache coming on, his head tilting back with a heavy sigh. 

“She has no idea who you are, Channie.” 

“That’s bulls— that’s not true! Otherwise, she wouldn’t—” be here is what Chanhee wants to say, but he catches himself. “She wouldn’t have been so close to you if she didn’t!”

“I befriended her last night,” Mrs. Choi folds her arms across her chest, matching the attitude her son can’t seem to put away. “I met her on the train, thought she was pretty and sweet, and maybe good for you. I befriended her so I could introduce her to you, but she ended up falling and breaking her shoes because of me. I told her to come here today so I could get her some new ones—”

“What, she couldn’t afford to get her own?” Chanhee scoffs, and a newspaper hits the counter with a loud crack. He jumps, dipping his head at the nasty look his father gives him. 

“Don’t interrupt your mother, Choi Chanhee.” Chanhee bites down on his tongue and Changmin clicks his tongue, expressing his clear disappointment in his friend. 

“That girl has worked her tail off day and night in this godforsaken city just to hold onto the job that, quite honestly, she is too qualified for. She had been wearing the shoes I broke since she first moved to Seoul, and she told me she was going to glue them back together because she couldn’t afford it. Don’t you dare say anything about what people can afford, Choi Chanhee. You should know better.” 

He can practically hear Changmin’s thoughts. He just knows that the man is laughing to himself, practically screaming oop, we got him! A small part of him feels guilty about the accusations he had senslessly thrown at you, but the larger part of him is too prideful to admit to his wrongs, forcing him to stand his ground even under the murderous look from his father and the disappointment from his mother. 

“What do you want me to do? It’s not like I can apologize now. She’s already gone and we’ll probably never see her again.”

“Well,” Mr. Choi smiles coyly, “you better hope you find that girl again. Otherwise you’re cut off from family dinners.”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffs. “Like you guys would keep me away from family. Your whole thing is that family is the most important thing.”

“Is that so?” 

“You’re joking.” Chanhee’s eyes bug out of his head when his brother blocks him from getting in the door. 

“Sorry, dude,” Dongmin shrugs, seemingly apologetic but there’s nothing but pure mischief in his eyes. “Ma wasn’t kidding when she said you were barred from dinners until you found that girl and apologized.”

“She can’t be— ugh,” Chanhee groans loudly, stomping his foot on the stone steps below him. “How the does she expect me to find this girl and get her to accept an apology from me? I was a total jerk and I definitely don’t feel bad about it.” 

Dongmin frowns. “That’s kinda shitty, Chanhee.”

“Well, it’s true! I was trying to protect my family from— from— ugh!”

“Chanhee,” Dongmin steps forward and purses his lips. “I get that your relationship with Taeha kinda ruined you and you still aren’t back from that, and we get it. We really do. But the thing is…not everyone is like that, and not everyone is out to use you and your rich boy credit card. Some people are just living their lives.”

“But I didn’t know that!”

“And that’s your problem.” Dongmin’s hands find his younger brother’s shoulders, shaking him gently as he speaks. “You just assume the worst in people now. I miss the old Chanhee who loved every stranger he met whether they knew who he was or not. Whatever,” Dongmin hesitates and scowls, “this version of Chanhee is, we don’t like him. Do whatever you have to do to fix it. Fuck, hang out with this girl once you find her. Take her on a date. Just…just fix this and yourself.”

For two days now, Chanhee had received reality check after reality check. The first had been from his father. The second from his mother. Then from his members, and now from his brother. Each one said the same. Fix your shit, we don’t want to put up with mopey bitch Chanhee anymore.

Well.

Not exactly that, but it was implied. 

So, when the door shut in Chanhee’s face, he had no choice but to stomp back to the sleek black sedan he’d parked along the side of the road in front of their house. The neighborhood they lived in was quiet enough that he didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing him mutter profanities to himself. 

The shoes Mrs. Choi had gifted you fit practically like a glove, far better than your previous pair and still more comfortable. No amount of thanks could truly show the older woman how grateful you were. You felt more at ease with the worry of your shoes finally breaking in the past. 

Unfortunately, not all of your worries can be solved with a simple gift from a funny old woman.

No, some of your problems came in the form of that woman’s son, Choi Chanhee. The knowledge that he seemed to hate you more than anything in the world had scarred you. His words were imprinted into your brain like a tattoo, replaying over and over again throughout the next week. 

Immediately after leaving the shoe shop that day, you’d googled his name and immediately felt your heart drop to your feet. She hadn’t been joking about her son being rich and famous. The more you think about it the more you wish you had never stepped foot onto that train, let alone into that shop. 

“I can help whoever is next!” 

The barista calling out from behind the register startles you out of your thoughts. There’s still about four people in front of you, each of them looking about as tired as you feel at 7:25AM. You drum your fingers against your purse, your skin making a quiet tapping noise against the cool leather. 

“And here I thought I would be getting out of an apology.” A voice behind you makes you jump. It had been so quiet in the line, most people just wanting to get their coffee and be on their way. “Guess I’m not that lucky anymore.”

You turn your body around fully, taking in the face of the one person you’d been dreading seeing again. 

Choi Chanhee stands behind you dressed in a white button-up shirt and slacks with a black mask covering most of his face. There’s no mistaking those eyes, however. They’d caught your attention while at the store— before they’d narrowed at you and filled with nothing but malice. They were soft. All of his features were soft and you can see why he’d become so popular. If his hatred wasn’t pointed at you, maybe you’d have grown to love him like his mother wanted. 

“Do I know you?” This time you truly play the fool, wanting nothing to do with him if you can help it. His eyes roll, and he tosses his head a bit to move the short strands of black hair out of his face. 

“Don’t play dumb this time. I know you know who I am now,” he scolds lightly. There’s a lightness in his voice now and you wonder if it’s because you’re in front of people who might know who he is. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, toeing at the ground like a child who was about to get punished. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, me too.” Chanhee sighs, shifting slightly closer to you so he wouldn’t have to talk so loud. The less attention drawn to the two of you, the better, you supposed. You certainly don’t want to be in any of those damn tabloids. What a nightmare that would be to explain to your family. “Let’s get our coffee and talk somewhere else, alright?” 

“I can help whoever is next!” You step up to the register, Chanhee a step behind you, and smile at the barista. Her eyes flash with recognition when she sees the celebrity, but she doesn’t say anything. “What can I get for you?”

“Medium iced latte, please,” you murmur and reach into your purse to pull out your wallet. Chanhee clears his throat and presses his hand against your arm to lightly push you to the side. You frown at him and open your mouth to speak but he’s faster than you.

“Add a medium americano to that order please.” The barista nods, her fingers moving quickly over the buttons. Most likely a symptom of her nerves. 

“You’re—” the barista’s voice cracks and her face flushes red. You can’t help but smile. “You’re New, right? From The Boyz?” Chanhee smiles beneath his mask, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he does a total personality flip for this girl.

You watch the brief interaction, the smile still on your face as he talks animatedly with this young girl and pays for the drinks. He pulls down his mask so he can be seen in the selfie she takes, his plush lips curling into a sweet smile that part of you wishes was aimed in your direction.

“You interact really well with your fans.” You comment, still smiling a bit as you make your way over to the opposite end of the counter. Chanhee tugs his mask back over his face, eyeing you cautiously. 

“I’m a nice person, believe it or not.”

“I’d like to believe it,” you shrug, “but I haven’t seen that side of you so I can’t really trust you.” 

Chanhee sticks his hands in his pockets, tapping his shoes against the ground. “That’s not my problem.”

Your smile drops and you turn away from him to watch as drinks slide across the counter for customers to grab. Your eyes are stinging and you manage to convince yourself, just barely, that he was joking. 

“Iced latte for Y/N!” You step forward, almost too quickly to seem normal, and grab your drink. Chanhee’s comes out a moment after your, and you don’t wait for him to get it before you’re walking out the door and into the brisk morning air of mid-October. You walk quickly, admitting to yourself that he most certainly wasn’t joking and that these stupid comments from a stupid man with a stupid fucking ego are truly starting to get to you. 

Your office is only nine blocks from this shop, a walk you can do in a bit under ten minutes. You pick up your pace when you hear Chanhee call out your name. 

Unfortunately for you, Chanhee has longer legs and is very determined. 

“What was that for?” He whines, and there’s another brief moment where you want to smile.

“What do you even want, Choi Chanhee?” You spit out the words like venom, and Chanhee flinches back. 

“I already told you I wanted to apologize.”

“So do it and go away. Better yet,” you hold up a finger. “Don’t say anything and just leave. I can tell Mrs. Choi that you apologized and then we never have to see each other again.”

Chanhee looks at you, his eyebrows knitting together in thought. “Is that what you really want?”

You take a shaking breath but don’t answer him. Seven blocks until you reach your office. You merge with the crowd of people waiting for the sidewalk light to turn green. Chanhee turns your body so you’re facing him with his hands on the sides of your arms. It feels like he’s scorching your skin, his hands warm despite the cold weather. 

“Y/N,” his voice is quiet now with the noise of the city around you. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you. It was inappropriate and unnecessary. I apologize.”

For a moment you stare blankly at him, something that makes him a bit nervous.

“You’re just saying that because your mom wants you to, aren’t you?” Chanhee scoffs. 

“Well, yeah, obviously. She banned me from family dinners until I apologize and she has this sixth sense about if we do what she says or not.”

You bite your tongue, nodding your head. Of course, that’s why he’s doing it. Not because he actually wants to apologize, but because he’s going to get something out of it. 

“You know what, Chanhee—” Someone slams into your back before you can say anything and you yelp. 

Ther sound of plastic cracking fills your ears, and a pair of arms wrap around you to keep you from hitting the ground. Cold liquid splashes against your shirt, brown standing out against the white fabric. Someone swears loudly. 

You pull back from Chanhee, and a knot forms in your throat. Your coffee is all over his front, soaking into the fabric and dripping the excess onto the filthy pavement below you. 

“Chanhee, I’m so—” your voice betrays you and tears well in your eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Let me— I have napkins in my purse—” 

“It’s fine,” Chanhee waves a hand to stop you, but you don’t listen and continue reaching into your bag for a bundle of napkins. “Y/N, I’m telling you it’s okay. It’s just some coffee.”

“But— but it’s all over your shirt, and this was probably insanely expensive, and I just—”

“You’re right,” Chanhee interrupts you with a roll of his eyes. You look up at him, the napkins in your hand soaked with coffee and pressed against his shirt. 

“What?”

“I said you’re right,” he shrugs. “This was your fault. And this shirt was incredibly expensive.” He takes the napkins out of your hand, leaning down a bit so only you can hear him. There’s a glint in his eyes that you don’t like it. “More expensive than you could ever hope to afford.”

There’s a new found anger in your eyes now. 

“Go to hell, Chanhee.”

“The fuck happened to you?” Changmin lounges against the couch in the studio with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Chanhee just shakes his head, unbuttoning the silken fabric of his Dior shirt. The coffee had dried on his walk to the company, fifteen blocks in the opposite direction you’d been walking in, thanks to the sun and some cold air he hoped he would never have to walk in again.

“That girl from my parents’ shop spilled her coffee all over me.” 

“What girl?” Hyunjae questions, spinning slowly in another chair. 

“A couple days ago,” Changmin pushes off the couch to get closer to the conversation. “Chanhee was visiting his parents at the shop and there was this really pretty girl there talking to his mom. The girl had met his mom last night and they had talked on the train and then the girl broke her shoes because of his mom so they went to the shop and she was gifted two free pairs of shoes just because his mom felt really bad.”

“That’s sweet,” Hyunjae coos. “I love Mr. and Mrs. Choi.”

“Yeah, me too,” Changmin sighs and shakes his head. “Too bad Chanhee thought she was a stalker fan and went completely ape shit on the poor girl. She looked like she was about to cry!”

“I did not go ape shit!” Chanhee exclaims, folding his ruined shirt and tucking it into his bag. He’s pulling another shirt out, a loose black tee shirt this time, while Changmin mocks him quietly. 

“Then why did she spill coffee on your shirt?” Hyunjae counters.

“She— it was an accident,” Chanhee huffs and throws himself down on the other couch. “I went to apologize, someone bumped into her, she spilled her coffee, and then…I ruined it…again…”

“What did you do this time? Kill her dog? Kick her while she was down?” Hyunjae asks, only half-joking. 

“What?” Chanhee’s jaw drops. “Why on Earth would I do that?”

“Because apparently you’re a piece of shit to hot women now.”

“I wasn’t a piece of shit! And she was not—” Chanhee stops himself, catching the raised eyebrows of his group members. “You two are the worst.”

“What do you even have against her anyway?” Hyunjae asks. Chanhee, for once, can’t find a good answer. You weren’t a stalker, something he’d learned a bit too late. However, he can’t exactly say his pride is getting in the way of a proper apology. He also couldn’t use Taeha as an excuse, knowing that they would lecture him about that whole relationship and how he knows better now that she’s gone. He also knows that if he used nerves as excuse, they would mock him for days and claim that he was in love with you.

Which he most definitely was not.

“I swear, she’s gonna come after your ass for defamation soon enough,” Changmin rolls his eyes. “Should we send her, like, a fruit basket as an apology? With a cute little note that says something like—”

“We’re not sending her a fruit basket.” Chanhee interrupts. Changmin pouts. Hyunjae smirks. 

“You’re right,” the older man agrees. “We aren’t. You are.”

You see Chanhee again far sooner than you would’ve liked to. Two days have passed since the incident and you’d somehow managed to push it to the back of your mind. You would’ve liked to forget about him altogether, however, that clearly isn’t an option for you. You realize this when you come back from your lunch break to find him leaning against your desk scratching at the cheap material and doing anything but look up.

“Is that your boyfriend or something?” Sungchan is leaning against his cubical, gazing curiously at the handsome man. “If not, can I have him?”

You laugh quietly and Chanhee’s head snaps up to look at you. He looks absolutely horrified, his cheeks darkening the longer he looks at you. 

“I think he wants you to go over to him.” Sungchan sinks back into his chair, smirking widely at you.

“Die lonely, Sungchan.” 

He feigns hurt, waving you off. 

From Sungchan’s desk to yours is about fifteen steps. On this day, you make those steps the longest you could possibly make them without it being awkward. You take a step and stop to chat with another coworker across the room. Another step and oops! You’ve dropped your pen to the ground. Thirteen more long, agonizing steps just to avoid talking to Choi Chanhee.

What has your life become?

“What can I help you with?” 

You pretend you don’t see the giant fruit basket behind him on the ground. He pretends that it’s not there at all. 

“I, uh,” Chanhee’s hand slips off your desk and he almost goes crashing to the floor. You don’t help him, your eyes widening at the loud, sudden, disastrous motion. “I just— I was, you know, just in the area. I wanted to check—”

“Channie!” A grating voice makes the two of you cringe, and the dull sound of heels hitting the carpeted floor catches your attention. Jung Taeha.

Chanhee’s face goes white, and your frown deepens. Do they know each other?

You hope they don’t, but the way she calls his name is so sickeningly sweet that you’re positive they do. Something in you breaks a little. 

“Jung Taeha,” the words are forced out of Chanhee like someone performed the Heimlich maneuver to get food out of his throat. You bite back a laugh at the pain in his eyes, turning your gaze to the ground instead. “You…what are you doing here?”

“I work here, silly!” Taeha beams, practically shoving you to the side and grabbing the man by the shoulders to pull him in for a hug. He manages to keep her away from him, his soft eyes begging you for help. You step back, letting him handle her. You won’t risk your job for a man who already doesn’t think you can afford basic luxuries.

“Oh,” Chanhee says dumbly. “You do?”

The fakest laugh you’ve ever heard comes out of Taeha. It’s sharp, piercing your ears and making you wince. Honestly, to you, she sounds like a dying horse. 

“Did you come here to visit me? You never visit me at work anymore! I miss you, Channie…” Taeha pouts, ignoring his hands pushing her away from him and trying desperately to wrap her arms around Chanhee’s waist. 

“No—” Taeha gasps and cuts him off when she sees the fruit basket on the ground. 

“Channie! Is that for me?”

“No it—”

“You really shouldn’t have! Gosh, and at work too! I’m so—”

“It’s not for you.”

In an instant, the office goes quiet. Keyboards fall quiet, conversations stop, heads pop up from their desks. Sungchan lets out an exaggerated gasp, the only sound in the entire office. A company phone rings and someone mutes it. Taeha’s face twitches. Not just her eye, not her lip. Her whole face twitches and suddenly her eyes are meeting yours. She looks angry. Angrier than you’ve ever seen her since you began working at this godforsaken company.

“What do you mean it isn’t for me?” She questions with a scoff. Her hands plant on her hips and she takes a step back. “Who else would it be for?” 

Taeha says that while holding eye contact with you. The obvious implication is that they can’t possibly be for you. Why on Earth would someone like him get something like that for you?

“They’re for my girlfriend.”

You smile, glad to see Taeha put in her—

What?

“What?” Your mouth drops open and Chanhee looks at you with a playful smile. 

“Y/N~” he playfully whines, draping his arms over your shoulders and pulling you into him until his cheek is resting on your head. “Stop pretending we’re not together! I know that the argument was my fault but this is a bit harsh, even for you!”

 Your heart pounds, and you can feel his as well with your face pressed into him. He’s warm, you realize. His body is warm, and he smells sweet. Your brain tells you to pull away from him, but there’s a comfort in his embrace that you don’t want to leave. 

“You’re…” Taeha’s teeth are grinding together. “You’re with…Y/N? Y/n, you’re with Chanhee?”

“Well…” you reluctantly pull yourself away from Chanhee, smiling just as playfully as him. “Of course. Why else would he be here?”

“I’m just— this is unexpected!” Taeha beams at you, but there’s maliciousness behind every blink and smile. “I’ve never seen you date anyone, so I was a bit surprised about this.”

“Oh, yes,” you nod and grasp Chanhee’s hand in your own. “I was a bit surprised as well, but it’s true. He treats me well. Spoils me, really!” 

“Is that so?” Taeha’s eyebrow twitches and you fight a fit of laughter. 

“Yep!” Chanhee places a large, noisy kiss to the top of your head.

“Been together for…how long has it been now, Channie?” Maybe mocking the nickname was a bit too far but you couldn’t help it. Everyone knows that when you see an opportunity, it needs to be taken.

“About…four weeks?” He hums and Taeha physically recoils, her eyes widening and her body jerking as if she’d been shoved. “Just had our first argument. Guess that means the honeymoon phase is over.”

“That’s great for you!” Taeha comes over and takes one of your hands. “I am truly so happy for you, Y/N!” She squeezes you so tight that you’re afraid she may break your hand if she holds on any longer. You can tell she wants to say more just by looking at her. Her mouth opens a bit and she inhales as if she’s about to say something, but it just as quickly shuts again and she forces a smile onto her face. “And you, Chanhee. I’m happy for both of you.”

“Thank you, Taeha.” Chanhee beams. “That means a lot.”

“What the fuck was that?” 

Chanhee leans against your desk, watching you work. For the past fifteen minutes, he’d been standing there in silence with a dumb look on his face. You’d returned to your work, heart pounding and the encounter replaying in your head over and over again. Girlfriend. Dating. 4 weeks. Taeha knows him. 

Why did it feel like you were the only one who never knew what was going on?

Your sudden question jerks Chanhee out of his stupor. A phone rings in the cubicle next to yours and Chanhee sighs. 

“Come with me, we should talk somewhere quiet.” 

You want to say no. You want to tell him to go fuck himself or, better yet, go fuck Taeha aand leave you out of whatever stupid drama is happening. It has nothing to do with you. You just wanted him to leave you alone. 

Unfortunately, Chanhee is grabbing your arm and the stupid fruit basket that started this whole situation and is guiding you to the exit of the office to find somewhere that doesn’t have wandering eyes. His grip on your arm isn’t tight, his fingers barely brushing the sleeve of your shirt, but it’s enough to guide you along with him. 

He takes you to the parking garage, to a secluded area with few vehicles. Part of you thinks he might kill you. Part of you wishes that was the case. 

“We’re away from people now,” you pull your arm out of his grasp and scowl. “Why did you tell Taeha that we’re dating? You hate me, I don’t necessarily like you either. I thought we were done with this.”

“That was before you spilled coffee on my shirt,” Chanhee frowns. “I liked that shirt too. Now it’s stained.”

“I’ll buy you a new one if it bothers you that much.” 

Chanhee laughs quietly. “I wouldn’t make you do that. It was way too expensive for you, no offense. Besides, it isn’t that big of a deal. Just a quick trip to the laundromat and it’ll be good as new.” 

“So then…why did you come here? If it wasn’t that important, why do you keep showing up where I don’t want you to be?” You pick at a loose string on your blouse, pulling on the thread until it comes loose. Chanhee exhales heavily, folding his hands neatly behind his back. 

“Because I felt bad.”

You blink. “You…what?”

“I felt bad for how I treated you. I didn’t want to leave things off that way, you didn’t deserve that. You haven’t deserved any bit of how I’ve been treating you.” His cheeks are flushed, his eyes cast to the ground. “I’m sorry. Really, this time. I’m not just saying it to get it over with.” You laugh quietly, your lips curling up into a smile. 

“You came all the way here for that?”

“And to give you this stupid fruit basket.” He kicks it lightly, the plastic wrapping scrunching with the action. “Changmin’s idea. It’s stupid, really. But he’s embarrassed for how I’ve been treating you.”

“And Taeha thought it was for her, right?” You crouch down next to the basket, examining the contents. “Why?”

Chanhee is quiet for a few moments, and then he huffs. “I dated her for a while. It was a shit relationship. She’s the reason that I thought you had been stalking me.”

“Are you serious?” Your head snaps up so fast you fear you may have given yourself whiplash. With wide eyes, you rise back to your feet. “Chanhee, that’s illegal. Why is she not in prison?”

“Because I didn’t have any solid proof,” he says as if it’s obvious and your teeth grind together to hold back a furious remark. “And, anyway, it’s in the past. What’s done is done.”

“And you…you told her I was your girlfriend to keep her off your back?” 

“Exactly. I’m sorry.”

You scoff at the apology, “this is not something to apologize for. If anything, I’d have done the same thing. She’s fucking psycho.” Chanhee laughs and it’s a real, genuine laugh that makes your stomach churn with a warm feeling you haven’t felt before. His pretty eyes shut as he laughs, tilting his head back. It brings you to laugh as well, your hand rising to muffle the sound. 

“Does this…” Chanhee hesitates, finally looking you in the eye. “Does this mean we’re okay?”

“Oh, no definitely not.” You frown. Chanhee’s face drops. “We can share laughs, yeah, but you still have apologizing and groveling to do. I’ll help you with Taeha but that’s because I owe it to your mother for helping me when I needed it.” 

“I understand,” Chanhee murmurs, dipping his head a bit. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you sigh and lift the fruit basket off the ground. “Thank me when Taeha finally leaves.”

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.