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justalildumpling · 2 years

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⇢ 3, 2, 1

synopsis: at this point of your pathetically unrequited crush on your popular friend, it didn’t faze you when you found out that he wasn’t going to be at the same NYE party as you. but when he suddenly turned up to come find you, did you start wondering that maybe you weren’t the only one with harboured feelings.

pairing: mark x reader genre: friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff word count: 2.3k warnings: swearing, drunkenness/mentions of drinking and partying, the word sex was said once note: lmao the way i’ve literally had this idea in my wip documents since like last year… anyways, here’s a little soft boi mark to start off your year <33 happy new year everyone!!

It didn't really make much sense.

Well, according to the resident drunkards Haechan and Chenle that is, being sober on New Years Eve.

Or any house party for that matter.

"It's literally free alcohol Y/N, why not make the most of it?" Haechan protested, cracking open another can of Jack and Coke, letting out a satisfied hum after hearing the bubbles fizzing up to the rim of the lid.

"Cause some people want a functioning liver by the age of thirty Lee Donghyuck," You rolled your eyes at the tipsy boy, clicking your tongue in disapproval as he downed the alcoholic drink in his hand, "And actually be able to recall all the not stupid things I did the night before."

"What? Like accidentally telling our little Markie boy that you're head over heels for him?" Donghyuck fired back, shaking the last droplets of the drink into his mouth before chucking it in the kitchen bin, "He's not even with us tonight!"

Unfortunately for you, the little devil man dressed as your best friend was right. Mark Lee was nowhere to be found at the party, though you couldn't complain as you were already notified of his absence last Wednesday.

You and your group of friends sat basking in the sunlight outside on the picnic benches of the park, taking in the rare appearance of the sun within the rainy week.

"What do you mean you're not coming to Lele's?!" Donghyuck squabbled, letting his burger fall onto the wrapper with a thud.

Mark merely shrugged, guiltily scratching the nape of his neck, "Johnny had already invited me two weeks ago and I said I was gonna go, sorry guys."

You frowned at the boy's statement, swirling the fry that you had stolen from Jisung's tray into the ketchup tub.

Though Mark was an important member of your high school friend group, it was hard to align your meet ups with his hectic schedule. Sometimes you couldn't seem to understand your crush in question, how he managed to juggle his school work alongside the university basketball team, internship plus a somewhat abundant social life was a mystery in itself.

Mark Lee was a relatively popular figure at your school, good looks, a chill and caring personality and godly talented at everything he did. It was no surprise that his inbox was flooded with invitations all the time let alone the holiday break.

Despite this, he always made sure to keep in touch with you, checking in with you about how your day had been or if he's lucky to squeeze in an ice cream run by the beach with you, which you very much appreciated and made your heart swell just a little bit too much than the average person, not that he ever needed to know.

As if he sensed your disappointment within the group's chaotic wails and cries, Mark reached over to give your hand a little squeeze, sending you an apologetic glance.

It was things like this which made up your hopelessly harboured feelings for the Canadian, making you think that it wasn't just you that had pathetically pined over him but being the nice guy that he was, probably treated others the same way.

Jaemin and Renjun though seemed to argue otherwise, whining to tell the clueless boy about your feelings, saying that there's no way that he wouldn't like you back before you quickly shushed them, snapping to keep their delusions in their heads.

"Hello? Earth to Y/N?" A voice broke you from your thoughts, causing you to peer up from your seated position on the couch, eyes trailing up the body of a boy to meet an amused Jeno.

He held out your phone, his cheeky grin growing exponentially the more you stared at his hands in confusion.

"Lover boy texted," He finally explained, nonchalantly chucking the device onto your lap, "Figured you'd want to know."

You grumbled, throwing the nearest pillow at the boy in which he barely dodged as he chuckled at your embarrassment, slipping off to the kitchen, most likely reporting the incident to his best friend.

Rolling your eyes, you unlocked your phone to find a couple missed calls from Johnny, unsent message notifications from Yuta and Mark's little message.

markie: hey :)

you: hi!! how's johnny's?

markie: too loud, yuta kept tryinhg to kisss me and johnny keeps bullyibg me markie: so i left

You giggled at his poor attempts at coherent sentences, covering your mouth with your hand to avoid the potential teasing from your friends.

You've seen Mark drunk a couple times, mostly at Johnny's parties after finals week. He was a cute drunk, clinging onto your figure rambling on about things which you couldn't quite decipher, in turn making him an easy target for the playful teasing from his seniors.

Which now that you thought about it, explained the random notifications from Johnny and Yuta, the two culprits behind most if not all of Mark's misery.

you: mark, are you drunk?

markie: no, im repsinsible heh markie: you're still at lele's right?

As you started to type your response, a loud groan was made from the left of the couch, causing you to switch your attention from your phone screen to Donghyuck sitting cross legged on the timber floors with Renjun, who was holding the infamous vomit bucket in front of his mouth, disgust ridden over his face.

"How much did he have tonight?" Jisung asked, almost horrified by the older boy's pitiful state from across the room. His eyes quickly darted back to the array of party mix lollies and the lukewarm pizzas displayed on the dining table, as unidentifiable contents threatened to spill from Donghyuck's mouth.

"We've already lost count," Jaemin resonated from the kitchen, his voice slightly drowned out by the rushing water, "Lele's isn't doing much better either, he's currently occupying the toilet bowl instead of the bucket."

You shook your head, silently chuckling at your best friends' suffering.

you: i am you: lele and hyuck's drunk as fuck you: they're currently hurling their guts out you: one using the vomit bucket, one using the toilet bowl

markie: those idiots hahahah markie: btw could u come outisde for a sex markie: *sev markie: fuck markie: *sec

you: pfft and u said u weren't drunk you: also, ur outside?!?!?

markie: shut up im fine i djust cant type rn

you: lol whatever u say markie you: i'll be out in a sec

You sat up from the couch, quietly squeezing past the crowd formed around the unfortunate boy and up the stairs.

Slipping on Jaemin's drunkenly bought La Coste slides, you swung open the door. A shiver slivered up the small of your back as the cool breeze hit your bare arms, a contrast from the warm stuffy atmosphere from inside.

You spotted Mark standing by the gates of Chenle's house, the dim street light illuminating his facial features, making him look more ethereal than he already was. With a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you began making your way towards him.

The sound of gravel shuffling from underneath your feet caused Mark to whip his head around to face you, he was pretty certain that most of the alcohol in his system had disappeared on the walk from Johnny's house but why was it that as soon as he saw you happily skipping down the path, greeting him with the sweetest smile that made him feel so euphoric?

"I can't believe you came!" You exclaimed, bringing him into a warm embrace.

His reply came in the form of a shy laugh, tickling the back of your neck with his breath.

He held you in his arms for a few minutes, with only the occasional squawks from inside breaking the comforting silence.

"Can you believe it's already the new year?" You whispered in awe, pulling away from his body to face him.

"Yeah dude that's insane, it feels like this year went by so quickly," Mark replied, adding his favourite form of endearment to the start, "Do you think you're ready for it to be over?"

You pondered for a few seconds, reflecting back on all the events that occurred within the past year before shrugging your shoulders, "I'm not sure."

"Don't get me wrong, this years been great but I feel like due to school, work and whatever, I wasn't able to fulfil all the things I wanted to do."

Mark nodded his head at your words, resonating with every word.

You always seemed to have the right things to say to him, always so understanding about his hectic schedule but never failing to let him know that he was missed whenever he couldn't make his friend's gatherings. It was things like this which caused the gradual course of his feelings for you.

For a while, Mark believed that he had made his crush on you subtle, not overly flirting or showering you in gifts in front of your friends. But one friendly reminder from Jaemin about his drunk habit of becoming a koala and latching onto you as if his life depended on it, broke his oblivious bubble. He quickly realised that many people had caught on, with some making it more obvious than others.

"I'm telling you, she likes you back bro!" He remembered Johnny exclaiming a few hours back with Yuta nodding enthusiastically as he half hazardously sipped on his beer.

Mark, Johnny and Yuta were situated in the secluded areas of the host's bedroom, with the party hammering hard downstairs. He wasn't too sure how he had ended up on his bed getting lectured by his two teammates about love pestering him to confess his feelings.

"C'mon, just text her saying to meet up," Yuta encouraged, handing him his phone to unlock, "You saw what happens when Johnny and I have our phones."

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the sheer panic he had felt when the older boys dialled your number on their phones a few moments back, threatening to spill his secret before he had lunged at their figures wrestling to press the red hang up button.

"You literally have the best excuse to kiss her tonight," Johnny huffed, flopping down on his bed with arms crossed, "It's New Year's Eve."

"No way dude," Mark flatly responded, slapping his phone against his forehead, "What if she doesn't like me?"

"As if a girl would ever reject you," Yuta snorted, nudging the sides of his arms with his elbow, "Now hurry up and text her you fool."

And here he was, standing in front of you in the middle of the gravel pathway, with his face flushed.

Though whether it was due to the alcohol or whether it was the thought of kissing you tonight, he wasn't too sure. But taking into account his palpitating heart in his chest as he waited anxiously for midnight, it seemed to lean towards the latter.

"Sorry for rambling on," You scratched the base of your neck, hoping you didn't talk his ear off.

Mark frantically waved his arms around, shaking his head.

A muffled shriek awfully similar to Chenle's interrupted your conversation, startling both you and Mark as you whipped your heads back to the house. It remained quiet for a few seconds before a range of shouts counting down from ten resonated shortly after.

You giggled, turning around to focus on Mark's smiling face once again as the both of you joined in.

"Three," Mark cleared his throat, wiping his clammy hands on the sides of his ripped jeans.

"Two," He grabbed onto your hand, taking in your sweet smile and the way you reciprocated his touch, clasping your fingers around his, your rings clinking with his.

"One, Happy New Ye-"

The moment his lips hit yours, it had felt like all the daze of the alcohol was wearing off. Regaining consciousness of the way his lips perfectly moulded against yours and how he slipped his tongue into your mouth, tasting the watermelon lollipop you loved so much. Gripping onto your waist and tugging you closer, his heart began to mirror fireworks, matching the way the real ones sparks crackled and thundered in the background.

Pulling away from your touch, the confidence he had going in had simmered down as he gingerly met your eyes once again.

"What was that about?" You whispered, your eyes carrying a sense of wonder.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that without your permission, but you just looked so beautiful and I've had a crush on you for god knows how long and I just couldn't help it. God what am I saying, you can slap me if you want-"

You cut him off by pressing your lips against his once again, jerking him forward by his hoodie strings.

"You kissed me," Mark's eyes widened, awestruck by the sudden gesture.

"I did." You replied, fidgeting with the hems of your shirt as you added, "You said that you liked me."

"I did," Mark confirmed with a shy smile, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Does that mean you like me too?"

You could feel your cheek heat up as you dipped your head in response, making him beam at the small motion as he brought you into his arms, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck.

"Happy New Year Y/N," Mark kissed your forehead, his hands resting on the top of your shoulders as he gazed into your eyes adoringly.

"Happy New Year Mark.”

permanent taglist: @polarisjisung @wooyoung-a @w3bqrl @xxxx-23nct @maeumiluv @produmads @shwizhies

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colorthecosmos444 · 2 months

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My Cherie Amour

by cece & lele ★

Sweet Like Cherries Part Two

Summary: Matt and Reader didn't intend on having a first date yet, but little do they know Nick and Chris have something special planned for them. Afterall, they are Matt's best wingmen.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2501

A/N: this is co-written by the amazing @vanteguccir !!!! please go give her account some love and read her work. lele thanks for being my best friend. 💗

☾ ★☀ ☾ ★☀ ☾ ★☾ ★☀ ☾ ★☀ ☾ ★☾ ★☀ ☾ ★

Matt’s lips devour mine as we sit in the parking lot of the local grocery store. We were able to go inside and get whatever Chris needed, but as soon as we bought the items and got back to the car, we both completely forgot our given task of returning home. Hands roaming each other, our breaths hot and heavy, I am completely lost in his touch. Time has melted away and my brain is on fire, thinking about the way Matt’s lips move against mine so tenderly. His hand holding the back of my neck, his playlist softly filling the car with the sound of Mac Miller’s voice.

A moan escapes from my throat, diving into the kiss. Matt´s lips form a smirk against mine before moving a bit more aggressively, his fingers tugging my hair and his broad shoulders leaning over me as he pushes me against my seat.

I pull away, gasping for air and clinging to the collar of his shirt. “Matt,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath, “we should probably get going before this milk gets spoiled.” He rests his head against my forehead, looking into my eyes.

“I really don’t want to, though,” he mutters, pecking my lips again before sighing and buckling himself back in and starting the car. “We should get back, otherwise Nick and Chris are gonna give me hell.” I giggle at his frustration, buckling myself in and reaching over to hold Matt’s hand as he drives us back to his house.

—----------------

Back at home, Nick and Chris stood in the kitchen, surveying the array of ingredients spread out on the counter. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clatter of utensils were the only sounds breaking the silence. Chris adjusted his apron, emblazoned with the pathetic phrase “Kiss the Cook,” while Nick fiddled with the stove knobs, trying to remember which burner was which.

“Alright, Chef Boyardee.” Chris started, raising an eyebrow at Nick. “What’s the game plan?”

Nick glanced at the recipe book open on the counter, scratching his head.

“Well, it looks like we’re making pasta, salad, garlic bread, and we can use the Maraschino Cherry cake for dessert. Should be easy enough, right?”

Chris laughed, shaking his head.

“Easy, he says. We can barely boil water without setting off the smoke alarm. Why are we doing all of this again?”

“Details, details.” Nick muttered, flipping the recipe book to the first page. “We are supposed too be Matt’s wingmen, and we told him that we’d help him out. Let's give them a nice romantic evening. We can start with the pasta. How hard can it be to boil some water and throw in some noodles?”

As Nick filled a large pot with water and set it on the stove, Chris rummaged through the pantry, pulling out a bag of pasta.

“What about the sauce? We need to make that from scratch, right?”

Nick glanced at the recipe, his index finger sliding on the crisp page momentarily, nodding seconds after.

“Yeah, looks like it. We need tomatoes, garlic, onions, and some spices. You start chopping the veggies, and I’ll get the water boiling.”

Chris grabbed a cutting board and a knife, starting with the onions.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if we actually knew what we were doing.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s for Matt and Y/N. They deserve a special night.” Nick smirked, stirring the pot of water.

Chris rolled his eyes, his cornea burning and taking on a red hue, tears starting to pool from the onions, a hiss escaping through his gritted teeth.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let the water boil over while you’re daydreaming about being a master chef.” As Chris continued chopping, Nick added the pasta to the boiling water, giving it a stir.

“I’m not daydreaming. I’m focusing.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Chris retorted, tossing the chopped onions and garlic into a pan with a splash of olive oil. The kitchen filled with the fragrant aroma of sautéing vegetables, making their stomachs rumble.

Nick grabbed the tomatoes, quickly chopping them up and adding them to the pan.

“How’s it looking, Chef?” His tone was a mix of formality and bitterness.

Chris stirred the mixture, nodding approvingly.

“Not bad. Let’s add some spices and let it simmer.”

As the sauce bubbled away, Nick turned his attention to the garlic bread. He sliced a loaf of French bread in half, slathering it with butter and a generous amount of minced garlic.

“Think we can handle putting this in the oven without burning it?”

Chris smirked, grabbing the tray of bread.

“Only one way to find out.” He slid the tray into the oven, staring at the buttons above it before finally setting a timer. “Now, what about the salad?”

“Lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes…what else?” Nick rummaged through the fridge, pulling out a variety of fresh vegetables.

Chris looked around, his hands resting on his hips, thinking

“Maybe some carrots and a bit of cheese?”

“Sounds good. Can’t believe we even have all this in the fridge.” Nick uttered, washing the vegetables and setting them on the counter. They worked together, slicing and dicing, occasionally bickering over the best way to cut a cucumber or how thin the carrot slices should be.

As they finished the salad, the timer for the garlic bread went off. Chris carefully pulled the tray from the oven, the golden-brown bread filling the kitchen with a mouthwatering aroma.

“I think we actually did it.” He said, a note of surprise in his voice, his blue eyes widened.

Nick peeked at the pasta sauce, giving it a final stir.

“Don’t jinx it. We still have to bake the cake.”

Chris groaned, glancing at the clock.

“Right. Dessert. How hard can it be?”

They turned their attention to the cake, grabbing the decadent batter that they made earlier. Despite their lack of culinary expertise, they managed to get the cake into the oven without too much trouble.

As the cake baked, Nick and Chris tidied up the kitchen, occasionally sneaking tastes of the pasta sauce and garlic bread.

“You know.” Nick said, leaning against the counter. “We might just pull this off.”

“Yeah, it’s not half bad. And it’s for a good cause.” Chris nodded, a satisfied smile on his face.

Nick grinned, glancing at the clock.

“We should get everything set up. They’ll be home soon.”

Together, they arranged the table, lighting the candles and placing the bouquet of flowers Chris had ordered from doordash in the center. The pasta was plated, the salad placed in a large bowl, and the garlic bread arranged neatly on a serving tray. As they finished, the timer for the cake went off, and Chris pulled it from the oven, the sweet scent of cherries filling the room.

They iced the cake, their movements careful and messy, but turning it pretty either way. They topped it off with a couple cherries, completing their duties. Once everything was ready, they stepped back, admiring their efforts.

“I think we did good.” Nick said, a note of pride in his voice. “We should become chefs someday.”

Chris laughed nasally, nodding and clapping his brother on the back before crossing his arms.

“Yeah, we did. Now, let’s hope they love it.”

Just as they finished, they heard the front door open, and Matt and Y/N’s voices filled the house. Nick and Chris exchanged a grin, ready to surprise their brother and his girlfriend with the romantic dinner they had worked so hard to create.

—------------

As we arrive back home, Matt parks the car and turns to me, smiling his big goofy smile that makes me swoon. He leans in and kisses me a few times before grabbing the plastic bag of groceries from the back seat.

Matt’s smile is infectious as he steps out of the car, grocery bag in hand. I follow him to the front door, our fingers brushing together, sending little sparks of excitement through me. He unlocked the door, being careful to not drop his keychain on the ground, before pushing the door open.

We start our steps on the short stairs towards the living room and kitchen. As soon as I step into the room, I immediately sense something different.

“Why are the lights dimmed?” I ask, squinting slightly in the low light, the soft glow casting mysterious shadows across the walls.

Matt glances around, a look of genuine surprise and confusion crossing his face.

“I have no idea. Nick? Chris? You guys home?” He calls out, his voice echoing through the seemingly empty house.

We walk further into the house, the familiar tap of our feet against the cold floor echoing through the walls, guiding us toward the kitchen. As we round the corner, I gasp, my breath catching in my throat. The kitchen table is set up beautifully, with elegant tapered candles flickering softly, casting a warm, romantic glow around the room. A bouquet of fresh flowers sits in the center, their delicate petals adding a splash of color to the intimate setting. The aroma of a delicious meal wafts through the air, tantalizing my senses.

“Surprise!” Nick and Chris appear from the small hall that leads to Matt´s bedroom, grinning widely, their faces lit up with excitement. Their loud screams make me jump slightly, moving closer to Matt automatically.

“Guys, what is this?” Matt asks, clearly stunned, his eyes wide with amazement and hesitancy.

Chris steps forward, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses, his movements graceful and deliberate.

“We thought you two could use a special night. You know, a little romance.” He winks at me, his playful expression making me smile, shaking my head in disbelief.

Nick claps Matt on the back, a brotherly gesture filled with affection.

“We’ve got everything under control. Dinner is ready, and we’ll be your servers for the evening.”

I glance at Matt, his eyes shining with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know?” He says, his voice soft and sincere, a breathy laugh escaping his half-opened mouth.

Nick shrugs, smiling warmly.

“We wanted to. You two deserve it.”

Chris motions for us to sit at the table, pulling out a chair with a flourish.

“Please, have a seat. Dinner will be served shortly.” He raises his face with a snobbish expression, embodying a real waiter.

Matt, ever the gentleman, pulls out my chair, gesturing for me to sit before he takes his place across from me. The candlelight flickers, casting a soft, golden glow over his features, highlighting the warmth in his eyes. He reaches across the table, taking my hand in his, his touch sending a wave of comfort through me.

“This is incredible.” I whisper, squeezing his hand gently. “I can’t believe they did this.”

Matt’s eyes soften, a look of pure affection in them.

“Me neither. But I’m glad they did.”

Chris and Nick move around the kitchen with practiced ease, serving us a sumptuous meal of perfectly cooked pasta, golden garlic bread, and a fresh, crisp salad. They work seamlessly together, their movements synchronized as they make us feel like royalty. We laugh and talk, the atmosphere filled with love and warmth, each moment more precious than the last.

As we finish our meal, Nick brings out the mouthwatering maraschino cherry cake for dessert, his eyes twinkling with pride.

“Hope you saved room for this.” He says with a grin, setting the cake down in front of us.

Matt and I share a piece, feeding each other bites with playful tenderness, giggling like kids.

“I think we did a pretty damn good job, even though you were blind,” Matt chuckles, indulging in another bite of the delicious dessert.

“That’s only because I had the best helper,” I flirt, winking at him and letting out a soft giggle.

The evening feels magical, every moment perfect, as if we’ve stepped into a fairy tale.

When dinner is over, Chris and Nick clear the table with a flourish, leaving us with the last of the wine. Matt leans back in his chair, his eyes locked onto mine, a smile playing on his lips that makes my heart skip a beat.

“Thank you for tonight.” I say softly to Nick and Chris, my voice filled with gratitude and a hint of awe at the magical evening we’ve had. “This has been amazing.”

“No need to thank us, it was our pleasure,” Nick insists.

Chris walks over to the tv in the living room and sets up his music.

“I’m going to get this party started for you,” he teases, playing a slow romantic song from a premade playlist on Spotify.

Nick and Chris smirk at us and wander upstairs, leaving us alone in the dimly lit room.

“You want to dance, beautiful?” Matt asks.

I feel a warm blush creep up my cheeks, his words enveloping me like a gentle embrace. There’s a sincerity in his tone that touches the deepest parts of my heart.

“I love you, Matt.” I whisper, the words carrying all the depth of my feelings for him.

He stands, moving around the table with a purposeful grace. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring every step that brings him closer to me. When he reaches my side, he pulls me up into his arms, the warmth of his body comforting and familiar.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He whispers, his voice filled with emotion, resonating with a quiet intensity that sends shivers down my spine. He presses a gentle kiss to my lips, the touch soft and tender, yet powerful in its simplicity.

We stand there, wrapped up in each other, the flickering candlelight casting a warm, intimate glow around us. The soft glow highlights the contours of Matt’s face, the shadows dancing playfully across his features. It feels as though the world outside has faded away, leaving just the two of us, swaying to the rhythm of the love song, lost in the magic of the moment.

The room is filled with a serene silence, apart from the voice of Stevie Wonder dancing in the air. It’s the kind that speaks volumes without uttering a single word. The scents of the evening mingle with the faint hint of wine, creating a sensory tapestry that is both soothing and intoxicating. Matt’s arms around me are a safe haven, a place where I feel completely at ease and utterly cherished.

With a soft sigh, I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It’s a sound that brings me peace, a reminder of the deep bond we share. Years of friendship now blossoming into a deep passionate love story. Matt’s fingers gently stroke my hair, his touch light and reassuring. In his arms, I feel completely and utterly loved, as if nothing in the world could ever harm me.

☾ ★☀ ☾ ★☀ ☾ ★☾ ★☀ ☾ ★☀ ☾ ★☾ ★☀ ☾ ★

tag list: @aurora-merritt @spideylovin @watercolorskyy @esioleren @luvbotsblog @bernardsbendystraws @lovekaiya @pouring-rains @1800-love-me @flouvela @fratbrochrisgf @demzzz @vanteguccir

𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 <3

𝔫𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔤𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

love you all to the stars, cece ★

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galacticseonghwa · 3 months

Text

it's a shame, truly - Zhong Chenle

INCLUDES: dom!chenle x fem!reader, smut heavy, choking, oral (m receiving), consensual filming, jealous chenle, swearing, dreamies featuring especially jisung. wc: tbc a/n: MINORS DNI !! someone wanted me to re-write this fic for chenle but i can’t find the ask for the life of me😭, this had 0 plot when i first wrote it so i changed a couple of things, throughout. posting a draft for the time being because ive injured my wrist just as i was about to finish chapter two of jeno and yang yangs fics😭

"you look beautiful, truly." jisung whispers in a deep voice, his hands on my shoulders as i smile at him awkwardly.

"thank you jisung" i laugh and shrug off his hands gently. my eyes leave the taller blonde male before me to find the burning eyes of my black-haired boyfriend.

his jaw twitches as he sees jisung try to hold my shoulders again. although everyone in my friend group knew chenle and i were together, that didn't seem to stop jisung from trying to make advances at me.

at first i thought it was cute but then it started getting awkward after he thought i was reciprocating the same feelings as him, even with the countless times either myself, chenle or even mark has told him otherwise.

chenle absolutely hated the idea of bringing me anywhere near the younger male, but it was times like this he didn't have a choice.

all three of you were invited to haechan's birthday party, at a dimly lit club haechan and jeno had found a few weeks back.

chenle places his left forefinger over his lips and raises his eyebrows with eyes still burning daggers into jisung, his right hand resting on his legs that were spread.

"i'm really sorry, jisung but chenle is calling for me. enjoy the rest of your night." i smile softly and make my way from jisung and towards chenle, who sat at a table with his legs spread and his left arm resting on the table while his right arm rested on top of his right thigh.

i stand in front of chenle, whose eyes slowly trail up my figure before landing on my face. "lele" i pout, gripping his hands softly.

chenle hums and grips my hips in his hands and pulls my body towards his. i smile and lean down to press my lips against his.

his hands move to rest on my ass, while he swipes his tongue over my bottom lip. just to tease him i deny him the entry.

chenle pulls away and stands up, his right hand almost instantly wrapping around my throat and applying the slightest pressure.

"be a good girl for me, hmm?" he speaks lowly and presses his lips to mine again. this time i don't deny him as he swipes my bottom lip again.

chenle smirks into the kiss as i open my mouth for him. a muffled moan escapes my throat as chenle applies more pressure to my throat.

chenle pulls away and quickly pulls me with him back to his car which was parked not too far from the club.

he grabs his keys and unlocks the car. "get in the back." he demands as he opens the door for me.

chenle follows me in and locks the car as he settles himself in the middle of the back.

"on your knees." he points to the floor in front of him. i obey immediately and settle myself between his legs.

chenle unzips his tight black jeans and frees himself from his boxers, his length slapping against his stomach.

before i can react chenle holds his phone in front of me. i nod and let him record. the flash invades my vision, leaving me momentarily blinded, but i blink a couple of times to readjust.

my mouth waters at the sight. "c'mon princess, you know what to do yeah?" chenle urges as he pumps himself slowly.

i move forward and open my mouth just as chenle places his hand in my hair and pushes himself into my mouth.

i hallow my cheeks and flatten my tongue against the bottom of his cock and look up to see his eye closed and his eyebrows furrowed.

groans escape his beautiful lips as he continues to thrust his hips at his own pace.

"fuck baby, that mouth of yours is made just for me." chenle moans.

after a few minutes, i feel him twitch in my mouth, i pull away from him and take his tip back in my mouth and suck while using my hand to pump his base.

"fuck, yeah, just like that baby!" chenle's voice is deep with pleasure.

chenle soon coats the back of my throat with his release, i swallow and pull away from him with a pop and stare up at him.

chenle moves the phone right in front of my face. he reaches forward and uses his thumb to wipe my bottom lip and places it in my mouth.

"my good girl." chenle cooes and stops recording. he quickly puts his pants on properly and pulls me into his lap.

chenle places his left hand on the back of my neck and brings me in for a gentle kiss.

after he pulls away he leaves a lingering kiss on my forehead before grabbing his phone and opening his messages.

"let's see if he'll leave you alone after this." chenle grumbles annoyed at the thought of jisung and begins typing away.

after pressing send chenle turned his phone to show me just exactly what he was doing. a laugh escapes my lips as the 'read at 1:27 am' come up.

Ji Sung

chenle: *sent a video attachment* chenle: it's a shame you'll never get to see her like this. truly.

TAGLIST: @sinisxtea @wonwootakemyheart

request to be in my taglist here

#galacticseonghwa #nct dream #nct #nctzen #zhong chenle #chenle zhong #chenle #nct chenle #chenle fic #chenle smut #i need chenle so bad #he’s literally so fine #he's not a want but a need

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renjunplanet · 1 year

Text

/ menininho mau... zhong chenle

notas: chenle badboy de motão x reader. chenle ciumento (pq tem que ter), menção ao jijico, palavras de baixo calão, uso do apelido docinho, um sugestivozinho e uma tensão sexual da braba. ta curtinho e eu nao sei oq aconteceu aqui

— Ah, que bonito, Docinho. — um sorriso de escárnio surge no rosto bonito — Seu namoradinho sabe que cê tá aqui comigo? Ou você pretende aprontar mais uma com o pobre coitado? Acho que o chifrezinho dele deve tá pesando até demais... — diz, com a expressão pingando a sarcasmo e os braços apoiados um em cada lado de seu corpo; a pose exalando autoridade e intimidação.

Encostada no banco da motocicleta cara — apoiando os pulsos e os quadris no banco de couro, com os olhos pidões e um sorriso debochado desenhado no rosto —, olhava para ele fingindo inocência, fingindo ser uma presa fácil para o pseudo predador a sua frente.

— Ah, Lele... — ri — Quantas vezes vou ter que te explicar que eu e Park Jisung não temos nada? Pensei já ter deixado isso bem claro pra você. — tomba a cabeça para o lado, olhando firme nos olhos afiados do Zhong.

Ele bufa, revirando os olhos e aproximando ainda mais o rosto perto do seu. Quem visse de longe interpretaria como uma cena típica de casal prestes a se beijar, mas as coisas eram um pouquinho mais complicadas que isso.

— Não tem nada? Vocês dois? Então por que seu amado Jiji vive falando pra todos que você é dele, uh? — ele guia o rosto agora para perto de seu ouvido — Pelo visto aquele moleque pensa que você tem dono...

Uma das mãos grandes pousam sobre sua cintura, os dedos apertam com força a carne, com precisão ele te deixa colada no corpo grande.

Zhong te deixa encaixada nele, como numa armadilha.

Chenle te impede de escapar dele.

E você adora isso.

— Lele... — sua voz sai fraca.

Fecha os olhos com força ao sentir os lábios carnudinhos do rapaz tocando a pele de seu pescoço. Voraz, um animal selvagem, deixando marcas em lugares evidentes para realmente mostrar a quem você pertencia.

— Será que ele sabe, hm? — pergunta num sussurro — Será que ele sabe quem realmente te satisfaz, quem realmente te faz tremer por dentro? — a mão dele desce, desenhando suas curvas e pairando sobre sua coxa desnuda; sente mais uma vez o aperto forte que antes recebera.

"Será que ele tem ideia de como a menininha dele na verdade é minha?"

Ele beija seu queixo.

"Que ela me procura pra realizar as fantasias sujas dela?"

Beija sua bochecha rosada pelo álcool.

"Que ela me procura pra foder ela em cima da minha moto, enquanto o ficantezinho dela tá ocupado competindo?"

Sente os dedos bonitos segurar seu rosto, os lábios bem traçados roçando contra os seus.

O hálito de menta quente se misturando com o vento geladinho da noite.

— Menina má... — ele ajeita a postura, ficando mais alto; te fitando de cima, julgando — Ah, Doce. Se aquele canalha tivesse a noção de que na verdade você me pertence, certeza que ele não sairia por aí bostejando asneiras.

Sua vez de sorrir de escárnio.

— Eu sou sua, Lele? — pergunta burrinha.

— Sim, Doce. Você é.

Você bufa, gargalha fraco.

— Você é tão canalha quanto Jisung, Zhong. — o desafia — Anda com qualquer rabo de saia que vê pela frente. Fode com qualquer uma...

Ele afrouxa a mão que te segura no rosto, indignado.

— E quando eu faço o mesmo eu sou uma menina má? Ha! Que piada. — aproveita para afastá-lo de si — Não esqueça, Chenle. Que quem não quis compromisso foi você, quem não quis um relacionamento foi você.

"Não se esqueça que eu sou tão livre quanto você, Zhong Chenle. E com quem eu fodo ou deixo de foder não tem nada a ver contigo, já que não temos nada sério um com o outro."

— Então você admite que dormiu com o Park? — a expressão de desgosto dele aumenta ainda mais ao te ver se afastando do veículo e ficando em pé de frente para ele.

— Foi só uns beijinhos aqui e ali... — diz sapeca, brincando com os fios de cabelo — Mas acho que vou realizar um sonho dele hoje...

"Já que você foi um menininho muito mau comigo hoje, Lele..."

#chenle #zhong chenle #planeta produções #nct #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream #imagine chenle #nct pt br #chenle x reader #chenle x you #chenle x voce #chenle x leitora #jisung #park jisung #nct dream imagines

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ggukkiedae · 6 months

Text

Rough and tough we play hard | DREAM 8lace | EP.1

Click Below to See the Video

(italic dialogues are spoken in english, bold dialogues are spoken in chinese. this is just a little something to celebrate dreamscape's release!)

while they’re walking up to the house, hannah and chenle have their arms linked together

they’re just watching everyone in amusement

inside the actual house, she sees haechan lying down on the couch

“stay still”

she plops herself down, head on his stomach and feet over the arm of the couch

he grunts at the impact then starts laughing

“stop laughing! my head is shaking”

he laughs harder before telling the other members to move away from the window

they both get up to look at the view with the others

she laughs when they point out the sound team and cleans up the toys they were playing with

“GUYS COME HERE” “GEGE CALM DOWN”

chenle laughed the hardest at that

while everyone gets on the tub, she waits then decides to stand in the back next to haechan who she asks a question to

“why are we doing this?” “we listen to renjun”

when they gather to discuss the survival game, she crosses her arms and looks at everyone

“so do i get to play? or does this count as part of taeyong oppa and hyuck’s “no violent games for hannah” list?”

jaemin throws an arm around her shoulders

“no physical contact, so you’re playing” “damn”

haechan fixes the beanie on her head while helping her into the gear

she bounces slightly in place, moving to keep warm while the instructor tells them what to do and the boys ness around

once in, she hides behind one of the wooden boards and fixes her gloves before holding her gun

“i am not going grocery shopping”

she gets up and spots mark, shooting him from the back and hiding again

“wait…. hans! was that you?”

she stood up, shooting him continuously until he dies before he could kill her

“dude!” “every man for himself, mark!”

she actually moves forward

there a clips if her shooting renjun and jaemin before she hides again and sees chenle

“noona! noona, let's be allies?” “sure thing, chenle”

she and chenle go back out into the field and take down jeni and renjun again

she’s in the middle of running away from haechan when she realizes

“where’s jaemin?”

she looks ahead and sees jisung looking up in confusion, then sees jaemin shooting from near the rest area for spectators

she and haechan exchange looks for a moment then haechan shoots her, effectively killing her

she gave him an incredulous look before haechan laughed and ran away

there’s more clips of her shooting and being shot at before the instructor calls them over

when haechan doesn’t call her name, she grins, then he says those he called goes home

“are you kidding me, hyuck?” “haeeun-ah, i trust you”

she sighs and loops her arm through chenle’s in solidarity

in the car, she’s the one in the driver’s seat

when mark asked why he chose the three in last place to go home, she scoffed

“hyuck was being petty for variety because of our cheering” “what?”

she left it for chenle to explain as she buckled her seatbelt

when mark turned the camera to chenle in his frustration, it caught her smiling fondly at the younger boy and gently brushing his cheek

she started the car

“you three talk amongst yourselves, don’t distract me while i drive”

jeno opened a vitamin drink and passed it to her before she pulled out of the parking lot

“wait, hannah, what are you cooking today?” “i can make hotteok for us to snack on, but is there anything you guys want as a meal?” “how about a soup?” “hmm… does yukgaejang sound good?” “sounds great” “good, now don’t distract me!”

she pulls out of the parking lot while the other three continue debating what else to cook

when they arrived at the store, chenle walked over to her side of the car and opened the door for her

she looked at chenle attentively while he talked about his sunglasses

“lele, i told you not to wear your sunglasses at night, didn’t i?” “they’re a necessity, noona”

then it fades out and shows clips of the next episode

taglist: @1-800-enhypennabi @strwberrydinosaur @sunflower-0180 @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @world-full-of-roses @stopeatread @allthings-fandoms

drop an ask or a dm if you wanna be added or taken out of the taglist 🥰 requests are also open!

#hannah.8lace3 #hannah.dreamscape #hannah #lee hannah #nct dream 8th member #nct female member #nct dream female member #nct female addition #nct dream female addition

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ghostoffuturespast · 1 year

Text

Lele Park

#cyberpunk 2077 #virtual photography #environmental shots #night city streets #lele park #charter hill #console shots

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8myass · 7 months

Text

.. all your fault .. pairing. park jisung x female reader genre. angst pov. second person (you, yours, yourself, etc.) (‘y/n’ usage) synopsis. jisung simply wants you to love him. wc. 0.5k cw. yandere!jisung tw. pocket knife, threatening, mentions choking, cursing, mentions death of side characters, gaslighting, pining, victim blaming, delusional ji, pet name (‘darling’), cutting, slapping, name calling (‘bitch’), degradation, blood

“Why can’t you just love me?!” he screamed, forcing the blade of the pocket knife he had in his grip against your already sore throat. He had his hands around your throat just a bit before this incident. You were panicking, sobbing incoherent pleas for him to let you go. You weren’t getting through to him; this was his decision, and it looked like you weren’t going anywhere because of that.

“I-I just want you to love me!” he exclaimed, throwing the knife across the room as his voice echoed through the thin, blood-splattered and dirtied walls of his once peaceful bedroom. You flinched at the sound of the metal of the knife puncturing a hole in the wall, paint flying off in thick shards.

“Is that so fucking hard to ask of you, bitch?!” he yelled, bringing the palm of his hand roughly against your cheek. You wailed out as you fell to the ground, cupping your flushed red cheek with your own hand, bruised knuckles on display for him.

“Yes,” you spat, completely hating everything he was in this instant, “It is way too hard to love a monster like you.”

With your words, he lowly chuckled, bending down to grab a fistful of your hair, jerking your face toward him so he could hiss, “You’re calling me a monster? You know what’s monstrous? The fact you have seen me pine over you for years and you just fucking led me on, not knowing the things it did to me. You broke my heart, you broke me, Y/n. It’s all your fault that you're here in this position right now, it’s all your fault that those people are dead. You killed them with your incessant need to keep me wrapped around your dirty little fingers.”

“Fuck you,” you growled, punching at his chest as a means to get him to let go of you.

He laughed again, shoving you back down to the floor, standing up to scoff down at your form as you scrambled away from him, “You’re no longer anything like the woman I fell in love with. Why is it so hard for you to cooperate with me?”

“You’re fucking delusional,” you snapped, shaking your head as you buried your face into your exposed knees, bringing them up to your chest to cover the number of tears continuing to fall down your face. “I’ve never been so disgusted with someone in my life.”

“You’re so cute and funny,” he smiled, picking up the knife and tracing his finger along the sharpness of the blade, humming to himself as he took a few steps toward you, lowering his body until he was level with you. He placed his knife against the rough skin of your knee, pressing just enough for it to cut into the flesh, a cry coming from your pained form as you moved your head to lock eyes with him, blood trickling down your shin from your sliced open knee. “You will be even more fun to break, just as you broke me, I promise you, darling. We’ll have so much fun together.”

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hxseok-honee · 2 years

Text

control [1] || trouble - stripped.

control [chapter 1] || demon king ! yoongi written au

masterlist || playlist

[but i've got my mind made up this time // 'cause there's a menace in my bed // can you see his silhouette?]

a/n: welcome to chapter 1 of this 9-part series!! there’s a LOT of worldbuilding here so please feel free to ask any questions you want after reading!! ill try to clarify anything that isn’t too much of a spoiler!

i will try to post part 2 as soon as it’s done, but this chapter was 20 pages long, and i simply don’t write that fast, so please be patient! additionally, please feel free to check out the playlist - the chapters are aligned with the songs they’re named after and would make good mood setters if you’re someone who likes that reading experience.

a note to minors: this series will contain smut and sexual themes, so please do not interact with this series! thank you!

taglist [open!]:

@deepseavibez @thetrueghostqueen @reddeathraven @sopebubbles-replies @skyrro @unadulteratedlyunique @ramyagovindraj @itismochirice @wwhseokjin @drpepperobsessed @thekookiecorner @army-moa75 @burningupp @lele-bb @pb-n-juju @heonsbebe @peachyyoongs @superloverpielamp @marifujioka @butterflylion @heyitsgigi @lochness-butmakeitsexy @miki-chi @cahowlkook @worshiphoseok @lilacdreams-00 @miriamxsworld @oasiswithmyg @peonyplace @taeshuworld @instantspot @x-xjaeminx-x @luvtaeha @knjsagustd @speedyengineerhologram @wrmnssoul @jaiuneamesolitaiire @loveyoongles @siredsong @jooniesbanoonies @supahumbreon @goodnight-n-go-home @robsdrope @apolloxxivmin @tarahardcore @slayergroupie0128 @tutnotmytea @aestheticsluut @annie0568 @cosmicdaylight

___________________________

“This assembly of the Ruling Court is hereby now in session.”

Yoongi sighs deeply, running his fingers through his hair once and cracking his neck to ease the tension building in the back of his head. These meetings only happen four times a year - once per season - and somehow he feels like this might be the hardest part of his whole job.

His eyes skim over each of the kings seated here at the High Table with him, trying to gauge everyone’s moods from their body language. King Lee from the Western Dragonguard, already on his second cup of mead and clearly feeling it. King Park of the Northern Borderlands, shrouded in an air of suspicion, not that that’s anything of interest. With a nickname like the Paranoid Recluse, it’s a wonder the guy even bothers to show up to these meetings at all.

Yoongi’s amused by his own internal monologue, the ghost of a smile crossing his exhausted features. It catches the attention of the man seated directly across from him, Yoongi meeting the eyes of King Kim and finding a subtle grin on his own face. Much closer in age to Yoongi than any of these other crabby old men, Kim (of the Southern Gardens) had treated Yoongi as an equal from the moment he’d stepped into power. The respect is mutual, and Yoongi has felt on more than one occasion that he’s only safe in these gatherings due to the presence of this unspoken ally.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. The air around him twists with energy in response to the physical contact, his aura shifting protectively. Wisps of black smoke peek into his peripheral vision as they swarm him, assessing the situation and deciding he’s in no danger before sinking back into his skin comfortably.

He has no cause for worry - he knows there’s only one person in this room that would ever dare to lay a hand on him, King Kim included. As welcoming as Kim may be, Yoongi’s well aware that he’s the odd man out - the black smoke that surrounds him like a cape is only one of many markers of his bloodline.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes once, pulling Yoongi back again. At the imperceptible nod of his head, it slides off of him, but its owner lingers close, a helicopter parent in his own way.

Taehyung can be a bit overbearing at times, but not once since they’ve met has Yoongi made a decision with anything less than full confidence. It’s only because of this that he lets Tae drag him to these damned meetings every season - he knows his advisor would never let him get away with hiding away in his castle like he wants to.

“The first item on the agenda is the economic state of affairs in the Southern Gardens-”

Kim cuts off the small herald at the front of the room with a tired sigh.

“As I have insisted to the Court on numerous occasions, there is no need to question my ability to manage the Five Nations’ economic needs - I’ve only been King for ten damn years.”

Yoongi snorts under his breath - it seems being human isn’t enough to save Kim from the suspicions of the older kings. It doesn’t matter that he’s singlehandedly lifted the economic prosperity of the Five Nations to heights they’d never seen before he’d come into power. Apparently, just being under the age of 50 is reason enough to distrust him.

“Well, with all your partying and grand monetary gestures, it’s not unreasonable to ask how reasonable you can really be with all of our money.”

Yoongi bites back the sigh this time - King Jung wasn’t really in the habit of staying quiet for this long, so he’d hoped that maybe the man had found some kind of inner peace since the last meeting.

Apparently not.

Of all the bothersome men Yoongi is forced to break bread with, Jung is quite possibly the worst of all. And while he’s seen cruel men - while he’s known, far too well, what a cruel king looks like - Jung might just be the cruelest he’d ever encountered.

From the moment Yoongi had taken the throne of the Eastern Seascapes, the Nexus had aligned itself as a direct enemy. The central-most kingdom of the Five Nations, the Nexus had been ruled by Jung Yunho since Yoongi was a kid. And he’d never heard a kind thing said about the man in his whole life. With reason, of course.

A political ally, constantly straddling the line between civility and warfare. The Ruling Court requires each of the Five Nations to remain allies for the sake of their reliance on one another. Each nation thrives in its own way, providing for the entire land in exchange for shared peace and resources.

Naturally, the Eastern Seascapes had always been a wild card. Its borders consist of forest-lined danger, feral demons hiding in its darkness while they wait for unprepared prey to wander into the treeline. And, while the East’s history is filled with attempted conquerings, it had become clear over time that only a demon - a strong one - would be capable of ruling over that land and keeping the danger from invading the other nations. The Min family had stepped in to do the job, an unyielding powerhouse of demonic energy - just the solution the Five Nations had been looking for.

And now, almost 100 years later, Yoongi’s stuck in this god-damned meeting, in the god-damned Nexus.

“By ‘partying and grand monetary gestures’, did you mean my wedding, King Jung? The one that you so willingly attended and enjoyed to its full capacity? Was it in any way different from the countless balls and festivals you feel so inclined to host at a moment’s notice?” Kim’s glare cuts across the table as he speaks, daring Jung to challenge him.

Yoongi’s eyes catch the huff that Jung lets out, and he’s relatively satisfied with the way that Kim had put him in his place. Another reason to like the guy.

Jung snaps his fingers once, his servant squeaking and fumbling with the scroll in his hands.

“U-Uhm… Ah yes, onto the next item of the agenda! The annual military drafting procession and traveling party to the Eastern Seascapes. King Min, if you will…” The servant gestures weakly in Yoongi’s general direction, never meeting his eyes. Most people can’t.

Yoongi shifts in his seat, unsure what to say. He says the same thing every year - that’s why it’s called an annual military drafting. It happens every fucking year.

“His Majesty has made the appropriate preparations and has no significant updates for the Court. The draft will depart from the Nexus in two days’ time and arrive in the Eastern Seascapes in just under a week - there are 12 recruits this year, each of whom will remain in the East for the mandatory 2 years before either returning to their respective kingdoms or extending their service in the East for another term.”

The voice that rings out above Yoongi’s head is deep and even, likely surprising a few of the kings’ own servants. It’s not common to bring an advisor on these trips, so it’s a very foreign concept to the men in this room that Yoongi would have someone with him who’s also capable of speaking for him.

It doesn’t help that Taehyung’s entirely unwavering when he addresses the Court. He leaves no room for question when he speaks, which is a trait that Yoongi both respects and at times despises.

He’s feeling pretty grateful for it right now, especially when Jung only glares and snaps again at his servant. Time to move on to a new item of conversation.

“N-now then, onto discussing King Min’s marriage candidacy…”

Yoongi changes his mind - he’s not feeling grateful anymore.

“I beg your pardon?”

His own voice is foreign to him, low and raspy from underuse. He’s perfectly happy with letting Taehyung handle his affairs, but he just couldn’t contain his surprise, a dark eyebrow lifting in agreement.

The herald’s visibly sweating now, nervous about the tendrils of black that are starting to snake around under the High Table. His voice cracks with anxiety as he elaborates.

“I-it has come to the attention o-of the Court that His Majesty has yet to take a wife… There are concerns about His Majesty’s ruling capabilities given his inability to find a suitable partner for producing an heir-“

Yoongi’s stopped listening, his annoyance spiking as his eyes flick over to Jung. The man is wearing a smug grin as he leans his elbows forward on the table and addresses Yoongi.

“It’s been five years since you’ve taken the throne, young man. It’s time for you to do your kingly duties and find a woman who will give you an heir and solidify your family’s continued alliance with the Nations.”

Yoongi only stares, eyes cold as he calculates the situation. Calculates the threat lingering in the man’s words.

“His Majesty need not take a wife in order to reassure the Court of his alliance to the Nations. Additionally, the lifespan of a demon is generally longer than that of a healthy human, meaning His Majesty should be in no rush to produce an heir-“

“I wasn’t talking to you, peasant.”

Taehyung blinks at the interruption, unfazed by Jung’s attitude. It’s relatively tame, given his temper.

“The Court, and just about anyone with eyes, knows exactly what caused the… untimely passing of this brat’s father.” Jung gestures rudely at Yoongi, who has yet to relocate his glare anywhere else. The man snarls, leaning in again. Yoongi wonders if the table will crack under his weight.

“Or should I say… we know who caused the previous king’s death.”

When Yoongi doesn’t react to the obvious provocation, Jung sighs, throwing himself roughly back into his chair. He’s a man who prides himself on inciting anger and fear in others - Yoongi’s happy to deprive him of that satisfaction.

“We all know you killed your own father in cold blood, boy. We let you take your stolen power and contribute to the peace of these lands, but now it’s been years and we have no way of knowing if you’ll revolt or stay loyal to us. Either you take a wife and produce an heir, or we take your negligence as an act of war-“

“My Lord, if you would have some patience - there’s no need to jump to declarations of war. King Min has shown no malice to the Court or to the people of the Five Nations in any of his time at this High Table. If anything, he’s treated his subjects with much more kindness than his father had ever shown, and he has kept the peace by continuing the military draft and culling the rising dangers of the East.”

Yoongi’s got to admit, he’d never been openly defended by anyone other than Taehyung before. It’s shocking to see Kim jump so readily to his defense. But he can’t say he doesn’t appreciate it. He knows if he’d made these points himself, the other kings would only see him as self-preserving and desperate to argue.

“King Jung has a point here, though. King Min is far too young and too unpredictable to be trusted - how do we know he won’t go rogue?” Lee speaks up from behind his fourth cup of mead, Park nodding along suspiciously. Yoongi feels himself growing exhausted.

“His Majesty is perfectly capable of ruling the East without the interference of the Court - has he demonstrated in the past any evidence of anarchy-“

“I am tired of hearing your voice, you insolent child!“ Jung slams a heavy hand down on the table in rage when Taehyung speaks. Yoongi can feel that they are all startled, but powerful men in a politically charged meeting are nothing more than performers on a stage. None of them reveals an ounce of emotion, not even when the herald starts to cry softly in his own fear.

Jung jabs a fat finger in Taehyung’s direction, disgust written all over his face.

“The Kings at this table will not be addressed by a mere servant such as yourself. Your presence in this room is nothing more than decoration - do you see any of these other men interrupting this conversation?!”

Taehyung’s eyes flit around the room at the servants hovering behind each of their respective kings. No, none of them are speaking - but none of them hold the title he does.

“Answer me, boy.”

Taehyung’s gaze flies once more to Jung, and he’s unable to stop the satisfaction that fills his eyes when he speaks.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, but your instructions were not very clear - I thought you were tired of hearing my voice.”

Yoongi lets his eyes close, sighing softly. Taehyung’s always had an issue holding his tongue.

There’s a cup flying across the room at his snarky response, a sticky arc of mead making its way through the air and onto the table with an unsatisfying splat. Taehyung only leans slightly to the left, the cup soaring past his ear and clattering to the floor behind him.

“You will not talk back to me in my own kingdom! You’re nothing more than scum under my boot- show your king some respect!”

Taehyung watches the sole ruler of the Nexus throw a literal temper tantrum, disappointed but unsurprised. He’s considering making another comment, mostly because he’d always found it fun to taunt the cruelest king in the land, but he finds that he doesn’t have time to say anything at all.

There’s a wall of black smoke flying into his vision, circling the space in front of him viciously. He can’t even see Yoongi anymore, his king disappearing instantly under the swirling cloud.

The air in the room whips around the High Table angrily, knocking over bottles of mead and yanking dangerously at the sheer curtains blocking the windows. The heavy double door doors to the Meeting Room, which had previously sat open, are slammed shut without warning. The men in the room all jump, performances forgotten in the wake of the Demon King.

Yoongi’s body emerges from the swirling globe of darkness, back arched as vines of black aura - his aura - support his weight and set him down. He seems entirely detached from the actions his body takes, gaze clouded and unaware. But he’s always in control.

The moment his feet touch the ground, the whirlwind of chaos in the room is suspended - the air stills, wisps of darkness lingering in the space around him for just a moment - and then it all comes rushing toward him at once. His body absorbs all evidence that his aura had ever been there, seemingly unburdened by the mass of energy flooding into his very soul. All that’s left are eyes that glow a deep, blood red, power humming from within his skin as his gaze locks on the one who’s shown him the deepest form of disrespect today.

Jung can only stare, jaw slack and bottom lip trembling just slightly. The High Table had never seen this display of barely contained power.

Not even from Yoongi’s father.

“Last I checked, My Lord, Kim Taehyung was not registered as a citizen of the Nexus. You should be more careful with your words, and you should certainly take care not to overstep where you are not welcome.”

Yoongi leans forward, planting his hands gingerly on the table. His eyes pass over the rest of the kings, bloody gaze shaking them to their core. He sees Kim brace himself for the eye contact ahead of time, and thinks to himself that it’s really a shame that they could probably never be friends.

It’s fine. They were never the same anyway.

“The Court would do well not to interfere with my personal life in the future. My ability to rule my country and keep peace with the Five Nations is mine and mine alone. A wife will not change this, and an heir will come when I decide to produce one. Until that day comes, I won’t hear of this conversation again.”

He rises, turning his back and heading for the door, but not before pausing for one last comment, his eyes dark and black once more as they make contact one by one with each of the remaining four kings.

“The military draft was designed by the kings of Nations’ past with the purpose of training soldiers for combat by throwing them into the worst possible human condition. The fact that the soldiers who actually make it out of my training alive would be capable of defending each of your kingdoms against man and demon alike is knowledge that’s invaluable to you.”

He hones in now on Jung, the threat clear in his words.

“So I sincerely advise you to think hard before starting a war with me.”

–

“You just love risking your life for a little drama, don’t you?”

Y/n jumps, turning over her shoulder in the direction of the voice. She normally would have noticed him coming down the corridor - his footsteps feel like second nature to her now - but she’d been too invested in what’s going on in the Meeting Room, just around the corner.

“You missed so much! Where have you been?”

Hoseok sighs, shaking his head fondly at her.

“I was hoping you’d stay out of trouble, but obviously you still need my help with that.”

She smiles, waving him toward her and returning to her place in the corridor. There’s a tingling in her fingers and toes, like they’re starting to go numb. It’s a familiar feeling, one that also sits deep in her stomach. It’s the only telltale sign she has to know that her Gift is activated.

That, and the fact that when she turns back to Hoseok, she can tell he hasn’t moved toward her. He hadn’t seen her beckon him to her, which means he can’t see her at all. Her Gift must be getting stronger if he’s starting to struggle seeing more than her presence sometimes.

“You plan on standing in the middle of the corridor like that until the Ruling Court meeting is over?”

Hoseok starts at the mention of the seasonal gathering, moving toward her voice. When he bumps into her, he lowers himself to her height, peeking around the corner with her.

“You know I look really stupid like this, right? If we get caught, it’s going to look like I’m just sneaking around by myself when I don’t have to.”

Y/n snorts under her breath as she tries to refocus her hearing toward the open doors of the Meeting Room.

“That makes one of us.”

Hoseok winces, choosing to ignore the comment in favor of eavesdropping.

“…ssing King Min’s marriage candidacy-”

“I beg your pardon?”

Both Y/n and Hoseok gasp and lean forward, not unlike a couple of gossiping schoolgirls.

“They want the Demon King to get married?!” Y/n manages to remember to whisper in her excitement, Hoseok letting out a breath of disbelief.

“May the Gods pity whatever poor girl has to marry that guy.”

Y/n turns to Hoseok’s voice, interest piqued.

“I mean, is he hot?”

He shoots her an incredulous glance.

“The Court wants to force some random girl to marry the literal king of demons and produce an heir with him, and you want to know if he’s hot?”

There’s a moment of silence, one where Y/n doesn’t say a word, and Hoseok has his answer. He sighs, nodding.

“… I’d say he’s an 8. Probably a 9 if he’d just learn to smile.”

Y/n grins widely, pleased with his response.

“Then I’m sure he’ll have no problem… reproducing.” She snickers when Hoseok shoves her, a noise of disgust leaving him.

He’s about to make a comment about how crude she is, but there’s a heavy slam of a hand on wood and the voice of Jung Yunho flowing out into the hall.

“I am tired of hearing your voice, you insolent child!”

They both jump, all too familiar with their father’s temper. It fills them with equal amounts of anxiety, and all Hoseok can do is reach for his sister’s hand, squeezing hard when he finds it.

“I hope he’s not talking to the Demon King like that - that dude could probably rip Father apart if he wanted to.” Y/n pauses after saying that, letting the idea sink in. “Hm. Maybe that’s for the best.”

Hoseok snorts, shaking his head at her commentary.

“Oh, how I wish that was a joke.”

Y/n turns to Hoseok, asking the question that’s been on her mind for weeks now - months, if she’s honest.

“Are you still going to join the draft?”

He doesn’t respond, the sound of his breathing even as he considers her question. She continues, suddenly feeling more anxious than before.

“Once Father realizes you’ve left without telling him… You’ll never know peace in this castle when you return, Hobi-”

“You say that like I’ve ever known peace to begin with. That man’s wanted me dead since the moment we were born.” His voice is tense, like this has been sitting in his mind for as long as he can remember. “The only thing I’m worried about is you. I feel like I’m the only person keeping him from-”

“If he wants to kill me, he’ll have to find me first.” Y/n nudges him gently, hoping to make him laugh. “I’ve been told I’m good at hiding.”

A bark of laughter leaves him, and he’s quick to cover his mouth with a hand. The sound warms her heart. She’s not sure what she’s going to do without him. She would never tell him, but once he’s gone… She’s not really sure what will happen to her-

The double doors to the Meeting Room slam shut suddenly, the force of it so intense that a gust of wind is sent down both ends of the corridor. Y/n can’t help the scream that leaves her, the tingling feeling leaving her body as her control over her Gift comes crashing down, leaving her visible and vulnerable.

Hoseok’s quick to rip his cloak off his shoulders and throw it over her, acting fast despite feeling just as startled. The feeling of warm fabric covering her head and obscuring her face brings Y/n to the realization that Hoseok can see her again, and she’s fast to fix it.

Willing her body to hide her from the world, she feels those pins and needles poking at her fingertips, spreading quickly to the rest of her body and swirling calmly in her tummy. When Hoseok slides the cloak off of her, she knows she’s safe.

“You need to get better reaction control over that - if someone sees you-”

“I know what will happen if someone sees me, Hobi - You tell me every day.”

Hoseok flinches at the hissed response, forcing himself not to overthink it. She’s not upset with him, she’s upset with the situation and frustrated that she got flustered and let her Gift come down-

At least, that’s what he’s been telling himself to avoid the guilt that gnaws at him every night. It’s gotten him this far.

After a moment of deep breaths, Y/n reaches for Hoseok, curling her fingers around his sleeve when she finds it, her small tug full of apology. He feels strangely comforted by the knowledge that they both think about their situation more than they’d ever admit.

“Let’s just go see what’s going on - I can’t hear through those doors.”

Hoseok hums in agreement, letting her lead him around the corner and toward the Meeting Room.

The corridor unfolds in front of her in billowing clouds, wisps of architecture coming to her senses until she can make out where everything is. Her map of a space isn’t always correct, but she’s lived in and snuck around these halls long enough to generally know who or what might be in her path. There’s no one here but them.

Hoseok’s noticing the same. There would normally be guards stationed out here, but they must have reacted to something going on inside, because he can feel that the two men are standing just past the entryway.

He and Y/n stand at the doors, ears close to the wood in order to hear past it. There’s a muffled voice traveling through large keyhole, and Y/n crouches to press her ear to it.

“…ning alive would be capable of defending each of your kingdoms against man and demon alike is invaluable to you.”

Y/n waves a hand behind her until she catches Hoseok’s leg, never moving from her place. He grumbles at the contact.

“You don’t have to smack me, I can hear them, too.”

“…think hard before starting a war with me.”

Y/n gasps, smacking Hoseok’s leg several more times. He simply lets it happen.

“Father’s threatening to start a war! With the Demon King!”

For a moment, Hoseok wonders if they really both are 24 years old, or if maybe he’s actually the older brother. Unfortunately, all he can boast about is a few measly minutes of authority over her-

There’s a harsh tug in the back of his brain, one that pulls his attention into the room and zeroes in on two pairs of shoes heading quietly toward the door.

He hisses under his breath, reaching down and grabbing Y/n by the shoulders. She makes a noise of discontent, but he’s already yanking her to her feet and pushing her forward and away from the door. She stumbles over to the wall and shrinks into the shadows there.

“Someone’s coming-”

The doors are pulled open by each of the guards, just in time for Hoseok to spin around and step away from the wall, fully aware that he needs to look like he hasn’t been hovering outside this whole time.

Min Yoongi is stepping out of the room and heading down the corridor, shoulders tense as a hooded man follows behind, whispering quietly to him. Hoseok watches as the king only shakes his head once, muttering “Your mouth is going to get you killed one day-”

And then the cloaked man is glancing over his shoulder, alerted to the fact that they’re not alone. Hoseok has no idea how he could have been noticed when he hasn’t made a sound.

The man stops short, turning fully toward Hoseok and lowering his hood. Hoseok sees then that he’s faced with Kim Taehyung, the king’s Royal Advisor.

Somehow, he’d have preferred meeting the eyes of the Demon King himself.

“Prince Jung, what a lovely surprise.”

Taehyung bows low, lowering his gaze in respect. Yoongi turns at the realization that Tae’s no longer behind him, and he sees that Jung’s only son is standing before him - the heir to the Nexus.

Yoongi steps up just as Tae is lifting from his bow.

“Prince Jung. I believe we’ve only met in passing.”

Hoseok feels the king’s gaze pierce right to his soul, a strand of fear running deep down his spine. It’s not the same kind of anxiety he feels around his father, but the blood red rubies embedded in the Demon King’s crown are reminding him of his own mortality in ways his father never has.

He bends at the waist, setting a foot behind him and a hand on his chest as he bows deeply, years of training in royal manners kickstarting to get him through this conversation. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Y/n curtsying low as well, and he thinks briefly that maybe she doesn’t remember that she’s invisible.

But he would never say it to her - he would never take this moment of normalcy away from her. One where everyone knows who she is.

Princess Jung Y/n, the Second Heir to the Nexus.

“My Lord. It’s an honor to officially make your acquaintance.” Hoseok stands tall as he addresses the king, eyes nervous but unwavering from the shorter man. He refuses to crack, even with wisps of demon energy floating around the stone floor, searching for something - someone - to latch onto.

Yoongi’s impressed by the show of bravery.

“You’ll have to forgive me, my Lord-” Taehyung cuts easily through the tension, a charming smile tugging at his lips. His gaze is warm and light, running over the prince’s features kindly.

Hoseok has never felt more unsafe.

“- It seems I’ve put your father in a rather… sour mood. Hopefully, I haven’t ruined the day yet.”

Hoseok feels the smile stretch over his lips, polite but ingenuine.

“Oh, that yelling I heard on my way over? It’s of no concern, Sir Kim. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Friday morning.”

Taehyung’s left eyebrow quirks with interest, and Hoseok has to force himself to remain neutral. How the hell had this guy managed to pull a joke like that out of him?

Swallowing hard, Hoseok cuts his gaze back to the King, an otherwise silent observer of their interaction. But he finds that Yoongi’s not paying attention to their painfully awkward encounter.

His gaze is hardened with caution, eyes trained on a spot just over Hoseok’s shoulder.

It happens to be the same spot where Hoseok knows Y/n is standing, the warmth of her presence pressing into his back like a reminder of what he’d be leaving behind soon enough.

His heart thumps hard in his chest at the thought that Yoongi can see her, that lingering strand of fear tightening in a coil around his spine. He watches with growing horror as his own quickening pulse draws Yoongi’s attention back to him, the Demon King’s eyes flitting to the spot over Hoseok’s heart before moving up to meet his terrified gaze.

Yoongi’s expression evens out when he sees how he’s affecting the Crown Prince. He thought he’d seen a glimpse of something different about Jung Hoseok, something of interest. But he can see now that the prince is no different from anyone else.

Disappointing, to say the least.

“It was nice to officially meet you, Prince Jung. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other sometime in the future.” Yoongi doesn’t even bother with a goodbye, turning on his heel and starting back toward the room he and Taehyung had been assigned for their stay. He can hear his advisor making pleasantries before taking his own leave.

“What an honor to see you again, my Lord. The East looks forward to your arrival next week.”

Yoongi stops short at the end of the corridor, just as Taehyung’s quiet footsteps pick up their pace in his direction.

What the hell did he just say?

–

“Y/n, please promise me that you will stay out of trouble while I’m gone. Please.”

Y/n can feel her brother’s hands trembling against her skin as he grips her shoulders. She can’t tell if he’s more scared for her or for himself. She supposes it’s all the same.

“I promise, Hoseok. You won’t have to worry about me here, I swear it.” And she does, she does swear it. Because she doesn’t plan on staying here at all.

After eavesdropping on the council meeting two days ago, she’d been thinking quite hard about what she and her brother had discovered. That her father is threatening war if the Demon King doesn’t find a wife soon.

Maybe it’s not her best idea. But that’s exactly why she hasn’t said a word to Hoseok. He would have no qualms about tying her to the desk chair in her room if he knew what she was planning.

Hoseok breathes out a deep sigh, staring out the window in her room at the moon hanging low over them. There’s so much racing through his mind right now. How will his father react when he realizes Hoseok is gone? Will he send a troop for him, a public display of concern for his son? Or will it be a single assassin, the chance to finally dispose of his only son so tempting? Will he take it out on Y/n, like he’s done so often in the past? Should Hoseok even go anymore?

He has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. But if joining the draft is the best way to guarantee he’d even survive another two years, and that he’d return to the Nexus with the battle training to finally take down his father… How could he pass up the opportunity?

Hoseok’s eyes trace out his sister’s features once more, the thought that he’d never see her again plaguing every drop of hope in his body right now. He feels like he needs to burn her into his memory… just in case-

“Hobi…”

His attention snaps to her eyes, unseeing yet so aware of him. So aware of every thought that crosses his mind, every feeling that fills his blood.

“Do you trust me?”

Hoseok flinches at the question - of course he trusts her. She’s the only person in the whole world that he trusts. But she’s not really asking if he can confide in her.

She’s asking if he believes in her.

If he’s honest… he’s never given either of them the chance to find out the answer to that question. He’d spent his whole life at her side, keeping her safe. This is the first time they’d ever be apart.

He hates himself for sheltering her like that. Hates that he’d never let him himself just trust her.

Hates that this is all coming into the light now, when they’re about to say goodbye for the first time in their lives. When they might never see each other again.

So he draws up every ounce of courage that he has - even more than it had taken for him to pick up a pen and sign his life away on that stupid Draft form - and breathes as much of the truth as he can into his response. Because he’s never been able to lie to her, and he’s not about to start now.

“I trust you.”

–

Y/n listens to Hoseok’s fading footsteps, maps them onto the image that she’s created of the corridor in front of her room. In this secluded corner of the palace, there’s no concern that anyone would catch them together. No one had ever bothered to come near her room, save for the servant designated to bring her meals.

She can see in those quiet footsteps that Hoseok is sticking to the shadows, a fugitive in his own home. He’ll escape from the castle walls, just before 4am, and join the draft’s traveling party as it’s preparing to leave. And then he’ll be free.

She doesn’t blame him - she could never blame him. Not when he scolds her for slipping out of her room, against their father’s direct orders. Not when he has to pretend she doesn’t exist in front of others, even when she’s hovering invisibly at his side.

Not when he’d hesitated just a moment ago to tell her he trusted her, because they both know that he’d been trying to convince himself that he does.

They’d both been dealt the shittiest of hands in life, and they were both trying to make the best of it. If the best of it is the simple goal of staying alive despite their father’s every intention, then so be it. If Hoseok needed to flee his own kingdom by moonlight in order to give himself a chance at that goal, then so be it.

But she’d be damned if the next he hears of her is through raven-sent news of her untimely death. He’s going to be impossibly angry with her when he discovers her plan - he might never forgive her. But once their father realizes he’s missing - that he’s defected to the Draft - she’d be even more unsafe than she’d ever been. She’d been dead within the week.

That’s why she lets that familiar pins-and-needles feeling envelop her body, why she kicks her shoes off into her room and closes the door softly behind her, bare feet padding gently after her brother before she loses his footsteps. Why she stops short but never gives in to the guilt crushing her heart when Hoseok pauses just outside the castle walls and turns back, likely confused as to why he can still feel her presence all the way out here. Why she tightens her muscles and wills herself to fade from his radar, only releasing the breath caught in her throat when she hears him start up again, making his way into the forest and through the trees until he reaches the clearing not too far ahead.

She almost loses him at one point. She’d never been this far outside the walls, and she has no idea what the landscape around her should look like. She can only use his footsteps to guide her, the quiet pulses of his energy leaking into the earth and bouncing off of nearby trees, illuminating her path in a quickly fading record of her brother’s every move.

Then the treeline relents, and she’s soon surrounded by open nothingness. Hoseok’s footsteps bounce off of nothing here, swallowed by the grass and removing him from her senses faster than she’s ready for. It’s only the distant chatter and shifting in front of her that tells her she’s made it to the clearing.

There are men loading resources and bags into a wagon, if she’s making the bulky shape out in front of her correctly. The echoes of the voices in the air bounce off of the white, tarped carriage, enough that she’s able to make its structure out with a decent degree of accuracy.

Now to figure out where to hide for the journey to the East…

She loses Hoseok, his voice melting into others around him as he joins the party. She takes a hesitant step forward, hears the horse driver calling out to the group that they’d better settle into the wagon in the next few moments, or he’d leave them behind.

How is she supposed to go unnoticed in a wagon full of people?

Thinking quickly, she makes a wide arc around the wagon, ears ringing as she listens for any movement in her immediate area. She counts the sets of feet climbing into the carriage as she moves quietly to the front.

10… 11… 12… and the driver-

The man is approaching the open front of the wagon on the other side, so she scuttles toward the passenger seat, satisfied that the drafted men are all seated in the back. She can even hear some of them awkwardly addressing her brother, can hear Hoseok laughing uncomfortably as he tells them to just treat him like any other man, that they’ll be together for 2 years and he has no interest in being treated like a prince.

She has to time this correctly - the wagon seems rickety, like any movement would be impossible not to notice. Her hands and feet are in pain, the tingling of her Gift stinging her every move. But she can’t give up now - she’s so close.

When she hears the driver lift a foot off the grass - the most miniscule of sounds under the deep chatter happening in the back - she raises her own, mirroring the man’s every move down to the moment he lifts his weight off of the ground and throws it carelessly into his well-worn seat. If he notices the counterbalancing of her own weight on the other side, he doesn’t pay it a bit of attention.

She’d made it.

–

“You better fucking hope Jung’s spawn doesn’t cause trouble in the next two years.” Yoongi’s low growl sounds foreign even to himself - being angry with Taehyung is new for him.

But he can’t help it. All week he’d been on edge, snapping at his advisor over the smallest things. He knows that Taehyung hadn’t technically done anything wrong by not giving him the roster for this year’s Draft cohort. He’d never done it in the past, and things had gone fine.

This year is different, though. Ever since the assembly and Jung’s thinly veiled threats, Yoongi had tightened security on his own kingdom, done a personal evaluation of all staff within his walls, and -

“You know, taking your anger out on me every time we meet hasn’t made for very productive planning sessions.”

-apparently let his rage overwhelm him any time his objectively innocent advisor had stepped foot in his throne room.

“You didn’t tell me Jung Hoseok was part of the Draft. Don’t you think that information would have been important to know, even before that stupid fucking assembly meeting?”

He can see Tae shrug noncommittally beside him.

“What I didn’t think was that you wouldn’t trust me to handle it, but I see we’re both learning new things about each other this week.”

Yoongi’s aura whips out angrily around him, coming dangerously close to his advisor’s face.

“Kim Taehyung, I swear to you-”

“Look alive, My Lord - they’re coming.”

Yoongi’s tempted to let his aura make contact this time, but he tucks Taehyung’s attitude into the back of his mind for later. He may not be the most pleasant of kings to pass through the Five Nations, but he’s not cruel, and he’s not violent. He’s not his father.

There’s a familiar wagon passing through the gates now, unharmed by the forest on its journey. Every year, on this exact date, Yoongi sends only his best to keep the demons in the forest under control for the time it takes to drop off the Draft. There hadn’t been a single year since he’d taken the throne that a trainee had been harmed or killed before entering the gates of his kingdom. Not that the same could be said for his father’s reign.

“Let’s call it… their first test. If they can’t make it to the gates alive, they’re not even worth training.”

Yoongi shakes his head quickly, squashing the nightmare of that malicious grin. Taehyung shifts protectively beside him, anyway - of course he’d noticed.

But although his advisor raises a hand, prepared to lay it on Yoongi’s shoulder and ease his king of his emotional burdens, Taehyung pauses. Lowers his arm. Stands tall and tucks his hands into his sleeves in front of him.

It almost makes Yoongi feel bad for building a wall between them this week.

Before he can think on it, though, Tae is nodding toward the wagon of trainees unloading their belongings to the cobblestone ground in the courtyard of the Eastern Seascapes. Yoongi watches them each turn slowly, taking in the castle in their own time. Watches their mixed expressions of fear and awe, none of them ever having glimpsed the palace lying deep in the forest and at the edge of the world. Watches as they each come to recognize the king and his advisor, statues waiting for them at the top of stairs.

One by one, they scramble forward toward Yoongi, stopping at the base of the steps and taking a knee, bowing to Yoongi almost obnoxiously. Taehyung mumbles in his ear the whole time, stating the names and families of each of these trainees. He stops talking when Jung Hoseok approaches and models after his new brothers-in-arms. There’s no introduction necessary for the son of Yoongi’s enemy.

After a nod of thanks toward the wagon driver - an older gentleman who’d seen far too much of Yoongi’s father’s “first test” and who is apparently therefore a big fan of Yoongi’s more humane approaches - Yoongi steps forward and takes a breath.

“Welcome to the Eastern Seascapes, trainees. In case one of you somehow missed the shocking news that traveled the Five Nations after my father’s death some years ago, my name is Min Yoongi. I am the ruler of this land, keeper of the peace between demon and humankind, and - probably unfortunately, in your eyes - your ward for the next 24 months. Congratulations.”

He watches as the 12 men in front of him shift uncomfortably below him, unsure what they should have expected from the Demon King. Most likely, it wasn’t the dry, detached man addressing them.

“Even more unfortunately for you, you won’t be dealing with me on a regular basis apart from tonight’s banquet. You will be seeing much more of my advisor here, and, even more than that - your General.”

The man in question materializes at Yoongi’s left side as if from nothingness. If he hadn’t known any better, Yoongi might have thought his Five-Star General was of demon blood. Somehow, it’s more disconcerting that he’s entirely human.

Normally, he’d feel a streak of pride course through him at the way his General had transformed into nothing short of a nightmare in just under 5 years, but he’s not really in the mood for Jungkook’s theatrics today.

The younger man descends the steps silently as the 12 men clamber to their feet in slight panic. He stands before the first trainee for just long enough that the newbie shrinks under his gaze. Jungkook moves quietly, his face never changing.

When he arrives at the end of the line, he stops, staring into the eyes of Jung Hoseok. The man, a few years his senior - as most of these men are - is just an inch or two shorter than him, but the Prince seems determined not to let the difference push him into submission. Hoseok stands tall, unwavering as he faces the Demon King’s General.

He’d endured 24 years of fear and anxiety. No one would ever bully him again. Especially not some brat who’s got a couple centimeters on him.

Jungkook sees it in his eyes - that resistance - and can’t help the twitch of a grin pulling at his lips.

This should be fun.

Before he can open his mouth and address them, though, his king’s voice is cutting through the cold morning air.

“Where’s the thirteenth trainee?”

Jungkook frowns, turning back to face Yoongi. Taehyung’s expression is no different, confused by the man’s question. But Yoongi’s not paying attention to either of them, his eyes raking in irritation over the 12 trainees. There’s a dangerous glint in his glare that sends a shiver down their spines.

“I was told there were only 12.” His voice is terse, and he looks at Taehyung for explanation, his annoyance growing when he sees that Tae has no clue what he’s talking about.

“There are only 12, My Lo-”

“Shut up.”

Both Tae and Jungkook blink in surprise - Yoongi’s never like this, regardless of his dour disposition this week.

The king’s head only tilts in the direction of the wagon, like he’s catching the sound of something over the thundering heartbeats of the trainees below him.

He moves silently down the steps, and Jungkook doesn’t even bother to snap at his new soldiers to stand tall as they literally trip over their own feet to get out of Yoongi’s way.

Yoongi stalks toward the wagon, catching the flash of fear in the driver’s eyes and waving him off with a furrow of his brow. There goes that previously built trust.

But it doesn’t matter. He can feel someone else here. It’s the same feeling he’d had just last week after the assembly, when he and Tae had been talking to Jung Hoseok.

The feeling that there’s someone hiding away, desperate not to be caught-

There.

He makes his way around the front of the carriage, ignoring the fearful whinny of the horses when they spot him, and stops in his tracks.

He can see it. That glimmer of energy, shifting in the air, so unnoticeable to anyone who isn’t looking. The longer he looks, the more the energy takes shape, forming into a girl he’d only seen once before.

The girl that had been hovering over Hoseok’s shoulder that day.

With a twitch of an eyebrow, Yoongi wills his aura to sink beneath his feet, muffling his footsteps into nothingness. The moment it does, the girl stands tall, tilting her head in his direction and turning when she can’t find him.

He approaches her like that, watching her turn in her spot, her movements becoming restless and fearful, like she’d lost track of him and couldn’t place him anymore. She even looks right at him, but she doesn’t pause, only turning away so she can inch forward toward the back of the wagon.

The moment she starts to pass the barrier of the white tarp into the open courtyard, Yoongi’s aura is lashing out, one dark tendril wrapping around her ankle.

The girl screams as she falls, her voice piercing the tense silence beyond the carriage and sending the men into a frenzy. But Yoongi doesn’t mind them, his eyes never leaving her.

Another arm of darkness snaps out toward her, wrapping tightly around her mouth as the original snakes its way up her body, constricting her in its grasp until she’d bound with no escape.

Her cloak - whatever it is - comes down then in her panic, and she’s fully visible to Yoongi for the first time. Her eyes are wide, full of terror, and she’s grasping desperately at the tentacle of his aura that’s all but gagging her. Yoongi doesn’t even bother to think about the fact that she still hasn’t looked at him, fixating on her features and noting with growing rage that she looks a lot like Jung Yunho’s only child.

What the fuck?

Yoongi draws the girl up off the ground and toward him, and, in his rage, throws her back against the tarp of the wagon. She lets out another muffled shriek, Yoongi’s voice cutting hers short.

“Who are you?! Who sent you?!”

She only shakes her head back and forth desperately, eyes screwed shut as she continues to scream. With a growl, he peels her away from the tarp and slams her back into it. There are tears streaming down her face now.

“I’m not going to ask you again-”

“My Lord.”

Taehyung is standing next to him now, having come around the back of the carriage to interfere in whatever’s happening. His voice is clipped, like he’s actually angry with Yoongi.

“True to my title, I’m going to have to advise you to put this poor woman down, unless you want your new subjects to form misinformed opinions about what kind of man you are.”

Yoongi only snaps his head over to his advisor, his glare burning that deep, blood red Taehyung’s grown used to seeing lately.

“I want you to look at this girl, Taehyung. Look at her, and tell me what you see.”

Only at the direct order does Taehyung sigh and tilt his gaze in the woman’s direction. He stares for a moment, taking in her tear-streaked face. And then he frowns, his brows coming together as he looks more closely at her.

Taking just a step back so he can see into the courtyard full of terrified trainees, Tae meets the eyes of Jung Hoseok, whose gaze morphs from fear into alarm when he realizes he’s being studied.

Taehyung mumbles under his breath then, Yoongi barely catching the words.

“Well would you look at that… Twins.”

Ignoring Yoongi’s echoed “Twins?!” of shock, Tae knows Hoseok was able to read his lips all the way across the courtyard because the Prince’s eyes go wide with horror, the blood draining from his face. His crippling fear crashes into Taehyung’s senses full force, the advisor stitching this new piece of information into the cloth that is the Jung family.

He only squints at the man in response, whispering a single word to Yoongi that’s really meant for Hoseok.

“Twins.”

Tae watches Hoseok carefully as Yoongi steps out from behind the carriage, the aura-bound prisoner floating in the air behind the king as he starts his rampage back to the castle. He’s wholly unsurprised when Hoseok lurches forward at the sight of the girl, a scream ripping from his throat.

“No!”

Hoseok pushes past the other trainees and starts to charge the king, but he’s quickly overtaken by Jungkook, who throws himself forward and pins him easily to the ground, yanking the Prince’s arms back behind his back. It doesn’t stop Hoseok from screaming with all of his might, his throat aching at the force.

“Y/n! You promised me! You promised me you would be safe-”

The other trainees all start whispering to each other, staring at the girl as she’s carried, sobbing and struggling against the tendrils of darkness, past her brother. Yoongi only pauses over Hoseok’s detained form for a brief moment, not even sparing the crazed man a glance as he speaks.

“Welcome to the Eastern Seascapes, Prince Jung. I’ll see to it that your sister is well cared for.”

Hoseok can only watch, horrified, as the Demon King carries his entire life through the massive double doors and into the castle.

I’m never going to see her again.

#control #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts au #bts demon au #bts royal au

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leiawritesstories · 1 year

Text

Stick Season (Part 2)

masterlist

Rowaelin Month, Day 7: Vacation/Outdoors

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: bickering cousins, couple of swear words, one healthy serving of angst

Enjoy! (?)

@rowaelinscourt

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

Present

The Whitethorn horde blew into Doranelle, Vermont, like a Category 4 blizzard, albeit a very welcome one. Rowan felt like he’d barely woken up and downed his first cup of coffee before there was a rigorous pounding on his front door and he looked out the kitchen window to find an entire caravan of silver vehicles filling his front yard as if it was a parking lot.

“We know you’re home, Ro-Ro!” Sellene yelled from the porch. “You can’t hide from Christmas forever, and besides, you invited us!”

“Calm down, LeLe,” Rowan drawled, opening the door to a flock of bright green eyes, blonde hair, and layers of winter clothing. “Nobody said you had to show up at eight in the bloody morning.”

“It’s ten-thirty,” she retorted.

“Same difference.” He easily lifted the two large suitcases she was rolling and headed for the guest rooms. “It’s too early.”

“You never were a morning person.” She flicked on the bedroom lights. “Just leave them by the window.”

He put the suitcases down and made a quick stop to pull on his jacket before heading out to the neatly parked rows of cars, where he found his closest (in age) cousin struggling to maneuver luggage out of his SUV. “The dealerships called, Enda. They’re out of silver paint.”

“What can I say?” Endymion Whitethorn shrugged, far too charming for his own good. “We’ve always liked our family colors.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to drive around in matching cars like some kind of hippie mission church,” Rowan deadpanned.

Enda snorted with laughter. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He pulled Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “How are you? How’s the property? How’s…everything?”

“Property’s fine, I’m too damn tired for this chaos, and everything is fine.”

“I’m sure it is.” The dryness of Enda’s voice rivaled the Sahara Desert.

“Don’t get any romantic ideas,” Rowan warned, only half teasing. Last Christmas, he’d lost a bet to Enda, who’d then set him up on a spectacularly awful date with a shrewish woman named Remelle– “but you can call me Remy”–an event that soured his memory every time he recalled that evening.

“I would never,” Enda said, drawing out the never into a long, supposedly innocent singsong.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “And I’m the Queen of England.” He snickered at the outraged expression on his cousin’s face and picked up a duffle bag and a couple of crates full of brightly wrapped gifts. “Your car won’t unload itself, you know.”

“Remind me why I put up with this bullshit,” Enda grumbled.

Passing by just in time to hear the curse word, Sellene swatted Enda upside the head. “There are children present!”

“Oh please, your kids were swearing before they spoke full sentences.”

She huffed. “And it’s no wonder, considering that their uncles have such foul mouths.” Fondly, she rolled her eyes at Enda, who was still hopelessly attempting to maneuver one suitcase out from the bottom of the luggage piled in the trunk. “You’ll get unpacked a lot faster if you don’t try to play Suitcase Jenga. Here, let me.”

He grumbled something about her being interfering but stepped aside and let her expertly dismantle the pile of suitcases. “Thanks, Sel.”

“You’re welcome.” She blew him an air kiss. “How two men and a puppy manage to have more crap packed in their car than me and my whole family, I’ll never understand.”

“That’s because my husband and I care about looking our best, thank you very much.” Enda flipped his shoulder-length hair, picked up a few of his bags, and sauntered off towards the house.

“Would it be rude of me to say ‘yes, queen?’” Rowan murmured into Sellene’s ear.

She burst into shaking, wheezing laughter. “Oh gods,” she gasped. “I think I peed myself a little.” She smacked his shoulder, though between her winter gloves and his thick parka, it didn’t do much damage. “You’d better let that sense of humor loose at least a few times, Ro-Ro, or we’ll be forced to believe you aren’t actually human.”

“Piss off,” he grumbled, but he was laughing. “I’m glad you’re here, Sel.”

“I’m glad you let the horde of heathens come to your place again after what happened last year,” she quipped. “I thought for sure we’d be banished to Ellys’s place for Christmas vacation.”

“Ellys can barely host a birthday party, let alone multiple nights with the whole Whitethorn family. It’s better if everyone crashes here; there’s more space.”

“Plus we can always pitch tents in the yard.”

“This is true.” He winked. “I think we should make that the punishment for the loudest ones.”

“Deal.” Sellene bumped her gloved fist into his. “Fifty bucks says it’ll be Fenrys and whoever he brings home for the holidays.”

“Why do I let him come to my house?” Rowan sighed.

“Tradition,” both he and his cousin chorused.

Sellene snickered. “Alright, I’m going to go control my wild children.”

“Too late,” Rowan called. “They’ve already found the hot cocoa.”

“Thank you for visiting Orynth Shelves! Happy holidays!” Aelin waved cheerfully to the most recent customer, turned back to the mercifully empty desk, and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The day had been absolutely insane, packed full of holiday shoppers ranging from sweet elderly ladies to rambunctious kids who tried to climb the bookshelves and tracked wet slush everywhere. She had just turned around to steal two minutes of peace and quiet when the bells on the front door jingled and she had to turn back around, paint her customer service smile on her face, and– “Sellene?”

“Aelin?” Sellene Whitethorn looked just as shocked as Aelin felt.

“In the flesh.” Aelin shrugged. “Here I am, back in my hometown. Crazy, right?”

“It’s…unexpected,” Sellene admitted. “But damn, it’s so good to see you again, Aelin.”

Aelin rounded the desk and accepted Sellene’s brief hug. “It’s great to see you too. Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?”

“Hmm, I think I’ll just browse.” Sellene grinned. “You never know what you’ll find during the holidays, right?”

“Right.” Aelin gestured towards the shelves. “Happy hunting! If you’re interested, though, there’s a special winter section in the feature corner, and I’ve stocked it with as many cute little holiday romances as I could find.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Say no more!” Sellene hurried off towards the seasonal display.

Aelin laughed to herself and returned to the desk. Even after a number of years, she still remembered how much Sellene Whitethorn adored holiday romances. It had been one of their shared interests when they’d first met–way back in high school–and she could recall the exact expression on Sellene’s face when she realized how many books (and book boyfriends) they had in common.

One Christmas, Sellene had even taken Rowan (her “hopelessly clueless cousin”) to the bookstore to buy Aelin’s present. With her guidance, Rowan had bought Aelin a complete set of her favorite small-town romance series and written sweet little messages in each book’s cover.

Aelin still had those books. They lived in an unlabeled tote in her spare room.

She shook away the ache of that memory, pushing it back into the deep recesses of her mind where it belonged, and grinned as Sellene walked up to the register with a small stack of books in her arms.

“I was expecting more than that,” she teased as she rang up the books.

Sellene laughed. “Well, I’m on a budget–”

“Bullshit, it’s Christmas.”

“Fair enough. I’m on a book-buying budget, and I can’t exactly gift these to anyone in my family.” With a suggestive smirk, she passed Aelin one of the books.

Screwing Mr. Scrooge, proclaimed the title.

Aelin snorted with laughter. “Yeah, maybe don’t make that someone’s present.”

“I’m only buying it because my husband and I–”

“And that’s where you can stop,” Aelin interrupted, pretending to gag and swatting Sellene playfully with the book. “My gods, Sellene!”

Sellene giggled. “Alright, I’ll spare you the details.” She winked as she took out her credit card and tapped it to the card reader. “You’re in publishing, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then you definitely know what happens when readers who have a significant other find a spicy scene they like.”

“Doesn’t mean I need to have firsthand knowledge,” Aelin teased. “There you go, Sellene. Enjoy the rest of your vacation!”

“Thanks!” Sellene zipped up her thick parka jacket. Almost at the front door, she paused and turned back to Aelin. “Hey, I had a thought.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I don’t want you to be here alone, least of all during Christmas–”

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Aelin waved off the protest. “I’m with Dad, and Aedion’s here too. I’m not going to be alone on Christmas.”

“Still, the invitation stands.” Sellene continued as if Aelin hadn’t spoken. “I want to invite you to come over to the Whitethorn place. We haven’t seen you in far too long, and the whole family is here, even the little ones. Plus, I’m sure Rowan wants to see you…”

She kept going, but Aelin no longer heard anything she was saying. The mere mention of the name Rowan had consumed her. Rowan wants to see you.

How could he?

Until the other week outside Staghorns, they hadn’t spoken in three years. How could he possibly want to see her?

She’d been the one to leave.

Three Years Ago

Aelin slowed down and turned onto the long, painstakingly cleared driveway of her family home and drove up the asphalt pathway until she reached the turnaround in front of the sprawling, elegant redbrick structure that was the Galathynius home. She parked, turned off the engine, and sat in the driver’s seat for a long, achingly silent moment.

Then she dried her tears, checked her reflection in the rearview mirror to make sure there was no evidence that she’d been sobbing for the last fifteen minutes, and exited her car.

With her suitcase behind her and her tote bag slung neatly over her shoulder, Aelin walked up the front steps and entered the two-story atrium of the house’s front hall. “Hello?” she called. Part of her hoped–desperately–that there would be nobody home.

But with a soft rustle of cashmere and a gentle tap-tap-tap of heeled pumps, Evalin Ashryver appeared at the top of the grand staircase. “Hello, darling.”

“Mother.” Aelin set her luggage aside and crossed the foyer, meeting her mother in the middle and accepting a perfunctory hug and air kiss.

“How was the drive?” Evalin inquired.

“Smooth,” Aelin replied. “The traffic disappeared after I left the city.”

“Funny how that happens.” Evalin pressed the buzzer on the wall, summoning the housekeeper that the family apparently still employed. “Clara, would you please take my daughter’s things to her room?” She dismissed the housekeeper and led Aelin towards the family living room.

Aelin bit her tongue to hold back all the things she wanted to spew. She’d been trying for years (without success) to convince her mother that there was no need to keep on a full-time housekeeper and butler. A cook she understood, and a groundskeeper, but Rhoe and Evalin were the only ones who lived in that huge house anymore. They didn’t need staff for everything they did.

“So pleased that you were able to come home this early,” Evalin said.

Aelin returned her attention to her mother. “Yes, I managed to take a more flexible holiday vacation.” Her lips quirked upwards. “I suppose the promotion helped.”

“The promotion?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I was promoted to editor in November.” Aelin couldn’t control the proud smile that curved across her face.

Evalin beamed. “I’ll never know why it took your firm so long to realize that you’re the most competent person there. Congratulations, darling.” She squeezed Aelin’s hand, her own hand cold. “An editor at only twenty-four. Next up, editor in chief, right?”

“Perhaps,” Aelin concurred. “But–”

“Rhoe, dear!” Evalin called, unaware that her daughter was speaking. “We have news!”

Rhoe strode into the living room with a broad, genuine smile on his face and pulled Aelin into a powerfully warm hug. “Welcome home, Fireheart.”

“Hi, Dad.” She grinned up at him. “I have news.”

“So your mother tells me.” He took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs. “Well?”

“I’ve been promoted to editor as of last month.”

“Congratulations!” Rhoe got to his feet and wrapped his daughter in an embrace, then went over to the bar built into one side of the room and retrieved a small bottle of champagne and three flutes. “This calls for a toast!”

“Really, Rhoe,” Evalin tutted, frowning at her husband as he poured the champagne and handed out the glasses. “It’s barely even four o’clock.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable occasion for a toast,” Rhoe returned. He pressed Aelin’s glass into her hand, giving her a look of reassurance. “To our Fireheart, the editor!”

Aelin grinned at her father, clinked her glass gently against his, and took a delicate sip of the expensive champagne; of course her parents would only stock the finest in their fridge. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Darling, haven’t we discussed how mature women ought to be past the point of referring to their parents in childish ways?” Evalin’s tone was cool, reproving.

The champagne curdled in Aelin’s stomach. Silently, she placed her glass down on the granite bartop. “I was unaware that there were politically correct terms for one’s own parents.” She kept her voice light, but her spine stiffened into steel, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of her mother’s disapproval.

“As an editor, surely you understand the value of adjusting language to fit the appropriate categorization and age range,” Evalin stated. “The same principle ought to apply to all areas of speech, darling. Furthermore, your father would never allow his employees to address him as ‘Rhoe,’ so why should his daughter address him that casually?”

“Perhaps for the fact that she is his daughter.” It was Rhoe who spoke, his words laced with the underlying note of command that marked him as the incredibly successful businessman he was. Subtly, he moved closer to Aelin, acting both as a shield between her and Evalin and as an extinguisher to the brewing flames of both women’s wrath.

Aelin exchanged a look of deepest gratitude with her father and turned to leave the room. Before she was out the door, though, she heard her mother whispering heatedly, tearing into Rhoe for the simple act of defending his only daughter.

“I will not have you come between my daughter and I when I am speaking!” Evalin hissed. “I am her mother, and you know full well that we hardly get the chance to see her. You cannot deprive me of the time I need to spend with her on the rare occasion that she’s home, you callous–”

Aelin wheeled around and stalked over to Evalin, fire blazing in the gold of her eyes. “If anyone is callous, Mom, it’s you.” Vehemence threw her words like spears. “Or were you conveniently going to forget that you interrupted my call with Rowan while I was driving because you needed to remind me that I’m a pathetic excuse of a daughter for wanting to see my boyfriend for two minutes before I come home?” Her breath was ragged. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know that I broke up with him.”

Evalin’s jaw went slack. “I–”

“You got your wish, Mother.” Aelin laughed, sardonically. “I’m home for dinnertime.”

Turning sharply on her heel, she stalked out of the room, leaving behind her shell-shocked father and her mother stunned silent for once as she processed the truth her daughter had just flung. She kept her composure all the way up to her bedroom, where she entered the room and locked the door behind herself.

Then Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, unflappable editor, crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

~~~

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