#like does it make her question her relationship to him?

[jupiterpilgrim]

Silent Night, Whispered Secrets

Christmas Special 🎄

Yunjin x Male Reader

word count: 4.5K words

The office is eerily quiet on Christmas Eve, with only the soft hum of your computer and occasional clicking of the keyboard breaking the silence. Most of your coworkers left hours ago to start their holiday celebrations, but you're still here finishing up year-end reports. The only other person crazy enough to still be working is Yunjin, whose office is just down the hall from yours.

You've known Yunjin for the two years you've worked at the company. She started a few months before you and helped show you the ropes when you first joined. You hit it off right away, drawn to her quick wit and infectious laugh. She's the kind of person who can find humor in even the most mundane office situations, making even boring meetings more bearable with her subtle eye rolls and whispered commentary.

Physically, Yunjin is absolutely your type, though you've tried not to think about her that way given your professional relationship. She has a classic beauty about her, with delicate features framed by stylish glasses that give her a sexy librarian vibe. Her lips are full and naturally pouty, the kind that make you wonder what they'd feel like pressed against yours. She typically dresses conservatively for the office in blazers and pencil skirts, but you can tell she has a slim, petite figure with small breasts that suit her frame perfectly.

The sound of heels clicking on the tile floor pulls you from your thoughts. Looking up, you see Yunjin leaning against your doorframe, her jacket discarded and the top button of her white blouse undone.

"Still at it?" she asks with a sympathetic smile. "You know Santa won't come if you're still awake doing spreadsheets."

You can't help but chuckle. "Pretty sure Santa skips over office buildings anyway. What's your excuse for still being here?"

"Same as you probably - trying to get everything wrapped up before the holiday break." She walks into your office and perches on the edge of your desk, something she's done countless times during your friendly chats. "But I'm officially taking a break and you should too. We've been at this for hours."

The familiar scent of her perfume - something light and floral - wafts over as she settles next to you. You realize she's right about needing a break; your eyes are starting to blur from staring at the screen.

"Yeah, you're probably right," you concede, leaning back in your chair. "Most of this can wait until after Christmas anyway."

"Exactly! Speaking of Christmas..." She swivels to face you more directly, crossing her legs. "What are your plans? Big family gathering?"

"Pretty much the usual - heading to my parents' place tomorrow morning. Mom always goes overboard with the decorations and Dad pretends to complain about it while secretly loving every minute." You smile thinking about your family's traditions. "What about you?"

"Similar, minus the over-the-top decorations. Though my mom does make enough food to feed a small army." She pauses, seeming to consider something before asking, "Will your girlfriend be joining you?"

The question catches you off guard. In all your conversations, she's never directly asked about your relationship status before. "No girlfriend to bring along," you answer honestly. "Flying solo this holiday season."

"Really?" Her eyebrows raise slightly above her glasses frames. "I find that hard to believe. A guy like you, single at Christmas?"

There's something different in her tone now, a slight flirtatiousness that makes your pulse quicken. "What do you mean a guy like me?" you ask, playing along.

She adjusts her glasses in that adorable way she does when she's about to say something bold. "Oh, you know... Smart, funny, easy on the eyes." Her lips curve into a playful smile. "The kind of guy who probably has women fighting over who gets to kiss him under the mistletoe."

Your mouth goes dry as you process this shift in dynamic. Is Yunjin actually flirting with you? After two years of carefully maintained friendship?

"Funny, I was just thinking the same about you," you reply, testing the waters. "Surprised you don't have a line of guys waiting to take you home for the holidays."

She laughs softly, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. "Maybe I'm waiting for the right guy to ask." Her eyes meet yours with unmistakable intent now. "Someone who already knows me... understands me..."

The air between you feels charged with possibility. You've imagined moments like this before but always pushed the thoughts away, not wanting to complicate your friendship or work relationship. But now, with her looking at you like that...

"Yunjin..." you start, not quite sure what you're going to say.

She slides off your desk and extends her hand to you. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

You don't hesitate for a second, turning off the computer and getting up from your chair. Your heart pounds as you take her hand, letting her lead you out of your office and down the darkened hallway. Her fingers are soft and warm interlaced with yours. She guides you past the break room and copy area to a section of the building you rarely visit.

"Where are we going?" you ask, though you're happy to follow her anywhere at this point.

"Somewhere private," she answers mysteriously. "Where we can talk without worrying about security cameras."

She leads you into what appears to be a storage room, flicking on a small lamp that casts a warm glow over boxes of office supplies and forgotten furniture. It's cozy in an odd way, like a secret hideaway.

Yunjin turns to face you, still holding your hand. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and you can see her chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

"I need to tell you something," she says. "Something I've wanted to say for a long time but never had the courage."

You squeeze her hand encouragingly, heart racing with anticipation.

"I have feelings for you," she continues. "Real feelings, beyond friendship. I think I have for a while now but I was afraid to admit it, afraid of ruining what we have. But being here tonight, just the two of us... I couldn't keep pretending anymore."

The confession hangs in the air between you for a moment before you respond. "Yunjin, I had no idea you felt that way. I mean, I've definitely thought about you like that but I always told myself it was just a crush, that it would pass..."

"And did it? Pass?" she asks softly.

You shake your head. "No. If anything, it got stronger the more I got to know you. You're amazing, Yunjin. Smart and funny and beautiful... I love how you can make me laugh even on the worst days. How you always remember little details about things I've told you. How passionate you get when talking about things you care about..."

She steps closer, reaching up to touch your face. "We've been through a lot together, haven't we? All those late nights working on projects, lunch breaks spent venting about difficult clients, celebrating each other's wins..."

"Yeah," you agree, letting your free hand rest on her waist. "I guess it's natural that feelings would develop. We just... fit."

"We do," she whispers, then rises on her tiptoes to press her lips to yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, tentative, as if you're both still afraid of crossing this line. But then she sighs against your mouth and something ignites between you. Your arms wrap around her waist as hers circle your neck, pulling each other closer as the kiss deepens.

Her lips are even softer than you imagined, moving against yours with growing passion. You can taste mint on her breath, like she'd been preparing for this possibility. The thought makes you smile against her mouth.

"What?" she asks, pulling back slightly.

"Nothing," you murmur, trailing kisses along her jaw. "Just happy."

She tilts her head to give you better access to her neck, letting out a small moan when you find a sensitive spot. "Mmm... want to know what would make me happy?"

"Tell me," you breathe against her skin.

"Letting me give you your Christmas present." Her hands slide down your chest as she speaks.

You pull back to look at her, seeing desire burning in her eyes behind those sexy glasses. "What kind of present?"

Instead of answering, she starts unbuttoning her blouse, revealing smooth pale skin and a simple white bra underneath. Your breath catches as she reaches behind to unhook it, letting the garment fall away.

You can't take your eyes off Yunjin's exposed chest as she straddles your lap in the dimly lit storage room. Her breasts are small, almost flat against her slim frame, but they're absolutely perfect to you. Each one is barely a handful, topped with delicate pink nipples that have hardened in the cool air. The sight makes your mouth water with desire.

"I know they're not much to look at," she says shyly, noticing your intense gaze. "Most guys prefer bigger..."

You silence her self-consciousness by cupping both small mounds in your hands, feeling their subtle weight. "These are exactly what I want," you tell her firmly. "Perfect little tits that fit my hands just right."

She shivers as you run your thumbs over her nipples, watching them stiffen further under your touch. The rosy buds stand out proudly now, begging to be sucked. You lean forward slowly, maintaining eye contact as you take one peak between your lips.

"Ohhh..." Yunjin moans softly as you begin to suckle her breast. Her fingers thread through your hair, holding you against her chest as you worship her sensitive flesh.

You alternate between gentle suction and firm licks, paying attention to how she responds. When you graze your teeth lightly across her nipple, her whole body trembles and she lets out a gasp. You do it again, a bit firmer this time, and are rewarded with a breathy "Yes..."

Your hands knead her small breasts as you continue lavishing attention on her nipples. Despite their size, or perhaps because of it, they seem incredibly sensitive. Every touch, every lick, every gentle bite makes her squirm and moan in your lap.

You pull back slightly to admire your work - her nipples are now swollen and deep pink from your ministrations. "So responsive," you murmur, blowing cool air across the wet peaks and watching them tighten further. "I love how sensitive these little tits are."

"Only for you," she whimpers as you dive back in, this time taking as much of her small breast into your mouth as possible. There's something incredibly arousing about being able to almost fit the entire mound between your lips.

You suck firmly while massaging her other breast, feeling her nipple press hard against your palm. Her hips begin to rock subtly in your lap as her arousal builds. The movement makes your already hard cock throb with need, but you're determined to thoroughly worship these perfect little tits first.

Moving to her neglected breast, you trace circles around the areola with your tongue before capturing the straining nipple between your teeth. A sharp gasp escapes her lips as you apply just enough pressure to toe the line between pleasure and pain.

"Oh god," she pants, grinding more insistently against you now. "That feels so good... I never knew my breasts could be this sensitive..."

You hum against her flesh, the vibrations making her shudder. Your hands slide around to grip her ass, helping guide her movements as she rocks in your lap. Each roll of her hips makes her small breasts sway slightly, a hypnotic sight that has you alternating between watching and tasting.

"Such perfect little tits," you murmur between licks and kisses. "Love how they bounce... love how responsive they are... love how they fit in my mouth just right..."

Your praise seems to turn her on even more. She arches her back, pressing her chest more firmly against your face as you continue your oral assault on her sensitive peaks. Her breathing becomes more ragged with each passing minute.

You bring your hands back to her breasts, squeezing them together so you can move back and forth between nipples more easily. The sight of her small mounds pressed together, topped with those pretty pink nipples, is incredibly erotic. You lap at both peaks simultaneously, making her cry out.

"Please," she whimpers, though you're not sure what she's begging for. You respond by sucking harder, drawing one taut nipple deep into your mouth while pinching and rolling the other between your fingers.

Her whole body is trembling now as you continue your relentless attention. You can feel how wet she is through her panties as she grinds against your lap, seeking friction. The combination of your mouth on her sensitive breasts and the pressure against her clit seems to be driving her wild.

"I think..." she gasps, clutching your head tighter. "I think I might... from just this..."

The revelation that she might cum just from breast play spurs you on. You double your efforts, sucking and licking and nibbling at her swollen nipples while your hands massage the soft flesh of her small breasts. Her movements become more erratic as she chases her pleasure.

"That's it," you encourage between sucks. "Let go for me... show me how sensitive these perfect little tits are..."

With a sharp cry, she does just that. Her body goes rigid in your lap as waves of pleasure wash over her, triggered by nothing more than your mouth on her breasts. You continue gently sucking and licking through her orgasm, prolonging the sensation until she weakly pushes your head away, too sensitive to take any more.

"I've never..." she pants, looking down at you with wide eyes. "That's never happened before..."

You press soft kisses to her flushed chest, admiring how her nipples are now deep red and slightly swollen from your attention. "Just proves what I said - these are perfect."

With a smile Yunjin slides down your body with a hungry look in her eyes, her delicate fingers work at your belt buckle as she settles between your legs, licking her lips in anticipation.

"Now I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel," she purrs, finally freeing your throbbing cock from its confines. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight. "So big..." she whispers, wrapping her small hand around your shaft.

You groan at the first contact, already rock hard from getting her off with just breast play earlier. She starts with slow, exploratory strokes, learning the feel of you. Her other hand cups your balls gently, rolling them between her fingers as she studies your reactions.

"Tell me if it's good, okay?" she asks softly, her hot breath ghosting over your tip. "I want this to be the best you've ever had."

Before you can respond, she leans forward and drags her tongue from base to tip in one long, slow lick. Your cock twitches in her grip as she swirls her tongue around the head, gathering the bead of precum that's formed there.

"Mmm," she hums, savoring the taste. "Already so excited for me..."

She continues teasing you with her tongue, tracing the prominent veins along your shaft and paying special attention to the sensitive spot just under the head. Her hand keeps up a steady stroking motion, spreading her saliva along your length.

When she finally takes you into her mouth, you have to fight not to thrust up into that wet heat. She starts shallow, just sucking on the tip while her tongue works against the underside. Her eyes flutter closed as she focuses on the task, clearly enjoying herself.

"Fuck, that feels good," you groan as she gradually takes more of you in. Her mouth is so hot and wet, and the suction is perfect. She hums in acknowledgment, the vibrations sending pleasure shooting through your cock.

One hand wraps around what doesn't fit in her mouth yet, working in tandem with her lips and tongue. The other continues massaging your balls, occasionally trailing lower to tease your perineum. The dual stimulation has your toes curling.

She pulls off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. "I love how hard you are," she says, pumping you with both hands now. "Love feeling you throb in my mouth..."

Before you can respond, she's diving back down, taking you even deeper this time. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside of your shaft as she bobs her head, building a steady rhythm. The wet sounds of her sucking fill the room, obscenely erotic.

You thread your fingers through her hair, not guiding her movements but just wanting to touch her. She moans around your cock in response, the vibrations making you groan. Her pace picks up slightly, switching between deep sucks and focusing on the sensitive head.

"Just like that," you encourage as she finds a particularly good rhythm. "Your mouth feels fucking amazing."

She pulls back again, this time to focus solely on your tip while her hands work your shaft. Her tongue swirls around the head before flicking rapidly against the frenulum, making your hips jerk. "Want to taste every inch of you," she murmurs before taking you deep again.

This time she doesn't stop until you hit the back of her throat. She holds there for a moment, swallowing around you, before pulling back for air. Strings of saliva connect her lips to your cock as she gasps.

"So fucking hot," you groan, watching her catch her breath. Your cock twitches in her grip, achingly hard from her skilled attention.

She smiles up at you before diving back in, this time maintaining eye contact as she works you over. The sight of her pretty lips stretched around your girth while she stares up at you with lust-filled eyes is almost too much.

Her technique varies between long, slow sucks taking you as deep as she can manage, and focusing on the tip with quick flicks of her tongue. She seems to delight in finding what makes you moan loudest, repeating movements that get the biggest reactions.

"Getting close?" she asks during another brief break, her hand never stopping its stroking motion. When you nod, she smiles. "Good. I want to taste your cum... want to swallow every drop..."

The dirty talk combined with her renewed oral assault has you right on the edge. She seems to sense this, doubling her efforts. One hand pumps your shaft while the other gently squeezes your balls. Her mouth focuses on your sensitive head, sucking firmly while her tongue works the underside.

"Fuck, I'm about to cum!" you growl, staring down at Yunjin's face as she works your throbbing cock with her skilled mouth. Her designer glasses are slightly fogged up from her heavy breathing, adding an irresistibly naughty librarian vibe to her cock-hungry expression. Those plump, glistening lips stretch obscenely wide around your thick shaft as she bobs her head with expert precision.

Rather than slow down at your warning, she doubles her efforts - taking you even deeper into her hot, eager mouth. Her full, pouty lips form a perfect seal around your cock as she sucks harder, her tongue dancing and swirling along your sensitive length. Drool runs down your balls as she services you with single-minded determination, the wet sloppy sounds of her enthusiastic sucking filling the room.

You reach down to tangle your fingers in her silky hair, accidentally knocking her glasses slightly askew. She doesn't miss a beat, continuing to worship your cock while reaching up to adjust them with one hand. The intellectual look of her wire-rimmed frames contrasts deliciously with the absolutely filthy things she's doing with that talented mouth.

Her crimson lipstick is completely ruined now, smeared all over your cock in scarlet streaks. The sight of those perfect dick-sucking lips wrapped around you, combined with her sultry gaze behind those sexy glasses, has your balls drawing up tight. She must sense how close you are because she takes you impossibly deeper, until you feel the back of her throat squeezing your sensitive cockhead.

Her nose presses against your pelvis as she deep-throats you with practiced ease, her glasses fogging up even more from her heavy breathing. The rippling sensation of her throat muscles working around your length finally pushes you over the edge.

"Fuuuuck!" you roar as your orgasm hits like a freight train. Your cock pulses violently, shooting thick ropes of hot cum directly down her eager throat. She moans in satisfaction around your spurting length, continuing to suck and swallow rhythmically as you empty yourself into her hungry mouth. Not a single drop escapes those perfect cock-hungry lips.

Even after you're completely drained, she keeps gently nursing on your sensitive head, her tongue lapping up every last trace of cum. Only when you're trembling from overstimulation does she finally release you with an obscene pop. Your cock emerges glistening with her saliva, still twitching occasionally.

She looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes behind her slightly steamed glasses, licking those full, swollen lips with obvious satisfaction. A thin strand of saliva and cum still connects her mouth to your cock. "Mmm, fucking delicious," she purrs, her voice slightly hoarse from taking you so deep. She gives your softening length one final kiss before sitting back on her heels.

Your legs feel weak as you watch her run her tongue over her lips again, savoring your taste. Her ruined lipstick smeared across her mouth and chin. Combined with her messy hair, fogged glasses, and the hungry look in her eyes, she's the perfect picture of debauchery.

"That was incredible," you manage to say once you catch your breath. She just grins wickedly, clearly proud of her cock-sucking skills. And rightfully so - you've never had your dick sucked with such enthusiasm and expertise before.

"I love the way you taste," she says, running one finger along her bottom lip while pushing her glasses back up her nose. "And the way your big cock feels stretching my mouth open. Makes me so fucking horny." To emphasize her point, she brings both hands up to her small breasts, squeezing them firmly through her top.

The sight of her playing with herself while looking at you with those intelligent eyes behind her frames makes your spent cock twitch with renewed interest. She notices and laughs, her hands still kneading her chest. "Already wanting more? Such a greedy boy." She leans forward to plant soft kisses along your shaft, which is already starting to harden again.

"Can't help it when you've got such perfect dick-sucking lips," you tell her, running your thumb across her plump bottom lip. She captures the digit between her teeth, sucking it into her mouth with a sultry look. The combination of her hot tongue swirling around your thumb and her glasses sliding down her nose again makes your cock throb.

"These lips were made for worshipping cock," she agrees after releasing your thumb with a wet pop. "Especially yours. I love how thick you are - really makes me work for it." She emphasizes her point by wrapping those gorgeous lips around just your sensitive head, sucking gently while maintaining eye contact through her slightly fogged lenses.

You groan at the sight and sensation. "Fuck, you really are insatiable aren't you?" Your hand finds its way back into her hair, careful not to knock her glasses off this time as you guide her movements. She starts taking more of your rapidly hardening length into her mouth again.

She pulls off just long enough to say "When it comes to sucking your cock? Absolutely." Then she's diving back down, taking you to the root in one smooth motion that has you seeing stars. Her throat contracts around you as she swallows, making you gasp.

Your grip in her hair tightens as she starts bobbing her head with renewed vigor. The wet sounds of her enthusiastic cock-sucking fill the room once again. She alternates between taking you deep in her throat and focusing on your sensitive head, her talented tongue doing incredible things that have you moaning.

"Such a good little cocksucker," you praise her, making her moan around your length. Her glasses fog up completely as she works your cock faster. "Love watching those pretty lips stretch around my thick cock. You were born to suck dick, weren't you?"

She responds by taking you even deeper, until her nose is pressed against your pelvis again. The feeling of her throat squeezing around your cock while she looks up at you with those big, eager eyes behind her steamed-up lenses is almost too much to handle.

"That's it, take it all like a good girl," you growl, using your grip on her hair to hold her in place for a moment. She moans and squirms, clearly loving being used like this. When you finally let her pull back for air, she gasps and immediately dives back down for more, quickly adjusting her glasses before wrapping those perfect lips around you again.

Her enthusiasm is infectious. You start thrusting your hips slightly, fucking her willing mouth while she moans encouragement. The sight of your cock disappearing between those perfect cock-sucking lips over and over, combined with her sexy librarian look, has you racing toward another orgasm embarrassingly quickly.

"Gonna cum again," you warn her through gritted teeth. She responds by sucking even harder, her cheeks hollowing as she works to draw out your load. Her tongue does wicked things to your sensitive head while one hand massages your heavy balls.

This time when you explode, she pulls back just enough to catch your cum on her tongue. You watch in awe as rope after rope of hot cum paints those gorgeous lips and fills her eager mouth. Some of it lands on her glasses, making her look even more debauched. She makes a show of swallowing it all down before licking her lips clean with a satisfied smile.

"Mmm, even better the second time," she purrs, giving your sensitive cock one final kiss. Her lips and chin are glazed with a mixture of cum and saliva, her lipstick completely destroyed, and her glasses are splattered with your seed. "Well, what did you think of my blowjob? Think that lived up to being the best you've ever had?"

"Fuck yes. Your lips, your mouth, your tongue, those fucking glasses... You're perfect, Yunjin.”

Still on her knees, she reaches for the open cardboard box nearby. It’s crammed with small packs of wet wipes. She plucks one out, tearing it open with her teeth before pulling a single wipe free. As she starts cleaning her glasses, she laughs softly. “These glasses? Expensive as hell,” she says, wiping the lenses with a casual ease. “But having you cum all over me while wearing them? Fucking worth it.”

Her words make you shudder slightly, your breath catching as you watch her throw away the last used wipe, her face and glasses less messy now. She smirks, using her thumb to rub at the the forgotten bit of smeared lipstick.

When Yunjin finishes, she sighs, looking at you with those big lovely eyes. "Did you like your present?" she asks softly.

You pull her closer, crushing your mouth to hers, tasting yourself on her tongue but too far gone to care. “Best Christmas present ever,” you murmur against her lips, your hands finding her hips, pulling her impossibly closer as she melts into you.

"Merry Christmas then," she says with a playful wink, wiping her mouth delicately.

"To be honest, I've never liked Christmas as much as I do now," you tell her when your lips move away.

She laughs softly, tucking her head against your neck. "Just wait until you see what I have planned for New Year's."

You hold her close, both of you catching your breath as the reality of what just happened settles in. Outside the windows, snow has begun to fall, dusting the city in white. It's still Christmas Eve, you still have family obligations tomorrow, but right now none of that matters. All that matters is this moment, this woman in your arms, and the promise of more to come.

"We should probably head home soon," Yunjin says eventually, though she makes no move to get up. "It is Christmas Eve after all."

You press a kiss to her temple. "Five more minutes," you bargain, and feel her smile against your skin.

"Five more minutes," she agrees.

You sit there together in comfortable silence, watching the snow fall outside while your racing hearts slow to normal. Whatever happens next, you know this Christmas will be one to remember. And as Yunjin snuggles closer in your arms, you can't help but think that sometimes the best presents come when you least expect them.

The office will look different from now on, you think. The familiar halls and rooms now charged with memory - her hand in yours as she led you here, the first press of her lips against yours, the way she looked on her knees between your legs…

Finally, reluctantly, you both begin to dress. You help Yunjin button her blouse, stealing kisses between each button until she laughs and pushes you away playfully. Her hair is slightly messed up from your fingers and her lips are still swollen from their earlier activities.

She's never looked more beautiful.

"Walk me to my car?" she asks, slipping her hand into yours.

"Of course," you reply, squeezing her fingers gently.

As you make your way through the quiet building, you can't help but marvel at how much can change in a single night. Yesterday, Yunjin was just your friend and coworker. Now... now she's something more, something precious and exciting and full of possibility.

In the parking garage, she turns to face you before getting in her car. "Text me when you get home?" she asks, and you nod.

"Definitely." You pull her close for one more kiss, slow and sweet. "Merry Christmas, Yunjin."

She smiles against your lips. "Merry Christmas."

You watch her drive away, snow swirling in the headlights, before heading to your own car. As you drive home through the quiet streets, you can't wipe the smile off your face. This Christmas is already shaping up to be the best one yet.

Your phone buzzes with a text just as you're pulling into your driveway. It's from Yunjin: "Already missing those five more minutes 😘"

You reply quickly:

"We'll have to make up for lost time after the holidays."

Her response comes immediately:

"Can't wait 💕"

As you head inside, you find yourself actually looking forward to returning to work after Christmas. Who knew the office could hold such possibilities? But then again, with Yunjin involved, anything seems possible.

You fall asleep that night with thoughts of soft lips and gentle hands, of whispered confessions and promises of more to come. In your dreams, it's still snowing, and Yunjin is there, smiling at you through the white flakes, reaching for your hand.

Tomorrow will bring family gatherings and holiday traditions, but tonight belongs to the memory of her - the taste of her kisses, the sound of her moans, the feel of her skin under your fingers. It's the best Christmas gift you could have asked for, and it's only the beginning.

[nichuuu]

Dinner & Diatribes: Analogous

Shin Yuna x Im Nayeon x M reader

Word count: 14k+

“A younger girl… And I’m talking much younger. Eight years younger than me I think.”

Normally, it feels like you’re worlds apart from Nayeon in her bed. You’re just her toy, her plaything, her doll.

Tonight though: it feels like she’s in the same world as you. She feels here — emotionally and physically present as her nails trace circles on your bare chest. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe even classic manipulation, but she feels like more than just someone who you fuck on the weekends.

“And you won’t be jealous?” you ask, indulging yourself and playing with her hair a little. She scoffs.

“You talk like we’re dating.” She shifts so that she has a cheek on your shoulder. A relationship with her wouldn’t really fly: she’s not gonna let you take care of her when she loves control more than anything. Still, it’s nice to dream about holding her hand sometimes. “I have no reason to be jealous, so why would I be?”

(It’s a question you’re asking yourself too honestly.)

“Dunno,” you muse, admittedly a little disheartened, “maybe it’s cause you’re kinda freaky… Just a thought.”

She smirks. “Trust me. A younger girl in this thing we’ve got going on isn’t gonna affect anything.” She starts tapping her nails against your chest. “Besides… You know you’re mine.”

Oh…

(Not sure how to feel about that last part.)

***

Last you checked: you weren’t expecting a guest today. 

“Uh,” you can’t help but mutter past her lips as you stagger back into your own apartment. She lifts her lips off yours out of consideration, and she takes a few moments to soak in the look of mixed emotions that has made its way onto your face. You don’t mean to be rude when you point at the other girl and ask, “do you wanna perhaps wanna, you know, fill me in on what’s going on here?”

Im Nayeon turns, looks over her shoulder, smiles. She turns back, cups your cheek with her hand. 

“Thought I’d bring some company tonight, just to spice things up.” Nayeon tells you, turning your head in a way that lets you get a good look at the younger girl standing at the door to your apartment. “Hope you don’t mind.” With her other hand, she makes a come hither motion, and tells the girl to close the door on her way in. The girl does as she’s told, and when she’s next to the both of you, Nayeon takes her by the hand and pulls her closer. 

“Introduce yourself sweetie,” Nayeon instructs—firm yet almost saccharine. Nayeon lets her thumb rub over the girl’s knuckles, a deceivingly sweet smile playing on her lips. “Tell him what we’ve rehearsed. Go on.”

She’s an eye-catcher for sure—the other girl, not Nayeon. Not that Nayeon isn’t already turning heads when she walks just about anywhere, but more that the other girl is just a rather far cry from what you're comfortable with. You’re so used to Nayeon’s gentle, piercing eyes that can probably break you with a look from her; those small, plump lips of hers that kiss you with precision and passion; those bunny cheeks that you love pinching so damn much that it probably should be considered an addiction. But this girl brings something new to the table, and you have to admit that it’s refreshing. 

Smoky, kinda innocent eyes that have a whole foot in the territory of doleful and another foot in the realm of entrancing; luscious long black hair; a face that could make just about anyone melt. Nayeon’s guest is certainly a few years younger than her, and certainly less lecherous than her senior at first glance. You don’t really know where or how Nayeon could pick up a girl that looks as sweet as this, and you certainly want to find out how a girl that looks like the textbook definition of ‘smoking hot’ could ever end up in a place like this. She’s clearly nervous, but you give her credit for being able to stand perfectly still with Nayeon’s hand starting to roam up her arm. 

“I’m Yuna… But you can call me whatever you want.”

The sentence has Nayeon’s fingerprints all over it, and you can assume with full certainty that she’s had this idea stewing in her head for at least a week or two. The smug grin on Nayeon’s face tells you that things are going according to plan, and her fingers latch themselves around Yuna’s forearm. 

“She’s a fun one to play with.” Now she’s directed her attention to you, looking right at you as she pulls the younger woman even close to the both of you: till you can literally feel Yuna’s breath in your ear. “A young little slut to spice things up.”

Nayeon takes her attention away from you, and with gentle hands on Yuna’s cheeks, she pulls the younger girl in for a kiss. It’s simple—no tongue or anything—but it’s enough to make the younger girl squirm a little where she stands. Nayeon’s clearly taking pleasure in this. Even with her lips locked with a girl younger than her, you can clearly see the whisper of a cheeky smile playing on the corners of her lips. You wonder if she’s gonna get more joy out of this than you at the end of the day.

The younger girl is released from the fierce lip-lock. She looks dazed, like she just took a hit of a blunt. Nayeon admires her craftsmanship for a moment, taking in the look on the poor girl’s face as she chuckles softly to herself, “oh my… Someone wasn’t quite ready, was she?”

Yuna’s at a clear loss for words. She tries to speak; her words fail her. You can’t exactly blame her though. Nayeon just kinda chooses when and where to be a bit of a minx, and you just have to roll with it. It’s fun, kinda hot; but not when you’re in a horrible place to get it and she decides that she just wants to blow you at some restaurant that you’re at. It’s a bit of a handful really, and you don’t quite know what to do with her sometimes. Wonder how Yuna fares?

“It’s okay,” Nayeon assures her, “you’re in good company now, though you're free to just watch if you’re still shy.”

The younger girl looks at her senior, then at you, then back to her senior. “I think I’d like to join in on this.”

Nayeon beams, her smile almost sweet if it isn’t for the fact that she’s quite literally happy to see a younger girl get it on with you and her. “That’s the spirit.”

And it’s confusing really: figuring out which of them is gonna make the first move. Yuna’s energy gives her an air of uncertainty, but you can sense some mischief within her that resonates at the same frequency of Nayeon’s. Yet there’s something a little different about her that you can’t quite place your finger on. Her youth is a breath of fresh air; there’s that young energy in her smile towards Nayeon that tells you that she’s eager but somewhat cautious. You would call her a mirror of Nayeon as they start discussing how she wants it, but you pick up on a bit of pickiness in her voice  that strays from Nayeon’s attitude. The older girl before you will take it however she likes, fuck herself on your cock till she cums and kinda leave you high and dry. Yuna on the other hand has some grungy ideas of where she wants you to cum and how she wants it to happen.

Okay, let’s return to home base and consolidate: they're similar but different; kinda conflicting yet go together like dinner and diatribes on a family reunion. There’s reason to believe that they are somewhat two sides of the same coin, yet simple observation contradicts the notion. Bottom line – it’s confusing.

“You know what?” Nayeon has a finger twirled in Yuna’s hair as she casts a glance at you. “How about we get you naked first… Then we figure out what we can do?”

Yuna seems to enjoy the proposal. The two women look at you, and Nayeon gestures with her head to come closer. As your feet land on the wood floor, Nayeon goes at a slower pace of walking as she rounds Yuna and stands behind her. She’s shorter than her by a considerable amount, but it doesn’t make her any less imposing as she pokes her head out from Yuna’s right side.

“Go on. Unwrap her,” Nayeon whispers, running a hand up Yuna’s stomach. “Let’s see what she has in store for us…”

And Yuna is more than glad to lift her arms up for you as you pull her sweater off her body. The girl has an amazing body – you’d give her that. Slim waist, wide hips, hourglass figures so defined that the sands of time would be jealous. A body to die for really, and the appeal only increases as she reaches behind her back and unclips her bra. Nayeon smiles as she tosses her article of clothing aside. 

“Tight and forthcoming?” The older woman muses. “Looks like we have quite the toy on our hands.”

Yuna’s gaze is almost searing as you step up to her. Her breathing is kinda unsteady, but you can’t exactly blame her. She’s half naked in front of two older people, with one of them running her hands along her smooth skin while the other cock their head and examine her from head to toe. If you were in her shoes, your blood would be racing and boiling fast. 

“Do what you want with me,” she whispers. She reaches forward and grasps your crotch through your pants. “I’m yours to take.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did Nayeon teach you that?”

“Nope.” Speak of the devil and she doth answer on the younger woman’s behalf. “I only told her how to introduce herself, didn’t tell her what to say after,” Nayeon explains, a glint in her eye as she stares up at Yuna’s face. “Is it kinda fucked up if I wanna see her suck your dick?”

Yuna glances at her senior, then returns her gaze to you. “A little… But we can make it happen.”

Another point of difference – 2 actually: she doesn’t play around with her words and she’s pretty proactive. You like that. 

It’s a mess as you fumble with clothes, but it doesn’t take long for you guys to rid Yuna of the rest of her clothing and have her on her knees in the living room carpet. Her hands are delicate as she pulls down on the waistband of your boxers and frees your cock, and their even more so when she grips your throbbing shaft with both hands. On the chair that Nayeon pushed you onto, you watch her eyes as they survey what she’s working with.

“Wow…” she mutters, looking over to the right where Nayeon’s lounging on the sofa. “You had this all to yourself?”

Nayeon’s lips slant at an angle. “I know right? Better than any dildo you can find on the market.”

Yuna takes a moment to really look at the cock in her hands, eyes full of lustful wonder as she takes it in from all angles. She lets her mouth hang open for a little as she processes what she’s seeing, then she asks, “how does she even walk the next morning? I mean… This thing is girthy as fuck. Would probably split me open if I’m not careful.”

“It won’t,” Nayeon answers rather spontaneously, tapping her finger against a cushion as she watches Yuna pump your shaft with her lanky fingers. “It’ll fill you just right,” she leans against the handrest of the couch, watching intently as you push away some hair from Yuna’s face, “though I think it’ll look the best in your mouth.”

Yuna gets the gist. Her cheek presses itself against the inside of your thigh as she lifts your shaft and kisses it at the base, and she works her way up to the tip while one hand keeps your twitching cock steady. She gets to your head, and her lips take the sensitive part of you about halfway in, making sure you're looking (and you mean, like, really looking) as she lets her tongue lick the precum off from your leaking tip. Once she’s certain that she has your fullest attention, her jaw slacks and her shoulders rise; she takes a breath, closes her eyes.

There’s the hiss of an inhale — from you — as your head tilts back against the backrest while your cock enters the warm wet tavern of her mouth. She’s almost methodical in the way she takes you in, stopping halfway to adjust the angle of her head so that she can push forwards and down and drive the rest of your meat into your mouth. Her hands steady her, resting against your thighs as she tears a little. She’s a little more patient than her senior, waiting for a bit before she starts moving at a steady pace. Spit’s starting to drip down to her chin – will probably ruin the carpet if you cared enough (and you don’t). Nayeon’s been meaning to change this damn thing anyway. It’s seen too many juices and some dog piss in it from when her pomeranian was over those few times.

“Jesus,” is all you can hiss, through closed teeth of course. The young girl is nothing short of heavenly; she’s almost perfect at taking your dick as she starts to bob her head. The gurgling is kinda loud; spit flows like a stream down your shaft, only to be collected by that fastidious mouth as it traces a path – up and down and up and down. You wonder if there’s some make-up to be ruined.

“Won’t you look at that?” And you don’t even need to look over at the couch to know that Nayeon’s playing with herself. The squelching tells you lots, but the way her speech is kinda breathy tells you more than you need to know. She’s probably really turned by the sight of a younger woman taking cock into her mouth, riled up at the sight of tears flowing down her youthful cheeks. It’s borderline voyeuristic, pretty fucking freaky but also kinda hot. That’s her whole brand anyway. “She’s fucking taking your dick. My god…”

Yuna gurgles on your dick – probably some reply she’s trying to give but fails to because she has dick in her mouth. The suckle of her lips; the slide of her tongue against the base of your shaft; her throat kinda convulsing as she struggles and struggles – you don’t know if it’s all gonna be a bit too much, but now you’re really focusing on not trying to hurt her while your hands grab a handful of her hair in a fist. You’re assisting—or maybe forcing… Low-key goes both ways when there’s a very, very fine line between the two in this context—her, pulling her into your crotch and pushing her off just to pull her in again. It’s a vicious cycle – kinda doubling on the meaning while also butchering it: harsh and repetitive but there’s not a fucking instance where this produces a detrimental result.   

She comes up for air, your shaft pretty much dripping with spit as she takes a moment to gather herself. The gasping is hot, and so is the way she wipes her spit towards her mouth with the back of her hand. “God this is… Fuck...” she mutters, licking her lips while her fist is in constant fluid motion. Bruce Lee would be proud: she is like water.

“Keep it up darling,” the motions of Nayeon’s wrist have gotten quite sharp, sudden and lacking interval. Okay, maybe not sudden, but more… Desperate. It’s not like she isn’t gonna get her fair share of cock or anything, but she hasn’t been over for a while. There’s only so much that a vibrator and her fingers can do; she kinda needs to see it and revel in it for her to actually get off properly. You don’t know if watching a young girl take dick into her mouth is softening the blow dealt to her senses, but you kinda know that it’s still doing a number on her because she’s completely hiked up the hem of her dress to fuck herself with her fingers. There’s not much thought behind her actions, but she’s definitely letting herself go a little wild for the night. She is being indulged after all. 

“Am I doing good?” Yuna inquires, and it’s a question directed to both of you really. You give her a nod; Nayeon’s answer is verbal: Keep that up and you’re gonna make two people cum in the next five minutes. The young girl is pleased. She lets her tongue swirl around your tip, lick the cock before her from base to tip and sneak in some scissoring flicks of her tongue. Your hand finds itself on her cheek, thumb massaging the bone just above the flesh as she giggles and tosses her hair.

“You’re a doll,” you tell her. She smiles.

“That’s one of the many names I’ve been called,” she replies, letting your spit-covered head rub against her cheek. “Though I like the name cumslut the most.”

Oh.

Your grip on her cheek becomes more firm. “Okay then,” and your pushing her to the left so that her lips are in line with your head. “Open wide you fucking cumslut.”

The enthrallment in her eyes is apparent. Obedient, subservient, forthcoming, whatever; she parts her lips and lets her tongue hang out. Her eyelids flutter shut. You pull her forward. Nayeon cusses.

You're unbelievably hard in her mouth, and your member is ever so sensitive to every movement inside those cheeks of hers. The softness of her tongue, slickness of her drool, warmth of her cheeks… Too much to focus on with so little space for appreciation. You settle on fixating on the suction, the sweet vacuum her lips form around your length as she quite literally lets her mouth get used. Two hands around her head – pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing. A hot rhythm, not quite a dance but kinda cyclical like a routine. More perverse than any street jazz choreo you’ve seen though.

“Yuna,” you mutter, “ you’re so – fuck I – ugh… Your mouth.”

Somewhere in her throat, there’s space for a hum. Her hands are behind her back, locked in place by her own accord as she lets you fuck her mouth with no qualms. It’s smooth, almost natural till she gags a little on your dick and has to blink a bit. Slip n’ slide; front and back – she just takes your cock like an obedient little slut. It’s amazing, kinda dark, but still amazing nonetheless. The gurgling and the sound that comes from her throat that’s almost like swallowing; your fingers grasping the silky strands of her hair; eyes meeting hers. Fuck. 

You're desperate for a taste of heaven. You pull her down harder, faster. 

She gags, chokes, sucks a little harder. 

“Fuck this,” Nayeon hisses. “I’m joining in.”

And she straddles you before you can even blink, kissing you fiercely like she’s gonna die the next day and this is the last time she’s seeing you. Somewhere along the way, she’d shed her clothes. Now she’s nude and kissing you, jabbing her tongue into your mouth and exploring the feel of your teeth. Your cheeks are hers to hold, your mouth hers to own. 

She breaks the torrid kiss, “Yuna,” she drawls, playing with your hair as she speaks to the girl while looking at you. “Don’t ruin him too much. Leave some fun for me.”

The vibrations sent down your shaft make you tingle from head to toe – a product of Yuna’s attempted reply. You can’t see her anymore, but you can continue to just flow with the movements of pulling and pushing against her hair as Nayeon dives between her legs to get back to work. The older woman lets a sigh escape from her lips, pushing her fingers a little deeper. You can feel the heat against your crotch. Her hands move a little faster.

“Do you have any idea,” she whispers, her voice kind of striking that middle frequency between the gurgling and the squelching. “How fucking pent up I was in that damn dorm?”

Through your teeth, you reply. “No,” and you kinda twitch a little in Yuna’s mouth. “Do tell.”

She leans in, moans into your ear for good measure. “I was dripping every other day,” she reports, a lilt in her voice as she continues her work between her thighs. “Didn’t help that Momo was bringing a guy over and I could hear them fucking through the walls… My vibrator almost died that week.”

“Well…” you shudder as you speak, a familiar tingle building up from the base of your shaft. "You’ll have to wait your fucking turn.”

She smiles, quite sadistically you might add.

“That’s alright,” she tells you. Her forehead pressed against yours. “Just leave a load for me.”

And you have to hit her with an honest reply. “I’ll always have a load for you.”

“That’s what I thought.” She straightens her back and looks down at you. “I own this dick,” she announces to her audience of two. “Now cum in her mouth. I’m gonna get her to fucking swallow your load.” The orders are barked, not said. “I wanna watch.”

And she turns her toned back to you, leaving you with the view of the delicious curve of her back as she arches it while slicking her fingers with her own juices. You’re trying to hold on, desperately, but there’s only so much you can do when the mouth around you and the two women before you are this hot.

You don’t get to see it when it happens, but you can hear it and kinda imagine it when you cum right into Yuna’s mouth. You bet it’s kinda messy, but you’ll never know. Nayeon’s ass blocks the view – a trade off: view for a view. You hear the older woman hiss her commands—“Swallow. Fucking swallow you filthy little whore”—envison the sight of the young woman struggling to down your load as it pumps ito her wet hot mouth. A groan spills from your lips; a long-drawn sigh filters from Nayeon’s chest; Yuna gulps as she takes it all.

Your dick pops out of her mouth, all messy and slick with juices. Nayeon grabs it, pumps it, and without warning – shoves it into her cunt. 

And all at once it becomes too much: your over stimulated member twitches wildly in the grasps of her slick, hot walls as it begs for a break. The pleasure is horribly abundant, so much that it almost hurts. There’s no time to process the tight heat around you, voice your need for a break. Nayeon starts bouncing on her knees.

“Oh fuck yes.” Her hands shoot behind her, the left one failing to catch the handrest the first timebut gripping it tightly on the second attempt. Her knuckles go white. “I needed this. I needed to be filled by this fucking cock of yours.”

It’s too much; another load surges forth almost instantly. The hot semen paints her walls, shoots up from your already over-sensitive head and flows down her cunt. It leaks out; the squelching gets louder. Yuna’s tongue laps up the mix of juices that flow. Nayeon continues to ride.

Your fingers dig into the flesh of her waist, desperate to assist you in grounding yourself in this seemingly unreal reality. There’s a lack of words that can really describe your predicament, and if you’re to actually bring it across in a coherent sentence, it’ll probably something along the lines of “fuck” repeated at least a million times. You’re stuck in the chain of entry and exits of her pussy, a bundle of nerves beneath Im Nayeon while she mercilessly fucks herself on your cock. Right now: your dick is nothing but a mere toy for her to get off on, and she made that very clear from the moment she started throwing herself down onto your dick.

“Nayeon…” you heave. It’s an effort to even breathe.

“Shut it,” she hisses, not even casting a glance behind her. “I’m cumming on this cock one way or another and I don’t care how many fucking loads you give me.”

Yuna crawls around to the side of the chair. You hazard a glance at the young girl. She’s messy, sweaty and has residues of cum and drool at some areas around her mouth. She reaches out into the chair and takes you by the hand, squeezing it tightly in hers as if she knows that you’re fucking fading by the second. Every slam of Nayeon’s crotch against you is a mix of pleasure and pain, her moans almost like animalistic grunts.

“Fuck… You’re really filling her,” Yuna muses, watching the older girl take her liberties with your dick. “She must be so fucking tight right now.”

You swallow. “Yeah… It’s… Fuck…”

Yuna chuckles. Watching you struggle must kinda humour a little. She gives your hand a squeeze, encouraging you to hold on to what grasp of this world you have left. Her eyes sparkle, almost envious as she sees her senior bouncing on the dick she was taking into her mouth just a few moments ago. Her other hands snakes between her legs, flits circles of respite. Two girls getting off before you, similar but different.

Go ahead. Call this shit Tuesday.

***

“Be nice to her when I’m gone.”

You aren’t sure why Nayeon would need such a huge suitcase for a 10 day trip with her family. There’s no doubt in your mind that there’s probably tonnes of products in there that she wants to bring along for the fuck of it, but the damned thing looks like it was harbouring a small child. Not that Nayeon would ever do that, but it does help to paint a clearer picture of the sheer scale of her luggage. The airport X-ray is about to have a field day with this.

“Of course.” You’re kinda obvious about your ogling from the doorway as Nayeon does her hair with nothing but her leggings on. Yuna is still fast asleep in the room that you’d prepared for her, but you still kept your volume down just to play it safe. 

Nayeon smirks at you through the mirror. “I’m sure she’ll feel right at home with you.”

“Is that sarcasm I’m hearing?”

“Take it however you like. My eyes are up here by the way.”

You chuckle and walk up behind her. “Guilty as charged mademoiselle,” you apologise, though you're not all that ashamed of th fact that she’s caught you in th act of fucking her with your eyes.

Nayeon hits you with a scoff, a rather aloof one that screams ‘got you. Thought you were slick huh?’ even though it was within your fullest intentions for her to catch you looking. She had to be fair to you in this situation — kinda hard to look at anything else. Or maybe you’re misjudging her, maybe she knows full well that you were (and still are) catching a good look at those firm, perky mounds that sit proudly atop her chest. They fit perfectly in your hands, quite like a glove—OJ Simpson would hate that it fits that well—and a nicely-fitted set of bed sheets. What the fuck does that even mean? Frankly, you can’t quite put an explanation to it yourself; you’re kinda listing things that sound and feel right to you — things that give something enjoyable that little kick it needs to become something more congenial. 

(That sort of encapsulates her whole personality honestly. She’s already something to relish, cherish; the type of girl that makes other guys say ‘she’s a keeper’ even though they don’t have the slightest idea of what she really was like beyond cameras and public appearances. Kinda horny all the time, but also wants to cuddle you to sleep and call you all sorts of pet names after you’ve blindfolded and fucked her against three different flat surfaces – maybe breaking some expensive furniture in the process. Dominant, a little stubborn and a little pissy. Need you say more?)

“But for real: make her feel at home,” she says, setting down the curling iron and switching it off. She leaves it to cool down, puts on a sweater while she waits. “Poor girl’s been through enough. I promised her a safe haven, so try to make it one.”

The context behind her request is a little baffling. Just this morning Nayeon told you of Yuna’s falling out with an alleged highschool sweetheart, and she's taking shelter with you guys till legal matters are dealt with and she’s safe and sound. Guy started stalking her apparently, threatened her once or twice too. Fun times we live in.

Helping her hook the clasp of her necklace, you assure Nayeon that only your best effort would go into creating a safe space for her younger companion. Not to brag, but you’re pretty good at making friends—trust me. We’ll be tight before you even know it—with strangers. It’ll be like walking the dog; easy peasy. You get the idea right? Kinda running out of sayings. Nayeon seems pretty pleased with your promises.

“If you guys have fun, do send some videos,” she tells you, opening her drawer to pull out a pair of jeans. “I’ll be missing out on a lot if you don’t. That girl has a body even I wanna ravage.”

“So cock is not enough, huh?” you tease. She flicks her eyes to the mirror.

“Who said it wasn’t enough?” She cocks her head and makes eye contact through the mirror. “I literally ride you till you’re sore. Yuna’s just… an add-on. Like a side dish if you will.”

You chortle. “And I’m the main course?”

“Nope,” she giggles, unfolding her jeans. “That would be me.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“If you want an admission of my wrongs, you’ll have to fuck it out of me.”

And she meets your eyes in the mirror. You smile, knowing that she’ll probably let you get away with this one.

“It’s really a shame…” you sigh. “These leggings were, like, really nice.”

***

Couple minutes later you’re giving her a kiss on the cheek as she hurries for the taxi that arrived five minutes ago. In the midst of the commotion, Yuna emerges from her room dressed in one of your shirts – just in time to wave goodbye to her senior before Nayeon slips away. You're not too sure if she’s fully registered the fact that she’ll be stuck with you for a full week, but hopefully once the realisation sets in, you’d already have made her comfortable. 

You turn. The way you meet her gaze is kinda awkward. She has a look of intrigue on her face as she rubs her arms and gazes back at you with those doleful eyes.

You clear your throat. “You uh… You like omelettes?”

***

On your phone screen, Nayeon just kinda stares back at you with a hundred-yard-stare type of look. Hotel wifi has her video freezing at a rate that would make Elsa proud, and she’s barely a human through all the pixelated fuck-what that clouds in front of her.

“I feel like we're focusing on vastly different things here, Nayeon.” You’re hoping that she can hear your voice over the roaring silence of shitty network bandwidth. “Not even a day too… I’m pretty sure the poor girl’s scared shitless of me.”

And while Nayeon’s video and audio buffer, it’s a good time to remind yourself of your mistake. Not that you forgot it or anything, but you just gotta make sure that everything that you tell Nayeon is accurate.

So it turned out that Yuna and breakables don’t really go well together. Nayeon seems to have forgotten to ask you to read some fine-prints, and you basically went in raw when you witnessed  the young girl’s clumsiness. Quite the butter-fingers: she broke a mug and a plate in one slip of her tray from her hands. The sound of shattering porcelain jarred her, and as she attempted to move out of her mess, the Dad in you spurred you to cry out in panic. Don’t move! you practically roar. Poor thing flinched like she’s being held at gun-point, started shivering a little as you rushed over to clear up the shards. You don’t quite know how to comfort her, and so you just tell her to just eat in her room if she’s uncomfortable. She took you up on that, and that ended the first non-sexual interaction you had with her.

Way to go… You deserve a star.

By the time you’re done pacing the room and have thrown yourself onto the bed, Nayeon reconnects back to the call. She’s in a bathroom, wearing airpods and sitting in what looks like a bathtub. From the fact that she's wearing a robe, you’ll bet good money on the really (and you can’t stress this enough) high chance that she’s wearing nothing else beneath that.

“Five star hotel and I get two bars of wifi everywhere except the damn toilet,” she huffs. Guess you were right about what the two of you were focusing on. No prizes for being right though; life’s a bitch. “Anyway, don’t think too much about it. She’s clumsy but she’s not unaware. I’m sure she’ll understand where you’re coming from.”

“Honestly”—you slide under the covers and heave a huge sigh—“I think I might find my thirteenth reason if she hates me tomorrow.”

Nayeon rolls her eyes. Yes: she’s painfully aware that you certainly won’t kill yourself over the fact that you may or may not have made a girl re-live her trauma, but the knowledge of that doesn’t stop her from expressing her disdain towards your little joke.

“Sleep on it. You’ll be fine tomorrow,” she assures you, now in full resolution and crystal clear audio and image. She segways into something else, “By the way, check out the link I’m sending you.”

Toilet wifi is truly doing her wonders cause you get the link in question right after she says it. And you aren’t sporting a fedora when you confidently identify the source as a Reddit thread, but it feels like you should be heading online to buy one and get it delivered via next-day delivery. (Ugh… You can feel the word m’lady threatening to burst forth from your mouth already.) Yuck.

Clicking on the link brings you to a community you’re no stranger to. You’ve heard of it once or twice, but never really had the time or energy to delve into the posts. Nayeon seems to have done some homework though — you’re taken to a very specific post, a clip that kinda blew up when it debuted. 

It takes no Oppenheimer to draw the conclusion that the post addresses Nayeon herself, and she’s clad in that all black bodysuit from that one Talk That Talk performance that hugs her figure and really makes all the curves on her body pop. You’d know: you fucked her in this outfit; railed her on the bed from the back with a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs on her wrists if you want specifics. And if you want even more details: she didn’t let you cum till she’d came 3 times. Fun.

It’s a stunning outfit, and the appeal of the wonders it does to Nayeon’s body is only emphasised by how she runs her hands up from her hips, tracing the hourglass shape of her figure before she flips her hair. A pretty good Gif. Seems to have all 1410 commenters on their knees.

Now mind you: you’re on speaker phone with her right now. With that in mind, it sure as hell feels like Nayeon’s in the room with you as low sighs and salacious squelching starts filtering through Nayeon’s microphone and into your ears. A quick glance at the call window (that’s so helpfully converted to a small rectangle at the top right-hand corner of your phone) confirms 2 things while surprising you with a third find:

1) She’s very much naked under that robe. A bit of a no-brainer

2) She’s playing with herself – legs wide open and one of them (you can’t be arsed to really say which one) propped up on the rim of the bathtub as juice-slicked fingers work themselves between flushed folds.

3) The whole reason you can see the stuff in 2) is attributed to the fact that she's somehow leaned her phone against something in that bathtub to give you an almost artistic view of her. Emphasis on ‘almost’ because the close-up of her pretty, pink pussy is foreground to an even more sordid display of her half-lidded eyes and parted lips — baseness personified really.

Yuna becomes a secondary thought. “So… Has anyone told you that you’re kind of freaky?”

“Hey. I’m just a girl,” she muses, the look on her face a strong contender for the symbol of pure depravity. “Read the comments would you?”

“Twitter’s a much better place for this if—”

“Just stop being a smartass and read the fucking horny comments.”

You’re not intimidated by the aggression behind her voice for once, and it’s probably because she isn’t here to edge you if you don’t shut up. You take a moment to admire just how good she looks in this seemingly sempiternal display of what looks like lust itself, the Gif looping at least 3 times while you’re at it (and it’s like, the best 14 seconds of your life). The sun hits her at just the right, illuminating the best parts of her while shadows further define the shape of her curves – bringing forth the swell of her hips while making her tits and ass look bigger by a rather generous amount. Frankly, she looks good in just about anything really. Clothes on or off; hair tied up or let down; lingerie or fancy dress; lace or solid, she is the embodiment of sex.

“Hurry the fuck up,” she hisses, and it’s dripping with lethal lust and desire like venom from serpent fangs. Okay… There’s some mutual interest here with you and Nayeon. You’ll oblige.

“How nasty are we getting?” you inquire, all while you work the waistband of your pants down past your crotch so that your cock can spring free. You enlarge the window of the call, silently hypnotising yourself with the sight of Im Nayeon’s hand busying itself between her legs. “Are we going from the tame ones and progressing or…”

The look on her face tells you that she doesn’t give a shit; and she’s about this close to ending this filthy call and getting off on her own. Better conscience guides you to pick a random comment from the middle and get going with it.

“This one’s a thought provoker,” you preempt, scanning through the rather raunchy statement left behind by some undoubtedly turned-on user. “It says, ‘I wonder what she tells her stylist when she has to wear such outfits. It's like she must be really asking: I want something that will reveal my whole curvy figure. Nayeon is really the best girl’.”

“Mnph…” — she tilts her head back and lets out a gasp – an implosive suction of air that’s sharp yet so pleasing to your ears. “Curvy and… What was that again?”

“Best girl,” you reiterate, watching with a half-parted mouth as your hand matches the pace of Nayeeon’s fingers pumping in and out of the wet mess on the screen, “looks like someone’s got an eye for details.”

“They’d better. I think I looked fucking hot in that thing.”

You could second that opinion, though it was probably in your best interest to keep reading. This is basically your equivalent of putting fries into bags. You’re kinda okay with it, but you’re struggling to read this next one because of its horrible grammar, “her pussy must feel like heaven. With a tight body like that, she must know how she’s draining balls around the world.”

In the bathtub, she twitches. Her ring and middle finger are drenched when they’re removed from her pussy, but they don’t rest and find solid ground on her clit. They rub circles into Nayeon’s swollen nub, no doubt applying just the right amount of pressure onto the area while Nayeon is breathing all shaky and sounds like she’s been winded. In your books: this is basically her doing a backflip over the fine line between freaky and kinky, and basically exposing you to some new kink that she’s probably picked up from Sana.  If any of these commenters ever really had a sliver of an idea of what she’s really like behind the scenes, you doubt that the comments would be as merciful as this. Anyway, next.

“I bet she likes it raw. She probably loves being a good little fucktoy who takes unprotected dicks into that tight pussy and letting load after load fill her. I mean” —Nayeon starts to shudder a little, quaking and sighing as you get to the more explicit section of his comment—“she’d probably like it if I just ripped that dress off her body and spread her legs. She’ll moan like a slut when I put it in her and just start doing her raw. Imagine the way her tits will bounce. Fucking slut, she was made to be bred.”

She lets out this moan – inexplicable and undescribable. She urges you to keep going. You do just that.

“I want her mouth so bad. Bunny has those dick sucking lips that are made for cock, probably gives mad head and is so fucking sloppy with it. I bet she’ll let the drool drip from the corners of her mouth while she takes me in all the way, and she’ll probably thank me with her eyes when I grab her by the hair and start fucking her throat. I’m gonna destroy that pretty little face so bad, leave her so fucking messy and ruined that she’ll have to stop singing for at least a week. When I cum, I’m gonna make sure it goes down her throat and get some on that slutty face. She’s earned it.”

You’re watching her, pumping your fist around your cock while she lets her jaw slack and lets her moans sort of tumble from her mouth in batches. “More,” she pleads, fingers trembling as she lets her free hand slip beneath her robe and start giving attention to her tits. You’d kinda kill to see them now, but this view will have to do. “Read more. I want to hear it.”

“They're getting nastier,” you inform her. “This whole thread of comments is just 3 guys discussing how they want to share you in a gangbang.”

“Fuck yes. Please…”

She never finishes the sentence, but you get the gist. You persist. 

The next one is kinda paraphrased, partially because you’re projecting your own fantasies while simultaneously deciphering what this guy is trying to say across 5 separate comments. 

“I want nothing more”—and it’s getting really hard to breathe while Nayeon’s fucking herself senseless halfway across the world. Maybe if she hadn’t worn those damned airpods, you wouldn’t be hearing every single sordid little sound she makes (gasps, sighs, moans and a bunch of phonetic mish-mash that began with the letter ‘o’). You can’t tell if she’s already lost to the haze of pleasure, and even if she hasn’t she’s probably holding on by a thread thinner than hair; on the way there and probably reaching within the next five minutes—“than to pound her little pussy raw and give her a fat load.”

“Oh my fucking god…” she’s descending a little further into her own head, sinking beneath the sheer thrill of masturbating while her partner reads out all the perverse things that people would do to her. Her breaths are almost desperate – earthy and kind of like a product of raw emotion; akin to a groan or maybe even a grunt. At the same time, it’s like she’s struggling to take in the air she needs, fighting to find a reason to take a breath and distract her from this debauched world that she’s dived into. It isn’t just her mind that’s twisted here, but the minds of others too.  “Keep going. I need to know how they’re gonna ruin me.”

You’re trying to memorise the next line so you can watch, watch the subtle twitch in her right leg and the grunt-moan hybrid that’s produced from that pleasure stricken throat; the way she becomes a bundle of nerves like you and just starts losing it; the way her fingers go from rubbing to fluttering small circles of heavenly release into her body; the way the round breast that’s slipped out of the robe ripples with each movement from her shoulder. You’re more than happy to watch really; be a witness to the act of her bringing herself to the point of no return as she practically brims with pleasure and bliss that she’s bringing herself. You’re reading is like an add-on, some sick twisted DLC if you really think about it (you’re not really thinking much, but it’s a fun thing to consider). It’s quite like making a drink, albeit a little bit butchered – she’s pouring herself a glass while you wipe the rim with a lemon. The alcohol can spill on your fingers for all you care, you just wanna watch her make it overflow. 

TL;DR: you really wanna make her cum.

“I’ll fuck her mouth while you take her pussy”—this one is read word-for-word, verbatim, letter-for-letter. You like how it’s phrased, not quite poetry but beautiful in its own way—“make her gag on this cock till she’s ruining her mascara. We cum together. Give this little slut the spit roast creampie of her life.”

She half-sigh-half-moans – the type of noise she’d make when she’s on her back and being fucked into the mattress. She shifts, undoes the knot holding her robe together and lets the thing part from the middle and falls at her sides. Leaning back against the end of the bathtub, her pleading comes in the form of whines, soft ones that kinda float around the room while she endeavours to work her fingers a little harder. A free hand kneads her breast. Your breath hitches, cock pulsing in your fist as she arches her back and starts to gasp. You read the next lines, the boner-fueled words of some guy who probably had his cock in his hand while typing this out.

“I want her ass. I’ll make her ride it while she takes it up that bubble butt, then you guys an still fuck her pussy and mouth. She’ll be so messy, probably dripping from her pussy and her mouth while three dicks fuck the shit out of all three of her holes. You know what? I bet she’ll enjoy it. The slut flaunts her body like it’s a fucking prize. She’s asking for it.” 

There are like 2 more comments, but you never quite make it to the next parts. With a cry, Nayeon leans forward in the bathtub. She digs her fingers back into her slit, restarts the squelching and lets your speakers flood with a sordid symphony; squelch after squelch after squelch feels like music to your ears.  “Your cock.” It’s a demand, really raunchy, kinda racy and really (and you really mean really) fucking raw. Can’t quite figure out which part of her strips her of the filter that takes away the pure intoxicating venom that coats her words, but you couldn’t really give more of a shit right now. It’s hot, like, really fucking hot. “Show me your cock. Let me see you stroke it.”

And it’s almost at once that you switch back to the call and flip your camera around. You’ve been going at the same tempo for some time now, and you hope Nayeon can see the utter mess she’s made of you – precum leaking from your tip and your head all swollen and red. She moans, slips another digit inside of her and starts working all three of her fingers harder inside of her. 

“Ngh… I really wish that I could be filled with your cock right now,” she drawls. You’re not too sure if she knows that she’s projecting a shared desire right now. It’d be great to feel those warm walls wrapped around your shaft, slicking it with her juices while she rides you at a steady pace. Fuck… She’s ruining you, isn’t she? “With me baby. Cum. Make a mess for me.”

Her words are a little jumbled, but coherence doesn't really matter when she’s spitting pure filth from her lips. It doesn’t take long for either of you to get there, but you like to think that you meet her where she already is and kinda just go from there. At least that’s what you tell yourself as she convulses and is marred by her orgasm, and your cum leaks down your shaft and flows over your knuckles while you watch Your respective cameras capture it all – witnesses the mess you make at the hands of each other (and yourselves). You have to take a second, sit in the warm puddle of your own mess. It’s pooled on your stomach; cleaning up’s gonna be a chore.

“God…” Nayeon breathes. “Always wanted to try this.”

“Guessed as much,” you reply, sitting up in your bed and looking around for tissues. You spot a box of them on your desk. Great.

“Gotta go. Be in touch soon.”

She leaves you in the darkness of your room. From the corner of your eye, you spot a set of eyes watching you from the ajar door. You make out Yuna’s features before she closes the door, no doubt fleeing the scene. You aren’t sure how much she saw, but you hope that whatever she did see hadn’t scared her shitless.

Anyway, there are larger issues at hand.

***

It’s somewhere on the third or fourth night where it happens. For the record: you don’t go to her. She comes to you.

Weather forecast predicted hail, and for once they’re actually correct. It’s pissing it down – the glass on your room not left unscathed from the assault of hail falling from the sky. It’s awfully noisy, helluva hullabaloo. Hard to sleep in this weather really. You warned Yuna—who seems to have gotten a little more comfortable around you—about the horrid weather that you guys were about to be blessed with, and you can’t help but wonder if she’s fairing alright.

The knock on your door comes around a quarter after one. Yuna steps into your room, her silky nightdress kinda glowing in the low light as she sort of just stands there awkwardly. It’s quite like a child entering their parents room in the middle of the night to inform them that they’ve shat the bed. You look at her from under the covers for a bit, and when she continues to be a deer in headlights, you sit up in your bed. “You okay?”

“I’m um…” she begins, fiddling with her fingers as she speaks. “I-It’s noisy… And…”

You understand what she’s attempting to convey. You move to your right in bed, open the covers and pat on the space you’ve left for her. She smiles, grateful. When she settles into the space where Nayeon usually sleeps, you tell her to holler if she needs anything else. You leave her with that, and your back faces her when you—by the grace of some divine powers—drift off.

You wake up again in the early morning. The sleep wasn’t bad – kinda peaceful and dreamless and you want to close your eyes and drift back off. Unfortunately (actually kinda fortunately in this case), Yuna’s legs entangled with yours snaps you awake. You’re worried that you might have rolled into her while you were asleep (you really didn’t want to fuck up again), but her arm around your torso tells you otherwise. She’s cuddled up to you, head against your back and hugging you like you’re her personal soft toy – the usual kind of cuddling. Frankly, you’re at a loss for words. What happens in between is kind of a blur. You remember her stirring, and you remember turning around as slowly and gently as possible. What you don’t quite remember however, is how she ends up with a hand on your cheek. You vaguely remember her asking for some sort of permission, but your heart is beating so loudly in your ears that you can’t really hear or process much. She’s in the most vulnerable of positions right now, and the worst thing you could possibly do is fuck up. Your mishaps from the first day have you on edge.

And now you’re running through the events again in your head, doing your best to pick up on critical exposition that probably would explain the situation you're in. Words fail you as Yuna’s thumb traces a path across your cheek, sweeping back and forth languidly with the smallest of smiles on her face. Her eyes—those hypnotic doleful eyes—stare into yours, and you’re sniffing out some longing behind that gaze. 

“Nayeon put in a really good word for you,” she whispers, letting her gaze wander across your face. “She said that you were a trustworthy man… Someone who’ll take care of anyone because you can.”

You’re happy to hear of Nayeon’s positive appraisal of you, but it doesn’t stop your bad habit of cracking a joke in tense situations. “And what’s the customer’s review?”

You’re glad that she laughs. If she didn’t, you’d have to expand your list to include a 14th reason. 

“She told me to trust you and that I can feel safe around you,” she reports. She takes a moment to bring her eyes back to yours. Her smile grows wider. “I’m happy to say that I do… Largely.”

And all at once: a two tonne weight around your chest feels like it just dropped a twenty-story height. You aren’t sure if Yuna’s giggling because of the fact that you’re visibly relieved or because you heaved the loudest sigh of relief of your career.

“Man… I thought I’d completely fucked up after the first day,” you admit to her, relishing the feeling of your body relaxing in bed. “Never quite got to apologise for that.”

“And you don’t have to”—her smile is quite soothing to be honest, puts you right at ease after looking at it for a second or two— “I was just kinda shocked… And I kinda have a bad experience of being yelled at. Working on it though.”

Huh. Guess Nayeon was right about her.

“Still though,” you raise, rubbing your eyebrow. “I’m sorry.”

Yuna chortles. Her lips slant at an angle. “Forgiven and forgotten. Happy?”

You smile in response to the progress. “Hey. You go girl.”

She graces you with a wink. A moment of silence follows. 

“Did Nayeon ask you to be touchy with me?” you can’t help but inquire. It’s out of the blue, but hey: a burning question is a burning question. “I mean… It’s not everyday that a cute girl just pulls up in my bed and caresses my cheek.”

“She said that you’ll be fine”—she retracts the hand on your cheek. The two tonne weight starts rising to the 5th floor—“and are you flirting with me?”

(Two tonne weight falls. Phew… What a workout.)

“Maybe.” You don’t really like being blunt cause there’s always some merit in a bit of playing around. Now that you think back on it, you may or may not have picked this up from Nayeon. Damn girl is ruining you. “Take it how you want, just don’t think I’m being sarcastic.”

Yuna smirks a little. “Nayeon did say you like to play around with your words,” she lifts a finger and points away from the bed, “not sure if she influenced you,” she points towards you,  “or if you influenced her”.

“What if we’re both a little guilty?”

“Then I’ll be the outlier. Can I kiss you?”

And it feels like time stops. For the seconds that you stare at her in silence, one brain cell exerts maximum fucking effort to process the weight of her words. You wouldn’t have been as hesitant if she’d just kissed you directly, but now that she’s asking for consent first, you’re high-key at a loss for words. The sun’s starting to rise and the room’s being filled with this sorta radiant glow… Or maybe it’s just her.

“Woah,” you can’t help but muse. Of course, you’re exaggerating by quite a bit. “You are… Super blunt.”

“Figured you could use a change of pace.”

Then Yuna closes the distance between the two of you. She hesitates for a little, hovering over your lips for a bit before she finally decides to press her lips onto yours. It’s kinda sweet; her lips feel amazing and she’s really going down on you. You comb your hands through her hair, let the smell of sweet shampoo kinda intoxicate you a little while she tugs at your lower lip with her teeth. Unlike Nayeon, it feels like she’s kissing you because she wants to. The older girl sometimes makes it feel like she’s doing it for the sake of it, and then proceeds to tear through your clothes to get to your dick. Yuna takes her time, lets her hand on your face get familiar with the structure of your jaw as fingers graze them gently; introduces her index finger and thumb to your chin as she tips it to deepen the kiss a little.

“Hey,” she calls once the kiss is broken. She’s glowing in the light of the room, the smile on her face pretty fucking adorable. “Did Nayeon ever tell you that I look the best when I take it from the back?”

Again: super fucking blunt.

Clothes are never a hassle when you’re kinda in a rush, and Yuna’s night dress slips right off her body like the plate she dropped from the tray. You have her on her back, kinda half-mewing-half-keening as you catch a nipple in your mouth and suck on on it. The toned muscles on her stomach tense and relax, the rapid ebb and flow of pleasure in her system making her body move in all sorts of sensual ways as you palm her other breast.

And here’s the thing you like about Yuna: she lets you take her time with her, really revels in the sweetness of the moment while your trailing kisses down to her crotch. She moans for you – sweet music that tells you yeah that’s the spot while you acquaint and familiarise yourself with her body; she shifts herself accordingly – rolls to her side when you were kissing her plunging collarbones and opens her legs for you when you get to that pretty, pink pussy. It’s like she’s wired to please you, responding to your every move with a move of her own like you’re locked in a dance with her. It’s a welcome change of pace from having to fight and dirty talk your way to even get the chance to fuck Nayeon.

(In case you’re wondering: you do eat her out, but you kinda get lazy to really put into words. All you need to know are these few key points:

Firstly, she’s delicious, sweet and salty and kinda tangy. A bit of a subjective taste but you like it.

Secondly, her moans are really fucking adorable. They’re not even, like, purposefully made that way. She just kinda lets them flow from her mouth – choked-up cries of pleasure while warm thighs wrap around your ears. 

Lastly, when she cums, it’s fucking amazing. It’s like she brings heaven down to earth with her cries and makes sure you get to touch it as much as she can. Her body is fucking riveting – arches deliciously when she arrives and makes you twitch in your pants.

Bottom line: she’s really fucking hot, quite like Nayeon in the way she tries you on sometimes but patient and actually giving you the chance to talk dirty with her. Damn… She really is a change of pace.)

And so: reaching between your bodies with her on all fours, you grasp your cock in your right hand, slipping it between Yuna’s legs. The young woman spreads her thighs as best she can – readies herself for entry. Your head pushes between her lips, waiting for only a moment, before you thrust hard inside her, filling her to the hilt with your cock. She’s awfully tight, really fucking wet and God is it hot in there. You almost think molten iron seems to be brewing in her core.

“Tell me,” she huffs, a sly smile on her face as she props herself up on her elbows. “Am I better? Or is Nayeon still the best?”

You caress the swell of her ass. “Baby… I think you’ll be the best fuck I’ll have in a while.”

It’s almost cruel: the way you kinda just start thrusting without any warning. She likes it though, and you only know because she possesses the bluntness to do so.

“God you’re fucking big.” And her ass ripples with each thrust you deliver into that slick little pussy of her’s. “Fuck… How does Nayeon even manage you?”

(The thing you like about her is how she asks a question like it was some sort of objective statement – not a rhetorical question, just something for you to respond to.)

You fuck her harder in response to that, kinda push yourself all the way into her. The tip of your cock slams against her cervix and her cries ring throughout your room. Your room fills with the sort of visceral sound one would associate with skin slapping against skin. There are definitely some more words to be shared during sex – the girl has a little more things she wants to get off her chest, but what the whole exchange boils down to is a back and forth of her gasping and crying out and saying you’re the best dick she'll ever get and you telling her you love the feel of her little cunt.

(It's really not like you're trying to prove something by being super rough. Yuna just happens to really, really like the feel of a thick cock pounding into her. Maybe Nayeon was right – her taking it from the back was a good idea.

Or maybe she's just a slut.

Who knows?)

"Yeah," you growl. You reach forward and grab a handful of her hair, pull her body against yours. "Take my cock baby."

"I can take it," she gasps, the breath knocked out of her. Her fingers curl against the bedsheets and she's just taking your cock. She's a lot easier to please than Nayeon – less stubborn about being in control, but also much, much more willing to please. "Oh God, fuck me, please..."

You slam deep inside her. Her body jerks forward and the sound that comes from her mouth is a mix between a cry and a gasp. "Please what?"

"Fuck me harder," she says. She's practically begging for it. "Make me cum. Please, please make me cum!"

Taking up her request is all you really wanna do. She didn’t need to add the multiple pleads, but you took some pleasure in hearing it.

You grab ahold of her shoulders, pull her close till she's almost upright. "You're gonna cum around my dick," you growl. You start a series of rapid, hard thrusts and her body goes limp in your arms. "And you're gonna make a mess of yourself."

She nods frantically. She's a mess already, all sweaty and red. The sounds that leave her mouth are incoherent. With two fingers pressing hard and directly against her clit, you start circling on it, making her a complete fucking wreck in the middle of your room as you really try to get her off. There's a sweet spot you find after a moment – the pad of your digits slipping around the nub and her knees give, almost making her buckle until she's flat on her stomach on the bed, crying and shaking as you use her like a toy.

"Please... Fuck... Don't stop, oh God don't stop!" Her cries are like a prayer to you. You've never heard anything like it. You fuck her right through it, watching as her back arches and her legs twitch, until she's almost completely gone. There's only a little bit more left. She just needs a little extra push.

So you decide to go a little hard. You hold her by her hips, keep her legs shut, and thrust directly down onto her pussy with a force you'd only reserve for someone like Nayeon. Her eyes roll back in her head as you really take her like you've wanted to ever since you started; it's almost animalistic how you really try to get her to cum as hard as she can. You can almost feel her orgasm build up in her body. Her breathing grows shorter and more erratic and she's mewling in her throat – so close. You can taste it.

"You like my cock don't you?" You reach around, give her tits a squeeze. She almost cums from that.

"Yes," she whimpers. You know she's not playing the part – she genuinely wants your dick. "Please... Let me cum on your cock..."

(You don’t admit it verbally, but you like it when girls beg. Nayeon never does, and it’s a novelty now that she’s doing it.)

You hold her down with an arm on her lower back. Her head's to the side, hair plastered to her skin with sweat as you fuck her from behind. She's panting and whining, begging you for more; “please please more”. You like that. It's cute. You wanna hear it. So you go harder. She screams into the sheets, but the sounds are muffled, but she's pretty loud nonetheless. It's good to see her let go like this, really let loose and not hold anything back. There's a fire that she ignites inside you. "Fuck..."

It's like a little fire that ignites and grows bigger, burns brighter with each thrust. She's so tight and so fucking wet; the wet sounds that accompany each thrust really turns you on. Your body feels so hot. There's this warmth that spreads across your entire body with every passing second. She moans and cries, whimpering as you nail her into the sheets.

Then there's this moment of clarity that hits her, and she looks back at you – she smiles, eyes half-lidded and she whispers something to you.

"Cum inside me," she says. She's shaking. "Please..."

Your rhythm grows sloppy as you edge closer and closer to the climax. Your cock feels like it's growing harder, bigger – there's this throb in it and your body's all tensed up. It feels like something inside you is going to snap, break loose and make you cum. It's not the best feeling in the world, but the way it grows stronger and stronger really makes your toes curl and your skin tingle.

And she's so beautiful like this: spread out for you, skin sweaty, cheeks red, and ass in the air as you fuck her. It's the best way you can ever imagine her – she looks like she belongs to you like this, her body a playground for your lust, and she wants it just as much as you do. There's a mutual feeling between the two of you.

The pleasure comes and it hits you like a train. It feels like something inside your balls tighten and then snap and then there's this euphoria that envelopes you. You feel your cock pulse with every burst of semen that spurts from the head. Yuna cries as her pussy gets filled and filled, until it's running out and dripping from her cunt, but you can't stop fucking her. You want to feel that sweet, sweet release, to see how long it will go, to really enjoy this moment. She feels amazing, and your heart pounds and you want her so badly. You need her.

She cums — It's a hard, shuddering orgasm that wracks her body. She cums and she screams for you, and she makes a mess of herself as promised. It's really fucking hot – the way she completely loses her composure and her legs shudder violently as you pound her pussy through it all, soaking in the perverted pleasure she brings you while you fuck her freshly-creamed pussy till your hips kinda give. You collapse on her, panting and grunting on top of her while she struggles to breathe.

In this moment. She isn’t like Nayeon in the slightest.

She’s a welcome change of pace. 

***

“Thinking back… There were signs in highschool that I probably ignored.”

And the water sloshes around as Yuna shifts a little in the bathtub. She’s found it to her liking to prop herself up against you, let her head rest against your shoulder while you hold her close to your chest. You’ll admit that it’s a bit of an awkward arrangement, but there was no way you could just not indulge her after she asks to take a bath with you. 

“The worst part is that they weren’t even, like, subtle,” she tells you, just sort of staring out into the distance while she talked.  “He’d punch things when he got angry, even slapped a referee after he lost a game… Love is blind huh?”

You held her a little closer to your chest. “It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah, well, my mistakes left me with no physical scars but the emotional ones are plenty.”

You hope she can’t see you grimace. It’s hard to recover from these types of things, especially if you realise the stupidity behind your decisions.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you tell her, and you really mean it. “It must be difficult… You know: recovering.”

The front of her lips curve up. “Thanks. I try not to let it weigh me down too much but… Just kinda happens to come out every now and then.”

You get it, you really do. Not that you’ve been in an abusive relationship like hers before, but you understand what it’s like. It’s sad really: being unable to break out of a cycle that hurts you the more you try to stay and change it. You admire the young girl’s strength, envy her courage for finally breaking the cycle and freeing herself for good. 

“You’re safe now,” you whisper, moving some wet hair out of her face. “I will never hurt you. I promise.”

She smiles at that. “Thank you,” she says while pinching your cheek, “that means a lot to me.”

Then you bask in the silence for a little, taking in the smell of the bath salts and the feel of Yuna’s soft skin against yours. It’s a pretty romantic moment till Yuna’s bluntness breaks it.

“I’m, like, really wet,” she announces, gazing up at you from her position on your shoulder. You laugh. 

“Didn’t you just cum?”

“Good things come in threes.”

She fixes you with a look, like she knows that you’re gonna give in.

(And you know what? She’s absolutely right. Can’t say no to a pretty girl.)

***

“Well hello to you too.”

Nayeon sounds almost angry on the other side of the video call. On your end, you have your phone’s back camera pointed to the current situation: Yuna atop of you, thighs locked around your cock as her hips rock up and down steadily. Her thighs are warm, pillowy; makes you grit your teeth while she moves languidly.

“Nayeon!” Yuna exclaims, almost too saccharine as she keeps her eyes locked on yours. “We were just thinking of you.”

She isn’t lying. Just moments before her call came, you two were making a joke about how she’d never let you get away with as much as Yuna did. It was a pretty humorous conversation, almost comedic if it wasn’t for the fact that Yuna was tugging your sweats down your thighs. 

But, there she was, still moving in your lap. Yuna leans forward, hands planted on your chest as she continues to rock her hips, ass bouncing a little against your thighs.

You can hear a scoff from Nayeon.

Yuna turns her head to the screen, eyes looking at the phone but her hands still pushing on your chest, fingers flexing. "We really were," she whines, lips jutted into a pout. You watch her as her lips curl into a small smirk just a second later, her teeth peeking out, and you can feel your face grow warm when she looks back at you.

"Tell her what we were talking about," she orders, her voice soft but firm.

"Um...we were just, um—" you stutter out, and your throat goes dry as her hips keep going, her thigh muscles clenching around you.

"Go on."

"We were...just, uh, talking about how you're not here," you finally manage to get out.

"Aww, baby...” Nayeon is smiling. It’s sarcasm by the way; she's enjoying this as much as Yuna is.

Yuna's pout returns. "See, Nayeon?" She continues to roll her hips against you. "We were thinking of you,” she reiterates, making sure she has your eye contact while she fucks you with her heavenly thighs, “I know it's not fair that you aren't here, but he’s just so fucking hard… Someone had to do something about it.”

Nayeon gives a snort. “You two are lucky I’m not alone in my room right now.”

“And what would happen if you were?” Yuna challenges. You don’t recall her being this daring.

“Playing with myself, obviously,” the older girl replies. “You think I’d just watch you get him off with your thighs? I barely let that boy dominate me.”

Yuna chuckles and smiles your way.

“What a horrible situation,” she whispers, moving a little faster. “Luckily I’m here to pamper him.”

“And he’d better enjoy it while it lasts,” Nayeon smirks. “When I’m home he’s–”

Yuna cuts her off by hanging up. You stare wide-eyed in shock as she tosses the phone aside. “Too noisy. I can’t multitask,” she explains. “Call her back later. Let’s get back to it.”

With that, Yuna leans over you, her chest pressed to yours as she gives a slow grind in your lap, her hips moving in a figure eight. Your head rolls back, and you release a loud, drawn-out groan. Her thighs are so smooth against your cock, so warm, so soft. You wish you could bury your face in between them. The way her hips move is incredible; she knows what she wants, knows how to work you.

You try to sit up, but Yuna pushes you back down by your chest. Her lips curve into a smile, and she shakes her head.

"Stay down," she whispers, "you don't wanna ruin this, do you?"

"No."

"Then stay still. I'll make it quick."

Quick is an understatement. She's barely rocking her hips in your lap, but with how soft her thighs are, and the way they grip you like a vice, you know it'll probably be over sooner or later. You make a note to try and make this last for as long as you can. Yuna leans over you again, hands on your chest as she gives a rough buck of her hips. Your head snaps back and you let out a loud groan. She continues to grind against you, slowly, making sure to hit every sensitive part of your cock. You reach up to grab her hips, but she slaps your hands away.

"No touching," she tuts. "Let me do the work. You relax."

Your lips open to protest. She shushes you with a finger. 

"Own me later," she whispers, sliding the finger down to the point where your collar bones meet. "Let me take care of you now."

You gulp, nodding.

Yuna's hands settle back on your chest, nails dragging across your skin, making you shiver. She's looking at you with those doe eyes, those pretty pink lips curled into a smirk as her hips pick up pace. The friction is incredible; Yuna's thighs feel like silk wrapped around your cock, warm and soft; the way they're clamped around you has you seeing stars. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yuna moves faster.

(And another thing about her: she’s so fucking good at pleasuring you that she always makes you lose your ability to think.)

"Fuck..." You moan, throwing your head back. "Feels so good..."

She smiles at that, giving a small hum of approval. "Does it?" She asks. "Good."

You look up at her, watching her roll her hips. She's really putting in work, moving in all sorts of ways to make sure you're feeling the most pleasure. It's not lost on you; she's an angel, and you thank every god there is for having her. Your cock throbs between her thighs, aching. The head is flushed red and leaking precum, which smears all over Yuna's thighs as she keeps moving. Your toes curl in the sheets, fingers gripping the fabric as she rides you.

Yuna continues to roll her hips, giving a few rough bucks when she feels like it. You're groaning and moaning under her, letting out all kinds of sounds that make her chuckle. She's having fun teasing you, getting you close to orgasm only to slow down and watch your face contort with pleasure.

"Don't cum yet," she says softly, running her hands over your chest. "We just started."

"I-I know," you reply, breathless. "But I...fuck..."

Yuna giggles. "That good?"

"Yeah. Fuck… don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it, baby."

You throw your head back, your hips twitching under hers. Yuna chuckles, keeping her thighs locked around you. Your cock aches, throbbing between them as she moves; precum drips onto her legs, which only makes the slide easier for her. You're starting to sweat; your body's temperature rises with each passing moment, the feeling of her thighs overwhelming you. Yuna's so warm against you, so soft and pliable; you can't help but imagine her underneath you, moaning and writhing as you fuck her. The thought has you bucking your hips up into her, causing her to gasp.

"Someone's eager," Yuna teases, running a hand through her hair. "What's going through your head?"

You groan in response, your hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips. "Nothing," you lie.

She snorts, knowing full well what's on your mind.

"Liar." She rocks her hips forward. "What are you thinking about?"

You gaze at her for a moment. "If I said you... Would you believe me?"

She rolls her eyes. "Wouldn't put it past you," she stops moving for a bit to give you the attention. "What are you doing to me in your head?"

"I never said–"

"Please," she interjects "We both know you want to bend me over the nearest fucking surface and fuck my brains out right now."

Her thighs start moving again. Your head falls back and a moan escapes you.

"Can you blame me?" You say. She smiles.

"No, not really. I am pretty hot anyway."

(There’s that little bit of Nayeon in her.)

You nod. "You're so fucking good to me." You manage to get out.

Yuna chuckles. "Wanna know something?"

"What?"

"I love the way you feel between my thighs," she tells you. "And I love how you sound when I'm making you feel good. I want to hear more of it."

With that, she leans forward, pressing her lips to yours. Her hips keep moving, rolling against you at an agonizing pace, causing you to moan against her mouth. She's quite literally giving you everything you want, injecting some mischief here and there that makes it feel like Nayeon possesses her sporadically. She's more gentle though, more kind and more caring too. Okay, not that Nayeon doesn't care, but she's kinda ruthless when she's horny. Yuna's much more caring, and a lot more willing to be a pillow princess. She likes being pampered. She likes being loved on and adored. She wants to be fucked and she wants to be taken care of. It's a mutual feeling between the two of you. You'll worship her, and she'll love you for it.

Yuna pulls away from the kiss, moving to your neck. She gives it a few open-mouthed kisses, nipping at your skin. You sigh, letting your head fall back. She continues to rock her hips against yours, grinding down onto your cock. Her hands slide up your chest, nails digging into your skin, eliciting a gasp from you. 

Yuna chuckles, kissing up your neck to your ear. "You're so big," she whispers. "So fucking thick... Feels so good."

You groan, fingers gripping her hips.

"You like that?" She asks. "Like me talking about your cock?"

You nod.

"I love it," and she talks with a purr. "Love how it feels inside me... How deep it goes... How hard it throbs..." She whispers—no. Moans all this right into your ear. "Fuck... I really want this thing inside me right now."

"Later," you quickly propose. "Please?"

She laughs — sweet and melodic. "Never said that I would put it inside of me," she reminds you. "Now, you zip up and make a mess for me, okay?"

You moan in response, nodding your head. You can't deny her, not when she's making you feel this good.

Yuna keeps moving against you, her thighs clenching around your cock. She moves slowly, her hips rolling at an agonizing pace. Your cock is aching; you can feel yourself getting closer to your climax with each passing second.  Your eyes are glued to her thighs, watching them move. She looks so good on top of you. Her hips are hypnotic; your mind spins as she fucks you.

Your eyes move up to her face. Her eyes are closed, lips parted slightly as she focuses on her movements. Her hands are still on your chest, fingers flexing. Her breathing is heavy, warm breath fanning over your skin. You take in her beauty, letting it consume you. She's so fucking perfect, so angelic. Hard to believe how much of a slut she can be.

"I'm close," you manage to get out. "Yuna..."

She smiles. "Go ahead, baby."

"Don't wanna make a mess." You say.

Yuna giggles, her hips picking up pace. "Too late for that."

That's what sends you over the edge. 

You cum; it’s fucking messy. 

Cum fills the space between your dick and her thighs, slathering and flowing and spurting onto everything it can possibly get on. It slicks the insides of her legs; gets on her ass a little and pools beneath her crotch. Yuna hums in satisfaction, a smile on her face as she turns behind her to survey the damage.

“Clean up on aisle four,” she mutters, reaching back to wipe some cum off her ass. She sends her fingers into her mouth – makes a big show of sucking them clean. You can’t help but chuckle a little at the sight.

“Hey,” you call her, your hands reaching down to grope her ass. “I’m planning to change the sheets tomorrow.”

She gives you a look. “Are you saying that cause you’re actually going to? Or because you just want to fuck me right now.”

Oh and she’s perceiving you almost too accurately. You won’t admit your answer, even to yourself. 

“I dunno,” you shrug. “Either way: we’ll have to change the sheets.”

Yuna matches your game.

“Call Nayeon back,” she instructs. “Let’s show her what she’s missing.”

***

Again: Nayeon just kinda chooses when and where to be a bit of a minx, and you just have to roll with it really.

The decision—for today—was made somewhere halfway through the drive to fetch Yuna. You were just talking about how Nayeon had picked that girl up, and her voice trails off as she passes the exit sign. She just keeps on driving while pretending to look like she’s in the right. The GPS doesn’t lie though: it keeps on promoting her to U-turn at every opportunity that’s available to her. She ignores it of course, kinda tunes it out even though the instructions are really getting annoying now (and not to mention it sounds like it’s demanding her to go back this instant, like a mum who just can’t get her kid to listen). It’s like how she ignores you lately.

“She’s probably gonna think we crashed or something,” you muse, lurching in your seat a little as she takes a left. “We’re like, what, fifteen minutes late or something?”

“Nah,” Nayeon quickly refutes. She stops to let a BMW swerve around the corner before she gently taps on the gas. “She’s probably still packing her things,” the turning signal clicks at a steady tempo, stops after she takes the 3rd exit on the roundabout, “maybe even settling a bit of her make up or whatever.”

This is the most she’s spoken since her return.

You hazard a glance at the GPS. The blue line leading you back to your intended destination only grows longer, sometimes glitching a little as the turn of Nayeon’s car gives it the illusion that you’re heading back when she’s really just turning into a one way street. You can’t tell if she knows where she’s going or if she’s just throwing out random bullshit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she grumbles, casting a rather nasty glance your way. “I’m just taking a shortcut. That’s all.”

(Is it not painfully obvious where this is going?)

And a few minutes later, she’s got you gritting your teeth in the backseat of her car. No smug remarks from her — she has your balls in her mouth and she’s getting real sloppy in some alley she’s parked in. You don’t know where to begin, where to find solid reasoning for what you’re witnessing and feeling right now. It’s pretty fucking asinine (and she probably knows that it is) and damn straight goes against all branches of logic. In no world does she have a valid reason for being this horny at 11am on a Saturday.

(Actually, there’s one reason: she just feels like it.)

“You do know that we’re both astronomically fucked if anyone so much as glances our way.” You’re ashamed to admit that this actually has you hissing, partly out of annoyance and partly out of pleasure. “You’re fucking ridiculous. I hope you know that.”

Nayeon spits on your cock. Her hands close into a fist around your shaft, her eyes almost empty as she spreads her saliva in a close to even layer over you. “Are you quite done?” She asks. The emptiness in her voice is kinda scary. It makes her sound exasperated, like she’s sick of your reasonings. “You know, you talk an awful lot for someone who literally writhes when I quite fucking literally touch your cock. Don’t act tough on me. We both know who you are. We both know you’re my toy.”

Figuring out if this is part of the bit is the hardest part of your predicament. She plays too much as of late: with her eyes, her tone, her facial expressions… Sometimes it makes you wonder if she really keeps you around just to satisfy her cock cravings or if she really wants you around. Ever since she’s gotten back, it feels like she’s been fucking you and Yuna with nothing but pure hate. You feel it in her eyes, in the violent buck of her hips when she rides you or even in the way she spanks Yuna with a little too much glee. It confounds you; admittedly: you’re petrified of the possibility that she’s straight up jealous of how your relationship with Yuna’s been going since she roped her into this mess.

You can’t help it. You need to know.

You grab her by the wrist, a little harder than you’d like but it’ll have to do. “Stop,” and you don’t mean to be assertive, but it’s all you can summon now. “I need you to answer me honestly.”

In the passenger-side seat, Nayeon fixes her gaze on yours. She tries to struggle from your grasp; you keep a firm grip.

“What are we?” you ask, straightforward; direct. You’ve been with Yuna enough times to know that this’ll elicit an honest response from her. “Cause it just feels like I’m just your piece of meat to fuck and own. We don’t talk, you don’t even look at me when we go to sleep… What are we Nayeon?”

And it makes her freeze. Your sincerity is scary to her — ropes her into your thoughts more than you usually do. She’s silent, face blanker than paper. Her fingers on the hand that you’ve got in your grasp curl a little. “We’re just fuck buddies… That’s all.”

You just stare at her for a second, soak in the weight of that statement. “Then why does it feel like you’re jealous of Yuna?”

“I’m not. What are you even…” You can tell she’s surprised — her eyes do that thing where they widen, and then she blinks. Your question is loaded to her: it catches her in a place where she’s made privy to the fact that her emotions are more out there and perceptible than she’d like.

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on… We both know that’s not true.”

Her plump lips purse. She looks away for a moment.

“And what would you do if I said I was jealous?” she raises. “Kick her out? Stop fucking her?”

She raises a valid argument. Frankly, you didn’t bring this up with the end goal of sorting this out. You just wanted the older girl to accept her emotions, maybe acknowledge that it’s a little petty and then kinda just move on. Of course, nothing with Nayeon is ever really that simple.

“You’re the one that brought her into this,” you remind her, partly because you feel like she isn’t acknowledging her fault in this situation and partly because you have nothing else to say.

She rips her hand away. “So it’s my fault then?”

“What?” you sit up a little in your seat. “No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Her eyes sear your soul with her frustration. This hurts her more than you think. “I’m saying we’re both a little guilty here,” you clarify. “We both have a part to play in how you feel, so maybe we should just talk this out.”

She goes quiet. Too quiet considering the circumstance.

“Later.” She decides. “I think better with a load inside of me.”

***

So to reiterate: they're similar but kinda different. 

“Jesus… Did you really have to get it on my dress?” Nayeon’s clearly pissed. The wet wipe in her hand rubs at the stain of her dress furiously, as if the aggressive motion will kinda just get it out magically. Yuna retires into your arms, her sweat-matted hair sticking to your chest a little. The syntax behind how you got to this point is more complicated that you’d care to elaborate on, but let’s just say: Nayeon was happier a second ago…

(Okay but to be fair: her dress was in the way when you pulled out. So it’s like, half your fault, but you like to play the victim.)

“Relax,” Yuna assures her senior. “It’ll wash right off.”

Nayeon clicks her tongue in annoyance. “You stop defending him. He knows what he’s done.”

Yuna giggles. She smiles up at you. “Yeah… He does.”

They don’t know it, but they’ve got a pretty good dynamic going: Mother-daughter; Spicy and Sweet; Sour Cream and Onion. They contrast, diverge; but they compliment each other almost perfectly. 

(It’s no family reunion; but it’s dinner and diatribes from here on out.)

—

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Hope you will be full of joy and fulfill your dreams next year!

Anyway! This is lokwey the start of a series where I just kinda explore more filthy and complicated things, stuff that’s just not quite right but somehow works. I won’t be following the same idols and people, so this isn’t exactly an interlinked series. Hard to explain but you guys can just come to your own conclusions really.

~Nichu

[sinofwriting]

Karma - Charles Leclerc

Words: 1,396 Summary: Charles and her had plans. 2025 would start with her fully moving in with him and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they’d become public. A certain rapper ruins that in Vegas. Note(s): Lamar!Reader, Reader has the nickname ‘Butterfly’, slight smau, changed results of Abu Dhabi, also yes the title is referring to the Taylor Swift song, lol. Thank you @burningcupcakefire for encouraging me to write this when I mentioned the idea!!!

Masterlist | Support Me!

Charles could privately admit that when all the diss tracks started to come out, he more than paid attention to them. He had always appreciated Kendrick’s music but in the past year had gained a new perspective of him as both an artist and a person. All because he had started seeing the artist’s younger sister.

They hadn’t gone public yet, were still unsure of when they wanted to. He had reservations about putting more eyes on her and considering how his fans, how motorsport fans were, he could only imagine the baseless claims they’d made, the attacks they’d lay at her feet and Y/N, or Butterfly as she had been nicknamed by her brother’s fans, a nickname that had quickly caught to everyone in her life, had her own reasons.

She didn’t care about what fans would say, they were behind a keyboard, she could be perfect, and to Charles she was, and they would still find something to pick at, there was no winning. It was the attention he brought. She was already sometimes followed around by paparazzi just because of her brother, she knew that as soon as the news broke, she really would never be able to get her groceries in peace without some divorced thirty-year-old shouting questions as he took photos of her.

So they both had agreed that after the new year, when she was finally fully living with him in Monaco, and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they would reveal their relationship, that of course didn’t go to plan because of one Instagram story.

—

—

Butterfly is fuming when he gets back to his hotel room, the curtains drawn back and letting the lights of Vegas spill into it, onto her. She’s nearly as stunning here as she is on his balcony in Monaco that faces the coast. A gorgeous backdrop that can’t even come close to her beauty no matter how much it tries.

Her fury makes arousal simmer in the pit of his stomach and his lips twitch upwards when she leans into the kiss he presses to the corner of her lips.

“You're nearly as mad as when he mentioned Whitney.”

She scowls at the verbal reminder of that shit. “He’s lucky I’m a civil adult.”

“Very civil.” Charles agrees.

“I mean, honestly what the fuck does he think he’s doing. Acting like he got an interest in F1.”

Charles listens as she starts to rant, having clearly waited for him, and he listens as undresses. Gathering his clothes up as her voice increases in volume and he gently tugs her with him into the bathroom, turning on the shower before easily lifting her onto the bathroom counter, her hands pausing their gesturing to run over his arms in thanks before she continues.

She rants through his brief shower, nearly slipping when she begins to read out texts between her and her brother.

“He is pissed?” His voice is nearly high, head poking out of the shower to look at her with wide eyes.

Butterfly looks at him in confusion, head cocked to the side. “Baby, of course. Your family. We don’t stand for shit like this against family.”

Charles can’t even point out that said shit is just an insta story of Drake saying he’s betting on him to win the grand prix, because he knows it feels deeper than that, especially with Drake’s history of betting. His mind is far too focused on the word family.

“I’m family?”

She lets out a laugh, tongue running over her teeth. “Baby, you got with me right before one of the worst times for our family and stuck through it. You never had to prove yourself, but that did it. You're stuck with all of us now.”

He feels warm all over at the words and he ducks his back into the shower, quickly rinsing off before climbing out, barely remembering to put a towel around his waist before capturing her lips in a kiss.

Her hands eagerly run over his back, legs opening to pull him closer and he tries to keep his upper body away from her, not wanting to get her shirt wet, but she pulls him closer and he can’t resist her, has never been able to.

“You’ve made me all wet.” She teases when they break apart.

He tries to apologize, but then she’s taking his hand and pressing it between them, against her leggings, and the feeling of wetness pulls a moan from the back of his throat.

“You are very lucky that I don’t listen to Andrea.”

“Very lucky.” She agrees.

—

“K said you had an idea.”

Charles lets out a hum, fingers trailing over her ribs.

“He wouldn’t tell me what.”

His fingers pause. “I was thinking instead of staying in Vegas tomorrow we go and see him.”

“We leave for Qatar on Monday.”

“We can make it back to Vegas in time for our flight. It’s barely a two-hour flight from there to here.”

This time she hums.

“Can we go public?”

He nearly chokes. “What?”

“Public, I want to go public. We had kind of talked about doing it before Monaco next season, but things have changed a bit.”

“Because I’m family.”

She laughs, “Yeah, baby, because your family.”

“What if we do a uh soft launch?”

“A soft launch?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a picture with your brother for my insta stories, start following you, you follow me back.” Excitement starts to build as he speaks.

“I post a little something about being in Qatar.”

“We do a little date night in Abu Dhabi.”

She hums, “You kiss me after you win Abu Dhabi.”

“You think I’m going to win?”

“Fuck yeah, baby. First Ferrari driver to win there and you’ll overtake Norris in the standings and maybe Ferrari will finish P2 in the constructors.”

“I like this plan.”

She smiles. “I like it too.”

—

—

—

—

“Yes Charles!”

“Yes!” He screams over the radio. “Where did Carlos finish? Where did Norris, Oscar?” He wants to celebrate the win, but the constructors and drivers are far more important.

“Carlos P6, Norris P3, Oscar P10. You are second in the drivers. And we are second in constructors, 2 points between you and Norris, four points between us and McLaren.”

“Fuck.” The excitement in him is simmered with resentment. Four points was all it came down to and of course it wasn’t in their favor.

“Charles, Charles,” Fred’s voice is thick over the radio. “You did fantastic, another win for you and an amazing drive!”

He smiles, taking his hands off to wave at fans as he slowly moves around the track. Italian easily spilling from his lips as he thanks Fred, Bryan, the mechanics, engineers and the whole team.

It’s satisfying to pull his car to the number one spot as Lando takes off his helmet, jaw twitching. Charles wants to shake him because how can he be this focused on second in the drivers when him and his team won the constructors. He stares at him for a second before getting out of the car and throwing himself into his teams arms.

They easily catch him, hands patting all over, his name spilling off lips over and over again. They grip him tighter before letting him go to take off his helmet and balaclava.

The air is refreshing against his face and normally he's taking a drink of water, starting to put back on jewelry, but today he’s searching through the crowd of red, heart thumping when he finally notices her.

She’s to the side, beaming at him as Bryan stands on her left while his mom and brothers stand to her right. And he goes to her.

His hands easily going to her face, holding it gently before kissing her.

She’s mumbling something against his lips and he wants to know what, but he can’t stop kissing her. Not when she’s clutching at his arms, pressing closer to him. But a nudge to the ribs makes him pull away, breathless, and his tongue runs over his swollen lips.

“So proud of you, baby! So fucking proud!” She yells at him as he’s pulled away for a post race interview and he can’t help but blow her a kiss, happy to have won in front of her for the first time and in front of his family again.

[msfantasy-comics]

The Ex gets Married

Bruce Wayne x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bruce breaks up with Y/n and ends up in a tumultuous relationship with Selina. Bruce finds out about his ex-girlfriend moving on and is heartbroken.

Warning: Bruce does not have a happy ending.

Many years before, Bruce, had to make a life altering decision.

Should he follow his head or his heart?

He loved both Selina and Y/n dearly for very different reasons.

But there was no use pondering the decision further. Selina was a safe bet.

Selina, whilst fickle, was still a woman capable of handling the rough and tough life style that accompanied his alter-ego. Selina’s life parallels his own; their secret life, their deep rooted trauma, their years of personal growth together.

When considering these factors, it was indisputable, he had to follow his head, and in the end he got exactly what he asked for.

An unbridled romantic companion that was only ever present when it suited her.

Selina was never consistent in supporting Bruce. Only being present at the worst of times, and never being available to celebrate the best of times.

Selina was incapable of bonding with his sons. It’s not like she didn’t try, the boys were just utterly disinterested in bonding with a woman who seemed to sail in and out of Bruce’s life on a whim. Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian felt Selina was not going to be around long, so they always turned her down or avoided Selina when possible.

Selina was uncomfortable with the mundane. Drama followed her where ever she went. Her constant blow outs strains Bruce beyond measure.

As usual, Bruce retreats to his cold and lonely bed. It’s been weeks since he last heard from Selina. He stares at the ceiling and wonders what his life could’ve been like had he followed his heart.

You were always the first to hold Bruce and comfort him in his times of need. You were always pushing to celebrate ridiculous milestones and insisting it was important since it was an achievement.

You put in so much effort bonding with his sons. You’d spent days in Bludhaven, looking after Dick in hospital when no one else could. You drove to Jason’s favourite dive bar, drank beer with him every Friday. You attended all of Tim’s extracurricular events. You would drink tea with Damian and listen to him vent his frustrations with his teammates.

Better yet, you were always in bed waiting for him. Arms always spreading open, ready to embrace him after a difficult night out.

Bruce missed you dearly, but he knows he made the right decision. Selina was capable of protecting herself- you weren’t.

Bruce constantly reminds himself of that time Joker almost took your life as you helplessly dangled from the building. Your survival from that encounter was pure luck. If Bruce wasn’t your boyfriend, you would’ve been safe.

So, Bruce made the right decision following his head. Following his heart would’ve brought nothing but heartache.

The house seemed unusually quite. There was no noise, no movement. He hasn’t heard anything from anyone.

“Alfred, where are the boys?” The older gentlemen continues to assemble the cucumber sandwiches, pretending he didn’t hear a single word. “Alfred?” The older man sighs as he contemplates telling the truth, to honouring the lie fabricated by the boys. At last, Alfred opts for the ugly truth.

“The young masters are attending a wedding ceremony.” Alfred answers bluntly, unwilling to be the barer of bad news.

“A wedding ceremony? Who’s wedding is it?” Alfred places the plate in front of Bruce, continuing to avoid eye contact. “Alfred, answer the question.”

He sighs as he pours a glass of water. “John Constantines wedding.”

Confusion crosses Bruce as to why his sons are attending that man’s wedding. “I didn’t know he had a significant other, who is he marrying?”

Alfred looks off to the clock as Bruce waits impatiently for the long drawn out answer. The clock strikes twelve, which floods the house with a melody to notify half the day has passed. Finally, Alfred speaks. “As of 12’oclock John Constantine has married his beloved wife Y/n Constantine.”

All colour in Bruce’s face drains, his mouth goes dry and he’s not sure if his heart is beating. “Y/n… she’s married?” Alfred nods unsympathetically.

“The women you love has married someone that isn’t you.” Alfred’s words rubs salt in Bruce’s already wounded heart. “Incase you were wondering Master Bruce… Selina Kyle had introduced the two around the time you had broken up.” Bruce’s head turns to mush at the news.

It’s not like he intended to get back together with you or anything- so why is he so upset?

Of course you would move on eventually, he knew that. That’s just common sense. Why would you be single for the rest of your life?

Yet despite all common sense Bruce’s heart continues to squeeze painfully, his head thumping away as a growing migraine takes place.

The love of his life has gone on and married someone else.

God.

Is it too late to win her back?

What was he thinking ? Of course it is.

There’s no going back.

Bruce will just have to accept his decision.

[kiwriteswords]

I have a great idea for a one shot.. I cannot stop thinking about jealous BAU!reader with Hotch. Like a detective won't stop flirting with him and reader is just super jealous and hotch is super cocky about the WHOLE thing. And of course Rossi knows about both their feelings and he meddles. That's super specific lol.

I lit a thin green candle to make you jealous of me [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1.4k|| AN: I hope you enjoy! Thanks for sending this in xx!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, jealousy, canon-typical themes, bau!reader, cocky!Hotch, meddling!Rossi, Aaron Hotchner POV

Aaron Hotchner stood at the front of the local police station, briefing the officers on the case details. As the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he was accustomed to commanding attention, his tone authoritative yet calm. Beside him, you stood with your arms crossed, your focus not entirely on the discussion. Hotch couldn't help but notice your distracted demeanor.

During the briefing, Detective Sarah Jacobs, a striking and charismatic local detective, leaned heavily against Hotch’s side of the table. Her laughter was a touch too loud; her glances a tad too lingering as she responded to his procedural instructions. Hotch, ever observant, picked up on the tension radiating from you. Every time Jacobs smiled at him, your jaw tightened, and your notes were suddenly scribbled with more force than necessary.

Post-briefing, as the team dispersed to gather more information, Jacobs found reasons to stay close to Hotch, her hand brushing his arm under the pretense of pointing to details on a map. Hotch glanced your way, catching you glaring at Jacobs from across the room. There was an unmistakable flash of jealousy in your eyes, and something about it spurred a rare mischievous streak in him.

In the car, with only the two of you, Hotch couldn’t resist teasing. “You know, she’s just being friendly,” he remarked casually, eyes on the road.

“You don’t need to tell me about ‘friendly,’ Hotch,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended. “I know what flirting looks like.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “Does it bother you?” he asked, glancing briefly your way.

You huffed, looking out the window. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Why would it?”

That smile became a full-fledged grin now, hidden from your view. “Just checking,” he murmured, his voice low and amused. It was rare for Hotch to indulge in such personal banter, but the evolving undefined relationship between you made the boundaries blur at times.

Back at the station, Rossi pulled Hotch aside, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You’re playing with fire, Aaron,” he whispered, nodding subtly in your direction where you were meticulously organizing case files, avoiding looking in their direction.

“Dave, it’s nothing,” Hotch assured him, his voice a low rumble.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “Nothing? That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing. She’s clearly got it bad for you, and you’re not exactly pushing her away. What’s your angle here?”

Hotch’s gaze softened as he looked over at you. “There’s no angle, Dave. It’s just… new. We’re figuring it out.”

Rossi clapped him on the back. “Well, figure it out fast. She’s a keeper, and you’re not the only one who can see it.” With a knowing look, Rossi walked away, leaving Hotch to ponder his words.

That evening, as the team gathered to review the day’s findings, Hotch made a point of standing close to you, his presence a silent statement to any speculative eyes. His voice, when he addressed the team, was firm, but when he gave you a brief look, it softened just enough for you to notice.

Later, when Detective Jacobs approached Hotch with another question, he answered politely but with professionalism, putting a clear distance between them. You watched, your previous irritation fading slightly as Hotch’s attention turned back to you, his dark eyes locking with yours in silent communication.

As the team prepared to leave, Rossi sidled up to you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t let him get too comfortable with all that attention,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But between you and me, I haven’t seen him this off his game in years. You’re good for him.”

You looked up at Hotch, who was waiting by the door, watching you with an unreadable expression. Walking over to him, you decided maybe it was time to have that conversation about what 'this' was. But as you reached him, all you said was, “Let’s get back to the hotel. We need to review the profile again.”

“Of course,” Hotch replied, a slight relief in his tone, but as you both walked out into the cool evening, his hand brushed against yours, a simple touch that promised more discussions to come.

As the BAU team headed back to the hotel after a long day, the atmosphere inside the SUV was thick with unsaid words. You were seated next to Hotch, the space between you charged with an undercurrent of tension and unsolved emotions. Throughout the ride, Hotch caught glimpses of your profile, illuminated by the passing streetlights. Your usual sharp focus seemed clouded with thoughts he could only guess at.

Upon arriving at the hotel, Hotch suggested a brief team meeting in the hotel conference room to finalize the profile adjustments. However, as the rest of the team filed out of the SUV, he held back, touching your arm gently. “Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, his voice low.

In the privacy of the parked vehicle, Hotch turned to face you fully. “About earlier—” he started, but you cut him off.

“It’s fine, Hotch. Detective Jacobs is just doing her job, right?” But your words came out more strained than you intended, and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Hotch’s expression softened, his usual stern demeanor melting into a rare vulnerability. “It’s not just about Jacobs. I noticed you were upset. And if I’m honest, it bothered me more than it should have,” he confessed, his gaze steady and intense.

You finally looked at him, taken aback by his openness. “Why would it bother you?” you asked, a mixture of curiosity and something akin to hope flickering in your chest.

“Because,” Hotch paused, searching for the right words. “Because what I feel for you is... more than just professional concern. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission. The jealousy that had been simmering within you now sparked into something more constructive—clarification of the bond you both were tiptoeing around. “I guess I was jealous,” you admitted, feeling a weight lift as you acknowledged it. “I didn’t like seeing her flirt with you. It made me realize how much I...”

“How much you what?” Hotch prompted, leaning closer, his interest evident.

“How much I care,” you finished, locking eyes with him. “And how little I like the idea of not knowing where we stand.”

Hotch reached out, his hand covering yours. “I feel the same,” he said simply. “I’ve been trying to keep things slow, professional, but maybe we’ve been fooling ourselves thinking we could control the pace of whatever this is between us.”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the conversation. “So, what do we do about it?” you asked, feeling more confident now that your feelings were out in the open.

“We redefine our parameters,” Hotch suggested. “Outside of work, we explore this... relationship. We see where it goes without the constraints we’ve been putting on ourselves.”

“And at work?” you asked, knowing the complications that could arise.

“At work, we remain the professionals we always are. But outside of it, I’m yours as much as you’re mine,” Hotch stated, his voice firm with resolve.

The conversation was a turning point. As you both joined the others in the conference room, there was a new sense of understanding between you. The meeting went smoothly, with both of you contributing to refining the profile. However, the real shift was noticeable afterward, as the team suggested grabbing a late dinner together.

Throughout the meal, you noticed Hotch shooting you small, knowing looks. You responded with subtle smiles, your earlier jealousy replaced by a sense of belonging and mutual recognition of the new, unspoken agreement between you.

Later that night, as you walked back to your room, Rossi caught up with you, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like you two figured things out, huh?” he teased gently.

“Maybe we did,” you replied, your heart lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Rossi.”

Rossi winked. “Anytime. Just remember, the heart is just as vital a muscle to a profiler as the brain. Use them both wisely.”

With Rossi’s words in mind, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you and Hotch would face them together, not just as colleagues, but as partners in every sense of the word.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[secriden]

This line. God, this line! It has been eating me up inside for 2 days now, because let's not forget, this line isn't about love, it's about trust. And that has implications that make me want to scream.

It's a direct reference to this moment earlier in the episode:

At the start of this discussion, Style and Fadel still have a kind of playful air about their conversation:

Style: Oh? Not even me? Fadel: You're at 80% at best. I feel like you're hiding something from me in the 20%.

In this exchange, though, there's a sense that Fadel is issuing a challenge, like there's something specific which Style can do to gain Fadel's full trust. And while Style knows there are things he cannot (yet) reveal to Fadel, I think a part of him is determined to be as honest as he can be, which is why he issues a challenge of his own by asking for more specificity:

Style: What do I have to do to gain your complete trust?

Part of this question is a simultaneously inquisitive and deflective - What (and why) do you think I'm hiding (something) from you? - but there's also a moment after Style finishes speaking where he stills and goes quiet that feels... genuine, weighty. Or, as @airenyah has pointed out in her meta on Style in episode 4, the "grounded[ness]" in Style's demeanour is a signal that Style means what he's saying in the moment. Maybe about his own desire to be worthy of Fadel's trust, maybe about how he genuinely does want this relationship to be real in whatever way that matters to Fadel.

I think Fadel sensed that too, because the moment looses all the lightheartedness it had before. Fadel pauses, and then gets a look on his face that just... breaks my heart. There's a sombreness there, like he knows he's going to have to say something that makes him sad. Fadel looks away, and then down, before he seems to steel himself and says:

Fadel: It'll never happen. No matter how much you love someone, I just don't believe that you can completely lay yourself bare in front of them.

Fadel says this like it's fact. Like what he's expressing is something foundational and true and irrefutable. It's not even about his doubt in Style's honesty, because this statement has no qualifiers or conditions put on it to connect it to Style. Rather this is what Fadel fundamentally believes about relationships and trust: he finds the very concept of being fully known and still accepted an impossibility.

Sure, maybe this is because of the falling out (or betrayal or disappearance) associated with the former lover; but I also think it might be because Fadel is acutely aware not only that he's hiding a rather big and dark secret (not to mince words, but: actual literal premeditated murder), but also about what it implies about Fadel. Because being able to kill another human, coldly and clinically and without remorse, takes a certain type of person. Because, yes, Fadel has lived through an absolutely harrowing and traumatising event (his parents' murder), but it's also undeniable that it changed him. Because there's something about Fadel that twisted dark and which he never quite got back. There's an anger, a hurt that colours every moment of his life; that enables him to look a man in the eyes, smile politely, and pull a trigger.

And at this point in their relationship, Fadel's understanding of Style is that he's... well, kind of innocent. Especially in comparison to Fadel and Bison, and even Kant.

Style, who easily reveals facts about his life which Fadel already knows (winning a car tuning competition), making Fadel doubt his own instincts about Style hiding secrets. Style, who also reveals the things Fadel doesn't know, like the tender and secret pain of a mother lost to cancer (which, now that I think about it, Fadel may also know) and his worries about a father who "lost his bearings for a bit" (which he probably doesn't). Style, who tries to comfort Fadel in his own loss by offering a safe space and a sympathetic ear.

Style, who doesn't just see Fadel for his tragedy, but is asking to be given the chance to accept all of Fadel as a person. Style, who not only wants but has the capacity, to be the only person Fadel needs to rely on. Style who, despite the sea of differences between them, understands Fadel on a level that is so very foundational.

I'm going to slightly segue and mention something that may not resonate with everyone, but really hit me in the gut this episode: because I lost my father when I was 16 after he battled cancer for 2 painful years. And this revelation about Style has totally shifted and coloured everything Style has done in a new light for me. Because not only does this totally explain Style's sometimes almost stubbornly childish demeanour (it's common in adults who've had to 'grow up' too early), but also why Style shows seemingly random flashes of insight and maturity when they are most crucial. Notably, Style has this almost instinctive sense of when he needs to back off a sore point with Fadel that I couldn't quite put my finger on until this episode.

I've seen a few jokes about Style's awkward subject change, but I've actually got a friend who I hold very dear to my heart who was one of the only people to give me a sense of normalcy and comfort when my dad was on his last few days and then at his funeral. And part of that was the instinctive way she would know when I needed to just. Not be a grieving daughter for a few minutes. To get a small respite from the overwhelming hopelessness and sense of impending loss. To get a moment to breathe and gather my strength, because knowing I was never going to see my dad again, or hear his voice, or hold his hand was tearing me apart back then. Sometimes she'd talk to me about college drama, sometimes she'd introduce a new kpop video to me, sometimes she'd just ask me what I wanted to eat and take me to go have a meal with her. And sometimes there really just isn't anything else to say other than "I'm sorry." Nothing you say - nothing you can say - is going to ever, ever make this grief go away, and in most cases, it was better when people (especially those who couldn't really understand) didn't try.

And I think if you look at Fadel very closely, there's a moment of genuine surprise (Fadel wasn't expecting the subject change at all) and then... something that looks like fondness mixed with exhausted relief. Because I don't think Fadel was ready to talk about his parents yet. This was honesty he wasn't ready to give Style, mostly prompted because Style himself had willingly been so vulnerable that a part of Fadel wanted to reciprocate. But further down that path lies not only his darkest memories, but also the connection to the part of his life he is not willing to share with Style yet. So this subject change is a relief, it's a blessing, but it's also Style knowing when he shouldn't push any further with Fadel's fragile heart.

Which brings me back to how well the episode's theme of trust (both deserved and undeserved) was woven in this episode. This is true on multiple levels and characters but I'm not even going to attempt to touch Kant in this post because... Lord, that is beyond me at the moment. Someone else needs to do that, pretty please, so I can reblog it and scream.

It starts, somewhat unexpectedly, with Fadel asking for entrance into the intimate spaces of Style's life.

So, this episode was not about Fadel's fear of his own feelings, desires, or even affection for Style - that appears to be fully addressed in episode 4. I think that's why we see Fadel be so physically affectionate and indulgent of Style in this episode. He's come to terms with his lust for Style's body (hence his comfort in initiating sex), he's accepted Style as his boyfriend and so can enjoy Style's playful teasing (still reluctantly, but Fadel is still an introvert even if he's mostly enjoying Style's rambunctious nature), and give into Style's (and Bison's and Kant's) cajoling with relatively little fuss.

He's even comfortable toying with the edges of revealing his darker and more sinister side by reminding Style implicitly about how violent Fadel has the potential to be. Recall that Fadel knows Style knows some of his capacity for violence; he just doesn't know how very thoroughly Style is aware of the full scale of this truth. It does help that Style evidences no actual fear and, in fact, looks positively euphoric. Like, buddy, pal, dearest one... please control yourself.

And yet something very, very telling is the way the show makes it a point to depict Fadel very deliberately getting drunk during the double date. Even before the date has started, Fadel looks to be about half a beer in and we see him constantly drinking, drinking, drinking during the whole date. From the conversation about trust he has with Style while Kant and Bison are being off key and adorable about it, to after Kant leaves and Bison gets worried. And we've seen Fadel cope with emotional and mental distress with alcohol before, so we know that Fadel is internally fighting some kind of very intense battle even as he is also very clearly enjoying moments with Style on this date (most notably when they're dancing by the bowling lanes and when Style asks him to go home with him).

So here's my take: rather than being about love, this is about Fadel fighting to hold onto his own philosophy on relationships and trust. Because as much as I do believe Fadel believes he's telling the truth when he tells Style that 100% trust is "impossible", I think it's clear that's not what he wants.

What he wants is to finish this last job so that the only thing he can't be honest about with Style will finally stop being a factor in his life. What he wants is to fully and completely reciprocate the openness Style seems to be giving Fadel. What he wants is to switch off his brain and let his heart lead for once, to stop fighting a battle he has no desire to win anymore, only he can't. Trust (not love) is Fadel's final frontier, and one which he can't quite give up in spite of himself.

Which is why I think Fadel intentionally gets himself drunk here. Because he wants to let his guard down around Style. He wants to open himself fully, he wants to "lay himself bare" for Style, he wants Style to know the full truth and accept him anyway - and he gets so close, but can't quite get there - because he doesn't know that Style already has.

When Style says this, Fadel thinks it's empty words, not knowing that Style has long passed the bar Fadel thinks is insurmountable. And just like Style was able to offer safety and reassurance to the vulnerability Fadel was showing in episode 4, Style instinctively gets to the core of Fadel's darkest fears again:

Style: One day, I'll be your 100%.

This isn't (just) a promise that Style will wear Fadel's stubbornness down, or that Style will be worthy of Fadel's 100% (which, already, has me in tears, ngl). Beyond that, this is Style promising Fadel isn't ruined for this; that it isn't too late, that whatever hurts and wounds Fadel has can be made whole again. That the kind of honest and all-encompassing and unconditional trust which Fadel says is impossible can, in fact, be his. That Fadel still has the capacity to trust and be trusted the way he so desperately, painfully longs for.

I know a lot of people have said Style in this episode is writing cheques he has no ability to honour, but I think it's more layered than that. Because in a very significant and profound way, Style is wholly deserving of Fadel's trust. Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. Style is a man who would stare into Fadel’s darkness and reach out first. Strip away the complication of Kant being blackmailed and dragging Style into his mission, and Style is literally perfect for Fadel. He is exactly what Fadel wants (and possibly has wanted for a very long time). He is, in fact, exactly what Fadel needs to ever experience anything beyond the shadow of a life he's had so far.

But oh, the cruel narrative means that Style is also, simultaneously, painfully undeserving of Fadel's trust; and this is something Style is very much aware of. I think that's why he's trying so very hard to be worthy in all the other ways he can be. Style's awareness of what Fadel is hiding enables Style to (counterintuitively) be completely honest about his feelings for and about Fadel even as he cannot reveal his motivations. So he gives Fadel as much honesty as he can: offers the vulnerability of his own pain and hurts; the comfort of his true understanding and acceptance.

And just as Fadel's vulnerability in the abandoned factory was met with Style choosing a form of physical connection that prioritised Fadel's pleasure (it's made very clear that Style is jerking Fadel off and that all his focus in that moment was on Fadel, not his own pleasure), so too is this moment met with Style very intentionally choosing to worship Fadel's body with all the tenderness and genuine emotional weight that Style wanted Fadel to have in their first time in the storeroom.

Because, crucially, this was Style giving Fadel the chance to lay himself at least physically bare. This is the closest either of them can get to full honesty with the secrets they both are keeping. It's why Style tries so very hard to show the care and adoration and genuine feelings he has for Fadel. Why he makes sure that the vulnerability of Fadel getting himself as drunk and as relaxed and as trusting as Fadel can allow himself to be is tied only to gentleness and tenderness and pleasure.

Because Style actually knows that Fadel can't (and shouldn't) trust him in the way Fadel truly wishes to.

And as much as I believe that Style genuinely means this from the bottom of his heart, the horrifying full truth is that it is Style that has the metaphorical knife hovering over Fadel's chest. He is the one with the capacity to actually give Fadel a new scar that would truly matter. He is, in fact, the only one Fadel wants to fully trust -- and this, along with Style's compromised heart, makes it so that the circumstances will doom them both.

[mintharabaenrelore]

Minthara's Parents

"I'm sure my mother has missed me- she likes competition."-Minthara

I've been working on this post awhile and I'm so excited to share it with you. I referenced @lunastrophe's excellent post on the topic for several details, and R.A. Salvatore's "Homeland" played a crucial role.

*I will make an individual post on Minthara's relationship to her mother later on, particularly the psychology of it, as it is fascinating and utterly tragic.

Minthara is- or was- unusually close to her mother, who taught her how to 'survive the perils of society', but she says there was 'no love to be found.' Minthara's mother saved her daughter's life by shielding her with her own body when Minthara was an infant, and yet she later tried to kill her. Minthara intends to kill her- "[...] I only regret that I left before enjoying a matricide. That would be a memory to cherish."- but says it is 'returning the favor.'

What do we know?

House Devir fell from Lolth's favor in 1297 DR, when they were destroyed by House Do'Urden, due to Viconia's actions. Minthara describes herself as having been young and impressionable at this time, so she must have been in the early decades of her life. Therefore, she was likely born around 1270-1290 DR, leaving her approximately 222 years old in 1492 DR, the year Baldur's Gate III is set in.

Minthara is a Baenre. Her mother is confirmed to be Baenre, as in the epilogue, if you romance Minthara (I highly recommend it) she says her name is her mother's.

When Minthara is asked if her mother is still alive, she replies, "I expect so. If the world were to end, I think my mother would survive to rule over the ruins." At the epilogue party, she tells Origin Karlach, "I have a war of my own to fight, against my mother and her people [...]" which both confirms that her mother is alive and suggests that she is in a position of great power.

Minthara's mother is competitive (Minthara says this herself), resilient, and ambitious (Minthara says her mother likes Neverwinter because it is "ripe for conquering"), much like her daughter.

Minthara and her mother were unusually close- she held her as a child, taught her to "talk, walk, and then kill" and how to "survive the perils of society", gave her a torture rack for her 13th birthday, and they appear to have conversed frequently.

The fact that Minthara has committed avunculicide (the killing of one's uncle) confirms one of her parents had a brother. She also 'picked off' her 'siblings one by one', and Orin claims Minthara murdered her sister in the cradle to secure her inheritance.The first part of her name, "Min", means lesser/second, suggesting she is a 2nd child.

I believe Minthara's father is alive for the following reasons:

1. During the dryad love test, she lists her "-icides", (androcide, senicide and avunculicide). She does not mention patricide. She tells Wyll that patricide is the first step to greatness but she does not say she has done so herself.

2. When Minthara is describing how she and Orin are similar in some ways, she says that they both have "parents" who protect them with one hand and torment them with the other, rather than "mothers".

3. Minthara says (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vYBaYJgz_c, at 43:50) "I'll spot my father too, with any luck" at some point; @mogruith's research suggests that this line was mistakenly given to Minthara when it should have gone to Wyll, so it is not solid evidence.

But Minthara never mentions him- not even once.

So, who is Minthara's mother? *I don't think it's possible to figure out who her father is with the information I have

It cannot be Yvonnel or Triel Baenre, who are dead. Liriel Baenre is out of the question. Noori Baenre, I believe, is too young.

Yovnnel Baenre had 15 daughters, each a high priestess, acording to R.A. Salvatore's "Homeland".  The majority were alive, it seemed, around 1297 DR. The only two remaining in 1480 DR and thus during Baldur's Gate III were Quenthel and Sos'Umtpu. So could it be one of them?

Quenthel: No.

The firstborn of Quenthel Baenre is Myrineyl Baenre. In 1480 DR, 12 years prior to the events of Baldur's Gate III, she is in her last year at Arach-Tinilith. Baldur's Gate takes place in 1492 DR. It is obvious that Minthara is older than her, so she can't be Quenthel's daughter.

Sos'Umptu: Probably not, unfortunately. (I adore Sos'Umptu.)

Sos'Umptu, the keeper of the Baenre chapel, has been described as 'one of the least ambitious drow females her mother had ever known.' Minthara has also mentioned her mother having visited surface cities before, while Sos'Umptu hardly leaves the chapel if she can help it. These facts contrast with Minthara's portrayal of her mother as power-hungry and world-wise. Plus, I have never seen a mention of Sos'Umptu having had children.

@lunastrophe says in her post, "It seems that daughters of House Baenre – at least the eldest and the most important ones – were not allowed to have their own children while the matron mother of their house was still alive (from Siege of Darkness). Triel was free to have children only after she ascended to the position of matron mother, and the same went for Quenthel."

This all heavily suggests it is not Sos'Umptu- but it's not out of the question.

Could it perhaps be Merith Baenre, the second-most-powerful priestess of her House as of 1361 DR, considered for the role of the next Mistress of Arach-Tinilith? Perhaps- but Minthara has never implied that her mother is adopted rather than a genetic Baenre, and Merith used to be the daughter of a street sweeper before her clerical powers caught Yvonnel Baenre's eye and caused her to adopt her as a daughter.

So, who could it be?

I am inclined to think...

Zal'Therra Baenre: Zal'Therra Baenre- a cousin of Triel, and commander of the rearguard of the Army of the Black Spider in 1372 DR. The most promising of Triel's cousins, she seems to fit Minthara's implications that her mother is ambitious, brutal, and powerful, as the highest ranking House Baenre member of the army.

Not only is the description right, she is similar to Minthara as a warrior the leader of an army. Even the second half of her name, 'Therra', is similar to Minthara's 'Thara'. Plus, everything about her is so vague that it's plausible she had children aside from Minthara- the 'siblings' she mentioned.

I have yet to read "Condemnation", though, so correct me if I'm wrong about anything.

Final notes: if Zal'Therra Baenre is a cousin of Triel, that would make Sos'Umptu, Quenthel, Jarlaxle and others Minthara's aunts and uncles.

[tigerqueen767]

Helluva Boss Season Finale

So a homophobic client shows up and tells IMP to kill her husband for leaving her for a man and cheating (possibly.) IMP attempt to try and kill him but then Blizto can't do it cause of his feefees and cause he sees himself in that man. Forget that Blizto has killed many people for petty reasons before (Spring Broken is a good example, he literally killed tons of random people, many of which were probably gay, just because of a bet) and forget that he chastised Moxxie for doing the exact same thing (weird how Mox didn't bring that up honestly) NO, you can't criticize this gay man because he's so cute and gay. That's the message Viv is sending.

The moral of this episode is that if you criticize Stolas and Blizto's relationship, you're homophobic. Wowww... Just wow!

It couldn't possibly be because these two have absolutely no chemistry and only know eachother because of sex. It couldn't possibly be because Stolas made a creepy and predatory deal with Blizto. It couldn't possibly be because Stolas is a terrible person who lied to his daughter and is written terribly. Forget that Stolas risked his life for his fuck buddy when he should have stayed with his daughter. Forget that Blizto never wanted a serious relationship until now just because that's what the writers want. Forget everything I said and just sit back and watch Blizto and Stolas dance on the balcony since it's the only thing Viv cares about.

Stolizt is the only thing Viv cares about. That's what this episode proves once and for all. Their relationship is the only thing that had any meaningful continuity in season 1. Everything else was episodic material.

Maybe in Season 3 we'll focus on other things but it won't make up for the trainwreck of a Season this was.

Now, because I don't just want to be negative, let me talk about how this Season could have been 1000 times better. Let me offer a fix.

This Season would have been great if it split it's screen time 70-30 between the IMP stuff and the Stolas stuff. Let every member of IMP shine in their own episode. It's not like there isn't enough time. Explore Millie's prejudice against Hellhounds (cause we all know she doesn't respect Hellhounds.) Explore Millie's wrath and how it might help and hinder her. It might lead to devastating consequences depending on who she chooses to fight and why. Shoot first and ask questions later is not a good principle and I feel like that's exactly what she does. Have Loona and Via actually hang out! Show us how her timidness and introversion make that relationship start off rocky. Show us how she changes from a person who can barely hold a conversation in the Queen Bee episode to a person that would have a bunch of friends over for Sinsmas. That development WAS. NOT. THERE!!

Have Moxxie actually confront his fears. It looked like he was about to fight his dad but then he got tazed and his wife did all the work. Why? Have him stand up to Blizto finally and make Blizto respect him. Cause Blizto does not respect him. Look at the way he talks to him in Season 2 and tell me this is respectful. Plus, in the episode Truth Seekers he only congratulated Moxxie for killing well. That's it. He respects the work he does but not who he is as a person. That could have been explored in Season 2. That would have been a great arc.

As for Blizto show more of his relationship between him and his sister. Blizto brought Barbie up again in the finale and it sounds like they really want us to care about her character but she wasn't even in the flashback episode. In order to fix the flashback episode, get rid of Stolas! Don't make a flashback that includes Stolas at all. Just make it about life in the circus performing with Blizto, Barbie and Fizz.

And instead of a giant special episode about Fizz and his terrible boss how about an episode dedicated to Stolas and Via's relationship. Why not write a song about how they've lived their lives over the years. Show us what it was like to BE her.

I'm getting tired of writing now. I hope you enjoyed reading this, at least a little.

[syndrossi]

There are already so many AU's that I figure no one will notice another one, so I might as well suggest the one is been thinking about. What if Arthur actually was reborn as Daemon's son? He can be a bastard, or an older son of Rhae/Elyse, whichever one you like the most. If he is a bastard, would Daemon even know about him? I'm assuming his mother would have been a prostitute Daemon was fond of, but would she have told him that they had a child together? Would she have told Arthur who his father is? If he's another son of Rhae/Elyse, would he have tried to get into contact with Daemon sooner? If he gets Summerhalled at the same time as Jon and Rhaegar, would it be harder for their relationship to develope, since Arthur and Rhaegar already know each other and Jon would be something of an outsider? There are honestly so many places this AU could go.

It depends on if the setup is meant to be fairly similar (Arthur shows up as a mystery knight to compete for the Princesguard).

If so, aka he's 16ish, what probably makes the most sense is a either a prostitute or a lord's daughter who got swept up in the romance of sleeping with a prince. Perhaps a woman from the Dornish marshes (like Cole) briefly just before he was forced to marry Rhea. That would work best with the timing (Daemon would have been 17 and he's 34 right now).

Since Daemon was in Runestone when the baby was born and now married, she likely knew the king would not look kindly on her bringing scandal on the marriage, so wouldn't have contacted Daemon. There's also the potential issue of not knowing for certain whose child it was (depending on if she was a prostitute or not)--perhaps his eyes were more blue/dark at birth and only settled into purple when he was a year or two old.

It somewhat amuses me to think that Arthur is actually mistaken for a bastard of House Dayne when a member stumbles across him and his mother a few years later. Say, perhaps, by the Lord of Starfall's younger brother who died of summer sickness. In that scenario, he is likely raised in Dornish fashion as a noble son of House Dayne via a paramour and could conceivably still be awarded Dawn and become the Sword of Morning.

I think this path works better than Elys and/or Rhea keeping another child secret from Daemon, which often feels a little too outlandish to me.

Then there are the fun questions of what to do, once everyone takes a look at the mystery "Dornish" knight and is like...anyone else notice that he looks a LOT like Daemon? With Jon's dark hair? Arthur must know his mother's name, which Daemon may or may not recognize. If he does, then shit, that's his son. *grabby hands* No, you are NOT joining the Princesguard, you are a PRINCE once Viserys legitimizes you.

(Meanwhile, Arthur has his first argument with Daemon because of COURSE he's joining the Princesguard, who better than a prince to guard other princes like his precious younger brothers? While Daemon is adamant that he should be allowed to marry and have children and he can still be a knight, and how is he supposed to claim a dragon if he's stuck on guard duty all the time. Which...is something that Arthur never considered because DRAGONS. HIM. WHAT.)

In fairness, Arthur has only known Rhaegar for a few months (I have him joining the Kingsguard roughly six months before Rhaegar gets summerhalled), so about the same length of time Jon and Rhaegar have known one another! So I don't think it hampers him bonding with Jon too much, especially given how starry-eyed Jon will be about the Sword of Morning being their BROTHER, how cool. (Rhaegar shaking his head because Jon saved the world and doesn't realize that HE'S the coolest.)

I get the sense that Arthur and Daemon would clash heads a lot, too. Arthur doesn't really have any childhood trauma in his original life, so it's not like he's seeking a father figure, and his pre-summerhall version here had a happy childhood in Starfall. Daemon is, as far as he's concerned, the sperm donor.

What ultimately wins him over some with regard to Daemon is probably how sweet he is with the twins, and how badly they want him to be their brother. But Arthur probably always consider Daemon more of an ally than his father-father, despite Daemon's best efforts.

[novasintheroom]

068. Lie

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.8k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: You ask about Vash's family. He asks you the same.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

“So where are you from?”

The question comes on a Tuesday afternoon, under the awning of a shop in a little town you haven’t found the name for yet. Vash is sat to your side, the creaking, rusted metal bench beneath. You pause in chewing your foil-wrapped burger. Vash’s eyes are on you, watching.

Not that there’s much to look at. You blink and shrug. “Podunk town like this. I can barely remember its name anymore, it’s been so long, and I’ve been on the move so much with the librarian stuff.” It’s a lie. You remember the name very well. But, taking another bite of burger, you’re not going to reveal it. Some old, old maps in the archives still have its name printed on them, and you won’t take the chance. “Where are you from?”

Vash laughs quietly, looking off to the side. “Same, I guess. I don’t remember the town, just my family.”

Well now, that’s a new topic. You lean back and look at him. “What was your family like?”

A solemn air surrounds him suddenly; his eyes crinkle, like he’s been pinched. You wonder if you’ve stepped over some line asking about it. But he opens his mouth and says, “I had…my adoptive mom, and my brother.” His hands come together before him, clasping. “My brother and I are twins.”

Are. Does that mean his brother is still alive? Funny that he’s never mentioned him or wanted to visit. You hum, feeling out how to approach this. “Adoptive?”

Vash nods. “Yeah. Our bio mom couldn’t really take care of us, so she – Rem, I mean – she took me and my brother in and raised us.”

A tomas-pulled cart trundles by, kicking up the dry dust of the hard road. You take another bite of your meal. Vash’s hands are empty. He said he wasn’t hungry. Your mind reels, wondering what to ask, how to make this a little less awkward. “What’s your brother’s name?”

Vash takes a breath in, then out. “Nai.”

You swallow and look at him odd. “’Nai?’” You pause. “Was it short for, like, ‘Niles?’”

He barks out a surprised laugh. “Uh, no, it was…just Nai.”

“Uh,” you realize you might be heading into ‘rude’ territory. You’ve only known Vash a few months; it isn’t time to make fun of his maybe-alive-maybe-dead brother’s name, “okay.”

“It’s no more weird than ‘Vash,’” he defends.

Your brows twitch up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought it,” he laughs.

You smile, hiding behind what’s left of your burger.

Vash brushes a hand through his hair, then turns to you. “What was your family like?” He nudges his shoulder against yours, and his strange, carefree smile is back.

Hm. Should have expected that question. Still, you feel a distant sadness in your chest. “I had a mom and dad. A sister. That was it, really.”

Vash waits for more. When nothing comes, he ducks closer. “What were they like?”

You sigh, finishing the last of your burger and crumpling the foil in your hands, letting them hang between your legs. “My mom was an amateur scientist, Dad was a farmer. My sister’s still alive, somewhere, but it’s been a few years since I’ve seen her, so that might be up in the air.” There. Half-truths are still truths, aren’t they?

He nods, accepting it all. “You ever want to go see her?”

Your lips thin. “Not really. We don’t…have the best relationship. Had a bit of a falling out. You know how it is.”

He sighs and puts his chin in his hand, leaning on a knee. “I do.” A forlorn, empty look overtakes his blues, something you can only see from the side with his glasses on.

Well, this isn’t fun. You feel bad, like you’re the one who brought down the mood. So, you try to fix it. You throw your foiled ball at him, hitting him in the cheek. “I know you’re hungry enough for a donut, right?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, but he hides it in a bewildered look. “Do you have any?”

“No, but we can go find some.”

He deliberates. You see it in his eyes. Do I want a donut? Do I want to spend the double dollars for one? Do I want to try and find some? Eventually, he agrees. “Alright. Yeah, let’s go find a donut.”

You slap your knees as you stand, bending down to pick up the foil ball and dispose of it properly. “Maybe we can check the post office while we do. See if there’s any packages need delivering.”

That perks him up more. Always looking for something to do, some way to help. Vash stands with you, and, following the dust of another wagon, you start your walk through town.

[lesbiandreamriso]

What I really like about Pluto is how morally gray almost every character is (with the exception of my baby Pim). I wanna talk about Kosol and May and why I think Ben is the MVP.

As a certified May defender my favourite ship is still Kosol x Jail. However alot of Kosol haters would be Kosol. Think about it. Your best friend is almost murdered and has to live the rest of his life disabled. His mom who is also a parental figure in your life kills herself. You want revenge but you cant go after the criminal who has all the resources to get himself a slap on the wrist so you go after the shady lawyer that got him off because in your mind its the lawyers fault.

She didnt hurt your friend but she let a criminal back into the streets. Her defense got him a win in the court of public approval. Instead of being seen as the murderous bastard he is he's seen as a hero now and your friend is a nameless motorpunk who deserved it.

Its terrible but it is realistic and the profession of law is fundamentally immoral. The job of a lawyer isn't to seek justice its to defend their client and while we the audience can understand this because we are far removed from the repurcussions of May's actions if it were your friend or your family you would be tempted to get some payback even if you didnt do it.

Cases like this cause me to have a huge amount of cognitive dissonance because i love stories about vigilante justice. I know if this story was from Kosol's pov I probably wouldn't feel as bad for May as I do.

With Pluto alot of the central characters have some sort of logic behind what they do no matter how shaky. The difference between villian and victim depends on the point of view and the amount of informatiom we have at any given moment. Kosol is wrong no matter how you slice it but the only reason why we think May didnt deserve it is because we know and love May.

May knows this too. She may not have hurt Ben or killed his mom but she set his attacker free. Her crime was enabling and she feels terrible about it because under normal circumstances she wouldn't do it. That's why she wont turn him in. She believes those who do wrong deserve punishment. In her mind she did wrong and the universe punished her. The specifics dont matter anymore especially when you factor in Ai oon's relationship with Kosol.

Back to Ben. I say he is the Mvp because he has every reason to hate May and hold what she did over her head forever. He has an idea of the guilt and anguish she's facing because he no doubt blames himself for his mom's death the way May does and he not only frees himself from the prison of guilt and pain he likely lived in for years, he freed her too. If I were in his position I wouldn't have the strength to do it.

This is very much an explanation not an excuse. As a May lover my favourite ship is still Kosol x Jail but as a person who sometimes lets thoughts slip through when I watch shows I have complex feelings about Kosol. No love or hatred just confusion and because of that he may be one of my favourite gl characters in 2024. In terms of writing.

Side note: Ai oon's reaction to finding out the news also reinforces this point. She was far removed from the repercussions of Kosols action. She saw only the "villian" side of May and decided to pass judgement, determining what she did and didnt deserve. Then she meets May and falls in love. Now she is haunted by the fact that she not only enabled the crime that caused the person she loves most to become blind. She inspired it. She planted the seed. We can say she did nothing wrong. I maintained that stance till i found out she knew exactly what Kosol did and didn't stop him. Now I think she is partially guilty but ultimately Kosol is a grown man who makes his own choices and he choose to do what he did. The real question this episode is asking is how do we measure guilt. Does being a bystander make you guilty? An enabler? Or a perpetrator? The answer is all but only sometimes. Everything is relative it just depends on who is telling the story.

The last thing I'll say is there is no villian in this story just people doing questionable things for love and getting mixed results. I know the gl fandom loves a black and white hero vs villian narrative. I have fallen victim to this in the past when talking about kosol and oom but pluto has shown that its a show that requires a more critical lense. Lets ignore personal feelings about the characters for a minute and really examine their actions as objectively as we can. The discourse around the show could be so fun if we did.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 2: who

You’re only human, and day by day, you find yourself falling for your neighbor—the world-renowned singer-songwriter, Jimin. But behind his dazzling smile lies a hidden fragility, a heart weighed down by unspoken sorrow. When his young daughter shows up at your door, her teary eyes and trembling voice telling you her father is crying, your heart skips a beat. Rushing to his side, you find him on the floor of his studio, surrounded by scattered papers and raw, unfiltered pain. Now, as his quiet strength falters, you’re left wondering—can you be the melody to soothe his fractured soul? Can you help him piece together the remnants of his broken heart?

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.8k → Warnings + triggers: mention of past bad relationships (only briefly mentioned), crying, pain, hurt (emotional), stereotypical assumptions, slight misunderstandings, protective and oblivious big brother Yoongi, Hwa-Young is so cute 😭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: waaaah 🤧 This chapter holds such a special place in my heart—it’s one of those moments that feels like capturing a fragile piece of the soul in words. There’s something tender, something magical about it... but I’ll let you discover that for yourself. I truly hope it speaks to you as deeply as it does to me 🫶💖 This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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Jimin is the kind of neighbor who seems almost too good to be true. Warm, thoughtful, and effortlessly kind, he’s the type of person who lights up a space simply by existing. But there’s a shadow beneath his radiance—a quiet sadness that lingers in his faraway glances, in the melancholy chords of his songs. Despite his inviting smile, you can’t help but wonder what burdens his heart carries. Is it loss? Longing? The memory of someone who used to be here—perhaps the mother of his sweet, joyful daughter? The questions tug at your mind, but you hold them back. Curiosity simmers, yet you don’t dare pry into his private pain.

Since the day you introduced yourself, he’s gone out of his way to make you feel at home. In the past week, you’ve unpacked every last box, even posting an ad for someone to take them off your hands for reuse. And in that same time, Jimin has invited you into his cozy, art-filled home more times than you can count, eager to hear your thoughts on his lyrics. His daughter is just as charming as the house she brightens, her laughter filling every corner. Their kindness is so genuine, so disarmingly human, that you wonder how someone so well-known, so revered, could remain this grounded. You’d expected someone of his fame and talent to carry an air of distance, but Park Jimin is anything but.

“So, do you have the hots for him yet?” Namjoon teases, jabbing his fork into a helpless carrot on his plate.

The question hits like a snowball, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, turning them as pink as the cranberry sauce on your plate. “What? No!” you stammer, immediately looking away, out the frosted window of the restaurant. Outside, snowflakes swirl in the brisk wind, blanketing the streets in soft white. It’s warm inside, but the chill of Namjoon’s question lingers. Christmas is just around the corner, and yet, all you can think about is a certain neighbor with sad eyes and a voice that seems to carry the weight of the world.

When you don’t respond—don’t even lift your gaze from the table—Namjoon chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “So you do like him.”

A heavy sigh escapes you as you practically collapse against the table, your arms folding under you like a crumpled paper. “How can you blame me?” you groan, voice tinged with exasperation, though the tightness blooming in your chest says otherwise. Jimin’s face flashes in your mind—his warm smile, his soothing voice, the gentle way he looks at his daughter—and your heart betrays you, skipping a beat. “He’s just… he’s so good-looking, so sweet, so—kind. And don’t even get me started on his daughter. She’s the most precious kid I’ve ever met.”

“Wait,” you say suddenly, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though afraid the other restaurant patrons might overhear. “Did you know he had a daughter?”

Namjoon pauses, his glass of water halfway to his lips. He raises a brow. “I didn’t,” he admits, taking a sip. “But, honestly, it makes sense. The guy keeps his private life locked up tighter than a vault. I didn’t even know he lived out here in the sticks.”

You laugh softly, though there’s an edge of disbelief to it. “Right? I mean, the Park Jimin, living in some rundown neighborhood? When I found out he was my neighbor, I thought I was dreaming. But, seriously, why would someone like him live there? He’s famous. He has money. He could live anywhere—penthouse, sprawling mansion, you name it. So why here?”

The thought makes your cheeks burn, and you look down at your hands, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. You’re not sure if you’re embarrassed at the audacity of your questions or the fact that you’ve been thinking about this way too much.

Leaning forward, you rest your elbows on the table and let your words tumble out before you can stop them. “Joonie…” Your voice is quieter now, almost tender, as though you’re confessing something sacred. “Jimin seems so sad. He lives all alone with his daughter, and all of his songs—they’re so full of pain, of longing. Do you think…” You hesitate, swallowing hard, then press on. “Do you think all his songs are about his wife? Do you think she left him? Or…” You don’t finish the sentence.

Namjoon lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he sets his fork down with a clatter. “Slow down there, Miss Investigative Journalist.” He leans back in his chair, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “First of all, did you even check if he had a ring on his finger? That might save you a lot of speculation. Second…” He points his fork at you for emphasis. “Why are you asking me? What do I know? I don’t have some magical hotline to his personal life. All I know is the guy is a phenomenal singer. If you’re that curious, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

His bluntness sends a blush creeping up your neck, but you manage a small laugh, shaking your head. “Ask him? Yeah, sure, Joonie. Hey, Jimin, so who broke your heart and why do you look so sad all the time? That’ll go over well.”

Namjoon smirks, raising a knowing brow. “Hey, you’re the one who’s dying to know. Maybe it’s time to stop speculating and start finding out.”

You let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the stool, the wooden legs creaking softly under your weight. “I didn’t see a ring,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “But… his daughter, Hwa-Young—she looked so sad when I asked about her parents. I don’t know. I don’t want to pry, but at the same time…” You trail off, glancing at Namjoon, your voice quieter now, hesitant. “I also don’t want to get involved in something complicated, you know?”

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat. He throws his head back with a laugh, loud and carefree, drawing a few curious glances from the nearby tables. “You’re already thinking about dating the guy, and you barely know him?” he teases, shaking his head as he spears the last piece of chicken on his plate.

“I am not!” you shoot back, your cheeks flushing. You cross your arms, pouting slightly. “I’m just… trying to protect myself, okay? You know what happened last time. I’m not exactly great when it comes to men.”

Namjoon sets his fork down with a scoff, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, trust me, I know. Thank god you never told your brother about Mark.”

At the mention of him, you groan, covering your face with your hands as a whirlwind of memories comes rushing back. Mark, with his sharp words and subtle lies that chipped away at you piece by piece. Controlling. Manipulative. Always holding you at arm’s length, but never letting you go. Everything Jimin doesn’t seem to be.

You peek at Namjoon through your fingers, your lips twitching into an incredulous smile. “Yoongi would’ve kicked his ass.” The thought is enough to make you burst into laughter, the sound coming unbidden and pure, like the first light after a storm. “Honestly, it’s probably for the best that he never found out what really happened with Mark.”

Namjoon’s grin widens as he nods, clearly enjoying the idea of your overprotective brother delivering swift justice. “Oh, no question. He’d have tracked the guy down, dragged him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in, and sent him running for the hills.”

You shake your head, laughing, the tension easing from your shoulders. The restaurant’s warm glow feels softer now, like a comforting blanket against the frost-laden world outside. You glance out the window, watching the snowflakes tumble lazily from the darkening sky, and push aside the lingering thoughts of the past.

By the time you’ve both polished off your plates, the conversation has shifted to lighter things—memories of college pranks, ridiculous holiday traditions—and the laughter between you and Namjoon feels like medicine.

After settling the bill, the two of you make your way to the cinema, the cold biting at your cheeks but doing nothing to dim the warmth between you. You tuck your scarf tighter around your neck as Namjoon buys tickets to the cheesiest Christmas movie playing, grinning like a kid as he hands you your popcorn.

The night stretches out before you like a quiet snowfall, soft and full of potential. And for a while, you let yourself get lost in it—lost in the glow of the screen, the sound of your best friend’s laughter, and the feeling that, maybe, just maybe, better days are finally ahead.

Days later, you find yourself nestled in Jimin’s living room, the soft hum of warmth from the fireplace wrapping around you like a blanket. Hwa-Young is curled up beside you, her bright, innocent energy a stark contrast to the quiet gravity of her father’s voice as he strums his guitar. The song he plays is one you heard last week, but hearing it live—here, in the heart of his home—feels different. Intimate. Raw.

“I’ll put it all on the line.I’ll be that someone she can count on.One, two, three, four, five…So many people to see.Places to go,”

His voice floats through the room, hauntingly beautiful, the kind of sound that lingers in the corners of your mind long after it’s gone. It’s even more mesmerizing live than it was over the radio. How many singers can claim that? His voice is unfiltered, rich, filled with a vulnerability that pulls you in like a tide you can’t resist.

You bop your head gently, letting the words soak into your skin, but your mind drifts, lingering on the mystery that surrounds him. Who is this song about? His lyrics feel personal, like fragments of his soul laid bare, and you can’t help but wonder about the story behind them. He’s not wearing a ring—but not all married or widowed men do. And then there’s Hwa-Young, undeniable proof that a woman once held a place in his life. Where is she now?

Hwa-Young slides closer to you, her small hands tugging at your sleeve as she giggles, her laughter light and free. “Ain’t daddy amazing?” she says, her voice brimming with pride. She flashes you a smile so bright it could rival the glow of the lights strung along the window. “He writes all his lyrics himself.”

You glance at her, then back at Jimin, who’s still lost in his music, his blonde hair falling slightly into his eyes as he leans into the melody. You nod, lowering your voice to a whisper as you reply, “That’s incredible. He’s amazing.”

And he really is. Every note, every word, every small kindness he’s shown you since the day you knocked on his door confirms it. But as much as you’re drawn to his talent and the warmth he and his daughter exude, there’s something else—a shadow in his gaze, a sadness woven into his songs. You know sadness isn’t a fault, but you can’t help but wonder if it’s a key to the puzzle of who he is and the life he’s lived.

You find yourself staring at him a moment longer than you probably should, the sound of his music echoing in your chest, making your heart ache for reasons you can’t quite name.

Jimin’s fingers glide over the strings, each delicate stroke coaxing the guitar to sing. His voice follows, soft and earnest, like a confession carried on a fragile breeze. The melody wraps itself around you, filling the room with a warmth that seems to melt even the winter frost outside.

“We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met, but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world. And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?Is she someone that I see every day?Is she somewhere a thousand miles away?”

The words weave their way into your chest, stirring something unfamiliar yet comforting. You can’t help but feel the faint flutter in your heart, your cheeks heating as his voice dips lower, like a secret meant for only you to hear. And in that moment, you understand. You understand why millions of people adore him—not just because he’s an artist, but because he’s an open wound made beautiful, a man unafraid to bare his soul in his music.

It isn’t just his voice or his lyrics, though both are stunning. It’s him. His presence, his kindness, his quiet humility. The way he feels so human and yet otherworldly at the same time. It’s impossible not to feel flustered under the gravity of who he is, as if he has a way of making you forget the rest of the world exists.

The song begins to fade, his voice softening, the strumming of his guitar slowing like the end of a heartbeat. A stillness settles over the room, fragile and delicate, as if even breathing too loudly might shatter it.

Hwa-Young, oblivious to the sudden weight in the air, turns to you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Y/N, do you have a boyfriend?”

Her question feels like a pebble tossed into a quiet lake, sending ripples through the silence. Jimin’s fingers falter, the music stopping abruptly, leaving the air heavy with unspoken tension. His gaze flickers to you, unreadable, and you feel the heat of his attention settling on your already burning cheeks.

You laugh nervously, a sound that feels too sharp in the gentle atmosphere of the room. “I don’t,” you manage, your voice betraying the sudden tightness in your chest.

But why does your heart race? Why does the admission of your single status feel like something monumental here, in this room, in the presence of Park Jimin? You haven’t thought about relationships in so long—not since Mark left you in pieces, his manipulation and control carving wounds you thought would never heal. You’d sworn off men like him, sworn off feeling this kind of vulnerability ever again.

So why, now, do you feel as though a single glance from Jimin could undo all those walls? Why does the quiet between you feel louder than the song he’d just played?

Hwa-Young giggles, her innocence breaking the moment, but your thoughts linger, circling around questions you can’t yet answer.

Jimin offers you a soft smile, the kind that feels warm but weighted with unspoken thoughts. You sense his gaze lingering, yet you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. Something about the moment feels too tender, too fragile to face head-on.

“My dad is single too,” Hwa-Young chimes in, her cheerful tone catching you off guard. Your cheeks burn again, and you feel as though your entire face might combust. Is she… is she trying to play matchmaker with her father? The idea stirs an unexpected mix of flustered amusement and… something you can’t quite name. But if he’s single, then does that mean…?

Jimin shifts in his chair, resting his arms casually against the curve of the guitar, though his expression turns gentle, serious. “Hwa-Young’s mother passed away shortly after she was born,” he says softly, his voice carrying a heaviness that lingers in the air, wrapping around the room like a cloud.

The words hit you like a sharp wind. Your heart clenches as you glance at Hwa-Young, who sits beside you, still smiling, though it’s tinged with something wistful and bittersweet. She probably doesn’t remember her mother at all. And Jimin… Jimin is a widower. A young widower. You can’t help but wonder how he’s carried that weight for so long, raising his daughter with such love and kindness despite the ache that must linger in the quiet moments.

“She was daddy’s best friend,” Hwa-Young adds, looking up at you with a small, melancholy smile. Her words make your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected, the sweetness of her tone laced with an understanding far beyond her years.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you murmur, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow as you address them both. Your thoughts are tangled, a mix of sorrow for their loss and admiration for the strength it must take to carry on.

A question bubbles to your lips before you can stop it, driven by the weight of curiosity and compassion. “Is Hwa-Young’s mother who you’re singing about?” The words escape before you can think better of them, and your face instantly flushes with regret. You bite your lip and lower your gaze, berating yourself for prying into something so intimate.

But Jimin doesn’t seem offended. If anything, his smile remains, soft and calm, like the steady rhythm of a tide. He leans forward slightly over his guitar, the warm tones of his voice easing your nerves. “Not really,” he replies with an almost bittersweet chuckle. “I just like singing about love… because I’ve never really experienced it.”

His confession catches you off guard. You blink, taken aback, his words echoing in your mind. Never experienced love? How could someone like him—a man who seems to pour so much longing and devotion into his music—have never truly felt the very thing he sings about?

“But what about…?” you begin hesitantly, the words fumbling on your tongue as you glance at Hwa-Young. You don’t know how to frame the question, don’t know how much Jimin has shared with his daughter about her mother. You don’t want to tread on sacred ground, but the curiosity burns too brightly within you.

Jimin tilts his head slightly, watching you with a knowing look, as if he can read every thought racing through your mind. The room feels smaller now, quieter, as you wait for his response.

“Oh. Jiwoo and I were never in love,” Jimin says softly, his words gentle but sure, carrying the weight of a truth long settled. “She was just my best friend.” His tone holds no bitterness, only the quiet grace of someone who has long made peace with the past.

Before you can respond, Hwa-Young slides down from the couch, her laughter light and airy as she runs to her father. Jimin sets the guitar carefully on the floor, opening his arms just in time for her to leap onto his lap. She settles there with the ease of someone who knows she’s always welcome, her joy radiating as he threads his fingers tenderly through her chestnut hair. She giggles at his touch, her laugh as pure as a bell.

The sight pulls at your heart, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest. There’s something about the way Jimin looks at her, his entire being devoted to this moment, that makes it hard to look away. You feel a small smile tugging at your lips, your eyes prickling with tears you can’t explain.

“So…” you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate warmth in the room. “You’re looking for love?”

Jimin glances up at you, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Kind of, yeah,” he admits with a soft chuckle, and then grins, teasingly adding, “But love songs also make me a lot of money.”

Before you can react, Hwa-Young chimes in, flashing a proud smile. “We’re rich!” she declares, her enthusiasm unfiltered and unapologetic.

Jimin bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he looks at his daughter. “Hwa-Young,” he says with gentle patience, “we’ve talked about this. We don’t go around saying we’re rich.” He leans down slightly, catching her gaze. “Yes, we have money. But we’re just like everyone else.”

Hwa-Young’s cheeks flush pink as she looks down, sheepishly nodding. “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin says, brushing off her embarrassment with a warm smile. He tousles her hair affectionately, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, which draws another giggle from her.

The scene before you is almost too much—too warm, too full of love, too foreign to your own experience—and yet you can’t bring yourself to look away. Instead, you sit there, taking it all in, the ache in your chest mingling with a kind of longing you don’t quite know how to name.

This bond Jimin has with his daughter—this easy, overflowing love—reminds you of something you once had, something you still miss deeply. It’s the kind of connection you shared with your dad, back when his hugs felt like a shield from the world and his laughter made everything seem lighter. Warm and unconditional.

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how rare this feeling is in your life now. Men have always seemed distant, their affections guarded or transactional. Whatever Jimin has in his heart, it’s something entirely different—something you haven’t found in romance and can’t help but yearn for.

And as you sit there, watching him whisper something to Hwa-Young that sends her into another fit of giggles, you wonder—not for the first time—if you’ve spent too long searching in the wrong places.

Days have blurred into weeks, a gentle rhythm forming in your life. Most evenings, you find yourself at Jimin’s house, Hwa-Young nestled comfortably in your lap, her laughter ringing out like wind chimes as Jimin’s fingers dance over guitar strings. His voice fills the room, tender and haunting, and you let it wrap around you like a warm blanket after a long day. On the weekends, when you’re not exhausted from work, you sit there longer, hours slipping away in a haze of quiet conversations, soft melodies, and the kind of peace you haven’t felt in years.

You wouldn’t call it romantic—at least not yet. But there’s something about being near him, hearing his voice, watching the way he interacts with his daughter, that makes your chest feel a little lighter, your smile a little wider. It’s enough for now, and that alone feels like a gift.

Today is a rare day off, a pause in the steady hum of life. Bundled up against the cold, you step outside to toss your trash, the crisp winter air nipping at your cheeks. As you near the bins, you notice Jimin on the same errand. His silhouette is soft against the gray sky, breath rising in small, fleeting clouds. When he spots you, his expression brightens, and he lifts a hand to wave before crossing the short distance to you.

“Not working today?” he asks, his voice warm against the chill as he offers you one of those soft, heart-stopping smiles that always seem to linger on his pink lips.

You shake your head, a grin tugging at your own mouth. “Nope. I’m on vacation until after New Year’s.”

“Lucky you,” he says, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“I did,” you say with a nod, the memory bringing a flicker of warmth to your face. “What about you guys?”

“We had a great time,” he replies, his smile widening. “Hwa-Young’s grandparents came over, along with my parents and grandparents. It was nice.”

He pauses, tilting his head slightly as his eyes sweep over you. “Are you freezing?”

You laugh softly, though your chattering teeth betray you. “A little,” you admit, bouncing slightly on your feet in an attempt to ward off the biting cold.

Jimin chuckles, the sound low and warm, and then his expression shifts, thoughtful. “You know,” he begins, “you’ve never shown me your place. Mind if I come over and see it?”

His question catches you off guard, and your cheeks flush a shade of red that has nothing to do with the temperature. You fumble for a response, nodding quickly, your breath misting in the air as you manage to mumble, “Sure.”

“Great,” he says, and you swear his smile softens even further as he falls into step beside you, his presence as easy and natural as the falling snow.

As you lead him toward your door, you can’t help but feel a flutter of nerves mix with excitement. For weeks now, you’ve been a guest in his home, soaking in the warmth and love that radiates there. And now, for the first time, he’s stepping into your space, a piece of your world.

You let Jimin step inside, his presence filling the quiet space like a comforting hum. You’ve never known someone who could so effortlessly invite themselves over without it feeling awkward, but somehow, with him, it’s different—endearing, even. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the subtle confidence in his smile. Still, you can’t help but wonder what could possibly interest him about your small, modest home.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he says as his gaze drifts over your living room, and something about his tone makes you pause. You realize he must have known the people who lived here before.

“Oh, um, thanks,” you murmur, shifting your weight slightly before offering, “Would you like some tea?”

He nods, his smile softening as he walks to your sofa and settles onto it, as if he belongs there. “Yes, thank you,” he says warmly, his voice carrying the quiet ease of familiarity.

You move to the kitchen, the gentle clinking of mugs and the quiet hiss of boiling water filling the air as you prepare the tea. When it’s ready, you return, the cups warm in your hands, and you sit down beside him. It’s only then, as you hand him his mug and feel the heat from his arm so close to yours, that it hits you—this is the first time you’ve been alone with Jimin. Without Hwa-Young’s cheerful chatter filling the air, the room feels heavier, more intimate.

“Where’s Hwa-Young?” you ask, the question escaping your lips before you can stop yourself.

Jimin’s smile deepens, his expression softening in that way it always does when he talks about his daughter. “She’s at school. They’re offering extra classes today.”

You nod, sipping your tea, the delicate warmth spreading through your chest. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged in a way you can’t quite explain. It lingers, stretching like the glow of sunset before nightfall, until Jimin shifts slightly, turning toward you.

“I actually wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low, sincere, and when you glance at him, your brows furrow in confusion. He chuckles at the look, shaking his head slightly before continuing, “For being so kind to Hwa-Young.”

His words catch you off guard, and your heart twists as you see the gratitude in his eyes. You can’t help but smile back, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course! She’s so sweet and cute—it’s impossible not to love her,” you say, the image of her bright smile flashing in your mind.

Jimin chuckles softly, but there’s something else in his expression—something wistful. He takes another sip of tea, his gaze drifting for a moment before he murmurs, “Not everyone finds her sweet.”

His words are quiet, almost as if spoken to himself, but they linger in the air, heavy with meaning. You blink, surprised, your curiosity bubbling to the surface before you can stop it. “Why?”

The single word slips out, unguarded, and as soon as you say it, you feel your cheeks flush. But Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. He sets his mug down gently on the table, his fingers brushing against the handle, and his gaze meets yours.

Jimin’s lips part, and you know he’s about to say something—something that feels heavy and important—but before the words can form, the faint scrape of metal against metal cuts through the moment. A key slides into the lock, followed by the soft click of the door swinging open. The chill of winter slips in, brushing against your skin and swirling into the warmth of the room. You instinctively turn your head toward the entrance, your breath hitching as your brother, Yoongi, steps inside.

You recognize him immediately—not just by sight, but by the familiar rhythm of his grumbling and the huff of annoyance that escapes his lips as he wrestles with an armful of grocery bags. Only Yoongi, you think, would crash into your life unannounced and utterly unapologetic. After all, it’s only him and Namjoon who have a spare key to your place. But still—why now? Why does it have to be now of all times?

Yoongi’s presence is as it always is: sharp-edged, protective, and oddly comforting. For a man who once told you to “be a grown-ass adult,” he sure as hell has a habit of showing up with groceries and cooking dinner for you like it’s a duty he’s assigned himself. You’ve long since stopped questioning it. This is how Yoongi loves—through the quiet, practical acts of care that speak volumes even when his words don’t.

He steps into the living room, his boots leaving faint marks of melted snow on your floor. But then he stops, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of you and Jimin sitting side by side on the sofa. His gaze flits between the two of you, sharp and assessing, and his lips press into a line.

“Hi,” he says at last, his voice low and raspier than usual, the single word carrying more weight than it should.

“Hi,” you reply flatly, trying to mask the unease creeping into your chest. From the corner of your eye, you notice Jimin glance at you, his brow furrowing in quiet curiosity. He doesn’t say anything, but the unspoken question hangs in the air.

You wave a dismissive hand toward your brother. “Just put it in the kitchen,” you say, gesturing at the bags he’s still holding. Anything to break the tension, to redirect the moment back to something mundane. But as Yoongi moves toward the kitchen, the clatter of grocery bags and the hum of the fridge door opening do little to quiet the storm of thoughts brewing in your head.

What had Jimin been about to say? Would he pick up the thread again, or was the moment already gone?

When Yoongi finishes unpacking, he saunters back into the living room with the slow, deliberate gait of someone who knows how to make their presence known. His gaze flicks between you and Jimin once more, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” he asks, his voice light but tinged with mock annoyance.

It’s such a Yoongi thing to say—half-serious, half-teasing, his version of poking at you just to see how you’ll react. You sigh, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself.

You huff, crossing your arms as you fix your brother with an exasperated glare. “Yeah, yeah, thank you so much,” you mutter, waving him off with a flick of your hand. But Yoongi doesn’t head back to the kitchen. Instead, his eyes widen, darting between you and the man sitting beside you.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice low but loaded with incredulity. His gaze locks onto Jimin like he’s just uncovered a secret scandal. “Is that… is that Park Jimin?”

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t stay stuck. “Yeah,” you reply, deadpan. “He’s my neighbor.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s struggling to process this groundbreaking revelation. “You never told me that,” he accuses, his tone dripping with disbelief, as though withholding this information is some heinous crime.

Jimin, to his credit, sits there gracefully, his eyes flitting between you and Yoongi, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He shifts slightly in his seat, clearly unsure whether to be flattered or just let the moment pass.

You sigh, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. “This is my big brother, Yoongi,” you say, gesturing toward him with the weariness of someone who knows this interaction is going to get worse before it gets better.

Jimin tilts his head in greeting, his posture as warm and composed as ever, and then extends his hand, palm steady and inviting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice velvet-smooth.

Yoongi, of course, isn’t one to miss a beat. He grins, flashing his signature gummy smile as he takes Jimin’s hand in his own. “The pleasure’s all mine. My wife is obsessed with you.”

And there it is—that word. Obsessed. You cringe, the flush in your cheeks deepening until it feels like your face could rival the color of the setting sun. You sink slightly into the sofa cushions, wishing they’d just swallow you whole. Who isn’t in love with Jimin? you think, casting a side glance at the man in question.

Jimin chuckles softly, a sound that feels like the crackle of a cozy fireplace, and you catch a faint blush rising up his neck, settling on his cheeks. It’s subtle, but it’s there—proof that even someone as seemingly untouchable as him can get flustered. He doesn’t say anything to Yoongi’s comment, just offers a polite smile and a quiet laugh.

Yoongi, oblivious—or maybe purposefully oblivious—plops himself into the armchair directly across from the two of you. The chair creaks slightly under his weight, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if settling in for a long interrogation.

“So…” Yoongi begins, his tone annoyingly casual. “What were you two talking about?”

You clench your teeth, trying to stave off the irritation rising in your chest. Yoongi might as well have brought a flashing neon sign reading “Third Wheel” and planted it in your living room. Couldn’t he see that he was interrupting? Couldn’t he feel the delicate atmosphere he’d just shattered?

You shoot him a pointed look, silently willing him to disappear back into the kitchen—or, better yet, back to wherever he came from with those damn groceries. But Yoongi doesn’t budge. He sits there, grinning, blissfully ignorant—or perhaps intentionally obtuse—as if his mere presence isn’t practically cockblocking you.

You glance at Jimin, wondering if he feels the shift, the way the air between you had been light and full of possibility just moments ago, only to be deflated by your brother’s untimely arrival. But Jimin doesn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he looks… entertained. Like this is some private little comedy show unfolding before him.

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

You don’t say anything. The words sit heavy on your tongue, tangled in hesitation, because continuing this conversation feels too personal—too vulnerable—especially with your brother sitting there like an uninvited witness. Jimin, perceptive as ever, is quick to steer the moment in another direction. His voice is a balm, smooth and unhurried.

“I was just asking your sister if she’d like to come see me perform at my concert in May,” he says, his eyes shifting toward you, warm and expectant.

Your head snaps up, and you gape at him, blinking as if you’ve misheard. Does he mean his sold-out stadium tour? Your heart stumbles over itself, and beside you, Yoongi looks just as stunned, his jaw slack. You can practically see the wheels turning in his head—probably imagining being in your shoes just so he could make his wife’s wildest dreams come true.

“Ehm… yeah, if you want me there?” you manage to stammer, the words slipping out in a breathless, uncertain tumble. You can’t tell if it’s a question or an answer. You’re too taken aback to know.

“Of course,” Jimin replies, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, his gaze lingering on you in a way that feels both casual and intimate. “You’ve helped me so much these past weeks. It’s the least I can do.” His hand brushes against your thigh—light, fleeting, but electric.

For a moment, your entire world narrows to the warmth of his touch, the gentle cadence of his voice. The blood rushes to your face, heat pooling in your cheeks, and you feel like you might combust right there on the sofa. If only Yoongi weren’t sitting directly across from you, his hawk-like gaze taking in every detail, his brow furrowed as if mentally cataloging the scene to interrogate you later.

“Backstage pass, too,” Jimin adds casually, as though he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You barely nod, unable to form a coherent thought. Yoongi, however, stares at you, his expression flitting between disbelief and muted jealousy. You avoid his gaze, knowing full well what’s going through his mind: Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin was your neighbor? His wife would combust on the spot if she ever found out.

Moments later, Jimin rises, his presence still lingering even as he moves toward the door. “I should head back,” he says, his voice warm, though you can sense his reluctance to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, your heart pounding. “Thank you,” you manage softly as he slips on his shoes.

He turns back, his smile lighting the space between you. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

You nod, unable to do much else as the door clicks shut behind him, and the room plunges into a momentary stillness.

But the peace doesn’t last.

The second the door closes, Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet like a crack of thunder. “Why didn’t you tell me Park Jimin is your neighbor?” His tone is sharp, his eyes narrowing at you with all the intensity of an older brother who feels personally wronged.

You sigh, crossing your arms in a gesture of defiance. “Because I don’t want you telling your wife,” you shoot back, leveling him with a pointed look. “The man deserves some privacy, and I know exactly what would happen if you let her find out. She’d be at my place every day trying to ‘bump into him.’ No, thank you.”

Yoongi scoffs, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “You act like I’d tell her on purpose,” he grumbles, though his tone betrays his guilt.

“You would tell her,” you counter, your voice firm. “Maybe not on purpose, but you wouldn’t be able to keep it to yourself. One glass of wine at dinner and it’d slip out.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he leans back in the chair with a resigned huff. “Fine,” he mutters. “But if you end up dating the guy, you have to let me and my wife meet him.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling in frustration as you grab one of the throw pillows and hurl it at him. “Get out of my business, Yoongi.”

But even as you say it, you can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. Because for all his meddling, Yoongi is still your brother—and no matter how annoyed you feel in the moment, there’s comfort in knowing he’ll always be there, grocery bags in hand, ready to pry into your life whether you like it or not.

Still, as you glance at the empty spot where Jimin had been sitting just minutes ago, you can’t help but feel the shift in the air—the quiet sense of something new blooming, fragile and undefined, but full of possibility.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and the world outside hums with the anticipation of fireworks and fleeting resolutions, but you’ve chosen solitude. For once, you’ve turned down your friends’ lively invitations and decided against more time with family—Christmas was enough. Tonight, it’s just you, the quiet of your home, and the comforting glow of your playlist.

Jimin’s voice drifts through the room, one of his songs filling the air like a soft embrace. You sway to the rhythm, your body moving without thought, the melody wrapping around you until it feels like a conversation—a secret shared between the two of you.

Then comes the knock, sharp and unexpected. It cuts through the moment like a thread snapping, and you pause the music, your feet hesitating as you move toward the door.

When you open it, your heart clenches at the sight before you. Hwa-Young stands there, her small frame trembling, her tiny face scrunched with worry. Her lower lip quivers, and her breath fogs in the cold air.

“Daddy’s crying,” she says, her voice cracking, a heartbreaking sniffle escaping her. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The ache in your chest tightens, but there’s no time to think. Grabbing your keys and slipping on your shoes, you pull her into a quick hug before locking the door behind you. The icy air bites at your skin as you walk her back to her house, your heart thundering in your chest.

Jimin’s crying? The thought pounds in your mind, relentless. The man who seems to hold everything together, even when the edges fray—what could make him cry? The worry claws at you as you follow Hwa-Young inside, her tiny hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you hear it—soft, raw, unguarded. The sound of Jimin crying seeps into the air, low and melodic in a way that only he could make heartbreak sound beautiful. But it’s a beauty that twists your stomach into knots.

Hwa-Young leads you toward his studio, her steps hesitant but trusting. And there he is, seated on the floor amidst a sea of scattered paper, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. A pen trembles in his hand, a few smudged lines of ink staining the page beneath it. Tears drip from his cheeks, dotting the paper like the punctuation of sorrow.

You step forward, slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. Sitting down beside him on the floor, you glance back at Hwa-Young, who hovers in the doorway, her wide eyes fixed on her father.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice a whisper meant to break through the fragile moment without shattering it. You want to reach out, to touch him, to offer some piece of comfort, but you hold back. This is his pain, his space—you can’t rush into it uninvited.

Jimin lifts his head slightly, sniffling as he swipes at his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand. “Oh,” he breathes, his voice hoarse but still laced with that quiet magic that lingers even in his brokenness. “I’m just trying to write a song.”

His words catch you off guard, simple yet heavy, as if they carry more weight than he’s letting on. You glance down at the scattered papers and see fragments of lyrics—lines crossed out, others rewritten, the ink blurred where his tears have fallen.

Your chest tightens as you realize the depth of his struggle. Writing isn’t just an act for him—it’s a pouring out of his soul, and tonight, it seems that soul is heavier than it can bear.

“Jimin…” you murmur, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, a wish to ease the ache you see in him. He doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed on the paper as if searching for answers in the empty spaces between the lines.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes still rimmed with a faint redness, and then looks past you to his daughter. “Ah, did you get worried, Hwa-Young?” His voice is gentle, like a melody subdued by sadness, a softness meant only for her.

She nods, her small fists rubbing at her tear-streaked cheeks. “Yeah,” she sniffs, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to see daddy cry.”

Before you can react, she runs to him, her tiny arms flinging themselves around his neck with such force that he nearly topples backward. He catches her in his embrace, holding her tightly, like she’s the anchor keeping him grounded. He presses a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there as though drawing strength from her. “I’m okay,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice low but steady. “Sometimes writing hurts a little. But it’s a good kind of pain.”

“But I’m good, I promise,” he says, pulling back just enough to cup her cheek. His thumb brushes away the lingering tears as his expression softens, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile. She studies him for a moment, her worried eyes searching his face for any cracks in the truth, but she seems to believe him—or at least want to.

“Okay,” she whispers, her shoulders relaxing.

You take her calming presence as your cue. Shifting slightly on the floor, you ask gently, “Do you want to talk about the lyrics?”

His lips press together, and you notice the way he chews on the inside of his bottom lip, hesitant. But after a moment, he nods, the vulnerability in his expression clear. “Yeah, okay.”

Hwa-Young slides off his lap, still watching him protectively, and retreats to the couch with a little bounce, her legs swinging off the edge. She doesn’t go far—close enough to keep him in her line of sight but distant enough to give you space. You and Jimin remain seated on the floor, papers sprawled around you like autumn leaves scattered by a restless wind.

“Alright,” he says softly, picking up a page and smoothing out the creases with his fingertips. He pauses for a moment, gathering himself, and then reads aloud, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. 

“Even if you try to make believable excuses again, even if you try to close your eyes and turn away, you know that it’s already broken, that it can’t be reversed.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding, like the ache of something lost. You sit with them for a moment, letting their weight settle over you, your chest tightening at the raw beauty of his sorrow.

“Do you really think some things can’t be reversed?” you ask finally, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of breaking the spell.

He shrugs one shoulder, a small, almost self-deprecating smile ghosting across his lips. “I think... maybe some things can. But not everything. There are cracks too deep, things shattered too completely. Sometimes, you just... can’t put it back together.”

His gaze shifts downward, his fingers toying with the edge of the paper, as though the lyrics themselves hold the answers he’s searching for. There’s a quiet sadness in his words, an acceptance of something unspoken, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s alluding to.

You nod slowly, the truth of his words sinking in, even if you don’t fully understand what’s behind them. “Your lyrics...” you pause, searching for the right way to describe them, “they’re painfully beautiful. They feel like they come from somewhere deep.”

His eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, you see a flash of gratitude—or perhaps relief—in his expression. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word simple but heartfelt. “It’s... complicated, you know?”

You glance at the chaotic scrawl on the page, the ink etched like unspoken confessions. “Do you have more?” you ask softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness.

Jimin’s gaze lowers, his lips parting as though the words might resist leaving him. But then, they pour out, raw and unguarded. 

“When falling asleep, drunk,And being unable to remember anything,I thought about it, “what am I doing now?”Why am I the only one like this—no, everyone is like this.The me who pretends to be okay every time,I find him pathetic.” 

His voice wavers, each word heavy with the ghosts of emotions too painful to name.

The weight of his words hits you like a wave, swelling in your chest, rising to your throat. You feel your eyes sting, and you blink hard against the tears threatening to spill. Is that really how he feels? Or how he has felt? The thought aches, cutting deep into you.

“It’s not really how I feel right now,” he murmurs, but his voice cracks under the strain, a betrayal of the truth that lingers beneath. “But these are feelings I’ve had before, and...” His voice falters, choked by the weight of what he’s carrying.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your own voice thick with emotion. Without hesitation, you slide closer to him, wrapping him in a hug that feels both fragile and firm. Your hand finds his, trembling slightly, and you trace soft circles on his skin, hoping to ground him, to offer something—anything—that might soothe him.

At first, he doesn’t move, his breath shuddering as if holding back. But then, he crumbles, his head falling against your shoulder as his tears come freely. The sound of his crying is quiet but heart-wrenching, and all you can do is hold him, cradling his pain as though it were your own.

After a moment, he pulls back slightly, his face still streaked with tears but his voice steadier now. “I’ve written more,” he says, sliding another paper across the floor toward you. His fingers tremble as they release it.

You pick up the page, your eyes scanning the ink smudges that seem almost like tear stains. You take a breath and begin to read aloud, your voice catching as the words unravel before you. 

“The same day all over,goes by, yet again. How long should I endure through this? To be able to return...”

The words linger in the air, heavy and sharp as glass, and your voice falters, the ache in his handwriting so palpable it feels as if it’s cut into you too. You set the paper down carefully, as though it’s something precious and breakable, and look at him, your heart twisting.

“Oh, Jimin,” you breathe, your voice barely audible. It’s all you can say. Words feel too small for the depth of what you’re witnessing. You pull him into another hug, tighter this time, as if trying to physically piece him back together, though you know that’s impossible.

His head rests against yours, and you hear his breath hitch, feel the faint tremor that still runs through him. In this moment, you realize that being here, holding him, is the only thing you can do. You can’t rewrite his past, can’t undo the pain that shaped these lyrics, but maybe—just maybe—your presence is enough to remind him that he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice catching on the edges of his words as he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with lingering emotion. “Sometimes writing can be... exhausting. Emotionally, mostly. It’s like digging up the past, uncovering feelings I thought I’d buried, things I’ve been trying to ignore. But turning them into music—it helps. It’s like breathing life into the pain, giving it purpose.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his confession settle into the quiet space between you. “I get that,” you murmur. “I’m just glad I can help, even if it’s only a little.”

His gaze softens, gratitude radiating from his tired but sincere expression. “Thank you for listening,” he says, his voice almost a whisper before he leans forward to hug you. The embrace feels tender, fleeting, but carries a warmth that lingers even as he pulls away. He wipes a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his hand and pauses, his eyes scanning the scattered pages on the floor. “Do you think it’s any good?” he asks, gathering the papers with a careful, almost reverent touch.

You glance at the crumpled sheets in his hands, the raw emotion woven into each line. “I think it’s painfully good,” you say, the words heavy with sincerity. “It moves you in a way that sticks—it’s the kind of raw honesty that people can’t help but relate to.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and beautiful. “Sharing the pain... it makes it feel lighter somehow,” he admits, setting the papers down on the desk as though releasing a burden. The vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep inside you, and when he turns back, sitting beside you, his presence feels closer than ever—like the warmth of sunlight just brushing your skin.

You’re acutely aware of the space between you, or rather, the lack of it. The heat of his thigh grazing yours is magnetic, grounding and electrifying all at once. You turn your head, your gaze finding his profile—delicate, yet so undeniably strong. There’s a quiet grace about him, a dainty elegance in the way he carries himself, even when baring his soul. His honesty, his unfiltered emotions, they pull at you like a tide, drawing you closer without permission.

You don’t know what this is—this invisible thread between you, taut and shimmering in the quiet. Is it just you? Are you the only one feeling this pull? Or does he feel it too, this gentle but unrelenting gravity between you? Is he always this open, this raw, with everyone? Or is this... something else?

The questions swirl in your mind, but you don’t dare voice them. Instead, you sit there, your thoughts tangled, the warmth of him beside you keeping the world at bay, if only for this fleeting moment.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: okay, confession time: I might have totally ugly cried while writing this chapter, and… wow, it hit hard. I’ve poured a lot of myself into Jimin’s character—like, not exactly me, but in the way his lyrics carry that raw, emotional depth (which honestly feels like the whole of Bangtan, let’s be real 😭). Anyway! I need to know—what did you think of this chapter? And more importantly, what pain do you think Jimin is hiding? 👀 Spill your theories, because my brain is doing the little ‘evil laugh writer’ thing right now 🤔✨

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[myechoecho]

When the Phone Rings, ep 8

I have so many thoughts on this one.

Sa Eon avoids Hee Joo's question about being a good cook. He may say it's sincerity, but I suspect it has much to do with him being forced to eat foods he did not like. I do love that the communication is more open between them, even if Sa Eon is hiding who he is. I laughed at Hee Joo mentioning them no sleeping together and Sa Eon pouncing on that point.

Sa Eon mentioned a plan, which I am thinking he's been methodically working on a way to break free of his own prison. Hee Joo is not part of that plan, so he has been protecting her this entire time.

The back hug was adorable, and we get Sa Eon's inner thoughts which parallel many of Hee Joo's. He fears that she will not accept his true self or forgive him. Hee Joo dreaming that he's left means she has insecurities around him. I adored the spooning in bed, which is a contrast to an earlier episode where they faced one another.

I did like Sa Eon chasing down Hee Joo and Sang Woo. It was surprising to learn that Sang Woo also knows that Hee Joo can speak. Sang Woo is definitely shocked that Hee Joo just goes with Sa Eon so he does not know about their relationship. He also seems genuinely confused at Sa Eon's suspicions about him.

My favourite scene, hands down, is the one by the side of the road. Hee Joo explains why she's scared, why she has doubts and that she thinks she'll be left alone when she learns his secret. What she needs to be reassured is for him to come completely clean. They both need to share their worst in order to be stronger. Sa Eon does not come clean, though he definitely gives some hints.

In the end, what reassures Hee Joo completely is the company photos where Sa Eon's gaze is always on her.

I am actually very invested in the other plot about the past. I genuinely do like In A, and I do think she is on Hee Joo's side. She definitely does not like her step mom and I don't think she's thrilled about her dad. I do also like that she does not pressure Hee Joo to talk.

Kidnapper guy sniffing up Sa Eon and saying he smells nice further still says to me that he is the OG Sa Eon. Our Sa Eon clearly worked around fish and the kidnapper has a fishy smell. Add the fact that our Sa Eon's "parents" recognized the description of the bi coloured eyes and mom gave a coded message.

However, I am less convinced of my previous theory of our Sa Eon having a twin. The pictures we see in his childhood home are only of him. The twins are still key though. Whomever Sa Eon saw being drowned by who I am guessing is the Chairman is one of the twins. The one who is the "master" of OG Sa Eon is the other twin. While I am still suspicious of the assistant, he seems significantly younger that Sa Eon.

Also, wtf happened in the past? i have so many questions:

Did the grandfather kidnap boys from the orphanage, whom he assumed no one would miss, so that OG Sa Eon would have something to torture/kill and then they'd dump the bodies in the lake?

Why did our Sa Eon's father/grandfather go along with it? It seems like he knew and he let the lake be a dumping ground?

Why did he let our Sa Eon go?

Why did Chairman Paik go to Hee Joo's step father for help, ON HIS KNEES, with a gun to his head?

Why did Hee Joo's stepfather help? Why did he make the deal and what does it have to do with the accident that killed his son and caused his daughter's deafness?

Did the Chairman know who was behind the accident and Hee Joo's stepfather was able to take revenge in his own way?

Why is everyone worried about THAT PROBLEM being still alive?

How did the grandfather/father know HE was still alive?

Who tf is HE, exactly?

I suppose I could be wrong about the kidnapper being the OG Sa Eon but I don't think so?

[deadpeopleinc]

Even more marauders era headcanons/fun facts from my au for them (some are really out of context)

There are 4 small clown dolls in the Gryffindor common room that are moved around daily solely to scare James

Remus had a buzz cut in 1st year and will pretend he doesn't know what your talking about if you bring it up

Regulus never really came out about being trans, he just kinda showed up one year as a boy and everyone was too scared of the Black family to question it

This then led to rumors that Regulus pre-transition was a different family member who was kicked out

That led to Sirius (somehow) managing to convince the entire Hogwarts population that Regulus was always there, and that his younger sister was a mass hallucination/Mandela effect

Every 'conversation' between Peter and Remus makes it seem like they don't even like each other, they're each other's favorites

James and Remus can't sit through horror movies without at least a little tears of fear

James is a childhood friend to like a fourth of Hogwarts

Barty never pulls a prank that is completely safe, a chance of death is essential

Concealing charms don't work on animingus forms, so Sirius had to come up with a bullshit excuse as to why his dog form is half white

Peter and Remus were cheerleaders in 3rd year after James and Sirius dared them to. This dare only happened bc they refused to play quidditch

Dorcas managed to hide her and Marlene's relationship for 8 months, solely bc of how unobservant her friends are

Mary was a theater kid and will cry if you bring it up

Sirius knew about jegulus before they even got together, but it took them months to actually tell him bc Sirius had a habit of pretending he was bothered by the idea and they thought he was being genuine

Narcissa has star based nicknames for everyone in her family

Sirius took up calling Narcissa Polaris so she wouldn't feel left out bc she's the only one without a star name

No one actually knows why Narcissa wasn't given a star name, not even the rest of the Black family

Barty likes to pretend the fact that both of his 'crushes' (Evan being his boyfriend) being blonde with blue eyes says nothing about his type

Peter can't tell the difference between when someone is genuinely flirting with him or making fun of him, rosekiller's aggressive flirting doesn't help

Sirius is weirdly into origami

Lucius and Narcissa treat Snape like their practice child

Marlene and James 'dated' when they were like 6 bc they thought it meant they got their family's money quicker

Sirius has a sweet tooth, Snape does too and they both hate it because of that

James is, surprisingly, more of an introvert than a extrovert

Sirius knows he's actually a Slytherin and won't wear green because he thinks it'll make it obvious to everyone else, it wouldn't

It's extra devastating because green is definitely his color

Regulus was supposed to be a Gryffindor and everyone can tell

Like he acts like every other Slytherin, he just has a vibe about him

Snape gossips with almost every professor and painting at Hogwarts

There's an incident board in the infirmary dedicated to the marauders

Lily keeps a small bag of cat treats for the strays at Hogwarts

Remus is allergic to pinecones

Peter is Russian and grew up there, but he can't stand the cold

Once again, that is it for now. These are fun to make so there will be more, but alas, I bid my farewells (for now)

Part 1

[monsoonceroom]

The drought has ended!

SPY X FAMILY CHAPTER 108!!!!

Picking up where we left off, it was revealed that LunaLuna Selena was none other than Melinda & apparently, she does enjoy dabbling in the occult. She's ashamed of it, but it's probably one of the few things keeping her sane at this point.

Yeah, Anya, that was my reaction too. I bet Melinda would go ga-ga over Anya's abilities & good on Yor for supporting her friend's hobbies.

Moving on, Melinda get's ready to DDDD-Dual read Anya's fortune & admits she has no idea what she's doing. Starting with Four of Cups, she doesn't know it's meaning, moves on to Death & says that the Grim Reaper is beside her (accurate considering Yor's job), & finally the reverse star means she'll never earn another stella.

I don't know how to do tarot cards either, but I have an advantage Melinda doesn't: Google. Let's see what our friendly neighborhood web browser has to offer:

Four of Cups: The readee is overlooking the important things in their life that they already have & they need a change in perspective to value what is already present.

Death: The end of a relationship or interest & increased self-awareness.

Reversed Star: Hopelessness & loss of faith as one is overwhelmed by life's challenges.

What could all this mean in terms of Anya? My interpretation is this: Four of Cups is Anya focusing so much on the Friendship Scheme™ & her dissatisfaction with the lack of progress she's had so far. Death is her realizing that trying to befriend Damian is going nowhere, so she ultimately loses interest in him. Reversed Star is Anya's belief that because she couldn't befriend Damian, she's resigning herself to the thoughts that she'll be sent back to the orphanage again.

Another thought I had is potentially the breakdown of the relationship between Anya & Becky. This doesn't seem as likely to me as I think we would've seen cracks by now if it were the case, but this was the first thing that came to mind.

Anyways, onward!

We get a Donovan jump scare (not pictured) when Melinda has a panic attack when thinking about him & Anya is very Concerned™. Apparently, this may not be Anya's first encounter with domestic abuse as the tension feels familiar. That brings up more questions, but I won't dwell on it right now.

Yor & Anya meet everyone else back at the Beer Garden where the boys are tampering with powers beyond their comprehension. Becky scolds them despite having her fortune told 10 minutes ago. I guess she's jaded now because she didn't get the answer she wanted. Meanwhile Damian listens in hoping the fortune teller mentioned who his future Mrs. Desmond will be.

Don't think you're slick, Damian! Anya can see you!

After a fun-filled day of festivities, it's time to go home & for Damian to make one more jab at Anya for being childish. However, it seems Anya pulled an Uno Reverse™:

Damian runs away screaming & more goodbyes are said. All in all it was a fun day for the Forgers & co.

Looks like we're at the hospital now & Loid is getting a new client:

Melinda is finally getting some help for her issues after some encouragement from Yor & her butler. I know Loid is ultimately using her for intel on Donovan, but I do hope this does help her at least a little bit.

[kbz-writes]

Here is my Winter Gift Exchange '24 fic for @kamiya-travis. I hope you like it! It's my first time writing so much Hiruma & Mamori interaction.

Shout out to @eyeshields for organizing, thank youuu!

Title: Any Other Name

Rating: Gen

Relationship: Hiruma & Mamori

Summary: During the Hakushu game, Hiruma's injury happens right before halftime. His conversation with Mamori goes differently.

The gift of being an eldest daughter is that it's also a bit of a curse. Granted, Mamori is an only child. However, she and Sena were close since they were little. They were practically siblings. Caring for someone came naturally to her when they'd play together. The effect compounded from there. She took care of people because she was a caretaker, and she was a caretaker because she took care of people. A cycle. The gentlest ourobous.

That's why, with Hiruma on the cot with his broken arm bandaged, she has to put her foot down.

"There's no way you can keep playing with your arm like that!" she yells, unable to keep her voice calm. The envelope she tore up and then painstakingly taped back together shakes in her hand. "After halftime, we'll have someone else be quarterback—"

"Third question," Hiruma says through gritted teeth, ignoring her completely. "There are idiots in the NFL that have kept playing matches with broken bones. True or false?"

Mamori knows she's trapped in the cycle. She can't let him hurt himself any more.

"If I say true, then you'll just keep playing," she says, unable to keep her eyes from welling with tears. "So I'll say false."

"Wrong." A slash of a smile streaks across Hiruma's face. "I win."

"What? Third... question...?" Her mind goes back to the beginning of the year. Their bet. How could she have forgotten?

"As you promised, you'll work obediently."

"You're an idiot," she whispers. "Bringing that up after all this time."

"Just keep your promise. Open the letter."

"By process of elimination, it has to be Ishimaru." Her fingers work stiffly pulling out the single piece of paper inside. Reading the name feels like gibberish at first. "It's—my name?"

"Oh, good, you're not illiterate. Almost had me fooled."

"You can't be serious. I'm not on the team!"

"You're on the roster."

The Bando game. She had thought it was uncharacteristic for Hiruma to add her as a form of sentimentality. 

"I don't have a uniform." Even as Mamori says that, she knows Hiruma already has an answer. (Suzuna teasingly making Mamori try on Sena's uniform. It'd be easy enough to get her a spare knowing her measurements.)

"That chibi cheerleader is useful sometimes."

Mamori is left standing dumbly, at a complete loss of words. Up to this point, her role on the team has been all about analysis: film, developing plays, planning for every possibility.

"Are you doing this because I know our playbook?" she asks.

Hiruma scoffs. "So does the team."

"But I can't throw—" But she has thrown a few times, she thinks, a little with Suzuna, even once with Hiruma when they had needed to take a break during a particularly long film session. She hadn't been all that good, but she had caught on to the basics.

Her eyes widen.

The weight training she had tried out of curiosity with the team.

Cycling alongside them during their runs.

Ladders with Sena every once in a while.

Even the games of sand football.

She'd been training with them all this time, hadn't she?

"You've been planning this for a long while, haven't you?" she asks. "You always have backup plans just in case, even if something like this happening was almost impossible."

"I've told you before, we make our own luck. Now, don't tell me you'd be satisfied with just being a fucking manager this whole time."

Being the manager for the Devilbats had come naturally to Mamori. It was a challenge she happily accepted. Just like Yukimitsu, Mamori hadn't joined any other clubs. It would have interfered too much with the Devilbats demanding schedule. Her kinship with Yukimitsu is different than her friendship with Suzuna. (Suzuna is part of the cheer team and the Devilbats.) Mamori and Yukimitsu only have the Devilbats. She'd been so happy for him when he joined the field against Shinryuji, even if she felt like she'd been left on the outside looking in.

Mamori had made peace with giving up her last year of athletic eligibility to help the Devilbats.

And yet.

(She placed eighth overall for the girls' heat in the last sports festival race. She beat out a couple of the girls on the track team.)

(She’d thought about joining the track team actually. Something to keep her in shape. Something fun to do. A different form of challenge. But there was never any time.)

"The team has worked so hard to reach the Christmas Bowl," Mamori says. "Somewhere along the way, it became my dream, too." She folds the paper back into the envelope and sets it to the side, all business. "What's your plan? You can't expect me to last the whole second half. I can't throw like you."

Hiruma keeps grinning sharply despite the pain he must be in. "Who the fuck asked you to do that? Your head's getting stupid from all the cream puffs. You're not my replacement. We're going two quarterbacks."

She lets his barbs slide off of her. If anything, his insults are a good sign. They're also reassuring. (Seeing someone as unflappable as Hiruma fall is distressing to the say the least.)

Mamori taps her chin. "If you're going on the field, it must be because you still have a card up your sleeve. Throwing has to be impossible—which is why you'll still do it, won't you?"

"Realistically, I got one good throw left. My arm'll be useless after that."

"But Hakushu doesn't know that. Just you being on the field will make them hesitate with how unpredictable you are."

They lock eyes.

"We're cursing them so they can't fucking look away. Gonna drive fucking eyelashes insane trying to predict what we're gonna do. Might've been close if it was just one quarterback, but luckily we got the smartest bitch joining the field."

"You're terrible," Mamori says. This insult doesn't bother her either. No, her system's already start to fill with adrenaline. She's more concerned with other things. She's seen how big the linemen are. 

Reading her mind, Hiruma says, "Can't guarantee you won't get hurt."

"It's a full contact sport," she says, blunt. Her voice shakes. This is how Sena and Yukimitsu must have felt their first game. She gulps. "I'll do it."

"As if there was any question. 'Sides, the Devilbats don't let fucking cowards on the team."

Their talk takes them about a third of the way through halftime. They hustle getting ready. Following Hiruma's instruction, she bandages both his arms up, and he waits for her to change into her uniform. She is a bit touched to find it's modified for women, more room in the chest padding.

When she puts on her helmet and stares into the mirror, she doesn't recognize herself. All she sees is an American football player. (She likes it.)

She steps out of the changing room, and they walk in-step together to the field, but when Mamori steps onto the pitch, she does it as part of the team.

She does it for herself.