#mask with filter pocket

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[jupiterpilgrim]

Drown With Me

Pt.3: Ecdysis

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 23K

part 1 | part 2

Love hurts.

But honestly, who would survive without love?

A small window into the present:

The park is quiet this afternoon, the kind of peace that feels slightly artificial—manicured paths, neatly trimmed grass, and a fountain bubbling in the center as if someone planned it to be calming. The air is crisp but not cold, the weak winter sun filtering through the bare branches. You sit on a bench near the lake, waiting. It’s been a week since dinner at Minji’s parents’ house, a week of strained silences and avoidance. Not intentional, not entirely, but life has gotten in the way. Work has been relentless, and honestly, you weren’t sure how to approach her after everything. That dinner had been a disaster—a collision of expectations and tension, her parents’ thinly veiled judgment clinging to the air like smoke.

You spot her before she sees you, walking down the path with her usual poised stride. Minji is dressed simply—a long, beige wool coat belted at the waist, black boots clicking softly against the cobblestones. Her hair is tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her glasses reflect the weak sunlight. Even in this casual setting, she’s impeccable, and it makes you feel a little underdressed in your battered jacket and scuffed boots.

She notices you and gives a small, polite wave. You stand up as she approaches, shoving your hands into your pockets to hide your nerves.

“Hey,” she says, her voice calm but guarded.

“Hey,” you reply, gesturing to the bench. “Thanks for meeting me.”

She nods, sitting down gracefully, her hands folded neatly in her lap. You sit next to her, leaving a deliberate gap between you.

“How’ve you been?” she asks, breaking the silence first.

“Busy,” you say. “Work’s been... you know, the usual.”

She hums softly, her eyes on the lake. “And otherwise?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I started therapy.”

That gets her attention. She turns her head, her expression softening slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “I—I needed to. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about dealing with my shit instead of burying it.” You glance at her, trying to gauge her reaction. “My psychologist recommended AA, too. I'm thinking of giving it a try. I’m not blaming it all on the drinking, but I think it’s tied up in... everything else.”

Minji’s lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “I’m really glad to hear that. I know it wasn’t easy for you to get to this point.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit, leaning forward, your elbows on your knees. “But I think it’s the right thing. I’m tired of feeling like I’m just surviving day to day.”

She nods, her gaze softening. “You’re taking a step, and that’s what matters. I'm proud of you.” There’s a pause, the kind that feels both comforting and uncomfortable. You shift slightly, the tension in your chest easing just enough to let you exhale.

“What about you?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “How’ve you been holding up? How are your parents?” Minji’s expression falters for a moment, the mask slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain beneath. She adjusts her glasses, buying herself a second before answering.

“They’re... adjusting,” she says carefully. “It’s a lot for them. They’re not used to this kind of… situation. Nobody really is.”

You nod slowly, unsure what to say. Dinner had been rough—her father’s terse remarks, her mother’s forced smiles, the unspoken tension hanging over the table like a storm cloud.

“I hope I didn’t make things worse,” you say quietly.

Minji shakes her head. “This had to be done sooner or later. They’re just... traditional. It’s going to take time for them to see things differently.”

You watch her for a moment, the way her fingers fidget with the belt of her coat, a rare crack in her usual composure. “I want to make it right,” you say softly. “With them. With you.”

She glances at you, her expression unreadable. “We'll get there.”

The restrained distance between you feels less sharp now, softened by the honesty in her tone. You both sit in silence for a while, watching the ducks glide across the lake.

“I meant it, you know,” you say eventually. “About wanting to change. I don’t want to keep screwing things up.”

Minji turns to you, her gaze steady. “I believe you.”

You nod, the weight on your shoulders lifting just enough to make the world feel a little less heavy.

“Thank you,” you say.

—

The park ice cream stand is one of those charmingly outdated carts with a cheerful umbrella and a grumpy vendor who only half-cares whether you want sprinkles or not. You order two cones—strawberry for Minji, chocolate for yourself—and hand hers over as the two of you start walking. It’s quiet, save for the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional laughter of kids running past. You’re trying to keep the momentum going, anything to draw her out a little more after the conversation about her parents.

“So,” you say, licking your cone, “are you sleeping any better these days?”

Minji glances at you, her lips brushing against the edge of her ice cream. “Not really,” she admits after a pause.

“Still the nightmares?”

She nods, looking ahead at the path, her face thoughtful. “It’s weird. I’ve always had the occasional bad dream, but ever since... you know, the hospital, it’s like my brain can’t let me have a single peaceful night.”

You frown, concern tightening in your chest. “What are they about? Same one, or do they change?”

“They change,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “But there’s this one I’ve been having lately. It’s... strange.”

“Strange how?”

She takes a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “I’m in this garden. It’s beautiful, like something out of a storybook. Perfectly trimmed hedges, colorful flowers everywhere, the works. It feels like mine, you know? Like I take care of it.”

You nod, already intrigued. “Go on.”

“And there are these birds,” she continues, her voice taking on a distant quality. “Hundreds of them, all in cages. They’re everywhere—hanging from trees, lining the paths. But they’re not unhappy. It’s like... they belong there.”

“Okay,” you say, licking your cone thoughtfully. “Then what happens?”

“Something breaks,” she says, her brows furrowing slightly. “I don’t know what—maybe the wind, maybe it’s me—but the cages all shatter at once. Suddenly, the birds are flying everywhere. They’re panicked, and so am I. I’m running through the garden, trying to catch them with my hands.” Her voice trembles just slightly, and you glance at her. She’s still looking straight ahead, her posture composed but her eyes haunted.

“Why were you trying to catch them?” you ask softly.

“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “I just... I felt like I had to. Like, if I didn’t, something terrible would happen. They were important to me. But there were so many, and they kept slipping away, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Did you catch any?” you ask.

She shakes her head again. “I don’t know. I always wake up before I can figure it out. But it’s so... desperate, you know? Like this frantic feeling in my chest that doesn’t go away, even after I’m awake.”

You take a moment to process that, glancing at her as she licks her cone absentmindedly, lost in thought. “You know,” you say finally, “I think you caught some.”

She looks at you, surprised. “What?”

“The birds,” you say, shrugging. “I mean, if they’re that important to you, I like to think you managed to catch at least a few. Maybe not all of them, but some. The important ones.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re an optimist, huh?”

“Not really,” you admit, finishing the last of your cone. “But I figure dreams are weird like that. They don’t always give you answers, so you might as well make up the ones you like.”

She chuckles softly, and for the first time that day, she seems a little lighter. “Maybe you’re right.”

You walk in silence for a while, the sound of the gravel underfoot filling the space between you. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the park.

“Thanks,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but sincere.

“For what?”

“For this,” she says, gesturing vaguely to the park, the ice cream, the conversation. “For listening. You know I like talking to you, I always have.”

“Anytime,” you say, meaning it.

As you walk back toward the bench where you started, you glance at her again. She still looks a little haunted, a little worn down, but there’s something else now too—a faint glimmer of hope, like maybe she’s starting to believe she can catch at least some of those birds.

—

Back to the past

The bar hums with the low buzz of voices, the occasional clink of glasses, and the muted crackle of a classic rock playlist that’s been stuck on repeat all week. You’ve been here since six, same as always, pouring drinks and wiping counters, forcing smiles and easy conversation like a well-rehearsed act. The clock ticks past ten, and you’re starting to think everyone’s forgotten your birthday.

Not that you expected much. Birthdays aren’t exactly high on the list of priorities when you’re juggling shifts and school deadlines. Still, the lack of acknowledgment stings more than you’d care to admit.

You’re stocking glasses when the door swings open, and in walk Ning and Minji, their energy lighting up the place like a spark in dry kindling. Minji’s carrying a neatly wrapped box, and Ning—beaming from ear to ear—is balancing a modest cake in her hands, the kind that looks too perfect to eat. Behind them, your coworkers suddenly start clapping and shouting, “Happy Birthday!”

You blink, startled, as they gather around.

“Surprise!” Ning practically shouts, setting the cake down on the bar with a flourish. She's wearing this short red dress that you've never seen before, while Minji is cozy in a beige sweater.

“You didn’t think we forgot, did you?” Minji says, her lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Well, I—” You trail off, feeling a ridiculous wave of emotion swell in your chest. “You guys are insane.”

“Insanely thoughtful,” Ning corrects, nudging you with her elbow.

After your coworkers and even the few customers present at the bar wished you a happy birthday, you find yourself sitting at the counter, a glass of something amber and sharp in your hand, while Ning fusses over the cake she’s brought. She’s crouched on the other side of the bar, carefully lighting the candles one by one, her face illuminated by the small, flickering flames. Minji leans against the counter beside you, her head tilted as she watches Ning, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“You didn’t see this coming, did you?” Minji asks, her tone light but edged with amusement.

“Not even a little,” you admit, taking another sip. “I thought you two forgot.”

“Forgot?” Minji repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Are our morale really that low?”

“We would never forget, silly,” Ning chimes in, straightening up and stepping back to admire her handiwork. She looks at you, her catlike eyes bright with excitement. “Okay, ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“Happy Birthday, obviously,” Minji says, nudging you lightly.

The room quiets as everyone gathers around the bar. Ning starts the song, her voice sweet but a little off-key, and the others quickly join in. Minji doesn’t sing—of course she doesn’t—but she taps her fingers against the counter in time with the melody, her eyes never leaving yours.

When the song ends, Ning beams at you. “Make a wish!”

You stare at the cake, its frosting a perfect swirl of white and blue, the candles flickering like tiny beacons. For a second, you feel like a kid again, the kind of kid who still believes in wishes.

You blow out the candles, and everyone cheers. Ning claps her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels, while Minji leans closer, her voice low enough that only you can hear. “What’d you wish for?”

You smirk, leaning back slightly. “Not telling. It won’t come true if I do.”

“Superstitious,” she murmurs, her lips curling.

The cake is sliced, the drinks keep coming, and the music on the jukebox changes to something faster, something that makes it impossible not to move. You’re buzzed now, maybe more than buzzed, the alcohol blurring the edges of the world in a way that feels like freedom.

Ning is the first to drag you to the small open space near the jukebox, her hand tugging insistently at yours. “Come on,” she says, laughing. “It’s your birthday. You have to dance.”

“I don’t dance,” you protest, but she’s already pulling you along, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Minji follows, her movements slower, more deliberate, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells you she’s enjoying this more than she’ll admit. The three of you end up in a loose, messy circle, moving to the beat in a way that’s more about feeling the music than looking good. At some point, Ning spins you around, her laughter ringing out like bells, and when you turn back, Minji is there, her hands brushing against yours as she steps closer. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades.

—

It’s later—maybe an hour, maybe two—when the dynamic shifts again. The music slows, the room thinning out as people leave, and suddenly it’s just the three of you near the jukebox. You’re sitting on a stool now, another drink in your hand, watching as Ning and Minji dance together.

They move differently when it’s just them. There’s a fluidity to it, a quiet intimacy that makes it hard to look away. Ning’s hands rest lightly on Minji’s shoulders, her head tilted as she says something that makes Minji laugh—a soft, genuine sound that you don’t hear often. Minji’s hands skim Ning’s waist, her touch fleeting but deliberate, and the way they look at each other feels like a conversation you’re not quite part of.

They know you’re watching; Minji glances over her shoulder, her eyes locking with yours for just a second before she turns back to Ning, her lips curling into a smirk. Ning follows her gaze, her expression softening as she meets your eyes.

“Come dance with us,” Ning says, holding out a hand.

You hesitate, the weight of their attention making you feel unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. But then Minji tilts her head, her expression calm but expectant, and you realize there’s no saying no. You stand, letting Ning pull you into their orbit. It’s not much—a simple sway to the music, their hands brushing against yours, their laughter low and easy—but it feels like more. Like something unspoken is passing between the three of you, something you don’t fully understand but don’t want to let go of.

At some point, you find yourself sitting at a corner table, away from the noise and laughter. The room spins slightly as you lean back, closing your eyes for a moment to steady yourself.

“Hey.” Ning’s voice pulls you back. She slides into the seat next to you, still wearing that easy grin of hers, the hem of her dress riding up slightly as she crosses her legs.

“Hey,” you mumble, your words slurred but soft. “Having fun?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she teases, nudging your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling heavily. “It’s... nice. Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, her smile softening. “Oh, and I didn’t bring your gift tonight. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you say, shaking your head. “Your company’s already the best gift.”

Ning’s cheeks flush slightly, and she ducks her head, hiding her expression behind her hair. “That’s sweet,” she murmurs.

There’s a pause, the kind that feels comfortable and heavy at the same time.

Then, Ning speaks again, her voice quieter. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say, your head lolling slightly as you turn to face her.

“Are you and Minji... you know... sleeping together?”

You blink, caught completely off guard. “What? No,” You lie instinctively. Something tells you that telling the truth now, under these circumstances, is not a good idea. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging casually but with an edge of something sharper in her tone. “She’s been meeting you alone a lot lately. And you guys talk about... stuff.”

“Yeah, studies and stuff,” you insist, feeling a little defensive despite the alcohol muddling your thoughts. “That’s it.”

Ning studies you for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true,” you say, leaning back and running a hand through your hair. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

Ning shifts closer, her knee brushing against yours. “Okay,” she says, her voice light, almost teasing. “But can I ask you something else?”

“Sure,” you say again, your voice slower now, confused but too drunk to really think it through.

She takes your hand—gentle but deliberate—and places it on her bare thigh. The warmth of her skin jolts through you, and you freeze, your mind struggling to catch up.

“Do you like this?” she asks.

“What... what are you doing?” you stammer, blinking at her.

“Nothing,” she says. Her hand moves yours slightly higher up her thigh, her dress hitching up with the motion. “Just asking a question.”

Your fingers twitch, and she leans in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. “Squeeze it,” she whispers.

You do, but it’s hesitant, your grip light and unsure.

“Do you like it?” she asks again.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you mumble.

Your hand is still resting on her thigh, and every second it stays there feels heavier, more confusing. The alcohol muddles your thoughts, makes everything feel both too sharp and too distant at once.

“And,” Ning says softly, her voice carrying a dangerous kind of sweetness. “What do you think of my body?”

Your eyes snap to hers, wide and uncertain. “What?”

“My body,” she repeats, tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes almost playful. “Do you like it?”

“I—” You stammer, your throat dry. “Ning, you’re—you’re my friend.”

She smiles faintly, but there’s something sharper behind it. “That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you admit, your words slurring slightly. “You’re—you’re beautiful, okay? You know that.”

Her smile widens, but it doesn’t feel warm. “So you do like it.”

“I didn’t say that,” you mutter, rubbing your temples with your free hand.

“Relax,” she says, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. “I’m just asking questions.”

Her fingers brush against yours on her thigh, and you flinch slightly. She doesn’t let go. “Did you know I was the one who reminded Minji about your birthday?”

“What?” you ask, blinking at her.

“The cake?” she says, her tone light but insistent. “The party? That was all me. I thought of the flavor, too. Minji wouldn’t have remembered without me.”

You stare at her, unsure of what to say. “Thanks,” you mumble finally. “I mean it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Her grip on your hand tightens slightly. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course,” you say, looking at her through the haze of alcohol. “It... it means a lot.”

Her smile softens, but only for a moment. Then, she leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Have you ever imagined me naked?”

The question hits you like a slap, and you jerk back, blinking at her. “What? No!”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her tone unnervingly calm. “You can be honest. I know how guys are. Sooner or later, you all think about it.”

“I haven’t,” you insist, shaking your head. “I swear.”

She tilts her head, studying you like she doesn’t believe you. “Well,” she says quietly, “I’ve imagined you naked.”

You try to pull your hand away, but she keeps it there, sliding it a little higher up her thigh.

“Ning, stop,” you mumble.

“Why?” she asks, her tone almost innocent. “Don’t you like it?”

“I don’t—” You shake your head, trying to focus. “Ning, what’s going on with you?”

Her eyes narrow slightly, her voice dropping lower. “Are you having sex with Minji?”

“For the last time, no!” you say, frustration breaking through the fog in your mind.

“That’s good,” she says, her smile returning. “Because she can’t, you know. Not really.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her heart,” Ning says, her voice soft but steady. “She can’t handle anything that gets her heart rate up too much. No sex, no heavy exercise... nothing.”

You stare at her, your mind reeling. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” she says, sliding your hand a fraction higher, “that means you don’t have anyone to make you feel good. But I could. If you gave me a chance.”

You feel a sudden urge to vomit, and you finally manage to pull your hand away, the effort making your head spin. “Ning, stop. Please.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice sharper now, almost accusing. “Why won’t you give me a chance?”

“Because,” you say groggily, leaning back against the booth, “you’re like a little sister to me. I want to take care of you, not... not this.”

Her expression flickers, something dark passing over her features. “A little sister?” she echoes, almost disgusted.

“What’s going on with you?” you ask, your voice heavy with exhaustion and confusion.

Before she can answer, a voice cuts through the air, sharp and clear.

“What are you two doing over there?” Minji calls from the other side of the bar, her tone light but with an edge of suspicion.

Ning sits up straight, her movements quick and practiced. She adjusts her dress, tugging the hem back down, and smiles sweetly in Minji’s direction.

“Just talking!” she calls back, her voice cheerful.

Minji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, turning back to her drink. Ning glances at you, her smile turning sly.

“You should drink more,” she says softly, nudging a fresh glass toward you. “It’s your birthday, after all.”

Your head is spinning, your thoughts tangled and heavy. You don’t know what to say, so you pick up the glass, hoping the alcohol will blur the edges of whatever just happened.

—

Ning grips the small, neatly wrapped package in her hands, her palms damp with sweat. Her stomach twists with nerves as she walks toward the bar, the memory of last night replaying in a loop she can’t turn off.

She hadn’t slept much, tossing and turning as the weight of what she’d done settled deeper into her chest. The heat of embarrassment burned through her every time she replayed the moment she put your hand on her thigh, the words she whispered, the things she revealed. It had been wrong—she knew that now, knew it even then—but the alcohol and whatever storm had been brewing in her mind made it all seem like a good idea at that moment.

Now, she’s stuck between two strategies. If you remember, she’ll apologize, chalk it up to being drunk, to losing her mind for a second. She’ll laugh it off, maybe throw in some self-deprecating humor about how dumb she can be. But if you don’t remember—well, then she’s off the hook.

And she hopes, desperately, that you don’t.

When she steps into the bar, the air is cool and familiar, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeting her like usual. But you’re not there.

“Hey,” she asks one of your coworkers, her voice tight. “Where’s—uh—where is he?”

“In the back,” they reply, jerking a thumb toward the storage room. “We just got a shipment in. He’s organizing it.”

Ning nods, swallowing hard, and makes her way toward the back. Each step feels heavier than the last, her nerves threatening to get the better of her. She clutches the gift tighter, as if it’s a lifeline.

When she reaches the door to the storage room, she hesitates, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

The sight stops her cold.

You’re there, your back to her, leaning against one of the shelves stacked high with boxes of liquor. Minji is in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your chest, her lips pressed against yours in a kiss that’s somehow both casual and intimate.

Minji left the dormitory when Ning was taking a bath, and didn't bother to say where she was going. Now it makes sense.

Ning’s heart plummets, her breath catching in her throat. She doesn’t even think to step back, to hide—she’s frozen, rooted to the spot as the scene plays out in front of her.

Minji’s eyes are closed, but as the kiss lingers, they flutter open—and meet Ning’s.

Minji doesn’t react the way Ning expects. There’s no guilt, no panic, no scrambling to pull away. She’s calm, composed, as if she knew this moment was inevitable. She doesn’t move at first, just looks at Ning with that quiet, assessing gaze of hers. Then, she lifts one hand and nudges you gently, breaking the kiss.

You turn, confused at first, until you see Ning standing there, pale as a sheet, clutching the small package like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Oh,” you say, your voice awkward, unsure. “Ning. Hey. What are you doing here?”

Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. She clears her throat, forcing the words out. “They said you were back here.”

“Yeah, uh...” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly very aware of the situation. “We were just, um, sorting the shipment. Minji was helping.”

Ning’s eyes flick to Minji, who’s watching her with that same impassive expression. Not smug, not apologetic—just... unreadable.

Ning nods stiffly, holding out the package like it’s a shield. “I brought your gift.”

You blink, caught off guard, and take it from her hands. “Oh. Thanks. You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” she says quickly, her voice clipped.

You fumble with the wrapping, tearing it open to reveal a hardcover book you’d mentioned weeks ago, something about entrepreneurship or finance that you’d wanted but couldn’t justify buying. Your face lights up, and you look at her, genuinely touched.

“This is... wow. Ning, this is perfect. Thank you.”

Without thinking, you pull her into a hug, the book still clutched in your hand. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing, her arms looping around you loosely.

When you pull back, she’s already stepping away. “I should go.”

“What? No, stay,” you say, frowning. “I was just about to head back to the bar anyway. We can hang out—”

“I can’t,” she cuts you off, her voice flat but with an edge that betrays her. “I have stuff to do.”

Before you can say anything else, she’s already turning, her steps quick and purposeful as she makes her way out of the storage room.

You’re left standing there, the book in your hands, a strange weight settling in your chest.

Behind you, Minji speaks for the first time. “She’s upset.”

You turn to look at her, but her face is as calm and unreadable as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I noticed.”

Minji doesn’t reply, her eyes fixed on the door Ning just walked through.

“Why would she leave like that?” you ask aloud, not really expecting an answer.

“Like I said, she’s upset,” Minji repeats.

You turn to her, frowning. “But why? I don’t get it. It’s not like I did anything wrong.”

Minji tilts her head slightly, her dark eyes steady on yours. “It’s not about you doing anything wrong,” she says, her voice measured and thoughtful. “It’s... Ning.”

“What about her?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Minji sighs softly, taking a step closer to you, her hands clasped in front of her. “Ning likes to be the center of attention. Always has. It’s part of who she is. She doesn’t know how to share things—friends, experiences. She probably thinks I’m stealing you from her.”

You blink, her words sinking in. “Stealing me? That’s... I mean, I don’t think that’s it.”

“She wouldn’t say it outright,” Minji continues, her voice gentle but firm. “But she feels it. She doesn’t like to share her people. And lately, she’s been sharing you more than she’s used to.”

You frown, glancing down at the book in your hands. “I don’t want her to feel that way. I hope I didn’t mess things up with her.”

“You’re not messing anything up,” Minji says, her voice softening as she takes another step closer. “This isn’t your fault.”

You look up at her, and for a moment, you’re caught by the way she’s looking at you—steady, calm, her expression full of quiet understanding. She’s close enough now that you can smell her perfume.

“I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “Maybe I should talk to her.”

“I’ll handle it,” Minji says. “Let me talk to her later. She’ll listen to me.”

You nod slowly, relieved but still uneasy. “Thanks. I just... I don’t want things to get weird, you know?”

“They won’t,” she says, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Trust me.”

Before you can respond, she closes the remaining distance between you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

“You’re not messing anything up,” she says again.

Her gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric, and then she leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft but insistent.

You freeze for half a second, but then you find yourself leaning into it, your eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of her mouth against yours sends a rush of heat through your chest.

When she pulls back, her face is still close to yours, her dark eyes searching yours for a reaction.

“Minji,” you murmur.

“You’re not messing anything up,” she repeats, her tone steady but soft. “You’re amazing.”

You feel a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest—confusion, excitement, guilt. But most of all, you feel captivated. Minji is... everything. Beautiful, intelligent, composed. She’s the kind of girl you never thought you’d have a chance with, the kind who feels like a fantasy brought to life.

“Thanks,” you say finally, your voice shaky. “I just... I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“They won’t,” she says simply, her hands sliding down your arms before she steps back, giving you space. “We’ll figure it out.”

You nod, swallowing hard as you watch her. There’s something about her that draws you in, something magnetic and almost overwhelming. You can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled into her orbit, whether you’re ready for it or not.

—

The dorm is silent and cloaked in darkness when Minji steps inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her eyes adjust quickly, tracing the familiar outlines of the room: the tidy desk on her side, the slightly chaotic one on Ning’s, and Ning herself—sprawled face down on her bed like a discarded doll.

Minji knows she’s not sleeping.

She turns on the lamp by her desk, its soft glow casting long shadows across the room. Ning doesn’t stir, but her breathing isn’t the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep. Her messy hair spills over her pillow in wild waves, her loose top riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her waist above her panties. She’s a cute mess, but a mess all the same.

“Ning,” Minji calls softly, her voice calm, measured.

No response.

Minji crosses her arms, leaning against her desk. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

There’s a beat of silence before Ning turns her head slightly, just enough to meet Minji’s gaze. Her eyes are red, swollen, and have deep dark circles, as if all her accumulated tiredness had collapsed on her at once. Minji doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she holds up the tub of ice cream she’s carrying, Ning’s favorite flavor, like it’s a peace offering. “Sit up,” Minji says gently.

Ning hesitates, her expression guarded, but eventually pushes herself upright, her movements sluggish. Minji walks over and sits beside her on the bed, her posture as perfect as always, even in the dim light.

“Why’d you leave the bar like that?” Minji asks, her voice calm but probing.

Ning shrugs, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I just felt like leaving.”

Minji isn’t buying it. She studies Ning for a moment, then leans in slightly. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

Ning doesn’t respond, her silence speaking volumes.

Minji sighs, setting the ice cream tub on the bed between them. “Alright,” she says, her tone soft but purposeful. “Then let me make it easy for you. Yes, I’m seeing him. We’re hooking up.”

Ning stiffens, but she keeps her eyes down, her expression carefully blank.

“Does that bother you?” Minji asks, her voice light but probing, her gaze unwavering.

Ning stays silent, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

Minji presses on, her tone shifting to something softer, almost confessional. “I only let things happen because I thought you didn’t care. You’ve always said he’s just your friend. And I believed you.” She pauses, letting her words settle before continuing. “But if I was wrong... if you like him too, tell me. I’ll step back.”

Ning looks up at her then, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Minji says, her expression calm. “You knew him first. You introduced me to him. If you like him, I’ll stop seeing him. Friendship comes first.”

The words hit Ning like a punch to the chest. There’s nothing accusatory in Minji’s tone, no edge to her gaze—just an unshakable calmness that makes Ning feel small and foolish.

“I don’t like him like that,” Ning says finally.

Minji tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just enough to suggest she doesn’t entirely believe her. “Are you sure?”

Ning hesitates, her mind racing. If you and Minji are already together, what difference would it make? You’d never leave Minji for her. She’s better than Ning in every way—prettier, smarter, more composed. Ning would just make everything worse by admitting the truth.

“I’m sure,” Ning says again, forcing the words out.

Minji watches her for a long moment before nodding, as if accepting it. “Okay,” she says softly. “Then why did you leave the bar like that?”

“I was embarrassed,” Ning lies, her voice steadier now. “I saw you two kissing, and... I don’t know. I thought you’d be mad at me for walking in on you.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Why would we be mad? It’s not like we were doing anything wrong.”

Ning doesn’t respond, her fingers still picking at her shirt.

Minji reaches for the ice cream, peeling off the lid and handing it to Ning along with a plastic spoon. “Here,” she says, her voice gentle. “Eat.”

Ning takes it reluctantly, her movements mechanical as she scoops a bite into her mouth.

Minji watches her for a moment before speaking again. “You’re sure everything’s okay?”

Ning forces a smile, one that feels brittle even to her. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Minji exhales softly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Good,” she says. “Because I think... I think I’m falling for him.”

Ning freezes mid-bite, the spoon hovering in the air.

Minji doesn’t seem to notice. “I don’t fall for guys easily,” she continues, her tone contemplative. “You know that. I don’t date just to date. But with him...” She trails off, shaking her head slightly. “It feels different.”

Ning forces herself to swallow, her chest tightening painfully.

Minji reaches out then, her thumb brushing against the corner of Ning’s mouth. “You’ve got ice cream,” she says softly, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

The gesture sends a jolt through Ning, and she quickly looks away, focusing on the ice cream in her lap.

“Eat, Ning. You’ll feel better.”

Ning nods, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth, her movements hurried and desperate.

She glances at Minji, who’s watching her with a faint, unreadable smile, and decides to take the plunge.

“Did he say anything about last night?” Ning asks, her voice casual, as if the question doesn’t mean much.

Minji raises an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Just... I don’t know,” Ning says, forcing a shrug. “Like, did he mention anything weird? About the party, I mean.”

Minji tilts her head slightly, studying Ning like she’s trying to figure out what angle she’s working. “No,” she says finally. “Why?”

“No reason,” Ning replies quickly, her eyes dropping back to the tub of ice cream in her lap. “I was just curious. He got very drunk yesterday.”

That makes Minji laugh, soft and elegant. “Oh, trust me, I know. He told me he had a splitting headache and a killer hangover. Said he drank so much he forgot a lot of what happened.” She pauses, her smile turning almost amused. “Apparently, that’s not the first time it’s happened. Seems to be a habit of his.”

Ning nods, her grip on the spoon tightening slightly. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Minji leans back slightly, resting her hands on the bed. “But he was really happy about the surprise party. And he loved your gift.”

Ning feels a sudden urge to cry, but it’s different this time—something bittersweet, something almost tender. “It wasn’t anything special,” she says.

“It was,” Minji counters, her tone firm but kind. “Mostly because it came from you.”

Ning doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she takes another bite of ice cream, the sweetness almost too much now. She glances at Minji, who’s still watching her, and before she can stop herself, the next question tumbles out.

“Have you and him... you know.”

Minji blinks, caught off guard for the first time that night. Her composure falters just slightly before she regains it, smoothing her expression into something neutral. “Not yet,” she says, her voice carefully even.

“But you’ve done something?”

Minji hesitates, then nods, her eyes flickering toward the window as if she doesn’t want to meet Ning’s gaze. “I... gave him a blowjob.”

She doesn’t know why she asked—doesn’t know what she expected—but the answer still hits her like a punch to the chest.

Minji, sensing her discomfort, lets out a soft laugh. “It was the first time a guy’s ever... you know, finished in my mouth.”

Ning swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. She forces herself to keep her voice steady. “And? How was that?”

Minji shrugs, her lips curving into a faint, wry smile. “Not as bad as I thought it’d be. A little weird, but... not terrible. But no facials with me. That's my limit. It would ruin my skin.”

Ning doesn’t respond, her mind racing. She feels like she’s on the edge of something, teetering between jealousy and shame and something dangerous, something she doesn’t want to name.

Minji stretches slightly, her movements graceful as always, and lets out a small sigh. “I’m exhausted,” she says, her tone softening. “You should brush your teeth when you’re done with that ice cream.”

She leans in then, pressing a light kiss to Ning’s cheek, her lips soft and cool. Ning freezes, the touch sending a shiver through her, but Minji pulls back quickly, standing and moving toward her dresser.

“I’m going to change,” Minji says, her voice light and casual as if nothing unusual had just happened.

Ning watches her, the tub of ice cream still heavy in her hands, and wonders how Minji always manages to walk that perfect line between kindness and control, between affection and distance. And she wonders, for the hundredth time that night, why it hurts so much to lose something she never really had.

—

The kitchen glows under the soft light of your pendant lamp, a warm oasis on a cold evening. Minji is standing at the counter, dressed in a slim, forest-green silk dress that clings to her form without being ostentatious. The fabric moves like water, catching the light every time she shifts her weight or raises her arm. A subtle slit at the hem reveals just a hint of her toned leg as she steps closer to the chopping board. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray strands framing her face, and her gold-rimmed glasses sit neatly on her nose, catching the light like a delicate accessory she doesn’t even notice.

You stir the sauce simmering on the stove, stealing glances at her as she expertly dices a red bell pepper. The soft rhythm of her knife against the cutting board blends with the faint hum of music coming from the speaker in the corner. It’s some instrumental jazz you picked randomly, but it fits—smooth, understated, just like her presence.

“It’s funny,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. Her voice is calm, clear, the kind that pulls you in without demanding attention. “The lecture I had today—it was about communication, or the lack of it, really.”

You glance over your shoulder, curious. “Yeah? What about it?”

Minji doesn’t look up from her task, the tip of her tongue caught briefly between her teeth as she concentrates on slicing the pepper into perfectly even strips. “How dangerous it is,” she says simply.

“Dangerous?” you echo, turning back to the stove. The sauce is thickening nicely, the smell of garlic and tomatoes filling the space.

“In my field, sure,” she continues, setting the knife down and picking up a carrot. “Business is all about negotiation, asserting yourself, making your position known. If you can’t communicate—if you’re passive, afraid to take up space—people walk all over you. You become... irrelevant.”

You nod, scooping up a spoonful of sauce and tasting it. It’s missing something—salt, maybe. “Makes sense. You’ve got to make yourself heard.”

“Exactly.” She pauses, running the carrot under the faucet, then patting it dry with a paper towel. “But it’s not just in business. It’s everywhere. Relationships, friendships, even just day-to-day interactions. If you can’t say what you think, if you’re always holding back...”

She trails off, her knife poised over the carrot. For a moment, you think she’s lost in thought, but then she shakes her head slightly and starts slicing again.

“It’s cowardly,” she says finally, her tone sharp but not loud. “To let life pass you by because you’re too afraid to say or do anything. It’s—" She stops herself, exhaling softly. “I don’t understand how people live like that.”

“You’re not wrong,” you say instead, reaching for the salt and sprinkling a bit into the sauce. “But some people are just wired differently. They don’t know how to... I don’t know. Assert themselves?”

“That’s an excuse,” Minji replies. She sets the knife down and turns to face you, leaning slightly against the counter. “It’s not about being wired differently. It’s about choice. If you let fear dictate your life, if you don’t fight for what you want—what does that say about you?”

Her eyes are dark, steady, the kind of look that makes you want to nod and agree with her, even if you don’t fully understand.

“I guess it says you’re not living,” you say finally.

“Exactly.” She smiles faintly, turning back to her work. “Not living. Just... existing. Letting other people decide everything for you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you focus on the food instead. The sauce is perfect now, the pasta boiling steadily in the pot next to it. You grab a wooden spoon and stir, the repetitive motion grounding you.

Minji starts talking again, her voice lighter now, almost casual, but there’s still an edge to it. “We had this case study in class,” she says, slicing the carrot into neat, thin rounds. “A guy who inherited a failing company from his father. Had all the tools, all the resources, but he couldn’t make decisions. Always second-guessed himself, deferred to his advisors, avoided confrontation.”

“What happened to him?” you ask.

“The company went bankrupt,” she says simply. “And he blamed everyone but himself.”

You whistle softly. “Harsh.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s deserved. If you can’t take responsibility—if you can’t stand up and say, ‘This is what I think, this is what I want’—you don’t deserve to succeed. Period.”

There’s a finality to her tone that makes you glance at her again. Her hands are steady as she gathers the sliced vegetables and transfers them to a bowl. There’s no anger in her expression, just quiet conviction, like she’s already decided what the world should be and won’t waste time pretending otherwise.

“I guess you’re right,” you say, draining the pasta and dumping it into the pan with the sauce. “But some people are just... afraid. Of rejection, failure, whatever.”

She snorts softly, reaching for a tomato. “And that’s supposed to excuse them? We’re all afraid. The difference is whether you let it control you.”

“You’re good at this,” you say, gesturing to the cutting board as you plate the pasta.

She glances at you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “At cooking?”

“At everything,” you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your tone.

Her smile widens slightly, and she tilts her head, studying you for a moment. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, her voice softer now. “Honestly, I don’t think people realize how much they lose when they hold back,” Minji says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s like...” She pauses, searching for the right words, her knife resting momentarily on the cutting board. “Imagine having all this potential—ideas, feelings, everything—and just letting it rot inside because you’re too scared to let anyone see it. It’s...”

“Wasted,” you finish for her, nodding.

“Exactly. Wasted,” she echoes, her gaze flicking to yours for a moment before returning to the half-sliced tomato in front of her. “I see it all the time. Students who are brilliant but can’t speak up in class. Colleagues who let others take credit because they can’t bring themselves to push back. It’s infuriating.”

“Not everyone can be as fearless as you,” you tease, half-smiling as you wipe your hands on a dishtowel.

She lets out a soft laugh, but there’s an edge to it. “It’s not about fearlessness. It’s about... discipline. Conviction. Knowing what you want and not apologizing for it.”

The words linger in the air, and for a moment, you think she might say more. But then she shakes her head slightly and focuses back on the tomato, her knife moving with a precision that seems almost meditative.

“You really have this figured out, huh?” you say, watching her work.

“I try,” she replies, her voice almost introspective. “But it’s easier to see these things in other people. When it’s yourself...” She trails off, slicing through the tomato, her knife slipping slightly as she loses focus.

“Shit!”

The knife clatters onto the cutting board, and she pulls her hand back, blood welling up from a neat cut on the side of her index finger. For a moment, she just stares at it, as if unable to comprehend what’s happened.

“Are you okay?” you ask, already stepping closer.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammers, holding her hand up as blood starts to drip onto the counter. “I’ve never...”

“It’s not bad,” you say quickly, grabbing a paper towel and wrapping it around her finger. “It’s just a small cut. Let me see.”

She doesn’t move, her body rigid, her breath shallow as she stares at the blood soaking into the towel. “I’ve never cut myself before,” Minji says.

“It happens,” you say gently, trying to keep your tone calm. “Everyone does it sooner or later. Here, hold this tight while I grab the first aid kit.”

You guide her hand to press the towel against the cut and rummage through the drawer until you find the small, rarely used kit. When you return, she’s still standing in the same spot, her expression a mixture of shock and something sharper—anger, maybe.

“Let me clean it,” you say, carefully unwrapping the paper towel. The cut is thin but deep enough to keep bleeding. “It’s not serious, I promise.”

She flinches as you dab at it with an antiseptic wipe, her jaw tightening. “I can’t believe this,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

“Minji, it’s really not a big deal,” you say, glancing up at her.

“It is to me,” she snaps, then immediately looks away, exhaling sharply. “Sorry. I just... I don’t like this.”

“I get it,” you say, wrapping a bandage around her finger. “But it’s going to heal. Probably won’t even leave a scar.”

Her head snaps up at that. “A scar?”

“Maybe a tiny one,” you admit, trying to keep your tone light. “Nothing noticeable.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she pulls her hand away as soon as you finish wrapping it. “I’ve never had a scar before,” she says, her voice low but sharp. “Not a single one.”

“Well, if it does scar, it’ll be really small. Barely visible.”

“That’s not the point,” she says, her tone rising slightly. “I don’t want one at all. Why should I have to live with something like that?”

“It’s just a part of life,” you say, shrugging. “Everyone gets scars eventually.”

“Not me,” she retorts, pacing to the other side of the kitchen. “I’ve always been careful. Always.”

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping closer. “It’s really not that bad. I promise.”

She doesn’t look at you, her gaze fixed on her bandaged finger. “Do you think there’s something that can get rid of scars? Like a cream or... something?”

“Maybe,” you say carefully. “I think there are treatments, yeah.”

“Good,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. “I’ll look it up later.”

You nod, deciding not to push her. “If it bothers you that much, we’ll figure it out. Okay?”

She exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Okay.”

The air between you feels fragile now, like a thread pulled too tight. You want to say something to break the tension, to bring back the easy warmth from before, but you don’t know how. Instead, you reach for the chopping board, picking up where she left off.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggest, glancing at her. “I’ll finish the vegetables.”

For a moment, she hesitates, her gaze lingering on you. Then she nods, walking to the table and sitting down, her movements slower than usual.

—

Dinner unfolds with a quiet kind of intimacy. The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, your plates piled high with pasta, the vegetables Minji had been chopping earlier perfectly sautéed and scattered on top. The warmth of the meal fills the space, but the air between you feels delicate, like a glass balancing on the edge of a table.

She’s been quiet since the incident in the kitchen, only speaking when you ask her something directly. You don’t mind the silence, though. You know her well enough by now to understand that she’s working through her thoughts, rearranging them until they feel presentable.

Finally, as you’re finishing the last bite of your pasta, she sets her fork down and looks at you. Her hands are folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight but not stiff.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “About earlier. I didn’t mean to overreact.”

You lean back slightly, letting her words settle. “It’s okay,” you say, your voice calm, steady. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do,” she insists, her gaze dropping to her plate for a moment. “I... I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to make such a big deal out of it. Or ruin the night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you say firmly, leaning forward now, your elbows resting on the table. “I promise. It’s not a big deal. Things like that happen all the time.”

“Not to me,” she murmurs. She takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening slightly in her lap. “I’ve always been... careful. Protected. My parents, my doctors, even my friends... they’ve always made sure I never got hurt. Physically, I mean.”

You nod slowly, giving her space to continue.

“I guess that’s why it rattled me so much,” she says, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud. It’s just a tiny cut.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say gently. “I get it. If you’ve never had to deal with something like that before, of course it’s going to feel... bigger.”

She looks at you then, her expression softening. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, curious.

“Understand me,” she says simply, her voice warm. “Even when I don’t make sense, you... you just get it. Get me.”

You smile, a quiet sense of gratitude settling in your chest. “That’s because I like you, Minji. A lot.”

She ducks her head slightly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I like you too,” she says softly.

After a moment, you both rise from the table, moving together to clear the dishes. The easy rhythm returns as you rinse the plates, her hand brushing against yours as she hands you a glass to dry.

When everything is cleaned and put away, you lead her to the couch, the soft hum of the jazz playlist still filling the background. She sits down first, but then, without hesitation, shifts onto your lap. Her body fits against yours like it belongs there, her dress cool against your hands as they find their way to her thighs.

Her arms loop around your neck, and for a moment, she just looks at you.

“I really like you,” she says again, her voice quieter now, more intimate.

“I feel the same way,” you reply, your hands instinctively tightening their hold on her thighs.

She leans in then, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts soft, tentative. But as you respond, as your hands slide up her legs and her fingers tangle in your hair, the kiss deepens, the world outside the two of you fading into nothing.

Her breath hitches slightly as you pull her closer, your hands finding the bare skin just above the slit in her dress. Her lips taste faintly of the wine you had with dinner, warm and lingering, and you think you could stay like this forever.

When she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours, she exhales softly, her fingers tracing the back of your neck. “I’m happy,” she says quietly.

You smile. “Me too.”

Her warmth presses against you, your hand rests lightly on her thigh, the silk of her dress cool and slippery under your palm. It should feel perfect, unbroken, but something niggles at the edge of your mind.

Ning.

You don’t know where the thought comes from, but it’s there, uninvited, lingering like a shadow just out of reach. Your hand flexes slightly against Minji’s thigh, and she notices, tilting her head to look at you.

“Something on your mind?” she asks.

You hesitate, trying to shake it off, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. “Is Ning okay? I mean, really okay?”

Minji blinks, her lips parting slightly in surprise. For a moment, she’s quiet, her gaze searching yours. Then, she smiles faintly, leaning back just enough to study your face.

“I told you,” she says calmly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the nape of your neck. “I talked to her. She’s fine.”

You nod, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “What did she say? I just—she seemed upset that night at the bar.”

Minji’s smile doesn’t falter, but something shifts in her eyes. “She said she was embarrassed. That’s all. Embarrassed and worried she might be... getting in the way of us.”

“In the way?” you echo, frowning.

Minji hums softly, her thumb brushing against your jaw. “You know how she is. Always second-guessing herself, always afraid of being too much. She didn’t want to... complicate things.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing her words. Your hand is still on her thigh, your thumb brushing absently against the slit in her dress. The thought of Ning being embarrassed—or worse, feeling like she doesn’t belong—makes you feel wrong somehow. “She didn’t need to leave like that,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Minji.

“No,” Minji agrees, her voice soothing. “But that’s Ning. She always runs before she can let anyone help her.”

The words sting, though you’re not sure why. Minji shifts in your lap then, her movements deliberate, and takes your hand in hers. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull it away, but instead, she guides it down, sliding it under the edge of her dress.

You freeze, your breath catching as your fingers brush against the soft fabric of her panties. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter, her hand pressing yours firmly against her.

“Keep going,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.

“Minji,” you start, but she cuts you off with a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s fine,” she says, her voice steady. “I want you to.”

Her hips roll subtly against your hand, and instinct takes over, your fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles over the fabric. She exhales softly, her body relaxing against yours, but her gaze remains locked on you, sharp and unflinching.

“Ning really is a good friend,” she says suddenly, her tone casual.

The words catch you off guard, but you nod, your movements faltering slightly before you find your rhythm again. “Yeah. She is.”

Minji hums in agreement, her head resting against your shoulder. “I like her. She’s sweet. A little naive, maybe, but sweet. Sometimes I think of her as a doll, but I can never decide whether she's made of cloth or porcelain.”

You’re not sure how to respond. Your hand is still moving, the heat of her seeping through the fabric, and the dissonance between her words and what you’re doing is dizzying.

“She’s always been so... eager to please,” Minji continues, her voice soft but steady. “It’s endearing. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, unsure if you’re agreeing with her or just trying to keep up.

“She looks up to you,” Minji adds, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Did you know that? She talks about you all the time.”

“Does she?” you ask, your voice thick, your movements slowing as the conversation twists into something unknown.

“Mhm.” Minji’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, her body arching slightly against your hand. “She admires you. Trusts you. I was the only one she felt this way about… until you came along.”

The weight of her words settles over you, heavy and disorienting. Your fingers pause, but Minji presses down against your hand, guiding you to keep going.

“She’s lucky,” she murmurs, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “To have someone like you.”

“Minji...”

Her eyes snap open, locking onto yours, and the intensity there makes your breath hitch. “Don’t stop,” she says, her tone firm but not unkind.

You obey, your hand moving again, and she lets out a soft sigh, her head tilting back slightly.

“I mean it,” she says, her voice quieter now. “You’re good to her. Better than she knows how to be to herself.”

There’s a finality to her words, a weight that presses against you even as her body moves in perfect sync with your hand. The contrast—the tenderness of her words, the sharpness in her gaze, the heat of her pussy against your fingers—leaves you unmoored, unable to do anything but follow her lead.

As her breathing quickens, her grip on your shoulder tightens, and you can feel the tension building in her body. But her expression remains calm, composed, her eyes never leaving yours.

When she finally pulls back, her chest rising and falling with each breath, she smiles—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that feels like both a reward and a warning.

“Do you understand?” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “We must take care of her.”

And somehow, despite everything, you nod.

Minji’s lips press against yours with an intensity that leaves no room for misunderstanding. It’s a kiss that demands, that consumes, that floods every sense. Her fingers find the back of your neck, pulling you closer, her touch as steady and deliberate as the woman herself.

When she finally breaks away, just enough to catch her breath, her dark eyes search yours, gleaming with something you can only describe as hunger. She reaches up, slipping her gold-rimmed glasses off her nose with a slow, deliberate motion, and places them on the cushion beside her.

“Take me to the bedroom,” she murmurs, her voice low, husky.

You hesitate for just a moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice softer than you expect.

“Yes,” she says firmly, her hands gripping the sides of your face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her words leave no room for argument. You kiss her again, deeper this time, your hands tangling in her hair as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours like she’s trying to meld into you. It’s clumsy and desperate as you guide her toward the bedroom, bumping into walls and laughing softly between kisses.

By the time you reach the bed, you’re both breathless, flushed. She steps back for a moment, her hands moving to the straps of her dress. You watch, your pulse pounding in your ears, as she lets the silk slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor in one fluid motion.

Her lingerie is understated but stunning—a black lace bra that clings to her curves and a matching pair of panties, delicate and sheer, the fabric clinging to her hips like a second skin. The lace pattern catches the dim light of the bedside lamp, adding an air of quiet elegance to the raw heat between you.

She smiles then, a slow, teasing smile that makes your stomach flip. Stretching her arms out, she falls back onto the bed, her hair fanning out against the pillows. “Your turn,” she says.

You chuckle, feeling a rare flicker of self-consciousness as her eyes roam over you. Kicking off your shoes and pulling off your shirt, you move quickly, her gaze following every movement. By the time you’re down to just your underwear, she’s propped herself up on her elbows, her smile widening.

“Not bad,” she teases, her tone light but edged with genuine appreciation.

“Not bad?” you repeat, grinning as you crawl onto the bed.

Before she can answer, you’re on top of her, your hands braced on either side of her head, your lips crashing into hers with a force that steals her breath. She arches against you, her hands running down your back, her nails pressing lightly into your skin as your kisses grow more frantic, more demanding.

Her laughter mixes with soft gasps as you trail kisses down her neck, her shoulders, the curve of her collarbone. Her skin tastes faintly of the lavender lotion she always uses, warm and familiar.

“You’re overdressed,” you mutter against her skin, your fingers toying with the clasp of her bra.

She laughs softly, her hands sliding into your hair. “Then do something about it.”

You do, the clasp giving way easily under your fingers. The bra slips off, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, taking in the sight of her bare skin, her confidence, the way she doesn’t flinch or shy away from your gaze.

“You’re incredible,” you whisper, and her smile softens, her hands pulling you down for another kiss.

Her skin is impossibly soft under your hands, warm and alive as your fingers trail over her collarbones, down the slope of her shoulders, and back to the curves of her breasts. The contrast between her confidence and the slight tremble in her breath makes your pulse race. You take your time, letting your thumbs graze over her nipples, dark and inviting, their perfect areolas standing out against her smooth skin.

Minji sighs softly, her chest rising under your touch. You lower your head, your lips brushing against one nipple before your tongue flicks over it, savoring the way her body responds—a sharp intake of breath, her fingers tangling in your hair.

You suck gently at first, then harder, your mouth working over her, tasting her, teasing her. Your other hand cups her other breast, your thumb circling her nipple in time with the rhythm of your mouth. She gasps, her back arching into you, her hips shifting beneath your weight as if she can’t stay still.

“God,” she whispers, her voice breathy and raw. “You’re—” She doesn’t finish, the words melting into another soft moan as you move to her other breast.

You give it the same attention, your tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles around her nipple before you take it fully into your mouth. Her hands tighten their hold on you, pulling you closer, her body alive under yours.

When you finally pull back, both nipples glistening, hard from your attention, she’s looking at you with half-lidded eyes, her lips parted, her breath shallow. You lift your head, your lips brushing hers lightly before your noses meet, a quiet moment of intimacy as they nudge and caress each other.

She smiles against your lips, soft but full of mischief. “My turn,” she murmurs, her voice still heavy with desire.

Before you can respond, she pushes against your chest, flipping you onto your back with surprising strength. She straddles you for a moment, her hair falling around her face like a curtain as she leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, her tongue teasing yours before she pulls away.

She crawls backward, her hands trailing down your chest, your stomach, until she reaches the waistband of your underwear. Her fingers hook into the fabric, and she glances up at you, her eyes dark and gleaming with intent.

“You don’t mind if I take these off, do you?” she asks.

“Be my guest,” you manage, your voice thick.

She smirks, tugging your underwear down slowly, deliberately, her nails grazing your skin as she goes. She takes her time, her movements unhurried, like she’s savoring the moment. When she finally pulls the fabric free, she tosses it aside without a second glance, her eyes fixed on you, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

“Perfect,” she says softly, more to herself than to you, her hands sliding up your thighs as she settles between your legs.

Minji lingers for a moment, her lips hovering just above your skin, close enough that you can feel her breath but not her touch. The anticipation is maddening, every nerve in your body strung tight as she takes her time, her hands steady on your thighs.

She starts slowly, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to the base of your shaft. The warmth of her lips makes you shudder, and she smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. Her mouth trails upward, planting light kisses along the length of you, her tongue darting out occasionally to flick against your skin.

“God, Minji,” you murmur, your voice thick and strained.

“Patience,” she says softly, her tone almost playful. “I want to enjoy this.”

Her lips reach the tip, her kiss lingering there as if she’s savoring the moment. Her tongue flicks out, running over the head in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your breath hitch. The first bead of precum gathers, and she laps it up with a quiet hum of satisfaction, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“You taste good,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry.

You’re too far gone to respond, your body already aching for more. She seems to know exactly what she’s doing, letting her tongue circle the head, her movements deliberate, teasing. Every flick, every graze, every soft kiss feels calculated to drive you to the edge without giving you what you’re desperate for.

When she finally takes you into her mouth, it’s slow, her lips wrapping around the tip and sucking gently, just enough to make you groan. She pulls back slightly, her tongue pressing against the underside as her hand wraps around your base, stroking in time with her movements.

She takes more of you in, her mouth warm and wet, her lips sliding down your length with a slow, practiced rhythm. Her hand moves with her mouth, stroking the part of you she can’t yet take, her fingers firm but gentle. She hums softly, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands gripping the sheets as she sets a steady pace, her head bobbing slowly, her hair falling around her face.

She glances up at you, her eyes locking with yours, and the intensity there nearly undoes you. Her movements quicken slightly, her tongue working in tandem with her lips as she takes you deeper, her free hand pressing against your thigh to keep you steady.

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter, her focus unbroken as she works you over, her lips and tongue and hand driving you to the brink.

And just when you think you can’t take any more, she slows, her mouth pulling back slightly, her lips leaving you with one last teasing kiss before she leans back, her smile wicked and satisfied.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks.

“Are you kidding?” you manage, your breath ragged.

She laughs softly, her hand still stroking you lazily. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.” Her hand replaces her mouth for now, stroking you slowly, deliberately, as she leans down further. Her lips trail lower, pressing kisses along the sensitive skin beneath your length, her tongue flicking out to taste as she goes.

She settles between your legs, her warm breath ghosting over your balls before she places an open-mouthed kiss there, her tongue dragging lazily over the soft skin. A low groan escapes your throat, your hands fisting the sheets as she takes her time, exploring every inch with her lips and tongue.

“Fuck, Minji,” you murmur, your voice hoarse.

She hums softly in response, the vibration sending a spark of pleasure through you. Her tongue traces slow, deliberate circles over one ball, her lips following close behind to suck gently, her saliva pooling and making everything slick. She pulls back slightly, her gaze flicking up to meet yours as a string of spit clings to her lips before breaking.

“You like this?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, her hand still stroking you in time with her movements.

“God, yes,” you groan, your hips twitching involuntarily.

“Good,” she whispers, leaning back in.

Her mouth wraps around one ball fully this time, sucking lightly, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin in slow, deliberate motions. She pulls back only to give the other the same attention, her hands never stopping their steady rhythm along your shaft. Her spit drips down, messy and unabashed, mixing with the heat of her mouth and the wet glide of her strokes.

The sound of it—the wet, lewd noises her mouth makes as she works—fills the room, mingling with your ragged breathing. Every flick of her tongue, every gentle suck, every glance up at you from beneath her lashes feels like it’s designed to undo you completely.

Her free hand moves lower, her fingers pressing lightly against the base of your balls, massaging them in time with her tongue. She’s thorough, relentless, her lips and hands and tongue working in perfect harmony to keep you on the edge without letting you tip over.

“Minji,” you groan, your voice strained, your body taut with need.

She pulls back slightly, her lips glistening, her chest rising and falling with each breath. “Not yet,” she murmurs, her smile wicked as her hand tightens slightly around your length.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your hips jerking against her touch.

“Patience,” she says again, her voice soft but commanding.

Minji’s mouth wraps around you with a deliberate slowness, her tongue swirling over the sensitive head before she slides her lips down your length. Her eyes remain locked on yours, dark and gleaming, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth even as she takes you deeper. The sight of her, so poised and yet so filthy in the way she works you, sends another wave of heat coursing through your body.

Her hand strokes the base of your cock in time with her mouth, her spit dripping down, messy and unapologetic. She hums softly, the vibration making your thighs tense as your breathing grows ragged. You’re holding on by a thread, her movements so precise, so unrelenting, that you can’t think of anything but the need building inside you.

“Minji,” you groan, your voice thick and raw.

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips glistening, her hand still working you. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence, her smile widening as her tongue flicks out to taste you again.

“Enough,” you manage, your hand tangling in her hair. “I need to fuck you. Now.”

She laughs softly, her hand slowing but not stopping. “Hmm, okay, I think you deserve a break,” she teases, pressing one last kiss to the tip of your cock before pulling away.

You sit up, reaching for the drawer beside the bed, your hands fumbling slightly as you grab a condom. Minji watches you with a smirk, leaning back on her elbows, her chest rises and falls as she catches her breath, her hair wild, her lips swollen.

You tear open the foil, rolling the condom over yourself quickly. When you look back at her, she’s watching you with a raised eyebrow, her smile almost mocking.

“You’re on top?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, climbing over her, your hands bracketing her hips. “I want to see your tits bounce while I fuck you.”

Her laughter is low and throaty, her hands sliding up your chest. “Direct. I like that.”

You slide your hand between her legs, hooking your fingers around the edge of her panties and pulling them aside. She’s already wet, the heat of her pussy making your pulse quicken as you position yourself at her entrance.

“Minji,” you murmur, leaning down to brush your lips against hers. “If you need to stop—if it’s too much for your heart—you have to tell me.”

For a moment, something flickers in her eyes—frustration, maybe, or something deeper. But she nods, her voice soft but firm. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just... go on.”

You nod, pushing forward slowly, your cock stretching her inch by inch. The warmth of her, the tightness, the way her body yields to yours—it’s almost too much, and you have to force yourself to go slow, to savor the moment.

Her breath hitches, her nails digging lightly into your shoulders as you sink into her fully. “Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You feel...”

“You okay?” you ask, your voice strained as you fight to keep still.

She nods quickly, her hands sliding down your back. “Yes. Don’t stop. Please.”

You begin to move, your hips rocking into hers with slow, deliberate thrusts. Her body arches beneath you, her breasts bouncing with every motion, her moans soft and breathy as you find your rhythm. It’s new, electric, every sensation heightened as you lose yourself in her completely.

Your hips move with slow, deliberate precision at first, every thrust designed to make her feel the full length of you. Minji's back arches beneath you, her head pressing into the pillows, and the soft, breathy moans slipping from her lips fuel the fire raging in your veins.

"God, you're so deep," she gasps, her voice breaking as you sink into her again, her tight heat enveloping every inch of you. Her nails rake down your back, her fingers digging into your skin as though she needs to hold on for dear life.

You lean forward, your chest brushing against her bouncing breasts, each motion of your body sending them into a hypnotic rhythm. Your mouth finds her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, leaving trails of wet, open-mouthed kisses. "You like that, Minji?" you growl against her skin, your voice rough and ragged. "Feel me stretching you, filling you up like this?"

Her answer is a strangled moan, her hands gripping your shoulders so tight it’s as if she’s afraid you’ll stop. "Yes," she pants, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer. "God, you’re so big—I can feel you so deep inside me."

Her words make your pulse spike, a growl rumbling low in your chest as you shift your weight, planting your hands on either side of her head. You increase the pace, your thrusts growing harder, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. Her moans grow louder, less controlled, her usual composed demeanor shattered beneath the pleasure you're giving her.

"Fuck, Minji," you hiss, your eyes locked on her face, on the way her mouth falls open, her brows pinched in bliss. "You look so fucking good like this—moaning under me, begging for it. Never thought I'd see you like this."

"Fuck—you're... driving me crazy."

"Yeah? That so?" you taunt, leaning down to kiss her, your lips claiming hers with a roughness that leaves no room for doubt. Her tongue meets yours, desperate and needy, her hands threading into your hair and pulling hard.

Her walls tighten around you, her body responding to every thrust, every grind of your hips against hers. "Harder," she whispers, then louder, "Harder! God, I can take it—don't hold back!"

You oblige, slamming into her with a rhythm that’s wild, relentless, each movement pushing her closer to the edge. The headboard rattles against the wall, the slick, wet sounds of your bodies joining filling the room. Her cries grow higher, her hands clawing at your back as if she’s trying to anchor herself amidst the chaos.

"You're so fucking tight, Minji," you groan, your head dipping to suck one of her nipples into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the hardened bud, biting lightly, and her reaction is immediate—a loud, desperate moan that makes you even harder.

"Yes!" she cries, her hips bucking to meet yours. "Oh my God—don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!"

"Look at you," you rasp, pulling back just enough to watch her. Her chest heaves, her hair sticks to her damp skin, and her lips are swollen from your kisses. "You're a fucking mess for me, Minji. You like being fucked like this? Having me ruin you?"

"Yes!" she screams, her voice breaking as her body shudders beneath you. "Fuck, yes! You're—ah—you’re going to make me—oh, God!"

Without missing a beat, you pull back, your cock slipping free from her soaked pussy with a wet, obscene sound that makes her gasp. Minji looks up at you, her flushed face a mix of frustration and anticipation, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

“I'm gonna make you cum hard,” you growl, your hands sliding down her thighs. Her skin is damp and hot under your palms, trembling slightly as you grip her legs and shift her position.

You lift her legs, folding her knees toward her chest, then place them on your shoulders, her panties still aside. The movement leaves her completely exposed, her slick folds glistening in the dim light, her body open to you in a way that makes your cock throb.

Minji lets out a shuddering breath, her hands gripping the sheets beside her head. “What are you waiting for?” she snaps, her sharpness laced with a raw, desperate edge. “Fucking do it.”

Your smirk is wicked as you lean down, pressing your weight into her just enough to make her feel the shift in power. The new angle makes her eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but revel in the way she’s completely at your mercy.

“Oh, I’ll do it,” you rasp, your cock pressing against her entrance again. “I’m gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

She doesn’t even have a chance to respond before you thrust back inside her, hard and fast, your cock stretching her again in one smooth motion. Her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as the new position lets you sink even deeper.

“God, yes!” she gasps, her hands flying to your forearms, nails digging in as you start to move. “Fuck—so deep—Jesus, you’re—”

“You like that, huh?” you grunt, your hips slamming into hers with a rhythm that’s rough and unrelenting. Her legs tremble against your shoulders, her body jolting with every thrust. “Like being stretched open like this, taking all of me?”

“Yes! Fuck—yes, don’t stop!” she cries, her voice high and breathless. Her walls squeeze you tight, her slick heat making every movement feel like heaven.

You lean forward, pressing her knees closer to her chest, the angle driving you even deeper. She lets out a broken moan, her head thrashing against the pillow as her hands claw at your arms.

“Look at you,” you growl, your eyes locked on her flushed face, the way her mouth falls open with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect like this, Minji. So wet, so tight—taking my cock so well.”

Her reply is a choked moan, her words lost in the overwhelming sensation. Her breasts bounce with every thrust, her nipples hard and begging for attention. You lean down further, capturing one in your mouth, sucking hard as your hips keep their punishing rhythm.

“God, yes!” she wails, her nails raking down your back. “I can feel you—oh, my God, I can feel you in my stomach!”

Her words send a thrill down your spine, spurring you on. The sound of your bodies meeting—the wet, lewd slap of skin against skin—is loud, raw, and completely unrestrained. Her cries grow louder, her hips lifting to meet yours despite the overwhelming pressure.

“You’re mine, Minji,” you hiss against her skin, your teeth grazing her nipple. “You hear me? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck you like this.”

“Yes!” she gasps, her body tightening around you. “Yours—I’m yours—just don’t fucking stop!”

Her words are a command, a plea, and you obey, driving into her harder, faster, your cock slamming into the spot that makes her whole body tense and shudder. Her legs shake against your shoulders, her walls clenching so tightly around you that it’s almost too much.

Her head falls back, her voice breaking into a string of curses and moans as her orgasm builds, her body arching beneath you. “Fuck—yes—don’t stop—I’m so close!”

You reach between your bodies, your thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation makes her scream, her entire body locking up as the climax overtakes her.

Her walls flutter and squeeze around you, her cries filling the room as she comes hard, her body shaking violently beneath you. The sight of her—completely undone, wild and raw—nearly pushes you over the edge, but you grit your teeth, determined to hold on just a little longer.

As her orgasm subsides, her body slackens slightly, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. Her eyes flutter open, glazed and hazy, but the look she gives you is pure hunger.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice hoarse but insistent. “Fuck me until you come.”

You don’t waste a second. The moment those words leave her lips, something primal inside you takes over, your need to claim her completely, to make her yours in every way, surging to the surface. You shift her body with practiced ease, turning her onto her side, her legs tangling slightly as you follow her movement.

She gasps at the new angle, her body arching instinctively as you position yourself behind her. Your chest presses against her back, your arm slipping under her head to cradle her, your other hand gripping her hip to pull her flush against you. The intimacy of the position is electric, raw, and the way her body yields to yours drives you wild.

“You feel that?” you rasp against her ear, your voice low and rough as you slide back inside her, your cock filling her with a single, deep thrust. “Feel how perfectly you fit around me, how tight you are?”

“God, yes,” she whimpers, her hand flying back to grasp at your hip as you start to move, your pace slow but relentless. “You’re so deep—I can’t—oh, fuck—”

Her voice falters as you rock into her, the sideway angle letting you reach deeper than before, your cock pressing against spots that make her whole body tremble. Your hand on her hip slides up, roaming over the curve of her waist, her ribs, her breast. You squeeze her flesh possessively, your thumb flicking over her hard nipple, and she lets out a soft, needy moan, her body arching into your touch.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear before trailing down the side of her neck. “Every inch of you. I could fuck you like this forever, Minji.”

Her answer is a shaky, desperate whimper, her head tilting back against your shoulder to give you more access. Your mouth moves lower, leaving hot, wet kisses along her neck, her shoulder, tasting the salty sheen of sweat on her skin. The scent of her—sex and sweat and lavender—fills your senses, intoxicating and addictive.

Your hand slides down her stomach, your fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in slow, firm circles that make her hips buck against you. She’s so wet, so slick, and every time you thrust into her, the sound of it is loud and obscene, driving you both higher.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice soft but filled with need. Her hand reaches back, her fingers threading into your hair as she clings to you. “Don’t stop. Don’t let go.”

“Never,” you growl, your teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder. “You’re mine, Minji. All of you. And I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else but how good I make you feel.”

Her body shudders against yours, her walls tightening around your cock as your words send a new wave of heat through her. She turns her head, seeking your lips, and you kiss her hungrily, your tongues tangling as your thrusts grow harder, faster.

Her moans become louder, higher, her hand clutching yours where it cups her breast, her other hand gripping the sheets. “Oh, my God—fuck—I’m so close—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you whisper fiercely, your mouth moving to her ear. “Come for me, Minji. Let me feel you.”

Your fingers press harder against her clit, your cock driving into her with a pace that’s relentless, merciless. Her body tenses, her breath hitching, and then she’s coming undone, her climax hitting her like a tidal wave.

She cries out, her walls clenching around you so tightly that it pulls a groan from your throat, her entire body shaking in your arms. You don’t stop, don’t let up, fucking her through her orgasm as her pleasure peaks. The way she’s clinging to you, her nails digging into your forearm, her breathless gasps of your name—it’s all so intense.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your thrusts growing erratic, completely focused on her pleasure.

“Yes,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “Please—don’t stop—I want to feel it all—”

Her words spur you on, and you continue to drive into her, every movement designed to prolong her ecstasy. With one last, deep thrust, you bury yourself inside her, feeling her body convulse around you as her orgasm reaches its peak, your breath ragged as you hold her close.

For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies tangled. Then Minji shifts slightly, turning her head to press a soft kiss to your jaw.

“You’re incredible,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with warmth.

“So are you,” you murmur, your arms tightening around her.

She’s still trembling slightly, her slick pussy clenching around your cock, her breath shallow and uneven as she tries to recover. You pull back slightly, adjusting your angle, and thrust into her again, slow but deliberate, dragging a gasp from her parted lips.

"Not done with you yet," you growl against her ear, your hand sliding down her body, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, her hip. "You’ve got another one in you, don’t you, Minji?"

"I—" she starts, but her words cut off with a sharp moan as you roll your hips, the movement grinding your cock against her sweet spot. Her head falls back against your shoulder, her hand clawing at your forearm where it holds her steady.

"That’s what I thought," you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of her ear before trailing down her neck. You suck hard enough to leave a mark, your tongue soothing the sting as your other hand slips between her legs.

Her breath catches as your fingers find her clit again, slick and swollen, and you rub slow, teasing circles over it in time with your thrusts. "God, you’re so wet," you say, your voice rough with desire. "You hear that? Hear how messy you are for me?"

The lewd, wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her echo through the room, and Minji’s cheeks flush even deeper. "Please—ah, fuck—" she tries to speak, but another roll of your hips cuts her off, leaving her gasping.

"Uh-uh," you taunt, biting down lightly on her shoulder. "You don't have to say anything, baby. Just moan for me. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel."

Her moans grow louder, her hips rocking back to meet yours despite the overwhelming pace. Her body is completely pliant in your hands, her usual control stripped away by the sheer intensity of the pleasure you’re giving her.

"Fuck—so deep—" she gasps, her voice breaking as you press harder against her clit, your thumb working in tight, relentless circles. "I can’t—oh, God, I can’t—"

"Yes, you can," you whisper fiercely, your teeth grazing her earlobe. "You’re gonna come for me again, Minji. I can feel it. Your body’s begging for it, squeezing me so fucking tight—"

"Shit—ah—" Her words dissolve into a strangled cry as your fingers pinch her clit lightly, the shock of sensation making her thighs tremble.

"You like that?" you rasp, your thrusts growing harder, sharper, each one driving her closer to the edge. "You like being fucked like this? My cock filling you so deep you can’t even think straight?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—don’t stop—" Her voice pitches higher, her hands scrambling to find purchase on the sheets, your arm, anything to anchor herself. "I’m so close—I’m gonna—ah, fuck, I’m gonna—"

"Come for me, Minji," you command, your voice low and rough. "Come on my cock again. Let me feel you fall apart."

It’s all she needs. Her body seizes up, her walls clamping down on you in a vice grip as her orgasm tears through her. She lets out a loud, broken cry, her nails digging into your arm, her legs shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

"That’s it," you murmur, riding her through it, your thrusts slow but deep. "Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect."

Her cries taper off into soft, breathless whimpers, her body going limp against you, utterly spent.

You pull her close, wrapping her up in your arms and covering her in kisses. Your lips trace her cheeks, her jawline, the delicate curve of her neck, every press of your mouth filled with an intensity that makes her sigh softly against you. Her plump lips, slightly smudged with lipstick from your earlier assault, part as she lets out a quiet moan when your tongue teases along her bottom lip.

“You’re stunning,” you murmur against her mouth before capturing it again in a deep kiss. When you finally pull back, your forehead presses against hers, your breaths mingling in the shared, charged air. “Do you want to take control now?”

Her answer comes as a throaty moan, her nails lightly grazing your chest. “Yes,” she whispers.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile as you tilt her chin up to meet your gaze. “Do you like being in control?”

“Yes,” she breathes, the single word coming out as a desperate sound. Her hips shift slightly against yours, the motion sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

“Do you want to make me cum?” you ask, your voice dropping lower, rougher.

Her dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of mischief and raw desire. “I really want to,” she confesses, her voice dripping with need.

Your hand comes up to cradle her face, your thumb brushing over her swollen lips. “You have no idea,” you murmur, your tone heavy with honesty, “how hard it’s been to keep my eyes off you since the first day you walked into that bar.”

Her breath hitches, her fingers curling around your wrist as her lips brush against your thumb. “Is that so?” she asks, her tone light, teasing, but her cheeks flush a deeper red.

“Yes,” you admit, your eyes scanning her face. “Every time you walked in, I couldn’t stop staring. You were so calm, so composed, and all I could think about was ruining you.” You let the words hang for a moment, letting their weight settle between you.

She bites her lip, her gaze flicking down to your chest before meeting your eyes again. “And did you ever imagine us like this?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with curiosity. “Have you ever thought about fucking me?”

Your hand trails down her back, pulling her even closer. “Yes,” you confess, your voice raw. “I imagined you riding me. I imagined watching you take control, watching you use me to make yourself come.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, you think she might shy away. But then her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hands pressing against your chest as she pushes you back onto the mattress. The movement is assertive, commanding, and it sends a thrill straight through you.

“Then let’s make that fantasy real,” she purrs, swinging her leg over you to straddle your hips. Her hands slide up your chest, her nails dragging lightly over your skin as she settles herself on top of you.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands finding her hips as she shifts her weight, the heat of her pussy pressed against you through the slick mess between you.

“Like this?” she asks, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your cock twitch beneath her. “Is this what you imagined? Me on top, calling the shots?”

“Exactly like this,” you admit, your voice strained. “Except you’re even hotter than I ever imagined.”

Her smirk widens as she reaches down, wrapping her fingers around your length and guiding you to her entrance. “Good,” she murmurs, sinking down onto you with a slow, deliberate motion that makes you both gasp.

Her head falls back, a soft moan spilling from her lips as she takes you in, inch by agonizing inch, until you’re buried fully inside her. Her walls squeeze you tightly, her body adjusting to your size as she braces herself against your chest.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she breathes, her nails biting into your shoulders as she starts to move.

Your hands grip her hips, guiding her movements as she grinds down on you, her rhythm slow and sensual at first. The sight of her above you—her flushed skin, her breasts bouncing slightly with each roll of her hips, her hair falling around her face in a wild curtain—is enough to make your restraint falter.

“God, Minji,” you groan, your head pressing back into the pillows. “You’re incredible. You’re so fucking sexy like this.”

She leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear. “You like it?” she whispers. “Like watching me fuck you like this?”

“Fuck yes,” you growl, your hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. “You’re fucking perfect. Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop.”

Her laughter is breathy, her movements growing faster, more erratic, as she loses herself in the pleasure. “I wasn’t planning to,” she pants, her breath catching as she rides you harder, her nails raking down your chest.

The sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s overwhelming, intoxicating. Every roll of her hips sends sparks of pleasure racing through you, and you can tell she’s close again, her moans turning into broken cries, her rhythm faltering slightly as she chases her release.

“Come for me again, Minji,” you urge, your hands gripping her ass, helping her move. “Show me how good it feels to take control.”

Minji settles into a rhythm that’s nothing short of hypnotic. Her hips roll with a perfect, deliberate precision, her thighs flexing as she lifts herself just enough to tease before sinking back down, taking you to the hilt. Every motion sends a jolt of pleasure through your entire body, your cock throbbing inside her tight, wet heat.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hands sliding up her ass to her hips, gripping them tightly. “The way you move—it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

She smirks down at you, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. “Good,” she breathes, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she grinds her hips in slow, torturous circles. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Your grip tightens, your fingers digging into her soft skin as you fight the urge to flip her over and take control. But you hold back, letting her have her moment, letting her ride you the way she wants. Her pace is maddening—slow and deliberate, her body squeezing you so tightly with every movement that you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of control.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your voice rough with strain. “I can feel every inch of you, Minji. It’s like you were made for me.”

Her breath hitches, her smirk faltering for just a second as a soft moan slips past her lips. “God, you feel so good,” she whispers, her hands bracing against your chest for balance as she starts to move faster, her rhythm quickening.

The sight of her is almost too much—the way her plump lips part with each breathy moan, the light sheen of sweat on her flushed skin, the way her breasts bounce with every movement. She’s a vision, completely uninhibited, completely in control, and it only makes you want her more.

“You look fucking perfect, Minji. The way you take me—shit, I could stay like this forever.”

She laughs softly, the sound low and throaty, and leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear. “Forever, huh?” she whispers, her voice dripping with playful arrogance. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your hands sliding up to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. Her moan is immediate, her body arching into your touch as her hips buck against you. “You’re fucking incredible, Minji. The way you feel, the way you move—I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Her reply is a strangled gasp as she grinds down on you, her movements growing rougher, more desperate. “God, you’re—” She cuts herself off with a sharp moan, her head falling back as her pace falters for just a second. “You’re so big—I can feel you everywhere—”

Her words send a surge of heat through you, your grip on her hips tightening as you thrust up into her, matching her rhythm. “Yeah?” you growl, your voice low and rough. “You like the way I fill you up? Like the way my cock stretches you, baby?”

“Yes,” she cries, her nails digging into your chest as she moves faster, her moans turning into soft, breathless gasps. “Fuck, yes—don’t stop—I don’t want this to stop—”

“Then don’t stop,” you urge, your hands guiding her as she bounces on your cock, the slick sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. “Ride me just like that, Minji. Fuck, you’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

She moans louder, her movements growing more frantic as the pleasure builds between you. Her body squeezes you tighter with every motion, the heat and wetness of her making it almost impossible to hold back. But you don’t care. You don’t want to hold back. You want to lose yourself in her completely.

Minji’s movements grow frantic, her rhythm breaking as she chases her high. Her hips slam down onto you, her thighs trembling as she rides you harder, faster, the sound of her ass meeting your hips filling the room in wet, obscene slaps.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head pressing back into the pillows, your hands gripping her hips to steady her. Her pussy clenches around your cock, impossibly tight, her slick heat driving you closer to the edge with every erratic motion.

Her breath comes in short, desperate gasps, her nails digging into your chest as she moves. Her hair is wild, damp with sweat, sticking to her flushed skin as her moans turn into broken cries.

“God—fuck—I’m so close,” she gasps, her voice high and strained. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Before she can finish, you act. Sitting up, you wrap your arms around her, lifting her with ease as she lets out a startled gasp. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, her arms looping around your shoulders as you hold her against your chest.

“My turn,” you growl, your voice low and rough as you adjust your grip, your hands sliding down to cup her ass. With one powerful thrust, you bury yourself inside her, pulling a scream from her lips as you take back control.

“Fuck—oh, my God—” she cries, her head falling back as you pound into her, your cock driving deep into her tight, slick heat. Every thrust is hard, relentless, your hips slamming against hers as her body bounces against yours.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you groan, your breath ragged as you move. “Jesus, Minji—you feel like heaven. Taking me so fucking perfectly.”

Her only response is a series of broken moans, her nails clawing at your back as she clings to you, completely at your mercy. Her pussy tightens around you, her walls fluttering as her cries grow louder, more desperate.

“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum!” she screams, her voice breaking as her body tenses, trembling in your arms.

“Come for me,” you command, your voice rough and strained. “Scream for me, Minji. Let me feel it.”

Her entire body seizes up, her head pressing against your shoulder as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave. She screams your name, her nails digging into your shoulders, her pussy clenching around you in tight, rhythmic pulses that make you see stars.

“Fuck, yes,” you groan, your thrusts never faltering as you ride her through it, your grip on her ass tightening as you slam into her over and over. Her body shakes violently, her cries turning into soft, breathless whimpers as she collapses against your chest, completely spent.

You don’t stop, your cock still buried deep inside her as you hold her close, your lips brushing against her ear. “You’re fucking incredible,” you murmur, your voice soft but filled with awe. “The way you come for me—Jesus, Minji—you’re perfect.”

She shudders at your words, her breath hot and ragged against your neck as her fingers tangle in your hair.

You gently lift Minji from your lap, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of her orgasm. Her legs are weak, and her cheeks are flushed, but there’s a gleam in her eye, a hunger that hasn’t been sated yet. You kneel on the bed, tilting her chin up so her gaze meets yours.

“On your knees,” you murmur.

Her lips part in a breathless little gasp, but she obeys without hesitation, slipping down to kneel on the floor in front of you. Her hands rest lightly on your thighs, her touch hesitant for a moment as if waiting for your instruction.

You reach down, peeling the condom off and tossing it aside. Your cock is still rock-hard, and her eyes dart down to it, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips.

“Make me cum,” you say. “Make me cum in that pretty little mouth, Minji.”

She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t need to. Her hands move to your length, her slender fingers wrapping around you as she leans in. Her tongue flicks over the tip first, tasting herself on your cock, and she lets out a soft hum of satisfaction that sends a shiver through you.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hand finding its way into her hair as she slowly takes you into her mouth.

Her lips wrap around your head, soft and warm, and she starts with slow, deliberate strokes, her tongue swirling over the sensitive underside as she takes more of you in. Her hand strokes the base, slick with her spit, matching the rhythm of her mouth.

She glances up at you, her dark eyes locking with yours, and the sight of her like this—on her knees, your cock in her mouth, her lips stretched around you—is almost too much.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” you murmur, your hand tightening in her hair, guiding her movements. “Look at you—such a messy, beautiful little slut for me.”

Her eyes sparkle at your words, and she hums around your length, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. She takes you deeper, her lips sliding down your shaft with a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you gripping her hair tighter.

Her pace quickens, her spit dribbling down her chin as she starts to lose herself in it, her hunger taking over. She pulls back slightly, her tongue swirling around your tip before plunging back down, taking you deeper than before. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth fill the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head tilting back as she works you over. “That mouth of yours—you’re so fucking good at this.”

She gags slightly as she takes you too deep, her throat contracting around you, but instead of pulling back, she swallows hard and coughs a little. Then she looks up at you, her lips swollen, her chin slick with spit, and gives you the cutest, most mischievous smile you’ve ever seen.

“Goddamn,” you mutter, your fingers tightening in her hair as your hips jerk forward slightly. “You are the hottest girl I have ever seen, you know that?”

Her only response is a low hum as she dives back in, her mouth warm and wet, her tongue moving in perfect rhythm with her hand. You take control then, gripping her hair firmly and guiding her movements, setting the pace.

“Just like that,” you rasp, your voice rough and strained. “Take it, baby. Take all of it. You love this, don’t you? Being on your knees for me, choking on my cock?”

She moans around you, her hands gripping your thighs for support as you move her head faster, harder. Tears well up in her eyes, her makeup smudging as spit pools at the corners of her mouth and drips down her chin.

“You’re such a good girl,” you growl, watching her struggle to take you deeper. “Look at you—so fucking messy for me, and I can’t get enough of it.”

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, and she starts sucking harder, her cheeks hollowing as she works you over with a fervor that makes your thighs tremble. You’re close, so fucking close, the tight knot of pleasure in your core threatening to unravel at any second.

Your grip on her hair tightens as her pace grows more frantic, her mouth sliding over your cock with a wet, obscene rhythm that has your entire body trembling. The tight warmth of her lips, the way her tongue works against you, the sight of her on her knees like this—it’s all too much.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your voice strained as you feel the tension building, coiling tight in your core. “I’m so fucking close.”

She pulls back suddenly, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, and she looks up at you, her lips red and swollen, spit dripping down her chin. “Go all out,” she says, her voice breathless but firm. “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your breath catches, your grip in her hair slackening for just a moment. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice low, rough, almost a growl.

“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes dark with determination. “I can handle it. Give me everything.”

Her words ignite something feral in you. Without hesitation, you tighten your grip in her hair, guiding her back to your cock. “Open wide, baby,” you rasp, your voice raw with need.

She obeys, parting her lips and taking you in again, her mouth warm and eager as she lets you set the pace. This time, there’s no hesitation, no holding back. You thrust into her mouth, deep and deliberate, the head of your cock brushing the back of her throat with every motion.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your hips moving with a steady, relentless rhythm. “Your mouth—it’s so fucking perfect. Feels just like your pussy. So tight, so warm—shit, I'm gonna cum so hard.”

Her moans vibrate around you, her hands gripping your thighs for balance as she takes you deeper and deeper. Her throat tightens around you, the sensation almost unbearable, and her eyes water, tears spilling over as drool drips from the corners of her mouth.

“You’re such a good girl,” you growl, your voice rough as your thrusts quicken. “Taking me so fucking well. Look at you—so messy, so perfect.”

She glances up at you, her eyes red and shining with unshed tears, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder, her tongue working in tandem with the movements of your hips.

“Goddamn,” you rasp, your hand tightening in her hair as you hold her in place. “I’m gonna cum, Minji. Gonna fill your mouth with it. You ready for that?”

She hums her approval, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can’t hold back any longer. With a guttural groan, your hips jerk forward, burying yourself deep in her throat as your release hits.

Hot, thick spurts of cum shoot down her throat, and she chokes slightly, her body trembling as she struggles to take it all. But she doesn’t pull away, her hands gripping your thighs tightly, her throat working around you as she swallows.

“Fuck,” you groan, your head tilting back, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you. “Take it all, baby. Swallow every fucking drop.”

She does, her throat contracting as she drinks you down, her tongue swirling over your length as if coaxing more from you. When your hips finally still, your cock twitching as the last of your release spills into her mouth, you don’t pull back right away.

Instead, you keep her there, your hand still firm in her hair, her lips wrapped around you as you catch your breath. “You’re incredible,” you murmur, your voice hoarse as you look down at her.

She blinks up at you, her cheeks flushed, her chin slick with drool and cum, and smiles around your cock, her eyes filled with satisfaction. It’s a sight that sends another shiver through you, even as the intensity of the moment begins to fade.

You finally release her hair, your fingers brushing against her cheek in a moment of tenderness. “You okay?” you ask softly, your voice still rough around the edges.

She nods, pulling back slightly, her tongue darting out to lick her swollen lips. “More than okay,” she whispers, her smile turning wicked. “I told you I could handle it.”

—

The morning is still. The faint light of dawn filters through the curtains, painting soft, pale lines across the bedroom walls. The room is warm, cocooned in the leftover heat of two bodies tangled together through the night, but outside, the air bites with the typical cold morning wind. Minji lies on her side, the blanket pulled up just enough to cover her hips, her upper body bare against the cool sheets. She’s been awake for a while now, watching you sleep.

Your breathing steady, your chest rising and falling under the rumpled comforter. Minji studies you, her dark eyes roaming over the curve of your cheek, the slight furrow of your brow even in rest. She wonders if you always look like this in the morning—calm, almost boyish, as if the weight of the world hasn’t found you yet.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. Like last night. Intense. Raw. Alive in a way she hasn’t been in years, maybe ever. Her heart aches—not in the poetic sense, but the literal one—and she remembers the sharp, searing pangs that struck her chest after you left the bed last night.

You’d gone to brush your teeth, humming faintly to yourself, water running in the sink. She’d waited until the door closed before scrambling to her purse, her fingers fumbling to find the small orange bottle. The pills rattled like a cruel reminder as she popped the cap and dry-swallowed two, her breath shallow, her chest tight.

The worn pill bottle, a constant companion in her purse for safety and convenience, as her doctor had recommended, held only two pills remaining after months of sporadic use. But now it's empty, and the prospect of replacing it fills her with a sense of dread.

Even now, the memory of it stirs something dark in her. Disgust. Weakness. She is beautiful, young, confident—by all accounts, powerful. But her body betrays her, fragile and unreliable, reminding her with every beat of her heart that she is not invincible.

Her lips press into a thin line as the thoughts threaten to pull her under, but Minji has never been one to drown. She takes action.

Sitting up, she reaches for her glasses on the nightstand and slides them onto her face, the world snapping into focus. The blanket slips from her shoulders, exposing her naked body to the cool air, but she doesn’t shiver. She stands, her movements deliberate, and crosses the room to the chair where you’ve draped one of your shirts.

She picks it up, the fabric soft and worn under her fingers. It’s loose on her, hanging down to mid-thigh, the hem brushing her bare skin as she adjusts it. She could’ve grabbed any shirt, but she chooses this one—the one Ning had complimented once. “I like that shirt,” she’d said, almost shyly, her catlike eyes flicking over you.

Minji smirks faintly to herself, her lips curling as she pads out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

The apartment is quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the muffled sound of her footsteps on the hardwood floor. She pulls back the curtains, inviting the soft, gray light of the cloudy morning to fill the room and spill across the kitchen counter, and sets to work. She opens the fridge, pulls out eggs, butter, and milk, and sets them on the counter. The cabinets yield bread and a frying pan.

As the pan heats, she flips on the TV mounted above the counter, more for noise than anything. The channel is set to some early-morning talk show, the kind with too much smiling and overly earnest hosts. But she doesn’t bother changing it, her attention focused on cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them into a frothy yellow mixture.

The host is interviewing someone—an author, maybe, or a psychologist. The woman’s voice carries over the gentle sizzle of butter hitting the pan.

“Sexual frustration in young people has reached an all-time high,” the woman says, her tone serious. “We’re seeing a generation that’s more disconnected from their own sexuality than ever before.”

Minji pauses, the spatula in her hand hovering over the pan as the words register. She glances at the screen, where the guest sits primly, her hands folded in her lap, speaking with clinical precision.

“Pornography, dating apps, social media—these things create a toxic environment where unattainable standards of beauty and performance are the norm,” the woman continues. “Young people are left feeling inadequate, their self-esteem eroded. They’re losing touch with the natural, messy, human nature of sex.”

Minji snorts softly, shaking her head as she flips the eggs. “Interesting topic for seven in the morning,” she mutters to herself.

Still, the words linger. She finishes the eggs, sliding them onto a plate and setting bread in the toaster. The coffee pot gurgles behind her, filling the air with its rich, familiar scent. She moves with purpose, each motion precise, controlled. It’s how she keeps the dark thoughts at bay—by filling every moment, every space, with action.

But as she spreads butter over toast and pours two cups of coffee, the woman’s voice echoes in her mind. Minji doesn’t consider herself disconnected. She knows what she wants, who she is. But there’s something about the idea of inadequacy, of being shaped by forces beyond your control, that gnaws at her.

She pushes the thought away as she carries the plates and mugs to the table, the smell of breakfast filling the apartment. She glances toward the bedroom, where you’re still asleep, and allows herself a small, fleeting smile.

—

You wake slowly, your body heavy with the warmth of the bed, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you like cobwebs. The first thing you notice is the absence of Minji. The sheets on her side are cool, and the room is quiet, but the smell of breakfast—coffee, butter, eggs—wafts in from the kitchen. It's a good sign.

You sit up, running a hand through your hair, and glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's earlier than you thought, but you don’t mind. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, you shuffle out of the bedroom, drawn by the sounds of movement and the clink of plates.

Minji is there, near the table, pouring coffee into two mugs. She’s wearing your shirt, loose and hanging off one shoulder, her hair messy from sleep but her posture calm, deliberate. She looks over her shoulder when she hears you, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose.

“Good morning,” you say, your voice still rough with sleep as you walk up behind her and kiss her. Her lips are warm, soft, and she smiles against your mouth.

“Morning,” she murmurs, turning to face you. “Coffee?”

You nod, glancing at the plates on the table. Eggs, toast, and even a small bowl of fruit. “This looks amazing. Thanks, but you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” she says, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Consider it a little favor. A thank-you.”

“For what?”

She smirks, raising an eyebrow. “For last night.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss her again, then take your seat at the table. She joins you. The morning feels easy, warm, the kind of domesticity you didn’t realize you wanted until now.

As you eat, the conversation flows naturally, alternating between teasing and genuine reflection about the night before.

“So,” you say, spreading butter over your toast, “how’s your finger?”

Minji glances down at her hand, flexing her fingers before carefully peeling off the band-aid. The cut is clean, small, but still raw around the edges. “Not bad,” she says, holding it up for you to see. “But there’ll probably be a scar.”

You set down your toast, reaching for her hand. She lets you take it, her fingers warm and delicate in yours. Without thinking, you lean down and kiss the tiny wound, your lips brushing against her skin lightly.

She inhales sharply, a soft, barely audible sound, but the goosebumps that ripple across her arm don’t lie. When you look up, her expression is unreadable, her eyes dark and steady on yours.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

“No,” she says, shaking her head slightly.

“Good.”

The moment stretches, the air between you charged. You lean closer, your lips brushing hers once, then again, deeper this time. Her hand slides into your hair, pulling you closer, and just as the rest of the world starts to fade away, the intercom buzzes, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

You both freeze, the sound startling in the quiet morning. Minji pulls back, her brow furrowed. “Who the hell...?”

You stand, crossing the room to the intercom. Pressing the button, you lean in. “Hello?”

“Hey,” comes a familiar voice, hesitant but unmistakable. It’s Ning. “Uh, it’s me. Can I come up?”

You glance back at Minji, who is now standing, her arms crossed, her expression equal parts surprised and wary.

“It’s Ning,” you say, your tone as confused as hers.

“At this time?” Minji asks, her voice sharp but quiet.

You press the button again. “Yeah, sure. Come up.”

The intercom buzzes as Ning lets herself in, and you turn to Minji, shrugging. “I have no idea what this is about.”

Minji exhales sharply, adjusting her glasses as she leans against the counter. “Neither do I. But I guess we’re about to find out.”

The knock comes a minute later, light but insistent, and you open the door to find Ning standing there, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She looks up at you with her usual nervous energy, her cat-like eyes darting behind you to where Minji is standing.

“Hey,” Ning says, her voice small but steady. “Am I... interrupting something?”

You hesitate, glancing back at Minji, whose expression remains carefully neutral. “Uh, no. Come in.”

She steps inside, the warmth of the apartment seems to relax her slightly.

“Hey,” she says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her voice is soft, careful. “I hope it’s okay I came by. I was feeling... I don’t know. Weird. Lonely.”

Minji is the first to respond. “Did something happen?”

Ning shakes her head quickly, her hands gripping the straps of her purse. “No, nothing like that. I just didn’t want to be by myself.” She glances at you, her catlike eyes wide and almost pleading. “I thought maybe I could hang out here for a while? Keep you guys company.”

You and Minji exchange a glance, her eyebrows raising slightly as if to say, “What the hell is this about?”

“Of course,” you say, your voice more certain than you feel. “You’re always welcome.”

Ning takes off her coat and places it on the couch, the purse too.

The smell of breakfast seems to catch her attention, and she glances toward the kitchen. “Did I interrupt something?” she asks, her voice tinged with self-consciousness.

“Just breakfast,” Minji replies smoothly, already moving toward the stove. “Have you eaten? I can make you something.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to bother you—” Ning starts, but Minji cuts her off with a small, easy smile.

“It’s no bother,” she says, pulling a pan from the rack with practiced efficiency. “Sit down. I’ll make you something quick.”

Ning hesitates for a moment before nodding, taking a seat at the table across from you. Her eyes flick to your plate, then back to you. “Thanks. I wasn’t really hungry earlier, but... I guess I could eat now.”

You nod, watching as Minji moves around the kitchen with her usual precision. She doesn’t even ask Ning what she wants, just starts preparing something—scrambled eggs with a little sesame oil, a slice of toast, and some sliced fruit. You can tell it’s not random; she knows exactly what Ning likes.

“So,” Ning says after a moment, looking at you with a small, nervous smile. “What are you guys doing today?”

You hesitate, glancing at Minji, who doesn’t look up from the stove. “We didn’t really make plans,” you say carefully.

“Well, I was thinking,” Ning continues, her voice growing a little more confident, “it’s been so long since the three of us did something together. Maybe we could go to the movies? Like old times?”

You blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. You’d been planning to spend the weekend with Minji, just the two of you, but you don’t want to outright refuse Ning. You glance at Minji again, who’s now plating Ning’s breakfast, her expression unreadable.

Before you can respond, Ning’s face lights up with a new idea. “Actually, better than the movies—what if we just watched something here? At your place?”

The enthusiasm in her voice is hard to ignore, and you find yourself nodding automatically. “Sure. That could work.”

Minji sets the plate in front of Ning with a small smile. “But first, eat,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “You’ve been eating so little lately.”

Ning ducks her head slightly, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I haven’t been that bad...”

“You have,” Minji counters lightly, sitting back down at the table. “But it’s okay. Just eat this, and then we’ll figure out what to watch.”

Ning picks up her fork, her smile growing as she takes a bite. “This is really good. Thanks, Minji.”

Minji waves off the gratitude with a small shrug, her focus shifting to her coffee. The three of you fall into an easy rhythm as Ning eats, the conversation turning to light topics—shows you’ve been watching, new restaurants you want to try. Ning seems to relax more with every bite, her earlier awkwardness fading into something closer to comfort.

But then she pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looks at Minji. “Hey,” she says, her tone still casual but tinged with curiosity. “Is that... my favorite shirt of his?”

Minji glances down at the shirt she’s wearing, then back at Ning with a small, knowing smile. “Maybe. Why?”

“I love that shirt,” Ning says, her voice slightly higher now, almost pouty. “It looks so soft. Lucky you.”

“It’s just a shirt,” you say lightly, trying to diffuse whatever tension is brewing.

Ning looks at you, her expression suddenly shy. “Can I have one of your shirts?”

“What?” you ask, laughing a little. “Why?”

“Just... because,” she says, shrugging one shoulder. “I want something special. From you.”

The request is so childlike, so out of nowhere, that you’re not sure how to respond. Minji raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, her eyes flicking between you and Ning with quiet amusement.

“I mean,” you say slowly, “you can take one, I guess. Just not one of the good ones.”

Ning lights up immediately, clapping her hands together. “Really? Okay! I’ll pick something after breakfast.”

You glance at Minji, whose smirk is subtle but unmistakable. She sips her coffee, saying nothing, but the look in her eyes speaks volumes.

—

The dorm room seems to get smaller and smaller as the mess grows, cramped with the kind of lived-in clutter that comes with two girls sharing a space for years: piles of books on the desk, a forgotten hair tie looped over the edge of a lamp, shoes scattered haphazardly near the door. It works like a cycle of nature: Ning messes up, Minji cleans up. Ning messes up, Minji cleans up. (Although Minji's efforts have diminished, almost considering them in vain).

Minji stands in front of the mirror, fastening her earrings, the soft click of metal against metal the only sound besides the faint hum of the blow dryer. She’s already dressed, her black skirt snug around her waist, a cropped sweater revealing just enough of her stomach to be intriguing but not loud. Her hair, sleek and shiny, falls perfectly into place with only a few quick passes of her hand.

The plan? You and the two girls go out to dinner and then go back to your house to watch a movie (which will surely be chosen by Ning).

Behind her, the bathroom door creaks open, and Ning steps out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her skin still damp from the shower. Steam follows her into the room, curling around her like smoke. Her bare shoulders glisten, and her dark hair sticks in wet strands to her cheeks. She holds the towel tightly against her chest as if she’s still unsure about her own body, even after years of sharing this space with Minji.

Minji catches her reflection in the mirror and smirks faintly. “You’re going to freeze like that,” she says, turning around to look at Ning. “Dry your hair before you catch a cold.”

Ning nods, her movements tentative, and plugs in the blow dryer. The roar of the machine fills the room, and Minji returns to the mirror, adjusting her earrings, turning her head to check how they hang against her jawline.

When the blow dryer clicks off, Ning stands there, her hair still a half-tangled mess. She looks at Minji hesitantly, her hands hovering near her head as if unsure what to do next.

“Come here,” Minji says, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “I’ll do it.”

Ning doesn’t hesitate. She walks over, dropping to the floor in front of Minji, sitting cross-legged. Minji picks up a wide-toothed comb from the nightstand and starts working through Ning’s hair, careful but firm. The room feels quieter now, as if the act of detangling Ning’s hair has drawn them into a bubble separate from the rest of the world.

Ning exhales softly, leaning back into Minji’s hands. “I like it when you take care of me,” she says quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the rustle of the comb through her hair.

Minji pauses for a moment, then resumes, her tone calm, matter-of-fact. “Of course. That’s what friends do.”

Ning hesitates, her hands resting on her knees, her fingers picking at the hem of her towel. “Sometimes... I wish I could be more like you. And less like me.”

Minji laughs softly, the sound light but not mocking. “You don’t want to be like me.”

“I do,” Ning insists, turning her head slightly to glance back at her. “You’re confident. Cool. You don’t let people push you around. And you’re... I don’t know. Just... you.”

Minji tilts her head, her lips curling into a small, almost secretive smile. “You think that’s all good things?”

“Yes,” Ning says firmly, her voice stronger now.

“Well,” Minji says, her hands still moving through Ning’s hair, “I wouldn’t want to be you either. You’re too sweet. Too soft. You’d make a terrible Minji.”

Ning lets out a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly. She stares at her lap, her fingers still pulling at the edge of the towel.

“You know,” Minji says after a moment, her voice quieter now, almost playful, “sometimes you remind me of a doll.”

“A doll?” Ning asks.

Minji hums softly, setting the comb down and smoothing Ning’s hair with her hands. “That's why I like taking care of you. And, you know, If you were my doll, I’d take you everywhere. Even to bed. You’d sit on the pillow next to me, and I’d never let anyone else touch you.”

Ning’s cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, her voice wavering. “You’d get tired of me.”

“No,” Minji says simply, her tone decisive. “I wouldn’t.”

After a long moment, she turns slightly, her face tilted up toward Minji’s. “After university... do you think we’ll still see each other? Or will we... you know... separate?”

Minji frowns slightly, her hands resting on Ning’s shoulders. “Why would we separate? Of course, we’ll still see each other. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Ning smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling... strange lately.”

“Strange how?” Minji asks, her tone still calm but edged with curiosity.

Ning hesitates, her gaze dropping again. “Like... like love hurts. Is that normal?”

Minji seems caught off guard. She blinks, her hands stilling on Ning’s shoulders before she leans back slightly, considering her words. “Sometimes love hurts,” she says finally, her voice softer now. “But it’s a good kind of pain. It reminds us that we’re alive.”

Ning is silent for a moment, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the towel. “It doesn’t feel good,” she says quietly.

“No,” Minji agrees, her voice low. “Not always. But that’s what makes it real.”

Minji brushes a strand of hair from Ning’s face, her touch gentle, almost reverent.

“Come on,” she says finally, her voice lighter now. “We’ll be late if you don’t get dressed.”

Ning nods, standing slowly and heading to the closet. Minji watches her for a moment, her gaze lingering before she turns back to the mirror.

—

The credits roll, and the room falls into a quiet, dim stillness. The TV screen casts a faint blue glow over the apartment, and Ning is sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Her head rests on Minji’s lap, her hair fanning out like ink on the soft fabric of Minji’s skirt, while her legs stretch out over yours. She’s wearing her usual mismatched pajamas—striped shorts and a slightly oversized blouse—and her breathing is steady, her face slack with the kind of peace that only sleep can bring. You glance at Minji, who’s idly running her fingers through Ning’s hair, her other hand resting lightly on her own thigh. She doesn’t look at you, her gaze instead fixed somewhere past the TV, lost in thought.

“She’s out,” you whisper, your voice soft so as not to wake Ning.

Minji hums in agreement, her fingers still moving gently through Ning’s hair. “She always crashes like this when she’s comfortable.”

You nod, shifting slightly, careful not to disturb Ning’s legs on your lap. “We should move. She can sleep here.”

Minji’s hand pauses for a moment before she nods. Slowly, the two of you maneuver yourselves off the couch, trying not to jostle Ning. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, her body curling in on itself as you reach for the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

You unfold it and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her shoulders. She lets out a soft sigh, her hand twitching slightly as if reaching for something in her sleep.

“She’s fine,” Minji says quietly, her voice almost absent as she watches Ning for a moment longer. Then she turns, heading toward the bedroom.

You follow her, closing the door softly behind you. The room is dark except for the faint light spilling in from the hallway, and Minji moves with a kind of quiet efficiency, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. She pulls off her sweater next, leaving her in a simple white bra and matching panties, her movements as unselfconscious as ever.

You tug your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, and sit on the edge of the bed, watching her. “She’s been acting strange lately,” you say, breaking the silence.

Minji glances at you over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “How so?”

“She’s... clingy,” you say, frowning slightly. “I mean, she’s always been kind of like that, but lately, it’s more. She’s always around. Always with us. Even at weird times.”

Minji turns back to the dresser, rummaging for something before straightening up. “That’s normal,” she says simply.

“Normal?” you repeat, your brow furrowing. “How do you know?”

“I know Ning,” Minji says, her voice calm, measured. “This is just a phase.”

You shake your head, leaning back slightly. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but... it’s too much. I mean, I like Ning. She's my friend, and sometimes she's like a little sister to me. But she’s everywhere. And it feels like she doesn’t even realize how... weird it is.”

Minji sits on the edge of the bed, her back to you. She stretches her arms above her head before turning to face you, her legs crossed under her. “It’s both,” she says.

“Both what?”

“On purpose and unintentional,” she replies.

You stare at her, more confused than ever. “What does that even mean?”

Minji tilts her head slightly, her hair spilling over one shoulder. “It means she doesn’t fully understand why she’s doing it. But part of her does. Part of her knows exactly what she wants.”

You shake your head again, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t get it. You make it sound like some... elaborate plan.”

“It’s not a plan,” Minji says. “It’s instinct. She’s shedding her skin.”

That stops you. You blink at her, trying to make sense of the metaphor. “Shedding her skin?”

Minji smiles faintly, leaning forward slightly. “Like a snake. She’s outgrowing herself. She doesn’t know what’s next, but she knows she can’t stay the same. And it’s messy. Confusing. For her and for everyone else.”

You shake your head again, feeling like you’re missing some crucial piece of the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“We don't need to understand everything,” Minji says simply, standing and walking toward you.

She climbs onto your lap, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders, her body warm and familiar against yours. “She just wants love,” she says. “That’s all anyone wants. What’s wrong with giving it to her, until she learns to find it for herself?”

You stare at her, your hands resting on her hips, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“Minji...”

She shakes her head, silencing you with a small smile. “It’s okay,” she says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s not forever. Just for now.”

And somehow, that’s enough to quiet the unease in your chest, at least for tonight.

—

Ning stirs awake, the sunlight filtering through the blinds cutting across the living room. She groans softly, the weight of sleep still heavy on her as she stretches out on the couch. The blanket you’d thrown over her the night before slides down, pooling at her waist as she blinks groggily at the room.

She sits up, yawning hard enough that her jaw cracks, and rubs at her eyes, her hand raking through her messy hair. The TV is off now, but the faint echo of the movies you binged together still lingers in the back of her mind. She smiles sleepily, recalling the way you’d teased her about falling asleep halfway through the second one.

Her bladder nudges her out of the haze, and she stands, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. She heads to the bathroom, her movements slow, unhurried, the quiet stillness of the morning lulling her into a half-awake stupor.

Inside, she flips on the light, squinting slightly at the brightness, and shuffles over to the toilet. She tugs her loose shorts down her hips, settling onto the seat with a sigh of relief as the sound of her peeing fills the small space. Her head tilts back slightly, her body relaxing as the last remnants of sleep start to ebb away.

When she's done, she lazily reaches for some toilet paper, tearing off a few squares and carefully wiping herself, the paper crinkling softly in her hand. She gives a quick glance to make sure she’s clean before tossing it in the toilet and standing up.

The loud whoosh of water startling her slightly. Still on autopilot, she moves to the sink, turning the tap on and letting the water run cool before washing her hands. The soap smells faintly of citrus, and she rubs it into her skin, rinsing and drying off quickly.

She leans against the sink, staring at her reflection for a moment, her fingers brushing over her slightly puffy face. She frowns at the bags under her eyes, then cups her hands under the water to splash her face, the cold shock waking her up a little more.

Grabbing a toothbrush from the cup on the counter, she squeezes a line of minty toothpaste onto the bristles and starts brushing, the rhythm of it almost mechanical. She looks at Minji's toothbrush and yours and for a moment thinks about how it looks like a dystopian domestic scene. Her thoughts wander, drifting back to the conversation from last night, the easy laughter, the way you’d tossed popcorn at her when she said something smart. Or when Minji stroked her hair until she fell asleep. She smiles faintly around the toothbrush, rinses, and spits, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

As she leaves the bathroom, the quiet of the apartment feels different now—less serene, more alive somehow. Her footsteps slow as she makes her way back to the living room, a faint murmur catching her attention.

She pauses, tilting her head, her brows furrowing. The sound is faint, indistinct, but it’s coming from your room. She takes a step closer, curiosity tugging at her as her ears strain to make out the words.

The murmur becomes clearer as she approaches, her heartbeat quickening. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, she knows that, but something about the tone—the soft giggles, the whispered urgency—pulls her in.

When she reaches your door, she hesitates, her hand hovering near the handle. The murmur continues, and a thrill of something she can’t quite name runs down her spine. Slowly, carefully, she crouches down, her knees brushing against the carpet, and leans in to peek through the keyhole.

Her breath catches in her throat as her gaze sharpens on the scene inside. You’re there, standing next to your bed, your hands sliding up Minji’s thighs. Minji’s back is arched slightly, her nipples hardened by the cold, arousal and risk, her head tilted back, her hands gripping your shoulders as she lets out a breathless laugh.

“We need to be quick,” you mutter, your voice low but playful, your fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. The delicate white lace slides down her hips as she bites her lip, her eyes flicking toward the door. “Before Ning wakes up.”

Ning freezes, her heart pounding in her chest as the words sink in.

Ning’s breath hitches, her heart hammering in her chest as she presses her eye closer to the keyhole. The angle isn’t perfect, but she can see enough. You’re on your knees now, your hands gripping Minji’s thighs, spreading her legs as you bury your face between them.

Minji’s fingers tangle in your hair, her knuckles whitening as she fights to keep her composure. Her lips part, and Ning can barely make out the soft, desperate moans that slip past them, muffled by the hand she brings up to cover her mouth.

“Fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice trembling as her head falls back, her hips jerking slightly against your mouth. “You’re—ah—you’re so fucking good at this.”

From Ning’s perspective, it’s almost surreal. Minji’s bare skin gleams in the soft light of the room, her body shivering as your hands roam her thighs, your grip firm and possessive. The wet, obscene sounds of your mouth working on her pussy carry through the quiet, and Ning’s thighs press together instinctively, her body reacting without permission.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her breathing shallow as she keeps watching, her cheeks heating as she realizes how wet she’s getting just from the scene unfolding before her.

Minji bites her fist, her other hand gripping your shoulder for balance as you suck on her clit, your tongue flicking over it with deliberate, relentless precision. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her voice still quiet but shaky. “Right there—fuck, don’t stop.”

You don’t. If anything, your movements grow hungrier, more focused, your hands sliding up to grip her ass and pull her closer to your face. Minji’s knees tremble, her body swaying slightly, and Ning can see the tension in her muscles, the way her chest heaves as she tries to suppress her cries.

“Please,” Minji whispers, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against your mouth. “Please—don’t make me scream. Ning—oh, fuck—Ning’s right out there.”

Your laugh is muffled, the sound vibrating against her, and Minji’s response is immediate—a sharp, shuddering gasp that has her nearly collapsing into your arms. “You’re such an asshole,” she hisses, but there’s no heat in her words, just breathless, desperate need.

Ning’s hand slips between her own thighs without her even thinking, her fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her shorts. She curses softly under her breath, her cheeks burning as she realizes how turned on she is. Her fingers press down lightly, teasing herself through the material as she watches you work, her breath catching every time Minji lets out another muffled moan.

“God, you’re gonna make me—” Minji gasps, her nails digging into your shoulder. “I can’t—I can’t stay quiet—”

Your hands tighten on her ass, holding her in place as your tongue moves faster, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth against her pussy growing louder. Minji’s body trembles, her legs nearly giving out as she fights to hold herself together, her cries growing more desperate despite her best efforts.

And all the while, Ning watches, her fingers pressing harder against herself, her body trembling as arousal coils tight in her stomach. She knows she should stop—knows she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching—but she can’t tear her gaze away.

Your tongue works Minji’s clit relentlessly, swirling, flicking, sucking with a precision that has her trembling against you. Her legs are unsteady, her grip in your hair tightening as you lap at her pussy, your face buried in her heat. The wet sounds of your mouth on her, combined with her quiet, gasping moans, fill the room.

“Fuck—fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice barely controlled as she tries to keep her cries quiet. “You’re gonna make me cum, you asshole—I’m so close—”

You don’t let up, doubling down as your lips close around her clit, sucking hard and then flicking your tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud. Her whole body jerks, her thighs squeezing your head as she bites her fist to muffle the scream that’s building in her throat.

Ning watches through the keyhole, her heart racing, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her fingers press harder against herself, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She shouldn’t be watching this—she knows that. But watching you make Minji cum, watching the way you dominate her with your mouth, is more than she can resist.

Minji’s body locks up suddenly, her breath catching as her orgasm crashes over her. Her nails dig into your scalp, her hips bucking against your mouth as she lets out a muffled cry, her legs shaking as she tries to keep standing. You don’t pull away, your tongue and lips drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she’s practically collapsing into your arms.

“Fuck,” Minji gasps, her voice weak, her body trembling as she clings to you. “I’m done—I’m so fucking done—”

But you’re not. You guide her toward the bed, gently lowering her onto her knees, her arms bracing against the mattress as she pants for breath. “I know you can handle more, on all fours for me,” you tell her, your voice rough with hunger.

Minji obeys without hesitation, her knees sinking into the mattress as she shifts into position. You stand behind her, your hands hooking into the waistband of your underwear and sliding them down. Your cock springs free, thick, hard, and glistening with need, and for a moment, the room seems to pause.

Ning stifles a gasp, her eyes widening as she stares through the keyhole, her breath catching in her throat. She’d imagined it before—fantasized about what you might look like, what you might feel like—but nothing had prepared her for the reality. It’s almost too much, seeing you like this, seeing the cock she’s dreamed about so vividly right there in front of her, but not for her.

You stroke yourself slowly, your eyes fixed on Minji’s ass, the curve of her back, the way she looks so perfectly ready for you. “I’ll grab a condom,” you mutter, your voice rough, your tone almost detached as you try to keep control.

Minji glances back at you, her eyes hazy with lust. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t care. Just fuck me now—I need you inside me.”

Her words resonate with Ning. She can feel the heat pooling between her legs, the ache of desire building to an unbearable level. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s tugging her shorts and panties down her thighs, her fingers slipping between her slick folds as she watches you climb onto the bed behind Minji.

You line yourself up with Minji’s entrance, your hands gripping her hips as you press the head of your cock against her wet, swollen pussy. She lets out a shuddering breath, her body trembling with anticipation, and then you’re inside her, sliding deep with one smooth, deliberate thrust.

“Goddamn,” you groan, your head tilting back as you bury yourself to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight, Minji. So goddamn perfect.”

Minji cries out, her hands gripping the sheets as she adjusts to your size. “Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You feel—shit—you’re so deep—”

Ning’s fingers work faster, her hips lifting slightly as she rubs her clit in tight, desperate circles. Her other hand grips her thigh, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her, her breath catching every time you thrust into Minji. She’s wet, so wet, her fingers sliding easily as she imagines it’s her on the bed instead, her body stretched and filled by you.

“Harder,” Minji begs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “Please—fuck me harder—”

You don’t hesitate, your hips slamming against her ass with a rhythm that’s rough, relentless, each thrust driving you deeper. Minji’s moans grow louder, less controlled, and Ning bites her lip to keep from crying out herself as she watches your cock disappear into Minji’s tight, glistening pussy over and over again.

“Look at you,” you growl, your hands tightening on Minji’s hips. “Taking me so fucking well. You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked like this?”

“Yes,” Minji cries, her voice cracking as her body rocks with every thrust. “Yes—don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

Ning’s breath hitches, her fingers sliding faster, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge. She’s so close, the sight of you fucking Minji, the sound of your groans and her cries, pushing her to the brink. She bites down hard on her lip, her eyes squeezed shut as she imagines what it would feel like to have you inside her instead.

This makes her go beyond reason, her body moving on instinct, completely overtaken by the scene playing out in front of her. Her fingers, already slick with her arousal, slide down to her dripping entrance, and before she can second-guess herself, she pushes two fingers inside.

The sensation is electric, her walls clenching around her fingers as she starts thrusting in time with your movements, mirroring the rhythm of your cock driving into Minji. Her other hand remains pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the quiet, breathy moans that spill out as she fucks herself.

On the other side of the door, you’re relentless, your hips slamming into Minji with a force that makes her cry out, her voice muffled against the mattress. “God, Minji,” you growl, your tone dripping with dominance. “You’re so fucking wet, squeezing me so tight. You love being my little slut, don’t you?”

Ning’s eyes flutter shut, her fingers curling inside her as if you’re the one filling her up. “Yes,” she whispers, barely audible, her voice shaky and desperate. Her fingers move faster, her thumb brushing over her swollen clit, and she can’t stop herself from whispering again. “Yes, I love it—I love being yours.”

Your voice cuts through the door again, rough and commanding. “Say it, Minji. Say how much you love being fucked like this, how much you need my cock.”

Ning's head leans against the door, her lips parting as her fingers drive deeper, the wet sounds of her own arousal mingling with the lewd noises from the other room. She’s lost, caught up in the fantasy, responding as if the words were meant for her.

“I need it,” Ning murmurs, her hips rocking against her hand. “Fuck, I need you so bad—”

Inside the room, Minji’s voice rises, a high-pitched, breathless cry. “Yes, I need it—I need your cock so bad—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Ning matches the rhythm of her fingers to the frantic pace of your thrusts, her knees trembling as she pushes herself closer to the edge. Her juices drip down her thighs, her clit throbbing under the relentless assault of her thumb. She’s mumbling now, her words incoherent, her body shaking as she chases the pleasure building inside her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling as her fingers curl inside her, brushing that spot that makes her legs weak. “So deep, baby—feels so good—oh, my God—”

You grunt loudly, your hands gripping Minji’s hips tighter, pulling her back against you with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect, Minji,” you growl, your voice rough. “Taking me so fucking well—like you were made for this.”

Ning can’t hold back her response, her whispered voice growing louder despite herself. “Yes—I was—I was made for this,” she mutters, her breath hitching as her fingers slam into her wet pussy. “Fuck me harder—please—don’t stop—”

Her words blur into soft moans and gasps, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge of release. Her eyes are glued to the keyhole, watching the way your cock disappears into Minji’s pussy, the way Minji’s body arches with every thrust. It’s too much, the visual, the sounds, the fantasy she’s building in her head—all of it pushes her closer, her fingers working furiously as she chases the same pleasure Minji is drowning in.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her fingers curl again, her body arching off the floor. “I’m so close—oh, my God, I’m gonna—”

But she doesn’t let herself finish, biting down hard on her lip to keep herself from crying out. She’s too lost, too far gone, completely consumed by the rhythm of your thrusts, the sound of Minji’s cries, the fantasy of being in her place.

You slow your thrusts, pulling out of Minji for just a moment, earning a frustrated whimper from her as you guide her toward the edge of the bed. Sitting down, your cock slick and throbbing, you grab her hips, pulling her onto your lap.

Minji straddles you, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your legs. Her chest brushes against yours as she lowers herself, your cock sliding back inside her in one smooth motion. She lets out a shaky gasp, her fingers gripping your shoulders as she settles into the position, her tight pussy squeezing you in all the right ways.

“Ride me,” you murmur, your hands gripping her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Show me how much you love this cock, Minji.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hips starting to move in slow, deliberate circles. Her pace is teasing at first, her heat clenching around you as she adjusts to the angle. Her chest presses against yours, her nipples brushing your skin, and you can’t resist leaning forward to capture one of her breasts in your mouth.

Your tongue flicks over her hardened nipple, your lips closing around the sensitive bud as you suck greedily. Minji moans above you, her nails digging into your shoulders as she starts to bounce on your lap, her movements growing more erratic, more desperate.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I love your cock—I love the way it fills me, stretches me—God, I can’t get enough.”

Ning’s breath catches as she watches through the keyhole, her own hand moving instinctively to her breast. Her fingers slip under her tank top, squeezing the soft flesh as her thumb brushes over her nipple. Her other hand is still buried between her legs, her fingers glistening with her arousal as she thrusts them in and out, imagining it’s your cock instead.

“Yes,” she whispers softly to herself, her cheeks flushed as her hips rock against her hand. “I love it too—I love the way it feels—”

Your mouth moves to Minji’s other breast, your tongue swirling around her nipple before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Her back arches, her cries growing louder, her hips slamming against yours with an urgency that drives you wild.

“You’re fucking incredible,” you growl against her skin, your hands sliding up to grip her waist, helping guide her movements. “The way you ride me, Minji—fuck—you’re perfect.”

“God, yes,” she moans, her head tilting back as she grinds down on you, her pace frantic. “You make me feel so good—so fucking good—I never want to stop.”

Ning’s thighs tremble as she matches her rhythm to Minji’s, her fingers curling inside her, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She squeezes her breast harder, her thumb flicking over her nipple as she imagines it’s your mouth on her, your hands gripping her body, your cock buried deep inside her.

“I need you,” Ning whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with raw need. “Fuck, I need you so bad—I’d ride you just like that—I’d make you feel so good, baby—”

Inside, Minji’s cries grow louder, her hips slamming down on you with a force that makes the bed creak. Her hair sticks to her damp skin, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she moans your name over and over again.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your grip on her waist tightening as you thrust up into her, meeting her movements. “You take me so fucking well, Minji. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

“Yes—fuck—yes,” Minji moans, her nails raking down your chest. “I love it—I love your cock—I love the way you fuck me—”

Ning’s own voice joins hers, a soft, breathy murmur as her body shakes with pleasure. “I love it too—I love it—I’d take you so well,” she whispers, her words blending with the sounds of your thrusts, the wet, obscene noises filling the room.

Her hips rock harder, her fingers plunging deeper as she imagines you looking at her the way you look at Minji, your hands on her, your cock filling her completely. She’s on the edge, teetering between reality and fantasy, her entire body trembling as she chases the release building inside her.

You grip Minji’s waist tighter, your breath coming in ragged gasps as her movements grow faster, more erratic. The tight, wet heat of her pussy has you on the edge, your cock twitching inside her as your body threatens to lose control.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head falling back as she rides you harder, her hips slamming down with a desperate rhythm. “You’re gonna make me cum—God, you’re gonna fucking make me cum.”

Her nails dig into your shoulders as her moans mix with yours, her face flushed, her lips parted. “Me too,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I’m so close—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum, too.”

You grip her ass, pulling her closer as you thrust up into her, your words spilling out in a rush. “Where do you want it, baby? Tell me where you want my cum.”

Her eyes lock on yours, filled with wild lust. “On my tits,” she says, her voice cracking with need. “I want it all over my tits.”

The words send a jolt of heat through you, and Minji’s body responds, her pace growing frantic as she bounces on your cock, trying to hold back the screams threatening to burst from her lips. Her hips jerk, her thighs trembling, and then she’s cumming—hard.

Her back arches, her nails scraping down your chest as her pussy clenches around you in tight, rhythmic spasms. “Oh, fuck—fuck—” she cries, her head tilting back, her eyes rolling as waves of pleasure crash through her.

Ning’s fingers falter for a moment as she watches through the keyhole, her breath hitching at the sight of Minji’s orgasm. The way her body shakes, the sheer rawness of it, sends a fresh wave of arousal through Ning’s already trembling body. She bites her lip, her own fingers slick with her juices as she thrusts them deeper, chasing the same release.

Minji’s hips slow, her movements languid as she comes down from her high, her breath ragged as she whispers, “Please—I need your cum—I need it so bad.”

You growl low in your throat, gently lifting her off your cock and guiding her to lie back on the bed. Her chest rises and falls, her skin flushed, her eyes hazy with lust as she looks up at you.

You climb over her, your hand wrapping around your cock, stroking it slowly as you hover above her. Minji’s lips curl into a wicked smile, her voice soft but dripping with urgency. “Give it to me,” she whispers, her hands sliding over her own body, cupping her breasts and squeezing them together. “I want it all—cover me in it. Please, baby, cum for me.”

Ning’s breath comes in shallow gasps as she mirrors Minji’s words, her voice barely audible as she whispers, “Cum for me—please, I need it—I need you.” Her fingers pump in and out of her dripping pussy, her other hand teasing her breast, pinching her nipple as she imagines being in Minji’s place.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you groan, your hand moving faster as you watch Minji writhing beneath you, her words driving you closer to the edge. “You’re gonna get it—all of it. You ready?”

“Yes,” Minji moans, her eyes locking on your cock. “Yes, I’m ready—give it to me, please.”

The tension snaps, and with a deep, guttural moan, you let go. Hot spurts of cum shoot out, painting Minji’s chest and dripping down her cleavage as she gasps with each pulse. “Fuck, yes,” she cries, her hands smearing the thick, warm fluid over her skin. “God, there’s so much—”

Ning’s body arches, her fingers thrusting deep as she watches your release, the sight of you cumming and Minji’s reaction sending her spiraling. “Oh, God,” Ning whispers, her breath catching as her own orgasm crashes over her. Her thighs tremble, her hips bucking against her hand as pleasure floods her senses, leaving her shaking and gasping for air.

Back in your room, Minji reaches up, her hand wrapping around your cock as she guides the tip to her lips. She sucks greedily, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head, and you let out a shuddering groan, the overstimulation almost too much to bear.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your body trembling as she cleans you off, her mouth working over you with slow, deliberate precision.

In the hallway, Ning slumps against the wall, her body still trembling from her climax. Reality crashes back in, her cheeks burning as she realizes what she’s done. Her fingers are sticky with her own juices, her shorts and panties pushed down around her ankles. She feels the ache of her release, but also the heavy weight of knowing she’s still alone, left only with the echo of her own mind.

—

The kitchen is quiet except for the clink of forks against plates and the faint hum of the coffee machine. Breakfast is simple—scrambled eggs, toast, a little fruit—because none of you had energy for anything more elaborate after the intense morning sex. You and Minji sit side by side, her hand occasionally brushing yours under the table, while Ning sits across from you, her posture slightly hunched, her head down as she picks at her food.

You and Minji exchange a glance, subtle but questioning.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask finally, your voice cutting through the silence.

Ning looks up briefly, her eyes darting between you and Minji before settling back on her plate. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “The couch was fine.”

“Are you sure?” you press, trying to read her expression. “If it wasn’t comfortable, you could’ve said something.”

She shakes her head quickly, her fingers tightening around her fork. “No, it was fine. Really.”

Minji leans back slightly, her dark eyes studying Ning with a precision that always feels a little too sharp. “You seem... off,” she says, her tone light but probing. “Nervous, almost.”

Ning’s shoulders stiffen slightly, but she forces a small smile. “It’s just... college stuff,” she says, her voice a little too quick, too rehearsed. “You know how it is.”

Minji hums softly, her gaze lingering on Ning for a moment longer before she nods. “Yeah. I get it. Stress gets to everyone.”

There’s a pause, the silence stretching out again as Ning takes a small bite of her toast, her movements mechanical. You glance at Minji, who shrugs subtly, as if to say, “Leave it alone.”

You’re not sure why the mood feels so strange. You’re satisfied—more than satisfied, really—after the slow, sleepy morning you spent with Minji. But Ning’s tension casts a shadow over everything, and you can’t help but feel like there’s something you’re missing.

“Anything specific?” Minji asks suddenly. “With college, I mean. Anything you’re struggling with?”

Ning’s head snaps up, her expression briefly startled before she smooths it out. “No. Nothing like that. Just... the usual. Assignments, deadlines. It’s fine.”

“You know you can talk to us, right?” you say, trying to sound reassuring.

“I know,” Ning says quickly, her voice tight. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

Minji doesn’t push further, instead picking up her coffee cup and taking a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Ning. It’s a look you’ve seen before—the way she dissects people without them realizing, pulling apart their words, their body language, their silences… You wonder if she knows something you don’t.

“Okay,” Minji says finally, setting her cup down. “But if it ever does become a big deal, you know where we are.”

“Thanks,” Ning murmurs, her smile faint but grateful.

The conversation fizzles out after that, and the rest of breakfast passes in strained silence. Ning keeps her head down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her tank top, while you and Minji exchange the occasional glance, unsure how to bridge the gap.

When Ning finally stands to clear her plate, you notice the way her hands shake slightly, the way she avoids looking at either of you. Minji notices too—you can tell by the faint narrowing of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head. But she doesn’t say anything.

—

The sun hangs high in the sky, its warmth spilling over the quiet streets as Minji and Ning walk side by side. The air smells faintly of spring—cut grass, blooming flowers, the faint musk of pavement warmed by sunlight. It’s the kind of day that makes you forget there’s still homework to finish, lectures to catch up on, deadlines looming like dark clouds in the distance.

Minji is wearing her usual glasses, her stride confident, her shoulder purse slung loosely over one arm. Ning is quieter, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her skirt, her pace a little slower. The two of them have walked this route several times, but today, the silence between them feels heavier, more intentional.

Ning is the one who breaks it. “How are you?” she asks, glancing sideways at Minji.

Minji doesn’t falter, but the question surprises her. She tilts her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “I’m fine,” she says. “Why?”

Ning shrugs, her gaze fixed on the sidewalk ahead. “Just asking.”

Minji hums softly, unconvinced. “I’m fine,” she repeats, her tone a little firmer now. “Really.”

Ning hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I meant... how’s your heart?”

Minji slows, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose as she turns to look at Ning. It’s always a complicated question (even if she pretends it isn't), one she’s learned to deflect with ease. But Ning’s tone—gentle, almost hesitant—makes it harder to brush off.

“It’s fine,” Minji says finally, her voice even. “Everything’s fine.”

Ning doesn’t push, at least not directly. Instead, she pretends to shift the conversation. “Are you and him having sex?”

Minji stops walking, blinking at Ning like she’s just been hit with a bucket of cold water. “What?”

“You heard me,” Ning says, her voice steady but her expression unreadable.

Minji stares at her for a moment before she starts walking again, her steps a little quicker now. “Yes,” she says finally, the word clipped, like she’s trying to end the conversation before it starts.

“How’s it been?” Ning asks, keeping pace with her.

Minji’s jaw tightens. “Good. Very good.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Ning says. “I mean... is it too much? For you, I mean. With your condition...”

Minji’s steps falter, just barely, but she recovers quickly. “No,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends. “He’s... gentle. Respectful. He knows my boundaries.”

Ning nods slowly, as if considering her words. “I know you took the medicine,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.

Minji freezes. “What?”

“Your medicine,” Ning repeats, stopping to face her. “You took it. I know you did.”

“That’s not true,” Minji says, her voice flat.

“It is,” Ning says, crossing her arms. “Before we left for the restaurant yesterday, the bottle was sealed. This morning, when I saw it in your purse, it was open.”

Minji’s mouth opens, then closes, her mind scrambling for a response. “Why are you going through my purse?” she demands finally, her tone defensive.

“You told me I could borrow your lipstick,” Ning says simply.

Minji stares at her, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of her answer. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. Then she exhales sharply, tugging her glasses off and running a hand through her hair before putting them back on. “Fine,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I took it. After... after we had sex.”

Ning’s brows knit together, her tone growing sharper. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Minji says, brushing past her and continuing down the sidewalk.

“Not a big deal?” Ning echoes, catching up to her. “Minji, your heart hurts so much you need medicine, and you think that’s not a big deal?”

Minji stops again, turning to face her. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Ning says bluntly, her voice rising slightly. “You’re putting your health at risk, and for what? To prove that you can handle it? That’s not fair, Minji. To him or to you.”

Minji’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t respond. She can feel the heat rising in her chest—not from her heart this time, but from the frustration of being called out, of having someone see through her so easily.

“You need to tell him,” Ning says firmly, her voice steady despite the tension between them. “If you don’t, I will.”

Minji stares at her, her lips parted slightly in shock. Ning’s tone, her posture, the unwavering determination in her expression—it’s not the Ning she’s used to. It’s... impressive, in a way. “Fine,” Minji says finally, her voice softer now, almost grudging. “I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Ning says, her expression softening slightly. They start walking again, the tension easing but not disappearing entirely. Minji glances at Ning out of the corner of her eye, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re full of surprises,” she says quietly.

Ning doesn’t look at her, but there’s a faint flush on her cheeks. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she murmurs.

The words hang in the air between them, heavier than the warm sunlight, and the ambivalence of feelings silently settles in Minji, something without its own identification. Gratitude, maybe. Pride. Love. Or something else entirely.

For Ning, the moment is different. Seeing Minji vulnerable—seeing her imperfect—fills her with something that feels almost like relief. Minji isn’t untouchable, after all. And somehow, that thought is comforting.

Continued in part 4...

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will...

Acting as the Frontman's PA, and having the Guard harem wrapped around your finger.

This part is:

PA Announcer

Musical Fan!reader

This will be a choose your adventure kind of thing where there will be multiple with jobs/specialties/interactions.

a/n: Hope you like Mamma Mia xoxo

Please don't hesitate to request!!

Walking a few steps behind the Frontman, peering through your silver mask and analysing the clipboard in your hands you updated your boss on the status of everything being prepared for the games.

Based on the grunts and scoffs he let out you crossed out and marked different items on the list. For a man of little words, he sure was good at communicating. After the large doors to the hall closed, you looked first to your boss then to the militia-like staff.

Handing over the checklist to the closest square, you nodded to your boss and turned to leave.

“Squares 1 through 16, Your men will be painting the halls. Squares 18 through 21, Your men will construct the bridge. Squares 22 and 23..." As you approached your office the front man's voice faded away.

There was a surprising amount of paper work for a company that strived to leave no traceable evidence, you supposed they needed to be completely aware of the crimes that the company had committed as to better cover their tracks. That being said, you would swear that the pile had grown since before breakfast.

So sitting down in your little office you pulled off your mask and began to sort through the first few files. After certain issues and unauthorised branches sprung up in the command structure of the previous year's games, you been given the tedious task of vetting all potential contestants.

The main rules were; no one with medical training, we cant have another spout of organ harvesting, no one with knowledge that could reduce or alter the difficulty of the games, aka no more glass guys, and so on and so forth for what seemed to be an unending and ever growing pile of filters.

You'd made it through half of the pile, removing a few of the contestants for their quote unquote leadership qualities, when an alarm chimed from your phone. Tugging forward the microphone you grabbed the notes from today's agenda, before crackling the speakers to life with the press of a button.

'It is now midday. Lunch will be available to grab under the sun for the next 90 minutes. Today's music choice is... mine and will be the entire Mamma Mia musical soundtrack followed by twenty minutes of me replaying my favourite songs.'

Pressing play on the album and turning off the microphone you opted to return to your work for the time being, only now there was the occasional humming along.

When a tapping came from your window you finally stopped, slipping your silvery mask back into place and tugging back the unnecessarily extravagant curtain you observed a single circle giving you a thumbs up.

Waving to him you stepped closer and peered to the side, down the hall stood a group grooving, and as you pressed your ear to the glass you could hear their voices singing along.

Sneaking your secure and very dumb brick of a phone out of your pocket you started to record, before noticing the circle was now waving for you to join them.

Deciding... screw it you leaned your phone against the sill and slipped out of the office to join the gaggle of guards. Only then did you notice just how loud the PA system was set to as the concrete under your feet vibrated with the music.

Dancing and singing along, the group seemed to grow as the album played on... until your boss' brash tone cracked over the system;

'Okay that's enough, go get your food.'

Oh yeah... lunch.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ scarface ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ berlin x hostage!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ “i’m afraid you comrades have become our hostages.”

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t see the man speaking, none of you could. the blindfold pressed against your face, blocking the light that shone through the polished windows, just as the criminals had blocked every avenue of escape. you stood no different to the others lined up alongside you, all you could do was listen. the nervous shuffling of feet, muffled sobs, and the erratic breathing of strangers filled the air, feeding your already frayed nerves. the tension was suffocating, tightening around your chest like an iron grip.

˚ ༘♡ you were not supposed to be here. as an executive assistant for the korean mint, your job revolved around order, organizing reports, managing schedules, ensuring things ran smoothly. yet none of that prepared you for this chaos. the only reason you were here at this godforsaken hour was because the sleazy director had called you back after your shift ended. under the pretense of a scheduling issue, he had summoned you to his office, but his leering gaze and thinly veiled intentions made you regret not making an excuse to stay home. now, that regret burned even brighter, a pang of apprehension wretched in your stomach.

˚ ༘♡ the voice came again, stony and slicing through the panicked murmurs of the hostages. heavy footsteps echoed in the vast room, measured and unhurried, each step landing with intent. your pulse quickened. the sound grew closer, louder, more oppressive, until it felt as if it would stop directly in front of you. and to your fright, it did.

˚ ༘♡ a hand reached out, rough and sure, grasping your face. it wasn’t harsh enough to hurt, but there was no tenderness in it either, only control. your breath grew unstable as you felt the blindfold torn away, the fabric scraping against your skin. the sudden exposure to light stung your eyes, but you didn’t dare look up. fear rooted you in place, your gaze fixed on the ground as your hands trembled at your sides.

˚ ༘♡ “look up.” the voice was deep, mocking, the hint of a smirk woven into the thick north korean accent. the command wasn’t shouted, but it didn’t need to be. its weight was undeniable, pressing down on you like a hand on your throat. trembling, you hesitated, your fear begging you to keep staring at the floor.

˚ ༘♡ “i said, look up.” this time, there was steel in his tone, and the words struck like a whip. your body betrayed you before your mind could argue. slowly, reluctantly, you lifted your gaze.

˚ ༘♡ and that’s when you saw him.

˚ ༘♡ a man stood before you, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties. his features were pointed and unyielding, his sun-tanned skin stretched over high cheekbones and a jaw that clenched with latent superiority. his dark hair was slicked back, further emphasizing the austerity of his appearance. he did not wear a hahoe mask like the others. you could see his face clearly, and that fact alone sent a frigid sensation of fear through your veins. there was only one conclusion to draw from this, you would not leave here alive. no one could see a criminal’s face and live to tell the tale.

˚ ༘♡ “hmm.” his voice was quiet as he pondered what was on his mind, the sound of it drawing your breath to a halt. he leaned in, his piercing gaze narrowing as it swept over your face, studying you with disturbing focus. your chest rose and fell in rapid succession, struggling to expel the air caught in your lungs.

˚ ༘♡ “take a deep breath, would you?” his words were deceptively calm, but there was an authority in them you dared not defy.

˚ ༘♡ your hands trembled as you tried to obey, forcing an unstable inhale that did little to steady your racing heart. his eyes landed on your wool coat, where your phone protruded in the pocket. before you could react, he extended his hand.

˚ ༘♡ “give it to me.”

˚ ༘♡ hesitantly, you reached into your coat, stiff with fear, and handed the device to him. the instant it left your grasp, he tossed it to the ground. the sound of the screen shattering against the cold floor jolted you, but what came next made your stomach drop. with one swift motion, he raised his boot and brought it down, crushing the phone into a pile of broken glass and metal.

˚ ༘♡ you gasped aloud, stepping back as your limbs threatened to give out. your lips parted in shock, but he remained unfazed, standing there as if nothing had happened.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m berlin,” he introduced himself, his tone harsh and taunting. his gaze didn’t move as he continued, his voice softening into a contemplative murmur. “and you… you’re the daughter of the korean defense minister, aren’t you?”

˚ ༘♡ his words slashed through the sinister atmosphere, leaving you motionless where you stood.

˚ ༘♡ “i recognize your face now.” his lips twisted into a bemused grin. “tell me, why is the daughter of a wealthy minister working as a lackey in the mint?”

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t answer. your voice, if it even existed, was trapped somewhere between fear and disbelief. your eyes darted down to the shattered remains of your phone, then back up to meet his unyielding gaze. the glass fragments seemed to glint like shards of your own hope scattered across the floor.

˚ ༘♡ what he said was true. you were the eldest daughter of the defense minister, a man appointed to his position after the unification of korea. your father, once a prominent figure in the south korean national assembly, had earned his power and influence through a career focused on military affairs. but none of that mattered now. the consequence of that identity, the very thing you had tried so hard to keep hidden, was now fully exposed.

˚ ༘♡ berlin turned away from you with an air of satisfaction, as though he had uncovered some magnificent treasure. “how lucky are we, huh, denver?” he said, addressing one of the masked criminals in a red jumpsuit. his tone was darkly delighted, dripping with smug arrogance. “the daughter of such a prominent figure, right here, as our hostage.”

˚ ༘♡ “sir…” you finally managed to stammer, your voice weak. every fiber of your being told you that begging or pleading would be futile, this heist was too carefully planned, too calculated for something as pitiful as that to persuade them. yet, despite the tremor in your voice, you forced the words out. “if… if i could just know the reason behind your mission.”

˚ ༘♡ he sneered at your question, his lip curling as if amused by your naïveté. “that,” he said coldly, his tone sharp enough to slice through you, “is none of your concern.” he stepped closer, and you instinctively leaned back, though there was nowhere to go. “don’t waste my time with stupid questions. it will do you no good.”

˚ ༘♡ before you could retreat further, his hand reached out, firm fingers tilting your chin upward. his dark eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your pulse thunder in your ears. his touch was ice-cold, akin to winter frost against your skin, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

˚ ༘♡ “moscow,” he barked, not breaking his gaze from yours, “head upstairs and inform the professor of our… fortunate discovery. i think he’ll find it rather interesting.”

˚ ༘♡ a stout man, dressed identically to the rest of the criminals, gave a nod and slung his rifle over his shoulder. without a word, he ascended the staircase, his laced boots thudding against the metal steps.

˚ ༘♡ you glanced around, your fear morphing into panic as your gaze drifted over the rest of the room. your co-workers from the mint, along with the high school students from the field trip, were still lined up, trembling and blindfolded. their muffled whimpers and shaky breathing filled the space like a grim symphony.

˚ ༘♡ but berlin’s attention was locked solely on you. “you,” he said, his voice dropping to something inexplicable, perhaps intimate, yet no less dangerous, “don’t belong here with the rest of the hostages, do you? no, you’re quite special.”

˚ ༘♡ his grip constructed around your arm suddenly, rough enough to make you wince. “rio, tokyo,” he barked, not sparing a glance at the others. “get the rest of the hostages dressed and armed. i’ll handle our guest here.”

˚ ༘♡ two figures stepped forward from the line of criminals. the younger man, who you assumed was rio, removed his mask without reluctance and began moving to obey berlin’s orders. his expression was subdued, almost resigned, as though this were routine. the woman, tokyo, followed suit, her softer features contorting into a glare she didn’t bother to hide from berlin. though she clearly didn’t agree, she complied without protest.

˚ ༘♡ before you could process what was happening, berlin began dragging you toward the stairs. his grip was unrelenting, and you stumbled to keep pace. the acrid scent of cigarette smoke clung to his breath, filling your senses and heightening your unease.

˚ ༘♡ as you were pulled upstairs, you glanced over your shoulder. the rest of the hostages were being herded like sheep, their blindfolds removed and their devices confiscated. there was an air of chaos and helplessness, but the criminals operated with a cold precision that made it all the more horrifying.

˚ ༘♡ you knew he had ordered you not to speak, but the aching concern for your colleagues at the mint outweighed your better judgment. you forced the words out, your voice barely above a whisper, “sir, what will happen to the others?”

˚ ༘♡ his reaction was instant, cruel and unforgiving. “enough with the questions. are you deaf?” his tone was laced with irritation, his hand tightening on your arm as he halted at the top of the stairs. his free hand moved briskly to rest on the rifle slung across his chest, an action that sent your pulse into overdrive. “as long as they do as they’re told,” he said coldly, his eyes flicking down to meet yours, “they’ll live.”

˚ ༘♡ the intent behind his words sank solemnly in your chest, but they provided little comfort. what did doing as they’re told mean? what did that entail? you didn’t dare ask for clarification. fear had locked your throat shut.

˚ ༘♡ at the end of the hallway, he forced you into a conference room. it was meant to be a professional space, a place for meetings, discussions, plans, but now it felt like a suffocating cage. berlin shoved you forward with a careless force that sent you stumbling to the floor. the tawny carpet felt rough beneath your hands, and as you tried to gather yourself, you realized your legs wouldn’t stop shaking. you were trembling so violently that getting back up seemed impossible.

˚ ༘♡ he stood over you, shaking his head with a theatrical sigh, his expression twisted into something resembling mock pity. “get up,” he ordered, his voice ridden with feigned concern. “it’s a pathetic sight. if i wanted to kill you, don’t you think i’d have done it by now?”

˚ ༘♡ yet even his attempt to rationalize your survival did nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. when you didn’t rise fast enough, he moved toward you, his impatience evident. before you could brace yourself, his hands gripped your waist, hauling you to your feet with little regard for your pitiful form.

˚ ༘♡ “relax, damn it!” he lashed out, though there was no softness in the demand. his hands lingered a second too long before he let go, stepping back. “you’ve got the easy end of this,” he continued, nodding toward the door. “out there? they’re the ones who’ll do the hard labor. you? you get to stay here, comfortably out of the way.”

˚ ༘♡ your eyes widened, the tears you’d been holding back streaking down your pallid cheeks. you couldn’t stop yourself from inquiring, the words escaping your mouth negligently. “but why… why do i need to stay here?”

˚ ༘♡ his lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile, as though your confusion entertained him. “another question,” he droned, his tone coarsely indulgent. “but i’ll allow it, i was going to tell you anyway.”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, the austerity of his presence bearing down on you. “the police will come,” he began, his voice calm but charged with menace. “it’s only a matter of time. they’ll gather intel on the crisis, and they’ll try to ruin everything for us, storm the building, act recklessly.” he paused, his dark eyes boring into yours. “but they won’t. not when they know we have the minister of defense’s daughter in our grasp.”

˚ ༘♡ the reveal of the grand scheme hit you like a blow, leaving you breathless. you stared up at him, horrified, as the full reality of your situation sank in. you weren’t merely a hostage, you were leverage, a bargaining chip, a pawn in their game. and there was no escaping it.

˚ ༘♡ “i already know what you’re going to say,” berlin said, his voice deadly quiet, yet every word seemed to reverberate in the air around you. his finger grazed your cheekbone, the touch sedated and delicate, as if savoring the terror etched across your face. the lightest brush of his skin against yours was enough to send a shudder through your body. his hand continued its path, stopping just at the curve of your rosy lips, his dark eyes watching your every reaction with a formidable pleasure.

˚ ༘♡ “and if the police don’t heed your father’s words?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly as though contemplating the question himself. his finger hovered over your lips, lingering just long enough to make you careen in your stance. “then that pretty face of yours won’t see another day.”

˚ ༘♡ there was a chilling contradiction in his expression, brutality melded with a macabre thrill, as if he relished the power he held over you and everyone else. it was distressing in its intensity, and you couldn’t tear your gaze away, no matter how much you wanted to.

˚ ༘♡ he pulled back slightly, his tone shifting into something almost casual, as though he hadn’t delivered a forthcoming death threat. “if the police act accordingly, it won’t have to come to that,” he said, his tone smooth and reassuring. “you’ll leave here unscathed, so don’t worry too much.”

˚ ༘♡ he smirked then, the expression devoid of true sincerity but brimming with confidence. “i’m willing to believe your dear father will do everything in his power to ensure his precious daughter’s safety. a man like him doesn’t let something like you go to waste. he would heaven and earth for you, wouldn’t he?”

˚ ༘♡ your politician father’s influence, his position, his wealth, it had all painted a target on your back. now, you were nothing more than power in their hands, a negotiation tool that could either save or destroy you. and berlin appeared to revel in the knowledge of it.

a/n: a money heist korea fanfiction for berlin! let me know if you have anymore requests for him as well as your thoughts! 🤍

[please-destroy]

No Matter What

Pregnant!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3k

.

You hadn’t been given enough time. You lay flat to the ground as the explosions around you continued with an unrelenting pace.

You couldn’t move. The hot trickle of blood running down your calf told you enough. You’d been watching the thick white cloud of gas roll slowly towards you, and now it was here.

You could feel the cool moisture as it cloaked your bare ankles, beginning to envelope you.

You continued trying to inch your phone out of your pocket, twisting yourself awkwardly with the action. 

The part of you that was still clinging to hope needed her desperately. All you wanted was to hear Wanda’s voice telling you it would be okay. 

You couldn’t let yourself think about the baby. You didn’t think losing your future would hurt like this. You didn’t expect to feel such grief when you were the one dying.

It felt like fingernails raking along your throat when you choked on the realisation that you’d never see the baby. You’d never know if they really did have Wanda’s eyes. Your chest went tight with the hope that they did. 

You brought your phone level to your face, wincing at the brightness. 

One text, Wanda.

‘Stay safe, check in when you can, we miss you.’

You dropped the phone and closed your eyes. The clouded air smelled sweet, you could taste aniseed. You couldn’t call her, you were out of time.

You hoped the baby had Wanda’s smile too. Selfishly, now, you hoped that little pieces of you would be in there too. That people would still talk about you. You didn’t want to be another ghost, another unspeakable shadow that haunted the corner of Wanda’s eye.

You slipped into delirium a moment later and unconsciousness a minute after that.

.

You had plenty to live for, but when you heard your name being called you still didn’t want to wake up.

Your eyes shuttered open and you gasped out a breath like it was your first. You’d been moved, the gas was gone, the air seemed clean.

It took a moment to recognise the inside of the helicarrier. Even longer to understand it was Natasha who was underneath the industrial gas mask. 

You lost control of your panic, hyperventilating at the shock of her appearance. The rattling sound of her gas mask filtering the air was unsettling. It also meant there was still danger. Your hand went to your throat in confusion. Why weren’t you wearing one too?

‘You’ve been infected.’ Natasha called, staying carefully away from you in the med bay. ‘We think it's hallucinogenic, your pupils are blown wide.’

As if Natasha's words were a premonition, the world around her started to tilt. The edges of her figure started to blur and merge with the background. You tried not to fall back on the stretcher as the dizziness hit.

‘Wanda.’ You huffed out, fighting against the heaviness dragging you back under. You tried to find Natasha’s eyes behind the dark tinted glass of the helmet. Tears pricked your eyes, you could feel yourself slipping away. You were out of time again.

You felt a hand grip your arm at the last moment.

‘No matter what.’ Natasha’s voice assured you. It was the promise she’d made you a long time ago, Wanda would always be kept safe.

.

The next time you woke up, you were in a small room. The walls were concrete, the floor was concrete, the door was metal. 

You crawled to the corner, trying to remember if you’d been captured. Your mind felt heavy, thoughts blurring together.

Then, you heard her. 

A high pitched scream slid through the crack under the door, you flew against the wall at the shock of the sudden noise.

You lurched forward as you recognised it, stumbling to your feet. Your hands found the door handle. 

The scream came again, louder this time.

‘Wanda.’ You cried out, trying desperately at the door. It wouldn’t budge. Her screams sounded mangled now, choking off into sobs. 

Where was she? What were they doing to her?

You remembered nothing else as you slammed your shoulder against the door, shouting out your wife’s name.

The screams got louder and consequent images flashed through your mind. They were torturing her. The worst thoughts filled your mind. You were sure you could smell blood. Wanda must be close. You shouted again, slamming yourself desperately into the door.

Then, Wanda screamed your name and something inside you stopped responding. A feral panic made you more animal than human. 

You were going to have to get through concrete. Your fingernails scraped down the walls, the only thought driving you was that Wanda was on the other side. She wouldn’t stop screaming.

The disorientation was overwhelming, you lost yourself completely in the haze of her ceaseless screams.

Eventually you came to, seeing the bloody tracks already scraped into the wall. You knew it must have been you, but you couldn’t remember.

.

Natasha’s voice echoed suddenly into the room. Your head spun as you sought her out wildly. The room was still empty.

‘Wanda.’ You choked out, tears immediately flooding your cheeks in relief that someone could help. You couldn’t focus on what she was saying. 

‘You need to get Wanda, please Nat, please. They’re hurting her.’

Wanda’s screams began again, echoing off the walls and ricocheting around your mind. Your nails scratched your scalp as you fell to your knees.

You heard Natasha’s voice again, muffled and distorted like she was somewhere underwater.

‘Why are you still here?’ You screamed at the door. ‘Why aren’t you helping her?’ 

You buried your head in your hands, muffling another scream that bubbled out of you.

Confusion turned to rage and you seethed at Natasha’s continued unmoving presence behind the door. You hated your own uselessness. 

‘What about the baby?’ You shouted again, hearing the desperate edge plaguing your own voice. ‘Please Nat, please, she’s pregnant. They’re gonna kill her.’

You broke off into a cry at the words. You couldn’t hear anything but the neverending screams. 

You curled yourself against the wall, shakes wracking your body. You wondered how you could ever have feared death for yourself. 

Now Wanda was dying, she was being murdered. You’d never see your baby. The last piece of her was going to die along with her. You couldn’t fix it.

Your screams mixed with Wanda’s and you felt the emptiness slam into your own chest, like your baby was dying inside of you instead.

You wanted to die. You wanted it all to be over. There wasn’t anything else.

Wanda’s screams quietened and you sat, taut with the tension of waiting desperately to hear her and also dreading her voice.

Were they letting her rest, or was she finally dead?

Your heart beat stuttered erratically as you waited for some noise. Time dragged hellishly. Now, the silence was the worst of all. 

You drew your knees up to your chest, burying your face against them. You started to sob, some animalistic moan building in your chest at the inexpressible pain.

No future. No baby. No Wanda. 

Would there even be bodies to bury? You choked on the thought, and you heard your cries like they were someone else's.

.

Natasha’s voice echoed into the room once again. You froze at the sensation, looking around desperately for her figure. A grim hope flared in your chest once again. Natasha could still get you out, even if she wouldn’t help Wanda and the baby.

Once you were out of this room, you could get to them. You could still try.

‘(Y/N?)’ You recognised your name in Natasha’s voice, she sounded panicked. 

You lifted your head fully to lean against the wall, waiting for her to tell you the news you didn’t know how to hear. You were too late.

‘Wanda’s okay. She’s okay. Remember? No matter what.’

Your eyes closed at Natasha’s words, somehow, inherently, you trusted them.

‘No matter what.’ You rasped out, throat wrecked from your own screams. You heard Natasha’s message. There was still hope, this was still part of the mission.

As if called upon by Natasha’s words, Wanda’s voice returned again. 

Now, you heard the soft scared whimpers that you’d only heard before when you’d held her through the worst of nightmares.

‘Why is she still crying?’ You moaned out desperately, confusion clawing at you.

‘Your mind is playing tricks.’ Natasha told you again.

Wanda started begging. Begging for the baby, begging for you. You heard her desperate pleads and bile rose in your throat.

Natasha was lying. There was no way that your mind could invent this. 

You lay against the cold concrete floor, wishing you had been killed in one of the explosions.

They were still hurting her. You could picture the sharp knife from the way she whimpered quietly. She’d always been scared of knives. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks. You closed your eyes, desperate for unconsciousness.

You no longer had any concept of time. You only opened your eyes when you next registered a change in Wanda’s voice.

She was calling your name. It was soft like air. Your head flew up from its place on the floor and you turned disorientedly to find her. Before you could scramble to your feet, you registered her voice.

‘(Y/N) loves you.’ Wanda’s voice came softly into the room. You were sure the sound was sneaking in with the bright cracks of light surrounding the door. You inched closer, wanting to be near her more than anything in the world.

‘Even when I’m not here. (Y/N) is going to love you extra just for me.’

Your stomach rolled as you realised who Wanda was saying goodbye to. Misery pinned you to the floor. You stared upwards, unable to do anything but listen, as Wanda comforted the baby she knew she’d never see. 

Tears flooded down your cheeks and numbness started to creep in.

Time dragged on. You stayed close to the crack of light by the door. Your hand trailed the concrete wall miserably, wishing you could touch her skin instead.

Wanda was crying to herself somewhere nearby. You didn’t want her to be alone. Why didn’t she know you were here and that you loved her? Screams choked and died in your throat, knowing they’d be as useless as the ones you’d made before.

The worst part of their torture was the monotony of it all. You didn’t know how many times they brought Wanda to the edge of death, until her screams were uncontrolled and her desperate cries for you filled up the awful tiny room. But, every time they stopped, the only real certainty was that they’d start again.

You thought you might have slept, but time moved differently now. Your dreams seemed like reality and the two felt increasingly indistinguishable. You only stopped crying as the thirst began to kick in.

.

Eventually, small pieces of reality started to trickle back in. Thick white gas and metal faces swam abstractly in your mind. You clung to these thoughts hoping there’d be some clue in them to lead you to Wanda.

It took forever until you remembered Natasha’s words on the helicarrier.

Knowing that you were hallucinating didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. You knew it wasn’t really Wanda now. 

Still, the cries sounded real. Image after image of her lying dead just behind the metal door attacked your mind.

You couldn’t trust that she and the baby were safe. 

You tried to block out her voice, begging again for you to be spared.

You’d have thrown up. But, you hadn’t eaten either. Thirst parched you and your stomach felt hollow. You kept staring at the ceiling. 

You started hearing the desperate wails of an infant and you closed your eyes again. Waves of agony rolled through you at the sound and the urgent need to find your child. 

Wanda’s baby was screaming and that meant she was gone.

You started to cry again.

.

The bolt of the door scraped open slowly and, at first, you were sure it was another hallucination. You could see Natasha’s face this time.

Her hand extended out with a water bottle in it. Her eyes stared deep into yours.

‘Wanda is okay.’ She said clearly. ‘Do you understand?’ You tried to nod as new sobs of relief flooded through you. You believed her. You started to rock yourself again. 

Natasha crouched down next to you, one hand on your knee.

‘Quarantine is over.’ She told you succinctly, forcing the water bottle into your hand until you took it, obediently starting to drink. You emptied it in a few gulps, your thirst reminded you of the eternity you’d spent in here.

‘How long?’ You croaked out. 

‘Two days. We told her the mission got extended.’ Natasha’s tone told you how little she’s enjoyed keeping your pact.

‘She doesn’t know?’ You checked.

‘She’s not here.’ Natasha told you, as if this was answer enough.

You tried to speak again, but your throat closed up.

‘You can see her now.’ Natasha said simply, taking your hand and pulling you to your very shaky feet. You used her hand as a crutch as you moved gingerly towards the door. 

The corridor outside was unfamiliar, but you knew it was the Avengers Medical Wing from the logo on the wall. First you entered a small room, a fresh set of clothes lay folded. A bathroom stood off to the side. Natasha waited outside the door as you hurried through the tasks.

Soon, you shuffled through to a generic waiting room. Clint sat on one of the uncomfortable seats, head in his hands as he stared at the ground. He looked up as soon as he heard you coming.

‘Fuck. You look like shit.’ His eyes tracked your face worriedly. You didn’t have the energy for a comeback. You kept moving forward, turning your head only as you passed him.

‘Thank you.’ You told him. Clint glowered, knowing you meant keeping Wanda in the dark. He left quickly, kicking over a chair as he left the room. You understood why he couldn’t say ‘You’re welcome’.

Natasha’s arm moved tentatively around your shoulders but she didn’t make you slow your pace. You moved to the elevator, pressing the button for the floor you shared with Wanda.

You ached at how close she’s been the whole time.

‘And she’s fine?’ You checked again.

Wordlessly, Natasha handed you over your phone. The battery was nearly dead, but you saw the list of texts and calls. Wanda was safe, but she knew something was up. You swallowed nervously.

The doors opened onto your floor and you moved forward to the last door between you and Wanda. 

Natasha stayed in the elevator.

‘Thank you.’ You remembered before the elevator doors closed. Natasha just nodded once, and her eyes filled with a rush of worry you’d never seen before.

‘No matter what.’ She muttered. And you nodded. She didn’t know yet, but she was going to be a godmother soon.

.

You turned back to let yourself into the apartment. Your hand was shaking as you gripped the door handle. That recurring image of Wanda lying bleeding on the floor flitted through your mind.

You opened the door, fearing your worst nightmare. You held your breath.

Your first and only thought when you saw her, was that she was safe.

Wanda was sleeping in a chair, somehow sitting half upright. It looked uncomfortable. If her eyes had been open she’d have seen you enter, obviously having fallen asleep facing the door.

Not dead. Not dead. Not dead. 

Your mind chanted the only thing you’d prayed for in the last two days.

You moved wordlessly into the room, only knowing you wanted to touch her. To feel her warm and pressed against you.

Your hand grazed her arm softly. Wanda’s eyes opened instantly at the touch. She gave a small gasp at the sight of you.

‘I’m back.’ You said unnecessarily, trying to remember how to smile.

Wanda’s hand flew to her mouth, muffling a sob. Her cries were horrifyingly familiar to you. You knelt in front of her, trying to block out the sound automatically. Your hands gripped her thighs and your lips touched her belly, pressing a kiss there. 

You tried to remind yourself of reality.

Wanda’s hands gripped your shoulders, and you looked back up to her teary face.

‘Thank God.’ She mumbled, shifting forward in her seat. You rose to stand as she did the same, catching her in an embrace as she fell into your arms.

‘They wouldn’t tell me anything.’ She mumbled into your shirt.

 ‘Oh God, I thought they didn’t know how to tell me -.’ Wanda’s words trailed off into another round of sobs. 

You focused on the feeling of having her in your arms.

‘It was just a mission that ran long.’ You soothed, feeling her hot damp tears soak through your shirt. Wanda’s fingers clung to your shirt. 

‘You didn’t text me back.’ She whimpered. The aching familiarity of the sound reminded you all over again.

‘I wanted to.’ You promised, tears starting to run again down your own cheeks.

‘Are you okay?’ You had to ask, the fear of everything still eating you up inside. ‘And the baby?’

Wanda moved back in your hold, eyes searching yours. 

‘We’re fine.’ She whispered to you softly and you saw the tear tracks staining her face. ‘All we needed was you.’

You nodded dumbly, swallowing the hot lump in your throat.

Wanda’s fingers slid into your hair and she pulled your face to hers.

Her lips were soft, tasting a little of salt after all the tears. Her warmth was familiar, her touch held you safe.

You were home.

‘I’ll always come back.’ You mumbled a moment later against her lips, knowing now how difficult that promise was. 

‘No matter what.’

[teddiesworldd]

after the world ends.

ghost finds you out in the woods during a zombie outbreak and falls in love with you. (2.6K words) read part 2 here!!!

a/n: this idea has been on my mind for a while and it was so sweet i just had to write it down and share it with you <3 also, if you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know!

pairing: simon ghost riley x female reader

tags/warnings: nsfw, mdni!!, apocalypse au, mentions of weapons, killing (zombies), survival situation, unprotected p in v sex, cute fluffy stuff in the middle of a zombie apocalypse because why not?!, soap makes an appearance

day 17 of the apocalypse, 3 weeks after the first outbreak.

you had lasted this long purely by camping out in the back of your car, driving somewhere more remote to avoid the infected and rationing whatever you'd managed to bring in from your kitchen at the beginning of it all. but as supplies got low and you were down to your last water bottle, you were forced to venture out into the nearby woodland, gathering whatever you could forage from the streams and bushes. you knew absolutely nothing about surviving out here. you couldn’t hunt and could barely light a fire. the first day of winter was in less than a month and you had no real shelter to keep you warm. you had no idea which berries were safe to eat or how to filter water. all you had was your kitchen silverware for protection and your best winter jacket for the weather.

you’d last about 2 weeks out here at best, and that’s without the fucking zombies. 

you'd been walking for about an hour since leaving your car, and to be honest, you didn’t think you could find your way back now. everything looked the same. you had found only a pocketful of what you could only guess was edible, and a protein bar from the pocket of a dead guy’s jeans. every single noise scared the hell out of you. and the bite marks on his neck raised your adrenaline tenfold. 

thud. thud. snap.

footsteps. sticks breaking underfoot. 

“who’s there?” you called out. “i’m- i’m serious, come any closer and… and… i’ll kill you!”, shouting now, cold hand gripping your rusted kitchen knife tightly.

you saw a huge figure behind the trunk of a nearby tree, and he chuckled lowly at your brave attempt to scare him away. “you don’t scare me, sweetheart”, the voice said, deep and rough, walking out from behind the tree, “thought y'were a rabbit or something - cute lil' thing, rustling in those bushes. and if i was infected, you’d be dead by now, with a mouth on you like that.”

he was an absolute giant of a man, 6 and a half foot at least and built like a brick shithouse. he was in full military gear, skull mask over his face, armed with a rifle in hand and knives strapped to his chest and belt. he approached you slowly, palms facing you like he was trying not to spook a stray cat. part of you wondered if you were hallucinating - you'd not been sleeping well from the nightmares of the infected night after night.

“no use shouting, anyway - they’ll find you straight away making all that noise.” he continued, leaves crunching under his black boots, walking closer, “what’s a girl like you doing out 'ere, all alone?”

you were frozen in place, like a deer in headlights. he was already intimidating as fuck without the massive armoury hanging round his waist, but now he was so close you could feel his breath on your face. a thought crossed your mind that if he tried to kill you now, there would be absolutely nothing you could do to stop him. it made a shiver run down your back.

his gloved hand reached out to hold your chin. you looked up at him, eyes welling up from the pure fear that ran through you.

“lost?” he said quietly, tilting his head to get a proper look at you. 

you nodded slowly.

“well, you won’t get far with that old thing, love” he smirked through the mask, eyeing the blade in your hand. “here, i’ll take you back to camp with me, make you a proper meal, yeah? when did you eat last?”

you engaged in some light small talk on the way, finding out he was called “ghost” and he used to serve in a special operations unit for a private military company. i guess it made sense that the best survivors would be the soldiers. you mentioned how you’d been living in your car for the past two weeks, which seemed to amuse him. he probably thought you were just some dumb girl who’d somehow managed to scrape through until now.

he wasn’t wrong, really.

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

his camp was much nicer than the back of your car. 

it wasn't far from where he'd found you. they had lots of weapons and food and beds. and people. there must of been about 10 men in total. the infected weren’t really an issue with their impressive arsenal. there was a large fence surrounding the camp and the men took it in turns to kill anything that tried getting inside. it was pretty clear that ghost was closest to one of the other ex-military guys called "soap". they sat together when they ate and stayed up late at night talking together around the fire - matching dog tags glinting in the dim light. you often watched them through your tent door - enjoying their company but not wanting to interrupt their conversation. you listened as they talked deeply, recounting their time serving together, telling stories of bravery and bloodshed. it became your routine to fall asleep listening to them.

after about 3 or 4 weeks, following the first snowfall, you’d adjusted to life in the camp. soap had taught you a few things and often spent the mornings taking you hunting or showing you how to use the guns - a hand on your waist as he lined you up for the kill shot. he had a sweet nature and silly charm to him, telling you ridiculous jokes that only made you laugh because they were so stupid. you would never tell him that though - he thought you found him hilarious.

however, it was ghost you’d grown closest to, giving you anything and everything you needed. he was mysterious and that drew you to him. one time, he took you down to the river to wash the cookware and yourselves, and you'd caught a glimpse of him pulling off his clothes and mask, blonde hair and muscles seeing the light of day. you couldn't deny it - he was gorgeous.

he often checked on you in the evenings, making sure you’d settled in okay. he sat next to your bed, running a gloved hand over your hair, rubbing small circles into your scalp.

“you like the boys?” he’d ask, “they treating you okay?”

and you’d nod, just like you’d do every night.

“not scared, are you, doll?”

you shook your head.

“good. just making sure.”

and with that, he’d leave, heading to his own tent to rest, or out to guard the fence.

but one night, before he got up to get some sleep, you grabbed his hand. he looked back at you, dark eyes watching yours.

“stay?” you whispered.

and he did, without a word. stripping off his heavy gear and perching next to you in bed, rough camo trousers scratching against your bare shoulder. 

and he stayed, just like you asked. watching over you like a dog and keeping you safe.

sometime in the night, you’d turned to face him where he sat, resting an arm over his thigh. but he didn’t push you off. he just let you rest - your warm breath causing a dampness throughout the tent. 

it was only when the winter sunlight streamed through the tent that you realised he really did stay - all night. you opened your eyes to see he’d settled in next to you, his sleeping body alongside yours in the small camp bed, your arm still around him. 

and when you tried to pull yourself away out of embarrassment, he pulled it back, keeping it over his chest. 

“for warmth, yeah?” he said quietly, voice all deep and sleepy.

and how could you argue with that? these were trying times, after all. 

after a moment's silence, he said “you’re a pretty thing, love. always thought so, even when i first met you and you were all scared and dirty.” he continued, heavy eyes looking down at your vulnerable form. “soap thinks so too, but you’re mine, yeah? i found you - you’re mine.”

there was something about the possessive glint in his eye that showed you he really meant it - his gaze trailing down from your face to your uncovered hips that had shuffled out the sheets in your sleep.

"cm'ere" he said, taking your arm in his grasp and pulling you towards him. "i mean it, love. do you wan' to be mine?" eyes watching your face to see how you'd react to his question. your faces were close now, closer than they'd ever been. he'd looked after you so nicely, giving you everything you needed, protecting you from harm all this time. you couldn't help but agree with him. how could anyone not fall for this attractive man who cared for you so much? and the feeling of his chest under your hand made you fall for him even harder.

"yeah," you whispered against his masked face "...yours."

your small hand reached up to reveal his lips under his mask. he pulled you in, kissing you softly. it was short but there was so much behind it. you could tell he wanted more but he was holding back. he didn't want to accidentally push you away by moving too fast. he pulled back to look at you, hands cupping your soft face, which was still clouded with sleep.

"you're so beautiful, you know that?" he spoke so softly now. it was like the walls he'd put up had fell instantly. he just wanted a moment to be yours. no one else's. not the camp's cook or the guard or the hunter. just yours and nothing else.

you pulled yourself back to his face, kissing him again but soon moving your lips down to kiss his chin, and then his neck. but you didn't get far before he stopped you.

"no, no, love. let me take care of you - you deserve it." he said, turning you around so you were on your back, head resting on your plush pillow as his touch relaxed you.

it was almost as if for just a moment, you weren't in the middle of a fucking nightmare. you were at home, in your own bed. maybe you'd met him at work or out on a date - anywhere that wasn't in a forest full of zombies. and he'd taken you out for dinner a few times and you'd decided he was sweet enough to be kissing down your body, rolling his tongue over your nipples.

but here you were, in a camp full of strangers, being transported by this man who you barely knew, covered only by the walls of a thin tent. but it just felt so right to let him take you like this. you trusted him with your life. and in return he worked your body like magic. his touch was so gentle - yet his skin was so rough compared to your own.

"you want me inside you, baby?" he spoke to you so softly, having kissed down to the top of your underwear now. his eyes watched you, waiting for your permission to carry on.

"please," you replied, "i want you."

that was all he needed to hear. he pulled off his shirt and your underwear, tossing them both to the side. he admired your body shamelessly, eyes tracing the outline of your waist and your body. you couldn't help but do the same, entranced by the way his muscles practically glowed in the light that came through the tent. he was built like a rugby player, pure muscle but with a good layer of fat on top to smooth everything out. you watched as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock.

he was huge. you knew he was a big guy but you weren't expecting it to apply to all of him. it was definitely bigger than anyone you'd ever been with. his tip was an angry shade of red from how hard he was, precum running down his shaft. noticing the expression on your face, he reassured you.

"don't worry, i'll be gentle with you."

he lined himself up with your entrance, your wetness being enough to allow himself to push slowly inside. it stretched you more than you ever had been, causing you to hiss as it dipped inside you. he bent forward down to kiss you sweetly, silencing your pained noises, shushing you each time his lips left yours. he continued to move in until he bottomed out inside of you.

"you okay?" he grunted, "tell me when to move, love."

you paused for a moment, adjusting to his size before nodding to let him know he could start moving.

he didn't fuck like you expected him to. you thought a guy like him would be railing you like an animal, but no. he made love to you, his slow but deep thrusts hitting all the perfect spots in your gummy walls. it was pure bliss, and he thought so too, struggling to keep back his grunts each time he thrust into you.

"fucckkkk baby," he'd say, dog tag hanging down as he fucked you, "your pussy is so tight, gripping me so good". he hooked your legs behind his back and moved his big hands onto your hips to hold you in place. " is it good for you too, doll? you look so pretty with that fucked-out look on your face." he went on, smirking at you like he was proud of his work.

you couldn't even form words, let alone piece together a decent response. he felt amazing, pulling all the way out so only his tip was inside of you and then pushing all the way back in again, until you were an absolute drooling mess, jaw slack and whining on his cock. and just when you thought it couldn't get any better, he moved his hand between your legs and rubbed lazy circles on your clit with his thumb. almost instantly your pussy started pulsing around him - with you blubbering out incoherent swears and moans - having sent you completely over the edge in a matter of minutes. he wasn't far away either - your clenching making his hips stutter back and forth as he helped you ride through your orgasm. you could of swore you were seeing stars by the time he pulled out of you and came over your stomach with a moan, pressing his forehead to yours.

it took you both a few minutes to come back down again, giggling and kissing his lips once more. your arms found their way around his neck, holding him close to you. you were both a panting mess, clothes discarded across the tent floor and the scent of sex heavy in the air.

"my girl- you're gorgeous," he managed to huff out, catching his breath. " 'm never getting over you."

when news broke that a zombie apocalypse was spreading, you had no idea it would lead to this hunk of a man in bed with you - spoiling you and loving you like this. you weren't complaining, though. not at all. at least something good came from it.

he cleaned you up so carefully, being sure not to press too hard on your sensitive body. and when he'd made sure you were okay, he brought you something to eat and led down with you, stroking up and down on your back, drawing shapes and letters on your skin. part of you couldn't believe this was the same guy who you watched shoot a zombie in the face through the fence the other day. his hands were so gentle, always cautious not to hurt you under his touch.

and as your eyes grew heavy again, revelling in his embrace, you heard him say something into your skin.

"simon," he said quietly, face buried in your neck. "my real name's simon."

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[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter ten: Umasked Tension

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

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Series Masterlist

The sun barely filtered through the narrow windows of your quarters as the hours before the VIPs’ arrival drew closer. It was a strange, almost oppressive calm in the air, as though everything was waiting for the storm to hit. The excitement, the nerves—they buzzed just below the surface, threatening to bubble over at any moment.

As the clock ticked closer to the arrival of the VIPs, you began to get ready, slipping into a dress you had reserved for this moment. It was sleek and fitted, a deep shade of emerald green that brought out the natural warmth of your skin. The fabric shimmered faintly, catching the light as you moved, a quiet elegance that felt at odds with the world you were stepping into. The heels you chose were sharp, pointed, giving you a little more height, a little more presence as you prepared to walk into a room full of powerful, untouchable men.

When you finished dressing, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your reflection was almost foreign to you. The confident and powerful demeanor that you wore was ready, set aside for the moment, but the truth behind your eyes wasn’t hidden yet. There was a sadness there that even the most beautiful dress couldn’t conceal.

The door to the bedroom opened just then, and In-ho stepped in. He was dressed in his usual dark attire, the mask firmly in place. His presence filled the room, but there was something different today—an unspoken understanding between you both. Neither of you needed to say it aloud. You both would have to deal with stuck up rich guys.

“You’re ready,” he said, his voice softer than usual, but still carrying that familiar calmness.

You nodded, biting back a sigh. “I guess.”

There was a brief moment where he just looked at you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. His gaze wasn’t cold this time. It was different—something that made your heart skip a beat. It was almost like… concern? You couldn’t be sure, but the heat in your cheeks made you wonder if you were imagining it.

Then, without a word, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something. A mask. The same black one he always wore.

“This is for you,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still firm as he handed it to you.

Your fingers brushed against his as you took the mask, and for a moment, everything felt still. The mask was a reminder. A symbol. You weren’t you anymore. You were a piece of this twisted game.

You glanced at him, feeling the weight of the moment. “I’m ready.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but the look he gave you told you everything you needed to know. It wasn’t just about protecting your identity. It was about playing the game. And you both had already gotten too deep to turn back.

When you stepped into the grand hall, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The VIPs were already gathered, a mix of loud voices and expensive fabrics filling the room. The second you walked in, their eyes landed on you. It was like the room held its breath. The way they looked at you—like a rare piece of art they wanted to own, but could never touch—made your skin crawl.

You tried not to let it show. You couldn’t.

Your father was standing off to the side, his back straight, his expression as cold and distant as ever. He didn’t acknowledge you when you entered, didn’t even glance your way as you walked past him.

That sting—the ache that you couldn’t shake—came rushing back. You tried to hide it, bury it deep beneath the mask you wore. But it was hard. It hurt. More than you cared to admit.

In-ho must have noticed the change in your posture. His hand, warm and firm, landed on your shoulder for a brief moment. The touch was gentle, but it grounded you. Reminded you that, at least for now, you weren’t alone in this.

“You’re doing fine,” he whispered, his voice low, reassuring.

It didn’t fix the pain. Nothing could. But it was enough to keep you moving forward.

It wasn’t long before the VIPs began to circle. Their eyes stayed glued to you, their gazes hungry, eager to inspect, to dissect. They made comments—subtle at first, but the undertones were clear.

“You know, I’ve heard the Frontman is very protective of you,” one man said, his voice dripping with something darker. “But I bet he’s hiding something interesting behind that mask.”

Another VIP, younger, with a smug look on his face, stepped forward. “Maybe we should all get to know each other better,” he said, his eyes lingering on the ring on your finger. “If you’re interested, of course.”

The way they looked at you—it was like you were a puzzle they wanted to solve, something they couldn’t have, but would do anything to possess.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced a smile. You had to. It was part of the game. You had to play along, pretend you were just as interested in their hollow words as they were in your appearance.

Before any of them could step closer, In-ho was there. Like a shield. He placed a hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the VIP room with quiet authority.

“We’ll be escorting you now,” he said, his tone final, and for a moment, the VIPs seemed to respect the unspoken boundary.

You walked beside him, the tension between you both palpable, but at least for now, you were free from their unwanted attention.

When the VIPs had settled into the room, you thought you might finally get a moment to breathe. But the truth was, there was no escape. Not from the eyes that followed you, not from the games you were forced to play.

And then, you saw him again. Your father.

His eyes flickered to you once more. That cold look. No warmth. No recognition. He just… looked right through you.

It hurt.

———————

Chapter 10!!!!! Woohoo! Lemme know what you think! Thank you!

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[hollyoongs]

⤷ THANK YOU, SPIDEY!

시놉시스 ┆ tasm!𝙟ake, ─────⠀f!reader 𓂅 𝑤.𝑐: +4.5k ꒰ ⌗ fluff, angst and an attempt of crack ꒱ ↷⠀ ℰditoral ! 𓂂

It was one of those days where everything seemed to conspire against you; you knew it was going to be a rough day since you actually fell off the bed when your fifth alarm sounded, alerting you that you were going to be late. You watched your left wrist as you trudged through the bustling streets of New York City, sighing in relief as you noticed you still had time to arrive just in time.

Your camera bag felt heavy on your shoulder, but you blamed it on the fact that you couldn't shake off the feeling of exhaustion that clung to you like a stubborn shadow, in addition to the sweltering heat of the summer sun that only added to your irritation as you made your way to the Daily Bugle, where you were interning as a photographer.

Now, you actually liked your internship, despite the chaos that often unfolded around you. You have always liked capturing moments with your one and only camera, one that was a gift from your grandfather before passing away; he always told you that those pictures will always tell a story, freezing time with just the press of a shutter. But days like today tested your patience.

You finally entered the building, slipping past the crowded desks and skillfully dodging reporters that were frantically typing away at their articles; you could already hear Jameson ranting about something—but this time, it was someone. The new and masked hero in town, Spider-Man, was doing as he had usually done for the past 2 weeks.

Your possible future boss, Mr. Jameson, was notorious for his gruff demeanor and demanding nature, and today seemed to be no exception, as he barked orders at the staff. You adjusted the strap of your camera bag, rolling your shoulders as you approached your friend, Jay, who looked one bad headline away from quitting. When you sat on his desk, which was thankfully next to each other, he gave you a tired smile while handing you a bagel.

You gave it a bite and rolled your eyes in delight. “Don’t say anything; I brought another extra because I also skipped breakfast today.”

"You’re an angel… Rough already?"

"And it's not even 9 a.m." Jay spat in anger; you opened your bag to give him some of the jelly you always carry around. He took them slightly happier, tearing the packaging off and licking his lips before talking again. "He's now decided to put stupid challenges on everyone here. I spoke with his secretary, and she says he's getting jealous of the other newspaper company since they took the #1 place from us."

Jameson's screams got louder, and your neck turned to take a look at how he was walking to the employee launch. “Speaking of the devil.”

"Good luck." You raised an eyebrow at his words, looking back and forth at him and Jameson. “Hide the bagel.”

“What do you mean by ‘good luck’?” You whispered, but your expression spoke louder of the panic you started to feel.

"Ah, there you are," Mr. Jameson said. You braced yourself before turning to face him, a small smile plastered on your lips.

“Good morning, Mr. Jameson.”

"I've got a special assignment for you."

The word “special” itself was already making your brain think about any crazy options, feeling your heart sink at his words, knowing that whatever task he had in store would likely be thankless unless it benefited his pockets, just like Jay said in the past. But you nodded, steeling yourself for whatever was to come.

“May I know what you have in mind?”

"I want you to get me a picture of Spider-Man," he said bluntly, with no filter and zero emotions whatsoever.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at his request. Spider-Man? The one that is the talk of the town? You opened and closed your mouth, struggling to form words that were nice. Jameson arched an impatient brow, his foot tapping against the tiled floor that was causing you a headache.

“Well? You got a problem with that?”

You glanced at Jay, who was suddenly very invested in his bagel, offering no help. Turning back to Jameson, you forced yourself to nod. “No, sir, just… How exactly do you expect me to find him? We have no—"

“You’re a photographer, aren’t you? Use your damn head! That wall-crawling menace shows up all over the damn city. He isn’t shy about swinging around like he owns the place!” After that screaming session, he rubbed his temple, as if you were the one giving him a headache when it was the complete opposite. “I don't care how you do it—just get me a photo clear enough for the front page, or you'll be out of your ear."

And just like that, he turned on his heel and stomped off, barking at another poor intern about coffee.

Jay let out a low whistle. “Damn, he really hit you with that assignment, huh?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “What am I supposed to do? Just wander the city with my camera and hope Spider-Man swings by? Or maybe make an attempt of suicide to see if he can save me?”

“Wow, let’s not go that far, shall we?” He said, rolling his chair to your desk with a concerned face after seeing you actually think about your last question to attract the hero. “But I do think you just have to wait on the streets.” Jay shrugged, shoving the rest of his bagel into his mouth.

Sure, you’d seen Spider-Man in grainy photos on social media and extremely blurry clips on the news, but actually tracking him down? Getting a clear shot? That made a wave of panic wash over you.

The hours passed slowly, and 7 o'clock of the night finally arrived, which made you fly to the only place you were sure that you would be comfortable at the moment, Jake’s place.

More than his place, Jake has always been your safe haven, ever since you were kids. You still remember the first time you met—he was sitting alone in the playground, sniffling quietly while being bullied by a group of kids; the sight alone made you leave your friends behind for a moment to march right up to the ringleader and sink your teeth into his arm. You still remembered how Jake looked at you like you had just saved his entire world.

Since that day, you two became inseparable. He was the first person you’d call when you had good news and the first to show up when you needed a shoulder to lean on. He knew all your quirks, and in return, you knew him just as well. You knew the way he would start biting the straw of a drink he was having unconsciously, the way he always made sure you walked on the inside of the sidewalk, the way he’d drop everything the second he felt you needed him. Just like you need right now.

Work was way more stressful than usual, and that was reflected in your tensed shoulders that were screaming for a massage, but that would need to wait; the elevator reached the floor you picked, and you pushed the button to announce yourself. To your surprise, you found yourself with Ni-Ki.

“The del—oh, it’s just Y/N.” Before you could speak, he closed it again, soon hearing your name louder with a surprised tone, He opened the door again with a smile. You blinked at Ni-Ki, still processing the interaction. “Y/N! Hey! What are you doing here?” He leaned on the doorframe like nothing happened.

You squinted at Ni-ki, arms crossed. “Did you just try to shut the door at me?”

Ni-Ki let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “What? No, no. That was just… muscle memory!”

“Muscle memory?” You deadpanned, and he nodded.

“Yeah! You know there are these random people knocking on the doors to bother, and I just always happen to be here when that happens, and I just… close the door.” He did some mimicry to what he said, but you weren’t buying it.

Your eyes flicked past him, trying to catch a glimpse inside, but Ni-Ki moved along his head. “Is Jake home?”

“Uh, nope! I mean, yeah, but, uh… he’s doing… something. You should probably come back later.”

“Right.” You took a step forward, but he quickly blocked your path, his leg and arm on the other side of the doorframe. You sighed. “Nishimura Ri-Ki!”

“Yes, ma’am?” He said, his voice clear like he was a soldier as he stood normally.

“I had a horrible day at work to the point that I will actually cry myself to sleep today due to the amount of work I have to do plus an almost impossible task Mr. Jameson gave to me. I just need to talk to you two to make this day less miserable.”

“And this is why we will go out for boba, my treat!”

Your eyes narrowed further. “Ni-Ki. Move.”

“No can do.” He leaned against the doorframe again, arms stretched wide.

“I’m literally just here to see both of you and to take a nap.”

“And I’m literally just making sure you don’t—uh, I mean, that you’re comfortable. Jake doesn’t want visitors right now, does he?”

You rubbed your forehead, already having enough. “I come over all the time, and Jake’s never cared before. What’s really going-”

“He’s touching himself!” Neither you nor he expected that sentence, your eyes opening wide at the statement, your cheeks getting warmer as seconds passed by. It was Ni-Ki’s turn to open his mouth, but before he could come up with another excuse, a loud thud echoed from inside the apartment, followed by a very familiar voice muttering a string of curses.

“Ni-Ki! I came!” Ni-Ki looked back and then at you, red in his face as he made a small dance.

“Good job, Jake! Glad you came! We will be right back!” His voice got a little higher, and with a panicked face and awkward laugh, he closed the door even harder than before, startling you. Soon, the noise of things falling, more curses, and somebody hitting himself with furniture was the only thing that actually kept you sane.

"Hold on a second!" A few seconds passed, and Jake was the one who opened the door. He had his hair messy; he had grey sweatpants on and a hoodie that was bigger than his usual size. "Hey lensgirl! Wow, you look tired."

“Yeah, no thanks to Mr. Jameson,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I swear he’s actually trying to kill me with work.”

Jake fully opened the door with concern written all over his face, and that’s when you went for a hug, this time with tears going down, noticeably crying.

Jake was taken aback by your sudden display of emotion, immediately wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, rubbing your back soothingly. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself as you entered the apartment. "It's just… work," you managed to choke out between sobs. "Mr. Jameson… He wants me to get a photo of Spider-Man for the front page, and I—I don't know how to do it. I'm so screwed, Jake."

Jake's expression softened with understanding, though you had no idea just how much he truly understood. "Hey, it's okay," he repeated, guiding you to sit on the couch. "We'll figure it out, okay? You're not alone in this."

“And you know what’s the most fucked-up part? Until this morning, I had 2 weeks to give the picture, and he randomly decided to change the deadline to Thursday. I have three fucking days.”

Ni-Ki, hearing the commotion, came to the living room, a package of donuts in his hands. He took one donut and placed the rest on the table in front of the three of you. It was a very brief moment of silence before Ni-Ki spoke after taking a bite of his dessert. "You know what? Jake can help,"

You looked up at Ni-Ki, the hand Jake had in your back getting tense. "What did you say?"

"Jake knows Spider-Man. You could get a picture like that." He snapped his fingers to emphasize the quickness, and that’s when you lost it.

"Since when?!" You practically shouted at him, and he gave a shy smile, which you loved, but not right now since your only thought at the moment was of him being friends with the hero and not telling you.

Jake shot Ni-Ki a deadly glare, but the younger boy just shrugged, taking another bite of his donut like he hadn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell of the evening after all the excuses. You looked at Jake, and for a moment, he got lost in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t say ‘best friends,’ but… yeah.” You sat properly; your hands were now on his shoulders.

“So you know Spider-Man?”

“Uh… yes?”

“And you never told me?”

“I—well—”

“Y/N, you don’t understand,” Ni-Ki cut in. “Jake and Spider-Man are like this—” He crossed his fingers. “—so the picture? You got it.”

"Hey, your face looks awful due to the crying; how about we continue this conversation right after you clean yourself? Go to the bathroom; we will go to my bedroom." As you were protesting, Jake obligated you to go inside. The boys went straight to the room and locked it, Jake basically punching Ni-Ki for opening his mouth.

"Are you being serious?! Why did you say that?"

"You know I'm fond of her, and I can't stand her crying. And also, I'm doing you a favor; you've liked her since forever, and with this, you can make a move. And you know that she loves Spider-Man. I consider this a win."

Jake's heart raced as he processed Ni-Ki's words. He couldn't deny the truth about them. He had developed feelings for you for what felt like forever, but he never found the courage to act on them, and because of the sudden powers he got after being bitten by a spider, the dangers were too much to the point he would rather die with the secret in order to keep you safe if they get to know you’re his… something. That's how much he loved you.

Jake groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “This is not a win, Ni-Ki! This is a disaster!”

Ni-Ki flopped onto Jake’s bed, unbothered. “You’re being dramatic.”

Jake paced the room. "Okay, okay," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "But we have to be careful. She doesn't know about this, Ni-Ki. It's too risky."

Ni-Ki nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I won't say anything else, I promise. Only you have to stay cool; you get too nervous around her. I'm surprised you're not right now," he assured Jake.

"Because someone opened his mouth."

"Stop crying and be grateful. I pulled a move that you couldn't make for the past 4 years."

The door of the bedroom opens to you with your face clean; you actually had to wash your face the moment you saw your mascara falling down your cheeks through the mirror. You took a seat next to Ni-Ki and once again looked at Jake.

“Please, Jake, I need to take a picture for the front page; otherwise, I’m fired. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me the name of the person, but please.”

Jake shot Ni-Ki a glare before sighing. He couldn’t say no to you, not when you looked at him like that. But he also couldn’t risk exposing anything.

“Fine,” he relented. “I will talk to him and text you later.”

Your face lit up, smiling right away and contagiously affecting Jake with it. “Thank you so much, Jake. Really.”

Ni-Ki smirked as he watched the exchange, mouthing a silent “you’re welcome” to Jake, who simply rolled his eyes with the smile on his face when he felt small kisses on his neck.

Two days have already passed since that weird conversation and the explanation of Jake being friends with Spider-Man. It was still so odd to you, although that didn’t matter anymore when you felt your phone vibrating because of a text he sent to you.

"He’s arriving in five minutes; be ready!"

And here you were, waiting next to the entrance of the alley that was near the agreed-upon spot; it was getting late, and you could feel your heart beating fast when you saw a few guys in there, cigars in their hands, their auras as bad as how they looked. You felt a presence behind you, and you tried to move, but a hand grabbed you with enough force to pull you inside the alley.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them said, his grip on your wrist tightened, making you wince.

“Let go of me!” You snapped, trying to yank your arm away, but another one of them stepped closer, blocking your escape.

“Shhh, relax,” another one chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke before blowing it into your face. “We just want to talk.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you ignored the leering comments from the men in the alley. You clutched your camera bag tightly, feeling a surge of unease as you realized just how vulnerable you were in this dimly lit space.

Just as panic threatened to overtake you, a familiar sound cut through the tension—a whoosh of air followed by the distinct thud of impact. Before you could even process what was happening, Spider-Man descended from the shadows, landing gracefully in front of you with his trademark agility.

"Hey there, fellas," Spider-Man said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "I don't think the lady appreciates your company."

The men scoffed, eyeing Spider-Man with defiance and uncertainty. "And who are you supposed to be, huh?" One of them sneered, taking a step forward. You started taking your camera out of your bag, setting it up for a good shot, and taking as many photos as you could as both men focused on the hero.

Spider-Man's demeanor shifted subtly, his stance becoming more assertive as he addressed the group. "Let's just say I'm the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and I'm not too keen on seeing people hassle innocent bystanders, especially this pretty girl," he replied, his tone firm.

The men hesitated, sizing up the masked vigilante before them. They could barely move as Spider-Man sprang into action, his movements a blur of speed. All his movements were well calculated, and so were his dodges; his combat skills were even more impressive up close than seeing them on TV; he was a superhero.

It didn’t take him five minutes to leave them groaning on the ground in defeat; he effortlessly dispatched the thugs, taking a deep breath before turning to you and lightly running to the place you hid yourself.

You watched in awe as Spider-Man, his masked eyes meeting yours—at least you think they did—with a sense of warmth and reassurance. You took your camera and looked at the pictures, so many good enough to be front-page material.

"Are you okay there?" he asked, his concern evident even behind the mask.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you in his presence and how he came to you for these pictures. "Yeah, I'm okay," you stammered, still trying to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded before you. You felt some drops of water falling on your face, looking up at the sky and wondering if more drops were falling. "Damn it, it's raining."

"Then let me take you out of here." Without a warning, his hand wrapped around your waist, both of your bodies covering the camera; you felt his grip tender. "Hold on tight, lensgirl," you frown at the nickname. There's only one person that could call you like that, but you couldn't think much of it as you held dear life to him as he swung you around places, screaming and closing your eyes due to the fear.

You ended up on your apartment building—on your balcony, to be more exact—and the roof kept both of you off the water. You went inside for a moment to leave the camera in your bed and return. He was hanging from the ceiling as you watched him, forcing you to believe that everything that happened in the past ten minutes was not a dream.

"Don't you want to stand up? So you don't get dizzy."

"I like it this way. Don't worry. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

"No problem; that's my job."

"Because you're a hero," the masked guy sighs in front of you. It was one of those that made you question if he was really tired of hearing the word or if he had something else on his mind.

"Some people don't think so." And it was true; all the articles were more fake rumors to paint him as a bad guy; even your boys wanted to paint him as an awful person, not even considering that they are writing about someone who just really wants to help everyone.

"But you are, at least I think that."

"It's nice to have a fan as pretty as you."

"Let me say thank you."

"But you already did."

"I meant the pictures, not you saving me and my job." You approached him more, feeling the raindrops falling on your face; the sound of the rain in the background gave the ambiance.

He didn’t stop you, giving you a green light and trusting you; you slowly took the mask, only revealing his lips. A shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold rain. Your breath hitched as you took in the sight before you—it was a shape you had seen countless times, normal, curved in a teasing smile and even forming words that had irritated and amused you several times.

Your fingers trembled as you traced his lower lip, your mind going wild. No wonder Ni-Ki and Jake got nervous; no wonder Jake was the only one that could help you with the hero; and there's no wonder why he called you "Lensgirl."

Your pulse quickened as you whispered a sentence with the name you had a sinking feeling was correct.

"Thank you, Jake," when you felt his body stiffen, you placed your lips on his. His tense body shortly after calmed, and he slowly kissed back the almost electrifying kiss, his lips moving against yours in a way that felt so familiar. His fingers touched your hand in a way to ground himself, as if this moment wasn’t real unless he could feel you.

Everything made sense; all that scandal was all because he was Spider-Man, the hero you had admired from afar, and now he was the man whose lips were pressed against yours.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss, the world fading away until it was just the two of you tangled together on that rooftop balcony. The rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm against the loud city, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the soft, almost shaky exhale Jake let out as he deepened the kiss.

The moment you decided to pull away, he rested his forehead against yours, your breath mingling in the space between you.

"Wait… how?" he steadied his voice before asking, his voice quieter now.

"You let out "Lensgirl," and I've stared at your lips too much to actually know the shape." Your lips curled into a small smirk; he finally dropped himself, taking off his mask completely, revealing his red cheeks and normal shy demeanor.

He actually searched your face for any sign of rejection. "I know it's a lot to take in," he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "But I wanted to tell you, not in this way; I've got to learn to also be more careful."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up to cup his face in your hands, sinking in his words. "It’s okay, Jake," you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. "I just… I never imagined…"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jake leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss; this one was slower than the previous one. He pulled you closer with his hands on your waist; your hands rested on the back of his head. He pulled away this time, his gaze darting to the side like he used to do to gather his thoughts.

He went to your hands, holding them in front of his lips. “I wanted to tell you for a long time; I wanted to confess before all of this… Spider-Man thing. But then things changed. I changed.”

You stayed silent, giving him space to vent just like you were used to when it was your turn to be the shoulder he needed to lean on.

“I didn’t think being Spider-Man would be this big,” he continued, running a hand through his damp hair in frustration. “At first, it was just helping people—stopping small crimes, saving a cat from a tree. But then the bad guys started noticing, and suddenly, it wasn’t just me anymore. I’m part of the Avengers, and I had enemies. People who would do anything to get to me. And I would rather go to war than to put you in danger.”

“Jake…”

“You don’t know how many times I wanted to just blurt it out, but my mind simply remembered what could happen. What if they found out about you? What if they used you to get to me? What if they…” His voice cracked mid-sentence. Was he that terrified of you?

You forced yourself to let go of Jake's grip on your hands, this time putting your palms on his face and grabbing his face firmly. “I know what this means now, and I’m still here. I’ll be right next to you.”

“Are you sure? There’s no turning back.”

You nodded, “I don’t want to turn back.”

With a smile on your lips and love in your heart, you leaned into Jake's embrace, letting the warmth of his touch chase away the chill of the night as you watched the city skyline glitter in the rain.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You reached up, placing your hand against his chest, right on top of the spider in his suit. “You deserve to be loved, Jake. Not just as Spider-Man, but as you. And I’m glad that I love both of them.”

He gave you a smile before hugging you tightly. "Please write good news about me."

"Don’t worry, Jay is in charge of your paper, Spidey." You took the discarded Spider-Man mask on the floor and looked at it up close. “Wow, ‘Stark Industries.’ Fancy.”

“Give that back.” He tried to reach it; you were quick enough to put it behind your back teasingly.

“Come get it, Spidey,” you said, a smile on your face, not counting that his hand will go behind you to pull you closer for a quick peck. The sudden kiss caught you off guard, your breath hitching as Jake pulled away with a smug grin.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, snatching the mask from your hands before stepping back, twirling it around his finger.

“Cheater.”

He chuckles. “Nah, that was strategy. Plus I wanted to kiss you again.”

─── MY BABY IS OUT AND FREE! if you read something similar to this around april or may of last year, no worries, it was my work too and this version have way more stuff added (plus it's way better)

𓄴 𝐓aglist (mostly moots!): @hheeluv @awqken @taeghi @caratstick @021894s @hees-love @heechwe @intromortal @dollyyun @wwooyology @ja3yun @veilstqr @httpenhoon @firstclassjaylee

[sundaaz-e]

୨⎯ Stay a Little Longer ⎯୧

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes of gold across the bedroom. You stirred, squinting at the clock. 5:45 AM. Too early, but you had things to do. A long mission awaited, and every detail had to be perfect.

Carefully slipping out of bed, you reached for your duffel bag, hoping not to disturb the man still sprawled under the covers. You hadn’t even zipped the bag halfway before a low, gravelly voice broke the quiet.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You turned to see Shouta Aizawa sitting up, his dark hair a tangled mess and his eyes heavy with sleep. His gaze softened when it met yours, though he quickly masked it with his usual deadpan expression.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” you said, smiling apologetically.

“You didn’t,” he muttered, though the way he blinked sluggishly said otherwise. He yawned and stretched, the loose hem of his t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin.

You shook your head and returned to your packing. “Go back to bed, baby. I’ve got a lot to do before I head out.”

“Exactly why I’m not going back to bed,” he said, sliding off the mattress. Before you could protest, he grabbed the duffel bag from the floor and plopped onto the couch with it. “I’m helping.”

“You’re helping by taking my bag?”

“I’m making sure you don’t pack it so well you actually leave.” His tone was dead serious, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.

You sighed, walking over to reclaim the bag. “Very mature.”

“I don’t hear you denying it.”

By mid-morning, you had made decent progress despite Aizawa’s assistance. He followed you from room to room like an overgrown cat, leaning against doorframes or draping himself across your shoulders as you gathered your gear.

“Do you really need this?” he asked, holding up a portable comm device.

“Yes,” you said, snatching it back.

“What about this?” He held up a neatly folded uniform jacket.

“Shouta.”

“Fine.” He sighed dramatically, tossing the jacket into your bag before flopping onto the couch. “I still don’t see why you have to go. Don’t they have rookies for missions like this?”

“They need someone experienced,” you replied, checking your gear.

“You’re too experienced,” he argued, now lying across the couch with his arms crossed. “Retirement sounds great, doesn’t it? You and me, staying home, sleeping in—”

“Shouta, you’d lose your mind if you retired.”

“Maybe. But at least you’d be here to keep me sane.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel. But before you could move it to the door, Aizawa was there again, blocking the way.

“You’re relentless,” you teased.

“I’m a man in love,” he replied, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks.

When the time came to leave, Aizawa’s clinginess reached its peak. As you slipped on your boots, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a playful scowl on his face.

“You could stay,” he said, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “Tell them something came up. You sprained your ankle. Or your husband fell apart because you abandoned him.”

“Abandoned?” You echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Abandoned.” He stepped closer, tugging lightly on the scarf wrapped around your neck. “Seven days is too long.”

“Seven days will fly by,” you assured him, cupping his cheek.

He leaned into the touch, his usual stoicism crumbling for just a moment. “Call me. Every night.”

“I will.”

“And don’t get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. “If you come back late, I’m sending the kids after you.”

You laughed, hugging him back. “I’ll come home in one piece. I promise.”

Reluctantly, he let you go, watching as you stepped out the door. “Be safe.”

“Always.”

Aizawa lingered in the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets. He stayed there until you disappeared from view, already counting down the days until you’d be back.

[leaderwon]

HATE THAT...

chapter 55 — comforting unknown

Synopsis :- In a world where lovers are destined and written by fate, You hated the idea of a soulmate, or maybe you just hated him. Jake wanted a soulmate, a lover to be with for the rest of eternity. Just not you. Not wanting eachother, the both of you occupy yourself with someone else. But the universe had other plans.

luna's diary : my struggle to write this was actually real.

wc : 1.4k

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The morning sun filters weakly through your curtains, casting pale streaks across your room. You sit up slowly, the weight in your chest settling in as reality seeps back in. Today is the day. The parent-teacher meeting where everything about Iseul’s harassment will be laid bare. You’ve waited for this moment, for the truth to come out—but it doesn’t stop the nerves twisting in your stomach.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. A part of you is scared, anxious. The thought of everyone’s eyes on you, watching as you share those screenshots and messages, is enough to make you second-guess everything. But you remind yourself that this is necessary. After all the hurt, the lies, and the silence, the truth has to come out. You’ve been carrying this weight alone for too long.

You pull on your clothes, trying to shake off the lingering dread, and head out, bracing yourself as you make your way across campus. When you reach the meeting hall, a small group is already gathered: professors, administrators, and some students. The tension in the air is thick, and every glance in your direction feels loaded with curiosity and judgment. You glance over at your friends—Yunjin, Ningning, Huening Kai, Shotaro, and Jake—all of whom had sided with Iseul at first. They stand together, casting hesitant glances your way. You can’t ignore the sting of betrayal, even if they’re here now.

As the room quiets, you step forward, clearing your throat to get everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for being here,” you start, surprised at how steady your voice sounds. “I’ve stayed silent for a long time about what’s been happening. I kept thinking if I just ignored it, it would stop. But I was wrong. It only got worse.” You pause, glancing at the floor, gathering the courage to go on. “Iseul has been harassing me for months. I didn’t tell anyone because I was afraid no one would believe me. And when I finally tried to speak up, I was… shut down.” Your eyes drift to your friends, the words hanging between you.

The professors exchange glances, visibly surprised, but they don’t interrupt. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “Iseul spread rumors, twisted my words, and turned people against me. But today, I want to show everyone the truth.” With a shaky hand, you pull the pendrive from your pocket and pass it to the professor.

The lights dim as the video begins, displaying messages that no one can deny. Line by line, the reality of Iseul’s cruelty unfolds, each message colder than the last. The accusations, the threats, the venomous lies—it’s all there, undeniable and raw.

It’s undeniable. Every line is clear, every timestamp visible. A few gasps echo through the room as people realize the extent of what’s been said, the cruelty laced into every sentence. You watch Iseul’s parents stiffen, shock and embarrassment written across their faces as they look at their daughter, who now sits slouched in her chair, her face a mask of horror and shame. She’s no longer the untouchable, invincible presence she used to be—now, she looks small, exposed.

You glance over at Jake. He’s not looking at the screen; instead, he’s staring down at his hands, fingers fidgeting nervously. He hadn’t known the full extent of Iseul’s messages either, and you can see the regret etched across his face. His loyalty to Iseul had faltered once he learned the truth, but that realization had come too late. You’re grateful he’s no longer blinded by her lies, but the damage had been done. You’d faced the brunt of her words alone, while the people you thought would stand by you chose to believe the worst.

Iseul’s parents sit in stunned silence, their expressions shifting from disbelief to anger. Her father rises first, his voice low but sharp. “How could you do this?” he demands, while her mother’s face twists with disappointment. A harsh slap rings out as her mother’s hand meets Iseul’s cheek, leaving her momentarily stunned, a flicker of panic crossing her face.

Scrambling to regain control, Iseul’s eyes dart to Jake. She steps closer to him, her voice barely a whisper. “Jake, you know me,” she pleads, her hands reaching out in desperation. “You know I’d never do something like this, right?” But Jake’s gaze is cold, his jaw clenched. He takes a step back, shaking his head. “I didn’t think you could…but I guess I was wrong,” he says, his voice laced with regret.

Before she can argue further, the principal steps forward, breaking the tension with a formal announcement. “Iseul, effective immediately, you are suspended pending further disciplinary action,” he declares, the words final and unyielding. Iseul’s shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her as her parents usher her out of the room.

As the last of the crowd disperses, a weight lifts from your shoulders, replaced by a quiet, unfamiliar sense of relief. You breathe deeply, letting the air fill your lungs fully for the first time in months. It’s over. The lies, the manipulation, the endless, gnawing dread—they’re all over.

A burst of laughter and cheers interrupts your thoughts as Yunjin, Ningning, Huening Kai, and Shotaro approach, their faces lit with excitement. Ningning reaches for your hand, squeezing it with a warm smile. "You did it, Y/N. Finally." There’s genuine happiness in their voices, but beneath it, a tension lingers—an unspoken weight that reminds you of everything that’s happened between you.

You manage a small smile, feeling the tightness in your chest ease, but before long, you turn to leave. Just as you reach the door, Yunjin steps in front of you, blocking your path. “Hey, don’t go yet,” she says softly. “Let’s stay together, hang out for a while.”

For a moment, you’re tempted. It would be easy to go back, to slip into that comfort again. But then you remember all the times they doubted you, the way they chose Iseul’s words over yours without question. The sting of betrayal returns, sharp and undeniable. You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “I can’t, Yunjin. I know you’re sorry, but it doesn’t change what happened. All of this…it damaged our friendship. I don’t think we can go back to how it was before.”

Yunjin’s face falls, and a quiet disappointment shadows her eyes, but she steps aside, allowing you to leave. As you step out, the quiet hallway stretches before you, offering a fragile sense of peace—until you hear footsteps behind you. Turning, you find Jake, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze filled with regret.

“Y/N, please,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can we just…try again? I made a mistake. I should have listened to you, I know that now.” You swallow, your heart aching as you meet his gaze. “Jake, I don’t think I can. Not after everything. This isn’t the first time. You hurt me when you believed Iseul over me—and that’s not something I can just forget.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come. Instead, he looks at you with a desperate, pleading expression. “I know I’ve hurt you. I was wrong, I admit it. But I want to make it up to you. Please, give me a chance.”

You sigh, feeling the sadness settle over you. His apology doesn’t change the scars he left. “I’m sorry, Jake,” you say softly. “But I don’t think anything can fix this.”

With that, you turn away, leaving him standing there in the hallway as you walk forward, finally free from the weight of Iseul’s lies—and from the ties that once held you back.

As you step outside, the cool breeze hits your face, carrying away the remnants of the day’s tension. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel light—unburdened by secrets, unchained from betrayal. There’s an ache in your chest where the closeness with your friends used to be, but somehow, that emptiness feels freeing. The road ahead is uncertain, but it’s yours alone, and right now, that’s all you need. With a final glance back, you let go of everything holding you down and walk forward into the quiet, comforting unknown.

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© @leaderwon 2024. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[pandemic-info]

A Review of Filtration Performance of Protective Masks - PMC

With H5N1 reported in at least two* humans in the past month, we need to talk about airborne transmission and how masks work. Again.

(*edit: https://www.cidrap.umn.edu/avian-influenza-bird-flu/oregon-reports-first-h5-case-farm-worker-california-reports-5-more)

Is flu airborne?

Generally yes. Even if it is not the most efficient mode of transmission for every virus.

Citations:

https://www.nih.gov/news-events/nih-research-matters/testing-transmission-infection-h5n1-cows

https://newsinhealth.nih.gov/2023/12/clearing-air

"...recently measured how often virus is exhaled by people with the flu. He found that about 80% exhaled some influenza, the virus that causes flu. Most of the virus was found in the tiny airborne aerosols. People didn’t have to cough or sneeze to expel these viruses into the air. The flu virus was detectable in the air after normal breathing and talking."

Do N95 masks protect against viruses smaller than 300 nm (.3 microns)?

Also yes, because masks do NOT work like a sieve:

N95s employ electrostatic filtering to keep viruses stuck to the mask rather than passing through.

Brownian motion (particles moving through fluids / air randomly) also helps them get stuck to the surface.

And this is why you don't want to be touching the front of your mask, nor storing it improperly. For example, if you take it off and put it in your pocket, and then your hand later goes in that same pocket, then wipes your nose...

See also:

For the time being it should be relatively easy to avoid other modes of transmission since we have protective measures for public health — like pasteurization. But certain individuals who entertain "alternative facts" directly state that they want to dismantle such protections in favor of Appeal to Nature fallacy (e.g. "raw milk is best"), and they are currently being picked to lead government agencies.

[rosesareredrosa]

One More Chance

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Y/n stumbles upon Mattheo while going to the library after they broke up but Mattheo wants One More Chance in their relationship

w/c: 832

The dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts were quiet, the echo of footsteps bouncing off the ancient stone walls as Y/N made her way towards the library. The evening was drawing in, the golden light from the setting sun filtering through the narrow windows and casting long shadows. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, more out of habit than need—after all, it was late autumn, and the chill had only just started to creep in.

As she turned the corner, she nearly bumped into someone. Y/N took a step back, her breath catching when she recognized who it was.

"Mattheo," she greeted, her voice coming out steadier than she felt. She hadn't expected to run into him, not here, not now. Her pulse quickened, memories she had tried so hard to bury threatening to resurface.

Mattheo Riddle stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his robe, his dark eyes watching her intently. There was a glimmer of something—mischief, perhaps?—that danced behind his gaze, something that had always drawn her in. His tousled curls and easy smirk were as infuriatingly attractive as ever.

"Y/N," he replied, his voice smooth, carrying a hint of surprise that he didn't bother to mask. "Fancy running into you here."

She stiffened slightly, unwilling to let herself be swayed by the familiar charm in his tone. She had built walls around her heart since they had parted ways, and she wasn't about to let him chip away at them again.

"I was just heading to the library," she said coolly, sidestepping him. "Excuse me."

But Mattheo moved too, blocking her path. "In a hurry?"

Y/N sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "What do you want, Mattheo?"

He tilted his head, studying her as if trying to unravel a mystery. "I just wanted to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about," she retorted, keeping her tone brisk, despite the way her heart thudded in her chest.

"Is that so?" Mattheo mused, not moving an inch. "You don't still have feelings for me, do you?"

The question caught her off guard. Heat rose to her cheeks, but she forced herself to meet his gaze with a sharp glare. "Oh, why would I? We broke it off for a reason, didn't we?"

Mattheo's smirk faltered, replaced by a more serious expression. His eyes softened slightly, and for a moment, the bravado dropped. "We did. But it doesn't mean it was easy. Or that it didn't matter."

Y/N felt her resolve wavering, memories of late-night conversations, shared secrets, and stolen kisses flooding her mind. She had convinced herself that ending things was for the best, that they were too different, that he was too reckless and she too cautious. But the truth was that she had never really let go of him.

She shook her head, determined to keep her emotions in check. "It doesn't matter anymore, Mattheo. We made our choices."

He sighed, his posture relaxing as he leaned back against the wall. "Maybe. But I can't help but wonder…if we made the right ones."

Her heart clenched at his words, but she forced herself to stay firm. "You can't change the past."

"Maybe not," he conceded, "but the future? That's still up for grabs."

Y/N bit her lip, torn between the desire to walk away and the pull of what could be. The chemistry between them had always been undeniable, a spark that never quite fizzled out, even after they parted ways.

"Why are you saying this now?" she asked, her voice softer, almost vulnerable. "What's changed?"

Mattheo looked at her with a seriousness she hadn't seen before. "I realized that letting you go was a mistake. I've been thinking about it a lot, and I can't shake the feeling that we gave up too easily."

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. Part of her had hoped he would say something like this, while the other part was terrified of reopening old wounds. "Mattheo…"

He stepped closer, his voice low, earnest. "I'm not asking for everything to go back to the way it was. But I am asking for a second chance. To see if we can figure this out, together."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she looked up into his eyes. She saw sincerity there, a glimmer of the boy she had fallen for mixed with the man he was becoming. The future was uncertain, but as she stood there, she realized that maybe, just maybe, it was worth taking the risk.

"Alright," she whispered, barely believing her own words. "One more chance."

A slow, genuine smile spread across Mattheo's face, one that made her heart skip a beat. "One more chance," he echoed, his voice filled with promise.

And as they stood there, in the quiet corridor of Hogwarts, it felt like the beginning of something new—something that had been left unfinished, but was now ready to be written.

[ahsokatroi]

Tim Drake wouldn’t get help for his experience as JJ. Oh he’d want to, he’d want to address anything that could hinder his ability to do his job as a vigilante-detective. But with the unfortunate lack of therapists who are in-the-know, he would be left with no options. So he would dissociate, bottle it up, and pretend it’s not an issue. He would be scary good at hiding it, so much that it wouldn’t take long for him to convince even Bruce that he’s over it.

Then one day on patrol, he gets hit with fear toxin and his mask isn’t able/available to filter it. His ears are flooded with echoing maniacal laughter. His skin itches and burns, remembering the chemicals. His muscles twitch and spasm, remembering the electrocution. He tries unsuccessfully to keep himself from hyperventilating, and the gasps quickly turn into something else. Soon, his eyes are frozen wide with terror as he chokes on laughing sobs.

From here it could go one of two ways, and both of them hurt.

Option 1:

Jason of all people is the one who finds him or is there with him. His helmet filters out the toxin, so he’s unaffected. He gets Tim out of danger and gets him somewhere safe. Tim just barely manages to pull a syringe out of his belt and give it to Jason. His hands are trembling too much to give himself the antidote. Jason of course knows what it is, and quickly pushes it into his arm. Tim almost breaks the needle with how hard he flinches.

The burning in his skin fades to a mild sting, and his muscles no longer twitch in response to a memory. The echoes of maniacal laughter slowly fade from his ears, and his diaphragm finally stops forcing laughter through his airway. All that remains are the sobs. And they don’t stop.

Jason hasn’t moved, hasn’t let go of his brother’s arm. He doesn’t really know what to do. He doesn’t know what the toxin forced Tim to relive, and the two of them don’t exactly have a wholesome history. He worries that Tim is reliving his attack on Titan’s Tower. Which is why he becomes frozen in shock when Tim grabs at his jacket with shaking hands and places his head on Jason’s chest.

Jason is confused and somewhat worried for his brother’s sanity, but he doesn’t break the hug. He doesn’t know that Tim sees the same thing as Jason when confronted with his worst fear. He doesn’t know that for Tim, fear wears a bleached-white face and blood-red lips and green hair. He doesn’t know that the reason his brother turned to him for comfort is because he understands what it’s like to be broken by the Joker.

All Jason knows is that Tim needed comfort and turned to him for it. So he wraps his arms around his brother and lets him cry into his chest.

Option 2:

No one is there. Tim crawls and staggers away from the gas, dizzy and unable to catch his breath through the suffocating laughter. He leans against a wall in an alley, and slides to the ground. He fumbles with the clasps on his gauntlet, then pulls it off with his teeth when they come undone. He struggles to keep his hand still enough to pull the antidote out of his pocket. He has to brace himself on the wall to keep his hand somewhat steady, but he manages to stick the syringe into his vein and push the plunger down.

He loses track of time while he sits there, curled against an alley wall, sobbing. After what seems like hours, he finally picks his head up from its position on his arms, and he breathes. He focuses on making his lungs even out and pace themselves, hiccuping every now and then.

He sniffs, clearing his runny nose, and pulls himself up on trembling legs. He takes a few more deep breaths, then heads toward his motorcycle.

By the time he reaches the cave, the cold air has eased the redness in his face and his muscles have stopped shaking. He parks his bike and makes his way to the computer to fill out his report, but doesn’t remove his mask. Bruce reads the report, and asks about the fear toxin. Most people wouldn’t be able to hear the concern in his voice. Tim isn’t most people. But he’s fine. The toxin didn’t have any lasting physical side effects, and the mental ones are nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. So he brushes off Bruce’s concern, saying he got away without being touched by the toxin. Bruce gives him a long look, then hm’s and turns back to the computer.

Tim heads for the shower, and rinses off the last evidence that his eyes had ever shed tears that night. He goes to his room afterward, and sits with his computer, determinedly avoiding sleep. Dreading the moment his body forces him into unconsciousness, where the Joker long ago took up residence.

[ohgodthevoices]

Rule 27– a dealer! Suna x reader

: ̗̀➛ cw : drugs , smoking , alcohol , angst , toxic but addictive, bad influence , addictions

: ̗̀➛ tags : f!reader , college au , corruption arc , smau/written fic , not proof-read , mix of actual story and funsies

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Part.3 ೃ༄| masterlist

the party was already packed and you were a few drinks in, music too loud, bodies moving like one chaotic mess, the air thick with heat and liquor. It’s the kind of scene that should make you loosen up, but there’s something off. or maybe you’re just distracted, your phone buzzes.

you put your phone down, reaching for another drink when— you feel it before you see it, a slow deliberate kind of presence, you finally glance up at him and if it wasn’t for his eyes you wouldn’t have recognized him “took ya long enough” he didn’t have his usual ‘hood on mask up’ appearance, he was sipping on his own cup as he leans over the counter like he’s been here the whole time. his half-lidded gaze drags over you—slow, knowing—

“how long have you been watching me you creep” suna did not stop staring at you even after you called him a creep, he simply sighed and pushed himself off the counter making a simple gesture with his head asking you to follow him. and you did , you followed him down the hallway, past drunken conversations and people too wasted to notice. a door creaks open, and suddenly, you’re in a dimly lit room—someone’s bedroom, your eyes widen and you looked at him , it took him a second but he scoffed , reaching for his back pocket “chill i’m not doin anythin’ to ya , just wanted a smoke buddy” he sat down on the edge of the bed “ur down right ?” , you stared at him for a bit longer than you should’ve , your vision wasn’t clear and you felt dizzy. but pushing that feeling to the side you sigh and say next to him, analyzing the way he was focused on the rolling paper in front of him, your gaze shifted to his hands, his thin longer fingers, the way he seemed to be so careful yet so carefree—

“don’t worry about paying , it’s on me” he didn’t look at you when he said it, just held out a small piece of card. you blinked, taking a second to realize—he wanted you to make the filter. you take the card from his fingers, rubbing the edge between your thumb and index before rolling it into a tight spiral. your hands aren’t as practiced as his, but you manage.

suna doesn’t say anything, just watches from the corner of his eye, the silence stretches—not awkward, just… there. like neither of you are in a rush to fill it.

he takes it from you, placing the filter in before sealing the joint and bringing it to his lips, lighting it with an ease that tells you this is routine. the ember glows red, smoke curling through the air as he inhales.

he exhales slow. “you always this quiet?” , you shrug , taking it from him before taking a drag aswell “well you don’t seem like the talkative type” Suna lets out a short breath—something between a scoff and a laugh as he leans back against the headboard. “fair.”

you take another drag, letting the smoke sit in your lungs before exhaling and handing it to him. the haze in the room thickens, the space between you narrowing in a way that feels… different. not uncomfortable, just charged.

“you always follow random guys into rooms at parties?” he asks, voice low, teasing. “you always lure girls into rooms for a smoke?” his lips twitch, barely there. “only the ones who call me a creep.”

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. the noise from the party outside feels far away now, like it belongs to a different world. here, in this dimly lit room, with suna half-lidded and watching you between slow drags, it almost feels like something else entirely.

your phone buzzes against your thigh. you glance at the screen.

kuroo : where tf are u

then another.

tsumu: Get outside. Now.

your stomach twists. you press your lips together, debating. suna looked at you phone “gotta go?” you exhale, standing up. “yeah” he nods once, lazy, unfazed. but just as you reach for the door—

“I was watching you for, like, five minutes.”

you pause. look back.

suna’s still lounging, joint between his fingers, eyes heavy-lidded as he meets your gaze. damn that was kinda hot-

“you asked earlier,” he reminds you, exhaling slow. “how long I was watching you.”

“freak.” you closed the door behind you with a smirk

a/n : i’m officially on vacation for two weeks , ill be updating any series i have and catching up on asks !

taglist (comment to be added) : @miss-manupilative @spymei @rayluvskags @loveyislost @jadebat7 @sobbangchan @luvlybeom @origamipivo @piopioo @yuj111tadori @kamikat

[rottenpumpkin13]

Sephiroth falling asleep in the chopper is adorable, but it makes me wonder: where else does he fall asleep randomly? Or does he have enough selfcontrol to avoid dozing off anywhere?

It depends on how serious the situation is. High stress environment? He's alert and focused. Boring meeting that should've been an email which Genesis has interrupted six times already to ask Lazard to re-explain? He's not above using his hair as an eye mask. Anyway,

Random Places Sephiroth Has Fallen Asleep, A List:

• In the elevator at 4 in the morning, exhausted after pulling three consecutive all-nighters. "I'll just close my eyes for two seconds" turned into rock, paper, scissors between Angeal and Genesis over who would have to wake him up, startle him, and take the involuntary slap to the face.

• In the corner of the briefing room using Genesis' balled-up coat as a pillow.

• A mandatory lecture at HQ, where Hojo was the speaker and he was wedged between Angeal and Genesis. He woke up briefly. made direct eye contact with Hojo, and then proceeded to snuggle up on Angeal's shoulder, use Genesis' arm as a cuddle item, and falling back asleep.

• Angeal.

• In the men's room at SOLDIER when Genesis was taking too long. Lazard walked in and saw Genesis manically fixing his hair. Then he noticed Sephiroth sleeping, cross-legged, arms crossed underneath the hand dryer for warmth. He then checked their pockets for drugs.

• On the couch in Genesis' apartment right before a night out, cuddling a bottle of liquor Genesis asked him to hold. Genesis then took a photo of this to use as blackmail.

• Sprawled out in the sunlight filtering through the windows in the lounge. On the floor. Zack tripped over him.

[sunshineangel0]

chapter thirteen

pairing- bang chan x OC (Chi Nakamura) genre- angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn romance word count- ~1.6k warnings- emotionally charged confrontation, a little bit of spice (closed door), (implied) aftercare. a/n- Hope you enjoy the ache and softness in equal measure. 🖤

By 10:15, she’d given up waiting. She shut her phone off completely—no more buzzes, no more notifications, no more new followers, no more strangers commenting on her face.

The world could spin without her tonight.

She paced her apartment barefoot, still wearing the clothes from work. Flour smudged on her sleeve. Coffee stain on her shirt. The kind of day where she hadn’t had time to notice. Or care.

She poured herself a glass of water. Didn’t drink it.

Stared out the window, watching the streetlights blink.

It was quiet here. Her apartment had always been quiet. Safe. A few succulents on the sill. A messy bookshelf. Mismatched mugs. She’d built it all herself. No cameras. No filters.

Just Chi.

And now the internet knew her name. Her face. Her laugh. Her kiss.

Her phone stayed off.

The knock came at 10:41 PM.

She didn’t move at first. Just stared at the door, heart hammering. A second knock followed—harder this time. Urgent.

She grabbed her phone. Still off.

Then heard it:

“Chi. It’s me.”

His voice. Muffled through the door.

Her blood ran cold.

“Please open up.”

She hesitated. Her hand hovered over the handle.

And then, even though she did not know why—she did it.

Chris looked like hell.

Hoodie up. No mask. Eyes red. Hair a mess. One hand in his pocket like he was trying to keep himself together.

“Hi,” he said, breathless. “I know. I know you don’t want to see me. But I—”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping back. Her voice was sharp. “Are you insane? You showed up at my door at night—without telling me—and you think that’s okay?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he said. “You weren’t answering, and I was losing my mind.”

“Good,” she snapped. “You should.”

She turned away, but he followed her inside.

“I didn’t come to fight—”

“Well, too bad,” she bit out, spinning to face him. “Because I’ve been fighting all day. With myself. With strangers. With my coworkers whispering behind my back. With fans filming me while I tried to make a fucking latte. So yeah, Chris, maybe it’s your turn.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.

“I never wanted this to happen like that,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t planned. It was just… us.”

“It wasn’t just us,” she said. Her voice cracked. “It stopped being just us the second someone recorded it.”

He flinched.

She kept going. “You could’ve warned me. Told me what might happen. Anything. But you didn’t. You kissed me like no one was watching. And then when everyone was—you went silent.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said.

“No, you were trying to protect yourself. Your image. Your contract. Your clean PR file.” She laughed bitterly. “And you still couldn’t even do that right.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you know how any of this works.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she shot back, voice rising. “Was I supposed to read the K-pop girlfriend handbook before getting kissed in public by an idol?”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen!” he yelled suddenly.

Silence followed. Thick. Shaking.

Chi stared at him. “But it did. And you didn’t think about me until it was already too late.”

He looked down. Hands trembling now. “That’s not true.”

“No?” she whispered.

And then—something broke in him.

“I loved that moment,” he said. “That kiss. I was tired of hiding. Tired of pretending like I didn’t care about you in public. I just wanted—one second where it felt real. Where I didn’t have to lie.”

Her breath caught.

“I know I messed it up,” he said. “I know I should’ve told you how bad it could get. But I was selfish. I just… I wanted you more than I wanted to be careful.”

The words hung between them.

Chi’s eyes burned.

“And now look at you,” she whispered. “Standing in my apartment like an idiot while my life crumbles because of a kiss you couldn’t keep private.”

He looked up. And suddenly, she could see all of it—his guilt, his fear, his love—bleeding through his eyes.

“You think I don’t hate myself for that?” he said, voice hoarse. “You think this hasn’t been killing me all day?”

Then: “I thought you were gone.”

Something in her cracked wide open.

“I almost was. I don´t want to do it like this, chris. i don´t want to-"

Chris moved before she could finish.

His hands cupped her face, rough and shaky, and he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate. Apologetic. A thousand emotions shoved into one impossible act.

She shoved at his chest. “Don’t—”

He kissed her again. Her tears were still falling. Her hands still trembled.

But her mouth opened under his, because God help her, she missed him too.

Everything in her screamed not to. But her body didn’t listen.

His mouth was warm, familiar, frantic. His hands buried in her hair. Her nails dug into his hoodie, pulling him closer even as she burned with anger.

He broke away just enough to say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” before kissing her again, harder this time, like he could make it true with his mouth.

She pulled him toward her without thinking, walking backward, guiding him toward the bedroom because if they were going to burn everything down, she wanted it to happen where no one could watch.

Her knees hit the edge of the mattress.

She didn’t stop.

His hoodie hit the floor first, yanked over his head with shaking hands.

Then her shirt, tugged off in one breathless motion.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

Every kiss was a clash — desperate, raw, full of everything they hadn’t said. Her tears streaked down her face, but he didn’t pull away. He kissed through them — her cheeks, her jaw, her throat. Then lower. Her collarbone, her shoulder, the swell of her chest. His hands followed, firm and reverent, like he was learning her body by heart.

He whispered her name over and over, like it was the only prayer he knew.

When he finally hovered over her, breath shallow, eyes wide and dark, he paused.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice cracking.

She shook her head.

“Chi. Say it.”

Her fingers curled into his back. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

She pulled him down, and he listened.

The room was quiet. Only the hum of traffic outside and the rustle of bedsheets filled the silence.

Chi lay on her back, hair damp against the pillow, chest rising and falling in slow, unsteady waves. Chris was beside her, one arm draped gently across her stomach, the other propping him up as he watched her like she might vanish if he blinked too long.

She hadn’t spoken in a while. He hadn’t pushed.

Instead, he moved slowly, carefully — brushing her hair back, running his knuckles along her cheek, pressing a kiss to the space between her eyebrows like it was a promise.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet.

Chi blinked. “I don’t know yet.”

Chris nodded, like he understood. “Can I get you something?”

She hesitated. “Water?”

He was already climbing out of bed. He moved like he was still in a dream — bare feet on cool hardwood, tugging his hoodie back on halfway, grabbing the glass she hadn’t touched earlier and filling it from the kitchen.

When he came back, he handed it to her with both hands, like it mattered.

“Thanks,” she murmured, sipping slowly. He sat beside her again, this time pulling the blanket up higher around her shoulders, tucking it under her chin.

She watched him for a second, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you,” he said simply.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Chris leaned back against the headboard, letting out a shaky breath. “I fucked up so badly.”

“Yeah,” she said, honest but not cruel.

“But I’m still here,” he added. “If you’ll let me be.”

Chi shifted, curling closer, resting her head on his chest. He pulled her in, strong arms wrapping around her like he’d been waiting for this exact moment to breathe again.

“You really didn’t know someone was recording?” she asked against his skin.

“No,” he said. “I swear. If I had, I would've— God, Chi, I never would've let that happen. I would’ve moved mountains to keep that moment ours.”

Her fingers gripped his hoodie. “They’re never gonna unsee it.”

“I know.”

“They think I’m this… homewrecker. Clout chaser. A girl who got lucky.”

He looked down at her. “You're the girl I chose.”

She blinked hard.

“You didn’t ask for this. I did. I kissed you because I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Because I love you, and I was tired of pretending that I didn’t.”

Her breath hitched. “What...? Say it again.”

“I love you.”

She didn’t say it back. Not yet. But her fingers slid into his, locking them tight.

He kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight. Or tomorrow. But I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want to do this alone,” she whispered.

“You won’t.”

They stayed like that for a long time. Tangled together under warm sheets. Her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath her ear.

Eventually, she yawned — tiny, soft — and he smiled.

“Sleep,” he said gently. “I’ve got you.”

“You’ll still be here in the morning?”

“Try and get rid of me.”

She let out the tiniest laugh. “Bold talk for a man whose ass I’m gonna kick when I wake up.”

Chris grinned. “Looking forward to it.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, they both closed their eyes — not to escape, but to rest.

They weren’t perfect. The world was still loud. But here, in this quiet, dimly lit room, they were okay.

And maybe tomorrow, they still would be.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

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