#reaction rate constants

[er-cryptid]

Arrhenius Equation [Ex. 2]

Patreon

[asmodeusamaryllis]

I fear nishi may have accidentally wrote iruma as aroace and only just remembered that she has a main ship she was meant to push

[sciencesolutions]

[tenth-sentence]

(Note that ROO• is a composite of several species including ozone and k2 is a composite rate constant.)

"Environmental Chemistry: A Global Perspective", 4e - Gary W. VanLoon & Stephen J. Duffy

[mint-yooxgi]

I See Red - Yandere!Vampire!Mafia!Seonghwa X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU, Vampire AU, Mafia AU - Heavily inspired by Ateez's Last Supper performance

Genre: Mature, Smut, Fluff, Slight Angst

Pairing: Seonghwa X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Words: 12,044

Summary: When will people learn? You should never touch what's his.

General Warnings: Violence and Murder, Blood (lots of it), Mentions of torture (brief), Fat shaming (not done by hwa), Derogatory comments towards the reader, Kidnapping, Guns, Possessiveness. Hwa calls someone a hag once. (not the reader). Seonghwa is very much the epitome of the simpy 'that's my wife' trope. Reader's just as crazy as him. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

Smut Warnings: Pet names (King/Queen, My Love, My Star, Beloved, Darling, Pretty Girl), Shower sex, Wall sex, Strength kink (he's a vampire, don't @ me), Oral (fem. rec), Light fingering (fem. rec), Desperate and possessive sex, Consensual and mutual possession kink (don't take this lightly), Biting/Marking, Slight Breeding Kink (if you squint), Blood, Multiple Orgasms, Body Worship, Praise, Squirting, Overstimulation. I think that's everything!

A/n: I am so, so, so, so, so, happy with how this turned out! Hwa in the Last Supper performance has me in a chokehold and I'm okay with it. Big bad vampire mafia boss who only has a soft spot for you? Sign me tf up! Huge shout out to @pars-ley for the incredible gif that is accompanying this fic! Thank you so much again for the amazing banner! Also, shout out to @kwanisms for helping me decide on the title hehehe. Also, spot the Silent Hill reference 👀 As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoy!

Park Seonghwa.

A name hot on the lips of everyone in the underground. Notorious kingpin and ruthless negotiator of his own crime syndicate, Wonderland. His name holds more power, and elicits more reactions than a nuclear bomb. It is not a name you want to hear is chasing after you.

There is nothing he wouldn’t do to get what he wants. If anyone dares to stand in his way, their existence is wiped completely off of the map. Empires have risen and fallen in mere days thanks to his handy work, that staying on good terms with him often depends on his mood.

Cold. Emotionless. Calculating. Brutal in the most volatile of ways. Park Seonghwa is not a man to be reckoned with, nor is he to be taken lightly.

A man with many quirks, who has but one fatal flaw.

You.

Being the wife of such a notorious crime boss is not easy. The constant threat of being targeted by hunters, assassins, kidnappers, or even rival syndicates in attempts to gain an upper edge over your husband gets quite tiring. Not many have ever succeeded in hurting you, let alone killing you. No one ever will.

Not unless they wish to live another day.

Seonghwa has spared no expense in regards to your protection, selecting only the best of the best of his most trusted men to protect you. However, there is the issue in and of itself. They’re men. Humans. They can only offer you so much. He used to have an elite team of vampires guarding you, but they were bought over by a rival gang.

Shame. They were his second strongest team.

Humans, fickle as they are, can be compelled. Once a human is compelled, no other vampire can break that compulsion. Your guards are instructed to offer their lives before accepting a rival syndicates’ offer. 

Each man was hand picked by Seonghwa himself, training them with his own personal guard to defend against any other supernatural being that they might come into contact with. Guns are loaded with indestructible bullets, inscribed with his family’s signature crest. Bullets which can penetrate any raw material, and kill whatever creature they come into contact with.

Every now and then, Seonghwa will add one of his own personal guard to yours. A precaution to make sure the compelled men are doing their job, and that the compulsion hasn’t worn off. Those who cannot abide by the rules are dealt with. Should anyone so much as lay a finger on you, the kingpin himself has no issue chopping off each extremity one knuckle at a time.

Going after you is a fool’s errand. Only the bravest - or rather, stupidest - have ever tried. If even so much as a whisper of an attempt on your life, or your relationship with him, reaches his ears, he is quick to stop it dead in its tracks. Literally.

No one comes in between the two of you. Absolutely no one.

You are the apple of his eye. The only one he can truly be vulnerable with, and let his guard down. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for you. Anything you could ever want or desire, he will provide, no questions asked. Seonghwa worships the very ground you walk on. He worships you.

You are his, and he is yours. Nothing will ever change that fact.

Over the course of many years, the two of you have had many ups and downs. Learning about his true nature had been a bit of a rough patch, especially once you discovered what he is. However, one thing that has always remained strong is your trust in one another. Seonghwa would never hurt you. He would rather carve out his own heart than do anything that would warrant you being afraid of him. A fact which you knew was unquestionably true, especially once you saw just how much of a monster he could be.

A monster whom you love with all your heart, and who has entrusted you with his own.

Perhaps that’s why his organization has lasted so long. Instead of excluding you from his affairs, he revels in the fact that you are always more than ready and willing to help. Your ideas have saved him and his men more times than anyone outside of the organization will ever know. Because of this, you’ve butted heads with his inner circle more times than he can count, but it’s always with good reason.

Nothing makes him prouder than watching you put someone in their place, even if he’s one of those people sometimes.

Your importance spans far more than a simple marriage bond. Since you are one of the only known consistent women in his life, that’s all outsiders seem to focus on. Every nasty name, every type of derogatory comment, has been thrown your way by estranged men and women. Most attempt to push the two of you apart, hoping to drive a wedge between the two of you so they can topple his empire. They seem to mock you for being the ‘outsider’ in the group, not fitting in to the typical ‘escort’ ideal.

What they all seem to get wrong is that you are not a typical ‘escort’. You’re no ‘mistress’, either.

Well… other than the times you’ve brought Seonghwa to his knees, of course.

The other women you’ve occasionally bonded with inside of his syndicate either work undercover to gather intel for his men, or are one of their respective significant others. None of them dare to cross you, all of them treating you with the highest of respect. They all know what would happen should one decide to step out of line. The last, and only women to try was a fine example.

Unlike most of the shallow men that appear in this line of work, Seonghwa is very fond of your curves, and your height. In his eyes, you are the most beautiful, precious, perfect being to have ever walked the earth. Always, he is more than happy to remind you of that fact.

Most of the time, Seonghwa can barely keep his hands to himself. Whenever you’re around, he’s always got a hand placed so delicately against your lower back, or an arm around your waist or shoulders. If he’s feeling particularly frisky, he may pull you into his lap while discussing business plans, or casually cup your ass by sliding his hand into the back pocket of your jeans. That, or he’s making a point that you’re with him.

Seonghwa is a possessive man, and he wants the whole world to know that you’re his. Similarly, there is no being more prideful than him over the fact that he is yours. You belong to each other, and nothing will change that. Everyone should weep in envy at the fact that only he gets to touch you, and only you get to touch him.

The man can’t help it. Showing you off is one of his favourite pastimes. The whole world needs to know what they can never have. It’s become so prominent, you’ve had to start imposing a rule during the extremely important meetings to keep the touching to a minimum.

Of course, he usually toes the line between accidental caresses and handsy, but it’s not like you really mind. Despite his ruthless demeanour, Seonghwa would never truly force you into anything you didn’t want. Your comfort and safety is his top priority, and he would much rather you feel safe in his arms, than believe he could ever do anything to hurt you.

Everyone else, on the other hand…

Park Seonghwa is a man of few faces, but only you get the honour of knowing what he looks like when he’s in love.

“Where is she?” A sigh is breathed out through his nose as he sits at the grand dining table. You were supposed to join him fifteen minutes ago, but you’ve yet to arrive home. “It’s not like her to be late.”

Seonghwa begins to tap the tips of his fingers against the top of the grand mahogany table. The food is going to get colder with every minute you delay your arrival, and he never wants to serve you mediocre food. Besides, he’s supposed to be having a guest for dinner.

Dark eyes flit around the room, noting the silent guards stationed at the side of the room. Their faces are stoic, giving nothing away that would suggest they’re keeping things from him. 

Not that they could hide anything, even if they tried.

Seonghwa would have gotten his own personal guards to attend this meal, but the guest’s conditions upon meeting wouldn’t allow such a thing. Still, the man sitting behind the table is smart. Despite his reputation, many still underestimate how far he will go to maintain the upper hand. No one knows this house like him and his inner circle. Besides you, of course.

Stationed in strategic parts surrounding the dining room, his personal guards wait. Some are on patrol, but the ones that never miss are on immediate standby.

Letting out a sigh, Seonghwa thinks back on the last time he saw you. It had been this morning, he recalls, your conversation echoing through his head. The vampire had been admiring you openly from the comfort of your shared bed, nothing but silk sheets draped over his hips. His head rested against his open palm, elbow supporting himself as he fought off the desire pooling throughout his entire body. 

You were positively glowing beneath the light of the rising sun, his marks practically shining upon your skin. Even after an intense night of lovemaking, Seonghwa was still insatiable. How could he not be? You are everything he’s ever wanted in life; one look and he’s ready to fall apart. It didn’t help that the image of you from last night, fucked out and desperate, with tears of overstimulation in your eyes, kept flitting through his mind.

He nearly missed the fact that you told him all about your plans for today. 

You were going to visit a friend for lunch.

It’s been hours since then, and he hasn’t heard from you once.

“Sir,” A voice from off to his right draws his attention, and the subordinate recoils in fear at the sharp look sent his way. “The guests have arrived.”

Letting out an irritated sigh through his nose, Seonghwa leans back in his seat. A quick glance is spare to the empty high backed chair beside him which matches his own in every way. Two thrones. One for the King, and one for his Queen. Neither are supposed to be empty while the other sits in theirs.

He’s not used to this. He’s not used to not having you beside him.

Seonghwa purses his lips, giving the servant a curt nod in response. Looks like he’ll have to start without you.

The large double doors to the dining room are pushed open, a lone figure walking inside. Short, dark blond hair is slicked back, grease practically dripping off of the strands. An air of arrogance surrounds the tall man, every step echoing off of the marble walls. His head is held high, an expression of the utmost confidence painted across his features as his green eyes dance in amusement.

“Seonghwa! My man!” Arms are spread wide in greeting as the man comes to stand directly before the large dining table. His eyes scan the empty seat beside the kingpin, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. “I didn’t think you were one to dine alone.”

The doors fall shut with a definitive slam, the room suddenly appearing much darker beneath the dim lights.

“James.” Seonghwa blinks, a look of disinterest on his features. Reaching out, he takes his wine glass into his hand, swirling the contents lightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did you forget about out meeting?” The man quirks a brow. “It seems your wife has.”

The wine glass stills in Seonghwa’s hand. The sharpest of glares that would make anyone crumble beneath its gaze is sent James’ way, a few of the guards stationed at the sides of the room straightening from the intensity.

“Watch your mouth.” A warning that is not to be taken lightly. “Unlike you, I don’t need to control every aspect of a woman’s life.”

Seonghwa schools his features back into a look of disinterest, sipping back the rest of his wine. He rests his now empty glass near the edge of the table, fingers delicately holding onto the stem. Two taps, and the server begins to move to refill his master’s glass.

“Such brave words coming from a man who should really be keeping tabs on that which he supposedly cares for most.”

A scowl paints itself onto Seonghwa’s features, grip tightening over his wine glass. The server sure seems to be taking his sweet ass time, and the man at the table is beginning to get impatient.

“Tell me, Park,” James hums, clasping his hands behind his back with an air of relaxed ease. “Do you know where your wife is tonight?”

Seonghwa’s lips purse into a thin line, a vein in his temple throbbing as he clenches his jaw.

“Wherever my wife may or may not be is none of your concern, James.”

The server finally steps up beside Seonghwa with a fresh bottle at the ready. Wordlessly, the kingpin raises his glass into the air, fingers delicately holding onto the base of the bowl. Wine immediately begins filling the crystal, turning what once was pure into a dark red.

“No, perhaps it’s not.” James simpers. The man begins to pace lightly in front of the notorious mobster, his nose lifted pointedly in the air. “But perhaps, it should be yours.”

The doors to the dining room begin to open, a scuffle apparent in the hallway beyond. A few shouts can be heard, loud curses followed by the prominent clicking of heels.

Unrivalled fury paints itself across Seonghwa’s features as he watches your figure, beaten and bloody, being shoved into the room at gunpoint. Your clothes are torn and dirty, clear lines cutting through the smeared blood on your face to make way for your tears.

The glass in his hand shatters into pieces.

Rivulets of red trickle down his skin, his chest rising and falling dramatically. There’s a sudden chill that fills the room, and James’ own wife who is pointing the gun at your head visibly shivers.

Maria may be a powerful witch, but even she knows not to provoke monsters.

“Some security detail you had.” James guffaws, shoulders shaking in laughter. “Military men? Humans at that? You were practically begging for someone to take out the trash.”

Slowly, James begins stalking towards you.

Maria takes a cautious step back as he approaches, uncertainty in her eyes. The gun in her hand feels heavy, and she has to bring the other up to help support it in order to stop herself from shaking.

“You know… I never understood what you saw in her.” He continues, tracing his hand over your shoulders as he circles around your back. “Weak. Pathetic. Ugly.”

James pauses right beside you, grabbing you harshly by the back of the neck. The way his nails dig unforgivingly into you causes a fresh trail of blood to begin dripping down your skin.

Wood begins splintering beneath Seonghwa’s grip as he digs his hands into the arms of his chair. Lips are curled over sharp fangs, but still, the kingpin does not move.

Not yet.

The timing isn’t quite right.

“You and I both know ‘wife’ is just a codename for ‘living blood bag.’” Stepping in behind you, James purposely rests his chin on your shoulder. He forces your head to the side as he inhales your neck, making you shudder in disgust. “I don’t blame you for harvesting one so plump. Fat makes for good insulation. They don’t break as easily, and their blood is still pretty decent if you leave them to marinate for a few days. Besides, a couple days without food could do this one some good.”

The way such a vile creature has the audacity to reach up at pat your plush cheek makes Seonghwa snap. Though, at this point, he is passed the point of dramatic, extreme violence. Right now, he is so furious, a searing sense of calm begins flooding his entire body.

A list is already being compiled within his mind of all the ways Seonghwa is going to torture this vampire for even daring to look at you. Items, even more deadly than the last, are added with each offence such filth bestows upon you. Right now, that list is up to twenty-four. And counting.

“About that territory I wanted… I figured we could celebrate a done deal by draining the fat bitch dry.” James drags a single finger along a fresh trail of blood that drips over your skin.

Your eyes squeeze shut, body trembling in disgust. The feeling of this wretched man’s hands on you makes your skin crawl. All you want is to rip his dick off and shove it so far up his ass his witch of a wife can taste it when she kisses him. Only, the gun pointed firmly at your head by said woman, along with the dangerous vampire quite literally at your throat prevents you from doing just that.

James’ each movement is slow. Precise. He makes sure to drag out this moment, bringing his finger up to his mouth to suck your blood from his skin. His eyes flash with glee as he meets the furious gaze of the kingpin before him, the corner of his lips quirking upwards.

“Mmmh… Not bad…” A smug expression rests over James’ face, seemingly humming to himself. Focussing on the male before him once more, he smirks. “So, what do you say, Park? Do we have a deal?”

Seonghwa takes a deep breath in through his nose, the sharp exhale being heard all the way across the room. A sound which causes each and every one of his subordinates to freeze. A white cloth quickly gets handed to him by the server, the younger man trembling in fear. No one wants to become unfortunate collateral simply by being present during one of the King’s fits of unbridled rage.

In one fluid movement, Seonghwa shakes out the cloth, beginning to dab at the dark red staining his white sleeve. Though he’s managed to control his expression, a hard look settles onto his features. There is no denying the pure, white hot fury blazing within his dark eyes.

“You come into our home,” Seonghwa’s voice is low, dangerous and steady. Slowly, he wipes off the splatter of red that covers the shoulder of his black waist coat. “Disrespect me. Disrespect, insult, and brutalize my wife. Repeatedly mock the way we conduct proper business, and then have the audacity to insist on using underhand methods to get what you want? From me? Me?”

Seonghwa clicks his tongue, halting all movement of his hand. Fingers dig unforgivingly into the cloth as he slowly begins shaking in rage, throwing the now stained fabric harshly on top of the table. The high backed chair he had been sitting in scrapes loudly against the marble as he suddenly stands to his feet.

For the first time in his life, Seonghwa allows his throne to fall to the floor.

“It doesn’t work like that, James.” Seonghwa sneers, his eyes flashings violently as black veins begin to trickle out over the skin of his cheeks. Cracks appear throughout the wood as he leans forward to slam his hands on the top of the table, every soul present jumping at the loud bangthat echoes throughout the room. “You have three seconds to rectify this misdeed before I make minced meat out of both you and that hag who has the unfortunate displeasure of calling you her mate.”

James’ wife glances at him out of the corner of her eyes. Fear is clear on her features, her hand holding the gun to your head faltering as she begins to shake.

Not even Maria’s magic can help them now.

“One.”

“James…” Uncertainty lingers in her tone, eyes darting between the two vampires in the room.

“Don’t listen to him, Doll,” James throws her a brief look before turning to sneer at the man bracing himself against the top of the table. “He’s bluffing.”

“I can assure you that those who thought the very same are more than six feet under by now.” Seonghwa rebuttals. “Two.”

“Maybe we should rethink-“

“Too late.” A malicious grin pulls at Seonghwa’s lips, his eyes crazed. “Three.”

A bullet whizzes through the room, striking James’ wife right between the eyes.

“Maria!” James can only watch in despair as her lifeless body falls to the floor with a loud thud. He rounds on the kingpin whom looks exceptionally pleased with himself, a large smile full of nothing but pure insanity stretched across his cursed lips. “You bastard! You’ll pay for this!”

James manages to pull out his own gun. The barrel barely touches your head before it’s shot right out of his hand. You manage to jump away, another bullet sinking into the man’s upper thigh and pushing him further from your form. The man immediately recoils in pain, grabbing his bleeding hand as his legs shake, barely able to support himself on his own two feet for much longer.

Slowly, Seonghwa walks out from behind the table. Each step is meticulous, echoing off of the cold marble as another bullet sinks into James’ left knee. The pathetic excuse of a vampire immediately goes tumbling to the ground, crying out in agony as his body contorts in response to his new wounds.

Blood spills over the once clean floor as James looks up at the man he attempted to blackmail.

“Oh, James… James, James, James.” Seonghwa tuts, shaking his head in disappointment as he crouches beside the male withering in agony. A harsh grip in his hair forces James to meet the mobsters unforgiving glare. “You should have known better than to try and pull something on me.”

Seonghwa throws James unceremoniously onto the floor before standing back to his full height. Nothing but the utmost disgust rests on his features, glaring down at the trembling vampire in pure malice. Fangs are bared in a silent, mocking snarling, Seonghwa using the tip of his loafer against James’ forehead to harshly push him backwards.

Wiping his hands on his front, the Wonderland leader is quick to straighten out his waistcoat.

“I’m going to enjoy destroying you.” Seonghwa’s voice is nothing but a calm timbre as he looks down upon his prey. That familiar malicious grin tugs at Seonghwa’s features, and James finally understands what it means to make a deal with the devil. “Count yourself lucky that I have much more important matters to attend to right now.”

Without sparing another glance at the vampire slowly bleeding out in his dining room, Seonghwa turns his back towards the dying man. The click of his shoes echo throughout the dining room, each step seeming to mock his enemy. 

Both Yunho and Jongho have appeared by now, each male standing on either side of you. Their eyes are hard, glaring at the man on the floor for even daring to touch Seonghwa’s Queen.

James can only watch on as Seonghwa wraps his arm securely around your waist, leading you through a separate set of doors. Yunho and Jongho, the most notorious for their brutal interrogation and torture tactics, begin stalking towards their newest prey.

The last thing you see of the vampire that kidnapped you is a look of terrified realization painting his features as the two others close in on him.

Once the door to the hallway you now find yourself in is shut, you let out a small breath of relief. Seonghwa’s touch is nothing short of comforting as he keeps his hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you gently towards your private quarters. You can feel the way his fingers tremble against your skin; the only indication of his true emotions throughout this entire situation.

“A bath has already been drawn. Towels, as well as the proper medical supplies have been laid out for you both.” One of the head servants quickly falls into step just behind the two of you. “Mingi and Yeosang have been stationed at the first check point. Wooyoung and Hongjoong have taken the liberty to stand post outside your bed chambers. One in the hall, the other on the balcony. San will remain on watch with both Chris and Minho on the roof.”

A gruff nod is all Seonghwa gives in response, not allowing for even a hint of emotion except for displeased anger to appear on his features.

“I want to know who let that bastard so much as even look at my wife. Get the names of everyone who allowed this to happen immediately. Gouge their eyes out. Cut off their tongues. Then, feed them their severed fingers one by one.” There is no room for argument in Seonghwa’s tone, his gaze fixated on the hallway in front of you. “Do not stop until they are found, and properly disposed of. You all know the consequences. It’s time to deliver them.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant nods once firmly in understanding, swiftly turning on their heel to relay the message to the Hounds.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Seonghwa pauses just before the door to your shared quarters, turning to glance back at the servant from over his shoulder. “Tell San: ‘nice shots.’”

Another verbal confirmation is given before the servant is running off, leaving the two of you alone for the time being. Not even a moment later, Seonghwa is quick to shove through the door of your bedroom. He guides you gently inside before making extra sure all of the locks are all sliding into place. All of the curtains are drawn, the soft glow of the lamps soon flickering to life.

A breath of relief escapes you as you walk a bit further into your private quarters. Finally, you allow yourself to relax, knowing you’re now completely safe. One hand comes up to rub your shoulder, rolling it lightly beneath your touch as a dull ache begins to throb just beneath your skin.

“Well, today has been a day,” You huff, exhaling a low sigh through your nose. “I-“

Turning back to face Seonghwa, the rest of your words catch in your throat.

Never before have you seen your husband like this. Never, in all of the years that you’ve been together, have you seen him look this vulnerable. This scared.

Tears stream silently down his face, his lips parted slightly. He stands frozen to his spot like a statue, none of that familiar warmth he usually holds for you in his dark eyes. Instead, a complete look of devastation pulls at his every feature, his breathing shallow, and broken.

In a few steps, he closes the short distance between your two bodies. Trembling hands come up to cradle your face, fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your cheeks. His gaze flits everywhere over your beaten and bloody features, tracing over the largest cut he can see resting just above your eyebrow.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” Another tear slides down his cheek, his throat working as a plethora of emotions flash across his features. “Darling, I’m so-“

“Don’t do that to yourself, Hwa.” Your hands come up to gently rest on top of his own. “I wasn’t worried. I knew My Star would save me.”

Slowly, thanks to the comfort of your touch, his hands stop trembling.

“How can you be so calm right now?” His gaze searches your face, holding onto you a little tighter. “You could have died! I could have-”

His throat works, the mere idea too unbearable to even conceive.

He didn’t lose you. He can never lose you.

“Because I trust you, My Love.” You offer him a soft smile. “I have faith in my husband, even when he doesn’t have faith in himself. I know he’ll always protect me. A few scrapes and bruises here and there are nothing compared to the scars that line his body just so that he can keep me safe.”

“I will gladly bleed for you if it meant you never getting into harm’s way. Ever.” Tilting his head forward, he rests his forehead against your own.

“I know, Hwa,” A loving smile tugs onto your features. “A mosquito can’t bite me without incurring your wrath.”

“Because nothing deserves to touch you except me.” He lowers his voice, taking on a slight gravelly edge as he stares deeply into your eyes. One hand comes down to slip around your waist, pulling you closer as his touch settles against your lower back. After a moment, he adds a bit more lightheartedly, “And those you approve of. Clothes are walking a thin line, though.” At your quirked brow, he’s quick to remind you, “Don’t worry, My Love. I haven’t forgotten your lecture about respecting your mind and body, along with your autonomy. I will always respect you.”

“There he is.” A giggle escapes you, your eyes crinkling in joy. “There’s the man I always fall deeper in love with. Every. Single. Day.”

Seonghwa leans forward, nudging his nose so tenderly against your own. “I strive to always be the only love in your life, just as you are mine.”

“You are, My Love,” A soft hum escapes you, tilting your head slightly to peck his lips. “You’re my one and only.”

You barely have time to blink before Seonghwa is pressing his lips against yours. Both of his hands slide around your back, digging his fingers into your skin and pulling you flush against himself. His tongue traces your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You eagerly grant it to him, hearing a content hum escape him as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

“My Glorious Queen,” He growls against your lips. “Always, you will be mine.”

“Yours, My King,” A pleased sigh is breathed against him.

“Come,” Seonghwa pulls away from you, guiding you towards the ensuite with an arm wrapped securely around your waist. “Let me wash that vile creature from your skin.”

“Please.”

Eagerly, you both enter the bathroom to see the large tub steaming with fresh water. Bubbles lightly float against the opaque surface, a pink hue to the contents as the scent of cherry blossoms float through the air. Perched on a small podium resides a med-kit. Two large, fluffy towels rest off to the side. One with his personal crest embroidered into the fabric, the other with yours.

Grabbing a small hand towel from the vanity, Seonghwa is quick to wet the material. Turning back to face you, he begins gently washing the dried blood and dirt from your face. It only takes him a few minutes to do so, discarding of the towel and turning you both towards the tub.

A large sigh is breathed through your nose, shoulders drooping ever so slightly.

“Is something wrong, My Love?”  Seonghwa steps in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Soft kisses are placed along the skin of your neck, nuzzling his face into you gently.

“No.” Lightly, you shake your head. “I’d just prefer to shower than to sit in the tub, is all. I feel bad for letting such a luxury go to waste.”

“Nothing is too much for you, Darling,” A tender kiss is placed above your pulse before the sound of the water draining from the tub greets your ears.

You barely even felt him move.

“You spoil me.” An affectionate gleam shines within your eyes, the corners of your lips quirking upwards slightly.

“As I should.” Another gentle nuzzle is given into the side of your neck, Seonghwa gently turning you both to face the mirror. “You deserve nothing but the best. If I can’t spoil you, then what kind of husband am I?”

“Mine.” Your hand comes up to settle gently against his arms still wrapped around your waist.

A pleasant hum sounds from behind you.

“I can accept that.” Seonghwa tightens his grip around you. “What I can’t accept is you smelling like another man, especially while hurt. Here I am, promising to always take care of you, and I haven’t even healed any of your injuries yet.”

“They’re not that bad-“

“Bullshit.” The way his lips curl over his fangs can be seen in the reflection of the mirror before you. “Anything that dares to mar your beautiful skin, other than my own claims, will not live to survive another day.”

His one arm holds you firmly in place as he brings his opposite wrist up to his mouth. With one sharp bite, blood begins to drip from his skin, bringing the fresh wound to your lips.

“Drink.”

Immediately, you do as told.

The smooth liquid slides over your tongue and down your throat, a sweet taste flooding your mouth with every gulp. You’ve drank from him quite a few times before, but that still never prepares you for the sensation of his blood overtaking your every sense. Your vision sharpens, scents and sounds becoming that much clearer the more you drink. It’s addicting, and no one knows this fact more than him.

Seonghwa’s eyes flutter shut. The feeling of you suckling at his wrist causes a thrill of pleasure to surge through his entire being. Every time he feels your lips on his skin, his soul comes alive. The intimacy alone of sharing such an important life source with each other has always meant more to him than he could ever describe. Though, he wishes the circumstances were a bit more pleasant.

Blood is addictive. He should know. Yours is the most fulfilling, deliciously divine taste he’s ever had the pleasure to sample. Other than the nectar that flows from between your legs, of course.

Seonghwa can never get enough of you, not that he’d ever want to. The only thing more satisfying to him than calling you his is the fact that only he gets to touch you. Only he gets to experience every glorious instance with you. Others may look, but they can never have you.

The mere image of that thing having touched you… having hurt you, makes his blood boil. The fact that someone actually got close enough to do so has him already formulating a new plan for your protection.

You are now hardly ever to leave his side, two or more of his own personal guard with you at all times. No exceptions. Seonghwa can never let something like this happen again.

Time for him to restate his claim.

Slowly, Seonghwa begins stripping you of your clothing. The more he removes, the more eager he becomes, nearly tearing the fabric at the seams to expose more of your naked body to him. The small cuts that litter your skin begin to close, and he watches in smug satisfaction as his blood heals you in real time. His fingers trace over every inch of your bare skin that he can reach, admiring how your scents begin to intermingle the more you drink.

As it should be. He should always be covered in you, and you should always be covered in him.

Finally, you part from him with a gasp, some of his blood clinging to the corners of your lips. Eagerly, your tongue darts out to catch those lingering drops, humming contently at the taste. The way he watches your eyes hood over in the mirror as you stand naked in front of him has another pleased rumble shaking his chest.

“Allow me to replace such abhorrent marks with beautiful ones of my own.”

“I look forward to it, My King.” You coo, tilting your head slightly to nuzzle against his own.

Another pleased hum fills the air, a playful nip being given over your jawline.

Slowly, reluctantly, Seonghwa lets you slip out of his arms. Dark eyes flash, a low growl echoing throughout the room as he watches your naked form slip into the shower. Most, if not all of your previous injuries have already healed, pride swirling within his chest at how well he can care for you.

The sound of running water soon fills his ears, steam beginning to fill the bathroom as he strips himself of his ruined clothes. Your eyes follow his every movement through the glass, drinking in the way his skin slowly reveals itself to you. He knows you’re watching him. You can tell from the way he faces towards you, each movement purposeful as he slides off his waistcoat, loosening his tie in the next second. Once he’s slide the thin material from around his neck, he tosses it to the floor in one fluid movement. 

Slowly, Seonghwa begins unbuttoning his white shirt, red splatters staining the material.

Water flows over your skin, the heat helping to wash away the dried blood and dirt clinging to your body. It helps to relax your tight muscles, letting out a soft sigh in content. Your tongue comes out to wet your lips, watching as your husband pops the button of his slacks, kicking off his shoes and making short work of the rest of his clothing. He takes his time to run his fingers through his long, bleached hair, the strands having come loose from his sleek, slicked back appearance due to your previous ministrations.

A smug look pulls at his features, lips tugging upwards in the corner as he begins stalking towards you. Each movement is slow, stepping inside the large shower and closing the glass door behind him purposefully. Those dark eyes of his drink in every inch of your naked body, shamelessly trailing over every dip and curve that he can see.

The tattoo he can see resting proudly over the side of your ribcage has that familiar sense of pride swirling within his chest. A tattoo which matches his own.

Seonghwa licks his lips.

“Allow me to cleanse you, My Queen,” Lowly, his voice rumbles out, closing the distance between the both of you in a few steps.

Your hands settle onto his shoulders as he slips his one arm around your waist. A soft inhale escapes you as he pulls you flush against his chest, never once breaking eye contact. Gently, he brings the fingers of his free hand up to cradle your chin, leaning in to press his lips against your own.

The kiss is nothing more than a brief, loving display of affection, Seonghwa parting from you after a moment. Only, he doesn’t step away. Instead, he tilts his forehead to rest against your own, his touch disappearing from beneath your chin. 

Without so much as turning his gaze away, he reaches for the fresh washcloth that always hangs just off to the side.

The arm he has wrapped around your waist begins to slide downwards as he wets the cloth, a firm squeeze being given to your ass. The small peep of surprise you let out makes him smirk, beginning to massage your flesh so tenderly in his hand. A pleased growl escapes him as your body jerks forward, pressing yourself even firmer against his own.

Seonghwa is meticulous as he lathers the cloth with his own body wash, soon beginning to drag the material over your skin. Slowly.

Your eyes flutter as nothing but both his scent, and his touch, surrounds you. You’ve always loved his soap, the deep musk making your head spin. 

A fact of which he knows, for he only started wearing it for you.

Anything and everything to make you fall for him. To make you his. Once Park Seonghwa sets his sights on something, he will not stop until he gets exactly what he wants. Seonghwa wanted you, - he needed you - and you are exactly what he got.

Each touch is soft, starting at your shoulders and making his way down your body. Not once does he break eye contact with you, having spent countless of hours mapping out every beautiful dip and curve beneath his fingertips. 

Seonghwa knows your body like the back of his hand. He knows exactly where to touch to elicit certain reactions, and he takes full advantage of such knowledge now.

The cloth is dragged so lovingly over your back, his opposite hand giving your ass another appreciative squeeze before sliding up your spine.

The way you shiver beneath his touch makes him smirk.

Slowly, Seonghwa brings the cloth back upwards, teasing over your shoulders before lifting your one hand with his own. Wordlessly, he intertwines your fingers together, dragging the cloth over your arm. Switching hands, he’s quick to repeat the same actions on the opposite side, letting you feel his love for you, his desire, in every touch.

Still, he does not dare to tear his gaze from yours.

Your breathing deepens, heart fluttering inside of your chest. From the way his eyes shine, you can tell that he can hear every reaction his ministrations cause your body to make. The way your nails dig slightly into the skin of his shoulders once you place your hands back onto him says it all.

Tracing the cloth back up your arm, Seonghwa swipes it gently over your upper chest. His own breathing deepens as he slides his touch down to cup your breast, his free hand coming up to cup the other. A firm, appreciative squeeze is given to both, a low moan falling from his parted lips.

For a brief moment, his gaze flicks downwards. Using his thumb and forefinger on his one hand, he gently tweaks at your nipple. The other brushes over your opposite breast, lathering the soap over your skin while his thumb teases over your opposite nipple through the cloth.

A soft, pleased hum escapes you, lashes fluttering as you revel in his touch. You cannot help but arch into him, his hands burning paths of pleasure across your skin. 

Water continues to softly cascade down your body, washing the soap away shortly after coming into contact with your flesh. No part of you goes untouched, Seonghwa making sure he cleanses your body thoroughly. He doesn’t want there to be any reminders left from what happened earlier in the day. Right now, all that should cover you is him.

Slowly, Seonghwa sinks to his knees.

A halo of kisses are placed over your stomach, soft moans breathed against your skin. Those dark eyes of his glance up at you periodically, lashes fluttering after each press of his lips against you.

Your husband can never get enough of you. Right now, he wants even more.

“I can never get over how euphoric touching you is, My Love,” Another wet, open mouthed kiss is pressed against your stomach. “Fuck- I love your body… So perfect… So soft…” A blissful sigh is breathed over your skin. “Love making you shake in ecstasy, claiming you for the whole world to see…”

Your breath hitches softly as both of his hands come around to cup your ass, squeezing your flesh so delicately.

A pleased hum rumbles from deep within his chest, devolving into a low chuckle.

“See?” Fangs nip lovingly at your skin, Seonghwa dragging the cloth over the curve your ass. Occasionally, he’ll give you another appreciative squeeze, nuzzling almost possessively into your stomach. “How could I ever want to stop touching you? Your body knows who it belongs to… Who you belong to… Isn’t that right, My Love?”

Seonghwa peeks up at you from on his knees. His eyes are dark and dangerous, a predatory look swirling deep within his gaze. There’s no room for argument in his tone, the cloth getting tossed to the side as his touch returns to your skin, gripping at your thighs tightly.

A thrill rushes through your body, clenching lightly around nothing as he stares up at you. You know that look all too well, your hands automatically reaching out to begin combing your fingers through his damp hair.

Only, it seems as if Seonghwa doesn’t appreciate your prolonged silence.

“I asked you a question, My Love,” A low, warning growl builds in his throat. 

Suddenly, you find that he’s turned you so that your back is pressed against the cool tiles of the shower wall. His fingers sink almost unforgivingly into your plush flush, dragging the nails of his one hand down your skin and hoisting your thigh over his shoulder. 

“Tell me who you belong to.” Lips curl over fangs, black veins crackling over the skin of his cheeks. “Come on, Pretty Girl. I need to hear you say it.”

The sight alone causes your heart to flutter, breath hitching slightly as you stare down at him.

“I’m yours, My Star,” You coo, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. “I belong to you. Everything I am, everything I was or am sure to be, is yours.”

The feral snarl that reverberates against the tiles of the shower sends pleasure flooding through your veins. Dark, ravenous eyes stare up at you, irises bleeding red as white sclera shift into the deepest of voids. Seonghwa’s lips curl upwards, pulling back to expose his fangs as he slides his hands over your sides.

“Good Girl.” A sharp nip is given to your inner thigh, a small trail of blood beginning to drip down your skin. One which he is more than eager to trace with his tongue.

A thrill rushes through you, loving the deep growl that lines his voice. A tone you know all too well, affection lingering beneath every syllable.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, pausing all movements as you yank his head back so he’s forced to look up at you. The same dark look that he wears is reflected on your own features, grinning as you hear a guttural groan part his plush lips.

“And who is it that worships the very ground I walk on? Who belongs to me? Who is it that will only ever belong to me?” 

The intensity in your eyes makes him shiver, his cock twitching against his thigh. Already, precome leaks from the tip, his heart beating alongside your own. He holds onto you tighter, digging his fingers into your soft thighs as a desperate moan escapes him.

“I will only ever belong to you, My Love.” Seonghwa rasps, beginning to trail wet, open mouthed kisses up the skin of your inner thigh. “I’m yours. I always have been, and I always will be.”

“That’s right, My King,” You hum, a sultry grin tugging at your lips. “You’re mine.”

“Forevermore, My Queen,” His eyes flash, nosing closer towards the apex of your thighs. “Fuck- you smell incredible… Need to make sure you always smell like me, so everyone knows who you belong to. No one- No-fucking-one is ever going to take you away from me again.”

With those words, Seonghwa slips his hands back around to your ass, burying his face into your cunt. 

A pleased growl escapes him as his nose slips between your folds, fingers sinking unforgivingly into the plump flesh of your ass. He pulls you even closer, nuzzling against you before teasingly swirling his tongue around your entrance. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit, his lips laving over your cunt before suckling harshly at your folds.

You toss your head back against the wall, fingers immediately tangling in his hair. The way you pull him in closer to you makes him moan against your core, his hot breath making your head spin as he traces his tongue over your slit. Soft pants fall from your lips as he places sloppy, wet kisses all over your cunt, making sure no part of you goes untouched.

Slowly, he dips his tongue between your folds, holding your gaze as he licks a firm strip up from your entrance to your clit. The tip of his tongue immediately begins flicking rapidly over that pert little bud before his lips are wrapping around it, suckling eagerly at that sensitive little bundle of nerves.

The way you keen against him makes him smirk, a pleased hum rumbling from within his chest.

Each movement is messy. For the moment, Seonghwa is more focussed on covering his face in the wetness that drips from your cunt. He wants to smell like you, to bathe himself in your scent as he covers you in his. He needs it. Especially after seeing such a vile creature dare to lay their filthy hands on you.

Another firm squeeze is given to your ass, Seonghwa pulling you even closer against his lips. Those dark, ravenous eyes of his drink in each and every expression you offer him, desperate for more. Eagerly, he traces his tongue over every inch of your pussy, beginning to thrust it as deep as he can within you.

Soft pants and stuttering moans escape your parted lips. Nothing but absolute pleasure floods your veins, skin tingling everywhere he touches. The fingers you have tangled in his hair pull him in even closer, beginning to grind lightly against his lips as he desperately thrusts his tongue into your weeping entrance.

“Oh, fuck- just like that, Hwa- Oh!” Your lashes flutter, beginning to feel that familiar pressure building within your lower abdomen. “Don’t fucking stop!”

A snarl of agreement reverberates against your cunt, Seonghwa pressing himself even firmer into you. The tip of his nose bumps continuously over your clit, jolts of pleasure sending shockwaves throughout your entire body as your moans begin to rise in pitch.

“Fuck- make me come, My Star,” You pant out, staring down at him through hooded eyes. “Make me drip all over your pretty face.”

“With pleasure…” 

The words are growled against your core, Seonghwa immediately shaking his head back and forth. His fingers dig unforgivingly into the skin of your ass, swirling his tongue inside of you as his nose presses firmly against your clit. The tip of his tongue soon focusses on tracing along the top of your inner walls, thrusting desperately as he moans into you.

With one final nudge over your clit, your eyes are fluttering shut. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave upon the shore, body thrumming in ecstasy as you arch from the wall. Lightly, your thighs shake, Seonghwa not relenting for even one second as he prolongs your pleasure for as long as he possibly can.

Though, you know that this is far from over. After all, he’s only just begun.

Just as with every other time when he’s eaten you out, Seonghwa does not stop here. In fact, he only redoubles his efforts over you. Black veins pulse over his cheeks as he laves his tongue over the entirety of your cunt, making sure no drop goes to waste. 

He needs all of you. He craves it, like the very air you need to breathe.

Lips wrap around your sensitive clit, suckling eagerly at that pert bud as he balances you against the wall. One hand slides down from your ass, two fingers spreading you open to give him unrestricted access to your weeping cunt. Not even a moment later, he flattens his tongue, rubbing it in firm circles over your clit.

“Oh- Fuck!” Your eyes roll, heavy pants escaping you as you’ve barely had time to recover from your previous orgasm. Pleasure pools in your core, clenching hard around nothing as Seonghwa focusses all of his attention on your clit. “Hah- Hah- My Love- Oh!”

“More.” The firm command is growled against your throbbing clit. “Give me more.”

The lewd, wet sounds that fill the air make your head spin, Seonghwa shameless as he traces his tongue over every inch of your cunt. Pleased hum and deep moans escape him, bringing the tip back up to circle so tenderly over your clit before suckling that pert bud between his lips.

“Seonghwa…” His name is but a pleasant sigh from your lips, eyes hooding over as you stare down at your husband feasting on your cunt so ravenously. “My Love…”

“Come for me,” Those sharp eyes of his glance up at you, sucking your clit firmly between his lips. “Soak my face, Beloved. Bathe me in your sweet nectar and claim what rightfully belongs to you.”

His words have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, body shaking as with one final flick over your clit, your orgasm crashes into you. Loud moans and high pitched whines escape you, head spinning as he supports you against the wall. Nothing but pure euphoria floods your veins, chest rising and falling dramatically as heavy pants fall from your lips with every breath.

“Mmmh, that’s it, My Queen,” Seonghwa hums, chuckling lowly. Tender kisses are placed over your swollen clit, smirking against your core with every twitch he feels against his lips. “So fucking beautiful…”

This time, he slows his pace.

Soft, wet kisses are trailed over the skin of your inner thigh, his fangs nibbling at your flesh. Occasionally, he grazes you enough to cause blood to swell on the surface, his tongue quick to lap up each drop. The fingers he had been using to keep you spread open trace over the edges of your cunt, dipping down to tease lightly at your entrance.

A soft moan tumbles from your lips as you feel him push the tips of his fingers inside of you, only to remove them in the next second.

“Seonghwa-“

The desperate whine of his name gets caught in your throat, which is simply music to his ears.

“What’s that?” He hums, continuing to tease at your entrance by dipping his fingers into you gently. Only, he never pushes them more than a knuckle deep, pulling them out to trace the tips so lovingly over your folds. “Does My Pretty Girl want to come again?”

Lightly, you squirm in his hold, whimpering as you stare down at him.

“Needy girl,” Seonghwa chuckles, slowly kissing his way back up your thigh.

The one leg you still have supporting yourself on the ground begins to shake. 

“Please-“  Your voice catches, hips jerking forwards in an attempt to push his fingers deeper inside of you.

“Does My Love want me to devour her pretty pussy?” A tender nuzzle is given against the skin of your inner thigh. “Will she not be satiated unless I make her squirt all over my face? Will she not be satisfied until I make her mine?”

“Fuck- Seonghwa-“ Your fingers tighten in his hair, forcing his gaze to yours as you tilt his head upwards. Something within your eyes flash, clenching hard enough around nothing to cause yourself to begin leaking prominently over your thighs. “Make me yours. Right. Fucking. Now. I need you…“

In the blink of an eye, Seonghwa has stood back to his feet. Both of your legs are wrapped around his waist as he pins you against the wall, fingers digging harshly into the skin of your thighs. Not even a moment later, he slides his touch upwards, grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing at your flesh.

There is nowhere for you to go. Nowhere to run or hide, for you will forever be trapped in his embrace. Seonghwa has made damn sure of that.

Not that you’d ever want to leave him…

The tip of his hard cock nudges at your dripping entrance, slipping between your folds as he pushes as close to you as possible. Each breath is but a low snarl upon his lips, black veins crackling over his cheeks. The look in his eyes is downright predatory, fangs on full display as he stares you down.

“You’re mine.”

With those words, Seonghwa buries himself deep inside of you. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, creating a brutal pace as he snaps his hips against your own.

A choked moan parts your lips, eyes rolling slightly as you cling to him. Your nails scratch down his back, each growl he breathes out going straight to your core as you clench tightly around his cock. The familiar stretch of him sinking into your core makes your head spin, pulling him in even closer.

“Fuckin’ perfect, Darling,” Seonghwa breathes, his forehead pressed against your own. Those dark eyes of his stare intensely into yours, fingers digging into your ass as he snaps his hips into you. “Your pretty pussy always sucks me in so well. My Pretty Girl is always ready to bounce on my cock, isn’t she? So wet… So tight.”

“It’s because I was made for you, My Star,” You exhale shakily, lashes fluttering as your tongue darts out over your lips. “You always fill me so well, My Love. Feels incredible having you buried inside of me. I can’t help but feel empty without you.”

“It’s because I was made for you, Darling,” The words are a mere rasp on his lips, slowing his movements only briefly in order to circle his hips so lovingly against your own. The way you keen against him makes him smirk, a pleased rumble shaking his chest. “Feel that? Feel how perfectly your pussy moulds around my cock? I never wish to part from you, My Love. You own my heart, and I never want it back.”

“Seonghwa-“ A soft whine escapes you as a sharp thrust is given into you. The wet squelch you can hear each time he buries himself deep inside of you makes you clench, pleasure thrumming throughout your veins. 

The tip of his cock presses so tenderly against that special spot inside of you, Seonghwa having mapped out every inch of your body multiple times. His only desire right now is to please you. As is his every desire. Your pleasure is his pleasure, and feeling you drip all over his cock while screaming his name is ecstasy of the highest order.

“You can never escape me, Beloved,” A sharp nip is given to your ear as he leans into you, his voice but a low rumble on his lips. “The moment you let me slip that ring on your finger, you became mine. If you ever even attempt to leave me, if anyone so much as dares to take you away again, I will chase you to the very ends of the earth. You’re mine.” Another sharp thrust is given into you, emphasizing his every word. “You belong to me, just as I belong to you. There is no one else. There will never be anyone else. I’m yours, and you’re mine. Until the very end.”

“All yours, Seonghwa,” You sigh, purposely squeezing around his cock. The way he grinds himself so lovingly into you makes you hum. “Always, I am yours, just as you will forever be mine.”

“That’s right, Pretty Girl,” A pleased chuckle rumbles from deep within his chest. “We belong to each other. Forevermore.”

Shifting your hand upwards, your fingers tangle in his hair. In one quick move, you guide his lips to yours, kissing him desperately as he begins rolling his hips so sensually into your own. Each thrust fills your cunt with every inch of his cock, his tongue eagerly exploring your mouth as you part for him.

The change in pace makes your head spin, pleasure pooling within your core as you drip all over his cock.

Soft whines and gentle moans are breathed into each other’s mouths, hands desperately gripping at each other’s bodies. You hook your ankles behind his back, thighs tensing as you pull him in closer.

The way your body presses flush against his own, every glorious curve of yours being felt against his skin, makes him moan. To him, there’s no other feeling quite like it. Your body sets his own on fire, soul coming alight with every touch.

“I fucking love you, My Queen,” Seonghwa mumbles against your lips, nipping lightly at your skin.

A soft moan tumbles from you lips, clenching hard around him as he thrusts sharply into you.

“As I love you, My One and Only King.”

Pleased rumbles fill the air, a deep moan of your name being breathed out by the vampire before you. He holds onto you so tightly, as if you may disappear at any moment. Desperate, deprived, and possessive. Only you can make him this way.

Though his pace has slowed, each tender thrust into you is firm. Seonghwa makes sure to fill you with every inch of his cock, loving how your warmth flutters around him each time. The way you drip over his balls and onto his thighs makes his head spin, swallowing all of your melodic whimpers and whines as he kisses you deeply.

“Seonghwa-“ You gasp into his mouth at one particularly hard thrust. When he immediately grinds his hips into you, the tip of his cock pressing so delicately against that special spot, your eyes roll slightly. “Right fucking there, My King- Oh!“

A pleased hum echoes around you, another sharp thrust given into you. His cock is angled perfectly to hit that spot, pride rumbling within his chest as he listens to the way your breath catches in your throat..

“Oh-“ Your walls clench tightly around him, digging your nails harshly into the skin of his back. “Claim me, My Love. Fucking mark your territory so no one dares to take me away from you again.”

The deepest of snarls you’ve ever heard him emit fills your ears, echoing around the tiles of the bathroom.

In the blink of an eye, you find yourself pinned beneath him on your bed. Water drips from both of your bodies into the sheets, wet strands of his silver blond hair clinging to his skin. Each strand accents his features, serving as nothing more than a bright halo beautifully framing his face.

“With the utmost of pleasure, My Queen.” 

The deep snarl that lines his every word is the most feral you’ve ever heard him get. It goes straight to your core, clenching hard around him as he begins that brutal pace once more. Tingles erupt over your skin, surrendering yourself completely to the pleasure he provides.

“Not gonna fucking stop until you’ve creamed all over this cock, Beloved. Gonna fill you so fuckin’ full of my seed, I’m gonna be dripping out of your precious cunt for weeks.” His hands grip your wrists tightly, pinning your arms above your head as he thrusts relentlessly into you. The way your body shakes, tits bouncing with every snap of his hips into your own makes nothing but love, lust, and pride swell within his chest. “Gonna let the whole world know who you belong to, and who belongs to you. There won’t be a living soul in this universe that will ever touch you again, besides me. They won’t dare. You’re mine. Do you hear me? Mine!”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Tears of pleasure begin flooding your vision as that familiar pressure builds rapidly within you. You can barely keep your eyes open to stare into his captivating gaze, harsh pants and high pitched whines escaping your lips with every desperate thrust he gives into you. “I’m yours, Seonghwa! All yours! Always and forever, My Star! Make me yours so I can make you mine!”

Another feral snarl greets your ears, his lips immediately finding your own. His kiss is nothing but desperate, tongue slipping into your mouth as he moans into the kiss.

In one swift movement, Seonghwa shifts to hold both of your wrists above you with his one hand. The other drags lovingly over your body, tracing over every curve delicately. His fingertips tease at your skin, continuing to slide his touch everywhere over your body. A tender caress is given over your stomach, the soft touch contrasting the animalistic way he fucks into you. 

With one final squeeze to your stomach, he drags his hand further downwards, thumb finding your clit and beginning to rub in small circles.

“Oh!” Your back arches from the bed, eyes fluttering closed as your whole body begins to shake. Your thighs tremble around his waist, squeezing so tightly around his cock as that pressure within you gets close to snapping. You do your best to hold back your impending orgasm for as long as you can, needing to feel him filling you full of his come before you can even think of letting yourself go. “Seonghwa- My King! Please-“

“Come for me, Darling.” There is no room for argument, his words but a command on his lips. Wet, sloppy kisses are placed against the skin of your pulse as he buries his face into the side of your neck. “Fucking flood my cock with your love. I want to hear you scream.”

With one final flick over your clit, your body obeys his every command. What serves to make the feeling all the more intense is when you feel him bite into the side of your neck, his fangs sinking into your soft flesh and drinking his fill of your blood.

A scream of his name tears from your throat, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your squirt all over his cock. You keen from the bed, whole body trembling violently as you feel him pin your hips to the mattress with his own. Spurt after spurt of come escapes him as he fills you to the brim, your walls fluttering around his cock as your combined releases begin to leak out of your core.

Heavy pants escape you, nothing but whines falling from your lips. The intensity of your orgasm washes over you, suspended in a pool of bliss as you feel Seonghwa press himself completely against you. Not an inch of your body goes untouched by him, releasing his hold over your wrists in order to gently begin tracing his hands over your sides.

Soft kisses are trailed over your neck, his tongue coming out to lave over the fresh bite mark that rests proudly against your skin. The pleased hum that rumbles from deep within his chest makes you smile, staring up at him through hooded eyes as he pulls away to admire you beneath him.

Before he even gets a chance to say anything, you beat him to it.

“Turn me.”

To say your words catch him off guard would be an understatement.

This time, it’s Seonghwa’s turn for his breath to hitch. The vampire lord stills above you, staring down at you with wide eyes as he sees the sincerity reflected on your features.

“My Love?” His words are but a breathless whisper as he brings a hand up to cradle the side of your face.

“I want you to turn me.” Slowly, carefully, you bring your own hand up to cup his cheek. Your thumb traces over his skin, admiring the man above you. A soft, tender smile pulls at your lips, eyes flicking between his own. “I know we’ve talked about it before, but it was simply never the right time. I’m ready now. I love you, Park Seonghwa. You are my forever. I’m ready to become yours.”

Tears begin building within his eyes, blinking rapidly as the first drops begin to fall gently against your skin. His throat works, hands fumbling over your body as he presses impossibly closer to you. Tenderly, he cups your face, lips finding yours in a searing kiss. A kiss which he hopes will convey everything he wishes to say to you.

The moment you smile against his lips, he knows that it does.

“I love you.” A choked confession parts his lips, placing intermittent kisses against your own before trailing even more along your cheek and over your pulse. Arms slide around you, hugging you close as he buries his face within the crook of your neck. A lingering kiss is pressed against the fresh bite mark adorning your skin. “I love you so fucking much.”

Without hesitating, you wrap your own back around him, holding him close. The fingers of your one hand come back up to thread through his wet hair softly. You cradle him to your chest, refusing to let him go anytime soon as your heart beats steadily for the man held within your loving arms.

Kisses are soon trailed from your neck and down over your chest, Seonghwa nuzzling affectionately over your heart. He buries his face against you, soon turning to rest his ear directly above that muscle pumping rhythmically beneath your skin.

A tender glance upwards is sent your way.

“Are you sure?”

You expression softens, lips tugging upwards lovingly as your whole body relaxes beneath his touch.

“More than anything, My Love,” The hand you have threading through his hair comes around to cradle the side of his face. “I never want another incident like today to occur. I despise seeing you cry, especially when I’m the cause of it.”

Seonghwa looks about ready to protest, but your finger settling gently over his lips quiets him for the time being.

“You are the love of my life, Seonghwa. I promised you forever, just as you did for me.” Gently, you trace your touch over his cheek, caressing your fingertips along his skin. Openly, you admire the beautiful man before you. “I’ve wanted this for a while now, and today only served to solidify my choice. I want to be able to claim you in the same ways that you claim me. I want to be yours. Now, and until forever.”

Pushing himself upwards with his arms, Seonghwa hovers over you. Nothing but tender love and affection can be seen within his gaze, staring down at you so fondly as he admires every inch of your skin. He takes his time trailing his eyes over your body, finally pulling out of you and sliding his palms up your sides.

He licks his lips, some remnants of your blood still clinging to his skin.

“Nothing would make me happier than spending eternity with you, My Queen.” Dark eyes shine so lovingly down at you, pressing another tender kiss to your lips. The way you smile against his skin makes his heart flutter, warmth surging throughout his entire body. 

Long since has Seonghwa dreamt of this day. Countless hours have been spent fantasizing about this very moment, bonding you to him in such an intimate way. Sure, you’ve shared each other’s blood enough times before, but this is different. Now, you will become like him.

After this, there is truly no turning back.

Soon, you’ll be able to share in even more pleasures this world has to offer, and he’ll be right by your side through it all. He’ll get to guide you through each new experience, showing you things he’s only ever dreamed about. You’ll be able to share meals with him in more intimate and fulfilling ways, teaching you the ways of his kind and revelling in each and every new discovery you make. Together.

You’ve always been quite efficient at biting and feeding from him, that he cannot wait to watch you make your first kill. 

Excitement pours through him, indescribable unconditional love flooding his veins.

Seonghwa knows exactly who that first kill should be.

A loving smile stretches onto his features, staring down at you so fondly. He can smell the way his blood courses through your veins, mixing seamlessly with your own. Softly, his hands caress over the sides of your face, searching your eyes one final time for any uncertainty or hesitance.

He finds none.

Silently, your husband vows to be the last thing you ever see in this life, and the very first thing you see in your next.

With a subtle nod of your head, another soft kiss is being placed upon your lips.

“To the start of our forever.”

With those words, Seonghwa snaps your neck.

[dreamerimpossible]

Ive been obbsesively reading all your Tokyo Revengers works and I REALLY love how accurate they are!! Ive got maybe a strange request, just a bit fluff bit imagine afab reader who loves to sleep topless and let them free, can you rate how much (Souya + Kazutora and whoever else you like) they enjoy it on a scale? :33

His reaction when you sleep topless

Thanks for your request! Unfortunately, I don't write for Souya. I hope you like it, anyway!

Warnings: +18 content

Characters: Mikey, Kazutora, Sanzu, Izana, Ran Haitani, Rindou Haitani, Kisaki, Hanma

Mikey

6/10

At first, he would be a constant distraction and temptation. So, he wouldn't be able to control himself at first, and that would lead to a lot of sexual situations between the two of you, even if he's tired. However, the more time passes and the busier and more tired he is in general, I highly doubt he'll be able to physically show you his enjoyment. Which doesn't mean he doesn't like you, just that he's just not in the mood. If he's too tempted, he'll make you ride him.

Kazutora

10/10

He likes you too much. He's obsessed with you. He'll take it as an invitation every time, so you have to tell him expressly if you're not in the mood. Actually, if you like to let yourself go, he's the perfect guy for you. But that makes him think he has access to you all the time, so it can be good or bad depending on your preference. It doesn't take long for him to touch you and say lewd things in your ear. He doesn't mind being sleepy or tired. Seriously, he doesn't mind. He's passionate and obsessive; he won't miss a chance to have you.

Sanzu

9/10

He behaves well every time you sleep together. He doesn't get the full score because I don't think he always sleeps with you; there are times when he's busy doing something illegal for fun or working on something even more illegal. So when he is with you, he is always willing to provoke you and let himself go with you. Most of the time he'll get high on your tits or some shit like that. Better for him if you're always there for him.

Izana

5/10

I'd like to give it a higher number, but it's really 50/50. He likes it; he really does. You easily make him lose control, but for that same reason, he hates it at the same time. There are times when he just doesn't want to or can't physically take you properly. So he deeply hates the feeling of lack of control you seem to give his body. I feel, too, that he likes being in control of everything too much, and the fact that you can disarm him like that doesn't make him feel so happy.

Ran Haitani

8/10

You distract him from his sleeping hours. But he likes it, since he can see how much you fall apart with his teasing. I think he has a high libido, so it's very easy to tease him. He focuses a lot on your tits until they're sensitive enough to hurt. He's shameless, so he won't care if you both make too much noise in the night. Honestly, poor neighbours.

Rindou Haitani

8/10

It's a pain when he genuinely wants to sleep. But he just ignores it and focuses on you. It usually ends in an uncontrolled quickie that easily escalates. He'll be much more passionate if he hasn't given you any attention in other aspects of the relationship. He tries to please you as much as he can, so physically showing you that he wants you more than anyone else is a good way to remind you that he's yours.

Kisaki

4/10

He hardly sleeps with you. He's always working or doing something related when you're sleeping. He would like it better if he slept with you all the time. But that's not the case. He sleeps with you from time to time, in case he doesn't have a meeting that day, and even in that situation, he is a reserved person; you will have to show him that you want something more or to pay attention to you in that sense. If you tell him, he'll do it. But if not, he has to be in a certain mood to provoke you.

Hanma

10/10

Even better if you provoke him yourself. He likes it quite a bit, but that situation will make him degrade you much more sexually, which is good if you're into that stuff. He will always take it as an invitation, and if you don't want to, he will be very confused. In case you do want him to, it doesn't take long for him to get sloppy. The only one who could make a show of fucking you in the window or something. Good luck.

[gav-san]

Cosmic Joke: Donquixote Doflamingo (2/3)

Cosmic Joke Masterlist

ONE PIECE Masterlist

Main Masterlist Here

2/3: Doflamingo x Reader Length: 12k+ Rating: 18+(This one's not a joke) Warnings:  mature audience, 18+, Mdni, Strong Language and Sarcasm, Psychological manipulation, Dubious consent (emotional & telepathic), Stalking/obsessive behavior, Power imbalance, Violence & threat of violence, Telepathic intimacy, Mild coercion elements, Sexual content (18+)

For too long, you've been telepathically tethered to one of the most dangerous, flamboyant, and emotionally unstable men alive: Donquixote Doflamingo. What began as a childhood psychic bond rapidly devolved into a war of soup-based passive aggression, sarcasm, and sexy psychological warfare.

Interested in being in the taglist? HERE

Previous/Next

-X-The War-X-

A Sample of Your Childhood Psychic Transcript – Extended Cut cont.

Age 15: 

You’d been unusually quiet that week.

Not because you were afraid.

But because you were furious.

It wasn’t one specific offense this time. Just… everything. The constant psychic lurking. The sound of his voice in your head at all hours. His smug little commentary during thunderstorms. The time he made you hear him getting laid twice in the same night with two different women, just to “remind you who had options.”

It happened on a particularly miserable afternoon. You were rain-soaked, sleep-deprived, and eating what could only be described as emotional broth. Again.

The fourth bowl this week.

It was lukewarm. You were lukewarm. Life was lukewarm.

And then, like mildew in your brain: Doflamingo.

You eat soup for the fourth day in a row, and I’m the unstable one? Sweetheart, if I have to hear you describe another broth like it’s erotic poetry, I will drown us both in consomme.”

And you, without hesitation, replied:

“If you’re going to hijack my brain, at least try not to sound like a hedge fund with abandonment issues and whores on speedial.”

That did it. You felt the bond sputter. Offended. Insulted. And, worse: flustered. Silence. For two whole seconds. You continued with the intensity of a caffeinated raccoon on the verge of violence.

“Your name sounds like a failed cologne brand. Donquixote Doflamingo? That’s not a name, it’s a Scrabble accident. And your coat? Oh my god, your coat looks like it crawled out of a Muppet and asked to die with dignity. You once monologued about world domination while drinking something pink and frothy out of a coconut.”

You had never felt more alive.

“You dress like a fashion crime scene. It’s like every piece of clothing you wear got into a bar fight with taste and lost. Every time I sense you’re happy, I get a sudden allergic reaction to silk and narcissism.”

You imagined he was somewhere, blinking at a wall, horrified. He didn’t reply for days.

Which only made you cockier.

You thought maybe, just maybe, you’d finally shut him up for good.

You were wrong.

So very, very wrong.

It happened at a port town. You were just walking along the dock. Normal day. Fresh bread. Overcast sky.

And then you mentally saw him.

Or rather, you mentally saw it.

In Doflamingo's head.

A flash of pink.

He was standing before a mirror..

It was the exact hue you liked. Your favorite color. A shade you only ever admitted to loving internally, quietly, selfishly. A soft, flushed, rose quartz warmth that made your stomach flutter when you saw it on ribbon, on cloth, on dusk-lit skies.

And he was drenched in it.

Pants, shirt, lapel flower, boots. A full outfit. It wasn’t garish. It wasn’t loud. It was tailored. Fitted. Subtle. Expensive.

He turned slowly and let his mirror do the insulting.

Smirking. Sunglasses glinting. A smug, calculating flame in silk and restraint.

“Something wrong, soup goblin?” he asked, voice smooth as a blade in velvet. “You feel upset. Must be the lighting. Or the fact that I’m wearing your favorite color.”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He mentally tilted his head. Listen to you unravel with polite interest. And then, the insult of all insults.

A coat. He shrugs on a pink feathered coat.

“This shade suits me,” he added. “I think I’ll make it permanent.”

That pastel bird-bitch figured out your favorite color and was now using it like emotional napalm.

You had previously mocked him. Many a time. You called him a Muppet. Said his fashion sense looked like a bird got drunk at a textile market and exploded. 

You were mad. 

You even said—offhand, buried in sarcasm—“Not that it matters, but if you really wanted to get under my skin, you’d wear something in rose quartz or sunset blush.”

You said it like a joke. 

He heard it like a command. 

And now?

He wears it. Constantly.

Not the same coat, not exactly. He has variations.

A dusky pink with gold-threaded lining for formal executions. A softer, almost pastel version for tea with underworld contacts. A rose-petal embroidered lining inside his cloak is just subtle enough to make your stomach turn every time the wind catches it.

You tried not to react.

You failed.

He saw it.

You looked at him across the mental bond. Another assassination done, blood still cooling under his boots, and he tilted his head with a smirk so slow and sharp it might as well have carved his initials into your spine.

“You like the coat?” he said aloud, too casually, “I had it made. Inspired by someone special.”

Age 16: 

This was your foundation year. The broth years.

You trained your brain like a monk with a ladle, cycling through every soup imaginable: alphabetically, regionally, and emotionally. You endured stews. Conquered purees. Survived bone broth. You catalogued cream-based betrayals, whispered to dashi like it was scripture, and gave Pho the reverence of a war hymn.

Bisque was a breakdown in velvet form. Bone broth. Cream-based betrayals. Dashi.. 

Once, close after his brother's death, you had tried to be the bigger person. You thought, maybe this could be a turning point for him. He had been much quieter and thoughtful.

That was a tactical misstep.

“Sometimes I feel—”

Him: “—like a feral soup goblin hoarding trauma and lentils… You can admit it.”

You don’t. Instead, you begin narrating fake soap opera plotlines in your head like it’s your divine calling. Elaborate affairs. Secret twins. Tearful betrayals over stolen heirlooms.

You cast him in every villain role.

Donquixote Doflamingo, Duke of Deceit, tragically torn between his fiancée and his evil clone. Donquixote Doflamingo, heir to the Flamingo Fortune, weeping as his mother’s ghost reveals she faked her death to become a competitive ballroom dancer. Donquixote Doflamingo, betrayed by his long-lost identical triplet, also named Donquixote Doflamingo.

The man once threatened to drown an island for disrespecting his wine pairing.

Now he’s being mentally reimagined as the mustache-twirling father of three dramatic bastards and one sentient chandelier named Chandré, who speaks only in riddles and falls in love with the gardener every third Tuesday.

You:...and then the evil count said, ‘I only married your sister for the paprika inheritance.

Him, with the weariness of a man betrayed by his own neurons: You are so lucky I’m not bored enough to take that seriously.

You: I already designed your wig.

You cast him in increasingly absurd mental soap operas. Sometimes, as the estranged twin who faked his death to start a spice empire. Other times, as the morally ambiguous cardinal who seduces people with soup recipes and unresolved trauma.

And when you get bored with plots?

You just chant.

“Slurp.”

“Slurp.”

“Slurp.”

Until, inevitably—

“SLURP? SLURP?! I swear to GOD if you say slurp one more time I will LEVEL a village. Who even ARE you??”

“Hi, I’m Donquixote Doflamingo, my hobbies include string-based homicide and traumatizing orphans.”

He doesn’t respond. Which only emboldens you.

Because by now, your inner monologue has become a psychic casserole of passive aggression, fictional drama, and a truly alarming obsession with soup. You’re mentally making stock with dreams and disrespect, stirring emotional bouillon with a ladle carved from spite.

But then?

You make a mistake.

A bad one.

You try dating.

It starts innocently. A boy smiles at you in the market. He says something charming about leeks. You flirt back. Lightly. Barely. A flutter, really.

That’s when you learn a critical rule of the bond:

Strong emotions are a direct line to your personal insane asylum.

You barely feel the blush crawl up your neck before it’s hijacked.

His voice—sharp, silk-snarled, and deeply offended—cuts through the bond like broken glass wrapped in velvet.

“Who is he?”

You flinch. Literally flinch. In public.

The boy is still smiling.

You are not.

Because the devil incarnate has decided to open a commentary track in your frontal lobe.

“Does he know you eat instant ramen with chopsticks and a spoon? Does he know you alphabetize soup by mouthfeel? You’re flirting with that sort of attitude?”

You try to pull away, focus, and laugh it off. The boy asks if you’re okay.

You lie.

Meanwhile, Doflamingo is pacing in your psyche like a furious flamingo in couture.

“Who is this worm? Who is this mouth-breathing peasant? I’ll staple his face to the back of his own neck. Tell him you’re taken. Tell him you’re MINE to torment.”

You ran. Full sprint. Half because of Doflamingo’s snarling possessiveness, half because the poor guy had the misfortune of giving you a flower while the world’s most dramatic war criminal was loitering inside your frontal lobe.

Silence followed. Three blessed, golden minutes.

“Smart. You’d die in two weeks without me. Also, he looked like he smelled like mayonnaise.” 

You could see it. Not literally, but close enough. The glint of his ridiculous rose-tinted sunglasses, worn indoors purely out of spite. He’d bought them, you were convinced, just to annoy you.

“I hope your sunglasses fog up every time you monologue.”

After that, you developed a series of new psychological conditions. Trust issues. Chronic stress. IBS. A mild soup addiction. 

You tried everything: meditation, journaling, white noise playlists. You filled your head with innocuous trivia; What’s the capital of Wano? How many teeth does a sea king have? Do clouds have feelings?

He did not like that.

"Did you just compare me to a cumulonimbus?! I am a divine force of nature, you little brat, not moist sky fluff! Stop thinking about flamingos!"

That, ironically, only made you think of flamingos more.

You began to suspect he could sometimes sense your general aura, not your exact thoughts, but the emotional weather system you carried with you. He never said it outright, but every time you moved cities, his mood spiked. Sometimes it was laughter. Sometimes it was violence. Either way, it was a red flag. Not a romantic one. A get-a-panic-room-and-move-into-the-sewers kind of red flag.

You knew better than to egg him on.

But you tried. You really, really did.

You meditated until your spine locked up. You imagined puppies, clouds, and serene fruit baskets. You learned the entire taxonomy of soup for mental armor.

And then—one day—you slipped.

A single sarcastic thought. Dry. Thoughtless. Petty.

“Wow. That’s healthy, Mr. Flaming-No.

And he hears you.

You feel the shift before the words even come, like a psychic heatwave rolling across your brainstem. Static crackling with smug glee. A sudden, unbearable presence in the part of your mind you usually reserve for private suffering and bad decisions.

"I thought you had joined a convent."

You don’t reply, immediately knowing that to retain sanity, you must not answer the goblin man. 

This does not deter him.

"Playing hard to get, huh? Fine. I love a challenge. A pause. Then, more horrifyingly, "Also, those pants you were thinking about? They do nothing for your calves. You have warrior thighs and sad ankles. Balance the silhouette."

You develop migraines. And rage. And a black belt in emotionally repressing everything. He is in your walls. He is in your thoughts. He is in your fashion critique.

And worst of all, he’s kind of right about the pants.

Age 17:

You’re seventeen now. Nearly a decade of resistance. Several years of soup-based psychological warfare. You are battle-hardened. Cunning. Emotionally fortified.

It’s a windy afternoon. You’re tired, mildly dehydrated, and emotionally detached from your alleged soulmate, who has been suspiciously quiet lately (read: plotting, brooding, probably doing unspeakable things with string and charisma).

You're just walking back from the market. Minding your own business, trying to decide if cabbage has a soul or just very boring anxiety, when your eyes drift. A new poster, slapped unevenly onto a corkboard, the corners still curling from damp. The ink hasn’t even dried all the way, smudged slightly where the print was rushed.

It’s background noise. Paper clutter. At best, a passing glance.

Until you see the name.

Donquixote Doflamingo

Bold. Black. Centered like a dare. 

You think there’s no way two people are cursed enough for that name. 

Underworld freakshow. Flamingo warlord. Thread-Thread Fruit user. Your long-suffering psychic parasite.

Yep, definitely him.

His bounty is astronomical. The numbers alone are enough to make your eyebrows try to retreat into your hairline. But that’s not even the worst part.

He seems tall. Dangerous. The kind of man that feels like a trick, like the kind of mirage that looks better the worse your judgment gets. If you squint too long, something behind your eyes might snap.

And your stomach sinks.

And of course, like a cryptid with the world’s worst timing and a god complex, he noticed.

“Didn’t know what I looked like until now? Tch.”

That voice. The one that had haunted your quiet moments for nearly a decade. The one who once threatened to puppet your kindergarten teacher because you dared to think her socks looked cowardly. The one that had berated your soup choices, hijacked your dreams, and turned emotional stability into a luxury you could no longer afford.

And now it belonged to that.

Tall. Tanned. Ripped within an inch of obscenity. Muscles like he’d been sculpted by someone deeply unwell. Blonde hair tousled like the aftermath of something sinful, and a smirk that didn’t just flirt with danger. It promised it, wrapped in silk and razor wire. A man who looked like a statue lost a bet, fell into organized crime, and liked it there.

He looked like every bad decision you hadn’t made yet.

No mistake. No hallucination. No soup-induced delusion. That ridiculous bastard in pink is real. He’s real, and—worse—he’s hot.

The glasses. The grin. The coat that screams midlife crisis, king of crime. The smile like tax evasion got a face. Golden-blond hair in wild tufts, tousled like he rolled out of someone else’s bed and never looked back. Tanned skin like sun-drenched sin. Broad shoulders, ripped muscles wrapped in silken arrogance. A torso built like it bench-pressed war crimes and did it shirtless.

And that smirk. That deadly, self-satisfied smirk. Like, he knows things. Like he wins them.

He looked like violence, money, and seduction had formed a committee: an exclusive, corrupt, and devastatingly attractive committee. The kind that held secret meetings in cigar smoke and blood-red velvet, made decisions with knives, and always got what it wanted. 

You blink. 

You look away. 

You mentally repeat the phrase ‘he’s probably 80% cartilage and trauma and is hiding a bald spot’ just to recover your dignity. It doesn’t help. Your face burns. Your stomach coils with shame. You scoff at yourself, an internal slap of reality.

Unfortunately, another thought slips through before you can stop it.

His collarbones could start a religion.

The bond goes silent. Not quiet—silent. Like the air before a storm, thick with pressure and the weight of something inbound. You feel it: that split-second pulse behind your eyes. Like thunder curling in your skull. A sharp, electric pause.

And then, like a god waking up from a thousand-year nap, stretching out with far too much interest:

“…Oh?”

You sit down. Right there. On the damn floor. The market bustles around you, but your brain has exited the building. He feels your panic like a shark senses blood in the water, and oh, he revels in it.

You bolt. Not physically. No, your body is frozen in public humiliation. But mentally? Emotionally? You retreat behind every available defense.

Soup. Obscure barnacle trivia. An emergency wall of potato-based imagery. You imagine peeling tubers under enemy fire. Chanting “yam” like a mantra.

But it’s too late. You slipped. He heard everything.

And worst of all, he is thrilled.

“Collarbones, huh?”

The word echoes with amusement, low and sharp like the strike of a match.

“You finally looked at me. Five years of miso and mockery, and one peek at my chest takes you down?”

You consider dying on the spot. But knowing your luck, he’d narrate the whole thing like it was erotica.

You try to lie. To salvage some form of dignity.

“It was a neutral observation. Biological analysis. Very scientific.”

His voice purrs through the bond, velvet and victorious.

“Sweetheart, you mentally described the way my shirt dipped below my clavicle with metaphor. You thought it looked lickable.”

Shame hits you like a blunt object. You nearly walk straight into a civilian holding a cabbage.

Somewhere in the ether of your mind, he laughs. Loud. Gleeful. Unapologetically delighted.

“And here I thought I was the obsessed one.”

You scoff. Loudly. Like he’s blowing hot air straight into your synapses.

Because, sure. You’re soulmates. Allegedly. Sure, he’s been squatting in your psyche like a haunted Den Den with a god complex for years. But you’re… you.

A broke nobody with six fake identities, a fugitive ex, and a dependency on pantry soups. He’s the de facto mafia king of the New World. A Warlord of midlife crisis fashion and felony flirtation.

You try to recover. You raise walls. You conjure a protective mental beetle named Gerald, whose entire job is to eat inappropriate thoughts on sight.

He eats Gerald.

You panic. You stammer mentally into your fallback plan: complete gibberish.

“Soup. Rainbows. Shoe sizes. Frog taxonomies—”

But it’s too late.

“I’ve got your frequency now, cariño. I heard thirst. Real, honest-to-god horniness. You finally blinked.”

And you did.

You blinked.

You cracked.

You thought about his stupid neck, and now this deranged flamingo with a god complex has leverage for eternity.

“You little soup-slinging, mind-muting, emotionally constipated goblin—you like me.”

You internally shriek, “NO I DON’T—”

“Yes, you do. You had a whole thought about my neck. And my shirt. You zoomed in.”

You curl up on the ground, metaphorically. Maybe literally. You consider setting your brain on fire. Deleting yourself from your own consciousness. Ejecting your soul like bad software.

“Ten years of lentils and psychological warfare. Ten years of pretending I was some cosmic fungus infecting your thoughts. But guess what—You. Like. Me.”

There’s pressure behind your eyes. Not pain. Something worse, his attention. Focused. Hungry. Triumphant.

You squeeze your eyes shut and summon the blandest image you can: beige wallpaper. The kind you’d find in a forgotten waiting room or a discount dentist's office.

He barrels through it like a tank through a bakery.

“You like the sunglasses. Say it.”

You grunt. Out loud. A merchant passing by flinches and steers his cart sharply away.

“Don’t go quiet on me now, soup girl. You gave me material. I’m never letting it go. This is my birthday now.”

You let out a pitiful whimper. He eats it up like dessert.

“You gonna cry about it? Gonna doodle ‘Mrs. Doflamingo’ in the margins of your little soup journal? I bet you’re mad I found out I’m more than just talk. You picked the worst day to realize I’m hot. You’ve given me leverage for life. You’re stuck in my brain, and now—now I live rent-free in yours.”

You scramble for mental footing. You need a defense. Any defense. Something—anything—before he starts monologuing about his abs.

“It was an accident. A brief psychotic episode. The sunlight hit your collarbones at a deceptive angle.”

He gasps. Mocking. Gleeful.

“Your horny little brain betrayed you again. God, I love your unstable little puberty arc. That’s all it took. I’m gonna get this etched into my sunglasses,” he continues, absolutely basking. “Maybe my coat. Right across the fluff. ‘My soulmate thinks I’m hot.’ Should I get it embroidered in soup alphabet letters? For the brand.” 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek like it might detonate a failsafe.

It does not. He’s still smiling inside your skull.

You attempt emotional flatlining. Dead eyes. No thoughts. Just the faint buzzing sound of shame vibrating in your teeth.

“I hate you,” you mutter under your breath, unsure if it’s psychic or spoken.

“Mmm. No, you don’t. You simmer. Like broth. Slow and steady. You’ve been cooking in this tension for years, mi amor. Admit it.”

You inhale. Deep. Holy. The kind of breath one takes before committing a crime or hurling oneself off a cliff. Preferably both.

“You are—without question—the worst creature I have ever known.”

“And yet,” he purrs, smug leaking through every word, “you like what you see.”

-X-Emotional Fallout-X-

Age 18:

You’re eighteen. You’re alone. It’s nighttime. You’re somewhere safe. Warm.

The kind of warmth that makes your shoulders loosen. That rare, golden hush where no one’s calling your name, no one’s watching. Maybe—just maybe—you let your guard down.

You were letting off steam. A long week. A longer year. You’ve been running, surviving, soup-warring your way through life with a telepathic menace in your head.

But tonight? He’s quiet. Finally, no insults. No commentary. No phantom sunglasses fogging up your thoughts.

So you let go.

Just a little.

A flicker of indulgence. One breath softer than the rest. Just a moment, you tell yourself. A harmless thing.

You’re having a little me time.

Which would be fine. Private. Normal. Human.

Except you forgot one minor, universe-breaking detail. The soulmate bond has a trigger—one liable to activate under very specific, very inconvenient circumstances. Namely: when the universe discovers you are, in fact, attracted to warlord pirates with blond hair and bad manners.

Not hypothetically. Not in a dream journal sort of way. No. Physically. Emotionally. Stupidly.

Far from you, in a bar that stank of sweat, smoke, and the slow rot of ambition, Donquixote Doflamingo lounged across a velvet-backed booth with all the restless menace of a lion in a too-small cage. His coat spilled over the side like a bloodied flag, pink feathers catching the dim glow of the overhead lights. 

One long leg stretched out beneath the table, the other bent. His posture said boredom. His eyes—half-lidded behind those ever-present sunglasses—said boredom.

Baby 5 was sulking across from him, arms crossed and pouting hard enough to bend metal. Vergo was mid-monologue, recounting logistics, rebellion rumors, and someone’s suspicious cargo manifest with the droning cadence of a man who believed punctuation was optional.

Doflamingo barely heard him.

He was twirling a toothpick between his fingers, letting it rest between sharp teeth, half-listening until something changed.

A pulse. A flicker. A sharp spike of emotion not his own, but intimately familiar. The bond flared, sudden and hot, as if someone had cracked the seal on a bottle of champagne and all that pressure found a weak spot.

His body jerked.

Just slightly, just enough to make the toothpick snap. He blinked once, slow and reptilian. The glass in his other hand tilted dangerously.

Baby 5 sat up straighter. “What?”

It hit him again like a sniper’s bullet: clean, precise, and devastating.

A white-hot pulse slammed through his skull, down his spine, a psychic lash so intense it stole the air from his lungs. His chair scraped against the floor as he jolted upright, all arrogance gone. 

His drink toppled, forgotten. The low murmur of the bar dimmed beneath the ringing in his ears. His sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, almost exposing his eyes, wide, startled, disbelieving.

“What the—”

Then he saw you.

Not clearly. Not fully.

Just a flicker.

But that flicker was enough.

You. 

Glowing with heat. 

Breathless. 

You, bathing in the soft radiance of lamplight. Skin flushed, chest rising and falling with breathless urgency. The curve of your throat, the tilt of your hips, the part of your lips as you whispered something meant for no one. 

Your expression was raw, unguarded. The kind of thing no one was ever meant to see, let alone feel echoing down a telepathic soul tether. 

It was not a memory. It was now. 

It was real. And it hit him so hard that the room tilted.

The bond flared, hungry and sharp, like a wire pulled taut between two hearts. His breath hitched. His pulse stuttered.

For a moment—just one—everything stopped.

He forgot the bar, the mission, the kingdom poised for collapse. He forgot Vergo. He forgot Baby 5’s question. He forgot the world.

Because you, the voice that haunted his every quiet moment, had just shattered the final wall. And the sound it made echoed straight through his ribs.

His mind, usually a thundering storm of dominance and calculation, went blank.

Didn’t even have a thought.

Just you—arching in soft light, whispering sin like it was a prayer, and him—wrecked.

For the first time in his life, Donquixote Doflamingo forgot how to speak. 

His mouth was open. His breath caught. One hand still hovering mid-air, fingers curled like he meant to grab the table. Or maybe the fabric of reality itself, and shake it.

Trebol leaned in, nose wrinkling. “Uh, boss? You good?”

Doflamingo didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then, with the reverence of a man watching prophecy unfold, he rasped:

“She’s legal... she’s definitely legal now. Oh my god.”

Everyone at the table froze.

Baby 5 made a strangled sound. Vergo’s monologue died in his throat.

Doflamingo just stared into the distance like he’d been shot by Cupid and then hit by a train.

Thirty full seconds passed.

Then, laughter.

Low, slow, unhinged laughter. It started deep in his chest and rolled out like thunder, thick with disbelief and delighted menace.

“Oh, cariño,” he said, voice rough with something unholy, “you’re going to regret this.”

Wherever you were, wherever you had just collapsed back against your pillow in sweet, tired afterglow.

Then you felt it. 

A flicker. A shift in the air. 

Like the temperature dropped a degree, and the static charge of something watching curled at the edge of your consciousness.

Doflamingo was smiling.

Not passive. Not teasing. Real. Awake. Focused. And turned on.

“Well, well, well,” came the purr through the tether of your bond. “Look who’s finally an adult. And doing such adult activities.”

You scream.

Mentally. Physically. Existentially.

It’s a full-body, soul-level meltdown.

“GET OUT—”

“Too late. Saw everything.”

You die. Emotionally. On the spot. Your soul files a lawsuit. Your dignity packs a suitcase.

“Cute little sounds you make. Didn’t think you had it in you. I knew you’d fold one day, but I didn’t expect to get front-row seats.”

You scramble to recover, to bury the memory under seventeen mental potatoes and a Gregorian chant. You imagine beige wallpaper. Tax codes. That one time you stubbed your toe and cried out of spite.

It does nothing. He smirks louder. Emotionally. Telepathically. Spiritually.

“You looked so pretty when you thought I wasn’t watching.” A pause. Sinful. “Spoiler alert: I always am.”

You try to deny it, valiantly.

“That was—private. It was biological. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Sweetheart,” He croons, “it was spiritual phone sex. And you butt-dialed me.”

You vow—vow—never to touch yourself again. You briefly consider shaving your head and joining a monastery. You wonder if monks are allowed to cry this much.

Then he whispers it. Soft. Wicked. Smug enough to black out the sun.

“Don’t worry. Next time, I’ll help.”

You throw your shoe at the wall. It bounces. It hits you.

He feels it.

He laughs for forty straight minutes. Possibly more. You wouldn’t know. You’re already digging your own grave with a plastic spoon. 

The bond is buzzing now. You’ve been seen. And Doflamingo? He’s delighted.

You're no longer just hiding from an emotional terrorist. You're hiding from a man who has seen you naked. And he will never let you live it down.

You genuinely consider moving to the Moon. Quiet place. No warlords. No soulbond static humming behind your eyes like a mosquito with a superiority complex. 

Instead, you get a therapist.

A fancy one. Specialist in soul bonds, telepathic bleed, and emotional containment techniques. Her office smells like sandalwood and quiet judgment. She has a PhD in psychic hygiene and wears linen robes like a woman who’s never been personally terrorized by a flamingo in sunglasses.

It depletes most of your college fund. You eat instant noodles for six months and barter your roommate’s scented candles to afford the last session. But by the gods, it works.

You learn the ancient and noble art of greywalling. You don’t know how. It’s instinctive like a prey animal flattening in tall grass. You start thinking… wrong.

Not a wall exactly. More like a fog. A numb, soothing, beige silence that makes your inner landscape so boring it repels narcissists like holy water. No thoughts. No feelings. Just the psychic equivalent of elevator music and poorly lit office carpet.

It works. 

Doflamingo pings your mind, irritated. Sniffs around the edges. Sends increasingly unhinged mental messages.

“If you don’t stop thinking about taxes and glue, I swear I will fly to wherever you are and start narrating my workouts in detail. I am not losing a psychic staring contest to a gremlin. If you say 'zen garden' one more time, I’ll turn your stupid little frog plush into a hand puppet.”

But you hold. You breathe. You greywall.

This is the year you leave home and all semblance of mental stability.

You packed your bag and ran to become something else entirely: A tactical genius of emotional evasion.

Stone-faced. Steel-minded. Soupproof.

“You know who’d be cute with a little hat? A potato.”

And on the other end of the soulbond, Doflamingo snaps.

“HELLO? What the hell is this? WHAT. WHAT IS THIS? WHY IS THERE A HAT ON THE POTATO? TAKE THE HAT OFF—Why is my head full of... clam chowder? Is this a hostage situation? Did someone scramble you?”

You escalate.

You start doing fake reality show narrations in your head.

“Day six in the hideout. The color-blind Flamingo is pacing again. That’s the third chair this week. He is emotionally constipated and angry at soup.”

“I will find you and stuff a cannonball in your ear canal.”

He’s used to people screaming, begging, obeying, or dying. He is not used to being ignored.

By now, you’ve figured it out. You’re not the strong one. You’re not the clever manipulator. You’re not a warlord with sunglasses worth more than your entire village.

But you are excellent at one thing.

Going silent. Not just quiet— just annoying as hell. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually. You learn to layer your thoughts in static, white noise, nursery rhymes. You picture soup. Endless, brothy soup.

“Did you just think about turnip stew for six hours straight?”

Yes. Yes, you did. And you’ll do it again.

You become a master at decoys. You once spent three days mentally reciting the Goa Kingdom’s Tax Code.

“I swear to god, if you say Clause 7-B one more time—”

You start singing internally. Not good songs. Not ballads. You sing “It’s a Small World” on loop. You create psychic musicals about mundane tasks. You give him earworms so potent he starts questioning reality.

“I heard that stupid rat song in my sleep. ARE YOU SINGING ABOUT STUFFED ANIMALS?! HOW IS THIS MY BOND?!”

You imagine yourself as a sentient raccoon with a briefcase.

“WHAT IS IN THE BRIEFCASE?”

You don’t answer. You never do. That’s what makes it art.

He starts trying to reason with you.

“Just show me where you are. We’ll talk. I’ll be polite. No torture unless necessary. I can make you rich. Powerful. Better soup.”

You respond by imagining what a grilled cheese would sound like if it could sing.

He nearly chokes during a high-stakes underworld meeting.

At this point, he nearly snapped. He has restructured crime empires. He has murdered royalty. He is feared across the sea. But he cannot find the little rat in his head who keeps making musical numbers about turnips wearing wedding veils. You won’t even give him your goddamn name.

He doesn’t get it. No one harasses him. No one forgets he exists. But you? 

You cut him off. And now he’s fuming. And he’s not an idiot. He’s unstable, but not stupid.

“You’re being annoying on purpose, aren’t you?” 

You don’t answer. You’re pretending to be a turnip today. 

“You little goblin. You are doing this on purpose.”

You mentally picture a rutabaga in a scarf.

“Oh. Oh, I see how it is.”

He paces his study. Flings a chair at the wall. 

“You think you’re clever. You think I won’t burn ten towns to flush you out, but I will.”

And you? 

You imagine slow-cooked lentils with fresh rosemary.

“I SWEAR TO GOD.”

You start picking up tricks from watching the news; World Government censorship, Cipher Pol propaganda, even weather pattern irregularities around key islands. You realize if you shuffle your daily routine and keep your emotions scrubbed clean like laundry, you can dip below his radar.

He can’t read what you won’t allow. And if you act boring enough, he won’t even try.

You move to a new town. Take on a fake name. You’re working part-time cleaning ships. You’ve trained your thoughts to run like a filler arc no one asked for.

He doesn’t even want to harass you anymore.

He wants to understand. He wants to meet the freak who weaponized the word “pink pony yogurt club” against him. He wants to see your face just once and scream into your mouth for five uninterrupted minutes. He no longer calls you a divine punishment. 

He calls you “my affliction.” 

You replied curtly, ‘Ew’.

You’ve never met. You are just a girl. You have never been kissed. You are the emotional equivalent of a haunted IKEA display.

But he knows your mind like a battlefield, and he is losing. 

“You win. You broke something in me. I want to meet you and strangle you and feed you better soup.”

On a suspiciously bird-themed ship, Doflamingo Is Having a breakdown in sunglasses.

It isn’t love. It isn’t longing. It’s rage, confusion, and a slow-dawning fascination with the one thing in the world he can’t find.

“Where the hell did you go. I know you’re not dead. You’re too stubborn. Like cockroach-in-a-microwave stubborn.”

And you are.

You’re in some no-name town with a fake-ass identity, a head full of soup and math equations, pretending to be normal. You’ve erased every trace of your real self like a witness in a mob trial.

Meanwhile, he’s spiraling.

Combusting over a blurry flash of shoulder, like it was a religious experience. Living, laughing, and losing his damn mind over a maybe-nipple like it’s the final boss of his personal sanity dungeon. His usual women aren’t cutting it anymore. Too flattering, too available, not enough psychic mystery or soup-based emotional damage.

And somehow… he can’t get a lock on you.

“Alright then. Let’s see how long you can keep it up. Come on, little soup gremlin. Play hide and seek with the devil.”

You feel it then. The subtle shift. 

Before, you were a nuisance. Now? You’re a project. And Doflamingo loves unfinished projects.

You hear him muttering to himself now, sometimes through the bond. Like a shark circling a boat it can’t quite bite. You sit quietly. Eating dry crackers. Pretending to be a sentient loaf of bread. You picture him pacing in his ship’s throne room like a disgruntled flamingo.

You are not a warrior. You are not a revolutionary. You are not a threat. But somehow, you have become the single most fascinating thing in the life of one of the most dangerous men in the world.

And that’s a terrifying achievement.

Age 19:

You saw the news by accident.

It was plastered on the front of a damp bounty flyer, stapled to the wall of a dingy tavern somewhere halfway up a crumbling cliff road. You’d stopped to steal a sandwich and maybe a bar stool.

Then your eyes landed on it:

“DONQUIXOTE DOFLAMINGO — NEW WARLORD APPOINTMENT ANNOUNCED.”

Underneath, a grainy image of him smirking. Arms wide. Coat flared. Pink as sin.

You stood there, sandwich in hand, absolutely unblinking. Inside your skull, the bond buzzed like a wasp nest dipped in champagne.

“Warlord? They made him a warlord? Who looked at that walking Gucci tantrum and said, ‘Yeah, give him state-funded murder rights???”

You knew he knew you saw it. And you knew what was coming next. Sure enough, ten seconds later,

“Sweetheart.”

Your blood turned to soup.

“You’re wearing the pink panties, right?”

Dropped the sandwich. Burned the flyer. Left the town so fast you nearly took the bar stool with you.

You didn’t stop to think.

Because there was no thinking anymore.

Doflamingo—your soul’s biggest mistake—was now a Warlord of the Seven Seas, the Joker of the underworld, and was whispering sweet chaos into your brain like a bedtime story from hell.

He’s in his thirties, and he’s getting worse.

No character development. No healing arc. Just unfiltered rage and an ever-expanding pastel wardrobe like trauma is tax-deductible.

He doesn’t talk into the bond all the time. But when he does, it’s usually after a bloodbath. Or a tantrum. Or a business deal involving a body count.

You’ve gotten good at dodging emotional landmines. 

But sometimes he gets weirdly domestic. And those moments are somehow worse.

"You’d like this silk, I think. Soft. Expensive. Bloody, but I wiped it off. What do you eat besides soup?” He snickers, but his voice softens, “I bet you eat like a peasant. Tch. I’ll fix that."

You move again. That’s the third time this year. Send more potato-in-hat images.

You stayed on the move.

Changed your name. Your clothes. Your voice.

You learned how to lie through a Den Den Mushi with a smile.

You stuffed your thoughts with trivia and garbage again; cabbage facts, sock folding techniques, sandwich rankings by altitude.

Even worse, that’s the year you get into a fist fight—and by “fist fight,” you mean a life-or-death brawl with fate, blood, and the violent repercussions of your own hubris.

It happens in a dingy alleyway on the edge of a port town, under lanterns that flicker like they’re in on the joke. You’re not supposed to be there. You’re running a quick errand. You have a bag of yams in one hand and false confidence in the other. Then someone jumps you.

Not metaphorically.

You don’t remember what they wanted. Your coin purse, your life, your identity; it doesn’t matter. 

What matters is that you fought back. 

And lost. 

Spectacularly. Like a heroic cabbage in a blender. You have a bruised rib, a dislocated shoulder, and the sneaking suspicion that you bit someone mid-panic. But the worst part isn’t the pain. The worst part is what happens when you lose consciousness.

Because it turns out, when your soulmate is a warlord of the sea with Haki (You’d discover what Haki was much, much later) strong enough to black out a small country, and when you happen to be unconscious?

The bond fully opens.

And you are dreaming.

Or, you were.

You expect nothingness. Instead, you wake in a place that feels familiar and wrong.

Because suddenly you’re standing in a blood-red room that smells like cigars, velvet, and ambition. The floor is polished marble. The air is too still. And sitting in a throne that looks stolen from a villain-themed opera is him.

Donquixote Doflamingo.

Blond. Tanned. Shirt undone like it’s a war crime. Legs spread like arrogance made flesh.

He’s waiting.

Seated on a throne of strings and broken glass. Pink feathers bleeding into the wind.

His expression is the first thing you see.

Not his voice.

Not his laugh.

Not even that unbearable psychic hum that usually announced his presence like a bad omen with designer shoes.

Just his face.

Startlingly close.

Too close.

So sharp and vivid it felt like a vision carved into the backs of your eyelids, like lightning caught behind them. It flashed into being with no warning, no buildup. One moment you getting your ass kicked, and the next, his face was there, burned into your mind’s eye with impossible clarity.

He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

His eyes were wide open; exposed, unfiltered. The color of dried blood and burnished mahogany, glowing with something old and volatile beneath. Strange and warm and unnerving, like autumn leaves falling into a fire.

They were beautiful.

Offensively so.

The kind of eyes that made people forget to breathe, or think, or say anything remotely intelligent.

And he wasn’t smiling.

That, more than anything, made your pulse lurch.

Because Donquixote Doflamingo smiled at everything: mockery, threats, murder, his own reflection, that grin was his weapon and his shield. A constant, polished sneer that meant he was in control.

But his sunglasses are gone. His expression is bare. His jaw is clenched like it’s trying to hold in the whole damn ocean. And for the first time since the death of Rosinante, he looks… shaken.

“You reckless idiot. You absolute menace. You stupid, stubborn brat—”

His voice cracks like a whip, but not with anger.

It shakes.

“If you think you get to drop dead and leave me with nothing but flashbacks of you insulting my coat, I will resurrect your corpse just to yell at you.”

You’re still half-dreaming. Still bleeding. Your mind floats somewhere between agony and consciousness, but his presence is so loud, so sharp, it slices through the fog.

“Huh?”

He leans closer, fists trembling where they grip your dream-reality like it might vanish again. And his voice, so often smug, cruel, and unbearable, is soft.

Raw.

He stares at you like a man trying to memorize a constellation moments before the sky swallows it. His gaze is fixed, hungry; not with desire, but desperation. The kind that comes from nearly losing something he swore he didn’t need.

“You nearly severed the tether.”

His voice is low, rough. Not angry. Frayed.

“You think I wouldn’t feel that? You think I’d just let you slip away without consequence? Without a word? Without—”

He cuts himself off, breath hitching. Then slowly, deliberately, he rises to his full height. He’s huge, ginormous, terrifying.

The world around him responds, the dreamscape shuddering like glass under strain. Shadows ripple along the edges of the surreal, like the dream itself knows better than to test him.

And for once, he doesn’t swagger. Doesn’t smirk.

There’s no humor left in him.

“You can’t die here,” he says, each word a verdict. “Not now. Not before I get to make it worse for you in person.”

You groan, dragging yourself upright with the exhausted defiance of someone who’s been through hell and still refuses to leave it politely.

“You’re more dramatic than a pigeon in a courtroom,” you mutter, blinking the haze from your dream-vision.

He snorts once. No grin. Just grit.

“I’m more invested than a fucking pidgeon. I was born into power. I lost everything. I clawed it back with blood and strings. But you—”

He steps forward. Closer.

Then he kneels. A fluid motion, calculated but unguarded. He reaches out, his fingers curling under your chin; not cruel, not tender, just firm, like he needs to anchor himself to something real. To something that won’t vanish if he lets go.

“I was eight years old when I watched my father get crucified by the people he thought he could live among,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Watched my brother pity me. Then hate me for killing that selfish old man. Then Corozón betrayed me. I have been hated, loved, despised, and venerated—”

His thumb brushes the edge of your jaw.

“And still, none of it prepared me for you.”

He leans closer just enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek.

When he speaks again, his voice is low. Raw. Almost reverent.

“You don’t get to leave me. Not unless I say so.”

The words aren’t sharp. They’re jagged. Torn from somewhere beneath his ribs.

You stare at him, heart hammering. Not in fear, but in understanding. Because for once, this isn’t bravado or games. This isn’t performance.

This is real.

He means it. Every cracked, ugly syllable.

Doflamingo leans in, forehead pressed to yours. His breath is shallow. The dreamspace pulses, heavy with heat and gravity, like the air before a storm.

And then, you feel it. The tether. Glowing between you. Not frayed. Not dim.

Alive.

“...You are the only thing in this whole rotten world that can never leave me.” He murmurs. “Even when you curse me. Even when you run. Even when you talk back like a little brat.”

His voice drops lower, rougher.

“You will not die.”

It’s not a plea. It’s a command. Solid. Blazing. Horrible. Intimate.

“Live, you idiot,” he breathes. “Live so I can keep loathing you properly.”

And then you wake with a gasp.

Blood on your tongue. A gash across your shoulder. Screams in the distance. The world shuddered back into motion.

Age 20:

It’s the year he takes over Dressrosa. Crowned de facto king after what the papers cheerfully call a “peaceful transition of power.” You snort into your tea and accidentally choke.

Peaceful, your ass.

The article is accompanied by a photo of him on the palace balcony, looking like a war criminal in designer shades, surrounded by confetti and terrified nobles. There’s a quote, too, of course. Something bland and regal. You don’t read it. You don’t need to.

Because you already know what he said to you.

You’ve been getting little psychic postcards all week. And by postcards, you mean whispered threats with the cadence of a marriage proposal.

“Did you know I rewrote the laws of Dressrosa? Guess whose name is outlawed now? It starts with yours.” He’s such a smug braggart. “The throne’s missing something. I think it’s you.”

You set the paper down.

He’s a king now.

You grab your emergency mental foghorn.

Time to pretend you’ve never heard of wine, or thrones, or—God forbid—him.

He’s quieter now, which is worse. Before, he was noise incarnate: arrogant laughter and swaggering monologues, honeyed venom laced with entitlement. The man once used magical thread powers to dramatically soliloquize from the top of a castle. Subtlety was not in his vocabulary.

But lately?

He doesn’t scream anymore. He studies you.

The tether hums faintly, the bond never broken, just waiting. He tracks your moods like a cartographer of storms; silent, focused, and unnervingly accurate. He tracks your emotional rhythms like clockwork.

“Sad today. Tried cooking yesterday and got hurt. Maybe a burn.”

He speaks to no one in particular when it happens. Sometimes aloud. Sometimes just into the smoke. He reconstructs your voice with surgical precision. Imagines the expressions you’d make. Catalogs the things you hate about him, and commits them to memory like a prayer.

The bond has become something of an altar that he’s decided is holy. And you are extremely concerned about what a man like Donquixote Doflamingo qualifies as holy.

"I’ll find you eventually, cariño. You’re the only good thing the world gave me. You’re mine. You know that, right?"

And the worst part?

You feel it.

That subtle tug in your chest. That phantom ache whenever he’s angry. Or restless. Or, God help you, lonely. It drags through your ribcage like ghost wire, cold and aching.

“Speak to me. Scream at me. Hate me. I’ll take anything. Just don’t go silent.”

He sends thoughts now like love letters. Each one is worse than the last.

“Today, I stabbed a man for snoring. Thinking of you.”

They arrive unannounced, like bad weather. No lead-up. No apology. Just violent declarations scrawled across your sanity.

“Put something nice on. I’m fantasizing.” 

You eat plain soup with the fury of someone at war. You meditate like it’s a hostage negotiation. You sob quietly into Pancake, your frog plushie, the noble, bug-eyed witness to your ongoing psychological siege.

He hums. Softly. Like this isn’t deeply unhinged.

Pancake stares with you. Both of you silently scream.

You won’t give in. You are almost certain of that. But he is utterly convinced that one day you will tell him your name and location.

Because in his mind, you are his one and only buddy, his unfortunate soulmate with amazing thighs and a frankly heroic capacity for ignoring him. A rare combination of mental fortitude, dry wit, and bottomless resistance.

You will not break. 

You are not okay. 

But you are very, very stubborn. 

And that? He loves it. Horrifically. Loudly. Forever. Whether you like it or not.

Age 21:

The bathroom mirror had seen better days. So had you.

You scrubbed at your face with a rag that smelled faintly of mildew and mint, the water in the basin lukewarm and flecked with soap scum. Another bad day. Another town. Another name that wasn’t yours.

You were tired. Tired of hiding, tired of fake papers and muddy boots, tired of planning your meals like military operations. Most of all, you’re just tired of him.

It had been quiet lately. No jeering laughter in your skull. No flippant commentary on your soup obsession or your thoughts about frogs in hats or emotional potatoes. No psychic eyerolls during thunderstorms. Just... silence. The kind that made your skin itch.

So, naturally, your guard was haywire. You weren’t thinking. That was the problem.

You were just muttering to yourself under your breath as you scrubbed your teeth, watching your own reflection with the dull detachment of someone who hadn’t slept properly in three nights.

You’ve been mentally torturing him for years with soup, barnacle trivia, and passive-aggressive Gregorian chants. You once forced-fed him an hour-long internal monologue about sock fabrics while he was bleeding out in a back alley.

You assume—correctly, logically, reasonably—that Donquixote Doflamingo does not care.

About you.

Not in the way that would suggest softness or sentiment or any of the dangerous, thorned things that curl beneath skin and root themselves in a soul. No, he couldn’t possibly. Because you, regrettably, have heard him.

All of him.

It had started years ago, quiet at first, like a radio signal caught on a wind current. A glimpse. A murmur. Then, louder. Uninvited. Unfiltered. 

You learned quickly that soulbond telepathy had no dignity. That whatever cruel cosmic force tethered you to him had zero concept of personal space. Because sometimes, far too often, his mind was a midnight broadcast of sins, and you were the poor soul caught holding the receiver.

He had liaisons. Frequent. Loud. Ridiculously vivid. And you? You had trauma.

There were nights you sat rigid in bed, pillow over your face, trying not to hear the way he rasped breathless curses against someone else's neck. Days when your tea cooled untouched, as laughter and heat flooded your senses without consent. You once hurled a ceramic vase at the wall with such force that it cracked the plaster. He’d been particularly loud that morning. Your earlobes burned for hours.

So yes.

Of course, you assume he’s not all that committed to you.

You are the unwanted intrusion, the irritating frequency in his head that he forgot to mute. Background static. A parasite in his private thoughts. The gremlin soulmate who haunts his subconscious like a tax he never agreed to pay.

You’re just a loose thread in a coat he can’t burn. He’s only mentally present to torment you. To twist the tether. To punish you with psychic echoes of things that were never meant for you. That’s what you tell yourself. Over and over.

The moment you think that thought, clear as day, halfway through brushing teeth, a little smug even:

 “Thank god he doesn’t actually like me.”

Oh, sweetheart. If your future self could reach across time, she would gently touch your shoulder, look into your wide, blinking eyes, and whisper:

“You poor, sweet dumbass.”

Because you really believed it, didn’t you? That you were just a blip. A glitch in the psychic system. That Donquixote Doflamingo, flamboyant, feral, deeply unstable, disturbingly hot, was soul-bonded to you solely for the cosmic comedy of psychological torture. That he hated you. Loathed you. That his theatrics, his possessive taunts, his fixation were just funny little threats on the wind.

And sure. Fair. Who wouldn’t think that?

Turns out, you were wrong. 

Because the second that thought escapes your brain and the traitorous spark of relief formalizes, it happens.

You feel it. That awful, molasses-thick psychic presence slithering in like tar. Familiar. Claustrophobic. Saturated with heat and silk and something unhinged. He’s there.

Not in body. In mind. Sudden. Vivid. Uninvited. Like someone kicked the door to your soul off its hinges and waltzed inside, horrified.

A stunned silence stretches across the bond.

Then, his voice. Low. Icy. Coiled with disbelief.

“…Excuse me?”

You froze mid-brush, hand hovering near your mouth, foam dangling precariously from your lips. You blinked at your reflection like it had betrayed you.

Then came the second blow:

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Not playful. Not smug. Not even his usual theater-kid villain tone. No. He sounded offended. Personally. Existentially.

“You think—after all this—you think I don’t want to have sex with you?”

Your stomach dropped. The toothbrush slid from your fingers and bounced off the sink like it was abandoning ship.

“You think I’ve been putting up with you—you—for eighteen goddamn years, because I don’t want to fuck you?”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. 

He wasn’t finished.

“You soup-brained, nightmare-spitting, telepathic sewer imp—I’ve been edged for YEARS. You think I like being haunted by the one person on the planet who moans over lentils and emotionally blue-balls me with Gregorian chant every time I so much as breathe horny?”

“You’re insane,” you whispered, horrified.

“You’re gonna find out just how insane.”

You scrambled, desperate for deflection, decency, distance. You conjured oatmeal, the blandest thought you could find. You tried to imagine beige walls. Beige carpet. Beige feelings.

He bulldozed through it like a freight train made of silk and sin.

“Oh, baby. I wanted you to hear.”

You sputtered something unwell. Something about revenge. About him being a melodramatic megalomaniac. About loud, pornographic payback that starred women who weren’t you.

Your mind flinched to the image he’d wanted you to see:

Him sprawled across a massive bed, silk sheets rumpled and half-ruined. A woman tangled around him, moaning, gasping, her nails dragging down his chest— And he wasn’t even looking at her. 

He groaned for you.

He was achingly loud now.. 

Loud in that specific, dangerous way that meant he was pacing. Shirtless. Furious. Possibly throwing furniture. Possibly hard.

“You don’t think I’ve noticed?” he hissed, sharp and unbearable in your skull. “How your thoughts stall when I’m mid-thrust? How you go weirdly quiet when I face-fuck someone else? Like you’re trying not to care?”

You fought it. Clawed your way toward denial. You summoned soup. Rats in hats. Potato Fashion Week. You mentally described an entire monologue about barnacle society hierarchy.

He burned through it like God’s wrath in Gucci sunglasses.

“Every time you tried to tune me out, I got harder,” he growled. “You’ve been teasing me through sheer neglect, you evil little hellspawn.”

You clapped your hands over your ears, as if that would help. It didn’t.

“You thought you were winning. You thought I was suffering.”

A pause. A dangerous, inhale-through-the-nose, hands-on-hips kind of pause.

“You were right. But now, we are going to fuck. Hard.”

You tried to flee. You slammed mental doors. You summoned the cabbage soliloquy. The potato sock puppet. The ancient barnacle god of taxes. You tried to think of Law doing taxes in his hat.

He crushed it. All of it. Left nothing but the echo of silk sheets and chaos.

You curled up like a dying spider. “We are not—”

His voice slithered back in, slow and thick and molten:

“Yes, we are. On principle. Out of spite. For science. And because I’m going to make you say my real name while you cry about it, you mouthy little headache.”

You fell off the bed.

Audibly.

Painfully.

He laughed. Deep. Loud. Triumphant. A king reclaiming a throne made of your shame.

“You don’t get to deny me for half a decade and walk away,” he purred. “Congratulations, cariño. You’re the most effective form of torture I’ve ever known. Now tell me where you are and I’ll ruin your life properly.”

You stared at the wall like it had betrayed you. Like it knew.

The tile didn’t answer. It offered no help.

Doflamingo pressed harder. Slower. With the precision of a sadist and the flair of a poet.

You snap.

“You’re just trying to scare me.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I’m not lying.”

There was a pause. You could feel the smirk stretch across his words.

And then, Oh. Oh no.

You felt it.

A vision slammed into your mind like a lightning strike: His body pinning yours to a bed that smelled of sea salt and ruin. Your mouth swollen, your throat bitten raw, his coat long discarded and forgotten. His voice—low, ruined, reverent—rasping against your ear:

“Still think I don’t want you now?”

You gasped. Out loud. 

You slammed into the sink. Everything fell. Everything betrayed you. You clutched the counter like it might save you.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

“You’re mine, cariño. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

The words slithered through your thoughts like silk dipped in sin; warm, invasive, and slow.

Heat flared at the base of your spine, sharp as a struck match, then climbed, curling upward in a slow, unbearable arc. You felt it before you could brace for it: phantom fingers beneath your chin. Telepathic, but too detailed. Too real. Too practiced.

He was in your head, and he was enjoying it.

“Let me clarify, cariño. I want to destroy you. Gently. Then humiliate you. Slowly. Then maybe tie a pretty little bow around your throat and make you say ‘mine.’”

You tasted static. Your thoughts short-circuited.

“POTATO SOUP. POTATO SOUP. POTATO SOUP—” You screamed it mentally, like a desperate exorcism. He laughed.

Low. Rich. Cruel.

He purred.

The bond vibrated, pulsing like a live wire too close to water. You slammed every mental door you could think of, but now, it didn’t quite close right. Something lingered. A thread, frayed and glowing. Still connected. Still feeling.

“You fucking String Cheese Menace! I’m being mentally violated by your interpretive telepathy porn.”

He laughed again. Louder. Prouder. Like you’d just handed him your diary and dared him to read it at a gala.

“String Cheese Menace? That’s new.” His voice oozed amusement. “You’re more obsessed with my name than I am, cariño. Keep going. I like it when you think about me.”

God, you were going to need stronger soup. Soup infused with holy water. Soup boiled under a blood moon and stirred with the bones of your dignity.

Because now, every time your mind even drifts near him, you hear it:

“Make sure you stretch— I’m big.”

And you do. Oh, you do. Too well. Too clearly. Too viscerally.

You will never emotionally recover from the sheer unholy clarity of that lesson.

And worse, no one else will ever understand.

Not a single soul on this cursed, spinning rock has woken up to the sultry, baritone voice of a wanted war criminal calling them “darling” before listing six assassination techniques like bedtime affirmations. They don’t dream of velvet-draped throne rooms, where their trauma lounges like a king in mirrored sunglasses, sipping wine and smirking like the devil’s prom date.

And all you can do, all you ever seem to do, is sigh. The long-suffering kind. The kind of sigh someone makes when told their spine could straighten if they just imagined choking a monarch.

Somewhere—far away but never far enough—you feel him lean back. Not smug. Not triumphant. Just satisfied. Coiled like a serpent. Smiling. Plotting.

“Goodnight, cariño,” he says, soft as sin. “Dream of me.”

Age 22: 

It was supposed to be a quiet stop. Just a sleepy little port, the kind that existed in soft sepia, where sea salt clung to the windows and everything smelled faintly of fish and too-sweet tobacco. A place full of rusted signs, loose cats, and old men who argued over card games they'd long since forgotten how to win.

You ducked into the crooked little newspaper shack half out of habit. The man behind the counter didn’t look up. You flipped through the headlines with the disinterest of someone who’s seen too much already; another Sea King attack, another explosion in the Grand Line, another scandal involving a Yonko’s lover and a talking bird.

And then you saw it. One name. Bold print.

“Rising In the North Blue: TRAFALGAR LAW of the Heart Pirates!”

You stared at the paper.

Your hand stilled.

No. No, that couldn’t be.

You remembered him. Not in color, not in clarity, but in blips of memory. Through Doflamingo’s thoughts, years ago. Blurry. Raw. Half-digested with fury. He had a fatal disease or something. 

“The brat. My brother’s final, pathetic pet project.”

You’d seen fragments of Law. A coat wrapped too large around too-small shoulders. A boy shivering in the dark, his breath visible in the cold. The way he hid behind Corazón like the sun was too bright, and the world too cruel.

You close the paper gently, fingers trembling just a little. And you whisper to the wind, like the secret might vanish if you say it too loud:

“Interesting.”

Later that night, curled up in the narrow bed of your too-small rented room where the walls are thin and the blankets smell like soap and sea, you try not to think.

But the bond stirs anyway. It’s not loud. Not demanding. It creeps in softly. Like a slow, stalking tide. Like blood blooming beneath bandages.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

He hears your thoughts anyway. He always does.

“You heard, then.” His voice slides in; velvet and acid, sweet and scalding in the same breath. “The little roach crawled out of the grave after all.”

You flinch. Not at the words. The way he says them with that half-smile. That gnawing, sick amusement laced with something older. Sharper.

You’d been thinking about Law more than you meant to. Not constantly. Not in the big, bold thoughts Doflamingo could pounce on.

But in the spaces between. The pauses between breaths. The quiet just before sleep. Little thoughts. Half-formed. Careful.

A boy in the snow. A brother’s shaking hands. A ghost that chose to live.

You didn’t mean to send that thought through the tether. You really didn’t. It had just slipped out, quiet and instinctive, like an exhale after too many years holding your breath.

“Is he okay? He made it farther than anyone thought. I should find him.”

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t even fully formed. Just a passing flicker of concern in the fog of your own mind, a warm memory brushed with frost. But the bond caught it anyway. Like static on a line, it jumped the circuit and lit up something you had tried for years to keep buried.

The response was immediate.

The world around you—brimming with late market noise, fish vendors shouting, tarps flapping in the ocean wind—seemed to pull back, muffled like cotton stuffed in your ears.

And then, with a slow, dangerous precision:

“What?”

The voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It slithered into your mind like smoke curling under a locked door; sweet, poisonous, and possessive. You froze, mid-step. One hand hovered over a basket of oranges.

You didn’t say anything aloud. But he felt your stillness. And that was enough.

“Say it again.” He demanded.

You clenched your jaw. Willed yourself to breathe. The market moved on without you, unaware, uncaring. Somewhere nearby, a child laughed. A bell rang. A gull screamed over the dock. The sea went on breathing.

“You’re thinking of finding him.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a blade against your ribs, too casual to be anything but deliberate.

You resumed walking, slow and even, like you hadn’t just had your mind cracked open like a chest. The tether burned faintly behind your eyes: hot, expectant.

“You think he’d want to see you?” His voice curled around the thought like smoke around a blade; low, bitter, brimming with something too sharp to be jealousy. “My brother’s betrayal? The boy who ran from everything?” A pause, thin and cruel. “He wouldn’t know you from a toadstool.”

You kept walking. But the words sank their claws in.

Those were memories Doflamingo never meant to share. Too soft to hold onto, too vivid to forget. And they’d stayed with you, lodged in the back of your mind like splinters that never stopped aching.

His voice slid back in, cruel and smug.

“Is that what you’re doing now? Looking for my strays? Trying to replace me with a broken little pirate in a hat?”

Ah.

That made you stop right in the middle of the street. People moved around you like water, like you weren’t even there. You exhaled slowly. Then, with deliberate cheer:

“Bet he’d let me join his crew. Trauma solidarity. Anti-Doflamingo Alliance. He seems serious. Has a hat.”

The tether snapped taut.

And on the other end, Doflamingo seethed.

For a moment, you almost believed he was gone, until the pressure returned, sharp and glittering like glass ground into your spine.

“Don’t joke.”

He didn’t say it with humor. Not the usual oily lilt. This was raw. Unfiltered.

You felt it in your teeth.

So you doubled down.

“Why not? He looks like he has a dental plan. Bet he’d give me a crew jacket. Maybe even a title. ‘Executive of Not Taking Your Shit.’”

“You think this is funny?”

The fury came first—searing and immediate—but underneath it, curled like smoke in a cold hearth, was something quieter. Older. It wasn’t anger. Not really. It was fear. That sharp, desperate edge only someone like him could mask beneath silk and swagger.

You felt it. Not just through the bond, but in your ribs, in the subtle ache of your sternum. A pressure. A presence.

You tilted your head inward, tone clipped with practiced nonchalance.

“Everything’s funny when you’re not the one screaming in my head about ‘mandatory silk dresses’ and outlawing my name. Law already feels like a better conversationalist.”

The bond stuttered. Not frayed, not fragile, but destabilized. Like a tightrope in high wind. For a split second, the air around you changed; thick with salt, with ozone, with the kind of tension that cracks before a lightning strike.

“Are you out of your soup-stained, morally confused, freeloader mind?” His voice whipped through your skull, raw and incredulous. “You’re thinking of joining him over me?”

And there it was. The truth of his upset.

He was jealous. 

Instead, you looked up at the overcast sky, let the wind brush your cheek, and replied flatly, “It’s just a thought.”

He snarled.

“It’s betrayal.”

You shrugged, walking through the crowded street like your chest wasn’t being hijacked by an overgrown warlord having an emotional meltdown.

“It’s a job application.”

“You think that little cretin could protect you?” Doflamingo’s voice dropped lower, venomous now. “He’s playing pirate. I am a Warlord.”

You exhaled through your nose. 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t whisper in my brain when I’m trying to sleep. He doesn’t threaten potential boyfriends with crucifixion. He doesn’t refer to himself in the third person like a shirtless megalomaniac. Also, he has a doctor’s license.”

Doflamingo went disturbingly quiet, like a parent realizing their credentials weren’t quite as shining as they hoped. You’d learned long ago that his silence meant he was either plotting murder or branding. Planning. Wounded, maybe. Plotting revenge, definitely.

When he spoke again, it was quiet. Too quiet.

“He wouldn’t even like you.”

You smiled at a passing bird, the gesture almost sweet.

“We’re both tired, emotionally repressed, and have the same war criminal ex. We’d get along great.”

The bond hissed.

Then—like steam escaping a long-forgotten vent—came his voice, half-laughing, half-breathless.

“You little gremlin. You manipulative, soul-linked, absolute goblin. You want to use my trauma bond to run away and hide. You’re trying to network through my villain arc.”

You grinned.

“Glad you’re catching up, Doffy.”

You said it with a smirk, like a wink through the static. You could practically feel him pacing somewhere. Probably high on that gaudy throne of his in Dressrosa, rage-fluffing his ridiculous feathered coat like an over-caffeinated bird, trying to figure out if he could legally declare war on your intentions.

“I’ll kill him.”

“You say that a lot.”

“This time I mean it.”

“Okay, bet.”

Silence.

Sharp-edged, sulking silence.

Which, frankly, counted as a win.

You kicked your boots up onto the windowsill of your rented inn room, letting the afternoon sun warm your ankles while you mentally drafted your pirate résumé. Just in case. Because if Law would let you aboard? You’d be packed by nightfall. You had stolen pineapple bread, sourced from a dubious window seal.

Of course, you’d make it poetic.

“Dear Captain Trafalgar, handsome Law—please find enclosed my trauma credentials—”

The bond twitched.

And from wherever he was—in a tower, in a throne room, in the pit of his own frustration—Doflamingo swore.

Low. Measured. Dangerous.

“…You're not funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” you said airily, licking pineapple glaze off your thumb, “and your coat agrees. I bet Law agrees as well.”

Another pause. And then, something quieter.

Doflamingo exhaled.

Low. Long. Final.

Like the sound a monster makes when it decides it’s done playing dead. Like a beast surfacing. Like something ancient remembering its hunger.

You froze.

The bond didn’t shiver—it shifted, like something had turned to face you from the dark.

“Okay.” 

That was all. Just that. With enough conviction to be concerning.

The bread went slack in your fingers. Your stomach dropped like a cannonball. 

“Okay, what?” you asked, slow and suspicious.

“It’s time,” he repeated, voice syrup-slick and filled with rot.

“Pardon?” You stopped chewing.

“Run. Hide. Cross the Grand Line backwards for all I care. I am going to hunt you down.”

Mid-bite, mid-thought, mid-life crisis. The pineapple bread turned to sawdust in your mouth.

“Nope.” You said aloud, with the conviction of someone denying reality on principle. “Absolutely not. We don’t belong in the same sea, much less the same island. I have boundaries. And brain rights. And possibly a strong future in privateering—”

“You did this to yourself, brat. You’ve refused to meet, refused to even give me your name. You just threatened to share pillow talk with another man. Prepare yourself for the consequences of your actions.” 

A beat.

“You’re near the Red Line, aren’t you?”

You grabbed the pineapple bread, your coat, and your dignity (what little remained), and ran. But it was too late. You felt it deep down, threaded through your spine, your heartbeat, the air around you, like barbed wire laced through every bone in your body.

-X- End Part Two -X-

[bvidzsoo]

Take your breath away

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: werewolf!Jeong Yunho x werewolf!female reader

☾ Warning: nudity, quite suggestive at times (honestly, they are pretty horny for each other), cursing, unhealthy amount of subtle (or not) jealousy and possessiveness ☾ Word count: 28.9k ☾ Rating: mature ☾ Genre: supernatural creatures!au, academy!au, werewolf!au, omegaverse-ish!au, unrequited love!au...or is it?, mates!au, angst ☾ Summary: New beginnings are always scary, and you are no stranger to them as your family moves to a town called Nocturnal Parade, filled with other night creatures. You find lovely people here, a community, a pack to have your back, and even a best friend called Choi San. What you don't expect, however, is to find your mate, who wants nothing to do with you.

A/N: Hi, my lovelies, I am back! I know I was gone for a while, and I won't lie, I wasn't inspired at all and felt really depressed (some things just pilled up for me in these past autumn months and that mixed with seasonal depression have hit me hard), but I am feeling a lot better now! I won't promise anything, but I'll try to post again more often, and hopefully continue the on-going series I already have. Please, please, please, imagine Yunho in this one with long hair, like in the top-middle picture! And for those who have read my Mingi Preying on you tonight oneshot, I have some exciting news...this story happens in the same universe, sooo, you'll get more insight on everyone's character! ^^ (If you haven't checked it out yet, you should give it a read, the world building goes more in-depth there ^^) Also, important note to keep in mind: everyone in this story goes by the 'Song' surname since they are siblings! I hope you enjoy this story too, and a small reminder, your feedback always gives me an inspirational push, so I greatly appreciate hearing what you think of this oneshot! <3 divider ~ and because I might as well dedicate this oneshot to you for hyping me up and helping me out with it, I hope you enjoy it @hongjoongspoetry <3 ~

            No matter how long I looked, he’d never glance my way. I had gotten used to his constant ignorance, but it still stung. I couldn’t help it, it was the only reasonable reaction considering we were mates.

It wasn’t anything we had spoken about, let alone even addressed, but I had known since the very first time I had laid my eyes on him. It was the change of my pulse, the way the world seemed to quiet around me, my breathing which got shallow, my pupils dilating and my eyes switching to an orchid colour that seemed to persist as my heart thundered in my chest, loud, and overbearing as I couldn’t help but watch the tall man who people surrounded, his head thrown back and mouth shielded by his long fingers as his body shook from laughing loudly. Until now I had only heard stories of what finding your mate felt like, but now I knew the feeling. I didn’t need to read fairytales about it anymore, nor would I pester my mother for the nth time to retell her story about meeting my father. I wasn’t desperate, per se, to find my mate, but the worry of growing old on my own had felt like a mosquito always buzzing around my ears, unable to kill it since I couldn’t see it. The fear of remaining alone seemed to persist in the back of my mind, and based on my mood, sometimes it would make me angry while other times just really anxious.

While living in Colourful River, the big city from North here, finding a suitor for myself had always felt like a challenging feat. There were too many creatures and humans alike who were too nosy and pestering, and I had never felt like I could be truly myself around them. I didn’t have many friends, humans or creatures, and at first, I blamed it on my shyness. Then, I started blaming it on my nerdiness as school rolled around, then it was the thought of being too plain for anyone to find me interesting and approachable, and then I gave up on finding an answer and decided that perhaps I was meant to be lonely, like my parents. In the big city, despite having lived here our whole lives, it seemed like we never found ourselves belonging to a community. Living closer to the border, the cities and towns were inhabited by many night creatures, however, that didn’t seem to change much when it came to my family. Maybe it was because we were all quiet and reclusive, maybe it was because we had never truly felt comfortable surrounded by so much happening at all times. And that is why I hadn’t felt any type of resistance or regret when my parents packed up our things and announced to me that we’d be leaving for a quiet and safe town just South of Colourful River, far from the border and the humans.

Nocturnal Parade has been a place I’ve heard plenty of. I knew it was inclusive of all the night creatures while being heavily influenced by the clergy. After all, it’s the town where the first attempts at a civilised and united nation amongst the night creatures had sparked. The vampires had taken the initiative, better said the Petrova family now known as Bae, were the founders of said town and the party that now advocated for all the night creatures all around the globe, making our voices heard, demanding respect and inclusion. They were, also, the ones to end the hatred between vampires and werewolves. Thanks to the effort and constant hard work, the werewolves had complied and formed one of the strongest alliances known to mankind with the vampires, pledging to fight by their side, to honour and respect them if their passion was returned by the vampires. And the respect had been mutual, the Petrovas didn’t stop until justice was brought to everyone, until every night creature could live a harmonious and pleasant life. It was a bit nerve-wracking to know I’d be cohabiting in a place with such ancient and respectable creatures from now on. From what I had heard of them until now, I knew only the daughter and her parents lived there still, keen on carrying the town’s, but also the family’s, legacy.

I wasn’t afraid of the change, however, I was reluctant and a little hesitant to join the Academy that had ultimately become a symbol of our unity and equality between us creatures. Back at my old schools, which were just simple regular schools frequented by both humans and night creatures, I wasn’t very liked. Everyone seemed to single me out, even my own kind, and they hadn’t always been the nicest about it. I supposed they saw me as an oddball just because I didn’t enjoy chasing a ball in our breaks and would rather play video games on forums with online friends, than play pretend that I was part of their made-up pack. Which brought another issue to light. My family had never belonged to a pack. My father’s family had long ago moved to Colourful River, leaving behind their abusive and mistreated past, meanwhile, my mother’s family had always been tightly-knit but not inclusive of strangers. So, as the elders all died, it was just my parents and me. I didn’t have any siblings, which seemed to make me even weirder since most werewolves reproduced more than once as they preferred to have big households full of children. My parents rather enjoyed the peace a single child, like me, offered them. The less mouths to feed, the better.

However, my worries seemed to be in vain once I had finally arrived in town, and then at Wilden Pine Academy. The town was lively and buzzing with creatures at every corner, all of them friendly and lacking the judgement and nosiness of the big city folk, who always watched you with inquiring eyes, desperate for a drop of gossip. Here, in Nocturnal Parade, everyone seemed to respect your space and didn’t pry anything out of you, they were simply grateful that you had chosen their haven as your home. Moving here had been probably the best decision my parents could’ve made. I liked it here, living by the outskirts of the Haunted Woods was refreshing. I could go for evening runs whenever I wanted without having to share my space with other restless werewolves, who genuinely enjoyed sharing the running track with their friends. I always found solace in solitary, I could clear my mind when it got too loud in there. Runs were pretty much therapeutic to me, I quite disliked it when I was bothered by other rambunctious werewolves who’d howl at the night sky just for the fun of it, mostly to spook the humans that ogled us rather disrespectfully.

My aloneness, however, wasn’t chased away until the academic year started and I passed through the tall iron gates of the Academy. It was a sunny day and I was impressed by the heat despite being surrounded by vast forest, the drive a long four hours until the next town, which was Nocturnal Parade. My parents were probably more excited about me starting my penultimate academic year here than I was, but it didn’t bother me. I knew they wished I’d make happy and lasting memories here, unlike the lack of them at my old schools. They hoped amongst so many night creatures I’d find at least one person who was like me, or even if not, creatures who would accept me the way I was. I hadn’t been walking down for long the gravel path when my backpack was pushed off my shoulders as someone ran past me, only to pause once they realised their actions. My luggage was heavy as I had been pulling it after me, but the boy who I thought wouldn’t even apologise for bumping into me, turned and faced me with furrowed eyebrows and a small pout.

“Sorry, my parents always say I get too excited and lose my coordination.” The boy’s voice had been gruff, a contrast with his soft features despite his sharp face. His eyebrows were straight, his eyes small and dark, his nose petite and pointy, lips pouty and fleshy, his jawline and cheekbones both sharp and defined. His short hair and the razor cut in his left eyebrow made him look intimidating until he spoke or smiled. His lips formed a pout and his eyes disappeared as a dimpled smile formed on his face, brightening his features. He was a cute boy and I had let him help me pick up my backpack, which, surprisingly, he didn’t hand back and threw around his own shoulder instead, “Are you the new family in town? The Byuns?”

I nodded and then extended a hand for him to shake, “My name is Byun Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Choi San!” The boy shook my hand with excitement lacing his tone, “I was on a holiday when your family arrived in town, that is why I wasn’t able to attend the welcoming party organised by the Songs.”

“Ah, it’s fine.” I muttered as I had started walking again, San falling in step with me, “The party was rather…overwhelming. Not that I didn’t appreciate it, but I had never been surrounded by so many loving people at once.”

San chuckled under his breath as he seemed to carry his two duffle bags as if they weighed nothing. It wasn’t hard to guess what type of creature he was simply based on his appearance already. He was massive next to me, his shoulders wide and strong looking, his chest puffed out and back rigidly straight, his hips surprisingly narrow, but his legs well-worked. He wasn’t too tall, but he had almost a head on me. Besides, his spicy scent was strong and confident, a little bit too harsh for my sensitive nose buds, but not nauseating. And like the rest of the werewolves who had been at the welcoming party, I felt no malice nor judgement coming from San, just a lot of excitement and joy as he had led us towards the right wing of the Academy, where the designated dorms for the werewolves were.

“It might sound a little bit strange, but all the werewolves act like a big pack here in Nocturnal Parade, I assume you didn’t have that back in the city?” San’s perfectly straight eyebrow raised as he threw me a quick glance since we were nearing more students, and San was obviously popular. Everyone seemed to greet him, eager to gain his attention.

“Not really,” I answered San, walking ahead to pull the building’s door open for him, “My family didn’t belong to a pack, actually.”

That had gotten San’s attention as his eyes widened once we stepped through the threshold, the inside of the building just as grandiose as the outside. It was spacious with big windows, natural light seeping through and casting a warm glow over the space, “It must’ve been lonely, then. But fear not, the Songs will adopt your family quite quickly, if they haven’t already.”

I smiled, my heart had skipped a beat at the mention of the kind, but energetic family, “They have already, actually. They had pulled my parents aside before the party and told them that we were now part of the pack, of the family, and that the community would be there for us.”

San hummed as we went up the first flight of stairs, a small smile on his face, “Our community hadn’t always been as close as it is now, but with the Songs' arrival to Nocturnal Parade everything just fell into place. I don’t think I had seen them go a day without doing something for the town or for their fellow creatures—hey, which floor is your room at?”

And that had been one year ago, when I was new to the town and wondering whether San would ever again speak to me. Right now, however, as we sat in the Flower Field behind campus, laying on a blanket and basking in the late afternoon sun, I knew San wouldn’t go a day without speaking to me. Spring was finally around the corner, and so was the Spring Break every student was impatiently awaiting. One week back home sounded really nice right now, I never failed to miss my privacy. The dorms at the Academy were shared, and my roommate snored really loudly and whined all the time. It was hard to discipline the second youngest of the Song family, so the Academy’s ruling board decided to place her with someone older than her, more mature, and possibly a good influence on the fiery blonde who liked to wreak havoc wherever she went. Not in our shared room, though, I had laid down some ground rules after rooming with Song Yeri. No loudness nor messiness was allowed, and of course, she couldn’t bring back boys into our shared room. As long as I didn’t, she wasn’t allowed either. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but because her parents had gotten really close with mine over the past year, Yeri was forced to abide by the rules out of fear of me ratting her out to her loving, but unforgiving, parents.

The air was still chilly and you’d become cold if you sat in one spot for too long, but the bodies of werewolves were warmer, our blood hotter, almost to the point of boiling in our veins. My cheeks were rosy as I sat with my legs crossed, a book in my lap as San hummed a silent tune next to me, laying on his stomach as he solved equations. He was planning on leaving for the big city to pursue further education, but he promised to return once he was done with it. He aspired to teach at Wilden Pine Academy, and I was more than eager to be his number-one supporter. He was great with children, and even those older seemed to respect him. San had a demanding aura, and despite him never taking advantage of that, he did know when he had to put his foot down and stop someone from running all over him. Being friends with San had showed me the wonders of companionship, of what a natural and gentle, but platonic, love felt like. I could share whatever was on my mind, at any given time, and San would be there to listen, and even take my ideas further beyond my imagination.

He was a driving force when it came to my creativity, always inspiring me and pushing me to do better and to go harder because I was capable of creating grand things. I wasn’t too sure of what I’d do once I was done with the Academy, but I could see myself being a novelist. It wouldn’t be easy at first, but if I remained diligent and focused on my task, I knew I could do it—at least San had told me so, he was kind like that. Whenever I felt insecure about something, he picked me up and changed my mind about it in mere minutes, grinning from ear to ear as his eyes twinkled. If kindness had a definition, it should’ve simply said Choi San, and I was sure everyone would understand why. The serenity surrounding us, however, didn’t last for long as a squeal of my best friend’s name echoed around the blooming flowery field. San’s body tensed for just a second before he turned onto his back, sitting up as he leaned back on his hands, looking towards the boy he was too scared to confess his true feelings to.

“Sannie!” With little regard for those around him, Wooyoung threw himself at San, tackling him back down into the blanket as San groaned, the back of his head colliding with the hard ground, “Stop doing your homework and come on a run with me, hmm?”

Wooyoung was a charming young man, mischievous and painfully loud, but he had good intentions. If I ignored him always trying to sway San away from studying, then yes, he did mostly have good intentions. I shifted a bit since Wooyoung’s leg dug painfully into my hip, who was still ignoring my presence as he blinked at San slowly, placing his hands on my best friend’s firm chest as San tried to stabilise Wooyoung by holding onto his waist.

“I have a bit of homework still to do, though.” San’s voice was quiet as the sun shone down on the two friends, and I smiled to myself as I went back to reading my book, “Could you wait for half an hour?”

“But I’ve been waiting all day for you.” I could hear the pout in Wooyoung’s voice, breathy and whiny as I chuckled under my breath, eyes focusing on the words in my book. It was jarring how alike Yeri and him were at times.

“Then you can wait a bit longer.” San’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it was chastising a bit, and it made Wooyoung groan as I smiled to myself, amused by their antics. I was sure that if I could hear San’s slight change of heartbeat, the spiciness of his scent spiking too, then Wooyoung was aware of it too. Sometimes I wondered how the latter didn’t realise San’s obvious feelings for him, but I suppose Wooyoung wasn’t a very observant person, unlike his older brother, Mingi.

“Can I stay though—” Then I felt eyes on myself and I heard shuffling around, Wooyoung finally removed himself from on top of San, “Oh, hey, Y/N. What are you doing?”

“Reading,” I muttered as I flipped the page, bored by the story but knowing I had just two days to finish reading the remaining two hundred pages.

“Is it for Literature class?” Wooyoung pressed, coming closer as he hovered over my shoulder, “Yunho’s been complaining about how shitty the book was, something about the story being too slow-paced and the side love story not making too much sense.”

I hummed, completely agreeing with Yunho, who shared a Literature class with me. At the same time, I was beyond grateful that I had learned to control my reactions at the mention of Song Yunho, who had looked my way a total of three times ever since I had arrived to Nocturnal Parade. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong to be brushed off so blatantly by him, but it hurt. It had hurt a lot more in the beginning, but I had gotten used to the feeling of dejection and disappointment that followed whenever we crossed paths. I didn’t understand whether I had upset him or not, considering that our first encounter had gone rather well. To me, it had gone more than well, but maybe Yunho didn’t share the sentiment. Almost as if summoned by some deity, I didn’t have to look to know he was approaching us. My body knew upon a simple whiff of the air, the earthy and intense scent of firewood and vanilla making my lungs feel like they couldn’t expand anymore to breathe in deeper, my skin covered in goosebumps as the world seemed to quieten around me in his presence. Yunho’s tall shadow was looming over us as he stopped at the foot of the blanket, his question directed at Wooyoung.

“Did you take my cologne, again, Wooyoung?” He didn’t sound angry, but his tone was demanding. I heard Wooyoung scoff next to me as he sat mirroring my position, looking up at his brother with a defying look in his eyes.

“No, I don’t like its scent.” Wooyoung was bad at lying, especially when we had heightened and sensitive senses and he was reeking of Yunho’s sandalwood essence cologne.

“Sure, where did you put it? I need it.” I didn’t have to look to see Yunho roll his eyes, I continued feigning that I was reading the book, but my eyes were stuck on the same sentence as I read it over and over again, the words not registering in my mind. It was hard to focus when Yunho was around.  

“Are you going on a date, or what’s the rush?” I willed my heartbeat to remain steady at Wooyoung’s teasing question, to bite back the whine that threatened to leave my lips. I had no right to make claims over Yunho, but my wolf seemed to struggle to understand that. We weren’t mated, and we’d probably never be with how Yunho disregards my existence.

“Where is it, Wooyoung?” Yunho had lost his patience as his voice had an edge, his shadow still looming over us as I heard San fidget around as he turned onto his stomach to continue his homework.

“In Mingi’s bottom drawer, by the bed, where he keeps his condoms—”

“Alright.” Yunho’s tone raised, a tired huff leaving his mouth as San snickered under his breath. I didn’t react but I would’ve smiled too, Wooyoung’s brutal honesty and oversharing skills, I fear, would never be matched by anyone else I’d come across. I had a feeling it was the same for San and Yunho too, “Stop taking my things or I’ll tell mom.”

“Stop being a pussy and always ratting me out to mom,” Wooyoung’s tongue was stuck out as Yunho leaned down and harshly flicked his little brother’s forehead, making him yelp, “I’m telling mom!”

“Who’s the pussy now, huh?” I couldn’t help the smile spreading onto my lips this time as Wooyoung started whining loudly as he rubbed his forehead, his scent souring just a little bit.

San’s heart skipped a beat and I wondered whether the other two noticed, but based on their glaring contest, I highly doubted it, “Whatever, Y/N’s reading the same book as you are. Didn’t you say—”

“I’ll see you at dinner, Wooyo.” Yunho’s sharp intake of breath made me gulp as I fought hard to not show my disappointment, I knew Yunho wasn’t interested in me, but going to the extent of not even wanting to hear about me definitely stung a lot, “And don’t bother Sannie too much.”

Don’t bother Sannie too much, but I suppose he could bother me. Not that Yunho had even noticed me lounging around on the blanket, despite Wooyoung being almost all nestled up into my side since San wasn’t paying any attention to him now. I gulped down the bitterness and growing lump in my throat as Yunho departed, his footsteps loud and heavy, the sounds of the world returning to my ears once he wasn’t around anymore. Breathing was easier too, but it was a bit difficult seeing anything written on the yellowing paper since my vision was suddenly blinded by tears. It was alright, I have heard of mates that weren’t fated to be together. Of mates where only one of them imprinted on the other, and was forced to watch the love of their life mate with someone else, forced to live and die alone, without having ever experienced true and honest love. It was alright, I wouldn’t know how to gesticulate a relationship either way. I gulped and blinked my eyes fast, willing the tears to disappear before Wooyoung could notice them.

The younger boy sighed loudly next to me before he rolled over, crawling on San’s back as he laid his cheek against his friend’s scapula, “Do you mind if I take a nap like this?”

“No.” San’s voice was deeper as we shared a knowing look, Wooyoung remaining oblivious to San’s racing heart as his cheeks flushed in embarrassment when I gave him a subtle wink. If I couldn’t find my happiness, then I truly wished at least my best friend would. He’d deserve it, San deserved to be cherished and loved like no one else, and I had a feeling Wooyoung would be able to provide San with everything he needed. If only he wasn’t so oblivious to San’s feelings, besides, I had never seen Wooyoung courting anyone, we had no idea of his preferences. Whenever San tried to bring up the subject, he’d told me Wooyoung would smartly twist it until they weren’t even talking about it anymore. Maybe he was avoiding it because he had noticed San’s reactions and was afraid to hurt his best friend, or maybe he was avoiding it because he had been feeling something he didn’t understand quite yet. It wasn’t taboo for werewolves to find love amongst their own gender, but I suppose growing up in a place where nobody was like you must be nerve-wracking and rather full of uncertainty. This only made me realize that despite the cons of living in the big city had its pros as well since I grew up in a diverse and inclusive place, open and uncaring of who loved who.

But if Wooyoung’s romantic preferences remained unknown to us, Yunho’s certainly didn’t. He was unlike anyone I have met before, starting from his personality and ending with his looks. He was the eldest of the family, a good few minutes older than his twin brother, Mingi, and so naturally he was also the biggest and strongest. He was intimidatingly tall and freakishly broad, his shoulders wide and his back strong. He wasn’t visibly muscular but I’ve seen him countless times lifting logs, and even heavier things, without breaking a sweat to know that Yunho was outrageously strong. His hair was a dark brown and it had grown out since I had first met him, now always messy and curly as it reached his shoulders, making him look more boyish than the first time I had seen him. He had red highlights in his hair a year ago, adding to his mysterious allure, as his lips were a soft pink, the apple of his cheeks and nose dusted coral, which was a nice contrast with his paler complex, unlike Mingi’s whose skin was a beautiful caramel. The twins weren’t identical, but upon a closer look, you were able to tell just how many attributes they shared.

Yunho loved experimenting with his style, and he mostly wore coloured clothes, all flashy and somehow still cosy looking, however, his shoes always seemed to be mismatched. It was a peculiar feat that had me wondering whether Yunho was just generally weird or he just had a particular taste when it came to fashion, I soon had realized it was the latter. His nails were always well-kept and painted either a turquoise or a yellow colour, bringing attention to his already beautiful hands, his fingers long and bony and mostly decorated by black rings. His scent, that earthy firewood and vanilla, was just as attention-grabbing as the rest of Yunho. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve assumed Yunho was a very serious person, highly focused on his education, someone who spent his days cooped up in his room reading and learning all the time. But the Songs weren’t too focused on getting high grades, and that became apparent rather quickly after I arrived at the Academy. Yunho was a goofy guy, he loved having fun and he really enjoyed being surrounded by people, always eager to share a laugh with someone, or just fall into idle chitchat for hours on end. People seemed to gravitate towards him, eager to have a word with him. It wasn’t just him, though, students at the Academy all seemed to love the Song family, especially the twins who felt like fresh air in the dull and mediocre town that Nocturnal Parade seemed to be at first glance.

However, as mediocre as it was, I had never felt more at ease in a place before. It truly felt like I had found a community for myself and for my family, a place where everyone had your back and expected nothing in return even at the slightest of help offered. My parents loved it here, it was rather obvious since my mother was smiling more, the wrinkles were gone from her face, and my father wasn’t as stressed as before. Working as an archivist in the big city had been demanding, but in this quiet town where nobody was rushing forward with their lives, my parents could take a breather. And I could too, until I quickly realized I had been blatantly rejected by my potential mate before even getting to know them. The day we had arrived in Nocturnal Parade had been long and nerve-wracking, I had no idea what would await us in this new place. That same day, the werewolves threw a welcoming party for our family, eager to welcome us into their pack.

It was late evening by the time my family had sorted most things out at our small house, which was on the same street as the Songs and right by the Pinecone Forest, the perfect neighbourhood for relentless werewolves that needed a lot of space to get rid of their impulsive energy. The party was in the backyard of the Songs family and was full of creatures by the time we made it there. It was warm, welcoming, and felt genuine from the second we stepped through their threshold. The family was big, but each one of them was gentle and eager to meet us, even the troublemakers which were Wooyoung and Yeri. And after that, it didn’t take long for me to become once again invisible as I stood close to the drinks table in the Songs' backyard, gazing out towards the bonfire as the sun was about to set. The evening breeze was warm still and a light sheen of sweat coated my temples as I sipped my cool lemonade slowly, embarrassed to refill it for the fourth time. My solace, however, didn’t last for longer as I noticed two towering figures beeline towards me. Their hair was tousled and they looked like they had been wrestling before they headed here, and I felt nervous upon realizing that they were probably the twins Mrs. Song had been talking about.

They had been out on their evening run and would only join us later, and they were very much so headed my way to introduce themselves. My heart was racing and I felt nervous, but I willed myself to calm down since I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of two potential classmates once I’d started attending Wilden Pine Academy, which had been another anxiety-inducing thought at that time. The two guys, so very different in appearance yet so similar in mannerisms, sported matching smiles on their faces by the time they reached me. The one who was dressed in all-black and wore heavy jewellery had long hair which was pulled back into a half-up ponytail, his hair blonde and red, a rather cool-looking hairstyle. His features were sharp and his gaze was intense, but his open-mouthed boxy smile softened his features, his crooked front teeth endearing. The other one, however, was dressed in a pink crop top and high-waisted yellow jeans, one of his sneakers green meanwhile the other was turquoise. His hair had been shorter than the other guy’s, darker in colour too as it had red highlights, parted at the forehead. His features were a lot softer, his eyes rounder and warm, his cheeks puffy and rosy, his pouty lips a dark purple. His nails were painted turquoise and his jewellery was a lot simpler than the other guy’s, and I quickly realised that unless he was smiling, he looked just as intimidating as his twin brother.

But really, Yunho’s appearance wasn’t the first thing that caught my attention, sure, he looked unusual and made me remember the days when I was a lot younger and would purposefully dress up my Barbie dolls in silly outfits and organise pageants for them, but it was all about his scent and demeanour. The world seemed to dim around me when we had made eye contact, my arms and legs feeling numb suddenly as his rich earthy musky scent tinged with a hint of sweat invaded my nostrils, followed by firewood mixed with vanilla making my tongue feel like lead. My heart was racing and I couldn’t do anything about it as I watched Yunho’s pupils expand, his body turning rigid as Mingi remained oblivious to the subtle exchange between me and his twin. I had known that whatever I felt just upon a glance and a whiff weren’t simple reactions of my body, but when I heard his voice and touched his warm skin, all of my fears and worries were answered.

“Hi,” It was the slightly shorter twin that addressed me first, his voice deep and lightly raspy, “You must be the Byuns’ daughter, right?”

I wasn’t able to find my voice as I nodded wordlessly, hands tightening around my cup of icy lemonade. Thankfully they didn’t seem offended by my lack of verbal response, I could only pray they would assume my heart raced so wildly because I was nervous. I tried to ignore the fact that the taller twin’s heart was thumping even louder than my own heart, blaming it on the remaining adrenaline from his run, “My name is Yunho and this is my twin brother, Mingi.”

One large hand was extended towards me then, and as I grabbed it to shake it, I was positive Yunho must’ve felt the electricity that coursed through my body at the simple touch. It had felt as if my whole being was charged, as if I was experiencing the whole world for the first time. Everything sounded sharper, looked brighter, and smelled fresher. I could feel Yunho’s pulse in my own palm, his gorgeous eyes shaking as we stood frozen, gripping each other’s hands tightly. But upon Mingi’s awkward throat clearing, I ripped myself away from under the charm, and faced the guy with a small smile, “Nice to meet you two, I’m Y/N.”

Touching Mingi, however, felt like touching anyone else. My body was still tingling from Yunho’s touch, but I had felt nothing special as Mingi grinned widely at me, his handshake just a little firmer than Yunho’s had been. Once we released each other’s hands I was quick to down my lemonade, subtly trying to pat the sweat from my temples away, embarrassed over the fact that my scent was most probably spiking and irking them. But neither boy commented about it as Yunho’s deep eyes remained trained on me, tracking all of my actions.

“You just arrived, right?” Yunho’s voice was a lot steadier than mine had been, and I gulped, trying to ignore the sigh that threatened to leave my lips at the warm rumble of his tone.

“Yes, somewhere around noon. The drive wasn’t too long, though.” I hoped if I spoke fast and a lot they would blame my reactions on nervousness, “We’ve been looking forward to moving here, I’ve heard a lot of great things about this town due to the Petrovas and everything. I assume living here is rather good.”

The mention of that name seemed to make the twins grimace, but I didn’t pry and they didn’t say anything about it, “Surely it is, we’ve moved here roughly nine years ago, but it just feels like we were meant to be in this town, to live here.”

Mingi’s tone was earnest as he spoke and I smiled at him, my eyes constantly slipping back onto Yunho, who looked like he hadn’t blinked since the twins had reached me. I gulped and smiled softly at him, wondering whether he felt the same visceral emotions as I did in his presence, under his burning stare.

“I hope I’ll find a home in this town too, I haven’t been here for long, but it certainly feels a lot cosier than the big city had been for my whole life.” My tone turned a bit sour as I shifted on my feet, making the twins look at me curiously.

“You’re from Colourful River, right? It’s a big city, we always liked going there for random trips.” It made me wonder if Yunho and I had unknowingly run into each other before, but my inner wolf told me that we hadn’t. If we had been, I’m sure our parents would’ve never been able to separate us from each other, “It must’ve been nice living amongst humans.”

I tried not to stare at Yunho’s inviting plush lips while he spoke, but it was hard. Everything about him was so captivating, “Since the city is closer to the South than North, it isn’t dominated by humans, but they were rather alright, not as scared as all the legends say. But if you go up North they might not be as friendly as those living closer to the border.”

“Did you have human friends?” Mingi’s tone was eager as he grinned at me, and I didn’t want to disappoint him, but there was no point in lying to these two.

“I didn’t have many friends,” I muttered, chuckling a bit sadly, “But the humans were less evil compared to the night creatures.”

Silence settled upon the three of us as I didn’t look up at the two, but Yunho’s stare remained insistent. He had stepped closer meanwhile we had been conversing, and I hadn’t even noticed until his strong scent hit my nose once again, making me take a deep breath and gulp it down hungrily, thankful when it felt like the scent got stuck in my throat. I hadn’t experienced anything like this before, but the yearning to be close to him, to touch him and feel him was overwhelming all of a sudden as I looked up, finding Yunho’s head tilted as his eyes slowly racked over my body. It made my cheeks burn and my muscles tense, my wolf stirring in something that I could only call arousal. I have certainly not experienced anything like this before with anyone. I wondered if this meant anything deeper, whether imprinting on first sight was a real thing or only something made up for hopeless romantics.

“You’ll see finding friends here will be a lot easier than in the big city,” Mingi’s smile was warm and he reached a hand out to pat my arm, making Yunho’s eyebrows furrow as he looked at his twin sharply. Mingi just cast him a curious glance before his name was being called by his mother, her voice louder than the cacophony of the party, “Oh, I’ll be back after I see what mom needs from me.”

Then he left, jogging towards his mother with a smile. Yunho, however, took another step towards me, looming over me as his eyebrows furrowed, nostrils flaring as I gulped nervously, wondering whether he felt the same as I did. I wanted to ask, but I was embarrassed. He reached a hand forward, his fingers brushing against mine, but he seemed to catch himself as he took a step back, jaw set tightly. And then, without saying anything, he turned and hurried away, ignoring the people who called out his name. My heart raced as I watched him leave, suddenly feeling cold and empty. The wolf in my head whined and whispered at me to chase after him, to claim him and tell him that he was ours, but I couldn’t do that. Yunho had free reign of his feelings and thoughts, I couldn’t force something like that on him. We hadn’t even known each other five minutes ago, it would’ve been so wrong.

But what was even more wrong and more painful than anything I had experienced before was the fact that Yunho never looked my way again after that, remaining silent and avoidant, ignorant, he’d even flee the room if it was just the two of us. I didn’t even have the chance to have him before I lost him, and deep down, I knew I had been denied by my own mate. It was painful, but it wasn’t anything I could change, at least, it didn’t feel like it at the moment.

            With the Spring Break right around the corner, the hallways were liverier than before as students pilled together, eagerly discussing what they were up to once they’d return home. The professors seemed to be in a lighter mood as well, a lot friendlier too, and more understanding if someone slacked off a bit. Everyone but our Literature professor, who demanded we hand in our essays right before the week ended. Today was Friday and we’d be heading home tomorrow, I was hitchhiking with San’s family since they’d offered to drive us home as they were out of town and would drive by our Academy on their way home. San’s parents were busy businessmen so they were always on the go, oftentimes leaving San and his much older sister at home, who was a rather successful makeup artist in Nocturnal Parade and not just. She’d gotten an out-of-town offer just last month and the gig went well, so, she was now successfully expanding her business. But because I had been procrastinating my essay until the last moment, it meant that I had been cooped up in the Library this whole morning, and then later in the Study Hall as late evening was approaching.

My muscles ached from sitting in the same spot for so long and my eyes stung from being too dry, I had been staring at my laptop’s bright screen for an ungodly amount of time, if I wasn’t a werewolf I bet my eyesight would be horrible by now. Thankfully, the Study Hall was a lot less packed than usual, and the absence of students meant I could work in peace without distractions. That is until Yunho decided to walk into the vast room, eyes scanning the place and quickly jumping over my presence as my eyes burned into the side of his head. Of course, it was no surprise that I had been completely ignored by him once again, resigned, I went back to the finishing touch-ups of my essay. My heart ached and my hands felt cold now that I knew Yunho was in my vicinity, so close, yet miles away still. I gulped and willed myself to ignore his musky scent that seemed to haunt my every sense now, and I could’ve cheered when I was finally finished with the essay. I didn’t waste any more time sending it to my professor as I swiftly gathered my things and rushed out of the Study Hall, heart racing in my chest.

My muscles had been aching for an evening run and I knew I’d have to skip dinner tonight since I felt restless, my thoughts messy and filled with anxious whispers. Since most students were returning home tomorrow morning, it meant that the community would be organising a welcome home bonfire as soon as possible. The bonfires were great and I always had a good time, but it was inevitable to come across the Song family there since they were the main organizers of it. Just last year, when the Summer Break finally arrived, I had been squeezed between Wooyoung and, tragically, Yunho on a log, forced to endure Yunho’s rigid stance and complete ignorance as he chatted and laughed with everyone around us. My skin had been burning, not because of the close proximity to the fire, and my wolf was whining at me to touch him, to lean closer, to speak to Yunho. But I knew it was pointless, and thus, decided to save myself from embarrassment as I quickly excused myself and walked back home, rather glad that San wasn’t home to pester me about my sudden sour mood. San was a dear friend, but sometimes he was awful at giving me space, at understanding that I needed to be alone to figure my thoughts and feelings out.

That was why I never let him know when I’d go on runs, I preferred to be alone either way. The air wheezing past my ears, which were in tune with everything around me, was always freeing and relaxing. My jumbled thoughts became a silent murmur in the back of my mind as my paws hit the forest floor powerfully, strong and long legs carrying me far away from the Academy, from the campus, from any other possible wolf that I could come across. I liked solitary, it’s what I knew my whole life, it was comfortable and comforting. Whenever I let my wolf take over, it was as if I was reborn once I shifted back into my human form. I felt invincible as my burgundy fur gleamed under the setting sun rays, and I leered whenever another animal made haste in my presence. In my wolf form, everything felt simpler, more primitive, and less complicated. If I could, I would probably never shift back into my human form, but that was unethical and very unhealthy. I wasn’t a wolf, I was just a simple werewolf, and abandoning my human side would mean that I was going rogue. And lone, rogue, werewolves never survived for long. It wasn’t what we were designed for, so I couldn’t abandon my true self.

My run tonight had taken longer than usual, the forest was now dark as I returned to the shed that lay just on the outskirts of the campus, not too close, but not too far either in case of an emergency. I had found it on an early morning stroll with San, and I had been using it as my hideout ever since. It was a good spot for privacy while I’d change out of my clothes, away from prying eyes when I’d turn back into my human form, naked and unprotected. I wasn’t uncomfortable by nudity, after all, it was rather common and normal amongst werewolves to see each other bare, but I was shy, and thus, preferred to remain hidden from other’s eyes. San had joked once that I was a prude and old-fashioned, but I just simply wished that not everyone saw me so exposed, it was a tiny bit embarrassing even if it was very normal for our kin. So, the shed was the perfect spot for me to stay out of sight while being close enough to campus that if I was late for curfew I’d make it back swiftly and unnoticed, like tonight. I knew I probably had only a few minutes to make it back to the right wing, but as I had no devices on me, I wouldn’t know until I made it back to my clothes. San was certainly blowing up my phone by now, asking where I was and why I didn’t join him when it was quiz night—which only meant that I would question him about whichever lesson he had decided he didn’t know well enough, so really, it wasn’t a fun activity, but I loved San, so, I helped him out from time to time.

Taking a deep whiff of the air, waiting for a second to determine whether anyone was in my vicinity, I was glad when my wolf sensed nothing, so I nudged the shed’s door open with my fur-coated head and walked inside. The small lamp I had turned on cast a dim warm hue over the abandoned place, and I approached the table as I felt my bones shifting, my jaw locking in tight and my lungs constricting for a second. My joints popped and my head felt like it was splitting in two, but it all lasted for a second or two, until I was standing tall on my legs, hands reached out to stabilise myself on the table. Shifting wasn’t painful by any means, but it always left me a bit disoriented. The doctors in the city had told me it was because I was an early bloomer, my body forced to mature before its right time, so it wasn’t anything necessarily bad, just uncomfortable. As I regained my senses and shook my head to clear the dizziness, my muscles locked up and my wolf purred loudly, almost to the point it escaped past my own lips. Something was amiss. In the dim lighting, I noticed another heap of clothes thrown on the ground, just by the entrance. The scent too…it was familiar, too familiar, and I panicked. How had I missed it? Had I become so used to it that it didn’t faze my wolf anymore?

As I hastily tried to grab my clothes, nakedness be damned I’d get dressed on the way, the shed’s door was slammed open, a low grunt echoing in the otherwise silent space. My eyes widened as a gorgeous black wolf with orchid eyes stared back at me, huffing and puffing as saliva dripped from its mouth. It was big and strong, its vanilla and firewood scent a lot more permeating than before. My knees felt weak as my hands tightened into the table, holding myself up since my brain was short-circuiting. For a second, the big black wolf didn’t move, its snarl loud in the shed, but then, bones cracked and the black fur slowly disappeared as the wolf shifted into something more human looking, tall and lean, strong and…very naked. My eyes widened when I finally realised it was Yunho standing in the doorway, his eyes still orchid coloured as they bled into mine, and I was frozen as my wolf started whining, whispering to me to approach Yunho, to touch his hot and strong body, to entice him and make him claim us.

Yunho’s body was anything like I had seen before. He was alluring by all means, and the lower my eyes dropped the tighter my chest felt, the lump in my throat getting bigger and harder to ignore. I had seen many guys naked before, but they couldn’t compare to Yunho, everything about him was…big. My hands flattened against the surface of the table and I tilted my head before I could stop myself, well aware that my wolf was more in charge of me than my own conscience, my eyes a bright orchid as Yunho’s lips pressed into a straight line, his eyes not shy of taking in every curve of my body, his hands balling up into fists at his sides. It was hard to breathe, and it was even harder to control my bodily reactions when Yunho was so close, so exposed and vulnerable for taking. And maybe he was thinking the same thing because all of a sudden, we were moving towards each other, our eyes glimmering in the dim light and our chests heaving as I bared my fangs at Yunho, whose lips curled into a low snarl. I was so close to touching him, I could feel his body heat, but I knew I couldn’t. We weren’t ourselves just yet, the adrenaline coursed through our bodies from the run, and our wolves were stronger and louder than under normal circumstances. He would’ve been so easy to touch, though, as we stopped barely a few feet away from each other, desire written all over his features, but in a last attempt to find control over my body and mind, I snapped out under my wolf’s control.

I found my voice, but just barely, as my cheeks flushed a deep red, “I’m—I—I thought nobody knew of the shed, I—I’m, uh, I’m sorry for barging in. I didn’t know—I’ve never seen you here before, I—”

“Y/N.” Yunho’s voice was deeper than ever before, his round eyes dangerous as they were narrowed into slits, watching me closely. Just hearing my name said like that shut me up really fast as my heart raced in my chest, and I knew Yunho could hear it. It was so loud. I could’ve touched him, my wolf wanted it desperately, but Yunho wasn’t himself just yet, he didn’t look like it, “I’ve gone to this Academy for longer than you, of course I know about this place. Mingi and I come here all the time.”

I released a shuddering breath, forcing my eyes to stay on his face, anywhere but lower as I couldn’t trust myself and my wolf just yet. I really wanted to reach out and trace his firm muscles, to cradle him close to myself, to burry my face between his pecks, to lick the sweat beads that rolled down his navel, lower into his happy trail until they reached his— “You should go before Mingi returns.”

I jumped, mouth dry as I realised I was staring lower than I was supposed to, my whole chest and ears burning now, not just my cheeks, “I’m sorry.” I managed to mutter before I hurried back to the table and clumsily put on my clothes. I knew I looked like I had been mauled by how messy my hair was, my shirt untucked and one of the pantlegs rolled lower than the other, but I needed to leave before I’d do something I’d regret later. Yunho wasn’t mine, we weren’t mated, and I couldn’t do anything about it. But as I went to rush past him, he caught my wrist with frightening speed, his palm hot and large. I gulped but didn’t look at him, my eyes falling on the heap next to his clothes, very clearly Mingi’s now that he had pointed it out.

“You shouldn’t show yourself to just anyone, Y/N, it’s lowly.” The pang in my heart was more painful than anything I had experienced before. What did he mean by that? I had literally been on out a run, of course, I wasn’t showing myself to just anyone, it was only normal I was naked, or was I supposed to shift while wearing my clothes only to rip them apart? Besides, who had permitted him to say such things when he was the biggest manwhore I had known to date?! His words hadn’t just hurt me, they ignited an angry fire deep in my veins that had lay dormant for too long.

“Is it lowly shifting back into my human form after a run, Yunho? Really?” I chuckled humourlessly, my next words coming out in a snare as I looked at him with a glare, “You’re rather quick to judge me when you have no shame sleeping with half of the Academy, shouldn’t that be considered lowly?”

Before Yunho could say anything and before I could regret the words I had just spoken, I stormed off, flinching as I almost collided with a large white wolf, its head tilted in confusion as we stared at each other for a second. I gulped and averted my orchid-coloured eyes, “Hello, Mingi.”

The wolf huffed and bowed his head slightly, and despite wanting to flee, I pushed the door open for him as the wolf let out an appreciative whine, its eyes switching between Yunho and me once it was halfway inside the shed. But I didn’t wait around to hear Mingi’s questions as I rushed back to campus, checking my phone to see five missed calls from San and ten even angrier texts than the voicemails he left, clearly upplaying his sadness. I could hear Wooyoung’s witchy cackle in the background as he no doubt was playing on San’s new PlayStation. A quick text later, I let San know that I had lost track of time while I was on my run and that we’d see each other during breakfast the next morning. Sneaking around the dorms to sleep in San’s bed tonight would’ve been worth, if only my heart and mind weren’t in turmoil, aching all over again due to Yunho’s nasty and undeserved assumptions. I had no idea why he acted so differently with me, it’s like he was a completely different person in my presence, and I didn’t enjoy it. It hurt me deeply. What had I done to deserve such coldness from him?

            The ride home with the Chois was filled with laughter and sharing stories, the radio lowered once San and I started telling them about the Academy and our classes. San’s family had always felt like a second family to me. They were warm and very loving people, even if I had initially struggled to warm up to them, they had never pushed or pried for any information, no matter how insignificant it was. Thus, I came to trust them rather quickly since Mrs. Choi loved baking and would often invite me over during the holidays. Besides, I’d always leave with a basketful of whichever cookies Mrs. Choi decided to bake that day, and since my mother has a sweet tooth, she was always more than eager to send me over to the Chois to help them out. San’s parents' business trip was successful and they managed to expand their branches to the North as well, which would require them frequent trips to Aurora Falls, which was the biggest human settlement in our country. It seemed that there were human investors who were eager to expand their businesses to the South, which would benefit them a lot since their franchises were mostly nonexistent around here. It was a day to celebrate, which the Chois were really good at doing. I knew they’d smuggle in some really expensive champagne tonight to the bonfire, after all, they did everything with grandeur.

My parents had been lounging around the front porch when the Chois's expensive SUV pulled up in front of our humble abode, my mother’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree as she came to welcome me home, and the Chois as well. After quick hugs and kisses, the Chois were off and I was left with my parents, who were smiling from ear to ear.

“Look at you!” My father had said as he engulfed me in a bear hug and spun me around, making me giggle into his chest, “You’re radiating, what are they feeding you at the Academy?”

“Mrs. Nam’s cooking is really delicious, but I don’t think it’s because of the food.” I giggled as my feet had finally touched the ground. My mother stood to the side, my duffle bag already in her hand as she shook her head at our antics, “I suspect it’s the clear air and the vast forest grounds.”

“You’re still running on your own?” My mother’s eyebrows had furrowed as I walked up to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders as we headed for the house. The rumble of a loud engine reached our ears as we took the steps up the porch. I knew whose car it was, it was hard to miss when nobody else’s car engine was as loud as the Song twins, “Mrs. Song told me her sons had proposed to go on runs with you, but you’ve turned them down each time. I know we’re all still adjusting to living in a pack, but having company on your runs is actually very healthy for you and your wolf, my dear.”

I wished to correct my mother that it had been Mingi who had proposed to come on runs with me, no mention of Yunho. We had crossed paths once while we were both out hunting during a full moon and because my cramps had been really bad that day, Mingi was nice enough to remain a respectable distance away and guide me for the night, keeping an eye out for other not-so-kind predators. There were months when my shifting went a little haywire during the full moon, my senses dull and my bones all miss shaped. Again, the doctors hadn’t found anything wrong with me, they suspected it was due to my early blooming, which wasn’t helping much. As we reached the front door, my father already opening it for us, the honk of a loud car made us turn back and look towards the orange Jeep, its windows rolled down, and the younger Song siblings cooped up in the backseat.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Byun!” Mingi called from the driver’s seat, all smiles as his glasses looked to be slipping off his nose. Wooyoung was just as enthusiastic as he leaned out the window, the car going at a slow pace now that they had almost reached their house.

“See you tonight, right?!” Wooyoung shouted as he grinned widely, pointing specifically at me, “Can’t leave Sannie on his own, right?!”

“Right.” My voice didn’t have much force to it as my eyes stalled on Yunho, who was facing the windshield, his jaw set tight as he looked at Mingi and said something inaudible. I released a quiet sigh as we stepped through the doorway, my parents sharing a laugh at the siblings' antics. I tried to ignore the lump in my throat, the fire in my veins, the ache of my heart. Yunho’s hurtful words were still too fresh in my mind, the look in his eyes and the vivid image of his body a constant image in the front of my mind. It wasn’t surprising that I was still thinking about him. We had encountered each other just last night, after all, but I wished we never had. It was hard to ignore the yearning, especially when we were back at home, forced to visit the Songs weekly since our parents had grown so close with each other. I was happy for them, don’t misunderstand me, but I wished the Song parents stopped blaming my ‘loneliness’ on being an only child, thus forcing me to constantly hang out with their children. I didn’t have any issues with the five of them, per se, but I hardly found anything I had in common with them—minus Yunho, since he wouldn’t even look my way, let alone have a conversation with me.

“You should tell San to sleep over tonight, maybe his parents can stay too!” My father’s words distracted me from my thoughts as I headed for the stairs, eager to fall into my comfortable bed, no Yeri to disturb my peace this time.

“Honey, they had barely returned home, let the Chois enjoy having their son home for at least three more days.” My mother gently chastised my father as she headed up the stairs after me, my duffle bag still in her hand, “He’ll sleep over before they go back to the Academy.”

“Fine, but I found a really cool book about genealogy, I’m sure he’d love reading through it.”

“Sure, honey, sure.” My mother and I shared an amused look which made us chuckle, my father’s mumbled words blending into the background as he was headed for his study room, surely eager to get back to whatever book he was reading this time, “Get some sleep before lunch, Mama Song asked us to head over before they set the bonfire, she’s making a new mushroom stew recipe she’d like us to try.”

“Yeah, okay,” I mumbled as I fell face-first into my pillows, groaning loudly as my muscles finally eased up, my body cocooned in the safety of my own scent. Finally, a little peace of mind.

But that peace of mind didn’t last for long. The Song household was buzzing with life and laughter even before the other members of our community had started joining the bonfire. The mushroom stew was beyond delicious, and if I wasn’t too shy, I would’ve asked for a second plate but decided I could sneak in sometime during the evening and have a second plate, I knew Mrs. Song wouldn’t mind since she was generous like that. Lunch went surprisingly well, mostly with everyone talking over each other, especially Wooyoung, Yeri, and Mr. Song, but that was to be expected. The Songs were very eccentric people and their household had always been chaotic. However, what did take me by surprise was the presence of a newcomer, someone who wasn’t a werewolf. Her hair was dark and fell in long curls, her skin pale and her eyes very sharp, her lips the colour of blood and her stance very elegant. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought she hated us, but anytime Mingi looked at her she’d smile at him and her heartbeat would waver whenever he laughed. It wasn’t hard to guess that she was the Petrova heir, the youngest vampire of the Bae’s. Knowing so much about them, thanks to my father, sitting at a table with her now felt surreal.

She didn’t look like she wanted to talk much, but when my father’s innocent curiosity got the best of him and he started asking questions, she seemed rather pleased that she could gloat about her family. Her tone was sharp and she spoke rather straightforwardly, yet it was somehow obvious she didn’t mean bad. She was a peculiar person and I felt immense respect for her, no real reason as to why, maybe it’s because I thought she was very cool. I wasn’t brave enough to speak to her, so, besides stolen glances and a few shared glances, no words passed between the two of us. Besides, she was an amazing distraction to preoccupy my busy mind since conveniently Yunho and I ended up sitting next to each other. His body was warm, his scent almost tangible, and with every bite I took of my stew, it felt as if Yunho’s sandalwood scent was deep in my throat, forcing me to gulp down copious amounts of water as if I was sitient all the time. Yunho sat rigidly next to me, his body mostly turned away from me and facing Dahyun, his youngest sister, who looked absent-minded as she played with her fork, occasionally staring at Mingi if he made the vampire girl laugh. She carried Mingi’s scent and a bite mark was visible on her nape, it wasn’t hard to guess what she and Mingi were. Mates.

Thankfully, after lunch was over, San shortly arrived too and I could escape from the Song family, from Yunho, walking around the back garden as we searched for timber that would be good for the bonfire. Wooyoung, of course, came to join us and Dahyun was quick to do so too, with Mingi and Yunho busy setting up the back garden as our parents all helped. The vampire girl was busy in the kitchen, apparently, she could bake really yummy muffins, so she was busy doing just that. Once everything was set and people were coming over, Wooyoung sneaked off to bring us cans of beer, San cheering as we all uncapped ours, clinking them together loudly. The cold sparkling drink burned my parched throat as I wolfed it down, making San chuckle as Wooyoung was busy checking his friend’s free hand for splinters. I said nothing as a blush covered San’s cheeks, his eyes fond, as Wooyoung fussed about his friend.

“Mom said she’d leave us a little bit of champagne,” San grinned as he switched the hand holding his can of beer, Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrowed as his fingers gently traced San’s free palm, “It’ll be in the highest cupboard.”

“Only Mingi and Yunho can reach that high, though,” Wooyoung mumbled with a pout, still holding onto San’s hand despite being done with his inspection. I chuckled as San gave Wooyoung a look, his chest almost puffing out more.

“Are you sure about that?” He raised a straight eyebrow, leaning closer to Wooyoung’s face. I watched with intrigue as Wooyoung slightly caved in on himself, gulping almost nervously. His heartbeat remained steady, though, so I couldn’t tell for sure whether San’s proximity made him nervous, “Who got that stuck ball off the basket last time, I don’t reckon it was your brothers?”

“Well,” Wooyoung huffed, averting his eyes when San only leaned closer. I almost grinned when Wooyoung’s heart very loudly skipped a beat, but his eyebrows furrowed as he swiftly straightened himself, giving San a pointed look, “You can jump high. And I suppose you have strong arms, it was sheer luck, really.”

Before the two could start bickering, I chuckled and reached a hand out towards Wooyoung, “Won’t you check my hands for blisters too?”

Wooyoung seemed a little bit too eager to scurry off the log he was sharing with San as he kneeled in front of me, taking my hand into his. I chuckled and looked at San as I took a swing of my beer, Wooyoung’s warm fingers tracing lines as he hummed under his breath, turning my palm over, “You have pretty hands, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” I said, then switched my hands as Wooyoung continued to inspect them, a flush appearing on his face when San reached out to pet his hair since it was tousled by the wind earlier. It had settled now into a pleasant evening breeze. The chatter, music, and laughter coming from around the bonfire felt nice, warm. As I gazed at the fire, I was greeted by the sight of werewolves cosying up and sharing drinks and stories. I’ve never had this in the big city, it felt really nice to be surrounded by creatures that had your back even if they didn’t know you well.

Wooyoung chuckled, his finger digging into my skin, right underneath my pinkie, “Yunho has the same exact moles here too, on the same hand as well.”

My body froze as San’s eyebrows raised, he quickly scurried off the log to join Wooyoung crouching in front of me. I tried to keep the smile on my face, but the taste in my mouth soured as I looked down at the three moles that I’ve always had on my left palm, right underneath my pinkie finger.

“Really?” San sounded surprised and excited at the same time, “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Wooyoung scoffed as he gave San a side glance, “He’s my brother, I know him. He’s always said that they look like stars. Before our sisters were born, he’d said they represented him, Mingi, and me. Of course, the closest to the one he called himself was Mingi because they are twins and blah blah, sometimes this twin thing gets old.”

“You’re just jealous.” San teased Wooyoung as my eyes were stuck on the three moles, something in my stomach dropping. I’ve always said the three dots looked like stars and represented my family: my mom, my father, and me. We’d always be there for each other, close by, looking over one another. Wooyoung and San’s voices drowned out as they started bickering about whether Mingi and Yunho had a deeper bond than any other werewolf due to them being twins, but my mind was spinning with this new piece of information. It suddenly felt wrong having those moles there, especially since Yunho didn’t want to have to do anything with me. I gulped, retracting my hand from Wooyoung’s hold as I stood abruptly, taking the two guys off guard.

“Uhm, I’ll just see what my parents are up to if you don’t mind…” I knew my scent had soured, San’s furrowed eyebrows told me he had realised something had upset me. But I just smiled and patted Wooyoung’s head before I walked around my friends, my heart slightly racing as the chilly evening seemed to bite at my nose, making me sniff harder and harder by the time I reached my parents, who were talking to the Academy’s Principal, Mr. Kim.

“Oh, Miss Byun,” The Principal was the first one to spot me, and he smiled as my parents beckoned me even closer, “I was just complimenting you. Ever since Miss Yeri started rooming with you, her grades not only went up but she’s been better behaved too.”

“Oh, uhm, that’s great.” I tried to even out my expression, praying that my parents wouldn’t question my souring mood, “I didn’t do much, just asked her to follow some rules. She also asked if I could sometimes help her out with her homework.”

“Fascinating,” The Principal muttered as my parents looked at me proudly, making me feel a little bit shy, “I knew letting her room with Miss Son wasn’t too smart, those two gave me more headache than the ruling board does on the daily.”

The Principal’s comment had my parents laughing, the shared glance between them amused, and suddenly I realised I’d never have that. I would never have a mate that stood by my side, cosied up to me, spoke to me about whatever insanity crossed their minds, no shared understanding glances, no cheek or neck nuzzles, no unbreakable bond, nothing. My jaw tightened as the air spiked with sandalwood and vanilla, and I hoped it would pass by before the tears could spring into my eyes. But the Universe seemed to be working against me today because the Principal caught Yunho’s bicep before he could stalk off, his expression soft and his eyes questioning. He hadn’t noticed my presence yet, because I knew his round eyes would turn harsh and his pouty lips would pull into a straight line the second he noticed me. His outgrown hair was tousled by the breeze, long strands framing his face handsomely as they brushed against his nape, some strands darker than the others.

“Mr. Song, fancy seeing you.” The Principal patted Yunho’s strong back with a proud smile, “I was just telling Mr. and Mrs. Byun how your little sister has been improving both academically and behaviour-wise too.”

“Oh,” Yunho’s pale cheeks flushed with colour as he slightly bowed, I could see my parents practically fawn over him. He was handsome, too handsome, everyone around here was in love with him whether they wanted to be or not, “I know my siblings give you a lot of headaches, but if it helps, you’ll have to deal with fewer of us after this year.”

The Principal laughed as he shook his head, “Between you and me, I’d rather have you and Mingi attend the Academy for five more years than your younger siblings, although Dahyun is a sweet girl despite being odd.”

Even if the comment wasn’t well received by Yunho, his left eye twitched slightly and his smile looked a bit forced all of a sudden, he just chuckled and bowed his head again, “They’ll mature with time, Mingi and I did too.”

“Indeed, that is true.” Then the Principal was suddenly facing me, and I noticed the way Yunho’s eyes slightly widened as if he actually hadn’t noticed me standing just a few feet away, “You’d be surprised to hear that Yunho was unstoppable as a child, we had to sedate him more than once during his runs. He also struggled to shift back until he became ten, isn’t that peculiar?”

Before Yunho could interject, however, my mother spoke up to my horror, “My daughter still struggles to shift, being an early bloomer is really straining.”

“I’m not an early bloomer, though.” Yunho’s tone was a bit harsher, but I bet nobody noticed but me as his eyes bore into mine, his face void of any emotion. I sighed and looked away, trying to push the image of his exposed collarbones due to his unbuttoned shirt out of my head. His cheeks seemed unnaturally pink, he must’ve used some blush before coming down for the bonfire.

“Sometimes when mates—”

“I think we should leave the younglings alone, no?” My father cut the Principal off with a charming smile as I looked at him, slightly taken aback. Nobody knew Yunho and I were supposed to be mates, not even Yunho, I hadn’t told a soul. I doubt my father knows, he must’ve misinterpreted Yunho and my exchange as I winced and he just cleared his throat, sounding uncomfortable. Then, without wasting another second, my father was rushing us towards the bonfire, my mother laughing at something the Principal said as I turned to look at my dad. He was smiling gently and winked when he caught my stare, making me question whether he truly was oblivious to whether I had already found my mate or not. Yunho and I marched towards the bonfire wordlessly, and I flinched when I felt his warm knuckles brush against the back of my hand, but almost as if it was a fragment of my imagination, Yunho was beelining it towards a log on which a girl I didn’t know sat, next to her Yeri with a bored expression on her face.

“Yunho!” The unknown girl called out, making grabby hands at him. I watched as Yunho grinned and sat next to her, leaning into her space as the girl instantly flushed. My stomach coiled as I averted my eyes towards the fire, feeling its warmth slowly seep into my bones, but my muscles didn’t ease up, they remained tense.

“Did you miss me, baby?” I tried not to whine as my wolf told me to pounce on the girl and drag her into the forest and show her what happens to those who touch Yunho, but I would’ve looked completely insane if I had done that. Yunho wasn’t done speaking, however, and I felt eyes on me which made my skin crawl, “I got held up, but I’m all yours now.”

I tried not to feel sick as I chanced a glance towards Yunho, who was looking at me with a smirk. I could feel tears threatening to appear in my eyes, I didn’t want to look pathetic, however, Yeri seemed to save me from the shame, “Dude, did you get me a beer?”

“Of course, I did.” Yunho chuckled, finally looking away from me, “Just don’t tell mom or Wooyoung.”

“I won’t, chill out.” Yeri scoffed as she opened her can of beer, grinning to herself in triumph, “My room is yours tonight, then.”

They shared a look and I released a shaky breath as I had decided that I needed a moment away from everything. I knew everyone could smell my spiked scent and hear my heart thudding in an uneven rhythm, I didn’t want them staring at me, so I quickly hurried inside the house and headed for the kitchen hoping it was deserted. Maybe I’d find that bottle of champagne San was talking about and help myself to it, I knew nobody would mind. The kitchen was dark when I stepped through the archway, so I quickly felt around the wall for the light switch and gasped when light flooded the kitchen. When I got too into my head, I completely missed other scents or heartbeats around me, otherwise the vampire girl wouldn’t have taken me off guard. She tilted her head and raised an amused eyebrow as she nibbled on a cherry.

“Did I scare you?” She asked, her tone still cold, “I thought werewolves have heightened senses too.”

“Uh, we do.” I muttered as I walked further inside the kitchen, “I was distracted.”

“Why is that?” The girl asked, looking curious as her expression slightly shifted.

“No reason.” I lied as I opened a cupboard and grabbed a tall glass.

“Are you drinking wine?” She looked surprised as I walked to the cupboard I knew the champagne was hidden in, “Can I have some too?”

I paused and considered her question for a second, then shrugged, “Sure, but it’s champagne.”

“Good, I like that more.” She smirked as she grabbed a tall glass too, then approached me. She was cold, she lacked the warmth werewolves emanated, but her scent was oddly not exactly hers. I studied her from my peripheral as I got on my tiptoes and grabbed the bottle of champagne. I had been around the Songs for long enough to know them by scent, and she very strongly reeked of Mingi. There was no further information needed to know they really were mated if only someone failed to notice her bite mark. The vampire girl said nothing as I opened the bottle of champagne, mindful of leaving some for San and Wooyoung as I poured the bubbly drink for the vampire before for myself. I could feel her eyes on me, studying me closely, and then she hummed, leaning her hip against the counter, “I might not be a werewolf, but you absolutely stink. Don’t get me wrong, all werewolves do besides Mingi, but your scent is very bothersome right now.”

I gulped, feeling my cheeks heating up as I placed the bottle of champagne back into the cupboard. Getting told that you stink certainly wasn’t very nice, but I knew firsthand that werewolves had distinctive scents, perhaps vampires weren’t too fond of it. Not that I knew much about vampires, there were few in Colourful River and they seemed to frolic more with the humans since they were their blood bags. Still, her comment only worsened my mood as I handed her one of the glasses, trying not to grimace.

“Sorry, I’ll try to keep it down next time,” I muttered over the rim of my glass, and then I took a bigger gulp than necessary. The vampire girl watched me with a raised eyebrow as she took a small sip, savouring the sweet taste unlike me. I didn’t like the amused glint in her eyes, it felt as if she was looking down on me, but I really wasn’t up for a confrontation right now.

“As much as I would love to insult you right now,” My eyes widened as the vampire girl sighed, “Over the past year I learned that when your scent turns sour, or just becomes really unbearable to me, it means that you’re upset. So, I didn’t mean to further upset you, I’m just not very good at understanding how werewolves function.”

I chuckled under my breath as my next words escaped before I could stop myself, “Funny you say that when you’re surrounded by werewolves only right now. Why do you even hang around us if you can’t stand us?”

Despite expecting harsh words as an answer to my jab, the vampire looked dejected as she leaned back into the counter, sighing loudly as she averted her eyes, “If it wasn’t for Mingi and I being—mates, then I certainly wouldn’t be here. When I was young, I had a really bad encounter with a rogue wolf and I have hated you all ever since, but I can’t deny the pull I feel towards Mingi, it’s weird, but it’s there. And when I had tried ignoring it, it had hurt the both of us, so I’m here now, trying to still embrace the fact that now I’m part of this pack that I’ve hated my whole life and of the family that’s been getting on my nerves ever since they moved to Nocturnal Parade.”

I hummed in surprise and took another sip of my drink, now suddenly understanding why the Song twins had reacted with disdain when I had brought up the Petrova family a year ago, I assume she and Mingi weren’t together yet then.

“It must’ve been hard accepting Mingi, then.” The girl’s cold exterior slowly melted away as she looked at me with surprise. I suppose she had been judged by many for her prejudices, but didn’t everyone have some? I couldn’t completely blame her for them, “Seeing a werewolf and a vampire together isn’t uncommon, but I haven’t heard of them being mated before. Do you mind if I ask how that happened?”

The vampire chuckled as she turned her head towards the window, gazing out as she took another sip of her champagne, “We were drunk and had sex. I, apparently, bit Mingi where his scent gland is and triggered his imprinting. It feels weird to think about it, that maybe we would’ve never ended up together otherwise, but I don’t think that’s true. I think I had always liked Mingi, my hatred had just gotten in the way of me realising my true feelings for him.”

I hummed, gaining a new perspective on their relationship. I have heard bits and pieces from Yeri, even Wooyoung sometimes, but Mingi’s younger sister was mostly speaking ill of the Petrova girl. Yeri didn’t like the vampire at all and never failed to go on angry rants about how much she wanted to rip Mingi’s mate apart, but she couldn’t because she’d been accepted by the family, so the vampire girl was now untouchable. Speaking to the vampire, however, wasn’t as awful as Yeri made me think it would be. She faced me again, her head tilted as she looked at me with a curious expression on her face.

“What’s your story? I don’t think we had spoken before, right?” She asked as I shook my head, plastering on a small smile.

“We moved here a year ago, the big city just wasn’t for us anymore.” I shrugged, then traced the edge of the counter with my finger as I averted my eyes from the vampire, “Nothing is interesting about me, I think I’m just a regular, boring, werewolf. I did make a friend, though, it’s Choi San, if you know him?”

“Of course, I do,” The vampire scoffed, rolling her eyes as if hearing my best friend’s name was irritating to her, “Wooyoung never shuts up about him, if I wouldn’t have known better, I’d suspect he’s in love with San.”

That caught my attention as I perked up, subconsciously leaning closer to the vampire. It felt as if she was wearing a patch of Mingi’s familiar scent, it was almost endearing if it wouldn’t have reminded me of the fact that I’d never have this with Yunho, “Really? You think Wooyoung is in love with San?”

The girl chuckled, looking at me with a smirk, “I wouldn’t want to assume such a thing, but you must know Wooyoung is very irritating, so he only settles down when I threaten to tell San he’s always gushing about him behind his back. That must mean something, no?”

I bit my lower lip, buzzing with excitement at the prospect of Wooyoung returning San’s feelings. However, I’d have to trade forward with this information very smartly, I didn’t want to ruin something that apparently had so much potential. I only wanted to see San happy with the person he loved with his whole might.

“I hope it means something,” I muttered into my glass as I took another sip, making the vampire girl’s eyes gain a mischievous glint. I hoped she wouldn’t say anything that would set back the two boys' relationship, but maybe I had finally gained an insider who could help me give tips to San to push their relationship a step forward.

“Interesting,” She mumbled as she took another sip as well, raising an eyebrow, “What about you, though? I know you’re rooming with Yeri, for which you have my condolences, but you’re connected to this family in more ways, right?”

I felt my palms sweat all of a sudden, “What do you mean?”

“I have sharp eyes, and very sensitive hearing. What’s between you and Yun—”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.” I would’ve looked guilty even to a newcomer by how quick I was to shut down the vampire’s question and assumption, she hadn’t even fully spelled Yunho’s name yet. I gulped, feeling my heartbeat pick up, then I averted my eyes and hoped she would just drop the subject…but she didn’t.

“It’s not my place to say what I’m about to say next, but be careful.” My eyebrows furrowed as I dared take a peek at her from between my eyelashes, “The Song twins aren’t bad creatures, they really aren’t, but Yunho is…a jackass, simply put. He’s dated Seulgi, my friend, and things were really messy between them. I hear now he’s messing around with a girl who finished the Academy last year, I just don’t want to see you end up like Seulgi. You seem like a genuine werewolf, kind-hearted too, I would hate to see Yunho destroy it all. It’s not my place at all, I know, but maybe just let it be? Maybe it’s better if you’re not meant to be, you know?”

But we are meant to be, I wanted to say it, I wanted to snap at her, but she knew better. If she could see it, a complete outsider, then who was I to correct her? She had known Yunho for longer than me, she probably didn’t have any bad intentions by warning me, but it still hurt. I gulped and downed the last of my champagne, knowing that my scent had soured once again. I came here to escape everything that was Yunho, yet, he was the subject once again. I hated it, but I couldn’t do anything about it. As long as the both of us lived in this town, Yunho would somehow always be the subject, he was too popular and well-liked by the others.

“No, you’re right, I—” I paused when I realised I sounded shaky, “I don’t even like him, don’t worry. I know the type of guy he is, I won’t mingle with him. I’m glad you found Mingi, his scent is all over you, by the way.”

The vampire blushed all of a sudden, it surprised me, but I was glad I had successfully diverted the subject from Yunho. She had a fond look on her face as she tried to save herself with a loud scoff, downing her champagne quickly, “Mingi isn’t too possessive, but since I don’t have a scent as you guys do, he’s scenting me all the time. It was annoying at the beginning, but he wouldn’t stop, so, I just had to accept the fact that everyone would know I was with him now. It’s kind of endearing, but don’t let him know, please! His ego is already through the roof.”

I chuckled, wondering what she was talking about because Mingi was one of the nicest creatures I had ever met. We weren’t very close, but he always stopped to talk to me if we crossed paths in the hallways, and during the summer break, he’d even come over sometimes with baked goods, eager to discuss whatever book he’d lately read. I liked Mingi, he was nice to me and my family, sometimes perhaps too nice. Silence settled between the vampire girl and me, so I decided it was my time to excuse myself and join San and Wooyoung in the back garden once again. Surprisingly, I felt more at ease after speaking to the Petrova girl, I had always thought she was intimidating and too cold, but she was a lot nicer than I have been told. I cleared my throat and pointed towards the archway, an awkward smile making it onto my face.

“I’ll head back outside if you don’t mind.” But as I took off, she called out for me to stop.

“Wait,” The vampire cleared her throat and looked a bit embarrassed as she dug into her pocket, her lips pursed as she avoided making eye contact, “So, uhm, Dahyun forced me today to make some shitty bracelets with her and, honestly, I can’t give this shit to any of my friends, they aren’t werewolves.”

I quirked an eyebrow as she took her hand out of her pocket, then extended it towards me without meeting my eyes. Her palm opened and a simple, but pretty, brown leather bracelet sat in it. I chuckled, reaching for it with an amused smile. The bracelet was braided and it had a cute wood wolf charm, it looked like it was howling upon closer inspection. I was just about to make a playful comment about it when I noticed a very similar bracelet peeking out from underneath the sleeve of her blouse. The only difference was that the leather was a lighter brown than mine, so, I swallowed down my comment and instead looked at her with a big smile.

“Thank you!” It oddly felt like a friendship offer too, but I didn’t want to get too ahead of myself. Maybe she just genuinely didn’t want to give it to her other friends, maybe she was embarrassed to do so, “It’s really pretty.”

“Whatever,” The vampire grumbled as she lowered her hand, fidgeting with her bracelet absentmindedly, “That little animal forced me to—not that I’m calling Dahyun an animal, or other werewolves, I—well.”

I laughed quietly as I wore the bracelet, looking at it for a longer second before I grinned at the Petrova girl, “Don’t worry, I get what you’re saying. We are animals, after all, and since you’ve already brought that up, please be a little nicer to Yeri, I can’t keep listening to her whine about you.”

“I hate that brat.” The vampire scowled, but quickly caught herself, “I mean, sure, I’ll try to be nicer…sort of.”

I chuckled and raised my hand to wriggle my wrist, the wolf charm moving around, “Friends, maybe?”

The vampire seemed to think for a second before she smiled, a real smile that reached her sharp eyes too, “Yeah, friends.”

I felt rather happy as I left the kitchen, fulfilled even, that I had managed to befriend another creature, and this was the Petrova, well now Bae, heir on top of it all. It made me feel excited as I hurried out of the house, planning to tell San and even Wooyoung, but I almost collided with two creatures once out on the porch. The girl's giggles became quiet as my wide eyes stared up into Yunho’s equally surprised ones, but then, his grip tightened around the girl’s waist and he was suddenly manoeuvring themselves around me, a dark look crossing Yunho’s features. I gulped, my heart racing as I heard the girl mutter something about me to Yunho, and then both were laughing. It was fine, I was alright. Yunho was free to do however he pleased, he didn’t owe me anything, no explanations or promises. But my wolf howled inside my mind, a harsh ache suddenly hitting my insides, freezing me into my spot for a second as I gasped for air. I wondered if this exact feeling was the same as the vampire and Mingi had experienced when they tried ignoring their bond. If yes, it made me wonder how was I strong enough to still be going and acting as if Yunho wasn’t my mate, as if his ignorance wasn’t slowly killing me on the inside. All I wanted was to crumble to the ground and let the sobs wreck my body, but instead, I tried to clear my mind and find San’s scent to cosy up with him, burry my pain deep down, and revel in the safety my best friend had always offered me.

But as I finally reached my best friend, he was sitting by the bonfire with a very drunk Wooyoung stuck to his side, arms around San’s middle as his head was pressed into San’s collarbones. We made eye contact and San’s eyes were sparkling with elation and something else as he gestured with his head subtly at Wooyoung, so I knew I couldn’t bother them. I didn’t want to ruin their moment, I could basically smell just how happy, and drunk, San was. I would’ve been a terrible friend if I had walked up to them just to mop around without telling them the real reason for my displeasure, so I decided to just head home for the night. The champagne had left my blood buzzing, and even though I wasn’t tipsy, I knew how my night would end. I’d bury myself deep underneath my pillows and blanket and cry myself to sleep, letting out my wails since nobody would be able to hear me. My parents wouldn’t return for a few more hours, so I could just wallow in misery as loudly as I wanted to. But to leave, I had to grab my jacket first, which was in Wooyoung’s room courtesy to San who had thrown our jackets somewhere on his bed.

The house was silent as I made my way back inside, the kitchen dark once again, and since I couldn’t hear a second heartbeat, I knew the vampire girl had left, probably, to find Mingi. I realised I was fiddling with the wolf charm as I made my way up the stairs, my body covered in goosebumps for no reason. I had been inside this house multiple times, I knew where everything was, but for some reason, my intuition was telling me to turn around and just go home without my jacket. My wolf was basically whimpering in my mind, trying to convince me to turn around as I stepped off the last stair, ears picking up on a faint noise. The hallway wasn’t too narrow but it was long, and Wooyoung’s room was next to the upstairs bathroom, across from Yeri’s. The scents were so mingled up here that I couldn’t tell whether anyone was upstairs, so I just hoped I didn’t run into anyone because I wasn’t capable of conversing right now. I felt spent, upset, and heartbroken at the same time. I knew this would happen, I’d get ignored by Yunho once again, but it still stung each time it happened, I thought I had gotten used to it. Maybe I was reacting this badly because he had insulted me last night as well, and now his actions from tonight were also bugging me.

The faint noises got louder the closer I got to Wooyoung’s room, and with slight terror, I realised they sounded like hushed whispers and muffled moans. Glancing towards Yeri’s room, the door had been left slightly ajar, and despite dread filling my stomach, I found myself walking towards it, eyebrows furrowed once I picked up on a foreign citrusy scent. That, however, was the least of my worries as Yunho’s intoxicating sandalwood and vanilla scent carried through the air in intense pumps, twisting something in my lower stomach, and making my mouth go dry. It was so intoxicating that I found myself creeping towards the door, my breath baited and my hands slightly trembling as my wolf whined at me to barge inside and let Yunho have us, ravish us. But the small crack left by the door being ajar was enough for me to see inside the dim room, making my heart drop in seconds. The girl Yunho had been hanging out with all night was on her knees in front of Yunho as he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands as his mouth hung open, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes squeezed shut as low moans left his swollen lips. I couldn’t pry my eyes away from Yunho’s face despite the sudden urge to cry as my wolf howled loudly, making my blood boil now that I knew for sure others could have Yunho like this. At a particularly high-pitched moan, Yunho’s eyes snapped open and found mine through the crack of the door, making me gasp loudly as I jumped back, feeling disgusted and full of rage at the same time. It wasn’t fair of Yunho to constantly push me away, whether he knew I was his mate or not, and it wasn’t fair that he could easily mess around with others while I was forced to suffer and watch him from afar. I didn’t stall any longer, I was out of the house before I could hear more of the sounds they were making, Yunho’s strong scent burning my throat even the next morning.

            The Spring Break passed by in a frenzy, and I had barely gotten any rest while I was home for the week. Every invite to the Songs I had turned down, disgusted at the thought of facing Yunho after everything. I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want to hear him, I didn’t want to smell him. I had made up my mind. If he didn’t want me, I wouldn’t want him either anymore. I have yearned enough after someone I’d never have, so, I decided what’s enough is enough. I knew the change wouldn’t happen overnight, especially when my wolf snarled at me anytime I pushed the thought of Yunho away, whining loudly whenever he came up in a conversation. My wolf wasn’t happy with my decision, but I was the one in control, and I was done being hurt all the time. I missed the serenity I once had before meeting Yunho and the rest of the Songs, but if finally living the life my parents had always wished for came with the price of finding an unrequited mate, then I could live with that for now. Perhaps if I went far enough from here then the bond would somehow finally completely break. I could only hope that was the case and I wouldn’t get somehow incurably sick, I’ve heard of it happening before, and it scared me.

Today had been a long day, I felt tired and my back muscles were aching from having been sitting all day long, my brain sore from having been paying close attention in my classes. My notebooks were filled with notes, there was not a second to rest now that we were back at the Academy. San and I had wandered on our own paths sometime during the afternoon, his classes different from mine, besides, I knew he liked working out before going for his run, where he’d most probably be joined by Wooyoung. He had texted me asking whether I wanted to join the two of them, but I had politely declined. San knew I liked being on my own, so he never pushed me if I wasn’t feeling up to it. I always enjoyed my runs more on the Academy grounds than back at home, because here the forest was large and I rarely ran into other wolves while being out there. At home, the boundaries were clearly fenced in, to keep us from wandering too far into the Haunted Woods and getting lost. Other creatures than us, more ferocious ones, lurked deep in the forest, and some of us from Nocturnal Parade had never returned once they ventured too far in.

I knew I couldn’t go back to the shed, especially not now, out of fear of running into Yunho. And as if the Universe was laughing at me today, the way my wolf started purring before the scent even hit my nose should’ve been a clear sign to turn around and go the other way towards the campus, on the backroads where not many liked walking. It was a good spot for the Fae to hide away and drink in nature’s powers, so most of us kept clear of it to offer them privacy. I knew they wouldn’t mind if I stumbled upon them, and I’d rather face their wrath than run into Yunho right now. As I rounded the corner, I stopped walking just in time to avoid crashing into Yunho’s larger body. He gasped and pressed a hand against his chest, gulping almost too loudly. I didn’t look at him as I averted my eyes, nor said anything despite my wolf trying to nudge me towards Yunho. I just tried to step around him and hurry towards the entrance. However, something very unexpected happened. Yunho’s low voice sounded unsure, almost, a little breathy as well.

“Are you headed for a run right now?” My body froze upon hearing Yunho’s question, and I tried to fight every particle of my body from stepping closer to him when his sandalwood scent called out to me. It was deeper, more earthy than ever before, and my wolf was purring so loudly it echoed in my ears as if it were real.

“Yes.” My answer was short, but before I could leave, Yunho followed up with another question.

“May I join you?” He sounded more confident this time, I could feel his eyes on me as my eyebrows furrowed.

What? I gulped, trying to keep my heartbeat even as his question echoed in my mind. Why now? Why did he want to join me on my run all of a sudden? Why was he even talking to me? Why was he acknowledging me? Without even realising it, I had started fiddling with the wolf charm of my bracelet, finding courage as I raised my head and looked into his chocolate brown eyes.

“No.” Yunho’s face became blank as he gulped again, his left eye slightly twitching, “I don’t like going on runs with others.”

Yunho was silent for another second as I raised my eyebrow at him, challengingly. What did he want? His tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he huffed, a cynical smile crossing his features, “I see.”

I hummed, fingers tightening around the charm as I was displeased with his reaction, but I didn’t say anything as I nodded once, stepping around him this time to resume my walk. But, once again, Yunho spoke up before I could leave.

“Have you done the assignment? For our Literature class.” Just what was he on? My eyebrows furrowed again as I looked at him confused, Yunho slightly turned his body to face mine since I was standing next to him.

“Yes, we were supposed to hand it in before the Spring Break.” I knew my tone was sharp as I deadpanned, but I couldn’t help myself. Yunho had never spoken to me like this before, let alone asked about a run or an assignment. If he stumbled into me on accident, he wouldn’t even apologise, so this whole interaction was bizarre, “Why? Have you not done yours?”

“I have.” Yunho’s eyes narrowed then, slowly trailing down my body until it stopped on my wrist. I shivered and hid my arm behind my back as if I had done something I wasn’t allowed to, my wolf whispered at me that I was wearing something that hadn’t always belonged to me, “Are you—did Mingi give you something of his?”

Once again, what? I huffed, closing my eyes for a second as I could feel irritation seep through my body. It wasn’t just my scent souring, Yunho’s sandalwood got replaced by the vanilla, which didn’t smell as sweet as usual, “No, why would he?”

But Yunho didn’t answer as his jaw tightened, his eyes switching between mine before they fell back down to my wrist as if he were trying to see through the sleeve of my jacket. His long hair was tousled, almost as if he had been running his fingers through it too often, and his cheeks were covered in a coral blush and littered with fake freckles. His nails were painted yellow this time and they matched the neon yellow of his bomber jacket, which seemed to hide a purple mesh shirt underneath. A blue tie hung loosely around his neck, and his jeans had daisies stamped on his thighs. He looked amazing, even if peculiar, he made my wolf purr in a dreamy way that had me move slightly towards him, hoping that he hadn’t noticed since he was still busy staring at my wrist, which I was still hiding behind my back.

“Are you lying to me right now?” Yunho’s tone had turned a tad bit aggressive, and suddenly, I found him all up in my face, closing the distance between us with an alarming speed. My heart skipped a beat and my wolf leered at Yunho’s actions, whispering sweet nothings into my ear, distracting me for a second from Yunho’s sudden, and unwarranted, fury.

“What is your problem, Yunho?” Despite craving to touch him and nuzzle into the crook of his neck, I pushed through the sudden lustful haze and made my anger apparent. That seemed to catch Yunho off guard as his expression fell a bit, his eyebrows furrowing as he gulped, opening his mouth before he closed it again, seemingly not knowing how to answer my question. I scoffed, gave him a fierce glare, and ignored my wolf’s whimpers when I stepped back. Then I turned around to storm towards the exit. Where was all that audacity coming from?!

            It was a warm spring day, the sun had finally melted the last remnants of frostbite and dew, yet most students were cooped up in the Study Hall or Library, busy catching up with the projects and assignments they had procrastinated on so far. Perhaps going to the Library would’ve been a smarter choice since the cacophony of the grand room distracted me more than once from my coursework. Midterms were right around the corner and everyone was squeezing in study time even on the weekends, determined to memorise as much material as possible. Thankfully, I wasn’t behind in any of my classes but I still had to finish my Alchemy assignment, which was proving to be a headache. San was busy reading through his Anatomy notes and scribbling down even more information in his notebook as four different books were opened and strewn around him on the table. The sight made me chuckle, but I didn’t bother San as I knew he’d get anxious if he wasn’t able to finish checking all the materials he had proposed for himself to go over that day. He was quite literally a prodigy, yet he strived for even more perfection. I knew his whole future depended on his grades, but San was too smart for his own good…academically, at least.

As I jotted down another sentence about my failed experiment just from last night, Yeri’s chewing gum snapped loudly, making San flinch. He was so focused he didn’t even look up, but his eyebrows slightly furrowed. I peeked at Yeri from above my laptop and raised an eyebrow at her when I realised, she had been staring at me already. She sighed as she placed her chin in her palm, grimacing as the chewing gum had stuck to the corner of her lips. I chuckled as she quickly got rid of it, and cleared her throat.

“Do you think you’ll pass your Alchemy class this semester?” Yeri’s tone was deadpan, and it almost made me laugh. Maybe I should’ve gone to the Library where we weren’t allowed to speak much to each other, maybe then Yeri would’ve spared me from her brutally honest questions.

“I sure hope so,” I muttered as I searched for the right formula on the internet, which was much faster than flipping through old pages of books, trying to find the answer for my magick elixir.

“Will you have to retake your class if you fail?” Yeri pressed, genuinely interested all of a sudden.

“No, it would be the first time I failed this class, I’d just retake the final exam,” I explained as San hummed next to me, highlighting something with green in the book he had borrowed from the Library. I was sure he’d get a good scrutinising from the librarian for that.

“How many passes do I get before they fail me? Like the exams and shit.”

“Which class are you failing, Yeri?” San spoke up with an amused tone as he sneaked a glance at her. I chuckled as I found the formula, then copied it into my notebook before putting it into my slideshow.

“Don’t tell my brothers,” Yeri lowered her voice as she leaned over the table to be closer to San and me, “But I might be failing Literature this year.”

“Literature of all subjects?” San started laughing, prompting me to giggle as well. It was one of our easiest classes, trust Yeri to fail it. It seemed like the Songs were easily tricked by the easiest of tasks, Wooyoung was another prime example of that. He failed his Sports class last year, which should’ve physically been impossible for a werewolf…even all of the vampires had passed it.

“Stop making fun of me,” Yeri pouted as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, “Not everyone likes to read—I certainly don’t.”

“Well, you should from now on, or you’ll have to retake the whole class next year.” Yeri’s eyes widened at my inoffensive threat.

“Whatever,” She grumbled under her breath as her ears perked up, eyes looking around the room. San’s body seemed to tense too for a second before he relaxed, his ears tinged slightly red, “Don’t wait for me to come back to our room tonight.”

“Where are you going?” I felt like an older sister worrying about their younger sibling as my eyebrows furrowed. Yeri just rolled her eyes with a loud huff, eyes fixed on something behind me as she started smiling.

“I’m sleeping in Seungwannie’s room tonight.” I could hear footsteps approaching us rapidly.

“What about her roommate?” I asked as a familiar citrusy scent caught my attention, I didn’t have to turn around to know who was coming.

“She’ll be fine, we like her.” I chuckled as Yeri winked, and then her eyes settled on San, or rather who stood now next to him. Before any of us could react, Wooyoung leaned down and pressed a fat kiss against San’s cheek, unleashing a heavy thundering of heartbeats. I ignored San’s heartbeats as I smiled at Wooyoung, who looked embarrassed by his actions, but he was grinning sheepishly as he lowered his head.

“Hi!” He greeted us as San finally snapped out of his frozen state, giving Wooyoung a genuinely wide smile.

“Hello, Woo,” I said as the younger pulled out a chair and sat in it, dismissing Yeri when she stuck her tongue out at her brother. Wooyoung rested his chin in his palm, head tilted as he looked at San.

“Are you still studying?” Wooyoung’s tone was impatient as San’s sigh was exasperated. I chuckled under my breath and went back to my slide show, looking over it for the nth time, “I’m so bored, San, you promised to come back to my room with me and entertain me.”

“Oh, did you now, San?” Yeri grinned mischievously as she giggled, making Wooyoung’s eyes widen as he shot her an alarmed look. I watched the exchange wordlessly as San’s ears flushed a darker shade while he tried to make his body look even smaller as his wide shoulders hunched forward, “Does that form of entertainment involve—”

“Song Yeri.” Mingi’s tone was authoritative as Yeri’s eyes widened, lips pressing into a straight line. How have I missed them approaching? Yunho was directly looking at me, his soft and chocolate brown eyes drilling into my forehead as I quickly looked away, once again busy with my PowerPoint presentation, “Leave your brother and San alone, must you always be such a menace?”

“If they are idiots…” Yeri grumbled under her breath, and I watched curiously as both San and Wooyoung looked away, blushing and their hearts skipping a beat. I suppose it won’t take them much longer to finally come to terms that they like each other, Wooyoung’s been rather reactive lately around San, it was certainly fun to watch. What wasn’t fun at all, however, was Yunho’s unrelenting stare and his scrunched nose as he sniffed at the air.

“Hello, Y/N.” I didn’t expect the vampire girl to speak to me, she even had a smile on her face as my round eyes fell on her. It was a small smile, but it was there. I watched the people around us turn around surprised as they looked between me and the Petrova girl. I smiled and waved at her, the small wolf charm swishing around on my wrist. I didn’t miss Yunho’s eyes instantly falling onto it, nor the vampire girl’s satisfied smirk when Yeri scowled at her, “Are these rascals bothering you?”

“Oh, not at all.” I chuckled, looking at San and Wooyoung as Yeri scoffed, but everyone just ignored her.

“Well, if you ever get bored of them, you can always join me and my friends.” The vampire girl’s eyes fell pointedly on Yeri and Wooyoung as Mingi’s grip tightened on her waist, “I know some creatures forget they cohabit a place with others whom they are constantly bothering and irritating.”

“Oh, shove something up your—”

“Alright!” Mingi chuckled, jumping in to de-escalate the situation, as always, “Before this turns into another argument, my lovely girlfriend and I will be on our way.”

The Petrova girl winked at Yeri as she kissed Mingi’s cheek, and then the two turned and were off to a table where three creatures sat, all smiling at them except for one. She had long black hair, bangs that fell into her eyes, and a fierce glare as she stared at Yunho, then at me once she realised, I was looking at her.

“Won’t you sit?” Wooyoung gestured towards the empty seat next to Yeri, and that seemed to snap Yunho out of whatever train of thought he seemed to be lost in. I chanced a glance at him before I went back to check for typos in my presentation, trying to ignore Yunho’s vanilla scent spiking all of a sudden, so sweet it almost made me gasp. The last time it had been that sweet was when I caught him and that girl at the bonfire enjoying each other. I gulped and willed my wolf to remain silent as suddenly it took me everything to remain seated and not throw myself at Yunho, God, I so desperately wished to touch him and inhale him whole, but once again I had to remind myself that I had made a choice. No more Yunho, no more yearning, it was over. I deserved better, I could do better than this.

“No, see you around.” Yunho’s voice was strained as he quickly walked off, sitting alone at a large and almost empty table.

“That was strange,” Wooyoung mumbled as Yeri hummed, turning around to stare at her brother with a frown.

“He’s been acting strange ever since Y/N came to town,” I froze as Yeri faced me again, lips pursed, “Not that I’m blaming you for my brother’s behaviour, I just don’t understand what’s up with him. His scent gets stronger around you and he’s always moodier and snappier after he sees you, did you do something to him?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes too as I closed my laptop, “Right, as if your brother had given me the chance to do something to him.”

Before anyone could question me, I stood and stormed towards the large bookcases lined closely to the exit, my muscles tense. Now that I had decided that I wanted nothing more to do with Yunho, my wolf had turned even more stubborn than it had been. I wanted to consume him, I wanted him to touch me and feel me up, it felt like I couldn’t think or breathe in his presence. And when he wasn’t around, my wolf whined and cried, begging me to find him and make him want us. But my will was stronger and I was determined to stay away even if it became harder and harder daily to go against my wolf. I wondered if Yunho felt the same way, if the thoughts of me were eating him up alive, if he was desperate to have me, if his wolf whined at him just like mine did. I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to ground myself into the present and push away all thoughts of the mate who didn’t want me back. I would’ve been struggling more half a year ago, but now it was second nature yearning after Yunho one second, then blocking him out the next one.

I still needed one more book for my presentation, the one that I could document myself from more in-depth as to why my experiment had failed…and I also shouldn’t forget to cut the sound for the recording since Yeri is giggling and making fun of me in the background for almost ruining my desk. My fingers traced the sturdy shelf of the bookcase as I craned my neck back, reading the titles of the books, wondering whether I was in the right section. I was tall, but these bookcases were over two meters, so I might need a ladder if I find my book and it’s way too high up on the shelf. As I scanned the next aisle, I grinned in triumph when I read the title of the book I was searching for, Do’s and Don’ts in Elixir Making, Alchemy, Level: kindergarten, by A. Turner. I chuckled under my breath at the blatant jab before I pushed myself up on my tiptoes, reaching forward and finding stability in the bookshelf when a sudden invasive warmth burned my nape, the scent of sandalwood forcing my eyes shut as I took a deep breath, my wolf purring when the sweet vanilla seemed to linger in my throat and oesophagus even after exhaling.

“Is this the one you were looking for?” Yunho’s voice was low, too close to my ear, and I couldn’t stop my heart from jolting in both fright and excitement. I whirled around, which was a mistake. There was barely any distance between our bodies as Yunho held the book in his big hand, long fingers curling around its old spine, his eyes soft, but his expression hardened. I gulped since my mouth felt dry, but the words didn’t come to me as Yunho and I stood staring at each other. His grip tightened around the book and I finally looked at it, nodding hesitantly. He hummed and handed it over, our fingers brushing in the process and making my body lurch forward. Yunho’s eyes widened, and I wondered if he had felt it too. The electricity, the low humming, the sudden tremble of my body at the fleeting touch, the depravation and desperation that was suddenly flowing through my veins, so close to claiming him as mine.

“Yes.” My voice was steady despite my hammering heart, and the sweat that coated my brows. I cradled the book against my chest as if I was trying to protect myself from Yunho, protect my heart and mind too. But Yunho didn’t look like he was about to move away, and I was too scared of making any moves, knowing that my legs would carry me straight in his arms, shamelessly at that. I couldn’t let that happen, it would’ve been humiliating. Yunho’s lips parted as his eyebrows furrowed, long strands falling into his eyes, and he swiftly ran a hand through his hair as my eyes followed the motion. I gulped, wishing to do the same, but then Yunho exhaled and I felt my body lean towards him again, vanilla so sweet my mind was clouded with want.

“Mingi’s girlfriend told me she had given you the sparse bracelet she and Dahyun had made.” I hadn’t expected that, so I was curious where Yunho was going with this, “She reeks of Mingi, so it’s no surprise your bracelet also reeks of Mingi.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I raised my hand, staring at it incredulously. Does it? I hadn’t even noticed, how come? After all, Mingi’s scent had never been as invasive and constant as Yunho’s. Bringing my wrist closer to my nose, I sniffed at it for a second, eyebrows furrowing when I noticed the faint hint of the earthy and cinnamon scent that was Mingi. It was barely even there, I wondered why Yunho was so sensitive towards it.

“Oh, well, I can faintly smell it now that you’ve pointed it out,” I muttered with a shrug as I lowered my arm, looking at Yunho with a questioning gaze. He bit his bottom lip and my eyes stayed there, wondering what the pink plush flesh would feel like underneath my teeth, whether Yunho would whine or growl if I were to sink my fangs into it and nip at the sensitive lip. But before my face could flush at the vivid image created in my mind, Yunho cleared his throat and took a small step towards me, making me press myself up against the bookcase. My body felt alive, my heart was racing, and my ears were ringing. I felt like I could do anything with Yunho around, as if I was untouchable.

“Listen,” Yunho seemed to hesitate for a second before his eyes glazed over with conviction, his scent so overbearing that for a second it was all I could focus on, and his racing heart, “I had never meant to assume things about you, nor insinuate anything, but I realise my words had come off wrong more than once. I was harsh when I didn’t mean to be, and I know you think I’m a dick. Frankly, you have all the right to think that about me, I hadn’t been the nicest to you until now.”

I wanted to ask why now, what had changed that he was finally acknowledging me, what was spurring him on to even talk to me like this, because it sounded like he was about to apologise and I hated how my heart was beating harder, making my wolf was howl in happiness, ready to accept Yunho’s apology even if he didn’t say the words. I remained silent as Yunho licked his pouty lips, and my eyes seemed to remain on them even as he continued to speak, “Do you—do you believe in soulmates?”

I couldn’t help but give Yunho an amused look, quirking an eyebrow, “We’re literally werewolves who imprint on each other and have lifelong mates, do you believe in soulmates?”

Yunho froze, a little taken aback that I had answered his question with a question, “What about mates? Do you believe in mates, then?”

It seemed like neither one of us wanted to answer questions right now, but I sighed as I gave Yunho a resigned look, “I do, I believe in mates.”

“Since when?” Yunho’s tone was turning slightly desperate as he kept pressing on, and I cleared my throat, averting my eyes for a bit.

“Since I was little, but I suppose I started firmly believing that mates do exist after I came here.” Maybe if I didn’t say it too directly, he’d still understand what I was trying to hint at.

“Yeah?” Yunho’s tone was faint, his face suddenly softening as he exhaled quietly.

“What about you? I don’t think I’ve seen you settle with anyone for a longer period since I came here.” Yunho’s jaw clenched as I looked back into his eyes, tilting my head as my eyes narrowed at him.

“The concept of mates was silly to me…” Yunho’s tone was hard as he took a step back, making my wolf whine in protest, but I remained silent and ignored the sudden coldness that plunged through my body, “Until you came to Nocturnal Parade.”

My whole body went cold upon hearing his words, and my eyes widened as Yunho’s admission echoed in my ears. Did that mean he knew we were mates? Could that mean that Yunho was aware that we were fated, but he was ignoring it on purpose? That was utterly more painful than being in a one-sided mated situation, because it meant he was purposefully rejecting me. My eyebrows furrowed as Yunho’s expression was blank once again, his eyes hardening the longer I stared at him in silence.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe, so many questions whirling in my head, making me question every little interaction that we’ve had in the past year, even more so the recent ones. Why would he ignore me? Was I not good enough? Was I not pretty to him? Was I not appealing to his wolf? Why did Yunho hate me so much that he ignored the fact that we were mates for a whole year, making it so hard for me to be in his vicinity? I blinked, suddenly aware that I had tears in my eyes, even my wolf was whining at the realisation. Yunho didn’t say anything as he watched my shocked expression morph into something of sadness mixed with anger, and then I squared my shoulders and glared at him. I didn’t say anything as I pressed the book against his chest to push him back, trying to keep it together in front of him despite wanting to scream at him, demand answers, and throw all the books from the shelves at him. Yunho looked taken off guard as I pushed him back by his chest, his gasp loud as I ripped the book away from his chest and stormed back to the table I shared with San and the Song siblings, my blood fuming and my thoughts running a mile per hour. Yunho was horrible and he didn’t deserve me, even if we were mates. As I loudly and aggressively sat back down in my chair, heads turned to look at me curiously, but nobody bothered me when San shook his head once he noticed Wooyoung open his mouth to drill me with questions.

There was one insistent pair of eyes, however, that didn’t look away even after I had given them a death glare, and it was the creature who was sitting with Mingi and the Petrova girl. Her eyes tracked Yunho as he hurriedly gathered his things from the table and left the hall, a scowl settling on her face before she was watching me again. I opened my book and opted to ignore her, I didn’t have time for all this drama, I had to finish an assignment and study for the midterms as well.

            The next day wasn’t much different, except that there were barely any empty seats to find in both the Library and the Study Hall. After San and I had squeezed ourselves in between a Fae and a Druid, we spent four hours in the Library, our backs aching by the time we headed for lunch. My brain felt numb and my eyes ached from dehydration, and if I thought San would stop his revision while we enjoyed our meal, I was wrong. He was reciting a whole paragraph as he mumbled to himself over a mouthful of vegetable soup, scooping up the baby carrots into his spoon and placing them in my bowl absentmindedly. I smiled at his antics and found myself feeling fond of San and our friendship. Even though I have been here for a year and three months now, I got to experience so many new things and emotions. It was as if I was born for the first time, eager to experience our world through new lenses. If I thought back to my whole life spent in the big city, I couldn’t help but feel sad over how much I had missed out on. The community, however, in Nocturnal Parade had a way of filling in the gaps, and the absence of fond and good memories in a way that tricked my brain into believing that I was always part of this town, of this community, of this pack. It was exhilarating, and for the first time in months, I found myself craving partnership.

So, when San finally started complaining about physically being unable to revise and learn anymore, his muscles crying out for a good stretch, I proposed we go on a run together. It took San only a few seconds to realise what I saying, and then he sprung up from his seat with newfound energy, packing all of his belongings in mere minutes. I giggled as I followed suit, my backpack almost falling from my hands when San grabbed my biceps and hurled me after himself with little care that I was struggling to keep my feet from tangling together as we basically ran out of the Library. I ended up giggling as San faced me with sparkling eyes, his mouth wide but curling into a dimpled smile.

“I’ve been waiting for this day since forever!” San exclaimed as we hurried down the hallway for no reason, but San’s excitement was so palpable that I could almost touch it. It would be the second time I’d join San on his run, so I understood why this felt like a life-changing event to him. I chuckled and linked our arms together to try and slow San down, calm him down a little bit, “Which deity must I thank that you chose me as your companion for a run?”

I rolled my eyes and turned my head to watch San as I released his arm to let him hop down the stairs, “It’s warm outside and I can’t study anymore, I feel tired. I thought you also needed a second away from it all.”

“I sure do,” San muttered under his breath as he waited at the foot of the stairs for me to reach him, “All this studying just for me to not know which major I actually want, we’re four months away from graduating from the Academy, Y/N.”

I hummed and linked our arms together again as I veered us towards the backroads leading to campus, “I know, but you’ve got this San. Whether you choose Medical Engineering or Medicine and Pharmacy, you’ll do well, I just know it.”

“I want to do so much, but I feel like we have so little time,” San mumbled, his lips downturned as we left the building.

“We might not be vampires, but we certainly have more than enough time to live a lifetime full of completing our wishes and wants, don’t you think?” I tried to cheer my best friend up as I nudged his shoulder, but San just sighed long and stopped walking. His scent suddenly soured, and I frowned as he shuffled on his feet, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“I’m just…” He sighed and I hummed, spurring him on to continue, “What if Wooyoung doesn’t like me the way I like him?”

That was a tough question, I would hate myself if I answered it the wrong way and only saddened San more. I gulped and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him lightly, “San, do you not see the way Wooyoung just gravitates towards you? His eyes glimmer when he looks at you, he’s always smiling and laughing in your presence, and he’s always whiney when you don’t pay attention to him. He searches for you in every room, and he’s always talking about you, somehow roping you up into a conversation that has nothing to do with you. I know baring our feelings is scary, but what if…what if Wooyoung likes you the way you like him, and you’re just both wasting time? And if he somehow isn’t into you, it’s Wooyoung, you know nothing will change. He’ll treat you the same way, San. You might be heartbroken but life goes on, and you’ll find someone who is…not Wooyoung.”

“Wow,” San chuckled, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing, “You really were doing so well until you brought up Wooyoung not being into me.”

“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed, feeling bad only for a second as San started laughing. I huffed as he threw an arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side, a light flush settling over his cheeks. He was still smiling and his scent had evened out, so I knew he wasn’t upset anymore. Maybe my speech was good, after all, even if I ruined it by insinuating Wooyoung might not be into San.

“You’re right, Y/N,” San and I started walking again, “I won’t waste any more time. I’ll tell him before the next full moon.”

My eyes widened as I looked at San’s side profile, “That’s in five days.”

“I know.” San and I shared a look before I hummed, grabbing him around the hips to give him a reassuring squeeze. He smiled in contentment as we wobbled our way through the grass-covered path, thankful that we didn’t come across any Fae that was drinking up the warm sun rays as they lay in the grass.

And, well, that’s how I ended up on a run not just with San, but Wooyoung also. It didn’t bother me, it turned out that Wooyoung was a lot more coordinated and serious when in wolf form than he was in his human shape. His wolf wasn’t too large, but it had great stamina as it ran ahead of San and me, its fur a mixture of black and white, reminding me of his brothers, who both had beautiful fur and majestic builds. At first glance, it seemed as if Wooyoung was aimlessly leading us around the forest, but I was proven wrong when we arrived at a small waterfall, of which I had no idea it even existed. My wolf purred as it shook its fur, looking around with sharp eyes, making me chuckle inside my head when I noticed San headed towards Wooyoung, rubbing their muzzles together. My wolf howled, making me feel embarrassed when both San and Wooyoung looked my way, the amused glint in Wooyoung’s wolf eyes unmistakable even like this. When I was in my wolf form, it was hard to control its reactions, so I was forced to wallow in the embarrassment of the jealousy my wolf felt over what San and Wooyoung had. Even to my wolf, it was obvious that the two’s bond ran deep, that there was something they wouldn’t be able to deny for much longer.

As if San’s wolf had sensed my shift in mood, he approached with strong footsteps, rising a little taller than my own wolf. He was nowhere near as large as Yunho or Mingi, but the wolf was still big and menacing looking. The darkness of its eyes was intimidating to anyone who didn’t know it was San. The sourness of my scent, however, disappeared the second San affectionately brushed its body against mine, huffing under his breath as our heads bumped together in an acknowledging way. It was sweet, it tempered my wolf’s antics if only for a second as we heard the bushes rustling, the steps sounding closer and closer. My skin twitched as I bared my fangs for any unwelcome predator, but even my wolf was shocked to see a black and white wolf emerge from behind a large boulder. It was hard to think straight when your wolf was in control of your body and mind, and I had to pull every part of my mind together to stop my wolf from pouncing on Yunho the second they made eye contact. Something deep rumbled out of the black wolf’s throat as Wooyoung skipped over gleefully, its mouth opened as it made a funny sound.

Mingi imitated the sound as they bopped their noses together, a rumble leaving San’s throat as he stood next to me, protectively, as he watched Yunho’s wolf. A very quiet whine managed to somehow slip past my clenched jaw still when Yunho and Wooyoung acknowledged each other, and the second I realised my wolf would actually throw itself at Yunho, I somehow gathered enough mental strength to force myself to jump away from the group, a loud howl leaving my throat. I knew everyone was watching me, but I was panting and my wolf was purring, I knew I had to leave before I created an even bigger scene. So, when I took off, hopeful that the others would let me be, my wolf almost leered at me when Yunho’s vanilla scent permeated every part of my being, its burning gaze on my body making me choke up as I could see the big, black, wolf chase after me. Everyone else wasn’t far behind, but Yunho seemed to run faster than any of them, forcing me to push myself as my paws hit the forest ground harshly, my lungs heaving for air as we waved through the trees, racing through the forest.

Yunho’s loud puffs of air would’ve covered my skin in goosebumps, a constant reminder of just how close he was to me, to catching me. Because it felt like a chase, as if I was running away from a dangerous predator, and would end up dead, my windpipe crushed between its malicious fangs. My heart raced in my chest and my lungs burned from the lack of air, but my wolf wasn’t tired yet. In fact, it was elated that Yunho was relentlessly chasing, loud huffs and growls leaving its mouth anytime he thought he had finally caught up to us, only to realise my wolf was just tricking him and would speed up once again. My wolf was thrilled as it howled loudly, it would’ve sounded like laughter if I was in my human form, and then it took a sharp left cut as we jumped over numerous fallen logs. My skin was on fire as adrenaline coursed through my body at an alarming state, and I couldn’t remember a time when I had been so in touch with my wolf and the nature that surrounded us. I couldn’t lie, I was excited as well as I listened closely to Yunho’s heavy breaths, still hot on our trail even though he couldn’t quite catch up with us.

I couldn’t tell whether the others were still after us because Yunho’s scent was so intense that it was the only thing my wolf could smell and focus on, but I hoped the others would forgive me for my sudden departure once I had apologised to them. I just hoped San wouldn’t worry about me, but then again, it’s not like I couldn’t take care of myself, and right now it didn’t feel like I was in danger despite Yunho breathing down our neck. Before I could question where my wolf was taking us, the trees became less dense and the soil a little muddier, and I realised we were headed towards the shed. I suppose my muscles had eased up enough for me to end my run, but I wouldn’t want to come to the shed since this isn’t where I had left my clothes, I felt confusion spike through my senses, but my wolf was quick to completely push it down. My bones started aching as I gasped loudly for air, the shed now in eyesight as I realised my wolf was forcing me to shift. I didn’t want to be naked out in the wild, but I couldn’t stop the transformation if my wolf forced it upon me. I groaned when my bones snapped into place, the burgundy fur slowly disappearing as I was forced up onto my legs, my claws slowly retracting into normal nails as my jaw snapped into place, a little sore from the sudden action.

I could feel my hair brush just above my shoulders and I gasped as I tumbled forward into the shed’s door, my feet aching and numb from having pushed myself too hard in the chase. My body felt on fire as my heart raced loudly in my chest, the adrenaline making me more alert than normal as I hurried inside the shed, trying to shift back so that I wouldn’t have to walk to campus naked, but my wolf was opposed to the idea. Before I could wonder why, all my questions were answered. The shed’s door slammed shut loudly behind me and I jumped, whirling around in panic as Yunho’s tall form stood looming in the doorway. There was something different about him right now, about the air between us. It was tense, I felt like I couldn’t breathe in the dim lighting of the shed, and I gulped as I took in Yunho’s appearance. His long brown hair was all over the place, falling into his dark eyes, which lacked their warmth. They were narrowed into slits as he was panting through his mouth, his cheeks tinged a deep red, the flush continuing down to his chest. His fangs hadn’t retracted yet, though, and they were poking past his pink bottom lip. Yunho’s nose was scrunched up as he leered at me, and I gulped nervously, all of a sudden too aware of my nakedness as I tried to shield my exposed private parts with my hand and arm.

Something prompted Yunho to suddenly push forward, consequently making me backtrack until I collided with the old wooden table, making my heart race even faster as Yunho slowly stalked towards me, his eyes an intense orchid colour. I felt shy all of a sudden as if we hadn’t already seen each other naked, but my wolf purred at me and forced my hands away from my body as I felt frozen in place, big eyes looking up at Yunho once he stood too close, too easy to reach. His heart was pounding just as hard as mine as his chest fell and rose rapidly, and my eyes fluttered shut when his vanilla scent made my head swim. It felt as if I was underwater, trying to grip onto my last string of sanity as Yunho growled, hot fingers digging into my hip. My eyes flew open, widening as I looked down at Yunho’s hand holding me, leaving crescent moons as his chapped yellow nails dug into my warm skin. He stepped even closer, caging me in, and making me look up at him as I felt hazy. My wolf was whispering at me to spread my legs just a little further and let him nestle in between them. I wanted Yunho like nothing else before.

“Y/N.” Yunho’s voice was the lowest I have ever heard it be. His eyes seemed to be unfocused as he grabbed me with both hands now, slowly tracing my sides as if he were memorising my body. I had to bite my bottom lip to stop any sounds from escaping, and in a moment of weakness, I allowed my wolf to do to its liking as I raised my right hand, fingers almost hesitantly touching Yunho’s left peck. He shivered as his jaw tightened, stepping even closer until our bodies were touching. It was too much to feel all of him against my skin, his body burning mine up in a way I thought wasn’t possible. My breath stuttered in my throat when Yunho’s fingers ghosted over my breasts, mine travelling lower on his torso until they were massaging circles right above his happy trail, making him growl, “I can’t do it anymore.”

It was hard to speak, but I needed to understand what he meant. I swallowed around nothing, letting my head fall back as Yunho’s pupils dilated upon seeing my exposed neck, “What—what do you mean?”

Without realising, my hands were tracing his lower back, slipping lower and lower until they hovered right above his ass cheeks, hesitant to touch until Yunho roughly grabbed my left breast, rutting against my thigh. I keened, pressing him closer as my fingers dug into his naked flesh, my skin practically singing as he tilted my head even further back with his free hand, his index finger pressing against my bottom lip insistently. I couldn’t breathe as the wooden edge of the table dug into my back, but I didn’t care as my body experienced things it never had before. It was exhilarating, but also scary that I had given in so quickly. I knew it was mostly my wolf doing this, but I couldn’t find my grip. I actually didn’t want to, so I let my wolf take the lead for once when it came to Yunho. It’s what we’ve wanted for a year, after all, to feel him all over us, close to us, in us.

“You’re so alluring,” Yunho whispered as his head lowered, his hot lips pressing against my cheek as I flushed a darker red, “Maddening to the point I can’t sleep at night, Y/N. I want to devour you whole, take you as you are. I need you.”

I whimpered as Yunho and I made eye contact, his hand which was holding my breast now sneaking to my lower back as he made me arch into him, my lower stomach coiling at how easy it would be to just let him take whatever he needed. And I wanted it too, my wolf was desperate for it, so I leaned up until our lips were brushing together, my own orchid eyes reflected in his.

“Why now?” I whispered, watching as Yunho gulped, lips parting as if he was trying to inhale my very breath, “Why do you want me now?”

I gasped when Yunho suddenly hoisted me up, my legs crushing his hips as I latched onto him, my eyes shaking slightly as he nipped at my jawline, his fangs dangerous but not there to harm, “It’s not just now, I always want you. Even when I’m sleeping, you’re in my every dream.”

My eyes fluttered close as Yunho kissed behind my ear, making me sigh in pleasure as he trailed more kisses on my neck until he was dangerously close to my scent gland, “But you’ve always ignored me, I thought you didn’t like me.”

Yunho growled as he nipped at my skin, making me lick my lips as we came eye to eye once again. I wanted to kiss him breathless, but he was talking before I could do so, “I don’t like you, I’m obsessed with you. I want you to be mine, forever. I had known you belonged to me the second I first saw you.”

My wolf purred and I moaned as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against my neck, up to my jawline until our cheeks were pressed together, and he was nuzzling his nose into it, his sandalwood scent rubbing deeply into my skin. Our noses bumped together and my wolf was leering, so happy that we were in Yunho’s arms, so lenient to let him mark us, mate us. And just like that, my heartbeat stuttered and my eyebrows furrowed, somehow my mind clearing through the lustful fog that was clouding it, “Since the second you first saw me?”

“Yes,” Yunho muttered lowly, kissing my cheek before he looked into my eyes, “I had smelled you before I had even seen you, I thought I was going crazy, turns out I wasn’t. I had just found my mate.”

Before my wolf could let me gloss over this new piece of information, I pressed, “So you knew all this time that we were mates? That I was fated to be with you?”

“Yes, Y/N, I knew.” The grin on Yunho’s face was anything but pleasant as my heart dropped all the way to my stomach. He knew all this time and he left me in the dark to suffer alone, cry myself to sleep thinking I wasn’t good enough, that even my own mate didn’t want anything to do with me. I had thought all this time that I was too weird, too much, too shy to be fated with someone like Yunho, I had thought it was a cruel joke made by the Universe to laugh at me, I couldn’t have a peaceful and perfect life even if we left the city. I had been suffering for the past year and all this time Yunho knew, and yet, he did it on purpose. He didn’t care for me, he didn’t think for a second what this did to my mental health and image of myself. He was my mate, yet instead of protecting me, making me happy, and keeping me safe, he pushed me towards my darkest times where I felt like I wasn’t even real, that I didn’t matter to anyone, that I’d never be enough.

“Put me down.” My tone was just as shaky as my whole mental state right now, crumbling faster than my wolf could grasp the situation and try to silence me again. Yunho’s eyes widened slightly, then his eyebrows furrowed, and instead of doing what I asked, he only held me tighter, “Yunho, put me down right now.”

“Y/N, I don’t—listen, we can discuss this. I messed up, if you listen to the whole—”

“If you don’t put me down right now, Yunho, you’ll never see me again.” My wolf was whining as Yunho’s expression crumbled into hurt and panic, his chest falling and rising rapidly as I could hear his heart race for different reasons now. But I wouldn’t let this go his way, I couldn’t just gloss over this and act as if I hadn’t been miserable since the moment I met him. It hurt too much, even my wolf was finally realising what was happening, that he had actively refused his mate for whatever reason I wasn’t curious to know. And even though I could see it in Yunho’s eyes, the need to go against my demand and keep me here, very slowly, he started to move, letting one leg down at a time. My feet were cold as they touched the shed’s flooring, and I gulped as Yunho still hounded me into the table. I tried to keep the tears out of my eyes as I gulped, taking a shaky breath. Then, I pushed him back since he wasn’t moving away, and closed my eyes as I felt my bones shift around without me having to force my wolf to cooperate. So much for running with your pack.

            The tables have somehow turned. It wasn’t me yearning after Yunho anymore, it was him yearning after me now. He was everywhere I went, albeit the Academy’s grounds weren’t as humongous as a town’s grounds, but he was everywhere. I couldn’t enjoy my meals anymore, I couldn’t study in the Library or the Study Hall, I couldn’t sit out in the Flower Fields on a blanket reading, and I couldn’t even go on runs at a reasonable hour because Yunho was always there. It was slightly frightening and disarming, but my wolf was elated. She was practically mewling at all times, baring her neck in Yunho’s direction anytime she could. Good thing my will was stronger than hers. It was peculiar to see how good I was at actually dismissing Yunho’s whole existence, giving him a taste of his own medicine. I didn’t find joy in ignoring him, but I was mad and hurt. I wouldn’t allow him to just crawl back into my life as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t known all this time that we were mates. Only a week had passed since our encounter on the run and the whole thing that went down in the shed, and I was positive Yunho was close to losing his mind.

I had felt like that for a good two months, but I took it a lot better than he was right now. He looked like he hadn’t slept for two days at least, with dark bags under his eyes and his hair all wavy and in a man-bun since it looked unwashed. His nails lacked their usual vibrant colour and his outfits seemed less crazy, as if he wasn’t putting much thought into them anymore, just wearing whatever was at hand. Yesterday, he had even worn one of Mingi’s black hoodies, a colour unseen on Yunho previously. It was jarring, I couldn’t lie, but I wasn’t going to give in to him just because he was moping about me keeping my distance from him. It wasn’t even that deep, I hadn’t even rejected him like he had done with me, I just needed time to sort out my feelings and thoughts, but I suppose Yunho didn’t know that and assumed things were over between us. As if there had been anything, to begin with. Yeri, who had no issues rooming with me but didn’t usually hang out much with me otherwise, was now suspiciously all up in my business every damn day, resulting in Yunho tagging along. I knew the Song siblings were close, but I hadn’t seen Yunho and Yeri spend more than one hour together at the Academy, so they weren’t slick with it when Yunho followed after Yeri, and subsequently me, all day like a kicked puppy.

But if it wasn’t Yeri, then it was Dahyun, who had never spoken to me more than five words at once, but was now eager to get to know me, complimenting me about my rusty coloured hair and forcing me to do beaded bracelets with her in the Study Hall while Yunho sat a few seats away from us, staring at me without even blinking. Their antics had gotten old and irritating quite quickly, but the last nail had been today during lunch. I sat with San and Wooyoung, who were disgustingly sweet now that they had finally sorted out their relationship. They weren’t dating, but they were certainly something more than friends, and they seemed fine with that, so, who was I to judge them? Our lunch was full of chatter as Wooyoung cackled at every small thing, animatedly retelling a time when San had tried to sneak into his room, only to slip down the roof and fall face-first into the mud. He had broken two teeth and had almost fractured his cheekbone if it wasn’t for our magical werewolf healing. My appetite had even returned as my wolf was finally done acting as if it was the end of the world, however, when Yunho’s oppressing sandalwood scent wafted through the air, it felt like my whole day was ruined.

Mingi and his girlfriend joined our table with quiet greetings as they sat, Yunho hot in tow as his eyes burned into the side of my head. I have had enough, but before I could excuse myself, Wooyoung was already talking to Yunho. The vampire girl gave me an understanding look before she sat back, pushing around the vegetables until Mingi noticed and took them from her. I watched their interactions while paying attention to Wooyoung, who had slightly settled down when San squeezed his thigh. But Yunho was still staring, breathing shallowly, his bottom lip jutting out almost pitifully. I wanted to yell at him that this was his fault and that I was sick of everything, but I kept my composure until I couldn’t anymore. A scoff made us all look up, and I realised it was the same creature from the Library, part of Petrova’s friend group.

“Look at you,” She sneered at Yunho malevolently, her lips curling into a wicked smirk, “You thought you had found another bitch just to get kicked to the curb by her, didn’t you? How pitiful.”

Before I could stop myself, I pushed my chair back and looked at the creature with a glare, “Who are you calling a bitch?”

I hadn’t intended to growl, but my wolf was just as triggered as me, and we really didn’t want to be provoked today. I wasn’t confrontational, but I was beyond stressed by the midterms, and now Yunho’s behaviour too.

Before this whole ordeal could escalate into something else, the Petrova girl scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Really, Seulgi? I thought we agreed you’d finally let it go.”

Seulgi, Yunho’s ex-girlfriend I realised, bared her fangs at the other vampire, “Just because you suck your werewolf boyfriend’s dick, you shouldn’t look down on your kin. Or did you forget who you are and where you come from?”

I hadn’t seen anyone get angry as fast as the Petrova girl, her whole face going red, but before the two vampires could turn this into something physical, Mingi stood and faced Seulgi, “I would appreciate it if you stopped harassing my girlfriend, your own friend, Seulgi. Last time I checked, you and Yunho broke up because you cheated on him. What’s your fucking problem, huh? Do you want me to rip you apart? I would love to sink my fangs into—”

“Mingi.” His girlfriend looked sick as she gripped his hand tightly, shaking her head at him. Mingi took a sharp breath and looked at her with a guilty expression before he faced Seulgi again, who looked to be fuming. I exhaled, then grabbed my backpack and tapped San’s shoulder.

“I’m not hungry anymore, see you later.” Before San could ask where I was going, I was basically running out of the canteen, desperate to get away from everyone. The other students were staring at us curiously, and I hated it. I was tired and irritated, I just wanted to be alone and away from anything that was connected to Yunho. I knew I’d have to face him and have a conversation with him sooner or later, but maybe I’d first make him suffer for his choices for another few months. Maybe until we graduate.

My footsteps echoed down the corridor as I decided to head back to my dorm and take a nap, I still had some time until my Calculus class. However, footsteps followed mine hurriedly, and judging based on the absence of an overbearing scent, I guessed it was a vampire that was trailing me. Maybe it was the Petrova girl, I actually hoped it was her since I didn’t really want to speak to anyone who couldn’t take a hint. She was rather good at reading the room, over the past week we’ve hung out more, and I got to know her a bit better. She was anything like Yeri had made her sound, and I was just glad to have a friend who was a female and my age. I was snapped out of my thoughts when I felt sharp nails digging through my sleeve and into my skin, making my wolf growl as I turned around with a sharp glare. It was Yunho’s ex, the black-haired girl, Seulgi.

“What do you want?” I snapped, my eyebrows furrowing when she didn’t let go of my arm. She looked me up and down with a grimace, scoffing under her breath.

“Are you Yunho’s new bitch?” My jaw tensed and my wolf growled, but Seulgi continued before I could speak, “Have you fucked already? Did he tell you that you are the love of his life only to cheat on you with a fucking dog the next day?”

So, she was associating werewolves with dogs now, huh? I couldn’t have disliked her more than I already did, but I gulped down the nasty names I could’ve called her, and opted to be the adult in this damn conversation, “Even if my answers to your questions were all yes, how is that your concern? Aren’t you just his ex?”

“I might be his ex,” Seulgi snickered, stepping closer, “But I know him better than anyone else—”

“I highly doubt that’s true since he has a twin brother, but sure, whatever you say, darling.” I cut her off, my tone turning cold as something like jealousy gripped my heart. My wolf was far from exhilarated to know that Seulgi and Yunho shared a past, but everyone had a life before they met their mates, no? I couldn’t flip out over something like this.

“Listen here, bitch,” Seulgi hissed, stepping so close I could smell her breath. It reeked of blood and menthol, “I’m just here to warn you, but since you want to get smart with me, I might as well give you a piece of my mind. You are nothing to—”

“Kang Seulgi.” Yunho’s sharp and dark tone made me shiver and Seulgi’s eyes widened. I hadn’t even heard him approach, too focused on Seulgi and my own anger. His scent was strong, the sandalwood making it hard to breathe as it spiked sourly, “Haven’t I told you countless times to leave alone anyone that comes in contact with me?”

“Are you scared I’ll let them know who you really are? This bitch isn’t even into you, I can—”

“You can’t do nothing, shut the fuck up, you know nothing.” Yunho sneered as he stopped next to me, a few good heads taller than Seulgi as he loomed over her. She didn’t look intimidated or scared as she grinned widely, almost insane looking. She tilted her head, her eyes slipping between the two of us.

“You think just because you scent this bitch others won’t touch—” I flinched when Yunho suddenly grabbed her by the throat, yanking her towards himself. Even Seulgi seemed shocked, her eyes turning wide as she gripped Yunho’s wrist in fear.

“If you call her a bitch one more time, Seulgi, I swear to fucking God, I will murder you right here and right now.” Yunho’s growl was guttural, I knew his wolf was talking rather than him, but Seulgi didn’t seem to realise that as she started shaking like a leaf. She gasped, her eyes flickering to me before she tried to smooth out her face and look friendlier.

“Is she—Yunho, it hurts.” She whined, lower lip trembling as Yunho’s nails grew sharper and dug more into her neck. I stepped up, knowing that Yunho wasn’t completely himself.

“Let her go, Yunho, you’re hurting her.” My tone was harsh, and I gripped his lower arm to squeeze it painfully. Yunho huffed and let go of Seulgi, who I grabbed before she could stumble over her own feet.

“Are you alright?” I asked quietly as she started to hyperventilate, her eyes filled with tears.

“Are you mates?” Her voice was quiet as she looked back at Yunho, leaving me speechless. I opened my mouth to deny it, but no words came out.

“Yes.” It was Yunho who answered, firm and loud, I could feel him step closer as his warmth mingled with mine. Seulgi gulped, then looked at him before at me, brushing my touch off her.

“I’m sorry.” Then she turned and hurried off before we could stop her, her sobs quite loud as they echoed down the corridors. I gulped, feeling a lump in my throat as Yunho was still behind me, hovering over me as if I would run away if he didn’t.

Even I had a breaking point, so I gave in, “What do you want—”

“Forgive me, for everything.” Yunho was speaking before I could even finish my sentence as he came around me, and gripped my cheeks, taking me off guard, “I don’t demand you do it right away, I know you must be very angry with me right now, but please, listen to me before you say anything. I didn’t believe in mates because my parents aren’t true mates. My father’s mate died when they were children and my mother denied her real mate to be with my father, so I decided to take matters into my own hands and not wait for love to find me. I—I also might’ve been selfish and a jackass for not wanting to settle down just yet, that is mainly the reason I’ve tried to ignore our bond this whole time.

“It’s so shitty of me and I’m so ashamed of myself, but I was scared that you might not want me back, that I might be in a one-sided situationship. My parents had always told us that we have the right to deny whoever the Universe destined us with and find our own person, but they were wrong, they—they don’t know what the pull of a true mate feels like. When Mingi and Petrova started going out, I was so angry, I felt so abandoned. Mingi and I had promised we would never imprint on anyone, but he broke his promise when he imprinted on Petrova. I was so dumb to be mad at him, and I was even more dumb to try and deny what we two have. I realised I was jealous of Mingi at some point because I thought I’d never have what he has, and then you showed up and I—I didn’t know what to do, how to navigate all these new emotions. I also had a girlfriend at the time and I seriously thought we’d work out, but…you were all I could think about and want. In fact, I don’t want anyone else but you, Y/N. I’m just—I’m asking you to give me a chance. Just one chance.”

I gulped, overwhelmed by Yunho’s confession and his proximity altogether as my wolf purred, prompting me to nuzzle my cheek into Yunho’s palm, inhale his scent deeply as my nose brushed against his hot wrist, “One chance?”

Yunho’s heart skipped a beat as vanilla wrapped around us, his eyes regaining that pretty spark in them, “Yes, just one chance, I beg. I’ll prove myself to you, I’ll treat you right, and I’ll love you unconditionally. I want to make up for the lost time, may I—can you let me? I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

I licked my lips and watched as Yunho’s mouth parted, inhaling through his lips as his heart started racing. His ears were flushed and I smiled, a little amused, as I raised my left hand and cupped his cheek, making his eyes widen. But he didn’t stay frozen, he let his right hand fall from my cheek as he pressed his palm over my hand to keep it firmly pressing into his cheek, “I won’t forgive you overnight, I hope you’re aware of that. You made me really suffer, Yunho, it was so painful at some points, I thought the broken bond would kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispered sorrowfully as he leaned forward to press his forehead against mine, and I sighed, closing my eyes. For a second, it felt as if it were just the two of us in the world, our scents mixed and creating a safe cocoon that couldn’t be broken unless we wanted it to. I felt my heart beat in a new rhythm, one that was stronger and more frantic somehow. I realised it was Yunho’s heartbeat I was feeling, and not my own, it made me wonder whether he could feel mine too.

“I haven’t felt this complete my whole life,” Yunho whispered in a shaky tone and I gulped, angling my head so that our noses would brush together. Yunho’s sharp exhale fanned over my face and I smiled, listening to the whisper of my wolf. She was right, I finally had him, and I didn’t have to withhold anymore. Even if with baby steps, we could work this out, I could forgive him if he proves himself to be a respectable and trustworthy werewolf. So, I tilted my head away, hearing Yunho’s breath catch as if he was panicking until my lips were pressing against his pink ones. They were warm, just like I had fantasized they would be, and they tasted like strawberries. I almost giggled, but I was too focused on the feeling that spread through my body, stealing my breath away even if it was just an innocent and fleeting peck to Yunho’s lips. My body tingled, and it felt like I saw the world for the first time when my eyes fluttered open, Yunho was already staring at me deeply. His cheeks were flushed dark, his fake blush all but disappearing under his real blush, and he was smiling so widely his cheeks must’ve hurt once we pulled away. I chuckled and shook my head, gently placing my arms around his neck as he hugged me close to himself.

“This isn’t me forgiving you, by the way, my wolf is just too desperate at this point for me to fight against her,” I muttered and Yunho laughed, his eyes creasing as he threw his head back, the sound of his joy music to my ears. I couldn’t help but grin widely and tighten my arms around him, wondering how I had gotten so lucky to have him of all werewolves as my mate.

“Mine too, are you busy right now?” The mischievous glint in Yunho’s eyes told me whatever we were about to do would define how we’d move forward with our relationship.

“Not really, why?”

“Mingi won’t be back until late evening, the dorm is all mine,” Yunho whispered, biting his bottom lip as his pupils dilated, eyes slowly trailing down my body as if I was already naked.

“Good, because I forbid Yeri from bringing back boys to our dorm, I can’t go around breaking my own rule.” I wriggled my eyebrows at Yunho, making him laugh as his hands slowly slipped lower on my torso, feeling me all up. It made me feel hot all over, my wolf purring loudly as I fought the urge to tilt my head back and bare my neck at Yunho.

“Oh, the horror on her face if she’d see her brother under your sheets.” Yunho made a mocking sound as he pressed a hand against his mouth, my eyes lingered on his long fingers. I’m sure he noticed because he suddenly smirked, then swiftly pecked my lips before he detached himself from me, intertwining our fingers as he eagerly led the way towards our side of campus, “Let’s stop wasting time.”

I hummed, feeling my chest all warm from Yunho’s warmth, my cheeks flushed and my heart racing in my chest. All this time I thought my mate would never want me back, yet here we were now, headed to explore what the future held for us. My wolf and I couldn’t have been happier.

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[lovelivision]

TEMPORARY

pairing: gojo satoru/reader

wc: 5.2k

summary: your close friend gojo is kind enough to let you stay with him for a while, it's just a shame that he's overly curious about what you read when he's not home

a/n; gojo is nosy and i stand by that, also, i can't seem to help myself when it comes to him... this was only meant to be 2k but i think i like him a little too much. that or he just yaps a lot

warnings: 18+ only, smut, pwp, dirty talk, fingering, tease!gojo, hickeys, p in v sex, clit slapping (once), creampie, afab!reader, no use of pronouns or y/n, big dick gojo, gojo likes embarrassing reader

MDNI | SMUT UNDER CUT

Somehow, you’ve ended up in Gojo’s fancy apartment… the ‘somehow’ is, he is one of your closest friends and the only person you could ask for help. It had already been a long day when you came home to a hole in your ceiling and a bath – that isn’t yours but the floors above – in your apartment, you wanted to give up on life. Your apartment was wet and some of your stuff had water damage.

Maybe if you weren’t so distraught and just wanting somewhere to stay, you would’ve asked someone else but you decided to call Gojo and while he was more than happy to accommodate you, temporary living with him has been… troublesome.

It’s not so much as what he’s been doing but how you’re feeling, you feel self-conscious and too aware of yourself. Constantly wondering if it’s okay that you’re here, that you’re sitting on his couch or using his kitchen. He goes away for days at a time and yet you still worry about whether or not it’s okay you’re here.

You don’t bug him too much with it, you know that can get annoying, asking for constant reassurance but you’re worried that you’re overstaying your welcome. Especially when your building manager keeps calling and telling you fixes will take longer than expected. At this rate, you might just have to live elsewhere.

Another call like that had just come in and when you walk back into the living room and plonk down on the couch next to Gojo, he can immediately tell you’re feeling disheartened, “Not ready yet?”

“I don’t even know if they’ve started yet,” you sigh, kicking your feet a little in your frustration, “I’m really sorry, Gojo,” you lean back into the couch more, head resting on the back of it.

“I’m not worried about it,” he hums, crossed leg bouncing slightly, “Stay as long as you like, it’s nice having someone here when I come home,” he leans his head back on the couch too but turns to look at you.

Turning your head, you meet his gaze, “Are you sure? I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” your brows pull together, “I can always find another place to stay, honestly, I won’t be offended if you’re sick of me… I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

He scoffs, “What inconvenience? You barely make a mess and move around the place like it’s made of glass,” he’s making fun of you a little, trying to get you to relax more, “You should chill out and get a bit more comfortable, it seems like you might be here for a while yet,” he shrugs easily, not at all worried about you staying.

You intake a breath, “Yeah but I–”

“–Plus, where else would you stay? I’m like… your only friend,” he snickers.

Frowning at him, you defend, “That’s not true and you know it!”

“Yeah? Then why was I your first call?” He’s smug.

Looking away, you mumble, “You have no way of knowing that.”

“Ah, but I think your reaction gave it away,” he chuckles, poking your cheek with his finger.

“I wonder if it’s too late to ask Shoko for her couch,” you grumble, ignoring him.

“Nooo~” he pouts, “Don’t leave, you’re such a good guest, I’m sorry for saying you have no friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, “Do you ever get tired of yourself,” you ask, side-eyeing him.

He smiles big, “Never.”

If Gojo were being honest with you, he’d admit he likes your company, he likes coming home and hearing you patter around his apartment, and he likes that you trusted him enough to call him when you needed help. He likes that he was the first person you called because he wants you to rely on him, he wants to feel wanted and needed by you. It’s just a shame a bathtub had to fall through your ceiling for it to happen.

He's not even mad that your building manager is downright atrocious at his job because that just means he gets to have more time with you.

⸝⸝⸝

You’re in his home… alone, just for tonight. Gojo said he had ‘super important and super-secret’ things to attend to, so you’re choosing to be scandalous and instead of reading your current novel in your room, you’re reading it on the couch.

Under a blanket and snuggled into Gojo’s nice couch is about as close to comfortable as you get these days. His living room is nice and you like it out here, though you tend to shy away from main areas when he’s home, afraid of disturbing his peace.

The book is in depth, the scenes heating up quickly, you quietly read, flicking the pages slowly, savouring the tension. It’s not often that you read stuff like this but you’re getting invested, finding a good book with plot and porn is hard to come by and you’re finding yourself getting more and more invested.

Gojo’s voice from behind you is a scare you weren’t ready for, “Wouldn’t it feel better to actually get fucked instead of just reading about it?”

“Fuck! Geez, Gojo, way to scare someone to death,” you huff, not at all ready for his comparably loud voice in the quiet room.

He’s leaning over the back of the couch, apparently reading over your shoulder, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yeah, that’s why you were lurking behind me for so long… because you didn’t mean to scare me,” you crane your neck to look up at him, your eyes showing your clear scepticism.

“Let’s change the topic back to how you’re reading porn out in the open,” he smiles.

You squint at him, “It’s a sex scene, not a porn book.”

He leans in a little closer, “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re nosy,” you accuse.

He clarifies, “I am curious.” He adds, “You were so involved in your book that you didn’t even notice my presence… now I know why,” his eyebrows wiggle at you.

You shoot your head back up so you don’t have to look at him, “Why are you back anyways? I thought you weren’t gonna be home until tomorrow?”

“I’m just simply too good,” he boasts. You grumble at him but pick up your blanket and stomp off to the spare room with your book, he calls out to you, “Don’t be like that, come hang out with me.”

“No,” you cement, feeling overly embarrassed. You know he was just kidding but you can’t help the way your skin feels all hot and the bit of shame that creeps into your bones.

⸝⸝⸝

When you’re in bed, you don’t continue reading, the moment ruined and now you just want to crawl into a ball and die. It’s too early to sleep though, so you end up just lying there lifelessly. Some time passes before Gojo knocks on your door, waiting for you to answer to see if you’re still awake.

“Go away,” you pout out. He opens the door at the sound of your voice, “That’s like… the exact opposite of going away.”

“I know,” he shuffles over to the bed and flops down next to you, making himself comfortable, “But I wanna talk about earlier.”

You groan, “Ugh, that’s like the last thing I wanna talk about with you right now.”

“You sure? Because there are plenty of other things I could think to talk about instead,” he smiles evilly, he sits up slightly, resting his weight on his forearm to watch over you.

Flat on your back, you scowl up at him, “Maybe we should talk about how lovely the weather has been lately.”

“It’s been raining for a week straight,” he reminds.

You cross your arms over your chest, “…Maybe I like the rain.”

“I am sorry,” he changes the topic.

“It doesn’t matter,” you try brushing it off.

“I made you uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to,” he looks away in thought, “I wasn’t trying to pry, I just wanted to know what you were so interested in and when I saw–”

“–Okay! It’s fine, I’m not mad.”

“It would be understandable if you were,” he flops onto his back again.

You turn to look at him, “If you’re still feeling bad, make me breakfast in the morning.”

“Look at that! I think all the guilt I had just left my body,” he smiles cheekily, also turning to look at you.

You can’t help the way your eyes drop to his lips, just for a second, you didn’t mean anything by it… you think. Gojo sees it because of course he does, he doesn’t miss a single thing and he decides to push the limits of your friendship, just a little bit.

He speaks again, “You know… I am curious about something though.”

Unamused, you raise a brow, “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“Does it do anything? I mean… reading porn like that? Does it actually effect you?” He knows what he’s doing and he knows the answer to his question, he’s not as dense as he pretends he is.

“Invasive question,” you squint at him before letting your face relax, “I can always read it to you and you can see for yourself,” you joke.

His smile grows, “Fantastic idea!”

Your eyes widen, “No! No it’s not! I was kidding, I’m not reading porn to you Gojo.”

“Boo,” he jeers.

“You’re so weird,” you sigh.

He offers you an alternative, “I’ll settle for an answer to my question if you don’t want to read me porn.”

This man is getting on your nerves, “Who would want to do that in the first place?”

“Me, I will read porn to you right now if you like,” he offers.

“Okay let me rephrase, what kind of sane person would want that?” You’re hoping to guide him away from this topic.

“Ouch, words hurt,” you can see his face light up with his joke, “And arouse, apparently.”

“What do you mean apparently?” You ask, “I haven’t even answered your question, very presumptuous of you.”

“Yeah but if the answer was a simple ‘no’ you would’ve just said that and moved on,” he looks proud of himself right now, “Sometimes… not giving an answer is almost as telling as giving one.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you move your head to face the ceiling again, “Get a load of Socrates over here.” You sigh, “What do you want to hear? That it does arouse me, that I get sooo wet reading porn on your couch while you’re gone?”

He’s quiet, at a loss for words really, which is shocking to you. His prolonged silence has you looking back to him. His eyes look a little darker than before, his gaze far away. You’re starting to feel bad, like maybe you’re the one who took it too far now, “Gojo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you–”

“–No… go on,” he encourages, “Tell me all about what you do when I’m not home,” his eyes glimmer.

“I– nothing really– I’m not…” you’re starting to heat up, his gaze on you not helping, “I’m not being creepy while you’re gone…”

“I didn’t say you were being creepy,” he moves so he’s being supported by his forearm again, your eyes follow him as he ends up almost hovering over you, “I said I wanted to know what else you do when I’m not home.”

You hesitate, “This might not be–”

“You don’t have to tell me, if I’m being pushy, if you’re uncomfortable… tell me, I’ll leave you alone,” he wants this bad but he’s not going to force you, he wants you to want it too.

“It’s not… I am uncomfortable but only because,” your thighs press together slightly, seeking pressure, you’re uncomfortable because he’s turning you on and he’s not done a damn thing.

“…Because…”

“Ugh, Gojo,” your hands cover your face, trying to hide yourself from his eyes, “Because you’re…” you mumble, trailing off.

He leans in a little closer, smug smile loud in his voice, “I’m sorry, what?”

You peak through your fingers, “…You’re…turning me on…”

“I still didn’t get that,” he feigns ignorance, he heard you just fine, “Maybe move your hands properly?”

“You’re being mean,” you mutter from behind your hands, “I know you heard me.”

His gaze lowers, scanning your body, taking in how your breathing has sped up, how your thighs clench together, fighting the urge to rub against each other. “No idea what you’re on about, I can’t hear a thing from behind your hands.”

You drop your arms with a huff, “You’re really quite unkind, you know?”

“I think I’m perfectly kind,” his tone is jovial, happy with your acquiescence, “Now repeat what you said, I wanna hear it loud and clear.”

You’re gonna hit him, you wanna hit him. Taking a breath, your hands reach out for his face and move him so he’s looking you dead in the eyes, “Gojo… you’re making me really wet and needy,” your tone is coquettish, “I need your help, please.”

His eyes brighten, deliciously satisfied with your words and confession, “Tell me what you do when I’m not here then.”

You stare at him, you thought you had one up him but he readjusts alarmingly well, you’ll just have to double down, “I lay on your nice, big couch and I fingerfuck myself, hoping I get to cum before you get home.”

“I already like coming home to you,” he leans into you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “I think I’d like coming home to the sounds of you playing with your wet cunt even more.”

Oh god, he might kill you, he’s clearly much better at this than you are, his words have your eyes glazing over slightly. Just his presence is suffocating, “Gojo, please… touch me?”

He pulls back, “Hmm, giving up already? Where’s your fighting spirit?”

“You’re an unbearable tease…”

“Tease… yes. Unbearable? I don’t agree, you’ve put up with me for this long,” he all but singsongs, he’s so smug – you want to get up and walk away from him but you don’t have the strength.

“Either kiss me or I’m changing my mind and pretending that tonight didn’t happen,” you glare at him.

His smile doesn’t falter, “Now who’s unkind?” You make a show of trying to get up but he pushes you back down into the mattress, his lips finding yours. You moan into his kiss and he huffs against you, “Open your mouth more,” he speaks against you.

You do as he says and his tongue slips into your mouth, he licks at you and you tentatively meet him half-way. If kissing someone felt this good surely you’d have remembered it, so why can’t you remember a single kiss that feels as good as this one.

He crawls onto you more, your hands move to find his shoulders before wrapping around his neck, tugging him closer. He groans into the kiss and you swallow it down, your head is swimming, he sounds hot, he feels hot, he’s making you feel hot.

He pulls back, “Fuck, I gotta touch you, let me touch you.”

“Mhm, yeah, please,” you’re all too eager to agree, not missing the thinly veiled desperation in his words.

His hand is quick to snake down your body and into your pants, slipping past the waist band of your underwear. A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers carefully part your folds and slide through you’re very wet cunt. Gojo groans, he wasn’t expecting you to be this aroused, his head swimming with just how slick it must feel to fuck balls deep inside your pussy.

His dick twitches in his pants, he’s been horny since he started this stupid conversation, not that you noticed, too self-conscious to take note of the semi he’d been sporting while teasing you. Fuck, he needs more, his finger moves to your entrance, his eyes watching your expression carefully as he slips it inside you.

Your brows turn up and a soft sigh leaves your lungs at his finger entering you, he doesn’t move straight away, his thumb instead rubbing into your clit. He can feel the way your walls twitch around his single digit; he might go crazy before this is over.

“Gojo~ more,” you want more, you wanna feel full.

“Anything for you,” he teases but pulls his single finger back, easing in another with it.

They curl when reaching their hilt, caressing inside you, the pleasure makes you whine and your stomach jump. He pumps his fingers languidly, enjoying the view, delighting in how you squirm and whimper underneath him from just a couple fingers.

He looks down to his hand underneath your pants, your thighs shake slightly, “That’s cute,” he murmurs.

He pulls his hand away from you, “Wait– Gojo what are–”

Laughing at how frantic you are, he reassures, “–Shh, it’s fine, I just wanna see how your pretty pussy sucks my fingers back in is all.”

You feel like you could faint, he’s so crude and for what reason? Just to embarrass you? Or to turn you on? Or is it just a bonus that he manages to do both at the same time?

Your pants and underwear are tugged off at once, he kneels between your legs and very lewdly pulls them wide apart, his eyes greedily watching the way your cunt opens up for him. He salivates at the way your pussy glimmers for him, cunt drooling from your tight hole, down your ass cheeks and onto the bed.

He wastes no more time and fills you back up with his long fingers, his mind registering that you got wetter, fuck you can get even wetter. The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks and he has a feeling he knows exactly what did it.  

A grin on his face, he asks, “You know you could get this wet? Or are you shocked?” It’s not rhetorical, and to demonstrate what he means, his fingers speed up and you can hear the loud and obscene noises of your wet cunt sucking them back in.

You clench around his fingers at his words and his smile grows, now fully understanding the effect he has on you. The delight he takes in it could almost be diabolical, the enjoyment he’s getting out of knowing he can be a little mean or lewd with his words and it will only turn you is immense.

“Come on, I want an answer when I ask a question,” he reminds you.

You gasp as his fingers crook up, purposefully making it harder for you to answer, “I –hah– I didn’t knooww–”

And you didn’t, not to this extent, it’s mortifying, how much your cunt gushes for him. You’re ashamed and also… so ridiculously turned on. His voice doesn’t help, not only the content of his words but just the sound of him, it’s setting you on edge.

“I find that quite shocking, only realising just how turned on you can get and it’s for your good friend? How scandalous,” he tsks at you, his words holding no malice, he truly is amused by how things have unfolded.

“Stop t–teasing me, Gojo,” you frown at him but it’s not nearly as effective as it normally would be. To him you look like a cute mess who’s making a mess on his fingers and spare bed sheets.

His thumb presses into your clit again, steady pressure rounding it, “I like teasing you though~”

Your head tilts back, your eyes unable to focus on anything, you’re going to cum, you’re so fucking close, you just need him to not stop, “Gojo, please, d–don’t stop –ngh– please, please, please please pleaseppleaseplease,” you’re begging him to show mercy – pity, you don’t care what you just want him to make you cum.

“You think I’d be so mean as to not let you cum?” he asks like it’s not definitely within his character to do something so cruel, “I’d never deprive myself of the sight.”

Your toes curl and your head presses back into the pillows hard, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. It feels like your stomach does flips as you moan out for Gojo, your hands clutching the sheets as you shake pitifully with the force of your orgasm.

He massages your walls through it, fucking his fingers in and out of you steadily, letting you ride out your high. He keeps going even as you reach overstimulation, he likes seeing you twitch and shake with your sensitivity, makes his cock leak into his pants at how you clench pathetically around his fingers as he strokes in and out of you as he pleases.

“Gojo… is too much,” you mumble weakly.

He hums at you but pulls his fingers from your sopping cunt, he holds his two fingers up and pulls them apart, watching the way your cum coats them and connects them by sticky strings. Fuck it’s a sight to behold to him, he shoves those two fingers right into his mouth, sucking them clean and savouring the taste.

Pulling his digits out of his mouth, he comments, “I think… if I didn’t wanna stick my dick into you as badly as I do… I’d shove my tongue inside your little pussy and eat you until you came again and again and–”

You’re gonna burst into flames, “–Do you get off on your own words or something?”

“I’m not the one getting off on my words,” he grins knowingly.

The words you were going to retort with die on your tongue as he suddenly tugs his shirt off, exposing his bare skin to you. How are you meant to reply with anything smart when he’s constantly able to throw you off kilter, you can’t win against him.

He undoes his belt and nods towards you, “Take your shirt off.”

“…Bossy,” you pout out.

He stands up to undress completely, “You into that?”

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me, you take directions so well,” he smirks, clearly poking fun at how you took off your shirt as soon as he asked you to. He gets back on the bed and taps your thigh, “Hands and knees,” you look at him with an unamused expression and he tacks on, “Pleeeasseeee?”

You get up and spin round onto your hands and knees, feeling vulnerable like this, extra so because you can’t see what he’s doing. One of his hands slides from your lower back up your spine, gentle pressure behind his touch, encouraging you to push your upper half into the bed, cheek pressed against the mattress by the time he reaches your neck.

“Yeahhh, you take directions so well,” he means it as a compliment but it feels degrading.

Soft clicking noises of him fisting his cock fill the room, he’s spreading his precum all along the shaft, collecting it at the tip. He needs to be slick if you’re gonna take him, though he figures you’ve done most of the work on that end already.

You wiggle your hips back at him, feeling impatient and dazed from your previous orgasm. He chuckles at your eagerness but doesn’t keep you waiting, you’re far too enticing for him to tease any longer. He swipes his dick through your folds a few times first, letting you feel him and also let your cunt drool onto him a bit.

He wants to slam into you quickly, he’s so sick of waiting, he’s harder than he’s been in his life and he’s itching to have your pussy swallow him whole but he doesn’t want to hurt you. If he fucks this up he’ll never forgive himself, he needs to give you the best dicking of your life so that you keep coming back to him for more.

His initial thrust is shallow and barely gets the head of his cock inside you, this is going to be a slow process. He’ll have to take his time, not that he particularly minds, the longer he takes, the longer he gets to spend fucking you. This is a responsible decision on Gojo’s behalf, unfortunately for him, you’re not quite so patient. You’re horny beyond belief and have the sudden urge for him to be as deep as he can possibly get, you want to feel him in your guts, you fucking need it.

Bracing yourself, you spread your legs apart further and push back, his cock slipping deeper suddenly, the stretch has a delicious feeling crawling up your spine, or maybe that’s Gojo’s hand. His hand reaches around your neck and pulls your back to his front, a whimper tumbling from you as you slide down his cock further.

He breathes against you, “Desperate thing aren’t you?” He nips your ear and then trails his lips down to your neck, leaving marks in his wake.  

His hips thrust up, forcing you to take more of him, “Ah~ sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry~ I think it’s very endearing,” his voice is dreamy, “Very flattering, willing to hurt yourself just to take me?”

Ah, of course he’d find a way to boost his own ego through all this, “–ngh– You really do love yourself, huh?”

You can feel his big smile against your skin, “Not as much as I love this pussy,” he thrusts inside you deeper, punctuating his words with his hips.

You can’t do much else but moan and take it like this, though, you’re pretty happy to take it like this. Your slick gushes from your cunt and leaks down his shaft. The mess you’re making on the bed is beyond lewd and you have no idea if you should be more embarrassed of the state you’re in. You’re not here though, you’re elsewhere, head in the clouds as your eyes glaze over.

“Aww~ you’ve gone stupid and I’m not even fully in yet,” he coos at you.

He drops you back down onto the bed in your previous position, face buried into the blankets with your ass in the air, back arched deeply. Gojo thinks he has enough room to slip in completely now so he does, when he does, he knocks something so deep inside you that your cunt quivers and you make the smallest, fucked out sound.

It makes him moan deeply, your pussy gripping him for dear life as you sound out gasped whimpers, you’re a fucking mess in more than one way and he’s gonna paint your walls white before too long if he doesn’t get it together. Your cunt is sinfully tight, snug and warm around him, spilling out around where he’s stuffed you full. Your eyes are glassy and fucked out and you look like you might cry, drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth from how deep you can feel him.

Tentatively, he pulls back, his thrusts initially shallow, wanting to get you used to the motion, you really are not capable of any coherent thought, everything coming from you right now is downright pornographic, you don’t even think you could string together enough words to beg him to let you cum.

He’s ruining any future sex you may have and he’s barely started fucking you, his rhythm, is slow but constant. The pressure you feel slowly building in your abdomen makes your pussy cry on his cock.

“You literally have–” he cuts himself off with his own gasped whine, “–the most perfect cunt, holy fuck.” What he did in life to deserve sticking his dick inside you, he has no clue but he’ll keep doing it if it means fucking your tight hole.

You chant his name at him, it’s all you’re really able to do, in your brain fog you spill out, “S’toru sobig, you’re –hng– so deep~” You can’t think.

His hands grab your hips tight, the pressure bruising, his thrusts are speeding up, growing frantic, desperate. He’s fucking you like it’ll be the last time he ever gets to be inside you. One hand reaches around and lands on your clit, furiously rubbing at it, the stimulation has you biting back a cry as tears slip from the corner of your eyes.

Your pussy spasms and twitches on him violently, you’re so sensitive, in general and to him. His hand pulls you back against him with every thrust in, the resounding smacking of skin on skin and your sloppy cunt are like music to his ears. You’re so messy, such a beautiful and delightful mess, he wonders just how fucking messy he could make you; he’ll need to remember this thought if he ever gets another chance to have you… though he’s probably never going to be able to think of anything else after this.

The muscles in your legs are quivering, you’re not going to be able to hold yourself up for much longer, not with how he’s fucking you. You’re going to cum and then promptly pass out, your vision is dotted and you’re barely able to comprehend your surroundings, the only thing you hear is Gojo’s moans.

“Need you to cum for me, now,” he urges, his words hissed through his teeth, fighting off his own orgasm.

His fingers on your clit speed up, he slaps your clit once and harshly, the sudden contact makes you shake. Your orgasm comes out of nowhere, your legs would’ve given out if he weren’t holding you up, you’re actually just crying now, the force of your orgasm shaking you to your core, it’s so overwhelming that it’s all you can feel.

Gojo moves both his hands to your ass cheeks and spreads them, looking at how he’s plowing into you over and over, watching how you grip him tight, trying to milk his cock. The sight of this, of your pussy clenching around him, has him cumming, he bites out your name before stuffing his dick all the way inside you. His cum dumping itself deep inside, his cock twitching as he spills. The amount he cums is immense, leaking out around the base of him and down onto the sheets, the mess you’ve both made only growing.

He stays seated inside you for a while, letting you both come down before even attempting to move. When he does slip out of you, it’s with a hiss, he holds you up for a bit longer, watching the way his cum seeps out of you, his eyes transfixed on how much he came inside of you, how much of him you took. He’s addicted.

Laying your lower half back onto the bed gently, he flops down next to you, evening out his breathing more. He turns his head to the side to look at you, your eyes closed and a stupid smile on your face, tear stains on your cheeks and a little bit of drool still present in the corner of your mouth.

He reaches out and wipes it way with his thumb, “Fucked dumb taken to a new level, huh?”

“You’ve ruined me,” you mutter back, not really paying attention.

A cocky grin takes its place on his face, “In what way?”

“S’many,” your words slur together.

He jokes, “Better than your book though right?”

You can only hum your confirmation, all your limbs are heavy, you might die, you’re fighting it though, the unconsciousness that’s threatening to take over.

Gojo moves closer to you, kissing your arm, “Hey, sleep, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs into your skin.

That’s the last thing you hear before you’re dead asleep.

PLAGIARISM NOT CONDONED | REPOSTS NOT AUTHORISED

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Baking Bread: Part 1 - Recipe - Part 2 of ?

Asking them if they'd let you get them pregnant for this series.

Cw: pregnancy talk, a little suggestive.

A/N: more crack to feed my silly little brain I decided to have a few where it's poly for even more funsies :V

Edited: 6/16/2025

-------

Kaveh and Alhaitham have two very different reactions when they're both asked the same question during dinner. Kaveh's is the most dramatic as he drops his spoon into his soup slashing some onto the table staring at you with his eyes wide and mouth gaping like a fish.

Alhaitham is more relaxed but his singular raised brow over the book he'd been reading says everything. It's silent for a few seconds before you repeat your question which has Kaveh screeching flailing his hands in different directions.

"We heard you the first time! Wh-wha-JUST why?!" "Kaveh calm down its just a question." He whips his head to Alhaitham. " Why are you so calm?! They just asked to get us pregnant!"

Alhaitham closes his book knowing he's not gonna be able to read in peace at this rate.

"We both know that's not physically possible and you know that. It's just one of their hypothetical questions they always ask when they're bored."

This makes him simmer down just a little until you speak up saying that you are not joking and that it is very much possible to get them pregnant and that you know how.

"Excuse me?" "EXCUSE ME?!" The two say simultaneously at different levels of disbelief.

You begin explaining the detailed process you found in some records that could without a doubt make it possible to make either one or both of them pregnant. So you ask again if they'd let you get them pregnant.

Kaveh sputters and Alhaitham is silent as they both process the words. But Alhaitham breaks the silence.

"Well I'm not carrying. Kaveh can do it."

"WHAT?! How come you can't carry?!"

"Because I've got work to do-"

"Well so do I-"

It's a constant back and forth before you clear your throat and say that Alhaitham can carry and work until he starts to show and that you'll provide for the family while Kaveh takes care of Alhaitham. Kaveh looks a little torn and Alhaitham is unbothered but this arrangement works out pretty well for him.

"Alright we start tonight!"

"What?" "WHAT?!" they respond.

-------

Zhongli and Childe are silent when you ask them the question if you can get one or both of them pregnant if they'd let you. Childe breaks the silence laughing that even if they had wanted to they're both not exactly equipped to do so but Zhongli cuts him off that such a thing would be no problem.

"Come on you must be joking. We can't get pregnant-"

"You may not be able to but I can." Skill issue?

Zhongli explains while he no longer has the gnosis he still has plenty of adeptal power and knowledge to make pregnancy in himself and others, should Childe want to also bear a child, possible. Childe is stunned by the knowledge but he ultimately agrees to let Zhongli be the one to bear the children while he continues working and you take care of him.

Though he does ask for at least one sparring session before Zhongli goes through with the process as he's not going to fight him while he's pregnant. It's a little funny hearing him explain to Hu Tao that he's going to need to take parental leave because he's going to be pregnant.

-------

Diluc nearly shatters the glass he's cleaning his face as red as his hair. He's lucky that everyone has left the bar and it's just you and him he doesn't think he could handle the embarrassment. Taking a deep breath to calm himself but he does stutter as he asks you if that's your way of asking to have children together.

He doesn't mind having children it's just, well, he didn't think this was how you'd ask. There's also the fact, as he points out, that you're both not exactly equipped for him to bear your children in the way you're suggesting.

"It's possible though, I asked Venti and he knows of a way from his friend in Liyue."

Diluc covers his now pink face with a hand groaning because of course their drunken absentee God says he knows how to make that possible.

"Look, just...ignore whatever that bard says I-"

"I know he's Barbatos Diluc and I don't think he was lying I mean I got the solution here."

You lift up a vile of suspiciously pink liquid that just radiates energy. You swirl the liquid while looking deeply into his eyes.

"So...would you let me get you pregnant?"

He tugs at his shirt collar and adjusts his gloves nervously. "Per...perhaps later just...not here. Let me finish up closing and we can talk about this."

-------

Kaeya laughs swishing the glass of wine in his hands reclining comfortably in the loveseat in your shared home.

"Well your mind is certainly in other places. Had I known you wished to try something new I would have brought out the other wine."

Clearly he thinks you're joking, perhaps horny and or drunker than he is so he doesn't think much of it at least until you bring out a mysterious vile you got from a certain alchemist that apparently would make it very possible to get him pregnant.

He glances between you and the vile a couple of times before he breaks out into laughter.

"So this is what you were doing while I've been away to Sumeru? You must tell me just what other things you get up to when I'm gone."

He carefully takes the vile from your hands holding it up to the light watching the odd gold swirls in the pink liquid swirl around. He hums as he thinks about what this little vile can do and takes a little sip finding it a little bitter but delightful.

"Well then let's find out if this little potion can do its job. Just so you know if it does work, you'll owe me plenty of death afternoon once I'm done carrying them."

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Free Fall

pairing: bakugou katsuki/f!reader summary: Katsuki secretly likes your neck kisses, but avoids them. Until he doesn't. word count: 1.2k words contains: established relationship, fluff, mild smut, intimacy a/n: this was supposed to be pure fluff. pure fluff! it derailed... ➥AO3 LINK

It’s your butterfly kisses on his neck that undo him. That soft, barely there press of your lips against his pulse, setting his whole face on fire and making his stomach somersault into the stratosphere.

Katsuki wants more of them, but his knee-jerk reaction never works in his favor. If he sits, he jumps up. If he stands, he takes one long step backward. An excuse always tumbles out of his mouth, sometimes stammered, sometimes bitten out. It’s too embarrassing. Too dizzying.

He’s down bad for you, but the free-fall sensation those maddening lips of yours push him into scares him. They have his control evaporate, and he hates it.

He can’t stand how he softens, how he melts into a puddle of adoration. While kisses with you are moments escalated into the hot and heavy, open-mouthed and messy, it’s in the lazy, deliberate tracing of his skin that your love burns with worship.

Fuck knows Katsuki goes crazy over having your attention. You never looked at him like he isn’t your world, not even when he’s in a foul mood and snaps like it’s you who personally offended him, but when you kiss his neck like that, he feels like he’s the very center of your universe. The reason for your existence. The one thing keeping you from exploding into stardust.

He wants to let go. To stop chickening out of this raw vulnerability. To see how far you’ll take him and who the hell he is by the time you’re done with him.

It happens one night, when he comes home bashed and completely done with the outside world after a hostage situation gone wrong.

You welcome him like usual, throwing yourself against him, arms tight around his waist, face buried in his chest, muttering, “Missed you.”

Katsuki can’t bring himself to say a thing; his voice isn’t there. But his body reacts, loosely wrapping his arms around your form that must be exhausted too, planting his cheek atop your hair. It’s late. Really fucking late and you waited up for him.

Minutes drain before your tired eyes find his. Silent understanding passes between you both, and you grasp his hand, leading him into the living room. He drops like a dead weight on the couch, head thrown back on the backrest, and impassively stares at the ceiling.

He doesn’t move as you remove his hero gear, already an expert at what and how to unclip, carefully piling it up next to the couch. Once his boots are gone, you straddle his legs and work on the compression shirt, slowly pulling it out of the waistband of his pants.

“Arms up,” you say quietly, and he obliges.

It’s when your hands pop the button on his pants he catches your wrist and raises his head. Katsuki doesn’t know what it is about your care today, but the need breaks through the numbness he feels.

“Wanna have you.” His voice sounds rough, like he hadn’t drunk a drop of water in ages. “I really need you right now.”

Your easy smile gets his heart rate up, lights him up from the inside. One of the endless reasons he fell for you so hopelessly. You bring yourself closer to him as your soft hands press on his cheeks. You kiss him. Slow. Careful. Delicate. As if he’s the fragile one.

For once, Katsuki doesn’t mind it.

This one time, he won’t fight to change your pace and accept it instead. Match it.

The experience is new, and a part of him swells with pride because he heard people talk about how the longer a relationship is, the more mundane it becomes. Something about the spark dying. But with you, it’s a constant change. The so-called old has no shot at becoming stale.

He’s lucky, he thinks as you stand up to drop your pajama shorts and the dim light overhead catches in the desire teasing him from the depths of your pretty eyes.

He’s embarrassingly ready when your legs sink in the cushions, your fingers wrapping around his hard dick and positioning it.

And he feels the prickle of guilt the second you ease down, inch by inch, welcoming him into a different kind of home. Where his mind shuts up and all that’s left is the rapid pounding of his heart and you, the high he can’t get enough of.

You’re wet, but not in the way he likes. More for yourself than him, he likes you dripping, sensitive from already coming on his fingers and tongue.

“Go slow,” he mutters, his hands, slightly clammy, grabbing at your hips.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him, his unspoken message hidden between the lines read and understood. And he can’t stop the low groan as his head falls back.

“Gonna make it up to you in the morning. Promise.”

Planting your hands on his chest, you roll your hips against him, sighing like this was what you’ve been waiting for the entire day, and Katsuki feels the light shudder rushing through your body. The blood in his veins ignites, and it’s only natural that he thrusts up, though he makes a conscious effort to keep it shallow. Even as you reward him with the first moan of his name.

You decide, all on your own, how you give it to him tonight. How you love him in the way only you can.

He’s too drained.

And because he’s in this state, Katsuki doesn’t realize when he demands, in between sharp huffs, “Do that thing.”

“What—” A breathy moan pauses your question. “—thing?”

Feverish heat crawls up his neck, twists his insides and he feels like he’s about to die from it, but fuck, he needs the free fall. Tilting his head, he grabs you by the nape and pushes your face against his wild pulse. The anticipation makes him highly aware of your hot, hurried breaths, so similar to the ghosting of your lips he runs away from. Of your heart, racing for and because of him. Of your scent, smelling like home. Of how perfectly you fit around him, tight and completely his.

You hum, confused, and he groans, frustrated.

He’s one second from snapping at you when your mouth skims under his ear. Lower. Closer and closer.

“This thing?” you speak against his pulse, kissing it softly.

He bites his lip, grunting out, “Yeah.”

The air is suddenly too dense as your butterfly kisses enter the heated space, the overwhelming sensation shooting straight to his brain. Katsuki loses his breath, loses control, and every single fuck he gave before about it.

He’s falling before he knows what the hell is going on, but damn him if he’s not dragging you down with him.

“Keep goin’,” he pants, rough fingers gravitating blindly to your pussy as he screws his eyes shut, grits his teeth and fucks into you without a care in the world.

He won’t make it up to you in the morning; he’ll do it now.

Whether it’s the crude love he gives you or the consuming adoration he gets from you, whether he’s at his strongest or weakest, at the end of his undoing, nothing changes. Katsuki is still himself.

[shiyorin]

Author's note: Come from my private au, has so many settings I am never said before but I think it is funny, must post.

Tumblr formatting sucks so I had to change it like this.

EXPOSED: 133 SPICY SECRETS THE IMPERIUM DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW — WHAT THE PRIMARCHS REALLY DO AFTER DARK!

From kink collections to bedroom blunders - the juiciest, weirdest, and most heretical habits of the Emperor’s golden boys. You won’t believe #26… and #90? Absolutely illegal in 7 systems!

The Lion maintains absolute discipline even during climax, barely changes expression.

Has a secret passionate side that only emerges with you.

Silent hunter in the streets, vocal beast in the sheets.

Despite his serious demeanor, he makes cat noises when he comes. Not sexy growls, literal "meow" sounds.

Has never discussed his intimate life with anyone, total compartmentalization.

Possesses surprisingly detailed knowledge of ancient Terran tantric practices.

Watch you like prey before making a move, intense predatory stare.

Has a ritual of knightly "service" that leaves you breathless.

Fulgrim has tried literally every sexual practice in Imperial records.

Can delay his climax indefinitely through perfect muscular control.

His perfectionism extends to sexual performance, practices techniques alone.

Has a mirror positioned above his bed, claiming it's "for technique refinement."

Keeps a detailed journal rating every sexual encounter on multiple criteria.

Always smells like different exotic perfumes depending on his mood.

Perturabo pproaches pleasure like an engineering problem to be solved with precision.

Records biometric data during encounters to analyze optimal techniques.

His jealousy issues manifest as possessiveness in relationship.

He has body image issues despite being built like a Greek god. When you started calling his stretch marks "triumph lines" and his response was to short-circuit emotionally.

Surprisingly responsive to praise during intimate moments.

Despite his gruff exterior, he cries during his refractory period. Every time.

Has trust issues that translate to control dynamics in bed.

Jaghatai's speed isn't just for the battlefield, it can vibrate certain body parts.

Never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.

Has a thing for outdoor sex.

Braids his hair specially for intimate occasions, pulls it out after.

Makes a distinctive sound during climax that's become legendary.

Knows pleasure techniques from dozens of different cultures.

Sometimes recites war poems during particularly intense moments.

Leman's heightened sense of smell means he can detect arousal from across a room.

Growls during climax, not metaphorically, actually growls.

Has fucked in every environment imaginable, including in blizzards.

Gets rough during full moons without even realizing it.

His beard provides unexpected sensations that drive you wild.

His dirty talk is surprisingly poetic, often in ancient Fenrisian dialects.

Has a thing for biting, leaves marks that last for weeks.

Dorn approaches sex with the same directness as everything else, tells you exactly what he wants.

Has incredible endurance, can maintain the same position for hours without tiring.

He speaks exclusively in literal terms during sex. "I am now going to insert my penis into your vagina" is his idea of dirty talk. When you asked him to talk dirty, he told you about soil composition and drainage issues. Somehow, still hot.

He has never once lied, which made "how was it for you?" a terrifying question until you learned to be more specific.

Never exaggerates or falsifies his reactions, 100% authentic responses.

Has an unexpected thing for bondage, loves testing the strength of different restraints.

Always keeps his word on promised pleasures, reliability is his hallmark.

If you want to peg him, he will provide a detailed structural analysis of your technique, complete with suggestions for improved angle of entry.

Konrad can see your deepest desires through his precognitive abilities.

Only has sex in complete darkness, says the shadows "speak to him" then.

Has a thing for fear, gets aroused when you are slightly afraid.

Never makes a sound during sex, total silence except for breathing.

Sometimes whispers your future to you during climax, usually disturbing stuff.

He's a little spoon who needs to be the big spoon until he falls asleep, then immediately reverts to little.

He keeps a "justice journal" where he ranks everyone's crimes and appropriate punishments. Apparently, your crime is "excessive smugness" and your punishment is "thorough pleasure correction."

Sanguinius's wings are erogenous zones, extremely sensitive to touch.

His beauty isn't just physical, emits a pheromone that intensifies attraction.

Blood rushes to his wings during arousal, making them flush visibly.

His enhanced hearing means he can detect the slightest changes in heartbeat and breathing.

You can feel a euphoric blood rush in his presence, possibly psychic.

Has a tragic fear of hurting you, requires absolute trust.

He looks like an angel but fucks like a demon. The dichotomy is disorienting.

He apologizes after dirty talk. "You're a filthy cockslut-I'm sorry, that was disrespectful.”

Despite Ferrus's gruff exterior, whispers surprisingly tender things during intimate moments.

Temperature of his hands can be adjusted for different sensations.

Always checks in verbally throughout, consent is non-negotiable.

Can go for multiple rounds with zero recovery time.

Has a thing for hands, loves both giving and receiving hand pleasure.

Contrary to expectations, Angron is extremely controlled in bed, afraid of hurting you.

His rage translates to intense passion when properly channeled.

The Butcher's Nails make his pleasure/pain responses unpredictable.

Requires specialized reinforced beds, has broken dozens.

Gets emotional after particularly intense sessions, sometimes even cries.

Prefers if you aren’t intimidated by his size or reputation.

His heart rate during sex would kill a normal human.

Guilliman approaches sex with tactical precision, maps erogenous zones like campaign targets.

Keeps a detailed spreadsheet analyzing performance and your satisfaction.

Actually wrote a private codex on sexual techniques, 500 pages, fully illustrated.

Always showers immediately before and after.

Has a thing for authority figure, ironic given his own position.

Surprisingly imaginative once he trusts you enough to relax.

Asks for performance reviews afterward, genuinely wants to improve.

Despite his appearance, Mortarion is unexpectedly gentle and attentive.

Has a breathing kink, loves controlled breath play.

His body temperature runs cold, creating interesting sensations for you.

Surprisingly flexible.

Has never been naked in front of anyone, always keeps something on.

His scarred skin is extremely sensitive, especially along his back.

Silent during sex except for carefully controlled breathing.

Prefers total darkness, claims it "equalizes the experience."

Magnus can psychically enhance your pleasure, making you feel everything he feels.

His eye glows brighter during arousal.

Can maintain an erection for days through psychic control.

Know exactly what you want before you do, mind reading has its benefits.

Has invented several positions that would be physically impossible without telekinesis.

Sometimes accidentally projects his orgasms psychically, causing everyone nearby to feel it.

His extensive library includes the galaxy's largest collection of erotic literature.

Has had sex while simultaneously reading a book.

Horus has a thing for power dynamics, he loves when you challenge his authority before ultimately submitting to him.

His stamina is legendary, often going for hours without breaks.

Gets incredibly turned on when called "Warmaster" in bed.

Has a secret collection of handcuffs from every world he's conquered.

That scar on his body? Extremely sensitive to touch, instant arousal trigger.

Secretly recorded himself with you, keeps the videos in a hidden vault.

Has a thing for doing it in war rooms, especially on strategic tables.

Lorgar treats sex like a religious experience, complete with rituals and chanting.

Has written erotic poetry that would make experienced courtesans blush.

Takes his time, foreplay can last hours as he "worships" every inch.

His voice alone can bring you to the edge, has studied sonic stimulation.

Maintains eye contact throughout, intensely spiritual connection.

Has a thing for confession scenarios, wants to hear your darkest desires.

Always burns special incense that heightens sensitivity.

Has sacred words tattooed in places only you discover.

Vulkan's body temperature runs extremely hot, like making love to a furnace.

Gives the best post-sex cuddles in the Imperium, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

Has a surprising affinity for sensual massage, can work out knots you didn't know you had.

Laughs during sex, finds joy in physical connection.

Always focuses on your pleasure before his own.

His heartbeat is audible and hypnotic during intimate moments.

Corax can literally turn into shadows during particularly intense moments.

Has a thing for heights, loves balconies, rooftops, and flying vehicles.

So quiet during sex you sometimes forget he's there until he touches you.

Can see perfectly in darkness, knows exactly where to touch.

Sometimes sprouts shadow-wings during climax, startling the unprepared.

His voice drops to hypnotic registers during dirty talk.

Enjoys watching from the shadows before joining in.

You're never sure which twin you're actually with, sometimes they switch mid-session.

Can perfectly mimic the sexual techniques of anyone they've observed.

Keep a network of informants reporting on the sexual preferences of your.

Have developed secret pleasure points unknown to standard anatomy.

Sometimes speak in unison during threesomes, eerily synchronized.

Have been known to disguise themselves as servants to spy on people's sexual habits.

One likes to be on top, one likes to be on bottom, but they never specify which is which.

The Emperor's psychic presence intensifies pleasure to godlike levels.

Can appear differently to different, manifests as your ideal lover.

Time seems to stretch in his presence, moments of pleasure can feel like eternities.

His golden aura becomes blinding during moments of passion.

The Primarchs' various quirks are genetic echoes of the Emperor's own preferences, each inherited different aspects.

*******

You stared at the crumpled list in your hands, blinking rapidly as you processed what you were reading. The paper had been slipped under your door sometime during the night, the handwriting alternating between several different styles as if multiple people had contributed to it.

"What the fuck," you whispered, scanning the detailed, disturbingly detailed, descriptions of the Primarchs' supposed sexual habits.

This had to be retaliation for your artwork. Ever since you'd been caught sketching that sexual piece featuring Horus and Sanguinius in a rather compromising position, things had escalated into a bizarre war of increasingly sexual content between you and the Emperor's sons.

Your data-slate pinged with an incoming message. Seventeen new commission requests from seventeen different encrypted sources, all requesting artwork based on items from the list. Each offering payment that would make an Imperial Governor blush.

"Oh, it's fucking on," You cracking your knuckles as you reached for your stylus.

********

The first anatomical "reference session" was scheduled for that afternoon. Magnus had requested a private meeting in the Librarium after hours, claiming he needed to discuss "important tactical matters" with the remembrance.

When you arrived, you found the crimson Primarch sitting rigidly at a massive wooden table, surrounded by ancient tomes and scrolls that definitely weren't tactical in nature.

"I received your list," you said without preamble, dropping the crumpled paper onto the table between them.

"What list?" Magnus asked, his single eye widening with what appeared to be genuine confusion.

"The 133 sexual facts about you and your brothers," you clarified, watching his face carefully. "Rather detailed information about your... preferences."

Magnus's crimson skin darkened further as he snatched up the paper and scanned it rapidly. "This is...I didn't-" he sputtered, then paused, his eye narrowing. "Number Eighty-eight is accurate, though."

"Which one was-" you started to ask before catching yourself. "Not the point. Did you and your brothers create this as some kind of joke? Retaliation for my artwork?"

"I assure you, I had nothing to do with this," Magnus said, still reading the list with increasing distress. "Though I suspect Fulgrim or perhaps the twins..." His voice trailed off as he reached the section about himself. "That's... uncomfortably specific."

"So these are accurate?" you couldn't help asking, professional curiosity getting the better of you.

"I neither confirm nor deny," Magnus replied automatically, though his continued deepening complexion suggested otherwise.

"Right," you nodded, retrieving the list and tucking it away. "Well, regardless of its origin, I've received seventeen commission requests based on it. Including yours about psychic pleasure enhancement."

Magnus choked on nothing. "I didn't-"

"The request came from 'definitely_not_magnus@librarium.imp,'" you interrupted dryly. "Very subtle."

"That could be anyone," Magnus protested weakly.

"It was written in Prosperine hieroglyphics," you countered. "With annotations in a language that doesn't technically exist yet."

Magnus slumped in defeat. "Fine. I may have sent a... hypothetical inquiry."

"About whether I could accurately depict psychic pleasure transference in artistic form," you completed. "For which you'd need to demonstrate the technique. For accuracy."

"Precisely," Magnus nodded, scholarly demeanor returning. "It's a complex psychic phenomenon that requires direct observation to properly capture."

"Uh-huh," you said skeptically. "And this has nothing to do with item ninety-one on the list about you accidentally broadcasting your orgasms psychically?"

Magnus's eye darted away. "A preposterous exaggeration."

"So that didn't happen during the Ullanor campaign? Because I heard an entire regiment of Imperial Army suddenly collapsed in ecstasy during your private meditation time."

"A coincidence," Magnus insisted. "Mass hysteria."

"Right," you grinned. "So about this commission..."

********

The next morning found you in the training cages, ostensibly observing combat techniques for "assassinorum purposes" but actually gathering reference material for the flood of commissions that had arrived overnight.

Jaghatai and Leman were sparring, stripped to the waist, their compression leggings leaving little to the imagination as they grappled and threw each other around the cage. A small crowd had gathered to watch the Primarchs train, but you had managed to secure a front-row position with your sketchbook.

"Enjoying the view?" Torgaddon asked, sliding up beside you.

"Research," you replied without looking up from your rapid sketching. "Anatomical references for commission work."

"Uh-huh," Torgaddon nodded skeptically. "And the fact that you're focusing on their glutes and crotches is purely professional."

"The gluteal muscles are key to understanding proper movement dynamics," you explained with mock seriousness. "Also, item twenty-three indicates Jaghatai 'never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.' I need to capture that accurately."

"You actually believe that list?" Torgaddon asked incredulously.

"I'm verifying it empirically," you corrected. "Scientific method and all that."

Just then, Jaghatai executed a particularly impressive takedown that left Leman pinned beneath him, both Primarchs breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. They held the position a beat too long, eyes darting to where you sat sketching, before Leman growled something and they separated.

"They're showing off for you," Torgaddon observed.

"Of course they are," you agreed, adding detailing to your sketch. "And I'm getting excellent reference material because of it. Win-win."

"This is going to end badly," Torgaddon predicted.

"This is going to end profitably," you corrected. "I've made more money in the past week than in my last three assassination missions combined."

"Speaking of which," Torgaddon lowered your voice, "there's a rumor that the Emperor himself has commissioned you for something."

Your stylus paused momentarily. "Where did you hear that?"

"So it's true!" Torgaddon’s eyes widened.

"Neither confirm nor deny," you muttered, returning to your sketching. "Client confidentiality."

"By the Throne," Torgaddon breathed. "What did he ask for?"

"If, and I stress if, such a commission existed," you said carefully, "it would be for a classical portrait. Nothing more."

"Classical as in...?"

"Classical as in Ancient Terran style. Renaissance era."

"Nude?" Torgaddon pressed.

"Artistically draped," you corrected primly.

"The Emperor wants you to draw him like one of your Terran girls," Torgaddon marveled. "The actual Emperor of Mankind."

"This conversation isn't happening," you insisted, focusing intently on your sketching as Ferrus Manus entered the training cage, also stripped to the waist, his metal arms gleaming under the lights.

"Your pupils just dilated," Torgaddon noted.

"Lighting change," you dismissed, though your increased sketching speed suggested otherwise.

"Right," Torgaddon drawled. "Well, while you're conducting your 'research,' you might want to know that father is looking for you. Something about providing 'detailed references' for his triple-self commission."

"Already scheduled," you replied without looking up. "After the war council. He's bringing reference materials."

"What kind of reference materials could father possibly-" Torgaddon started to ask, then shook his head. "Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Wise decision," you agreed, flipping to a new page as Ferrus began demonstrating a series of strikes that showcased his impressive torso musculature. "Very wise indeed."

********

The Emperor's private gallery was unlike anything you had ever seen, a vast chamber filled with artwork spanning human history, from primitive cave paintings to hololithic masterpieces that seemed to shift and move as you walked past them.

And here you were, presenting your completed commission to the Master of Mankind himself.

"The brushwork is exquisite," the Emperor commented, examining the large canvas you had delivered. "You've captured the classical style perfectly."

"Thank you," you replied, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite standing before the most powerful being in the galaxy, discussing what was essentially an erotic portrait.

"The musculature is anatomically precise," he continued, "yet idealized in the classical tradition. Your understanding of chiaroscuro is impressive."

"I studied the ancient masters extensively," you explained, which was true, you'd spent three days in the Imperial archives researching Renaissance techniques for this commission.

"And the draped fabric creates just the right balance between revelation and mystery," the Emperor noted, his golden eyes studying the painting with the intensity of a sun. "Excellent work."

The painting depicted the Emperor in a classical pose reminiscent of ancient Terran deity portrayals, strategically draped fabric preserving modesty while suggesting the perfection beneath. It was tasteful yet undeniably sensual, exactly what he had requested.

"I'm pleased it meets your expectations," you said, feeling oddly nervous despite your training.

"More than meets them," the Emperor assured you. "I shall add it to my private collection immediately." He gestured to a section of the gallery that appeared to be accessible only through a psychically locked doorway. "Your compensation has been transferred to your accounts, with a substantial bonus."

"You're too generous," you began, but the Emperor raised a hand.

"I reward excellence appropriately," he stated simply. "And I understand you've been providing similar services to my sons."

You froze, unsure how to respond. "I-"

"No need for concern," the Emperor assured you, his perfect lips curving into a slight smile. "Creative expression takes many forms. And frankly, they've been more focused on their duties since your commissions began. Less... tension among them."

"I'm... glad to hear that," you managed, processing the fact that the Emperor of Mankind was essentially approving your pornographic side business.

"I would, however, suggest discretion regarding the list that has been circulating," the Emperor added, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement. "Some of those items hit rather close to home."

"You've seen the list?" you blurted before you could stop yourself.

"I see everything eventually," the Emperor replied enigmatically. "Though I suspect Malcador had a hand in its creation. He always did have a peculiar sense of humor."

Before you could process this revelation, the Emperor gestured toward the exit. "I look forward to seeing your future work, Remembrance. Perhaps we might discuss another commission at a later date."

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you bowed slightly and turned to leave. As you reached the doorway, the Emperor's voice stopped you.

"Oh, also? Item One-hundred-and-thirty-two is entirely accurate."

Your mind raced to recall the item in question, something about his golden aura becoming blinding during passion. By the time you turned back to respond, the Emperor had vanished, leaving you alone in the gallery with the distinct impression you'd just been teased by the Master of Mankind himself.

"What even is my life right now?" You muttered, making your way back to your quarters where seventeen more commissions awaited your attention.

[novaursa]

The Broken Crown (2/2)

- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: 1

- Word count: 9 900+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

The light of late afternoon spills into your chambers at Aegonfort. The fire in the hearth crackles quietly, but the warmth it offers feels distant, barely touching the chill that has settled deep within you. You sit by the window, staring out at the courtyard below, where the life of the castle continues as if nothing has changed.

But everything has changed.

It has been weeks since Tesaerix’s cries were last heard, her roars of frustration and anguish fading into silence, replaced by the eerie stillness of acceptance. Chained to the ground, her spirit broken, she no longer fights against her captivity. And yet, the anguish that grips your heart is as strong as ever, a constant, gnawing presence that refuses to loosen its hold. It is as if a part of you has been chained alongside her, and no matter how many days pass, the weight does not lift.

The door creaks open behind you, but you do not turn. You know who it is—there is only one person who would come to your chambers unannounced.

Aegon steps inside, his presence filling the room, though he lingers by the door, as if uncertain of his welcome. You hear the soft sound of his boots against the stone floor as he moves closer, and still, you do not turn to face him. Your eyes remain on the distant horizon, though your mind is far away, lost in the echo of memories and dreams that will never come to pass.

"Y/N," he says quietly, his voice cautious, as if he fears your reaction. "Your nameday is approaching. I’ve arranged a celebration in your honor."

His words hang in the air, but they barely register. A grand celebration—another event meant to remind you of your place, of the crown that sits on your head like a lead weight. It is as though he believes that feasts and dances, the laughter of courtiers, and the lavish display of power might somehow ease the pain that lingers in your heart.

You force a smile, though it does not reach your eyes, and nod slightly. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice distant, detached. "It is kind of you."

Silence falls between you, heavy and suffocating. You can feel his gaze on you, searching for something—some sign that you might be softening, that the wall you have built around yourself might be cracking. But it remains firmly in place, unyielding.

Aegon takes a step closer, but his movements are slow, hesitant. He is not the same conqueror in this room, not the king who has united the Seven Kingdoms. Here, in your presence, he seems uncertain, unsure of himself. His hands hang at his sides, restless as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.

"I wanted it to be special for you," he says, his voice quieter now. "Everything I’ve done… it’s been for you."

You finally turn your gaze away from the window, meeting his eyes for the first time since he entered the room. His expression is conflicted—his usual mask of authority replaced by something more vulnerable, more human. It is a rare thing to see Aegon uncertain, and for a moment, you almost feel a flicker of sympathy for him. Almost.

But the weight of what has happened between you, the chains that bind not only Tesaerix but also your spirit, is too heavy. The wounds are still fresh, too deep to be soothed by soft words or grand gestures.

"Special," you echo, the word tasting hollow on your tongue. "I see."

He opens his mouth to say something more, but no words come. Instead, he stands there, a man lost in the silence of his own making. You can see the hope in his eyes, the faint flicker of desire that perhaps you will change your mind—that you will ask him to stay, to be by your side, to share in some moment of closeness that has long been absent between you.

But you don’t. The invitation he silently waits for never comes.

You turn your gaze back to the window, the sky outside darkening as the sun sinks lower, casting the world in shades of gold and shadow. Your heart remains cold, your soul untouched by his presence. Whatever he is waiting for, you cannot give it to him. Not anymore.

Aegon lingers for another long moment, the silence between you stretching until it feels almost unbearable. And then, finally, he steps back, his movements slow and reluctant, as though each step away from you is a struggle. He pauses at the threshold, turning back one last time, as if hoping that you will stop him, that you will call him back.

But you say nothing. Your silence is its own answer.

Without another word, he leaves, the door closing softly behind him, the sound barely a whisper in the quiet room.

You are left alone once more, the distant hum of the castle’s life continuing outside, but it feels far removed from your own. You sit in the stillness, the ache in your chest as sharp as ever, the weight of the world pressing down on you as you stare into the darkening sky, wondering when—if ever—this feeling will fade.

The sound of trumpets fills the air, their bright, brassy notes cutting through the din of the crowd gathered in the tournament grounds outside Aegonfort. Banners snap in the wind, the vibrant colors of the Targaryen sigil—red and black—mingling with your own, the gold and crimson of the standard Aegon created for you. The noise of the people is a constant hum, their excitement visible as they gather for the grand tourney, held in honor of your nameday.

You sit in the royal seat, placed high above the jousting field on a raised platform. The elaborate wooden structure is draped with silks and banners, casting an air of regality over the event. The weight of the eyes below is heavy on you, but your expression remains composed, practiced. This is your moment, after all, though it feels more like a display of duty than celebration.

Your gown gleams in the midday sun, the fabric shimmering with every movement. It is a deep red, the color of blood and fire, with gold embroidery swirling around the hem and sleeves, symbolizing the flames of your house. The rich silk clings to your form, the neckline modest but elegant, the material flowing down your figure in a cascade of crimson and gold. Around your waist is a finely braided belt, studded with small rubies that catch the light, drawing attention to the dragon motif woven into the threads.

Aegon had made sure you were dressed in the colors of the banner he gave you, a reminder that you are his queen—separate yet still bound by his will. The crown he gifted you, delicate but unmistakably regal, rests atop your head. It is a circlet of pale gold, with small crimson stones set into it, matching the colors of your banner. It feels heavy, a constant weight that you have yet to grow accustomed to, a symbol of a power you never sought.

Your hair, long and shining like polished silver, is braided intricately, the locks woven into a style fitting your station, adorned with golden pins that glitter in the light. A single lock has been left loose, curling over your shoulder, a softer touch against the formal stiffness of your attire.

Beside you sits Aegon, his violet eyes ever watchful, always keenly aware of your presence. He wears his usual armor, dark and imposing, trimmed with gold and red. You can feel his pride radiating off him like heat from dragonfire. His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, as if to ensure you have not only embraced your role as his queen but that you look the part. The crown, the colors, the throne at his side—everything has been chosen with care.

"Do you not think she is radiant?" Aegon remarks to no one in particular, his voice carrying over the din, but his words are meant for the crowd. His smile is tight, meant to dazzle, but you know him well enough to see the strain behind it. You nod politely, offering a small smile in return, though it does not reach your eyes.

On Aegon’s other side sit Visenya and Rhaenys, both dressed in their own regal attire. Visenya, severe and cold as ever, wears black, her armor gleaming beneath her cloak, a silent reminder that she is the sword of your family. Rhaenys, in contrast, is draped in lighter colors, her violet eyes warm and playful, though even her smile seems dimmed by the undercurrents that swirl through the family.

The crowd roars as the herald steps forward, raising his hands to signal the start of the tournament. The cheers grow louder, echoing across the field as knights in shining armor ride out, their horses snorting and pawing at the ground, eager for the competition. The joust is about to begin, a display of power, skill, and loyalty—all in your honor.

Aegon rises from his seat, his imposing figure drawing the attention of everyone present. His armor clinks softly as he moves, and he raises his hand, signaling for silence. The crowd quiets almost instantly, all eyes on the Conqueror.

"In honor of my queen," he begins, his voice strong, carrying over the vast sea of spectators, "we celebrate her nameday with a display of the finest knights in the realm. Let this tourney show our strength, our unity, and our devotion." He pauses, glancing down at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But before the joust begins, I wish to honor her in another way."

The murmurs from the crowd grow louder as Aegon steps down from his platform, making his way to his waiting horse. His squire rushes to his side, handing him his helmet, the dragon sigil gleaming in the sunlight. He mounts the large, black stallion with practiced ease, turning to face the royal stand.

"I will compete in this joust," Aegon announces, his voice filled with confidence, "in honor of my queen, Y/N, who has graced us with her beauty, strength, and loyalty."

Your heart clenches at the words. His declaration, his participation in the tournament, is all for show—a grand gesture to prove his devotion to you. Yet all you feel is the tightening grip of duty around your chest. The crowd erupts in cheers, and you force another smile, nodding at him as though this is exactly what you wanted.

Aegon’s gaze remains fixed on you for a moment longer, as if waiting for something more—perhaps a sign of approval, an invitation for him to return to your side after his victory. But the emptiness within you, the lingering ache that no crown or grand display can mend, keeps you silent. Your smile falters slightly, but still, you say nothing.

The crowd’s cheers continue as Aegon turns his horse toward the jousting lanes, ready to prove his prowess on the field. As he rides away, the space beside you feels colder, and the weight of the crown on your head presses down harder than ever.

...

The thundering hooves of horses echo across the field as the first knights prepare for the joust. Banners ripple in the wind, bright colors dancing against the azure sky as the crowd cheers, eager for the spectacle. You sit in your royal seat, your hands folded in your lap, eyes drifting over the tournament grounds. Lances gleam in the sunlight, and the clinking of armor fills the air as the first challengers ready themselves at the end of the lists.

But your thoughts are far from the cheers and excitement of the crowd. The weight of your crown feels suffocating, and your gaze strays, not to the knights or the lances, but to the far-off silhouette of Tesaerix. Chained, grounded, a shadow of her former glory. From this distance, you can barely make out the flicker of her golden and crimson scales in the sunlight, but you know she is there, tethered to the earth as you are tethered to your fate.

Rhaenys leans toward you, her voice soft as she attempts to draw you back into the present. "It’s quite the sight, isn’t it?" she says, her tone gentle, almost coaxing. "These knights would give anything for a chance to win favor from the queen of the day."

You nod politely, but your smile is forced, your mind not on the tournament or the gallant knights. Rhaenys, ever perceptive, catches your distraction, her brows furrowing slightly. "You seem distant, Y/N," she murmurs, her voice laced with concern. "Is something troubling you?"

Your response dies in your throat as your gaze flickers back to the horizon where your dragon is held captive. The ache in your chest deepens, a quiet fury simmering beneath your outward calm. "Tesaerix," you finally whisper, your voice soft but heavy with meaning. "I cannot stop thinking of her, chained there while we celebrate."

Rhaenys follows your gaze and falls silent, perhaps sensing the gravity of your pain, but before she can respond, Visenya, ever sharp and vigilant, leans forward from her place beside Aegon. Her voice is cold, a warning cloaked in authority. "Do not even entertain the thought, Y/N," she says, her violet eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours. "You will not free her, nor will you make a spectacle of defiance here."

Your blood runs hot at her words, and you turn to face her, your gaze hardening. "And what would you do, Visenya, if Vhagar were bound in chains?" you ask, your voice low, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Do you think you would sit there so calmly if she were made to suffer like Tesaerix? I would see her miserable as you’ve made my dragon."

The insult hangs in the air like a sharp blade. For a moment, the tension between you and Visenya is palpable, her lips pressing into a thin, dangerous line as she regards you with something between anger and cold resolve. Her hand twitches as if she might grip the hilt of the sword always at her side, her eyes flashing with a silent warning.

But before she can retort, the rumble of hooves draws your attention to the lists. Aegon rides forward on his black steed, his armor glinting in the sun like dark steel, his helm adorned with the sigil of the dragon. The sight of him, proud and commanding, steals the air from your lungs, if only for a moment. The crowd erupts into cheers as the king takes his place for his first tilt.

Aegon rides past the royal stand, his eyes catching yours for a brief second. There is something unreadable in his gaze—pride, perhaps, or a plea for recognition—but you do not hold it for long. He wheels his horse around and lowers his lance, ready to compete, the first challenger already in position across the field.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the pressure between you and Visenya still lingering, but your eyes are now fixed on Aegon. His horse stamps impatiently, nostrils flaring as it waits for the signal to charge. You cannot help but feel the weight of what this moment represents. He is not just jousting for sport; he is jousting for you, for your approval, though you find it difficult to offer anything more than cold indifference.

The herald raises his flag, and the trumpets blare again. Aegon spurs his horse forward, charging down the lists with deadly precision. The opposing knight, though skilled, seems small compared to your brother’s imposing presence. The ground trembles beneath the weight of their charge, the clattering of armor and hooves filling the air.

Aegon’s lance strikes true, shattering against the other knight’s shield with a thunderous crack, sending his opponent crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. The crowd roars its approval, but the sound washes over you, distant and hollow.

He circles back, his horse kicking up dirt as he passes you again, his gaze seeking yours once more, waiting for your reaction. But all you can think of is Tesaerix, grounded and silent, far from this spectacle. The chains that bind her feel like chains around your own heart, and no matter how grand this celebration, no matter how skilled Aegon is in his displays of strength, it does nothing to free you from the cage you find yourself in.

You offer Aegon a small nod, nothing more, and he rides on, returning to the field for his next challenge. The cheers rise again, but in the quiet of your mind, there is only the sound of chains, rattling against the earth.

The Great Hall of Aegonfort is alive with light and sound, the towering stone walls adorned with tapestries depicting the dragons of House Targaryen. Tables laden with rich foods—roast meats, fruits, and fine breads—stretch the length of the hall, and the clatter of goblets and the murmur of excited conversation fill the air. Musicians play in one corner, their tunes light and festive, attempting to match the celebratory mood of the evening.

At the center of it all sits Aegon, victorious from the day’s tourney, his head held high and a satisfied smile playing at his lips. He now wears a simple crown of dark iron, his armor exchanged for a fine tunic of black and red, the sigil of the three-headed dragon emblazoned proudly on his chest. His eyes, however, are on you.

You sit beside him at the high table, still adorned in your colors of gold and crimson, though the joy of the evening seems lost on you. Despite the merriment around you, a tight knot of frustration coils in your chest, one that has only grown since the tourney’s end.

The feast is in full swing, and yet the animosity between you and Aegon is seen by all around you. He notices your coldness, the way your gaze barely meets his, and the way you’ve hardly touched your food. You’re an island of silence in a sea of celebration, and the strain between you grows more obvious with every passing moment.

Aegon turns to you, leaning in slightly, his voice low so as not to draw attention from those around you. "Is something wrong, Y/N?" His words are careful, but there is a slight edge to them, a hint of irritation beneath his outward concern.

You finally turn to look at him, your expression tight. "Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?" you say, your tone sharper than you intended. "Why would the King of Westeros compete in his own tourney?"

His brow furrows, clearly taken aback by your criticism. "It was in your honor," he replies, his voice firm but measured. "I wanted to show—"

"You wanted to show off, Aegon," you interrupt, your voice quiet but biting. "You’ve already conquered Westeros. Must you also conquer a tournament that was meant to be a gift to me?"

He blinks, clearly not expecting such a reaction. "I was honoring you. Showing the realm your importance, your—"

"No," you cut in, your gaze hardening. "You were showing the realm your power. You didn’t let the knights fight for glory or honor. You took that from them, just as you’ve taken everything else. It wasn’t fair to them."

The tension between you sharpens, and the warmth of the hall seems to dim, at least in the space between the two of you. Aegon’s jaw tightens, his fingers drumming against the table as he processes your words. "You think I should’ve let them win," he says, disbelief lacing his tone. "As if they deserved it more than me."

You lean in slightly, keeping your voice low, though your frustration is clear. "Yes, Aegon, I think you should’ve let them win. You already have the Seven Kingdoms. Why take this from them too? The knights came here hoping for glory, for a chance to win your favor—or mine. But they were never going to, not with you in the lists. They had no chance."

Aegon’s gaze darkens, his fingers stopping their rhythmic drumming. "You wanted me to lose," he says, his voice soft but dangerous.

"It’s not about losing," you reply, struggling to keep your voice steady as the simmering anger within you rises. "It’s about fairness. What was the point of them competing if the outcome was already decided the moment you took the field?"

Aegon’s expression grows colder, his pride clearly stung. "I did this for you, Y/N," he says, his voice harder now. "For you."

"And that’s precisely the problem," you say, your voice trembling slightly, not with fear but with the weight of everything unsaid. "You think everything you do is a gift to me, but you never ask me what I want. You never stop to think about what I might need."

Aegon’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, the weight of his gaze is unbearable, like staring into dragonfire. He takes a slow breath, clearly trying to rein in his temper. "What would you have me do, then?" he asks, his voice dangerously quiet. "Step aside? Watch others take what I’ve built?"

You stare back at him, unflinching. "What you’ve built is already yours, Aegon. You don’t need to prove it to anyone. But maybe... maybe you could let someone else have a moment. Just once."

Aegon’s face tightens, his frustration clear, but he says nothing. His silence feels heavy, pressing down on you both like a smothering weight. The noise of the feast around you continues, but it feels distant, almost hollow, as if you are both cut off from the rest of the hall.

Finally, after a long, tense moment, Aegon rises from the table, drawing the attention of those around you. His expression is unreadable, his eyes hard as they sweep over the hall. "I need air," he mutters, his voice clipped. Without waiting for a response, he strides out of the hall, his departure swift and silent, but leaving a wave of discomfort in his wake.

The guests glance in your direction, curious whispers rippling through the crowd. You sit there, your hands gripping the edge of the table, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him leave. The weight of your words lingers, hanging in the air between you, but now he is gone, and you are left with the aftermath of your confrontation.

Rhaenys, ever perceptive, leans in slightly, her voice soft as she tries to ease the tension. "You speak the truth, Y/N," she says, her tone gentle but understanding. "But Aegon... He is not one who takes criticism easily."

"I know," you murmur, your voice distant as you stare at the empty space where Aegon once sat. "But someone has to tell him."

Visenya, sitting quietly at the far end of the table, glances at you but says nothing, her expression unreadable. She has always been loyal to Aegon above all else, and though she may agree with you in silence, she would never speak it aloud.

The feast continues, but for you, the victory Aegon claimed in your name feels hollow, like everything else he’s given you—a gift wrapped in chains.

Aegon pushes through the grand doors of the hall, his movements sharp and purposeful, though inside, his heart is a storm. The warmth and noise of the feast fade into the background as he steps into the cool night air, the silence wrapping around him like a cloak. The torches lining the walls cast flickering specters across the stone courtyard, but Aegon hardly notices. His thoughts are too loud, too chaotic, drowning out everything else.

Servants and lords alike part in his path, their eyes darting nervously away as he strides through the corridors of Aegonfort, his jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. They sense his anger, his turmoil, and none dare to stand in his way. Even the guards lower their gazes, unwilling to meet the eyes of the king when he is like this—when the Conqueror wears his crown of fire.

Aegon’s mind races, replaying the confrontation with you over and over again. Your words had cut him deeper than any lance could. He had wanted to honor you, to show the realm your importance, but instead, you had seen only pride, only selfishness. He had fought for you, but all you had seen was a king who took what he wanted, again and again.

He walks with no clear destination, but his feet carry him toward the outer edge of the fortress, where the dragons are kept. It is instinct, perhaps, that draws him there—a need to be near the creatures that have always been his strength, his power. Yet as he approaches the dragon stables, a familiar sight meets his eyes outside them, one that still stirs unease in his chest.

Tesaerix.

The dragon lies chained to the ground, her once-majestic wings folded tightly against her body, her neck bound with heavy iron links that glint in the torchlight. Her deep crimson eyes, fierce and sharp, stare directly at him as he approaches, burning with a silent accusation.

Aegon stops a few paces away, his breath hitching as their gazes lock. Tesaerix does not roar or thrash as she once did when first bound—there is only a quiet, simmering fury in the way she looks at him now. The fire in her eyes, though dimmed, is far from extinguished.

He stands there for a long moment, staring at the dragon, the creature that had been bound because of you. Because of what you had tried to do. And now, here she lies—chained, just as you were, in a way, trapped by decisions neither of you had wanted.

"She hates me," Aegon mutters aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. It is not a question. He can see the loathing in the dragon’s gaze, the way her chest rises and falls with each slow, measured breath, as if restraining the full force of her anger. It is a mirror of the feelings he senses in you every time you look at him now.

He takes a step closer, though the chains rattling softly in the wind serve as a stark reminder of the distance between him and the creature. He should feel satisfaction at seeing Tesaerix subdued, knowing that she cannot be used against him again, that you cannot take her and flee to the ends of the earth. But instead, standing before her now, he feels... hollow.

The dragon’s crimson eyes bore into him, and for a fleeting moment, Aegon wonders if she knows what you feel, if she shares in the same grief and fury. Tesaerix has been chained, grounded—stripped of her freedom just as you have been. And now, here he stands, the man responsible for it all.

"You aren’t the only one who hates me," Aegon says bitterly, his voice hoarse. "She hates me too." He rubs a hand across his face, wiping away the tension etched there, though it does nothing to ease the storm in his chest.

Tesaerix lets out a low, rumbling sound, not quite a growl, but enough to make Aegon take another step back. The dragon shifts slightly, her chains clinking with the movement, and her eyes narrow as if daring him to come any closer. She does not trust him, not after what he has done. Just like you.

"I did what I had to," Aegon mutters, his voice quieter now, as if trying to convince himself as much as the dragon. "She would have left. Left me."

But the words feel empty, even to him. He had acted out of fear, out of a need to control what he could not bear to lose. But now, standing here before the chained dragon, watching her watch him with those blood-red eyes, he wonders if he has only made things worse—if the cost of keeping you with him has been too high.

The night air grows colder, but Aegon doesn’t move. He stands there, rooted in place, staring at the dragon who will never be free, who will never forgive him. The silence between them is thick, broken only by the occasional snap of the chains as Tesaerix shifts her weight.

Aegon exhales slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He has won Westeros, but what has he truly gained? A kingdom at his feet, yet the one thing he wanted—your love, your acceptance—remains out of reach.

The sky above Aegonfort is a pale blue, streaked with thin clouds that drift lazily in the wind. Below, in the courtyard, the dragons are being readied for flight, their massive forms casting long shadows over the stone. Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes stand tall, their wings rustling, eager for the skies. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys are already mounting their dragons, their expressions focused, their movements practiced and sure.

You stand back, lingering near the edge of the courtyard, your eyes fixed on Tesaerix. She rests at the far end, still chained to the ground, though her posture seems less resigned today. There’s a spark of anticipation in her deep red eyes, a flicker of life you haven't seen in weeks. As your siblings prepare for their flight, you hesitate, your heart heavy as you approach her.

Tesaerix watches you with a quiet intensity as you draw near, her cream-and-crimson scales gleaming in the morning light. The iron chains that bind her wings and limbs seem smaller than they once did, though the weight of them still hangs heavily on her. You place your hand gently on her snout, your fingers brushing the warm, smooth surface of her scales. She rumbles softly, a deep, thrumming sound that reverberates through the ground beneath you. It’s a sound of recognition, of trust, and your heart clenches painfully at the thought of her continued imprisonment.

"I’m sorry," you whisper, pressing your forehead to her head, the words thick with guilt. "I failed you."

Tesaerix shifts beneath your touch, her tail curling slightly, as if she’s trying to reassure you in her own way. The warmth of her breath on your skin, the way she leans into your hand—it’s a small comfort, but it’s not enough to ease the ache in your chest.

The sound of heavy wings beating the air pulls your attention away, and you glance toward your siblings. Aegon is already on Balerion, the Black Dread shifting impatiently, ready to take to the skies. Rhaenys sits astride Meraxes, her face calm, her dark hair lifting in the breeze. Visenya, cold and commanding as always, mounts Vhagar with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times before.

But it is Visenya who surprises you.

Just as you think she will signal for the dragons to take off, she turns her head, her sharp violet eyes locking onto you and Tesaerix. Her expression is hard to read, as always, but there’s something different in her gaze today—something that isn’t purely cold calculation.

"Tesaerix will be unchained," Visenya says, her voice carrying across the courtyard, firm but not cruel. You blink, stunned, as her words sink in. "She will be allowed to fly."

You stare at her, hardly believing what you’ve heard. For a moment, you think you’ve misunderstood, but Visenya’s gaze does not waver. She looks at you as if she knows exactly what you’re thinking, as if she has anticipated every protest, every question.

"Dragons are not meant to be grounded," Visenya continues, her tone clipped, as though stating an obvious fact. "If she remains chained, she will wither. Grow weak. That is not something we can afford."

Her words are logical, practical, but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. You meet her gaze, searching for any sign of softness, of understanding. There is none—only the cold, unyielding presence of the warrior who has always put duty above all else.

Still, the relief you feel is undeniable.

"She… she will fly again?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it aloud might break the fragile possibility of freedom.

"Yes," Visenya replies simply, already turning her attention back to Vhagar. "For now."

The weight in your chest loosens slightly, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You turn back to Tesaerix, your fingers brushing along her snout once more, your heart swelling with the thought of her finally being free from the chains that have held her for so long. She seems to sense it, the change in the air, and her body shifts eagerly beneath the heavy chains.

"Thank you," you whisper again, but this time, the words are not for her alone.

Aegon, having overheard the exchange, looks at you from atop Balerion, his expression unreadable. For once, he says nothing, perhaps choosing not to interfere in this moment. The three of you have been at odds for so long, the air thick with unspoken grievances, but for now, he holds his tongue.

The chains are unlatched, the heavy iron falling away from Tesaerix’s limbs and wings, the sound of it loud in the quiet courtyard. For the first time in weeks, she stretches her wings fully, the golden and crimson membrane catching the light, glimmering like blood and flame. She lets out a deep, triumphant roar, her voice rising above the fortress walls, echoing across the land.

You smile—an involuntary, fleeting thing—watching as Tesaerix shakes off the last remnants of her confinement. She looks at you, and for a moment, there is a connection between you both, something pure and powerful, something that reminds you that you are not as alone as you have felt.

Aegon signals for the flight to begin, his hand lifting in a silent command. Balerion takes to the skies with a powerful sweep of his wings, followed closely by Meraxes and Vhagar. You watch them ascend, their forms growing smaller as they soar higher into the sky.

You mount Tesaerix, feeling the familiar warmth of her beneath you. With a single word, she launches herself into the air, her wings slicing through the sky, unbound, free. The wind rushes past you, lifting your hair, filling your lungs with the crisp air of the open sky.

For the first time in weeks, you feel a sense of freedom—not just for your dragon, but for yourself.

The sky is darkening as the four of you descend from the clouds, the distant glow of the setting sun casting the horizon in hues of gold and violet. The air is cooler now, and the wind that once rushed past you in exhilarating gusts begins to calm as your dragons lower themselves back toward the ground. Tesaerix lands gracefully, her wings beating only a few times before she touches down, her massive form folding into the familiar courtyard. The echo of her powerful roar, given just before your descent, still lingers in the air.

Vhagar and Meraxes land nearby, their massive bodies kicking up dust and loose stone as they settle. Visenya and Rhaenys dismount smoothly, their faces impassive as they slide from their dragons' backs and make their way toward the entrance of the fortress. They exchange a few quiet words between them, their long cloaks trailing behind as they move inside. There is an ease in their movements, a sense of routine and familiarity. They have done this countless times before, and tonight is no different.

But Aegon lingers.

He remains mounted on Balerion, watching as you dismount from Tesaerix, your fingers brushing the dragon’s warm hide before you step away. Her wings shift slightly, and she lets out a contented huff, clearly enjoying her brief return to the skies. Your connection with her, after all the time apart, feels more solid than it has in weeks. The bond between dragon and rider, though strained, has never fully broken. And now, as you stand beside her, it feels as though some part of you is healing.

Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable. The towering figure of Balerion stands still behind him, the great dragon’s eyes half-closed as if bored by the day’s events. But Aegon’s attention is fixed on you. His gaze follows your movements as you move closer to Tesaerix’s snout, resting your hand on her once more. The quiet affection between you and the dragon is unmistakable, and for a moment, Aegon looks as though he is wrestling with something—an emotion he cannot quite name.

He dismounts slowly, his armored boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. As he steps forward, he does not call out to you, nor does he try to interrupt your moment with your dragon. Instead, he simply watches, his usual confidence replaced by something quieter, more introspective. There’s a chasm between you, but it feels different tonight—less heated, less full of the bitterness that has tainted so many of your recent interactions.

You sense his presence before you hear him, your head lifting slightly as Tesaerix rumbles softly, her large eyes flickering in Aegon’s direction. She is calm now, her anger toward him seemingly subdued after the freedom of flight. But you can feel the unspoken tension in the air as your brother approaches, the weight of the past weeks hanging between you.

“You’re staying behind?” you ask, your voice low but without the usual bite. There’s no accusation in your tone, just curiosity.

Aegon stops a few paces away, his hands resting at his sides, fingers brushing the leather of his gloves. He looks at Tesaerix for a moment before his eyes return to you. “I wanted to see how she fared,” he says, his voice measured, quieter than usual. “After being chained for so long.”

You glance at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. But for once, Aegon doesn’t seem to be playing the king, the conqueror. His words feel honest, unvarnished. His gaze shifts to Tesaerix, who meets his eyes for a brief moment before turning her attention back to you, her focus unshaken by the presence of the man who once imprisoned her.

“She’s strong,” you reply, your voice soft. “Stronger than I gave her credit for.”

Aegon nods, his eyes lingering on Tesaerix’s folded wings, the glow of her golden scales dimming with the falling night. “Dragons aren’t meant to be chained,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you. His words carry a weight that you know isn’t just about Tesaerix. He’s speaking of more than dragons now.

You feel something unspoken between you both—he knows what he did was wrong, but admitting it outright is something Aegon rarely does. Still, this moment feels different. It’s not an apology, but it’s close enough.

You look away from him, your gaze returning to Tesaerix, who lets out a soft rumble as you run your hand along her snout once more. “She missed the skies,” you murmur. “Just like I did.”

The silence stretches between you, thick but not uncomfortable. For the first time in weeks, Aegon seems unsure of himself, as if he doesn’t know how to breach the distance between you, even as he stands only a few feet away. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but the words falter before they leave his lips.

You can feel him hesitating, lingering on the edge of something unsaid. Finally, he steps forward, his gaze softening as he watches you with Tesaerix. “I wanted to give you something today,” he says, his voice low. “I thought… I thought letting her fly would show you that I’m trying.”

You pause, turning your head slightly to look at him, the surprise evident in your eyes. It isn’t like Aegon to admit such things. He’s always been the conqueror, the king who takes what he wants. Vulnerability isn’t something you’ve come to expect from him.

“She deserves to be free,” you reply, your tone neutral, though a flicker of something warmer slips into your words. “As do we all.”

Aegon looks at you, his gaze searching, but whatever he’s hoping to find, he doesn’t ask for. He nods, a brief but telling gesture. “Perhaps,” he murmurs, though his tone suggests that freedom is a concept he still struggles with.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the distant murmur of the wind and the occasional rustle of Tesaerix’s wings. Finally, Aegon takes a step back, turning his gaze toward the fortress. “We’ll be flying again in the morning,” he says, though his voice lacks the command it usually holds.

“I know,” you reply softly.

He looks at you one last time, as if he wants to say more but knows there are no easy words for what lies between you. Then, with a final nod, he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing against the stone as he disappears into the shadows of the fortress.

The days have grown quieter in the weeks since Tesaerix was freed from her chains, and the anger that once filled the air between you and Aegon has begun to ease, though the distance between your hearts remains vast. The nights are cooler now, the winds carrying the scent of the sea as they sweep through the towers of Aegonfort. The sound of dragons is ever-present, their cries echoing through the stone walls, a reminder of the power your family holds.

You stand by the fire in your chambers, staring into the flames as they flicker and dance. Your thoughts drift, as they often do, to the life you could have had. Winterfell, the snow-covered plains of the North, and Torrhen Stark’s quiet strength. The ache is still there, a dull, constant pain that you have grown accustomed to, though it never truly fades.

A soft knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn, already knowing who it is before you see him. Aegon steps into the room, his movements slow and unhurried, his gaze settling on you with a strange mix of determination and hesitation. He has been visiting you more often as of late, his presence less forceful, less commanding than it once was. He no longer brings gifts or demands anything from you, but simply... comes.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he says, closing the door behind him, his voice low and cautious. He’s always careful now, as if each word could set off an unseen tremor between you both.

“I’ve had much on my mind,” you reply, turning back to the fire, though you know he can read the truth in your silence.

He crosses the room and stands beside you, the warmth of the fire washing over both of you. The heat of his presence, so close yet still restrained, is something you’ve slowly come to tolerate, even accept, though the bitterness of your lost future never fully leaves you.

“You’re thinking of him,” Aegon says after a long pause, his voice soft but heavy with understanding. “Of the Stark.”

You stiffen slightly, your eyes still fixed on the flames. It is rare that he speaks of Torrhen. You’ve both avoided the subject for the most part, as if not naming it could keep it from being real, from haunting what little peace you’ve managed to find. But Aegon is nothing if not perceptive, and tonight, it seems, he is unwilling to let it lie.

“Yes,” you admit, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it. There is no point in denying it—Torrhen is always there, lingering in the corners of your mind, a shadow of what could have been. “I think of him often.”

Aegon nods, though the movement is barely noticeable, his gaze distant now, as if he too is grappling with something he cannot fully understand. “I know,” he says quietly, his tone carrying no anger, no jealousy—only resignation.

You turn to face him, surprised by his lack of hostility. For so long, you had expected rage, had anticipated that his possessiveness would rear its head whenever you so much as mentioned the man who had once been your future. But Aegon has changed, in subtle ways, since you returned to each other’s orbit.

“I tried to take everything from you,” he continues, his voice rough with the weight of the admission. “But I could never take him from your heart, could I?”

The vulnerability in his words surprises you, catches you off guard. Aegon has never been one to admit weakness, and yet here he stands, acknowledging the one thing he cannot conquer—your love for Torrhen Stark.

“No,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t.”

He sighs, and for a moment, he looks almost weary, as though the weight of his victories, his crowns, his conquests have finally taken their toll. “I’ve conquered kingdoms, united the Seven, but when it comes to you, there’s always... something I can’t reach.”

You meet his gaze then, your eyes locking with his. There is something raw in his expression, something fragile and unguarded. And for the first time, you see not the conqueror, not the king, but the man beneath all that—the man who, despite his power, is haunted by the one thing he cannot command.

“You have me now,” you murmur, though the words feel like a compromise, a truth that does not tell the whole story.

He steps closer, his hand brushing yours lightly, as if testing the boundaries of your comfort. “But I don’t have all of you, do I?” His voice is soft, tinged with a sadness that you have rarely heard from him.

You don’t answer right away, because you don’t need to. The silence between you speaks volumes. He already knows the answer, and so do you. No matter how much time passes, no matter how close you become, a part of you will always belong to Torrhen Stark—a part that Aegon, for all his might, will never possess.

Still, you allow his fingers to lace with yours, a small gesture of acceptance. You do not love him, not in the way he wants, but there is a quiet understanding growing between you, a shared sense of loss that binds you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I’ll never be him,” Aegon says softly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “But I’ll try to be what you need.”

The words hang in the air between you, a promise that feels both hopeful and tragic. You look up at him, searching his face for any hint of deceit, but there is none. He is being truthful, as much as he can be. Aegon may never be the man you dreamed of sharing your life with, but perhaps, in his own way, he is trying to build something out of the wreckage of what he destroyed.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He leans in slightly, his forehead resting gently against yours, and for the first time, there is a sense of peace between you. The fire crackles softly behind you, the warmth of it surrounding you both as the night deepens. Aegon may never truly understand the depth of your love for Torrhen, but in this moment, he doesn’t need to. What matters now is the quiet bond forming between you—a bond not of passion, but of shared wounds and quiet resolve.

And though the ache for what was lost still lingers, for the first time, you wonder if perhaps, in this strange, broken way, you and Aegon might find a path forward together. Not as lovers, but as something else—something more complicated, but no less real.

Ending Where Y/N Stays

The night sky is a deep velvet blanket above Aegonfort, scattered with stars that twinkle faintly against the vast expanse. 

You stand by the window, staring out at the dark horizon, lost in thought. It has been a full moon since the quiet understanding between you and Aegon began to grow, since the edges of your shared pain started to blur. The walls you had built around yourself, brick by painful brick, have not crumbled, but they’ve begun to weaken, piece by piece. And tonight, something feels different. Something inside you has shifted, though you can’t name it.

The sound of the door opening behind you breaks the silence, and you don’t need to turn to know it is Aegon. His presence is familiar now, though it still stirs a flutter of uncertainty in your chest. His footsteps are slow as he crosses the room, stopping just a few paces away. The air between you is charged, not of hostility but of something else, lingering in the space between you.

“You’ve been distant today,” Aegon says softly, his voice carrying a note of hesitation, though his usual confidence remains. He stands just behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you.

You don’t answer immediately, still staring out at the night, your fingers lightly gripping the stone ledge of the window. After a long pause, you turn to face him. His violet eyes meet yours, searching for something he cannot yet name, and for the first time in a long while, you don’t look away.

“I’ve been thinking,” you finally say, your voice quiet but steady. The weight of what you are about to say rests heavily on your shoulders, but there is no fear in it—only the calm that comes with acceptance.

Aegon’s brow furrows slightly, his gaze questioning, but he says nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“For so long, I’ve kept you at arm’s length,” you say, taking a slow breath. “I’ve pushed you away because I couldn’t bear the thought of... letting you in.” You pause, your chest tightening with the weight of the truth you’ve kept buried for so long. “But I can’t keep living like this, Aegon. Neither of us can.”

The silence that follows is thick, filled with all the things neither of you have said, all the things you’ve left unspoken. Aegon’s eyes soften as he steps closer, his hand lifting slowly to rest gently on your arm. His touch is light, almost tentative, as if he’s afraid of crossing some unseen boundary.

“What are you saying, Y/N?” he asks, his voice low, barely more than a whisper.

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, though not with fear. You take a step closer, closing the distance between you until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the heat of his body radiating through the small space that remains.

“I’m saying that I’m tired of fighting,” you murmur, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m tired of denying what’s right in front of me.”

For a moment, Aegon says nothing. His eyes search your face, as if trying to understand the full meaning of your words, to grasp the depth of what you are offering. And then, slowly, his fingers slide down your arm, tracing a path to your hand, where he intertwines his fingers with yours. His touch is gentle, but there is a quiet urgency in it, a need that has been simmering between you for far too long.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice barely audible, a note of vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his usual bravado.

You nod, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you look up at him, your heart no longer weighed down by hesitation. “Yes,” you whisper, the word carrying with it the weight of your decision.

Aegon’s breath catches, and for a moment, he simply looks at you, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. Then, without another word, he lifts his free hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. The touch is soft, almost reverent, and the tenderness of it sends a shiver down your spine.

He leans in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it begins, but you don’t. You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that is tentative at first, testing the boundaries of what you are ready to give. But as the moments pass, the kiss deepens, growing in intensity, the pent-up emotions between you spilling over, unchecked and unguarded.

Aegon’s hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss becomes more insistent, more desperate. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his tunic, holding onto him as if he is the only thing grounding you to the world in that moment. The heat between you rises, and before long, the space that once separated you has vanished entirely.

He pulls away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as his hands cup your face, his eyes searching yours. “If you want to stop...” he begins, his voice rough with desire, but you silence him with another kiss, your answer clear.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of heat and whispered promises. His hands move across your skin with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, but there is an urgency in the way he touches you, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. You match his pace, your body responding to his with a need that surprises even you.

When the last barriers fall, when you finally allow him to take you, there is no hesitation. No more fear. The weight of the past is still there, lingering in the shadows of the room, but for the first time, it doesn’t define you. In that moment, with Aegon’s arms wrapped around you, with his body pressed against yours, the pain and anger that have haunted you for so long feel distant, like a memory you’ve chosen to let fade.

When it’s over, you lie together in the quiet of the night, the fire in the hearth casting a soft glow over your entwined forms. Aegon’s breath is slow and steady beside you, his hand resting lightly on your waist, his touch still gentle even in sleep. You close your eyes, exhaustion pulling at you, but your thoughts linger on the moment that just passed.

You know he loves you, and in some strange, broken way, you love him too. But the part of you that still belongs to Torrhen Stark remains untouched, a quiet, persistent ache that will never fully leave you. Aegon may have you now, but he knows—as you do—that he will never have all of you. And in the end, perhaps that’s enough.

Ending Where Y/N Leaves

The moon hangs low in the night sky, casting a pale, silvery light over Aegonfort. The fortress is still, the only sounds the distant crash of the waves and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind. Inside, the corridors are quiet, the courtiers and guards long retired to their quarters. But sleep does not come for you tonight.

The decision has been growing inside you for days, a quiet resolve that started as a whisper and has now become impossible to ignore. The weight of it presses heavily on your chest as you stand in your chambers, your gaze drifting toward the window where the faintest glimmer of stars can be seen.

You cannot stay.

The walls of Aegonfort feel like a cage, closing in around you, and no amount of quiet moments or tender gestures from Aegon can change that. The love he seeks, the connection he so desperately craves, is not something you can give him. You have tried—gods, you’ve tried—but the life he built for you, the crown he placed on your head, is not the one you wanted.

And so, you’ve made your choice.

You move through your chambers with quiet purpose, pulling on a cloak and gathering only what you need for the journey ahead. Your heart races in your chest, not with fear but with a strange sense of calm. This is right. This is the only way. The only way to reclaim a piece of the freedom you lost.

Slipping through the silent halls of the fortress, you avoid the gaze of the few guards posted along the corridors, your movements careful and deliberate. The heavy stone walls seem to press in around you as you descend the steps that lead to the stables. Tesaerix is there, waiting for you, as if she can sense what is about to happen.

The air grows colder as you approach the courtyard, the scent of the sea strong in the night breeze. The dragon stables loom ahead, dark and silent, and for a moment, you pause, your heart hammering in your chest. But there is no turning back now. Not after everything.

Tesaerix stirs as you step into the open space, her golden and crimson scales catching the moonlight as she shifts her massive wings. She is restless, and her eyes gleam in the dim light, locking onto you the moment you approach. There’s a flicker of understanding in her gaze, and as you reach her, she lowers her head, letting out a low, rumbling sound.

You press your hand to her warm scales, your fingers trembling slightly. "It’s time," you whisper, the words barely audible in the stillness. Tesaerix’s breath huffs against your skin, her body tensing as if she, too, has been waiting for this moment.

The saddling is quick, your hands moving through the motions with practiced ease. You pull yourself up onto her back, settling into the familiar seat between her powerful wings. For a brief moment, you glance back at Aegonfort, the towering structure outlined against the night sky. The place that has been your prison, the place where you have been both queen and captive.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and with a quiet command, Tesaerix lifts into the sky. Her wings beat powerfully, carrying you higher and higher, the ground falling away beneath you as you ascend. The rush of the wind in your ears drowns out the last remnants of hesitation, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel free.

The stars stretch out above you, vast and endless, and the open sky welcomes you like an old friend. Tesaerix soars with grace, her wings cutting through the cool night air, and you urge her eastward, away from Westeros, toward the horizon where the distant lands of Essos await.

You do not look back.

The sea below stretches out in endless darkness, the waves crashing silently against the shores you are leaving behind. The life you once dreamed of—Winterfell, Torrhen, a future filled with love and quiet moments—feels distant now, like a memory from a different life. And Aegon, for all his power and his efforts to keep you by his side, cannot follow you here. Not this time.

The night passes slowly, the rhythm of Tesaerix’s flight steady and constant as she carries you farther and farther from the world you once knew. The stars shift above you, guiding you onward, and the distant lights of ships below seem small and insignificant compared to the vastness of the sky.

You do not know where you will land, or what lies ahead in Essos, but for now, that uncertainty is a comfort. It is a reminder that you still have choices, that your fate is still your own to shape.

As the first light of dawn begins to break on the horizon, you feel a strange sense of peace. The path before you is unknown, but it is yours. 

[yummyrevivalfluid]

Me Gustas Tu/ I Like You

A/n: This could be seen as a part 2 to And If You Think I’m in Love With You, but this can also be seen as a stand-alone fic. I was just writing, so I didn't really revise it. Sorry if anything doesn't make sense.

Song Inspo: Me Gustas Tu by Manu Chao

Word Count: 1347

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.

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What time is it, my heart?

It wouldn’t matter if he spent the entire day with you- moments with you felt fleeting. He doesn’t have enough fingers to count the number of times he’d lose track of time with you. Even now, sitting outside with you, he’d only realize the day had gone by when the moon decided to watch over the two of you.

“You know, if I were with anyone else, my parents would be calling my phone like crazy.” You're leaning back on your forearms, watching the stars, your phone lying beside you. Senku glances at your phone- it was true. There were no missed messages or calls, but the time stares back at him. It was taunting him- he knows his time with you is running out.

12:00 am

“But they trust you.”

“Do you?”  He likes the fact that your parents trust him - it was praise and approval he didn’t know he needed, it made his heartbeat faster. But what mattered to him the most was that you trusted him.

“Is Doreamon a super-sized gizmo-ized, gadget cat from the future?” you answer his question with a question of your own. A question that he knows the answer to is yes.

“You’re such a geek.” He jokes with you, letting small laughter escape from his lips. He lies beside you, his mind noting the small space between the two of you. It wasn’t abnormal - he’s laid beside you countless times, even held you, but it’s something his body can’t get accustomed to.

“Well, you’re the biggest nerd I know.” You joke back. You shift yourself so you're leaning on your side, and instead of the stars, you decide to watch him.

There’s a pause of silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence that Senku would typically try to fill with science facts. It was a silence that was only ever comforting with you. It’s those rare moments when he can feel his mind slow and rest from constant thinking. He allows himself to get lost in the stars with you, taking in the sounds of crickets and the occasional noises from the bustling city.

“Senku, what do you like?”

It’s an innocent question at first glance, but his mind can’t help but overthink. What is the answer that you’re wanting? The one you’ve been waiting for.

Is it the same answer that is clouding his mind? Or is it the answer that is always ready? Is the answer you're wanting the one that leaves his lips without hesitation?  

“I like Science,” he says it with ease. He turns his body to look back at you, his eyes roam your face, attentive for your reaction- he needs all the data to give you the answer you’re wanting.

I like you

“I like numbers,” he blurts. He meant to say mathematics, but the way you’re looking at him—the way your eyes soften at him—makes him feel your yearning, causes his vast vocabulary to diminish to the basics.

I like you

“I like Doraemon.” You smile at that, and he notices the way you try to hold your laughter.

I like you

“I like mecha,”

-

He doesn’t understand why, but his mind is repeating the phrase he’s been afraid to say—something that took him a while to recognize. You’ve been plaguing his thoughts, like a parasite. It’s as if you were trying to feed off his mind- his thoughts began to consist of you whenever you’re not around, more now than ever since the day you brought up the rumor you overheard.

Once he became aware of the sensations he felt when he was around you, he began to document them as symptoms. 

At first, it was when he noticed he stumbled, stuttered, and fumbled with his words with you. Eventually, it was when he noted how his body reacted to you. His palms were clammy, with sweat sticking to them despite his repeated attempts to rub it off on his pants, accompanied by a sudden feeling of hot flashes. Then it was the alerts on his watch, alerting him that his heart rate was high, reaching levels abnormal for him.

Breathing around you was strange. It felt like, at times, his breathing would get caught, like he choked on air. At other times, it felt like he forgot to breathe altogether. Add in the abnormal heart rate, clammy hands, and the rising body heat- he felt like he was going to die.

“I think it’s cardiogenic shock, maybe even a heart attack.” Senku’s mentally cursing his addiction to caffeinated drinks.

He tells Byakuya over the phone about his symptoms, and all he gets over the phone is Byakuya's loud laughter. It feels like minutes waiting for him to calm down, and when he does, he wishes he didn’t. He got an answer, but it wasn’t the one he wanted to hear.

“Senku, it sounds to me like you’re in love.”

What am I going to do?

 I don’t know

-

“I know all of that already. What else?” You’re giggling at him, and he doesn’t know why. He wishes he could read your mind. Maybe then he would be able to say what he’s been trying to bury in the back of his mind.  

I like you

“I like space,” another obvious answer, one you already know.

I like you

“I like the night.” his hand is reaching for yours, and you follow. You allow him to intertwine your fingers with his. “Especially when I’m with you.”

I like you

“I like the moon,” his eyes don’t stray from yours as he lifts himself, inching closer to you. “I like it when moonlight falls on you.”

I like you

“I like the stars.” He pushes you onto your back and hovers over you, waiting for any signs that this isn’t the answer you’ve been seeking. He doesn’t see any. All he sees are his symptoms, the ones he’s been documenting- he sees them in you. “I can see them in your eyes.”

It’s cheesy, a tad cliché, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about now is answering you. He’s leaning down, getting closer to you. He can hear you, your breathing is hitching, the same way you’ve done to him unknowingly, and with ease. He can feel your body heat radiating to him - he can see the heat flush to your face, and he wonders if your heart is pounding out of your chest.

He presses his ear against your chest, listening to the rhythm of your heart. He wasn’t a doctor, but he could hear it speed up, reaching the same rate you had caused countless times to him.

“I like the sound of your heart.”

When he first documented his trouble breathing around you, he thought he was allergic to something you were wearing. But now, when he’s pressed against you, his nose burrowed into your neck, smelling your skin and hair, he knows he’s not.

“I like how you smell.”

His eyes flicker between yours and your lips —his silent way of asking. It’s as if you both share the same wavelength, knowing what he’s asking, seeking permission before he acts. You bite your lips as you nod your head. He can feel your fingers cup the back of his head, pulling him closer to you until he can feel your lips press against him. He’s moving his lips against yours, copying the movement he’s seen in movies. He doesn’t try to take the lead- he follows your movements. Slow and unsure. Innocent and filled with years of yearning.

“I like the way you taste.”

What time is it, my heart?

4 am

Moments with you felt fleeting. He’s never going to be able to keep track of time when he’s with you. There aren’t enough hours in the day- he needs more. Even an eternity with you wouldn’t be enough for him. Especially now that he’s honest with himself, honest with you.

“I like you.”

[un-unavoidableanxiousball]

I'll Play With You

Masterlist²

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: platonic: Salesman x Reader,

Characters: Salesman, Reader, Frontman (briefly), Oh Il-nam (briefly),

Tags: gn!child!Reader, slightly anxious Reader, hurt/comfort, fluffy feelings, fatherly!Salesman, psychopatic Salesman(it's mostly implied), overall references to Salesman's job, some worldbuilding...?, ambiguous timeline, sus pacing,

Warnings: slight violence (slapping ;) ), slight manipulation (blink and you miss it), not so vague obssession, although Salesman should be his own warning

Summary: Once again when meeting Reader, Salesman finds them upset. But this time it's a diffrent reason than usual. He tries his best to lighten up their day. How fortunate he's well versed with games.

Word count: 5233

Acronyms: (y/n) - your name,

This is A CONTINUATION of my other fic >> "Excuse me, Mr. Loaf Man?"

A/N: how tf am i supposed to know how 1. school system works in korea; 2. how mature/childish a 10 year old is; 3. must I project that much ? T^T 4. ...how good are the security measures in korea??

2nd A/N: I got distracted at some point to see for myself how hard gonggi is... Holy shit, it's hard. I couldn't even progress to picking 2 at the same time. Tho I did play with paper stars... But still how?! I am hooked on perfecting it tho. shush-

A/N the 3rd: I did some ✨worldbuilding✨. Why? I couldn't possibly tell you. I don't know, it was just an itch I needed to scratch. =]

He has found peace with the constant obssession and protectiveness towards (y/n). Which might have factored on his job…

He doesn't neglect it. No. It's the opposite. He's better since meeting (y/n). Now, with their safety in mind, he completes his part swiftly and far more players are recruited by him. Mainly, to make sure he has time to spare for (y/n). Moreover, equally as important, to unload his negativity on those far more deserving of it. He doesn't know what he'd do if (y/n) was on the wrong side of his violence.

Even the entire mess with Seong Gi-hun doesn't matter at this point. The Salesman has found the perfect ground. No longer recruiting in subway stations, there's no chance at getting caught.

When his status report made it to Frontman, he was questioned as to the change of his recruitment results (read: improvement).

"Your effectiveness has raised spontaneously and spectacularly in the last 2 weeks. May I ask what inspired that?"

"No." Plastic smile unmoving. "Besides… I just pick up the necessary slack, sir."

Frontman stills. "…What slack?"

Pleased at successfully rufling his feathers, he answers: "Recent."

If he thinks that mask is doing anything to hide his expressions; he's solely mistaken. Emotions are far more a whole bodily reaction. "My reasons, had I any, wouldn't endanger the games any more than sir's latest intrests, sir."

Salesman has impecable control over himself, he can say anything with any expression he wants to get a desired effect. He learned early on that he needed to blend in, to act normal. Control was essential for restraining his impulses. Whole life to learn and master the art of persuasion.

While Frontman might be his boss, he's still a player he once recruited. They tolerate their faux dynamic. Salesman fakes respect toward him and Frontman deludes himself he isn't feeling inferior in his presence.

"…Excuse me?"

Salesman needs him to back off. As he indulges in player 456, he should leave Salesman's life and what happens in it alone. Salesman doesn't disrespect him more for it. Well… doesn't show disrespect. Even if he should. Frontman's position is far more important and demanding for Hwang In-ho to lose focus. Sloppy. Il-nam would be disappointed.

"Nothing, sir." An innocent smile on his face, meant to give off 'I-mean-no-disrespect' and disarm anyone. Although both know Frontman doesn't fall for it. "..I simply couldn't help but wonder why you, sir, entrusted me with observing officer Hwang Jun-ho. Nor do I understand the point of the social experiment with the homeless… Sir never took interest in that before." Because that's all you're interested in, right, sir? There's absolutely nothing at work that's pushing you to behave this way. It's not like I know anything about anything after all.

Seeing him tense with indignation was rewarding.

"It's not your place to question my orders or decisions. You'll do well to remember that."

He grinned internally. "Of course, apologies, sir. Won't happen again."

"As long as you're dedicated to your duties, I suppose. Dismissed." With that Salesman leaves, triumphant.

It's been a month since that fateful day in the park. The number of times you met can be counted on two hands. And he doesn't see either of you pulling away.

He has fallen into a routine, and this time, constructed around his meetings with (y/n). Ensuring he's a solid, reliable factor in their life.

In fact your trust in him has solidified. You don't shy away from him as much. You volunteered some little details he wouldn't learn otherwise. And you aren't afraid to share how your time was in school.

He knows you enjoy math, but the teacher is too frustrating. You feel lost when she explains something new in a way you don't understand; having to ask a classmate for help and not even receive it most of the times. You feel jealous and excluded seeing everyone being friends with everyone, but you don't know how they do that because making friends is hard.

You like to draw. Flowers and leaves are your favorite and they end up better than other things you make. But that's only because you're of the belief that girls should get flowers. So you draw them for your mother to cheer her up. You draw the tulip the best, but your favorite flower of all time is a sunflower.

These are the little things that make you you and he cherishes that knowledge.

Among those days you met on, 6 of them were when you were upset beforehand. To try and cheer you up, he resorts to ice-cream or eating in that one family diner you're so fond of, for whatever reason.

Mostly it's the fault of your parents the day before, one of your teachers or just a hard lesson.

So it didn't really surprise him when he saw you sitting on the bench with slumped shoulders. Your gaze locked down at your swinging legs. Seeing you like this will always twist his heart with unease.

He sits down next to you. "My little sunflower, you shouldn't waste such a sunny day glooming about." His thumb traces small circles on your shoulder. "Look at me?" You only slightly lean to his side, but don't loook up. "Please? I'll be very happy if you do."

That works. You slowly raise your eyes at his face.

"There they are;" he boops your nose, "My beautiful sunflower." He says with amplified excitement. You let out a quiet giggle at his antics.

His own smile widens at the sound. "See? Here's my favorite thing in the world; my flower beaming at me."

"You're silly. I'm not a flower."

He exaggerates his pout, "No?" then furrows his brows in concentration, "Are you a bird then? A dove?" he gasps and whispers, "…a canary?!"

"No!" You shake your head, but the grin on your face betrays you're having fun. "Not that!"

He widens his eyes in dramatic curiosity, "What else can you be?"

You burst out laughing, "You're so silly! Silly, silly, silly! I'm a human child. Human!"

"Is that so? It was really silly of me not to think of that." He shakes his head in mock disbelief.

Inside he rejoices, he made the smile come back on your pretty face. He refuses to consider himself soft. Prefers not to think about it in fact. He's just as dangerous as he's always been.

"So what do you want to do today (y/n), hm?"

You shrug your shoulders, "Don't know.."

He hums thoughtful. He looks at you in closer detail. There's still a slump about you, although not as pronounced as before. The smile from minute ago is a little faint but still wide enough not to disappear for your face. "Did you do your homework?" You nod with a quiet "yeah".

He purses his lips, "So are we heading somewhere to eat or do you want to just walk around?"

"Eat?"

"Okay, come on. Anything in particular?" You shake your head, "Your favorite then?" You nod in agreement.

He stands up, not without taking your backpack beforehand. "Do you feel like carrying it or do you want me to?" He asks to gauge how you're feeling.

On one of the earlier meetings, overeager and still drunk in his obssessive mood, he offered to carry the backpack for you.

Although by the time he spoke he already had a grip on your backpack. Why it felt like something of a need or instinct he had to fulfill, he didn't know.

But you were quick to tell him no. When he asked why, you just stated you like having the weight. That there are times when you were restless without your hands occupied.

Who is he to take a chance of comfort away from you?

"Today's a 'Me' day."

So he just holds it up at your height and helps you put it on. With you settled, you head out of the park. Him holding your smaller hand in his.

A couple of minutes pass.

Salesman finds the unusual silence from your side unnerving. Before, you weren't unwilling to share if it was parents or school. So he tries to gently ask you for explanation to your sadness.

"…what happened this time, hmm?" He gives a little swing to your occupied hands. He feels your hold tighten.

He has to strain to hear your answer. "It's stupid…"

"(y/n), it's not stupid if it's upsetting you. I won't laugh. Promise." He squeezes his hand, reassuring.

He glances at you to see you fidgeting with the straps, a subtle thinking frown. But you don't speak up the rest of the way.

What kind of thing could be so upsetting? He thought he already shown he can be trusted. What did he fail to provide then that you're hesitant?

You come inside the small diner, he tells you to choose a seat. Meanwhile he goes to order Dak Galbi for you and Tteokbokki for himself.

He smiles politely at the counter server who, at this point, recognizes him. "Let me guess… Dak Galbi?" He hums. "…and what do you feel like today?"

"Tteokbokki."

"Alright," she inputs the total cost to the register, "you know, you two… are such a heartwarming sight. We don't get many families in here."

His smile never wavers and he just pays with his card, "Thank you." But inwardly, a dizzying delight twists in his chest. To be perceived as (y/n)'s family already… It's addicting.

He knows how he behaves. He's possessively protective, he looks forward to the day you'll be his alone. He's been helping you with anything and everything that caused you some problems. How quickly he, against all odds, took to a fatherly role. To imagine seeing you grow up and mature…

He sighs.

Soon he'll become your only parent, he'll make sure of it. But not yet. You're not ready. It'll taste far sweeter when you'll be seeing him like that.

He takes in a deep breath and walks to the table you chose today. Which is to say, the booth in the far back but next to the window. Your backpack rests next to you on your right, that way you're closer to the window.

If the booth was touching the glass, you'd definitely be resting your head against it. As it is, you're looking out onto the street. The same thinking expression evident on your small face but less intense.

Did you decide to tell him? Is that why you chose this table?

If so, then you don't want to be overheard but don't care if you're seen. It's embarrassing but not as shameful. You won't get any judgement nor pity nor anything bad from him. Never.

He joins opposite of you. His eyes never leaving your face, but ears are alert to your order being called out.

You quietly speak, "You're not gonna laugh at me?" and shortly glance at him to watch for truthfulness behind his reply.

Never at you. You will learn and trust it by heart. "No."

You nod and breathe in deeply, "There's this… event thing… at school." your voice slow, soft and quiet.

"I don't get why they're doing it, also it's mostly mandatory anyway… But my parents expect me take part in it." You take a short pause, "…actively…" You look away from the window and down at your lap. You nibble at your lips for a moment.

"And I don't—"

"Teokbokki! Dak Galbi!" You flinch at the interruption. It wasn't particularly loud but you didn't expect it. Lost as you were in your mind and worries.

Hopefully you won't close up… Salesman stands up to collect their meals.

He comes back with the tray as swiftly as he can. He puts your respective dishes on the table then the tray aside.

He has to try and pick up where you left off. "Is that what your worried about? Active participation?"

You shrug, "Kinda..? It's not like mom and dad will see if I do or not. Even if family has permission to join in with us. I heard a teacher even encourage others to bring them along." If it's not the possibility of your dad's attention that upsets you about participating, what is?

"You're not telling me something." He raises a brow seeing you shift in place, "What's the event about?"

"Something about appreciation for tradition, but like I said, I don't really get it…"

"Go on.."

"We're supposed to play games, like Gonu or Gonggi… but I didn't really play games much. Especially those team ones…" A blush spread across your cheeks. "I didn't know some of them even existed until the teacher explained."

How sweet of you. To be so embarrassed of inexperience. You not having opportunity to play simple games, lays if not on your parents then on other kids. Fortunately for you, he's very familiar with them.

He'll be the one to teach you how to play each and every game. It delights him.

"…I tried gonggi before but.. I always failed to pick up three." You fiddle with your chopsticks for a moment and then take a bite to keep your mouth occupied.

He tilts his head slightly in curiosity, "Besides gonggi, do you know how to play other games?" You shake your head.

He inhales sharply. Of course, you don't. Better for him then.

"Gonggi looked the easiest and I can't even reach the end." Your voice trembles.

"And when is this school event happening?" How long does he have?

"I think two weeks? I'm not sure…" Good enough.

"Then I'll play with you. I'll teach you. Every game there is." You look at him in clear surprise.

"What? Now?" Your gaping mouth stirs as much bemusement as endearment.

"We can start today. But perhaps we should finish eating, no?"

The cute blush comes back to adorn your face. You look down at your plate, "Are you sure you want to play with me?" then at him, searching, "Aren't games for kids?"

He can feel and see the slight frown that flashes on his face hearing that. It's wrong. A falsehood that grew to diminish that childish spark, to teach, far more early in life, that the world judges and does so harshly. He'll begin teaching you from this point. You must know, will know, the most important fact. "Listen to me, I want you to remember this and take it to heart." he leans forward as far as he can, "Are you listening?"

You mimic him and also lean forward slightly, boping your head in answer.

"Games aren't sentient. They don't discriminate. Everyone can play, young, old, girls and boys, teachers, students… Anyone." His eyes scan your reaction, the parted lips, the sheer wonder and astonishment swirling in your eyes. Although a second later a sliver of confusion or doubt slips in them.

"But then why does nobody really play after growing up?" True marvel… Asking great questions.

"People choose not to. They try to blame the lack of time. Though most adults use said time… unwisely. At some point society decided playing games is immature or unbecoming. So adults conformed to that opinion. And as kids grow they follow, and imitate, their own parents. And circle begins anew." He straightens up, "Besides… These days, you don't really see younger kids playing outside either. Do you?"

You purse your lips, brows furrowed, thinking, maybe deciding for yourself if you trust his judgment. Whatever it was, you've come to a conclusion.

"…and anyway. Why wouldn't I want to play with you? I play ddakji regularly enough anyway… Playing with my darling sunflower won't be a chore. I will play with you and you can't change my mind. And anyway, didn't you call me silly earlier? Maybe the rules don't apply to me, hm?" He smiles in amusement. "Now let's finally eat."

Both of you made the way to his house.

He has a little over an hour and a half until you have to get home. He'd have to choose a simple game for today.

Two of you take off your shoes, him first and you following his example. He leads you to the main area then tells you to sit and wait for him to come back. Although he wouldn't care if you, in curiosity, got more closely aquientenced with the the space.

After all, he lead you through a path that's easy to navigate and remember. If he gets his way, you will be fully familiarised with his house; and soon.

Next meetings will focus on teaching you how to play games and let you improve, perhaps even perfect them. But his goal is to make sure you're comfortable near him and in his house. To signal to you that belong here and will always be welcomed by him. You memorising the path leading to his house will be a sweet, sweet bonus.

He plans on dedicating a guest room as your bedroom. He'd let you decorate it however you want. And he'd make sure the quality of everything you'll wish for is the best.

But he can't let himself get carried away.

First he has to choose which game to start with. He enters the study room. He approaches the closet, one which he doesn't use all that often anymore and where he stores things needed for multiple games.

As the recruiter for the Game, he has a certain type of freedom. He can choose with which game he wants to recruit the trash. The only requirement is that the punishment for failing has to be humiliating. Slapping them wasn't really the go-to choice before, he caused it to be so.

After he's been promoted to a recruiter, he has mastered many, if not most, of the games. It was simple training for the role.

His first recruits might've been successful, but hadn't been as satisfying. However the day he chose to play ddakji with the potential player - an annoying and distasteful boy - he struck him. A solid slap across the cheek. Seeing that shock, disbelief in his eyes, that delightful splash of pain on his face; it calmed and lit up excitement in his psychopathic brain and body. From there on he stuck to that method only.

Apparently, since then, he had far better results of recruitment than any other coworker of his. He gained the attention of the Host. In fact, he received summons to Host's quarters. He heeded it. They held a conversation which impacted Salesman to a degree.

The elevator opens with a delicate ding.

Recruiter #27 steps forward toward the Host's quarters. He wonders what's this about.

Apparently it's abnormal to be invited- no, summoned by Him, and moreover, meet in His quarters nonetheless. When the Host has a duty to uphold, an order to give or simply supervises, He comes out.

Nobody goes to Him.

Why is he here?

The Host had His back turned toward him. His eyes catch the top of the mask Host wears, barely registering His grey hair. But he feels a brief spark of intrigue at Host's suit choice, a shade of crimson pops out in the room. His spine is straight. Posture unbothered and relaxed.

Clearly, He's very confident.

No matter his thoughts, his own outer image is undisturbed, calm and confident. He steps out from the corridor and halts.

"You've summoned me, Host, and so I'm here, Sir."

The Host turns around.

His breath faltered. It might've been for a second but it felt longer.

An Owl. Symbol of wisdom and fortune. The Mask is made of gold, by far the most obvious attribute about the wealth part of owl symbolism. An ageing rich man… Do You consider Yourself 'old and wise'? Is that why You've chosen an owl?

Masked head beckons to the seat on His left. And Recruiter #27 swiflty listens to the quiet command. He sits down. And stays there for minutes in silence, patient and unmoving. All the while the Host keeps standing. He doesn't feel bothered by this. Such a simple and delightful way for a little power play — he doesn't mind.

The Host is openly staring at him so he returns the favor. Perhaps He's even analyzing? Are You looking for something specific Sir? What is it, I wonder?

Then He spoke, breaking the silence, "Do you wish to know why you're here?"

Recruiter didn't really have to think about this one. "If You wish to share Your reasons, Sir, I'd gladly accept the knowledge."

Silence falls between them again. Both of them scrutenizing each other unabashedly. The stand off comes to an end when Host speaks again.

"You've impressed me." He takes a few steps toward him. "This year we got more calls from possible participants than for any of the past Games. Most of which had your identifying number."

Recruiter has to slightly tilt his head upwards to look through Host's owl mask and into His dark eyes. "Thank you, Sir. I'm glad to be of service."

"So you are." He takes a step back, "You've been assigned to recruit because your potential was evident. Now, you'll get to be on a higher position. Your type of dedication will be of use to me."

The thought of having more power around here should've spark some kind of desire, delight and satisfaction within him; however he only felt a dull pang of passivity. "Higher, Sir?" He doesn't strive for power, or powerful positions, he's quite satisfied where he is. Actually — correction, it's not the kind of power he wants nor needs.

"You'll gain access to things and places only I have access to. Don't worry, you're a recruiter and that won't change; your number and rank will. Think of it as a discreet promotion."

Recruiter tilts his head at that, "May I ask why discreet, Sir?"

"It will be discreet because no one will be informed of your higher status. Not anytime soon, anyway. Moreover — you won't receive it until next year. See…

My fellow sponsors have been voicing complains. 'It's repetetive' and 'Not as exciting as it was in the beggining', 'Bit too short, don't you think?' or my personal favourite: 'Time might fly or crawl by but they die off just like flies. Where's the fun? The excitement? You're growing lazy, my friend'." Every complain was voiced in impeccable english. Host's voice did a weird inflection at 'flies', He sounded mocking the entire time. "Then you came in, and to my amazement, managed to attract more potential players." Recruiter hears smugness and satisfaction drip from Host's words. "So, I decided to increase the amount of players in the next year's Game, consequently I plan to extend the duration to six days.

Expressing my… gratitude for you creating this opportunity, seemed in order." The Host finally sits down facing Recruiter #27, "I'm not blind though. I can see you're not jumping with joy at getting a chance to climb higher among the ranks. So to make this a little more engaging for you, I propose a wager. If the amount of calls we receive — curtesy of your coworkers, yours won't count — reaches over 80% of the number I decided on; you win. If they don't manage to, you lose. I think it's rather simple, no?"

Recruiter #27 is intrigued, this surely would make things more interesting. "Can Host explain what number Sir is reffering to? Overall amount of players or just the added amount?"

Host nods, "I had the final amount in mind, It's higher and harder to reach. If the raised value was 132, overall being 404, your coworkers would have to reach 323 calls."

"May I ask what's the number Sir chose?"

"No, you may not. That's what will make it exciting for you. Wheather you get your promotion or not depends on the results of our little wager. Of course, you can't influence other recruiters nor interfere in any other way. Do you accept, Recruiter #27?"

"Yes."

And that was that. That year passed by and Salesman got more access and became Recruiter #10 (which did imply an advancement of rank since every recruiter had a number from 20 to 29). The Host wasn't surprised when he won. Were you truly clairvoyant, Owlish Host?

After that they exchanged words on occasion, Salesman usually kept to himself. Every conversation of theirs was enlightning. The Host was one of the only people Salesman truly respects — even to this day. But there was a mutual understanding, if you will, between them.

Then He was diagnosed with cancer and asked Salesman for a favor. To recruit Him. He wished to experience the Game as a player before he died. He wished for the whole experience — therefore, he had to be recruited. So the Host chose him, Recruiter #10 and Salesman agreed.

He was handed a file, unassuming, looking identical to any other file on potential players. But he knew what it was. He opened it and for the first time, since being summoned to Host's quarters that day, saw His whole face.

Unobstructed by the mask.

He did his job as promised, approached Him in a train station; offered a round of ddakji. Everything was the same, money for winning and slaps for losing. It felt… fulfilling of sorts. There wasn't that sadistic satisfaction at other's pain, but he didn't feel pity or apologetic either. It was simply a task, but it didn't feel as simple.

Perhaps he should've asked, maybe, just maybe, Il-nam would've stirred him in the right direction again…

An Owl truly reflected His personality. A Creator of a Game where the unfortunate get a fair chance at prosperity, gaining life-changing amount of money. A guiding Owl trapped in a human body, trying to point out society's obvious self-deceptions to said society.

Seems rather pointless. Did You feel cursed, I wonder?

Salesman catches himself from reminiscing further and realises he was standing before this open closet the entire time he was lost in thought.

Something simple...

He reaches for a jegi and a vase with chopsticks — Jegichagi and Tuho.

It's something, they can play by themself if they wanted…

He returns to the main area and isn't surprised to see you standing by the counter looking enticed by the fruit bowl. "Sorry for making you wait, (y/n)." You visibly startle and quickly turn to face him, "Help yourself, if you want one." He gestures toward the fruit. He sees you hesitantly pick some grapes.

He goes to put down the vase on the floor near the couch, that way, when playing, you won't have the sun blind you.

"I settled on jegichagi and tuho. Both are pretty easy to understand and play. Which do you want to try first?"

"What's tuho about?"

He leaves the jegi on the arm chair and approaches the vase again. "A game of tuho needs arrows or sticks, in our case chopsticks," He shakes the hand holding said chopsticks to emphasize, "and a vase. The height of the vase is relative to the length of what you're throwing. And it can't be too wide or it wouldn't be as fun. You take a few paces," he demonstrates by taking four steps back, "maybe ten, away from the vase; and you throw chopsticks." He makes a gesture as if he's about to throw but doesn't. "The objective is to not miss. The person that has the most chopsticks in that vase, wins."

"I want to try it then!" You excitedly jog over to stand next to him.

"Be my guest, you'll go first." He hands you half of the chopsticks (eight), and steps aside to give you some room.

You take a stand, feet hip-width apart, your right leg more to the front. So far so good. You make your throw. But it lands slightly to the right of the vase.

Your next throws also miss but each time they are less and less off. Over all not bad for a first timer.

"Not bad (y/n). But now's my turn." Salesman takes his own stance with some idea how to scew his throws to not score. But you pull on his jacket, "No. You go farther."

He's not going to complain, extra distance does nothing to his accuracy but it'll be helpful in not advertising his skills. "Why?"

"You're taller than me. From here you'll score easier. Back away." You speak with confidence, assured.

Keen on the idea he nods his head in agreement and backs away until he basically touches the TV with his right shoulder. He makes his throws, which one of them went in. You were equally entralled by him playing, you didn't seem upset at him scoring. You happily collect the chopsticks and come back to the same spot after giving him back his share of chopsticks.

The process was repeated. You improved, each time coming close to scoring, your chopsticks bouncing off every time. There was a point where one of your chopsticks went in but bounced back out; much to your frustration. However you get a hang of it after that, scoring one in eight at a time.

But soon your arms grew a little tired so tuho came to an end. Since Salesman kept track of the score, he shares it with you. At the end it was 17:21 for him. Apparently you're not a competetive type as you didn't look upset. You had fun and that's all that counts for you.

There's still some time left so you move to jegichagi. If before your arms were essential then now it's your legs turn.

He also shows you how it's done, this time, doesn't downplay his skill as much. He stops at 12 kicks. After that you kept looking at him with awe, as if what he did was something miraculous. You try to kick the jegi. You take rather well to it. In no time you managed to keep it in air by kicking it three times before it fell to the ground.

Time seems to fly by around you. So while Salesman was aware of the passage of time, it still surprised him how short it seems.

When the clock struck a little too close to 4:30PM, he had to put a stop to your fun. His heart clenched at your shattered expression. Disappointment clear in your eyes.

You have to return home. He dislikes the idea far more than you. He'd rather keep you in his house, his space, comfortable and happy than there where he knows you're mistreated.

He assures you that next time you can go straight to his house to play. That would give more time to play and he'll introduce you to other games; Ddakji or Gonu perhaps?

He walks you back the same way you arrived. And leaves you mere minutes before your mother arrives.

He watches the car drive off. He wonders what the mother thinks (y/n) does when they have to wait around for her arrival.

If she thinks at all…

The lack of interest in (y/n)'s time at school certainly opens a door for him. He doesn't ignore such deliciously laid out opportunities. The key is to prepare as well as he can in those 2 weeks.

Let's hope you'll like the surprise…

GOD, it's finally done, I'm really sorry if this felt rushed TwT or weird

(who cares?!)

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

Shower Shenanigans

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.7k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, sexual tension, masturbation

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It’s still dark out. You feel heavy, limbs weighted down in a way that has nothing to do with your pregnancy and everything to do with the furnace beside you in bed and the heady sensation of comfort rolling over you in waves.

The cold nipping at you has been such a constant you barely notice it until now with its distinct absence.

You’ve never been one to fret over waking in the middle of the night. You know at some point you’ll fall back asleep so blessedly avoid the oh god why can’t I sleep why am I awake cycle that inevitably keeps people up at night.

Despite being separate when you drifted off to sleep, at some point in the night the chill of incoming winter chased the pair of you together under the covers.

You’re on your left side, John behind you with his arm draped across your belly and something at your lower back.

Hello.

Turns out his overall stature and general demeanor isn’t the only thing about him that’s imposing.

There’s a flicker of interest, a small flame that you try to tamper down immediately out of shame and embarrassment.

You’re pregnant, for God’s sake and he’s asleep. Nothing about this is intentional on his end.

You’re just a hormonal cocktail going through dick withdrawals. He’s not interested. This is the kind of bullshit that got you pregnant in the first place.

David- the man who got you into this mess because you most assuredly did not impregnate yourself- had rapidly lost interest once you started to show, and you’ve been focusing on the whole not dying thing so your libido has taken a backseat for the last while.

Hard to worry about rubbing one out with death looming overhead at every turn.

But now?

You’re safe and fed and warm and tucked up against a man who absolutely would turn your head in another life.

You’re being fucking delusional. He’s doing the right thing- the kind thing by trying to take you back with him. Nothing more. Soldiers are supposed to protect civilians, that’s their whole job (you also may or may not be delusional about the moral soundness of someone paid to follow orders and kill on command, but hey, you’re not exactly spoiled for choice here).

He’s just doing his job.

If you were alone in your own bed, perhaps you’d give into the urge to run your fingers across your thigh and reach between your legs- with some effort and wriggling.

Then again, if you were in your own bed you wouldn’t have John’s morning wood pressing against your lower back, so it’s entirely plausible your libido wouldn’t have been reignited.

You try to shift a bit towards the edge of the bed- give yourself some breathing room so you can clear your head and stop being silly.

It doesn’t go well at all.

John seems to be a clingy sleeper. The moment you gain any real space between you his reaction is immediate. The arm draped across your belly locks against you immediately, his other arm looping under and around your neck loosely to pull you back against him.

Surely he must be awake- there’s no way he can react this strongly in his sleep.

He gives absolutely no indication. There’s a short, irate huff as his nose presses against the nape of your neck and reaffirms his hold on you, and then he’s back to snoring lightly in your ear. And little John is right back to pressing against the small of your back.

Well shit. So much for that plan.

You have little option other than to deal with it (or wake him up- you don’t exactly want to go down that particular rabbit hole, however), squirming with the realization that you are wet and trapped and unable to do anything about either.

Despite being clung to and held hostage, you manage to do the only thing that you can in this situation and fall back asleep.

When you wake up John is gone.

It is still warm under the blankets but you have very limited patience to see if he just slipped away for a moment and is coming back soon- Especially with your kid sitting on your bladder.

You can hear him moving around downstairs, so it appears that this part of your routine will not be changing. He leaves you to sort yourself out in the morning in your own time, and waits to bring you down the stairs after you've finished in the bathroom.

Before things went to shit, you were a big fan of hot showers. Nowadays you’re just grateful to have access to running water and you don’t mind the cold near as much as you thought you would. But gone are the days of lingering under the spray and enjoying the heat while you dissociate about work. Now showers are what they always were supposed to be- a measure to get yourself clean. Get in, get done, get out.

You really must be a hormonal cocktail going through withdrawals, however, based on the mess between your legs as you clean yourself up.

Maybe if you just handle it yourself you’ll calm down and stop feeling like a cat in heat.

As your hand moves between your legs, you try to keep an ear out for John.

That somehow he’ll just know that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be, and come to investigate it.

You’re grateful for the water muffling you- the way your breath hitches before a shaky exhale as soon as you touch yourself. Provides some sort of insulation incase John comes to check on you, although you don’t plan on being particularly loud.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, including yourself.

There’s a fair bit of maneuvering on your end, trying to find the pose that will best let you get between your legs while standing under the cold spray.

You get it figured out, need and practice having you working yourself up in no time at all.

Back before things went tits up, you had the comfort of your bedroom, a variety of toys, and whatever erotica or porn suited your fancy at the time.

Now, you don’t have more than your imagination but find it to be perfectly up for the task.

At first you’re not thinking much about anything- just enjoying the sensations as you circle your clit. Your other hand reaches to grasp and tease one of your nipples.

Despite the cold water your body is flush and warm between your legs. All the bloodflow heading south.

You can feel the coil tightening in your belly as you work yourself up.

It’s like you hit a plateau though, or a proverbial wall. The pleasure doesn’t fizzle out or taper off but it just won’t quite go where you want it to. Just the physical stimulation isn’t enough to get you off.

You’re numb to the cold, mind wandering as you mentally tab through recollections of your prior go-to fodder, or previous encounters with partners who’d known what they were doing and had done their jobs properly.

That helps, but still isn’t quite enough.

Christ, this is taking too long now. John knows how long you shower for. He’s going to notice if you don’t hurry up.

The thought of John catching you sends a jolt of electricity straight to your pussy.

You absolutely do not want him walking in on you. But the thought of his voice purring low in your ear as he praises you, big hands roaming the expanse of your body as he guides you exactly how he wants you- gruff and taciturn with his orders-

That does the trick, grabbing you by the back of the neck and hurdling you across the finish line.

And God help you, you’re not sure if it’s simply because of how long it had been since you last had any sexual gratification, or if the captain really just has that much of your attention- but the orgasm that rips through you is enough to make your knees buckle.

You’re no stranger to handling your own pleasure but it’s not often you literally make your own legs shake.

You are struck rather quickly with the realization that if you do not sit down, you are going to fall down.

It’s far from graceful, but you manage to land as gently as you can, given the situation.

You’re dazed, completely unrelated to the fall. Good God you’ve been in dire need of relief to have this strong of a reaction to getting yourself off.

Reality comes knocking at the door amid your post masturbatory bliss. The cotton pulls away from between your ears, and the cold settles on you about the same time.

If you don’t hurry up and get yourself dried and dressed, there’s no way John isn’t going to come looking for you.

You reach forward and fiddle with the taps to turn off the water. What you can’t quite do is bring yourself to stand just yet.

You’ll sit for a second and then try to get up. The cold biting at you proves to be an excellent motivator to try soon, as well as the porcelain of the tub. It’s not exactly comfortable so you have no intention of staying here all day.

Just as you take a breath to psych yourself to get your legs back underneath you, the sound of John’s knuckles rapping against the door breaks the silence.

“You plan on coming out sometime today, Love?”

“I’ll be out in a minute!” You hope your voice doesn’t sound too pitched like a child who definitely just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

“In your own time, then,” he huffs from the other side of the door and you can just see the pinched expression on his face through the wood. Thankfully though you hear the floorboards creaking as he steps away from the bathroom.

Pleased with yourself that you’ve successfully managed to deter him, you decide now you’re ready to tackle the hurdle of getting back up.

A very pregnant woman on her ass and a wet bathroom does not make for a very good situation, unfortunately.

You’re not very far out of a sitting position when one of your feet slips. It’s a stretch to call it a fall, really. You’re fine.

But when your foot slips, on reflex you move your arm to catch yourself and bang your elbow. The immediate tingling and accompanying unpleasantness is just the old it’s not very funny when you hit your funny bone, but you can’t stifle the reflexive “God fucking damnit” from escaping you unprompted.

There’s no telling which of those was the first to catch his attention, but you hear the floorboards protest his return to the door. “What was that?”

Ah, shit.

“Nothing!” You know your tone isn’t very convincing now, stress pitching it up an octave.

There’s a silence that stretches just long enough that you think maybe- just maybe- that John is going to leave you be.

That thought is dashed immediately when he simply states, “I don’t believe you. I’m coming in.”

“John, no!” You immediately protest. “I’m-” the door opens, his focus on the air space your head would be occupying if you weren’t currently on your ass. “-fine,” you finish lamely as his gaze drops to yours.

The look of are you fucking kidding me is scrawling across his face so plainly it might as well be written in sharpie.

“What the hell happened?” He demands, taking the two strides required to get to you.

“I’m fine!” You protest again (from the ground). “I got dizzy and sat down so I wouldn’t fall.” Not entirely untrue, and mollifies John enough that now his expression is just one of being disgruntled.

While he’s probably just deciding what to do with you, you’re keenly aware of the fact that you are wet and naked and on the floor with him towering over you. It doesn’t do you any good in the slightest but try to draw your limbs up in an attempt for some form of modesty.

“Right,” he seems to have come to a conclusion for how he wants to proceed, “let’s get you back on your feet and dried off before you catch your death.”

Only way out is through, you suppose.

You really, really, really wish he would just turn around and leave so you can salvage your dignity in solitude, but you can also just tell that that isn’t going to be an option. He’s not going to leave you until he’s satisfied you haven’t busted your ass too severely (you didn’t, but you also know it’s a lost cause to try to convince him).

He really does have quite the imposing figure, even as he kneels down to your level to better get a hold of you.

You almost ask for a towel- something for some sort of modesty, some sort of barrier between your wet, naked, vulnerable body and the very man you were thinking about that got you in this scenario to begin with.

Pragmatically you realize it’s not a great idea. It won’t wrap fully around you to cover everything anyway, and your attention should be on getting back on your feet and not worrying about what the towel is doing. It will probably just fall in the impending shuffle anyway.

His hands are gentle with you, despite the various scars suggesting that he is often not a gentle man. Firm enough to get hold of you and make sure you don’t slip away from him without being overbearing.

Much like last night, you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes right now. Which is fine, because you can bury your face in the crook of his neck and look past his shoulder like this, avoiding his gaze entirely.

Your arms are around his neck as he positions you how he likes, readjusting his hold on you.

“Feel like you’ve got your legs under you?” He asks, and you huff. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“So she claims despite being on her arse in the bath,” John huffs right back at you before starting to count.

Context clues tell you that “One, two, three,” is your cue to make a go of it.

John’s grip lingers for a moment- “You don’t feel dizzy do you?”- assessing how you feel now that you’re standing. You can’t, in all fairness, begrudge him that as that’s your story for how you ended up on the ground anyway.

“No,” you feel like a broken record insisting you’re fine and decide against continuing to protest against his involvement. “Can I have my towel, please?”

As he releases you to do as you ask, the instability you feel isn’t so much a physical one as one that’s much less tangible.

You’re quick to take the towel from him when he hands it over, eager to have something between you. You feel somewhat less exposed this way, even though it’s not really doing you any good.

It’s like something out of your silly little paperback bodice rippers when he tilts your chin up to look at him. You’re still avoiding eye contact which is likely what prompts him to do this.

The movement gets him the desired result as you instinctively follow his cue to look at him, clinging to the towel like a lifeline.

He’s assessing you, you realize. Sorting out for himself if he believes that you’re actually fine despite your numerous protests.

At a certain point he’s clearly decided that he’ll accept that you’re unharmed.

He clears his throat, satisfied momentarily but still seemingly content with being overbearing.

“I promise I’m fine. I need to get dressed,” its an assurance and a request wrapped together- please leave. You just want to dry off and get your clothes on, and forget that this happened.

The end of the world hasn’t totally knocked away your sense of modesty, and given your recent revelations of how your emotions are just one hormone cocktail regarding John, you can’t quite decide how you feel at the moment.

The caveman grunts, giving you a final once over before turning and leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.

You’re alone now, which is what you want, and naked and cold.