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mystra-midnight · 7 months ago

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— CALL ME LITTLE SUNSHINE | part i

pairing: rockstar ! eddie x innocent ! reader

tags: pet names. dirty talk. making-out. fingering. oral; (fem receiving). marking; (hickeys). loss of virginity. corruption kink. semi-public sex. eddie is entirely pussy whipped.

w/c: 6.7k.

a/n: welcome to part one! it's been a hot minute since i've posted anything as thought out and in-depth as this so if you could take a few minutes to reblog or comment some feedback, i'd very much appreciate it. ♥

"Corroded Coffin! Corroded Coffin! Corroded Coffin!"

The ever-growing crowd had been calling for the band the entire time you'd been waiting in line, which, after looking at the watch tucked beneath the sleeve of your cardigan, had been almost an hour and a half. The chanting had gotten so loud that, at some point, you'd stopped being able to hear yourself think, instead relying on Steve's large hand clasped around your own to tell you when to shuffle forward.

You felt out of place, unlike Steve and Robin. Everywhere you looked, people were dressed in leather and chains; piercings here, there, and everywhere; fishnets; big black platform boots; heavy make-up; and tattoos. And then there was you, dressed in a simple summer dress, hugging a knitted cardigan around your shoulders, wearing strappy sandals, and looking like someone right out of the Stepford Wives.

Other people noticed; you'd swear it, though no one said anything. As you looked between people, you caught a few of them looking at you, their expressions a motley of emotions that made you shift uncomfortably. Metal music had never been a particular favourite of yours, and concerts like this—where people were packed in like sardines—definitely weren't your preferred scene. The thought of being alone, snuggled beneath a blanket, and enjoying a glass of Moscato was much more appealing.

But you'd promised Steve and Robin that you'd come.

Well, no, not exactly. You hadn't promised either of them anything; instead, you'd given in to their constant whining. Steve and Robin had hung themselves from your legs as though they were dramatic, tantruming toddlers, pouting, and begging you to go with them. And after promising to cook dinner every night for a week—no, wait, a month!—your resolve finally broke.

That was how you found yourself finally walking through the double doors of the stadium. A gust from the air conditioner greeted you as you stepped inside, blowing your hair into your eyes and lip gloss, but it was a welcomed relief.

"I think that took literally forever." Your feet were already aching, and the thought of standing for another two hours was mentally and physically exhausting. Sure, you'd listened to some of Corroded Coffin's songs and thought they were good, but you weren't looking forward to standing in a sweaty crowd.

"Right. That was crazy, and they only have two scanners going. It's going to take forever to get everyone inside." Steve replied. His fingers tightened around yours when he felt your strides slowing, and he turned to notice your attention was on the merchandise display a few feet away. Following your gaze, he found the band tees hung up on a pinboard, images pressed onto the fronts and backs of each one. Some showed the band's tour dates and the cities they were scheduled to stop in, while others had stylised versions of Eddie's face.

Steve practically beamed with pride. He was proud of how far Eddie had come since they'd met—from school freak to famous rockstar. It was a big change, but a well-deserved one, given all the shit he'd been through. Somehow, he'd remained modest and hadn't forgotten where he'd come from; he'd gotten his uncle out of the trailer and into a two-bedroom apartment; he thanked his uncle and friends during every interview; he'd even forgiven his childhood bullies, though he never forgot what they'd done to him.

"Come on," he said while tugging your hand. "We should get in before the show starts," he said when you hesitated, teeth tugging on your lower lip as you continued to eye the shirts, bandanas, and posters on display. It was called the Upside Down Tour, and the band had released a limited-edition shirt for the tour.

"I want to get a shirt; this is the first concert like this I've ever been to. I want something to remember it." You explained. You wriggled your fingers in his, hinting that you wanted him to let go. If you'd have blinked, you might have missed it, but you swore that Steve and Robin shared a look—the kind that carried secret conversations and amusement.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, painful and sudden, while your mind raced to a dozen terrible thoughts. What if they regretted bringing you along, even though they'd practically begged you to go? What if they were angry? Fuck, what if they hated you? You must have looked like you were about to pass out because Steve took pity on you, reassuringly squeezing your hand as he stepped closer.

"Shit, sorry," he apologised with a crooked smile. "It's all good. We can pick one up after the show, okay? We need to get inside before security locks the doors."

"Oh," you answered. You ducked your head to hide your face, which felt like it was burning with embarrassment. You suddenly felt childish for letting your anxiety get the better of you, especially given that this was Steve and Robin, who had been nothing but kind from the moment you'd first met them. "Of course. After the show."

As though she sensed your distress, which she more than likely did because you radiated emotions like the sun radiated heat, Robin grabbed your other hand, lacing her fingers with yours, and gave you a sympathetic smile that mimicked the one on Steve's face. You loved them, but sometimes you hated them. So often, Robin and Steve seemed to be on the same page, on the same mental wavelength, having entire conversations with the lofting of a brow or half-smirk while you were on your own, a stranger looking in.

You tried not to think about it and tried desperately not to let negative emotions get the better of you tonight. You were at a concert with two amazing people, about to see a fantastic band play live. It was going to be a good night. Steve showed his ticket to one of the women managing the traffic flow, who motioned down a steep staircase into a standing pit right in front of the stage.

As you predicted, the crowd was already massive; there were too many people to fit comfortably within the stadium, but no one would complain as long as everyone behaved. And everyone would behave if they were able to see the band play. It wasn't long before the lights went down, and the crowd's cheering rose to a thunderous crescendo.

You felt the violent vibrations of the bass guitar as the bassist began the opening rift—how it rattled the ivory cage around your lungs until your entire body swayed to the rhythm. A sudden fireworks explosion dazzled and blinded you as the crowd rushed forward. Then the atmosphere turned electric, casting a weaving web on the crowd and drawing them in.

When the smoke settled, you saw the band had taken their places on stage, dressed in black denim, leather, chains, tattoos, and wild hair. They preened beneath the attention of their peers as the frontman and lead singer, Eddie Munson, moved to stand before a microphone. "I hope you're ready to rock, Hawkins, 'cause we're not stopping until the cops come knocking!"

Steve grabbed your wrist and dragged you in front of him, pushing you closer to the stage. That was how you found yourself standing front and centre. One of his hands grabbed your hip firmly, ready to break the fingers of any other wandering hands. He wrapped his other arm around Robin's shoulders, holding her to him as they sang along to a song you didn't know the words to.

It wasn't your proximity to him or the bruising grip of his fingers that warmed your blood, but the singer on stage. You'd seen pictures of Eddie in the trashy magazine you picked up from the gas station occasionally; each one seemed to be a different headline, each as scandalous as the last. Corroded Coffin's singer caught with another woman? Eddie Munson, Satanic Priest! Some of them were ridiculous, and none of them had been particularly entertaining, especially when, in every interview, he seemed humble, perhaps even flustered by the fame.

The sight of him on stage sent heat dripping down your cheeks and into your neck, spiralling through your veins to gather at your core.

He looked like a devil but had the face of an angel—wild curls bounced around his face, you caught glimpses of his inked skin, and there was a perfect trail of hair on his abdomen. He strummed at his guitar strings as though it were his lover, plucking the cords with perfectly practised movements. You wondered what else his fingers could do, and a wild blush crept into your face.

As though your thoughts weren't mortifying enough, he seemed to have noticed. His eyes found yours in the crowd, as if he could see straight into your brain and was plucking the fantasies from your mind.

The world slowed to a crawl and faded until it was just the two of you and your racing thoughts. You drank in the sight of him. You caught glimpses of his tattoos, watched how droplets of sweat rolled down the hollow of his throat as the heat of the stage lights bore down on him, and watched how his lips moved as he sang, the rasps of his voice enough to make you tremble.

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth, almost afraid to look away; you wanted this moment to go on forever and ever. But as abruptly as it began, the fantasy ended when he looked out across the crowd, and as he did, the world snapped back into place. Your heart was racing, and your breath was erratic.

You felt silly having been caught up in such an intense moment with a perfect stranger, even if he was handsome and famous—a perfect mixture of exhilaration and embarrassment. You glanced at Robin and Steve, hoping they hadn't noticed your captivated state. They hadn't.

The two were still singing and enjoying the music, bouncing up and down as a guitar solo swept through the speakers. Worrying your lip between your teeth, you looked back at the stage, trying valiantly to refocus on the music. After a while, the guitar's pounding bass and electrifying energy were enough to pull you back into the moment.

You felt captivated, as though whatever dark spell he was weaving had fallen upon you, too. His performance was filled with raw emotion and a rebellious spirit, with the lyrics resonating with something deep inside you, echoing your desires, and enticing a wildness to spark in your veins.

You stole another glance at him, and his eyes again met yours. It was almost as if the universe had conspired to connect you two in a chaotic sea of people. With a sudden burst of courage you didn't think yourself capable of, you gave a bashful smile and lifted your hand, waving at him.

He saw and acknowledged you with a knowing smile, to your surprise and amusement. It felt like a dirty secret. You would swear that your face was on fire from how hard you were blushing, your fingers wringing together nervously at the front of your dress.

It seems silly. In fact, you knew it was silly, childish, and stupid.

You didn't know him, and he didn't know you. You knew the media's version of him—the stylised rockstar who'd grown up poor, defied the odds, and came out on top—the playboy who had a different girl every other week and who'd been caught having sex with fans in odd places. But what you'd felt, however brief, had ignited a fire in the pit of your stomach. You felt it smouldering as you were lost in the music and its wild energy.

The last guitar riff played, and the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. You expected the crowd to thin down now that the show was finished, but they remained, hooting and hollering, vying for his attention.

"He was incredible!" You shouted as you turned to Steve, straining to be heard above the crowd. He gave you a funny expression and tilted his head to the side, causing a stir of hair to fall into his face.

"What?"

"I said," you shouted while moving closer to him. "That was incredible!"

This time, he heard you, chuckling under his breath and holding you in place when you tried to slip through the crowd. And then you saw Eddie standing at the edge of the stage, a security guard at his side. You could see they were talking, now if only you'd learned to read lips. Except you didn't need to read lips to know he was pointing right at the three of you.

Your heart stopped mid-beat, your mouth running dry, as a second security guard approached the three of you. From where you were frozen in time, you didn't see Steve and Robin grinning at each other or the glint in their eyes.

You were star-struck, staring at the security guard as if he'd grown a second head. And he might as well have because things like this didn't happen. Maybe it happened in the movies, but not real life and you weren't some perfectly poised beauty. You were a real woman with feelings; they were all over the place right now.

You grabbed Steve's arm when he stepped away, pulling him to a stop. He looked down at you with a furrowed brow. "What the hell is going on?" you hissed at him, not angry but entirely surprised and uncertain. He gave you a dashing and daring smile.

"Think he just invited us backstage."

"What?"

You'd tried to convince yourself that this was a wild dream. You even pinched yourself—twice. Things like this didn't happen to ordinary people, especially people like you. The shy woman who had to have a drink in her hand, the woman who took sips to fill the silence when talking became overwhelming, the woman who stammered and blushed with little more than a wink from a handsome man.

But it was happening. And now there you were, backstage, with Steve and Robin at your side, staring at a door with the band's name written in block letters. You could hear people milling about inside.

The security guard knocked, and you heard the muffled sound of movement, followed by something being knocked over and a chorus of laughter. Finally, the door was hauled open.

"Eddie!"

Robin's outburst startled you. She pushed past you and Steve, then the security guard, and threw herself at the man. You gawked at them, eyes wide as your soul burst to life, heart skipping several beats when he spun her in a circle. Robin's feet didn't touch the ground as they laughed.

You couldn't believe it.

There, standing not even five feet away, was the lead singer of Corroded Coffin, Eddie-fucking-Munson—the very same man you'd been eye-fucking on stage not even an hour ago. A part of you wanted the ground to open wide and swallow you whole. Another part screamed at you to cling to him as Robin had done.

"Hey," Steve whispered, leaning slightly closer to your ear. "Are you doing okay? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

"What?" You replied, your voice rising an octave in panic. Your gaze whirled between Steve and the duo, who seemed oblivious to your presence, and then back again. "Yes, well, no! You didn't tell me you knew him!"

"Who? Eddie?" He asked.

"That guy, right there, the famous guy hugging our friend?" You were incredulous, your arm flailing in their direction, much to Robin's amusement and Eddie's confusion. "Yes, him! You two know him?"

"What about Eddie?"

The sudden appearance of his voice made you squeak in surprise. His voice was dark, deep, and delectable, like chocolate, and hoarse. It felt like liquid heat pouring down your spine, flooding every intersecting bone until you trembled. Eddie smiled, and his cheeks dimpled in a way that had you blushing wildly.

You stared as Steve and Eddie swept each other into a bear hug, slapping each other on the back and again on the arm as they came apart. Robin gave you a playful poke in the side, bringing your attention back to her.

"What about Eddie?" She asked, which inevitably brought all of their attention to you. You shifted beneath the weight of their combined stare. Your eyes found Eddie's, and you looked away quickly.

"Yeah, what about Eddie, girl?" He playfully added.

"Nothing! It's just that—um—well, I didn't know you—uh—that they knew you. That's all." You say, stumbling over the words like an awkward teenager. You mentally kicked yourself, but in truth, you'd never been good at talking to people. You'd always been a little shy, and everyone made fun of you before Steve and Robin slowly started coaxing you out of your shell.

And it wasn't as though he knew you. He probably hadn't seen you in the crowd. Now that you think about it, Eddie was just as likely to be smiling at them, not you, when he was on stage. But that didn't do anything to pull the blush out of your face or stop the way you shuffled under the gaze of the trio.

"Oh, yeah," Eddie said with an awkward laugh, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. Your eyes went a little buggy when his shirt rode up, revealing that trail of hair that disappeared into the band of his jeans.

You looked away quickly before he could catch you staring, finding something on the wall that suddenly fascinated you. He didn't notice, or at least didn't say anything if he did. "Yeah, yeah, the three of us went to high school together. It seems like a lifetime ago."

Robin stared at him, her expression incredulous. "It was, like, five years ago, Eds. Don't you dare make me older than I am!" She said as the back of her hand connected with his stomach. Eddie huffed as he doubled over dramatically, clutching his stomach and coughing as though she'd just punched the air from his lungs. You laughed despite yourself, momentarily drawing his attention to you; he flashed you a dazzling smile before hustling the three of you inside.

It would have been spacious inside the room if it wasn't filled with boxes of merchandise, band equipment, and the rest of the band. The little composure you'd managed to hold onto disappeared when Steve and Robin rushed inside, similarly greeting the others, hugging and laughing like old friends.

You lingered at the door, unsure what to do with yourself, when you felt a hand against the small of your back, fingertips tapping just above the curve of your ass, high enough to be respectful but low enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine.

"Come on, sweetheart. They don't bite," Eddie said with a laugh before leaning down to whisper in your ear. You felt his breath against your neck, the warmth of it making you shiver as he caught a glimpse of your cleavage before you hugged your cardigan around yourself.

"Well, I might," he added. "If you ask nicely."

He didn't wait to see your reaction, but from the beaming smile plastered on his face, he'd heard your squeak of surprise. Instead, Eddie flounced into the room, joining Steve, Robin, and the others as you followed.

Once official introductions were made, you sat at the end of one of the couches next to Eddie, who seemed entirely unaware of your nervous inner turmoil. Occasionally, his thigh brushed against yours, jostling you in his excitable state as the group recalled their high school years.

"You were quite the ladies' man in high school, Steve. Don't act bashful now," the drummer, Gareth, said with a booming laugh. You found yourself smiling and laughing with him, amused by the way Steve rubbed at the back of his neck and tried to deflect.

"I remember Robin telling me that the girls used to call him King Steve." You added. Gareth howled with laughter at how Steve flushed a deeper shade of pink. You smiled at him, pretty and sweet, but should have known he wouldn't let that slight go unanswered. You hardly had time to steel yourself before he returned fire.

"Hey now," he said, his smile positively devilish. "Don't start throwing shade if you can't handle the sun, sweets. Because I could tell some stories about you, too. Well, no, I couldn't. I don't think I've ever heard those bed springs squeak."

You choked on a mouthful of beer, coughing as you glared at him in horror. "Steven Joseph Harrington!" Your face burned at the revelation of a secret you'd shared with him one drunk and wild night. Using his full government name was enough for him to know he'd crossed a line, but the laughter of his friends encouraged him.

"I can't help it if that's the truth, you know," he said with a shrug.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Eddie shouted, shaking his hand wildly to get everyone's attention, especially yours. You squirmed in your seat, pushing yourself hard against the arm of the couch to try and escape his intense stare when he rounded on you.

"Never? As in never, ever?"

At that moment, you wanted the ground to open wide and swallow you. It wasn't that you were embarrassed to be a virgin, but the attention made you uncomfortable. You'd never been the type of woman to want a one-night stand with a stranger. Steve had offered once when you'd both been drunk and confessing secrets, but you'd never felt the itch.

And it wasn't that you considered your virginity to be a cherished and sacred part of yourself. But you'd never wanted to be that vulnerable with someone unless you trusted them entirely.

"Bullshit." Eddie spat, not nasty, but disbelieving. "You've gotta be shitting me. A pretty thing like you hasn't ever had sex? I know you're lying."

You stared at your hands resting in your lap, fingers wringing the hem of your dress until the stitching threatened to fray. From across the room, you heard the vague sound of Robin talking, mumbling something about you being as ripe as a cherry. She purposely popped her lips, and you wanted to die.

"Jesus Christ," you managed to choke out. "Yes, okay, I'm a total virgin. Can we talk about something else, please?"

The universe appeared to take mercy on you because the conversation changed topics at breakneck speed. One moment, Eddie was gawking at you; the next, he was focused entirely upon Jeff, who'd bought up something called the Hellfire Club. You took the opportunity to down the rest of your beer, letting the flavour of it wash away the taste of embarrassed tears.

The night went on in relative peace. You drank with them, listening to their wild stories of high school shenanigans and offering your own when prompted. You hadn't realised how much time had passed until you glanced at your watch and gawked: two in the morning.

"So, never?" Eddie asked without warning, his voice soft and almost innocent, breaking the silence that had blossomed within the room. You pulled your cardigan around your shoulders as though the thin material could shield you from his gaze. The others had fallen asleep, either drunk or high or just beyond exhausted. It was just the two of you.

Just you and Eddie.

"Look," you said with a sigh, your face burning again. "I really don't want to talk about that."

He held his hands in the universal sign of hold up. "I'm not judging you, sweetheart. I'm just curious. A pretty thing like you has to have a trail of broken hearts behind her."

You laughed despite yourself and relaxed back onto the couch, enjoying the warmth radiating from him. He was so close that you could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow, the way he traced his lips with the tip of his tongue, the way the fabric of his jeans stretched across his lap, the bulge there. . .

You snapped your head away when he caught your staring.

"It's not like that. I've had boyfriends. I've just never felt comfortable doing anything with them. Not that they were bad people. I didn't want to do it because everyone was doing it. Then I got busy, and dating stopped happening. You understand? Of course you do. You're famous; I doubt you have much time for dating. Not that anyone wouldn't want to date you."

You were rambling, the words falling from your lips like verbal vomit, and you couldn't stop. Eddie silenced you, moving without warning to close the distance lingering between the two of you. He grabbed you by the back of the neck, his fingers rough and warm, pulling you into the wall of his chest so that he could slot his mouth against yours.

Eddie Munson tasted like cigarette smoke and alcohol, dark desire wrapped in leather. Eddie Munson smelled like adrenaline and sex, a woman's wet dream. Before you knew what you were doing, you kissed him back, desperate for more.

Eddie led you into an adjacent room, his fingers enveloping yours, providing a comforting anchor. The soft snores of the others faded into a distant hum as he closed the door. Your gaze traced the contours of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the way his studded jacket draped over them, the weight of his chunky black boots and the ruggedness of his ripped jeans. The belt cinched around his narrow waist, crowned with a buckle shaped like a bat, adding a touch of mystery to his rugged charm.

He turned abruptly, his hand slamming against the door beside your head, eliciting a startled yelp from you. Eddie pressed against you, your hands instinctively clutching the fabric of his shirt. Caught between the desire to pull him closer and the instinct to push him away, you found yourself staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Your heart pounded against its ivory prison, the uncertainty of the moment adding to its frantic beat.

"E—Eddie?" You managed to stammer his name, your voice impossibly quiet, overflowing with uncertainty and a mix of fear and desire. He didn't seem to mind. He smiled at you, his breath washing over your mouth and nose like a sweet rum, leaving you light-headed. You squeezed your thighs together as tight as you could, desperate to stifle the growing heat at your core.

He felt it, your nervous shifting and the wild beating of your heart as he cruised a hand along your body, from your hip and then over your breast to clutch the back of your neck. He rubbed his thumb over your racing pulse. "Has anyone ever kissed you like this before? Pushed you against a wall, touched you, told you how beautiful you are?"

Your face burned. Eddie knew that you'd been kissed before; you'd told him as much. But you'd also told him you were a virgin. At twenty-four, you'd almost grown out of being embarrassed by the fact.

"No," you answered in a low exhale, trying to duck your head to avoid his smouldering stare. His eyes were blown with lust, almost black as coal, as he pushed his thumb against your chin, forcing you to look at him.

He leaned in closer, the feel of him like a weighted blanket on your chest, making it harder to breathe but in a pleasant way. It made your head fuzzy, like floating in a beautiful daydream, except his lips ghosted over yours. The faintest of touches had reality snapping into place around you.

"Never, ever?" Eddie whispered, his lips brushing, tugging, teasing yours. He was so close that he'd invaded all your senses until all you saw, heard, and breathed was him. He held fast when he wanted to move. Eddie waited for someone to give in to desire and bring the other into the flames. He wanted and needed it to be you.

The tiny whimper you made shot through him, racing through his blood like a bolt of electricity until his cock throbbed. And then you took the plunge, a hand at the back of his neck, the other hauling him in by that pretty studded jacket so you could brush your mouth against his.

It was all he needed—a silent confession, unspoken permission.

Eddie pushed against you until you felt the studs of his leather jacket and his dangling chains pressing into you through your clothing, your dress suddenly restrictive and in the way. His hands were everywhere, cupping your face, running through your hair. And then he dropped to his knees with a thud, pressing kisses down your stomach, leaving wet marks against the fabric of your dress as he ran his hands up the backs of your legs.

"No one ever touched you like this?"

You felt like you were going up in flames. His touch was fire licking your skin, beautiful and pure, leaving you trembling. His hands moved up the back of your thighs, and when his mouth found your belly button, tongue swirling once, then twice, you grabbed him by the shoulders to steady yourself.

"Words, sweet girl. I need you to answer," he said in a husky tone, pinching the back of your thigh to bring you out of your mind and into the moment. He looked at you from beneath his impossibly dark lashes, his eyes dark, twinkling with mischief.

"Never," you managed to gasp when his hands began drifting high, pushing your dress up until he could bunch it at your hips. And then he was face-to-face with your panties, groaning dramatically, making a sound that would make a pornstar blush.

"Have mercy," Eddie moaned, his breath hot against your mound even through the barrier of clothing. His eyes moved back to yours, and you flushed with embarrassment. He was staring at you like he wanted to devour you. "Even your fucking panties are adorable. That little bow? I'm going to take my time unwrapping this present."

Yet, despite this admission, he didn't take his time.

His mouth landed on your clothed cunt without a preamble. Your knees shook and threatened to give out as he worked his tongue against the wet fabric, tasting your arousal and letting it slide down his throat like a fine wine. Eddie found that virgins were quick to get wet. His calloused fingers kneaded the globes of your arse, pulling you closer, his talented tongue pushing your panties into your slit so he could tease your clit with gentle licks.

You bit your knuckles to stifle the sounds of your moans as pleasure snaked through your veins, creeping through your bloodstream until you broke into a sweat.

"Put your hands in my hair," he demanded with a rough voice, and like a mindless fool, you complied. His hair was a mess of wild curls that you pulled on, sinking your fingers deep into his plush locks when he started to work your panties down your thighs. "Good girl."

"Oh god." As the fabric pooled at your ankles, your head hit the door with a soft thud. You were like putty in his hands—willing to walk through the fires of hell if it meant he'd keep touching you. Eddie freed one of your ankles and threw your leg over his shoulder, bringing you closer.

Words could not describe the feeling of his tongue against your slick folds or the sensation of the tip flicking against your clit. It was like lightning arched through the sky to melt the skin from your bones. You were burning up. And he'd lit the match.

Eddie was loud and messy, lewd. The sounds that clawed up his throat were pornographic. Each wet schlick of his mouth was accompanied by a throaty moan as he sucked your clit and teased your throbbing hole with the tip of his tongue.

It was an out-of-body experience—you never realised you could feel this good. Eddie held you by the back of the thighs, his grip firm, pulling you onto his tongue until your flesh goosepipmpled beneath his touch. You could have collapsed when he withdrew, a line of saliva connecting the tip of his tongue to your clit.

"Words, pretty girl. You gotta use them, or I'm going to stop."

You whined desperately, weaving your fingers deeper into his wild hair. "Please don't stop, Eddie. . ."

"Then talk to me. Let me hear those pretty sounds."

He waited only a moment, his dark eyes staring into yours with the intensity of the sun. He took in your flushed cheeks and shallow breaths that made your chest heave. Then he resumed his meal. The sound you made in response was embarrassing—at least, it should have been. You should have wanted the ground to split open and swallow you. But you didn't.

"It's good," you choked out, squeezing your eyes shut as he ran the flat of his tongue along your slit, the tip flicking your clit in a delicious way that made your hips twitch; forward, then back, like you wanted him to eat you alive but also to escape.

The feeling was exquisite—like nothing you had ever felt—knocking the air from your lungs, making the muscles in your legs tense and your core weep. Your whole body jerked under his tongue, a shiver shaking your spine, your bones turning to jelly as he licked and sucked your drenched cunt. "Oh god. . . I think. . . I—I'm close."

You'd had orgasms before, but nothing quite like this. It was a slow build, each swipe of Eddie's tongue amplifying the pressure between your hips, sending jolts of electricity through your veins until your nerves crackled and popped. It was difficult to describe; you could taste the words on the tip of your tongue, but they melted away with each moan he drew from your lips.

And then it spread out through your body, a searing warmth that threatened once more to melt the skin from your bones.

"You're so wet, sweetness, m'fucking drowning here," Eddie said. Even though his words were vulgar, the low growl with which he spoke sent you tumbling down the other side of pleasure. The first wave zinged through you, knocking the air from your lungs and sparking every one of your nerves to life.

You bit your knuckles hard until you tasted blood, but the flavour was quickly lost as the second wave seared through your limbs. Eddie didn't stop—not once. Each swipe of his tongue against your clit, each push of it into your virginal hole, sent wisps of fire shooting through your veins, adding stars and galaxies bursting to life behind your scrunched-shut eyes.

When you returned to earth, you found yourself trembling, his strong hands the pillars that kept you upright. Eddie kissed his way back up your body, slowly working your dress up as he went until he could pull it over your head. He threw it over his shoulder, the fabric a distant memory as it hit the ground, lost and now forgotten.

"No one ever made you cum before, have they?" He whispered, his breath hot, his smirk feral, as he teased his lips along the slope of your neck. You whined when your bare cunt rubbed against his dark denim jeans, the rough drag of the rips and tears against your lips sending you hurtling toward the sky once more.

"No," you managed to say before catching his mouth for a wild, clumsy kiss. Eddie happily obliged, pushing his tongue into your mouth and licking your teeth so you tasted yourself.

"Touch me. . ."

"What do good girls say?"

"Please."

You would die if he didn't touch you in the next three seconds. You would collapse to the ground, melt into a puddle at his feet, and literally die.

Thankfully, he took pity on you.

Eddie kissed you deeply, with the fire of a thousand suns; his hot breath stole through your lungs when he swallowed your moans, leaving you on the verge of combustion. You felt lost in him, touching him here, there, and everywhere as you tried to strip him. Eddie didn't let you. He grabbed your wrists and held them at the small of your back, and he moved you both across the room.

Your lips never once parted. The moment was composed of hot breaths, searing kisses, and teasing bites, weakening your knees terribly. Eddie fell back into a high chair in front of the make-up mirrors. You were desperate to climb into his lap, to wind your legs around him and leech the warmth from his chest, but instead, he turned you and pulled you into his lap, back to chest.

"Eddie," you whispered his name in a sigh, heady with desire. "I want more. . ."

He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear, smiling in response. His lips were wet, his mouth wanting as he lowered it to your next, sucking a mark into your plush skin. "Open your eyes, sweetness."

Eddie hooked your knees over his thighs, spreading you open and exposing you to the mirror. The tips of his fingers ghosted along the crease of your inner thigh, making your breath hitch in anticipation. "You're beautiful," he said with a hum, nuzzling his nose into your hair. You caught his eyes in the reflection and saw the stark desire that had turned his pupils black, the hunger.

And you saw the expression mirrored in your own reflection. Your skin was flushed the subtlest shade of pink, pussy glistening with arousal. Eddie honestly thought you were the prettiest thing he'd ever fucking seen; so sweet, so innocent.

The stretch of his thick fingers was immediately exquisite, the slick of your arousal coating them entirely. Eddie watched the mirror, transfixed by the way it dropped from around his fingers, sliding down the curve of your ass to darken his denim jeans.

He felt you clench around him, tension seeping through your body as the pain collided with pleasure, twisting through your veins like snakes, intertwined, threatening to consume you from the inside out. You cried out when he crooked them, hips rising in search of more; his other hand cruised up your body, the soft swell of your stomach, cupping a tit in the palm of his hand, thumb teasing your nipple into a hardened peak.

Eddie growled against your neck. He was as hard as a rock, and each jolt of your hips had your arse rutting against his aching cock. You reached back to grab his hair, winding your fingers through his wild curls as the pleasure mounted. You were a guitar, and he had years of practice. He watched the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way you couldn't sit still as he fucked his fingers in and out of your cunt, the way you clawed at his jeans.

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle the way you moan, loud, wantonly, like a whore. You felt dirty—like this was a scandalous secret. The thought of being found was erotically terrifying.

"You getting close, sweetness?" Eddie asked; no, he growled the words against your neck, teeth clipping the sensitive skin. "I can feel it. You're squeezing my fingers so fucking tight. Are you thinking about my cock? How much better it'll feel than my fingers?"

As though to emphasise his words, his thrust against you, his erection hard against the globes of your arse, leaving him moaning as his own muscles twisted with desire, pure liquid heat pouring through his bones.

"Cum for me, baby."

He wasn't asking; no, he was demanding.

tag list ::

@micheledawn1975 | @maxstecc

—interest in being tagged in future chapters? send me a message!

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #rockstar!eddie x innocent!reader #call me little sunshine #call me little sunshine - part one

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dalishious · 6 months ago

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Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Familiar Faces and Factions

The trailer for Dragon Age: The Veilguard has dropped, and I couldn’t be more excited. It’s like a new breath of life has entered my lungs!

Within the trailer, we now have confirmation of who our seven companions are going to be, and among them are a few familiar faces from the book Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights. We also have some name-droppings of a couple factions featured in the same book and the comics, Dragon Age: The Missing. So, here is what knowledge is established about these faces sand factions.

Neve Gallus & The Shadow Dragons

Neve Gallus was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “The Streets of Minrathous”. She comes off as a no-nonsense and a little intense kind of person. Neve is a Tevinter mage who works as a private investigator. For example, if someone wants some detective work done but doesn’t want the public to know, they would hire Neve. On occasion, she’s even been hired by the templars, who act like just regular cops in Tevinter – and yes, that includes their corruption and primary goal of simply protecting the elite – but Neve prefers to work alone because of that corruption, and has a personal grudge against the order for taking bribes to cover up crimes.

Neve has a prosthetic leg below the knee, made of dwarven-crafted metal.

In The Missing, Neve says she is friends with the Shadow Dragons. In the article shared by EA, as of The Veilguard, she is officially a member. The Shadow Dragons are a group of concerned Tevinter citizens who help those in need. This includes supporting escaped slaves, for example.

Emmrich Volkahrin

Emmrich Volkahrin was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “Down Among the Dead Men”. He is a necromancer from Nevarra, and therefore naturally a member of the Mortalitasi – specifically, a professor in the Mourn Watch. The Watchers serve as elite guardians of the Grand Necropolis. Emmrich is on the eccentric side, personality-wise, but kindly and informal.

Emmrich has a skeleton assistant name of Manfred, who helps him with different office tasks. He also has friends in Myrna, a fellow Watcher, and Audric, a dead guardsmen who looks after the library.

Lucanis Dellamorte

Lucanis Dellamorte was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “The Wigmaker Job”. He is the favourite grandson of Caterina Dellamorte, First Talon (leader) of the Antivan Crows. As such, he was raised from birth to be the perfect assassin in a ruthless and torturous environment, knowing only cruelty from his family. This has led to him feeling less like a person and more like a living weapon – and he is treated like one by everyone who knows of him. He has “the Demon” as a nickname.

I know a few people are curious about the “mage killer” title in the trailer. Rest assured that Lucanis specifically kills evil blood mages. In his own words: “If someone wants to pay me top coin to kill a bunch of racist blood mages—who have it coming—I’m not going to complain.”

Where his cousin Illario has a “silver tongue” as Lucanis puts it, he himself is a lot blunter. His reputation of a killer is spotless, except for one small problem: He has a heart under all that black leather.

Lucanis and Illario get along quite well, except for the fact that Lucanis is destined to be the next First Talon, after Caterina dies. Illario wants the job far more than Lucanis, but Lucanis isn’t sure he’s capable of making a decision for himself that goes against the wishes of the Crows.

The Veil Jumpers

The Veil Jumpers were first introduced in The Missing #3. They are a group made up of primarily Dalish elves, though also inclusive of other folks of any walks of life willing to help, working to try and control the new threats within Arlathan Forest. The forest has become a ground of chaotic magic, with the Veil so thin that time and place is jumbled together. Thus, the Veil Jumpers move in and out of the spots that bleed into one another.

The Veil Jumpers do have a headquarters called “The Sanctum”, but we know nothing else about it.

The Lords of Fortune

Despite the Lords of Fortune being mentioned in more than one Tevinter Nights story, as well as the show Dragon Age: Absolution, we don’t know a lot about them. The only concrete information provided is that they are a loose group of people who collect trinkets and glory. They come out of Rivain. They typically wear a lot of their collected trinkets like badges of honour. That’s really all there is, so I can’t wait to learn more.

#dragon age #datv #dav #dragon age the veilguard #neve gallus #emmrich volkahrin #lucanis dellamorte #meta

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purplecoffee13 · 5 months ago

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Please Please Please - Pt 2* (final)

Summary: “A sudden call from Harry in the middle of the night makes you realize just how little you actually know about your neighbor.”

Wc: 5k

Tropes: good girl x bad boy / neighbors

Warnings: angst, fighting, cursing, SMUT, bit of a degradation kink, multiple orgasms, GUN KINK, corruption kink

A/N: Hey guys! As promised, here is part 2 of Pls Pls Pls. It is quite a sudden 180 from the previous part, so try not to get whiplash. Enjoy!! :)

General Masterlist

Spending your Sunday night at a police station bailing out your neighbor was definitely not on your list of preferred weekend activities. But here you are, sitting on a chair, waiting for the officers to bring Harry outside.

You couldn't believe it at first. Of course, you knew it had to be some kind of emergency when your ringing phone woke you up. After all, it was two in the morning, and random calls at two in the morning usually didn't indicate anything good.

"Hello?" Your croaky voice greeted whoever was calling you this late, or early, depending on your lifestyle.

"Hi love. I need your help." You frowned at the sound of Harry talking through the phone.

"Harry?" You questioned.

"Yes, darling?"

"Wha— are you okay? Where are you?" You leaned over your nightstand to turn on the lamp. Your eyes shut tightly at the sudden harsh light, rubbing your eyes as you stifled a yawn.

"I'm fine, I'm at the police station. Listen, I need you to go into my apartment, get the envelope with cash from under my mattress, and then I need you to get over here. Could you do that for me, darling?"

"Uhm, yes. Yes, of course." You got up from your bed and grabbed the first pants you saw. Your movements got to a halt when you realized it would be impossible to even do that. "But wait, I don't have your—"

"There's an extra key in your top kitchen drawer next to the fridge."

"Wha..." your voice trailed off as you buried over to your kitchen and opened the drawer, indeed finding a key that didn't belong to your apartment. "When did you put this here?"

"I'll explain later, I promise. See you in a bit?"

You sighed. What the absolute fuck was going on? This man might just be even more mysterious than you had already thought.

"See you in a bit."

The muffled voices coming from the other side of the door makes your perk up in your seat. Like you had expected, you spot Harry's face through the windows on the door. He is wearing a frown that makes him look very intimidating, and a wave of intense stress hits you.

Who the fuck even is this neighbor of yours?

You are on your feet very quickly when Harry finally walks through the door. Your eyes widen at the state of him. He is wearing a tank top with a dress shirt thrown over it. The dress shirt is scratched open and his entire outfit is dirty. His face is mostly untouched, except for a cut in his eyebrow that is covered in dried blood. He looks rough.

His lips form into a grin when he spots you, but you are having none of it. Your knitted eyebrows make your glare more intense, and you don't even give Harry the opportunity to greet you when he is close enough, because you are already walking towards the exit.

You push the doors open and storm across the parking lot. You hear the chuckling scoff from behind you after the creaking door signals that Harry is hot on your heels.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" He asks almost cockily, strutting behind you. You've arrived at your car, so you turn around to face him, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Are you serious?!" You groan, to which Harry shrugs lazily. "You called me in the middle of the night, asking me to bail you out with money that you've hid in a duffel bag under your bed, which — by the way — I had access to because you planted a spare house key in my apartment! That's what wrong!"

"I told you I'd explain." Harry says, still nonchalant as ever. You can quite literally feel your blood boiling. Why in God's name is he being so relaxed about this?

"Yeah, you fucking better." You spit out, clenching your jaw as you turn back towards the car. Harry's spiteful voice stops you in your tracks, though.

"Hey! You didn't have to come here, nobody forced you."

When your eyes meet his again, you don't miss the frustration that radiates from his. It is your turn to scoff as you take a few steps towards Harry until you stand in front of him.

"Oh yeah, that's fucking easy," you are about ready to start a fight, but the sight of his bruised face makes you think twice. Instead, you sigh, throwing your arms over each other. "Get in the car, we'll talk at home."

You are about to get back to the car when you realize that Harry isn't following you. You squint at him and the way he is standing there on the parking lot, a wide stance with his hands behind his back. He doesn't do well with following orders or demands, you've learned that about him in these past weeks. But right now, you couldn't care less.

Rolling your eyes, you march back to Harry and grab a fistful of his shirt before pulling him along to the passenger seat. By how easy it is to get him in the car, you figure that he enjoys your current attitude, otherwise he never would've let you boss him around like this.

You aren't interested in whether he likes it or not right now, all you care about it getting home.

The drive is excruciating. The radio fills the silence that neither of you are willing to break. Every shift in his seat and sigh from his mouth manages to make your blood boil. You can't believe he has the nerve to act as if he has the right to be pissed right now.

It is only when the both of you are at your door, and you silently walk into your own apartment, that Harry breaks the silence.

"Where are you going?" He asks, irritated.

"Bed."

"Thought you wanted to talk." His tone his mocking, but you can tell that he is hiding real confusion behind it.

"I decided I'm not in the mood to hear your bullshit excuses right now, maybe tomorrow." You shrug, keys rattling as you open the door.

"So dramatic..." Harry mutters under his breath, but you hear him just fine. You are quick to turn around.

"What did you say?"

Harry shakes his head, sighing. "You heard me. If you're so fucking mad about this, why the fuck did you even come in the first place?"

"Well, what the fuck did you think, Harry?! Did you expect me to be all cool and casual about this?!" You throw your hands up expressively. You turn around and open the door of your apartment, walking in at a furious pace with Harry hot on your heels.

"I told you I'd fucking explain! Jesus Christ... If I'd known you were gonna whine about this so much, I would've called one of my buddies." He says, and it makes you stifle a laugh. Hands on your hips, you take a few steps towards Harry.

"Fine, explain then, tell me what the fuck you were doing in there." You demand, and you notice how his face softens at your calmer yet stern tone. He sighs, looking to the side. Your heart stops for a second, tension growing on your stomach. He is avoiding your gaze. He never avoids it.

"Just— got caught up in a brawl at the pub. Let my buddies take a run for it, but the police did catch me." He says, eyeing your body. You frown, your eyes searching for his but you absolutely cannot get him to look at you.

"You're lying to me." You say, and even though it is merely a suggestive thought, Harry's reaction makes you realize you are speaking the truth. Harry takes a deep breath, shaking his head as if it should be able to convince you. "You're a fucking liar."

You step forward, making sure it is impossible to avoid eye contact with you. "You told me you were letting me know you. But you don't want me to know you. Telling me simple things to give me the illusion that you trust me. Meanwhile your knuckles are constantly covered in bruises and you have duffel bags of money in your bed. Or that gun, in the drawer of your nightstand?"

A furrow grows between Harry's eyebrows at the mention of the gun. "You went through my things?" He growls. You nod calmly.

"I figured I might as well get to know the guy I'm bailing out." You shrug, watching the anger rise to his face.

"Do you have any idea who the fuck you're talking to right now?" He asks, near the brink of a meltdown. His jaw is clenched and he looks like he might kill you.

"No, apparently I don't!" You shout into his face. Harry laughs bitterly, sending a shiver down your spine. He shakes his head and turns around, heading for the door.

"Should've called one of my buddies..." He mutters as he goes to open the door.

"You keep saying that, but you called me." You call out, and Harry looks back at you.

"Yeah, and it was a big fucking mistake. Don't know what I was thinking." He retorts.

"You called me, because you knew that I'd come. Because I care about you and I was worried sick, and because I would come and get you every single fucking time. No matter the situation, no matter the amount of money filled duffel bags you have under your bed, no matter the gun you sleep next to every night." You're now standing in front of Harry, looking up at him. The confrontation in your sentence is rubbing him the wrong way, you can see it in his face. You continue anyway; he needs to hear it.

"But you're too much of a pussy to admit that someone cares about you, unconditionally, because that would make it all a bit too real, wouldn't it? But I'm not disposable, you can't just cut me out of your life whenever you please. That's not how this works."

That strikes a nerve. Harry steps even closer, leaning down a little bit. "You have no fucking idea how easily I can cut you out of my life."

"Go, then." You cross your arms, waiting for him to walk out that door. Your words are cocky, and you are confident in what you are saying, but a small part of you worries that maybe you've miscalculated your connection with Harry.

Harry doesn't say anything, merely scoffing at your casual words. He wants to turn around, walk out, and never come back. To prove to you just how disposable you are. But he can't, because you aren't.

"For fucks sake..."

The words fall from his lips in a whisper, and before you can figure out what he means, Harry lunges forward and grabs your head to pull it close to him, his lips pressing against yours.

You moan at the feel of his tongue intertwining with yours, and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you. There is so much anger, frustration, sadness, love, and other indescribable things that built the intensity of the kiss. Nothing could've prepared you.

He pushes you against the wall, his hands taking all over your body while yours are tangling themselves in his beautiful curls. With a hand on your lower back, Harry pulls your body closer to his, your bodies almost as close as your tongues are now. You need more of him.

Taking ahold of your thighs, Harry lifts you up and carries you to your bedroom, where he drops you onto the bed. Your back hasn't even entirely hit the mattress before Harry's hands start undressing you. He takes off your shoes and pants in no time, the both of you way too pent up to take your time right now. Then, he slides your underwear down your legs and throwing it into the corner of the room.

Three of his fingers trace over your upper body before he pushes down your lower jaw and stuffs them in your mouth.

"Suck." He orders.

You do as he says, licking and sucking on his fingers like it is the last thing you are ever allowed to do. After a couple seconds, Harry takes back his fingers, and leans down, spitting on your pussy himself. A whimper leaves your mouth the second the liquid comes in contact with your sensitive skin, and you moan loudly when he starts to rub it over your cunt.

"You're so fucking frustrating. Shouting at me, cursing me out..." He mentions. Two of his wet fingers enter your pussy, and you let your head fall back. Refraining yourself from arching into him too much already, you try and focus on something—anything— else. "You're such a brat... and you don't even know who you're dealing with."

Mewling at the feeling of his amazing touch, you manage to croak out. "Show me, then."

"What, sweetheart?" Harry asks with a fake smile. In fact, it seems rather devilish. It shouldn't turn you on even more, but for some fucked up reason it does.

"Show me who I'm dealing with."

A low chuckle escapes his throat. You frown, not amused with the apparent joy he gets from what you're saying. You're being completely serious.

"I don't think you can handle that, sweetheart." He smirks, and it makes you pout.

"Yes, I can." You argue, the frown on your face combined with your big Bambi eyes making you look adorably mad. Harry sighs, clearly entertained by your stubbornness. Without another word, he leans forward and digs his head between your legs. You cry out at the contact of his tongue with your clit, and repeatedly moan his name at the mix of his fingers and tongue driving you properly insane.

Your hips keep shooting upward, and Harry tries to contain your non-stop squirming by pushing down your hips with his free arm. He doesn't restrain you entirely, liking the view of you falling apart for him too much anyway.

When you reach your climax, your hand has found Harry's hair, on which you mercilessly tug while making a mess below him. After riding out your high, Harry grabs your arm and scoops an arm around your waist before picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?!" You shriek, being able to do nothing but hang over him like a ragdoll as he walks out of the bedroom and, towards the front door?

You gasp when he opens the door and you find yourself in the hallway, without any pants on. You hear the sound of keys jingling and a door open, and before you can demand Harry let you go, he waltzes into his own apartment.

His dark walls and furniture are the exact opposite of your apartment. Very manly, very serious.

Harry puts you down, laying you on his couch. He leans forward, his hand sneaking under your shirt to fondle your breast. You bite your lip at the feeling of his firm hands massaging you.

"You wanna know me? You want to know who you're dealing with?" He whispers, and you nod furiously, not being able to go without his touch down there for much longer. "We'll start with a house tour then. This is the living room."

You frown, it's not like his apartment is much different from yours. You look around the room, but your attention is back on Harry the second his mouth is back on your cunt. You mewl, not having expected his mouth on you again so soon.

Harry's skilled tongue along with the sensitivity from your first orgasm gets you closer and closer in an almost embarrassingly short time. Your legs try to control the amount of pleasure that you are getting, but Harry's hands keep spreading them apart, leaving you with no choice but to take everything he gives you.

"I— I'm gonna come!" You groan, that tension in your stomach so close to exploding. He keeps the quick paced tempo with which his tongue is assaulting your clit, and in no time you are twitching as your orgasm washes over you. Harry moans at the way you cry out his name, and licks you clean despite the pleas that tell him to stop because you're too sensitive.

You don't have time to steady your breathing, because Harry is already pulling you up and leading you to the kitchen. He doesn't waste any time, taking off your shirt, leaving you entirely naked. You watch as he takes your body in, your mind too cloudy to feel insecure. But with the way Harry looks at you, you don't think you would've worried about that in the first place.

His eyes rake down your body as he takes off his belt, and walks closer to you. Your hands reach forward, wanting to take off his shirt, but Harry grabs one of your wrists and turns you around. Taking ahold of the other wrist, he ties your hands together with his belt before bending you over his counter.

"My house, my rules." His low voice reminds you, making you shiver in anticipation. You hear some ruffling behind you, and you can only figure that Harry has taken off his pants. His hand rubs over your skin, lowering from your waist to your ass.

"Poor girl, you have no idea what you got yourself into." He taunts, his cock lining up with your pussy, the top of him stroking over your soaking wet cunt. You whine at the minimal contact, needing him to enter you right this second. You flinch forward, moaning loudly when Harry brings his hand down onto your ass. The sting of it almost makes you cry, you want him so bad.

"Please, please... please." you cry, pushing yourself backwards and into him. He pushes you back forward, tutting you.

"So desperate..."

Not being able to hold it any longer, Harry plunges his hard cock into you. A muffled cry escapes your throat, shocked by the size and girth of him. Of course you aren't entirely surprised—he just exceeds that kind of energy—but you hadn't dreamed of it being this big.

"Ah, shit! Harry... oh my god!" The string of words summed up exactly what you were feeling as he thrusted himself into you over and over again: everything.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this..." He says, his hands sliding up and down your back. "Ever since you knocked on my fucking door wearing nothing but that oversized shirt."

"And now here you are, bent over my counter, letting me fuck you in every corner of my apartment." He groans, spanking your ass again. You shoot forward at the impact, moaning at the painful feeling. You didn't know that turned you on so much until now.

"W— What took you so long?" You have the nerve to ask him, but by the laugh that sounded from behind you, it seems that Harry likes your boldness.

"I'm a bad guy, sweetheart. Didn't want to ruin you." He coos, which is extremely contradicting to the harsh thrusts with which he drives himself into you. "But I guess that's too late now."

"I was yours to ruin anyway." You say softly, and it makes Harry still inside of you, followed by a very deep groan. You frown when you feel Harry pulling his cock out of you, confused by the sudden change.

"Fuck, baby. You can't just say shit like that to me, nearly made me come." He is breathing heavily, and tugs on your arms to make you stand up straight. He begins to walk away and grabs your arm, taking you with him. You follow him all the way to a door, which you realize is his bedroom as soon as he opens it.

You are about to ask him about a photograph that his hanging on his wall, when he pushes you onto the bed. Hands still tied behind your back, you let Harry get you a little bit higher on the bed before positioning himself in front of you again.

He spreads your legs as wide as he can, fingers dug into your waistline as he enters you again. You let your head fall back, knitting your eyebrows at how those short seconds without his cock have made his second time entering feel just as tight as the first time. Harry seems to think the same thing, moaning loudly at the tightness of you.

Arching your back, Harry gets an amazing view of your tits bouncing back and forth as he fucks you like you're some sort of ragdoll. He can't help but reach for your breasts again, playing with them and trying not too orgasm too soon upon hearing your loud moans.

You feel like you are on sensory overload. The restraint, the nipple stimulation, and Harry's cock pounding into you, it is bringing you into another galaxy. You never thought it was possible to feel this much pleasure at the same time.

"You are mine to ruin." Harry mumbles, as if reminding himself. You nod at his words, wholeheartedly agreeing with that. If ruining meant him fucking you like this every day, then he could do whatever he wanted.

"Mm, you love that, don't you?" He asks. You open your eyes to look at him, a devilish smile forming on your face. "You love that I'm the monster who you're supposed to be running from. I bet you fantasize about it all the time; the big bad guy corrupting you from your innocence by fucking you into oblivion."

"Yes, yes, yes..." you repeat, too fucked out to say anything else.

"Such a bad girl, getting pounded by her dangerous neighbor." He taunts you, increasing his already quick pace. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, letting the pleasure just wash over you. You feel like you might pass out any minute, but you've also never felt more alive. "You'd let me do it all, won't you?"

"Anything." You pant, struggling to keep your eyes open. You shriek when Harry thrusts into you very deeply and stays there for a couple seconds, leaning over you to grab something. You gasp when you Harry holding his gun. Before you can ask him what the fuck he thinks he's doing, he starts moving again.

It shouldn't be the reason why you're so close to your orgasm all of a sudden, but the sight of Harry holding that gun is quite literally driving you insane. You can't believe it, it is the hottest thing you have ever seen.

To your surprise, he begins to trace lines over your body with the barrel of the gun. You whimper at the cold feeling of the object against your skin, not sure how long you're going to be able to hold in that third orgasm. Then, the gun travels upwards, all the way to your mouth, and your eyes widen when the words leave Harry's pink lips.

"Suck."

You look down at the gun, and back at him, a bit unsure of how safe it is, despite wanting to obey him very badly.

"Safety's on." He adds, calming your nerves a bit. And without a second thought, without considering you are doing a very dangerous thing right now, you take the gun in your mouth. In spite of Harry's vagueness, you trust him very much.

And so you begin sucking on the gun, moaning at the way Harry reacts to it. His thrusts increase in speed and intensity, and the way he massages your breasts are getting you incredibly close.

"Fuck, you're insane. You're fucking perfect." His compliments have you clenching your walls around him, something he doesn't miss. "Are you gonna come for me again, baby? Should've known that danger turns you on so much. Will do anything to keep me close, huh? Even taking my gun in your mouth while you get ruined by my cock."

"Yes, anything—oh fuck! I'm gonna cum!" The words are barely comprehensible with your mouth still filled up with the barrel of his gun, but your body tells Harry enough. Licking the pad of his thumb, he brings it to your clit, rubbing circles until you are a blubbering mess under him. You feel like jelly.

The way you are tightening around him sets off Harry's orgasm. He groans out your name repeatedly as he comes inside of you. The feeling of him coating your walls is a thought you find yourself liking a bit too much for a regular person.

Nothing could've prepared you for this, for him. He takes the gun out of your mouth and puts it back on the nightstand. He keeps his body leaned over you, held up by his own two arms. His hair falls in front of his face, making it a bit more difficult to find your eyes. The both of you are panting heavily, and Harry smiles at your fucked out face.

Slipping a hand underneath your waist, Harry leans back and takes you with him, making you sit up straight. He unties your wrists, throwing the belt on the floor.

"Let's get you to the bathroom, hmm? Last part of the tour." He says, gently picking you up and carrying you over to his bathroom. When he puts you down, you have to hold yourself upright by holding on to the sink. Harry closes the door, giving you some privacy as you pee and check out your face in the bathroom. You wipe off the excess mascara that rests on your cheeks, smiling at the memory of what just happened.

When you get back to Harry's room, he has his boxers back on. At the sight of you, he grabs a t-shirt from the bed and hands it over to you. You put it on without question, only realizing that it is a Rolling Stones t-shirt when you catch yourself in the mirror.

"Got you some water." He points to the nightstand, and indeed, standing next to the gun there is a glass of water. You walk over to it and take a few sips, your eyes falling back on the gun.

"C'mere." Harry's voice interrupts your thoughts, and when you look up, you see that he has sat down. Crawling onto the bed, you join him.

He takes your chin in your hands, his face moving closer to you. "I want you to know that I'm not the safest guy to be around, and I understand if you want to walk away from this. But if you decide to stay, I promise I will keep you safe."

"So this is not going to be the last time that I'm gonna have to bail you out of jail?" You ask, partly joking, as you climb over him to sit on his lap.

"I'll be more careful." He responds, and his avoidance of your question gives you an answer. You nod, your face getting a bit more serious as you think about this a little bit more.

"Should I be scared?" You pout, not knowing if you would be able to handle constant fear. Harry shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

"Like you said, people are afraid of me, not necessarily the other way around." His fingertips dance around your thighs. "I'll keep it separated. And, unless for pleasure intended purposes, I won't ever use that gun around you."

You sigh. "Don't prove the people in this town right, okay? Don't be someone I have to run from."

Harry pulls you close, bringing your lips to his. It is a short and sweet kiss, one filled with the reassurance of a promise.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

taglist: @mellamolayla @natedelrey

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mrs-kmikaelson · 4 months ago

Text

What's in a Name?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times you and Agent Hotchner questionably cross paths over the years, just for him to watch you walk away (+1 time you don't). Warnings: long asf, murder, violence, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, corruption in government, allusions to abuse, one made-up case, hotch is a lil ooc (not rlly), and reader has grey morals (lmk if there's more) Eps incl: S1E21 (secrets and lies), S3E20 (lo-fi), S4E1 (mayhem) Words: 24.4K

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written. guys, one section is literally 10k words long— and i didn't notice!! it's too long for one part (there's a 1k block limit on tumblr) so the bonus is linked above and at the bottom. it took me... a while. so i hope u enjoy! might do a part 2. also i'm only on s4 of cm rn (even tho i know too much alr) so pls don't spoil. ly guys!!

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

The interrogation room was cold and your fingers felt frozen against the metal of the table, but you doubted it had anything to do with the fact that it was December. If anything, you'd bet good money that as soon as you stepped out of the room, the heat would return. You'd bet good money that a certain Agent Hotchner sitting across from you had fucked with the AC unit.

Nonetheless, you didn't show your discomfort, keeping a poker face.

Well, as much of a poker face that you could keep.

You had a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye. While you preferred not to spend time in police stations, this really was turning out to be quite interesting.

Agent Hotchner didn't seem to hold the same opinion as you. The frown on his face was unmoving, his expression stone cold. High-strung, you thought, and then you wondered what crazy things he might've seen to make him that way.

You turn to the man sitting next to him (the boy really), and asked, "Does he ever smile?" You pointed to the man in question to emphasize your point, even though it was clear as day who you were referring to.

Spencer, as you'd learned his name was, looked somewhat flustered at your question, like he wasn't expecting you to speak to him, but he ignored you regardless. You took that as a no. "Ms. Y/L/N, you're known throughout the United States and many other European countries as 'The Angel of Death.'" Your smile widened at your nickname. "They say that, as soon as you contact someone, they're as good as dead."

"Oh? Is that what they say?" Your voice was sly and teasing.

Spencer ignored you yet again. Rude. "You send them a message through various online media, and then they mysteriously turn up deceased."

"Do they?" you drawled.

The stoic and silent Agent Hotchner took this as his cue to speak up. "As of late, your existence has been nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth."

You hummed.

"But your recent attempt on Congressman Baylor has failed. You got sloppy," he deadpanned. "You went for a fish bigger than you could handle, and now the myth is likely headed for life without parole unless you tell me who you're working for."

You were silent for a moment as you held his stare, and he thought that finally, he was getting somewhere with you, but then you broke that silence with a giggle so bubbly it was almost hard to believe you were assassin.

"That's cute," you remarked.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's cute?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "The fact that you think you can convict me."

It was Spencer this time that spoke up, his voice soft in comparison to the jagged edges of his partner's. Perhaps this job hadn't broken him yet, you thought. "Y/N, arrogance isn't gonna get you out of this."

You snorted. "No, trust me, this isn't arrogant. It's self-assured." You didn't give them a chance to get another thing in. "Tell me, what exactly has your technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, been able to dig up on me?" You saw slight alarm flare up in Agent Hotchner's eyes, surprise in Spencer's. "She's FBI, yeah, and you guys sure do like to play by the rules, but she isn't an agent like you, Hotchner. She must get impatient, bend the rules, perform some illegal activity that you don't question because it helps you with your case. That's why I'm a bit surprised that, even though she likely did run an illegal background on me, she didn't find my records. I mean, they're not that sealed. I bet I could unseal those bad boys right now."

He's lucky you didn't put money on that bet, because you would've won.

Aside from his eyes, no emotion other than irritation showed on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you poor sweet things." Another chuckle left you. "Have you ever heard of this little thing called immunity?"

Hotch was quick to dispute. "No. You do not have immunity."

You contested, "Oh, yes, sweetheart, I do. And if you had checked my pockets for anything other than a pistol, then perhaps you'd have noticed this." Since they hadn't cuffed you, you reached into your back pocket easily and pulled out your badge, the words Central Intelligence Agency catching their eyes immediately.

Hotchner scoffed, the most emotion you'd seen from him since you met. "You're CIA?"

You cocked your head. "Y'know, for some of America's supposed best minds, I'm a little unimpressed."

Reid leaned forward in his seat. "You're—"

"Yes, I am. So your girl back at HQ seemed to miss a few details about me, and you have missed more than a few details about this case— if a case is even what you could call it." You stood up and rested your hands on the table, getting bored of this game already. "What you have, SSA Hotchner and Dr. Reid, is not a serial killer. I hope your victimology analysis picked this up already, but the quote-unquote victims you have are all bad people, people who have broken the law in irreparable ways. And when I say irreparable, I don't just mean Bill Clintoning it up with minors, despite many of them having done that. I mean selling government secrets, espionage, treason. Things that threaten national security, things that my bosses do not like. I'm sure you catch my drift, don't you?"

Before Agent Hotchner could respond, the door to the interrogation room was opening, and a smirk automatically arose on your face. About damn time.

A man who you instantly recognized as Jason Gideon stood in the doorway. You briefly met once, but you doubt he remembered you. His face was stern, too, and reluctance shined through his voice. "Hotch, the Secretary of Defense is here, and the DOD is demanding she be released."

You maintained Hotch's stare all the while Gideon spoke. The clench in his jaw was small, but you caught it. Something told you this man didn't like to be challenged—you'd keep that in mind.

Eventually, he nodded.

You grabbed your coat from behind your chair, stowed your badge away and flashed them your million-dollar smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, boys. Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

Then you were out the door, and Hotch thought that if he went forever without seeing you, it'd still be too soon.

And when Congressman Baylor was found dead a few hours later, he wasn't surprised.

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

"I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot—it's all there in the conference room. Now if you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers. This is Gina Sanchez, she's the Associate Director of Field Operations. And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the Assistant Director of Operations. The lady with him is his second-in-command, Olivia Hopkins. And then there's, of course, my boss."

Gideon's brows went up. "Your boss?" he echoed. The rest of the team's confusion was just as palpable. When he was brought in by Bruno Hawks to assist the CIA in finding their mole, he assumed he was the one running point. As far as he was concerned, Hawks didn't even have a boss that'd be there.

"Yes, she's flown in from an assignment to help with this case." Right on cue, you walked out of an office, heels clicking on the floor and the same smile on your face that Hotch could remember from two years ago. "Meet Director Y/N Y/L/N; she's head of a CIA black ops initiative and envoy from the NSA."

Your voice was smug. "Oh, trust me, Bruno, we've met before." This time, Hotch couldn't conceal his scoff. He felt Elle glance at him in confusion—she's the only one who didn't know who you were. "Agent Gideon, it's a pleasure to meet you formally." He shook your hand, albeit unenthusiastically. "Agent Hotchner, I knew I'd be seeing you again." He rolled his eyes, making your smile widen, but out of his strong urge to be polite above all other things, he shook your hand, too, pulling away as fast as he could. "Dr. Reid." He nodded back to you, almost hesitant. You nodded to the rest of them individually. "You two I haven't met, but you must be Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway. I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but lives are on the line, so I'd like to get moving ASAP."

With that, you swiftly turned and walked back to the office you'd made your own. You didn't often spend time at headquarters, but a mole in the Agency was enough to pull you away from the case you'd been working previously.

As you left, you heard Reid explain to Elle in a hushed tone, "That was The Angel of Death."

You stifled a chuckle. Let's see if Agent Hotchner's team was as good as they claimed to be.

❧

You and Hotch stood on either side of Bruno on the platform as he spoke to the entire office, Gideon off standing alone, seemingly in thought. "Now, we all know why BAU and Ms. Y/L/N are here. They have their job and we have ours. And we're down to the wire on this. Aaliyah Nadir risked everything, and now she and her children deserve our fullest attention. Let's find her."

They all walked off after Bruno dismissed them, all but Gina Sanchez. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye as she went to talk to Agent Gideon. You didn't hear their conversation, but you saw the hostility painted all over her face. Interesting.

After she left, Gideon made his way over to where you were standing, speaking quietly. "We think the agent who's tipping off Hassan may have had some kind of extreme event in their life."

"Something that distorted or redefined their belief system," Hotch added.

Bruno was quick to get defensive. Why, you weren't sure. "No, every agent undergoes regular psych evals. You know that. They're trained to cope with extreme events"

"Well, whatever turned this agent must not've been something you can train for," you cut in. You didn't miss the way Hotch glanced at you.

Bruno gestured outward with his hands. "Well, you're welcome to everything I have. Every op undertaken by these guys is on file."

You snickered a bit under your breath. Your ops certainly weren't "on file."

"What about the ones that aren't on file, like the wiretaps of the Saudi Embassy?" Hotch questioned.

"Those don't even exist," Bruno said. You didn't confirm nor deny that statement.

"How long has your department been running operations in Riyadh?" Hotch turned to Bruno, back straight and eyes sharp.

"We have a declared presence in Riyadh, monitoring US interests there. You know that. Now if that's all, I have an informant to save." You hummed as Bruno walked off, finding his attitude quite intriguing.

"And you, Agent Y/L/N?" You turned to face Gideon. "What do you think?"

You tilted your head. "Aren't you and Bruno friends? Why not ask him?" Because he had the same feeling you have.

He responded without missing a beat. "You don't have a belief system—this job is all you believe in."

This caused you to chuckle. He wasn't wrong. "Good profiling, Agent Gideon. And yes, I have my suspicions, but until further information is gathered, I'm not at liberty to discuss them. For everyone's safety." You gave one last glance to Agent Hotchner. "I look forward to see what your team has brought together."

❧

Not long after your talk with Hotch and Gideon, you stood with the latter and Agent Greenaway in a supply office where the body of Olivia Hopkins was lying dead.

Gideon turned to you expectantly. "It's your job to clean house. You do this?"

You scoffed. "If I wanted to kill a CIA senior officer, believe me, you wouldn't have thought it was a murder at all." You glanced around the room you were in. "And I certainly wouldn't have done it in a federal building."

He must've believed you because he ended his line of questioning there, turning back to Elle. "Have any other agents seen the body?" When she shook her head, he replied, "Good. We can use this to our advantage. Get the others."

You met up with the rest of the BAU in their designated conference room as Gideon quickly explained the situation. Your suspects filed into the room shortly after, each confused and annoyed. You analyzed their body language closely, standing next to Agent Hotchner.

"You're pulling us away from our assignments?" questioned Kruger. "There's a woman out there whose life depends on us."

Defensive. Self-centred. Rude. But not your guy.

Gina was the first to ask where Olivia was, which was either genuine or she was covering her ass.

Hotch was the one to answer. "Olivia Hopkins was murdered 10 minutes ago. Her neck was snapped."

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

Kruger let out a scoff, but you kept your eyes on the other two as he spoke. "What are you talking about?" Gina looked spooked, but Bruno's expression was cold, even as he tried to imitate warmth. "You're lying. Where is she?"

"Right now, she's dead," you emphasized, not really caring to be sensitive.

Kruger looked at you like you'd just killed his dog. "Look, people don't just... get murdered inside the CIA."

Gina looked at him with betrayal in her eyes as if he were a traitor. Shifting blame.

Hawks spoke up. "I realize the enormity of this, but Hassan Nadir is still out there looking to kill his wife, and I need every agent on this." You tilted your head. Deflecting. He didn't even acknowledge that his own colleague, his responsibility, was dead.

Gina was the first to leave the room, deeply frazzled. Gideon followed after Hawks, but you didn't go with him. You stayed in the room with Hotch while the rest of his team filed out.

You weren't expecting him to talk to you, let alone ask for your opinion, but he did. "What are you thinking, Y/L/N?"

You hid your surprise, nodding to the door Gina and Kruger walked out of. "My money's not on her; it's not on Kruger, either."

He furrowed his brows, lowering his voice. "You think Bruno Hawks is the mole?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "Bruno's been leading this unit for all of, what, ten years? And he hasn't advanced at all? Someone like him must have higher ambitions, like leading the Agency one day, but that's not in his cards. Gina Sanchez and Kruger Spence have bright futures here; Hawks is already at the end of the line. So what's the next best thing in this city besides power?"

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

"And by the looks of the old car he drives, that's something he's lacking, but something that he wants," you deduced, pausing. "But I'll let you continue your investigation."

He caught your hand just as you turned away, and you ignored the small spark that was sent through your body. His eyes were earnest and curious, but most of all you realized that they were beautiful. "Y/N, what's going to happen to the mole when we find them?"

You ignore the unfamiliar flutter you felt after he said your name for the first time, and it's then that you remember Hotch was a prosecutor. Before he was unit chief Agent Hotchner, he was just Aaron Hotchner, a man who valued balance and believed in justice. Even now, after climbing the ladder, he still didn't seem to understand that his own government was different.

In matters like these, the United States government didn't value justice.

They valued revenge.

But still, if not just to help him retain his faith in his country, you shrugged and told him, "The scales will be evened, Hotchner."

Then you pulled your wrist out of his light grip and walked away, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to know what you meant.

❧

Sanchez and Morgan were on their way to rescue Aaliyah and her children, and then you were made aware that Hassan was already there.

Bruno turned to Gideon. "Look, we can't arrest him. This is still a CIA matter. You do know that?" He then turned to you, like he was expecting to you to back him up.

You shook your head as Gideon said what you were thinking. "How are you going to explain this to the Saudi government?"

"Explain what?" he fired back. "This isn't happening."

You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Bruno. You don't just kill a Saudi diplomat and get away with it—that is how wars begin."

He scoffed at you. "Look who's talking. The Angel of Death, giving me a lecture on in-house cleaning."

You narrowed your eyes and stepped forward. "I don't know who the hell you think you're talking to right now, but you need to double back because, at the end of the day, what I. say. goes."

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but Jason mediated, "Let's just get Aaliyah and her children back alive. We'll worry about Hassan's life after."

You gave Bruno one last hard stare before you turned back to the screen showing the Nadirs with Morgan and Gina outside. "Make the arrest, Morgan," Gideon called out. "It's FBI jurisdiction. You're in charge."

You listened to them over the comms. [FBI! Let the lady go and put the gun down. I said, put the gun down!]

The movement of heat on the screen told you that Hassan listened. [Diplomatic immunity, my friend], he said, and you chuckled.

[Uh-uh, you got it wrong, my friend. This container hasn't passed through customs. Officially, we're not on US soil. Summers was a smart man.]

Suddenly, you heard Gina's voice. [That he was.] Pause. [Drop the gun.]

The feed cut in and out as the figures moved out of the container. Confused, you called out, "Morgan, Sanchez, what's going on?"

Hawks turned to you and Gideon, and you wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You two still certain that Gina isn't the mole?"

Gideon ignored him. "Morgan." No answer. "Morgan, what's going on?"

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

You raised your voice. "Gina, don't do this. Do not do this."

"She doesn't take orders from you," Bruno snided.

You took another step forward to him. "Listen here, asshole—"

Gina cut in, [Bruno, what do you want me to do?]

"Gina, you put down that gun. That is an order—"

[Bruno?]

This made you turn to Bruno, and if you were in an animation, smoke must've been coming out of your ears. "Hawks, I swear to god, if you don't stand down, you will be endangering the security of this country—"

Bruno only responded to Gina. "You know what to do."

[Say it!]

"This is not your call. It is not your fucking call, Bruno."

He finally turned to you. "This is strictly in-house and you know it."

"I don't give a damn. It is still not. your. call."

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

[You're going to cut the visual feed, right, Bruno?]

"Of course. Cut it now. Cut it," he ordered, and the feed was off before you could even protest.

And then you heard four gunshots.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. White hot anger rushed through your veins in contrast to your normal playful demeanour. Meanwhile, Bruno turned to Gideon, saying, "I want to thank you, Jason, for your help."

You stayed quiet as Gideon responded, too angry to speak. "Why?" He paused, genuine disbelief evident in his tone. "Why'd you turn against everything you believe in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When someone asks you how you feel about... losing one of your colleagues, the only human answer is 'I feel guilty,' isn't it?"

Bruno nodded and mocked, "But as you so brilliantly deduced, Kruger Spence is the guilty one." Following that statement, you watched as Elle walked up to where you three stood, a tiny paper in hand that she gave to him. Based on the ignorant smile that graced his face upon reading it, you could guess what it said. "Ridiculous," he deflected, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. "Absurd."

That's when you snapped out of your anger-induced stupor. "No, Bruno." You shook your head. "The only thing that's absurd is how arrogant you are to believe that you're getting away with this."

Bruno pursed his lips, flashing you a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, with Hassan now dead, you have no proof."

"Oh, you son of a—"

Dr. Reid cut you off, announcing to everyone, "Actually, Hassan is alive and well. He's en route—that's all the proof we'll need." At this, you let out a chuckle. You certainly didn't need that proof, but it was nice to prove Hawks wrong before he was sent to where he deserved to be.

He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to Gideon instead of you, likely because he knew he couldn't shake you. "You are a fool if you think they're going to put me in prison with all that I know." He glanced at you and your lips quirked upward, because this was true.

"Why'd you have to kill Olivia?" Elle interrogated. She was straight to the point; you liked her.

"Economics," Gideon replied, staring straight at Bruno. "Olivia was looking into your financial records when you snapped her neck."

Elle scoffed under her breath. "So she knew your dirty little secret."

"Which one?" Bruno asked. "I have so many."

You stepped closer to the trio. "The one that involves you cashing out through Hassan, maybe buying a real Rolex instead of the fake you don so proudly."

You could see Bruno's façade cracking, his frustration leaking through. "Twenty-million from Hassan will go a very long way to help occupy my mind on a beach somewhere."

Gideon wasn't fazed. "The only beach you'll see is on a postcard I send you from my vacation. Let me have your gun."

Knowing there was no way out of this, Bruno did what he said willingly, but he still had to taunt. "You know, I think the consequences of what you're doing to me, my friend, are going to be a lot harder to live with than you think."

Jason stared at him without blinking, and he stared until Bruno walked out, escorted by agents left and right of him. You found it comical, that petty thieves were escorted to the back of police cars in chains, yet a man who nearly started a war could walk out freely.

Well, you supposed Bruno Hawks wouldn't be free for much longer.

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

You were packing up your things in your office when a knock sounded. You turned to see a raven-haired man in a suit standing there, a hand in his pocket. A grin came to your face. "Agent Hotchner," you greeted. "Congrats on solving the case."

He let out a chuckle that surprised you. Aaron Hotchner didn't look like a man who laughed often. "Yeah, well, thank you, but I have a feeling you knew from the beginning."

Your grin widened. "Ah, I just needed proof." You continued to pack your things. "And besides, I wanted to see what your team was capable of."

He hummed, and you thought he'd leave after that, but he stayed, looking around the room with a careful interest. "No pictures," he noted. "No personal artifacts. It's extremely clean in here—untouched, almost. How much time do you spend here?"

You fully turned to him after that, giving him your full attention. With comments like those, that must've been what he was after. You crossed your arms, but the smile never left your face. "Perceptive, Hotchner," you remarked. "Profiling me now?"

He shook his head. "Not profiling, just observing."

Now it was your turn to hum, looking him up and down. You found that you liked what you saw, visually, but the implications to what you saw weren't very fond. "Well, what I observe, is an accomplished man in a nice suit, but you don't wear that suit because you're unit chief, you wear it because you got used to it as a prosecutor and now it makes you feel on top of things... professional. You're stiff and stoic, but that's because you like to separate your work life from your home life. At home, with your wife and kid, you're lively and relaxed, but that's also to compensate for the fact that this job takes a lot out of you; you're not home often, and that puts a strain on your marriage, which is why you haven't called your wife once today." Your voice was soft as you delivered that final blow. Hotch looked both uncomfortable and, surprisingly, impressed. But thus far, nothing about Aaron Hotchner was what you were used to. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, was I correct?"

Hotch lightly snorted, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took to staring right back at you. You'd been stared at by bad men, murderers, rapists, terrorists and the like, but for some reason, his stare bothered you. You turned back around and packed one last thing into your bag. Then you walked toward the door, stopping just before you made your exit like an invisible barrier was holding you back.

You patted his shoulder, telling him, "You should smile more, Hotchner. It'd suit you."

And then Aaron watched you leave for the second time in his life, except this time—for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom—he hoped he'd see you again.

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

The air in Washington was always crisp. There was something different about it—like you could smell the power in the air, like you feel it. When you were home, in your apartment, it was suffocating. There was enough politics in this city that you could drown in it, politics you didn't care for. You saw enough of it as is.

Nevertheless, you weren't home often, so it wasn't too troublesome. Today, however, you were home, except you weren't here to rest.

You stepped out of your Mercedes as soon as you parked, locking the car and walking straight into the alleyway. Men in blue stood in your path, hands out. "Ma'am, this is a crime scene—"

You wordlessly held up your badge, effectively shutting him up. With red climbing up his neck, he nodded and lifted up the yellow tape for you.

When you made it past them, there was a woman in a red dress there. She'd be beautiful, you thought, if she weren't sprawled out dead on the ground. Her dress was so dark you almost couldn't see the blood stain.

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

Next to her body was a card with typed-out letters and numbers that appeared random.

But you knew better than that.

There was a woman taking photographs of the scene and a detective analyzing it. He was just as confused as those officers when you showed up. "Excuse me, who are you?"

You gave him a short smile. "Detective Walker, I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You held one hand out and simultaneously held up the other with your badge. "I've been instructed to take over this case."

He furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, but I've already alerted—"

"Detective Walker."

At that, you screwed your eyes shut and cursed under your breath. You recognized that voice—hell, you recognized the sound of his footsteps. And he was exactly what you didn't need.

Composing yourself, you spun around with your signature smile. "SSA Hotchner."

Hotch looked momentarily stunned at your being there, but that was quickly wiped away. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you mean in the city, I live here. And if you mean at this scene, then that's because it's mine." You paused, letting that soak in. "This is my case."

Confusion was visible on his face. For a second, you thought it was cute. "No, this is a BAU case. Series of murders, victimizing high-level escorts—forgive me, but I don't see why this would require a CIA presence."

Of course, you don't, you thought, but for once, you didn't say what you were thinking. Instead, you explained, "I understand that 4 women have died in the past week, but believe me, Agent Hotchner, that is not the case I'm here to solve." When his brows knitted together, you elaborated, "These women are not the targets of these attacks."

"What do you mean?"

You sighed, pointing over to the woman's body. "See that card over there?"

"Yeah, it's the unsub's signature."

"No, it's more than that. It's not a way for him to get off; it's not something he does compulsively. It is a taunt," you stressed. "Those letters aren't random. They're part of a code."

"A code to what?"

"A code to an NSA file recording every single undercover operation the United States has in foreign countries." Like your words were a vacuum, they sucked anything lighthearted out of the atmosphere—if there was any to begin with—and left tension in their wake. "6 high-level analysts have parts of that code. I'm guessing that 4 of them are already dead." You glanced back at the dead body before looking back at Hotch. "The unsub isn't a serial killer, Agent Hotchner. He's a traitor with a mission to annihilate everything in his wake."

❧

After looking at the scene, you sent Detective Walker away, telling him it wasn't personal but this case was too sensitive to be worked by local police. They didn't have the clearance nor did they have the means to help. You asked him to send you all of his evidence, and he complied easily, but someone wasn't so easily persuaded.

"You're going to need help."

You snorted. "Thank you, but I think I'll do just fine without it." Just as you reached your car, Hotch grabbed your wrist.

You turned around, but before you could say anything, he spoke. "You could use my team, and you know it."

Your eyes ever so slightly narrowed. "All due respect, Agent Hotchner, but this is above your pay grade."

He held your stare for a few seconds until you saw his jaw tense. He glanced to the side before he exasperatedly muttered, "Please, Y/N." He looked up at you. "I want to help with this case."

Unknowingly, you straightened your back. Aaron Hotchner surprised you more and more each time you saw him. The corners of your lips curved upward, but something about your smile was more sincere. "You're not a man who says please much, are you?"

He rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. "Does that mean you'll accept our help?"

You paused. Was that what you meant? Your mouth didn't correspond with your brain as you replied, "I'm running point on this." Hotch's shoulders imperceptibly relaxed and he nodded. "I'll tell Detective Walker to send his stuff over to the BAU. I'll meet you there to brief your team." You turned away before you could see him nod a second time.

You don't know why you said yes, but you did. On the drive over, you told yourself it was because he was right, you could use some extra hands, and it helped that the BAU were good at what they did.

Yes, that's why I didn't send him away.

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

Hotch got to the BAU before you but waited for you to arrive before walking into the building. To make sure you got to the right place, you reasoned.

You went through the typical security procedure: removed your guns, walked through the metal detector, and showed your ID. In the elevator, you cracked a couple jokes that he didn't laugh at, asshole, but you nearly caught him slipping at one.

"This city's so damn power-hungry that even the serial killers would prefer a fucking computer code over sex. What a nerd. Hey, how often does that happen in your line of work, Hotchner?" You turned your head for his response when you saw his lips twitching.

You let out a dramatic gasp. "Agent. Hotchner. Are you..." you lowered your voice, a devious smile crawling to your lips. "smiling?"

His efforts to suppress his little smile failed after that. "Let's focus on the case, Y/L/N."

"Sureeee," you drawled. The elevator dinged and opened. "Better be careful, Agent. I might just start thinking you have a soul."

He shook his head at you and walked out of the elevator ahead of you so that you couldn't see him as a full smile graced his face. However, once you got to the conference, Hotch erased any sign of that smile and walked in full-stride.

You gave the room a cursory glance, duly noting that they must've spent a lot of time in here. You noticed immediately afterward that some faces were missing, and on the other hand, some new ones had appeared.

You followed Hotch to the front of the room in front of their TV.

"Everyone, this is Director Y/N Y/L/N from the CIA. She'll be leading this case—and as some of you may recall, she's already worked with us on an investigation about a year ago," he announced, subsequently gesturing around the table. "Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA David Rossi, our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

You nodded, smiling at them. "It's nice to meet you all—"

"You're— you're her."

You turned to the blonde with pink highlights that'd cut you off, Penelope, and furrowed your brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh my god, you're her," she whispered, her eyes wide and her face awestruck. "You're The Angel of Death."

You held back a laugh. "That is what people to tend to call me, yes."

She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly before eventually blurting, "I— you're an icon. I've read some of your code before in snippets, and it's beautiful. And, I mean, when you can code like that and then do what you do, it's no wonder that the government would want you all to themselv—"

"Garcia." At Hotch's command, Penelope's mouth snapped shut and snickers were heard around the table. "We are here to work," he told her, trying to be serious, but you could hear the amusement hiding behind his tone.

"Yes— yes, Sir. Work. Working," she said, but her eyes remained trained on you even as she spoke.

Morgan laughed, swivelling his chair toward you. "Sorry, angel. She gets a little..." he twirled his finger next to his head, "Comicon-y whenever things involve computers."

This snapped her out of her trance and made her whip around to point her finger at him. "You better shut it, Morgan, before I show everyone those pictures of you at Comicon with me."

His smile dropped. "Babygirl, you wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

Hotch exasperatedly cut their very entertaining banter off. "Work."

"Morgan, you've been to Comicon?" Without even looking at him, you could hear the smirk in the man's words.

"Leave it, Rossi. You heard the bossman: we've got work," he changed the subject, but based on the fiery look being sent his way by Reid and the teasing one by Emily, you'd bet that this conversation wasn't over.

Hotch signalled for you to start, so you stepped forward, got a little more serious for his sake, and began, "The serial killer you've been phoned in on is not a serial killer. The women he's killed are unfortunately collateral damage to a much bigger problem." Behind you, pictures of the paper left next to the bodies appear on screen. "The unsub is going after high-level members of the NSA who have fragments of a specific code. He's been leaving those fragments at the crime scenes. So far, he has 4—there are only 2 more. Once he gets the last two, it'll only be a matter of time before he's able to unlock a classified file, detailing every undercover op we have or have had in other countries."

The room was quiet. Morgan was the first to question, "So, he's a whistleblower?"

"No, not necessarily. Given his M.O. and need to taunt us with these papers, his goal isn't to expose the government—it's only a stepping stone to what he truly wants, which is chaos."

Emily spoke up next. "Well, he's clearly a narcissist, and he's sadistic at that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed these women like this."

Dr. Reid nodded, keeping his eyes on the file in front of him. "Craves control, finds a way to manipulate the situation and mold it into what he wants it to be." He looked up, talking with his hands while explaining, "Narcissists are devoted to themselves and will further themselves in whatever way possible. They lack empathy and find enjoyment in causing others pain, stemming from their grandiose sense of self-importance. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were drawn in and obsessed with Nietzsche's idea of Übermenschen, supermen who possessed such high intelligence that it put them above the law. They later confessed to the police that they sought to commit 'perfect crime.' This unsub is likely suffering from the same sense of entitlement."

Rossi tipped his pen at him, agreeing, "Yeah, he's arrogant and he believes he can get away with this, hence the taunting. All he wants is to feed his ego, but he hides behind the whistleblower façade to absolve himself of blame."

"And he's impatient," Derek added. "4 bodies in one week. We don't have much time before he strikes again."

"No, we don't," you said. The screen changed to display the pictures of two men. "The last two people with the code are Malik Hussein and Ethan Torrie. I believe he'll go after Ethan first; he's in D.C. for this big gala tonight. That's where the unsub will make his move."

Emily looked between you and Hotch, almost as if she was unsure who she was addressing her question to. "So what's our plan?"

You, too, glanced at Hotch before looking back at her, splaying your hands out in front of yourself. "Well, we only have one course of action: wait for the unsub to approach Ethan."

Unexpectedly, Hotch interrupted you, saying, "Y/N and I will go in undercover." What? You held yourself back from widening your eyes and whipping your head around. "The rest of you will be waiting for our signal. Garcia, can you get us on the guest-list?"

"Already on it, Sir."

He nodded, firing orders away, "Alright, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you both to go back to the crime scenes. Talk to the owners of the establishments, bartenders, doormen—anybody who could've seen the unsub leave the building with the victims. Garcia, consult with CCTV footage. Rossi and Reid, I want you looking at his M.O. and why he didn't leave the men there with the women. JJ, contact The Post and tell them not to run the latest murder; it's imperative we keep this and the unsub's true motives out of the press. Y/N and I will go over tonight's plan."

They all voiced their confirmations and, like clockwork, filed out of the room until it was just you and Hotch left standing. The air suddenly got heavier—with what, you had no idea.

It felt different, old and new all at the same time, like everything and nothing you'd ever felt before. You couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't describe it.

Growing bored of the silence, you raised a brow, repeating, "'Y/N and I will go undercover?'"

Hotch, who was in the middle of collecting his things, paused and raised a brow of his own, turning to face you. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

You looked him up and down, taking your time and not bothering to be subtle about it. After a moment, you responded, "No." A smirk slowly came to your face. "Let's go over that plan."

He maintained his stare for a few seconds, reminding you of when you met. Eventually, he nodded and got to it. All the while, your mind ran rampant—but not with the case.

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

After planning for hours, you and Hotch came up with a decent story. He'd be going as himself. You'd pretend you were his girlfriend, his tag-along for the party, with a fake identity. His presence would make sense, but if people found out Y/N Y/L/N was there, they'd start to wonder things that this plan couldn't afford.

Your name wasn't widely known, nor was your face, but at a party like this, you had to be careful.

That's what you explained to Hotch.

"I don't understand. Nobody knows who you are. Not even Garcia could figure out who you really were when we met." He furrowed his brows in confusion.

You sighed, "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there, Hotchner. Everybody knows The Angel of Death, but there are some big fish in Washington that know she's Y/N."

This seemed to confuse him more. You surmised that he didn't like not knowing things. "Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?"

You gave him a look.

His eyes widened. And for the second time that day, you found yourself thinking that Aaron Hotchner was cute. "It's not your name?"

"Why do you think Penelope had such a hard time finding my credentials?" you inquired. You went on before he could answer. "I take it she didn't find my records at The Academy, either. She found that I went to Caltech, but she didn't find yearbook photos or my social media. She found that I grew up in Massachusetts, that my parents are dead, that I was born in '79. But otherwise, I'm a ghost, aren't I?" Your voice was somewhat playful.

Hotch didn't seem to find the humour in what you were saying.

"So everything about you is a lie." It wasn't a question.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. You leaned in to where he sat across from you on the other side of the table. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that Agent Hotchner stiffened. "'Nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth,'" you whispered. "Does that sound familiar?"

He didn't respond.

"As you said, Agent Hotchner, I am a myth. I am not meant to exist. So find me another identity and show me that you're up for the task before this entire plan is derailed by a name."

Your memory was cut off by a knock at your door. You swiped your lipstick across your lips and they immediately quirked upward right after.

You took your time getting the door. Whether Agent Hotchner realized it or not—or rather, whether he was willing to admit it or not—this was a game. And you were nothing if not a damn good player.

Without knowing it, he started it when he picked you up off the street that day in '04. He moved another piece on the board when he walked into your office in '06. And then he asked to work on this case.

It didn't matter what he thought about you or what your name really was. All that mattered was the next move.

You opened the door and his eyes immediately widened on their own accord. They travelled down your body, tracing the outline of the red dress you'd picked out, finding the slit on the side. But this was all within a split-second.

In the blink of an eye, his eyes were back on yours. If you hadn't been paying attention, you would've missed it. He was hoping you did.

But you didn't.

You did, however, miss his ears going red when you turned around, leaving the door open as an invitation inside.

"You're wearing a suit," you noted, smirking. "How out of character for you."

You heard the door shut, and then footsteps behind you. "Funny, Y/N."

You chuckled. "Please, I know you think I'm hilarious."

He lightly shook his head as you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your earrings. He took that moment to look around your apartment, eyes scanning over your living room. No pictures anywhere, no plants or art. You had a couch, but no television. He glanced to the adjoining kitchen. There was an espresso machine, but he was willing to bet that if he checked your fridge, it'd be empty.

"You can stop trying to profile my apartment," you informed him, still adding the finishing touches to your outfit. "I don't stay here often."

"I can tell."

He watched as you picked up your heels then went to sit on the couch to put them on. He tried not to let his eyes wander, instead trying to look around the room some more, but even without having his eyes on you, he still couldn't get your picture out of his head.

Distractedly, he heard you absentmindedly ask, "Hey, whatever happened to Gideon and Greenaway?"

He looked at you to respond, seeing you get up. "Things with the job. Certain cases take more of a toll on others." He didn't explain that Elle spiralled or that Gideon lost everything he held dear. He preferred not to think about it.

You tilted your head. "Did things happen with you, too?"

He didn't answer, instead opting to suggest, "Let's go over the case one more time."

You nodded and let him get away with it.

Hotch schooled his expression. "You're Deirdre Carter. You're a CPA. We met years ago on a work conference but hit it off recently. We've been dating for five months."

"Dating," you repeat.

His brows furrowed. "Yes." He didn't understand why you were hung up on it until he saw you glance down at his hand. It's then that he realized he was still wearing his ring. "Oh."

Your voice got softer, and you didn't know if that was part of the game or not. "Look, Hotchner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can do this solo."

"No—" he sighed, looking down at the ring he'd worn everyday for years on end. "I'm divorced. I guess I just wear it out of habit," he revealed.

"Oh."

He took it off and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Let's head out," he said. You nodded, leading him out.

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

Once you got to the building, you met Derek, who was in a secuirty uniform, at the front. He momentarily disabled the metal detector for you so that the guns on your thigh and in Hotch's boot weren't caught.

In the hall, the music played ceremoniously, an orchestra of jazz players working tirelessly to entertain D.C.'s wealthiest and most powerful. The President would be making an appearance later. You hoped to get this done and get out of here before that happened.

Your eyes found Torrie within a minute, subtly signalling his location to Hotch. He was by the bar, a redhead on his arm. The two of you went that way.

He ordered you drinks at the bar that he wouldn't drink, but as soon as your martini was in front of you, you were picking it up and taking a sip.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, talking through his teeth. "We don't drink on the job."

You smirked at him. "You don't drink on the job. I'm just keeping up appearances." You then took the olive and bit into it. For some reason, you enjoyed getting under Hotchner's skin.

He rolled his eyes at you, likely about to reprimand you again, but a voice in your ears stopped him. "Do the two of you have eyes on Torrie?"

Hotch turned to you and brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. To those surrounding you, he was just a man caressing his girlfriend—hell, the leap in your chest told you that you nearly bought it. But you knew he did this so that the mic hidden in his sleeve would be at your mouth. You held his stare, a sweet smile gracing your face as you replied to Rossi, "Yes. By the bar."

"Good. Prentiss is on the floor with the ambassador if you need her."

You leaned into Hotch, too, running your hands down his suit jacket while he glanced around for Emily. "Got it."

The next voice you heard was Garcia's. "Hello, my lovelies, I am watching you on camera. Hotch, to your left is the door through which you'll take our bad guy. It's being guarded by Reid and JJ as we speak."

You lowly thanked her, to which she stammered out a "you're welcome." Hotch took his hand away from your face and you removed yours from his chest, cursing the part of yourself that missed his touch.

If you weren't on a case, you'd have thought more about how pretty his eyes were.

The music suddenly changed, becoming a slow song. Your eyes darted behind Hotch to see Ethan and his date making their way to the dance floor. You downed the rest of your martini then grabbed onto his hand, wordlessly pulling him to the floor.

You felt him lightly tense when you put your hands around his neck. "Relax," you whispered. "Just go with it."

At that, he eased up, wrapping his hands around your waist. You moved to the beat of the song, taking control of your dance while he kept a close eye on Torrie. No one had approached them yet, you gathered.

The dance came easy to you, too easy, like it'd been rehearsed or like it was something you'd been doing all your life. Your feet moved synchronously like they had a mind of their own. You didn't have to think about it—it just happened.

It was funny, almost. The stiff and stoic Aaron Hotchner could dance. Your mind went back to when he smiled in the elevator earlier. It made you wonder what he was like before. Before he was a profiler or unit chief.

You know you were different before you were in this life, before you became Y/N.

You wondered what would've happened if you met back then, when you were just you and he was just him.

And just as soon as you started wondering, you no longer wanted to think about it. Instead, you asked him, "Did you ever think you and I would be dancing together like this when we met?"

He glanced down at you then looked away. "No." A ghost of a smirk came to his lips. "I thought I'd be putting you behind bars."

You chuckled. "I know. It was quite entertaining."

"To you, maybe." He glanced down at you again. "I don't like being blindsided."

"Oh, I know." When he glanced down at you this time, he saw your eyes twinkling. "That is precisely why it was so entertaining, Agent Hotchner."

He chuckled under his breath, and something in you fluttered. "You're something else, Y/L/N."

You hummed, murmuring, "And don't I know it?"

He was gonna say something else but then something in his expression changed. He was back to stoic, eyes hardening. You straightened your back and stopped dancing. "7 o'clock," he muttered.

You unwound your hands from his neck, turning around to see a man beelining at Torrie from across the room. But if you had your way, which you would, then he wouldn't make it to Ethan at all.

With Hotch hot on your heels, you headed his way, moving through the crowd effortlessly. Just before he was about to reach them, you inconspicuously unholstered your gun from your thigh and pressed it against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

Hotch caught up to you, standing to the side and obstructing the view. "Careful, friend. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people, but I will." As a warning, you clicked the safety off.

The man tensed as Hotch grabbed his arm. Your voice was sweet in comparison to your sour words. "Now, you're gonna follow him or I'm gonna pump you full of lead. Capisce?" Neither you nor Hotch waited for a response, leading him towards the side doors that Garcia had notified you of.

Upon getting there, Reid and JJ opened the doors without a word and closed them immediately after you'd gone through them.

As soon as the doors closed, the unsub twisted Hotch's arm, prompting him to yelp. Simultaneously, he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it thudding across the floor.

He shoved you against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Hotch threw a punch his way. A crack resounded through the hallway followed by the unsub growling. He threw a punch back that Hotch narrowly dodged, but in one quick motion, he pulled Hotch's tie, catching him off guard.

In a flash, he had Hotch in a chokehold, fighting for breath. You acted quickly, reaching for the knife sheathed on your thigh, running up behind the ubsub and holding it to his throat, causing him to go rigid.

"Let him go or I slit your fucking throat," you spat.

He didn't ease his hold, making you bring the knife closer, knicking him. "I said, let. him. go."

Begrudgingly, he let Hotch go, who was gasping for breath. You let him catch his bearings for a moment, but you had to alert him, "Hotchner, the cuffs."

He coughed but nodded, grabbing the cuffs from his pocket. You took them from him, shoving the unsub against the wall just as he did to you and pulling his arms behind him. You wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them until you heard him grunt.

"In case you didn't get the memo, you're under arrest, asshole."

Knowing this would never reach a courtroom, you didn't read him his rights or tell him what he was being arrested for. He knew.

Where he was going, he'd never forget it.

❧

You and Hotch stood to the side in an alley after you'd shoved the unsub into the back of a black sedan, watching the car drive off.

"I know that you're just itching to interrogate him," you commented, your voice echoing in the night. "But trust me, that's somebody else's job now." You felt Hotch's eyes on you, but you didn't look at him.

His stare burned into the side of your head. "That wasn't a cop car," he said.

"No," you finally looked back at him. "it wasn't."

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

"To pay for his crimes," you slowly answered, narrowing your eyes. "Stop worrying about it."

He stepped closer to you. "He should be doing that in a federal prison, with a sentence decided by a judge and a jury. The families of those analysts, those women— they deserve closure."

You shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "You still don't get it, do you?" Your voice was teasing, but your undertone was hard and serious. "A trial means telling a bunch of people, including civilians, about ops that are not meant to exist. It's just not gonna happen."

Hotch kept staring at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds, giving you the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some reason, you didn't like the way he was looking at you. Finally, he looked away, exhaling, "It's not right, Y/N."

Somewhere, deep inside, you felt a pang. You touched his shoulder, softly telling him, "You should know better than anyone that the law isn't about right and wrong."

He still didn't look at you.

You sighed. "Thank you for your help, Agent Hotchner." You patted his shoulder one last time and then left the alley, walking through the door you came out of and, in doing so, you felt something change.

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

By the time Aaron had noticed this change, he tried to follow you, but when he opened the door only to see an empty hallway, he realized it was too late.

You were gone.

And he didn't know why that disappointed him so much.

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

Whenever Aaron was in New York, he liked to pick up good coffee and eat good food. But as he stood over a dead man's corpse, he felt his appetite vanish.

He and his team stood at the crime scene, analyzing it. It was different, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything about these murders were different. There was something off about them, and he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black car pull up next to the yellow tape, the Mercedes logo glinting in the light. He furrowed his brows then shook his head, thinking better of it. Stop thinking about her.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

Detective Cooper and Brustin's arrival made him look away from the car and toward them instead. "Doesn't sound like anyone got a clean look," Cooper said.

Morgan looked up at the security camera that should've caught everything but in reality caught nothing useful. "It's over in a flash," he remarked. "He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."

Right beside him, Kate asked, "Is this what it felt during the Son of Sam?"

Just as Brustin was about to answer, a new voice sounded from behind them. "Son of Sam is the least of your worries." His breath hitched. They all turned around, and Hotch instantly realized that he was right: that car was yours—and now you stood right in front of him.

You gave him a glance but then your eyes were back on Kate. "What you should be focused on is another 9/11."

Kate lightly scoffed. "My apologies— who are you?"

"Y/N Y/L/N, CIA," you introduced yourself, flashing your badge. Recognition briefly flickered through her eyes. "And you must Kate Joyner, head of New York's field office." To be polite, you held out your hand, and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm here as the Agency's delegate, and I'll also be representing Homeland Security for the time being."

"Homeland Security?" You looked to Morgan. "It's nice to see you again, angel, but what does Homeland Security have to do here?"

You went to answer, but Joyner cut you off, "I'll ask the questions, Agent Morgan, thank you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a quick look at Derek told you that his did, too, but then Kate was looking at you again, waiting for you to answer.

Your mind was brought back to the situation at hand. You glanced at Hotch once more to see he was already looking at you, but then you looked away. "I have reason to believe that this guy is more than a serial killer. In fact, I have reason to believe this is more than one guy."

Kate crossed her arms. "What are you suggesting?"

Every time Hotch had seen you, no matter how serious the situation was, you were lighthearted, amused, knowing you'd come out on top. But this time, your voice was devoid of its usual playfulness as you disclosed to them a fact that changed their entire investigation.

"If I'm right, Agent Joyner, then we're dealing with terrorists."

❧

Once the initial shock from your revelation died down, you told them that you'd explain everything back at the field office. Unexpectedly, Morgan asked to ride back with you and you obliged, figuring his company wasn't too bad.

Hotch stared at you the entire time as you got in the car, and he continued to stare at you until you sped out of sight.

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

You glanced at Derek and smirked, finding that playful nature again. "I told you, I'd explain at the Bureau."

He shook his head at you, a similar smirk on his face, then he quizzed, "Hey, did Hotch happen to tell you why Joyner's giving me attitude?"

You furrowed your brows as you came to a stop light, turning toward him. "What makes you think I've talked to him?"

Derek snorted. "Please, every time I've seen the two of you together, you're all flirty—even when he was still with Haley."

"So what? I've flirted with Spencer before—doesn't mean I wanted to get into his pants," you defended.

His smirk widened. "I never said you wanted to get into the boss' pants."

"You insinuated it."

"Why, angel? Do you want to get into his pants?"

You deadpanned, "No, I do not." Despite yourself, you couldn't stop red from crawling to your cheeks.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Right after, the light turned green, as if saving you from whatever this was. Then the teasing disappeared from Morgan's voice, replaced with curiosity. "Wait, so you're seriously telling me Hotch didn't call you?"

"Yes, Derek. That is exactly what I am telling you," you insisted, then you glanced back at him. "But to answer your question, Kate doesn't like you for the same reason she doesn't like me: power." He stared at you confusedly, so you elaborated, "Word on the steet is that the FBI wants to reassign her, and you're their star replacement."

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

"What, are you telling me you actually didn't know?"

"No, I thought the Bureau was so proud of itself for stealing her away from Scotland Yard."

"Well, don't ask me to explain FBI politics to you. I'm in an entirely different organization, my guy."

Derek groaned in exasperation, making you laugh and forget about Hotch, even if it was only for a second.

❧

By the time you and Derek got to the field office, you were all business, unlike any time Hotch had ever seen you.

With the team gathered around you, you stood in front of the evidence board and started, "The unsubs' behaviour is questionable. They're disciplined, they're using countersurveillance. They take a quick shot then leave the scene immediately, not stopping to watch or enjoy the kill at all. There is nothing sexual about it, and that is because these killings are not the work of a serial killer. They're methodical. They look like mob hits at first glance, simulate gang initiations. They seem random, but they're not. The murders, just like the Death card you received, are a smoke screen."

Kate cut you off. "How can you be so sure?"

You suppressed your irritation at being interrupted and kept calm. Cooly, you explained, "Murders like these create panic— not just amongst the general population, but amongst law enforcement, as well; it is terror. It serves their greater goal." You gestured with your hands as you spoke. "The murders simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch, gauge how long it takes police to respond."

Understanding flashed through Morgan's eyes. "At which point they bring in a second bomb."

"Exactly," you affirmed. "The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders. It's trial and error—it's how they practice. And if someone catches the shooter, that's fine because we just end up thinking we have a murderer; the cell is never compromised. And in creating such panic, they ensure the most urgent response time short of a bombing. It's by far the smartest way to plan for a terrorist attack."

You crossed your arms, giving them time to absorb your words. You didn't expect anyone to respond so soon, and you certainly didn't expect that person to be Hotch. "It's a theory, Y/N." His voice was soft, and that seemed to only add fuel to the fire.

You resisted the urge to scoff, sharply retorting, "Isn't any profile?"

He didn't answer. Perhaps that was the smartest choice; he didn't want to pick an argument with you, not now.

Hesistantly, Spencer spoke up, "I think— I think she's right." He walked behind you to the board, picking up a red marker and circling spots on the map before turning back around to face you. "I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or tunnel."

"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan Bridge," Emily muttered.

"If bombs went off, emergency response would shut down any ability to get in or out of the city," JJ remarked. "It's— it's like people would be trapped on the island."

It looked like you had everyone convinced, even Hotch—despite his reluctance to believe you—but for some reason, Kate Joyner just couldn't let up. She crossed her arms. "I still fail to see how you came to the conclusion of multiple shooters."

Unbothered, you replied, "Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for their cause."

She countered, "But is there any evidence that that's the case?"

You narrowed your eyes, going to respond when someone's ringtone sounded. Derek picked up his phone and put it on speaker. You could almost thank whoever it was for stopping you from saying something you would or wouldn't regret.

"Talk to me, babygirl."

Penelope's voice came through the phone. "Okay, I have bad news then badder, connected news. What would you like me to start with?"

Derek glanced up at you, then at Hotch. "Gimme the bad news, Garcia."

"Alright, well, I was looking at the surveillance footage from the murders, specifically the most recent compared to the previous, and found something very, very off. I'll share my screen with you." Emily turned on the laptop on the table closest to all of you, and the footage immediately appeared. Silently, you watched the videos one after the other, and you had a feeling that Garcia was just about to vindicate you. "You guys see what I saw?"

"Well, he sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanours," Morgan said.

"Exactly, my dove. So check it out, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on all the shootings we have footage of. Now the first two were inconclusive, but again, in the last two, I found something très weird." Garcia did a freeze-frame, her analysis software appearing. "Your calm, walking type—he's about 6 foot 1." The screen changed to the other scene. "But your sprinter, he's like 5'9", 5'10" tops."

While the air in the office got colder, you stood there holding back the urge to smirk. You saw both Morgan and Hotch glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you only turned to Kate, seeing somewhat of a defeated expression on her face.

"Is this evidence enough for you, Agent Joyner?"

❧

That surveillance footage was enough confirmation for you, no matter what Joyner had to say about it. Following Garcia's revelation, you walked away from the team's makeshift conference room and walked into the bullpen, pulling out your phone and dialling Homeland Security.

You notified them of the situation at hand and that you were expecting something big soon, but not yet, telling them not to act without your say-so. It was of vital importance that you controlled the situation; you couldn't let the unsubs know you were onto them, so you couldn't make any moves just yet, either.

You hung up the phone, sighing. You hated cases like these. Being The Angel of Death was something you got used to; you could control that, but dealing with a cell like this wasn't just more challenging—it was unpredictable, and unpredictable was something you weren't quite fond of.

You turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hotch standing right behind you. Your hand slapped against your chest. "Holy shit, Hotchner, don't they teach you not to a sneak up on a girl in FBI school?"

Something almost like a smile came to his lips, the last thing you were expecting from him, especially at a time like this. "I'd hardly call that sneaking up on you. And according to you, you've been to 'FBI school,' so you should know."

You scoffed. "Regardless." Hotch's eyes remained on you, and the corners of his lips never went down. An uncomfortable silence then settled between you, despite the loud bustling in your surroundings.

You were hoping you could've gone this entire visit without speaking to him alone.

He must've noticed this, because his next words were, "You've been avoiding me."

You tensed ever so slightly. You'd been here all of five minutes, and he thought you were avoiding him. "I have not been avoiding you—"

"Yes, you have."

"We have bigger problems to deal with. Not everything is about you, Hotchner."

"Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?" You hated how his voice sounded, calm and soft. You hated the fact that he was even asking you this right now. You wanted him to be the stoic guy he always was. You didn't like this. And deep down, you knew that that was why you were avoiding him.

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

In lieu of responding, you dodged the question, biting back, "Why do you care?"

Hotch stilled as if you'd just hit him with the question of the century. It was then that he realized he didn't know. He couldn't answer you because he didn't have the answer himself.

He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, and he supposed he never would, because a second later, a phone rang.

A sigh left his lips as he went to pick the phone up off some agent's desk, and you watched as the stoic man you knew returned. Yet, for some reason, you weren't as relieved as you thought you'd be.

"Hotchner." Kate chose that moment to walk out of her office while Morgan and Rossi came up from behind you. Hotch's voice became grave. "Does it look it could be one of our guys?"

Derek took the words right from your mouth. "What's going on?"

Hotch put down the phone. "We've got eyes on one of them," he answered. "He's on the subway platform at 59th and Lex."

"59th—? We could've been right there." He looked at Kate with an accusatory glare. The fury that lit up in his eyes and the way she refused to look back told you there was a conversation between them that you missed.

Over the phone, you heard Garcia let out a shaky breath, telling you all that the unsub shot the woman.

Kate paced. "Where the hell are the police?"

Meanwhile, you picked up another telephone from the adjacent desk. "This is Y/N Y/L/N with the CIA. We have a murder suspect on 59th and Lex, subway platform. Hurry."

You slammed the phone down as you heard Penelope fret, "God, he's getting away."

"Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?"

A few clicks were audible as she responded, "He's heading west on 59th Street."

Kate spoke up, stating what you already knew. "If he makes it to the park, we've lost him."

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

Derek scoffed while Rossi questioned, "Are the police on the scene?"

"Negative."

And just like that, without another word, it was clear to everyone in the room that you just lost your only suspect.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing under your breath. Next to you, Derek made his frustrations much more known. "We could've had that guy," he snapped.

Kate finally looked at him. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

This didn't console him at all. "Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot—"

"I had every available man on the street."

Morgan stepped forward, seething. "And I suggested to you that you use this team." Realization came over you. Now you understood why he was so angry; Kate let her resentment of him get in the way of the case, and that decision may have just cost you a life.

Just as you thought Hotch couldn't get any more unpredictable, he scolded, "Morgan, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

Your brows raised, but he didn't look at you, nor did he look at Derek.

"Hotch, we have a possible terrorist attack coming. How am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?"

Hotch's reply was sharp. "We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do."

Derek ignored him, pressing, "I said to put as express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th— and that's exactly where they hit—"

"It's not your place to have this discussion." This time, Hotch did look at him, and his eyes were hard.

Immediately, you cut in, spitting out his name. "Agent Hotchner." Hotch's eyes went right to you. You stepped forward, firing, "We have six bodies. And right now, I have to call Homeland Security and tell them that we not only have another one, but we also just lost a valuable chance to find one of the perpetrators."

"Which is exactly why we need to stay focused."

"Focused?" Derek echoed. Then he took a step closer, standing eye to eye with his boss. "From where I'm standing, all your focus is on her."

Kate's head ducked down, and from there, it didn't take much for you to connect the dots. All of a sudden, it made sense why Derek had asked you about Kate earlier instead of going straight to Hotch.

And to think that, just a few moments ago, he'd been going after you.

With a tick in his jaw, Hotch commanded, "Take a walk. Now."

Derek stared at him for a split-second before walking off without another word.

"You know, I think I'm gonna take that walk with him," you muttered. And just like that, it was as if Hotch realized you were still there.

He went to say your name, but you were turning your back and walking away before he could even utter the first syllable.

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

You found Derek at a nearby bar, the closest bar to the field office. Contrary to what you said to Hotch, you didn't come looking for him; he just so happened to find the same place you did.

Before you even pulled out the barstool, he was sighing. "I know. I was out of line."

You lightly snorted. "I'm not here to chastise you, Derek." He looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes. "I'm just here to drink." Right on cue, the bartender came up to you and asked you wanted to drink, to which you ordered brandy, neat.

When said drink arrived in front of you and you downed it in one go, it prompted him to ask, "Aren't you still on the job?"

A slight chuckle left you. "Morgan, I run an entire CIA ops division and then I also get asked to do things like this." You then deadpanned, "Trust me, I can hold my liquor."

He held his hands up in surrender, an amused expression on his face before something serious took it over, wiping the smile from his face. "I'm sorry about Joyner, by the way." When you look at him confused, he explained, "I didn't have to say that. Not in front of you."

You sighed. Not this again. "Derek, I have nothing going on with your boss. So whatever the deal is with him and Kate is absolutely none of my business." For some reason, the words stung coming out of your mouth, and you didn't like it one bit.

He left it alone and didn't press the issue further (thankfully). You glanced at the beer in front of him. You nodded toward it, stating, "You haven't touched that."

He glanced at it. "Guess I don't have the appetite for it right now."

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, nearly making you laugh. "I have to apologize to her, don't I?" This time, when you nodded and he ran a hand over his bald head, you did laugh. "Fucking hell."

You sarcastically patted his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. I'll walk back with you."

"Sweetheart?" you heard him question as you stood up, putting enough money down for both of your drinks. "And now you're paying for me? You're threatening my manhood here, angel."

"Get over it, Morgan."

And as he let out a hearty laugh, you let yourself pretend that you didn't have a different agent on your mind entirely.

❧

Upon getting back to the office, you suddenly wished you'd had another drink as you were informed that there was not only another shooting, but Detective Cooper was shot after he and Prentiss chased after him.

Kate seemed to have taken Derek's suggestion and sent the team out on the streets in the hour and a half you were away. In that time, Prentiss and Cooper nearly got one of the shooters, but he was fast; he could've gotten away. Yet he stopped and shot Cooper, prompting Emily to fire a shot of her own.

Suicide by cop.

You hung up the phone, walking back into the room after telling Homeland that you'd be calling with another update soon. "Three shootings in one day," you said, catching everyone's attention. "They're ramping up to something."

Morgan held his phone up in the air and wiggled it. "Yeah, well, while you were on the phone, Garcia called. They hacked into at least one camera at every scene and have been watching from day one."

You cursed under your breath just as Kate called your name. "Y/N." You looked up at her in half-veiled surprise, seeing her standing with her arms crossed, a somewhat uncomfortable look on her face. "Aaron told me more about your position in the CIA, how you're more well-versed in situations such as these." It looked like she had a hard time getting the words out, despite the sincerity in her tone. "I'd like you to take the lead on this."

You were sure that the surprise must've shown on your face, courtesy of fatigue, but you quickly masked it and nodded. You took one deep breath, and then you dived in. "We need to hit the ground running." You turned to everyone individually as you gave them instructions. "Rossi, I'd like you to talk to the Commissioner. He'll be familiar with you." He nodded and left the room. "Derek, you brief Homeland Security, tell them I sent you. I want them to know we're expecting them to strike any minute now."

"You got it, angel."

You turned to Emily, who was already ahead of you. "I'll head to the hospital, check on Cooper, and brief Detective Brustin."

"Good. And Spencer—"

He (with a creepy accuracy) anticipated what you were going to say before you even said it. "JJ and I will talk to the Port Authority Police."

You nodded then realized that left only two people, unwelcome dread filling you. Out of a stubborn attempt to prove his earlier claim about avoiding him wrong, you looked to Hotch but still didn't meet his eyes. "Agent Hotchner, you and Kate should speak to the mayor. I have to make some calls to the DOD. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible. We are crunched for time, but the one advantage that we have is that they don't know we know they're watching."

Everyone who hadn't already left nodded and got to their tasks. Hotch looked like he wanted to stick around and say something to you, but as you said, the clock was ticking.

You called the DOD and briefly explained what Homeland Security had likely already spoken to them about, that you saw a terrorist event on the horizon. They told you that, luckily, the Deputy Secretary of Defense was in town, only ten, maybe twenty minutes away from where you were.

Quickly, you gathered your things and made your way out of the building. At the exit, however, you found exactly who you didn't want to see.

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

They stood outside the door, facing each other. He had his hand on her elbow, and he was saying something you couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it made her lips upturn.

You couldn't recognize the feeling that crawled through your veins at that moment. The green monster and you hadn't been acquainted in a while, but for some reason, she was showing up, making your body her home, and you hated it.

Shaking off whatever it was you were feeling, you pushed the door open. Hotch noticed you first. "Y/N," he said. He took his hand off her arm. A weight was lifted off your chest.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, promptly turning to the blonde and doing the same. "Agent Joyner. I've gotten word that the Deputy Secretary of Defense is in New York; I'm heading to see her."

Kate nodded. "Good. Aaron and I are on our way to the mayor's office now." She turned, starting to walk away, and then you realized she was heading in the same direction as your car.

Fuck. They parked next to you.

You started walking, too, Hotch now at your side. Kate was ahead of you guys. You're sure that Hotch could naturally walk faster than you, but he remained at your side. This is deliberate, you thought.

Your conversation from earlier hung in the air. With Kate gone, the tension between you was now palpable. But he wouldn't say anything, you assured yourself, not with her in earshot.

But perhaps you underestimated him. With every meeting, Aaron Hotchner continued to surprise you. He had become unpredictable to you.

Yet, the two of you would soon bear witness to just how unpredictable life could truly be.

Just as you were nearing your vehicles, Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but a loud boom cut him off.

Before either of you could register it, you were sent flying backward, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then everything went black.

❧

New York City has never been so quiet, you thought, blinking your eyes open. And you've never been able to see the stars in this city, either, but tonight, you saw them just fine. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming.

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks as pain erupted in your side. A groan left you unwarranted. You went to touch it then hissed at the throbbing. There was no blood there, though, no wound, so it must've been the bones.

Nowhere else hurt—not that bad, at least. You tested yourself, trying to sit up. It hurt to do so, but you did it. And when you did, you were met with the sight of an SUV, up in flames.

No, not an accident. This was planned.

But it wasn't your car. It would've made sense if it were your car, if you were the direct target, but you weren't. Your mind ran a mile a minute. Why would they blow up a random SUV?

It's then that you remember it wasn't a random SUV. It was Hotch's.

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

With that realization, any and all intellectual thought escape your grasp. You shot upward, the pain becoming nonexistent as a surge of adrenaline flowed through your body. "Hotch!" you screamed. No answer. "Hotch! Kate!" No one answered. "Aaron!" You continued to cry his name but no one answered.

Tears you welled up in your eyes. It was lost on you that you hadn't cried in years. It was equally lost on you that this was the first time you'd ever said his name.

You spun around, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding when you spotted a man in a suit, standing there, just staring at the fire. You jogged over to him and called out his name, but he didn't move his head. You tried again. "Aaron." No response. "Aaron!"

Finally, he looked at you. A plethora of emotions could be seen on his face. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Then worry. "Y/N," he breathed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." That was a lie, but you could handle the pain well. You had good experience. "Are you?"

"Yes, I think so."

You took a quick moment to examine him, the cut by his brow, the blood by his ear; you think back to how he didn't respond to your calls. Concussion, you thought, and a ruptured ear drum.

You take ahold of his arm, gently but firmly, and slowly asked him, "Aaron, where's Kate?"

He blinked, glancing back at the wreck and then back at you. You watched him swallow. "I—"

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

Your eyes and his simultaneously snapped to the voice that'd just appeared, seeing a scrawny kid stand in front of you. Like a switch had been flipped, the abundance of emotions on his face dissipated into one.

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

The kid looked at him, confused. "What?"

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

As if he thought you two were crazy, he glanced between you warily. "Sam," he replied.

Hotch didn't look at him or acknowledge his name as he ordered, "Call 911."

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

"Call 911— tell that there's been an explosion."

"Sir, are you okay?" His eyes darted to you. "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Momentarily, he glanced down, his eyes catching the gun on your belt. He looked to Hotch, finding the same thing. Stunned, he looked back up. "Are you guys cops?"

Hotch's eyes were still on the fire. "Call 911. Tell them... that a— that a federal agent—" Without warning, he took off running towards the car, yelling, "Kate!"

"Hotch!" You went to follow him but the kid stopped you.

"Okay so you want me to say you're a federal agent?"

You turned around, eyes blazing. "Call 911. Tell them that there's been a car explosion, involving two FBI agents and one CIA officer." You barely finished your sentence before you were running after Hotch.

By the time you got to him, he was taking off his jacket, about to shield himself and run right into the car but you stopped him. "Aaron!"

His eyes darted to you then travelled behind you. The dread painted on his features mixed with relief, but you couldn't tell which emotion was stronger. You turned, following his line of sight, and saw Kate lying on the ground, a trail of blood leading to her body.

Without missing a beat, you both ran to her, her coughing becoming more audible as you got closer. Aaron got down immediately, and her first words were, "My purse. I can't find my purse."

He shushed her. "Don't move, don't move."

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

If only just to placate her, Hotch glanced around for it. "I don't think you had one," he said.

"I must've dropped it," she gasped, moving her head.

"Kate—" you cut in from above, "Kate, you need to stop trying to move."

She looked up at you, her eyes widening at whatever she saw. "Y/N. Y/N, what happened?"

You ran a hand through your hair. "I don't— I don't know. A bomb. An IED, I think." You glanced back at the car, your mind going back to the same race it was racing in before you found Aaron.

"An IED?" she echoed. "I have to get up."

"No. No, no, no. Lie down. Lie still. You need to lie still," he pleaded with her.

Suddenly, she caught your attention back. "Am I moving my legs?"

Hotch shushed her again at first, then he questioned, "What?"

Both of you glanced down at her legs at the same time. You resisted the urge to cup your mouth.

You were gonna be sick.

Weakly, she asked again, "Am I moving my legs?"

You didn't have the heart to answer her. From the looks of it, neither did Aaron, because he changed the subject. "I'm going to have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from," he said.

"Do it."

"Alright? Okay." He turned her while you focused on the sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer. The sound blended in with Kate's crying until it was all one and the same to you.

Police cars and ambulances soon pulled up just ahead of you, maybe a hundred yards away. You stood taller, yelling, "Officer down!" When they didn't come any closer, you flailed your arms. "Officer down! Here! There's an officer down!"

Kate's voice, ever so quiet, cut through the noise like a knife. "They're not coming." You turned to her, seeing her look at both of you defeatedly. "We told them not to. Remember?"

Your own words rang through your head. The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders.

The reality of the situation struck you. They weren't coming.

"The first wave of responders are the targets," she got out. "ESU orders are not— to let anyone in until the area is cleared."

"No." You shook your head. "I'm not taking that as an answer."

"Y/N—"

"We are getting you out of here, Kate, come hell or high water." Your previous aversion to her no longer mattered. She was lying on the ground covered in blood, unable to move her legs. All that mattered was getting her out.

Without wasting another second, you ran toward the barricade. ESU officer braced their rifles, but you had your badge ready as you stood a safe distance away from them. You were trying to think calmly, as calmly as you could. Your ribs stung as you held the badge up in the air.

The words were spoken in an erratic panic. "My name is Director Y/N Y/L/N, I'm a senior officer of the CIA. Behind me are SSAs Aaron Hotchner and Kate Joyner. She is injured— badly—"

A man stepped forward and cut you off cooly, "I understand that, ma'am, but I have orders not to let anyone in—"

You lost it. "Screw your orders! She can't fucking move!"

"Ma'am, my orders are what they are."

"Your orders are what they are," you repeated under your breath, a humourless chuckle escaping. "What's your name?"

He squared his shoulders. "It's Captain Warner, ma'am."

"Well, Captain Warner," you spat. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Director or Agent Y/L/N, not ma'am. Director. And I am quite familiar with your orders, Captain; I gave them. You are here because I made the call that put you here. And, so help me God, if you don't listen to this order, I will make the call that relieves you of your position."

Warner didn't appear to be shaken, but you could see the cloud of doubt floating in his eyes. You'd think that anyone would grapple for their job, but Warner was being difficult. "I apologize, Director, but I can't do that."

Your nostrils flared. You were just about to continue telling him off when an awfully familiar voice sounded, asking for someone in charge. Your eyes widened. "Derek!"

Derek's head snapped your way. "Holy shit. Y/N!" He came running towards you but was stopped by the same officers that kept you from crossing the barricade, holding up their guns.

"This area is restricted," he said.

He held up his badge. "I'm Agent Morgan, FBI. That's my friend—"

"This area is restricted," Warner repeated, barely looking at him. "I will take care of your friend. Now go back to the Federal Building. There are evac marshaling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."

Morgan held his ground, stepping in front of Warner and retaliating, "I am not about to do that."

"Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agent."

"Derek." You caught his attention. "Hotch and Kate are down there."

He spun around. "That's my boss down there!"

"My orders are what they are."

You scoffed at the recycled statement while Derek argued, "I don't give a damn what your orders are!"

"I get it, Agent, but we've been told by you" he gave you a glance "'Responders are the targets.' So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."

Morgan looked back at you then back at the Captain with a renewed resolution, trying a different approach. "You're Marine Corps, right?" Warner didn't respond, looking down. "Right?"

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

"I'm not doing it." He pointed to the site. "I'm not just going to let my man lie down there like that."

As if on cue, Hotch screamed, "Someone! Damnit, we're here!" You nearly flinched at the sheer pain in his voice, and Derek certainly didn't look unaffected, either.

"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"

Hotch kept screaming as Morgan and Warner stared each other down. It seemed that he must've gotten to him, because within just a moment, he said, "Go."

Derek didn't waste another second, immediately running to you and grabbing onto your shoulders. "Y/N, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, it's Kate."

He nodded and then took off following with you trailing closely behind, but not before you gave Captain Warner a pointed glare.

When you got to Hotch, the kid was back, seemingly tending to Kate as Morgan explained, "They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene." He glanced at the kid like he just noticed he was there. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go." The kid didn't move. "Go!"

"Go, Sam." At Hotch's word, the kid got up and ran, but your attention was focused solely on Kate, checking her vitals.

"Talk to me. Can we carry her?" Morgan barely gave him time to respond. "Hotch, can we carry her?"

"No, I tried. Morgan—" he paused, intaking a shaky breath, "she's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've got to do something."

Derek's phone ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He picked it up immediately. "Garcia, I got Hotch and Y/N, but listen to me, you got to get somebody down here right away. You hear me? Right now." You didn't hear what Garcia said next, but it caused his head to snap up. "What? You're absolutely sure?" He glanced at you then to the kid who you realized never left.

The kid held his hands out like he was asking what you were waiting for, causing you to tilt your head, confused.

Morgan hung up the phone and then his next words shocked you. "Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber."

Your eyes went wide before instantly going to Hotch. "Are you okay to stay here?" you asked.

He didn't even think about it. "Go."

With that, you and Morgan took off running. The kid bolted, leaving you to chase after him.

Despite the heels on your feet (that luckily weren't stilettos) and obvious bruise to your side, you couldn't feel pain. All you feel was the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hadn't been so ready to fight in ages. The anger coursing through your body was unparalleled.

This kid wasn't getting away with this, and you'd make sure of it.

You chased the kid down the street, Morgan ahead of you. An ambulance passed you while you ran, and you prayed it'd be heading Hotch's way.

You kept chasing after the kid, turning a corner and he was gone, but Morgan was already heading down the stairs for the subway, so you knew he was down there.

You ran down the stairs, skipping steps as you went, following Morgan's lead and pulling out your gun. Civilians filled the station, evacuating. "Out of the way!" you screamed, pushing past them.

"Move! Where'd he go? Where?" Some pointed straight ahead, so you kept running.

You got down to where the subway was, but by now, it was empty. You came to a stop next to Morgan, holding up your gun.

"Show your face, you son of a bitch!"

No one showed. You nodded to the train and panted, "Morgan, I'll take the back. You take the front."

Heaving, he nodded, going for the front. You entered the train with your gun held high, pointing it on either side of the door. You walked through the cart slowly, checking beheind yourself periodically to ensure the kid wouldn't sneak up on you.

You pushed open the door to the next cart warily. It was just as empty as the previous one. You went for the next cart. Nothing again. You met Morgan in the middle. "Nothing," you said.

"Me neither. But there's a door at the front. I'm thinking he could've hopped through there," he told you.

You nodded and followed him there, accepting his help and jumping down. Carefully, with your gun and flashlight in hand, you walked on the tracks, avoiding the power supply. You shouted, "We know you're in here, kid. Show your fucking face, you coward!"

A noise sounded, making you turn around to check it while Morgan continued forward. "You've got nowhere to run, man. You hear me? There's nothing down here for you."

"Is that all you see?" At the sound of the kid's voice, you spun around, moving your flashlight around. "Huh? Darkness?"

You caught up to Morgan, and then the kid showed himself. Your flashlight revealed his shoes lying on the ground while he slowly walked on the rail, balancing himself like this was a game. You cocked your gun. "You listen to me, you little shit. This is not a fucking game. Get your ass off the tracks and put your hands on top of your fucking head. Do it now."

When he failed to listen to you, Derek yelled, "Do it now!"

The kid did as you said, but not to listen to you. It was to mock you. "You will lose in the end," he said.

Derek moved forward. "Shut up. Shut your mouth."

"You wanna know why?" He continued on like he'd never said a word. "Because you fear what we embrace."

Before you could do anything, he took one foot off the track and put it on the third rail. "Get off the— no! No, no!" Derek and you were forced backward as the light blinded your eyes. Without even lifting your eyes up, you knew undoubtedly that the kid was dead.

He just killed himself right in front you.

"Damnit." You reached to run a hand through your hair but you were stopped by the stabbing pain in your ribs, suddenly reappearing. You hissed, "Ah, shit."

"Y/N?" Within a blink, Derek was in front of you. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fi— fuck." Your knees buckled, but Morgan caught you, holding onto by your waist. When that caused another hiss, he switched his hold to your arms.

"I think you might've broken some ribs. How the hell didn't you notice this before?"

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

Morgan cursed under his breath. "Your adrenaline is wearing off. We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, I'm o—" a sharp stab cut you off, making you grunt. "Fine. But what about Kate?"

"We both saw that ambulance drive their way," he reasoned. "They're gonna be okay. Look, if we get back and they're still there, we can stay, alright?"

You thought over his proposal and eventually relented and let him lead you off the tracks, giving in to the pain. You just hoped that he was right, that they were okay.

Please let them be okay.

❧

You arrived at the hospital in record time, passing through the streets like light work. After receiving confirmation that Hotch and Kate were at Saint Barclays, he drove the two of you there, too, insisting that a doctor see you despite your equal insistence that you were fine.

Now, you sat on an ER bed. You had a few cuts here and there but nothing too deep; you were given sutures for one cut across your cheek. The doctor wasn't looking at you right now; she was looking at your chart, giving you time to glance around the triage room.

You weren't a big fan of hospitals, never were. They were never a source of good news, and every hospital you stepped into smelled the same, like bleach and chemicals. When you were younger, you were convinced that this was to cover up the smell of death.

That wasn't too far off.

The doctor pulled you out of your revierie, snapping the chart shut. "So, Ms. Y/L/N, I've ruled out the possibility of a collapsed lung, but you've broken 4 of your left true ribs," she informed you. "From what your partner has told me, you've over-exerted yourself, and thus exacerbated the issue."

"I'm a CIA officer and had to chase a suspect," was the only explanation you offered.

She deadpanned. "I understand that, Ms. Y/L/N, but you've just made your healing process ten time harder."

You gave her a short smile. "I've been through worse."

She looked at you for a few more seconds before she sighed, re-opening the chart book. "I can prescribe you some medication for the pain."

You declined perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright."

Slowly, she looked up at you, her eyes questioning. "No? Why not? I can imagine you're in a great deal of pain right now."

At her inquiry, you were reminded of someone else's interrogative questions. Hotch's voice filled your head, Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?

Your mind travelled back to a time you weren't Y/N. There was a girl with a different name who wore your face, a girl you separated yourself from entirely. She didn't grow up thinking she'd have a future in law enforcement—she didn't even think she'd have a future at all.

She hung around the wrong crowd and picked up bad habits, habits like oxycodone and amphetamines. But you weren't her anymore.

You were 7 years sober.

You'd rather not explain all of this to the attending in front of you—you'd rather not explain it to anyone. Instead, you just said, "I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it."

She stared at you warily, but otherwise, there wasn't much she could do but accept your decision. "I'd advise against that, but it is your choice."

You pursed your lips into what you hoped was a small smile. "It is."

She kept her persistent stare until she eventually gave up, leaving the makeshift room. You didn't wait long before you left, too, jumping off the table and pushing back the curtain. You walked through the halls in search of the tan-skinned man you came in with, avoiding looking anywhere but ahead of you.

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

You turned a corner, and as if you just had good luck, Derek was there, already walking your way.

He raised a brow at you. "You all good, angel?"

You fell into step beside him, letting him lead the way to wherever you were going and flashing him a flirtatious smile. "Never been better, muscles." It wasn't a total lie; the pain had mostly subsided, and you'd felt worse in your life.

Morgan didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, that's good because we need to get moving. The team's on the way."

At the mention of the BAU, your thoughts were re-directed. Without stopping, you glanced over at Derek and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed normal: he was flirting with you, no signs of dejection. So Hotch must've been alright. Still, though, you felt compelled to ask, "Hotchner and Joyner. Are they okay?"

If Derek noticed the small blip in your voice, he didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you even noticed it, either. "Hotch is fine, back to barking orders and being a drill sergeant. Kate's in surgery, though."

You couldn't explain the wave of calm that came over you at that moment. You couldn't explain why you even cared.

But you did.

You nodded in response and changed subjects. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"

"No. Nothing."

An exasperated sigh left you. "That doesn't make any sense. Something should've happened by now." You ran a hand through your hair, your gears turning. "I mean, why go through all this trouble just to hit a single SUV with a few agents? Why not wait until we were in our cars?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What I'm still stuck on is why the kid would stay knowing we'd figure him out."

"Yeah, why would he stay—" suddenly, you halted in your tracks, cutting yourself off as memories rushed to the forefront of your brain.

[Thank you for your input, Ms. Y/L/N. The Secretary of Defense is unavailable at the moment, so the Deputy Secretary will be fielding all defense matters for the moment. She happens to be in town, and she'd like to be briefed in person, if that's alright.]

Yes, I can do that. Just send me an address.

Then you heard the voices of Secret Service agents in your head: I'm sorry, but this hospital is on strict bypass.

"What? What is it?" Derek's voice shook you out of your reverie. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, a worried expression on his face. You would've laughed if it weren't so serious. He probably thought you had a concussion—and while you didn't, what you were going to say was worse than that.

"Derek," you started.

Your tone must've scared him because he stepped closer. "What?"

You paused, mulling over the details in your head. Secret Service was here. Someone important was in the building, someone like the Secretary of Defense. And that bomber just so happened to stick around until an ambulance showed up, taking Hotch and Kate straight here.

Sam didn't wait until you were cars, and that wasn't a careless mistake. It wasn't because he was so excited that he couldn't wait. It was because that blast wasn't meant to kill you, not on impact.

It was meant to take you here.

When you made up your mind, you took a step closer to him and lowered your voice, not wanting to attract panic in spite of the fact that it'd happen, anyway. Your voice was rigid.

"I think there's a bomb in this hospital."

❧

After quickly explaining your theory to Derek, you parted ways; he went to go find the team while you took off to find the head of that Secret Service detail.

Any uneasiness you felt being in this hospital increased a tenfold, no longer because of the fact that it was a hospital but because it could blow any minute now. You knew you weren't scared, though—and maybe you should've been, but this was the job.

You found the SS soon enough, calling out to them, "Hey, men in black!"

Your volume turned heads, including theirs. The bald man stood up from where he was leaned over on a counter and greeted you first, leading you to believe he was in charge. "Ms. Y/L/N." So he knew who you were. That made this a lot easier.

You didn't waste any time. "The Secretary of Defense is in this hospital, isn't he?"

"Ma'am, I know you're high up on the ladder, but—"

You cut him off briskly, "There is a bomb in this building, and it's rigged to assassinate the Secretary."

The agent whose name you didn't ask for stiffened but adapted quickly, ordering the agents behind him to hit the alarms all without looking away from you. "Where is it?" he then questioned.

"The ambulance my colleague drove in, I believe." The word colleague tasted wrong on your tongue, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Is it already in the basement?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then you need to evac the building. You need to get the Secretary and everybody else out of here right now."

"We can't do that," he answered. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."

You were sure that the next words to leave your mouth would be curses, but before you could even get them out, a band of rushed footsteps became audible from behind you. It didn't take you long to recognize who they belonged to.

The footsteps stopped where you were. You glanced to see the team surrounding you, Derek on your left and Hotch on your right. So he was alright. You held back a sigh of relief and kept your eyes off him, directing all your focus to the task at hand.

Silently, Morgan handed you a Kevlar vest. You nodded to him in thanks and put it on while Hotch hurriedly interrogated, "The paramedic I came in with—do you have eyes on him?"

The Secret Service Agent briefly glanced at you, to which you nodded, prompting him to turn over a computer playing a live feed.

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

Rossi pressed onto a mic on his chest. "Garcia, can you remote access the grid I'm in and jam all the frequencies?" She said something you couldn't hear and then he added, tone clipped, "There's a bomb in the basement of this building."

Garcia worked quickly, disrupting the satellite feeds in your location within seconds. You could tell she did this by paramedic's actions on the screen. "Look. He's coming back," Prentiss said. "He's going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to."

"Where did Morgan go?" At Hotch's abrupt words, you turned to your left but Derek was no longer there. He'd snuck off while you were paying attention to the feed, and you had no doubt as to where.

His appearance on the computer screen confirmed your suspicions. You sighed, before tiredly voicing, "He went to find the ambulance."

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

Rossi didn't share Hotch's surprise. "Let's head down."

You were off before he even finished the sentence, trusting the Secret Service agents to do their jobs well enough while you all did yours. You removed your gun from your holster, holding it up and jogging through the now empty hallways with tunnel vision.

You barely noticed the others behind you until Hotch somehow got ahead of you. "He's going to the basement," he called out.

You think it was Emily that replied. "Stairs."

You pushed the door to the stairwell open and Hotch entered quickly, scanning the area with his gun as he moved. It was eerily silent, the only sound being the alarms in the distance and your footsteps rapidly hitting the stairs as you took them two at a time.

None of you said a word.

By the time you reached the basement, the alarm was non-existent. Your loud footsteps became quieted, soundless with the precision only people like you could have. You could hear a pin drop.

At the end of the hallway, you wordlessly split into two groups: you with Hotch and Rossi, and Prentiss with Reid.

Hotch led the way while you and Rossi covered him. Your bomber was sitting criss-crossed against the netted gate, gun tossed on the ground with a cellphone in one hand and a knife in the other. Fuck.

You could only pray that Morgan got out before that signal came back online.

You had your gun in the air, even though you knew what was gonna happen. You all did.

Rossi's voice cut through the air. "FBI."

The bomber didn't flinch, staring at the ground with a lifeless look in his eyes. He was a dead man.

He raised the knife to his neck—and if you weren't with FBI agents right now, you would've shot his shaking hand and knocked that knife straight to the ground. You would've forced him to take accountability—perhaps not in a courtroom, but in a place that would still enforce a semblance of justice.

But you were with FBI agents. And Hotch reminded you of this as he spoke up, "Put it down. It's over."

Yes, it was. Because the coward slit his throat thereafter, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Slowly, you lowered your guns. You holstered yours, and then you were walking away. You didn't spare the body another glance. It wasn't a life lost.

Either way, he would've died. It just shouldn't have been on his terms.

Emily was behind you. She flipped her phone open and then you heard a sigh of relief. "Garcia just messaged me," she told you. "Morgan's okay."

Spencer and Rossi let out their own sighs while you muttered a small "Thank God" under your breath. You hadn't known Derek Morgan for long, but he was good, and he felt like a friend.

You didn't have many of those.

You got back to the floor you were on in little time, and everyone parted ways, likely going to rest. The night was over—this was over. You, on the other hand, still had some administrative work to do, starting with checking on the Secretary of Defense.

But before you did anything, you stood there. You stood there and watched the team trickle out of the area, everyone but Hotch. He was still down there.

You went to glance back to see if he was coming up but then thought better of it, choosing to walk away instead.

He's fine, you thought. He was fine.

And so were you.

❧

You got off the phone with the DOD, your last in a long line of phone calls, telling them that the threat had been eliminated as far as you were concerned. You would've been out of that hospital ASAP, but they asked you to stay there until the new Secret Service detail arrived, and you couldn't really say no.

The lack of action suddenly made you more aware of your surroundings. Your senses returned to you; the smell of bleach became more pungent, and the fluorescent lights seemed to just bounce off the white tile.

With nothing else to focus on, the pain in your side returned, too, but you were good at handling pain. It hurt to breathe, but the alternative was relapsing, and you'd come too far for that.

Normally, when you were craving drugs or just stressed, you'd find a drink. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it worked. Alcohol wasn't strong enough to hook you; it was just enough to sate you, to take your mind off the pills.

However, you were in a hospital, and none of that was around. So you went looking for the next best thing: coffee.

You found a mini coffee bar in a nearby waiting room, right next to a vending machine. It was one of the automatic ones that took capsules. The selection was pretty shitty, but you weren't exactly expecting premium Italian coffee, so you plopped a pod into the machine, anyway.

You waited for your coffee to brew in silence, listening to the sound of the machine whirring. The PA dinged in the background and footsteps were muffled. You had a habit of listening for those, for footsteps. Most times, like now, if you weren't preoccupied, you could detect them right away.

You sensed Hotch when he was 5 feet away. You could recognize his footsteps so easily, but that was the habit.

You told yourself it was the job.

Without turning around, you quietly greeted, "Agent Hotchner."

He returned your greeting, grabbing a styrofoam cup and going to stand next to you. "Y/N." His voice was as saccharine as the sugar you poured into your coffee.

You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

The case was over. The threat was defeated. And now you were alone together with a conversation unfinished, a conversation you'd much rather not have.

To think that, when you last saw Hotch in Virginia, you were all for the game, the chase. But now it felt like the roles were reversed. This was different. He shouldn't be talking to me.

But he was.

"Yo—"

You cut him off, "How's Kate?" Low blow, Y/N. The breath of air he sucked in made you look up from the creamer to his face. His eyes were no longer on you; they were on the machine as it poured his coffee, but you understood. You could taste apology on your lips before you even said the words. "I'm sorry."

Hotch nodded, grabbing his coffee from the tray when it was finished brewing. "She wasn't in pain," he said. That's all there was to say, really. She wasn't in pain when she died, nor was she in pain when you found her.

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

But you spoke none of this. You went to grab your cup, intending to walk away, but Hotch stopped you, placing his hand on your arm before you could fully turn away. You stopped yourself from intaking a sharp breath.

"You're avoiding me."

He said it so plainly, like you were talking about a case or the weather, like this was normal, like the two of you didn't see each other every other year at most, like you weren't you and he wasn't him. It made you want to screw your eyes shut, but you didn't. As if to prove a point, you turned yourself toward him fully, facing him head on.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Your eyes narrowed. "I'm not an unsub, Hotchner. I'm not gonna fold to this interrogation tactic."

"I met you as an unsub," he retorted.

"But I wasn't." You let out a little scoff, half amused, half annoyed. "How would you know if I was avoiding you? You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."

"But I want to."

Whatever reply you were expecting, it wasn't that. Your breath got caught in your throat. His voice was still so soft, a harsh contrast to the cuts littered across his face. He took a step closer to you. "I want to know you."

You blinked once in shock, almost like you were checking if you were hallucinating, but when your eyes opened, he was still there. When you blinked a second time, it was in realization.

He's just been told Kate's dead, and now whatever pain meds they gave him are kicking in.

Reality slapped you across the face. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head. "You don't want to know me, Hotchner."

He took another step forward. "I do."

Another step back. "You don't." You shook your head again, emphasizing your point. "You really don't."

"Y/N—"

The shrill sound of your ringtone cut him off, and you'd never been so grateful. You picked it up immediately. "Y/L/N." The lady on the other end got to it quick; all you had to do was agree. "Okay, I'll be there momentarily. Thanks."

You hung up your cell, snapping it shut. You gave Hotch a glance before you were looking away, letting your eyes wander everywhere else. "That was the DOD. Secret Service is here. I have to go check out with them." You didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see you around, Agent Hotchner."

And then, just like every other time Aaron Hotchner had ever been in your proximity, you were leaving. In his grasp one second, in the mist in the next.

He watched you walk away wordlessly, not knowing when he'd see you again, words he was going to say dying on his lips.

And then you were gone.

He let out a long sigh, and then looked to his coffee on the mini table, spotting a similar one right next to it.

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

You didn't find yourself down in Virginia too often, not unless you were on business, but Derek assured you that tonight was about everything but that.

"I'm breaking you out of your shell, angel," he said, making a turn on Curtis Drive. "You need to get out more."

You snorted. "One, I don't have a shell. Two, I am literally out so much that my apartment collects dust, and three," you held up a third finger, despite his close attention to the road, "that's bullshit. You just want me to score you some hot chicks."

He let out a burly laugh, something you'd gotten used to after hanging out with him. "Baby, I don't need you to pick anyone up for me. I can do that all on my own."

"What, are you afraid that I'll steal all your girls, Morgan?"

His reply was swift. "Couldn't do that if you tried, Y/N/N. You're still hung up on Hotch."

Your jaw nearly fell, but you were used to this banter you had. You quipped back, "Please, the only one hung up on anyone here is you. You want Garcia."

He choked on his own spit, making you throw your head back and laugh. He didn't see that one coming.

You caught onto Derek's feelings for Garcia early on, but they became especially prominent when he was buzzed one night and told you she was the one on call with him when he drove that ambulance into the field.

That was six months ago. And now, you were in Derek Morgan's car, trying to coax him into asking out a woman with whom he violated many HR regulations.

Derek clearly didn't have a response which only made you laugh harder. You patted his back while he recovered. "Caaaaareful, muscles. I don't want to die on my way to a bar. I'm literally in the CIA—that would be so heavily anti-climactic."

The only thing he heard in that sentence was his nickname, snapping out of his stupor. "Okay, this 'muscles' thing is starting to feel less like a compliment and more condescending."

You huffed out a little chuckle as he put the car in park. "And 'angel' isn't?"

He furrowed his brows, opening his door. "You love that name."

You copied his movements, getting out of the car before pointedly looking at him. "Yeah, when the words 'of death' follow it."

He snorted. "Cryptic." He held his arm out for you, to which you obliged, wrapping yours in his before walking into the estabishment with him.

You would've responded and teased him further had you not been cut off by an oddly familiar voice. "Morgan!" Your head snapped to a table where not only the object of your teasing stood, but all of their crime-fighting friends. From afar, you watched Penelope's eyes widen behind her glasses. Then she squealed, "And Y/N!"

To her credit, she did look just the slightest bit embarrassed when people turned to stare at her.

She still wasn't used to you. And God, was that comical.

A smirk crawled onto your face as you walked to their table, glancing at Derek and recalling your earlier quip. "Ooh, careful, Morgan. Your girl's a fan. I might just take her."

For a guy that nearly died in the car at the mention of her, he didn't seem all that startled. In fact, a smirk of his own graced his face. "I doubt you'll be focused on Penelope tonight, angel."

Your brows pinched together, but before you could question what he meant, you reached the table. JJ and Emily greeted you with wide smiles, the latter pulling you in for a hug that was surprising but not unwelcome. Garcia followed right behind her, hesitantly wrapping her arms around you. You cleared this hesitancy by embracing her tightly. Goodness, she's precious.

Over her shoulder, you mouthed to Morgan, Don't fuck it up.

When you let her go, Rossi tipped his glass at you while Reid just gave you an awkward wave. For his benefit, you resisted the urge to laugh.

You spun back around to flash a smug smile at Morgan, eager for him to see that you weren't fazed by this little surprise he so clearly wanted to jar you with, but then your eyes locked with a darker pair and you realized, oh. They weren't the surprise.

He was.

"Y/N."

What was this feeling? Winded? Was it— breathless? You couldn't describe it; you'd only felt it a few times in life, and you didn't know why you felt it right now. Eventually, you realized you had to answer.

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

If it wasn't considered rude and you weren't surrounded by a horde of profilers, you would've been texting Derek furiously. It didn't help that the only spot left at the table was next to the man you'd be texting about.

Derek was fun to party with—you went out with him all the time—but whenever he invited you out with the rest of the BAU, you politely declined and came up with whatever excuse was available. Clearly, he caught on to the reason.

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

A gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Penelope jumping out of her seat. "Oh, my god, I love this song. Derek, get up right now, we're going to dance," she all but demanded.

It's then that you noticed that JJ and Emily had already beat them to the dance floor, and Spencer was being talked up by some girl at the bar.

No— "Alright, alright, calm down, mama, I'm coming." You glared daggers at him as he flashed you a sly grin, then he wrapped an arm around Penelope and left. He left you alone with Hotch and Rossi.

At least Rossi's still here— "You know, I think I'm going to get another drink." You're kidding.

Apparently, he was not kidding. Rossi got up, and you could've sworn you saw him wink at Hotch before he left for the bar.

And then there were two.

Fuck.

Now that the others were all gone, you felt his proximity much more prominently. If you moved just the slightest bit, your knees would touch. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

But you couldn't leave. If you left, then it'd be obvious that you were, in fact, avoiding him, and you didn't want it to be obvious. It shouldn't have been obvious because there was nothing there to avoid; the two of you were nothing, so you had no reason to avoid him.

You were nothing.

Even if, for a second, you might've felt something.

"What's wrong?" His voice cut into the tension like it was butter. But the question didn't sound like concern; if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was almost teasing.

You finally looked at him, turning your head and realizing he was closer than you thought. Close enough to see the specks of green in his eyes and the locks of hair falling over his face. Close enough that you could push those locks back if you wanted to. And you wanted to.

But you didn't.

You schooled your expression and raised a brow, causing him to elaborate, "You were much more flirtatious when we didn't know each other."

Of course, I was, is what you wanted to say. Of course, you were; that was before whatever happened in D.C., before you danced with him and before you let him down. Before reality came knocking and showed him that you were polar opposites, that he was a man of the gavel and you were a woman of the gun. Before he confronted you. Before he told you that he wanted to know you.

So, of course. Of course, I was. Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

That's what you wanted to say, but you didn't. Instead, you countered, "Why do you assume something's wrong? Maybe I've just lost interest in our game."

Hotch looked at you like he knew that was a load of bull. He looked you up and down like he could see right through you, and you hated that, because if he looked hard enough, he just might. You thought, for a second, he'd drop it, but then he came back harder. "Is that because you're not winning?"

Taken aback, you laughed to hide how astounded you were, looking away as you deflected, "You must've been one hell of a lawyer, Agent Hotchner."

He let you re-route the conversation, humming. "I was good at my field," he admitted, pausing briefly. "I actually got my nickname while I was working at the DA's office, Hotch."

"Oh?" you uttered, disinterest shining through your voice that you hoped he'd pick up on.

"Yeah. And now it's what everybody calls me." Another pause. "Everybody but you."

You turned back to him. Clearly, that's what he wanted from you with that statement. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting on you for something—you just didn't know what. "You dwell on what I call you?"

He shrugged like he was unbothered. "It's just an observation. You refer to everyone using their first name, even Kate. At one point, I think you even said our names consecutively. Agent Hotchner and then Kate."

Shit, you didn't remember that, but he was probably right. It must've been a blip, you must not have been paying attention. Still, you shrugged right back at him. "I don't put that much thought into it."

He continued like you'd never said anything. "You said my name after the blast." You stiffened. "Repeatedly. And then, once we were in the hospital, you were back to formality."

You forced a smile onto your face in attempts to mask the discomfort. "So?" you said. Like you weren't affected. Like you weren't surprised that he noticed or equally surprised that he was calling you out on it.

"So," he repeated. "What's holding you back from saying my name?"

Damnit, he had you. He had you, and he knew it. You knew he knew it based on the fire in his eyes, fire with intent to burn.

But you had more.

You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.

You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"

When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.

If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.

Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.

Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.

Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.

If you know what I mean ;)

Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.

Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it.

You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"

Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."

"With Garcia?"

You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.

"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?"

Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."

He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."

Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.

Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."

You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.

For a second.

❧

The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.

His presence was already pushing it.

If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.

He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.

A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.

You knew what instability looked like.

The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.

The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.

Prepared.

But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.

Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."

"I can see that."

He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."

You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."

He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.

The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.

You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."

"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."

"Um—"

He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.

So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.

You. In his apartment.

You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.

God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed.

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.

"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."

You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.

Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.

There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face.

On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.

The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.

You're kidding me.

There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."

Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"

Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"

"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.

His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.

Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.

"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.

You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.

In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"

He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?

Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."

"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"

He shrugged. "More or less."

Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."

He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.

"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."

Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"

What am I hiding from?

Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?

Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding.

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.

Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.

But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun.

This wasn't gonna happen.

So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.

You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.

And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!

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sleepyangelkami · 8 months ago

Text

PERVERTED II c.grimes

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.5K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - carl decides to go through with this weeks saturday sleepover. so far, he's been able to control himself. until, that is, he hears you whimper his name in your sleep.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, slight angst, somnophilia, thigh riding (kinda), fingering, pussy eating, cum eating, wet dreams, sex dreams, innocence kink, corruption kink, dom!carl, sub!reader, noncon, heavy manipulation, use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

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"you sure you don't wanna come?" rick questioned as he took a box from his son, landing it inside the back of the truck. "we could use the help."

carl watched his dad place a hand on his hip before shaking his head, hand on his hat. "no, i promised y/n i'd stay over. can't miss saturday sleepover can i?" he'd laughed yet he knew he wouldn't wish to miss it for the world, either. rick gave him a look, lips slightly perking up as if he knew something. "what?"

rick wasn't born yesterday either. he was well aware what it was like to have a silly crush, especially at that age. but this... this was much different. "nothin'" before packing in the last box. "you be good, alright? don't ruin the house while glenn and maggie are gone."

the two were going on the supply run with him, along with many more of the fighters. "bye, dad." watching him get into the rusted car.

and so, the day went on.

by the time lunch rolled around, carl still hadn't seen you. however, he wasn't entirely alone. he soon found ron who decided to help him look for you. in return, you'd also be looking for his also missing girlfriend, enid.

"they're always running off." ron muttered under his breath. he knew enid was close with you, possibly your best friend had carl not been thrown into the mix. enid was always running off with you, slinging you around by the arm. "hey, what's the deal with you two anyway?" carl's head peeked up, brows knitting together. "is she like your girlfriend or something?"

his mind moved like puzzle pieces. girlfriend. carl had never had a girlfriend before but he was pretty sure you had to kiss and all that to actually be in a relationship. then again, you don't touch yourself with your 'friend's panties sitting on your dick. he cleared his throat. "no... no we're not together."

saying you were his friend didn't seem all too right but saying you weren't his girlfriend didn't seem right either. you were something.

but ron didn't look convinced, rolling his eyes with his brows raising slightly. "whatever, dude." was it really all that obvious to everyone aside from you? carl thought that if there was a competition on the most oblivious person alive, you'd win.

but perhaps that was the easier option. would he have preferred you to know? everything seemed so easy with the fact that you were so oblivious. it was like a reminder that he could do anything he wanted right under your nose.

"finally." hearing the mutter from ron, carl looked up. this was when he was met with the sight of you, as pretty as ever, sat next to enid on a bench near the town's pond.

carl could barely look at you. the way you sat with your legs folded, smiling away innocently, completely unaware of what he'd done last night. you wore a pretty skirt, enough to slightly hike up your legs, giving carl a view of the pretty plush of your thighs.

he could only imagine digging his hands around the plush, holding it and kneeding the skin. he could only imagine grasping your thighs, holding them close while he rammed his di―

"there you guys are!" ron exclaimed causing carl to shake his head, ridding himself of the thoughts he'd been having. "carl and i were looking all over for you." he had this voice he used when he spoke to girls, one that carl could guarantee was not the voice he used with him.

enid only rolled her eyes. the sight of her boyfriend and carl was enough to have her smile drop. "well, we weren't looking for you." she mumbled. some may say she didn't like anyone aside from you, not even her own boyfriend. carl didn't think there was much of a point of being with someone that you didn't even like. "hence the getaway pond."

ron must have thought she was joking because he came up to pinch her side and kiss her cheek. the sight alone had carl's stomach turning.

however, the sweet sound of your lulling voice was enough to bring him back. "hi, carl." you beamed at him, smile as wide as ever. he hadn't even registered you moving from the bench to his side. all he remembered was the feeling of you snaking in next to him, your body so close. suddenly, he felt so dirty. "we were feeding the ducks." smiling like a child on christmas. you always smiled like that, like you had a thousand things to be smiling about. it always made carl wonder if you were truly made for this world at all.

when he was around you, he was fighting off his own smile. yours was so contagious. the way his lips curved upwards told you he was happy for you, he always was. "that's great ba― y/n." correcting himself as his expression faltered, smile wavering.

he watched as your entire face fell.

he was unable to bring himself to call you those cute names. baby, sweetheart, like an old couple who'd spent their entire lives together. he couldn't bring himself to say such things after he imagined himself fucking you just the night before. it didn't seem right, not when you were so oblivious to the dirtiness behind his words.

the smile wiped clean from your face, carl was sure you could have cried.

you reminded him somewhat of a kicked puppy.

he'd been the one to kick you.

he never called you y/n, unless speaking to someone else like his father or even ron. this was because they'd hardly understand who you were if he was referring to you as sweetheart.

the point was, he only used your name if it was wholeheartedly necessary.

you wondered what'd changed.

your mind ran back to the night before. when he'd entered your house, looking awfully suspicious and at the sight of you, he practically rushed out the door. had you done something wrong? your heart ached at the idea that you may have upset him. a heart of gold, some people said you had. carl had to beg to differ. the look on your face explained all he needed to know, a heart of mere paper.

he regretted it the moment he said it.

he knew how you got, how all up in your head you could be. he could only imagine how you'd be for the rest of the day, going over every interaction you've ever had with the boy and wondering where everything went wrong, where you messed up.

the moment your name slipped from his lips, he thought it may have been better to call you anything else in the entire world. even if it was laced with the dirty undertone.

he felt your body move slightly away from his, eyes cast down on the ground to avoid any glances. "'m gonna go see aaron." you announced, rather loudly too.

"okay." enid responded, her eyes glancing you over before turning to carl, a slight glare, if you will. she didn't particularly like carl, though carl hadn't the foggiest idea why. perhaps it was because she was so protective of you. carl had to roll his eyes, if anyone knew what was good for you, it was him. "don't stay out too late."

you didn't respond, grasping your bag that sat at the bench before turning onto the footpath.

carl had to purse his lips. "wrong way." he said, just loud enough for you to hear.

with slightly wide eyes, you realised he was right. spinning around on your heel, you began walking left instead of right. "thanks." you mumbled under your breath before continuing your walk to one of your favourite people in the entirety of alexandria.

back at the pond, carl was cursing himself under his breath before turning around to find two accusing pair of eyes sat on the bench. one pair belonged to enid, the other to ron. "what did you do?" was enid's accusing tone, her face hard as stone. carl was on the receiving end of this look very often, he didn't fear it... well, he feared it a little but not as much as before... okay he feared it.

"what do you mean what did i do?" he instantly fell to defending himself. despite the fact that he knew he was the reason for your declining mood. "i didn't do anything."

whether it was to intimidate carl or that she smelled the sort of fish smell of ron that carl had smelt earlier, she perked up on the bench, loosening her boyfriend's arm across her shoulder. "she looks like a deflated balloon." she argued.

"yeah." ron nodded his head. carl couldn't stop the glare he sent his way, what did he know. "everyone knows aaron's like her very own guidance councillor, his boyfriend too." he shrugged his shoulders. "whatever you did, i'd say fix it quick."

the brunette boy only glared at the couple. "thanks guys, for that enlightening advice. but i don't need it, okay? i didn't do anything."

on the contrary, he was well aware that it was his fault. he needed to fix it and he needed to fix it fast but he didn't need enid and ron whispering in his ears. nobody knew you like carl, they didn't know what they were talking about. they hadn't seen you crying over some stupid movie you watched. they didn't see you smiling the way he did, they didn't take notice like him.

they'd never understand what it was like to know you. only carl would. and he'd make sure of that.

the sun was setting by the time carl had made it to your house. you'd opened the door, taking him in with your eyes before allowing him inside. maggie and glenn were on the run so the two of you headed straight towards the bedroom where'd you'd begin the movie night. however, carl was more focused on the fact that you'd spoken barely four words to him tonight rather than which disney movie you'd force him to watch this time.

he knew you were in your head but you wouldn't utter the words because what were you meant to say? hey carl, why didn't you call me baby? something so simple had ruined your entire day.

however, carl couldn't keep it in anymore. "are you okay?" he blurted out after many moments of silence as he sat atop your pink bed sheets.

you, at the foot of the bed pursed your lips. you pressed play on the movie and allowed the credits to begin. you weren't the type of person to insist that you were fine if you weren't. carl liked that about you, he never had to guess. "are you mad at me?" voice meek, like a childs.

the realisation hit carl that despite what he was feeling for you, he'd have to push it down in order to continue your friendship. at least, he couldn't take it out on you. "'course not, baby, c'mere."

the name fell from his lips like sweet relief.

it suddenly occurred to the boy that you needed him. desperately so. something as simple as calling you by your first name had thrown off your entire day. carl should have been worried, concerned even. instead, his heart fluttered a little.

you truly did rely on him.

with a sigh of relief, you found yourself crawling up to the boy. today had been so long with you being in your own head so when you felt the feeling of his hands sneak around your waist, it was like coming home after a long day at work.

you couldn't see his face but if you could, you'd see the sheer nervousness on his face. he needed to control himself but he wasn't sure how that was possible while you cuddled up against him beneath your bed sheets, clad in your pretty pale blue shorts and your white spaghetti strap top.

your knee was bent, extending over the top of his legs. there was a sharp intake of breath as your knee gently bumped against the prominent bulge in his shorts. you hadn't noticed, he knew you hadn't noticed and to make sure you wouldn't notice, he reached over to switch off the light, clearing his throat. "so, uh, what are we watching?"

"the princess frog." you answered, turning your head up to look at his face as he groaned.

a look of displeasment was evident on his face. "it's so boring!" he practically gushed.

offence hit you like a truck. "excuse me!" you battled. "i'd like to see you opening up your own restaurant all by yourself." even carl had to admit, you got him there.

carl never understood why you picked movies that you fell asleep so early during.

he heard your soft snores and your gentle breath hit the crook of his neck within the first half hour of the movie. though he couldn't blame you. truthfully, he could only blame himself in how he had your head messed up, practically knocked off your shoulders for the entire day.

it took until almost a full hour into the movie for you to stur.

at first, carl thought he'd misheard it. a little noise falling from your lips. then, he heard it again.

he held his breath as he heard the whimper leave your lips.

then, he felt it.

the gentle roll of your hips against his thigh had him practically seeing stars. the boy glanced to the tv hoping for some kind of a distraction from his obvious hard on. he couldn't wake you up, not because he actually couldn't. but because he wasn't too sure if he wanted to.

admitting it sounded like nails on a chalkboard but he'd be lying if he said he did want to. the little whimper you let out, sleepily and lowly albeit, into his ear was enough for him to almost completely loose his control.

it was like he was dreaming, it was everything he'd dreamed of, especially the night before.

you sounded even better than he'd thought.

he shouldn't have laid so still. you weren't aware of the way your hips bucked onto his leg, a little whine stretching from your lips. he reminded himself that you were too busy sleeping to understand what was going on. he couldn't engage with you, that'd be wrong.

so... wrong.

then he'd swore he heard it. "carl." a mumble in your sleep, enough for him to not know whether or not you were actually sleeping. he took a glance at your face, eyes screwed shut.

he was imagining things, he had to have been.

you soon rolled over, leaving him laying very stiffly as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening.

you were having a wet dream, obviously. that'd never happened before, at least not while cuddled up against carl. but he could have swore he heard you say his name. he shook his head, knowing he was wrong, he was so caught up in what had happened the night before that he was imagining you breathe his name.

then, he heard it again.

this time it was more stretched out into a whine. due to the movie on in the background, he could vaguely make out the way your cunt rutted onto nothingness, the mattress maybe but it wasn't enough to cause any real friction.

his mind stirred. if you really were having a dream about him, surely it was only his duty to... help?

but it was dirty, downright perverted.

but your noises were growing needier, obviously the bed wasn't enough for you to create real friction from. he had to help you. "poor girl, can't even get herself off." he mumbled under his breath, not enough to wake you up.

if he were to touch you, it wouldn't be for him. no, he was doing this for you.

he knew you well enough to know you wouldn't wake. on the contrary, you'd sleep through an asteroid should it hit your home.

he reached his hand down beneath the covers, holding his breath. he was helping you, he reminded himself, helping you. this was for you, making sure you felt good as your dream continued. your dream of him.

suddenly, he wasn't the all too dirty one. perhaps you were.

his fingers gently felt the core of your shorts, taking an intake of breath upon feeling just how wet you were. it practically seeped onto his fingers, it was a wonder if his sweatpants didn't have a wet stain on them from how you'd been rolling your hips against them.

he breathed in, gently massaging the area you needed him the most, you all but moaned into the pillow, eyes screwed shut.

carl had dreamed of this moment for as long as he lived, he wasn't ready to give it up just yet.

the way your hips jutted into his hand, creating all the friction you needed and you whimpered again, still stuck in slumber, had carl's confidence through the roof.

it was as if saying his name, he realised you wanted it just as much as he did.

how he ended beneath the covers, he wasn't too sure. perhaps it was the newfound confidence he'd gained.

he'd spent too long dreaming of this moment to stop now. he breathed as shallow as a man could before his fingers travelled back to your shorts, gently pulling them away from your aching cunt. that was when he realised you hadn't been wearing panties. did you do that often around him? had you been... expecting something?

nonetheless, carl was more than willing to give it to you.

his breath fanned your pussy, prettier than his sick mind could have ever mustered. the image would be burned into his head, it'd never leave. one thing was for sure, this boy wasn't leaving the next morning without putting his mouth to your cunt.

and that was exactly what he did.

his tongue reached your pussy, licking a long stripe and feeling your thighs jump and your body jolt. obviously, never been touched.

he knew it'd be him who touched you first. now, it was just him making sure of it.

he licked again, your wetness gathering on his tongue. he tried to hold back the groan that spread throughout your entire body. yet, you still lay sleeping. it somehow only egged him on further. he knew you wouldn't wake. to him, your body was his for the taking. and he was going to take it.

his tongue found your cute hole, hands against your thighs, holding them, trapping them down.

tongue dancing across your clit, he heard you moan even louder, still trapped by slumber. his lips curved upwards, tongue circling your clit. he moved one of his hands, using his middle finger to gently slide into your sopping hole. so wet for him, already.

he cursed enid and ron for thinking they knew you. he cursed all of the people who thought they knew you. the truth was, the only person you could ever rely on would be him, he'd make sure that you got what you needed, make sure all your needs were fulfilled at all times. perhaps this was just him making sure of that fact.

his tongue moved away from your clit, moving his other hand to meet it. he saw the way your body writhed against his hands. he couldn't wait to do this when you were awake.

it wasn't until your thighs actually began to shake that he knew what was happening. "s'pretty." he mumbled, dazed as drool practically dripped from his mouth. you truly were, the most beautiful thing he'd ever encountered his entire life.

mouth moving back to your cunt, he moved his tongue back against your clit at an alarming pace. with his now free hand, he held your thighs down, trapping them under him as your body shook against him, jutting your hips back and practically rolling your hips against his face. he relished in it. you were practically getting off to his pretty face which told him all the more just how much you loved this.

he felt your hips force themselves back to the bed, shaking and vibrating until your juices poured out onto his tongue.

you'd came.

he lapped you up without second thought, tongue dancing over your hole and licking the juices off the single finger he'd pushed inside of you.

licking his lips, he finally rose. he watched your face lull in your sleep, obviously content and finally getting your sweet relief. he gently moved your shorts to cover your pussy again, as if nothing had happened at all.

it took mere seconds for you to roll back over and onto him, cuddling against his side. he couldn't help but feel even dirtier.

you'd never even know.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

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beomiebear13 · 6 months ago

Text

How ATEEZ Fuck/Kinks

genre: smut

warning: dom!seonghwa, switch!hongjoong, softdom!yunho, softdom!yeosang, harddom!san, harddom!mingi, sub!wooyoung, dom!jongho, praising, spanking, skinship, riding, bondage, pet names, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, corruption,

a/n: this is actually 3 others opinions (my friends)! 1.4k words! not proofread so sorry for mistakes! @holyjongs !!!

Seonghwa:

Seonghwa is very romantic. He would fuck you roughly but his rough thrust would be filled with passion. He would go out of his way to have candles and rose petals sprinkled around. Maybe he would have some body oil to make you heat up a little more. He would feel like fucking you would be his reward. He also loves to fuck you as a reward for the good things you have done recently. He knows you deserve it. He would set the room up before you get home and lay you down and he would fuck you because he doesn’t want you do any more work than you’ve already done. Extra: He also loves to make eye contact while fucking you.

Hongjoong:

Hongjoong is definitely a sensual lover who enjoys intimacy. He’s willing to try anything if it makes you feel good, although he enjoys more of the tamer stuff. Whether its quick sex in the studio or passionate and slow in the comfort of your bed, he'll have it all. definitely a pleasure dom but will also sub for you. (He definitely wont let anybody else see this side of him). Hongjoong definitely prefers to be on bottom; watching you ride him is definitely the hottest thing ever to him. He will grope you everywhere during this and also just during daily life which is by far one of his favorite ways to get you horny. He is in love with praising you during sex. He makes sure you know what a good girl you are and how sweet you are for pleasuring him just the way he likes it. Little extra: he’s also into spanking and loves skinship.

Yunho:

Yunho is very soft when it comes to fucking you. Now, occasionally, if he’s horny enough (and if he misses you a lot) he will fuck your brains out. When you push your hips up to meet his for more. That’s when he finally starts to get rough. He feels the need to please you as if that’s what he was put on this earth to do so. every time yunho touches you its as if its his first. During sex, Yunho likes caressing and peppering kisses wherever he can reach. He worships you in bed and makes you feel like a princess. He tends to hide his face in your neck and babble on about you (when he’s feeling subby) Pet names are a must! He will call you his sweet girl, princess, doll, etc. Like I said, he tends to be soft, BUT, that doesn’t stop him from being into some edgy(ish) stuff like bondage. He likes some kind of lace or blindfold to tie your hands over your head as he takes in the sight of your complex body. Feeling all of you and making you feel every touch with his big and vieny hands. Yunho would definitely show you how to fuck yourself on his cock or how to finger yourself when he’s gone. His hands placed on your hips, making you move yourself up and down because you’re inexperienced.

Yeosang:

Yeosang also is very soft when it comes to fucking you. He’s gentle and more focused on your pleasure more than he is. If you ask him to fuck into you harder, he will. He does anything that you whether he enjoys it or not. Yeosang can also go for as long as you want. Like I said, everything is up to you and he just wants to please you. But back to the gentle part. He loves to take it slow with you and take his time. For example: your first time ever having sex, he took the time to learn your body and know all the things that you like. What makes you break and what makes you tense up from the pleasure. He also made you touch yourself so he can have better understanding of how and where you liked to be touched for future references. Knowing your body is also very important to Yeosang.

San:

San is a rough lover and a rough fucker. He loves to manhandle you and take control in bed. Bending you over and twisting you into multiple different positions. He wants to destroy every part of you and make you remember every second of it. San likes to put you in a headlock while hitting you from the back. His big muscle choking you while he rams into you is definitely gotta be one of his favorite positions. He would also tell you to stay quiet. He would enjoy watching you struggle to keep quiet or to hold in your cum until he cums. He would spank you if you came before you were told to. San also LOVES to worship your body. He likes to compliment you on how good your body looks as you are sweaty and your body is heated up. He marks you up because he’s very possessive and wants to let other men know that you aren’t theirs. Like Yeosang, he wants to know your body. So, he will make you touch yourself in front of him under you cum all of your fingers. After you cum, he’ll come up to you and suck your cum off your fingers. He would praise you for being a good girl and listening to him when he tells you to do something.

Mingi:

Mingi is the best fuck. He would use his expert pelvis movements to fuck into you. Mingi is definitely the type to fuck roughly, but he’s also soft enough ask reassuring questions and give praises whilst doing so. He’s submissive when you want him to be, but if he’s upset he’ll do a complete 360. After your fuck, he loves of aftercare no matter what. He’s definitely open to trying new things so every time is different. He’s a big fan on marking and loves to make sure you know you’re his. One thing about Mingi is that he is not afraid to be loud; moans, whimpers and groans will always be heard coming from him. Mingi, like Yunho, would also teach you how to fuck him. Making you sit on his cock and use your hips to fuck yourself; he would definitely praise you for doing such a good job. Little extra: Mingi would also make you suck his cock until he pulls out and cums on your chest (since you’re not used to swallowing).

Wooyoung:

He’s a cocky and subby when he fucks. He swears that you’re going to break or that you’ll cum first but one clench around him and his face is hid in your neck and his hot cum painting your walls. He would have to force himself to fuck you quicker just to make you cum. He likes to say how nobody could ever fuck you as good as he has (which you won’t agree to because you’re a brat as well. but you’re a more mature brat than Wooyoung). He would want you to ride him when he’s feeling extra subby and needy and he’s being a lazy brat. He would ask for your permission to come before he shoots it into you. He most definitely has a sound kink. He loves being loud and hearing you be loud. All the noises mixing together is what he enjoys the most. He wants to hear how good hes making you feel while also not holding back himself. He’s make sure to kiss you passionately during sex just to be as close as possible to you. He can’t pull away. It’s too hard for him. If not that, he'll bite your neck and leave marks galore all around your body; showing the world what you were up to the previous night.

Jongho:

Jongho’s was hard but harddom!jongho.. hear me out. He’s like San. He’ll punish you for cumming when you’re not supposed to or being a bad girl. Purposely teasing him while he’s at work while end up with you lying on your back in tears as he fucks into your pussy. Him demanding for you to be obedient sub for him. Slapping you gently (or maybe rough) in the face when you don’t do what you’re told. Degrading you and calling you a bad girl for disrupting him and being a needy brat. After making you take his dick for hours (like you wanted) he would give you the best aftercare. Little extra: He’d be in a suit for a performance but after that performance, he’d check his phone to see the pics you sent of your naked. When he gets home, he’d make you ride his fingers, not bothering to take the suit off. He’d degrade you and make you feel embarrassed about sending those pictures. What if his member saw? Or if not riding his fingers.. you’d be down on your knees, squatting on his new and shiny shoe. Desperately looking up at him for his approval and for some reassurance that you’re being a good girl.

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starlightxsvt · 3 months ago

Text

When A Villainess Loves | c.sc

synopsis ➳ four years of obsessing over him. so what if he is taken. you don't mind being the villainess if it means you get to have him in the end. genre ➳ chaebol au, thriller, dark romance. pairing ➳ heir!seungcheol x villainess!f.reader wc ➳ 19.4k warnings ➳ manipulation, blackmail, cheating, guns, blood, destruction of evidence, murder, death of minor characters, cursing, accident, scarring, adoption, heavy make out, fingering, marking, every character is corrupt more or less basically, also for plot purposes reader's last name is kim.

pick your poison babe

i'm poison either way

When you met Choi Seungcheol for the very first time, you were 13 years old.

One sunny afternoon, while making your way to your grandpa’s study with your homework clutched to your chest, you were graced by the sight of him. He was stepping out of the room after meeting with your grandpa when the sound of your footsteps prompted him to stop and regard you with curiosity, head tilted to a side. He was only 18 back then, full of dreams and passion as he prepared to move abroad to finish his degree before returning home to inherit his father’s company.

“Hey,” he had said, unsurely. With a squeak, you ran away and hid in a nearby room, too shy to talk with a stranger. You remember him standing there for a moment, confused by your behaviour before slowly walking away with a shake of his head.

The second time you saw Seungcheol, you were 18 years old, five years after your first meeting. He had come back after finishing his degree and was preparing to take over his father's billion-dollar company. In celebration, Mr Choi threw a party inviting all his family and friends and since your grandfather was one of his oldest business partners, it was natural for you to be invited with him.

It was that fateful winter evening when you fell in love with Seungcheol for the very first time.

In all 18 years of your existence, dating never interested you. You preferred to keep to yourself, read and spend time with your grandpa. You had realized early on that observing and judging people was much more interesting than talking to them. Especially because no one could ever resist asking you about the big scar on your left cheek. It was irritating; the prodding gaze of strangers who stared at your scar with wonder, treating you like a science experiment. So it wasn’t surprising for you to grow up without having many friends. You didn’t need them anyway, you had your grandpa.

Life was mostly uneventful and you did not mind having it that way. But then, at 18, when you caught a glimpse of Seungcheol and the man he had become, you realized, your life would never be the same. The sight of him had thrown your heart into a frenzy, one you could never recover from.

Gone was the lean young boy with bright eyes and messy hair. In his place was a calm but serious man who knew how to command a room with just his presence. Everything about him; the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he brushed his hand through his slick black hair, the way his suit hugged his muscular frame made your stomach dip and heart throb.

That evening, your sole focus was him, following him around the party with your eager eyes but too shy to go and talk to him. You remember uttering one word to him when he was talking to your grandfather and his eyes landed on you.

“Congratulations.” You had said, giving him your best smile while your stomach was tied up in knots.

He gave you a small smile and a nod before looking away but that little interaction was enough for you to fall head first for him and fill your long nights with dreams.

“He has grown up to be a fine man, no? Choi Corporation is in very good hands.” Your grandpa had commented.

You had to agree.

Seungcheol was a fine man, the finest you had ever seen. So fine that the thoughts of him kept you awake at night, the memory of his smile filled your stomach with butterflies and made you want to write poetry about.

You had decided right then and there that you would make friends with him, grow close to him. It would have been easy to do since his father and your grandpa were already close.

Your plan began with you scouring the net, trying to find every possible information about him and the things that you could not find, you would discreetly ask your grandpa. You were going to set your plan in motion by visiting the golf ring where Seungcheol regularly golfed on weekends. On a Friday night in early February, as you were laying your golf outfit out for the next day with childish excitement, your grandpa came into your room to give you the worst news of your life.

Seungcheol was getting engaged that Sunday.

To the only daughter of Lee Media, the country's biggest media company. The holy union was agreed upon by the elders of the family since it was beneficial for both parties and most importantly, the heirs had no objection. They grew up in each other's presence anyway.

Even worse, after the engagement, Seungcheol was moving to Hong Kong to better oversee the company business and when he was to return, the marriage would take place.

That news would have made any normal person give up. It would have brought them back to their senses and forced them to focus on their own life.

You, however, did not.

Overnight, you were a changed woman.

You attended his engagement party with a smile on your face and watched as he put the ring on that disgustingly beautiful woman’s finger. That day too you spoke to him briefly, congratulating him on his engagement and wishing him luck for his work abroad. With his fiancee, Sumin Lee, you talked plenty; initiating the conversation by introducing yourself and carrying it on by complimenting her dress and her ring. You did not miss the way her gaze would repeatedly fall on your scar, judgment and questions flashing in her eyes. Something was unsettling about that woman, something in the look of her eyes that made you want to scream and warn Seungcheol to stay away.

You could not do that, of course.

Instead, you said goodbye to the man you loved and let him leave.

Your game began after that.

You played the first move by getting his number from your grandpa and texting him once he had left.

Hi, it's ____. Hope you have reached safely.

That was the first text you had sent him.

When he replied, you struck up a conversation, asking for recommendations for golf sticks since you wanted to get into golfing. The rest was surprisingly easy. You bonded with him over golf even though in reality you could not give two shits about that boring sport. The conversations flowed naturally and you always made sure it keep things casual, asking for recommendations and advice on anything and everything as if he were a brother to you.

And like that, four years has gone by.

You started living a life completely different from the one you had envisioned for yourself.

Once upon a time, you wanted to be a librarian. You had no interest in overtaking your grandpa’s business and he had accepted that. In the last few years, however, your previous notion changed. You realized that you needed to take over the company and actually get on the field to continue playing the game you were enjoying. Your grandpa was dubious at first but for the last two years, you have been in the position of the vice president of Kim Associations and you must admit, you have been performing beyond what you thought you were capable of. Your grandpa, who has been extremely pleased with your work, resigned a little while ago and assured you of your capabilities to take over.

And finally, today is the day.

Your inauguration ceremony which will officially mark the beginning of your journey as the president of Kim Associations.

“Are you ready, madam? The guests are all here.” Your assistant’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You blink, refocusing your attention on your reflection in the mirror. Combing your fingers through the strands of your hair that have been perfectly styled, you speak, “I’ll be out in a second, Yuna.”

“Yes, madam.” The door shuts quietly behind her.

Sucking in a deep breath, you stand up, carefully scanning your outfit in the mirror one last time. Pleased with how the white blazer and pants look on you, you strut out of the dressing room and into the hallway leading to the grand room where the guests await.

As soon as you can get over with the boring ceremony, you can move on to the bigger tasks. Seungcheol is supposed to return home this month which means your time is running out. As soon as he is here, the preparations for marriage will start and you cannot let that happen. You must act fast.

With the ending of your acceptance speech, you step down from the podium, slightly woozy because of the continuous camera flashes. Yuna holds out a bottle of water for you to take a quick sip. As you screw the lid closed, your eyes wander over the room before stopping.

A small gasp parts your lips.

On the other side of the hall, you see Seungcheol talking to your grandpa.

As if sensing your stare he turns his head and his gaze matches yours. A beautiful smile sits on his lips, his eyes shining as he starts heading towards you with a large bouquet of flowers resting on his arm.

Time slows down, and everything around you fades into background noise. Breathlessly, you watch him, soaking in every minuscule detail and committing them to your memory. And lord, is he a vision. Dressed in a three piece grey suit, his freshly styled hair and his blinding smile, you briefly wonder if he is a fragment of your imagination.

You blink a couple of times to snap yourself back to reality before schooling your expression as he stands in front of you.

“Congratulations, President Kim.” He grins, cheeky and proud as he offers you the comically large bouquet.

A huge smile kisses your lips as you accept the flowers. “Seungcheol, I am very pleasantly surprised.”

“That was the intention.” He laughs and it is then that you notice a figure standing right behind him.

It is Sumin, of course, standing next to him with a plastic smile as she congratulates you.

Your mood sours but you don’t let it show.

“You were supposed to return later this month, no?” You peer inquisitively at your love.

“What can I say, business finished early.” He shrugs.

“Which is good because we have a wedding to plan, no honey?” Sumin slings her arms through his as she throws a flirty smile at him. His hand rests on hers and your blood boils.

“Of course.” Your smile is so fake your cheeks hurt. “It was lovely to see you, Seungcheol. I have some investors waiting over there for me. We will catch up later, okay?”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

You push past Sumin, immediately dropping the fake smile as your fingers grip the stem of the flowers in a chokehold.

One week passes by and you fail to make time to catch up with Seungcheol— one-on-one at least. As the new president, piles of work awaited you every day at the office that you had to get through. With the very little free time you had after work, you would text Seungcheol only to get a reply that he was busy preparing for the wedding or visiting his in-laws.

Tonight you were invited to dinner by Seungcheol’s father as he held a small dinner for his close friends and family. You went with the hopes of seeing Seungcheol which were quickly crushed after your arrival. Turns out he and Sumin were out of town for whatever reason and would be running late. The sight of Sumin’s family making themselves comfortable and their boisterous attitude prompted you to leave as soon as dinner was over.

Another bad day has come to an end.

You lie in your bed, wide awake even though it is well past midnight. The work that waits for you in the day ahead along with another myriad of meetings overwhelms you. Your grandpa has not been feeling well so you need to visit him. Plus, there is this tiny issue of Seungcheol getting married to Sumin. You are not sure how you should approach this issue. Creating a scandal is always a good idea but that would end up harming the man you love. Of course, there is always another option…

One thought leads to another which leads you to sleep. At the crack of dawn, you are jolted out of your sleep by what you first think is your alarm. Then you fathom it is your phone ringing.

The caller is the caretaker who lives with your grandpa.

With your heart suddenly beating like you just ran a marathon, you pick up the phone.

“Miss Kim, your grandfather had a stroke. We are on the way to the hospital.”

The next few hours are a blur.

You have long lost your sense of time. After what feels like ages since you reached the hospital, you find yourself, along with some relatives, sitting in a sterile waiting room, the walls bleak and grey.

The clock on the wall reads ten in the morning. No sunlight peeks through, however, because there are no windows where you sit.

“You should have something to eat,” your secretary quietly suggests standing next to you. Her words reach your ears but you fail to register them, staring blankly at the floor.

Life without your grandpa sounds weird. He is the only person on this planet you love and trust unconditionally, the only person who understands and loves you the same way you love him.

He cannot just die, can he?

A while later, you don’t know how long, the doctor comes to give a briefing about the patient's health. He says a lot of words which can be summarized as this: your grandfather had a stroke that caused him to fall into a sleep-like state. When he will wake up from this coma is unknown, it could be days, it could be months. For now, his condition is stable and you can only pray it stays the same.

And just like that, there is a sudden shift in your life as you fall into a new routine. Working from dawn to dusk and then spending the evenings next to your comatose grandpa, holding his hand and hoping he would wake up. People come to visit, including the Chois. On the first day that Seungcheol visited, you shed a tear in his embrace before returning to your hollow, expressionless self. Soon, days blend into weeks which transform into a month.

You start becoming more accepting of your reality. A part of you wonders if this is how your grandpa is preparing you to live a life without him. He has always been in your life as a protective shadow since he adopted you at the age of ten. A car crash took your parents away from you when you were very young, so you never missed them. Your memories of your early childhood are next to non existent but after being adopted, every day was something worth remembering. A kind stranger welcomed you with open arms and legally became your grandfather. He was so much more than just a grandfather, though. He was akin to your parents, a best friend, a guardian.

How does one cope with losing such a precious person?

Life sure will not be fun without him judging from the rumours that you hear going around your company. The way the board of directors and shareholders keep hinting that you may be an unfit candidate to rule over the company in the absence of an experienced man like your grandpa.

Why? Because you are young and unmarried.

How sensible that sounds.

While you may not be getting married any time soon, Seungcheol definitely is. His wedding with Sumin is set in exactly three months which does not leave you with much time on your hands. Your grandpa’s collapse was a momentary distraction but at the same time, it was a learning experience. People started showing their true colours and it helped you come to a decision.

You will play the long game and you will hit two birds with one stone.

The villa where Sumin’s party is taking place is situated a little outside the city.

She has recently launched her own clothing line with the money given by her in-laws as a pre-wedding gift but that part is a secret to the public.

It is almost dinner time when you arrive and the party is in full swing with the music blasting and people covering almost every place of the villa. The place is mainly littered with influencers and models and you recognize a few familiar faces who approach you first to say hi.

You see Sumin skirting around, talking to people animatedly, posing for pictures and ordering the staff around. She has not noticed you come in but you do not mind. You will be seeing her personally very soon.

Dinner finishes and you start saying your goodbyes, using a headache as your excuse. After ensuring everything is set and your plan is successfully in motion you head for the abandoned factory located about a couple hundred meters behind the villa. The place is quiet and poorly lit but best of all, it is a place without any CCTV cameras. People never bother to come here, one because it is an abandoned, dusty factory and two, it ends in a dead end which is also a junkyard pile.

The watch on your wrist reads five minutes to ten thirty which means Sumin will be here anytime soon.

You wait for her under the only lit lamppost in the area, watching the bugs fly around the light before fixing your wandering gaze on the autumn night sky, the faded echoes of the music from the party your background noise. The sky is glittering with stars tonight, you observe.

“Hello?”

The sudden female voice makes you turn around.

Sumin is standing there with a confused look which quickly morphs into caution when she sees you. “So it was you? You asked me to come here?” She questions with a hint of annoyance as she holds up the note you left for her at the dinner table.

Come to the junkyard at ten thirty. If you tell anyone about this it will be very bad for you.

Your reply is a sweet smile which you know will aggravate her.

“Seriously, I don’t have time for your games. I have a party to get back to.” She huffs, crumpling your note and throwing it down to the ground.

“Of course you do,” you nod, stepping closer to her. She waits for you to elaborate but you deny her the pleasure, instead observing her with a mysterious smile. Her petite, thin frame is drowning in an unbuttoned pink fur jacket. Underneath that, she is dressed in a glittery pastel pink crop top and a matching mini skirt with knee-high boots. As if that wasn’t enough glitter, her eyeshadow and her brown hair are equally shining in glitter.

Life must be so fun for her.

“Hello? Care to explain why you brought me out here?” Sumin snaps two fingers before crossing her hands over her chest, and tapping the tip of her heel on the concrete.

You release a deep sigh before looking her straight in the eye. “Break up with Seungcheol.”

She blinks three times as she processes your words before letting out the biggest scoff of amusement. “Come again?”

“You heard me. Break up with him while I’m asking nicely.”

Sumin appears only more flabbergasted which she expresses with a high-pitched laughter bubbling up from her throat. “The audacity you have! Coming to my party and then calling me here with a threatening note only to tell me to break up with my fiance? Holy shit, you really are crazy!”

You silently watch her with your arms crossed, unamused.

Her expression only grows brighter, lighting up with elation as if she just solved the world’s biggest mystery. “I wasn’t wrong! From the day I first saw you at my engagement party, I knew something was up with you. Your eyes were always following Seungcheol! You are delusional, thinking you can take him from me. Even if I break up with him, do you think he would take you as his wife? He treats you like a sister— no no, I’m being too kind. He tolerates you! You are a pesky little ant that keeps bothering him but he is kind enough not to crush you! You are so fucking unbelievable, ___.”

You warned her, she did not listen. Time to bring out the big guns.

Reaching into your handbag, you pull out a small rectangular envelope before tossing it to the ground in front of her.

“What is it?” Sumin asks, raising an annoyed brow. You remain mute as you wait for her to pick it up. With a huff, she does so as she pries it open and pulls out the photos stacked inside. After flipping through only two of them, the colour drains from her face as she screams and drops them all from her hands.

“You! You bitch! Where did you get them from?” Sumin’s eyes are as wide as saucers accompanied by a look of sheer panic on her face that brings you immense joy.

“Oh sweet Sumin,” You smirk. “You should be careful when having an affair behind your fiancee’s back. You are a chaebol, after all. People are always watching.”

“You psychopath!” She hisses, marching towards you. In a fit of wild rage, she grabs you by the collar and screams. “You think you can get away with blackmailing me! I am the future wife of the Choi Corporation’s president. Everyone will believe me. I can just claim those are fake and you are doing this out of jealousy!”

You cannot stifle a chuckle. Calmly, you grab her hands and hold them tight as you challenge, “Sumin, you are awfully noisy for a cheater. You know I can just send these to the press, right? No matter what your truth is, they are going to eat it up. Your reputation will forever be ruined along with Seungcheol’s. Do you think the Chois would let that happen? They would cut you off immediately.”

“You!” Sumin’s frustrated cry pierces the night silence. “You fucking scarred bitch! I will fucking kill you! Do you think my father would just let you go?”

You smirk. Gripping her hands tightly, you pry them off your collars before shoving her away. “You don’t get to touch me, you scheming cunt.”

Sumin stumbles back a few strides when you start taking slow steps towards her, your hands resting behind your back almost as if you were out on an afternoon stroll. A new look of horror sets on her face when you come closer and whisper in her ear, “I know that your daddy is broke. He has barely been keeping his company together for the last three years. The only reason you are marrying Seungcheol is so you can get half of his money and save yourself.”

A shaky breath comes out of her lips as Sumin steps back from you, her figure trembling. You smile, taking another step closer to her. “I also know the things your daddy did to keep this secret from getting out. But imagine what the Chois would do when they discover that your family— a bunch of thugs, was planning to use them from the very beginning. Partnership? Ha— That was never your intention. You just wanted to take advantage of Seungcheol and his company.”

Sumin keeps looking at you, eyes wide and full of disbelief, panting heavily. Her eyes are the personification of loathing and it creates a sense of achievement so big within you, you feel like bursting.

You have seen enough of her drama.

Stepping even closer to her, you sneer. “Break up with Seungcheol before I ruin you and your entire family to the ground.”

“Never!” She yells, taking you by surprise and shoving you down onto the ground. The hard concrete scrapes your palms which you use to brace yourself, leaving behind a sharp sting.

“I am not going to break up with him! Choi Seungcheol is mine, you beast! My father may be bankrupt now but you don’t know what we are still capable of. We have gotten rid of insects like you many times before. It won’t be hard to shut your mouth forever, you bitch!” She hisses, looking down at you.

You roll your eyes, dusting off the dirt from your palms.

“If I were afraid of dying I never would have joined this game, Sumin.”

She sputters, gritting her teeth, eyes shining with tears of frustration, her hands forming fists. She glares at you for a long moment and you can see the gears shifting in her head through her expression as she gradually composes herself before looking down at the ground, shaking her head and laughing. “That is alright. I will start with your grandfather, then.”

The blood in your veins runs ice cold, making you suddenly grow stiff.

She continues to laugh. “That old man is already on life support. It won’t be abnormal if he dies suddenly, will it? Right now, in fact?’’ She grins, pulling out her mobile and teasingly shaking it in her hand. “What do you say? Should I make a call? Show you how easy it is for me?’’

You breathe in and out sharply, your hands forming fists at your sides. Before you can open your mouth, she continues.

“Oh right! I forgot something important. Before I kill him, you should know a secret, ___.”

You remain rooted to your spot, glaring at her. She grins. “Your grandfather, Kim Han Oh? He is your real grandfather, not a kind old man who happened to see you one day and adopted you.”

What?

A scoff of disbelief falls from your lips. “The fear of being exposed has made you crazy, no? You’re saying anything now.” You sigh, standing up and shaking off the dust from your clothes, almost feeling pity for the girl. There is no way she could be serious right now.

Sumin’s lips break into a larger grin as she slowly moves closer to you, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Oh, poor you! You know nothing, sweetheart. Kim Han Oh is your real grandfather. You are connected by blood. But that is not even the best part.” She stops to let out a giggle. “The best part is, you ended up in that orphanage because of him.”

In the eerie stillness of the night, the only sound is the sharp intake of your breath as your body grows stiff. “You are lying.” Your breath comes out uneven.

You wish your words came out stronger.

“Oh, ___. I wish I were. Your father had you out of wedlock. Your mother was a waitress at a bar when she met your father. When you were 3 years old, he finally decided to confess to your grandfather about his secret family, hoping he would accept you and your mom. He never did. He kicked you three out of his house and while returning from his place, the accident occurred.” Sumin pauses, inspecting your behaviour carefully. She tilts her chin up, pointing to your face, “That scar marring your face? You got it because of him, sweetheart.”

By now, your entire world has collapsed as your body starts shutting down, making your vision blurry as you lose your footing. You choke on your breath, trying to form words of disagreement which comes out as a pathetic whimper. Your hands search pointlessly for something to hold onto and with nothing around you, you fall back down on the ground, panting harshly.

The dim ray of the street light falling over you gets blocked by Sumin as she towers over you with a fiendish smile of victory. Sitting in front of you, she places one knee on the ground and rests her hand on the other.

“It hurts, right? It will hurt more when I tell you that the Choi family is aware of this as well.”

Your eyes fly to her face, wide with alarm and despair.

“That’s right, they know what a filthy, low-born you are. Discarded by your grandfather and then taken back out of pity.” Her words are pure venom, each one hurting more than the last. “You prance around thinking you are the queen of the world, chosen among others because you have something special but in reality, you are a disgusting mutt who does not know her place.”

You cough which morphs into a sob as tears start to blur your vision.

This is not how this was supposed to go.

“How dare you,” Sumin breathes, reaching out her claws to tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear, “even think of touching Seungcheol, hm? He is mine. Even if I fuck ten guys behind his back, he would choose me any day over someone like you.”

“Shut up!” You cry out.

Sumin chuckles. “You should not have poked your filthy nose in my business, ____. I have ruined you with just my words, now watch as I ruin Seungcheol right in front of you.”

“No!” You hiss, clutching her shoulders. She pries your hands off. “Oh yes. I will marry him and I will destroy him and everything he holds dear. Why? Because I can. Because this is my payback for thinking you can mess with me!”

Pushing you away, she stands up, giving you one last look of victory before marching away, the heels of her boots leaving behind echoes of mockery as you pant harshly.

At the last moment, you call out. “Sumin?’’

She turns around. “Ugh, what now—”

A gun goes off.

If there was no silencer, the haunting echo would ripple through the night air. In its absence, there is a small click followed by an eerie stillness as Sumin drops to the ground, falling on her side with a clean bullet hole sitting on her forehead.

Lowering the gun in your hand, you wipe your tears and stand up. Your handbag lies on the ground haphazardly and you pick it up, putting the gun inside like it was when you came here.

With a heavy sigh, you walk towards where her body lies and watch her remain still, looking at you with the blankest pair of eyes as rivulets of blood flow down her temple.

Surprisingly, you do not feel any remorse. For one second, before pulling the trigger, you hesitated, thinking this decision would come back to haunt you. Now, in the beautiful silence of the night, you do not. Somewhere deep down, you knew this was inevitable, hence you brought the gun.

“You should not have underestimated me if you knew where I came from. Filthy people like me will do filthy things for the people we love. We are villains.” You sigh. “Rest in peace, Sumin.”

You spare one last look at her before walking away from the scene, picking up the photos and the note she dropped earlier on the ground along your way.

Morning comes faster than anticipated.

As soon as you come downstairs after waking up, you find your secretary waiting for you with her tablet in her hands, standing at her usual spot even though it is the weekend. The look, however, on her face immediately tells you that the news of Sumin’s death has spread. Schooling your expression, you cross the stairs, heading straight for the kitchen. “Morning, Yuna. Is today not a Saturday?”

“Yes, madam. But…” She hesitates. “Did you hear the news?’’

“What news?” You pick up a glass of orange juice and sip on it.

“Sumin was murdered. Kim Sumin.”

You widen your eyes, setting down the glass with a loud clank. “What?’’

“Yes,” Yuna fidgets as she steps closer to you, eyes shining with mischief as if she is about to share a big secret. “Last night. Apparently, she was shot in the head. The Lees and Chois have given out special orders. No news outlet knows the details of her murder. It is being kept under wraps.”

“I see. How unfortunate,” You stare at the ground before going back to finish your juice.

“Since she was murdered last night while the party was ongoing, the police will be questioning all the attendees. You will also get a call sometime soon.”

“Hm, I left early so I won’t be much help but sure.” You pretend to be absent-minded. “Anyway, is there anything in my schedule today?’’

Yuna opens her mouth to speak but you get her off with a raise of your hand, “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Cancel it. I need to visit Seungcheol and see how he is doing. He should be at home, no?”

“Yes, madam.”

There is a sort of eerieness in the air when you step inside Seungcheol’s mansion. A mais greets you, announcing that Seungcheol is busy seeing a visitor in his study. You lie, telling her he is already expecting you and march towards his room, your heels clicking against the marble floor. You ponder whether it is your imagination that makes his otherwise magnificent home look dull. Maybe it is because of the dark weather outside along with the empty hallways and the lack of usual decorative lights that cast this entire place with a bleak, grey spell. It feels like you have entered the haunted castle of a prince mourning the death of his lover.

If only he knew she was not a lover but a witch.

The voices inside Seungcheol’s study are loud and frustrated enough that you can hear them from the outside quite clearly. Standing in front of the wooden double doors, you lean closer and easily identify Sumin’s father’s voice as he yells. “I need to know who is behind this as soon as possible!”

“Trust me when I say that I will get to the bottom of this.” Replies Seungcheol. “The one who killed her is also an enemy of the Choi family.”

How dramatic.

You roll your eyes. Would he feel the same if he knew what she was doing behind his back?

“That is why I am telling you to trust me. You cannot make rash decisions now. I have employed a good friend of mine as the leading officer in this case. The truth will be out sooner or later.”

“It should be out soon! The bastard ruined us! He killed my daughter and ruined this entire family!” The old man keeps yelling.

You smirk.

It is a she.

He keeps going on about giving his trust to the Chois and telling Seungcheol that he has his full faith in him. You cannot help shaking your head in mirth. Of course, Mr. Lee will say that. He knows that the less he is involved in the investigation, the better because otherwise, all his dirty secrets will be uncovered. He just needs to act like a devastated father and let his daughter’s fiance take care of it.

As you sense their conversation coming to an end, you walk back a few steps, pretending as if you just arrived and are about to make your way inside. The door to the study opens as Mr. Lee steps out, frustrated, murmuring something under his breath. He does not look to be grieving at all which is not a surprise for you. You knew very well that Sumin was only a tool to get him what he wanted, money.

You greet him with a sad expression but he is too busy thinking to himself that he absentmindedly sends a nod your way before marching away.

Once again, you grin.

The entire situation keeps getting more hilarious.

With a deep breath, you take a moment to compose yourself before pushing the door and stepping inside his study. Seungcheol who was staring out the window with his hands on his hips turns around as he hears you step inside.

“___?” He is surprised.

Your heart skips a beat as his eyes meet yours. He looks beat down, like he did not get any sleep the whole night, his appearance dishevelled. His white shirt is crinkled, folded messily up to his arms, his hair unstyled and the slightest dust of stubble covering his chin. A glass of half-drunk whiskey sits on his desk.

For one horrible moment, you wonder if he loved Sumin. That would not be possible, this marriage was only a business deal.

“Hey,” You give him a sad smile which comes out genuinely. Stepping closer to him, you pull him in a gentle hug. “I heard the news this morning. I am so sorry.”

Seungcheol nods, reaching for the drink and finishing it in one go.

“Does the police have any leads?”

“No.” He grunts. “It is quite almost the perfect crime.”

Oh my.

“What do you mean?”

“There is no CCTV footage. It was a blind spot that remained empty most of the time. Sumin did not receive any text messages and there is nothing on her phone that indicates any threats. The last footage of her is her leaving the party by herself and walking towards the abandoned factory. The crime scene was also clean as hell. There are no signs of struggle and the gun is yet to be found.” He grows more frustrated with each word.

You reach to rub his arm soothingly, “Give them some time, I am sure they will find something.”

“I fucking hope so.” He sighs, rubbing his face with his palms.

A grim pause settles in the air and it slowly becomes unnerving. You promptly ask, “Seungcheol?”

“Hm?’’ You calling his name brings him out of his head and makes him turn around to face you properly.

For a horrible moment, your throat closes up.

As you look into his eyes, flashbacks of the previous night come to you in tsunami waves as you feel yourself slipping into an endless pit.

You have tried your level best to keep the things Sumin revealed yesterday out of your mind but when you look at Seungcheol, a loathsome sense of betrayal overtakes you. At the same time, there is fear. You are terrified that the look in your eyes gives you away, telling him about the crime you committed last night.

It is all-consuming, paralyzing.

Amid the battle of words and thoughts inside your mind, you end up asking, “Did you love her?”

He frowns.

You hold your breath, watching and waiting. A look of offence seems to cover his face and you hate it. He should be saying that he did not love her, they were in an agreement of convenience and she was like a friend to him.

“Why do you ask?’’

You shrug, “No reason. I was just curious. I wonder what it feels like to lose a loved one.” You look away, putting on a face of ponder.

Seungcheol remains silent and you start accepting your defeat, realising he probably fell in love with her.

What a horrible sensation.

“I was not in love with her if that is what you are asking. I was comfortable with her like a friend and I was happy to share my future with her. She was nice and kind and beautiful, so somewhere along the line I saw myself falling for her.”

For some reason, his words hurt more, despite him saying he is not in love with her. You detest that look in his eyes, a look that says he has transported back in time and is remembering her with fondness that you wish he would feel for you.

“I see,” you whisper. “Anyhow, I hope you find her killer. If you need any help, I am here.”

“Thanks,” he nods. “The police will probably drop by sometime to ask general questions.”

“Hm, I am happy to help even though I am not sure how helpful I can be.”

“It is just general procedure, so don't worry about it.”

“I am not.” You smile.

The next afternoon an officer in plain clothes pays a visit to your office. You have been expecting it and you welcome him in your space, offering him a seat on the large couch in the middle of your office room. As you sit down in front of him, an assistant brings two cups of tea before leaving you two alone in a room of silence minus the ticking of the clock.

The officer begins. “I am Sergeant Thomas. You probably know why I am here.”

“Yes, sergeant, I am aware.”

“Right.” He nods before producing a small notebook and a pen from his pocket.

“So this is a basic procedure. Please try to remember as many details as possible.”

“I will try my best,” You nod, crossing one leg over the other.

“Did you talk to the victim on the night of her murder?’’

“No. I arrived late and left early. Besides, she was already very busy talking to everyone.” Truth.

“Did you see anything different about her? Like she was uncomfortable or scared?’’

“No, she seemed to be her normal bubbly self.” Truth.

“Did anything unusual happen at the party?”

“Unusual?”

“Maybe any argument or fight? Between any of the attendees?” He shrugs.

“No, nothing like that.” You shake your head.

He nods. “And when did you leave the party?”

“Around 9.45 pm.” Lie.

“Why did you leave early?’’

“I had a long work day and a headache was creeping up on me.” Lie.

“Right,” he nods, jotting something down in his notebook. “And when you were leaving did you see anyone suspicious around the area?”

“Not that I remember of, no.”

“Did you see the victim outside? Maybe with someone or by herself?”

“No.”

The officer sighs loudly. “I guess that covers it.”

A smile creeps on your lips but you cover it by offering him a sympathetic look. “I suppose you have not found many leads yet.”

“Unfortunately so,” the man nods, sipping his tea. “This will be a tough case to break.”

You shift in your seat, “How did she die, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“She was shot in the head.”

You gasp, covering your mouth. “Oh no.”

He nods. “Thank you for your time, President Kim. If you remember anything else please contact me.” He stands up, holding out his card. You take it with a nod. “I will sergeant, thank you.”

“Good day, then.” He sends a nod your way before walking out of your office.

You watch him leave with a diabolic smile before crumpling his card and throwing it in the trash, heaving out a loud sigh.

Level one completed successfully.

2 months later

Life is mundane.

With your grandpa still being comatose and the investigation of Sumin’s murder coming to a standstill due to the lack of evidence, there is nothing to keep you on your toes.

With the lapse of time, you had grown to be indifferent about everything.

Until now, when debates have sparked about Seungcheol’s capability to lead the Choi Corporation. Finally, the time has come for you to make your second move. They have been facing a hard time, wavering stock prices and a heavy debate over being in favour or against Seungcheol as the company’s head. With Sumin’s murder and the end of the union with Lee Media, things are extremely unstable as the power-hungry board of trustees deems him unsuitable to lead the company. Not to mention rumours have been going around stating that the Choi family was behind Sumin’s murder.

Now is the perfect time to start working on the second half of your plan. You have been helping them secure investments, regularly sitting for meetings with Seungcheol and his dad to plan new projects. Your plan can now be initiated seamlessly.

Today is another one of those days and you, Seungcheol and his dad have come together in his office after work to go over the profits of the latest joint venture.

“This is good but we can do better.” Mr Choi says, setting down the sheets on the coffee table and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Most shareholders are still against Seungcheol and they want quick results.”

At the mention of his name, the man sighs and looks at his father, exasperated. “Dad, we have gone over this. We need to keep working to rebuild what we have lost. And we’re starting to see results. The board will give up sooner or later.”

“We need something more solid, son. We need something right now to prove to everyone that Choi Corporation still has a very bright future.”

You cannot resist this perfect opportunity.

Setting down the spreadsheet you were holding, you lean back on the couch and cross your arms before looking at Seungcheol. “You need to form a union.”

Seungcheol raises a thick brow. Mr Choi shuffles, peering at you inquisitively. You have to stifle a pleased smile. “Choi Corporation needs to form a long-term alliance with another big industry.” You pause. “And what better way to do that than through matrimony.”

There is a stretch of silence followed by your words.

Seungcheol scoffs, “What non—”

“Aha!” His father interrupts with a look of pure elation on his face. “You are so right! Why did I not think of this before…” The light in his face starts to diminish. “But which elite family would agree to ally with us now, unless…” An unmistakable flash of hope sparks in his eyes as he looks at you.

Absolutely delighted, you wait for him to voice the words.

“___, would you… be willing to?” His voice is full of hope.

“Dad!” Seungcheol gasps, standing up and scowling at his father with bafflement.

Oh baby, you are yet to be surprised.

Completely ignoring Seungcheol’s outburst and holding eye contact with his father, you reply. “I would be honored to.”

“What?” Seungcheol whips his head at you.

“Then it is settled,” Mr. Choi stands up with a clap of his hands. “We need to start preparing.”

You finally let your gaze travel to Seungcheol who is looking at you like he cannot believe you just did that. There are unsaid questions in his eyes, mixed with confusion and maybe even suspicion which he does not get to voice because he is going after his father. “Dad, you cannot be serious. Sumin’s case is still unsolved and—”

“You can solve that after the engagement, no? It is important to save the company right now. I understand how you feel but this way we can secure your future. I have known ___’s grandfather for so long and this would be a perfect match.”

Seungcheol looks at his father, distraught. His mouth opens but he fails to form words, raking a frustrated hand through his hair instead.

Watching their interaction you know for sure, you have won this round as well.

The next day you pay Seungcheol a visit on your way home from work. When you step inside his mansion, there is a different air about you which is reflected in the way you walk; like you own the place. You find Seungcheol in his study as you expected, still dressed in work clothes as he sips a cup of coffee with his eyes trained on his laptop. For a moment, you let yourself admire the way he looks in that white shirt folded at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone and his perfectly messy hair that can only be made by continuously running his hands through it.

This man is going to be yours.

Knocking on his open door, you make your presence known and step in, “Hey there.”

Seungcheol looks up and when his eyes lock with yours you see the lack of shine they previously used to have when he saw you. There is also a change in his reaction as he greets you by simply uttering your name.

You had expected resistance from him so it is fine.

“I came to check up on you.” You state in your friendliest voice as you stop in front of his desk. Pointing towards the couch on your left, you ask. “May I?”

He nods, watching you sit down and place your crimson handbag on the mahogany coffee table. Then, he gets up and comes to take a seat on the couch opposite you.

“You don’t look well.” You start.

“Yes,” he watches you carefully. “I’ve been trying to adjust myself to the upcoming changes.”

You heave out a sigh. “Listen, I know you are not up for this change—’’

“That’s an understatement,’’ he remarks drily.

You frown. “I don’t understand why you are mad at me.” You do not hide the indignation in your voice.

Seungcheol regards you silently and you can see that he is trying to hold back questions; questions he has about this sudden partnership, your prompt agreement and your intentions behind them. You see it all in his eyes and you know he does not voice them because they would hurt you, because his suspicion is just a form of his own resistance and he has no proof to back up his theories.

After a long moment, he exhales loudly, letting his head hang low before rubbing his face with his palm.

“This is just…too sudden.” He huffs out a breath before shaking his head. “I still cannot believe you and my dad just fixed my engagement right in front of me without asking me once.”

A small smile graces your lips. “Seungcheol, you know that I will not get engaged to you if you are not fully on board with this idea, right?”

You hold his gaze and notice how his features visibly soften as he nods. You continue. “I understand you are still hooked on what happened and I won’t force you to move on. This will just be a business partnership which will benefit both our companies.”

“You’re right.” Seungcheol murmurs, his eyes cast down as if he is lost in thought.

“Your father wants us to get engaged next week. Are you okay with that?”

Your words make him sit up straight, newfound determination sparkling in his eyes. “That works for me. How about you?”

“Me too.” You give him your most flattering smile.

You get engaged to Seungcheol on a Saturday.

The ceremony is very small— almost nonexistent, taking place only in the presence of Seungcheol’s family, his secretary and yours. Somewhere within you, you sense an emptiness caused by the absence of your grandpa. At the same time, remembering him leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You are still wrapping your head around the information Sumin revealed to you months ago.

Of course, you did some digging and went deeper to find out about your parents, which you never thought you would do. You never thought you would long for them or feel sorry for them, but you do now. Still, the anger does not fade away. It won’t until you get to confront your grandpa, which is why he must wake up. He has to.

Immediately after the short engagement ceremony, an official statement is released from both of your companies, sending the press into a frenzy. They treat it as if it is the biggest happening of the decade, even bigger than Seungcheol’s previous engagement, writing hundreds of articles and gossip tabloids. The general public does not hold back either, coming up with various theories linking you, Seungcheol, and Sumin together. Many say that you will be the next victim of the Choi family— they will get rid of you like Sumin.

Their words make you laugh. If the people knew the truth, what would they say? Would they understand you?

Probably not.

Which is fine, because your lifelong dream has come true.

You are going to marry Choi Seungcheol.

Just one week after your engagement, your grandpa wakes up from his coma.

You are stepping out of the plane after returning from your business trip to Hong Kong when you check the text from your secretary. Your grandpa woke up from his coma two hours ago and is very stable now.

The news has you standing still for a moment. There are mixed feelings but the most prominent feeling you sense is dread. You wonder what he will say. Would anything he say make you love him the way you used to?

Probably not.

When you step into your grandpa’s VIP ward, it is crowded. Your secretary, your grandpa’s caretaker and your future father-in-law are already there, hovering around his bed.

“Look who is here finally!” Mr. Choi grins as he spots you, standing up from his seat that is right by your grandpa’s bed. “Come in, come in.”

Your grandpa is seated on the bed, his back supported by pillows, looking a lot better than the last time you saw him. As soon as he sees you step in, his eyes shine and a large smile spreads on his lips.

A piece of your heart breaks.

“I hope you don’t mind, ____. I have already told him the good news.” Mr Choi says mischievously and you force a smile at him.

“Mr. Choi, could I have a moment with my grandpa, in private?”

“Of course, of course!” He nods and ushers everyone out of the room. When the door closes behind you and the silence settles, you step towards the bed.

“____, come, come! Sit.” Your grandpa motions to the seat by his bed.

Once you are seated, he immediately captures your hand in his, his frail, bony fingers clasping yours tightly as his eyes shine with unshed tears. “Oh ___! So much has happened. How could I miss it all! My little girl got engaged and I missed it!”

You cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes and for some reason, he fails to spot your weird behaviour. He continues, “I have missed you so much. Did you miss me? The nurse told me you have not been visiting regularly.” He looks at you expectantly.

You have to swallow a hard lump in your throat when you finally speak. “Grandpa, we need to talk.”

He lets go of your hands, pinching his brows together. “What is wrong?”

“Is there a secret you are hiding from me?”

“What? What secret?” He scoffs. “What are you—”

“You are my real grandfather, aren’t you?” You snap.

Time stills for a moment. Your grandpa watches you, his eyes slowly widening with alarm as seconds tick by. “I…y-you—” He stammers, looking bewildered.

You bite your lip hard to stop yourself from crying. “For the last two months, I have been waiting. Hoping, praying, that what I learned is not true even though everything pointed out otherwise. Please, tell me I am wrong. Tell me I am misunderstanding, please! Tell me you did not lie to me, grandpa!”

By now tears are rolling down your cheeks as you grab his hands in a desperate hold. He does not meet your gaze, looking down instead as he tries to stifle a sob.

“Why did you do it?” Messy tears blur your vision as you shake him, trying to make him look at you. “Why did you hate my parents so much? Why did you hate me so much, tell me!”

“I did not hate you, please— I…I did not know better.” He pleads, holding your hands. “I…I expected better things from your father. He was never the son I wanted him to be and when I found out he had a hidden family, I…I just lost it. I did not want them to die, you have to believe me.” His eyes are wide, his grip on your hands tightening as the desperation comes off him in waves.

“I felt so guilty that I…I could not look at you. You were so young and the accident left you with that scar and I felt responsible for it. So I sent you to that orphanage but that did not ease my guilt either. I sent you away but I did not forget you. I did not abandon you, I swear! I always had my eyes on you and I made sure you were taken care of. Years went by and as you grew up, I saw what an amazing future you had ahead of you. You— you were good at everything! So I decided to adopt you, give you the opportunity to fill out your potential—

“So I was an investment?” You cut him off with a glare.

“No!” Your grandpa begs. “It wasn’t like that! I…I learned to overlook my guilt. I…I did it out of love, ___. I was miserable without you. You have to believe me.” His eyes hold so much hope and desperation yet every word he says makes him appear more like a stranger to you.

“I don’t care!” You yell, snatching your hands from his grip. The rage flowing through your blood prevents you from remaining seated. You stand on your feet and look down at him, your teeth gritting in anger. “I don’t care if you did it out of love! You lied to me. If you loved me, you would have told me the truth when I was old enough. Did you think I never would have found out? Do you…do you know how awful it made me feel when I heard it from a fucking stranger!” The rage, the betrayal, the frustration you feel is maddening.

“My child, please, I’m sorry. Just listen—” Your grandpa’s pleas to listen fall deaf on your ears as you glower at him. How could he do that to you? How could he do that to your parents? How is it possible that your heart is ripping apart in pain for two people you don’t even remember?

Absentmindedly, your hand reaches to touch the faded scar on your left cheek, the surface still slightly bumpy to the touch.

Your grandpa grabs your hand once more, breaking the train of your thoughts. As soon as he touches you, you step back, snatching your hand away from his grip.

“___, please, listen to me.” He begs.

“No,” you shake your head. “I loved you. You were my rock, grandpa. And this is how you repay me?”

The longer you look at him, the crueler you find yourself becoming. The man you have known your entire life starts to appear more and more unfamiliar. Wiping all the tears from your face, you take a deep, shuddering breath. Your hands curl into fists as you look him straight in the eye and announce. “You are not invited to the wedding.”

“What?” He gasps, his mouth hanging agape as one of his hands reaches out to try to grab onto you.

“You heard me. Don’t try to contact me. If I want to see you again, I will come find you.”

You don’t look back as you storm out of the room.

The old man’s pitiful sobs do not make you turn around as you block the noises by loudly shutting the door behind you.

The first thing you do when you get back home is open a bottle of wine. Chugging a quarter of it, you plop down on the cold living room floor.

Your phone vibrates with a new message inside your pocket and with an annoyed grunt, you fish it out. There is a missed call from Seungcheol followed by a message from him saying how happy he is that your grandpa woke up. Along with it, there are a bunch of texts from different people in your company and other firms, telling you how glad they are for you and what gifts they have sent for your grandpa.

It is aggravating. In a fit of rage, you hurl your phone away as it hits the couch first before dropping face-down on the floor.

Fuck them all.

You down more of the red liquid, finding the bitter taste oddly addictive. The more you drink the sweeter it tastes as a soothing haziness settles in your brain that numbs every feeling, every thought you had.

With the bottle almost empty and clutched to your chest, you soon fall asleep on the floor.

Next thing you know, you are violently being shaken awake from your slumber.

The first thing you feel is a raging headache that leaves your vision blurry for a few solid seconds. When you regain it, you find Yuna hovering over you, grabbing your shoulders. Behind her, you spot the worried face of your housekeeper, Mrs. Min.

Your secretary keeps saying something but the throbbing headache prevents you from hearing any of it as you struggle to sit up straight. Taking a deep, staggering breath, you squeeze your eyes shut before opening them again.

“Madam, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

You finally manage to look at her straight. “Fuck— what is it Yuna? What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“It is 2 am, madam. We have been trying to reach you for the past two hours. Your fiancee is on his way. You were not opening the door so I called your housekeeper to let me in.”

Right, Mrs. Min knows your code.

“I don’t understand, what is the emergency?” You sigh, irately rubbing your temples to ease the headache.

“Madam,” your secretary pauses and you have to force yourself to lift your head again and look at her. “Your grandfather passed away two hours ago.”

Suddenly, your mind is clear.

Your body stiffens, and the headache instantly fades into thin air. You are more alert than you have ever been before.

Wide-eyed, you stare at her, waiting for something you don’t know. Maybe she will say that it is a prank, maybe you will wake up any moment from this nightmare, maybe she will repeat herself and you will realise you heard wrong.

None of that happens.

Yuna continues. “I am really sorry. He was in his sleep when his heart rate suddenly spiked before stopping. They could not bring him back.”

You pick yourself up from the ground before gently sitting down on the couch, your eyes trained on the blank wall ahead of you. An agonizing wave of anguish swallows your whole being as a gaping hole of numbness spreads within you with the passing of each second.

You don’t blink. You don’t move. You don’t cry.

You sit and stare at the wall until your secretary offers. “Should I drive you to the hospital?”

You nod.

“Would you like me to call Mr Choi and tell him to meet you there?”

You nod again.

At noon, the funeral ceremony comes to an end.

You get a glimpse of the fruitful life your grandpa lived by the number of guests who come to give you their condolences.

Thankfully, Seungcheol and his dad took over early on as they ran the ceremony and managed the guests while you sat in a corner in silence.

The entire ceremony finishes without you shedding a single tear. Neither do you cry in the car as Seungcheol drives you home.

However, the minute you step into your penthouse and tread sluggishly to your bedroom, you spot the photo of you and your grandpa on your nightstand and finally break down.

Holding the photo frame tightly against your chest, you curl into a ball on the floor and howl like a dying creature. Tremors wrack your body as your sob intensifies along with the soul-crushing remorse and pain for what you have lost.

Perhaps it is your ruinous crying that makes Seungcheol knock on your door as he steps in with a mug of hot tea and finds you curled up and wailing on the floor.

He looks distressed and unsure for a moment, debating whether to give you some privacy before going against it. Instead, he comes closer and sets the mug down on the nightstand before gently placing a hand on your shoulder.

You continue weeping and Seungcheol slowly maneuvers your feeble body into a sitting position before he scoops you up and sets you down on the bed. But he doesn’t let you go. His arm remains a firm hold around your body and without thinking you wrap your arms around his neck as tightly as humanly possible, trying to bury yourself and your sorrows in his body. Your action makes him only embrace you tighter as he uses one hand to stroke your hair repeatedly in an attempt to comfort you.

“I fought with him the last time I saw him,” you yawl between sobs, face mushed in Seungcheol’s shoulder. “I fought with him, Cheol! He hates me…he will never forgive me.”

“Hush, hush now.” Seungcheol soothes, holding you tighter if that is even possible. “It is alright. He knows how much you love him, ___. He could never be mad at you.”

“I should have told him how much I loved him!” You howl, digging your fingernails into his back. “What have I done, Cheol? How could I do that?”

“It is alright. Everything will be okay.” Seungcheol chants repeatedly while tenderly rocking your limp frame, allowing you to cry your heart out. The tears that had not flowed in the last ten hours pour out ceaselessly, making a mess on Seungcheol’s jacket.

Time ticks by. The tea grows cold. The sun starts to lower in the sky.

When you have finally calmed down and can breathe without choking from tears, Seungcheol lets you go.

He sits in silence next to you as you wipe your tears and snot using his handkerchief.

“You should eat something.” He whispers. You shake your head, crumpling the piece of cloth in your hands as you gaze at it in a blank stare.

Next to you, Seungcheol sighs. “Would you like to lie down for a bit? I will give you some privacy.” He stands up but you immediately pull him back down before wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his chest. His arms snake around your body once more as you listen to his heartbeat.

You realize how glad you are to have him next to you. How could you ever go through a day like today without him holding you in his arms?

“Thank you,” your voice is the faintest whisper of gratitude. For a moment, you think he did not hear you but then he shifts, cupping your cheek as you look up at him.

“You don’t have to thank me. I am sorry this is all I can do.” He tenderly brushes a thumb over the scar on your cheek, making your heart soar.

You immediately shake your head. “You are doing so much.” You whisper, eyes trailing down to his lips. Mirroring your gaze, Seungcheol’s eyes also travel to your lips and unconsciously, you find yourself leaning a tad bit closer to him. Once again, he mirrors your actions.

Your eyes fall closed and a moment later, you feel Seungcheol’s soft lips against yours. The kiss is tender and shy as if the waters are being tested. You lean in, grabbing the lapels of his jacket to bring him closer. Against your touch, his body relaxes as the kiss deepens, drawing out a soft moan from you. You taste peppermint on his tongue, a sigh of pleasure escaping your lips when he returns your kiss with equal fervent, exploring your mouth.

The kiss is beautifully breathtaking. It is everything you imagined and more, your late night fantasies gift-wrapped in a pink bow.

Seungcheol is the first one to pull back as the two of you pant for air, still holding on to each other. His eyes trace all over your face as if he is trying to remember every small detail about you. You do the same, peering at him through your lashes as your thumb strokes his cheek and you lean in for another kiss.

This time, it is more passionate as Seungcheol envelops you with his body, gently pushing you behind so that your back meets the mattress. He lays on top of you, one hand holding on to the nape of your neck while the other explores your body, moving from your waist down to your legs. His warm hand traces down your leg under your skirt before coming back up as he squeezes your thigh.

A moan falls from your lips, breaking the kiss and he uses the opportunity to bite your lip softly.

His eyes lock with yours for a moment, his hand hovering near your inner thigh as he silently waits for your permission. You comply, reattaching his mouth on yours and opening your legs wider as he gives the flesh of your thigh a particularly harsh squeeze, the pad of his thumb stroking your inner thigh, so close to where you want him to touch you.

Then, you feel the warmth of his fingers over your core before he cups your pussy over your panties.

You whimper. “Please.”

“What?” He mouths against your lips.

“Touch me,” you reply, chasing his lips to reconnect with yours.

Seungcheol obeys you, his fingers slipping underneath your panties and brushing against your pussy. The sensation, the touch you have craved for so long makes you jolt in pleasure, a shaky breath falling from your lips. His biceps become your anchor as you grip them firmly to ground yourself.

Seungcheol’s lips trace your jaw before trailing down your neck while his fingers rub your pussy. Your hips writhe, chasing his touch while he peppers your neck with kisses before fixing on a particular spot beneath your ear that makes you whimper. Then, he pushes one finger in, dark eyes trained on you as your pleasure amplifies.

“Yes,” you shut your eyes closed, revelling the feeling of his finger inside you. Soon, one finger becomes two and he slowly moves them in and out of you. One of your legs wraps around his waist while you pull him closer to smash your lips against his. Your tongue meets his with a fiery passion, an urgency to claim his as yours. Inside you, his fingers pick up the pace, making your body taught as you start climbing your high.

“C-Cheol…” You pant, looking at him with pleading eyes even though you are unsure if you want to come right now or draw it out.

“Hm?” He hums, eyes hazy with a film of lust. As if teasing you, his thumb brushes over your clit ever so slightly, drawing out a shuddering whine from your lips that makes him chuckle quietly. The sound feels like magic to your ears, a drug to your system that heightens your pleasure. His teeth dig into the soft flesh of your neck, undoubtedly leaving a mark.

“Please,” you heave, clutching his shoulder with one hand and wrapping the other around the broad expanse of his back. Humming against your neck, he uses his fingers to rub an even deeper spot inside you as his thumb rubs your clit mercilessly.

“Oh fuck, yes,” You hiss, throwing your head back, your toes curling as you clutch him tighter. “I’m gonna come.”

“Do it then,” his voice is a quiet order.

He curls his fingers inside you and flicks your clit hard which does the job for you. Your release is a tidal wave of mind-breaking pleasure as your body goes tense, your hips arching off the bed, your mouth hanging open as a reaction to the overwhelming pleasure.

The onslaught of pleasure leaves your vision blurry with unshed tears and your mind numb to everything as you slowly descend from the throes of heavenly bliss.

When your mind has regained some clarity, you see Seungchol still lying on top of you, his eyes locked in on your lips which he is touching with the fingers that were inside of you mere moments ago. Without breaking eye contact with him, you gently hold his hand and push his index and middle finger inside your mouth, sucking them. Seungcheol’s adam’s apple bobs, his eyes flickering with impure intentions that are clearly expressed from his hard-on digging into your belly.

Sucking his fingers clean, you pop them off your mouth, your hand still holding his. Your fingers trace over his knuckles and veins, your eyes never daring to stray from his. It is as if a sudden spell has been cast on the two of you that has locked you in a trance of breathless admiration. It is a shame all good moments must come to an end.

As if zapped by electricity, Seungcheol suddenly pulls his hand out of yours as he gets off your body. The air in the room suddenly shifts to slight awkwardness as Seungcheol blinks furiously, adjusting his pants.

“I…I am sorry.” He mutters, not looking at you as you sit up on the bed. “You were mourning. I should not have done that.”

“I asked you to.” You state with a frown. Does he regret it? “I needed to forget…things for a moment.”

Seungcheol’s eyes finally meet yours as a sigh escapes from his lips and he nods, looking unsure. “Right…”

“I liked it a lot.” You find yourself saying. The look in your eyes is heated, mirroring a newfound fire of desire he has lit within you. Seungcheol swallows, gaze transfixed on you before he clears his throat, the look in his eyes shifting.

“Get some rest.” He whispers, walking out of the room and gently shutting the door behind him.

Turns out one can live with soul-crushing guilt.

It has been a week since your grandpa’s death and you find yourself slowly falling back into your old routine. As the days pass by slowly, the pain somewhat lessens but your guilt remains the same, your conscience constantly reminding you of what could have been if you behaved differently with him that day.

That is an answer you will never receive because what is gone is gone, and you are forcing yourself to learn to live with it.

Things with Seungcheol are slightly tense as well. After that particular moment you two shared last week, he has been avoidant. Since that day there has not been any one-on-one interaction between the two of you as he has been checking up on you from time to time with brief text messages. His aloofness has bothered you of course but you have decided not to let it get to you, happy with the fading mark he left on your neck and the memories of that afternoon.

That is why, on a Tuesday afternoon at your office, Seungcheol’s sudden visit surprises you because it is the last place you would expect him to show up.

You straighten up in your chair, palms resting on the armrest as he marches into your office, dressed in his regular office wear that is covered underneath a long black trenchcoat, an odd sort of hurry in his steps.

Your silly assumption that he is here to take you on a surprise date quickly changes when you notice the expression on his face. His jaw is clenched, brows knitted in a frown as he regards you with an accusatory glare.

“Seungcheol?” You stand up behind your desk. “Hey, what brings you here?”

Seungcheol’s brisk steps eat up the rest of the distance as he stands in front of your desk, sparing little space between the two of you. Instead of replying, his eyes remain fixed on you for a moment too long, making you hold your breath.

Your gut senses severe doom from how he regards you, an unfathomable look in his eyes. Finally, he interrogates. “Is there something you are hiding from me, ___?”

“What?” You blink, stumped. “Why would you ask that?”

Seungcheol falls into silence once again as your mind starts running rampant. No matter how desperately you try to convince yourself that he could not possibly be talking about that thing, your mind ends up going there. The silence and the foreign look in his eyes make your fear unimaginably real with each passing second.

“I need you to be honest with me.” He says as he inhales deeply, as if trying to hold his emotions at bay, his eyes never straying from yours. “Please. I am giving you a chance.”

Your heart runs a mile a minute as you suddenly find yourself at a loss for words. The entirety of your body grows as stiff as a board while you find yourself falling into a bottomless pit of ruination. Seungcheol remains unmoving, watching you with a pointed gaze as you struggle to read him, struggle to find the right words. You feel so naked, so transparent right now as if he can read everything fleeting through your mind.

Damn it, how did he find out?

“Madam, the board meeting started five minutes ago.”

A sharp inhale transports you out of your spiralling mind as you whip your head away from Seungcheol when your secretary peers into the room with the reminder.

Like you have been struck by lightning, your body jolts. “Y-yes, I am coming. Give me a minute.” You give her a look of dismissal before focusing on your fiance. In your most composed voice, you say, “I don’t know what this is about, Cheol but we can continue this conversation—”

“I will send you an address.” He cuts you off with a seething glare, stepping away from your desk as if he is about to leave. “You will be there at 9 pm, ___.” There is no room for arguments.

He leaves before you can form an answer and you stand rooted in your spot with tremors in your hands and a parched throat, your feet suddenly too heavy to move.

You deep down knew this would happen one day, didn’t you?

You would be found sooner or later but you never wished to be caught by Seungcheol. You would have much preferred to be caught by the police and given a life sentence. At least that way, you did not have to face him.

“Madam?” There is a knock on your door once again, making you jump.

“Damn it, Yuna! I said give me a minute!”

It is one minute to nine pm when you arrive at the location Seungcheol had sent you earlier in the day. You realized karma had gotten you when you clicked on the location and realised it was the exact place where Sumin died.

The world stopped spinning for a moment too long.

Out of pure shock, you dropped your phone from your hands as your knees gave out and you fell to the ground, the realization that everything is coming to an end too much for you to fathom.

Surprisingly, though, it has been easy for you after the initial shock wore off. You had accepted your fate.

Gladly, in fact.

No more pretending now. It is a relief. He knows the real you and whatever decision he makes now, you will accept it gladly. You do not feel remorse for what you have done and you do not see a point in hiding anymore.

And so, you sit in your car, parked a few meters away from the place where he called you. Seungcheol is already here, his car parked a few feet ahead of yours. When you glance at the dashboard clock, you see it is two minutes past nine.

With a loud sigh, you pop the muscles in your neck before stepping out of the car. A gust of chilly air flows by, making you shiver slightly. With your hands fisted in the pockets of your trench coat, you walk ahead, the sound of your heels against the granite your only company.

All too soon, you find yourself in front of that abandoned factory and when you look left, it feels like deja vu. Seungcheol stands there, underneath that yellow street lamp, right where Sumin stood that night.

Your eyes meet his, cold and unblinking and if you did not know any better, you would think he was a statue. A very mesmerising one.

You inhale a lungful of the cold night air before turning left and walking towards him, trying your best to ignore the subtle tremble in your legs. With a few feet of distance left between the two of you, you come to a stop and breathe. “Good evening, Cheol.”

He keeps looking at you impassively but you start noticing the minute changes in his eyes. They shift from disappointment to betrayal to anger and you know very well what lies ahead of you.

Yet, you are unreasonably calm; so calm that you surprise yourself.

Just when you are preparing to start the conversation since he is immobile, Seungcheol reaches into his coat pocket to fish out his phone. His brows tangle in a soft furrow as he scrolls through it before lowering his hand and gently tossing it on the ground, a few steps away from your feet. The device remains face-up on the ground as a video plays.

A dash cam footage from the night of Sumin’s death. You can tell from the angle that the car was parked on the cliff right after the empty field behind where you stand, at an angle that is looking straight at the side wall of the factory, just a couple of meters before the left turn to the front of it. The video keeps running, grainy and slightly blurry due to the distance and the darkness of the night except for a faint hue of yellow light from this very street lamp. You know very well what the next footage will be.

As you imagined, the video plays on and a few seconds later, it shows you coming from the direction of the warehouse before marching away, out of the view.

“There were two cars parked on that cliff that night,” Seunghcheol points upwards, to the cliff behind you. “This is the dash cam footage of one of the cars. Care to explain, ___?” The fury in his eyes is unmistakable.

You breathe out a soft sigh. What does he want? He knows very well what this footage implies so why did he not just hand this over to the police? Standing here in front of him while he demands an explanation feels nothing short of torture to you.

“Go ahead,” He hisses, taking a step towards you. “Claim that it is not you. Tell me I am getting this wrong. Fucking say something!”

“You know very well, Cheol. What do you want me to say?” You finally find your voice which is as soft as a feather.

Furious, he marches towards you, grabbing you by the collars and it is truly a deja vu of that night. “Why did you do it?” He screams, shaking you, his pupils wide with bristling resentment. “Why did you kill her?” He hollers again.

His face is a mere inch or so away from you, so close that you can feel his warm breath puffing out in the cold night air, so close that you can feel the blizzard of emotions radiating off him.

He really cared for her. He might have loved her without even knowing.

Fuck, that thought burns like acid down your throat.

“She had everything I wanted.” You finally find yourself whispering. Seungcheol grows still upon hearing your words as you see the storm in his eyes die down. The entire world seems to quiten for a second as you only hear the two of you breathing. His brows remain furrowed as he regards you with confusion, his grip on your collar faltering. You breathe out, repeating. “Sumin had everything I ever wanted, Cheol.”

“And what was it?” He snaps.

You swallow a lump in your throat but never lose eye contact with him. “You.”

Like he has been electrocuted, Seungcheol lets go of you and takes an immediate step back. His pupils dilate as his mouth opens just slightly in bafflement. You find his reaction almost funny. Overdramatic as well.

Is it really that shocking?

“Stop playing fucking games, ___.’’ He scoffs after the shock has worn off.

“It is true.” You take a step towards him with a new surge of energy in your blood. “I have wanted you since forever…since I was 18. Since the day of your father’s party after you returned from abroad I have longed for you.”

With each word you speak, his jaw hardens and a look of disbelief and something akin to disgust graces his face.

“I have loved you for so long, Seungcheol and then Sumin appeared one day and took you away.” Your pitch loudens as your desperation grows.

He needs to understand you, he needs to see you.

You are not some cold-blooded monster. You are just someone madly in love with him.

“So you killed her!” He seethes.

“She was not right for you!” You cry, eyes blown out, teeth gritting. “She did not love you, Seungcheol! She was using you!”

He closes the gap between the two of you as he roughly grabs the side of your neck, tilting your head upwards. “Shut. Up.” He seethes, his eyes so dark, his gaze so fierce you almost feel like you have been burned down to a pile of ashes. “You are not only a murderer but also a fucking liar.”

A mirthless laughter escapes your lips as you take a step back from his grip and shake your head. You had expected this. You understand he will not believe you this instant but now that he knows what you have done, it will not take too long for him to find out what Sumin and her family was up to. He will believe your words then.

It is a shame you will most likely be behind bars by then.

“Stop laughing!” He shouts, frustrated. Raking a hand through his hair, he stares at the ground before looking back at you, his eyes shining in a look of desperation and betrayal. “I trusted you. You were like my family, ___. How could you do this?”

You cannot bear how disgusted he appears with you.

Why cannot he just shoot you like you shot Sumin?

“You are my family too, Cheol.” You blink back tears. “The feelings I have for you are beyond something anyone can ever comprehend and…it is fine. I prefer it that way. I would burn the world for you, Choi Seungcheol so please don’t look at me with so much hatred.”

“You—” Seungcheol shakes his head with a frustrated grunt. “Just tell me where the fucking gun is.”

There is a faint smile you cannot hold back. “I got rid of it long ago.” You pause. “But don’t worry, this dashcam footage will be enough along with my confession.”

He looks at you with disbelief.

You give him a sad smile.

“Don’t act noble, ___. I know what you are capable of.” He hisses. “I will not trust a word that comes out of your mouth.”

“I am not lying. I won’t run away, Cheol. I promise. Just don’t call the police to my office. I would rather be arrested at home.”

Seungcheol is perplexed with your attitude and after a long moment of silence, when you realize he has nothing more to say, you start walking backwards.

“Goodbye, Cheol. It was really nice knowing you.” With your vision blurry due to unshed tears, you flash him a smile before quickly turning around and heading for your car, not looking back.

You drive all the way home in silence before finally parking your car in the parking lot of your apartment. As the engine dies down, leaving you without its gentle hum, you sit in silence and let the reality of your life wash over you.

You have had a good life. You wonder what it will be like behind the bars. You will plead guilty no matter what your lawyer says and you have no intention of lying and claiming you feel remorse for your actions. A life sentence awaits you for sure, maybe with no parole.

Shaking your head at the absurdity of your future, you rest your hands over the steering wheel, putting your head on them and closing your eyes. Your engagement ring digs into your forehead and you look up to see the small diamond glinting softly. It suddenly feels foreign on your skin and the longer you look at it, the worse it appears. Prying it off your fingers you fist it in your palm, half tempted to break it.

“I hope we can have a good life.” You remember Seungcheol’s words when he slipped that ring on your finger.

And finally, the dam breaks. You clutch the little trinket to your chest as you curl your body into a small ball and weep with your head hanging low. Soon, you cannot stop stifling the noise as your sobs turn into violent cries and in a fit of rage, hopelessness and longing, you punch your dashboard hard enough for your knuckles to bleed.

At some point, the blood seeping from your knuckles dries but your tears don’t.

You do not go to your office the next day for obvious reasons.

Instead, you spend the day cleaning your apartment and setting everything in its place one last time while waiting for uniformed officers to knock on your door.

Hours tick by and it never happens, puzzling you.

When the remnants of colour start fading from the dusk sky, someone rings your doorbell. You open it to find Seungcheol’s driver.

“Mr Choi has asked you to come to his house.”

Baffled even further, you quickly change your clothes and follow him out. The man drives you to Seungcheol’s mansion and you hesitantly step outside of the car when you reach your destination all too quickly. The lady who is Seungcheol’s head of staff comes to greet you as she escorts you to his study, holding the door open for you to step in and then closing it softly behind you.

In the dimly lit room, Seungcheol sits at his desk with a glass of whiskey in his hand, his chair turned around so that he faces the window behind him. Tentatively, you walk closer to him and he slightly turns his head to look at you. His eyes are barren, devoid of any emotion, almost inhumane.

A breath catches in your throat but you do not break your eye contact.

“Why did you bring me here?” You whisper, for some reason too scared to speak out loud.

“To have a serious discussion about our futures.” His tone is flat as he swivels his chair to face you.

What is that supposed to mean?

Swallowing, you wait for him to elaborate.

“Does anyone else know what you did?” He asks.

His question throws you off slightly. “Just you. Though…in a way, my driver knows. I asked him to leave early with the empty car and told him to lie and say I was in the car if anyone asked.”

“So basically he knows.”

“Yes, but he is probably the only employee I trust. He has been extremely loyal to my grandfather and me.”

“This is a murder we are talking about.”

“If he wanted to rat me out, he would have done it by now. Besides, he did not witness it.” You frown, pausing. “Wait, I don't understand where this is going. Why are you asking me this?”

Seungcheol sighs, standing up. Pressing his hands flat on his desk, he looks directly into your eyes and leans closer. “Because I am going to cover it up.”

“What?” You had to have heard that wrong. There is no way—

“I am going to bury what you did.” He grunts, appearing disgusted with himself as he speaks the words. “I already got rid of the CCTV footage.”

Your jaw drops, as you subconsciously step back, gripping the back of the couch behind you. “I- I don’t understand…”

“I am not doing this for you.” He spits, scowling at you. “I am doing this for my family.”

You are still at a loss for words, trying to process everything coming out of his lips.

Seungcheol exhales a sigh of defeat, “I have thought about this long and hard. I cannot do this to my family, especially to my father. He was so excited about my marriage to Sumin and now he is ten times more excited to see us getting married. If he found out his ex daughter-in-law was murdered by you, his future daughter-in-law, someone he has always been fond of,” he shakes his head. “It would kill him. Plus, the company would suffer. The board wants to see me married and if my second engagement is ruined as well, I will not be running the company any time soon. My father would be devastated.”

You inhale a lungful of air. “So… you are saying you will still marry me.”

“That is the only way left is it not? Marrying a murderer.” He grits his teeth, his eyes shooting invisible arrows of fire at you.

“No.” Suddenly, your brain clears up. “No, it is not.” Your voice is determined. “This is not what I want!”

“Excuse me?” Seungcheol scoffs.

“I do not want to trap you in this marriage. You are marrying me against your will. I do not accept this. We will come up with an excuse. You can say I cheated on you or something.”

Seungcheol watches you in silence for a long moment before rounding his desk and coming close to you. Making you jerk in surprise, he grabs your arms and holds them tightly, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dimly lit room. “Listen to me very carefully, ____. You have ruined me enough to last a lifetime. Do not ruin my family and my company now. From now on, you will do as I say and play the part of the happiest bride-to-be. Is that fucking clear?’’

You stare at him in defiance.

“Is that clear?” His tone drops as his gaze darkens, giving you goosebumps. “You have done enough for me. No need to act noble and say that you don’t want to trap me when this was your plan all along.”

No, no. That is not true at all. You wanted him to love you. You wanted to be there when he needed help and you wanted him to come to you voluntarily. You were protecting him. He was never supposed to find out all this.

“Seungcheol, you are mistundertsanding me—”

“Are we clear?” He yells, shaking you by the arms.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“Good.” He releases you. “Get out of my sight.”

You blink back tears and swallow a lump in your throat, slowly stepping towards the door with unsteady feet. Just as your fingertips touch the knob, you come to a stop. “Seungcheol?”

You hear a sigh of annoyance. “What?”

You turn around and ask, “Is there anything that you have been hiding from me?”

He raises a brow. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

There is a slight shrug of your shoulders. “Nothing, I just… You know, something like the fact that you knew that me and my grandfather were in fact, related by blood and he adopted me not because I was the one who caught his eye among all the others at the orphanage but due to his guilt for killing my parents.”

With each word that leaves your lips, Seungcheol’s pupils dilate and, ironically, he looks more astounded now than when you confessed to killing Sumin.

For an achingly long moment, heavy silence hangs in the air and you never let your eyes stray from his, patiently waiting for what he has to say.

“How did you find out?” His tone is low.

“Sumin told me.”

You really did not think it was possible for him to look even more bewildered but he does. He abruptly marches towards you and leans forward, asking. “Sumin?”

“Yes,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at his shock.

“I don’t understand—”

“You know,” You cut him off. “I don’t remember my parents so I have never missed them and to some extent, I now understand why my grandfather did what he did. What I don’t understand is why he lied to me, why you all lied to me. And why I had to hear the truth from someone like Sumin. It doesn’t make sense, does it? You all were in the joke and no one once thought how I would feel if I found out.”

“You were not supposed to find out.” His tone is flat and the look he is giving you is enraging; like you have no right to be mad.

“And you were not supposed to find out that I killed your ex-fiance!” You scream.

Seungcheol exhales loudly, rubbing a hand over his face as he looks down at the ground. “Why did Sumin tell you this, ___?” His tone is sharp as if you are being investigated at a police station.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does!” He hisses, frustrated. “Why would she go out of her way to tell you that?”

“I found out some of her secrets and I threatened her with them.” You don’t let your eyes stray from his.

“What secrets?” His eyes darken.

You rub a frustrated hand over your forehead while resting the other on your hip. Not this again.

“It's better that you don’t know, Seungcheol.”

“Answer me, ___.” He inhales a sharp breath and grits his teeth, his patience is running thin.

So is yours.

From the pocket of your trousers, you fish out a recorder and toss it over to his table. “Since you want to know so bad, here you go. It has all the answers, the last conversation I had with her and her final moments.”

You see apprehension in his eyes as he watches the little black device sitting on his desk. “After listening to that, you might go back on your word.” You warn. Because the sound of you unlocking the safety of your gun is in there. Because the sound of Sumin’s lifeless body hitting the ground is in there.

“And if you decide to hand me over to the police after this,” You give a nonchalant shrug. “I completely understand. Just don’t destroy the record. There is only one copy and it is the best evidence you will have of this case.”

Seungcheol stands rooted to his spot, looking at you impassively as you close the door behind you.

Three days go by and the police do not come and you realize, once again Seungcheol has decided to brush what you did under the rug. It is a fixed feeling, mostly bitter if you are being honest with yourself. What lies ahead of you now is a bleak future where you and Seungcheol will live under one roof with stifling disgust. His friends and family will visit and you will have to pretend to be the happiest couple in front of them.

As you are returning home from work on Tuesday with all these thoughts bridling in your head, you receive a text from an unknown number.

Someone has texted you a location along with a message.

I have your man. If you want him to live, bring me 10 million dollars in this location within the next hour. Come alone or I will slice his head off.

For one moment you think— no, try to convince yourself that you are seeing things wrong and this is only a prank. However, you start to break into a cold sweat when you dial Seungcheol’s number with shaky hands and it goes unanswered. Petrified, you call his secretary next and he picks up on the fifth ring.

“Madam-”

“Where is Seungcheol? I cannot reach him.” You try to keep your voice as stable as possible yet a tremor slips through. Your gut prepares you for the worst when you hear a commotion in the background as his secretary takes a second too long to reply.

“Madam, I am really sorry. We were leaving work when two vans surrounded us on the highway and threw smoke bombs at us. They hit me in the head and took away Mr Choi after knocking him out. But don’t worry madam, the police have been informed—”

You hang up.

Fucking hell.

The first thing you do is dial your secretary, throwing her into a furor as you order her to arrange the money and have it ready in half an hour at your place.

When you reach home, you quickly discard your work clothes and put on a hoodie and sweatpants along with some good running shoes as a disguise. Your next task is to hurry down to your basement where you have stored your grandfather's collection of antic guns. You had it moved here after his death and thank god for that. Picking a long-barreled revolver, you check the chamber before tucking it in your waistband.

Upstairs, your secretary waits with a duffel bag in her hands, struggling to hold the weight. Her face is littered with unsaid questions as you snatch the bag from her hands and storm past her. The weight of the cash hi nders your mobility, making you slower.

“If you say a word about this to anyone else I will gut you. And if you keep your mouth shut and go home like nothing happened, I will triple your salary.” You hiss at Yuna who’s eyes widen hearing the reward.

Firing your Hennessey to life, you press the accelerator hard as you pull your car out of the basement and zoom down the street. The clock on the dashboard says you have exactly twenty-five minutes till your one hour is over and you whisper a silent prayer to whoever is up there for a traffic-free road.

As you near your destination, you realize the location that was sent to you is a small, old two-storeyed storehouse near the seaport, once used to store cargo. Located a little further from the main port, it is a dingy building with cracked walls and missing windows and a backdrop of thick, dense forest, appearing haunted in the darkness of the night.

With a deep inhale, you step out of your car and lock it. A slight shiver runs down your spine as you calculate your odds of rescuing Seungcheol safely. You don’t know who is waiting for you in there and if they even have him with them. Of course, you have a suspect in your mind and if they are alone, it should be easy to tackle them. Still, you make a risky decision.

You call the police.

“Hello, I have a tip about the kidnapping of Choi Seungcheol of the Choi Corporation. I am sending you my location. How long will it take you to get here?

“It will take about 12 minutes for the officers to reach the scene. Are you alone ma'am? Please do not go inside if you—”

You hang up the call and march towards the building carrying the duffel bag. With the reassurance that the police will be here soon, you step inside.

The ground floor is eerily quiet and almost shrouded in complete darkness.

Somewhere nearby, the wolves howl.

The utter lack of light and noise tells you that the first floor is empty so you follow the stairs up to the second floor, illuminated by tube lights hanging very low from the ceiling.

Your cautious steps lead you to a wide, poorly lit hallway on the second floor. However, as you step into the corridor, you see a faint glow of orange hue on your right.

This is it.

Feet moving automatically, your whole body tenses up as you grip the duffel with one hand and keep the other free, hovering over the back of your waist. Unlike the first floor, the construction of the second was left incomplete so at the end of the hallway there are no individual rooms but instead a big one.

And there is Seungcheol.

With his hands and legs tied to a chair, he sits with his head hanging low, his tired frame illuminated by the small fire lit in front of him.

Best of all, there is no one else in the room.

“Seungcheol!” You cry, running straight to him.

He is baffled, gaping at you as you rush over to him, scrambling to untie his hands and legs as fast as possible.

“___? I- I don’t understand…How did you—”

“Hush.” You whisper, untying the last knot to free his leg before standing up to take a look at his face. There is a wound on his head, half-dried blood soaking his hair as your stomach forms knots, worried.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” You whisper, throat dry as you reach behind him to undo his hands.

“What a sweet reunion it is, no?” A familiar voice echoes, halting your action.

You whip your head around and there he stands, the man you suspected.

Sumin’s father, Lee Ryunwoo. You should have taken care of him long ago.

The blood in your veins runs cold as you immediately step in front of Seungcheol to cover him. The man emerges from the shadows, waving a gun in his hand as he orders, “Try to play smart with me and I’ll blow your head off.”

“Why did you kidnap him?” You ask, watching his movements warily as you cover Seungcheol with your frame. “Do you think you can get out of this so easily?”

From behind you, Seungcheol’s quiet voice echoes. “He knows, ___.”

You freeze, immediately understanding what he is referring to.

What? How?

“You are awfully mouthy for a bitch who shot my daughter,” Ryunwoo smirks, stepping closer to you. He presses the barrel of the gun to your throat before pulling it away, flashing you a cruel smirk. You swallow the lump in your throat as your brain frantically thinks of the next move. Maybe calling the police was not the best idea.

“Imagine my surprise when I find that recorder.” You watch cautiously as he walks past you and kneels in front of the duffel back, his gun aimed at you. Using one hand, he opens the zipper, shuffling the cash around as he checks it. “Yes, I had someone break into his office after he started acting dodgy. I knew something was going on.” He pauses to look at Seungcheol. “Everything was going so wonderfully. You were so confident about a lead and then you suddenly claim it was nothing? You should have been more careful, son.” He chuckles with a shake of his head.

You assess the situation, carefully watching his body language. Despite the gun in his hand pointing at you, his eyes are cast downwards, focused on the money.

You realize this might be your only chance.

Ever so carefully, you pull your revolver from your waistband, pointing it just slightly over his arm and pull the trigger.

Your sudden action has both the men confused as the bullet flies a mere half an inch above Ryunwoo’s hand, making him drop his gun and fall on his ass.

“___! Stop!’’ Seungcheol yells from behind you, struggling to free himself from the chair while you step towards Ryunwoo, pointing the gun at his head.

“Where is the recorder?” You ask.

He has the balls to chuckle. “This little thing?” From the breast pocket of his jacket, he slowly pulls out the little black device.

“Hand it over.” You order, stepping closer.

His cackle echoes through the barren room, overpowering Seungcheol’s yells of protest.

“Come and take it.” It is a challenge.

You grit your teeth, popping a vein in your neck. “I could just shoot you right now.”

“Like you shot Sumin?” The smirk does not wipe off his face.

“___, for fucks sake! Don’t!” Seungcheol yells.

You would have gladly taken the shot had the police not already been on their way. Against your will, you decide to play his game. Pointing your gun with one hand, you extend the other, holding your palm open. “Give it. Now.”

The tip of your fingers brush against the device when the police siren is heard. Ryunwoo immediately pulls the device back as he bellows, “You called the cops, you bitch!”

Using his momentary distraction to your advantage, you lunge at him, knocking him down hard on his head and snatching the recorder from his hand.

The next moment someone grabs your arm to pull you off of him and you look up to see Seungcheol. “Cheol! You—”

“The police will be here any second. They will investigate you if you hurt him.” He warns, pulling you towards him. On the floor, Ryunwoo groans, cupping his head and spewing curses at you. Outside, the sirens grow louder as you hear the commotion and the footsteps of the officers entering the building.

“Come,” Seungcheol attempts to guide you away by your shoulders when suddenly, you are dragged down. Ryunwoo’s abrupt pull on your leg makes you fall face down on the ground as the gun slips through your fingers upon impact. Seungcheol tries and fails to grab onto you in time as you are pulled backward by a rough grip. His entire body comes to a complete halt with his eyes widening in fear when he looks behind you, slowly raising his arms in surrender.

At the entrance of the room, the officers crowd, yelling at Ryunwoo to drop his weapon.

That is when you actually feel the cold barrel of his gun pressed to your temple.

Oh fuck.

Exhaling a shaky breath, you turn your head ever so slightly to look at him.

“I am going to blow your brains out and then go to jail, you cunt. How dare you trick me?” he sneers, venom dripping from his tone. His eyes are akin to a madman’s as the warnings of the officers fall deaf to his ears.

He really is going to shoot.

Your eyes wander over to Seungcheol one last time before they fall closed the moment a gun goes off.

There is a ringing in your ears and you realise the right side of your face feels wet.

A couple of seconds pass by before you open your eyes to find Ryunwoo lying on the ground behind you with a bullet hole in his head. The police rush in as Seungcheol tugs you towards him, wrapping his arms around you as you stare at the dead body.

You feel like you are stuck in a trance as everything around you moves in slow motion, your eyesight getting slightly blurry as your heart thumps loudly in your chest. You do not know whether it is relief or trauma but your legs suddenly feel like jelly.

Seungcheol has to call your name multiple times to make you look at him. “___? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

You shake your head, blinking a few times to focus your vision. You are still lost in your own head, thinking about how close you were to getting exposed and how you managed to save yourself by a hairsbreadth. “The recorder?’’ You question quietly.

“Don’t worry, I have it.” He wraps his arms around you tighter.

A faint smile of relief comes to your face and you dare to rest your face on Seungcheol’s chest. To your utter relief, he does not oppose you but gently cradles your head.

“Thank you.” You hear him say. Surprised, you look up at his face to be greeted by a shocking sight. There is a beautiful smile on his lips that makes his eyes shine.

“For what?” You croak, suddenly emotional.

“For saving me.”

10 days later

Seungcheol’s best friend Jihoon is getting engaged today.

Clad in a pastel pink blouse and a matching skirt, you silently sit next to your fiance in the car, your eyes trained outside the window. Seungcheol, like most times, does not attempt to break the delicate silence.

It is frustrating, especially because this is how he has been for the past ten days. Silent. As if his ex-father-in-law did not hold a gun to your head and then got killed by the police. As if you did not murder his ex-fiance and the proof of it is in his hands.

The morning after that fateful night, both of you were asked at the police station for your statements. It was a basic procedure before they started uncovering the skeletons in Ryunwoo’s closet; the murders he committed right after he became the CEO of Lee Media to hide his corruption and the money he embezzled. His bankruptcy also came to light along with the millions of dollars of debt he was in and the shady works he did to earn money for it.

Soon after that, the news of Sumin cheating on Seungcheol also came out. Someone anonymously leaked pictures of her and the model she was dating and the public was ruthless with their comments even though Sumin was dead.

After all the news broke, they were the talk of the town. A group of reporters even tried to swarm you at every chance, hoping to get some details from you.

When you met Seungcheol later in the week, he did not bring up the issues at all and instead went about his day as normal, bewildering you. One might think that the news never reached him. He never addressed them and you were too anxious to bring them up, afraid to lose the minimum attention you were getting from him.

Still, your worries have not vanished into thin air. It has been a weird few days and the more time passes, you cannot help but think things will go awry any second and you will fall face down into a nightmare all over again.

The car comes to a halt in front of Jihoon’s house and a valet holds open your door, helping you step out. Seungcheol rounds the car to come next to you. “Come on,” he says, buttoning his suit and stepping forward. Your hands reach for him mindlessly as you stop him by grabbing his hand.

He turns back, a brow raised in confusion.

“Seungcheol.” You state, looking him in the eye.

“What?”

You have a lot to say; so much that the thoughts tangle into intricate knots in your head and provide your lips with nothing. He waits for you to speak and you finally whisper, “Do you still have the recorder?”

The look in his eyes changes as he steps closer to you, holding eye contact. “Why? Do you think I handed it over to the police?” He sounds amused.

“I—” You pause, unsure what to say. It is undeniable that a small part of you has been worrying about that.

A short laughter of amusement comes from his lips before he becomes serious. “I burned it, ___.”

Your eyes widen in astonishment. Parting your lips, you let out a breath of surprise.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” You whisper. “I was scared. You have been so quiet the last few days and—”

“I am trying to put what happened behind me.’’ He states, something foreign flashing in his eyes.

You remain silent, watching his face intently, hoping he can see the gratefulness in your eyes. His gaze is soft, brimming with an emotion you can’t put a name to but constricts your throat and makes your heart soar with hope. “Seungcheol, I—” You are cut off as he presses his lips to yours in a bruising kiss that makes your toes curl. You lose your balance, your body falling against his as you melt in his arms.

A heated look of mischief and desire swims in his eyes when he pulls back to look at you.

“Call me Cheol,” he smirks, gripping your hand tightly by weaving his fingers with yours. With long steps he heads for the entrance, tugging you with him who is now sporting a love-struck grin.

When a villainess loves, she makes sure to get the guy no matter what it takes.

Want more of them? Click here for a bonus scene of 2k words that is only available on my Patreon! It is not only smutty but there is also a part from Seungcheol's pov!

A/N: okay, so that was that. how was it? do lmk your feedback. also, if you have any questions about the characters or anything you are curious about, send me an ask, I'll fill in the blanks for you. what did you think about the ending? i purposefully left it a bit open because i don't see them being all head over heels for e/o (i mean oc is a simp ofc but not cheol). in fact, i imagine a very different ending for them in the long run, lol. and who knows, maybe i will write a part 2 someday, no promises tho. and if you noticed (im sure you did) this one does not have almost any smut. the reason for that was one, i find it extremely hard to write and two, i might write a small smutty epilogue in my patreon depending on how well this fic is received. we'll see. anyways, i'll stop the rant now. stay healthy and happy!

#seventeen smut #scoups smut #seungcheol x reader #scoups imagines #seungcheol smut #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen angst #svt smut #choi seungcheol #seventeen seungcheol #seungcheol fluff

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catiuskaa · 3 months ago

Note

i would LOVE to read your vision of boyfriend by dove cameron....... but w minsung x reader 😏

OH MARSYYYY marsyyyy ajdbkskfla youuu how dare youu take my sleep away from me like thisssss kabfoqbfoskj i barely got to 300 words and i was like “yup. there’s no fucking way i’m not writing this.” so @lyramundana @stayconnecteed, pasarla muy bien mis amores bskdbakd id a la iglesia después

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄-𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒.

sum. gentlemen like them make for a better boyfriend, and minho and han will let you know as soon as you come over… they know first times pave the way for more.

yes, the cursive makes a cute lil sentence, kill me

wc. 5.6k (me cago en todo mars)

cw. suggestive, smut! cursive: a lifestyle, the restaurant scene came out really high-class? fem!reader x dom!simp!minho x sub!needy!jisung, the reader is cheating on her boyfriend, so many things happen (praise, degradation, hair pulling, thigh riding, dry humping, oral fixation, marking, mild choking, corruption kink, use of pet names, accidental orgasm denial, oral (f rec.), begging, fingering (f&m rec.) dirty talk, overstim, mild bondage, unprotected piv sex [don't!<3], creampie, breeding kink, dacryphilia). holy shit this is nasty man, aftercare (mandatory) and just have fun lovelies <3<3<3

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

Minho has to breathe in, slowly as he smiles, a cat-like grin that has already threatened many people’s hearts, grabbing Jisung’s wrist and pulling him a bit closer.

His company that night —his company forever, if anyone bothered to ask or wanted to know— doesn’t ask why, merely tilts his head, watching, waiting.

“Twelve o’clock. Red and white dress.”

It’s a mumble that the older man makes with his eyes half closed, yet he opens them again after a beat of silence. He grunts, a low, whispered voice, not daring to interrupt the shy flow of music in the fine restaurant, but still takes Han’s chin in his hand, gripping it softly and tilting it a bit further to his left.

“That’s more like one o’clock— oh.” Minho doesn’t dare voice nor even question the way blood rushes to the deepest parts of his body when Jisung licks his lips and stares back at him, lowering his hand with a gentle touch that sets his skin ablaze.

He can’t help but let his eyes trail towards your figure again. The dress you’re wearing, a mix of colours that gingerly combines with that of their own suits, that clings to your shape in a way that threatens his own sanity and the stability of their plan, the impulse of running to you head first wondering what the crash would feel like. He stops himself, and breathes in again, deeper this time in an attempt to stop wondering how the dress would look just a few floors over them, in their hotel room, preferably on the floor, and he finally does, catching the faint scent of Jisung’s new cologne.

Alone. It’s funny to him. Ridiculous, yes, because only a fool would leave such a beauty like you in a situation like that —on your own, waiting in boredom close to death, or even worse, resignation—, and he’s sure that if he were in your place, he would’ve left a while ago. Hell, if he ever pulled something like that, he’d allow for Jisung to choke him —in a non-sexual sense, at least for once—, but he can’t help feeling giddy at the empty sight of the chair in front of you. Almost as if you were waiting for them to get close, to take a seat. And then, maybe you’d smile. Like a little treat.

A cute gift.

The image makes him smirk as he licks his lips. Minho knows he’d wrap you up in a heartbeat.

“What do you think?” He ponders the question lowly, still waiting for the waiter as the restaurant prepares their table. The one next to you, of course.

Jisung’s eyes widen for a moment. “What do I think?”

He gulps, and Minho reels in the way his boyfriend is already blushing, the red dust on his cheeks making him think twice and wonder if he could afford having a little snack before properly taking you both as a dessert, and he can’t help but snicker, tonguing his cheek.

“What are the chances?”

Minho’s fingers stroke Jisung’s palm.

“Well, I did as we agreed. And now the plan follows, jagi. I’m sure you can play your part now, mmh?” His voice is sultry, low, and a whisper, one that deepens Han’s blush and darkens his eyes even further, making his breath hitch to Minho’s amusement. “As if you can’t do whatever you want with that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“Min—”

“Welcome.” The whispered whine that Jisung had been just about to say dies on his lips, as tragically —yet not quite as brutally— as the unfortunate and inopportune waiter in Minho’s head.

“Your party for two is ready. Come with me.”

Shrugging away the comment ‘with you here, no one’s coming’, Minho follows behind Han and nods his head after being pointed to his table.

White-collar thieves could have plenty of money and exotic pairs of jewelry. Take any gemstone, for example. In unknown eyes, it may seem flawlessly perfect, but that’s merely a refracted illusion. Its core, deep in there, remains a secret, and it’d take a good crack for it to be seen.

No, this couple had it clear. A thief could steal anything but achieve nothing. And as Minho sends his partner in crime a wink, and the plan finally starts, its gears already set in place, he knows that whatever the outcome of it might end up being, nothing would give a better reward than trying to steal you tonight.

And it all starts with a silly trip of his boyfriend’s foot.

Jisung’s hand saves him from ending head first against your thighs —did he really save himself, Minho wonders, because the thought sounded like heaven—, and he watches as the younger one rushes back up, an apologetic grin on his face that he had seen so many times before and still made him want to kneel in front of Jisung and worship him to death and beyond.

“Sorry,” Ji smiles, bashful, his little dimples showing. He pretends to cringe, an action only Minho can see through.

“Oh, no, don’t worry. Are you alright?” The genuine worry that slips through your tone softens the men.

“Of course. Yes.” Jisung chimes right back. “Such a kind lady.” He grins, pulling his hand in front of him.

Minho is just watching, and the feeling of witnessing such a moment nearly has him bulging in his tailored pants as shy little Jisung kisses the back of your hand.

He can’t believe how obsessed they both are with you, enthralled at the mere thought of having you closer, and he doesn’t care, needing more, more of your confused smile as you stare at his boyfriend, more of the gentle blush that creeps up to your cheeks, more of the way your hair is neatly tied up and away from your face, feeling the impulse to ruin you on the tip of his fingers.

“What’s a place like this doing, surrounding a beauty such as yours?” Minho smiles, taking a seat at his table. Calm. Mindful. With the plan in his head.

You chuckle so politely that it makes Minho fidget with his rings, a laugh so melodic that tickles his heart and warms his insides.

“I stay in this hotel.” Minho knows. He’s seen you before.

“Alone?” Jisung smiles, a bit cheeky, sitting and moving his chair at an angle, making it easier to keep the conversation going.

The way you sigh makes them both angry and giddy. They had seen your partner before, and they almost couldn’t believe their eyes, genuinely wondering what had the ugly man done to deserve such an angel. If it were for them, not for too long.

“Up until twenty minutes ago, I wasn’t, but…”

Crystal clear. They both can see the resignation in your eyes, and Minho can’t help but feel it trail up his skin, needing to do something about it immediately.

“I know it may seem too straightforward,” his mouth is dry and he can feel his ears turning red. “But I wouldn’t mind the extra company tonight. Right, jagi?”

The smile he shoots at Jisung is soft and sweet, feelings conveyed between layers and layers worth of things he hasn’t said yet. A comforting grin that Ji matches, holding his hand from below the table and giving it a light squeeze, catching it.

“Yes. It’d be a pity, using that wonderful dress on such a dull night.” His boyfriend turns to you, smiling widely. “Join us?”

God, yes. The squirm of satisfaction that threatens to leave past his lips has him fidgeting with his fingers, cracking his knuckles in an oh-so-giddy attempt to hide just how excited he is when he sees you stand up and grin sheepishly, moving your chair and settling on their table.

If one tried and overthinked it too much, it wouldn’t work. People tend to feel those kinds of things, the rush, the nervousness, the desperation. Not attractive on a stranger in the slightest. And Minho knows he’s one lucky bastard just getting to sit with you at the same table, sharing sentences with Jisung across the rounded table with just a blink and a cheeky stare through his lashes.

And as the night goes on, sneaky glances, touches, soft hands over yours, their eyes deep in colour, on you as you wine and dine, the white-collar thieves swiftly steal your heart for the night.

A fever dream. You find no other way to word it, how they get under your skin and into your head, how their cheeky antics keep getting you closer and closer in a way that almost baffles you. You can’t even think about that sad excuse of a boyfriend you have when Jisung’s hand brushes your arm again or when Minho’s eyes lock on yours, almost undressing you under his gaze.

You couldn’t call it a red flag. After all, their collars are pure white.

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

Jisung can’t hold back any longer.

He opens the door to their hotel room for you, and in an unrestrained need, grabs your wrist and finally pulls you to him.

Minho smirks, closing the door with a thud by leaning on it, watching as his boyfriend ruins and smears your lipstick, giving it just a bit before he pulls him from the back of his shirt, tutting at him.

“Such a needy little slut, mmh? Couldn’t even wait for me?”

His hands thread on Jisung’s hair, pulling in a way that has him already on edge. Minho takes his blazer off under the eager eyes of his company, and also takes Ji’s red one, leaving both on the couch that sits in the corner of the room as he licks his lips and takes his hands to his boyfriend’s neck, kissing him deeply, hungrily, humming a snicker when he feels his cheeky little hands tugging and pulling on his white shirt.

“Brat.” He whispers on his lips. “We have to treat our guest first, don’t we, jagi?”

Heat pools on your lower belly, disarmed as the two gorgeous, disheveled men stare at you with a glow in their eyes so deep it could fuck you alone. Both stare at the other with a sly grin on their faces, the phrases they want to say hidden behind the opacity of their eyes, clouded in lust.

Cheekily, Minho grabs Jisung by his belt, speaking at mere inches away from his lips.

“Be a good boy and hang on the door the do not disturb sign, mmh?” His eyes trail from Han’s neck, reeling on his heavy breathing and how his big brown eyes flutter when his hand teases him, tickling his skin with a brush of his fingers, doing tender and slow motions, opening the lower buttons on his shirt and going down his happy trail.

Jisung only nods weakly, in a daze as Minho lets go of him, blinking slowly and letting out a playful chuckle when he teasingly smacks his ass as he makes his way to the door.

“Now, what do we have here?”

Your throat feels dry and you yearn for the moment in which you’ll finally drown in Minho’s lips. He can tell, approaching you slowly, his steps barely making a sound on the carpet below.

His hands brush away the few hairs that Ji got loose, his hand traveling from the shell of your ear to just a bit after your pulse point. “Such a beauty.” Your heart swoons as he whispers, something that sounds more for him than for you, which does nothing but worsen the situation below your dress.

Licking your lips, you watch as he leisurely sits on the edge of the bed, two fingers teasingly making a ‘come hither’ motion as he spreads his legs, making space for you between them, his tailored clothing hugging his lush thighs in a way that nearly makes you salivate.

“I won’t bite, gorgeous. Not unless you want me to,” he teases, his hands stroking your knees while he sits just a short step or two away from you.

The sentence not only makes you shiver in anticipation, but also makes a small part of you wonder if there could be anything you wouldn’t let these men do to you. Dare I say non-existent, the list seems to be pretty short, as you nibble on your lip and answer to how he pats his thigh, taking a seat.

“There we go.” He grins with a low hum, his hands traveling far past the fabric that covers your thighs, grabbing and kneading the skin under his grasp. “Wonder how long it has passed since you’ve been treated right.” He clicks his tongue. “We have to do something about it, don’t we, jagi?”

He’s talking to Jisung as if you weren’t there. As if they’re taking you, a pretty diamond gingerly falling into their white-gloved hands, and —make no mistake—, you’re letting them, and it’s the end of the story, because you’d be a fool not to.

Besides, it’s already too late to back down. You want this. You couldn’t care less of what happens to your boyfriend after he left and scurried back wherever, attempting to leave you with the burden of paying for everything again without having to deal with the consequences nor the guts to face you. He was going to have a fun time, arriving at your previously shared room and finding that your things had been already packed and you were no longer anywhere to be seen, leaving behind you not only the bill of the restaurant —both his and yours, and then the one you had with Minho and Jisung, of course, an autograph on the receipt and all— but of the entire week you had been abroad, for all the times he had been tricking you and pulling your leg.

Tonight, you weren’t just being stolen. You were being freed.

“What makes you tick? Mmh, gorgeous?” Minho gets you back from your mind, naughty hands traveling underneath your dress and playing with the back ends of your underwear.

He’s dying to kiss you, and he will —he will die trying and he’d be happy to do so—, and he can see it in your eyes that you want just as much, the dark of his reading yours with an ease that does nothing but aggravate the situation, knowing that if he were to kiss you as he had been thinking —ever since he and Jisung had seen you and your boyfriend— would cause you more things than neither you nor him could process, leaving both of your minds blank, wet, legs tangled with one another.

Minho cherishes the way you tremble in his grasp, feeling Jisung’s hands surprise you from behind, playing with the zipper of your white and red dress.

“Baby, you’re already grinding on my thigh.” It’s teasing, it’s a menace, and he fucking loves it, seeing how said sentence darkens both your and Han’s eyes. “What are you thinking, mmh? Want us to figure you out as we go?” He licks his timidly swollen lips, his hands traveling down your legs to take your heels off, discarding the red sole shoes by the end of the bed.

He kisses Jisung over your shoulder, and a moan leaves your lips when said motion —him moving forward, that is— makes him tense his thigh underneath you.

“Jagi, do me a favour.” He whispers on his boyfriend’s lips, next to your ear, as if he’s telling Han a secret you shouldn’t know —but you don’t care whether you should or shouldn’t. You’re already going to hell for cheating on that low-life you call a boyfriend. Could be the wine speaking, or how your pussy is already leaking, but if you’re going to hell, you’ll make it so that these fine gentlemen help you reach heaven first.

“Ladies first, okay? Let’s treat her how a princess deserves.”

Jisung’s eyes smile as he bites Minho’s lip, finally taking your dress off of you, lowering the zipper in a way that his hand strokes your skin as the dress goes further down, and doesn’t stop kissing him, even when his greedy hands take the dress off your shoulders, and travel forward, tickling you menacingly, from your belly to your chest, teasingly playing with the little bow that decorates your white bra before letting his fingers go further up your cleavage.

Minho’s hands move your hips against his thigh, starting to feel the wetness and warmth not only on the fabric between his leg and your sweet sweet core, but on his skin.

He chuckles, panting on your ear as Jisung’s lips hungrily travel to your back, kissing and scratching with his teeth. A man blinded crazy by lust, his hand finally reaching your neck.

The way the action makes you moan is almost obscene, your cheeks as red as Jisung’s forgotten blazer and trousers. His grasp, gingerly cold, as if the rest of his warmth was traveling to other parts of his body —parts you weren’t complaining to be feeling against your lower back—, was a little bit over your collarbone, and it drove you wild.

“Hyung—” It’s a whine so desperate that nearly has him crumbling apart. Jisung’s eyes are teary when Minho’s lock into the dark brown full of lust that they have turned to. Merely pecking his lips, Minho smiles.

“I’m going to eat you alive.” It’s a desperate groan, and his partner’s eyes only glow in a darker shimmer, as if he yearned for just that. “Go on, jagi. Have fun.”

Before you can expect it, Jisung lets out a moan, grabbing your waist and pulling you from Minho onto the bed. Your impending release gets ruined, and you whine, your hand unconsciously traveling to your face.

As the younger one hurriedly finishes taking your dress off of you, discarding it somewhere on the floor —a view that, later on, would make Minho grin cheekily— said gentleman moves and lays down next to you while his partner leaves hickeys all over your inner thighs.

Only pants, whines, and moans leave your lips, low and dimmed, overwhelmed by all that you’re feeling, hiding behind your hand. But they’re gentlemen, after all. Ever-so-observant, Minho’s smile is sweet when he takes your hand and interlinks your fingers.

“Beauty,” he calls, his voice sultry. “Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

It takes a shy, confused shake from you for him to tut at his boyfriend, and Han stops his antics, licking his lips, his eyes glowing as he strokes your thighs, gingerly comforting you out of your daze.

“Like a traffic light, yeah? Green for when you want to keep going, yellow when you want to slow down, and red if you want to stop.” His hand softly moves, trailing soft motions on your cheek. “Don’t wait for us to ask. If we’re playing the figure-it-out game, I want to hear you moaning ‘green’ every single minute. Good?” You blush, nodding. “So. Colour?”

You give it a thought. You’ve brought up things like this before to your boyfriend. Things he shamed you for. Things you had been wanting to do for a while. And as you stare back at Minho, his eyes widen for a moment when he sees you smirking lightly.

To hell and heaven with it. It had been a close call before, back at the hotel’s restaurant. It’s stupid now, and you can’t believe you almost ran away back to your room and wasted such a divinely given chance like this one.

“Green.” You smile. “Figure me out better than I know myself.”

Jisung’s mind is completely foggy and hazy, his hands kneading your thighs, waiting, panting at your sudden forwardness. He can barely form a coherent thought, his mind consumed by the need to keep going until your taste is all that he knows.

You lift yourself, sitting on the bed, as the focus of the two men’s attention while your hand reaches for Jisung’s chin, and he’s dead. He’s gotta be, because as he moves to keep feeling your soft grasp on him, he swears he stops breathing.

“I’m going to kiss you.” It’s an announcement. Not quite a question but a warning, a narration of sorts. It keeps Minho waiting for a movement, something, whatever, anything to be able to follow what they had started, surprised by the newfound shimmer in your eyes.

And you can only confirm the whole chain of unbridled thoughts that haunt you —that you want to devour them with kisses, that you would let them eat you whole, unashamed, unrestrained, and overly needy— when, after closing your eyes, you erase any space that was between your lips and Jisung’s.

It’s not the butterflies in your stomach, but your own pulse rumbling in your ears, so loud that you think that either of the two men to whom you knew crystal clear that you were going to give yourself to tonight could hear it without making any sort of effort.

Nasty, desperate, wild. Jisung is gone, set on making any trace of red lush lipstick disappear from your lips. He starts kissing you more passionately, taking both of his hands to your nape, pulling on your hair in an attempt to get you even closer to him, the need for oxygen merely a necessity far less important than to keep kissing you and lick away your strawberry lipstick.

“This is crazy,” you pant, gasping for air.

“You make me crazy.”

He’s breathless, and he just can’t stop kissing you. Not when you’re giving yourself back to him with almost the same intensity, the raw need for more overperforming any sort of kissing skills that Jisung thought he had before. Matter of fact, he can’t think. Not when his hands travel from your waist, your skin like a canvas he’d die to keep marking, trailing a teasing path up your back, making you shiver until he finally undoes the barrier that keeps him from touching, and finally tasting —licking, spitting, marking, fondling, kissing, biting, better if it’s all at the same time— your breasts. He swiftly takes your bra off of you, as if it burns. It would’ve made you laugh, but as he cages you against the mattress the only thing you can do is moan.

Yes. Yes. Yes, More. Please. Don’t stop.

There’s a light bounce of the mattress when Minho takes a seat behind you, and Han whines when you leave his lips.

You’re a mess. There’s no other way to describe it, and Minho loves it. He loves how you’re in between Jisung and him. How you’re drooling and moaning, your head leaning against his shoulder as greedy little Hannie goes back to where he was heading before. He loves how you’re not holding back anymore, your right hand pulling on his boyfriend’s hair and your right one on his nape, gingerly playing with it as you squirm under the pleasure that Ji’s mouth brings you.

“Beauty,” Minho’s voice is impossibly low when he calls for you, pressing soft, tender kisses on your pulse point. You whine, a strained ‘yeah?’ that kills him. “How do we feel about this?”

You open your eyes, not really aware when you had closed them, and you look at Minho’s soft hands, his rings shimering under the room’s indirect light. It’s a lace, your fuzzy brain tells you. It has the words Dior written several times on it.

“G-green…” it’s a whine, it’s slurry, and it turns to a hitched breath when Han’s fingers slide inside you with ease, curling and thrusting until you can’t do anything else but moan and whine, trembling as you come, pleasure hitting you in waves.

You cling onto Minho like a rock, as much as you can, his body behind you stroking you in a way that makes you shiver while Ji helps you ride out your high.

“Look at him, princess.”

His tone is slightly mean, and you sigh, feeling his arms surround you.

“He came just from tasting you.”

You’re still a bit out, panting, but your eyes turn to him, whose head is leaning on your thigh. One of your hands moves to stroke his hair, and you grow hotter watching how he shudders for a second.

“He was grinding against the mattress. Like a little horny slut.”

It’s shameful. Minho’s tone is one for mocking. He’s… torturing him. And yet he looks like he might just come one more time from that alone.

“M-min…” Hannie whimpers, a slurred sound of pleasure.

“Oh, beauty. He even wants more.” Jisung’s eyes open, staring at you two from below, and he moans.

You blink, but slowly, you seem to get it. Or, if you asked Jisung, you were a godess sent straight-out from heaven.

“But can he… beg like a… a pretty slut?”

Minho nearly comes untouched at your tone. The way they’re already corrupting you, how you’re degrading Jisung already, watching how he’s unconciously grinding against the mattress again, overstimulating himself.

“Ngh, fuck… p-princess…” his hands travel to your thighs, clinging to them like a lifeline.

You’re unsure of what to do, because you know what to say, holding back for a second.

“Beauty,” Minho kisses your neck. “What’s that brain of you thinking, mmh?”

Your blush covers your whole face, and you smile, as if you’ve been caught on a white lie.

“I… want to, um. Want you to do to him what you did to me.”

Jisung freezes in his place. Minho’s eyes darken. “Keep talking, beauty. Spare no detail.”

Your shyness fades as you look at Ji’s face, reeling at how he moans softly, his body just a tiny bit spent, yet he’s paying close attention to you and your words, not wanting to stop even for a second. The intensity of his stare makes heat hit you, unexpected yet welcomed.

And with hooded eyes and weak legs, you turn to face both Minho and Jisung, letting go of what you’re thinking without giving yourself the chance to second guess it.

“I want you to finger him. While you fuck me. And then I want him to fuck me.”

Perplexed. There are little to no words Minho can manage to say, if any. He knows that he’s a sentence away from losing himself completely to the sensation, your mind and body now completely under the control of the aphrodisiac that is their company and undivided attention, and the intense pleasure it induces.

“Hyung.” Han’s eyes are teary, and he looks so pretty.

Why would Minho resist?

He takes you by your wrists and pulls you towards him, kissing you in a way that makes your mind and body completely submissive and compliant. There it is. Minho is finally kissing you, claiming you with each stroke of his tongue. And now he holds no restraint, his hands exploring your body, his touch becoming more urgent and passionate with each moan that goes past your swollen, kissable lips.

His body presses even harder against yours, pinning you against the mattress as he kisses you deeply, his lips and tongue tracing a path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Minho bites down gently on the sensitive skin of your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he continues his assault on your senses, his desire for you growing more and more intense.

He moans softly into the kiss, his hands wandering along your body, his touch hungry, as if he couldn't get enough of you —and he can’t, he’s well aware that you might be his last meal, and he’d be happy about it— grabbing and marking and touching all he can reach. He breaks the kiss briefly, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your sensitive skin as he pants heavily, his voice low and hoarse with desire.

"You're driving me crazy, beauty," he murmurs, his voice gravelly with lust. "Can't get enough."

“Minho, please,” you whine and beg, shivering when he stands on his knees, looking at you from above, a dark, nasty shimmer in his eyes.

He pushes Jisung next to you, face down ass up, which only makes the latter moan, desperate to be touched again.

“You know what, beauty?” Minho grins, mad, crazy, horny, and all of the above, as he takes back the Dior lace and softly moves your hands over your head, making a pretty bow on your wrists, almost as pretty as his needy princess. He’s thankful Jisung wanted to buy that perfume.

“I’m going to fuck you. Because you want to, don’t you, beauty?” His snicker brings heat to your whole body, and it hits you where you’re restrained, Minho’s hands pinching and teasing all over your torso, watching you crumble and whimper underneath him. “And I’m going to make him come too. You two want to be used like little toys, and it’s just what I’m about to do.”

He bends down to reach for the lube in the bedside table, but uses that opportunity to meanily bite your cheek. It feels warm under his tongue, the skin red, not only from the teasing bite but from how deep you’re blushing.

Minho keeps talking while he slowly removes your ruined panties and Jisung’s soiled underwear.

“I’ll fuck you so good, beauty. So good you won’t ever feel the same, if you fuck that scum you call a boyfriend. I’ll make you come so hard you won’t even remember his name.”

You don’t know what happens first, but surely, Jisung and you start whining and moaning, panting as Minho fails to keep a steady pace on both of you, his thrusts irregular as pleasure takes hold of him.

He’s reeling in pleasure, whispering into your ear in between moans and grunts how good you feel, how tight your pretty little pussy clenches around him, how you’re going to milk him dry as he keeps pouncing on you. “If y-you, ever, ever, ever doubt who you belong to…” he moans, watching you cry in pleasure, listening to Hannie’s slurred babbling, failing to get a good grip on the bed sheets. “Remember… that you can always come back… princess…”

After all, his duty as a thief wasn’t only stealing. He wasn’t going to complain when he’d kill for you to sit on his face. Just for starters.

It doesn’t take long for Jisung to come on his own palm, shivering in pleasure, panting, but smiling at you, and —with his other hand— grabbing yours while you moan and whine and whimper, so close once again.

T-too much— Don’t stop. Yes, yes, please!

Moaning so beautifully, Minho crumbles. His words are slurred as he whines, something about filling you up that makes you see stars as he somehow thrusts even deeper.

“There, there, ah… f-fuck, I can’t…”

Dazed, fucked-out, drunk and lost in pleasure, you’re only able to let out louder sounds, tugging at your restraint as the Dior bow keeps you grounded, and Jisung’s now clean hand —you missed when that happened, yet you’re not bothered enough to question it— presses figure eights on your clit. And not even a minute later, you’re both gasping and moaning, and you throw your head back as he comes inside of you.

It takes a moment for the three of you to move. For a minute, the world stops spinning, and you relish the warmth of his bodies, next and over you, your head still fuzzy with pleasure.

You and Minho whine when he pulls out, and you shiver at the loss of heat over you and the emptiness inside you. Jisung is quick to fix the first one, softly moving your head over to his shoulder, and he leans his chin over yours.

“Hey, princess.” He still has a red hue on his cheeks, but you’re pretty sure you’re matching, if not worse.

You hum, weak, and he can’t help but giggle. His soft hands cradle your face, and he sighs, stroking your nose with his tenderly.

“I’m really happy you joined us tonight.”

And with the strength you have left, you merely move to kiss his palm, your eyes closed. They remain closed when Minho comes back, even when he softly moves your arms and links them behind his nape.

Han heads into the bathroom first, making sure the water of the bathtub is warm enough before sliding inside, helping Minho put you down, leaning your head against Ji’s shoulder and in between his legs.

You’re half asleep, but you smile when Minho’s hands stroke your legs. Your legs feel sore and you’re a blink away from the best sleep of your life, but first, the best night of your life makes sure to take care of you after all the fun.

Two pairs of hands clean up the mess they turned you to, and you’re so happy to be taken care of as sweetly and as gently as they are doing, that you weakly peck Minho and Jisung’s lips.

No words are needed, and Jisung hugs you from behind, pressing soft kisses on your shoulder blades. Minho links his hand with yours, fondly staring at the two of you before him.

Thieves like Han and Minho are masters in their craft. With professional care, they dry your body, tender touches fully lulling you to sleep when Jisung grabs one of the discarded white-collared shirts and gingerly closes its buttons. Bathed, spent, and tired, they settle you in between them, with your back to Minho, and Jisung kisses his boyfriend’s hand, covering all of you with the bed’s blanket.

Sure, maybe you didn’t do all that you wanted that night. But you don’t mind it. Warm, clean, and thoroughly satisfied, you’re fine with the need that hits you even after you wake up. You want to be theirs so much, and despite the estrangement, it’s a fact that doesn’t change —not even after it dawns on you that neither you nor them introduced themselves, and you don’t know their names.

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

kats, who needs a high —infinite, even— dose of grass, stat.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

622 notes · View notes

beefboyandbabygirl · 1 year ago

Text

I ❤️ DILFS / GOOD GIRL (18+)

pairing: student!brother's bff!seokmin x student!good girl!reader

genre: college au, brother's best friend au, smut (MDNI), bit of crack, a small bit of angst but not nearly as much as most of my fics

description: when you head out for college, you incidentally end up at the one your bother's best friend has disappeared to 2 years prior. now, seokmin has promised your brother, vernon, to teach you and take care of you while you're away from home. unfortunately, it seems vernon should have been a bit more specific about what exactly seokmin was supposed to be teaching you.

warnings: vernon is ur overprotective brother, seokmin is not a dilf unfortunately, dirty talk, masturbation (male and female), fingering, slight restraint?, praise (f. receiving), pet names (good girl is so overused), teaching, innocence kink, corruption kink, oral (m. receiving), tiddie play, alcohol consumption, a bit of pining, shame on the readers part, she feels a bit like a slut for a moment, kinda brief mention of miscarriage? for like a metaphor lol, jeonghan is hot in this, giselle is ur bff and i almost gave up my mission and made this whole fic ab her shes so hot, ok i think thats it

quotes my creative director (@joshibambi): "just admit u wanna bang son", "o is for orgasm", "the urge to be the younger sibling for once"

wordcount: 15.9k

a/n: the way this fic took me years to write. i hav been busy :( thank u 2 every1 who liked girl code uve made my whole year :D hope u like this one 2!!

You preferred to remember Seokmin for how he was.

How he was small and young, how he had a swanky bowlcut and how he looked in his school uniform. How he and your big brother, Vernon, had bonded and watched movies together in your living room, and the countless dinners he’d stayed over for, always so respectful to your parents and you. He wasn’t your best friend, he was Vernon’s, and yet he made it so easy to feel comfortable, so easy to feel like you were the one he came over for.

You crushed on him back then, wrote countless diary entries about him and his stupid, beautiful smile. But it had been so forbidden, you remembered feeling that, because of how Vernon had groaned at you to leave every time you peaked your head through the living room door, masking your insistent eyes on Seokmin with simply wanting to “watch a grown up movie”. Sighing, you’d turn back to your princess pink room, and the boundary - the Vernon shaped boundary - that stood between you and Seokmin grew farther.

It had almost been a relief when Seokmin left for college. That was the most terrible thing, the relief you felt while your brother was grieving the sudden separation with his best friend. But your heart simply couldn’t help but let out a long sigh - years of yearning for him when he was so close by. You felt that cool wash of repose when that border between you and him had disappeared from your view. Years of watching it, wondering whether to pad closer or turn away from it, became a distant memory. For two years you were almost a normal girl and a good baby sister.

Then it was your turn to head off for college. The nearest, big college to you accepted your application and you still distinctly remember dinner with your parents and your brother, how’d they’d cheered and clinked glasses and looked at you adoringly, because you were growing up right before their eyes. Then under the faint light of the restaurant chandelier, your mom had said something that immediately sent you hurdling back to that old, distant boundary: “Maybe you’ll see Seokmin there!”

How had you forgotten? You supposed in that time you’d let yourself be more taken with the relief. It was the thought that he would be gone that had distracted you from exactly where to. And there you were with all your moving plans and your packed backs, and your glass raised and frozen in the air and your eyes wide.

Then came the reasoning: surely, you could avoid him? It was a big college, there were plenty of people. There was no logical reason you’d really have to see him. Except for Vernon, of course. Ever so oblivious, your brother had called up Seokmin to tell him the good news, and to tell him to take care of you and protect you. And Seokmin was so sweet, of course, he’d take care of his best friend’s baby sister.

And there you were at college. All grown up.

In your defense, you had avoided him skillfully. You’d turned down his request to help you with unpacking, turned down his tour of the school (that you’d actually desperately needed - why is room 240 not with all the other 40’s?!), and most of all, you’d turned down every single message inviting you to a party.

I guess to him that was a perk; partying with the older kids. He knew you after all. He knew that you were a quiet girl and you stayed within your neatly laid brick walls, and he knew you were shy, and he knew you needed help letting loose. He knew you were a good girl.

Which is why it wasn’t surprising at all that you turned down his offers - wanting to stay focused on school. At least, that’s what you told him. Truth was even being in his vicinity had put you much closer to that boundary you’d never dared cross. You were afraid even just seeing him would send you hurdling back, like a leaf in the wind. So you didn’t go.

For a while, at least.

“This is, like, a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Giselle whined and you shook your head adamantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, maybe not for you, but for me!” she argued. “I can’t believe you’re consistently being invited to parties with hot, sexy men, and you’re turning it down because of one guy!”

You were currently sitting in the library with your roommate, Giselle, and you’d made the unfortunate mistake of telling her about your predicament after receiving yet another invitation to a party tomorrow. Giselle was throwing a temper tantrum because she had never ever had anything as ridiculous.

You liked Giselle a lot. She was very different from you - she was hot. You weren’t - you were cute. Giselle held boys on leashes and made them do homework for her. She liked partying and sexy, black dresses. You were a fucking nerd, and cute was the highest compliment you had ever received for your looks. Even though you were different, Giselle had immediately taken a liking to you. You had initially feared she would think you were lame, but she was so nice - except for right now.

“Come on, Y/n, there are, like, no cute guys in our year!” she said pleadingly, clasping her hands together and pouting, but you shook your head.

“You don’t understand, Giselle,” you murmured solemnly, trying to regain your focus on the science textbook in front of you.

“I understand perfectly well,” she said and you eyed her suspiciously. “I understand that you’re a bitch!”

“Alright, that’s unnecessary,” you said, closing your book. You pinched the bridge of your nose, when she went on. “No, honestly, Y/n. You’re a virgin, right?”

You snapped your head towards her in shock. Your eyes darted around frantically, before you leaned over the table to whisper to her: “How do you know that?”

“Don’t embarrass yourself, honey,” she grinned, holding back laughter and you rolled your eyes, sighing. “And what about it, Giselle?”

“How are you ever gonna get yourself out there if you’re constantly caught up on this guy and trying to keep away your feelings for him? You’ll stay a virgin forever, girl. You need to look him in the eyes and realize you’re above that childish crush!”

You stayed quiet, slumped in on yourself with your book in your lap. Why was she making sense?

You’d never thought about it that way. That your infatuation with your brother’s best friend was somehow holding you back from exploring and evolving as a woman. That maybe having him in the back of your mind every time you’d shyly made out with guys in high school, had been the thing that stopped you in your tracks.

“I can see it on your face, you know I’m right,” Giselle smiled smugly from behind the screen of her laptop. “Unless you’re asexual. In that case, fierce, but if you’re not, like, get out there, queen. Sometimes you need to realize that you have to leave one dick for another dick because the other dick is so good.”

You furrowed your brows. “Is.. Is this still about me?”

“No,” Giselle shook her head.

“Okay, yeah, ‘cause- ‘cause that didn’t..”

“Yeah, I know. I was more so, uh, angling-”

“Right-”

“Angling the story to- to my current situation.”

“I get it, yep.”

There was a moment of silence. You pursed your lips and looked at the message on your phone. Then you started typing.

“Are you telling him you’re coming with your super sexy, hot friend?”

“Yes.”

“Y/N, I LOVE YOU.” _____________________________

Regret was a nasty, old demon on your back and it had twisted and tugged at your guts, while you let Giselle get you party-ready. You’d sat on her bed, in her dress, and having her put her makeup on you, you’d sulked and tried to shrug off your back.

“You look so hot when you actually try,” she’d giggled, using a fluffy brush to spread the bake underneath your eyes.

“Thanks,” you’d mumbled, and she’d paused her movements, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked, sitting back on her knees. You had sighed, reaching a hand up to run it through your hair, but pausing midway when you realized you would ruin the styling Giselle had worked so hard on. You lowered your hand again.

“I’m not sure about this,” you’d murmured and she frowned genuinely. “Y/n, I meant what I said. I know I talk a lot about boys and stuff, but you really shouldn’t let yourself be held back by him!”

Before you could speak again, Giselle had tugged you off the floor to stand in front of her mirror.

“Look at you,” she’d cooed, clapping your shoulders. “You look so pretty!”

You’d smiled a little shyly, looking at your form in the mirror abashedly. You were pretty. Not cute, not nerdy; pretty. Curves hugged tight by a sleek, black dress from Giselle’s closet, this was a version of you that could actually see having sex - seducing men, gaining from her looks.

“I guess you’re right,” you’d said sheepishly, and Giselle had smiled sincerely and you’d let her take you to the party down the streets in a nearby frat house, and you’d almost not wavered when you stood right in front of it, music blasting out of every crevice.

But then you were inside and he was right there. For the first time in two years, he was there, and he was so hot. He was wearing a white tee and a fucking silver chain, and, God, when did he start working out, because his arms were so big and so toned. And his hair was fluffy and dark brown, and his face was slim, and the tops of his cheekbones were shining under the kitchen lamp, where he was talking to some other guy, arm flexed, as he leaned against it on the counter.

If there was one thing about Seokmin that had stayed the same it was that smile. He wore it now, laughing, as he talked to some blonde guy about something, and you wanted to scream because, there it was. The boundary, the ledge, the line, whatever, it was right before you again, right there with him. And all the feelings that came with it, your heart, wet and red in your throat, a brew of anxiety in your stomach.

Without sparing even a second, you’d clasped onto Giselle’s wrist, tugging her into a herd of anonymous people, and just walking. Walking, walking, pulling her along (she countered only with a “hey!”) only for you to hit a wall or something, just as long as you were far, far away from him.

“What the hell?” she said, when you finally stopped walking because you’d entered the living room, which was apparently more exclusive, as only a few people populated it, including a couple that was making out on the far end of the couch.

“He was there,” you gasped dramatically, as if you’d seen a ghost. “I-I can’t do this, Giselle.”

“Relax, babe, it’ll be fine. You’re away from him now, aren’t you?” Although she was trying to be supportive, you could tell she was growing a little tired of your theatrics. You couldn’t care less though, you were panting, and peering over her shoulder to see if he was somehow coming towards; and, God forbid, smile at you with that angel grin.

Giselle followed your gaze and sighed, brows furrowing. “How about I get us some drinks? Then you can let loose a little.”

You nodded absently, following her lead when she pulled you to sit down on the couch. You clambered to the couch rest, when she walked away, swaying her hips to the music.

You might’ve looked different, but you were still you. The entire scene had you uncomfortable, and you were still the shy, unconfident and nerdy girl. You cursed yourself for letting Giselle’s reassurances fool you - you would never be this type of person, and you would surely never get over Seokmin. She’d been wrong about everything.

“You okay, darling?”

You jumped at the voice, eyes darting up to see who it was.

You didn’t know him. He was handsome, though, but you’re not even sure you’d call it that. He was pretty, and he had long, black hair and big eyes and he was giving you this teasing smile, that was doing nothing to ease your nerves.

“I’m good,” you squeaked, gaze moving to a nearby pair of shoes in the corner of the room. You heard him chuckle, before he dropped into a squat before you. One lean hand came up to your knee, giving it a squeeze. “You just look so nervous, pretty,” he sat down an anonymous cup of liquor. “I don’t think I know you. Can you tell me your name?”

The hand on your knee burned into you, thumb brushing back and forth over the skin and he was looking at you so intently, it had you sputtering. “Uhm, uh, Y/n.”

His thumb froze. You looked over at him curiously to find this dumbfounded expression on his face, devious grin spreading on his pretty features. He chuckled and cleared his throat, face dropping down before he moved it back to look at you again.

“You’re the girl Seokmin’s always inviting over here?”

You nodded shyly and he smiled at you. “I’m Jeonghan.”

“Hi.”

A pause. Jeonghan squeezed your thigh, watching in delight at the way you screwed your eyes shut.

“You know, I just didn’t expect you to look like this,” he said finally and, sensing your confusion, he teasingly added: “The girl who’s always turning down parties to study.”

You blush deepened, cheeks furiously rosy, as you fiddled with your fingers in your lap. “I borrowed my friend's clothes,” you breathed, pursing your lips. “Ah!” Jeonghan gently patted the top of your thigh, nodding along exaggeratedly, “You borrowed your friend’s clothes! I see!”

He studied you while you giggled at his antics, still refusing to look him in the eye, really. He was almost suffocating, his hand on your thigh and his eyes boring into your face, and his cologne in a constant stream in and out of your nostrils. But suffocation, you decided, was almost better than being around Seokmin and having him parade his kind heart and his thick arms and his sweet smile, and just how off-limits he was.

Ripping you from your thoughts, Jeonghan stood up, placing both hands on the tops of your thighs and bending down to your face, so his nose was buried in your cheek.

“Look at me, darling,” he whispered, then pulled his face away from yours, just enough so you could gaze into his brown eyes. His hands were much higher now, squeezing hard at the plush of your thighs, dangerously close to your center and only separated by the thin fabric of Giselle’s dress.

“There she is,” Jeonghan smiled, voice a whisper. His lashes came over his eyes, when they flitted down to your lips. “Don’t you wanna come with me upstairs, and I can make you feel really, really goo-”

“JEONGHAN! GET OFF OF HER, THAT IS MY BEST FRIEND’S BABY SISTER!”

There’s a voice you know.

From across the room, Seokmin had burst through the mass of people, now power-posing with an extended finger in the direction of where Jeonghan was tilting over you, rubbing your thighs, as you sat innocently before him.

Jeonghan stood up, taking all of his heat and his suffocation and cologne with him, groaning and throwing his head back. “Seokmin!” he whined and he was suddenly no longer so suave and seductive.

“No, I won’t hear it, Jeonghan,” Seokmin said and, as much as you knew Seokmin to be sweet and tender and lovely, there was this crystal-clear anger in his voice. He walked over, one large hand pushing at Jeonghan. “Go get any other girl and sleep with her, just not her. Get your sorry ass out of here.”

Apparently Jeonghan sensed the same thing you did - a rare anger in Seokmin - because he didn’t put up much of a fight at all, only smiled at you apologetically (and then, when he was behind Seokmin, gave you a small, devious wink - he just couldn’t help himself).

You couldn’t focus much on Jeonghan at all though. Because Seokmin was standing in front of you, all muscle and huge fucking thighs by your head, and when you dared to tilt your gaze up to him, you saw how all that anger simply melted away.

“Hey,” he breathed, smiling softly.

“Hey.”

Then his eyes darkened, if only for a moment, as they traveled over your figure, gift-wrapped in that tight, black dress. His jaw clenched and he looked around for a moment. When he looked at you once more, he was giving you that smile - the one you’d fallen in love with - and the chocolate in his eyes was melting.

“Come on,” he ushered gently, one hand carefully guiding you off the couch. “Let’s go to my room where there aren’t any scary, evil, mean men.”

Despite being so on edge, so jittery, as you followed him up some distant staircase, you couldn’t help but laugh at those words. He was talking exactly like he had when you were kids. That was how you preferred to remember him; all small and young and with a swanky bowl cut, and he’s the exact same way with you, hand warm in yours, as he guides you through the house.

“Why’re you laughing?” he smiled, and you suppressed your own, trying not to dwell too much on how fast your heart was beating. “It’s just like before,” you quipped and Seokmin’s hand squeezed yours in understanding.

He lumbered down the hallway and at its very end, preceded by rows of white oak doors, he opened his own with a twist and a turn of the brass-blend knob. When he closed it, the party became muffled around you, as if his room was filled with water, and now the rest of the world was a garbled mess, and you were drowning.

His room was clean. You supposed Seokmin had never been the messy type - not even when infected by the influence of Vernon. He had a half-open closet, where you spotted folded clothes, and a circle rug and purple and green lava-lamp plugged in on his nightstand.

Seokmin apparently did not think it was clean enough, because he swooped down gallantly to grab a tossed sweater, smiling at you sheepishly when he held in between his fingers. You stared at him.

You felt like a kid again. Felt like just a young girl, creeping through the crack in the living room door, and looking at his silhouette, outlined by some grotesque horror movie playing on the TV. His sharp nose, when he turned to Vernon and laughed, his hair, all poofed and tousled and scruffy, and his smile.

And you’d let yourself fall into this trap, maybe to some extent you’d even wanted it. Because now he was right in front of you, and so was that damned barrier, right by your outstretched fingertips, and you could almost envision yourself climbing over it - climbing into his lap and-

“I didn’t think you’d ever come,” Seokmin said gently, a permanent, small smile frozen on his lips. You coughed, unready. “Uh, yeah, my friend- my friend thought I should try and.. You know, get myself out there.”

Seokmin studied you, bemused and fond, fiddling with the baby blue sweater in his hands. You were looking back cautiously, as if assessing a threat, but the threat was the sweetest, kindest boy in the whole wide world.

“Yeah, well,” he cleared his throat suddenly, ripping his gaze from you to fold the sweater onto his desk chair. “I’m sorry about Jeonghan, he’s.. You shouldn’t, uh..” Now neatly folded, you saw him rubbing the sweater between his fingers. “You should stay away from him.”

“Why?” you asked, and it was genuine enough that Seokmin let out a sigh.

“You’re too much of a good girl to be with him. He’s no good.”

A whimper clawed its way up your throat, bubbled from the depths of your belly, but you tamed it and settled on a light hum. You felt your underwear becoming a little sticky, and you wanted to die, because God, this was your brother’s best friend. They still facetimed every Tuesday and still played Fortnite together over Discord every Saturday.

“College going good?” Seokmin asked, retreating from the sweater to sit down on his bed. He looked up at you brightly and patted the spot next to him. It felt like another trap, where the folds in the blanket curved down under his weight, and would eventually lead you into him. You sat down hesitantly.

“It’s okay,” you breathed, folding your hands and in your lap and tensing your shoulders. Seokmin, fully relaxed and slumped, noted your posture and slid his hand over the exposed skin of your back. “Hey,” he whispered, so intimate it hurt your heart, “hey, hey, relax, Y/n. It’s just me.”

His eyes were soft and full of concern when he spoke quietly again, his voice almost a backdrop to the muffled sounds of dancing college students: “You know, Vernon was really concerned about how you would do away from home.”

“I’m not doing bad!” you said quickly, dismissing it immediately. Seokmin stared at you. “I just- this isn’t really my scene.”

His hand felt searing hot on your back, where it slid up and down, almost coaxing you further into him. He hummed. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Then: “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to come. Just figured you might want that street cred of being friends with the upperclassmen.”

You snorted and, cheeks rosy as ever, started giggling, eyes still cemented to the floor. Your hair was falling gently over your face, wisps of baby hair tickling your forehead.

“It’s okay,” you sighed away the laughter, “You were just trying to get me out of my shell. I appreciate it.”

Seokmin smiled at that. His hand dropped from your back and you both stared into the expanse of his room. A small window to let in the rain, the moonlight separated by the grid, and the curtain blowing in a solemn breeze. You and Seokmin sat, both very small suddenly, like kids, on the edge of the bed and became speckled in starlight, in diamond-dust.

Then Seokmin was doing it. He was letting you be comfortable, letting you slip into a dazed joy, intoxicated from his presence. He was asking about your teachers, exams, friends, experiences, and you were both laughing together, and once again you were forgetting that Seokmin was your brother’s best friend, and he was not with you for you, but he was simply talking to you out of courtesy to your brother. He let you forget.

“You going home for the break?” he asked then, room quieted down from all the laughter. The fall break, starting tomorrow, you remembered. You’d thought about going home, but had opted to text your parents that you were staying, wanting honestly to stay in your dorm room and work on assignments and organization and just lull in bed, instead of being taken up, down and everywhere in your hometown. You shook your head.

“Really? Me neither,” he said, brows raised. “Won’t you get lonely?”

You giggled shyly. “Maybe a little.”

“We could hang out,” he breathed, and at that you tasted the boundary between you, felt it firm under your fingertips, because you couldn’t discern whether he was protecting his friend’s baby sister or if he actually liked talking to you, and your heart beat and yearned and hoped for the latter.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded, melting when you saw his smile reach his eyes.

“Didn’t you always like, uh, Mario Kart? You always wanted to play with me and Vern,” Seokmin said, but he was looking distantly into the window. You almost wanted to cry because he remembered you, remembered things that you liked. “I got it on my Playstation, we can play tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” you said.

Then Seokmin was loaning you his hoodie, and, bathed in his warm, tender smell, he followed you home under the moon, glaring at Jeonghan on his way out.

“Keep the hoodie,” he’d said, smiling sheepishly when you stood in front of your dorm door. “It’s cute.”

He patted your head and left, thankfully before he could see how red your face was, and how you were absolutely about to blow up from unfiltered joy. You shuffled into your dorm room and tried to soothe the basking butterflies in your stomach and your burning heart.

Was he standing right across from you on that line, waiting to cross? _____________________________

Giselle woke up just early enough to catch you switching between different button-up dresses, throwing one on, looking in the mirror, and deciding to try another. She was groggy and tired and somewhat hungover, and needed to catch a train, so she could get back home.

“What are you doing?” she cried, rubbing her eyes. You scurried back and forth trying on another dress, considering white tights, then white socks, then adjusting the tone and volume of your blush.

“I’m-” you gasped in between your hard labor, “I’m seeing a boy!”

This caught Giselle’s attention. She shot straight up in her bed and looked at you with huge eyes. “No way!”

“Yeah way!” you giggled deviously. You turned around to face her. “What do you think of this outfit?”

“You look cute!” Giselle praised, nodding to your red strawberry dress and your knee-highs. You slumped. There it was again - cute. Not hot, not pretty, but cute. That was what you were; like a child, like the kid Seokmin knew years ago, like his best friend’s baby sister. Nothing more.

“Who is this mystery guy?” Apparently Giselle was too busy rubbing sleep out of her eyes to see how her compliment had deflated you.

“It’s Seokmin. My-”

“Your brother’s best friend?!” She gasped. It was one shock after another from you that morning. “I wanna say I’m disappointed in you, but.. If you pull this off you’re way freakier than me.”

“We’re not gonna have sex!” you groaned, pouting as you hastily shoved on your shoes. “We’re gonna play Mario Kart.”

“Right, this cute guy just invited you over for Mario Kart and nothing else, I get it,” Giselle said sarcastically.

“You don’t know him,” you mumbled defensively, shoes on and now staring at yourself in the mirror once more. “Cute,” the mirror spat at you.

“All men are the same,” Giselle rolled her eyes and threw herself back on the bed. You snorted and began to walk out the door.

“Y/n, wait!”

“Hm?”

Halfway out the door, a tote bag slung over your shoulder and ready to step into the sunlight, you peered back into the room. Giselle, in her sweats and hair fussed, stumbled blindly towards the door. She reached into her pocket and produced a-

“A condom?!” you shrieked, outraged. And not just any condom: a condom in white packaging with the lettering “I ❤️ DILFS”. You truly did not understand how Giselle managed to be a caricature of herself time after time.

“You need to wear protection, he’s in a frat, right?” she shrugged. You glared at her. “I’m not bringing a condom.”

“Alright, I guess,-” Giselle pretended to think, “I guess, you’ll just have to get chlamydia.”

You stared at her for a moment, bristling. Then you snatched it out of her outstretched hand.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re a prude.”

“Goodbye, Giselle!”

The condom slipped into your tote with ease to lay snug with all your other items and then you were out the door and heading towards Seokmin’s frat house. The sun was dulled by a few clouds, but it was still shining. Leaves were turning brown and red and yellow and were falling from trees to crunch underfoot - everything was lovely.

But the expanse, in your head, was much different. In your head you were traveling the soft dunes of a desert, spotting in the brown and red and yellow horizon a cleft in the sand. When you reached it, wide and long, seemingly endless to each side of you, you were standing right in front of Seokmin’s house.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, knuckles white where you grasped your tote, and eyes big and heart pounding. What if Giselle was right? Did you want her to be right? Would you even be able to please him if she was? Half-heartedly you tried to push away the images of Seokmin pushing into you, arms flexing on either side of your head, that spawned alongside the thought. Maybe you straddling him, his hands on your ass, his head buried in your chest, or-

“Y/N!”

You jumped, clutching your bag tight, when you snapped your head up to the voice. It was Seokmin and he was waving at you from his upstairs-window, smiling so brightly you swore the sun reflected off of his teeth.

“What are you standing there for, come inside! Door’s unlocked!” he yelled, body disappearing in the window. You stared at the window for a moment, his presence now absent, before you nodded to yourself in reassurance. You could do this, right? Just Mario Kart and small talk.

Truth was, you couldn’t do this. Not even in the slightest. You and Seokmin sat cross-legged on his bed, TV on the wall before it, drinking soda and crunching on chips. Seokmin was drenched in a green, fuzzy sweater, collarbones peeking over the rounded neck, and fingers peeking through the sleeves, where he held his controller, and God forbid, his hair was all soft and fluffy, and he was wearing fucking puppy socks.

And he was competitive, too. He was leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he sped through the course. You huffed when he blue-shelled you, and you tried to refocus.

“I thought you said you were good?” he teased, eyes leaving the screen for only a second to look at you - you, dress bunched up to your thighs and tongue peeking through your pretty, subtly red lips. A second was all that was necessary.

Suddenly, his character (baby Daisy) swerved off-course, falling into the pit below and he screeched, seemingly genuinely sad, as your character (Toadette) overtook him, the little gold badge popping up in the corner to tell you that you were number one.

“What were you saying?” you giggled cockily when you finished the last round, Seokmin unable to quite catch up to you in the last stretch. He threw himself back on the bed in defeat, groaning into his hand.

“I can’t believe I let you win,” he cried.

“Let me?” you repeated in disbelief. You scoffed and put down the controller, pretending that Seokmin lying all angelic on his bed sheets wasn’t making your stomach pinch with static. “Pretty sure that was just pure skill on my part. Don’t blame me because you’re bad at Mario Kart.”

A blow to his talents in Mario Kart was a blow to him. He snapped his head up to look at you, playfully angry. “Oh, oh wow, really? I’m bad at Mario Kart now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, smiling cheekily at him. Seokmin studied you for a moment, before he shuffled into a sitting position. His gaze almost made you shy. Did he want to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him?

Seokmin shuffled closer to you and you almost stopped breathing: “Don’t I remember you being ticklish?”

You were almost so caught up in your fantasy to realize what he said. Your eyes widened in realization and you most immediately tried to twist your body away: a punishment was upon you.

“No- NO!-” You cried out but it was too late. Seokmin wrestled his body into yours, fingers dancing and prodding into your sides. Drowning in laughter, your face twisted into tortured pleasure, as you tried to bat his hands away. Your attempts were futile - each time you shuffled away, he followed right with you, fingers unrelenting as your torso twisted and turned.

"Hehehehehehe- NO, PLEASE!- hehehehehehe!”

Your knees pushed with all their might and you were almost able to drag yourself to the edge of the bed. There, you could gain distance and talk him down from beyond his desk. But Seokmin was smart. He sensed your escape plan when you squirmed away, and without much thought, he pulled his body on top of yours, weight pinning you down.

You were still giggling and squirming, when his fingers finally let up. You were both panting from the excitement, Seokmin smiling down at you adoringly. Then, both of your smiles dropped.

It was like it took a few moments to realize; he was straddling you. Hips pushed into yours, all his weight rested on your crotch - your crotch, which was now pulsating. To make matters worse, the skirt of your dress had ridden up and most of your plush thighs were now visible to him, and your chest was halfway out of your dress, and your cheeks were flushed and your hair was spread out on the sheets beneath you. Seokmin seemed unsure of where to put his hands, while you both stared at each other, breathing in the thick, heavy silence.

“I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay, I-”

“I really- I don’t know what-”

“Don’t worry-”

You were pulling down your dress again, cheeks literally flaming red and bottom lip caught between your teeth. Silence swallowed you both whole.

You wanted him back on your hips so bad. It hurt. You were aching in quick pulses, but you couldn’t even look at him. Surely, you thought, surely, he’d seen that look on your face, how your eyes clouded over with lust. Maybe he felt disgusted.

“I better-” you hiccupped, voice small, “I better go.”

Seokmin, eyes peeking at you through his lashes, feared he made you uncomfortable.

“Yeah, of course,” he mumbled.

You gathered your things and ran out of there, wetness gushing out of you. You tried to run, tried to create distance, but this time, in your mind’s eye, you ran in place, staying completely still by the cleft separating you and Seokmin. You fiddled with the edge, sand cascading into the empty, endless dark.

There was no way you could make that jump.

That night you wished Giselle was by your side. You wrote an assignment, trying to ward off the embarrassment that stormed in your brain, when you got a message, that plunged you into rock bottom:

Lee Seokmin: hey you forgot smth at my house lol

Lee Seokmin: *Image Attached*

This was it. You were going to jump off a bridge (or a cleft in a dry, sandy wasteland).

As if your life couldn’t get anymore embarrassing: it was the condom. The white condom with “I ❤️ DILFS” on it. You damned that woman for ever making you bring it. What must he have thought of you? His best friend’s little sister trying to get in his pants? Your cheeks were burning and you threw your head into your pillow and screeched. Your life was over. It had simply ended now. There was no coming back from this. You huffed and removed yourself from its plushness.

Maybe you could salvage it? Thinking on your feet, you replied:

You: OMG i’m so sorry!!!! i think that’s my roommate’s, she must’ve put it in my bag… :/

You: I’ll come pick it up ASAP :((((

You stared at your phone at the blatant. It was not a far stretch from the truth, but being caught with your hand in the cookie jar - or maybe more so the I ❤️ DILFS condom in your tote bag - it seemed like an irrationally shitty cover up.

You gnawed at your lip when the three dots popped up next to his picture, and bit it to pieces waiting for his reply. You almost jumped when your phone buzzed:

Lee Seokmin: hahahahaha

Lee Seokmin: you can come pick it up tomorrow if u want? theres no rush

You glared at the message. Laughter? Surely he hadn’t bought it. He was just trying to be nice, just trying to avoid you any embarrassment. The thought made you wanna throw up, how he felt this obligation to be nice to you when you had permanently scarred him (were you being dramatic?).

You: ok. im rlly sorry again!! i’ll pick it up tomorrow _____________________________

Tomorrow came much faster than you had hoped. No amount of tossing and turning could slow down the passage of time, and by the time you received Seokmin’s promised “I’m awake”-message, the embarrassment hadn’t faded one bit.

Every discouraged moment of getting ready was haunted by your current situation, and you stopped to cringe every five seconds, causing an honest and diligent self-hatred to bubble within you. When you knocked on Seokmin’s door, you’d honestly never felt less confident in your life.

“Y/n!” he said enthusiastically.

“Seokmin,” you said, less enthusiastic.

He smiled at you sweetly, almost as sympathetically, before stepping aside. You furrowed your brow, not really understanding why he couldn’t just hand it to you at the door, but stepping inside nonetheless. “It’s in my room,” he offered, but could he not just have brought it with him? Did he have to prolong the shame even further? You followed him to his room.

In that moment you hated Seokmin for being who he was; for being sweet, gentle, caring, and gentlemanly. You would feel less pathetic if he yelled at you, if he was genuinely disgusted and wanted nothing to do with you. But there he was all smiling and supportive, and he wasn’t touching you at all, but he still felt like pillars on your back, soothing you and holding you up.

“It was your roommate’s?” he asked absently as you traversed the halls. “Uh, yeah,” you answered sheepishly.

“I can tell,” he threw his head back to you, and there was a huge grin on his face. A little bit of hope blossomed in your chest. “Yeah, I saw her at that party, you know? I think she slept with, uh, my friend, Minghao.”

“That’ll be her,” you were smiling now too, and a huge wave of relief washed over you, as he at least let you believe that he thought it wasn’t your perversion bringing along that condom.

Finally stumbling into his room, he did indeed pick it up from his desk, handing it back to you. You looked at it in his outstretched hand and blushed sheepishly. “Thanks,” you squeaked.

Seokmin nodded in response. For a moment the two of you stood, uncertain of what to do and caught in the web of a terribly awkward silence. Seokmin’s eyes darted to the window and yours to the floor.

“Hey, uh,” he giggled a little, scratching the back of his head. “I feel really bad for losing that Mario Kart game-”

You scoffed in response, but the facade of being peeved was falling apart, as you beamed up at him.

“Maybe we could do, like, a quick rematch?”

You shrugged, trying to be nonchalant with an ever-heavy flush in your cheeks: “I don’t back away from a challenge.”

Seokmin won the rematch. This only spurred on another rematch, and suddenly there was no end to the madness. This time there was no awkwardness, no lingering silences. You were just giggling and strategizing, and throwing heat in the direction of your opponents.

That uncomfortable, clamoring feeling left you, slowly. It became easy to forget it. That feeling that he was only there with you because of Vernon, that there was always some sort of demand, a twisting hand, forcing him upon you, and that you became a sort of burden on him. That was the thing about Seokmin, though, his ability to make you feel like his best friend; his ability to make him feel like he was there for you, even when he wasn’t.

It was only after an hour and a half or so, when Seokmin paused the game.

“What the hell, Lee? I was just about to beat you!” you whined, crossing your arms. He nodded along, pushing himself off the bed. “Yes, I agree, which is why I’ve assessed that I need a refreshment.”

“Oh, you’ve assessed?”

“Yeah, I’ve assessed that I need a fresh, cooling drink in my gullet.”

You both laughed a little and slumped back, dropping the controller. Seokmin smiled at you, eyes twinkling. “You want one?”

“What are you getting?”

“A beer,” Seokmin said. Rationally, you knew you shouldn’t accept. You were bad with alcohol, and everytime you drank just a little, a little easily became a lot. That was why you took yourself by surprise when your voice left your mouth, chipper and grand: “Sure!”

One beer turned into another, and Mario Kart turned into talking on his bed, slumped into his fortress of pillows and giggling at his stories. You were a little tipsy, halfway into your second beer and your face was flushed and Seokmin was lying on his side, hand propped up under his head, as he made you laugh again.

“Your kind of partying sounds… Extreme,” you murmured, rim of the bottle pushed against your lips where your words slightly slurred. Mario Kart and alcohol had gotten you a little out of your shell, and now you and Seomin were talking like friends - as if your brother didn’t even exist. You basked in the alcoholic buzz and in this reality, this hideout, where your lovely brother didn’t exist and the faint ache in your legs at Seokmin’s godly face in the bedside lamp wasn’t so utterly misplaced.

“I think anything’s more extreme than your partying,” Seokmin mused teasingly. You huffed, putting down your beer and smoothing over your skirt. Everything was so lovely and artificially yellow and his body beside yours radiated pleasant heat. He was beautiful, you thought, looking at how the sweaters pooled on his torso and how his brown hair looked so soft and messy. You almost felt the absence of ground beneath you, when you imagined yourself at the cleft again.

“You don’t know about my kind of partying,” you joked and he chuckled softly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

You looked at him and he was suddenly serious. The smiley, gooey Seokmin was gone and his eyes, although not threatening at all, were prodding at you. Your smile fell. The alcohol at this time felt misplaced and wrong, the lightness felt wrong.

“Were you gonna, you know, go with Jeonghan at the party?” he whispered. The world was suddenly very quiet, as if it were following Seokmin’s tact. You grimaced a little. “No. No, not really.”

He studied you. You couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, opting to look at your hands in your lap. “Why not?”

A pause.

You began to pick at your own fingertips, nails digging into the cuticles. Seokmin’s eyes dragged from your face to your hands, and he scooted closer to you, only to cover your hand with his, stopping your movements immediately. Suddenly so close, his voice was whispered right in your ear, so soft and so gentle, it felt like a kiss: “Don’t do that.”

You sucked in a breath, hands ripping to your sides to lay stiff. “I’m, uh, I’m not that experienced, so I..”

Your eyes flicked up to gauge his reaction. In your worst nightmares, you imagined a laugh breaking onto his face, maybe disgust, but you felt yourself melting. He looked at you so softly, like you were the most precious, fragile thing and his hand had stilled in the air after you pushed it off, as if, like the most enchanting artwork at a museum, he fought desperately not to reach out and touch you.

It was unbearable - how still the air had become, how heavy you felt, how your chest struggled to expand. You talked again, if only to fill the air with your babbling: “I’ve not had.. I mean, I can hardly get myself off… So. I probably. Couldn’t. Get him off.”

You realized about halfway through your sentence that you should not have said that. That last half of your sentence was a breathy mess, as your voice became shaky with humiliation. His gaze, a delicate constant, was not helping either. You felt tears welling up in your eyes suddenly and maybe that was the worst part.

“You have trouble getting yourself off?” he repeated, as if to make sure. “Like masturba-”

“Yeah, that,” you squeezed your eyes shut. You couldn’t tell if you wanted him to shut up forever, so you’d never have to know his reaction, or if you wanted him to talk and be able to sense how this information changed his perception of you. His voice came, in spite of whatever you had hoped.

“I figured you were a virgin,” he mumbled, voice half muted by the palm of his hand, “but I thought you at least masturbated-”

“I do!” you defended yourself, voice much louder than his and brows furrowing and tears threatening to spill over your eyes. “I’m just- I’m not that good at it.”

“Hey,” he said softly, hand landing on your arm. You immediately shut up, lip trembling when you struggled to meet his eyes. “Relax, Y/n. It’s okay. I’m not judging you.”

You nodded half-heartedly, still incredibly uneasy.

“If you want…” Seokmin’s voice trailed off. His eyes ventured over your form briefly, licking his lips. “You know, if you want, I could teach you.”

You looked at him silently. He seemed to snap out of whatever loopy trance he had been sucked into, because he was suddenly very jittery and scrambling through the bedsheets. “Uh, I mean- you don’t- God, I’m sorry- it was only if-”

“Yes,” you said. His scrambling stilled immediately. His eyes were teacups.

“You sure?”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice.

Seokmin squeezed his eyes shut, gulping as he sat back against the bed. His legs spread apart. “Come here,” he patted his thighs.

You felt terribly sober. All that buzz and butterflies and blaze and blossom was gone and you felt like a doll, moving each limb individually, as you climbed into his lap, back to him. You were unable to think, unable to truly process what was happening, what it meant, as you felt his form engulf yours.

His hands found purchase on your hips and his breath was warm on your neck, as you felt every ridge of his abdomen on your back. His thumbs rubbed against your hip bone.

“Okay, now show me how you usually do it,” his voice was a warm hum, a twinge of nervousness laced in it. Your face was lit ablaze and you squirmed in his hold, when one hand left your hip to gently push your legs apart. You sat, all open and held against him, dress keeping you covered.

“It’s embarrassing,” you huffed, being very serious, but Seokmin smiled and nosed your hair gently.

“We can stop whenever you want, seriously, if you get uncomfortable, we stop” he reassured.

“It’s just me.”

It was. It was just Seokmin, your brothers best friend, the sweetest boy in the world, who used to have a swanky bowl cut and dorky school uniform and who was always Vernon’s most respectful friend, but he was hot and whispering into your ear and one hand was massaging the outside of your thigh.

“Should I take my dress off?” you breathed, face turned halfway back to him. His hands squeezed at you in response and you could faintly make out his tongue sliding over his lips.

“Only if you want, angel,” he whispered back, rubbing your sides tenderly. “We’re not doing anything you don’t want. Whatever makes you feel good. ‘M just here to help.”

You nodded, and although the answer was maybe made to make you keep your dress on - a reassurance that there was no need to discard it - you removed yourself from his grasp, hands coming to tug your dress off. You felt a small boost of confidence when you heard Seokmin breathe out: “Shit.”

Only in your bra and panties (terribly mismatched, your bra was black and your panties were pink), you leaned back into his hold, and you noted how Seokmin’s warm hands were much more careful now, splaying out on your bare skin.

“Are you comfortable now?” he asked quietly. You nodded. He propped his head up on your shoulder, eyes cast down your almost-nude body, chest rising and falling. Your legs were closed again, he noticed, and his veiny hand reached down to open them again. “Show me how you do it, baby, so I can help you improve.”

You gummed your lip, breathing in one last time, before your nervous fingers began dancing their way to your panties. They disappeared under the fabric for only a moment, before Seokmin spoke again.

“Sweetheart,” he tutted, hand wrapping around your wrist to stop its track. “Don’t just dive right in, you need to get yourself all hot first.”

Your brows furrowed and some of the embarrassment you felt from being this exposed and pressed into Seokmin evaporated into genuine confusion.

“What? What do you mean?” you said, somewhat outraged, and Seokmin couldn’t help the laughter blooming in his chest at that. He vibrated against your back, hands smoothing down your arm. You pouted: “Don’t laugh at me, Minnie.”

He stopped, still smiling as he nosed your temple. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your head, that had your heart beating out of your chest. “You’re just so cute.”

Cute. You remembered your disdain for that word, but somehow, when it came from his lips, it made you beam. Everywhere he touched left behind a hot, burning ghost on your skin.

“You just have to touch your body, sweetheart,” he said sweetly. You thrashed in defiance, crying out quietly with red cheeks. Wiggling your body angrily, you felt his dick half-hard in his pants against your lower back.

“Can’t you do it?” you whined, wanting nothing more than for him to take over and make you feel good. He sucked in a harsh breath behind you, fingers wrapping around your hands to soothe you still. He seemed to debate your proposal, but eventually he kissed your shoulder and spoke: “Okay, baby, but you have to show me you understand, alright?” you nodded feverishly. “We’re trying to get you to learn.”

The whole thing had you dizzy, warm and gooey in his hands, and grounding yourself on his solid torso. You had tunnel vision, unable to focus on anything but his warm hands and sweet voice, and how fucking hard he was. You leaned your head up to look at him pleadingly. Even upside-down he was pretty. He giggled at your starstruck expression.

“Look at my hands, pretty,” he tapped your nose and you scrunched it, turning down to your own body, where he sat his hands on your waist. “You do it like this.”

His hands started dragging over your skin, creating constellations of ghosts on your skin. One dragged across your stomach and down your leg, squeezing it along the way, and the other brushed over your bra-covered chest, landing on your shoulder and collarbones. Then they moved oppositely, then diverged from their chosen paths, and you started breathing heavily. Pressure built up in your stomach and your panties, and you felt how slick started leaking out of you.

“Feel good?” Seokmin grinned against your neck, listening to the melody of your panted gasps. You nodded earnestly, moaning softly. Seokmin furrowed his brows at that noise, pressing kisses to your neck appreciatively. “Good girl. Such pretty sounds.”

Both of Seokmin’s hands dragged up to your ribs. There, they paused. “Can I touch your chest, baby?”

“Please,” you whimpered, and earned another sloppy kiss to the cheek. His hands immediately grabbed ahold of your chest, softly rubbing it over your bra.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered. You hesitated for a moment. “Um, I don’t feel much, honestly.”

You’d expect him to be a little angry or defensive, but Seokmin only hummed and nustled himself into your hair. “Good girl. Good girl, being so honest with me. So pretty.”

You whined at his praise and Seokmin smiled smugly, taking notice of how heated you got from his words.

“The- the fabric is in the way..” you whimpered meekly, and Seokmin nodded in understanding, stroking your sides soothingly.

“You want to take off your bra?” he hummed, truly as if it would not expose you to him, as if it weren’t a lewd and depraved scenario, but something as simple as the weather. You nodded, removing yourself from the harbor of his arms once more to remove it. You unclipped it and threw it God knows where, before settling back into him. Seokmin peeked over your shoulder at your now bare breasts, groaning a little and covering it up with a cough. This was about you.

Seokmin placed his hands on your tits again, massaging and rubbing the soft skin, before he brushed his thumbs over your hardened nipples.

You moaned - for the first time it was a clear moan, seething from your throat and puffing into the air. “Sound so pretty,” he muttered in your ear. “You really like that, hm?”

He pinched your nipples between his fingers, your back arching into his warm hands. Then, as soon as the pleasure had begun, it stopped, when his hands came to rest on the bed. You whined, twisting your head towards his, only to be stopped by fingers on your chin, turning you back forward. “Show me you can do it now, baby. You’re learning,” he reminded you.

“But, Minnie, I want your hands,” you whined and he tutted softly in your ear. “I know, baby, but I need to know that you’re understanding this in that pretty little head of yours. Need to know you’re focusing. Come on, show me now.”

Huffing, you placed your own hands (they somehow felt more foreign than his now) on your stomach and began to mimic his movements. You smoothed them up and down on your body, squeezing, then placed them on your chest, rubbing and pinching your nipples.

“There you go,” he praised, and his hands had traveled to your shoulders, massaging them gently. You whimpered and turned your head to him again.

“Can you teach me how to touch my…” you trailed off.

“Your pussy?” he offered, as if it was nothing, as if it wasn’t vulgar or lewd. You nodded vigorously. Feeling him gulp a little, his hands became a little unsteady as they came to hold your waist again. “Can I hear you say it? Baby?” he asked and suddenly his voice was a little shaky, a little breathless.

“Can you touch my pussy now, Minnie?” you asked, and any shame had been clouded over with lust. You’d never been this burningly bothered in your life, you needed him to touch you. He groaned, and this time he was unable to cover it up. You felt how his hard cock strained against his sweatpants, how it pressed into your back, and you wanted to touch it so bad.

“Alright, baby, want your panties off?” His sharp nose was pressed into your hair. You shook your head. “Want them on.”

He nodded. “Alright, jus’ tell me if you wanna stop, okay? I’m gonna touch you now.”

His hand slipped under the waistband of your panties, disappearing under the pink fabric. As if they were always meant to be there, his fingers slipped through your folds, coming down to circle your slit in impossibly light figurations.

“Shit,” he panted, grip on your waist suddenly bruising, as he tried to steady himself. “You’re so wet, baby, you like Seokminnie that much?”

“Yeah, I do,” you nodded blindly, your own hands coming to grip onto his thighs. His middle finger danced upwards and pressed against your clit, and you immediately squeaked and shut your legs around his hand.

“No, no, baby, don’t do that,” he frowned, hand that wasn’t buried in your pussy spreading your legs again. You felt how his legs, pressed against you, came to hook onto yours, forcing your legs apart with his own strength. He hummed in content.

His finger pressed onto your clit again, and he felt how your legs tensed, straining against his to close. Your back arched and you moaned, eyes squeezed shut. He began rubbing it, and it was so intimate, how close you were to him, how his hand navigated your sopping wet pussy, fingers just rubbing you gently, and how bare you were, his eyes training over your bouncing tits when you thrashed.

His fingers moved downwards again, gathering the wetness that was gushing out of you. Then, one long middle finger pushed into you. Canting into his hand, you moaned loudly and turned your head into his neck. Nosing the tan skin and inhaling his faint cologne, you began mindlessly kitten-licking the skin. His Adam's apple bopped under your tongue.

“You’re so tight,” he rasped, beginning to slowly push his finger in and out of you. His other hand had come to wrap around your waist in an attempt to calm the sudden bucking of your hips against his hand.

His hand moved faster, obscene, wet sounds coming from your ruined underwear, where he worked diligently into your pussy. He slipped another finger in, and you cried from the stretch. It was becoming hard to contain you, thrashing and writhing against his hold, stuck between wanting to move closer and to move away entirely. His fingers tied a knot in your stomach.

“That’s right, pretty, tell me how good Minnie’s fingers feel,” he whispered hoarsely above your ear. You could almost only whine and moan, nipping at his neck a little. “Tell me or I’ll stop,” he warned.

“Feels so good!” you whined immediately, because if he stopped now, you figured you might start crying. “Feel so, so, so good, fuck, Seokmin, I’m-”

“I know, baby, I know, but I’m teaching you, right?”

Though your mind was fuzzy, you sensed what these words meant and panicked, hand coming down to grip his wrist in an attempt to hold him in place. “Please, please, please, Seokmin, don’t stop, please, don’t stop!”

“Don’t talk back to me, sweetheart. I won’t stop, just talk to me. Tell me what you feel me doing,” pushing your head up again, Seokmin pressed his face against your cheek, so hard, you felt his humid pants against it.

Your mind was so hazy, so transfixed on the feeling in your stomach and his finger in your pussy, you could hardly respond.

“Tell me or I’ll stop, baby,” he reminded you again, and you scrambled frantically to focus.

“Nngh! You’re- pushing in and out-” your voice broke, hips stuttering against his hand, that was continuing its remorseless pace.

“Yeah, and?”

You furrowed your brows, lips trembling. “You’re- you’re curling them- A-ah!”

“That’s right. Such a good girl. So smart and clever for me,” Seokmin whispered happily, his other hand slipping down your stomach to circle your clit. Both his hands working pleasure into your pussy, you cried out loudly, head pushed back into his chest.

“Just let go, baby, I can feel you clenching on me so hard. Wan’ me to stay in your pussy forever, hm? Just let go, cum whenever you want, wanna see your pretty face so bad,” somehow Seokmin was just as intoxicated off of lust as you, despite staying, hard and untouched, in his pants. But he babbled mindless praise to you, and you came to his sweet voice whispering in your ear.

Your orgasm sent you hurdling over the edge - the edge, the one you’d been standing at hopelessly for years. You flew across it and landed on Seokmin’s territory; in his arms.

“Seokmin, a-ah!” you cried, releasing all over his fingers, coating them in your cum. Your entire body arched upwards, as you moaned into the night. Seokmin rode you through your high, pressing sweet kisses into your hair.

You fell limp against his body, worn out, when he finally retracted his fingers from your pussy. You snuggled into his sweater with a content hum.

Seokmin smiled down at you, eyes brimming with fondness, as his cum-slicked hands wrapped around your torso in a hug, holding you into him. “You did so well,” he whispered genuinely.

You looked up at him with a tired smile. “Thank you, Seokmin.”

He held himself back from saying he would do that a thousand times over, in fact, he wouldn’t mind never pulling out - he could live with only one hand. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and whispered: “Of course, darling.”

Your brows furrowed and you pulled yourself away from him a little, eyeing the tent in his pants worriedly. “Do you want me to-”

“No,” he shook his head decidedly. “No, I’ll take care of it.”

You looked at him with big, innocent eyes, that only furthered the throbbing of his cock. Partially, he wanted to give in so badly. The thought of your hand around his cock, all pouty and innocent and confused, and how heavy it would be in your small hand, had made him cum more times than he’d like to admit. But, he reminded himself, this was about you. This was a favor. “Are you sure?” you asked softly.

“Yes, baby, go to bed. I’m gonna go get you some fresh clothes.”

You snuggled into bed while Seokmin scurried away to fetch a shirt and some boxers, and when he came back you cooperated limply in taking off your panties, and putting on what he’d given you. You fell asleep in his bed, cuddling his duvet, and surrounded by his scent.

Seokmin watched you in adoration. How peaceful you looked, chest rising and falling, and a little pout on your lips.

He wandered through the house, trying simultaneously to get as far from you as possible, and also trying to decide which of his housemates he currently hated the most. He landed on Jeonghan, slipping into his empty room and settling himself on the bed.

There, he fisted his solid fucking cock and bucked into his own hand, eyes squeezed shut to remember how you looked under his hands, how you begged for him, how well you listened, what a good girl you were for him. His moans were trembling and muffled by his own hand, and when he came, he felt momentarily smug, looking at how it dripped over Jeonghan’s sheets (served him right). Then, post-nut clarity sank in, as he reentered his own room and cuddled into you on the bed.

He felt almost despicable. He felt gross and evil and perverted and lewd, not because of you, but because, as if it were his first time realizing it, he remembered that you were Vernon’s sister. He remembered that he had promised to protect you from manipulative guys and always watch over you, and help you if you needed help, and report to Vernon if you were acting weird. Yet here he was, letting you cum on his hand and groping your tits, as if he was still that teenage boy with that swanky bowl cut.

After an hour of chewing on his lips and frowning, Seokmin let your sweet perfume lull him to sleep. He dreamt of you. _____________________________

There’s a blissful instant that morning when you wake up, curled into Seokmin’s arms, head nuzzled in his chest. There’s a blissful instant when you tilt your head, staring at his sleeping face, and he’s so beautiful, features all soft and breathing rhythmically. There’s a blissful instant where you see him, and your heart weeps in your chest because he’s so gorgeous.

Then it’s gone.

A panic button is pressed in your head, and your nerve-endings, each one resting on him, begin burning. What had you done? Yesterday feels like a faraway dream, but he’s still wearing that sweater and it grounds you in the reality of what had happened.

You’re lost. What did this mean for the two of you? Was Seokmin just lusting after you? But that couldn’t be right, you thought, because he’d insisted on only helping you, refused your offers to help him, which now was making you rot in his arms with guilt. Was this genuinely an attempt to help you? To be diligently by your side at the request of your brother? But surely this had been outside of the realm of what was acceptable to help your best friend’s baby sister with? Did that mean he liked you?

Seokmin awakened from your sudden squirming, as if, with enough shaking and turning, that feelings and thoughts would just fall out of you. They didn’t, they stayed right where they were, and all you were given in return was Seokmin’s eyes fluttering open.

You watched him go through that same process; the bliss came first and then the panic. Seokmin’s eyes went from adoring to wide and grave and suddenly he was shuffling away from you on the bed, creating a cool distance between you on the landscape of his mattress. You didn’t miss the pink dusting his cheeks.

“Uh- good morning,” he mumbled, and he could only look at his hands. Your throat was unbelievably dry. “Morning.”

You’re not sure how you both managed, but you went through that morning without mentioning the previous night even once. The air was thick with tension, fleeting glances, and shaky hands, while Seokmin made you both bowls of oatmeal. You stood on the other side of the counter in his shirt and his boxers.

You ate in his bed. It was silent and heavy and each clink of spoons against the bowl-rims had you both wincing. He put on a TV-show and you sat across from one another, chewing wordlessly to some drama in the background. Your belly was pooling with tension and light cascaded onto you, revealing your pores and flaws. Were you a bad person?

Finally, finally, Seokmin put down his spoon with yet another clink, fingers catching the bridge of his nose and eyes squeezing shut. He huffed into the palm of his hand, swallowing the oatmeal hard.

“Uh-” he began and his voice cracked, “Y/n. About last night-”

But you cut him off, and he couldn’t ever, even in his wildest dreams, have imagined that these words would come out of your mouth:

“I want to return the favor.”

The words were almost spat and discarded, as if they’d been sitting on the tip of your tongue all morning with a foul taste, and you’d only now been able to rid yourself of it. Seokmin snapped his head towards you, a genuine surprise on his face, but he soon wished he hadn’t looked at all.

You were so pretty, sitting cross legged in his shirt and a blush creeping up your neck and cheeks all shiny in the morning sun. And there was this innocence to your eyes, big lashes shadowing it only a little; this earnestness that told him you really, really wanted to do this for him.

“I-” he chuckled a little, heart clenching at your sweetness, “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good that I’m asking you then,” you said, and though the comment was witty, when Seokmin looked at you again, he saw how careful you looked, and how unsure you were of yourself.

“Listen, N/n,” he reached out to grab your hand, and it was burning into yours, each area of adjoined skin screaming at you with reminders of last night. “You don’t have to do that. I just wanted to make you feel good, I was happy to just be of service to you-”

“But I want to make you feel good,” you pouted, almost brattily. Seokmin’s gentle expression and tone faded into something darker, as his eyes flitted down to your exposed legs and your heaving chest. He swallowed, putting away his bowl of oatmeal and collecting himself.

“Are you sure? You need to be absolutely 100% sure-”

“I’m sure, Minnie. I want to-” you broke off your own words with a squeak, face becoming bright red. You leaned in self-consciously, as if to tell him a secret: “I want to suck your dick.”

Your whispered admittance had him groaning, groaning at how sweet and innocent your voice was, how you couldn’t even say it loudly, you had to whisper the dirty word to him. He wanted you so badly, wanted to be the one to take away your innocence, to make you all dirty and beg for him, to make you thrash and whine and to teach you how to really feel good. He wanted you.

It’s like a switch had flipped, when Seokmin put his hand on the back of your head, and suddenly you were kissing again. The tension from before was replaced with something wholly different, something hot, something laced in the eye contact he gave you, before he leaned it again.

And Seokmin was kissing you with a fervor that you recognized from yourself - you both wanted to forget. Wanted to forget Vernon, who, although a great brother and friend, had become a heavy strain on your relationship with Seokmin. So you kissed him and let his tongue in your mouth when it swiped over your bottom lip, and you sucked on it, and you let him and yourself get lost in each other.

The sound of smacking lips and saliva was so lewd too, especially when Seokmin’s hand pulled you from your spot on the bed and into his lap, hands roaming your body, while you tangled into his hair. He was half-moaning into your mouth by the time he pulled away, face flushed and eyes darker and lower and lips swollen red.

“You gonna let me use that pretty mouth, baby?” he whispered against your lips, one hand palming over his cock through his boxers. You nodded, almost desperately, one hand reaching out to his in his lap. “Can I touch it?”

Seokmin smiled fondly, looking down at where your small hand was outstretched towards his cock. “Yeah, baby, go ahead.”

You were a bit clumsy at first, but soon enough you found its outline in his black boxers and you squeezed it a little. Seokmin crooked over, groaning into your shoulder. You felt him get harder and harder against your palm, a small smile at the desperate noises he was making.

Seokmin had laid his cheek on your shoulder, neck twisting to stare up at you, while you focused solely on touching him, and he hated himself for getting even harder because it was you - you, who he had wanted for so long, who he was hugged into and lying on, while you touched his warm cock.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, breathing heavily, and then smiling brightly when you became all sheepish, smiling and looking away, so that you had to pause your actions. He nosed into your neck, regaining some semblance of control over the situation, now that you weren’t touching him, and his breath was warm and humid on your skin. He pressed small kisses up to your jawline, nose flattening against you.

“So, so pretty. Fuck, imagining you with my cock in your mouth, all drooling and shit. Fuck, baby, you gonna let me fuck your mouth?” he rambled, hands finding home on your tits again. You whined and nodded, trying to pry him off of you. Immediately (forever struggling with a little concern that you might’ve changed your mind) he pulls away, looking up at you worriedly.

“Don’t- don’t touch me, I don’t wanna get.. All hot,” you whispered those words that he had said last night, biting your lip in worry. “I want to do it now.”

Seokmin melted completely, and in a complete inability to contain his adoration, brushed hair out of your face and pressed a million kisses to your cheeks and your nose. “Okay,” he said in between kisses, and you felt his smile on your skin, “okay, baby. But if it gets too much, tap my thigh three times, okay? If you need anything, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“Yes, yes,” you huffed, pushing yourself away from him and hopping onto the floor, sinking to your knees before the bed.

It felt completely unreal - to both of you. How you were suddenly on your knees and how he settled in front of you, bare, thick thighs on either side of your head. Everything was all light and all the places he’d kissed and touched had become holy and glowing on your body. He shimmed his boxers off and you gaped at the sudden exposure of his dick.

He was hard. Apparently the kissing and groping had been enough, because it slapped against his sweater, leaking silky white liquid from the tip. And he was big - you didn’t exactly have a good point of reference, but you vaguely sensed from Giselle’s words that this was quite a feat.

And actually seeing it brought a wave of uncertainty on you, not as to whether or not you wanted to do it, but how. So, you blinked up at him with a small frown, voice small when you spoke: “Seokmin.. How- how do I do it?”

Seokmin practically glowed with adoration, when he petted your head and rubbed your cheek, seemingly so comfortable despite being totally bare. “You just put your lips around it and suck, baby, it’s easy,” he said softly, then added, a little panicked: “And be mindful of your teeth.”

“But it’s so big,” you marveled, eyes trained on it, and he almost groaned at it, because you sounded so genuinely amazed, so disbelieving.

“Just put your hands around the parts you can’t reach. I’ll be gentle, baby, don’t worry,” he said. You nodded hesitantly, leaning forward towards it, but his hand in your hair suddenly clenched and pulled you back. You looked up at him and saw his eyes brimming with worry. “You do want this, right?”

“Yes, please, stop being so- so gentle with me and let me suck your dick!” You whined, fed up with being treated like glass, and tugged his hand out of your hair. Seokmin visibly relaxed at your insistence, nodding.

Finally, fingers grabbing the base of it, you wrapped your mouth around the tip. You were met immediately with the taste of his pre-cum, licking over where it leaked curiously. Seokmin’s hand found your hair again, gripping it tight to steady himself, as he groaned loudly. You slowly sank down, basking in the whimpers you ripped from his mouth.

“Fuck- you’re- you’re doing so good, baby,” he cried, face twisted in pleasure and head thrown back. You looked up at him and he was so pretty and glowing, panting into the air.

You sank down as far as you could, feeling the tip sit snug against the back of your mouth, and your hands wrapped around the base of his dick. You looked up at him, experimentally squeezing, and pursing your lips around his dick to suck it carefully.

“A-ah! Fuck!” Seokmin cried, hand that wasn’t in your hair squeezing the edge of his mattress. His thighs were flexing on either side of your head. “You’re- you’re so good at this, sweetheart. Good girl, fuck, such a pretty girl for me, letting me use you like this.”

You whined at his words, squeezing your thighs together. Seokmin’s hips bucked upwards at the vibrations, hitting the back of your throat. The sudden intrusion was unexpected and you let out a garbled moan around his cock. He panted regretfully: “S-Sorry, baby, d-didn’t mean to do that, you just feel so good. Can- can you bob your head up and down it for me?”

You did, started moving your head up and down his shaft, and breathing hard through your nose, while your hands squeezed the base of his cock. Looking up at Seokmin, you felt confidence that you were doing something right. He was in heaven, face all scrunched up and breathing as if he’d just ran a marathon.

And when he peeked his down to you, he could’ve cum immediately. Your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, head bopping with tears in your eyes from the pressure in your throat, and how curious and sparkling they were, gauging his reaction. The groan that clawed its way up from his heart, through his throat and out into his room quickly turned to a whimper.

“I’m- I’m gonna cum, sweet pea, can I-” he swallowed hard, because even the thought had him close to release. “Can I cum down your throat, pretty?”

You nodded, a little too preoccupied to answer, but Seokmin got it, and with just a couple more bobs, and the feeling of your wet tongue pressing against the underside of his cock, he spurted into your mouth in long ropes of white, whining at the top of his lungs, and pulling hair from the roots.

It was, admittedly, a little gross and sticky in your mouth, but it was also hot and you felt proud you’d made him feel good. He was panting, trying to recover, when you pulled off his dick, a satisfied smile on your face. His hand wandered to your face, caressing your cheekbone, before moving down to your puffy lips.

“Can I-” he was almost embarrassed, “Can I see baby? Can you open your mouth for me?”

A little confused, you did as told and opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue that was still covered in his sticky release.

“Fuck,” he groaned at the sight, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself not to get hard again. “C-Can you swallow it for me, beautiful?”

Still confused, you nodded and gulped it down, trying not to look like it felt as gross as it did. If Seokmin noticed, he didn’t remark it, because he only groaned again, and pulled you by your face into a sloppy, heated kiss.

“So, so, so good for me,” he whispered, not letting you out of the kiss, even when saliva dripped down your chin. “Such a good girl, letting me use her mouth, such an obedient, good girl.”

You whined into his mouth at those words, bothered by the aching in your core that his moans and his blissed out face had caused, and now those words repeated over and over: Good girl.

He grinned into your mouth. “Yeah? You like being my good girl, right? Like doing your best for Seokminnie?”

“Yes,” you murmured breathlessly, too lost in the feeling of his mouth and his hands rubbing your waist to come up with anything better.

Seokmin pulled away with a warm smile, both hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “You did well,” was all he said, and you could genuinely cry, because that was it - you just wanted to know you did well.

“I’m gonna go clean up, okay?” he said, waiting for you to nod in response before he pushed himself off the bed, snatching a new pair of boxers from a drawer on his way out of the door.

You threw yourself on the bed, closing your eyes contentedly.

He liked you. You were sure of it now, when you thought back to how his eyes had balked at you so wonderfully, how careful and attentive he’d been. You were certain, and your heart smiled and you smiled and your hair was sprawled out on his sheets and for the first time, that desert wasteland in your head welcomed you and took you in, and you were right where you were supposed to be.

Until your phone started buzzing.

It was dancing across the sheets violently at someone's call and you peeked open one eye tiredly to pick it up. And when you did, the desert turned on you. Caught in a sandstorm, you held your phone between your fingers and felt your heart drop, lowered into the acid bath of your stomach.

It was Vernon.

Vernon, who was Seokmin’s best friend. Vernon, who was your brother. Vernon, who had always yelled at you to leave his room whenever he had Seokmin over. Vernon, who didn’t like when you talked to any guys at all, who had recruited his best friend to watch over you and take care of you. Vernon, whose best friend had just had his dick in your mouth.

You heard the shower running distantly when you clicked accept, hoping to God that you didn’t look too disheveled.

“Hi, N/n!” Vernon cheered immediately on the other end. His face popped up on your screen, a bright smile on his face. You smiled too - you missed your brother - but it was half faded, and Vernon noticed immediately.

“Hi, Vern,” you said softly. His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Of course, he could read you like a book. Of course, he knew that you were distant and nervous. You sighed heavily, trying desperately to collect yourself, to remember how you usually behaved, but for some reason, that you was far gone, and you had to be splayed on his screen, like a person replaced by something peregrine.

“I’m a little stressed out,” you mumbled. “Got a lot of papers and stuff, that’s why I’m not home.”

“Come home next break, okay? We miss you and you need to get out of that place every once in a while.”

You nodded.

Vernon’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and you saw him lean closer to the screen (which would have been funny, were you not suddenly wondering if there was leftover cum on your face). “Hey, where are you right now?”

“My friend,” you said quickly - too quickly. “Her name’s Yunjin, we’re working together in chem.”

Vernon hummed, seemingly content with your answer. “Your friend has the same bed sheets as Seokmin.”

Shit, yeah, they facetimed every week, you remembered, cringing at yourself for not thinking of it earlier. You tried to play it cool, shrugging: “Weird.”

“Yeah, anyway-”

Vernon rambled on and on about something or other, but you were unable to focus, watching the door to Seokmin’s room with a worried frown.

Moreover, you felt like a whore. Realistically, you hadn’t even lost your virginity. But sleeping with your brother’s best friend suddenly felt way more real now that you were talking to said brother, now that you were lying to his face, and you felt dirty and gross and you wished you could stand before Vernon, as the same baby sister that you had been before. But you weren’t. You were disgusting.

“Vernon, I gotta go,” you cut him off, and you hadn’t heard a word. Vernon’s excited expression dropped and he furrowed his brows.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you thanked the pixels for concealing at least a bit of the worry on his face.

“Yeah, I just- I really need to get going,” you said. “Bye, Vernon!”

“By-”

You disconnected the call and gathered your things, put your own clothes back on. Throwing Seokmin’s clothes onto his floor felt like shedding a second skin - a skin that had made you ugly and greedy and lustful. You only kept his boxers on, lumping the dress over your shoulders to drape over you in an unsightly and unorganized way.

You spared a glance at the wrapped condom on his bedside table, long lost and forgotten by now. You could leave it. You could leave it and have a reason to come back, a reason to slip across that ledge again and fall into his arms and his mouth and his warmth. You almost did. Almost left it right there, where it begged to belong. But you snatched it off the counter, ignoring the way your heart clenched when you did, and slipped it into your tote bag. And you left, jumping across the border that separated you and back into your own wasteland. And it was so cold and so empty. You were alone again.

Seokmin came out of the shower, expecting to see you cuddled up in his bed, all soft and beautiful. But you weren’t there. Seokmin understood immediately. The condom was gone and so were you, only the perfume in his sheets remained, willing him to remember. And he cried. He sobbed into his own hands, because what had he done?

You did not see each other the rest of that day. Or the next day. _____________________________

Seokmin wanted to let you disappear. He wanted you to slip away and he wanted to forget it had even happened - like a burning star dies out and leaves only a faint warmth behind, lasting years. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let you go, couldn’t bear knowing he’d never hold you in his arms again, never see you laugh again, never see you cum again. And he couldn’t bear knowing that maybe he’d read it wrong; maybe he’d made you uncomfortable, maybe you’d felt obligated.

So he texted you. For two days his texts came in sporadically and unsuccessfully. Questioning and pleading, he wanted to know it wasn’t true.

Lee Seokmin: why’d you leave?

Lee Seokmin: can we talk??

Lee Seokmin: i miss u

Lee Seokmin: i need to know i didnt hurt you

Lee Seokmin: can you please answer?

Each text came more painful than the last. Each text came more pleading. You sat alone in your room, in the dark, having only his one sided chats to light up your tear-streaked face.

Eventually they stopped coming. You thought they would. You thought, you knew, eventually he’d give up. But what hurt the most was knowing he wanted you too; knowing he liked you as much as you liked him. You’d seen it in his eyes, when his hand slipped between your legs, and you’d seen it when he came staring down at you.

But you preferred to remember Seokmin for how he was.

How he was small and young, how he had a swanky bowlcut and how he looked in his school uniform. How he and your big brother, Vernon, had bonded and watched movies together in your living room, and the countless dinners he’d stayed over for, always so respectful to your parents and you. You preferred to remember when he didn’t love you back.

The pain that had been tethered to your youth and to him, back when he was unreachable, just a figure you could marvel at, was so much duller compared to this pain, the one pulsed in your heart now: the pain of him loving you back, but still being off-limits. Something that could be, but was destined to die out. And it did, when he stopped texting you, you felt that unborn child’s soul leave your own. Alone again.

And then suddenly, you weren’t.

A stern knock on your door. You flinched at the sound, fearing the worst. You were in your bed, in your sweatpants and your sweater and that condom was on the bedside table, watching the door with you.

Another knock.

“Y/n, I know you’re in there!”

Seokmin. Of course, it was Seokmin. No one else would come for you. But it was all too painful. You feared the worst - feared that seeing him, you would collapse into him again, and that this time you wouldn’t be able to find your way back.

“Open the door, Y/n,” his voice was serious.

“Go away, Seokmin!” you yelled, voice breaking halfway.

A pause. When Seokmin spoke again, he was not angry anymore; he was vulnerable.

“Y/n. I-I know you don’t want to talk to me, but-” he paused, wincing at himself and you knew there was tears in his eyes. “But I need to know that I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

You thought that you could handle the self-blame Seokmin omitted - maybe that’s just because it was words on a screen. But hearing him crying outside your door, and how real he was when his hand knocked vigorously, it tore down each and every one of your last defenses.

“I need- I need to hear that you’re okay and that I-”

“I’m opening the door,” you interrupted him, and sure enough you padded to the door and swiftly unlocked it.

And then you were standing before one another. It was like time stopped, how the air stilled around you, and how the world quieted down. He was all crumpled paper hearts, all deflated and broken, and his hair was messy and his eyes were dark, but they sparkled again, just at the sight of you, and yours at him.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered, breaking the enchantment cast upon you. The real world came crashing down, the people in the streets and birds in the trees and wind coursing through the leaves. The light that you’d shut out with a firm tug to the curtains was dancing on your linoleum floor. “It’s my fault. It’s- I talked to Vernon and I- I feel like shit, Seokmin. I feel like a slut.”

“You’re a virgin!” Seokmin scoffed, but it did nothing to calm you.

“It felt wrong! Because I- because you’re Vernon’s friend. Because Vernon never likes when I date guys, and because now I’ve been fooling around with his best friend,” you defended yourself, biting your lip when tears stung your eyes. Seokmin softened. “I just felt guilty. And gross.”

“You’re not gross, you’re in love,” he said softly, and your eyes locked. Everything about him was pleading - he was just short of literally falling to his knees, begging for you to hear him out. “And- and with me, of all people!”

“Seokmin-”

“And I’m in love with you too,” his voice was an urgent whisper, not daring to let you speak again, to let you try and steer him away.

“Of all people,” you mumbled, a small smile finding your lips. Seokmin smiled too.

“So.. I’m tired of hearing you talk about yourself like this. I’m tired of Vernon being the one keeping us apart. I want- I want you to know that Vernon would understand.”

You shook your head dismissively. He wouldn’t.

“I know him too! You know? Maybe better than you,” he pouted a little, and it made you laugh, and everything was becoming lighter, and for better or worse you really did want to jump into his arms again. “He shouldn’t be the thing stopping you from dating me- or- or anyone, really. But especially me.”

You giggled again, and Seokmin’s heart palpitated in his chest at that sound - and at being the source of it. Then the laughter trailed off and your smile tightened and your heart tightened: “I just don’t want to sneak around-”

“Okay! Say no more!” Seokmin interrupted, hand held out as if to calm a mighty beast. He casually pulled out his phone, tongue in his cheek, as he called your brother. Vernon.

It rang for a few seconds, put on speaker. You couldn’t help the nervousness. Couldn’t help the pinch in your nerves, building up from your stomach and into your heart. Then he answered.

“Hey, dude, what’s up?” Vernon’s voice glitched on the other end of the line, utterly oblivious (as always). Seokmin spoke, hand on his hip: “Hey, just curious, how would you feel if me and your sister started dating?”

There was a moment of silence. On Vernon’s end, you imagined it was simply puzzled, but on your end, you stood with your heart all big and floaty, like a balloon in your hand, waiting for him to say that he’d hate it, that he’d kill him, and pop your heart with a simple word to prick. That wasn’t what he said though. Vernon said:

“I mean, yeah, man, I’d prefer you over any of those other college douchebags. I at least know you’d take care of her for real, man, not like that Jeonghan guy you were going on about.”

Your heart balloon took off, and the boundary between you and Seokmin filled itself with sand. Had it been imaginary? This whole time? You couldn’t help the wheeze you left you, overwhelmed with relief and joy.

“I know, man, Jeonghan’s the worst,” Seokmin said casually, but he was grinning from ear to ear at your reaction. You’d buckled over in silent laughter, unable to contain the glee. It seemed to dramatic now

“The worst,” Vernon repeated. Then he pursed his lips and spoke again: “So you’re dating my sister?”

“Uh, you know, I think we’re making it official in a second, yeah,” Seokmin said and even Vernon could hear the smile in his voice.

“Cool, man, yeah, I kind of figured, she facetimed me with your ugly ass bed sheets in the background, and I thought, no way, a girl would buy those bed sheets.”

“Lay off my sheets, man.”

Both of the men laughed and you did too, crying laughing and covering your mouth to contain. Your chest was fluttering with butterflies and light and love.

“Hey, man, for real, if you hurt her, I know where you live, bro,” Vernon was suddenly serious.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, man,” Seokmin responded, equally as serious now. He eyed you, then spoke into the phone again: “Hey, I gotta go make sweet love to your sister.”

“Ew, dude, don’t say tha-”

And the phone was hung up and Seokmin was laughing with you, eyes crescent and smile wide and toothy, and cheeks all red and shiny, he doubled over and took your hands in his. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Shut up, Lee,” you said, pulling him by the hand and letting him kiss you. Letting yourself kiss him. Letting yourself back into his arms, and this time Seokmin had crossed the border, and had fallen into you, and you stood there together and you were in love.

So, so in love, your lips entangled and danced together, and your hands dragged up the back of his neck and his up your waist.

And you realized, his tongue in your mouth, this was how you preferred to remember Seokmin; completely and utterly in love with you, and dancing with you in your room, and smiling into the kiss, and hands running up your body. You preferred to remember him as yours, and yourself as his.

Seokmin guided you to your bed, pulling your body into his lap. Then he pulled away, completely out of breath, and smiling at you like a twinkling star.

“Think we can finally break open that condom now?”

“Fuck yes,” you said.

And then you did.

#dk x reader #svt dk x reader #lee dokyeom x reader #lee seokmin x reader #seokmin x reader #dk smut #seokmin smut #dokyeom smut #lee seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt angst #seventeen angst

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shadowkoo · 27 days ago

Text

disgraceful dreams

→ Summary: After two years of lustful pining and disgraceful dreams about someone far out of your reach, you decide the only way to move past your hopeless crush on Onyx Academy's star student is by taking part in the Lupercalia festival for the very first time.

↠ wooyoung x f.reader (feat. yeosang) | 16.4k words | 18+ ↠ genre: witch/warlock au, smut, virgin!reader, inspired by s2e3 of caos, slowburn

→ Full Fic Warnings: little bit of social class discrimination, cult-ish behavior (mentions of blood, Y/N uses a knife to cut her hand for binding/ritual purposes), being ‘hunted’ like prey, explicit sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, pet names, praise kink, biting, nipple play, breast play, begging, fingering, mutual masturbation, oral (female and male receiving), exhibitionism, voyeurism, partial agoraphilia & semi-public sex, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, deep dicking, size kink (wooyoung is HUNGGG), magical sex, fucking up against a tree, slight age gap (y/n is 20 and wooyoung is 25), slight corruption, choking, possessive!wooyoung, woo is ravenous for you (you’re welcome)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @pirateeznet @cromernet

@illusionnet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @cultofdionysusnet

→ Author Note: edited by the lovely aeris @beomcoups whom i appreciate so SO much for tackling this beast of a fic ILY! And also to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for reading this over for me!!! this doesn’t follow the exact lupercalia process, i’ve twisted it to work for my fic and based it around halloween instead of valenbarf day lol, if you'd prefer to read on ao3, it's been crossposted here!! all likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated <3

‘This can’t be real.’

Jung Wooyoung casts a dark look upon you while taking in your ethereal, naked form before him. The flames of the common room’s fireplace dance in his eyes, reflecting his sinister and most impure thoughts. Thoughts of you, what he wants to do to you. With you.

‘I must be dreaming.’

He circles around you, hovering over your backside and letting his hands fall to your bare hips. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps across your skin.

“Mmm, can I touch you?” Wooyoung whispers as he leans in to kiss the dip between your shoulder and neck.

You nod, giving him permission to do whatever he pleases, and lean back against his broad chest.

His hands move from your side, one moving upward to cup your breast, the other heading down between your legs, gently tracing your silky skin until his fingers find their way home and sink into your sweet center.

The sensation awakens you from your sinful slumber, and you sigh, realizing it was only a dream—another delicious and depriving dream that left you wanting someone who would never consider you.

Groaning, you force yourself to roll out of bed and step toward your closet. Black Mass isn’t for another hour, but arriving early might help erase these recurring dreams from your memory.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hall as you exit the residential wing, making your way outside. It’s a beautiful gloomy day, the air is crisp and the sun is hidden by thick clouds that look as if they could open up at any moment and soak the woods with another harsh day of rain - something you wouldn’t mind.

The fog creeps through the forest, following your steps and trailing behind while you wait for your familiar to catch up. Besides your raven’s distant cry, it’s quiet. The hum of the earth’s magic is even more reserved than usual. It’s peacefully eerie.

“Ghoul Morning, Blair,” you say, extending your wrist out for her. She caws from above and slowly descends from the clouds, eagerly accepting your arm as the safe place to perch while you walk along the path to the Unholy Church.

Though she looks like a raven while masked, Blair wreaks havoc in her goblin form on anyone, and anything, that dares to disturb you. She’s one of the strongest familiars a witch could be cursed with, and you’ve been thankful for her services ever since you started training.

It’s your second year attending The Onyx Academy of Dark Casting, a magical finishing school that only the finest witches and warlocks between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five are given the unholiest privilege to attend.

Of these students, the Dark Stars of each class lead with their high values and spectacular spell casting. More often than not, they graduate with the highest dishonor and ascend to become High Priests and Priestesses of covens across the world.

Jung Wooyoung is a beloved Dark Star and stellar student, and it’s rumored that he’ll become the youngest Anti-Pope inducted into the Church of Night after his completion here at the academy.

Even with your unique gift, it’s not in the cards for a person of your status to ever equal his. Which you very well know and understand, despite the dark fantasies that haunt you most nights and your schoolgirl crush that hasn’t gone away since the very first day you met him.

Blair lets out a sharp caw, her wings cutting through the air as she ascends, perching gracefully on the steeple just as you arrive at the church. Her dark silhouette stands stark against the sky, watching over you like a silent sentinel.

The towering doors creak open as you approach them, welcoming you inside the dim space. You walk between the rows of pews, watching the candles that mark the aisle light up as you pass.

Once closer to the altar, you lift a hand and wave it across the front of the sanctuary. The room becomes brighter as the remaining unlit candles grow flames from your magic.

You have a way with the elements; you’re able to manipulate and control them as you wish without specific spells, conjuring them when you please. Your energy is unmatched compared to the other gifted students.

Yet, instead of improving your social status, being gifted has made you even more of an outcast. The professors are wary of your potential and what you could be capable of; the students keep their distance too, either jealous or frightened of your power.

Needless to say, you’re not Miss Popular, but that doesn’t bother you as much as it could. Only the luckiest of witches and warlocks are disgraced with gifts from the Dark Lord, and having chosen you out of everyone means something. And knowing the Dark Lord chose you is enough.

You settle into your usual pew, the familiar creak of the wooden bench under you blending into the background as your mind begins to churn. Thoughts swirl of today’s impending announcement during Father Blackmoor’s sermon cross your mind.

The excitement for Lupercalia is beginning to build. This ancient festival, celebrated by all magic wielders the week leading up to Halloween, is dedicated to the Goddess Peralia, who blesses covens with enhanced health, virility, and fertility in exchange for an indelicate offering. Participants must engage in a series of ritualistic events celebrating lust and sexuality, transforming the festival into a vibrant expression of desire and intimacy. Only then will she offer her unholiest blessing.

You sit there, not in prayer, but in a quiet storm of contemplation, unsure if you will sign up for the festival this year. Another downfall to being viewed as an outsider is that you have yet to experience, well, anything. Sure, you might have kissed a couple of warlocks in your intermediate years, you even had a boyfriend in prep school whom you were convinced you could have loved eventually, but your virtue has yet to be given away.

It’s common for witches and warlocks to lose their virginity during Lupercalia; typically when they are in prep school. In fact, it’s encouraged. Yet, by age twenty, you still haven't mustered the courage to join in the festivities.

This year might be different…

The sudden crash of books jolts you from your thoughts. You turn to see Yeosang, a fellow student, crouched beside a toppled stack of The Book of Blood, its pages splayed open.

“My apologies; I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says, a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he scrambles to gather the scattered volumes. His cheeks flush slightly, and you can't help but smile softly.

He’s a sixth-year student, just like Wooyoung. Yet, where Wooyoung’s presence demands your attention with an almost suffocating charisma, Yeosang embodies a more reserved demeanor. He tends to stick to his tight-knit group of friends and immerses himself in his studies, radiating a quiet intensity that draws you in without overwhelming you.

You feel a wave of annoyance wash over you as soon you realize that even in the presence of another man, your thoughts keep drifting back to Wooyoung. It frustrates you to no end, pushing you to a spontaneous decision: this year will finally be the year you break free from this obsession. By participating in Lupercalia, you’re determined to finally move on from him once and for all.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “The Dark Lord has already provided me with the clarity I came here for.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, carefully restacking the last book. He glances to his left, likely considering the seat he usually occupies, before turning back to you. “Would you mind if I joined you?” he asks, a hopeful note in his voice as he gestures toward the space beside you.

“Not at all, please do,” you smile.

He settles beside you with an effortless grace, and the air around you immediately fills with the warm, intoxicating blend of amber and musk from his cologne. The scent is rich, almost magnetic, pulling your attention in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You fidget with your hands, trying to focus on anything but how good he smells, as your mind races to keep pace with your quickening heartbeat.

Maybe... you could partner with Yeosang for the festival. The thought lingers as you steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s undeniably handsome—sharp features that give him a striking, confident look, but it’s his kindness that really stands out. There’s a warmth in the way he carries himself, a subtle softness behind those strong eyes that makes him more than just attractive. You wonder what it would be like to lose your virginity to someone like him, someone who seems both strong and thoughtful in all the right ways.

"Are you sure you are okay? You seem a little tense," he asks, his voice laced with genuine concern as his eyes search your face. You hesitate to answer, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks, and though you're trying to keep your composure, your breath has grown a little quicker, more shallow.

Thankfully, he’s kind enough not to mention it, but you catch the flicker of awareness in his gaze. His words are gentle, but there's an underlying curiosity there—like he's not just asking out of politeness but because he genuinely cares. You try to steady yourself, aware of the closeness between you, and suddenly the air feels heavier as if the moment itself is holding its breath, waiting for your next move.

"I didn’t mean to pry if it’s personal," he quickly adds, his voice softening as he notices your hesitation. His words have a touch of urgency, and he backtracks, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. His shifts slightly, giving you space while still holding onto the moment, unsure whether to push further or retreat.

"Can I tell you a secret?" The words escape your lips before you even realize what you’ve said. For a moment, you freeze, caught off guard by your sudden vulnerability. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but there’s no turning back now.

Yeosang nods and softly says, “Of course.”

“I’ve…never participated in Lupercalia,” you admit guardedly.

“Oh, um. That’s, uh…” He’s visibly taken aback when he hears your confession, stumbling over his words. “Wow, I… I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, uh, that’s really something. I just, uh… I guess I never saw you as someone who hadn’t, you know, participated.” He draws out the last word, his tone heavy with the unspoken meaning.

You nod, trying to meet his eyes. “I know, it’s just… I never felt called to join in on the festivities in previous years. But lately, that feeling has… changed.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, I get it. So you’ll be signing up for the events this year?” He asks with a calm, collected voice, though he’s concerned that the quickened rhythm of his heartbeat betrays his calm facade.

Hearing your confession piques his interest. He’s always found you hauntingly beautiful and has enjoyed the casual conversations you’ve shared between classes and such, but today feels different.

He knew you didn’t actively participate last year, though he figured you were still doing something-someone-in private. Now that your secret is out, there's something undeniably more intriguing about you—an unexpected allure that wasn’t there before.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it.”

“I think you should,” he blurts out, then quickly adds, “What I mean is, the festival’s about self-expression and the intimacy you share along the way. If you’re looking for a wild introduction to Lupercalia, there will be plenty of opportunists who share that venereal vision. But if you want something more comforting…choose someone who makes you feel safe and respected for your first time.” Yeosang trails off, his gaze lingering a little too long, the implication unmistakable. He clears his throat, trying not to give himself and his intentions away.

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you say while resting a hand above his knee, genuinely appreciating his insight.

Before the conversation can continue, the sound of footsteps echoes through the Church as fellow students file in, taking their seats. Black Mass is about to begin.

Wooyoung hadn’t intended to listen in on your conversation. He was too busy waiting for the other Dark Stars to arrive at the closed-off sanctuary to finish preparing for Black Mass. As usual, they didn’t show up early despite his suggestions. That’s a lie; he knew his words were less like suggestions and more like demands.

He was well aware they’d be late today, especially since most of the fifth and sixth years had spent the night at an intimate pre-Lupercalia party that stretched into dawn.

The only reason he peeked through the shadows was due to a loud crash, which he soon realized came from Yeosang, who appeared entranced by someone sitting near the front of the Church. That’s when he noticed it was you.

He’ll admit to having observed you over the past year—not out of personal interest, but because he’s intrigued by your unique gift and curious as to why the Dark Lord chose you of all people. Yes, you’re undeniably attractive as most witches are, but your ability to manipulate pure power without relying on spellwork is, to him, the most compelling quality you possess. If you had the right social standing, you would likely ascend to the role of High Priestess in a very fortunate coven.

From his hidden vantage point, he watches as his friend settles down beside you; that’s when the conversation begins.

“I’ve…never participated in Lupercalia,” he hears you share your secret. Now that is quite a confession.

Wooyoung’s lips curl into a smirk as he observes your flushed face from a distance, the rosy hue contrasting with the cold room that surrounds you. There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes as he takes in the way you shift nervously, completely unaware of his gaze.

Knowing that you haven’t been touched stirs a mix of amusement and curiosity within him. He wonders what thoughts are racing through your mind, feeling a strange sensation rush through him when you place your hand on his classmate’s thigh.

He saw no reason to hold back from participating. The moment he came of age, he dove in—and he’s done so every year since, always finding ways to revel in the experience to the fullest. As he reflects on past encounters, a pleased smile crosses his face as he silently counts the number of popped cherries he’s collected over the last several seasons, each a vivid memory weaved into his mind.

‘What’s one more…’

As more students trickle in and take their seats, the soft murmur of conversation fills the air. Wooyoung senses the moment is right and slips out of the shadows just as Father Blackmoor begins to walk down the aisle, weaving between the pews filled with eager faces. The flickering candlelight dances on the stone walls, casting a warm glow that contrasts with the coolness of the sanctuary.

He moves to stand on the left of Father Blackmoor, joining the other Dark Stars who are trying to stifle their yawns. The collective fatigue from the previous night’s festivities hangs in the air, but a shared excitement simmers beneath the surface. He exchanges brief glances with his fellow Stars, a silent acknowledgment of their late-night revelry and the anticipation of what today’s ceremony will bring.

“Fiends and Friends, today marks the beginning of our annual Lupercalia Festival,” Father Blackmoor announces, his voice resonating through the crammed Church. “As you all know, Lupercalia is upon us. I can feel the excitement buzzing in the air. The Festival of Wolves is a cherished tradition within our coven, and we take immense pride in honoring Goddess Peralia through a series of exhilarating rituals, all in hopes of receiving her unholiest blessings. With that in mind, let’s review the week’s events for those of you who are new to our practices.”

Father Blackmoor pauses to take an envelope from Wooyoung. “Tomorrow marks the start of the Assessment Period, which will be held in the Grand Hall. Witches who sign up today will be quizzed by prospective partners in hopes of finding their ideal match.”

“Courting begins on Tuesday. Those interested in a specific witch will reserve time slots to spend more time together. By the end of the night, the warlocks must submit the names of the witches they wish to be paired with. This will be followed by the Matching Ceremony on Wednesday, where the pairs will be revealed to the entire coven. On Thursday, we’ll have the Moon Ritual, during which the paired couples will venture into the darkwood to complete the rite. More specific details will be shared on the day, but they are expected to spend the night together beneath the moon in unholy abstinence.”

Some students snicker, knowing very well they won’t be abstaining from anything that night.

Father Blackmoor waits for the room to settle down before continuing, “Friday ushers in the Insatiable Hunt at dusk, where wolf-masked warlocks will chase after their red-cloaked witches through the woods, culminating in divine pleasure once they’ve been caught. We’ll conclude the week of festivities on Saturday with the Final Feast, where we will express our gratitude to Goddess Peralia for her many blessings this season.”

Wooyoung steps forward once more, this time carrying an ancient, leather-bound tome. The worn edges and faded lettering hint at its age and significance.

It’s the Book of Blood; which contains hundreds of Witches and Warlock's printed names, signed with their crimson ink, as a binding commitment to their word. It’s like a contract between yourself, the entire coven, and the Dark Lord himself.

With a practiced hand, he carefully cracks it open, his eyes sweeping across the room. “Witches that dare to participate, please step forward, say your intent, and sign your name in the Book of Blood.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you push yourself to your feet, joining the line of participants ahead of you. A mix of excitement and nerves swirl in your stomach, each step bringing you closer to the moment you've been both dreading and anticipating.

The weight of curious eyes fall on you as you move, but none more intense than Yeosang's. His gaze feels like a spotlight, cutting through the crowd around him.

With each passing second, your pulse quickens as the line inches forward at a deathly slow pace. Every breath feels shallow, as if the air is too thick for your lungs to handle. Despite the knot of nerves tightening in your belly, your feet move on their own, as if guided by some force beyond your control.

Before you even realize it, you’re standing before Wooyoung. His eyes pierce down onto you while he hands you a knife, “Do you hereby pledge your full participation and commitment to the forthcoming Lupercalia festival and all associated events?”

Taking a deep breath, you respond, “Yes, I pledge myself.”

You take the knife from him, feeling the cold steel as you press the sharp blade into your palm. With a swift motion, you slice a clean, precise line across your skin. Ruby-red blood wells up, pooling in your cupped hand. Without hesitation, Father Blackmoor raises his hand, his dark magic swirling in the air as he draws the blood from your palm. It twists and shapes into the form of a pen, glowing faintly with a sinister aura, ready to be used.

You reach up and grasp the hovering pen, its energy vibrating through your hand. As you sign your name in the book, a surge of adrenaline floods your veins, electrifying every nerve. The moment the ink dries, you feel an undeniable shift. Something deep within you has been awakened.

Wooyoung smirks, knowing the sensation very well. “There’s no backing out now,” he says to you, his gaze locking onto yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“So,” Jongho, a second-year student like yourself, pauses to clear his throat after pulling on his tie, “That was awful.”

You chuckle, relieved to see you're not the only one with frayed nerves. “Yeah, good luck with the rest of them.”

He smiles back before shuffling along to the next person.

It’s Assessment Day, and every witch who signed their name is being rigorously questioned by the participating warlocks. Friends who had gone through this in previous years warned you about what to expect, and they were right. It’s definitely a forced mingling period on steroids.

It’s only been an hour, and you’re already exhausted of the routine of answering questions filled with probing and uncomfortable inquiries that delve into personal preferences. Over and over again, you're forced to confront touchy subjects, as if each question is designed to peel away the layers of your desires, as if you know.

The process feels more like an interrogation than a mere assessment, testing not just your patience, but your lack of knowledge on the subject at hand—sex.

The situation would be far less awkward if you didn't have to sit directly across from someone to verbally review the list. After each question, it’s mandatory to respond in one of the following ways: Agree - you give consent to the matter being discussed with the current party; Acknowledge - it is a potential option, and you give partial consent or Decline - no consent is given.

You pick at your fingernails while you wait for the next warlock.

“Penny dreadful for your thoughts?” You glance up to see Yeosang sliding into the seat across from you, with a broad smile spread across his handsome face.

“Oh, hi!” you say, doing your best to not sound startled. “Just wondering when all of this will be over, you know?” you continue, waving your arms around.

“Yeah, this part of the process isn’t the most comfortable. But I understand why it’s necessary,” he comments while leaning forward on the table. “Have the others been respectful?”

“Oh, yes. Yeah, everyone has been nice. I’m learning how many students I’ve never spoken to before,” you reply lightheartedly.

"Shall we begin?" Yeosang asks with a playful glint in his eyes, nodding toward the paper resting between you on the table, waiting for your cue to dive in.

Just as he reaches to pick up the list of desires to discuss, his movement is halted by the sudden arrival of Wooyoung, whose presence instantly commands attention.

He strides up to your table with his usual confidence, a grin tugging at his lips. The conversation shifts before it even begins, as Wooyoung’s energy pulls both your attention toward him without saying a word.

Yeosang lowers the paper, his eyes flicking between you and Wooyoung, sensing the inevitable distraction.

“Father Blackmoor has requested your presence in the Anti-Sacristy,” Wooyoung announces, handing him a miniature scroll with a secret message.

Yeosang frowns while reading it over, “Please excuse me.”

"Of course, I hope everything's alright," you murmur, though your words go unheard as he's already on his feet, moving swiftly toward the door.

Watching Yeosang rush out, you suddenly realize Wooyoung is still standing there. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and he tilts his head, studying you with a curious intensity.

"Seems like you require a partner," he says with a smirk, sliding effortlessly into Yeosang’s chair without missing a beat.

You’re too stunned to respond and shift uncomfortably in your seat, completely unsure of what to do in this situation. He’s not offering to go through the questionnaire, is he?

Somehow, you forgot that you would, at some point, have to converse with Wooyoung today. It entirely slipped your mind up until this moment. And now he’s here without giving you time to prepare. You start to breathe a little heavier, and a slight sense of panic sets in.

“Why are you acting like that?” He says with a raised eyebrow, noticing your bouncing leg (a nervous habit of yours that annoyingly shows up at the worst possible moments.)

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Well, yes, you do but you won’t admit that. But your hyperventilating and antsy body might tell a different story.

“Yeah, right,” he rolls his eyes.

Your eyes lock on Wooyoung’s as he casually picks up the page. Without waiting for your reaction, he glances at the list and reads off the first item, his voice smooth and confident.

"How does each party feel about blood play; drawing blood by use of knives or other sharp weaponry, smearing blood, using blood as a lubricant, and/or tasting blood?" he reads off, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he waits for your response.

"I acknowledge," you reply with hesitation in your voice, uncertain whether you’re truly opposed to it, yet not entirely sure if you fully consent either. “And you?”

Wooyoung tilts his head again, “Do you really need to ask?”

"You and I both know there are specific rules to follow here," you say, leaning back in your seat with your arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of challenge and caution. And, if you’re being completely honest, there’s a hint of annoyance now too. The nervousness from earlier has vanished entirely.

“Fair enough,” "he replies with a nonchalant sigh, “I agree.”

It’s your turn to read off the next item. “Does each participating student consent to bringing in other parties to join and/or watch your sexual relations? And additionally, joining others.” You look up toward Wooyoung, already expecting him to agree to those terms.

“Decline,” he states firmly, his voice dropping an octave as he adds, “I don’t share.”

You try to mask your shock, but the expression slips through.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he huffs.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I also decline.”

He nods curtly, and you swear you hear him mutter "good" under his breath.

You breeze through the next set of questions surprisingly fast, both providing the appropriate answers as you work your way down the page.

At first, Wooyoung seemed a bit disinterested, but something caused his attitude to shift. Now, he’s more engaged, genuinely listening to your reasonings whenever you offer it.

“Last question, how many sexual partners have each participating party had?”

As he finishes speaking, you narrow your eyes at him, “That question isn’t on the list.” You’ve practically memorized them all by now. “You’re making that up.”

“So? Answer anyway,” he dares.

You glare at him, silently debating whether or not you should tell the truth. “Screw it,” you exhale, “None.”

Instead of the shock or teasing you expect, he simply blinks at you, as if he already knew what your answer would be.

But how…

When you wake the next morning, butterflies are already fluttering in your stomach. At this point, it’s hard to judge who will end up courting you, though you have a pretty good idea that Yeosang is interested. When he returned after visiting Father Blackmoor, you two had quite a connection while going through the assessment list.

You’ll find out for sure when you make it to the Dining Hall the courting schedule will be pinned on the announcement board for everyone to view.

You decide to grab a pastry and wait for the crowd around the schedule to thin out before checking how many dates you will have today. To keep things relatively fair, each witch is only allowed to have up to five courting suitors. A flicker of nerves sets in—what if no one reserved one of your time slots?

For the love of Lucifer, please let me have at least one warlock courting me.

You shove the last bite into your mouth and make your way to the board, eager to find out. Peeking around the remaining heads blocking your view, you spot that two of your time slots have already been reserved. Just as you’re trying to make out the names, someone taps you on the shoulder.

“Ghoul morning, Y/N,” Yeosang says with a smile, handing you a card. Your heartbeat picks up, recognizing the formality; courting warlocks are required to provide the witches with a card that essentially confirms their date.

“Hi, Yeosang!” You beam. Praise Satan.

He looks relieved when you accept his card. “I was hoping to see you this morning. Meet me at the Weeping Willow at three o’clock this afternoon. I have a special activity planned for us.”

You’re about to respond when you can feel his presence. Turning to look over your shoulder, you see Wooyoung standing closely behind. He towers over you, staring down Yeosang.

“Do you need something?” you ask, bringing his attention back to you while silently begging that he’s not here to send Yeosang away again, like yesterday.

“Yes,” he extends a hand, offering you a card. You stare at it in disbelief. He’s not here to steal Yeosang; he’s stealing you.

Wooyoung is your other suitor.

“I believe you’re meant to spend the morning with me.” Wooyoung’s eyes drift from yours and back to Yeosang’s, who tenses beside you. They seem to have a silent exchange of words.

“I see,” Yeosang says curtly, “Enjoy your time together.”

Before you have a chance to say anything Yeosang already disappears. Damn it.

“Come on, follow me,” Wooyoung demands while grabbing your wrist. He leads you down the dim, shadowy hallways of the school before picking up the pace as you leave the safety of the school, heading into the woods.

The thick trees close in around you, and the air feels heavier with each step. Fog swirls at your feet but mysteriously clears a path ahead of him like it knows exactly where he's going. You follow, feeling the cool, damp air cling to your skin. The deeper you go, the more unfamiliar the landscape becomes—you don’t recognize this part of the woods at all, and a strange sense of unease settles over you.

“Bloody heaven, where are you taking me?” you huff, doing your best to keep up with his long strides.

“You’ll see,” he grumbles, helping you up when you trip over an exposed tree root. “Can you stop tripping every five seconds? You’re slowing us down, and we’re on a time crunch.”

You glare at the back of his head as he speeds up. What a dick.

It’s not long before you arrive at the destination; it’s a stone table in the middle of the woods. You look around suspiciously. “Is this a ritual site? Are you planning on killing me for some weird sacrificial thing now that you know I’m a virgin, or…?”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing, “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, actually. This is a portal.”

“A portal? To where?” you ask, peering at the stone. It doesn’t look like any portal you’ve ever seen.

“Want to find out?” he offers a hand for you to take, and you grab it warily.

He places his other hand on the stone, and its magic instantly pulls you through the atmosphere, sending you spiraling toward an unknown destination.

When you land, your feet hit the damp cobblestone street with a soft thud. The air smells of rain and baked goods, and you take in the bustling scene around you—witches and warlocks are flowing in and out of quaint little shops that line both sides of the road, their chatter filling the air. The street is alive with energy, and everything looks both foreign and strangely charming.

Before you can fully absorb it all, Wooyoung tugs you along, his grip firm as your head swivels, trying to figure out exactly where you’ve been transported to. The unfamiliar cityscape seems like a dream, its details slipping through your grasp as you hurry to keep up.

Suddenly, you collide with his back, not realizing he has stopped. "Ouch," you mutter, rubbing your nose in surprise. You’re about to say more when something above catches your eye—the sign swinging in the breeze.

"Trahana’s Tomb!" you squeal, excitement bubbling up. For ages, you've wanted to visit this place, but something always got in the way. Now, here it is, right in front of you, and the thrill of finally arriving sends a rush through you.

Trahana is a renowned sorceress and writer known for her vast collection of grimoires, enchanted artifacts, and other rare occult items—many of which are now on display and for sale at her legendary store. You've been itching to get your hands on her coveted Book of Arcane Beasts, a tome filled with forbidden knowledge of magical creatures, their histories, and untold powers.

Wooyoung holds the door open for you, and without a second thought, you dash inside. Your eyes widen as you take in the towering shelves crammed with both ancient and new books. Every corner of the shop is overflowing with enchanted curiosities.

At the back of the shop, a narrow, spiraling staircase catches your eye. It likely leads to an upper level filled with even more treasures waiting to be explored. The thought of what might be hidden beyond tempts you, adding to the growing sense of wonder.

"Oh, my sweet, evil boy! How are you?"

You turn to see a tall, elegant woman pinching Wooyoung’s cheeks with an affectionate grin.

He swats her hands away, groaning, "Aunt Hana, you know I hate when you do that. I’m not five anymore."

She laughs, unbothered by his protest. "Oh, you'll always be the stubborn young warlock playing with the Acheron Configuration upstairs even when told it was off limits," she teases, her eyes twinkling with the memory. “Goddess knows how many hours you spent trying to crack that spell.”

She shifts her gaze to you, giving you a quick once-over before raising an eyebrow. "Don’t be rude, Wooyoung. Introduce me to your friend."

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, "Forgive me. This is Y/N, another student at Onyx Academy. Y/N, meet Trahana, the curator of this fine establishment and, unfortunately, my insufferable aunt."

Trahana smirks, ignoring his jab. "Charmed, I’m sure," she says, her eyes glinting with curiosity as she sizes you up.

"I need to get back to work, but it was a pleasure meeting you, darling," Trahana says with a warm smile, her voice dripping with a mix of elegance and mystery. She gives you one last appraising look before turning away, her long robes sweeping the floor as she glides effortlessly toward the front of the store. The air feels lighter without her presence, yet the sense of power she carries lingers, leaving you a little awestruck.

You gape at him once she’s out of earshot. "She’s your aunt?"

Wooyoung sighs, nodding with exaggerated patience. "Yes, I’m painfully aware."

"That’s so cool. So you spent a lot of time here growing up?" you ask, curious to learn more about him.

"Yeah," Wooyoung replies, glancing around the shop with a hint of nostalgia. "My parents traveled a lot for business when I was younger, so this place became like a second home. Now, I come back whenever I need a break from school. Plus, it’s a great place to study; there's something peaceful about the chaos here compared to the eerie silence of Onyx Academy’s library."

"That makes sense," you say, nodding as your fingers trail across the spines of the old books lining the tight aisle. The dust, the energy, and the soft hum of magic in the air make the shop feel alive, the perfect contrast to the academy’s cold, quiet halls. "I can see why you'd find this place comforting."

Wooyoung smiles, clearly more relaxed here than you've ever seen him. "It’s got a strange kind of charm, doesn’t it?" he says, his voice softer now as the two of you meander through the maze of shelves, discovering little pieces of history with every step.

He allows you to explore the shelves, letting you dive into the books that capture your interest. As you lean down to examine the aged pages, he watches as a loose strand of hair slips across your face, and you absently tuck it behind your ear.

"Can I show you something?" he asks, gently drawing you away from the book that’s captivated your attention.

You glance up at him, and to your surprise, he almost seems nervous. It’s a rare sight for someone who usually exudes such confidence. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, making you curious about what he wants to show you.

Nodding, you allow him to lead you toward another bookshelf two aisles away from where you were just standing. His gaze flicks across the titles, searching for something specific.

"Ah, here it is," he finally says, lifting his arm to reveal a book with a deep blue spine. You hear a soft click as he pulls it out slightly, followed by a faint unlocking sound. With a practiced motion, he shifts down to another shelf and pulls out a book with a green spine. To your astonishment, the entire bookcase creaks ominously before revealing a secret door.

"This whole day just keeps getting stranger by the minute. Is this another portal?" you ask, a mix of skepticism and humor in your voice.

Wooyoung grins playfully. "As entertaining as that would be, no. It’s not a portal. It’s my secret place."

You turn to look at him. "See, now that’s kind of worse. Now I really don’t want to go in." The idea of stepping into his hidden sanctuary feels more daunting than the prospect of another magical journey.

He gives you a look.

“Okay, fine. In I go,” you say, taking a step closer before reaching for the cold handle. As you turn it and push the door open, you peer into the darkness beyond, straining to gauge what lies within. And, if you have to be completely honest, wondering why it needs to be hidden away.

Wooyoung steps inside after you, snapping his fingers to conjure his magic. A bright orb of light flickers to life, glowing softly at first. As he guides it upward, it gradually brightens and rises to the center of the room, illuminating the hidden space with a warm, inviting glow. The walls are revealed and adorned with eclectic decorations and mysterious photographs, creating an enchanting and haunting atmosphere.

"What is this place?" you ask, your curiosity piqued as you step closer to a nearby table and spot a stack of photographs. You pick up the first few, admiring the artistic shots of a plant you recognize from your walks through the Darkwood—it's a Moonset Fern, captured in full bloom. You remember learning about it in Herbology 101 last year; it’s renowned for its ability to protect against ill-will spells.

Intrigued, you skim through the rest of the stack. Each photo showcases different plants, all with potent herbal properties, their images so carefully composed they almost seem to pulse with hidden power.

“So,” Wooyoung says nervously, “What do you think?”

“Of the photographs? I think they’re beautiful. You took these?” He nods. “I didn’t know you had an interest in photography. Or Herbology, for that matter.”

"It’s a secret interest. Obviously," Wooyoung says, gesturing around the room to emphasize his point. "Unfortunately, Father Blackmoor thinks it’s a complete waste of time. To him, this is the work of a lesser warlock." The distaste is evident in his voice, like the words themselves leave a bitter taste in his mouth. "He’d rather I focus on proving my potential to become the youngest Anti-Pope."

"Do you believe him?" you ask, watching his reaction closely.

"Am I even allowed to believe any different?" he replies, his tone a mix of resignation and defiance. He picks up a different stack of photos and flips through them, each holding a distant memory of a time he felt genuine joy.

"Part of me wishes I wasn’t destined for this life—that I had the power to shape my own future," Wooyoung admits, his voice heavy with conflicted emotion. "But then the other half of me hates myself for even thinking like that, especially after everything my family has sacrificed to get me here." His gaze drops, the weight of expectation clearly pressing down on him, caught between desire and duty.

“No one in the history of The Church of Night has ever turned down a position of power once they've received the proper training and hold the necessary status,” he continues, his tone growing darker. "I can’t even imagine the consequences of rejecting something like that." The mere thought seems to weigh on him, defying centuries of tradition would unravel everything—not just for him, but for everyone tied to his legacy.

“That’s a frustrating position to be forced into. Though, I hate to admit I’m jealous.”

His head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours, confusion and a flicker of anger etched across his face.

"I’ve spent my whole life not knowing what my future will look like," you begin, your voice tight with emotion. “I have all this power, yet no one can explain why I have it or what I’m supposed to do with it. I don’t have even the slightest clue where I’ll end up in life, so yeah, from that standpoint, I am a bit jealous of your situation," you admit, a hint of envy creeping into your voice.

As you speak, the anger in his expression gradually fades, replaced by a quiet understanding. His features soften, and you can see him truly considering your words, letting them sink in.

"At least you have a clear path laid out for you, even if it’s not exactly what you want. I’m still stumbling around, trying to figure out what my purpose even is. But even then..." your tone softens slightly, "If I were you, I wouldn’t let my sense of duty smother the passion I feel for another study—even if it’s an uncommon path for someone in my position.”

You begin again, your voice steady with conviction, "The Dark Lord wouldn’t have put this path in front of you if there wasn’t something here worth discovering. I’d bet there’s a connection between each path, and maybe, just maybe, you’re meant to do something with both. Something no one else has thought of yet.”

Wooyoung hadn’t thought of that.

“That’s just my two cents,” you sigh, setting the photos down and walking over to the next table with hundreds more to look through.

One photo in the middle of the pile catches your eye, standing out in a way the others don’t. You can’t quite place the plant; it’s unfamiliar, yet stirs a sense of deep nostalgia. It’s a rich olive green, with spiny stems and sharply pointed leaves giving it a menacing look. But what truly captivates you is the ethereal purple aura surrounding it, shimmering faintly, like the plant itself is alive with ancient magic. Something about it feels important, though you can’t recall ever seeing it before.

"It’s a Ghost Violaceae," Wooyoung murmurs softly, leaning in close over your shoulder. His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice slightly raspy. "It’s commonly used in the art of seduction." His words hang in the air, as mysterious as the plant itself, and the subtle intensity in his tone makes the air between you suddenly feel different.

Wooyoung would do unspeakable things to know the thoughts swirling in your mind right now. He’s desperate to unravel what it is that made you blush so fiercely, what’s causing your heart to race and your breath to quicken.

You turn slightly, looking up at him with your lips parted. Wooyoung tilts his head, his eyes sparkling as he tries to decipher the emotions playing across your face. There's a flicker of curiosity in your gaze, his focus sharpening as he leans in just a fraction closer…

The sudden ringing of a timer blares through the silence, startling you both. Your head snaps toward the sound and you see a stopwatch floating in midair, its rhythmic ticking a clear reminder that your time is almost up. It’s time to return to Onyx Academy to prepare for your next session with Yeosang.

Beside you, Wooyoung tenses, the atmosphere immediately changing. The warmth in his eyes vanishes as quickly as it has surfaced, replaced by the cold, guarded demeanor he typically fronts. His walls shoot back up, and just like that, the brief vulnerability between you disappears.

Blair eyes you curiously, her black feathers ruffled while she senses the secret you’re holding back. She’s perched on a low branch, watching as you wait beneath the cascading limbs of the Weeping Willow. You’ve arrived early, not finding any solace in the silence of your room after returning to campus. Yeosang should be here any minute, but the unease from earlier lingers.

Wooyoung had barely spoken after the stopwatch appeared, his mood darkening as he grudgingly led you back to the portal. He rushed you through without a word, his steps heavy with frustration, and stormed off toward the church once back on school grounds without so much as a goodbye.

You’ve been trying to clear your mind, focusing your energy on the upcoming session with Yeosang, but the tension from Wooyoung still simmers under the surface. You take a deep breath, determined to push it aside and give Yeosang your full attention. He deserves it.

Blair lets out a sharp caw before taking off into the sky, disappearing into the distance as soon as she senses his presence. She knows to give you your privacy, leaving you alone just as he approaches.

“Oh, you’re here already,” Yeosang says, a bit surprised to see you already by the willows. He steps forward, his happy expression growing as he extends a bouquet of dried wine-colored roses, elegantly tied with a black ribbon.

“These are for you.”

Your breath catches at the sight of them. "These are gorgeous. Thank you—wow," you say, smiling while gently taking the bouquet from his hands. The gesture feels intimate, the deep red petals catching the light as you admire them, warmth blooming in your chest at the unexpected kindness.

“You’re welcome. Do you want to apparate them to your room?” Yeosang suggests.

“That’s a good idea, actually,” you reply, lifting the bouquet in front of you. With a soft hum, you recite the incantation, watching as the flowers shimmer and disappear, transporting them to your bedside table in an instant.

“There,” you smile, “Now they’ll be waiting for me when I get back.”

“We have a short walk to our destination. If you’ll follow me?” Yeosang guides you up a path behind the willow grove, the incline leading to a breathtaking view of the Darkwood below. The forest stretches endlessly, its shadowy canopy glittering with ancient magic.

"Do you mind waiting here?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck, a hint of nerves flickering across his face. "I thought I'd have a little more time to set things up."

You smile softly. "I don’t mind at all."

Relieved, he excuses himself, disappearing back down the trail to retrieve whatever surprise he has planned. The minutes pass in peaceful quiet, the cool air brushing against your skin. You close your eyes, enjoying the moment, until a faint rustling behind you interrupts the calm energy. You glance over your shoulder, seeing nothing, and shrug it off—probably just the wind.

But then, movement at the edge of the tree line catches your eye, a shadowy figure slipping between the trees.

You step cautiously toward the movement, your heart beating a little faster with each quiet footstep. The air seems to thicken as you approach, a soft rustling continuing just beyond the nearest tree. You steady yourself, taking a slow breath before rounding the massive trunk.

Face to face with the culprit, you freeze—a pair of wide, curious eyes staring back at you. It's a small, ethereal creature, almost like a fox but with wisps of glowing mist trailing from its fur. Its translucent body shimmers faintly under the dappled light filtering through the trees.

You exhale in relief, it’s just another familiar. The creature’s gentle gaze is more inquisitive than threatening; and she tilts her head, trying to decide whether to flee or come closer, her silver eyes studying you with an almost childlike curiosity. The creature soon takes off, before you have a chance to ask who they belong to.

As you turn around, a startled cry escapes your lips—Wooyoung is standing just inches from you, his presence completely unexpected.

"What are you doing here?" you snap, your hand instinctively flying to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart.

"I'm not really here. Just astral projecting. And who’s to say I wasn’t here first?"

You cross your arms, glaring at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Okay, fine. Maybe I wasn’t here first," he concedes with a shrug, his smirk faltering under your withering stare.

"Yeosang is going to be back any second," you warn, narrowing your eyes. "Are you here to spy on us?"

"Pfff... no..." he says, though the lack of conviction in his voice makes you roll your eyes.

"Lame," you mutter, watching his poorly veiled attempt at denial fall apart. He shifts awkwardly under your gaze, clearly caught.

“I don’t like that you’re alone with him.”

“Why?”

“I told you already. I. Don’t. Share.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Is this just some kind of game? Are you playing with me because you don’t want Yeosang to have me? What is it, Wooyoung? You haven’t given me a second thought until two days ago.”

“It’s not like that—" Wooyoung starts, but the sound of rustling interrupts him, cutting his sentence short. Both of you turn, startled, as Yeosang emerges from the trees. His eyes sweep the clearing, looking for you since you aren’t standing where he left you. When he spots you, he smiles and approaches, carrying a woven basket in one arm and a blanket in the other.

You glance back toward Wooyoung, but he’s already vanished. Typical, slipping away before finishing what he started. Maybe he’s glad for the escape before you can grill him any further.

“Looking for something?”

‘More like someone,’ you think to yourself. “Oh sorry, I thought I saw a familiar, but it ran off,” you explain, brushing off the awkward moment. “So, what’s all this?” You gesture to the basket, quickly shifting the conversation before Yeosang has a chance to ask anything.

He grins, glancing down at his hands, a bit shy. "I hope you like picnics. I thought we could enjoy some treats and maybe get to know each other better."

“That sounds lovely,” you reply warmly.

Yeosang carefully picks a spot, spreading the blanket and the two of you sit side by side, the breathtaking view of the Darkwood stretching out below. There’s something serene about the quiet between you, the moment brimming with peaceful anticipation.

He sets the basket in front of you, lifting the lid to reveal an array of colorful sweets, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the glass jars inside. You notice delicate pastries, chocolates, and sugared fruits arranged neatly.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought a little of everything,” Yeosang says, his voice low but sincere.

Your heart warms at the gesture. "You’ve really outdone yourself,” you praise, picking up one of the pastries for yourself and offering another to him.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to bring up the scroll from yesterday. "I didn’t want to pry, but you left in such a rush yesterday. Was everything alright?" you ask before taking a bite.

Yeosang chuckles softly, as if amused by the memory. "Funny you should ask. Turns out, when I arrived at Father Blackmoor’s office, he had no idea what I was talking about. No urgent scroll was sent for me. But he thought it was good timing and wanted to discuss my plans for after I complete my time at the academy."

Your curiosity piques further. "And those plans are...?" you press, hoping he’ll open up.

Yeosang hesitates briefly, but then, with a slight smile, he reveals, "I’d like to teach, maybe. My father was a teacher, and he always said I had the same qualities. Plus, I love kids. I think teaching them the basics of magic—the very foundation of what they'll need for the rest of their lives—would be important work."

A soft breeze ruffles the edges of the blanket, and you can’t help but smile at his answer. "That sounds perfect for you. I can already picture you as a great mentor."

The rest of your evening with Yeosang flies by in a blur of conversation and quiet moments spent enjoying the view. Before you know it, he's walking you back to the dormitories. He hesitates as you both stop outside the door to the girls' dorms, clearly lingering on something unsaid.

"I just want you to know," he starts, shifting nervously, "that regardless of what happens tomorrow at the Matching Ceremony, I had a lovely time tonight. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Before you can respond, he leans down and presses a soft kiss on your cheek. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You barely manage to mumble a “goodnight” back, still caught in the trance from the warmth of his lips against your skin. As you make your way up to your room, your heart feels light, and you can’t help but smile even wider when you notice the flowers he gave you earlier—now arranged beautifully in a vase on your nightstand.

But something else catches your eye—a small, glimmering box sitting on your bed, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. You walk over to it and find a note attached in handwriting you immediately recognize.

Not a game to me – W

Your breath hitches as you find the book you had been eyeing earlier—the one Wooyoung had distracted you from in Trahana’s shop—alongside the newest edition of The Book of Arcane Beasts. Tucked neatly between the pages are a few of the photographs from his secret room; the ones you had admired without realizing he noticed.

Your heart races as you hold the items in your hands, the meaning of his gesture sinking in. It’s not just a game. Whatever this is with Wooyoung, it’s something real. And now, you're more conflicted than ever.

Yeosang steps closer to the flames that surge in the iron vessel before him, casting flickering shadows across his face while he waits. If you look closely, shapes begin to form within the flames, dancing and twisting as though something is being forged in the heat. A sudden flare of sparks erupts from the fire—it's ready.

With a steady hand, he pulls an envelope from the fire. The edges of the paper are still smoldering while he opens it with precision, watching as the magic ink slowly manifests on the paper, revealing a name.

You notice a brief, almost imperceptible frown cross his face, but it vanishes just as quickly. “Polly Petrify,” he announces smoothly, his voice steady, betraying nothing as he steps back into place.

Father Blackmoor gives a solemn nod, signaling his approval of the pairing.

The Church is packed for the Matching Ceremony, and a mix of excitement and nervous energy ripples through the crowd. The warlocks stand in front of the filled pews, their postures rigid and unreadable, while the witches occupy the first two rows of seats, eyes flickering with anticipation.

You sit among them, your heart sinking as Yeosang’s name is paired with another witch. The knot in your chest tightens, but before you have time to register how you truly feel, Wooyoung steps forward.

It’s his turn.

Time stretches unbearably as his fingers hover over the glowing envelope that emerges from the flames. He grasps it carefully, tearing it open before pulling out the slip of paper, the suspense in the room thickening with every second.

At least a dozen witches sit in eager anticipation, each one hopeful, their eyes flicking toward the altar, silently praying that their name will be the one called.

You watch his face intently, almost holding your breath.

The moment he reads the name, a subtle smile curls at the corner of his lips, making him look effortlessly gorgeous. His inky black hair falls in perfect disarray, and the deep blue sweater he’s wearing brings out a distinctive glimmer in his eyes—it’s definitely his color.

As he steps back in line to let the next warlock take their turn, you realize that you completely missed whose name he just called. You’ve been too busy gawking to notice. Leaning toward the witch beside you, you whisper, “Whose name did he say?”

She shoots you a scowl and snaps, “Yours.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your gaze whips back up front. Wooyoung catches your eye and quickly winks, the gesture playful yet it’s enough to send a wave of heat rushing through you. Your pulse races and every nerve in your body is suddenly aware of his presence. The world around you fades for a second, the reality of the situation sinking in—he chose you.

It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Your chest tightens, and it’s taking every ounce of control not to claw at your neck in search of air. You can’t tell if your racing heart is a sign of excitement, fear, or a mixture of both.

The pairing results swirl through your mind as you try to process how you feel about Wooyoung having been paired with you. You know that the warlocks have some say in their pairing preference, but the decision is ultimately up to Father Blackmoor and The Dark Lord.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now—you have a performance to focus on. As the rest of the ceremony wraps up, the witches, including yourself, are expected to sing I Put A Spell On You.

You walk up to the front of the church with the other witches, your heart still hammering in your chest. You can feel Wooyoung’s gaze searing into you from across the room, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You know that if you do, you’ll stumble over the lyrics or worse, completely forget your part.

With every note of the song, you force yourself to remain composed. Your voice blends with the others, the melody haunting, filling the ancient church with an enchanting resonance. The weight of his stare lingers, but you resist the pull until the very end. Only when the final note fades and you’re walking back to your seat do you glance his way. His eyes are still on you, but there’s something different about his expression now—intense, unreadable.

Father Blackmoor steps forward as the ceremony winds down, his voice ringing through the dimly lit room. “Remember, paired witches and warlocks are strictly forbidden from seeing each other until tomorrow evening when you’ll all meet in the Darkwood for the Moon Ritual. Ghoul evening to you all.”

The church stirs with hushed whispers and rustling bodies as everyone begins to disperse. But you remain in place for a moment, your mind tangled in the events that have unfolded. Tomorrow promises even more mystery, and the thought of it sends another shiver down your spine.

You follow the large group down the path toward the heart of the academy’s campus, their excited chatter buzzing in the crisp evening air. But as they veer toward the dining hall, you quietly part ways, taking steps in the opposite direction toward a different building.

The heavy wooden doors creak as you push them open, and the familiar scent of ancient tomes and aged parchment envelops you.

The sanctum, the private library for advanced students like yourself, is nearly deserted tonight, making it the perfect place to find peace in the aftermath of the ceremony. The usual hum of magic is calming and the near-silence offers a much-needed space to clear your mind.

You make your way to the Demonology section, where the dim light and towering shelves create a cocoon of solitude. Finding an empty seat, you settle in, snapping your fingers to summon your books. In an instant, they materialize on the table before you, pages full of dark knowledge waiting to be absorbed.

Despite it being Lupercalia season, the academic grind doesn’t stop. Your upcoming exams loom over you like a dark cloud, and no amount of supernatural matchmaking will change that.

You run your fingers over the spines of your books, mentally preparing yourself to dive into study mode. The familiar words of your Demonology texts are grounding, a reminder of the discipline and focus you need to maintain.

The sanctum is quiet tonight, only the soft sound of pages turning and the occasional whispered incantation breaking the silence. You try to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind keeps drifting back to Wooyoung—his voice, his gaze, the gift he left in your room. You shake your head, pushing the thoughts aside. There will be time for all that later. For now, you need to concentrate.

Time passes and after finishing a few chapters, you glance at your watch, eyes widening in surprise. Three hours have flown by. Blair is going to be furious that you’re late to feed her. Scribbling down a final note, you snap your fingers, sending your books back to your room before heading out of the sanctum.

As you step outside, you collide with someone. "Oh, I’m so sorry!" you stammer, glancing up to apologize, only to be met with familiar eyes twinkling beneath tousled black hair.

Wooyoung.

“You’re forgiven,” he says smoothly.

"We’re not supposed to see each other," you remind him, taking a cautious step back.

He tilts his head, smirking too, just like he always does. "I know, but you skipped dinner, and there’s something I’ve been dying to do since yesterday."

"What? Stalk me some more?" you quip, feeling a rare surge of confidence.

His smirk spreads into a full smile, and to your delight, he chuckles—a sound you’ve secretly grown to love. Your heart pounds faster.

"You wish," he shoots back, his eyes gleaming as he steps closer. The intensity in his gaze feels almost magnetic, as if he's looking right through you, straight into your soul. His nostrils flare with a sharp exhale, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper as he takes yet another step closer.

He doesn't answer. Instead, with one smooth motion, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you toward him. His touch is firm, but there’s a softness to the way his fingers splay across your back. You feel your pulse quicken, your breath hitching in your throat.

“This is breaking the rules,” you whisper, trying to find an ounce of self-control to step out of his embrace.

His proximity overwhelms your senses—the warmth of his body, the way his breath tickles your skin, and the undeniable connection crackling between you two. He tilts his head slightly, the smirk on his lips fading into something more serious, more dangerous.

“I don’t break the rules, I just bend them,” he rasps, his voice low and teasing, right before he closes the space between you. The moment his lips brush against yours, you freeze, caught off guard by the softness, the tenderness as he coaxes you into responding. His mouth moves gently, skillfully, as if testing the waters, daring you to give in.

A frenzy stirs inside you, an electric current surging through your veins. Your hands instinctively move to frame his face, your fingers sliding along the sharp lines of his jaw before tangling in his soft, messy hair. The kiss deepens, the intensity building with every second as you press yourself closer to him, losing yourself in the heat of the moment.

You can’t get enough; the taste of him, the way his breath mingles with yours, and the undeniable pull that has your body responding before your mind can catch up. His other hand slides under your shirt and up your spine, anchoring you to him as if he never wants to let go.

Wooyoung mumbles an incantation against your lips before tickling the corners with his tongue. You’re too distracted to recall what he said, especially when you feel it.

Heat begins to radiate from his fingers, searing into your skin. It flows through your body until it hits your sweet spot, pooling dangerously between your legs.

You gasp against his mouth, and he uses the opportunity to dip his tongue inside, swallowing your moans as you let them slip out. Pressing your legs together, you try to find any sort of friction, aching for something to relieve the growing pressure.

A sinful sound vibrates from his chest when you bite down on his lower lip ever so gently. You have to admit, the thought of kissing him has crossed your mind more times than you can count. But now, standing here with the taste of him on your lips, you realize the reality is so much better than anything your imagination could have conjured.

He’s more intoxicating than any dream could ever be. Every touch sends a thrill through you that no fantasy could ever match. The way he knows exactly what you like leaves you yearning for more in a way that feels almost addictive.

Blair caws, cutting through the shadows of the night and announcing her arrival with impeccable timing. You both jolt, breaking apart as if the spell between you has been abruptly shattered.

“Ghoul evening, Blair,” Wooyoung mutters, his voice still thick with the lingering tension. He glances at the raven-like figure perched nearby, an amused glint flickering in his eyes. “It’s a good thing you arrived when you did,” he adds, his tone teasing. He looks down at you, pleased with how dissolved your shirt looks, how pouty your wet lips are from your nefarious activities.

He takes a step back, quickly smoothing down his hair and adjusting his clothes, his fingers lingering at his collar as he regains his usual composure. You, on the other hand, are still catching your breath, feeling the flush in your cheeks and the electric hum of the moment that lingers in the space between you.

Give me a little privacy to say goodbye, and I’ll give you extra treats for your late dinner, you say telepathically to Blair. She tilts her head, considering the offer, before finally cawing in agreement and taking off into the night, clearly satisfied with the deal.

“I want you to try something tonight,” Wooyoung murmurs, his voice low and full of mischief. His eyes glint with something dark and thrilling, sending a shiver down your spine. “When you’re alone in bed and everyone else is asleep…”

Your heart races while he speaks.

“I want you to pretend that your hands are my own, and I want you to touch yourself where you felt my magic earlier.”

“E-excuse me?” you stammer, your heart racing as you try to find the right words.

He grins, leaning in just enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. “Trust me, you’ll like it,” he teases, his voice like velvet. “I need you to warm yourself up for me, so you’re ready to learn more tomorrow night. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, a shiver running across your skin as his words linger in the air.

“Now, get out of here and go feed Blair before you wake up tomorrow missing your eyes,” he adds with a playful smirk.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “Fine, see you later.”

“Yes, you will,” he says with a wink, watching as you turn to leave, his gaze heavy on you the entire way.

His words linger in your mind for the rest of the night.

It's now the witching hour, and your roommates are fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the potion you slipped into their bedtime tea. They never noticed the subtle, earthy undertones masking the spell’s effects, leaving them in a deep slumber for the next several hours.

It had to be done, the last thing you need is for one of them to wake and catch you in the act, especially while you're carrying out Wooyoung’s special request.

Under the safety of your blankets, you move quietly, as if any sudden movement could betray your secret. One hand begins to massage your breasts through your thin tank top, the other sliding down toward your pink panties.

Taking a deep breath, you open your legs, allowing your fingers to slip beneath the dampening fabric. After spreading your juices around, you rub your clit before slowly dipping your first finger into your slick entrance. The sensation is unfamiliar—neither bad nor uncomfortable, just something you're not used to. The pain of the stretch lingers, leaving a strange warmth that you can't quite place.

You close your eyes and pretend that Wooyoung is there with you. Swiftly, you begin to curl your fingers, simultaneously bucking into your hand. You picture him hovering over you, but the image clouds over, shifting into a different scene that becomes sharper.

Wooyoung is also in bed, with his hand wrapped around his exposed, thick cock, lazily pumping it. There’s something unsettlingly vivid about this image, as if it’s not just a product of your imagination. It feels real—too real. Gasping, you realize that he’s in your head, projecting himself, revealing his presence in a way that makes your heart race.

Then, as if he can sense that you've finally caught on to his wicked scheme, a dark smile tugs at the corner of his lips, the kind that makes your body’s temperature spike. “Are you touching yourself, like I asked you to?”

You suck in a sharp breath and nod instinctively, even though you know he can’t physically see you. But somehow, you sense that he knows.

“I bet you are,” he hums, closing his eyes while running his thumb over his pink head. He tosses his head back as he strokes himself, “I bet that tight little virgin cunt of yours needs some good stretching before she’s ready for me.”

Feeling the heat rising to the tips of your ears, they’re red from the weight of his words, like they’re wrapping themselves around you, pulling you deeper into his influence. The knot in your lower belly grows as you match your little finger thrusts to the speed of his hand pumps.

“Add another finger, honey, I know you can,” Wooyoung groans, his hand moving a little faster. “Look at how my cock aches to be sunk inside your sweet folds.”

You do as he commands. You’re panting at this point; completely zeroed in on his throbbing length while you climb towards bliss. The silent room fills with a sinful pattern of squelches from each thrust into your lush heat, and a divine sensation washes over you.

“Goddess, I’m about to make a mess,” he whines, a sound that you’ll never be able to forget. He stills, letting out another beautiful noise while his seed shoots out across his abs, some even on his dark silk sheets.

“That’s just a preview,” he grins devilishly, “Sleep well, Y/N.”

"Many blessings," Father Blackmoor's voice rings out, reverberating through the towering trees of the Darkwood. "Tonight, we honor the Moon and her radiant beauty. Paired couples, please step forward to collect your basket."

You step forward cautiously, aware of Wooyoung’s presence close behind you. As your fingers brush the edge of the woven basket, Wooyoung’s arm reaches past you, his hand closing around it first. His body hovers briefly against yours, a faint smile curving his lips. Sucking in a sharp breath, you pull your hand back as your mind flashes back to last night, Wooyoung’s cock is still fresh in your mind.

"Each basket contains a ceremonial knife," Father Blackmoor continues, his tone solemn. "You will begin the rite by smearing your blood upon your partner's forehead. Then, you must drink the purification potion—the milky-colored vial—and consume the figs, symbolizing your unity. Under the moonlight, you will lie side by side until dawn, as a testament to your bond and in preparation for tomorrow’s Hunt."

His final words hang in the cool night air as the forest seems to hush in reverence for what’s to come. You glance up at Wooyoung, and his eyes are already on you, dark and unreadable, only reflecting the moonlight.

As the other couples start to spread out across the forest, Wooyoung’s hand finds yours, tugging you deeper into the woods. His steps are quiet, purposeful, as the towering trees close in around you both. Your attention snaps forward when you catch a glimpse of movement—there, not far ahead, the same fox-like creature you spotted by the willows. The realization dawns on you: it’s Wooyoung’s familiar.

The creature moves gracefully, leading the way through the underbrush, its magical fur shimmering under the pale moonlight. Wooyoung follows without hesitation, his gaze fixed on his familiar. You trail behind, curiosity building, as the creature guides you to a secluded clearing hidden deep in the Darkwood.

“Thank you, Vixen,” Wooyoung murmurs once you’ve arrived. The fox-like familiar halts briefly, then glimmers before fading into the air, leaving behind a trail of glowing embers that slowly dissipate into the night.

Your eyes scan the clearing, and you notice the scene in front of you—a circle of softly flickering candles arranged around a blanket spread across the forest floor. The air hums with quiet magic, thick with mystery and anticipation. Wooyoung turns to you, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, a mischievous yet unreadable expression crossing his face.

Wooyoung extends his hand to you, his touch firm yet gentle as he helps you step onto the soft blanket. With a single snap of his fingers, your clothes transform—yours into a sheer white nightgown, his into simple black pants, with his chest left bare, the candlelight casting shadows over his defined muscles.

“Ready to begin?” he asks, voice low, eyes holding a flicker of something dangerous yet enticing.

You nod, your breath catching for a moment. Reaching into the basket set down beside him, your fingers curl around the cool metal of the ceremonial blade. Together, your voices join in a low, rhythmic chant, weaving through the night air. The ritual words hang heavy between you as you press the blade to your finger, feeling the sharp sting as blood wells up. Stepping closer, you bring your hand to his forehead, smearing an upside-down cross on his tanned skin, the blood vivid against his complexion.

Without a word, you hand the blade to Wooyoung, your fingers brushing his in the exchange. He mimics your actions, the cool sting of the knife barely registering as he pricks his finger, marking your forehead with the same crimson anti-cross. The flames around you leap higher, responding to the magic building in your chant.

The moonlight glistens against his skin, bathing him in an ethereal glow as he lifts the purification potion from the basket. He drinks deeply, eyes never leaving yours, and then hands the vial to you. You take it from him, your pulse quickening as you lift it to your lips, the magic binding you both growing stronger with each word, each action.

His eyes darken; trailing over your nearly naked body. They land on your peaked nipples, and he lets out a deep exhale while his eyes are glued in place.

“Um, figs,” Wooyoung clears his throat, momentarily dazed, shaking his head as if to regain focus. He grabs one from the basket, handing you the other. You sink your teeth into the fruit’s tender skin, its bright red flesh spilling a sweet, rich juice onto your lips. A single drop escapes and trails down your chin, and you catch Wooyoung watching, his gaze lingering longer than usual. But he doesn’t say a word. Not yet.

You quickly wipe away the juice, trying to ignore the flush creeping up your neck. “So… what now?” you ask, your voice more uncertain than you intended. You’ve both completed the ritual, but the tension between you is undeniable. Neither of you has acknowledged last night’s activities, though you’re certain it’ll come up eventually. It has to.

He shifts slightly, his eyes scanning your face, and for a moment, it seems like he’s about to bring it up. His lips twitch into a half-smile, “I’ve got an idea or two.”

You’re not sure how it happened—one moment you’re standing, the next you’re lying beneath him. Wooyoung hovers above you, his arms on either side of your head, eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity. His body is close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, and your pulse quickens as his breath brushes against your skin.

Without notice, his lips crash down onto yours. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, moaning when your hands twist in his hair.

He presses his hips down into yours, letting you feel how worked up he’s already become.

“We're technically not supposed to do anything tonight,” Wooyoung says, his voice low and teasing once he pulls back. A mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes as he adds, “But a rule’s never stopped me before.”

You pull his head back down to yours, kissing him languishingly as he rolls his hips into yours again.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, this time pressing his length right up against your covered heat.

Wooyoung’s lips curl into a devilish smile when you whine incoherently about wanting more.

“Answer me, honey. Do you want more?” He asks with a growl, but the intensity in his gaze makes it clear—he already knows the answer.

“Yes,” you beg, “More. Please!”

He grabs handfuls of the fabric at your sides, bunching it up around your waist before he descends below.

Your dewy center is covered in a heavy coating of your arousal. Spellbound by the sight, he instinctively brings his fingers to your heat, gathering some of your transparent essence and smearing it around your folds.

“Fucking hell, you’re so fucking wet for me,” Wooyoung mutters.

Incapable of waiting any longer, he dives in tongue first, licking a beautiful line from your slit’s opening up to your needy nub of nerves. Another growl resounds from his chest as he devours your sex, his cock involuntarily twitching when he sinks two fingers back to your opening. Wooyoung strokes his saturated fingers through your slit before sinking them inside your soft flesh, feeling your inner walls clench around them.

He pulls them out and admires how your hole instinctively sucks his digits back in where they belong.

“Such a tight little cunt. It’ll be ruined by tomorrow night,” Wooyoung groans; despite his words, there’s nothing but appraisal in his voice. He looks up at your body, meeting your eyes. His flash with a dark dominance, lust with a dash of something else flicker in them.

His devilish words only excite you further, and more of your sticky arousal coats his hand. Each curl of his fingers brings you closer and closer to writhing pleasure.

His head dips back down, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks it between his teeth. Gasping, you buck your hips upward, needing more. So much more.

“I can’t wait to turn you into a nasty little whore. Would you like that?” he asks in between little licks.

“Y-yes” you mewl. “Wanna. Be your w-whore.”

He’s got you dancing along the edge of a very dangerous cliff, and you want nothing more than to jump off, face first, and dive into the waves of ecstasy that await.

He can tell that you’re close; your walls are beginning to tighten around him. Flattening his tongue against your sensitive nub, he applies the right amount of pressure you need to come all over his face.

When he sits up, his mouth is dribbling with your release; it’s a pretty sight to see.

“Not bad for a virgin,” he teases.

Your blissful smile turns coy, “Is it my turn to taste you? You’ll have to teach this virgin just how you like it.”

A deep, low growl vibrates in his chest and the corners of his jaw flex as he stands up, his silhouette outlined from the moonlight.

“On your knees then, slut.”

You twist your body until you’re sitting on your knees, your used cunt dripping onto the blanket below.

“Goddess, I’m so fucking hard for you,” Wooyoung grunts while pulling his pants down.

Freed from his pants, his cock springs out before bouncing momentarily, then stands erect in its full glory. You reflexively clench at the sight of him. It’s just as you remember it from last night.

Tightening his palm around his shaft, Wooyoung begins stroking himself before lining his tip up to your lips.

“Take just the head into your mouth,” he murmurs. “Just while you warm up to the feeling.”

You immediately wrap your mouth around him and a wave of precum leaks directly onto your tongue. Circling his thick tip, you get comfortable with the weight of him on your tongue, learning his taste.

“Such a good slut,” Wooyoung croons, causing your core to tremble from his praises.

One hand moves to hold your chin, angling your head to look up at him, “When you’re ready for more, take a deep breath and take in more of me.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you suckle on his head, letting more and more of him into your wet cave. You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, the tickling sensation causing him to jerk inside you.

Wooyoung tugs on your hair, softly at first, and then his fist wraps around the handful in his grasp. His impressive length fills your mouth, his immense girth cracking your jaw open with each gentle thrust.

Words of encouragement spill from his lips, giving you the confidence to suck in the final inch of his member.

Involuntarily, you gag around his cock when his thick head hits the back of your throat. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, falling soon after.

Without warning, his length surges into your throat and Wooyoung lets out a stream of colorful expletives as his release hits him. His hips jerk once more, and he tosses his head back underneath the moonlight.

You shudder, feeling his thick cum stick to the walls of your throat.

“Goddess,” he hums, “Sorry about that.” Wooyoung slips out of your mouth, admiring as you use the back of your hand, you wipe your soddened mouth.

“It’s okay. Now I know what to expect.”

Wooyoung pulls you into his embrace, and you both settle into the quiet rhythm of the night, staring up at the stars as they shimmer in the sky. His warmth surrounds you, grounding you amidst the cool breeze.

He shifts slightly, turning on the blanket to meet your gaze. “I need to warn you about tomorrow,” he begins, his voice lower, more serious. “The potion we warlocks take before the ceremony… it makes our animalistic instincts take over. It’s going to be rough. That’s why I’ve been preparing you, so to speak.”

A knot twists in your stomach at his words. You hadn’t realized the full extent of what tomorrow held, but now it makes sense. That’s why they call it the Hunt, you think, You’re basically their prey. The pieces finally click into place. His honesty, though jarring, makes you feel strangely grateful that he’s letting you in on something you weren’t aware of.

“I trust you,” you whisper softly. “You haven’t hurt me so far, so I’m not worried about tomorrow.”

Wooyoung’s chest rises as he takes a deep breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He silently prays to Goddess Peralia that he won’t bring you any harm during the Hunt. The uncertainty flickers in his eyes for just a moment before he pulls you closer, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice gentle as you settle against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath your ear, and soon your breaths fall in sync, the sound of the wind rustling through the Darkwood easing you both into a peaceful silence.

As the stars twinkle above, the night’s calm surrounds you like a protective cocoon, lulling you into sleep. You drift into a deep, restful slumber, cocooned in his arms, feeling the peace before the inevitable storm of tomorrow.

“The Insatiable Hunt begins,” one of the warlocks grins darkly before tossing back the elixir, the liquid shimmering as it slides down his throat. Wooyoung raises his glass in silent agreement, his eyes flashing with excitement before he gulps it down, feeling the fiery potion race through his veins. The others follow suit, the room buzzing as they prepare for the night ahead.

They pull on their wolf masks, transforming from men into primal hunters, instincts sharpening with every heartbeat. The thrill of the chase hangs thick in the air as they line up, muscles tensed, waiting for the doors to open.

Wooyoung’s body hums with the effects of the potion, a burning heat spreading through his skin. His senses sharpen—your scent lingers, intoxicating and irresistible. His pupils dilate as your essence floods his nostrils, every fiber of his being urging him forward. The others grin beneath their masks, but his focus is single-minded: you.

The doors creak open with a loud thud, unleashing them into the night. With a guttural growl, Wooyoung sprints into the woods, his feet pounding the earth as he follows your trail, the scent drawing him deeper into the Darkwood. His heart races, blood pumping with one singular purpose: to find you. To claim his prize.

Wooyoung moves like a shadow, effortlessly twisting and turning through the woods, his heightened senses guiding him closer to your trail. Each subtle shift in the air tells him you're near. He slows as he approaches a dense thicket, his instincts screaming at him to be cautious. He can feel you hiding, watching, waiting.

His cock strains when he catches a whiff of your scent, his hardened member straining against the tightness of his pants as it begs to bury itself deep inside of you.

His eyes narrow, hyper-focused on the faintest rustle of leaves. You dart from the bushes, sprinting through the underbrush, your breath quickening as you distance yourself from him. He follows silently, his steps deliberately soundless as he stalks you.

You duck behind a tree, pressing your back against its trunk, heart pounding in your chest. Straining to listen, you hear... nothing. No footsteps, no rustling—nothing. A chill creeps up your spine. Slowly, you peek around the tree, scanning the shadows. There’s no sign of him.

Relief barely has time to settle in before you turn back and scream.

He’s right there, inches away.

"Gotcha," Wooyoung growls, his voice low and menacing, his breath hot against your skin. With a wicked grin, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze as he slams your back against the rough bark of the tree. The impact sends a jolt through your body, your heart racing even faster now. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

His eyes glint through the wolf mask with a dangerous mix of hunger and satisfaction, the thrill of the Hunt evident in every line of his expression.

Wooyoung's grip tightens, his breath hot against your ear as he growls, “I can’t wait to split you in half with my cock.”

Before you can react, he spins you around, pressing your chest against the rough bark of the tree. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as his hands slide down your sides, firm and unyielding.

He blames his newfound animalistic behavior for how fast he rips away your crimson cloak and the layers beneath it, leaving the shredded fabric scattered across the mossy forest floor.

In one swift movement, Wooyoung uses a knee to spread your legs and sinks into your inviting opening without warning. Tears sting your eyes from the sudden intrusion, but the pain quickly turns into mind-shattering pleasure.

“Taking it so well, aren’t you, slut?” he purrs, voice low and dripping with praise. The raw, commanding edge in his tone sends shivers through you, your insides tightening around him in response.

You hum an incoherent response, unable to form words when his cockhead is pressed against the swell of your cervix.

After ripping his mask off, Wooyoung’s fingers press into your hips. He holds you steady as he moves, each thrust punctuated by dark whispers of just how perfectly he fits inside you.

Wooyoung’s grin brushes against your neck as he drags his tongue up the curve of your skin, leaving a lingering lick before pressing a kiss just below your ear. His hips pull back slowly, his length retreating from your slick folds until only the tip remains, teasing you.

Then, with a low growl, he thrusts forward, filling you entirely in one fluid motion, claiming every inch as he sinks deep inside.

The sudden motion causes you to moan uncontrollably, his girth continuing to stretch out your soft walls. Your soaked cunt splitting open around Wooyoung’s enormous girth only causes him to swell more, if that’s even possible.

“M-more, please!” you whimper.

Wooyoung clenches his jaw, feeling your wetness ooze out where your bodies meet with each quick thrust.

One of his hands squeezes your side, the other falls to your round ass, and his claw-like nails scratch across your skin before he pulls his hand back to spank you. Your vision blurs from the impact, and you push your hips out, asking for more.

“Again,” you whine, your head digging further into the tree’s bark.

You bite down on your lower lip, anticipation building as you brace yourself. A sharp crack echoes through the air as his hand comes down against you, harder this time and sending another sting that radiates through your skin.

A moan slips past your lips, the sharpness transforming into pleasure that courses through your body. His fingers trace the spot he’s just marked, his low chuckle rumbling against your ear.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice rich with approval, each word sending shivers through you. “Turn around. I want to look at you," he demands next, his voice gritting through his teeth.

You obey, slowly turning to face him, your heart racing under his intense gaze. His eyes roam over you, filled with a mix of hunger and admiration that makes you feel both vulnerable and exhilarated.

Wooyoung cups your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His thumb brushes over your swollen lips as he drinks you in. "Look at you," he whispers, almost to himself, his thumb slipping inside your mouth. Instinctively, you wrap your lips around it, meeting his gaze as you lightly suck, earning a dark smile from him.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his free hand tracing down your body, grazing every curve and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "And you're all mine tonight." His words trail off as his length pounds into you again.

He watches as your lips part, head tilting back in pure bliss, and takes his chance. His mouth crashes onto yours, tongue slipping between your lips with a raw desire, claiming every inch he can reach. The kiss is deep and possessive, leaving you breathless as his hand tangles in your hair, keeping you close.

His tongue strokes against yours, tasting every gasp and moan you release, as if he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath him. You melt into his kiss, losing yourself in the heat, the way he consumes you with each movement.

When he pulls back, Wooyoung drags his lips against the shell of your ear to whisper, “Is this what you want? Your little virgin cunt destroyed?”

“Yes,” you moan, voice low and thick with desire. Then, locking eyes with him, you let a wicked smirk curve your lips, meeting his heated gaze with a look as dangerous as his own. "Ruin me," you breathe, each word dripping with a challenge that sends a spark down his spine.

A growl escapes his lips, and his grip on you tightens. He pushes you against the rough bark, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as his eyes darken with pure, animalistic hunger. “You want to be ruined?” he whispers, his voice a low rasp against your ear as he pulls your hips even closer. “Careful what you ask for.”

His thrusts come harder, relentless, each one leaving you trembling and gasping as he takes you to the edge, only to pull you back before you can fall. His hand slides up your throat, a possessive touch that’s somehow both gentle and commanding as his thumb grazes your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You’re mine," he growls, eyes blazing, his body pressed against yours with no space left between you. He savors every inch of you, watching your face intently as he ravages you with a merciless rhythm, his fingers digging into your waist. “And I’m not stopping until you’re completely undone.”

Your moans grow louder, filling the night air and mingling with the rhythmic slap of your bodies moving in unison. The sounds echo through the Darkwood, a primal symphony that seems to resonate with the forest around you, intensifying with each frenzied thrust.

Wooyoung feels your walls clench tightly around him, a signal that you’re close to unraveling. “Cum around my cock, honey,” he rasps, his voice laced with possessiveness. “I know you’re close.”

He quickens his pace, pounding into you with a newfound urgency, while his fingers find their way to that sensitive spot between your legs. The moment his thumb and forefinger pinch your aching nub, pleasure spirals through you like wildfire.

You scream his name, your body seizing up as waves of ecstasy crash over you, each pulse flooding your veins with tingling heat.

He watches you intently, captivated as your face twists in bliss, feeling you squeeze around him, almost pulling him over the edge.

A low growl escapes his lips, and with two final, frenzied thrusts, he buries himself as deeply as he can, his abs contracting as he spills himself inside you. His teeth graze your bare shoulder, biting down as he rides out his release, filling you with a heat that leaves you both breathless.

“Oh, praise Satan,” he gasps, letting out a shaky laugh as he presses his forehead against yours. The two of you catch your breath together, heartbeats slowing, tangled in the afterglow.

You collapse entirely into his arms, utterly spent and trembling, every muscle deliciously exhausted as you sink into the darkness of sleep that lingers at the edge of your consciousness. A grin tugs at your lips, satisfaction mingling with exhaustion as you surrender to it, the night’s events replaying like a forbidden lullaby.

Nothing in your dreams could ever compare to the raw, disgraceful, dangerously addictive reality you’ve just experienced. Wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you let go, falling into a slumber filled with echoes of his touch.

The room is loud with the sound of laughter, clinking goblets, and whispered gossip. Candles cast a warm glow over the grand hall as platters of food float between the seated bodies; you're barely listening though, too hyper-aware of Wooyoung sitting beside you.

You steal a glance at him from across the table. He’s watching you, his gaze steady and unwavering. A secret smirk plays at the corner of his lips, one that makes your cheeks burn under the soft glow of the chandeliers. It’s almost unbearable, this tension simmering between you, each stolen look as dangerous as a spark near dry wood.

His fingertips graze yours under the table, sending a rush through you each time. You both know the game you’re playing—pushing boundaries, daring each other, waiting for one of you to make the next move.

Finally, he leans in, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Let’s get out of here.”

"We can’t just leave," you mumble, finally meeting his burning gaze. There's a warning in your eyes, but he ignores it, his grin only growing.

You bite your lip, glancing around at the oblivious faces around you. "It’s the middle of the feast," you continue, though your resolve is already faltering. "People will notice."

"Let them," he says, the mischief in his tone unmistakable.

He stands and takes your hand, his grip both gentle and possessive as he leads you out, weaving through the tables with a confidence that dares anyone to question him.

Whispers and side glances follow, and you try to ignore the burning stares—hungry warlocks with dark eyes, envious witches with guarded whispers.

Everything has changed.

Wooyoung’s presence grounds you, his thumb brushing reassuring circles against your skin. And when he glances back at you, tilting his head in that familiar way with a smirk tugging at his lips, you realize that somehow—despite all the chaos of this past week—some things aren’t so different after all.

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seonghwaddict · 11 months ago

Text

blue bird — choi san, jung wooyoung

in which one of the most dangerous men in the city approaches you with an offer, but how would you have known it would turn into something more?

mafia boss!choi san x fem!reader x mafia boss!jung wooyoung. genre. fluff, smut, mafia au. warnings. explicit sexual content minors dni, unprotected sex, dom!san, dom!wooyoung, sub!reader, slight corruption, p in v, oral (f and m receiving), multiple orgasms, threesome, fingering, reverse cowgirl position, pussy drunk wooyoung??, subspace??, cum swallowing, san is a little mean, wooyoung likes to tease, lots of teasing, hair pulling, slight degradation, dirty talk like a lot of it, brief begging, praise, overuse of the word pretty, pet names (doll, princess, baby, pretty girl, good girl, baby doll, pretty little slut). i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know. wc. 6.9k.

lilo’s notes. hiii happy new year everyone!! this is dedicated to @garlichoisan, surprise! i was your secret santa :3 i’m sorry but i completely forgot to write angst and couldn’t find a way to squeeze it in, please forgive me 😭😭 i think i got a little carried away with the smut, it’s probably not my best since i’m not very experienced in writing it but i hope you like it and this as a whole!!

　　　　　　　　　masterlist

choi san wanted you in a rather unexpected way.

not in a friendly way or a sexual way, but actually in a professional way. ever since he’d heard of what you, the so called “blue bird,” were up to, he knew you’d be a valuable asset. shortly after he heard about you, he was quick to tell wooyoung about what he had learned from idling in a bar he’d never been to.

it was an early morning. so early that the sun hadn’t risen yet, but that didn’t bother san. he preferred quieter, intimate spaces rather than the bustling clubs of grey city. as he sipped on his whiskey, the two men beside him got to talking. neither of them were very memorable, if anything they looked too similar; not intimidating in any way. still, he made a mental note of the guns attached to their hips. it was nothing very interesting, small talk from what he could tell. well, at least until they mentioned an odd name.

“did you hear what she did?”

“who?” one of them, the one with comically thick glasses, said as he blew out some cigarette smoke.

“well… ya know…” his voice lowered to a whisper, though in his drunken state it was less of a discreet whisper and more of a loud hiss, “the blue bird.”

he gave a sound of recognition. “wonderful heist, wasn’t it?”

“indeed,” he laughed, a deep chortle, “she was here tellin’ ricky all about it yesterday. flawless, flew in and out like a ghost.” he sighed blissfully, as if he had been there to watch you work.

now this. this is what caught infamous mafia boss choi san’s attention.

“more like a bird!” the bespectacled man nudge his friend with his elbow, a high pitched giggle leaving him. “get it? because she’s called bl-”

the friend held his hand up with a deadpan expression. “yes, i get it.”

the two men talked about you some more (“pretty thing she is, isn’t she?” “mhm, heard she’s actually quite sweet too. odd thing to hear about an outlaw.”), but san tuned them out again. with an important upcoming mission, he needed someone capable of doing exactly what these two men had described. he needed someone like you. preferably, you.

going off of what he had heard, he frequented that bar, hoping you’d happen to be there at the same time. he sat at the same seat at the same counter every night and always ordered the same thing. he noticed that after the first two nights he was there, no one really sat next to him. presumably because they recognised him and opted to avoid him instead of doing anything.

not that he cared, this part of town was known to be filled with people of the rebellious type; people like him who despised the government and would stop at nothing to take it down. if anything, they most likely respected him and his business. but alas, that doesn’t matter much in this particular story, does it?

wooyoung even offered to take turns visiting the bar, curious to see this mysterious person as well. but two weeks passed and no sign of you. most of the people there were the same every time he went, he was sure he would’ve noticed a new face at some point.

fortunately, his efforts became successful.

as usual, no one sat directly beside him, leaving one or two barstools between him and whatever other patron sat at the counter. or so he thought. the usual bartender passed him and came to a stop. confused and thinking the bartender stopped for him despite already sipping on his drink, san tilted his head. but it soon became evident that he wasn’t there for him, but rather for the pretty woman he didn’t notice sitting beside him.

“the usual?” the bartender asked, a crooked smile spreading on his face as he looked at you, his hands busy drying a glass.

san heard a brief chuckle beside him, prompting him to take a proper look at you. the first thing he noticed were your lips. plump and red, smooth lipstick. then the slope of your neck and shoulders, exposed by the thin straps of your silky black dress, jacket hanging by your elbows. the soft yellow-tinted lighting bounced off your rich skin and perfect hair in an almost hypnotising way. there was something enchanting about your aura, your posture, you.

he forced himself to look away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“yes, thank you.” you replied, nodding at the bartender as he turned to prepare your drink.

“one hot chocolate for our blue bird coming right up!”

blue bird.

this time san couldn’t stop himself from looking. so it was you.

the men from the other day weren’t lying when they called you a pretty little thing. you wore a silky black dress and a black fur jacket to protect you from the cold wind of the night. as his eyes roamed over you they got caught on your plump thighs. briefly, he wondered if they felt as soft as they looked but soon enough something else caught his attention. as you shifted in your seat, he caught a glimpse of the inside of your jacket, a quick glint reflecting from inside told him you were indeed carrying a weapon. he made sure to keep that in the back of his mind.

a man such as himself, wide shouldered and intimidating, was hard to ignore. if you didn’t notice him staring from the corner of your eyes, you were sure the heat of his stare would’ve burned a hole through your skin. needless to say, he had caught your attention as well, except you seemed to be better at hiding it.

once the momentary shock subsided, he smiled. the fact that such a dangerous person would regularly order hot chocolates from a bar was amusing to him.

noticing the change in expression, you glance at him. what the hell? seeing a man grinning at you was unsettling. a man with such broad shoulders who could probably easily overpower you. his face looked familiar, you realised, but couldn’t quite attach a name to it quite yet.

unsure of what to do and what this man may want from you, you turned away and engaged in a conversation with the bartender as he prepared your drink, all the while ignoring the man at your side. as soon as you finished your drink, you placed some cash on the counter and got up, swiftly walking out of the bar.

while your goal was to get away, you didn’t take the fact that he might follow you into account.

“don’t go yet, little outlaw, i’d like to talk to you about something.”

his voice was rather calm and even, but still left minimal room for discussion. you rolled your eyes before turning around with a completely different expression—eyes wide and innocent, lashes fluttering, eyebrows raised.

“you must be mistaken, sir, i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

he chuckled and took some steps forward and that’s when you recognised him. shit. he slowly walked over to you, speaking to you in that same calm voice with a sprinkle of cockiness somewhere in it. “playing dumb? really? for someone as smart as yourself i’d expect you to know that the 1 billion won bounty on your head doesn’t hide you.”

you sighed at his words, taking steps back to maintain the distance. there was no use continuing the innocent act, snapping at him, “what do you want?”

“do you know who i am?”

“of course i do, the whole city does. do you think i live under a rock?” you scoffed a laugh.

he dismissed your sarcasm, being used to having to deal with such cheeky mouths. “i have an offer.” when you didn’t reply, he continued. “help me and my… business partner with a heist.”

that was not what you expected.

“hmm… no, thanks.” you smiled up at him but nearly faltered as your back hit the wall of an alley you had unknowingly backed yourself into. you cursed yourself silently as he stood right in front of you, so close you had to look up to maintain eye contact.

“i wasn’t asking, darling.” he looked down at you, expression nearly sneering as he held an air of superiority about him. “you either agree or you’ll wake up behind bars tomorrow morning.”

“you can’t arrest me or turn me in, they’ll forget all about me since you’re the more wanted one out of the two of us.” you spoke matter-of-factly, a cocky tilt to the corner of your lips.

“i never said i would be the one to turn you in, little outlaw.”

“you know,” you hummed and moved your arms. his first assumption was that you were reaching for the dagger he glimpsed inside your jacket earlier, instinctively catching your wrists in his grasp as your words died in your throat and your breath hitched. he shifted his grip to place both of your wrists in one hand, holding them up above your head as his free hand nudged your jacket open, revealing the dagger.

he clicked his tongue patronisingly and fished it out delicately. his eyes shifted to yours, eyebrows raising in a silent question as he tossed the weapon over his shoulder. the metal blade clinked and echoed in the barren alleyway. he kept your wrists in his hold but lowered your arms, holding them at the height of your hips.

he leaned forward, speaking into your ear lowly as you suppressed a shudder. “you may continue.”

you glared at him and had the sudden urge to punch the shit eating grin off his face. “what’s in it for me?”

“um…” his face went blank and he leaned back to look at you, clearly not a single thought processing behind those cat-like eyes. “is there anything you want in particular?”

“protection.” you said simply, tilting your head.

“oh,” he nodded slowly, his brows furrowing in confusion but he kept his eyes on you. “but can’t you find that in any store?”

he felt a hit against his shin as you kicked him lightly. “ew not that. i meant… well, doing what i do, there’s a lot of people after me. you have the means to have some of your guys make sure i don’t run into any trouble.”

san nodded understandingly, loosening his grip on your wrists but not letting go. not that you minded. “that’s perfectly possible, yes.”

you exhaled, relieved. warm air fanning against his neck as you did so. “okay, then, i’m in. so what is it you need me to do?”

this time he released your wrists completely and took a step back, reaching into an inner pocket of his tailored suit and pulled out a little card with one hand as the other brought your hand up.

he brushed his hand over your closed fist, opening your fingers up to reveal your palm, placing the card in your palm before gently nudging your fingers to close over it. in a swift move, he turned your hand around and bowed forward, pressing a slow and soft kiss to your knuckles—eyes locked on yours as you stared back at him in bewilderment.

he lifted his lips, smirking at you as he straightened up, hands moving to the bottom of his blazer and tugging, stretching the wrinkles away. “i expect to see you tomorrow at dusk, little blue bird.”

with a wink, he turned on his heels and walked away. you watched him, listening to the echoing footsteps as he left the alley and disappeared around a corner, leaving you slumped against the cold brick wall with burning cheeks.

you weren’t sure what you expected when you arrived at the address on the card choi san gave you. perhaps an underground bunker that looked nothing like the breathtaking estate you stood in front of.

the building was tucked within a small forest far from the outskirts of night city. the architecture seemed foreign and classical, a building you’d roam through whilst listening to tchaikovsky or chopin—not a building you’d expect to scheme against the government in. though, you supposed in some aspects it fit the aesthetic san had going on. sipping whiskey in a fully tailored suit, the smell of cigarette smoke and mint heavy in the air around him.

you walked up to the grand double doors, taking a moment to admire the intricate carvings before ringing the bell. less than a minute later, the right door swung open to reveal a stranger.

he wore wide dark jeans and a black and white plaid shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal his chiselled collarbones and practically half of his torso. his black hair was slicked back with a few strands framing his face with the dainty square glasses he wore, some hanging silver earrings on display. he was, completely objectively speaking, handsome.

his eyes roamed over you, taking in your appearance before smiling and crossing his arms, leaning his side against the door as he pushed his glasses up to rest on the top of his head. you noticed a mole on his face—a small dot just under his left eye. “so you’re the little outlaw san told me about, huh?”

“yes, and you are?” you knew who he was, of course, but pleasantries were pleasantries nonetheless.

“jung wooyoung, but you already knew that.”

you chuckled and put your arms up in surrender, “oh no, i’ve been caught.”

his laugh was rather high pitched as he ushered you in. “come in, it gets cold at night.”

he led you through the house, stopping by what he referred to as his office but really looked like a sitting room with soft lighting and a desk to grab some rolled up papers before continuing the walk. the interior was just as beautiful as the exterior; intricate paintings and marble floors. wooyoung smiled as he saw the awe-stricken look on your face.

he led you to another set of double doors, pushing both of them open and stepping through without looking back to make sure you were following. now this was an office.

your jaw nearly dropped as you walked into the room, spinning a full circle to gawk at the various bookshelves that lined the walls and high ceiling that looked like it came straight out of the sistine chapel. a large fireplace cast a warm, yet still dark, glow over the room, making it look that much more impressive. a graceful vintage couch with two matching armchair were placed in front of the fireplace, a glass coffee table nestled between the seats and the source of light and warmth.

the floor creaked with every step you took, being made of dark wooden planks instead of marble.

you flinched as you heard san’s familiar voice snapping you out of your stupor. “pick your jaw up, you might catch flies.”

at the sound of his voice, you whipped around and glared at him after quickly pulling yourself together. he was sat in a leather chair at his impressive desk, wooyoung sat (balanced) on the arm of the chair.

you walked over and stood across from them in front of the desk. “it’s a nice house, are you two the only ones that live here?”

wooyoung took the chance to answer. “sometimes. there’s six others that are part of our… syndicate, but they stay in other places, surrounding grey city.”

“enough of that.” san waved his hand dismissively and leaned forward. as he did so, your eyes were drawn to his chest. he wore a white button up, though it appeared to be a bit tight judging by the way the fabric around the buttons strained every time he moved. your lingering gaze didn’t go unnoticed, but neither of them brought it up. “woo, the plans, please.”

the plan was set to take place the months after you had met with them for the first time. this gave you three to prepare, to memorise the layout and every detail about the building you’ll be infiltrating. for this preparation, you frequented their estate often—nearly every day—and spent hours with them. two weeks in, they offered you one of their guest bedrooms to stay in.

at first wooyoung got on your nerves, but soon enough you grew accustomed to his antics—the clinginess, the teasing. eventually, you even found yourself liking it and seeking it out.

san was slightly more reserved at first, more serious. but soon he, too, let down his guard. encouraging words, affectionate touches.

the more time you spent with them, the more you found yourself relaxing, letting them handle you with care instead of pushing them away like you used to with so many people before them. and eventually you, dare you say, began liking them.

you couldn’t deny the way san’s sharp snd perceptive eyes made you want to squirm under his gaze as he watched you bend over his desk to point something out on the building’s floor plan. you couldn’t deny the way his gentle commands (“do this for me please.” “come here, princess.”) had butterflies roaring in your stomach.

and wooyoung. while san was indeed quite physically affectionate, it was nothing compared to wooyoung. lingering touches and smooth words. sometimes you’d be grabbing something in kitchen and he’d come by, pulling you aside by your hips to grab something. later that day you’d offered to cook something up for dinner, but he only tutted and lifted you by your waist to place you on the marble island counter (“i don’t trust you in my kitchen, baby. just sit there and look pretty for me, yeah?”). jung wooyoung was a flirt and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

two days before the heist, you walked into san’s office after waking up and not being able to find woo. in the time you’d spent with them, you had learned that san acquired the bigger and fancier office by winning a game of rock paper scissors.

as you opened the door, the cat-eyed man looked up from whatever he was working on, smiling as he watched you yawn and stretch on your way over to him. he gave you a once over; you wore an oversized shirt, the collar shifted and hanging over one shoulder, the end of the shirt ending halfway down your thighs.

“sleep well?” he asked, putting his pen down as you stopped in front of the desk. he’d woken up not too long before you, still in his sleepwear, hair tussled but somehow still perfect.

you nodded, your voice soft in your sleepy state, “where’s woo?”

“he went out to get stuff for dinner,” he chuckled as he heard the slight concern in your voice. he pushed his chair back slightly and patted his lap. “come sit here while i work, princess.”

you grinned and walked around the desk, claiming his lap as your seat. you leaned back against him, back pressed to his front. he kissed your exposed shoulder chastely and got back to work. you tried to look down at his papers to see what he was doing, but the way his unoccupied arm wrapped around your waist and shifted you slightly (in a way that accidentally made his thigh rub against certain areas) had your mind going blank, unable to focus on anything other than his touch.

though you couldn’t see it, san also had a hard time focusing. every time you moved, your ass brushed over his pelvis. it was clear he didn’t think it through when he told you to sit on him since now he was having a hard time holding himself back, a bulge growing in his sweatpants.

you shifted again, trying to find a position where none of his body parts rubbed against your core, and he sucked a sharp breath in. his hands practically flew to your hips to hold you still.

“princess, i need you to sit still or i might go crazy, okay?” he spoke softly into your ear, hot breaths brushing against your skin and making you shiver, a fact he noticed and made him smirk. maybe he was already going crazy, but just a little more wouldn’t hurt, right?

he kept his lips by your ear for a moment before moving down slightly, placing them just below your earlobe. it was your turn for your breath to hitch, tilting your head to give him more space. he nearly groaned at the subtle act of submission, burying his face into your skin and kissing his way down to the crook of your neck.

time seemed to slow as his hands tightened on your hips, he scraped his teeth along your neck before biting down gently, not enough to hurt but enough to elicit a breathy whine. when the sound left your lips, he froze.

when you noticed he wasn’t doing anything, you whined again and rolled your hips over his pelvis, dropping your head back on his shoulder. the action surprised yourself too. you’d had sex, of course, but it was never a necessity for you. even when the opportunity presented itself, you wouldn’t chase after it. yet here you were, wordlessly begging him to continue. what had these men done to you?

“is this okay?” he whispered.

you nodded immediately, turning your head to look at him. his breath nearly caught in his throat as he saw the look in your eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of the fireplace—a silent plea for him to have his way with you, release the tension that’s built up over the previous three months. without waiting a second longer, he attached his lips to your neck again, a certain roughness to the way he caressed your skin with his lips and his tongue and his teeth.

you melted against him and let your eyes fall shut when you felt his hands slip shirt off, tossing it on his desk, and then rest against your bare waist, fingertips brushing over the skin making a shiver run down your spine. a voice that wasn’t his had your eyes flying open, your body freezing for a moment before you realised who it was.

“you two just couldn’t wait for me?” wooyoung pouted, leaning against the desk in front of the chair you and san occupied. san chuckled against your neck while you stared at wooyoung, dumbfounded, unexpected excitement stirring in your abdomen.

he looked from your face, to san’s smirk, and then down at the way your hips tried finding the right angle to grind on san’s lap. a dark chuckle left wooyoung’ slips and he leaned forward, hands coming to rest on your knees.

“need help with that, doll?” he tilted his head, a mocking pout gracing his lips as he cooed at you, one hand coming up to caress your cheek for a moment as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

your eyes practically twinkled as you looked up at him, pupils dilated as you nod helplessly. wooyoung smiled and patted your cheek affectionately, pecking your forehead again before sinking to his knees in between yours and san’s legs, kissing his way down your body. your eyes tracked him and his slow descent, breath held in anticipation.

“cute,” he giggled as he eyed your pink panties, slipping them off your legs and tossing them aside. he hooked your legs on either side of san’s, spreading them apart, looking up at you. “just relax, be a good girl and keep your legs like that for me, yeah?”

when you nodded, he kissed your inner thigh followed by a quiet groan as he noticed the arousal dripping from your cunt. “oh, doll, you’re so wet.”

“hm, is she?” san chimed in, one of of his hands leaving your waist to dip down and casually slide a finger through your folds; from bottom to top, applying more pressure the further he slid. you prepared yourself for his finger to get to your clit but, much to your dismay, he removed his hand just before he got there. you suppressed the urge to glare at him over your shoulder. simultaneously, wooyoung began leaving pecks all over your inner thighs.

san hummed and pressed another kiss just below your ear, whispering, his voice thick with lust, “all that and we barely even started. what a pathetic, needy mess, huh?”

the way he said it made it clear he expected an answer from you, but with how wooyoung ran a single finger through your folds, you couldn’t do much but shudder and nod. san clicked his tongue and snaked his hands further up from your waist just under your breasts, fingers brushing circles over your nipples. he waited patiently to give you more time to answer.

wooyoung’s tongue slipped out to lick a stripe from your hole to your clit and both your brain practically short-circuited. the combination of the feeling of his tongue and his wide, glossy eyes peering up at you from between your legs sending your mind reeling. he groaned as he tasted you, swearing in his head that he’d probably finish in his pants within five minutes. a sudden pinch of your nipples had you snapping out of your trance.

“say it, princess.”

“ah- i’m a mess.”

“and why are you a mess?”

you opened your mouth to answer but your own moan cut you off as wooyoung began circling your clit with his tongue. san’s lips backed away from your ear and he looked down at wooyoung, signalling for him to stop by holding up his flat palm. your chest heaved with heavy breaths as wooyoung reluctantly removed his tongue and leaned back just an inch, giving you a moment to recover.

“he won’t continue until you tell me why you’re a mess, baby.”

“because of you,” you whined, trying to press your hips closer to wooyoung’s face but to no avail as san moved his hands back down to hold you firmly by those hips he loved so much.

“good girl, that’s right,” he cooed into your ear, giving you a tender kiss. “you’re our pathetic needy mess, aren’t you?”

“your mess. i’m your mess.”

at the confirmation, san looked down at wooyoung and nodded. not even a second later wooyoung’s mouth was back on you. one of san’s hands stayed to control your hips and the other went back to massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples.

wooyoung’s pace was relentless. he ate you out like a man starved, licking up all the juices that seeped from you while he made sure to nudge his nose against your clit repeatedly. when his mouth wasn’t at your entrance, he had his lips wrapped around your clit, alternating between rhythmic sucks and prods of his tongue, one of his fingers teasingly circling your hole.

he swore he could’ve gotten drunk off your taste, finding the way you writhed in san’s lap so cute. wooyoung momentarily removed his mouth from you once again, watching your face as he tentatively pushed his finger past your entrance. he spoke, voice somewhere between a hoarse groan and a sigh.

“fuck…”

you threw your head back on san’s shoulder, suddenly aware of the hard erection pressed against your ass. you tried to rock your hips just a bit, wanting to help him, but his fingers tightened on your hips.

“keep being such a good girl and i’ll fuck you so good you won’t remember your name, but i need you to be patient. okay, princess?”

your breath hitches and you nodded at his promise, your attention being drawn back to the man between your legs as he added another finger. your breathing grew erratic.

“mmm, so tight.” he groaned, eyes fixated on the way his fingers disappeared into your before slipping out again, more and more of your slick seeping out with each thrust of his digits. wet sounds reverberated through the room as you let out a silent curse.

you thought your noises were kept to a minimum, too embarrassed to really let loose, but as soon as he curled his fingers in you—easily finding that spongey sweet spot—a proper moan ripped itself out of you. and then his tongue was back on your clit, not as firmly as you would’ve liked but enough to draw out more moans and whimpers.

at first, he took his time, fingers thrusting in and out of you at a frustrating pace, tongue only lightly brushing over your swollen pearl. but soon enough, he sped up gradually until he reached a speed that had you crying out and arching your back with every inch that he moved. all the while san muttered encouragement into your ear.

“mhm, you’re taking his fingers so well, princess.”

“can’t wait to have my cock in your tight little pussy. don’t worry, we’ll make it fit.”

“look at you, being fucked dumb just from his fingers. you can barely even keep your eyes open, huh?”

you thought you were controlling yourself well but the moment wooyoung added a third finger, the stretch burning just slightly though your wetness kept things moving smoothly, the moment san spoke all those filthy words in your ear, you felt yourself crashing over the edge. it all felt so good you didn’t even realise you were climaxing until you felt yourself shaking and stars swarming your vision.

a high pitched cry ripped through your lips, moaning wooyoung’s name as he takes his fingers out so he can slurp up your release, groaning against you. you tasted so good and if he could, he would have bottled up all the sounds you made to listen to them before bed every night. san planted tender kisses to your jaw and shoulder as wooyoung eventually removed himself.

he looked almost as fucked out as you, drunk of the juices of your pussy as he slowly got up. he took your face in his clean hand and eagerly pressed his lips against yours, making you moan as you tasted yourself on his tongue. the two of you made out slowly, sloppily, and he slowly trailed his hands down. tracing the curve of your waist before settling his hands on your hips, guiding them to grind over san’s length.

you followed his lead, arching your back to position your pussy right over his erection. that seemed to have made san lose all his composure, rasping out harshly, “woo, please lift her up for a moment.”

moments later, you were back in his lap, this time his long cock buried deep in your cunt. his hands guided your movements, his thrusts matching the pace of the roll of your hips. though he wasn’t able to see your face, fucking you in a reverse cowgirl position, he could image how fucked out you looked. cheeks painted red, glazed over eyes, swollen lips, messed up hair.

wooyoung separated his lips from you, chuckling against your mouth. you struggled to kiss him, san feeling so good in you that you had a hard time thinking straight. “does he feel good, babydoll?”

you nodded and leaned forward just slightly to attach you lips to his pretty neck, mindlessly kissing and licking your way down to his collarbones. wooyoung tilted his head back, another dark chuckle. he thought you were so cute—making sure to give him attention even though you were bouncing in another man’s dick. said man groaned and slumped back in the seat at the change of angle as you leaned forward, not pausing his movements once. ever since he first bottomed out in you he had trouble putting together sentences.

your fingers fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. most of them were undone anyway, he liked it like that when he wore button-ups, but you wanted it completely off. he noticed your trembling hands struggling and took over for you, ignoring the buttons and just pulling off the shirt. your eyes roamed over him, jaw slack.

“you’re so pretty, woo.” you whispered after burying your face in his neck again, any filter you had on your words completely gone.

“i think you’re pretty too, doll,” he chuckled into your ear. “so pretty getting off on me and sannie at once.”

you leaned back and looked him over, darting between his eyes and the erection straining against the trousers with pleading, half closed eyes. it didn’t take a genius to figure out what you wanted, making him coo as he understood you.

“oh, you want my cock? you wanna suck it? just one shoved inside you doesn’t satisfy you enough, huh, you pretty little slut?”

your head empty, unable to focus on anything other than the two men you were trapped between, you nodded. san groaned as he felt your walls clench around him.

“fuck- she likes that.”

“is that so?” wooyoung straightened up and grinned down at you, holding your jaw in his hand. “well, then, go ahead, doll, do as you please.”

at he sound of his permission, your hands found their way to his trousers, undoing the fly and letting them fall to the ground. you could already see the shape of it through his boxers, but didn’t pause to inspect it, hooking your fingers on his waistband and pulling it down to release him.

while his length was impressive, it didn’t look quite as long as san’s but rather thicker. compared to every dick you’ve seen, you decided jung wooyoung had a pretty one. the blushing tip leaked precum that you smeared around to stroke him slowly.

you looked up at him every time you tried something new with your hands, looking for his reaction—running your thumb over his tip, squeezing lightly as your hand moved down. no mater what you did, it elicited a deep moan from him. you looked entranced as you watched the way his eyelids fluttered in pleasure. you leaned forward (both you and san moaning and shuddering at the change in angle), pressing a kiss to his tip.

this new angle had san pounding against your sweet spot repeatedly without fail, making you suddenly feel like jello. still, you tried your best to focus on the task literally at hand.

wooyoung noticed your lack of concentration, threading his fingers in your hair and gently pulling to make you look up. he pouted at you mockingly. “can’t think straight enough with sannie’s cock stuffed in you? it’s ok, doll, you look so pretty and fucked out i could cum just from looking at you.”

you shook your head and pushed forward, wrapping your lips around his tip and sinking your mouth down on his length to the best of your abilities.

wooyoung groaned, “that’s it, doll, there you go. you can take just a little more, can’t you, pretty girl?”

eager to please him, you took as much of him in your mouth as you could. you felt him hit the back of your throat and pulled back, coughing around his length. he slipped his hand out of your hair and stroke your cheek, prompting you to glance up at him.

“you’re doing well, doll, just remember to breathe through your nose. i know you can take me just a bit deeper.”

you nodded at his words, swallowing a little more, and wrapped a hand around the rest that you couldn’t fit, stroking him slowly as you led your mouth get used to the feeling. truth be told, you hadn’t given anyone head before, completely relying on your intuition now.

“yeah, there you go, my pretty little doll. i knew you could do it.”

as you mouth worked on wooyoung, you felt that familiar knot tightening in your abdomen. san must’ve been close too, letting out a hearty groan as he gripped your hips tighter and thrusted up into you faster. every time he pulled you down and snapped his hip up to meet you, the lewd sound of his skin slapping against your and his balls hitting your clit had you whining against wooyoung’s cock.

he sucked in a sharp breath, shuddering before cooing down at you. “what was that, doll? i couldn’t quite hear you.”

you continued with the sucking and stroking until you thought it was impossible, repeatedly shaking too much to keep a steady pace. but you could tell wooyoung was close judging by his sounds and pulsating, and still wanting to please him, you kept your lips around his head as you hand stroked him as fast as you could.

moments later, his body tensed and he came into your mouth. the thick, slightly salty substance ran down your throat as you swallowed it all down. when you were sure he was done, you pulled yourself off him. wooyoung looked ready to pass out, leaning against the desk and staring up at the ceiling as he panted, catching his breath. silent curses left his lips as he squeezed his eyes shut.

now with wooyoung taken care of, you leaned back against san, revelling in the feeling of him pounding into you as you felt yourself coming closer and closer to the edge. you heard him gasp by your ear and you clenched down on him.

“f-fuck… i’m gonna cum.”

oh how san loves fucking you. loves the way your walls flutter around his cock. loves all the sounds you make that he was sure you weren’t even aware of. how you writhe and jerk and shudder and whine and moan and he could go on for days.

“please, sannie,” you whined softly, “please, fill me up, please please please.”

that was the last straw. the desperation in your voice has his stomach flipping and he came just as you finished your begging. a shiver ran down your spine as your body went limp. he kept himself buried in you as one of his hands slide down to rub quick and tight circles on your clit, quickly bringing you to an orgasm that had your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

once all three of you calmed down and got cleaned up, you found yourself relaxing on san’s lap again. this time, you were on one of the couches in the living room as wooyoung sat beside you. while you were in the shower, he cooked up some instant noodles, feeding them to you now.

a hand stroked the outside of your thigh comfortingly as you slurped down the last of the noodles, you recognised it as san’s hand. your legs still felt like jello and you cuddled into him as wooyoung got up to put the bowl away. you felt san press a kiss to the top of your head, practically cradling you.

“you did well, my little blue bird,” he whispered against the crown of your head and pulled you closer, “i could stay like this all day.”

“too bad because it’s my turn now.” wooyoung buckled as he returned, collapsing on the couch and snatching you of san’s grasp without warning. he stuck his tongue out at san as he held the back of you head and pressed your face into the crook of his neck, making you giggle.

san whined and reached his hands out to grab you again only to be swatted away by woo. “hey! no fair.”

“yes, it is fair,” wooyoung giggled, “you’ve had her on your lap long enough.” his best friend glared at him and muttered something under his breath as he looked away with his arms crossed.

“oh, you big baby,” you laughed as you turned your head to look at him. extending you hand to pat his knee.

san’s eyes flashed as an idea lit up in his head. he grinned as he wrapped his arms around both you and wooyoung. you weren’t sure how it happened but next thing you knew, all three of you were laying down on the couch, the two men sandwiching you lovingly.

you felt yourself blush and your brain going blank. wooyoung laughed at the expression on your face, leaning forward to kiss you until san reached over and flicked his forehead. they proceeded to argue about who should be able to kiss you more as you sighed contentedly. you realised there was no other place in earth you’d prefer to be in more than right here, nestled between the two men who you knew would take good care of you.

networks. @cromernet @blankjournal

taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @hee0soo

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buckets-and-trees · 3 months ago

Text

Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for a long time. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond what you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your fingers over the delicate skin between your wrist and up toward the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your other wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, and I've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

read the next part: TAKING YOU HOME

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

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