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hannie-dul-set · 3 months

Text

the breakup soup — [y.jh].

SYNOPSIS. you and jeonghan get into an argument in the middle of the meeting. the rest of your organization’s officers slowly start to realize that this isn’t just about whether the mountains or the sea would be the better venue for your event.

PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x female! reader. GENRE. lovers to exes to lovers, humor, romance, tiny angst, orgmate! jeonghan, college! au, a whole lot of forced proximity, only one bed inn room, a bunch of nosy men. WARNINGS. written breakup (obviously), so much swearing, many many dumb inappropriate jokes (divorce, fucking, diarrhea, to name a few), parliamentary procedures jargon. WORD COUNT. 15k.

NOTE. after six, seven months, this this is finally out of hell (my gdocs). the soup is overcooked. holy shit. everything is written in the pov of a certain teener (excluding jeonghan and the mc. this fic is about them but no, you do not have access to their thoughts). this is super duper fun to write and i hope it’s fun to read as well HHAHAHAHA. please let me know what you think! enjoy!

“TODAY IS SEPTEMBER 7, 20XX. THE MEETING WILL NOW PLEASE COME TO ORDER. Mr. Secretary, please call the roll.”

The words robotically fall out of Seungcheol’s mouth as he turns over the pages of his clipboard, marking a precise, red dot next to the word ‘agenda’ on the page. Another day, another meeting. He can’t wait for the moment he can finally retire from this god damned position. Every single time he repeats his presiding officer script, it feels like a digit gets added to his age.

“Yes, Mr. Chair. Please say ‘present and voting’ once your name is called to be acknowledged.”

Wonwoo starts the roll call, and Seungcheol is desperately trying to cover his yawn with the clipboard, else Seungkwan is gonna grate at him again for dozing off in his own meeting— the aforementioned straightening himself in his seat when his position is called.

“Public Information Officer 1?”

“Present and voting.”

“PIO 2?

“Present—” says Joshua, flicking a paper clip across the table and into Vernon’s nth latte of the day. “—and voting.”

“Next. Assistant Business Manager.”

“Prese—”

“Okay, got it.” Chan brandishes a look of offense when Wonwoo cuts him off. “Business Manager?”

“Present and voting. Do we really have to keep doing this one by one?”

Mingyu has a point, Seungcheol mentally agrees. But his god damned seniors wrote in the damned constitution and bylaws that every meeting of SVT (Society of Virtuous Timetravellers. He’s in the process of renaming it because your organization that’s supposed to be for history and culture is attracting weirdos instead— and two of them are Soonyoung and Seokmin) must abide by strict parliamentary procedures, so he has no choice but to suck it up and listen as Wonwoo continues to read out the succeeding positions on the attendance list, and it’s starting to sound a lot like a lullaby.

“Secretary, yours truly, present and voting.” The scratch from Wonwoo’s throat signals Seungcheol that it’s to zone back in. “Vice Chairperson-External?”

“Present and voting.”

Your voice draws Seungcheol's attention. He turns his head towards you and he notices the sheets of binded up papers you have in your hands, straightened with a few taps on the table surface before you settle them back down, a swell of pride when he sees what’s printed on the topmost page.

It’s impeccably organized, the task he assigned to you only three days prior. Hell, you even have page tabs sticking out of the sides of every page. Your work ethic never fails to impress him. On top of that, you’re always so professional— able to separate your personal and org life with strict barriers in between because even though you and Junhui have been friends for ten years, your sharp glare holds no reservations when you catch him folding paper turtles with sticky notes right next to you when inside the meeting room.

“Sorry,” Jun breathes out. You retract your leg from under the table after giving him a discreet kick.

Anyway, Seungcheol has high hopes for you, and he’s eyeing you to replace him as SVT’s Chairperson next year (he’s already in the process of manipulating you into taking the job: the compliments he gives away aren’t for free). You’re perfect. You’re flawless. There’s no one else fit for the position but you.

Which is why the next course of events comes as nothing less than a shock to him.

“Vice Chairperson-Internal?” Wonwoo calls out but is met with silence. He looks around. “VCI?”

No answer. You scoff.

“Alright, moving on. Mr. Chair?”

Seungcheol stiffens, second-guessing what he’d just heard, but the near-invisible crooked twitch of the corner of your mouth proves that no, that wasn’t just his imagination. You just scoffed. A sharp noise laced with derision and contempt. That should’ve been the first sign that something is off.

“Present,” he coughs out, resigning his attention back to the meeting he has to preside over. It must be nothing. Even you can get annoyed sometimes. Maybe Jun is fucking around again and you’ve just had about enough.

“There are thirteen out of fourteen officers present, Mr. Chair. We are in quorum.”

“Thank you. Seeing that we are in quorum, it is now legal for us to conduct business. Mr. Secretary, will you please read to us the agenda for today’s—”

The office door swings open.

“Sorry, I’m late!”

And Mr. VCI rushes in with his white coat still hanging off his shoulders. The meeting is put to an abrupt pause as Jeonghan hastily walks up to his assigned seat, trying to explain the reason for his tardiness. “Our lab session took longer than expected,” Jeonghan huffs out, dragging out the chair next to him. “Dr. Han wouldn’t let us—”

“It’s common decency to enter the room and sit down quietly when you’re late so as to not disturb the ongoing meeting. Especially when you haven’t informed the body beforehand.”

Seungcheol flinches when he hears the interruption of your sharp tone. His head quickly snaps to your direction before gleaning Jeonghan’s reaction. His friend’s jaw tightens but he says nothing. That should’ve been the second sign.

“Mr. Chair, may we proceed with the reading of today’s agenda?”

He eyes you carefully and, with a hesitant drawl anchoring his tongue, proceeds with the meeting while Jeonghan quietly settles into his seat. “Mr. VCI, you may send your excuse letter later for record keeping. Anyhow, Mr. Secretary, please read to us the agenda for today’s meeting.” Wonwoo does as instructed. The problem is, Seungcheol can’t hear anything that he’s saying. Not when his seat is exceedingly uncomfortable at the moment.

It’s not his seat. It’s the two people cornering his seat that’s the problem.

Cold sweat breaks out from his forehead. The air is stuffy. You and Jeonghan lock eyes for zero-point-five seconds and there’s a chill in the atmosphere that only Seungcheol can feel. What the fuck is going on?

“Thank you Mr. Secretary. We’ll begin with the first agenda— SVT’s Orientation and Membership Training. Alright. As you all may know, this will be our organization’s first event for the academic year, thus I am expecting everyone’s undivided cooperation in making sure that this event will be a success. We have already discussed the initial details of the event during the previous meeting, and we also distributed the tasks to the officers and committees.” He flips through a page and clears his throat. “I believe our Vice Chair External was tasked to scout for the venue. Ms. VCE, have you prepared your presentation?”

You nod, rising from your seat. “Yes, Mr. Chair. I’ve prepared a comprehensive list of all our options.” Okay, Seungcheol breathes in through nose. You seem normal now. Maybe he was just overthinking things. “I ask for everyone’s assistance in distributing the copies.”

Seungcheol looks at the text written in bold when you pass a copy to him— SVT ORYE & MT 20XX: VENUE PROPOSAL. While everyone is passing the paperclip-bound photocopies to each other, you take the liberty to start speaking. “If you look at the second page, you can see the overview of the entire document. I’ve listed five possible venues and compiled their respective addresses, rates, inclusions, menus, and of course, pictures for your reference. We’ll look at each of them one by one, starting with—”

You pause. Jeonghan is raising his hand. Your eyebrow twitches. Seungcheol gets a bad feeling. “Yes, Mr. VCI?”

“Thank you for the acknowledgement,” he says. “I’d like to ask why exactly are all of these venues located in the mountains? Don’t we have other options? It would be fine if it were just us officers, but I believe holding the event in such terrains would be far too inconvenient for more or less a hundred people.”

A very bad feeling.

“I appreciate your insight,” you respond. Uh oh. Your smile is strained and Seungcheol knows it. That’s the smile you wear when you’re about to pulverize a representative for a disadvantageous partnership to the ground. “However, I’d like to bring to your recollection that the theme of this year’s Orye is traditional South Korean folklore. That considered, I came up with the judgment that the mountainous and forested areas would be the most appropriate and immersive venue if we wish to bring this concept to life. I hope that is clear, Mr. VCI. Anyway—”

“It’s still impractical, Ms. VCE.”

Your face stiffens.

Jeonghan just cut you off.

Shit, he just cut you off.

He stands up, leveling you from across the table. “What about our members with asthma? Heart problems? What if it rains on the day of the event? Do you expect everyone to climb up a mountain trail in all these conditions?”

“If you read through my document before inadvertently interrupting me, Mr. VCI, you’d know that three out of the five venues offer uphill transportation in order to get to the accommodations. And although I understand your reservations about the possibility of inclement weather, may I remind you that it’s also the driest season of the year. You’re being unreasonable.”

Fuck. Seungcheol thinks he needs to butt in but he can’t find the timing when there’s literally an invisible fucking electric fence deterring him from reaching the both you. He catches a glimpse of Joshua’s concerned eyebrows. ‘Do something,’ his friend’s eyes say. He’s about to until you drop a sentence that shoots the tension off the roof.

“Furthermore, I’ve surveyed all of the officers through text if they agree with my venue proposal and I was met with no objections. You’d know if you opened any of my messages last night, Jeonghan.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck, you called him by his first name.

You never call anyone by their first name. At least not during meetings and it’s very clear that this is a reason for alarm because everyone else’s eyes fly wide open. Except Jeonghan’s. He just looks pissed— mirroring your very own expression. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong and Seungcheol is slowly starting to realize that this argument isn’t just about the venue conflict.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat for the nth time, a wound might break open. “We will take our VCI’s concern into consideration. If you believe holding our Orye in the mountains is impractical, where do you suggest we should hold it instead?”

Jeonghan’s shoulders relax. He gives you a momentary look before settling back into his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Chair.” You do the same. Seungcheol breathes out a sigh of relief. “I’d like to suggest that we hold it by the beach and sea. Not only would it be more accessible, it would also be considerably cheaper considering there’d be no extra expenses for transportation up the hiking trail. There are also more options if we hold it on the beach. I already have contacts from last year’s set of events. We don’t have to worry about negotiations.”

Seungcheol nods in response. He’s about to say something but once again, he hears an unmistakable scoff from your direction. “Of course, you’d go for the low effort option.”

Oh no. Oh god, no.

Jeonghan’s eyes dart towards you. “What was that?”

Seungcheol doesn’t get paid enough for this shit.

“I’m just saying that it’s so like you to go for the easy way out.”

He doesn’t get paid for this at all.

“What are you trying to tell me here, Ms. VCE?” Jeonghan’s tone is getting more pointed, and the rest of the table are starting to pick up on what’s going on. Mingyu is slowly inching off of his seat and finding the right time to book it. Chan and Seokmin are nervously flitting their eyes back and forth between Jeonghan and you. Minghao hao stopped paying attention. He’s got his airpods on and scrolling through his phone.

“The sea is not theme-appropriate for our event, Mr. VCI,” you firmly press on. “There are myths and folklore that reference the sea and ocean, however as an introductory event for our organization we should defer from making far too uncommon references since most of our members are beginners to our advocacy.”

Vernon is about to be swallowed by his chair. Seungkwan has his face in his hands. Seungcheol’s phone vibrates and it’s a message from Wonwoo. Should I include all of this in the minutes? he asks. Seungcheol isn’t even sure if this argument is still about the venue.

“May I also add that beach events are overused. Everyone holds acquaintance parties, Christmas parties, sensitivity trainings at beaches and beach resorts. Should we follow that template, I doubt our event would be memorable enough for our members to remember.”

“Then it’d be the obligation of the program committee to make it memorable.” The said committee flinches upon hearing Jeonghan’s words. Joshua and Junhui don’t look like they agree with the additional burden. Jihoon’s forehead is wrinkling from secondhand stress. “We don’t need to sacrifice the affordability and accessibility of our location in order to hold a note-worthy event. And, may I also reiterate that we should consider our members with health problems, Ms. VCE.”

This is enough. This is probably enough. Maybe it’s time for Seungcheol to intervene.

“However, I understand,” Jeonghan continues. “I understand that it’s not easy for you to be considerate.”

But how the fuck is he supposed to do that when you two fucks won’t stop provoking each other?

“Oh, for god’s sake!” It’s hopeless. It’s gone out of control. Your voice has bordered on yelling ang Seungcheol himself is afraid of being caught in between. “Are you still mad about the cat thing?!”

What is the cat thing? What in the hell is actually going on?

“This is not about the cat thing and you know that.” There’s a ruffle in Jeonghan’s voice. He lets out a groan and throws his head back with his fingers digging into his hair. “Fuck. Let’s talk later.”

Yes. Yes, please just talk later so we can move on with the meeting.

“Did you just swear at me?”

Nevermind.

There’s a second silence. One second— until the corner of Jeonghan’s mouth twitches and he expels a huff of incredulity. It’s ominous. It’s a harbinger of uncomfortable destruction. “So swearing is crossing the line, but refusing to let me meet your parents and forcing us to keep this relationship a secret is completely justifiable?”

Well shit.

This meeting is done for.

Silence washes over the office once again. Wide eyes are being exchanged and not even Wonwoo is filling the tension with his incessant typing on the laptop. Chair, I don’t think I should include this part in the minutes, Seungcheol receives another message from him. Of course he shouldn’t. A relationship reveal isn’t part of the agenda. Neither is a breakup but he fears it’s teetering to that outcome.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s suffocatingly uncomfortable and Seokmin looks like he’s about to cry at any moment.

“Well,” you simmer. “I guess it’s not much of a secret anymore, isn’t it?”

“Damn.” Soonyoung receives an elbow from Jihoon. He gets hushed down very quickly to make room for another agonizing exchange between you and Jeonghan.

“Is that literally all you have to say? You’re so insensitive, it drives me fucking nuts. This is why it’s so hard to keep seeing you—”

“Oh, so you think I’m not having a hard time? If you can’t understand why I had to do that, then let’s just stop seeing each other!”

“Fine, I’m glad we’re on the same page this time.”

“Great!”

“Great.”

“Your clothes better be out of my closet by tomorrow.”

“Throw them away, I don’t need them.”

“I will! Thanks for the suggestion!”

Things have now gone beyond the point of salvation and he can’t even interject to formally end this disaster of a meeting.

“Mr. Chair, I apologize, but I’m afraid I will be leaving early today.” Oh, so now you remember his existence. You’re fuming, slinging over your shoulder bag and haphazardly collecting your things from the table, and Seungcheol simply massages his temples and nods in acknowledgement to your sudden leave. “Please go through the document at your discretion and I’ll be respecting whatever decision the body makes. Thank you and have a good day.”

Just like that, you’re gone. Jeonghan also starts collecting his things. “My phone lines are open in case you need anything. Goodbye.” With that, he also disappears with the harsh swing and slam of the door, leaving behind another blanket of uncomfortable silence for everyone else to drown in.

Seungcheol sighs. He feels a headache kicking in.

“So...are we having the event in the mountains or by the sea?”

He groans.

Is it too late to file a resignation?

*‎

The following week has been nothing less than hell for SVT (Seungcheol has yet to change to the org name. He’s getting there. Slowly. Fuck university bureaucracies). The Orye is fast approaching, so there are still a lot of matters to be settled— printing documents, processing permits, making calls. The venue dispute is yet to be settled. Mr. Chair instructed a team to check out the mountain and sea accommodations you and Jeonghan forwarded within the weekend to get a better feel of both options.

There’s still so much work, which honestly doesn’t pose a problem with Boo Seungkwan, one of the org’s information officers. He’s used to it, being a member of SVT since his freshman year and all. This workload is nothing to SVT. Nothing to you.

It’s almost like you’re a machine. Printing documents? You’re a one-woman printing shop. Processing permits? You’ve befriended all the office heads and one word from you will get the event approved. It’s basic shit. Completely rudimentary. Seungkwan has always been at awe with how you operate. But right now, the problem is not the work.

It’s the work environment that’s the problem.

“Can someone pass me the stapler?”

Your voice cracks into the tense silence in the office like a cold blade, causing Seungkwan to flinch and look up from his paperwork. The whirring of the printer fills in the void left behind by your voice, with Chan carefully organizing the freshly printed pages with tight lips. You’re met with no response. He locks eyes with Joshua. The stapler is beside Jeonghan, who’s running through the program for the event. They share a look of dread.

“Where is the stapler?” You look up from the table. The clear stiffening of your face upon noticing where the damned thing is forces knots into Seungkwan’s temples. Oh god. Here we go. “Nevermind.”

The stupid stapler skids across the table. It’s been transported from one end to your end. Jeonghan’s eyes are glued to his laptop when he slides it down. Jun is nervously hovering behind him. Seungkwan wants to throw up.

“Jun,” Jeonghan calls out. “How many steps does it take for you to get from one end of the meeting table to the other?”

“I—I’m sorry?”

“Can you try walking from here to the other end of the table?”

Jun is sweating. He hesitantly nods and slowly creaks away from his spot behind Jeonghan, cautious steps towards your end of the table. Three steps. All eyes are on him. Five steps. Seungkwan is not religious but he’s making the sign of the cross. Seven steps.

“Wow. Ten steps is easier and faster than I thought! Anyway, you can come back now, Jun. I have some questions regarding—”

Swoosh!

Something rockets through the air, missing Jeonghan’s face by a mere inch from its trajectory. Holy shit. It hits the wall behind Jeonghan and crashes into the floor. “My bad,” you announce. “I wondered how quick it’d be if I threw something from here to there. It’s definitely faster than just walking.”

Assault. That must be assault. This is insane. This is getting out of hand. Seungkwan can’t deal with this shit anymore.

“I can’t fucking deal with this shit anymore!”

As he says, the moment you and Jeonghan leave the office to attend your respective classes. Jun takes a hefty intake of air and everyone relaxes almost immediately. “Seriously. Why should we suffer because they can’t hold their relationship together?!” he fumes. “If they wanted to break up, they could’ve done it in private. I’m sick and tired of walking on pins and needles whenever both of them are around!”

Murmurs of agreement break out. If their Chair was here, they would’ve been scolded. Thank fucking god he’s at the admin office processing their name change. “This reminds me of the time my parents got divorced,” Soonyoung offhandedly mentions while fiddling through their budget plan.

Wonwoo narrows his eyes at him. “Wasn’t that also the time you started perceiving yourself as a tiger as a coping mechanism?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus christ.”

“I agree with Seungkwan,” Minghao announces. He had just finished sweeping up the shattered stapler from the ground. “I can’t keep up with them anymore. Whenever I’m with our VCE I have to talk shit about the other. Why don’t we just lock them up in a closet so they can fuck and make up?”

A grimace creeps into Chan’s face. “I abhor the image you’ve just supplanted into my mind.”

Minghao furrows his brows. “Who told you to imagine them having sex in our dirty storage closet? Weirdo.” Chan is unable to say anything back. “Anyway, how do we fix this? I have to meet with Jeonghan hyung for dinner and I’m running out of bad things to say about his ex-girlfriend.”

“I thought the plan was to lock them up in the closet?” Seokmin tries to clarify. They’re all actually considering it. Seungkwan is sure they have a death wish.

“You guys can’t be serious. Didn’t you see Vice Chair’s face when hyung walked into the room earlier? She looked like she was considering murder, I had the fucking chills. We are not locking them in a closet unless you all want it to end with a dead body in our office.” Seungkwan pauses. “Thirteen. Thirteen dead bodies if she finds out we orchestrated it.”

“Then what should we do?” Vernon asks. “Get one of them to resign?”

“No!” Soonyoung interjects. “I can’t deal with another divorce!”

Jihoon’s face contorts. “They aren’t your parents. You didn’t even know they were together until they broke up.”

“Still,” Seokmin joins in. “I don’t want any of them to leave SVT.”

Jun presses his lips together. “I think I saw her drafting a resignation letter earlier.”

There is silence. Then the dawning of realization. Then chaos erupts.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no way.”

“We can’t let that happen!”

“Let’s burn her letter before she can submit it!”

“Nobody let her near the office!”

They’re all behaving like idiots, but Seungkwan has to agree. There is without a doubt that even though your breakup has recently put the organization into an uncomfortably tight spot— SVT would be done for if either of you leave. Seungcheol hyung can’t shoulder everything by himself. The both of you are the bedrock of SVT’s internal and external affairs respectively. Resignation is out of the question.

“Heh. You’re all overlooking something.”

It’s a new voice. Seungkwan wondered when this fucker would speak up, and he’s making his entrance in a gratingly obnoxious way.

Mingyu is sitting on Seungcheol’s swivel chair in the latter’s absence. He slowly spins it around, facing the rest of the members with the pads of his fingers pressed together. “To fix a problem, we should find out the root cause first.” Seungkwan wants to hit him, but Mingyu looks like he’s onto something. “Nobody’s resigning. I have a plan.”

*‎

Jihoon didn’t want to have anything to do with this.

It’s not his business whoever from his orgmates are fucking around or have completely fucked their relationship. It’s not his business whether or not you and Jeonghan have the chance to get back together again.

“If your previous supplier didn’t scam us last summer, we wouldn’t even be out here right now.”

Yet that is exactly what he’s been tasked to do— to dig his nose into your business, on a hot day, while having to canvass printing shops in the district. But finding a replacement supplier for your org shirts is the least of his concerns at the moment because—

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: any update??? have you gotten through her yet?????]

How the hell is he supposed to fish out any information from you about your relationship with Jeonghan?!

“But these rates are seriously unreasonable. I’ll put this one on the table,” you say, ticking off a box from your checklist and Jihoon is sweating bullets. “What do you think, Hoon?”

Sure, you two work pretty well together and you praise his competence any single time you get the chance, but that’s the problem. You aren’t close. Your relationship is strictly professional. Hell, your text convo is nothing but org-related and Jihoon doesn’t fucking understand why he has to be the one doing this job when he can give less than two shits about the situation.

“Let’s check out the next place on the list first,” he replies. “I think the quality for this one is still better than the previous.

Dealing with someone else’s relationship problems wasn’t part of the job description when he got elected as treasurer. He’s got his own love life (or lack thereof) to worry about.

“Alright,” you reply with a deep exhale. It’s hot, and you’re getting tired. He’s also getting tired. Can’t you all just go home? “We’ll take a break first. Let’s continue after getting a drink, but where’s Mingyu? Did he get diarrhea or something?”

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: hyung status report plz.] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Hoshi: wow we sound like actual secret agents.]

Jihoon feels his head starting to hurt. “I’ll text him.”

“Thanks.”

Mingyu isn’t coming back. Not until Jihoon manages to get something out of you. According to Jun, you’ve branded him as ‘Jeonghan-allied’ (whatever the fuck that means), so there’s no way you’d be talking if that street lamp is hanging around. “They went to the same high school! I can’t trust bastards from Hyangnam anymore,” Jun quoted from you personally, and they all started wondering what your conjectured alignment for each of them is.

However, Mingyu is functionally obligated to tag along with your canvassing venture today because he’s SVT’s business manager and Jihoon has all your org money. You’re here because you can’t stay put unless you’re directly involved in the task. Mingyu asked permission to go to the bathroom earlier to give his comrade an opportunity. That was forty-five minutes ago. Jihoon still hasn’t gotten anything from you.

“It’s an emergency, he says. A big one. Gigantic.” Mingyu never said that. Jihoon’s phone is a black screen. “Public toilets aren’t trustworthy. He went to his apartment. He told us to continue without him.”

You grimace with the click of your tongue. “Gross. Those god damned Hyangnam bastards. Let’s go. I need something cold.”

Time is ticking, his phone keeps on buzzing, and Jihoon grows steadily more restless by the minute. You two finish ordering and pay for your two lemonades with SVT money. “It’s the least this damn org can do for us,” you say. He fears you might actually resign, and it doesn’t do his ever escalating nerves a favor. How does he do it? How does he bring up Yoon Jeonghan without invoking your fury?

“Jihoon,” you call out, and he flinches. “What’s wrong? You’ve been spacing out since this morning.”

You’re both sitting on the nice leather seats of the air-conditioned cafe. Being out of the heat seems to have bettered your mood. Maybe he can wiggle something out while you’re pacified by the lemonade and cool air.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat. His knees are shaking. Shit. This is harder than processing your cash advance for the fucking orientation. He needs to ease it in. To bring it up discreetly. “I never really suspected that you and Jeonghan hyung were dating.”

Regret comes instantaneously the moment the words fall out of his mouth.

So much for being discreet. Your face stiffens. Jihoon knows he fucked up badly.

“I—I mean, I’m not trying to comment on anything, I was just surprised to find out.” Dammit. Wrong move. He might get blacklisted like you did with Mingyu. He’s not panicking because their stupid operation might fail. He’s panicking because he’s gonna lose the bragging right of being on good terms with SVT’s intimidatingly unapproachable Vice Chair.

The ice in your drink clinks around. Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut and prepares for the worst.

“God. I can’t believe I dated him in the first place.”

Then he opens one eye. He sees you swirling your lemonade with one hand, the other used as a resting place for your chin before you take a sip from the straw and continue complaining. “I can’t stand him. I shouldn’t have let him sweet talk me into that first fucking date, that venomous bastard. His face is a weapon. I should’ve known better than to trust that face.”

Jihoon’s eyes are now fully opened. He discreetly pulls out his phone from his pocket— the device still constantly buzzing— and opens his recorder app all while his heart is nervously barrelling against his ribcage from the remnants of his fear. “Did he like—” Jihoon presses record, “—cheat on you or something?”

“What? No way. He’d never do that.”

“Then,” he continues prodding. “Why did you two break up?”

“Ugh,” you grunt, taking another long sip from your drink before slamming it down the table with a thunk. Jihoon flinches. He secures his phone underneath the table, checking if it’s still recording everything. “Don’t get me started. You don’t get it, Hoon. He’s just so—”

Jihoon never expected you to just lay down everything for him. You just continue pouring and pouring everything out like a fountain. A fountain of dirty laundry and too many swear words that his audio recording might get flagged if it gets uploaded online. This...was easier than expected.

*‎

Seokmin’s eyes are narrowed at his senior— zoomed in and in focus as the aforementioned finishes talking to a group of SVT’s new members. He’s taken a step back with a stack of flyers pressed to his chest. He can’t miss anything. He can’t miss a single thing.

“Thank you! I better be seeing your faces during the event, alright? Enjoy your lunch!”

Jeonghan is giving them the copy of the program for your upcoming Orye and MT. Freshmen. All women, as far as his eyes can tell, and they’re all giggling after his senior bids them off. He’s never seen Jeonghan hyung smile at you like that. In fact, he’s never even seen him wave at you goodbye like what he’s doing right now. Has he moved on? Oh no. This is bad. This plan might be ruined before they could even conduct an intervention.

“Seokmin, what’s wrong?” asks Jeonghan, snapping him out from the brink of a spiral of despair. “You don’t look too good. Is the weather too hot? Should we take a break?”

“N—no, I’m alright! Let’s keep going!” Seokmin needs to know if his hyung’s unnaturally sweet behavior was an isolated case. There’s not enough information in the air to make a solid conclusion.

“Well, I’m not alright,” Jeonghan grimaces. “The heat is unbearable. Let’s have lunch first, then we’ll continue. Go find us a good place to eat.”

A lump grows in Seokmin’s throat and he nervously swallows, watching as Jeonghan pulls out his phone and starts typing a message, to the SVT group chat probably to give them an update. Or to one of the girls he was talking to earlier. Shit. “Hyung, who are you texting?” he asks. Jeonghan responds with a pause, a suspicious smile, and tells him that ‘it’s a secret, hehe,’ and that he should hurry and look for a nice restaurant because he’s starving.

That wasn’t a helpful answer at all. Seokmin’s anxiety grows by the second. “What...what do you want to eat, hyung?” He should ask more questions later.

“You pick,” is Jeonghan’s reply with yet another grin that puts him ill at ease. “I’m placing my faith in you Seokmin. It better be a good place.”

There’s another lump in his throat. Oh god. This guy sure knows how to pressure people in the weirdest ways. And now instead of prodding around to figure out if his senior has indeed moved on or still has lingering feelings for you, he’s scrolling through his phone trying to look up a good restaurant— panic-stricken because god forbid he make a disappointing choice— while Jeonghan starts talking to another SVT member who just happened to pass by.

“We’re having it next month,” he overhears Jeonghan speaking, momentarily taking away his eyes from his phone just to see his hyung yet again looking and smiling at the org member with an alarming amount of sweetness pouring out of his eyes. “I’ll see you there?”

“Y—yes…!”

His observation is cut short by the buzz of his phone. A message bar pops up, covering the top of the screen and preemptively stopping his resto search.

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Seungkwan: seok, do we have updates??? jihoon hyung hasn’t gotten back to use since thirty minutes ago!!] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Minghao: I told you all this plan was hopeless] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: why is noona telling me to take herbal teas and drink lots of water?????]

“So, where are we eating?”

Seokmin’s bones rattle and the phone nearly jumps out of his hands like a live fish.

“Talking to people is tiring,” he hears his senior lament with a long sigh. “Seokmin-ah, you take over after lunch. Let’s go.”

Go where? He hasn’t picked a place yet! Why are there so many food places around campus?! Jeonghan quickly starts walking and, out of even more panic, Seokmin picks a random direction, robotically taking the lead, brain overheating and eyes spinning out of focus until muscle memory lands them across the street of a hotpot place he frequents, just a few blocks away from campus. “O—oh, haha! Hyung, we’re here! Let’s—let’s quickly get inside, yes—”

He stops upon the realization that Jeonghan isn’t following him along the crosswalk. When Seokmin turns his head back, he sees Jeonghan staring at the place with a dampened expression. His first thought is maybe Jeonghan hyung doesn’t like hotpot. His second thought is maybe he shouldn’t be stopping in the middle of the road, so he quickly pads back to the sidewalk.

“Hyung…? Are— are you not in the mood for hotpot? Should we go somewhere else?” Seokmin’s gut churns, devastated because he had just betrayed his hyung’s trust in finding an acceptable restaurant. What’s wrong with hotpot at Red House? Did he have a bad experience here? But his place is so good! He and Soonyoung and Jun hyung have been eating here twice a week, Wednesday and Saturdays, ever since you recommended the place to them as your favorite, and— oh.

So, that’s the problem.

You’ve probably eaten here with him too.

“No, no. We’re not going anywhere.” Jeonghan’s demeanor suddenly switches gears. He brushes past him with a sudden determined look, not looking back even when Seokmin calls after him.

“Hyung, I know another place nearby. We don’t have to—”

“Let’s get inside.”

Seokmin has no freaking idea how to dissect or interpret this reaction. Nervous steps follow his senior inside the restaurant, and a server welcomes them both and leads them to a table by the window. “Oh, you’re not here with your girlfriend today,” says the waiting staff after they’ve made their orders, and he sees Jeonghan visibly flinch in the middle of passing back the menu. Jeonghan simply responds with a stiff smile. Seokmin is sure that he had just screwed up big time.

Why did the server have to mention you? Why?! Now, he can’t help but look at the server with an utter look of betrayal as he sets the ingredients on the table. “Is...is there something wrong, sir?” asks the server with uneasy concern. Seokmin’s bottom lip juts out, shaking his head with a sniffle, and thanks the server with a weak voice and tone.

Jeonghan doesn’t appear to be faring any better. While waiting for the broth to boil, all Seokmin could do is soak up the steadily deflating expression of his hyung and worry that it might affect the taste of the food somehow. He was pretty sure Jeonghan is already over you, considering he seemed to be mildly flirting with the org members earlier and all. But now he’s not so sure. Not when his hyung is poking his chopstick into a block of tofu with a gut wrenching look of longing.

“Hyung...” Seokin makes an attempt. “I’m—I’m sorry for bringing you here, I didn’t know it was—”

“Seokmin-ah.” Jeonghan speaks along with the crank of the stove. “A gente world of advice: don’t bring up sensitive topics when the person you’re talking to has a weapon on him. You’re going to get in trouble.”

The sunlight leaking through the window gives a dangerous glint to the scissors Jeonghan is holding. Seokmin bites his tongue. Jeonghan cuts up the noodles and the two start eating quietly.

Seokmin loves eating. He really does. But this time, every bite tastes like hot sand, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get indigestion afterwards.

He swallows down another mouthful with the help of a glass of water, and as he’s trying to get the mix of meat and vegetables down his throat, the sound of utensils that were previously clattering suddenly stops. When Seokmin puts the glass down, he sees Jeonghan seasoning the warm broth with salt.

The natural salt that comes out of your eyes when you start crying.

Holy shit, his hyung is crying.

“Sorry, I just— haha, the soup’s a little spicy, right?”

No. No it’s not. They ordered chicken broth. The soup isn’t spicy at all.

“H—hyung…”

Seokmin’s eyes are now also starting to water. Oh no. Oh no, dear god, what has he done? He didn’t mean to bring him here and reawaken stashed away memories. All he wanted to do was find a good place to eat!

“Hyung, I’m so sorry.”

This was a mistake. They should’ve just had kimbap and ramyeon at the nearby 7-Eleven.

*‎

“So, let me get this straight. One of them did nothing but talk shit about the other for thirty minutes, and the other started crying because Seokmin brought him to her favorite restaurant.”

The SVT officers (minus their Chair and Vice Chars) have reconvened the next day at the office. Their upcoming event isn’t a priority right now. The only thing on the agenda is the problem with you and Yoon Jeonghan— to which Mingyu is trying to wrack his brains in coming up with something in light of their initial investigation.

“After listening to the recording Hoon sent, I don’t think she hates Jeonghan. She sounded like was just nitpicking in the heat of the moment,” says Jun. “If she’s still angry at him...maybe she isn’t over him yet? Maybe there’s still a chance?”

All eyes are on Jihoon, who witnessed your rant firsthand.

“I don’t know. All I can say is that she looked a little sad while talking about him. She didn’t add anything else beyond the recording.” It’s not like the recording was of any help. Most of it was just you calling Jeonghan a son of a bitch, a piece of shit, and so on, as well as a few tangents about Mingyu that he himself didn’t quite appreciate. He thought he was your favorite. Like, why are you assuming that he’s on Jeonghan’s side?! They weren’t even friends back in high school!

He spins the office chair in annoyance. To think he gave you a higher score than Jeonghan on your quarterly evaluation. Maybe he should ask Cheol to take it back.

“Well, if one of them is still on the hook, then there’s still a possibility that they can still get back together,” Wonwoo conjectures, eliciting murmurs of agreement from the rest.

“Does this mean we can finally lock them inside a fucking closet?”

“We are not locking them in a closet,” Seungkwan says. Minghao rolls his eyes at the dismissal. “We can’t do that. But we can bring in some forced proximity in a different way.”

Mingyu stops swiveling the chair. Why is Seungkwan looking straight at him? Wait. Why are they all looking straight at him? His throat tightens. He forces down a swallow. What, what, what’s the matter, why are they all looking at him?

“Oh no!”

Suddenly, Seungkwan starts a one-man drama. He exclaims, an arm jutting into the air before he lets the back of the loose hand drop onto his forehead, stumbling into Vernon who’s standing next to him.

“I just remembered I have a doctor’s appointment this Saturday— the same day where I’m supposed to accompany our Vice Chairs and Business Manager in checking out the venues! Oh no! I don’t think I can make it!”

Right. He along with Seungkwan, Chan, Jeonghan, and you are scheduled to evaluate each of the places on your list so that you can finalize the event venue. Not long after, Chan also breaks into a gasp, catching Seungkwan’s signal. “Oh my! I forgot I also, uh, have a thing on Saturday! What a bummer!”

“Then, I also—”

“No!”

Mingyu winces. He’s shocked. He’s appalled. He’s offended. Why is he being yelled at?! Wasn’t he supposed to go along with the other two? “You don’t have a thing on Saturday, Mingyu. You have to be there to make sure that things don’t go wrong!” Seungkwan tells him, and at first he understands. He’s goes ‘oh, right, of course, yeah, sure,” but the moment what that situation entails finally dawns upon him— the fact that he has to be stuck in between you and Yoon Jeonghan for at least ten hours, maybe more— his blood runs cold and his face pales. There’s no way in hell he’s dealing with that.

“Why me?! Why can’t Joshua hyung go?”

Joshua answers with an offended look of bewilderment.

“Hey, it’s your assignment,” answers Jihoon. “And it was your idea to try and get them back together again. You have the moral obligation to make sure this shit actually works.”

There is no hope to get out of this. They adjourn the meeting and everyone starts filtering out the office— not without giving him looks of sympathy and pats on the back before leaving. “Good luck,” Wonwoo says in passing. Vernon sends him a salute before closing the door. Damn him and his meddling ass. He should’ve just let your relationship die out for good.

The day of reckoning comes. It’s five in the morning at the campus parking lot, you and Jeonghan on the opposite ends of his car, and Mingyu already wants to tuck himself in bed for the day. You’re tapping your feet in impatience, looking at your phone with a glare, while Jeonghan pockets his phone with a sigh and welcome’s himself into the front seat of Mingyu’s car with a distinct slam. You huff and do the same into the backseat.

Shit. This might actually be his last day on earth. Mingyu hurries into the driver’s before either of you yell at him to get moving.

“Tell Boo Seungkwan and Lee Chan that they’re getting sanctioned for this,” grits Jeonghan. Mingyu closes the door and prepares himself for an inevitable six to eight hours of hell.

“The kids are sick and you want to penalize them?” you interject from the back. Mingyu notices Jeonghan’s jaw clench. He shuts his eyes tight and whispers a few prayers. “You’re abusing your authority, Mr. VCI. Cut them some slack.”

“Negligence of duty. Section one under General Prohibitions,” rebuts Jeonghan, making eye contact with you through the front view mirror. “Failure to inform ahead of time the inability to do a task or assignment delegated to them shall be considered an act of negligence on the part of the officer. I’m not abusing any authority, sweetheart. I am acting well within my functions. It’s too early for this kind of—”

Silence drops. So does the temperature in the car which at this point feels like negative fourteen degrees. Jeonghan stifles a cough and rolls down the window for air. You look down and flit through the pages of the document you brought. Mingyu’s grip on the steering wheel tightens and he wants to cry.

“Can we go now? Please? We have six places to visit and I really don’t want to be driving until midnight.”

“We can rotate,” you tell him. “Let’s switch drivers after every location.”

Something tells Mingyu that if he lets your explosive temper behind the wheel, this will not only be the last he’ll be seeing of his cherished car that his parents got him as a gift for his twenty-first birthday, but this will also be the last he’ll be seeing of this mortal realm as well.

“No, haha, it’s okay,” he answers, finally starting the engine. “You two have been working really hard for this event so the least I can do is drive.”

“Well, alright. But there better be no more emergencies like last time.”

Mingyu still doesn’t know what you mean by that. Nor does he know why you’ve been giving him herbal teas and digestive supplements. Anyway, the three of you finally hit the road and proceed to your first stop— all the way to Daecheon, which will take about an hour if traffic grants them kindness. Jeonghan rolls the windows back up at some point because besides the ice-cold tension between the both of you, it really is getting cold, and the sky has been cloudy since earlier, and the weather app is telling him that there’s a twenty percent chance of rain. Literally all odds are stacked against him today.

He does live long enough to get through three venues, thankfully. The first one, near Daecheon beach, you complained that the rooms were stuffy and Jeonghan told you to sleep by the ‘goddamned beach if you wanted to feel extra fresh.’ The second beach location couldn’t accommodate your amount of people. The third one— the hanok-style villa in Gyeongsang which you’ve just finished surveying and which Mingyu thought was really nice— Jeonghan said that there’s too many bugs for it to be conducive. You told him to wear a mosquito net ‘you fucking princess,’ while walking back to the car. At this point, it’s already past four in the afternoon. The eleven hours of being trapped in a car with your ex-boyfriend is probably finally getting to your head.

“You really could care less about your members’ well being as long as we do what you want, don’t you?”

“I wasn’t bitten by a single mosquito there. You’re just making problems up to discredit my—”

It’s getting to Mingyu’s head, too. One more minute in this enclosed space with the both of you and he’s jumping out the window.

“Anyway, let’s head to the next location,” you say with a sigh. “Woodland Springs Resort. Luckily, it’s only an hour away.”

Mingyu’s knuckles twitch on the steering wheel. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

He catches your face through the mirror, brows furrowed with a frown. “Mingyu, let me drive this time. You’ve been at it for hours.”

“She’s right. Go sit in the back, we can take over.”

He has. He’s tired and annoyed and exhausted by the constant fear that you two might actually make a murder scene out of his precious car, that he’s pretty sure that him driving would soon become a road-risk. It would be fine, right? You two have probably expelled your energy, anyway. Or at least about to. Worst case scenario is that Jeonghan hyung pisses you off and you’d expertly crash the car in a way that would only kill him and leave you two alive.

“Okay,” Mingyu weakly breathes out. “I’m gonna rest my eyes for a bit.”

He opens the car and gets out. So do you. So does Jeonghan. The three of you are out of the car. The math isn’t mathing.

“What are you doing?” you ask Jeonghan.

“I’m taking the wheel,” he simply says, already making his way over to the other side of the car.

“What are you talking about, Mingyu was talking to me.” You’re fast. Fast enough to swat away Jeonghan’s hand from the door handle to the driver’s seat. Jeonghan tightly presses his lips together and releases a huff of air. You look at him with sharp eyes with no intention of moving. Mingyu is literally, physically, and positionally caught in between this shit and he wishes he should’ve just floored it.

“I’m driving,” Jeonghan asserts. “You look barely awake, yourself. Do you plan on crashing us or something?”

The worried undertone completely flies over your head. “Are you saying I’m a bad driver?” Mingyu really doesn’t want to witness this argument at this proximity right now. Jeonghan sighs and digs into his hair.

“No, I just want you to—”

Cr—ack! Boom!

Suddenly, there’s thunder.

And when there’s thunder, there’s rain.

Pshhhhhhh!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hurry and get in, let’s go—”

Mingyu really wanted to yell at that moment. Thankfully, the sky beat him to it.

It starts pouring. The three of you scramble back into the car.

All things considered, you all decided that it’d be too dangerous to stay on the road, taking into account the weather and exhaustion and all, so you looked for a nearby inn through Google Maps and Jeonghan drove you there (yes, he won in the end and you’re still bitter in the backseat).

Boom! Another round of thunder, and the rain just continues to pour harder and harder. At this rate, you guys won’t be able to check out the rest of the locations today. Meaning, his prison sentence is bound to be extended. God freaking dammit. Mingyu continues to bitterly lament while rushing into the cabin inn. The door jingles upon entry. He lets out a sigh of relief upon being saved from the rain.

“Hi, good evening! Do you still have any rooms available?”

You’re there at the front desk doing your thing, being the externals head and all, while he and Jeonghan wait behind, damp and uncomfortable. He can see his hyung getting more and more impatient by the second, tapping his wet soles against the wooden flooring with his arms crossed. Mingyu can only sigh and hope to take a meditative shower soon, once you’ve booked the three of your rooms.

“Ah, yes,” says the lady behind the front desk. She looks at you, then spares a glance at him and Jeonghan in all their soggy glory, before flitting her eyes back at you. Okay what the hell. He knows they look terrible right now, but that was just rude. “Will it be for the three of you? Unfortunately, we only have one room left available, ma’am, peak season and all, and it’s only good for two people.

“That’s fine, we’ll take—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Judgemental Front Desk Lady interrupts. “I meant a maximum of two people can occupy the room. It’s our policy.”

Well that’s stupid. The hell were you guys supposed to do, then? Run back to the car, get even more wet in the process, and look for another place to stay in this stupid weather? Mingyu can practically see a vein throbbing on the back of your head. He catches your shoulders lift and drop along with an exhale, a momentary pause before you respond. “Can’t you make an exemption? The weather is terrible outside and we really need a place to stay for the time being.”

Mingyu decides to look over and see how the other ticking time bomb is faring, but when he leers over to the side, Jeonghan is no longer beside him. Wet footsteps against wooden floors can be heard. He snaps his head back to the front desk and sees his hyung walking up to you— placing his arm around your freaking waist when he lands next to you, and alarm bells suddenly go off in Mingyu’s head.

“Babe, what’s the problem?”

Goosebumps prick all over his body.

What.

What the fuck?

“What’s wrong?”

Mingyu rubs his eyes, thinking that he just saw (and heard) wrong, but no. Yoon Jeonghan has indeed reigned claim over your waist. The fuck? He refocuses into your expression, expecting you to look disgusted and send a kick to his hyung’s shin, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, you flash a look at Jeonghan, then back to the receptionist, peering down at the desk surface where her hand is resting, before looking back up at Jeonghan and nudging yourself closer to him with a sigh. What in the everloving fuck is going on?

“They’re saying that only two people can stay inside the room,” you lament. “This trip really isn’t working out for us. After our disaster of a honeymoon, the last thing I thought would happen was for us to get stranded in Gyeongsang in the middle of a storm.”

“Let’s just go look for another place to stay, sweetheart.”

“But it’s pouring outside! I can’t let you drive in the weather. It’s too dangerous.”

Honeymoon? What? What the hell is this improv sketch? Why the fuck is his hyung giving you the lovestruck eyes and why are you letting him look at you with lovestruck eyes? Why are you lovestruck-eyeing him back?

“Oh, you’re newlyweds?” asks the receptionist, and Mingyu didn’t think his eyebrows could scrunch up any further until he heard Jeonghan agree.

“We just got married last week,” he says with a sickeningly sweet tone.

“How lovely!”

“Actually, we just came back from our honeymoon at Geoje Island,” you add. “It’s a long trip, and we wanted to get home as soon as possible, but that...wasn’t exactly an option for us.” Suddenly, you turn your head back to look at him. Now, you’re all looking at him. Why are you all looking at him? This is fucking scary.

You lean into Jeonghan and whisper something into his ear. A look flashes on Jeonghan’s face. He doesn’t like this look.

“Brother, can you please give us a moment?”

There’s a pause. Mingyu’s mouth is hanging slightly ajar and he hesitantly points to himself. Brother? Me? Jeonghan nods and smiles and returns his attention back to you and the receptionist. The three of you are talking about something. In a significantly lower volume. While sending him looks of remorse in between. What the hell are you two bullshitting about now?

Not long after, Mingyu sees the lady drop a room key into your hands and sends you off with a smile. “Second floor. Thank you, and have a great evening!”

“Thanks!”

Mingyu isn’t exactly sure what just happened or how it happened, but at least you have a place to stay for the night? When the three of you hike up the stairs and spot the room with 203 labeled on the door, Mingyu decides that he needs to know what you fuckers talked about. “How did you do it?” He blocks the door before you could open it. “I thought only two people could use this? How did you get us the room?” Jeonghan and you exchange a look before relenting.

“Your fiance called off your engagement and you were so depressed that you followed us all the way to our Geoje,” you blankly respond.

“Our parents are on vacation so you couldn’t go to them. We were kind enough to let you third wheel on our honeymoon,” adds Jeonghan. Mingyu blinks. “But on the way back it started raining, so we’re stuck here for the moment. We noticed a wedding ring on Soonja’s finger, so it was pretty easy to get her sympathy.

Soonja. You even know the lady’s name, holy fuck. At least that explains the pitiful looks sent his way. But Mingyu is still very much perturbed. The hairs on his arms are still standing. “You two are con artists,” is all he can say back.

You roll your eyes and toss the key to him. “Hey, it got us the room.”

“Right,” Mingyu grunts, catching it mid-air. “You’re both so good at lying, even I’m starting to think you’re still married.”

The doorknob clatters open. You and Jeonghan quickly jump away from each other, and Jeonghan loses the steady hold he had around your waist since earlier. Mingyu stifles a grin. The alarm and embarrassment on both of your faces makes this day’s worth of stress all worth it.

“Hurry up and get in! I need a shower and a change of clothes, gosh.”

Fortunately, you three prepared extra articles of clothing for the trip, having anticipated sweat from the heat instead of getting pissed on by the rain clouds. Unfortunately, Mingyu lost at rock paper scissors so he gets to shower last. “There’s a drying rack in the bathroom,” you tell them upon exiting, a towel to your head before plopping down on the bed next to the window.

When Mingyu finishes showering, he hears you and Jeonghan arguing over something again. Cheol’s voice can be heard somewhere too. Upon re-entering the room, he spots you two occupying the floor right by the bed, a laptop sitting on the mattress that’s showing a very tired Seungcheol trying to cut in between your yelling.

“In hindsight, I think the beach in Daecheon is our best option. The kids can run around more freely there.”

“No, you were right about the mountains. The hanok-style villa is better suited for our event theme. We can just add bug repellent to our budget plan.”

“Listen to me for a second—”

“You’re the one who’s not—”

“This could have been an email,” says Seungcheol’s choppy voice thanks to the shitty reception. Yeah. Mingyu isn’t dealing with this. Over twelve hours of being a third party to your arguments is already enough, thank you very much. He drops down the unoccupied bed, already getting comfortable, and uses the nonstop swearing next to him as a lullaby.

Weird enough, it’s an effective lullaby because Mingyu slept like a rock. He yawns, stretches out of bed thanks to the early morning light through the curtains waking him. It’s clear out. The windows have watery dots painting it from the aftermath of the rain.

It’s pretty outside, Mingyu notices, but there’s something more eye-catching than the pretty natural scenery of the mountainside.

The laptop is still on and laying on the bed, pushed further to the edge with a low battery notification obscuring the open document of the event’s program that he’d seen Jeonghan preparing in the car yesterday. But what’s occupying most of the mattress is the both of you— you and Jeonghan— with your printed documents scattered around, surrounding a sight that he probably isn’t meant to see.

You’re laying on Jeonghan’s arm as a pillow, face turned to the side and slightly tucked into chest. Jeonghan’s chin is buried into the top of your head, his legs tangled with yours and the blanket has been kicked off the side. The morning light is showering the both of you like a spotlight. Mingyu snaps a picture. The kids are gonna eat this shit up.

*‎

It’s the day of the event, and Choi Seungcheol has not slept a wink since last night.

There were some last minute things he needed to take care of. Game props, printouts, and powerpoint presentations he forgot to quality check until ten in the evening. Grocery shopping for snacks, and an error in the bus booking. The works. But none of that matters now. They’ve all been settled, everyone has made it to the hanok villa in Gyeongsang in one piece with no asthma attacks nor heart related concerns occurring, and not once had you and Yoon Jeonghan argued ever since last night.

To be honest, it’s freaking him out a little. He wasn’t the only one who had to pull an all-nighter. His two Vice Chairs had to suffer with him too and the both of you have been extremely civil to the point of unease. It’s weird. It’s eerie. Like right now, as you two are welcoming the lines and lines of members in hanboks and traditional attire with matching smiles and pleasantries. You run out of program printouts and ask Jeonghan if he has any left, he gives you a stack, and the exchange ends without even a scoff, a swear, a mock, or even a look of derision.

This is...ominous, to say the least. It’s like the calm before the storm. Choi Seungcheol cannot rest easy.

“What the fuck is going on with them?”

It seems like he isn’t the only one who’s noticed. Currently, it’s lunchtime. They’d just finished presenting the constitution, bylaws, and internal rules and regulations of the organization. Now, they’re queueing up the kids to the food table.

Among the ushers are you and Jeonghan. Standing next to each other. You aren’t arguing but you aren’t talking to each other either. Joshua is the one who brings it up to the small group preparing the drinks right now— him, Soonyoung, and Vernon. If Joshua doesn’t know the reason for your sudden civility, then no one does. Junhui gets interrogated too, but he provides no answers, only confusion. “Wow. Wild,” is all Jun remarks. They have no idea if you two have made up, have settled your differences, have gotten back together, or all of the above.

It’s fucking with him, especially after weeks of being perpetually on the edge because of your cold war. Seungcheol calls Mingyu to a corner while everyone else is in the midst of preparing for the next part of the program. Mingyu jogs over, mildly scared and mildly confused.

“Hyung,” he calls out. “What’s up?”

“Our two Vice Chairs,” Seungcheol starts. He looks over at the center field where the members are sitting. Chan and the rest are still handing out the paper slips. He can still interrogate Mingyu. “You went with them for location scouting. Did something happen between them?”

Mingyu looks taken aback. “Uh.” He stiffens. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him.

“Kim Mingyu.”

“Define ‘something,’” Mingyu delays.

Now, this is suspicious. He definitely knows what that something is. Choi Seungcheol isn’t gonna let him off without squeezing the information out of him. “I don’t know,” he huffs. “Anything that could explain why they’re acting like—”

Seungcheol points in a direction. Mingyu’s eyes follow the trajectory, and his gaze lands on a very alarming scene: Yoon Jeonghan sitting on one of the monoblocks, Yoon Jeonghan seeing you pass by, Yoon Jeonghan standing up, Yoon Jeonghan stopping you with a tap on your shoulder, Yoon Jeonghan offering his seat to you, Yoon Jeonghan leaving the scene and busying himself with some other task, after you had taken his seat.

“Like that?”

Mingyu is now sweating. “Uhhhh,” he hesitantly drawls. Then his eyes dart around. Until he spots Seungkwan pass by with a stack of boxes. “Can I talk to my lawyer first?”

“Mingyu.”

“Let’s—let’s—let’s get back to work, hyung! I have to go—”

He attempts to chase Kim Mingyu down. Attempts. Because Mingyu suddenly has the speed of a track and fielder and drags Seungkwan away into the accommodation building, the hanok, and he’s suddenly pulled back by Chan, who’s holding a box containing two or three small pieces of folder up papers. “Hyung,” Chan starts. “It’s your turn to pick.”

Seungcheol furrows his brows. Drat. Kim Mingyu has escaped. “Pick what?”

“Your manito. Duh,” Chan answers. It’s the box he’s been passing out since earlier— a box filled with the names of all the attendees and whoever you pick out, you’re tasked to take care of them throughout the entire trip and pay them special attention. For relationship building, according to Jeonghan, when he pitched the idea. Seungcheol is aware of this mini activity, but he didn’t know he’d be participating. He stares at the remaining three papers. “Hurry up. I still have to give the rest to Seungkwan and Mingyu hyung.”

“Show me some respect,” he scolds, picking out a random name. “They ran inside. Storage, I think.”

Chan hums in acknowledgement and takes the box away. When he’s left, Seungcheol rolls open the piece of paper. Looking at the members gathered around the field right now (who are listening to the intermission number prepared by Seokmin and Jihoon) he notices that a few of the kids are already getting pretty chummy. He sighs, pretty sure that he picked out a new member that’s most probably three years younger than him. How is he supposed to overcome the generation gap? Won’t the kid find it weird if this old man suddenly starts acting close?

Much to his initial relief, a familiar name greets him. Yours, in big bold letters. That’s...that’s pretty doable. His favoritism for you is already blatant to the point that Soonyoung gets jealous. You’d been working hard since, well— the moment you’ve been a member of fucking SVT. He can just tell you to sit and rest and transfer your tasks over to the other guys.

“Hey.”

Seungcheol calls out to you, who’s sitting on the seat Jeonghan gave away earlier. Seokmin and Jihoon are hyping up the crowd (mostly Seokmin), but you’re hunched over in your seat, massaging your temples while looking over a document. “Chair,” you snap up, visibly tired and stressed (and unrested, by the way). “A few members are absent, so the number of members for each group for the team building later are mismatched. Should we keep it as is, or should we transfer some of them?”

A pang of guilt hits him. Christ, he’s been taking advantage of your competence and diligence. “Transfer, but leave that list with me. I’ll take care of it.” He lays a hand on your shoulder, urging you to go rest inside one of the hanoks for now. “You didn’t even nap on the bus. Go get some sleep. I’ll ask one of the guys to wake you before team building.”

You look up at him, smiling. Oh, his poor successor. He’s been overworking you to the bone. “Will do, Chair. Thanks.”

He mirrors your smile, watching fondly as you walk into one of the houses. It’s all warm and sweet. Until it’s not.

Seungcheol jolts. He feels a chill run down his spine. What the fuck?

He whips his head around, startled by the sudden cold flash. Then, from a few feet away, he spots Jeonghan, preparing the multicolored handkerchiefs for the team building, but has stopped arranging them by color because he is glaring daggers at him. Hello? What in the world? He’s about to approach, but then he staggers in his steps upon seeing you pass by Jeonghan’s station.

Jeonghan stops working, circling from behind the station to say something to you. You say something back— something that’s enough to tighten Jeonghan’s expression, and Seungcheol knits his brows. He can’t hear what you two are talking about, but he’s pretty sure it’s an argument. Oh god. It is an argument. You’ve got your angry face on and Jeonghan is raking his hair. Oh no. You two have been so well-behaved. You’ve been getting along so, so well lately. Is he at fault for ruining your peace?! How was he supposed to know your ex-boyfriend is a jealous bastard?! He was just doing his task and being nice to you!

“There goes all our progress.”

Seungcheol snaps his head back to see Jun. He’s sipping on a juice box, a leftover from lunch. There’s a good amount of disappointment in his face. “Pro—progress?”

Junhui pulls down the juice from his mouth, shaking his head. “Hyung. You’ve ruined everything.”

Now, what the fuck is this cryptic bullshit? Jun just walks away, leaving even more crumples in Seungcheol’s brain. Seokmin and Jihoon’s performance is about to end, the mic screeches, and an applause breaks out, but he’s still debating on what to do. Should he pry information out of Jun? Or run after the both of you? However, he gets to do neither because at the end of the intermission, Seokmin does something off-course.

He’s supposed to pass the mic to Seungkwan by now, to announce the short break before team building. But Seungkwan isn’t here, and Seokmin is still holding the mic, and the crowd is still cheering. He meets eyes with Seokmin onstage. A bad feeling hits his gut. And since the breakup meeting that happened a few weeks ago, Seungcheol has learned that whatever his gut is feeling is unquestionably correct.

“The show isn’t over yet! Let’s give it up to our dependable, hot, and arguably aging Chairperson— Choi Seungcheol! Woohoo!”

This.

This was not part of the program that he remembers approving.

“Choi Seungcheol! Choi Seungcheol! Choi Seungcheol!”

This was definitely not part of it at all.

“Again, give it up for Mr. Chair!”

Illit’s Magnetic, Viviz’s Maniac, and KIOF’s Midas Touch later (with his face mimicking a red and ripe cherry), Seungcheol was finally allowed off the stage. “Wow! That’s our Chair, everybody! Who knew he was hiding this kind of charm?” Seungcheol wants to die. Seokmin’s voice is cheery in the microphone, but his officer suddenly turns his face away from the mic to whisper something to him. “Hyung,” Seokmin’s voice is suddenly grave. “I got a text from Seungkwan. He says he can’t find the VCs.”

Oh, fuck this. He’s going to kill himself.

“Tell—tell the kids we’re gonna have some free time first before proceeding to the team building.” Seokmin nods. Seungcheol’s face is still very very hot, but he swallows the embarrassment aside for now to deal with this problem. You and Yoon Jeonghan can’t just disappear. You’re both leading two teams for the games. Well. Maybe he can give you a pass, but Jeonghan is still needed out there. He feels unreasonably wronged by him too for that glare earlier.

Seungcheol marches into the hanok. He spots an equally stressed looking Seungkwan inside the living area. Mingyu and Jihoon are there, too. So are Joshua, Vernon, and Chan. Why are they all here? They’re supposed to be preparing for the team building. These kids are slacking.

He’s gonna give them an earful later. For now, there’s a bigger issue to solve. “Where are the two?”

“We don’t know!” Seungkwan exclaims. “We’ve been looking for them too.”

He hears a sniffle come from one of them. It’s from Soonyoung. “The last I’ve seen them, they were arguing.” Seungcheol gulps. Maybe…by any chance…that may have been his fault? “This happened with my parents too. And they came back with divorce papers.”

“Stop projecting your unresolved familial trauma onto them,” Jihoon sighs. “They aren’t your parents.”

“I’ve sent a text to Wonwoo and Minghao hyung,” Vernon brings up. “Maybe they’ve seen them.”

At that moment, Minghao enters the living area. Seven heads snap to his direction. Minghao stops in his tracks. “What?” He looks awfully relaxed, not looking as though he had just dealt with two ex-lovers who say they hate each other and that it’s over, but have too much sexual tension for their assertion to be believable. In fact, he looks quite at peace. Satisfied, even. Accomplished. This is fucking suspicious. “Isn’t it time for the team building activities?”

“Hao,” Seungcheol starts. “Have you seen the two Vice Chairs?”

Minghao looks at them. There’s a pause of anticipation. There’s literally no reason for this suspense build-up. “Oh,” Hao exhales. Why are they all waiting for the pin to drop? “I did.”

What they hear next, they never could have been prepared for.

“I locked them in a closet.”

The pin has dropped.

Seungcheol is the first to speak up.

“You...you what?” he starts. “Come again?”

“They were arguing,” Minghao shrugs. “I got annoyed.”

Seungkwan’s mouth is hanging open. “You— you got annoyed,” he stammers. “So you…”

“Locked them in a closet,” Minghao finishes. “Yeah.”

It doesn’t hit them at first. Then it does. It hits them hard.

They all exchange looks. In a matter of soundless seconds, they immediately run to the direction Minghao just came from. What does he mean he locked you and Jeonghan in the closet, why would he lock you two in the closet, locking you two in the closet is a recipe for shit-eating disaster, does he want Yoon Jeonghan to fucking die?

“Shit, what if Jeonghan hyung is dead?”

At least they’re all on the same page. They come to a screeching halt upon reaching the room at the end of the hallway, but there is no sign of either of you. The only semblance of humanity within the vicinity is Wonwoo, who is sitting at a table, headphones on, laptop open, and typing without a care in the world.

Seungcheol’s eyes dart around the room. Closet. Closet. There’s an indication of a sliding door at the opposite wall. He walks up to it, hesitantly with shaky steps, his heart hammering against his chest. The others inch behind him in caution. Sweat starts trailing down from his forehead. He reaches out for the handle, one hand outstretched, and then—

“I wouldn’t open that if I were you.”

Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the tension. He freezes. They all look back at the man by the desk, unaffectedly writing his documents, the sound of keyboard clicking filling the gaps in the air. “Why?” Seungcheol chokes out. Thunk. Their heads snap back to the closet. He feels Soonyoung clutch him from behind.

“There was yelling from in there until a moment ago,” is Wonwoo’s simple answer. “I think they’ve moved on to something else.”

Another tense pause fills the room. “Who...who was yelling?” Jihoon raises. “What kind of yelling? Why didn’t you check if anything was wrong?”

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose, momentarily taking his eyes off from the laptop to give their huddled group a look of disgust. “And risk walking in on them making out or something? No, thanks.” Then resumes what he’s doing. They all look at each other. Surely, that can’t be the case, right? You’ve got more pride on your shoulders than to fold for Yoon Jeonghan just because of some contrived forced proximity. It’s more likely that you’ve found an opportunity to strangle him. To kill him in cold blood. Which is why they’ve all run here out of concern right now.

“Why would there be yelling if they’re making out?!” Mingyu exclaims, concerned.

“I don’t know the kind things they’re into,” Wonwoo leers at them. “And frankly, I don’t want to know.”

“Then...what are you doing here, hyung?” Vernon prods. “Of all places.”

Once more, Wonwoo stops typing to grace them with an answer. “This is the only spot with good reception.” This feels like a fever dream. Seungcheol does not know what to do. His attention is directed back to the closed closet door, hearing another...thud coming from within. He locks eyes with Seungkwan. And then Mingyu. And then Jihoon. Holy shit. In his four years of Chairmanship over SVT, this, by far, has been his biggest obstacle yet.

The officers before him never warned him about this. What exactly is the best course of action here? What would result in the least amount of emotional, mental, and physical repercussions? Leave the door alone? Unlock it and witness horrors untold? There’s still an event they have to manage. Seokmin is probably freaking out outside right now. Yet here they are, watching the unmoving and locked closet door with uncertainty and caution, like it’s an oracle that will show them the way, that will give them a command to do something. Anything. And, much to their surprise and horror—

“Mr. Chair.”

It does.

“Would you please unlock the door?”

The oracle is wearing the sound of your voice? No, wait. It is your voice. From behind the door. “Holy shit,” he hears one of them hiss out from behind. Holy shit indeed. Seungcheol knows better than to test your temper. Quickly, he reaches out for the handle, clicks it open, and a force stronger than his slides the door gaping and completely open, revealing the dark and until interiors of the closet.

You emerge from the darkness. So does Jeonghan. Alive. Unstrangled. Maybe? That’s up for debate because there are some visible marks on his throat. Seungcheol pretends not to see.

“W—welcome back…?” Soonyoung hesitantly drawls out. You walk out from the closet, Jeonghan trailing behind you slightly from behind. You’re both still wearing the in theme hanboks, but the fabrics are clearly disheveled. And loose. And Jeonghan is hooking his fingers on the hand lagging behind you. And looking at the back of your head with a concerning amount of heart eyes.

You don’t mention a thing about it. “I believe we are behind schedule,” you simply say. “Team building, right? Let’s head off to our posts now.”

They don’t say anything about it either. Seungcheol clears his throat, creaking his body back to the direction of escape. “Y—yes. Everyone is waiting.” The rest follow. You all exit the area except for Wonwoo, who’s still doing his work. When Seungcheol turns back to check on you two— you know, just in case— he immediately regrets it.

Jeonghan is still a step behind you. But he leans slightly forward, dipping his head down to reach your ears. His mouth moves, whispering something. A silent laugh cracks through your features. A laugh. Not once has laughter occurred since the beginning of this predicament. Not a. Single. Instance. You bump your elbow against Jeonghan’s chest. Jeonghan continues to move behind you with a thin smile on his face.

He sees nothing. They see nothing. They leave the house. They immediately scatter to inhale fresh, free air.

“Hyung! Oh my god where have you guys been?! The members are waiting!”

An unspoken agreement was formed. There will be no further mention about this occurrence. Not a single word.

*‎

“TODAY IS SEPTEMBER 27, 20XX. THE MEETING WILL NOW PLEASE COME TO ORDER. Mr. Secretary, please call the roll.”

“Yes, Mr. Chair. Please say ‘present and voting’ once your name is called to be acknowledged.”

It’s the first Executive Board meeting after SVT’s Orientation and Membership Training. The agenda for today is just a feedbacking session on the said event. Seungcheol yawns, not bothering to cover it up with the clipboard and Seungkwan sends him a dirty look for it. Wonwoo carries on with the roll call, one after the after stating their attendance for the meeting today. It’s the same routine for the most part. Seungcheol glances at the empty spaces on both his left and right. He taps on the table with a pen impatiently.

“Secretary, yours truly, present and voting,” Wonwoo drones one. The two seats are still empty. Seungcheol digs his pen into the wooden surface. “Vice Chairperson-External?”

No answer. Wonwoo continues.

“Vice Chairperson-Internal?

Still no answer. Wonwoo continues.

“Chairperson, Mr. Chair?”

“Present,” Seungcheol gruffs. God damn it, where the hell are you and Jeonghan? This feels like a rerun of their group traumatic experience last week. “Proceed.”

“Yes, Mr. Chair. There are twelve out of fourteen officers present. We are in quo—”

The door swings open.

You and Jeonghan enter in a hurry.

“We’re sorry we’re late!”

Again. Seungcheol feels the horrible, wrinkly slap of deja vu. His eyes follow while you and Jeonghan rush to your seats, out of breath and in a hurry. Joshua has stopped flicking origami frogs on the table. Seokmin and Mingyu pause in between chair spins. Junhui’s mouth is glued to the latte straw while darting his eyes wide back and forth, between you and Jeonghan. And Minghao cannot be bothered by any more relationship problems.

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Fourteen out of fourteen officers present, Mr. Chair,” he amends.

“Yes, thank you,” Seungcheol sighs out. “Seeing that we are in quorum, it is now legal for us to conduct business. Mr. Secretary, will you please read to us the agenda for today’s meeting?”

Much to his surprise, the meeting proceeds quite...smoothly. Wonwoo reads out the agenda. No objections. They start the feedbacking session. No problems. The incident with the closet is not even mentioned. Not once. Not even a hint despite the shared knowing looks when Seungcheol asks if there are still more matters to discuss.

“No more, Mr. Chair,” Vernon confirms. Seungcheol nods. This is going awfully well. When’s the curveball going to hit him? When? “Thank you, Mr. Auditor. Since there is nothing else on the agenda, let’s proceed to announcements.” He looks at his clipboard. There’s only one thing scribbled under announcements. It’s not his handwriting. Seungcheol squints. “Lee Chan’s...pool…barbecue...dance party on the 29th?”

There’s a pause. Seungcheol looks up from the clipboard.

“What is this?”

All eyes are on Lee Chan. He looks like he enjoys the attention. “Lee Chan’s pool barbecue dance party on the 29th,” he answers, as a matter of fact. “You’re all invited.”

This is the curveball he’s been expecting. Seungcheol feels a knot in his temples. “How many times do I have to say this?” he releases a heavy breath. “Announcements on the order of business are reserved for org-related announcements. It is not an opportunity for you to invite everyone to your parties, nor to your outings, nor to your nephew’s baptismal shower, Soonyoung.”

The man in question swallows down a gulp. Seungcheol sighs for the nth time.

“I hope that is crystal clear.” He’s so done. He’s so tired. When is adjournment coming? Why can’t it come sooner? “Anyway, do we have any other announcements? Relevant announcements, rather.” Seungcheol sees you with your arm up. He feels a rush of relief. “Yes, Ms. VCE, you are raising your hand?”

You put your hand down, allowing it to rest gingerly on the table when you say, “Thank you for the acknowledgement, Mr. Chair.” You look like your usual self— in between smiling pleasantly and staring blankly. Seungcheol nods, prodding you to continue. You do. “I would like to put the matter of my resignation on today’s table, Mr. Chair.”

“Oh, yes, the matter of your—”

A screeching halt. Seungcheol’s tongue stops working. He stares at you, wide-eyed.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“My resignation.” You pull out a white, ghostly envelope from somewhere. His throat tightens. “I am filing it today and hoping for its immediate attention.”

It’s like time stops completely. The entire office is frozen. They wait for you to say it’s a joke. Any moment now. Please.

“Mr. Chair?” you call out. “Allow me to repeat. I will be resigning from my position as Vice Chairperson-External. What process do we need to undergo to finalize this?”

You don’t say it’s a joke. You are dead serious.

“No?!”

“Did—did I hear that right res—res—resigna—hiccup!”

“Breathe in, Seokmin. Breathe out. Yes that’s—”

“Why would you do this to us?! Why?!”

“Oh my god, it’s happening to me again, it’s happening to me again—”

“What do you mean resignation, what the hell are you talking about?” Seungkwan shoots up from his seat, slamming his palms against the table in distress. “Aren’t you two back together?! Why would you resign?!”

It’s a mess. It’s a room of hysteria and panic except for you, him and Jeonghan. Seungcheol is trying his best to...understand. To not throttle you and shake you violently because why? Where did he go wrong? Has he not been treating you well enough? Did he need to compliment you more? Do you need more compensation?

Whatever the reason is, you’re looking awfully calm being the recipient of manic yells and hyperventilated cries of anguish. Jeonghan, too, is quiet. He’s just seated there, arms on the armrest, like he is in a completely different room altogether. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him. Did he do this? Did he talk you into resigning? That bastard— how could he! Seungcheol’s heart is broken, not just once, but twice. First, from his dearest protege. Second, from his (formerly) trusted right hand man.

“Ahem.”

Before things could get worse (i.e. Soonyoung and Seokmin full-on sobbing and begging on their knees), you catch their attention. You look at them, calmly, and, with a carefully enunciated voice, begin your piece that brings all of them to silence.

“I sincerely apologize for the trouble that our personal issues have caused to SVT,” you begin, a singular glance at Jeonghan. Seungcheol bites his tongue. Traitor. Evil man. Evil jealous man. “I am well aware that my recent behavior has led to some lapses in the organization’s operations, clearly seen in the management of our latest event. We have all heard the feedback, the concerns—where things went wrong. As you have witnessed, it is quite difficult for us to separate our personal feelings from our professional work here in the org, which was the root of most of our experienced problems.”

That is not true! No one has the best work-life balance than you! Granted, there was an issue just earlier in the month, but Seungcheol can overlook that! He can overlook it as long as you take back your resignation, and take on his spot as Chairperson next semester!

“Which is exactly why I’m resigning,” you decisively say. Shit. “There were a lot of…ingredients that eventually led to the unforeseen outburst between Mr. VCI and I during one of our previous meetings. One of those ingredients was my affiliation with the organization. The rest of the details can be found in my resignation letter. Thank you for allowing me to serve thus far.”

It’s like a needle pricked most everyone in the room and left them deflated. Chan looks sunken. Even Jihoon. Minghao just looks like he’d been expecting this. Kim Mingyu looks like he cannot accept this.

So he jerks out of his seat, springing to his feet, and points an accusatory finger at Yoon Jeonghan.

“You!” Mingyu shrieks. “Say something!”

“Hyung,” Seokmin adds onto the pile. He’s choked up and about to cry. “Are you just gonna let this happen?”

For the first time since, Jeonghan finally speaks up. But his tone is…sourer than expected. “What do you want me to say?” he starts. It makes everyone jolt. “That you’ve been overworking my girlfriend since freshman year to the point that we started arguing about it because she’s been skipping meals and sleep and taking care of herself just to manage the org?”

Even you flinch. There’s an apologetic look on your face, but there’s no denial.

Jeonghan lets out a sigh. Oh, Seungcheol realizes. Oh. Oh, crap. Maybe. Maybe he and SVT had a lot more to do with your breakup that he initially thought. The workload. The shit you had to catch and bury with your bare hands whenever the org had problems, had too much to do, had one person in mind to fix up any messes made. Maybe they’ve been relying on you too much. Maybe he’s been relying on you too much and Yoon Jeonghan noticed that.

Of course Jeonghan would notice that. He’s been dating you under their nose for god knows how long. That explains why Jeonghan would suddenly act pissy towards him. It was whenever you’d been tossed in a sinkhole of work.

Once more, you clear your throat. “I have immense attachment to this organization. However, my priorities have shifted. I am sincerely grateful and sorry, but I hope all of you understand.”

It starts clicking inside each head, one-by-one. It’s slow. It’s hard to accept, but they eventually do. Seokmin eventually stops sniffling. Soonyoung stands up to give you a hug. This was a loss for all of them. All of them except you and Yoon Jeonghan.

“Hyung, but why aren’t you resigning?”

Jun pokes the bear one last time. It’s a question in all their heads, and Jeonghan’s expression alone isn’t enough to answer it.

“Jun-ah, do you want me gone?” Jeonghan replies, a little too seriously. They freeze. Then he laughs. “It’s going to be difficult to re-elect someone at this point, so I’ll be taking over some of her workload for the remainder of the semester. The rest of you should do the same as one last thank you to our now outgoing VCE. You owe her that much, at least.”

Before Jeonghan can start nagging, you quickly overtake his field of vision from his left. “Don’t worry, I’ll be finishing up my pending tasks, Mr. Chair. I will also be leaving some notes behind for everyone’s ease of—”

“What did I tell you about being more considerate to yourself?” the one from his rightbutts in. “These kids can handle it on their own. You don’t have to micromanage them. I’m begging you, stop overworking yourself.”

Okay, he sharply inhales through his nose. Seungcheol gets it. They all get it. No need to act all sweet in front of their faces and during org hours. It’s sending shivers down his spine. All of their spines. None of this spine shivering is healthy. “Please leave your resignation letter on the table. We will give some time for the other officers to read and consider it before making a final decision during the next meeting.”

You smile. “Thank you, Mr. Chair.”

“Thank you for your service, Ms. VCE.”

It hurts him to say this. It really does. You were the perfect successor. Now, who the hell from this pile of twelve men is he supposed to pick to be the next Chairperson? Does he have to— god forbid— retain his position?

Seungcheol lets out a sigh.

“Meeting adjourned. You are all dismissed.”

the breakup soup. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

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iamgonnagetyouback · 8 days

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𝟷.𝟼𝚔 || 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 (PART 3)

♡ ︎��ᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: After being the forgotten one your whole life, you thought that they wouldn't forget you.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Angst, Fluff

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: poly!marauders x reader

♡ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ : part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

The days that followed the disastrous date at Madam Puddifoot’s were heavy with tension. You had made a decision. You would avoid the boys—every single one of them—and show them how much they’d hurt you. And for the most part, you succeeded.

In Potions, you were paired with James, as always. Normally, the two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, joking and laughing as you completed the lesson with ease. But today, you kept your responses clipped and cold, answering only the necessary study-related questions.

"Hand me the crushed fluxweed?" James asked hesitantly, his voice low as he glanced over at you.

You handed him the jar without a word, not even bothering to look at him.

James frowned, his usual exuberance fading. “Did you… finish the notes for the essay?”

“Yes,” you replied curtly, your tone devoid of any warmth.

He waited for you to elaborate, maybe even make a joke, but you didn’t. The disappointment on his face was painfully clear, and you could feel his gaze on you, trying to find a way to break the ice. But you didn’t give him a chance. You weren’t ready. Not yet.

The library was usually your refuge, a place where you could escape the chaos of the castle and study in peace. But today, it wasn’t the peaceful haven you needed. Sirius found you, of course he did. He always had a way of knowing where you were.

He slid into the chair across from you, his signature smirk in place, but there was an underlying nervousness in his eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “Fancy running into you here. Been thinking—”

You didn’t look up from your textbook, flipping a page without so much as acknowledging his presence.

Sirius faltered, but tried again. “We really should talk, y’know. I mean, I know we messed up, but maybe we can—”

Silence.

You didn’t even glance at him. Not a word.

He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, I get it. You’re mad. But ignoring me isn’t gonna make it better, love.”

Still, you remained focused on the words in front of you, pretending to be engrossed in the chapter on advanced defensive spells. You could feel him staring at you, waiting, but you refused to give in. Eventually, Sirius stood up, his defeated sigh echoing in the quiet library as he walked away.

Transfiguration class was no different. You and Peter were assigned partners, as you often were, but this time the usual banter between the two of you was replaced with awkward silence. Peter kept glancing at you, his brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to catch your eye.

“So, uh… we should probably start with the incantation?” Peter said cautiously, his voice soft.

You nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

He fumbled with his wand, casting a glance your way. “I-I know we need to talk, about… y’know, the other night and all that, but—”

“No,” you said simply, your voice quiet but firm, eyes trained on the desk in front of you.

Peter swallowed hard, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. You saw him look down, his expression crestfallen, but you forced yourself to stay quiet. Each word spoken to them felt like a crack in the walls you were trying to build around your heart. So, for now, silence was the only way to protect yourself.

But then there was Remus. The one who hadn’t tried at all. The one who didn’t come looking for you, didn’t send you a note, didn’t even attempt to talk to you. And that hurt more than anything else.

The silence from him was deafening.

It was days later, sitting in the library, when you saw him. Remus was hunched over a pile of books, looking pale and exhausted, a fresh bandage peeking out from beneath his sleeve. His eyes were hollow, dark circles marring his handsome face, and your heart clenched at the sight. He looked worse than usual. Like something had broken inside him.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your feet carried you across the room toward him.

“Remus,” you said, your voice cutting through the stillness of the library like a knife.

Remus flinched at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up in shock. His eyes widened as he saw you standing there, but he didn’t speak, too stunned by your sudden appearance.

You didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Are you a werewolf?”

The color drained from his face, and he froze, his mouth opening and closing as if the words had been ripped from him. He stammered, his eyes wide with panic. “I-I… I—”

“Don’t lie to me, Remus,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the scars, the excuses, the way the boys cover for you. I’ve been putting it together for a while, but I—” You swallowed, your throat tight. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

Remus looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hands shaking slightly. “I didn’t… I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to—”

“Why?” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t any of you tell me? Do you think I wouldn’t have cared? Do you think I wouldn’t have loved you still?”

His face twisted in anguish, and he looked away, unable to meet your eyes. “Because you wouldn’t have understood. No one ever understands.”

“That’s not for you to decide, Remus!” you snapped, your voice filled with hurt. “I deserved to know the truth. I thought we were in this together. I thought we were… I thought you trusted me.”

He looked up then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I do trust you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “But… I’m a monster, Y/N. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to… be afraid of me.”

You felt your heart shatter at his words. You stepped closer, kneeling in front of him and gently taking his hands in yours. “Remus, you’re not a monster. You’ve never been a monster to me.” Your voice softened, filled with the love you had been holding back for days. “I love you. All of you. Even the parts you think are too broken to love.”

His breath hitched, and you could see the disbelief in his eyes. “You… you don’t hate me?”

“Hate you?” You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “Remus, I’m hurt. I’m hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. That you kept this from me. But I could never hate you.”

He let out a shuddering breath, his whole body trembling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you.”

You leaned forward and gently pressed your lips to his, feeling the tension in his body melt away as he kissed you back. The kiss was soft, filled with unspoken apologies and forgiveness. When you pulled away, Remus looked at you like you were something he didn’t deserve, but desperately wanted to hold on to.

“Forgive the boys too,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “They didn’t want to hurt you either.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Not before I make them grovel a bit first.”

Remus let out a soft chuckle, his smile the first genuine one you had seen in days. “You’re evil.”

You grinned, leaning in for another kiss. “Not as evil as you for keeping this secret from me.”

As your lips met again, Remus’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and for the first time in days, the weight of everything seemed to lift.

When you finally pulled back, Remus gave you a shy, almost nervous smile. “You’re not scared?”

You scoffed playfully, rolling your eyes. “Oh please, Remus. I’ve seen you fold your socks. You’re hardly terrifying.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into another sweet, lingering kiss, the warmth between you chasing away all the pain.

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miharuki · 2 months

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𝕭𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕶𝖆𝖋𝖐𝖆 𝕳𝖎𝖇𝖎𝖓𝖔'𝖘 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗

Fem reader

Imagine being Kafka Hibino's younger sister. When he mentioned having a sister, you, to his coworkers, he might say he bitterly regrets it. It's not because he hates you or anything, but he just can't stop being irritated. His coworkers always ask, "Is she single?" "Give me her contact info." "How are you the brother of such a precious thing?" With his brotherly jealousy, Kafka can't stand the idea of you dating, especially not a colleague of his. He thinks you're not ready.

When Reno starts his internship at your brother’s workplace, he barely arrives before overhearing one of Kafka's coworkers say, "Hey Kafka! This is Reno, he wants to join the Defense Force!" Kafka might show a bit of surprise before getting angry at the next comment: "Reno, this is Kafka. He also dreamed of joining the Defense Force, but he gave up and now works here, unlike his sister."

"Kafka's beautiful sister works there!" Just mentioning you makes Kafka irritated. He gets annoyed because his coworkers won't stop talking about you, always trying to provoke him by talking about how they’d like to date you, maybe go out and hook up. "Keep my sister out of this!" Kafka mutters before turning to Reno, who looks at him confused.

"Now I understand what the cleaning staff was talking about," Kafka realizes his mistake. Now his friend Reno Ichikawa, who inspired him to try for the Defense Force and succeeded, is watching you present yourself. Kafka can only sigh in exhaustion, asking Reno to keep it a secret or just not point out that the leader of the third division squad is nothing more than Kafka's precious sister.

Although it’s already too late, now in the bath with his teammates, he not only mentions Mina but also you. This makes everyone extremely curious. But Kafka learned that if he opened his mouth, he’d be teased for having you as his little sister, so he avoids the subject, though he ends up talking about Mina, with his colleagues pressing him for more details.

But one thing Kafka can say is that he prefers a thousand times over for Reno Ichikawa, his friend, to date his precious sister rather than the vice-captain of the third division. He really didn’t know that Soshiro Hoshina had been eyeing you for a long time, only finding out when Soshiro openly mentioned it.

"So you're (name) (middle name) Hibino’s brother? What a strange way to meet my future brother-in-law," Soshiro said. Strange? Kafka felt not only anger but also surprise at that moment. "Future brother-in-law?!" As if that wasn't enough, Soshiro knew Kafka wanted to fight alongside his captain Mina Aspiro. It annoyed Kafka that Soshiro wanted to take his place as vice-captain, so it was a nice surprise to find out that the brother of his crush was here. He could not only tease the old man but also irritate him.

"By the way, your sister says hi," Soshiro's smile was enough to make Kafka mad.

“Reno,” Kafka said.

“Yes?”

“Know that you have my blessing.”

"W- what do you mean, Kafka?!!" Reno looked shocked and blushing at Kafka, who only had an expression of anger and seriousness. Kafka had just said he didn't mind if Reno dated his sister; he preferred that over the vice-captain.

“50 push-ups!” Kafka could only cry in sadness at his vice-captain’s remark. He knew Soshiro probably told Reno he preferred him over Soshiro dating you.

"Captain, have you noticed that the vice is acting really strange?" You ask Mina, and Mina can only sigh. If there’s one thing you and Kafka share, it’s the slowness in understanding others’ feelings, especially when they’re interested in you.

#yandere x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kaijuu 8 gou #kaiju number 8 #kaiju art #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #kafka hibino #reno ichikawa #reno ichikawa x reader #leno ichikawa #leno ichikawa x reader #kn8 x reader #kn8 fanart #kn8 #kn8 yandere #yandere soshiro hoshina #yandere x you #yandere boy

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sister-lucifer · 3 months

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“You’re Really Not Cut Out For This…”

A Toby x Gender Neutral Reader Drabble

Content/Warnings: Porn with no plot, bottom/sub Reader, degradation, a bit of mean Toby, heavy discussion of Reader basically being a free use sex toy, no specified genitalia for Reader, Reader + Toby are both proxies

This is not fully proof read! Please let me know if you see any typos

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, USED COMMERCIALLY OR FED TO AN AI. IF YOU DO THIS I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND FUCKING KILL YOU.

“You know, y-you’re reeeaaaally not cut— c-cut out for this-ss-s…t-this ‘job,’ I mean.”

The sudden admission would make you pause if had the lucidity to do so. You can’t do much of anything with the rabid way Toby’s pounding into you from behind, shoving his cock into you with the whole of his strength without so much as a single thought to your wellbeing. You barely manage to babble out something that sounds like a question. You can feel him smiling despite the forced wrenching of his face.

“I-I’m just saying,” he continues, punctuating that last word with a particularly acute thrust that makes you squeal, “You d-don’t—shhh!—don’t seem like y-you really enjoy this-ss-s…line of-fff-f work…hell, you’re not good at i-it— it either, if we’re being hones-ss-st-t.”

There’s no ignoring the cheeky giggle in his voice as he insults you to your face. He leans over you a bit, putting more of his weight on you and practically trapping you beneath him. He keeps talking before you even get a chance to protest.

“You’re definitely n-not my equal,” he growls with a chuckle, as if highly amused by the idea of your inferiority, “You’ve hardly su— s-succeeded at any mission th-the ‘Boss’ has given you— y-you…but you are so good at this—“

He laughs at the way you choke on nothing when he angles his hips upwards just right, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You can feel his body shudder on top of you, a series of involuntary tongue clicks and whistles interrupting him for a moment before his endless chatter continues on.

“You’re sooo— s-so fucking good at taking my cock…”

He can’t contain the flood of sick giggles that burst from his throat before he can truly finish his thought.

“…Tell you what I’m gonna do.”

You shiver at how deathly serious his voice becomes suddenly. He’s speaking lowly into your ear, making sure you hear every syllable clear as day. His stutter even pauses for that moment; he’s focused, suddenly, and a focused Toby is rare, but horrific for anyone who happens to be in his line of sight.

“I’m gonna talk to the ‘Boss’…y-yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I-I’ll tell— t-tell him myself, ‘I don’t t-think the n-new— new— new one is cut out for this.’”

He grabs at your arms, pinning them to the mattress as he uses his body to hold you down. He’s starting to lose his steady pace as his excitement builds, his fingers flexing and popping in ways they shouldn’t be able to as he grasps your wrists.

“And he’ll l-listen to me, you know? H-He’ll lis— l-listen-nn-n to me, I know he will, be— b-because— beep! beep!— because I’m his f-ff-favorite.”

The word ‘favorite’ echoes in your mind, making you dizzy and sick. As much as you and the others are convinced that creature can’t feel emotion at all, it does show favoritism. It doesn’t love Toby, it doesn’t even care about him; on some level, Toby has to know that, he’s smarter than he lets on, but…

…He doesn’t care.

All he knows is that he’s getting positive attention from something, and it’s going straight to his ego. The only saving grace is that he’s usually too juvenile and short sighted to use that power against his fellow proxies.

Usually.

Unless he can get something he really wants out of it.

“I-I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him-mm-m you’d be better off as my toy.”

You nearly choke as Toby rocks you forward with a particularly hard thrust. You can feel your legs trembling, nothing more than jello underneath you, barely holding you up. Toby sucks in a breath through his crooked teeth as he watches you put the pieces together in your mind, though you can do little to show it.

“That’s right, that’s-ss-s right!” He repeats, sounding far too pleased with himself, “I’ll tell him you’d be b-better off-ff-f being used, just-t something I can use— u-use— use to unwind after I do all the hard work that y-you— you could never.”

He breaks out into giggles again, wrapping an arm around your neck and stifling your air without warning. You grasp onto his sleeve, clawing at his arm, but you’re far too shaky and weak to pull it away. He forces you to look him in the eyes, not wanting even a scrap of your attention to not be on him.

“That’s right, you h-hear that?” He manages to choke out between his laughter, “I’m gon-nn-a get you demoted to a fucking hole!”

He pushes—throws, really—your head back into the mattress before even have the chance to argue. He shoves your face into the bed, hand tangled in your hair as you whimper pathetically, exactly how he likes. He runs his tongue over his lips as he looks down at you, completely helpless underneath him, and it sends a surge of sick pleasure through his body.

“Just enjoy it,” He hisses through gritted teeth, “Because when I-I get m-mm-my way, this is all you’ll ever do.”

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out.

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

#creepypasta #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral nsft #ticci toby smut #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #slenderman #toby rogers

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 months

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The Rite: Consequence (VI)

A link to The Rite Masterlist is here A link to my regular Masterlist is here Summary: (6) It's the day of The Rite 🙈And whether Loki succeeds or fails in capturing your pleasure (and your heart) - there will be consequences. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mild angst. Asgardians behaving badly. Smut. I am begging, pleading for your trust. (w/c 5.6k)

Loki blocked the fall of the blade with a hanging guard, catching his brother’s wild stare through the angle of his arm.

Dust scraped across his eyes from the training ring, but he blinked it away. They both glistened with mid-afternoon sweat - muscles straining; all hard veins and gritted teeth.

Loki licked his lips, tasting salt, and his arm began to quiver beneath the press of his brother’s blade – but he wouldn’t relent. He never did.

The Rite was only hours away.

It began at sundown. He wasn’t allowed to see you, and beating his brother into the dirt was as good a distraction as any. Better than the ones I’m used to.

And besides, after the two of you had talked until sunrise – about everything and anything that avoided the question of love – there was nothing more to be done.

If Fandral had told you about the second part of The Rite, he was glad you hadn’t raised it. He didn’t think he could bear knowing its outcome in advance. Better the short, sharp shock of shame than its clammy shadow. Better to whisper in your ear and devour your lips and feel your hand searching the angles of him until he was sick with painful desire.

“Yield,” Loki grit. A thick strand of hair had come loose, trailing over his vision. The furrow of Thor’s frown grew deeper.

“Why would I? I have you on the run, little brother.” A soft grunt broke in Loki’s throat. He flexed his shoulder and parried Thor’s sword to the side with force, kicking the blonde’s left foot from under him in the same movement. Thor slammed down into the sand; sprawling and sword clattered against the stone beneath.

“You don’t fight fair, Loki” “Maybe you should fight better.” Thor scrambled to his feet, sand sticking in clumps to the sweat gathered on his chest. “I am the greatest warrior this realm has ever known because I fight with honour.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Honour,” he spat. “At least you shan’t have your ill-gotten reputation in the histories as its greatest lover for much longer.” Thor hacked a wad of dust-gritted saliva and spat it to his feet. He looked up with a twisted smile. “I don’t know about that, Loki. Of the two of us you’ve always been seen as the bigger whore. A talented one for certain, but a whore all the same. And soon enough, your Rite partner will join the throng; be forgotten like the rest.” Before he knew it, Loki’s dagger was at Thor’s throat.

His vision flashed white, and behind him came the jangle of armoured guards, circling them with their spears readied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thor’s hands rise to steady them.

“Brother…” Thor said slowly, “I know you’re nervous, but killing me really would remove any chance you have at the succession—”

“—I won’t take insult from those who wax lyrical about honour and leave their loin’s fruit to the vultures.” Thor frowned. “What are you talking about?” He tried to look down at the blade glinting by his thorax and only succeeded in nicking his skin. “Ow.” Loki released a withering sigh, flipping the dagger away and kicking Thor’s foot from beneath him. The other one, this time. His brother crumpled like a wet towel. He turned, seeing several of the guards’ facial expressions flinch between the gaps in their helmets.

“Disperse,” he muttered, striding past them and wondering mildly how long it would be until Odin found out. He needed to bathe. He needed to be alone. I need to be with her. But he couldn’t have that; so alone, it would be.

“Don’t worry brother,” he said dryly as he scraped sweat-soaked hair off his face. “I’m sure none of father’s spies will impart that you were bested by a whore.” Thor’s blustering protestations made a smirk curl the corner of his mouth. He must remember to tell you about this, when all was said and done: when the succession was set in stone, when the home for abandoned children was secured, when he knew that you loved him. And as he exited the training ring, Loki realised with horrifying clarity that one of those possibilities hung around his neck like a millstone: heavier than the others – threatening to collapse him to his knees.

If she loves me, he re-worded in his mind, beginning to walk a little quicker to the safety of solitude.

You’d been woken in late morning and bustled with minimal ceremony to the private baths on the upper floors of the palace.

Once there, your day-gown had been stripped by a flurry of exquisitely beautiful maids; each dressed in blue fabric as thin as gauze, hair like pure, precious metals. How you hated them.

You hadn’t realised you wouldn’t see Loki until The Rite itself until he’d told you last night before you parted ways. You’d kissed him so roughly against the wall, fingers digging into his scalp, that you’d almost passed out from lack of oxygen.

And now…here, with the most impossibly beautiful nymphs in all of Asgard – it felt like there was no time. You need to be near him. Isn’t that how love works? But then, you wouldn’t know. You suddenly wondered if absence before the ceremony was really part of the tradition, or if Odin and the rest of them were trying to keep you apart. Hoping he’ll fail. —Stop being so paranoid.

Steam rose from the hot spring, undulating like flame as one of the nymphs massaged your shoulders. I wonder what Loki’s doing. Does he miss me? Is he nervous…? You lifted one calf out of the water where you’d perched at the edge of the baths, the scent of orange oil thick in your nostrils. Suddenly the fingers stopped working, and she leant down. “Loki’s very good, you know. Everyone knows it’s his favourite thing to do to a woman, or a man. You’re so lucky.” She giggled, and your stomach tightened with a wave of inexplicable anger. “I’m jealous. They say he does this thing with his tongue that—" “—Oh hush, Mavor.” You winced as Frigga’s chide sparked like a lit match. She settled, dangling her feet in the pool beside yours. “Leave the poor girl alone, I’m sure the past few days have been much to contend with.”

You turned fractionally, almost blinded by the golden assault of her sunlit hair. She’s staring at you, faint crows-feet scrunched from the vaguely discomforting smile on her lips. “What happened last night with Fandral was improper. What must you think of us?” “I don’t think it of you,” you lied, memories of the sick little girl cinching tight around your mind; the fact that Fandral and all the other court-wankers had no clue that Loki was the one clearing up their mess, doing any real good. But it was a secret, and a secret it would remain.

And then you remembered what Lagertha said when the nurse had thanked the gods. ‘Not the gods,’ she’d said, beaming with pride as Loki blushed. ‘This one’s the only one worth having.’

Frigga’s close-lipped smile grew. “We can’t blame Fandral for being in love with Loki, even if his methods were…”

Your eyebrow rose. “Petty? Spiteful? Unforgiveable?”

Frigga laughed: a practiced, twinkling chirp. “When you live as long as we do, dear…nothing is truly unforgivable.”

You frowned, vision blurring as you stifled an eyeroll and Freya continued. “Perhaps you understand how he feels…now that you’ve gotten to know my second son a little better.” “You want to know if I love him, is that it? Well, I don't know.”

Shame swelled under your thin bathing gown, and Frigga inhaled quietly. “I of all people in this palace understand that words matter less than what we feel in here-” she said, pressing a fan of fingers to her chest. “You may think our customs strange, but they were born from centuries of upheaval and selfishness of our rulers. Markers needed to be set. It’s important that the general populace knows nothing of the second requirement of The Rite. It’s sacred.” You let out a petulant sigh. Don’t sass the queen, you willed, staring ahead at the water spilling over the edge of the balcony to a waterfall below.

Frigga cleared her throat. “The Rite ensures that those in line for succession can put another before themselves, represented through giving pleasure – and can capture their heart, their love—” “—Yes…I know that now,” you spat, eyes blazing towards her. “No thanks to any of you. Fandral had to tell me, of all people. Couldn’t resist rubbing it in my face that I’d fail Loki.”

Frigga’s face fell. But now you’d started, you couldn’t stop.

“And besides…Odin, Thor…they cheated the system, didn’t they? You and Odin were engaged! Sif was pretty much raised on a diet of Thor-infatuation.” You shook your head, heat flushing up your neck. “I didn’t say it was perfect,” Frigga said. “But the succession cannot be risked. And despite your current ingratiation, you are an outsider; you cannot understand these things.” “Oh,” you said, choosing to ignore her honey-drenched barb. “It can’t be risked, I see…unless it’s Loki, the one no one cares about?”

Despite her mask of diplomacy, irritation rippled on Frigga’s face.

“He had many options, and every opportunity,” she said through perfectly straight, gritted, teeth. “And he squandered every one of them. But something’s changed these past centuries in him. Something in these past weeks, too. A mystery, certainly.”

She stood, and the wet length of her glittering gown slopped across the floor. “Although I’m pleased to see you feel so strongly in his defence – it bodes well for his performance. Perhaps he’ll succeed after all.”

Your snorted. “And if I fail him, Fandral can step in: problem solved.” Frigga sighed, waving away an approaching nymph who skittered gratefully backwards.

“That’s not how it works,” Frigga said with a cloying sweetness, "- Loki would fail you: he would have failed to bring you pleasure, and capture your heart in a meaningful way. He only has one chance at fulfilling The Rite, at joining the succession. I did urge him to wait another 500 years but..."

She gave a delicate shrug. "And besides, in his haste to tarnish you…Fandral excluded himself from ever being eligible. The arousal of a god touched his skin. You should have seen his face when he realised he’d neglected to don the gloves in his pocket: pompous little oaf.”

A whirl of butterflies erupted in your gut. “So, you see, my dear…” Frigga tipped your chin up to meet her eyes. “You are my son’s only chance…”

You looked up at her: the glint in her beautiful irises – and for the first time you saw something more than the performance she presented to the court. Mischief. “My son’s…and those sweet little children.” A smile curled at her wine-stained lips. “And I hope you are prepared for the consequences of that.”

The silent, unbroken stare shattered as the doors burst open and Lagertha hobbled inside with an entourage of three. They held something in their arms like a dead snake, spread between them, covered in thick cotton and secured with the Asgardian royal seal in five places along its length.

Lagertha clapped her hands twice and you couldn’t help but smile at the irreverence on her face as she cast an imperious glance around the room. “There she is,” she said, waving you towards her. “Come, come – we haven’t got all day. Sun will be setting soon.”

You jumped up and scooted over, and immediately her surprisingly iron grip fastened to your bicep. “Loki sends his well wishes,” she hissed abruptly, “hopes his mother ain’t been too much of a cow.”

You pressed your lips together. “He’s alright? He’s not…” “Nervous? Course he is, dear. Near-on shitting himself. Not that he’d say that out loud, but I’ve known him a long time…the real him, like you do. Bless his silken hose. But now…we need to focus on you.”

Minutes passed in a blur as one of Lagertha’s deputy Weaving Crone who wasn’t quite so nobbled rolled out a small podium. You mounted it, following instructions to raise your arms and soon the dress was pulled over your head and in a heap on the floor.

A mirror was wheeled from somewhere, and behind your naked body you tried not to look at Frigga perched on a chaise, supping from a goblet.

Over your shoulder, the assistant crones were unpacking the snake-like thing. It must’ve been twenty feet long, and as it unfurled, your breath hitched. They held up the part which went over your arms, pacing forward reverently. It was as sheer as cobweb, tiny golden flecks weaved into the impossibly fine threads.

It slid up your skin like liquid moonlight. The fabric kissed your flesh like the graze of a lover, and beside you, Lagertha smiled.

You eyed your reflection warily. “How many people will see me in this?” “Just focus on the prince, dear.” “How many, Lagertha?” Her eyes flickered up to yours before taking a renewed interest in straightening the sash. “No more than twenty.” “Twenty?” you hissed. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Norns. Who are they?” “Odin, Frigga, Thor…some of the high gods; selected nobles to witness. It’s an honour, remember that. For them, as well as you.” You could swear the outline of your heartbeat was visible. “Oh my god…will they see everything?” “Not everything, child,” Lagertha whispered, untying the sash loop and re-assembling it; buying time. The robes sides covered your breasts but left a gap of bare skin in the centre, gathering at the naval before the flowing, split skirt began.

“It’s all very hush hush beforehand, so the participants can’t…skew things.” “Skew things?” You saw Lagertha’s lips roll together as she tried to dampen a laugh. Her eyes darted to Frigga and quickly back to you.

“Touch ‘emselves,” she said with a straight face.

“Focus on Loki, dear.” Her voice was as calming as poppy-seed tea. “I know what I see when I see it.” She ran a nobbled hand down the curve of your waist, smoothing the fabric.

You swallowed, looking at yourself in the mirror. “How will they know if I…if I love him? How will they know if I don't know?” Lagertha spun out the silence, fussing with the fabric at your breasts. “Focus on Loki, dear,” was all she said.

And soon, you were on the move again.

After his father’s ‘motivational’ speech, Loki felt no better. Although admittedly, he did feel slightly lighter when he’d left. Lagertha’s arrival had been the only bright spot in the darkness of his mood. She’d clothed in him in the same style of ceremonial garments expected from all participants in The Rite – far less grand than yours would be, but Loki’s held more elaborate stitching than his brother’s had done centuries before: tiny runes and charms woven into the hem with wishes that whispered when he moved. “Tell her…” he’d started, realising that he didn’t know what to say. He grumbled out some inane quip about his mother. Lagertha raised an eyebrow. “I know how you feel about her, silly boy,” she said under her breath, eyeing Thor snarfing down a third plate of cold meats like he’d been raised on the streets and not in a palace. "You can't fool old Lagertha."

Loki’s chest tightened: fighting the urge to deny it, fighting the urge to let his persona of bravado take hold. “I can’t love. Everyone’s always told me I’m not…made for it.” Lagertha’s laugh caught in her throat. She made a face. “Who? Him?” She yanked her head towards Thor leering covetously at a wheel of cheese. “Please,” she added under her breath. “And if she doesn’t love me?” Loki asked, voice crackling under the weight of the words.

Lagertha rolled her eyes. “It was a big ask in such a short time – any fool could see that, even your brother. But if you can…then maybe she can too.”

She shrugged, and patted his bare pecs twice. “I saw the way she looked at you when you came to get measured, and she couldn’t look away when you were playing with little Grisyna.”

Her eyebrow rose again. “Besides…if what she feels isn’t strong enough to fulfil The Rite…doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth exploring, tending.” “But the children," Loki hissed, ensuring he was out of Thor's earshot. "If I’m not in the succession, then if father finds out, he’ll—” Lagertha flapped a hand. “— We’ll figure out a way. We always have. Odin isn’t going to sweep in and decimate them – Frigga wouldn’t allow it…they’ll be shifted out somewhere, all nice and quiet so no one finds out what a bunch of unworthy vagabonds his court is.”

She reached up his neck and instinctually he stooped so her hands could cup his jaw.

“You are worthy of love, Loki Odinson. Giving and receiving,” she said quietly, searching his eyes. “No matter what some daft Rite says.”

“Brother you simply must try these prunes.”

Thor belched, pressing a fist to his mouth too late. Loki and Lagertha looked at him with matching expressions of disgust, and her hands fell from his jaw. Thor chuckled.

“Seems like your partner has competition for her place tonight,” Thor said, throwing a prune up and trying to catch it with his mouth. It hit off his eye and bounced to the floor. “I’ve been laying with gods since Odin was a sparkle in your grandfather’s eye, boy…I wouldn’t possibly qualify,” she said, gathering her things. She looked at Loki a final time, sharing a conspiratorial nod as Thor flushed pink. “Boy?!” Thor balked, as she shifted from the room with a quiet, purposeful grace. “Boy!?” he said again, marching to Loki. “That old witch is too familiar. I should have her removed from royal favour.” “You’ll do no such thing, brother,” Loki drawled, picking up a goblet of wine before setting it down again, untouched. “Who will make the garments that enchant your groin to look larger?” Thor’s cheeks began to turn violet. “That was supposed to be in confidence.” “Oh, dear.” Loki spun to his reflection, tilting his head. “Well, you’re lucky I’m very good at keeping secrets - if I choose to.”

Thor's lips pursed tight. Clearly, today would not be the one he’d break the habit of a lifetime and concoct a witty response. Loki’s gaze shifted back to himself.

The ceremonial Rite garment clung to every line of muscle like shimmering skin. It rippled at the merest breath; whether it was silver, or gold, or white depended entirely on the angle of the light. Bell sleeves draped from his wrists, hanging down to his mid-thighs and melting against his skin like dregs of foam into sand.

The fabric was split down his torso; cock on full display; sheer fabric leaving no inch of the skin beneath to the imagination. The hem of the robe brushed the floor as his bare feet shuffled, inspecting himself. He looked resplendent.

Loki sighed. “Fix my hair, will you? Or try, at least.”

A box rattled as Thor combed through a variety of pins. Loki rolled his eyes. “The gold one, with the emblem.” “Which emblem?” Thor asked, bored. “My emblem, you cretin.”

Thor worked in silence, and Loki was glad of it. His brother managed to gather the hair in a serviceable knot at the top of his head: fastened with the golden snake pin at its base. Loki’s cheekbones slashed deep shadows into his face, highlighting faint blue shadows under his eyes. The sun had almost set, and soon enough, there was a knock at the door. Thor squeezed his shoulder. “I wish you fortune, brother. May her heart be open.”

Loki waited for the quip about her legs being open too, but it didn’t come. And unlike the cowing pleasantries at last night’s feast, he felt a shiver of gratitude wrench up his spine at the sentiment.

“Thank you, brother,” he whispered, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. “I need it.”

The stone seemed to pulse beneath your feet.

You walked in procession: Frigga at the front, the Asgardian nymphs flanking you each holding a clutch of your train as the golden door grew closer. Goosebumps needled your arms beneath the silk-chiffon. ‘Just focus on the prince’, Lagertha had said. ‘Just focus on him’. Finally, the procession stopped. Frigga beat a fist on the door three times, and inside there was the muffled sound of trumpets.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Heraldry? Be serious.

The doors swung open. The hall was narrow, with padded benches lining the walls like one of those Midgard chapels and torches throwing throbbing amber hues on the floor. It was so polished that the gemstone stars set deep into the dark ceiling reflected on its surface, and your feet wobbled as the world slewed around you. “It’s alright,” the nymph to your side whispered, staring ahead. “Just keep walking.” You tried not to look at the shaded figures who populated the benches, but the curiosity was too much. Fandral sat with a sullen expression, glowering at your progress, the centre of his face marred with a purple bruise which spread to his eyes. You smirked. Frigga stopped, and stepped to the side.

And then, you inhaled sharply. Loki stood with his hands clasped behind his back: posture impeccable, body tight with braced muscles and his raven hair swept up in a devastating knot.

He wore a robe made of the same material as yours. In torchlight, it looked like pure gold – rippling with opacity in time with the flames. But still, his alabaster skin was visible beneath it. The god’s bare form was as flawless as you remembered from the night in the baths – it felt like a lifetime ago.

And yes, his cock really is that big, that perfect. You thought you might have imagined it. His face was set in ceremonial stiffness, but those eyes sparkled. He isn’t embarrassed. You decided – fuck it – you weren’t going to be embarrassed either. You opened your mouth to speak but, regrettably, Odin got in first. “Gods, nobles…you are welcome to the attempt of my second son – Loki of Asgard – at fulfilling The Rite of Successional Pleasure, and taking his place as one of the realm’s true-royal sons.”

Loki sidestepped as you found yourself guided by the nymphs holding your train, nudging you towards a raised platform at the end of the hall. A firm looking cushion sat on top of it: the deepest navy blue, scattered with silver thread.

You climbed each of the four steps, turning to the crowd of shadowed faces occupying the pews and trying to ignore the graze of your hardened nipped against the fabric. For Loki, you reminded yourself.

Looking up, you could make out a golden railing suspended from the ceiling, thin bunches of material hanging from it in thin sections. Loki mounted the steps with easy grace, cock swinging, drawing your hand to his lips when he reached the top.

“You are well?” he murmured against the skin, looking up through his lashes. Your stomach roiled with the need to kiss him, but all you could muster was a nod. A silent understanding passed between you of how fucked-up this was. “It will be over soon,” he said, brows peaking. Your lips rolled together, but as words shaped your lips—

“Loki Odinson: God of Mischief and Lies, Son of Asgard.”

Odin’s voice rang around the cloisters like a war-cry. “I command you to prove yourself worthy of the people you seek to rule by bestowing unrequited pleasure on this woman. By doing so, you prove that you can put those you rule above yourself; that if you can cultivate their love, you may one day hold the crown.”

Cultivate their love. The phrase made a shiver tighten your shoulders.

A woman even older than Lagertha shuffled up the steps, and beside you, Loki stiffened. Red markings smeared down her face, paste crusting into deep wrinkles. She gathered your hands. Her eyes closed, face tipped to the feeling. The very air seemed to sharpen. “She is untouched by a god: she has known no seed, she is eligible for the ceremonial Rite,” the woman announced. Beside you, Loki’s muscles relaxed. A nymph tapped your shoulder and you drew your eyes from Loki’s. “My lady- we need to—” “—I can do it,” Loki cut in. He observed her visible panic with clear irritation. “Nowhere does it specify this in the ceremonial texts, I assure you.”

There was a hum from the crowd, but no objections. Loki ushered you to the bed. He leant down to your ear, and the warmth of his breath ignited fierce, obscene desire in your core. The crowd, forgotten. “Lie on the bed, so that your head rests near the top," he whispered, shivers running down your limbs. "Those two women will fan the train of your robe. It’s very important that you let them arrange it how it needs to be. You’ll be restrained, but don’t fear…it will not hurt. It’s only so—” “—I don’t touch myself,” you finished. Loki smirked. “Skew the results,” he replied, eyes glittering like the gems in the ceiling. His knuckles trailed down your bicep and for that moment, there was only you and Loki in the room. “Shall we?”

You did as he’d asked, settling on your back. True enough, the two nymphs spread the train of the robe until its huge length spilled down the steps and halfway up the narrow aisle. The rest of it pooled across the bed, pearling weave undulating in shadows. When they were done, your arms were spread and satin tied to your wrists; fastened somewhere down the sides.

And all the while, Loki stood where you’d left him – facing the crowd with what you imagined was a thousand-yard-stare.

One of the nymphs approached the long material draped from the ceiling. Loki brought a hand up, clicking his fingers. The material sprung to life, metal rings scraping on metal as it worked around the railing; surrounding the bed in a circle of thin, voile fabric.

You’d been prepared to repeat Lagertha’s mantra in your head at this point, but it turned out it wasn’t only easy to focus on Loki – it was impossible not to.

He drew a portion of the curtain to the side and slipped through: utterly beautiful in his regally-repressed lust. That lithe body shifted beneath the sheer robe as he knelt on the bed: one knee, then two. You squirmed, unable to help yourself. You were already wet, arousal sliding between your thighs.

“Kiss me?” you asked quietly.

His brow furrowed, eyes falling to his crotch. He was hard. It was the first time you’d seen him erect without any clothes on. Even in the baths, he’d been underwater. Saliva welled in your mouth, heart thumping. A bead of pre-cum had already swelled at the tip. “This is rather unorthodox,” he muttered. Whispers were audible from the world beyond the curtain. Loki swallowed. “But you look so…” He swallowed again, eyelids fluttering closed and hands falling to the mattress. “I’ll get seed on you. And we can’t have that. Not now.” “Not now,” you agreed as your legs parted.

Loki’s breath hitched as he drew the sliver of fabric covering your crotch to the side. The god lowered, lips fastening to your thigh as his hands scooped under your legs. You felt like you might catch fire.

He kissed up to the knee, lingering on each inch of skin like you might vanish. Your nerves were wild, and it wasn’t until the whine of his name had left your lips you even realised you'd done it. There was a ripple of amusement from the crowd, and one of Loki’s brows rose. “As you desire,” he murmured, before fastening softly to your clit.

A moan ripped from your throat.

The touch was almost nothing, but it was a lit match to sulphur. All the desire, the longing, the denial – it came rushing up your throat in that moan.

Loki’s tongue was silk. It smoothed over the folds of your sex, coating you in his wet enthusiasm. Every long, languid lap coupled with a groan of approval in his chest; the sharp angles of his jawline slotting perfectly between your spread legs.

“Loki,” you gasped, back arching while his fingers spread against your hips.

He suckled your clit, eyes opening with calculated precision to lock with your own. “Loki,” you chanted again, reaching to tangle a hand in his hair and failing. His mouth broke from your pussy. “Yes, little owl?” he hummed, chin glistening with your arousal, a playful dimple winking at the corner of his mouth. You huffed.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as the god chuckled against you thigh, wet, lazy kisses bitten into the flesh. His eyes met yours as he kissed over your mound, lowering completely before dragging his nose through your cunt and covering your clit again.

“Gods, yes….f-fuck,” you gasped.

There were more titters of mirth behind the curtain. But you couldn’t hear them – you could only hear Loki’s desperate sighs of need as he worshipped you, only feel the coil winding in your belly as orgasm began to crest; only sense the press of his fingertips pulling your hips deeper into his open mouth.

Suddenly someone shouted: another, and then another. They were hushed by a voice suspiciously like Frigga’s.

You turned your face unwillingly to the side, craning up, straining against the binds. The end of the train was just visible were it ended down aisle. You squinted. Where before it was a kind of white, now it was… “Green?” Loki’s palm pressed against your chest, sliding to cup your breast with a squeeze as you lowered.

“Ignore it,” he breathed: wet, hot. And then, he pushed your knees back. Your eyes widened as he towered above you, fingers spread on your calves like a chariot-rider. A single curl had come loose from the top-knot. Loki lapped from the base of your slit to the tip.

His movements were fluid, and wild – yet perfectly controlled. You’d heard tales of how he swept through battlefields like a whirlwind; slicing enemies down like they were paper; harnessing madness with the absolute precision. And this was like that. Except his battle was your pleasure – and gods, he was winning.

You’d begun to pant, and nonsensical words shaped your tongue as his movements became slower, massaging your cunt with slow, methodical licks. “Loki…” you pleaded, chest heaving, lips parted. And then, you came.

It was like nothing you’d ever known. Everything else had been a pebble of pleasure scattered on a beach – this was the cliff. It slammed into you, spine arching as he shifted to your thrashes; holding your hips fast to his lips as you spilled into him.

Somewhere, people were clapping – but all you could feel was him, guiding your sizzling pussy from its high with gentle, careful licks.

The binds at your wrists loosened and the moment they did, you sat up – audience be damned – and collided with his mouth.

The kiss was deep, wild: fingers digging into the tight hair at the base of his skull, his lips teased open by the demands of your tongue. The taste of you was thick: sweet, hot, dark with your deepest needs. It tasted like love - like trust.

Loki’s moan as you shifted onto his lap and dragged your pussy up his cock: scorching your insides with an unquenchable drive to have him buried inside you. “It’s done,” a creaking voice announced. You squinted through the curtain, panting. The old woman from before with red crusted on her face was standing, facing the crowd. “Loki Odinson has completed the Rite of Successional Pleasure.” A roar erupted through the darkness. Loki shook you by the shoulders, his face smeared with your cum a picture of fierce delight.

I did it, those eyes said.

For a reason you couldn’t explain, your stomach dropped.

The curtain was torn aside and you toppled from Loki’s lap, pulling bundles of the robe’s length to cover your modesty. And then, you saw it. The train spilling down the steps and onto the aisle was almost completely green: a deep emerald, like it had been dipped in ink which soaked its material like the tide. As you watched, the stain grew closer, starting an ascent of the steps. “He has proven himself able to give pleasure to those who serve him,” the woman’s voice cut through the din. “He has proven himself able to earn their love, their allegiance.” Loki stood from the bed, his arms spread wide to the applause: robe open, cock still hard. You frowned, shuffling forwards and tugged the back of his robe. He glanced over his shoulder, expression faltering.

You loved him. He knew that now. Everyone did. So why did it feel like… A mob descended and suddenly Loki was absorbed into a mass of congratulatory back slaps and cheers. Thor stood at the side, clapping all-too-slowly. His eyes darted towards you, before falling to the ground.

‘A triumph,’ the voices in the crowd around Loki said as his smile widened. ‘Never seen anything like it…magnificent.’ They pulled him down the steps. 'One for the histories.'

“Loki." Your voice broke, and you shuffled forwards and stumbled over the tangle of your train. You thought you saw the flash of Loki’s profile; you thought you saw him trying to lurch back through the throng.

But fingers curled around your arms and pulled. The mossy perfume of the Asgardian nymphs stung your eyes and you wrenched against them, hearing a rip from below as someone tore the delicate robe with their feet.

More fingers fastened to your wrist and you yanked away before meeting a pair of piercing blue eyes. Sad eyes. “Let him go,” Frigga whispered firmly. “He has much to celebrate.” Everything else was white noise. Only the memory of Fandral’s smarmy voice loud in your head. ‘He’s trying to make you fall in love with him,’ he’d said. ‘And afterwards, he’ll discard you like the commoner you imagine yourself to be.’ You faltered at the scrunch of Frigga’s brow, strength leaving your limbs.

Her pitying gaze said more than platitudes ever could. Glancing at the door, shouts of jubilation faded in echoing wisps as the green spill completed its ascent up the enchanted fabric.

Loki’s colour: proof that he held your heart in the palm of his hand, proof that you were willing to give yourself to him body, and soul.

And Loki was gone.

A/N. Just trust me, okay? Please? 🙏❤️ Please please. Tags in comments x Next Chapter : Marked (Finale) The Rite Masterlist is here

#the rite🕯️#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x female reader smut #loki x you smut #loki fanfiction #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki imagine #lokismut

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somewhereincairparavel · 5 months

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The fandom's bias and tendency to wanting to agressively associate EVERYTHING with Percy and getting upset when a character isn't associated with him really taints their view on actually significant relationships, and it ruins Percy's canon character tbh.

I came across a video edit appreciating Jason and Nico's friendship, and the comments were just filled with people raging on how Percy should've been included instead of Jason because he was "much closer friends" to Nico than Jason was. It's appalling how much ppl can turn to a blind eye when it comes to Jason.

People hate Jason SO much in this fandom that they literally refuse to admit that Nico canonically considered Jason as his first ever friend, not Percy (this is literally said in Tower of Nero, by the way)

You guys are seriously so hell bent on wanting to take away every little thing jason had that makes his character meaningful, simple to give it to percy when it isn't even necessary. Doesn't percy have enough good characterization already? Why deprive Nico of a genuinely good friendship? Jason spent time and effort to make Nico comfortable and succeeded in earning nicos trust. He taught nico to never push people away and not to be ashamed of being himself, Isn't that beautiful? Why do people get salty abt that so much? Because of course, it's about appreciating Jason for once, and not Percy, isn't that it?

My perspective on Percy and Nico is that, they were never really "close" to begin with and never ended up being close either, and that's okay. Percy tried his very best to be a brother to Nico, but they somehow always had tension with eachother because of Nico's internal turmoil of idolizing and crushing on Percy whilst simultaneously associating him with Bianca.

Sure, they talked it out a little in the end, but I'd like to think that some tension would always be there, because they started off at the wrong foot, and there was too much bitterness and resentment to come in their dynamic. And them never actually being close "brothers" makes their dynamic very significant and authentic. In the end, Nico acknowledged that Percy was a good person, and I like to think that's the farthest they've ever gone in their dynamic. They both are on amicable terms but the awkwardness still being there is very realistic, the weight of Bianca's death would always be associated with Percy to Nico, and it's neither of their faults. That adds SO much to their angsty dynamic, why get so upset about it when it's such an integral, and meaningful part of the story? Nico and Percy not being close friends shows how complex character relationships can be.

Percy doesn't have to be close with everyone just because he's the main character, it really deprives him of actually meaningful connections. The fandom forcing him to be buddy buddy with everyone simply because they HAVE to associate Percy with anyone and everyone, and getting angry that Jason is closer to Nico than Percy is, is just really weird.

Why do people feel SO threatened about Jason all the time that they have to get all defensive and suppress his connections by dragging Percy into videos that doesn't even have to do anything with him? I swear y'all are creating this whole Jason/Percy rivalry thing because you cannot bear to see someone rival Percy, and you want Percy to be the only powerful/good person in the books.

Let other characters befriend eachother without trying to insert Percy in there all the time.

Percy and Nico would never be like Reyna and Nico, or Jason and Nico, and that's completely fine. I like them better that way. You can't be best friends with everyone. That's just how life works.

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wyllsravengard · 6 months

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there's a lot of discussion and speculation about the fact john doesn't speak of arthur in rdr1. logistically it's not hard to understand that rdr1 just came out years before rdr2 and thats why but . But.

but when you think of rdr1 with the additional context two, there is something quite... in line with john trying to forget arthur. wanting to. or burying him. not just in metaphor or in soil but in his memories and in some way failing to do it but in another succeeding

you think of john and his commitment to his son and wife and you think of his willingness to do anything for them. moral or not. righteous or not. and you think of the fact that john didn't know at the time the sort of man arthur believed him to be, but he perhaps modeled himself in the image of his older brother. near incidental. he has so little in common with arthur really. john's broody and lacking remorse and at twenty-six he's inconsiderate entirely in a way arthur never was.

but time is a thief and one day, he turns 38. he's older than arthur when he dies. and john doesn't remember well what he looks like, and all he can feel when he thinks of arthur is grief. grief that never ends. thats the thing about all of it, you'll realize - is that john knows arthur best in the retroactive.

the sort of complicated, odd man arthur was revealed to him in the creases of pages and keepsakes. in the carving of his guns that john finds after arthur is gone. in the ring of the woman arthur loved long ago. in the confessionals to his son isaac and the regret in the letters he wrote to their psuedo father. you realize john knows more of arthurs stagnant ghost that can't guide john into manhood the way he so desperately needs. and it's all he has to go by to make a man of himself.

john never finds out what kind of man arthur believed him to be and he has to infer the real good man arthur was. in grief there is love. john loved arthur enough to want to be like him. and in burying the living, breathing man arthur was he's forced to cling to his spirit. has to piece together the kindness of his older brother through memories and diary entries and secondhand stories. and that's how he models himself in rdr1 to me. where arthur is moral john becomes dutiful and where arthur is kind, john is helpful. he becomes the shadow of arthurs best qualities. he can never be arthur. no one could ever be arthur, even if arthur had given them the page by page instructions of how to do so. this is all he has. all he knows. all he can do.

john misses his brother. so he tries to embody him. but he can't really in the same way he can't grieve him. so he makes a home for arthurs ghost to return to in himself. john never mentions arthur because it dregs up painful what-ifs, but they share so many mannerisms and bastardized qualities. john has fashioned himself based on those loose memories.

one day, a stranger meets john and says. "why would you remember me, friend? you've forgotten far more important people than me" and john will remember all the ghosts he's ever loved briefly. there will be a blurry face and a forgiving voice and it will sound like a memory and it will linger in johns ribcage like a moth. and john won't remember. he won't. he can't. he buried his brother without ever doing it.

john says a lot of things. feels a lot of things. he shoots his gun to the stranger who calls his memory into question and the thing jams and the bastard roams free. john will taste blood in his mouth. he'll feel a cough in his lungs and well, he won't remember his brother still. buried men must stay buried.

of course. of course john never mentions arthur. he can't remember him, even though he's inherited so much of his manner. to speak it of him would be admitting to his existence. its admitting: i miss you. im sorry. it was my fault.

of course john never mentions arthur. he's made all this effort in forgetting him that even when his body and his gesture and his character betray the fact he's forgotten - his mind will soothe the pain and blur out his face.

and instead of remembering in life even once, he'll die the same way arthur did. alone. protective. contented. redeemed. john loves arthur like most brothers do - with muscle memory.

even if john cuts the necrosis of arthurs memory off of him, his body will twitch at the phantom feeling of his existence. john remembers even when he can't. arthur his only brother. the most important man he's ever forgotten.

#z.gen #arthur morgan #john marston #rdr1 #rdr2 #rdr1 spoilers #rdr2 spoilers #im feeling soooooo miserable about them you wouldnt believe

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hopelessrromantix · 1 year

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Miguel having some Unholy ThoughtsTM about venom!reader and the fun they could have with readers new abilities (sub/brat Miguel anyone??)

mmm yes, I whole-heartedly agree

c/w: brat miguel, overstim kinda, Venom!Reader

"C'mon, pretty boy, you can do it." You assured, a wide smirk on your face. A tendril stretched out of your arm, pinning Miguel’s arms behind him. Your chest was flush with his back, sharp teeth grazing his neck.

While you tried to spend the day getting actual work done, Miguel spent it trying to distract you.

He'd unfortunately succeeded more than once, first by grinding himself against you in your lap, then by begging you to fuck him against your desk, then by trying to get under your desk to suck you off.

Eventually you decided it'd be easier to just finish tomorrow, when he was patrolling.

Miguel let out a whine, one that was surely unintentional.

"All you need to do is ask nicely,” You reminded. Your hips were firmly against his, black tendrils pinning him to the bed. While the stretch of having you inside him was nice, it wasn’t enough.

“If you can’t make me cum just say so,” He mumbled, not really expecting you to hear him.

Unfortunately for him, you did.

“You and I both know that’s a lie.” You scoffed. “You want me to prove you wrong?” You questioned, abandoning your effort to make him beg.

He wasn’t sure whether he was happy or terrified at that statement. Regardless, he didn’t have much time to think about it before his brain was overrun by the feeling of your cock slamming into him. He could feel a tendril playing with his chest, only adding to the fuzzy feeling taking over his thoughts.

You thrust hard, grazing his prostate with every thrust and forcing out a high whine.

Your tongue traced his neck, sharp teeth barely grazing his skin.

"Who knew you could make such pretty noises," you chuckled, your teeth sinking in slightly, drawing a few drops of blood that you licked off.

His hands struggled in Venom's grip, a black tendril wrapped around both hands and pinned above him. Your hips slapped against his, two other tendril teasing his chest as he let out another moan.

"Please please please please," Miguel's voice was hushed and high, much different than the Stern, commanding tone you were used to. By how he was trying to move his hips against you, he wanted you to go faster.

"Please what, baby?" You asked. Your hips slowed slightly, the exact opposite of what he wanted.

"Slow down," he whispered under his breath.

You tilted your head, "I couldn't hear that," you smirked. You thrust deep, making his back arch below you.

"Too much! Gonna cummm-"

You chuckled, “Already?” You stopped immediately, causing Miguel to let out a high whine.

“Wh-” He took a deep breath. “Why’d you stop?”

“Well I can’t make you cum, can I?” You smirked.

“No, no…” He mumbled, gasping when you started thrusting again in slow, deep waves. The coiled grip around his arms tightened, and he wasn’t certain if it was you or Venom.

He hesitated, clearly thinking over his answer. He was taking far too long for you though, so you fully stopped, your hips flush against his.

The tendrils on his chest made their way to his neck, wrapping around and squeezing lightly.

Still not receiving an answer, you slapped his ass with one hand, forcing out a whine.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please just let me cum? I’ll be good, just please please go faster.”

“Good boy.” Your hips sped up again, a loud slapping sound echoing throughout your bedroom.

You caught his lips in a kiss, sneaking your tongue down his throat. The second he felt what you were doing he moaned again, hips thrusting toward you.

“I’m gonna cum, please can I cum?” He asked desperately, rutting his hips into yours as fast as he could manage.

“Go ahead.” You agreed, watching as he fell apart immediately after.

Quick, quiet mumbles of “thank you” fell out of his lips before he let himself relax, your thrusts fully stopping and the tendrils around his neck loosening.

“You alright, sweetheart?” You asked as he came down from his high.

“I’m fine, love.” He promised.

“Good.” You leaned down, the squeeze around his neck returning in full force just as you started thrusting.

“I haven’t cum yet, don’t think I’m forgiving you, that easy, pretty boy.”

#male reader #dom male reader #top male reader #x reader #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara

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hxnbi · 6 months

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「 FALLING FOR YOU 」

synopsis: who fell first and who fell harder

characters: itadori yuji, fushiguro megumi, gojo satoru, okkotsu yuta

ITADORI YUJI ➽ he fell first, and he fell harder

Let's be honest, this poor boy has gone through so much. And to have someone who reciprocates his feelings? He felt like he was on cloud nine when he learned that you thought the same thing; "I love you too, Yuji." So much so that he made you repeat it again and again until he was forcefully pulled away by Megumi and Nobara, as you were too overwhelmed by Yuji's... several confessions?—practically busy exploding in joy yourself to configure another thought.

Nothing in the entire world could be better than being with you for the rest of his life, and he made sure that you knew that there were no doubts.

Whatever or whenever it was, Yuji was at your beck and call. You may as well have compared him to a golden retriever-like boyfriend, because that was exactly what it was. He was so incredibly touched that you reciprocated his feelings, so much so that he wanted you to know for sure that he was devoted to you and only you. And in that regard, he indeed succeeded.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI ➽ you fell first, and you fell harder

No one, not Gojo, Yuji, Nobara, or even yourself—would've ever expected you to fall in love with such an aloof person, that person being the stone that is Fushiguro Megumi. Something that intrigued you from the moment you met him. It was shocking, and honestly, even refreshing, to see Megumi smiling. His stoic demeanour in saying practically anything, regardless of its seriousness, and his piercing, borderline terrifying gaze hid a plethora of emotions beneath that impassive tone of his, and try as you might, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him.

But as much as Megumi loved you, he also kept his distance from you. And that pained you to think that perhaps Megumi really didn't care about you as much as you thought—that is, until you realized the reason for why. He just didn't want you to be in danger. He tried to keep you far away from him, but for that reason alone, you found yourself falling harder and harder for the boy who had captured your heart. All that he did, the danger that he put himself under, was for you. And before you even knew it, you found yourself hopelessly in love with the person who had now become the centre of your world.

GOJO SATORU ➽ you fell first, and he fell harder

At first, it was just a tiny crush. Perhaps even a little more. Because, let's be real, who wouldn't be at least somewhat attracted to the strongest sorcerer? At first, that's what you thought. There was no way that someone as powerful as Gojo Satoru would pay attention to an average sorcerer like yourself, right? Wrong.

As Utahime and Megumi would say with utter conviction, Gojo can be an arrogant bastard at times. He's aloof, confident, and charismatic, but he's also just an individual—just an everyday human being. You were the one who truly understood him. You loved him for who he was—not for superficial reasons the rest of his world saw, but because he was a guy whose heart was genuine.

And he found himself falling for you, truly. He found himself loving and appreciating every part of you. To have someone so genuine, so open, unlike him, forced to view himself as merely "the strongest." He felt as though he could be weak around you. He fell hard for you and only you, and that would never change. Anything less would be a betrayal of your love.

OKKOTSU YUTA ➽ he fell first, and you both fell harder

I'd like to think that Yuta, for sure, has thoughts that he doesn't deserve to have you. So he stares from a distance. Everything that he did, the life that he lived, was cursed to a degree that nobody saw when he dared to acknowledge. He thought that you didn't deserve that. But even as he muttered those words to you that day, you looked at him—not with fear, not with disgust, not even with pity, but with sympathy and love.

His vulnerability, even when he was at his lowest, was undeniable. But that made you even more determined to help him—to be that person that Yuta could, for once in his life, lean on without reservation. His timid yet endearing personality drew you in, despite the darkness that surrounded him. But, unbeknownst to you, he had already fallen for you.

Yuta was enthralled, captivated—enchanted even—by all the kindness you showed him from the very moment he laid eyes on you. The way you would act like he was just an average person, regardless of the circumstances. He loved you for who you were, and you were the same.

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muzansfangs · 1 year

Note

Hiii! May I request some hc of the reader cockwarming Muzan during a video call with her parents?😎

Cock-warming Muzan during a video call with your parents.

Starring: Muzan x f!reader.

Warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, slightly choking spanking, vaginal sex, oral sex (Muzan receiving).

Format: headcanons.

Plot: Craving your revenge on your husband for having forgotten about your dinner out yesterday, you came up with a perfect plan to make him pay for his sins. Once he came back from a tiring day at work, you allured him into your trap and forced him to endure a real ‘physical torture’ during a video call with your parents. Were you ready to face the consequences of your actions, though?

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

• Unaware of what was yet to come, your husband groaned softly at the way your tongue swirled around the tip of his leaking cock. His fingers were tangled in your hair, his head lolled back on the headrest of his leather armchair. You truly knew how to help him steam off some stress after a long, tiring day at work.

• Well, of course you did. You were enjoying yourself too, after all. Yet, this was not going to last long. Despite your hunger for him and your devotion in satisfying your husband’s needs, giving Muzan a blow job was just a part of your devious plan. Muzan Kibutsuji was not going to get his release tonight, he was going to endure so much frustration and physical pain he would have thought twice the next time, before ‘forgetting’ about another important dinner with you.

• You glanced up at him as he yanked your hair back, his plum red eyes meeting yours in a lustful glare “Ride me” he demanded, watching the way you suavely stood up from between his knees and quickly unzipped your skirt, letting it pool down at your feet.

• Muzan loved watching you strip for him. The power he had over you, the way you always obediently left the items fall on the floor one by one was enticing. He loved seeing you bouncing up and down his cock, feeling your mouth hovering over his one sinfully, as you thought you were the one in control. He found it amusing the way you always tried to break him, but never really succeeded in it.

• If only he knew how the tables were about to turn…

• You bit your lower lip softly, your panties following the destiny of your skirt and landing on the floor as you leant down towards Muzan. You captured his lips in a tender, yet passionate kiss “Your wish is my command” you whispered then, before turning your back at him and lowering yourself onto his erected, throbbing member. Muzan moaned softly, his hands gripping your hips tightly as your walls clamped down on him.

• “Fuck— Feisty, aren’t we? – he breathed out, sitting up and pressing his still covered chest against your back – I did not expect a reverse cowgirl today, but I’m not complaining” he chortled, his mouth latching onto the left side of your neck as you stared at the pc awaiting for the incoming video call from your parents.

• “I feel experimental, babe… – you sneered, rolling your hips even so slightly to elicit one of his guttural, erotic groans from him – I promise you are going to enjoy it”.

• Muzan hummed, his hot breath fanning your earlobe as he snapped his hips up abruptly, making a high-pitched moan to erupt from your throat “Fucking start to ride me like the bitch in heat you are, darling” he hoarsely said, only to narrow his eyes at the pc as the Skype ringtone spread through the room.

• Now, Muzan was one hundred percent sure you were going to ignore the call. Your parents would have understood anyway, thus he chuckled and wrapped one hand around your throat “Ah, imagine your father’s face, if he saw the lewd faces you’re about to make…” he stated, a smug smile plastered over his face.

• Poor Muzan.

• “Mmm, you better not do that because I really have to answer. Face the camera, Mr. Kibutsuji” you whined, right before dragging your finger on the cursor and answering the call.

• Muzan.exe stopped working. His mouth agape, his expression blank as the cheerful faces of your parents appeared on the screen. How dare you? That was what betrayal felt like.

• “Hi mom! Hi daddy!” you greeted your parents, waving your hand at them as if you were not stuffed with the twitching, hard cock of your husband.

• Muzan gulped down nervously, his hand squeezing your hip harshly as if he wanted you to know that you had royally screwed up. However, you were going to give him a very hard time in speaking to them. After all, he deserved it, right? Therefore, you rolled your hips slowly, pretending you were just shifting your position. Muzan stiffened, a groan almost erupting from his throat “Good evening, Mrs and Mr. L/N” he rasped, faking cough to mask the pleasure engulfing his lower abdomen.

• Sweat ran down his back as he was forced to strike up a conversation with your parents. Why did you do that? Why were you punishing him?

• Then your mother spoke and he froze solid, reality dawning on him as a cold shower. His cock almost softened, but you promptly shifted again and he had to clasp his hand over his mouth to fake another stupid coughing fit “How was your dinner yesterday?”.

• “Aww, unfortunately, we had to call it down… — you pouted, planting a kiss on your husband cheekbone, shifting slighty on your seat – As you can see, Muzan is not at his best!”.

• “I wonder why” Muzan almost growled, as his hand slided down towards your clit. Well, if you were going to be a pain in the ass, he was too. As he started rubbing figures eight on your bundle of nerves, careful not to let your parents get a hint of what was going on, your cheeks heated up and you knew you were toasted by the dangerous glint in Muzan’s eyes.

• Long story short, you made up an excuse and ended the call. But, as soon as you did, Muzan lost his temper.

• You did not even had enough time to realize what was happening that you found yourself bent over the desk, Muzan’s hand spanking your ass a few times in a row, before he leant down towards your ear “What the fuck was that, huh? Acting all bitchy for a dinner? Ah, you must be starving! I’ll give you a wholesome meal you’re not going to regret, dear. Daddy is going to take care of you”. With that, he pulled out of you only to pick a feral pace.

• Spoiler Alert: you could not even walk to the bed on your legs, once he was done with you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! My my, I got a little carried away I think… I’M NOT SORRY THOUGH. I’m a whore for Muzan, but y’all know it already. I hope you have enjoyed this one as much as I did!

Tag: @tired-writer04 because we got a kink for him. Send help, guys💀❤️

#muzan kibutsuji x reader #muzan headcanons #muzan x reader #muzan x you #muzan x y/n #muzan smut #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic

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kitten4sannie · 7 months

Text

ᴡɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏʀɴꜱ

ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴄʀᴇᴀᴍᴘɪᴇ ➠ ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

pairing: demon lord! hongjoong x angel! reader (fem) feat. angel superior! seonghwa

genre: angel/demon au, smut

summary: you are sent to the fourth circle of hell to deliver a message to the demon lord that resides there. he has something to deliver to you in return.

w.c: 3.4k

warnings: sacrilegious vibes, dom! hongjoong, bratty sub! reader, praise/degradation, a lot of angel/demon stuff, voyeurism/exhibitionism, manhandling, brief choking, brief spit play, anal, unprotected doggy style, angel wings as an erogenous zone, creampie

a/n: so ik this is feb filth fest and filth is expected but this one right hereeee is just wrong on so many levels lol. also i do plan on making a sequel for this where joong and reader put angel hwa in his place ^^ but for now i hope you enjoy you sinners~ also be warned that the song rec is a tiny bit heavy hehe aside from it being from one of my fave bands i just felt like that song really fit the fic <3

Now Playing:

ᴅɪᴀᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜰᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Deliver this to Lord Hongjoong,” your superior Seonghwa ordered, holding out a tightly-wrapped scroll inside his golden talons and dropping it into your open palms. “He’s in the fourth circle.”

“As you wish, Master Park.” Swallowing what felt like sand down your dry throat, you placed the scroll into your messenger bag and closed it, the corners of your lips twitching slightly.

“Nervous, are we?” The high-ranking angel folded his arms across his bare chest, your eyes focusing on the glowing sigils etched into his skin, a wave of jealousy blinding you for a split second.

“Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” you replied hastily, your feathered wings lowering slightly.

Seonghwa tilted his head to the side, eyeing you up and down as though he already knew your thoughts and motivations. “Lord Hongjoong is captivated by greed, as you know. He’s fond of excess…self-indulgence…” He lowered one talon to run it along your jaw, making you wince. “He can be very tempting in that aspect. Will you be able to resist?”

Not knowing the answer yourself, you decided to respond to him with another question, “Is this some sort of test?”

He clutched your jaw on either side, lowering himself down so that he could study you closely with his piercing blue eyes. “If you want to move up, you’ll have to show me that you can resist the sins that the flesh yearns for.” One of his talons scraped down along your neck to your breast bone, lightly enough to make you shiver. “Can you do that for me, Miss Y/N?”

Feeling like you were already being tempted by your angelic superior, you did your best to force those conflicting emotions down, nodding your head as adamantly as you could and replying in a stern voice, “Yes, Master Park.”

He gave you a small smirk, before letting go of you and turning around, his large, extravagant wings folding inwards and concealing most of his elegant frame. “Good. Now go.”

࿏࿏࿏

By the time you had made your way past the third circle of hell and were finally entering the dark, hellish terrain of the fourth, you had felt a few waves of heat and pressure infiltrate your mind and body. It succeeded in making you feel heavier, as though you were underwater, forcing you to continue your journey on foot, rather than using your wings.

Gracefully stepping into the dark, bubbling pool of water that surrounded Lord Hongjoong’s domain, you rolled your eyes when a few small demons began to grab and scratch at your ankles. You huffed, feeling out of breath, but continued to wade through the abyss, a small smirk on your flushed face. “Pathetic.”

They continued their pursuit to frighten you, pulling and tugging at the wispy material hanging from your dress, making feeble attempts to drag you underneath. “You’re going to have to try harder than that,” you spat, holding up the damp folds of your skirt and wading through the deeper water, the large iron throne of the demon lord now in plain view.

Hongjoong sat with his legs spread open, one hand resting against his chin, his bare, tattoo-covered body on full display, a woven crown of spiraling black thorns sitting comfortably on the top of his head. His crimson eyes glowed against the darkness of the vast cavern, watching you struggling to reach him, his face remaining neutral.

You eventually made it to the deepest section of the water, the throne area sitting high above you, forcing you to angle your head upwards, the ends of your hair dipping into the black abyss below.

“What brings you here, angel?” the Demon Lord questioned, uttering the last word as though it were an insult, his commanding voice permeating all the way from his throne down to your pointed ears.

“I come with a message from Lord Park.”

He sat up from his relaxed position, leaning forward and resting his darkened, soot-covered hands in between his muscular thighs. “A message, hm? How trivial must it be if he couldn’t even bother to give it to me himself?”

“I don’t know. I just do as I’m told.” You swatted some of the smaller demons away from you, having to use more force when a few of the bigger ones began pulling at your hair and your thin clothes, threatening to strip you right then and there.

“Mm, of course you do.” Studying the way your dress clung desperately to your untarnished, glistening skin, he continued, his voice dripping with sin, “Why would he send such a delicious-looking follower to me all on her own with no one to protect her? It’s like you’re begging me to devour you.”

“I can protect myself, demon,” you growled, shoving another cackling creature away from you, unable to keep it from shredding the lower half of your dress with one quick swipe of its claws, exposing your thighs.

Hongjoong licked his lips, emitting a low chuckle, now finding your presence to be quite entertaining. “But you can’t seem to protect your precious garments. Weren’t they sewn by Lord Seonghwa himself? He won’t be very happy to see you in such an indecent state.”

“He’ll understand knowing I had to travel to such a filthy, unforgivable place,” you panted, about to continue describing how awful Hongjoong’s residence was when two of his demonic followers began tugging on both of your wings, causing you to let out an involuntary cry of pain mixed with pleasure. Meanwhile, another eager demon sent his claws down the front of your uniform, leaving it in ribbons.

“I do apologize for my pets. They always get excited when we have a guest, especially when it’s a pretty little angel.” Hongjoong couldn’t help but admire how vulnerable you were beginning to appear before him, taking great pleasure in the way you didn’t seem to give up, despite clearly being worn down.

“If I had permission from my Master, they would all be eradicated from my sight,” you threatened, forcefully ripping yourself free from the demons, a few of your feathers floating away into the dark water.

“You’re so frightening, little one. I almost let out a scream of terror,” he said flatly, rolling his eyes at you. Hongjoong tapped his sharpened nails against his knee, holding his other hand down in your direction, a demonic sigil etched into the palm of his hand. “Come on up here and deliver the message before I fall asleep out of boredom.”

Grumbling, you began pulling yourself out of the heavy water, grabbing onto the sharper edges of the rocky wall and slowly bringing yourself up to where he sat, your drenched wings threatening to send you back down into the clutches of the creatures that were whispering and snickering to each other below.

Once you stood before the Demon Lord, your chest heaving from how much energy you had to exert just to get to that point, you pulled the scroll from your bag and tossed it into his lap.

“Hope you weren’t too fond of your clothes,” Hongjoong mused, untying the scroll and scanning through it, while motioning to your dress with his free hand, just in time for it to begin peeling away from your dripping body and pooling around your feet.

Immediately filled with a sense of guilt and shame, you fell to your knees, hunching forward and covering your body to the best of your ability. “This only happened because your lecherous pets wouldn’t leave me be,” you hissed, glaring up at the Demon Lord that now stood above you, the mere sight of his cock hanging in between his legs making you feel faint. “Don’t you know that humiliating an angel is a capital offense? You could be–”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Hongjoong crouched down, running his fingers through your damp, tangled hair, his lips curling into a pompous smirk. “I can’t be punished for doing that to someone who’s no longer welcome inside the Kingdom of Heaven. You should really read these messages before you deliver them.”

The intense pressure you had been feeling for the past couple hours bubbled up to the surface, showing up as an unbridled rage that you didn’t even realize you were capable of expressing. “You dirty, filth-ridden pest! You think you can open your wicked mouth and spout some nonsense such as–”

Hongjoong grabbed you by the throat before you could finish, standing up and lifting you up in the process with one hand, his fingers squeezing around your delicate neck, using the other hand to show you what your Master had written on the scroll.

“No…” you mumbled, staring down at the scroll, almost unable to accept your fate. The message was clear: Lord Seonghwa wanted you to stay in the fourth circle where you supposedly belonged, as he was afraid of your inevitable betrayal.

How could he have known about your wishes when you never made them known to him? To anyone? You were so careful, so precise with your actions, so willing to do everything your Master asked of you, no matter how difficult. And this was the thanks you get? Banished to hell without a single goodbye?

“It’s not quite over yet, angel.” His blood red eyes bored into your half-closed ones, looking past them and gazing straight into your soul. “I can help you get your revenge. I may not like angels, but I loathe pretentious, high-ranking ones like Lord Seonghwa.” Hongjoong pulled you in closer, his hot breath hitting the bottom of your chin, a bit of drool escaping his plush lips. “Seduce him and take him down with you. That would give you immense pleasure, wouldn’t it? All you need to do is lend me your body.”

“You…you’re…a liar…” you choked out, grasping at his hand, your dripping wings beginning to tremble behind you. “Why…would you do that…for me?”

“It’s not for you,” he sneered, baring his sharpened canines, slowly lowering you back down to the ground, his fingers still clutching your neck. “I’m a lot of things, angel. Greedy, insatiable, consumed with desire, but…a liar is not one of them. I simply want to cause as much destruction as I can.”

Ignoring the angelic voices inside your head telling you to resist, you did the opposite, instead giving Hongjoong what he wanted. And what you wanted as well. “Very well…Lend me your power. I want as much as you can give me. My Master won’t go down easy.”

“So greedy.” Giving you a proud smile, the Demon Lord released your neck, the sigil on his hand now imprinted on your skin, though you couldn’t see it yourself. “I’ll give you everything you need, angel. But first, you must get on your hands and knees, and spread yourself open for me.”

Despite your instinct to spit in Hongjoong’s face and curse him, your profound need for power and revenge far outweighed your desire to piss him off. You did as he said, slowly lowering yourself to the ground and bending over, resting your hands down on the ground and spreading your knees apart, biting into your lip, knowing your angelic ancestors were rolling in their celestial graves. “Be quick, demon.”

Hongjoong got down onto his knees behind you, his cock standing at full attention from the sight of a haughty angel offering herself to him. “I’m the one who has what you desire, angel, so I will go at whatever pace that pleases me the most.”

“Then get on with it.” You rolled your eyes, knowing he couldn’t see you, about to say something snarky when the demon ran his heated hands up and down the curves of your waist, only stopping when he held them just above your ass.

With his hands cemented around your waist, Hongjoong slowly pushed himself into you, inch by inch until his hips were flush with yours, groaning so incredibly loud that his voice echoed throughout the large cavern. “Fuck, there’s nothing better than filling up an angelic virgin cunt like yours…”

“I’m…not…a virgin…” you struggled to inform the demon, gritting your teeth from how incredibly full you felt inside, your inner walls barely able to take his girth and size.

“Oh?” Hongjoong squeezed the supple flesh of your hips and ass, the pact on his hands leaving a pleasant burn wherever he touched you. “So angels suck and fuck each other too, eh? This is news to me.”

“You make it sound disgusting, demon. We conduct rituals that are ordained by God herself,” you huffed, glaring back at him with a fire in your eyes. “It’s a holy union used to connect our souls, to link our hearts.”

Hongjoong’s thrusts were quick, sloppy, but he made sure to fill you up completely every time he entered you, his cock heavy and almost hot inside your cunt, making you feel like you could melt. “So what are you doing now with me? Are we linking our souls, angel?” He snorted, sinking his fingers into your ass. “Because I think I’m just fucking you for the fun of it. And I think you like it, judging from that drool that’s falling from your pretty lips.”

You turned away from him, instead facing a few demons that had gathered around you, not having enough energy to care that they were pleasuring themselves to the sight of an angel taking the cock of a demon. “I’m not…drooling…” you exhaled out, your body completely relaxing into Hongjoong’s, just letting him use you to his black heart’s content.

Hongjoong let out a deep chuckle, hunching over slightly and speeding up his movements, the sound of your skin slapping together and your combined moans pleasing him and the demons around you both. “Liar. You’re not much of an angel, are you? All you’ve done is sin nonstop since you’ve visited my residence. Maybe you do belong down here with me.”

You grasped at the rough terrain below you, knowing it was going to scrape up your knees from how hard Hongjoong was pounding into you. “I’m-uuunh-doing this to bring-aaah-Lord Park down with me, demon. Don’t you forget..!”

“Is that so? You’re not also doing this for pleasure?” He ran a single finger along the edge of one of your wings, hearing you let out a small gasp.

“N-no, I don’t believe in losing yourself to earthly pleasures,” you lied straight through your teeth, gasping again once you felt the displeasure of suddenly being empty, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Well, I do.” Hongjoong simply chuckled, spreading your ass open with his talons and sending a few wads of spit into your other hole, gaining the approval of the demons that surrounded you.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” you called out from below, turning your head back to look at him with disgust.

“I’m simply having you in every way an angel deserves to be had…desecrating you in the way you deserve,” Hongjoong sighed out, reaching down to grab your wrists and hold them behind you, leaving you in a position that left you no choice but to take the Demon Lord’s pulsing cock inside your ass.

“Oh my god, you foul beast. No one’s ever-nnngh-done such a thing to me,” you panted heavily, being filled up somewhere other than your sacred center, in a place that wasn’t supposed to elicit any pleasure whatsoever. The feeling of your ass being filled up to the very brim sent waves of pure arousal through your holy form, making you wonder if you’ve always been tainted if you were enjoying such a filthy thing. You gazed hazily at the demons around you past your wet strands of hair, their noises of animalistic enthusiasm only growing louder as Hongjoong began to pound into your ass harder than before, his cock slipping in and out with ease, your body shuddering underneath his.

“Look at you, taking my demon cock in your tight virgin ass like this,” Hongjoong mused, mostly to himself, letting go of your wrists to grab back onto your wings, making you cry out in a bout of sudden pleasure. “Mmm, my sweet angel, if you admit it feels good to be fucked raw, to be taken like this in front of a demonic audience, to be owned by a Demon Lord, I’ll make you cum harder than you ever have during any of your silly little angelic rituals.”

What have you got to lose? Your pride? Your innocence? Your holiness? Sure, those things were important to you, but it was a little too late to salvage them. You wanted revenge and you were willing to do anything for it. Even if that meant getting on your hands and knees, surrounded by filthy creatures, and taking demon cock in the fourth circle of hell.

“It feels…so good…it’s unholy, so filthy…and I…I love it…” you panted out in between hoarse moans, a few beads of sweat cascading down your spine to the small of your arched back, coming to realize that you had begun to fuck yourself back onto Hongjoong’s cock, desperate for your release.

Hongjoong found great satisfaction in your submission, eagerly placing his hands on the bend of your wings, slowly running them down the thickest part of it to the thinnest, repeating this action when he heard how whiny you began to sound. “Mm, you’re so sensitive…”

“Pull them, please…” you practically begged, digging your fingers into the ground, almost smacking Hongjoong in the face with your wings when they spread out.

The demon gripped the thicker section of your wings and tugged them in an outwards motion, still drilling himself into you at the same time, panting too heavily to let out a proper laugh of satisfaction. “Let’s see, is the pretty angel going to cum from having her wings tugged on or because of the fat demon cock that’s stuffed inside her angelic little cunt?”

“Haaaah…both…” You were practically losing your sanity at this point, so caught up in the inescapable heaviness and lust in the air that you couldn’t bring yourself to stop driving yourself back onto his stiff cock. “Give me more…I’m so close…!”

“As you wish.” Hongjoong grabbed onto both of your wings at the base near your shoulder blades, holding them like handlebars, suddenly pulling out from your ass and thrusting back into your cunt, so deep and so hard that your arousal began squirting onto his cock, the clear liquid dripping down your inner thighs. “Such a slutty little angel, cumming so hard for a filthy demon like me…”

You could barely breathe, huffing and puffing on the ground, covered in sweat, your ass still up in the air, knowing Hongjoong was about to cum too from the way he was groaning and holding you still. “Don’t cum inside me…That’s reserved for higher ups only…”

“Too late,” he grunted, gripping your wings so hard that he ripped a few feathers out, pumping his cum into you, clearly delighted by your soft cries of pain and pleasure. “It doesn’t really matter anymore now, does it? You’re not welcome back up there, so it’s better that your guts are painted white with my seed.”

You shuddered, already feeling the demon’s load dripping down your slit, making you grit your teeth. “As long as I can stay up there long enough to seduce my Master, I’ll be fine...” You eventually stood up, your thighs trembling, your face flushed beyond measure, still dripping sweat. “So will you give me your power now…?”

Pleased with the sight of his cum dripping from in between your thighs and the sigil glowing on your neck, he stood up and put his hands on your shoulders, the sickening smirk returning to his prince-like face. “You already have it. You had it as soon as I wrapped my hand around your pretty little neck earlier.”

If you had any more energy to exert, you would’ve made an attempt to shove him over the edge of his throne and into the murky water below, but you simply stood there, your wings raising up slightly out of anger. “So you fucked me and filled me with your filthy seed for nothing?”

Hongjoong shook his head, clicking his forked tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Not for nothing, silly angel. For pleasure.” He raised a hand to caress your jaw, angling your face up to look deep into his eyes, appreciating how your own gold ones lost their color and instead were as dark and empty as his soul. It almost brought a tear to his eye. “And you enjoyed it too, begging for me to grab and pull at your wings the way you did, you naughty thing.”

You raised your own hand up, grabbing him by the jaw, surprising him and yourself with your sudden bout of strength and dominance. “If you don’t help me desecrate Lord Seonghwa, demon,” you began slowly, through gritted teeth, using your other hand to grasp at Hongjoong’s crown of thorns, not caring that the sharpened edges pricked into your fingers. “I’ll have no problem with taking this crown off and using it on you as a nice cock ring instead. Am I clear?”

Hongjoong couldn’t have been harder than in that moment, having corrupted and turned an angel into something that was able to frighten even himself, the Demon Lord of the Fourth Circle. Chuckling, he caressed your cheek lovingly, giving you a fond smile complete with sharp, jagged teeth. “Crystal clear.”

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