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jupiterpilgrim · 15 days ago

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Drown With Me

Pt.3: Ecdysis

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 23K

part 1 | part 2

Love hurts.

But honestly, who would survive without love?

A small window into the present:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you say.

—

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

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

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

“Still the nightmares?”

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

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

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

“Strange how?”

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

You nod, already intrigued. “Go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you catch any?” you ask.

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

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

She looks at you, surprised. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

“Anytime,” you say, meaning it.

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

—

Back to the past

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

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

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

You blink, startled, as they gather around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Superstitious,” she murmurs, her lips curling.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like this?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

“Do you like it?” she asks again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask, blinking at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ning, stop,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sight stops her cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I noticed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Minji,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Minji knows she’s not sleeping.

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

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

No response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ning doesn’t respond, her silence speaking volumes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ning forces herself to swallow, her chest tightening painfully.

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

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

“Eat, Ning. You’ll feel better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you and him... you know.”

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

“But you’ve done something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to him?” you ask.

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

You whistle softly. “Harsh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasted,” you finish for her, nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her head snaps up at that. “A scar?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod slowly, giving her space to continue.

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

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

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

“Do what?” you ask, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “Me too.”

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

Ning.

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

“Something on your mind?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“In the way?” you echo, frowning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Minji...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow, despite everything, you nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” she whispers, leaning back in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re on top?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck—you're... driving me crazy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On your knees,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A doll?” Ning asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s... clingy,” you say, frowning slightly. “I mean, she’s always been kind of like that, but lately, it’s more. She’s always around. Always with us. Even at weird times.”

Minji turns back to the dresser, rummaging for something before straightening up. “That’s normal,” she says simply.

“Normal?” you repeat, your brow furrowing. “How do you know?”

“I know Ning,” Minji says, her voice calm, measured. “This is just a phase.”

You shake your head, leaning back slightly. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but... it’s too much. I mean, I like Ning. She's my friend, and sometimes she's like a little sister to me. But she’s everywhere. And it feels like she doesn’t even realize how... weird it is.”

Minji sits on the edge of the bed, her back to you. She stretches her arms above her head before turning to face you, her legs crossed under her. “It’s both,” she says.

“Both what?”

“On purpose and unintentional,” she replies.

You stare at her, more confused than ever. “What does that even mean?”

Minji tilts her head slightly, her hair spilling over one shoulder. “It means she doesn’t fully understand why she’s doing it. But part of her does. Part of her knows exactly what she wants.”

You shake your head again, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t get it. You make it sound like some... elaborate plan.”

“It’s not a plan,” Minji says. “It’s instinct. She’s shedding her skin.”

That stops you. You blink at her, trying to make sense of the metaphor. “Shedding her skin?”

Minji smiles faintly, leaning forward slightly. “Like a snake. She’s outgrowing herself. She doesn’t know what’s next, but she knows she can’t stay the same. And it’s messy. Confusing. For her and for everyone else.”

You shake your head again, feeling like you’re missing some crucial piece of the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“We don't need to understand everything,” Minji says simply, standing and walking toward you.

She climbs onto your lap, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders, her body warm and familiar against yours. “She just wants love,” she says. “That’s all anyone wants. What’s wrong with giving it to her, until she learns to find it for herself?”

You stare at her, your hands resting on her hips, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“Minji...”

She shakes her head, silencing you with a small smile. “It’s okay,” she says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s not forever. Just for now.”

And somehow, that’s enough to quiet the unease in your chest, at least for tonight.

—

Ning stirs awake, the sunlight filtering through the blinds cutting across the living room. She groans softly, the weight of sleep still heavy on her as she stretches out on the couch. The blanket you’d thrown over her the night before slides down, pooling at her waist as she blinks groggily at the room.

She sits up, yawning hard enough that her jaw cracks, and rubs at her eyes, her hand raking through her messy hair. The TV is off now, but the faint echo of the movies you binged together still lingers in the back of her mind. She smiles sleepily, recalling the way you’d teased her about falling asleep halfway through the second one.

Her bladder nudges her out of the haze, and she stands, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. She heads to the bathroom, her movements slow, unhurried, the quiet stillness of the morning lulling her into a half-awake stupor.

Inside, she flips on the light, squinting slightly at the brightness, and shuffles over to the toilet. She tugs her loose shorts down her hips, settling onto the seat with a sigh of relief as the sound of her peeing fills the small space. Her head tilts back slightly, her body relaxing as the last remnants of sleep start to ebb away.

When she's done, she lazily reaches for some toilet paper, tearing off a few squares and carefully wiping herself, the paper crinkling softly in her hand. She gives a quick glance to make sure she’s clean before tossing it in the toilet and standing up.

The loud whoosh of water startling her slightly. Still on autopilot, she moves to the sink, turning the tap on and letting the water run cool before washing her hands. The soap smells faintly of citrus, and she rubs it into her skin, rinsing and drying off quickly.

She leans against the sink, staring at her reflection for a moment, her fingers brushing over her slightly puffy face. She frowns at the bags under her eyes, then cups her hands under the water to splash her face, the cold shock waking her up a little more.

Grabbing a toothbrush from the cup on the counter, she squeezes a line of minty toothpaste onto the bristles and starts brushing, the rhythm of it almost mechanical. She looks at Minji's toothbrush and yours and for a moment thinks about how it looks like a dystopian domestic scene. Her thoughts wander, drifting back to the conversation from last night, the easy laughter, the way you’d tossed popcorn at her when she said something smart. Or when Minji stroked her hair until she fell asleep. She smiles faintly around the toothbrush, rinses, and spits, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

As she leaves the bathroom, the quiet of the apartment feels different now—less serene, more alive somehow. Her footsteps slow as she makes her way back to the living room, a faint murmur catching her attention.

She pauses, tilting her head, her brows furrowing. The sound is faint, indistinct, but it’s coming from your room. She takes a step closer, curiosity tugging at her as her ears strain to make out the words.

The murmur becomes clearer as she approaches, her heartbeat quickening. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, she knows that, but something about the tone—the soft giggles, the whispered urgency—pulls her in.

When she reaches your door, she hesitates, her hand hovering near the handle. The murmur continues, and a thrill of something she can’t quite name runs down her spine. Slowly, carefully, she crouches down, her knees brushing against the carpet, and leans in to peek through the keyhole.

Her breath catches in her throat as her gaze sharpens on the scene inside. You’re there, standing next to your bed, your hands sliding up Minji’s thighs. Minji’s back is arched slightly, her nipples hardened by the cold, arousal and risk, her head tilted back, her hands gripping your shoulders as she lets out a breathless laugh.

“We need to be quick,” you mutter, your voice low but playful, your fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. The delicate white lace slides down her hips as she bites her lip, her eyes flicking toward the door. “Before Ning wakes up.”

Ning freezes, her heart pounding in her chest as the words sink in.

Ning’s breath hitches, her heart hammering in her chest as she presses her eye closer to the keyhole. The angle isn’t perfect, but she can see enough. You’re on your knees now, your hands gripping Minji’s thighs, spreading her legs as you bury your face between them.

Minji’s fingers tangle in your hair, her knuckles whitening as she fights to keep her composure. Her lips part, and Ning can barely make out the soft, desperate moans that slip past them, muffled by the hand she brings up to cover her mouth.

“Fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice trembling as her head falls back, her hips jerking slightly against your mouth. “You’re—ah—you’re so fucking good at this.”

From Ning’s perspective, it’s almost surreal. Minji’s bare skin gleams in the soft light of the room, her body shivering as your hands roam her thighs, your grip firm and possessive. The wet, obscene sounds of your mouth working on her pussy carry through the quiet, and Ning’s thighs press together instinctively, her body reacting without permission.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her breathing shallow as she keeps watching, her cheeks heating as she realizes how wet she’s getting just from the scene unfolding before her.

Minji bites her fist, her other hand gripping your shoulder for balance as you suck on her clit, your tongue flicking over it with deliberate, relentless precision. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her voice still quiet but shaky. “Right there—fuck, don’t stop.”

You don’t. If anything, your movements grow hungrier, more focused, your hands sliding up to grip her ass and pull her closer to your face. Minji’s knees tremble, her body swaying slightly, and Ning can see the tension in her muscles, the way her chest heaves as she tries to suppress her cries.

“Please,” Minji whispers, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against your mouth. “Please—don’t make me scream. Ning—oh, fuck—Ning’s right out there.”

Your laugh is muffled, the sound vibrating against her, and Minji’s response is immediate—a sharp, shuddering gasp that has her nearly collapsing into your arms. “You’re such an asshole,” she hisses, but there’s no heat in her words, just breathless, desperate need.

Ning’s hand slips between her own thighs without her even thinking, her fingers brushing over the damp fabric of her shorts. She curses softly under her breath, her cheeks burning as she realizes how turned on she is. Her fingers press down lightly, teasing herself through the material as she watches you work, her breath catching every time Minji lets out another muffled moan.

“God, you’re gonna make me—” Minji gasps, her nails digging into your shoulder. “I can’t—I can’t stay quiet—”

Your hands tighten on her ass, holding her in place as your tongue moves faster, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth against her pussy growing louder. Minji’s body trembles, her legs nearly giving out as she fights to hold herself together, her cries growing more desperate despite her best efforts.

And all the while, Ning watches, her fingers pressing harder against herself, her body trembling as arousal coils tight in her stomach. She knows she should stop—knows she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching—but she can’t tear her gaze away.

Your tongue works Minji’s clit relentlessly, swirling, flicking, sucking with a precision that has her trembling against you. Her legs are unsteady, her grip in your hair tightening as you lap at her pussy, your face buried in her heat. The wet sounds of your mouth on her, combined with her quiet, gasping moans, fill the room.

“Fuck—fuck,” Minji whispers, her voice barely controlled as she tries to keep her cries quiet. “You’re gonna make me cum, you asshole—I’m so close—”

You don’t let up, doubling down as your lips close around her clit, sucking hard and then flicking your tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud. Her whole body jerks, her thighs squeezing your head as she bites her fist to muffle the scream that’s building in her throat.

Ning watches through the keyhole, her heart racing, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her fingers press harder against herself, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She shouldn’t be watching this—she knows that. But watching you make Minji cum, watching the way you dominate her with your mouth, is more than she can resist.

Minji’s body locks up suddenly, her breath catching as her orgasm crashes over her. Her nails dig into your scalp, her hips bucking against your mouth as she lets out a muffled cry, her legs shaking as she tries to keep standing. You don’t pull away, your tongue and lips drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she’s practically collapsing into your arms.

“Fuck,” Minji gasps, her voice weak, her body trembling as she clings to you. “I’m done—I’m so fucking done—”

But you’re not. You guide her toward the bed, gently lowering her onto her knees, her arms bracing against the mattress as she pants for breath. “I know you can handle more, on all fours for me,” you tell her, your voice rough with hunger.

Minji obeys without hesitation, her knees sinking into the mattress as she shifts into position. You stand behind her, your hands hooking into the waistband of your underwear and sliding them down. Your cock springs free, thick, hard, and glistening with need, and for a moment, the room seems to pause.

Ning stifles a gasp, her eyes widening as she stares through the keyhole, her breath catching in her throat. She’d imagined it before—fantasized about what you might look like, what you might feel like—but nothing had prepared her for the reality. It’s almost too much, seeing you like this, seeing the cock she’s dreamed about so vividly right there in front of her, but not for her.

You stroke yourself slowly, your eyes fixed on Minji’s ass, the curve of her back, the way she looks so perfectly ready for you. “I’ll grab a condom,” you mutter, your voice rough, your tone almost detached as you try to keep control.

Minji glances back at you, her eyes hazy with lust. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t care. Just fuck me now—I need you inside me.”

Her words resonate with Ning. She can feel the heat pooling between her legs, the ache of desire building to an unbearable level. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s tugging her shorts and panties down her thighs, her fingers slipping between her slick folds as she watches you climb onto the bed behind Minji.

You line yourself up with Minji’s entrance, your hands gripping her hips as you press the head of your cock against her wet, swollen pussy. She lets out a shuddering breath, her body trembling with anticipation, and then you’re inside her, sliding deep with one smooth, deliberate thrust.

“Goddamn,” you groan, your head tilting back as you bury yourself to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight, Minji. So goddamn perfect.”

Minji cries out, her hands gripping the sheets as she adjusts to your size. “Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You feel—shit—you’re so deep—”

Ning’s fingers work faster, her hips lifting slightly as she rubs her clit in tight, desperate circles. Her other hand grips her thigh, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her, her breath catching every time you thrust into Minji. She’s wet, so wet, her fingers sliding easily as she imagines it’s her on the bed instead, her body stretched and filled by you.

“Harder,” Minji begs, her voice muffled against the mattress. “Please—fuck me harder—”

You don’t hesitate, your hips slamming against her ass with a rhythm that’s rough, relentless, each thrust driving you deeper. Minji’s moans grow louder, less controlled, and Ning bites her lip to keep from crying out herself as she watches your cock disappear into Minji’s tight, glistening pussy over and over again.

“Look at you,” you growl, your hands tightening on Minji’s hips. “Taking me so fucking well. You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked like this?”

“Yes,” Minji cries, her voice cracking as her body rocks with every thrust. “Yes—don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

Ning’s breath hitches, her fingers sliding faster, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge. She’s so close, the sight of you fucking Minji, the sound of your groans and her cries, pushing her to the brink. She bites down hard on her lip, her eyes squeezed shut as she imagines what it would feel like to have you inside her instead.

This makes her go beyond reason, her body moving on instinct, completely overtaken by the scene playing out in front of her. Her fingers, already slick with her arousal, slide down to her dripping entrance, and before she can second-guess herself, she pushes two fingers inside.

The sensation is electric, her walls clenching around her fingers as she starts thrusting in time with your movements, mirroring the rhythm of your cock driving into Minji. Her other hand remains pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the quiet, breathy moans that spill out as she fucks herself.

On the other side of the door, you’re relentless, your hips slamming into Minji with a force that makes her cry out, her voice muffled against the mattress. “God, Minji,” you growl, your tone dripping with dominance. “You’re so fucking wet, squeezing me so tight. You love being my little slut, don’t you?”

Ning’s eyes flutter shut, her fingers curling inside her as if you’re the one filling her up. “Yes,” she whispers, barely audible, her voice shaky and desperate. Her fingers move faster, her thumb brushing over her swollen clit, and she can’t stop herself from whispering again. “Yes, I love it—I love being yours.”

Your voice cuts through the door again, rough and commanding. “Say it, Minji. Say how much you love being fucked like this, how much you need my cock.”

Ning's head leans against the door, her lips parting as her fingers drive deeper, the wet sounds of her own arousal mingling with the lewd noises from the other room. She’s lost, caught up in the fantasy, responding as if the words were meant for her.

“I need it,” Ning murmurs, her hips rocking against her hand. “Fuck, I need you so bad—”

Inside the room, Minji’s voice rises, a high-pitched, breathless cry. “Yes, I need it—I need your cock so bad—don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Ning matches the rhythm of her fingers to the frantic pace of your thrusts, her knees trembling as she pushes herself closer to the edge. Her juices drip down her thighs, her clit throbbing under the relentless assault of her thumb. She’s mumbling now, her words incoherent, her body shaking as she chases the pleasure building inside her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice trembling as her fingers curl inside her, brushing that spot that makes her legs weak. “So deep, baby—feels so good—oh, my God—”

You grunt loudly, your hands gripping Minji’s hips tighter, pulling her back against you with every thrust. “You’re fucking perfect, Minji,” you growl, your voice rough. “Taking me so fucking well—like you were made for this.”

Ning can’t hold back her response, her whispered voice growing louder despite herself. “Yes—I was—I was made for this,” she mutters, her breath hitching as her fingers slam into her wet pussy. “Fuck me harder—please—don’t stop—”

Her words blur into soft moans and gasps, her body trembling as she teeters on the edge of release. Her eyes are glued to the keyhole, watching the way your cock disappears into Minji’s pussy, the way Minji’s body arches with every thrust. It’s too much, the visual, the sounds, the fantasy she’s building in her head—all of it pushes her closer, her fingers working furiously as she chases the same pleasure Minji is drowning in.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her fingers curl again, her body arching off the floor. “I’m so close—oh, my God, I’m gonna—”

But she doesn’t let herself finish, biting down hard on her lip to keep herself from crying out. She’s too lost, too far gone, completely consumed by the rhythm of your thrusts, the sound of Minji’s cries, the fantasy of being in her place.

You slow your thrusts, pulling out of Minji for just a moment, earning a frustrated whimper from her as you guide her toward the edge of the bed. Sitting down, your cock slick and throbbing, you grab her hips, pulling her onto your lap.

Minji straddles you, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your legs. Her chest brushes against yours as she lowers herself, your cock sliding back inside her in one smooth motion. She lets out a shaky gasp, her fingers gripping your shoulders as she settles into the position, her tight pussy squeezing you in all the right ways.

“Ride me,” you murmur, your hands gripping her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Show me how much you love this cock, Minji.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, her hips starting to move in slow, deliberate circles. Her pace is teasing at first, her heat clenching around you as she adjusts to the angle. Her chest presses against yours, her nipples brushing your skin, and you can’t resist leaning forward to capture one of her breasts in your mouth.

Your tongue flicks over her hardened nipple, your lips closing around the sensitive bud as you suck greedily. Minji moans above you, her nails digging into your shoulders as she starts to bounce on your lap, her movements growing more erratic, more desperate.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I love your cock—I love the way it fills me, stretches me—God, I can’t get enough.”

Ning’s breath catches as she watches through the keyhole, her own hand moving instinctively to her breast. Her fingers slip under her tank top, squeezing the soft flesh as her thumb brushes over her nipple. Her other hand is still buried between her legs, her fingers glistening with her arousal as she thrusts them in and out, imagining it’s your cock instead.

“Yes,” she whispers softly to herself, her cheeks flushed as her hips rock against her hand. “I love it too—I love the way it feels—”

Your mouth moves to Minji’s other breast, your tongue swirling around her nipple before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Her back arches, her cries growing louder, her hips slamming against yours with an urgency that drives you wild.

“You’re fucking incredible,” you growl against her skin, your hands sliding up to grip her waist, helping guide her movements. “The way you ride me, Minji—fuck—you’re perfect.”

“God, yes,” she moans, her head tilting back as she grinds down on you, her pace frantic. “You make me feel so good—so fucking good—I never want to stop.”

Ning’s thighs tremble as she matches her rhythm to Minji’s, her fingers curling inside her, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She squeezes her breast harder, her thumb flicking over her nipple as she imagines it’s your mouth on her, your hands gripping her body, your cock buried deep inside her.

“I need you,” Ning whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with raw need. “Fuck, I need you so bad—I’d ride you just like that—I’d make you feel so good, baby—”

Inside, Minji’s cries grow louder, her hips slamming down on you with a force that makes the bed creak. Her hair sticks to her damp skin, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she moans your name over and over again.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you rasp, your grip on her waist tightening as you thrust up into her, meeting her movements. “You take me so fucking well, Minji. You’re perfect—so fucking perfect.”

“Yes—fuck—yes,” Minji moans, her nails raking down your chest. “I love it—I love your cock—I love the way you fuck me—”

Ning’s own voice joins hers, a soft, breathy murmur as her body shakes with pleasure. “I love it too—I love it—I’d take you so well,” she whispers, her words blending with the sounds of your thrusts, the wet, obscene noises filling the room.

Her hips rock harder, her fingers plunging deeper as she imagines you looking at her the way you look at Minji, your hands on her, your cock filling her completely. She’s on the edge, teetering between reality and fantasy, her entire body trembling as she chases the release building inside her.

You grip Minji’s waist tighter, your breath coming in ragged gasps as her movements grow faster, more erratic. The tight, wet heat of her pussy has you on the edge, your cock twitching inside her as your body threatens to lose control.

“Fuck, Minji,” you groan, your head falling back as she rides you harder, her hips slamming down with a desperate rhythm. “You’re gonna make me cum—God, you’re gonna fucking make me cum.”

Her nails dig into your shoulders as her moans mix with yours, her face flushed, her lips parted. “Me too,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I’m so close—I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum, too.”

You grip her ass, pulling her closer as you thrust up into her, your words spilling out in a rush. “Where do you want it, baby? Tell me where you want my cum.”

Her eyes lock on yours, filled with wild lust. “On my tits,” she says, her voice cracking with need. “I want it all over my tits.”

The words send a jolt of heat through you, and Minji’s body responds, her pace growing frantic as she bounces on your cock, trying to hold back the screams threatening to burst from her lips. Her hips jerk, her thighs trembling, and then she’s cumming—hard.

Her back arches, her nails scraping down your chest as her pussy clenches around you in tight, rhythmic spasms. “Oh, fuck—fuck—” she cries, her head tilting back, her eyes rolling as waves of pleasure crash through her.

Ning’s fingers falter for a moment as she watches through the keyhole, her breath hitching at the sight of Minji’s orgasm. The way her body shakes, the sheer rawness of it, sends a fresh wave of arousal through Ning’s already trembling body. She bites her lip, her own fingers slick with her juices as she thrusts them deeper, chasing the same release.

Minji’s hips slow, her movements languid as she comes down from her high, her breath ragged as she whispers, “Please—I need your cum—I need it so bad.”

You growl low in your throat, gently lifting her off your cock and guiding her to lie back on the bed. Her chest rises and falls, her skin flushed, her eyes hazy with lust as she looks up at you.

You climb over her, your hand wrapping around your cock, stroking it slowly as you hover above her. Minji’s lips curl into a wicked smile, her voice soft but dripping with urgency. “Give it to me,” she whispers, her hands sliding over her own body, cupping her breasts and squeezing them together. “I want it all—cover me in it. Please, baby, cum for me.”

Ning’s breath comes in shallow gasps as she mirrors Minji’s words, her voice barely audible as she whispers, “Cum for me—please, I need it—I need you.” Her fingers pump in and out of her dripping pussy, her other hand teasing her breast, pinching her nipple as she imagines being in Minji’s place.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you groan, your hand moving faster as you watch Minji writhing beneath you, her words driving you closer to the edge. “You’re gonna get it—all of it. You ready?”

“Yes,” Minji moans, her eyes locking on your cock. “Yes, I’m ready—give it to me, please.”

The tension snaps, and with a deep, guttural moan, you let go. Hot spurts of cum shoot out, painting Minji’s chest and dripping down her cleavage as she gasps with each pulse. “Fuck, yes,” she cries, her hands smearing the thick, warm fluid over her skin. “God, there’s so much—”

Ning’s body arches, her fingers thrusting deep as she watches your release, the sight of you cumming and Minji’s reaction sending her spiraling. “Oh, God,” Ning whispers, her breath catching as her own orgasm crashes over her. Her thighs tremble, her hips bucking against her hand as pleasure floods her senses, leaving her shaking and gasping for air.

Back in your room, Minji reaches up, her hand wrapping around your cock as she guides the tip to her lips. She sucks greedily, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head, and you let out a shuddering groan, the overstimulation almost too much to bear.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your body trembling as she cleans you off, her mouth working over you with slow, deliberate precision.

In the hallway, Ning slumps against the wall, her body still trembling from her climax. Reality crashes back in, her cheeks burning as she realizes what she’s done. Her fingers are sticky with her own juices, her shorts and panties pushed down around her ankles. She feels the ache of her release, but also the heavy weight of knowing she’s still alone, left only with the echo of her own mind.

—

The kitchen is quiet except for the clink of forks against plates and the faint hum of the coffee machine. Breakfast is simple—scrambled eggs, toast, a little fruit—because none of you had energy for anything more elaborate after the intense morning sex. You and Minji sit side by side, her hand occasionally brushing yours under the table, while Ning sits across from you, her posture slightly hunched, her head down as she picks at her food.

You and Minji exchange a glance, subtle but questioning.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask finally, your voice cutting through the silence.

Ning looks up briefly, her eyes darting between you and Minji before settling back on her plate. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “The couch was fine.”

“Are you sure?” you press, trying to read her expression. “If it wasn’t comfortable, you could’ve said something.”

She shakes her head quickly, her fingers tightening around her fork. “No, it was fine. Really.”

Minji leans back slightly, her dark eyes studying Ning with a precision that always feels a little too sharp. “You seem... off,” she says, her tone light but probing. “Nervous, almost.”

Ning’s shoulders stiffen slightly, but she forces a small smile. “It’s just... college stuff,” she says, her voice a little too quick, too rehearsed. “You know how it is.”

Minji hums softly, her gaze lingering on Ning for a moment longer before she nods. “Yeah. I get it. Stress gets to everyone.”

There’s a pause, the silence stretching out again as Ning takes a small bite of her toast, her movements mechanical. You glance at Minji, who shrugs subtly, as if to say, “Leave it alone.”

You’re not sure why the mood feels so strange. You’re satisfied—more than satisfied, really—after the slow, sleepy morning you spent with Minji. But Ning’s tension casts a shadow over everything, and you can’t help but feel like there’s something you’re missing.

“Anything specific?” Minji asks suddenly. “With college, I mean. Anything you’re struggling with?”

Ning’s head snaps up, her expression briefly startled before she smooths it out. “No. Nothing like that. Just... the usual. Assignments, deadlines. It’s fine.”

“You know you can talk to us, right?” you say, trying to sound reassuring.

“I know,” Ning says quickly, her voice tight. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

Minji doesn’t push further, instead picking up her coffee cup and taking a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Ning. It’s a look you’ve seen before—the way she dissects people without them realizing, pulling apart their words, their body language, their silences… You wonder if she knows something you don’t.

“Okay,” Minji says finally, setting her cup down. “But if it ever does become a big deal, you know where we are.”

“Thanks,” Ning murmurs, her smile faint but grateful.

The conversation fizzles out after that, and the rest of breakfast passes in strained silence. Ning keeps her head down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her tank top, while you and Minji exchange the occasional glance, unsure how to bridge the gap.

When Ning finally stands to clear her plate, you notice the way her hands shake slightly, the way she avoids looking at either of you. Minji notices too—you can tell by the faint narrowing of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head. But she doesn’t say anything.

—

The sun hangs high in the sky, its warmth spilling over the quiet streets as Minji and Ning walk side by side. The air smells faintly of spring—cut grass, blooming flowers, the faint musk of pavement warmed by sunlight. It’s the kind of day that makes you forget there’s still homework to finish, lectures to catch up on, deadlines looming like dark clouds in the distance.

Minji is wearing her usual glasses, her stride confident, her shoulder purse slung loosely over one arm. Ning is quieter, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her skirt, her pace a little slower. The two of them have walked this route several times, but today, the silence between them feels heavier, more intentional.

Ning is the one who breaks it. “How are you?” she asks, glancing sideways at Minji.

Minji doesn’t falter, but the question surprises her. She tilts her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint smirk. “I’m fine,” she says. “Why?”

Ning shrugs, her gaze fixed on the sidewalk ahead. “Just asking.”

Minji hums softly, unconvinced. “I’m fine,” she repeats, her tone a little firmer now. “Really.”

Ning hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I meant... how’s your heart?”

Minji slows, her glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of her nose as she turns to look at Ning. It’s always a complicated question (even if she pretends it isn't), one she’s learned to deflect with ease. But Ning’s tone—gentle, almost hesitant—makes it harder to brush off.

“It’s fine,” Minji says finally, her voice even. “Everything’s fine.”

Ning doesn’t push, at least not directly. Instead, she pretends to shift the conversation. “Are you and him having sex?”

Minji stops walking, blinking at Ning like she’s just been hit with a bucket of cold water. “What?”

“You heard me,” Ning says, her voice steady but her expression unreadable.

Minji stares at her for a moment before she starts walking again, her steps a little quicker now. “Yes,” she says finally, the word clipped, like she’s trying to end the conversation before it starts.

“How’s it been?” Ning asks, keeping pace with her.

Minji’s jaw tightens. “Good. Very good.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Ning says. “I mean... is it too much? For you, I mean. With your condition...”

Minji’s steps falter, just barely, but she recovers quickly. “No,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends. “He’s... gentle. Respectful. He knows my boundaries.”

Ning nods slowly, as if considering her words. “I know you took the medicine,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.

Minji freezes. “What?”

“Your medicine,” Ning repeats, stopping to face her. “You took it. I know you did.”

“That’s not true,” Minji says, her voice flat.

“It is,” Ning says, crossing her arms. “Before we left for the restaurant yesterday, the bottle was sealed. This morning, when I saw it in your purse, it was open.”

Minji’s mouth opens, then closes, her mind scrambling for a response. “Why are you going through my purse?” she demands finally, her tone defensive.

“You told me I could borrow your lipstick,” Ning says simply.

Minji stares at her, caught off guard by the straightforwardness of her answer. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. Then she exhales sharply, tugging her glasses off and running a hand through her hair before putting them back on. “Fine,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I took it. After... after we had sex.”

Ning’s brows knit together, her tone growing sharper. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Minji says, brushing past her and continuing down the sidewalk.

“Not a big deal?” Ning echoes, catching up to her. “Minji, your heart hurts so much you need medicine, and you think that’s not a big deal?”

Minji stops again, turning to face her. “I said I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Ning says bluntly, her voice rising slightly. “You’re putting your health at risk, and for what? To prove that you can handle it? That’s not fair, Minji. To him or to you.”

Minji’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t respond. She can feel the heat rising in her chest—not from her heart this time, but from the frustration of being called out, of having someone see through her so easily.

“You need to tell him,” Ning says firmly, her voice steady despite the tension between them. “If you don’t, I will.”

Minji stares at her, her lips parted slightly in shock. Ning’s tone, her posture, the unwavering determination in her expression—it’s not the Ning she’s used to. It’s... impressive, in a way. “Fine,” Minji says finally, her voice softer now, almost grudging. “I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Ning says, her expression softening slightly. They start walking again, the tension easing but not disappearing entirely. Minji glances at Ning out of the corner of her eye, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “You’re full of surprises,” she says quietly.

Ning doesn’t look at her, but there’s a faint flush on her cheeks. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” she murmurs.

The words hang in the air between them, heavier than the warm sunlight, and the ambivalence of feelings silently settles in Minji, something without its own identification. Gratitude, maybe. Pride. Love. Or something else entirely.

For Ning, the moment is different. Seeing Minji vulnerable—seeing her imperfect—fills her with something that feels almost like relief. Minji isn’t untouchable, after all. And somehow, that thought is comforting.

Continued in part 4...

#kpop m!reader #minji x reader #minji newjeans #minji smut #kpop male oc #newjeans smut #ningning smut #aespa ningning #ning yizhuo #ning yizhuo smut #aespa ning yizhuo #ningning x reader #kpop angst #kpop male reader #angst and smut

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uzurakis · 9 months ago

Note

hi hi it’s me again!! (yes I’m the nonnie w/the stalker request + ‘my friend thinks ur cute’ request :3) I’m here to request again!! reckless!reader with jjk men (yuta n Megumi yk the deal 🙏🙏) + bonus points if reader hides their injuries too! maybe reader was on a mission; got injured and didn’t tell jjk men, or reader was playing around on a frozen lake not giving af and it begins to crack, or reader straight up doesn’t look both ways while crossing the street n act like they have 9 lives (yuta ptsd fr 😭), or anything you wanna come up with :3 do what you like!

HIDING YOUR INJURIES FROM THEM?

featuring: gojo satoru. fushiguro megumi. yuuta okkotsu. itadori yuuji.

n. i sure know the deal my beloved meguyuta nonnie (imma call u dat instead). i decided to go with the first idea of yours, i hope that’s okay!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. you returned from a challenging mission, your body aching with every step. despite the pain gnawing at you, you plastered on a smile as you entered the room where megumi was waiting. he looked up, concern etched across his features.

fushiguro megumi has the term ‘worry’ in his vocabulary. he immediately called out, "you…” without saying any ‘hey’s or ‘hi’s, you were able to cut him off with your response.

"it went alright, just a few scrapes," you replied, trying to downplay the severity of your injuries

but megumi wasn't fooled. his brows furrowed as he approached you, his eyes scanning your form. “you’re lying,” megumi grabbed your wrist firmly as he looked straight into your eyes. "those 'scrapes' look more like serious wounds," he said, you could literally hear him edged with frustration.

you swallowed, guilt creeping into your chest. "i’m fine," you confessed, avoiding his gaze and breaking free from his grip.

megumi sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "you're injured, and you’re still trying to hide it from me? seriously?" he scolded, frustration becoming more evident.

“fine then.”

he looked away, and you felt a twinge of regret at the way he responded. but then there was a change in his attitude. as he reached for the first aid kit, his demeanor softened and his irritation vanished. silently, he whispered, "let's get you patched up," megumi’s voice was soft yet stiff.

as he tended to your wounds in silence, the tension in the room dissipated. his touch was tender, his movements careful as he bandaged your injuries. when he finished, he looked up, green pupils meeting yours.

"you make me worry, you know that?"

ITADORI YUUJI. you stumbled through the door, trying to hide the wince as pain shot through your side. itadori was waiting, his eyes lighting up as he saw you, but then furrowing with concern as he noticed your slight limp.

"baby, you're back! how did it go?" he asked.

you forced a smile, trying to brush off the pain. "good, thank god it was just a second grade curse," you replied, hoping he wouldn't see through your facade.

your boyfriend, though, remained unconvinced. "are you sure you're alright? you’re limping.”

you hesitated, but his genuine concern melted away your resolve. you felt bad for keeping it from him, but at last you said, "well, there might be a small injury, but it's nothing serious."

instantly, itadori's expression softened, and he wrapped you in a tight hug that made you let out a small ouch. "don't hide these things from me," his breath warm against your ear. “let me help you tend your injuries, baby. do you need shoko or just an aid kit?”

GOJO SATORU. the mission had been tougher than anticipated, but you knew gojo would worry if he saw how badly you were hurt. so you played pretend and hoped it would be enough. gojo was lounging on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, his usual smirk playing on his lips. his eyes, hidden behind his pitch black glasses, seemed to twinkle as he looked up at you. "oi, you're back earlier than i expected."

you nodded, keeping your movements slow and controlled. "yeah, managed to wrap things up quicker than i thought." he tilted his head, a curious glint in his eye. "really? no trouble at all?"

"none," you lied, forcing a laugh. "just the usual."

gojo's smile faltered, just for a second, but you caught it. he stood up and sauntered over to you, his gaze never leaving your face. "hey, you know," he began, voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone, "i can see right through you, babe. you're hurt."

"i'm okay, satoru. really."

he reached out, gently but firmly taking your arm. "don't lie to me." his fingers brushed against a particularly sore spot, and you winced despite yourself. “look?”

"satoru, i didn't want you to worry—“

he cut you off, his grip tightening just enough to keep you still without causing more pain. "hm, too late for that, baby," he said with a mix of irritation and concern. "let me take care of you."

you sighed, realizing there was no point in hiding it anymore. "okay, but just... be gentle, alright?"

he led you to the couch, his touch surprisingly tender as he helped you sit down. "i'm always gentle," he teased, but his eyes were serious as he examined your injuries. "you should've told me right away."

YUUTA OKKOTSU. he eyed you for a moment, his smile fading slightly. "babe, you alright? you seem a bit... off."

"just tired. it's been a long day." you waved a hand dismissively, nothing to worry, you wanted to tell him that.

yet, yuuta's gaze still lingered on you, eyes narrowing slightly. "alright," he said slowly, "if you say so."

you made your way to the bathroom, trying to move naturally despite the pain. you thought you had managed to convince him, but as you stood in front of the stall, trying to remove your clothes without aggravating your injuries, the man appeared in the doorway.

"let me help you with that," he said softly, moving to stand beside you.

you blinked, surprised. "yuuta, really, i'm fine. you don't have to—”" then he gently took your hand, eyes full of concern. "please, let me help you tend your wounds, babe.”

thinking again, you hadn't said anything about being hurt, but somehow he knew. "how did you..”

your boyfriend smiled faintly. "i could tell. i know you too well." his fingers brushed lightly over a bruise that was starting to show through your shirt. "you don't have to hide it from me."

you sighed, feeling a mix of relief and resignation. "i just didn't want you to worry."

yuuta shook his head, his expression tender. "i worry more when you try to hide things from me. so don’t do it again, you hear me, babe?”

@uzurakis

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supercutszns · 11 months ago

Text

twin beads | luke castellan

wc + pairing: 6.7k, luke x daughter of poseidon! reader

synopsis: you’ve been unclaimed for five years. you’ve loved your best friend even longer. the sea used to be your greatest solace, but after percy jackson comes to camp, it’s your cruelest reminder. (based on this ask!)

warnings: best friends to lovers <3, percy/reader sibling dynamic, fluff and angst then fluff again, hurt/comfort, shameless making out. sorry this one is so long but besties to lovers is my lifeblood!!! i get so attached!! designated song is true blue by boygenius:)

i. you said you wanted to feel alive, so we went to the beach

“Ahoy, sailor!”

The familiar voice ricochets across the lake. You turn, leaving glimmers of sun behind you as you stare back at the docks of Camp Half-Blood. An orange blob with a curly mop of hair is beckoning you. You laugh, wave back at him, and plunge into the water. It cools your face after staying above the surface for so long—you just love watching the light reflected off the waves. But the second you’re under the water, the soreness in your muscles, the heat on your face, the exhaustion from treading for so long, are washed away from you. You swim with precision and vigor, relishing the feel of the river cupping your limbs to spur you forward. Not to sound lame, but you fucking love swimming.

But maybe not as much as you love your best friend.

He laughs when your head pops out of the water at the edge of the dock. “Wow, that took you longer than usual,” he teases, brown eyes glinting in the dawn. “You getting sloppy?”

You huff, splashing some water up at him but it barely touches him. “I’m tired, you moron. I’ve been out there for an hour.”

Luke leans down at the edge of the dock, offering you a hand. His face is bemused when you latch onto him, and with a good flex of his bicep he pulls you up. “All right, c’mon,” he grunts.

All your energy evaporates the second your body’s out of the water. You’re far too lazy to be graceful, so you sprawl out onto the dock like a dying fish, letting the sun kiss every inch of you. “Eww,” Luke giggles overtop you, prodding your side with the tip of his shoe. “Get up, you mermaid.”

“Make me, you mailman.”

Your arm drapes over your eyes, and you sigh. There really is nothing better than these moments; droplets of water soaking into your skin after an early morning swim, your best friend right beside you.

He keeps nudging you with your shoe, over and over until your ribs start to hurt. You groan, swatting him away and stretching out your limbs with a groan, letting them pop and relax, until you blearily make your way to your feet.

“You forgot your towel again,” Luke condones, but like always, he’s brought one for you.

He goes through a practiced routine of drying you off, wrapping the towel around your shoulders and down your arms, across your back, scrunching the water out of your hair. It doesn’t matter how cold the water gets—this part always makes you warm.

“Thanks,” you smile as he hands the towel off to you. “Anything interesting happen this morning, O Captain, my captain?”

“Not yet, sailor, sir,” he replies in a stuffy, gruff voice the two of you have joked around with since you were kids. “Just grabbing you for breakfast.”

You giggle, following him past the docks and to the shore. Once you’ve grabbed all your stuff, you both fall in stride and head towards your cabin, your twin five-beaded necklaces hanging over your shirts.

Five years ago, when you got to Camp for the first time, you were as big a loser as any. You were bad at everything—everything—and had no real friends until you accidentally whacked some other friendless loser in the head with an oar when you were about to go canoeing. Luke got mad at you, but his little sister Annabeth was even more furious. He offered to be your partner for the day anyway. You’ve been partners ever since.

Over the years the two of you have grown in status at the camp, more so Luke than you. He’s an excellent cabin leader and by far the greatest swordsman in camp. You, still unclaimed, have found solace in giving younger campers swimming lessons and wading out there on your own till you get sunstroke. (It’s happened a few times. Luke is never pleased, but also refuses to let the Apollo campers take care of you. He nurses you back to health with ice cream and horrible gossip.)

But every night you return to the Hermes cabin with a hollowness in your chest. One bunk emptied, then immediately filled. You’ve had the same one for five years, and the only condolence is that it’s right next to Luke’s, and sometimes you spend hours at night making faces at each other till your laughter endangers other people’s sleep.

Yes, you love the water at Camp Half-Blood, but you love Luke most.

Rumours of a new kid are rustling at camp. You haven’t seen him, but you’re just dying to get in on the gossip. Apparently he slayed a minotaur. Apparently Annabeth has seen him. And apparently he’s unclaimed. You hate to admit it, but this is the most exciting news you’ve heard in weeks!

Your afternoon is spent giving some swimming lessons and taking some Demeter campers canoeing. (Some of them freak out on the water. so it’s a nice challenge to untangle the sea plants they get hooked around their boat.) It feels like you’ve been here forever. A break is in desperate demand right now.

You have no idea what kind of God heard your prayers, but your fellow counsellor has an unimpressed look on her face when she taps you on the shoulder and goes, “Your friend’s calling you.”

The way she says it is almost degrading. You turn to look back at the shore to see the dark curly hair you’d spot a mile away. Next to him is a much shorter orange blob, shuffling awkwardly as Luke attempts to flag you down. Score!

You shoot an apologetic look at her. “Uh … I’ll be right back.” You wince, already disposing of your baggy orange shirt (it’s Luke’s) with your bathing suit underneath.

“No you won’t,” she says dryly. “Just go.”

You flash a smile you hope is loaded with charm, and you’re off into water. As you swim, the only thing on your mind is I really really hope that’s the new kid, and I wonder what Luke’s face looks like right now. (He’s probably grinning, eyes crinkled at the sides as he tries to follow your figure beneath the waves. Maybe he’s doing that cute thing where his head tilts to the side as he watches.)

When you’re close enough to the shore, you come out of the water, wringing your hair. “Hey, guys!” It’s Luke, Chris, and some blonde kid you’re sure is the new one. “What’s up?”

Luke is about to say something, then he frowns. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Left it in the canoe, I’ll go back for it later,” you reply, limply gesturing behind you.

“And where’s your towel?”

“Okay, I did bring one this time!” You counter. “I just gave it to a little Ares kid ‘cause she forgot hers.”

Luke clicks his tongue, shakes his head at you, but of course he’s got one in his hands so what’s the worry? He’s endearingly amused when you take the cloth and dry yourself off, and the new boy, having watched this all raptly, widens his eyes and drawls, “Ohhhh, so you’re his gi—”

“This is Camp’s resident mermaid, Percy.” Chris butts in, adding your name almost as an afterthought.

After you fasten your towel around you, you’re put off by Percy’s scrutinizing stare. “Look, it’s been a pretty weird day so I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.”

“I’m not a mermaid,” you snipe, throwing Chris a dirty look. “People just call me that because I give swimming lessons here.” You stick your hand out to the blonde boy. “Nice to meet you, Percy.”

He gives a polite nod, a little awkward. “Right back at ya.” The two of you study each other as you shake. He’s young, probably about twelve, a smatter of freckles across his face. His eyes look like the lake. Something itches in the back of your brain. There’s a moment where the shake is suspended, neither of you have let go but are no longer actively holding on, and you see it in his face that he’s studying you, too. Huh.

The conversation continues as normal, but you almost start to feel queasy for a second. “We’re trying to find something Percy’s good at,” Luke says with a pat on Percy’s shoulder. “You got any ideas?”

“Yes, please, because I really would like to have a word with my father,” Percy clips. “Is Glory, like, purely a skill thing or can I get some if I tie someone else’s shoes or something?”

“I don’t have shoes,” you add unhelpfully.

“It’s okay, dude,” Luke squeezes Percy’s shoulder. “Camp is great, no matter where you end up.”

Even if you’re like her, he means without saying. Even if you don’t end up anywhere.

You meet Luke’s eyes. This is a kid that wants so badly to meet his father, to ease the ache inside him. You are the absolute worst person for this. One of the longest current unclaimed streaks and your ache remains. To Percy, you’re the biggest example of a failure there is, and Luke is only just now realizing it.

“Maybe try the infirmary?” You pipe, shuffling back and forth on the sand. “You might have a knack for medicine.”

“Doubt it,” Percy swallows. “But yeah, okay. Who’s your parent, again?”

Percy can’t see it, but Luke and Chris send you a shifty look and all you can do is widen your eyes to be like, Help! Don’t make me crush his dreams! I don’t want another kid to hate me!

You swallow. No matter how fast you think, you cannot come to a logical sentence. “I, uh—”

Just then, in another stroke of luck (wow, that’s two more than usual) an Athena counsellor that looks insanely disgruntled is running towards you. “Stolls put spiders in our cabin again,” he heaves once at a stop. “Please get rid of them.”

“Can’t you just squash ‘em?” Percy asks.

“Not the spiders, the twins.”

Chris is already nodding, but Luke looks to you first. He’s anxious, disappointed. You wish you could smooth out the creases in his brow with your thumb. “Don’t worry,” you stretch out a smile. “I’ll chill with Percy. It won’t take you guys too long.”

He’s still hesitant. You’re not sure this is a good call either. But he reaches out, quickly squeezes your shoulder and mutters, “Thank you.” Your skin feels gooey when he touches it.

His signature roguish smile returns as he looks back to Percy. The side of his face is shadowed by the sun so well it makes you jealous. “Don’t give her a hard time, eh?” He reprimands playfully.

Percy smiles a little. “I’ll try not to.”

You are once again reminded just how easy it is to love Luke. How effortlessly he moves into your heart. It happened to you after you slapped him with an oar. It’s already happening to Percy.

You’re sure he won’t like you nearly half as much.

After Luke and Chris leave, Percy resigns to staring out at the campers canoeing on the lake. Maybe now is a good time to admit you’re not good with kids. Luke has tried many times to make you his welcome partner, but you can’t take to the role nearly as well. You’re perpetually antsy. And sweaty.

“So, what cabin are you a part of that lets you do this all day?” Percy asks, squinting against the sun.

Your heart gets heavy. With a sigh, you sit yourself down, and Percy soon follows. “Hermes, actually,” you say as casually as you can.

Percy goes pale as a sheet. “Uh, what?”

“I’m unclaimed,” you clarify. “I don’t … I don’t have a parent.”

There’s always a pitiful pause whenever a camper figures that out. This one is somehow … clunkier. “Oh,” Percy says. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense. For a second I thought—phew.” Then his eyes trail down to the thread hooked around your fingers, the five beads you run your thumb over. “How long have you been here?”

“Five long, blissful years,” you hum dryly.

Water ripples over pebbles on the shore. Every new camper’s ambition is eroded by the truth you represent. Percy’s no different. His brows furrow and his face falls. “And you’ve never been claimed?” He asks, and you can feel the noxious mix of pity, confusion and despair laced beneath it.

You shake your head, watching some Demeter kids splashing each other’s canoes with their oars. “Nope. But it’s not so bad. I like my cabin, you know? I like my life. Doesn’t really matter who your parents are anyway, I think. You do the same activities as everyone else, just on different teams.”

“But doesn’t it make you mad?”

“It used to,” you shrug, “But not anymore. It’s just …” You sigh, rolling a bead against your thumb. “If I’m unclaimed, I’m unclaimed. That’s the way it is. You can’t force the Gods to do anything.”

“That’s what Luke said,” Percy remarks, almost bitterly.

“I’m a rare case though, Percy,” you half-lie to him, nudging him a bit with your shoulder. “You’ll get claimed. It’s your first day. And until then you’re kind of free to be whatever. You don’t have to fit into anything, which is kinda nice, and you can screw around as much as you want and nobody can really get mad at you ‘cause you’re new.” A smile rises on your face. “And I heard you killed a minotaur, so you’ve already got some cool points.”

His face screws up in a grimace, and it makes you laugh. “Oh joy, cool points. Can’t live without those.”

Okay, maybe you’re not bad with kids. Maybe you’re just bad with boring kids. Because this is going decent, right?

“What if I don’t get claimed, though?” Percy asks after a moment, a vulnerable note eclipsing him. It resonates inside your chest. You pause for a moment, heaving a loaded breath.

“Do you fart a lot in your sleep?”

His melancholy pauses. He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Uh … what? No? I think?”

“Then you can take the bunk above mine if you want. It’s empty now,” you say. “And if you’re never claimed you can come swimming with me, and we can find seashells to put under Luke’s pillow every night until he starts thinking they’ve always been there.”

Percy blinks. “Do you have any friends?”

“Yes, and I’m going to torture him until I die. Cabin eleven is oodles of fun, Percy, you’ll see!”

He looks a little horrified. “Luke said I was going to like you,” he mutters. “I … am not sure if he’s right.”

Oh, well. You’ll take it.

ii. you can't help but become the sun

You can’t sleep, and Luke knows it. His eyes burn into the side of your face as you stare up at your bunk. You sneak him a look. He smiles ruefully. Sweeping his arm up from beneath his covers, a makeshift tent is formed next to him. He nods to you. Before you know it, you’ve abandoned your own bed, taking a single step until you skirt into the pocket of his mattress Luke has carved for you. He lets the sheets fall, cocooning you with him the way he always does.

You’ve been sharing beds on occasion for years. One of you gets cold, has a nightmare, or wants to talk until your mind fades out, the only solution is a place next to each other. Whispers against cheeks, giggles muffled into pillows, necklaces knocking together. You used to be further apart. Now you can’t remember the last time Luke hasn’t latched onto you the second you’re within reach. It warms you a little more each time.

When your head hits his pillow, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment, lips pursed in amusement. His face is so wildly nostalgic to you—five years seems like too short a time to have known him. His eyes are pitch-dark and soft with exhaustion, but you can still pick out the trademark Hermes mirth glimmering through. You sometimes forget his scar, probably because you know he wants you to forget it. He’d kill you for thinking this, but you kind of like the way it hugs the curve of his cheek, bunches up when his dimple appears. It makes you sad. It makes you happy. It makes you love him.

“Percy likes you,” he whispers, opening himself up so your chin brushes his shoulder. “That’s a first.”

He’s only wearing a tank top to sleep, so his warmth seeps through his skin when you tap him on the chest. “Shut up!” You hiss back, tapering into a giggle. “Has he picked up on anything yet?”

Luke bites the inside of his cheek, regretfully shaking his head. “Nope. But all that skill stuff is kinda arbitrary anyways. He’s still hung up on kleos, though, so … that’ll come in handy for Capture the Flag.”

“Ah, yes. Using a child’s misguided need for fulfilment as a weapon. A camp classic.”

“Well someone’s gotta be useful for Capture the Flag in this cabin and it sure as hell isn’t you, mermaid,” he barbs back.

Your jaw drops in mock offense and you squeeze a hand around his shoulder to shake him. “I will put you in a headlock right now, Luke, I’ll break your arm—”

“Be quiet!” He giggles as you attempt to wrangle yourself on top of him. “I’ll be nice to you, I’ll be nice, stop!” You get absolutely nowhere before the bed creaks and Luke shoves you back down. Your pulse rattles through your mouth as you laugh silently. “You’re the worst,” he mutters in your ear, raising the hairs on your neck.

“Well Percy likes me, so,” you turn your nose to the sky like a haughty old lady.

“Percy’s a funnier, less annoying version of you,” he pokes your side. “That’s how I knew you’d get along, you weirdo.”

The momentary adrenaline this conversation has brought you is mellowing. “Hey, I’m very—very funny,” you mumble through a yawn.

Luke laughs quietly. “Sure you are.”

He pulls you back to him, arm slung around the dip of your waist. When you make no protest, he seals you against his shoulder again. It’s started to feel a little different, him holding you like this. There’s an uncertainty your body faces about how to respond. His thumb runs over your spine and you decide to relax into him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Your chin knocks against his collarbone and you have the urge to curl yourself against his chest, just to feel him breathe.

“Get some sleep, sailor,” he murmurs, fingers brushing through the roots of your hair. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. Your cheeks warm, and you bury yourself even further into the space against his shoulder and his pillow. Gods, there’s something wrong with you, isn’t there?

“Will do, soldier.” The campy voice you do is half hearted at best as you find yourself absorbed in the closest thing to a full home you’ll ever get. In this sleepy hollow with bedsheets and a boy, there is acceptance.

Well, mostly. You think you dream about Luke brushing a kiss along your hairline in your last bit of consciousness. You think you wish it was real. You think you want him to do it again.

iii. when you don't know who you are, you fuck around and find out

The last time your cabin lost a game of Capture the Flag, you’d still been taller than Luke. That’s how long your winning streak has felt. There’s no reason you foresee that changing today. Even when Annabeth drags Percy along with her on whatever surely precarious quest to victory she’s created. It’s unlike her, to bring a newbie along. It’s concerning.

“He’s fine,” Luke drawls to you when your face has been tense for twenty minutes. “Annabeth’s got a plan.” He’s a little winded after clearing out some Ares kids with Chris. You aren’t much use when it comes to weapons—your friends take the lead as you wait from a distance, ready for backup. Thank the Gods they didn’t need it this time. You’re content to just watch, but whenever Luke grins after getting another kid to surrender, veins in his arms raised like rivers on a map, you get a little distracted and you’re not sure why.

You just huff back at him, totally normal when he wipes a sheen of sweat off his jaw. “Annabeth’s gonna use him as cannon fodder,” you mutter back, and Luke hits your arm with an appalled grin.

Annabeth did, in fact, have a plan. So you won. Obviously.

You’re still doubtful Percy wasn’t cannon fodder, though, with how beat up he looks on the shoreline when the rest of your team flocks to the stolen flag to claim victory. He’s slumped down on the rocky shore, a few equally beaten Ares kids straggling away from him.

“So I was right, huh?” Luke hums in your ear, pulling your eyes to him.

He’s revelling in newfound glory, and damn it, you get confused when you look at him when he’s like this. You’re not sure when it happened but you want to tear your heart out of its chest because of how sick it makes you. Some of his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat, his hair suffering a serious case of helmet-head. But it’s the pride oozing off him, the infectious happiness laced through his smile, that makes you fond of him in a way you’re not sure you should be. He’s beloved for a reason—he looks almost prophetic after winning a match, and he knows it. A glaring difference between the gangly boy you met all those summers ago. If you weren’t his best friend, you’d probably be one of his many admirers, watching his teammates fawn over his talent and wishing you were beside him.

But you are beside him. And you’re his friend. Not an admirer. So everything’s fine.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if we lost,” you retort, knocking your chestplate against his. It’s meant to be a friendly nudge, but Luke leans into it until you swear you feel his heart beating through the metal.

He’s grown into his smile, less boyish and more wry. “You know I never lose, sailor.”

You want to reply, but his eyes are startlingly pretty in the sunlight. That’s normal. Whatever. A heat rises in the apples of your cheeks so you scoff lightly and turn away as soon as possible. You feel Luke’s gaze following as you turn attention elsewhere. Your sternum feels fluttery.

Percy catches your attention again. Gods, he looks beat. He’s talking to Annabeth as she helps him up, and you see the gnarly scrape marring his cheek. You should probably check on him, right?

You’re halfway to the kids when Annabeth shoves Percy backwards into the water. Like, shoves.

“Annabeth!” You’re scowling at her the same way she scowled at you when you first hit Luke with that oar, rushing over to help Percy.

“What is wrong with you?” Percy sputters out lying in the lake, but you’re ankles-deep in the water before you know it. He’s glaring daggers at Annabeth, but she looks relatively unimpressed. What happened during this game?

“Thanks,” Percy mutters as you help him up.

You say something to shrug it off but you can’t remember what, because your eyes are drawn to the scrape on his cheek. You have to blink a few times to get it, but you’re pretty sure it’s dissolving. Vanishing off his skin. “What the hell?”

Everyone on the shore is watching him now, trying to memorize his injuries before they wash away. Percy’s staring down at himself like he’s just been body-swapped. “I don’t understand.”

You’ve never seen anything like this before. The strangest feeling fuels you—your bones feel firmer somehow, like the blood inside your body has weight to it. Like something is happening. A fear pierces your gut.

Annabeth’s eyes have raised, and so have Percy’s. Your mouth goes dry. Right above him is the symbol of a trident, radiating so blue it washes out the sky itself.

The claiming symbol of Poseidon.

“Your dad’s calling,” Annabeth says, a smile itching the corners of her mouth.

Percy looks like he’s going to pass out. You probably do too. “Told you you’d get claimed,” you manage to squeeze the words through the knot in your chest.

You’re smiling until Percy looks at you, then looks up. His face goes white as a sheet. Or, as white as it can bathed in a pale blue glow. “Uh…” He blinks slowly, and your stomach twists. “I think she was talking to you.”

When you look up and see an identical trident looming over your head, you know something’s wrong. It’s made worse when Chiron rings out your and Percy’s name, branding you as children of Poseidon.

Poseidon.

You have a father. And he’s known you all this time. Your ears hollow out like a rush of water in a cavern.

Luke is the first to kneel. The rest of the camp follows. You watch as the entire camp basks in the glory of newcomer Percy Jackson, so quickly claimed by one of the most powerful Gods of Olympus. And you, who has waited five years to earn even a shred of his favour.

This thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly the greatest insult in the world. Your best friend can’t even meet your eyes.

iv. i remember who i am when i'm with you

You stare at Percy as he unpacks his things. Waiting to see traces of yourself in his face, traces of your father. Anything that could give you an inkling of what he looks like. Of what you look like. Of how this happened in the first place.

It’s a futile search. Percy’s blue eyes, his freckles, the bridge of his nose, they’re all … nothing. Half of you is half of him, but there’s no indication of which parts. The cabin is cold. You’re not going to sleep well without Luke nearby. You’re not going to sleep well ever again.

You feel nothing but strife, your throat closing in every time you take even a second to think. You don’t want Percy to see you cry. So you do what you always do.

This has to be in the running for most overwhelming day of all time ever. Even when submerged in your favourite place on earth, you can’t get away from your dad. Your dumb stupid dad that has made the things you love and has ruined your life.

You swim hard, and you loathe how good it feels. At least you know why now, but that doesn’t do much to ease you. When you pop up again, the sun has started to sink into the sea. And Gods, you have to give your dad credit. The landscape is so gorgeous you almost forget how long he’s ignored you.

You wonder if this is the last time you’ll find solace in the lake. If eventually, it’ll be nothing but an extension of your father’s neglect.

The water ripples around you. You frown, barely having noticed it when someone taps your shoulder. You turn. “Luke?” You swallow, but why are you surprised?

He’s panting, cheeks splotched with sun as he treads water, droplets worming down his face from his soaking curls. “Been looking for you,” he puffs, “Percy’s worried. Called you from the—from the thingie but don’t think you heard me.”

You assume he means the docks, but you don’t say anything as he takes a deep, grounding breath. “You’ve been out here for hours. Hours. For a second I thought you drowned.”

“Now we know that can’t fucking happen,” you mutter a touch too bitterly, staring down at your legs warped beneath the water.

Luke’s silent as he watches you. “…Have you been crying?”

When you don’t reply, Luke tugs on your wrist. “C’mon, sailor, let’s go.”

“Not tired,” you say, frozen by the hot tears brimming on your lashes.

“I’m not leaving you out here. Come on.” He frowns when you yank your hand away as he tries pulling you again. “You’re gonna get heatstroke.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

He reaches for you again and you try to reject it for a moment, but he’s stronger than you, and he loves you better than even the water could. The second he has you close your resolve falters. He holds you against his shoulder, knees knocking against yours as you tread.

“It’s okay,” he croons when you involuntarily start to cry. For a Poseidon kid, you can’t seem to control your waterworks. “It’s okay, I know.”

His hand cards through your scalp and you relish in the warmth of his bare skin on your cheek. He smells like comfort. You cling to it with all you have, until your nails start to dig into his skin and your eyesight blurs.

“Come back with me and I’ll dry you off, okay?” He kisses the top of your head, the way you dreamed it last night. “I’ll take care of it.”

You’re not sure which it he’s referring to, because it could honestly apply to anything. When you both set off for shore, you’re so distracted by your own misery that Luke’s actually able to keep up with you. He’s up on the dock before you so he can pull you out.

The second you’re out of the water you feel like you’ve been gutted with a lead pipe. All the energy it gave you leaves, and you realize just how right Luke was about spending too much time out there. You can’t feel your legs.

You buckle over almost instantly, but Luke holds you before you can even think of falling. “I’ve got you,” he assures, guiding you down to sit on the dock. Your eyes are too weak to even admire the sunset. Luke drapes a towel over your shoulders, rubbing it over your arms, a welcome familiarity. He takes his time, wringing your hair and drying your back as you gaze blankly ahead. There’s a tenderness to it now. Luke’s ruthless when it comes to a lot of things. When it comes to how he loves, too. But there’s nothing demanding here. He lets your tears fall in silence, undisturbed, the touch of his hands through the cloth a silent promise.

When you’re fairly dry, he fetches something then quickly comes back. “Here.”

It’s his shirt. You only notice you’ve been shivering as he pulls it over your head, lets you fill in the sleeves, gently gathers your hair back. “Thanks,” you say. His fingertips brush your neck as he hooks them around your necklace to rest it over the shirt. You think he does it to remind you you’re still the same. You’ve had five years together. It doesn’t have to end now.

“Why did it take him so long?” You struggle to say, eyes glossed like sea glass. “Why—why now? What did I do?”

Luke puts an arm around you. “I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly.

You sink into his warmth like a wave meets the shore. “Five years, Luke. He ignored me for five years. And he takes Percy right—right away.” It’s hard not to choke between every word. “I just thought I’d never get claimed, and I was fine with that, and now I’m … this!”

Its hard to tell if the dampness of your cheeks are the remnants of saltwater or your tears. “I don’t want this,” you sniffle. “I waited so long … and I just don’t want it.”

Luke rubs your shoulder, lips pursed against your head. He murmurs into your hair, “I know, sailor. It’ll be okay. Promise.”

His voice is reserved. You look up at him. His jaw is resolute, his eyes red-rimmed in a way you hadn’t noticed before. “You’re upset too,” you comment quietly.

He laughs listlessly. “Yeah, of course I am. I’m losing my favourite cabin mate.”

You sniff and try to smile. “Percy?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, and it feels like all you want. He squeezes your shoulders tight and you long desperately to be closer. “I just don’t know what I did wrong,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into him. “Why didn’t he see me until he saw Percy? Am I just … unremarkable or something?”

“No, no. Absolutely not—c’mere.” Luke loops an arm around your waist and manoeuvres you into his arms, cradled on his lap so you can bury your face in his neck. You can’t stop fucking crying, but his patience for you is infinite. “You are by far the most remarkable person I know.” He seals you against his chest, scratching your scalp the way he knows you like. “None of this is you, okay? Your dad’s an idiot. You are—you’re everything. They’re all mindless up there, they don’t know how to love you. They don’t deserve to.”

An edge seeps into his timbre that gives you pause. You feel weak, discarded. It sounds like he’s talking about a different person. But he’s right. He has to be, because he knows you better than you know yourself.

Luke keeps going. You peek at his face when he speaks. Stubborn as ever. “He doesn’t have any fucking right to you. If he wanted that he should’ve claimed you when you got here. You have a life. You … you had a home. And now just because he’s got another kid he kills two birds with one stone? He pretends like this is some Godly intervention? Like he didn’t ignore you the whole time you’ve been here because he couldn’t stand how much you didn’t need him? How much better you are? You’re my …” He struggles, brows furrowed, the sun melting in his eyes. “You’re my best friend, and we’re supposed to be together. He’s not allowed to take that from you.”

Your heart stirs. “Sounds like you’re jealous,” you try to tease.

Luke heaves a sigh, his muscles rippling against your chest. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that he’s got no shirt on. And that he’s pressed against you in a way that makes you question if you should be this close. Beads of water cling to the divots in his skin, and you linger a little too long on one nestled in his collarbone. You swear you think this every time he goes swimming with you: when did he get so … hot? And every time you think it, you want to gouge your heart out with a spoon.

“Can you blame me?” A melancholy smile plays on his face. “I liked having you all to myself.”

Tears spring to your eyes all over again. “I liked that too.”

It’s a whisper that sends you forward, Luke bringing his forehead to your own, and you want to live in the warmth that coils through you. His nose catches against yours when he laughs, but he doesn’t move. You take a moment to savour it. You think he does too.

He wipes a tear off your face as you say, “I’m still yours.”

“Yeah?” Luke hums a bit, his hand sliding up your waist in a most unfriendly manner. “How?”

You catch the glimmer in his eyes, that plucky smile he’s had since fourteen. Something shifts.

“What are you asking me, Luke?” You can’t fight the smile.

“What do you want me to ask you?”

“I dunno, what do you want me to want you to ask you—”

“My Gods, you’re a pain in the ass.”

He groans, throws his head back, and kisses you like you aren’t the most annoying person in the world.

It’s so cliché, but for a brief moment your strife is well worth it. You yank him closer before he pulls away. It’s a little unsure, the two of you so used to toeing the line, but soon you’ve given in and your hands are in his hair, mouths parting, and it’s messy and wanting and everything you need.

Luke slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, palms flattening against your sun-beaten skin. It feels so good, better because the shirt is already his, a whine scratching your throat as he moves up so his thumbs graze the skin beneath the tie in your bathing suit.

“Oh, sailor,” he coos against your mouth. You want to retaliate but it’s lost when he squeezes your thighs, warming you in all the right places. It’s hard to understand this is even happening—it feels like you’re underwater, a blissful fuzziness growing in your head entirely at his mercy.

He razes kisses down your still-damp neck, catching pearls of water on his tongue. You cling to his shoulders, raking your hands down his back just so you can feel more of him. Luke’s dropped down to your collarbone at this point, tugging the neck of your shirt down as his teeth graze the bone. “You’re my best friend,” he mutters over your skin. “Still mine. Always mine.”

“Mmhm,” is all you can say back, the husk in his voice making your eyes screw shut. He teases a spot so sensitive you groan and laugh at the same time. The regret is immediate, but you feel a chuckle pass his lips, too. “Luke,” you purse a smile. He dots kisses back up your neck until you start returning the favour.

You kiss his jaw, a few spots on his neck, feeling the flex of his muscle all around you as he squeezes the fat of your hips. You finally sweep up the water in the hollow of his collarbones, and his grunt of your name makes you, frankly, delirious.

He brings your mouth back to his, skin sticking to each other. It’s harder to kiss as fervently when you’re both giggling against each other’s tongues, running fingers along the planes of each other’s bodies trying to see which places feel new and which are known from memory. It’s a fifty-fifty split, and you love it.

Somewhere along the way he peeled off your shirt because it was clinging in places you knew he wanted, but now you’re panting and giggling into his hair, his nose pressed into your neck, both of you melded together with salt and sun. “You really know how to cheer a girl up, mailman,” you grin.

His lips fix to your skin. “Really? You’re still gonna call me that right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Like it better when you call me captain,” he murmurs, nose grazing along your pulse.

You swallow, “That doesn’t work unless we’re doing the whole sailor-ship bit.”

“We’re always doing the sailor-ship bit.”

“I seriously can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

He sighs warmly at the words. “You have no idea how much I’ve been dying for you to say that. Even though I knew you would.”

You roll your eyes as he presses his forehead to yours, and you’re more glad than ever that his face is the one you love so much. It’s a pretty great face.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says tenderly. “You’re too incredible for Poseidon. You’re worth more than that.”

He still looks gorgeous blurred by your tears. You listen to the beat of his heart and the waves rolling. “More than any water anywhere?”

“More than the fucking Styx, sailor. I’ll promise you that.”

That night, Luke stays with you and Percy in your cold chapel of a cabin. You exchange stories until Percy falls asleep in his bed, curled up like a sea otter. “He’s a drooler,” Luke notes fondly, eyes flicking to yours. “Like you.”

You shove his chest playfully until he wraps his arms around you and anchors you to sleep, like every night before. This time, as you drift off, he kisses your forehead again. Once because he loves you, and twice to make sure you know it’s real.

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homestylehughes · 9 months ago

Text

sundress seduction

pairing(s): luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: where luke is seduced by y/n’s sundress and he cant keep his hands off of her.

warning(s): little plot mostly pure filth, smut 18+. use of pet names, no use of y/n. oral fem!receiving. dirty talk. unprotected sex p n v. luke and reader both being cute!

wc: 1.8k

an: HIIIIIII!!! here i am once again..with luke smut...AND I LOVE IT. it's sundress season and this little idea popped in my head and here we are now, thanks to the help of you guys MWAH and boyyy is it hot. i need luke like this BAD! anyways!! i hope you all enjoy, like and reblog if you do, as always much love!!!

happy reading <3

It was so hot at the lake house this year, the dry heat making it hard to be in anything besides a bikini or in the water. Luke and I have been at the lake for a few days, arriving before everyone else, hoping to spend some time together before the summer gets busy.

The first few days spent at the lake house were calm and the both of us decided to take it easy, going grocery shopping and stalking the house with necessary goods. Spending time swimming, tanning or on the boat. The calm atmosphere of the lake is something I'll never get used to.

Today while I was making Luke and I's breakfast he proposed the idea of us going to lunch at a new restaurant that had just opened up by the lake. Nodding my head in excitement, already knowing what I wanted to wear, I had bought a few sundresses just for the lake. Knowing it would be hot at lunch, I decided it would be the perfect thing to wear.

This was a few hours ago, Luke spending some time outside in the garage staking, practicing on his shots. while I lay on the deck reading my book as I tan. I hear lukes footsteps pad behind me on the deck.

“Hi baby” he says leaning down, placing a kiss on my back.

“Hi” I smile back up at him, the sun reflecting beautifly on his sweat covered chest.

“Do you still want to get lunch?” he asks,

“Yes i'm fine with that, if you still are”' I say, placing my bookmark in my book, moving to now sit up.

“Of course pretty girl, gonna go shower” Luke says smiling down at me, leaning down connecting our lips before heading back into the house.

Looking out the lake for a few moments, before pulling myself up from the deck gathering all of my things, slipping on my sandles before heading inside. Closing the door, heading up the stairs to Luke and I’s bedroom, entering the room, I hear the shower running in the connected bathroom.

Heading to the closet, looking through my options of dresses I have, pulling out one I haven't worn before. the long yellow and pink sundress with flowers littered over the dress, the dress being exactly what I wanted to wear today, hoping luke likes it.

I can hear the bathroom door opening, turning my head slightly, seeing Luke with a towel wrapped around his waist, as he's digging into his drawers finding something to wear. “Shower good?” I ask.

“It was, it would have been better if you were there with me though,” Luke says from behind me.

“Next time” I smile at him, as I turn around, now seeing a fully dressed luke.

The khaki shorts and dark blue polo, that complements his tanned skin so well. I walk over to help him fix his collar that's tucked in on one side.

“Thanks baby” he says while he's running a towel through his damp curls, “you're welcome handsome” i say leaning in to give him a small peck on his cheek before turning around.

“I'm going to go down stairs and wait for you, take your time baby” luke says standing in the doorway, i nod my head in understandment, luke shutting the door softly behind him as he leaves.

My attention now is going to get ready. Changing out of my swimsuit, forgoing a bra because of the dress, replacing my bottoms with underwear, before slipping the sundress on over my head, pulling it down making sure it's placed correctly on my body.

I headed into the bathroom, and began going to do my makeup and hair, choosing to do something simple. adding a few curls to my hair, fluffing it and moving on to my makeup, adding a few light products, finishing off with lip gloss. Looking at myself in the mirror, seeing it there's something I want to fix or change. deciding everything looks fine, running my hands over my sundress making sure it looks right.

Exiting the bathroom, I slip on my sandals grabbing my purse as I make my way to head down stairs.

“Im ready” i say to luke as i reach the bottom of the stairs. Luke lifts his head up from the couch, his eyes catching mine before looking me up and down, his face expressionless.

“Do you like it?” I ask him, giving him a quick little spin to show off the full dress

“Come here” he says, his voice breaking the silence around us. I slowly make my way to stand in front of where he sits on the couch, luke takes my purse from my arm, setting it on the floor before placing his hands on my hips pulling me closer to his body.

“Fuck” he mutters out

“What's wrong?” I asked nervously.

“You in this dress thats what, fuck me” he groans tracing his hands over the fabric, from my feet to the straps of the dress.

“Do you have any idea how good you look right now?” he says, as he's lightly pulling my things down, urging me to sit in his lap.

“It's just a sundress?” I say, now sitting in his lap, his hands running over my bare legs.

“Whatever the fuck it is, i want you wear them all the time” luke says, leaning into my neck placing wet kisses down my neck and exposed neck.

“Oh” I pant out, as Luke continues his assault on my neck, I feel his hands slip under the straps of the dress, pulling them off my shoulders, exposing my bare chest.

“Oh my gosh, you're going to kill me '' Luke says before his mouth latches around my left nipple, his warm wet mouth around my breast causes me to moan, pushing my hips against his.

Broken moans and pants leave my mouth as Luke continues his work on my chest, before pulling back suddenly his eyes finding mine.

“i need you baby, fuck” luke says breathlnessly, moaning in response as his hands find their way underneath my dress, his fingers tracing over my covered core.

his fingers tracing over the wet patch that now covers my underwear, ��fuck baby who got you this wet?”

“you luke, please do something”

“I'm getting there baby.” he says pulling my underwear to the side, running his fingers through my wet folds, the action causes my whole body to shutter against him. I began to grind down on lukes fingers as he slowly fucks me with him.

His thumb finding my clit, “luke right there” I plant out, dropping my head to his neck, my body still moving against his fingers.

I can feel my orgasm on the rise as his fingers continue to fuck me, moaning as he curls them over so slightly hitting my g-spot, just as I feel myself about to come, Luke pulls his fingers out of my aching core. Whining in the loss of contact, pulling myself up from his neck, leaning back on my knees. I see Luke bring the two fingers that were once inside me into his mouth, sucking on them like they're a hot summer treat.

My eyes locked on his, Luke pulled his fingers from his mouth with a pop, bringing his hand to the back of my neck pulling my face to his smashing out lips together. Moaning into his mouth tasting myself on his lips, my hips begin moving against his again, craving some type of friction.

“I want you to ride me in that sundress baby”, im quick to get up from his lap, helping him take off his belt, tossing it across the living room as his hands move to unbutton his pants, pulling them down along his boxers. His cock springing free, precome leaking at the tip, the sight making my mouth water.

Luke's hands finding my hips, pulling me back towards him, helping me line up on his cock, sinking down, our moans filling the room as I fully sit down on his cock.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good around me” luke says as he goes to brush my hair thats fallen into my face.

“Luke” I pant as he rolls his hips against mine, lifting up and sinking down on him, the burn between my thighs feels so good.

I began to speed up my movements, Luke's thrusts meeting mine. My hands finding the back of the couch, my head leaning down as I watch myself sink back down on him again. “Fuck” luke says, his head agianst the back of the couch as our movements increase.

“You look so pretty riding my cock baby” , his eyes finding mine, I can feel my hair sticking to the back of my neck from sweat.

“Fuck luke” i pant out as one of his thrusts hits just the right spot, almost causing me to collapse right on top if him.

I can feel myself getting close to my climax, my legs beginning to grow tired. “Is my baby tired? Need me to take over and fuck you baby” luke smirks

“yes please” i paint before connecting our lips back together.

Luke's hands are back on my hips again, he begins to thrust into me at full speed. My breasts are bouncing with each thrust. Letting out uh’s and broken moans as he contuines to fuck me to my peak.

“Right there Luke, don't stop please” his thrusts hitting my clit, causing me to moan loudly at the feeling.

“Luke im about to come” i pant out against his mouth,

“im almost there baby, wait for me fuck” he says as he contuines thrusting into me.

“I cant hold it luke” it's becoming all too much, each snap of his hips against mine, each touch, kiss. everything is making it hard to hold on. The whole room feels like fire around me, panting like i've never had a drink of water before.

Before I even know it, my legs are beginning to shake around him.

“I'm coming,” I say before dropping my head into his neck. My vision becomes white, only feeling lukes body against mine. I can feel his grip tighten on my waist, hearing him moan out from below me. He's coming,

“That's it baby, come all over my cock” I hear Luke say, pulling me back up connecting our lips.

The kiss is hot and messy, our tongues fighting for dominance as we ride out our highs together.

Pulling back to catch my breath, our movements now stilling, looking at Luke with widened eyes, his lips swollen, as he pants looking back at me. I began to giggle at our state, thinking about how we even managed to get in this position.

“I can't believe I was seduced by your sundress. Luke laughs along with me,

“me either '' I say, lowering my face to his, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips before pulling back.

“So lunch?”

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #new jersey devils #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes smut #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes imagine #lh43

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leona-hawthorne · 2 months ago

Note

AHH VAN I REQUEST FOR YOUR 1K? BOOK BROWSING, Soulmates with mattheo riddle?

you got it bb!!! 🤍✨ — also here’s a reminder that my requests are now closed <3

1k celebration navigation

NO MORE RUNNING… book browsing

ミ★ MATTHEO RIDDLE

The words on your wrist were a curse.

At least, that’s how you’d come to think of them after waiting years for someone to say them. They weren’t elegant or poetic like the ones others had. Instead, they were blunt and vaguely infuriating, a question that had hung over you since you were old enough to understand its significance:

"What the hell are you doing here?"

You’d imagined the scene countless times—standing in some shadowy corridor or a bustling hallway, accidentally bumping into someone who’d scowl and spit the words at you. But when they were finally spoken, you weren’t prepared for them to belong to Mattheo Riddle.

It had happened in the Slytherin common room of all places, a quiet moment interrupted by the sound of his voice cutting through the still air like a blade. You’d been searching for a friend, still wearing your red and gold tie, when he appeared out of nowhere, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The words weren’t angry—just exasperated, as if he’d caught you trespassing in some unspoken territory.

The shock hit you instantly, your heart pounding as you froze in place. Your wrist burned with the ghost of his voice, and your breath caught in your throat.

He’d said the words. Your words.

And you’d said his, though you hadn’t known it at the time.

"Why do you care?"

The phrase was etched into his wrist, bold and sharp against his skin, as if fate had known he’d spend years keeping people at arm’s length. The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d spent his entire life avoiding attachment, only to be bound to someone by a single sentence.

The next week was torture. Mattheo had always been difficult to pin down, but now, he seemed to evaporate whenever you entered the room. You’d catch glimpses of him in the library, his dark curls bent over a parchment, or in the corridors, his back stiff as he walked away faster than usual. Each time you tried to get close, he slipped away, leaving you with an ache in your chest and a thousand unanswered questions swirling in your mind.

Why would he avoid you? Did he not want this? Did he not want you?

It didn’t make sense. The bond between soulmates was supposed to be undeniable. Everyone said so. But Mattheo was resisting it—resisting you—and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

By the time you cornered him, you were tired of the silence. You found him by the Black Lake, leaning against a tree, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He didn’t hear you approach, or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Are you going to avoid me forever?” you asked, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest.

He stiffened, the cigarette pausing midair. Slowly, he turned to face you. His dark eyes scanned your face, and for the first time, you saw something other than annoyance or indifference in them. He looked almost... guilty.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he lied.

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “Really? Then what do you call running away every time I’m in the same room?”

Mattheo sighed, flicking ash into the grass. “I call it self-preservation.”

“Self-preservation?” you repeated, incredulous. “From me?”

“From this,” he snapped, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “From whatever this is supposed to be.”

Your heart sank, but you held your ground. “It’s not something we can change, Mattheo. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The words stung, but you refused to flinch. “What’s there not to like? Is it me? Or is it the idea of soulmates in general?”

He hesitated, his jaw working as if he were trying to chew through his frustration. Finally, he muttered, “Both.”

“Wow,” you said flatly, the sarcasm barely masking your hurt. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“I didn’t mean—” He groaned, raking a hand through his curls. “It’s not you, alright? It’s just...this whole soulmate thing. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask for someone else to decide my life for me.”

You stared at him, your throat tightening. “You think I asked for this? You think I wanted to be tied to someone who doesn’t even have the decency to talk to me?”

Mattheo winced, but you weren’t done.

“Do you have any idea how terrifying this is? To know that the person you’re meant to spend your life with can’t even stand to be around you?”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually apologize. But instead, he said, “I never said I couldn’t stand you.”

“Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.”

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “I don’t… hate you. Far from it.”

“Then what is it?” you demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes fixed on the horizon. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost raw.

“Because I’m scared, alright?”

Your breath hitched. That wasn’t what you’d expected.

“I don’t like the idea of fate tying me to someone,” he admitted. “But what scares me more is that it’s you.”

You frowned. “Why would that scare you?”

“Because...” He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see the fear and vulnerability lurking beneath his usual bravado. “Because if this doesn’t work, if I mess this up...I don’t think I could take it.”

The honesty in his words left you speechless. For all his defiance and bravado, Mattheo Riddle was just as terrified of this bond as you were. But for entirely different reasons.

“You won’t mess this up,” you said softly.

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t,” you admitted. “But I know you, Mattheo. And I know that if you just...stop running, we might actually have a chance.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “No more running.”

It wasn’t a promise. Not yet. But it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

#mattheo riddle #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle fluff #harry potter #slytherin #benjamin wadsworth #book browsing #leona-hawthorne’s 1k celebration

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nottswitch · 2 months ago

Text

— if you’ve been nice, you get…

─────────────── 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬. ──

summary: winter begins, and so do the winter blues. your boyfriend helps you through the melancholy in the best way possible.

pairing: theo nott x reader

cw: 18+ smut, established relationship, oral (f receiving), body worship, nipple play, praise, italian pet names

wc: 2k

a/n: the first installment of my christmas celebration from the nice list. hope you will enjoy and stick to the end of it <3

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

────────────────────────

The weather changed immediately, as if a light switch had been flipped on the night between November 30th and December 1st. You went to sleep to the sound of rain rattling against the surface of the Black Lake behind the window of the Slytherin dorm; you woke up to the sight of a thin layer of ice and snow covering its glassy surface. Winter came seamlessly, unnoticed yet so impactful on everyone around – someone immediately got a headache, the others got excited at the prospect of having fun in the snow rather soon. You? You got a bad case of winter blues.

It happened pretty much every winter – as soon as the page of the calendar turned, your mood went down, down, down, until it was coming out of the other side of the planet Earth and plummeting into space. This year was no different – ever since early morning you just couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning in bed didn’t help, so, despite it being the weekend and a perfect opportunity to sleep in, you sat up, letting out a quiet sigh and looking down at your boyfriend.

Theo was blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, his eyes closed, his arm loosely draped around your waist and now fallen onto your lap thanks to your sitting position. His soft breathing was the only sound filling the otherwise silent space of the dorm. Not a single feature out of place – how could he remain so perfect even while being completely knocked out?

Reluctantly, you grabbed Theo’s wrist with a touch as gentle as a cloud of cotton, pulling his arm off your lap and onto the bed. In a moment, your feet were already on the floor, sliding into fuzzy brown slippers that instantly warmed up your freezing toes. The soft comforter covering your legs was now wrapped around your shoulders as you padded to the window, climbing onto the windowsill and tucking your knees under your chin.

You sat there for a while, staring into the dark waters of the lake that seemed to still, as if the very depths of it were frozen in anticipation of winter. You didn’t hear Theo stirring in the bed, a low, quiet whimper escaping him when his hand felt the cool silken sheets instead of your body’s warmth. He blinked, chasing away the sleep, and looked over his shoulder, noticing your bundled form perched up at the window. Immediately, a small frown tugged at his forehead, and he was up in an instant, running a hand through his messy bed curls as he walked up to where you were sitting.

"Can’t sleep?" he asked quietly, wrapping an arm around your middle while the other one came to rest on your blanket-covered thigh.

You nodded, turning your head to give him a small, weak smile. "Just the weather." You glanced towards the window, where the lake was unusually quiet, devoid of any life, any creatures that would normally swim by.

Theo looked up, noticing the change in the atmosphere, and hummed in understanding, returning his gaze to your face. He placed his chin on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your temple in hopes of making you smile some more, his hand giving your thigh gentle caresses. You leaned into him, straightening your legs along the windowsill, which gave Theo more access. It also gave him a foolproof idea about how to make your mood better – he didn’t like seeing you upset, even if the reason was nothing more than the cold gloom outside.

His hands slowly traveled up, grabbing the edges of the blanket and opening them up just a tiny bit to let your sleeping sweater show. You shivered as the chilly air inside the dorm brushed against your bare collarbones, but Theo quickly rectified the situation by nuzzling his face into your neck to warm it up with his breath. The shiver he gave you was much more pleasant than the one from before, goosebumps making the small hairs on the nape of your neck stand up. Theo started placing carefully dry kisses on your skin while his strong hands curled around your hips, turning your body around.

Your legs hung off the windowsill for a moment before instinctively wrapping around his waist. The warmth was now provided by the blanket still resting snugly on your shoulders and Theo’s body pressing up against your front. Sandwiched in the comfort of his presence and the softness of the fabric, you couldn’t help a quiet gasp leaving your mouth as you felt heat starting to pool between your legs. Theo quickly caught your gasp with his lips, the kiss short but enough to render you breathless for a few seconds. His hands were roaming your torso, slipping under the sweater, though without the addition of any type of discomfort – his touch was a pleasant fever, enveloping you in a blanket of its own.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" Theo murmured, waiting for your nod before proceeding with his plan. Having received it, he kissed you once more, tracing a path from your lips down to your jawline and neck again. His hands slowly lifted up your sweater, his body not letting the chill get to you, as his fingers found the mounds of your breasts. Your shaky breath was the desired reaction, your nipples already stiff and perked up from the ever-growing arousal coursing through your form. Kneading your soft flesh, Theo bent down, his lips attaching to your left nipple, taking it into the wet warmth of his mouth. His tongue swirled a circle around it, your small moan encouraging him to go further. His right hand worked on your other breast as he gently sucked on the bud, a contrast to the roughness that often accompanied his actions.

When his lips moved to your right nipple, the grip of your hand on the windowsill tightened. Every single flick of his tongue was echoing right in your core, tingles running down and settling between your thighs. You pulled him closer, even though the space between you was already nonexistent, your fingers weaving into the curly crown on his head. Theo felt the pull deep in his gut, the scratch of your nails against his sensitive scalp causing him to moan against your skin. The need to taste you and simultaneously make you feel better was an ache he desperately craved to soothe. With one last flat lick at your nipple he started slowly crouching down, showering your stomach and sides with languid kisses, unwilling to let a single inch of you be left unattended and devoid of his love.

"So beautiful, amore… So perfect,” he whispered in between kisses, nuzzling his nose against you in an attempt to take in every molecule of your familiar scent. He made his way down, his knees finally landing on the wooden floor with a quiet thud.

Theo’s hands hooked under your thighs to pull them over his shoulders. He tugged you closer to the edge of the windowsill, making you slump against the glass, the coldness of it muffled by the blanket. With his help, you lifted up your hips, helping him slide off you pajama pants. He dropped them to the floor, his eyes immediately landing on your already glistening pussy. Looking down, you could see the undeniable hunger in his gaze, the only thing stopping him from devouring you on the spot being his desire to make this experience as soothing for you as possible. Barely holding back, Theo started placing kisses on your inner thighs, the soft skin heating up under the steady puffs of his breath. His own need was twitching between his legs, the fabric of his sweatpants straining around his rapidly hardening cock. One of his hands momentarily dipped down, tugging them down to free his erection; he wasn’t planning to focus on his pleasure, only wanting to relieve the pressure so that you would be the one to have the entirety of his attention.

When his mouth finally reached the place aching for it, you held your breath, the air coming out of you in a ragged exhale. Theo’s eyes briefly drifted up, his eyelashes doing nothing to hide the flame of desire mixed with tenderness at the sight of your parted lips and slightly widened eyes. A second later, he was already latched onto your center, his tongue drawing a flat line against your folds. The muscles of your thighs clenched at the contact, but your entire body seemed to relax just a moment later, as Theo started slowly lapping up and down. His hands rested delicately on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles into the bare skin, the softness of it interrupted by the occasional wave of goosebumps rising up.

He was taking his time with you, as much as his already leaking cock was begging him to rush from below. Theo’s tongue started making his way to your slit, spreading the folds open by flicking from side to side. A low, quiet moan escaped your lips when he reached your clit, lingering there for a second before continuing to tease the area just below. That second was enough for your pussy to clench in anticipation of what was to come. Theo smirked faintly against you, relishing your reaction to his touch before finally swirling his tongue around your clit. Another quiet moan stuttered into a whimper on your lips, but it was strangely enough for him. Usually, Theo would bask in the knowledge that he could easily make you scream, but the sullen silence of the winter morning played its trick on him as well. He thought it comforting, to be able to have you so close he could feel each and every uneven breath you took, hear the smallest mewls barely breaking through the stillness of the atmosphere inside the dorm.

Theo’s mouth continued its deliberate work, switching between his tongue drawing shapes and his lips sucking and kneading at the bundle of nerves, each of them bare and responsive. His hands were skimming your thighs, soothing the pleasant ache his mouth was burning into your body. At the same time, his hips started moving subtly, rocking back and forth, as if trying to search for friction his hard member desperately needed. Theo didn’t let it get to his head, though, focused entirely on chasing your blues away.

"You taste so damn sweet, tesoro," he mumbled into your core, his voice muffled by your wetness. "So sweet…"

Your hand found its way into his hair, without any added pressure – you just needed something to hold on to as you felt your peak slowly creeping up, and the edge of the windowsill seemed to do a poor job. Theo hummed, sending vibrations up your body, his cock throbbing harder at the feeling of your fingers threading through his curls. He allowed himself to pick up the pace, the sounds of his loving feast mixing with your soft, needy whimpers.

Your orgasm reached you suddenly, built up from minutes and minutes Theo spent on his knees for you. It wasn’t the usual mind-blowing craze you were used to feeling with him, though not meaning it was any less satisfying – it felt like warmth consuming you from the inside, coursing through your entire body and coming out of your mouth with his name and a moan so sweet it could rival cotton candy drizzled with chocolate. Theo could barely hold back, lapping up your release, careful not to let a single drop go to waste. As he felt your body calming down, he slowly stood up, tracing his path up with his tongue sliding along your skin. The journey ended at your lips, your taste an intoxicating brew with the familiar taste of his mouth.

Gathering yourself back into one piece, you glanced down, where Theo’s cock was still as eager as before. You smiled, shifting your gaze back to his face, noticing how he tried to keep the pleading out of his expression, yet his eyes betrayed the need for you to reciprocate.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" you murmured, mirroring his own words he said to you earlier. The relief washing over his features was obvious, turning your smile into a smirk as you pushed yourself off the windowsill. Theo’s own winter blues were about to be rendered nonexistent.

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thedreamlessnights · 10 months ago

Note

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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