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logaenhowlett · 5 months ago

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SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I'M HEAD OVER HEELS - L.H.

Summary: What starts off as a simple favour to watch Laura’s cat sends Logan into a spiral as you continue to make your way into his life.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff - Logan is 100% whipped, Wade

A/N: 4.4k - my longest fic yet! Worst!Logan has my entire soul, I'd give anything just for that pretty smile. Title creds to Tears For Fears. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

The familiar burn of whiskey stings the back of his throat. Logan rests his head against the couch, second-guessing his decision to babysit Laura's cat while she's enjoying her night out. Her tireless attempts of pestering him at last working in her favour so he can finally meet his 'copy-kitten' - her words.

A quick glance at the time reveals he should probably head out now. Logan rises, groaning as his muscles protest after weeks of just slumping around the apartment. Even Al had pointed out how lazy he'd become lately. And that unsolicited observation gave him half the mind to consider finding new roommates. But who was he kidding? As much as he also barely tolerated that one incredibly maddening little prick's incessant jibber-jabber, he wasn't going to find anything for what he's currently paying.

Soon enough, he weaves his way through the crowds, swerving past the shoulders of, frankly, one too many people absorbed by their devices to step aside for his large frame. Luckily, Laura's place isn't too far and he really appreciates that detail as the sound of thunder rumbles overhead. A faint ding emerges from his pocket and he retrieves his phone, reading the screen with a slight squint.

His boots soak the welcome mat as he fumbles with the door trim, locating the key according to Laura's text - making a mental note to remind her of personal safety later. Shivering, he shrugs the wet jacket off, tossing it over the armchair. His eyes dart around the room, looking for the damn cat, and for a moment, Logan wonders whether he's being pranked.

The pitter-patter of paws against the hardwood floor has him snapping his head to the little creature in question. The cat, or Leopold Alexis Elijah Walker Thomas Gareth Mountbatten - Leo, for short - he learns begrudgingly after Wade shoved pictures upon pictures to his face one particular day, stares at him with indifference.

Understanding the need to be left alone, Logan trudges towards the kitchen, swinging the fridge open. A small post-it stuck over a box of leftovers, reads "Knew you'd be hungry", has him scoffing, mildly amused that Laura had predicted his actions.

Minutes later, he sinks onto the couch, making brief eye contact with Leo, who's nonchalantly licking his paws. He's halfway through the bowl of pasta when the cat suddenly leaps onto the cushion next to him. Logan watches curiously, he's not terribly experienced around pets, hardly spending any time with Mary Puppins herself despite living under the same roof.

"Alright, here's the deal." He murmurs, "You stay outta my way and I stay outta yours."

Leo replies with a meow to which Logan nods, satisfied by the response. He hopes to god this cat has the same temperament as Dogpool and allows him to simply coexist till Laura returns. Intrigued by the smell, Leo slowly inches forward, gently nudging his head against the bowl.

"Don't think you can eat this, bub."

Leo seems to understand the implication and meows in defiance. With a sigh, Logan gingerly flexes his hand, stroking the cat's head. The act immediately has Leo purring in content, the desire to investigate the food long forgotten. And no one's there to witness the ghost of a smile that teases his lips.

The calm attitude only lasts an hour before Logan's biting back a string of profanities, frustrated by Leo's refusal to take his medication. He's thankful for his healing factor, for otherwise, he'd be covered in a litter of scars. How the hell Laura deals with this devil-of-a-cat is beyond comprehension.

There's no use in trying again. Leo clearly wants nothing to do with him or what he's hiding in his hand. The thought of seeking help crosses his mind, perhaps one of the neighbours is especially skilled in feeding pills to literal hellspawns. Logan tunes his hearing to the apartments on the floor. Old lady already asleep to her TV - no. A family of six attempting to eat dinner in peace - no. Two people about to - fuck no. Now he really wants a word with Laura about her living situation.

Just when he's about to give up, a recognisable melody reaches his ears - one he's unwilling heard Wade jam out to in the shower. This person swaying along to music seems far more approachable than anyone else in this building, and so he steps out, knocking on the apartment across from Laura's.

The door cracks open slightly, you peek your head out giving him a questioning look, “Um… hi? Can I help you?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you. But, uh… I’m watching Laura’s - your neighbour’s cat.” Embarrassment creeps into his cheeks as he points behind him, “He’s not takin’ his meds and uh do you… can you help me? Please?”

The look of absolute defeat paired with the remnants of red scratch marks on his arms has your heart clenching for this poor man, “Of course.”

When the door fully opens, Logan’s eyes widen reflexively at the state of your undress. There’s nothing evocative about it, yet he feels as though he’s intruding on an intimate side of you. One he’s definitely not privy to.

Your sheepish smile sends a wave of something indescribable through his body. He clears his throat, turning on his heel to lead you inside. Leo flicks his head up at the sound of footsteps, purring as if he hasn’t been driving Logan insane for the past hour.

You knew Laura had rescued the little guy a while ago, having run into her in the hallway the night she brought him home. Every interaction you’ve had presents him as the sweetest kitten in the world, so watching the distinct mark of dread on this stranger’s face has you stifling a laugh.

“What?” Logan asks, feeling a little self-conscious about the whole situation.

“Nothing. It’s just - Leo’s very friendly. Or at least, I thought so… what the hell did you do to piss him off?” You chuckle, kneeling a foot away.

“Piss him off? I was just tryin’ to give him the damn pills. Had no problem with me before that.” Logan’s fingers twitch as you approach the cat, wanting to protect you from the sharp claws the demon would surely attack you with.

Yet, to his astonishment, Leo innocently crawls into your outstretched arms. And Logan swears he saw a flicker of mockery come across the cat’s eyes as he peers at him, relishing your comforting embrace.

“See? He’s a sweetheart.”

The fondness in your tone almost has him believing your words. In no time, Leo’s fully cooperating with your gentle requests, happily taking the medication as if it’s the tastiest thing in the world.

Logan learns three things that night. One, your name. Two, that you have some innate ability to charm everyone around you - human or otherwise. Three, he absolutely couldn’t wait to see you again.

Logan tries to drain out the shouting match between his two roommates, ducking calmly as Al’s miscalculated spatula throw flies in his direction. Laura giggles next to him, entertained by the whole ordeal - Wade had accidentally left his cock ring plugged in the bathroom again, nearly short-circuiting the apartment.

“Hey! Kink shaming is very frowned upon, Althea.”

“You motherfucker! I almost got electrocuted by the toaster this morning!”

Logan grumbles to himself, knowing there’ll never be a quiet, normal day in this household. He turns to Laura, “Kid, you wanna grab some food later?”

“Can’t. I’m going out.”

He nods, not giving it a second thought. But as the memory of you flashes across his mind, he stops bouncing his leg, heart beating a little faster. It had been a whopping seven days since that interaction, yet every little detail has stuck with him since. In fact, he spent many hours pacing in his room planning some way to magically run into you.

“… What about the cat?” He asks, and when she raises her eyebrow, “Who’s watchin’ him?”

She replies with a shrug, “I’ll figure it out.”

The solution to his problem falls perfectly onto his lap. Oh, how his pulse quickens at the thought. And as if to not seem suspiciously enthusiastic, he pauses before speaking, “I can do it.”

“Why?”

“Better than this shit.”

Laura considers him for a moment then agrees casually - she knows exactly why he offered. You had bumped into her a couple of days ago, offhandedly mentioning meeting Logan that night as you recounted the details of your week. It took mere seconds to put two and two together and realise he was incredibly smitten.

Logan spends a good fifteen minutes messing with his hair. Fuck, did it always spike up like that? The one tiny mirror in his room supposedly taunting him with each look over. A low tsk breaks the flood of self-criticism as he slams the door shut behind him, roughly brushing past Wade.

"Ooh, is that cologne I smell or are you just horny to see me?"

His teasing spirit immediately drops when Logan shoots him a glare, precisely throwing Al's spatula straight at his crotch.

"God - not the home office, peanut! Jim and Pam need protection!"

The walk to Laura's seems a lot shorter this time, some sort of nervous, giddy energy surging through his chest with each step. Logan bites the insides of his cheeks, feeling childish by the stupid smile daring to grace his lips just at the sheer thought of you. He can't remember the last time someone had drawn these kind of emotions from him. A part of him wants to cower in fear of rejection and self-doubt, and other? Oh, it's got your name written all over.

As soon as he reaches the hallway, all his senses are directed to your apartment. Confused by the silence he finds instead, Logan strains his hearing harder than ever. Hm, it's barely seven-thirty, maybe you're not home yet? Disappointment twirls around his mind, he sighs before opening Laura's door, convincing himself it's probably for the better.

To his surprise, Leo behaves quite well this time around - eating his food, taking his medication, and sticking with minimal efforts to annoy him. The black and white movie he randomly chose keeps his thoughts from drifting to you for the most part, though he can't help but wonder where you are at - he checks his watch - 10:38 pm on a Thursday?

Whatever hope he held onto paints him a fool as time slips by. He couldn't blame you, you didn't owe him anything. Logan runs a hand down his face, and despite his wavering relationship with Leo, he's at least grateful for the cat's company on this rather lonely night.

"Was a dumb idea, huh?" He mumbles, gently scratching Leo's ear.

Not ten minutes later, the jingle of something hitting the floor has him sitting up, intrigued. Logan pads over to look through the peephole, his heart fluttering at the sight of you. It doesn't take a genius to note your drunken state with the way you're cursing and fumbling with the keys. His hand rests against the doorknob, a flash of hesitation creeping in. Do you even want to see him right now?

Before he can psych himself out, his instincts make the decision for him. Logan's unsure of how to announce his presence, wanting to avoid any chances of scaring you. In hindsight, that task should’ve been deemed impossible when you flinch suddenly anyway.

"Logan! Shit - did I wake you up?"

He chuckles at that and before he can even respond, you fire off another question, "Wait, what're you doing here?"

"Laura's out. I'm on babysitting duty." Leo purrs from somewhere behind him in confirmation. Logan watches as you nod slowly, the keys once again sliding from your grasp, "Here, let me help you."

The two of you reach down, fingertips barely grazing as he reacts faster than you. He realises he's much closer than he anticipated when your perfume crowds his senses. Logan buries the urge to meet your eyes deep, deep down, instead unlocking the door with a clenched jaw.

He's very appreciative of the fact that you're too out of it to observe his actions. He wanders into the kitchen to fetch some water, a laugh nearly spilling out of him as you collapse onto the couch, "Hey, easy."

"I'm not that drunk."

"I believe you." He lifts the glass to your lips, words ever so soft, "But... how about we get you to bed hm? Doesn't that sound better than this couch?" When you blink at him tiredly, Logan knows it's so over for him - every shred of denial he held within now shattered by your very hands.

"Okay... "

He maintains some distance, assuming you'd stubbornly dismiss his attempts to guide you to the bedroom. Leaning by the doorframe, he doesn't try to hide the fondness in his expression as you settle under the covers.

"Night, Logan."

He hears you murmur beneath the blanket. It's almost natural how quickly he replies as if you've had this exchange hundreds of times before, "Good night, sweetheart."

A groan leaves you as the sunlight eventually breaches the comfort of your dark room. Rubbing your eyes, you blindly reach for the bedside table, hoping to find your phone. Instead, your hand retrieves a piece of paper while knocking over a bottle of Advil that definitely wasn't there earlier.

'Not that drunk' my ass. - L

The party hat lays tilted on his head. Logan hooks his finger onto the string, momentarily stopping it from cutting into his chin. On any other occasion, he wouldn't have been caught dead wearing the stupid thing, but it was Laura's birthday and once she pulled out the dangerous puppy eyes, there was no way he could refuse without being an asshole.

He's been leaning against the wall, thumb lightly tracing the rim of the beer bottle in his hand as he blankly stares around the room. Throughout the night, Logan's eyes impulsively shift in your direction, tuning into the conversations you're having with - what feels like - everyone but him.

Mary Puppins zooms by, stepping on his boots in the process. She must've caught a whiff of whatever Al's cooking. He bends down to pick up the stuffed Wolverine chew toy she dropped along the way, mildly concerned by the amount of slobber coating it.

"Nice hat."

Logan hears you chuckle behind him. He quickly turns around, tossing the toy somewhere far, far away before you could notice. And despite wishing all night for the opportunity to talk to you, he finds himself tongue-tied now that you're actually in front of him, awaiting his response with an amused expression. Get it together, dumbass.

"This thing? Well... it made the kid happy." He says, incapable of suppressing the smile that never fails to make an appearance whenever you're around.

The way your features soften releases a storm of arrows to his poor, old heart. Whatever anxiety he felt earlier increases tenfold, Logan takes a swig of his drink only to realise it's empty. With nothing to divert his energy to, he grips the bottle tighter, hoping the integrity of the glass is enough to withstand the force of his nerves.

"Thank you, by the way."

His eyebrows raise in confusion, "For what?"

"Few weeks ago. When I got home totally wasted." As your cheeks turn a little red at the memory, Logan wants to relive that moment over and over again.

"Oh... yeah." He huffs lightly, gaining a smidge of confidence from your flustered state. It gives him just enough courage to throw in a cheeky comment, "At your service."

He's mighty pleased when you giggle, biting his lip to control the proud smile aching to take over. Logan studies you briefly, and if he didn't know any better, you almost seemed nervous too? That possibility sends his mind reeling in excitement. Perhaps you also feel something here?

The shrieking sound of a party blower has him wincing, the plastic hits his cheek as Wade sneaks up right next to him with a wide grin, "Sugar bear! Don't mind me, I overheard you tell Yukio about your date tomorrow. Now, spill. Who is this mystery man and does he have a twin by any chance? Brother or sister - daddy's not picky."

Logan's initial reaction to harshly shove the man aside dies in an instant when you laugh rather bashfully at the question. He prays to god it's another one of Wade's fucking jokes. However, that hope flies out the window as you hesitantly ramble on about this guy. Excusing himself, he leaves the apartment, ripping the party hat off in agony - not witnessing the guilt eclipsing your emotions.

Droplets of sweat linger at the ends of his hair as he places the last of Laura's cardboard boxes on the floor of her new apartment. After weeks of mulling it over, she decided to move a little further away, complaining about how rent was becoming too crazy. Logan offered to support her financially till she was good on her own, yet she strongly refused just as he expected.

Since she was no longer your neighbour, the chances of running into you dwindled over time. He saw you in passing last month when he came over to help Laura with apartment hunting. The logical part of his brain convinced him to not stick around, desperately clinging to the idea that you're not interested. But catching your expression fall as he dismissed your presence nearly made him run back to wrangle you into his arms, to whisper apologies and beg for forgiveness.

After an especially tiring day, Logan returns home, crashing onto the couch with a sort of emptiness as he stares at the ceiling. Both his roommates are muttering in the corner, afraid to call out his incredibly irritable mood of late - instead, walking on eggshells whenever he's around. It seems that Wade loses the hushed argument, settling a good arm's length away from him.

"Peanut." He drags, slowly, "Al and I are... worried about you. As much as this brooding, tough guy act is really doing wonders for my sexual wellbeing, I just can't let you Debbie-Down-Pour all over this parade."

"The fuck you want me to do?"

"You need a one-way ticket to pound town-" He chirps, and when Logan grunts angrily, Wade shrieks, shielding himself from any incoming attacks, "Don't hurt me!"

The aroma of coffee tingles his senses as he takes an exaggerated sip, ignoring the need to continue such an aimless, one-sided conversation. Across the table is one of Vanessa's acquaintances, Karen or Kira - he can't remember - mindlessly explaining why her previous dates didn't work out. Logan forces a nod here and there, humming in pretend acknowledgement while he concocts some plan to seriously bash Wade's head against the nearest wall.

In all honesty, he didn't know how the hell that bastard persuaded him to entertain this woman for the night, making a note to check his alcohol for any suspicious substances later. What he did know was that this was going as terribly as he thought. And while he might be awfully rusty in terms of dating, Logan's certainly not oblivious to basic body language cues. Deciding twenty minutes of this torture is enough, she hastily rushes out the building and that's the last of Karen he ever sees.

The grocery bags feel like cinder blocks in your hands as you walk down the street. Mentally scolding yourself for postponing this chore till the last minute, you huff in exhaustion, adjusting your grip every few seconds. A woman nearly bumps into you on her way out, you stagger backwards, watching her storm off. Startled by her rashness, you turn to glance at where she came from, gasping when you spot a familiar face.

“Logan?”

He snaps up, recognising that particular voice - your name leaves his lips softly. Mixed emotions swirl around his mind, yet, he can't help the way his heart jumps as you fill his senses, “Wha - what’re you doin' here?”

“I was just passing by... saw you through the window.” Your gaze drops to the half-finished cup of coffee opposite him, “Were you on a date?”

“Uh Wade - he...” Logan stutters for a moment, dumbfounded that you're even talking to him after his childish behaviour the last few weeks. He nods lightly as the unmistakable bullet of regret pierces his insides.

“It’s her loss anyway.”

God, he wants to apologise so badly. Your friendly attitude only serves to make him feel worse, but Logan thanks his lucky stars that you don't hate him. He definitely wouldn't have been able to handle any sign of resentment on your part - no matter how much he deserves it.

“What’s with the eggs?”

You laugh, looking down at the several cartons peeking through your bags, “I’m stress-baking.”

He's so lost in your eyes that it takes him a second to register your reply, nose scrunching in amusement, “Stress-baking?”

“Yes, it’s a perfectly valid activity.”

That draws a chuckle out of him. He raises his hands in defense, “I ain’t judgin’, doll.”

A comfortable silence takes over and Logan realises just how happy he is to see you again - how much he's missed you all this time. He opens his mouth to spill something out of pure impulse when you beat him to the punch.

“Why don’t you join me?”

It doesn't take much convincing and he's already fallen into a steady pace as you walk together - his fingers effortlessly hooking onto all the grocery bags. His chest threatens to explode when you lean towards him, moving aside for people brushing by. Logan wills his entire strength to not drape his arm across your shoulders in an effort to keep you safe.

Time becomes irrelevant when you're around. The frequency of his own laughter shocks him at first, but he's not really thrown off by the joy you bring out of him because - well, of course, you do. It's safe to say that Logan can't bake to save his life, though he doesn't mind this particular weakness as you giggle at his dreadful attempts to mix the cookie dough. Shamelessly, he watches you come closer, breaking into a tangent about proper kneading techniques - if you ask him to repeat any of it, he'd be stumbling over his words like a fool.

Eventually, he makes something that somewhat resembles your example. He dips his finger into the dough and lifts a small piece in your direction, "How's this?"

When you gently grasp his hand to lick the sweet mixture straight off, he thinks he's trapped in some wild daydream. Logan stares at you in surprise, cheeks turning into a telltale shade of red. Your hums of approval fall onto deaf ears as he remains frozen, wondering how you're so quick to move on from that bold gesture.

Every little thing you do stains his mind - from the way you dance around to soft music playing in the background, the way you focus all your attention on him whenever he speaks, even the way you warn him about the oven as if he could get burned.

His expression must've turned serious by how you suddenly pause, peering at him in concern. Bearing a rush of emotions, the words pour out of his mouth without hesitation, "I am so sorry."

"I was an idiot and I... avoided you 'cause I couldn't deal with these damn feelings-"

He stops.

He's revealed way too much. And judging by your face, that was definitely a mistake. Logan shuts his mouth, jaw hardening as he fights something heavy crawling up his throat. His eyes land on the door and all he wants is to escape from this shrinking room.

A whisper of his name fractures the glass cage he's built up around his heart. His boots seem to be cemented to the floor, unwilling to break free even as you still in front of him - a mere breath away. Your hands rest against his cheeks, slowly turning his head so he's compelled to meet your tender gaze.

Not a single sound slips out of him before your lips are on his. His heart pounds in his chest, burning at sensation. Logan leans into the kiss, hands settling on your waist, holding you as close as he can. Relief washes over him, he tilts his head slightly to deepen his movements - his breath nearly giving out when you whimper softly.

The loud ding from the oven has you pulling back with a faint chuckle. Logan smiles too, letting out a sigh as he lays his forehead against your shoulder. He presses his lips to your collarbone, whispering against your skin, "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"The cookies... or us?"

He gently pokes your side at that comment, mirroring your dazed look. Between the quiet exchanges of laughter, he knows exactly what this means - what you mean to each other.

His muscles feel looser with each stride, embracing the breeze tangling with the warmth pooling inside from your touch moments ago. Logan makes his way home with a kind of ease he hasn't felt in forever, chewing on a cookie you insisted he taste.

As he walks through the door, Wade rests his chin on his hands, “So… how did it go? I see you’re enjoying the post-bang baked goods.”

Logan rolls his eyes, not wanting his mood to be spoiled. He grumbles under his breath, your name accidentally slipping out.

"You ran into angel-reincarnate?" Wade gasps, "Oh. Finally putting that horse cock to good use." Clapping excitedly, he follows after Logan, "Wait a second, this fic is tagged fluff. There'll be no fucking on my watch, partner!"

Logan slams the door to his bedroom behind him, blocking out Wade's muffled chattering.

"She had you cosplay as Paul Hollywood all night? Goodness! The power she possesses. I must gain all her secrets."

"Fuck off."

Wade grins to himself, quickly pulling his phone out to shoot off a text.

Wade: Project-Wolvie-Gets-Pussy is a go!

Laura: We are NOT calling it that.

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wheelscomedyandmore · 5 months ago

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You Might Not Ever Guess

Captain Kangaroo passed away on January 23, 2004 as age 76 , which is odd, because he always looked to be 76. (DOB: 6/27/27 ) His death reminded me of the following story.

Some people have been a bit offended that the actor, Lee Marvin, is buried in a grave alongside 3 and 4 star generals at Arlington National Cemetery . His marker gives his name, rank (PVT) and service (USMC). Nothing else. Here's a guy who was only a famous movie star who served his time, why the heck does he rate burial with these guys? Well, following is the amazing answer:

I always liked Lee Marvin, but didn't know the extent of his Corps experiences.

In a time when many Hollywood stars served their country in the armed forces often in rear echelon posts where they were carefully protected, only to be trotted out to perform for the cameras in war bond promotions.

Lee Marvin was a genuine hero. He won the Navy Cross at Iwo Jima. There is only one higher Naval award... the Medal Of Honor

If that is a surprising comment on the true character of the man, he credits his sergeant with an even greater show of bravery.

Dialog from "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson": His guest was Lee Marvin Johnny said, "Lee, I'll bet a lot of people are unaware that you were a Marine in the initial landing at Iwo Jima ..and that during the course of that action you earned the Navy Cross and were severely wounded."

"Yeah, yeah... I got shot square in the bottom and they gave me the Cross for securing a hot spot about halfway up Suribachi. Bad thing about getting shot up on a mountain is guys getting' shot hauling you down. But Johnny, at Iwo I served under the bravest man I ever knew... We both got the cross the same day, but what he did for his Cross made mine look cheap in comparison. That dumb guy actually stood up on Red beach and directed his troops to move forward and get the hell off the beach. Bullets flying by, with mortar rounds landing everywhere and he stood there as the main target of gunfire so that he could get his men to safety. He did this on more than one occasion because his men's safety was more important than his own life.

That Sergeant and I have been lifelong friends. When they brought me off Suribachi we passed the Sergeant and he lit a smoke and passed it to me, lying on my belly on the litter and said, where'd they get you Lee?' Well Bob.. if you make it home before me, tell Mom to sell the outhouse!"

Johnny, I'm not lying, Sergeant Keeshan was the bravest man I ever knew.

The Sergeant's name is Bob Keeshan. You and the world know him as Captain Kangaroo."

On another note, there was this wimpy little man (who just passed away) on PBS, gentle and quiet. Mr. Rogers is another of those you would least suspect of being anything but what he now portrays to our youth.

But Mr. Rogers was a U.S. Navy Seal, combat-proven in Vietnam with over twenty-five confirmed kills to his name. He wore a long-sleeved sweater on TV, to cover the many tattoos on his forearm and biceps. He was a master in small arms and hand-to-hand combat, able to disarm or kill in a heartbeat.

After the war Mr. Rogers became an ordained Presbyterian minister and therefore a pacifist. Vowing to never harm another human and also dedicating the rest of his life to trying to help lead children on the right path in life. He hid away the tattoos and his past life and won our hearts with his quiet wit and charm.

America's real heroes don't flaunt what they did; they quietly go about their day-to-day lives, doing what they do best. They earned our respect and the freedoms that we all enjoy.

Look around and see if you can find one of those heroes in your midst.

Often, they are the ones you'd least suspect, but would most like to have on your side if anything ever happened.

Take the time to thank anyone that has fought for our freedom. With encouragement they could be the next Captain Kangaroo or Mr. Rogers.

Send this on will you please? Nothing will happen to you if you don't, but it will tell what a "real" HERO is made of.

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oikarma · 3 months ago

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number one girl

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: the story of ynmax is a very, very heated topic riddled with holes and chock full of conspiracies: a couple and split to rival brocedes. it's mostly an a f1 thing, though, until you release an album and the internet tries to deduce what ruined a decades-long friendship.

a/n: angst warning. bear with me, you're in for a long ride. we go from twitter to insta to reddit to sdfsd. this was SO FUN!

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by stevienicks, georgerussell63 and 3,104,827 others

yourinstagram: "number one girl" out now.

view all 411,295 comments

user1: mother??? music???

user2: our multitalented baby <3

stevienicks: so proud of you ❤️

yourinstagram: so thankful for you 🥺 your support is immeasurable in worth

user3: max verstappen did you-

user4: george listening to this so he can justify bullying max next season

user5: please 💀 i choked on my water reading that

user6: CHARLES IN THE CREDITS FOR PIANO?? how many side quests has this girl roped people into

user7: they're still good friends lol just cause she and max stopped speaking doesn't mean she's not close w the rest of the grid user8: @/user7 right! she and alex have also posted each other quite a bit after the rhode collab

user9: is no one talking about the lyrics 😃 gut wrenching, yes, but the way it all lines up w max??

user10: no babe dw we're all talking about the lyrics user11: my roman empire...

user12: who's this max guy and what does he have to do with my queen y/n

user13: @/user12 he's a formula one driver, they ued to be best friends user12: @/user13 like nascar? omg what i only knew that she debuted in shadow n bone but WHAT IS THIS

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A PAGE FROM Y/N's JOURNAL November 15, 2021

Max is a plane right now to see Kelly. I feel like I've been punched, three times over. The nausea is getting to me.

How could you? Just say all those things, like you always do. Do you mean any of them? When you say "I love you, more than anyone in this life." When you say "You're worth it, really. "When you say "forever." Does anyone ever really mean forever? Forever is part of the foreseeable future. You cannot capture what is beyond that.

You were my life. The words, every moment. An inescapable reminder.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by charles_leclerc, brunomars and 2,819,305 others

yourinstagram: "toxic till the end (ft. lewis hamilton)" is up on youtube and all music platforms ♡

view all 309,418 comments

user1: what. the. fuck.

user2: is she dating lewis? what? y/n girl please stop being cryptic my head can't take all of this 😭

user3: if this is part of the press tour i must say i am now extremely invested in the ynmax drama and i didn't even know who max was until i saw a thread on number one girl...

lewishamilton: Best of luck with your future endeavors, Y/N 🫂 Will be by your side!

yourinstagram: you better be 🫰 user4: the friendship we didn't know we needed

user5: lewis with...pink hair...

user6: max emilian verstappen fumbled so hard

user7: imagine ghosting THE y/n l/n and then she drops this

user8: well, 4 years later but yeah user9: what even is a wdc...

user10: what does the heart mean y/n

user11: bro

user12: so i guess the harry styles dating rumors were all fake 😔 but omg lewis music!!

kellypiquet: Face and voice of an angel 😽

yourinstagram: me? please, pregnancy glow has been treating you good 💕 user13: at least they don't have any hard feelings...

user14: bruno in the likes is the most random thing ever

user15: acting career, check. singing career, check. formula one side quests??? multple checks

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by kellypiquet and 4,103,697 others

lewishamilton: Behind the scenes of Miss Y/N's "toxic till the end" music video

tagged: yourinstagram

yourinstagram: looking good there, lew

lewishamilton: Very kind of you to say user1: trust me we are witnessing the start of a great romance

user2: i don't want to delulu too hard but PLEASE tell me y/n's moved on with lewis it would be the ultimate baddie move

user3: imagine...you won abu dhabi but you lost the love of your life to the guy you beat 🤪 user4: we're all insane but i'm just going to keep dreaming

charles_leclerc: Why am I not in your dump?

yourinstagram: face card wasn't lethal enough user5: she's brutal 💀 user6: our charles's facecard could start wars idk what she's on

user7: daddy please give me ONE chance

user8: give me some of that maranello?? he looks so good oml

user9: focusing on music videos and not racing...no wonder he's washed

user10: @/user9 can you stfu and touch grass user11: @/user9 literally no one asked

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

AN UNSENT LETTER FROM MAX November 2021

Dear Hey, Y/N.

I realized you blocked me. It hurts. I don't know what to say or what to believe anymore. I miss us. Overstepping was the wrong choice, if you must, but going back is not impossible.

We've been friends for so long. Why can't you won't you try?

I miss you.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

r/Fauxmoi · 1 day ago hamilton7xc

Max Verstappen and Y/N L/N's infamous split explained?

feralonsos: So she's been pretending he led her on when she lead him on

parking23: I don't know anymore. I know nothing. Don't even talk to me.

forzamcqueen: I want to say it's not about YNMax but 21 (as in 21, when they split?) and Y/N has been coming out with music recently. When you look at the "number one girl" lyrics from Boy's perspective it lines up with this submission. That Max wanted reassurance from Y/N and she gave it to him, but she couldn't give him everything he needed.

↳ roses_berg: @/forzamcqueen I don't know...it seems kind of unlikely. Y/N has a lyric about "chasing the prize" or something like that. What prize would she be chasing? On the other hand, you have Max who has clearly said racing is his passion and he loves winning.

↳ forzamcqueen: @/roses_berg I see where you're coming from but there are a few interpretations. Toxic Till the End suggests she thought his attachment to her was maybe unhealthy, and he kept trying to find ways to keep her by his side. Y/N has mentioned in past interviews (promo for her role in Shadow and Bone, when she was starting to do acting) that she's had bad experience with past relationships and is hesitant on starting a new one.

↳ januaryblues11: @/forzamcqueen Sorry, what interview? Could you link it?

↳ forzamcqueen: @/januaryblues11 No worries, I put it down below. The part I'm referring to is around 5:41.

↳ WolffHornerFan: @/forzamcqueen Okay, okay. I need a timeline then. She must've started filming Shadow and Bone in Oct 2019, then wrapped 4 months later in Feb 2020. This might be the "prize" she's chasing? Her own career. Before it was announced that she was in the series most news referred to her as "close friend" or "best friend" of Max Verstappen. Now a lot of people know her for S&B or Top Gun Maverick, etc.

↳ CautiousOwl: Might've not wanted her relationship to overshadow her career. It's understandable, if she wanted to be taken seriously instead of a "nepo friend."

↳ 4norrisop: She's amazing in Shadow and Bone! Definitely recommend checking that out, but I don't understand why she ghosted him.

↳ ynluv07: @/4norrisop he was dating kelly at the time. she might've thought it was a bad idea after it happened (i'm referring to the kiss, which i assume happened because she explicitly refers to it a few times in "number one girl") and distanced herself. maybe she told him it wasn't okay?

↳ ICEMAN_bwoah: Brain hurts.

↳ brooksies: Well if she did give up her happiness because she thought Kelly deserved better, that's great. No wonder they're still on good terms.

↳ DauntingParrot91: @/brooksies Yeah, sure...

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

AN UNSENT LETTER FROM MAX January 2022

Y/N, I'm sorry I asked for too much; I'm sorry I pushed you. I'll take my bags and go quietly, this time. Maybe you'll open the door again someday. I love you too, my best friend always.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by lewishamilton, taylorswift and 4,103,269 others

yourinstagram: Burnout.

comments on this post have been limited

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

AN UNSENT LETTER FROM Y/N February 2022

Wish you'd take a little longer to pack up your bags. You're moving too fast. Make me want to hate you more than I hate myself, so I don't have to miss you. Make a mistake, please. So I have someone to blame.

Please, won't you stay a little longer? I would call you babe, just to make you smile. I wouldn't mean it that way, but I still love you. You're my best friend. Why wasn't that enough?

I'll be okay, sometime. You say it's written all over my face, and I wonder, what is? I'm fragile, now. I'm speechless, now. Don't leave me in pieces. I'm sorry, let me fix it. It won't be good for us, but oh-how I want to.

I'm already having trouble breathing. Please, stay a little longer. I can't stand these four walls without you inside them.

Come back, be here.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by kellypiquet and 1,249,805 others

maxverstappen: She stayed a little longer ��

tagged: kellypiquet

view all 91,432 comments

user1: GUYS HE DEF HEARD THE SONG

user2: do we think kelly asked him to post it

user3: tbf given on how sweet her n yns interactions are i wouldn't be surprised if she listened to burnout

user4: kelly. you are the strongest woman i know

user5: so i can convince you the minute i kiss you speak a little softer so i don't have to answer and make it okay before you can say

user6: i just know he had a little breakdown inside after he heard the album

user7: max rn: CHARLES HOW COULD YOU PLAY PIANO FOR HER

user8: max: alexa play that should be me user9: ho-olding your handdd

user10: who are we blaming today

user11: at least max is finally someone's number one girl

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

AN UNSENT LETTER FROM MAX Summer 2024

Sometimes I look to the television and you're on, flying a plane or wielding magic, whatever it is you do these days. I knew you could act. I knew you'd make it far. I hear you were nominated for a Golden Globe, too.

I was mad for a long time. I was upset you kicked me out of your life so abruptly.

Kelly's expecting. I think she will be as good a mother to our child as she is to little P. A family is what I have always wanted, you know. It was not what you wanted.

I am sorry. I have said that many times, but one day I will need to say it to your face. I am truly, irrevocably sorry for all the hurt I caused you, in the name of love.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

r/PopCultureChat · 1 day ago forzamcqueen

"Burnout" by Y/N L/N

How do we feel about the release of the full album? Moreover, how do we think it fits into the YNMax narrative? I, for one, have been listening non-stop trying to figure out the story.

lec_clerc16: I think it's funny how many people have gotten into F1 because of her music. Lol.

↳ NaturalOtter5: Well Lewis & Charles were on it so I would say the F1 community is pretty interested in the tea aswell.

↳ lec_clerc16: @/NaturalOtter5 Right, but YNMax is old drama. Sure, someone's posting in r/F1 every other week about an old photo or new quote. It's still been around for a while. This is fresh meat 😋

jennyowens1342: such a player...LOL who is gameboy about atp

↳ sassybanana: TBF Y/N's dating life has been a lot more quiet than Max's. There have been rumors but she hasn't hard launched anything. Maybe the one public "relationship" was enough for her.

museapollo: the more i listen the more convinced i am that y/n did not want the relationship as max did and decided it was best for them to stop being friends. the whole album is about a codependent relationship and the two people can't deal with leaving but they know it's better for both.

↳ janitorsclosetmonster: yess!! that's what i've been saying. we can't blame y/n for everything, it must've been confusing for her as well. having to navigate everything. idt she'd dated anyone at that point. max was her only close friend.

↳ EggplantParmesan713: But did max cheat...that's the real question. When did THE kiss happen? And who started it?

↳ museapollo: @/EggplantParmesan713 idk. i can't figure if she actually loved him (romantically) bcs it's clear he did but her side is a bit more hazy. you have: 1. "i just WANT it to be you" - it's not actually him she loves but she desperately wants it to be him 2. "cause even when i said it was over / you heard baby can you pull me in closer" - she's telling him it won't work out but he's not listening. 3. "please, won't you stay, stay a little a little longer, babe?" - she pauses before babe, like it's her trying to convince him to stay. mb she thought it was best to distance herself/end the friendship for a bit but she still loves him a lot because they've been friends for so long

↳ forzamcqueen: @/museapollo The best explanation I have heard so far. You can't force someone to love you the way you do. At least they've matured and moved on.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

January 2025

Dear Max:

Congratulations. I'm sure you will be a wonderful father, as I have always guessed. 2024 was a great year for you. I watched all a few of your races; you've still got it.

I'm putting out an album soon. I thought you should know. I already had a talk with Kelly, she's listened to some snippets and she likes it a lot. Some of the writing is about you the things I never said.

It was wonderful being your best friend. We had a good run, better than most.

Missing you Wish you the best, Y/N L/N

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

February 2025

Dear Y/N:

Occasionally, I think of all that could have been.

But we had many years together, and I will always cherish those moments.

Kelly loves the album, she puts it on while she cooks or does her makeup. P sings along in the car. She says she wants to go out for a tea party with you sometime. I listen to it even when they're out of the voice, for a reminder of your voice. You've made quite a name for yourself. I'm sorry I couldn't be there by your side.

Thank you for writing it. There are some things that you have to hear once, just for yourself.

Love Always Yours, Max Verstappen

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

what did you think?? i might do a part 2 of yn & max talking for the first time in forever but i wanna know if you guys liked this one first LOL

#formula one #max verstappen x reader #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 x you #max verstappen #f1 smau #smau #x reader #rose #oikarma ᯓᡣ𐭩

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merowkittie · 8 months ago

Note

Hiii idk if you are still taking requests but Poolverine has taken over MY LIFE haha I would die for a Logan/Wade/Reader where they just worship their tiny lil mutant gf who could 100% kick their asses if she wanted to

hi hii!! i’m always taking requests, as long as my pinned post says ‘requests are open’!

poolverine has taken over my entire being i fear.

Lil Ass Kicker — DP & WV

summary: due to ur size most of the time sometimes people under estimate how strong you truly are. besides your boyfriends; they like when you remind them <3

warnings: none besides canon typical violence =] !

notes: i didn't specify if reader had specific mutant abilities..maybe i'll come up with a specific one laterr for future fics / hopefully this meets ur expectations, enjoy!

at this point, you didn't get offended when people looked at your stature and thought you were some weak tiny human, when in reality you were just as strong as Logan.. maybe even stronger?

you could kick a grown mans ass in seconds! your boyfriends have witnessed it AND have been on the receiving end before. and lets just say,

they LOVE it.

"ohh, come on peanut!" wade yells from your far left in a somewhat disappointed tone, "I'll admit you look hot but that's just disgusting."

you'll admit this wasn't the prettiest site, even though wade just called you sexy. you were sweaty, kind of covered in blood, and had just broken a mans arm and was using it to make him punch himself in his face. it was very amusing to you until wade burst your bubble.

with a roll of your eyes and the slightest quirk of your lips tugging up in the corners you tossed the man to the side and skipped over to logan who was almost covered in blood completely; his knuckles were basically dyed red from his claws coming in and out and with the blood of half of the people he stabbed..

you guys were an odd trio, but you worked!

"looks like yer having fun, huh?" logan looked down at you with a smirk.

he can also admit that you look beautiful right now sweaty and kicking ass left and right. he'd definitely show you how much he enjoyed witnessing this when you three got home.

you nodded in response to his question humming out an "mhm".

once wade caught up to you two, you guys began to wrap up your mission. it went by in a flash with constant grunts, bodies hitting the floors, gun shots, and to many bones breaking.

yea it was a bit over the top but hey! wade wanted to be a 'good' guy today so this is the schedule! what wasn't on the schedule was watching wade get impaled in the head by his own katana.

logan was too busy fighting to come over and give wade a hand so you had to take matters into your own hands.

silently, you snuck over to where he was and took the guy who impaled your boyfriend by surprise. your elbow reeled forward and hit him in the back the head, causing him to stumble. quickly, your leg swept his feet from under him causing him to trip over his own two feet. right before he fell, you took your gun from it's holster on your thigh and shot him in the head just as he hit the floor.

"oh god, i'm so painfully hard right now, babe." wade's voice chimed in from the floor. he still had the katana sticking through his head and you could tell he was feeling that loopy effect of it right now.

with a sigh, you helped him to his feet and yanked the katana out of his head. he shook his head side to side and groaned at the feeling of it being pulled out.

"thank you my incredibly strong, beautiful, and tiny girlfriend." he made kissy noises from underneath his masks, wanting you to kiss him over it. with a bit of a grimace you stood on your toes and pressed a quick kiss over his lips.

"wha' about me?" logan said from behind you, referencing to the kiss.

with an exaggerated groan and playful stomps of your feet you turned around him and gave him a kiss too.

"I hope you guys know this is very unprofessional!" you shouted as you walked away from the two with a huff.

they were definitely going to show you how in love they were with you when you got home.

#deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #deadpool #wolverine #logan howlett #james howlett #deadpool x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wade wilson x reader #poolverine x reader #poolverine #hugh jackman #ryan reynolds

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itsnesss · 2 months ago

Text

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 | miguel diaz × fem!reader

summary | you accompany miguel to visit his newborn sister at the hospital. as you witness miguel's tender and protective side, you feel your connection with him grow deeper

warnings | fluff, heartwarming moments

word count | 1.1 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You had never seen Miguel so excited.

From the moment he received the news that his little sister had been born, he hasn’t stopped smiling. It’s a refreshing change, especially after so many weeks when he was worried about exams, competitions, and everything else. Now, he’s radiant, full of energy and happiness. It’s contagious because even though you don’t say it out loud, his enthusiasm makes butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"Are you ready?" he asks with a smile so wide that his dimples are charmingly marked as he holds the hospital door open for you to enter.

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness filling you. It’s not your first time in a hospital, but this occasion is special. Miguel invited you to meet his newborn sister, Laura, and that means more than anyone could imagine. You know how important his family is to him, and for him to choose you to share this moment makes you feel like you’re part of something much bigger.

"You know," he starts to say while walking down the long hallways, "when my mom told me she was having a baby, I was a little worried."

"Why?" you ask curiously.

"I don’t know, I thought it would be weird. I’ve been an only child my whole life, and suddenly, I was going to have to share my mom, my grandma... everything," he admits, shrugging his shoulders. "But then I realized... I don’t know, I like the idea of having someone I’m going to take care of. Like... a team."

Your heart melts a little. Miguel has always had that protective side, the one that makes everyone around him feel safe, and thinking of him taking care of his little sister like she’s his greatest treasure makes you smile.

"You’re going to be a great brother," you say sincerely. "Laura is lucky to have you."

He looks at you, his smile softening.

"Do you think so?"

"I know so," you reply without hesitation.

When you reach the elevator, Miguel presses the button, and as you wait, you realize that he hasn’t let go of your hand since you left the car. It’s a small gesture, but significant. It makes you feel calm, connected to him in a way you don’t need to explain. You’re just there, next to him, on one of the most important days of his life.

The elevator arrives, and you both step in. Miguel checks his phone quickly, reading a message from his mom telling him what room they’re in. You see him take a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself.

"Nervous?" you ask, giving him a gentle nudge with your shoulder.

"A little," he admits, laughing softly. "It’s weird, right? I’ve been waiting for this moment for months, but now that it’s here... I just want everything to be perfect."

"It already is perfect," you say without thinking too much.

He looks at you with a mix of gratitude and something else, something that makes your heart skip a beat. Before you can try to decipher that look, the doors open, and you both walk toward the room.

Carmen is sitting in the hospital bed with a small pink blanket wrapped around her arms. Her face is tired, but her expression is serene and happy. She smiles warmly at you as she sees you enter.

"Hey! So glad you came," she says softly.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Díaz," you reply shyly, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the importance of the moment.

Miguel immediately approaches his mother and leans in to get a better look at the baby. You stay a few steps back, watching with your heart pounding in your chest.

"Hello, Laura," Miguel whispers with a softness you’ve never heard from him before. "I brought someone really special to meet you."

Your chest tightens with tenderness as you watch the little creature in his arms stir slightly. Her skin is soft, and her cheeks are rosy, like the most fragile thing in the world.

"Come on, come closer," Miguel says, looking at you sweetly.

You step forward, almost afraid to breathe too loudly. Miguel gestures for you to sit next to him, and when you do, he leans a little closer to you so you can see the baby better.

"She’s... so small," you whisper, fascinated.

"I know," Miguel laughs. "I can’t believe I’ve been waiting so long to meet her, and now she’s here."

Carmen watches you both with affection, and then looks at Miguel.

"Do you want to hold her?"

He nods immediately, but before picking her up, he turns to you with a mischievous look.

"Do you want to try holding her first?"

Your heart races.

"Me?"

"Yeah. My mom says holding a baby is the best experience in the world."

You glance at Carmen uncertainly, and she nods with an encouraging smile.

"If you want, of course. Just be careful with her head."

You take a deep breath before nodding. Carmen passes you the little Laura with extreme delicacy, and when you finally have her in your arms, it feels like the whole world has stopped.

"She’s so light," you murmur, feeling more protective than you’ve ever felt.

Miguel watches the scene with an expression of absolute tenderness.

"She looks good with you," he says softly.

Your chest warms at his words, and when you look up at him, his expression is different. There’s something else there, something deep and sincere, something that makes you feel like this moment means as much to him as it does to you.

Laura stirs slightly in your arms, and when you look at her, her little mouth opens in a small yawn. Your heart melts completely.

"I think she likes you," Miguel whispers, coming a little closer to you.

"You think so?" you ask softly, smiling as you gently stroke the baby’s cheek with the back of your finger.

"Yeah. And... I think I do too," says Miguel, his voice almost a whisper.

Your gaze locks with his, and the air between you changes. There are so many things that could be said, so many emotions floating in that moment, but no words seem enough.

"Thanks for bringing me," you finally say, breaking the silence with a sincere whisper.

"I couldn’t imagine this moment without you," he replies.

His words take you by surprise, and you feel your heart beating fast in your chest. Miguel has always been sweet and attentive, but this... this is different. This is intimate, real.

Laura shifts a little more in your arms, and Miguel laughs softly.

"I think she wants me to hold her now," he jokes.

Carefully, you pass the baby to him, and you watch how he holds her with infinite tenderness. The way he looks at her, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world, makes something inside you melt completely.

You stay silently watching him, committing the moment to memory. And while you see him whispering sweet words to his little sister, you know, without a doubt, that you’ve just fallen for Miguel Díaz a little more.

#cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai series #cobra kai season 6 #cobra kai x you #cobra kai s6 #miguel diaz x you #miguel diaz x reader #miguel diaz

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levanterhaze · 2 months ago

Text

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader there's no smut in this one just a sliiiight mention of it, this is just drama and angst because this chapter will tell a lot about their future relationship! contains mentions of anxiety too.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[5.5k words ]♡― i can't believe that so many people like gameboy, like, that's crazy! thanks for everyone's support. to those who ask to be added to the taglist, it warms my heart. if you want to talk about the story or anything else, i'm open to questions and conversation! don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two] ♡ [part three]

You're scared of heights, that's vertigo You wanted lights, go see a show You ran away, that's touch and go You're scared of love, well, aren't we all?

What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into two days, then three, then four. Before you even realized it, seeing him had become part of your routine, like breathing—natural, inevitable, and far too easy to justify.

Today, though, your mind was anywhere but on him. Mrs. Baek had scheduled a meeting, nothing more, nothing less. You and Hyunjin were goofing around, hands clasped as you twirled like a chaotic, offbeat version of Jack and Rose at a third-rate ballroom. Seungmin doubled over laughing, because of course he did. That was just your dynamic—ridiculous by nature, friends for life.

Then, everything stopped. A chorus of surprised gasps cut through the room, followed by an eruption of chatter that made your spinning halt. Confused, you glanced around, searching for the source of the commotion—until you saw her. Mrs. Baek stood at the front, and next to her…

No. Absolutely not.

Your stomach flipped as your eyes landed on him. Standing there with his head tilted slightly downward, one hand gripping the opposite arm—ridiculously muscular, by the way—Bangchan looked unfairly good in a black T-shirt that was doing the bare minimum to cover anything.

Your gaze flickered to Hyunjin, then to Seungmin, silently demanding an explanation, but before either of them could speak, Mrs. Baek’s voice cut through the haze of your disbelief.

“…which is why we now have a new student to take care of the sound design. Welcome, Bangchan.”

And then—anger.

The girls whispered like they’d just witnessed the famous idol in the world. Bangchan basked in the attention, grinning at them, then at the guys. And then, of course, his eyes found you. One brow lifted, pure challenge.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Sound design? Since when?” you weren’t really expecting an answer, but Hyunjin, ever the dependable sidekick, squeezed your shoulder and offered a half-smile.

“It’s kinda his and Jisung’s thing,” he said, arms crossed as he observed Bangchan effortlessly charm his way through the group. “Jisung’s drowning in work this semester, so I guess that’s why.”

Oh, how nice. How convenient. You couldn’t care less. It was one thing sneaking around with him in secret. It was another for him to invade your space. Your special space. And worse—acting like he belonged there.

As soon as the group began to break apart, you made your exit, feet moving fast. The last thing you needed was—

“Running away already?”

You stopped dead, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Spinning on your heel, you found Bangchan standing there, arms crossed, smirking like he had all the time in the world.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you shot back.

“Ouch.” he clutched his chest, faking a wince. “You look angry.”

“Oh, do I?” your voice dripped with sarcasm. “That’s because I am.”

Lucky for him, the corridor was empty—just the theater crew lingering in the distance.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you demanded.

“Gonna need you to be more specific.”

You inhaled sharply. “Seriously? Sound design? You don’t even like theater.”

He took a step closer, brows furrowing.

“How would you know? We’re not friends.” the way he said it was off—something about his tone made your stomach twist. But you ignored it. “And if you actually bothered to find out, you’d know that, shockingly, I do this for real.”

You hated being proven wrong. But you especially hated being proven wrong by Bangchan.

“Look,” you sighed, arms crossing. “I don’t know what your game is, okay? But just… don’t mess things up. I like them the way they are.”

Bangchan nodded, slow and deliberate. But something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable. His stomach clenched, and he didn’t like the reason why. Because the way you said it, like having him here without sex was some kind of inconvenience, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” his voice dropped an octave, sharp and cold. He met your gaze head-on, not an ounce of warmth left. “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

And just like a punch to the gut left hanging in the air, he was gone. No rush, no glance back—just the weight of his words lingering between you.

Things were a mess, and you needed to get a grip. Studying, focusing—doing something that wasn’t theater or… well, him. The last few days had blurred together, your attention split in ways you weren’t used to. And you hated it.

The library was too quiet, the kind of silence that crawled under your skin. Three art history books sat open in front of you, mocking your lack of focus. It was ridiculous. How the hell had you let some guy scramble your brain like this? That wasn’t you. It had never been you.

Frustration boiled over, and before you knew it, you snapped one of the books shut, the sharp thud cutting through the silence.

“Jesus. What did the book ever do to you?”

The voice came from behind you, smooth and amused. You barely looked up before Mingyu’s face came into view. It hit you then—how distracted you’d been at the fundraiser. Otherwise, you definitely would have noticed him before. That annoyingly charming, white-knight smile. Tanned skin. Muscles for days.

He grinned, leaning over your table, arms flexing just enough to be intentional.

“Sorry. My head's a mess.”

Mingyu nodded, taking in your exasperated, borderline fried expression. “Yeah, you look like it,” he said with a knowing half-smile, sliding into the empty chair across from you like he belonged there. No permission needed.

You sighed, gesturing vaguely at the books. “Just trying to focus.”

His smirk deepened. “Right. Because nothing says laser focus like slamming a textbook shut like it just insulted your mother.”

You huffed, but the corner of your mouth twitched.

“Well, since you’re clearly on the verge of a breakdown, I have an idea.” He leaned back, stretching in a way that was both casual and strategic. “A coffee. On me.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but your phone vibrated against the table, barely visible beneath the stack of books. A quick glance at the screen. One new message.

Bangchan: my dorm. 30 min.

Your pulse jumped. Short. Direct. No room for misinterpretation.

“Everything okay?” Mingyu’s voice pulled you back, his eyes scanning your face.

“Yeah, yeah.” you laughed, maybe too lightly. “Just… distracted. Coffee sounds good.”

His grin widened. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

“Just let me put this back…” you grabbed one of the books, heading for the shelf when your phone buzzed again.

Bangchan: ignoring me?

You exhaled, fingers hovering over the screen.

You: I can't. I have plans.

A pause. Then—

Bangchan: ok.

You pressed your forehead against the bookshelf, inhaling deeply, willing away the strange tightness in your stomach. It was ridiculous. It was just a text.

When you returned, Mingyu was still at the table, casually texting someone. He looked up as you approached, grinning. “Everything good?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, forcing a smile.

He was nice enough to grab your bag and help carry your notebooks, the easy charm of someone who had probably been effortlessly handsome his whole life. The café wasn’t far—just a short walk from campus—but the crowd made it feel like the busiest spot in town.

Mingyu picked a table near the entrance, the air thick with the smell of espresso and fresh pastries. Strawberry sponge cake. Cinnamon rolls. Chocolate mousse cupcakes. The kind of place that made you want to abandon all responsibilities and drown yourself in sugar.

And yet, as you sat down, all you could think about was the ok.

Mingyu ordered coffee for you both but went the extra mile, adding a slice of strawberry shortcake to share.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” you smiled, wrapping your hands around your cup, already feeling the caffeine seep into your system like a lifeline.

He shrugged. “I wanted to. You looked like you needed something sweet.”

You caught the double meaning but let it slide. He was being nice, and you weren’t in the mood to overanalyze. “Right. So… football?” Smooth. Real smooth.

Mingyu didn’t seem to mind. “Going well. We’re set for the next game, and if we keep this up, the next university sponsorship should be ours.”

“That’s great, Mingyu.”

“Yeah, but I heard drama class was saved. Good news, huh?”

“Great news. We’ve got enough for now.” you took a bite of cake, letting the sugar melt on your tongue. Mingyu watched you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’m happy for you. Getting the basketball team to sell brownies half-naked must’ve been a real passion project.”

You laughed. “It was, but that wasn’t me. That was Bangchan.”

It felt strange, saying his name out loud. Different when he wasn’t there.

Mingyu frowned, arms crossing over the table.

“Bangchan did that?” his brows knitted together, skepticism lacing his tone.

You shrugged, taking another bite of cake. “That’s what I heard. Why? You guys friends?” the idea alone made your stomach twist in an oddly unpleasant way.

“No. Not even close.” he laughed, shaking his head as if the thought was ridiculous. “Just curious.”

“Well, instead of wasting brain cells on him, you should try this.” you pushed the plate slightly toward him. “It’s actually amazing.”

Mingyu picked up a fork, took a bite, and let out an appreciative groan. You grinned, clapping your hands as if you had just won a bet, then promptly stole another piece for yourself.

Being with him was easy—effortless, even. A surprising friendship you hadn't expected but didn’t mind one bit.

Back at the dorm, Eunji and Sohee were curled up on the couch, sharing a bucket of popcorn while a movie played on the laptop. Your casual entrance was met with two pairs of curious eyes locking onto you like detectives sniffing out a case.

“Where have you been?” Eunji narrowed her eyes, her fingers pausing mid-popcorn grab.

“Why?” you laughed, kicking off your shoes.

“You’ve been acting weird,” she accused, tilting her head. “Always busy, barely around.”

“Sorry, I... I've just been very busy. The theater is eating me up. And there's the exams...”

Sohee smirked. “Why do you smell like coffee?”

“What?” you instinctively sniffed your shirt, the rich aroma of espresso lingering faintly.

Eunji gasped, scandalized. “You totally went out with someone!”

Sohee just shook her head knowingly, already seeing through you. “Liar.”

“Alright, fine! I got coffee with Mingyu. Happy now?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Sohee’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Mingyu from the soccer team?”

Eunji, on the other hand, nearly leaped off the couch. “Girl, you rocked it! I knew you had game, but Mingyu? That man is fine.”

You groaned, already regretting your life choices. “It wasn’t a thing, okay? We’re friends. We had coffee. That’s it.”

Eunji scoffed, dramatic as ever. “Honey, nothing with Mingyu is just coffee. That man doesn’t do casual.” she clasped her hands together like she was already planning your wedding.

You sighed, exasperated. “Make her stop.” you turned to Sohee, your last hope.

But Sohee just smirked. “I mean… she’s not wrong.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Oh my God.”

“Look, you’ve been drowning in rehearsals and exams. Maybe this is a good thing,” Sohee added, ever the voice of reason.

A good thing. That uneasy feeling crawled up your spine again.

Because the problem wasn’t Mingyu.

Because you had met someone. Someone who already occupied every corner of your mind. Someone who texted you with demands instead of invitations. Someone who kissed like it was the only language he spoke.

And that someone sure as hell wasn’t Mingyu.

“Alright, I’m done.” you grabbed your things and stood up. “I’m taking a shower. Goodnight.”

Before they could say another word, you ducked into your room, shutting the door behind you.

Now, if only you could shut off your thoughts just as easily.

It was lunchtime, and the table was buzzing with chatter. It had been nearly two days since you’d heard from Bangchan. Odd, right? The silence felt almost intentional. No texts, no glances that said too much.

You were sharing a basket of French fries with Hyunjin when suddenly, that topic came up. Jisung was DJing at another party this weekend, and everyone was planning to go. Of course, Eunji—bless her heart and big mouth—decided now was the time to bring up the perfect subject.

“You should invite Mingyu, now that you’re going out and all.”

You nearly choked on a fry, coughing like you’d just inhaled a cloud of smoke. Hyunjin slapped your back, but you could feel all eyes on you as the table went silent, then turned to look in your direction.

Bangchan, seated across from you, slouched in his chair like he didn’t care. But you knew better. The tension radiating from him was like a ticking time bomb.

“You’re seeing Mingyu?” Hyunjin’s voice dripped with mock disbelief. “How am I your best friend, and this is news to me?”

Great. Just great. The whole table was waiting for an answer, and suddenly, everything felt like it was about to spiral out of control.

“Going out with Mingyu? Really?” Changbin raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “I thought you had better taste, bro.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not dating anyone!” you shot back, finally managing to catch your breath after the shock of the conversation.

“Sure, sure. But you two went out the other day, didn’t you?” Eunji grinned, clearly enjoying every second of it.

You felt it before you saw it: Bangchan’s eyes, burning into the side of your head. His silence wasn’t just a void, it was a warning, sharp and heavy. You should’ve felt guilty—after all, you had brushed him aside for Mingyu.

“But we’re not together,” you quickly clarified, hoping to quell whatever storm was brewing behind his eyes. “And he’s practically at every party anyway. It’s not like he’s not going to show up.”

Eunji wasn’t buying it. “Still should invite him, though.”

Hyunjin tossed an arm around your shoulders, all casual but still sorta protective. “Alright, stop messing with my girl,” he said, voice light but you could tell he wasn’t having it.

You muttered a quick ‘thank you,’ relieved when the focus shifted away from you. Your thoughts drifted as you nibbled on the end of your fry, mind half on your food, half on the tension buzzing at the table.

Bangchan, though, wasn't as distracted. He sat there, twisting his tongue inside his cheek, fighting off the surge of frustration coiling in his gut. The thought of you with Mingyu? It hit him like a wrecking ball. Not just because you had ditched him for the guy, but Mingyu.

He could hardly keep his anger in check. Only his closest friends knew the history between the two of them—and no one, especially not you, would ever guess how deep that hatred ran.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. Without a word, he stood, breaking the rhythm of the conversation.

“Leaving already?” Changbin asked, raising an eyebrow. Lunch still had half an hour left, but Bangchan didn’t seem to care.

“Yeah, gotta handle something,” he muttered, his voice sharp enough to make everyone shut up for a second.

The group barely noticed his departure. You certainly didn’t. After all, it wasn’t like anything was out of the ordinary. Right?

The days were flying by, and with every one that passed, the auditions loomed closer. The lineup was finally set—each student would perform next Friday, the day before Jisung’s party. No pressure or anything. Your nerves were on high alert, and anxiety was practically gnawing at your bones.

And then there was Bangchan. Or rather, the lack of him. You hadn’t heard a word from him in days. During the rare times you actually sat with the guys for lunch, his seat was just... empty. And you pretended not to care, stealing quick glances and keeping your mouth shut.

Most of your free time was spent holed up in the library, pretending to study, or locked in your room, trying to convince yourself that, yes, you could totally make it through the semester without crumbling under stress. Mingyu had texted you a few times, but you’d dodged his messages so hard that even you felt guilty about it.

Not that he seemed to care. The guy was persistent. He still wanted to take you out, get to know you, charm his way into... whatever he was aiming for. Just today, he’d invited you to join him and the soccer team at some bar near campus. Apparently, they were celebrating a big win—not that you had a single clue who they even played against.

You needed to get out. Desperately. But showing up solo to a team hangout? That was a level of confidence even you didn’t have. So, naturally, you did what any sane person would—you called your emergency contact.

Hyunjin picked up before the second ring.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to return from the dead,” he drawled.

“Yeah, yeah. Roast me later. Right now, I need a favor.”

“Hm. Depends.”

“There’ll be drinks,” you baited, already knowing his answer.

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if I go, you have to give me the full rundown on whatever mess you’ve got going on with Mingyu.”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back like the universe was punishing you. “Ugh. Deal.”

Satisfied, you threw on a black fit—strappy top, skirt, boots, plus a long-sleeved cardigan for balance—and grabbed your phone to text Hyunjin.

And that’s when you saw him.

Bangchan.

Walking toward his dorm, jacket slung over his shoulder, bag in one hand. The second he spotted you, it was like his brain hit a hard reset. Blue screen. No thoughts, just you.

You, on the other hand? You just…froze. Phone still hovering mid-air like you were trying to signal the mothership.

He looked good, annoyingly so—tired, sure, but with that effortlessly undone look that made you want to fix things that weren’t even broken. And judging by the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you looking this good either.

You could practically hear the battle happening in his head. Logic telling him to keep walking. Instinct screaming at him to drag you somewhere private and remind you exactly why you shouldn’t be ignoring him.

But no. Neither of you moved. Just standing there, locked in some ridiculous silent standoff from across the way.

That is, until a hand brushed against yours.

“Took you long enough,” Hyunjin teased, but his voice trailed off the second he noticed who had stolen your attention. His steps slowed, eyes flicking between you and Bangchan like he’d just walked into the middle of a soap opera.

You bit back a smirk, shoving down the weird twist in your stomach. “Shall we?”

Hyunjin hesitated, still piecing things together. Then, with a last glance at Bangchan—who looked like he was about two seconds away from saying something he’d regret—he sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, brows still furrowed. “Let’s go.”

The moment you step into the bar, Mingyu zeroes in on you like a man on a mission—half-drunk, half-thrilled, and entirely shameless about how his gaze drags over you. He grins, tells you how gorgeous you look, and hands you a shot of soju like it’s a requirement for entry.

Hyunjin, of course, fits right in immediately, the social butterfly that he is. Meanwhile, you start to relax, the initial nerves fading as the drinks flow and the unfamiliar space becomes less intimidating. Mingyu’s friends are nice—too nice. The kind of nice that feels like they're sizing you up, like you’re some kind of prize waiting to be claimed. Mingyu’s prize.

The room is loud, buzzing with alcohol-fueled laughter and drunken debates, but your thoughts are fixated on something else. Someone else. And damn it, Mingyu is right there, flashing that easy smile, brushing his fingers against yours like it’s an accident every single time. Complimenting you in ways that should make your stomach flip.

But all you can think about is the guy who hasn’t spoken to you in days. The one who supposedly doesn’t want you anymore.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

With a frustrated sigh, you push back your chair and stand. You’re not even tipsy, but everything suddenly feels too hot, too suffocating.

“I need water,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else, and head for the bar before you do something stupid.

Mingyu appeared at your side, leaning against the bar like he had all the time in the world.

"All good?"

You forced a smile, gripping the cool glass of water like it could ground you. "Yeah. Just needed something cold."

"Glad you came," he said, smirking slightly as he looked down at you.

He’s the one you should want, the one who actually wants you.

Your gaze flickered to his lips. A bad idea waiting to happen.

Mingyu caught the hesitation, eyes darkening as he glanced between your lips and your eyes. You barely had time to register what was happening before your hands found his shoulders, his lips pressing against yours.

The guys erupted in cheers, their drunken approval ringing out across the bar.

And after that, a blur of stolen kisses, too much soju, and voices too loud to ignore.

The night air was crisp against your flushed skin as you and Hyunjin walked back toward campus. The distant hum of the city buzzed in your ears, the alcohol still warm in your veins, though the high of the night had started to fade. Your heels clicked against the pavement, and Hyunjin, ever the gentleman, walked just a step closer in case you stumbled.

“You good?” he asked, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

You hummed a response, not trusting yourself to say anything else. Your mind was a tangled mess of soju, Mingyu’s lips, and something deeper—something you weren’t ready to admit.

Hyunjin let the silence settle for a moment before he spoke again. “If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?”

You sighed, already bracing yourself. Here it comes. “If it’s about Mingyu, I—”

“It’s not.” he cut you off, tone softer than before. “It’s about Bangchan.”

Your stomach twisted.

You stopped walking, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Your hands fidgeted, grasping for something—anything—to ground you. “Why would you ask that?” you muttered, trying to play it off, but even you could hear the slight tremble in your voice.

Hyunjin tilted his head, studying you. “I figured it all out.”

A sharp inhale stung your chest, and before you could even think of a response, it hit you. The overwhelming, suffocating weight of everything you’d been trying to bury. The frustration, the confusion, the way he made you feel like you were something and nothing all at once.

“Oh, shit,” Hyunjin muttered, eyes widening as the tears spilled over. “Come here.”

He pulled you into his chest, letting you press your face into his shoulder. You clung to his jacket, shaking as silent sobs wracked through you. Half-drunk, half-heartbroken, you let yourself break in the only safe place you had at that moment—Hyunjin’s arms.

“I don’t— I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” you mumbled against the fabric of his hoodie, voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin sighed, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

But it wasn’t okay. None of it was.

After a few minutes, he gently pulled away and wordlessly handed you a bottle of water he’d bought from a vending machine nearby. You took it with shaky hands, gulping down the cool liquid as if it could wash away the lump in your throat.

As you wiped your eyes, Hyunjin leaned against the streetlamp, watching you carefully. “Talk to me. What’s going on with you and Bangchan?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I wish I knew.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

With a deep, shaky breath, you finally let it spill. “It started as something casual. No expectations.” your fingers tightened around the water bottle. “But then he started pulling away. And I don’t know if it’s because he got bored, or if I did something wrong, or if this was always the plan. I don’t even know if I want more, but the fact that I’m this messed up over it?” you scoffed, blinking back fresh tears. “That has to mean something, right?”

Hyunjin exhaled, his gaze thoughtful. “Damn.”

You let out a wet laugh. “That’s all you got?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? That doesn’t sound casual to me.”

Your stomach twisted. You knew that. You knew that. But hearing it out loud made it real in a way you weren’t ready for.

You swallowed hard, voice small. “I got myself into this mess. I was the one who asked him to keep it a secret.”

Hyunjin frowned, his posture shifting. “Why?”

“Because I was scared,” you admitted, the words raw in your throat. “Scared of what people would say. Scared of the judgment. You know how it is—girls get torn apart for way less. And I worked too hard, cared too much to be reduced to just that girl who’s hooking up with Bangchan.” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “And now? Now I don’t even know how to deal with it. Because I was supposed to hate him, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin was quiet for a moment, his usual teasing gone. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. But you also don’t have to go through this alone.”

Your throat tightened. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” he bumped his shoulder against yours. “You’re just in deep.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning into his warmth as you both started walking again.

“Look, I don’t have the answers. But I do know you’re not crazy for feeling this way.” he squeezed your shoulder. “And if he’s too much of an idiot to see what he has, then maybe you should let him be the one losing sleep over it.”

You sniffled, managing a weak smile. “You’re my soulmate, Hyun.”

“Damn right I am,” he said, flashing you a grin. “Now drink your water before you pass out, drama queen.”

You laughed—actually laughed—and for the first time that night, the weight on your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

The day had finally arrived. Showtime. No matter how many times you’d done this, stepping on stage always felt like a first-time, heart-in-your-throat kind of thing.

Up in the audience, Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Sohee were posted a few rows above Mrs. Baek, waiting for you to do your thing. No pressure.

Backstage was quiet—eerily so. You sat there, taking slow, deep breaths, wiping your sweaty palms against your thighs like a seasoned pro in pre-show anxiety management. You were next. Three minutes. One shot. No room for mediocrity.

You’d chosen a song that wasn’t just sentimental—it was a statement. A vocal rollercoaster that climbed from deep, rich lows to a falsetto so clean it could cut glass. If you were going to go down, at least you’d do it swinging.

Reaching into your bag for your water bottle, you were mid-sip when movement in the distance caught your attention.

And just like that, reality glitched. Bangchan.

It was almost ridiculous how unreal he looked, like a mirage conjured from some fever dream. You hadn’t seen him in days, and yet here he was, strolling in like he hadn’t been living rent-free in your mind this whole damn time.

Laptop in hand, fingers flying across the keyboard, looking every bit the sound tech genius he was. You hadn’t expected him to actually show up for this gig, but—oh, look—there he was, punching buttons like he was defusing a bomb.

Then, he saw you. And something shifted.

His fingers stilled, tightening around the laptop.

The air was heavy. The tension was palpable. Whatever was going on between you two didn’t need words—it was written in every sharp breath, every stolen glance.

And just like that, your pre-show jitters had a new contender.

"Hi," you muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Bangchan gave you a small, polite smile—too polite. Something about it felt off. The usual spark in his eyes? Gone. And that was all it took for reality to sink in.

So that’s it, huh?

The game was over. You had your answer. He was done, and honestly? You couldn’t even be mad—because weren’t you just as much to blame?

Mrs. Baek’s voice cut through the buzzing in your head, thanking the student who had just finished performing. You’re next.

You turned away from Bangchan, unscrewed your water bottle, and took a long sip, willing yourself to focus. Breathe. Lock in. You’ve got this.

Then it happened. A warm touch on your waist—his touch.

Your body betrayed you instantly, heat rippling through your skin like a live wire. It had been days, and yet, all it took was this—a single touch—to remind you how much you’d missed him.

You spun around, frowning, swallowing hard as your gaze locked onto his.

Bangchan didn’t back down. If anything, he doubled down.

His arm lifted, caging you in the small space between you and the backstage wall, pulling your bodies so close it was downright insane. His head tilted slightly, studying you, reading every little reaction like he already knew the ending to this story.

Without warning, Bangchan crashed his lips onto yours, his free hand gripping your waist like he had no plans of letting go. His palm slid up your back, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt, branding heat into your skin.

You barely had time to process before his tongue was in your mouth, claiming, demanding—like he was making up for every second of distance between you.

A sound slipped past your lips—a mix between a sigh and a moan, involuntary, unstoppable.

God, you hated how easily he unraveled you. And worse? You loved it too.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatshirt, yanking him closer—like you needed him just a little closer, just a little longer. Your lips moved in sync, deepening the moment, drowning out everything else.

Then—

Mrs. Baek’s voice rang through the backstage, shouting your name.

Then reality crashed back in.

But instead of nerves clawing at your stomach, instead of the suffocating pressure you’d felt moments ago, there was something lighter—something electric. Like a field of wildflowers blooming where anxiety used to sit.

You pulled back, panting, heart racing, but this time? You were smiling. Bangchan, just as breathless, leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Break a leg," he murmured.

And just like that, you knew you would.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely

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anto-pops · 1 year ago

Text

Possessive Touch - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Sebastian has never been the sharing sort. He was happy to loan people notes or quills, maybe even the occasional book from the Restricted Section. But not you. Never you.

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian acting incredibly possessive after watching you hug someone else and then staking his claim on you the only way he can.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, possessive behavior, rough sex, yandere!Sebastian

Locked away in my drafts for months and unearthed by this ask I received. Everyone say thank you anon

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3 (with better tags as usual)

There were a number of words you could use to describe Sebastian Sallow. He was smart, loyal, and daring, to name a few. As brave as any Gryffindor and as insightful as any Ravenclaw, he had many positive attributes that you found to be remarkable. But every coin had two sides, and as much as you admired his more positive attributes, he could also be equally callous, brash, and vindictive when circumstances called for it. His moods fluctuated frequently and gave you whiplash half the time, because more often than not– despite it being accidental– you had a tendency to be the root cause of his emotional turbulence.

You hadn’t meant for your conversation with Ominis to last for so long, much less for it to cut into your allotted study time with your boyfriend. The Gaunt scion had, in a moment of weakness, confided in you about the burdens of his personal life with a kind of desolate demeanor that tugged at your heartstrings and made you genuinely feel bad for him. You had lent him your ear for nearly an hour, and eventually your shoulder as he came to rest his head against it to embrace you in thanks. It was simply you comforting a friend; offering him a brief moment of reprieve from the dreary thoughts that had plagued him for Merlin knew how long before the two of you had gone your separate ways. Nothing more, nothing less.

It had apparently looked like something more to Sebastian, though. He had been watching from the end of the Dark Arts Tower corridor with narrowed eyes, jealousy burning in his veins as he took in the sight of his girlfriend holding his former best friend in a manner he deemed reserved for him and him alone. You didn’t know how much of the exchange he had actually witnessed, but all that mattered was that he had seen the two of you hugging. Wracked with a silent yet palpable fury, Sebastian had dragged you down the steps of the Undercroft before tossing you into the room without a second thought, your protests and justifications falling on deaf ears.

A new word came to mind to describe Sebastian shortly thereafter. One that scared you as much as it excited you.

Possessive.

His fingers had branded you as he’d stripped you bare, pressing and pulling incessantly against your clothes until you were clad in nothing but your undergarments and left shivering under the intensity of his stare. He had stretched you out along the cool stone floor, his hands holding you down without a measure of care while he touched whatever parts of you he could reach. Your breasts were tender and sore by now– no doubt covered with tiny fingertip sized bruises from the sheer strength of his groping. His breathing was heavy and tinged with the occasional grunt when he shifted his hips over yours, the telling bulge in his trousers more than likely causing him discomfort, but he paid it no mind as he took his time focusing on you. An unmistakable wetness had gathered between your legs despite the depravity, and as much as you wanted to clench your knees together to ease the rampant ache there, Sebastian’s own leg between yours prevented you from doing so.

He was toying with you, that much was certain, and he was enjoying every blasted second of it.

In response to your absentminded squirming, Sebastian moved so his knee was nestled directly against your core, the sudden pressure causing you to gasp and arch beneath him. He took advantage of your closer proximity and looped his arm under your back, holding you flush to him with a desperate sort of yearning that made you dizzy, and the way he inhaled your scent before groaning was almost primal.

A choked moan slipped from your lips as Sebastian ducked his head into the crook of your neck to bite and suck fervently, the pain laced pleasure blinding you to his true motives, but not for long. There was no doubt in your hazy mind that he was behaving so brutishly in some attempt to remind you of who you belonged to. Leaving visible marks would only further his intentions, and you found yourself whimpering as you trembled against the floor.

After he bestowed a particularly playful nip against your marked flesh, Sebastian sat back on his haunches to admire his handiwork, taking in the sight of you dazed beneath him. You made quite the pretty picture; skin flushed, hair mussed, and an eclectic assortment of finger shaped lesions decorating your neck, breasts, and thighs. The knowledge that they had been put there by him only appealed to him more, and Sebastian hummed appreciatively at the sight.

You, on the other hand, were coiled tighter than a spring. The Slytherin man had been edging you like this for what seemed like an eternity, but it realistically could only have been half an hour or so. Time was something of an illusion at present, and all you could truly focus on was your ardent need for release. The fiery sensation that stayed stubbornly aflame in your lower stomach was beginning to drive you mad, and you gazed longingly up at Sebastian, who in turn bit his lip at your watery stare.

“Please, Sebastian,” you implored him, voice catching. His hands trailed down your chest and over your pert nipples before eventually settling on either side of your waist. Then with a grip tighter than Devil’s Snare, he tugged you harder against his knee with a wicked smile, forcing a low groan from your throat in response to the friction that he seemed to revel in. “Please.”

“I don’t know what you’re begging for,” he admonished in a low voice. “You’re going to have to be more specific, darling.”

Fuck, he was still upset. That much was obvious to you. It was evident in his tone, in the way his fingers dug sharply into the skin of your lower back– but mostly it was his eyes. The usual spark that danced behind his irises when he was with you was dull, and his gaze was anything but soft. It was hard and unyielding, cold and unfeeling. You were going to have to talk your way out of this one.

Licking your chapped lips, you did your best to still your writhing as you grit through your teeth, “I need you. I can’t take any more of this, please Sebastian.”

Both of his hands left your waist then. One of them braced flat against the floor to support himself while the other curled under your neck, pulling your head off of the ground to press your forehead against his own. The unrelenting pressure against your cunt didn’t lessen as he hunched over you and forced you to stare directly into those dark, greedy eyes of his, and you whimpered pitifully beneath him as he took in the delicious expression you bore. “Is it really me you need, or would any man do, hm? Should I fetch Ominis? Let the two of you continue where you left off earlier? Or maybe you’d prefer Garreth instead– your standards seem to be all over the place, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“N-No–” you stammered around the word when his fist clenched painfully in the hair at the nape of your neck. “Just you– only you– I swear, we were only talking earlier–”

“That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing…” he muttered darkly, releasing your head and letting it thunk back against the floor softly. His hand was akin to molten fire as it trailed along your clavicle before he moved his thumb to lightly brush across your bottom lip. You barely had time to take note of the movement before he dove forward to capture your lips in a heady, domineering kiss that stole your breath from you completely, and all you could do was mewl softly when you felt his tongue sweep along the inside of your mouth. Sebastian groaned into the kiss, cupping the side of your jaw with his hand as he shifted his knee away from your core to give him the space he needed to drop his hips and grind his solid manhood against your thigh. He broke away for a split second to breathe out, “Say it again.”

It was hard to get a word out with how ferociously Sebastian was kissing you, but eventually his mouth trailed wetly to the side of your face to suck another mark into the skin below your ear, and you managed to gasp out, “Just you, Sebastian. There’s only you, I love you.”

The sound of his nails scraping against the stone floor beside your head drew your attention, but before you could roll your head to look, he was sitting up once more with a new sort of emotion glinting in his eyes. Those brown orbs of his were no longer flat or cold and instead appeared to be scalding with blatant lasciviousness, his want for you as potent as Firewhiskey.

Through hooded eyes you watched as Sebastian reached for his belt, the sound of metal and leather coming undone filling you with a kind of urgency that left you biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Finally he would give you what you wanted– what you’d been craving from the moment he stripped you bare and pinned you to the floor. The version of your boyfriend above you hurriedly shoving his pants down his hips was unfamiliar to you; he seemed wholly animalistic, driven forth by some inherent, primitive need to claim you all for himself, and as much as you loathed his inability to rein in his jealousy at times, an equally intrinsic part of you craved his possessiveness.

You were his, and he was yours.

Freed from the confines of his trousers, Sebastian knocked your legs to the side so he had more room to situate himself between them. He slid his knees under your bent legs, caging the limbs under his arms as he ran his calloused palms down the tops of your thighs and the head of his cock slid through the overwhelming wetness that had gathered at your center. The rampant ache in your stomach roared back to life tenfold at the mere feeling of his thick shaft, and you twitched in anticipation while Sebastian fixed his lustful gaze on you.

“That’s right,” he started to slide into your wet heat as he spoke, your mouth falling open around an airy groan at the sensation of being filled. “You’re mine. Everything you have to offer is for me and me alone, don’t you ever forget it.”

Sebastian was stretching you out torturously slow, stuffing every inch of himself into you with a measure of control that went against his earlier behavior. He was utterly transfixed as he watched your chest rise and fall with panted breaths, and when he finally bottomed out with his hips flush to the backs of your thighs, a wanton groan ripped from your throat as your head fell to the side. Your hand shot up to push back against his lower stomach– silently trying to convey that you needed a moment to adjust– but Sebastian merely pulled his hips back and plunged back in, drawing a keen whimper from you that lit a fire in his blood.

Overwhelmed tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to breathe through the sheer size of him breaching you, and you threw your arm over your face to hide the sudden flush you felt heating your cheeks. “S-Sebastian, I can’t– ah–”

His hands slid down your thighs to grip at your waist once again, pulling you impossibly closer to grind against your ass before he began pumping into you steadily. It stole your breath– all of it; the angle, his bruising hold on you, his pulsing cock brushing against the deepest parts of you. It was exquisite agony, and a quivering moan tore from your lips when he leaned forward to spear downward into you, the head of his shaft hitting something that made you jolt against him.

Your arm fell away from your face in that instant, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the stone floor beneath you, to no avail. “F-Fuck, you’re too much– Sebastian!”

With your neck tipped back and your eyes squeezed shut, you felt Sebastian lean forward to brace his elbows on either side of your head before grasping your cheeks in his large hands. He lifted your skull from the ground and held your forehead to his again, prompting you to look at him as he slowed his pace. He continued to drive his hips into yours, but the mind numbing intensity had mercifully lessened.

“You’ll never do this with anyone else,” he said brusquely, his breath fanning across your lips. You could only moan in response, especially when he started to grind against you after each plunge of his cock. “This is all for me– every bit of you was made for me– do you understand?”

The grating moans that had been sounding from you transformed into gentler ones, Sebastian’s wave-like movements with his hips delivering tantalizing friction against your clit that had you melting beneath him. You nodded dumbly, and your boyfriend released your face to sit up so he could better watch as you fell apart under him. With one hand on your waist and the other propping him up, Sebastian held fast to you while he upped his tempo, pistoning his hips into you so fast and rough that the wet sounds coming from where you were connected were all you could hear.

More choked whimpers cascaded from your lips, sounding like an angelic symphony as far as Sebastian was concerned, and he threw his head back as he got lost in the sensation of your velvety walls clamping down on his cock. You could tell he was close based on how ragged his breathing became, and your own looming climax frayed the remaining tethers of your self-restraint. You surrendered completely to him, relishing in the overwhelming fullness of him as well as the scrape of the stone floor against your shoulder blades. Pain faded into pleasure, the cold air of the Undercroft transformed into a blazing inferno, and you swore you had never been so thoroughly fucked in your life.

When Sebastian’s gaze fell back on you, his eyes darkened and he practically snarled as he bent you clean in half. He nudged your knees over his shoulders so he could wrap his arms around you, burying his fingers in your hair and clenching the strands in his fists, and as he rammed his cock into you harder– more feral and beastly than ever– the air in your lungs was expelled with every intoxicating thrust.

All you could see, smell, hear, and feel was him. He had effectively rendered you brainless as he claimed your mind, body, and soul, and the only thing you could do was submit to him and take it.

Your clammy hands blazed a trail along his skin as you wrapped your arms around him, your nails digging into his back so hard that it had to sting– but if Sebastian’s throaty groan was anything to go by, he fucking loved it.

“Gods, it’s so deep, isn’t it?” he asked you, the words coming out in-between panted breaths. A shiver ran up your spine at the thought before you clenched around him even more, the unmistakable feeling of his cock hitting your cervix making you see stars. “I’ll come inside– fill you up so good that you’ll walk out of here with it dripping down your legs. See what everyone else has to say about that.”

You couldn’t even formulate a response. The most you managed was a witless, muffled cry of his name against his shoulder, the weight of him pressing down on you smothering any of the unintelligible noises that escaped you. His rapid, uncompromising pace drove you higher than you had ever thought possible, and your climax steadily built from a whisper to a deafening clamor.

“Ah– Sebastian, please–” you babbled, spittle hanging from your lips as you begged. “Please, please, please–”

The hands he had fisted in your hair tightened even more, prompting you to crane your neck back to ease the prickling feeling. “Please what? Come on darling, tell me what you want.”

The bestial way Sebastian fucked into you intensified in that moment, his toes digging into the stone floor to lend him the support he needed to chase his own pleasure while simultaneously amplifying yours. It was too much– it felt too good– and you had to fight tooth and nail to get the words out before his efforts left you a useless, twitching pile of limbs beneath him. “Please, let me come!”

“Swear that you’re mine,” he growled in your ear, the rough timbre to his voice making you tremble in earnest. “Tell me that no one else will ever have you like this– swear it.”

“I s-swear– I swear it– I’m yours, Sebastian. Only yours, I swear, please please please– I swear–”

Sebastian said nothing else, instead rewarding your admission with a toe-curling roll of his hips as he plunged in all the way to the hilt. He kept moving like that, the chill-inducing friction against your clit combined with his sinfully precise, cervix-kissing thrusts more than enough to drag your finish from you. Your walls fluttered around him as you lost control of your voice, your entire body quaking and jolting as an assortment of moans, cries, and and airy gasps poured from your throat.

“Fuck–” Sebastian swore roughly, both of his hands abandoning their hold on your hair to brace against the floor to better support his body as you seemingly sucked him in deeper. “Good girl, fuck– I’m close. You're going to take it all, yeah?”

There wasn’t a chance in hell you could respond– not that Sebastian was waiting for you to. With a husky groan, he pushed himself as deep into you as he could go, getting a few last thrusts in before he bottomed out and unraveled. Hot, potent strings of his seed painted your insides, causing your eyes to roll back in your head before he began rutting and grinding his hips into you to milk as much of himself as he could. You could barely hear him mumbling for you to take it all– not that it was even up for debate– and when he finally relented and stilled his movements, you were too dazed to so much as glance at him.

A warm, featherlight feeling brought you back to the present after a couple of heated moments. Sebastian’s hands brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your forehead, his eyes unapologetically roving over you as he took in the sight of your fucked-out expression. He seemed pleased with himself, a barely there smirk revealing itself as he dropped his hand to your waist to dig his fingers into the bruised skin there. You inhaled sharply, but beyond that, you didn’t so much as wince. You were far too weary for that.

“In the future,” he started to say as he rocked forward, pressing his still-hard length into you briefly before withdrawing halfway, only to repeat the motion again. “I’d rather you keep your hands to yourself when you’re with your ‘friends’. Especially where Ominis is concerned…” he trailed off, his hands skimming along all the love-bites and bruises that littered your body. “That is, unless you want more reminders as to who it is exactly you’re dating.”

One look into Sebastian’s dark, piercing eyes told you that he wasn’t bluffing at all. You already knew that he was more than willing to stake his claim on you should the need arise, and part of you even wondered if he would have the decency to do so in private next time.

Next time? Would there even be a next time? He had certainly made his point.

The pleasant ache that lingered throughout your body had you second guessing yourself, however, and you honestly wondered if it would be worth it to rile Sebastian up again in the future. As terrifying as the thought was, you couldn’t help but entertain it as you smiled up at him innocently, a flurry of unholy visions racing through your mind as you relished in the possessive way he continued to touch you.

When he began to move his hips again, you decided to label the notion as a ‘maybe’ for now. Clearly he was far from finished with you, and despite the mildly terrifying side of him you had just been made privy to, you couldn’t help but shudder in anticipation.

Maybe rousing the sleeping dragon again wouldn’t be such a terrible thing… right?

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x female!reader #sebastian sallow oneshot #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy oneshot #my writing #I can't even remember what prompted past me to write this depravity all those months ago but honestly. she was onto something

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ponderingmoonlight · 11 months ago

Note

Heya, could you write one for Tanjirou where the reader gets hurt on a mission and he feels bad about letting it happen as they were protecting Nezuko and he has feelings for her?

Thanks. I love your writing and take your time x

Okay I LOVE THIS

Tanjiro realizing his feelings for reader after she risks her life to protect Nezuko

Pairing: Tanjiro x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Despite being well-composed and never deciding without thinking twice, you find yourself recklessly risking your life in order to protect Nezuko from getting hurt by Daki. Little do you know what an impact your second impulsive choice will have...

Warnings: severe injury, near death experience, fluff over fluff with Tanjiro with probably the cutest ending I've ever written, not proofread, I'll use one collage and one stand-alone AI pic so if this triggers you, I suggest not to read or look at them 🤍

You never considered yourself impulsive. No, you never acted out of a feeling, never operated without thinking twice. Always kept your composure, a cool head. Maybe this is the reason for you still being alive, the reason why you are able to call yourself a quite skilled demon slayer on the side of your friends.

“You’ll come with me. I need you to look out for my wives.”

It was clear right from the start that this wouldn’t be an easy mission. All of Tengen’s wives enjoyed education when it comes to fighting skills. As a former shinobi, he made sure they were able to defend themselves. If he lost contact to them, it was clear something bigger is behind it. Something way bigger than anything you witnessed until that day.

“I can’t allow you to take (y/n) with you like that. I will join!”, Tanjiro suddenly shouted from behind with his oh so confident voice.

You will never forget the way he smiled at you back then, how much he cared for your well-being each and everyday since you arrived in the red-light district.

“I would never allow a demon to hurt one of my friends!”

Friends. Not quite the word you’d like to use for him. Since you first met each other when he saved you during the final selection, you always kept an eye open for the boy with the special kimono.

And his sister.

Apart from many people who dislike her, you loved Nezuko since the first day you laid eyes on her. Slowly but surely, it became your mission as well to save her, to free her from the curse of being a demon.

“I guess I’ll never be able to thank you enough for your support.”

You didn’t allow yourself to look at him, fully aware of that you’d get lost in his tender orbs again if you do. No, instead your eyes roamed about the glittering city to your feet, drifting over the facial expressions of the people underneath you.

“We’re friends, right? This is what friends do”, you murmured into the night.

Oh, you didn’t believe yourself a single word. What a filthy little lie to call Tanjiro a friend when all you are able to think about is his smell, when his voice is everything that lingers through your mind. Are friends supposed to think about one another constantly, to ponder about how their lips might feel pressed against each other? You promised yourself to never find out. After all, revealing your true feelings might scare him away forever. And losing Tanjiro all at once is definitely far worse than calling yourself his friend. After all, this would be impulsive with a not foreseeable outcome.

But even after you swore you’d never act out of a feeling, you find yourself sprinting into certain death.

It all happened faster than you expected. Inosuke managed to find Tengen’s wives and therefore the demon.

The upper moon six, to be exact.

The devilish who injured not only your friends, but Tanjiro as well. And now, she’s about to injure Nezuko as well.

Apart from your usual composed self, you find yourself dashing forward while grabbing the handle of your katana tightly. This is ridiculous, you don’t stand a chance against a demon like hair. Nezuko is a demon herself, she’d probably recover from her injuries.

You furrow your eyebrows, eyes fixated on both of them. It doesn’t matter right now. All you are able to think about is helping your friend.

“Get your filthy hands away from her”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

A well-placed hit. Your knee hits the ground roughly. Then everything around you is discoloured red.

Like in slow motion, you watch your own body sink onto the ground lifelessly. Your lungs feel like collapsing any given minute while you gasp for air like a fish on land. Blood takes your sight, drips down onto the already soaked floor while all you can do is watch in sheer horror as that hell of a demon grins at you.

“You did well until now. Dumb girl, why would you even think about defending a demon? Look how weak you are.”

The urge to cough becomes unbearable. Over and over, you spit out your own blood until your ribs feel like breaking. Did she hit you? Are you severely injured? Apart from your aching lungs, your body feels completely numb, almost lifeless. Like in slow motion, you watch as she walks towards you, the upper moon six emblem sparkling dreadfully in her eyes.

Is this your end?

What a senseless way to die when Nezuko is a demon. After all, even an upper moon wouldn’t be able to kill another demon without the right blade to do so. You never considered yourself so impulsive, so reckless.

Your eyes dart towards Tanjiro’s beloved sister who puts up a desperate fight against all the debris that buried her. Not everything needs to make sense.

It doesn’t make sense you decided to spare her life in the first place. It doesn’t make sense that you fell for her brother, that you allowed yourself feelings deeper than sympathy in a world full of cruelness and death. It doesn’t make sense that you decided to follow the sound hashira only to rescue his wives, that you actually considered going with him on your own.

All of that because you are so madly in love with Tanjiro. All of that because you view Nezuko as your own sister and could never allow another person to hurt her.

“What an ugly girl you are with your face twisted like that. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

You can hear your flesh bursting underneath another merciless hit of her belt, feel the throbbing pain that starts radiating through your bones. You will die right here and now, without any doubt. And you will die without seeing his face again, without telling him a single word about your true feelings.

“Don’t worry (y/n), I’m sure we’ll be fine! And as soon as we’re back, I’ll invite you to a bowl of ramen!”

A bowl of ramen?

Like in trance, you press your hand onto your leg, feel your busted flesh all too clearly, your very own blood slipping through your fingers.

Just like the love of your life.

“You need to get up.”

A distant voice in the back of your brain, muted by the constant ringing that takes over your ears.

“(y/n), can you hear me? You need to get up.”

Is Tanjiro still with Tengen-sama? They will manage to defeat those demons, you just know it. With the help of Inosuke, Zenitsu and Tengen-sama, Tanjiro will be alright. Who knows, maybe he’ll be a hashira in a week from now, maybe he’ll defeat Muzan Kibutsuji. Oh, what you’d give to hear that boy’s voice one last time, to witness his beaming smile again.

“She’s basically dead, idiot. Get lost so I can finish her.”

Are those hands lifting you off the ground or is your soul evaporating from your body?

“Please stay with me, (y/n). You need to keep on fighting.”

You allow your eyes for the briefest second. When you open them again, you barely miss how Nezuko catapults the upper moon six into a nearby building with full force. No, why would she risk to get hurt, what if that woman hurts her? It seems like you’re moving away from the scene and you’re unable to do anything apart from stretching out your shaky hand.

“No…I can’t…leave….”, you breathe out.

“Why did you risk your life like that? (y/n) you…you could be dead right now.”

That voice, it isn’t inside your head. No, someone is talking to you with an oh too familiar voice in a tone you know so well.

“Tanjiro.”

“I’m here, (y/n). And I promise everything will be alright? I just...don’t do something like that ever again, not even for Nezuko.”

Even though the sheer movement feels like breaking your own neck, you lift up your head enough to make sure this isn’t just a dream.

But his eyes are already set on you, filled with nothing but worry and threat while he carries you over the battlefield.

For a moment, time stands still. Just you and Tanjiro. No battlefield, no injuries, no demons. Just peace, love and Tanjiro.

Love.

“I love you”, you mutter so muted that he almost fails to understand.

You can feel his heartbeat picking up next to your throbbing head, watch how his eyes widen. Oh, how lovely they look in that red light, how easy it is to get lost in their gleam. What a waste of time it was to keep your feelings to yourself when all you were able to do was thinking about him. How lucky you are to feel your body pressed against his one last time.

One last time…

“I…so…tired…”

Desperately, you fight against the urge to close your eyes. You need to take this sight in for a little longer, need to stay awake at least for another minute. But your vision slowly but surely starts to get darker and darker until you can’t see him anymore.

“(y/n), don’t give up on me, not when I didn’t told you that-“

Nothingness.

-a week later-

“You should really start focus on getting back on your feet yourself, you know? It won’t help her if you don’t get better too”, the Kakushi next to him speaks out.

Since the moment he opened his eyes and realized that you aren’t awake, Tanjiro didn’t allow himself to leave your side. The last time he did that was at the entertainment district. The last time he did that you almost lost your precious life over defending his sister.

“I will stay just a little longer”, he mumbles lost in thoughts.

You always loved Nezuko dearly despite being a demon. Even though your logical thinking and composed acting, you accepted her as the human she was before and supported him in finding a cure for his sister. Still…

He runs his fingers through his hair roughly, frustration almost taking over him. Tanjiro never expected you to almost sacrifice your precious life for his sister. Not when she’s fighting against a demon, not when two upper moons are your opponents. No one would have doubted you, would have judged you for staying in safety. Nezuko would have never allowed you to interfere if she could, just like him.

“I should have arrived sooner. I should have been right by her side all the time. Maybe none of this would have happened if I kept an eye on her like I promised…”

“Don’t be a fool, she would have never allowed you to stay by her side knowing that it might cost the success of the mission. Still, I didn’t expect someone like her to act so reckless. Who’s your sister doing?”, the man opposite of Tanjiro replies.

“She’s been crying the whole time.”

“Did she finally wake up?”, Inosuke suddenly blurts out while entering the room on his own.

“She’s still unconscious”, Tanjiro explains briefly.

“Did you put that horrible bandage around her head? Before you came here, it looked alright”, the Kakushi interferes dryly.

“With the power of master Inosuke, (y/n) will be back on her feet in no time!”

“H…Hello?”

When your eyes flutter open, you get greeted by 3 pairs of excited eyes in an instant, your clouded mind still unable to process that you’re awake.

“Where am I?”, you croak with your throat feeling like sandpaper.

“I will call Shinobu-sama right away”, the Kakushi announces and gets up with a swift motion.

“You’re at the butterfly estate, dumbass”, Inosuke barks at you.

“(y/n)….I was so worried about you!”

Before you’re able to react any further, you find yourself emerged by green and black fabric, surrounded by a scent you know so well by now.

“Tanjiro”, you breathe out.

Over and over, you whimper his name like a prayer in order to convince yourself that this is real. You didn’t die. You are still alive. And right now, none other than Tanjiro Kamado holds you in his arms as tenderly as you always imagined. Is it a dream, maybe? A sweet hallucination to get you through the immense pain?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. All of this, only to stand up for my sister. Words can’t express how worried I was. How is it possible that this made me realize how much I-“

“You’re finally awake, how relieving. Would you mind moving to the side so that I’m able to examine (y/n), Tanjiro-san?”

That voice as sweet as honey belongs to Shinobu Kocho, without any doubt.

“S-Sure.”

“You really fought well, (y/n). Surviving that long with such severe injuries took its toll on your body, though. All of this because you wanted to protect Tanjiro’s sister?”

Her skilled hands begin roaming around your skin while you feel her gaze fixated on you. But you cannot look at Shinobu-san right now. No, your eyes are locked with those of Tanjiro next to you.

“They both mean the world to me”, you murmur.

He lets out his breath visibly while taking a step towards you. What is that glimmer in his eyes? Sorrow, dread?

Or maybe affection?

“How unusual for you to act this reckless. But maybe this is what love makes us do, right? I will leave you two alone for now. How about you’re taking a look outside? The sunset looks lovely today. But please use a wheelchair since your leg is still shattered.”

With a last bright smile, the insect pillar is gone in the wind again, leaving you alone with Tanjiro in a suddenly so tensed room.

“What do you think? Do you want to watch the sunset with me?”, Tanjiro questions with low voice.

“I would love to.”

As careful as ever, he lifts you off the bed and places you into the wheelchair before gently guiding you outside.

Your eyes get greeted by the prettiest red you’ve ever seen covering the whole sky. Like a painting, the beautiful scenery lays itself in front of your eyes. Shinobu-san’s flowers painted in the colors of the sky, the fluffy clouds that look so comfortable from afar.

But what mesmerizes you way more than that is the striking sight next to you, the boy you loved in silence since you first saw him. With his face lit by the downgoing sun and the ever so slight blush that creeps up his face while looking at you, you can’t help but get lost.

“Maybe I needed this”, he speaks out.

You blink a few times, still tired mind trying to process the meaning of his words.

“What?”

There is it. His usual beaming smile, the optimistic glimmer inside his gorgeous orbs. Careful not to hurt you he grabs your hand and gently strokes it while kneeling down next to you. Is this really happening? Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, reminds you urgently that you are definitely still alive. Why would Tanjiro Kamado get onto his knees for you?

“You.”

An answer so simple and yet so intimate that you can’t help but blush as well. Like in slow motion, you watch as he draws closer and closer until his face is only inches away from yours.

“I love you, (y/n). I guess I was too dumb to realize it until I saw you injured like that because you protected my sister. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The words leave your mouth just in time before he places his soft lips onto yours, making all your dreams come true with one innocent kiss.

You always acted well-thought and composed. But oh, what a plot twist it was to follow your heart twice in a row.

-bonus-

“Did…Shinobu-san put this around my head?”, you question while staring blankly at your messy hair and the wild bandadge around your head.

“The insect girl? Of course it was me! You wouldn’t even be awake if it wasn’t for me! But don’t worry, you can worship me later”, Inosuke replies while stretching out his chest in full proud.

“You look…”

“Well…”

“I mean…”

None of the three girls dare to raise their voices at him whereas you stare yourself up and down. Of course, it was Inosuke. Shinobu-san would never stitch you up like that.

“Do you want…Kanao to fix this?”, one of them finally suggests quietly.

“Yeah….I guess that would be pretty nice.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu

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biteyoubiteme · 5 months ago

Note

Omg congrats on 1k!!!

Soobin in the killa and gbgb performances have been killing me lately.. 🫠🫠 can i request a fic where reader goes down on him after his performance for either of these songs? Seriously never wanted to drop to my knees and suck a dick this badly in my life before this man 😵‍💫

baby, now, now, now, now

soobin x gn!reader

synopsis: he just looks too hot after a performance.

warnings: 🔞!!! oral (m!rec) prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1k

an: thank you so much! it was actually so hard to pick between gbgb and the killa for this lol but these photos spoke to me and picked themselves out. I go crazy watching these performances so I get you on a deeply personal and spiritual level okay and I rewatched the killas stage so many time to get inspo for this and omfg thank you for this ask I love watching that stage. but I hope you like this! not proofread forgive me sweet angel im forever indebted to you

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

It was not the first time you’ve seen the performance but it was the first time you’ve been there in person. This was entirely different from all the practices you’ve sat in on, every misstep followed by yeonjuns guidance, the soft laughs shared between the people in the room aiding the relaxed feel of the studio.

But here, sitting in the little private suite overlooking the stage you’re at a loss for words. No one should look that hot on stage, not even your own boyfriend. Maybe it’s the lights that hit soobin just right, the way they keep catching his hair; shiny with sweat. The big screen zoomed into every detail, black tank top stuck to his skin, his bicep flexing just enough to make the wrap around his arm look as if it would pop off from the force.

It’s enough to make the crowd go wild, the echoing cheers and screams louder than you imagined them. Every single one of them fawning over the way he looks, the way he moves, so in sync with yeonjun. It's almost impossible not to keep your eyes trained on soobins hips. Shirt cut just long enough to reach the waistband of his pants, just short enough so that every time he moved his arms or rolled his body it lifted up, exposing his midriff. Watching them dance during practice, Soobin was mostly dressed in sweats and a hoodie, unbothered by appearances when no one was around to see. Now here it's the opposite, your mouth watering at the way he's moving.

You're familiar with the way his hips move without anyone around, here with everyone watching it only makes jealousy bubble up for a second. And when he stretches back, arms above his head, so much of his skin on display for the camera to catch. It was addicting to witness.

When the two of you finally met backstage soobin couldn't tell if you were angry or tired. Never did he expect you to lead him over to the nearest dressing room, the lock twisted before you pushed him against the door.

“I'm all sweaty,” he chuckles, hands instinctively on your body already, head rolling back as he lets you kiss up his neck.

“I don't care,” you mutter, hand reaching down to palm him over his pants.

It took very little for him to get hard when it came to you. Just knowing you were watching him set his nerves aflame, but he worked so well under the slight pressure. He knew what got to you, knew the possibility of this very thing happening now, he could scope your neediness as easily as he could his own, both of you tethered together in that department just fine.

When you got down on your knees before him, fumbling with the button on his pants, he was whimpering, and already praying no one would walk past and hear him. The second you got your hands on him he was moaning in the back of his throat, pursing his lips as if that would help any with the sound.

You don't even have to work to build up any spit, your mouth watering on its own just having his pretty cock in front of you. Your thumb rubbed over his slit, spreading the beading precum around his pink tip. “You looked so good out there,” you say in between kisses along his shaft, “performing so well I couldn't stop thinking about sucking you off,”

You trace your fingertips across his veins, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes. “You sounded so pretty on stage, will you make sure to let me hear you while I make you feel good?”

He doesn't even get to finish his nod before your mouth is on him, so hot and wet he can't help the moan that leaves him. You hum in response, the vibration traveling up his spine and down his knees. He could buckle under the feeling alone, your free hand not circling what does not fit into your mouth is wrapped around his balls adding enough pressure to make him see stars.

Reaching out to the door handle for leverage, he needs anything to keep himself up, his head rolling back as you try to take him deeper down your throat. Even just the wet sounds of your working mouth makes his thighs tremble.

You move to pull away for only a second, enough so that you can go back to using both your hands when he pushes his hand into your hair. “No please don’t stop,” he whines pushing you back down onto his cock. You give a muffled yelp that has him moaning when he hits the back of your throat, so slick with your saliva he pumps in and out of your waiting mouth with ease. You don't even care about not breathing, on the cusp of just about to choke and pure bliss as he uses you. His hips work just as well as you knew they would, your hands wrapping around his thighs to help keep yourself still for him as he thrusts.

He's a mess of whimpers as he feels his orgasm build, your nails digging into the fabric of his pants, “oh god- I’m about to cum- I’m- I’m cumming- I’m-” he lets your head go as he cums, body slumping against the door as his cock twitches on your tongue, mouth flooding with his release, the saltiness so familiar to you as you swallow.

When you pull away his cock is slick with your spit, rivulets still connecting you to him as you giggle. You give him a few loose tugs, his hips jerking back at the stimulation to his sensitive tip where you place light kisses.

He reaches out to brush his thumb across your cheek, tracing it down to rub at your just fucked red lips. “You're so good to me, what did I ever do to deserve this mouth?”

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! also a little thank you to @beomiracles for looking at this and not letting me set myself on fire over it

#cams!1kevent #soobin x reader #soobin smut #soobin txt #choi soobin #txt fanfic #txt smut #txt x reader #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #huening kai #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours

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sorryimananti-romantic · 3 months ago

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to a dying? atinyblr

i don't usually speak about these things, but a lot of blogs (amazing writers) are leaving this platform or taking time off bc of lack of engagement which serves as a big demotivating factor. especially and specifically in this atiny fandom, some things have come to my attention and i just want all readers and writers to take a look at this post and refresh some reading and writing etiquettes, as well as revive the essence of being a part of this fandom.

feedback:

i understand that there are a lot of silent readers on here, but since tumblr is dying and our fandom is not very huge, the least you can do to show the writers some support is like the post.

which brings me to the point that the like function didn't even exist in the past. this site still runs on reblogs. as readers, to show your favourite writers some semblance of support, you should be reblogging with tags. a simple ‘#ateez x reader’ or ‘#ateez fics’ is enough. it's literally not asking for much– reblogs are the only way writers can get reach.

if you cannot do that bc of your blog's aesthetic or whatever, side blogs exist. if you still cannot do that, a simple anon ask appreciating the writer sometimes saves them.

also, what has happened to the quality of reblogs? readers consume years of writers’ work and efforts in mere hours and don’t even leave any feedback? art in general in all forms is very underappreciated and with all sorts of problems like plagiarism, ai writing and everything, true art and writing is dying and needs to be appreciated now more than ever. we’re literally the last generation witnessing ai take over in all fields of arts. appreciate content creators before it’s too late, don’t be a content glutton!

updates and requests:

asking writers for updates when they specifically mention that they would prefer posting at their pace is wrong for so many reasons– we all have a real life. you, the reader, do too. just like you don't always have time to read, writers don't always have time to write. do you ever see the writers asking their readers 'why have you not read my latest chapter?'

most of the times, writers mention in their bio/faq post or elsewhere that they do mind being asked about updates. respect your writers, please, and do a little scroll before you send such demanding asks (also, sugarcoating when asking for updates does not make it any better!)

if you are only asking about updates, it demotivates a lot of writers bc these same people will disappear when it is time for feedback. writing is a form of art. we can write, artists can paint, musicians can compose music, but all of it has no meaning unless it is shared with an audience and appreciated. readers are just as important as the writers but there is no way of knowing fics are valued unless feedback is given.

the same goes for requests. you can only send a request when the requests are open, which is usually mentioned in the writer’s bio/faq post. it’s literally not that hard to check if requests are open and it’s basic decency to not send a request when the writers specifically mention that requests are closed. when sending a request, please be courteous. a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ are examples of being courteous when sending requests.

the fanfics in atinyblr:

i understand that you can read whatever you like, but why is it that in the atiny fandom, fics that do not contain smut hardly ever get attention? as a writer, i enjoy writing and reading smut, and while i am not specifically a smut blog, i have noticed how fics containing smut get far more reach than fics that do not contain smut– not just in my case, but other amazing writers as well.

there are such amazing fictions in this fandom. all fics are crafted with dedication and care, yet stories without smut often get sidelined. writers are not able to express themselves in their writing freely anymore and they simply conform to a genre they know readers will consume, as they are forced to consider adding smut to their stories so they can get more reach in this fandom. i have heard accounts from a lot of writers who were inclined to add smut to an otherwise smut-free fic just for reach.

this is by no means hate to the smut writers. i am also not placing blame on them. smut drabbles have always been in this fandom, and there are amazing smut writers out there, doing their thing. it is the readers here who are failing the writers. readers are quick to talk about the lack of ‘good fics’ or ‘plot’ yet will not even bother searching for these works. there used to be a good balance and appreciation for all genres alike.

i know that smut is what's hot and trendy these days, and drabbles in general, no matter the genre, are easier to read when you want to take a short break. but there is such a lack of longfics in this fandom, especially as of lately, and as someone who has personally witnessed the ratio of longfics decrease exponentially, i felt the need to point this out. appreciate all writers! appreciate all genres! longfic writers need as much validation and encouragement as drabble writers, and vice versa! don't be too harsh on longfic writers for not pumping out fics at the same speed as shortfic writers.

and on that note, smut drabble writers experience a lack of quality feedback despite the high engagement, so readers, please don't hesitate to point out exactly what you liked about a fic, even if it's a short drabble! be kind to those writers, give them time to write and be kind when sending requests! they may post more often but they, too, have a life.

tags:

this is specifically for the people who will post a very normal picture of a member, no caption, but tag it something like #ateez smut, #ateez hard hours, #ateez x reader. and for the people who tag their asks with irrelevant tags– literally learn to tag your post properly, and stop crowding the wrong tags. you're just proving the point that if you don't tag a post with the smut tag or something similar, it won't get reach. if you've posted with a caption, that makes sense (though it still doesn't warrant some of the tags being used there).

as for writers, also learn to use your tags appropriately. fics that do not contain smut should not be tagged with smut related tags. believe in yourself. i get that there is the problem of reach but do not overcrowd tags with irrelevant material.

disclaimer:

this is by no means about me. if i cared about the notes, or lack thereof, i would have stopped writing a while ago. while it is challenging to be a writer here, especially as of lately, i still enjoy posting whatever i write no matter the genre or the word count. but it's a bit disappointing that my planned out fics get much less attention than a simple smut headcanons post that i wrote in the heat of the moment with my friend in literally a few hours as a joke (which has reached almost 10k notes btw in a span of 2 years). sure, it has exposed my blog to new readers but that's about it.

this post is for all the amazing writers who have left, are thinking of leaving, or are struggling to voice these problems because they are afraid of being marked as 'problematic' or a 'hater' or something worse. i am not afraid to voice my opinion on here, and if you think that i am wrong, feel free to interact with this post and correct me because i am not claiming that i am right about this.

these are just the observations i have made as someone who has been actively writing on this platform for about 4 years now, and since i have a decent number of followers, i hope this post gets more reach. do not be afraid to reblog this if you agree, and even if you do not, reblog this so someone else gets educated. i may have missed some points so feel free to add if you want too.

#sorry for the title i have to grab y'alls attention somehow #it did not always use to be like this!#be kind to writers!#our fandom here is not that big so let's support each other #and revive the essence of what fanfic is truly about #art #and art needs what??#appreciation!!#ateez #atinyblr #atiny #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fics

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dreamwavesexploringreality · 8 months ago

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A NEW PERSPECTIVE

Chishiya x reader

Based on a request: Reader’s caught in rumours with Niragi while secretly with Chishiya.

"Where are you rushing off to, miss?" lamented a distressed Kuina as she rubbed the arm Y/N had bumped into moments earlier due to her hurried pace through the hallways of The Beach.

"Sorry, Kuina, I didn’t see you! Niragi told me to head down to the pool for a while. Apparently, it’s not too crowded right now, and I can enjoy some peace outdoors," Y/N replied, somewhat hurriedly.

"Oh, Niragi again…" Kuina’s feigned arm pain quickly vanished upon hearing Niragi’s name come from her friend’s lips. "You know I’m not too fond of him… But as long as my friend is happy, I’ll accept it!" she concluded with a smile on her face.

Y/N sighed dramatically. She was tired of constantly being paired with Niragi, but she had learned, through harsh experience, that it was impossible to change her friend’s mindset. Besides, it wasn’t entirely bad that people believed she was involved with the high-ranking militant. Y/N couldn’t deny the advantages it had brought her, like avoiding sleazy men with dirty intentions or gaining a certain prestige at The Beach.

Yes, it was true that she had felt somewhat uncomfortable at first, especially when she realized Niragi seemed to enjoy the confusion of others and took advantage of it to act more affectionate than usual: an arm over her shoulder, sharing his drink, or even referring to her as "his girl" in front of others. But Niragi was just Niragi, and Y/N knew it. She knew him since she could remember. She didn’t recall how that man, who was a boy at the time, had come into her life to stay, but suddenly he was in all her photo albums, and before she knew it, they were two young adults about to start college. Niragi had been her confidant, her friend, a shoulder to lean on… her everything. And she thought she had been that for him too.

It was a huge shock to find him in that place, almost by chance. After a particularly bloody game that had left her reeling from blood loss, Niragi appeared like a shadow in the darkness, and it wasn’t until a few days later, waking up in a comfortable hotel bed, that she recognized the man who had been part of her life for so many years. It didn’t take long for them to catch up, and surprisingly, Y/N understood, as no one else had, the character her friend had become fixated on playing. After all, she had been a close witness to Niragi’s darkest moments.

Everything seemed to be going well until a certain blonde crossed her path. Y/N had seen him wandering the hotel halls from time to time, even catching him a few times observing the world from the rooftop. He reminded her of a cat, that was the first thing she thought. Always so stealthy, so mysterious, as if he was constantly on a mission that he didn’t care about… but it wasn’t until that game that she glimpsed the nature of that man in all its glory. A strategic player, no doubt, confident, and even somewhat arrogant. His arrogance, however, had saved them that night during the sword game, and as amazed as she was by the man’s quick thinking, and somewhat shaken after her near-death experience, she couldn’t help but approach him.

Y/N remembered that night as the night when everything started. She introduced herself to him with a timid, blood-and-dirt-stained face and made sure to thank him for saving them all that night. She remembered how he looked at her, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a shadow of unease in his gaze. Y/N would later learn that people at The Beach didn’t associate with him and that he was considered one of the best sword players around, known for successfully solving extreme mental challenges and never hesitating to sacrifice whatever and whomever for one more night of survival. He introduced himself as Chishiya.

She remembered how upset Niragi was when she told him, blushing and stammering, about her new friendship with the blonde. He had assured her that Chishiya wasn’t a good man, that he would take advantage and then discard her like a used piece when he couldn’t get any more out of her. Y/N ignored her friend’s warnings, and her relationship with Chishiya unexpectedly flourished.

The blonde man had never thought he would experience love in his life, let alone in a place like this. But when, later on, he saw Y/N’s life hanging by a thread in a game, he knew he couldn’t live without her and, indeed, against all odds, he was in love. Yet, going against what his heart longed to do, he never declared his feelings, driven by an irrational fear of rejection or a logical dread of losing her in that dangerous world. Even though they weren’t officially a couple, they had shared certain moments that they kept secret in the deepest corners of their hearts: conversations in their rooms late into the night, hands intertwined furtively, or even a few kisses on the cheek in the privacy of the dark. It was a tacit understanding between them: they knew they felt something for each other, but neither was willing to take the first step to clarify the situation. Y/N, in any case, didn’t think it was necessary; after all, they seemed to be fine as they were, and Chishiya thought the same. Until she was seen with Niragi.

Niragi knew about Y/N’s feelings for the other man long before Chishiya understood the closeness between the two. The rifle-wielding man did not hesitate to act when he noticed the frown on the blonde’s face due to his inexplicable proximity to Y/N. They were at the bar; Kuina and Y/N liked to enjoy The Beach’s party atmosphere from time to time, and although Chishiya didn’t share that sentiment, he had no choice but to join the party when he found himself alone in his room, unable to sleep and yearning for the presence of the woman who made him feel what he had never dared to feel. But when he went down to the pool, the scene he encountered couldn’t have been more different from what he had expected. There was Y/N at the bar, ordering a drink and unexpectedly close to the man he considered one of his rivals at The Beach. Chishiya watched with concealed surprise as Niragi smiled maliciously at him while crossing gazes, all the while putting his arm around the girl’s shoulders and whispering something in her ear, never dropping his seductive demeanor. Chishiya was about to approach under the pretext of ruining Niragi’s flirtation, pulling Y/N out of a potentially uncomfortable situation with the groping, intrusive man, but his intentions were thwarted when, to his horror, Y/N returned the smile to the pierced man, nodding at whatever he had said. Such proximity, Y/N’s comfort in that man’s arms… it couldn’t be faked, and as he was about to turn and leave, a somewhat drunk Kuina, clutching a drink tightly, approached him to deliver the final blow.

"Aren’t they adorable?"

Had Chishiya allowed himself to be more human that night, he would have gone to the bar to get drunk, which was what his senses were urging him to numb the unknown pain that had settled in his chest. But he wasn’t like that. Instead, he went to his room and decided that night to end the volatile situation between him and the girl.

That same night, Y/N couldn’t get Chishiya out of her mind, and no matter how much she danced with Niragi or Kuina, or drank a cocktail or two, the image of the blonde kept coming back to her thoughts. She decided, that same night, to end the indefinite situation between her and the man. And that was exactly what she did.

The morning after the party, still suffering from the consequences of alcohol and dancing, she showed up at Chishiya’s door. She knocked twice and waited, with her heart racing in her throat. For a moment, she thought about how bad of an idea it was, but before she could even turn around and run back to her room, the door opened. A half-asleep Chishiya stood in the doorway, cursing himself internally for not asking earlier who was knocking. When his brain told him that this was the moment to end everything and spare himself more pain, his arms stretched out, pulling the girl into an intimate and affectionate embrace, trying to communicate everything he didn’t dare to say aloud. And so, another day, their relationship stayed afloat, unspoken.

Y/N spoke to him that same morning, while they were having breakfast together in his room, about her closeness with Niragi. She didn’t explain the origin of their close bond, as Niragi had almost begged her not to disclose anything about their past. Chishiya swallowed all his questions and showed disinterest in the information Y/N was sharing, which was a relief for the girl, wrongly interpreting that the blonde didn’t mind or even care about her affairs with Niragi. That morning, however, she left Chishiya’s room wearing her characteristic white sweatshirt. He had insisted that she take it with the excuse that her bikini was wet and that if she got sick, she wouldn’t be able to perform well enough to survive the game that night.

Niragi couldn’t help but laugh when he heard his friend explain why she was wearing that garment, and a whole elaborate plan began to make sense in his mind as he realized it was the perfect opportunity to irritate the man he despised so much.

"Earth to Y/N…" Kuina

She was still standing in the middle of the hallway. "Weren’t you in such a hurry to see your 'friend'?" she said, making exaggerated quotation marks with her hands.

"Oh yes, I got distracted," Y/N said, snapping out of her thoughts.

"Go on! Don’t keep him waiting!" urged Kuina, almost pushing her out of the hotel.

Indeed, just as Niragi had assured her, there weren’t many people at the pool; it was the perfect time to lie on a lounge chair, relax, clear her mind, and let herself be carried away by the muted sounds of the hotel. But Niragi had a different idea. When he saw Y/N arriving, he was already in the water, aggressively pushing some of The Beach’s inhabitants aside to make his way to the shore.

"Where have you been? People are going to start arriving; it was much emptier before!" scolded the pierced man.

"I got distracted," Y/N apologized as she entered the pool, hissing from the temperature.

Niragi didn’t take long to approach her and wrap her in an embrace that, for everyone present, could easily be mistaken for an act of love and tenderness.

"Did you get distracted with that idiot?" the man reprimanded her.

"No, smartass. I was chatting with Kuina," Y/N replied.

"The blonde’s little friend… I don’t like her either," Niragi sighed.

"You don’t like anyone," the girl laughed.

"Only you," the man almost whispered with a mocking smile, bringing his face closer to hers in a flirtatious act.

Y/N laughed, pulling away from him and creating space between their bodies. No matter how much she cared for Niragi, she still felt uncomfortable with actions like that, so direct and invasive.

Suddenly, a flood of people arrived at the pool, accompanied by screams and shouts. Everyone seemed so happy; Y/N was still surprised by how deluded everyone was in that place. The pool quickly filled with moving bodies, splashing and spilling alcoholic drinks. With Niragi’s help, Y/N was able to leave the pool and get away from the crowd. Niragi closely followed her to one of the few lounge chairs that remained free after the sudden arrival of the Beach’s residents. He violently pushed away the man resting peacefully on the adjacent lounge chair. However, people kept arriving in droves until even lying on the lounge chair with her eyes closed was not enough for Y/N to relax. The place had become overcrowded in a matter of minutes, as if everyone at the Beach had sobered up at the same time and was flocking to get their new dose of happiness.

"Niragi, let’s go. I’m overwhelmed by so many people," Y/N declared, getting up from her spot.

"Alright, but know that if you had come earlier, this wouldn’t have happened," he reproached her.

They both got up and headed towards the pool exit, but it was more complicated than expected. Although Niragi barked at anyone blocking their way and pushed roughly against those who were too close, the crowd kept coming, and everyone seemed to be going in the opposite direction of where Niragi and Y/N were trying to move.

Given this, they should have anticipated the possibility of an incident. In a matter of seconds, a strong arm collided directly with Y/N’s side, causing her to lose her balance. The slippery and sticky floor didn’t help stabilize her, and the entanglement of feet and legs around her offered no secure grip. Within moments, Y/N found herself dangerously close to the pool’s edge. She braced herself to close her eyes and hold her breath, expecting the imminent contact with the water. However, it never came.

When Y/N reopened her eyes, she noticed a strong grip on her forearm holding her steady. With a pull, she was yanked away from the edge of the pool and brought closer to a firm, defined body. Y/N looked up from her position, pressed against his chest. Niragi.

"Are you an idiot? You almost threw her into the water! You’re going to regret this!" she heard the man roar at a young guy who had paled upon realizing who he had almost pushed into the water: Niragi’s girl.

Y/N turned her gaze to see the commotion in the crowd as people witnessed Niragi’s fury. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw a rather unsubtle and mischievous smile from her friend, just a few steps from the door. Kuina was holding a straw between her lips, which she seemed to nervously chew while suppressing her usual happy squeals. But what really surprised Y/N was the presence beside the woman. Chishiya stood with his arms crossed, wearing his usual sweatshirt, his brow furrowed.

Y/N didn’t have time to react when Niragi decided that those poor souls had had enough of his scolding and proceeded to drag Y/N, gripping her arm tightly, toward the exit and directly to the couple watching them, each with very different emotions displayed on their faces. Niragi advanced ruthlessly, passing in front of Kuina and Chishiya without noticing their presence. This was quite common for the man, as his rage clouded his mind when he was angry, making him oblivious to his surroundings. He would have continued dragging the girl behind him if not for a firm hand gripping his wrist. Niragi prepared to confront whoever dared to stop him when he realized who the culprit was. Chishiya had a tight grip on the man’s wrist, his knuckles starting to turn white. Kuina, beside him, looked on with evident surprise, while Y/N, still not fully recovered from the earlier scare, tried unsuccessfully to free herself from Niragi’s grip.

"Let her go," Chishiya growled in a low voice that Y/N had never heard before.

A sarcastic laugh escaped Niragi’s mouth, tightening his grip even more if possible.

"And why would I do that, huh?" he challenged.

"I know you know Y/N is mine—"

Kuina’s eyes widened, and she turned her head to look at Y/N with a thousand questions. Y/N, for her part, looked at Chishiya with surprise etched on her face. She felt her heart stop for a moment before it started beating even more forcefully and vigorously. She briefly wondered if she might have fallen and hit her head hard enough to be hallucinating. She snapped out of her daze when she felt Chishiya’s arm take her hand and pull her toward him. Niragi’s eyes filled with fury at seeing the other man’s gesture, and releasing his grip on the girl’s arm, he violently shoved the blonde man. Chishiya staggered slightly, surprised by the sudden attack but quickly regained his composure, lifting his head in a challenging manner.

Y/N acted quickly, stepping between the two men and separating them with a hand on each of their chests.

"Both of you, stop. Niragi, go. We’ll talk later," she said firmly.

Niragi looked at her incredulously, but when he met the girl’s determined eyes, he decided to comply, not without giving Chishiya a look of deep hatred and making a defiant gesture.

When Niragi had disappeared through the door, Y/N looked at Chishiya, who was already looking back at her.

"So, yours, huh?" she asked with a hint of amusement, trying to hide a slight tremor in her voice.

A small excited squeal was heard. Kuina. Y/N had completely forgotten that the girl was there watching. The girl and… all the people at the pool. Embarrassment coursed through Y/N’s body, and she pulled Chishiya towards the interior of the hotel, both of them entering the Main Lounge.

"Did it bother you?" Chishiya dared to ask. "The part about claiming you as mine…" he clarified.

"No," Y/N declared. "It’s just that I… wasn’t sure what terms we were on," she said, looking away from him.

The light touch of fingers on her chin made her look up, meeting Chishiya’s gentle gaze.

"Well, I guess now the whole Beach knows what terms we’re on," he whispered with a smile on his face.

Y/N felt the man bring his face closer to hers and involuntarily directed her gaze to his lips, moistening them in a spontaneous act. The next thing she felt was his lips meeting hers, moving in sync with special attention as he kept holding her chin carefully. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by the moment, which couldn’t compare even to her most vivid dreams. She savoured that instant as if her life depended on it, understanding that things were going to be different from then on, and a smile reflected on her face as she thought, for the first time since arriving in Borderlands, about the future. Of course, with her eyes closed, Y/N never saw the man watching with fury from the upper balcony of the lounge, nor did she see how Chishiya’s eyes briefly shifted to that place while a cynical smile appeared on his face. The message? Clear and concise: She was his girl, and he wasn’t willing to let anyone think otherwise.

-------

I hope you enjoyed this post as much as I enjoyed writing it! 😊

Your feedback means the world to me, so I’d love to hear your thoughts and suggestions. 💬 If there’s a topic you’re curious about or if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to drop a comment.

Thanks for visiting my blog! 🌟

#aib x reader #alice in borderland #niragi suguru #aib #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #ao3 #fanfic #arisu ryohei #kuina hikari #shuntaro chishiya #aib chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #aib imagine #open requests #request #requests open

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thedensworld · 9 months ago

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How to Summon Demon

Pairing: S.Coups x reader

Genre: Supernatural AU, humor, angst

Summary: your friends and you playfully played game to call the Hot Demon in high school. What if he actually summoned?

"Nothing's happened to Jinah, right?" Sonhee asked anxiously once they were done spelling. Jinah, sitting in the middle of the other three girls, sighed with relief. Despite her brave front in offering herself as the bride of the demon, deep inside, she was a bit scared.

"Why do we even play this game?" Hana scoffed, pushing herself onto the bed and lying down, looking at you, Sonhee, and Jinah with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

You shrugged and followed Hana, mumbling, "Just wanted to make Sonhee happy." Sonhee threw a playful protest, her face lighting up in mock offense.

"Hey, I just said it would be fun. Wasn't it fun?" Sonhee turned to everyone, seeking validation. Jinah nodded slightly, still feeling the remnants of her fear, while you and Hana exchanged glances before shrugging noncommittally.

"It's almost midnight; let's sleep. We have school tomorrow," you reminded them.

Sitting in the café years later, you watched with pride how your friends had grown. Sonhee, now with her little girl in a stroller, Jinah with a baby on the way, and Hana recently married to a Singaporean man she met on a business trip. Each of them had blossomed in their own way, their lives a testament to the passage of time and the enduring strength of your bond.

The four of you laughed, the tension dissipating as you reminisced about old times. Living together in the same dorm room 15 years ago had forged an unexpectedly intimate relationship among you all. You remembered the countless nights spent talking until dawn, the shared secrets, and the unspoken bond that had formed over time. The room had witnessed your collective fears and triumphs, your tears and laughter.

You felt a warm sense of pride and nostalgia as you observed how much the four of you had grown over the past 15 years. Meeting at 15, you were now on the brink of your 30s, each of you carving out your own path in life. The years had flown by, but the connection remained strong, a comforting constant amidst the changes.

"Can you believe it's been 15 years?" you mused aloud, smiling at the thought.

Sonhee laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Time flies when you're having fun, right?"

Jinah nodded, gently rubbing her baby bump. "And when you're with the right people."

Hana raised her glass of iced coffee, a twinkle in her eye. "To us, and to many more years of friendship."

As you all clinked glasses, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the journey you had shared, and excited for the many memories yet to be made.

As you all clinked glasses, your phone rang, breaking the moment. Glancing at the screen, you saw it was your manager calling. You answered quickly, noting the urgency in their voice.

Jinah grinned playfully. "Look at you, Mr. Rising Star. Who would've thought our quiet and calm 15-year-old would become a famous actor?"

Everyone chuckled, and you shrugged with a modest smile. "Yeah, who would've thought?"

Your manager's voice interrupted again, reminding you of your upcoming salon appointment. "Sorry, guys, I have to go. My manager is waiting for me," you said, standing up.

"Always busy," Hana teased, but her eyes were warm with understanding.

Sonhee added, "Thanks for making time for us, even with your hectic schedule."

You nodded, feeling a pang of regret for leaving so soon. "I'll see you all soon, I promise." With a wave of goodbye, you stepped out of the café, the cool breeze a contrast to the warmth you felt inside from the reunion.

As you approached the car, you saw your manager waiting impatiently. "Sorry for the wait," you said, sliding into the passenger seat.

"No problem. We have to keep moving if we want to stay on schedule," your manager replied, already pulling out into the street.

As the car sped through the bustling city streets, you felt a sudden, jarring jolt. The car veered wildly, and you heard the heart-stopping sound of screeching tires. The world seemed to move in slow motion as another vehicle collided with yours, the impact sending a shockwave through your body. The sound of shattering glass filled your ears, and the force of the crash threw you violently against the seatbelt. The world around you faded into an ominous silence as everything went black.

You got into a car accident.

In the darkness, you found yourself in a strange liminal space, caught between life and death. A surreal atmosphere enveloped you, a mix of chilling stillness and an ethereal glow. Memories of your friends, your career, and your life flashed before your eyes, mingling with an eerie quiet. Time felt distorted, stretching out endlessly, as if you were floating in a void.

Suddenly, you felt a pull, an irresistible force drawing you back to consciousness. You opened your eyes to find yourself in an unfamiliar, opulent room. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate designs, and ancient tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes of otherworldly realms. The air was thick with an intoxicating scent, both alluring and unsettling.

Before you stood a man of striking appearance. His features were almost otherworldly—sharp, chiseled, and undeniably handsome. Yet, there was something intimidating about him, an aura of power that made your heart race with unease.

"Welcome," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "You've crossed a threshold few ever do."

You struggled to sit up, confusion and fear mingling in your mind. "Where am I? Who are you?" you managed to ask.

The man took a step closer, his intense gaze never leaving yours. "You are in a place between worlds," he replied enigmatically. "As for me, you may call me S.Coups."

You jolted awake, your last memory of the car accident with your manager flashing vividly before you. "Am I... dead? Are you Death?" you asked hesitantly, the urge of panic clear in your eyes as the man named S.Coups stared at you.

He smiled and walked over to a nearby sofa. You realized that you were lying on a bed in what appeared to be a luxurious bedroom. The sheer comfort and opulence of the room sent waves of confusion through you. If you were dead, how could you be in such a paradise-like place? Had you lived your life so righteously that you deserved a place like this? And who exactly was this S.Coups?

"I saved you," S.Coups said, breaking the silence.

You watched him breathlessly. "From the accident?" you asked, and he nodded.

You sighed in relief, thinking you weren't dead yet. But your relief was short-lived as he continued. "Yet," he added, as if he could read your thoughts. "Your body is likely in the hospital now, undergoing surgeries and treatments. What you are right now is your soul, caught in between."

His words echoed in your mind: a place between worlds. The gravity of the situation began to dawn on you.

"I'm a demon. I've been waiting for you for 15 years."

You watched his face intently, then suddenly burst into laughter. Your head turned around to find the hidden cameras as you said, "Is this a prank? Was the accident earlier part of the setup?" You smiled, still half-believing it was a joke.

"If it is, you better stop. It's not funny anymore, and I'm going to sue everyone involved," you continued, standing from the bed and walking toward him.

S.Coups smiled and laughed softly at your boldness. He stood in front of you, his tall figure towering over you as he approached closer. Your breath hitched, intimidated by his presence.

"I'm the demon you summoned 15 years ago, and I saved you from death because you're my wife," he stated calmly.

You laughed again, shaking your head. "Stop it. How do you guys know about the little game I played with my friends? Did they tell you?"

Suddenly, you felt your body plummet, as if falling from a great height. Your legs weakened, and your head spun. The room around you distorted, everything warping and blurring except for S.Coups and his intense gaze. Your body fell toward him, and he caught you, his hold steady and strong. In an instant, you were back in the bedroom, gasping for breath.

You pushed away from him, your heart pounding as the realization hit. This wasn't a prank. It wasn't a real bedroom. It was indeed a place between worlds.

"Do you believe it now?" S.Coups asked, his voice steady and unyielding.

You stared at him, the truth settling heavily in your mind. The memories of your friends, the innocent game, and the promise you had made all those years ago now seemed to carry a weight you hadn't understood at the time. The opulent room, his enigmatic presence, and the surreal experience all pointed to one undeniable fact: this was real.

"What do you want from me?"

Seungcheol, once trapped in an eternal detention, was finally released. The 700-year-long punishment had ended, but he couldn't return to his world. Instead, he found himself once again in the place between worlds, now known as the demon S.Coups.

S.Coups' role was to punish evil in the human world, a decree from God for Seungcheol's past transgressions when he was a human. "You will harvest what you planted," was the divine edict, and Seungcheol, now as S.Coups, had to enforce it.

He thought his penance was complete, but God had another plan. A future wife. When Seungcheol learned that his future wife would be a human soul, just like him, he felt a wave of relief. But days turned into years, and no one was given to him. The endless wait began to weigh heavily on his spirit.

Until one night, a group of teenage girls summoned him. Among them was the girl who offered herself as his bride, but another girl caught his eye.

Y/n.

His eyes widened in recognition. After a thousand years, he could finally see you again. "You can have her now," he heard the voice of God, instructing him to claim his bride.

"What will happen to her?" Seungcheol asked, his voice trembling.

"She will die. Her soul will be bonded to you," came the solemn reply.

Seungcheol's gaze shifted to the girl who had captivated him. "How about her?" he asked, pointing to you.

There was a pregnant pause before he heard another voice, filled with a knowing sadness. "So you still remember her?"

Seungcheol closed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. "Is this part of the never-ending punishment? That you won't let us be together?"

As you stood there, grappling with the enormity of the situation, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of fear and curiosity. The life you had known felt distant and fragile, replaced by a reality that defied all logic and expectation.

"What do you want from me?" Seungcheol heard you ask, your voice tinged with a mix of desperation and anger. "Why me? Jinah was the one who sacrificed!" you shouted, and Seungcheol took a step back unconsciously, taken aback by your sudden rage.

He watched as you shook your head, your hands running through your hair in frustration. "What about my family? What are they going to do without me?"

Seungcheol closed his eyes, a flash of your family—your mother and siblings—discussing your inheritance while you still lay on the operating table, clenching his heart. Even after years, you were still a people's person, and yet you were still betrayed by those you loved.

Seungcheol took a deep breath and gently took your hand, touching you for the first time in a thousand years. He was glad you didn't fight his touch. "I chose you. That's why you're here," Seungcheol said softly.

Your eyes softened as tears welled up, ready to stream down your cheeks. He watched as you sighed and then sobbed, your emotions overwhelming you.

"Why did you choose me? Tell me the reason!" you demanded, your voice cracking with emotion.

There was a pregnant pause before Seungcheol looked you deeply in the eyes and asked, "Do you really want to know the answer?"

"Yes, this is part of your punishment. I planted her into your heart, but you decided to kill her in your past life. Fate has turned its back on you," the divine voice intoned.

Seungcheol cried out in regret, "Forgive me! It was an impulsive move driven by emotion. I love her, I really love her."

"That's your consequence," the voice replied sternly.

"What must I do to have her as my wife again? I'll do anything, I'll take any burden," Seungcheol pleaded desperately.

"Are you sure?" the voice asked, its tone grave.

Seungcheol nodded, desperation evident in his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure."

The voice continued, "She will die in 15 years in a car accident. You will have a chance to claim her soul at that moment. However, once you save her, her soul will awaken without any memory of you. She will hate you and treat you the opposite of how she used to. Your powers will fade. And lastly, you will be haunted by the memory of how you killed her until she finally comes to love you again."

As Seungcheol stood there, tears streaming down his face, the weight of the punishment and the path ahead seemed almost unbearable. But his love for you was unwavering, and he knew he would endure any hardship to be with you again.

Seungcheol jolted awake, his heart pounding. He stared at his palms and breathed a sigh of relief when he found no blood. The haunting had started, and he wasn't sure how long he could survive seeing himself kill you over and over again.

He covered his face, and sobs escaped his mouth. He couldn't control his emotions as his powers faded once he claimed your soul. This was the worst punishment ever given to him—loving you more and more but also being haunted by the memory of killing you repeatedly.

Seungcheol had been a crown prince, married to you, the daughter of one of his father's ministers. It wasn't an arranged marriage; in fact, he had liked you from the first time he saw you. However, as he became increasingly distracted by military duties, he grew distant from you.

Your father, the minister, was discovered to be one of the emperor's betrayers, plotting to murder the king and his family. The order to eliminate everyone in your father's family became serious, and even you, the prince's wife, were targeted.

"Seungcheol," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Please, tell me this isn't true. Tell me my father’s actions won't tear us apart."

Seungcheol's heart ached at the sight of you, his beloved wife, so vulnerable and frightened. But the bitter taste of betrayal gnawed at him. "I wish I could," he said, his voice cold. "But the betrayal runs deep, and the emperor has decreed that your father's entire family must be punished."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gripped his hands tighter. "I had no knowledge of his plans. I swear to you, Seungcheol, I am innocent."

He pulled his hands away, stepping back. "How can I trust you? Your father plotted to kill the emperor and his family. How do I know you weren't part of it?"

You looked at him, shocked and hurt. "You really believe I would betray you? I am your wife, Seungcheol. I love you."

His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Love? How can I be sure? Maybe you were waiting for the right moment to strike, just like your father."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "No, that's not true. I would never harm you."

Seungcheol clenched his fists, struggling with the turmoil inside him. "Your father betrayed the kingdom. The law is clear. Everyone in his family must be punished."

You stood up, desperation in your voice. "We can run, leave the palace, start a new life somewhere far away from all of this."

Seungcheol's face twisted with pain. "Running would only bring more misery. We would be hunted, and our lives would be filled with fear and uncertainty. I cannot bear to see you live like that."

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, there was a silence filled with unspoken words. "Then what will you do?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

His face contorted with sorrow as he reached out to touch your cheek. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "But I cannot let them harm you. I would rather end your life myself than see you suffer at the hands of others."

You stepped back, shock and disbelief written on your face. "You would kill me? How could you say such a thing?"

Tears streamed down his face as he dropped to his knees. "Because I love you," he cried. "I cannot let you suffer. If there is any way to spare you pain, even if it means taking your life, I will do it. But please, know that I do this out of love, not malice."

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. "How can love lead to this? How can you claim to love me and still be willing to take my life?"

Seungcheol sobbed, his heart breaking. "I don't know, but I cannot bear to see you in pain. Please, forgive me."

You fell to your knees beside him, your tears mingling with his as you held each other. "I love you, Seungcheol," you whispered. "But I cannot forgive this. I cannot understand how love can lead to such a cruel fate."

In that moment, Seungcheol knew that he had lost you, not just physically but emotionally. The bond that had once brought you together was now shattered by the weight of duty and betrayal. He held you close, the two of you wrapped in a final embrace as the night closed in around you.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with sobs. "I'm so sorry."

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he prepared to do the unthinkable, driven by a whirlwind of emotions—love, betrayal, and regret—praying that one day, in another life, he might find a way to make things right.

As he brought the dagger closer to your chest, your eyes met his, filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I wish I would never love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, the last breath escaping your lips.

Seungcheol's heart shattered at your words, the weight of your loss crashing down on him with unbearable force. He held you close as life slipped away from you, his soul forever marked by the tragic end of your love.

You woke up to a searing pain coursing through your body. Every muscle ached, every breath felt like fire in your lungs, and any attempt to move was met with an unforgiving resistance. Your throat was dry, and your voice failed you when you tried to speak. The only thing you could do was blink—slow, deliberate blinks that felt like your only connection to the world.

Where am I? you wondered, heart pounding with disoriented fear. The ceiling above you was a sterile white, and the faint hum of medical equipment filled the air with an eerie rhythm.

"Honey, you're awake!" Your mother’s familiar voice rang out, shaky with relief and overflowing with love. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she leaned over you, cupping your face gently with trembling hands. Her touch was warm—so achingly familiar it almost brought tears to your own eyes.

You blinked slowly, trying to signal that you were aware, that you heard her. Her smile grew wider, and her tears flowed freely, a soft, choked laugh escaping her lips. "You're back," she whispered, brushing your hair away from your face. Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions, and her gaze was filled with a love so deep it made your chest ache in a different, more tender way.

Moments later, the door swung open with a soft thud, and a small crowd of nurses and a doctor hurried in. The steady beeping of machines quickened as the medical team surrounded you. Gloves snapped, charts were flipped, and lights flashed as they assessed you from head to toe. A nurse adjusted the IV in your arm, her touch clinical but careful. Another nurse gently lifted your head to check the support of your neck brace, moving with precise, practiced care.

"Her condition is stable now," the doctor announced, his voice calm but firm, like an anchor in a storm. His eyes scanned your vitals, and he made a few notes on his clipboard. "If her condition continues to improve, she’ll be on the road to recovery soon."

Recovery. The word echoed in your mind, heavy with meaning. Your heart swelled with hope but also with fear. What had happened to you? The accident... Flashes of shattered glass, screeching tires, and the weightless feeling of falling rushed back to you. Your breathing grew shallow, your body frozen in place as panic began to set in.

"It's okay, honey. You're safe now," your mother reassured you, noticing the shift in your expression. She leaned in closer, stroking your hair in soft, soothing motions. "You're safe. Just focus on resting, okay? You're so strong, my baby. So strong."

Her words washed over you like a lullaby. Though your body was battered and broken, though your voice had been taken from you, a small flicker of determination sparked in your chest. You had made it back. And if you could come back from that, you could do anything.

So it was all a dream? That thought echoed in your mind as fragments of your memory drifted to that strange, surreal place. A place that was neither here nor there, filled with an eerie stillness, and a man—no, a being—who had claimed to be your husband. Not just any husband, but a demon husband living in a realm caught between life and death.

It made sense now. You had survived a near-death experience. This was just your mind's way of coping, you reasoned. You’d even played roles like this before in your career—characters trapped in a dreamlike coma, their subconscious creating vivid, otherworldly illusions. It had to be something like that. A hallucination. A figment of a fractured mind.

"Mom, he insisted on coming in. He said he's her boyfriend," your sister’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade of clarity.

Your heart gave a jolt. Her footsteps were light but purposeful as she entered the room, your brother following close behind. Then, another set of footsteps, heavier and more deliberate, echoed behind them. You couldn't see clearly from where you lay, but you caught glimpses of a tall figure. Pale skin. Sharp features. Pink lips pressed into a calm, almost knowing smile. His tailored outfit clung to him with the precision of someone who knew how to command attention.

Your mother’s soft gasp followed. You could practically hear her eyes scanning him from head to toe. "I didn’t know Y/N had such a handsome boyfriend," she muttered with a hint of playful disbelief. "Come in, kid."

Boyfriend? Your heart skipped a beat, confusion quickly morphing into suspicion.

The man stepped forward, his presence filling the room like a shadow stretching at dusk. You felt him before you saw him, his gaze sharp and deliberate, like he knew exactly where you were. The weight of his presence was familiar—too familiar.

No. It couldn’t be.

The world around you blurred for a moment as you focused on him, your heart pounding like a distant drum. Slowly, your eyes adjusted, and there he was.

S.Coups.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening in disbelief. It was him. The same man—the same demon—who had introduced himself as your husband in that strange place. The same one who had called you "wife" with a smirk that both unnerved and intrigued you.

But how? How was he here? Wasn’t he just a figment of your coma-induced dream?

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours, his movements as smooth as silk. His gaze was steady, filled with an unspoken familiarity that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice deep and honeyed, like the low hum of thunder before a storm.

Before you could even think to react, he reached out and touched your head.

A sudden warmth spread through you, sinking deep into your bones. The sharp, constant ache in your body dulled instantly, like his touch had drained the pain away. You blinked, your eyes wide with shock. How—?

"You remember?" His eyes softened, his smile tilting ever so slightly, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Your breath came out in shallow, uneven bursts, panic surging through you. Your mind screamed at you that this wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be real. And yet, there he stood, his face mere inches from yours, eyes crinkled with quiet affection, as if you'd been reunited after a long journey apart.

He leaned in, his lips so close to your ear you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"Hello again... wife."

His words hung in the air like a spell, impossible to break, impossible to deny. Your heart thudded violently against your ribs, your mind caught between disbelief and something far more dangerous—recognition.

You sat on the hospital bed, propped up by pillows, your gaze fixed on the television screen. The news anchor's voice echoed softly in the background, but your attention was glued to the flashing headline in bold letters:

"Life-or-Death Accident of Rising Actress, Ji Y/N."

The footage cut to chaotic scenes of the accident site — twisted metal, shattered glass, and flashing sirens painting a grim picture. Reporters swarmed like vultures, their cameras capturing every angle. Clips of journalists stationed outside the hospital played next, eager to catch any update on your condition.

Your fingers twitched, clenching lightly at the sheets on your lap. It was surreal watching yourself become a headline, your life reduced to a media frenzy.

"Eat your food," a familiar voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked and turned your head, meeting the steady gaze of S.Coups. He stood by the side of your bed, casually placing a tray of food on the table before you. He’d been by your side for the past three days, an unwavering, uninvited presence that somehow no one questioned. Your family had been hesitant at first, but S.Coups had insisted on taking care of you himself. Somehow, his calm authority left no room for argument.

You watched him now as he adjusted the tray, his movements fluid but precise, like someone used to being in control. His sharp features were framed by soft strands of dark hair, and despite the sterile hospital lighting, he looked impossibly flawless.

“Eat,” he said again, his tone gentle but firm. “You need to get your strength back.”

You glanced down at the meal he’d prepared. It looked simple but warm, the kind of home-cooked meal that made you nostalgic for days long gone. Slowly, you reached for the spoon, your muscles moving with less strain than before.

The doctors had been baffled. Just days ago, they said you’d need weeks, maybe months, to recover from fractured ribs and broken bones. Yet, each day since you woke up, the pain had lessened significantly. Too quickly. It didn’t make sense.

The doctors called it a "miraculous recovery." But you knew better.

Your eyes shifted back to S.Coups. The man — no, the demon — who had stayed by your side like a guardian shadow. Whenever the pain had been too much to bear, he would press his palm against your forehead. Warmth would flood your body, and every ache, every sharp pang, would simply… vanish. Like it had been lifted straight out of you.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. Then, you thought it was a dream. But now, you knew better.

You stared at him as he leaned back, arms crossed, his eyes half-lidded with a calm patience that made him look almost human. Almost.

"How do you do that?" you asked, your voice raspy from disuse but strong enough to be heard. It was the first time you’d spoken properly since you woke up.

His gaze shifted to you, sharp but unbothered, like he'd been waiting for the question. Slowly, a small, knowing smile curled on his lips.

“Demon power,” he said simply, like it was the most natural answer in the world.

Your breath caught in your chest. So, he is a demon.

The spoon in your hand hovered mid-air, forgotten as you stared at him. Everything suddenly felt too real. The impossible healing. The way no one questioned his presence. The strange familiarity in his eyes, like he’d known you far longer than these past three days.

Your heart thudded in your chest, not from fear, but from the unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, your "dream" wasn’t a dream at all.

And maybe, just maybe, you were still caught somewhere between life and death.

“Why are you here?” you asked, voice steadier this time.

His eyes didn’t waver. If anything, his smile widened just a fraction, his gaze holding a weight you couldn’t name.

“To make sure you don’t forget,” he said softly, leaning in close. His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder before a storm. “You still owe me, wife.”

The chill that ran down your spine had nothing to do with the hospital air conditioning.

"You and your friends summoned me," he added, his tone casual as he moved to sit on the chair beside you, legs crossed like he had all the time in the world. His sharp eyes stayed on you, unblinking. "So, here I am."

His words hit like a sharp jolt to your mind. You shook your head slowly, disbelief tugging at your features. “That’s ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, voice laced with doubt.

“Ridiculous?” He raised a brow, his eyes crinkling with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his cheek. “The fact that you survived that accident alone is ridiculous.”

His words hung in the air like smoke, dense and suffocating.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, his smile too sharp to be kind. “I asked God to do this. He fulfilled it,” he said with a quiet kind of pride, like he was sharing a secret no mortal should ever hear. His eyes glinted with something between arrogance and mischief. “Deep down, I know I’m still His favorite.”

His words were so absurd, so unreal, that all you could do was stare. Your gaze stayed on him, watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of someone entirely too comfortable in a situation he shouldn’t belong in. Slowly, you shifted your eyes back to the food.

You raised the spoon again, shoveling a small bite into your mouth. The bland taste of hospital food was grounding, a bitter reminder of reality. You chewed slowly, each movement of your jaw deliberate as you processed his words. Ridiculous, you thought, swallowing the lump in your throat along with the food. His presence, his words, everything about this situation was ridiculous.

But he wasn’t wrong.

The fact that you survived that accident without a single permanent injury, without so much as a scar, was a miracle that even the doctors couldn’t explain. There was no logic to it. No sense.

You glanced at him again. He was watching you, his gaze heavy with something you couldn't name. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but somehow, you felt like he was seeing right through you.

You remembered it now. His voice, the warmth of his touch on your forehead. The words he’d spoken when the pain had been at its peak.

“I saved you.”

Your fingers tightened around the spoon.

What have I done?

Humans were such curious creatures. Noisy, excitable, and always so desperate to capture fleeting moments as if they could freeze time with a camera. Seungcheol had seen it happen countless times over the centuries, but today it was different.

Today, they were capturing her.

He pushed your wheelchair slowly, his eyes scanning the crowd of humans that swarmed around you. Cameras flashed like sparks of lightning, their voices colliding in a mess of questions, calls, and murmurs. Some of them called your name, others whispered about him, the "mysterious man" accompanying you.

He glanced down at you. Your head was tilted forward, face shielded behind a mask, large sunglasses, and a hat pulled low over your head. You were tense, your hands gripping the armrests like they were your only anchor. Embarrassment, he recognized. You were embarrassed. All because you weren’t wearing makeup.

He didn’t understand it. With or without that powder on your face, you were still beautiful. His wife had always been beautiful, no matter the life, no matter the face. Humans and their insecurities… He scoffed softly but didn’t comment on it. You wouldn’t hear him anyway.

“Where to, Mr. Choi?” the driver asked as he pulled open the back door of the car.

“Mr. Choi?” your voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of noise like a thread of clarity. You tilted your head just enough to glance at him. He met your gaze through the dark lenses of your sunglasses.

He supposed it was only natural for you to be curious.

“Choi Seungcheol,” he answered smoothly, pushing the wheelchair closer to the car. “That’s my real name.” He nodded toward the driver, who was adjusting his gloves. “And that’s Chan. My phoenix.”

You turned your head to the driver, eyes narrowing behind your glasses. You tilted your head slightly, as if analyzing him. Ah, she’s doubting it, Seungcheol thought, amused.

“He’s human,” you stated firmly, like it was a fact no one could dispute.

Seungcheol’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. Of course you’d think that. Humans always relied on their eyes first. They never bothered to look beyond.

“He’s a phoenix,” Seungcheol replied, his voice carrying a note of pride. “He’s just in human form right now.”

You blinked once. Twice. Then, your brows furrowed deeply, and you leaned back in the wheelchair like you needed space to process his words. Good. She should process it slowly. Seungcheol had learned long ago that humans resisted the truth until it smacked them right in the face. They all do.

“You raised him?” you asked slowly, as if testing the words on your tongue.

He glanced toward Chan, who stood quietly by the car, eyes forward, disciplined as ever. A good phoenix, he thought. He still remembered the day he found the ember, barely flickering, weak and desperate to burn. Seungcheol had breathed life into it, raised it, trained it, and now here it was — his phoenix, his loyal servant.

“I raised him from an ember,” he said, turning his gaze back to you. She won’t believe it. Watch. “He’s been with me ever since.”

Your face twisted, lips pulling into a small grimace. It was the same face you made whenever you were trying to make sense of something ridiculous. You’d made that face before — in lifetimes past. He remembered it well.

"Right," you muttered, eyes flickering between him and Chan. She’s still holding on to her logic. He could practically hear your mind ticking, trying to find a way to rationalize it. Humans always did.

"Do you have a house here?" you asked, your voice quieter, calmer. A shift in topic. Smart girl.

He nodded. "You remember it, don't you?"

He watched you shift in your seat, lips pressing into a thin line. It was like you didn’t want to admit it, but he knew you had seen it — his house of the other worl. Grand, old, and nestled on the edge of the woods where the mist never fully cleared. You'd walked through those halls once, your voice echoing softly as you called for him.

“In this world, I move from time to time,” Seungcheol continued, his tone nonchalant as he helped you into the car. His hands were firm but gentle on your waist as he guided you into the seat. “I change identities too. Right now, I’m Park Ian.”

"Park Ian," you repeated, glancing at him once you were settled. Your lips twitched in mild disbelief. "You have a lot of names."

He chuckled under his breath. She’s catching on. Sliding into the seat beside you, he glanced at her, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“I’ve lived in this world for over 700 years,” he said, his voice laced with something older, something heavier. “It’s not wise to keep the same name for that long.”

You didn’t say anything at first, but he saw the way your gaze faltered. Good. Let it sink in. His words weren’t just words; they were a reminder. A reminder that he had seen centuries pass. While emperors rose and fell, while entire dynasties crumbled to dust, he remained.

He leaned his head back against the seat, eyes still on you. He could see it now — the way your thoughts were running circles in your head, trying to make sense of it. Humans always sought a sense of "normal." It was in their nature. But normal didn’t exist. It never had.

“You shouldn’t freak out temporary creatures with your real identity,” he added with a shrug, his gaze shifting to the window.

Silence filled the car, and for a moment, it was peaceful. He liked the stillness of it. No flashing lights. No noise. Just the soft hum of the engine and the faint sound of your breathing. Temporary creatures, he thought again.

You stayed quiet for a while, but he didn’t mind. He could feel the shift in your presence — the quiet tension of realization setting in. You’d heard his words, understood them, but you were still trying to reject them. It was only natural. Humans didn’t want to be reminded of how little time they had.

But Seungcheol had never seen you as "temporary." Not in this life. Not in any of your past lives.

Every version of you had found him, one way or another. And this version — the one sitting next to him, stubborn and sharp as ever — was no different.

Humans liked to believe in fate. But fate wasn’t some grand, invisible thread. Fate was just a series of choices leading to an inevitable end.

Seungcheol turned his head to watch you, his gaze soft but unwavering. This is the one I’ve been waiting for.

“Rest,” he said quietly. “We’ve got a long drive ahead.”

You glanced at him, hesitating for a moment, but you leaned back in your seat, letting your eyes close behind the tinted lenses of your sunglasses.

He watched you for a moment longer before turning his gaze back to the road ahead. The weight of time didn’t feel as heavy today. Not when you were here, next to him.

Temporary, huh? His fingers drummed lightly against his knee. No, not this one.

Seungcheol had always been fascinated by how human architecture evolved with each passing century. Gone were the ornate, intricate designs of old. Now, humans favored simplicity — clean lines, wide-open spaces, and muted tones. Minimalist, modern, efficient. He’d seen it all before, but this time, he decided to adapt.

That’s how he ended up with this house. Modern. Sleek. Sharp edges softened by natural light. It was the kind of house humans admired in magazines but rarely lived in. For Seungcheol, it was just another shell, another temporary shelter in a world he didn’t truly belong to.

He rarely stayed here, anyway. His "work" demanded it. Decades of building and maintaining a "family business" — that’s what he called it whenever humans asked. But the truth was far less ordinary. He’d been running it alone for centuries. No heirs, no partners. Just him. It was a clever front for something far older and far more important.

And when the human world grew too loud, too tedious, he returned to his other world — the one between life and death. There, he answered to only one higher power. God. As a demon, he completed every task given to him, no questions asked. No rest, no reprieve. Seven hundred years of orders, assignments, and quiet obedience.

But you were here now, and that made it different.

“Do you like the house?” he asked as he pushed your wheelchair through the wide front door. The smooth, polished floor gleamed beneath the soft, ambient lighting. Everything smelled new, untouched, like the world hadn’t yet left its mark on it.

You glanced around, brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval. “I have my own house,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as you took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Seungcheol let out a low breath, barely a sigh, but enough to hint at his growing patience. Humans were always slow to accept things they couldn’t control.

“Not anymore,” he replied firmly. He moved to stand in front of you, then crouched down until his eyes were level with yours. His gaze was steady, unwavering, the kind that made it hard to look away. “Your family plans to send you to their house. Not because they want to take care of you.”

His words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate.

Your eyes narrowed even more, suspicion creeping into your expression. “What do you mean by that?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle with one missing piece. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his face now only inches from yours.

“They think you’re going to die,” he said bluntly. No sugarcoating. No soft words. He knew you’d hate that, but he also knew you’d rather hear the truth. “So they sold your house. Even met with a lawyer to discuss your inheritance.”

Your face twisted in disbelief, lips parting as if to protest. But you didn’t speak. Not right away.

“No,” you said, shaking your head slowly, like you were trying to convince yourself. “They wouldn’t—”

“They would,” Seungcheol cut in, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Humans are predictable. They prepare for loss the moment it feels inevitable.” His voice wasn’t cruel, just matter-of-fact, as if he were explaining the weather. “You were unconscious for weeks. They thought that was it. People do selfish things when they think they’ve already lost someone.”

You stared at him, lips pressed tightly together, eyes darting away like you didn’t want to hear any more. But he knew you were listening. Humans always listened when it came to betrayal.

“They’re not bad people,” Seungcheol added, his tone softer this time. “Just scared. And fear makes people act without thinking.”

You stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes locked on the polished floor beneath you. Seungcheol didn’t rush you. He’d seen humans go through every stage of grief — denial, anger, sadness, acceptance. He could tell you were stuck somewhere between the first two. He was there too when he lost you.

Finally, you let out a short, bitter laugh, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “They sold my house while I was still breathing,” you muttered, shaking your head like it was all some sort of cruel joke.

Seungcheol didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

He stood, gaze still fixed on you. His hands slid into the pockets of his coat as he glanced around the house, the house he’d chosen for you. Modern. Simple. Quiet. A space where no one could touch you, not even the people you thought you could trust.

“Forget them for now,” he said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like the snap of a thread. “This house is yours for as long as you want it.”

You lifted your eyes to him, doubt still lingering in the lines of your face. “And what if I don’t want it?”

His lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. “Then I’ll keep it for you until you do.”

He watched the way your brows twitched, how you clenched your jaw like you didn’t want to argue anymore. Smart girl. You knew when a battle wasn’t worth fighting.

"You're mine, after all," he added under his breath, the words barely a whisper but sharp enough to linger.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, sharp and unyielding. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Seungcheol.”

He grinned wider, his teeth flashing like a predator who’d already won. Ah, there she is. He’d missed that fire in you. Humans didn’t realize how much of themselves stayed the same, life after life. But he’d seen it. He’d seen you — fierce, stubborn, and unwilling to bend to anyone, not even him.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice slow and smooth like honey drizzling from a spoon. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Seven hundred years. Thousands of lifetimes. And here you were, once again, right in front of him.

Time, after all, had never been a problem for him.

You had been living in Seungcheol's house for two months now, still on the slow path to recovery. The entertainment industry had labeled it a "hiatus," but it felt more like exile. Each day blended into the next with therapy sessions, quiet meals, and far too much time alone.

The last time you’d seen your manager was a month ago, a week after you were discharged from the hospital. She arrived unannounced, her presence loud and familiar in the otherwise quiet house. The moment she spotted Chan assisting you from the kitchen to the couch, her eyes had narrowed with suspicion.

“He’s helping me since I can’t move around on my own,” you’d explained casually, trying to deflect the sudden scrutiny.

“Then who is he?” she’d asked, her tone sharper this time.

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes narrowed further, like she was piecing together a mystery. Then she leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “The man pushing your wheelchair out of the hospital. Who is he?”

Your chest tightened. Seungcheol.

“I didn’t know you were in a relationship,” she continued, eyes darting between you and Chan like she was searching for signs of a hidden romance. “The CEO was ready to throw hands when he saw the media frenzy, but…” She shrugged, letting out a breathy laugh. “The reaction was positive, surprisingly. Everyone’s happy to see someone taking care of you after the accident.”

You stayed quiet, fingers curling into the blanket draped over your lap.

She was in that accident too. You'd forgotten. Her arm had been in a cast that day, her hand fractured and bruised. She showed you footage from the crash — grainy, black-and-white CCTV video from a nearby traffic camera. It played on her phone screen as you watched in silence.

The truck came out of nowhere, barreling through the red light. It struck your car right in the center — the exact spot where you’d been sitting. Metal crumpled like paper. Glass shattered into a blizzard of shards. Your heart lurched watching it, even though you’d lived it.

“The accident’s still under investigation,” she muttered, tapping the screen to replay it. Her eyes didn’t leave the footage. “The truck driver vanished. No trace of him anywhere.

Her words lingered in your mind long after she left.

That night, as you lay in bed, the realization settled in. You should have died that day.

The media, of course, had latched onto the man by your side. Photos and clips of Seungcheol pushing your wheelchair circulated like wildfire. He was too striking to be ignored. His sharp features, his composed demeanor, and the air of quiet authority he carried made it impossible for people to look away.

“I can’t believe you’re dating some insanely wealthy man behind my back!” your manager had teased, her grin wide, eyes sparkling with mischief. She clearly thought she was joking, but her words weighed heavier than she realized.

If only she knew. If only you knew.

You’d tried to escape him once — just once. Back at the hospital, during a physiotherapy session, you’d convinced yourself you could sneak away. With your wheelchair, you’d rolled slowly toward the exit, heart pounding in sync with each push of the wheels. Just a little further. Just a little more.

Then, suddenly, he was there.

Standing at the end of the hall, hands in his coat pockets, eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting the whole time.

“Going somewhere?” Seungcheol had asked, his voice calm but sharp. You froze. His eyes weren’t angry, but there was something in them that made you feel like a child caught sneaking out past curfew.

Your heart sank as he approached, slow, deliberate steps echoing down the hall. Without a word, he crouched behind your wheelchair and began pushing you back to the therapy room. No chance. No escape.

Now, he was gone.

“Mr. Choi has business with God,” Chan had explained casually one morning over breakfast, like it was normal. You’d stopped mid-bite, staring at him in disbelief.

“Business with God?” you repeated, the words foreign and bizarre on your tongue.

Chan only nodded, scooping rice into a bowl like it wasn’t the most absurd statement you’d ever heard. “He’ll be back in a few days.”

In the absence of Seungcheol, you’d spent more time with Chan. At first, you didn’t know what to make of him. He seemed normal enough — polite, helpful, always willing to assist. Until the night you saw it.

It had been a small argument, nothing serious. You’d gotten frustrated, snapped at him for not hearing you properly. He’d turned to face you, and for just a moment — a flash, like a flickering candle in a dark room — his eyes blurred with fire. Not anger, not metaphorical fire. Actual flames. His irises burned with molten gold and red, flickering like embers.

You froze, heart stuttering in your chest.

His eyes returned to normal as quickly as they’d changed.

Later, Seungcheol had scolded you. “He could burn this house to the ground if you make him angry again,” he’d said, voice stern like a parent warning a child not to play with fire. You hadn’t argued.

“Do you know why I’m his wife?” you asked Chan, your voice calm as you watched him prepare dinner. The question had been nagging at you for weeks.

He glanced up from the stove, eyes flicking to you like he was gauging how much to say. After a moment, he set the spatula down and walked over to the table, sitting across from you.

“Mr. Choi was a human,” he said, his tone steady but serious. “And you were his wife in the past.”

Your fork hovered in mid-air. “…He was human?”

Chan nodded, eyes never leaving yours.

The revelation sent a sharp chill down your spine. Seungcheol had never mentioned it. Not once. All you knew was that he was a demon, powerful beyond reason, and that he had abilities that humans could only call magic. You had never thought to ask where he’d come from or what he’d been before.

“How do you know that?” you asked, still trying to piece it all together.

Chan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he tilted his head, gaze thoughtful. “I was a gift,” he said slowly, like he was unraveling a memory he hadn’t touched in centuries. “A present from God to Mr. Choi. He told me about you back then.”

Your brows furrowed. “A present? Why would God give him a phoenix as a present?”

Chan shrugged, his expression distant, as if his mind had traveled far away. “Because he was sad,” he said quietly.

You frowned. “Why was he sad?”

He tilted his head the other way, eyes distant but warm with memory. “I don’t really remember,” he admitted, tapping a finger on the table. “But he’s always sad.”

Always sad.

Those words echoed in your mind long after dinner was over. It felt like the kind of truth no one says out loud, the kind that lives quietly in the shadows. Seungcheol was human. You were his wife. He’s always been sad.

Later that night, you sat by the window, staring at the moon. You wondered if he was looking at the same sky from wherever he was.

How long have you been sad, Seungcheol? you thought to yourself. And how long have you been searching for me?

The answers, you realized, would come in time. Seungcheol was nothing if not patient. Seven hundred years patient.

"Waiting for me?"

You jolted in your wheelchair, heart nearly leaping out of your chest. Seungcheol stood behind you, his presence as sudden and quiet as a shadow. You clutched at your chest, fingers pressing firmly against your ribs like you were trying to keep your heart from breaking free.

“Can you not do that?” you hissed, still catching your breath. “I could die of a heart attack.”

He chuckled, low and warm like distant thunder. “I’ll just save you from death again,” he replied, his grin sharp but not unkind.

He moved gracefully to the couch in front of you, sinking into it like a king on his throne. His eyes, dark and deep, fixed on you with quiet curiosity. “You seemed lost in thought,” he noted, tilting his head ever so slightly.

You sighed, glancing away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. It was still strange, looking at him. He had all the features of a man — pale skin, sharp jawline, and a face that looked like it had been carved with careful precision. If you’d passed him on the street, you’d think he was just another good-looking human. But now you knew better.

No one had ever taught you that demons could have soft brown eyes and smiles that made you forget to breathe.

Your voice came quieter this time, more careful, like you were testing your own courage. “You said you chose me.” You watched his face closely. “When we summoned you 15 years ago, instead of Jinah, you chose me. Was it because I was your wife… even before?”

His eyes lowered for a moment. Silence hung in the air like a held breath. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But you don’t remember.”

You swallowed, something tight forming in your throat. “Then why did you need a bride at all?” you pressed, brows knitting together. “Why a wife? You’re a demon. What would a demon need with a wife?”

His gaze lifted back to you, unreadable but steady. “It’s part of God’s plan,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “He always has a plan — for everyone, for everything.”

You watched him closely, eyes searching his face for something more. His voice was calm, his words sure, but his eyes.

Chan’s words echoed in your mind. “He’s always sad.”

You saw it now. It wasn’t loud or obvious. It wasn’t in the way he spoke or moved. It was in the small things — the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his shoulders always seemed to carry a weight no one else could see.

Your hand lifted on its own, slow and unthinking, like a force greater than you was guiding it. Your fingertips brushed his cheek, warm and solid beneath your touch. It was natural, effortless, like muscle memory from a life you no longer remembered.

“Is it part of His plan too?” you asked softly, your thumb grazing along his cheekbone. “To make you wait for 700 years?”

Seungcheol’s eyes flickered with something unspoken — a brief, vulnerable crack in his armor. But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached up, taking your hand in his. His palm was firm, steady, and for a moment, it felt like you were the one being held together.

He didn’t look at you as he stood, his hand slipping away from yours too soon. His back faced you as he started toward the hallway, his footsteps silent but certain.

“I’ll send Chan to get you to bed,” he said, his voice distant now, as if he’d already gone somewhere far away. “Rest well.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You sat there, staring at the space where he’d stood. His warmth lingered on your fingertips, his words circling your mind like a song stuck on repeat.

God’s plan. A wife. 700 years.

You wondered which part of the plan was meant for him — and which part was meant for you.

Seungcheol didn’t have a nightmare last night. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the haunting dreams that plagued him since the day he chose you as his bride did not come. Instead, he woke up feeling unusually refreshed — as if he were human, ready to take on the day with renewed energy.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale before stepping out of his room. The house was quiet, but the faint sound of shuffling reached his ears. Following it, he found Chan standing in front of you, his arm raised, supporting your weight as you trained yourself to walk again.

Chan had mentioned it before — that you’d been making progress, slowly but surely. But seeing it for himself stirred something in Seungcheol. Determination flickered in your eyes as you gritted your teeth, wobbling slightly with each step.

He moved toward you, his eyes locked on you with quiet focus. He didn’t say a word as he reached out, placing his hands firmly on your arms. A burst of energy surged from him to you — a gift of strength that only he could give.

His shoulders felt heavier instantly, the weight of his own body doubling as exhaustion seeped into his bones. It was a familiar strain, but he didn’t mind. He’d done it a thousand times before. You needed it more than he did.

"Isn't it taking you too long to start walking again?" Seungcheol teased lightly, his voice warm but sharp enough to stir you into action. "You must be tired of that wheelchair by now."

He lowered Chan’s arms, freeing you from the support, and moved slightly back, giving you space. His gaze was firm, unwavering, like he was daring you to prove him wrong.

"No, no, no!" you cried out, eyes wide with panic as you reached out for Chan. "Don't let go—"

But Seungcheol was faster. He pulled Chan away with ease, his smirk as sharp as ever. "You’re fine. Walk."

Your heart raced as you braced yourself, every muscle in your legs trembling. But then, something unexpected happened. You took a step. It wasn’t as hard as before. Your body moved with surprising ease, like something inside you had shifted.

"See?" Seungcheol’s voice was a quiet triumph. He stepped beside you, offering his arm. Without hesitation, you leaned on him, letting him guide you as you slowly took another step, and another.

“Wow…” you breathed, eyes darting around as you moved further than you had in weeks. “Demon power, huh?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He smirked down at you, his gaze glinting with pride. “Told you it works.”

"I’ll prepare food," Chan called out, excusing himself to the kitchen with a grin, clearly satisfied with your progress.

You let out a shaky laugh, glancing at Seungcheol with an expression that was part awe, part disbelief. "You know," you said between slow, steady steps, "if I’d known having a demon around would be this useful, I would’ve summoned one sooner."

Seungcheol chuckled, his voice deep and smooth like rolling thunder. "If only you knew what it cost me to be here."

Your smile faltered just a little, eyes darting to his face. His words carried more weight than you expected. But before you could ask, he guided you forward, his arm steady at your side.

“Focus,” he said softly. “One step at a time, wife.”

And just like that, your heart did that annoying little flip it had been doing more and more often lately.

"Shall we go to the garden?" Seungcheol's voice was low but firm, and you nodded, letting him guide you along the stone pathway of his serene, well-kept garden. The cool breeze carried the soft rustle of leaves, and the distant chirping of birds filled the quiet.

Your steps were slow but steady, each one a small victory. Seungcheol stayed by your side, his presence a steady anchor.

"How's your sleep?" he asked, glancing at you.

"I had a dream," you replied, gaze lost in thought.

"What kind of dream?"

You shook your head, trying to piece it together. "It felt like the Joseon era. I was wearing a hanbok—like, a princess’s hanbok. It was really elegant. I looked pretty, though." You smiled, lifting your chin with playful pride.

Seungcheol let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You were."

You turned to him, eyes widening in surprise. "Really?" There was a faint blush dusting your cheeks, and Seungcheol noticed it right away. He always noticed.

"I don't say it enough, but you were beautiful," he admitted, his gaze unwavering.

Your lips parted slightly, stunned by his sincerity. For a moment, you forgot how to walk. "You’re making me curious about my past lives," you said softly, your voice tinged with wonder. "What kind of person was I?"

He glanced at you, his eyes growing distant, like he was seeing something far away — something only he could see. His heart ached at the memories. You were always the same. Kind, beautiful, and selfless to a fault. You let yourself be pulled into an arranged marriage for the sake of your family. Your family betrayed you. Your husband betrayed you.

And worst of all, he betrayed you.

He killed you.

Seungcheol's chest felt tight. He took a deep breath, shaking his head free of the painful memories. He couldn't let you see that part of him. Not yet.

"You were a noisy wife," he finally said, his lips curling into a teasing grin.

You froze, eyes narrowing into sharp slits. "What?" Your hand shot out to slap his arm, but he dodged it with ease, laughing under his breath. You swung again, but this time, he caught your wrist and tugged you toward him.

"Hey—!" you yelped, stumbling forward.

He pulled you into his embrace, wrapping his arms firmly around you. It wasn’t a tight hold, just enough to keep you close. For a second, you stiffened, but the warmth of his body against yours made you relax. Slowly, you let your head rest against his chest.

Warmth.

For the first time in a long, long while, Seungcheol felt warmth. It seeped into his bones, into the cracks of his soul that he’d long thought would never heal.

The quiet hum of life around you both melted into the background. The past felt distant, and for a brief moment, it didn’t matter. But the past always had a way of creeping back in.

God had offered him a wife to end his task as a demon and earn a peaceful life in Heaven. But that wife — the one chosen for him — never arrived. Time after time, life after life, Seungcheol watched you. You were never meant to be his. You were meant for the world, not for him.

But God let him see you. Again and again. In every lifetime, you crossed his path. Sometimes as a stranger. Sometimes as a friend. Sometimes as someone out of reach. Each time, he pleaded. Each time, he begged.

"Please, just this once."

"Please, let it be her."

But God was silent.

“Heaven is only for those who work for it,” God had said during one of their rare conversations. “Work hard until you no longer desire it.”

For centuries, Seungcheol followed orders, accepting every task God gave him as a demon. For centuries, he hardened his heart, accepting that you were not his to have. He was ready to give it all up, ready to accept his fate as a demon forever.

Until the day you and your friends summoned him.

He still remembered the look on your face — wide-eyed, stunned, and just as beautiful as the day you were taken from him. You didn’t recognize him, of course. You were never supposed to. But something in you felt him.

That day, Seungcheol realized something.

God had answered him.

His bond with you had been restored, not by force, but by choice. God had let him have you again. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t fate. It was a gift.

And Seungcheol had never been so grateful.

“Heaven is waiting for you and your cherished one,” God had told him once, long ago.

But Seungcheol didn’t care about Heaven anymore. He had already found it.

He pressed his chin lightly against the top of your head, his eyes shut as he let himself enjoy the warmth of you in his arms.

He wouldn’t lose you again.

No matter what.

You jolted awake, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The remnants of the nightmare clung to your mind like a heavy fog. You were back in the Joseon era, dressed in a hanbok that made you feel regal, yet trapped. You were in a room that resembled a royal bedroom, adorned with intricate tapestries and golden accents.

Then, the man appeared. He was so familiar, yet his face remained a blur, like a memory just out of reach. He approached you, pulling you into an embrace, and for a brief moment, you felt warmth and safety. But that feeling quickly turned to terror as pain shot through your stomach.

Your breath hitched, and the warmth flooding from your core felt too real. You could feel the blood pooling, the sharpness of the blade searing through your body. The pain was suffocating, overwhelming. The man's arms tightened around you, but his presence felt wrong. His face—familiar yet unrecognizable—hovered just beyond your reach. And then, you saw it—his eyes, full of regret, full of sorrow—but it didn’t stop the blade from twisting deeper.

"Y/n!" The man’s voice echoed in your ears, but it wasn’t the man you thought you knew. The pain intensified, and then, everything went black.

You gasped, your body jerking upright.

Seungcheol’s strong hands gripped your shoulders, his face a mix of concern and relief as he pulled you into the safety of his arms. Chan stood beside the bed, his expression tense, as if he had witnessed the nightmare unfold with you.

Seungcheol’s voice was soft but firm, “Y/n, you’re safe. It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and your hands trembled as you placed them on your stomach, feeling the phantom pain that had lingered even after you woke. You were still shaken, the remnants of the nightmare crawling under your skin.

You pulled back slightly, your heart still racing, as the pieces of the nightmare began to click together. The man in the dream, the one who had held you so tightly, the one who had caused you such unbearable pain... It was him.

Your breath hitched, and you whispered in disbelief, “It was you…”

Seungcheol froze for a moment, his expression unreadable as the words hung in the air between you two. Chan, who had been standing silently by the door, shifted uncomfortably but remained quiet.

Seungcheol's gaze dropped to your hands, which were still trembling slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but tinged with an emotion you couldn’t place.

You shook your head, trying to piece together the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “But you said… You said we were married. That I was your wife.” The realization hit you like a cold wave, freezing every part of you except the ache in your chest. “Then… Why would you kill me?”

Seungcheol’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as the weight of centuries seemed to bear down on him. He move closer but didn’t speak right away. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, as though the memory itself cut deeper than any wound could

“It’s just a dream,” Chan's voice broke the silence, his eyes darting between you and Seungcheol. He stood at the door, arms folded, his gaze sharp and knowing, like he was the only one who could truly read the room. “Don’t overthink it. Dreams are messy like that.”

But it wasn’t just a dream. You could feel it in your bones, in the lingering sensation of pain still curling in your stomach. It was too vivid, too visceral, as if you had lived it once before. And Seungcheol—he wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t saying anything at all.

Seungcheol glanced at you briefly, his face unreadable, before turning away like he couldn't bear to face you. Chan sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping. The Phoenix, ever rational and collected, decided it was time to put out the flames. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a cup of steaming peppermint tea.

“Drink this,” he said softly, placing it on your nightstand. His fingers hovered over the rim of the cup for a second longer than necessary, the warmth from the tea mirroring the warmth in his gaze. “It’ll calm you down. Bad dreams have a way of sticking to you, but they’re just that—dreams.”

You stared at the tea, then at Chan, then at Seungcheol. He sat at the edge of your bed, head bowed, one hand resting on his knee. He hummed softly, a tune unfamiliar but oddly comforting. The sound washed over you like a lullaby, pulling you into its gentle rhythm. The exhaustion from your nightmare crept back in, and before you knew it, your eyes grew heavier.

The last thing you saw was Seungcheol’s eyes on you. He wasn’t looking at you like a demon. He wasn’t looking at you like a monster. He was looking at you like a man weighed down by something heavier than the world itself.

When Seungcheol closed the bedroom door behind him, his eyes met Chan’s. The silence between them was sharp as a blade, tension hanging in the air like a fog that refused to lift. Chan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his golden eyes fixed on Seungcheol like he’d just uncovered a dark secret.

“It was her memory,” Chan said, his voice low but firm. There was no doubt in his tone. No hesitation. Seungcheol nodded slowly, confirming it without a word.

Chan’s eyes widened in shock. He tilted his head, as if seeing Seungcheol for the first time. “You killed her?” he whispered, his words quiet but cutting. He glanced toward your room, careful not to be overheard. “You killed your own wife, master?”

Seungcheol didn’t respond right away. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes void of emotion. He looked tired. More than that, he looked… resigned.

“Why?” Chan asked, his voice tight with disbelief. “What do you want me to say, Chan?” Seungcheol’s voice was hollow, almost bitter. “Yes, I killed her. I killed the only person I was supposed to protect.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was filled with the weight of unspoken sins. Chan’s eyes flickered with flames—small but unmistakably angry flames, his pupils a swirling amber glow. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. His fingers flexed, and Seungcheol knew that if anyone else had confessed to such a thing, they would’ve been ashes by now.

But Chan didn’t lash out. He didn’t burn anything down. Instead, he lowered his head, his expression hard but thoughtful. “Why?” he asked again, this time slower, more controlled.

Seungcheol glanced at him, eyes hollow yet sharp. “Because I was desperate. Because I was weak. Because I was too afraid to lose her the way I had before. Fear doesn’t just eat at you—it consumes you until you’d rather burn everything down than face it.” His voice cracked near the end, but he steadied himself with a long, slow breath.

Chan stayed quiet, his gaze never leaving Seungcheol’s face. His eyes dimmed, no longer burning with anger but with something closer to understanding. “You regret it,” he stated, not as a question but as a fact.

Seungcheol let out a hollow chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Regret?” He shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve lived with that regret for hundreds of years, Chan. Regret is the only thing that stays with me no matter how many lives I live.”

Chan didn’t reply, but the air shifted. His eyes lingered on Seungcheol for a beat longer before he turned and started down the hall. But as he reached his bedroom door, he stopped.

Without looking back, he asked one last question. “Does she know?”

Seungcheol lowered his gaze, eyes distant as if he were somewhere far, far away. “Not yet.”

Chan glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sharp and knowing. “She will.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond, and Chan disappeared into his room, closing the door behind him.

Left alone in the hallway, Seungcheol leaned his back against the wall, eyes drifting to the ceiling. His chest rose and fell slowly, each breath deeper than the last.

He knew Chan was right. You would remember. It was only a matter of time. Memories from the past had a way of bleeding into dreams, and dreams had a way of dragging the truth to the surface. He had seen it happen before.

But Seungcheol wasn’t ready. Not yet. He still had time to figure out how to explain himself, how to make you understand. If you knew the full truth now, you would hate him, and he wouldn't blame you for it.

His eyes flickered with red as he pushed himself off the wall. He turned his gaze toward the sky visible through the window at the end of the hall. It was a deep, endless black, dotted with faint stars. Somewhere beyond that black sky, beyond the world of men and demons, God was watching. He was always watching.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice low but sharp. “Are you watching how everything’s falling apart? Is this your idea of a lesson?”

Silence. No answer. But Seungcheol wasn’t surprised. God had always been quiet when it mattered most.

His fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms. “If I’m supposed to repent, tell me how. If I’m supposed to atone, tell me what I need to do.” His breath came heavier, sharper, his voice trembling with something between rage and desperation. “If you want me to suffer, just say it. I’ll endure it. But don't make her suffer anymore. Please.”

Still, there was only silence. The weight of it pressed down on him harder than any curse or punishment ever could.

Seungcheol turned away from the window, his eyes dimmer than before. “Fine,” he muttered bitterly. “Keep watching. But when she remembers everything, don’t expect me to stay quiet.”

With that, he headed down the hall toward his own room, footsteps slow, his heart heavier than ever. The past was clawing its way back to you, and once it reached you, everything he had built with you could be reduced to dust.

But for now, you were still sleeping peacefully behind that door, and for now, that was enough.

Just for a little longer, he would hold onto the fragile peace between you.

“You guys are awfully quiet today,” you remarked, glancing over your shoulder as you prepped the vegetables. It was a rare sight — the demon and his phoenix companion both seated at the dining table, each hidden behind a newspaper like two old men with too much time on their hands. Neither of them offered a snarky reply, which only added to your curiosity.

The rhythmic sound of your knife chopping vegetables echoed softly in the kitchen. You moved with ease, the repetitive motion almost meditative — until it wasn’t. The weight of the knife in your hand suddenly felt different, heavier somehow, like something cold and sharp was pressing against your skin.

Your breath hitched. The sensation was far too familiar. Too vivid. It wasn't the smooth grip of the kitchen knife you felt — it was the cold, unyielding touch of a blade against your stomach. Your eyes widened as a sudden flash of your dream came rushing back.

“You okay?” Chan’s voice was gentle but sharp, his eyes already on you. Before you could respond, he was next to you, taking the knife from your hand with a quiet but firm grip. “I’ll take over.” His tone left no room for argument.

You nodded slowly, handing him the apron and stepping back. “Thanks,” you muttered, rubbing your hands together to ease the tension in your fingers.

You sat at the table beside Seungcheol, still a little dazed. The rustle of paper caught your attention as he lowered his newspaper, folding it neatly before turning to you. His dark eyes scanned you, quiet and calculating, like he could see every thought running through your mind.

“What do you think about the wedding next month?” he asked, his voice so casual it almost didn’t register at first.

The sound of Chan’s knife chopping on the cutting board abruptly stopped. You stiffened, eyes darting to Seungcheol, searching his face for any sign that he was joking. But he wasn't. His gaze was steady, unwavering, like he'd just asked if you wanted sugar in your tea.

"The… the wedding?" Your voice faltered as you blinked at him, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Next month?”

Chan’s knife resumed its steady rhythm, but slower now, more deliberate. Your heart, on the other hand, picked up speed.

Seungcheol tilted his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his lips tugging into a sly grin. “You’re the one who said you were ready, weren’t you?” he leaned in, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand. His voice was honey-smooth, but there was a sharpness underneath it, like a hidden blade. “I’m just following through.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. You did tell him you were ready. You’d said it with so much confidence, too. But that was before the dream. Before the flood of questions you couldn’t shake.

“I didn’t think it would be so soon,” you said slowly, trying to sound nonchalant. “A month feels… fast.”

“We’ve waited for lifetimes,” Seungcheol replied, eyes fixed on yours with quiet intensity. “A month is nothing.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. You knew he was being literal. The idea of reincarnation and past lives was still something you were trying to grasp, but Seungcheol talked about it like it was as normal as breathing. Every time he mentioned it, it felt like he was placing invisible weights on your chest.

“Don’t I get a say in the date?” you asked, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You did.” His grin widened, sharper now. “When you said you were ready.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, ready to snap back with something clever, but the words didn’t come. He was playing you, and he knew it. Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, the very picture of smug satisfaction.

Chan placed the chopped vegetables into a pot, letting out a loud exhale like he was trying to release some of the tension. “I think she deserves a second opinion, Master,” Chan said, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon, his tone a little too neutral.

“And you think you’re the one to give it?” Seungcheol quipped, one brow raised.

“Better than you forcing a date on her.” Chan’s eyes flicked toward you, a knowing look flashing across his face before he glanced back at the pot.

You folded your arms, mirroring Seungcheol’s stance. “Yeah, I’m with Chan on this one.”

Seungcheol's eyes moved between you and Chan, his grin fading into something softer but more dangerous. His fingers drummed lightly on the table. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low like a distant rumble of thunder. “We’ll discuss it. But no more stalling, Y/N. You said you were ready. Don’t take it back now.”

The way he said it wasn’t a threat, but it wasn’t a request either. It was a reminder. An unspoken promise.

You swallowed hard, forcing a light laugh as you reached for the tea Chan had poured earlier. “I’m not stalling,” you said, staring into the cup as if the swirling liquid could give you answers. “I just… want to be sure.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately, and when you looked up, he was still watching you. Not like a predator. Not like a demon. But like a man waiting for something. An answer? A sign? A chance to explain himself?

Your fingers gripped the warm cup, and for a moment, you remembered the feeling of blood seeping through your hands in that dream. The phantom pain from the stab wound still lingered, sharp and fresh. You glanced at Seungcheol and, for the briefest moment, you saw it. A flicker of something in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Regret, perhaps.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said suddenly, his tone quieter now. His gaze flickered down to the table before he lifted his eyes back to you. “I’m not the man you saw in your dream.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. Your fingers tightened around the cup, eyes narrowing at him.

“I never told you about my dream.”

Seungcheol's eyes widened, if only for a split second. He didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact, but you saw the realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, his gaze dropping for a moment too long.

“I guessed,” he said with a shrug, but the casual act didn’t fool you.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your silence was enough to make him shift in his chair, his hand running through his hair like he’d just realized he’d made a mistake.

You were sitting on the couch, absorbed in a late-night TV show, when Chan nudged you, shaking you out of your trance. You hadn’t even realized he was calling your name until he moved you gently, concern written across his face.

“What’s going on?” you asked, blinking in confusion. The room seemed to tilt for a moment, and before you could register what was happening, the images shifted. You were no longer in the safe, cozy space of your living room.

In front of you was a bloody war, swords clashing, people screaming as they fought under a stormy sky. The chaos felt so real, so vivid, it was as though you were right there in the middle of it. You looked around, panic rising in your chest, but all you could see were the bloodied soldiers fighting relentlessly. A knot formed in your stomach, and without thinking, you turned and fled, stumbling toward a room and locking the door behind you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, racing in time with the noise of battle outside.

“What was that?” you whispered to yourself, trying to catch your breath.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

It was Seungcheol.

“Y/n? You okay? You’re pale,” Chan’s voice broke through your thoughts as he placed a plate of fruit in front of you, his eyes concerned.

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake the remnants of the war from your mind. “Where’s Seungcheol?” you asked, looking around, noticing the absence of the familiar presence that often made you feel safe.

Chan shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You always know where your master is. What’s going on? You two fight?” Your words came out teasing, but there was an underlying concern you couldn’t hide.

Chan’s lips curled into a small pout, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but think he resembled a bird, especially with the way his eyes softened. “Just angry.”

You couldn’t suppress a small laugh at his pout. “Aww, look at you, a cute bird,” you teased, brushing a stray strand of his hair out of his face. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the moment. “But seriously, what’s going on? You guys fight over something important?”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Just found out something he’s been hiding from me for a hundred years,” Chan muttered, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

Your curiosity piqued. “And it is?” You leaned in slightly, eager to hear more.

Chan’s expression darkened, and he shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You? Keeping a secret? I didn’t know birds could do that.” You grinned, teasing him again.

He sat up straight, flapping his arms in mock indignation. “I’ve always been able to keep a secret!” His eyes widened with mock offense, but there was a playful twinkle in his gaze.

You chuckled, feeling the tension in your chest loosen slightly. “Alright, alright, you’ve got your secrets. But can’t you tell me just a little bit? Just a hint?”

Chan’s face softened, his gaze shifting to the floor, clearly wrestling with something in his mind. He fidgeted uncomfortably before speaking again, his voice quieter now. “It’s about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “About me?” you repeated, leaning in closer, searching his eyes for any clues.

Chan bit his lip, clearly torn. “It’s something only Mr. Choi can tell you. I can’t say more. But… just trust me, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly, taking in his words. It was clear that whatever this secret was, it was huge, and Chan wasn’t about to break his master’s trust.

You nodded, realizing this was one mystery you wouldn’t be able to solve on your own. However deep inside, you felt an uneasy stir at the thought of what this secret could be.

Chan’s voice broke through your thoughts again, softer this time. “Do you love him?”

The question caught you off guard. For a moment, you were frozen, your mind racing as you tried to understand the weight of what he was asking. You glanced at him, noticing the serious look on his face. It was unlike the usual playful banter between you two, and something about his demeanor made you pause.

“What do you mean, love him?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost as if you were questioning yourself. Your thoughts immediately shifted to Seungcheol.

How had he treated you?

He was always there when you needed him, gentle and patient, offering you warmth and safety. He had protected you when you felt vulnerable and helped you navigate through the chaos of everything supernatural. His presence had always felt like a comfort, a steady anchor in the storm.

The way he looked at you, his eyes so full of emotion, and how he spoke to you with such care and respect—no one had ever treated you like that before. It felt like you were his priority, always.

A small, unsure smile tugged at your lips. “I… I think he’s treated me better than anyone ever has.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you instantly realized the truth behind them.

It wasn’t just the way Seungcheol had taken care of you. It wasn’t just his kindness or the way he always made sure you were safe.

It was the way your heart fluttered when he was around, the way he made you feel seen and cared for, the way your pulse quickened when he smiled at you. Everything he did, every little gesture, made you feel special, and that feeling had grown inside you, so quietly and steadily that you hadn’t even realized it until now.

“I think… I might like him,” you murmured, the realization hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. But then, a small fear crept in, a hesitation in your chest. “Or maybe… I love him?”

Chan’s eyes softened as he watched you, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not a bad thing, you know.” He paused, his tone sincere now. “He feels the same about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and a warmth spread across your chest. The idea that Seungcheol might feel the same way about you, that he might be going through something similar, left you breathless.

But as the silence settled between you and Chan, you realized that you didn’t need to figure it all out right away.

For the first time, the idea of love—real, unspoken love—seemed less terrifying and more like something worth exploring. Something you were ready to embrace.

As you sat there, letting the weight of everything sink in, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm. Whatever was to come, whatever the future held for you and Seungcheol, you knew one thing for sure: you were no longer running from your feelings. You were ready to face them, to understand them, and maybe, just maybe, to love him too.

Is it love? Or is it guilt?

Seungcheol couldn’t differentiate it anymore. Every time he looked at you, the warmth in his chest surged, as it always had. You were just as beautiful, gentle, and kind as you had been before. And yet, the thought of you loving him back felt like a nightmare he couldn't escape.

"She will forget you until she loves you again," the words echoed in his mind, words spoken by a voice long past but still haunting him.

Was the return of your memories a sign that you might love him again?

The idea should have filled him with relief, with hope, but instead, it only made him uneasy. The more you remembered, the more it felt like he was walking closer to the edge of a cliff—one he’d already fallen off once.

And then, the truth hit him with a weight he couldn’t shake: If you remembered everything—every betrayal, every lie, every death—what would happen to the fragile bond you were starting to form again? You had promised, in your past life, that you would never love him again.

How could he live with the fact that he had once killed you, the woman he loved, and then had to watch you remember it all over again?

The fear that gripped Seungcheol was suffocating. It was the nightmare he had long tried to bury deep inside himself, the nightmare that now threatened to resurface as your memories awakened.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to step away. Every part of him wanted you, wanted to protect you, to make up for the damage he had caused in every life, but how could he? How could he expect you to forgive him, let alone love him again, after everything he had done?

It felt like a cycle he couldn't escape. Every time you got closer, the ghosts of his past pulled him further away from you. And yet, his heart couldn’t help but yearn for the possibility, for the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

But that fear… that deep, gnawing fear of losing you again—of repeating the same painful mistake—was a burden he didn’t know how to carry.

“I think I love you,” He raised his head, and his eyes met yours. There was something haunting about them. Not sadness. Not guilt. It was worse, like he was staring past you, into something only he could see.

“You don’t remember everything yet,” he finally said, voice low like a distant rumble of thunder. His gaze shifted down to his hands, fingers curling slowly. “If you did, you wouldn’t say that.”

His words made your heart pound in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Seungcheol leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His broad shoulders lifted and fell with a heavy sigh, and you could feel it — the weight of something unspoken hanging between you.

“In one of your past lives,” Seungcheol started, swallowing hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed like he was choking on the words. “I killed you.”

Your breath hitched, like all the air had been stolen from your lungs. “What?”

His eyes stayed on you, unwavering, as if he’d been preparing himself for this moment for centuries.

“You were supposed to be punished,” Seungcheol continued, his words heavier than stone. “Because of your father. He betrayed the king — my father. They were going to execute you. Everyone wanted it to be a public display. They wanted you to suffer.” His eyes darkened, like he was seeing it happen all over again. “I couldn’t let them do that to you.”

Your body froze. Everything about him felt too close, too real, too raw.

“So you did it yourself,” you whispered, your voice hollow.

He nodded slowly. “I thought it would be mercy. I thought it would be kinder if it was me.” His jaw clenched, and he looked away from you, eyes fixed on the night sky like it could offer him solace. “But it wasn’t. It was the cruelest thing I could’ve done.”

Your head was spinning, the image from your dream flashing before your eyes — the hanbok, the royal chamber, the warmth flooding from your core. The man who held you. The knife. The betrayal.

“It was you,” you breathed, feeling like you were falling from a great height. Your heart clenched, your throat tight as if you’d been stabbed all over again.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out strained, like they had been trapped inside him for centuries. “I begged God to curse me instead. To punish me, not you.” He let out a hollow laugh, filled with self-loathing. “And He did.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “That’s why you’re... ”

He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the sky, as if he didn’t have the right to face you. “I killed the only person I ever loved. That was my sin. So He made me immortal. A demon bound to the living world, forced to watch you live and die over and over again, knowing you’d never forgive me.” His gaze shifted to you slowly, like he was afraid of what he’d see. “And I deserve it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Your chest ached, every breath feeling like it was dragging in broken glass.

“You kept this from me,” you said, voice trembling but sharp. “All this time, you never told me.”

“Would it have changed anything?” he asked quietly. “Would you have stayed if you knew?”

You didn’t answer, because you didn’t know.

Seungcheol leaned back, his head resting against the wall, eyes closed as if he was bracing for something. “I knew this day would come. I knew you’d remember. And I knew you’d hate me.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Your heart was at war with itself. Anger. Sadness. Hurt. But somewhere, hidden beneath the storm of it all, was something else.

Love.

Because even if he was a demon, even if he had killed you once, Seungcheol was still the one who protected you. The one who held you together when you were falling apart. The one who saw you when no one else did.

But now, you didn’t know which part of you was speaking — the woman from the past or the woman you were now.

“Go,” you whispered, your voice breaking like shattered glass.

“Y/n…” His voice wavered, and he reached for you.

“I said go!” You shot to your feet, stepping back as if he had already hurt you. Your breath was shallow, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t — I can’t think. Just go.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. He stayed there, watching you with eyes that held centuries of regret. But then he stood. No argument. No plea. He walked toward the door, his every step slow and deliberate.

He stopped at the doorway, his back still to you. “I’ll go,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll never stop watching over you. Even if you hate me for the rest of your life, I won’t stop.”

The door clicked shut.

And finally, the tears fell.

Seungcheol thought he was hallucinating when he saw you sitting casually on one of the couches. His heart stilled, eyes narrowing in disbelief. This wasn’t his house — it was the house between worlds, a place unreachable by mortals. Yet, there you were, as if you belonged there all along.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice sharp with confusion, his eyes locked on you as if you'd vanish if he blinked.

Before you could answer, a blur of flames shot through the room. Seungcheol tilted his head just in time to see Chan flying in his Phoenix form, flames trailing behind him like ribbons of light. With a single spin, Chan landed gracefully on Seungcheol’s shoulder, now in his small bird form, feathers slightly charred.

It didn’t take Seungcheol long to figure it out. Regeneration. Chan had recently gone through it. But that only raised more questions. His eyes darted between you and the Phoenix.

You grinned, hands lazily tracing the edge of a nearby shelf. “So, how's the wedding planning going?” you asked, your tone light, playful, like you were discussing a friend's weekend plans. Your nonchalance only made Seungcheol’s unease deepen.

He took a step forward, eyes narrowing further. “You're dead... again?” His voice was laced with disbelief and a hint of exhaustion. This can’t be happening.

You glanced over your shoulder with a sly smile. “Blame your Phoenix pet.” Your eyes flicked to Chan, who suddenly preened his feathers as if he’d done nothing wrong. "He decided to burn down the house while I was sleeping off a couple of sleeping pills.”

Seungcheol’s gaze snapped to Chan, his eyes sharp like a blade. “You burned the whole house down while regenerating?”

You were drowning. Not in water, but in the weight of everything that Seungcheol had left behind. The nights felt colder without him, the silence sharper, and the world dimmer. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You told yourself you were strong, that you didn’t need him.

Every night, you lay awake, tangled in bedsheets that smelled like nothing at all. Your dreams weren’t yours anymore. They were his. The visions came like cruel reminders — flashes of him, his eyes watching you, his hand reaching out just as you jolted awake. You gasped for breath as if clawing your way out of an endless abyss.

They said loving a demon had a price. But nobody told you the cost would be this.

You sat on the edge of your bed, eyes hollow from the sleepless nights that had stolen days from you. Your fingers ran across the label of a bottle of pills, the cool plastic oddly comforting against your skin.

One pill.

But silence didn’t come.

Two pills.

Three pills. The weight on your chest lightened just a little. Or maybe that was just hope.

It should have stopped there.

But it didn’t.

Four. Five. Six. Each one easier than the last. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just the steady hum of nothingness promising to cradle you.

You lost count somewhere between "this is fine" and "I don't want to feel anymore."

And then, everything went dark.

Chan was already watching.

He had watched you for weeks, seen the cracks in your resolve, the quiet pain you tried to bury under fake smiles.

But this… this was different.

He saw the bottle roll from your hand, spinning slowly until it lay still on the floor. You had slumped over on the bed, your breathing uneven, shallow. He heard it — that faint, struggling gasp for air.

And he knew.

He knew what was happening.

"Killing someone is a sin, including killing yourself."

That was what Seungcheol had told him after his first regeneration. It wasn’t a lesson Chan had forgotten, because it had been one of the only times his master had looked at him with fear.

That day, Seungcheol's voice had been as sharp as his eyes. "Don’t play with death, Chan. Phoenixes don’t die — they burn to become better. But if you’re not careful, you’ll mistake destruction for growth.”

His master had been shaken. Chan knew it wasn’t for himself. It was for the thought of someone else trying to do the same.

Chan had always been curious about that. What made demons, demons? If Seungcheol was cursed into becoming a demon because of sin, because he took a life that wasn’t his to take, then maybe…

Maybe it worked both ways.

“Regeneration,” Chan muttered to himself, his wings fluttering as he hopped from the windowsill to the edge of the bed. His sharp gaze scanned you, taking in every detail. The slow rise and fall of your chest. The way your fingers twitched slightly. You were still alive — barely.

He tilted his head. It could work.

If taking a life can curse you into a demon...

His gaze hardened with resolve.

Then maybe taking your own life could do the same.

"Don’t hate me for this," he muttered, his hand flexing at his side, heat radiating from his fingertips. He raised his palm, a small orb of fire flickering into existence, the soft hum of flames the only sound in the quiet room.

He glanced at you one more time, his gaze softening. He didn’t want to do it. But the alternative was worse.

The flames grew brighter, the heat curling in the air around him. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as smoke began to rise from the carpet. The first spark caught, spreading faster than even he expected. The flames crawled like hungry beasts, licking the edges of the bed frame, the walls, and finally the sheets beneath you.

Chan didn’t look away. He couldn’t.

His master had warned him that fire was a dangerous thing. That flames could destroy as easily as they could cleanse.

But this wasn’t destruction.

This was rebirth.

Seungcheol froze, realization hitting him like a stone to the chest. “No,” he muttered, his eyes wide with disbelief. His breathing grew shallow as he glanced at you, sitting there so calmly on the couch, your fingers tracing the seam of the cushion like none of this mattered. “You didn’t.”

Chan straightened, his face hardening with resolve. “I did.”

Seungcheol lunged at him, grabbing Chan by the collar and yanking him forward. “You burned her?!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the space. Chan’s eyes didn’t waver, despite the threat in front of him.

“She was already gone,” Chan shot back, voice sharp, his eyes unwavering. “Do you know how many pills she took?” His voice cracked on the last word, his fingers curling into fists. “She was dying, Master! I just…” His gaze flickered to you, his jaw tightening. “I just gave her a chance.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make!” Seungcheol roared, his voice full of something raw, something close to desperation. His grip on Chan’s collar tightened. “You think you know how to control life and death now?”

Chan didn’t back down. He leaned forward, meeting Seungcheol's gaze head-on. “I learned it from you.”

Those words hit Seungcheol harder than any blade. His grip loosened, and Chan shoved him back with a scowl.

“She wasn’t supposed to die,” Chan muttered, adjusting his collar. “She wasn’t supposed to leave us.” His voice was softer this time, quieter, like he wasn’t just talking to his master but to himself. "So I did what you did. I used fire to rewrite fate."

Seungcheol ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, eyes flickering toward you. His gaze softened, but it was tinted with something more fragile—guilt.

Your eyes met his, calm yet sharp. You tilted your head. “You’re mad at him?” you asked, gesturing toward Chan with a lazy wave of your hand. “But didn’t you do the same thing once?”

Seungcheol’s body went rigid. His gaze flickered, his lips parting, but no words came out.

“You killed me too, didn’t you?” you said it so plainly, so casually, as if it were something as mundane as asking about the weather. You tilted your head, watching him closely, like you were trying to gauge his reaction. “Didn’t you, Seungcheol?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Chan looked away, his jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

Seungcheol stared at you like he’d just been stabbed. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fists curling slowly at his sides. He tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

"You’re really bad at hiding it,” you said with a small, bitter smile. “Every time I dream about it, I see you. You always look the same.” You leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees, eyes sharp like a blade poised to strike. “So tell me, Seungcheol. Tell me what you did.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You raised an eyebrow. “If you can’t say it, I will.” You leaned forward further, close enough that your gaze was all he could see. Your voice was low, cold, and unforgiving. “You killed me.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes. As if by doing so, he could escape it. As if shutting out the world would make it less real.

“I did,” he whispered, his voice hollow, broken at the edges. His eyes opened slowly, filled with something heavy, something that had been weighing on him for centuries. “I killed you.”

You stared at him, your gaze unwavering, piercing straight through him. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

“Why?” you asked, voice so soft it felt like a dagger sliding between ribs.

Seungcheol’s lips parted, but nothing came out. His jaw clenched, his shoulders tense like he was holding up the weight of the world. "Because they were going to do worse." His voice was sharp, tight like he was forcing every word out of his throat. "Your father was declared a traitor. The entire kingdom wanted you dead. They would’ve dragged you through the streets, humiliated you, torn you apart piece by piece."

He lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with something more painful than regret—remorse.

“I didn’t want them to have that power over you,” he said, his voice hoarse like he’d been screaming silently for centuries. “So I did it myself.”

You froze. The weight of his words pressed down on you, sinking deep into your chest. You felt the air leave your lungs, your vision blurring for a second before you blinked it away.

“Because you loved me,” you whispered, barely a breath of sound.

Seungcheol’s face twisted in agony. “Yes.”

You leaned back, shoulders tense, hands curling into fists on your lap. A bitter laugh escaped you, sharp and hollow. "You loved me," you echoed, each word laced with venom. “And you still killed me.”

Seungcheol’s eyes shut tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, but you saw the crack in his armor. His hands trembled at his sides. Don’t look at me like that.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. "What did it feel like, Seungcheol?” you asked, your voice ice cold. "When you looked at me for the last time and decided I had to die—what did it feel like?”

He didn't answer. He couldn’t. His silence spoke louder than words ever could.

“Was it quick?” you pressed, your voice rising. “Did you hesitate? Did you stop for even a second?”

“Stop it,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Or did you tell yourself you were doing it for me?” Your eyes locked onto his, burning like an open flame. “Did you think that would make it hurt less?”

“Stop it!” Seungcheol roared, his voice cracking like thunder. His chest heaved, eyes wild as he took a step back, gaze filled with something that looked too much like fear.

“But you didn’t stop,” you said, voice sharp like a blade dragging against stone. “You didn’t stop, Seungcheol. Not when I begged. Not when I cried. Not even when I called your name.”

Seungcheol flinched as if you’d struck him. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw locking tight as his hands curled into fists. He stood perfectly still, like if he moved even an inch, he’d break.

“Do you know what it’s like to look at someone you love and realize they’ve already decided you’re better off dead?” Your voice trembled but didn’t break. Each word hit him harder than the last, cutting deeper, sharper. “Do you know what it’s like to feel their hands on you, to feel their warmth one second and cold steel the next?”

His breathing grew shallow. He shook his head, eyes still shut. “Don’t do this.”

“I felt it, Seungcheol,” you continued, your voice louder now, raw with every ounce of pain you’d buried for so long. “I remember it now. The way you looked at me—like you were trying to convince yourself it was mercy.” You stepped closer, each step slow and deliberate, the weight of your words following you. “But it wasn’t mercy, was it?”

His eyes snapped open, wild and desperate. "I had no choice!" he roared, voice cracking like thunder. "They were going to drag you through the streets, humiliate you, torture you—I couldn’t let them do that to you!"

His chest heaved with every breath, his gaze frantic like a man drowning with no shore in sight. “I thought... I thought if it had to be done, it should be me,” he said, his voice quieter now, trembling with the weight of it all. “I thought you’d understand.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but none of them fell. Your chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, trying to hold yourself together when all you wanted to do was scream. “Understand?” you echoed, disbelief laced in every syllable. “You think I’d understand that you killed me?” You took another step forward, eyes blazing. “I would’ve fought, Seungcheol. I would’ve fought them until my last breath. I didn’t need you to ‘save’ me.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. For once, he had nothing to say.

“You didn’t save me, Seungcheol,” you said, voice hollow now. “You stole me.”

Silence hung between you like an unbearable weight. Chan stood off to the side, gaze flickering between the two of you, his expression unreadable. He didn’t interfere. He knew this wasn’t his fight.

“I thought…” Seungcheol’s voice cracked, so soft it barely reached you. “I thought you’d hate me.” He looked at you now—not as a demon, not as a king’s son, but as a man stripped bare, raw and broken. “But I didn’t think you’d remember.”

You let out a sharp breath, a humorless laugh escaping you. “Hate you?” you repeated, eyes narrowing. “I hated you so much I swore I’d never love you again.” Your voice broke on the last word, but you didn’t stop. You refused to stop. "I told myself, in my next life, I would never let myself fall for you again.”

Your gaze softened, but it wasn’t with love—it was with pity.

“And look at me now,” you whispered, voice thick with bitterness. “Back where I started.”

Seungcheol's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

“Do you know what’s worse than hating you, Seungcheol?” you asked quietly, each word laced with an ache he could feel in his bones. “It’s realizing that after everything, after the lies, after the betrayal, after the blade you put in my heart…” You took one last step, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin. “I still love you.”

His world shattered. You saw it in the way his eyes flickered, his hands twitching as if he wanted to reach for you but knew he had no right. He looked at you like you were something holy he had defiled with his own hands.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice breaking apart. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” you challenged, eyes blazing with the weight of a thousand lifetimes of pain. “Because you don’t deserve it?” You leaned in, voice sharp and unforgiving. “You don’t. You never did.”

His breathing hitched, his shoulders trembling as he took a step back, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. "I know," he rasped, his voice raw, wrecked. "I know I don't."

“Then why do you look at me like you still want it?” you shot back, and he staggered as if you’d struck him.

You stared at him, heart aching in a way that was far too familiar. Love was supposed to be kind, warm, gentle. But with him, it was brutal. It tore through you, raw and unyielding, like an old scar reopening over and over again.

“Seungcheol,” you said quietly, no anger, no malice—just the simple, unbearable truth. “You killed me once. And somehow, you’re still killing me.”

He dropped to his knees. His hands pressed against the ground as if the weight of your words was too much to carry. His head hung low, eyes shut tight, his breath coming out in short, shallow gasps. He looked like he was praying for forgiveness. But he knew better than anyone—demons don't get to pray.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking like something inside him had finally broken. He pressed his forehead to the ground, his hands gripping the dirt beneath him like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The sound of his voice, so broken, so desperate, filled the room like a haunting melody. He didn’t lift his head. He didn’t dare look at you. For a demon like him, lowering himself like this was an act of surrender, an admission of every sin, every failure.

But you didn’t move. You didn’t reach out.

“Sorry won’t bring me back,” you said softly, your voice steady even as your eyes stung with unshed tears. You watched him crumble before you, the weight of his sin finally crushing him. “Sorry won’t undo what you did.”

He didn’t reply. He just stayed there, on his knees, forehead pressed to the ground like a man waiting for judgment.

But judgment never came.

Instead, you turned away. Your heart felt heavier than ever, but you walked past him, step by step, until he was behind you. You didn’t look back.

“Don’t follow me, Seungcheol,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard every word. "Not this time."

He didn’t move. He didn’t chase you. He stayed on his knees, still and silent, with only the sound of his shallow breathing to remind him that he was still alive. Alive but not living.

Chan glanced at his master, his eyes filled with something that could’ve been pity or disappointment. He looked away, his gaze following you instead.

“She’ll never stop loving you, you know,” Chan muttered, his voice carrying across the room. “That’s the curse, isn't it?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. His fingers dug into the ground, eyes still shut, the weight of eternity pressing down on him.

"She'll keep loving you, even when it hurts." Chan's gaze softened as he watched you disappear beyond the door. “And you'll keep hurting her, won’t you?”

Still, Seungcheol said nothing.

Because he knew.

That was the curse.

The curse of love.

Of sin.

Of demons who dared to love like mortals.

The end

409 notes · View notes

iraot · 3 months ago

Text

Word Count: 8,420 Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, gentleman Xavier, yearning, true love, breeding, office romance, mating bonds, stupid government, A/N: I wanted to get this out before I went to work! thank you @hyyih once again for the speedy editing ;-; i appreciate you. <3

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿

The steady hum of keyboards clicking filled the office, punctuated by the occasional rustle of paper or the low murmur of conversation. It was the last hour of the workday, unarguably, the longest hour of the day, just as painfully lasting as the one right before lunch. Most of their department was already mentally checked out, eyes drifting toward the clock, fingers hovering over their shutdown sequence.

She was no exception. Xavier, however, was still focused. His sharp blue eyes scanned the report on his screen. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the dim overhead light casting a soft shadow over the sharp angles of his face. He looked so effortlessly composed, as he always did—his golden blond hair slightly tousled, the open collar of his button-down revealing just enough skin to make it unfairly distracting.

She tried not to stare.

It wasn’t easy.

Her heat was coming, that much she knew, and it was usually around these times that she had a difficult time tearing her eyes away from the Alpha she would prefer to be spending the week with. She’d been working in this office for three years now, and, for the last year, Xavier had been the quiet, persistent ache in the back of her mind. It wasn’t just his looks—though those certainly didn’t hurt—it was the way he carried himself. Confident, without arrogance. Smart, but never condescending. He had a dry wit that made their endless meetings bearable and a way of making even the most frustrating workdays feel lighter.

And, most importantly, he treated her like a person first. Not just an Omega. That was increasingly rare. Due to the politics surrounding her biological imperative there had been many people who thought Omegas shouldn’t be in the workforce. Citing it as a public health hazard and instead of offering social reform to amend laws to make life easier for Omega’s to live their life the way they wanted; they wanted to cage them. Force them into mating bonds the moment they were able to, and keep them bred and at home where they belong.

The notion alone disgusted her, it was enough to put her off, settling down entirely. Though, there was something about him that made her want it. The quiet moments, the peace, the talks they had at work weren’t enough—but she could never bring herself to say anything.

She couldn’t lose her only confidant at work, not when everything about her employment was looking so bleak.

“Counting down the minutes?”

His voice pulled her from her thoughts, smooth and knowing. She blinked up at him to find his gaze already on her, one brow arched in lazy amusement.

She huffed a soft laugh, shaking her head. “A little. Not that I don’t love spending my evenings drowning in spreadsheets.”

He smirked—it was tragic and she felt a flare of heat through her as she shook her head. “Tragic. And here I was, about to ask if you’d wanted to stay late and review quarterly earnings with me.”

She groaned dramatically, setting a hand over her heart. “Tempting. Really. But, unfortunately, I have very important plans that involve getting the hell out of here and not thinking about work for the next week.”

His smirk deepened. “Right. You leave starts tomorrow.” His fingers drummed idly against the desk, thoughtfully. “Where are you escaping to?”

Her stomach flipped, and she ignored the curl of heat in her lower belly. A subtle but sharp reminder of why she was really taking time off.

“Nowhere exciting,” she said lightly, trying to keep her voice even. “Just...home.”

His gaze lingered for a second too long, like he was about to ask something else—but then his attention was pulled away by an email notification, and, just like that the moment passed.

She let out a slow breath. This couldn’t be over soon enough.

Xavier knew she was an Omega, it wasn’t a secret. Though they never talked about it, not directly anyway. He wasn’t one of those Alphas who made a big deal about it, who got weird or awkward. He just treated her like a normal coworker, a normal person. And she really liked that about him.

It was one of the reasons her stupid, quiet little crush had bloomed in the first place. Because it wasn’t just that he was attractive ( he was very much so ), it was that he saw her. Though, none of that mattered. She was about to spend the next several days in heat—alone with some guy named Thomas, and when she came back, things would go right back to normal.

Or, at least, that was the plan.

The plan was simple: finish up the last of her tasks, pack up and get the hell out before anything became noticeable.

Except, as always, life had other plans.

Just when she had thought she was in the clear a last-minute request landed in her inbox, courtesy of her team lead, along with a painfully apologetic message about it just needing a quick once-over before EOD.

Which, of course, meant she was staying late. Just her luck; she had been anticipating this even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself. The office that was once bustling was slowly being filtered out, one person after the other–some staying late just like her only to end up leaving well before her. Something that grated on her nerves more than she’d like to let on, but the frustration of her impending heat wasn’t helping matters.

By the time she was finally shutting down her system, the office was quiet. The usual chatter and clicking of keyboards had faded, replaced with the distant hum of the air conditioning. Most of their coworkers had filtered out ages ago, leaving only the faint glow of a few monitor screens still powered on.

And Xavier.

She glanced over at him, still at his desk, sleeves rolled up as he frowned at the screen, his fingers typing something out at a steady pace.

Of course, he was still there.

Unlike her, he actually chose to stay late most nights. Something about “I’d rather get it done now than deal with it tomorrow.”

It was a little annoying how responsible he was.

She shook her head, standing with a stretch. Her body felt uncomfortable, warm, heat curling through her like an ember waiting to ignite.

Too soon.

Too strong.

Her heat wasn’t supposed to hit yet—she had time. But the way her skin prickled, her pulse quickened, and the unmistakable ache that settled low in her belly said otherwise. She closed her eyes, taming her breathing, she had to make it home—once she got there she’d be fine.

No. Not now.

Forcing a breath, she ignored the way her scent felt thicker in the air, more potent, before grabbing her bag. Maybe, if she left now, she could make it home before it really hit. Though the idea of driving home was making her feel sick, all she wanted was her nest she’d been working on for the last month. Building it up, filling it out with stuffed animals and pretty blankets. Making sure to have lots of options when the others got too messy, as they always did.

‘Just a little longer,’ she pleaded internally.

“Finally escaping?”

Xavier’s voice made her jump. She turned to see him leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. The motion pulled his shirt taut across his chest and fuck, that wasn’t helping.

She swallowed hard, “Yeah. I‘d have gone earlier, but someone decided to throw a last-minute file at me.”

Xavier huffed a laugh, “Gotta love corporate efficiency.”

She shrugged before smiling, adjusting the strap of the bag on her shoulder. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat now, her skin flushed–too warm. She needed to go. But as she took one step toward the door, the overhead lights flickered once. Then, a low mechanical chime echoed through the space, followed by an automated voice:

“Lock down protocol engaged. Please remain in designated areas until further notice.”

Her blood ran cold.

NO. No, no, no—

A second later, the doors locked with a resounding clunk.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she dropped her bag by her feet. This was the worst possible situation for her to be in right now, and she was going to be too hazed out in the next couple hours to even feel mortified about how she was acting.

Xavier stood, brows furrowed. “What the hell?”

She knew what.

Pheromone detection. A security system meant to prevent Alphas from going feral at the scent of an Omega in heat. Specifically, work buildings or big offices like these. When there were typically more than one Alpha in close proximity to an Omega in heat, especially unmated ones, it could get dangerous really fast. A precaution meant to protect people.

A precaution that had just trapped them inside the office together.

Xavier turned to her, something sharp and assessing in his gaze now, his nostrils flaring slightly as realization set in. Her stomach felt like it was about to fall to the floor.

The silence between them was drawn out in an agonizing way, thick with the weight of realization. Her stomach coiled tight, anticipation and fear tangling together in a sickening knot as she took an instinctive step back. Xavier didn’t move. Not immediately. He was still staring at her, processing, his sharp blue eyes darkening fractionally as his nostrils flared again—taking in a scent she knew was getting stronger by the second.

Shit.

She clenched her fists, nails digging crescents into her palms as if the pain alone could somehow ground her, keep her head clear. It wouldn’t. Not for long. Not once the heat wrapped around her brain, muffling any coherent thought till she had a knot stuffed inside her. The one thing she truly hated about this, was that imperative would nearly kill her if she didn’t bow to it.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Not here… not with him.

The security system. The goddamn security system.

Why hadn’t she left earlier? She knew this was coming, she had felt it creeping up on her all day; the slow build of heat, the restless energy tightening beneath her skin just threatening to snap if she got the whiff of even a single Alpha. She had ignored it, denied it even because, truly, her heats were very predictable. Though, something had to have set it off—she didn’t know what, but there was something that must have triggered it. Even if she could make it home, tick herself safely away in her nest, and ride it out with Thomas. Whoever he was, really, the app wasn’t all that great in her experience; perhaps some got luckier than she did.

But no.

No, she was here. Locked inside a corporate office. With him.

A low static-laced chime buzzed through the overhead speakers again, followed by the same pre-recorded messages. “Lock down protocol engaged. Please remain in the designated areas until further notice.”

Like this was just another fire drill. Like her body wasn’t betraying by the second by forcing this heat to come a whole day early when she’d planned for this so far in advance.

Xavier exhaled, a slow, measured thing that sounded too controlled. He finally moved, stepping toward the locked door. She didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed at his sides before he tried the handle, testing it despite knowing it wouldn’t budge. She felt dizzy, and parched her throat suddenly dry.

“System’s not going to lift until your pheromones drop,” he murmured, half to himself.

She swallowed, “no shit.”

Xavier turned, his gaze flickering to her, something unreadable behind his expression. Not panic. Not irritation. No. Just, calculating.

She didn’t know if that was better or worse. Her whole body felt hypersensitive now, every inch of her skin too tight, too warm. The ache was settling deep, coiling low in her belly and she knew—fuck, she knew—that she was only minutes away from losing any semblance of composure.

Her knees locked. “We need to call someone.”

Xavier was already ahead of her, pulling out his phone. A few taps, a glance at the screen, then—”No service.”

Her stomach bottomed out, “What do you mean, no service?”

He turned the screen toward her, a blank signal bar mocking her very existence. “The building’s in full lock down. Probably blocking all outbound calls until security resets the system.”

Her breath came out too fast, too shallow. The rational part of her knew this would be resolved soon. That someone would realize they were stuck in here and fix it. They had programs for this, Betas who were hired to come and move in heat Omegas and protective Alphas to a place of her choosing. It was all funded by their taxes, so surely, they wouldn’t just leave her here. Who knows, by morning maybe she’d be home.

There was just one glaring issue with this plan. They didn’t have hours. They had minutes.

Xavier was still watching her, his jaw tense, his fingers curled loosely around his phone like he was choosing not to grip it too tightly. He was keeping himself contained, but she wasn’t stupid.

He was an Alpha. She was pushing every single one of his instincts right now.

“You should.. move over there,” she managed, nodding toward the far end of the office, where the breakroom was. “Just—get some space.”

Xavier’s brows pulled together slightly, but didn’t argue. Instead, he stood a slow step backward. Then another. He was giving her distance, trying to make this easier. But it wouldn’t be enough, not for either of them. She could smell him, and GOD did he smell good.

A sharp pulse of heat rolled through her, and her balance wavered. She caught herself against the desk, her fingers gripping the edge far too tightly. She felt the slow trickle of slick into her panties. Her scent must have spiked hard, because Xavier froze like a deer in headlights – his breathing went sharp, his entire frame tensing—like something inside him just snapped to attention.

A fresh wave of panic crashed through her.

This was bad.

This was so bad.

The silence stretched on too long. Too thick. Her pulse roared in her ears, her vision blurring at the edges as another deep rolling wave of heat crashed through her, stealing the breath from her lungs. She swayed slightly, the office suddenly too bright, too small, too full of him.

Xavier hadn’t moved.

He was still standing there, still watching her—but something was different now. His body was rigid, shoulders tense, like he was holding himself together with a piece of string and a prayer. His jaw was locked, throat working hard as he swallowed. His fingers flexed once more, then curled into a fist. And his breathing—fuck, his breathing was beginning to change.

It wasn’t as controlled or measured. He was feeling it. The realization made something dark and needy coil in her gut, an involuntary whimper slipping past her lips before she could stop it. Xavier reacted immediately, clenching his fists harder, his muscles twitching like he was resisting the urge to move, to close the distance between them. His nostrils flared again, this time more deliberate, more aware. His pupils were dilated, fuck, this was really happening.

Her legs trembled beneath her, another fresh wave of slick gathering between her thighs, soaking through the fabric of her underwear. She squeezed her legs together, desperate, frantic, trying to stop it, but all that did was make it worse. Her scent flared out of her in thick, heady waves completely saturating the air around them.

The worst part was, she could feel him too. His scent was beginning to invade her, the musky Alpha scent that made all Omegas weak in the knees. “We need…” her voice came out wrecked, breathless. She swallowed, forcing herself to get the words out. “We need to get out of here.” Xavier let out a sharp, humorless, breath. “No shit.”

She almost laughed. Almost. But another tremor ran through her leaving her legs weak, her body continuing its biological betrayal. This was going to get so much worse. And she knew there was only so much he could handle, while he was controlled and rational on the surface – he wasn’t immune.

Alphas didn’t go into rut on command, not unless they were bonded, but proximity to an Omega in full blown heat? Trapped in a room with one, nowhere to go, nowhere to run?

His body was going to start acting on instinct and, in some ways, it was. The realization sent a fresh spike of panic through her, clashing violently with the unbearable need. She wasn’t supposed to be here, not this, not him. Xavier ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, deliberately, as if trying to center himself. But she could see it now—the tightness in his frame, the way his fingers flexed and relaxed, the heat simmering just beneath the surface of his skin.

He was starting to sweat, a sheen forming on his skin as he pulled at his tie wanting to loosen it as much as possible. He was trying so hard to keep his distance, but every second that passed her scent was sinking deeper into his brain, wrapping around him like a noose. The space between them felt too thin, the air itself charged, suffocating, every breath laced with something she knew neither of them could escape. Her vision waved, a fresh wave of dizziness hitting her, the telltale fog creeping into the edges of her mind. She was losing controlled

“Xavier?” she whimpered softly as she sunk to the floor by her desk, her legs no longer capable of holding hers body up. His name on her lips was barely more than a breath, a soft plea, but it might as well have been a gunshot in the silence. Xavier moved. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was approaching something fragile—something dangerous.

His movements were deliberate and measured. His body still humming with restraint stretched so thin he could basically see through it. His eyes were locked onto her, dark with something he was trying desperately to keep on a leash. His scent cloyed around her, wrapping and pressing into her skin.

And she wanted it, no, she needed it.

Her body was burning from the inside out and this wasn’t even the worst part. Her nails dug into the fabric of her skirt, fingers trembling, thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the ache. It wasn’t enough. It never would be enough.

Xavier crouched in front of her, his weight balanced on his heels, his hands braced on his knees like he was grounding himself—like he wasn’t allowing himself to touch her.

But he was close.

Too close.

Not close enough.

Her breath hitched, the scent of him invading her and it was withering away every ounce of control she had left—which wasn’t much. His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as he exhaled through his nose. His scent was so much stronger now, more present, and it made something deep in her chest clench, her entire body hyper aware of him. She licked her lips, barely thinking, barely even there, only operating on need now.

He watched her.

His fingers curled against the fabric of his slacks, his knuckles whitening as if he were keeping himself restrained. “You still with me?” his voice was rough, lower than usual—she’d never heard him this way before and it felt oddly intimate, not that she could distinguish that from a typical conversation right now even if she wanted to.

She nodded. Then shook her head. “I don’t know.”

His nostrils flared, his throat working as he swallowed again, and she could feel how hard he was holding back. He was fighting against every instinct, their bodies both betraying them in the most unfair way. Even as his pupils swallowed up the blue of his irises, his entire frame coiled tight.

But he wasn’t going to make the first move, he was waiting on her. And that—fuck, that— made something hot and unbearable roll through her, because he wouldn’t. Not unless she asked. Not unless she took from him.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted one hand, reaching for him before she could stop herself, curling her fingers into the loose fabric of his shirt, gripping it tight. His body jerked at the contact, like she’d shocked him, a sharp inhale hissing between his teeth. Still, he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t press closer.

He was letting her decide.

Her breath came in quick shallow gasps, her skin flushed, she tugged weakly at his shirt as her fingers flexed, her body begging. Xavier exhaled slowly, measured, his fingers twitching at his sides before he finally lifted one hand.

Not to grab her.

Not to take.

He brushed his knuckles along her temple, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, his touch barely there, but she leaned into it like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

A choked sound left her throat, raw and desperate. His expression shifted. Not with hunger, not with possessiveness.

With understanding. Because he knew she was choosing him.

And that was what made his restraint finally crack.

Xavier shrugged off his jacket, the fabric rustling as he slid it down his arms before he draped it around her shoulders.

“Here,” he murmured, voice rough at the edges but still steady. “This should help.”

It was instinct. Omegas sought comfort in scent, in warmth. And right now, she had nothing—no nest, no blankets, no space to burrow into. Just the cold, hard floor of the office and the suffocating weight of her own heat pressing down on her. The second the fabric settled around her, something in her loosened. It wasn’t enough to fix anything, but it was something.

His scent clung to the material, deep and rich, and she curled her fingers into the sleeves, gripping tight as she buried her face into the collar. A shuddering breath escaped her lips, and Xavier felt the sharp pang of relief and helplessness hit him all at once.

“That’s it,” he murmured, watching the way she curled in on herself, still trembling, still struggling, but just a little less. “Breathe through it.”

She made a small, desperate, sound against the fabric, her entire body shaking. “It’s… too much.”

He swallowed, forcing his muscles to stay loose, his instincts screaming at him to fix it. “I know,” he said softly, “but you’re not alone, alright? You’re gonna be okay.”

She let out a choked breath, and he wasn’t sure if she was hearing him properly anymore—her heat was burning through her so fast, relentless, and she was fading into it, sinking deeper into that biological imperative that would override everything else.

He needed to ground her.

Without thinking, he shifted, adjusting his position so that he was sitting beside her, his back resting against the desk. He kept just enough distance to give her space, but close enough that his presence was solid–real.

Her breath hitched and slowly, almost instinctively, she turned her head, pressing closer—still clinging to his jacket, still trembling, but seeking him now.

His throat tightened.

Fuck.

Xavier exhaled sharply, tipping his head back against the desk, dragging a hand down his face.

This was getting worse by the second.

He was handling it now, barely, but his own body was responding despite everything. The scent of her heat was thick in the air, too thick, and every inhale felt like a slow, measured descent into something he wouldn’t be able to climb back out of.

He had to keep it together.

She needed him to.

Another soft noise left her throat, prompting him to glance down at her, making him notice the way her body quivered, her breath quick and uneven. She was curling into herself, panting against the fabric of his jacket, her entire body wrung out from the intensity of it.

She’s suffering.

That thought hit him harder than anything else.

He adjusted his position slightly, reaching out—not grabbing, just offering. A steadying hand, a point of contact if she needed it. “Come here.” His voice was quieter now, more deliberate. Not a demand. Just an offer.

She hesitated, fingers gripping tighter around his jacket. Then, slowly (shakily) she moved.

She pressed against his side, her body heat searing even through the layers of clothing, and Xavier fought the instinct to react—to tense, to pull her closer. Instead, he let her decide how much contact she needed, how much she could take.

A shaky breath ghosted against his neck. “You… smell good.”

Xavier huffed a quiet, strained laugh. “Yeah, well. So do you.”

Her head tilted, barely lifting from his shoulder, her lips parting slightly as she took another deep inhale, drinking him in.

His pulse kicked up.

Fuck.

He had to keep it together.

But when she let out another small, pleading whimper, pressing closer, his restraint fractured just a little more. Her breath was a soft tremor against his throat, warm and uneven, and he could feel the fine tremble in her limbs as she pressed against him. The scent of her heat was drowning him. His jaw clenched and his grip on control frayed.

She wasn’t just reacting—she was reaching. Fingers twitching against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Her body was hot, burning, restless, shifting slightly against his side as her knees pressed against his thigh. Each small movement sent a pulse of heat through him, a reminder of exactly what she needed, what her body was begging for.

“Xavier…” her voice was barely a whisper, wrecked and raw, like she was struggling to even form words.

His gut tightened. Fuck.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her, to meet the wide glazed-over haze of her eyes. Dilated pupils. Lips parted. Breath trembling, she was unraveling right in front of him and they were stuck here in this office till someone came for them or he got her pheromones down somehow. It was getting harder—so much harder—to pretend he wasn’t being pulled under with her.

A slow, shuddering breath escaped him. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His voice was rough, thick with restraint, but even he could hear the way it wavered.

Her finger grappled tighter into his shirt, a desperate little sound breaking from her throat. “I do.”

Fuck.

Her lips were close—so fucking close—hovering just a breath away, her scent curling around him like a drug, seeping into every crack of his resolve. And then, slowly, she moved.

Soft. Warm. The barest brush of her mouth against his, hesitant at first, almost testing. But then she pressed in, firmer, more insistent, like instinct had taken full control, and Xavier suddenly didn’t feel like a good guy anymore.

His hand came up before he could think, his fingers sliding against the nape of her neck, anchoring her there as he exhaled a harsh breath against her lips. He didn’t pull away, he couldn’t, not when she was melting against him as if the need were too great.

He kissed her back, slow at first, testing the waters, but the second she let out a soft, needy noise again in her mouth, all hesitation burned away. His grip tightened, his fingers moving to the back of her head deepening the kiss, dragging her closer, letting himself taste her properly like he’d always wanted to.

The sound of her whimper had him groaning. She arched against his hands, fisting into his shirt as she pulled herself onto his lap. She was starving for whatever he would give her, her entire body fitting against his like she belonged there—and she did.

Another plea left her lips as she clawed at his clothes, her hands roaming and he could barely catch his breath, the feel of her on him had his pants uncomfortably tight in a way he’d never experienced before. She rocked her hips against him, the movement unintentional, unconscious, but it shot straight through him like a bolt of heat.

His hands snapped to her waist, gripping firmly, stilling her. His breath came harsh and uneven as he forced himself to pace, to think through the haze clouding his brain. “If we start this,” he ground out, his voice wrecked, strained, “I’m not stopping.”

She met his gaze, eyes dark and heavy lidded, her lips swollen from his kisses. No hesitation. No doubt, just pure, unfiltered need.

“Then don’t.”

Xavier didn’t wait. Couldn’t.

The moment the words left her lips something inside him snapped like a taut rubber band. Then, he was moving—his grip tightening, dragging her flush against him, his mouth crushing against hers in a kiss that was nothing like the last. No hesitation. No restraint. Just heat, sharp and all-consuming, like a wildfire swallowing them both whole.

She gasped into it, her fingers tangling his shirt, pulling at him like she couldn’t get close enough. Her thighs clenched tighter around his hips, her body fitting against his perfectly, grinding, desperate, needy, her scent thick and intoxicating as it wrapped around him and turned his thoughts into static.

He was hard, painfully so, the pressure of her on top of him was driving him to the edge of insanity. His hands roamed, sliding down the curve of her back, gripping her hips with bruising force, guiding her movements until she was rolling against him just right. She whimpered, breaking the kiss just to suck in a ragged breath before diving back in, desperate for the man she never thought could want her and hoping with the only part of her brain that was functioning properly that this wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

“Xavier—” his name left her in a choked, pleading gasp as her nails scraped down his chest, seeking, needing.

He cursed under his breath, his own control fraying so completely that he wasn’t sure he’d recognize himself anymore. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except her, the feel of her, her body, her scent, and the way she moved against him like she was made for this, for him.

His hand slid lower, over the curve of her ass, fingers digging in as he pulled her down hard, grinding against the aching length of him. She moaned at the contact, her head tilting back, baring the delicate column of her throat. His vision tunneled.

Instinct took over.

He lunged, his lips found her neck, his teeth scraping along her scent gland, a growl rumbling in his chest as she writhed against him. She was panting now, her body trembling in his grasp as she begged, her slick soaking through his pants. He surged up, flipping their positions in one fluid motion, pressing her back against the floor. He cradled her head as he laid her down then brought his mouth back to hers. His hands were everywhere—pushing up her shirt, dragging his fingers across bare skin, tracing the dip of her waist, the curve of her thighs.

He wanted to taste her. To mark her. To bury himself so deep she’d never feel this unbearable heat without thinking of him again. Her hands were at his belt, fumbling, frantic, and he didn’t stop her. Couldn’t. His own desperation mirrored hers too perfectly.

There was no going back.

No stopping.

Not now.

Her fingers trembled against his belt, frantic, desperate to free him from the unbearable constraint between them. Xavier didn’t breathe—couldn’t—his own restraint torn to shreds as he felt her hands on him, her touch sending sharp jolts of heat through every nerve in his body.

“Fuck,” he ground out, his forehead dropping against hers, his breath heavy, uneven. “You—”

But he couldn’t even form words. She was too much, wanting for so long coming to a head like this was not what he’d wanted. The day had started, and he’d been contemplating asking her out for the last year or so – stupid of him to wait so long but he’d seen how others treated her and he didn’t want her thinking he was the same.

He didn’t even realize his hands were shaking until he was helping her, he was tearing at his own belt, shoving at the fabric between them, the need clawing through his veins like fire. She gasped, her hips lifting instinctively, making it easier, urging him on.

The moment there was nothing left between them, the heat of her nearly broke him. Xavier’s head tipped back, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat as her slick coated him as she ground against him, soft and needy and utterly wrecked beneath him.

“Please,” she whispered, her fingers clutching at his arms, nails digging in leaving little crescents on his skin.

He was going to lose his fucking mind.

His lips crashed against hers again, his body pinning her beneath him, his hands gripping her thighs spreading them and lifting them high up on his waist. Every ounce of control he’d had was gone, burned to ash beneath the fire of her heat.

She was already his and now, she’d know it.

Her breath hitched, a broken, pleading sound as he spread her open, his hands rough and sure against her heated skin. She was trembling, legs wrapped around his waist. Xavier wasn’t thinking anymore, he was past thought, past hesitation, past everything except the need to claim, to take, to finally—finally—have her the way he’d wanted to for so long.

His hands gripped her tight, holding her still as he lined himself up, his cock heavy, aching, slicking with her. The first press of him against her had her whimpering, her fingers clawing at his back, nails dragging, body aching desperately for him.

“Xavier,” she gasped, pleading, her body tensing, quivering beneath him as she tried to push herself down, trying to take him deeper.

With one slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he pushed inside, stretching her open and sinking into her heat so unbearable it nearly broke him. A guttural groan ripped from his throat, his hands tightening on her thighs, his control hanging by a thread.

She made a noise he couldn’t place and then he groaned as she bit his shoulder, near his scent gland and he thrust harder against hers. Xavier barely processed the sharp sting of her teeth sinking into his shoulder before white hot and undeniable instinct roared through him.

His hands slid to her hips, gripping tight, holding her steady as he fucked into her, relentless, fever, chasing the inevitable. He could feel it, the way she was close, trembling on the edge. He wasn’t going to last, not with the way she felt around him, not with the way she moaned his name like it was the only thing left in her mind.

Burying his face against her throat, his teeth grazing over the scent gland in warning. His knot was swelling—he could feel it, the way his body was more than ready to lock her down and breed her. Though, as it turned out – his body wasn’t the only thing that wanted that; he did too. It was flashes or images he’d often thought about – a baby with her eyes, and nose… he could get used to the idea.

The way he stretched her just a little more she had to have felt it, the way her body resisted and then—

“Xavier—” her voice cracked high and breathless, as she clamped down around him, her orgasm tearing through her in a violent, uncontrollable wave.

That was it. A deep guttural sound of possession erupted from him as his hips slammed forward one final time, his knot catching, swelling, locking him inside her. She gasped at the sensation, at the way she could feel everything—him, the warmth spreading inside her, the way their bodies refused to part. For a long moment, she was nothing but sensation, floating in a haze, her limbs loose, her head spinning.

And then, slowly, the heat began to fade.

Not all at once. It was a slow retreat, like waves pulling back from a shore, her body still trembling, still overly sensitive, but the sharp edge of her need was dulling, easing. Her breath evened out, her grip on him loosening, her mind clearing little by little.

Xavier groaned against her throat, his arms wrapped around her, his weight warm and grounded. “You back?” His lips brushed against her temple.

She blinked slowly, her body boneless, her mind still sluggish. “I—yeah,” she murmured, voice hoarse, “I think so.”

His fingers traced lazy circles against her skin, his breath warm against her. “Good,” he murmured. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

She stayed curled against him, her breath slow, steady, but he could still feel the occasional tremor rolling through her muscles. Xavier held her through it, one arm wrapped tight around her back, his free hand smoothing over the damp skin of her hip in slow, grounding motions. His knot was still firm inside her, keeping them connected, keeping her close, exactly where she needed to be.

Where he needed her to be.

It was a long stretch of silence before she finally shifted, her fingers twitching against his skin, her body adjusting ever so slightly beneath his. Xavier lifted his head just enough to look at her. She was soft now, loose-limbed, her eyes half-lidded, still a little glazed but there in a way she’d hadn’t been before. The fever had retreated, leaving behind exhaustion in its wake.

She exhaled, a shaky sound that made something in his chest tighten. “It’s gone,” she murmured, blinking up at him. “I can think again.”

Xavier swallowed, pressing a slow kiss against her temple, his fingers still tracing idle patterns against her hip. “Good,” he said softly. “How do you feel?”

She made a small noise, shifting against him. “Sore. But… safe.”

Safe.

His arm tightened around her without thinking, a fierce wave of something sharp and protective surging through him. Mine. A dull chime rang through the building, distant but unmistakable. The lock down had lifted. His muscles tensed instinctively, his mind shifting into something more alert. They weren’t alone.

She felt it too—the way his body coiled beneath her, his breathing changed. She pushed herself up slightly, just enough to glance toward the door, her expression flickering with something wary.

A moment later, a knock sounded. Firm. Measure. Too damn official.

“Fuck off,” Xavier called without thinking, his voice still rough, his usual calm and relaxed approach gone. He had to keep her safe, his Omega.

A pause. Then: “Sir, we need to confirm the Omega’s condition,” came a level, professional voice from the other side. “We have robes prepared. We will escort you both to a secure location of her choosing.”

She let out a small sigh, her body slumping back against him. "Just my apartment," she muttered. "That's all I want."

Xavier shifted, running a hand up her back, fingers splayed possessively. "You sure?"

She nodded, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. "Yeah. I just want my nest. And you."

Something in his chest gave, his throat tightening slightly. He forced himself to take a slow breath, forcing down the instinctual growl building in his throat at the thought of anyone else being around her right now.

He pressed another kiss against her forehead. "Alright."

Only then did he finally address the Betas outside. "Give us a minute."

The pause was long, but then the voice replied, "Understood."

It took time for his knot to shrink, for him to finally, reluctantly slide out of her. She let out a quiet whimper at the loss, and Xavier clenched his jaw, his fingers soothing along her spine. He helped her up slowly, keeping her steady as she found her balance on unsteady legs.

They dressed in the robes provided, but Xavier never let her go, keeping her tucked close against his side as they finally stepped out.

The Betas were waiting, their expressions carefully neutral, their eyes flicking between them with quiet efficiency. Xavier bristled, instincts still sharp, still too much.

One of them, a man with graying hair and a calm, measured stance, inclined his head toward her. "Do you require any medical assistance?"

She shook her head immediately, curling against Xavier’s side. "Just take us home."

The Beta nodded. "Very well."

Xavier kept an arm around her as they were led out of the building, down to the waiting transport. He barely looked at anyone, barely acknowledged anything outside of her. She was tired, still fragile, her body worn from the intensity of her heat, and he refused to let anyone near her, refused to let her stand on her own when she could lean on him.

They reached her apartment, and the moment the door closed behind them, she exhaled, her body sagging with relief.

"Xavier," she murmured, fingers fisting in his robe. "Nest."

His lips brushed the crown of her head. "I'm here."

And he always would be.

She barely made it two steps into her apartment before Xavier scooped her up, carrying her straight to her nest without hesitation. She let out a soft noise—half protest, half relieved sigh—and curled against him, letting herself be held. He stepped over the mess of blankets, pillows and plushies, easing her down carefully. She sank into it, immediately, burrowing into the familiar scents, her fingers fisting into the soft fabric, inhaling deep. Xavier knelt besides her, brushing his fingers over her cheek, letting them linger only slightly.

“Need anything?” he asked, voice quieter now, less rough but still heavy with the remnants of everything that had just happened.

Her nose wrinkled. “Food…”

Xavier huffed a soft laugh, rubbing his hand down his face. “Yeah, alright. That, I can do.”

The words felt like a lie the second he stepped into her kitchen.

He stood there, hands on his hips, staring blankly at the cabinets, the fridge, the entire concept of cooking like it had personally wronged him. Fuck. He could take down a fully grown Alpha in a fight, handle high-stress negotiations, keep his head cool under pressure—but making something edible? Apparently, that was his breaking point.

He opened the fridge, eyes scanning the contents. Leftover takeout—probably bad leftover takeout—a few eggs, some cheese, a loaf of bread that might still be good. Simple. Safe. He could work with that.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned to the bedroom with a plate of the most aggressively mediocre scrambled eggs and toast she had ever seen.

She blinked up at him, her face half-buried in a pillow, her scent calmer now, more her without the haze of heat fogging her up. “You made me food?”

Xavier grunted, setting the plate down in front of her. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

She pushed herself up slowly, wincing slightly as her sore muscles protested the movement. He immediately reached out, steadying her, his fingers curling against her waist. “Careful,” he murmured.

She hummed, leaning into him for just a second before turning her attention back to the food. “…Did you poison this?”

Xavier narrowed his eyes. “Eat the damn eggs.”

She smirked but obediently took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Thought about it.

“…It’s not bad.”

He snorted, stretching out beside her. “I’ll get better. For you.” He said it like a promise, his hand finding her thigh, rubbing absent circles against her skin.

Her gaze softened, and for a long moment, she just looked at him. No heat, no desperation—just warmth, just him.

“What does this mean?” she finally asked, setting the plate aside.

Xavier exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I think you know.”

She hesitated, her fingers twitching against the blanket. “…Say it.”

He turned, cupping her jaw, tilting her face toward his. “You’re mine,” he said simply, his voice steady, final. “And I’m yours.”

Her breath hitched. “Even without the heat?”

Xavier’s fingers tightened slightly. “Especially without the heat.” He leaned in, brushing his nose against hers, his lips barely grazing her mouth. “I wanted this before. Before your scent wrecked me. Before I had you like this.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her body already responding, already shifting closer. “Xavier…”

His mouth found hers in answer, slow this time, deep, deliberate. Nothing rushed. Nothing frantic. This wasn’t instinct demanding—this was them choosing.

She melted, sighing into him, her fingers slipping beneath his robe, tracing the firm muscles of his stomach, his back, pulling him down into the nest with her. Xavier followed easily, covering her body with his, the weight of him solid and grounding, exactly what she needed.

His hands moved over her, memorizing, relearning, touching her without the urgency of before. When he finally slid between her thighs, when he finally pushed into her again, it wasn’t desperate—it was right.

She gasped, clutching at him, her legs wrapped tight around his waist as he buried himself deep, his breath shuddering against her throat.

He kissed her softly, murmuring against her skin. “One more time, baby. Then we sleep.” His thrusts were slow and deep, his mouth open against her throat – her scent gland under his teeth.

His knot swelled again, locking them together, sealing his promise; his bite only made it official. His teeth broke the skin as he locked inside her and her body quaked around his cock as the bond snapped into place.

And this time, when they fell asleep, it wasn’t from exhaustion.

It was peace.

࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜ ࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜ ࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒

Walking into the office a week later felt different.

Xavier felt it the moment they stepped through the doors—eyes flicking toward them, whispers passing between coworkers, the subtle shift in scent recognition as people noticed.

He barely gave a fuck.

She was tucked close to his side, her body still recovering from the intensity of her heat, her scent calmer now, but changed. Mated. His. It was in the way her scent had deepened, the way his own scent wrapped around hers, unmistakable, permanent.

And everyone could tell.

Xavier kept a hand at the small of her back as they walked through the office, his touch light but firm, grounding. She leaned into it without thinking, her fingers brushing against his wrist before dropping back to her side.

“Oh shit,” someone muttered from the break room as they passed.

Xavier turned his head slightly, flicking his gaze toward the group of Betas huddled around the coffee machine. They immediately looked away, suddenly very invested in their drinks.

Another voice, quieter but amused, followed. “I knew something was going on.”

She let out a breath beside him, her fingers twitching at her side. “They’re talking,” she muttered under her breath.

Xavier hummed. “Let ‘em.”

He wasn’t ashamed. Would never be ashamed of her. If anything, he felt a slow, deep satisfaction settle in his chest knowing everyone knew. Knowing that every single Alpha in this place who had ever thought about getting too close to her would now have to fucking think again.

And they did.

People moved differently around them now. Subtle things. A few more steps of distance, a second glance before approaching, even some outright avoidance from Alphas who used to think they had a shot.

Good.

They made it to her desk without incident and Xavier leaned against the edge of it, arms crossed, watching as she settled into her chair.

She let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders. “Feels weird.”

Xavier arched his brow. “Being back?”

She shook her head. “Being… this back. With you.” Her fingers brushed absently against her scent gland—the bite mark faded now, but still there, a physical reminder of what they were now.

Xavier reached out, catching her hand, bringing it to his lips. He kissed her palm, slow, deliberate. “Get used to it, baby.”

She flushed, mouth opening—

“Alright, so who won the betting pool?”

Xavier sighed heavily, tilting his head toward the intruding voice.

Eli from accounting. Smug as fuck.

A chorus of groans and muttered complaints echoed from various corners of the office.

“No way, it actually happened?”

“Shit, I had them breaking first, not full-on mating—”

“God dammit, I was so sure it was gonna be another six months—”

Xavier dragged a hand down his face as she groaned, burying her head in her arms. “There was a pool?”

Eli smirked, leaning against the cubicle wall. “Oh, hell yeah. Half the office had money on when you two would finally stop eye-fucking and do something about it.”

Xavier let out a slow, measured breath, fingers twitching slightly against his bicep.

“Don’t kill him,” she muttered, her voice muffled against her sleeves.

“I make no promises,” Xavier said flatly.

Eli held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t be mad at me, man. Be mad at the people who lost their paychecks betting against you.” He grinned. “Not my fault everyone else thought you were a coward.”

Xavier moved, and Eli took a very quick step back.

“Alright, alright—point made, Alpha.”

Xavier didn’t smile, but his posture relaxed slightly, his fingers returning to their usual resting place at the small of her back.

Eli caught the movement, his smirk widening slightly before he turned to walk away. “By the way, tell your girl if she ever gets sick of your cooking, I make a mean spaghetti.”

Xavier’s glare could’ve melted steel.

Eli cackled all the way back to his desk.

She peeked up from her arms, eyes glinting with amusement. “…You are a shit cook.”

Xavier leaned down, brushing his lips against her ear. “Say that again and see what happens.”

She shivered. “Xavier—”

“Mm.” He kissed her scent gland, soft, just enough to make her breath hitch. “After work, we’re going home.”

Her fingers curled against his thigh. “And?”

Xavier exhaled against her skin. “And I’m gonna put you in your nest and fuck you stupid.”

Her pulse kicked up, her scent sweetening slightly. “You just said to get used to this.”

He smirked. “Yeah. This is getting used to it.”

She huffed, but the way her thighs pressed together told him everything he needed to know.

Yeah.

They were mated now.

And everyone knew it.

#xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #xavier lads #love and deepspace smut

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