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honeyhae-svt · 2 months ago

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🎮03 | No Feelings Involved🎭

Part-Time Lover | JxW - masterlist

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: smut, strong language (profanity), explicit language, petty arguments, mention of alcohol consumption, depictions of stress/anxiety related to online and work life, light suggestive jokes/humor, suggestive content, enemies-to-lovers dynamic, jealousy, mature themes (alcohol, party scenes), angst, emotional manipulation, romantic rivalry, descriptive intimacy. smut warnings: masturbation (both f and m), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (fictional context, not ideal IRL), rough sex, degradation (really slight. f being called "slut" once), overstimulation, tension-filled build-up, power dynamics (m dom) wc: 11,087 ♪ playlist ♪ : one of the girls (the weekend, lily rose depp, jennie), love me harder (ariana grande, the weekend), toxic (britney spears), kiss it better (rihanna), don't blame me (taylor swift).

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a vivid, merciless replay of every single humiliating detail from the night before. It wasn't just a hangover—it was the full-course regret special. You'd tried so hard to push the memory of last night into the furthest corner of your mind, but it refused to budge. Instead, it danced right in front of you, mocking you with every cringe-worthy second. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkk.

Groaning, you splashed cold water onto your face, scrubbing with an almost aggressive force as though that would somehow erase your mistakes. This is why alcohol is the devil.

You'd made this promise to yourself before—swearing off drinking after every disastrous night out—but this time, you meant it. Probably. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your thoughts racing. You couldn't let this ruin you. Vulnerability was dangerous. It was messy. It made everything worse. No, you couldn't afford that—not with Jeonghan, especially not with Jeonghan. You straightened your back, glaring at your reflection as if it could fight you back. Be your fucking self, you dumb idiot. But no matter how much you mentally pep-talked yourself, there was no escaping the glaring, undeniable fact: you tried to kiss your boss last night.

What the hell was wrong with you? Even worse, you'd been so drunk that your stupid, impulsive actions had no logic behind them. You didn't even know why you did it. And now you were paying the price. When you arrived at work, Jeonghan was... off. It wasn't his usual self—the playful, teasing boss who would occasionally poke fun at you for being "too serious" or "too good" at your job. No, today he was colder. Detached. His voice was clipped, his instructions sharp and curt. "Get my coffee," he'd said that morning, handing you a slip of paper with the name of some café that you realized, to your horror, was an hour's drive away.

"Wait—this is in another city." "I know." He didn't even look up from his desk. "Be quick about it." You wanted to scream. Was this some kind of punishment? Clearly, yes. But like the professional you prided yourself on being (even though you were currently drowning in humiliation), you'd complied. You got in your car and drove, cursing yourself—and Jeonghan—the entire time. By the time you got back, it was already afternoon. You placed the coffee on his desk, glaring at it because, of course, it had long since gone cold. He didn't even glance at it. "Is there anything else you need?" you asked, keeping your tone as even as possible, though your patience was fraying like a worn thread. "No." He didn't even look at you. "Okay." You turned on your heel, jaw clenched, heart pounding with a mixture of frustration and guilt. This coldness of his—this distance—was suffocating. You wanted to apologize, but how could you when he wouldn't even give you a chance? A text wouldn't cut it. That would be way too insincere. Apologies needed to be face-to-face, with your pride laid bare. But Jeonghan wasn't letting you anywhere near his walls. The day dragged on. The tension between you two was thick enough to slice through, and every interaction felt like walking on shards of glass. You were used to his teasing, his sly remarks, even his annoying requests—but this cold, indifferent Jeonghan was something you weren't prepared for. You only had yourself to blame. By the time the clock struck 6 PM, you were ready to collapse. Still, you lingered by your desk, scrolling mindlessly through emails, hoping he'd say something—maybe even address the elephant in the room. But he never did. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This is hell. Finally, you mustered the courage to approach his office door, knocking lightly. "Jeonghan?" "Come in," came his voice, detached as ever. You pushed the door open, stepping inside. He was seated at his desk, looking over some paperwork, his expression unreadable. "I..." you started, but your throat tightened, and the words caught. His gaze flicked up to you, sharp and expectant, and suddenly, every ounce of bravery you'd scraped together began to crumble. You swallowed hard, your palms sweating. "About last night... I—" "Don't." His voice cut through the air like a knife. Your breath hitched. "I just want to—" "Forget about it." His tone was final, the authority in his voice leaving no room for argument. But there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something unspoken, something unreadable—that gave you pause. You clenched your fists, nodding stiffly. "Fine." And with that, you turned and left his office, your chest tight and your mind spinning. If he wanted to play this cold war game, then fine. Two could play at that. But deep down, you knew this was far from over.

By the time you finally got home, you wanted nothing more than to curl up under a blanket and forget the entire day. But the universe had other plans. Your phone buzzed with a message from your mom:

Mom: I sent the caretaker home early today, so I'm alone. Could you visit, dear?

You didn't hesitate. Dropping your bag by the door, you grabbed your jacket and started toward the garage. But when you saw your car keys, you frowned.

The bus schedule was unreliable at this hour, and taking the car felt like a hassle. Your gaze drifted to the motorcycle in the corner—a sleek, black machine that hadn't been touched in months. Your chest tightened. The sight of it brought back memories you weren't ready to unpack. Nights spent speeding down empty streets, trying to outrun emotions you didn't want to face. Moments of reckless abandon that had cost you more than you wanted to admit. But tonight, practicality outweighed sentiment. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed your helmet and swung a leg over the bike. The engine roared to life, the sound reverberating through the quiet garage.

When you arrived at your mom's house, the familiar warmth of the porch light greeted you. It was comforting, in a way that made your chest ache. But just as you were about to head inside, your phone buzzed with another notification. Mingyu had posted something on X—formerly Twitter—and tagged you. Against your better judgment, you opened the app. There it was: a group photo from last night's event. Mingyu had captioned it, "Last night was one for the books. Kitsunya, you killed it." Killed it? You wanted to scream. If by "killed it," he meant your dignity, then sure. Perfect phrasing. As if that wasn't enough, Seungkwan had chimed in with a reply: @/pledis_boos: Killed it?? She was on another planet with all that alcohol, LMAO. Your blood pressure skyrocketed. Of course, the chaos didn't end there. Your Discord server was in shambles with nonstop teasing:

[#general] min9yu: Streaming hangover queennn ho5hi_kwon: Who's taking bets she skips streaming again?? pledis_boos: After that karaoke performance? definitely. kitsunya: i hope you all die a miserable death

You clenched your teeth, heat flooding your face. Slamming your phone shut, you muted the server before they could fire back. You were already frustrated beyond belief, and their antics weren't helping. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into your pocket and turned your attention to the house. You were here for your mom, not for these idiots.

Stepping inside, the familiar scent of lavender and warm spices immediately wrapped around you. It was as though time had stopped in this house. The same photos lined the walls, the same throw blanket draped over the couch. For a moment, the weight on your shoulders lifted. "Sweetie?" your mom called from the kitchen. "Yeah, it's me!" you replied, slipping off your shoes and making your way toward her. She was seated at the kitchen table, a teapot in front of her and her usual serene smile on her face. "You didn't have to come all this way." "Of course I did," you said, leaning down to hug her. "How are you feeling?" "Better, now that you're here." Her words were simple, but they hit you hard. No matter how chaotic your life felt, being here always reminded you of what mattered most. For the first time all day, you allowed yourself to breathe. You sat down beside her, letting the conversation flow easily, her calm presence grounding you. Maybe the rest of the world could wait. For now, you were just her child, sitting at the kitchen table, finding solace in the only place that had always felt like home.

The hum of the studio buzzed around you as you took a long sip of your coffee, letting the warm bitterness steady your nerves after dealing with the overly flirtatious model. His incessant chatter had been more of a hindrance than a distraction, dragging out a task that should've taken half the time.

You needed a moment to breathe, so you leaned against the far counter, watching the set come to life as photographers, assistants, and models swarmed like bees.

Your brief peace was interrupted by the chime of your phone. A notification lit up the screen, and your heart sank as you saw it was from X. Another tag. Another random mention. You opened it, eyebrows knitting together as you read the tweet. @/kitsunya is lowkey hacking, I've watched her gameplay on her streams. Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you hesitated before clicking the attached video. It was a screen recording of someone playing League of Legends, supposedly you. The movements in the video were eerily familiar to your own, down to the champion choices and gameplay style. But something felt... off. The clip showed a flawless streak of kills and maneuvers you didn't recognize. At one point, the screen glitched, a strange overlay flashing briefly—something that screamed "hacking" to anyone who didn't know better. "That's not me," you muttered, the words a mix of disbelief and annoyance. Your fingers swiped down to the comments, and your heart sank further at the sea of responses.

- "She's so fake. always knew she was too good to be true" - "Imagine trying this hard to be relevant. Cringe." - "cancel her, wtf."

You bit the inside of your cheek, scrolling further to find a glimmer of reason among the mob.

- This doesn't even look like her gameplay. I've watched all her streams—this never happened. - "Bro, this is so edited. Look at the glitching when has she ever used a cheat?" - "She's bad at LOL sometimes, lol"

A small, bitter laugh escaped you at the last comment. The defender wasn't wrong. If anything, your League skills were average at best. Shutting your phone, you exhaled slowly. This wasn't the first time someone had tried to drag your name into some petty drama, but this? Accusations of hacking? That was new—and exhausting.

Calm. Professional. Handle it later, you told yourself. Your hands tightened around your coffee cup, knuckles whitening.

The scandal didn't disappear as quickly as you'd hoped. By the time you wrapped up at the studio, your socials were flooded. Notifications pinged relentlessly, and your Discord server wasn't any quieter. Mingyu and Seungkwan, of course, had chimed in.

[#general] min9yu: Saw the scandal. Want me to 'accidentally' leak your bad League stats? Clear your name instantly. pledis_boos: Fr tho, why would they say hacking when you literally suck at dodging skill shots kitsunya: shut up

You slammed your phone into your bag, groaning as you walked toward your parked motorcycle. Their teasing was harmless, but the noise around the whole situation was eating at you.

You didn't even realize how tense you were until your phone buzzed again—this time, a DM from Wonwoo.

everyone_woo: Saw the video. Want me to handle it?

You blinked at the message, unsure how to feel. Wonwoo wasn't exactly warm—his jokes often toed the line of annoyance—but he wasn't a liar either.

kitsunya: handle it how? everyone_woo: Show proof it's fake. Or just flame them in the server. Your pick.

You rolled your eyes. The image of Wonwoo in your server flaming trolls was ridiculous—and oddly tempting.

kitsunya: thanks, but ive got this everyone_woo: Sure. Just try not to cry about it on stream later.

You glared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard as your blood boiled.

kitsunya: fuck you, jeon.

The typing bubble popped up immediately.

everyone_woo: You wish.

You groaned, shoving your phone back into your bag as you straddled your motorcycle. The engine roared to life, drowning out your spiraling thoughts for a moment.

Focus on fixing this later, you told yourself again. But as you sped through the streets, the frustration churned in your chest, mixing with a spark of determination.

Whoever thought they could drag you down with a cheap, fake video clearly underestimated you. And if Wonwoo and the others had their way, they'd probably make sure the trolls regretted it too.

You didn't know what the next stream would bring, but one thing was clear—you weren't going to let this slide.

As the hours dragged on, the noise surrounding the scandal only grew louder. You had tried ignoring it, but your notifications were relentless. Your phone buzzed with messages from fans, haters, and even a few friends teasing you. After scrolling through the endless comments, you decided enough was enough.

Opening X, you navigated to the original post causing the uproar. The video was still playing, and the comments section was an absolute battlefield. Some were trashing you, while others valiantly defended your honor. You smirked to yourself.

With a deep breath, you typed your response. Calm, composed, with a pinch of playful sass—your signature style.

@/kitsunya: Wow, I didn't realize I got a skill boost overnight. Wish I had this kind of gameplay in real life. But hey, next time you edit, try not to glitch the screen, it's giving 'rookie hacker.' 🥰 Stay safe, everyone! 💕

You hit post and shut your phone off with a smirk. That should shut them up for now.

Later that evening, you fired up your stream. The usual intro music played, and the chat instantly exploded.

Chat: - "OMG, she's here!!! 🔥" - "HANDLE THEM!" - "say the word and we'll roast them for you!" - "So you're a 'hacker' now, huh? XD"

You leaned back in your chair, your trademark fox ears headband perched snugly on your head. "Alright, alright," you began, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Let's address the elephant in the room—or, in this case, the poorly edited League of Legends gameplay."

The chat erupted with laughter emojis.

"First of all," you continued, "if you're going to accuse someone of hacking, at least make the footage look convincing. I mean, come on! That glitch was so bad, even my grandma would've caught it. And she doesn't even know what a mouse is, okay?"

Your playful tone had the chat spamming "LOL" and "QUEEN ENERGY."—You've never really liked being called that (queen), it was a bit cringe but if that's what your fans would call you, you'll gladly let them be. Besides, they just knew how you hated it, too.

You quickly pulled up the clip in question, dissecting it for your viewers. "Look at this," you said, pointing out the glaring inconsistencies. "That's not even my interface. I use a custom overlay, so nice try, but not quite. And these moves? Yeah, I wish I was that good, but y'all know I play like a bronze-tier gremlin on most days."

- "NOT THE GREMLIN LMAOO" - "She's roasting herself and the haters at the same time 💀" - "Petition to make 'bronze-tier gremlin' a merch line."

You shrugged, smirking at the chaos you'd stirred. "Anyway, to the person who made this... next time, put some actual effort into your smear campaign. This was embarrassing—for you, not me." You ended the segment with a wink before transitioning to your usual gameplay.

Throughout the stream, you maintained your signature IDGAF attitude, brushing off the drama like dust on your shoulder. As the games went on, the chat buzzed with renewed energy, rallying behind you with jokes and support.

By the time you ended the stream, you felt lighter. The haters had nothing on you, and your fans? They reminded you why you kept doing this in the first place.

As you signed off, you left one final remark. "To anyone still doubting me, feel free to stick around. You might just learn what real gameplay looks like. And to my fans—love you guys. Kitsunya out."

With that, you clicked the end-stream button, a triumphant grin spreading across your face. Let the haters try again. They'd never win against you.

The aftermath of the "hacker" scandal didn't deter you—it only made you sharper. Your streams saw a spike in viewers, curious to witness the alleged "cheater" in action. Meanwhile, your usual gaming circle hadn't changed much, except for one small, persistent annoyance: Wonwoo.

It started innocently enough during a group stream with Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Wonwoo. You were all queued for a round of Valorant, and as the match loaded, Seungkwan's voice filled the mic.

"Alright, team, let's get this W. Kitsunya, you got my back, right?"

"Always, Boo," you replied smoothly, earning a groan from Mingyu.

"Can you two not flirt on comms?" Mingyu teased.

"Jealous, Mingyu?" you shot back. "Don't worry, you can watch and learn how it's done."

But before Mingyu could retort, Wonwoo's dry voice cut in. "Can we focus on the game instead of this middle school banter? Some of us actually want to win."

"Relax, Jeon," you quipped. "You'll still bottom frag no matter how focused you are."

The chat exploded with laughing emojis and "OOF" comments as Seungkwan cackled. "Oh my god, she really said that!"

"Funny," Wonwoo replied evenly, his tone calm but with a hint of sharpness. "At least I don't need an entire fanbase hyping me up to stay relevant."

The mood shifted slightly. Mingyu let out a low whistle, and Seungkwan muttered, "Yikes, is it getting warm in here, or is that just me?"

Your grip on your mouse tightened. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said, feigning sweetness. "Is my relevance bothering you, Jeon? Don't worry, I'm sure someone out there appreciates your minimalist personality."

Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Big words for someone who spent the last week crying over an edited gameplay clip."

"Okay, timeout!" Mingyu cut in. "Can we save the passive-aggressive flirting for later? We've got a match to lose."

"I'm not flirting," you and Wonwoo said simultaneously, which only made Seungkwan laugh harder.

Chat: - "WHY DOES THIS FEEL LIKE A KDRAMA?" - "Enemies to lovers speedrun when???" - "Wonwoo is spicy tonight, ngl"

As the matches continued, the banter between you and Wonwoo escalated. When you missed a critical shot, he chimed in, "Nice aim. Were you aiming at the sky for inspiration?"

"Bold of you to assume you'd know anything about aim," you shot back after watching him miss an easy shot of his own.

Seungkwan and Mingyu had a field day moderating the chaos.

"Guys, if you kill each other, can I have your streaming setups?" Mingyu joked, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Not unless you learn how to aim first," you and Wonwoo snapped in unison, which made everyone lose it.

Chat: - "They're SO ANNOYING TO EACH OTHER I LOVE IT." - "Can someone clip this toxic energy? I'm obsessed." - "seungkwan is the only one holding this team together lol."

After the stream ended, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. Fighting with Wonwoo was mentally exhausting, but you had to admit—your streams were a hit whenever he was around. The audience loved the dynamic, and a small part of you found it... entertaining, in a frustrating way.

Still, you were determined not to lose to him, whether it was in gameplay or banter. If Wonwoo wanted a war, you were more than ready to bring it.

Little did you know, Wonwoo was thinking the exact same thing.

Absolutely, the unresolved tension between Jeonghan and MC is still lingering in the background, simmering beneath all the chaos of gaming streams and playful (or not-so-playful) fights with Wonwoo. Here's how that thread can weave into the story while keeping it naturally integrated:

The banter between you and Wonwoo was in full swing during a round of Valorant. Jeonghan, ever the observer, stayed quiet for most of the game, only chiming in occasionally with sarcastic one-liners that set the group laughing.

However, every so often, you caught him cutting in with comments that felt pointed, though they were disguised under his usual casual tone.

For instance, when you accidentally botched a round by peeking too early, Jeonghan couldn't resist.

"You're usually so composed, Kitsunya," he remarked, voice smooth. "Guess all this stress is getting to you."

Your throat tightened for a moment, but you didn't let it show. "Or maybe it's because I'm carrying half of this team. Can't relate, though—I wouldn't know what it's like to sit back and let everyone else do the work."

Mingyu wheezed into the mic. "Oh my god, she went there."

Jeonghan only chuckled. "I must have touched a nerve. Relax, it's just a game, sweetheart."

The word hung heavy in the air, and the chat exploded.

Chat: - "sweetheart? HELLO???" - "Did anyone else feel that dagger???" - "Kitsunya is DONE WITH HIM LMAO."

You stayed professional, though your grip on your mouse tightened. "Relax? I'm so relaxed," you shot back. "It's not like I'm the one stalking people's streams to stir the pot."

The silence that followed was loud. Wonwoo laughed softly. "Alright, that was savage."

Jeonghan let out an amused hum but didn't respond directly. His lack of a comeback only added fuel to the tension.

You ended the stream with your usual closing remarks, ignoring the way your heart still raced from Jeonghan's presence. The moment you were offline, you leaned back in your chair, letting out a groan of frustration.

Why was he still getting under your skin? Why couldn't you just forget what happened? It wasn't like he'd even acknowledged it outside of these subtle, cutting moments.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. A message from Jeonghan:

Jeonghan: You've been sharper lately. Don't let it ruin your aim.

You stared at the text, unsure whether to laugh, scream, or throw your phone out the window. Instead, you settled on typing a curt reply:

You: thanks for the unsolicited advice, boss. ill try not to let your words haunt me.

You hesitated before hitting send. Was that too much? Too little? The overthinking was exhausting.

No reply came. Typical.

Jeonghan continued to act as if nothing had ever happened. He still handed you ridiculous tasks—like picking up coffee from the other side of the city—but now, there was an added layer of... something. Whether it was tension or amusement, you couldn't tell. At one point, while delivering a report to him, you accidentally brushed past his desk. The proximity made your pulse quicken. Jeonghan looked up, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Careful," he said smoothly. "You're spilling your coffee." You glanced down, realizing you'd almost tipped the cup in your hand. "Right. My bad." His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. "You're distracted. Anything on your mind?" You shot him a glare, but it lacked your usual fire. "Nope. Just trying to make sure you get your perfectly brewed coffee without having to lift a finger." Jeonghan hummed. "Good. Keep up the hard work, sweetheart." There it was again—that word. It set your teeth on edge, but you refused to let him see how it affected you. Instead, you plastered on your best fake smile and left his office without another word.

Jeonghan reclined in his sleek office chair, the dim glow of his second monitor lighting his face as he watched the stream playing out in front of him.

Seungcheol was supposed to be live, but the man was nowhere to be seen, and instead, Jeonghan found himself once again on your stream. He didn't know how or why he ended up there, but he wasn't about to click away now—not when you were in the middle of what seemed to be an increasingly fiery exchange with Wonwoo. "You call that a headshot, Kitsunya?" Wonwoo's voice cut through the audio, calm and sharp as always. "Maybe you should stick to being a cheerleader for the team." Your scoff came out quick and biting. "And maybe you should stick to solo play since clearly you don't know what teamwork means. What are you, allergic to assists?" The chat exploded with laughter and emotes, and Jeonghan couldn't help the faint smirk that tugged at his lips. You were quick, sharper than most, and he hated how entertaining it was to watch you put Wonwoo in his place. Wonwoo's response was dry, but there was a hint of amusement. "Big words for someone whose accuracy is about as consistent as Mingyu's cooking skills." "Oh, that's rich coming from the guy who got sniped by a bronze player last week," you shot back effortlessly, the grin evident in your tone. Jeonghan's jaw tightened. He should have closed the stream. He should have focused on his work. But instead, he found himself gripping the edge of his desk, irritation bubbling under the surface. Since when had you and Wonwoo gotten so... close? "Sweetheart, don't you think you're taking this roasting thing a little far?" Wonwoo said casually, the pet name clearly meant to get a rise out of you. You didn't skip a beat. "Don't call me sweetheart. I'm not your sidekick." Jeonghan's smirk vanished. He'd been calling you that for weeks now—using it as a way to get under your skin—but hearing it from Wonwoo suddenly made it feel... wrong. Why did it bother him so much?

Jeonghan sat in his office, staring blankly at the report in front of him. The words blurred together, meaningless against the din of his own thoughts. He clenched his jaw, shoving the papers aside as his mind betrayed him yet again, wandering back to the stream last night. To you and Wonwoo, bickering with that effortless chemistry that felt so... natural. Too natural.

The knock at the door startled him. He straightened, a carefully neutral expression slipping into place.

"Come in."

You entered, your movements brisk as you carried a stack of documents. "Here's the draft you asked for," you said, your tone cool.

Jeonghan's eyes lingered on you for a fraction longer than he intended. "Morning, sweetheart," he said, the words coming out smoother than he felt.

You froze for a split second before shooting him a glare. "Don't call me that."

He smirked, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. "Why not? You didn't seem to mind when Wonwoo called you that last night."

You blinked, confusion flickering in your expression before it hardened into annoyance. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he replied, his tone calm but biting.

"Jeonghan," you snapped, crossing your arms as you stared him down. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" He tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. "I don't have one. Just an observation. You looked... comfortable with him."

The tension in the room thickened, but you didn't back down. "So what if I was? Are you keeping tabs on me now?"

His smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something darker, something raw. "I don't need to keep tabs. It's obvious."

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. "Obvious?"

"You're distracted," he said, his voice softer now but no less cutting. "Is it him?"

Something inside you snapped. "If you have something to say, Jeonghan, say it. Stop with the mind games."

His expression flickered—anger, frustration, guilt?—before it settled into something unreadable. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he looked at you with a rare vulnerability. "You've changed," he murmured, almost to himself. "You're different around him."

You inhaled sharply, his words hitting deeper than you wanted to admit. "Don't act like you care," you said, your voice shaking with suppressed emotion.

His eyes darkened. "And what if I do?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss. Finally, you turned on your heel, your heart pounding as you headed for the door.

"You kissed me," his voice stopped you cold, low and quiet but filled with an edge that cut through the air. "And then... you act like it meant nothing."

You froze, your hand hovering over the doorknob. When you turned back to him, your eyes were blazing. "You think I don't know that? You've been shutting me out ever since, Jeonghan. So don't you dare act like I'm the one who walked away first."

The words hung between you like a fragile thread, taut and trembling.

Jeonghan stared at you, his carefully crafted mask crumbling. "Maybe I thought it would be easier," he admitted, his voice rough. "If I pushed you away. If I let you go."

Your throat tightened, but you refused to let him see you falter. "Well, congratulations. It worked."

Before he could respond, you turned and walked out, slamming the door behind you.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, his head tipping back as he stared at the ceiling. His chest felt heavy, his thoughts a mess of regret and longing.

What the hell am I doing?

He was the one crossing that barrier, when he has been pushing you away on the past few weeks. Over and over again.

The week had been chaotic, as usual. Between balancing work, streams, and trying to ignore the mess of emotions that had been haunting you since that damn drunken kiss incident with Jeonghan, you barely had time to breathe. Friday rolled around, and you were finally looking forward to a weekend of peace—just you, your PC, and maybe a new game to dive into.

That was the plan, at least, until Seungcheol called you earlier that week.

Monday

"Hey," his voice was casual, but you could hear the grin behind it. "I'm throwing a party this weekend. Just a small thing, you know, close friends and streamers. You in?" You hesitated, already knowing what your answer would be. "Thanks for the invite, Seungcheol, but I've got plans this weekend. Sorry." "Come on," he replied smoothly. "It's been a while since we all hung out. You could use a little break, don't you think?" "No can do," you said firmly, giving a polite laugh to soften the rejection. "But have fun." He didn't push further, just chuckled and left it at that. You thought that would be the end of it. You thought wrong.

That should've been the end of it.

It wasn't.

By the time Wednesday came around, Seungkwan and Hoshi had picked up the torch where Seungcheol had left off.

Wednesday

The VC comms were alive with chatter as you queued up for another Overwatch match.

"Okay, but seriously," Seungkwan's voice broke through the din, incredulous and a little too loud in your headset. "Why aren't you coming to the party?"

"Yeah," Hoshi chimed in, just as exasperated. "What's so important that you're ditching us?"

You groaned, adjusting your mic as you loaded into the game. "I told you. I have plans."

"Plans to do what? Sit at home?" Seungkwan asked, disbelief coloring every word.

"And what's wrong with that?" you shot back, your tone clipped as you lined up a headshot on an enemy.

"It's antisocial, that's what," Hoshi said, as though he'd just diagnosed you with some grave illness.

"You're turning into Wonwoo," Seungkwan added, laughing.

"Leave me out of this," Wonwoo's voice cut in dryly, though you could hear the faintest hint of amusement.

"Listen," you interrupted, your patience thinning. "I've already said no, like, a million times. Can we drop it?"

But they didn't drop it. Of course, they didn't.

Thursday

By the next evening, their campaign of peer pressure had reached ridiculous heights.

You were halfway through a stream, your chat buzzing with energy, when Seungkwan's voice came through the VC again.

"Alright, hear me out," he began, his tone taking on that wheedling edge that set your teeth on edge. "What if we make a deal?"

"No," you said flatly, sniping an enemy with practiced precision.

"You didn't even hear the deal!" Hoshi whined, sounding genuinely offended.

"I don't need to," you retorted, eyes locked on the game. "The answer's still no."

"Okay, fine," Seungkwan said dramatically, as though he were deeply wounded. "Then I guess we'll just spend the whole party talking about how lame you are for not showing up."

"Seriously?" you muttered, incredulous.

"And maybe," Hoshi chimed in, "we'll tell everyone about that time you ulted yourself into a wall."

"Will you shut the fuck up?" you snapped, finally losing your cool.

"Fine," Seungkwan relented eventually, though the grin in his tone was unmistakable. "But we're not done with you yet."

In the middle of your stream that evening, as you queued for an Overwatch match, their voices rang out over the VC comms. "Okay, but like, seriously, why aren't you coming to the party?" Seungkwan started, his tone incredulous. "Yeah, what's so important that you're ditching us?" Hoshi chimed in, sounding equally offended. You groaned, adjusting your headset as you focused on loading into the game. "I told you, I have plans." "Plans to do what? Sit at home and stream?" Seungkwan pressed. "And what's wrong with that?" you shot back, your tone clipped. "It's antisocial, that's what," Hoshi said. "You're turning into Wonwoo." "Hey, leave me out of this," Wonwoo's voice cut in from the other side of the comms, calm but with a hint of annoyance. "Listen," you interrupted, trying to steer the conversation away. "I've already said no, like, a million times. Can we drop it?" But they wouldn't let up.

Thursday Night By the next night, their persistence had reached new heights. As you streamed another late-night session of Overwatch, the VC comms lit up once again with Seungkwan and Hoshi's relentless chatter. "Okay, hear me out," Seungkwan started, his voice taking on a wheedling tone. "What if we make a deal?" "Absolutely not," you replied instantly, sniping an enemy on-screen with precision. "You didn't even hear the deal," Hoshi whined. "Don't need to," you said, eyes locked on the game. "The answer's still no." "Fine," Seungkwan said dramatically. "Then I guess we'll just spend the whole party talking about how lame you are for not showing up." "Seriously?" you muttered, your tone dripping with disbelief. "And maybe we'll tell everyone about that one time you accidentally ulted yourself into a wall," Hoshi added with a snicker. "Will you two *shut the fuck up*?" you snapped, your patience wearing thin. "It's been three fucking days of this. Take a hint." The chat lit up with laughter and emotes as your viewers enjoyed the chaos.

Chat Highlights: - "LMAOOO THEY'RE SO RELENTLESS 💀" - "Poor Kitsunya can't catch a break." - "I stan the peer pressure."

"Fine, fine," Seungkwan said finally, though his tone suggested he wasn't done. But for the rest of the night, they managed to keep the nagging to a minimum—at least, until the match ended.

Friday Morning

You woke up to your phone vibrating on your nightstand.

[#general] - 8:13 AM pledis_boos: [image attached of your Overwatch avatar] Look at this, Hoshi. Doesn't this remind you of someone? ho5hi_kwon: Yeah, someone who doesn't know how to have fun. pledis_boos: Right??? ho5hi_kwon: Definitely not naming names though.

You groaned, burying your face in your pillow before tossing your phone aside.

DM from [fuckass bitch dickhead] - 8:30 AM Wonwoo: You're coming to the party, right?

You blinked at the screen, caught completely off guard. Wonwoo never texted first unless it was something gaming-related or directly relevant to a stream.

You: why do you care?

It took him a full minute to reply, which in Wonwoo time meant he was probably rolling his eyes at your response

Wonwoo: I don't. Just figured someone should ask before Seungkwan harasses you into blocking him. You: hes not that bad Wonwoo: Don't lie to yourself. I heard him last night practically begging you to show up. It was embarrassing. For you. You: why are you bringing this up anyway? didnt peg you as the party type. Wonwoo: I'm not

You waited, watching the three dots pop up, disappear, and then pop up again before his next message finally came through.

Wonwoo: I just think it'd be funny watching you try to survive a party without gamer brain kicking in. Bet you'd get the itch to stream mid-conversation and ditch. You: are you serious right now? Wonwoo: Completely. You: wonwoo i swear to god Wonwoo: What? Did I hit a nerve? Can't handle the idea of touching grass for once? You: if this is your idea of convincing me its not working fucker Wonwoo: Good, because I don't care if you go or not. You: THEN WHY ARE WE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION???" Wonwoo: Because it's fun annoying you. Isn't that what friends are for? You: i fucking hate you you should just die Wonwoo: No, you don't

You glared at your screen, scrolling through your options for a witty comeback.

Wonwoo: Look, if it's about him, don't let it stop you. Your fingers froze mid-type. You: what are you talking about Wonwoo: Don't play dumb. You: im not Wonwoo: Sure. Anyway, just saying—if you're scared of seeing Jeonghan, you should just suck it up. You can always leave early if it gets awkward.

Your stomach churned at the mention of his name. So Wonwoo noticed? He's always been perceptive.

You: youre insufferable Wonwoo: I try. So, see you at the party? You: still not going :p Wonwoo: Liar.

And just like that, he went offline, leaving you with nothing but your reflection in the black mirror of your phone screen and the uncomfortable knot tightening in your chest.

By noon, after hours of fighting with yourself—and your growing suspicion that Wonwoo might actually have a point—you gave in.

DM to Seungcheol - 12:47 PM You: fine. ill stop by for a bit Seungcheol: Knew you'd come around. See you there.

You sighed, already dreading what you'd gotten yourself into.

The Party - 8:30 PM

You weren't sure why you let yourself be talked into this. The thrum of music greeted you as soon as you stepped into the lavish apartment Seungcheol had rented for the evening. It reeked of overpriced cologne, faint perfume, and an energy you couldn't immediately name but recognized as too much.

Seungkwan was the first to spot you.

"YOU CAME!" he shouted, practically launching himself at you. He'd always been the overly enthusiastic type, but tonight, his excitement seemed to border on hysteria. "I knew you'd show up! You look so cute—who are you trying to impress?"

"No one," you muttered, brushing him off with a half-smile. "I'm here because I promised Seungcheol. Don't get weird about it."

"Sure, sure," Seungkwan replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He glanced over your shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "By the way, guess who's already here."

You kept your expression neutral. "Who?"

"Jeonghan," he whispered, his voice practically dripping with scandal. "And some girl."

Of course.

You scanned the room, your eyes immediately landing on him. Jeonghan stood near the bar, drink in hand, with a girl perched close, leaning into his space like she belonged there. He looked effortlessly put together in a dark button-up, his signature smirk in place as he responded to something she said.

"Why do you even care?" Seungkwan teased, following your gaze. "Wait. Don't tell me—"

"I don't," you cut him off, turning away sharply. "I need a drink."

Seungkwan giggled, but he let you go. You made your way to the kitchen. The faint sound of laughter and conversations faded as you poured yourself a drink and leaned against the counter, hoping no one would bother you.

"Called it."

The voice came from behind you.

You didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Wonwoo," you sighed, turning just enough to glare at him. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, his dark hoodie and jeans making him look out of place among the more dressed-up crowd.

"What?" he asked, sipping his drink. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Against my better judgment," you muttered.

Wonwoo raised a brow. "And yet, here you are, pretending you're not dying to check if anyone's noticed you."

Your cheeks heated. "I wasn't—"

"Save it," he interrupted, smirking. "You're bad at lying."

You rolled your eyes, taking a long sip of your drink. "Why are you even here? Didn't think parties were your thing."

"They're not," he said, shrugging. "But someone's gotta keep you from self-destructing."

"Gee, thanks," you deadpanned.

"You're welcome."

Later That Night

You thought you were doing a decent job of avoiding Jeonghan until he appeared out of nowhere, stepping into your path as you tried to slip away from the main room.

"Leaving already?" His voice was smooth, a little too casual, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something sharper.

You froze. "Jeonghan."

He tilted his head, studying you. "Didn't think I'd see you here."

"Didn't think you'd care."

"Touché." His lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You've been avoiding me."

"I've been busy."

"Busy avoiding me?"

You glared at him. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Maybe." He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the drink in your hand before returning to your face. "Someone thinks you're trying to prove a point by showing up tonight."

"Let them think whatever they want," you said, your tone colder than you intended.

Jeonghan smirked. "So it's not about her?"

"Not everything is about her," you snapped, your frustration bubbling over. "And if you're just here to play games, don't bother. I'm not in the mood."

For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned in, his voice dropping low.

"You think you know the game we're playing," he murmured, "but you don't. Not yet."

Before you could respond, he stepped back, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your mind spinning.

From across the room, you caught Wonwoo watching, his expression unreadable.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every time you turned your head, it felt like someone's gaze lingered a second too long—whether it was Jeonghan's cryptic smirks or Wonwoo's occasional glances, like he was trying to piece something together.

But you didn't have time for either of them. Not tonight.

Not until Wonwoo found you again.

"Drinking alone?" he teased, appearing in the hallway where you'd gone to catch your breath.

You scowled at him. "Are you stalking me now?"

"No," he said easily, leaning against the wall like he belonged there. "Just thought I'd find you sulking somewhere. You're predictable."

"And you're annoying," you shot back.

"Funny. Didn't stop you from talking to me."

You opened your mouth to retort, but he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost teasing tone. "Let me guess. He said something to piss you off."

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb," he said, tilting his head toward the party behind you. "Jeonghan. You've been dodging him all night, but I saw the way you tensed up earlier."

You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of how close he was. "It's none of your business."

"I know," he said, his gaze sharp, searching. "But it's entertaining. Watching you flinch every time he's near."

"Go to hell, Wonwoo," you muttered, turning away.

You barely made it two steps before his hand caught your wrist.

"Let go," you hissed, yanking your arm, but he didn't budge.

"Why do you let him get to you like this?" Wonwoo asked, his voice calm but cutting.

"He doesn't," you snapped, though even you didn't believe it.

Wonwoo's grip loosened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smirked. "You're such a bad liar."

Something about the way he said it—like he knew exactly which buttons to push—made you snap.

You shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. "Why do you care, huh? You don't even like me."

"You're right," he said, recovering quickly, his smirk widening. "I don't. But that doesn't mean I can't have fun messing with you."

"Oh, screw you—"

Before you could finish, he closed the gap between you, his hand cupping your jaw as he kissed you.

It wasn't gentle.

It was heated, rough, and full of the frustration you both seemed to carry whenever you were around each other.

You didn't even realize you'd kissed him back until your back hit the wall, his hands on your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair.

The kiss was deep, his tongue licking at your bottom lip, seeking for entrance to your mouth. Without even thinking to process things, your mouth responded almost too immediately while his tongue explored yours to a rhythm.

He kissed you good, and you can't even deny it right now. Your heart was beating fast—faster than you'd ever imagine.

Make-out sessions like this was never a problem to you, but why are you feeling something different now?

This damned man.

And just like that, you were out of breath. With Wonwoo leaning his face closer as if he doesn't want you to get away just yet, you didn't mind. You were too into the kiss that you weren't even trying to pull away.

The kiss was messy, electric, and entirely unexpected.

"Wonwoo," you managed to gasp when he pulled back just enough to let you breathe. Your lips glossed with both of your salivas.

"What?" he murmured, his voice low, his lips brushing yours. His eyes locked to yours then dropped to your swollen, plumped lips. He looked at you differently—at least now.

"This—" You shook your head, trying to gather your thoughts. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Obviously," he said, smirking again. "But that didn't stop you, did it?"

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, silencing whatever protest you might've had.

Wonwoo pulled you into a nearby room—thank god it was even vacant. The whole time, he didn't even lean away from the kiss. He kissed you as if he was trying to swallow you whole. But then again, it was hot as hell.

"So fucking sweet," Wonwoo thought to himself as he carries you on the hips and places you on the nearby table. He stood in between your legs.

Screw it, you can't even think right now—not when his hands keep roaming around your hips. It sent a shiver to your spine. It's like his hands were touching you through your dress. Is that even possible?

The way your tongues swirled, entangling to each other was felt incredibly good.

"So soft," he murmured in between the kiss. And he's doing it again. His head kept pushing towards you when you're not even trying to move away.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck, while your legs found itself encircling his waist. You swore you can feel Wonwoo's smirk that always made you want to punch him in the guts for. But now, you find it attractive for once.

Feeling his bulge like this, you're soaked. Fuck, you're so wet it felt like you were pissing through your underwear. It's been like this since he placed you on the damned table.

After what felt like an eternity, Wonwoo pulled away for you to catch your breath—partly to catch his breath. He stared at you, his eyes moving to your already swollen lips glistened with his saliva while you panted crazily.

"You're wet." Shit. He noticed? Yeah. He noticed

You couldn't reply. It's like the words got stuck in your throat. You wanted to retort. But it'll all be useless.

"...Fuck you." Really? That's the best you can say? You earned a smug scoff from Wonwoo that's for sure.

He just stared at you with a somehow teasing look on his face. But you were too embarrassed to even speak again. So why the fuck did you speak again.

"H- help me..." You mumbled, eyes turning away and cheeks heating up.

Wonwoo's smirk widened, but he raised a brow, looking at you with innocence as he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Help you with what, exactly?" He knew exactly where to push your buttons.

"Such a fucking tease," you muttered under your breath. He knew that.

"I can't help you if I don't know what it is."

"F- Fuck me.. Wonwoo." Your words came out in a stumble. You went from fuck you to fuck me, that's a revolution.

Wonwoo chuckled, but then his gaze darkened. You couldn't quite point what is. A look of lust? Or is he teasing the fuck out of you again? "Come again?"

"Wonwoo, please.." You sighed, head dropping to his shoulder with frustration. You're so wet you want to start touching yourself. It's like your pussy is on damn fire.

But Wonwoo won't budge until you state exactly what you're asking for.

The heat of your body radiates his when his lips found your neck, sucking on your sensitive skin that sent electric waves through your body. That was your final test.

Your hand moved under your dress and you started rubbing your wet clit through your underwear.

Wonwoo leaned back just a little, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. You swore you'd kick his balls after this.

Your fingers moved under your underwear and that's when you insert one finger in. You held back the moan, biting your lower lip.

"Shameless slut. That's hot," he says kneeling down as he looked up at you with the same gaze he had earlier. "Need help?"

"P-please..." You replied, tears rolling down your cheeks. You were so frustrated you can punch his damn handsome face right now.

"You're really ruined." He unzips your dress from the back and removed it. Fuck he found your bra really cute. He spread your thighs open before he starts working on it, his lean fingers entering your slippery, glossed pussy. "What the fuck? It swallowed right in, babe." You couldn't tell if the pet name was to annoy you or what. Doesn't matter, cause your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The same fingers he used for typing on his keyboard were inside you right now.

This shit feels too good to be true.

"So wet for me, huh?" he started moving his fingers deeper. You were so wet that his finger slipped in your pussy almost too easily.

Wonwoo reached that one spongy texture. "Fuckk.....!" You moaned out, panting crazily.

His fingers fucked your pussy so well with his thumb running circles on your clit, you squirted. He's moving his fingers in and out of you so fast that you almost reached the depths of heaven.

You came. His hand soaked with your fluids. He pulled out his fingers and licked it. "So pretty seeing you like this. You're sweet, Kitsunya."

Before you can even get back from pleasure, his head was in between your thighs, already licking your pussy clean. And he received a harmonious moans out of you. He loved the sounds you made. He can listen to it all day.

Then his tongue entered your pussy.

"Wonnie... S- so good.. Don't stop." You panted, the sudden nickname making him throbbing hard below. While your fingers entangling through his soft locks, pulling his head so he could reach deeper. And then you came again, on his face, moaning like crazy.

He licked all your fluids before pulling away, licking his lips as he stood up again to look down at you.

"You taste so fucking sweet." He held your chin—making you look up at him as he captures your lips again, tasting yourself.

Wonwoo was devouring you at this point. His tongue working in your mouth. While his hand went to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, and the other already unclipping your bra.

Then he carried you onto the bed, dropping you on the mattress without pulling away. He started taking his hoodie off while you messily unzips his pants. He helped you pull it down.

He was fucking huge. You knew it already when you felt his bulge earlier, but didn't imagine a length like this.

He pulled away, his cock throbbing with pre-cum. You stared at him, panting, cheeks fucking red.

"Safe word?" He asked, his hands massaging your breasts. You forgot to think for a moment.

"Fox." You replied and he smirked.

With that settled, he spread your legs open—leaning in between your things. His fingers prepping your pussy.

Once wide enough, his tip was placed on the entrance of your pussy, rubbing your clit. he was leaking already.

"F- fuck me rough, Wonwoo." You said, begging like you never usually do.

And that was his last straw. He slammed his cock but entered you slowly, your moans filling the room. "So fucking tight, the hell?"

"Y- you're too fucking big," you muffled, tears of pleasure running down at the stretch.

He pulled his cock and slammed it in you again, this time, it felt good it already reached your g-spot. He was huge.

After a few slow thrusts, Wonwoo felt you adjusting to the stretch, and that's when he started roughly fucking your pussy. You held onto him for your dear life, moaning loudly this time.

"Your pussy is swallowing me so fucking well." He muttered, grunting when he felt your walls clenching around his cock. "Don't fucking cum until I say so."

He took it out before you can even come. You cried.

Then just like that, he slammed his cock in you again—hardly that the sounds of your skin slapping to each other filled the room.

He thrusted in and out so fast you were begging to cum with tears running down your cheeks at the frustration.

"Wonwoo, please..!" You moaned out, head going back as your fingers dug onto the flesh of his shoulder.

Wonwoo didn't stop entering you fastly, his hips moving crazily fast, his cock reaching your g-spot. "Don't fucking.." he grunted out. "..cum yet."

You squirted. You were sobbing, not because it hurt, but because it felt too good yet frustrating at the same time.

But the way he's ramming into your pussy was enough to cloud all the frustrations away.

He shut you up when he captured your lips—tongue kissing you too well. He felt your walls clenching around him again. "Cum all over me, baby."

"I'm cumming!" White fluids almost pushing his dick off. And not long after, he took out his cock and his hot load went all over your stomach. You were panting crazily, covering your face with your hands.

Wonwoo patted your head. He didn't call you names anymore either.

Being called "slut" never made sense to you. He didn't repeat it either.

You went in the shower first, your vagina and legs were so sore you felt numb. And when you finally went out—the room smelled like sex and his faint cologne. You didn't look at him until he threw your dress to your face.

You glared at him, covering your body with the towel you were holding as Wonwoo enters the bathroom next.

In the bathroom, Wonwoo was still hard. He just couldn't help it. When you came out of the shower smelling good as fuck, shit... You were even prettier without make-up on. Thinking of it makes him want to fuck you again.

But now, he just had to settle back. This was nothing. And yet he's fucking his hand at the thought of you.

When Wonwoo emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead, he looked entirely different. The stark simplicity of his black t-shirt and sweatpants did nothing to diminish how effortlessly good he looked.

His glasses caught the faint light of the room as he fixed them, his expression unreadable as he walked toward the bed and sat at its edge, towel slung lazily over his shoulder.

"Jerk," you muttered under your breath—though not quite loud enough for it to sound like a challenge.

He arched an eyebrow at you, but said nothing. The silence stretched, the air between you heavy.

He looks hot.

The thought crept in uninvited, but you shoved it down quickly, pretending to fiddle with the zipper at the back of your dress.

It wasn't cooperating.

Wonwoo noticed. He stood silently, his presence looming behind you. Without a word, he reached for the zipper, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pulled it up smoothly.

You caught his reflection in the mirror—the sharp lines of his face, the faint furrow of his brows, and the way his eyes lingered, just for a moment, before he let go.

"You didn't have to," you mumbled, your gaze dropping to the floor.

"I know," he replied simply, stepping back. His tone was devoid of sarcasm, yet it felt loaded with unspoken meaning.

He handed you an oversized jacket without waiting for you to ask. "Here."

You took it wordlessly, slipping one arm in, then the other, the fabric engulfing you like a shield. As you turned back to the mirror, fixing your makeup and on attempting to dry your hair as quick as you can, you felt his eyes on you.

Your gaze flickered up to the mirror, catching him already staring.

He didn't look away.

Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, and you quickly broke eye contact, muttering something incoherent as you turned toward the door.

"Wait," Wonwoo said, his voice low, stopping you in your tracks.

You barely had time to react before he closed the distance between you, his hands bracing lightly on either side of the doorframe, trapping you.

"What?" you asked, your voice wavering more than you'd like.

He didn't answer right away. His gaze flickered over your face—your swollen lips, the faint color in your cheeks, the way your breath hitched as he leaned closer.

"Nothing," he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Just wanted to see if you'd leave without saying goodbye."

"I should've," you shot back, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice betrayed you.

"Maybe."

And then he kissed you again.

This time, it was slower, deliberate, as though he was testing just how far he could push you. His hands slid to your waist, tugging you closer, and you melted against him despite every voice in your head screaming at you to stop.

You didn't know how long you stayed like that, lips tangled, the world outside fading into irrelevance.

The kiss involved your tongues again, your head hitting the door behind you—while Wonwoo was pushing his head closer to you again.

But eventually, reality crept back in.

"I—" you started, putting hands on his chest to push him slightly away just enough to catch your breath.

"Yeah," Wonwoo said, his voice equally quiet, though his smirk lingered.

You didn't bother finishing your sentence. Instead, you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding and your mind racing.

The oversized jacket he'd given you hung loosely over your dress, a silent reminder of whatever had just happened.

The noise of the party hit you like a wall, jolting you back to your surroundings. You avoided eye contact with anyone as you wove through the crowd, heading for the kitchen in search of water—or an excuse to keep yourself busy.

But then you felt it.

A pair of eyes.

When you glanced up, there he was.

Jeonghan.

He stood near the bar, leaning casually against the counter, a drink in hand. His expression was unreadable, but the slight tilt of his head and the glint in his eyes told you he'd noticed something was different.

Your lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked in the opposite direction, your pulse racing.

Wonwoo stayed behind, leaning lazily against the doorframe. His hair was still damp, his smirk a little too self-satisfied.

He watched the closed door for a moment longer before turning back toward the bed, dropping the towel onto the chair in the corner.

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he checked the time.

A message popped up from Seungkwan in his DM.

Seungkwan: Bro, where tf are you? Jeonghan keeps asking about Kitsunya. Says she's acting weird. Did y'all fight or smth?

Wonwoo stared at the message, his smirk fading into something more contemplative.

"No," he murmured to himself, tossing his phone onto the same bed you two had sex on. "We didn't fight."

The party could wait. For now, he needed a moment to think—or to figure out why he'd let himself care.

You had barely taken a sip of water when a voice interrupted your solitude.

"Long night?"

You froze, clutching the glass tighter. Turning slowly, you met Jeonghan's gaze. He stood a few feet away, his usual confident demeanor wrapped around him like a second skin.

"What do you want?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

He stepped closer, his expression soft but his eyes sharp. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I don't follow."

Jeonghan tilted his head, studying you. "You're wearing someone else's jacket."

Your stomach dropped. "So?"

"So," he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile, "it's not like you to borrow things. Especially not from... whoever it is you've been sneaking around with tonight."

Your cheeks burned. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Jeonghan's tone was light, teasing, but his gaze pinned you in place. "You've been avoiding me all night. And now you're practically running from the room. It's not hard to connect the dots."

"Drop it, Jeonghan," you snapped, your voice low.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, stepping closer, he leaned down slightly so his face was level with yours.

"I will," he said softly, "when you stop looking like you've just been caught."

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he straightened and walked away, leaving you alone with the weight of his words.

Back in the room, Wonwoo debated rejoining the party. The chaos didn't appeal to him, but the lingering hum of your presence in the space did.

He'd kissed you twice.

Three times, if he counted the one that had blurred into more than just kissing.

And now, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

When he finally pushed himself off the bed and headed back into the main area, the atmosphere was heavier than before.

The music was loud, but the tension in the room was louder.

He spotted you almost immediately, standing near the kitchen entrance talking with Woozi. Jeonghan was a few feet away, talking to someone else, but his attention kept flicking to you.

Wonwoo's jaw tightened.

Woozi excused himself by patting you on the head. "I'll be over there with Hoshi if you ever need me."

And you hummed, nodding as he walked away.

"Having fun?"

Your eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"It's a party," he said dryly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What do you think?"

You glared at him, but before you could retort, Jeonghan appeared.

"Wonwoo," Jeonghan said smoothly, his smile as sharp as ever. "Didn't expect to see you hanging around here."

Wonwoo shrugged, his gaze steady. "Didn't expect to see you keeping tabs."

Jeonghan's smile didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "Just looking out for my friends."

The unspoken implication hung in the air, and you felt yourself shrinking under the weight of it.

"Sure you are," Wonwoo said, his tone light but his posture tense.

You couldn't take it anymore. "I'm going to get some air," you muttered, brushing past them before either could stop you.

The cool night air hit you like a slap, cutting through the heat that had built up inside.

You leaned against the railing, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Running away again?"

You turned to find Wonwoo behind you, his hands in his pockets and his expression unreadable.

He's been around you since the night had started.

"Don't you have better things to do?" you asked, your voice sharp.

"Probably," he said, stepping closer. "But this seemed more interesting."

You sighed, turning back to the view. "What do you want, Wonwoo?"

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. "You tell me."

You frowned, glancing at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, his voice soft but firm, "you've been acting like I'm the problem when you're the one running circles around yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, stepping closer. "You're mad at Jeonghan, mad at me, and probably mad at yourself. But you're not doing anything about it. You're just... stuck."

His words hit a little too close to home, and you hated how right he sounded.

"So what?" you snapped. "What do you want me to do? Forget everything and pretend like it doesn't matter?"

"Maybe," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Or maybe just stop pretending you don't want something different."

Your breath caught as he closed the distance between you.

How can he see right through you? it was unfair.

"Wonwoo—"

He kissed you again, cutting off whatever you were about to say. This kiss wasn't rough or teasing—it was deliberate, almost careful, like he was testing a boundary he wasn't sure he was allowed to cross.

You didn't even try to pull away. Allowing him like you both were a couple or something.

This wasn't even anything to begin with. And that's exactly the problem.

His hand went to the back of your head, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with delicate kisses.

You were kissing him back, deepening the kiss.

He tilted your head a little to the side to get a better angle of the kiss, while your hands hesitated if you should wrap it around him or not.

Screw that, you did anyways. Something felt different. The same feeling hit you like a truck.

Maybe it's because you were in the public, making out with the same man for the past few hours. It was electric—the way he kissed you.

When he pulled back, his gaze searched yours.

"You can keep running," he said quietly. "But I'm not going to chase you."

Before you could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone under the stars.

He kept saying that, then why is he always around you? You sighed.

This was an unknown feeling you never had when you were around him or his circle

When you returned to the party, Jeonghan was waiting.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his tone light but his gaze too sharp to be casual.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

He stepped closer, his smile softening. "You know, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

"Thanks," you said quietly, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice.

But as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, you couldn't help but wonder if he'd seen more than he was letting on.

And if he had, what would he do about it?

a/n: writing 10,000+ words every other day is not as easy as i thought. i feel stupid for even thinking that. balancing school, work, and life is exhausting tbh. BUT i hope i can make it up by updating a chapter ! might take me a while to write a new one but i swear i wont leave this work unfinished. (its exam week so yeah i've been really busy)

i will be posting (if i can by this week) the req actor jeonghan x actor reader i swear it'll be worth it. im battling writers block and due homeworks with my sucked up job.

if you want to be added to the taglist, reblog / comment on this post / teaser / part-time lover masterlist and you'll automatically be tagged on every chapter.

taglist: @asyre @choppedballoondetective @kpoppiesofinternet @syluslittlecrow @minhui896

@october-saturn @kpop-will-kill-me @elegantdevill1 @shidily @angel-ishere (thankyou for reblogging !)

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readsaboutreid · 7 months ago

Text

Permanent Solution | S.R.

cw: big big warning for suicidal ideation (first person POV so you get some of the full on thought spiraling) typical criminal minds violence (reader gets kidnapped by an unsub and tortured but it doesn’t get too descriptive), extreme angst, Morgan being a dick at first (I love him but he was the only person I could really see for the role he fills in the plot with his tell it like it is vibes) but he gets his redemption in pt 2 i promise

no request for this one i had a real bad day and needed to use my thought spiral in some sort of creative outlet to get myself out of it so i took it out on spencer and reader sorry in advance y'all

"None of us like you."

The words rattled around in my brain as I walked absent-mindedly, my destination already in the back of my mind. I hadn't made this walk in five months. The five months before that had been focused on reducing the number of times I took this path.

First, the goal had been to reduce the number of times I felt compelled to take this particular walk. Walks overall weren't out of the question, and were actually encouraged. Especially walks where I shared the company with someone else. But this specific one was different. It carried a different weight. The initial goal set with my therapist had been to reduce how often I walked this path from nearly every night to no more than two or three times a week, substituting it with a different path through a different and more active part of town. After that, the goal was to move to only walking this path once a week. Then, ideally, none at all.

Ten months. Ten months of twice-weekly therapy sessions down the drain. With five measly words. I started to wonder what Spencer would say if he knew where I was headed, but shook my head free of the thought. He'd be better off in the end, anyways. The wind bit into my cheeks and I tugged the green cardigan that hung loosely off my shoulders so that it was tighter around me, the only protection from the cold that seeped down into my bones. I began to walk faster as I shivered, trying anything I could to warm up my body even just a little bit, and thought back to the encounter from earlier that had caused me to spiral so suddenly and severely.

"—none of us like you," Morgan said to me, cutting me off right as I was attempting to defend my previous decision to turn down the previous drink night invitations in the twelve months since I'd been at the BAU, resulting in Spencer also turning them down and going home with me, instead for the last eleven out of twelve of those months. The expression on his face matched the complete and utter disdain dripping from each and every word. "Not even Hotch, who got you the job in the first place, seems to want you on the team anymore. The only person who ever wants you to be around is Reid, and none of us can figure out why." When he finished I took a look around the table to see everyone else just looking down and avoiding my gaze, including Penelope, who had become somewhat of a sister to me in the past year.

"You—," my voice caught in my throat at that point and I cleared it, trying to sound as steady as I could as I asked, "A-all of you share this sentiment?" Despite strength I had tried to muster to ask that question, my voice only came out thick and wavery, and it was all I could do to keep my lip and lower jaw from trembling. I had tried as hard as possible to overcome myself since starting at the BAU, to believe that the people around me genuinely enjoyed my presence and didn't secretly roll their eyes and sigh in relief when I left the room, but apparently I had failed to make them like me and that's exactly what they felt.

"You'll have to excuse me, please," I gasped as the information presented to me sank in. I then stood, my eyes swimming with tears, and ran from the table they had all situated themselves into at the bar, only to run head on into Spencer, who grabbed my by the shoulders with a soft laugh and gentle smile.

"Easy there, (Y/N)," he chuckled while steadying me. It was only then that he realized something was wrong and his smile was immediately replaced with a concerned frown. "Hey, what's wrong, angel?" I shook my head, shook free of his grasp, and kept making for the door, my head slowing down a bit as I finally was able to take in a breath of fresh air as I made it outside.

Spencer hastily followed after me, right at my heels. "(Y/N)! (Y/N), wait!" He called after me, pushing his way through the crowd and finally out the door as well before wrapping me tightly in his arms. "Hey, now, what's wrong, love?" He cooed as he pressed my head into his chest and wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders when he felt me tremble.

I hesitated, debating what to say to him. I could either tell him the truth and earn the further ire of our colleagues by snitching or I could do what I do best: blow every thing up so there would be nobody else to blame but myself. I opted for the latter.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I finally managed to force the words from my throat. Each one stabbed into my chest with the force of a dull butter knife. "I— th-this—," I stumbled, "th-this isn't working, Spencer." My voice was barely above a whisper by the end when I finally met his eyes, which quickly filled with tears at hearing my words.

"Wh-what?" The word came out as nothing more than a breath but within it I swear I could hear the crack in his chest that echoed the one in my own. "Why— wh-what— I don't— where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry," I said through soft sobs before I turned and ran off, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with tears slowly beginning to fall down his cheeks.

I had broken his heart, ensuring that he, too, would hate me. That was the plan. I had to push him away and make him hate me as much as the rest of them so that it would hurt him less when they found me. I made the last turn and found myself at my destination - the 11th Street bridge.

Spencer stood on the sidewalk, staring after her long after she had disappeared around the corner up ahead. He ran through the events of the past hour, trying to figure out what he could have done.

"You can go without me, Spencer," she protested as he tried to convince her to go out for drink night with the rest of the team.

"Please come with me? It will be fun, I promise!" It was a strange reversal for him to be the one trying to coax someone else into going out. Usually it was Morgan trying to convince him to go out (Garcia had literally forced him to go out with her after a particularly rough case or two), but now he decided to pay it forward to get his girlfriend to come out with their team and have some much needed fun. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What if they don't actually want me there?" She asked, her voice small and timid.

"That's ridiculous! Why wouldn't they want you there? You're amazing," he smiled at her, starting to pepper her face with kisses in an attempt to cheer her up. She giggled quietly, not really trying as she made to push him away. He continued his assault, kissing her cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips, over and over with light pecks. When she finally acquiesced, he was giddy with excitement and felt a swell of pride in his chest at the progress she had made since they met.

As they stepped out of his car he grabbed her hand and saw her face twist with anxiety. He gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze before his phone rang, the number for the mental facility his mother currently resided in showing on the screen. "I need to take this, head on inside and I'll be right there, okay angel?" She swallowed nervously and walked inside, and he took the call.

5 minutes and 29 seconds.

That's how long he had been on the phone. Whatever had happened had taken only 5 minutes and 29 seconds. And it ended his relationship.

Spencer found himself pushing the door open and walking back inside the bar. His blood rushed in his ears as he approached the table and stared at all of his coworkers.

"What happened?" He asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard above the music.

"Reid," Morgan started, but Spencer cut him off. "Don't look at us like th—"

"Whatever was said in the 5 minutes and 29 seconds I was on the phone with my mother's hospital resulted in me getting dumped on the sidewalk outside when not even 30 minutes ago (Y/N) was laughing, and smiling, and happy. So what. Happened?" He seethed.

"Alright, you want to know what happened, Reid?" Morgan snapped, preparing to stand up and tell him off before being stopped by Penelope, who looked as though she was still on the verge of tears.

“Reid, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she stood up instead, standing in front of Spencer. “I should have stopped him,” she continued, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have let him talk to her like that.”

“What did he tell her?” Spencer turned to Garcia, interrupting Derek as he opened his mouth to interject.

“I told her the truth,” Morgan slurred, finishing off what the rest of them knew was his fourth glass of whiskey. Spencer opted to ignore his clearly drunk colleague and continued to address Garcia.

“Garcia, what did he say to my girlfriend?” Spencer insisted, his anger being slowly replaced by a sense of growing dread.

“He— he told her nobody wanted her around,” she admitted, her eyes closing and her face twisting with guilt before she hastily added, “which of course that’s not the case! I love (Y/N) like she’s my own sister...” Spencer felt his heart drop into the pit that had become his stomach as his fears were confirmed.

“But?” Spencer added, tilting his head to the side, his voice growing quieter as the conversation continued.

“...but the rest of us miss you, Spence,” JJ finally spoke up. “We haven’t seen you in ages outside of work! If she’s keeping you from spending time with your friends, that's a little bit of a red flag, isn't it?” She reasoned, standing to put a hand on his bicep to calm him.

He angrily shook her off, the anxiety coursing through his veins shifting back into an icy rage. “She hasn’t kept me from doing anything, Jennifer,” he spat through gritted teeth as he held her gaze, which was a mix of shock and hurt at his tone.

“Spence, I just meant that—” JJ started, but was immediately interrupted by Spencer, whose rage was steadily growing to the point where he was certain he was visibly trembling.

“In fact, she has been continually insisting that I leave her behind to come out with you all, but given that I don’t drink much to begin with I usually just opt for a night in with her. I didn’t realize I needed permission from the rest of the team to make that decision for myself,” he bit back before turning to leave.

“Where are you going, Reid? Reid! Come on, man, be reasonable!” Morgan called out, only for Spencer to ignore him and keep walking. If he stayed there any longer, he knew he would end up saying something he’d regret, and with the way most of them were talking about his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—he figured they’d find some way to blame her for his outburst if he did.

When he finally exited the bar, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and he turned on his heel, preparing for another round of arguing, only to be met with the now tear-streaked cheeks of Penelope Garcia.

“What do you want, Garcia?” He snapped, his face softening as he took in her apologetic expression.

“I— I’m sorry, Spencer,” she whispered. “I should have told Derek to shut up, I’m so sorry! I just— I hate when the people I love start fighting like that! I shut down and— and I know I should have stood up for her but I just— I just froze like a coward and—” her voice grew more frantic and upset before Spencer cut her off.

“Garcia, it’s not your fault,” Spencer sighed, his anger fading away until the only thing he felt was the ache in his chest. “Derek was drunk and belligerent. You’re not responsible for his actions.” He paused as he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I just wish I could have been there to put a stop to it. She’s so sweet, and kind, and utterly terrified of people. I shouldn’t have sent her in by herself knowing that." His voice cracked as a fresh wave of tears started to fall down his own cheeks.

“Spencer, you had no way of knowing any of this would happen,” Penelope wrapped Spencer in a tight hug, and he finally broke down. His body shook gently with soft, nearly silent sobs and he cried into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I know how much you love her.” Garcia’s own voice cracked as her heart ached for the crying boy in her arms.

“Wh— what do I do, Penelope?” He mumbled into the sleeve of her sweater. “I just want to help her feel better.” That’s all he’d wanted since he’d first laid eyes on her. He’d never forget how emaciated she had looked, her skin pallid and her eyes nothing more than dim, lifeless pits with dark bruise-like rings underneath them.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Dr. (Y/L/N). She just graduated from the academy and has expertise in psycholinguistics as well as a doctorate in neuropsychology, so I have no doubt she’ll be an excellent addition to the team.”

Spencer had tried his hardest in the two months after that initial introduction to get to know her, to understand why she looked like a reanimated corpse (albeit a very beautiful one) who had just wandered out of a morgue. Over those two months, the two of them had grown closer and closer, thanks to much insistent pushing from him. At first, it came in the form of attempting to get her to join the rest of them for drinks at their bar of choice (the others would never invite her themselves but Spencer would insist to her that it was okay, that she was a part of the team), but quickly he realized that all might be a bit too much for her. So, one night, he told the team he wasn’t feeling up to going out and instead privately asked (Y/N) if she’d want to join him for pizza and a movie at his place since he wasn't feeling up to big crowds and he had a feeling neither was she. He had been prepared to be turned down but was pleasantly surprised when her face showed the slightest expression of piqued interest and she agreed.

He then started to skip out on pretty much all of the future invitations to go out for drinks with the rest of the team, opting instead to go home for pizza and Doctor Who or Star Trek marathons with her, and he started seeing a whole other side to her that no one else had even suspected could have existed. She’d slowly opened to him, occasionally letting out quiet and restrained laughs at his goofy jokes and puns at the beginning of their friendship.

Eventually, those soft titters grew into ebullient, beautiful laughs that were like music to his ears. Her smiles went from being forced and never meeting her eyes to lighting up her entire face, at times so brightly that Spencer swore she could illuminate a dark room with nothing but her smile. She showed that there was a side to her that was goofy, outgoing, and full of life.

It was around then (November 17 at 11:57 PM) that their relationship had started officially with a soft, tentative kiss goodnight; but from the very first time he heard her let out a soft, breathy giggle at his goofy joke about Spock having three ears (‘a left ear, a right ear, and a final front-ier!’), Spencer knew that he would marry her someday.

Or at least he had thought so, until tonight.

“Give her some space to sort out her emotions, Spencer,” the voice of Penelope Garcia in his ear dragged him back into the present, her arms still wrapped tightly around him. “She loves you more than anything, and we both know that.” She let go and gave him a teary smile before wiping her cheeks.

“You’re right,” he replied, taking in another deep, shuddering breath. “Plus, she walked away with my cardigan, and we both know she’s a stickler about returning borrowed clothing!” He attempted a joke, but the laugh he tried to give after cracking it came out more like another choked sob.

“If I were you, I’d just give her a quick phone call and let her know that you love her no matter what anyone else says or thinks, okay? She needs to know that more than she needs anything else right now.”

“Right. Yes, you’re right,” he muttered, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “Thank you, Penelope.”

“I’m always here for you, Spencer,” she smiled at him before adding, “both of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go tear Agent Morgan a new asshole for getting you dumped and hurting my best friend.” She took a second to shake her head and rub her own cheeks to dry them. “Call me once she makes it home safely to you, okay? Promise?” He nodded quietly. “Uh-uh-uh, what was it that one kid had told you a while back? ‘A promise doesn’t count unless you say it out loud,’ right?”

“I promise,” Spencer felt a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He then walked down the block to his car, got in, and drove home to wait for (Y/N).

When he arrived and had walked through the doorway, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed her number. It rang four times and then went to her voicemail.

“Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Dr. (Y/L/N), I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number, I’ll return your call as soon as I am able. Thanks!” Beep.

“Hi, (Y/N). So, Penelope filled me in on everything that happened,” he began shakily, and took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to stop Morgan from saying all of that, but please, please know that no one hates you, I promise. Penelope assured me that she was going to tear him a new one for what he said, and I promised her that I’d call her once you made it home safely.” He paused, searching for his next words carefully, and settled on, “I love you so much, angel. Please, please never forget that.” And then he had to hang up the phone, his eyes filling with more tears.

He made his way to the couch and sat down, turning the TV on and finding a marathon of Buffy the Vampire Slayer playing. Knowing it was her favorite show, he left it on and patiently waited. On the couch sat a small stuffed cat with a blue and white spotted mushroom for a head that he had gifted her on a whim, Dr. Mewshroom, as she had taken to calling it. He grabbed Dr. Mewshroom and hugged it close to his chest as he leaned back on the couch and eventually dozed off.

I paced up and down the 11th Street bridge for an hour before I decided to hop up and sit on the railing. My walking had warmed me up significantly, so I shed the cardigan Spencer had wrapped around my shoulders. Hopefully, it would be returned to him when they eventually found me. I stared down into the dark water beneath my dangling feet and tried to find the courage within me to jump, but I couldn’t give myself the final push I needed, just like all of the previous times I’d made this trip.

I must have sat there for fifteen more minutes or so before I decided to give it up and go home to Spencer. Maybe, if I begged and pleaded with him, he’d take me back. I checked my phone to see that I had a missed call from him. Weird, I hadn’t even heard it ring. Before I could turn myself around to hop off the railing, I was grabbed from behind and a cloth was pressed to my mouth and nose, blocking me from screaming. My nose and throat filled with a burning sensation before everything faded to black...

#criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer x reader #spencer reid #heavy angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #angst

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harunayuuka2060 · 10 months ago

Text

Twst Unveil Event Part 1

Yuurin: Hello, Philomela. Why have you called—

Philomela: WHY HAVE I CALLED?!!

Yuurin: ...

Philomela: YOU KNOW WHY!

Yuurin: Calm down yourself. And no, I have no idea why.

Philomela: *breathes in*

Philomela: Yuurin, the wrestling competition is approaching.

Yuurin: Is it?

Philomela: Yes. AND I CAN'T FIND ANYONE TO FIGHT YOU!

Philomela: A BUNCH OF COWARDS!

Philomela: Calling themselves descendants of Hercules! Ha!

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: So why have you called?

Philomela: Well, do you think you can invite some of your schoolmates over?

Philomela: You know, to have a friendly match with you.

Yuurin: I will try—

Philomela: Great! I will write to your headmage! *hangs up*

Yuurin: ...

Deuce: A wrestling competition?

Yuurin: Yes. It's an annual event in the Kingdom of Heroes.

Ace: Wow. So, what's the problem?

Yuurin: Nobody wants to participate.

Ace and Deuce: Huh?

Ace: Aren't people there incredibly strong?

Yuurin: *nods*

Deuce: Then why don't they want to join?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: I've defeated most of them.

Ace and Deuce: !!!

Ace: Y-You don't say...

Yuurin: That's why my trainer, Philomela, was furious.

Yuurin: That wrestling competition is her only entertainment in life.

Ace and Deuce: Hmm...

Ace: And I'm guessing you need students to bring into this competition?

Yuurin: Yes.

Ace: Oh geez. I would like to help you, but I'm busy.

Yuurin: Oh, it's fine. I'm not thinking of inviting you.

Ace: ...

Deuce: Pft— So, anyone in mind?

Yuurin: Yes. I'm thinking of approaching them after recess.

Floyd: Damselfish~! What brings you here~?

Yuurin: Good afternoon, Floyd-senpai. Can I invite you to a wrestling competition—

Floyd: Yes~.

Yuurin: ...

Floyd: Do I get to fight you~?

Yuurin: Yes.

Floyd: Okay~. Is there anything else?

Yuurin: You're free to bring Jade-senpai or Azul-senpai with you.

Epel: I want to go!

Vil: It's a wrestling competition, Epel. You'll be crushed before you even started.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: You can tag along if you want.

Yuurin: But I prefer if Rook-senpai will participate.

Rook: It's a pleasure to be invited by you, Monsieur Tranquille!

Vil: Yes. Rook will be ideal for this type of event. He will not disappoint you.

Epel: Can I go though?!

Vil: You don't have any business there.

Epel: Come on! It's the Kingdom of Heroes!

Vil: ...

Vil: Fine. Yuurin, as long as you promise me to look after Epel.

Yuurin: *nods*

Epel: Yes!

Rook: *chuckles*

Sebek: I AM NOT PARTICIPATING!

Silver: *who has already accepted the offer* Why not?

Sebek: Hmph! My job is to serve My liege. And I have no time for this senseless competition you have.

Silver and Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: I see.

Yuurin: It seems I shouldn't have relied on Malleus-senpai's word.

Yuurin: Only Silver fits the description of strong and worthy opponent.

Silver: Malleus is invited to watch and he recommended both of us.

Yuurin: It's fine, Sebek. I will inform Malleus that you decline.

Sebek: W-Wait! You didn't tell me Waka-sama was invited!

Yuurin: Ideally, dorm leaders are needed to supervise the participating students.

Sebek: Well... I'll be happy to join this event of yours, human!

Yuurin: ...

Sebek: What?

Yuurin: Maybe Lilia-senpai is a better option.

Sebek: Y-You're not wrong, however! I can't possibly disappoint My liege!

Silver: Yes, yes. We understand that.

Leona: Won't your parents watch?

Yuurin: No. They will only ask Philomela for results.

Leona: Tch. I see.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: How about you, Leona-senpai?

Leona: ...

Leona: I don't want to see you hurt.

Ruggie: Shishishi! That's right. Leona saw a footage of you fighting and he got mad seeing you injured.

Yuurin: Oh. I was only a beginner that time.

Leona: Is that meant to reassure me?

Yuurin: *nods*

Leona: ...

Leona: No, Yuurin. It doesn't.

Ruggie: *laughs*

#twisted wonderland #twst yuurin #twst ace #twst deuce #twst leona #twst epel #twst rook #twst vil #twst floyd #twst sebek #twst silver #twst ruggie #twst oc philomela #twst unveil event

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

Note

Hi again, i am in need of you help. How do you write a loyal knight character? A true devotee of their charge, but not so much it turns dog-like.

Writing Notes: Loyal Knight Characters

Hi, you can consider using some character tropes as a guide. Found a few examples for you:

"Knight in Shining Armor" Trope: The medieval knight who fights baddies, whether villains, knights, or dragons, and in The Tourney, charms ladies without deliberately seducing them, behaves honorably, and saves the day with his sword; but also, any hero who behaves similarly.

The "shining" originally referred to the way his armor and weapons were kept in good condition, as opposed to the rust that accumulated for less competent knights. Most knights will be depicted wearing plate armor, despite it appearing relatively late in the era of knights. Them using a Knightly Sword and Shield is also pretty likely, though the usage of plate armor with Knightly Sword and Shield is actually historically inaccurate since shields were considered redundant while wearing plate armor.

"Lady and Knight" Trope: The brave, chivalrous knight defends and falls in love with the fair lady.

"The Paladin" Trope: Paladins are warriors dedicated to furthering the cause of all that is good. Holy crusaders, they combat the forces of evil wherever they are found, and defend the helpless as much as possible. Above all else, paladins are good.

"Knight in Shining" Tropes

This is the set of tropes that cluster around Knight Templar: the forces of light in hardcore mode, excessively or otherwise.

This mentality is all the way over on the Idealistic side of the Sliding Scale of Idealism Versus Cynicism.

The Trope Codifiers are the Chivalric Romances of the medieval Matters of Britain (Arthurian Legend) and of France (Charlemagne) — especially the innumberable fantasy novels and verse epics of the 15th through 17th centuries which were based on, set in, or vaguely inspired by the older Carolingian myths.

The Arthurian myths have a less militantly idealistic style than the Carolingian ones; the Arthurian work most completely of this style is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

This pattern is rarer outside of Europe (and before the Middle Ages) than within it.

The closest analogue to European chivalry was bushido, the code of the Japanese samurai, but the Japanese code emphasized loyalty to one's lord, even to the point of doing evil,

while the European one emphasized loyalty to one's conscience, even to the point of treachery.

Of course, that doesn't mean that non-European heroes can't act like this—and it doesn't mean that European heroes always do, either.

The Roman-derived tradition of "My Country, Right or Wrong" was always present in Europe.

Originally, the word knight was a job description with no connotation of high birth or status: it merely meant a warrior who was skilled and wealthy enough to fight on horseback, and owed their service to someone powerful.

The English word knight is derived from an Anglo-Saxon word for "servant", while most other European languages use a word meaning "horseman" (e.g. German Ritternote or French chevalier).

The word began to take on new meaning in response to social changes at the dawn of The High Middle Ages: the flourishing of merchants and cities gave them new wealth and power to compete with the nobility, while the increasingly independent Catholic Church became more assertive in trying to curb the misbehavior of the warrior class.

In order to maintain their distinction from the class of people who worked, and to reconcile the violent nature of war with the ideals of courtesy and piety, the nobility and gentry absorbed the military role of knighthood while turning it into a more exclusive and regulated order.

A noble child would usually start as a page in order to learn discipline and manners, spend their teenage years as an arming squire taking care of a master's horse and equipment, and when they had grown into a fine warrior, they would be recognized as having earned their spurs. Not everyone became a knight through such careful grooming, though.

Commoners could be rewarded with knighthood for exceptional service, and rulers facing a shortfall of heavy cavalry would sometimes make laws requiring anyone who possessed a certain amount of property to present themselves to be knighted whether they liked it or not.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing! More research might be needed for literary/historical accuracy.

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ranticore · 1 year ago

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I wanted to keep drawing some pern dragon stuff because I'm now writing a full AU set in weyr but I didn't want to put this stuff on my main blog or patreon due to it being basically for my own reference, though i felt others would like it too! so here is My Take On Dragon Wings By Type...

It's no secret I love drawing bird wings and prefer them a lot over traditional dragon wings. Growing up, I read the pern books featuring cover art of dragonfly-like wings with lots of little translucent panels, which I always loved. So I thought I'd try to nail down some wing shapes & structures by blending those two things i like together. I am aware dragons fly by telekinesis but I prefer a more realistic type of creature design so I will be choosing to ignore that fact. I do not care about strict canon compliance but I do like to keep some of that framework there as well, for fun.

The wing is made up of three main sails, as well as a propatagium sail (in front of the elbow). They are relatively polymorphic and can expand or contract to an extent to change the shape of the wing in response to flight demands, like the wing of an airliner. The trailing edge can expand and the slots between the spars of the 1st wingsail can deepen or become shallower (where those are a feature). The main structural matrix is opaque, while the membranous 'sails' are translucent and let light through like stained glass. These are a bilayer of membrane with air sandwiched between, which forms part of the air sac & respiratory system.

It makes sense for the original engineers of dragons to diversify dragon wing types by colour so that when fighting Thread, there's a dragon for every conceivable aerial job.

[individual descriptions under the cut]

Queens have the longest wings, though the largest bronzes can rival them for surface area. Gold wings are high endurance - a queen can fly further than any other dragon in active level flight, leaving even the swiftest bronzes behind if they can't muster up the energy reserves to catch her. She is an effective flier at all elevations and can pass very low over terrain without issue as well; she is an expert at taking advantage of the ground effect, where extra lift is generated within one half of a wingspan above land. This way, she can pass low below the main wings fighting Thread to catch any stragglers without expending too much energy. However, she is not very agile and may need a bit of a run-up or cliff-edge to get airborne.

Bronzes are suited for command positions during Threadfall, rising highest and maintaining that altitude effortlessly by soaring on thermals. From this vantage point they can easily survey the wings of riders below and make tactical decisions to direct the tide of battle. They have the size and stamina to chase queens, but might find it difficult to keep up on the flat, so they continually select for fitter hatchlings as only the best manage to mate. It takes a very clever and agile bronze to catch a green, if they are so inclined.

Browns are swift, highly agile, and the fastest vertical fliers, ideal for diving through the Thread mass from top to bottom while the other types pass horizontally. During earlier Passes, browns were capable of using their speed to catch queens, but as queen & bronze endurance gradually increased, browns struggle to keep up if they haven't managed to immediately catch their mate in the starting scrum, which is unlikely due to the bulkier bronze dragons being able to shove the browns aside.

Blues are fast on the flat and nicely manoeuvrable, with enough endurance to last a full Threadfall. Good all-rounders with a characteristic vertical take-off, they work best in the horizontal plane in battle but really they can do a little bit of everything. They often beat browns to catch greens, being very precise in flight and almost as manoeuvrable as their green mates.

Greens make up for their low stamina with their extreme manoeuvrability. Their short and elliptical wings let them turn on a dime, hover, and even fly backwards if they are sufficiently skilled. They have the fastest wingbeats, flying with a distinct thrumming sound. Of all the types they are least likely to be hit by a stray Thread, but they tire easily on the flat and have no soaring ability at all, often tapping out midway through battle in favour of replacements. In battle, greens excel at catching odd and skewed clumps of Thread that don't fall as predicted, or ones that are missed by the other riders. Green mating flights are a whole different beast to gold mating flights, where extreme aerial acrobatics are favoured instead of endurance and altitude, and these flights may be over within seconds. You need to be able to withstand a Lot of G-force to be a green rider.

#dragonriders of pern #hi it's me again. this is my sketch dump blog (very new)#pernese dragon #pern

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elikajinnie · 3 months ago

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How Can I Choose?

P: Roommates!Heeseung & Jake X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Bonding, Alcohol Drinking, Clubbing, Teasing like LOT of teasing, Possessive Behaviour, Suggestive Content (i mean it), they both kinda whipped for you, Ambigious Ending.

Synopsis: After months of crashing on friends' couches, you finally find a cheap apartment, only to realize your new roommates—Heeseung and Jake—both have feelings for you. As flirtation turns into tension, you must navigate the complexities of living together while deciding how to handle their surprising willingness to share you.

a/n: boaf. baof? BOAF! -- i HOPE the link of the drawing i made of the apartment is accessible! pls tell me if it isnt. anyways! i got this idea in the shower and fried my brain by writing it in the span of a few hours :) SO PLSSS DONT MIND HOW STUPID IT IS.

-----

You stand in front of a tall, gray apartment building, boxes and suitcases piled around you. One of your friends had been kind enough to drive you and your stuff to this new place, and as their car drives away, you're left with a sense of excitement. This is your chance to finally find some stability after a long stretch of uncertainty.

There’s an excitement buzzing in your chest, but a trace of exhaustion lingers. For weeks, you’ve been crashing on friends' couches, juggling multiple jobs, and the demands of school alongside the perpetual search for somewhere—anywhere—to land.

Finally, though, things seemed to be turning around. Just days ago, you’d been clocked in for a slow shift at the convenience store, trying to squeeze in some schoolwork behind the counter.

With only a handful of customers trickling in over the hours, you found yourself browsing for rental listings once you had finished your assignments.

Luck seemed to be on your side that day. The first ad you saw was for an apartment close to the city, with a store nearby and plenty of bus stops in the area. It was perfect. The listing described a single room available in a decently sized apartment, affordable and ideally located. The ad was put up by someone named Sim Jaeyun, who had a picture of a cute dog as his profile picture but no other personal information.

You scrolled through the pictures of the apartment, noting its clean, functional layout. The description specified the need for a tenant who was clean, could cook for themselves, wasn't excessively loud, and could pay rent on time. You nodded, realizing you met all those criteria, and sent in your request without hesitation.

As you close your laptop that day, a customer walks in, and you go back to your duties, hoping that this will be the break you've been waiting for. The prospect of finally unpacking your suitcase for good after moving out from your parents' house was a comforting thought that kept you going.

Now, standing at the building’s entrance, you can’t help but feel a small, hopeful thrill. You walk towards the door and pull your focus to the side panel by the intercom and scan for the familiar name: Jaeyun. But your eyes catch something else—Jake and Heeseung. You tilt your head, curious. Jake was the name you’d come to know him by in your recent conversations, the person who’d warmly accepted your request and walked you through what to expect. You hadn’t known there was another roommate. With a shrug, you figure it’s something you’ll ask him about once you’re inside. Pressing the buzzer, you wait.

A few seconds later, a soft buzz sounds, and the door clicks open. You place a wooden doorstop to prop it open and start bringing in your belongings, piling up suitcases and boxes just inside the entrance. The elevator dings, drawing your attention as the doors slide open, revealing a man stepping out. His dark hair falls casually around his glasses, framing a face both handsome and warm. His clothes are neat but relaxed, hanging comfortably on his frame, and his easy smile grows wider when he spots you.

“Hey! You must be the new tenant,” he greets, extending a hand as he reaches you. “I’m Jake.”

You introduce yourself with a grunt, and he nods, giving a friendly chuckle before he glances down at the boxes and bags. “Let me help you with that.” With his help, it doesn’t take long for you to gather your belongings into the elevator.

Once all your things are inside, Jake presses the button for the third floor, and the elevator doors glide shut with a soft hum. He turns to you, slipping easily into what sounds like a well-rehearsed rundown of apartment essentials.

“So, first thing,” he says, glancing over at you with a friendly smile, “I’ll get you a key for the front door. And the apartment itself has a digital lock, so I’ll give you the code as well. We usually change it every few months, just to be safe.”

You nod, taking it all in as he continues.

“The laundry room is in the basement. It’s shared with a few other units, but it’s usually pretty quiet. Most people don’t do laundry until the weekends, so if you want some quiet time down there, mid-week is best.” He gives a quick chuckle. “Also, there's a schedule sheet down there if you want to block off a time.”

As the elevator rises, he ticks off other small details—the garbage room is down the hall, recycling day is every Tuesday, and there’s a spot by the door for your shoes, since he prefers to keep the place tidy. It’s all practical, straightforward, and reassuring.

As he speaks, you think back to the other name on the door panel and decide to ask. “So… Heeseung?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s a good friend,” Jake replies, giving a small nod. “He’s crashing with me. His schedule is intense, so you won’t see much of him unless there’s something big planned. But he’s a good guy—you’ll like him.”

You nod in understanding, unable to keep the fleeting thought that if Jake looks this good, Heeseung might be just as handsome.

The elevator dings, signaling that you’ve arrived. Jake reaches down, effortlessly lifting a heavy box as he steps into the hallway. He walks to door 3F, punches in the code, and holds the door open as you step into your new apartment.

The first thing that strikes you is the openness of the space. Sunlight filters in through large windows, illuminating the clean, modern living room. A spacious couch faces an oversized TV, framed by soft, neutral-colored walls and minimal decor that gives it a cozy feel. Further in, to the right, lies an open kitchen and dining area. There’s a polished dining table set against the wall, and you can picture yourself here, finally settled and able to take in a meal in peace. A small staircase with four steps sits to the right, leading up to what you assume are the bedrooms.

Jake steps up beside you, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I, uh, did a bit of cleaning before you came. Wanted to make sure you had a good first impression.”

You chuckle softly and assure him it’s perfect as he leads you up the stairs. At the top, he pushes open the door to a room and steps inside, placing the bag and box he’s holding down carefully. “Here we are. This is your room.”

You step inside, taking in the space that is, for now, just walls and an bed frame. But with your belongings, you can already imagine turning it into comfortable. Jake heads back downstairs to grab more of your things, leaving you to take in the moment.

Setting your suitcase and bag down, you take a deep breath, just as Jake returns, balancing a final pair of bags. He gives a small, easy smile as he sets them down by the bed frame.

“Oh, by the way,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “I took the liberty of getting you a mattress. Figured it’d make the first few nights a bit more comfortable.”

Your face lights up in gratitude. “Thank you, Jake. That’s really thoughtful.”

He shrugs it off with a smile. “Glad it helps.” Gesturing around the small hall outside, he continues, “So, my room’s just across from yours, and the bathroom’s at the end of the hall, next to my room. Heeseung’s room is right beside yours, but he’s out right now, so no worries there.” He hands you a small, brass-colored key. “Here’s your copy of the front door key.”

You take it, the weight of it feeling like a tiny anchor, grounding you here. With a nod, he gives you a quick smile and quietly steps out, closing the door behind him.

As the silence settles, you glance around, noticing—thankfully—that the door has a lock, which brings a small comfort. You exhale, feeling a rare sense of privacy and security, and decide it’s time to start unpacking. Unzipping your first bag, you begin pulling out clothes and books, setting them on the bed.

With each item you unpack, the room slowly takes shape. Clothes find a place in the closet, your books line up on a narrow shelf, and you tack a few personal photos and mementos on the walls, bringing color and comfort to the once-bare space. A small, soft rug unfurls at the foot of the bed, and a cozy blanket drapes over the mattress. By the time you finish, hours have slipped by without you realizing it.

Just then, a loud growl from your stomach reminds you it’s well past dinnertime. You leave the room, closing the door behind you, and step out into the apartment. The lights are dim, shadows stretching through the now quiet space, and Jake is nowhere in sight. Shrugging, you make your way to the kitchen.

You open the fridge and peer inside, noticing containers labeled with Jake and Heeseung’s names—and a few others you don’t recognize. One container in particular catches your eye, with a handwritten label that reads Ni-ki. Just as you’re about to open it, wondering who this Ni-ki is, a soft chime sounds from the front door, signaling someone’s arrival.

Turning, you see a tall man standing in the entryway, framed by the dim glow of the hallway. He’s effortlessly cool, dressed in baggy pants and a leather jacket, a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. His dark hair is swept back, and his gaze sharpens as he looks at you.

“Who are you?” he asks, his voice low and slightly gruff.

You introduce yourself, explaining you’re Jake’s new roommate, and he nods in understanding.

“So, you’re the girl Jake was talking about,” he says, almost to himself. “I’m Heeseung.” He then glances at the container still in your hand and raises an eyebrow. “You might want to avoid eating Ni-ki’s leftovers,” he advises with a small smirk. “He can be… protective of his food.”

You tilt your head. “Who’s Ni-ki?”

“A friend,” Heeseung replies simply, slipping out of his jacket and hanging it by the door. As you place the container back in the fridge, he suddenly reappears in front of you, holding out a takeout bag.

“Here,” he says, passing it to you.

You take it, peeking inside to find a neatly packed dinner. You look up, surprised. “Thank you, Heeseung.”

His expression softens, a faint smile curving his lips. “You’re welcome.”

A voice from behind interrupts. “Can you close the fridge?”

You and Heeseung turn to see Jake standing at the kitchen entrance, dressed in pajamas, rubbing his eyes with a sleepy smile. You quickly apologize and shut the fridge door, but Jake waves it off as he turns his attention to Heeseung.

“Hey, man,” Jake says, stepping over to Heeseung. Then, with a gleam in his eye, he looks back at you, resting his hand on your shoulder and playfully bouncing on his feet. “Isn’t she great? The new roommate?”

Heeseung chuckles, looking down at you with a gaze that feels unexpectedly warm. “She’s even better than you said,” he says, his voice dropping to a soft, teasing tone. “Got a good taste in roommates, huh?”

Jake nods, grinning. “Right? A good pick for sure.” He tosses you a lighthearted wink, adding, “We’re lucky to have you here.”

The playful compliments catch you off guard, and you can feel your cheeks heating up. Silently grateful for the dim light that hides your blush, you stammer out a thank you, bidding them both goodnight before slipping back to your room.

Once inside, you lock the door and settle onto the bed, setting up the takeout and opening your laptop. The food is still warm, and you relax against the pillows, pulling up an episode of the series you’ve been watching.

-----

The next morning, your alarm jolts you awake, piercing through the calm of your dreams. You groan and fumble to turn it off, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you sit up.

After changing into a fresh set of clothes, you grab your toiletries and shuffle out into the hallway, relieved to find it empty. You lock the bathroom door behind you, a small sigh of relief escaping your lips.

Inside, the bathroom is decently sized, its neutral colors soothing. A simple shower sits in the far corner, while a toilet is tucked beside it. Two sinks stand side by side, both topped with a huge mirror that reflects the morning light. You notice one sink is filled with various male grooming products—shaving cream, two toothbrushs, and a few other items—while the other sink remains empty. A smile tugs at your lips as you remember Jake mentioning that the empty sink was yours.

You get to work, brushing your teeth and washing your face, the cool water refreshing against your skin. The cabinets hold a few decorations and essentials, but you keep it simple as you focus on getting ready for the day. Once you finish, you take a last glance at your reflection, before exiting the bathroom. You head back to your room to grab your bag. After making sure the door is locked behind you, you head down the stairs and out of the apartment, trying to be as quiet as possible. You hope you didn’t wake Jake and Heeseung; they both have classes later in the day, and you’d hate to disturb their sleep.

Once outside, you take a deep breath, the crisp morning air filling your lungs as you walk toward the bus stop. You decide to skip breakfast this morning, opting to grab lunch on campus and planning to pick up groceries in the afternoon instead.

The elevator ride down feels swift, and as you step outside, you see the bus pulling up just in time. You board, find a seat, and settle in, clutching your bag on your lap as you pull out your phone. With a few taps, you put on your favorite playlist, letting the music drown out the morning chatter around you.

As the bus rolls along, you gaze out the window, watching the world blur by. Trees, shops, and people merge into a soft painting of morning life, and a small smile spreads across your face.

----

After a long day of classes, you make your way back to the bus stop, the familiar rhythm of your routine guiding you. Once on the bus, you relax, your mind still buzzing from the lectures and discussions. The bus stops at the mall, and you hop off, ready to clock into your shift at the clothing store.

The hours fly by as you assist customers, folding clothes, and restocking shelves. Each sale and every smile from satisfied shoppers makes the time pass a little quicker. When your shift finally ends, you clock out, ready to head to your next job.

Another bus ride takes you to the convenience store, where you cover for one of your colleagues who is running late. Luckily, your shift is only a few hours. You greet familiar faces as you work the register, and soon enough, your colleague arrives, a bit flustered but apologetic. You clock out, the end of your shift bringing a welcome sigh of relief.

With a little time to spare, you decide to shop for groceries. The store is busy, but you quickly gather the essentials you need for the week. With bags in hand, you hop on the bus again, this time heading to a nearby takeout place where you’ve already called in an order. The thought of cooking feels too exhausting after a long day, so you indulge in the convenience.

Once you pick up your food, you decide to walk home since it’s not too far. As you approach the apartment, you pull out your keychain, finding the key that now feels familiar. Unlocking the door, you step inside, your feet heavy with fatigue. The elevator ride up feels like a small victory, and as you reach the third floor, you shuffle down the hallway to your door.

You punch in the code, the door clicking open as you step inside. Kicking off your shoes and hanging your jacket, you’re immediately greeted by the cheerful presence of Jake and Heeseung. They’re in the living room, and their warm smiles lift your spirits.

“How was your day?” Jake asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

“Exhausting,” you reply, dragging your bag into the dining area and setting down the takeout food on the table.

Jake’s eyes light up, and he hurries over, his curiosity piqued as he peeks at the food. Meanwhile, Heeseung moves to help you with the groceries, offering to take the bags to the kitchen.

As you unpack, you can’t help but smile at Jake, who is now sneakily grabbing some fries from the takeout container. You shake your head playfully, and he grins, unrepentant in his munching.

The three of you settle around the table, sharing the fries and nuggets, laughter filling the space as you recount the amusing moments from your day. But soon, Heeseung checks the time and realizes he has to get to work.

“Alright, I gotta run,” he says, grabbing his jacket and helmet. “See you guys later!” You and Jake wave goodbye as the front door closes behind him, leaving you and Jake alone in the apartment.

The atmosphere shifts to a cozy calm as you both move to the couch, where Jake grabs a blanket and hands it to you. You settle in, finding the couch surprisingly comfortable.

“Alright, what are we in the mood for?” Jake asks, glancing over at you.

“Something light, maybe a comedy?” you suggest, settling into the cushions.

He nods, his finger hovering over a title. “I’m down for that. Do you have a favorite comedy?”

You think for a moment, a smile creeping onto your face as you recall one of your all-time favorites. “I love Superbad! It’s just so ridiculous but really relatable. What about you?”

Jake grins, leaning back. “Classic choice! I’d have to say The Hangover. That movie just cracks me up every time. The whole concept is just so over-the-top.”

You laugh, remembering the wild escapades of the characters. “It really is! And the way everything just spirals out of control—it's like a train wreck you can’t look away from.”

He clicks on a rom-com, and you settle in to watch. As the opening credits roll, you continue chatting. “So, what got you into movies?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Jake shrugs, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I guess I grew up watching them with my family. It was always a thing for us to have movie nights on weekends. How about you?”

“Same! My parents were big on movies too, so I was basically raised on classic films. We’d have popcorn and everything. I think that’s where I got my love for them.”

You share stories of your favorite movie nights, each anecdote flowing effortlessly between you. You talk about the films that have made you cry, the ones that made you laugh until your sides hurt, and the thrillers that kept you on the edge of your seat.

“I’m a sucker for horror movies,” Jake admits, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “The adrenaline rush is just so addictive. Have you seen The Conjuring?”

You nod vigorously, recalling how it had you hiding behind your hands the entire time. “That one is terrifying! I had to sleep with the lights on for a week after.”

Jake laughs, and it feels easy and comfortable, the way friends can be. “Same! I love the ones that mess with your mind. You think it’s just a simple scare, but then it leaves you questioning everything later.”

The warmth of the couch and the soft hum of the movie make it hard to keep your eyes open. You fight against the pull of sleep, telling yourself you should stay awake, but it’s a losing battle. Your eyelids grow heavier, and soon enough, they flutter shut, surrendering to the comfort enveloping you.

Time slips away, and you drift in and out of consciousness. The sounds of the film fade into a gentle lull, a backdrop to your dreams.

You only briefly wake when you feel yourself being lifted. Your eyes flutter open, and you blink a few times, trying to make sense of your surroundings. When your gaze meets Jake’s, looking down at you with a sleepy smile, warmth spreads through your chest.

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbles, his voice low and soothing. You can’t find it in you to argue, and you let the comforting haze of sleep pull you under once more.

Jake carries you effortlessly, maneuvering through the apartment, and you feel the gentle sway of his movements. You catch brief glimpses of your surroundings as he struggles momentarily with the lock on your bedroom door, the soft click echoing in the stillness.

He finally succeeds, and with a gentle motion, he lays you down in your bed. The softness of your plushies welcomes you, and you instinctively snuggle closer to them. You hear Jake’s soft chuckle, and it makes you smile even in your half-asleep state.

Just before you fully drift off again, you feel a soft brush against your face as Jake tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

He smiles down at you, a quiet moment shared between you. Then, with a gentle touch, he walks out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

A few moments pass before he returns, this time holding a makeup wipe. You stir slightly, feeling his presence as he approaches the bed. Carefully, he leans down, and you can barely register what he’s doing as he begins to remove your makeup from the day. His movements are soft and precise, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at his tenderness.

“There,” he whispers when he’s done, a smile on his lips as he looks at you. “Pretty...” The word lingers in the air, and even in your half-asleep state, it makes your heart flutter. He tosses the used wipe into the small bin underneath your desk and quietly closes your door.

The sound of the movie plays softly in the background as Jake settles back into the living room, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his features. He waits for Heeseung to return, glancing occasionally toward the hallway, a small smile on his face as he thinks of you tucked away in your room.

----

The next morning, you wake up slowly, the soft sunlight filtering through your window, casting warm rays across your face. It feels like a rare luxury to have a late shift, and you stretch lazily under the covers before finally rolling out of bed. You take your time with your morning routine, enjoying the rare moment of leisure before a long shift ahead.

Once you’re dressed and refreshed, you make your way to the kitchen, the familiar scents of home enveloping you. You decide to whip up some breakfast, you switch on the TV, letting the sounds of a morning show accompany your meal prep.

After breakfast, you head back to your room to tackle some schoolwork at your desk. The quiet hum of the apartment is comforting as you focus on your notes.

It’s not long before you hear the soft sound of Heeseung’s bedroom door creaking open, followed by some shuffling footsteps. Curious, you glance toward your door, wondering if he’s finally awake. Moments later, a knock at your door pulls you from your concentration.

“Come in!” you call out, looking up to see Heeseung standing there, looking adorably disheveled. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, a baggy t-shirt swamping him, and messy hair sticks out in all directions, giving him a relaxed look. His fluffy socks peek out from beneath his pants as he shuffles inside.

“Can you make breakfast for me?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Can’t you?” you reply teasingly.

“Too tired…” he mutters, a hint of a pout on his lips.

“Late night at the bar?” you inquire, stepping around him and heading to the kitchen, a grin spreading across your face as he follows you like a sleepy shadow.

“Yeah, I had to cover for my friend while he hooked up with some girl… and he took too long,” he explains, his tone flat as he leans against the kitchen island.

“Oh, that sounds terrible. When did you get home?” you ask, measuring out ingredients for waffles.

“Four a.m…” he mumbles, and you can’t help but chuckle softly, shaking your head at his apparent misfortune.

You hum as you mix the batter, the rhythmic motion soothing in its familiarity. Suddenly, you feel Heeseung draping himself over you from behind, his arms wrapping around your waist and his head resting against the crook of your neck.

“Heeseung?…” you mumble, surprised but not entirely against the sudden intimacy. All you receive in response are muffled grumbles, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

After a moment of stunned hesitation, you decide to carry on with your waffle-making, pouring the batter into the hot waffle iron while he clings to you like a sleepy koala. The gentle weight of him against you is unexpected, but oddly comforting. You focus on the task at hand, feeling the warmth radiating from both the iron and his body.

You try to push the knowledge of how close you both are to the back of your mind, reminding yourself that if Jake were to come in, he wouldn’t see you from this angle. The thought makes your cheeks warm, but you push it aside, trying to maintain your composure as you concentrate on breakfast.

As the waffle iron hisses and the sweet smell begins to fill the air, you steal a glance at Heeseung, who seems perfectly content with his head resting on you, his grip tightening slightly as if to anchor himself in place.

When the waffles finally finish cooking, the kitchen fills with the delicious scent of warm sweetness, and you can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Heeseung slowly releases his hold on you, finally letting you go as he moves to grab a plate. He fills it with a few waffles, drizzling syrup over them before taking a bite, a look of sheer bliss crossing his face.

“These are amazing,” he mumbles with a mouthful, and you can’t help but chuckle at his eagerness.

“Thanks! Just don’t forget who made them,” you tease, your heart warming at his genuine happiness.

He finishes chewing and leans over to wrap his arms around you once more, pulling you in for a brief hug. “Seriously, thank you. You’re a lifesaver,” he says before plopping down on the couch, clearly ready to enjoy his breakfast in comfort.

You linger in the kitchen for a moment, a smile still on your face, before opening the fridge and grabbing a vitamin drink. You pop it open and take a refreshing sip, as you walk out into the living room.

As you step into the space, you pause at the sight before you. Heeseung has sprawled across the couch, the half-eaten waffle left hanging from his mouth, his eyes shut and small snores escaping him. It’s an adorable sight, and you can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head in disbelief at how cute he looks.

You quickly grab your phone, snapping a picture of the moment before sending it off to Jake, knowing he would appreciate the humor of the situation once he sees it after class.

With a playful smirk, you approach Heeseung, carefully prying the half-eaten waffle from his mouth. As you do, you notice his shirt has ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin. You gently pull it down, wanting to make him more comfortable. Then, you grab a nearby blanket and drape it over him, ensuring he stays warm.

Ruffling his messy hair affectionately, you step back to admire your handiwork, a fond smile gracing your lips. With Heeseung settled and blissfully unaware, you retreat back to your room, determined to continue your studying.

A little while later, as you immerse yourself in your notes, your phone buzzes with a notification. You glance at the screen, seeing Jake's name light up, and you can’t help but smile at the excited message he sent:

“OMG, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen! Heeseung is literally draping himself over the couch like a cute baby sloth!”

You laugh, unable to help yourself as you imagine Jake’s exaggerated reactions. You quickly type back a response, “Right? He’s impossible! Just don’t tell him I took that photo.”

As the afternoon rolls around, you glance at the clock, realizing it’s time to get ready for work. You quietly shuffle around the apartment, careful not to wake Heeseung, who remains soundly asleep on the couch, still draped in the cozy blanket you had covered him with. You smile at the sight, finding it hard to resist the urge to snap another picture, but you decide to let him rest instead.

After changing into your work uniform, you grab your bag and head out, giving one last look at the peaceful scene before closing the door behind you. The chill of the air greets you as you make your way to the bus stop, excitement bubbling in your chest for the shift ahead.

Once you arrive at the sweet shop, you clock in and prepare for the bustling evening. Just as the bell above the door jingles, a wave of children floods in, their faces lighting up at the sight of colorful candies and pastries. You jump into action, serving up scoops of ice cream and filling bags with sugary treats, the cheerful chaos making the time fly by.

After what feels like hours, the rush of kids finally calms down, and you lean against the counter, wiping your brow with a sigh of relief. You chat with two of your colleagues, sharing stories and laughing about the antics of the day.

“Did you see the way that kid tried to sneak in an extra gummy bear?” one of them chuckles, mimicking the child’s guilty expression. You join in the laughter, easing the fatigue from your day.

Eventually, your shift comes to an end, and you clock out, tired but satisfied. As you take the bus home, you pull out your phone, ready to check messages. To your delight, you see a new notification from Jake. He’s sent you a picture, a selfie of him looking triumphant, with Heeseung still sprawled across the couch behind him, the blanket now haphazardly draped over his body.

You can’t help but laugh at the scene, Jake’s grin wide as he gives a thumbs-up, and you quickly save the picture to your phone.

“You’re not letting him sleep the whole day away, are you?” you text back, adding a laughing emoji to convey your playful tone.

Almost immediately, Jake replies, “Nah, I just let him be while I made some dinner. He’s gonna regret sleeping through the day!”

You smile at his enthusiasm, enjoying the banter as you make your way back to the apartment.

----

The days zoom by in a blur of laughter and warmth, transforming what started as an uncertain arrangement into a comfortable home.

Your first few weeks are filled with shared meals and movie nights, late-night chats about everything from favorite foods to secrets. Heeseung’s easy-going charm and Jake’s playful energy bring out the best in you, and you find yourself laughing more than you ever thought possible.

When you finally meet their friends—Ni-ki, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Jay—you feel a mixture of nerves and excitement. Ni-ki, in particular, is quick-witted and charming, but you shoot Heeseung a warning glare, determined to keep your near mishap with the leftovers under wraps. To your relief, he complies, stifling laughter as you all share stories and get to know one another.

It’s surprising how easily you fit into this lively group, your personality blending seamlessly with theirs. Sunghoon and Sunoo’s humor keeps the atmosphere light, while Jungwon’s gentle nature balances it out perfectly. You also introduce them to your friends Wonyoung, Yunjin, Kyrell, and Yeonjung, and the two groups meld effortlessly, laughter and teasing filling the air whenever you all hang out together.

Despite your busy schedules—your classes, Jake’s shifts at the pet store and smoothie shop, and Heeseung’s late nights at the bar and his job at the sports store—there’s always time for fun. You all make a point to coordinate your schedules, planning outings that range from shopping sprees to casual movie marathons at home.

Amidst the joyful chaos, there comes a time when you begin to question your place between Jake and Heeseung. It’s subtle at first, just fleeting moments that flit past your consciousness like shadows. They both treat you with a warmth that feels more intimate than just roommates or friends.

Jake’s flirtation is often lighthearted and playful, a gentle tease that leaves you smiling longer than you should. He’ll come up behind you, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he watches whatever show you’re binging, the warmth of his body brushing against yours making your heart race. “What do you think about this one?” he’ll ask, his voice light, but there’s an underlying sincerity in his gaze that leaves you pondering what’s really behind his casual demeanor.

Heeseung, on the other hand, has a more physical way of expressing his affection. He’ll sneak up behind you while you’re washing dishes, his arms wrapping around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he hums a tune. “What’s for dinner?” he’ll ask, his breath tickling your ear. The way he lingers there—so close, so familiar—sends a shiver down your spine. It feels like more than just a friendly embrace, a tenderness that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

It’s in these moments that you find yourself questioning the boundaries of your relationship. Are they just being friendly, or is there something deeper at play? You try to dismiss the thought, laughing off their behavior as just typical friend antics.

Then there are the times when Jake becomes almost puppy-like, trailing after you, eager to join in whatever you’re doing. “Can I help?” he’ll ask, hovering by your side while you prepare dinner, his eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s a softness in his gaze that makes you feel special, cherished in a way you hadn’t expected when you first moved in. And when you catch him stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat.

You wonder if they’re both feeling the same way, caught up in a strange blend of friendship and something more. The ambiguity weighs on you, and late at night, when you lie awake in your bed, you can’t help but replay their actions in your mind. Are you just imagining things? Do they see you as more than a roommate?

The days blend into a delightful routine, filled with laughter and playful banter. But beneath the surface, Jake and Heeseung have started to engage in a little game of their own, one that you’re blissfully unaware of. You can’t quite pinpoint when it began, but it becomes clear that they’ve both developed an interest in you that goes beyond friendship.

During one lazy afternoon, the three of you gather in the living room, the sun streaming through the large windows. You’re sprawled on the couch, engrossed in a book, when Jake plops down beside you. He leans over, peering at your pages with a mischievous grin. “You know, I could help you study,” he teases, his voice dropping to a lower, suggestive tone. “I’m a great tutor, especially with… hands-on experience.” You look up, caught off guard by his words, your cheeks flushing as you playfully shove him away.

Heeseung, who’s been lounging in the armchair across from you, raises an eyebrow. “What are you studying? Maybe I could lend a hand, too. I promise I won’t distract you��much.” He flashes you a charming smile that sends your heart racing, and you can’t help but laugh nervously, your mind racing as you try to focus on your book instead.

Later that week, you’re preparing dinner, humming to yourself as you chop vegetables. Suddenly, you feel a warm presence behind you. Jake sneaks up and leans against the counter, his arms crossed, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Need a sous chef?” he asks, leaning closer, his voice low and teasing. “I can stir the pot and keep you company at the same time.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes, but the warmth of his body so close to yours sends a jolt through you.

“Yeah, because that’s what I need right now,” you respond, your tone light but your heart betraying you as it races.

Heeseung strolls in just then, a knowing smile on his face as he catches the two of you. “Am i interrupting something?” he chides playfully, arching an eyebrow at Jake. You feel your cheeks heat up as the playful banter continues, and you can’t help but feel like the center of attention, albeit in a way that leaves you both flustered and exhilarated.

What you don’t realize is that behind the scenes, a little competition has begun. Jake and Heeseung have started making bets on who can get your attention first, whispering and laughing about it when they think you can’t hear. “I’ll bet you a smoothie I can make her blush before dinner,” Jake declares one day, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Heeseung chuckles, countering with, “You’re on. But I’ll raise you—I’ll bet you can’t make her laugh while doing it.”

These little moments of rivalry only heighten the flirtation. One afternoon, you’re lounging in the living room when Heeseung walks in wearing a fitted shirt that highlights his toned physique. He notices you staring and grins, leaning casually against the wall. “What? You like what you see?” he asks, his voice dripping with playful confidence. You can’t help but feel your cheeks burn as you stammer a response, the heat creeping up your neck as you try to find words.

“Shut up, Heeseung,” you manage, your laughter mingling with embarrassment, but he only chuckles, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Then there are times when Jake gets a bit bolder. One evening, he finds you in your room, studying. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, looking utterly relaxed yet undeniably handsome. “You know, if you need a study break, I’m really good at helping people… unwind,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. You can feel your heart race, and your response gets caught in your throat, leaving you momentarily speechless.

As weeks turn into months, these playful exchanges become more frequent and more suggestive, leaving you in a constant state of fluster. They often playfully compete for your attention, showering you with flirty comments and lingering touches that send your heart racing.

It’s not just the comments that leave you flustered; it’s the way they both find excuses to be close to you. Jake will brush against you as he reaches for a snack, his fingers grazing yours in a way that feels charged with something more. Heeseung will lean in while you’re cooking, his breath warm against your neck as he whispers a playful remark, leaving you shivering with both surprise and delight.

One afternoon, after weeks of playful banter and flirtation from Jake and Heeseung, you decide it’s time to turn the tables. You’ve been thinking about how much fun it could be to throw a little flirting back their way, to see if they can handle a taste of their own medicine.

You wait until a Saturday when everyone is home. The living room is buzzing with energy as you all relax together, the sound of a movie playing softly in the background. Jake is sprawled across the couch, while Heeseung sits in the armchair, legs casually crossed and an easy smile on his face as he scrolls through his phone.

Feeling a rush of confidence, you take a deep breath and lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms and adopting a playful smirk. “You know,” you begin, drawing their attention, “I could really use some help getting my grades up. Maybe I should schedule some one-on-one study sessions with the both of you.”

Jake looks up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, and Heeseung’s mouth curves into an amused smile. “Oh? Are you sure you can handle all this help?” Jake quips, his tone teasing, but you can see the flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Just think of it as an opportunity to show me your expertise,” you reply, maintaining eye contact with both of them as you saunter closer. You can feel the charged atmosphere as you lean casually against the arm of the couch, inching closer to Jake. “I could use some practical lessons.”

Heeseung sits up a little straighter, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Practical lessons? Sounds like someone is trying to get a little more than just academic help,” he retorts, the hint of a challenge in his voice. You can tell he’s intrigued by your sudden boldness.

“Oh, I definitely am,” you say with a playful wink, enjoying the way both of them are momentarily taken aback. “But only if you can keep up with me.” You’re met with stunned silence, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve gone too far. But then, Jake bursts out laughing, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“You’re on!” he declares, shooting you a cocky grin that ignites a flutter in your stomach. “But just so you know, I’m not going to go easy on you.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes in mock defeat, trying to maintain his cool demeanor. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you can’t keep up.” His voice is low and teasing, the challenge hanging in the air between you.

As the afternoon unfolds, you continue to flirt playfully with both of them, tossing comments back and forth. You compliment Jake on his “impressive knowledge” of pop culture, leaning in just a bit too close as you whisper about how his recommendations have been “so helpful.” You watch as his cheeks flush, caught off guard by your boldness.

Heeseung, not to be outdone, makes his own moves. “You know,” he says, his voice smooth, “if you want to study hard, you might need to take some breaks. I could think of some fun activities to fill those breaks.” He winks, and you can’t help but laugh at how easy it is to keep the teasing going.

The three of you end up in a lighthearted competition, each trying to out-flirt the other. You toss compliments like confetti, and they respond in kind, each line making the tension between you thick and exhilarating.

“Wow, I didn’t realize you two were so charming,” you remark, feigning innocence as you watch them squirm a little under your gaze. “Maybe I should have taken you up on that help sooner.”

Jake grins, leaning back against the couch with a newfound confidence. “Well, now you know. We can definitely provide the special assistance you need.”

You feel a rush of satisfaction at finally flipping the script. The laughter fills the room, punctuated by playful banter, and it feels good to see them flustered for a change, struggling to come up with responses to your flirty remarks.

Eventually, as the evening winds down, you sit back and bask in the warmth of their attention.

You’ve made your mark, and it’s clear that your flirty game has raised the stakes between you and your two charming roommates, setting the stage for whatever might come next.

----

The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of your room, casting a warm glow as you returned home from work. Your phone buzzed with a notification, and you quickly glanced at the group chat. The excitement in the messages about a night out at a local club had your heart racing with anticipation. Without a second thought, you agreed to join, feeling a surge of energy at the prospect of a night filled with laughter and music.

You rushed to your closet, rifling through your clothes until you found the perfect outfit: a fitted black top that hugged your curves and a high-waisted skirt that accentuated your figure. You quickly changed and turned your attention to your makeup, after curling your hair into loose waves, you added a touch of glittering highlighter to your skin for that extra glow.

Grabbing a small, chic purse to carry your essentials, you made your way downstairs. As you descended, you spotted Heeseung standing in the living room, his back to you as he exchanged goodbyes with Jake, who lounged on the couch. Both of them turned as you approached, their expressions shifting from casual conversation to admiration.

Jake’s mouth fell slightly open, clearly impressed. “Where are you off to?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and admiration.

“The club,” you replied, a smile forming on your lips as you noticed the way Heeseung’s gaze lingered on you.

Before you could say anything else, Heeseung quickly chimed in, “I can drive you.” He moved toward the closet, retrieving another helmet with a casual ease that made your heart flutter. The prospect of riding on his motorcycle sent a thrill through you.

You nodded, excitement bubbling in your chest as you took the helmet from him. After throwing on a short jacket to ward off the evening chill, you turned to Jake. “See you later!” you called out, waving goodbye. He still looked slightly dazed, clearly caught off guard by your transformation.

You followed Heeseung down to the parking lot, the anticipation of the ride sparking in the air around you. As he climbed onto his motorcycle, you felt a rush of adrenaline. You slipped on the helmet, securing it snugly before getting on behind him. As you wrapped your arms around his waist, the warmth of his body seeped through your jacket, and he started the bike, the engine rumbling beneath you.

With a twist of the throttle, you felt the bike lurch forward, and you leaned into Heeseung’s back as he expertly maneuvered through the streets. The cool wind whipped past, sending a shiver through your exposed skin, but you didn’t mind; the thrill of the ride was invigorating.

The ride to the club was quick, the familiar streets flying by as you soaked in the freedom of the moment.

As you both arrived at the club, the vibrant energy of the nightlife buzzed around you, the pulsing music spilling out into the cool evening air. You hopped off the motorcycle, feeling exhilarated, and removed your helmet, shaking your hair loose and letting it cascade down. Just then, a group of drunken guys standing outside caught sight of you, their eyes lighting up in appreciation.

“Hey there, beautiful!” one of them hollered, followed by a chorus of wolf whistles. “Looking good! I’d love to have you hugging me from behind like that!” Their comments were laced with crude humor, and you felt a grimace form on your lips as you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

Before you could respond, Heeseung had already dismounted his bike, removing his helmet and stepping forward with a glare aimed at the group. “Back off!” he shouted, his tone sharp and commanding, making it clear he wouldn’t tolerate their disrespect. The guys exchanged wary glances but quickly retreated, their bravado faltering under Heeseung’s fierce expression.

You let out a small sigh of relief, thankful for his protective instinct, and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the entrance of the club. “Come on, you gotta clock in,” you urged, eager to escape the unwanted attention. As you reached the door, you noticed your friends waiting just outside, their faces lighting up at the sight of you.

With a friendly wave, you called out to them before turning back to Heeseung. The bouncer, recognizing him, waved you both through without hesitation, allowing you and your friends to enter the lively club atmosphere.

As you stepped inside, the beat of the music enveloped you, and the dazzling lights danced around the room, pulling you into the vibrant nightlife. Heeseung squeezed your hand gently before letting go, heading toward the bar to start his shift.

----

The night had unraveled into a blur of laughter, music, and drinks, with you and your friends dancing under the flashing lights, letting loose in a way you hadn’t in a while. You’d managed to get a couple of cheap—or even free—drinks thanks to Heeseung working behind the bar. Every time you looked over, he would give you a quick wink or a grin, sending another round your way.

And you weren’t short on attention either, noticing that a few guys in the club were more than happy to flirt. Their compliments and eager smiles were flattering, and you enjoyed the easygoing fun of it all. Still, as your friends leaned in to shout in your ear over the music, you noticed something: Heeseung’s gaze wasn’t just casually lingering. He was watching, his eyes sharp, his attention shifting from you to each new guy who tried his luck.

At one point, a guy offered to buy you a drink, and you agreed with a polite smile, following him over to the bar. As he ordered, Heeseung’s expression changed, his smile a touch too tight.

He set both drinks on the bar with an innocent smile, and you took a sip of yours, which tasted surprisingly perfect. But the guy next to you sputtered, coughing immediately as he spat his drink out, splattering a bit on your sleeve. He turned, red-faced, looking horrified.

“Why is this so… spicy?” he demanded, voice hoarse. Heeseung kept his face impassive, busying himself with a rag and the counter.

You couldn’t hold back a giggle as you watched Heeseung discreetly nudge the hot sauce bottle further under the counter, his lips twitching into a smile as the guy stomped off, grumbling. Not a minute later, you headed for the restroom, shaking your head in amusement at Heeseung’s antics.

In the quiet of the restroom, you took a moment to breathe, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. You slipped off your jacket, draping it over a nearby hook, revealing the full outfit you'd carefully chosen for tonight. The cool air in the room brushed against your exposed skin, a reminder of how much thought you'd put into tonight's look.

You ran a hand over your clothes, smoothing out any creases, then turned to check your makeup. With a practiced hand, you reapplied a touch of lip gloss and adjusted your eyeliner.

As you strolled back into the club, the pulsing lights and thumping bass surrounded you, momentarily drowning out your thoughts. You barely glanced at the guy from earlier, who was now fully engrossed in conversation with another girl, when your gaze was irresistibly drawn to the bar.

There stood Heeseung and Jake, leaning casually against the polished counter. Jake wore a pair of fitted jeans that hugged his form just right and a simple shirt that accentuated his toned physique. His hair was pushed back effortlessly. Heeseung was a perfect match, dressed in jeans as well, but opted for a sleek black t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. His hair was also slicked back now.

The moment they turned their attention to you, their eyes locked onto you with an intensity that left you momentarily breathless. You couldn’t help but feel a rush of surprise and excitement at seeing them both here, looking so undeniably handsome.

Heeseung’s gaze was unblinking, a flicker of something bold and daring mixed in with his usual confident smirk. His posture was casual, one hand braced against the bar while the other rested on his hip, but his eyes… they seemed to trace over you with a slow, almost deliberate sweep, lingering a second too long. The defiance in his smirk spoke volumes, as if daring anyone else to look at you the way he was. There was a possessive glint in his eyes, as if he was barely holding himself back from reaching out.

Then there was Jake, whose gaze held a different kind of heat. His eyes softened as they traveled from your face down to your outfit, then back up. He took in every detail—your makeup, the way your clothes clung to your figure, the glint of confidence in your eyes. When he met your gaze again, his lips curled into a grin, the warmth of his smile undercut by the intensity in his eyes. It was as though he was studying every inch of you, and his lips curved, like he knew exactly how captivating he found you.

You caught a brief exchange of glances between the two of them, each sizing up the other’s reaction, before they turned their focus back to you, their eyes following every step you took. Their shared gaze left you feeling bare, like they were both trying to pull you closer without needing to say a word.

“Well, well, here comes trouble,” Jake teased, his voice low and smooth, though the smile he wore was anything but innocent. He raised his glass to you, his eyes reflecting that warmth that always made you feel seen—but there was something else tonight, a sharper edge to the way he looked at you, as if he was waiting to see how you’d respond to their attention.

Heeseung’s smirk only deepened, a spark of mischief flickering in his gaze as he straightened a little, his posture shifting subtly closer. He kept his eyes locked on yours, every part of him seemed to radiate a daring energy, as though daring you to close the distance between you.

With a steadying breath, you made your way to the bar, fully aware of Jake and Heeseung's gazes. As you reached them, Heeseung leaned forward, elbows propped on the bar, his smirk never faltering, while Jake wasted no time slipping an arm around your waist, pulling you close with that effortless charm he wore so well.

"Dressed to impress,” Heeseung drawled, his tone laced with amusement as he gave you another lingering look, head tilting as if to take in every inch. “Gonna be a distraction all night, aren’t you?”

Jake tightened his hold on your waist, bringing you even closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “He’s just jealous because you look this good, and he’s stuck working.” His voice was smooth, and his breath sent a warm shiver down your neck. “Right, Heeseung?”

Heeseung scoffed but didn’t pull back, the gleam in his eyes only intensifying. “I think I’ll manage,” he shot back, but his eyes never left you, tracing the subtle way you leaned into Jake’s embrace. “Besides, it looks like you’re already in good hands.”

Feeling bold, you turned to face Heeseung fully, resting one hand on the counter as you smiled, the challenge in your eyes clear. “Is that a hint of jealousy I hear?”

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Only if you’d do something about it,” he replied, his gaze unflinching, taunting. He reached over, his fingers brushing lightly over yours where they rested on the bar. “Think you could handle both of us?”

Before you could respond, Jake chuckled softly, his arm around you tightening, as he glanced over at Heeseung. “Oh, she can handle anything we throw at her,” he teased, his eyes locking on yours with a hint of something darker. “Right?”

You laughed softly, finding yourself delighting in their attention, the playful tension between them only adding to the thrill. Heeseung shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest, while Jake’s fingers absently traced along your waist, making it clear he wasn’t planning to let you go anytime soon.

You leaned closer to Jake, letting him feel the warmth of your smile against his cheek. “Oh, I can handle you two just fine,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but you knew they both heard it. The shift in their expressions told you enough—they were both thoroughly captivated.

Heeseung exhaled a low laugh, eyes twinkling with intrigue, while Jake’s hand at your waist stilled, his grip firm, like he wasn’t about to let you out of his sight for the rest of the night.

Jake tilted his head just slightly, the corners of his mouth curving up in a half-smile. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice low, almost daring. He let his gaze drift slowly over your face, down to your lips, and then back to your eyes.

Heeseung watched, clearly enjoying the exchange, a slow, amused grin spreading across his face. He leaned across the bar, his gaze locked on yours as he teased, “Guess we’ll have to test that out, then. Wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable.” His voice was smooth, the subtle challenge in his words matched by the spark in his eyes.

Feeling both their gazes, you couldn’t help the little smile that played on your lips. You leaned slightly closer to Jake, keeping eye contact with Heeseung as you replied, “Maybe it’s you two who won’t be able to keep up.”

Jake let out a breathy chuckle, but his eyes never left you, even as he responded, “We’ll see about that.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained but also intrigued, and he nodded in agreement, watching as Jake held you close. With an easy grin, he said, “I think you’ll keep us busy.” He reached out to hand you a drink, fingers brushing against yours in the brief exchange, his eyes lingering on you.

You took a sip, feeling their attention wrap around you like a warmth that made the crowded club fall away.

Just as Jake’s hand tightened on your waist, you felt a tug from behind—your friends, appearing at just the right moment, grinning as they coaxed you toward the dance floor.

“Come on!” they called, laughter in their voices. Before either Jake or Heeseung could react, you slipped from Jake’s hold with a wink. Both of them stared after you, looking mildly stunned—and maybe just a bit thrown off by how easily you’d gotten away. Jake tried to reach for you, a playful protest on his lips, but your friends swept you into their midst, pulling you into the rhythm of the music.

On the dance floor, you let yourself get lost in the energy, moving in time with the pulsing beat. You stole a glance back at the bar, where both Heeseung and Jake were watching intently, as if sizing up their next move. Heeseung raised his drink to you, that confident smirk still plastered on his face, while Jake looked torn between amusement and a slight, playful irritation at your escape.

Laughing, you lost yourself in the music, feeling their gazes follow your every move.

----

The night took an unexpected turn when one of your friends became a little too enthusiastic with the drinks. Before you knew it, she was outside, hunched over on the sidewalk, throwing up. You quickly moved to her side, pulling her hair back and rubbing her shoulder, doing your best to soothe her as she mumbled apologies.

Once she was done, the group decided it was best to get her home. You all piled into a car, the designated driver taking the wheel while the rest of you kept a close eye on your friend.

When you reached her place, you carefully helped her inside, guiding her up to her bedroom and laying her down, making sure she was comfortable. With her settled, someone found a stash of drinks in the kitchen, and before long, the vibe had lightened back up. One friend pulled out a karaoke machine, and soon everyone was singing loud, off-key renditions of your favorite songs, letting the night carry you all along.

As the hours ticked by, one by one, everyone found a cozy spot to curl up, and before you knew it, the house was filled with the soft sounds of snores and murmured dreams, a blur of a night settling into a peaceful sleep.

----

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and the usual regret that came with a night like this. Squinting against the morning light filtering in through the window, you groaned, reaching for your phone. Your notifications were littered with messages and missed calls from both Jake and Heeseung. You smiled a little, heart warming at their worry, even if it made you feel a bit guilty.

You dialed Jake’s number, and he answered almost immediately. “Where are you?” he asked, his voice filled with relief and lingering worry. “Are you okay?”

"Yeah, I’m okay," you mumbled, rubbing your forehead. “I’m at my friend’s place. She got a bit… too drunk, so we crashed here for the night.”

Jake exhaled, sounding both relieved and a little exasperated. “Alright, just hang tight. I’ll come get you.”

You thanked him, already feeling a bit better just knowing he’d be there soon. After the call, you stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle and downing some Advil. You checked on your friends, giving soft goodbyes to those who were half-awake and murmuring farewells to the ones still knocked out.

Stepping outside, you saw Jake’s car pull up, and you hurried over to climb in. As you slipped into the backseat, you noticed both Jake and Heeseung in the front seats, eyes full of concern as they looked you over.

“Good?” Jake asked, glancing up and down to check on you. You nodded, managing a small smile as he pulled away from the curb.

When you finally got back home, Jake parked and turned to open your door, but Heeseung beat him to it, sweeping you up in his arms so you wouldn’t have to walk barefoot on the pavement. You laughed, feeling a bit like royalty as Jake carried your heels and purse alongside.

Once inside, they led you straight to the bathroom, letting you shower and wash away the remnants of the night. As you closed the door, you couldn’t help but feel grateful, a smile spreading across your face as you let the hot water soothe away the morning’s aches.

After finishing your shower, you called out for one of them to bring you some clothes. “Hey, could you grab me something to wear?”

A moment later, Heeseung’s voice came through the slightly cracked bathroom door. “I got you.” You heard a rustling, and then he slid a pile of clothes through the gap. You reached out, taking them gratefully.

“Thanks!” you replied, quickly pulling on the comfy oversized shirt and sweatpants. Once you had dried your hair with a towel, you opened the bathroom door to find both Jake and Heeseung sprawled out on the couch, looking cozy under a soft blanket.

You joined them, settling down in the middle, feeling the warmth radiating from both of them. They shifted slightly, making room for you as you grabbed some popcorn from the bowl resting on Jake's lap. The familiar comfort of their presence wrapped around you like a warm hug, and you let out a content sigh as you nestled deeper into the cushions.

The movie played on, but your eyelids grew heavier by the minute. The soft light from the screen flickered in the dim room, casting gentle shadows over their faces. You leaned your head against Heeseung's shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into you.

As the movie continued, you felt Jake's hand brush against yours, and his fingers intertwined with yours, a comforting gesture that lulled you further into relaxation.

Eventually, the movie ended, and you barely noticed Jake turning it off. Heeseung glanced down at you, noticing how peaceful you looked, and he exchanged a knowing look with Jake. They both smiled softly before leaning back against the couch, pulling you with them.

Before long, the three of you were all asleep, the quiet hum of the world outside fading into a blissful silence as you cuddled together.

----

The atmosphere in your room was relaxed and comfortable as the three of you lounged together, the glow of fairy lights casting a soft ambiance. You felt a sense of warmth and belonging, but there was an unspoken question hanging in the air—what was this dynamic you had built with Jake and Heeseung?

After a while, you turned to them, curiosity piquing your interest. “So, what do we call this? This… thing we have going on?”

They both exchanged glances, a playful light dancing in their eyes before they climbed into your bed. Heeseung settled on your right side, while Jake nestled to your left, and you found yourself sandwiched between them.

“We like you a lot,” Heeseung confessed, his voice low and sincere, “and we’d love to have you for ourselves. But we also don’t want to see you with any other guy.”

Jake nodded, chiming in, “Yeah, same here. We both want you.” He paused, his expression serious. “At the end of the day, we’d rather share you than lose you to someone else.”

Your heart raced as you processed their words. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling warmth spread through you at their admissions. “But wouldn’t one of you get jealous of the other?”

“No,” Heeseung said, his tone firm yet gentle. “We both love you, and that’s what matters. You belong to both of us.”

As you gazed at them, a flutter of excitement and apprehension filled your chest. “I— I’ve been unsure about this. It feels wrong to like two friends at the same time.”

Jake pouted, tapping his lips thoughtfully. “Doesn’t seem wrong if we like you at the same time,” he reasoned, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You found your gaze drawn to his lips, swallowing hard. The tension in the room shifted, and Heeseung noticed, a teasing smirk creeping onto his face. “Looks like someone’s interested,” he quipped, nudging your shoulder playfully.

“I am not—” you started to protest, but before you could finish, Jake leaned in, closing the gap between you. His lips pressed against yours, soft yet insistent, and you gasped in surprise before instinctively kissing him back.

The moment was electric, and as Jake deepened the kiss, Heeseung leaned closer, trailing kisses along your throat. The sensation sent shivers down your spine as he nipped playfully at your skin, and you couldn’t help but let out another gasp, caught between the two of them.

Jake pulled back from the kiss, his grin widening as his gaze landed on the marks Heeseung had left on your throat and the exposed skin of your shoulder. The contrast of their playful possessiveness sent a thrill coursing through you, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“We have to show you that you’re ours,” he declared, his voice laced with a mix of mischief and determination.

Before you could fully process what that meant, both of them leaned in closer, their intentions clear. You gasped as Heeseung pressed his lips against your neck, his mouth warm and insistent as he began to leave his mark. Jake mirrored his actions on the other side, nipping and kissing a trail that made your head spin.

You whimpered at the sensation, the combined heat of their mouths igniting a fire deep within you. Your fingers tangled in their hair, gripping tightly as you succumbed to the intoxicating wave of pleasure and need. The soft sounds of your enjoyment filled the room, and you could hardly think straight as they lavished attention on your sensitive skin.

“Yours,” you breathed out, the word slipping from your lips as they continued their ministrations, creating a symphony of sweet tension and fervent desire. Each gentle tug and nibble sent shivers racing through you, and you could feel your heart pounding in rhythm with their touches.

“Just like this,” Heeseung murmured against your skin, his breath hot and teasing. “You’re ours.”

Jake's hands roamed down your arms, his fingers trailing along the exposed skin, amplifying the sensations coursing through you. The way they worked together, each touch calculated yet spontaneous, made you feel cherished and desired in a way you had never experienced before.

Heeseung's hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as he pressed his lips against yours. You instinctively grabbed his bicep, fingers digging into the firm muscles as you deepened the kiss, losing yourself in the moment. It felt right; the heat between you was undeniable, intoxicating. His kisses were fervent, each one making you crave more, driving you to the brink of madness.

Meanwhile, Jake positioned himself on the other side, his fingers weaving into your hair as he leaned in to claim your now vacant lips as well. The sensation of his mouth on yours was electrifying, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Your grip tightened around his neck, anchoring yourself as he kissed you with a mix of urgency and devotion.

In that tangled mess of limbs and kisses, they continued to explore every inch of your skin they could reach, marking you with their lips and leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

Heeseung's kisses danced along your collarbone, trailing lower to your shoulder, each gentle nibble igniting a new spark of desire. His hands roamed your sides, fingertips brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, teasingly inching upward as if he were mapping out every curve of your body.

Jake, on the other hand, his hands glided down your back, holding you against him as if he never wanted to let go. He would pull you closer, the heat radiating off him intoxicating. With each kiss he pressed to your lips, he’d angle your head just right, deepening the kiss and making you melt.

As Heeseung’s mouth found its way back to yours, he captured your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue teasingly brushing against yours. It was playful yet fervent, drawing soft moans from you as you surrendered to the sensations. Your hands were restless, instinctively roaming to their arms, gripping tightly as you sought to anchor yourself in the overwhelming pleasure.

With every caress, they exchanged knowing glances, a silent agreement to share this moment entirely. Jake leaned down, kissing a path from your shoulder to your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin while Heeseung took his turn, trailing kisses down your jawline. You gasped at the sensations, feeling completely lost in the ecstasy of it all.

“We’ll take care of you.” Heeseung murmured between kisses, his breath hot against your ear.

Jake’s hand slipped beneath your shirt, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin, sending shivers coursing through your body. “Yeah, we’re not letting you out of our sight,” he added, his tone both playful and serious.

Your mind raced with thoughts, a delightful confusion enveloping you as you relished in their attention. All you could focus on was the pleasure they were giving you, the way their bodies enveloped you.

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chahnniesroom · 1 year ago

Text

for better, for worse | part 2

pairing: lee minho x female reader

summary: an arranged marriage is anything but ideal. minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he's lacking, but you haven't exactly been the perfect wife either. a phone call from you leads to a shift in priorities.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, non-graphic descriptions of injury

a/n: this was a highly requested part 2! please please read part 1 before you read this, otherwise it will not make sense. thanks to everyone who commented on the first part, it really motivated me to finish this! i did minimal/basically no editing, so sorry if there's any mistakes!

part 1 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Traffic has slowed to a crawl and Minho tries his best to stay calm, but based on the way his driver keeps checking the rearview window to look at him, he’s not doing a good job.

They don’t even know the right hospital to go to. You had never specified in your call, so Minho had just looked up the closest one that was on the route to the hotel.

Honestly, he’s also shocked that he dropped everything to go to you. He just can’t shake the way that you had sounded on the phone. Scared, yes, but mostly… resigned.

You didn’t think that Minho would care, he realises with a jolt. You didn’t think that he would give up this work opportunity to go see you. He feels terrible, of course he does. At the end of the day, it’s not that he hates you, or even dislikes you, but just hates this whole situation.

He needs to talk to you. Make sure that you’re okay. Explain himself. Apologise.

But first, he has to get to you.

The longer they sit at a standstill, the antsier Minho gets. He can’t stop his leg from shaking and he has to rip off his tie because he feels like he can’t get enough air in.

“There was an accident,” the driver says, speaking for the first time since they left the hotel. They inch forward a little bit more until Minho can see one of the cars in question. It’s completely mangled, the front end is destroyed and there’s debris strewn along the street. It’s no wonder that the traffic is so bad, the site that has been closed off is almost an entire intersection.

“It looks awful,” Minho says, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him. He cranes his neck to try and see the other vehicle and-

It’s almost unrecognisable, but somehow, Minho knows that it’s his car that he’s looking at.

He doesn’t process anything until he’s out on the street, stumbling through the police tape. An officer approaches him, saying something in a calm voice, but Minho doesn’t even notice until they put a hand on his shoulder. He shoves it off immediately. Another officer grabs his arm, this time with more force.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Minho fights against their attempts to restrain him. “It’s- I have to- my wife.” His voice sounds ruined, as wrecked as the vehicles in front of him.

They let him through.

Minho knows that you’re okay, that you were being treated, that you had been able to call and talk to him. But the damage is so extensive that he’s suddenly doubting himself. It seems impossible that anybody could survive this.

Before he can get close enough to really see inside the car, he stops in his tracks. It already looks so terrible, he can’t bear to any more details that would no doubt haunt him in his dreams.

“Do you know where they took her?” he manages to ask.

“Sir?” The officer closest to him steps closer to hear him better.

“The person that was a passenger. What hospital did they take her to?”

The officer names the closest hospital to the site, the one that Minho had guessed previously. Minho thanks him and spins on his heel, rushing back to where his current driver has been idling on the side. They make it there in record time.

The hospital staff redirect Minho to the intensive care unit when he arrives, giving him sympathetic glances as they do so. It’s on the second floor and Minho doesn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator, opting to run up the stairs instead.

The nurse at the desk in the intensive care unit looks up as Minho approaches. He must look like a mess, but she must be used to this level of dishevelment from visitors based on her lack of reaction.

“I’m looking for Lee Y/n,” Minho pants.

“What’s your relation to the patient?” she asks.

“I’m her husband,” Minho says and for the first time, the title feels natural.

“One moment, please.” The nurse takes her time, typing on her keyboard and clicking her mouse. Minho has to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she understands the urgency of the situation. “She’s currently in room 103.”

Minho immediately starts walking in that direction before she calls out.

“Sorry sir, but her current conditions means that only one visitor is allowed in at a time. You’ll have to wait.”

“What do you mean?” Minho demands. “There’s already someone here? What’s her condition?”

“Yes, Y/n-nim has a visitor with her at the moment.”

“Who.”

“I’m sorry, I was not the attending nurse when he arrived. I don’t know who it is.”

“Can you get them to leave?”

“Pardon me?” The nurse blinks up at him dumbly.

“Leave. I need to see Y/n, she’s my wife! Why can’t I-”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down, otherwise I’m going to have to call security to escort you off the premises,” the nurse says slowly. Minho closes his mouth abruptly and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to take deep breaths.

“Okay, okay, I’m calm. Please can I see her?” Minho pleads. “Can you talk to whoever the other visitor is, tell them that I’m here? I need to know if she’s okay.” The nurse purses her lips together, then stands. Minho almost feels dizzy with relief.

“I will inform Y/n-nim’s doctor and the visitor about your arrival, but that is all. You will have to wait for them to leave before you can enter.”

“Thank you,” Minho says.

He trails after her for a moment until they get to the room that you are staying in. After a pointed glance from the nurse, Minho drops into one of the chairs that line the hallway. She enters the room, closing the door behind her. A moment later, the nurse exits, alone.

“I let them know that you were here, sir,” she says. She leaves, walking back to her station before Minho can get a word in.

Minho sits and waits and tries not to worry and fails. He spends his time wracking his brain on who could be in the room with you and why they would refuse to let him in. He can’t think of who would be informed and have enough time to arrive ahead of him, not when he knows that your parents are currently out of the country.

The door finally opens and out steps Kim Seungmin, your childhood best friend and one of Minho’s least favourite people on the planet. He slows to a stop in front of Minho and takes a moment to study him. Seungmin’s eyes are red and swollen like he’s been crying, but his expression is a careful mask of indifference.

“Minho-ssi,” Seungmin says politely. “I didn’t think I would see you here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Minho bristles. “I’m her husband.”

“Hmm,” Seungmin says, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he considers his next words. “That’s never seemed to matter before.”

Minho hates Kim Seungmin.

“I-”

“Take care of her, Minho-ssi.” Seungmin moves closer until he’s practically breathing the same air as Minho. His tone is no longer condescending, just sad. “She’s already hurting. Don’t make things worse.” He side-steps around Minho and continues down the hall. Minho stares after him until he disappears around a corner.

Minho hates Kim Seungmin, but really, Minho just hates himself. Hates that Seungmin has a spot in your life that Minho will never have.

He had been impatient before, but now Minho feels nervous about seeing you. He’s treated you poorly in the past, maybe you wouldn’t even want to see him. Not like you would want to see Seungmin.

He takes a deep breath, then pushes the door open.

You’re awake, but your eyes look hazy, gaze drifting around the room until they lock onto Minho. Your brows furrow then jump in surprise.

“Minho-ssi? What-” You scramble to sit upright, letting out a hiss of pain the second that you move. The doctor, who Minho hadn’t even noticed, rushes forward, urging you to lie back down without success.

“Please, Y/n-nim,” the doctor says. “You need to rest right now.”

“But-”

“Y/n,” Minho says. Your gaze snaps to him. He hadn’t even realised he has made his way to your bedside until he reaches forward a hand and it touches your shoulder. He leads you back to rest against your pillows and this time, you go willingly.

Now that you’re calmer, the doctor stands. Minho glances over, but immediately turns his attention back to you. He can talk to the doctor later, right now he wants to make sure that you’re okay. Behind him, he hears footsteps leaving the room and the click of the door closing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“But, the speech-”

“I was worried about you. I needed to see you with my own eyes,” Minho says quietly. You close your mouth slowly, unable to think of a response.

There’s countless cuts and scratches littering your skin, bandages peeking out from beneath your clothes, bruises blossoming in the remaining skin, and that’s just what he can see at a glance. Almost nothing has been left unscathed. At your side, there’s a number of screens that are each monitoring something and a cluster of IV drips lead back to your arm.

Minho’s afraid to touch, afraid to hurt you even more.

He ghosts his hand across your cheek before shifting slightly to push back some hair that’s fallen over your face. You watch with wide eyes, not saying a word, although your cheeks slowly flush under his attention.

“I’m sorry,” Minho says eventually, but doesn’t feel like enough. “I know I haven’t been a good husband.”

You open your mouth in protest, but Minho bulldozes on, determined to make things clear even if his heart is hammering in his chest and his words are coming out shaky.

“I’ve been distant, negligent, too focused on work. I know that this situation has been… difficult. That for both of us, it wasn’t what we expected for our futures, but it doesn’t excuse the way that I’ve behaved. I know that even though it wasn’t my intention to, I hurt you.” He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts. You stay quiet, clearly sensing that he hasn't finished his train of thought. “Y/n, I know there’s nothing that I can do to make up for the hurt that I caused. I know I can’t take back the pain you went through. But I promise, from now on, I’ll put you first.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Okay?” Minho asks.

“We can start over, make things right. I know I haven’t done my best in this relationship either, but I want to try again.”

“Thank you,” he says in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry that it took this to make me come to my senses.” He reaches out, grasps your hand in his, careful of all the little cuts.

Minho holds your hand and he doesn’t let go, even when you drift off to sleep.

part 1 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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mumms-the-word · 7 days ago

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I know I’m screaming into the void here but do not witch hunt people with AI accusations

As someone whose job for the last two years involved me reading and rereading essays and creative fiction written by my students (a group of writers notorious for using AI despite being told not to because they worry about their grades more than their skills) let me tell you straight up that detecting AI in any written work isn’t straightforward

AI detection softwares are bullshit. Even Turnitin, which is supposedly the best, has an error rate that is slowly increasing over time. They’re not reliable. The free ones online are even worse, trust me

“Oh but it’s so obvious!” Sure. If you’re trained to notice patterns and predictive repetitions in the language, sure. I can spot a ChatGPT student essay from a mile away. But only if they haven’t edited it themselves, or used a bunch of methods (Grammarly, other AIs, their friends, a “humanizer” software, etc) to obscure the ChatGPT patterns. And it’s easier with formulaic essays—with creative fiction it’s much harder.

Why?

Well because good creative fiction is a) difficult to write well and b) extremely subjective. ChatGPT does have notable patterns for creative writing. But it’s been trained on the writing that is immensely popular, writing that has been produced by humans. Purple prose, odd descriptions, sixteen paragraphs of setting where one or two could be fine, all of that is stylistic choices that people have intentionally made in their writing that ChatGPT is capable of predicting and producing.

What I’m saying is, people just write like that normally. There are stylistic things I do in to writing that other people swear up and down is an AI indicator. But it’s just me writing words from my head

So can we, should we, start witch hunts over AI use in fanfic when we notice these patterns? My answer is no because that’s dangerous.

Listen. I hate AI. I hate the idea of someone stealing my work and feeding it into a machine that will then “improve itself” based on work I put my heart and soul into. If I notice what I think is AI in a work I’ve casually encountered online, I make a face and I stop reading. It’s as simple as that. I don’t drag their name out into the public to start a tomato throwing session because I don’t know their story (hell they might even be a bot) and because one accusation can suddenly become a deluge

Or a witch hunt, if you will

Because accusing one person of AI and starting a whole ass witch hunt is just begging people to start badly analyzing the content they’re reading out of fear that they’ve been duped. People don’t want to feel the sting or embarrassment of having been tricked. So they’ll start reading more closely. Too closely. They’ll start finding evidence that isn’t really evidence. “This phrase has been used three times in the last ten paragraphs. It must be AI.”

Or, it could be that I just don’t have enough words in my brain that day and didn’t notice the repetition when I was editing.

There’s a term you may be familiar with called a “false positive.” In science or medicine, it’s when something seems to have met the conditions you’re looking for, but in reality isn’t true or real or accurate. Like when you test for the flu and get a positive result when you didn’t have the flu. Or, in this case, when you notice someone writing sentences that appear suspiciously like a ChatGPT constructed sentence and go “oh, yes that must mean it’s ChatGPT then”

(This type of argumentation/conclusion also just uses a whole series of logical fallacies I won’t get into here except to say that if you want to have a civil conversation about AI use in fandom you cannot devolve into hasty generalizations based on bits and parts)

I’m not saying this to protect the people using AI. In an ideal world, people would stop using it and return back to the hard work of making art and literature and so on. But we don’t live in that world right now, and AI is prevalent everywhere. Which means we have to be careful with our accusations and any “evidence” we think we see.

And if we do find AI in fandom spaces, we must be careful with how we handle or approach that, otherwise we will start accusing writers who have never touched AI a day in their life of having used it. We will create a culture of fear around writing and creating that stops creatives from making anything at all. People will become too scared to share their work out of fear they’ll be accused of AI and run off.

I don’t have solutions except to say that in my experience, outright accusing people of AI tends to create an environment of mistrust that isn’t productive for creatives or fans/readers. If you start looking for AI evidence everywhere, you will find it everywhere. Next thing you know, you’re miserable because you feel like you can’t read or enjoy anything.

If you notice what you think is AI in a work, clock it, maybe start a discussion about it, but keep that conversation open to multiple answers or outcomes. You’re not going to stop people from using AI by pointing fingers at them. But you might be able to inspire them to try writing or creating for themselves if you keep the conversation open, friendly, and encourage them to try creating for themselves, without the help of AI

#who knows maybe a spirit of grace is the answer here #sigh #ai #ai critical

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pedrospatch · 1 year ago

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when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home

Javier Peña x DEA Agent Female Reader

summary: Spending Christmas in Bogotá, Colombia isn’t ideal. Javier knows you’re missing home a little harder than usual, so he comes up with a plan to cheer you up.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. minor deviation from canon timeline (had to make it work), reader is an agent for the DEA, NO AGE SPECIED, NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, reader understands and speaks spanish but no mention of her race or ethnicity, friends to lovers trope, reader celebrates christmas, reader has a good relationship with her family, minor smoking and alcohol consumption (both reader and javi), reader’s a bit rough around the edges sometimes. fluff, soft javi, he’s a bit of a grinch in the beginning though. switches in pov’s and tenses.

*ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS AT THE END.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to @hellishjoel for inviting me to join in on this fun project!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Javier Peña doesn’t do Christmas.

He especially doesn’t do Christmas in Bogotá.

He doesn’t see the point even acknowledging it.

There are more important things on his mind.

Capturing Pablo Escobar.

Dismantling the dangerous Medellín Cartel.

Living long enough to tell the fucking tale.

Those were his priorities while in Colombia.

Not decking the halls with boughs of holly.

And yet, there he is, fighting with a string of bright and colorful lights, wishing these damn things would put themselves on the tree. “Puta madre,” Javi curses underneath his breath as he tries untangling them from around his waist. Somehow, he only makes it worse. He grumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous—it shouldn’t be this fucking hard throwing lights on a goddamn fucking tree—” He pauses, spins around to find where he’d gone wrong and then continues grouching to himself. “Can’t believe people do this fucking shit for fun. Stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

Javi manages to free himself and glances down at his watch to see he’s running out of time—it’s past five now, and unless Messina’s in one of those bad fucking moods of hers and decides to dump some last minute paperwork onto your desk, then you’re going to be walking through the front door soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh.

He’d been an idiot to decline Connie’s offer to help him when she had dropped off the decorations for him earlier that afternoon.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” she had asked as she handed him the cardboard box overflowing with festive ornaments and tinsel. “I have a couple of more hours before I have to be at the clinic, you know. I can help you set it all up for her, make it all nice and pretty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled,” he’d replied. “I’m sure it won’t take me too long to put some—is this fucking fruit?” Confused, Javi shifted the box over to his hip, pulling out a string of dried oranges and red cranberries. “Um, what the hell is this for? This supposed to be a snack for me while I decorate?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a homemade garland.”

“It’s a homemade what now?”

“Garland, Javier. It goes on the tree.”

Amused, he’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fruit going back onto the tree? That’s ironic.”

Sighing, Connie rolled her eyes at him once more.

“Last chance. Do you want my help or not, Javi?”

“I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ve got it handled.”

She’d shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself, then.”

Little did he know how he’d regret his decision. It’s a bigger headache than he thought it would be, an incredible waste of valuable time he could’ve been using to hunt down new leads, do the job he came here to do and find Pablo Escobar. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more Javi realizes this isn’t a waste of his time at all—not really.

Because he’s doing this for you.

Because he knows you love Christmas.

Because he knows you’ve been feeling homesick.

The season you normally adored was bringing you nothing but heartache this year. There is a void—a hole in your heart that only your family could fill.

“Messina denied my request for time off,” you had told him, taking a drag of his cigarette—you’re not much of a smoker, but he’d learned that tended to change on occasion when you were upset. “Said it isn’t fair to let me go home for Christmas. That I’m not the only one who wants to be with their family. And I get it. I do.” Sighing, you took a second drag and then handed the cigarette back to Javier; he’d put it between his lips, the taste of cherry flavored lip gloss that lingered on the filtered tip prompting a craving stronger than his craving for nicotine. “It was selfish of me to even think of taking time off. I just—I miss spending Christmas in my hometown, you know? Waking up to snow outside my window in the mornings. Building snowmen with my sister, hurling snowballs at my brother. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my father and how even at our age, he still insists on pretending to be Santa.”

Laughing, Javier leaned forward on his stool.

You’d asked him to meet you at your usual spot—a quiet lounge bar right around the corner from your apartment. When he walked in and saw the scotch in front of you on the table, he’d known something was wrong. You’re not much of a drinker, either.

“Does he eat the cookies and drink the milk too?”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, a little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He tried not to let his gaze longer there too long—he’s just one man. There was only so much strength he could muster to keep fighting the temptation.

“Of course. He takes his role very, very seriously.”

Despite your smile, he’d noticed it right away.

The unmistakable sadness in your eyes.

You were tough as fucking nails.

In this line of work, you had no choice but to be.

But Javier knew your family was your weakness.

His weakness?

His weakness was sitting there in front of him with a crestfallen expression on her pretty face, tracing around the rim of her glass with her finger.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Your voice had thickened, the emotions you’re used to bottling up threatening to boil over.

“Of course not,” he assured you. “There is nothing stupid about wanting to go back home to see your family. There’s nothing stupid about wanting to be with them for the holidays. I promise you that.”

You snorted. “Peña, we’re trying to bring down the most dangerous man in all of South America. Last thing I need to be doing right now is dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s fucking stupid, alright?”

Hesitantly, Javier lifted his hand and placed it over yours—it wasn’t the first time he’d ever held it, not the first time he had shown physical affection, but this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and he didn’t want to make things worse. Once he realized it was okay, he brushed the back of it with his thumb softly, soothingly.

“Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño.”

“No hay caso para eso, Javier.”

“Maybe I can convince her to let you go. She’s got me and she’s got Murphy. We’ll handle things here while you head home for a few days, spend a week with your family for Christmas. Doesn’t hurt to try, you know.” Javi squeezed your hand. Knowing just how fucking stubborn you could be, he insisted on it. “Por favor, cielo. Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. Dejame ayudarte.”

You drained the rest of your scotch and swallowed it along with the lump that had climbed it’s way up your throat. Setting the glass back down, you then pulled your hand out from under his and stood up.

“Forget it. I’m here because I have a job to do—we both have a job to do. I’ll get over it, Javier. Always do.”

Before he could say another word, you’d picked up your jacket and purse, making a quick dash for the exit before he could see the stubborn tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and down the side of your face. But he had seen it, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to do something for you.

About an hour later, Javi places a glittering star on top of the white spruce and then takes a couple of steps back, hands on his hips. Cocking his head to the side, he observes the tree and makes sure that he hasn’t left a single spot bare. He decides to add more gold tinsel until he feels oddly satisfied—and once he is, he pulls out his pocket knife, using it to open the small sized box he had brought with him; two different addresses were scribbled on the side of it in your mother’s handwriting, his apartment’s address the destination, her address the return.

“I wrapped it well,” she’d said over the phone. “It’s her most prized possession, so I really hope it gets to you in one piece or she’s going to kill us both.”

Javier slowly unwraps the object inside and feels a wave of complete and utter relief wash over him to see it made it through customs without breaking.

He squints, taking a better look at the ornament.

The little blonde ballerina is made of porcelain and holds a nutcracker soldier in her arms—the skirt of her dress is white lace embroidered with teeny red rosettes that perfectly match the blush painted on her cheeks and the color of the bow in her hair.

“It’s Clara,” your mother had explained to him.

“Who?” he’d asked, stupidly.

“Clara. You know, from The Nutcracker?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he’d fibbed. “Clara. Got it.”

He had no clue what she had been talking about—but if it’s special to you, then it’s special to him.

Carefully, Javi hangs it on tree just as he hears the front door open and then slam shut so hard that it causes the paper thin walls of your unit to rattle.

“Peña!” you shout loudly. “You fucking asshole!”

Lip rolling between his teeth, he stifles a laugh.

You must have seen his Wrangler parked outside.

Grinning, Javier steps out into the hallway to greet you. “Hola, hermosa. Bienvenida a casa.”

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, tossing your purse and unit keys onto a nearby table. “You offer to give me ride to and from work but then proceed to ditch me and leave work three hours early—you leave me with no other fucking choice but to call a cab to bring me home and when he drops me off, I see your fucking car outside of my apartment?”

Rubbing his chin, he hums, “Sounds about right.”

You approach him, your hands curled into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Javier?”

Javi’s quick to hold up his own hands in defense.

He won’t put it past you to knock him out—he and Murphy have seen you bring down men twice your size before without a weapon. Neither of them can decide if it’s hot as hell or downright terrifying.

“Okay, put those away and let me explain,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry I did that to you, but I did it for a reason.”

You scoff, “Well, if that reason was to piss me off, I have some news for you—it fucking worked.”

“That wasn’t the reason. Not this time, anyway.”

Chuckling, Javier extends a hand, holding it out to you.

You peer at it. “What are you doing, Peña?”

“Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti.”

Suspiciously, you ask him, “What did you do?”

He laughs again. He knew it wouldn’t make it easy for him. “You do know how surprises work, right?”

You lift your chin. “I do and I don’t like surprises.”

“I know you don’t, but I think you’ll like this one.”

Javi continues to hold out his hand and waits.

He’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more.

“We can stand here all fucking night, corazón.”

Sighing in defeat, you place your hand in his, heart skipping a beat when he smiles and laces together your fingers with his own.

“Cierra tus ojos.”

“Javier, I don’t want—”

He quickly cuts you off. “Do you trust me?”

Of course. Hell, you trusted him with your life.

And not just because it’s a job requirement.

Huffing, you do as he says and close your eyes.

“Good.” Javier places his other hand on your waist and his fingers brush against the patch of smooth, soft skin peeking out from between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. Ignoring his burning desire to feel more of you, he leads the way into the living room and positions you in front of the tree. Without dropping your hand, he moves to stand directly behind you, chest pressed lightly against your back.“Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita.”

“Look Peña, I don’t know what you’re up to but—”

Your own startled gasp cuts you off mid sentence.

Squeezing your hand, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and you can feel his grin as he whispers, “Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parece?”

You open your mouth to speak, then clamp it shut.

His surprise had left you speechless.

Pleased with himself, Javi nudges you towards the tree and then drops his hands down at his sides as he watches you gingerly touch the needles.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, the delicious, woodsy smell of pine reminding you of your family and how you’d all pile into your father’s old pickup truck and head to the Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect white spruce to take home. Your father took great care in the picking process—he wanted the tallest, fluffiest, most fragrant tree. “Need this place to smell like the farm!” he’d boom. You smile and can’t help but to think he’d approve of Javi—if not because of what he had done for you, then the choice in tree would be enough to win him over.

“Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

You open your eyes and whirl around. “Javi, I can’t believe you did this,” you say, breathlessly. Smiling brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree, you throw your arms around him. “I love it so much!”

He savors the embrace—and wonders if you know just how perfectly you fit right in his arms.

“There’s one more surprise,” Javier informs you as he spins you around to look at the tree once again. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Peering at the tree, you frown. “What am I supposed to be looking for—wait a second, is that—is that Clara?” Your hand flies to your mouth and you look up at him in complete shock. “That’s the ornament my grandmother made for me when I was a baby! I’ve had her since my first Christmas. How did you—?”

“Santa no cuenta sus secretos.” Javi grins, pulling you closer against his side. “But if you must know, your mom sent it to me,” he confesses. “Actually, I have to be honest—this whole thing was her idea.”

Perplexed, you ask, “This was my mom’s idea?”

“I know you’ve been having a hard time being here during the holidays instead of with your family,” he says. “I called her up a couple of weeks ago, asked her what I could do for you. We started talking and came up with this.” He shrugs and touches a hand to the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I know it’s not the same as going home. But I thought it might be nice to bring a little piece of home here to you.”

Warmth blossoms inside of your chest as you turn to face him. You place a hand on his chest. “Javi?”

Nervously, his throat bobs. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do this for me?”

Javier lifts his hand and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told you. I just want to see you happy.”

“But why?”

You know why.

But you need to hear him say it.

You need to hear it from his own mouth.

Javi’s hand moves to cup the side of your face. “Is it not obvious?” he murmurs as he grazes the silky soft skin over your cheekbone. “Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientas igual.”

“How do you know I don’t feel the same for you?”

“Do you?” His thumb sweeps your bottom lip. “Do you feel the same for me?”

Your hand curls around his red plaid flannel.

“I shouldn’t,” you admit. “We’re work partners.”

He feigns offense. “Ouch. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” He now takes your chin between his index finger and his thumb. Licking his lips, his eyes meet yours. “Breaking my heart, baby.”

Your breath audibly catches. “We are friends—and it scares me to put our friendship on the line.”

“But?” he prompts as he tilts your head up toward his. His opposite hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him.

“But when you do things like this—it’s hard for me not to fucking fall in love with you, Peña.” You drag your hand down his chest, your fingers relishing in the softness of his flannel. “It’s so fucking hard for me not to fall in love with somebody who feels like home.”

Javier’s chuckles softly.

“For the record, this wasn’t a ploy to get you to fall in love with me, corazón. But if it worked—” Javier pauses, dropping his hand from your face. “Then I guess it’s worth pulling this thing out.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Javi, what the hell are you—?”

He grins, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

“Connie said this might come in handy.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then meet his gaze.

“Ven aqui, Peña.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull Javi in and crash your mouth against his. You brush his bottom lip with your tongue and he grants you the access you’re looking for. He tastes like spearmint and scotch, and something else too.

He tastes like yours.

And he feels like home.

diver credit to @saradika-graphics ❤️

Translations

Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño. - I’ll talk to Messina, darling.

No hay caso para eso, Javier. - There’s no point, Javier.

Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. - Let me help you with this. I just want to see you happy.

Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti. - Come with me, I have a surprise for you.

Cierra tus ojos. - Close your eyes.

Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita. - You can open your eyes, pretty girl.

Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parch? - Surprise, precious girl. You have a Christmas tree. What do you think?

Santa no cuenta sus secretos. - Santa doesn’t tell his secrets.

Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientes igual. - You know all too well I have feelings for you. Even if you don’t feel the same.

Ven aqui, Peña. - Come here, Peña.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fluff #narcos fanfiction #javier peña one shot #javier peña drabble #12 days of pedro

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ilovechuuy4 · 6 months ago

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Hey! Idrk if ur active but I would like to request sub!Kunikida x m!reader smut :)

I have not been able to find smut BSD writers that will do m!reader and I'm desperate lol-

And when I'm taking your innocence I'll be corrupting your mind.

Sub!Kunikida x m!reader

warnings; sub!kuni, m!reader, !AMAB, s3xual intercourse, intense descriptions of the male sex, mlm intercourse, rimjob, n1ppleplay, pure smut small hints of angst, possibly OOC, aftercare wasn't wrote but was indeed given, unprotected intercourse, Cumming inside, etc etc.

A/N: Im so so so so sorry this was so delayed, nothing haz been going my way man Ive been feeling so sick lately and no motivation but I hope you enjoy😣(I'LL REQUEST SOME MLM BSD WRITERS AT THE END!! ) p.s e/c = eyecolor

"Can I top you?" The question ran through Kunikida's mind ever since his boyfriend asked. You had been talking with some friend recently about how uptight Kunikida was and maybe if he wasn't so focused on his ideals he'd be less tense. So of course, that's what led you to asking the question. But that's also what led him to be under you right now in the bed y'all shared together. Your hands slidding up and under the other man's shirt cause him to let out a soft gasp.

This was all so new to him he didn't really know how to react this wasn't "apart of his ideals" he wasn't supposed to be with another of the same gender. He'd always imagine himself with a beautiful woman and yet, here he stares up at a handsome man. One that he'd knew he'd marry one day. "Are you sure.? You know, about this?" Kunikida asked in a hushed tone which made you pause everything you were doing before looking at him, your deep e/c eyes looking lovingly into his moss green ones.

"Of course I am, Kuni. I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't sure. Just relax and I'll do all the work, okay?" You reassured, hand gently cupping the blonde man's face your thumb rubbing his cheek. "Alright, I believe you." Kunikida hummed before he leaned in, kissing the man that sit on top of him. The kiss was slow and gentle, you smiled into it kissing him back. Your hands trailed down, fingers unbuttoning the tight pants that cover the other's pale legs. This was the first time that the ideal striken man ever went against those ideals that literally dictatated his life so you could completely understand why he was so nervous.

You slowly slip off his pants, pushing them down all the way until they were throw into a small pile on the hardwood flooring of the bedroom. You then allow a finger to hook under the waistband of Kunikida's boxers slowly pulling them down before his smooth cock springs to life leaving the man to gasp softly as the cold air touching his now exposed lower half. He looks at you from were he lay on the bed, his face painted with lust. "Are you alright?" You ask, you yourself wanted to continue but you wanted to make sure the other party wanted to as well.

"I'm sure, I'm just you know. Nervous." He said under his breath. You nod softly, grabbing the hem of your shirt before slipping it over your head. It was regarded before going down, taking one of the blonde's nipples into your mouth nipping at it slightly with your teeth before sucking on it. Soft whimpers were coming from deep within Kunikida's throat. Noises he wasn't sure how he made but here he was, squirming under your pleasurable acts of love.

"Be.. mhm~ be careful." Whined Kunikida, his breath coming in soft labored pants as you pull away. You swiftly pull off your shorts leaving you in only your boxers now. "Would if be fine if I were to..give you a rim job? I don't want you to be uncomfortable with anything I do." You asked, you wanted to make sure he wanted to do this. It was about his pleasure and comfort too. The room had fallen silent for a moment as you looked at your love, his face riddled with embarrassment yet he nodded. His entire trust in you was now as he slowly turned over and lay on his stomach.

A sly smirk played on your face, you lived how much trust he put into your though you've only did this once or twice in past relationships. You reach over, grabbing a pillow before slipping it right under his hips before diving down. Your hand gently squeezing one of the others asscheeks before spreading it. Dipping in your tongue pressed softly against his entrance, tasting him. You watch as he squirmed, back dipping into the mattress. You reach up, allowing your hand to trail along his pale skin that his spin pokes out of. Fingers slowly rubbing along his spine.

You allow yourself to lap at his hole, feeling as your lover slowly relaxed and let the pleasure take control. Moans from the opposing side filled the room as ever so slowly, you slipped your tongue inside him causing him to gasp, his back arching. "Wait, hold on a minute.." He gasped out, his legs trembling he wasn't sure how to react to this it was an odd feeling of tightness in him. You allowed yourself to wait for a moment before slowly pumping your tongue in and out of him before you slowly press a finger in as well, stretching him slowly.

"Relax for me, kuni. It feels weird but relax, your really tight." You said, pulling your tongue away allowing your finger to pump in and out of him slowly before adding another digit. "Fuck.." Kunikida cursed before speaking once more. "My mind is like a blur. Like you just scrambled my very last thought." He groaned, the two digits inside him still thrusting, stretching him open for you. "We don't have any condoms." You abruptly say which caused the blonde to choke on his spit before swallowing it down. "It's.. That's fine." He hummed with a nod soft whimpers escaping his mouth.

You couldn't help but worry for him, what if when yoy do penetrate he hurts. Well of course it will hurt, it's his first time but, you're just scared. You shake your head, swallowing down the uneasiness before withdrawing your fingers. You help kunikida turn over and you couldn't help but smile at his beet red face. You plaster feather light kisses all up his neck and to his jaw line before kissing him slowly. You felt the heaviness over the others arms wrapped around your shoulders as your tongue slips inside his mouth, exploring his sweetness.

You take this time to lube your member up and apply some to Kunikida's hole. You slowly position your cock to his entrance before rolling your hips slowly. Your tip pushes past the tight ring of muscle cause the other to moan into your mouth. Your free hand, which wasn't gripping the blonde's hips was softly wrapped around his cock, pumping it slowly so he didn't pay much mind to the slight pain of you entering him. Finally, you were have way in before the pain was gone as Kunikida was moaning, his back arched like a cat.

You can't handle it anymore, soft grunts escaping your throat before you swiftly push all the way in with a deep groan. You could feel how he tightly he squeezed around your cock which made you want to take him roughly. But you knew you shouldn't. You keep your pace steady, slowly thrusting in and out. Kunikida's moans were surprisingly loud as they filled the room. His short nails digging into your shoulders as your pace picked up. Your eyes widen a bit as you heard the other gasp, you thought you hurt him which made you stop.

"Are you okay?" You said, gently cupping your lover's face. He was panting heavily, his cock leaking pre before he spoke, his voice trembling. "It was just that spot you hit..it felt like no other." Kunikida mutters to him, his face red with embarrassment. You laugh softly before you press a kiss to his forehead, slowly rolling your hips back into motion as you pump your cock in and out of him. "Your prostate. That's what it was." You said reassuringly, letting him know it was totally normal.

You increase the pace, the tip of your member constantly hitting his prostate, causing his eyes to roll back in ecstasy. His loud moans echo off the wall, they were truely music to your ears. Kunikida's thoughts were jumbled and clouded he could only souly focus on how amazing this felt and how he'd never thought of reversing the rules like this with you. "Ahh~ fuck.. Wait!~ honey, keep hitting right there..~" He groaned, his eyes closing shut as he felt his orgasm build inside of him and bubble up.

"You're close, aren't you?" You asked, thrusting deeply inside him, hitting all the right places. You watch as he moans, his being trembling under yours. Pre was oozing from the tip of his cock as he whined and whimperer uncontrollably. He felt it all building up at once before he came,his eyes shut tightly as he rode out his orgasm. The way he tightened around you made you spill. Your seed shooting deep within his core.

You collapse onto him, panting heavily. "God, I love you. So so much." You say to him, pulling him on top of you when you turn on your back. You held him close, not wanting to leave him for a while. "I love you too. I adore you actually." He said, head rested on your chest. "Though, I could say you took more than my will to think. You took my ideals." He said softly, he was spent. His sentence made your heart swell up. You knew how much his ideals were to him and it was amazing how he'd give it up just for you.

A/N; Recommended BSD MLM writers; @melonn-soda @prettyrainsstuff @zzprompto @sleep-0-deprived @queer-n-here @kissatoru @kisakis-boyfriend @hunn1e-bunn1e @nishikiace

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sunboki · 1 year ago

Text

⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it��s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

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