#the library only had two novels. this and one other

[zeawesomebirdie]

Me, getting my media recommendations from MASH again? It's more likely than you think!

[teaandspite]

The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

[ylangelegy]

lost in translation ♾️ minghao x reader.

“being good to you is the easy part.” # day eight of (the)8 days of minghao. ♡ happy birthday, minghao!

☆ includes: translator/interpreter!reader, idiots in love, yearning!!!, hurt/comfort, confessions. alcohol consumption, reader gets a [minor] surgery. mandarin & other languages are all courtesy of google translate. word count: 25,800+ (damn.)

Minghao learned early on that there were words that didn’t always have a translation.

He had grown up with Shenyang Mandarin, only to have to learn Korean, English, and even some Japanese. It was always such a frustrating feeling, to have the Mandarin word at the tip of his tongue then to need to swallow it or substitute it.

He’s never felt that way with you, at least.

You, PLEDIS’ skilled, multilingual interpreter-slash-translator. Minghao remembers the day you came in, nine years ago. How he had felt a spark of hope when you slid into the dialect that was all-too familiar to him. Finally, Minghao had thought.

He had started off as your pupil, your tutee for Korean. Over time, it blossomed into genuine friendship. He can count on one hand the things that he has in Korea. The group. The fans. The other Chinese idols. And you.

It’s comfortable and easy with you. It’s always been. It’s why Minghao is fine with seeking you out at the company, with sliding into the seat next to you even though you’re working on something on your laptop. Checking subtitles for a SEVENTEEN video, it seems.

He waits until you’ve noticed him before he holds out the book he had been reading. It's a Korean novel. Almond by Sohn Wonpyung. He points to a particular phrase— 눈치가 빠르다— before speaking, but the words aren’t in Korean.

“Is there a Mandarin word for this?” he asks in Mandarin, his voice taking on the lower pitch of the dialect. His eyebrows knit together in a look of utter concentration. “Or is this one of those untranslatables?”

You pull out your earphones, a mild look of amusement on your face at Minghao’s sudden appearance. When you realize what he’s asking of you, a small huff of laughter escapes, but you concede to looking at the book in his hands. You say the phrase under your breath, as if testing it out. 

“It’s not untranslatable,” you say, sliding right into Mandarin to match Minghao. “The literal translation is observant or perceptive. But in Korean contexts, it’s meant to describe— I suppose, comprehension that something is going on with a friend, or a family member. Like, ah—”

You pause. And then you code switch, again, this time, to English. “A gut feeling?”

“Ah.”

Minghao’s expression clears as comprehension filters across his face, his mouth forming that little ‘o’ shape as he repeats the phrase as well. “A gut feeling... okay, like intuition.”

He pulls his legs up on to the chair, resting his chin on his knee. “Do you think it's something that is universal? A gut feeling. Is there a word for that in Mandarin?”

You’re far too used to Minghao getting philosophical, to him pressing for more than the first answer. “Gut feeling in Mandarin... zhíjué?” you offer. 

“Zhíjué,” Minghao repeats quietly, mulling the word over. There’s something satisfying and soothing about rolling the syllables on his tongue, the way he does it. The way they come from the back of his throat— a language that's as intimate as his mother's lullabies when he was a child.

He lets the word rest in his mouth for a while— zhíjué, gut feeling— before he looks back at you, his chin tilting forward in a nod. He gives you a little smile, appreciative.

"Mhm," he says. "That’s close enough."

You chuckle before slipping right back into Korean. It’s a dizzying back-and-forth between at most three languages, at any given time. The two of you have been called out for it, but Minghao secretly enjoys the challenge. 

"I’ve been meaning to check that out from my neighborhood's library," you note as you tap at the spine of Minghao's copy of Almond. He privately marvels at how your voice sounds more mellifluous in your first language, almost missing the question you pose. “How are you liking it so far?”

He looks down at the book in his lap, thumbing through the pages idly. “It’s good,” he answers simply. There’s a pause, but it's not quite awkward. It's something else... an afterthought. The next words are quieter than the last. “A bit sad.”

“That’s what most reviewers have said about it,” you muse, leaning back against your chair to stretch your legs underneath you. “Maybe I’ll finally pick it up this weekend.”

Minghao doesn’t look at you directly when you start to stretch out, when your shoulders roll forward. Instead the focus of his eyes is on the book on his lap, but his mind is most definitely not on the words on the pages.

When you mention picking it up that weekend, he nods in silent agreement, the movement a bit stiff. And then, in that same beat: “Have you gone to the doctor about your back pain?”

The question is quiet but pointed, with just a hint of concern to his voice. He spots all the tells of you preparing to lie to him— the tick in your jaw, your tongue peeking out between your clenched teeth. “Of course I have,” you lie smoothly. “It’s just your regular back pains that come with sitting in a chair a lot.”

“Hm.”

Even this late in the game, you still thought you could lie to Minghao. And maybe you could, and he would let it slide, in favor of being considerate and polite.

But only for a bit, because he knows you haven't seen a doctor about the back pain that started recently. Knows that you’re being a hypocrite, always asking him to take care of himself when you aren’t even doing the same for yourself.

He’s not entirely surprised, admittedly. You’ve always been so focused on your work and on taking care of others that it was sometimes hard to think that you focused on yourself. Not that Minghao is one to talk, when it comes to taking time for his own health. But this was you.

He sighs, just barely, before he reaches over to nudge you on the shoulder, like he would do with Jun or Soonyoung or any of the other members. “Liar.”

A sound between a huff and a laugh escapes you, but then you raise your palms in a show of surrender. 

“I haven't really had the time to go to the doctor,” you admit sheepishly. “There’s been a lot of content to translate. And I’ve been preparing for the group's Japan showcase next week.”

Minghao knows you well enough to know that you'd probably work yourself till you dropped, if you had the chance. The thought makes him want to roll his eyes.

“Mm,” he responds, his eyes narrowing as he crosses his arms across his chest. “You can stop working for ten minutes to go to a clinic. You have enough money. And even if you don’t, I could—”

He cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek. The words nearly slipped.

— take you to one, he had meant to say. 

The offer is on the tip of his tongue; the thought of you walking around with such bad back pain that you could barely walk without hobbling having pissed him off. Some part of him, some tiny selfish part, is holding him back from saying anything.

Maybe he just wants to see what you do. If you’ll finally do something about it, if only because he’s asked you to care for yourself for once.

There’s a flicker of surprise on your expression, though it's quickly smoothed out by something more akin to affection. Minghao had always been the thoughtful kind. It had taken some time for him to warm up to you, but around three or so years into your friendship, you’d started becoming a recipient to his quiet care and compassion.

“I’ll get a proper checkup once the Japan showcase is over,” you finally concede, if only to put his mind at ease. “The whole thing. A CT scan and all that.”

Minghao let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding out in silent relief, his shoulders dropping. When you promise that you'll go for a checkup when the Japan showcase is over, part of him wants to say I don’t believe you or I’m coming with you or even I’ll take you there myself.

But he decides to keep his mouth shut. There's no point in arguing, unless he wants to give you even more of a headache. He huffs with faux annoyance. "I’ll hold you to that," he tells you.

Minghao’s little show of annoyance does little to unnerve you, especially when you know it’s just that. A show. You shake your head with amusement before glancing at the table in front of you, where your laptop rests, forgotten. 

“I still have to finish this, though,” you say almost ruefully to Minghao, tilting your head slightly as you look back at him. “Do you have any other schedules for the rest of the day?”

“I don’t,” he says. “We have a free day today. My only plans were to bother you.”

Minghao’s definition of bothering was a lot different from, say, what Mingyu or Jeonghan would call being a bother. No, for Minghao, bothering you entailed simply being in your space— mostly in silence.

“Knock yourself out, then,” you say with a slight wave of your hand, essentially giving Minghao the carte blanche to stick around, maybe read, as you finish off your work. “I'll probably be done in half an hour. Let's grab something to eat after?”

“Thirty minutes,” he agrees. “And I get to pick the place.”

For the next half hour, Minghao makes an effort to not bother you in the way most of the other members would. No unnecessary comments, no sudden pokes with a pen or a random finger tapping at your shoulder.

He simply sits there, legs crossed out in front of him, one hand flicking through the pages of the book he was reading earlier, the other hand on his knee. Every so often, he glances up, just a brief glance to check if you’re still swamped with work.

It’s hard for anybody, even the most unobservant of people, to miss the sight of the two of you  sharing the couch in the company lounge. Two such different people— you, with your cool temperament and soft features, and Minghao, with his sharp eyes and his sharper tongue.

And yet, the sight of the two of you is more familiar than anything else. Anyone who’s been around the company long enough has seen the two of you sitting almost shoulder to shoulder. Quiet. Serene. At utter peace with each other's company.

There are others who want to interrupt, but the intensity of Minghao’s gaze as he glances up briefly is enough to discourage them. It’s a silent challenge and a promise that they better not disturb the two of you.

By the end of the thirty minutes, you’re nearly done with the video subtitles, and Minghao is about five or so pages from finishing his book. The book has been set aside on the table by then, his gaze now focusing on your work, rather than the story in his hands.

You hammer out the last of your subtitles with a mumble of “I’m done, I’m done.” 

You shut your laptop with a slight snap, groaning slightly as you sink back against the back of the couch. “That was rough,” you huff as you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “My French is getting rusty.”

“You say that about every language,” he points out. He watches you for a moment more before he reaches over, fingers wrapping around one of your wrists to tug at your arm. “Come here.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d used touch to get your attention. Minghao wasn’t the most outwardly tactile, but he had his moments. Touch was an easy, unspoken thing; it required no language, it spoke volumes.

This was one of those rare, intimate, moments of his. The moments where he let his guard down, the walls around him falling away. He tugs again, pulling you a little closer to him.

“Come here,” he says again. The word comes out in Mandarin, his fingers gently squeezing around your wrist, his other hand going to your hip to encourage you to lean in.

“So demanding,” you huff in the same language. 

You’re complaining, but there isn’t any bite or any real annoyance in your tone. If you were really bothered, you’d pull your arm away and snap at him in Korean. Instead, you go along with what he’s doing, allowing him to pull you closer, even as you continue to grumble under your breath in Mandarin.

You give too much, he thinks silently, as his hand moves up from your hip to gently press your head into his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist instead. You let me have too much.

It’s a compromising position, especially in the company lounge. No other idol would be caught dead cozying up to a staff member like this, but Minghao was just a little bit above it all and HR had long since given up on lecturing you both about propriety.

Your hand absentmindedly rests over his knee, the platonic touch hidden underneath the table. You stick to Mandarin as you hum “This is nice.”

Minghao can’t help but agree with your words, his eyes fluttering close as he rests his cheek on the top of your head. Even with a company full of people around you and a door that anyone could walk through at any second, the two of you are tucked away in your own little world. He hums in response to your words, his own hand moving slightly to lace his fingers through yours.

Despite the fatigue weighing down on you both, the two of you stay like that, tangled together on the couch in a way that's more akin to a couple than just friends.

Eventually, the silence and stillness between you two is broken by a gentle knock on the wood.

Minghao’s eyes flutter open; he lifts his head up slightly to glance towards the door. “It’s open,” he says, his voice not betraying that you’re tucked into his side or that his hand is tangled with yours.

The door creaks open a crack, and Jeonghan peeks in. His eyebrows shoot up slightly. His mouth opens and closes, as if to say something, but you can see a knowing look pass across his face.

“Ah,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s laughing.

You code switch to Korean, unsurprisingly. “Jeonghan,” you greet, raising your free hand to wave at the older boy. You make no real effort to disentangle from Minghao. If anything, the fact that it's just one of his members makes it easier for you to just relax a bit more. "Hao kept me company while I was working."

"I can see that," Jeonghan says with no shortage of amusement. He steps into the room, decisively closing the lounge door behind him. "I figured he'd be here."

Jeonghan takes a few steps closer to the couch before he halts, just a few steps away, his legs slightly apart and his arms folded over his chest. He looks between the two of you, his gaze drifting meaningfully from the arm wrapped around your waist, to the fingers still entwined with Minghao's.

“He's good at keeping company,” Jeonghan agrees, his head slightly tilted.

“Shut it,” Minghao grumbles in response, irritation obvious in his voice.

He doesn’t move his head or his arm wrapped around your waist. Instead, he raises his other hand— the one that’s still holding your hand— to give Jeonghan a gesture that clearly means for him to go away.

Jeonghan just laughs in response to the gesture, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “What, are you two lovebirds too busy for me?” he says, his tone deliberately saccharine. “I just wanted to tell you that the boys scheduled a game night later.”

Minghao glances down at the watch on his wrist, before looking back at the two of you. “What time?” he grumbles to Jeonghan, visibly displeased at the thought of having to disentangle from you. 

“In about an hour,” Jeonghan sing-songs. 

“Don’t be late,” he adds cheerfully, before promptly turning around and leaving the room.

“There goes our dinner plans,” you deadpan to Minghao once Jeonghan has left, although you don’t really sound upset about it. It’s more of a statement of a fact.

“Guess so,” he responds, his chin still resting on top of your head. Your hair is soft, and his fingers absently brush against the strands.

There’s a beat of stillness between the two of you, before he speaks again. “Sorry,” he murmurs, the word quiet and soft. He knows you’d probably been hoping to eat before going back to subtitles.

“No apologies necessary,” you say easily, because this was just sometimes the reality of our friendship. You always had a dozen other things pulling at you in different directions, and so a couple of stolen hours was always a welcome reprieve.

You give Minghao's hand a gentle squeeze. “Let's stay like this for— five more minutes,” you bargain, a slight smile tugging at your lips as you stare ahead. “And then we can pack up.”

“Five more minutes?” Minghao repeats, his voice low. He thinks over your words for a moment, before he lets out a soft sigh, his hand tightening around yours. “Okay.” 

There aren’t many moments when he isn't in control, or when he lets his guard down. But this— with you, with your soft hair and comfortable warmth, is something he can’t resist. He lets his chin rest on top of your head, the weight of his head resting against you. He closes his eyes, and simply lets himself breathe.

The minutes pass by in comfortable silence, the two of you still tangled together on the couch. For those few moments, Minghao has nothing to worry about and nothing to think about. He has no choreography to practice, no schedule to keep. 

Five minutes spin into seven, then ten. Neither of you are keen to pull away. At the fifteen-minute mark, you finally do try. “We’ve had more than five minutes,” you say against Minghao’s shoulder.

Minghao’s arm tightens around your waist, his fingers curling around your hip in a silent bid to keep you in place. He can feel the reluctance in your tone, the hesitation, and that’s what spurs him to be a little selfish.

He lets out a soft breath, his words a low, reluctant mumble. “Just... one more minute.”

“We have to go, xīngān,” you mutter absentmindedly.

It’s unfair, the way a single word in Mandarin sounds perfect in your voice. He doesn’t know if you’re even aware that you just called him darling— maybe it was a lapse in the switch to Mandarin, maybe it was intentional.

Either way, it doesn’t take more than a single moment for his heart to skip a beat, the sound of the word making something flutter and stir in his chest. His fingers involuntarily tighten around your hip.

“Okay,” he responds, his own voice coming out quieter than usual.

He does let go of you afterwards, the loss of your body heat making his hand feel a little cold. The couch feels noticeably larger and cooler without your side pressed against his, and he already misses the weight of your head against his shoulder.

Minghao tries very hard to look collected as he stands up from the couch, his face almost carefully neutral. His lips quirk up into the ghost of a smile before he offers you a hand to help you up as well.

He holds your hand a little longer than is necessary before letting go slowly. Silence drifts over the two of you as you make your way to the door, and for once, Minghao isn’t quite sure what to say. All he can think about is the single word you’d used— xīngān, in that warm tone of yours.

It’s an endearment he’s heard from friends, family, and fans. It’s a simple, innocent term. The only thing that makes it strange is that he’d never heard you use it for him until now.

He clears his throat, trying— and failing— to keep the quiet waver out of his voice. “Hey,” he says, the word falling from his lips a little more softly than he'd intended.

He pauses for a beat, as you turn to look at him questioningly. He doesn't know how to voice what he wants to say, so he opts to keep things as simple as possible.

“You called me xīngān,” he says point blank. 

For a moment, the silence drags on as you keep walking. "Xīngān," you repeat a little dumbly, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to remember how the word translates in. When it seems to dawn on you, you stop dead in your tracks. 

You’re speaking in Korean when you frantically wave your hands in front of you, your eyes slightly wider than before. “I’m sorry,” you say, panicked. “I think I was aiming for yīngjùn de. You know, ‘handsome.’ I don’t know why I called you—”

Minghao's shoulders nearly slump in disappointment. It’s a stupid, pointless feeling. It’s just a word, and a common endearment, at that— and yet he’s disappointed to learn that you were trying to say something else.

He gives a little scoff, not bothering to keep the petulance out of his voice. “Oh,” he responds, his hand lifting to rub absently at the back of his neck. “Damn.”

“Did you— like being called xīngān?” you ask, and then you try for the term in your smooth, easy Korean. “Yeobo?”

Minghao hesitates, the slightest hitch in his breath as you repeat the word in Korean.

The truth is a stupid, pointless one. The truth is that his heart almost jumped into his throat the moment he heard that single word, those two syllables. The truth is that he did like being called that. He liked being called darling. He liked it a lot, to be quite honest.

He gives an aborted nod, his gaze falling away from your face. “Maybe. A little.”

“In Korean or in Mandarin?” you prod. 

“Do you prefer yeobo,” you start, the Korean term rolling easily off your tongue. “Or xīngān?”

Your Mandarin version is a little more hesitant, more reserved, but just a touch more sweeter.

Both, Minghao nearly blurts out, before he stops himself. He doesn't know which one it is he likes more— the sweet, gentle lilt of the Mandarin, or the smooth, almost-familiar Korean. All he knows is that the sound of being called ‘darling’ in your voice, in any language, makes something in his chest flutter and tighten.

He hesitates, but again— there's no point in being coy about it, is there? 

“Both,” he answers softly, his eyes lifting up to meet yours.

“Darling,” you test out— this time not in Mandarin or Korean, but in English. It's heavily accented and clumsy, but the sentiment is still the same. Minghao sucks in a breath, his heart skipping another beat. It's stupid, he’s stupid, but—

He likes how you sound, speaking English. He likes the way your words soften and drag, the way your tongue wraps around the syllables, the gentle flow of your sentences. It’s all so stupid, and yet his heart can't help but skip another beat as he listens to you speak.

The corners of his mouth lift slightly. “I like that one too,” he responds.

“In any language, huh?” you tease lightly, a light pink dusting your cheeks. The two of you begin to walk, again, because you do have places to be.

In an absentminded way, you begin to mumble the ways you know ‘darling’ is translated in other languages.

Spanish. Cariño. Portuguese. Querido. Italian. Tesoro. French. Chérie. German. Liebling.

If nothing else, Minghao has to admit that watching your cheeks flush— and hearing you speak all these other languages— is very distracting.

He’s still busy mentally storing away this new, intriguing tidbit of information that he's learned about himself, but he still can't help his mind from wandering at the sound of other languages falling from your lips. A few of them are familiar, having seen or heard them before, but some of them are entirely new.

Minghao can’t help his mind from dwelling on how good they sound when you say them.

"Wait— what about Arabic?" he asks, cutting into your little list.

It’s the only one he can think of. He just wanted to hear you say this one, too.

“I haven’t touched Arabic in ages,” you mutter distractedly. Minghao can’t help but silently laugh as he watches your facial expressions flicker in a series of micro-emotions, each one slightly different from the other. Frustration, confusion, a pinch of annoyance— and all of it over this little thing.

“I think it's maḥbūb,” you answer after a full moment's pause. Your nose scrunches up in mild frustration; the endearment accented in the language you don’t use often.

His laugh turns into a little scoff, before he finally just lets the laugh roll right out of his lungs. “You’re cute when you’re frustrated,” he tells you fondly, the words falling from his mouth before he can help himself.

Shit.

He'd planned on saying that, but not so— casually. So off-handedly, without a thought to the meaning behind the sentiment. It’s a little much, and yet he can't take the words back now that they’re out there. Thankfully, you take it in stride. 

“And you’re cute for liking to be called darling,” you tease right back.

The words hit Minghao square in the chest like one of your punches. He’s glad you’re a few paces ahead of him so you can’t see the way his mouth parts slightly, the way he nearly stumbles. He’s thankful for the few beats of silence before you pipe up once more.

“I think I’ll stick to xīngān,” you commit.

And just like that, he’s breathless again.

He’s a sucker for that term, the way it rolls off your tongue. The way you choose it, like it's the easiest, most obvious choice in the world. “Xīngān,” he finds himself echoing, his voice softer, breathier than he’d meant it to be.

The sound of it leaves a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest. He likes the safety of the word, the way it makes something in his chest flutter. He can’t help the slight smile from tugging at his lip.

“I like the way you say it,” he admits, no longer bothering to keep up the charade of nonchalance.

“I’ll say it more, then,” you muse.

Minghao isn’t even fully convinced that you realize that this is flirting. He’d always gotten that feeling, that you don't always notice when something turns into that sort of casual teasing. He knows you can flirt; he’s witnessed some of your flirtations personally and he’s heard plenty of stories from the others.

But this sort of thing— this banter, the way you tease him with a casual sweetness in your voice— it’s new flirting territory. It’s something he's never experienced in your presence.

He follows you silently to the doors of the company, his heart pounding in his chest. The two of you walk side-by-side, your hips and shoulders nearly brushing with every two steps.

Neither of you bother to slow down as you near your inevitable separation. There isn’t a point, after all. Why draw out the goodbyes?

Before he loses the confidence, Minghao reaches out to snag your wrist. He can only hope that you’re less oblivious than he’s afraid you are. 

“Hey,” he calls you back, his voice just a touch breathless. “You free this weekend?”

You tilt your head to one side, only momentarily thrown off. It wasn’t unnatural for you to meet with the boys when they didn’t have a schedule. Sometimes, it was a language lesson; other times, it was a spontaneous hangout. It was always discreet, never anything to really read in to.

You and Minghao have had your fair share of escapades. Chinese takeout on the floor of your apartment, trips to a local library. They’re few and far between, but always welcome.

“I’m free Saturday evening. I have to work in the morning, and I have a family thing on Sunday,” you answer. “What’s up?”

Minghao feels the slight tension in his shoulders loosen at your answer. It’s not a no, not when it comes with a little extra clarification, as though you had been expecting something of a meetup anyway.

He drops the grip on your wrist, his fingers loosening just enough that you can pull away if you want. “Do you want to—” he starts, the words catching in his throat. Is it just him, or is the hallway warm? “Do you want to go to the movies?”

“The movies? Sure. What did you want to watch?" you inquire, your head tilting further as your curiosity is piqued.

The overhead lights catch the soft, sharp lines of your face, illuminating the features that Minghao knows like the back of his hand. The gentle tilt of your chin, the way you’re slightly shorter than he was, the way your hair frames your face in a messy but unfussy way— as though you didn’t try, but the effect was pleasing nonetheless.

It’s an effect that isn't lost on Minghao, that leaves something warm and fond twisting in his chest. He struggles to get a hold of himself.

“There's a film festival,” he says. “An international film festival, over in Gwangjin.”

If Minghao were a weaker man, he would have beamed at your reaction— the excitement in your voice, the way you reached out to squeeze his wrist in turn.

“That sounds fun,” you say happily. “I’d love to go.”

He knew you were passionate about languages, about cultures— one of the reasons you two have gotten on so well, as you’re the only person he’s ever met who shares that sort of enthusiasm. The only person who understands it in a way that doesn’t feel too much.

He gives you a little flicker of a smile before he answers. “Good.” 

There's a beat of silence as he contemplates his next few words— and what exactly he was about to propose. “You know…” he finally says, his tone just a little hesitant. “There's a… there's a film that I really wanted to see. In the festival, I mean.” 

“It’s in Mandarin,” he quickly clarifies, the words tumbling from his mouth in a way that feels a little too much like panic. “Um— will your Mandarin be up to it? No subtitles.”

“I’ll be up for it,” you assure Minghao laughingly. “If I miss anything, I guess I’ll just have to ask you.”

Ask him? The idea— the mere implication that you’d be leaning in, closer, to ask him. That you’d be needing something, some sort of clarification, a better context.

The way you'd need him.

And perhaps it was obvious, the way you and he were constantly switching back and forth— him with his Mandarin and your Korean and English, to fill in the blanks. But the words still set something loose in his chest, to know that he would be there to help you if you needed it.

“Yeah,” he says, once he finally manages to remember how to speak. “Yeah, you can ask me.”

As you begin to step away, you speak up. “It’s a date, then,” you say casually, still painfully unheeding to the implications of everything. “Will you pick me up or should I meet you there, xīngān?”

Minghao has never felt more simultaneously grateful and betrayed by your lack of awareness.

Because how could you be so casual, how could you just drop that right in front of him— calling it a date, calling him ‘darling’— as though it was nothing more than just another hangout? It leaves him reeling in a way that makes it impossible to respond.

He can only offer a nod, his throat dry, as one hand lifts in a half-wave. “I’ll pick you up,” he says, his brain lagging behind with the rest of his body.

You give a small wave back, your smile just as bright and friendly as the rest of you. This was going to be a thorn in Minghao's side, it seemed. Your brain wasn’t good at half measures. You needed clarity, needed straightforwardness to confront abstract feelings.

You disappear through the revolving front doors of the company, leaving Minghao in the company lobby that suddenly feels all-too warm. His phone pings in his pocket; a text from Jun.

You're late to game night, his member teases. Get away from the love of your life and get your ass over here. ㅋㅋㅋ

Because of course Jeonghan had tattled to all the other boys where Minghao had been. He rolls his eyes as he glances down at the screen, tapping out a quick response.

I'm coming. Don't cheat.

He glances up and back at the glass revolving doors, knowing full-well that you're already on the street at this point.

Minghao, for all his bluntness, has suddenly found himself in a situation where all he can do is beat around the bush.

Minghao arrives outside your apartment building on time, his hands shoved deep in his pockets against the early evening chill. His heart is pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing in his veins.

He had dressed up. He had put on cologne. He was taking you to a film festival. What could possibly happen that would go wrong?

It's a thought that is interrupted when a horn beeping snaps Minghao's attention away from his inner thoughts, as he straightens and glances down the street. There's no one parked on your street, no one walking down the sidewalk. He takes a step forward, peering across to the other side of the street— and there you are, stepping out of the building.

It takes everything he's got to keep a straight face. It feels like something out of a drama, and he's still not entirely sure he's not dreaming.

The fact that you're dressed up too is not lost on him. Damn it, of course you'd look good to him, no matter what you'd chosen to wear.

Minghao straightens as you draw closer, suddenly not quite knowing what to do with his hands. Does he pull you in for a hug? Offer up a casual, friendly greeting?

He settles for a nod, shoving his hands further into the pockets of his jeans, doing his best not to stare. "Hey."

"Hey," you greet right back, flashing Minghao a dimpled smile. You give Minghao a once-over.

"You look nice," you say like it's the most casual observation in the world. 

The praise sets something aflutter in Minghao's stomach, his hands gripping his car keys a little tighter to try and keep them from shaking. "Thanks," he responds, somehow finding it in himself to step closer and unlock the car door for you. "You look good, too." 

Good doesn't even begin to cover it, he thinks as he goes to slide into the driver’s seat. 

"You got me nervous," you say as you pull the seat belt over yourself, suddenly slipping into Mandarin. "About the film having no subtitles, I mean. So I ended up brushing up on my Mandarin."

He lets out a small huff of a laugh that's bordering on a scoff. "Since when have you had to brush up on anything?" he responds in Mandarin as well, flicking on the turn signal and pulling the car out into the street. "Your Mandarin is perfect."

"I'm always studying. You know me," you chirp, leaning forward slightly to fiddle with the knobs of Minghao's car radio. You’ve been in his passenger seat enough time to feel comfortable doing this; you settle on a station playing mostly Western indie songs.

"And my Mandarin always has room for improvement," you go on. "I'm still working on that C2-level proficiency."

Of course you weren't satisfied with just good. You had to go and be an overachiever. Minghao finds himself shaking his head at the thought of how your drive for excellence in everything was— for lack of any better word— admirable and adorable all at the same time.

"You're insane," he says under his breath, still so awed by self-imposed standards. "You really don't need to do that, you know. You're great the way you are."

"How is it that you're both goading and complimenting me at the same time?" you tease.

The way you speak sounds effortless and yet Minghao can pick up on the little moments where your tongue would just ever so slightly stumble. He could correct you, but God, he's never quite heard that same sound before.

In fact, he's suddenly very aware of just how different you two sound when you speak his mother tongue.

"It's called being a good friend," he responds, fighting the rising urge to say something else.

"You're a pain in the ass, but I love you, anyway," he continues, his hand settling on a knob on the center console to change the radio station to something with a bit more of a modern beat. You always had to listen to indie music.

As the sounds of some Top Fifties pop song filters through the car, you let out a snort of laughter and respond noncommittally to Minghao's jab. "Love you, too," you say with no shortage of sarcasm. The words, in Mandarin— wǒ yě ài nǐ— still sound soft and sweet and lilting, despite your best effort to sound mocking.

Minghao suddenly has to swallow against his very dry throat. He hadn't expected that response from you, not when the last time he had said those words to you was months and months ago during an argument between the two of you. A particularly stressful work week, a squabble that neither of you talk about anymore.

"You better," he manages to respond, his voice cracking ever so slightly on the second syllable of 'better'. He hopes it goes unnoticed.

That little stutter, that tiny stumble around the last syllable of 'better', was the only indicator that betrayed the way Minghao's heart was hammering out the wildest beat in his chest.

He knows it's a sign of his own impending nerves when he turns the radio volume all the way up, drowning out any chance of conversation between the two of you for the rest of the ride to the venue.

Far too used to Minghao's pockets of peace, you pay no heed to the fact that the rest of the car ride is spent in companionable silence. You only break it once Minghao is pulling up into the parking lot of the theater house.

"You should go ahead. I'll get us snacks," you offer delicately, this time in Korean. The reminder of how the two of you had to hide any sort of public interaction settles like a stone at the very bottom of Minghao's stomach, and yet he nods anyway, silently agreeing with the logic of your suggestion.

You ask, "Is there anything you want to eat?"

He lets out a soft sigh as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. "Popcorn," he responds, his eyes skimming over your form as you unclick the seatbelt to leave. "With M&Ms."

The familiar request makes a small smile tug at your lips. It was the same thing, still, that Minghao asked for after all these years of movie-watching. "Got it," you say, sliding out of his car. "I'll find you in a bit."

Even through the closed car door and over the sound of the car radio turned up to its highest, he can still clearly hear the smile in your voice. It sets that now familiar thump in his chest into overdrive.

"Hurry up," he responds in all of his usual nonchalance, despite the fact that his eyes are still following your figure, taking in the way you carry yourself as you walk away.

Shit, he's so gone for you.

Minghao's choice of seats are typical as always. In the very back of the theater, to keep him away from possible prying eyes.

You settle into the seat at his right, carefully balancing the food you’d gotten the two of you. "I couldn't carry two popcorn buckets, so we'll have to share this big one," you whisper to him as you pass him his pack of M&Ms and a bottle of soda.

"Thanks,” he murmurs over the sound of advertisements playing over the big screen.

"I've heard a lot of good things about this film," you mumble. "No making fun of me if I cry."

"I would never," he replies, voice as light as yours.

Sure enough, the opening of the film has Minghao leaning forward on the edge of his seat, engrossed in the drama unraveling between the characters on-screen. It's like he was that sixteen year-old boy in the movie, struggling to find his place in the world.

He's all but quiet in his consumption of popcorn, a hand sneaking into the bucket at times to munch on a few pieces idly. A few times, when the food almost runs out— he accidentally brushes his fingers against yours. The touch is brief, accidental, but each time, his skin feels like it's singing, and he fights the impulse to grasp your hand altogether every time he reaches for popcorn.

He does notice, however, when you seem to encounter unfamiliar words. His gaze flicks over to you as your lips wordlessly form the nickname they call the main character. Xiǎoshì.

It's a term, sure, but it's far more than that to him.

For him, it's a moment. A time in his life that was so brief, but one he remembers like it happened yesterday. A small part of him wants to tell you all about it, but he can't now. 

And so he settles on another form of communication. With your attention still on the screen, Minghao reaches over— and finally grasps your hand. Interlocking your fingers together.

As your fingers grasp with his, a part of him hopes that you don't pull away. He almost wants to look sideways at you, just so he can see your reaction— read your face as you focus on the movie in front of you, as your heart beats fast, loud, against your ribcage.

He doesn't dare to hope, though. He keeps his hand in yours, holding on tightly, as the movie continues to play out, the scenes getting more familiar to him.

The main character gets into a particularly nasty row with his mother about following his dreams, about leaving home, about wanting a better life than the one they had in their province. His gaze flinches slightly at the familiar scene before him and the memories, the emotions, that it all brings up in him.

It's a tense scene, spoken in the scathing language he'd grown up in, and you can tell the way it's affecting him. Instinctively, you reach your free hand over to gently press at the side of Minghao's head; a quiet invitation for him to rest his head on your shoulder.

Minghao takes you up on your invitation, the touch of your hand almost a command to him. He lets his head rest on your shoulder, not unlike a weary puppy. He can practically hear his mother's voice in some parts of the argument playing out in the movie. He can hear his own words echoing in his ears— almost as if he himself was the one speaking on-screen.

He wants to stay in the moment, with you, in the darkened theater as the movie continues to play. He doesn't think he can tear his eyes away from the screen, just like how he feels like he can't let go of your hand.

But it's a movie— a coming-of-age one, at that— and so all ends well. The boy and his mother reconcile. The main character is not any older by the last part of the film, but he's wiser, and the whole thing ends with him looking out at the Beijing skyline, humming an old lullaby for comfort.

The credits roll. The lights stay off as they do, and you finally, finally, bring yourself to pull away from Minghao's shoulder.  

You keep your hand in his, though, as you let out a quiet, watery laugh. "Xu Minghao," you reprimand in Mandarin. "You took me to the saddest movie ever."

"I told you," he responds back lightly, in Mandarin, his own voice a little rough from trying to hold himself back just a bit. "My friend said it was a sad one, when he recommended it. And you said you were fine."

He squeezes your hand again, shifting in his seat so that he was facing you, a hint of teasing in his tired eyes.

Absent-mindedly, you rub your thumb on the back of his palm. "How did you like it?" you ask, pitching your voice lower, still, despite no one being within your vicinity.  

Minghao's eyes soften a little at the tender gesture on your part. He feels the light, comforting motion of your thumb brushing against the back of his palm and he lets out a small, shaky sigh of his own. "It was... a little difficult to watch," he admits, his voice quiet, his eyes focused on your interlocked hands between you.  

"Do you want to talk about it over dinner?" you offer, your smile just a touch rueful. "Or we could just... have dinner and not talk about it at all. Whichever works best for you."  

At your offer, a small, almost self-deprecating smile quirks at the corner of Minghao's lips. He squeezes your hand one more time. "Dinner, yes. Talking, no."

The walk back to the car is a quiet one. Once you’re in your seats, Minghao puts the burden of deciding on you. 

"There's this barbeque place I've really been wanting to try out over in Myeongdeong," you rave, but then your fingers freeze over the GPS screen. You glance at Minghao over your shoulder, suddenly a bit sheepish. "It's a bit out of the way from your dorm and my apartment, though. Is that alright?"  

He lets out a small, soft laugh, shifting in his seat a little before reaching over to lightly flick your ear. "When has distance ever stopped me?" he retorts, his usual dry tease in his voice. "Let's go, I'm starving."  

"Alright, alright," you huff as you plug in the address. The directions to the restaurant— somewhere twenty minutes away, barring traffic— appear on screen as you move back into your seat, still pouting slightly at your ear being flicked. "I just thought you'd be sick of me after the movie."  

"Sick of you?" He scoffs at your words as he begins to peel out of the parking lot. "I think I would die of boredom without you, actually."  

“Ah. Because no one else will keep up with you like this, hm?"  

"They're not quick enough. You're one of the rare ones who don't make me want to tear my hair out."  

"You're laying it on thick tonight. Is this a ploy to get me to pick up the dinner bill?” you tease. "Because really, Hao, there's a rather big difference between the salaries of idols and translators."  

He chuckles a little at your comment, his grip around the steering wheel tightening slightly. "No, this is not a ploy to make you pay for dinner. I'm treating tonight. I'm rich, remember?"  

"Yah, you're not treating!” you shoot back. “We’ll pay for our own shares. You should only spend your money on things that are important.”  

"And treating you isn't important? You're always important to me. Don't deny it."  

When you suddenly go silent as a flush starts to creep up your face, Minghao can't help but look away from the road for a few moments to glance at you from the corner of his eye. He can only see the side of your face, the blush that colors your cheeks glowing against your skin.  

"You can't just say stuff like that so casually," you snap, though your tone is soft around the edges. "You should save that for birthdays or holidays."  

"And why only birthdays and holidays?" he muses. "I'd rather tell you all the time."  

In a bid to regain a bit of an upper hand, you keep your eyes out the window as you mumble in Mandarin, "Just keep driving, xīngān."  

Seeing your flustered face flush an even deeper color of red gives Minghao a sort of satisfaction, his lips tugging up at the corners. He can't help but chuckle a little more when he hears the words that leave your mouth in Mandarin, his mind taking a few moments to register the nickname he's grown to like.  

"Yah, don't just call me that without warning," he says, voice slightly muffled as he continues to focus on the road. "My heart can only handle so much."  

You finally glance over at him. The blush still lingers, but there's a bit of a mischievous glint in your eyes now. "Should I warn you, then, if I'm about to use it?" you say sweetly, sticking to his mother tongue for the sake of seeing how far you can go with it. "Should I only save it for special occasions?"

"Yes," he manages to hiss out after a beat, a small scowl on his face when he realizes that you're taking advantage of his weakness. "I'd much prefer you to warn me in advance. And only use it on occasions that actually count."

"I'm about to use it," you warn instantly, leaning slightly forward to turn down the radio. There had been some other group's song playing, filling the car with the sweet, lilting sounds of a ballad.  

"This occasion counts, xīngān," you sing-song. "Every moment with you counts."  

At your obvious mockery, Minghao's scowl only deepens, not that he really minds. Your sweet words have his heart thudding loudly in his chest in spite of his protests.  

"Stop being so cheesy. You're only saying this because you know that I like it, aren't you?"  

"I'm saying it because I like it," you answer. "It suits you. I'm about to use it again."  

You pause for a beat. "Darling," you say, this time cycling between English, Korean, and Mandarin. "Yeobo. Xīngān."  

This time, Minghao can't help but chuckle. He's definitely going to be having a good time tonight.  

"Are you going to spend the rest of the night calling me that?" he questions, finally having to pause at a red light. He turns to look at you for a few moments. "Just so I know what to expect."  

"Do you want me to?" you ask right back, your eyebrows raised slightly.  

"If you did," he starts, the words coming out before he even fully registers them, "I wouldn't stop you."  

The light turns green. The cars in front of you move forward a bit, and that means that you have to as well. The moment passes ever so slightly as Minghao is forced to lurch forward, to turn the corner that will finally have you at the barbecue place you'd recommended.  

You look ahead, away, the smile on your face widening just a bit. And because he said he wouldn't mind, because he'd given you something akin to a go-ahead—  

"Alright, xīngān," you say softly.  

The term of affection in your voice has Minghao's heartbeat rising, the nickname ringing in his ears, filling his chest with a sort of sweetness at the sound of it. It was like music to his ears, he thinks, the way you say it, the way it sounds.  

Once again, he can't help the smile that finds a place on his face, though he hides it by turning away to concentrate on the road ahead, trying to focus on it instead of the way his heart just won't stop racing in his chest.

The meal is comfortable. You talk about everything and nothing; you take turns cooking the meat. If sometimes you fall silent, neither of you feel the need to fill that quiet. You're so assured in each other's presence that we're fine to just be.

It's easy, with you— easy to relax in a way that he sometimes can't with others. He feels comfortable with you, safe around you, and he doesn't really have to think about what words he uses or the right thing to say.

You make it easy for him. And he's grateful for it.

As the night continues, though, the light conversation seems to eventually die down. Not that it bothers him; no, as Minghao has said before, the two of you do well with silence.

In the quiet that now surrounds the two of you, though, his mind begins to wander. A thought that has been in the back of his mind since earlier that night resurfaces again.

"Xīngān," he begins tentatively, his eyes still on the grill in front of him as if staring at it is supposed to give him some strength. Once again, he finds himself turning to Mandarin for the question, the words feeling like home on his tongue.

It feels, somehow, more fitting to ask you this question in the language that's his, one that he's comfortable and practiced in. "Do you believe in fate?"

Mìngyùn. Fate. Your mouth soundlessly tries out the word, the two syllables lolling on your tongue.  

"Like— the red thread of fate," you say, just a little dumbly, as you contemplate Minghao's question. You don't even notice the way you've switched over to Mandarin to match his pace. "Like that kind of fate? Or something else?"  

He takes a beat before he answers, trying to figure out how to word his question, how to express what he means in a way that makes sense, even to himself. "I mean that kind of fate," he clarifies. "Like, soulmates."  

"Do you?" you ask suddenly, throwing the query back to him.  

"I do."  

"What version of the red string of fate do you believe in?"  

He hesitates when you ask him the question, not quite sure how to explain the kind of fate he believes in. "I believe in things that are inevitable."  

"I mean— I believe in things that are destined," he continues, trying to elaborate. "I believe the people— the ones who are supposed to be together— will always find each other, in a way, no matter what happens. No matter how much time passes, or what obstacles there are between them."  

The way the corner of your mouth twitches when he says the word inevitable sets something ablaze inside him. 

He knows the look you're giving him is just one of interest, not a look of affection, but to him, it feels like a look of affection.  

Your lips twist into a slightly rueful smile as you take a moment to flip the meat on the grill, trying to keep it from burning. It's your turn to keep your gaze evasive as you answer. 

"I'm not sure if I believe in fate," you say, your Mandarin deliberately careful and slow. "Or soulmates. Not in the way that you do, at least."  

The words strike a painful sort of ache in his chest and Minghao finds himself having to bite down on the inside of his lip, trying to quell the way his heart seems to clench at the confession.  

This time, you slide into Korean, desperate to get your point across in the language that you know, in the tongue where you won’t be misconstrued. "I want to. I want to believe that soulmates exist— that there's someone out there for all of us," you say with a little more firmness, the change in speech giving you some more conviction.

"But I think that if soulmates do exist, they're not found; they're made." You pause to bring your gaze back up to Minghao. "People meet, they get a good feeling, and they get to work building a relationship. And that will lead to the inevitable."  

He's not quite sure why it feels like a loss, somehow, to no longer be speaking in Mandarin, and it makes his fingers itch for something to do. There's a moment where Minghao has to process the words you say, the way you express yourself so firmly and deliberately, as if you've given this some thought. Slowly, he gives a nod. "Like working in a relationship. Like making it work."  

"Like making it work," you concede.  

You gently place the last pieces of meat on Minghao's plate. "The concept of the red string of fate has always scared me," you admit, your mouth twitching upward in a slightly wistful smile. "What if the person on the other end follows the string only to realize they don't like what they find?"  

Minghao's gaze drifts down to the plate of food you've assembled for him, a gesture that feels oddly domestic, somehow, to have someone prepare a plate for him, and his heart gives a warm, affectionate little squeeze. 

He looks back up when you speak, his face a carefully stoic mask in spite of the way his heart is giving a painful thud, thud, thud inside his chest.  

"I think..." he begins slowly, his eyes still on you, the words leaving his lips careful and deliberate, as if he's trying to pick them out slowly from a tangled mess in his mind.

There's an intensity to his gaze, a gravity that's hard to miss. "I think even if the person on the other end of the string doesn't like what they find, it's what they're supposed to have. It's what they're destined for."  

"Ah. Destiny."  

Minghao had stuck with Mandarin; you say it in Korean. The two words— mìngyùn, unmyeong— are the two faces of the same coin.  

"And who do you think I'm destined for, xīngān?" you ask with just the right amount of teasing, making it a point to still refer to Minghao with the Mandarin term of ‘darling’ despite speaking the rest of the question in Korean.  

It's supposed to be nothing more than a good-natured joke, but Minghao feels the sudden urge to be honest.

He knows it's a joke, he knows it's meant to be a lighthearted question, but something in the back of his head, something sharp and cruel, his traitorous, selfish heart keeps repeating the question back to him: Who do you think I'm destined for? 

The thought that you'd be destined for anyone but him makes him feel like there's something lodged in his throat, something painful and sharp, and he wants to reach out and grab you, hold you, pull you tight against him and just never let go.

But instead he just looks at you and he forces the corners of his lips to tug up into a smile. "You're destined for someone wonderful," he says in his soft Mandarin, his trademark sincerity.

It's a non-answer; a cop-out, a way to avoid confessing things he shouldn't, but it's the best he can manage at this moment, when I wish it was me is screaming so loud in his head, it's all he can hear.

You smile softly.

Minghao had told the truth. You are destined for someone wonderful. 

He just wishes he could have been more specific. 

The next time he sees you is ahead of the boys’ Japanese showcase. Minghao had been lagging behind in the airport; he'd managed to get a few moments of shut eye on the plane, but it did little to stave off the exhaustion he still felt.

He walks a few steps behind Seungcheol, his eyes flitting idly through the crowd, until they land on you, walking slightly ahead.

You were already moving efficiently, keeping your gaze straight as you walked next to Seungcheol, your eyes focused and unflinching even as the press and fans yelled out at you.

Minghao's eyes don't leave your figure, following you and Seungcheol as you navigate the throngs of airport patrons with practiced ease. He's almost unsettled by how effortless you seemed— walking through the crowd as if it were nothing more than a casual stroll through the park, your expression set and unwavering as you translate for Seungcheol in a low, firm tone.

Once you finally get past the front doors of the airport, there's a lull as the boys all pile into a twelve-seater van. You stay by the door, finally stealing seconds to see each of them as they pass by you.  

Vernon dips his head in a nod. Mingyu throws you an exaggerated wink. Jun mouths 'hello' to you in Japanese. 

And then it's Minghao's turn to get in the van, to pass by you. There's not much either of you can do or say yet, considering the fact that there are still fans and press scrutinizing your every move, but he still has this. A moment of acknowledgment, however he deems fit.  

Minghao's mouth tugs up at one corner as he sees you smile at him, the sight immediately making something warm bloom in his chest.  

He can't help the subtle, almost instinctual reaction as he stops ever so slightly in passing you. He wants to say something, but words elude him.  

Instead, his hand just grazes against your wrist— the merest press of his fingers against the bare skin of your arm. It's a tiny gesture, but one that speaks volumes.

For the rest of the car ride to the hotel, Minghao struggles.

He's stuck in a car full of members, all exhausted from the flight, all loud and noisy and rowdy, and the van feels suddenly stifling. He spends most of the time looking out the window, trying to focus on whatever he sees.

Anything to distract himself from thoughts of you and the ghost of your soft, warm skin under his fingers.

The next time you're slated to see the group is in the dressing room before their showcase. It's hours later. Hours you spend translating, liaising, transcribing. The dressing room is as lively as ever, most of the members having already changed into their stage outfits. Several of them are sitting around, idly eating snacks or watching videos.  

You carefully push open the door. "Hey," you greet, and you're met with the instant chorus of thirteen boys welcoming you.  

Seungkwan excitedly calls out, "Hey, hey, hey!"  

Joshua gives you a warm smile. Chan waves exaggeratedly.  

You let out a huff of laughter, already acutely familiar with the boys' habits. "Just wanted to check in on everyone before the showcase," you say as you lean against the doorframe.

Minghao is sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, his eyes on you as you say your reason for coming to see them. 

"We're all good here," Jeonghan answers, one hand propping his chin up. "You look like you could use a sit, though."

Your laugh is just a little strained, your smile a touch forced. But your façade stays intact, even as you shake your head. "I've still got some preparations to do," you say lightly, and then you shift gears before anyone can press. "How was the flight?"

"It was fine," Seokmin pipes up. "You know, nothing out of the usual. We were well-behaved."

"Well-behaved," Wonwoo echoes from the couch. "If by well-behaved, you mean Soonyoung and Vernon got extremely handsy in the plane."

"Hey," Vernon protests, whipping his head around to look at Wonwoo, "don't say it like that!"

On the couch, Jihoon lets out an amused snort, shaking his head in fond, exasperated disbelief. "No, no, please," he encourages, his voice laced with sarcasm, "tell everyone how you two almost got us yelled at by the stewards because you were roughhousing over some food."

Soonyoung pouts, his expression instantly adopting a look of exaggerated innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about," he insists. "I was a perfect angel."

While the other boys are all busy ribbing on Vernon and Soonyoung, Minghao makes his way over to where you're standing against the doorframe.

He stops when he's standing next to you, and the corner of his mouth tugs up into an amused smile as he takes in your distant, almost out of it expression. When he speaks, his voice is soft enough for you to hear but low enough that the others can't, barely more than a whisper. 

"You look tired."

You give him a sheepish smile as you pat out invisible wrinkles on your linen blazer. "Hao," you greet quietly, still a bit hesitant to use xīngān in front of his members.

Your gaze flickers briefly to the rest of the room before you switch to Mandarin, a clear indication that you want your next words to be for Minghao and Minghao alone.  

"I am tired," you admit in his native tongue. "But it's nothing crazy. Just the usual exhaustion."  

"You always work too hard," he responds, matching your switch to Mandarin. His gaze sweeps over your form, taking in the weary lines of your frame, the subtle stiffness in your stance. "You look like you'll fall over any second."  

You roll your shoulders a bit, unconsciously leaning closer toward him. "It's my back, still," you confess. "Making things a little harder than usual. I really will get it checked when we're back in Korea."  

A concerned frown tugs at the corners of Minghao's mouth when he hears you say it's your back, his eyes sweeping over your frame once again. "How long has it been bothering you?" he asks, his gaze sweeping over you.  

He tries not to seem too obvious about it, but he steps a little bit closer, shifting a fraction of an inch closer in case you do fall over. His arm brushes up against yours, the contact between the two of you almost imperceptible.  

"This morning," you say with a rueful smile, your hand reaching behind to massage the small of your back from over your layers of clothing. "The plane was a bit cramped."  

Minghao's eyes narrow a fraction of an inch when he hears the reason, one of his eyebrows lifting slightly in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "I told you to get it checked before the flight," he says.  

You give Minghao a look that's mildly exasperated and wholly exhausted. "I'm already booked to see a physician once this trip is over," you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as you look up at Minghao.  

"You always say that," Minghao responds, the hint of annoyance in his voice a clear indication of just how frustrated he is. "It's clearly bothering you every day. If you just took some time off, maybe even just a week, maybe you'd—"  

"Minghao."

The quiet, stern way you say his name— just his name; not Hao, not xīngān— cuts right through his frustrated tirade. A flicker of surprise passes across Minghao's features, the almost snap in your tone shutting him up.

"I'm going to go," you inform him stiffly, slipping back into Korean and away from the language you reserved for each other. "We need to prepare for the showcase."

His jaw clenches, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he tries to keep his mouth shut for once, biting back the words he wants to say, the protests that are so close to leaving his lips. He lets out another huff of air, forcing his expression to stay neutral. 

"Yeah," he replies in the same language, the one word filled with annoyance. "See you."

When the showcase rolls around, you maintain a backstage presence. Your role, as always, entails that you pay complete attention to the boys as they speak. Whenever they address the crowd as a whole, you translate their Korean into Japanese.

For some reason, hearing the familiar sound of your voice coming out of the speakers, the smoothness of your Japanese, still feels somewhat calming to Minghao. In the chaos of lights and loud music, hearing the rhythm of your words through the speakers makes it feel like, at least for the moment, you're still right there beside him.

When the songs pass and the showcase ends, the members are all still riding the high of the excitement of their performance, the energy of their fans still buzzing in the atmosphere.

They all make their way backstage, the hum of their conversations filling the air, a sense of excitement and satisfaction, each and every one of them energized. Minghao, once again, makes his way over to where you're standing, his eyes on you, his expression almost intense.

You don't immediately notice Minghao approaching because a staff member is talking to you in rapid Japanese about some interviews you need to coordinate, need to play the role of interpreter for. You're trying to bargain for a moment's break, but it's a losing battle.

The staff then suddenly folds into a bow, and only then do you realize that Minghao had come up to you. You dip your head in an equally respectful bow of acknowledgement.

In Japanese, you tiredly assure the staff member you'll be there for the press circus; she leaves Minghao and you alone at your reassurance. You flash Minghao a weary smile, slipping, this time, into Korean. "Good job with the showcase," you say benevolently. "You did well."

He can't help the subtle frown that forms on his face, the way his eyebrows furrow in concern. The fact that you're once again hiding behind that professional exterior of yours, the friendly, polite smile you're shooting him, does nothing to soothe his frustration.

"Thanks," he mutters, his tone somewhat clipped.

He hesitates for a moment, his gaze sweeping over you. "Hey," he eventually says. "Come with me for a second."

You cast a glance around backstage. The boys are all off doing their own things— chugging water, ribbing each other, taking photos. In a gaggle of thirteen, it's easy to fly under the radar at any given time.

"You have a magazine interview in fifteen minutes," you tell Minghao, clueing him in on the conversation you had with staff just moments prior. "We can't really go anywhere—"

"I know," Minghao responds, his tone perhaps a little sharper than he'd meant it to be, frustration getting the better of him.

He takes a quick glance around the backstage area, confirming that the others are all occupied enough that they won't notice, before his gaze lands back on you. "We won't be long," he assures you, already grabbing your wrist.

His grasp on your wrist is firm, his hand strong and his fingers wrapping around the limb easily, pulling you along with him, with no room for any protest. He doesn't break his pace until he's found a small, secluded bathroom, pulling you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you before anyone could notice.

"Minghao," you hiss under your breath, still obviously pissed in the way you forgo both his nickname and pet name. "You can't just drag me off when we have work."  

Even in his already frustrated state, Minghao finds himself momentarily distracted by your pissed off tone, and the use of his name without a nickname or pet name. He likes you calling him by some form of a cute or affectionate moniker far more than just plain, unadorned Minghao.  

"We still have a couple more minutes," he retorts, mirroring your tone even as his hand slides down to lace your fingers together.  

His eyes are heavy on you, his expression intense even as he takes an unabashed, close-up look at your face, studying the weariness in your expression, and the strain that's clearly weighing down on you.  

He makes a move to reach down, his gaze on your cheek, to brush away a strand of stray, loose hair. His heart lurches when he sees the way your expression softens subtly, even when you're still trying to be mad at him. The way you immediately intertwine your fingers in his— God.  

"We look very suspicious right now," you say dryly, your free hand gesturing vaguely to the fact that Minghao practically has you pinned against the bathroom wall. "Is this what you pulled me away for?"  

"We'll make it quick," he manages to reply, sounding slightly hoarse, before closing the already-minimal distance between the two of you, one arm snaking around your waist.  

"We shouldn't—" you protest weakly, because there's just some things you can't explain away. Like how Minghao and you might be caught hugging in this bathroom when you were colleagues at worst, good friends at best. "We're going to get in trouble."  

"We won't," he responds, his tone firm, stubborn.  

His other hand comes up to rest at the back of your head, pulling you in even closer, burying your face in his chest, the other arm still looped firmly around your waist. He lets out a sharp exhale of air, the frustration and tension of the moment melting into something akin to relief. 

"Just—" he mumbles, his breath hot in your ear. "Let me hold you. Just a little— for a second."  

A small flicker of relief fills his chest when he feels the tension ease as a result of his embrace, the way you lean against him, almost as if you're allowing yourself just to relax. To melt against his body the way you almost never did in public.  

When you mumble Mandarin against his chest, your words are slightly muffled. "I'm sorry about earlier," you whisper. "I was really stressed."  

"I know," he responds, just as quietly. "I'm sorry too."  

This was how it was with the two of you— the quick-tempered arguments, the stubborn disagreements, and then the inevitable apologies that always followed. Minghao knew he was stubborn, maybe even a little irritable, and he would admit that he could've handled his response better.

But, for some reason— in the moment, at least— all of that tension that had been between the two of you in that moment just evaporated in the embrace. "You're working yourself to the bone," he mutters quietly, into your collarbone.

He knows how hard you work, in general, but it's become increasingly worse as of late. The endless translation, the interviews, the subtitles and scripts. It all seemed to be getting too much, even for you.

"I know it's not my place to tell you this but—" he continues, his voice becoming even more hoarse and heavy in worry. "You need to take better care of yourself. You can't just keep pushing yourself like this. Not like you've been doing. You're going to burn out at this rate."

It's just the way the two of you were— you, the overworked, over-stressed, and over-tired, and him, almost constantly worried about your general well-being, worried about you working yourself to actual exhaustion.

The moment you gently run your fingers through his hair, he instantly melts against you even more, practically nuzzling against your shoulder.

"You do have some right to tell me this. We're friends," you sigh, tilting your head to press your lips to the side of Minghao's temple. "And you're right— I'll look into taking a medical leave for a bit, once we get back home."  

"Good," he responds, his voice quiet but firm. "You need a break. And I—" he pauses, hesitating.  

He doesn't like seeing you like that, he wants to say. He doesn't like seeing you so tired and so stressed every day. He doesn't like how you barely have any time together anymore. He doesn't like seeing you overexert yourself so much.  

He stops himself from saying it out loud, instead letting out a soft huff before continuing. "I really worry about you, you know?" he mutters against your shoulder.  

"I know, xīngān," you respond, slipping into Mandarin in a bid to comfort Minghao a little more. A beat. And then, ever so quietly: "I worry about you, too."  

You slide your hand up and down his back. "We're both fools," you whisper with a slight huff of laughter.  

"Yeah," he agrees with an exhale of a laugh at your last words. "We are both fools."  

But we're fools for each other, his mind unhelpfully reminds him as he dares to hold you for just a moment more.

He just has to go and mess it all up by insisting, "I wish you’d let people take care of you."

People, meaning him. He had meant to say I wish you’d let me take care of you, but instead something entirely else came out. He knows he ought to back down the moment he feels you tense under his grasp, but Minghao was nothing if not adamant.

"I don’t need to be taken care of," you persist. 

Minghao huffs into your hair. "That’s bullshit and you know it."

"Hao—"

"It’s not a sign of weakness—"

"You keep treating me like—"

"I’m not—"

"Minghao!"

You’ve all but pulled away now, your earlier softness replaced with a new kind of tension. It’s not the same tiredness from being overworked; no, it’s the frustration of the two of you trying to speak over each other. The push and pull of your words. Your mutual inability to communicate just what you mean. 

Minghao’s fingers ball into fists at his sides to hide his almost trembling hands. It’s all he can do to keep himself from reaching back out for you.     

"I'll go ahead," you whisper decisively, your gaze fixed on the door. "I'll see you at the magazine interview."

An almost visceral, physical pain shoots through Minghao's chest at the mention of you leaving. His mind screams no, don't leave, don't go. But he swallows down his own irrational, impulsive desires, his own selfish longing for you.

"I— yeah," Minghao responds slowly. "I'll meet you there."

He watches silently, almost helplessly, as you make a beeline for the door.

The interview is with NYLON JAPAN. You interpret and translate for both the interviewer and the boys, once again acting as an off-camera presence— an intent, constant figure quietly relaying questions and answers.  

There's some benefit in SEVENTEEN being thirteen members strong. That way, Minghao is in the second row, some distance away from you. If you avoid his gaze, it almost feels negligible.

For the duration of the interview, Minghao can hardly concentrate on the questions and answers being traded between the members and the interviewer. His focus is firmly drawn towards you.  

He can't help but glance in your direction every so often. Every time your gaze accidentally meets his, it's like a jolt of electricity straight to his chest, his stomach clenching at the painful realization of how close you are and how far away you feel.

When the interviewer begins to ask member-specific questions, you do your job as well as you always do. The first two are for Seungcheol, then Chan. And then, of course, there it is.

You nod a bit as the interviewer poses his question. "Jun and Minghao," you translate, your voice wavering imperceptibly on the second name. "You two are the members that have given up a life in your home country in exchange for being an idol. How are you able to cope with that?"

As you translate Jun’s answer to the interviewer, Minghao can hardly focus on the actual words he's saying. He’s only half-listening as he watches the subtle flutter of your eyelashes, the slight parting of your lips, the crinkle in your forehead as you concentrate hard on getting the Japanese translation perfect.

His chest feels tight, like there's a band wrapped around his entire body, constricting his airflow.

When your gaze finally moves back to him, locking eyes with his own, a rush of breath leaves his lungs, his heart jumping in his throat. The look in your eyes, the distance between the two of you— it’s nothing short of exaggerated.

For a brief moment, he's not answering a question for a Japanese magazine interview. He's answering a question for you. 

"It's hard," Minghao answers, his voice quiet and low, somewhat hoarse. "It’s really hard and lonely sometimes."

Every word that leaves his lips feels like a struggle to get out, like they're getting stuck in his throat, choking him.

"But I have the members, and we have the fans," he continues, a quiet yearning in his eyes. "And so it’s bearable," he says, despite the pit still present in his stomach, despite the ache of needing more.

He keeps his gaze focused on you, letting every word he says hold a meaning beyond the answer to the interviewer’s question— as if he’s answering for you and not the interviewer. But he has to keep his words vague, just in case those damned cameras picked up on his words and the way he looks at you.

"It's bearable," he repeats, swallowing hard, letting his eyes convey what he really means, even if his words can’t. You make it bearable.

There are some things that don't need to be translated. The pinched look on Minghao's face. The way he's openly staring at you. The subtle shift among the members— all of whom seem to pick up on something Minghao isn’t saying.

"Is that all?" you ask Minghao in Korean, your voice steady as ever despite the flicker of emotion in your gaze.

That aching, yearning expression is still present on his face as he responds. 

"Yeah," he says. "That’s all."

Minghao's phone is tucked under his pillow, the device set to vibrate.

He jolts awake the moment it begins to buzz, a habit he had grown after years of being under the spotlight and on the road. His hand flies out to grab the phone.

His eyes bleary, he blinks a few times to clear his vision. A slight smile involuntarily tugs at his lip when he sees your message, his eyes skimming over the contents of it several times.

i'm sorry about today. (yesterday, technically?) i hope you're resting right now. ily.

"Idiot," he murmurs quietly to himself.

You don't have anything to apologize for, he replies quickly. It's not your fault. I'm the one who should be sorry. I should've been more patient with you.

How are you? Are you okay?

i'm ok. fell asleep on the couch and woke up suddenly. but did i wake you? it's so late. you should be asleep.

A quiet sigh leaves Minghao's lips as he reads your response, a part of him feeling a pang of guilt, as if knowing he was the reason you were awake right now.

You did wake me. But don't worry. I'm glad you texted me. Can you call me?

A beat. 

let me just step out onto my balcony so i don't wake my roommates.

The image of you carefully sneaking out onto the balcony to talk, just so you wouldn't wake your roommates, briefly flashes through Minghao's mind. It reminds him of his own sleeping roommates a mere few feet away from him.

He sighs softly, quietly pulling himself out of bed, careful to not disturb Mingyu and Jun as he quietly makes his way out into the balcony from the door to his left.

The air is cold and the night sky is clear. Those are the two of the three things Minghao registers when he steps out on the balcony of his hotel room. The third thing comes after you call him and there’s a slightly amused edge to your tone as you say, "Look to your right, xīngān."

He turns to look to his right just as you asked, his eyes searching the balcony area in the distance. He can't quite make out any details on your figure in the low lighting, but when his eyes finally land on you, his heart skips a beat all the same.

"Found you," he murmurs.

"I didn’t mean to wake you," you say softly. "We could have talked in the morning, you know."

"I know," Minghao responds. He leans against the railing of his own balcony, the metal cold to the touch, his eyes fixed on you. He's sure you can't see him clearly, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.  

He was looking at you, and that was enough.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says simply, the words said without a trace of shame, just quiet honesty.

"What did you want to talk about?" you ask, giving him the liberty to set the pace for tonight, to pick and choose his battles.

There are a lot of things Minghao could say right now, a lot of things he wants to say. But instead, he settles for, "How are you?"

"Better now," you say simply, your gaze still fixed on Minghao in the distance. And it's the truth, even if the second half of your answer goes unspoken. Better now, that you're talking to him.

He stands there silently, still watching you from a distance. Despite his earlier confidence in talking to you, he's suddenly feeling uncharacteristically timid. Tongue-tied, almost, with his words caught in his throat. He can’t bring himself to speak for a moment, a part of him still feeling guilty about earlier.

He swallows the tightness in his throat, taking a deep breath, before finally forcing the words out. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "For what happened in the bathroom."

Perhaps it's the years you’ve known each other, the herculean task you’ve both faced. But Minghao and you know better than anyone that things were so easily lost in translation, that there’s only so many emotions that can be grasped in all the languages of the world.

"We just have to get better at using our words, I guess," you sigh. 

Something in his chest settles at your response— at the understanding in it, at the fact that you don't hate him. The knowledge washes over him like a sudden warmth, the guilt he'd felt earlier slowly evaporating with each passing moment.

"We do," he replies quietly.

There's a comfort, still, in being just a couple of balconies away. How you can make out each other's vague silhouettes in the late evening of this foreign country.

It feels like you're standing on the precipice of something, of possibility.  

But instead of confronting it, you opt to dance the line a little longer. Your eyes are still trained on the sky as you slip into Mandarin.  

"The stars out here are so clear, xīngān," you muse thoughtfully. "It's beautiful, don't you think?"

The change in language registers quietly in Minghao's mind, his brain taking a second to get used to it after speaking in Korean and stilted Japanese most of the day.  

He looks up at the night sky for a moment in quiet contemplation, taking in the beauty of the stars as you'd described them, before turning his gaze back to the shadowed outline of your figure in the distance.  

Something about the sight, about you, makes his heart ache a little bit. Beautiful, you had said about the stars, but he’s not looking at them. 

He responds softly, longingly, in Mandarin, his voice almost a whisper in the night air. "It really is."

The next day, you both get on separate flights back to Seoul. As Minghao had poked and prodded you to do, you finally take the medical leave from work— a one-week block, which was the longest you’d ever gone away from PLEDIS since you first started nine years ago.

Roughly three days into your break, Minghao is in dance practice when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He frowns when he glances at the screen and sees your name. 

can i call? 

The sight of the message, so unlike your usual lighthearted air, makes his heart drop instantly in his chest. There's no text-speak, no cutesy words, no emoji— just a simple question. He drops whatever he's doing, ignoring the questioning stares from the members as he steps out into the hallway and quickly dials your number without a second thought.

"Xīngān," he greets you, a little breathless from the rush he'd felt upon seeing your message. There's a hint of concern in his voice as his heart races in his chest, his mind whirling with thoughts. 

He doesn't even bother with pleasantries or small talk, diving straight into the issue at hand. "Is everything alright? What's wrong?"

Much to Minghao's chagrin, you bother with pleasantries. "Hey," you say back in Mandarin when he greets you. For a moment, you hesitate; like you're not quite sure which language you want to speak to Minghao in.  

"I'm sorry," you say in Korean. "Did I bother you?"  

Minghao shakes his head even if you can't see him. He's silent for a moment, mulling over his words before replying, "No. Never. You didn't bother me, xīngān."  

The words are uttered quietly, his voice soft and gentle, as if he's afraid that the volume of his own voice might somehow scare you away.  

"I finally visited a doctor for my back," you say, finally. "It's a herniated disc, and I'm being slotted in for a surgery in two days."  

His heart drops into his chest at your admission, the words feeling like a sudden weight upon him. Herniated disc.  

The words feel like a sudden strike to his heart, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "A herniated... disc," he repeats, his voice a little breathless, a little shocked, as he quickly tries to process what he'd just heard.  

He doesn't realize he's switched to Mandarin, his own words spoken in a rush. "How bad is it? What are the doctors saying?"  

You stubbornly stick to Korean, likely because it's easier to accurately relay your medical results in the same language you'd received them in. "It's not bad," you say firmly. "The operation is an open discectomy on my lower back. It will take at most an hour, and I'll only need to stay in the hospital for up to three days."  

There's a flicker of irritation in Minghao's eyes at your insistence to continue speaking in your language, frustrated at the lack of comprehension and understanding it brought. He wants to protest, to argue, to tell you to just use Mandarin— but it disappears when he hears your firm voice, when he realizes what it is you're telling him.  

An hour-long operation. Three days in the hospital. It didn't sound bad, per se, and logically, he knew that you would probably be fine. It still didn't make him worry any less.  

"What are the risks?" Minghao asks after a moment.  

Normally, he would have just looked up whatever answers he wanted, searching it up in medical databases and online articles. But, for some reason, he's suddenly terrified to hear anything other than the sound of your voice— your words, reassuring him that everything will be okay.  

"No change to the back pains," you rattle off. "A five to fifteen percent chance of a revision discectomy if the herniated disc returns. A lower chance of an unstable spine. It's— they're truly not bad risks, Hao."  

"Five to fifteen perc— no, that's not a 'truly not bad risk'," Minghao counters immediately, his voice sharp and frustrated, as if scolding a child that was being too nonchalant.  

"You— it's surgery, xīngān—" he continues in Mandarin, his tone almost pleading. "Five to fifteen percent chance— it— what if something goes wrong?"  

He feels a little bit frustrated at his sudden loss for words in both languages, as if his own limited vocabulary couldn’t express the rush of emotions that had suddenly overwhelmed him.  

"Hey," you say softly into the receiver, this time switching over to Mandarin. Because it had always been more soothing to him, more familiar in the sense that mattered. "Take a moment and breathe for me, xīngān."

There's a sense of calm that washes over him as he finally hears the change in language. He takes a deep, shuddering inhale, followed by a slow exhale, his eyes squeezed shut as he mentally counts down seconds.

Slowly, the panic, the fear he'd felt gradually starts to subside, leaving his heart and breath steadier— but not completely unbothered.

After a moment, you go on in Mandarin, calm and measured. "It's a surgery with a high success rate of sixty to ninety percent," you maintain. "I need it to address the persistent back pains, xīngān. If I don't do it now, the pain will only get worse and more of my spine could be affected."  

You pause, letting the words sink in. "These doctors are good," you go on. "They do their job well."  

Minghao takes several more slow, steady breaths as he listens, the sound of your voice alone calming him down, helping him keep his mind clear and focused. He knows you're speaking to him in Mandarin because it's easier to communicate with him this way, but he can't help but notice the subtle firmness, the reassurance in your tone.  

The statistics, the numbers, the facts— they're hard to deny, and as he takes another shaky inhale and exhale, he realizes that you're right. "Sixty to ninety percent success rate," he repeats to himself, his voice a soft murmur.  

"Sixty to ninety percent," you reaffirm. Then, in a more shy tone, you add, "I'm sorry for springing this on you. I— I just didn't know who else to call."  

He notices it then, the meekness in your words, the small hint of vulnerability in your voice. Any remaining anxiety he felt from the situation suddenly dissolves with the realization that you needed this.  

You had called him because you’d needed to hear a familiar, comforting voice, a sense of reassurance after what you'd just confessed. He swallows back his fears, his worries, any thoughts about the risk and that lingering, unpleasant feeling in his chest, because you needed him to be calm, to be steadfast.  

"Don't... Don't apologize, xīngān," he says almost immediately after. He swallows again before continuing, mentally berating himself for letting his anxiety and irrational fears take over his brain. "No, don't— I'm glad you called. I'll always pick up the phone."  

"Are you free tomorrow?" you ask tentatively. "We could grab a meal before I have to check into the hospital."  

As he hears the question, his mind immediately begins to run through his schedule for the next day.  

He knows what he should do. He knows what the logical part of his brain, the part that's in control of his rationality, is supposed to do. But when he thinks of you— of you, in the hospital, waiting to undergo a surgery (it's safe, it's a safe surgery, he chants in his brain) alone, without him—  

"I'll clear my schedule," he tells you.  

"No, you don't have to," you say quickly, falling back on Korean in an attempt to express your haste. "It's okay. We can just meet once the operation is over—"  

"I'm clearing my schedule,” he repeats, his voice firm, final. “I’m going to be there. We’re eating before the surgery, and I’m going to be at the hospital with you afterwards. I’m not letting you go to the hospital alone."  

A beat. While there are things that Minghao and you have yet to clear about the nature of your friendship, one thing stands true regardless of label.

"You're too good to me, Xu Minghao," you say softly, shifting to his mother tongue for the sake of sentiment. 

He lets the sound of your voice, the familiar language, wash over him. As it does, it soothes the anxiety that still gnaws at the corners of his mind.

"It’s…” he begins quietly, a small, almost sheepish smile forming on his lips, “not really…”

There’s a moment of silence before he sighs softly, his expression growing more earnest as he continues. “Being good to you is the easy part.”

"And it’s xīngān, not Xu Minghao," he adds quickly, and he’s sure you can hear the pout in his voice. 

It draws a laugh out of you— one that's still quiet, but a lot more genuine. A moment of levity. A brightness that only Minghao could truly give you. The sound of your laughter, even over the phone, is enough to lift his spirits, his heart swelling in his chest in relief.

"Xīngān," you amend, and your voice is just a little too fond to be friendly. 

For a moment, Minghao can convince himself that all will be alright in the world again. 

The discectomy is relatively uneventful, which can only mean that it was good. There's no way of Minghao knowing this, of course, not as he spends the entire morning in a group meeting he can't really skip.

Regardless, all the members can tell that Minghao's heart isn't really in it. That he's physically at the PLEDIS building, sure, but his mind is on you— somewhere in an operating room, under anesthesia.

Seungcheol broaches the topic carefully. "Ah, it’s their surgery today, isn’t it?" the leader asks almost too casually, to no one in particular. There's a murmur of agreement across the table of thirteen boys. Some shifty, knowing glances at Minghao.

Minghao nods in response to Seungcheol's question, his expression still entirely too… anxious. "Yeah," he replies, keeping his voice as controlled as he possibly can, even as he feels his dread build up inside of him. "I'll be going to see them, after this."

It doesn't go amiss to anyone that Minghao doesn't even bother to extend the invite to anyone else. Jun is the only one who looks vaguely miffed about it, but they're all mostly understanding of how different Minghao felt with you compared to their own concern, their own affection.

Joshua offers the next best thing. 

"I was thinking we could chip in to send flowers," he says, and there's easy assent across the group. Minghao feels a small flicker of warmth in his chest at the thought of how you'd receive these messages of their care and concern.

As Vernon and Jeonghan debate what arrangement to send, Jun throws a glance at Minghao and almost smiles. Almost.

"What flowers did you get them?" Jun says in Mandarin, so no one else in the room can pick up how quickly the other Chinese man had clocked that Minghao was already three steps ahead.

Minghao glances over to his friend, his expression unreadable, as he answers in the same language. "Sunflowers," he replies, not missing a beat.

Jun can only smile faintly at Minghao's answers. "Sunflowers for your sunshine," Jun teases good-naturedly, still in the tongue that none of the other members will understand.

There's something about the way the Mandarin word for 'sunshine'— yángguāng— that sounds just so right. The Chinese term falls from the older man's lips like a blessing, a wish for good luck and health and goodness for all those involved. 

Minghao isn't sure if he'd imagined it, not exactly, but he sees the way Jun looks at him right after he says the word. For a split second, Minghao's chest tightens, his throat clenching up, because maybe Jun thinks his feelings for you are obvious.

Maybe Jun thinks he's been obvious all this time. In his head, Minghao had already been thinking it— yángguāng, sunshine, mine— And it's only now that he realizes that he was never the only one who saw it that way. That saw you and Minghao as something inevitable. 

He glances at Jun, eyes softening, filled with almost a wave of gratitude.

"Sunflowers for my sunshine," he repeats, hoping it will somehow manifest like a prophecy. 

You wake up after your operation with one less disc in your spine and one too many floral arrangements in your hospital room. As you blink against the vestiges of your anesthesia, you register the absurd, almost comical amount of flowers piled on the couch, and it doesn't take you more than a couple of seconds to realize it came from the boys.  

One of whom is dozing off in a chair next to you. You watch with mild amusement as Minghao's head dips in his restless slumber, his fingers still surprisingly firm around the bouquet of sunflowers in his lap. The affection you feel for him then threatens to overwhelm you.  

You manage to tamp it down in favor of gently prompting, "Minghao."  

Your voice is still hoarse, still a little rough around the edges. Not quite enough to rouse him from his sleep. After two or so more attempts, you go for what you know will wake him up.  

"Xīngān," you call out with no shortage of fondness.  

The sound of your voice jolts Minghao awake, and he opens his eyes in an instant. For a moment, his vision is still blurry, the world around him seeming almost vague, fuzzy with sleep, but then it snaps into focus when he sees you.

When he sees you awake, alive, and looking at him. His heart does somersaults in his chest.

"Yángguāng," he answers, his voice low, soft and affectionate, barely above a whisper.

"That's a new one," you say in Mandarin; your voice is still scratchy, but your amusement is not any less evident.    

He thinks he'll never get tired of watching that. Of watching your lips move that way. "You like it?" Minghao asks.  

He doesn't need an answer to his question, because he already knows that you do— but he can't help himself, needing the confirmation, needing to hear your answer. The thought of calling you 'sunshine' isn't a new one, but saying it out loud to you for the first time, when you're awake? It feels like a miracle.  

"I could live with it," you answer with a soft smile— even though both Minghao and you knew that you would now never be able to live without it.  

Minghao wants to laugh at the way you shrug his question off, at the way you seem so nonchalant, even as you give him that sweet, sweet smile that is so bright that it could rival the very sun itself.  

Because he knows the truth. He knows you're happy about it. He knows you love it. He can tell it in the way you're looking at him, in the way your eyes glitter with affection.  

"I'm glad," he answers, playing right into your charade because he knows every little trick in your book.  

And then, in a fit of bravery— one that he almost feels like applauding himself for— he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.  

When he pulls away, the bouquet of sunflowers still clutched in his hands, he's sure he can see it. The happiness in your eyes. The sheer, blinding affection in your smile.  

"Thank you," you whisper earnestly. Partly because your voice is still shot; partly because you don't trust yourself to speak any louder. "For coming to see me."  

He has to swallow hard to regain control of his emotions, because he is so terribly, terribly in love. He laughs under his breath because he's not sure what to do about his feelings anymore. Maybe it's best to just throw himself off the cliff and see what happens, right?  

"I'll always come see you," he answers, instead, making a promise for the future.  

He leans in again with that thought on his mind, and he presses another kiss to your temple, softer, longer, his lips lingering against your skin for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.  

He pulls away to meet your gaze, and he almost feels like laughing at the way he can see his feelings reflecting in your eyes, shining in the pools of your irises. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. How is he going to live with that?  

Minghao leans in again, but this time, he kisses the corner of your lips, right where your smile is.  

And it's astounding, really, just how terrible Minghao and you still are at this whole thing. Despite all the years between you, you still falter and stumble in getting your feelings across.  

There was always something. A job to do. A reputation to uphold. And now, a hospital bed, a recovery period.  

But, for once, you can only laugh breathlessly as Minghao gives you two more kisses, as you feel the upward curve of his lips against your face. Your heart stutters at the peck on the corner of your mouth; it's not quite what you both want, what you both need, but you'll take it. God, you'd take it.  

"Stop that," you try to chide in between your giggles. "Get off me, Hao—"

The sound of you laughing is like a revelation in Minghao's chest. As if a chord of tension that had been strung taut within him for so long had been cut.

He pulls back with a look of satisfaction on his face, that teasing grin playing on his lips as he does. "But why?" he asks in an absolutely, unbearably sweet tone, a tone that is laced with faux innocence, even though he knows why. You were recovering. You had to be careful.

A part of him is almost glad he hadn't kissed you properly. Because if he so much as feels the softness of your lips against his, he's not sure he'll be able to stop.

But God, does that make him want it even more— the fact that he can't, the fact that you're so close and still beyond his grasp. He forces himself to look elsewhere then and his gaze falls to the bouquet on his lap, to the flowers he'd brought you.

Sunflowers, because he doesn't think they make flowers that even compare to the brightness of your smile, or the way your eyes glitter when you laugh— at least, not flowers that make him think of you and you alone.

He holds the bouquet out to you. "Do you like them?" he can't help but laugh. He had chosen them and bought them for you, and yet, in true Minghao fashion, he finds himself still asking for your approval.

"I love them," you say easily, readily, already reaching out to take the arrangement from Minghao. 

Three sunflowers in full bloom, flanked by chamomile and irises and baby's-gypsophila. Your smile is bright and wide as you look down at it, as you hold it delicately. 

When you look back up at Minghao, there's that touch of amusement again. That tinge of disbelief that seems to wordlessly communicate, I can't believe you.  

"You didn't have to," you point out with a low chuckle, shifting slightly in your hospital bed as your fingers go imperceptibly tighter around his flowers. "But thank you."  

The sight of the smile on your face is enough to almost make him want to kiss you all over again.  

It's not the first time he'd given you an arrangement of flowers, but it's the first time it's made Minghao feel like he's just given you his heart, too.  

"No, I didn't," he agrees lightly, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the very tips of his fingers brushing against your soft skin. But I wanted to.

The boys all come to visit, one after the other. In small groups, in age order, until they have to be kicked out for being too noisy and potentially drawing too much attention to themselves. There are doctors, too, and nurses. All of whom are a little shell shocked at the idols just milling about in your hospital room, making themselves at home.  

Throughout it all, Minghao stays. His usual quiet, steadfast presence. He absorbs all the diagnoses; he tells off his members when they get overwhelming. And, when no one's looking, he'll squeeze your hand or press his fingers into your shoulder.  

As always, there are some things neither of you have to say out loud.  

He's more than happy to play the role of your protector, even as he continues to worry, even as he's filled with dread over the possibility of you not recovering fully and what that might mean.  

See, Minghao would never describe himself as a man of prayer. He doesn't go to temples nearly as often as he should, though he does go often, and he doesn't consider himself not spiritual.  

He finds himself praying anyway. To the universe and whatever is out there, begging for the chance that all of this would work out for you.  

But for now, at this moment, all Minghao can do is wait, and focus on the way your hand feels in his— a source of comfort in and of itself.  

That's how your mother finds you, actually, on the evening that she deigns to visit.  

Minghao is at your bedside, playing with your fingers, and the two of you are debating over something trivial— the merits of adapting dramas into other languages— with your heads bent together. It would've been negligibly friendly if it weren't for the obvious affection in your petty argument, the way you practically lean into each other's touch.  

That's why it takes a moment for either of you to register that a third person had entered your hospital room. You look up at the sound of a throat clearing, and you're just about to apologize when you register who the silver-haired woman by the entryway is.  

Your spine goes rigid; your eyes, imperceptibly wide. "Eomma," you choke out in a slightly strangled whisper.  

Minghao goes still the moment the word leaves your lips, and his mouth goes dry when he registers the figure at the door. He doesn't exactly know what kind of a relationship the two of you had, but Minghao can only hope, for the sake of politeness and respect, that she doesn't despise him.  

"Hello," he says weakly, his hand tightening almost protectively around yours in a silent gesture of support before he finally rises to greet her. He bows respectfully, clearing his throat to greet your mother appropriately.  

Your mother's scrutinizing gaze flickers over Minghao— everything from his polite bow to the way he had just been holding your hand, moments prior. When she speaks, it's in garbled Korean; there's a hint of a French accent, one that doesn't quite match her Seoul dialect.  

"There's no need for that," your mother tells Minghao, referring to his bow. She's aiming for kindness but comes off, still, as cold. It must come with the nature of her profession; you had once mentioned that your parents were diplomats.   

Minghao forces himself to stay calm and composed, even as the fear of how your mother may react to him sets in the pit of his stomach. He nods his head, but he doesn't quite dare to look her in the eye  

"I'm Xu Minghao, ma'am. I'm here to offer some company," Minghao tries to explain, though he's not sure he's doing the best job of it.  

There's a flicker of recognition on your mother's composed expression. The look of recognition in your mother's eyes puts Minghao slightly at ease, but that doesn't quite erase the nervous tension, the anxiety that thrums against the underside of his very skin.  

"Xu Minghao," she repeats, and you let out a groan when she sounds just a little amused despite her stoic demeanor.  

He waits, just about holding his breath as your mother comes further into the room, stopping in front of the two of you. Minghao shifts awkwardly in his spot, glancing over to you just about nervously, as if waiting for you to take charge of the situation.  

"Eomma," you repeat. This time your voice is a lot more level. You try to ignore the way Minghao seems absolutely scared shitless at your side. "When did you fly in?"  

There's a detached casualness to your mother's response, almost more like you're colleagues than family. "Just this morning," she says. "I'm staying at your grandparents’ for now."  

You dip your head into a nod. There's a pause.  

"Minghao is a member of SEVENTEEN," you say, sounding just slightly resigned at having to remind your mother.  

The older woman turns her gaze back to Minghao, her eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm aware," she says coolly, an edge of amusement in her tone. When she refers to you, she sticks to your full name instead of your nickname. "How is it working with my child, Minghao?"  

"They’re wonderful," Minghao answers without hesitation, his answer almost coming out a little too fast.  

He doesn't bother to temper it back, because that's how he feels— and because he believes that your mother needs to know how he feels about working with you, about being around you.  

"Kind," he adds after a moment of pause, looking back over to you, just about begging to be given permission to continue, to gush about you.  

You look straight back at Minghao, barely resisting the urge to vehemently shake your head. You know him. You know how he wants to say more, would probably talk hours and hours about your role as an interpreter if you gave him the green light.  

As you attempt to wordlessly communicate with him through your pointed glare, your mother watches the exchange with growing amusement. Then, just as you always have whenever you wanted to get Minghao talking more—  

"I would hope they were kind," your mother says, though she says the words in Mandarin.  

When your mother speaks in Mandarin, Minghao can't help the rush of gratitude that floods through him, because that only means one thing— that it was okay, that he was encouraged to say more. And so, he does, a small smile on his lips.  

"Kind, thoughtful, patient," he says softly, almost like a litany. "Always on top of things. Brilliant."  

There was something about talking about you in his own language that made everything come so much easier to Minghao. "They make us all look bad," he adds with a soft laugh, though there's a hint of truth behind the words. He means it.  

You made him want to be better to you, more worthy of you, and not just as a person, either. As a man, too.  

You stare up at Minghao, exasperated at how a simple change in language had suddenly gotten him so honest. "You shouldn't say all that—" you hiss at him.  

As you go on to tell off Minghao under your breath and he only looks down at you with that completely smitten expression, your mother puts two and two together. One doesn't have to be in the same room as the two of you for too long to recognize it.  

Ah, the older woman thinks to herself. They're in love with each other, and they don't even know it.  

The expression on Minghao's face as you scold him would be better described as that of a puppy who doesn't quite understand what he'd done wrong. His eyebrows furrow, and as you continue to hiss under your breath, he looks like he simply wants to reach out and pull you into a hug because he can't stand it when you fuss over him.  

But he settles for squeezing your fingers once more, his grip tightening, just enough to ground himself when you don't seem to relent in your quiet berating.  

After a moment, your mother clears her throat again. It's a habit of hers that immediately gets you to shut up.  

"I just wanted to drop by," she says vaguely, switching back to Korean. "But I really must get going. Duty calls."  

"Duty calls," you echo quietly, and your mother's gaze softens imperceptibly.  

"I'll be back later tonight," she reassures you. Her gaze flickers to Minghao for a moment before returning to you. "I trust that you'll be in good hands until then."  

"Eomma," you huff, and your mother looks like she almost might laugh.  

Minghao stays still as he watches you interact with your mother, as he watches her gaze flicker back and forth between the both of you. He can't help the slight smile on his face at the look in your mother's eyes, however, because it's almost like approval.  

She turns to Minghao, this time. Gives him a once-over. He's jolted when your mother suddenly speaks French. It's not anything Minghao will understand— just a brief sentence that is meant for you and you alone. It's almost impertinent; the words are anything but.

Your smile widens and you respond in the same language.  

Your mother gives Minghao a nod. "Goodbye, Minghao," she says in Korean as she takes her leave. "It was a pleasure to meet you."  

Minghao is left looking at you, still holding on to your hand. His eyes flicker down to your smile, a grin of his own blossoming on his lips. "What did you say to each other?" he asks, almost immediately pouting.  

He won't admit it, but he feels almost jealous. The feeling tides over when you absentmindedly note, "It was nothing."    

The smile on Minghao's face turns soft and he squeezes your hand for good measure, still watching your face even as you slump back against your bed.  

"You're a terrible liar, y'know." He raises your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "You know I can read you, right?"  

"She asked me if I agreed with the meaning of your name," you say point blank. "And I said yes. Of course."  

Minghao pauses, his lips still at your knuckles as he absorbs your words.  

He knows what his name means. He's heard it enough in his lifetime. As far as names were concerned, he always considered himself lucky for the fact that he's got a pretty decent one.  

Ming, 明, which meant bright and brilliant. Hao, 浩, which meant grand and vast. Minghao— someone bright, brilliant, vast like the sky.  

But to hear you say it back to him like this? It feels like a revelation. Like you're giving him a gift, something that he can hold on to.  

"Of course," he repeats reverently, his heart a steady thump, thump, thump in his chest.

The subsequent recovery period is a slow crawl. Minghao fusses more often than not. He ensures you're on top of things— physical therapy, check-ups— and is extra careful about anything that might involve your back.  

Even as you're given the go-ahead to return to work, he frets, having read through one too many articles about the risks of having a discectomy. How strenuous labor and contact sports are still off the table for the foreseeable future. How, now, four weeks after the surgery, you still ought to be careful with routine activities.  

It's as endearing as it is vaguely irksome, especially on instances such as these. The rest of the staff avert their gazes and try not to laugh. The boys look like they're most definitely going to give you grief later on.  

Because Minghao is still adamantly carrying your things as you all head to a shooting location for the newest Going Seventeen episode.  

"Hao," you say through gritted teeth, right at Minghao's heels as he lugs around your duffel bag. "I told you, I can carry that!"  

Despite the slight exasperation in your voice, Minghao can't hide the way the corners of his lips tug into a smile.  

He knows exactly what he's doing and he knows how it makes you feel. But he can't help himself; it's too easy to wind you up. "It's heavy," Minghao insists, despite the fact that it's not that heavy, or that he doesn't actually believe that it is.  

He’s just being a slight nuisance on purpose, something he does often to get your attention.  

"It's not heavy," you seethe, taking extra steps to keep up with Minghao's lithe strides. He’s leading you to one of the company buses that would take all the members and the staff to today's shooting location— some beachside AirBnB along Sokcho.  

"I packed it, for Christ's sake. I know it's not heavy," you insist helplessly, reaching out one hand to tug at the back of Minghao's shirt.  

He's always like this, pushing and prodding and annoying you to get reactions out of you because he finds it amusing. It's been such a long time since you last properly scolded him, and oh, how he wants you to do it again.  

He stops in his tracks, forcing you to either halt in yours or bump into him. When he pauses, your feet keep moving on their own accord. Your face smashes right into Minghao's back.  

Immediately, your hand that had been grasping his shirt flies to your face. You clutch the bridge of your nose— feeling a slight sting there, following the impact— as you mumble a low chorus of "ow, ow, ow, what the hell..."  

The moment your face smashes into his back, Minghao finds himself doubling over in laughter, his frame shaking as he braces against his knees. The look of pure disbelief on your face is probably one of the funniest things he's seen all week, and the laughter that bubbles up out of his chest is unrestrained and free.  

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" he apologizes, his voice wavering in between laughter as he slowly tries to regain his composure. "Are you... are you alright? Does it hurt? Is it broken?"  

"You're insufferable," you huff before stomping ahead of him, making it a point to bump your shoulders against his as you make a beeline for the bus.  

Minghao only continues to chuckle, shaking his head as he follows after you, his laughter never once dissipating. By the time he reaches the bus, he's still smiling, completely unable to hide the way he keeps grinning.  

Much to Minghao's chagrin, however, you exact your revenge in the smallest way possible: By settling into a seat next to Mingyu, who's always more than a little willing to jump on Minghao's nerves when given the chance.  

"Sorry, Hao," Mingyu sing-songs, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "But I'm calling dibs for the next two hours. There's an empty seat next to Jun, though!"

Minghao only rolls his eyes, clearly slightly miffed at the way you'd just abandoned him for Mingyu in a heartbeat.

He finds his way to Jun's side, plopping down on the seat next to the other boy with an overdramatic, exaggerated sigh. "He snatched her away from me, ge," he whines, glancing back over to you with that same pout still on his face.

"You made her bump into you, Haohao," Jun points out with another roll of his eyes, shaking his head, though there was still a slight curl on the corners of his lip.

"I'm just having fun! You could at least sympathize with me.” There's no seriousness behind Minghao's complaint. It's a tone of complete and utter playfulness, and that only deepens Minghao's smile as he leans back in his chair.

The bus ride drags on, slow and careful, with Mingyu and you chatting about menial things. At one point, he slumps against your side to fall asleep on your shoulder, and you doze off with your cheek pressed to the top of his head. Seokmin takes a photo for posterity purposes.

Jun and Minghao watch from a couple of seats behind, and for a moment, Jun is contemplative.

It's a conscious choice for Jun to slide into Mandarin. The only other person in the bus who might understand it would be you, and you’re knocked out cold. That means the words are for Minghao alone.

"How much do you like them, Haohao?"

The switch in language catches Minghao's attention, especially when he hears the seriousness in Jun's voice. It's enough for him to pause, lifting his head up from where he'd had his chin resting against his knees.

"Too much, I think," he finally answers, with just a slight hint of hesitation.

It's not because he's ashamed, but because he's never been the kind of person to be so open about these type of feelings before. He's not even sure he knows how, sometimes.

"There's no going back now," Jun says, reaching out to lightly nudge Minghao's hip with his own. There's a slight look of concern in his eyes, but he speaks carefully, keeping his voice low as he continues.

"You might be in too deep," Jun continues, his voice a low murmur as he adds. "But I think... if the way they look at you is any indication, they’re right there with you."

The smile that spreads across Minghao's face is blinding, despite the way he turns his gaze down to his shoes. He can't help it— not when his heart is beating fast against his chest, at the idea of you feeling the same way that he does.

He wants it to be true, more than he's ever wanted something to be true in his entire life.

"I should hope so," he says, in an attempt at being flippant, but the way his voice sounds? It would give him away instantly.

When the company bus eventually rolls up onto a gravelly parking lot, the sight beyond the vehicle is one to behold. Sprawling, white sand beaches with glittering waters. The boys are still supposed to film some content, do some challenges, but the prospect of being in somewhere so pretty has significantly boosted everyone's spirits.

Wonwoo rouses Mingyu and you from your sleep. Mingyu chatters aimlessly at your side, only pausing when Minghao comes up to you; of course, the older boy can't resist one last jab.

In full view of Minghao, Mingyu does an infuriating shaka sign in front of his face and mouths 'call me, jagiya', completely unwarranted. It draws a proper snort of laughter out of you. 

"Stop it," Minghao whines as he reaches out to pinch Mingyu, though there's no real heat behind his voice. He doesn't even try to hide that smile on his face, not when he catches the way you laugh.

He can't look away from you once he sets his eyes on you. He's never been able to.

He just hopes that you can't tell exactly how in love he is. Because how is he supposed to tell you he's fallen hard?

The day at the shore flies by faster than any of them expect it to, but in the end, the filming is finally over.

By the time the staff tells them they're finished, the sky is painted in beautiful shades of orange, pink, and purple. It only adds to Minghao's already good mood, especially when he gets the chance to steal you back from Mingyu and get you all to himself.

When filming wraps up and the cameramen all begin to pack their material, the boys take it as a go-ahead to treat the rest of the late afternoon as a beach day.

You smile, mostly to yourself, as they break off— to take photos, to go for a swim, to explore the private beach. All the while, you try to maintain your focus on your laptop, your practiced fingers moving across your keyboard.  

It's why you're initially oblivious to Minghao's stealthy approach.  

Minghao lingers behind for a moment, watching you work. He's already gotten changed, his clothes swapped with swim trunks and a simple black tank top.  

He knows better than to bother you while you're working, and so— to your oblivious self— he's content to stand by and simply watch until you're done. After another moment, his expression softness as he sees how your brow furrows in concentration. Minghao steps in a little closer, one hand coming up to gently ruffle your hair.  

He almost doesn't want you to get back to work and instead considers pulling you up so you can go for a swim with him. He does no such thing, though, settling for patting your cheek once before pulling his hand away.  

You briefly glance up from your laptop so you can flash him a ghost of a smile. There's something to be said about the ways you often communicate without words, how easy it is to just understand.  

You dip your head, give a wave of your hand, turn your gaze back to your laptop. A silent, speechless Go ahead, I'll follow.  

It's like there's nothing he's not feeling right then— just happiness at seeing a smile, and the way that it feels like there's no secrets between the two of you.  

He reaches out to gently pat your cheek once more, his hand lingering for a moment before he pulls away again, turning to make his way out of the tent, the grin on his face still ever-present.  

By the time you're done with your work and changed into some proper swimwear, most of the boys and the staff are already in the water. It's in moments like these when you're reminded why you've stayed with PLEDIS for so long— the ways you're allowed to interact, to just be, when there's no cameras on, no job to do.  

You linger by the shoreline for a beat too long. Before you know it, you're being swept off your feet. Your shriek of surprise pierces across the beach as Jun easily throws you over one shoulder, his hand respectfully bracing the part of your back where there's still marks from your surgery.  

"Sorry, tàiyáng," Jun cheekily says in Mandarin as he rushes the two of you into the water, eliciting laughs from everyone else. He sends you hurtling into the ocean as you scream bloody murder, but you're laughing, still, as you go down.  

Minghao is laughing from where he's standing near the shore, still waist-deep in the water. He'd heard you scream, but the second he hears the sound of your laugh he knows you're fine. Instead of rushing to his feet and out of the ocean, he just stays where he is, the smile on his face never faltering.

The sound of your laughter is only made better by the way the sunlight dances off the water, reflecting off its shimmering surface like diamonds.

He watches as you resurface, your wet hair in your face as you gasp for breath, your face bright with a smile, and he can't help the way he feels himself falling, falling, falling.

He wants to swim over and make sure you're alright, but he knows that Jun won't let anything happen to you. All Minghao does is watch, his grin wide and bright, his eyes never leaving you. He's completely smitten, and right now, the others are just going to have to deal with him being even more of an insufferable, lovestruck fool.

The next couple of moments drag on with light-hearted rough housing, with idle splashing and lazy swimming, until Jun has somehow maneuvered you and him towards where Minghao is in the water.

Jun, behind your back, throws his best friend a conspiratorial wink.

Minghao knows that he can be obvious to an almost comical degree when he's in over his head in his feelings for you, but Jun winking is an entirely different story, and he's already a little wary as Jun brings the two of you over in his direction. 

Even still, nothing could prepare him for the sight of you soaked from head to toe, the water shimmering on your skin in the sunlight as you near him.

Oh, he's screwed, and he's pretty sure Jun and the others know that.

So he does the only thing he can think of.

Minghao dips under the surface of the water and disappears, ducking under the water for a few seconds before he comes back up just behind you, and reaches out to tickle your sides. If he's going to be an idiot and fall all over you, he might as well try and cover it up with a little bit of playfulness.

"Yah, don't do that!" you cry, already rounding in a futile attempt to stop Minghao. You weren't particularly ticklish, but something about the cool water and the warm breeze has you feeling more sensitive than necessary. Breathless laughter escapes you as you try to capture Minghao's wrists, to stop him from his actions.  

Jun quietly pads away with the pleased air of someone having done his job well. Some of the other boys share knowing glances— like they know they ought to intervene— but it's Seungcheol who shakes his head, who wordlessly calls everyone off.  

The leader, telling his members in the most subtle way, Let Minghao have this.  

There are words Minghao wants to say when you reach for his wrists to stop his actions, to ask if you want to join him in diving under the water with him, but words have never been his strong suit.  

No, it's actions that are his strength. And so, instead of asking if you'd like to join him, Minghao does just that, wrapping his arms around your waist and ducking the both of you under the water, the salt in the water stinging his eyes a bit as he opens them briefly beneath the surface.  

And then he brings you back up for air, the look on his face almost triumphant as he laughs, shaking his head to rid himself of the water that's plastered all over his hair and face.  

When you emerge, you laugh in between gasps for air, and instinctively reach up to push aside the wet strands of hair sticking to Minghao's face. "Look at you," you say disapprovingly, but you're betrayed by the pure, unadulterated adoration in your tone.  

"You love this look on me, xīngān," he insists, with that same wide grin on his face.  

And, well, he's not wrong. He can see the way your gaze lingers on his face, even as you scold him and ruffle his wet hair teasingly.  

It makes him wonder what it'd be like if all the what-ifs were real, if this was a relationship rather than an almost. He's almost afraid to wish for it. As if wanting it too much might break it.  

Minghao likes the way that you press close to him, and he keeps his arm wrapped snugly around your waist as you talk and laugh and joke with the others.  

It almost feels right, the way you're there next to him. Even though this isn't a relationship, the way that you slot right next to him is comforting because it almost makes what isn't feel more like what it could be.  

He wants the taste of you to be something more than just a taste. He wants more than a simple bite.

And so, that's how he finds himself suggesting that the two of you go on a walk together once the sun starts to set. There's a slight flush to his cheeks as he asks the question, a shy little smile on his face as he murmurs it.

He wants a chance to be alone with you. He thinks he deserves that much, especially now, after spending the rest of the day having been teased and prodded and jabbed at by the others about his feelings for you.

"Sure," you say coolly, somehow managing to keep your voice level. "Let me just grab my stuff."  

That's how you and Minghao end up breaking off from everyone else, kicking up the sand underneath your feet as you go. There's a couple of jeers here and there; Seungcheol warns you both to be back before dark.  

You take it in stride as you go on ahead, your shoulders just barely brushing. Like you're absolutely helpless to the pull of gravity that tries to keep you together.  

Once the other boys are out of sight, out of earshot, Minghao finds himself growing slightly less shy as you walk side by side, the two of you headed for a small cliffside pathway.  

His gaze is drawn to you rather quickly— to the way the ocean breeze makes your hair blow about, the way you almost shine when the sunlight hits you. The way your hand is so tantalizingly close. His own almost aches to reach out and take yours.  

"You know," he says instead, his lips quirking up into a little cheeky grin that makes his dimple show when he sees the path lined with flowers. Some of them blooming, some small clusters of white blooms scattered around the cliffside.  

Minghao plucks one of the blooms from its plant and tucks it into your hair so it's just behind your ear. He has to focus to not notice the way his fingers skim your cheek, and God, you're so close.  

"I think you look pretty like this," he says, and the words are whispered out like a confession. He picks another of the blooms, and offers it to you, his smile bright, genuine. "Take it. For good luck, maybe."  

When he extends to you one of the white blooms with that gorgeous, dimpled grin, you chuckle quietly. You take the flower. You hold it in your fingers for just a beat.  

And then you stand on your tiptoes to mimic Minghao's action— tucking the bloom right above his ear.  

"You're all the good luck that I need, xīngān," you say laughingly, in Minghao's mother tongue.  

Minghao melts, his lips parting in the slightest as he stares at you like you're a vision, like you're something to worship. He's already far too gone on. The moment he feels your fingertips against his skin, he decides he'll never be able to get over you, not if it takes him years to try to do it.  

There, the two of you stand, looking at each other with an unspoken, shared admiration, standing in front of a cliffside that overlooks the ocean with the sun setting against it, the horizon all burning shades of amber and orange and red.  

This is a moment that Minghao won't forget, and he takes your hand in his, slowly interlacing your fingers together to see if you'll let him.  

Just to know that there's a little bit of a chance that his dreams could come true, someday.  

Your fingers find purchase in the spaces between Minghao's, slotting there as if it was something meant to be. As if the two of you might have the right.  

For a beat, neither of you really say anything as you look out to the glittering expanse of ocean, the sun setting right beneath the horizon. It's a little too picture perfect.  

Exactly the reason why neither Minghao nor you dare to verbalize whatever this is, whatever you've been dancing around for years and years. Minghao wants to tell you everything, tell you that he loves you, maybe get down on his knees and kiss your hands, ask you to be his and to let him be yours.  

But he stays there. Silent. Holding your hand by your side.

When you head back to everyone— where food is being served for the members and the staff— there's a bit of an exaggerated welcome from all sides. The boys all jeer, and the staff give you side-eyes, but you only shake your head slightly as you peel away from Minghao's side.  

The words stay unspoken. The red thread of fate, the one that Minghao so firmly believes in, draws out for another moment more.  

As you go to shoot back some drinks with your team, Mingyu sidles up to Minghao's side. The older man presses a sweating bottle of beer into Minghao's hand.  

"Still not tonight, huh?" Mingyu asks with no shortage of amusement.  

The beer in his hand is cold enough that it would be a little uncomfortable to hold onto if Minghao weren't so used to it, but he simply wraps his fingers around the bottle and takes a half-hearted sip from it.  

His lips purse as he hears Mingyu's question, a frown crossing his face.  

"No. We didn't talk about anything," he says, somewhat regretfully, because tonight just felt like it could have been the right night to say something. To finally admit how he feels, to finally ask what he wants to ask.  

And maybe you would deny him, tell him that you just wanted to be his friend, but he'd take it. He'd take anything if it meant he could stay in your life—  

Or maybe you'd even say yes, and he could finally have a chance to prove himself to you.  

"Are you going to try again tomorrow?" Mingyu asks, taking a sip of his own beer, his eyebrows raising a little.  

Another sigh falls from Minghao's lips and he nods, his gaze softening as he looks in your direction, watching you smile in spite of the way he aches to be by your side.  

"Of course I'm going to try again tomorrow," he whispers, and he'll do that for the rest of his life if he has to.  

The night drags on with everyone getting progressively more drunk. Soonyoung is reduced to tears at one point, while Seungkwan puts on an enthusiastic, one-man performance of Aju Nice. 

And maybe Minghao drinks a little more than he usually does, partly because Mingyu and Jun take advantage of the fact that it's a rare thing for them to be drinking with you within the vicinity.  

Minghao's best friends are menaces who want to see what type of drunk he is, who want to see how it will affect the way he approaches you. He's always been quiet when he's drunk— the type of drunk with a slight permanent blush to his cheeks, with a lazy grin on his face, with thoughts too slurred or in Mandarin for most of the boys to understand.  

And tonight was no different, with his face flushed from alcohol and his words so slurred that all Mingyu and Jun can pick up is the word pretty over and over, along with a couple of other words in Mandarin. But he's always been honest when he's drunk— almost too much so.  

Jun is a bit stressed having to play interpreter for Minghao's drunken ramblings, but it's all worth it when Mingyu tosses his head back with raucous laughter at every word spilling from Minghao's lips, interpreted by Jun.  

"This is too much," Jun whines once the three of them have worked through a significant amount of soju. A glassy-eyed Mingyu nods in agreement, though neither of them are as bad as the notoriously lightweight Minghao.  

"Haohao, are you going to go up to her or what?" Mingyu teases.  

Another slurred word in Mandarin falls from Minghao's lips upon hearing that, his eyebrows knitting together for a moment as he pouts at Mingyu.

It's almost comical to see, to hear Minghao's usually soft and lilting voice falter, all while his cheeks stay a soft pink and his hair is a mess from how he's been running his hand through it.

The thought of approaching you makes his stomach churn, but he knows that he will. After this next shot. Just one more drink.

"Ge, you said you'd only drink one," Jun murmurs, a bit of concern seeping in his tone as he sees Minghao grab shakily yet another shot glass of soju.

Of course, he ignores their warnings for the moment as he downs the shot, his face growing pinker as he shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet.

It takes him a moment to gain his footing, his legs a little wobbly from alcohol, but he gets it. Mingyu laughs so hard that tears come out of his eyes. Jun, distressed, shoots back some more alcohol.

Minghao's vision is a little blurry, but you're just within his sight. And so, with Jun and Mingyu watching from behind, he makes his way towards you.

He's got a lopsided grin on his face, his cheeks a little pink, and he thinks he must be in love in a moment like this.

"Xīngān," he slurs, a slight hiccup following the word as he stops in front of you, his vision still a little fuzzy. He raises his hand to gently rub the back of his neck, his tone a little softer— and a bit more earnest— as he murmurs his invitation. “Can we talk for a minute?”

"Hey, you," you greet, readjusting the flower that he'd placed behind your ear. "Having fun?"  

Minghao shakes his head, his lips parting to say no only to dissolve back into soft little hiccupping giggles instead. Of course he's having fun— how could he not, when his love is right there, and he gets to see you smiling and laughing and tipsy yourself?  

He stumbles forward, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you in, his free hand coming up to your face as he squishes your cheeks and gives you a bright, gummy smile. "Are you having fun, xīngān?" he asks.  

"I'm having fun, Hao," you concede laughingly, resting your other hand at his waist to keep yourself steady. It's— once again— a position that implicates you a little more than it should, but everyone's varying levels of drunk anyway.  

This isn't the drunk Minghao, exactly, that everyone has seen. This is the one he so rarely allows anyone to witness, the one who gets clingy and a little emotional. He's usually much more capable of keeping his composure, even with alcohol loosening his tongue and his inhibitions, but he just can't manage to focus on anything but you tonight.

"Come run away with me," he murmurs. He tugs you against his side again, a little less carefully this time. He wants the closeness, tonight, as he leads the two of you over to the chairs loosely surrounding a warm bonfire.  

It's mostly the other boys here— Joshua and Vernon practicing an acoustic guitar, Jihoon chatting with the co-producer everyone knew he had a bit of a thing for. They all watch with mild amusement as Minghao drunkenly stumbles over to one of the chairs, single-minded in his ambition of sharing a single seat.  

He plops down onto the chair, tugging you right into his lap. He's so close to you then, his lips next to your ear as he wraps his arms snug around your waist, his legs on either side of you, pressing you close against him.  

"I missed you," he murmurs, and the words are slurred, warm on the shell of your ear as he presses his face into the crook of your neck and exhales softly for a moment.  

He's drunk. And in love. And that's a dangerous combination.  

You press your fingers into Minghao's knee, your shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. "How could you miss me?" you whisper back. "I was right there the whole night, xīngān."  

He shakes his head, burying his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling softly. "You were far," he pouts, his words a little more garbled than before. He has no sense of personal space right now, with you pressed so close against him, and he's more prone to whine to get his way. 

He wants this. He wants you close. He wants you. 

"Is that so?" you say sympathetically, the words coming out almost like a coo. "You have me now, though." 

"I'm never letting you go," he responds.  

There's still an almost childish part of him that thinks if he says it, like this, with you wrapped up in his arms, with your face flushed from alcohol, that maybe you'll stay by his side.  

He just has one question that he wants an answer for.  

"Will you hold my hand," his words are slurred, his fingers tracing along the small of your back, up, down, back up again, "and look at the moon with me?"

Wordlessly, you reach for his hand at the small of your back and you thread your fingers together. You keep your intertwined hands over your thigh as you lean just a little further into Minghao until he's pressed against the back of the chair and you're practically lying on top of him.  

It's easier, this way, for you to tilt your head back and do exactly as he asked. "Moon," you point out with your free hand, the word coming out in Mandarin. Yuèliàng. "It's a crescent moon tonight, see?"  

With his arm securely around your waist, he presses closer still to look at the moon together, his words still a stammer as he murmurs, "Yeah. Just like us."  

The words have no logic, not when he's drunk and soft and clingy like this. But he's still happy with it.  

"Just like us?" you echo, and you briefly wonder if you're just a little too tipsy; if you'd missed a chapter or two about how you could be compared to the waxing crescent. Your eyebrows furrow in mild confusion, though you quickly realize there's no point in worrying your head when you could just ask.  

"I'm the moon, and you're the flower," he declares, with all the confidence of his own drunken logic, his eyes falling to look at the flower still tucked behind your ear. He reaches up a hand to brush his fingers against the side of your face. 

If not for the alcohol, he might be too shy to admit how pretty you are to him. 

"We're a matched set, xīngān," he says.   

The smile that breaks out on your face, then, is bright and wide and warm, rivaled only by the bonfire raging a couple of feet away. Your friends are still chattering amongst themselves, completely oblivious to Minghao's bold declaration.

A matched set. And you're just a little out of it, just a little drunk yourself, as you mindlessly link Minghao and your pinkies together. It's a quiet promise on its own. An assurance that this was something that could happen, would happen, at the right time.  

"My moon," you concede, calling Minghao with a breathless sort of giggle. "My moon, my xīngān, my Hao."  

"I love it when you speak Mandarin," he admits, his words warm against your temple as he presses closer still, his lips a few centimeters from your skin.  

He has too much alcohol in his system, too little a filter for his thoughts, and right now, Minghao's world consists only of you and how you look in the moonlight— like some kind of vision, like something he'd write about in a song.  

"Say it again," he instructs, his tone gentle. A request. Never a command.  

"Which part do you want me to say again?" you ask in Mandarin, because Minghao had said he loved it when you spoke in it and you'd be damned not to give in.  

It's all the same to him. The gentle words that come tumbling from your lips— he doesn't need to understand the meaning, he just wants to hear you speak. 

Because how you sound when you speak Mandarin is lovely, and Minghao can't help but lean in just a little to drink in the sound of it, his fingers tracing along the exposed skin of your upper back.  

He's never cared or loved the way he does when he's speaking Mandarin. But you, when you speak to him, it sounds like poetry.  

"Anything," he murmurs. "Just say anything."  

You tilt your head back up to the sky, where none of the usual Seoul light pollution is barring you from seeing the stars. When you see the expanse of the Big Dipper, you stick to what you know.  

A Korean myth from your yesteryears, one that he hadn’t heard of in his own childhood.  

"Once upon a time, deep in the mountains, lived a mother and her seven sons," you start softly, in Mandarin, as per Minghao's request. You tell the story almost in a whisper— the cold winter, the seven brothers, the Jade Emperor of Heaven.  

A part of you, in the language that was a part of Minghao.

As you tell the fable, the alcohol settles comfortably in Minghao’s system. He feels sobered by the fact that you’re so close, that you’re indulging him in the way that you always do. So much, he thinks again. You give me so much. 

And yet it’s not enough, still. He thinks back to the Korean phrase he once sought you out for. Intuition. Zhíjué. 

Your story is winding to a close when he decides to trust his gut, this time. His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face into the back of your shoulder.

"I love you," he says. Wǒ ài nǐ.

You pause. He can hear the smile in your tone as you respond, "I love you, too." Wǒ yě ài nǐ. 

But, no. Minghao is done.

He won’t let this pass, won’t let miscommunication take this away from him. He has spent the better half of his twenties grasping at straws, bridging gaps in languages; this will not be another one of those things that he can’t say. He takes a fortifying breath. 

He doesn’t care if you don’t believe in soulmates. If he’s the only one who thinks there’s a red string tied between you two. He’ll subscribe to your credo of destiny. He’ll do all the work. 

"I’m in love with you," he amends. Wǒ ài shàngle nǐ.

He says it in his language, because it feels right, but then he repeats it in yours so there’s no room for you to misunderstand. It doesn’t change, anyway. Korean, Mandarin. English, Japanese. 

Minghao is helplessly, hopelessly in love with you. 

It feels like forever before you respond. 

When you do, it’s in Mandarin. "Me, too," you admit, and he peeks at you enough just to see the way you’re gazing up at the night sky. He catches the hint of the smile on your face; the sincerity of which threatens to bowl him over. 

You repeat his words— I’m in love with you— in Mandarin, then Korean, then English, then Japanese. Then all the other languages you know. 

Minghao resists the urge to tell you to stop, to tell you it’s okay. He holds you tight, laughing quietly, as he basks in what feels a lot like the beginning of something. 

It’s okay, he wants to say as you confess to him in Spanish, in Portuguese, in Italian. 

I hear you. 

I hear you loud and clear. 

[kurthummeldeservesbetter]

some jayvik headcanons to pass the time and ignore the pain

There is a Viktor fan club at the academy. He is unaware. They discuss his projects, his accent, his looks. Meetings are the last Thursday of every month.

Jayce accidentally stumbled into one of the meetings. They barely played off they were talking about his partner. (He still can't find any info on the "book" they were talking about, thinking Caitlyn would be interested.) (He forgets that Victorian-looking men with accents aren't on her radar.)

Jayce also has a fan club. He is aware of it. (They have invited him to meetings). They talk about his projects, his hair, his face, his line of mugs. Their banner is one of his shirts. (He is unaware of this part.)

Viktor is also aware of the club. (He gave them the shirt.)

Jayce and Viktor both hate the cold (Jayce for the snowstorm, Viktor for his leg) so whenever it was winter they were bundled up like the kid from A Christmas Story.

Viktor mixes up metaphors. He constantly uses malaphors (unintentionally) and Jayce doesn't have it in his heart to correct him. "All the ducks are aligning" is his favorite by far.

Jayce tried learning Viktor's native language to surprise him one day. (I imagine it as a mix of Czech and Polish). He ended up saying a mix of a whole bunch of nonsense, so confidently) which made Viktor laugh himself into a coughing fit.

more under cut cause this is getting long

(Viktor couldn't look at Jayce for two days after without laughing.)

Viktor has a sweet tooth, Jayce has a savory one.

Their third year as lab partners, a section of the library caught on fire. The culprit was never found. (It was them, and they both blame the other.) (It was Viktor)

Jayce enjoys suspenseful novels. Viktor, when he can be persuaded, enjoys historical fiction.

Their mortal enemy is the student who's lab is across from theirs. Viktor hates him because he's egotistical with no real skill. Jayce hates him because he always complains they're making too much noise. Their mortal enemy is unaware he is their mortal enemy.

They have a "days without incident" chart in their lab. Incidents no longer include cuts, scrapes, bruises, small explosions, broken prototypes, because if they did it would always be at 0.

Their fifth year, the auditorium stage caught on fire. A group of first years were blamed. (It was Jayce, though Viktor thought it wasn't a big deal.)

Jayce is organized, Viktor is not. Jayce puts things in organized shelves, Viktor puts things where he knows he'll need them next. This is a point of tension for the longest time, until Mel stepped in and told them to either compromise or get two of everything.

They got two of everything.

Jayce designed Viktor's cane (after the first one broke) and his leg brace.

Viktor can play the harp. Jayce can play the piano.

Everyone believes Viktor is the one keeping Jayce under control in experiments. (as referenced in this post) No one knows besides Heimerdinger that Viktor learned lab safety in a drug den. The counsel refers to Viktor as the "sane, calm one" but only Mel and Cassandra know the truth. Both think it's funnier to not deny it.

Viktor stays at Jayce's place most often. Jayce secretly moved most of Viktor's things to his place, until officially asking him to move in.

Jayce also helped design a new back brace for Viktor. It was more comfortable, made of thick cloth, and relieved so much back pain he started crying when he tried it on. This is what got them together, because Viktor kissed him in thanks, and Jayce was like "finally!!" and started kissing him back.

Money was exchanged after the Academy/Counsel found out they became official. Shoola, Mel and Cassandra got a big payout. Heimerdinger had no idea about the bet, mostly because he thought they were already together.

This led to the fanclub war. Jayce fans vs Viktor fans, until a hero came around (Sky) and was like, why not both? (And thus, the Jayvik fan-club was born)

[mallowsweetmiri]

Remus Lupin x Potter!Reader

Part 2 • Part 3

Summary: the boys try to guess who Remus is seeing after finding a pink bow tied to one of his bookmarks

Warning: oral fem receiving

—————————————————————————

Remus couldn’t help but to fall in love with you. You’d always been sweet, always too pure for this world. When you were kids, he couldn’t help but want to protect you. It was in all the boys instincts to protect their best friend’s little sister. But as you got older, you and Remus began to spend time together without James. Your relationship truly started last summer at Potter Manor, when you and Remus started an unofficial book club when the boys would play quidditch for hours outside. You guys just had so much in common, and you were more comfortable being around Remus than any other boy besides James. So the two of you spent a lot of time in the library, reading books together and getting into heated debates about writing styles. It didn’t take long for his eyes to wander to your lips when you smiled at him, and it didn’t take long for you to notice. Before you knew it, the two of you were sneaking off to your room while the boys played quidditch, and locking the door behind you.

So that’s how Remus found himself with his face buried between your thighs in the middle of lunch hour. You’d been reading a novel with his head in your lap, innocently trying to finish your chapter before class. But Remus couldn’t constrain himself. He didn’t care if you had class in twenty minutes, you could go with your cunt pooling under your skirt.

“Remi,” you whined, pulling his hair into a fist. He hummed into your core, fingers massaging your thighs as you clenched around his head.

“Shh, be a good girl and let me finish,” he said hastily, before diving back into your folds. He let his tongue ruin you as you squirmed on his bed. Your shirt was bunched up now, buttons undone and tits pulled out of your bra. Remus chuckled as he thrust two fingers into you. He loved seeing you come undone. You were always perfect, also so innocent. It made Remus hard thinking about being your first, being the only one to make you come. He ground himself down into the mattress as he felt you begin to tighten up under his tongue. He almost told you to be quiet but his mouth was occupied. You shuddered and let out a whiny moan as you came onto his mouth. He grabbed onto your waist as he kissed your cunt and drank every drop you gave him. As you began to relax, he brought himself over you, littering you body with kisses.

“Rem,” you chuckled, “now you made yourself all worked up.” You grabbed hold of him under his pants. He was rock hard and it made your pussy throb just thinking about it inside you. He chuckled and kissed you.

“I’m saving it for you later. Wanna go on an adventure tonight?” Remus smirked, rubbing his thumb on your hip. You nodded eagerly. You wished you could just come to his dorm at night but it wasn’t exactly possible considering your brother slept three feet away from Remus.

“What time is it?” You asked, suddenly remembering you had class. Remus looked at his watch and sucked through his teeth.

“Uh, time for you to go love,” Remus chuckled as he watched you scramble out of his bed and fix your clothes.

“Remus! I told you I was going to be late, ” you scolded him, grabbing your bag and hurriedly putting your tie on. He only chuckled and gave you a kiss on the head as you ran out the door. He took his time getting ready for his class, which involved having a smoke until his dick got soft again. Remus spent the rest of the day in class thinking about you, daydreaming about how you would look tonight when he fucked you. Like a ghost wandering the castle halls, Remus brought himself back up to the dorm after his last class, immediately wanting to have another smoke. James and Sirius were already by the window when he came in.

“There he is Pads,” James chuckled, ashing his cig on the window sill, “go on and ask him.” Sirius’ brows were furrowed and he looked quite mad. Remus was confused until he saw your book in his hand.

“And what the fuck is this?” Sirius asked, shoving the book into Remus’ chest. Remus felt his heartbeat speed up. He was never one to enjoy lying.

“My book, you prat,” Remus quipped, nodding his head towards James to pass him a smoke. James looked thoroughly amused. Sirius let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Your book my ass! What is this then?” Sirius held up your bookmark decorated with a cute little pink bow, just like the one you wore in your hair. Remus was glad that James wasn’t the brightest because anyone who spent time with you knew you loved to tie your hair up with that exact shade of pink. Okay, maybe only Remus noticed, but he couldn’t help that you looked absolutely adorable with it.

“Erm, a bookmark,” Remus tried to play it off, focusing more on his smoke than looking either of the boys in the face. He’d been dreading James finding out, and wanted the right moment to do so. When you were ready to tell him.

“Yeah we can see that,” James laughed again, “but who’s the girl?”

Remus’ heart sank into his stomach. Fuck. James had her same smile, her eyes too. He couldn’t lie to his best friend, especially when it was his little sister he’d been fucking.

“I, um,” Remus choked on his words. Sirius squinted his eyes in scrutiny.

“I knew you’d been acting strange! All happy recently, I knew you had to have been getting some,” Sirius grumbled.

“No, no. It’s not like that,” Remus said quickly, unable to stop himself. It truly wasn’t like that, he was head over heels for you. You were so much more than a fuck to him, even if he did think about fucking you all day long. James eyes lit up.

“Moony, are you in love?” He clapped hands together and smiled, “why didn’t you tell us? Remus! Who is she?” James was positively beaming with excitement now, looking to Sirius who looked a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

“She doesn’t want anyone to know,” Remus cleared his throat, placing your book down on his bed. This was the truth at least. She didn’t want James knowing, mostly because she presumed he would be insanely controlling over their relationship. Remus wasn’t sure she would be wrong about that.

“But, we won’t tell anyone. We won’t, right Sirius?” James pleaded. Sirius rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement. Remus just chuckled uncomfortably and loosened his tie. He felt like he was choking in there.

“Sorry guys, I can’t break the ladies trust,” Remus turned away from the boys and started to change, effectively shutting down the conversation. Now, both Sirius and James were grumbling to themselves, unhappy with their lack of gossip. Remus let out a breath. That was the first time you two had slipped up. You’d have to be more careful.

“Well, if you seriously won’t tell us,” James sighed dramatically, “do you want to go get dinner?” Remus laughed and agreed, happy to spend time with the boys not thinking about his terribly kept secret. The three of them waltzed down to the great hall, making loud and obnoxious jokes at any opportunity they could find. Remus wasn’t quite sure how you and James were related sometimes, you seemed years older in maturity. Once they reached the Gryffindor table, the boys immediately sat out and began to grub. A few minutes in, James eyes lit up towards the entrance hall.

“Hi, Y/N,” James smiled and waved with food in his mouth. Remus heard you chuckle.

“Hi, Jamsie. You’re disgusting,” you stuck your tongue out at James as you passed by the boys. Remus turned around just enough to see your beautiful face and your perfect hair tied up with a pink bow. Shit. In the split second that Remus had before he turned to face James, he prayed to any and every god he could think of, hoping that James hadn’t noticed your bow. His reddening face and clenched jaw told Remus that he had, in fact, noticed. Sirius looked dumbstruck, shaking his head slowly at you as James stood up from the table.

“Y/N. Come here right now,” James growled, causing multiple heads at the table to turn. You stopped smiling and looked between James and Remus. Oh fuck.

[theglamorousferal]

Jason get wife-sacrificed to Ghost Zone Royalty.

As Danny is still prince, it goes to Queen Regent who is single.

Tall Queen Regent Jazz being able to absolutely manhandle Jason and causing him to swoon more than he ever thought possible.

At first it was just super embarrassing while they had people searching for a way to break it and send him home (at least on Jazz's end. Jason however, knew the opportunity presented to himself to live out his romance novel dreams and set about trying to subtly at first woo the Queen Regent.)

He spends hours in the castle library the first time she showed it to him. After the first week, he collected a pile and brought it to her office, laying out on the fainting couch with a poet's shirt slightly undone and black breeches with his combat boots. He absolutely wasn't posing. No-sir-ee.

After the first 10 minutes of reading he really did forget about trying to look enticing and got into the post-mortem published Austen novel. Hours later and into a second book, one on the legends of the Ghost Zone. he was startled by the sound of a large book closing and a heavy sigh.

"What's up?" He asks, formality was thrown out when she told him to call her, "Just Jazz please, for the love of the Ancients".

"I have had my aides look through every bit of ghostly law and I haven't found anything to suggest that there is a way to break the binding. It's also in stages, apparently it's got two mandatory ones and then a secret third one.

"The first binding is what's already been done, the sacrifice and our meeting and not immediately killing each other. The second is the marriage binding, which is typically following a period of courting up to the next Equinox, which is in three months Earth-time. The third, optional binding is, well, is if the binding ends up as a love match. Not all of them have, but some have, and it's the soul-binding. There's not much detail about what happens, and all of the examples are either of full ghosts, half-ghosts, or other supernatural entities with multiple forms." She paused and took a breath.

"As it looks like we are stuck together, um..." She became the awkward girl he had met when he first appeared at her feet in her office a week ago, blushing full pink and clashing with her vibrant orange hair. She set her jaw and straightened her spine and turned to him. "Jason Peter Todd, may I officially Court you?"

Jason lay there for a moment, book all but forgotten. He slowly set aside the book on top of the stack next to the couch and crept onto his feet. He stalked forward towards her, her face deepening in redness as he approached. He knelt to one knee before her as she turned in her chair towards him and took her hand.

"Jasmine Nightingale, only if you allow me the honor to allow me to court you in return." He kissed her knuckles and she let out a nervous squeak.

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

[malleleothreesome]

Malleus who is pining after you...

🩷 summary: Cohesive blurbs about things Malleus would do and what he would be like if he were pining after you. ༶༶༶ 🩷 warnings: gender neutral reader, unedited, pretty much just a stream of my thoughts, lots of romance, fluff, pining, and there is a single smut paragraph with masturbation as he reads a romance novel in the library ༶༶༶ 🩷 word count: 3.1k because he's the love of my life

🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… confused, and left with no other option but to approach (a proud, hysterically laughing) Lilia, begging for an explanation as to why he feels so weak in your presence. Pouting as he awkwardly opens up to the old bat about how when he’s with you, his heart races and he stumbles over his words, even though he’s used to being so sure of himself. He trained diligently to be calm and collected as a future King should be, so why is it that a magicless human is able to bring him to his knees seemingly without even trying? How come none of his previous favorite activities feel as good as daydreaming about you or spending time with you?

🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… now feeling more assured after his conversation with Lilia. Coming to terms with the fact that even someone like him can feel love, and it happened sooner than he ever anticipated. Still nervous and unsure of his feelings, but no longer afraid. He feels grateful that he could be gifted with such potent and beautiful emotions for the first time in his life, and he’s especially happy that he fell in love with someone as amazing as you. Now that he’s in love, he wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.

🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… mind in a constant state of disarray after being swept up in your hurricane. Battling against himself ceaselessly to stay focused on the task at hand as his thoughts desperately crawl their way back to you in spite of his better judgment. No matter what he’s doing, he can’t help but fantasize about what it would be like if you were there with him. As his pen taps against the paper on his table, his breathing quickens, unable to stop himself from wondering what it would be like to look over at you studying right alongside him, instantly enchanting the monotonous task with your bright presence. If he’s in a store, he always spends extra time looking around for objects you might like, smiling to himself as he imagines your reaction. If he’s in a conversation, he thinks about how you might interject, and how the conversation would be better thanks to your input. When he’s happy, he wants you to be the first one to know, hoping he could share in his excitement alongside you.

🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… coming to terms with the highs and lows of loving someone who doesn’t know you love them. Pacing around his room, celebrating and replaying all the moments he made you smile. Hyping himself up whenever you ask him to spend time alone. He also chastises himself whenever you two share an awkward moment, or if he makes a joke that doesn’t land, letting the moment haunt him. Wishing he had done things differently, reassessing the situation and himself so that he could grow into someone worthy of you. The most dreadful moments are times he sees you having fun without him, getting dragged along by your other friends. Jealousy and despair rage through his veins as he works to convince himself not to feel angry toward you, reassuring himself that you don’t know any better – it was an honest mistake. You simply don’t realize how much it means to him to be in your presence, because he’s too afraid to let you know. He’s too afraid to gamble your love, only wanting to confess when he’s sure you have the highest chance of accepting him. He’s not willing to go back to a life without the love he feels for you. Tears well up in his eyes as he retires early to his bed, desperately wishing you would hold him in your arms and take the pain away. Longing to hear that you love him, too – that he doesn’t have to feel this way anymore. Closing his eyes and letting the tears fall like silent prayers, hoping with every fiber of his being that you won’t curse him to a lifetime without your precious affection. 

🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… randomly showing up at Ramshackle dorm. He’ll use any excuse in the book to show up unexpectedly, at the very least, hoping to see your face, but also betting on the fact that you’ll invite him in. He’ll ask to borrow items a fae wouldn’t need. He’ll steal things from your backpack just so he can return them. He hopes he can catch you alone, so that maybe he can get closer to you, or at least learn something new. There are also times where doesn’t want to bother you, but feels too weak-willed to deny his overwhelming desire to bask in your presence. He stands outside, taking solace in being close to you, even if you don’t realize it. Letting a comfortable sense of calm come over him as he stands outside under the moonlight, feeling the breeze through his hair, content to know that you’re upstairs sleeping peacefully in your room. Taking care to protect your building just like a gargoyle would. He’s convinced himself that Diasomnia is simply too far away from where you are, and what if something happened to his beloved child of man and he wasn’t there to protect you? Such a thing would torment him as long as he lived. So, he stands guard outside your room, just in case you need anything. He can at least do that much. He feels honored to be your protector, even though you’re completely unaware.

🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… sitting beside you on a bench outside. His whole being overcome with butterflies, heart pounding out of his chest, feeling lightheaded as your hand slaps his thigh – your head thrown back in laughter from what he just said. He’s completely captivated as your melodic laugh reverberates through his soul. Unable to stop glancing at the way your thigh presses against his, feeling the electricity as your shoulders brush. Trying to memorize the way you look and sound in this very moment. He feels the air leave his lungs as your eyes meet his. Feeling like time has stopped as he stares into your eyes, trying to commit their beauty to memory. He feels his cheeks flush as he quickly turns away, not wanting you to see how flustered he is. You grab his shoulder, laughing, pulling him back toward you as you ask him to tell another story. He grins, trying to remember what it was like to breathe normally, and he obliges your request. A moment has never felt so magical, and he swears he'll remember the feeling until his last breath.

🩷 Malleus who is pining after you… spending hours in the library after class reading romance novels as a form of research for how he can make the best possible impression on you. He originally read these books out of necessity, desperately trying to avoid going to Lilia for more intimate advice. However, he finds far more enjoyment in the books than he anticipated, getting giddy over the words on the page as he imagines the story unfolding with the two of you as the protagonists. His eyes widen and his body temperature flushes hot when the tale takes an explicit turn, finding it harder and harder to keep his composure as he reads further. Feeling his throat go dry at the thought of doing such things with you, he tries to calm himself down, fanning his face with the book. He imagines the way your lips would taste and the softness of your skin, how you might sound moaning his name, how it would feel to be inside of you. He can hardly stand the tension as he reaches down and palms his lonely cock through his pants, letting a desperate moan escape from his lips as he struggles to hold himself back. He quickly looks around to make sure no one is there, then returns his attention to the book. He almost feels guilty for imagining his innocent beloved in such a naughty way. He wants nothing more than to be respectful to you, so it seems wrong to undress you and pleasure you in his mind, yet his needy, aching cock convinces him otherwise. He closes his eyes and continues to massage himself through his clothes as he lets the scene unfold in his mind. He imagines how you would look beneath him, panting and writhing in pleasure as he thrusts into you. He wonders if you would like it if he were to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer as you ride him, or if you would prefer if he were to pin your arms above your head while he fucked you into the mattress. His breathing quickens as his fantasy intensifies, feeling his body tighten up as he nears his climax. The pleasure is so intense, he feels unable to stop himself from going over the edge despite the uncomfortable circumstances. He lets out a quiet groan as his hips involuntarily thrust into his hand, feeling himself release into his pants. As he comes back to reality, his face burns red in embarrassment at the fact that he just did that in the library, but also with the realization that he wants to do all of that and more with you.

🩷 Malleus who is pining over you… sitting down with Sebek’s parents to interview them about their human/fae relationship. He wants to feel completely prepared and educated about all the pros and cons. He desperately wants to have the best chance of winning your affection. He asks them what it was like when they first met, how they handled the differences in their species, and how they confessed their love. He wants to know everything. He listens intently to every word, taking detailed notes and asking questions when he doesn’t understand. He asks about the most challenging parts of their relationship, and how they overcame them. He asks how they knew their love was true, and how they know it still is. He wants to feel as confident as possible that he can make this relationship work, because he knows it will be his last. If he loses you, he would never be able to love another, so he needs to take all the steps possible to ensure a life by your side. He desperately wishes his own parents could have been alive to walk him through it, but in their absence, he is grateful to have the first couple of their kind as a support network. He thanks them profusely, even going as far as to hug them and offer gifts, insisting on returning their time and effort tenfold for the advice and kindness they gave him. Sebek's doting mother cries a little, telling him that he has grown into a fine young man, and that he deserves to find happiness. The fae Prince flushes in embarrassment, offering her a heartfelt thanks and bowing his head respectfully. As Sebek's parents see him out, they tell him that if he ever needs anything, they're there for him, and to not hesitate to contact them if he has any questions. They can't help but smile to themselves as they watch the normally confident Malleus walk away, his shoulders and head drooped down in nervousness as he contemplates his future. They hope that you and him will find eternal bliss in each other's embrace.

🩷 Malleus who is pining over you… walking around Briar Valley, getting to know his future subjects. He wants to know how his fae subjects feel about the presence of humans, how they might feel if there were to be a human ruler alongside him, and if they would be willing to accept a human/fae child as their next heir. He will do what it takes to prepare his subjects for the new age, trying to get ahead of any problems before they arise. He is especially curious about the older generations, and what they might think of him as a leader. He doesn't want to repeat the mistakes of the past, and he wants to honor his parents' legacy by creating a safe, secure future for their kind. He wants to bring about a world where humans and fae can coexist, where children of both species can grow up with mutual respect. He goes out of his way to form relationships with the humans who reside in Briar Valley, diligently learning how best he can serve them as the future King. His purpose is to make his kingdom a safe haven for humans to live in hopeful anticipation that you'll one day soon choose to live there with him. He listens to his human subjects' concerns, offering advice on their difficulties, and promising to enact new legislation that would benefit them. He makes it abundantly clear that he values the human residents of his kingdom and is committed to ensuring that their lives are better than they were before. He tells them that their children will not only be able to live in harmony with the fae, but that they will thrive. He wants to give them a world that you would be proud to call home. He is eager to show you that he can be a great King, and that he is worthy of your love and affection. He feels a sense of pride when he sees the humans' faces light up as he shares his plans for the Kingdom once he takes the crown.

🩷 Malleus who is pining over you… appearing before his grandmother Maleficia’s throne, secure and ready to finally confess to you. Unwilling to let anything else stand in his way, he begins telling her – not asking her – with the utmost respect and authority, leaving no room for discussion that he has fallen hopelessly in love with a human. He needs her to trust him – her only grandson – as he gives his heart and devotion to a member of the very species that took everything from her. His hands are shaking yet his eyes never falter, his determination to love you against all odds burning bright in his heart. He has made up his mind and he won't be taking any objections. He tells her about you, your kindness, your charisma, and your integrity. He wants her to know how lucky he is that a pure-hearted being like you would have chosen someone like him to befriend, to place your faith and trust in. He eagerly explains all the ways you've changed him for the better, and how he wants to devote his life to protecting you, and growing by your side. There has never been another that can light up the night sky with the same level of brightness as your beautiful smile, or whose laugh could fill the vast empty space between the stars. He tells her he wants to give you the best life he can possibly provide, and he hopes she will come to accept and love you just as he has. She sits in shock, unable to respond. The anger she feels is indescribable, as she can't believe her grandson, her own flesh and blood, could betray her and his mother like this. She thought she raised him better than this – to be stronger than the temptation of a human. And now, he stands before her, looking her dead in the eye and telling her he wants to be with one of them. She can't bear the thought of losing him, yet she knows it's inevitable if she were to deny him his wish. The look in his eyes is something she has never seen in him before – pure conviction. She can’t control him any more. His love for you has given him a strength she never knew he had. As much as she hates to admit it, he is happier than she's ever seen him. The confidence in his voice, the glimmer in his eye, the determination in his step – it reminds her of her daughter. Malleus always bore a striking resemblance to his mother, but he has never looked more like her than he does right now, defying Maleficia's wishes in pursuit of happiness. She knows she can't change his mind, so she sighs and waves her hand dismissively, telling him he can do as he pleases. The anger in her veins dissipates as Malleus begins to walk out of the throne room, and she feels compelled to tell him how proud his mother would be, despite it all. She tells him that his mother hated humans, but she loved him more. Malleus can't help the tears that escape his eyes, thanking his grandmother for her blessing, feeling accomplished and complete. Now all that's left is to tell you.

🩷 Malleus who is pining over you… breathes new life into the cold castle, ready to fill the halls back up with love for the first time in centuries. Gazing up at the blank castle walls, smiling to himself as he imagines them adorned with picture frames of the two of you on your wedding day, or of you holding your child together for the first time, or even just simple, happy memories like picnics or holidays. He feels warmth in his chest as he pictures the two of you standing by the window, admiring the sunset and reminiscing on all the years you've spent together. For the first time in his life, he comes to see the castle not as a prison, but as a home. A place where the two of you will live out the rest of your days, raising children, and creating beautiful memories that will be cherished forever. Every room he passes elicits a lovely new vision. He steps into the study, one of his favorite places as a child, running his fingers along the ancient bookshelves, excited at the prospect of rereading old favorites with your head nestled under his arm, the two of you snuggled up on the cozy couch. He peeks his head into the ballroom and music begins playing in his head as he imagines holding you close, feet gliding as you two spin around the room, the candles surrounding the area casting a perfect glow on your blissful smiles, as you lose yourself in each other's eyes. In the dining room, he envisions the two of you sitting across from each other at the grand dining table, flashing flirty eyes in each other's directions, stealing the last bite from each other's forks with kisses and laughs. As he wanders aimlessly through the long, winding hallways, the past merges with his vision of the future, and the two mix perfectly. It's difficult to feel alone anymore. It's no longer the chilled, looming emptiness that Malleus knew before. Now, it's a sacred, protected place that is waiting for your life, and love, to be poured into the rooms until it's finally brimming with the warmth and laughter of family again. All you have to do is say yes.

Oop, I just spent the past 8 hours straight working on this start to finish. Idk if I'm proud of it. I am exhausted. Usually I write complete stories, but I wanted to try my hand at writing my thoughts in a more raw format. If my editor were here, she would never allow me to write paragraphs this long, but I don't feel like waiting for her to edit. It's 2 am and I just want to free myself and release this into the world. Hopefully I don't regret this in the morning. Sorry for any grammar mistakes or weirdly long sentences. If you enjoyed, first of all, thank you! Second of all, if you want more content like this, please let me know! Currently, I only write for Malleus, Leona, & Fellow but feel free to come convince me in my ask box to get invested in other characters. I’d love to hear your thoughts about your faves or my faves. 🩷 Erica Malleleothreesome

[yeonmuse]

— Bloodlust 18+

IN WHICH, you’re stuck with him, following his rules, obeying every order all because your father had made a binding vow to strengthen your bloodline.

( pairing) - vampire!sunghoon x f!r 2.8kwc + smut. not proofread!! 3rd pov Contains!! Mentions of blood/sexual themes/asshole sunghoon [reqs are open] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🪷

Req from anon: “hi can you please do a vampire sunghoon x reader smut ive been reading all of your rockstar series and i can’t wait for you to finish it”

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @jiamini @sol3chu @right-person-wrong-time

**Jake and Heeseungs parts can be found in my library **

It went without saying that you absolutely hated Park Sunghoon, since the moment you’d arrived at his estate he hadn't shown the slightest ounce of hospitality to you. He was cold, demanding, self centered and an absolute asshole.

Of course you are forced to put up with him nonetheless, having been given to him by your father under the agreement of some sort of pact he had made with the Park Bloodline. You’d be prompted to give both your family and the park family an heir, forever binding your bloodlines and ending the decade long feud between your ancestors and the parks.

Though just because you were forced into such an agreement didn’t mean you had to make it easy, you had made every day for Sunghoon hell as well, always talking back, flirting with his friends when they’d visit, you made the simplest of conversation with him an argument and it aggravated him to the highest degree.

Today would seem to be the only day of peace that you’d be getting, being told Sunghoon would be away on business for a while, You found yourself roaming the empty library you had now become quite familiar with. The warmth of the fireplace engulfed your body, and you let out a content sigh upon finally having gotten some peace and quiet. Fingers dusting over the old outdated novels, you scanned through most of them until finding one that caught your eye. A soft hum spills from your lips as you stretch out your arms to grasp a book on a higher shelf, jumping back once you feel two arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“Not quite tall enough to get it yourself hm?” The familiar tone was a dead give away that it was none other than Park Sunghoon.

“Get lost, I'm trying to read, I was told you wouldn’t be here.” Rolling your eyes you remove his arms from your waist as you continue to reach for your chosen book.

“Seems to me you’re rather struggling to get the book more so than you are reading one.” As if it took no effort he reaches for the book you had been eyeing for mere minutes now and raises it into the air.

“Tell me little one, are you interested in such a book?” Leaning down he made sure that his autumn colored orbs stared directly into yours all while you shot him an annoyed glare, seemingly struggling to retrieve the book from him.

“Oh, go on little bunny, maybe if you jump a little higher you’ll get it.” He found it amusing watching you struggle, since the moment you had moved in with him he made it his mission to get under your skin just as you did to him.

“I swear to god, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk.” Your frustration had only grown the more he opened his mouth.

“No, but I do get tired of hearing you, little rabbit.”

‘Bunny’ ‘little rabbit’ two nicknames he has used frequently since you’d moved into his estate. That was how he viewed you, a helpless rabbit for him to prey upon whenever he desired, though when you first arrived he hadn’t expected a little thing like you to give him as much trouble as you had.

“It’d make that pretty face of yours even more desirable if you’d learned to keep quiet.” Finally he brought the book down and handed it to you only for him to grab your hand and pull you into his chest the moment you reached for it.

“You’re always so sweet and coquettish when it comes to Jaeyun or Jongseong, yet you love to make it difficult for me?” His thumb gently brushes over your wrists as he stares down at them, he could smell the blood running through your veins, and the beating of your heart didn’t go unnoticed by him either.

“Wait-” before you could even protest Sunghoon had already had you pressed against the shelf behind you, his leg locked in place between your thighs to keep you from moving. His thumb immediately pressed into your wrist, silencing you, making you yelp as his nails pierced your skin.

“From now on only speak when I tell you sweetheart, I’m sick of your mouth.” His eyes pierced into yours in a way that made you fall silent almost immediately. You hated it, you hated him, even more you hated your father for having made the agreement to give you up so easily. You also hated that the moment he gave you that command you were forced to comply.

“I told your father I’d be polite, that I'd wait until you were compliant and willingly giving yourself to me, but all you’ve done is act like a brat.” He chuckles and grabs your face, forcing you to stare into his eyes, a hunger seemingly lingering in them, a look you hadn’t realized until now.

“sweet little human, I could break you in far more ways than you know. Yet you still know how to pull strings until I’m singing to your tune.” He brought your lips to his wrist, and you watched as his tongue escaped past his lips and dusted across your skin sending a shiver up your spine.

“You’re so quiet now hm? Haven’t heard that pretty mouth speak a word.”

“Fuck off.” He chuckles before his lips meet your skin again, this time sucking at the bare flesh of your wrists as he presses his knee against you, a grin cutting into his lips as he hears a moan spill past your lips mere sections after you had just cursed him.

He eyed your every move as he slid his tongue across your skin, he found himself very much satisfied as he sensed a rise in the heat of your body. As your eyes met his and you spotted that familiar cocky smirk on his lips, part of you wanted to pull away from him, to tell him off. To not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had you feeling vulnerable to say the least. Though there was no fooling him he could tell you were struggling to pull upsets together, that you were failing at your attempt to fight against him. Though he also knew you were still annoyed with him, and that would make it all the more enjoyable having you crying and begging for him to make a mess of you.

“I’ll show you the proper use of that pretty mouth you got, I’ll teach you when and when not to speak.” He forces you down to your knees, holding your face in his hands to keep your mouth open. He absolutely loved the way you looked at him as if you wanted to destroy him, like you were completely pissed at him. His thumb brushes over your lip as he stares into your eyes and he leans in mere inches away from your face.

“Go on sweetheart tell me how much you hate me yeah?” Before you could manage even one word he yanks your head back by your hair and shoves his fingers into your mouth earning a frustrated moan from you.

“Let’s prepare you, yeah?” He watched as you almost instantaneously fell into your role and he couldn’t help but find it amusing.

“Already making good use of that mouth, look at you.” His eyes were locked in place, watching the way your tongue swirled and danced around his fingers. It gave him all the more reason to stuff your mouth full of him. He wastes no time undoing his belt and shoving his pants to the floor, his boxers not too far behind.

The moment he slid the tip of his cock between your lips a groan spilled past his lips. He was ecstatic. The feeling of your lips around him making him eager to explore the rest of you. He loved the way your sweet eyes gazed into his like you hated him, even though your actions said otherwise.

“Fuck,is this all I have to do to shut you up? Fuvk this pretty face?” He growls, his head falling back as he takes in the feeling of your mouth around him. Grinding his hips against your face. You took his thrusts so easily, eyes trained on him above you as you began to suck, one hand on his thigh to keep yourself still and the other on the floor beneath you. Falling into the rhythm was surprisingly easy and felt very fucking natural with him.

While Sunghoonseemed to be lost in the sensation of your sweet mouth.You on the other hand, you were a moaning mess, fingers digging into his thigh as he fists your hair and fucks your throat. The slurping and gagging noises that spilled past your lips were enough to make him cum right then and there, but he didn’t, he just kept fucking your pretty lips as if he were trying to permanently shut you up.

“Should have thought of this before you got so mouthy” Following his words Sunghoon forces the rest of his dick down your throat earning a cry from you as you feel the head of his cock excessively abuse it. He kept mercilessly fucking your mouth, muffling every moan that threatened to escape your lips. You simply whimpered pathetically, clawing at his thigh, clenching around nothing, feeling so pathetic at the fact that this had actually been turning you on. Your desperation pulled a grunt from him, making him yank your hair harder forcing a cry from your mouth which was swallowed up by his cock.

“Fuck”

Without any warning he forces himself to reach the back of your throat as he finishes in your mouth. Shooting his load into the depths of your throat, and not giving you any time to breath before he has to propped up against the bookshelf.

“Still hate me baby hm? Still angry at me?” Before you could manage even one word his lips wrapped around your lips and he began to suck at your clit. This earned a frustrated moan from you, when he treated your body in such ways there was no way you’d let out any words that were remotely coherent.

“I’m asking you a question, let me hear it.” His tongue began to lap at your folds like he was hungry for it. his nails digging into your thighs with every whine or moan of pleasure that spilled from your lips. It made him hungrier for it, hungrier to hear you crying and begging beneath him. Usually he was content with just annoying you but right now he wanted to break you.

When he was met with continued silence he removed his lips from your soaked cunt to kiss along your thighs. You became very aware of his fangs as they grazed the skin of your inner thighs earning a whimper on your part. A whimper that didn’t go unnoticed by Sunghoon, tempting him to do it again.

“Oh? Does that turn you on? You're so pathetic, all it takes is my cock down your throat and tongue deep in your pretty little cunt for me to get you compliant.” He seemed to call you out on everything, everything you tried to hide or deny he knew that’s what made him so frustrating. His eyes remained trained on your face as he continued to tease your body with his fangs. At some point he even went as far as teasing himself by piercing your skin and licking the blood that spilled between your thighs.

“Mmm, a sweet taste to match the scent.” As you watched the way his tongue lapped at your blood you couldn't help but want him to take more from you, to hear more satisfied groans as he drank from your body.

As his eyes remained focused on your face he immediately dug his sharp teeth into your thighs, a satisfied moan spilling past his lips at the taste. Your taste was addicting and it was now clear to him why the others always had such a rough time being around you. He watched the way your eyes rolled back as you pulled his hair, the wetness that gushed from your thighs all while your heart beat began to speed up at the painful pleasure. Once he had finally taken enough blood to satisfy his thirst he moved back between your thighs to once again hear the lovely Melodie’s that would spill from your lips.

The way he worked his tongue was godly and it went without saying that no matter how much you disliked him at times, with a tongue like his you could easily be put in your place.

“Fuck, Stop talking and just fuck me.” His nails pressed into your thigh, a mere warning for you to fix your attitude.

“Beg for it then sweetheart, if you want me so badly.” He forced his fingers past your folds and uses them to stretch you out, watching the way your jaw clenched in annoyance as you tried to force back a moan

“Please, please Hoon it hurts, I need more.”

"Yes, say that again..beg. My pretty little human, tell me what you’d like." He loved that you didn’t shy away from begging for it. You were his, his perfect little slut, his precious little human and he’d ruin you and watch you crumble in his arms.

“please.” Your fingers coiled within his dark locks and he watched as your eyes gazed down at him full of desperation.

“I’ll train you well enough, you’ll be able to take me any time and anywhere I please.”

“Fuck, just shut- u” before you could even finish you felt him push past your entrance stretching you out until he fully bottomed out inside you. Your tightness earned a low growl from him as he pushed so deep you could have sworn you felt him hit the top of your stomach

“Go on finish your sentence sweetheart” He continued to jerk his hips up into you knowing that if he kept at it you wouldn’t be able to say a word. He found pure amusement in watching the blissed out look on your face with every little thrust inside you.

“So pathetic, the moment you get stuffed like a pretty little cocksleeve you immediately go mute.” A chuckle spilled past his lips and he spread your legs wider and pushed your thighs back against your chest. Your moans were evident enough that whatever pain you felt if any had gone away. He wasted no time fucking into you, rough and feverish thrusts from the very beginning. Thrusts that caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head so hard you saw stars.

Your nails clawing at the shelf behind you and your mouth fell open, lines of saliva dripping down your chin as gargled moans spilled past your lips.

“H-Hoon.” The sound of his name spilling from your lips was like heaven. He immediately leans down to take your nipple between his lips while his other hand fondles your breasts. The pleasure had been overwhelming your bodies in ways you hadn’t thought to be possible. From the flicking of his tongue against your breasts every time he thrusted in to you feeling like the more he fucked the deeper into your stomach his cock seemed to push.

“Look at you pretty girl, you hate me so much yet here you are taking my cock like a desperate fiend.” Your thoughts had been so cloudy that you could barely even make out anything he had been talking to you about.

“Such a pretty little whore gonna cum all over my cock after complaining all this time about how much she hates me.” He immediately rested one hand on your waist while resting the other on your stomach and pushing down. He wanted to feel just how far his cock could go inside your little frame. This action was all it took to push you over the edge, the moment he pushed down upon your stomach your legs shook and it was a glorious sight for Sunghoon to see you squirt upon the impact of his hand. Your legs shook violently as his thrusts grew in speed and the low growls that spilled from his mouth made it all more easy for you to unravel right then and there, your cum spilling out onto his cock along with the desk in mere seconds. Subghoon wasnt too far behind as the fucked out look on your face and the way your tight cunt clenched around him was all he needed for him to spill his load into you.

He took pride in watching you struggle to catch your breath.

“Still hate me sweetheart?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good thing I have forever to fuck it out of you then.”

[balteringanatidae]

As Beautiful as Poetry

pairing: spencer reid x english teacher!reader word count: 2.38k contents: first time fic writer!! mutual pining, spence and reader are oblivious, smoochin’, reader is described vaguely (feminine and eccentric)

Lately, Spencer had been spending more time at the library. Not to pick up any new books—these days, he’d been dwelling on past books he hadn’t checked out in a while—but to catch even a fleeting glimpse of you.

Of course, he wasn’t a stalker; he was an admirer. Plus, he didn’t just gawk at you from afar; he’d spoken with you a few times, and that was when he found out that you had the most precious voice ever.

The both of you had spoken enough to know each other’s names and what you did for work. You were astonished when you discovered he was an FBI agent. You weren’t one to make assumptions, but with Spencer, you did, and it was far off.

He hadn’t been too surprised to find out you were an English teacher. You taught gifted high school students—essentially; you were the teacher Spencer wished he had when he was twelve.

With your deep literature knowledge, you could give him recommendations of a few poets he’d never heard of, and in return, he recommended a few science fiction novels. Which opted for conversations the following weeks. The both of you exchanged reflections on the suggestions.

Weeks of conversing—eight weeks, Spencer counted—led nowhere. In chronological order, each conversation consisted of a greeting, small talk, book talk, accidental flirting, and, finally, an excuse to part ways. Spencer always left as a blushing mess, as if he hadn’t been like that in the beginning. And you left giggling to yourself; Spencer’s coyness made you feel warm inside. Did he only act like that around you?

Neither of you would call it a friendship yet, no matter how badly the both of you wanted to. Fleeting glances, brief greetings, and exchanged smiles weren’t a friendship. Neither of you could figure out how to initiate a closer connection without seeming desperate. Spencer was desperate.

Your eccentricity all but enchanted Spencer. You weren't a rebel or a rule breaker; you were simply you, and it was gorgeous. Gorgeous, you lit up each book you grazed, as if the most alluring aura followed you. It was inexplicable why idiosyncrasy was so attractive to him—your idiosyncrasy, perhaps.

He could never get enough of your outfits, which, oddly enough, reminded him of the fourth doctor, but that did nothing but encapsulate him more. His favorite doctor, and you, with the potential to be his favorite girl? He was in love with the mere idea. He could practically infer that is where you got your fashion inspiration from.

You were the perfect girl most contemporary authors wrote about, but real—oh, you were so real. You weren't designed to be loved by some protagonist who was the contrary to you. You were created to dote on those archaic poetry books you devoted time to—the ones you were just as beautiful as.

He could nearly smell a perfectly bloomed bouquet of flowers when you entered the library. He adored how you glided across the library floor gracefully, skimming through every shelf with precision. With each step, you seemed to move along to a silent cadence. Each click of the heel of your auburn boots—matching your recently dyed hair and portions of your multicolored scarf—graced his ears; he just knew you were around.

He stood in the informational text passage, picking out two physics books. He scanned through the first swiftly; he was familiar with most of the information in the text. He simply wanted an excuse to stay around longer, hopefully to bump into you.

He’d returned the first book to its fitting slot on the shelf, expecting someone else would learn as much as he did on his foremost read. He was now solely retaining the book he was certain he hadn't read yet.

As he strolled past the various aisles, spotting you in the ‘Poetry’ section, as per usual. You turned to him as his steps halted; a radiant smile graced your face, and you gave him a brief wave.

Smiling, you're smiling at Spencer.

He involuntarily smiled back; of course, he meant to, but his lips curled up before he tried to smile. He didn't even wave back; he was just moonstruck and stared at you as you turned back to the poems, picking one from a familiar name: Sir Walter Scott.

Spencer shortly came to his senses, and his smile sprinted away from his face. He watched you analyze the poem for a few moments before he tore his gaze away from you.

He’d see your pretty face another time.

He traveled to the back of the library, a space reserved for reading. A few old-timey chairs in a row and a lengthy, velvet sofa. He took a seat near the armrest; no one should sit near him, and he left more than enough space.

His book became a simple prop in his hands as he heard you start to read under your breath. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. This was nothing short of revolutionary to him. Your delicate voice reading each line, and he didn't recall them sounding so precious—not until you read it and he hung onto every word.

You were merely a foot away from him on the comfortable couch, and he could feel your aura from his own spot. That’s when his head spun to you, hardly discreet at all, but he’d presume you were too ensnared in the words before you.

Not stumbling over a word, you had been reading for ten minutes, in blissful ignorance of the man adoring you from a foot away. He yearned for nothing but to pick at that brain of yours. He’d already had a queue of queries on his mind:

Why did you choose that scarf?

Why did you choose that butterfly hair clip?

Why did you choose that poem?

Why did you choose to sit near him? Have you noticed how he looks at you?

You felt his gaze burning into the side of your head, and you felt as if he were scrutinizing you until your eyes met his.

Adoration. That’s all you could see; it's all you could feel. He practically had heart eyes for you right now. He knew he was caught, so he didn't even attempt to break his stare.

“I—” Spencer sheepishly chuckled, rubbing his bare forearm. “I was... lost in thought. I didn't mean to stare,” he lied.

You let out a barbed sound of understanding, and a small grin crept onto your face. You could see right through his lie, and it was almost endearing. “What were you thinking about?” You quickly placed your book to the side, giving Spencer your undivided attention.

He cleared his throat; the truth was in his mind, and suddenly he didn't feel worried about admitting it. “You,” he finally said. He closed the book, positioning it in his lap.

“I don't know you too well, and I want to change that… if you're on the same page,” he suggested, his gaze fleeting from yours as he fixed his glasses’ position.

You were silent, with your eyes wide, lips parted, and ready to speak. You wanted to scream ‘yes’ a million times as if he just proposed to you.

“If you're not, I entirely understand, and I don’t want to pressure you into—“ He began to ramble, but you prevented him.

“Spencer, I really like you, and I, too, want to get to know you better.” You offered him a bright smile, which caused him to reciprocate. You thought his smile was lovely.

“It is safe to say you're on the same page?” His voice teasing, but he couldn't lie that he needed more assurance. It was difficult to accept that you liked him.

“Absolutely,” you confirmed with a gentle touch to his shoulder, which he surprisingly enjoyed.

For the subsequent sixteen weeks, you and Spencer had established days you would meet at the library, typically on weekends when you were both free. It was seldom, but it was something, something more than what you had before.

Neither of you dubbed these rendezvous as ‘dates,’ but they entirely were. Spencer would wear cologne that Morgan gifted him a birthday ago, and you would wear more modest makeup that accentuated your natural beauty. The both of you yearned to impress each other.

Each time, you would feel that Spencer looked better than the previous time you two met. Spencer would believe that an angel touched you or that the gods had favorites, and you were one.

Occasionally, the dates would leave the library and follow into a coffee shop, where he would buy you pastries and a warm mug of coffee to subside the sensations of the frigid D.C. air. You would sigh in consolation as the warmth enveloped you like a thick blanket. Spencer would giggle at the precious view.

Soon, Spencer finally mustered up the intrepidity to invite you to his apartment. He insisted that it wasn’t a proposition, but you didn’t presume that initially. You knew what kind of man Spencer was—a gentleman.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” he murmured, there was a single cloth on the floor, “I held off on cleaning my apartment for a week, so I did it all today.”

You looked around; you deeply relished the atmosphere. It was amiable, and it nearly felt like home. Then you spotted his vast bookcase, and you wondered why he even visited the library. “It looks great in here, Spence.”

Spence. That was the first time you called him that.

“Thanks,” he attempted to sound nonchalant. “I really wanted to impress you, if it’s not obvious.” He stepped back, allowing you further into his living space.

“It is obvious,” you affirmed with a quiet giggle. You loved it. You loved how hard he tried to impress you, no matter how many times you told him it was unnecessary.

You walked around the flat, noticing a bowl of fresh fruit on the remote dining room table in front of the vase filled with your favorite flowers. Was it a coincidence? Candles encircled the vase, illuminating the puny space.

“This is too much, isn't it?” Spencer stepped beside you as you ate a sweet strawberry from the bowl, painting your lips a faint red. You shook your head; you thought it was perfect.

“I thought we were only gonna watch some movies or something of the sort, but I like this too!” You comforted him with a smile. You took another glance at the table, the fire of the candles shining in your eyes.

“I just wanted this moment to… be, uh, special.” He cleared his throat, trying not to stammer over his words again.

You wanted to save him the trouble and tell him you wanted to be his girlfriend right in that moment, but he tailored this moment just for the two of you. You wouldn't ruin it.

You turned to face him, taking his hands in yours as you sensed his nervousness. All he could do was nervously smile at you before he gathered up his courage.

“It’s been 112 days since our first ‘date,’ and I really like you,” he confessed, his voice anxious. “I would like for us to be exclusive, and I really want to call you mine.” He sighed; he’d already begun bracing for rejection when he set the dining table.

You gaped into his glossy hazel eyes, watching as they fluttered shut every few moments. You caught the way he nervously licked his lips as he waited for an answer.

“I’d really like it if you called me yours, Spence.”

He tilted his head to the side narrowly, quirking up an eyebrow at you. He was nearly confused by the fact that you didn't reject him.

“Really? I mean, that's not how I planned for this to go. Are you serious?” A smile crept onto his lips, hoping this wasn't a huge bit to break his heart.

“You expected me to reject you?” You practically pouted as he nodded. You rubbed your thumbs against his knuckles. “Spencer, I’ve been dropping hints for a while now, and I’m surprised it took this long for you to ask.”

He chuckled breathlessly, finally breaking eye contact as he shook his head. “Yeah, I noticed, but I thought that maybe I was perceiving it wrongly.”

You wished Spencer would look at you again; you needed to see your reflection in his glasses and how his pupils turned to hearts. His cheeks were painted a faint red; he wasn’t good at hiding his feelings. Of course, you loved his transparency.

“I’m just glad we could have this moment and that you didn’t reject me.” Spencer pulled his hands away from yours, his arms enveloping your waist hesitantly. He was frequently fearful you would be opposed to anything he did.

“If I rejected you, I think I'd regret that for the rest of my life,” you murmured fondly, your arms swathed around his neck. His eyes met yours nervously, his gaze examining each of your facial details.

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” You spoke up; Spencer was already looking at your lips; he simply nodded and leaned in with you. His eyes flapped shut a few moments after you closed yours, and your noses bumped, spewing faint giggles from both of your lips.

Your lips adjoined with his for the first time, and neither of you wanted it to be the last. Your lips tasted like the strawberry you ate before; his lips curled into a smile at the flavor. He tasted like vanilla chapstick. You could devour his lips, but you had decency, at least for now.

You didn't count the seconds; you were too lost in his lips, but Spencer did. His mental stopwatch halted as soon as his lips parted from yours. Twelve seconds—a few nanoseconds away from thirteen—you two spent kissing.

His forehead pressed against yours, both of your breaths mingling as your eyes slowly opened. The sight was practically lethal. His eyebrows furrowed and lips were moist. Your stares met as his eyes eventually opened.

“Is it a good time to say I love you?”

“I don't think there's a bad time. I love you too.”

[authorhjk1]

Incantations of the old moon

(Seulgi X Joy X Yeri X Male Reader)

Joy coughs as she blows up dust by moving one of the bigger boxes to the side. The wooden floor creaks where ever she steps as she keeps rummaging around.

"If I had known he was gonna leave me hanging again..."

Joy mumbles as she moves another box to the side.

Her grandparents asked her, if she could clean and reorganize their attic. Joy didn't like the idea at first. But her grandparents are already quite old. She knows they won't be able to do it. At least not alone. And maybe she could find something interesting up here. Maybe a photo book of their childhood, or more pictures of their wedding. She used to love her grandma's stories about how she met her grandpa. And some objects of that time are probably lying around here somewhere.

If only Joy's boyfriend hadn't cancelled a minute before the two of them were supposed to leave. Her grandparents live a couple of hours away and so she had hoped for a nice and relaxing weekend outside of the city, together with her boyfriend. But he only told her he had to head to the company and off he went. And he still didn't send her a text to apologize.

Joy sighs as she picks up a huge and unfortunately heavy frame of a beautiful painting. She carries it across the small room, before leaning it against the wall. The physical exercise eases her mind a little and cools her temper. But her anger hasn't completely vanished yet.

Another huge box, full of books, finds itself dragged across the wooden floor. Once she lined it up next to the other boxes, Joy takes out the book on top. A novel. By the looks of it maybe 20 years old. Not very interesting. She puts it to the side and keeps browsing. But most of the books turn out to be thrillers, fantasy novels and romance books. Some of her grandma's library.

Two more boxes get turned upside down, until Joy finally squats down and opens the last untouched box in the room. This one contains older books. And she gets lucky. The second book bears her grandparent's names on the front page. The young woman slowly goes through the book, a never ending smile playing around her lips. There is her grandfather standing next to a bicycle, raising his hand and smiling at the camera. Another picture shows her grandma on the back of a horse, riding through a huge field. The last page only shows one picture. Their wedding day. The two of them stand side by side. He wears an old fashioned suit, while she wears a beautiful hanbok. Joy carefully caresses the photo, seeing both of their happy smiles.

A sudden wind almost makes her loose her balance. She closes the book and looks at the wide open window. She opened it earlier. Right? Joy doesn't remember, but she probably did. It can't just open itself.

She puts the book aside and checks the box for more hidden treasures. But to her disappointment, the rest of the box is made out of more of her grandma's book collection. Joy is about to give up, when her hands close around the last book lying on the bottom of the box. Its cover seems to be made out of red leather. But time has turned it into a brown tone. There aren't any letters on it, or any decorations. Not even on the back.

Joy slowly opens the book. More dust raises into the air, making her cough again. Her eyes now focus on the front page.

"Incantations of the old moon"

The paper has turned brown and yellow and it feels like it could fall apart any second. The letters almost look like they've been written with pure gold. It seems to reflect the small amount of sunshine that found it's way through the small window above her.

Joy flips the page. On it's back her eyes focus on the big letters which seem to be a name or a title of a chapter.

"Spell of the enkindled flame"

The black ink reminds Joy of a starless, cold night.

"Is this supposed to be a book filled with spells or something?"

Joy chuckles to herself. The text that follows does look like it's a poem or a spell. But the young woman just shakes her head and closes the book.

She starts to put the books she took out back into the the box. Her grandma's books first. Just when she is about to pick up the old mysterious book, another wind blows through the attic. To her surprise, the book opens, the first page turns itself. Joy feels a shiver run down her spine. The wind was a little harder, but is it just a coincidence the book got opened again?

For a moment, Joy stares at the name of the poem or the spell or whatever it is. Then her eyes glide down the page. She notices how the second part seems to be in another language. Latin maybe? She notices the word "et" That is Latin. Or maybe Italian? The page on the right is filled with letters written in the same pitch black ink.

"This spell heightens the caster's labido, increasing physical desire and intensifying arousal."

A laugh escapes Joy's lips. Not just a book of spells, but a book filled with spells for sex? Maybe this is a joke made by her grandma or something. Magic doesn't exist. So spells are useless. Just empty words someone made up. That's probably not even Latin. Just random words strung together.

"Well, I could give it a try. It's not gonna kill me, right?"

A sudden curiosity makes her heart beat a little faster. Surely this isn't real. But she can hear a small part of her brain acknowledging how weird it was that the wind opened the book again. What if it is magic? Maybe she could make her boyfriend do whatever she wants.

Joy chuckles at the thought. Yeah, sure. Why not give it a try?

She clears her throat and focuses back on the page on the left.

"By the ember’s glow and the night’s embrace,

Awaken the fire that passion does trace.

Let the pulse quicken, and the heat rise,

A flame of desire to light the skies."

Joy can feel how her excitement rises. Is that the spell, or just a normal reaction to something mysterious?

Unbeknownst to her, Joy's heartbeat has already picked up a little pace. Her body temperature rises as well. So slightly, it's barely noticeable.

"Per ignem sacrum et noctis umbras;

Crescat ardor, sensus foveat,

Flamma carnis, vires augeat."

That last part was hard to pronounce. And she definitely butchered every single one of those words. But Joy waits, still sitting on the floor in front of the box. She holds her breath. In her head, she counts to ten.

Nothing.

Then she reaches twenty.

Nothing.

Of course nothing happens. Because magic doesn't exist. It's just some useless book.

When she looks down on it again, Joy notices how it's not in her hand anymore. It's lying on the floor. Her eyes slowly wander to her hand. Her breath hitches when she realises she already unbuttoned her jeans.

"What-"

A sudden spike of lust pierces her body. Joy's eyes are wide open. She can literally feel how she is getting wet. Her body's temperature seems to rise and rise. A wave of pleasure builds up inside of her as her hand disappears inside her pants. The other is already pulling at her waistband to give herself more room. A drop of her saliva hits that second hand. She is drooling.

Joy bites her lip. The voice inside of her is almost screaming in panic. What is she supposed to do now? Surely not...

"Oh Lord!"

Joy almost cries out as her fingertips graze her clit. She's never been this sensitive. It almost feels like her own consciousness is being pushed to the back of her mind. A fog of lust takes over her brain.

Before Joy can even look down on herself again, she has already started rubbing herself furiously. Wave after wave of pleasure hits her body like it's a lonely rock in a deep sea. They keep coming, some washing over her, others almost knocking her down. Her breathing is now as fast as if she just ran down three flights of stairs.

"Oh god.... Please make it stop."

She manages to moan out, that last piece of her conscious mind fighting back. But the pleasure only intensifies. Joy can feel how her body is readying itself to climax already. How her abs tighten, how she bucks her hips towards her hand.

Never before did she get so aroused by just rubbing her clit. When she needs to take care of herself, she usually needs three fingers inside of her to make herself orgasm. But now, her body seems to be in overdrive. Every fiber of her entire being is urging her on to cum, working towards her climax.

Joy can already feel how her fingers, which are pulling back the waistband of her jeans, are already starting to hurt. She can't keep this up either way. It's only a matter of seconds now.

The sunlight shines through the small window and onto the woman sitting on the wooden floor. Her moans are filling the small room. Her legs shake when another wave threatens to brake her. Joy's wide open eyes close as she braces herself.

"Ahhhhh!"

Her squeal - light, sharp and rising in pitch - echoes her joy like a playful, excited note. That final wave has completely washed over her, almost drowning her in her own pleasure.

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

Half whisper, half moan. Joy feels how she is ruining her panties. Her juices darken the light fabric, making it heavier. It takes a moment, until her body seems to have completely calmed down. Except for her still quickly paced breathing.

Joy stands in her grandparent's guest room, looking at the book in her hands. Why did she take it with her again? She has the urge to open it again and read the rest of the book. Maybe there are more spells. Maybe there better spells. But she is able to control herself. She tugs it underneath the pillow of her bed.

"Maybe later."

She whispers to herself, before taking off her jeans. It seems like they are still dry, so she only has to change her underwear. Joy grimaces as she pulls her soaked panties off her body. It feels weird. This never happened to her before.

Looking down on herself, Joy feels a slight tingle in her nether regions. Just the mere sight of her own pussy is starting to turn her on again. She decides to focus on her panties. She holds them up, examining them. As her fist closes tightly around them, drops start to fall to the floor.

"Damn, what is wrong with me?"

Joy sighs. Her mind is still having trouble accepting that magic exists. She is still trying to come up with some simple explanation. Maybe she got this horny, because of her recent busy schedule and lack of pleasure? But would that make her this horny?

"Sooyoung! Come down for lunch!"

"In a minute!"

Her grandma's voice reminds her that she is still standing half naked in her room.

Joy joins her grandparents on the couch after lunch. They always watch a program which hosts idols around this time of day, because they don't want to miss the day, when Joy makes her appearance.

But the woman in question is having a hard time keeping it together. There wasn't any particular trigger during lunch, which would explain her aroused state. But her arousal has kept rising, since she.... Well, since she came.

Joy sighs and puts her hands between her ass and the couch, sitting on them. She's afraid another sudden spike of pure lust will catch her off guard. She doesn't even dare to think about what her grandparents would think of her, if she suddenly started to play with herself in front of them.

As the show continues and this week's cast gets introduced, Joy recognizes a familiar face. Her boyfriend. So that's why he couldn't come with her. Someone else probably canceled last minute and he had to fill in. But that still doesn't excuse his lack of explanation, or an apology for canceling on her.

"I remember when two of us were this young."

Her grandma sighs nostalgically, taking her husband's hand.

"You always looked so handsome."

"Me?"

Joy's grandfather laughs.

"Every boy in our town ran after you."

For some reason, those words struck a nerve for Joy. She focuses on the people on TV. Her boyfriend and three male hosts.

"Everyone wants you."

Was that Joy's own voice in her head? It sounded different. As if it's trying manipulate her thoughts.

"You can have them all."

Joy bites her lip. Her arousal reaches another plateau. She can feel how she is getting wetter again. She unconsciously starts to rub her thighs together. Just the idea of sleeping with more than one man suddenly fills her head with lust. Taking not just one cock, but two or three... That suddenly sounds like heaven for Joy. All of the attention on her. She is an object of desire for several guys, almost begging her to let them use her.

As her lust takes over more and more of her body, the initial ideas turn into vivid pictures inside her head. She can almost see how she is kneeling in front of a group of guys, mouth wide open, tongue sticking out, waiting for them all to fuck her face.

As if her body is on autopilot, Joy jumps off the couch.

"Are you alright, dear?"

"Just a minute."

Her voice sounds hoarse, even to her own ears. But she quickly heads for the guest room, almost tripping as she takes two steps at once.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Joy strips. Her top quickly falls onto her bed. Her bra follows. Her jeans hit the ground next to her and she kicks her panties into one of the corners of the room.

Barely ten second after she got inside, Joy is kneeling in the middle of the room. She closes her eyes and lets her hands wander all over her body. She starts with her breasts, squeezing and fondling them as if two men were exploring her naked body. Her hands soon glide lower, following the tightness of her midriff. She caresses her own thighs as she imagines herself surrounded by five men. In her mind, Joy eagerly watches them strip, licking her lips when she sees their hard cocks.

The small voice in her mind, telling her this is weird and unnatural has almost been completed drowned out by now. The intensity of her dirty thoughts almost make her feel like it's actually happening.

Joy reaches out with one hand and wraps it around one of the dicks pointing at her. She can almost feel how hard the man is as she begins to stroke his cock. Another man steps forward and Joy gladly opens her mouth. She doesn't even have to put her fingers into her mouth pretending it's a cock. Her vivid imagination is already enough. She can feel how his cock is sliding in and out of her mouth. How his tip grazes the back of her mouth with every thrust.

When another man steps forward, Joy starts to jerk him off as well. Both her hands use the same rhythm and pace, while her excitement grows and grows. She was never a huge fan of someone cuming on her. Even with her boyfriend, Joy prefers for him to cum inside her, when they used protection. But now? Now, Joy can't wait for the five guys to use her face as a canvas. She would ask them, beg them, to paint her face, if it wasn't for the cock inside her mouth.

Joy greedily keeps sucking the man in front of her, while she jerks off the two on her sides. She almost forgot the other two men. They now play with her tits, like she did before. Joy lets out a moan around the cock in her mouth as she feels them pinching her nipples and squeezing her breasts.

If she could see herself like that, Joy would definitely die of shame. Kneeling on the floor in an empty room. Completely naked. Her mouth wide open, her hands on either side over head head, doing corkscrew motions. As her pussy gets wetter and wetter, even without any stimulation, drops of her juices slowly drip onto the carpet.

Inside her head, Joy already has the five guys on the edge of their orgasms. How she got there is a mystery even to herself. But here she is now. Her pussy almost radiating pure lust as she lowers her hands. One reaches for her chest once more, while the other finally drops down to her core.

Joy can feel how close she is. Once more the flat of her hand begins to rub her clit. Within a matter of secondd, her hand is already coated in her slick.

"Yes, cum all over my face."

Joy sighs, before opening her mouth as wide as possible and sticking her tongue out. All five guys are surrounding her, stroking themselves. The first man's load hits her nose, while the rest lands on her tongue. The other two, standing on either side of her, cum all over her cheeks and eyes. Joy's eyelids feel heavy now. Even if she wanted to, it feels like she couldn't open her eyes. The two guys behind her cum as well. All across her face.

Joy feels their warm cum on her skin. She never felt this good. She knows she is mere seconds away herself. Just one last thing to degrade herself even further....

The guy in front of her pushes his cock past her lips.

"Clean it, little whore."

"Fuck!"

Joy orgasms hard as she licks the man's left over cum off his cock.

Her eyes stay closed throughout the entirety of her orgasm. It feels like it takes her a whole hour to work through it. Wave after wave makes her body shake and tremble. Because she was pretending she had someone's dick in her mouth, Joy started drooling all over herself at some point. Her tits are covered in her own spit.

When Joy finally opens her eyes again, it takes some effort. As if the men's imaginary cum has glued her eyes shut. A feeling of disgust and horror washes over Joy as she looks down on herself. Her hand wet with slick. Her tits covered in spit, the carpet underneath stained by a big puddle of her juices.

"What have I done?"

She whispers to herself. This isn't normal. And she feels like a whore and a slut after this. Dirty and used. Filthy. She needs to take a shower. Now. But what if she gets turned on again? Joy shakes her head. She came twice today. Both times harder than all of last month's orgasms combined. Spell or no spell. Her body is drained.

The feeling of failure and shame colours Joy's cheeks red. She slides down along the tiles of the wall of the shower. Her body is completely wet due to the water, but her lower half is now partially covered in slick again. As her breathing calms down, Joy finally makes a decision.

She needs to get rid of that book. She doesn't know how long this spell is gonna last. And she doesn't even want to know what the others do. And she definitely does not want to be tempted to try it again, when she is feeling really low or stressed out. A shudder rushes through her body as she imagines herself breaking down on stage and just mindlessly rubbing her pussy in front of thousands of people.

Suddenly her eyes are wide open.

"No, stop it! Not again!"

Joy quickly tries to think of something else. Maybe something disgusting.

"A camel, fish, vomit..."

She grimaces, but it seems to work. Thinking about random things not related to anything sexual. Maybe this is the way to control the effects of the spell?

It seems like the spell finally wore off. Nothing happened for the rest of the day. Actually, Joy almost forgot that the book is still there, until she lied down on her bed, ready to fall asleep. She can clearly feel it underneath her pillow.

"No, I won't look at it."

She closes her eyes.

But what if it influences her in a another way, when she sleeps with it under her pillow? Her eyes open again and Joy takes out the book. She is just about to put in on the nightstand, when curiosity invades her thoughts once more. What if she just checks out the next spell? She doesn't have to use it. Just look what it does.

"Okay."

Joy sighs in defeat and sits up, leaning up against the wall behind her.

"But only looking. I promise, I won't use it."

She flips through the first pages, passing the first spell that already brought her to her limits. Joy catches a small warning on the bottom left corner.

"Do not use this spell twice a day. Severe loss of self control and random orgasms without stimulation are side affects."

Joy shakes her head in disbelief. Who would try to use a spell like that twice a day? Even now she is consciously pushing back the undying urge to pleasure herself one last time.

When she reaches the next spell in the book, Joy focuses on the right page once more, reading all the instructions.

"The incantation of velvet dreams"

"Casts a spell over sleep, giving the caster or target vivid, sensual dreams that amplify desire upon waking."

"Interesting."

Joy murmurs to herself. Maybe she'd be able to sleep better. She always gets so little sleep because of her schedule. Maybe this will enhance the quality of the little sleep she does have.

She keeps reading, when she realizes that there are more requirements to cast the spell.

"A silver thread:

A thin thread of silver should be tied loosely around the wrist as a symbol of connection to the dream realm.

Silent preparation:

The caster must spend five minutes in complete silence, meditating on their intent, before the spell can take effect. The impact is improved if the caster is dressed in the same way as he or she invisons him or her self during mediation.

Honey:

Place three drops of honey on the tongue before sleep to invoke sweetness in the dream realm."

Joy ponders for a moment. All those things are quite easy to get or do. She glances at the left page with the spell. Should she try it out?

No, she promised herself she wouldn't. Joy knows it's a bad idea and yet she is already thinking about what she'd love to dream tonight. She hesitates.

"Are there any side effects?"

She mumbles to herself, going through the right page again. Nothing. Maybe this spell is safer to use then the first one. After all, she is sleeping anyway.

"Might as well..."

Joy gets out of bed, ready to gather the necessary materials. Silver thread and honey. One in her grandma's sewing box, the other in the kitchen.

Once she is back with both of them, she puts the glass of honey and a spoon onto the nightstand and places the thread next to it.

"Outfit..."

Joy opens the wardrobe, looking through the clothes she took with her. A dress? A short top and skirt? She can feel herself getting turned on again, just thinking about what she could be able to dream off. That's when she remembers her luggage.

Since she thought her boyfriend would come with her, Joy packed something a little extra. Her grandparents go to sleep early and her and her boyfriend's sex life isn't as good as she'd like it to be. Maybe the fresh country air would've helped her out. But now, this has to suffice.

Joy smiles as she takes out the lingerie that was lying on the bottom of her luggage. It's basically a see through red body suit. She quickly puts it on and closes the attached red collar around her neck. With a click, the button is secure. Joy looks down on herself. She can basically see her whole body underneath the thin red fabric, especially her nipples, which look a little darker now. Its neckline doesn't do its name justice at all. The cut down her body ends right underneath her breasts.

"Now the thread..."

Joy can feel the excitement in her body rising as she puts the silver thread around her wrist. Unbeknownst to her, it isn't only her excitement that makes her use the next spell. The first one has already raised her basic sexual appetite. If she keeps this up at this pace, she soon won't be able to climax anymore, without a spell in the book. Too bad the most important instructions and warnings are all listed on the very last page.

The warm rays of the sun hit Joy's face in the morning. She sleeps with a smile playing around her lips. The birds in the garden start to sing, which slowly makes her open her eyes.

"That was good."

She sighs dreamily. She can't remember every detail of her dream, but the most important parts are stuck in her head. Pulling the sheets aside, Joy looks down on herself. She's still wearing that red body suit. And the part that covers her pussy is visibly wet.

But the good thing is, Joy doesn't feel this undying urge to satisfy herself like yesterday. Maybe it has finally worn off. The spell for the dream seems to be the perfect solution. At least for now. She is perfectly relaxed. This is like the best start for a day.

When Joy is finally done with unpacking, she quickly eats dinner, before going to bed. She just got back home to her apartment. On the way, she bought silver threat and a new glass of honey. She is gonna need it.

Now, Joy sits on her bed, eyes closed as she thinks about what she wants to dream tonight. She is wearing the same red bodysuit as last night. The tight fabric stretches over every curve of her body. Only while putting it on a couple of minutes ago, Joy realized how good her butt looked in it. Now her thoughts seem to be related to that. She imagines herself having anal sex for the first time. Someone eating out her ass and then using lube to make it easier for him. It's no one specific, but Joy feels save and cared for as the man lies on his side behind her and starts to push his cock inside her ass.

A huge smile plays around her lips when she opens her eyes again. Joy reaches for the book in front of her and starts to read the spell out loud.

"By the silk of night and the moon’s soft light,

Weave the dreams that dance in the night.

Let the body stir and the senses ignite,

A journey of pleasure through the shadowed flight."

Just like the night before, she feels her eyelids getting heavier. A soothing, warm feeling starts to spread through her body. Not the primal, undying urge to get fucked. But a feeling of completion and easiness.

"Per noctem et lumen lunare;

Somnia sensuales, gaudium efflorescat."

Joy places the book on the nightstand and reaches for the honey. Three drops onto her tongue. She closes her eyes, her head resting on her soft pillow. The honey on her tongue sweetens the process of falling asleep.

As soon as her eyes close, Joy starts to dream. She is inside her own apartment. Wearing that red bodysuit. Why was she dressed like this again? Right, her boyfriend. It's his birthday.

During her five minutes of silence, Joy failed to think of a build up. Her fantasy started out with a man kissing her as he lies her on her bed. Now her subconsciousness is stringing random thoughts together.

She is waiting for her boyfriend, wanting to make his night special. But when the bell rings it's not him, but the delivery guy. Luckily, Joy put on a robe before opening the door. The man looks her up and down, being able to tell how little she must be wearing. Her robe is barely reaching her thighs, her legs and feet completely naked.

"That'd make 20 000 ₩"

Joy reaches for her card and the man takes out the device to scan it with.

"Card declined"

Horror slowly creeps onto Joy's face, when she realizes she won't be able to pay. She doesn't have any cash lying around. She can already sense the man's inappropriate glances.

"I'm sorry. It seems like I can't pay right now."

"I'm sure we can find away."

His smile makes her shudder. But in a good way for some reason. She feels like he would know how to make her feel good. If she just invited another man inside. Just once.....

Joy stirs awake the next morning. Like the night before, she can't remember the whole dream. But this one was definitely better than the first. As she is slowly getting rid of her sleepiness, Joy starts to feel odd. She reaches out to flip the sheets off her and her hand touches wet fabric. Worry creeps up her spine.

"Don't tell me..."

She lifts the covers.

"Oh god...."

Almost the entire bed is wet. Soaked. Drenched with her juices. That explains why her dream was so good. She lifts one of her legs, the sheets stick to it for a while, before they fall back down. The red fabric on her body is glued to her skin. She must've rolled around in her own slick the whole night.

A small price to pay, considering how good the dream was. She can just take a shower.

"And change the sheets...."

Joy sighs, but she doesn't have a choice. As she gets off the bed, she is already thinking about a way to sleep, without drowning herself in her own juices.

"Let's try this again."

Joy stands up and takes her place behind Yeri. She raises her arms as the music starts and the five of them start to practice the dance once again.

Two weeks have gone by since Joy found the book. Her and her boyfriend did talk about her weekend at her grandparent's, but she didn't mention what she found. She could share it with no one, since no one would believe her.

But for two weeks, Joy has been working on her own pleasure by herself. Her and her boyfriend's schedules didn't allow them to see each other often, let alone have sex with each other. So when she did have time, Joy used the spell for her dreams to at least feel good when she woke up in the morning.

But she is starting to feel a rising need for more. She needs to orgasm while she is awake. She needs something to get herself off. She has been going through the book and found a couple of more spells. And when her eyes fall on Seulgi, she is determined to use one of them today.

Joy thought about this for quite a while. Nothing seems to really do it anymore for her. Playing with herself is nice and all and she does climax while doing so, but she is starting to miss something. She is starting to miss someone else's touch.

She has had these dreams about other guys. She does admit that. But she'd never cheat on her boyfriend. How horny or aroused she might be, she'd never do something like that. That's what she told herself.

Now, Joy is thinking about a loophole in some way. Sex with other men is definitely cheating. But what if it's with another woman? There is no dick involved. So technically, she wouldn't have penetrative sex, right? So it would be okay for her and Seulgi to pleasure each other? Just this once?

Joy doesn't even realize how ridiculous that sounds. But the book's influence on her is slowly growing stronger. Her desire for pleasure keeps rising. She doesn't know it, but her body realizes that the book might be able to give her eternal pleasure. Pleasure that is out of this world. And that doesn't mean these simple spells. There must be something else. Something that frees her from earthly boundaries and rules.

And Joy is starting to become so desperate, she's willing to cast a spell on one of her members.

"One last time. We will go home afterwards."

Joy looks at Irene while she speaks

She thought about whom she should choose. Irene was the first who didn't qualify. Or rather, Joy was afraid of what could happen. Irene can be strict. She thought of Yeri and Wendy as well, but the two of them don't seem to be weak minded. And the instructions said, it would be easier on someone who is easier. But that doesn't mean Joy sees Seulgi as dumb or a slut. She is just loving and caring. A person who often can't say no.

And that's why Seulgi finds herself inside Joy's apartment exactly one hour later. The younger woman asked her to come over and hang out. Seulgi didn't have any plans, so she agreed.

But now she feels like something is going on. Joy is acting different. She noticed that during practice already. Her mind seemed to be somewhere else. And she looks like she has that after sex glow. But all the time. And she surely can't be having sex all day.

Pretending to prepare snacks for the two of them, Joy is standing inside her kitchen. She glances at Seulgi, watching her drink the juice she gave her. The younger one told her it's supposed to help for losing weight. But in reality, it was just random juice she had in her fridge. The special ingredient was a strand of Joy's hair. Seulgi had to drink it in order to form the necessary bond between the two of them.

After confirming that Seulgi isn't paying attention to her, Joy starts to read from the book, which is lying on the counter.

"Serpent of secrets, lend me your grace,

Let your kiss awaken, and pleasure embrace.

By the moon’s soft glow and the stars that gleam,

Uncoil the longing that sleeps in the dream."

As she reaches the Latin part of the spell, Joy raises her hand. Now she has to draw a snake in the air. And she does so as she reads the last lines.

"Per lunam et stellas lucentes;

Sensibus favorem, desiderium augeat."

The snake she drew seems to be made of a small cloud. It starts to move towards Seulgi. Joy watches, hoping she did everything right. Doubt is starting to rise inside her as the snake opens her mouth. It's now right behind Seulgi. Joy bites her lip. As soon as the snake touches Seulgi, it disappears. Gone.

Did it work?

Joy hesitates, but then walks over to Seulgi, while holding a plate with grapes and watermelon.

"Thanks."

Seulgi smiles as she reaches for a handful of grapes. Joy sits down next to her.

It seems like the older woman isn't affected at all. She seems to behave normally. Maybe Joy did something wrong? She glances at Seulgi's glass, which is only half empty. Or did she not drink her hair yet?

Joy sighs and sinks back against the backrest of her couch. She should've never even tried this. Seulgi is one of her best friends. The two of them lived together for a long time. How could she just decide to use her, so she can satisfy her own pleasure? The younger woman feels ashamed of herself. The book was fun and all. But now it slowly seems to take over her actions. It has to go. Rather sooner than later.

Joy stands up, determined to get rid of the book immediately. When she walks past Seulgi, a hand suddenly grabs her wrist. She looks down on her friend.

"Unnie..."

Her words get caught in her throat as Joy sees the lust glisten in Seulgi's eyes.

Before she can react, Seulgi has already pulled her onto the couch again. Her lips crash against the younger one's, making her fall onto her back. The moment their lips touch, Joy's lust skyrockets. She loves how Seulgi's lips feel on hers. How her tongue brushes against her own. How her hands hold onto her waist. She needs to have her. Now.

Seulgi is in a state of pure lust, confusion and horror. What the hell is she doing? Why is she kissing her friend? And why can't she stop? Why does it feel so good? Why does it make her pussy wet? Why-

Her own consciousness slowly retreats as arousal takes its place. Seulgi knows it's wrong. She has never thought about Joy this way. She would've never dared to kiss her without consent, even if she wanted to. But her lust driven body seems to have a mind on its own now.

The two women loose themselves far too quickly. While their kiss continues, Seulgi undoes the two buttons on Joy's top, while Joy reaches for the zipper of Seulgi's skirt. The younger one lets out a moan as she feels her friend's leg between her own. It slightly presses itself against her core, stimulating Joy's already sensitive clit.

No words are being spoken as Seulgi pushes Joy's top off her tits, while Joy lets Seulgi's opened skirt glide down the older girl's legs. Their kiss finally breaks, when Seulgi leans down to kiss the younger girl's neck.

"Unnie..."

She sighs and places her hands on the other girls butt cheeks. She starts to knead them as Seulgi's lips travel lower. Soon, they latch onto Joy's right nipple. She arches her back off the couch in response, her body yearning for the other girl's touch. At the same time, her hands have now pulled Seulgi's cheeks apart and two fingers dive towards her core.

The sound that escapes Seulgi's lips is half squeal, half moan. Joy's fingers penetrate her lower lips. Her thumb automatically rests on her asshole due to their position. Only a little bit of pressure makes Seulgi suck harder on Joy's nipples.

The two of them lose track of time as they pleasure each other. After a while, they find themselves in Joy's bed with Joy on the bottom and Seulgi on top, eating each other out.

The younger girl has really gotten a good taste of Seulgi's pussy by now. She can't tell if it's just the spell, but she really seems to enjoy it. If she could, she would feast on Seulgi's pussy the entire night, making her a squealing mess. But Seulgi's tongue works her own pussy too, making Joy almost fall apart every three seconds. Both their bodies are way more sensitive than they usually are. Side effects of the spell.

"Unnie..."

Joy moans, when she feels Seulgi slip two fingers inside her cunt. The older woman's tongue flicks against her clit and the woman on the bottom starts to loose it. Her thighs tremble as Seulgi does her best to push Joy towards her third orgasm of the night. The younger girl is unable to return the favour, moaning out loud and shaking underneath her friend.

"Please, mommy....."

If she wasn't about to climax, Joy would've felt immense shame in that moment. What did she just call Seulgi?

But she can't think about that now. Seulgi adds a third finger, properly stretching out Joy's pussy. Her tongue keeps flicking against her clit, making Joy's hips rise off the bed.

"Mommy!"

Joy crashes down. The shame and pleasure mix together as her orgasm rolls through her. Her body is a mess. Hair glistening with sweat and their combined juices. Her pussy is leaking and her whole body is glazed with a thin layer of sweat.

"I'm sorry, unnie. I-"

Seulgi gets off of her and turns around. She kisses Joy's lips to shut her up.

"Say it again."

"What?"

Joy is confused. It was an embarrassing slip up and she thought Seulgi would be mad or disgusted. But as she watches her climbing on top of Joy, the opposite seems to be the case.

"Tell me what a good girl you are."

The younger woman is shocked by Seulgi's sudden dominant attitude. But she starts to moan when Seulgi begins to ride her. Their two pussies meet whenever Seulgi sinks down. One hand is placed flat on Joy's midriff, while the other applies pressure to both of their clits.

"I don't-"

Joy's reply is cut short by Seulgi pinching Joy's clit. A spike of pain and pleasure rushes through her system.

"Mommy....."

Joy hisses as Seulgi continues to ride her.

"I-I've been a good girl for mommy. Right?"

Seulgi's head rolls back, her mouth open as a moan escapes her lips. Joy instinctively holds onto Seulgi's waist. So this how it feels like when someone rides you? It's the first time Joy experiences this, but she can understand why her boyfriend likes it, whenever she does it. But her thoughts quickly focus back on Seulgi as she quickens her pace.

Although, it's actually more grinding than riding. The friction of their pussies rubbing together makes the two women moan in union. Joy's hands wander towards Seulgi's ass and she squeezes her cheeks, appreciating how firm they are.

"Yes, grope my ass. Bad girl."

Seulgi moans and she reaches for Joy's tits in return. The two of them grind against each other, while their hands play with the other's body. Joy's eyes are glued to Seulgi's abs, which look so damn amazing when they are slightly glistening with sweat.

The younger girl sits up, needing to have a taste. Seulgi lets out an appreciative sigh, when she feels Joy's tongue on her midriff. She feels the saltiness of Seulgi's sweat on her tongue as Joy traces along the lines of the older girl's abs.

"Now you're being a good girl."

Seulgi strokes her hair. She keeps riding Joy, constantly increasing the pleasure they both feel. Soon, their bodies become one. Neither of them can tell where her body ends and the other one's begins.

"Mommy...."

Joy moans again as she feels the pressure and friction at her core becoming too much to handle.

"Yes, baby. Me too...."

The two of them lock eyes. Their dark orbs are glistening with lust. Seulgi tilts her head and captures Joy's lips one last time.

As their bodies shake in union, both girls moan into each other's mouths. Joy can barely feel the pain of Seulgi biting her lip. They fall onto the bed, their bodies working through their orgasms individually.

Shame and embarrassment run through her veins as Joy just lies in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seulgi is lying next to her. The two of them are still catching their breaths, but they're back to their old selves.

"I'm sorry."

Joy's voice sounds broken.

"This is all my fault."

Seulgi would've shook her head, if she wasn't too tired.

"Why would this be your fault? I started it. I should take responsibility."

"You don't understand."

Joy hesitates. Is she really going to reveal her secret?

"I.... There-There is this book. I-I used it on you."

"What book?"

"A book full with spells. About.... About sex."

She closes her eyes, afraid Seulgi will laugh at her. But the older woman stays silent for a while.

"Magic doesn't exist, Joy."

The younger girl can hear the worry in her voice.

"It does. Why do you think all of this just happened? I-I used a spell."

"A spell? So that I become...."

Seulgi feels her cheeks heating up.

"So that I become turned on?"

"Kinda."

Joy doesn't want explain it further.

"And-And this book. Is it dangerous?"

"I don't think so. As long as you're able to control yourself, it's actually pretty good."

Joy hears how Seulgi turns her head to look at her. She tears her eyes off the ceiling and looks into her friend's eyes.

"Can-Can I see it?"

After taking a proper shower, without another incident, the two women sit side by side on Joy's bed, flipping through the book.

"And you tried all of them?"

Joy shakes her head no.

"A couple."

Joy turns the next page.

"The rapture of flowing rivers"

"I tried that one."

"What happened?"

Seulgi looks at her with genuine curiosity. Joy hesitates, although the two of them just made each other cum and have talked about sex since then.

"You... You squirt a lot."

"Really? I think I've never done that before. What does it feel like?"

"Well,..."

Joy remembers the day she tried out that spell.

"It feels like you need to pee while you climax. It makes your orgasm feel way better. Instead of holding it in, you just have to let it go. Or in this case"

She nods towards the spell.

"You don't have a choice."

"How much did you squirt?"

"I'm not sure. But you probably could've filled a whole bottle after one time."

"Wow."

Seulgi's eyes are wide open in awe as she keeps looking through the book. Eventually she reaches the last spell.

"Spell of summoning: The Incubus rite"

"Have you tried this one?"

"No I haven't. I can't do it alone."

"Why not?"

"Like I showed you earlier, some spells require specific objects or actions. Part of this one is having three different attributes, if you can call them that. You need to have a romantic partner, you need to have had sex within the last couple of days and at the same time you shouldn't have had a lot of sex yet. I feel like the instructions are trying to tell the caster that three people need to perform this spell."

"And what is it good for? Isn't the Incubus something like a Succubus?"

"Yes. The male version. It says this Incubus will fulfill your every desire, once you summon him. The instructions say he has no limits."

"That sounds amazing. Do you have anything that you'd wish for? I'd think most of the other spells got you covered already."

"You think he is like a... Sex genie?"

"If it says, he has no limits, yeah? What else would he do?"

"It doesn't say anything about wishes here."

"Do you have anything specific in mind?"

Joy thinks about Seulgi's question.

"I don't know.... I guess... I guess me and my boyfriend could maybe..... I don't know... Improve something."

Joy feels awkward as she is admitting that her sex life isn't going as well as she'd like.

"I get it. Guys can be disappointing sometimes."

The two of them chuckle.

"What about you?"

Seulgi shrugs her shoulders.

"I've always wanted.... I don't know... A bigger chest? I love to touch them when I'm alone. But guys don't seem to be very interested."

"What are you talking about? You have... A nice chest."

"Well,"

Seulgi blushes a little more.

"I just wish it would be a little bigger. But I definitely don't want a doctor to do something, you know? That feels unnatural."

"And this doesn't?"

Joy raises an eyebrow and points at the book.

The two women laugh at the situation. Neither of them would've ever imagined having this conversation with each other.

"Stop playing with me."

Yeri rolls her eyes at Joy.

"A sex book? Please."

The youngest looks around the practice room.

"Is that some sort of prank? Where is the camera?"

"This isn't a prank, Yeri. Do you think I'd say something like that in front of a camera?"

Yeri sighs. She knows Joy wouldn't. But it still sounds like a joke to her.

"Who would even come up with that? Are you telling me wizards and witches are real?"

"I don't know. I just know it works."

Yeri hesitates. She can tell by looking at Joy's eyes that she does seem genuine. But she just can't understand the words that are coming out of her mouth.

"And the two of you really...."

She looks at Seulgi, who immediately blushes.

"Yes, we did."

Joy takes Yeri's hand.

"At least try it. What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"I still don't believe you. You want me to be there so you can summon some sex demon? Do you even hear yourself?"

"I-"

"Hi guys!"

Wendy greets the three girls as she steps into the practice room, Irene close behind. The girls all look at her with wide open eyes as if she just caught them doing something weird.

"We should get started. Our schedules are all full."

Irene takes the lead and the five of them soon start practice.

Joy feels a burning need inside of her as she continues to dance. She wasn't sure about telling Yeri all of this. But she knows the younger girl doesn't have a lot of experience yet. And now that she did it, her urge to finally do this last spell keeps on eating at her. Her whole body is asking for it. If this could really enhance her sex life with her boyfriend...

Seulgi keeps glancing at Yeri from time to time. Even for her it still feels odd to believe that all of this is true. But it makes sense. What happened that night at Joy's was not within her control. She could feel how something else influenced her actions. How her body was suddenly burning with lust for her friend. How good it felt when they made each other cum...

Yeri feels how the two older women look at her from time to time. She still doesn't believe them. But she can't help but daydream. A book with spells about sex? So far her sexual experiences have been rather disappointing. Not like there were a lot of them anyway. Maybe the book could help her out? Yeri almost has to laugh. Yeah sure. It's gonna make her a guy who knows what to do with her body. Who knows how to make her feel good. Who can be gentle. But also rough if she needs it....

After practice, Yeri has almost forgotten about Joy's and Seulgi's ridiculous idea. The two of them didn't talk about it again. After she got home, Yeri took a shower and put some new clothes on. She was just about to throw her outfit from practice earlier into the washing machine, when a note falls out of her pocket.

Yeri picks it up and reads what is written on it.

"You just need to read it out loud. Have fun."

The text underneath looks like a poem. The ending part seems to be written in Latin.

"Oh please. Very funny Joy."

She noticed it's the older girl's handwriting.

Yeri throws the note into the garbage and gets comfortable on the couch. She ordered something to eat earlier and is now preparing herself for a nice and relaxed night. Herself, food and Netflix. What else would she need to make this day any better?

She already put on something comfortable. Pink, fluffy jeans and a matching short crop top.

Just when she finished putting a blanket on the couch and rearranged the cushions, the doorbell rings.

Yeri's stomach is already calling out for the food as she walks towards the door.

"Thank you. How much is it?"

She smiles at the girl who hands her the tteokbokki.

She pays with her phone and closes the door behind her. After getting a pair of chopsticks and a chocolate bar out of the kitchen, Yeri gets comfortable on the couch. She turns on her TV. She's about to to open the container where the tteokbokki is in, when she sees a note on top of it. The note!

"What the fuck?"

Yeri quickly jumps to her feet and runs over to check the garbage. It's not in there. How the hell did the note move by itself? That's impossible.

She shakes her head and throws it back into the trash. Maybe she didn't throw it away earlier. But now she definitely did.

When Yeri sits back down on the couch, her eyes widen in horror. There is the note. On top of the container.

"What?"

Yeri doesn't know what to do. Is she drunk or drugged or something? Slowly realization hits her. Or is this magic? Did Joy really speak the truth? Is this possible?

With shaking fingers, Yeri picks up the note again. Maybe she should use the spell? If it's real, it might make her night even better. But what if- Joy said it isn't harmful.

Yeri hesitates for a little while, but eventually decides to go for it. Nothing is going to happen anyways.

"Here I go. The enchantment of lingering bliss. Very creative."

Yeri clears her throat and then starts to read.

"By the silken thread of desire’s dance,

I call forth pleasure with each glance.

Let every touch ignite a fire,

But leave the heart in sweet desire."

She pauses for second. Not exactly sure why. Yeri tries to feel something. But it seems like everything is the same.

"Per tactum lenem et ardorem quietum;

Gaudium augeatur, sed solutio vetetur."

Still nothing. At least that's what she thinks. The spell is already affecting her. A specific part of her body has just been disconnected from another one, until the spell wears off. Something deep inside of her.

"With breath held tight and senses keen,

Let longing rise, pure and unseen.

May bliss increase with every trace,

Yet never reach its final place."

Yeri holds her breath. But she still doesn't catch anything odd.

"I knew it."

She mumbles and throws the note onto the coffee table. As she takes the lid off the container, her fingertips suddenly tingle.

"What-"

Before she can even react, Yeri has already unbuttoned her jeans. One hand is diving inside, while the other slips underneath her top. Just moments later, she is already rubbing her clit and pinching her nipples at the same time.

"Oh, gosh."

Yeri's head rolls back. Pleasure overwhelming her, while she is still trying to figure out what happens.

"Oh, please. Just once."

Yeri almost starts crying as she looks at herself through the mirror. She is basically kneeling on the floor in her bedroom, right in front of her mirror. The dildo she owns is deep inside of her as she keeps impaling herself on it. She decided to keep her top on, while her jeans are gone. For some reason it makes her look much hotter. How her tits look so much better than usual. And how it shows off her tight midriff.

"I'm begging you..."

Yeri isn't talking to anyone in particular. Maybe her own body.

"Just this once."

A lonely tear rolls down her cheek.

For the past six hours, Yeri has been trapped at the very edge of the most intense orgasm of her life. Whatever she does, she can't take the next step and finally fall into the sea of pleasure she is longing for so much. Nothing seems to help. She tried so much already. Even put on some porn, while she was masturbating, but even that didn't help. Watching herself riding a cock was her last, desperate attempt for release.

Yeri can feel how she is almost there. How her sensitive walls grip onto the plastic inside of her. How her clit seems to burn as she keeps rubbing it furiously. She leans back, her other hand supporting her, and tries to make her tits look even bigger. Maybe when she looks like a real slutty whore, she might be able to cum. She is ready to degrade herself even further, if she needs to. Whatever it is, she'd do it now.

"What have you done to me, unnie?"

Another tear rolls down her cheek and she watches herself on and on as she keeps riding the dildo.

"I thought you'd never come."

Joy greets Yeri as she enters the room.

The newcomer glares at her.

"Last night was the worst night of my life. "

"Oh, don't exaggerate. But you now admit that magic exists, right? Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Yes, just get it over with. I-I need it."

Her urgent glare tells Joy Yeri still can't orgasm. But it seems like her arousal and lust have died down.

"Okay, we're almost done with preparations."

Yeri looks around the room. The moonlight illuminates the walls, decorated with paintings of flowers and sceneries. Everything looks old. The reason for that is, that three of them are inside an old palace. Joy told her that the spell has to be executed at a specific place. But she didn't say, why she chose this palace. Or how she got a key.

Yeri sees Seulgi building a circle of flowers in the middle of the room. The book is lying at the center of it. Opened. She can see the part where it says all the participants need to be wearing similar, simple clothes. That's why the three of them are wearing their dress from their Chill Kill photoshoot.

"What do we need to do now?"

"Take this."

Joy hands her two red pieces of silk.

"The two of you need to put one of that into your hair. Like a bow. And the other needs to tie your wrists together."

"Why? And what about you?"

"I don't know why. The book says so. But I think it's to show the Incubus that we are not just asking him for something, but that we're also his servants. Kinda like give and take you know? We acknowledge that he is more powerful than us."

"Okay...."

Yeri is still not completely convinced. But the still burning desire to cum is getting stronger again.

"And I have to wear that red bow to, stand in the middle of the circle and cast the spell."

"Alright then. Unnie..."

Yeri calls for Seulgi and does as Joy told her. Seulgi stands outside the circle now, visibly nervous as Joy does the same to Yeri.

With a red bow in her hair as well, Joy steps into the circle of flowers and picks up the book.

"Alright."

She takes a deep breath.

"Here we go."

Both Yeri and Seulgi close their eyes. Not because they need to, but because their nervousness increases with every second.

"By the flames of desire and the shadows that entwine,

I invoke the ancient powers that dwell beyond time.

From the depths of the Abyss and the halls of dark pleasure,

I call upon the spirit of lust, the guardian of hidden treasure.

He who walks in dreams, he who feeds on longing -

I summon thee, Incubus, to this mortal plane!"

Joy's voice is the only sound in the room. Yeri digs a nail into the palm of her hand as she feels the temperature rising a little.

_"Venite, daemon libidinis, ex umbris aeternis;

Per sanguinem et carnem, te constringo, Sathariel.

Per ardorem infernum et lunam crescentem,

Maneas in vinculis mei voti, daemon carnis."

Seulgi raises her head. Now she is hearing more than just Joy's voice. It sounds like distant screams. Very far away. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. What if Joy is literally summoning the devil right now? What if they all go to hell?

"By the blood of passion and the crescent moon's glow,

I bind thee to this circle, spirit from below.

Manifest thy form, and heed my call;

Cross the veil between worlds and let desire enthrall.

I summon thee now, Sathariel, demon of ecstasy and night,

Appear before me and fulfill the pact under this moonlight."

A strong wind sweeps through the open windows and cools down the room again. Everything is silent again. No one is speaking a word. Yeri and Seulgi both hold their breaths.

And Joy?

"In the name of the dark Lord."

You curse and growl as you feel yourself being trapped. A moment ago, you were still at home, sitting on your throne, overlooking your own personal part of hell. Dedicated to people who committed sexual crimes in their lives.

As you now open your eyes, you look down on yourself. You're trapped in human form. How long has it been since the last time? The concept of time is different in hell than on earth.

You examine your hands. Then you reach for your chest. You grope it twice. You've seen bigger, but they feel nice and firm.

Joy feels like someone has taken over her body. It's not the same as with the spells. Before, it always felt like the magic just influenced her actions and she at least had free will to some degree. But now, someone else has taken over her body. Someone dark. She can't do anything. Only see what he sees. Only feel what he feels.

You take in your surroundings. Your eyes, or rather your host's eyes, fall on the two women, who stand with their backs towards you. Just like the ritual says, they both wear red bows and have their wrists loosely tied together.

With a snap of your fingers, the red silk tightens. The women gasp in surprise. You step closer and take a deep breath. They both smell amazing.

"J-Joy?"

Is that your host's name?

"What is your name, woman?"

Yeri shakes as she hears Joy's voice. It is definitely hers. But it sounds a little deeper. More evil.

"S-Seulgi."

Seulgi doesn't dare open her eyes.

"Seulgi."

For some reason the older girl relaxes a little as her name rolls off Joy's tongue.

"Korea it is."

You lean over the other girl.

"And you?"

Yeri jumps as she feels you whispering into her ear.

"Yeri."

Her breathless whisper makes you take a step back.

"Don't be afraid, girls. I don't bite. If you don't want me to."

Seulgi and Yeri exchange a worried glance.

"The two of you need to relax more. It'll be easier for all of us."

"W-Why?"

You chuckle as you place a hand on Seulgi's shoulder.

"Because you summoned me. And while I wander this earth..."

You place a kiss on top of Seulgi's head.

"you belong to me."

"E-Excuse you?"

Yeri finally turns around. She looks at Joy's body. It is hard for her to picture you inside of her.

"Didn't you read the whole book? Once you summon me, there's only one way to make me go back."

"A-And that is?"

"I must feel satisfied."

"You mean as in..."

"Yes, Yeri."

You reach out and place a finger under her chin.

"You must serve me, until you've probably satisfied me. Then, I'll leave."

"And if we don't?"

Yeri watches how an evil grin plays around your lips.

"Let me show you."

You grab her shoulders and turn her around again. Taking both girl's necks into each of your hands, you push them onto their knees. They both gasp in surprise and struggle against your grip. But they don't stand a chance. Pushing forward, you bend them over. After you've flipped up their skirts, you place a hand on each of their butts.

"The two of you definitely have potential. And I bet the third one does as well."

Joy feels ashamed as she can feel herself caressing her member's butts. This is not at all what she had in mind. Why is this person in control of her body?

"I haven't tasted a woman in centuries. I'm almost dying of thirst."

You pull both their panties to the side. Choosing Yeri as the lucky winner, you lean down and place a kiss on one of her cheeks. You spread them apart with one of Joy's hands, exposing the younger girl's holes. At the same time, you place your fingers on Seulgi's folds.

The two girls moan at the exact same moment. Yeri feels your tongue glide along her lips, while Seulgi feels how you push two fingers inside of her.

"Delicious."

You lick your lips and then dive in properly.

The two girls try to resist at first, but it's in vain. They try to fight their rising desires to feel pleasure. Their bodies can naturally tell that you are the gateway to eternal satisfaction. Their minds are still trying to think properly. But you know, they won't last long.

After a long night of edging herself without being able to cum, Yeri is the first who begins to crack. Her abs give up and her face is now on the floor. You keep eating her out, basically devouring that sweet cunt. Your fingers are flicking against her clit in a steady rhythm.

At the same time, Seulgi feels your fingers move in and out of her pussy. When you curl them upwards, she starts to lose it as well.

"Yes. That's good."

She moans. Not as loud as Yeri, but loud enough for you to smirk.

Although the two girls seemed clueless and unwilling at the beginning, they now seem to fully embrace the roles of being your new playthings.

Soon, you have them right where you want them.

"Ask me for it."

"W-What?"

Seulgi is barely able to hold it together.

"Ask for my permission."

"P-Please make me cum."

Yeri is the first to beg.

"I haven't cum in so long. Please."

You stop eating her out and push two fingers inside of her as well.

"Oh, gosh!"

You finger the two of them at the same time, watching how their bodies react. Yeri's tight pussy clenches down on your fingers and Seulgi's legs start to shake.

"Good girls. The more you cum, the stronger I get."

Yeri breaks first. It's probably the hardest she's ever had. After a whole night and a whole day of denial, her body releases all of that built up pleasure. She whines and moans, almost drooling on the floor as her orgasm overwhelms her.

Seulgi is no different. She climaxes a second later.

Both your hands are coated in their juices as you feel a familiar fire burn inside of you. It's still weak, but you know it's only gonna grow stronger.

"You're doing great, girls."

You give both of them appreciative spanks. As you do so, you can feel how Joy's body reacts. You feel what she feels. Her pussy is wet by now. But you still have another surprise in store for her.

"Let's see how long it takes, until you loose the ability to think."

You insert your fingers into their waiting pussies once more. Curling them upwards, you hit their g-spots every single time. The two of them moan and whine in union. You place your thumbs on each of their clits and start to rub them.

"Oh god, yes!"

Yeri almost squeals as you send even more pleasure through her system. You feel how Seulgi starts to move back against your hand, whenever you push your fingers forward.

It doesn't take them as long to cum as the first time. But now, they both climax at the exact same moment. You caught Seulgi's rushed ask for permission, but Yeri's mouth only let out wordless moans.

"You should've asked for permission."

You give Yeri's ass a slap.

"S-Sorry."

"Master."

A harder slap.

"S-Sorry, master."

"You are the bratty one of you three, aren't you?"

"Y-Yes, master."

"Better teach you a lesson, before it turns into a bad habit."

You raise your hand for another slap, but the fire inside your rises higher than you expected. Joy's body starts to change as your powers grow.

"Perfect timing."

You snap your fingers and a chair, which was standing in the corner, moves towards you. Sitting down on it, you reach for Yeri and Seulgi. You place Seulgi on your right, head resting on your thigh. And you put Yeri over your left thigh.

As you do all of that, Joy feels how her body changes as well. Something is going on underneath her dress. Her panties suddenly feel smaller. And she isn't really wet anymore. Rather.... Hard.

Realization hits Joy like a truck. She can see how a bulge forms underneath her dress. She has a dick!

You can feel Joy's surprise and horror. It makes you chuckle.

"Come on, Seulgi. Be a good girl and get to work."

You pull Joy's dress up. Seulgi's eyes grow wide as she sees your cock underneath Joy's panties. She needs to use her teeth to pull the panties down. Her hands are still tied behind her back. Carefully, she gives it a kiss. Then another one. And finally, Seulgi opens her mouth and takes the tip inside.

Joy groans inside of you. This the first time she ever felt this kind of pleasure. And it doesn't feel bad at all. Her brain becomes even more messed up as Seulgi continues her blowjob.

But you focus on Yeri now. One spank follows the other. You hit both her cheeks equally often. Each slap makes Yeri gasp and whine. While you enjoy Seulgi's lips around your cock, you don't stop hitting Yeri. Soon, her cheeks start to turn red.

"P-Please, master. I'll be good from now on."

"I don't think you'll be able to do that, honey."

"No, please."

You keep spanking the poor girl as Seulgi keeps sucking you off. She manages to take almost all of you into her mouth, but that means your tip grazes the back of her mouth from time to time, making her gag when that happens.

"You better hurry up, Seulgi. Otherwise, Yeri won't be able to sit tomorrow."

You feel the older girl speeding up.

"Master, I'll be a good girl. I promise."

Another spank shuts her up.

At the same time, Joy feels an unfamiliar pull around her core. Is this how it feels when a guy cums? It's different from her usual orgasms.

You push Seulgi's head down a little further, making her take every single inch, until her lips kiss your base.

The incoming orgasm makes you move your hand from Yeri's ass to her pussy. Once more, you start to finger her. Her cheeks glow red and her pussy already contracts around your fingers.

"P-Please, c-can I cum?"

Seems like she learned her lesson. For now.

"Please, master. I took your spanking so well, didn't I?"

"Cum."

You growl and Yeri shakes and whines on top of your thigh.

At the same time, Seulgi finally manages to make you cum. Or rather manages to make Joy cum. Sperm fills her mouth, threatening to spill out as it doesn't seem to stop. Seulgi hesitates for a second, but then starts to gulp it down.

"Finally."

You groan, feeling how the last of your powers has been restored. You get pushed out of Joy's body. Your host almost falls off the chair as she feels you leave, her orgasm still overwhelming her.

Looking down on yourself, you're curious what the three of them have cooked up. Your human form must be the combination of their ideal men combined. You notice your hard abs and your biceps. When you look at the three of them, you realize they're all staring at your crotch.

You almost laugh, amused by their wide eyes.

Joy, Seulgi and Yeri all have the same thought.

"No way in hell is that gonna fit."

Your cock is the biggest the three of them have ever seen. Joy can't help but compare you with her boyfriend. Just by looking it seems like you're at least three times longer than him. And around two times thicker as well.

As you step closer, you snap your fingers once more. The same red silk that is still wrapped around Seulgi's and Yeri's wrists now winds itself around Joy's hands as well.

Once you reach them, they all examine your cock closer. Seulgi carefully places her own arm next to it for reference. Her eyes seem to fall out of her head when she realizes you're almost as long as her whole arm.

"This is gonna be a long night for you, huh?"

You chuckle as you reach for the bow on Joy's head. She's sitting right in front of you so you move her head towards the tip. She keeps her eyes on it, but almost as if she is in a trance, she parts her lips and you glide into her wet mouth.

When Joy starts to suck you off, her tongue swirling around your tip from time to time, you reach out for the other girls. You pull them in as well, each on one side. The three of them use their mouths to pleasure you, while you just enjoy the show.

Joy keeps on trying to take more and more. You see how her lips stretch over your cock. Your tip hits the back of her mouth and forces her to gag. Yeri and Seulgi both kiss and lick along your length on both sides. Seulgi's eyes are closed and she seems to get really into it. Her kisses become sloppier. Yeri on the other hand still can't seem to wrap her head around how big you are. While she keeps doing her job, you feel her trying to wrap her hands around your cock. It takes both of them to go around just once. You see her gulp, knowing what is eventually going to happen.

"Don't worry."

You play with Yeri's hair.

"I'll take it slow at first."

She looks so pretty when she looks up at you, her lips glued to your cock. You can see the uncertainty in her eyes. But by caressing her cheek, you make a small wave of lust rush through her body. A second later, Yeri starts to get into it just as much as Joy. She now uses her hands to stroke your base, while her lips glide along your shaft.

"Good girl."

Your praise increases Yeri's lust even further. She can feel how much she is slowly getting turned on by pleasuring you. Until now, she was almost afraid you'd fuck her with such a big cock. Now, she can barely wait for it. She wants to at least try it.

"Naughty slut."

Your words are directed at Joy, who is slowly reaching her limit. She is trying to force your cock down her throat, but your tip is almost to big to fit.

"You have to do it slowly. Ease into it."

The longer Joy has your cock in her mouth, the wetter she becomes. Unlike Yeri and Seulgi, her lust has taken over her body for a while now. She is influenced by the book the most. As you slowly guide her head back and forth, you realize that by the end of the night, Joy might loose her free will. If she keeps this up, her urges will take over and she'll become a mindless sex toy for you.

You smile at the thought. It has been a while since your last toy.

You have finally warmed up Joy's throat enough. You push further and now she can take your tip down her throat. Not without gagging, of course. Spit falls onto the floor as she tries to take more than she can handle. You keep pulling her towards you, making Joy impale her throat on your cock.

When you now focus on Seulgi, you are surprised how well she is doing. She looked too shy at first, but it seems the book has already influenced her enough as well. Looking into her soul, you can tell what her fantasies are.

"We will need to prepare you, if you really want to take it."

"Please, master. Whatever you want."

Seems like she learns faster than Yeri. While the two other girls keep servicing your cock, you pick up Seulgi as if she weighs nothing and bend her over the chair. You hike up her skirt and snap your fingers.

A small metal object lies in your hand. You reach down and place it right on Seulgi's asshole.

"Wait! Is that-"

"Yes. Don't worry. It won't hurt."

You play with her cheeks, while you push the butt plug inside. It's not really big, but that will change soon. Seulgi feels how you push it into her tightest hole, making her moan. She always dreamed of doing this, but never tried. Now she regrets it. It feels amazing.

Once the butt plug is inside of her, you reach down and push your fingers into her pussy once more. Seulgi's moans begin to fill the room once more. While Joy and Yeri keep sucking you off, you fuck Seulgi with your fingers. You glance at the two other girls, when you notice a change. Yeri seems to have become greedy. She is now the one who is trying to fit your cock in her mouth, while Joy takes care of the rest of your cock. Which is not an easy task, but you feel her plump lips doing a good job.

"Damn."

Your head rolls back as you enjoy the two girls taking care of your cock. The last time you were summoned, you only had two girls to fuck. But these three looks so gorgeous, you wouldn't mind staying on earth a little longer. You can feel how your desire to finally fuck all of them keeps on growing. You've been playing nice so far. But soon enough, you won't be able to control yourself anymore.

"C-Can I cum, master? Please?"

Seulgi's shiness has now completely vanished as she shamelessly asks you for permission to cum.

"Do it. Be a good little slut."

Seulgi moans and whines as her body shakes and her pussy clenches onto your fingers. It seems like she has grown accustomed to have something inside her ass. You tap on the butt plug and start the progress. From now on, it's going to steadily grow a little bigger inside of Seulgi, until you pull it out. You're curious to what her limit is.

"Get all in a line."

You pick Seulgi off the chair and place her next to Joy, while Yeri kneels on Joy's right side.

Seeing the three of them lined up like that, you can't help but finally go for it. You lift Joy's dress, giving her butt a smack. The cock she got while you were inside of her disappeared as soon as you left. So now, you can enjoy her pussy to the fullest. You place you tip at her dripping wet entrance.

"Take deep breaths. Otherwise it won't fit."

Joy nods hesitantly.

You push inside. Slowly. Joy lets out a drawn out moan, which doesn't seem to end, until you stop moving. You doubt her pussy will be able to take much more than half your cock. But when you do push further inside, Joy feels how you hit her curvix.

Pleasure rushes through her system as you begin to fuck her properly. Every thrust feels so powerful and deep, Joy gets scared for her life, whenever you prepare to thrust inside of her again. Soon, her moans make it impossible for her to close her mouth. She starts to drool onto the floor. The two girls to her sides watch in awe and horror. Yeri can't wait for her turn. Her brain has basically switched off by now. Her gaze is focused on Joy's lips, which seem to be stretched out beyond repair. They tightly grip onto your cock, coating it in her juices.

Meanwhile, Seulgi can feel how the butt plug inside of her steadily grows. It doesn't hurt and is only slightly uncomfortable. But the new sensation feels way better than she thought it would. Then again, the plug is no way near your size. Are you really going to put that in her ass?

Seulgi feels a knot inside her stomach, just thinking about that. You'll probably break her ass. Just like what you're doing with Joy's cunt right now.

"Fuck! Master, please!"

Joy's mind has long given up. She has learned quickly and has turned into your personal pet. She is already addicted to the feeling of your huge cock inside of her. Whatever happens, she can't let you pull out.

"Let me cum, please. I'm a good whore for you, right?"

You spank her again.

"Your not even a whore. It would emply that you're good for something. But the only thing that's useful is your pussy."

"You're right, master. I'm sorry."

Joy's breathing becomes heavier as she tries to fight back her orgasm. She doesn't dare to cum without permission.

"So, what are you again?"

You hear her whimper.

"I'm my masters pet. His cocksleeve."

"That's right."

You thrust into her a little deeper, which makes her go cross-eyed. Her right cheek is pressed to the floor in a puddle of her saliva.

"Do you want to cum? All over my cock?"

"Yes. I need to do that. All over your cock inside of me."

Seulgi and Yeri barely register what is going on. The two of them are almost as far gone as Joy. They look at her pussy with envy as you keep stretching her out with every thrust. You aren't even going that fast or hard. But the pure size of your cock almost makes them cum too.

"I'll only let you cum under one condition. And afterwards, you won't ever need to ask for permission again."

"Yes, master. Please tell me. What do I need to do? I'd do anything."

"Good."

You lick your lips. That evil smile doesn't leave your face.

"Read the last page of the book."

"W-What?"

Joy's mind is barely able to comprehend what you said. After another snap of your fingers, the book lies in front of her, the last page opened. Her fuzzy brain ignores all the warnings on the upper half of the page. When she finally finds the right text, she starts reading it out loud, without knowing what it is.

"By the shadows that bind and the fire that consumes,

I surrender myself unto thee, spirit of endless night.

My mind, my body, my pleasure—each are thine to command.

From this moment to all eternity, I am bound to thy will.

In darkness, I am yours; in light, I remain thine.

Let no force sever this vow, for I am forever yours."

Her vow gets interrupted by her own moans several times, but eventually, Joy finishes it.

You keep fucking her, letting her hang on the edge a little longer. Then you lean down as you feel a new found fire inside of you. There is no going back anymore.

"You're mine now."

You whisper into Joy's ear. And she can't hold it in any longer. She violently orgasms around your cock. Her pussy clenches onto your length with unbelievable force. More drool leaks out of her mouth and weak moans as well.

"That's it. The last part of your journey."

Your ability to cum isn't the same as the human one. You do cum, when you feel enough pleasure, but you can also orgasm on purpose. It doesn't feel as good, a little forced even, but it's part of the ritual.

And so you unload deep inside Joy's twitching body. You paint her pussy, shoot your load into her womb. You're claiming her body, after she has given herself to you. Your newly gained sex slave tries to catch her breath as she feels your warm cum literally flood all of her insides. Her whole body seems to heat up.

"Oh, god!"

Her eyes roll to the back of her head as you start to pull out of her messy pussy. She is so tight that it takes you a good half minute, until your whole cock is free again. You examine your work. Joy's gaped pussy is wide open, an unholy amount of cum leaking out of it.

You can't enjoy the view for too long though. The little brat on Joy's right has already turned around to suck her juices and your cum off your cock. Groaning, you look down on her.

"What a slut you are."

You reach over to spank her ass again. Yeri mewls, but keeps your cock inside her mouth. Her body jerks with every slap. Her cheeks turn red once more. When she finally does stop she looks up at you.

"Please, master. I just need it so bad. I'll be your pet too. Please?"

You shake your head.

"You need to learn some patience. Lie on your back. You take your punishment until I'm done with Seulgi."

Yeri nods, excited, because it seems easy. She lies down and moves her head. She watches you kneel behind Seulgi. The oldest is, just like Joy, bent over, ass up, face on the floor.

The butt plug wasn't a problem at first. But it has now become so big, that Seulgi is slowly losing her mind a little bit. Weak moans escape her lips. And she can't do anything, when she feels you tugging at the end of the metal object. It just makes her roll her eyes as more pleasure rushes through her system.

As you start to pull, the plug becomes smaller again. Once it's out, you look at Seulgi's open hole. Maybe now she'll be able to take at least some of your cock. You align yourself with her puckered ring and slowly push your tip in.

"Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god!"

Seulgi cries out. She's never been this stretched out. Not even in her pussy and definitely not her ass. She can't believe she is actually able to take you inside.

"Damned be the prince of darkness."

You curse under your breath. You expected Seulgi to be tight. But even after preparing her, this feels almost lethal. You're actually tempted to cum again already. Just to lube up her ass a little more. The plug produced a lubricant on its own. But it might not be enough now.

You feel how you hit Seulgi's limit deep inside of her. It makes her let out a weak yelp. Because she feels so unbelievably good, you almost forgot Yeri. You look at her now. Because her hands are still tied together, she can only rub her thighs against each other. But just making her watch won't be enough to break her. You snap your fingers.

When Yeri looks up, her eyes widen in fear. Three big red candles float above her body, right underneath the ceiling. They're all lit and soon, Yeri sees the first drop fall. She braces herself for the burning impact, biting her lips and closing her eyes.

"Ahh!"

The first drop hits her midriff. The hot wax burning her skin. Another drop. This one falls on her left cheek. Yeri moans in pain. She thought this would turn out to be horrible. But by the time the third drop lands on her thigh, dangerously close to her pussy, she realizes how good it actually feels. And then she notices that she is completely naked. When did that happen?

You turn your attention back to Seulgi, who is still breathing heavily, trying to get accustomed to your cock as deep inside her ass as possible.

She starts groaning and whining when you begin to move.

"Slowly, please."

She sighs, but you don't listen to her.

"Don't you want to be a good girl? Like Joy?"

Seulgi tries to nod.

"Yes, master. I'd do anything for you too."

"Good. You have to understand that I come first. You're here to serve me. Your pleasure is just a byproduct of that."

"You're right, master. I'm sorry. Use my ass however you like. Just pound me as hard as you want."

You can almost see how Seulgi's brain melts. You fuck her asshole a little faster, stretching her out even more. Glancing to your right, you notice how Joy hasn't moved yet. Her pussy is almost the same shape as before again. She is definitely breathing, so that's a good sign.

Yeri on the other hand, isn't as quiet. The never ending mixture of pain and pleasure makes her slowly lose her mind. Her whole body is glazed with hardening red drops of wax. It won't take long, until the pain completely fades out. Then, the only thing Yeri will be able to feel is pleasure.

"Master, you-you're going to-Oh!"

Seulgi almost orgasms in that very moment. You can tell how very close she is to cuming. You fuck her ass even faster on purpose.

"Master, please? Can you let me cum? I'm begging you..."

You let the book slide in her direction.

"You know the drill."

Without hesitation, Seulgi starts to read. If this is the only way for her to cum right now, she'll gladly walk on that path. No matter what happens afterwards.

"By the shadows that bind and the fire that consumes,

I surrender myself unto thee, spirit of endless night.

My mind, my body, my pleasure—each are thine to command.

From this moment to all eternity, I am bound to thy will.

In darkness, I am yours; in light, I remain thine.

Let no force sever this vow, for I am forever yours."

Once she said that last part, you push yourself even deeper inside of her. Seulgi lets out a cry.

"Cum."

Your order makes her thighs shake. Her pussy clenches around nothing, while her ass clamps down on your cock. That tight ring of muscles almost takes your breath away. You watch how Seulgi squirts onto the floor underneath her. Her gasps show her surprise. That was her first time.

Her brain is completely fried by now. And it only gets worse, when you cum inside of her as well. You breed Seulgi's ass, pushing your cum as deep inside of her as possible. Her tight hole tries to milk you dry.

You stay buried inside your new toy and look over to Yeri again. Her entire midriff is red by now. Some drops hit her tits as well. She isn't moaning or whining anymore. Just lying on her back, looking at you with glassy eyes. Whenever another drop falls, her body just jolts upwards for a second, but nothing else happens. Yeri has become numb. The only thing she can feel now is pleasure. You decide she's had enough punishment.

When you pull out of Seulgi, you watch how your cum leaves her asshole. It's gaping, just like Joy's pussy. You could almost fit your fist in there, if you wanted to. Just like Joy, Seulgi seems to have fallen into a deep slumber as well. Which is normal. The two of them will be back soon enough.

You now have Yeri all to yourself, without any distraction. When you walk towards her, you start to feel weird. This is odd. You thought your human form was the combination of their ideal man, like it always is. But now you start to change. Seems like Yeri has more than just guys with huge cocks in mind.

"U-Unnie?"

Yeri seems to recognize your new form.

"You're such a bad girl, Yeri."

Your voice belongs to a woman. It's cold and laced with disappointment.

"You really do like to be punished, don't you?"

"I-I'm sorry, unnie. Joy made me do it."

You almost have to chuckle as Yeri tries to throw her friend under the bus.

"Don't blame others. Just admit you're a bad girl."

You stand in front of her now. You realize that Yeri really does seem to like pain. You snap your fingers. The red silk around her wrists loosens. It flies into your hand. There, it turns black. Then hard. The end splits into two. Then four. Then eight. Small flames start to ignite on the tails of your wip.

"You know what to do."

Yeri quickly gets on her hands and knees. For some reason she suddenly is soaking wet at the sight of Irene standing in front of her, flaming wip in her hand.

She closes her eyes, bracing herself for the impact. A wosh cuts through the air and a cry follows soon after. Yeri moans as she feels her right butt cheek burn like fire. Another hit makes her other cheek burn as well.

"Please, unnie. Not so hard."

Yeri whines, but you can see how her juices are dripping off her lower lips and onto the floor. You didn't expect her to get so wet by her leader punishing her. But if that's what she desires, if that's what she needs, if that's what makes her submit to pure pleasure, so be it.

As your body is in Irene's form, you keep lashing Yeri, while marveling at how beautiful Irene must be in real life. Too bad she isn't here. She'd really improve the status of your collection. Such a gorgeous woman.

You don't stop lashing Yeri, making her arms and legs shake. Her cheeks are glowing in the darkest red, the imprints of the whip clearly visible. You lost count by now, but you might be at whip stroke number fifty. Or a hundred. You lift the whip again.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!"

You stop, looking down on Yeri.

"G-Give me the book. I'll serve you. I want to. Please, master."

You sigh.

"That's gonna be a problem. In this form, I can't have a cock. And that means, I can't cum inside or on you, claiming you as mine."

"B-But..."

You can tell how close Yeri is to tears. She is now more afraid of not being your slave than she was the first time she met you.

"I could leave this form and take on my own, real form. It might not be for you though."

"No, it's okay master. Whatever you need to do to claim me."

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes. You can basically feel how Irene's form starts to go up in flames. When you step out of the small inferno, a very small part of Yeri's brain hesitates. It's the last part that is still thinking straight. She looks you up and down. Your red skin is marked by tattoo sin a darker red, almost as dark as her own cheeks. You're taller than before and more muscular as well.

When Yeri's gaze reaches your head, she thinks it'd be a turn off. But she's wrong. For some reason, she only becomes even wetter when she sees your horns. Like the ones of a ram, they almost build a circle on either side of your head.

"Get over here."

You growl, your voice way deeper than before.

Yeri follows your order. Scooting closer, she opens her mouth, ready to suck you off. But you have slightly different plans in mind. You grab her head and start to fuck her face. Your cock repeatedly hitting the back of her mouth. Yeri soon starts to gag, drooling all over herself and the floor.

"Damn. Didn't expect your mouth to feel this good."

Yeri is barely able to give you a proud smile.

She just kneels in front of you, hands in her lap. She takes your face fucking like a good girl. She seems to have learned her lesson.

"Pick up the book."

You make it slide across the room, until Yeri feels it hit her knee. She picks it up and you regretfully leave her mouth. You are about to stroke yourself as she starts to read, but Yeri's hand is already on your cock, before you can do so. She jerks you off, while she reads from the book.

"By the shadows that bind and the fire that consumes,

I surrender myself unto thee, spirit of endless night.

My mind, my body, my pleasure—each are thine to command.

From this moment to all eternity, I am bound to thy will.

In darkness, I am yours; in light, I remain thine.

Let no force sever this vow, for I am forever yours."

"Damn."

You groan as Yeri's hand on your spit covered cock proofs too much. Even for you. Your load paints Yeri's whole face, covering it in cum. Her eyes are glued shut, her lips are covered by a heavy layer and her hair didn't get away without a couple of drops either.

You look at her as you relax. All three of them are now under your full control. In your presence, they now turn into obedient sex slaves, whenever you ask them to. They did it of their own free will. More or less.

"Oh, master. You're ruining me."

"That's the point."

Yeri keeps moaning as she looks down on herself. She is lying on her back again, while you fuck her pussy. Her belly is already bulging, after you came inside of her five times in a row. You never pulled out since the first time. Joy and Seulgi are kneeling on both of her sides. They lick and suck on her tits, while you pound her pussy.

"Master, breed me please..."

Yeri whines louder. She looks like she is a couple of months pregnant already anyway. You wonder if you could bulge her belly beyond repair, if you keep going. But you're getting impatient too.

"What a nice little cum dumpster you are."

You groan and fill Yeri with your seed for the sixth time.

When you slowly pull out, the four of you watch closely. As soon as your cock leaves her pussy entirely, all the cum inside of Yeri rushes out. Her messy, gaping, freshly fucked pussy is overflowing with cum. It doesn't seem to stop. Wave after wave leaves her body. The sticky fluid coats the floor between her legs.

You don't even have to say anything afterwards. Joy leans down and starts to lick your cum off the floor. She hums in satisfaction at the taste, her eyes blissfully closed.

"Just like that, Seulgi."

You groan as she keeps moving up and down.

When she finally confessed, you made her wish come true. It's only temporary, but now Seulgi has a bigger chest. Bigger than Joy or Yeri.

You feel her soft tits around your cock as she moves up and down your length. Her hands keep them together and she catches your tip with her mouth, whenever she is on the way down. Joy and Yeri both kneel next to her, waiting for your last orgasm. The sun is slowly coming up and the three of them have to go back to their normal lives. It'd be too suspicious if they all just stayed here until forever.

"M-Master, can you tell me how much you love my tits?"

Seulgi is still a little shy. You chuckle at her eagerness, knowing she always wanted this.

"They feel amazing, Seulgi. So soft and so big. They look perfect."

You feel her speeding up a little at your praise.

"Would you like to cum all over them?"

"Of course. How can I not, when they are so beautiful?"

Seulgi almost experiences a mini orgasm at your words, without any proper stimulation.

The sight of the oldest with her tits around your cock and the other two girls patiently waiting makes you finally reach your climax. You stand up and three girls open their mouths and stick their tongues out.

A moment later, you cum all over their faces. Like before, you cum a lot more than humans. But this time it's a lot, even for you. Their faces are soon completely covered and dripping with cum. If you'd close your eyes and they'd change places, you couldn't tell who is who.

The last two shots are dedicated to Seulgi, painting her tits in a beautiful white. Once you're finally finished, Joy leans over and puts your cock into her mouth. She starts cleaning it off. Meanwhile, the other two girls start to clean her face.

After the three girls look presentable again and are ready to leave, you open the book once more. This new century semes to be way more interesting then the last time you were here. You decide that you'll need to extend your vacation. After all, you are the personification of human pleasure. It'd be a shame if you wouldn't help out some of the humans at least a little bit.

The three girls watch, how you go up in flames and the book falls to the ground, closed. Then it opens on its own. The pages start turn themselves faster and faster. The letters on every page vanish, until the book reaches the last page. The dark ink disappears.

Joy picks up the book. They are their old selves. But slightly different. They remember everything that happened. They know you own them now. And they love it.

New words appear on the page. This time written with red ink.

"See you soon, girls."

----------------------

Hi everyone! Happy Halloween!

This might come out a little late for some people but I hope you can still enjoy it nonetheless.

Since this was originally a request from last year and this year again, I thought I should definitely write it. And I turned it into a Halloween themed fic, which was a rather spontaneous idea.

Have a great day!

[bunnyhugs77]

Valentine Vixen

★Pairing: Stripper! Reader x Rich! Jungkook

★Happy Valentine's Day, Mwah

★WC: 3k

★Content: some fluff, clubbing, jk is so cute, he gets flustered, teasing, mutual pining, ft player! tae, reader is so hot, mentions of break ups, lap dances, double life, suggestive themes, a smidge of angst, brief psychology talk, mentions of boobs.

Other Content: desperate kisses, domme reader, hand jobs, grinding, almost cumming in pants, oral sex (m! receiving), subby jk. handcuffs, desperate jk, reader is a tease, nicknames, manhandling

"Look, that's her." With a subtle jut of his head, Jungkook directs Taehyung's line of sight about twenty meters off into the distance where you step up on the step ladder to shelve more novels.

Tae's eyes widen ever so slightly before his face relaxes into an all-knowing smirk, "So this is what's got you spending so much time at the library lately?" Jungkook shoves him in the side and you pretend not to notice the two of them obviously staring at you.

Letting your short acrylics graze over the spines of the paperbacks, pinpointing where the book in your hand should go. "I can't see her face from here, but I know a nice ass when I see one," Tae states obnoxiously and it makes Jungkook's face turn sour.

"C'mon, Tae." The elder rolls his eyes, "Lighten up. It's just a joke. Hopefully, tomorrow will help you chill out a bit." With an arched brow, Jungkook turns to face his best friend. "Tomorrow?"

"It's Valentine's Day, and I think it's about time you got some ass, Kook. Seriously, when's the last time you had a nice pair of tits in your face, huh?" Jungkook's cheeks flush but he does think about Tae's question.

After no more than a second had passed Tae interrupted his thoughts, "See. You can't even remember, don't worry. That's why I'm here. You're bound to get your dick wet at Red Haven tomorrow, the dancers there are next level." Tae raves, hands waving around to express his eagerness.

Red Haven was the new club that opened not too far from campus but it attracted a lot more than just some touch-deprived university students. Men were ranging from the ages of twenty-one to sixty-five.

"But-" Jungkook was about to object but Tae had picked up a call, reassuring the person on the other end of the line, "Maria, you know you're the only girl in my life." He coos and his face freezes, "Oh shit, this is Jessica? Baby, I was just joking. I don't even know a Maria." Tae walks off trying to save himself from the deep hole he'd dug himself into.

Leaving Jungkook at the table by himself once again, his eyes naturally gliding back to where you once were but he couldn't see you. His feet guided his brain over to the bookshelves where you once stocked away hardcovers.

He stops in his tracks as he lays his eyes on a certain book that caught his eye. 

In your head

"That's a good choice." You startled him, the book slipping from his grasp and hitting the ground. The two of you reach down for it at the same time which in practicality wasn't a good idea. The impact of your heads colliding nearly knocked you to your feet.

"I'm so sorry," He apologizes, gaze checking in on you while you worked on picking up the novel off the floor. "I should be the one saying that. I didn't mean to scare you." You say, finally making eye contact and nothing could stop Jungkook from holding his breath.

You're breathtaking.

Beautiful dark brown eyes that held the most innocently seductive eye contact. The way your tan skin dimpled in your cheeks and the perfect formation of waves that your hair mimicked as it flowed down your shoulders.

"I've seen you around here a few times but I never got your name." Jungkook does his best to be subtle as he fishes for your name. It wasn't exactly the most discreet but you think it was a cute effort.

"I'm Y/n," You smile, handing him the book back and he just about collapses inside. Anything you wanted he would give it to you, and he's rich, he could make it happen. God, he would make sure you never had to lift a finger around him.

"I'm J-" It seems he didn't need to introduce himself because you already seemed to know him. "-Jungkook, right? The Dean's son." He sighs, of course.

That's how everyone knew him.

Being the son of the dean at the most prestigious university in the country wasn't something easy to escape. It continued to precede him anywhere he went. "Have you read it?" Your perfectly manicured finger points towards the book now in his possession and he nods.

"It's incredible, the way it examines the interplay between conscious and unconscious desires. I think it's pretty amazing." You blink once, then twice. "Don't pin me for the reading type, right?"

"Honestly, no, but trust me, I'm the last person who should be judging based on first impressions." He smiles at the sound of your soft chuckle. "Do you like psychology?" Your gaze now focused back to the shelves, "I hope so, I wouldn't want to be taking that major and not like it." You turn to him.

"You're a psychology major?" The tone of your voice gave away your disbelief but he wanted to know why this was so shocking.

"Yeah?"

"Weird. Usually, we would've had at least one class together if we shared the same major." He swallows thickly, briefly zoning out because he realizes he is talking to you. Finally, after months of watching you from a distance, trying to work up the nerve to approach you.

Getting too stuck in his thoughts, he loses his ability to speak. Settling for a hum of agreement. You sigh, disappointed. "What a shame. I would've liked having a cutie in my class like you." Your finger gently traces along his jaw and it feels like fire against his skin.

Before he could blink you were strutting away. Hips swaying like you were on a runway, he licks his lips. He'd never fumbled so badly before, but your beauty was something entirely different. It made him disoriented. He needed to get a grip.

Who would've thought the cute library assistant was so...tempting?

★★★

"Hey, Kook! I don't know If I'll be able to stay with you much longer. The bartender is giving crazy fuck me eyes and I can't leave her disappointed now can I?" Tae grabs his friends by the shoulder amidst the crowd of moving bodies.

"What about Maria?" Jungkook questions, referring to the woman Tae had spent all day before this one buttering up in hopes she would forgive him. Tae shrugs, "She'll forgive me again." Jungkook scoffs as he watches the silver-haired man travel through the sea of bodies.

Sometimes he couldn't believe that was his best friend, but he had to remember he wasn't always like this. This was just some terrible hoe phase he was going through.

He had gotten out of a 3-year-long relationship with Yara no more than 3 months ago and he's been on some sort of fucking spree ever since. He claims he feels so 'free' but deep down he was hurting and Jungkook knew that, but Tae refused to admit it.

But what could he do? It was a canon event and he couldn't interfere, even though he tried to once. Didn't end well. Tae was on a hunt for as many women as he could get, and he knew that eventually he would get sick of it and regain his senses.

His mind was pulled out of his thoughts once the entire venue went black for a few moments and the music was shut off. Jungkook was confused, maybe even a bit scared but it seemed there was no need to be as the crowd roared to life.

It seems they knew something he didn't.

"Introducing Red Haven's Vixens!" The announcer's voice rang through the speakers but the crowd was so much louder.

Jungkook was deep into the middle section of the audience so it was hard for him to get a clear view of the stage but he could see eight beautiful women walking onto the stage, in outfits he could probably use to floss.

There were so many colours on the stage. It was as if he'd died and been brought to the end of the rainbow where the sexiest guardian angels waited to bring him to heaven. Although there was one that piqued his interest.

All the girls were wearing some form of unique face paint that was accessorized with rhinestones, each one matching the general colour scheme of their outfits. There was something about the girl in the hot pink two-piece.

Jungkook fought to make his way to the front, face now up close to the base of the stage, looking up to the woman with hearts in his eyes. The way her hips swayed with the music, and her ass jiggled with each sharp movement.

She was a natural, with one hand on the pole she leaned back, looking right into the crowd. Her eyes scanned for a target before they landed on Jungkook as she began to grind your hips down onto it, making such a lewd expression.

She bit her lip and furrowed her brows just like one would as if they were close to- A shock ran through his body. It was you. Even with the gems and the paint around your eyes, he knew it was you, and by the slight smirk that crept up your lips, you knew he recognized you.

Once the performance was over Jungkook had found his way back to the front counter, eyes desperately scanning over the list of private sessions they offered. "How much would it cost for a room with the girl in pink?"

The clerk reminds Jungkook, "A private session grants you a private dance from one of our vixens. No touching of any kind is permitted unless granted by the Vixen, you must-" The rest of the rules were no brainers and Jungkook desperately wished he could fast forward the long speech.

"Got it. How much?"

"Well, Destiny is our Vixen of the highest demand, a 10-minute session could cost you up to five hundre-" Jungkook couldn't take it anymore. "I'll give you a thousand." He interrupts and the woman's jaw drops. She promptly hands him the key, "Third door on your left."

He'd been sitting in the nicely decorated room for the last five minutes. He was sitting on the chair that faced the door, his right leg bouncing uncontrollably. He was so nervous, and if he was being honest, he was already sporting a semi just from the thought of you walking through that door any second now.

The lights in the room flickered from the bright blue as it strobed to a gentle purple before a deep pink. The door opened, and there you were. In the same outfit you'd worn on stage except this time the music had changed to Wild Side.

"It is you." Jungkook gasps cutely as you take confident strides towards him. "Right, you are." Your heels made you tower over him once you stood before him.

"B-But- why?" You laugh, "The same reason why billions of other people have jobs. I've got an expensive tuition that won't pay for itself." He frowns, speaking before thinking. "I'll pay for it." You give him a playful roll of your eyes before you bend at the waist, bringing your face close to his.

"You're lucky you're so cute." The mere proximity was making Jungkook's brain get mushy and hazy with lust. He wanted you so badly, would do absolutely anything to have to, anything you said.

"Now, let me see those hands." You order and just like a dog to its owner, he follows instructions immediately, his hands out in front of you and you slowly walk around him, taking one hand then the other and handcuffing them behind his back.

He doesn't even remember seeing you walk in with handcuffs then again there was a lot about tonight that he didn't see coming. Like how smoothly you were able to straddle his lap and begin a slow, deep grind.

"So I really can't touch you at all?" Your heart skipped a beat at the way he was almost pouting when he said it. "You can try, but it's so much more fun this way. Watching you struggle to touch me." Your voice is as gentle as a whisper that should've been lost over the music but it was spoken right into his ear.

The feeling of your breath against the shell of his ear sends the hairs on the back of his hair to stand, and goosebumps to raise. He was rock solid in his jeans, although you already knew that. You could feel it. With every sensual roll of your hips, the man beneath you became a little more whiny.

"Do you think about me touching you?" Whipping your hair to the side as you leaned down intentionally close to his neck, making sure he felt your presence all over. His hips stutter under your set pace and it caused you to jolt slightly, "Fuck yes- Every day." He answers. Voice empty and high-pitched.

"Yeah?" You slowly slide off him, and let your knees hit the soft cushioned floor. You weren't doing anything, simply resting your arms on his knees and letting your head rest innocently on your hands.

How dare you look up at him like such an angel while you tempted him with a world of sin.

"Tell me, what do I do to you?" He sucks in a sharp breath as he feels your hand slowly glide up the inseam of his jeans. "You-" He gets distracted, losing his train of thought the moment your hand gently squeezes the thick muscle of his thigh, "Shit. You take my cock in your mouth and you suck me off until-" you squeeze his thigh once again, a little tighter this time.

"Hm? Until what? Until you cum in my mouth? Or on my chest?" Leaning back up, making an intimidating eye contact that Jungkook was unable to hold. "Look at me, Kookie." God. That nickname was so belittling, made him feel like he was being teased, but oh how he loved it.

"Until What? Say it." You grit, your hand holding his face, just firm enough for your middle finger and thumb to press into his cheeks. "Until I cum in your mouth and you swallow it." He looked so ashamed to say it, but it only caused you to grin bigger.

"Can I touch you, Kookie?"

He nods, nods and nods. "Please." His voice was a mere whisper, and at a certain pause during the music, you could hear him fighting against his restraints.

Back on your knees, your hands worked skillfully on getting him out of his pants and pulling how his briefs, just low enough for his throbbing dick to be released. Already budding with precum, some of it sticking to the base of his shirt as it rests against his abdomen.

"Nice cock." You almost wanted to laugh at the cliché, but it was true. Jungkook really had the prettiest dick you'd ever laid your eyes on, and he was big too.

He doesn't respond, eyes focused on your every move while his cheeks tinted red. He was anticipating for the contact between your hand and his length, but he still wasn't prepared.

Sucking in a sharp breath as he watched you spit on it and proceed to flash him the most charming smile he'd ever seen. You wanted to kill him, and Jungkook was afraid you'd succeed.

Your hand languidly rose from base to tip, working him up but he didn't need that, he wanted to last. His hips bucked up with every motion of your hands, "Relax," You coo, hand continuing its ministrations while Jungkook's head fell back. Hands still fighting against the cuffs desperately.

"a-ah." he moans so sweetly as your lips unexpectedly place a chaste kiss on his tip. Eyes shooting wide open, "Shit- 'm not gonna last." He warns but you continue anyway. Letting your tongue swirl around his tip like your favourite popsicle.

"Y/n-" His groans became more breathless and frequent, "Oh shit- Y/n-" Being ambitious you relaxed your throat and took deep breaths through your nose as you deepthroated his length. Fondling his balls in your left hand as you continued to work the base that you couldn't fit with your right.

That was it for him.

Jungkook's hot cum was filling your mouth with no further warning and the sound of the clashing metal rang in your ears, you grin. Looking up at the man who you've just ruined.

He blinks down at you with no thoughts behind his eyes, you maintain eye contact and swallow. He groans; and just to make sure you made his dreams come true, you stick out your tongue when you're done.

You stand, and the song changes once more, now playing sex with me.

How fitting, you think.

You uncuff Jungkook's wrists and with all the strength in his body, he tugs you back down to his lap. "Let me kiss you," A big strong man like him had just manhandled you to his will yet here he was still asking for your permission.

Good boys deserve treats.

You lean in, tilting your head to the side as your lips meet in a lustful exchange of saliva and desperation. This was all Jungkook needed. His hands unconsciously roamed down your backside until they found comfort on the soft flesh of your ass. Giving it a confident grip, you moaned into the kiss.

The two of you hardly pulled away, kissing like you wanted to become one. The way your body rolled against his and he pushed up into you.

"Can I fuck you?" He looked up to you with stars in his eyes and he was just the cutest thing, just as you wanted to answer, the lights strobe back to their default blue colour.

Slowly, you dismount him. Pretending that you weren't soaking through your costume. "Next time," You leaned down to drop a kiss on his cheek and begin to make your way out, "Happy Valentine's Day." You flash him one last wink and walk out of sight.

Happy Valentine's Day ♡

[heaven4lostgirls]

hi!! i was curious if you would write something that starts out with barty x reader and evan is just friends with both of them before feeling like he’s impeding on their relationship (a little bit angsty if you’re comfortable with that) but barty and reader tell him that he’s not impeding at all and they’re actually very interested in him joining their relationship (totes no worries if not!!)

pairing: poly!rosekiller x reader

summary: request above!

word count: 1.8k

a/n: thank you for your your request, this somehow came much easier to me than i thought it would? (i’m blaming the fact that they have been consuming my every thought since last week) not proofread btw

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

evan’s not sure when it started, when it started feeling less like evan hanging out with two of his close friends and more like evan third wheeling two of his closest friends.

he dislikes it, the change. it makes him feel silly, why does he want to spend this much time with two people who obviously have no obligation to him outside of friendship? (and why does he wish that would change?)

he watches you and barty stroll ahead of him in the streets of hogsmeade, inhibiting himself from increasing his walking speed to catch up to the two of you, to join in the boisterous laughter that you two share.

instead, he lets himself watch longingly of what he so wishes was his future. his eyes travel along the landscape of the small town, always finding his eyes making their way back to your shared figures ahead of him.

your hair catching the orange glare of the setting sun, comparable in brightness to the smile on barty’s face as he listens to you babble nonsensically about a novel you had been reading.

evan allows himself only a single moment to mourn, mourn a love he had never really had in the first place, but nonetheless mourn the loss.

he knew he could never tell either of you of his feelings, he had watched the both of you fall in love, the shared glances, lingering touches and lovesick gazes.

all of which he longed to experience yet knew that neither of you would ever reciprocate his feelings. so he tortured himself in spending his free time with you both, to limit suspicion, but ever so slightly, pulling away, tending to walk behind the both of you, instead of with, sitting behind the two of you in class but always paired with another classmate for projects. studying with the two of you in the library, but always leaving early with one or more excuses.

barty and you had noticed, of course you had, but chalked it up to evan only adjusting to the shift in dynamic between your trio. you both missed him dearly but never asked for him to stay in fear of pushing him further away.

and thus, in a viscious cycle, the three of you drifted further apart than ever before, each party too afraid of admitting that they missed the other and impeaching on unconscious boundaries.

however, as you and barty walk down hogsmeade, evan trailing behind the two of you like a glorified guard dog rather than your best friend, you murmur to your lover, “we need to talk to him” with a sad look.

barty turns to you with furrowed eyebrows, “what if he doesn’t want to talk?” he says and you can’t help but turn and pitifully look back at evan’s bored yet slightly sad expression.

“we have to try, i-we can’t lose him” you emphasize and barty nods in understanding before placing a hand on your cheek.

“we’ll talk with him when we reach the castle, okay angel?” he says with a soft murmur, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. you hum in acknowledgement before closing your eyes.

evan’s heart clenches at the sight of the two of you, so perfectly fit together, how could he ever compete? not that he wanted to, but he knew deep down that he would never be what either of you wanted nor needed and it was better to cut his losses than to have his heart broken unexpectedly.

as you reach the castle, you all make your way to the slytherin common room and up to barty and evan’s shared dorm. evan is about to make an excuse about studying in the library to avoid being alone with you two but before he can make his escape, your voice breaks the silence in the empty dorm.

“evan.” your tone is soft and calming, yet evan’s heart drops to his stomach, clenching painfully as he closes his eyes in an “oh fuck” moment.

he turns to you with a fake smile, beckoning you to continue, hoping whatever you’re going to say, it isn’t what he thinks it is.

“what’s going on?” so it’s exactly what he thinks it is, he doesn’t have to play into this, he doesn’t have to give you the answers you seek- “what’s what?” he asks as he shrugs, faking nonchalance at the situation.

you and barty share a look that has evan clenching his jaw, “you’re pulling away from us!” you accuse him. the silence that follows is defeaning, the only sound is evan’s sharp intake of breath.

“we don’t have to talk about this-“ evan says quickly as he looks alarmed at the both of you before barty scoffs.

“yes we fucking do” and there’s a ‘don’t argue with me’ tone in his voice. evan only avoids his gaze as he looks at his shoes and shrugs once again.

“it doesn’t matter-“ he says again with an avoidant tone, barty only growls in annoyance. “yes it fucking does evan! we miss you!” barty states loudly and evan can’t help but flinch as he meekly looks up and meets barty’s gaze.

you clench your jaw in hope that it stops the tears from welling in your eyes. “did we do something? to-make you uncomfortable?” your voice breaks midway and evan’s wide eyed gaze jumps to yours in alarm and worry at the tears in your eyes.

“no!-no.” he shakes his head with wide eyes, “fuck.” he says as he looks down again and blows out a breath as he rakes a hand through his messy blonde hair.

“it’s just-“ he blows out a frustrated breath. “i can’t do this” he shakes his head as his voice wobbles, you look at barty whose gaze is swimming in worry.

“evan” barty starts softly, in the same tone he uses just for you, evan flinches as he hears it and shakes his head again, this time more frantically as he pulls at his roots.

he looks at barty in an almost manic movement, looking comparably to a rabid animal backed into a corner. “don’t-“ he starts as he chokes up, “don’t use that fucking tone” he says as he wraps his arms around himself. “not-not when you use it with her, not when i know it doesn’t mean the same as thing” he stammers out as he backs himself more into the wall.

“evan” barty’s eyes soften and you look at him again before deciding to walk closer to evan, “is that what this is about?” you ask softly, your heart clenching as he withdraws from you further, not letting you come any further towards him.

“what else could it possibly be about!” he cries out and looks at the two of you, gaze jumping from both of your figures as tears fall steadily past his pale cheeks.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did-”

“evan..”

“-and i tried to pull away but it just kept getting worse and you guys started noticing but didn’t say anything-”

“evan.”

“-i was trying to get over it, it was only a small crush! i would have never broken that boundary between the two of you-”

“EVAN!” the yell breaks evan out of his rambling as he looks at barty in shock.

“why didn’t you tell us?” you ask softly as your lip wobbles, your arms finding their way around your midsection in an attempt to self soothe your anxiety.

“tell you?!” evan cries incredulously as if the idea was implausible. “yes” barty says stiffly. “because you two are together?! and you don’t feel the same! which is understandable because i’m not really anything you should want but!-”

“who said we didn’t like you?” barty asks sternly and evan’s almost ramble is cut short as he looks at barty dumbfounded before turning his gaze to look at you as if to ask ‘did you just hear what your boyfriend just said or am i going insane?’ to which you look pointedly at him.

“well?” you prompt with a quirked brow, still somewhat shaking from the fear bubbling under your skin.

“well- i mean- nobody? but it’s implied when two people are in a committed relationship that they’re not really on the market anymore-“ evan starts before you butt in,“we’re not.”

you say helpfully before evan nods in acquiescence, “see!-so you would never-!”

“that doesn’t include you love” barty says with a huff, but you can tell by his voice there’s a small smile on his face as he watches evan struggle to come to terms with what your boyfriend is saying.

“you-? you two- want me?!” he asks, eyes widening and posture tensing. barty and you turn to each other with shared smiles before you turn to evan with a small shrug with a grin blooming over your face, “always have” you admit shyly and watch as evan blanches.

“uh-“ evan looks between the two of you, speechless.

“i’m going to walk up to you now love, i’d appreciate it if you’d let me hug you love, because if you don’t it might just break my heart” barty jokes with smirk before taking slow and cautious steps towards evan’s figure in the corner of the dorm.

evan allows himself to be comforted by the familiarity of barty’s arms around him, he melts into the hug as he exhales a breath of relief. he opens his eyes to meet your gaze behind barty’s back as you watch the two of them with a gentle smile on your face.

evan taps barty’s shoulder in a gentle touch to ask if he can let him go, barty pulls away slowly before looking into evan’s gaze, “i’m not good with communicating what i want, for that i’m sorry, but as far as i’ve been concerned, you’ve been mine since fourth year.” barty admits with heat in his gaze and evan’s mouth drops open as the other boy pulls away nonchalantly and walks back over to his bed on the other side of the dorm.

“you like me” evan states dumbly as he looks at you and you can’t help but have a small laugh at his expense before walking over to him in less cautious steps in comparison to barty, “seems so” you murmur as you stand in front of him with a small smile, letting him have the freedom to make the first move, should he choose to.

he blows out a breath before nodding and placing a hand on your cheek as he gazes into your eyes with adoration, leaning down and pressing his forehead to yours. he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before you’re pulled into a comforting embrace. you slowly wrap your arms around his waist.

you both stand in a comfortable silence before barty’s voice breaks the silence, “can you two come and do that on the bed before i go and complain to regulus about being neglected?” he complains from the middle of his bed.

you two pull away and share a humorous glance before you walk hand in hand to his bed.

[quinzzelx]

Steamy Pages

Azriel x Fem! Rhys Sister! Reader

A series of connected Oneshots. Read Paramour here

Summary: In the House of Wind's library, Azriel catches you reading a steamy novel, leading to a secret and passionate encounter.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Smut, 18!+, Oral fem!Receiving, PnV, dirty talk, Not proof-read yet

A/N: Somehow, I always end up writing smut instead of my fluffy or angsty WIP's. But I have so many things that I'm currently working on, which I only want to be perfect & as of right now, I don't feel up to the task :( I hate to keep you guys waiting- but I really have writers' block for some of my stuff right now and all I'm able to do is smut somehow lmao... I also need a name for this series of connected Oneshots. ☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

As you sat in the House of Wind's library, engrossed in a book, a figure appeared in the corner of your eye. Azriel. For the past few weeks, Azriel and you had been falling into and out of each other's beds. Ever since that fateful night at Rita's where the thin line you both had been tiptoeing around was finally crossed after drunkenly stumbling back home. Rhys, your brother, was out that day, Mor had left with someone, and Cassian was at the camps, leaving just the two of you to find your way back. Something was different that night, and one thing led to another. A blush crept onto your cheeks at the mere thought of that heat-filled, steamy night.

Now, you sat in the library reading. Azriel entered silently, watching you curled up on the lounge chair before the hearth, a book in your hand. He had been away for a few days, and seeing you here stirred something deep within him. Fully immersed in your novel, you didn't hear the silent steps of the Shadowsinger as he approached. The characters in your book were finally confessing their love for each other, and as the scene grew steamy, a deeper blush spread across your face, your heart rate picking up.

He stopped beside the chair and leaned down to watch the words you read, his breath brushing your cheek. A low growl escaped him as he read aloud, "My legs trembled as his fingers traced invisible patterns on the inside of my thighs, venturing further up, up, up. I felt his all-consuming presence enveloping me, and as his fingers brushed against my awaiting heat, softly caressing my cunt over the thin fabric of my lacy underwear..."

You flinched, yelping at the sudden intrusion, snapping your head in his direction. Your face heated unbelievably at what was happening. Embarrassed, you tried to snap the book shut, but he swiftly snatched it out of your hands.

"Azriel, stop!" you whined, trying to reach for the book in utter mortification.

He smirked at your discomfort and slowly flipped the book open, his finger trailing over the page as he read. "With a primal growl, he buried his face between my thighs, his tongue eagerly tasting me through the thin fabric." Scrambling to your knees on the sofa, you threw the blanket you were nestled in to the ground, fumbling to reach the book. Even your pointed ears turned a shade of dark red. "Az, please stop reading!" you swallowed hard, trying to pry the book from his hands again.

He chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on the book. The room seemed to grow warmer as he leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Why? Are you enjoying this?"

You huffed in annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest, staring up at his towering form. Your face was perfectly lined up with his crotch. Your eyes narrowed. "Obviously not," you lied, trying to keep your face straight, hoping the scent of your arousal wasn't that strong.

His lips twitched as he caught your lie. He tilted your chin up just enough to make eye contact before he brought the book up slightly, still holding onto it, the description obscene. "I don't think I believe you."

Your heartbeat picked up, his touch lighting a fire inside of you. "That's not my problem now, is it, Shadowsinger?" you tried to fake nonchalance, but your heated skin and subtle glance at the book betrayed your true feelings.

He smirked, his eyes filled with mischief as he watched you, his free hand coming to your cheek to trace it with the pad of his thumb. "Careful, princess, you're giving yourself away." Subconsciously, you closed your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his touch. Your breath hitched when he continued to read the absolute filth of the book aloud.

"His tongue dragged over my clothed cunt as he grunted at the feeling of my arousal-drenched panties." He raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his beautiful lips as he skimmed the page further before continuing to read aloud. "Oh, very interesting. My orgasm shattered me, crashing over me like a tidal wave as his fingers worked their way over my swollen clit. His tongue lapping at every bit of my arousal."

"You seem to be enjoying my reading, princess." His hand trailed down from your face, stopping at the curve of your neck. His thumb brushed back and forth over the tender skin there, feeling the pulse quicken under his touch. Your breath caught in your throat, lungs suddenly empty of any air. Heat crawled up your body, and your skin felt like it was burning. "I was also enjoying reading my book before you strolled in here and interrupted me so rudely." His low chuckle rumbled through the room, and he leaned in closer, the added heat from his body enveloping you. "Rude, was I now?" His thumb slipped lower, tracing a line down from your collarbone to the valley of your cleavage.

"Azriel," you said his name, meant as a warning, but the quivering in your voice made it sound more like a plea. His eyes sharpened, jaw ticking as a low sound, something like a growl, slipped past his lips.

"Say my name like that again, and I will fuck you right into the cushions of this couch until you're screaming it for the whole house to hear," he said, voice low and husky but calm and collected. Your eyes widened, and molten lava pooled between your legs. "You have no idea what kind of thoughts you're provoking, princess."

His thumb slipped inside the neckline of your dress, grazing the soft skin of your breast. "Maybe I should give you a taste of what you're asking for, what you're so innocently reading." You closed your eyes, gasping when his fingers dipped lower, skimming across your hardening nipple. You whimpered at the touch, exhaling sharply, one of your hands wandering to wrap around the wrist of his hand that was currently groping at your chest, squeezing your breast in his big hand.

A wicked grin formed at the corners of his mouth, enjoying both your reaction and your desperation for him. He leaned closer, whispering in your ear with hot, fiery breath as he continued teasing you. "Do you want me to fuck you, princess?"

Every bit of restraint you wanted to keep snapped as you surged forward. Now, with his face so close to yours as he hovered so close, you crashed your lips into his, capturing him in a searing kiss. Tangling your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you, you heard the book drop to the ground, his now free hand rushing to your hip, squeezing it. He growled into your mouth. Pain struck you shortly as he squeezed your breast harshly again, pinching your pebbled nipple.

"Azriel, fuck," you moaned into his mouth, into the kiss, teeth and tongue fighting for dominance. "I don't want you to just fuck me; I need you to completely unravel me."

The kiss was scorching, burning through Azriel's soul and body, igniting a wildfire of desire that almost made him gasp. He snarled against your lips, a primal, possessive sort of sound, his fingers tightening on your hip as you pulled him closer. You pulled him even closer, and with his legs already leaned against the armrest of the sofa, he toppled over. The huge Illyrian male crashing into your body as you also fell back. But the kiss never broke as he now lay on top of you, grunting and starting to kiss down your neck, nipping and licking at your heated flesh. You whined and tugged at his hair as his hand kneading your breast slipped up to tug down your dress, making your breast spill out. He wasted no time exploring the newly exposed skin, biting and kissing over your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of you, his tongue swirling over your nipple before sucking it harder into his mouth. His hand trailed down your body, slipping under the fabric of your dress, inching higher until his fingers brushed against your wet core.

"Gods above," you huffed, trying to regain some composure. You pulled at his hair, making him release your nipple with a pop and tilt his head to look at you. The sight of his face made your pussy throb—his dark curls messy and falling into his eyes, hazel swirling with darkness, pupils blown wide with lust, cheeks flushed, and lips glinting with saliva. Realizing you were staring, you groaned. "Fuck, why are you so gorgeous?"

The sound of your almost breathless voice had Azriel smirking, his eyes flashing dangerously when you cursed. "Are you trying to flatter me?"

You rolled your eyes, giving his hair a playful tug. "Gorgeous but a little too cocky for my taste." You mirrored his smirk, biting your bottom lip as you imagined how he'd pound into you, how his fingers would feel inside you. Both his hands sneaked down your torso, coming to rest just above your knees where your summer dress had already bunched up. He gathered it in his hands, maintaining eye contact, and slowly inched the dress up your legs, kissing the newly exposed skin.

"Az, what are you—" you started to ask, but he cut you off.

"We've been fucking all these weeks and I didn't get to taste that pretty little cunt yet," he said, fabric bunching around your hips now, his hot tongue leaving a wet trail on your inner thigh. "And I'm planning on changing that."

Azriel chuckled softly against your skin, the sound vibrating against your thigh as he continued to move his lips further up. His possessive hand on your waist tightened slightly as his mouth finally found the heat of your core, tongue lapping at your clit through the thin lace of your panties.

Your hips bucked in surprise as he softly nibbled on your clit through the lace of your thong. You squeezed your eyes shut at the feeling, your chest heaving, your left hand grabbing onto the cushions, fingers immediately digging into them. Azriel smirked against you, fingers hooking into your panties and tugging them downwards, revealing the smoothness of your bare sex. He groaned softly, almost unnoticeably, hands moving to spread you open for him.

You whined when he pulled apart your legs, your cheeks heating under his intense stare as he seemed to commit the sight of your glistening cunt to memory. "Gods, you have such a pretty pussy," he groaned. You wanted to scream when he dragged his tongue through your folds, from your entrance to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Your back arched as you gasped.

He hummed against your swollen folds, the vibration making you quake underneath him. His tongue was lethal, and he knew it. He had always wondered if you tasted as sweet as he had imagined, and now he knew the answer was a resounding yes. A sinful moan ripped from your throat when he dove in deeper, prodding his tongue at your entrance and lapping up your arousal, burying his face in your cunt, his nose brushing against your clit. Your toes curled as ripples of pleasure shot down your spine. He moaned into your pussy, tongue delving deeper as he feasted on you, the sound of your moans spurring him on. With one arm wrapped around your thigh, his fingers dug into your flesh possessively. Cauldron, he wanted to drown in your cunt.

"You taste like the sweetest temptation, Princess," he growled into you. "So fucking delicious."

Your other hand, the one not holding onto the sofa for dear life, tangled in his hair again, tugging and pushing him closer into your heat. "Yes, make me cum on your pretty face," you whined.

"Beg for me, Princess," he said, his words muffled by your folds. His tongue lashed out against your clit, teasing mercilessly. With each flick of his tongue, you grew more desperate, your hold on his hair tightening.

You didn't feel like fighting, so you yielded to him, to his will. "Please," you whimpered. "Please, Az, make me cum with your tongue." Every word left you as a whining moan, grinding your hips and your cunt into his face. "Oh, please let me cum all over your pretty face."

Smirking to himself, Azriel obeyed your command. His tongue plunged deeper into your cunt, greedily drinking up your arousal. His fingers continued their assault on your thigh, squeezing and possessing in equal measure. You're mine, he whispered silently.

You cursed under your breath, eyes fixed on the Shadowsinger buried between your legs, feasting on you like a starved male, as if your pussy was his favorite meal. You gasped when his nose pressed into your clit as he basically made out with your cunt. Fuck, if he hadn't ruined you for other males before, he sure did now. The way you watched him between your legs only spurred Azriel on, his hands reaching upward to grasp your hips and force you harder against his hungry mouth. He reveled in the gasps, the desperate sounds leaving your mouth. He owned them now.

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten. "So close," you slurred, desire and lust overwhelming your senses as all you could do was feel. Feel his tongue exploring your pulsing cunt, mapping it out like you once did with the night sky when you were younger.

A low growl vibrated against your pussy as Azriel felt you close to the edge. His hands gripped harder at your hips, keeping you immobile as he continued his relentless assault. He wanted to feel your orgasm shudder through your body and echo against his lips.

With a harsh suck on your sensitive bud, the dam broke, and your release came crashing over you with such force that you saw nothing but white, gasping for air. He maintained his hold on your hips, not letting you escape the intensity of your own orgasm. As you came back down to earth, he released you and gently kissed your sensitive folds before lifting his head, lips curved into a smug smile.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw him gazing at you, your chest heaving with heavy breaths. "That... That was unbelievable," you stated with a shaky voice, swallowing heavily.

He hummed as he crawled back up your body, dress still bunched around your hips, leaving your core exposed. "I am glad to have left you speechless, love," he murmured, positioning himself over you and brushing your hair away from your face. His gaze held a heated intensity that sent shivers down your spine as he lowered his head and captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and you were so lost in it, so lost in the passion, that you didn't notice how he freed his glorious length. You only noticed when his glistening head pressed into your inner thigh.

You moaned into his mouth when he gave you a fake thrust of his hips, lubricating his cock with your arousal. "You're so wet for me, love," he murmured, breaking the kiss and trailing his lips down your jawline to your collarbone. He continued to tease you, rocking his hips and letting his length glide against your folds. "Fuck me already," you gasped as his cock grazed your sensitive clit again.

"Ah ah, patience," he whispered, a sly smile playing on his lips. He slowly teased your entrance, letting the head of his cock slip inside before pulling back out. Whining, you tried to meet his hips with yours, trying to get him to sheathe himself inside of you fully, your arousal surely dripping onto the couch cushions by now.

"Oh no, we can't have that now, can we?" he said, finally giving in and thrusting into you with one swift motion. He gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he began to move inside you. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

You screamed out when he set a relentless pace, hips pistoning into you. He stretched you out, his cock reaching places no one had ever reached before, splitting you open. But it hurt so good, as if you were made for him, fitting perfectly around every delicious inch of him. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're so fucking tight, so perfect around me," he grunted, the sound primal and full of lust. He continued to pound into you, the couch moving slightly from the force of his thrusts.

You screamed out his name when the head of his cock hit your cervix repeatedly. He shifted and grabbed your ass with both hands, lifting you up slightly, and you automatically wrapped your legs around his hips, giving him better access. "Fuck, yes," he groaned low in his throat, his rhythm picking up once more as he pushed deeper into you. With each thrust of his hips, he ground against you hard, and the friction was nearly enough to make your eyes roll back into your head.

"Yes, yes, fuck me, tear me apart, Azriel," you gasped, chanting praise and urging him on. "You fill me up so good." He growled low in his throat, his thrusts becoming wilder and more unhinged. "Your pussy was made for me to dominate and destroy. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes!" you nodded, whining and writhing beneath him, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Please." As you begged, Azriel grinned down at you, his eyes gleaming with pride and a hint of sadism. He obliged, picking up his pace and slamming into you with almost brutal force. His fingers dug into the skin of your ass, leaving bruises in their wake. "I own that pretty little cunt, don't I?" he snarled, eyebrows pinched as he fucked into you."Yes. Yours, it belongs to you," you panted.

"You're so fucking tight and perfect. I could do this all day and never tire of it," he groaned, fucking you harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, blending with your desperate moans.

"What's stopping you?" you mewled, bouncing back the question. "Because of my brother? Because my brother, your High Lord, is also your best friend? Because you don't want him to know that you're fucking his little sister?"

"Fuck, you are a brat," he growled. His hand quickly snapped up from your ass to grip your chin, tilting your head back. "You want me to keep fucking you?" When you whimpered, he gave you a mocking laugh. "Thought so. Then you better behave." You whimpered again, nodding as best you could with his firm grip on your chin. Azriel's smirk grew, a dark promise in his eyes. He released your chin only to grip your hips with both hands, pulling you against him with each powerful thrust. "Good girl," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "You know how to behave for me, don't you?"

"Yes, Azriel," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you. "I'll be good for you."He grunted in approval, his pace unrelenting. The relentless rhythm had you teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body igniting with pleasure. His cock hit all the right spots, and the room filled with the symphony of your moans and his growls.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you whimpered, the words tumbling out between gasps. "Only yours, Azriel."

His response was a deep, satisfied groan, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove deeper. The intensity of his thrusts had you crying out his name, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. "Cum for me," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you cum around my cock."

The demand pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that left you breathless. You cried out his name, your body tightening around him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Azriel didn't relent, prolonging your ecstasy with each precise, powerful thrust. He watched you intently, reveling in the sight of your pleasure. As you came down from your high, he let out a low growl, his own release nearing.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his pace becoming erratic. "I'm going to fill you up, make you mine in every way."

You moaned at his words, your body still trembling as you felt him tense. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his release flooding your senses. He groaned your name, his hands gripping your hips as he rode out his orgasm.

As the intensity subsided, he collapsed on top of you, his breaths ragged and hot against your skin. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both caught your breath.

Azriel lifted his head, his gaze softening as he looked into your eyes. "You drive me crazy, you know that?" he whispered, a tender smile playing on his lips.

You smiled back, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Good," you teased lightly, your voice still breathless. "Because you do the same to me."

He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he murmured, his tone filled with affection. As you basked in the afterglow, enjoying the closeness of Azriel's embrace, a sudden shout pierced the air, causing you both to freeze.

"Where are you, you sneaky bastard?" Cassian's voice echoed through the library, filled with mischief and determination. Panic surged through you, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you realized the precariousness of your situation. With a frantic glance at Azriel, you both sprang into action, scrambling to compose yourselves and hide the evidence of your tryst.

Azriel's eyes widened with urgency as he helped you straighten your disheveled dress, his movements quick and efficient. You shared a silent, desperate exchange, a mix of amusement and apprehension flickering between you. With practiced ease, you both managed to arrange yourselves just in time, assuming casual positions as Cassian burst into the library, his grin widening as he caught sight of you.

"There you are," he exclaimed, bounding over to where you sat, completely unaware of the chaos that had just ensued. "I've been looking all over for you!" You exchanged a relieved glance with Azriel, a silent acknowledgment of the close call you had just narrowly avoided. As Cassian launched into animated conversation, his nose wrinkled slightly. "What is that smell?" he asked, glancing around with a confused expression.

You felt your cheeks heat, and you quickly deflected, grabbing a nearby book and fanning yourself as if trying to cool down. "Just some old library dust, Cass. You know how these books can get." Cassian shrugged, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "Yeah, I suppose. Anyway, Az, Rhys wants to talk to you about the latest mission." Azriel nodded, his face perfectly composed. "Of course, I'll head over now."

As Cassian turned to lead the way, Azriel caught your eye and sent you a sneaky smirk and a quick wink, making your heart flutter. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing, the thrill of your secret adding an extra layer of excitement. With a final smile, Azriel followed Cassian out of the library, leaving you to catch your breath and savor the memory of your passionate encounter.

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

Feedback is always appreciated and welcome. Also pls feel free to slide into my inbox and talk. I'd really enjoy building up their universe because I'm a sucker for Azriel x Rhys!Sister Reader. The whole dating your brother's best friend trope always gets me and I have soooo many headcanons for them already lol!!

[sagewritings]

Grace and Arrogance - James Beaufort x Fem!Reader

pairing: james beaufort x fem!reader

synopsis: amidst playful bickering, the dynamic between you and james transforms from turmoil to bliss when james sheds his facade of arrogance to reveal hidden admiration.

word count: 2.1k

warnings/tags: mentions of a car accident, fluff with james beaufort

a/n: hello everyone! it's been a while since my last post because i haven't really had any inspiration and time over the past months but after watching maxton hall last week, i just couldn't help but write! ! i wrote this in like an hour on my notes app so it may seem a bit rushed but that's okay :>

if you’d like to check out my other works, you can check the pinned post in my blog :>

i hope you’ll like this fic! happy reading!

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Being a regular visitor at the Beaufort estate has familiarized you with every corner of the house. Now, you have memorized every room and decoration, immediately spotting whatever is newly added. The Beauforts didn’t mind your presence, with your family being close friends of theirs.

But it was not the Beauforts' son who you were particularly fond of.

You were extremely close with Lydia, your best friend since childhood. Despite both of you coming from wealthy backgrounds, your upbringing was notably different. Your parents owned a chain of hotels and restaurants across Europe, but they insisted on raising you humbly, teaching you the value of hard work and modesty. This upbringing made you see through the arrogance often displayed by James, Lydia's brother.

James, with his confident smirk and air of superiority, was someone you couldn't stand. Your encounters often led to playful bickering, a routine everyone at Maxton Hall was familiar with. But behind your teasing, there was an underlying respect for each other, one neither of you would openly acknowledge.

One sunny afternoon, you found yourself in the Beauforts' expansive garden, your favorite place to unwind with Lydia. She was lounging on a chaise, flipping through a magazine, while you were engrossed in a novel. The peace was soon interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Well, well, what do we have here? The ladies of leisure," James's voice drawled, cutting through the tranquility.

You looked up, ready to retort. "And here comes the lord of arrogance. What do you want, James?"

James smirked, leaning against a nearby pillar. "Just enjoying the sunshine. Is that a crime?"

"Only if you're planning to cast a shadow over our peace," you shot back, not missing a beat.

Lydia chuckled from her seat. "You two are impossible. Can't you ever have a conversation without turning it into a fight?"

"It's not my fault your brother is insufferable," you said, closing your book and standing up to face James.

"Insufferable? That's a new one. What else do you think about me, Y/N?" James asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Do you really want to know?" you challenged, stepping closer.

"Absolutely," he replied, his gaze locking onto yours.

Before you could respond, Lydia interjected. "Okay, enough, both of you. Can't we just have one afternoon without the bickering?"

You glanced at Lydia, then back at James. "Fine. But only because Lydia asked."

James shrugged, a smug smile on his face. "Whatever you say, Y/N."

Despite your frequent clashes, there were moments when you couldn't deny James's charm. Like the time he helped you with a school project, his intelligence and wit shining through in a way that caught you off guard.

You were in the library, struggling with a particularly difficult economics assignment. The sound of approaching footsteps made you groan inwardly. Of course, it had to be him.

"Need help, Y/N?" James asked, looking over your shoulder.

"I can manage, thank you," you replied curtly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting you were stuck.

He pulled up a chair next to you anyway. "Let me see."

You sighed, sliding the paper towards him. "Fine. But no gloating."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said with a wink, scanning the problem. "Ah, I see the issue. You're overthinking it. Here, let me show you."

For the next hour, James patiently explained the concepts, his usual arrogance replaced with genuine enthusiasm for the subject. By the end of it, you had to admit he was a good teacher.

"Thanks, James," you said, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"Anytime, Y/N," he replied, his expression softening.

Despite these moments of truce, your dynamic remained largely unchanged. That is, until the day you stopped going to your classes in Maxton Hall without warning. Lydia knew the reason but couldn't divulge it due to your parents' wish for privacy. This secrecy, however, only fueled James's concern and curiosity. Despite your clashes, he had always admired your kindness and humility.

Days turned into weeks, and your absence left a noticeable void. James found himself more worried than he cared to admit. His irritation grew, not just because you were gone, but because Lydia refused to tell him why.

James sat in the library, his usual spot, staring at the empty chair across from him. It felt wrong not having you there to challenge him, to banter with him. The silence was suffocating.

"Where is she, Lydia?" James demanded, cornering his sister in the hallway.

"I can't tell you, James. It's not my place," Lydia replied, her expression firm yet sympathetic.

"You know something, and you're keeping it from me," he accused, frustration evident in his tone.

"Trust me, if I could, I would tell you. But I can't," Lydia insisted, turning away.

James ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "You don't understand, Lydia. I need to know she's okay."

"She is. That's all I can say," Lydia replied softly before walking away, leaving James standing there, his mind racing with worry.

He spent sleepless nights thinking about you, imagining the worst scenarios. Had something happened to you? Were you in trouble? Each passing day without any news felt like an eternity, and the worry gnawed at him incessantly.

The mystery was finally revealed during a dinner at the Beaufort estate. As you and Lydia's parents chatted, the conversation inadvertently turned to your family. James listened intently as they discussed the car accident that had left your father seriously injured. You had been absent to take over the family business in his stead, juggling the responsibilities of an heir with the pressures of high school.

"It was such a terrible accident," your mother said, her voice tinged with worry. "He was lucky to survive, but the recovery process has been grueling."

James's heart sank as he listened. The image of you, strong and resilient, dealing with such a massive burden alone, tugged at his heartstrings.

"Y/N has been amazing," your father added, his voice filled with pride and concern. "She's stepped up in ways we never imagined, taking on the business and keeping things running smoothly."

Lydia's parents nodded sympathetically. "She truly is remarkable. We can't imagine the pressure she's under."

James felt a pang of guilt and a surge of determination. He admired you even more for handling such immense pressure with grace. The next day, he decided to visit you.

You were in the midst of preparing for a business meeting when James arrived at your house. The sight of him surprised you, and your initial reaction was to push him away.

"James, I don't have time for this," you said, frustration evident in your voice as you shuffled through papers.

"I'm not here to argue," he replied, stepping closer. "I'm here to help."

You looked up, skepticism in your eyes. "Help? How?"

"I know how to run a business. Let me support you," he offered, sincerity in his voice.

You hesitated, the weight of your responsibilities making you wary. But the genuine concern in his eyes made you relent.

"Fine. But don't think this means I like you," you muttered, turning back to your work.

James chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He stepped forward, his presence steadying you as you felt the weight of everything crashing down. You fought back tears of exhaustion, the stress overwhelming you.

"Y/N, let me take some of this off your shoulders," James said gently, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

"I… I don't know if I can trust you," you admitted, your voice trembling. "You've always been so… unserious."

James's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. "I get it. I've been a jerk, but I care about you. More than I let on."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. "Why now, James?"

"Because I admire you. Your strength, your kindness. You're handling all of this with such grace, and I want to help you. Please, let me," he pleaded.

Your defenses crumbled, the exhaustion and stress finally taking their toll. "Okay," you whispered, the word carrying the weight of your vulnerability.

James stepped closer, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else, to share the burden.

Over the next few days, James proved to be an invaluable ally. His expertise in business management eased your burden, allowing you to balance school and work more effectively. The more you worked together, the more you saw a different side of him—one that was caring and dependable.

James took on tasks with a surprising efficiency, his usual arrogance replaced with a dedication that impressed you. He handled meetings, reviewed contracts, and even helped streamline operations, all while providing a steady source of support and encouragement.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you both found yourselves sitting in the garden, the stars twinkling above.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" James asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You laughed softly. "How could I forget? You spilled juice all over my dress."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I was so nervous. I wanted to make a good impression, and I ended up making a mess."

"I thought you were a spoiled brat," you admitted, smiling at the memory.

"And now?" he asked, his gaze locking onto yours.

"Now, I see someone who cares deeply about his family and friends. Someone who hides his true self behind a facade of arrogance," you said softly.

James's expression turned serious. "And I see someone who is incredibly strong, even when faced with immense challenges. Someone who inspires me to be better."

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity. Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, but quickly deepened as you both poured all your unspoken feelings into it.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you met his gaze and saw the same vulnerability mirrored in his eyes.

"I've liked you for a long time, Y/N," James admitted. "I just didn't know how to tell you."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I guess I like you too, James. Even if you are insufferable sometimes."

He laughed, pulling you into another kiss. The garden seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

The days turned into weeks, and with James's help, you managed to stabilize your family's business. His presence became a constant source of support and comfort, and your feelings for him began to shift.

Returning to Maxton Hall, you and James surprised everyone with your newfound camaraderie. The playful bickering was replaced by a growing closeness that neither of you could ignore.

The fundraiser ball at Maxton Hall was an annual event where everyone dressed in Victorian-era attire. This year, you and James were assigned to fix the lights, a task that allowed for a rare moment of privacy.

"Careful with that, Y/N," James warned as you reached for a particularly tricky bulb.

"I've got it," you insisted, balancing precariously on a ladder.

James steadied the ladder, his hands brushing against yours as he helped you with the light. The proximity made your heart race, a tension building between you that neither could ignore.

As the last bulb clicked into place, you turned to thank him, only to find him closer than expected. His eyes locked onto yours, the air thick with unspoken feelings.

"James…" you began, but he silenced you with a gentle touch to your cheek.

"I admire you, Y/N. More than you'll ever know," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a tender kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you met his gaze and saw the same vulnerability mirrored in his eyes.

"Can we try this?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

James smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I'd like that very much."

As the evening wore on, the lights you and James had fixed illuminated the grand hall, casting a warm glow over the attendees. You stood together, hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[cherrixpie]

Hiiiii I’m so so excited for your requests being open!!! Also CONGRATS ON 300!!!!!!! so deserved.

If it’s alright, may I please req an Enzo fic or headcanon list where reader is like very day dreamy? Like very head in the clouds type of person, preferably Ravenclaw!reader? Anything else is up to you

Thank you so so much for reading my req, and happy new year!

↬ enzo x dreamy!ravenclaw!reader

( masterlist )

I imagine your first encounter being when you ran into him in the corridors one day, completely caught up in one of your vivid daydreams, when you, not for the first time (that day) run straight into someone.

You apologize profusely to the pretty slytherin boy you ran into, his cute smile only worsening your embarrassment.

Despite being in the same grade, you only know so much as a last name about him. Your friend groups have no overlap at all, you barely have any classes together and you have a hard time concentrating in those, so you had never greatly noticed a lot of things about him.

Like how cute and radiant his smile is. How good you could drown in those brown eyes of his. How gentle his hands are, even when he's picking up old schoolbooks. His dimples. His smooth voice. How kind he is, despite you staring at him for a good minute, completely lost in thought (and his eyes)

You are awkward and stutter a lot, but Enzo thinks it's cute. Though he does recommend you see Madam Pomphrey for advice in case you need glasses. At this, you explain your habit of daydreaming, feeling embarrassed, but he only comments how this must be the creative spirit of Ravenclaw

Ever since then, you can't help but notice him more often. You tend to wake out of your daydreams in class whenever Enzo says something, and you notice that he's a good student and almost always right.

You also notice a lot of other things. How he crouches down to pet every cat that crosses his path. How he seems to be Mattheo Riddle’s cooling down pill. That he tends to spill ink on his fingers from writing so fast and proceeds to clean them with a silken handkerchief.

The next time you properly meet is in Hogsmeade’s book store. The Hogwarts library doesn't have many novels and even less muggle books, so you get your supply from Hogsmeade. You run into each other in the muggle section, greeting each other shyly and you somehow find yourself recommending a book.

You thought that would be the end of it, even though your thoughts sometimes slip away to a parallel universe where you could spend more time drowning in those brown eyes. But it isn't.

Only a week later, Enzo calls out to you after class (he has to call your name several times), running up to you and thanking you for the recommendation. Since books are one of the few things you can actually concentrate on, you end up discussing the novel with him in great detail.

That evening in the library, Enzo comes to sit next to you at your usual desk. You realize you can keep your mind on school stuff much better when he's around, somehow. But over your hopeless pining, you tend to miss the flush of his cheeks and flustered expression whenever you accidentally touch hands or you talk passionately about a book.

His friends start noticing that he hangs out with that one Ravenclaw girl that always seems a thousand miles away recently, especially when he starts walking you to classes you have together instead of going with them.

They tease Enzo for falling for someone who's got their heads in the clouds all the time, for ditching them for the quiet mooncalf ravenclaw girl in their grade, but he only scoffs about their teasing remarks and smiles to himself, making them holler with glee.

It took a while for you two to actually cross your platonic boundaries, though. Mainly because his attempts and nudges went right over your oblivious head and you stocked up all signs to your amorous daydreams. Enzo couldn't possibly like you like that, right? It had to be a fickle of your imagination.

Little did you know that Enzo was growing quite desperate as time went on and you failed to pick up on any of his hints. Or did you, and ignored them because you weren't interested in him romantically?

He had one or two smaller breakdowns with his friends who kept reassuring him that he just had to man up and ask you out.

When he finally did, you spaced out for a good few seconds, making him sweat with increasing unrest. When you finally got your mind back, you agreed enthusiastically, stumbling over your words and blushing furiously. Enzo was beyond relieved.

As your boyfriend, Enzo insists on walking you to every class, even those you don't have together, because your daydreaming not only makes you knock into people, objects or walls, but your sparse concentrations on your surroundings (he is the exception) makes you prone to fall for trick steps, false doors or moving stairs.

Enzo loves to listen to you talk. When you trail off in the middle of a sentence, fall silent and stare into space for a while, he waits patiently, caressing your thigh in gentle brushes and waiting for you to return to him.

Sometimes he will ask you to tell him about his daydreams, and when you do, you compliments your creativity and kisses away your embarrassment.

It's much easier to concentrate with Enzo around since his presence alone has the effect that it draws your attention, therefore anchoring you in the present. Especially effective is his touch, though he is a little shy about that.

Enzo would frown and glare at anyone who laughs about you behind your back, even if you tell him it doesn't bother you. If people tease you badly to the point of hurting you, he will call up his friends.

Is that… Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott beating up the Gryffindor guy that made fun of you? No, no, darling, don't look at that, just walk with me, yeah?

Enzo calls you his dreamy girl, affectionately referring to you as “dreamy” in general.

He makes sure to write extra orderly when he takes notes in class so they can be of use to you later in case you spaced out in class. When you study together, he always makes sure you drink enough because you tend to forget taking proper care of yourself sometimes.

If the hustle and bustle of school life makes you shifty and nervous, he looks for an empty classroom for the two of you to sit and talk, or lean into each other in silence while runs his fingers through your hair.

You are nervous around his friends, but once they realized how serious Enzo was about you, they have stopped teasing him (so much). Instead, they (at least some of them) make an effort to make you feel welcome (and maybe even making up for bullying you in the past pshhh)

Enzo is absolutely enamored with you and your endearing habits, and he feels honored by your trust. While you could get lost in daydreams for hours, he could spend an eternity being lost in you.

[orbweaverspidergirl]

Can I request a platonic bat family x reader with a reader who is a massive bookworm and really shy but they want to get closer to them

Bookworm Reader - Platonic Batfam

A/N: This is a lovely ask, and I loved working on it! I hope it lived up to what you wanted, and if not send me another and I'll fix it! Thank you so much for requesting and my inbox is open.

Bruce took you in when you were thirteen. Other than Damian, you were his only biological child. Your mother had passed, and Bruce had taken you in. At first, you kept to yourself, not because you disliked any of them, but because you were simply shy. In your eyes, you just thought it was better for you to keep to yourself and your books. At least, that’s what you intended. 

Dick

Dick made you quake in your introvert boots. 

He was extremely outgoing, and while you enjoyed his company, he definitely unnerved you. 

He knew you were shy, and so he tried to tone it down some, but he struggled with it, so it took a while for you guys to truly get close.

He wanted to get to know you better, as a sister and a friend, and so when he found out you liked books, he would try his best to relate to you with them.

While he preferred comics to novels, he would let you read to him if it meant the two of you could hang out.

While he could sometimes overwhelm you, he tried his best, and you were glad the two of you became siblings. 

Jason

Jason was the first person in the Wayne household to truly crack you out of your shell.

Originally, neither of you had strong feelings for each other. He viewed you as another victim of Bruce’s nefarious past choices (when he was getting freaky) and you were simply just too shy to interact with him.

That was, until you both bumped into each other at the manor’s library. 

You were on the same isle, romance. At first, it was awkward, and you two would ignore each other.

But the two of you would meet up by accident so often that you would give book recommendations to each other.

You enjoyed hanging out with him because you didn't have to worry about being social.

You both would plan hangouts and would just silently read with one another. 

Tim

You and Tim got along surprisingly well.

It was hard at first to truly get to know him because he was so reclusive and was often shut in his room. 

But the two of you were similar in the sense where you enjoyed being on your own, but you still wished to have a connection with your older brother.

You found out he read online novels after you went on a nightly incursion through the house and the two of you hit it off as he was waiting for more coffee.

He would often read online novels because it was just easier, and sometimes he would read fanfictions.

So, in your few interactions the two of you would rant about what you read, and you both would analyze the fanfiction together.

As time went on, a way both of you would hang out was by reading in his room while he worked, or y’all would yap about books in the middle of the night together. 

Damian

Since you and Damian were very close in age, you thought you would get alone far better than with the others.

But he was extremely standoffish and rude, so you shied away from him more than you usually would.

However, he himself was a reader, and he would reluctantly offer you recommendations. 

You began to do the same, and even though he made it seem like it was a bother, he would come back to you and give you a review of the book.

He would often mock what you read, but you learned soon enough that his bark had no bite.