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junovrsmp4 · 10 months ago

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three is not a crowd

5 times Chris walks in on you and Matt fucking + 1 time he gets to join in on the fun

pairing: established!matt x reader, chris x reader, matt x reader x chris

summary: what it says on the tin basically

warnings: THREESOME, PURE FILTH, dick riding, oral (female & male receiving), teasing, edging, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, p in v, slight degradation/praising, slight angst, happy ending yay

word count: 6.9K

author’s note: im a whore for both of them. that is all. (also this has plot, and is mostly beta read but i havent slept in hrs so if some mistakes did slip thru my bad

“Hey Matt, have you seen my-” Chris begins to ask as he pushes Matt’s bedroom door open, expecting his brother to either be lazing around in bed or be at his desk, gaming.

What he doesn't expect is the sight he is instead greeted by, of you, Matt’s girlfriend of the last year and a half, astride Matt’s lap, riding his dick while he leans against his headboard, head thrown back and hands grabbing your hips, guiding you, slowly.

Chris is shocked, understandably, and he should just turn around and book it. Instead, he stands frozen, watching the way your head is nestled into the crook of Matt’s neck, your shoulders shaking. If Chris ignores the sound of his own pounding heart, he can almost hear the soft whimpers you’re letting out at each downward thrust of your hips.

At the sound of a soft, deep groan, Chris’ attention shifts to Matt, who has his eyes shut, and his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. There’s something surreal about this scene, seeing Matt, who looks nothing like Chris, but also looks the most like him, fucking this beautiful girl who’s been on his mind for months now.

“Matt…,” he hears you whine loudly against his brother’s neck, and Chris has to grit his teeth, fight against the urge to shove his hands into his pants and fist his growing erection. This shouldn't turn him on so much, hell, he shouldn't even be here right now. He should have run in the opposite direction as soon as he realized what he’d walked in on, but he’s mesmerized by the way you move, your back arching as your hips move back and forth. The slow, sensual, almost hypnotic, movements of your body as you ride Matt’s dick has him clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms and it’s easy to imagine him in Matt’s place as he gets this view of what it might look like to fuck you. Your moans grow louder, and Chris thinks it might be because you’re getting close, and god, he feels so hot underneath his skin.

“Shh baby, didn't you say we needed to be quiet?” Matt whispers against the side of your head. “Can’t have Chris hearing us, can we?”

At the sound of his name, Chris’ heart hammers faster, and he looks up at Matt’s face, only to see that his brother’s gaze was already on him, watching him with a slight smirk before thrusting his hips up, presumably driving his cock deeper into you, making you moan even louder than you already were.

Breaking out of his stupor, Chris stumbles backwards before hightailing it to his room, slamming the door behind him. It takes all of five seconds for him to get his cock out of his sweatpants, furiously jerking off as he leans against his door, biting into the hem of his t-shirt that he’d pulled up over his chest, and only another five seconds before he shoots his cum all over himself.

Chris knows its wrong, wanting his brother's girl. This was never a problem before, because any time he found out Matt liked someone, Chris immediately lost interest. It was the brothers’ code; they never fought over girls, and besides, they always just liked different ones.

You, though…it was hard not to like you, even after he found out Matt had his eyes on you.

Chris remembers the first time he met you, how nice you’d been to him and his brothers, how easily you’d fit into their lives. He’s not going to lie and say he’d wanted you right from the start. It was a gradual thing, slowly creeping up on him before he realized what had gotten him.

You just made him feel so comfortable, and surprisingly, the two of you had a lot in common. But then again, you had a lot in common with Matt, and Nick. And yet, you were so different. You were smart, playful, and so, so kind. You were just the right amount of goofy and serious, and you just, fit well into the dynamic Chris and his brothers shared.

It shouldn't have surprised him when Matt eventually told him and Nick that he was into you and planned to ask you out. It all happened so quickly after that. You and Matt had gotten together and, now you weren't just the new friend that Chris and his brothers were always hanging out with, but his brother's (his brother who was also his best friend, really) girlfriend.

Which is why Chris knows it’s fucked up. Wanting you. And he knows it’s even more fucked up that he wishes he could have a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago when he accidentally walked in on you and Matt. The amount of times he’s jacked off to that memory alone the past few nights is insane, his mind supplying images to create his own version of events where he doesn't run away.

Especially fucked up is the fact that Matt had seen him, had looked cocky that he’d caught Chris watching them, and even that fact hadn’t deterred Chris from chasing orgasm after orgasm to the thought of fucking you, imagining how tight and wet your pussy might be, what it might taste like.

Speaking of the fucker who seemed totally unfazed by recent events, Matt sat across Chris, scrolling through his phone, while Nick sat beside him, editing their latest video. Chris was trying his hardest not to flip the fuck out, but his whole nervous system seemed like it was fried. Nick had already yelled at him twice to stop moving so much because he was apparently jostling the table too much, and Matt had just let out a bemused chuckle without lifting his eyes from his phone the entire time.

Just as Chris was about to get up and retreat to him room, the doorbell rings, before Matt gets a series of texts.

“Oh, she’s here-” Matt says, before shooting out of his chair and rushing to great you at the front door.

“Hey, hey, hey!” your cheery voice rings through the hallway, as you and Matt make your way into the kitchen, and Chris almost chokes on the sip of Pepsi he’d just taken because holy fuck-

You were wearing a short, tight black dress that hugged the lines and curves of your body just right, the square neckline barely covering your chest. His eyes slipped further down to the way the fabric of the dress cinched at your waist, and to the slit at the side of the dress that came up to mid-thigh. That and the combination of tall strappy heels you had on made your legs look…really good. So good that Chris wishes he was between those legs, licking a path up your calf to your inner thighs, leaving bruising kisses to mar the smooth, unblemished skin of your legs, before finally, finally-

Nick hoots just then, exclaiming about how hot your fit looks, pulling Chris out of his daze. He watches as you bask in the compliments being showered onto you by both Nick and Matt now, and can't help but smile at the way you try to hide your blushing face.

So, it’s completely out of left field when he sees you again later that night, sitting on the couch with your hands covering your face but this time it’s to hide the loud moans that threaten to slip from your mouth as you watch Matt kneel in front of you, his mouth pressing kisses into your inner thighs…just like Chris had imagined doing earlier.

It’s ridiculous really, how Chris had been feeling slightly normal after dinner with you and his brothers, because as awkward as he may have been feeling about you and Matt, being around you and his brothers, having good food and just laughing about random shit made him feel really fucking good. Like everything was normal and he wasn't fantasizing about fucking his brother’s girlfriend. Like he hadn't accidentally walked in on them fucking.

Of course it’s just his fucking luck that as soon he’s feeling just that slightest bit of normalcy, he’d decided to go to the kitchen and grab a Pepsi from the fridge at 3 AM, only to find his brother about to eat you out on the couch.

“Matt-” you whine, as your back arches off the couch, one of your hands moving to grab Matt’s hair, the other trying and failing to hold back your moans. “Matt, please- nnggh- stop teasing.”

Chris feels all his blood rush down south and it leaves him lightheaded. The low lighting in the room accentuates the shadows of your body and he can see the muscles in your legs flex as your thighs clench around Matt’s head, trying to get him to move his mouth closer to where you want him. You’re not in the tight black dress he’d seen you in earlier, but in a blue baby tee and black lace-trimmed hipster briefs. There’s an almost imperceptible quiver that wracks through your entire body in anticipation for what’s to come.

Matt doesn't keep you waiting for long. Chris' breathing grows even more jagged as he watches Matt’s fingers push your panties to the side before he runs his tongue flat up your pussy. Chris can't see as much as he’d like to, but his overactive imagination does the job for him, imagining how wet you must be.

Chris feels like such a sick perv for still standing there, watching with wide eyes as Matt (his literal brother) enthusiastically licks and kisses your pussy, and he almost wonders how neither of you haven't noticed him yet. Then again, you and Matt seem so lost in each other, and now there’s another ugly thought circling Chris’ brain, one that makes his chest hurt a little.

He forgoes his Pepsi for the night and quietly returns back to his room, cock half-hard, and his heart just the slightest bit heavy.

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Nick asks him, while his eyes are still fixed on his phone.

He and Chris were sitting on the couch (Chris had been avoiding the section that you and Matt had used during your late night rendezvous), and Chris was idly flipping through his Netflix watch list.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Chris says with a heavy sigh, slumping further into the couch.

It’s quiet, and the silence makes Chris look up at Nick, who was already looking at him with a curious frown.

“Seriously, what the fuck is up with you?” Nick asks, and he actually looks concerned, which throws Chris off a bit. “You’re usually bouncing off the walls and annoying the shit out of everyone in your nearest vicinity, but lately you've just been, I don't know- I’m like actually worried, did something happen? Is everything okay?”

Chris swallows around the lump that had formed in his throat and takes a minute. To do what, he doesn't know. It’s not like he’s going to prepare himself to tell Nick what he’d witnessed, twice, and how he was feeling about it. Really, how does one go about telling their triplet brother that they’d accidentally witnessed their other brother in an intimate situation with said brother’s partner, not once, but twice, and had enjoyed it, to the point of having nightly fantasies about it?

There were more complicated feelings lurking just under the surface, more than just Chris wanting to fuck you, but he did not have the mental bandwidth to unpack all that, so that was that. It’s not like he had honest to god feelings-

“See, at this point, you would’ve been yapping away-” Nick says, interrupting his train of thought, “-but instead, you’re just sitting there, looking all sad and miserable.”

“Okay, I don't look sad and miserable,” Chris says with a roll of his eyes. At least, he hopes he doesn't. “I’m just tired dude. Haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“Right.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Didn't say you were lying,” Nick says, matter-of-factually, in that signature Nick tone that lets everyone know when he isn't buying their bullshit.

“I’m fine,” Chris says slowly, waiting for Nick to stop looking at him so intensely.

“Sure,” Nick drawls out. “You’re also a shitty liar.”

“Fuck you,” Chris grumbles, chucking the TV remote at Nick, who flails to try and dodge it, letting out an indignant squawk when it bounces off his shoulder and falls to the ground.

This, of course, results in Nick throwing whatever was closest to him at Chris, which happens to be an empty water bottle, and eventually they're just chucking it back and forth, cursing at each other in between laughter.

It’s the most relaxed Chris has felt in weeks.

Too bad you had to walk in at that exact moment.

“Hey guys!” you say cheerily, plopping down on the couch, next to Chris. You’d stayed over for a couple of nights now, as you usually do, and Chris should be extremely used to your presence, except he feels his skin prickle as soon as your close to him, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating off of your skin.

“God, how are you so chipper every morning?” Nick asks, shaking his head with a poorly hidden smile.

You twirl a strand of your hair around your finger, and bit the corner of your bottom lip. “It helps that I wake up to one of the hottest guys ever, and then get to hang out with his hot as fuck brothers,” you say with a smirk, waggling your eyebrows at Nick.

Chris wishes you hadn't just said that because now his mind wanders (more like sprints) to the memory of this morning, when he’d walked past Matt’s open bedroom. He’d heard the telltale sounds of skin slapping against skin, and your voice, whining Matt’s name over and over, which had him stopping right before Matt’s door, eyes wide, mouth agape. This couldn't be happening right? There was no way he’d walked into this situation for a third time.

Chris debates on whether he should just turn back around, go downstairs, out the front door, and bash his head against a tree, or if he should soldier on and just walk past to get to his room.

The sounds were getting to him. His cock strained against his grey sweatpants, creating a very obvious tent. His clothes suddenly felt a size too small, the air around him too thick, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead. He should leave, run far, far away from his house probably, but a sick part of him wants more than anything to see what’s got you moaning this time.

He rounds the corner and is met with a sight that almost has him falling to his knees.

It’s unfair, how incredibly gorgeous you look straddling Matt’s thighs, bouncing on his dick rhythmically, your head thrown back. You’re leaning back on your hands, supported on Matt’s knees, and Chris watches the way your body undulates as you swivel your hips, ribs flaring as your chest heaves. Every gasp you let out is a punch to Chris’ gut, leaving him feeling winded.

You’re so lost in the throes of pleasure that you don't hear when Chris groans out loud, but he knows exactly when Matt hears him, because his head rolls lazily towards him, his hands that had been grabbing your hips tightening, and there’s little to no warning before Matt’s flipping you over and thrusting into you with vigor.

“Does that feel good baby?” Chris hears Matt ask, his voice rough and low. “Tell me how good my dick makes you feel.”

“Fuck, so good, Matt- please, please, please-” your moans turning into whimpers as Matt’s thrust pick up in pace. Chris can tell exactly when Matt hits the bundle of nerves inside you that has you seeing stars because your back arches off his bed, hands scrambling to find purchase. Your fingers clench into the pillow above your head, as you beg Matt to go harder, faster.

Chris’ eyes bounce back to Matt, who’s watching you in awe, and he’s seen that look on his face numerous times before, like Matt can't get enough of you. Chris’ breath hitches, because he wishes it was him, in Matt’s place. Him, worshiping you, making you feel good. He wishes he was the one that was ripping those sounds out of you.

He catches Matt’s eyes just then, and Chris has never wanted to punch him in the face more than he does in that moment, because it almost feels like he’s mocking Chris.

See what I have, what you so desperately want…

Chris holds up a middle finger, directed at Matt and whatever god was up there who’d clearly forsaken him. He had half the mind to just yell but the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you. So with a scathing look at Matt, and a mouthed fuck you, he walks to his room, the sound of Matt’s laughter the last thing he hears before Chris angrily slams the door and sheds his clothes, pumping his cock to the memory of your voice.

It’s the hardest he’s cum all week.

Chris walks in on Matt pounding you against the wall leading to the garage. At this point, it had to be on purpose. The two of you had to be planning this, because how was it always Chris that ended up walking in on them, and not Nick? Knowing his brother, Nick would’ve gone around voicing his disgust at having caught you and Matt fucking, any chance he got.

So, it had to be on purpose.

Matt’s whispering dirty things in your ear, loud enough for Chris to hear every word.

“You’re so fucking pretty baby-”

“I want to ruin you, want you to feel me for days-”

“You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” and that has you letting out a particularly loud whine. The next bit Matt whispers into your ear is too inaudible for Chris to comprehend but he can tell how much it affects you, because you absolutely lose it just then.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“Can y’all stick to fucking in Matt’s bed?”

At the sound of Chris’ voice, you look up at him, startled, and it’s electrifying, your stare. Chris sees your eyebrows furrow, your lips, plump from being bitten (by yourself, or Matt, who cares at this point), fall open. Matt’s shoulders stiffen for a second, so Chris knows he’s aware that Chris is right behind them, but the asshole just keeps fucking going. And you, you’re still staring.

“Chris-” you gasp, your nails digging into Matt’s shoulder. Chris thinks you’re going to push him away, scramble to pull yourself together.

You surprise him by pushing back down onto Matt’s cock with even more fervor, your hands moving up Matt’s neck to grab onto his hair, pulling hard.

Chris watches you cum on Matt’s cock for the first time that night, all while your eyes were locked on his.

Chris doesn't like being angry. He very rarely is. And usually, he gets over it really quick.

Which is why it’s shocking to everyone when he gets cold and hostile towards Matt seemingly out of nowhere, and the anger doesn't subside.

It gets in the way of their work. Filming becomes exhausting, and it leaves all three brothers feeling frustrated and annoyed at each other.

It’s in the middle of filming a new car video when it all goes to head. Nick and Matt had attempted to film a video, but Chris couldn’t hold back the jabs at Matt, interrupting him every time he spoke, insulting him for no reason whatsoever, which only made Matt retaliate just as hard.

“That’s it-” Nick yells, his hands pushing his hair out of his face in frustration. “I’ve fucking had it with you two. I’m getting the fuck out of this car and the two of you are going to stay in here and talk. Don’t even bother coming back in until you sort out whatever-” he gestures wildly between Matt and Chris, “-is going on with you two!”

And with that, Nick storms back into their house.

Chris stares out of the window with his arms crossed, seething. He can tell Matt is looking at him, can see part of his reflection on the window, but Chris isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking first.

Matt, much to Chris’ annoyance, was completely calm and collected.

“Chris-” Matt begins to say, but Chris just chucks his empty Pepsi can at him without looking. He hears it clatter against something (the steering wheel, he thinks), before dropping down onto the car floor with a dull thud.

Matt sighs, and Chris wants to yell, because Chris is the one that should be huffing and sighing, he’s the one that’s tired of all this bullshit.

“Are you trying to prove something?” Chris asks, because he never could stay quiet for too long. “Is that it? What the actual fuck Matt?”

Chris had fully turned to face Matt, who at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed now. His face was tinged pinked, and he was fiddling with his rings.

Chris continues. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but if you’re just trying to get me to see she’s your girl, I fucking get it, okay? You’ve made that really fucking clear. Did I say or do something to warrant this shit, because if you think I’m out to get her, I’m not, okay? Jesus- do you know how fucking insane-”

“She wants you bro.”

Chris blinks. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

“I used to catch her staring at you sometimes, and there were times she’d just keep scrolling through pictures of the two of us together- you and me, I mean- and…I don’t know, she’d have this look on her face.” Matt trails off. He looks at Chris, trying to gauge his reaction so far, but truth be told, Chris was still trying to process what Matt had initially said.

“What…?”

“Look, the two of us are happy together. I love her, she loves me, but I think she…” Matt coughs out, and it’s the first time since this whole thing has started that Chris has seen Matt this awkward. “She’s into you too. She never really told me, but it got pretty obvious after a while. And eventually, I- I started bringing you up, when we- um, yeah. She wants us both.”

Chris starts laughing. Because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Alright, good prank dude- I’m still so fucking mad at you but-”

“I’m not kidding, Chris.”

Right. Because why would Matt joke about something like this?

“Um…”

“Yeah…”

And that’s how Chris finds himself back in Matt’s room. You and Matt were sitting on his bed, albeit a little far apart, meanwhile Chris had taken a seat in Matt’s gaming chair. Chris almost wants to call the two of you out on the pure torture you’d put him through the past few weeks, but one look at your face has him abandoning that train of thought.

You look so…remorseful. You’re slightly curled in on yourself, like you’re bracing for some sort of attack, and Chris’ heart melts. The last thing he wants is for you to feel upset, so he tries to lighten the mood.

“So, do you just wanna see which one of us has the better dick or-?”

He smiles as you sputter, eyes wide as you finally look up at him.

“There we go,” Chris whispers. “You’re finally looking at me.”

“Chris…I’m so sorry,” you whisper, lips trembling. “God, this is so stupid, why did we decide to tell him-”

“Hey, hey-” Chris chides. “I think I’ve been kept in the dark long enough, actually. I just wish y’all hadn’t used such a weird ass fucking way to tell me.”

“Well, to be fair, she didn’t even know you’d seen us that first couple of times,”

“Oh, god-”

“-And, we kinda assumed you’d take the fucking hint or something.”

“Yeah, I thought the hint was ‘I know you wanna fuck my girl, so I’m gonna make sure you catch us fucking every chance we get so you stay the fuck away’,” Chris says with a raised brow, staring deadpan at Matt.

“Wait, what-” you start, but you’re interrupted by Matt.

“Yeah, he’s wanted to fuck you for a while too.”

And that's how Chris finds himself with a front row view of Matt fucking you, up close and personal. Matt has you on all fours, facing Chris, while he pounds into you from behind, hard and deep. Each thrust punches a high-pitched moan out of you, and Chris watches, enraptured by the way you take it.

Chris watches to his heart's content that night, no longer worried about getting caught, no longer stressed about wanting to fuck you.

Chris watches you fall apart in Matt's hands over and over, and all he can think about is when he can finally have his turn.

+ 1

They’d had to wait for the perfect moment, a night they could be sure none of them would be interrupted.

They'd been planning for this night for a few days now, and it was finally here.

Chris and Matt stand side-by-side in front of Matt’s bed, arms crossed over their chest as they watch you squirm in his bed, their combined attention making you nervous. They’re both barely dressed, Chris in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, the front of which were already tented from his hard dick, while Matt was just in his black boxers. The low lighting of the room made Matt’s rings glisten as he rubbed at the stubble that he’d slowly allowed to grow on his face.

“How are we feeling, baby?” Matt asks you, smirking at the way you visibly gulp. “You ready for us?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, looking up at Chris through your lashes before nodding.

That’s all the cue he needs.

Chris stalks over to you, slowly, climbing over the bed and crawling over you, his hands landing on either side of your head as he holds himself above you. You lay back, your hair fanning around your head on the pillow, your eyes wide as you wait for Chris’ next move.

“Can I kiss you?” Chris asks, wetting his lips, and he doesn’t have to wait long for his answer. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the strands close to his nape, bringing his lips onto yours. The kiss is heady, a wild mess of tongue and teeth, because you’d both been waiting for this, dying for it, and here it was, finally happening.

“Chris-” you gasp, open mouth sliding over the hot skin of his cheek as he lowers his head to the crook of your neck, biting harsh kisses into the skin there, before tracing his tongue across your jaw.

“Fuck, fuck- you smell so good, I need you so bad ma-” Chris blabbers, his brain-to-mouth filter long gone. He vaguely registers Matt settling onto the bed, leaning against the headboard, as Chris kisses a path down your body, laving every inch of skin he can access with nips and kisses. You arch your back as Chris circles one of your nipples with his tongue, sucking on it as he flicks the other. He alternates between kissing and nipping your nipples, all the while, you have an almost painful grip on his hair, pushing your chest harder into his face.

Matt watches your face intently, seeing the way your features scrunch up in pleasure, mouth wide open as you gasp and whine. There’s a small part of him that knows he shouldn’t be so okay with his own brother having his way with his girlfriend, but it’s almost like he gets a 4K view of what it might usually look like when Matt’s the one doing these things to you.

Chris continues his path downwards, fingers hooking into the sides of your panties and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulling them off of you. Your legs instinctively squeeze shut when the cold air hits your wet core, but Chris’s hands gently pry them open, staring at you in wonder.

“You’re so fucking wet, fuck-” Chris groans, before licking a stripe up the seam where your thigh meets your crotch, so close to where you actually want his tongue.

“Please, please-” you whimper, pushing your hips up closer to his lips, feeling his hot breath fan over you pussy. You hear both him and Matt chuckle, before Chris has his mouth on you, licking the wetness gathered in your folds. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and the obscene sounds of Chris’s mouth as he eats you out like a man starving.

It’s almost too much, the way he’s sucking on your clit, before pushing his tongue into you, his face pushed deep, you’re sure he can’t breath. The pleasure builds, heat pooling low in your stomach. You feel Matt’s fingers brush against your forehead, pushing the hair that was starting to stick to it from all the sweat.

“You feel good baby?” Matt asks, tone soft, but his eyes glint dangerously. “One of us wasn’t enough for you, was it? You’re such a dirty girl, wanting me and my brother.”

You whine, head pushing against his thigh closest to your head. Chris laughs, pulling his head back to chime in.

“Greedy little slut, that’s what she is,” he says, cheeks rosy and face glistening from the nose down, his chin absolutely soaking wet. “You gonna cum soon ma?”

You don’t even know what you respond with, just that Chris goes back to eating you out, this time, bringing his fingers to your entrance, sliding one finger, then two, into your sopping wet cunt as he licks random paths across your folds, occasionally circling your clit and sucking on it harshly, all while thrusting his fingers in and out of you, causing you to buck your hips up wildly. Your orgasm, only the first one of the night, is fast approaching, and your thighs clench around Chris’ head. The only warning he gets is a sudden yell of his name before you gush all over his face.

“Did you just- did she just squirt?” Chris asks, eyes wide as he takes in the mess that you’d made. His face and neck were now fully wet, and there was a perfectly round wet spot right underneath you. His fingers flutter over your now slightly puffy pussy, watching your folds quiver.

“Fuck, it’s too much- Chris, wait,” you whine, hands moving to grab Chris’ wrist. He doesn’t stop with his ministrations though, fingers pumping in and out of you, prodding at the bundle of nerves inside you that caused your vision to white out. It was fast, intense, and Chris manages to pull a second orgasm out of you before you’d even managed to catch your breath from the first one.

Chris sits up on his knees, reaching his arms behind him and pulling his tank top off, throwing it behind him. He hooks his arms around your thighs before pulling you down the bed, closer to him, allowing Matt to slot himself behind you.

“Can you turn over for me ma?” Chris asks with a gentle pat against your hip. It takes some effort, your limbs feel loose and languid, but you manage to flip onto your stomach. Hands grab your face, tipping your head up, and you see your boyfriend looking at you with a smirk, tongue peeking out to run across his teeth.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” he asks, voice like dripping honey with a hint of something razor-sharp. “This everything you imagined?”

“Yes- oh god, Matt- I need you, please-”

“You have me baby,” he coos. “You have me and Chris. That’s what you wanted, right? ‘Cause one dick was never enough to keep you satisfied.”

“Ngghh- please, please, I-” you whimper, mouthing at Matt’s dick through his boxers, startled when you feel a sudden smack against your ass, pain blossoming across your skin.

“If she’s already this cock dumb, I wonder how she’s gonna get when we actually get our dicks in her,” Chris wonders out loud with an amused huff, palming at your ass cheeks as he rubs his clothed dick against it.

You continue begging, your pussy soaking wet and clenching around nothing in anticipation for what’s to come, hips arching off the bed while your back dips low, shoulders tucked between Matt’s spread thighs as you lick him through the only piece of fabric that is keeping you from tasting him, from having his cock fill your mouth.

Chris smooths his palm down your back, making you arch your back even further, before he spreads your cheeks, seeing the way you twitch at being put on display.

“I think she’s waited long enough, hasn’t she?” Matt asks Chris, nodding his head slightly as if to tell Chris to get on with it. Chris doesn’t waste any time pushing his sweats down his thighs, freeing his cock. You turn your head back to try and peek at it from over your shoulder, but Matt has a firm hand on your head pushing you towards his crotch while he pulls his dick out of his boxers. With one hand holding the back of your head, and the other around his dick, Matt slaps it against your cheek, amused at the way you so desperately try and get him to guide his cock into your mouth instead.

Simultaneously, Chris is behind you, rubbing the tip of his dick through your folds, gathering the wetness there. Above you, you feel Matt lean towards his dresser, before rifling through the top drawer and chucking something at Chris. There’s a sound of a bottle cap clicking open, and lube being squeezed out, before you hear the squelch of it as Chris spreads it over his dick.

Later, you’ll think they must have planned this head of time, but both Matt and Chris decide to push their dicks into you at the same time, Matt feeding you his cock, pushing past your lips, applying gentle pressure to the back of your head, while Chris spreads your folds apart and drives his dick into you, the tip catching inside you for a moment, before he thrusts his hips and pushes his dick deeper into you.

“Look at that,” Chris says, smacking the palms of both his hands onto your cheeks at the same time, before kneading at them. “She takes dick really fucking well.”

“It’s like she’s made for it, isn’t she?”

Chris fucks you like he has all the time in the world, savoring the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, fascinated by the sight of his dick disappearing in you at every thrust. You stretch around him so beautifully, and you’re so fucking tight, he wonders how he managed to fit it all in you in one go.

At the other end, Matt watches you with soft affection as you suck on his cock, tears streaming down your face from the exertion on your body and minimal air supply. At every thrust of Chris’ hips, you would get pushed closer to Matt, which would push his dick deeper into your mouth, making you almost gag on it.

You have no concept of time anymore, or where your body starts and Chris’ and Matt’s end. You feel like one big mess of limbs, moving fluidly, with the common purpose of chasing your orgasm. You hear Matt’s groans getting louder above you, and you know he’s getting close. You’re not far behind yourself, but Chris still seems like he’s nowhere close to being done.

Pulling your mouth off of Matt’s cock, you circle your hand around the base of it, before stroking your hand up and down, twisting it around the head. You swipe your thumb across the slit at the top while you tongue at the underside of the head, all while looking up at Matt through hooded eyes.

“Cum on my face, Matt, please-” you beg, mouth slightly open, a line of spit connecting your tongue to his dick. Chris' thrusts are picking up, but you keep your elbows planted firmly on the bed below to keep yourself steady for Matt. There’s a tingle building low in your spine, but you focus on Matt, the way he looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hair is a mess, and his body is flushed. The hand he has on your head grips your hair tight, and the other joins your hand in pumping his dick. It only takes a few more seconds of that before Matt lets out a loud groan of your name, spurts of thick, hot cum landing across your face, and you close your eyes as it drips down your face, some of it landing on your tongue.

Matt leans back heavily against the headboard, and before you can register anything, you’re being flipped onto your back, face still covered in Matt’s cum. Your shoulders hit Matt’s chest as Chris crowds against you on the bed, his hands now on the back of your knees, pushing your legs back against your chest, before thrusting his dick back into you.

The sudden shift has you blinking back stars, and this new angle has Chris’ dick brushing against your sweet spot on every thrust, and all you can do is sob at the immense pleasure you feel. Matt circles his arms around you, one hand playing with one of your nipples, while the other moves down your stomach and edges closer to your clit. The tingling sensation grows, and grows, your hands scrambling to find purchase on Chris’ shoulders as he thrusts particularly deep into you before you finally snap, screaming as your third orgasm is ripped from you, the force of it pushing Chris’ cock out of you as you squirt all over him, yourself, and the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably.

You’re fully gasping and sobbing now, the intensity of your orgasm wracking through your whole body. You watch through hooded, teary eyes, as Chris leans over you, furiously stroking his cock as he soaks in the view of you, hot and messy, ruined because of him, before he too eventually reaches his orgasm, cum pulsing out of him and landing high on your chest, across your nipples, one spurt even hitting your chin.

The three of you are a heaping mess of limbs after, all basking in the afterglow of a night well spent, tired, but satiated. Matt and Chris lay on either side of you, stroking whatever part of your skin they can reach, occasionally batting each other’s hands away and pulling you closer to either side, like you’re not all squished together already.

“We should do that again sometime,” you say after a long beat of silence. Matt snorts, eyes closed, but the corners of his lips are quirked up in a small smile.

“Y’all are crazy if you think I’m never fucking you again after I just got a taste,” Chris states. “Besides, I think there’s a lot of lost time I need to make up for, hm?”

After that night, Chris gets to have his turn with you, over and over. Sometimes, Matt is present, and the brothers somehow always turn things into a competition of who can make you cum the quickest, who can make you cum multiple times, who can make you absolutely incoherent by the end of the night.

Now Chris had his own reason for always being so chipper in the morning. It helps that he finally gets to fuck the hottest girl he’s seen, who just happens to also be fucking his brother.

author’s note: i put too much fucking effort into an idea that essentially started as a joke, its gonna be so funny if this flops because i literally stayed up till 4 am twice in a row to write this lmao- anyways, let me know what you think! my inbox is open and waiting for your thoughts (: likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated <3

taglist 🩵 (comment on my pinned post to be added or removed):

@luverboychris @bigbeefybitch @liz-stxrn @slut4chriss @sturniolosgirl @coochiedestroyer1 @kvtie444 @vschrissturn @hercigaretteblush @fwskullz @m4rriii @anabanana28 @sturniolosange1 @webbersturn @odeezier @johnniesrealwife @freshsturns @marlenafortuna @carolineheartsmatthew @incndescentglow @starniolosposts @urfavgirllyyyyy @mattsturniolosworld @lilyloveschris @sturniozo @lookingformyromeo @heartss4matthewq @lanasturniolo @ezziewinchester @s-s-842 @sturnlova @55sturn @chrisopeningabag

#junovrs writes #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader

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hyprfixate · 28 days ago

Text

for the taking :: [B.C] x [H.J] x [K.S] x reader

read on AO3

summary: of your three boyfriends, you like to push chan's buttons the most so that he'll really get things going. you sadly underestimate how wild things can get when you rile him up.

pairing: kim seungmin x bang chan x han jisung x reader

tropes: poly!skz mmmf foursome, porn without plot

smut warnings: mentioned free use dynamics, dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, brat play, overstimulation x100000, pussy eating, implied mxm dynamics, dom jisung, soft dom/sadist seungmin, hard dom/brat tamer chan, mentions of safewords (it's not used), unprotected sex but it's a long established relationship, reader initiated slight cnc, dirty talk, reader is called a slut as a degradation thing. it's really just pure filthy, not a plot point in sight.

author's note: i didn't plan to write this at all. idk where it came from. enjoy anyway!!

word count: 8.7k

You're laying on your stomach in your bedroom. The lights are dim, music is thrumming from your speaker, and there's a candle on your wax warmer. It's a quiet, soft night, the kind that you don't see many of. There's always something going on in the duplex you share with your partners. It can be tiring, but in the quiet, you realize you sort of miss it. You fiddle with the green beaded bracelet on your wrist as you scroll aimlessly through your phone.

Then, the door across the hall slams.

Only you and Chan are home tonight, Seungmin and Jisung off God-knows-where for whatever reason. Chan was supposed to go out with them, but he had a project to finish for his job, the same project that had him losing sleep for the last few weeks. You may never understand what exactly goes into producing music, but from the way he stayed hunched over his computer 24/7, you knew it was complicated.

You're not at all surprised when you hear your door creak open slowly. You turn over, eyes catching Chan's as he stands in your doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He's wearing a haberdash of house clothes, including a baseball cap, but you can still see the dark tint on his eyes.

You feign innocence.

“Hey you,” you smile at him. “Taking a break?”

“Something like that. What're you doing?”

You shift your phone to the hand with your bracelet, holding it up and giving it a little shake. His gaze hardens even more. “Just on Instagram.”

His eyes are trained on your wrist, just like you wanted. He recognizes the bracelet. Of course he does– he and the boys bought it for you after one of your many, many conversations. You give a little smile. "It's cute, right? The green matches my t-shirt," you say sweetly.

It does, but that's not the only reason you're wearing it.

You're wearing it because they know that green means go. Or yes.

Or take.

"Did you need something, Chan?"

He doesn't respond, choosing instead to push up off of the doorframe and make his way over to you. You decide to roll onto your back to see him better, and by the time you're situated, he's standing over you, arms still crossed.

You gulp.

"Um, hi," you breathe out. Nervousness was not part of the plan. "I– Did you... need something?"

He drops one of his hands and grips your ankle, and where the skin connects you feel like you've been electrocuted. Your body comes alive immediately. You can only watch as he barely strains a single muscle as he pulls you down to the edge of the bed.

"Put your phone down," he instructs. He reaches the soft part of your thigh and pinches, lips curling into a smirk when you yelp.

"Channie, I—"

"I said," he repeats, a little harsher this time, "put your phone down."

You do as you're told, dropping it on the floor next to his feet. He keeps pulling until your entire lower half is hanging off the bed. With your legs spread like they are, you're certain he can feel the pulsing coming from between your legs.

He hums.

"You know why I'm here," he says lowly. It's not a question.

Despite the speed of your heart, you blink up at him dumbly, fighting against the wave of arousal that licks down your spine when he raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you manage.

Both of his eyebrows are up now, his expression seemingly surprised for a second before it fades. He nods lightly, almost as though contemplating what you've said, and then he releases you and takes a step back.

Your heart drops for a second. You think you've messed up somehow, or maybe your tone didn't come out right. You're about to backtrack, but then he's back, hooking his fingers into either side of your waistband, and with one simple tug he has your pajama pants completely off.

If Chan is surprised that you're not wearing any underwear, he doesn't show it.

You gasp when the cool air hits your lower body, and you watch as he smirks. He returns his vice like grip on your ankle when you start to squirm under his gaze.

"I see you still like to pretend that you have some ounce of control in this relationship," he deadpans. He tugs you back down the bed when you try to wiggle away. You're embarrassed that his strength doesn't seem to be affected by his sleep deprivation. "Come on, baby. You know better than that."

You fight back the giddy smile that threatens to take over your face at his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about," you lie. "Why're you bothering me? Don't you have work to do?"

"I can't focus," he says smoothly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was working. About how much easier work might be if I could fuck you to clear my head."

"That's too bad," you shrug, hoping he can't see how you're clenching around nothing. "I was busy."

He hums absentmindedly, letting the hand on your ankle travel higher. He runs his fingers up your calf, then your knee, until finally he hooks the inside of his wrist behind it, forcing your legs to part. You gasp and try to snap them closed, but he only has to shift a bit so that his other hand is on your opposite leg, holding you open for him.

"Why do you always act like you're not dying for me to touch you, hm?" he asks, but it's rhetorical. He knows you don't have an answer. You never do. Even so, when you stay quiet, he huffs out a humorless laugh.

"Okay. I'm going to give you two options, because I'm feeling generous." He holds up one finger. "Option one, you admit you're just being a brat, I'll fuck it out of you, and then we can both go back to what we were doing. Or–"

You whine as he abruptly leans down with your legs still in his hands, effectively folding you in half. "Or, option two, you keep it up, and I can tell the boys to come home. Then we'll make this a lot longer than it needs to be."

Chan is dangerously close to your face now. The brim of his hat is touching your forehead. You're almost sure he can feel your heartbeat through the fabric of both of your shirts.

"So what do you want, princess?" he asks, voice dripping with honey.

You shiver. His gaze is so intense you forget how to breathe. At your silence, he yanks you further into him, pressing himself right up against your uncovered cunt. Even through his basketball shorts you feel the unmistakable heat of his erection.

"I said, what do you want?"

Fuck.

You can't take it anymore. You feel like you're burning with need. "I'm sorry, Channie," you whine out. You can see the fire in his eyes, the way he's so worked up already, and it makes you weak. "I'll be good."

He gives you a sweet smile, leaning forward to press a kiss against your mouth. You sigh into it, letting your body go lax so he can take control.

Despite your attempts, brattiness never lasts long with Chan. With Seungmin and Jisung, you love the challenge, love making them crack and beg a little, but Chan is entirely unrelenting. You know better than to get him too riled up, especially if you actually want anything to happen.

The kiss is a stark contrast to what you know is to come, and you know that it's on purpose. He always likes to give you the chance to back out, a way to change your mind. Bracelet or no bracelet, your comfort is still always his first priority. It's what makes you comfortable enough to tease him.

But when he pulls away from the kiss and you chase after his mouth, he only smiles.

"There's my good girl," he says. He releases your knees and presses a kiss against your cheek, and then the tip of your nose.

"Chan," you whine. Your body feels cold where his hands just were.

He only tilts his head when he looks at you. "Hm?" Then his gaze turns sinister. "Did you... need something, princess?"

Oh.

Shit.

"Wait,” You're scrambling up from your position. “Wait, please, Chan, don't–"

He hums. "You were so mean to me," he says, trailing a single finger down your cheek. "I don't think you deserve anything from me."

You attempt to sit up, eyes widening, but he's keeping you pinned down on your bed. "But I said I'm sorry," you whine. "Channie, please, I'll be good--"

He tilts his head again, pretending to think, letting his hand fall down your face to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"No," he decides, and he straightens up, taking a step back. "I think I'm gonna go back to work."

Before you can grab him, he's slipped away, nearly halfway to your door. "Sorry, babygirl. Maybe next time, yeah?"

The smirk on his face is proof he's anything but sorry. He gives you a fake little pout before winking and stepping out of your room, clicking the door closed behind him.

You're sat up on the bed, staring at the door with your jaw slacked. This is a new level of evil, you think. You hear his bedroom door open and shut, then the muffled sound of the track he's working on vibrates the walls.

It takes longer than you'd like for your wits to come back to you, but when they do, you're both utterly gobsmacked and thoroughly impressed.

He's teasing you.

There's a part of you that's tempted to just give in, to make your way across the hall and apologize. Chan is stubborn, but not unreachable. You know if you march into his room, you could get on your knees and make him relent in seconds.

But fine. He wants to play dirty?

You can play dirty, too.

It's less than an hour later when you hear the front door open and shut, the sound of Jisung and Seungmin's voices carrying up the stairs. You hear takeout bags and the jingling of their keys, and then–

“We're home!”

You make no effort to move, waiting to see if Chan will leave his room first. Besides, you're still working through some of the details of your plan.

If you stay in your room, Seungmin would come upstairs to check on you first. You know he'll fuck you good, but it takes time to warm him up. By the time you start getting anywhere, Jisung will get to Chan, who might do something stupid like tell him that you were being a brat, and then he'll come in and ruin the whole thing.

No, you need eager. You need impulsive.

You need Jisung.

You pad to the bedroom door, opening it and sticking your head out. Chan's door is still closed, the track he's working on still pumping through the speakers, so you take the opportunity to get the ball rolling.

You make your way down the hall and to the top of the stairs, where you can see Jisung standing in the entryway of the kitchen. The two have already shed their jackets and shoes, and Seungmin is now busy unloading the food they brought back into the fridge. His back is turned to you.

Bingo.

"Hey," you say softly. Jisung's head whips up, eyes brightening as he spots you. He says something you can't hear to Seungmin before he's jogging up the stairs towards you. He scoops you into a squeezing hug.

"Hi my baby," he says happily, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "How was your day?"

You giggle in the hug. "It was alright. Kind of boring. How was yours?"

"We had fun," he says. He sets you down and leans against the wall next to you, reaching and catching your hand in his. You deliberately give him the hand with the bracelet, but he doesn't see it. "I missed you though."

"I missed you, too."

Jisung grins. He opens his mouth to speak again, but then he furrows his eyebrows when he looks at you, like he's just noticing something.

"Is that my shirt?"

“Is it?” You look down, feigning surprise. "Oh, yeah I guess it is."

He hums, tilting his head. His eyes trail to your hand, and he finally seems to notice the bracelet on your wrist. "That's weird. I could've sworn I saw it in my drawer this morning."

You shrug. "Maybe you're just losing your mind."

He grins, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss against your open palm. "Yeah, maybe. Or are you trying to tell me something?"

You bat your eyelashes up at him. "Am I?"

His smile turns sly. "You are, aren't you?"

Jisung doesn't wait for a response, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you down the hallway back into your room. He kicks the door shut behind him and spins to face you, a wicked grin on his face.

You squeal when he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and laughing against his mouth. His kisses are hot and eager– there's no break for breath as he moves across the room with you. You don't even pause when he lays you down on your bed, hand sliding “his” t-shirt up your body.

You shiver when he brushes against your thigh. His hands are cold from outside, and the contrast against your warm skin feels like electricity. He smiles in the kiss and squeezes the skin tight.

Your own hands find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer into you. Through the thin fabric of the shirt you're wearing, you can feel the hardness of his body all pressed against yours. He shifts against you and the friction makes your nipples harden right under him.

His hands leave your thighs. They wind their way up your torso, feeling you up all along the way until he finds the stiff peaks that called his attention. He runs his thumbs over them, drinking up every sound you make. One of your hands cards into his hair and you tug.

He groans at that, finally pulling away from the kiss with a grunt and instead trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. His teeth graze your pulse point and you buck up into him in surprise.

You feel him laugh against you.

"You're so cute," he says into your neck. He mouths over the skin before biting down, hot wet tongue immediately after. A bruise, then.

"Sungie," you gasp out. Your back arches off the mattress as his hands wander all over you. You've always loved how naturally his mouth works its way around your body– he knows just where to kiss, what spots to brush his nose over. Like he's learned the entire road map to your pleasure.

Maybe he has.

He mouths down your body, pausing and sucking on your breasts before leaving wet, soft kisses down the expanse of your tummy. When he gets to your core, he shifts his kiss-trail over to your inner thigh.

"Do you know how hot you are?" He murmurs. "Like all the time. Holy fuck. This is my shirt, princess. My shirt. Don't you know that drives me crazy?"

You do. It's precisely why you grabbed it.

His tongue meets your skin in an agonizing, slow stripe along your inner thigh. The higher he gets, the more your legs tremble around him, until finally his lips close around your clit.

The feeling is overwhelming. Your head lolls back against the bed and you let out a breathy moan. He hums against you, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs as he holds your legs up. Your hands are shaking, but one winds its way back into his soft hair, and you tug.

He moans at that, a sound that sends vibration up through your whole core. He takes a hand away and brings it down, letting his thumb just press lightly against your entrance. Even in the slightest sense of pressure, you arch further into him, wanting more, more, more.

He sucks on your clit even harder, his tongue joining, and when you look down and see his blissed out expression between your legs, you think your heart might jump right out of your chest.

In all the times the boys have taken you apart, they've never made you come this quickly. You're not sure if it's because of the moment with Chan earlier, or because you've been thinking about having one of them fuck you all day. All it takes is two large fingers, pushing and stretching inside of you while his mouth moves so perfectly around your throbbing clit for you to snap. You come with a sob, your thighs pressing against his head.

If there's one thing Jisung certainly loves, though, it's eating you out. He could spend hours between your legs, kissing and sucking and licking until you're boneless and spent. So there is no sign of slowing in his rhythm, even when you wriggle from overstimulation.

"Sung," you moan. He responds by pinching your thigh, sucking hard on your clit so your yelp turns into a moan.

Distantly, you register the sound of footsteps that pause right outside of your door. You hear knocking, but not on your door, and you realize Seungmin has finally come upstairs, likely to grab everybody for some quality time after a day apart.

You almost laugh at how well this is working out for you.

Jisung slides his fingers back into you, and your attention is split between straining to hear what's going on in the hallway and the blinding pleasure you're feeling. He curls his fingers up and you find yourself gushing on his hand, your own fingers tangled in his hair so tight he can barely move.

"God, you're so fucking wet," he murmurs against you. He almost sounds giddy. "Did you miss me, baby?"

You can't even form a response, only able to whine as he fucks into you with his fingers, tongue flicking over your clit just fast enough to make you tremble. Your orgasm is coming on strong, and you feel like you're floating above your body, every touch electric, every movement monumental.

And then–

"Ah, so that's where they are."

Your eyes snap to your now-open door. Your other two boyfriends are there, and you make direct eye contact with Chan just as your second orgasm reaches its peak. You arch up off the bed, gasping into the air as your body trembles, and Jisung keeps his mouth on you, sucking hard and making your vision go white.

After a minute, he finally slows his pace, pulling away and finger-fucking you slowly and deep. He would never stop completely, especially not now that everyone's in the same room. His voyeurism is likely cranked up to 10, and you know he'll be pouty and whiney for the rest of the week unless he gets to watch one of the other boys split you open on their cock.

From the way he's looking at you, you feel like it'll be Chan doing the splitting.

Seungmin, ever the sane one, pretends to roll his eyes. "So this is why neither of you were answering my texts about movie night? This couldn't wait?"

"Well, she was wearing my shirt and nothing under it," Jisung says, grinning up at him. He gives your clit one last suck before kissing it and propping himself up, fingers still buried to the hilt inside of you. Your brain feels foggy as you stare at the three of them. You can still feel yourself gushing on his fingers.

Seungmin notices, eyes glued to your cunt as he walks over. You see his faux annoyance dissolving. "Fuck, she's really wet, isn't she."

Jisung grins. He presses a kiss against your inner thigh. "Yeah, I think she missed us."

Chan scoffs. He finally makes his way into the room fully, and you can see where his cock is straining against the fabric of his shorts. "No. She missed getting fucked."

He stands at the end of the bed, eyes fixed on Jisung's hand as he continues to move inside of you. "Did you tell Jisung what happened earlier, baby?"

Jisung huffs out a little laugh, half lidded eyes going back to your face. "Hmm. No. She didn't."

A chill runs down the length of your spine. Fuck. It sounds like Chan got to them first.

"Chan said you were being a real big brat earlier," Seungmin hums. He pulls his eyes away from your center and finally looks at you. "Is that true, angel? Were you being bad for Chan?"

You shake your head, eyes going doe-ish as he gets closer to you. You realize you need to change your plan and do it quickly. It takes less than half a second for a new idea to come: Seungmin is the softest of the three of them, at least in sexual situations. If you can get him on your side you might have a chance.

That thought flies out of the window when his hand makes its way around your throat, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart." His voice is deceptively soft. "Don't you think Chan already spoke to us?"

You fight back a gasp at the sheer betrayal, but decide to double down anyway. "Wasn't being bad," you manage. You stick out your bottom lip in a pout. "I didn't do anything!"

Seungmin squeezes again, harder, and you really do gasp this time. "Then why did we both get a text from Chan earlier saying you were being mean to him? Hmm?"

"He said he came to blow off some steam and someone," Jisung presses his fingers directly against that squishy part inside of you, "Was being all bratty. Telling him to leave her alone."

It's at this moment that you realize all your planning was futile. You've fallen right into their trap.

You try the Seungmin strategy again, panting as you look up at him. "Minnie, please," you whine. You can't think with Jisung hitting your spot like that. "I wasn't– I–"

He tilts his head. "Oh come on baby. I think you're just lying to us now."

Your chest heaves. Jisung has chosen now to dive back into your cunt, tongue swiping up your slit and circling around your clit. Your brain is too scrambled to think of any other ways out of this situation, so you resort to what you always do:

Pleading.

"'m sorry, Minnie," you rasp. "Didn't mean to– Didn't mean to be bratty."

Seungmin softens only slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" You're gasping around your words. "I promise. I just wanted to make him mad, wasn't trying to be mean."

In all of your begging and the relentless fervor of Jisung's tongue, you barely notice Chan making his way to the other side of your bed. Seungmin's grip loosens around your throat, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he takes in your words.

"Hm. What do you think, Chan?"

You turn to look at him. He's shed his shirt somewhere along the way, and the hard musculature of his stomach is glistening with sweat. He climbs onto the bed and situates himself so that he's behind you with your head in his lap. You're expecting his hand to replace Seungmin's around your throat, but instead he reaches over you, gripping the hem of your shirt and sliding it up over your chest until your breasts are on full display. Seungmin immediately sinks down to his knees and takes your nipple into his mouth.

You're a gasping, whining mess, eyes rolling back until all you can see is white. You feel Jisung sling his arm around you to keep your body still.

Above you, Chan lets the shirt go and switches his focus to your hands, pulling them up and holding your wrists together in one hand to keep them above your head.

"I think," he murmurs, using his free hand to caress your face, "That if she wants to cum so bad, we should let her."

Your heart drops. To the untrained ear, it sounds like you've won, but you know better. You know Chan, and you know he has something up his sleeve. But when you look up at him, he's looking down at you with a sickly sweet smile.

"If she's sorry," he continues, "She'll behave. Right, babygirl?"

You can't speak. The dual sensations are sending you to the moon. The hand caressing your face grips your jaw tight, keeping your gaze locked on him.

"I asked you a question, princess."

As soon as you open your mouth to answer, your orgasm crashes into you without warning. It's the third one in a row, and you feel much like a washcloth that's been wrung out. Your movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and even as you continue trying to respond to Chan, your voice is not coming out.

"Jisung." He says simply.

The boy in question pulls away from your cunt with a satisfying pop. He's absolutely pussy drunk, eyes half lidded and tongue rolling over his lips to savor the flavor of you. If it were just the two of you, he'd keep going, but amongst the hierarchy of dominance, Chan has been, and will always be, at the top.

"I think she's ready now, yeah?" Chan rubs his thumb against your skin. "Fuck her good for me."

When orchestrating your own plan, you looked at Jisung’s eagerness as something to work in your favor. You hoped he would get you riled up enough for you to scream his name a couple times and really make Chan mad. But now, as he shimmies out of his sweats and boxers, taking his thick length in his hand, you feel nervousness tickle your gut.

Seungmin has pulled away from your nipple, reaching down to hold one of your thighs up. He's murmuring sweet nothings to you as he holds you open for Jisung. The latter is poised at your entrance, stroking himself and watching you with hungry eyes.

You tip your head back to look at Chan again, and he only smiles down at you.

"Channie," you whimper out. You can barely speak, you're so overwhelmed. "Please–"

"Shh," he coos. "I know, baby. But this is what you wanted, yeah?" His hand moves from your jaw to your mouth, pressing a finger against your lips. You suck it in without thought, letting your tongue swirl around him with your cheeks hollowed out like you would on his cock. "I just want to see you take Sungie's dick. Be good, baby."

You almost choke when Jisung thrusts into you. You're already so wet and so sensitive, and his cock is stretching you so wide, pushing deep inside until you're sure you can feel him in your stomach. He gives you no time to adjust, that eagerness coming full force as he fucks right into you.

"God, she's still so tight," he breathes. One hand finds purchase in the dip of your waist, the other moves to the thigh not being held by Seungmin, folding you up and spreading you open to give him more leverage as he fucks into you hard.

Seungmin hums, trailing kisses along your leg and the side of your neck. "Feel good, angel? You like having Jisung's cock inside you?"

You can't even respond, mind blank as Jisung plows you deep. Your back is arched off of Chan's lap, head pushed back as his finger keeps your mouth propped open. You're a dumb, drooling mess around him, and despite the soft smile on his lips, you know it's wrecking him.

To prove your point, he digs his nails in one of your palms, a stark contrast to the way Seungmin's hand is gently rubbing up and down your body, playing with your nipples and caressing your sides and stomach.

It's all too much, the sensations are overwhelming, and you're so wound up from earlier that you already feel the orgasm building. You mewl pathetically, eyes watering as you look around for someone to have pity on you.

It's Chan who catches your pleading gaze, but he only raises an eyebrow.

"You're gonna cum again? Already?" he says. It's not condescending or snarky, rather genuine disbelief and curiosity. His finger leaves your mouth and you let out a dry sob as trails of spit drip down your chin.

Jisung doesn't hear this– or can't, rather. He's fucking into you like he'll die if he stops, breathy moans leaving his mouth as he does. He's babbling nonsense, things like how tight you are and how well you take him in. You know he's close too, because his hips have gone erratic in their rhythm. Yet somehow, he gets faster.

The knot in your stomach feels heavy as lead. This orgasm might genuinely take you out.

"Please," you rasp. "Please, please, I can't–"

Chan shakes his head, smiling. "Oh, but baby, I thought you wanted to cum?"

"I do," you whine. "Want to so bad but 's too much. Too much, Channie, please–"

"No. Shut up and cum, princess," the grit in his voice is back. "Cum on Jisung's cock. Be good for us."

That's all it takes for you to snap. You let out a broken cry as another orgasm rocks through your body. It's even more intense than the others, pulling all of your muscles taut so you sit up before slumping back into Chan's arms. You barely register the way your hands flex uselessly above your head, writhing in Chan's grip. You can only vaguely feel Seungmin kissing your cheek, whispering little encouragements in your ear, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look when you cum.

And then Jisung is grunting, snapping his hips against yours one last time before spilling into you. Your walls spasm around him as he cums, milking him dry and causing you both to whine into the air.

In typical Jisung fashion, he's still rutting up into you after you're both well past overstimulation. The pressure in your cunt throbs throughout your body, tears springing into your eyes. You're very close to abandoning the little bit of pride you have and begging him to stop.

It turns out you don't need to, because as if on cue, Jisung finally pulls out and Seungmin lets go of your legs, standing up. You nearly sob at the loss of his gentle contact, so you don't even notice he's taking off his clothes until he's standing where Jisung was, hands gripping the soft skin of your thighs to hold you open.

"Aw, baby," he says softly. He runs a hand up your leg. "You did so well."

You pout, a sob bubbling in your throat when you realize their plan now. They're gonna drag as many orgasms out of you as they can, overstimulation be damned. The thought makes your clit throb, and that alone makes you whine. It's all too much.

Despite knowing you're already so wet and lax and malleable, Seungmin reaches down to rub at your clit in an attempt to open you up.

"Min," you cry, squirming at his touch. Your cunt feels tender, and even though the first set of tears are long dried up on your cheeks, fresh ones start to come. "Minnie–"

"Shhh. It's okay, angel."

His words are gentle and reassuring, but when his eyes catch yours, all you see is darkness.

Seungmin's gentle dominance has a limit. He doesn't get all stern and mean like Chan, or desperate like Jisung, but there's only so long he can last before that other, darker part of him surfaces, the one that gets off on hurting you, on seeing you in pain and feeling good from it. You can tell by the look in his eyes that this is the part of him you'll be dealing with.

When he finally sinks his cock inside you, it's slow, and the moan that he lets out vibrates through his length and right into you. Your neck seems to give up, dropping you right back down in Chan's lap less than gracefully. It gives him better access to you, and he leans immediately to attach his mouth to yours. He alternates between soft kisses and hard bites that will surely bruise in the morning.

Seungmin is only a bit longer than Jisung, but he's so damn girthy. Every tiny thrust he rocks into you sends shivers down your spine. Your skin feels like it's on fire and you're not even kissing Chan back, basically panting into his open mouth.

"Prop her up, Chan," Seungmin grits out. "Wanna watch her while she cries."

He gives you one final peck, and then the hand that's still holding your wrists lets go. It takes a second, then both hands are under you, lifting you up off the mattress until you're sat up on his lap with his chest against your back. He crosses your wrists against your chest and holds them in one hand, and then the other snakes up and finds your throat. His hand is way bigger than Seungmin's, and he's not as gentle when he squeezes and forces you to look back at him.

He doesn't look mad, or even turned on. He's smiling at you, like you're a particularly good puppy. "Good girl. Gonna give us a big one, yeah?”

You barely have a moment to understand what he's implying before you feel a hand on your clit. Both of Seungmin's hands are occupied, so you're not sure why it surprises you to see that it's Jisung's deft fingers on you. He's standing behind Seungmin, one hand on him and the other on you.

It feels like your eyes are bulging out of your head. The touch is gentle, but it still feels like you're being hit with lightning bolts. You're too spent to even buck up at the contact.

"Oh my God," you choke. "Oh, oh, I–"

“That's it,” Chan purrs when you cum again. He kisses whatever skin is closest to his mouth, his fingers gripping your jaw. Your head feels light, the only thing keeping you grounded to the bed are their hands on you. You feel like you're going to faint, and Seungmin's eyes are only egging you on.

Your body trembles so violently, Seungmin is forced to pause in his motions to hold your knees and keep your legs from buckling in. Your vision is blurry, but you can see Jisung has a steady grip on Seungmin's hair, effectively holding him in place.

"Good girl," he breathes, those big brown eyes trained on your face. "You take him so well."

His words send shivers down your spine. Jisung is always more coherent and in control after an orgasm. You know if Seungmin was today's focus, Jisung would likely be spitting all kinds of nasty, filthy words in his ear, but his gaze is fixed on you. All it takes to get you going is a good stare.

He taps at your clit with his free hand. You jump, moaning loudly at the contact, your back arching off Chan's chest and into Seungmin's body.

"She's good. Keep going," Jisung murmurs, pulling his eyes away from yours to look at Seungmin. He pulls a little at the hair on the nape of his neck, causing Seungmin's cock to jump inside you.

They work in tandem. Jisung's hand keeps circling your clit in the same soft rhythm, and you're not sure how but it's making you even wetter and more loose. You're a mess of moans, not knowing whose name to scream when they all have their hands on you. It's dizzying in the best way.

Seungmin has started rolling his hips into you with more vigor, the soft sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. The dark shroud over his eyes is back as he stares down at you. "Feels good doesn't it," he grunts. "Look at your little cunt fluttering open for me like a good slut."

You feel another sob bubble out of you, this one accompanied by tears, but it dies in your throat when Chan's grip on you gets even tighter. All you can do is pout and whine.

"Aw, look at the little crybaby." Seungmin starts to fuck into you in earnest, his own moans getting higher in pitch. You can tell by the way Jisung's grip in his hair tightens that he's close. "C'mon angel. You're being so good, you can take it."

"Minnie," you rasp, barely able to speak. "Please–"

"I said take it." He’s looking down, watching where your cunt is sucking him in with each thrust. He thrusts into you particularly hard, and your entire body lurches forward, causing you to gasp. "And if you can't, you know what to say. You know your word."

You do. Somehow, under all the begging and pleading, you're actually insanely giddy with want. It's all part of the little game you play, so you just pout pathetically at Seungmin as his hips snap harder into yours.

"She's not gonna say it," Chan sing-songs. He uses the hand on your throat to tilt your head to the side, giving him perfect access to more of you. He nips at your skin. "She likes being treated like this. Like a little toy."

It's all too much. Every inch of you is on fire, the room feels like it's a thousand degrees. Chan's mouth on your neck, Seungmin's cock deep in your cunt, and Jisung's fingers–

It's like something snaps.

A knot you didn't even realize was in your stomach explodes and your vision goes white. It's an orgasm unlike anything you've experienced before. Your brain completely melts, your hearing dulls, and you can feel the drool running down your chin. You feel like you're floating and drowning all at the same time.

"Oh shit," you hear Seungmin groan. Your cunt is spasming around him. His thrusts become harder, sloppy. "God, fuck–"

He cums hard inside of you, hips jerking as he chases the aftershocks. You've gone completely limp, barely able to move at all as Chan continues to bite at your neck.

The hand on Seungmin's shoulder drops. "That's so hot," Jisung mutters, almost to himself. He's lost some of his in-control voice. "Wow, baby, you should be bratty more often.”

If you could see straight, you'd probably laugh at that.

Seungmin pulls out slowly, and when the head of his cock leaves you, you let out a tiny mewl. You're overstimulated to the point that you're numb. Seungmin smiles softly as he rubs the inside of your thigh.

"Oh, sweetheart, I know. It's a lot. But you're being so good for us. I think it's Chan's turn though, hm? Wanna make him feel good?"

"Give her a minute," Jisung chides. You hear a sharp intake of breath and you know he's likely yanked on Seungmin's hair again. "She's about to pass out."

You can feel your limbs slowly returning to you, the fog clearing in your head. When Chan moves the hand from your throat, you breathe deeply, taking in gulps of air as moves his hand down to rub against your tummy. Jisung and Seungmin are bickering somewhere around you, and you let yourself relax in Chan's hold.

"Do you want to finish now, princess?" His lips are warm against your ear. "We can be done. You don't have to take me.”

It's a very tempting offer, especially with the way you can hardly remember what day it is. You could easily take it and call this all done. The four of you have almost certainly been at this for more than an hour now, and they've wrung six orgasms out of you. They're sweet enough to offer to call it a night.

But then you think about Chan, and how, despite being the reason this all started, he's barely done anything. Hasn't tasted you, hasn't shoved his cock down your throat– He's usually not one for letting go until you've milked him dry at least twice, and you can't stand the idea of him having that buzz under his skin all night.

So you shake your head.

"No?" Chan laughs, almost like he's surprised. "Really? You still want to finish with me? Are you sure, princess?”

He's giving you the same offer he gave you earlier. An out. Making your comfort the first priority. The thought alone is what gives you the strength to nod against him.

"'m sure, Channie."

"Oh, fuck, okay." His grip around you goes a little slack as he moves, pulling you away from his lap and laying you back into your bed. He leans over you and presses a gentle kiss against your mouth. It feels like he's thanking you, almost.

When he pulls away, his eyes are sparkling. You want to look into them for hours.

He barks something at Jisung and Seungmin, and the bickering stops immediately. You hear shuffling around you before Seungmin takes Chan's empty space and Jisung appears at your side. They're pressing soft kisses to your face and praising you as Chan works his shorts and boxers down. When his cock springs free, he lets out a hiss of relief.

The sight of him alone makes anxiety rear its ugly head. You start to wonder if maybe you should've taken the opportunity to tap out, or if maybe you should use your safeword, but then Jisung is grabbing your hand and pressing kisses against it, squeezing you and keeping you tethered to the present.

"You can do it, pretty girl," he murmurs in your ear, breath fanning over your cheek. "You did so good for us, just a little longer."

Chan catches your eyes, and he smiles again, reassuring. His hand runs down your body and grabs one of your legs, lifting it and hooking your calf over his shoulder. "Gonna go easy, baby. I know it's a lot."

Your stomach is filled with butterflies, and your hands are shaking a little bit when he ruts himself up against you. You're so open from the others that when his head catches on your entrance, it nearly slips inside.

Your back arches as you moan, and then his cock brushes against your entrance with purpose and it feels like you're going to split right open. He rocks into you again, pushing in the barest inch and pulling right back out. You whine and shift your hips in an attempt to escape.

"Come on, be a good girl now, princess." His voice has gotten lower, lust taking over. "Relax.”

His eyes flit up from where you're connected to look at you, and in one move he pushes right inside of you.

It doesn't hurt– you're way too wet and open for that. It does feel like your stomach is being forced open, however. Like his cock is pressing against all of your internal organs. You arch up off of Seungmin's lap and he pulls you back to him quickly.

Chan groans, bottoming out inside you. His eyes are closed as he lets himself bask in the sensation, hips rocking shallowly. You're thankful that he doesn't move immediately, but even the barest amount of movement feels like too much, like you'll come apart at any second.

You barely feel it when Jisung slips your hand into his. It takes you a minute to realize it's because your brain has been reduced to nothing. Your body has melted into the bed, your muscles are lax, and there's an emptiness in your brain filled with nothing but static and Chan's name. You don't think about anything at all, can't form a single coherent thought. You don't feel the kisses on your throat or the way Seungmin's hands have taken residence on your stomach. The only thing you feel is the overwhelming pressure in your cunt as Chan slowly pulls out, leaving just the tip, before pushing all the way back in.

He builds a rhythm quickly. Seungmin is holding you tight to his body, as though he's scared you might float away, and you appreciate it because it gives you another sensation to focus on. Your head is lolled against his shoulder, eyes rolled back into your head so far all you see is white.

The sound of Chan fucking into you is absolutely obscene, a mixture of your juices and the remnants of the cum still leaking from your hole. He fucks you slow, but hard, snapping his hips into yours so hard it almost feels like you might get a bruise on your thigh.

Jisung is watching with hungry eyes from your side. He's not touching you at all anymore, too engrossed in the scene unfolding to do much else other than stare with his jaw slacked. Seungmin takes over for him.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's it angel, look at you." He moves the hand on your stomach and lets his thumb rub circles on your clit. You feel like you're going to pass out. You don't get time to beg him to stop before you feel that same hand move to your mouth, and two fingers push past your lips.

"Here, sweetheart," he breathes, eyes fixed on your lips as you suck his fingers. "That's you on my fingers, baby. Isn't it good?"

You moan around his hand, head spinning both at the taste of yourself and the intrusion of Seungmin's fingers in your mouth. He's not fucking them into you with any kind of rhythm, just shoving them in there until you're dribbling around his hand. He hums happily when he pushes in more and makes you gag, kissing away the tears the spill over.

Chan grunts, head falling back. "Min, again, please, she just– fuck, she–"

Seungmin doesn't need to be told twice. He repeats the motion again, making sure his fingers go far enough so you're choking around him. This time, when you splutter and gag, you can feel it when you clench down on Chan and his cock pulses in response.

"Oh my God," he moans, thrusting into you again. "Oh my god, baby, you're so good. You're doing so fucking good–"

Between the movement of his hips and the feeling of Seungmin's fingers down your throat, you're not quite sure you're still on this plane of existence. Everything is spinning around you, your cunt is throbbing, you can hear Jisung moaning somewhere, but you don't know from what.

You can feel Seungmin's lips pressed against your forehead as his fingers fuck your mouth, your eyes rolling back into your head again. You're so lightheaded, so far gone, you can barely remember your name.

It's when Chan starts to thrust faster that you come back to your body with a jolt, mind filling with white hot heat. The pleasure has long since lost it's edge, and you're a moaning, writhing, teary mess again. The coil in your stomach starts to build for the seventh time, and you're pretty sure your brain has gone empty. The only thing you're able to focus on is Chan. Chan, Chan, Chan.

"Almost done, angel." You register a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth, and then another on your forehead. You think the voice belongs to Seungmin. Maybe, if the way he eases his hand out of your mouth is any indication.

Nothing is making sense anymore. It all feels like you're having an out-of-body experience.

Chan's hips falter, and his hand slides up to your throat again, but he doesn't squeeze. Just rests it there as his orgasm approaches, hips snapping against you at an erratic rhythm.

"Sweetheart." His eyes flutter open with strained effort, but they remain locked on yours. "Can you give us one more, princess? Hm? Can I get you to cum on me too, please?"

There's a desperation in his voice that makes your body feel hot. You want to tell him yes, that you're close, so so close, but all that comes out is a weak noise that you're not even certain you made.

Seungmin seems to get it though, because he slips his fingers down between your legs, finding your clit again. He rolls it between his fingers with one hand while his other reaches up and settles on your jaw. You feel Jisung's tongue flick over your nipple and your world draws to a pinpoint.

Chan curses above you, fucking into you at an almost punishing pace. "Yes, baby, let go for us. That's it. We got you."

It feels like someone's stuck a vacuum in your brain with the incoherent way you're thinking. The sound of his voice saying your name in that desperate tone is all it takes, and suddenly you're floating out of your body, ears ringing as the pressure inside you bursts. Your eyes roll back and the clinging remnants of an orgasm wash through your body. It feels more like an aftershock. You're only vaguely aware of the way Chan moans, loud and throaty, when he finally spills into you.

It takes a couple minutes before the two of you come back down to earth. You can't move, and even though you know Seungmin is holding you tight, it feels like you might drift right off the mattress and float up into the clouds.

Chan pulls out slowly, and you shudder when you feel a trickle of his cum leaking from your hole. It's not long before your eyes droop shut from pure exhaustion. You think you might pass out right on the spot.

The room gets kicked into gear pretty quickly after that. From what you can tell in the hazy state you're in, someone grabs a wet cloth to wipe you down with while someone else finds you a new t-shirt (and panties this time). They dress you like you're a doll, maneuvering your limbs and telling you you're good, you're so good, they love you so much.

Then you're scooped up into a pair of arms while the distant sounds of sheets being pulled off the bed floats up to you. They take you out of the room.

"You did so good for us, baby." The owner of the arms whispers against your ear. From the cadence in their tone you're pretty sure it's Jisung. "You were such a good girl for us, sweetheart. We're so proud of you."

You think you nod against him, but you can't be sure. You hear him kick a door open, and then he sets you down on a bed and you register Seungmin and Chan coming in.

"Okay," Jisung murmurs, going through his aftercare list out loud. "Fresh bed, fresh clothes, we got her some water."

You feel the bed dip behind you. "We got it, but she's gotta drink it, though," Chan chimes. There's fondness in his voice as he scoots closer to you. "Come here, baby."

You let yourself go limp, and a content smile plasters on your face as your boys fuss over you and make sure you're comfortable. They're so gentle, despite what just transpired, and they all take turns pressing kisses against your head, your cheeks, your nose.

When you've all settled into the bed, you feel three pairs of arms around you, holding you close, and you feel insanely lucky for all of it. You snuggle deeper into someone's chest, humming absentmindedly in that dreamy, fucked-out headspace.

"Thank you," you mumble, pressing a kiss to whoever you're snuggled against. You think it's Jisung from the way they nuzzle into your cheek.

"Of course, princess," Chan replies, his voice vibrating against your back. You feel his lips press against your temple, and you smile again. "You're our good girl, even when you're a brat. We'll always take care of you.”

You don't bother replying, simply allowing yourself to sink back into that fuzzy state. You're about to slip out of consciousness when you feel Jisung's nose against your cheek.

"You really do need to be bratty more often, though."

You hear a dull thump as Seungmin smacks the back of his head, and you let their hushed bickering be the lullaby you need to lull you into sleep.

#stray kids #hyprfics #skz chan #skz x reader #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #skz seungmin #skz jisung #poly!skz #skz smut #skz jisung smut #skz seungmin smut #bang chan x reader #seungmin x reader #skz seungmin x reader #jisung x reader #skz jisung x reader

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bluem1lls · 1 month ago

Text

✧₊⁺ forget about everything for a while

se-mi x fem! reader

✦ synopsis: you find your ex in the place you least expect it, and then again in the bathroom. she wants to say sorry but she doesn't know how..so maybe eating you out helps?

tw: minors dni, smut w a little plot, bathroom sex, fingering/oral (r!receiving), sub!reader, dom!se-mi, degradation (a little?), a bit of choking

authors note: hi! this is my first time writing (and in english) so im trying my best! tysm for reading and i hope u like it!

of course she's here.

you would've thought that after years of trying to get over her, the next time you'd see her, it would be at the coffee shop, where both used to go frequently. maybe even at the gas station, where she bought cigarettes and (per your request) a slushie.

you never thought you'd find your ex at the games where everyone was getting killed.

but of course you did.

so when you saw her standing there, wide eyed, being left alone to basically die as her entire group left her, the only conscious thing you could do was run to her and grab her hand.

se-mi stares at you, taking a double look to see if she was mistaken but nop, that's just her luck. it was you.

she would recognize that hair everywhere.

"what the fuck-" se-mi said, like she'd seen a ghost.

"no time to talk, maybe later" you said, dragging her into one of the rooms and closing the door behind.

she leaned against the wall and crossed her arms in front of her chest, she wanted to say a lot and at the same time, she had no words.

"why are you here?" she asked. her eyes searched for yours.

"my dad, he's.. extremely i'll and i couldn't let my mom carry with all that" you spoke, trying to regain your breath from the adrenaline of minutes ago and ignoring her pleading stare.

se-mi stares at the floor, trying to find the right words to say. what could she say to make it better.. after all these years?

"i didn't know. he's a really good man... i'm sorry"

"yeah." you reply, bitter "how could you know when you've been declining my calls and ignoring me?" you roll your eyes as you leaned against the door.

"i can't do this here, i really can't" se-mi said, putting her hands over her face trying to supress the wave of sadness that washed over her everytime she thought about you.

you bite your lip with rage. she was still avoiding you, after all this time.

"yeah no worries. i wasn't planning on staying here talking to my ex either" you mumbled.

she glanced over you trying to keep her cool facade as they open the doors

hell. you couldn't wait till this was done.

as you stirred in bed once. two. three times without being able to sleep, you decided that maybe the best would be to splash some water on your face, at least to be somewhat alert.

knocking on the door asking for the bathroom, the guards weirdly enough allow you without a lot of resistanse. maybe they're in a good mood.

you open the bathroom door and stand in front of the mirror, taking some water in between your hands to splash on your face.

you let out a sight when se-mi steps out of one of the stalls, closing the door behind her.

she looks a bit surprised when she sees you standing there. she stays in silence as both lock eyes from the mirror, her gaze softening as she roamed all over your face.

after a few seconds, she spoke in a soft and quiet voice.

"can't sleep huh?"

you nodded, turning around to look at her.

"it's been hard here. i just don't know when it's gonna be the last game" you spoke. she nodded in agreement.

there's an expression that you can't read on her face. it feels like guilty, pity and sadness all at once. you can see a hint of concern in her eyes.

"i really am sorry, you know...for not calling." she says.

you nod, getting closer to her, taking her scent. almost forgot the way she smells.

she looks at you with a frown on her face. deep down, you know she's sorry.

"i tried so hard to let you go..." you whisper, looking into her eyes.

"i tried too." she says, leaning an inch closer. "it never worked"

her eyes slowly reading all your features, as she took a deep breath and slowly placed a hand on your cheek, gentle. leaning into her hand, you sure missed her touch.

she bit her lower lip and gently cupped your face in between her hands.

"it's up to you se-mi. i've already said everything you needed to know. you were the one who was never sure" you whispered, feeling her breath on your face as the distance kept closing.

before you could even register what she was doing, you hear her mumbling a soft "fuck it" before she closed the distance and pressed her lips against yours.

the moment your lips touched, it felt like something snapped inside of both. one of her hands slid down to grab your thighs, encouring you to wrap your legs around her waist. so you did.

she pressed your body against the wall from behind while bitting rough on your lower lip. the kiss going from slow and loving to a rough, deeper one. both tongues fighting for dominance, you let her enter in your mouth as one of her hands slides from your thighs to your neck, softly squeezing for a few seconds, making you break the kiss to whimper for air.

her eyes scanned your whole face, eyes and pouty lips, basically begging her to fuck you. she let out a low groan as she kissed you again and again, going harder each time. her mind filled with nothing but the taste of your lips and the feeling of your chest pressed against her. little moans escaping from your lips, making her wanna ruin you right then and there.

"i missed this so much" you mumble in between kisses. the words sending a small pang to her chest as she pulled away from the kiss to lean her forehead against yours. her voice slightly shaking from lust, replies.

"i missed this too"

you pulled her by the neck, enough for her to kiss you again. you could feel yourself throbbing only from the kisses. grabbing her hand that sat on your waist, you lowered it down to where you needed her the most.

"i cant wait any longer.. please" you begged her to ruin you.

she looked at you with lustful eyes. "if it was any other moment, i'd make you beg, but since i dont think we have that much time.." she said, falling on her knees.

you pulled the pants and panties all in one go as she helped to get rid of them and pushed you softly against the wall.

she placed one of your legs on her shoulder and started to kiss your inner thighs, making you let go small whimpers. se-mi could feel herself growing wetter just by your scent, it was driving her crazy.

you placed a hand on her hair, softly pulling, and quickly her kisses escalated from inner thighs to your puffy clit, as her lips wrapped around it, you couldn't help but moan.

"be quiet" she hissed. "or you want everyone to know what a slut you are? maybe next time i'll fuck you in the common room" she smirked as you replied with a desesperate moan and a nod. "of course you'd like that. want everyone to know i'm the only one who fucks you stupid, princess?

as she finished her sentence, she placed her tongue on your clit. a cold feeling left you whimpering.

oh.

is that-

thats a tongue piercing.

of course she got a tongue piercing.

you covered your mouth with one hand to quiet your moans as the other one pulled her hair.

as two fingers entered your needy cunt, you bit your lip to quiet a loud moan. she kept working her tongue on your clit while roughly doing and 'in and out' motion with her fingers that was quickly dragging you to the edge. her eyes became almost black with lust as she roamed your fucked out face, your eyes rolled back from pleasure.

"i forgot how good you are at this oh my god-" you kept moaning and whimering as her fingers became rougher and quicker inside and her tongue picked a more rapid pace "no one will ever make me cum like you do se-mi"

her mind clouded with lust as she heard your words. she added another finger and could feel your cunt clenched around her.

"gonna cum baby? you feel so thight around my fingers." she said, her words driving you closer and closer to your release. "poor baby, she was just begging to be fucked like the slut she is, i bet no one ever made you this wet" she cooed while teasing. se-mi chuckles at the way you moan senseless in agreement.

"i need you to use your words, can you do that baby?" she says, her tongue pace fastening making you clench even more. "or maybe i should stop and let you talk"

"n-no please- please. im so close, s- so close please" i begged in between whimpers.

she grunted, fucking you harder. "cum for me princess, cum in my mouth. you're such a good slut" she said while wrapping her lips and sucking around my clit.

the motion of her lips and her fingers curling against your spongy walls at the same time, hitting your g spot, was enough to have your cunt pulsing and eyes rolling back. you felt the pressure snap and a warmth spreading on your lower tummy, you arched your back.

she keeps slurping everything until youre a whiny and trembling mess.

she decreases her pace, slowly removing her fingers and standing up, making you lick her fingers clean, staring into her eyes.

she helps you get dressed again, and it feels like how it used to all over again, the soft aftercare.

after cleaning you, she softly kisses your forehead and pecks your lips, she was apart from you once, and she's never gonna do it again.

"i love you. i'm so sorry for everything" she says, still trying to catch her breath.

you nod, tired, and give her a fucked out smile as she chuckles.

"i still love you too. so this was a 'im sorry for breaking your heart, i'll fix it by eating you out' kind of apology?" you say, trying to stop your legs from shaking.

you let yourself into her arms as she hugs you tight and fixes your hair gently.

"mhm, but i'll have to keep doing it, just so i can make sure you forgive me"

"please do..."

#lesbian #wlw #se-mi #player 380 #player 380 x reader #squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game smut #se-mi x reader smut #se mi x reader #se-mi x reader #se mi #se mi squid game #se-mi squid game

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a-b-riddle · 9 months ago

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Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #call of duty #angst #angst with a happy ending #john soap mactavish

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sansaorgana · 10 months ago

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— THE GIFT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You were born to be Feyd-Rautha's wife. You arrive to Giedi Prime to get adjusted to the new environment before your wedding. Your betrothed is trying to court you properly... but he only knows The Harkonnen ways of doing so.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — After a whole month of writing Thrown To The Wolves, I felt weird writing something with Feyd with a different Reader and a different plot. 🙈 But at the same time I was excited to explore a new scenario. 😄

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood, death

WORD COUNT — 3,700

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE GIFT

Giedi Prime was an unfriendly place – cold and colourless, nearly lifeless as well. The people you were seeing reminded you of machines more than humans. You were terrified as you realised you’d spent the rest of your life there. The Harkonnens were even worse. Rude, harsh, not very talkative. Your future husband had looked you up and down on your first day in a way that turned your blood cold.

You missed home. You missed your family. But you knew it was impossible to ever go back. You could run away – if you somehow managed to bribe the servants to help you – but it was impossible to hide from your destiny. You had been born to be Feyd-Rautha’s wife, and most importantly, to give birth to his child.

You were a daughter of an important Lord, therefore you weren’t opposed to the idea of an arranged marriage. You knew nothing else was waiting for you in this world and no one would ever let you marry a person of your choice. But why was Feyd-Rautha your betrothed? Out of all the people in the galaxy, why did you have to be promised to a Harkonnen?

Ever since you had been a little girl, your friends had been teasing you about it. Repeating the dreadful gossip about Giedi Prime and your betrothed who had become a famous and dangerous gladiator in the meantime. And now you were finding out that the gossip was not true – reality was even worse than anything you had heard and expected of this place and of this man.

You were supposed to spend three months on Giedi Prime before your wedding, away from your home and family, to adjust to the environment and the customs. Then the wedding would take its place and you’d become the na-baroness of The Harkonnens.

On your first morning you were woken up with breakfast brought to your bed by the servants.

“Why can’t I eat with my husband’s family in the dining room?” You asked them while sitting up and resting on your pillows.

The pale and bald women looked at each other significantly. Everyone looked the same here, you felt like a freak.

“Baron Harkonnen and his nephews do not eat their meals together, unless it is a special occasion, a banquet of some sort,” one of them explained. “Everyone eats their meals in their own private chambers.”

“I see,” you nodded and sighed at the sight of the food. It was as colourless as everything around. You missed the bowls of fruit and yoghurts you had been getting on your homeplanet.

After swallowing the last bit of your breakfast, you took a shower and let your new servants dress you up. The Harkonnens had requested for you to leave all your clothes and personal belongings at home. They wanted you to be as detached from your old self as possible. You were gifted a whole wardrobe of new outfits instead. All black.

You wondered if they’d ask you to shave your head, too. You dreaded that. Your hair was like an armour you could hide under. Your servants had no idea how to manage it so they left it loose. You brushed it with your fingers since there was no brush.

When you saw yourself in the mirror you thought that on your homeplanet you’d be called a feral woman. In a black, long dress, hair unkempt and dark bags under your exhausted and empty eyes that lacked any sort of emotion.

You were supposed to have classes about The Harkonnen culture. You had been studying it since you were a little girl but they did not trust your progress and they wanted to test you in a more practical sense. Your teacher was an old man with a contemptuous smirk, a close advisor of the Baron and most likely his spy.

He had been asking you questions for the past hour to which you answered perfectly well. It was becoming difficult for him to hide his surprised facial expression.

“You’ve been trained well, my Lady,” he admitted.

“This is all that has been expected of me,” you explained with a nod, your voice was hollow and emotionless as you realised how true your words had been. Your whole personality was limited to be the future Harkonnen Baroness ever since you had been a little girl. You couldn’t possibly tell what you would be like under different circumstances. You had never been given a chance to find out.

“Very well then,” he hummed to himself. “I’d like you to roam freely around the fortress and try not to get lost. Tomorrow during our class you will ask me questions about the things and places that made you curious,” he informed you and bowed down before leaving the room.

You looked around, expecting someone to fetch you but no one was coming. He had to actually mean that you were allowed to roam freely around the fortress. Carefully, you left the room and chose to turn right. You had arrived from the left side of the corridor so you were naturally more curious about the right side and exploring a brand new territory.

You were too scared to try to push any doors, though. You didn’t want to walk in on things that would possibly make someone beheading you for seeing. The occasional guards passing you by were looking at you suspiciously but they were not saying anything. After a while you stopped seeing them at all and realised you were in a dark maze of endless corridors that you had no idea how to get out of.

Trying to go back, you only ended up getting lost even further as you were going deeper and deeper into the maze. Your heart started to pound in your chest and your hands began to shake as they turned cold. The corridor was cold in general – much colder than the rest of the fortress. And it was terrifyingly empty.

You decided to stay in one place and wait. Someone had to eventually look for you, right? You hoped for it to be true. Trying to hug your own self for warmth and comfort, you rested your back on the cold, grey wall, taking deep breaths in.

Suddenly, a loud and animalistic cry emerged from behind one of the black doors. You were startled by it and your body began to tremble even more. You wanted to get away as far as possible from that door but when you were about to turn around and run, they opened and your heart squeezed in your chest.

To your surprise, it was your betrothed leaving the mysterious room. He was wearing gladiator attire and holding a blade in his hand with blood still dripping. His eyes widened at the sight of you and you froze.

“What are you doing here?” He asked in his deep and raspy voice.

“I… I got lost, I’m sorry. I’ve been told to roam freely around the fortress and explore on my own but I got lost…” You explained as you shivered.

Feyd-Rautha approached you slowly like predators approach their prey. You took a step back and felt the wall behind you. You were trapped.

“Lost, you’re saying?” He smirked as he hovered over you. Your heart was pounding so fast in your chest that he just had to hear it. He rested one of his hands on the wall above your head and leaned in even closer. “You’ve accidentally gone underground where I train on my slaves,” he smiled almost playfully, showing off his black stained teeth.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to..” You gasped but he shushed you with a soft hiss.

“Did I say it was forbidden?” He asked and you shook your head. “Come, I’ll show you,” Feyd straightened himself and reached out his hand towards you as if he was a proper gentleman.

Everything inside you was screaming to run away and to not follow him anywhere. But you were aware that he would catch you in a second and your attempt would only most likely enrage him. And very soon you would belong to him anyway. You would be his property whether you wanted it or not.

You held his hand and he froze at the feeling of your ice cold and shivering fingers.

“You are cold,” he pointed out. “And scared.”

“I am not scared,” you lied. You had been taught that The Harkonnens hated fear and cowardice.

“And a liar,” Feyd-Rautha sneered and led you inside the mysterious room he had previously left.

It was big and dark like every other room in that fortress. There was a dead body of a servant in gladiator gear laying on the floor in the puddle of his own blood. The walls were covered in all sorts of weapons.

“This is where I train,” Feyd announced proudly. He had to think it would impress you but it only made you sick, especially the sight of the dead man on the floor. You had never seen death in such a brutal and ugly way before. But now you were sure it was not the last time.

Feyd was visibly waiting for your response as he let go of your hand and took a step back to tilt his head and watch your expressions carefully. You realised it was a test of how much you were able to handle as his wife.

You wondered what would happen if you failed all the tests. Would they just send you back home or would they get rid of you? Were they even able to do that? You didn’t want to find out.

“It is impressive, my Lord na-baron,” you admitted with a shaky nod of your head and he winced at your words which made you furrow your brows.

“Don’t address me like a servant, pet,” he clicked his tongue and you nodded, slightly uncomfortable at the way he had called you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised. “How should I address you then?”

“However you like,” Feyd shrugged his arms and approached you once again, raising his bloody blade slightly as you flinched. It brought a smile to his full lips. Looking deep into your eyes, he licked the blade clean. You clenched your jaw and tried to keep a poker face on but a knot formed in your stomach at the disgusting act.

You hated to admit that he was attractive for a Harkonnen. There was a magnetic energy about him that made you attracted to him like a moth was driven to a flame. Even his harsh and unpleasant voice was leaving you wanting more.

Feyd brushed your hair with the tip of his freshly cleaned blade, carefully, making sure not to cut any strand.

“I want you to always wear your hair like this,” he looked even more intensely into your eyes.

“That would be inappropriate,” you tried to explain. “It’s not considered elegant.”

“I said, I want you to always wear your hair like this,” he repeated like he couldn’t understand why you were trying to argue. He was a spoiled na-baron and completely not used to people disobeying him. So, you just nodded this time.

“Then I will,” you promised. “If I could only get a hairbrush, though. Or a comb. So they don’t tangle,” you pleaded and he squinted his eyes at you as the tip of his blade moved to under your chin. You swallowed thickly at that gesture.

“A hairbrush or a comb,” he repeated your words. “That can be arranged,” he added and you smiled nervously at him. “What are you scared of?”

“Of the blade under my chin perhaps?” You raised an eyebrow at him and he chuckled, however his hand remained still.

“Weren’t you sent here to be my wife?” Feyd’s smile dropped in an instant. He was serious again and you took a deep breath in, tugging on the folds of your dress to hide how sweaty your hands had become.

“Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“And what do you think of that?”

“I don’t think. I have been preparing for that since I was a child,” you answered.

“I want to be a good husband,” his sudden confession made your eyes widen. In one swift move he took the blade away from you and replaced it with his hand as he held your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. “My uncle says that a wife should not be an enemy. He wants me to court you properly,” he explained.

“Is your uncle experienced in marriage?” You asked, curiously. You had been taught that Baron Harkonnen had never been married.

Feyd laughed at your question as his grip on your chin tightened. He moved his face even closer to yours, your nose nearly brushed his and it made you hold your breath.

“Can you think of a woman who would not become his enemy after being forced to marry him?” He asked you and you dared to chuckle at that.

“So, I assume, I do not have to worry about you becoming like him one day?” You bit on your lower lip, realising that he indeed did not want to hurt you.

Perhaps that whole uncomfortable and threatening situation was his idea of intimacy. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“My uncle is not my role model,” he only answered and took a step back, removing his hand from your chin. “I don’t have idols.”

“What do you worship then?” You furrowed your brows.

“Blood and honour,” he answered with all seriousness. “Allow me to give you something, my pet. A gift for my bride to be,” he proposed and you hesitantly agreed, not wanting to hurt his feelings by refusing.

You expected him to approach one of the walls and hand you some of the weapons. But, to your surprise, he kneeled down next to the dead body laying on the floor and he opened its chest with the sharp tip of his blade. You gagged quietly and covered your mouth with your hand, trying to look away as the metallic smell of blood hit your nostrils, leaving you nauseous.

The sound of his heavy footsteps made you look in his direction again, not wanting to offend him in any way. He was walking towards you proudly with a real human heart in his hands, blood dripping off of it on the floor, leaving a trace. With all your force you stopped yourself from squealing at the sight. No amount of training and studying The Harkonnen culture had prepared you for this.

Feyd-Rautha reached his hands out as he offered you his foul gift. He was staring at you intensely, expecting praise of some sort or admiration. However, you had none. You let the wet organ slip into your hands as you gagged once again at the sensation and a shiver went down your body. Your reaction caused Feyd to tilt his head and squint his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” You asked in a shaky voice.

“You don’t like it,” he pointed out after a short while of silence and you got scared of upsetting him.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…” you started, trying to nervously explain yourself.

“You don’t like it,” he repeated, both annoyed and disappointed.

“I appreciate the gesture,” you tried to assure him. “I will keep it,” you promised.

“Why don’t you like it?” He asked once again, ignoring all your words. You sighed.

“It’s just not something I’m used to. In my homeworld, we don’t give each other human hearts,” you explained softly.

“What do you give each other?” His question was genuine and curious.

“Haven’t you studied my customs like I have been studying yours?” You asked but the answer was obvious.

“My uncle says it is not important for me to know your culture because you are here to become one of us,” Feyd explained. “The only thing I have been studying was the blade,” he added. “So, what kind of gifts do your people give?”

“Flowers,” you answered. “For example.”

“There are no flowers on Giedi Prime,” Feyd pointed out. “No seed blooms in our soil.”

“I understand,” you nodded, nervously. “I am grateful for your gift, Feyd-Rautha. I appreciate your courtship,” you assured him but your voice and hands were shaking as your face was visibly disgusted.

Someone knocked upon the doors and Feyd barked at them to come in. You turned around and saw two guards sighing out of relief at the sight of you.

“There you are, my Lady!” One of them approached you. “We’ve been searching everywhere. Let us escort you back to your chambers,” he bowed his head.

You nodded at him, relieved as well at the sight of them. You wanted nothing else than to go back to the familiar part of the fortress and to finally leave this awkward and uncomfortable situation with your betrothed.

Still holding the heart carefully in your hands, you walked out without even glancing at Feyd-Rautha. The guards took you to your chambers where the worried servants had been waiting. They gasped at the sight of your gift.

“What is it, my Lady?” One of the girls asked you.

“It’s a gift from Feyd-Rautha,” you explained as they all widened their eyes. “I have no idea what to do with it,” you admitted.

“Feyd Rautha gave it to you, my Lady?” The servant swallowed thickly and you nodded. “Do you know what it means, my Lady?”

“No,” you shook your head and handed the organ to another girl. “I desperately need to wash my hands and change my dress,” you said and disappeared into the bathroom where you spent fifteen minutes getting rid of the blood.

You took the stained dress off and threw it on the floor before walking out back to your chamber. The girls were already preparing the heart as they put it in a jar full of some odd liquid.

“It will dry in there, my Lady,” one of them explained. “Na-baron must be really enamoured with you, my Lady, or perhaps he is trying to show his best side to you.”

“Enamoured?” You snorted at her. “It’s gruesome.”

“It’s the most romantic thing a Harkonnen man can give to a woman, my Lady,” the other woman added and you gasped.

“I haven’t been taught that…” You whispered, feeling extremely stupid for the way you had treated Feyd-Rautha before. You had to anger him dearly and his rage was not something you wanted to deal with. “What is the equivalent of such a gift for a man? What can I give him in return?” You asked the servants and they looked at each other’s faces, surprised.

“There is no equivalent, my Lady,” one of them answered. “Harkonnen women do not court. Only men do.”

On the next day, when you were leaving your chambers to go to your class, you spotted the doors nearby opening and your betrothed walking out of them. Your room was in the same area as his so it was no surprise but you didn’t expect to see him at the same time in the morning. At the sight of you, he looked down and walked past you without a word, which made you feel bad for him and for the way you had treated him. But it also made you anxious because his uncle has been right about marriage. You didn’t want Feyd-Rautha to be your enemy.

Giedi Prime was far from perfect and your betrothed was an odd, psychotic creature. You couldn’t change your destiny, though, so you had to embrace it to make it bearable.

“Feyd, wait,” you rushed after him and he froze when you grabbed the sleeve of his robe. He turned around and looked at you coldly.

“I am in a hurry,” he drawled.

“So am I. But I wanted to apologise. I have been studying the Harkonnen culture for years but I have never been told of the meaning of such a gift,” you explained, feeling your cheeks getting warm. “Please, forgive me. I didn't mean to reject you.”

“The heart was of a low quality,” he admitted as his face softened slightly. “Next time I will give you the heart of a real warrior, a real enemy. Not some slave,” he added. “My uncle has already reprimanded me for that.”

You broke a smile at him. It was adorable in a way how this scary and dangerous man was following his uncle’s guide on courtship, trying to be on his best behaviour around you. It was making you feel powerful in a way.

“I would like to return the favour but my servants have informed me there is no such tradition,” you confessed. “What can I do for you to forgive me?”

Feyd-Rautha hesitated for a moment as he looked away, thinking intensely about something. Then he laid his eyes on you again and leaned in to join your lips together. You were startled at first, your heart pounded in your chest. Raised to become his wife, you had never kissed anybody before and saved yourself for him only, however it felt as if his soft lips were truly made for yours. You put your hand on his chest and opened your mouth to invite his tongue in. He devoured you, greedily wanting to explore your mouth and feast on your taste. His hands pulled you closer by your hips and you put your free hand behind his head. Seeing him for the first time in real life two days ago, you had been slightly uncomfortable at the sight of him. But now you did not feel any of that.

Even if you hadn’t been prepared to become his wife, you’d still want him. You had been born to be his.

Feyd’s hands moved up and cupped your face before breaking the kiss and moving away gently. You took a deep breath in as he stared into your eyes and caressed your loose hair.

“You’re forgiven, my pet,” he told you. “By the way, I’ve ordered a hair brush for you.”

MASTERLIST

#dune imagine #dune x reader #dune fanfic #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen imagine #feyd rautha harkonnen fanfic #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #austin butler x reader #lilysfiction

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luvyeni · 3 months ago

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PERSONAS ,, 이제노

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ jeno is surprised by your persona... both of them ヾ

PORNSTAR!이제노・ CAMGIRL!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ wc ・ 6.4k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

𓂃 🎞️ content warning... sex on film, rough-ish sex, oral sex ( M ), unprotected sex, facial

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 finally did a fic based on this photoshoot , doesn’t he look like a 80’s pornstar?

camgirling was only supposed to be something you did for fun, and the cash you got from it wasn't too bad either — you never expected to blow up like you did, the people really liked you.

when you first started it was slow, but that didn't last long and soon you gained a small following. it wasn't until you did a face reveal that you blew up — the fans loved you; that day alone you gained 100k new followers. from that day on you only grew more; more money rolled in which granted you the ability to move into a bigger apartment, pay off your debts and live comfortably without stress.

“it's your persona” your friends would say; you weren't shy about you did for work; you felt like you didn't need to be — no you weren't telling a stranger on the street you did camgirling , but you didn't hide it from your friends. “you're a walking porn trope.” donghyuck; your best friend said. “innocent girl next door look , but we all saw you deepthroat a 6in dildo without gagging.”

that should've offended you but you were used to it. “yeah , that pigmented blush bows and wide puppy dog eyes is cute and all, but it's that and the fact that you bounced on a 7in strap-on attached to a stuffed bear that turns people on.” ryujin said. “you have a face for porn.”

“is there a difference?” your friends looked at you. “duh , of course!” haechan said. “camgirling is mostly done in the comfort of your own home , low production.” he said. “porn is different, with porn there's a script almost like a movie with a crew , and another actor.” you and ryujin both looked at each other. “uh you seem real passionate about that…” he shrugged. “I'm a man of course i do , that's why i know you would be perfect for porn.”

“what would i get out of bad acting in room full of men with hardon watching me be badly fucked by another macho man on viagra and red bull?” you scoffed. “expect a sore clit and a cumshot to the face that tastes like battery acid?” ryujin looked around the cafe where you were sitting , making sure no one heard the conversation. “would you both keep it down?”

“more money, a new following.” he responded nonchalantly , your ears perked up. “go on.” you said now listening. “well the website you use now, it's big but it's niche , only a few new visitors monthly.” he started. “you do one porn video with a good actor with a good following , bingo! you get a new following from his following and it reaches a bigger audience who stumble across your video.” you had to admit although he was loud and you're pretty sure the sweet old lady walking past heard everything, he talked a big game.

“what are you a porn star scout?” ryujin laughed while taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “wait is that a thing?” he asked, you shook your head. “that does sound good, my rent just went up and there's a new pair of shoes that have been sitting in my cart.” you said. “yn don't do porn for a pair of louboutins and rent , get a roommate.” ryujin said, trying to be the voice of reason. “would you do it?” you asked her.

“i love you so i would never lie to you.” she said. “yeah , give me the script.” the three of you busting out into a fit of laughter. “plus if you don't like it then you can easily go back to camgirling.” she said. “and i don't think all male pornstars are bad.”

“and you know this how?” she looked at you. “you think i don't watch porn?” she questioned. “the acting? horrible but who's watching porn for the plot.” haechan raised his hand. “haechan be fucking for real.” you snickered. “what big dick delivery man and hot lonely milf is a work of art.” he said with a serious face. “oh he serious i think.” ryujin said. “that's the scary thing.”

“you know not all the acting is bad either.” ryujin spoke up. “yeah jeno is good even my dick gets hard when i listen to him speak.” you choose to ignore him. “who's jeno.” you asked. “you don't know jeno? the lee jeno, he's huge in the porn world.” ryujin said, you scoffed. “sorry im not familiar with the ryan reynolds of porn.” you said. “you think ryan reynolds would do porn?”

“lee jeno is a huge pornstar; he doesn't even just do porn , he's a model, he walks on runways as well , he's invited into classy spaces despite showing the world his dick.” the girl explained. “and i heard the girls he fucks on camera…” she said. “those orgasms are real.” haechan nodded in agreement. “i heard that too.”

“if you could get with him, you'd be set.” you rolled your eyes. “if he's as good as you say why the fuck would he film a video with me?” you scoffed. “pussy is pussy and money is money.” ryujin shrugged , the horrified worker walked past making the three of you laugh. “my god ryu , you sound like a man.”

“check him out; i swear you'll understand why he's famous.”

“come in , come in.” you flashed a smile to the camera; this wasn't a camgirl video, but a regular live that you sometimes did because your fans wanted you to — for what? you don't question, they pay you to just talk half naked. “how was everyone's day?”

you read through the comments; thanking the commenters for the donations. “what did i do today?” you read off. “well i ran some errands, got a few new toys.” you smirked. “oh and i had some coffee with some friends.” you said. “they told me i have a face for porn.”

the comments blew up with people agreeing. “i guess you guys agree as well.” you giggled playing into that act they loved so muched, reading more comments.

6inchking. what i would do to film a video with you.

user34.52. fuck yes , i would kill to see you fuck someone else.

allsizesmatter. you should film with lee jeno.

“oh? i keep hearing that name, my friends said the same thing.” you said. “is he really that good? maybe i should watch some of his videos.” you said, rolling your eyes at the comments that were in disbelief that you watched porn. “guys don't be ridiculous , why wouldn't i watch porn?” you laughed, grabbing your phone. “let's look him up.”

you typed into the search bar; waiting for the screen to load. “let's see if he lives up to what everyone says he is.” the screen finally loading, the most finest fucking man popping up on your screen. “oh he's really good looking.” you said scrolling through the many pictures. “really good looking.” you almost forgot you were on live — not only was his face godly , it looked like he was sculpted by the gods himself.

user24.52. look at her , already turned on just by his photos.

user22.63. to be looked at by her liked that.

“guys stop.” you giggled, cheeks red. “he is cute though.” you said. “im already so tired from the day.” you said; and yes you were tired, but you also wanted to watch on of his videos. “am i gonna watch one of his videos?” you smiled innocently , before shrugging. “i guess you guys will never know will you.” you blew a kiss to the camera. “bye bye.” you turned the camera off.

after that you wasted no time, climbing into your bed. your phone in your hand as you get comfortable, reaching over into your nightstand grabbing your rose toy; taking off your panties , pulling down your bra , sighing as the wind hit your nipples. “fuck.” you scrolled through jenos account— he had 5.5 million followers; way more than your messily 345k, he was a big deal.

you scrolled through his videos , settling on the most recent one. clicking the video — normally you'd skip the whole “acting scene” but this guy was known for his good acting so you decided to see for yourself.

you were a little bored at first, but as the scene went on you came to the realization that it was one of the best scenes you'd ever watched when watching porn, even though the actress was good , it almost seemed like regular video — besides the bright production lights and 4k hd cameras , and the fact that the beautiful actress herself was dressed in expensive lingerie and heels. her makeup done to the nines.

and then there was jeno; he was just as fine on video than in camera. his voice alone had you itching to touch yourself, which you did— fingers ghosting over your nipples; eyes closing. you almost forgot about the video, until you heard moaning. you opened your eyes to jeno sticking his cock into the girl. believe it or not , you weren't fucking just anyone , you actually only had sex with a few people , but their sizes compared to his were vastly different.

you understood why he was so famous; jeno was extremely good at his job. it was like you were watching a real couple fuck in their bed; jeno was rough; but not like those horrible videos where it looked like the girl wasn't enjoying it — the way the actresses eyes were crossed, it looked like she was very much enjoying it.

you curled your fingers up into your g-spot, thrusting your fingers in and out of your dripping hole. your moans , jenos and the actresses filled your empty room. you wanted to drop the phone and just finish already, desperate to cum , but you couldn't, it was like you were in a trance. the actress came with a loud scream. “oh fuck.” you moaned as jeno brought the girl to her knees , cumming all over the girls face — lord how you wished it was you.

your legs crossed over your hand as you came, back arching off the bed. “fuck!” you sighed as you came down from your high , the next random video playing on your phone. you turned it off , desperately trying to catch your breath. he had this effect on you and all you did was watch his videos.

getting up to clean yourself off; washing your body and your hair. getting out , drying off. you threw on an oversized shirt not bothering to put on underwear, it was just you. grabbing a snack before making your way back to bed to watch tv.

meanwhile a few miles away; jeno sat in his chair scrolling through his feed. he hated night shoots , everyone was tired and ready to go home. the actress today just wasn't good , her acting sucked , she was bitching about everything; how she hated the script; how the outfit was ugly — how she wanted him to cum. he was all for women wanting to what they wanted , but damn how was it his fault he wasn't turned on enough to cum as much as she wanted.

“jeno?” his manager and best friend jaemin , walked into his dressing room. “is it time to go?” he said, not looking up. “well … no, she's still complaining, something about you being too big.” jeno smirked. “so we're figuring that out now.” he said. “can we just sat fuck this shoot and go home?” he said. “im doing them a favor, i don't need the money.” he said. “yeah sure.” jaemin said. “what can they do?” he told the assistant on hand to tell them they were leaving. “what did you want?” he said, putting on his sweats. “when? oh to just show you this.”

he pulled the sweatshirt over his head; taking the phone from his friend's hand. “what am i looking at, who is this girl?” he stared at the screen , watching you talk. “she's cute , new girlfriend?”

“i don't date, she's a camgirl.” he scoffed at his friend. “her?” he looked at you once again. “stop fucking around her?” you looked so innocent, dressed like a doll , cute makeup, cheeks extremely pink from blush, normally jeno thinks that makeup look is crazy, but you made it work. “she doesn't even look like she's seen a porn film.”

“not everything is what it seems my friend look.” he clicked another video— and he swore he was watching another girl. “did she just?” jeno was shocked. “yes , she did.” his friend smirked while he stared in shock as he watched you take a 9in toy down your throat without gagging. “no gag reflex , if she has a boyfriend he's a lucky fucking bastard.”

jeno pushed the phone away; not that he didn't want to see it, but he also didn't want to cum in his pants to a video in front of his friend. “why are you showing me this?” he said. “you know i don't do camming.”

“yeah , but people want you both to collaborate. apparently she talked about you today and the internet is going crazy.” jaemin said. “she has good following , not as big as yours , but that shouldn't even matter , bro she doesn't have a gag reflex , i’d do it for fun.” jeno picked his bag up, slinging it over his shoulder. “does she even have a manager? does she even want to do porn? why am i asking the questions that i pay you to already have answered before coming to me?”

“she's a independent artist i think, but I'm sure she'd answer a dm.” jeno lifted his eyebrow. “yeah , because she'd answer a random message asking her does she want to do porn , bro she gets those messages daily.” he said. “im sure i could work it out.” he said. “well then come back to me when you do.” jeno slapped his friends chest. “now let's go im hungry.” he said. “i’ll send you that link to the full video , you have to see it.”

“which one did you watch?” haechan asked. “why are we having this conversation right now?” you said cheeks red. “you've literally told us about how you — the recent one.” you interrupted ryujin before she embarrassed you. “i watched the recent one.” she nodded. “oh that one is good, that actress is hot.” she said , hyuck nodding in agreement. “she is.”

“she was, they both were.” you said. “and the acting was good , i actually watched it.” haechan pointed. “told you sometimes the plot just hits.”

“i thought i was watching a couple fucking, either one , that actress is in the wrong business or two , he's a good fucker and she wasn't acting.” you said. “she actually looked excited for him to cum on her.” you could still hear the moans playing in your head. “okay snap out of it , no one wants to watch you get turned on in public.” ryujin said , haechan scoffed. “speak for yourself.”

you laughed , your phone buzzing making you break away from the conversation; it was a message from twitter dm. you ignored it , thinking it was a normal everyday dm from a fan. you sat your phone down only for it to go off multiple times. “girl you got a boyfriend we don't know about? who the hell is texting you like that?” ryujin picked up your phone. “probably a weird fan, im gonna close my dms”

that didn't stop ryujin from clicking the messages, ready to troll the person. “oh girl , i don't think so.” she handed you the device back. “what is it?”

reading through the text messages. “what is it , don't leave me out.” haechan whined. “it's from jenos manager.” ryujin said , haechan sat up from his seat. “what let me see.” he snatched the phone. “oh my god , jeno wants to film with you.” he said. “it's like the porn gods answered us.”

“must you act like a neanderthal? it's probably a fake account.” haechan clicked the account. “it's verified and there's pictures of them together , they seem close.” he said. “he wants you to call him , he gave you a number to call.” he gave you back the phone. “oh my god let's go back to yours so you can call.”

they basically dragged you back to your apartment after that, forcing you to call the boy. “you both have to shut the fuck up if i put it on speaker.” you said typing down the number into the keypad. “probably about to call a random guy just so he can jerk off to my voice.” you pushed the call button. “don't you do that already.” you scoffed. “yeah but i get paid for it.”

the three of you sitting around the bed waiting for them to answer. “hello?” you picked up the phone. “is this na jaemin?” you said. “yes is this yn? i know your voice— wait, not like that.” your two friends snickered. “it's fine, i almost didn't call you, i thought you were a weird fan.”

“understandable; it's probably a weird text , but it me and everything i sent was true.” he said. “it is?” your eyes widened. “s-so he really does want to film with me?” you asked. “yes , he does.” you wanted to squeal , but you didn't want to seem desperate. “oh that's cool.” you said. “oh that's cool?” ryujin whispered to herself. “shut up.” you gritted through your teeth. “excuse me.”

“oh nothing.” you said. “oh okay, well first thing, we set up a meeting with you both.” he said. “just so when you film it won't be too awkward , then we film.”

“that's it?” you said. “that's it , you both show up to film, we'll provide everything else for you.” you looked at your friends who nodded their heads. “how does that sound?” he said. “i guess that's fine.” you said. “great! i’ll let him know, are you free tomorrow?”

“tomorrow? uh yeah sure im free.” you said. “great i'll send the address where to meet us see you tomorrow!” you hung up the phone. “oh my god i can't believe that just happened.” you tossed the phone down on the bed. “this is crazy , you get to film with lee jeno.” haechan said. “i almost want to be in your shoes.”

the next day you got ready for the meeting; putting on your best outfit — so you wouldn't feel so nervous, and maybe to impress them a little. jaemin had sent you the address the night before and lucky for you it was in walking distance from your place. “im almost there's , so I'll call you back when it's over.” you said the restaurant in your view. “you better and be careful , just cause there hasn't been a serial killer porn star, doesn't mean there can't be one.” ryujin ordered. “okay im here.”

you quickly said your goodbyes, before hanging up. you reached for the door , walking into the restaurant. you looked down at your phone, ready to send the man a text when someone tapped your shoulders. “yn?”

“oh hi.” you smiled. “i was just about to text you.” you put your phone away. “you're right on time , jeno is over there.” he said “let's go.” your hands were sweating from nerves as you approached the table , the man himself coming into view. “don't be nervous, he's not as intimidating as he looks on camera.” he said. “jeno.”

the boy looked up from his phone; and he almost did a double take. you really didn't look like what you did for work; gorgeous? yes. but he just couldn't see you doing what he saw you do the night before. “oh shit.” he stood up. “hey.” he said , holding his hands out. you reached for his hand , shaking it. “h-hi.”

“both of you sit down , sit down and get comfortable.” jaemin said. “before i give you some space , let's go over the details.” he sat down. “okay.” you smiled.

jeno didn't need to listen; jaemin would just repeat it over for him — instead he just looked at you, studying you. he watched you fiddle with your nails while listening to his friend intently. his eyes traveling down to your lips, biting the bottom one. “jeno?” jaemin knocked him out of his thoughts. “what?” he watched you shuffle in your seat. “i said you understand all that?”

“yeah , yeah i do.” he said. jaemin knew he didn't , but he'd explain later. “we filming on wednesday, it will only take one day , but it's a all day shoot is that fine?” you nodded. “of course.” you said. “that works for me.”

“good , now i'll give you both some time to get to know each other.” he stood up. “i’ll get you both some food as well.” he walked away. “thank you.” you called out, it fully hit you that you were left alone with jeno again , he smirked watching you shy away once again. “i guess this is the real you.”

“h-huh?” you asked , he sat up; putting his elbows on the table, watching you. “the bows really do change how one would look at you.” your hand came to your head. “no , keep them in , don't take them out.” your hands immediately went to your lap. “cute.”

“me-me?” you gulped. “is anyone else sitting there love?” your cheeks were flushed , to jeno it was like your already pink cheeks were now red. “here you guys go.” jaemin came back with two plates. “i ordered enough steak for you to share , and some pasta.” he said. “i’ll leave you two , jeno play nice , she's perfect for this and we don't need you scaring her off.”

“go ahead.” he said. “eat.” you picked up the fork nervously, picking up a slice of the meat. “now put to your mouth and eat it.” it felt like he was gonna eat you alive , you put the steak to your mouth , biting it. “good girl , i can already tell im gonna like you.”

“so tell me , why'd you want to do this?” jeno asked. “do-do what?” you asked. “do I need to spell it out baby , porn what made you want to do this?” he said. “most camgirls stick to that.” you sat the fork down , taking a sip of water. “well it's kinda stupid.” you said , he waved you off. “tell me.” he said. “well my friends told me i’d be good at it.” you said. “and you just listened to them?” he raised his eyebrows. “you must agree with them.”

“i guess.” you said. “i didn't really understand what they meant by that.” he sat back listening. “i do.” he really did , truth is jeno spent the night before watching your past streams , and fuck did you put on a performance. he had to force himself to put his phone down before he started shooting blanks , his hands and his cock covered in his cum as your moans played over and over on his phone. “well why do you do it?”

“me?” he asked , shrugging. “because i like to fuck.” he laughed, watching your eyes widen. “don't look so surprised baby it's really not that surprising,” he said. “i like to fuck and i like making money , why not do both?” jeno never wanted to be a pornstar , his main dream was to be a model , turns out it wasn't that easy — but it was easy to pick up a camera and film himself fucking. “b-but you're a model , you don't need to do this.”

“you're right i don't , but here we are.” he eyed you up and down , eyes shamelessly stopping at your bust. “just like you.” he said. “y-yeah.”

“you've watched a few of my videos haven't you?” he asked. “i watched yours.” you wanted to lie , but how could you when he was being so truthful. “a few.” you gulped. “so you know im not gonna go easy on you right?” the way he talked so confidently it sent shivers down your spine. “but im sure you can take it right?” your body hot. “i mean im bigger than what you've taken but im sure you can learn to take it right?”

“i can take it.” you said, quickly covering your mouth. “yeah? let's see on thursday.” he bit his lip. “give me your phone.” he said. “here.” you handed it to him. “you listen well , i fucking love that.” he typed down his number. “i don't give my number out to every actress.” he said, handing you your phone back , jaemin returning back to the table. “we have to go soon.”

“that's too bad , we were just getting to know each other.” reaching for your card. “relax , im paying.” jeno said. “i-i have money.” you said. “i'm sure you do , but i didn't ask.” he said. “yn do you need a uber?” jaemin asked, but you were too busy making googly eyes at jeno. “oh no , i-i live a few minutes away.” jaemin nodded. “well it was nice to meet you , why don't you head out first and we'll stay behind and settle this.” you smiled. “thank you.”

“just show up on wednesday as you are ready to film.” you nodded. “of course!” you smiled, about to walk away when jeno grabbed your hand. “your phone love.” you took it from his hands. “thank you.” and just like that , the boys watched you leave out. “you done making googly eyes?” jaemin said. “can i take you home so i can get to my date?” jeno rolled his eyes. “hey don't get upset with me, nothing stopped you from following behind her and getting a pre show of wednesday.”

wednesday came quick; you have a busy few days before — you wanted everything perfect , getting your hair done; waxing your eyebrows and other areas. you hadn't used the number jeno gave you , scared to use it , even though your friends encouraged you too. “you're about to have his cock inside you , this phone call would be nothing.”

still you didn't budge; it probably didn't even bother the boy, he could've easily called someone else.

the production had arranged for a car to pick you up from your place to take you to a location; you read the script on the way there , it was a simple script since it was your first project on this scale — something about neighbors. it really didn't matter to you, you were excited but nervous. “we're here miss.” it was an actual house; a nice one.

you got up to the car , thanking the driver. “okay.” you said to yourself. “let's do this.” you said, the door was open so you just walked in , people running around, cameras and lights everywhere. “you must be yn?” a woman came up to you. “hi?” you said. “you are?” she smiled. “im kim , I run the production company that films the videos jeno is in.” she said. “you do?”

“yes i do; is it a little weird because im a woman?” you shook your head. “no of course not!” you said she laughed. “we're all about comfortability, to make sure you and the actor are both comfortable.” she said. “jeno is already on set , he's normally never here early.” she said. “actually he's normally late.” she said. “but enough about him , let's get you to your dressing room.”

she guided you to your room, opening the door. “this is your first shoot so i wanted to make sure everything was perfect.” she held your back guiding you in. “we have a stylist that will help you , along with make up who will make you even more beautiful.” she was extremely nice. “thank you so much.” you said. “don't worry about it , just get relaxed and ready to film some scenes.” she said. “the stylist will be in here soon , make-up as well.”

she left you alone after that , you looked around the room , she laid out a display of snacks that made you smile — your phone ringing , you took it out of your pocket , furrowing your eyebrows at the unrecognizable number. “so your phone does work.” you recognized the room , whipping around. “je-jeno.”

he walked into the room. “it's been a busy week.” you said. “yeah?” you nodded. “you aren't wearing the bows today,” he said. “gonna tell the stylist to change that.” you nervously took a step back. “i like the bows , let's put them in the movie.” you nodded. “ok-okay.” he was close enough to smell his cologne. “relax , im not gonna bite.” he said. “at least not now.” you squeaked as he pressed against you. “later im not promising anything.”

“i could definitely take you right here right now.” he confessed. “give you a quick training on taking me before later.” he said, his body looming over you. “but i kinda want to wait until later.” he smirked , your knees almost buckling under you. “let's wait until later, yeah?” he said. “ye-yeah.” you sighed in relief when he stepped back , finally letting you breathe. “i’ll see you in a bit love.”

you didn't have time to process what just happened before the stylist and the makeup artist both shuffled in. “out jeno out we have to get her ready.” he was quickly pushed out. “gosh.” the stylist said. “he's never here this early all of sudden he's early.” the makeup artist turned to you. “well there's the reason right there, you are gorgeous.” you smiled. “th-thank you.”

“let's get you ready.”

the outfit wasn't much different from what you normally wear , just a lingerie version meaning it was much shorter; so short you could see your ass , poking from your panties — but it was still cute. “you look pretty.” the stylist said, picking up the bows. “per jenos request, hope you don't mind.” she placed the bow in your hair. “done.”

they left , kim returning soon after. “you ready.” you nodded. “let's go.” she guided you to the front where the scene would take place , the cameras ready. “yn , hey.” jaemin said. “oh hi.” you waved back. “you look nice , you ready?” you nodded. “i'm a little nervous , this is much different than my room.”

“don't worry about it; it's your first big production.” he said. “just do your best.” he reassured you. “jeno is done with make-up so we should be starting — five minutes!” someone shouted , you giggled. “in five minutes.” he said. “good luck.”

“the scene starts with you in the kitchen.” the producer guided you to the kitchen , leaving you alone. you leaned over the counter , scrolling through your phone while you waited. “you look too good right now.” jeno caged you in between his arms. “th-thank you , you smell nice.” it just slipped out your mouth. “oh , i-i di-didn’t — you smell nice too.” he said , your cheeks were already red enough. “makes me want to eat you up right here.” he didn't know how much he really was effecting you , anymore of what he would be doing and you'd be begging him to fuck you right there. “okay actors , get in position!”

“good luck princess.” he walked away, leaving you to pull yourself together and get ready for the scene. “are they actors ready?” everyone got into position. “okay, rolling in 5…4…3…2…1 , start !”

the scene went exceptionally well; it was build up scene that leads up to the actual sex scene — but even those scenes were hot and heavy; at least jeno made it like that. it took a few hours to film , making sure to get every angle. “okay great, the next scene jeno you what to do.”

jeno didn't know if he had it in him; the resistance as the camera guy yelled for the scene to start again — the strength to hold himself together once he got his lips on you; he was a professional, but with you it felt like his very first scene.

“you can do what you want.” you spoke up , back into character , you were a natural — almost like you were talking to him outside of character. “what did you say?” he said , damn near forgetting his line. you looked down at your fingers. “to me , you can do what you want to me.”

there was the girl from the streams; it flicked just like that; your other persona , the one from the restaurant that told him you could take it — and he was about to put it to the test. “i can?” his big hand wrapping around your neck. “you don't know me that well but you'd let me do what i want to you?”

that was basically your current situation with the man; yeah you had only met him four days ago, but you'd let him do whatever he wanted , on and off camera. “y-yes.”

“that's real whore like of you.” his hand squeezed your throat. “real whore like.” he said, slamming his lips against yours. unfortunately the scene took place on a couch so he didn't have much room to work with , but it didn't mean anything to him — besides he'll just fuck you into your mattress on another day.

the kiss was rough; his hand squeezing your throat as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. “fuck.” he cursed, pulling away. “get on your knees.” he pushed you down , the camera close to your face as he unbuckled his pants. “gonna fuck your face.” he pulled his cock out , it was definitely bigger than the dildos you were use to. “hey.” he slapped your face. “come on, be a good whore and suck my cock.”

he grabbed the base of his cock , slapping it on your cheek. “open slut.” he shoved his length inside your mouth , and much like your previous streams , you took him into your throat without gagging. “yeah , fuck swallowing my fucking cock like that.” he groaned , holding the back of your head moving you up and down on his thick length , also moving his hips. “cock sucking slut , how many cocks has this throat taken?”

he was using your mouth; the cameras all there filming it turned you on even more , the many people watching in the room as he fucked your face made you hornier. “yeah fuck!” he had to force himself out of you so he wouldn't cum fast. “get up.” he pulled you up , throwing you to the couch. “ass up, now slut.”

he pulled the dress up , revealing the matching color set they put you in. “dumb slut is wet from sucking cock.” he slapped your ass , you moaned , he pulled your panties down , your folds covered in your slick. “messy pussy , gonna stuff you full of my cock.” he maneuvered your body on the small couch. “arch your back.”

he pushed your head down on the couch seat. “gonna make you take it all at once.” your whimpering turned into screams as he abruptly shoved his entire length into your pussy. “hell you're fucking tight.” he groaned , pulling out slamming back inside. “fuck!” he began to fuck into you , holding the back of your neck. “such a whore.”

his thrust were brutal and unrelentless; the camera catching everything — his cock stretching you out more than you've ever been, the squelching sounds from your cunt it was embarrassing, having people hear that ; but the embarrassment soon was forgotten as he went deeper. “my fuck -oh my- oh my fucking god.”

he let out a lust filled chuckle. “so stupid baby.” he slapped your ass. “my cock really made your brain turn to mush.” he abruptly pulled out of you , slapping your ass , your legs shook. “turn around.” he flipped you on your back.

you looked up at him with teary wide eyes. but he could see the lust in them. “that innocent look doesn't work on me.” he slapped your cunt. “i can see through whores like you.” he lined his cock up with your hole. “innocent looking but ready to take any cock they can get.”

this new angle had you reaching for anything , jenos arm; the couch cushion — his cock had you grabbing at the air. he pulled down the front of the lingerie , your tits now bouncing along with his thrust. the rumors proving to be true as you felt your orgasm approaching. “you're clenching around me , fuck your pussy is suffocating my cock.” he growled. “fuck im gonna cum!” you screamed out. “cum slut , wet my cock with your cum.”

he had your legs open wide , holding your shaking thighs. “cum.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came, soaking his stomach and the seat below you. a high pitched moan coming from your mouth as he kept going. “fuck keep cumming on my cock.” he slapped your poor clit rubbing rubbing it. “yeah im gonna - fuck - im gonna cum.” he groaned. “fuck im gonna cum all over your face.”

he pulled out of your twitching hole , standing over your face , stroking his cock. the camera was up close again as he came — and he came a lot. he groaned, throwing his head back as he covered you in his seed. “fuck.”

you laid out on the couch , his thumb still rubbing at your clit as your reached your final orgasm , your thighs shaking uncontrollably. “cut!”

jeno almost forgot about the camera; ready to bring you to another orgasm. “je-jeno.” your shaking voice pulled him from his horny state. “shit im sorry.” he pulled away , desperately wanting to taste you. “almost made you squirt again.” he smirked. “now how would we explain that? because the camera is off.”

“get her a cover.” he shouted , someone running over to you both , he covered your body. “jeno.” they handed him a robe. “you did so good.” the staff handing you fluids. “felt like watching a couple have sex , you're a natural girl.” you nodded with a smile. “are you a natural princess?” jeno spoke up once they were gone. “or is it because those screams were real?”

you lowered your head , shying away from his gaze. “don't hide from me now , i know your real persona , and these cameras maybe done rolling, but i'm not done with you yet.” he whispered , just as you were pulled from your seat by a staff member and whisked back to your room. “you ready to go?” jaemin came over. “no need to drive me home tonight,” he said. “why not?” asked Jaemin.

“because im not going home tonight.”

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #nct fanfic #nct x female reader #nct x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream hard thoughts #nct dream hard hours #nct dream x female reader #nct dream x reader #lee jeno fanfic #lee jeno x reader #lee jeno smut #jeno x reader #jeno smut #jeno fic #jeno hard thoughts #jeno hard hours

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solxamber · 4 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Love Triangles and Royal Rumbles - Leona Kingscholar x Reader

When you get isekai'd as the male lead in the novel where your favorite character, Leona Kingscholar is the second male lead, all that's left to do is rewrite the romance!

Series Masterlist

You're just an average person, doing normal human things like eating, sleeping, and, of course, staring at your poster of Leona Kingscholar for three hours straight. Totally healthy behavior. People have hobbies, right? Some knit, some jog, and you…? You defend your fictional lion husband from slander on the internet. You’re practically a digital knight in shining armor.

The story that has consumed your very soul? Oh, just your typical Cliché Villainess Academy Novel: Revenge Edition™. The plot is so by-the-book, it’s basically a war crime against creativity. Female lead? She’s been in love with the male lead since he gave some boring welcome speech that apparently hit her so hard, her brain rewired itself into a romantic mess.

The villainess? Obviously in love with the male lead too, but her one and only goal in life is making the heroine’s existence a never-ending trainwreck of public embarrassment. And the male lead? Sweet summer child. He just wants to get his degree and avoid eye contact with all of these lunatics.

Enter: Leona Kingscholar, the second male lead. The man, the myth, the walking sarcasm machine. He’s there purely to fuel jealousy in everyone else’s love story, but for you? He’s everything. The brooding, lazy, hot second male lead who rolls his eyes at every plot point like he’s just as done with this novel as you are. He has better things to do, like nap, but here he is, dragged into this mess by proximity.

If it were up to you, he and the male lead would run off together, leave the heroine and villainess to start their own hobby club about emotional devastation, and the two guys would live happily ever after in matching beach chairs somewhere.

But no. Instead, you’re stuck reading about her fawning over him while Leona is just… there. Existing. The only thing keeping your interest alive.

And now? Now, your loyalty to Leona Kingscholar is about to pay off. The fan event of the century is just days away. It’s going to be glorious. A whole day dedicated to Leona—merch, fan contests, life-sized cardboard cutouts (which, let’s be honest, you’re ready to risk it all for). You've cleared your schedule, mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable squealing, and created a battle plan for acquiring the best merch before everyone else.

But fate? Fate’s cruel.

You’re casually defending Leona’s honor online as usual, battling some no-name troll who dares to claim that the male lead is "better written." (HA! You laugh in their wrong face.) But then—what’s this? A an likes your tweet about Leona! And not just any author. THE ONE YOU LOVE. The serotonin shoots through you like an adrenaline shot straight to the brain.

Your heart’s racing. You’re vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear. You leap out of your chair like some majestic gazelle—or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you promptly trip over the plushie army that guards your floor.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling, body flailing like a noodle, bouncing down the stairs in what feels like slow motion. The world spins. Your merch shelves mock you from the distance. You land at the bottom in a heap, your soul floating just above your body.

"Is this… how it ends?" you wheeze, gasping for breath, more in shock than pain. As your vision starts to fade, all you can think is: I never made it to the Leona event….

And with that, you die. Crushed under the weight of fandom.

You wake up, and your first thought isn’t the usual, “Oh, I’ve been isekai’d into a new world, how fascinating, I’ll have time to adjust in a moment of peace and reflection.” No. You wake up and it hits you like a brick: Oh no. Female lead.

But then, a beam of hope breaks through the clouds of despair and shines down on you like a heavenly spotlight: Wait. Leona Kingscholar is here.

Before you can even revel in the thought of being in the same universe as your broody lion crush, reality smacks you upside the head. Loud voices are pulling you back to the scene unfolding right in front of your very eyes.

You blink. Hold on. This is not a bedroom, and this is definitely not a private moment to gather your thoughts like in every other isekai novel. Oh no, you’ve been thrown directly into the group project scene.

You know, the one where the villainess is sharpening her claws on the heroine while Leona watches from the sidelines like he’s two seconds away from a permanent nap? Yeah, you’re smack in the middle of it.

The villainess, looking as pissed off as usual, is glaring daggers at the trembling heroine, who is staring at you with those wide, teary eyes like you’re supposed to swoop in and save her from this verbal smackdown.

And that’s when it hits you: you’re the male lead. The original goody-two-shoes, justice-loving male lead who always stepped in to defend the heroine. The one who got suckered into every cliché moment, complete with sparkles and heroic speeches about morality and blah blah blah.

Not you, though.

You take one look at the heroine. She’s giving you this look like you’re her knight in shining armor, expecting you to throw yourself in front of her and deliver some dramatic monologue about kindness and decency. And you? You're mentally checking out of this scene faster than the speed of light.

Nah. You’re not about that life.

Your gaze drifts to Leona, sitting on the far side of the room, slouched over like he’s wondering why he’s being subjected to this emotional soap opera when he could be napping. His face screams "done," and honestly? Same. He meets your gaze, eyes half-lidded and bored, probably hoping you’ll do the usual male lead routine and put an end to this nonsense.

But oh no, today’s different.

You casually stroll over to where Leona is sitting, ignoring the drama unfolding behind you. With the swagger of someone who knows exactly what they’re about to do is going to blow some minds, you hold out your hand to him. "So, uh… you want to ditch this disaster and go take a nap? Or maybe raid the kitchens? I’m thinking we play hooky and pretend this never happened."

Leona’s eyes flicker with surprise for half a second. The male lead? The goody-two-shoes-moral-compass of the entire plot? The guy who literally lived to stop drama in its tracks? Is offering to blow off this whole mess? He raises an eyebrow, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.

"Didn’t think you had it in you," Leona drawls, but you can tell he’s already down for this. "Alright. Let’s go. If anyone asks, I’m gonna say you dragged me out."

"Deal," you say, trying not to look too smug. And with that, you turn on your heel, and with Leona at your side, you head for the door, leaving behind a shell-shocked villainess and a teary-eyed heroine who’s probably still processing the fact that her supposed knight in shining armor just dipped.

As you and Leona stroll out, you hear the villainess mutter, “What… just happened?” and you can’t help but grin. You may have just turned the plot upside down, but at least you’re doing it in style.

"Hey, Leona," you say, nudging him, "think we can find some of those fancy desserts in the kitchen? I’m starving."

Leona snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you’re buying, sure."

And just like that, the male lead and the second male lead walk off into the sunset—or rather, the campus courtyard—hand in hand with a new mission: Avoiding all future plot nonsense at all costs.

You’re not sure how you got here, staring at the over-the-top ball decorations like you’ve stepped into a bargain bin fairytale, but hey, life has taken a weird turn lately. You, of all people, are living out the plot of a novel so cliché it makes your head hurt.

But you guess that’s what happens when you get isekai’d into a second-rate villainess story. The only thing missing is a glass slipper and some woodland creatures to sing with.

And of course, surprise! The ball isn’t just some casual evening of sipping punch and avoiding the villainess’s death stares. No, if you don’t nail the ball, you don’t graduate. Because nothing says "academic achievement" like knowing how to waltz while dressed like a background character from Bridgerton.

So here you are, in ball lessons, where everyone is nervously pairing off while you’re trying not to roll your eyes into another dimension. The heroine, with her usual doe-eyed sparkle, gets paired with you first. And let’s be real: she’s either terrible at dancing, or she’s using this as an excuse to get you to hold her close.

But you? Oh no. You’ve read enough of this garbage to know where that’s going, and you have zero interest in playing out the “close embrace, sparks flying, almost-kiss” trope. Absolutely not.

As soon as the music starts, you decide it’s time to act. You let your feet stumble—deliberately, of course—and flail around like you’ve never seen a ballroom floor in your life. The heroine, bless her clueless heart, giggles like she thinks you’re just being cute, but you’re not about to humor this. When the instructor’s eyes lock onto you, you seize the opportunity.

"Oh no!" you say dramatically, throwing a hand over your forehead like you’re in some kind of soap opera. "I’m so bad at this. Could someone please teach me how to dance?"

You pause, glance around the room, and then lock eyes with Leona Kingscholar.

"Leona!" you shout, loud enough that the whole room freezes. "You’re the second prince! You must’ve had etiquette lessons, right? Teach me how to dance!"

The room collectively loses its mind. The heroine looks like you’ve just slapped her with a glove and challenged her to a duel. The villainess is staring at you like you’ve lost your marbles. And Leona? Leona’s expression is somewhere between utter confusion and why me.

Leona leans back, crossing his arms, visibly annoyed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, but there’s no denying the faint twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth when he sees the heroine and villainess get shoved into an awkward dancing pair together.

Despite his clear irritation, Leona steps forward, because let’s face it, he’s the kind of guy who’ll humor you if it means avoiding worse drama. You slide into position with him, and honestly? You’re in heaven. You can barely focus on your feet, too busy trying to hide your grin while you imagine all the drama this is causing behind you.

Meanwhile, the heroine and the villainess are floundering around, tripping over each other like they’ve got two left feet each. The villainess is grinding her teeth, and the heroine keeps stepping on her toes. It’s a glorious disaster.

Leona, despite his annoyance, is surprisingly good at this. He’s leading with the kind of effortless grace that makes you wonder how someone so lazy can still be so competent at everything. You’re definitely not staring at his sharp features while he dances, not at all.

"You do realize this is a waste of time, right?" Leona grumbles under his breath, his eyes flicking to the chaos unfolding behind you. "Why me, herbivore? You could’ve asked anyone else."

You just shrug, trying not to sound too smug. "What can I say? I have excellent taste in dance partners."

Leona’s brow twitches like he’s torn between smirking and rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night." But the smirk wins out, especially when the villainess and heroine fumble yet again, nearly toppling over each other.

You glance up at him, beaming. Leona Kingscholar might be annoyed, but he’s not stopping anytime soon. And you? You’re just here for the ride, watching the heroine and villainess self-destruct from the safety of Leona’s arms.

Ball lessons? Piece of cake.

You’ve been doing everything humanly possible to avoid the female lead like she’s a carrier of the medieval plague. You thought you’d be safe here, hiding behind your “I’m too busy and mysterious for romance” persona, but no—somehow—the more you avoid her, the more she’s convinced that you’re the dark, brooding, irresistible male lead she’s always dreamed of.

You know, the type who avoids emotional connections but secretly harbors a heart of gold. But the truth is, you’re just a guy trying to get through the day so you can swoon over Leona Kingscholar in peace.

It’s not like you’ve been subtle about it either. You’ve been dropping hints left and right, hoping the universe would give you a break and let the female lead fall in love with literally anyone else. But no. Somehow, everyone is ignoring your very obvious affection for Leona.

It’s like you’re stuck in a tragic comedy where the female lead falls harder for you the more you try to disappear, and Leona just… well, he’s just living his best life, completely unaware of your internal screaming.

Take the latest tea party, for example. You were just trying to enjoy some pastries, maybe steal a glance at Leona from across the table, when the heroine decides to make her move. She picks up a delicate slice of cake and holds it out to you, eyes sparkling with that innocent-yet-hopeful look that says, “This is our moment.”

You? You’re not having any of that. Nope. No way. You’re not about to be part of this rom-com narrative. So, without missing a beat, you casually take the cake from her and, in one smooth motion, turn and offer it to Leona, who’s lounging lazily next to you, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Leona raises an eyebrow at you, clearly baffled by why you’re holding out cake like he’s some sort of royal who expects to be hand-fed. “What are you doing?” he mutters, looking suspiciously between you and the cake.

“Just thought you’d like some,” you say with a straight face, ignoring the heroine’s stunned expression. She’s sitting there, fork still poised in the air, blinking rapidly like you’ve just committed the greatest betrayal of the century.

Leona huffs, looking mildly irritated but mostly confused. After a pause, he shrugs and leans forward, taking a bite of the cake without even bothering to lift his own hand. “Whatever,” he mutters between chews. “Tastes fine.”

You nod, satisfied. Meanwhile, the heroine looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and the villainess is smirking in the background like she’s about to take out popcorn and enjoy the drama.

Later that day, you find a nice, quiet spot under a tree to relax. You’ve managed to avoid any major incidents so far, and for once, you’re not being dragged into some dramatic showdown. You lie back, close your eyes, and just let yourself chill. But, of course, the universe doesn’t want you to have peace.

Enter Leona.

Without a word, he flops down next to you, takes one look at your position, and decides—out of all the places he could sit—that your lap is the best pillow option available. You feel his head plop down on your lap like this is the most normal thing in the world. You stare down at him, completely dumbfounded, while he just closes his eyes and lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Leona?” you start, voice half bewildered, half amused. “You good?”

“Shut up,” he mutters without opening his eyes. “You’re more comfortable than the grass.”

You blink at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Meanwhile, the villainess strolls by, spots the two of you under the tree, and comes to an immediate halt. Her face contorts into a mix of disbelief and confusion, like she’s just witnessed something unholy. You can almost hear her mental scream of, what the hell is going on here?!

She doesn’t say anything, though. Just stands there, hands clenched, before turning on her heel and storming off. You don’t even care. You’re too busy reveling in the fact that Leona chose your lap as his personal resting place. If that isn’t a win, you don’t know what is.

And then, of course, there’s the infamous hallway incident. The heroine—who, by this point, you’re pretty sure has developed some kind of radar for finding you—comes running toward you. She trips over something (the air? her own foot? you don’t know) and launches herself straight into your arms in what is clearly an attempt to trigger some rom-com, slow-motion embrace.

But you? You’re not here for this.

With the reflexes of a seasoned avoider, you sidestep her dramatic fall, and she goes face-first into the floor. There’s a stunned silence as she lies there, unmoving, probably processing how she ended up eating dirt.

You glance over at Leona, who’s watching the whole thing with a lazy smirk, clearly enjoying the trainwreck. You give him a slight nod of approval, and he just rolls his eyes, a small grin still tugging at his lips.

The villainess, standing a few feet away, is laughing her head off. She’s doubled over, clutching her stomach, while the heroine’s dignity is scattered all over the floor. But you? You’re just staring at Leona, completely ignoring the chaos around you.

Somehow, despite all the madness, you can’t help but think: this is fine.

The day of the big spelldrive match arrives, and the heroine has never looked more confident in her life. She’s decked out in her team’s colors, standing tall at the edge of the field, waiting for you to join her in your usual spot. You know, like a loyal dog. A loyal, obedient dog who always does what she expects.

But not today.

Today, you roll up to the game decked out head to toe in full Savanaclaw merch. We're talking a custom jersey with Leona’s name on the back, a headband, face paint, and—just to really emphasize the point—a Savanaclaw banner tied around your neck like you’ve decided to cosplay as Captain Lion Fang.

You take your seat in the Savanaclaw section and immediately start hyping up the crowd like you’re getting paid for it. The heroine spots you from across the field and stares like she’s watching a crime scene unfold in real-time. Meanwhile, Leona’s already spotted you, and the smug smirk on his face tells you he’s LOVING the attention.

The game kicks off, and with each goal Leona scores, you’re going feral.

You’re screaming your lungs out, waving your banner around like you’re auditioning for some weird mascot gig. People are looking at you like you’ve lost your mind, but you don’t care. This is YOUR moment.

Leona, on the field, is living for it. Every time he glances your way, he adds a little extra flair to his plays, just to make you scream louder. He scores, and you’re on your feet, jumping up and down like you’ve won the lottery.

At this point, the heroine is practically catatonic. Her world is crumbling before her eyes. You can practically see her brain struggling to process what she’s witnessing: you, her loyal supporter, decked out in Savanaclaw gear and cheering for her rival.

“I... I don’t understand…” she whispers, her voice trembling like she’s been betrayed by the universe itself. “Why aren’t you cheering for us?”

You turn to her with all the nonchalance of someone who’s just ordered fries at a drive-thru. “Uh… Leona’s hot?”

It’s like you slapped her across the face with a wet fish. She stands there, frozen, her eyes wide, like she’s witnessing the fall of an empire. "B-But... you're supposed to support me!"

Before you can reply with another devastating truth bomb, Leona casually strolls over after winning the game, looking like he just walked out of a perfume ad. His hair’s tousled, a thin sheen of sweat making him look even more annoyingly handsome. He stops in front of you, smirking like he’s been planning this moment his entire life.

"Didn’t know you were my biggest fan," he drawls, voice low and lazy. “Gotta say, I’m impressed with your enthusiasm. Screamin’ my name like that… kinda hard to ignore.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but what comes out is more of a high-pitched squeak, followed by, “Hahaha, Y-Yeah… you’re welcome?”

And then, the words that break you: “How ‘bout we celebrate with a nap?”

Your brain freezes. A nap? You? With Leona? Your heart is doing cartwheels while the rest of your organs are busy melting into a puddle. Your mouth is moving, but all that comes out is an unintelligible “Uhhuhmm.”

Leona chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. He reaches out, grabbing your wrist, and starts dragging you off with him—right in front of everyone. He doesn’t even care that the entire field is watching. He’s already made up his mind.

The heroine, meanwhile, is standing there in stunned silence, her brain fully blue-screening as she watches you and Leona disappear. She’s still processing the Leona’s comment when the villainess, who has been observing this whole disaster unfold, finally chimes in from the sidelines with a shrug.

“Well, as long as it’s not the heroine,” she says, flicking her hair back with an air of satisfaction. “This is fine.”

And off you go, being dragged to a nap date you’re definitely not mentally prepared for, your face burning hotter than the sun. Leona glances back at you, that smug smirk still plastered on his face. "You’re lookin’ a little red there. You sure you’re up for this?"

You sputter, tripping over your own words. "I-I’m fine! Totally fine! Nap? Cool! Casual napping! No big deal!”

Leona just chuckles again, clearly entertained by how much you're floundering. “If you say so. Just don’t pass out before we get there.”

Yeah. Don’t pass out. Easier said than done when the man of your dreams is casually dragging you off to nap like it's no big deal while your brain screams at you in ten different languages.

This is fine. Totally fine. You’re fine.

Maybe.

You were sitting with Jack and Ruggie at the cafeteria, chatting about nothing in particular—well, Jack was chatting. Ruggie was there purely because you promised to pay for his lunch. Still, you’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, he stuck around because he actually enjoyed your company. Maybe.

“So, any tips on how to deal with midterms?” Jack asked, ears twitching as he looked at you with that wide-eyed eagerness that only first-years ever had. He was honestly like a giant puppy, trying so hard to be good.

You leaned back in your chair, doing your best impression of a wise and worldly senior, which mostly involved pretending you weren’t sweating about your own midterms. “My advice? Caffeine. And if you have the chance to sleep, take it. Oh, and don’t forget to eat. I learned that one the hard way.”

Jack nodded seriously, committing it all to memory like you were passing down sacred knowledge. Meanwhile, Ruggie was on his third helping of food, barely acknowledging the conversation.

"Hey, if you're handing out wisdom, how ‘bout you tell me how to get free food more often?” Ruggie said between bites, shooting you a cheeky grin.

“Isn’t that already your specialty?” you shot back, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

He just laughed. “Can’t argue with that, but having backup plans never hurt.”

Before you could respond, you felt a shadow fall over the table. You looked up, half expecting it to be the heroine or some random classmate, but nope. It was Leona. Leona, who you were 99% sure had skipped class because he always skips class. And he looked… annoyed?

Oh no.

He ignored Jack and Ruggie completely, his sharp gaze zeroing in on you like you’d committed some grave crime. “Oi, herbivore,” he drawled, hands in his pockets like this wasn’t weird at all. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” you asked, blinking up at him. Leona never approached people unless he wanted something.

“To the tree,” he said flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“The tree?” Jack echoed, ears perking up in confusion.

Ruggie, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Oho~ Someone’s in demand.”

Leona shot Ruggie a look that could’ve curdled milk. “Shut it, Ruggie.”

Your brain was still trying to process the situation. You were sitting here, minding your own business, giving sage advice about caffeine and survival, and now Leona was dragging you off to his tree like it was completely normal?

He didn’t wait for an answer. He just grabbed your wrist, yanking you up from your seat as if this was some kind of kidnap situation, and started walking toward the courtyard.

“Uh—Leona? What’s going on?” you asked, doing your best to keep up without tripping over your own feet.

Leona didn’t even look back. “You’re talkin’ too much. Need some peace and quiet.”

You blinked, thoroughly confused but not necessarily mad about being dragged off. It’s just… “Why am I involved in your nap plans?”

“’Cause I said so.”

Wow, cryptic. You were about to ask again when you reached the tree. The infamous Leona nap spot. He plopped down against the trunk and, before you could protest, pulled you down next to him. Without another word, he stretched out and—because apparently boundaries didn’t exist—rested his head on your lap.

This was… This was happening.

You glanced around, half expecting to see a camera crew pop out and tell you this was some elaborate prank, but nope. Leona was lounging on you like it was the most natural thing in the world, eyes already closed, arms crossed behind his head.

“Uh, Leona?”

“Shut up. M’ tryin’ to sleep.”

You stared down at him, your brain short-circuiting. This was the third time this week he’d done this. Just… kidnapped you for a nap. What was his deal? Was your lap particularly comfortable? Did you radiate some kind of sleepy aura? What was going on here?

Meanwhile, from the distance, you spotted her. The villainess. Watching. For the third time in as many days. And you could see it. You could see the moment she put the pieces together. Her eyes widened in slow realization, her lips twitching into a smirk. She knew. She finally knew.

When Leona finally woke up—after what felt like hours of you sitting there, too dazed to move—you were free. For now. He stretched lazily and gave you a casual “Thanks,” as if this wasn’t the most bizarre situation you’d ever been in, and you quickly scrambled away, making your way back to the dorms with your head spinning.

And that’s when the villainess cornered you.

Oh no.

There she was, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing look, her sharp gaze trained on you like a predator sizing up its prey. You swallowed nervously. She was about to confront you about the heroine, wasn’t she? This was it. This was the moment. Was she going to declare some rivalry? Challenge you to a duel? Confess to you? Make this whole thing painfully awkward?

She smiled, and it was not the evil grin you were expecting. “I’m on your side.”

You blinked. “…What?”

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with a new kind of intensity. “Leona. I know you’re after him.”

Your heart stopped. This was it. She was going to call you out and—wait, what did she just say?

“I’ll help you confess to Leona,” she said, matter-of-factly. “On one condition.”

You were staring at her like she’d just sprouted wings and started speaking in tongues. “You… will?”

She nodded. “Yes. If you help me become more influential than that heroine, I’ll help you get Leona to notice you more.”

You blinked again, processing her words. She wanted your help to outshine the heroine, and in exchange, she’d be your wingwoman? Wingwoman?!

You grinned, holding out your hand for a dramatic shake. “Hell yeah.”

She clasped your hand, her smile mirroring yours. "Consider it a deal."

And just like that, you walked away from the most unexpected alliance of your life, fully equipped with a villainess-turned-wingwoman and a new plan to win over Leona.

Honestly? Life was getting weirder by the day.

“Okay, so just to confirm,” Ruggie’s eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “You want us to sit through this poetry reading,” he said, drawing out the word like it was some cursed phrase, “and cheer for the villainess. And in return, I get all the food left over?”

“Yup,” you nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“And Jack’s here because…?”

“I asked him nicely.”

Jack shrugged, tail flicking behind him. “I’m just here to help.”

Ruggie snorted, glancing at you with a grin. “This better be some damn good poetry then. And the food better be worth it.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, patting Ruggie on the back. “It will be.”

Little did you know, this was going to be a disaster of epic proportions.

The poetry reading started as expected—with the heroine striding up to the front of the room, practically glowing under the dim spotlight. She cleared her throat, clasped her hands dramatically, and began.

“It was a night… much like tonight…”

Your first instinct was to cringe, but you held it in, glancing sideways at Jack and Ruggie. Jack was doing his best to stay stoic, but you could see his ears twitching in discomfort. Ruggie had his hand over his mouth, clearly biting back laughter.

The poem continued, painfully dragging on about stars and roses and something about “destiny’s kiss.” By the time she reached the end, there was a collective sigh of relief from the audience. You weren’t even sure what you had just listened to, but you knew it wasn’t good.

Jack… Jack was crying. You stared at him, horrified. “Are you okay?”

“It’s… it’s so bad,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t know poetry could be this bad.”

Ruggie had his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “This is better than I thought,” he wheezed.

You shot him a look, but even you had to admit, this was pure comedy gold. Poor Jack had no idea what hit him.

The villainess, bless her heart, was watching all of this unfold with a look of shock and confusion, but when it was finally her turn to read, she stepped up like a queen. Her voice was smooth, the words flowing like silk, and you couldn’t help but be genuinely impressed. She absolutely killed it.

The plan was working perfectly. You and your crew started clapping, cheering like you were at a rock concert. Jack, who was still recovering from the emotional trauma of the heroine’s poem, clapped too, albeit more quietly.

But just as you were about to get even louder, you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Oi, sit down,” Leona grumbled, pulling you back into your seat.

“What—?”

He didn’t offer any explanation, just kept you firmly seated next to him, his face set in a bored expression. You blinked in confusion but decided not to argue. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy sitting next to Leona… it was just weird.

And by the grin the villainess was sporting, it seems like everything went exactly according to plan. Both for her and you.

After the poetry reading wrapped up, you gathered the leftovers like you promised. Ruggie was already hovering around, practically drooling over the spread.

“Here, take it all,” you said, handing the basket over. “Deal’s a deal.”

Ruggie beamed, clutching the food to his chest like a treasure hoard. “Pleasure doing business with ya!”

Jack was much more polite, bowing his head slightly. “Thanks for the notes. They’ll be a big help.”

“Anytime,” you replied with a smile, watching the two of them head off. Ruggie was already halfway through a sandwich, talking a mile a minute, while Jack followed along, still looking like he might need therapy after the heroine’s performance.

That left you alone… with Leona, who had been standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” you asked, half-expecting him to complain about something. He always had something to complain about.

“You mind explaining what the hell that was?”

“Uh… what do you mean?”

Leona’s tail flicked in irritation, his eyes narrowing. “I’m talking about you, whispering and giggling with that villainess all the time. What, you after her now that you ditched the heroine?”

You blinked at him, utterly baffled. “What? No, of course not. Why would I be after her?”

Leona’s jaw clenched. “You tell me. All I’ve seen is you hangin’ around with her, whispering, plottin’... I’ve seen how you look at her.”

It took a moment for your brain to catch up, but then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

Oh my god. He was jealous.

A slow grin spread across your face as the realization sunk in. Leona, Leona Kingscholar, was jealous. And over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re jealous~.”

Leona froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. “What?”

“You’re jealous,” you repeated, giddiness bubbling up inside you. You could barely contain your excitement. “You’re jealous of me hanging out with the villainess!”

Leona’s lips pulled into a thin line. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh no, no, no,” you grinned even wider, poking him in the chest. “You’re totally jealous!”

Leona growled, looking thoroughly annoyed now, but before he could snap back, you quickly explained. “Look, I made a deal with her. I help her become more influential than the heroine, and she helps me… confess to you.”

Leona blinked, taken aback, his tail flicking behind him as if processing the information. Then, in true Leona fashion, his expression shifted from irritation to smugness in record time.

“Oh?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Yeah, so you don’t have to worry about me chasing after anyone else.”

Leona stepped closer, his voice dropping low, that usual lazy drawl making your heart do a little flip. “Good. But just so you know, cheek kisses aren’t real kisses.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Leona leaned in and kissed you—properly kissed you. Your eyes went wide for a second before you melted into it, feeling the heat of his lips against yours. He pulled back after what felt like forever, a smirk on his face as he watched you try to catch your breath.

“There. That’s a real kiss,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

You stared at him, dazed, and then a sudden realization hit you.

You left your entire life behind, all for this moment.

And you were so, so glad that stupid plushie was on the floor, because this? This was totally worth it.

The heroine’s voice was as sweet as it was grating, like sugar poured directly into your ears. She fluttered her eyelashes at you, her smile stretched painfully wide. “So, I was thinking,” she began, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You would make the perfect knight for my family! Don’t you think so?”

You blinked, trying to figure out a way to escape. “Uh… I’m kind of busy with, you know, my own life?”

“Oh, but imagine!” she gushed, not hearing a word you said. “We’d be so close all the time—like, so close. You could protect me, and maybe… we could have a picnic under the stars? Very romantic, right?”

Your soul was trying to leave your body. You were pretty sure Jack’s ears twitched somewhere nearby, sensing your pain telepathically. And then, like a gift from the heavens, the villainess—your beloved accomplice in all things anti-heroine—made her appearance.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, stepping between you and the heroine with the grace of someone who had seen this movie before and knew exactly how to cut to the good parts. “But I need them for an urgent matter. A very important, not-at-all-romantic-but-very-necessary mission.”

You shot her a look of pure gratitude, but before she could fully rescue you from the heroine’s death trap of unwanted flirting, a shadow loomed over the scene. A very familiar shadow.

Leona.

Without saying a word, he strode up behind you and casually wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest with an ease that had your heart skipping a beat. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his sharp green eyes fixed on the heroine.

“Oh no, carry on,” he said lazily, but his tone was anything but. “I’m just here to see what my mate is up to.”

The heroine blinked in shock, her hands hovering mid-air as if she had no idea what to do with this development. “Y-Your mate?”

“Yeah,” Leona said, tightening his grip around you, his smirk downright feral. “So whatever little fantasy you’re cooking up about romantic picnics or whatever—cut it out. This one’s mine.”

You felt Leona’s lips brush against your temple before he leaned in and, in full view of the now-utterly-horrified heroine, kissed the side of your neck. Slowly. Possessively.

You could almost hear the villainess muffling a laugh behind her hand.

The heroine’s face turned several shades of red as she stammered. “B-But I—”

“You,” Leona said, his tone dripping with amusement, “can fuck right off.”

The heroine gasped, her hand flying to her chest like she’d been physically struck. “You can’t just say that to me!”

Leona raised a brow, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m literally the second prince. I can say whatever the hell I want.”

The heroine opened her mouth to argue, but then realized that, no, actually, she couldn’t argue with the literal second prince staking his claim. She sputtered for a moment before storming off, no doubt to sob dramatically about her dashed romantic hopes.

Once she was out of sight, the villainess finally let out a snort of laughter. “That was beautiful.”

Leona ignored her, his grip still firm around you as he leaned down to whisper, “Next time, you won’t need her to help you out. Just say my name, and I’ll be there to deal with the pests.”

You stared at him, a little dazed from the whole whirlwind of possessiveness, public displays of affection, and telling someone to ‘fuck right off.’ “You really went for it, huh?”

Leona smirked, leaning in for another kiss. “Damn right I did. And don’t you forget it.”

Somewhere behind you, the villainess was still giggling. You were pretty sure this was going to be gossip for weeks.

But honestly? Totally worth it.

Graduation day—the moment where everyone’s future plans would be declared, and all the chess pieces would fall into place. Or, in your case, the moment where you’d cause absolute chaos.

The grand hall was filled with eager anticipation. Everyone was dressed in their formal graduation robes, students buzzing with excitement over their new titles and responsibilities.

Leona, as expected, lounged at the back like a lion who had better things to do, half-asleep. Villainess stood tall and composed, already plotting her return to her family's estate. Heroine was in full glowing mode, ready to take her place as the beloved of the Grand Duchy.

And you? You stood at the podium, trying not to laugh. You knew what you were about to say would flip this graduation upside down.

One by one, people made their announcements.

When it was finally your turn, all eyes turned to you. The entire hall seemed to hold its breath, knowing the original male lead—you—was supposed to be the retainer of the heroine. It was all set, all according to plan, right?

Wrong.

You cleared your throat, glanced briefly at Leona who smirked lazily, and then made the declaration that would throw this script straight out the window. “I’ve decided to serve as Prince Leona’s right-hand man, personal secretary, and...well, whatever he needs.”

The silence that followed was glorious. Pure, dumbfounded silence.

King Falena, sitting in the front row, visibly blinked. Once. Twice. He tilted his head slightly, confusion written all over his usually composed face. “What?” he muttered, looking like someone just told him a desert hyena had enrolled in ballet school.

Leona, however, didn’t even open his eyes. He just smirked, crossing his arms smugly. “Told ya he’d choose me,” he murmured, almost too casually for someone who’d just stolen the original male lead’s entire plotline.

Falena’s gaze flicked between you and Leona, still processing. Then, slowly, realization dawned. He saw that look on Leona’s face—the one that said “mine, and I dare anyone to challenge it.” King Falena’s confusion morphed into surprise and then, with the subtlety of a royal diplomat, resignation. “Oh…” he whispered, finally understanding. “He’s down bad.”

Leona cracked an eye open just to catch his brother’s expression and grinned wider, like a cat who knew exactly what kind of bird it had in its claws.

Your parents, bless them, were in the crowd with expressions of supportive confusion. Your mother was squinting as if trying to work out if this was some sort of royal prank. Your father leaned in toward her, whispering loudly enough for the entire row to hear, “It’s a royal job, right? That’s prestigious?”

“Yeah, but… Leona?” your mom whispered back.

At this point, the heroine stood up, ready to throw a wrench into the works. “Wait! You’re supposed to be my—"

Before she could finish, the villainess, in all her dramatic glory, made her move. With the grace of a queen and the audacity of a mastermind, she stepped right up to the heroine, flipped her luxurious hair, and said, “Actually, I was going to ask you out.”

You blinked. Wait, what?

The entire room gasped. You could almost hear heads snapping toward the villainess like a collective whip crack.

Heroine’s mouth opened and closed like she was a fish drowning in air. “I—what?”

“Dinner. Candlelight. Maybe a picnic. You and me, a date. Sound good?” The villainess winked with such charm that even the professors in the back were wide-eyed.

Heroine blinked rapidly, as if trying to reboot her brain. “Uh… sure?” she squeaked, still reeling from the fact that her entire romantic arc had just gotten hijacked.

You stared at the villainess in pure confusion. “What just happened?” you whispered, looking at her for an explanation.

The villainess simply turned to you with a mischievous grin, giving you a sly thumbs-up like this had been part of her master plan all along.

You were still processing the fact that you were witnessing the greatest plot twist of all time. You returned a half-hearted, bewildered thumbs-up, unsure if this was a win or not.

Meanwhile, the professors up front were clearly on their last thread of patience. The head of the academy rubbed his temples, sighing deeply as if this whole day had aged him a decade. “That’s it,” he said, voice strained with exhaustion. “Everyone’s graduated. Just...leave. Please.”

And with that, the ceremony abruptly ended. You couldn’t help but laugh at the professor’s exasperation as the crowd started to disperse, still buzzing with gossip.

Leona slid up next to you, his hand casually resting on your waist as you walked out of the hall together. “So, my right-hand man, huh?”

You shrugged. “Figured I might as well make it official.”

Leona smirked, leaning down to murmur in your ear, “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then he kissed you. In front of everyone.

King Falena, witnessing this public display of territorial claims, just shook his head with a resigned sigh. “Well, as long as it’s official…” he muttered, casting an approving glance toward you. “Congratulations, I guess.”

Your parents were still in shock, but when they saw that it was a royal seal of approval, they immediately switched gears. “A royal job!” your mom whispered excitedly. “That’s so prestigious!”

With that, Leona tugged you away from the chaos, his arm never leaving your waist as you walked toward the exit. You glanced back one last time to see the heroine still staring blankly at the villainess, who had now looped her arm around her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The head of the academy, now red in the face, shouted after you as you reached the door, “I SAID EVERYONE GO, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GREAT SEVEN!”

You walked out into the sunlight, trying not to laugh, while Leona leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured smugly, “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was a day like any other, except you were meeting the villainess in her newly acquired estate. She had officially taken over as the head of her family, and the new title suited her all too well. The whole place screamed, I am in charge, with a side of don’t even think about challenging me unless you want to cry in public. You admired the aesthetic.

The villainess greeted you with her usual regal flair, sweeping into the room like she’d been born to dominate it—which, to be fair, she had. She offered you tea, which you politely declined, sensing that this wasn’t just a casual catch-up.

"So, what's new with you, Lady Villainess?” you asked, leaning back, fully expecting some grand declaration about her political conquests or business victories.

She smiled—a dangerous, knowing smile that made you immediately suspicious. "Well, I wanted to tell you something rather... unexpected."

You raised an eyebrow. Unexpected? Coming from her? That had to be good.

"I'm dating the heroine," she said casually, sipping her tea as if she hadn't just dropped the biggest plot twist since the whole 'villainess takes over' arc.

You nearly choked on absolutely nothing, mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. "Wait. What?"

She smiled serenely, her expression the perfect picture of innocence—which made it all the more ridiculous. “Yes, darling. The heroine and I are officially a couple.”

You blinked. “The same heroine who couldn’t tell a poisoned apple from a regular one if her life depended on it?”

“The very same.”

“The one who gets lost in her own estate if she turns too many corners?”

“Yes, that one.”

You couldn't help it. The sheer absurdity of the situation hit you, and you burst out laughing. "Oh, that is rich. How in the world did that happen?”

The villainess leaned back, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Oh, it was simple, really. I realized I was always drawn to her... naiveté. And once I stopped trying to sabotage her every move, well, things just fell into place.”

You were still laughing, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you two, but this is the best thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

The villainess gave you a mock glare. “Don’t act so surprised. I’ve always had impeccable taste.”

“Oh, impeccable taste, huh?” you teased. “I just didn’t expect it to lead you straight to a walking ball of sunshine.”

“Well, someone needs to keep her from wandering into traffic.”

Still snickering, you stood up. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re a saint for dealing with her.”

“I know,” she sighed dramatically, “but love makes us do ridiculous things.”

"Tell me about it," you muttered, still amused. You waved goodbye and promised to catch up later, your mind reeling from this new, absolutely hilarious development.

When you got back to the palace, you found Leona lounging in his usual spot, sprawled out on a couch like a lion that had just taken over the whole savannah. He barely glanced up as you walked in, already sensing the amused energy radiating off you.

“You’re grinning like an idiot,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “What happened?”

You plopped down next to him, barely containing your laughter. “You won’t believe this. The villainess is dating the heroine now.”

Leona’s eyes flicked open, and for a split second, he looked like he didn’t believe you. Then, slowly, a smirk spread across his face as he processed the information. “You’re messing with me.”

“Nope. Dead serious. They’re a couple now. In love.” You leaned in, grinning. “The villainess—ice queen herself—is head over heels for Miss Pure Sunshine.”

Leona actually chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. Never saw that one coming.”

“I know, right? It’s the most chaotic thing ever, and I am living for it.”

Leona’s smirk turned into a full-on grin, which was rare enough to be considered a national treasure. He shifted, sitting up slightly. “You think we’ll get an invite to the wedding?”

You snorted. “Oh, you bet. I’m going to be front row just to see how she manages to keep the heroine from accidentally setting her own dress on fire.”

Leona’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, and he reached out, grabbing your wrist. “Come here,” he ordered, tugging you toward him.

“What? No, I’ve got work to do,” you protested weakly, but your protests didn’t mean much when he effortlessly pulled you into his lap.

“Work can wait. This is more important,” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around you in a possessive hug that made it very clear you weren’t going anywhere.

You sighed, leaning into him. “You just want to cuddle, don’t you?”

“I want you to stop running around and actually relax for once,” he retorted, resting his chin on top of your head. “Besides, it’s not like the kingdom’s gonna fall apart if we take a break.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “I should get a promotion. I’m basically doing all the work around here.”

Leona chuckled again, his grip tightening just slightly. “Yeah, well, don’t let Falena hear that. He might actually make you his advisor, and then I’ll never get any alone time with you.”

You snorted. “Oh please, you’d just kidnap me from work if that happened.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, his voice low and satisfied. “You’re mine, remember?”

You felt your heart do that annoying flutter thing as Leona’s possessive tone settled over you. Even when he was being a lazy lion, he made you feel like the most important thing in his life. It was comforting—and kind of hilarious, considering how little he cared about everything else.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, and for once, you actually allowed yourself to relax, leaning into Leona’s warmth. His arms tightened around you again, and you could feel the soft rise and fall of his chest as he started to drift off into a nap, his grip never loosening.

As you closed your eyes, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all the absurdities in your life—from slipping on a plushie to your best friend falling in love with her former rival—you wouldn’t trade any of it. Not for the world.

And as Leona’s breath slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep, you allowed yourself a small, contented smile.

Life was chaotic. But it was also perfect.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Idia won the previous poll! Now for the next,

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x you #leona kingscholar #leona #trash novel chronicles #isekai #m!reader

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g4rvez-r3id · 17 days ago

Text

Hands to Myself

Post Prison! Boyfriend! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

Synopsis: Since Spencer got out of prison, you two have a bit of a problem keep your hands to yourselves.

Category: Smut

Warnings: established relationship, not much plot- lowkey just smut, physical touch, aftermath of the prison arc, spencer being a lil ooc, reader having dirty thoughts about spencer, spencer & reader being horny 24/7, spencer being a lil cheeky, kissing, smut warnings: quickie, spencer does the knee thing 🙏, brief cunnilingus, spencer being a lil perv (steals reader’s underwear), standing up sex, eye contact 🙈, unprotected sex, creampie.

Author’s Note: spencer reid doing the knee thing. that’s all.

It wasn’t your fault you two just couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. Since Spencer had come back from three months at the Milburn Correctional Facility, let’s just say — you were fulfilling each other’s appetites.

Of course, three months away from one another stirred up a long conversation that needed to happen between you two. And you talked about how much you missed one another and now you just couldn’t seem to be apart after that.

And it was understandable, Spencer was in prison and you were in your mental prison, thinking about him and hoping to God he’d make it out alive. And by some miracle, he did.

But since he got out, you both longed for that physical touch. You two could be in the same room and go ballistic if you weren’t touching each other. You’d still manage to grab his hand or he’d put his own hand down the small of your back. Even sitting on the jet, you were holding hands nonstop. The only time you’d ever leave the other alone is when they were using the restroom.

At work, you’d managed to keep it together until the end of the day, of course, finding time within your lunches and breaks to just spend with each other. It was a domestic thing, you two shared, it seemed. The physical touch was always a big love language unspoken between you two, even more now that he’d been away.

And it seemed as if the sex had been another thing with you two. Everyone in the office has joked about a couple in the storage room, going at it like rabbits but they never seemed to figure out who it was in the storage room — you and Spencer laughed along despite you both knowing you were the culprits.

Before Spencer went to prison, you were both against the idea of ever doing it in the office, not wanting to jeopardize either of your careers and jobs. But once Spencer got back, a lot of things changed. Especially your hungers for one another.

You seemed to like how possessive he’d gotten over you since he got back. Whether it was placing a hand on your thigh, innocently in the briefing room or holding your waist whilst you were talking to another man in the office, Spencer just couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of you. But you weren’t complaining in the slightest.

It’d been another normal day in the office, you and Spencer filling out paperwork at your desks. You’d both been doing better with the touching each other every single day. And to be honest, it was tough at first, but eventually — you two knew what was at stake and it’d be better than to risk it all.

You’d been working on your paperwork, since Emily requested that she needed it by the end of the day. You’d been limping at the finish line with this paperwork, nearly done with it. But then you caught a glimpse at Spencer doing his work.

The way his sleeves were rolled up, the way he pushed his chocolate curls back as he ran a veiny hand — you always had a thing for his hands — through his hair, his stomach filling out the dress shirt he was wearing, but it was just more of him to worship. And the stubble that suited him so well, you couldn’t nearly get enough of it. And then your eyes trailed down to his slacks and how you could see his bulge right through the outline of them and you bit your lip as you thought of the wildest things you could do to him right now, or what you wanted him to do to you.

You didn’t stare long, mostly because Spencer had felt eyes on him and you quickly looked away so you wouldn’t get caught. But it was too late, because he knew even before he looked up that you were staring.

Spencer looks at you, moving your hair back and focusing on your work and he gets an idea, licking his lips and leaving his desk for a brief moment. You watch as he does so, wondering what he’s doing.

You merely go back to work, assuming that maybe he’ll come back within a few minutes when you get an alert on your cell phone on your desk.

You check in to see there’s a text message from your boyfriend.

Spencer: The old firing range. Wait a few minutes before leaving so as not to draw suspicion.

You smirk, to yourself wondering what this little visit to the old firing range would entail. You on your knees or him on his? Your thighs rub together at the thought. You look around and Spencer is definitely gone and most likely at the old firing range now. Which is probably why he told you to wait a few minutes.

So, you wait five minutes before eagerly getting up and correcting your posture and walking out of the bullpen and getting into the elevator. You can hardly contain your excitement as something fills your belly with a pool of lust as you watch the numbers go to the last button of the elevator and you smirk to yourself as the doors open, heart racing and limbs trembling as you walk through and find the door you need.

You walk in and you look around, Spencer’s nowhere to be found and then you feel arms wrap around you and hot breath down your neck. You nearly jump and nearly thrash around but Spencer is quick to say — “It’s just me.” You melt into his touch and take a breather, confused on if you either want to yell at him for scaring you or kiss him. You ultimately choose the latter as you turn around, giving him a peck.

“Hi.” You giggle and he smiles as he softly greets you, “Hey.” He caresses your face, examining every feature before lowering his face down to your neck, leaving you kisses on your neck. “You know, if someone notices we’re both gone, Emily is gonna have our heads on a platter.” You tell. To say that you were making this a habit was an understatement. Someone was eventually gonna catch on to what you were both doing, especially if there were marks on your neck.

“Well, let’s hope nobody notices. Not that I really care anyways.” Spencer stated and you shake your head at your silly man. All logical thought seems to go out the window when it comes to you having sex, not that you mind. He kisses at your lips again, holding your face in your hands before pushing you up against the wall, his hand behind your head so you don’t hurt yourself as you continue to make out.

He kisses against you neck again and this time, raises his knee in between your legs, enough to put pressure and you gasp at the feeling, you almost begin to rub yourself back and forth on his knee.

“How greedy you are.” Spencer growls into your ear and your smirk, “I could say the same thing for you.”

Without another word, Spencer moves back a bit and gets on his knees and Jesus, you could always get used to that sight. You always loved seeing him on his knees. He takes his hands up and down your thighs and bunches up your pencil skirt and you feel his fingers on the waistband on your panties as he pulls your panties down — and stuffs them in his pocket — and gazes at your wet pussy.

He doesn’t hesitate to stick his face in between your thighs and you moan out, holding his head close to your body as he swirls his tongue around your clit in figure-8’s for a moment before pushing himself off your cunt and kisses your pussy before coming back up and kissing you on your lips. You become dizzy as you taste yourself on his lips.

You begin unbuckling his belt around his torso and unzipping his slacks, pulling his cock out. He also licks his fingertips, trying to get himself well-lubricated before sticking himself inside of you. He strokes his cock a few times before adjusts himself against you, sheathing his dick inside of you.

You nearly shout as you feel him inside of you, back arching against the granite wall and Spencer braces his hands against the wall as he moves his hips in and out of you. He tilts your head to meet his eyes and he seems to go faster as he stares deep into your eyes.

“Oh, my god…” You whisper as he keeps fucking you at a steady rhythm. He’s even whining at his own movements. “God, I love you.” He says and you dig your hands into his curls as you mutter against his lips, “I love you, too.”

Spencer manages to grab one of your hands, holding it against the wall as he keeps fucking you and you can feel him pushing himself to the brinks and you’re almost there yourself.

“Cum inside me, Spence. Please. I need it.” You beg, holding him close against you. “Are you sure?” Spencer grunts and you plead, “Yes, yes!” He groans as he stills himself inside of you, filling you up in that way you love.

You lean against the wall, growing lightheaded. Spencer slips himself out of you, fixing your skirt and pressing a kiss to your forehead before stuffing himself back in his pants.

Spencer holds your face with his hands and looks at you. “You okay?” You nod with a smile, “Amazing.” You take a deep breath and then you look around, Spencer noticing your very evident and prominent frown on your face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “Where are my—?” You stop in your tracks before narrowing your eyes at your boyfriend, that has a guilty smirk on his face. “Spencer, give me my panties back.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Spencer plays off but you shake your head, “Spencer, you literally came inside of me, I need my panties.”

“Maybe you’ll get them back. Maybe.” A code word for not a chance.

Suddenly, Spencer’s cell phone buzzes and he checks it with a grimace. “Uh, oh.” He says.

“What?” You ask.

“Emily’s caught on. She says we need to come back from our shenanigans and actually need to get some work done.” Spencer tells.

“You might as well tell her that you just can’t keep your hands to yourself.” You tease. “Which you can’t, by the way.”

Spencer shrugs, “I mean, I could, but why would I want to?”

1K notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 5 months ago

Text

cherrybomb || csc

(banner by @sailorrhansol)

cherrybomb seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.

wc: 19.5k

warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut

Author's note: thank you for @sailorrhansol for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily

This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!

Also in this universe: storm breaker by @/sailorhansol

Teaser:

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer.

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest.

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...

The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.

That’s what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.

That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.

You’d marked him as your first choice.

You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.

You needed Seungcheol.

The jaeger program didn’t turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.

Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.

When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that you’d get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.

Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly we’d work together.

And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.

Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.

It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.

You didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.

The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.

You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.

—

He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didn’t get from you.

“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”

He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”

Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”

You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.

“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”

“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”

“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”

“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”

“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”

You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”

He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.

“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”

You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”

Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”

You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”

You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.

If only you could.

Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.

“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”

He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”

This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.

“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”

—

You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.

You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapids’s main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.

Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.

You got to know Seungcheol’s fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.

None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didn’t pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.

You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.

Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.

The fighting was the easy part.

You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldn’t even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.

On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.

Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.

Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.

Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.

You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.

“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”

“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.

“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“Do you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?”

You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.

You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.

“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”

“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”

“To Duellona Fury,” you echoed.

On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.

You never asked them if they missed it.

—

You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.

“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.

“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”

You nodded. You’d grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.

“Normally,” you explained, “you focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So there’s no resistance.”

“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.

You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”

This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.

You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheol’s inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.

When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -

It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadn’t felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.

You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.

Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”

You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”

A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”

“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.

You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.

He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”

You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”

Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”

“Sort of,” you mumbled.

He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”

Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”

You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”

Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.

“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one… nothing was going to be… the same, or okay. I don’t know.”

“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”

He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”

You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”

“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”

He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.

“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”

You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”

He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”

You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.

“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”

“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”

“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”

And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.

“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”

Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.

—

Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.

You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.

“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.

“Sure,” he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.

You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didn’t know.

Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.

“There’s Chan and Wylie,” you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.

“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.

You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”

“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”

Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”

“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”

“Is that her team at our normal table?” you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.

The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.

“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”

“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”

“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”

“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.

“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”

“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.

Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.

“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.

—

The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.

“I’m never nervous,” he said, suddenly cocky.

If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.

“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”

He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.

“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.

“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”

Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.

He didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.

Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”

Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.

The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.

Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.

Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.

You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.

“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”

“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”

The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.

You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, you’re going to be fine.

And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.

Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.

Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure… recalibrating in 3… 2… 1…

“It’s only a memory,” you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.

Neural handshake disengaged…

“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”

He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”

“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”

He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”

You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”

“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”

But you were laughing through the scolding.

“Stop,” you whined.

Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”

“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”

“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”

He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.

The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.

The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.

You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”

The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.

You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his father’s memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.

—

It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.

The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.

Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.

You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.

“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.

“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”

His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.

You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t approved to fight.

Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.

“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.

“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”

You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.

“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”

“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”

“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.

You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”

He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”

You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.

You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”

Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

—

Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.

Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a planner’s touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.

But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before you’re even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.

That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.

Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.

“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.

“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.

“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”

The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.

“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”

You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.

Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.

For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.

“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”

It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.

—

The west bay became Duellona’s playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.

It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.

“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”

Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.

“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.

“You know I am,” he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.

When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.

“Let’s fucking go,” Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.

It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.

The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.

“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.

“Not yet!” he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.

You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”

“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.

Don’t fight me.

You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.

“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.

Duellona’s arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.

“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.

“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.

“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”

“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.

—

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.

“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”

“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.

His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”

–

You marked the passing of two years in statistics.

Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.

Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills.

Seventy-two mainframe repairs.

Twenty-eight achievement awards.

Nine television interviews.

Six upgrades.

One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.

Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.

It was a good high. Your team had a good run.

It wasn’t a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.

There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.

There was no moment of realization at all.

Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.

If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.

Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead.

You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.

“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.

“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves.

You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated.

He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.

For a second, things felt better.

The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju you’d been sent for.

You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each other’s.

This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away.

It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.

No.

You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.

Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.

You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted.

Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.

“Recalibrate faster!” you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them.

You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.

You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.

“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.

“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate.

“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.

You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.

Then, more calmly this time, he asked, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”

There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true. “I got scared.”

“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”

You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.

Your parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly.

He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.

You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.

You didn’t go to your parents’, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol.

“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you?

You weren’t sure she’d understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.

“What’d you do?” Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.

“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.

Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded.

“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.

Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.

You looked up at Duellona Fury again.

“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”

You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.

You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.

Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.

And right now, you were the problem.

“Hey?” you tried meekly.

He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood.

He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.

“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low.

You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”

He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.

If he was in your mind right now, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it.

His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away.

You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.

“Only for a minute.”

“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.

He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”

It was an accusation, but it was also a question.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”

Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”

His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that you’d found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones.

But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.

You don’t know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.

You didn’t mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.

“Cherry,” he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.

Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces.

His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you.

His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.

“Yours,” you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.

Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.

You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.

The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.

You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it.

He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction.

Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.

The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like he’d just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.

Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that.

His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.

Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense.

You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission.

Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him.

The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.

He felt how you’d always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.

You didn’t speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t need wires.

You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling.

He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. “Cherry… Cherry…”

You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing.

You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.

–

The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt.

You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.

But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. You’ve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.

Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole.

Being unable to pilot, unable to fight.

Being brokenhearted.

Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind.

You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise you’d swear it was at least a hundred.

The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When you’d first come, you’d legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that.

As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.

It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome.

It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles.

When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.

“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.

You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”

The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner.

You’re mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still haven’t figured out how that happened.

It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.

But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheol’s teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.

The final time you’d tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.

“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.

Don’t do this, he’d said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.

After that failure, you didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.

You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.

“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”

A call?

Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.

You’ve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop.

You greet the person on the line with your real name.

“Cherry?”

Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.

“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”

You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”

“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”

“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”

“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”

Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck.

You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away.

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”

Not anymore.

The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response.

“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”

“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to…. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administrator’s pen.

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time.

And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer.

The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.”

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest.

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

The girls cry when you tell them you’re leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.

It’s standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago.

You’d been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. You’d been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.

But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh.

As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the ship’s railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.

You’d been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.

Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together.

But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then… that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.

Of course, you’d lost it all anyway.

Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?

Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.

You turn away from the ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.

You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.

The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.

The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll pick up right where you left off.

This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation you’d feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someone’s mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.

You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long.

You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve craved it ever since.

You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.

You know you can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.

When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter.

They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival.

You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze.

“It will be okay,” she whispers.

Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons.

You disagree. There’s no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.

“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside.

All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. He’s the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.

His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control.

You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a scowl.

You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat.

He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.

“I trust your travel went well?” the Marshall begins.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.

“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”

Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it.

The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.”

You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch.

“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.

In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol.

He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.

Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. You’re not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night you’d spent together.

Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.

Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.

Strangely, it’s stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.

It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesn’t speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.

Well, that and sleeping together, but you don’t see that on your agenda.

You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what he’s feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.

Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.

“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”

Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.

You and Seungcheol could - literally, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s too easy.

You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.

Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.

It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.

After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.

After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when you’ll spar for real.

You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like it’s your first time again.

Seungcheol attacks as you’d expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging won’t be enough - eventually he��ll cage you in unless you distract him.

You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.

You can’t do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.

You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.

You aren’t hurt. Not this time.

“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”

He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.

You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.

The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.

“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.

“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.

It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.

“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.

“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.

“Don’t curse at me,” you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.

You hate this side of him.

You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.

“Seungcheol,” you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.

“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”

“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”

The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.

You don’t know what to do to make it all better.

You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.

You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.

You can’t focus at all - can’t shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.

Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.

He doesn’t.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.

“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”

“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”

He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.

“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”

You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.

“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.

He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.

The pain feels like a cramp, except it’s behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that you’re out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.

You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.

It won’t do any good, and you know it.

He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.

—

Dinner is just as bad.

You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you haven’t seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.

“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.

“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.

“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?

You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.

Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.

The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.

His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.

Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”

“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?

“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”

You slink out before anyone else can argue.

You can’t even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.

When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.

You don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.

—

You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.

“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.

Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.

You work in silence for hours.

Eventually, you crack. You’re not sure if it’s the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.

You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.

“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”

“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”

You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it.

“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly.

“And that’s it?” he demands.

You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?

And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.

Is there more to it, his anger?

Should you call him on it, should you ask?

You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”

This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight.

“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”

He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.

He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.

“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”

He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”

He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”

For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.

“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”

He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.

“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision.

The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.

—

You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.

After, you go to the Marshall’s office, determined. Or maybe resigned.

When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.

“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.

He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”

You step inside but leave the door open.

“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”

You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.

“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”

The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”

You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”

The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.

Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”

“No problem,” you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.

When you step out of the Marshall’s office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. That’s always how it was, before.

You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”

He nods, once.

“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”

For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.

“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.

Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”

He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.

“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”

You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and you’d had to harbor your broken heart.

He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.

—

You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.

The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Dome’s recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isn’t quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.

Then, he schedules you to spar.

In your first week, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.

Now, you’re fucking furious.

For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and he’s been learning the steps in secret.

The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve never been angry at him.

You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.

He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.

“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”

“‘M fine,” he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.

“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”

He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”

You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”

He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”

You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.

Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.

He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.

You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”

You can’t help but smile.

“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”

He’s watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.

“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.

“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”

“What was the best part?” he asks.

You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.

It feels like a trap.

You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.

“What was the worst part?”

There’s only one answer.

“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”

He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.

When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.

–

You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.

You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.

“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”

Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.

Something about his hurt. Something about why.

“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.

This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”

You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love.

But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness.

Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk.

It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.

You buzz with nerves. The last time you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.

The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.

His first memories are a breeze - the ones you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.

You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.

You watch yourself walk towards the chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.

You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.

The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”

He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding.

There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.

You can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following.

He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.

When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.

The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake.

He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.

“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”

Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.

“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”

You know.

And you owe him your side of the story.

You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.

When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.

Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.

You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.

Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide.

Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide.

“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory.

“You -?” he starts to ask.

“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”

You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.

Alaska.

The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.

And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.

If he didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.

“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.

“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s hand in yours.

You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Fury’s conn-pod.

As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”

His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.

Home.

You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.

Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.

“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”

“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”

He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”

You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”

He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”

“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”

He nods. “I did.”

The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.

“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”

“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”

You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign.

“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”

He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”

You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.”

He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”

It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I… was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed… hopeless to keep trying.”

The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.

You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”

Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.

He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.

“We really are.”

“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.

“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”

“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”

This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”

You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem.

“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d missed it entirely.

You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.

You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d slept with him.

When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”

“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”

He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart.

You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly.

You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”

“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”

Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”

“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”

You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded.

You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”

Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…

You’re crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.

“Ready to drop?” He looks sideways at you, sly.

You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”

– end

thank you so much for reading!!!!

stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Wylie and Chan will get their own fic written by @sailorrhansol, as will Woozi! I'm also planning a Vernon x Reader in this universe, too! Should be a fun time!!

1K notes · View notes

ybklix · 7 months ago

Text

hidden lovers

★ pairing: idol bf!lee know x fem!reader

✦summary: Minho and you have this little game of dating in secret, but keep a completely opposite image for the rest of your friends.

♡ genre - warnings: smut, mean and soft dom minho, established relationship, enemies to lovers briefly written; fingering, mutual masturbation, edging, oral sex (f. rec.), cunnilingus, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names.

word count: 5k

╰ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ masterlist - taglist forms

୧ ‧₊˚request by anon₊ ˚⊹♡ secretly dating minho w enemy plot yesyes<3

a/n: i hope u liked it 🍮 mwahmwah, i think lino has a puddin in the pic lmao so cute

divider by enchanthings

It was pouring rain outside, it was one of those rainy summer days when you really missed your boyfriend, you wanted to be in his arms watching a movie or spying through his cell phone whatever he was doing. But he was busy, he couldn’t visit you so often because he spent hours at the company, he arrived exhausted at his apartment which he shares with three other colleagues and friends; plus it was that season when coincidentally the rest of his seven co-workers and best friends were more glued to him since it was when they were hard at work on their new album, so being so close to them, they usually tend to be insistent and ask in detail what he does outside of work and Minho, your boyfriend, could not risk them finding out that there is something between you.

So, amidst the heavy rain, your perfect signal fell with it; Han Jisung, your brother and one of Minho’s closest friends sent you a message, asking you for help with household activities in his apartment, blackmailing you while reminding you that he was the one giving you money, since he’s rich and an extremely important pop star and claiming that it was one of those days when they didn’t go to the company and Chan took the opportunity to put the rest of them to clean their respective apartments. You honestly didn’t think much of it, going to your brother’s apartment would mean you would see Minho one way or another, despite living in different apartments, you were pretty sure you would be able to see him.

You thought it was strange that Minho didn’t tell you that he didn’t go to work today, you thought he must have been busy ordering Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin to clean their rooms like little kids since it was your boyfriend who was in charge of the place. So anyway, you decided not to tell him and see him as a surprise; you dressed up perfectly, you haven’t seen him for days except through facetime and you really missed the closeness and smell of your man nearby.

You left your apartment and headed to the building of your older brother and his other almost older brothers, Chan, Changbin and Hyunjin and sighed as you passed through the wide hallway, the famous hallway reserved for the eight of them, only two doors on each side of the hallway, the place where they lived, you sighed, because you knew that Minho was probably in his apartment.

You knocked on the door, where a very confused Chan opened it for you, wearing comfortable clothes, with his curls and his face totally free of any traces of makeup.

“Oh, hi, Y/N, I didn’t know you were coming.”

His confused countenance gradually softened into a smile. He was confused as Han had authorized your entrance all the way to his door without previously letting anyone know you were coming.

“Yeah, well neither did I...”

“Come on in, we’re just cleaning up a bit.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s just what Han calls me for, apparently.”

You walked in and even Chan couldn’t help but watch you as you walked by, smelling your perfume and getting slightly lost in your bare legs through your short dress; which you were wearing only for, who they consider, your enemy.

“Agh, my dear sister who’s going to help me do the laundry and dishes, how good you look, have you eaten yet?” said in a fake and dramatic tone your brother, greeting you with an exaggerated expression of excitement and hugging you, which he never does and was just overacting and being funny.

“Fuck you, Han” you answered him as a joke, you were really there just to see Minho and you were starting to get desperate, you wanted to run into his arms and kiss his nose exactly where he had his little freckle.

Han changed his expression to an annoyed one as soon as he pulled away from you after his brief hug, “Hey, watch your mouth, I’m older remember. Also, why are you wearing so much perfume, are you wearing makeup?”

“I can’t believe you brought your sister all the way here just to help you” Chan interjected.

“Hey, Y/N, nice to see you” interrupted Hyunjin as he came out of his room and walked around the apartment.

“Hi” you replied sweetly smiling at Hyunjin.

“She came to see me, it’s obvious” you heard Changbin suddenly say, who came out of the laundry room, approaching Han and you.

Changbin winked at you and gently grabbed your waist, flirting and teasing you, making Hyunjin laugh. But Han didn’t find it the least bit funny so he opened his big round eyes in shock, raising his eyebrows, ready to exclaim in his typical voice:

“Ya, are you out of your mind? Get your dirty hands off my sister or I’ll kill you.”

Chan laughed at Han’s reaction, who was also joking, since he fully trusted each of his friends and knew that they were just playing around, he knew that none of the men he lived with every day would touch you and Han had a strict rule of not trying anything with you, since you were the closest to them, all the time living with them, a rule which they all respected since at least four of them also had sisters and understood the seriousness of the situation... however it wasn’t quite like that, Minho was the one who dared to touch you and would fuck you every day if only you could be together all the time and, for the rest, Minho was really the last option in the list of people who would even have anything to do with you, since for them, you two are enemies and hate each other. Plus Han would never agree to you dating any of his friends, you were strictly forbidden and he reminded them of that every chance he got.

Changbin let out a guilty chuckle and walked away from you.

“Well, I was assigned to do the dishes and laundry, please help me, my room is a mess, I’ll clean that up. I’ll buy you five Chanel bags, I promise, please” spoke your brother, you rolled your eyes and walked towards the kitchen without answering him.

Hours later, the night came and you finished without a problem, you handed the freshly washed clothes to each of them, you left the boys’ kitchen spotless and went a little frustrated to your brother’s room to see what he was doing, he had finished cleaning too, tiredly you sat on his bed, each time losing hope of spontaneously seeing your boyfriend and surprising him, so you thought about going to the bathroom to send him a message, saying you were there and that if he had the rest of the night he should spend it with you, making a little drama by reproaching him for not telling you he would have the day off, supposedly, since you knew he might be cleaning.

“I’m thinking of buying another piece of furniture and putting it in...” started to tell you Han, pointing to a part of his room but you decided not to pay attention at all,

And suddenly a voice, a sound so familiar that it filled every part of your body with excitement, you heard in the distance the typical whine of your boyfriend, followed by his manly voice in a soft whine saying, “Agh, are you guys done already? I really didn’t want to clean up today, why did you guys finish so soon?”

Han opened his eyes in surprise and looked at you with a bit of fear, he also recognized perfectly well that it was Minho.

“Is that Minho?” you asked suddenly, hiding every excited particle of your body, your heart pounding as if you were a young girl about to see her crush.

“Oh no… if you want, I’ll get him out of here before he sees you” Han replied and before you even thought how to stop him he was already leaving his room.

You quickly stood up and went after him.

“Ah, Hannie, let’s go get some dinner and let’s all eat it in my apart...” spoke Minho cheerfully as he saw his friend coming out of the hallway but he didn’t finish the sentence as his world stopped as he saw you coming out behind him.

And there he was, Lee Minho, looking as handsome as ever, in comfortable clothes and a bare face, his hair looking soft and shiny black. You had to contain your joy, feeling him so far away but so close at the same time; as did Minho, who held back with all his might a smile from his lips at the sight of you, instead, his expression tightened completely, furrowing his thick eyebrows, his thin lips pursed a little, his big eyes sharpened if that was possible, looking at you contemptuously and an irremediable tension for the rest of the guys formed in the atmosphere, they all looked at each other complicitly, amused and slightly worried, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin and Han, moving their eyeballs quickly as they noticed you and Minho were looking at each other.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” spat Minho annoyed.

His tone and demeanor gave you goosebumps, just as it made your pussy throb, it really turned you on to see him upset, he looked so hot, you ran your eyes along his bare arms with your gaze, you wanted his veiny hands on your neck but you had to maintain your sanity and be tough, acting your best role, as Minho’s enemy.

“Minho be nice...” Chan said softly.

“With... that-her, never. Oh, and I see why you guys finished early. That’s unfair, you have a fucking maid” said Minho again in annoyance.

“Minho...” your brother replied in his sternest tone and giving him a dirty look.

“Actually, let’s all eat at Minho’s, that sounds good” you finally spoke, walking and teasing your enemy.

“You can’t come into my apartment” Minho answered you, his eyes dark with desire as he saw how pretty you looked and it made him feel so good to know you were doing it for him.

You knew that look so well, so intimidating and wetting you in seconds; while for the rest it was a look of hatred and spite.

“I’m hungry, let’s eat” Changbin added, approaching you two and gently squeezing your forearms as he saw that you seemed to have a staring contest, “Come on, maybe you’re just mad because you’re hungry.”

The story of you and Minho really was funny, you truly used to be enemies and hated each other; Minho met you when you were younger, for him, back in his trainee years, and instantly thought of you as a spoiled brat who was given absolutely everything, your voice irritated him, the way you acted, everything. You both had such similar personalities that you just couldn’t manage to match each other... until years later, the big revelation fell on Minho with the intensity of a crash, he liked you, you were so cute all of sudden and he also suddenly fantasized about beating your ass to stopping you from being so badly behaved. Your start of romance was so fiery, as you were suddenly confused by his strange behavior, flirting with you while still being rude to you and, since then, a year ago that you’ve been dating. And you decided to hide it for obvious reasons; although Minho had already told you that he had no problem claiming you as his own, that he loved to possess you and have you as his girlfriend, he loved the intensity in which you loved him.

And now acting like enemies in front of everyone and lovers in secret between just you two, became such an exciting game you couldn’t stop, you lived for the mystery and the adrenaline of never getting caught, and when the guys started joking that ‘those who hate each other end up falling in love’ —literally your situation—, Minho would be really mean to you again, but he rewarded you so fucking well that you even forgot why he apologized. Sex after fake hard fights was always the best for you.

Changbin led everyone to Minho’s apartment, everyone without truly thinking about why they followed him and the rest of the people who lived with Minho were surprised at the timely arrival of the rest of his friends and you.

“Woah, what is this? What are you guys doing here?” you watched Jeongin say in surprise as he slowly lowered the cell phone from his face.

The three of them were sitting on the couch in the living room, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin, watching you enter with astonishment reflected on their faces.

“It looked pretty serious the way they all came in” Felix added smiling, “Hello, Y/n.”

“Yongbok don’t say hello to her or I’ll kick you out of the apartment” replied Minho quickly.

“What do you guys want for dinner?” spoke Chan.

“You’re not even invited to this house, plus I’m still not done with my chores” replied Minho directly to you, serious and a bit irritated.

“What you guys haven’t done yet? Let us help you so you can finish soon” spoke Chan kindly again.

“Minho hasn’t done anything, he just kept bossing around” Seungmin exposed him with a smile and pointing at him, causing a soft chuckle among his other two roommates.

“Kim Seungmin, count your days” Minho hissed.

“A whole pile of clothes to be folded is waiting for him in his room” Seungmin joked again.

“Shut up, Seungmin!” exclaimed your boyfriend.

“Y/n should go help him, it would be fun to see them not fighting for five seconds” commented Jeongin amused with his cocky tone and raising his eyebrows.

“Never, I’d rather burn your clothes” replied Minho.

“Yes yes, put them both in punishment” exclaimed Seungmin with a huge smile on his face.

“For all the nights they had their little fights every time we went out” Changbin continued the joke.

Hyunjin and Felix laughed, Han and Chan watched you both with amusement.

“There’s not going to be any more nights together because I’m going to kill every single one of you” mumbled your boyfriend.

You watched the scene, trying to be the strongest and hiding the immense urge you had to indeed see your boyfriend's room.

“No way” Chan lifted his shoulders, “You have to fulfill your duties...”

“Okay, okay, but who said I would agree to help him?” you spoke suddenly.

“Oh, yeah, you both have to go while we order food” Changbin sentenced, waking over to you to gently push you.

“Do it” you heard Han order you.

“Just because I seriously don’t want to fold all those clothes by myself...” whispered Minho.

You looked at him surprised, and with a face of indignation you followed him. But deep down you were just waiting for all the drama to be over and you could be alone with him.

“Wow, he really accepted her help” Hyunjin commented in amazement as he watched you walk to Minho’s room.

“Shut the fuck up, Hyunjin, I’ll cut your tongue out!” shouted Minho to which Hyunjin made a quick funny grimace in response.

“Try not to kill each other in there!” yelled Changbin.

You and Minho stood for a few moments near his door, looking at each other complicit and with your breathing heavy, so eager to be near each other; you watched him through the darkness of his room, diverting your gaze from his big bright eyes to the rest of his room with huge windows overlooking the city, his room was beautiful, after all he was part of a very important group and maintained his reputation by having a luxurious place to live in... and almost at one end of his bed, a pile of clothes waiting to be folded. There were few times that you had entered Minho’s room as privacy was very limited.

You were both waiting for the boys’ attention to be diverted elsewhere and, Minho recognizing and hearing that they finally managed to get distracted, he locked the door. Minho knew them so well and recognized perfectly when their attention was diverted to something new; their loud voices ceased softly as they were heard lower with his door closed and he without wasting any time, grabbed you by the hips, pulling your body to him.

You smiled broadly, once again with every particle of you excited to finally have him near.

“I missed you so much, baby, you look so good today” he spoke to you sweetly, leaning into you and kissing you.

You couldn’t answer him, your whole body went warm as you felt his lips on yours, you both missed each other madly and wanted each other immensely, so quickly the kiss became desperate and lustful, his sharp nose rubbing against your face, your hands wrapping around his neck and stroking his hair; Minho hugged you, leaving his hands on your back and slowly leading you to his bed.

As you bumped against the edge of his bed with your legs, he slowly let his body drop, making you fall onto his bed gently, both of you breathless, lewd with the temperatures of your excited bodies, Minho wanted to make you his now and you needed your boyfriend’s affection so bad that your weak pussy was so soaked and needy for his touch. Minho moved away from you a little, only to pull up your dress and reveal that you were only wearing your panties underneath it, you noticed his disapproving look, still he said sweetly:

“Settle in, princess, make yourself comfortable, so I can touch you better.”

You stirred a little, getting comfortable with his pillows on your back and Minho kissed you again, positioning his body over yours, sticking to you to the point of feeling his swollen hard erection rubbing against your sensitive center, he was kissing you so passionately, getting even for all the nights he had to spend it alone, when he had you as his girlfriend and he was partly able to come and see you, you taking care of him so well. You moaned softly as you felt his cock grinding into your pussy and, Minho being himself, he began to gently ram into you, rubbing and squeezing his member into your needy area, rubbing against your clit, causing you to lubricate yourself more and every muscle in your pussy to throb hungrily for your boyfriend’s cock.

Your groans were held between his lips, but Minho was fucking you slowly and torturously, moving his nimble hips against your pussy, leaving you so wet.

You both caught your breath, Minho watched your face slightly illuminated by the night’s exterior reflected in the window. You gasped, still watching him lovingly, placing your hands on his cheeks.

“I missed you too, Minho.”

“I know, sweetheart, sorry I was busy” gasped Minho breathlessly, enjoying his cock being compressed against the friction of the fabric of your panties on your pussy.

He moved his hand down to your pussy finally, pushing the fabric of your panties aside, reaching down to your entrance and smiling smugly as he noticed how incredibly wet you were. Minho bit his lip and inserted two fingers deep into you, making you moan and the sound of his fingers immersing between your lubed cunt.

“I want to fuck you so bad, princess, c'mon, ask for it, kitten. I loove to hear you beg, you know that, don’t you?”

“Ahh, mmm, M-minho, p-please” you sighed excitedly, his fingers were tickling a sweet spot in you.

You wiggled your ass gently, aroused to have your boyfriend’s fingers working on your sensitive vagina and exploring your insides, as you reached for the hem of his shirt, gently lifting his simple white t-shirt, stroking his abs; Minho smirked again smugly and abruptly slid his fingers out of you.

“You want to touch me too, don’t you, kitten?”

Minho drew a half smile on his face to which you only nodded in a trance, completely lost in the incredibly hot and sexy atmosphere created between you and your boyfriend. He hurried, taking off his shirt and quickly pulling down his shorts and boxers, exposing his very well erect cock, you could appreciate how needy he was too, detonating his veins and his pink tip covered by shiny white precum. You almost sighed, wanting to have fun in so many ways with your boyfriend’s cock, so almost reflexively you directed your hands towards his member, stroking it to feel its stiffness, causing sweet gasps to escape from Minho’s lips, you looked at him, in his face captured pure pleasure, so you wanted to get up, change positions and suck his cock, but he stopped you instantly, also almost reflexively.

“Ah, ah” spoke your boyfriend in disapproval, pushing you off your shoulder, “Be a good girl and do whatever I say and want, okay?”

Minho darkened his gaze more and said it in a tone so intense and demanding but being gentle with you that it made your body tremble in excitement, you bit your lip and nodded.

“Now, stroke my cock and cum in my fingers like a good princess” he spoke again, his dirty words made you throb again, “But... let me see a little bit your pretty body...” Minho licked his lips and abruptly sought a way to pull the straps of your dress to expose your chest, “You always look so good, baby” Minho let his gaze linger on your bare breasts and then came closer and kissed you again.

You were so distracted, blinded by the incredible pleasure built up in your body, busy with your mouths joined, your hands in stroking up and down his cock and, as soon as you felt again the tickle of his fingers touching your pussy, your hairs stood on end; Minho without stopping kissing you, inserted in your entrance three of his fingers, making you gasp at the sensation of your entrance stretching. He moved his kisses down, down your neck, his hot breath hitting your sensitive skin, until his mouth reached your breasts, licking them, sucking them and biting your nipple, while his hand on your pussy fucked you and his thumb caressed your clit, getting his hand and the thin fabric of your panties you were still wearing wetter and wetter.

“We need to discuss later why you only came in that tiny dress, in panties and no bra, to an apartment full of men, you’re such a very bad kitty, you need a little punishment, but you feel so good right now, I wanna make you cum” Minho said, exasperated and excited in your ear.

He was so aroused too, desperate for an orgasm as he felt your hands skilfully but a little clumsily touching all over his length, stroking his glans, his testicles, feeling every inch of him, which dick you were internally screaming for by wanting such a member to be in you right now, but you couldn’t deny it, you loved the way your boyfriend liked to play and entertain your pussy, ramming it with his fingers and crushing and stroking your needy, throbbing clit. Minho gasped loudly, so close to his orgasm whose he took the decision of delaying it himself, he wanted every drop of his cum inside you, so runny and thick drops of his precum fell on your bare abdomen; his cock was so swollen and throbbing and you felt it in your hands that, in a whimper you practically begged him:

“M-minho please fuck me, I need you.”

Minho smiled.

“Then cum to your first orgasm in my hand, sweetie, you can do it.”

He, being pushed to the limit by your caresses on his cock, sped up his movements in your cunt, desperately fitting his fingers deep inside you, enjoying your walls in his digits, the softness of your throbbing clit on his fingertip. You whimpered loudly, staring into his eyes, arched your back, so ready for your orgasm, every muscle in you squeezed with intensity.

“Are you about to cum, kitten? Do it now, come on.”

“Oh, ffuck” you squealed with a shaky voice, catching one last glimpse of Minho’s handsome face with a smug little smile, before your vision blurred and you rolled your eyes slightly back.

Your legs tensed, you squeezed his cock slightly tighter, only to release yourself in orgasm, squirting into his hand, just as he desired.

“Good girl” Minho commented smiling.

He withdrew his fingers and in one swift movement, slipped your panties off and without warning of anything, brought his face up to your pussy, licking your sweet liquid sliding down your hole. You moaned at the sensation of his thick hot tongue, of his lips sticking to your pussy to slurp hard from your entrance to your labia, feeling his high bridge nose rubbing against your core, Minho left his hands on your thighs and began to eat your pussy, raising his piercing gaze, watching with joy your body struggle with your heavy breathing.

This time you enjoyed every movement of his mouth on your pussy, his kisses, his soft bites, the intense sucking and licking; you were in paradise, his pace was hot and slow, little by little speeding up the way he ate your pussy, Minho was enjoying it too, getting harder on his dick, causing a little pain to his erect cock hanging in the air, in need of attention, screaming to cum, but the slight pain was turning him on more, he loved pushing himself to the limit, making you enjoy only you as you deserve it, besides he had this idea or theory, that he didn’t deserve to cum as he wasn’t being the best boyfriend these last days, he missed you and felt guilty for not being able to come to see you, and that you had to be the one who was looking for him.

Minho again sensed your orgasm so close, your gasps rose, honestly the noise didn’t bother him, the walls were thick and his friends were being ten times louder in the living room of the apartment. So he suddenly stopped having his mouth on your pussy, roughly wiped his face with his dry hand and got closer to your face.

“Don’t cum yet, princess, I need to fuck you now” he whispered, giving you a sweet kiss on your cheek.

You saw him in confusion, you couldn’t even groan because you instantly realized that you were finally going to have his cock inside you.

Minho repositioned himself again, took his member and began to tease your wet and needy entrance, stroking his glans into it, sliding it in so gently and just enough to get your hole dilated, but he would pull it out again. You whimpered with excitement and desperation as you perfectly recognized the game your boyfriend was playing.

“You want it don’t you?” he said amused with his typical smug smile as he saw your needy body and countenance, your pussy made a beautiful mess, your length so shiny from your wetness and his licking, your entrance resenting his tip inside you, “So needy for my cock.”

You whimpered, his broad tip slipped out of you and this time he grind your labia with his erection, rubbing himself on them.

“Y-yes, Minho, please, please, please.”

“Only because I’m the best boyfriend” he replied haughtily.

Minho slowly slid his cock inside you, you gasped, he was big and wide, squeezing your walls hard and stretching your entrance. He sighed, almost feeling a relief as he felt his cock around your warm core, he pulled his body closer to yours, wanting to feel your body touching his; he was so deep inside you that he almost took your breath away, still, he began to thrust you slowly, never leaving his depth and intensity, moving his hips to take you to the limit, caressing your cervix, and his balls rubbing against your exposed pussy. You tightened your legs and encircled his body, while your hands rested on his strong back, you both began to pant, his slow deep thrusts heating your lower abdomen, torturing you but sending you to heaven itself at the same time. Minho kept a pace that only he knew how made you go crazy, slow, then he accelerated fast, pounding you hard. You dug your nails into his back, you were so close to your orgasm; Minho sped up the movements of his cock in you, but as he felt your walls squeezing his member hard, he couldn’t take it, he gasped loudly in your ear and ejaculated, milking him dry every drop of his cum in an intense orgasm. You felt his cum instantly, your legs also squeezed his body tighter and you whimpered loudly, cumming again and covering your boyfriend’s cock in your so intense orgasm.

Minho left his head on your neck for a few seconds, then distanced himself and watched your pussy image after the action.

“So sweet and all mine” Minho said, looking down at his cock sliding out of your core, dripping the glorious orgasm of both of you in a glistening liquid; he moved closer to you again, to give you a sweet kiss, your mouth was dry, from moaning and breathing by it, but quickly Minho’s soft lips ceased any sensation, “I love you” he whispered into your lips, bringing your foreheads together.

You smiled, about to answer him something cheesy, but Minho’s doorknob turning sharply and banging on his door alerted you a little.

“Dinner’s ready, why is the door locked?” you heard Seungmin’s voice shout from the other side.

“Linoo” you now heard Changbin’s voice shout, “Are you okay?! He must be dead already.”

Minho sighed in frustration, “These idiots...” he muttered, catching his breath near your face.

—————-

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89

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sceletaflores · 7 months ago

Text

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.”

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name.

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.”

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?”

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves.

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face.

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts.

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils.

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup.

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you.

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you.

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around.

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach.

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.”

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off.

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness.

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso.

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in. You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass.

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock.

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly.

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts.

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks.

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door.

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted.

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

1K notes · View notes

venusbyline · 2 months ago

Text

Revenge ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 30, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader x Aegon II Targaryen

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: mirror sex

— summary: Aegon wants to please you, his niece and betrothed, during the night of your nineteenth name day. However, everything goes wrong when you reject Aegon's touch and he decides to try to make amends with Aemond, letting the younger prince take revenge on your brothers in the worst way possible.

— word count: 4.0k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 30th day, female!reader, dark!Aegon, dark!Aemond, Jacaerys' twin sister!reader, betrothed!Aegon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT (i'm not kidding, this is REALLY disgusting), rape/non-con, mirror sex, Targcest (uncles/niece), degradation, non-consensual somnophilia, vaginal sex, rough sex, breeding kink, blood and violence, squirting, overstimulation, forced orgasm, dacryphilia, crying, dumbification, vaginal fingering, unconscious sex, fainting/collapsing, forced pregnancy, cum eating, cum swallowing, blood licking, sexism, age gap (older men/younger woman), marriage of convenience, ambiguous/open ending, implied/referenced cheating, face slapping, hair-pulling, sadism, revenge sex, threats of death, emotional manipulation, book accurate ages (It's 133 AC. Reader's 19, Aemond's 23, Aegon's 26, Jacaerys' 19, Lucerys' 18, Joffrey's 16), referenced Targaryen-Velaryon Incest (sister/brothers), referenced consensual underage sex, minor Velaryon brothers/reader, implied Aemond Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen, bisexual(?)!Aemond, bisexual(?)!Aegon, minor Aemond Targaryen/Aegon Targaryen, Aegond, dark content, dom!Aemond, switch!Aegon, sub!reader, canon divergence (No Dance of the Dragons/War for Succession), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @dearjardim

— author's notes: It's MENTIONED during the fic that Aegon's obsession with the reader has been going on since before the night in Driftmark, 120 AC. So at that time, you would be 6 years old and Aegon would be 13/14. Although this is just a MENTION of Aegon's dark desires and isn't graphic at all, it's important that you understand about the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat tag and read all trigger warnings. This is just a FANFICTION, but Aegon's thoughts are disgusting anyway.

— crossposting: AO3

Aegon II Targaryen had been quite impulsive when choosing the woman he would marry. He knew that getting betrothed to his niece, Jacaerys's twin sister, would not be an idea well received by his family, especially by his mother and his younger brother, Aemond, but he decided to act on that decision without thinking too much about the possible consequences.

His obsession with you, the only daughter of his half-sister, Rhaenyra, was almost unhealthy. Aegon has watched you grow, just as he has watched Jacaerys and Lucerys grow. He liked to see you trying to keep up with them when the three boys got together to play some trick on Aemond. They never let you spend much time with them, and Aegon even made fun of you, just like he did with Aemond.

At that time, Aegon did not know how to deal with the intense feelings he felt about you, finding it disgusting that he was much older than you. Gods, you were younger even than Aemond. He really could not deal with those thoughts, and venting about them to someone would be a bad idea. He would probably get a beating from Harwin Strong — the man all people of King's Landing knew was your true father — when the knight was still alive.

Trying to keep you far away, Aegon chose making you a butt of jokes. Jacaerys and Lucerys never seemed to notice how Aegon really felt about their sister and even liked to have fun at your expense.

As the years passed, the family had grown apart. The fight involving Aemond against Lucerys, Jacaerys and Daemon's daughters parted the Targaryen family into two sides. Despite always being a terrible older brother, Aegon had tried to make it up to Aemond after he lost his eye. He did not like to admit that he blamed himself a little for what happened. However, the thought occurred to him with a damn frequency. If Aegon had not been drinking like an asshole that night, perhaps he could have defended his brother.

He wanted to be a better brother to Aemond, he really tried to be, but nothing seemed to be enough for the younger prince. Nothing seemed to make him happy. Not even when Aegon took Aemond, who was still ten and three years old, to a brothel and introduced him to Madam Sylvi. Aegon thought his brother would like to become a complete man and he would like to get his cock wet. But he was definitely wrong.

He could remember with anguish how Aemond opened the curtains and walked out into the halls of the brothel after the act. Aegon tried to ask him how the sex had been, if he had liked it... But all Aemond did was give him a cold and hurt look, replacing his eye patch and continuing to walk so both of them could leave soon.

When Aegon returned to the brothel the next week, he asked Madam Sylvi about Aemond performance and expected a naughty response from the whore. Anyway, hearing the phrase "He is not a child now" clearly did not sound as sensual as he imagined. He needed to drink a little more to avoid wanting to cry when he realized that in fact Aemond was no longer a child. He had taken that away from his brother when he convinced the younger to joined him to Street of Silk. Even after so many pranks, until that fateful day in Driftmark, Aemond still trusted his older brother. He was still an innocent child, with just one eye and his fierce Dragon.

And Aegon had destroyed the last vestige of innocence inside Aemond's heart. Aegon had ruined everything again, just as he had ruined everything every time he played tricks on you with your brothers and called you a fucking bastard the night Lucerys accidentally took out Aemond's eye during the childish and violent fight. You were not even there when all of that happened, but Aegon thought offending you would be like making up to Aemond for his absence and lack of protection.

Now, 133 AC, thirteen years after the family chaos in Driftmark, Aegon was trying to slowly restore some peace by proposing to his half-sister, Queen Rhaenyra, a betrothal to you. It was a way of seeking a truce between the grudge that Rhaenyra and Daemon held for Alicent and her children. And most important of all, it was a way to make amends with you and Aemond, even if his brother hated you.

"What do you think about your new necklace, my dear?" Aegon asked you after the festival in King's Landing to celebrate your and your twin brother Jacaerys' nineteenth year of life.

"It is very beautiful, uncle." You replied with a tense voice, observing yourself in the large mirror with golden edges in Aegon's private chambers.

You were not someone who liked breaking the rules, especially when they involved secret meetings with your uncle Aegon. You still harbored resentment for the way he started to mock your and your brothers' legitimacy after Rhaenyra and Alicent's complete estrangement. At first, you thought about denying his call for you to accompany him through the castle corridors, but the idea of receiving one more gift seemed tempting. And in fact, you did not regret. Actually, you were enchanted by the necklace with the pendant of a golden dragon with silver-toned wings.

"Do not call me uncle anymore, my dear. You are my future wife now." Aegon reminded you with a chuckle, standing behind you and watching as you admired the pendant. He could see the way you seemed to want to ask something and he knew exactly what it was. "Yeah, the dragon on the pendant was made especially to represent Vermithor."

He said and your eyes widened immediately. Just like Rhaena and Aemond, there was no dragon for you when you were born. You only managed to claim Vermithor four years ago, however, your bond with the elder dragon was already quite admirable. Vermithor was a fierce creature to everyone and he was like a puppy to you, so meek and docile that sometimes you found yourself venting alone to him. A habit that only increased even more after your mother confirming your betrothal with your uncle.

"This is... This is... This is incredible." Your eyes filling with tears. You lifted your face to observe Aegon's reflection behind you, his soft smile as he returned your gaze. "My most sincere thanks, Aegon. This is the kindest and sweetest gift I have ever received. I swear."

Aegon's cheeks flushed a little. He was not used to being kine or sweet. Much less listen someone calling him like that. Your thanks slightly caught him off guard and he cleared his throat, trying to hide his sudden nervousness, hoping you would not notice how sweaty and shaky his hands were when he placed them on your shoulders, a little taller than you while you were still watching each other in the mirror. "You look so fucking delightful right now."

He purred into your earlobe. The warm air and the smell of wine made you frown and step back. You were not used to being touched like this by men who were not your brothers and you did not feel comfortable with Aegon's sudden physical proximity. Of course he was your fiance and very soon you would be forced to consummate the marriage, but there were still many barriers between the two of you. Barriers he built to keep you away when you were a child and now he was determined to break them at any cost.

"Do not do that again." Aegon scolded you, fire coursing through his veins at your abrupt departure. He hated that you were acting like you were disgusted by him. Damn, he was trying to be good, was not he? He was being a good betrothed and redeeming himself with you. "I gave you a fucking gift you loved!"

You flinched at his loud husky voice, stopping just looking at him in the mirror and turning to him, the size difference not being as intimidating as it was when you were still a little girl seeking approval from your uncle and your brothers. He did not even have the same long hair as before. Now, Aegon kept his dry silver hair to a medium length, giving him an appearance of lack of care, as well as the intense dark circles under his eyes. Even though you would never admit it, you feared him but also you thought he was very handsome at the same time. Like your child version also thought these same things about Aegon when he was a teenager.

"And I already thanked you for it. However, I do not remember allowing you to touch me the way you just did."

"Seven Hells, do not be an annoying prude! I just rested my hands on your shoulder."

"And purred in my ear like a cat in heat, surely thinking I would give in to you so easily and we would sleep together before our wedding ceremony!" You exclaimed, without thinking straight. Your heartbeat was racing, your face red with anger that he had the audacity to call you an annoying prude.

Aegon growled at your words, moving closer to your body, until your faces were practically glued together and you could smell the wine he had been drinking throughout the festival, just as he could smell flowers fragrance coming from you. The tension was palpable, both of you staring at each other with anger in your eyes. It was like flames burning each other just with gazes.

You thought he would yell at you or at most throw you out of his chambers and take the gift back. You expected many things, except Aegon to abruptly cover your mouth, holding the back of your head with his other hand to stop you from struggling and running away.

"Perhaps, you bastard bitch, I am acting like a cat in heat because I know what a cheap whore you are." Aegon growled one more time, the fingers that had been holding the back of your neck now gripping your hair. "You always act like you are a maiden, but all people of King's Landing is already suspicious about how your cunt has already been filled several times by your twin brother. Jacaerys seemed quite furious when my betrothal with you was made official."

Aegon pushed you onto his large bed and you immediately tried to get up and scream, being stopped by the hard slap he gave you in the face, making you fall back onto his sheets, terrified as he climbed on top of you, holding both of your arms on top of your head. "If you try to do that fucking shit again, I am going to rip your fucking head off and gut you until you die. Our entire family is going to go to war and blood is going to be spilled because you are still the same spoiled bastard who cried and wanted to fit in with me when we were younger."

Something made you stop fighting against the situation. Perhaps it was your childhood memories of seeking approval from Aegon, Jace and Luke. Perhaps it was the threat of more chaos happening in your family if Aegon killed you. Perhaps it was all the alcohol you happily drank during your and Jace's name day celebration. Perhaps it was because you already knew that Aegon would rape you anyway if he was determined to do so. Perhaps it was all of that. You simply stopped, sobbing a few times before shaking your head.

"Good girl..." Aegon chuckled at your submissive reaction. "Just look at the ceiling, alright? I promise it will be good."

You did not know what Aegon meant, only understanding when you obeyed. Looking up at the ceiling, you saw that there was a large mirror placed there. You could watch yourself lying in bed, your face soaked with tears, your hair disheveled and your hands being held above your head. You had never been so shocked due a reflection. It was a clear sample of Aegon's obsession, firm fingers holding your wrists in the way he wanted, while his other hand simply hiked up your nightgown, taking advantage of your lack of reaction to take off and throw your underwear on the floor. Aegon was about to take off the tunic he was wearing, before being interrupted by the door opening and then closing.

"Am I interrupting something, brother? One of your guards said you demanded my presence here. I was busy and could not arrive at the ordered time." Aemond's cold voice echoed through Aegon's chambers and your eyes widened. You looked away from your reflection for a while, barely feeling Aegon fingering your slightly wet folds. You were incredulous at the fact that Aemond was so nonchalant with the sight of his older brother about to rape their niece. You could not tell if it was simply because Aegon often did atrocities like this or if it was also because Aemond had hated you since both of you were kids and he was not at all pleased with his brother's obsession with marrying you.

"Oh, busy with Helaena, I must assume." Aegon teased his brother and Aemond rolled his eyes, clearing his throat and pointing to the scene in front of him.

"May I know why my presence here is necessary?" The youngest asked and a moan escaped your lips when Aegon stuck two fingers inside you at once, drawing your attention back to him. Aegon raised his eyebrow as he noticed how, despite the painful and abrupt intrusion, your little cunt accepted his fingers without much difficulty, which meant not only that you were no longer a maiden, but that you had also fucked with someone recently and completely ignored your future marriage with your uncle.

"Looks like you were not the only person to fuck with your own sister today, brother."

Aemond could not help but smirk, tilting his head in mockery when he saw Aegon took his fingers out of you and shake your wetness away, almost as if he was disgusted. "Who would have thought that the rumors about her and Jacaerys were true..." The prince mocked, approaching the bed and making you flinched your body into the mattress. "Tell me, dear niece and sister-in-law... Which of your Strong brothers has already fucked your dirty and disgusting cunt? Only Jacaerys? Or also Lucerys and Joffrey?"

You whimpered at the invasive and demeaning question, knowing you would be in danger if you revealed the true, but you would also be in danger if you lied. "Not Joffrey yet."

It was Aegon's turn to mock, with some irritation. "Joffrey's small cock has not gotten wet inside you yet, but I bet you at least taught him how to eat you out. After all, he is already ten and six. That is old enough." The stare Aegon received from Aemond made him swallow hard. It was clear that his younger brother still felt angry about what happened at the brothel when he was thirteen. "Well, I mean..."

Aemond ignored his brother's attempt to justify himself and looked back at you, his cold hand touching your warm core, enjoying your wetness and rubbing your pearl, eliciting confused and tearful moans, your mind trying to encourage you to scream and run far away of them and your body begging him to keep rubbing your clit. Perhaps a little stronger. Stronger enough to draw your blood. Jace, Luke and Joffrey were always too sweet to you. Too noble. "That does not matter. What matters is that you are nothing more than a hole for your brothers to use."

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes and letting the tears flow. When you turned your face away, Aemond's hand grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to pay attention to what he was saying. "Now I understand why my brother was obsessed with you when we were younger. You were always a cockslut, I bet."

His words sinked your heart and you shook your head, so fast that your vision even blurred. You wanted to deny it, say that you were nothing like that, say that Aegon had never been really obsessed with you. But nothing came out of your lips. Actually, your panicked mind was starting to make you believe that Aemond could be right about both things.

"Uhm, I still remember everything before that night in Driftmark... How you were always running after Aegon and your brothers, desperate to be seen... Just like how my brother was always pushing you away." He scoffed, gripping your chin tighter. "Probably because he felt sick about himself thinking those naughty things about you. After all, you were only six years old and he was almost ten and four. A drunk teenager wishing for such perverse things and—"

Aegon grimaced as Aemond spoke, clearly uncomfortable about having his dirty little secret exposed right in front of you. "That is enough, Aemond." The older man softly growled and Aemond frowned and let go of your chin abruptly, his thin lips pulled into a sarcastic smile.

"You still have not told me why you demanded my presence here, brother." The last word sounded bitter to the ears of the three of you and Aegon took a deep breath, determined to take control of the situation again. Or at least a little part of the control.

He pointed to you, lying on the bed with the legs open, your cunt now wetter and your face reddened from crying, the empty look in your eyes making it obvious how confused and vulnerable you were. The confused and vulnerable state that your own uncle and future husband had left you simply because you refused his touch.

Aemond did not seem at all bothered by what he was seeing. You did not notice any trace of desire coming from him either and if it were not for the way a slight bulge began to appear in his pants, you would even believe that the scorn and resentment he always felt for you was bigger than the anger and desire to get revenge on Jacaerys and Lucerys.

"Are you offering me our niece?"

The question was said without a hint of enthusiasm and Aegon laughed, knowing his brother well enough to know that he just wanted to maintain the typical facade of indifference. "Well... I wanted to give you and my betrothed a gift. I was going to suggest that the three of us have some fun tonight to celebrate her name day..." Aegon purred, his calloused fingers caressing your bare thigh. "However, due to her spoiled and thankless behavior, I wish you to take her first."

Aemond was surprised at first, his good eye switching between you and his brother. He had already imagined several possibilities to get revenge for the things his nephews did when they were all kids. He had even thought that your betrothal to Aegon was already a good form of revenge, despite hating his brother even more when he realized that he had never gotten over that ridiculous obsession with you.

Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey had been furious when they discovered that their mother had agreed to let Aegon marry you. They were scared of what would happen to you, neither of them ever believing Aegon's stupid explanation about a peace treaty.

Aemond knew that his nephews would be furious if they knew what he was about to do with you, just as he knew what Aegon wanted. Aemond was not dumb, he understood that Aegon blamed himself for the tragic events in his life. Aemond understood that Aegon blamed himself for taking away his chance to lose his virginity willingly and with someone he was really attracted to.

And then, Aegon was there, giving you to him like an apology. Also, he was giving Aemond the chance to take revenge on his nephews and take you before himself.

Aemond did not respond with words. Instead, he just pushed Aegon aside, taking his brother's place on the bed and starting to undo the ties of the tunic he was wearing.

With each brutal thrust from Aemond, a tearful scream from you resounded throughout the chambers, muffled by Aegon's large hand, who was sitting next to you, caressing your dark hair with his free fingers.

All of the three of you was admiring different points of the view reflected by the mirror on the ceiling. Aegon was focused on the sight of your little cunt, so tight and being brutally fucked by Aemond's thick and rosy cock. Aegon could hear the sudden noises caused each time Aemond's body hit yours hard, your wet core making it easier for your uncle and brother-in-law to fuck you rough and deep enough that the walls of your cunt began to feel so much sore.

Despite the blurred tear-filled vision, you stared at yourself in the reflection, your heart clenching with self-loathing as your muffled screams stopped being pleas for Aemond to stop hurting you and started becoming just loud whimpers about how you were cumming again. You had actually lost count of how many times you had cum around Aemond's cock. You had already lost count of how many times you had squirted and even lost consciousness for a few seconds.

You felt like you were about to die and all that kept you alive was Aegon's fingers stroking your hair like you were his precious doll and Aemond's seed filling you for the second time in the last hour. Aemond looked at his own reflection after cumming inside you, his Sapphire's eye shining in the mirror, as well as the sweaty skin of his chest. He felt powerful. He felt alive. And best of all, he finally felt the good but bitter taste of revenge.

You were almost sure that Aemond was determined to breed you. And you were almost sure that Aegon had allowed it, because even when his younger brother pulled his wet cock out of your sensitive and bruised hole, Aegon just waited for Aemond to start getting dressed to take his place, bending down in front of you and licking the mixture of blood and cum that dripped from your cunt, ignoring your tears and the forced submission coming from your trembling body.

"You are disgusting, Aegon." Aemond huffed after Aegon licked and sucked your clit until you were squirting on his face too, your weak whimpers making you look like a sad kitten. "You should stop. She will end up convulsing and dying if she cums again."

"Oh, but she wants to cum again. Do not you want that, my dear?" Aegon teased, rubbing your swollen reddened pearl. You shook your head, the confused movement seemed like a confirmation and a denial at the same time, which elicited a chuckle from your future husband. He turned to Aemond and pointed at you. "See? She is going to be a perfect wife. All it took was a cock and she is already completely stupid and brainless, like a real good wife should be."

"Uhm, I guess she is not a very strong girl." Aemond scoffed, the word Strong bringing you horrible memories and making you whimper and turn your face into the pillow, until you finally fell asleep while Aegon was still eating you out. "I am serious, brother. Let our whore niece sleep and get some rest." Aemond murmured a little impatiently, his eye scanning the Vermithor pendant of your new necklace and then to Aegon's lips, wet with your juices and creamy with the mess of your blood and Aemond's seed. "Just stop eating my seed. Your future wife will not get pregnant with my child if you keep being a greedy and needy slut, sucking out all my cum just for you."

Aegon's eyes widened, in disbelief at his brother's words, raising the head and being interrupted just as he was about to defend himself. "Besides, you are going to end up cumming in your own pants if you keep just watching everything and settling for scraps. Our niece's cunt is delightful, however, I will be waiting for you in my private chambers so you can continue apologizing to me, brother."

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ckret2 · 2 months ago

Text

Bill hates it when people mention Euclydia. Everyone thinks it's because he doesn't want to hear his home's real name; it's actually the opposite.

Here, have some fic. The naming of Euclydia (among other things), the birth of the Nightmare Realm, and the Axolotl planting the seeds of a trillion-year-long plan to keep Bill from the death penalty.

This is the 🎉FINAL PART🎉 of a 9-part plot about the Axolotl in the aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. If you wanna read the others (or look at the art), here's one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight.

####

With the immediate crisis averted and the triangle, for the moment, not attempting to invade and/or demolish the multiverse, most of the god militia pulled back. A group remained stationed near the unstable border between dimensions to watch the triangle; but the less powerful gods could trickle back in to get back to their own work, first and foremost the construction workers doing emergency repairs to reformat and stabilize the neighboring dimensions.

The Axolotl—who, he suspected, would have been arrested himself for interfering if they weren't still focused on the triangle—wove through the crowd until he found the Time Giant; and then swam angrily up to her and demanded, "You used me as a distraction?"

She turned a stone-hard look on him. "That was the agreement."

"No! The agreement was that I'd try to talk him down! We'd only resort to distracting him if I couldn't get through to him!"

"Ya didn't get through to him." The Time Giant nodded at the Axolotl's burned side. "Look at you. Your leg's off."

He looked down at his missing foreleg. He'd been so distracted by the near end of the multiverse, he'd barely noticed the pain. "It's just a flesh wound," he insisted. "I'm an axolotl, it'll grow back!"

She shook her head.

"I would have gotten through to him! You saw me talk him down after an entire army threatened him!" the Axolotl said. "What if I had succeeded, and when we left my tank he found out you already wrote him off?! You never gave me a chance—"

"We did give you a chance," she said testily, "and I saw that you weren't gonna succeed." She hooked a thumb over her belt and tapped a finger on her time tape; the stylized symbol of the Time Giants glowed on the side, an unsubtle reminder that she knew what was coming far better than he did. "So I did my damn job."

So she'd sent him in already knowing that he would fail. The Axolotl was speechless for a second. "But—you couldn't know—I got so close, if I'd had just one more try to talk to him..."

"If I'd let you, I'm sure you woulda kept trying until the end of time," she said. "You seem like a good guy, Ax—but you can't save everyone." She pushed past him to get to work. "There's first aid near where Dimension 2 Gamma was. Get those burns looked at."

"They're fine."

She was wrong. He could save everyone. Because he wouldn't stop until he did.

####

"You're replacing it?" the triangle asked petulantly.

"I'm not talking to you," VENDOR said, turned away from the triangle. "You had your chance at diplomacy and you blew it." The crablike cop was holding up a clipboard with some paperwork for VENDOR to review, and didn't look pleased to have been temporarily reduced to a secretary.

"I'm just asking a question!"

"We're not speaking."

At the top of his lungs—which was, it turned out, very loud and very shrill—the triangle said in the direction of the reporters, "Oh wow, that's a crazy thing to say about Lady Morgenstern! And talk about obscene! She'd be furious if she could hear that—!"

"Shhhhh!" VENDOR rounded angrily on the triangle. "You don't even know who she is!"

"I know her name and I'm not afraid to use it," the triangle said. "You're really replacing my dimension?"

"If I can be left alone long enough to finish signing the authorization paperwork," VENDOR muttered. "The construction crew's already out here and waiting, so if you don't mind..."

"It just seems pretty tacky, replacing a universe just like that." The triangle spoke like dimension he was talking about was just a pawn to be used in a trivial argument about etiquette, rather than everyone and everything he'd ever known. "No memorial or anything? Yeesh."

"So hold a memorial for it," VENDOR said. "We don't have any choice, we have to repair all the fallen walls to keep reality stable. If you'd let us into your hovel to sweep up what's left of your old dimension, it could have at least been incorporated into the new one."

The triangle half reached for his hat, stopped himself, and curled his hand into a fist and thrust it down at his side. "Over my dead body," he said. "Which I'm pretty sure got incinerated! So that means never!"

"You're pretty sure?" VENDOR asked archly.

"It... I had more important stuff to take care of, okay? I'm a busy guy!"

"I'm sure," VENDOR said. "Well, it's too late for any cleanup operations anyway. Enjoy rotting away in your landfill."

"Wow, that's how you talk to a refugee from the biggest disaster ever?" The triangle laughed. "Hey, bet the muckrakers over there would love to hear how sympathetic you are to the—what'd you say I am—the 'last surviving soul from my dimension'—?"

"Let's find somewhere quieter to work," VENDOR said to the cop.

He looked relieved "You got it."

As VENDOR and THEIR impromptu secretary moved away from Dimension Zero, the triangle shouted after THEM, "Hey! How do I vote for Municipalitron!"

Volcanoes on several of VENDOR's planets erupted. THEY whipped around to face the triangle. "You don't! You aren't in my district!"

"Well, whose district am I in? This Morgenstern creep you keep bringing up?" the triangle asked. "How's voting work, do you toss a ballot across the border and I toss it back—?"

"You're not in anyone's district! If you were, you'd have been arrested already!"

The triangle stared in dumb shock. "Wait, so I don't get to vote for which of you idiots I have to deal with?" He hollered at VENDOR's retreating back, "That's fascism!"

Fuming, VENDOR passed the Axolotl muttering under THEIR breath about showing the triangle fascism; then stopped, abruptly turned to face him, and snapped, "You."

"You," the Axolotl agreed.

"You're an optimistic fool."

Yes, well, he knew that already. He'd been voted Most Adorably Idealistic in his law school yearbook for a reason. "I don't think I like you, either."

"No one does." THEIR camera whirred irritably as they looked the Axolotl up and down. "What are you doing here, anyway? I assumed you'd been sent to figure out who's liable for this whole mess—but no, you only handle afterlife cases, don't you? Who sent you?"

The Axolotl was silent.

Furiously, VENDOR said, "Are you serious?! We could have avoided half this mess if it weren't for you!"

"If it weren't for me, he'd have knocked down the multiverse before anyone realized he's setting the fires," the Axolotl snapped. "And if you had figured that much out, you'd have gotten your cops killed before anyone realized he's a god."

"The professionals here to handle the situation could have figured it out faster if you weren't derailing their investigations," VENDOR snarled. "And arguing about jurisdiction! We could have arrested that that little troublemaker the moment we figured out just what he's done—"

"Right after you arrested that kid with the spray can who didn't have anything to do with this?"

THEY growled in frustration. "Forget it! I hope you're happy with your genocidal pal over there—you seem about as concerned with public safety as he is." THEY stormed off, the cop with THEIR paperwork chasing after THEM.

The Axolotl watched VENDOR go; then turned to look ruefully toward Dimension Zero.

When the triangle caught his gaze, he formed a heart with his fingers over his top point and called out, gleefully singsong, "Genocide paaals!"

It wasn't exactly the reaction he'd hoped for.

####

The Axolotl was attempting to distract himself from scratching his itchy leg while it regrew by eavesdropping on the triangle. It seemed like the triangle was entertaining himself by darting around the border of Dimension Zero to start arguments with anybody he happened to recognize (except the Axolotl, whom he seemed to be trying to ignore outside of throwing a few odd quips at him.) At the moment, the triangle and the Time Giant were hollering at each other about her decision to reinforce the second dimensions by making them splinter into multiple timelines.

"So you're really willing to sacrifice zillions of lives by letting me incinerate all their parallel timelines?" The triangle laughed in disbelief. "And everyone here thinks I'm the killer! That's not a good look for you, buddy!"

She glanced up from a table full of paperwork to give him a totally neutral look. "You're the one who's willing to incinerate them. You could not do that."

"When I do it, it's justified."

The Axolotl was distracted from the argument as the storm cloud with the apoc agents gloomily blew past him. It was talking into a walkie-talkie as it went: "Yeah, I know he's a nut. But he's a nut that can't throw fireballs outside the border of his dimension, and I've got to finish this report before we can get outta here." He sighed at whatever the walkie-talkie said in response, and said, "Yeah. We'll rendezvous after I have his testimony." It let its tornado suck the walkie-talkie back in and drifted to the Time Giant. "Mind if I steal your conversation partner for a minute? ATTF business."

She grabbed a binder to try to shield her papers from the worst of the storm's rain. "Please. Take him."

"Thanks." It floated closer to Dimension Zero and raised its voice to bark, "Hey! Magister Mentium!"

The triangle looked over mistrustfully. "What?" As he'd talked to the Time Giant, he'd been playing with the fabric of reality, creating a circle out of raw... stuff. The Axolotl couldn't tell what the stuff was, but it looked like it was some sort of animal tissue, except far too uncannily homogeneous to be natural, disturbing in its uniformity. Like a slice of baloney. When he saw who'd called out to him, he rolled his eye and turned his attention to extruding the circle into a baloney cylinder. "Heeey, Officer Fun Police! Here to rain on my parade again?"

"Rain jokes aren't as funny as you think they are," it said. "No, this is Apocalyptic Threat Task Force business."

The triangle's eye narrowed. "What business? Are you gonna complain about my renovations again?"

"No. If you're not about to knock reality down, I don't care what you do anymore," the cloud said. "It's not my business to punish anybody for previous apocalypses, I just want to prevent future ones. Answer a few questions for our incident report and I'll be out of your life." There was an implicit and you'll be out of mine in its tone.

"All right," the triangle said dubiously. "Fffine. Then we're on the same side. I'm not fond of apocalypses either."

It paused like it wanted to argue with that claim, but said, "Good enough for me." It pulled out the soggy notepad it had been using all day, flipped through it, couldn't find a free page, and with a sigh pulled out a tape recorder instead. "You're from Dimension 2 Delta, right?"

"If you say so," the triangle said, lifting his hands in a shrug. "You guys are the ones who named my dimension."

"Uh-huh." Under its breath, the cloud muttered, "Not exactly a name, but... If you're from 2Δ, that makes you the only direct witness to how your universe was destroyed."

The triangle paused. "Mm."

"Can you explain what happened, exactly?" When the triangle didn't respond, the cloud added, "I'm not gonna arrest you for it. If we want to have a chance of stopping something like this from happening in the future, we need to know what happened here."

"Uhhh, yyyeah. Suuure," the triangle said. It wasn't clear exactly how Dimension Zero rearranged, but the view of the eternal dance party simply vanished. There was no sign of the millions of shapes. The music had fallen near silent, just a constant distant low thumping noise, like your heartbeat in your ears; quiet enough that it couldn't drown out the whispery hiss leaking out of Dimension Zero. "It's not like I have anything to hide." Whatever he was about to say, it seemed like he wanted to hide it from his party prisoners, at least.

A bolt of lightning shot through the storm's recorder, turning it on. "You said you were an active participant in the end of the world, right?"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He eyed the recorder suspiciously. "What is this, some trick to try to get a confession out of me?"

"Again, I'm not a cop. And you already confessed in front of a thousand reporters," the storm said. "If you were involved, you've got a different perspective than some guy ten superclusters away who only witnessed it, that's the only reason it matters."

"Oh," the triangle said. "Then—yeah, I was there for the whole thing. Start to finish."

"Great," the storm said gruffly. "Then could you explain in your own words what happened when the universe ended and, to the best of your knowledge, what caused it."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. The cause," the triangle said. "It... it was a—monster."

"I thought you said you—"

"It was a monster," the triangle said, more confidently now.

The cloud hesitated. "All right," it said. "Tell me what happened."

The triangle took a deep breath. "Okay. So. It uh—started with the third dimension."

"The monster came from the third dimension?"

"No, we were going to the third dimension. But we needed—"

The hissing background static exploded into a roar.

The void filled with the staticky screams of countless dead voices, pleading for mercy, pleading for it to stop. Death rattles, howls of agony, wails of terror. Most of the crowd of gods outside Dimension Zero fell silent, turning to stare at the disembodied hysterical shrieks.

One voice, strained with pain, rose above the cacophony, crackling, "Emergency services! We need medical assistance! Ambulances, or—please—I don't know what happened—it's like everyone's internal organs spontaneously ruptured, there's—there's hundreds of people here! Some of them are missing parts of their body, they just—disappeared! I'm hurt too, I don't know what it is—I can feel it inside me—"

A second voice replied, "We can't send assistance. Everyone's bleeding, the whole city's dying! We can't help you!"

Whatever the triangle said was lost beneath the roar. He didn't even seem to notice it. His eye was filled with static. The word "blood" was just barely audible. The word "mandibles."

Another voice, trying to sound professional, trying to sound authoritative, but trembling with fear, "This is an emergency announcement! This announcement will not repeat! The fire can transmit over radio waves and sound waves! Turn off all radios and TVs! Turn off all radios and TVs and destroy any wireless phones and pagers! Do NOT listen to the screams! Again, the fire is transmitting over radio waves, this message will not repeat, destroy your radio and warn your neighbors!"

The Axolotl saw images flash in the triangle's eye, too fast for him to mentally process one before another ten had gone by: a plane like infinitely thin glass with tiny delicate shapes painted on its surface shattering in a rolling wave; a bleeding body reduced to shards and then the shards reduced to chips and then chips reduced to dust; fire spitting and crackling into every crack split in existence; a light shaped like a triangle. (Was that the light that had blinded the Oracle's seer?)

Another voice gasping, "It's doing something to the gravity, I-I don't understand—we don't even have the equipment to read... it's like gravity's turned in a direction that doesn't exist! Does anyone know how to stop it?! Our universe is tearing ap—" and the words were cut off with a scream; and the scream was cut off with a sudden silence that was swallowed whole by the other voices.

The triangle had peeled open, shining golden panels stretching out like petals, his mandibles unhinged and curling around his eye in a ring of teeth, like a blooming carnivorous flower, sun-soaked and mesmerizing. God, he was so bright. He shot light in every direction like an explosion that never ended. Like a star trapped in the moment of supernova.

Another voice, shaking with rage, "Did you hear that, you monster?! I told you we weren't ready yet! Why didn't you listen?! I can see the destruction from here—the sky's on fire, everything is burning. How could this happen?! YOU killed them all—" and the rage cracked, revealing the fear and grief just barely hidden underneath, "Remember us. If you're the only one left, you have to remember us. Please—"

The static snapped off; the triangle's body snapped back into place; his eye snapped back into focus; "—and then they appointed me their god," he said cheerfully, "and here we are!"

And with only a couple more dying cries of pain and pleas for help, the voices fell back to their constant background whisper.

The storm cloud had started sleeting.

The Axolotl had stopped breathing. Just the sound of the carnage was enough to make him sick.

But the triangle sounded perfectly at ease—more than he had before he'd answered the cloud's question. "So is that all you needed?" He'd resumed playing with the cylinder of meat he'd been constructing—extruding it further, and then, dissatisfied with the results, collapsing it back into a circle.

His hands were trembling as he messed with the cylinder. There was a tightness around his eye.

"What..." The storm cloud let out a low rumble of thunder, ahem, "what... did you say about blood? I didn't catch it."

The triangle blinked blankly at the storm. "I didn't say anything about blood."

It paused. "All right, then—what about the other voices? Who were they?"

"What voices?"

The storm stared at the triangle, baffled sunbeam fixed on him; then swung the sunbeam over to the Axolotl. "You heard—?"

So his eavesdropping had been noticed. He nodded. Oh, he heard, all right.

The triangle glanced between them. "I think you guys are hearing voices," he said. "The only one talking here is me."

He said it like he meant it. The Axolotl was sure he did. Had he not heard the voices?

"Never mind, forget it," the cloud said uneasily. "You said someone... Who appointed you their god?"

"Uhhh..." the triangle tilted to the side as he tried to think. "Pretty much all my people? Yeah. It was everyone!"

"Your people? From your universe?"

"Yup!"

"They didn't appoint you their god," the cloud said. "They're all dead."

The triangle scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about. They're all in here with me!"

"You mean the mortals from the other universes?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the triangle repeated, a little slower, warningly. "They're all from my universe."

For a moment, the cloud just stared at him, at a loss. It glanced again toward the Axolotl. The Axolotl had nothing to offer it.

"Is that everything?" The triangle tried to keep his voice peppy, but there was an edge of exhaustion that hadn't been there earlier. (Yeah, him and everyone else here.)

"I guess that wraps up that part of the questionnaire," the cloud muttered uneasily, trying to recover its professional tone. "Just a couple more questions. I need your name. For the report."

Dimension Zero's hissing background static rose again: "The murderer... The name of the murderer... is—"

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!" The triangle turned and chucked the cylinder he'd been working on into the Dream Realm. He grumbled under his breath, created another circle, and started stretching it out again.

The triangle could hear the voices. Then why hadn't he been able to hear them earlier? Unless he had been able to hear them—and he just... couldn't remember that he'd heard them?

Even if the Axolotl hadn't known about the incomparable trauma the triangle had survived/caused, it would be pretty obvious by now that something was going terribly wrong inside his head. Contradictory stories about his own reality, memories he refused to remember, facts he simply set aside as not relevant. Was he refusing to face them, or was he unable?

From their conversation in the Axolotl's tank, he thought the triangle understood more than he was willing to admit. But the Axolotl might be the only one who knew that.

And that was beginning to give the Axolotl an idea.

"Just—put me down as the Magister Mentium, okay?" the triangle told the cloud. "Everyone'll know who you're talking about."

"If you say so," said the cloud. "What was your universe's name?"

"Its name?" The triangle glanced up from his new cylinder and gave the cloud a perplexed look. "You asked already. You said it's Dimension 2 Delta."

"That's its serial number. Every dimension's assigned one at its Big Bang. But it's standard to let a dimension's own residents choose its name. It makes it more personal." The cloud sounded as though it had memorized this explanation. The Axolotl wondered how many times it had had to take statements from a destroyed dimension's grieving survivors. He hoped it usually got to give this spiel to witnesses of a narrowly averted apocalypse. "Typically the first explorers to leave their dimension get to name it; but the only person ever known to leave 2Δ is... you."

"Oh," he said. "Right."

"So, what did your people name your universe?"

He stared at the storm like it was stupid. "We called it... the universe?"

"Everyone calls their universe The Universe," the cloud said. "Followed by The World, The Dimension, Reality, and Home. They're all taken, come up with something else."

"Seriously? You're making me name my whole universe and now you're telling me how to name it?"

"They're not my rules," the cloud said. "If you don't have a native name, we usually name a dimension after the first known explorer to leave it. Was that you?"

The triangle was quiet for an uncomfortably long moment. His gaze twitched away; and for a moment the Axolotl thought he saw another image flash in his eye: a triangle floating in space, eerily serene, dead. His voice was small when he said, "No."

Surprised lightning quietly flashed in the storm's cloud. "Oh. Do you know the name of the first?"

"Of course I do. He's my..." He stopped himself. He said, too evenly, "His name is Euclid."

Obviously, the triangle wasn't speaking a language that can be spoken with human mouths or written with human symbols. "Euclid" is a stand-in word for an unpronounceable name; trying to say the name without the right anatomy—without even the right laws of physics and sound waves—would only mangle it.

But the rest of the multiverse didn't have the right physics or anatomy either. "Euclid," the cloud repeated, mangling it. The triangle winced. "Fine. How's Euclydia sound?"

"It sounds stupid," the triangle said.

"Well, it's your dimension. Do you have a better suggestion?"

"I..." The triangle floundered helplessly. "That... Okay hold on, I've had a very long..." He floundered again as he tried to figure exactly what kind of time span he'd been having a long one of.

"If you want me to come back later..." said the cloud, who very obviously did not want to have to come back later.

"I don't knowww, gimme a second," the triangle whined. "I've never thought about a universe having a name! It's—it's fine. Euclydia's fine."

"If you're sure—?"

"Of course I'm sure," the triangle snapped. "Euclydia. Yeah. Great. Fine."

"All right." The cloud zapped its tape recorder, turning it off. "Thanks for your time."

As it started to hover off, the triangle said, "Hold on! I answered your questions, you owe me some."

The eye of the storm reluctantly swung back toward the triangle. "What?"

He held up the shape he'd been extruding. "What do you call this... 3D circle thing?"

The sunbeam swept over it. "A cylinder?"

The triangle pointed toward VENDOR, who was out at the edge of the crowd answering the questions of some reporters who'd caught THEM attempting to slink away from the scene. "And what are the 3D circle things Coin Slot over there is hauling around?"

It glanced at VENDOR's stock of planets. "Spheres."

The triangle shook his cylinder. "Well, what am I doing wrong, then!"

"I don't know, math's not my thing," the cloud said. "Try rotating it."

The triangle waited until the cloud had moved on; then created another circle, extruded it again, but curled the extrusion around into a circle. He ended up with a shape like a donut. He said, quietly, "Oo-oo-ooh." He sounded impressed.

The Axolotl swam up alongside the storm cloud as it left. "So. Find out what you wanted to know?"

The cloud laughed ruefully.

That was what he thought. "Are the interviews you've been taking classified?"

"No, our reports are open to the public. Anyone can request copies. The database is a nightmare to navigate, though."

"Let me know who to contact for the records on this incident. Especially the witness testimonies."

"I take it you're also planning to go through that noise we just heard with a fine-tooth comb?"

"That's hardly the start of it."

If the Axolotl had been convinced of anything during all his conversations with the triangle today, it was that the triangle could barely begin to grasp just what it was he'd done to his dimension and all the dimensions around it—and he did a very poor job of communicating what he did grasp.

And if the Axolotl could prove that—if he could build a convincing argument that the triangle hadn't understood what he'd done, psychologically couldn't understand, that even now he only had the fuzziest comprehension of what he was involved in...

Someday, that triangle's sins would catch up to him. Someday, he would be in the hands of the gods of death and justice, and they would have to decide what fate his actions had earned. And when that day came, it would be the Axolotl's job to ensure that the triangle didn't end up damned or erased from existence.

As it was now, that triangle didn't stand a chance in the multiverse of being found innocent. But there was more than one way to avoid a "guilty" verdict.

By the time the triangle stood before a judge, the Axolotl would make sure that the right laws were in place for him to do what he wanted to do.

####

Where there had been swarms of firefighters earlier, now the scene swarmed with construction workers, working on the emergency genesis of over half a dozen replacement universes—carefully, so that the big bangs didn't do any further damage to an already unstable situation; but quickly. Already every destroyed one-dimensional universe had been replaced. Several half-burned dimensions had been supplanted with oddly-shaped undersized universes that met at the older universes' burned edges; jagged 1D dimensions sealed the gaps between these dimensions like a line of solder between two panes of stained glass.

By now, the flat planes and edges surrounded the zeroth dimension like the sleek shifting surfaces of an infinity-sided die; all except for one last missing wall in the middle of the damage.

Dimension 2 Delta. "Euclydia."

The construction workers were already setting up the scaffolding and equipment to set off another big bang.

As the Axolotl looked at the copious warning signs around the construction site—"DANGER! COSMIC EXPLOSIVES" "GENESIS IN PROGRESS"—the specialized equipment, the veritable army of workers, the mountain of papers the Time Giant had been reviewing earlier to ensure that everything was up to code and nothing would go wrong... he couldn't help but think of the triangle holding the seed of a big bang in his bare glowing hand, threatening to set it off right there. The Axolotl had known it was foolish, but seeing all the workers' preparations put just how reckless it was into perspective. Like a toddler holding a stick of TNT over a campfire.

He spotted the Time Giant among the workers, flickering back and forth across the scene as she tried to literally be multiple places at the same time. When she settled down for a moment over a worktable to double check a pile of blueprints and forms and calculations and even more paperwork, she caught sight of the Axolotl passing by, and tipped her chin up at him in greeting.

He paused, then nodded back to her. No hard feelings. He was just following his principles; and she was just doing her job. They'd each found their own way to help hold up the multiverse.

"Hey," she called out, and gestured for him to come over. As he did, she said, "Your leg's healing nicely."

He glanced down at it. His new toes were stubby, but at least they were back. "I don't like being uneven." He'd take a few more days on his tail. "I'll probably pay for it tomorrow, though." When he finally got home, he'd have to see if he could cancel his morning appointments.

"Reckon we'll all be feeling this tomorrow." She tilted her head toward Dimension Zero. "I've got a message for the god of DIY over there. I think you're the only one he likes—you mind carrying it over?"

####

It wasn't hard to find the triangle; he was leaning against the membrane around the zeroth dimension, moodily staring out at the third. He seemed to be gazing past all the gods, unfazed by their hubbub. The Axolotl tried to see what he was looking at, and didn't spot anything of note. As far as he could tell, the triangle might as well just be stargazing.

Along with the police tape and the ATTF barrier and the long-forgotten cordons to hold off the reporters, there was now an additional grid of orange cones set up blocking anyone from getting too close to the destroyed wall and the construction site. The Axolotl glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before he slipped past the cones and swam up to the triangle.

When he approached, the triangle was muttering under his breath: "Stupid, now it sounds like an STD. I should've named it something cooler. Like... Triangletopia. Or the Party Plane. Or Margaritaville—I bet no one's ever used that one before..."

"Magister," the Axolotl said.

The triangle's eye snapped to him. "Hey, look at that! The pompous psycho is back! If you're even thinking about sticking me back in your 'office'—"

The Axolotl held up his forelegs appeasingly. "I'm not." He wasn't even crossing the threshold into the triangle's turf. "This is the last time I'll speak to you today."

"Finally, some good news," the triangle grumbled. "What do you w—ha! Ah-haha! I caught myself, that one didn't count."

The Axolotl decided not to count it. "The Time Giant wanted you to know they're about to set off the big bang where Dimension 2 Delta used to be. You probably don't want to be too close to the wall when it goes up."

The triangle's expression darkened; but he just said, "All right. Fine. Have fun. Not my problem! Just keep the construction noises down."

That was all he'd been sent to tell the triangle; but he added, "If you ever want to leave your dream realm, this is your last chance."

The triangle groaned. "This again? Listen, frills, I already told you I'm not interested! And you don't have the right to drag me out, this is my sovereign god territory—"

"I'm not threatening to," the Axolotl said gently. "I just—wanted to make sure you know. If you change your mind later, you physically won't be able to leave."

That gave the triangle pause. "I... don't see why not."

"For something to pass from one dimension to another, it needs a large enough hole to pass through," the Axolotl said. "For a person carrying the mass and energy of an entire universe to cross from one dimension to another... they need a hole the size of a universe. The missing wall where 2Δ was is the size your universe used to be. And now... it's the only exit big enough for you to pass through. Do you understand?"

The triangle stared at him silently. There was that hard, heavy look in his eye. It was awful to see. He did understand.

"If you don't come now..."

"We came up with a way to fit my entire universe into this one," the triangle said. "If I ever want to leave, we'll invent a way to get it back out."

"Your universe didn't fit in without incinerating it."

The triangle tapped the side of his hat with a finger; somewhere inside it was the speck that used to be his universe—the seed of a big bang. "It's travel-sized now. The next time will be easier."

For the first time since seeing the awful ruin of Dimension 2 Delta, the Axolotl forced himself to turn his fearful gaze chronologically forward. He squinted toward the hazy, far-flung future; and then he gave the triangle, in the present, a sorrowful look. "No, it won't," he said. "But I'll do what I can for you."

The triangle stared sullenly at him, unmoved by the offer. "I don't see what you're getting out of helping me. Everyone else is dying to send me to ghost jail or however things work around here."

"Isn't it enough to help you just because you exist and that makes you worth it?"

"If you ever, ever say something like that again, I'll kill you. I will find a way."

He wasn't particularly surprised. But that was truly what the Axolotl believed—and believed strongly enough to guide everything else he did.

The things this triangle had done were too ghastly for even an ancient, experienced god to fully wrap his head around. Without exaggeration, he might have done the worst thing anyone anywhere in the multiverse had ever done.

But.

But if the Axolotl could prove that he, the worst person ever, was worth giving a second chance—that he could change, that he could show remorse for what he'd done, that he could be a force for good in the multiverse... then he would have proven that everyone, no matter what, was worth it.

The Axolotl had been voted Most Adorably Idealistic, but he'd never been called soft. His ideals were harder than diamond and sharper than obsidian. He hadn't decided to protect the triangle in spite of the impact that might have on the multiverse; he was protecting him because of the impact it could have.

The Axolotl was a god of justice, of monsters, of second chances, and through his actions he could shape what justice meant throughout the multiverse as if he were sculpting clay; and he thought a small, sharp little equilateral triangle would make a perfect sculpting tool.

"In truth, I just don't believe in punishment. Not even for you." The Axolotl lay a forefoot on Dimension Zero's bubble. "But I don't see why you trust me." Because it was clear the triangle did. He'd trusted the Axolotl to judge the character of the other gods. He'd kept looking toward him like he was trying to gauge his own situation based on the Axolotl's reaction to it. He'd admitted the truth about the remains of his universe and his plans for it. It seemed like the Axolotl was the only one the triangle trusted in all this mess.

The triangle thought that over; then said, "You seem like a grade-A sucker."

He laughed. "I'll try to live up to your opinion of me." He had a guess what kind of people this triangle thought were suckers. The charitable; the caring. The people who didn't think that seeing the worth in everyone was a kind of illness.

"You should know, I intend to legally register my tank as a purgatory. I'll probably submit my application before the end of the week. If you claim it as your afterlife, you'll be transferred to my tank for holding while awaiting trial to decide your final afterlife."

"Ugh, now it all makes sense: you're starting a cult! I don't wanna join your cult, frills—I've got my own."

"But you do want to go straight to your lawyer's office if you're about to go on trial for your sins," the Axolotl said pointedly. "I don't intend to house anyone in my tank permanently. It will just be a transfer place for clients preparing for trial or figuring out where they want to go next—another afterlife, reincarnation... You're already technically dead; you can request at any time to come to my tank, and you'll be there."

"Sounds great for your other clients! But I'm not planning to go on trial and I don't want to be in an afterlife," the triangle said testily. "I'm pretty sure we've been over this!"

"I know you don't. I wish you didn't have to face it. But when you have no choice," the Axolotl said. "When you need it. When your time comes to burn like your people—" (the triangle flinched) "—call me. I'll offer you a second chance at any time."

"Low blow," the triangle muttered. "Don't put yourself out on my account. I'll be fine by myself."

"I'm sure." The Axolotl suspected he'd be putting himself out on the triangle's account for a long time. "What's your name? Your real name."

The background hiss of cosmic noise roared louder. The echoes of billions of erased ghosts said, "THE NAME OF THE MURDERER IS—"

With a flinch, the triangle cranked the distant dance music louder so it spilled cacophonously out of Dimension Zero again. It was too late, though. The Axolotl had heard the triangle's real name.

He pretended he hadn't. He waited.

The triangle didn't answer for a long moment. "You probably wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

"Maybe not." He'd seen how the triangle had winced hearing the cloud try to pronounce the name of some other shape. "I still want to know who you are."

He wrestled with his words; then finally gave up and asked his question. "What... is this place? We're not in the third dimension. When I—freed my dimension, I expected to go up; but we went... down. I didn't know there was a down." He confessed his ignorance in a near whisper, almost drowned out by his own music.

"You're in Dimension Zero." But that wasn't right. Dimension Zero was—should be—a point, and it's impossible to be "in" a point. A point simply is. "You are Dimension Zero."

The triangle said, "Then call me King Zero."

The Axolotl considered that. "Yes," he said. "I think that is your name."

Someone shouted, "Clear the way!" One worker at the construction site was looking directly at the Axolotl. "That means you! Unless you wanna be boiled frog legs!"

"I'm not a frog," the Axolotl muttered; but, he turned one last time to newly-crowned King Zero, said, "Call me," then hastily swam to the safe side of the orange cone barricade.

"Five, four, three..."

The Axolotl watched the triangle—and the triangle watched him—until the detonation. The big bang went off in a flash of light bright enough it would have incinerated anyone in the vicinity had it not been contained to a flat plane.

When the Axolotl looked away from the light, the afterimage of a triangle was burned into the center of his vision.

Dimension Zero was sealed off from the rest of reality—locking its king in for the next trillion years.

####

When the triangle said his name was "King Zero," of course, he wasn't speaking English. English wouldn't exist for a long time. The name King Zero is simply a convenient translation.

The English word "zero" comes from the French zéro. Zéro comes from Italian zefiro. Zefiro comes from Medieval Latin zephirum. And zephirum comes from the Arabic صِفْر—ṣifr.

####

Centuries ago, in the dream of a naive, trusting human, the human asked in Arabic, "What should I call you?" And King Zero responded, "Call me Ṣifr."

And years later, a dreaming human asked in Medieval Latin, "What should I call you, o muse of mathematics?" And of the two Latin words descended from his current Arabic nickname, Ṣifr responded with the one he thought was closer: "Call me Cifra."

A dreaming human asked in Old French, "What's your name?" And he replied, "My name's Cyffre."

Speaking Middle English, he told a dreaming human, "My name's Siphre."

And in Modern English, he told Edward Bishop Bishop, "The name's Cipher. But you can call me Bill."

In a year's time, and two years before his death from sleep deprivation, Edward would write Flatworld, a book about a 2D shape and his Muse journeying up to the highest dimensions; and also all the way down, below the spaces and planes and lines, to the self-absorbed King Zero, buried in the point-sized zeroth dimension, who thought a whole universe was contained inside him.

####

(It's FINISHED. 🎉🎉🎉

Hi y'all, if you just joined us for this Axolotl plot arc, usually this is a post-canon human Bill fic. I took a break from the main plot for one week to post a one-chapter flashback and then it was nine chapters. This bitch is 50k words. It's a novel unto itself.

Anyway if you only showed up for this story about the Ax, it only exists in service of a much longer story; so if you enjoyed this check out the rest of the fic. This is technically chapter 69 (lol). (If human Bill isn't usually your thing, I've been told that this is The Human Bill Fic For People Who Don't Like Human Bills because Bill is clearly very much a triangle unhappily trapped in a human body, rather than just chill with being human—so you might wanna give it a shot.)

And for the regulars who are already reading the whole fic: OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY FINISHED, WE'RE FREE, WE CAN RETURN TO THE PRESENT. Listen I love the Ax and his bizarre but unbending morality, but guys. Guys. I miss Mabel so much.

Pre-warning that I may end up needing to skip a chapter or two before the end of the year, because work's piling a LOTTA extra work on me this month and I might just flat out not have time to edit & do art. I'm up at 3 a.m. editing & queueing this post and I was up til 3 a.m. another night doing the art because I HAVE NOT HAD TIME this week to do it any earlier. I did this because I love y'all.

No that's a lie, I did this because I want to FINISH this DANG ARC. That's my birthday gift to me.

Anyway lemme know what y'all think!! 💕)

#bill cipher #euclydia #(for the art & the chapter)#the axolotl #gravity falls axolotl #(for the chapter even tho he isn't in the art lmao)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(I'm queueing this at 3:30 am and i'm so tired i almost hit 'post' instead of scheduling it lmfao)#(It's done it's done it's finally done)

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