#to be one step behind from being good enough | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

suksatoru · 2 days ago

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rabid royals

{prince!itoshi rin x princess f!reader}

summary: despite being arranged to marry his older brother itoshi sae, rin can't keep ignoring the way he feels about you forever. your reciprocation of his affections only makes the tension thicken and fold in a way that couldn't be ignored, and chaos was only inevitable by the time sae realized what was going on between you and his little brother.

warnings: arranged marriage, angst (but we THUG IT OUTT), fem!reader, brief sae x reader, rin is basically a lovesick puppy no one make fun of him, infidelity, cursing, & if you've read the prologue for this, it appears again as a flashback!

word count: 11.2k (asjadkj this took me wayy longer than expected !!)

Rin had been in his older brother's shadow for as long as he could remember. He was always one step behind, always lacking in some sense, always coming close, but never close enough. Ever since they were little kids, Rin had always borne the label of second best like a bad costume he couldn't take off.

Sae's always been destined for greatness, Rin was sure of it. Not only did his older brother possess an unbeatable mindset for himself and the Itoshi name, one he'd polished and carved expertly for the world to see, but Sae had the talent and skills to back up every ambition he wished to pursue. No matter how impossible a task or business deal seemed—if Sae was the one at the center of the ordeal, it was sure to go his way no matter how the situation fared before he entered the picture.

Despite it all, it was the small bits and pieces of him, the aspects of a person that made them human, which Sae lacked considerably.

A good husband, even just a decent one, would go and make sure you're okay. The words lie heavy on the curve of Rin's tongue, but he swallows them down the moment Sae's sharp gaze cuts to his.

"Rin, go check on her, will you?"

A wordless nod from his younger brother is all he gets in return, and Rin leaves Sae's room right after to go look for you.

Five doors down from his own room and three rooms down from his brother's was where you resided. It was decided that once the wedding was over, you would move into Sae's room with him. Rin knocks once on your door, waiting for your usual gentle voice to call him inside. He stands outside patiently, but after a near minute passes with no response, he knocks again, thinking you didn't hear him the first time.

"Y/n?"

Rin's hesitant call of your name is met with silence once more. His hand finds the doorknob, and he frowns once he realizes the door is unlocked. With a single, fluid motion, he twists it open and steps inside, only to be met with your empty bedroom.

His gaze sweeps over everything in front of him—the crumpled sheets and comforter of your bed, the little trinkets and gifts from your homeland littering your dressers, the assortment of necklaces laid out on the floor, and the empty spot beside the door where your outdoor boots usually resided.

Ah. So that's where you were.

A crease forms between Rin's brows when he realizes your hat is still hanging from your bedpost, and he grabs it without a second thought before he exits your room and closes the door behind him, heading straight towards the manor's gardens outside.

You didn't take very good care of yourself. You were still young—clumsy in getting adjusted to the new world you found yourself thrown into, and Rin can't even fault you for it. Who he's wished to reprimand many times is Sae, who doesn't seem to care about your well-being in the slightest. It was beyond frustrating to see Sae take no interest in the woman who would bear his children and take on the Itoshi name, but Rin's not sure what he expected from someone as emotionless as Sae. He'd imagined the one exception to Sae's coldness would be his own wife, but it seemed even you weren't spared.

Rin used to understand his brother better than anyone. They'd always come to each other when things got tough, and to Rin, it felt like he could face the whole world and win if Sae was by his side. But in the past few years, in which his nii-chan had gotten further and further into the political world outside the walls Rin was raised in, was when they finally began to drift apart. Rin simply didn't understand Sae's logic anymore. His principles and basis on seemingly everything had been flipped like a switch. Before, when they were children, Sae would spend every minute of his day with Rin, doing tasks for their parents together and spending time just being brothers. Now, the elder brushes off any attempt Rin makes to spend time with him, labeling it as a waste.

If Sae wasn't able to take good care of you, thanks to his persistent tendency to be isolated all the time, couldn't he have asked Rin to marry you instead? The marriage between you and Sae was purely political, so did it really matter which brother you married? At the end of the day, it was a union between kingdoms, not people. The bitter thought that he'd make a better husband himself is one Rin pushes down almost instantly in silent shame.

Stupidly enough, Rin had fallen for you. The sight of your smile and the echo of your laughter were the things to make his heart stutter—the things that allowed him to feel what love was like. But Rin believed his only option was to reject his heart, because to go after you was to wage war on his own brother.

Rin's fingers dig deep into the soft material of your hat as he approaches the glass doors leading outside. He takes a quick glance at his reflection in the manor's hallway mirror, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his way, before opening the door that led outside.

The chill that hit his face was unexpected as it was biting. Every gust of wind carried traces of snow, and they curled around Rin slowly, gliding through the air leisurely and wrapping him in a cold embrace.

You're a little ways down the main pathway parting the middle of the garden. Rin ducks back inside the manor and grabs a shawl hanging from one of the closet's hooks before leaving the manor and tightening his own coat around him.

"Y/n," he calls out gravely, and when you turn around, whatever thought was forming in Rin's mind is forgotten within an instant when your eyes meet his. He tightens his grip on the shawl and your hat, suddenly feeling himself get warm despite the cold that surrounded him.

Your cheeks are tinted a rosy red, and there are dozens of snowflakes hanging from the strands of your hair like it was the most natural place in the world for them to be. Plump lips are parted in surprise at his sudden appearance, and there are puffs of cold fog slipping past your lips as you wait for Rin to gather his thoughts.

"It's... It's cold. You should wear this." He murmurs, holding out the hat and shawl for you as he avoids your gaze. Rin can't stop himself from imagining the way your eyes must be widening in surprise, or the way your mouth must be forming that 'o' shape you make whenever you're particularly bewildered, and he can't stop himself from turning anyway to look at you, because when was the last time he's gotten to be this close to you without Sae or anyone else in his vicinity?

"Oh—sorry, sorry! I promise it wasn't snowing when I first came out to walk. I must have been too deep in thought to notice when it first began to fall," you assure with an embarrassed smile. Rin doesn't respond, his lips merely settle into a firm line before he raises the shawl in his hands and wraps it around your shoulders, twisting the fabric and pulling it close to ensure no cold seeps through.

"You need to be more careful, you'll get sick." He mumbles, lips twitching downwards into his usual frown before he digs his fists into the pockets of his coat, blowing another stray strand of hair from his face as you look down at the shawl he put around you with a gentle smile.

"I promise to remember next time, Rin. Thank you."

Rin huffs quietly in response with a short nod. Your eyes are drawn to one of the stray snowflakes that had fallen right over the gentle curve of his cheekbone, and you have to resist the urge to brush it off of him.

"Good," is all he says afterwards, his eyes flitting towards you hesitantly before they instantly dart away. In his mind, Rin blamed his horribly obvious and skittish movements on the cold before straightening his back and quietly bidding you goodnight.

Normally, Rin's steps were short and confident—never slow and always with a destination in mind. But as Rin turned away from you, his steps seemed to falter, like he wanted to say something more, but he ended up not saying anything else and walked back to the manor instead. Your eyes stay trained on his back as you nudge your nose against the comforting yarn of your scarf.

Your gaze doesn't leave Rin until he disappears inside. You lick your snow-coated lips to ease some of the tension you felt thrumming through you before turning back to the garden's pathway.

Rin looked breathtaking in the snow. His pale skin blended into the winter wonderland outside the Itoshi manor seamlessly, and his chiseled green gaze only seemed sharper in the moonlight. You noticed the way the snow seemed to swirl around him, too. You wouldn't be surprised if it was Aphrodite herself swirling a finger around Rin's figure and sending the snowflakes in a spiral that revolved around him and him only. Rin was just that beautiful.

Since the Itoshi manor was located up North, the land was in a perpetual state of winter, which also meant the garden they had outside had plants and flowers made for the everlasting cold; it was an environment they could thrive in. You admire the snow-coated petals of the flowers and how, despite the harsh conditions around them that would've already killed any regular flora, they stood tall, petals resilient and flourishing despite all odds.

The wedding was set to take place three weeks after you'd moved into the manor. It's been about a week since you've arrived, and the past few days have been filled with you visiting all sorts of people—the head chef, dressmakers, florists, and even the royal jeweler—to help prepare for the big day.

Sae wasn't there for any of it.

Frankly, you weren't too upset by it. He was busy beyond belief with securing the last details of his arrangement with your home nation. Marrying you was only a portion of the alliance, as there were still a dozen other things he had to review and arrange. Sae didn't have time to waste on something as trivial as choosing what color flower assortments each table should have as a centerpiece.

You tried to tell yourself it didn't matter—you shouldn't be this bothered. The servants were exceptionally kind to you, and you had even taken quite a liking to your personal handmaid (she was an older woman with a gentle soul, always sneaking you pastries and sweets from the kitchen to snack on just because she could), and Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi liked you well enough. Truthfully, you were being taken care of like a princess by everyone. Especially Rin, who sought you out every day with the simple intention of wanting to be near you. Sometimes, he wouldn't even make his appearance known to you; he lingered nearby, quietly and hopefully, just in case you wanted company.

But it was during the night, when you went to bed alone in a bedroom that felt too big for just one person, when you truly began to realize how lonely you felt.

Marrying someone made them your person. If Sae wasn't interested in forming any real relationship with you, then, well, you wouldn't have someone to call your own.

The thought of being alone frightens you more than anything else.

You couldn't really be alone with Rin around. Not when he doted on you every day, silently but steadily. But how long would that go on for? How long was it until he got married? The prospect of Rin marrying someone else sends a sharp pain straight through your chest, one that causes you to physically recoil and flinch before you shove your face back into your pillows with a groan.

No, seeing someone else marry Rin was something you never wanted to happen.

The night passes by in a blur, and so does the next morning. Eventually, you're heading towards the kitchen with the head chef—laughing softly at an old story she's telling you about the Itoshi brothers.

"They used to be very picky eaters—the oldest sir especially. When he was eleven, he sent his younger brother's birthday cake back to the kitchen because the frosting was vanilla, apparently not to his liking at all."

You have to stifle your laughter as you try and imagine an eleven-year-old Sae Itoshi getting upset over Rin's birthday cake not being the right flavor. Your lips twitch downwards as you think about how much their relationship has changed over the years—actually, you're not sure if you've even seen the two exchange any sort of pleasantries with each other. Not even once.

"Now, dear, I'll leave you to the cake taste testing—just call me in when you're all done. The spoons and napkins are laid out for you, so please enjoy what the bakers made. If you have any complaints, feel free to let me know at the end so I can pass on your message!"

You send her a tight-lipped smile, nodding your head and trying to hide your disappointment at being left alone once again.

"The sir is inside to help as well. Good luck!" She bows before her departure, and you still at her words.

Sir?

Sae had left early this morning to travel to a nearby city for a day trip of sorts, so that meant...

When you open the kitchen doors, Rin is sitting on a stool, staring intently at the assortment of cake slices placed on the table in front of him, and his head raises when he hears the door open a moment later.

It clicks closed behind you, and you stare at him wordlessly. For a moment, Rin thinks he may have crossed a line by asking the chef to assist you today with the cake testing after hearing you were doing it alone, but then your lips stretch into a smile so bright it makes something in his chest ache.

"Rin! You're here!"

You shuffle over to where he is, and Rin blinks rapidly as you drop yourself into the seat beside him. You're wearing a cozy sweater and plaid skirt to match, both a deep brown that complement you stunningly. Your hair is pulled back with a matching bow, and although this outfit is much simpler than what you usually wear, Rin is aching to let you know how pretty you look.

He has a feeling no one else has told you today.

"Hello," he murmurs, and the tips of his ears turn pink from the subtle scent of your shampoo, which is intoxicatingly sweet. Rin watches you get settled silently, grateful you seem happy to see him. Mindlessly, your finger reaches out to swipe at the frosting of one of the cakes, and you lick it with anticipation before your eyes shine with satisfaction.

"Yummy! So, you'll be helping me out today?" You grin, and Rin huffs, crossing his arms over his sweater. You note that his hair looks fluffier in the warm golden light of the kitchen, and his demeanor seems to soften at the sight of your smile.

"Yeah... Nii-chan is busy, like always, so I... I just don't want you to be alone."

You pause at his words, and his honesty cuts a little closer to your heart than you want to admit. You let your hands fall in your lap, taking a moment to let his confession sink in.

He doesn't want you to be alone.

"...thank you."

Rin's eyes widen a fraction when you scoot your stool closer to his, but his attention is quickly redirected when you pull a plate towards the two of you to begin—the air is tinged with the sweet smell of sugar and fruit, the atmosphere is domestic and calm, and Rin finds himself melting into the moment.

The next hour is filled with the two of you trying a variety of cakes. There were nearly thirty plates on the surface of the table, all spongy soft, decorated with heaps of creamy frosting, and layered expertly.

Rin wants nothing but to be good company for you, but he's not quite sure how to. He grew up with only one person close in age to him, and that was Sae. He didn't have any friends, only his nii-chan. But as they got older, the rift between them grew until it was an ocean—one Rin was sure to drown in if he ever tried to cross it. Losing his brother like that made Rin's heart retreat, and he's never made a connection with someone after Sae. He knows he doesn't talk much, and he's not as interesting as his brother, but...

"Rin, you're spacing out again!"

He's snapped out of his trance when you call his name, turning to see you laughing as you hold a spoonful of cake to his lips. Rin blinks owlishly before mumbling a sheepish apology under his breath and scooting closer to you.

"You want me to try this one?" He questions with a raised brow, and you nod enthusiastically.

"This one is really good! The cake is so tender, like a cloud on my tongue, and the chocolate is super rich. But, if you ask me, these strawberry wedges in the frosting are the best part." You grin, and Rin makes an attempt to smile in return—it's wobbly and unsure, but it feels right to smile at you.

He parts his lips for you, and you feed the bite to him. The realization that your mouth had been on the very same spoon makes him clamp down on the spoon in embarrassment, but then his taste buds get a feel of the cake, and his eyes widen a bit.

"Oh... this is really good."

"I know!"

After that, you feed him every bite right after your own. The sheer variety of cakes is what surprised you the most—there was dark chocolate, coconut cream, peppermint, honey lavender, and toasted coconut—all made with love and dedication. All made for you. Your chest feels warm and light at the thought.

Finally, there was one slice of cake left untouched. Tucking a leg under you, you reach across the table to grab it, pulling it towards you and Rin .

"This one is called Blackberry Elderflower," you comment, taking the label off the plate as Rin's brows furrow in thought.

"It looks okay, but I'm not sure if it can beat our first-place cake." Rin says firmly, and you can't help but laugh at the accusatory glare he offers the slice of cake in front of you.

"It was delicious! It had the perfect balance of sweetness, and those strawberries were heaven-sent, I'm sure of it." You grin, and Rin grunts in response, nodding his head.

Rin is the one to reach for the spoon this time. He carefully slices into the cake before bringing the bite to your mouth, hovering it over your lips before speaking.

"Remember, this is the last flavor. Savor the taste and consider it carefully—what we think about this one decides the final cake." Rin says, and when you nod with parted lips, he places the bite in your mouth and watches you carefully.

"Hmm. Alright, your turn."

You take the spoon gently from his grasp and dig it into the cake. Despite being perfectly capable of feeding himself each bite, Rin made no move to stop you.

His tongue darts out in anticipation, and he chews slowly once it's in his mouth. You try and fight back your smile as you watch his eyes suddenly widen, almost comically so. Rin's lips twist into a scowl as he's left completely appalled that another flavor actually managed to beat the chocolate cake you two were initially infatuated with.

"This is delicious." he mumbles in defeat.

"Uh huh! This is the one."

You're smiling again, picking up the cake's label and flipping it over to read the list of ingredients neatly printed on the back. Your legs swing back and forth on the stool you're sitting on, and Rin takes a moment to look at you. Really look at you. He only has to blink once before coming to his undoubtable conclusion.

Sae is really stupid sometimes.

If it was Rin marrying you instead—good gods, he'd abandon everything for you. He would take such good care of you; he knew he would. Truthfully, he was ready to bend his own body backwards and break every bone he possessed if it meant he'd get to see you smile. It took his breath away every time—because your smile gave him hope like no other.

Your cheeks are round and full with cake, and you let out a pleased hum as you swallow. Rin can't tear his gaze away from you—you're so close and just... there. It's impossible for him to do anything else but admire you. You're sitting close, close enough where if he shifts, his knee would bump against yours under the table.

You turn to look at Rin, and he's already looking at you.

His gaze is sharp, intense in a way that you haven't seen before. Not since...

He murmurs your name quietly, almost ashamed of himself, almost, and your heart leaps to your throat in an instant when his hands twitch in his lap, reaching for your face.

His fingers are soft and hesitant as they brush against your jaw silently in question. When you make no move of protest, stilling and watching him with round eyes instead, his index finger nudges your jaw towards him before he cups your cheek so tenderly that you nearly shiver.

"Rin..." you whisper, and he only tugs you closer. Rin's eyes are filled with a desperation you haven't seen before—a hunger that hasn't been satiated in too long, and he's trying to stop himself from moving any further. His other hand grips the kitchen counter as if he's physically trying to ground himself.

His hold on you softens, and he's close enough to where his nose is just about to bump against your own. Rin swallows the lump in his throat and stares at you silently with his mind screaming at him, because he has never wanted something in his life before so badly.

"What are you doing?"

Sae's voice cuts through the air like a knife, and Rin lets go of you in an instant, reeling back like he'd been physically struck at the sound of his older brother's voice.

Sae stands in the doorway, one hand still perched on the door he'd just opened and his gaze trapped on the two of you. He squints, eyes narrowing and lips settling into a thin line before Rin suddenly moves away from you. His chair drags loudly against the floor as he does, and he looks upset.

If Rin's mad, you're not sure if it's at himself for letting it get this far or if it's at his brother for interrupting. Again.

Rin's murmuring under his breath about how there's somewhere he needs to be, pushing past Sae before he has a chance to even say anything, and moving straight for the exit. He's barely a blur of green before he's gone within seconds, leaving you and Sae alone in deafening silence.

Sae is still in his uniform. It's pressed as pristinely as usual, with his shimmering silver sword hanging low on his hip. He regards you silently before speaking up.

"Did you two decide on a flavor?"

If Sae's angry, he does a remarkable job at hiding it. His voice is just as even and calm as it always is, but there is something terrifying simmering in his gaze—something as hot as molten lava, and it's threatening to boil over. Your lips part, but when nothing comes out, you have to take a moment to collect yourself.

"Yes, but I... I'm sorry, I didn't—we were just—"

"Don't worry. Rin will get over his little crush on you soon enough."

Now you were stupefied. You stare at him, rendered speechless, and he stares back in silence. Sae makes a mental note of how you kind of look like Rin when he's about to cry—his brother would make the same face when they were younger. Parted lips, wide, glossy eyes—and since the one thing Sae absolutely cannot stand is crying, he sighs through his nose and looks away.

"Come with me."

He beckons you over with two fingers, and you practically scramble out of your seat to follow him. He's halfway down the hall when you're out the kitchen door—and you have to walk as quickly as you can to catch up. Keeping your head low, you don't say anything.

Sae stops short in front of his bedroom door, fishing out a small golden key from the breast pocket of his uniform before inserting it into the doorknob and opening the door. He holds it open for you, and you walk in silently, stiff as a board.

There were no personal touches in Sae's room. It's large, larger than your own room—and it feels even emptier, too. It was also spotless, but you expected nothing less of him. The moment Sae grabs your hand is sudden and you have no time to react before he places the key in the palm of your hand.

"This is the key to the master bedroom you and I will share. You can come here anytime before the wedding to move in all your stuff. I'm rarely ever home, so there's no need to worry about me getting in your way or anything like that."

His tone is clipped and sharp, leaving no room for negotiation. You nod your head slowly, turning the key over in the palm of your hand as you observe it. Sae walks over to his dresser, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a small, velvet box—he opens it a moment later before handing it over.

"This is for you."

You open it, and inside is the most beautiful ring you have ever seen. It has a thin golden band with an elegantly cut emerald gem resting on the hilt, one that glimmers spectacularly in the dim light.

"It should be to your liking. I had my royal advisor pick out the best one he could find." Sae hums, watching you carefully as you slip it onto your finger. The band alone must have cost a fortune; forget the gem—you can feel the sheer quality of it by touch alone.

"Thank you."

Your voice is a little breathless, your eyes weary, and your head bowed. Sae looks back towards his desk, where a number of scattered documents resided on top.

"Don't thank me. I didn't do anything."

Then again, with the riches Sae had, this ring probably meant nothing to him.

"All right, you can leave now."

Sae's back is turned towards you a moment later, and he busies himself with the documents on his desk. The way he doesn't spare you even a glance more lets you know just how important Sae found you in the moment. You stand there for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat and holding the small velvet box close to your chest.

He hears you shift behind him as you start heading towards the door. Your brows are bunched together, and a plethora of emotions explode in your chest. You're confused with his reaction to you and Rin's proximity, angry at his constant avoidance, and just... sad.

You take your leave quietly, but Sae's voice, softer than you've ever heard before, catches you on the way out.

"Good night."

You don't have the strength to respond without your voice breaking, so you close the door quietly instead.

Maybe you should feel more remorse for feeling nothing for Sae and everything for his brother. But you yearned for Rin. Quietly, passionately, and undoubtably.

Sae didn't understand the way either of you felt—he thought Rin's feelings for you were some form of a minor crush, but you knew it wasn't as simple as that. It never had been.

Sae may not have known it, but he didn't stand a chance with you since the night you first met Rin.

flashback ⋆˙⟡

You had arrived at their family's magnificent manor in a simple satin gown, a bowed head, and a broken heart.

Initially, you had no idea what the Itoshis looked like, didn't even know their names, and spent most of the evening indulging in mindless chatter and eating small pastries instead of getting to know your betrothed. It seems like he wasn't interested in marrying you either, since he never bothered to come down and introduce himself.

No one stayed with you, mingling throughout the party and getting drunk on different sparkling drinks instead, and you found yourself gliding down the long halls of the Itoshi manor like a ghost. You walked with no destination in mind until you heard the gentle melody of someone playing the piano. Magically, at that.

The angelic sound seemed like a safe haven for you in the perpetually dark night, and you followed the music with tentative steps.

Soon, you found yourself in front of a tall, oak door and bowed your head through the frame to peer inside. A strand of hair fell in front of your eyes, and you pushed it away before your gaze fell onto the boy playing the piano inside. You couldn't see his face, only his back faced you. Pale, slender fingers play the instrument in front of him like it was his destiny, and after all the rage and heartbreak you felt throughout the day leading up to that night—a rare serenity of calm filled the empty hollowness in your chest, warming you entirely.

The boy looks to be about your age, and he remained entirely entranced by the piano in front of him as the pads of his fingertips danced—you watched his skilled fingers perform stunningly for no one at all. Well, besides you—but Rin didn't know you had been watching him. Not until he heard you sit on the piano stool beside him, smiling shyly with eyes twinkling in the dim moonlight that spilled through the glass panes.

His heart skipped a traitorous beat when you asked him to teach you how to play. His lips parted, as if you'd rendered him speechless. And you had.

"I... who are you?"

"No one important. Tell me, what's your name?" You questioned softly, curious eyes peering up at Rin with a shine he'd never once seen before. He tells you his name and asks you for yours in return before repeating it to himself quietly.

Rin didn't tell you how he forbade everyone, even his own family, from entering his music room. He merely slid a few inches over to give you more room and explained the history of how the piano came to be before placing his palm and fingers over yours.

Rin taught you a simple tune he came up with on the spot that night. It only spanned a few keys and held a slow tempo so you could follow along easily, but it was inspired entirely by the feeling he felt in his chest the moment he saw you smile at him.

He held his breath as he watched you play on your own only an hour later, a rare smile gracing his features. There was something about the way you treated his piano, careful fingers pressing down on the keys like they were glass—like they were alive and you were afraid to hurt them—before the tension eased and ebbed out of your form with time.

You'd arrived at the ball at six and spent a little under an hour at the actual event. You had spent the rest of the night with Rin's hands splayed over yours.

Sae was late to his own party for no reason in particular, arriving in a pristine suit and his bright pink hair gelled and styled for the occasion. To say he was intrigued to learn you'd been missing for the majority of the party from your mother and father's panicked expression was an understatement.

The first ten minutes with you gone? Sure, it made sense. You could have been in the bathroom or in line to get some sort of refreshment. After thirty minutes, he decided maybe you're out getting fresh air on the manor's balcony, or perhaps you're strolling through the gardens and giving the forgotten flowers outside some much needed attention. But once your time being missing hit the hour mark, his mother approached him and told Sae to go get his brother, who also hadn't come down in a while.

Sae knocked on Rin's music room door twice, tapping his foot impatiently outside as he thought about your whereabouts. Perhaps you did go to the manor's balcony for some fresh air, but maybe you fell off the twenty-foot railing and were lying dead somewhere. For some reason, the thought doesn't seem to stir much of anything in his chest.

He realized he'd been waiting outside the door for far too long and twisted the doorknob with an impatience he didn't usually allow himself to feel.

It took Sae a moment to understand the sight in front of him. Rin, smiling softly with his hand over yours, and you—hair pinned back to reveal lovely eyes and painted lips stretched into a smile so magnificent that Sae actually had to blink in order to confirm the graceful sight was indeed real.

And then it just clicked. Neither of you saw him, neither of you recognized the true identity of each other, so he took a step inside. The tension in the air shifted, and finally, you noticed him.

"Rin, just what do you think you're doing with my wife?"

When it came to avoiding people he didn't want to talk to, Rin had the qualifications of a professional. His lean frame allowed him to push through crowds of people easily without making a disturbance, and he was sneaky—taking advantage of all the spots he used as a kid when playing hide-and-seek with his brother to seemingly vanish into thin air whenever you got too close.

It wasn't that Rin wanted to avoid you; no, that wasn't it at all. He was just sure that he wouldn't be able to hold himself back if he saw you again. It didn't make sense how someone like you could end up with someone like Sae—it was absurd and horribly unfitting.

He's been doing his best to fill his time with things that don't remind him of you, but it's difficult. Dueling with the guards isn't helpful because he finds himself getting distracted and tripping over his own feet when he gets a glimpse of you passing by in one of the manor's windows above, sitting in on Sae's meetings is far too boring for him, and all the servants in the manor were busy preparing for the wedding—everywhere he turned, he was surrounded by the mere mention of your name, and it was maddening.

Accepting the fact that he can't not think about you, Rin makes the decision to expand the song he taught you the first night you two met.

He'd spent the majority of his day in his music room, playing and scribbling down every note on his sheet as the song progressed and grew into something beautiful—he was spinning the little melody he taught you that day into a full number that was playable, and he imagined himself performing it for you one day.

Maybe you'd lean your head on his shoulder while he played, or maybe you'd ask him to teach you the song—both possibilities are enticing, and Rin can't help but wish they were true.

There's something wrong with him. He shouldn't be thinking of playing the piano for you—he shouldn't be thinking of you at all. But there's no point in even attempting to stop himself, you'll intrude on his thoughts whether he likes it or not.

"You're so stupid," Rin mumbles to himself, pulling the piano cover down and resting his cheek against the cool surface with a sigh. The song was done now, he'd played it over more times than he could count and until his fingers ached—but it was ready.

He uses his pen to write your name in the title spot at the top of the sheet, and after looking around to absolutely ensure his brother wasn't hiding somewhere in the shadows, Rin draws a small heart right beside your name.

It's as if every time Rin does anything regarding you, Sae emerges from the depths of hell itself to find him, and the sharp bangs that sound against Rin's door a second later seem to confirm his suspicions.

"Rin! Shit, get out of there now, we have a big fucking problem—"

Rin stuffs the sheet in his music folder in an instant, kicking back his feet and getting off the piano stool within another second before swinging open the music room's door.

Sae is standing on the other side, and Rin can immediately tell something is wrong. The bags under his brother's eyes are heavier and more prominent than usual, and his hair is a bit of a mess, seemingly because of how much he'd been running his hands through the pink strands.

Rin has never seen his brother look like this. Sae was the calm one, the one more composed than everyone else in the room, and the one who had absolute control. But now, seeing his brother's clenched jaw, the frenzied look in his eyes, and the incoherent words he mutters under his breath as he drags Rin by the elbow and back into the music room has him dumbstruck.

"Nii-chan, stop. What the hell happened?" Rin hisses, tugging his arm out of Sae's grasp as the latter slams the door shut behind him. Sae knows how much Rin despises having other people in his music room, so the fact that he disregards that fact entirely and barges in anyway lets Rin know his brother isn't in the right state of mind.

"The wedding's off—I made a big fucking mistake. Her parents are going to demand she go back home, there's no doubt. And when that happens, we're going to lose our biggest trading partner yet. I don't know what—"

"Off? What the hell are you talking about? What did you do?" Rin snaps, watching Sae's fists coil harder—and before his brother can punch something out of rage—Rin stands in front of him and grabs hold of his shoulders.

"You need to tell me what you did. How am I supposed to help if you won't tell me what's going on?" Rin questions, and Sae pushes his brother off roughly, looking away in anger. His brows are pinched together, and it takes him a moment to get the words out, but they're as clear as day once they leave his lips.

"I got another woman pregnant."

Rin stills, and for the first time in his entire life, he sees the heat of regret in his older brother's gaze.

"I don't even know who it was. Whoever it is—she left the baby on the goddamn doorstep of the manor and fled. There's only some shitty note left behind telling me to deal with it. Shit, I'll find that woman and kill her if I have to. Who the hell does that?" Sae murmurs, more to himself than to Rin, as he sits down on his piano stool with an exhausted sigh.

"Who's going to raise it? The servants can't, it needs an actual mother of royal lineage—all the women I had relations with were lower class, never noblewomen—it will be virtually impossible to find a new wife that would accept a boy who isn't a hundred percent royalty, not when we're about to lose our biggest trading partner yet. I have my month-long trip to Spain two days after the wedding is supposed to happen—I can't miss that either, it's too important." Sae sighs, and Rin stares at his brother, speechless.

"You don't know who the mother of this child is?" is all Rin can manage to say as Sae shakes his head no.

Wordlessly, Rin sits beside Sae on the piano stool. He stares hard at the ground, and Sae sits beside him with his head in his hands. He was obviously stressed out, but Rin has nothing to say. This was his older brother's fault—and he had messed up badly.

Unbeknownst to them, on the other half of the manor, you're peering into the small bundle lying in one of the servant's arms—you can already tell what's going on. The baby has a full head of unmistakable pink hair, and everyone around you is panicking.

"Can I hold it?"

She looks up at you suddenly with wide eyes, smiling hesitantly while using her free hand to pat your shoulder comfortingly.

"Of course, dear. Are you feeling alright with all this?" The woman questions softly, and while her touch is gentle, her eyes are concerned. You shrug wordlessly, smiling at the baby in her arms.

"I'm not sure what to feel right now. But this baby didn't do anything wrong, so I'd like to hold it. Though I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl. Do you know which it is?"

"It's a boy." She says softly, lowering the baby into your arms as you hum.

He looks just like Sae. With delicate pale skin, tiny green eyes, and a little frown tugging down his lips—you know in your heart that this was his son.

You don't know what's going to happen now—you were never given a choice with this wedding, but you know there was no world where your parents would have you marry Sae knowing he had been seeing other women casually enough to produce a baby.

For now, you simply snuggle the little bundle closer to your chest with a quiet sigh, pressing your body further into the cushions of the couch as the sound of chaos around you turns to static.

It's been nearly a week since the surprising arrival of the Itoshi heir, and the day of the wedding was only getting closer. Unfortunately, it seemed like the entire manor was buzzing with panic and stress.

Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi have already formally apologized to you, but you had yet to see Sae. There was no time to inform your family back at home about the news, because by the time they received the letter that the wedding needed to be called off, they would already be here at the manor for the wedding. There was absolutely nothing that could be done to stop them in time.

Right now, you're rocking the baby boy back and forth in your arms, humming quietly and yawning to yourself, wondering what Rin must be up to.

There was a chance he'd attend the emergency council meeting scheduled for tonight after dinner to figure out what to do with the baby and you—you'll have to finally face Sae, but you're almost... relieved you don't have to marry him. Yes, of course the entire situation was disastrous—but while everyone around you seemed to be spiraling because of the news, you found yourself able to catch your breath for once.

"How can such a cute baby cause so much chaos..." you mumble to yourself as his nimble little fingers play with one of your bracelets. You wondered when he'd get a proper name and who would take care of him when you ended up leaving—the reminder that you had to go also reminded you that you'd have to leave Rin behind, too.

Rin. You'd remember him forever.

You arrive to the meeting early, since you didn't have much else to do after lulling the baby to sleep. The meeting room in the Itoshi manor is lavish and large, designed with high ceilings and glass panes that shimmered in the sunlight. There are about fifteen chairs lining both sides of the long table, each cushioned and empty. Well, besides Sae's seat, where at least a dozen envelopes and a hundred documents were laid out in front of him. He hasn't noticed you yet, too busy with the mountain of work in front of him, but when you place the ring box he'd given you in front of him, he looks up.

"It's okay," you start before he can say anything, and you watch his body stiffen at your words before he sighs. He rubs a tired hand across his forehead before speaking.

"I stopped when I knew you and I were arranged to get married. I just didn't think..." he trails off, and you can hear the bitter resentment in his voice.

"It's okay." You say more firmly this time, before awkwardly patting his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. Sae looks up and watches you with narrowed eyes, silently questioning if you were some sort of a saint. He half expected you to slap him, yell at him, something, but you just stood there in front of him, quiet and in deep thought.

"I don't know what will happen," you start, and he raises his eyes to meet your gaze as you continue.

"—but I know you're under a lot of stress. You work very hard; I've only ever seen you working since I've arrived, so I hope your council finds a solution that works for us both." You conclude, and as the others begin to enter the meeting room, you don't wait to hear Sae's response before you move to take your seat.

The royal council members are the first to arrive in a hurry. They're discussing a number of things as they find their seats and immediately recapture Sae's attention, swarming him. A few relatives enter the room with Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi before Rin finally makes an appearance.

He seems a bit overwhelmed by all the noise and people clamoring into one room, and your heart rate quickens at the sight of him. Rin looks even more handsome than usual, sporting a dark sweater that complemented his hair and a simple pair of pants to match. You can see his gaze sweeping over the room before it lands on you, and his back straightens once he sees you.

Maybe Rin sees the silent plea in your eyes, the need to not be alone, because his feet shift towards your direction before he moves and takes the empty seat right next to you. He doesn't say hello, and neither do you—but having Rin next to you is more comfort than you could have hoped for in a time like this.

You try your best not to look at him, but your body betrays you, and your gaze finds him anyway. Rin looks up the same moment you do—bringing about a single second of the most intense eye contact of your life before you both look away in embarrassment a second later. Sae watches the entire scene unfold in front of him with his brows pinched together in thought.

You were three years younger than Sae and two years younger than Rin. You were all in the same general age range—but Sae knew he had much more real-world experience than you and Rin did combined. You, being a girl, and Rin being the youngest, just meant you were naturally both sheltered and innocent. Unfortunately, Sae was forced to grow up quicker, and he knew how horrible the world could be.

Sae cared more for Rin than he let on. Of course he knew he could have had his brother marry you instead—truthfully, it would have made his life easier. But Sae had no idea what kind of person you were. If you were anything like the royal women he knew, you'd be a snob: you'd be selfish, unkind, and have your own personal agenda—all the things he didn't want Rin to encounter. Sae had no interest in subjecting his brother to such filth. He knew he was heartless, but Rin's heart bruised far too easily.

You were different than what Sae expected. He wanted to find something about you to criticize or to frown upon. Something he could flesh out and show Rin saying, 'Look, she's not good for you.'

But when Sae watches his little brother's sly attempt to hold your hand under the table without anyone noticing, he can only sigh quietly in resignation.

"Alright, let's get this meeting started. There are a few major things we can clear now, so let's do that."

Quickly, the murmurs of everyone's prior conversations faded as Sae cleared his throat and stood up.

"The wedding doesn't need to be called off," he starts, walking around the table as his royal advisor quickly raises his hand with an exasperated sigh.

"Sir, with all due respect, there's absolutely no possibility her parents will allow you to—"

"That's not what I'm saying. The wedding will continue, but it won't be mine."

Sae rounds the table, approaching you and Rin with relaxed steps. Rin feels you go rigid in his hold, and he does the same once Sae comes and stands behind you two. Before either of you can react, Sae's hand is under the table and snapping around Rin's wrist—pulling it out from under the table as he holds up your intertwined hands for everyone to see.

The look of absolute mortification on Rin's face almost makes him smile.

"It's a good option. We'll have these two think about it and let us know what they decide later, but it'll most likely work out. I'll allow it, since these two can't seem to keep their hands to themselves or their eyes off of each other. It's disgusting how obsessed they are with one another."

You and Rin look towards Sae, identical faces of absolute bafflement: you both stare at the elder with wide eyes, flushing with embarrassment at his bold move. Sae doesn't spare either of you another glance as he turns towards the other council members, who mumble their agreement at the prospect.

Sae lets your intertwined hands go before heading back to his seat. You don't dare to look at Rin now—you always knew there was a possibility of you marrying him, but you never thought it would actually come to pass. Now you needed to talk to Rin more than ever before anything was confirmed. He sits there, stiff as a board and silent just like you, but he doesn't let go of your hand. If anything, his grip tightens just the slightest bit.

A serious look crosses over Sae's face as he sits back down, and everyone seems to be holding their breath as they wait for Sae to address the real issue at hand.

"The boy... he's going to be a problem. No one will marry me knowing I have a half-blood son. I'm sure you all know how picky people are with keeping their royal bloodline pure and all that. But that means he won't have a mother, and I won't be here often enough to raise him."

The murmuring starts again at once, concerned whispers flooding the room instantly as everyone tries to come up with some sort of a solution. Suddenly, a voice from the back rises.

"Could we put it up for adoption?"

There's an uproar of protest as everyone turns to the voice in bewilderment. The council member sinks into their seat with embarrassment, apologizing profusely for even suggesting the idea—but Sae doesn't seem bothered by it at all. His chin is perched on his fist, and he merely sighs before leaning back in his chair.

"It's a possibility if we can't come up with a solution. Stop being so rowdy and give me a better idea instead of complaining."

Some people were suggesting having the boy be raised by the servants in the manor, but Sae was insistent on making sure he had a proper mother and father. Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi were too old to take care of a baby—so that was out of the options, too.

You and Rin could take care of it. If anyone's thinking it, no one has the courage to voice it. Sae considers the idea silently as everyone discusses solutions noisily around him. He knows he can't speak the possibility into existence yet—he didn't even know how Rin would react to possibly marrying you; it seemed like too much to dump a baby into the picture too. Sae was running out of options, that was certain, but he wasn't going to force anything onto Rin until you two had talked.

Sae glances up to look at you and Rin. Both of you sit side by side, with neither of you speaking. Rin's brows are furrowed, and he seems to be in deep thought. You look nervous, peering up every few minutes with a small frown at every obnoxious suggestion said in regard to what to do with the baby. At some point, Rin's hold on your hand had become considerably tense, and you brushed your thumb over the back of his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

There was also the possibility that Rin didn't want to marry you. The entire situation was becoming far too messy, and you could feel yourself sinking further and further into your seat. After another hour of arguing that led to nowhere, Sae ended the meeting curtly and stated there would be another meeting some other time. Now that everyone had been dismissed, they were beginning to file out of the meeting room to leave. You look over at Rin hesitantly, only to find he was staring at Sae. You couldn't make out his expression nor what it meant.

"Do you want to talk to him, Rin?" you question softly, and Rin swallows the lump in his throat before nodding slowly. You gently pull your hand out of his grasp; his touch lingers on you for a second longer before you pull away completely, and you blend into the crowd a moment later and disappear out the exit with everyone else, leaving Rin and Sae alone.

You had absolutely no idea what would happen now.

Marrying Rin? It almost sounded too good to be true. But what would happen to Sae's son? There were far too many factors to consider.

With not much else to do, you found yourself walking down the manor's hallways in an attempt to try and clear your head. There was an inordinate amount of things going on, and you needed to take a step back and think about what you wanted to do.

You liked Rin. You liked him a lot. But you had no idea how he felt—you two had never once discussed what was between you, and you can imagine he must feel just as conflicted as you did. You knew there was something between you two, but would Rin ever want to go further?

It wasn't an appropriate time to go look for Rin now. The sun had set hours ago, and it felt like the manor was asleep with the lack of people you saw in the halls. With no other idea on what to do, you head back to your room.

You would just have to find Rin tomorrow. Getting ready for bed, your movements feel more sluggish and slow than usual. There's a gnawing feeling in your chest that won't go away—telling you that you're not going to be able to sleep peacefully until you talk to Rin. You're not sure how you'll be able to rest with so many issues untied, but there didn't seem to be anything you could do about it now.

Rin was most likely asleep now since it was so late. You could knock on his door and check since he was only a few rooms down, but you quickly shake away the thought with a sigh. Slowly, you untie your hair from your usual updo, take off your makeup, and slip into a simple nightgown. The soft fabric hugs you in a warm embrace, and after brushing out your hair, you walk towards your bedside table to blow out your candle when you hear a sound.

It's muffled and soft, so quiet you almost miss it at first. You don't move, listening closely to see if you can hear it again, and just when you think it's gone away, it starts up once again.

Slowly, you lower yourself onto your knees and allow your head to dip low enough where you can press your ear against the floor. You hear it much clearer now; the gentle vibrations coming from Rin's piano are as distinct as they are marvelous—blending together as naturally as watercolors.

The revelation that Rin was awake in the music room right beneath you is startling.

You've never heard him play at this time of night before. The melody he strings together has you sinking onto the ground completely, and the sound of his music is just as soothing and magical as you'd remembered. You picture Rin's slender fingers moving about the piano as artfully as they did the night you first met him, and you let yourself stay on the floor for a few minutes longer to listen.

By the time he starts up his next song, you've already grabbed your candlestick and started your path downstairs towards his music room.

There was no way you'd be able to sleep knowing Rin was awake—there was no use in even trying, because you were sure you'd end up staying awake to listen to him play anyway. Your footsteps are hurried and purposeful, and while you're not entirely sure what you'll say to Rin once you find him, you know you can't wait any longer to see him.

You open the door as quietly as you can, slipping inside and gently locking it behind you. You watch Rin's fingers come to a slow stop, and you move forward until you're standing right beside his piano stool. You're holding your breath, clasping your hands together nervously as he turns to look at you.

"Hi, Rin." You offer with a hesitant smile.

"...Hello."

He moves over wordlessly to make space for you to sit beside him, and you make sure to keep a little more distance than usual between you two once you're seated, only because you're not sure how Rin felt. His response is immediate—brows pulling together as his lips tug into a small frown, but he doesn't say anything, just quietly watching as you carefully place your candle on the edge of his piano's top.

The warm glow of the candle highlights every feature of yours in a fiery gold, and Rin's eyes widen a bit when he sees your hair is down. You're in a simple nightgown and not wearing any makeup either, and he's positive his heart is stuck in his throat. The soft curve of your cheek looks far too kissable in the candlelight, and he inhales sharply when you finally turn to look at him.

"I heard you playing from my room and couldn't ignore it." You smile, and Rin makes a small sound of embarrassment in the back of his throat once he realizes he must have kept you awake. Before he has the chance to apologize, you speak up.

"I wanted to talk to you either way; I don't think I'd be able to sleep until I did. But if it's too late for you, or if I'm interrupting—"

"No—no, I just... came here to clear my head. Couldn't sleep either." He mumbles quickly, discreetly moving the music sheet with your name written at the top back into his folder and out of your sight as you smile, relieved. Rin notices it doesn't reach your eyes, and he tries his best to mask his concern. His brother always told Rin he had a horrible poker face, so Rin does his best to school his expression into something neutral.

"Do you want to marry me?"

Okay, maybe Rin would have been able to appear as calm and collected as Sae usually does if you hadn't asked him that question outright. He becomes flustered in an instant, stammering as the tips of his ears turn a bright shade of red. He tries to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence, but after an entire ten seconds of stuttering, he simply clamps his mouth shut to avoid any further embarrassment before he takes a steadying breath.

"Yes."

You lean back a bit at his words, almost as if you weren't expecting them.

Rin's never been good with communicating how he felt. He often found himself retreating when his emotions got too overwhelming or confusing—facing them head-on was something he's always struggled with, but he wants nothing more than to lay his heart bare for you to understand. He watched his brother slip away because they couldn't talk, couldn't voice their thoughts when they were upset, and Rin didn't want to lose you because of his inability to trust—so he tries his best.

"I feel happy when I'm around you, it's as simple as that. I would never say yes unless I knew what I wanted—I was... I was mad at myself when I found out you were marrying nii-chan. It wasn't something I wanted. I'm not well versed with all the business stuff he does, and I know he's in a tight spot, but he would never ask me to marry someone I didn't want to. We can figure this out together, you and I—there's really no one else I'd rather be with than you."

Are you sure, Rin?

Rin had said yes to his brother then, and he's saying yes to you now. He's never been more sure of anything in his life. His future, his hopes, and his dreams all depended on what you said now.

You're already looking at Rin when he looks up to meet your gaze. Your eyes are glossy, and your smile is just as sweet as he remembered it to be. He can't stop his lips from twitching at the sight—can't stop looking at your lips at all. And when you lean forward, you can just barely hear the hitch in his breath.

"Can I kiss you?"

You whisper the question softly, but Rin doesn't have the strength to respond. Instead, he leans forward to meet your lips. They brush over your own once, tentatively, before his hand moves to cradle your face. Carding his free hand through your hair, his mouth molds against yours.

The kiss was gentle and timid, undoubtedly imbued with every bit of love you and Rin felt for each other, and there wasn't a single other place either of you would rather be than in each other's hold.

seven years later ⋆˙⟡

Akio stands outside his parents's bedroom door, shifting from one foot to the other before turning to look at his two younger siblings behind him. Haru and Akie are yawning, still clutching onto their blankets and stuffed animals tiredly, but they smile lazily as they peer up at their older brother.

"I can't believe you two followed me." Akio huffs, irritated, but Akie merely nuzzles into her older brother's arm with a yawn.

"You were loud. And we wanted to come!"

"Let me go in first. You guys can come in after, kay?"

The pair nods, and Akio slips into the bedroom as quietly as he can, letting the door click close behind him. It's already six am—there was a chance you and Rin were still tired, but the little pink-haired boy was ready to start his day. Slowly, he approaches the bed, poking your cheek once to confirm you're asleep before huffing and lifting one leg up and over the bed.

He crawls onto the heap of blankets, squeezing himself into the small spot between you and Rin on the bed easily as the latter stirs in his sleep. You must sense the little boy, because your eyes flutter open a moment later.

"Oh, good morning." You smile with a sleepy giggle, pressing a gentle kiss onto Akio's cheek as he huffs, snuggling into your side.

"Ma, it's six already. I can't believe you guys are still sleeping." The little boy murmurs, turning to look at Rin with a scowl—adorably appalled at the peaceful expression gracing his features.

"You're an early bird—but me and your papa like to sleep in. He's very tired, you know?"

Akio mumbles something into your chest, winding his arms around you in a bear hug as he pokes Rin's stomach with his foot.

"Dad's going to teach me how to make eggs for you. And the twins. But I really just want to make them for you."

You laugh quietly, but the sound is still enough to wake up Rin. Akio quickly rolls off of you, poking Rin's cheek with his finger as he slowly begins to wake up.

"Wake up, lazy."

"Go away."

Akio winds his arms around Rin either way right after, and you watch Rin tiredly pat the boy hanging off his back. The door creaks open a little further, and you see your twins heads poke through right after. Rin finally manages a small smile, sitting up and pressing a kiss to your forehead before beckoning the rest of the children inside.

They come in squealing, immediately hopping onto the bed and climbing onto you and Rin. Your husband yawns, circling his arms around any kid he could get his hands on while closing his eyes.

You pepper everyone's faces in good morning kisses, and after Akio's made sure he's disrupted you and Rin's sleep enough, he drags himself and the twins outside to brush their teeth and get ready for the day. Once they're out, you bring the blanket around you closer and brush your nose against Rin's.

"Hi."

"Hi, pretty."

Rin's touch is gentle as he cradles your cheek, and you both spend a moment simply staring at each other, admiring the face you've come to love more than life itself. He pulls you into his chest, breathing you in as you slump tiredly into his embrace.

He taps his pointer finger against your waist slowly, and every tap was to the rhythm of the song he'd made for you so many years ago—just as he did every morning.

a/n: oh my god...it's done...hollllyyyyYYY MOLY this took me a while but yay i'm so happy with it!! :D sae's kind of a deadbeat i'm sowwyyy 😞 rin and reader are happily married and sae's prospering overseas and doing business :p maybe one day he'll settle down, but who knows!! thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed it :))

tags: @rroxii @tsukimoon-chan @rainychi2 @cheriiepies @jukiamae @hotdogkongmalaki @theogfruitl00psmunch3r @danhoneyyysblog @mfreedomstuff @introspectiveintroverthere @ocean-mochi @kajironunaji @minasgirl @jiavirie @literallyn0ne @ankol-heap @ysvanielle

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sereia4skz · 1 day ago

Note

What if Minho with too friendly reader who loves snakes? Like he doesn't trust humans, and this one is so annoying! Why did he start to like them?

One-shot, if it's possible 🥺

2k Followers Event | warmed stones

pairing: minho x reader

synopsis: minho doesn't trust easily... good luck snake lovers

warnings: naga!minho

event masterlist: #2kShootingStars

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

AN: tsundere minho has my heart

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

You liked snakes. Minho found that...suspicious.

Humans usually flinched. They whispered the word like a curse: snake. As if being part serpent made him monstrous by default. Fangs. Scales. A slithering tail longer than a horse's reins and strong enough to crush stone.

They forgot the warmth of sunbaked scales. The patience. The precision. The quiet power of listening. You didn’t forget. You kept bringing him snacks.

"You like eggs, right?" you said the first week, balancing a bowl of soft-boiled ones in your hands. "High protein. I read that snakes- well, some snakes…"

Minho stared. Not at the food. At you. Smiling. Again. Always smiling. Not afraid. Not exactly welcome, either.

"I don’t eat things touched by people I don’t trust," he said flatly.

"Fair enough," you chirped, setting them down anyway. "I trust you, though."

Minho recoiled as if you’d tried to pet his scales without permission. You practically glowed with sunshine and chaos and too many questions. Talking to you felt like chasing fireflies with fangs, sparkling, impossible, and vaguely insulting to his dignity.

The next day, you returned with a basket of warmed stones. “For your basking spot. They hold heat longer if you want to nap through the rain.”

He didn't thank you.

Two days later, he rearranged the stones to suit his coils.

It went on like that.

You, barefoot in the grass, humming nonsense songs and mumbling about the others in the rescue wing. Minho, watching from the shaded edges of the atrium, arms crossed, tail coiled and tail twitching, always twitching.

You called him Mr. Hissy once.

He hissed. You laughed.

Somehow, that was worse than being insulted.

⋆｡°✩

You were used to it by now. Every day around the same time, you wandered into the atrium, hands full of fruit, herbs, and perhaps a few flowers tucked behind your ear, only to find Minho in his usual spot. Coiled on the sun-warmed stone near the indoor pond, half-shadow, half-golden scales, and entirely uninterested in your existence.

"Good morning, handsome!" you called, as always, the moment you stepped through the greenery.

His tail twitched. Not a flinch, not a startle. Just a barely-contained sigh made of muscle and scale.

"I brought blueberries." You held one out like a peace offering, though it had never actually sparked peace. "I know you said you don’t like sweet things, but these are fresh. I picked them from the outer ridge, where the sunlight hits just right. See?"

He didn’t move. Just shifted the tilt of his head, watching you through narrowed eyes, molten-gold irises unblinking.

"You talk too much," he murmured finally, voice as smooth and sharp as obsidian. “Do you pester all the residents like this?”

"Only the ones with beautiful eyes," you said sweetly, not mentioning that's most of the ones on your charge because there, that barely-there flick of his tongue, is hope.

You sat a respectful distance away, as always, but close enough to feel the warmth of the stone, close enough to let your presence be known without forcing it.

You just liked snakes. That was all.

And he… well. He was the most mesmerizing one you’d ever met.

Minho didn’t trust humans. Not the ones who hunted him for his scales, not the ones who locked him in glass-walled exhibits, not the ones who saw a tail and assumed a threat.

But you were… Different? Annoying, absolutely. Endlessly cheerful. Prone to naming his shed scales like they were pets. You’d once called him “shiny noodle” with utter sincerity, that's worse than Mr.Hissy. He still hadn't forgiven you.

But you never reached for him without permission. Never stared like he was a monster. Never asked questions he didn’t want to answer.

⋆｡°✩

One late afternoon, after a spring storm had rolled through Haven, you came into the atrium soaked to the skin. Hair plastered to your cheeks, mud on your knees, a trembling baby basilisk bundled in your arms.

You didn’t speak at first. Just knelt beside the stones where Minho rested and gently unwrapped the shaking creature.

"He was caught in a net near the creek," you said softly. "I think he’s scared of me. But he stopped shaking when he saw you."

Minho didn’t reply.

He just uncoiled, slow and silent, and lowered himself beside you. One hand, still human, reached out to brush over the basilisk’s scales. A hum, low and thrumming, poured from his chest like a lullaby you didn’t understand.

The creature stilled. So did you.

After a while, you murmured, “You’re really good with them.”

He looked at you then, golden eyes brighter in the fading light. “They know I’m one of them.”

You tilted your head. Minho blinked. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitched. A smirk.

“You’re too loud to be a snake.”

You gasped. “I could be a loud snake! A very friendly garden snake. I’d bring everyone flowers.”

Minho actually laughed, quiet and low, but real, and something in your chest melted.

Later, when you curled beside him just close enough to feel the warmth of his coils (with his quiet, begrudging permission), he didn’t move away.

You weren’t sure when it changed.

Maybe the moment he let you braid clover flowers into his hair. Maybe the night he found you crying in the greenhouse after losing a selkie to old wounds, and he didn’t say anything, just coiled the end of his tail over your feet like a blanket.

Maybe it was when you changed. When your cheerful rambling turned softer around him. Less performative, more comfortable. Like your voice was a familiar wind he’d grown used to.

Now, on a quiet evening humming with crickets and soft light, you sat beside him once more.

Minho’s head rested against the stone. His eyes were half-lidded, but alert. You reached out, hand hovering.

“Can I?”

He didn’t answer with words.

He just shifted slightly, and his tail wrapped around your ankle, lightly. A whisper of contact.

Your hand settled gently on his arm.

“You used to hate me,” you murmured, smile playing on your lips.

“I still do,” he said, but his voice lacked venom.

“Oh yeah?” You leaned in, grinning. “Is that why you followed me to the library last night? And left a dried lily on my desk?”

“I did not. Maybe it was that garden snake you keep around,”

“I knew it wasn’t the garden snake! She doesn’t even like lilies-”

“Neither do I,” he muttered. “But you do.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

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pitlanepeach · 22 hours ago

Text

Three Of Us | Chapter Three (3/3)

Lando Norris x Original Female Character x Oscar Piastri

Summary — Margot has single-handedly run Marjorie’s Bakeshop, a Monaco institution, ever since her grandmother’s passing. It’s by chance that a tiny blue Fiat Jolly breaks down on the curb right in-front of her door.

Warnings — Established!Landoscar, polyamory negotiations, eventual throuple, slow(ish) burn, vandalism, OFC has atypical OCD, SMUT!

Notes — The ending my babies deserve. I hope you enjoyed this mini fic!! xxx

They took her to a tiny place tucked away behind Rue Grimaldi — dim lights, red leather booths, the kind of place locals didn’t post about because they didn’t want to lose it. Lando said the chef knew him from “his karting days,” and Oscar had only given him a look that said you’ve never karted in Monte Carlo and you absolutely made that up to sound impressive.

Margot slid into the booth first, the leather worn smooth under her hands. Lando followed, sitting close but not crowding. Oscar took the other side, straight-backed and composed in a way that should’ve been formal, but somehow wasn’t.

The menus were handed out. She didn’t reach for hers. Not yet.

She adjusted the water glass in front of her. Then the fork. Then the knife — angle a little tighter, edge just parallel to the napkin’s seam. She barely realized she was doing it. Just muscle memory. A small breath out.

Lando didn’t blink. He just slid his knife a half-inch to the left, let her fix it. “Thanks, babe,” he said, glancing up at her with a grin. “Did you see Oscar’s defence against Carlos on lap one?”

She blinked. “I… did.”

Oscar’s wine glass was already perfectly in place — she didn’t need to adjust his. But he still sat there and waited; didn’t touch it until she gave him a small, awkward smile and a jerking nod.

Dinner flowed.

Lando talked the most — jumping between topics, bouncing excitement like a pebble on a lake. The podium, the champagne, someone’s shoes being set on fire in the garage — she couldn’t keep up, but that was okay. He didn’t expect her to.

Oscar asked questions. Not many. Just enough. About her grandmother. About the bakery. About the blue ribbon she tied around the tarte tatin boxes. He noticed things.

They didn’t touch her too much. A hand on her forearm, once. Lando’s knee brushing hers under the table. Oscar passing her the bottle of water before she even realized her glass was empty.

At one point, Lando offered her a bite of his gnocchi. She hesitated — not sure what she was supposed to be in this moment — the date of two people already in love. The third wheel. The curiosity. The variable.

But Oscar just nodded, slow and quiet. “You’ll like it.”

So she tried it.

And then, for the first time that night, she laughed. Fully.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “It’s very good.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched. “Told you.”

She sat back then, for a second, looking at them both. The quiet intensity in Oscar’s eyes, the way Lando’s fingers moved when he talked with his hands.

It shouldn’t have made sense.

But somehow — they weren’t too much.

They weren’t not enough.

They just were.

And for the first time in a long time, Margot felt like she might be something like that, too.

—

They walked slowly, nowhere in particular, their steps falling into rhythm on instinct. Monaco was cooler at night, sea-slicked and gold-lit, the glimmer of the marina cutting a path through the hills.

Lando talked the whole way — about nothing, about everything. Oscar was quiet beside him, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze forward. Margot walked between them, arms brushing theirs every few steps.

Halfway down a cobbled slope, Oscar leaned in a little, voice low. “I want to hold your hand.”

Margot blinked.

He didn’t look at her. Just kept walking, deliberate and slow. “But I don’t want you ending up on someone’s TikTok with the caption ‘guess Lando’s the third wheel now,’ or… you know. Worse.”

Lando let out a snort behind her. “You think they’d call me the third wheel?”

Oscar shrugged, unbothered. “More followers than me.”

Margot’s heart knocked against her ribs. Not at what he said — but how he said it. The careful way he’d admitted the wanting. The consideration of her in it.

Quietly, she reached across the narrow space and slipped her fingers into his. Oscar’s breath hitched, just slightly. His hand closed gently around hers. It fit easily. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t press.

Just held.

They looped back through the winding backstreets. And when she paused outside the darkened café, keys in hand, she glanced over her shoulder at Lando and smiled.

The inside smelled like cinnamon and lemon peel, the last lingering notes of morning. She reached for Lando’s hand (finally), led them to the back — past the counter, through the swinging staff door, into the tiny office she used more for journaling than accounting.

She clicked on the desk lamp.

It glowed warm, like the three tarts she pulled from the fridge — one almond, one raspberry, one plain frangipane. They didn’t need plates. Crumbs were fine.

Lando flopped onto the old velvet loveseat someone once left on the curb and her grandmother had rescued in the late eighties. Oscar next to him, legs stretched. Margot tucked herself between them both, knees folded, tart in lap.

Lando’s head dropped to her shoulder halfway through the raspberry tart. “Okay,” he murmured. “This might be better than sex.”

Margot choked on a mouthful. Oscar sighed.

Margot reached for the almond tart. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” Oscar said. “Lando’s incredibly food motivated.”

Lando grinned. “Facts.”

When the tarts were gone, she felt Oscar’s hand brush hers again. Just soft. Deliberate.

Lando bit his lip. “I— do you want us to—“

“No,” she said, without thinking.

Oscar shifted beside her. “You sure?”

“I…” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “Yes. Im sure. I like this.”

Lando leaned in. Just slightly. “This?”

She turned to look at him. His eyes were gentle, even in the dim amber light. His hand came up, slow, like he didn’t want to spook her. But when she didn’t pull back — he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. And kissed her.

Tentative. Sweet. The kind of kiss that asked before it took.

Oscar kissed her next — when she turned her head, when the weight of it settled in. His kiss was steadier. Lower. Anchoring.

And when she blinked back, breath a little shaky, both of them were still there.

“Oh.” She whispered.

—

It was nearly midnight. Oscar was leaning back against the prep counter, arms crossed, watching her with that steady, unreadable look that made her a little dizzy.

“You can’t even relax in your own bakery,” Lando teased. “That’s tragic, babe.”

“I am relaxed,” she insisted, even as she wiped down the counter for the third time. “This is me relaxed.”

“Right,” Oscar said, voice low. “That’s why your hand’s shaking.”

She froze.

He hadn’t said it cruelly — not even pointedly. Just… softly. Observant. Like he saw her in a way few people ever did.

Her breath stilled in her chest. Lando stepped in close behind her, voice suddenly quieter. “Hey.”

She didn’t move.

Oscar didn’t either.

“We know this place matters to you,” he said. “We wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want.”

And then, just like that — something inside her gave.

Not a collapse. Not even a crack.

Just a shift. A choice.

She turned. Looked at both of them. Her voice was barely audible.

“I want.”

That was all.

And it was enough.

Lando kissed her again first — hungrier this time, his hands at her waist, sliding under her cardigan. She clung to him, fingers fisting in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Oscar stepped in behind her, warm and solid, and when his hands settled gently on her hips, she didn’t flinch.

She leaned into him.

The prep counter dug into her back as Lando lifted her up onto it, careful, reverent — but fast, like he couldn’t stand to not have her closer. She’d cleaned it a hundred times that day. It didn’t matter now.

None of it did.

Oscar’s hands slid down her thighs, coaxing her knees apart as he stepped between them. He kissed her neck while Lando’s lips dragged hot and unhurried down her collarbone.

She gasped. Oscar caught the sound with his mouth.

There was something breathless about it — this trio orbiting each other, no one quite leading, no one quite following. Just heat and want and the kind of trust that made everything else fall away.

She tugged Lando’s t-shirt off and he helped, laughing against her mouth as he got tangled in the sleeves. Oscar murmured something about useless man-child as he unzipped her skirt, and she felt herself laugh — fully, freely — even as her body ached with need.

Clothes slipped away like clock hands ticking past the hour.

Oscar’s hands were sure. Lando’s mouth was all chaos and sugar and sin.

And when they pressed her back against the cool steel counter, when they worshipped her like she was something holy — when she reached for them both, frantic and certain and soft — she didn’t think about the rules. The cloths. The perfect angles.

She only thought: I’m safe.

I’m wanted.

I’m theirs.

Later, tangled together on the loveseat, the air still thick and warm, she caught Oscar looking around the space. Assessing the chaos they’d left in their wake — crumpled napkins, half-buttoned shirts, a spoon on the floor.

“I can clean up,” he offered quietly. “If it helps.”

She looked at him. Then Lando, who was asleep with his face buried against her side, hair mussed, lips swollen.

And she smiled.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

She could clean in the morning.

Tonight, she would keep this — the sweetness and the mess — even if it meant an uncomfortable tightness in her chest.

It was just more proof that maybe not all of life was about perfection.

Some of it… was just living.

—

The bakery still smelled like cinnamon and heat when they stepped out into the night, the door clicking quietly shut behind them.

It was late. Past late. The kind of hour when Monaco went quiet and the shadows belonged to no one. Streetlamps flickered in soft gold pools across the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a gull cried out and was gone.

Margot sipped her coffee quickly — maybe too quickly — the takeout cup warm between her palms but cooling fast in the sea-soaked air. She tipped it back until it was empty, then tucked it into the nearest bin without slowing.

Both boys noticed. Of course they did.

Oscar’s hand found hers without a word, fingers curling gently, confidently. His thumb brushed across her knuckles like he’d already memorised them. Lando glanced over, still sipping from his own cup, and gave her a lopsided smile before offering his free hand.

She took it.

And just like that, she was in the middle — tucked between the two of them like she belonged there. Oscar was steady and warm on one side, his silence never cold. Lando was all lazy energy and swinging steps on the other, thumb rubbing absently against hers like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

They walked like that through the sleepy streets. Three shadows in sync. No cameras. No beady eyed tourists. Just footsteps, soft laughter, and the occasional quiet hum from Lando as he recited part of a song he couldn’t remember the words to.

Margot leaned into Oscar’s side as they waited for a light to change. He didn’t flinch. He tilted toward her — slightly, solidly — like it was instinct.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“I think so,” she said, voice soft with disbelief. “I think I really am.”

Lando gave her hand a gentle swing. “You’re kind of stuck with us now, y’know.”

She laughed — tired, genuine — and squeezed their hands. “I’m not sure I mind.”

Oscar didn’t say anything, but his hand tightened around hers.

When they reached the car, none of them rushed. The quiet lingered like something sacred. Margot didn’t let go until the very last second.

And even then, only because she had to.

—

Margot was halfway through peeling the label off her wine bottle when Alex flopped down next to her on the sofa, legs tucked underneath her, hair scraped into a loose braid that had started to unravel an hour ago. The living room was glowing gold with lamplight, soft jazz playing under the occasional hum of city traffic. Takeout containers littered the coffee table — pizza, two types of pasta, and one decorative salad that neither of them touched.

Margot giggled as Alex made a grand show of stretching like a cat. “One glass of wine and you’re already preening.”

“I’m just stretching,” Alex corrected, raising her wine glass with a smirk. “You, on the other hand, are glowing. Positively radiant.”

“Oh my god, stop.” Margot buried her face in her hands.

“Nope. Spill. Right now. I want full details. You’ve been smiling and blushing all by yourself all night.”

Margot peeked through her fingers. “I have not!”

“You have. And it’s cute. You’re all flushed and bashful, and I want to scream about it in a very supportive and dignified way.”

Margot groaned, but the kind of groan that was half-laughter. “It was… nice. Okay? Really nice.”

“Nice?” Alex repeated, scandalized. “You went on a cozy, romantic date with two McLaren formula one drivers, and all I get is ‘nice’?”

Margot laughed into her wine glass. “I don’t even know what to call it. We went back to the bakery after dinner. We had dessert and coffee and they just… made space for me. It didn’t feel like I was trying to catch up or fit in. I was just… there. And it felt right.”

Alex’s smile softened, quieter now. “That sounds like more than nice.”

Margot let the words hang there for a second. Her heart tugged a little. “I think it is. But—”

Alex caught it instantly. “No. Nope. No buts. You don’t get to ruin the mood with doubts right now.”

Margot hesitated. Then, quietly, “It’s not that I’m trying to ruin anything. I’m just being realistic. They’re already them, Alex. I’m… me. And we’re not official. They haven’t introduced me to anyone. We’ve only been out together once. And I know they’re private — that they have to be — but I’m terrible at keeping secrets, Alex. What if… I don’t know.” She sighed.

Alex stared at her for a beat, then reached for the wine bottle and refilled both glasses with purpose.

“Oh no,” Margot said, bracing herself.

“This,” Alex said, gesturing wildly, “might be the wine talking, but: are you joking right now?”

Margot blinked. “I—”

“No. Stop. You’re telling me the boys who send you flowers, who show up after hours at your bakery like sad puppies, who look at you like you’re made of moonlight — you’re telling me that you’re worried about them changing their minds. That’s what you’re saying to me right now?”

“I don’t know,” Margot muttered. “Maybe they won’t want to deal with the headlines. Or maybe they won’t ever want to explain whatever this is. I don’t… I don’t want to end up being a third wheel. They haven’t made me feel like that yet, but — I can’t be a secret, Alex.”

Alex softened at that, the teasing melting from her features. “You’re not going to end up being anybody’s third wheel, Margot.”

Margot looked away, eyes flicking to the city lights through the balcony doors.

“And okay,” Alex went on, more gently now, “I get it. I really do. It’s scary. And it’s new. But you can’t let fear keep you hidden away forever. You have a life to live too. A heart to live with. They’ve chosen you. Both of them. So let them.”

Margot’s voice was small. “Alex…”

“Come to the next race with me.” She pleaded.

Margot blinked at her. “They might not want me to be there.”

Alex shook her head. “You’re ridiculous. Of course they want you there. They told Charles.”

Margot stared at her wine glass, her heart thudding loud and strange.

“Come with me,” Alex said softly. “Come to the next race. Surprise them.”

Margot didn’t answer. But she didn’t say no, either.

—

The café was closed, the windows dark, chairs flipped onto tables in neat, perfect rows. Margot sat at the counter with her elbows resting on the worn wood, the same spot she always stood for morning prep — only this time, she wasn’t moving. Wasn’t wiping. Wasn’t counting spoons or straightening pastry tongs.

Just sitting.

The brass key lay next to her phone, cool under her fingers. She rolled it between her thumb and knuckle, a nervous fidget, her grandmother’s faded ribbon still tied around the base. It felt heavier tonight. Or maybe she was just imagining that — giving weight to something that wasn’t physical.

She glanced at the calendar behind the register.

Two days. Forty-eight hours until the shutters wouldn’t rise at 6:59. Until the espresso machine wouldn’t hum its low morning hello. Until no one would wander in and ask for two citron pressés and a croissant to-go.

Marjorie’s hadn’t closed for a weekend in decades.

Not for renovations. Not for holidays. Not even for her grandmother’s funeral — Margot had opened the next morning, lids heavy with tears, hands shaking, apron tied twice like always.

It was tradition.

It was ritual.

It was safety.

And now she was changing it.

Just for two days, she reminded herself. Not forever. Just one weekend. To go with Alex. To surprise Oscar and Lando. To take a step outside the warm, cinnamon-scented rhythm of her life.

It still felt… wrong. Or maybe not wrong. Unmoored.

Like she was undoing something that had been holding her upright.

She exhaled shakily and ran a hand through her hair. She’d written the sign for the door — “Closed This Weekend. Back Monday.” — but hadn’t taped it up yet. It was folded in her bag, creased from the number of times she’d pulled it out and stared at it.

She didn’t know who she was without the store open. She didn’t know what the world looked like when she wasn’t standing right here, grounded in sugar jars and espresso cloths and memory.

“Grand-mère,” she whispered softly, her voice catching, “I’m going. I’m really going.”

She didn’t expect an answer.

But for the first time since she’d made the decision, her chest didn’t feel like it was cracking in two. Just stretching.

Making room.

—

The private jet smelled faintly of leather and citrus, the kind of sterile luxury Margot wasn’t used to. She hovered by the sleek white seat for a second too long, fingers worrying the edges of her phone case, until Alex nudged her gently from behind.

“Window seat. Go on,” she smiled, lifting her oversized tote into the overhead compartment like it weighed nothing. “You’ll like watching the clouds. I promise.”

Margot eased herself into the chair, smoothing the hem of her cardigan and then fixing the edge of the seatbelt before even buckling it. One, two. Buckle. Then unbuckle. Then buckle again.

Alex settled across from her and didn’t say anything — didn’t make a face, didn’t draw attention — just slid a granola bar across the table between them and picked up her phone like this was normal. Like this was okay.

It helped.

Across the aisle, Charles and Max were bickering softly in French about something on Max’s iPad. Margot could only make out pieces — tires, setups, and a very animated comparison involving soup. Max glanced over once and caught her watching. He grinned.

“C’est pas si sérieux,” he said, then switched to English. “I’m just telling Charles he drives a road car like a grandmother.”

Margot startled a laugh, and Charles rolled his eyes. “I drive better than your grandmother,” he muttered.

“You’ve never even met my grandmother.”

“She drives a Fiat Panda. I don’t need to.”

Margot looked down at her hands. She was tapping her fingers in sequence on the tray in front of her — index, ring, pinky, middle, pause. Then again. It was barely noticeable, but Alex noticed. Of course she did.

“You want the schedule again?” Alex asked, opening her iPad.

Margot nodded. She didn’t need to read it. She’d already memorized it — gate to tarmac, flight time, landing, hotel, passes. But it helped, somehow. Helped to orient her thoughts when everything else felt unfamiliar.

Alex slid the iPad closer. Margot rested her eyes on the neat little bullet points and felt herself start to settle, the pressure in her chest loosening notch by notch.

When the engines fired up, she flinched instinctively, and Charles — from the row in front — twisted around and offered her a piece of gum.

“Helps with the ears,” he said simply, like he wasn’t a world-famous driver, just some guy who’d done this a thousand times and knew she hadn’t.

She took it. Unwrapped it slowly. Folded the foil into a tiny square. Tapped the edge of her tray four times before placing it down.

None of them said a word.

Not about the gum. Not about the tapping. Not about how she re-checked that her phone was on airplane mode five times in a row before takeoff.

And when the plane lifted off the ground and Margot gripped the armrest a little too hard, Alex simply leaned across the aisle, nudged her foot with her own, and grinned.

“I love your lipstick today,” she said.

And Margot laughed.

—

The paddock was louder than she expected.

Not just engines — though the roar of one starting nearby made her flinch — but people. Everywhere. Clipped radio chatter and walkie talkies, VIPs in linen and sunglasses, camera crews weaving between cables. Margot stuck close to the edge of the walkway, half-hiding behind her lanyard and sunglasses, clutching the guest pass like it might unlock a door to somewhere quieter.

Alex had gone off with a PR handler to find Charles. Max had vanished almost immediately. And now she was standing outside the McLaren garage with no real plan and too many thoughts stacking inside her head.

She shouldn’t be here.

She wasn’t with them.

She didn’t know what to do with her hands.

She glanced through the open garage. Mechanics moved with practiced speed, adjusting monitors, reviewing tire data, ducking around each other like clockwork. She caught a glimpse of orange — the papaya kind — and then Oscar’s voice, somewhere deep in the garage, laughing low and warm.

Margot shifted awkwardly on her feet.

A few crew members passed her, friendly but brisk. One of them did a double take and gave her a polite nod — recognition, maybe. Or confusion. She tried to smile back but didn’t quite manage it.

And then—

“Margot?”

She turned, startled.

Lando was standing just inside the garage threshold, race suit unzipped to the waist, fireproofs clinging to his torso, hair still damp from prep. There was a moment — half a beat — where his expression was neutral.

And then he lit up.

Like really lit up.

“Oh my god—” He crossed the distance in three long strides, his face breaking into the sunniest, dumbest, happiest grin she’d ever seen. “You’re here! What—how are you here?!”

“I—um—” she tried, cheeks already flushed. “Alex invited me. Kind of talked me into it.”

Lando made a quiet noise that might’ve been a laugh or a relieved exhale and didn’t hesitate — just wrapped his arms around her and lifted her clean off the ground.

“Jesus, warn a girl,” she squeaked into his shoulder.

He set her down but didn’t really let go. One hand slid to her waist like he was making sure she didn’t disappear again. The other pushed her sunglasses up to rest in her hair.

“You didn’t say you were coming,” he said, eyes scanning hers like he needed to keep looking at her to make sure this was real.

“I didn’t… know if I should.”

“Why the hell not?”

She looked away — embarrassed — and that’s when Oscar appeared just behind him, helmet in hand, brow raised.

Then he saw her.

And smiled.

Not the polite PR smile. Not the reserved little nod he gave reporters or fans. This was different — slower, warmer, like something in his chest unspooled just a little.

“You’re here,” he said, quiet but sure.

Margot nodded.

“Yeah. I, uh, survived a jet full of Red Bull adjacent people and Charles’ terrible playlist.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched. “Brave girl.”

Lando glanced between them. “Okay, okay. Um. Have you eaten? Do you want coffee? Water? We have these weird protein muffins that Jon brought—”

“I’m okay,” Margot interrupted softly.

Lando’s hand flexed at her waist, grounding her. Oscar stood close enough for the edge of his sleeve to brush hers.

And just like that, the chaos of the paddock melted into background noise.

“I didn’t know where to go,” she admitted.

Lando leaned in, playful and boyish. “With us, obviously.”

Oscar’s voice was lower. Steady. “Always.”

And when a Netflix producer passed by with a camera crew in tow, Lando gently guided her to the side, blocking her from frame without making a thing of it — just quietly pulling her back into their little orbit, like that’s exactly where she belonged.

—

The McLaren hospitality suite was quieter than the paddock — but only barely. Still, there was air conditioning and coffee, and someone with a clipboard who offered Margot a bottle of water with a warm smile, and that helped. A little.

Lando had taken her hand again the second they stepped inside. Oscar walked just a step behind, close enough that she could feel the occasional brush of his arm against her shoulder.

She’d barely had time to breathe before someone called out across the room.

“Boys!”

Lando groaned under his breath. “Oh no.”

Oscar only hummed, already resigned.

And then Zak Brown was striding toward them — unmistakable in his McLaren polo and mirrored sunglasses, even inside.

“Well?” Zak said, arms folded over his chest, clearly suppressing a grin. “Are you going to introduce me to this lovely lady friend of yours?”

Margot’s spine straightened instantly. She moved to take a polite step back, but Lando just kept holding her hand. Oscar rested a quiet hand at the small of her back, anchoring her.

“Zak,” Lando said, smiling far too wide, “this is Margot. Margot, this is Zak Brown — boss man. Big cheese. Runs the show.”

Zak extended a hand. “Pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you,” Margot said, cheeks warming.

Zak shook her hand, gave her a once-over that felt more curious than judgmental, and then glanced between the three of them — the way Lando still hadn’t let go of her hand, the way Oscar hadn’t moved an inch away, how all three of them seemed to take up the same breath.

Then Zak raised an eyebrow and said, flatly, “So… the three of you?”

Margot nearly choked.

Oscar blinked.

Lando said, “That’s modern,” in perfect unison with Zak, and immediately burst into laughter.

“Jesus Christ,” Oscar muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “That’d exactly what he said when we told him that we were seeing eachother. Me and Lando. They both think that it’s hilarious.”

Margot covered her mouth with her free hand, torn between hiding her face and laughing right along with Lando. “This is mortifying.”

Lando, still snickering, leaned closer to Margot and said, “Zak’s a cool dude.”

“Hell yeah I am.” Zak said, a wide smile on his face. Then turned toward the boys with a smirk. “Just don’t let this distract from the job at hand. You know—points, pace, tires, all that.”

Oscar raised a brow. “We’ll be fine.”

Lando nodded solemnly. “We’ll be very focused.”

Zak gave him a pointed look. “Speak to someone in PR.”

And then he turned on his heel and left, muttering something about “bloody Netflix” as he disappeared toward the back of hospitality.

The moment he was out of sight, Margot exhaled — not quite a laugh, but not quite a sigh either. Her fingers were still curled around Lando’s, her other hand lightly brushing Oscar’s wrist. Safe, but exposed.

She looked between them, heart thudding too hard. “Was that—bad?”

“No,” Lando said instantly. “Zak’s just… Zak.”

“He’s already scheming,” Oscar added wryly. “We’ll get an email in two hours with media talking points and a suggested group hashtag.”

That made her laugh, soft and a little shaky. “God.”

Lando squeezed her hand. “We don’t have to say anything, you know. Not today.”

Oscar nodded once, quiet as always but fully attentive. “But we should talk about it.”

They found a little bench tucked around the corner from the bustle, behind a half-wall of sponsor banners. The kind of tucked-away space made for whispered debriefs and private coffees.

Lando dropped onto the bench and pulled her down next to him, his knee knocking into hers. Oscar stayed standing, arms crossed, scanning the paddock for a moment like he could keep watch for her.

Margot toyed with the hem of her sleeve. “You’ve… thought about going public?”

Lando nodded. “Yeah. I mean, not like some big announcement or anything. But I don’t want to pretend. Not if we’re doing this for real.”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, gaze softening. “But it’s your call, Margot.”

She blinked. “Mine?”

“You didn’t sign up for this,” he said. “The scrutiny. The public’s reaction. The—” he hesitated, then added, “the way people will talk. They won’t come after us the same way. But you…”

Margot looked down at their hands. Her knuckles were pale. She hadn’t realized she was gripping Lando so tightly.

“I expected you guys to be the ones wanting to keep this a secret,” she admitted quietly. “It’s just—my life is so… small. My world is small. And this—this is…” She looked up, gesturing vaguely at the chaos of the paddock. “This is huge.”

Lando nudged her knee. “I know. It’s a lot:”

Oscar nodded. “It’s your choice, Mar. It won’t change how we feel about you.”

That made her throat feel tight. She tried to smile, but it wobbled.

“I don’t want to hide you,” Lando said softly. “Not even a little. But if staying private makes you feel safer—then we’ll do it. I’ll walk next to you the paddock with my hands in my pockets if that’s what it takes. But I’ll still kiss you as soon as we’re behind closed doors.”

Margot laughed — startled and grateful.

Oscar stepped closer, crouched in front of her so he was eye-level. “We’re not in a rush. This is still new. I get it.”

She stared at him for a moment. Then Lando. Then back again.

And nodded. Slowly. “Okay.”

“We’re yours, either way,” Lando said. “Public or not.”

“And you’re ours,” Oscar added.

Margot blinked fast. “Okay,” she whispered again.

“Good.” Lando grinned. “Because I already told the social media team I had plans after the race. Didn’t tell them it was to kiss our girlfriend in a corner of the motorhome, but—details.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Very focused,” he muttered.

Lando only smirked. “She’s very distracting.”

Margot flushed.

—

Oscar was still breathless.

Not from the race — not really — but from everything that came after: the radio screaming in his ears, the champagne, the roar of the crowd, the sudden, dizzying realisation that he’d actually done it. He’d won.

Hungary. His first win. It tasted like sweat and sugar and disbelief.

He was pulled from interview to photo op to the podium to parc fermé, and it all blurred together — until he saw her.

Margot.

Wearing a papaya cap too big for her head and an unzipped McLaren jacket draped over her shoulders like she’d stolen it from Lando’s room (because she had). She was standing just past the security line, beside Alex and Charles, caught between grinning and crying and like she didn’t know where to put her hands.

He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

Oscar cut away from the group of engineers, jogged the last few steps toward her, and ducked beneath the barrier like he’d done it a hundred times before. And then—

Then he swept her straight off her feet.

“Oscar!” she squeaked, laughing into the side of his neck.

“I won,” he mumbled into her hair, like she hadn’t noticed. Like the whole world hadn’t noticed.

She wrapped her arms around him tight and pressed her forehead to his cheek. “You really did.”

And when he set her down — gently, slowly, like she was breakable — he didn’t even think about the crowd or the cameras or the dozens of people watching. He just kissed her. A little too eager, a little too long, a little too much teeth and happiness.

When they broke apart, flushed and stunned and absolutely beaming, Lando was there — bouncing on the balls of his feet like a golden retriever in a fireproof race suit.

“Don’t hog our girl, winner!” he yelled, laughing as he flung an arm around both of them. “Jesus Christ, I leave you alone for ten seconds.”

Oscar gave him a lopsided smile. “Not my fault I got there first.”

Lando leaned over Margot’s shoulder to kiss her temple, fingers brushing Oscar’s briefly in the crook of her back — light and private, even in the middle of a public storm.

Margot, still dizzy, whispered, “I thought we were keeping it quiet.”

Oscar’s brows lifted slightly. “Right. So did I.”

Lando grinned. “Oops.”

Behind them, a camera flash went off. And then another. And another. The Netflix crew was already whispering frantically to each other, and Zak was somewhere behind the barrier with his hands in his hair and a full-body sigh.

Margot blinked. “So that’s it? It’s just… out now?”

Oscar shrugged. “They would’ve figured it out eventually.”

Lando nodded. “And now we don’t have to pretend.”

Oscar just smiled again. “I won.”

“You did,” Margot said, heart swelling all over again. “You really did.”

Lando slung his arm more firmly around her waist. “And we’re really proud of you.”

Oscar leaned in and kissed her again — quick this time, but no less certain. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “For being here.”

Margot didn’t say of course. She just held onto both of them, amid the noise and the cameras and the crowd, and smiled like her whole chest might float away.

Because she was here.

And she was theirs.

And they were hers.

No press release could’ve explained it better.

—

Marjorie’s looked different in the off-season.

The air was slower. Softer. Less rush, more routine. The kind of mornings where the croissants flaked just right and the sunlight pooled golden across the pastry case like it had all the time in the world.

Margot stood behind the counter, hair braided and tucked under her scarf, apron tied twice like always — and tried not to laugh.

Because Lando was elbow-deep in flour.

And Oscar was very seriously attempting to refill the sugar jars without spilling (again).

“You’re using the wrong cloth,” she said gently, eyeing Lando as he wiped the espresso machine with what was very obviously the display case rag.

“Babe,” Lando called over his shoulder. “There are four different cloths. That’s too many cloths.”

Oscar, without looking up: “You’ve spilled sugar on every surface. Maybe the amount of cloths she has ready are justified.”

“I’m helping,” Lando insisted, with all the confidence of a man who’d never worked a cash register in his life.

“You’re making it worse,” Margot said fondly.

Still, she passed him the right cloth. He took it with a wink and a smudge of flour across one cheek.

Oscar finished the sugar jars — mostly — and nudged her gently with his shoulder. “He’s trying really hard to impress you.”

“I know,” she said, voice softening as she watched Lando carefully align a row of coffee cups to match the tray edge.

“And you’re not so bad at this,” she added to Oscar.

He blinked. “At sugar?”

“At… helping.”

He ducked his head, a rare smile flickering across his face. “Thanks.”

The door chimed, and a pair of regulars shuffled in, bundled in scarves and already waving. Margot took their order while Lando made a truly heroic effort not to spill espresso grounds everywhere. Oscar handled the pastry boxes like they were car parts — precise and steady — and when the customers left, Margot found them both leaning against the back counter, dusted with powdered sugar.

“This is the best,” Lando said, licking powdered sugar from his thumb. “I love sugar. I love coffee. And I love you guys.” He grinned.

Margot looked between them — her two ridiculous, flour-dusted boyfriends in their unofficial Marjorie’s aprons (Lando had insisted on buying embroidered ones from the market) — and felt her chest pull tight with something like happiness.

Like wholeness.

“You know,” she murmured, brushing sugar off Oscar’s sleeve, “my grandmother used to say the bakery ran better when it was full of love.”

Oscar reached for her hand. Lando took the other.

“Guess we’ve got that covered,” Lando said, mouth tilted into a grin.

Outside, the street was quiet. Inside, Marjorie’s hummed — warm and safe and a little messy, but perfect all the same.

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forthebrokenheartedthings · 2 days ago

Note

Can you write about Bucky getting jealous and the reader pokes fun at him about it?

AN 💌: Thank you for the req, nonnie! 💕 I hope this is what you were looking for.

The Warning

Summary: When a well-meaning SHIELD tech starts flirting with you at the bar, Bucky tries—really tries—to keep his cool. But when you lean in close and touch the guy’s arm just to see how far you can push him, Bucky decides he’s had enough. No warnings, no speeches—just a searing, possessive kiss that leaves no doubt in anyone’s mind exactly who you belong to.

You felt Bucky’s stare before you ever looked up.

It was a tangible thing—like the press of a palm between your shoulder blades, impossible to ignore. You kept your eyes on the SHIELD tech in front of you, but you couldn’t help the little spark of wicked satisfaction that lit your chest.

“…it’s honestly groundbreaking work,” the tech was saying, gesturing with one hand. “I mean, we’ve never seen this level of adaptive targeting.”

“That’s impressive,” you said, voice low, leaning just a little closer.

The tech’s eyes flicked down to your mouth. He swallowed.

Behind him, you could feel Bucky’s attention narrow to a razor’s edge.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you murmured.

The man’s brows shot up, eager. “Sure.”

You smiled sweetly and let your fingers drift down to lightly touch his forearm, watching Bucky out of the corner of your eye. “I don’t understand half of what you’re saying.”

The tech let out a nervous laugh. “Oh—well, I could…explain it? Over coffee?”

Bucky moved then, but not toward you. Not yet. He set his drink down on a nearby table, deliberately. Rolled his shoulders like he was working out a kink in his neck. His eyes stayed locked on where your hand rested on another man’s arm.

You slid your fingers away—slow, deliberate—and finally met Bucky’s gaze head-on.

He didn’t look mad, exactly. He looked…dangerous.

“Coffee,” you repeated, smiling wider. “That’s generous of you.”

“Yeah—if you’re free—”

“She’s not,” came a voice behind the tech, low and final.

The poor man flinched. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Bucky stepped in then, close enough that his arm brushed yours, and gave the tech a look that could have frozen lava. “Move along.”

The technician’s eyes darted from you to Bucky and back. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Move,” Bucky said again, quieter.

The tech didn’t need telling twice. He practically stumbled backward into the crowd.

You tilted your head up at Bucky, trying to look innocent. “You always this polite?”

His jaw ticked. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

He turned fully to face you, blue eyes sweeping over your face. “You know exactly what.”

You pretended to think. “You mean…talking to someone who was being perfectly nice to me?”

“Touching his arm,” Bucky corrected, voice low and rough.

“Hmm.” You stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his chest. “Didn’t realize you were so territorial.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept looking at your mouth like he was considering whether to kiss you or scold you.

You went up on your toes so your lips brushed his ear. “Maybe I did it on purpose.”

That did it.

His hand shot out, curling around the back of your neck. There was no warning, no growled threat, no clever retort—just a swift, possessive pull that crashed his mouth to yours.

The kiss stole every word, every thought from your head. His hand fisted in your hair, angling you exactly where he wanted you as his mouth moved over yours—hungry and certain, like he’d been waiting all night for this. Your hands flattened against his chest, and you felt the solid wall of muscle beneath your palms, the faint hitch in his breath when you kissed him back just as fiercely.

He didn’t stop until your lungs burned. When he finally broke the kiss, he hovered close enough that his lips still brushed yours when he spoke.

“You’re mine.”

Your heart tripped over itself. You swallowed, trying to catch your breath. “That…wasn’t very subtle.”

“Good,” he rasped. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

You felt your mouth curve into a dazed smile. “You know, you could have just said you were jealous.”

His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, smudging the taste of him across your lips. “Didn’t feel like talking.”

And from the stunned hush in the bar around you, it was pretty damn clear no one would be asking you out again anytime soon.

#bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky x you #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #thanks for the ask!#bucky barnes imagine #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader

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callmenigma · 18 hours ago

Text

Places

7+1 places and ways to do it. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ Pairing: Jinu x Fem!Reader Warning: NSFW, Smut, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Quickie, Public, Demon/Human relationship, Praise kink, Rough sex Tags:@bypanana, @heartmew, @healmydesires

The blinking lights outside the photo booth were kitschy and dated, casting flickering pink and blue shadows across the sidewalk. You tugged Jinu’s hand toward it with a grin on your face, your fingers laced tight with his.

“Come on,” you whispered. “I want something stupid and sweet to cry over when you leave me for some immortal demon queen.”

He blinked, halting mid-step. “What?”

You just giggled and yanked him inside.

The curtain closed behind you with a snap.

The space was cramped, barely enough room for both of you, and he sat awkwardly on the narrow bench while you flounced into his lap with zero shame, pressing the start button as the countdown began.

3… 2…

You turned and pouted at the camera dramatically, lower lip stuck out, your expression pure mock sadness.

“Gonna miss you, babe,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “when you’re off being royalty with your demon bride.”

“I wouldn’t,” he muttered—but you were already pouting dramatically at the camera, your lips pushed out, cheeks puffed like you were the most abandoned thing in the universe.

The booth’s light clicked on.

But Jinu wasn’t looking at the camera.

He was looking at you.

At your smile. Your ridiculous pout. The way you joked about him leaving like it was a fairytale twist—but he heard the softness behind it. The ache you tried to bury beneath humor.

And something inside him cracked.

His jaw clenched.

Because how could you not know?

Why would he ever leave the only good thing he’d ever found in all his four centuries?

And that’s when it happened.

The first soft shimmer of lilac lit along his cheekbone—one of his stripes, glowing faintly against his human skin. A betrayal of how stirred up he really was.

You saw it.

And grinned.

Your hand slid down between you, palm curving boldly over the bulge in his pants.

“Well, well,” you purred, eyes dancing. “Worked up already? Must be the thought of that demon queen.”

He growled, low in his throat—but his hips twitched up into your touch anyway.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

Your fingers brushed over the stripe on his jaw, following it delicately, then down to the next glowing line along his throat. You bit your lip, leaning in to press a slow, hungry kiss there before whispering into his skin, “Ah, I love them so much.”

Then your eyes met his—pupils blown wide, breath quick.

You were teasing. But you were feeling it too.

And so was he.

With a rough sound, he pulled you into his lap in one fluid motion, your thighs straddling him now as the cramped photo booth became unbearably small, unbearably hot.

“You’re the only one,” he said, voice rough, mouth just barely brushing yours. “The only one.”

Your breath hitched as he rolled his hips up, grinding against you with intent, his grip tight and possessive.

“Keep teasing me,” he murmured, mouth hot against your cheek, “and I’ll make you come just from my thigh, right here, right now.”

You whined softly, grinding back, already breathless from the pressure and the way he felt under you—hard and hot, his jaw tight with restraint.

“Jinu—”

Another roll of his hips.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “You—only you.”

He kissed you hard—teeth and tongue, a desperate, possessive thing—and his hands gripped your hips tightly, grinding you down over him.

You moaned, gasping into his mouth as your core dragged over the hard muscle of his thigh, your skirt already bunched up, his hands guiding your movement. Every grind sent sparks through your nerves, every roll of your hips chasing friction like it was air.

“You feel that?” he whispered against your lips. “That’s what you do to me. What only you do.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your breath growing shaky, your movements turning ragged.

“J-Jinu—”

“Be good,” he murmured. “Let me feel you. Let go for me, baby.”

And you did.

Right there in his lap, with the booth curtains fluttering slightly from the breeze outside, your face buried in his neck as you came—your body trembling, grinding down onto his thigh, your moans swallowed by his kiss.

He held you close, so close, his own breath shuddering as he kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips again.

And slowly, as your breathing evened out, the sharp glow of his stripes began to fade—dimmed to pale, gentle color, like ink bleeding softly into warm skin.

You curled into him, spent and glowing, still teasing through your smile.

“So,” you whispered, “no demon queens?”

He chuckled, kissing your forehead.

“Just one ridiculous girl who drags me into photo booths and makes me see stars.”

You beamed. “Sounds like a very lucky guy.”

He brushed a clawed thumb over your cheek, eyes warm.

“The luckiest.”

He kissed you again—slower this time.

As the final photo clicked into place, capturing your lips pressed together, your hands in his hair, the afterglow written all over both of you.

Just like you wanted.

Something to remember forever. Even if he was never going anywhere.

The autograph hall was massive—bright, loud, and mind-numbingly routine.

Rows of tables, hundreds of fans cycling through in waves. Flashing cameras. Laughter. Screams muffled behind security lines. The Saja Boys had been there for hours, plastering on charming smiles, signing albums, posters, and phone cases, offering polite conversation in between the orchestrated chaos.

Jinu was holding it together, barely.

Until you showed up.

He didn’t even recognize you at first.

You’d worn a soft hoodie, your hair tucked into a cap, playing the part of a casual fan perfectly. You shuffled forward in line, clutching one of his official portrait photos like any other excited girl, eyes bright and sweet as you reached his side of the table.

“Hi, Jinu,” you said in a small, flirty voice that made something dark flicker behind his warm brown eyes. “Could you… sign this for me?”

He blinked. Then looked down at the photo.

It was his—a close-up shot from a previous concept shoot, looking just a little too intense. He reached for it automatically, pen in hand.

And then he saw it.

In the corner of the picture, written in your tiny, unmistakable handwriting:

Come to the bathroom.

His entire body went still.

You didn’t break character, just gave him an innocent smile, biting your lip like you were nervous. “Please? I’d be so happy…”

He signed it with a flourish—something stupid and generic—and watched you walk off, hips swaying just a little too deliberately under the baggy hoodie.

And for the next half hour?

He was useless.

Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t make eye contact with anyone for more than a second. Every fan sounded like static, every fake smile burned.

And the second the final fan left, and the staff began moving to clean up—

Jinu bolted.

He didn’t say a word to the others. Just slipped off his mic and made his way down the hall, the sound of his own heartbeat pounding like a drum in his ears.

The bathroom was quiet.

Cool, sterile, tiled.

You were already there, waiting, leaning casually against the far stall, looking like you hadn’t just driven him insane in the middle of a public signing event.

“You actually came,” you teased, stepping toward him as he entered and shut the door behind him. “Would you do that for any fan who left you a naughty little note?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you any fan?”

You giggled, stepping close, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a kiss—hot and messy, all tongue and heat and months of tension compressed into one moment.

“Guess not,” you breathed between kisses. “I’m just lucky… to have my favorite idol.”

Before he could answer, you were sinking to your knees, eyes glittering with mischief as you looked up at him.

And fuck.

He watched with hungry disbelief as you reached for his belt, undoing it with practiced fingers, then tugged down his pants just enough to free him.

Already hard. Already aching.

You kissed the tip once—soft, teasing—and he groaned, low in his throat, one hand bracing against the stall wall, the other curling gently into your hair.

“Shit,” he hissed, head tipping back. “You’re really doing this here?”

You giggled against him. “You’re the one who came running.”

Then you took him in.

Slow, warm, wet—your mouth sliding down over him as he hissed and gritted his teeth, fingers tightening in your hair, not pulling, just holding.

“Fuck, baby…” he gasped, eyes fluttering. “That mouth… you’re too good at this.”

Jinu’s head hit the stall wall with a quiet thud.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, his grip tightening slightly in your hair. “Just like that.”

You moaned around him, dragging him deeper, relishing the weight of him on your tongue, the sound of his voice going rough and reverent above you.

“This—” he grunted, hips twitching, “—this is what I needed. My perfect girl… always taking care of me.”

Your pace quickened, your hands firm on his hips as you worked him with practiced devotion, every whimper and groan you pulled from him making your body burn.

You hummed, sending a shiver straight down his spine.

He leaned harder into the wall, thighs trembling slightly as you worked him—your tongue, your lips, your hand curled around the base—goddess-level devotion in every movement.

His breath was ragged now, moans slipping out between clenched teeth, barely contained.

“You’re such a good girl,” he choked out. “My perfect, filthy, sweet girl…”

He didn’t last long.

Couldn’t.

Not with the look in your eyes when you glanced up at him, pupils blown wide, lips red and glossy, your mouth still wrapped around his cock like you were made for this.

His hips jerked once, twice—his breath caught—and then he came, spilling into your mouth with a broken groan, hand gripping your hair like a lifeline.

You swallowed, slow and steady, never looking away.

When he finally opened his eyes again, you were licking your lips, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen, looking up at him like you knew exactly what you’d done.

And you did.

He was the demon.

But you?

You were the sin.

And you’d never looked more divine.

The parking garage was nearly silent at this hour.

Just the low hum of city lights far below and the occasional echo of a car door somewhere in the distance. They’d barely parked—Jinu’s blacked-out luxury SUV tucked into a corner spot beneath the massive skyscraper where the Saja Boys’ penthouse waited at the top.

They were supposed to go upstairs.

Supposed to get out, walk to the elevator, wait like sane people.

But the second you slid over the center console and into his lap, none of that mattered.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, your lips finding his in a kiss that was already too much—heated, open-mouthed, needy. You rocked against him with purpose, hips grinding down over the thick bulge beneath his jeans, your breath catching in your throat at the contact.

Jinu groaned, low and hungry, his hands flying to your waist.

"Baby," he rasped against your mouth, "we’re in a parking garage."

"Mhm," you whispered, trailing kisses down his jaw. "So stop wasting time."

He huffed a laugh, even as his hips jerked up into your center, caught between amusement and arousal. “You’ve got no patience.”

"You love it," you whispered, nipping his bottom lip before kissing him again—deeper.

And gods, he did.

“Couldn’t even wait five minutes, huh?” he teased, voice thick and warm, golden eyes burning in the low light.

“Not my fault you looked at me like that,” you whispered, biting his lip before sucking it between your teeth. “All dark and broody behind the wheel. Kinda hot.”

“Kinda?” he growled, gripping your hips harder, pulling you flush against him. “Baby, I’m always hot.”

You laughed against his mouth, your giggle dissolving into a breathy moan as you rocked your hips again. You could feel how hard he was beneath you—thick, twitching under the denim—and you wanted more. Now.

He groaned against your mouth, “You climbed into my lap like you wanted to get fucked in public,” he growled.

You rocked your hips deliberately, dragging your heat over the thick bulge straining against his jeans, and smirked at the way his breath caught.

“Maybe I do.”

His mouth crashed against yours—hot, claiming. His tongue slid against yours with practiced hunger, fingers already sliding beneath the hem of your tiny skirt.

The air was thick with heat and city silence, broken only by the soft, filthy sounds of kisses and the creak of the seat beneath you.

“Someone could see us,” he murmured, lips tracing down your throat as he pulled your skirt up over your hips.

“You care?” you whispered, already breathless.

He chuckled darkly.

“Not even a little.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, and he groaned when he felt the soaked heat of you through the lace of your panties.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pushing the fabric aside with practiced ease. “You’re already soaked. You’ve been thinking about this since the moment you sat next to me, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, grinding against his fingers. “Just hurry—please—”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

With one hand gripping your ass, he freed himself with the other—his cock thick and flushed, already leaking as he lined himself up beneath you.

“Come on then,” he growled against your lips. “Take me. Show me how desperate you really are.”

You sank down in one slow, perfect slide—both of you gasping as he filled you, stretching you open with heat and pressure and home.

“F-fuck,” you breathed, your forehead resting against his as your hips adjusted, grinding slowly, teasingly. “You’re so deep—always so fucking deep—”

Jinu’s head fell back against the seat, a guttural moan leaving his lips as your walls fluttered around him.

“Gods,” he hissed, head falling back against the seat as his hands clutched your waist. “You feel—fuck, baby.”

You rocked your hips experimentally, adjusting to the stretch, and the sound that left him was filthy—half a growl, half a prayer.

“Keep doing that,” he panted. “Just like that. Let them see you riding your demon like you own me.”

Your eyes fluttered. “I can’t believe we didn’t even make it upstairs…”

“I can,” he growled, snapping his hips once, making you cry out softly. “You’re addicted to me.”

You moaned, body trembling, hips starting to move again—slow at first, then faster, greedier, chasing that thick stretch and the delicious pressure that came with it.

“And you?” you whispered, voice breathless, teasing. “You’re the one who pulled my skirt up before I even sat down.”

His grin was feral. “Because I knew you’d ride me like this.”

He kissed you again, rough and hot, his hands gripping your waist as you bounced gently in his lap, the slap of skin muted by the enclosed space—but not quiet.

And gods, the risk—the recklessness of it—only made it hotter.

You were in his lap, half-naked, windows fogged, skirt bunched up, and you didn’t care who might walk by.

Because right now?

He was inside you.

And that was the only thing that mattered.

You wore the dress just for him.

He knew it the second you stepped out of the car, the deep midnight blue cocktail dress hugging your curves, shimmering just slightly in the low light of the rooftop restaurant. Hair swept up, heels clicking softly on the stone, you looked like every forbidden fantasy he’d never dared speak aloud.

Jinu didn’t say much—just smiled, offered his hand, and kissed your temple like the devil he was, silently burning with want.

He brought you here for a reason.

Because you had bought that dress last week and held it up with a grin and said, “I want to wear this somewhere nice with you.”

So he rented the top floor of an exclusive rooftop restaurant, invited a few of your friends to make it look casual, and requested a private corner table near the panoramic windows—close enough to the skyline that the city lights danced in your eyes, far enough from others that he could do what he wanted.

They sat in a semicircle booth. Your friends filled the air with laughter, half-drunk on cocktails and city glow, lost in stories and catching up.

And beneath the table, out of sight?

Jinu’s hand crept slowly up your leg.

You were so warm under his touch. Your skin soft, thighs bare, the hem of your dress rising just enough as he trailed teasing fingers along the inside of your thigh. He leaned back like he was listening to the conversation—but all his focus was on you.

You shifted slightly beside him, heart thudding in your chest, trying not to squirm as his fingers finally—finally—found the lace of your panties.

He exhaled softly, almost inaudibly.

Gods, he loved lace. Especially when it was damp.

And it was getting wetter by the second.

You turned your head to him, eyes wide, warning him silently, but his hand stayed steady, fingers curling over the lace, stroking gently.

A moment later, he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“No one’s watching,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous. “You’re doing so well. Just keep looking pretty, yeah?”

You bit your bottom lip, hard.

His fingers slipped beneath the lace.

And then—inside.

Slow. Deep. Expert.

You gasped so quietly it barely made a sound—but he felt the way your thighs trembled.

“Shhh,” he breathed, pressing a kiss just behind your ear. “Be a good girl for me. You can take it.”

He moved with maddening care, curling his fingers just right, every motion subtle, hidden beneath the white linen of the tablecloth.

Your friends didn’t notice. They were laughing too loud, cheeks flushed from wine, one already waving toward the exit.

“We’re going for a smoke,” one of them slurred lightly. “Don’t move—be right back.”

Jinu nodded with polite charm, giving a lazy smile. “We’ll be here.”

The moment they stepped away?

He turned to you fully.

His hand still buried between your thighs.

His eyes—glowing, golden, feral.

“Now,” he whispered, biting your earlobe gently. “Let go.”

You whimpered, barely able to breathe, your lips trembling as he fucked you with his fingers, slow but deep, coaxing you higher, chasing every little tremble in your body like a melody only he could hear.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured into your skin. “Being so quiet, even when I know how hard it is.”

You were biting your lip so hard it almost hurt—your hands clenched into the fabric of your dress, thighs tight around his wrist.

“I can feel you clenching already,” he whispered. “So close, aren’t you?”

You nodded—tiny, frantic.

“I want it,” he breathed, kissing your neck, his pace just a little faster. “Give it to me. Right here. Let me feel you come, pretty girl.”

And you did.

Your body tensed, a soft whimper escaping your lips as your thighs shook, your climax hitting hard and fast, rolling through you like molten fire.

You turned your face into his shoulder to stifle the sound—and then kissed him.

Mouth on his, open and hot and desperate, moaning into him as he slowed his fingers, easing you through it, kissing you like he worshipped the way you shattered for him.

“Such a good girl,” When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, eyes glazed. “So perfect. Just for me.”

And he smiled.

Not cocky. Not smug.

Proud.

By the time your friends returned, laughing and loud, you were still flushed and breathless, dress smoothed back over your thighs, a drink in your hand as if nothing had happened.

But Jinu?

He just sat there, smiling like the devil he was, licking the tip of his finger as he leaned back in his seat—completely satisfied.

He shouldn’t have come with you.

There were back-to-back concerts scheduled, interviews lined up, contract meetings with the Saja Boys’ team that had been circled on the calendar for weeks.

But the moment you had turned to him with that soft smile and asked, “Will you come with me to the countryside? Just for a few days?”—he’d known he was going.

No hesitation.

He left his schedule in chaos, his manager nearly combusting from stress.

But he didn’t care.

Because he would’ve given up far more just to see the look on your face when you stepped off the train into clean air and golden sunlight, laughing as the wind swept through your hair.

You’d been glowing since you arrived.

Your grandparents were gentle, sweet people. They didn’t know their granddaughter’s boyfriend was a 400-year-old demon. They didn’t know he’d once watched villages like this burn to ash under moonlight.

All they saw was a quiet, handsome man who looked at you like you’d strung stars across the sky just for him.

Your grandmother immediately took to him—offering seconds and thirds of every dish, fussing over his hair, and smiling every time he so much as looked at you. Your grandfather eyed him for about five minutes before nodding, satisfied, as if deciding this one will do.

“He’s so polite,” your grandmother whispered at one point when you stood to bring more side dishes.

“He never stops looking at you,” your grandfather added with a knowing smirk.

They loved him. And Jinu, in a rare moment of softness, let himself love that feeling back.

After lunch, your grandparents retreated to the shaded terrace, their hands loosely clasped, teacups resting beside them as they murmured old stories to one another, surrounded by birdsong and rustling leaves.

Inside the house, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

You didn’t expect it—his hand on your wrist, gently pulling you from the hallway. A silent look. A heat in his gaze you knew too well.

“Jinu—” you whispered, just as he turned and pressed you against the wall, your back hitting the wood with a gentle thud. “They’re outside,” you hissed, eyes wide, breath catching in your throat.

“And we’re inside,” he said, voice low, his hands already finding the hem of your skirt. “We’ll be quiet, won’t we?”

Before you could protest—or agree—he was kneeling.

Already.

Kneeling between your legs like something sacred. Like this was worship.

Your skirt was pushed up to your waist in one smooth motion, and his hands were already sliding along your thighs, parting them, exposing you.

You gasped softly, biting your knuckles before the sound could escape.

Jinu looked up at you through dark lashes, golden eyes glowing faintly now, hungry and soft all at once.

“Look at you,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your inner thigh. “Shaking already.”

You whimpered, breath shallow, fingers digging into the wall behind you.

And then—his mouth found you.

Hot. Wet. Slow.

You nearly cried out. Your body jerked forward. Only your hand—biting into it, hard—kept you silent.

Your other hand fisted in his hair, holding on for dear life.

And he was relentless.

You bit down on two fingers, eyes squeezed shut, trying so hard not to make a sound. Not when his tongue slid over your clit just right. Not when he groaned at the taste of you. Not when he moaned like you were the meal.

Your thighs trembled, breath caught, hips rocking instinctively into his mouth.

His tongue moved with precision, with intention, licking slow stripes through your folds, lips sealing around your clit, sucking just right—again, and again.

He moaned into you, the vibration making your knees buckle.

One hand held your hip steady, the other curled gently around your thigh. There was nothing rushed, nothing crude. It was adoration. Lust wrapped in devotion.

You were trembling so hard now, your body aching, flushed, your whimpers soft and desperate as you bit your fingers to stay silent.

“Be good,” he murmured against you. “Just a little longer.”

And then he started again—his mouth, his tongue, his worship—until your vision blurred, your thighs shook, and you broke silently in his arms.

You slapped your hand over your mouth, your free hand bracing on the wall behind you, head tilted back as he licked you with slow, reverent strokes. Tongue tracing every sensitive spot, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open and helpless for him.

You bit down on your fingers, trying not to scream.

He moaned into you softly, and the vibration made your knees buckle. You whimpered behind your hand, thighs trembling, heart racing.

And just as the first wave of pleasure hit—sharp, dizzying, overwhelming—you heard it:

“Kids!” your grandmother called sweetly from the terrace. “Come have tea with us!”

Your breath hitched, your body locked up, and you came undone with a muffled sob into your hand, hips jerking as Jinu held you through it, tongue still slow and coaxing as you trembled in his arms.

He pulled back with a low chuckle, lips glistening, eyes full of that warm, wicked pride only he could wear.

You were flushed, breathless, legs barely holding you up, your fingers still in your mouth like you were trying not to die on the spot.

“I—I can’t go out there like this,” you whispered, voice shaking.

“Better pull yourself together, pretty girl,” he murmured in your ear, tucking your hair back gently, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Don’t want to keep halmeoni waiting.”

You were still breathless, heart racing, barely standing—and he just took your hand, cool and calm, like a man who didn’t just bring you to silent ruin while your grandparents sipped tea on the other side of the wall.

Demon, yes. But damn if you weren’t the one completely possessed.

Your grandmother smiled over her tea.

“You two are such a beautiful couple,” she said fondly. “So quiet. So sweet.”

Jinu looked at you with a soft grin, brushing his fingers against yours under the table.

You were still trying not to combust.

You emotionally blackmailed him into this.

And at first, Jinu had grumbled, had rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath while helping you tie the ribbon on your hanbok—but gods, the moment you stepped out of the dressing room in soft, layered silk, glowing under the warm light of the historical district—

He forgot how to speak.

You looked like you’d stepped out of time.

Hair softly done up, your jeogori delicate and pale, skirt flowing like water with each step. A vision.

His vision.

You hadn’t known—couldn’t have known—what it would do to him. That when he was a barefoot, hungry boy in the 1600s, sleeping in back alleys and stealing rice from market stalls, he’d dreamed of this. Of someday, somehow, having a bride in silk. A girl with kind eyes who would smile at him like he mattered.

You were that dream. Brought to life.

And he… gods. You made him feel like the boy he used to be. The one who didn’t know he would grow up to become something unholy.

Now he stood beside you, dressed in his black hanbok—his demon attire repurposed for daylight. A tall, imposing figure in layered robes and the sharp black silhouette of a gat, his face still human, but his posture centuries-old. People on the street stared—but not in fear.

Elderly couples passed and murmured praise.

“You two look like newlyweds,” one old woman beamed, her husband nodding in agreement. “Like something from the Joseon paintings.”

You had laughed, all shy and pleased, tucking your hand tighter into the crook of his arm.

And Jinu… Jinu had swallowed hard and offered a small bow, biting back the heat in his throat.

Because the whole day, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

The way your silk skirt swayed. The little smile you gave him over your shoulder. How damn sweet you looked wrapped in color and tradition. Like something sacred. Something his.

And as the sun dipped low, staining the sky with fire and gold, something in him snapped.

You had just finished adjusting the ribbon of your skirt when you felt it—his hand, suddenly firm on your waist, pulling you back. He said nothing at first. Just guided you, silently, toward a narrow alley between two low tiled buildings where shadows gathered and the crowds thinned.

“J-Jinu?” you murmured, glancing up.

He pressed you back gently, your spine brushing the stone wall first and then your body turning to face it—his tall form immediately crowding behind you. You felt the press of his chest against your back, his breath warm at your ear.

“I’ve been patient all day,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Watching you in this… watching you smile and spin around like you don’t know what it’s doing to me.”

His hand slid slowly over your hip, the layers of silk no barrier to the heat of his palm.

“I used to dream about you,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear now. “When I was a starving boy. I dreamed of a girl in silk. In pale colors. Someone soft and good. Someone who’d look at me like you do.”

You exhaled shakily, your hands curling into the fabric at your sides.

“And now look at you,” he went on, darker now. Hungrier. “Standing here like my dream come true. And do you know what that makes me want to do, pretty girl?”

You couldn’t even answer.

His hand slid lower.

Between the folds.

Under the silk.

His fingers found your heat—and the second he brushed you, he groaned. So wet.

“Fuck.”

You whimpered, already trembling, your head falling back against his shoulder.

“I couldn’t help it,” you whispered. “You in that black hanbok... you look so good, Jinu. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He chuckled—dark, ragged—his lips dragging down the column of your neck.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” he breathed, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, teasing your entrance without giving you what you ached for. “You wore this pretty little outfit and let me take you out like this? All soft and polite and smiling for strangers—while you were dripping for me underneath?”

You whimpered, pressing your hips back against him.

“Needy girl,” he growled, voice like velvet sin. “Always so good for me.”

Then—without warning—he pushed your skirt up, hand tugging your panties aside in one swift move.

You barely had time to brace yourself against the wall before he was there—the thick head of his cock sliding through your slick heat, pressing at your entrance.

“Let me in,” he whispered, one hand curling around your waist, pulling you into him. “Let me have you.”

And then—he thrust.

You gasped, your body jolting forward as he sank in deep, filling you to the hilt in one long, perfect stroke.

“Quiet, baby,” he whispered, his hand clamping gently over your mouth as you moaned. “Let the city sleep while I make you mine.”

And with the sky above them, ancient walls around them, and the girl in silk trembling in his arms—

Jinu made his dream come true.

Over and over again.

The interview was live. National channel. Full studio audience.

The rest of the Saja Boys were perfectly composed—smiles, easy banter, charm dialed up to max. Cameras on. Lights everywhere.

And Jinu?

Jinu was barely holding it together.

The host was laughing, engaged, firing off questions left and right.

But Jinu could barely hear any of it.

He sat with one leg bouncing, jaw tight, mic in hand, smile forced and thin.

Because thirty minutes before they went on air, you had him pinned to the wall of his dressing room, mouth on his, hands slipping beneath his shirt, grinding against him like you knew exactly what it would do. Kissing him deep, messy, slow—then pulling away with a smirk like you hadn’t just left him rock hard and feral with want.

And just when he was about to shove you up onto the counter and make you miss your ride home, someone knocked, loud and sharp.

“Jinu, you're on in two.”

He had pulled back, eyes already flickering, breath ragged, teeth clenched.

Leaving him straining against his pants, breathless with frustration, his thoughts absolutely filthy.

So for the next hour, while he nodded politely, answered questions, and smiled for the cameras, all he could think about was your body. Your mouth. How warm you felt against him. How you looked at him before slipping away like you hadn’t just wrecked his entire brain.

But the second the interview ended?

The second the stage lights dimmed and the audience began to file out?

He was gone.

The door to his dressing room slammed open.

You barely had time to glance up from your phone before he was there—kicking the door shut behind him and locking it with a loud click.

“Jin—?”

You didn’t even get the full word out.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your face and kissing you like he hadn’t seen you in a year—tongue deep, breath hot, groaning into your mouth like he was starved.

You moaned in surprise, fingers fisting in his jacket as he walked you backward—never breaking the kiss—until your thighs hit the edge of the vanity desk.

And then he lifted you.

Set you on the desk like you weighed nothing. His hands immediately went to your waistband, yanking your jeans and panties down in one rough, practiced motion.

“An hour,” he growled, his voice ragged, golden eyes burning like wildfire. “You left me like that for a fucking hour.”

You trembled, thighs twitching at the heat in his words.

“I—I waited here for you,” you whispered.

“I know.” His eyes flicked down, watching as your legs spread for him. “That’s the only reason you’re not on your knees right now. Sitting in here all quiet like a good girl while I sat out there, hard as fuck, smiling for cameras?”

You gasped as he stepped between your thighs, hands gripping your hips—tight. His stare never left your face, not even as he aligned himself and slid in with one brutal thrust.

You cried out, your body arching into his as he bottomed out in one stroke, burying himself in your warmth like he needed it to breathe.

“Fuck—yes,” he hissed, head tipping forward to rest his forehead against yours. “You feel so fucking good—so tight.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails biting into his back as he began to thrust—hard, deep, each movement sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your already trembling body.

“I should ruin you for that,” he muttered, his voice low and dark, lips brushing yours. “Leaving me that worked up—making me sit on national TV while I’m picturing bending you over this desk.”

You whimpered, clinging to him, thighs shaking as he slammed into you again, the desk rattling beneath your back.

“You love it, don’t you?” he growled. “Getting me all worked up. Turning me into this.”

He pulled back enough to look at you—his warm brown eyes now blazing gold, bright and wild.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice like velvet and flame. “Say you love how I lose control for you.”

“I—I love it,” you gasped, voice cracking. “I love how you touch me—I love this—”

He kissed you again, biting your bottom lip before devouring your mouth, his hips snapping hard enough to make you moan into the kiss.

“Good girl,” he growled. “Now hold on. I’m not done with you.”

And gods—he wasn’t.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint violet glow of his markings.

Jinu hovered above you, his breath hot against your lips, skin a deep shade of dusk-blue now that his demon form had fully surfaced. His muscles flexed with every slow, deliberate thrust, glowing lilac stripes curling along his arms, down his ribcage, pulsing with rhythm—matching the desperate beat of your heart.

His golden eyes burned. Not just with lust, but something more—something devoted.

“Look at me,” he whispered, voice low and rasped with restraint. His sharp canines barely grazed your neck before he kissed it softly, reverently. “Yeah… just like that.”

Your eyes fluttered open—half-lidded, dazed—and met his.

That glow. That intensity.

And gods, he was beautiful like this. Wild and dangerous and otherworldly, and yet… yours. His every move, every touch, every word was meant for you alone.

You were beneath him, your body warm and pliant, your fingers tangled deep in his midnight hair as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Your back arched with each slow, perfect thrust, your breath catching as he hit that spot inside you that only he ever reached.

“You feel that, baby?” he murmured, voice low and thick, glowing eyes watching every twitch, every gasp. “How good you take me?”

You nodded, dizzy, whimpering as your hands slid down to grip his shoulders. The muscles under your palms flexed, strong and trembling with restraint.

Jinu lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his tongue tasting your skin between murmurs.

“You make me feel…” His voice cracked slightly, a growl softened by something raw and real. “So fucking human.”

You whimpered as he rocked deeper, your fingers tightening in his hair. His hips rolled into you again, deep, slow, intimate—not chasing a climax, but drinking in every single inch of you.

“You’re so fucking good,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, your temple, his voice vibrating in his chest. “My good girl. Taking me so well. Again and again.”

You whimpered, already spent—your body slick with sweat, your skin tingling from the overstimulation of everything. You’d already come more than once. Maybe three times. You lost count.

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Not when you were this soft, this sensitive, this open beneath him—letting him love you the only way he knew how.

“Do you like it?” he rasped, one hand sliding between your legs to rub slow circles on your already aching clit, watching you writhe. “Yeah? Do you like being my good girl?”

“Y-yeah,” you breathed, eyes rolling back. “So good—feels so good, Jinu—”

He groaned, hips stuttering once as your walls fluttered around him, still gripping him tight like your body didn’t want to let go.

“That’s it,” he growled, kissing you deeply, hungrily. “You’re mine, baby. Mine.”

“So fucking sweet. Let me feel you fall apart, baby. Just one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

You nodded frantically, eyes wide and wet, chest heaving.

“I—I’ll try—”

“You will,” he said, voice thick and gentle now. “I’ve got you. I’ll help you. You just feel me, yeah?”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit, stroking in tight, slow circles in time with his thrusts.

You gasped. Trembled. Clung to him.

And he praised you every second.

“That’s it. Good girl. So pretty when you moan. So perfect when you come for me. You were made for this—made for me.”

Your body tightened, shaking under him, breath stuttering as the pleasure crested again, sharp and overwhelming.

And as it hit, he kissed you—open-mouthed, deep—swallowing your cry as you shattered for him again, your body pulsing, clenching around him like you couldn’t bear to let him go.

He groaned against your lips, hips stuttering, breath catching.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re everything. Mine. All mine.”

And even in the haze of bliss, of tremors and aftershocks and tangled limbs—you smiled against his mouth.

Because you knew it too.

No matter how dark or wild or otherworldly he became—

He was yours.

And you were always his.

And even though you loved when he took you fast—up against walls, in cars, backstage with your moans muffled against his shoulder—nothing compared to this.

To him, in his full form.

Slow. Worshipful. Possessive.

Making love.

It was a drug. And you never wanted to come down.

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evilminji · 3 days ago

Text

I just had another Xanxia Thought Child!

Everyone~☆! Congratulate my baby on being born!

*clap clap clap* (ﾉ ˃ˋᗜˊ˂ )ﾉ🎉🎉🎉

Cause like? Here we are? Assuming our Reincarnated Children AREN'T living in Interesting Times™ before they die? And that's no fun~! We should be giving that kid anxiety! Some pre-packaged heart demons! Maybe a twitchy murder finger!

A deep, DEEP seated loathing for Demonic Cultivators and, specifically, their undead minions.

You picking up what I'm setting down? ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ yeah~, that's right!

Zombie Apocalypse.

OC got lucky, originally, was out in the middle of nowhere, camping. Yes... lucky. Oh so very, very "lucky". She had supplies. She had shelter. Everything she'd need for the coming days. Oh, and a front row seat... to watch as everything fell apart.

Got to sit, miles and miles away, and listen, over the phone. As her family sobbed and screamed. Terrified and confused. Chaos, wet gurgling and ripping. The crunching of broken things and mindless groaning in familiar voices. Yes... so very lucky.

She didn't have to watch it.

Just listen.

See the news stations fall, one by one, as cities were over run. Watch as news sites stop updating. As infrastructure starts to fail and her connection begins to get spotty. Then, inevitably, as figures start to shuffle along the horizon. Mindless and wandering.

Like everyone else who survives those first terrible days, there is a steep learning curve. One she barely survives. But... she does. And that matters. She makes friends. She watchs them die. Keeps her promise, made again and again, that they won't come back. That she won't let them hurt anyone.

Civilization falls, yes. But it comes back. It always has. She finds her way to a city state. Prays for the day that "the billions" will end. Cause, after all, they say that if they're careful? Eventually the infection WILL die out. They just gotta contain it. Keep looking for a cure.

Hope is a stubborn thing.

But zombie swarms don't care about hope. They hunger. And what is the city, if not a shell waiting to be cracked? Like tides, they come. Slamming against the walls. Again. Again. AGAIN.

One day... one of the fuckers finds some weak point they must have missed. A breach. They start pouring in. Oc is on wall duty. OUTER wall duty. There are rings, because things like this might happen and everyone planned for the worst.

She's part of the team that stays behind.

Trapped between the second wall and the outer wall, trying to drive them back. Seal the gap. Cover fire rains from above. Each step, a hair from nashing teeth and clawing hands. There are so many. So, so many.

Too many, in the end. At least for her.

She's separated from the group.

A death sentence.

So fast...she barely feels being torn apart.

It's strange. The sky was so blue that day. Beautiful, really. Felt out of place for hell on earth. It was the last thing she saw. Endless... so beautiful and endless. She... she had just enough time to realize what was about to happen. To think "ah...", feel this strange... calm, settle deep.

That it would finally all be over. To end like this.

How unfair.

Oh well... at least she get to-

Then she's fucking blinking and there's a GOD DAMN ZOMBIE.

Naturally, she hit it with a wok. She was unaware there WAS a wok near-by. And also? Why is she in a kitchen? Like... an OLD as fuck one? But also not old? Clearly used one. Feels vaugly like the ones people rigged up during the early days... but like... not. And also Chinese. Questions for later!

Wait. No. Why the FUCK is she a ZYGOTE?! *flexs tiny "baby" hands* *is actually like 8* Ah... so she's in hell. Well fuck you too, god. I guess.

There is a scared child scream.

Religious crisis later! Zombie smashing now! She finds one trying to claw into a cabinet. Smart kids! Trapped themselves, but still! Smart. Good to put a barrier between themselves and the zombie. She crushes its skull with the wok. Rescues her... sib..lings? Oooh that's a weird head rush.

Okay, not hell. God just thinks they're fuckin FUNNY. I see how it is.

Well I'm about to be hilarious. (New life motto:Get!)

OC proceeds to Experienced Zombie Fighter her way through several houses. Rescuing who she can. Calls a retreat. Gets everyone to a defensible location. Oh joy, back to the swewers. She did NOT miss this.

Turns out? Town is being attacked by a small Demonic Cultivator sect. They brought zombies.

She's about to bring pain. Who the FUCK weaponizes ZOMBIES. Wanna uses nukes for a fist fight next? You idiot!? You ABSOLUTE BAFOON?! Is setting aside that whole "cultivation sect" thing to freak out over later.

(What? Like her neighbors old web novels? Those Xanxia things that he loves to talk about? Misses like crazy cause no one can find any physical copies of stories like that, here in the west?)

(...could...could find.)

OC starts to fuckin Ambush Predator them. You learn to fight dirty, in the apocalypse. Cause there ARE bastards out there. And not everyone was willing to be a decent fuckin human being. You're "cultivation" or whatever isn't gonna do SHIT, if you're too concussion to use it!

Blow to the head! Slit the throat before they recover.

Move on to the next one.

Kill as many fuckin zombies as you can along the way.

It is AS she's doing this? Somebody just sorta? *Yoink* scruffs. This small, filthy, murderous child? Sassy and immediately tries to stab them? Good reflexs! Taking that knife though. It's clearly cursed. Who gave you that? Did you take that from one of the demonic cultivators? Honestly, next time just use a kitchen knife. You don't know where their knives have been!

Blinking, she stops struggling to actually look at the adult holding her in air jail.

Huh. Bright colors. Doesn't seem to be on Team Zombie. Better check. Oi! How do you feel about Zombies? "Utter abominations. A crime against the dead." Oh, hey~! A reasonable and well adjusted adult! Hi~☆! ( ^-^)/"

Is her complete 180 from vicious, seething, hell child to calm and agreeable young lady mildly off putting? Yes. But, meh. The Cultivator thinks it's kinda cute. He bets she bites. Adorable.

Him and HIS team are here to murder the Demonic Cultivators and purge the Zombies. Wanna come with him? You have a talent for killing things. And, you know, a spiritual root. Mostly the first one. A fine quality! Good for ALL sorts of terrible demonic nasties. I'm assuming your parents are dead?

....wow. You're really bad with kids.

So I've been told! Is that a yes?

Only if oc can either bring her siblings or, should they not have spiritual roots, you help her arrange something equally beneficial. And just like? Rest of his team? Find him calmly debating with this filthy, blood covered child? That he's just? Holding directing out in front of him at eye level by the back of her shirt?

She's just hanging there from his grip. He looks quitely thrilled.

Oh... oh no. Who let him around a child? He traumatizes children! Why IS THAT CHILD COVERED IN BLOOD!? Shixiong what have you DONE!? (Adopted! Presumably! This IS how one obtains children, right?) (NO!!!)

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @hdgnj @leftnotright @spidori @lolottes

#minji's writing #Undead Heart Demons Au #xanxia #cultivation #wuxia #zombies #zombie apocolypse au #zombie apocalypse #could be svsss #could be something else #she just has a SEETHING ptsd based trauma hatred for zombies

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everyones-doormat · 2 days ago

Text

BETWEEN VISITS

masterlist | kang sae-byeok x reader

synopsis: you volunteer at the children’s shelter. sae-byeok only drops by for her brother, always keeping her distance. but over time, things slowly begin to change.

genre: angst, fluff

You volunteer at the children’s shelter four days a week. Mostly just arts and crafts, some tutoring, a little cooking when someone forgets to prep dinner. It’s not glamorous or anything, but it helps.

You’d heard from the coordinator that Cheol’s case was special. He escaped from the North, no documentation, no permanent guardian, just a sister. Apparently she’s barely older than a kid herself. Theres no photo of her on file, or intake interview, only a name scribbled at the bottom of a transfer form.

You didn’t expect her to be so beautiful.

—

You learnt her name the usual way, through filed documents, whispered conversations, bits and pieces of staff gossip while restocking paper towels in the supply closet.

“Kang Sae-byeok, she crossed with her brother a few months ago,” another volunteer murmured beside you, handing over another box.

You pause. “How old is she?”

“I’m not sure—nineteen, maybe? She doesn’t talk much, just keeps to herself,” they paused, breathing a small laugh, “Cold as hell,” they froze, looking down, “I mean, understandably.”

You nod, unsure what else to say.

—

You don’t speak to her for the first two weeks. But you always wave when you see her.

Sometimes she watches you hand out juice boxes to the kids.

Sometimes she sits on the stairwell outside the art room door, chewing her thumbnail like she wants to disappear into the wall.

Sometimes she stares straight at you like you’re the one being strange.

She never waves back.

She’s not officially a resident, but Cheol is. He stays in one of the youth dorms while she worked whatever jobs she could find. Maybe delivery or some other kind of late night work.

She came and went like a ghost. She’d come it bringing him food, checking his homework, or just to see him.

She never spoke to the staff.

But you noticed her noticing you.

Every time you walked in, her eyes found you. When the kids begged for storytime, she watched. When one of the girls hugged you and wouldn’t let go, you caught Sae-byeok staring from across the room, her mouth tight like she didn’t know how to process softness when it isn’t transactional.

—

The first time she speaks to you, it’s because she thought you crossed a line.

You’re hauling a box of donated clothes down the hallway when she steps in front of you, blocking your path with the same silent intensity she always carries.

“What did you say to him?”

You blink, confused and a little stunned. “…To Cheol?”

She steps closer, jaw sharp, “He said you asked about our family.”

You frown. “I didn’t—” you pause, “I only asked what he liked drawing.”

She stares at you with hard eyes, like she’s trying to catch you in a lie.

You sigh. “Look, I’m not a caseworker, I just volunteer. Handing out stickers and doing finger paintings, that’s my jurisdiction.”

A long moment passes, her jaw slowly relaxing.

“…Sorry,” she mutters, voice barely audible.

You nod, “It’s okay.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just walks past you after that, her shoulders tight, head down.

—

The next time she speaks to you, it’s a week later. You're on the floor of the common room, helping a group of kids build a crooked cardboard rocket. Cheol’s nearby, frowning hard as he tries to glue the fins on straight.

You’re mid-sentence saying something about being careful, when a shadow moves behind you.

You glance up.

She’s there.

She not looking at you, but watching Cheol. She standing close, close enough that you hear your own breath hitch before you cover it up with a cough.

Cheol doesn’t see her, he’s too focused, his tongue poking out in concentration.

She shifts her weight, her hands in her pockets, still not looking at you. “You’re good with him.”

You tilt your head to face her, “With Cheol?”

She nods once.

“I like him,” you say.

She doesn’t answer, just watches the rocket take shape.

You don’t say anything else, you don’t want to break the moment.

The room is loud—scissors clattering, someone crying over glitter, and too many kids shouting over each other—but the space between you stays quiet.

“Why do you come here?” she asks, blunt, but not suspicious.

You look up again, “To the shelter?”

Another nod..

You think about it for a second, “Because someone should.”

That makes her look at you, she studies your face like she’s trying to figure out if that’s a line or if you actually mean it.

You hold her gaze.

After a few seconds, she looks away again.

She doesn’t say anything else, but she stays until the rocket’s done. And when Cheol turns around, proudly holding it up, she reaches out to adjust the crooked fin for him without saying a word.

When he runs off to show someone, she watches him go.

Without turning your way, she mutters, “thanks.”

You don’t ask what for, you just nod.

—

She doesn’t talk to you again for a while. But something shifts.

She starts to lingering after coming to see Cheol. Not every time, just enough that you start noticing.

Some days she leans against the door. Other days she leans against the windowsill during storytime, pretending not to listen while kids yell out wrong guesses about what comes next.

You keep waving when you see her.

She still doesn’t wave back.

Until one Thursday night, after dinner, when the room is half-empty and the floor is sticky with spilled juice, you feel her watching again.

You’re wiping down a table. You don’t look up until you hear her voice.

“You always clean up by yourself?” her voice is low, even.

You glance over. She’s leaning against the door, sleeves shoved halfway up.

You shrug, “Depends, sometimes Cheol helps. But only if I bribe him with extra dessert.”

Her mouth twitches.

She glances over at her brother, he curled on the floor with marker, drawing what looks like a lopsided rocket.

“He listens to you more than he listens to me.”

You shake your head, “He looks up to you.”

She doesn’t answer, just keeps watching him.

But then she asks, “Do you have siblings?”

You pause, surprised, “Yeah l have one older sister.”

She nods.

You wait a beat, “You?”

Her jaw shifts slightly, “Just Cheol.”

You nod, “Right.”

Deciding the change the subject, you toss cloth into the bin, and lean back against the counter. “You don’t usually stick around this long.”

“I had time.”

After a moment, she glances toward the kids. Cheol is laughing, doubled over with someone’s hoodie tied around his head like a cape.

After a while, she says, “Why do you really come here so much?”

You shrug, “I don’t know, l guess l wanted to help out.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

You wipe your hand on your jeans, “I mean, at first it was just something to do. But… the longer I stayed, the more it felt like I should. Like maybe if I could make this place easier for someone, even for a couple hours, that was enough.”

She doesn’t interrupt, just watches you with that blank expression.

You add, quieter, “The kids make it easy to stay.”

Her gaze drifts back to her brother. “You’re patient with them,” she says.

You smile a little, “They’re easier than adults.”

She hums like she agrees.

After a beat of silence you clear your throat, nodding towards the fridge. “Want to help me bribe your brother?”

She raises a brow, “With what?”

“There’s one muffin left.”

She shakes her head, “He won’t go for just one.”

“He’s eight, he’s easy.”

She starts walking toward the kitchen, but stops, glancing back over her shoulder.

“He’s nine.”

Then she disappears around the corner.

You smile to yourself.

The next time you wave to her in passing, she twitches her fingers in return.

It’s not a full wave, but it’s close enough.

new mini series perhaps??

taglist: @monkey4lifer , @ikalyyy, @bleedingwhiteroses222 , @chaotic-luvrs, @starfire21, @saeshairtie, @katieschry1

#kang sae byeok #sae byeok x reader #kang sae byeok x reader #squid game #kang saebyeok #sae byeok #kang saebyeok x reader #kang sae byeok squid game #squid game fanfic #fanfic #067 x reader #player 067

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cece693 · 2 days ago

Text

LEAVE HER (EVEN THOUGH SHE'S MY SISTER)

pairing: edward cullen x male reader synopsis: your sister was dating Edward, someone who you had a crush on, but the boy was obviously straight. So, as the good brother you were, you avoided him because he was temptation on legs—however, when Bella stupidly lets Jacob kiss her, your emotions get the best of you.

You avoided Edward Cullen like he was a cliff’s edge—beautiful, mysterious, and dangerous to stand too close to. Because being near him was like holding a match to your skin. The longer you lingered, the more it hurt. You weren’t blind. You saw the way people looked at him. Like he stepped out of a dream. But while others were awestruck, you were quietly haunted. Not just by his perfect face, his velvet voice, or the way time seemed to still around him—but because he was with Bella.

Your sister.

And no matter how complicated their relationship was, she was still the one he looked at. Still the one he waited for. So you avoided him. Not out of hate. Out of self-preservation. Because Edward Cullen was temptation on legs, and you were just the idiot brother who fell for the man his sister claimed.

But today? Today, something snapped.

It started with the slam of the front door. Bella stormed in, red-cheeked and bristling with emotion. You looked up from the couch with a frown, ready to ignore her as usual. Then you noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks. And for the first time in weeks, you asked, “What happened?”

She hesitated. Then, avoiding your eyes, she muttered, “Jacob kissed me.”

The world tilted. Your fingers curled into fists. “He what?”

She flinched. “It wasn’t—I didn’t want him to. I told him I love Edward—”

“But you let him?”

“I didn’t let him—”

You stood, breath shallow with fury. “Bella, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Her eyes flashed. “It’s not that big a deal!”

“It is if you care about Edward,” you snapped. “But you don’t, do you? You say you do, but you keep playing this stupid game between the two of them.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she hissed, brushing past you. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know enough,” you growled. “Enough to see that if Jacob thought he could kiss you, it’s because you let him believe he had a chance.”

She didn’t reply. Just stormed up the stairs and slammed her door shut behind her.

Good.

Because the person you really wanted to speak to just arrived.

The front door creaked open again—quieter this time. Edward stepped inside like he didn’t want to be seen, pale and cold and heartbreakingly tense. His eyes met yours, and for once, you didn’t look away. “She told you?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He swallowed thickly. “It wasn’t just the kiss.”

You leaned against the kitchen counter. “What else?”

“She let him hold her hand.” That knocked the breath from your lungs. “Bella said it was just comfort. That she needed someone after the newborn fight, and I was distracted, so she didn't come to me.”

You stared at him. His voice was even, but you saw the cracks. The hairline fractures that had been forming for months.

“Edward,” you said carefully, stepping forward. “You need to leave her.” His eyes snapped to yours, yet you didn’t back down. “Bella doesn’t love you. Not really. Not the way she should. If she did, Jacob wouldn’t exist in your relationship. He’d be a memory. A closed chapter. But he’s not. He’s on every damn page.”

Edward didn’t speak.

“Every time she runs to him, you forgive it,” you continued. “Every time he touches her, you tell yourself it didn’t mean anything. But it does, Edward. It does. Because people don’t let others cross boundaries unless they want them to.” You took a breath, trembling. “Bella keeps both of you because she’s too selfish to choose. And you? You let her. You let her hurt you.”

“Why are you saying all this?” Edward’s voice cracked.

“Because someone should.”

“Bella’s your sister.”

“And she’s not a saint,” you snapped. “We don’t get along. Not really. We haven’t in years. And I’m sick of watching you shatter into pieces over someone who doesn’t even know what the hell she wants.”

Silence stretched between you. Then you added, softer, “You deserve better than that.”

Edward’s expression wavered. “And who, exactly, do you think I deserve?”

Your lips parted—but the words caught. He took a slow step toward you.

You turned your gaze away. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve spent every day for the past year convincing myself I don’t feel what I feel. Because I’ve avoided you, ignored you, tried so damn hard to stay away—but no matter how far I run, you’re still there. In my head. In every room.” Edward didn’t move. You looked up, finally, and met his golden eyes. “I’m in love with you and I hate that I am.”

Edward blinked. A tremor passed through him.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he cut in. “I know you didn’t.”

You stepped back, trying to collect yourself. “Look, forget I said anything. I just—needed you to know that she’s not worth your pain. That’s all.”

You turned to leave.

“Wait.”

His voice stopped you.

You turned halfway. He looked conflicted. Torn. But not angry.

“You think I haven’t noticed you?” Edward asked softly. “All those days you left the room when I walked in. How you won’t meet my eyes. The way you say my name like it hurts.” Your heart stuttered. “I thought it was because you hated me.”

You gave a tired laugh. “No. I just hated myself for loving you.”

Edward took a step closer. Then another. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he whispered. “Everything’s spinning. But when I look at you—it stops.”

You blinked fast, throat tightening. You could feel your pulse thudding in your ears, a drumbeat of everything you weren’t supposed to feel. Everything you’d buried beneath good intentions and distance and guilt.

He was so close now.

So damn close.

“Say something,” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

You did.

“…Can I kiss you?”

The question fell between you like a stone in still water—rippling, quiet, undeniable. Edward didn’t speak. But the look in his eyes shifted. That golden stare, always so unreadable, now burned with something unguarded. Hope. Hunger. Sadness. You didn’t know which was stronger, but none of them looked like no. And when he didn’t pull away, when he didn’t vanish into the shadows like you’d expected him to, you stepped in closer.

“I won’t hurt you,” you whispered. “Not like she does.”

“I know,” he murmured.

And then—then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t perfect.

His lips trembled, uncertain, like he hadn’t kissed someone without guilt in years. Like he wasn’t sure he deserved it. But you kissed him like you meant it—fingers gently curling into his sweater, your other hand brushing up the side of his cool neck, anchoring him to the present, to you.

He melted.

Not instantly. Slowly. Reluctantly. Like a storm easing into stillness. Like someone who had been starved of softness and was learning how to feel again. His hands hovered near your waist before eventually resting there—light, reverent. He kissed you like he was scared you'd vanish the moment he stopped.

And when you finally parted, breathless, you didn’t step away.

Neither did he.

Edward’s forehead rested gently against yours, his eyes still closed like he couldn’t quite believe it. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“But you did.”

A pause. Then: “I’m not sorry,” he admitted.

You exhaled, shaky and relieved. “Good.”

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widowsweet · 3 days ago

Note

could you write something about the winter soldier having a crazy intense and possessive obsession with a Ex-Widow!Reader?? No pressure if u don’t feel comfy tho ❤️❤️

My little Widow

Obsessive!Winter Soldier x Ex-Widow!Reader

Summary: She ran. Changed her name, her life, her country. But no one escapes the Winter Soldier.

WC: 2,3k

Warnings: Obsession, psychological tension, suggestive language, Red Room trauma, stalking, unhealthy dynamics. (16+!)

A/N: Hope you like it!! Thank you for the request! Please forgive any writing mistakes — I admit I’m not that good at writing this kind of stuff LOL. Enjoy the read!

Read while listening to Angel by Massive Attack

He had found her.

It took years—maybe longer than it should have. But he found her.

A house in the middle of nowhere, tucked between low hills and overgrown grass, with a weathered wooden fence and the muffled sounds of chickens in the distance. It looked like a dead place. But he knew. She was here.

He knew.

The Soldier watched from a distance. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe deeply. The body trained to kill remained still beneath the cover of trees, while his eyes tracked her every step across the yard.

She had changed. Older. Hair longer. The lines of her face softer. But the way she moved—quiet, alert, like someone who still expected an attack even while carrying a bucket of water—that, he recognized. That was hers. That was his.

Because he had shaped it.

He remembered.

Not everything. Not with clarity. But he remembered.

The little girl, dark eyes locked on his. The sound of a piano behind the ballet room door. The heavy silence that filled the air whenever she stepped into the training space.

He had trained her. Pulled her arm roughly. Bound her wrists. Threw her to the ground. And in every movement, there had been a strange control—almost involuntary. He hit her, yes, but never like he hit the others. Never enough to break her.

She was different.

She was only his.

Even back then, he knew. Not in words. But in instinct.

She was the only one who never looked away.

The only one who struck back with precision.

The only one who made the blood boil beneath the metal.

And then she ran.

Since then, he had been looking for her. Not under orders. Not on assignment. But because something inside him needed to see her again. To understand if she was still real—or just a memory implanted in his mind, a shadow he could never quite erase.

The night was dense, made of silence and shadows.

No headlights. No voices.

Only the dull chorus of crickets in the dark and the soft rustling of tall grass stirred by the cold wind.

He stood motionless among the trees, boots sunk in wet earth, body fully camouflaged by the night. It took no effort. He was born in silence—shaped to vanish even when present.

His eyes never left her.

She had stepped out of the house minutes ago, wearing a fitted white corset top and a long, flowing skirt that brushed against her boots with every step. The fabric moved with the breeze, soft but heavy. She carried a metal bucket in both hands, the weight of it clinking faintly with each step.

She was probably going to wash the chickens’ feeder—some nighttime routine she kept without realizing she was being watched.

But he saw.

He saw more than that.

He saw the glint.

Clipped to her belt, caught in the dim porch light, there was a familiar flash—silver, sharp, cold. A weapon.

Not hidden. Not ornamental. A part of her.

Always alert.

Always sharp.

She moved with that same contained gait, the weight of the past echoing in her legs, her shoulders, in the way her eyes scanned the corners before she turned them.

Something tightened in his chest.

Not pain.

Something older.

Recognition.

She hadn’t forgotten how to survive.

She hadn’t become some sweet civilian who left her front door unlocked.

She was still the one he remembered. The one who didn’t flinch.

The only one who passed through him… and came out alive.

The wind picked up, and she stopped—lifting her head for just a moment, as if she felt something shift.

He didn’t move.

But for a second, her gaze went straight into the darkness where he stood.

The wind picked up, and for some reason, you stopped.

Lifted your head, like the air itself had changed in density. You stood there, in the middle of the yard, still holding the bucket in your hands, feeling the leather belt at your waist grow heavier than usual. Your eyes narrowed as they locked onto a specific point in the darkness — the kind of shadow that looked too thick, too still. Like something was there. Someone.

But there was no sound.

Just the hum of crickets. The rustling of the grass. And the sound of your own heartbeat pounding harder than it should.

You didn’t think much. You just turned around and headed back toward the house, climbing the wooden steps without making a sound — like stepping through a minefield. The door creaked as you closed it, and for a second, you just stood there, staring at it.

Then you started locking it.

First the main lock. Then the second latch. The horizontal bolt. The lower deadbolt. The one at the top. One by one. It wasn’t paranoia. It was instinct.

The living memory of a place where danger never knocked — it simply walked in.

You turned, crossing the room with silent, precise steps. Your eyes swept across the space like they already knew something was wrong, even if everything looked exactly the same.

The bookshelf in the corner was just as you left it: packed with all the books you read when things got too heavy. When the memories came in waves and you needed words that weren’t the ones shouted at you back in the Red Room.

But behind the shelf… was a different story.

You shoved it aside with your hip, quick, like someone who’d done this a hundred times. The frame slid a few inches to the left, revealing a low opening hidden in the wall. That was where she kept everything. Everything tied to who you really was — or who you never stopped being.

Inside, there was a small, concrete storage room. Cold. Bare. Lined with metal crates and weapons hanging from hooks on the wall.

You scanned them like old friends.

Grabbed the biggest one. The one you’d never used, but always kept clean. The one that made it clear you weren’t here to play house.

Before that, you reached for your waist and pulled out the gun you always carried — the one glinting under the porch light just minutes ago — and placed it down on the small metal counter inside the armory. You needed both hands for what was coming.

You were ready.

Back in the living room, the silence felt different.

More… alive.

The air had weight now. Thickness. And even with every door bolted shut, you could feel it. Feel him the same way she used to back then — long before he’d even enter the training room.

He was here.

Maybe not inside the house.

But close enough for you to know…

You weren’t alone.

The air felt different — heavier, almost electric.

And then, it happened.

A sound.

Sharp. Small. But cutting.

Like the scrape of something across wood.

Maybe a light vase. Maybe a lock deliberately nudged.

Just enough to set her on edge.

Just enough to confirm it.

You knew it was him.

Because he never made noise.

He was a shadow. A blur. A silent ghost.

If something moved, it was because he wanted you to hear it.

Because he knew that you knew.

Your hands tightened around the grip of the gun. Finger already firm on the trigger.

Your eyes — trained and cold — scanned the room like it was hostile territory.

You pointed toward every corner. The narrow hallway. The kitchen door. The living room window. The mirror. Under the stairs.

Cold. Fast. Almost automatic.

You were built for this. Trained to shoot before thinking.

But with him…

With him, it would never be enough.

He could come from the right. From the left. From above. From inside the damn walls.

You would never truly know.

Not with him.

You started stepping backward. Slow, deliberate steps. Gun raised. Focus locked.

Your heart was pounding so loud you swore you could hear it echoing against the walls.

Every breath was measured.

Every muscle in your body coiled tight.

It felt like you was back in the Red Room.

Like that forgotten, buried piece of your past had crossed oceans just to look you in the eyes again.

One more step.

Then another.

And then—

THUD.

Your back hit something.

Hard. Solid. Cold.

Your entire body froze before you could even turn around.

You didn’t need to look to know.

You knew that silence.

That presence.

You knew him.

And the moment that truth settled in your bones, you snapped back into herself.

You turned fast — breath sharp, ragged — eyes blazing and finger ready on the trigger. The gun came up in one swift, practiced motion, aimed directly at his chest.

But he was faster.

Before you could even steady your aim, his vibranium arm shot up, catching the barrel of the weapon with an iron grip.

The metal groaned softly under his fingers, and you stood there — frozen, face-to-face — like two ghosts recognizing each other across a battlefield.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly. You weren’t breathing. You were surviving.

Heart racing, blood roaring in your ears, hands trembling just enough for you to feel it — not out of fear, but disbelief.

He was real.

He was here.

And he hadn’t changed.

His eyes met yours with that same predatory stillness. That same quiet hunger. Cold… but not dead.

Not anymore.

There was something obsessive burning behind his gaze — feral and locked onto you like a target he never forgot.

A target he never let go of.

You couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t move.

And for a split second, neither did he.

Only the tension between you moved — stretching, pulling, suffocating the air between your bodies. You stayed completely still, eyes locked on his, breathing fast and shallow, but never looking away. You were frozen, but not weak.

His hand was still wrapped around your gun, like the metal was a part of him. And then, without a word, he ripped it from your grip with ease and threw it across the room. The sharp sound of it hitting the wall echoed through the house like a warning. You didn’t flinch, but your muscles coiled. Your body tensed as he began walking toward you with firm, heavy steps that made the floor creak beneath him.

He approached like a storm that had taken too long to break, and you stepped back, one measured movement at a time, never faltering. Your eyes never left his. Not once. Not even when he got close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body.

That’s what he always loved about you. You never looked away. Never lowered your head. Never backed down like the others. You never gave him the fear he was trained to crave.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice rough and worn, like words didn’t come easy to him anymore. His eyes scanned your face with restrained hunger, like he had been waiting for this exact moment. “How long I’ve been looking for you.”

One more step from him. One more retreat from you.

“I searched every fucking corner of this world,” he continued, something bitter caught in his throat — like even your silence had betrayed him. “And nothing. No trace. No shadow. Just emptiness.”

He breathed in like the air between you was yours — like he needed it to keep himself going.

“I missed this. Your presence… the sound of your steps… the way you smell.”

And that — that was enough to make your whole body lock up.

Not out of fear. But because of the weight in his voice. The familiarity that hit deeper than you wanted it to.

You said nothing. Didn’t blink. Didn’t give in.

Until your back hit the cold wall of the room, and you realized there was nowhere left to go.

He had finally reached you. He was close enough for you to feel his breath brush against your skin.

Close enough for you to know — with every nerve in your body — that he was no longer a ghost.

He was here. Physical. Present. Obsessed. And he had never, not for a second, stopped wanting you.

He stared at you for a moment, drinking you in like a man starved—like the very sight of you was the first real thing he’d seen in years. Then, without warning, his metal arm snapped up and clamped around your jaw, fingers tightening just enough to tilt your head to the side. Not enough to break. But enough to bruise. Enough to remind you who he was. Who you were.

Your hands shot up instantly, gripping his wrist with both of yours, trying to hold him back. Not resisting fully. Not surrendering either. Just bracing. Reacting. The instinct was still in you, buried under the years but far from gone. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t loosen his grip.

He leaned in, his face inching closer until his nose was buried in your hair. You could feel the cold press of metal burning against your skin, and the contrast of his breath—warm and steady—ghosting along your scalp. He inhaled. Deep. Slow. And then let out a quiet sound from his throat. Low. Guttural. Like it settled something in him. Like it fed something feral.

Then he lowered his head until his lips were just by your ear, not quite touching. Just there. The heat of his mouth enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You’re my little widow…” he whispered, voice low and rough like gravel dragging through smoke. “You’re not running from me again.” His words sank into your skin, heavy and final.

“You’re gonna be my good girl… just like you used to be.”

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starkregret · 19 hours ago

Text

fall asleep to lightning bugs

dad!quinn brainrot

tw: no use of y/n however they are AFAB (use of mama)

waves hit concrete, clash, retreat and repeat. a few lone boats linger on the lake, their lights blinding enough to make you have to cup your hand around your eyes to shield them from the sight

if it bothers the two figures in the lake, they make no indication of it. the smaller figure, a mop of curly brown hair that’s unruly, stands in the knee deep water, the life jacket tight around her neck, her hands cupped as she holds a handful of water-

and the taller figure over her-crouched behind her so he doesn’t tower over her, hair still dripping wet as he stands behind her and carefully picks through her palm, looking at the tiny treasures and any signs of seashells or pretty rocks.

the darkness looms over the horizon, hazy and lazy, threatening to fall any second. mosquitos dance around their feet, zipping in and out, no doubt leaving reminders of their presence to find later

“guys,” you cup your hands over your mouth as you stand, “it’s late-“

“awe,” the small voice pipes up first, a carbon copy of Quinn, “five more minutes, Mama! we’re trying to find a sparkly rock-“

as if she doesn’t already have five from this season alone, like quinn doesn’t take the rocks she gives him very seriously, buried deep in his pockets as he travels, worn now and smooth with age.

quinn says something to her, quieter, and her shoulders slump but she drops the handful of sand back into the water, lets quinn swing her onto his hip as they tread water in.

an hour passes. long enough for her eyes to grow deep with sleep as she threatens to sleep any second.

“Daddy,” her voice says, deep on the brink of sleep, “you promised we were catchin’ fireflies tonight.”

quinn looks at you through the rim of a half gone, half warm beer, questioning you without words, just a raised eyebrow, something the two of you were able to accomplish after many years together.

you two argue without saying anything for a second: it’s late you say, i promised he counters back

“daddy did promise, didn’t he?” you finally say, and quinn and his shadow shoot up at the same time, no longer tired.

you retreat back into the house, gathering up old mason jars from around the kitchen, quinn meets you in there. his arms slip around your hips and rest, his chin on your shoulder as he rocks back and forth slowly. his lips against your ear, voice gentle: “thank you.”

you hum gently back, already lost in the rhythm he has you in: “she missed you.”

“i missed my girls.”

“daddy!” she sticks her head back into the house, “mama! hurry! they’re out.”

“we’re being beckoned.” you tease and quinn sighs gently but pulls away, his hands between your face as he kisses you, hard, on the lips, grabs the mason jars from you and follows you outside.

“oh! behind you, babe!”

standing in the front yard, quinn holds the mason jar as he watches you and his baby chase around the lights that flicker and dance, squealing as they just get away from you, catching one and running to quinn with cupped hands as he kneels and gently slides it into a glowing jar.

“i think we’re almost there, honey.” quinn says gently to his shadow, “maybe one more?”

“help us, daddy!”

he laughs, the mason jar discarded onto the porch steps, she’s on top of his shoulders and his hand tangled in yours as he kisses the back of your hand-

“tell me when you see one.”

there’s loud squealing, and pointing, and many missed attempts (most exaggerated, as quinn hopes those are the memories burned into her mind) before everyone is gathered on the porch, the jar, now filled with grass and a stick and a small army of glowing lights made possible with the holes at the top of the lid.

“we did good.”

quinn is whispering; his baby trying to fall asleep any second, memorized by the lights he promised to put in the flower box outside her bedroom window, a promise she’d be safe, they’d keep watch.

“with her or the fireflies?”

he smirks: “both, obviously.”

and he leans over, grabs your hand and kisses the back of it again before falling into a comfortable silence with his two favorite girls again.

#mags writes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes ff #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes

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eternallyordinary · 3 days ago

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“The Exception” - Part 4

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋⁺˚⋆｡

Summary: The air changed, your skin knew, and deep down, some part of you already understood: nothing would ever be the same.

Warnings: violence, death, kidnapping, power imbalance, possessiveness, manipulation, emotional tension, stalking, implied violence, murder planning, toxic relationship dynamics, yandere

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋⁺˚⋆｡

Something’s changed.

You feel it like pressure behind your eyes. The moment before the storm.

The air’s too still, the room feels too wide. Or maybe you just feel too small.

You sit cross-legged on your bunk, same metal tray on your lap. Same white rice in a discolored bowl. Same cracked cup of lukewarm tea. Same bottle of whole milk.

You glance around at the others. Everyone is hunched and exhausted. No one seems to notice anything different.

Are you just overthinking?

Wouldn’t be the first time.

You’ve been overthinking since you were literally five years old.

Since you asked your grandma if the sun would explode and she said, “Not for billions of years,” and you spent two weeks checking the sky every five minutes just in case she was wrong.

Since you used to flip the light switch on and off until it felt “right.” Since you counted your steps in fours. Since you had to tap both sides of a doorway evenly or else something awful would happen—but you never knew what. Just that it would. Definitely. Certainly. Absolutely.

Your brain doesn’t stop. It never has.

It chews through every silence. Every glance. Every unfinished sentence. Every second someone takes too long to respond.

It makes patterns out of nothing and danger out of patterns.

And now?

Now you’re in a place where real things are dangerous. Where people actually do die if they make the wrong move. Where guards with guns don’t blink before pulling the trigger.

So how are you supposed to know what’s real?

What’s fear, and what’s instinct?

You press your fingers against your temple, trying to ground yourself.

Maybe nothing’s wrong.

Well, besides the obvious.

Maybe you’re just spiraling again.

Constantly building catastrophes in your head. Spinning one second of stillness into the end of the world.

You rub your arms, suddenly freezing.

“Eat,” a guard snaps from the wall.

You flinch. Pick up your spoon. You don’t taste the food, you just chew.

You keep your eyes down, but your mind is sprinting.

Overthinking. Please just be overthinking.

God, you’d give anything to be wrong about this. To be the girl who’s just thinking too much.

Fuck.

This is all your fault.

That voice in your head? It’s not the kind that screams. It whispers. Cold and certain.

You should’ve known better.

You should’ve stopped daydreaming years ago. Should’ve stopped thinking you were special. That maybe you were meant for something different—something better than what you were given.

You always had your head in the clouds. Pretending. Escaping. Telling yourself that if you played your cards right, life would finally stop hurting. That if you kept fantasizing hard enough, kept making yourself small enough, kind enough, sweet enough—something would change.

You hoped someday, you’d wake up in a softer world.

But no one ever tells you how dangerous daydreams can be when you grow up in the wrong place.

Not something they teach you in school.

People can smell it on you—the desperation, the hope, the willingness to believe in something nicer. Something better.

How easy it is to mistake an opportunity for a miracle.

And how simple it is for people to take advantage of you.

You’re the kind of girl who wants to believe people are good, even when they’re not. You mistake charm for kindness, confidence for safety.

You think too long before saying no, hesitating when you should run.

Too polite. Too lonely. Too desperate for something that felt like a way out.

You thought you were being offered a role. A chance. A job that could finally turn things around.

You wanted so badly to believe someone saw you. Noticed you. Chose you.

And, fuck, they chose you alright. But not for the reasons you prayed for.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. Taste blood. It helps.

You wrap your arms around yourself and look at your hands as they tremble.

You should’ve known.

No.

No, you’re not doing this.

You’re not going to lose yourself. You can’t.

That’s how you die.

A hand suddenly brushes your shoulder, making you flinch so hard your tray clatters.

Before you can move, fingers close around your arm—firm, gloved, quiet.

“Come with me,” the guard murmurs under his breath, barely moving his helmet. His voice is low. Controlled. Like he’s trying not to make a scene.

Too late.

“Eh?” a voice behind you barks out.

You already know who it is.

That douchebag Thanos.

Is that even his real name?

He’s built like a wall and acts like a god. No one’s corrected him. No one dares.

He leans forward from his bench, smirking like it’s funny. “Ohhh… American girl,” he says, loud enough for half the room to hear. “What did you do?”

Nam-Gyu snorts, mouth full of food. “Probably tried to bribe them with her pretty eyes.”

You stiffen under the guard’s grip. “I didn’t do anything,” you whisper, but your voice cracks, betraying you.

The cafeteria buzzes louder now. A few players stop eating. Others start whispering.

Your heartbeat spikes like a grenade under your ribs.

Don’t panic.

Don’t show fear.

But your chest tightens. Breath shortens. You can’t pull enough air in if you tried.

“Are you okay? Hey, what are you doing to the girl?!” a voice calls out. He’s hesitant, but strong enough to be heard.

You turn to see Player 456 stepping forward. His brows are knit, expression uncertain, but he’s watching you. Watching the way your hands shake.

His English is rough, but he tries.

The other guards move.

One raises his rifle—

BANG.

The shot blasts through the air, shattering the tension into chaos.

Screams. Shouts. Trays crashing.

“BACK TO THE BUNKS!” the lead guard bellows. “Anyone out of line will be eliminated.”

People scramble. Thanos mutters something under his breath but sits back down. Nam-Gyu glares but follows. Even 456 backs away, jaw clenched, eyes still locked on you.

One last look.

Then he disappears behind the crowd.

And you?

You’re being dragged toward the door.

Your legs are jelly. Your pulse is screaming. You don’t know what you did. You don’t know what’s happening.

The doors open and close with a hiss.

Silence.

Just cold, sterile air.

And then—

A man steps forward.

Not a guard.

No red suit. No mask.

He’s tall, handsome. He’s wearing a sharp black suit like he just walked off the cover of a magazine.

He reaches up slow, deliberate. Fingers curl under the edge of his black mask and he pulls it off.

He’s beautiful.

Unsettlingly so.

Dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, lips soft but dangerous. There’s a quiet elegance to him. Like someone born into power and perfectly at home in it.

But it’s not just the way he looks…

It’s the way he looks at you.

He sees you.

Really sees you.

And the strangest part?

You haven’t even spoken a word.

No name. No reason. Just silence.

But his gaze still undoes something in you.

He steps in closer. You stay still.

His hand reaches for your face slowly, like he’s trying not to startle a wild animal. His palm brushes your cheek, warm and steady.

He watches your reaction with quiet interest, like he’s cataloging how you flinch. How your breath stutters when his thumb grazes the corner of your mouth.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs. “You’ve been running on fear for so long, you don’t even know when you’re safe.”

His fingers trail into your hair, gathering a lock and twisting it around his knuckle like he’s done it before. Like he’s thought about doing this a lot.

“Don’t fight it,” he says, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “There’s nothing out there for you anymore.”

He brushes his thumb across your lips once before sliding the pad of his finger into your mouth. Not forcefully. Not fast. Just enough to feel the warmth of your tongue.

Your lips part on instinct, eyes growing wider.

Fuck, those innocent eyes.

He watches you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like this is his right.

“You’ll understand soon,” he whispers.

Then, with one final pass of his fingers down your jaw, he exhales like a decision’s been made.

“You need rest.”

Your stomach twists. “What—?”

He lifts his hand. There’s something between his fingers. Sleek. Metallic. A syringe.

“No—wait—”

But it’s already happening.

His arm wraps around your waist, and he’s surprisingly gentle as he pulls you against his chest.

You struggle, panic flashing white-hot in your head, but he holds you still with terrifying ease.

“Shhh,” he breathes against your ear. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You barely feel the needle pierce your skin.

Just the warmth spreading.

The numbness.

Your knees buckle.

Your last glimpse before the world tilts is his face. Still calm, still watching—like this is exactly how he wanted it to go.

And right before everything fades, you hear him whisper:

“Already such a good girl.”

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋⁺˚⋆｡

PART 5

tag list: @dalunaa420

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iznyangwoni · 2 days ago

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DEMON HUNTERS | enhypen smau !

chapter two

“Looking for something?” That voice startles you. It’s not deep or low or scary in any way, its almost sweet coming from a man. You turn around, finally meeting the owner of that voice and you can feel your heart drop. You know well that demons can shapeshift, that’s how they get you most of the times, but there’s always a way to tell they’re not human. By simply looking at this man, you cannot find a single thing wrong.

“Show yourself.” Your voice comes out way colder and harsher than expected, trembling, even. “I am showing myself.” The demon takes a step towards you and before you know it your weapon is already in your hands, shining and ready to use. “Your real self.” He smiles, dimples forming on his face. He’s handsome, well, no. He manage to shapeshift into a handsome man. Taller than you, with broad shoulders and big brown eyes. No wonder they’re up the charts if they’re all so good at acting like humans.

“Ah, I see. I guess you got some misconceptions about us demons.” As he says that, the purple patterns start to appear on his fair skin, he becomes paler than before, but not unnaturally so. Your brows furrow, your grip on the sword getting tighter, you’re not up for games tonight. “What? You thought i’d turn into a small little red devil?” His laugh is sort of creepy but still incredibly human-like. You dont like that one bit.

A bunch of stupid questions come up to your head. Why are they here? Its obviously so that they can steal souls for gwi-ma, that’s their goal. They’re using our method to steal the souls instead of using them to strengthen the honmoon, and its making you furious. You end up standing there for a few seconds without saying a thing, your mind connecting all the dots little by little. So much that you don’t instantly notice how the demon went to attack.

His nails scratch your shoulder, he was too fast for you even if you hadn’t been distracted. He just laughs again and this time its your turn to attack, the sword is light enough for you to move it easily even in the narrow hallway. “Your plan has too many flaws in it.” You start, the sword clashing with either the wall or his nails, he’s annoying, that’s for sure. “You can’t win this, just like all the other demons who tried couldn’t.” Before he can run away once again, you throw your sword at him. It hits the wall, but also his shirt, trapping him right where you need him.

Your hands reaches for the sword so that he can’t escape. Even when pinned against the wall he’s smirking viciously. “But i’m not like the other demons.” His eyes shine gold, taking a quick look at you. In response your sword just comes closer to his neck. “I’m so much worse.” That’s it, you take the weapon out of the wall, that single second should be enough for you to stab him and have this be done before it too late, but then you hear someone else.

“Jungwon!” Both you and the demon look on your left, and immediately you feel like an idiot. Its the other DMS calling him, or at least what you think is his fake human name. That distraction ends up being your failure, as he pushes you away and teleports right next to the others. Great, now you’re stuck in this dark hallway with seven demons in front of you.

That is until an arrow comes from behind you, you dont need to turn around to know that Rei and Liz are here. Before the arrow can hit one of them it gets stopped. Another demon, taller than the “jungwon” one, his big eyes and soft features remind you of a deer almost. “Calm down, calm down ladies, Jungwon just wanted to say hi to your sweet leader.” He says.

A gulp is stuck to your throat, the fact that these aren’t just normal demons is obvious by now, but it still freaks you out. “We just met each other, let’s leave a fight for the next time.” Another one in the back is talking, you can’t clearly tell who, the two on the front, Jungwon and the Deer looking one, are still making your back shiver in something that you don’t want to call fear.

Liz takes a step closer to you, summoning her own weapon. You stop her and Rei before thing get ugly. “Let’s just go for now.” “What? But they’re right here!” You understand Liz’s protest, you wish you could just slay them right here and in this moment, but right now you don’t know what to expect from them and the last thing you want is to put your friends in danger. “I said let’s go.”

PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

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igotanidea · 1 day ago

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Take care of her : Dick Grayson x reader x Bruce Wayne

Aka: the one in which Dick leaves Y/N at the manor for the time of his "mission" and never learns what happened in Gotham.

***

„Seriously Bruce, it’s just for a couple of days-„

„No.”

„Come on! Please, B, I don’t want to-“

“I said no, Dick. It doesn’t matter how many times you’re going to keep repeating the same sentence, the answer is not about to change.”

“But WHY?”

Dick sighed in exasperation, running fingers through his already messed up hair, surreptitiously watching his girlfriend in the other room.

“Because – “

“I can’t leave her alone.” Dick tried to reason with his father

“Can’t or won’t?

“Same thing! Look, B. she’s a doctor. She’s suffering from anxiety and – “

“Not a good trait for someone with said profession, is it?” Bruce half-mocked.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Dick disconnected and threw the phone onto the bed with a flat thud.

“I take it didn’t go well?” her soft, yet laced with tease voice echoed somewhere behind him.

“Yeah, wonder what gave you that impression, Y/n/n.”

“Well, the yelling and fawning – “

“I am not fawning!”

“- and the I’m-so-mad-I’m-gonna-destroy-my-phone attitude was a bit of a giveaway.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Dick rolled his eyes “Laugh at your loving boyfriend who’s trying to make sure you’re safe and taken care of while I’m away.”

“I’m not five years old Dick, I know how to – hey!” She protested blindly, trying to fight him when he pulled her hoodie over her head to disturb her train of thoughts and stop the talking. “Dick! Let me -stop it – I mean it - !”

“You stop fighting me!” he opposed, now not only holding her hoodie over her eyes but also wrapping her in an iron grip, so she couldn’t escape. “You gonna be a good girl?”

“No!” she struggled again.

“Y/N!”

“Let me - !”

“No. Look at me.” His fingers found a way to her chin, forcing it up so she would meet his eyes.

“Hi…” she whispered.

“Hi…”

“You could always not go?” she suggested weakly, looking at him with sad, vulnerable expression.

Expression that would otherwise charm him, but this was a different situation.

“You know I have to go.”

“Yeah…”

“It’s just a couple days though – “

“Yeah, you’ve said that.”

“Hey, it’s not like I like being away from you.” He brushed hair out of her face and kissed her forehead softly. “That’s why I’m taking you to Bruce. So you won’t have to be alone and scared.”

“I am not scared. And Bruce said –”

“Honestly, I don’t care what Bruce said. You’re my top priority and I will make sure you’re taken care of. Grab your bag. Pack your things. I’ll see in the car in fifteen minutes-“

***

“Dick.”

“Hi, Bruce.” Dick’s smile could literally light up half of the Gotham and yet, it did nothing to make the senior Wayne lose the frown and wipe the grumpy cat expression from his face. He was holding Y/N;s hand tightly in soft reassurance that the big scary bat was not exactly as big and scary as it seemed on the first glance. Regardless, even that tender action did nothing to calm her nerves. In fact, it wouldn’t calm anyone’s nerves as poor girl felt like an unannounced and unwanted lamb walking into the wolf’s den. Not even good enough to eat, just a burden and a problem.

If only she knew back then.

“This is Y/N.” Dick tugged at her hand to make her step forward.

“Um. Hey, Mr. Wayne.” For god’s sake, she really didn’t want to be there and the judgmental, piercing eyes scanning her face and figure was not helping.

“Hm.”

“See. Told you he’s got a whole arsenal of grunts on his disposal. You won’t even have to talk to much. There; s this big library, you can just grab a book and read till I’m back—”

“Seriously, Richard? You’re pulling a beaty and a beast on me? Do you realize that Belle had a Stockholm syndrome? That’s what you wish for me?”

Bruce smirked. The girl was feisty. Reminding him of someone.

Dick smirked as well but for entirely different reason. The Y/N he knew was back. The tease, the debater, the ball of energy. For what he knew, she’d drive Bruce crazy and that might have been just another bonus of bringing her to the Wayne Manor.

“Master Richard. Miss Y/N. Please. Do not stand on the steps. Come inside. The dinner will be served soon.”

“Actually I have to go before-“

“Nonsense.” With a surprising strength for an elderly butler, Alfred pulled Y/N and Dick inside, not willing to listen to any of the words of protest, which he knew were just false pretenses. None of the Wayne kids had ever denying eating his dinner and surely it was not going to change on that night.

***

“So this is where you grew up.” She muttered, when after dinner, they moved to his old room.

“Yep.” Dick bounced on the bed, putting hands behind his head and watching her carefully as she took turns in the place, observing the books, furniture, a collection of gymnastic trophies and even running fingers over the flying Graysons poster on the wall. For some reason, a wave of warmth spread in his chest when she brushed the cheek of his younger, paper, self. “You gonna do a walk down memory lane now? And quite literally, may I add?”

“Don’t blame me! It’s the first time I’m here, an opportunity of a lifetime to check out whether my boyfriend is actually a sociopath.”

“You know that; s not true.”

“Ah!” she thew an old plushie elephant at him “Any psychopath would say that..”

“I’ll plead guilty any time you want, just don’t throw Manny at me!” Dick swiftly caught the toy, holding him to his chest.”

“You named him after –”

“It’s a precious cargo, Y/N!”

“It looks like you hadn’t paid him much attention in years!”

“Not a valid reason.”

“Well okay – “ she shrugged, continuing her little exploration, trying to not laugh too much at the sight of her adult boyfriend with a tiny blue animal. It was as touching as concerning.

“Y/n…..”

“Hm?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning….” He reminded, but his tone was less playful, deeper and more enticing. “And I’ll be gone for days….”

“just a couple days¸ per your words.” She spun around, leaning over the door, locking them with a sly precision, knowing he’ll take the bait.

“Aren’t you going to miss me?” he smirked, standing up and walking to her, cutting any way out not that she wanted it.

“Depends.”

“On what exactly?” he leaned forward, brushing lips over hers.

“You going to give me something to miss or – “

***

The first thing she did next morning after Dick’s departure was asking Alfred the direction to the laundry room with beetroot-red face.

Thankfully, Alfred was merciful and decided not to tease the poor soul, mostly because he was awfully aware of Dick’s skills, having lived with the guy for most of the former’s life.

But it was also something that wasn’t about to be mentioned in the conversation.

Instead, Y/N was handed a bit of the detergents, a new batch of sheets and a reassuring smile, something that she was about to be eternally grateful for.

***

Over the course of the next few days it turned out that Bruce was truly not a bloodthirsty bat with a vendetta against anyone who dared to disturb his peace. Quite the opposite, in fact. While he and Dick may have not been blood related, there was an undeniable resemblance in some of their actions and a definite alikeness in the charm.

Only that Bruce was more discreet in his, not flashing a bright smile left and right and not trying to steal attention.

Around him, it kind of just – happened.

He had this confident, fulfilled, grown man aura. Something that seemed to capture the interest of people around him.

A cold politeness, that veiled the hidden depth and mystery that only awaited to be uncovered.

Lack of obnoxiousness, so common and almost cliched, amongst the men with the alpha gene.

He wasn’t trying. He just was that. To the core.

And Y/N was caught up, almost like a metaphorical moth to the flame.

***

It was late and they were both adults.

But the wine tasted so good, and the fire in the fireplace was so nice and comforting…

She was smart and knew where it was heading. And how wrong it was. And that Dick was her boyfriend, whom she loved very much and –

Any rational thought left her brain the second Bruce grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, kissing deeply, with purpose.

Oh dear gods on earth and heaven, the way he kissed.

No hesitation in his movement, not a single moment to pause, to give her space, to allow her to pull back. No, because he already knew she wanted it too. Dominating her in the best way without making her feel overwhelmed.

Gods…

He just knew how to touch, how to undo her buttons to make her shiver and tremble and to give herself to him completely.

It was almost like he knew her body better than she did.

Her knees got weak when he laid her in front of that stupid cracking, hot fireplace that had nothing on the heat building between them.

It wasn’t like Bruce was some sort of sick pervert, seducing her and doing anything against her will.

And it definitely wasn’t like she planned cheating on Dick with his freaking father!

But she was just a woman and he was just a man, even if twice her age and even if he could be her –

“Daddy!” a desperate, needy mewl left her lips, revealing the dirty thoughts in the back of her head.

Bruce eyes flashed dangerously in the fire as he looked up from her chest and a predatory smirk appeared on his face. He liked that. Oh, he liked that so very much, letting the feeling out in the form of his lips moving down her body, biting on the nipple through the thin material of her simple white bra. No fancy lingerie, nothing sexy and yet he was red and hard like a fucking brick.

“Say It again…” that deep voice of his left zero place for discussion.

“Daddy…” she arched of the Persian carpet, existing only in this moment of pleasure, focused solely on the thing she knew Bruce was going to do to her body.

And being excited about it.

“Yes.” He muttered, slowly, methodically, removing the remnants of her clothes. Only when she laid bare and panting heavily he felt satisfied.

“Do you realize now?” he whispered in his ear, biting her neck, hard enough to make her moan, but not hard enough to leave marks for anyone to see.

“What--?”

“Why I didn’t want you to come here.” The explanation died in the string of her gasps as those skillful fingers found and explored points of ecstasy on her body she never knew existed.

“Bruce!”

“Yes, my little Y/N. Say my name… Keep saying my name like that.”

“I – I want – “ her hands trembled as she reached upwards, hoping to get a hold of him, to feel those muscles, to have him, to – oh!

More than his fingers.

So much more than his fingers.

They didn’t even make it to the bed….

“I’ve wanted you since the second you walked through that door.” He grunted pushing into her, hitting all the right spots.

Her legs locked on his waist, her hands grabbed his neck hard enough to choke, her entire form shaking and if it wasn’t for his grip on her waist, his lips on hers and that delicious weight pressing her into the floor her soul would left the body.

Bruce Wayne. Batman.

She was fucking with the Batman, but most importantly, she was fucking with a man.Not a boy. A man, who put her pleasure first, but somehow being able to draw his own from hers. Grabbing her ass, pulling it up, changing the pace and angle, shocking and taking her by surprise. And doing it all with a plan in the back of his head. Definitely having learnt females needs through and through.

It felt like it was going for hours.

Damn, it felt like it was going for fucking days!

Up and down, back and forth, without the need to stop. For the first time in her life, Y/N was so greedy, so demanding and feeling like a goddess.

He made her feel like a goddess.

A sexual, untamed being with the power to bring the king of Gotham to his knees, to make him worship her with every little trick in the book and then more.

Power. She had the power and finally, fucking finally, she understood the enormity of emotions that a woman could derive from sex.

Having a man in the palm of his hand.

Pleasure. Of giving and taking, of wanting a bit of pain mixed with it, of enduring the slight discomfort only to soar in the sky in the end.

Sexuality. Learning her body with every caress, with his every move, every thrust, every dirty word grunted in her ear.

Wetness.

Ecstasy.

Release.

Fulfilment.

And that deep, silky voice, whispering praise of being a good girl for daddy.

***

“So good…”

“Hm.”

Somehow, at some point in the tryst, they actually did end up in his king sized bed and she was gifted with the most tender aftercare.

Bruce wrapped hands around her stomach, spooning her from behind, occasionally kissing the back of her neck and shoulder, breathing in her scent, caressing her skin.

It was good.

And for what it was worth it, Bruce was glad she could give her this one night of unbridled pleasure and show her the piece of world she could have should she chose him.

But she was still Dick’s girlfriend.

***

Dick was back next morning, longing for his loving girlfriend.

Taking her home without speaking barely a few words to Alfred, and uttering thanks to Bruce for keeping an eye on her.

He was never going to learn the underlying meaning of that word.

#nightwing x reader #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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cigsaftsx · 5 hours ago

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CAT & MOUSE PART TWO

namgyu x f!reader

part one

warnings: 18+, drug use, inappropriate dialogue, degrading, sexual themes, dry humping, knife play (kinda?), mentions of blood, strong themes, violence, d3ath.

…

Vertigo. That’s the only word you could use to explain this sensation. But a good vertigo. You almost felt like the halls were rotating as you paced down the paths of the maze. Blending you up - a pleasurable miss-use. The drug had given you an immunity.

Ignorance.

A complete dispel of the weight of your situation.

So strong that you could completely ignore the nausea that brewed in your stomach from the drugs effects. You still knew that momentarily you’d run into a red - that your luck would ware. You also were still aware that you’d have to fight bare handed. But your knew confidence had you practically open armed toward it.

You hum softly. Not too loud, because you’re not that stupid. Just enough to blindly entertain your senses that called out for stimulation. Apart of you thinks about finding Namgyu. Just to play the game. Make him chase you.

Your eyes lift heavily to the ceiling in that thought. But a nearby scream pulls you out of it.

The scream lasts — then a stab.

and silence.

It was close enough to stop you in your tracks. Your pumps skidding to a halt against the rough flooring.

You stay like that for a minute. Almost as though your current high was being yanked into a horrible direction.

You let out a breath.

Then the sound of distant voices comes, and their nearing footsteps.

The sudden change of feeling was enough to scurry yourself against the nearest door. Shoving your body against it. You’re too busy looking ahead for reds to look down at your key as you try jamming your circle shape into a triangle lock.

“ - fuck. “ You splutter as you give in. Pushing yourself off the door and stepping backward. You keep your eyes pinned ahead to the direction of the voices - yet they’re too far to make out who they are. But their proximity is enough to humble you - to almost bring you back to reality, despite you still being sky high.

You only puff out of your lips as breaths push through. Eyes blown wide.

And you quicken your steps backward. Too stoned but not stoned enough to accept death. You weren’t ready. You pull up your balled fists as if to protect yourself and drop them a second later, already lazy.

“C’mon.”

You mutter, breathless, once again bringing limp fists back up - your sleeves rolled down to you elbows. Your mind way too driven by faux courage, by drug induced mentality - nothing it could trust or rely on.

And suddenly, way down the hall, still a distance from you - you watch Namgyu dance around the corner, Myung-gi following behind.

Your hands drop to your side.

Shit.

Namgyu’s doing a Charleston-like dance as he walks - humming to Player 333, who looks less amused. And he spots you first.

You can’t even move as you watch Myung-gi swat Namgyu’s shoulder, his chin lifting to point in your direction. Namgyu’s head turns in your direction, and you feel your blood run ice when his expression goes from boredom to a sadistic - like excitement.

You don’t move.

Neither do they.

You’re a deer caught in headlights.

An excitement had first aroused you when you saw him - but his chilling change of expression suddenly reminded you how you had humiliated him in the waiting hall. How you had hummed and sucked around his index. Slathering it. Taking it back.

All the while taking his drugs.

An impending sense of doom shivered against the back of your neck - and a twitch in your leg muscles told you to run. Yet - you couldn’t move, too afraid that if you moved an inch, Namgyu would be trailing you not far behind.

“Mg Coin.” Namgyu says, turning his head to him although he keeps his sight trained on you.

Myung-gi looks at him.

“This bitch is mine.”

And Myung-gi can only frown slightly. Not that he cared. The pair had already passed anyway. They were simply taking care of loose ends now.

“Meaning?” Myung-gi replies.

“Meaning, fuck off.” Namgyu says, grappling his collar and pushing him away bitterly.

“You - fucking loser.”

It was as though the sight of you had drew his complete attention to you - and off Myung-gi. As if he had been faking have fun with him the entire time.

The two didn’t need each other anyway - and it was apparent that Namgyu didn’t want Myung-gi anywhere near you. Nor any other red.

You were his.

He intended to help you realise that.

Myung-gi fixed his collar that Namgyu had fisted as he backed up - sparing you one glance before turning away.

“Junkie asshole.” Is all Myung-gi mutters as he leaves, but it was loud enough to catch Namgyu’s attention as he looks toward him.

And looks away from you.

And that’s when you take your chance.

You don’t even realise how quick your instincts are as your legs carry you left before breaking into a sprint. You couldn’t remember running this fast ever - and so easily too. You supposed the drug did have it’s benefits.

Namgyu’s head whips back to you, hearing the sound of a shoes scuffing the floor - to only see you fleeing left.

He wastes no time at all in sprinting after you. A gleeful noise leaving his strained throat as he does - an erratic, adrenaline pumped squeal. Overcome with his twisted idea of your own personal game.

You could hear his pumps against the floor not far behind you. And you feel a dread as your thighs start to burn - screaming hot, tired.

Your recklessness always being your number one enemy.

That’s when you see a door hidden around a corner. You take the chance, yanking your tired body behind the wall and flush against the door.

Heavy pants rip out of you, your sweat beaded forehead pressing against the door as your eyes drop down - as shaky fingers fiddle with the lock. Snapping your mouth closed to stop any noise coming from you - anything that would give away your location.

And relief washes over you as the circle key slides in perfectly. A drug hazed smile widening your lips.

You don’t celebrate for too long when you realise you can’t hear Namgyu anymore. Not his incoming foot falls - or the excitement ripping from his mouth. It’s only quiet — too still. Bottom lip trembling as you gnaw on it, preventing any noise to come from you as you keep your eye on the lock.

You turn the key - slowly.

Free hand using the back of your palm to brush strands of hair that clung to your forehead - curtaining your view.

And -

clank!

The door unlocks. The noise way too loud for your liking - too loud that you have to stand there for a moment, the front of your body pressing up against the steel door.

A moment passes, then two — and nothing.

You allow yourself to exhale.

Something sharp then presses into your back.

Namgyu?

“Give me your key.” The person says.

No, not Namgyu.

You peak over your shoulder only to see a blue vest. Your team mate - blood splattered across their face and they hold a knife. Probably the knife of a red they had killed in self defence.

You furrow your brows.

“We’re on the same team.” You say, turning to face them properly.

The player shakes his head frantically.

“No - we’re not. Now give me that fucking key — unless you wanna die. There’s no rule against blues killing blues.”

You clutch your key tightly in your fist. It’s your only way of surviving. It was too precious to give up.

You shake your head, no. The drug in your system making it exceedingly harder to function properly - the walls around you moved as though they took an inhale and exhale. Your back hits the door from the vertigo sensation.

The player wastes no time and runs toward you - colliding against you as you both fall into the unlocked door, falling into the room.

Your back hits the floor hard with a thump.

Your mind so blissfully unaware as you stare up at the stars on the ceiling. You swear they blink at you and you can’t help but smile at it. But you’re pulled out the moment when the player straddles you — knife coming down toward you.

You use the remaining strength you have to block him with your forearm - his wrist struggling against the weight - the knife a small distance from your face.

You spit upward into his face.

“Fucking — bitch!”

He exclaims, pushing harder now as the knife edges closer toward you and you feel your muscles burning - about to give out.

This is it.

You shut your eyes tight.

And then the weight of the man lifts slightly - you hear a slice - then a gurgle.

You open your eyes to see his throat had been slit.

You exclaim as you’re drenched in his blood - scrambling out from under him and crawling backward toward the wall. Breathing heavy as you frantically wipe your eyes to finally see Namgyu above him.

His knife coated in red.

He saved you.

He’d fucking saved you.

Yet you couldn’t help but feel unsure beneath the frantic stress you currently felt. Namgyu’s eyes - dark and blow - fall onto you and he smiles.

“Found you.” He says, pointing his knife at you.

And you don’t take that as a good sign - pushing yourself further back as you use the wall as leverage to stand up. Palms flat against the wall as your chest heaves heavily - the wet blood on yourself making you feel ill.

The thought of him having saved you had quickly washed away.

You consider that maybe he saved you so that so he could kill you himself.

You take a quick step to the right in attempt to go around him - but he copies you, also taking a step to the right. So you take a step left and he does the same again.

“If you run, I’ll only chase you.” He warns in an erratic tone.

You glare at him - eyes falling to the knife on the floor that your team mate had used against you and then back to Namgyu who was now stepping over the dead body.

“How’s my medicine treating you, bitch?”

He seethes, closing in on you until he’s practically standing over you. You raise a hand to hit him but he only catches your wrist and twists it behind your back - pulling you flush against him, now chest to chest.

You writhe against him, wincing. He pouts his lips, his free hand lifting to point the knife into your jaw - not enough to draw blood - but to sting.

“So fuckin’ testy.” He mumbles, managing your wriggling with his easy grip on your wrist - his knee now coming in between your legs - pushing upward to grind slow against your clothed pussy.

And you still then, aware of the knife against your neck - and also overly aware of his knee grounding in between your legs.

You press your lips tight together and keep your expression frowning - not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing how good it feels.

He beams down at you - his expression a mix between sadistic and a boyish charm. You’re close enough now to notice the blood on his face, the way his hair curtains his eyes - shadowing him. Oh, you want to be scared as you know you should be - but you’re not. The heat building in your stomach and between your legs undeniable.

You both stay like that for a moment.

“Are you not gonna thank me?” He says pleadingly, breaking the silence - the knife coming away from your neck as he uses that hand to rake your hair backward out your face. Admiring you like this.

Your brows furrow, confused.

He frowns at that and twists a fist into your hair, craning your head toward the body behind him.

You grimace at the grip in your hair.

“You’re gonna kill me anyway.” You pant out between gritted teeth, eyes squinting at the discomfort your body is in.

Namgyu laughs at you.

“Silly girl. I still haven’t decided yet - although after your little performance earlier? I definitely considered it.” He pauses to ground his knee deeper in between your legs which causes your eyes to roll back.

He makes a happy noise in his throat when he sees that.

“Thank me first and then I’ll decide.”

He releases the hold in your hair and you put your head against the wall - eyes tightly shut. You didn’t want to give in. To yield and give him the satisfaction.

But you didn’t have much choice.

“Thank you.” You mumble quietly, bitterly.

“I can’t hear you.”

You huff, opening your eyes toward the ceiling, not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“Thank you.” You say, louder now.

You hear him hum, and feel him release your wrist only for both of his hands to hold either side of your face now - pulling your head down, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

His brows are raised, expression: stern.

“Thank you, what?”

Your bottom lip quivers - now feeling a wetness pooling in between your legs. You feel disgusted in yourself at the mere fact that you’re enjoying this.

“Thank you, Namgyu.”

He grins then, wide and wicked.

“There you go.” He praises, his ringed fingers slipping down to your neck where most of the blood from the player is on you. He notices, eyes dropping downward.

“Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.”

He says - disgusted - intent on humiliating you. He shakes his head in false care and cranes his head down to nuzzle your neck, brushing his nose against the shell of your ear.

“You look good like this.” He whispers. You can’t help but whine softly, silently pleading with him.

“Soaked in my mess.”

He continues before lapping a long stripe up your neck - through the blood - with his tongue.

Your mouth falls slack. Tilting your head to the side - dazed, and extremely turned on. Without even thinking, as though on autopilot, you rolled your hips - grinding yourself down onto his knee.

He feels you do that - and he growls lowly, deep in his throat, huffing. Slowly lifting his head again to look at you - to watch your face contort as you grind on him.

Your mind was a mess. A hot one. Mixed between disgust, fright and absolute hunger for him. Feeling like the knot in your stomach will snap — and you’d throw yourself at him.

You couldn’t handle it much longer. The suspense - the unknown. The craving.

You huff softly, tighten your jaw and bravely reach down between you to palm his now painfully hard cock over his pants.

He freezes, glaring at you. You return it with a soft gaze.

“ — fucking slut.”

Is all he manages to groan out, a hand coming to squeeze your neck - and the other coming to cup your face tight, squeezing your cheeks together.

You can’t help but smile slightly against his grip - and you squeeze his cock. Namgyu’s mouth twitches open - gritting his teeth.

“Open your fucking mouth, slut.”

He pants out.

You do.

He stares for a minute - enjoying the sight then leans down close - sticking out his tongue to gently lick your bottom lip. It’s excruciatingly slow. Wet. His eyes dart up to you and you take that as a sign as you stick out your tongue.

“Good girl.” He whispers so softly, licking his lips once before leaning in to lick a long stripe up your tongue.

You let out an open mouthed moan - softly swirling your tongue against his. Namgyu’s hips bucking upward into your palm.

You hear the clatter of the knife hitting the floor as your tongue play churns into a vicious kiss. Full of spit — teeth, gnawing at each other’s lips as though you both couldn’t get enough.

Panting into each others mouths - Namgyu’s hands splaying down your hips, to your ass - then to the backs of yours thighs were he scoops them up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

You feel the way he grounds his hips - pushing his hard on up into your clothed pussy.

You let out a strained moan - loud, as though you’d held it in for too long and it ripped out of you.

The two of you were too drunk on each other to not even realise that the game was over.

A harsh snap back to reality as Namgyu got prodded in the back by a gun. He whips around, you clinging to his neck as you look past him to see two guards staring at you.

“The game is over.” Is all they say.

…

Authors note: I’m currently on holiday writing this so plz excuse the blunt ending. I’ve already started a SMUTTY part three were Namgyu pays you a visit that night to finish the job so !! lmk if you guys wanna read that <3 thank u sm for the support !!!!

tags: @xuntybitxh

#squid game season 3 #squid game fic #squid game x y/n #namgyu x you #namgyu x reader #namgyu #squid game fanfic #squid game

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