#truly the year of listening to composers

[witchofthewild]

I found indie piano composer Enzo Corne in like. February. And he has apparently dominated my listening all year whoops the top four songs are all him

[lilidawnonthemoon]

10/10 🌅🌆

[slowdivinqs]

Presentiment

Stalker! Joel Miller x f!reader ( 18+ MDNI )

summary : no one is truly alone in the world, especially not you.

w/c : 12K

warnings : no use of y/n, horror themes and elements DDDNE, stalker behavior, feelings of isolation and depression, existential crisis? Kidnapping, cynical thoughts about life described, abuse, violence against the reader by Joel, old!Joel. slowburn-ish. dub-con?. unprotected PinV. Oral f!receiving. Manhandling. Hunter / prey kink. Twisted daddy kink but no use of the word 'daddy'. Joel popping a viagra. VERY Large age gap ( 35+ years ) . Manipulation. Obsession. Reader’s mother is described as a drug addict. Shitty men, harassment and pervertedness from a co-worker. Murder / death of side characters. Stockholm syndrome. Reader is toxic too. Religious imagery. Can be pixel or pedro Joel. The reader is implied as being thinner due to life long poverty, but her body type is not described or stated.

a/n : This was made for @pedgito's writing challenge and kind of ran away from me. It was such a blast, I've never tried horror or a specifically dark fic and it was sm fun! I’m sure the characters I wrote will stick with me forever. I sat with this fic for a long time before posting, and it's the longest thing I've ever written!! Not sure how I feel about it still. Thank you for letting me participate! Happy birthday ♡

if you don’t like dark themes, listen to the warnings and don’t read the fic.

masterlist

—— ☓ ——

Something feels wrong before your eyes have had the chance to open – a kind of warning, an omen, baked into the morning light stabbing your iris through moth-eaten curtains.

It was the way your body ached as you tried to sit up, stomach screaming for food you just don’t have. Your mother hasn’t been home for a week and you know she’s either run off with some incest-bred asshole who’s promised her a beer or she’s passed out in a crack-house miles away.

Your shift at the diner starts in thirty minutes. 

The men that pass through this town are all the same. 

Truck drivers – men who think all women in the world are there to satisfy their needs. Iagos of the world, the dark underbelly. 

The men that stay in this town are not dissimilar, your days a monotonous blur of wondering when something better will drop into your desperate palms.

There is one man who feels like your only friend in the world. 

Standing at a whopping five foot seven, and still kicking up the diner’s jukebox at eighty three, he makes sun shine out from your soul. You can confidently say that Jerry is the best. 

He usually sits with you the entire day at work, and makes sure to fill your empty time by teaching you to dance to El Toro Rabón, and La Bamba. His rich hands, littered with wrinkles yet full of life, hold yours while he makes you laugh. Clapping as you finish off with an animated twirl and curtsy. 

Jason usually eyes you from the kitchen, rolling his sleazy eyes at the sight of you having so much fun with your elderly best friend. Going back to making greasy burgers and puffing on a cigarette that’s gotten him in trouble with the owner before. 

You never agreed with the sentiment that old people were cute until you met Jerry and his late wife during your first shift at the diner : fourteen years old and composed of an exhaustion that was ill fitting for someone so young. He’d been your first ever customer, seventy seven and still wearing that cowboy hat of his.

The first thing you noticed about him was his mustache, the way he uses wax to curve up the tight white curls into points, how it covered his top lip when he spoke, making him look like a cartoon character –  his oak brown eyes that has gotten increasingly red and yellow around the corners as he’s gotten older. The way his warm skin has developed patches of darkness, yet he still looks the exact same as the photo of him he showed you from thirty years ago : fresh off his racing horse in Mexico, holding the same cowboy hat over his chest that he adorns now, smiling brightly. He kept his hair looser back then, his ringlets looked shiny even in those black and white photographs.

He calls you bumblebee, and you think he’s the first person that’s ever loved you – and he’s the first person you’ve ever loved. He’s your sunshine, a tether to the world past your 18 hour work day. 

Every morning he’s seated in the diner at 8:30 AM with a joke to tell you, stories of his racing days, growing up in Cuajinicuilapa, his time travelling around South America before settling down in this small town near Wyoming. He tells you of his late brother, his views of the world and the people he’s met. He talks of humanity and how love is what is most important in life.

You feed off of the stories he tells you : meeting people from all walks of life under the pretense of coffee, sitting around the same food stand, chatting to strangers who would play guitar on the side of the street for no other purpose than passion. 

You feel the desire for this ideal world thrum in your veins vicariously.

He used to come in with his wife Dolores until she passed two springs ago – he talks of her jewelry often, thinks that you should inherit it : they were never able to have children. You serve his coffee fresh and hot – asking Jason in the back to make his eggs perfect and his toast golden brown. You sit across from him at the counter to play bullshit with him while he eats – he always knows when you’re lying, his cheeky smiles catching you out, and his joy wraps it’s warm arms around you.

Your days are filled with giggles and smiles whenever he comes to see you, and he never leaves without a hug. 

Jerry does not like Jason one bit – eyeing the skinny, pale cook through the serving counter, telling you that a man like that is ‘no good, honey’. You don’t blame him – Jason had tried to coerce you into giving him a blowjob a few weeks before your 18th birthday – but never forced you when you had threatened to go to the sheriff and have them run a much needed background check. Jason has steered clear of you since then, knowing you weren’t shooting empty threats. You never told Jerry about that, but you think he knows regardless. 

He jokes that the forest behind your house has eyes – the kind only the old and the dying could feel. You never found it funny. 

Your clothes were not too crinkled this morning when you pulled them on : giving you a small mercy as did your almost-dry mascara surviving one more day. That hadn’t quelled the uneasiness you’d felt all morning, the whole drive to the diner. All you could think about was seeing your friend, and hoping that he would give you a hug and tell you all those happy stories again.

The second you clock in, and Jason comes back in from his third smoke of the hour, Jerry opens the door to the diner. 

You float over to the counter with a genuine smile, but it flickers when you see the look on his face. 

He talks a lot that day – about his wife, about his old job, even the time a fight broke out in his hometown and his father died, how the horses he looked after got caught in the crossfire : admitting he had hurt the perpetrator afterwards and it haunts him. He tells you everything, even the things he’s told you time and time before – forgetting he ever mentioned it. He’s never forgotten a thing about you, but he talks as though he’s in a hurry, as though he needs to get everything out.

He does not come in the next day or the day after that, and when he doesn’t arrive on the third day you take time off to confirm your fears at the hospital. You do not hear it from a nurse, or a doctor, but from the silence you are met with when you ask for him. That silence, the loneliness that instantly sunk into your bones, shattered your heart into millions of pieces. It is destroying.

You did not come to see him when you could, there was still time to be had, stories to be told. He never saw you make something of yourself, he will never walk you down the aisle like you dreamt he would one day. 

You are all alone in the world. No one to speak to, no one to comfort you. No one to make you think life might not be as meaningless as the whispers of your mind seem to believe. The warmth of him is gone, and you feel as cold and grey as the forest that surrounds this town, as if the sun has gone into eternal hibernation.

You want to bury yourself in your room for hours, to not surface for months and months until your body reflects the rot you feel on the inside. Hollow. Your sunshine is gone. 

You tell yourself Jerry is now with Dolores, and laugh at the fact that your mind even supplied such a deluded thought. You never believed there was something better up there, not for long anyway. 

You still go to his new tombstone, next to his wife’s, and speak to them. They were both religious, crosses carved into the place their names will stay forever, and so you ask any god out there to let them rest peacefully as though they are back in their hometown with their horses and not worry about you. 

That evening you sit on your porch, chain-smoking the packs of cigarettes you had been saving, staring at the stars caged by thick trees. You realize you do not have a purpose. You don’t have a want – can’t have one, there’s not enough money for the luxury of wanting something. You’ll live and die in an 18 hour work day.

Your thoughts are scary and boring at the same time, so you begin to look out at the illuminated forest. The sounds of the night – it scares you as well sometimes, an entire empty forest just outside your door, nothing but rotten wood and locks keeping you safe.

Today you found out you will be alone for the rest of your life, but when you sit out on the porch, flicking your third cigarette – you don’t feel entirely alone at all. You feel as though there is something out here with you, your skin rippling with bumps. 

You blame it on the Grim Reaper licking at your heart today.

The cabin on the other side of the forest you’re staring at now has been vacant since you were born. Never a light, a sound – it haunts you.

The closest you’ve gotten to it was at the ripe age of 8, venturing through the forest to explore. You had come to the front door until the house moaned at you, and the forest went quiet. You can still vividly picture the glance you got of the cabin while you ran all the way home. 

You leave the shadow of the cabin in the dark forest behind, you need to get dressed for your shift. Money waits for no one, not even for the death of your best friend. 

Down the empty highway, not a car in sight – the image of your headlines whirring past the thousands of trees burnt into your retinas from seeing it every single night. Your eyes are puffy and raw from crying, a headache pounding behind them.You pass the single off–ramp road you’ve never been stupid enough to take, the one that winds through the forest, all the way to an open clearing, a small path that can barely fit your sputtering car – leading all the way to the back of your rotting house. You used to play in that clearing as a child, pulling out grass and flowers and making huts out of branches until the day the forest went quiet for a second time – and you knew something was out there with you. 

You had told your mother after running inside, but she pushed you away from the comfort of her arms and told you it was just jackals – you knew it wasn’t, even then. 

It had seemed you knew something was coming your whole life, constantly looking over your shoulder – watching, listening. Sensing all and any kind of movement anytime, wary. You didn’t like the silence, you didn’t like being alone – yet you were singled out, not a soul or sound to comfort you through your isolated existence. 

The gas station is empty as it is every night, you use the time to read. To think, to wonder what it’s all for in the end. If you should run away, leave and never come back. Go and find the ocean, let it swallow you whole.

The sliding doors of the entrance ding as they open. Your eyes flick up so quickly it hurts. A man walks in, and your stomach swoops. Everything falls quiet, and you think of the thing that your mother called the jackals, you think of the forest falling silent : baby birds quieting in the face of danger.  He disappears behind a shelf, a glimpse of a Carhartt jacket that sparks a warmth : a remembrance of your dear friend who is now gone, the once comforting material on someone foreign, scary.

Your breath shallows. You don’t know why. It’s not just the quiet – it’s the kind of quiet that makes your blood congeal. Like the silence before a scream. 

You glance to your side, below the counter, a bat sits for emergencies. You’re not sure why you are panicking the way you are, if it’s the hour, Jerry’s passing, the presentiment you’ve felt all week. 

There is something silent, and something wrong. 

When you look up, you still don’t see him. The light behind you flickers, and you almost want to cry at the fear that’s bubbling up in your throat, your hair is standing on end. Your ears prick at any sound, a fridge door opening and shutting. 

Your body is shutting down on you, your heart crawling up your throat by claws : fighting and fighting for a chance to survive while your body quivers with the force of your instinct to run. Grab the bat, over the counter, out the door to your car. 

You blink, realizing you haven’t been seeing a damn thing, and he’s on the other side of the counter. Looking at you with a blank expression. 

Your heart fizzles and falls back to its place, your hands are shaking. 

“Forgot milk.”  His voice is entirely too flat, disarming and discerning. 

You glance down at his hands, calloused and holding a single jug of full cream milk. He’s waiting for you to scan it. 

“Right, sorry.” You mutter, sliding the milk over the scanner and taking the cash from him before returning the change. He hasn’t looked away from you once, he seems tired and bored : a normal milk run, but you’ve never seen him before. It’s shocking for a town with under five hundred residents. 

He nods his thanks and leaves. The sound of his car sputtering away allows you to finally exhale. 

You cash out and go home soon after that, shaken, like every ounce of fear you’ve felt in your life crashed through you the second he entered the store. An omen, a warning. 

You wake up to a box at your door the next morning. In your sleep-shaken state, you have half the mind to stomp on it, fearful it came from The Man last night. Fortunately, curiosity seemed to be on your side this morning, as upon opening the box you find Denise’s necklaces, bracelets, rings and books. Paintings, antiques, and most importantly - a cowboy hat. Your favorite hat in the entire world. He had left everything of his to you, when he wrote his will you do not know. Maybe Jerry knew what was coming, he always was wise, connected to everything there is in a way you wish you could be.

You cry all morning, through your miserable shift at the diner. You must look like some sort of slug, because Jason asks you if you’re okay, as does the girl from your old english class who came in that morning all the way from New York : in town and visiting her parents. She dyed her hair and found her style. You see the sparkle of the world in her eyes, and your dirty fingers itch to steal it, to run outside with her car keys, assume her role as a real person. You do not feel real at all. 

When you return to your rotting home you watch an old western - Jerry’s favorite - while you wear his cowboy hat, toying with the new jewelry that was sent to you when the police must’ve got around to acting out Jerry’s will. You feel loved and, oh, so lonely at the same time. You are a ghost in your own home, and the appearance reflects it. No real girl would live in a house of mold and quiet, where it is abandoned despite having a resident. 

—-

The Man returns this evening as well, in the moment you were humming the iconic tune from your new favorite movie. Jerry had good taste. The world goes silent, and he grabs a pack of beers before heading to the till. “Marlboro Reds, please.” He has a Texan accent, and you stare at your hands as you give him what he wants. He leaves after that again, your only customer of the night. 

 

The next night, he takes his time browsing the store. You watch him, watch how he languidly moves, scanning the items like his eyes would not eventually land on you. Approaching the counter with his chosen trifle.

 ��You don’t get scared workin’ nights?” He asks, and now you know your concerns were not unfounded. 

“No.” you lie, meeting his eye for the second time since the first night. He does not have facial expressions, you realize. Blank, revealing nothing. He is a handsome man. An eerie man. He nods, holding eye contact as he grabs the useless item and goes back to his sputtering truck outside. He looked like he wanted to call you a liar. 

You do not show up for your shift the night after that. Your gut tells you to stay home, to lock your doors and keep your father’s old pistol near you. To close the blinds – sit and listen to every sound of the night. Check under your bed just in case.

You’re late to the diner the next morning, greeted by Jason’s complaining that he had to serve the first customer’s coffee, asking for you to make it up to him. When you peep through the corridor, your heart drops at the only customer in the restaurant. 

The Man has come to the diner. He knows you, he knows where you work – probably where you live. 

Maybe he lives here, maybe it’s all some coincidence. Maybe it’s not what you think. 

You bring him his eggs and bacon, and when you look up to his face he’s already looking at you. He does not move, does not touch his knife or fork. He’s staring at you. 

“Leave me alone.” You say, quiet yet firm, standing over him as he blinks and looks down at his food. Your fear is making you angry, fire spitting in your eyes. He doesn’t answer you, and after two moments of being unable to bear the energy that exudes from him – you walk away, into the back of the kitchen to watch Jason work, peeping through the slits of the serving station to watch The Man eat his food. Your body hair prickles into points.

Jason eyes you, glances at The Man, and raises a faint eyebrow at you. 

“That your daddy?” he asks, staring at the popping bacon. You watch the grease heat and solidify, the sweat sticking on Jason’s skinny yet defined triceps, coated with wiry hair that’s never been tended to. 

“No.” you whisper, tucking your hands under your legs : they are cold, and your skin is overridden with goosebumps, hair standing. You feel as though you’re about to be swallowed, like large claws will pick you up and drop you into a maw of sharp, hungry teeth.

“Why’s he givin’ me the stink eye, then?” Jason grunts, picking at his gold tooth with a grimy finger as he lazily looks over to your thighs, then your face. Raising an eyebrow at how fearful you look, he glances back at The Man. Something like concern flashes across his face, and he lifts his cap to rub over his short, receding hair. It’s the first time his eyes have ever looked soft.

“Dunno.” is all you manage to mutter as you brace a peek to find The Man has looked away.

He’s slow, takes time to eat every piece of food while staring blankly out the window, like he’s watching the world as though he’s never seen it before, unnatural. You want to tell Jason about your all consuming fear that this man is going to hurt you, but his eyes have changed and he makes another comment about how good you look in the plaid dress that happens to be your uniform.  You choose to wait outside of the building instead of enduring the male specimen of your species. It feels like you are alone in a world of monsters.

When you return inside, there’s a fifty dollar tip next to the spotless plate, everything stacked for you to carry. 

You don’t return home that night : you ditch your job at the gas station for a second time,  leaving your car at the diner to book a room at the shitty motel. It feels as though you died the same day Jerry did, maybe you are dreaming : alone in an empty world, your only companion being the monster. Nothing feels real.

You fall asleep to the sound of ugly moans, watching the handle of your door : your heart beating faster than your body can manage. Rocking yourself back and forth, humming a soft tune your father used to play on the guitar when he was sober enough to think. 

You feel as though you are living on borrowed time, as though this opportunity to wait is a mercy.

He is not at the diner the next morning. Neither is Jason, it’s closed up and the lights are shut off – it is Jason’s job to open up and get the stoves burning. You try to call the owner with the small amount of change you have on the payphone, but no one answers. The sound of the dead line ringing in your ears as you look around in a panic. 

You suddenly feel as though you’re back in that patch of forest, surrounded by tall trees and a monster waiting to swallow you whole. Watching. A fear so curdling you fear you’ll throw up over the plastic phone. 

You’re wide awake standing behind the counter of the gas station. Watching the fluorescent lights flicker. You parked your car out back. You’re holding the bat in your right hand under the counter. You are waiting for him to come in. You should have driven far far away, but you have a sinking feeling he would have followed. 

The night is completely quiet. No people, no sounds except for the humming of the fridges. 

You glance at the back door, and the moment your eyes turn away from the sliding doors they ding. Your hair rises and stands violently. Skin alight and blazing as the first footstep echos in the store.

You don’t think about it, your body tells you to run and you do. 

Out the back, to the edge of the concrete until your feet are pounding along the road, bat gripped tightly in your fist. The sound of your own feet are drowned out by the ones behind you, big and stomping. The trees framing your attempt at an escape as they yawn and stretch above - caging you in, suffocating. They grow tall as you sprint, closing like they will eagerly crash down and trap you like a wave from the ocean you’ve never seen.

You push with all your might, and you thank the lord you took track during school, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you run so fast the sound of feet behind you fade. It feels like victory, like being free – your chest blooms from the burn and the success. You think of the gun in your bedside drawer, and turn down the off-road into the woods you’ve never been brave enough to take before. The only sound is the one of your own feet : you’re not stupid enough to look behind you.

The moon lights up the forest floor, you don’t trip over a single root or branch. You’re moving faster than you ever have in your life : your lungs screaming, fear rising in your lungs like bile. You break into the clearing, the one that has always been haunted by Jackals. 

You’re almost home. 

A force heavier than you think you’ve ever felt crashes into you from the side, you’re slammed down into the one patch of grass you often picked, the bat flying out of your hands and rolling to the dirt in front of you.

“Knew you’d run here.” A deep, breathless voice says right into your ear, your hair is pulled as a hand clamps down on your struggling wrists, excited. “Always liked playin’ here, didn’t ya?” he grunts, pulling something out of his pocket. You swing your elbow up, knocking him straight in the jaw. He sways for only a moment, but it’s all you need. You dash forward, crawling away from him before you find your feet, grabbing the bat and smashing it down over The Man’s skull. He groans and stumbles, gripping the back of his head as you trip over your own feet to stumble away. You run towards your rotting home, you can’t think about the fact he knew where you played as a child, all you are thinking about is the gun. 

You don’t even get to the steps of your back porch before he’s tackling you to the ground again and hitting the side of your face hard enough to make you cry, your head fuzzing. Your face stings and your eye throbs. You want to bring your hands to cup over the hurt, hold yourself in an attempt to make it better, but he is holding your hands. He curses at you, spitting vile words for managing to get solid blows at him.

“Come on, darlin’. You think that little gun ‘s gon’ do anythin’? It don’t even got any bullets.” He grunts, you feel zip ties around your wrists, your mind racing as you continue to struggle and kick until his hand is around your throat faster than you can think. “Don’t make me hit that pretty face again, bitch.” 

You go still, and slumped. Trapped in a wolf’s jaws. 

His hand squeezes tighter and tighter as you squeak a protest, until you can’t think anymore and the last of your squirming falls away. 

The first thing you smell when you wake up is smoke, the kind that comes from a fireplace. The first thing you see is rich, dark wood. You’re on a bed and you glance up to see you’re handcuffed there. Your skin isn’t just throbbing – it's raw, the skin bitten where the metal has scraped against you. Your head pounds like it’s been split open, the ache thick and blinding.

You can feel he is somewhere within the room, the twist of your stomach and the lingering presence on the back of your head tells you he is there. A creak of a chair behind you finalizes his presence but you can’t be bothered to do anything besides slump back against the mattress, curling up into a tiny ball. 

He says your name to get your attention, and you don’t attempt to look at him, your skin is already crawling with what you think he wants to do to you. Future years of using and hitting flash through your mind, wishing for the mercy of death.

He walked next to the bed too fast, too silent. A wall of muscle and heat as large as him should not be so quiet.  He is touching your hair, stroking down your cheek. His hand is rough and warm, he smells like a cologne that reminds you of your father. You think you might be sick.

“I was bein’ nice. I waited.” he says softly, pressing down with his pointer finger on the bruise that has molted under your skin, making you wince and shuffle away from him, glancing up at him to find his striking, dark eyes on you. His jaw is bruised where you hit him with your aching elbow, a trickle of dry blood still stuck on a piece of his salt-and-pepper hair. You made a crack in his head – a small trickle of pride filling your veins at the fight. 

It is small lived, and dies out at the next throb of your wrists.

He sighs at this reaction, before walking out of this bedroom and shutting the door behind him. 

You lie there for what feels like hours, only moving when you notice the water and ibuprofen on the bedside table : still in its packaging. Your whole body aches, the last throttles of your adrenaline were beaten out of you with his hands. 

It’s only when you sit up that you notice where you are. The view outside the window is the forest behind the cabin that groaned at you, that haunted you as a child. 

He’s lived here the whole time : he’s been here the whole time. The feeling of impending doom that curdles your skin when he’s been near. The jackals you felt as a child, the forest going quiet. 

It’s been him. It’s always been him.

Your skin feels as though it will turn inside out, every hair on your body standing to a rigid point. The fear feels as though you’re dying. 

You don’t have to look to know he’s silently opened the room again, and you speak.

“You some kind of pedo?” You spit as your head throbs, sitting up on the bed, tugging on the cuffs, rage curdling and bubbling up on your skin – you think of your mother. 

He stops moving at your words, “what?” 

“You’ve been watching me since I was a child.” 

“It wasn’t like that, Jesus.” He grunts, sounding uncomfortable at the idea. You almost want to laugh. In your periphery you see he’s ditched his canvas jacket, wearing a navy flannel that shows you just how large he is - as if you didn’t feel it the night before when he tackled into you so violently, stealing every inch of breath in your lungs.

“Oh, well sorry for assuming some old, sick pig stalking a young girl since she was a child isn’t a fucking pedophile.”

He smacks you over the throbbing patch of your skin, and you finally glare up at him with every bit of ire in your body. It was not any kind of hit, it was the kind that made you feel like dead weight, that knocks all the air out of your body as if you are a puppet with it’s strings cut. 

He’s staring down at you.

“I’m not –  christ, it ain’t like that.” 

“So you’re just going to kidnap and keep me? You’re not going to – to do anything, is that right?” You scoff the words out, holding your hand to your cheek. The ache under your skin feels like it could stay there forever. 

“I don’t want to do anything to you.” He seems to notice the irony of his words when you let your palm drop, face swollen. “I didn’t want to have to hurt you.”

You look out the window and go silent. 

“You didn’t have to hurt me, this was your choice.” You spit, and he looks almost surprised by your words. There’s goosebumps that break out over his skin, and the energy in the room constricts as he backs away from you.

He glances out the same window before handing you a warm bowl of stew, pieces of meat and potato bobbing up from the thick, stock smelling liquid. You stare down at it, and then glare back up at him. 

“Is it poisoned?” You’re not serious, you’re angry.

“If I wanted to kill you I would have done it earlier.” He says it as though it’s as casual as the weather, as though killing something – a person – is as boring as can be. Idle reassurance. 

“You seem to like the waiting game.” You huff, staring at his large, twitching hands. His watch is broken.

He looks like he wants to smile at your quip, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Eat.” He tells you, closing the bedroom door softly as he leaves you be.

—

You have been here for two weeks, only knowing this due to the little alarm clock next to the bed that he brought you from your house. 

True to his word, he hasn’t touched you – in fact, he’s been taking care of you in ways you have never been before. It’s intimate, and a sick hunger has begun to heat low in your belly alongside the fear. 

You feel as though you’ve been living in a small bubble where time never passes. He watches you at all hours of the day, asking you questions about the men you’ve worked with, if there’s anything from your house you want him to fetch. He tries not to hit you when his anger bubbles up at your persistent silence. He asks you questions about yourself, not ones like favorite colors, but if you think all people in the world are unsavable. 

He looks like he’s hoping you will tell him he can be saved. You do not. 

He makes you eat dinner with him every night, bathes you as well. The first time he tried it, after letting you rot in bed for three days, he had to wrestle you into the bathtub after trying to be nice, held you down while you kicked and splashed and scratched at him until he pressed his fingers over your injured face in an unforgiving manner until your cries went quiet, and you almost fainted from the pain. He made you apologize for making him have to hurt you. 

You swallowed the clawing, raging voice at the back of your throat and did it. When he kissed your forehead and told you it’s okay, a warm sickness swirled in your stomach, nauseating and tentatively delicious all at once.

You have not tried to fight him after that night, scared of what would happen if he were to comfort you. 

He tucks you into bed most evenings, pressing the blanket to cushion you and arranges the pillows. In the first nights, it had scared you : you hadn’t slept a wink, terrified he would slip into bed and his patience would wear thin. Now, it feels like something nice. He tries to tell you happy stories, he usually fails – but it makes you think of Jerry and you feel better regardless, it makes The Man seem more real, like a human rather than a monster. 

He asks you to curl up next to him on the couch so he can read aloud to you, books you’ve heard about in passing but never read : he has a liking for Cormac McCarthy and the Wild West. He bakes cookies for you when you ask him your first question, letting you sit at the table with a glass of milk to enjoy them. You feel warmth radiating from inside of you, spiked with fear – no one has baked cookies for you before. You finish them, and he says he’s proud.

—-

The sinking feeling comes slowly. Seeping into your bones whenever he holds you. It gets worse when you begin to dream of him, a possible reality, one of him holding you and kissing you – telling you you’re lovable, perfect, worthy. Six months have warped your brain, slipping out of your grasp like sand. You wake up to slickness between your legs, a desire to go find him in the kitchen making breakfast and nuzzle under his broad arms, let him squeeze you tight and surround you with his scent. You don’t have to beg him to make you feel loved, he’s always loved you : he’s made that clear. 

You had realized long ago that he is too big for you to fight, he is all consuming and overpowering. The sinking feels like acceptance, and you think it’s close to dying. 

It’s a sunny day when it all hits you. He’s been out for half an hour – at the grocery store a few towns over – the moment he said goodbye you had felt a twist in your stomach. You didn’t want him to go. He hugged you and told you he would be back soon, kissing your cheek when you got teary, his whiskery beard tickling your soft skin. 

You don’t know when the terror began to feel like safety. You only know that when he’s gone, it feels like you’re alone with the jackals instead of how it was when he found you. When he was the monster.

The worst part was you knew why you reacted that way. Sitting in the sunny room, you forced your mind to constantly think of escape routes, of the disgusting actions he had committed, the way he has trapped you in this little house. Your mind adamantly hates The Man, but that large pit, the self that was unloved and uncared for – alone, has already started to need him, to ignore the stupidity in believing he loves you. To latch on like a leech and suck up all of the love and care he has, not caring if it’s real or pure, to see if it’ll make you round and fat with it – satisfied.

 

The hunger for what he has to offer you makes you feel like you might be the true monster in the house : your desperation for what you have never tasted knows no bounds. You think you’d kill for it. You might have been the jackal the whole time, the hole that lived inside you might have turned you ugly from a young age. 

You are scared of your own desperation. 

He bathes you every night – ritualistic and precise. Guides you under the water until you reappear, clean and new to a kiss on your cheek, hands scrubbing you clean. Every time the surface breaks and you come back to him, the forest grows denser : tighter and vast while the home, your home, becomes all the more simple and clear, exactly how it is supposed to be. 

You need him, and you think you love him. What that makes you, you’re not sure and you no longer care. 

He goes out months later, telling you he needs to get food and soap, baby - he leaves the window open and the door unlocked : he knows you will not leave. He says he’s going to grab soap, but he is carrying a prescription slip with a little baggie, what he’s actually going to get remains a mystery to you. 

The nightmare you had in the middle of winter had shifted something deep in your foundations – the fear that licked up your spine at the thought of being alone – the much lesser, flickering fear that your body had instinctually looked for him in his room, the dull scream your mind let out at the way you climbed into his bed, burrowing under his large, comforting arms until your brain went quiet and he pulled you closer. Those dull screams of fear and resistance from a lifetime ago have been washed away from his hands, and now a need so gravitational has birthed in its place. You want him.

Dusk comes softly in the weeks after taking residence in his bed. He still has not touched you, and you are beginning to feel ire towards his morality. A wrongness in the way he tries to be right. The cabin is warm with firelight, the smell of smoke wrapping around you like a blanket, similarly to his flannel that stretches over your skin. He jostles open the door slowly, grocery bags lining his fingers in a way that is dangerously domestic – his hair is tousled. His eyes catch onto the fabric, and he pauses.

“You’re in my shirt.” He states, but you know it’s a question. Your eyes search for the little baggie he had, wondering what he put in there. 

You close the book he gave you to read, the cover sliding across your fingertips, “It smells like you.”

Something in his expression shifts. You think it might be guilt. Or pride. Or both, layered on top of each other until they’re indecipherable. He sets the bags down and moves to you, slow and steady – crouching to your level in front of the couch. 

“You missed me?” He asked, eyes wild and dilated, hands skirting over your exposed thighs. Up and down. 

You look away, unable to meet the gaze that is burning into you, to admit how far you’ve gone to his face. Yet your head nods, eyes flicking to his as your chin wobbles, bottom lip jutting out before tightening in a grimace. He wipes a tear from your eye.

“’s okay to miss me, I’m the only one who’s here f’you, darlin’.” He cups your cheek, rubbing the skin there. You meet his eyes this time, close them before you’re leaning in, resting your head on his shoulder as he sits next to you, guiding you onto his lap and telling you it's okay, and it’s natural, baby and finally I love you, don’t cry sweet girl.

You’re tired of the tears, of the fight. Tired of the empty woods and the silence – the loneliness that lives in your bones. You’re tired of running from the thing that makes you feel whole and real.

You wonder if Jerry ever saw this coming, and if he did – why didn’t he ever warn you something so soul destroying would be waiting to swallow you? Why didn’t he tell you the most human monster in the world would be the only one to see you without the shiny idealism behind cataracts? You feel guilty for admitting that The Man knows you better than Jerry ever did. The Man knows you are not made of sunshine and flowers, he sees the hole carved in your stomach that makes you so achingly hungry, and shows his own back. 

— 

You noticed the loose floorboard on the second day, and now you pry it open. While you care for The Man, you are acting on instinct.

He had shouted at you this morning while you were still curled in his arms, gotten rotten and angry, called you a stupid bitch when you had asked him to come with him to the store, wanting to see the world again. 

You were hopeful he would trust you, that he would prove you are, in fact, not living in a cage. 

He had stormed off, and for the first time in eight months he had locked the door on his way out, shoving a small plastic bag in his pocket. 

Spiders crawl out from the floorboard, and you jump back, standing on the couch while you throw The Man’s shoes at them, you wish he was here so he could take care of it, could laugh softly at your fear and hold you in his arms – away from the floor – to protect you. 

You remind yourself you do not know his name and that you’re trapped here, a jarring reminder of the way you have settled.

You need something to prove he was a real, living man before his life revolved around you. You need to rebel against him, like a petulant, scared child because of his rudeness this morning. 

Once you feel safe enough, you roll up the sleeve of the lacy undershirt he gave you and stick your hand inside. Searching for some sort of ocular truth amongst the bones of his own rotted cabin.

A pair of old boots with a ‘J’ engraved in the sole is the first thing you pull out. An army knife next, then a bunch of guns and weapons. 

No matter how strange it is to find guns and knives buried in someone’s house, for The Man it’s quite boring.

You pull out a shoe box next, placing it next to you on the floor before blowing the dust off of the top. It doesn’t help much. From the amount of grime, it looks as though you are the first person to touch this box in years.

The lid sticks to the rest of the compartment from cobwebs, but you discard the thing anyway, desperate and careless.

 

A photo is the first thing you find, old and yellowed.

A little girl.

At first you are fearful she is a victim, until you see the photo of The Man - much younger - holding her in the hospital. Your stomach curdles, and it feels like rotting, eating itself from the inside. 

A daughter. 

Your heart swoops low, pensive. You think of the room he keeps locked, the warm light that streams under the gap of the door - reflecting something pink inside. The way you would watch the beams dance on the floor like a whole soul was trapped inside there, wilting as the sun set.

Her birth certificate is the second thing you find. 

  Sarah Miller : 1983 / 03 / 18   

  City of origin : Arlington, Texas. 

  Father  : Joel Miller  

A name, a life, a whole world buried in the foundations. 

You gawk at the fact that The Man – Joel – is 60 years old. 

Her missing poster is what you find next. Bile rises like acid on your tongue, a smiling, happy girl plastered with information about her last whereabouts, the pink shirt she was wearing and how tall she had gotten. She went missing on your third birthday. Your head swims. You drop the documents back into their casket with trembling hands and weak knees.

 Stupid, stupid girl – why did you have to look?

The last thing you find is a golden tooth, familiar in its grime and dullness. You can imagine a sleazy tongue gliding over it in irritation. Jason’s golden tooth. You drop it immediately and slam the loose floorboard shut, burying what was meant to stay that way once more. 

The room looks as though nothing has changed, yet everything inside of yourself is different. A storm of fog and clarity, adrenaline pumping for running and the desire to stay still.

You throw up outside the living room window.

Everything feels like a blur after that, grabbing your boots he stuffed away - a coat and a knife from his kitchen.

Run, just run. Don’t look back. Get away, fast fast fast. 

You climb out of the bedroom window and run all the way to where you left your car the night he caught you, cold wind whipping past your face and sending a burn through your nose. Your feet pound along the ground like the whole world is weighing you down, like every stone is hoping to trip you and let you fall, to cut your knees open and stop you. 

You eventually arrive at the gas station.

You're stunned that the place is closed and rotted, not a single soul in sight.

Your lungs are burning, you feel woozy, and you let out a pathetic cry when you see he has slashed your tires. 

Stopping at the rough concrete of the shop, you attempt to open the back door, only to spot a poster plastered on the side of the wall. 

A missing poster. Your missing poster, with not a single person in the world to care for its presence besides a man who you ran away from, who would tear it down and remove you from an existence that is not with him, that would try to come find you to bring you back.

You decide to keep running in the opposite direction of his home. A large part of you is screaming at you to run to the Sheriff’s office and tell them what happened, that Joel will find you if you try anything else, but a shamefully large part - a sick part of you does not want to run away from him. He has cared for you - he has watched you all your life, and you know – regardless of purity or morality – he loves you. All that is left for you without him is a town that would freeze in time if you were to vanish, fake in its existence, a facade for the life you were always meant to live.

To your horror, the twist in your chest tells you that you love him too, it’s a surety now.

You think of the soft kisses he pressed to your hair, the way you got used to him telling you of things he liked about you, that he only would have known from watching. The way he told you he too liked Jerry, and liked the movie you watched after his passing. He let you watch it every night for a month, and began to quote the lines with you in an exaggerated version of his accent to make you giggle.

He saw you, he has always seen you. He loves you and wants you and needs you enough to take you for himself. 

You have stopped running, standing still for a moment before slowly turning around, feet shaking in your soul’s indecision. Torn and trembling. The forest is completely silent, yet this time you feel all too real – too alive. 

Your mind is not what it used to be. The shake of your hands comes from the part of you that is pleading for you to run, to see the clear manipulation : the rose coloured glasses that have been forced over your eyes. The other part – the part that you are starting to believe is the truth of who you are – wants to run back to the cabin before he sees you ever left, to cup his devastatingly handsome face and let him take what has always been his, to be made a real person.

It is consuming, this primal want.

A twig snaps.

You don’t need to turn around to know he his standing close behind you. 

You clench your fists and turn around, fear curdling and boiling in your belly, making your knees weak and shaky. 

The look on his face clears your rational thought once again, and you quickly attempt to scramble away from the monster. He looks absolutely, impossibly, livid. 

You do not know why you ever thought you could run, why you thought he would not find you, that he would let you go. 

You burst into tears the second he has you against the forest floor once more. The ground ripping the skin from your cheek as you fall, crushed under him once again – worse this time : you knew better.

“Why’d you do it, angel?” He says softly, entirely contrasting from the way his arm is curled around your head, large biceps restricting your breath. 

“I-I was scared.” You cry, trying to stop the hiccuping of your lungs to keep the breath you have. 

“I know baby, I know.” He soothes, deep voice right next to your ear, his mostly salt and slightly pepper beard tickling the skin. “You made me so scared, sweet girl. Thought you cared ‘bout me.” he whispers. You do not know if the tightening of his arms was intentional, or if he is so upset at the idea you could hate him that he is consumed with it. 

“I’m s-sorry,” You gasp, clawing at his arm, “I do care, ‘s why I–”

He raises his hand quickly, yet it hangs in the air for a moment. Hesitation, guilt – trembling like he’s stuck. You see something raw flicker in his eyes before it’s gone and he’s striking the ground next to your face, barely missing you – a last second decision. 

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.” Desperate, angry, scared.

You need to placate him before he does something stupid.

“I turned back– I was going to go back home I promise, please.” you cry, looking into his eyes. You loathe the fact that your words aren’t lies, that the care he sees reflected in them is real. You want him, you need him.

He watches you silently, frowning. Waiting to see what you have to say to him. 

“I snooped, I’m sorry. I was angry about this morning and I saw– I saw Jason’s tooth and–” 

The sound that leaves him is punched from deep within his chest.  

He is silent for a long time. Pulling away from you. 

You do not breathe, scared – the back of your neck is bared to him. Your life depends on his reaction. 

“You saw my girl.” 

You tremble in his slackening grasp. He seems to be staggering for a moment, unprepared and assaulted by the memories you have brought back. His hands grip tighter and tighter. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I didn’t know.” you whisper, tears streaming out of your eyes as you look up at the setting sun, these must be your last moments. Your body trembles and your hiccuping noises are ugly. You wish you could take this all back to before. 

“You ain’t supposed t’see what’s down there.” he’s lifting his hands off of you, and you think the scariest thing about this moment is how human he finally seems. Like you are the one seeing him after all this time. You stay down, turning to look into his eyes – all you can see is grief.  “You know what it’s like to be lonely, that’s why you were brought to me, baby.” His hands wrap around your neck again, and you shriek a small protest, scrambling. Your nails crack and bleed as they attempt to rip yourself away from him by holding onto the ground and pulling.

You feel drops against the back of your neck, and fear lurches in your stomach at the fact that he’s crying. “She would have hated me, she was so good.” His hands are constricting, crushing. You choke and gasp for breath. “But I ain’t got her anymore. I got you. And God help me, I need you, sweet girl.” 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper again, looking into his sad eyes with your teary ones. 

“I know.” He says softly, and you whimper as his hand comes to your face. He rubs the skin for a few moments, letting himself breathe and feel you. It feels like an eternity, lying under him, trapped.

“I’m goin’ to give you a choice, sweet girl. I ain’t given you one before.” His voice builds up as he says it, like the memory of his daughter drives him to formulate a plan – a way to somehow fix everything he’d done. Your heart stops as he slides off of you, picking you up with him and holding you, the tips of your boots brushing the ground. He stares at you seriously, and he looks so different from the monster, like he’s trying his best to do the right thing after all this time, pretending it’ll take everything back. 

“I’m goin’ to let you run, sweet girl. You can choose to go to the sheriff– or, or steal my truck, do what you want.” He swallows thickly, eyes wild. “I’ll let you go, I should let you go.” He whispers almost to himself. “But if you choose t’go back home…I won’t let you leave me again, baby.” He smooths his hand over your hair after setting you down. “You’ll be mine, honey. And I’ll be yours, we can be fair and make this right. I’ll take you, and I’ll tell you everythin’.” 

You thought your heart was going to rip out of your chest. Everything is primal, it’s all desperate and ugly and raw. He lets go of you, taking a few difficult, staggered, paces back. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides. 

“Go,” he nods slowly, like he’s trying to assure himself this is the right thing to do. “If you run now, I won’t stop you, I swear.” his voice breaks like he’s not sure of it himself — scared of what he’s capable of yet consumed with need. His eyes are soft and round, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen. You are scared, but more importantly you are tired.

For the first time someone has loved every rotten bit of you – so desperately they leave morality behind. How could you run away from this? 

You hesitate, stagnant and unsure. Your heart and your brain have gotten so tired from fighting it feels they have turned off all together, what happens now is primal – instinctual, you feel out of your own body, vaguely aware of the blood pulsing through you. 

You turn around and run swiftly down the road, scrambling over a few loose stones. You glance back at him once, surrounded by the trees, watching you like a dead man watches water. Your heart lurches. He looks heart broken, shattered and as alone as you’ve always felt, like this is the last time he’ll ever see you. 

Silly old man, you think. 

You were always going to run back to his cabin. 

You’ve got no need to disappear into nothing for the sake of rightness when everything you’ve ever wanted lives in the warm, wooden walls of his — your — home. 

He underestimated just how hungry, how broken and corrupt you are. 

You know now that you love him, and you know that you have always been just as much of a monster as he is. Rotten and broken and impure, tainted and shattered. 

You have always been his match. 

Your boots carry you home like you weigh nothing, light as air as ribbons of your past fears and wishes string and rip behind you. A flurry of ideas and thoughts until there is nothing except for yourself standing in that same flowery spot with plucked grass and no-more- monsters. 

  You bask in the silence of the forest. You have since lost track of the hurt, the burn of fear rising in your throat. You think of gold teeth and little girls and bright, wrinkled eyes surrounded by rich, dark skin – before your thoughts fall silent too.

You are under water. By the time you see his cabin : dim with no lights on as it always was until he found you – your mind is somewhere else, hollow and empty and replaced with something molten in your stomach. An ache, gnawing away at your belly. 

You don’t knock, you let the stairs creak as you silently open the door. 

  He had not followed you, true to his word. The house is just as you’d left it. 

You feel settled, clam and composed as you slowly begin to strip. Boots at the door, jacket in the living room. A trail made from your scarf leading to shorts and small socks. At the side of Joel’s bed, a lacy undershirt and bra. 

  You have already started to drift off by the time the cabin door opens. Two shuffles of feet before they stop short. 

He takes time to make a fire, the sound of crackling wood creating a comforting blanket to your sleepy state, in and out of the haze, yet aware. 

You are silent and waiting, your breath fanning softly as your eyes struggle to stay open. Somewhere deep, your heart throbs – the last fizzling jump of fear before it dies and fades away for good. You hear the opening of a small, plastic bag somewhere in the kitchen, little taps of what sounds like a pill falling against the counter top– a gulp of water a few seconds later. 

The mattress dips as he climbs into bed behind you. 

His callouses catch on your skin roughly as he traces the side of your face, bare chest pressing against your lower back while he buries his face between your shoulder blades. 

You let your eyes flutter shut as he places open-mouthed kisses up your spine, wet and shaky. His hands grip your hips like you’ll turn to smoke if he doesn’t hold on. His beard tickles your shoulder as he continues, cradling you against him as if he is trying to stitch himself back together again, to become real and whole.

You let him. 

He is shaking when you turn to face him. Neither of you speak, words unnecessary in the softness and stillness of the night : no need for words when there are only two people in the world who are so entwined already. 

His palm cups your face, turning you to look at him, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth like a prayer. You whisper his name to him for the first time, a shaky breath escapes him as he whispers yours back. A small ruffle of the familiar duvet as you turn to face him, his warm palm cups over your tit – your pounding heart – as you turn to face him. Eyes shining as they meet yours. He looks so human.

He presses his nose against your own before his chapped lips finally meet yours in hesitation, like he’s trying to confirm that you’re really here next to him, that he hasn’t lost the only thing he has. 

It’s soft for only a moment before you both let the hunger take over – hot and wet, lips moving faster and faster as his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips. They part without hesitation, taking the warm wetness of it inside your mouth and sucking gently, rolling over the other’s until your tastes are the same. 

  You gasp as his hands – rough and trembling – slide down your body, tracing every feature he studied from afar that is now finally his to touch. His mouth nudges along your jaw, nipping at the skin before he’s burying his face in your neck and inhaling. 

When you whisper his name softly, he shudders like you’re the first person to ever truly call for him. 

Your hand glides down to his stomach, running through the silvery hair that coats it desperately, trying to ground yourself to him. To pull him impossibly closer like you want to merge your bodies into one, consuming. 

His hands are everywhere as he groans into your mouth, surrounding you completely. One grips your hair, pulling back gently to bare your throat to him as the other runs down your breasts, pulling and squeezing your nipples into tight points, breath panting from the intensity. He paints your neck with bites, blooms where he’s sucked and tugged on your skin until his mark has been made – groaning as he licks over the skin, like he’s trying to infuse you into his bones. Your skin tastes like his surrender, like the salt of his prayers. It’s not forgiveness he asks for – but belonging, trying to carve a place for himself in the crook of your neck. 

Your fingers slip under the band of his boxers, searching for that rigid warmth that’ll complete you, retreating slightly on a shaky gasp as his hot, wet mouth envelopes your nipple, pulling and licking. 

He’s on top of you within seconds, hands splaying across your shoulder blades as he shows equal treatment to each breast, arching you against him. His heavy sighs travel across your skin as he exhales. Groin slotted against the warmth of yours, he lets your hands tangle in his hair as he moves Southwards, kissing as he goes.

You whine a protest, whimpering for him to join the two of you together, and he answers your previous curiosities in a deep rumble, “Gotta give it time to work, sweet girl. I ain’t young no more.” 

You let your head fall back against the pillows, a spark of electricity running through you at the reminder of his age, wetness seeping out into the gusset of your panties as you try to close your legs – an attempt at alleviating some of the heat that’s been building there. 

He grunts at this, large hands gripping your soft thighs as he plants them wide and flat against the mattress, “Easy, darlin’ – gon’ take care of you now.” He rumbles against your lower stomach, right over your womb as he reaches up to pinch your tit, prompting you to look down at him between your thighs. Those eyes you once used to fear with such intensity now only make more slickness spill into the cotton that conceals you. 

“Want you t’look at me while I taste this pretty little cunt for the first time.” He whispers on a kiss against your mound, dragging your panties down by latching his teeth onto the little bow adorning the front and pulling. You moan softly at the sight, hands fisting the sheets next to your head as his broad, muscular shoulders keep your legs spread wide, baring your warm pussy for his taking. 

  His eyes meet yours as his breath falters at the first glide of his tongue through your cunt, breaking off into a deep groan as he tastes you. A small cry of his name leaves your lips at the new sensation, hands immediately going to tangle in his soft hair. His tongue is ravenous, licking up every ounce of arousal as his eyes stay on yours, only dropping down when your head falls back once more. 

He sucks your clit into his mouth, beard tickling and stimulating you – sending head through your bones. His lips tug on your bundle of nerves, pulling so deliciously your hips cant up onto his face, letting your wetness coat his beard until it’s soaked.

He lets go of your throbbing bud with a pop, licking his lips as he lets his mouth glide lower. 

“Taste so fuckin’ perfect, my angel.” He groans as his tongue digs over your hole, an obscene sound of him slurping up all you’ve given him echoes through the humid room, and your moan of approval follows soon after. His nose digs into your clit as he pushes his tongue inside you, letting it glide into your gummy walls as you clench around him. His moans of approval course through you, heat rising blindly through your bones as you cry out for him, hips bucking as he presses against your lower stomach with a large palm. The rough material of his watch-strap scratching your tummy as his brows furrow, focused on eating you alive. The smacking sounds of his lips against your wetness make your eyes roll as he digs his tongue inside. His hand moves lower, skirting against your entrance before he’s pulling his tongue out with a slick pop, replacing it with his fingers as he sucks on your clit once more. 

“Joel I-I’m gonna…” You trail off into a high pitched gasp, body trying to twist away from him as his thick fingers curl, pads of them bruising a spot inside of you that makes wetness gush out onto his wrist. 

  “Cum f’me, sweet girl, look at me.” He grunts, waiting until your eyes meet his to suck on your clit harshly, tongue running against the underside as he spreads and lifts his fingers to press against your gummy walls.

Your first orgasm crashes into you when you realize he’s humping the bed, his hot tongue desperately lapping up the slick that gushes from your spasming hole. He moans at the taste, making sure to drink it all down before he’s pushing up the bed – capturing your mouth in a wanting kiss as his thick hardness leaks against your leg.

His pill must’ve worked.

“Joel.” You whisper against his lips, nails dragging down the muscles in his back as you try to paw his underwear off with your foot, cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to grip and coat his cock in your slickness.

He offers his body to you in a way that feels holy, the glide of him through your messy folds makes a sound so perfect leave his mouth you feel as though you’ve gone to heaven. 

“I’ve got you.” He whispers against your lips, the hand that is not cupping your face is notching his fat, drooling tip at your entrance. “I’ve got you, baby.” 

The first time he pushes into you, it’s gentle. A broken sound rips from him like he can’t bear it, face strained as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, watching his cock sink into you at a sinfully slow speed. Only when your nails sink into the skin of his back does he look into your eyes, seeing his own want, need, obsession painted in your irises.

He rocks into you like he’s trying to carve a home for himself inside your body, bringing your hand up to cup at his face while you lose yourself to the delicious stretch of him – cunt gripping him so tightly he can barely leave. You were always meant to be wrecked by hand like his – hands that tremble, hands that destroy, hands that worship. 

His moans fan across your lips, shaky as they exit. He’s slow, letting you feel every inch of him, every vein, as he glides into your soaking cunt. His eyes have rolled, but you lean up to bite your own mark into his neck, pussy clenching as he moans raw and deep at the bright red mark you suck into his skin. 

He watches you now, staring into your eyes. You want him to see the hungry, ugly, ruined thing he’s made. You want him to love it. 

And when he leans down to kiss you like this night has changed him forever, you know he loves you. He is searching for his salvation in your body. 

You anchor yourself to him like the earth is shaking, moaning a soft gasp as his forehead pressed against yours. Reveling in the feeling of his sac slapping against your backside, the sounds of lewd smacks and wetness – his own moans and whispered words of praise floating around you as the sheer size of him swallows you whole. He fucks you like he’s praying at an alter and you devour him whole. In the darkness, there is no difference between love and need, no line between hunger and worship.

Every thrust feels like a prayer, a confession, like he’s spilling the truth of himself into you on every plunge, letting you see every crack of his soul, the ugliness through the pounding of his hips against yours. Rocking together, bound by the loneliness and hunger and something older than love.

You cry under him, silent and open as he digs into you, so big and taking that your body can hardly bear it. He kisses every tear like an apology, licking up the salt as he coos above you, kissing the tip of your nose as he lets the heavy weight of his cock sit and twitch inside you for a moment, pubic hair sticky from your arousal as it grinds against your clit. He buries his face against your neck as he begins thrusting shakily again, and you know he’s crying too.

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin, broken and raw as he shakily moves his hips, eyes flitting to you, hopeful and soul-crushingly vulnerable.

Your breath is shaking, heat coursing through you at the glide of his cock against that place, tailor made for him. Your eyes falter, fluttering as the last of your tears stream down your cheeks, clenching around him so tightly. Every shared breath tastes like forgiveness neither of you have earned.

“I love you too.” You whisper, shattered. Body light as a feather as you let yourself fall. 

His breath hitches as he comes inside of you, unprepared for it – hot pulses of his seed spurting quickly, flooding you as he sobs out moans against your skin, gripping your hips so tightly you think you’ll break. You follow immediately, arching into him as his arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him as you ride out the waves of your pleasure together, knowing it is so much more than this. You are no longer a scared bunny, alone in the world, and he is no longer a jackal hunting you down — you are only two humans, connected in a way that ascends your lives : cosmic. 

It’s not just sex, it’s not just lust – it’s your whole life that has led up to this, to him. Two people who are too broken to live, yet too stubborn to die.

He’s made you his. 

You’ve made him yours.

And lying in his arms, letting his hand rub up and down your back, you know neither of you stood a chance.

-------

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extra presentiment lore if you’re interested after reading ;)

[lqveharrington]

Just One Smile | F.W.

summary: fred weasley was always trying to see you smile. even for just a second.

pairing: fred weasley x malfoy!reader

includes: imprisonment, draco going through hardships, crying, cursing, small bit of angst, mainly fluff, fred being the best boyfriend, kissing

a/n: i’m so busy for the next couple of months 😭

When you graduated Hogwarts, the last thing on your mind was your father’s imprisonment. You knew he was doing horrible things for the Dark Lord and he got the strict punishment for it. However, you were not onboard when they suddenly chose Draco to replace your father. Draco was merely sixteen when your aunt suggested he become a Deatheater.

You were heartbroken at the development — even more so when Draco came to your room and cried in your arms right after he received his Dark Mark. He said it burned.

Unfortunately, the visit to Diagon Alley — the one place you and Draco loved to visit — wasn’t any better.

Many shops you used to enjoy as a kid had closed and the only lively place was Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Everything else seemed ransacked or broken into, and it terrified you. The impending war already began and you knew it would be for the worse. Even Narcissa Malfoy found herself holding her children’s hands tightly when they entered Borgin and Burkes.

The Deatheaters were to give Draco his task regarding the Vanishing Cabinet, but you simply couldn’t bear the thought of your baby brother being broken down into pieces of the boy he once was — it was torture. Before anyone else could regard your presence, you slipped out of Knockturn Alley and hid in the shadows of Diagon Ally.

You tipped your head back on the brick wall and simply existed. You listened to the soft wind blowing through the broken signs and the clacking of hurried feet across the bricked road. Your eyes were shut as you thumbed the engravings of three simply words on your necklace before releasing a tired sigh.

With your father in Azkaban and your mother in shambles about the entire situation, you were in charge of caring for Draco — and Merlin knows that boy could be stubborn. All you wanted to do was run away from the mess the Dark Lord created and completely leave the wizarding world, but you could never do that to your mother and brother. You could never leave him.

Taking another shaky breath, you composed yourself and entered Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. You prayed that the store would ease — distract — your mind for at least a few minutes before your mother would come find you.

And distract it did.

There were fireworks going off at every corner and the displays were so colorful you swore you were in a children’s coloring book. There were little kids running around moving staircases leading up further into the store and students testing out products that would surely get them out of class.

You only just missed a Gryffindor trying out a portable swamp. You would’ve thrown a fit if the muck got on your clothing — your aunt Andromeda gifted you the black dress for your birthday.

Tucking a strand of your platinum blonde hair behind your ear, you snuck past the love potion display and headed up the stairs, gaze glued onto a product you were a victim to many times.

Flashback: Year 3

“Why do you spend all your time trying to impress Malfoy? You know their entire family hates us.” George rested his head against his palm as he watched his twin set up an elaborate prank down the end of the dungeon hall. “More importantly, she hates you.”

“She does not!” Fred protested and settled beside him, string wrapped around one hand on his. “Besides, I just want to see one tiny little smile from her — that’s all.”

George rolled his eyes and patted his brother on the back, “Whatever you say, Freddie.”

He knew that setting dungbombs on you was not going to make you happy, but George wanted to see his twin crash and burn after your wrath. It was truly going to be a sight to see; The Slytherin Princess cursing out the Joker of Gryffindor.

Fred shoved a hand to his brother’s shoulder before peering over the half wall to spy on the students leaving the Slytherin common room. It took him weeks to memorize your schedule, and he knew Fridays were the days you would head out to the Black Lake to read.

Why willing spend your free time reading when you could do anything else? We go to a magic school, for Godric’s sake. Fred thought before shaking it off, eyes locked on your approaching figure.

Unfortunately, Frederick Gideon Weasley was about to catch you after the worst week of your life.

You were walking with your godfather when a fog of green consumed your every being. A horrid stench filled the air as you began to wave your hand in front of you face, eyes watering from how pungent the scent was. The green muck colored your blonde hair and your perfectly pressed clothes were wrinkled from how abrupt the attack was.

Snape waved his wand over the hall and scanned the growing crowd of students, piercing eyes scouring for guilty faces before scoffing. He pulled you with him and headed straight for the horrified twins he found hiding behind the stone wall.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor. Each." He glared at the Weasley boys and confiscated Fred's leftover dungbombs. "I will be owling your mother and Professor McGonagall will determine your punishments. For now, I expect you both to apologize to Miss Malfoy this instant."

You looked away from the red-haired boys, refusing to show how vulnerable you were at the moment. You were supposed to be composed and poised, but they always made your life difficult. Perhaps your father truly was right about them.

George apologized quite quickly — he knew he wasn't at fault here. On the other hand, Fred ran his fingers through his hair and met your eyes, his own widening at how cold they were. You were on the verge of tears, yet you looked like you were going to murder him.

"I'm so sorry, Malfoy. I didn't mean to—"

You shook your head and pointed a manicured nail to his chest, your grey eyes practically red. "Stay away from me, Weasley. I don't know what you and your brother have against me, but I swear to Merlin this is the very last time you prank me or my father gets your muggle obsessed father fired."

Leaving a gaping Fred and George, you whipped around toward the Slytherin common room and stayed there for the rest of the day. Snape rolled his eyes at the two boys before taking his own leave — presumably to McGonagall's office.

"Bloody hell." George rubbed his face and shook his head, eyeing his brother. He didn't know what he was thinking, but the stupid look on his face meant another stupid idea. And their pranks were rarely stupid. "What are you thinking about now?"

"How to apologize correctly."

End of Flashback

Shaking your head at the memory, you placed the colorful box of dungbombs back on the shelf and wandered across toward the stained glass window. The colors reflected their logo — purples, yellows, and oranges sticking out compared to the darkness of the current state of Diagon Alley.

More students ran behind you as they chased one another with fireworks, their shouts occupying the space. One student grabbed a Pygmy Puff and rested it on their shoulder, smiling brightly at the pink creature before running after the rest of the students.

You smiled at how joyful it truly was in this store. No matter who walked into the store, you were sure a smile instantly appeared on their faces. Turning your attention back toward the beautiful window, you noted the different shapes taking place.

Your finger traced the intricate details on the colored window, smiling at the stars decorating the edges of the logo. The stars were so messy compared to the rest of the window and you knew it was his personal touch to the logo. Especially the oh-so familiar constellation your middle name came from.

Flashback: Year 6

The Yule Ball was as entertaining as Professor Kettleburn teaching about Flobberworms. Intriguing at first but boring by the time you got to handle the actual event itself. You didn't even have a proper date because Draco or your father didn't approve of any of the men asking you. Instead, you went with a family friend from Durmstrang. But it couldn't be worse than Draco's date. He ended up taking Pansy Parkinson because he was so invested in all the different men asking you he forgot about his own date.

How pathetic.

By the end of the Yule Ball, you were already long gone. You found yourself climbing the stairs to the astronomy tower and clinging to your shawl at how frigid the air was when you made it to the top. Luckily, the sky was perfectly clear — just how you liked it when you wanted to find constellations.

You always made it your job to find your family's stars and constellations whenever you had the time, and tonight was no different. Instantly, you found aunt Andromeda's constellation, aunt Bellatrix's star, uncle Sirius' and uncle Regulus' bright stars, and your own constellation.

Right as you found your brother's dragon, you picked up on heavy footfalls ascending that staircase. You pulled your wand out only to find yourself releasing a breath of relief. If it were anyone else climbing those stairs, they would have found themselves stuck up here until someone came to counter the binding curse.

"You looked quite happy with your date." You murmured and wrapped your fingers around your necklace, allowing him to join you on your right. "Angelina Johnson?"

He hummed and looked up at the stars, "She thought I was Georgie when I asked her. Granted, I didn't think she would go with me."

"Mhm." You tilt your head to the left and gaze at his face, his features practically glowing underneath the night sky. "Did you want to ask her? To be your date, I mean."

Fred crossed his arms over the railing and met your curious stare, biting back a smile at how gorgeous you were when you didn't have to uphold your family's status. "No."

"No?"

"No." He cleared his throat and conjured a piece of parchment with a wave of his wand, unfolding the crinkled note. "I wanted to ask my dear girlfriend to the ball, but it seemed like her brother was out to get every male she encountered."

You rolled your eyes and rested your head in your palm, tucking a loose piece of blond hair behind your ear. Draco was out to get everyone for the last two months and you were glad he nor your father knew about you and Fred. It would cause an uproar between both families.

"What's that?" You gestured to the parchment in his hand, eyes gleaming with curiosity when he handed it to you. On the inside of the note, there was a messy drawing of the Lyra constellation. Each star did not look like a star, but you appreciated the effort. "When did you make this, Weasley?"

"Meant to give it to you with your Christmas Present." Fred shifted around his spot to lean back on the railing instead, keeping you in his eye line. He narrowed his eyes when you cracked the smallest smile, "What are you laughing for?"

"M'not laughing." You tuck the parchment away and school your expression. "It's just... Your stars aren't stars."

He gasped and clutched his heart in a dramatic fashion, making it seem like he was about to fall off the tower. "You wound me, princess. I worked hard on making that drawing for you."

"Well, I love it either way." You pat his chest and melt in his arms when he pulls you in, his lips kissing your forehead in an affectionate manner you were never used to. "Maybe I should put you up for drawing lessons if your Weasley products are coming out of your designs."

"George designs all our products," He countered and thumbed your green dress, the silk touch rival to the softness of your hands. "I'm merely the genius behind all charms and potions."

You hum and lace your hand with a free one of his, letting him sway the both of you to the nonexistent music. You weren't exactly sure when you stopped loathing Fred after his horrid pranks toward you, but you wouldn't change the outcome. Sure, you had to hide your entire relationship from everyone — everyone except George — but you were sure it was going to be alright eventually.

"I expect to see that brilliant mind of your displayed in a store then."

"Expect it soon." He grinned and leaned down to capture your waiting lips. "Our shop will be displayed for everyone to see, even your dear father and brother."

End of Flashback

You were so enthralled by the added constellation that you didn't notice the looming presence behind you until a voice spoke up, spooking you. Your heart was racing when you heard your name fall from the person's lips only to find the person you hadn't seen in months.

"I've been waiting for you to visit, princess." Fred crossed his arms and leaned on the shelf beside him, waving his hand to redirect a staircase toward the other side of the room, leaving the both of you isolated on a small platform of the store. "How are you feeling?"

"So tired." You whispered before wrapping yourself in his familiar hold, burying your head in his chest. "Nothing good has happened since you left, Freddie."

"I heard about your father." He murmured and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm sorry."

You scoffed and shook your head, eyes drawn to his crooked lapels. Straightening out his suit, you smoothed your hand over the front and curled your other hand lightly around his mustard colored tie. Despite everything going on, you attention to detail was always on. "Don't be, he deserved what was coming for him. I'm more worried about mother and Draco."

Fred nodded and scanned over your face. It was rare for him to ever worry about you — you were always so independent — but right now, you needed all the love an reassurance. He could see all the stress taking a toll on you. The makeup you wore did little to conceal the dark spots underneath your eyes. Most likely, you were in charge at home. With Lucius in jail and Narcissa worrying about her baby boy and husband, you had to handle all other affairs.

"Do you need a second away from all the chaos?" He gestured to the office a few steps away, lacing his hand with yours. "I can take a short break to hang around."

"I just needed a second away from the impending war outside." You muttered and flattened your hand over his heart, counting the beats per minute. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes does help distract the mind."

"It does." He smiled down at you, earning a weak grin back. "Oh, come on. Let me see a big smile."

"I don't have one in me." You sigh. No matter what you did, the happy memories you had locked away in your mind wasn't enough to conjure a pure smile. You don't think it would be enough to even create a simple Patronus.

Fred kissed the back of your hand and watched your eyes light up at the simple gesture. "Just one smile, princess."

"Fred—"

"Please? I want to see if the former Slytherin Princess can still smile for the former Gryffindor Joker. Even for a split second." He murmured, pulling you closer to him until there was no room for movement. Tilting his head down to accommodate your height, he met your glossy eyes. "What?"

"I missed you." You admit and peck the corner of his lips. "Nothing at home can ever replace the feeling I get when I'm with you..."

"I think you missed." Fred tapped his lips with a singular finger, a mischievous grin replacing his innocent smile.

No matter your shared history with him, he would always be the prankster you met your first year. The same person your father warned you about since your birth. The memory of him pranking you in his third year haunted Fred like a ghost, but his apology made those ghosts disappear and hopefully — even if he didn't know the extent of your home life — he could make your ghosts disappear.

You narrow your eyes but make no move to correct your miscalculation, teasing him ever so slightly. "I don't make mistakes, Weasley."

"Sure, you don't." He dipped you and captured your soft lips with his, catching you by surprise. Hell, he even swallowed your gasp before you allowed yourself to get lost in his gesture. When he pulled away, he caught your bashful smile and tinted cheeks. "There we are."

"I feel like you broke some company conduct, Weasley." You put a hand over your mouth like you committed a crime, cheeks reddening by the second.

He shrugged, "I own the company."

"Fred." You gently smack his chest, earning a chuckle from him. Glancing at the huge clock behind him — each character that was displayed on the numbers representing a person in the Weasley family — you silently curse and separate from him, leaving one last kiss to his lips. "I have to go before mother realizes I completely left her side."

"Owl me when you can, princess." He squeezed your hand and sent you one last smile before you wandered out of the store.

Fred Weasley may have been an enemy from the beginning, but he was everything you could ever hope for. Especially when he could get a simple smile to grace your lips despite everything you have ever been through.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[tarotsoul]

Ghost in the Wind — Part One

SUMMARY: All your life, your presence had been nothing more than a faint kiss of a breeze—nothing impactful, nothing worth noticing. So why did it hurt so much when that remained the case after moving to Prythian?

WARNINGS: a bit of angst, feelings of self-hatred and worthlessness, brief mentions of sexual assault

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

Series Masterlist

“No.”

There was no room for argument in Nesta’s tone, no room for anything other than agreement or else she’d reign the Hells on all of them. Her mate be damned, she would not leave the mortal lands without you. Not again.

“If we take her,” Cassian gritted his teeth, “I am inviting her husband to wage war on our kind if he so chooses.”

Nesta bared her teeth. “Rafe is nothing but a coward and a sorry excuse of a man. What kind of war could he wage? If she stays, then so do I.”

Cassian blanched at his mate, his teeth grinding. They were only supposed to have stopped through for no more than a week, to ensure things in the mortal lands were restoring to somewhat of the normalcy they once had before the war.

He blinked at Nesta, noting the way she bore her feet into the solid ground, as if planting herself there like a tree weaving its roots into the soil. He knew the love she had for her cousin, her only friend, as she’d once told him. The guilt she’d felt when she first left the village, left you, hadn’t eased in the slightest.

Perhaps this was the reason she insisted on joining Cassian on this third-grade mission. He cast a quick glance over her shoulder to the small stone house you were occupying, and closed his eyes to ground his breathing.

“We can’t just bring her back without consulting Rhys first.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Screw Rhys. I’ll deal with him myself if I have to. She is my family, Cassian. My friend. Every night, he beats her and abuses her and takes from her what she will not willingly give. She is coming back with us.”

Cassian took another grounding breath, the iron will in Nesta’s eyes granting not even a fraction of negotiation. There was too much going on right now, too much to sift through to rebuild their city and legions.

But Nesta was right, and despite not knowing you, he couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving a vulnerable soul with a monster who took and abused like Rafe did. Especially not when he saw the pain on his mate's eyes for her cousin.

“Ten minutes. Tell her to pack necessities only. We will need to leave within the hour if we wish to be gone before her husband returns.”

Nesta didn’t cast him a second glance as she turned and sprinted into your home. You scrambled back from the window, heat painting your cheeks that you’d been caught watching them, straining your ears for a sliver of their conversation, to no avail.

She said nothing of your snooping, only grabbed your hand and dragged you to your sleeping chambers. “Pack only what you need. You’re coming back with us.”

You blinked, lungs seizing the air you tried to breathe. Leaving? For the Fae lands?

“Ness,” you tried, but she held up a slender hand to cut you off.

“Don’t. I made the mistake of leaving you behind before. I won’t do it again.” She couldn’t look at you. Not at the bruises marring your skin, or the split lip you’d earned yourself two nights ago for leaving an unwashed pot in the sink.

So you didn’t think twice about the consequences of being caught fleeing. You didn’t think twice at all as you stuffed minimal clothing into a satchel along with a photo of your beloved mother and the worn journal you kept hidden beneath the mattress.

Nesta allowed you a moment to compose yourself as she returned to her mate just outside your home. Home. As if you could ever have truly referred to it as that. This was not a home. You hadn’t had a home since your mother passed ten years ago. Since you married Rafe and your whole world fell apart.

You had prayed. Prayed to whatever out there that would listen. Hoped and hoped that one day your salvation would arrive, that you’d be finally spared from the misery you’d been subjected to for so long. From the pain and terror and loneliness.

You hadn’t realised you were absentmindedly twisting the iron band on your ring finger until the small stone in the centre scratched at your skin. That Gods damned ring that bound you to the monster you called your husband. That iron cage that kept you as his possession instead of his love.

Yet the fear… the fear at the idea of removing it sat far too heavy in your chest. The fear of him finding you, punishing you. But he wouldn’t find you, you knew that. Rafe would never dream of crossing that veil into the Fae lands. And even if he did, you were sure he’d be eaten alive within the first breath he took in that world.

When you met Nesta and Cassian outside, they both had a satchel of their own on their shoulders; stuffed to the brim of bread and cheese and skins of water they’d raided from the kitchen.

The General nodded at you once as you approached. You wondered if you’d done anything to offend him, or perhaps he found this—you—to be an unnecessary burden to him and his day.

“Thank you,” you managed to utter, and both he and Nesta felt the pure relief and gratitude in your voice.

Cassian’s resolve softened, a sympathetic gleam in his eye and he hated himself for a moment for even considering leaving you here alone.

“It’ll take us half a day to reach the wall,” Nesta began, unmoving from Cassian’s side. “When we pass, Azriel will meet us at the border in Spring. Cassian cannot fly the both of us.”

You couldn’t help the apology that slithered up your throat. “I don’t mean to be a burden—“

But it was Cassian who growled in response, “You are not. You are family, and we don’t leave family behind.”

You walked for hours, legs sore and tired and throbbing from the stamina you lacked. But you didn’t want to stop, to ask for a break. They were kind enough to have brought you, you needn’t add any more time onto their already long journey.

So you kept your mouth shut and willed your legs to move, one in front of the other. Hours passed and you could feel that familiar panic rise in your stomach. Nightfall was approaching, which meant Rafe would surely be home by now…

You didn’t want to allow yourself to think of that. Of what he was doing after finding the home empty with nothing but your wedding band on the dresser, the only proof you ever even existed in that house.

It was Cassian who made the call to stop for a break, as though only now remembering how weak a mortal body was compared to a Fae’s—or in his case, an Illyrian.

Nesta had told you many things about her family in Prythian; the members of the Inner Circle, the beautiful city of Velaris and all the wonders it had to offer. Despite the relief you felt for leaving, the anxiety of entering the Fae lands was unmatched to anything you’d felt before.

You rested for only thirty minutes, the three of you eating your way through an entire satchel of food and two skins of water. Perhaps Nesta and Cassian were as tired as you were, though you figured not.

And by the time you reached the wall, night had surrounded you in complete darkness, nothing but a ripple in the air to suggest you had met the end of your homelands.

It was opaque for the most part, but the air seemed to glimmer and fold, as if you were looking magic dead in its face. You allowed your fingers to reach shakily for it, a fearful thought stopping you from making contact.

You turned to your cousin. “Will it hurt?”

She took your hand. “No, though when we pass through you’ll need to stay as close to Cassian and I as possible. Your scent—it’ll be a beacon to all sorts of creatures that roam freely within the Spring.”

Nesta shrugged off her jacket and handed it to you. “It’ll somewhat mask your scent. Just long enough until we meet with Azriel.”

You shoved your arms in the jacket as you put it on over your own and took Nesta’s hand again. Her eyes met yours, something akin to relief and sorrow flickering in her gaze. You didn’t want her pity. And it cleaved your heart into two knowing that you could never do anything to repay her for this, to express just how far your gratitude stretched.

Cassian and Nesta took three steps forward and as you followed, the air rippled around you…you breathed in the new life and second chance you’d been given.

But nothing could have prepared you for what awaited on the other side of the veil.

The first and only thing you saw were a set of sharp, gleaming white teeth before you were shoved to the ground with a hard thud, your head hitting against soft grass with a thump.

Snarls and grunts and shrieks surrounded you, and in the time it took to regain your bearings, Cassian and Nesta were sheathing their daggers once more as the…thing that had attacked lay dead on a field of daisies.

With eerie calmness, you assessed the creature. It was huge, twice the size of Cassian and about four times the size of you. Dark black fur covered its body and ruby red eyes that lifelessly stared into your very soul.

For some strange, obscene reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Not as you breathed in the fresh soil beneath your feet. It felt as though your world had been turned on his axis, as if only now could you see clearly.

Then you heard it, a distant swooshing in the wind. You angled your neck toward the noise, eyes not needing to squint in the darkness as the stars illuminated the sky so beautifully.

Your brows furrowed, but you did not look away. “Something is coming.”

Both Nesta and Cassian followed your gaze then, stepping closer to your still body. The figure came closer, your initial thoughts of it being a large bird being dismissed as a pair of wings much like Cassian’s, only larger, flipped through the midnight air.

You smelt him before catching his face. Pine and wood and parchment. Mint. There was a hint of mint and something sweet like cinnamon as the glorious Illyrian landed swiftly onto the grass.

Azriel.

You remembered him, the Shadowsinger. Silver streaks of the moon casted across his brown skin as he approached swiftly, those dark and languid shadows moving across his form and snaking the earth until they halted at your feet—assessing.

“So glad you finally joined the party.” Cassian said in greeting, though Azriel paid no mind to the tone his brother offered.

Those shadows wrapped around your ankles softly, slinking your skin as they felt you out. You felt something then, a tug in the air that seemed to pull the shadows back to Azriel’s towering form.

That was when you looked at him, breath stolen from your lungs. He was beautiful. A warrior, that you could tell. Solid muscle covered every inch of him, dark black hair that sat messily on his head and swept down his forehead and brows. Hazel eyes met yours, his lips parting—no doubt at the state of your bruised face.

He was beautiful when you’d seen him previously on his brief visit to speak with Lucien… but now, it was as though you were seeing him truly–with so much clarity in your gaze it almost blinded you. Everything about this land did. 

“There are more coming, so unless you want a fight, I suggest we leave.”

His tone held no room for argument, yet he spoke in an unrushed drawl, as if these creatures were the least of his concern. He was as large as Cassian, daggers strapped to his leathers, so you supposed they likely posed little to no threat to him and his skills.

“Can you winnow?” Nesta asked.

It wasn’t lost on you how overlooked you were, despite being the reason for his presence. But like most of your life, it came as no surprise to be somewhat invisible. Cast aside. Unnoticed.

Azriel shook his head. “We’ll need to fly to the border between Autumn and Winter, from there I can winnow us back to Velaris.”

Cassian nodded, reaching for Nesta. “We’ll go first, make sure the area is safe. Follow us in five minutes.”

Nesta looked at you, a silent conversation between you both.

You’ll be okay?

I’ll be fine. If you trust Azriel then so do I.

No other words were exchanged when Cassian hauled Nesta into his arms, spread his magnificent wings and shot to the skies. You watched until they were a mere dot beside the stars before returning your attention to the Shadowsinger who was already offering you his.

“It’s nice to see you again, Y/N.” He said politely.

You wondered if he’d remembered your name from your first and last encounter almost a year ago, or if when Cassian sent word for aid he’d reminded him of it.

Either way, you offered a timid smile. “You too, Azriel. I apologise for troubling you with this. All of you.”

He shook your apology off. “It’s no bother. Are you hurt anywhere?”

You knew he wasn’t referring to bruises and cuts you already adorned. It seemed as though stepping through that veil gave you more clarity, more understanding of silent thoughts and everything else around you.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Good.” He nodded, and those shadows threatened to reach for your ankles again.

Azriel didn’t pull them back this time, only took a tentative step closer. “I apologise, they’re no threat. Not to you.”

You nodded, gaze upon them as they slinked further up your body and wrapped softly around your arms. Azriel almost bristled at the way you remained so calm. He wondered how much about him and his family you knew. He supposed Nesta had told you much through letters and such.

You didn’t reply, couldn’t bring yourself. You knew how deadly the Inner Circle could be to their enemies. And yet these shadows touched you with more softness than your husband ever did. You didn’t let that thought show on your face.

“Everything feels different on this side of the wall,” you admitted, a little breathless.

Azriel remained looking at you. “Everything feels…clearer.”

You waved the shadows off your body gently, silently shooing them back to their master.

“I’ll need to fly you like Cassian did to Nesta,” he began. “Are you afraid of heights?”

You didn’t know the answer to that. But the thought of being held by him the same way Nesta was by Cassian… that thought scared you. And not because it was Azriel, but because of the sheer closeness and intimacy that was needed for it.

You swallowed it down. “No… I don’t think so.”

He nodded, taking another step closer with an outstretched hand. “You can close your eyes if you wish, and I’ll fly slowly, I swear.”

You heard it then, the pattering of paws on the grass, of claws digging into the soil and snarls of breath into the night. You looked to Azriel, eyes a little wilder than before. He nodded, as if he already knew what you were about to say.

He held out his hand further for you to take, and you took a hold of his marred skin, calloused under your softer palm but you didn’t balk, didn’t pull away as you got a clearer view of the scars that adorned him.

Azriel hoisted you into his arms, cradling you to his chest. “The take off will be harsh, make sure you hold on tight to me.”

And he wasn’t lying. Azriel bent his knees and shoved his full weight into the earth before you both shot into the starlit skies. You didn’t close your eyes, you wanted to see everything this world had to offer. A world that was always at your fingertips but never accessible until now.

The wind seemed to whisper to you, gently caressing your bruised skin and promising a better life. A new life. As though the elements welcomed you home. 

It was only moments of uphill force until Azriel evened out and began a steady speed through the clouds. His scent enveloped you, almost overbearing as it encompassed all of your senses.

You worried for a moment then. If his scent surrounded you this way, you wondered how badly yours did to him with such heightened senses. You tried to hold your breath for longer than usual, tried to steady your heartbeat, afraid he’d hear it.

“Are you okay?” He murmured against the shell of your ear. Because even though you tried to mask it, he could sense your every feeling, your every tremor and sigh and sob.

Tears streamed down your face as he flew you both north toward the border between Autumn and Winter.

“Thank you, Azriel.” And you thanked him and thanked him and thanked him. Until your voice grew hoarse from the sobs and you let yourself realise that you were finally free.

Finally safe. 

In the transitioning week of being escorted to the Night Court, you had hardly spoken to a soul. For the first two days, you appreciated the silence, the safety–basked in it, even. Nesta had shown you to your room in the House of Wind, an incredible home built into the walls of a large mountain that overlooked the city of Velaris. 

“Should you need anything,” Nesta had said softly, “ask the House, it listens.” 

And she had been right. The first night, you thought of a hot bubble bath and a gentle breeze had sifted through your sheer curtains, guiding you to your personal bathing chambers where a hot bath had been drawn, scents of calming lavender and jasmine coating you. 

You only saw Nesta twice after that, once when she brought you some of her favourite romance books and again, two days later when she told you Feyre and Elain sent their love and well wishes. 

She’d had the family's healer, Majda, check you over for any untreated injuries, and when she came up short she offered you a few tonics for the discomfort and encouraged you to rest before sending you back on your way.

You shouldn’t have expected more, shouldn’t have longed for more. You supposed Nesta had done her part enough–saving you from Rafe and bringing you here. And yet, despite the House tending to your needs and the souls of the romance novels…you felt just as alone as you had in the mortal lands. 

You hadn’t seen Azriel since either, nor Cassian. You didn’t have much right to ask after them, to thank them again. They had their own lives and roles to fill, you knew your rescue had been nothing more than another third-grade mission to them. 

By the fifth day, the realisation had begun to sink in. That you’d been moved from one lonely home into another. Perhaps that was the course your life was fated to take–alone, unnoticed, nothing more than a ghost in the wind, nothing worth acknowledging. 

You wrote your thoughts into your leather-bound journal, the only form of release you had for these dark emotions. Yet every time the pen lifted from the parchment, you felt heavier than you had before. 

You were yet to leave your bedroom, often sitting at the window seat that overlooked the lights of the city, wondering what life awaited down there. Wondered if you’d ever get the opportunity to explore it. Nesta had mentioned that the House was warded from winnowing, the only way out was to fly or descend the ten thousand stairs. 

But you couldn’t fly, and you wouldn’t make the steps down either. You weren’t a prisoner, you knew that. But Nesta had done her part, saving you, bringing you to her and Cassian’s home. You were not her responsibility, not anyones. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but feel trapped, restricted. Moved from one stone building and into another. Perhaps that was what finally made you venture out of your room, barefeet padding across the cool floors.

You followed the winding staircase to a lower level, noting the ornate furniture that decorated the large space. A crackling hearth caught your attention, so inviting and warm in front of a plush couch. The House seemed to beckon you to it, a gentle breeze against the backs of your bare legs and it made your short nightgown sway. 

Following it, you sat on the couch and a thick blanket materialised and draped itself over your legs at the same time a steaming mug of tea and a new romance novel appeared on the table beside you. 

You smiled softly, warmth spreading in your chest as you thanked the House. 

An hour or so had passed, not that you were for certain, but the House remained silent. Nothing but sips of your tea and flipping of pages could be heard along with the crackling of the hearth. 

For a moment, you felt at peace in your own company. Completely content for this time to sit and read and know you wouldn’t receive a beating or worse for it. You stretched out your back, stifling a yawn as a pair of soft footsteps greeted your ears. 

Your eyes widened, an unnecessary apology already on the tip of your tongue, though for what you weren’t sure. That had become the norm for you, apologising for your every breath. 

But it was not Rafe that stepped out of the shadows, of course not. It was Azriel, in all his glory, wings tucked neatly behind his back and you counted the seven blue siphons that adorned his leathers. 

“Azriel,” you breathed, a sheepish smile on your face. 

Finally, some company. Someone to acknowledge your presence and to perhaps converse with. You shuffled on the couch, making to put your book down but all Azriel did was give you a terse nod in greeting and a thin smile before walking down the hall and out of your sight. 

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. You should be used to this by now. You were used to it. But you couldn’t control that tiny thread of hope in your chest that things could be different. That you could be accepted and wanted and noticed. 

For the eighth night in a row, you were left in the dark with nothing but the crippling loneliness and aching of your soul to keep you company. 

A/N: Thank you for reading!! This is the first instalment of this mini-series that I literally got the idea for two days ago lol. It'll be around 5/6 parts, smut will come and a few twists you won't expect!! Unfortunately I'm unable to get my old page back (rhysazriel), which means most of my previous writings have been lost but I'll likely repost the ones I have saved in my google docs in the late future (plug!az being one of them.)

If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated!! <3

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Towenda Choir Orchestra - Inspector Gadget 1983

Inspector Gadget is a media franchise that began in 1983 with the DiC Entertainment animated television series Inspector Gadget. It was co-created by Andy Heyward, Jean Chalopin and Bruno Bianchi, and was originally syndicated by DiC Audiovisuel and Lexington Broadcast Services Company. Since the original series, there have been many spin-offs based on the show, including additional animated series, video games, and films. The franchise follows the adventures of a sympathetic but dimwitted cyborg police inspector named Gadget as he investigates the criminal schemes of Dr. Claw and his organization, M.A.D., and fruitlessly attempts to stop him. However, neither side is aware that it is Gadget's niece, Penny, and her dog, Brain, who are truly responsible for thwarting M.A.D.

The original Inspector Gadget theme song was composed by composer Shuki Levy, and was based on Edvard Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King". The original French version has lyrics while the English and most dubs based on the English version are without. The theme is considered by many to be one of the most iconic and most recognizable theme songs in the world. Levy has been credited to the music of a huge amount of shows such as He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, She-Ra: Princess of Power, Digimon: Digital Monsters, Sylvanian Families, Heathcliff, The Super Mario Bros. Super Show! (poll #543), The Mysterious Cities of Gold (poll #545), and Lucky Luke.

Several early rap records sampling the Inspector Gadget theme song were released in 1985. The Kartoon Krew also released "Inspector Gadget" on ZYX Music, which contains vocal samples and quotes from the popular cartoon series, reenacted by the rap group for the song. East New York rap group Bad Boys & K-Love released a record on Starlite Records, "Bad Boys", featured on the UK hip hop compilation Street Sounds Electro 9. Following the trend, Slick Rick and Doug E. Fresh used samples from the Inspector Gadget theme song on their single "The Show". The theme song has been heavily sampled in the years since then. California-based punk band Lagwagon recorded a short instrumental cover of the theme song on their 1992 album Duh.

Go Go Gadget Score Results! 90,1% yes votes!

[internetdaddy98]

The Quiet Fury 

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Your authority is tested by a cocky fourth-year med student who mistakes the ER for his personal playground. 

Word Count: 1.3 K Content Warning: Medical procedures, blood, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times, unresolved tension.

By 1:14 p.m., the ER had the brittle, caffeinated energy of early afternoon. The trauma bay had been turned over twice, a stroke alert rerouted to neuro, and the stack of charts on your tablet had reached an aggressive number. Your hair was falling out of its clip. Your lunch remained unopened in the lounge fridge. And your intern was flirting with a nurse during rounds.

James Whitmore was a fourth-year med student on rotation, assigned to shadow you for the next four weeks. Technically still a student, practically a problem. He had the kind of polished smile that belonged on an alumni magazine cover and the overconfidence of someone who had never been truly scared in a code room. You could already feel it,  that subtle entitlement, the lack of preparation, the empty glances when you gave instructions.

You had tried, the first two hours. Gently redirecting. Clarifying. Giving him room to prove he was more than charm and an upward trajectory. But he was more interested in chatting up the new ED nurse than examining his patient. More concerned with what you were doing later than documenting the rhythm strip you’d asked for.

“You know,” he said now, grinning like this was a meet-cute and not an ICU board, “you don’t look like someone who leads a trauma team. No offense.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look up.

Instead, you clicked through labs on the tablet and murmured, “ABG’s back. Go interpret it. Present to me in five.”

He lingered. “You always this serious, Dr. Sheridan?”

You finally met his eyes.

“Only when someone’s dying,” you said coldly. “Which is usually.”

He gave a half-laugh, unsure if it was a joke. You didn’t clarify. You moved past him and toward Bed 6, where a patient was vomiting blood into a basin while her mother cried softly in the corner. Your pulse recalibrated, not with nerves, but with necessity. You could be tired later.

Whitmore followed, his stethoscope still around his neck like a fashion statement, it was getting harder for you to not roll your eyes. 

Later, as you updated notes in the hub, you caught a glimpse of him across the hall, leaned too casually against the counter near two of his intern friends. You weren’t listening. Not at first. But you felt it, a shift in the room. Dana stiffening behind the desk. A nurse's eyes narrowing. The slight drop in temperature that meant someone had said something wrong.

Across the floor, by the medication station, Robby was finishing up notes on a post-code debrief when he caught Whitmore’s voice, low and smirking, drifting toward the central hub.

“…yeah, she’s cute in that mean, icy way. You know, a challenge. I give it three shifts before she cracks. Bet she’s crazy once you get her to—"

He didn’t finish. Someone coughed, startled. A tech turned sharply. Robby’s hand paused mid-scroll over his tablet.

He blinked once. Then turned.

He was forty feet away, but he could already feel it like a fissure in the tile beneath them, the cold fury in your eyes, the way you were walking toward Whitmore with the unhurried precision of someone who had not yet decided whether to destroy a person publicly or in private. Your hands were calm. Your shoulders square. You didn’t yell.

You didn’t need to.

“Mr. Whitmore,” you said, voice flat as steel. “Step into the staff lounge. Now.”

The kid hesitated.

Wrong move.

Robby watched you disappear behind the door. Watched the team shift around the hub in respectful silence. No one said a word. Even the printers seemed quieter.

You closed the door behind you.

Then, still calm, still composed, you turned to your intern.

“I don’t know what kind of rotations you’ve done before,” you began, your voice quiet but sharp as frost. “But I am not here for your amusement. I’m not here to play games with you, or compete with your insecurities, or make your ego feel bigger when you get bored during rounds.”

He opened his mouth.

You raised a hand. He stopped.

“You are in an Emergency Department. You are a guest in my house, and if you can’t show basic respect to your patients or to your senior, then you can leave now. I’ll sign the damn form. But what you will not do is treat this place, or the people in it, like a frat party you wandered into by mistake.”

His face changed then. A flush of something like embarrassment, something like shock. You didn’t care which.

“I suggest,” you continued, eyes not wavering from his, “that you get with the program. Fast.”

He swallowed. “Yes, Dr. Sheridan.”

You nodded once. “Good. You’re on labs until further notice.”

You opened the door for him to leave, only to find Robby there, leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes flicked between you and Whitmore, unreadable.

The student mumbled something, not quite an apology, not quite coherent, and headed toward the lab station like a dog with its tail tucked.

You didn’t speak. You moved to close the door again and turn back toward the lounge room. He waited a beat, then two. Long enough to give the illusion of space. Long enough not to look like he’d been watching. Then he followed.

He knocked once on the edge of the lounge door before stepping in. You stood by the sink, filling a cup with water, back turned. Your grip on the plastic rim was too tight.

"You handled that well," he said quietly.

You didn’t turn around. “Thanks.”

A pause. You took a sip, then set the cup down, your shoulders rigid.

Robby moved to stand beside you, leaving a careful amount of space between them. The hum of the fridge filled the silence.

“He won’t do it again,” you said, eyes fixed on the sink.

“I know,” he said. “Not if he values his career.”

You gave a short, humorless exhale, not quite a laugh.

He glanced at you,  then away. “You okay?”

Another pause.

Then you nodded, still not looking at him. “Yeah. Just annoyed.”

“Okay,” he said. “But if that changes…”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then offered the faintest curve of your mouth, not a smile, but something close. Gratitude maybe. Recognition.

“Thanks, Dr. Robinavitch.”

He gave her a smile in return. “Anytime, Sher.”

And with that, he stepped out, leaving the door open behind him. Just a crack.

Enough for her to breathe.

Whitmore was alone at the lab station when Robby found him. Still cocky, despite it all. The kind of cocky that didn’t learn until the lesson was painful.

Robby approached quietly.

“You got a minute, Mr. Whitmore?”

The kid turned, startled, then nodded. “Yes, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Robby didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look angry. That was the worst part.

He just stepped closer, lowered his voice, and said, “You ever speak about Dr. Sheridan like that again, and I will personally end your chances of matching into anything but urgent care in rural Alaska. Are we clear?”

Whitmore blanched. “Sir, I didn’t—”

“You did,” Robby said, cool and clinical. “And I suggest you use your remaining days here wisely. Listen. Learn. Show some respect. Because you’re not the smartest man in this room. And you sure as hell aren’t the toughest.”

Whitmore swallowed. “Understood.”

“Good.” Robby offered him a smile that wasn’t really a smile. “Now go run the troponins.”

Robby didn’t move for a while. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching the chaos of the ER reassemble itself. His gaze flicked to the patient board. To the rooms. Then, finally, back to you.

You were at the end of the hallway now, instructing a nurse, your voice steady again. Calm. Efficient. But he could see it in the way your fingers tapped against the tablet. The way your jaw stayed locked.

——————————————

Two chapters in one day!

I couldn’t help myself bahhahah I needed y’all to read this one. My toxic trait is buying the people I love presents and needing to tell them what it is or I’ll explode.

I told myself I was going to pace myself but all chapters are sitting in my queue tempting me.

[svt-luna]

𝜗℘ HIS ENGLISH LOVE AFFAIR

❛ 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳. 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘪'𝘮 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳. ❜

timeline: 2019

synopsis: What starts as playful teasing quickly spirals into something deeper, where teasing words and lingering touches lead to a line neither of them can ever uncross.

warnings: 18+ mdni, mature content, sexual content, smut, cursing, slightly slow burn, best friends to lovers, sexual tension, flirting, subtle innuendos, alcohol consumption, somewhat reckless driving, kisses!, first times, pet names, piv sex, unprotected sex (girly pop is on birth control), teasing, dirty talk, fingering, Jeonghan the menace, they are both freaky af, pure filth!

buckle up ladies and gentlemen… literally ❤️‍🔥 my first ever smut!! i hope you guys love it and please please please— I cannot stress this enough— please take time to read the warnings and the disclaimer before reading! other than that… enjoy! (yes, this was inspired by ‘English Love Affair’ by 5sos, so you guys can listen to that song as you read if you want.) (also send me one-shot requests you want to see in the future!)

Disclaimer: The following chapter contains explicit sexual content and mature themes. It is intended for adult readers only. If you are under the legal age or find these subjects uncomfortable, it is advised for you to refrain from reading further. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

Jeonghan had always taken pride in his composure.

He was the calm in any storm, the serene face in chaos, and the one who could hide his inner turmoil behind the effortless charm that had become his signature.

It was a skill he had honed over the years— a mask he wore with such ease that even his closest friends rarely saw beyond it. It wasn’t that he was emotionless; far from it. He felt everything deeply, but he had always mastered the art of controlling those feelings.

That was just who he was— unflappable, composed, always in control.

But that was before Luna.

The moment she stepped into his life, everything changed.

Luna had a way of breaking down his walls without even trying, a skill that no one else seemed to possess.

He could still remember the first time he saw her— those wide doe eyes filled with uncertainty as she stood in the PLEDIS practice room, the newest trainee among a sea of faces. Her nervous energy radiated off her, but there was something about her quiet determination that caught his attention.

It wasn’t just her looks or her talent, though those were undeniable.

No, it was the way she carried herself, the way she seemed to be holding a storm inside her, a storm she kept under tight control, especially during those grueling monthly evaluations. Her voice, raw and beautiful, would echo through the room, and each time, Jeonghan found himself captivated.

And then, of course, there were her smiles. The first time she smiled at him— truly smiled, not out of politeness or nerves but with genuine warmth— he felt something in him stir. It was a small thing, the way her lips curved upward, the way her eyes sparkled like she was letting him in on a secret only the two of them knew.

His heart had jumped that day, a flutter of something unfamiliar yet intoxicating, something he wasn’t used to. For a man who prided himself on control, that smile felt like a small crack in his carefully constructed armor.

But then, there was the night she confessed.

The memory of it still haunted Jeonghan even after a year or so, her voice quiet yet steady, the way her eyes, usually so bright, filled with heartbreak as he gently turned her down.

He had told her and himself it was for the team, for the sake of professionalism, but deep down, he knew the truth— it had been cowardice.

He was scared.

Scared of what it meant to feel something so intense for someone who was not only part of his world but essential to it.

And seeing the hurt in her eyes, the pain she tried so hard to mask, had been one of the hardest things he had ever done.

Now, as Jeonghan sat at the back of one of their favorite restaurants, watching the members celebrating Wonwoo’s birthday, that same ache returned, gnawing at his chest.

Luna was there, singing her pretty little heart out, a bright smile stretched across her face as she jumped up and down with the others. The room was filled with energy, everyone in high spirits as they belted out lyrics, glasses filled with alcohol raised in the air.

Their own private section, tucked away at the back of the restaurant, provided them privacy, but Jeonghan felt far from the noise as if his world had narrowed to just one person.

Luna.

Her hair flew wildly as she moved to the music, her laughter ringing out above the noise. She looked free— untethered, glowing under the dim restaurant lights, and Jeonghan couldn't help but stare. His eyes tracked her every movement, unable to look away, even though he knew he should. Her smile reached her eyes, that same real, unfiltered joy he hadn’t seen in a while.

It made his heart skip again, just like it always had.

He thought of the way she had looked at him when she confessed, the vulnerability in her eyes, and how, in this moment, she looked so different. So full of life, so happy, surrounded by people who adored her. She was singing, laughing, her body moving to the rhythm of the music, and yet all Jeonghan could do was sit there, glass in hand, silently fighting the urge to stand up and cross the room to her.

He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the glass. His heart raced as memories of the past year flooded his mind— how he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since that night, how he had been too afraid to face his own feelings, and how, even now after a year, watching her from afar, the same fear still lingered in his chest.

But this time, something was different. Something had shifted. The control he had always taken such pride in was slipping, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, the cool wood pressing against his back as he watched Luna across the room. He had always been composed, always the one in control, but ever since he realized he was indeed falling for her, his determination to fix things between them had only grown stronger.

He had spent the past year trying to return to normal, to recapture the easy friendship they once shared before the night she had confessed and he had rejected her.

And they had succeeded— there was no bad blood, no awkward tension. They laughed and joked as they always had, nothing between them felt forced or strained.

It was as if nothing had ever happened.

But that was what scared him the most.

Was this ease a sign that Luna had moved on? Or was she still pretending, masking her feelings as she always had, waiting for him to make the next move?

Jeonghan didn’t know if he should feel relieved or terrified by the prospect.

This past year, since his own realization, he had been more open about his feelings. He wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. He had been more touchy, letting his hands linger on her arm a second longer than necessary. He had been more clingy, finding reasons to stand close to her during practice or sit beside her at meals. And he had been flirting, playfully teasing her with lines that bordered on genuine affection.

Jeonghan had never denied her anything— anything she asked for, she got.

It hadn’t taken long for Luna to notice.

She wasn’t stupid; she was cautious, of course. She still had feelings for him— Jeonghan could see it in the way her gaze would linger on him, the slight quirk of her lips whenever he said something that surprised her— but she was guarded now.

She wasn’t about to let her heart get broken again.

Yet, despite her caution, Jeonghan could tell she was intrigued by his bolder approach, even drawn to it.

Luna was a little petty, too— he could see it in the way she played along, letting him dote on her, waiting to see where he would take things. She wanted him to work for it, and he couldn’t blame her. He had hurt her, and now he had to prove that he was serious.

Tonight, she looked like a vision, and Jeonghan couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Luna was dressed in a sleek black leather jacket that gleamed under the restaurant lights, cinched at the waist with silver studs. Beneath it, she wore a simple white tee, tucked into high-waisted black shorts that hugged her curves in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. Her legs, long and slender, were clad in sheer black tights, the material shimmering slightly as she moved, and her feet were adorned in knee-high black boots that gave her an edgy, dangerous air. A thin scarf, sequined and sparkling, was loosely tied around her neck, and her hair, an ashy grey color and wavy, cascaded over her shoulders, wild and free.

Her makeup was minimal, but it highlighted her features perfectly, bringing out the depth of her dark-brown eyes, the shape of her cheekbones, and the curve of her plump lips.

With everything else muted, her beauty shone brighter than ever. Jeonghan took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing pulse.

Jeonghan’s gaze raked over her form, slowly, deliberately, as he raised his glass to his lips and took another shot.

He tried to savor the taste, the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, but all he could think about was her. He avoided drinking too much— he had driven to the restaurant tonight and needed to stay clear-headed— but his senses were already clouded by something much stronger than alcohol.

Luna.

Every fiber of his being was filled with her. She was all he could see as she danced, laughing and twirling with Hoshi, Dokyeom, and Seungkwan. Her laughter rang in his ears like a melody, her voice clear and bright as she sang along to the music, her body moving effortlessly to the beat.

Her perfume— sweet and expensive— lingered in the air around him, wrapping him in her scent, a constant reminder of her presence. He watched as her hand brushed against his arm, a fleeting, accidental touch as she spun past him, but it was enough to set his skin ablaze. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to focus, trying to steady the racing in his chest, but all he could feel was her.

Her energy, her warmth, her light.

There was only one thing missing.

Taste.

Jeonghan rolled the lingering flavor of the alcohol over his tongue, but it was becoming increasingly unsatisfying, especially as his gaze landed on the pink lollipop tucked between Luna’s lips.

She twirled it absentmindedly as she danced, the candy disappearing and reappearing from between her soft lips.

A pang of frustration swelled inside him as he watched, his mind drifting to thoughts he knew he shouldn’t be entertaining— not here, not now. But the longer he watched her, the more his control began to slip.

Soon, Luna finally separated from the whirlwind of dancing, her energy visibly spent, and finally peeled herself away from Hoshi, Seungkwan, and Dokyeom, who were still bouncing around like maniacs with boundless energy. Their bodies moved in sync with the beat, wild and free as if they were drawing energy from some endless well.

She stole one last glance at them, shaking her head with a smile as they flailed their arms in exaggerated dance moves.

Luna, however, had reached her limit. She could feel her heart racing, her legs trembling from the exertion, and her skin was glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Her own legs felt like jelly after keeping up with them for what felt like hours, her chest heaving slightly as she tried to catch her breath.

She laughed to herself as she made her way back to their table, where the rest of the members were seated, the ones who had wisely opted to sit back and enjoy the chaos rather than join in.

Jeonghan’s eyes hadn’t left her for a second. He watched the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the glisten of sweat along her neck, the lollipop twirling between her fingers.

As Luna approached, Seungcheol looked up, his gaze landing on her as he pointed and chuckled. “Tired already?” His voice held a teasing edge.

Luna plopped down into her seat next to Jeonghan, letting out an exaggerated sigh as she pulled the lollipop out of her mouth and pointed toward the trio still dancing like maniacs. “I don’t know how those three do it. That was my limit,” she chuckled, her voice breathless yet light.

The group chuckled softly as they watched Seungkwan throw his head back in wild laughter and Hoshi twist his body with far too much enthusiasm. Dokyeom’s arms were flailing in an exaggerated dance move, oblivious to the stares they were attracting.

“Those three could keep going for hours,” Vernon muttered, shaking his head as he looked over at them.

Luna let out a small, tired laugh, and as she settled into her seat, she felt Jeonghan’s presence beside her.

Jeonghan’s eyes were still locked on her, though. Everything else in the room seemed muted, the voices of their friends blending into the background. He admired the way her skin glowed under the soft lights of the restaurant, how her ash grey hair clung to her slightly damp neck from all the dancing.

Every inch of her was so effortlessly captivating.

He hadn’t stopped watching her since she sat down. His gaze was unrelenting, but not in a way that made her uncomfortable— rather, it was the kind of stare that seemed to pierce through all her usual defenses, a soft intensity that always left her feeling exposed.

Before she could think too much about it, Seungcheol, the ever-diligent leader, straightened up and glanced at the time on his phone. His expression shifted slightly, taking on that familiar responsible tone he always wore when it was time to get serious.

“We’ve been here for three hours,” he announced, his voice cutting through the noise just enough for the group to hear him. “It's late and we have work tomorrow. Plus, I think three hours of dancing is enough for one night.” He cast a glance toward the still-energetic trio with a knowing smirk.

The rest of the group groaned lightly but nodded in agreement. Seungcheol was right, as always. No matter how much fun they were having, they had responsibilities waiting for them in the coming days as they continued to prepare for their comeback with their new song ‘HIT’ next month.

As the leader gathered everyone, Luna, still catching her breath, felt Jeonghan’s presence beside her, his warmth radiating through the small space between them. It wasn’t just his proximity, though— there was something electric about how quiet he had been, his intense gaze fixated solely on her.

It was hard not to blush under his gaze— how long had he been watching her? But then again, she didn't mind being the center of his attention.

She could feel it, a tension in the air that wasn’t there before, and it made her skin tingle.

While Seungcheol was busy with the rest of the members, Jeonghan turned his attention back to Luna, his eyes softening as he leaned just a little closer to her. “You looked like you were having fun out there,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, that familiar lilt in his tone that always seemed to make her stomach do a tiny flip.

Luna huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “I was. Until I couldn’t feel my legs anymore,” she replied, her own voice quieter now as the noise around them seemed to dim slightly.

Jeonghan’s smile deepened, a small chuckle escaping him. “Pushing yourself too hard again?” he cooed softly, his voice dropping into that smooth, almost condescending tone he often used when he was in full dote-on-Luna mode.

It wasn’t harsh; it was gentle like he was speaking to a child who didn’t know their limits yet.

Luna rolled her eyes, but there was a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Someone had to keep up with Dokyeomie, and you certainly weren’t volunteering,” she shot back, her tone light but with a teasing edge.

Jeonghan’s eyes glinted with amusement, his hand coming to rest on the back of her chair. The casual gesture sent a shiver of warmth through her, but she kept her expression neutral.

“I’m just smart enough to know my limits,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping into a quieter, more intimate tone. “Unlike someone.”

She could feel the tension simmering between them— subtle, unspoken, but undeniably present. The way he was looking at her, the way his voice seemed to dip into that soft, almost velvety tone whenever he spoke to her— it was enough to make her heart race slightly faster, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“You’re always so full of wisdom,” she teased, letting out a small, tired laugh.

Jeonghan chuckled softly, his gaze dropping to her lips for the briefest second before meeting her eyes again. “You should listen to me more often,” he murmured, his voice now so low it was almost a whisper. “I only have your best interests at heart, Jiyeonie.”

"Mhm, I'm fine." Luna playfully rolled her eyes at him which Jeonghan caught considering he hadn't taken his eyes off her yet.

Jeonghan carefully eyed her seat and reached for the base and with one quick tug, he pulled her closer before turning his head slightly, his voice smooth and low as he leaned just a bit closer to her, his breath brushing against the shell of her ear. “Say whatever you want but you seem to have a hard time keeping up with them, Nana-ya,” he teased, his tone both condescending and affectionate, his words laced with a quiet, teasing chuckle.

He used that familiar pet name, one that made her heart skip in ways she tried to ignore.

Luna scoffed lightly, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I was keeping up just fine, thank you very much.”

“Mm, sure you were.” Jeonghan’s voice was soft, but it was filled with amusement as he slowly turned toward her, his body shifting so he was facing her more directly.

His eyes gleamed mischievously, a spark of playful intent. “You should take care of yourself, hm? You should let me take care of you more,” he cooed softly, his tone dipping into that dangerously low, smooth register that always made her stomach twist.

Jeonghan wasn’t looking at her like a friend, not anymore, and it made her blood run warmer.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against the side of her face as he spoke. His tone was so soft, so intimate, it made her heart race even though the words themselves were teasing.

The way he said it, like she was something fragile, something precious that needed looking after— it was disarming.

Luna raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in her seat as if to regain some distance, though the playful glint in her eyes betrayed her. “You'll take care of me?” she repeated, her voice challenging but soft.

Jeonghan leaned in closer, his face just inches from hers now. The scent of his cologne— earthy, slightly musky, and so distinctly him— filled her senses.

“Since you’ve clearly been overexerting yourself. In practice too, you've been overworking yourself,” he said in that smooth, deep tone, his fingers lightly brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, his touch feather-light yet deliberate. “You know how I hate seeing you tired, Jiyeonie.”

The way he spoke, the way his voice dropped into something so soft and intimate, made Luna’s pulse quicken. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, his eyes drinking in every detail of her face as if she were the only thing that mattered in the entire room.

The others were still laughing, still packing up, but to Jeonghan, none of it existed. There was only her.

Luna swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, though she fought to keep her composure. She knew him too well— knew that behind the teasing, there was something deeper. Something simmering beneath the surface.

“You’re really laying it on thick tonight, Han,” she teased back, her voice a bit quieter now, the nickname slipping out before she could stop herself. “Are you worried about me?”

Jeonghan eyes darkened slightly, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile as his gaze flickered down to her lips before slowly meeting her eyes again. “I always worry about you,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper now, intimate and deep.

His words hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken tension, the kind that made Luna’s breath catch in her throat.

She was drawn to it, to him, even though every rational part of her brain screamed at her to keep her guard up. But Jeonghan had a way of getting under her skin, making her want things she knew she shouldn’t.

Before she could reply, his hand brushed against hers, just a light, fleeting touch, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity through her. She glanced down at their hands, the small contact sending her heart racing, but when she looked back up at him, his eyes were still fixed on hers, unrelenting, waiting.

“You’ve been acting strange lately,” she finally said, her voice quieter now, as if the weight of the moment was pressing down on her.

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Strange? I thought I was always like this with you.” His tone was playful, but there was a seriousness behind his words, a truth he wasn’t ready to say outright.

Luna narrowed her eyes at him, though her lips twitched into a small smile. “No, you haven’t. Not like this.” She paused, her voice dropping lower, more serious. “What changed, Jeonghan?”

Luna knew what changed... she just wanted to hear it come out of his mouth… she needed to hear it.

The tension between them thickened, palpable, both of them fully aware of what wasn’t being said.

Before she could respond, their conversation was interrupted by the sudden noise of Seungcheol calling everyone to gather up. The leader’s voice cut through the moment like a knife, and Luna could feel the tension between her and Jeonghan dissipate as reality sank back in.

Jeonghan leaned back slightly, his hand still resting on the back of her chair as he gave her a small, knowing smile. “Looks like we’re being summoned,” he said softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

The rest of the group began to gather their things, Seungcheol rounding everyone up with the ease of someone used to managing chaos. Hoshi, Seungkwan, and Dokyeom finally stopped their dancing, though they were still buzzing with energy as they made their way over to the group.

“Come on,” Jeonghan murmured, standing up from his seat and offering Luna’s hand.

She took it without hesitation, letting him help her up from the chair, her legs still slightly wobbly from all the dancing. As they made their way to the exit, saying goodbye to everyone as they prepared to head home, Jeonghan kept close to her side.

They exchanged quiet goodbyes with the other members, Seungcheol reminding everyone to get some rest before they had to jump back into work the next day.

Once the farewells were done, Jeonghan gently guided Luna toward his car. “Come on,” he said softly, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back as he led her through the parking lot. “I didn’t drink much, I’ll drive us back.”

The air between them felt heavier now, quieter, as if the rest of the world had faded into the background, leaving only the two of them.

Luna didn’t protest as they reached his car, slipping into the passenger seat as Jeonghan closed the door behind her. The sound of the car door shutting felt final like they were cocooned in their own little world now, separated from the noise and energy of the night.

Jeonghan slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, the low hum of the engine filling the silence. As they pulled out of the parking lot, the city lights reflecting off the windows, the tension that had been simmering between them earlier seemed to settle back in, quiet but palpable.

The hum of the car engine blended with the soft pattern of rain beginning to fall against the windshield. The city lights blurred as droplets streaked across the glass, casting soft reflections inside the car. It was a peaceful silence but charged, like the calm before a storm. Everything felt heightened in this small space— the closeness, the warmth, the electricity between them that neither could ignore.

Luna had leaned back, her eyes lazily scanning the passing scenery as she twirled the lollipop in her mouth. Jeonghan’s hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, his focus on the road, but his attention clearly elsewhere.

Finally, Jeonghan broke the silence, his voice soft but cutting through the quiet like the first crack of thunder. “You really do push yourself too hard,” he murmured, the tone carrying both amusement and concern. He glanced sideways at her, just for a second, catching the way her lips tugged into a smile.

Luna turned her head to face him, the corners of her mouth lifting into a playful smirk. “You sound like a broken record,” she teased lightly, her voice tinged with laughter. “Have you forgotten you told me that already, or have you just got nothing new to say?”

Jeonghan chuckled a deep sound that filled the quiet car. “I’m just reminding you,” he said, his gaze flicking toward her briefly before returning to the road. “Someone has to take care of you.”

Luna snorted softly, shaking her head. “I think I’m doing fine. You should worry about yourself.”

“Me?” Jeonghan’s eyebrows lifted in mock offense. “I’m perfect.”

Luna rolled her eyes, the lollipop making a soft clack as she pulled it out of her mouth and pointed it at him. “You and your ego, I swear. If your head gets any bigger, you’ll need to get a bigger car.”

Jeonghan let out a soft laugh, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Please, Jiyeonie, you like it.”

She shot him a playful glare but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You think you know me so well.”

“I do,” he said confidently, his tone casual yet carrying a weight behind it. “I know you push yourself because you hate being the first to give up. You’d rather collapse than admit you’re tired.”

Luna blinked, surprised at how easily he’d read her, though she shouldn’t have been. Jeonghan always had a way of seeing through her, peeling back layers without even trying. She shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybe.”

The rain started coming down heavier, drumming against the roof. The windshield wipers moved in a steady rhythm, slicing through the water, but it did nothing to cut through the thickening tension between them.

“You don’t have to impress anyone, Nana-ya,” Jeonghan said quietly, his tone softer now, more sincere. “Not even me.”

Luna felt a warmth spread through her at his words, but she masked it with a grin. “Who says I’m trying to impress you?”

Jeonghan glanced at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “Oh, so it’s just me then?”

Luna scoffed, crossing her arms. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Jeonghan smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Too late.”

Luna groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Why do I even bother talking to you?”

“Because you love me,” he said simply, the teasing tone never leaving his voice.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

There was a pause in their conversation, a lull filled by the steady rhythm of rain against the windshield. The city lights blurred past them, casting soft reflections across Luna’s face, her features illuminated in a soft, almost ethereal glow

Jeonghan wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it— maybe it was the lingering effect of the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t help himself—but the words slipped out before he could stop himself.

“Have I told you that you look beautiful today?” Jeonghan asked, his tone casual as he changed the topic, almost too casual for the weight those words carried.

Luna’s head turned toward him, her eyebrows raising in surprise, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She pulled the lollipop from her mouth, twirling it between her fingers as she gave him a teasing look. “I don’t think you have,” she replied, her voice light, playful. “Is that something you’re just realizing now?”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, I’ve known it all night,” he said smoothly, his voice dipping into that soft, dangerously teasing tone he often used with her. “I just didn’t get around to saying it until now.”

Luna leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs as she twirled the lollipop stick absentmindedly. “Well, thank you for your delayed observation,” she said with a mock-serious nod. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of time to admire me while I was dancing.”

He smiled, not denying it. “Trust me, I’ve been doing more than admiring.” His eyes glinted with mischief, though his voice remained steady and calm, the type of calm that made her heart skip a beat.

Luna rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help the warmth that spread across her cheeks. She looked out the window to hide the smile threatening to break across her face. “Always so smooth, Hannie.”

“You love it when I’m smooth,” he replied, his voice dipping lower, softer, as he glanced at her again. There was something different in his gaze this time—something that made the air between them feel heavier, more charged.

Luna’s smile faded slightly, though not from discomfort. There was something in the way he was looking at her, something that made her pulse quicken despite herself. She didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to stare out at the rain as it blurred against the glass, her mind racing with thoughts she had tried to push aside for a long time.

Luna knew this game.

She knew how Jeonghan flirted— it was playful, light, teasing, always with a little smirk and a sparkle in his eyes. He had flirted with her before more so these last couple of months and she had always brushed it off, played along, knowing it didn’t mean anything.

But tonight felt different. There was something in the way his eyes lingered on her, the way his voice dropped into that dangerously low tone whenever he spoke to her. It made her stomach twist in ways that scared her.

She told herself it was just him being Jeonghan, that he hadn’t changed, that this was just how he was. But deep down, she couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between them. She had seen it in the way he looked at her tonight, had felt it in the way he hovered near her during the party, the way his fingers brushed hers when he helped her out of her chair earlier.

It wasn’t just friendly. It was something more, something heavier, something that made her chest tighten with a mix of hope and fear.

And yet… Luna couldn’t help herself.

She was drawn to it, drawn to him.

Even though she had promised herself she wouldn’t let her heart win again, even though she had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t let her guard down, she was losing the battle.

It was impossible to resist Yoon Jeonghan, especially when he looked at her like she was the only person in the room— he had a way of making her feel like the center of his universe, even when he was surrounded by others.

It was intoxicating.

Dangerous.

But Bae Jiyeon was drawn to it all the same.

She knew she shouldn’t.

She knew it was risky, that letting herself fall again would only lead to heartache.

But as she sat there, feeling his eyes on her, feeling the warmth of his presence beside her, she wondered if maybe— just maybe— she was willing to take that risk again.

“You’re such a flirt. In fact, you’re bolder than normal,” Luna allowed herself to chuckle.

Jeonghan's fingers tightened on the steering wheel for a moment as her words lingered between them.

Where had this sudden boldness come from?

He didn't know.

Sure, he flirted, teased, and bantered with Luna— it was their dynamic, the rhythm they’d fallen into after years of knowing each other.

But something about these past few months and more so tonight felt different.

Maybe it was the few drinks he’d had earlier, loosening his inhibitions just enough to say the things he’d been holding back. Or maybe it was desperation, the realization that he had been skirting around his feelings for far too long.

Maybe it was because they were alone, away from the rest of the group, the tension between them simmering just beneath the surface.

Maybe it was the way she looked tonight and every day— beautiful, radiant like she didn’t even realize the effect she had on him.

Maybe it was just her.

Maybe it had always been her.

He had always been good at hiding his emotions, at keeping things under wraps, but with Luna… it was different.

She had a way of breaking through his defenses without even trying. He could still remember the way she looked at him when she confessed last year— the heartbreak in her eyes when he rejected her. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he had. And he’d been thinking about it ever since.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was tired of pretending he didn’t feel something for her, something more than friendship.

He had spent so long avoiding this, avoiding her, because he was scared. Scared of what it would mean if he admitted to himself that he had feelings for her.

But sitting here, in this small, quiet space with the rain falling softly around them, he felt like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He was drawn to her— had always been drawn to her— but tonight, it was different.

Whatever it was, he was allowing himself to be a little reckless.

The rain intensified, the rhythmic sound growing louder as they drove through the quiet streets back to the dorm. The world outside the car was dark and blurred, but inside, the tension was so thick it felt like something tangible.

Every second they spent in this small, enclosed space made the air feel heavier, more charged. Jeonghan could feel it in every breath, in every glance she threw his way.

Tonight, he was ready to risk it.

He wasn’t sure how he had managed to keep himself in check for so long, because right now, all he wanted was her.

Jeonghan cleared his throat, his voice dropping lower as he spoke. “You know, I wasn’t lying when I said you look beautiful. I wasn’t just saying that to flatter you,” he murmured, his tone soft but deliberate. “You really do look beautiful tonight.”

“Mm… thank you,” Luna said as she shifted in her seat slightly, pulling her legs up underneath her as she leaned against the car door.

Jeonghan glanced at her again, his heart skipping a beat when he saw her looking back at him and for a moment, he was gone. She was smiling softly, her eyes bright despite the late hour, her lips still stained from the lollipop she had been playing with all night.

And in that moment, Jeonghan realized he was a goner.

Completely and utterly lost.

The way she looked bathed in the faint glow of the dashboard lights, her lips curling around her words, her eyes dancing with mischief. The subtle scent of her perfume filled the car, a warm and intoxicating mix that tugged at his senses.

Luna was talking, her voice a tantalizing melody yet Jeonghan couldn’t make out what she was saying— he was…. completely and utterly lost. And then, her hand— the gentle, casual touch as she caressed his shoulder while she talked, sending a jolt through his chest like a spark had just ignited something inside him.

How was he supposed to concentrate on driving when every part of him was tuned into her?

Jeonghan realized, with a sudden, amused thought, that there were a few things you absolutely shouldn’t do while driving: use your phone, be drunk, speed recklessly… and have Bae Jiyeon sitting in your passenger seat.

It was dangerous.

The kind of danger that made him wonder if he was more likely to crash the car from being so utterly distracted by her.

Jeonghan’s grip on the wheel tightened as he forced himself to focus on the road ahead. But then he glanced at her again, and his breath caught for a second.

Luna was watching him— no, she was staring at him with a smug look in her eyes, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Of course, she knew. She always knew.

That smugness in her expression, the way her lips twitched as if she was enjoying watching him squirm— it was maddening.

Luna was enjoying this. Petty as she could be, she was reveling in the way he was slowly unraveling under her gaze.

And just like that, Luna decided to throw all of her fucks out the window.

“Am I going to be the cause of our collective demise once you crash this car?” Luna chuckled as she addressed Jeonghan’s focus on her despite driving.

“You think this is funny?” he muttered, his voice low, laced with that familiar teasing edge. He didn’t even try to hide the amusement in his tone, despite the frustration simmering underneath.

Luna twirled the lollipop in her mouth, the little pink candy rotating lazily as she continued to stare at him, her eyes glinting mischievously.

She didn’t even bother to answer him— just smirked and leaned back in her seat as if she had already won this silent game they were playing.

There was something in the way she was looking at him now— something deeper than just their usual playful banter. He could feel the heat of her gaze, the way her eyes seemed to trace over him as if she was daring him to do something.

The tension was unbearable, every word they exchanged adding to the weight of it.

Jeonghan knew, at that moment, that any shred of morality or self-restraint he had left was being thrown out the window.

He couldn’t help himself anymore, not when she was looking at him like that, not when every nerve in his body was on fire from just being near her.

He glanced at her again, and this time, he didn’t hold back the flirtation in his voice. “Nana-ya…” he started, his tone smooth, dangerously soft. “If you keep looking at me like that, we might have a problem.”

Luna raised an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming with challenge as she continued to twirl the lollipop in her mouth. “Oh?” she murmured, feigning innocence, though the glint in her eyes told him she was anything but. “And what kind of problem would that be?”

Jeonghan’s eyes flicked toward her briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “The kind where I stop caring about the road entirely and start caring about something else.”

The implication hung in the air between them, thick with the tension neither of them was willing to fully acknowledge yet.

Luna giggled, leaning back against the seat, twirling the lollipop between her fingers like she was playing with the moment. “You’re such a flirt, Hannie,” she said, shaking her head slightly. Her voice was light, but there was a warmth there, something knowing as if she was fully aware of the effect she had on him.

“And you love it,” Jeonghan shot back, his tone a mix of teasing and certainty.

He wasn’t even asking— it was a fact between them.

Luna tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe I do,” she admitted, licking her lips as she discarded the stick. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. “Too late,” he cooed, his voice slipping into that condescending tone again, the one he knew always made her roll her eyes. “I think you like it when I tease you, Jiyeonie.”

She glanced at him from the side, the soft glow from the dashboard lights catching in her eyes. “And I think you talk too much,” she retorted, though her smile betrayed her.

“Do I?” Jeonghan’s voice dipped lower, softer, almost a whisper as he added, “I think you like it when I talk to you like this.”

Luna shifted in her seat, crossing her arms and giving him a side-eye. “You think a lot of things, don’t you?”

He grinned at her defiance, leaning slightly toward her as he replied, “And I’m usually right, aren’t I?”

Luna let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she watched the rain streak across the windshield. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm,” Jeonghan hummed, his voice a lazy drawl. “But you’re still here.”

“Who would you gawk at if I wasn’t?” Luna smirked.

The rain picked up, soft at first, then heavier, drumming on the windshield in rhythm with Jeonghan's increasingly erratic thoughts. The world outside was blurred, the soft streetlights hazy in the downpour, but inside the car, the tension was palpable.

Jeonghan's fingers tightened around the steering wheel as if holding on for dear life, not because of the rain, but because of the woman sitting next to him, practically radiating smug confidence.

Luna's presence was overwhelming, and the teasing glint in her eyes felt like a challenge he wasn't sure he could resist.

Her fingers idly twirled the lollipop in her mouth. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, and the maddening part was how much she was enjoying every second of it. Her smirk, and her playfulness all gnawed at him in the best and worst ways possible.

Everything about her posture screamed cat-that-got-the-canary— as if she knew exactly how close Jeonghan was to cracking.

If only he knew what would happen if he did.

“Brat,” Jeonghan let out a sharp breath through his nose, trying to focus on the road ahead, though it was becoming increasingly impossible. Every glance her way made his pulse quicken, made the frustration in him grow.

And then, without thinking, his hand left the wheel.

It was quick, almost instinctual, like gravity had pulled him toward her. His palm landed on her thigh-firm, commanding-sending a jolt of heat up her leg. His fingers splayed against the soft fabric of her sheer black tights, the warmth of her skin radiating through the material. His touch was possessive, but his grip remained gentle as if he was testing the boundaries, daring her to stop him.

Luna's breath hitched, just slightly, but she didn't push his hand away. Instead, she shifted in her seat, just enough to press into his touch, amplifying the tension that had already settled thickly between them.

Her eyes flicked down to where his hand rested, then back up to his face, and she bit her lower lip, a smirk still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Hannie," she practically purred, her voice sweet but laced with mischief. "Is that really the safest thing to do while driving?"

Jeonghan's fingers flexed against her thigh, a slow, deliberate movement that made her feel the weight of his touch even more. He tilted his head toward her, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, the playful tone from before replaced with something deeper, something more intense. His voice came out in a low, velvety murmur.

"Safe?" he repeated, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. "I am holding onto you for safety, Jiyeonie."

Luna's eyes glimmered with challenge, her heartbeat quickening, though she'd never let him know it. She leaned in slightly, her hand drifting toward his arm, her fingertips brushing against his wrist where it rested on her leg. Her voice was just as teasing, if not more, as she shot back, "You seem awfully distracted for someone who's supposed to be focused on the road."

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, the sound soft and low, the kind of laugh that sent a shiver down her spine. "I am distracted," he admitted, his thumb now tracing a lazy circle on her thigh. His eyes darted from the road back to her, his gaze heavy with desire. "You're not exactly helping, pretty girl."

Luna's lips curved into a smirk, one that practically dared him to go further. "Focus, Hannie," she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jeonghan shot her a look, one eyebrow raised, clearly amused by her brattiness.

"I’m focused," he said smoothly, his voice dropping even lower. He squeezed her thigh slightly, his fingers pressing in just enough to make her gasp, though it was clear from the look in her eyes that she loved it.

The rain continued to pour, the rhythmic sound of droplets against the windshield only adding to the charged atmosphere inside the car. The world outside was quiet, but inside, the storm between them was brewing, and neither of them seemed interested in calming it.

Luna's heartbeat quickened as she shifted in her seat again, crossing her legs, which only served to push his hand higher up her thigh. She gave him a sideways glance, the corner of her mouth lifting in a taunting smile. "Big talk for someone who's barely keeping his eyes on the road."

Jeonghan's jaw clenched slightly, though there was no anger behind it— just the overwhelming desire to wipe that smug look off her face. He could feel the heat rising between them, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

But God, did he love it.

There was something about the way Luna teased him, the way she pushed and pushed until he was at the edge of his control. And maybe that was why he never stopped her. Maybe he wanted her to push him past his limits. Maybe he wanted to see just how far he could fall before losing himself completely

Without thinking, his hand slid further up her thigh, his fingertips brushing against the seam of her shorts, the movement slow, deliberate, teasing. His voice was a soft purr as he spoke, his lips barely moving.

"Do you really want to keep testing me, Bae Jiyeon?"

Luna let out a soft, breathy laugh, her lips curling into a devilish smile. "Why not?" she shot back, her voice playful but challenging. "It's fun watching you angry. I rarely get to see you even remotely pissed off.”

Jeonghan's grip tightened ever so slightly, his fingers digging into her skin, but the way his eyes darkened told her everything she needed to know. He was close— so close to giving in to whatever dangerous game they were playing. His thumb brushed lightly against the inside of her thigh, a barely-there touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

The car slowed as they neared finally reached the dorm, the streetlights casting long shadows on the wet pavement. The rain had picked up, turning into a torrential downpour, the sound of it filling the space between them.

But the tension— the crackling, electrifying tension-remained. Neither of them said a word as Jeonghan pulled into the parking lot, the engine's hum cutting off as he switched off the ignition before removing his seatbelt.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the rain hammering against the roof of the car, the only sound between them. Jeonghan's hand still rested on her thigh, his grip firm but not uncomfortable. He turned to face her, his eyes dark and unreadable as they locked onto hers.

Luna met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. The playful banter was gone, replaced by something heavier, something far more dangerous. Her pulse raced as she waited, the silence between them thick with anticipation.

And then, without a word, Jeonghan leaned in. His breath was warm against her skin, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers as he whispered, "Do you know you make me go insane?”

Luna's breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering in her chest. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, she just stared at him, her pulse quickening as she felt the heat of his body so close to hers.

Jeonghan's eyes flicked down to her lips, then back up to her eyes, a slow smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "But I think you already knew that, didn't you?"

Luna swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper as she replied, "Maybe. But I like hearing you say it."

Jeonghan's smile widened, his hand tightening ever so slightly on her thigh as he whispered, "Then I'll say it as many times as you want."

Luna's breath hitched, her pulse racing as she felt the tension between them reach its breaking point. But before either of them could say another word, the sound of the rain grew louder, drowning out everything else.

And in that moment, it wasn't the storm outside that threatened to consume them— it was the storm brewing between them, one that neither of them seemed willing to stop.

Jeonghan's breath was hot against Luna's face, his voice dropping into that intoxicating whisper that sent shivers racing up her spine. "What else do you want to hear me say, hm?"

His lips hovered dangerously close to hers, his words soft but laced with that infuriating, devastating sweetness that he always seemed to use to unravel her.

Luna sat frozen in her seat, the weight of his gaze holding her captive as her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

She couldn't speak.

Couldn't move.

She could only stare back at him, helpless beneath the intensity in his eyes, the heat of his breath against her skin making her dizzy.

And Jeonghan noticed it all.

The way she was falling apart under him, the way her lips parted just slightly but no words came out, the way her chest rose and fell with each unsteady breath.

It made him smirk, that familiar, cocky smile that she loved and hated at the same time.

He knew what he was doing to her. He always did.

He took pride in being the only one to make the big, bad, and confident Bae Jiyeon crumble.

His hand slid from her thigh to her cheek, his fingers brushing against her skin with such a delicate touch, as though he were savoring the moment, every second of it.

His thumb grazed her bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity straight through her body.

"Wanna hear how breathtaking you are?" Jeonghan's voice was soft, teasing, but there was something darker underneath— something deeper. "How much I love hearing your voice?" His fingers tangled in her hair as his thumb stroked her jaw. "How sweet you smell, Jiyeonie?"

Speechless.

Luna was utterly speechless.

“Anything. I’ll say anything for you, however much you want, pretty angel. Just tell me.”

Jeonghan said it all in that baby-talk voice that always drove her crazy, soft and low and teasing. The tone wrapped around her like a warm blanket, lulling her into a state of pure intoxication. Every word felt like a caress, every breath of his like a temptation.

He was ruining her, and he knew it.

Luna couldn't help herself. She leaned back against the door of the car, her head resting on the window as she stared at him, mesmerized. His fingers trailed through her hair, and his eyes were dark, filled with something she couldn't quite place— scanned every inch of her face, lingering on her lips.

She didn't know how it had come to this.

How she had gone from playful banter to this suffocating, unrelenting tension that made her feel like she was on the edge of something dangerous, something that once started, neither of them could take back.

But maybe she didn't want to take it back.

Jeonghan leaned in closer, his lips inches from hers as he tilted his head, his gaze dropping to the lollipop stick still hanging from her mouth. "Always wanted to know what it tastes like," he murmured, his voice smooth, almost playful.

For a split second, a dumb part of Luna thought he meant the lollipop itself, and her mind raced to think of a witty comeback. But before she could say anything, Jeonghan's hand reached up, gently pulling the stick from her lips, his eyes never leaving hers.

And then, without another word, his fingers caught her chin between them, holding her still as he leaned in closer.

It happened so quickly and so slowly all at once. One second, he was hovering in front of her, teasing her with the nearness of his lips. The next, his mouth was on hers, capturing her in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs and sent her heart into a freefall.

The first touch of his lips against hers was soft, and tentative, like he was testing the waters. But then, when he felt her lips part beneath his when he heard the soft, almost inaudible gasp that escaped her— he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of her neck as he pulled her closer.

For years, they had danced around this moment. Years of stolen glances, of teasing words and almost-touches. Years of denying what they both knew was there, simmering beneath the surface, too dangerous to acknowledge.

But now, with the rain pouring down around them, the car windows fogging up from the heat of their breath, and the tension that crackled between them like electricity— there was no more denying it.

Jeonghan's lips moved against hers with a softness that belied the intensity of the feelings that had been building up inside him for so long. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently as his other hand slid down her neck, caressing the skin there before resting just above her collarbone.

Luna's mind was a blur, her thoughts spinning as she melted into him, her body reacting instinctively to the heat of his touch. She had imagined this moment so many times— late at night, when she couldn't sleep, wondering what it would feel like to finally close the distance between them. But nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it.

Nothing could have prepared her for the way his lips felt against hers, soft but demanding or the way his hand cradled the back of her head like she was something precious. The way his breath hitched when she responded when she kissed him back with just as much hunger as if she had been waiting for this just as long as he had.

At that moment, everything else fell away— the rain, the car, the world outside. All that mattered was him, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his hand on her skin.

All the years of pining, of holding back, of pretending they didn't feel what they did— it all dissolved in the heat of the kiss.

Jeonghan groaned softly, the sound vibrating against her lips as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss even further. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her closer as if he couldn't bear the thought of even an inch of space between them.

Luna's hands found their way to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer, her body arching toward him instinctively. The kiss was everything she had imagined and more fiery, desperate, filled with years of pent-up longing.

And yet, there was a softness to it, too. A tenderness in the way his thumb brushed her cheek, in the way his lips softened against hers as if he was savoring every second of it.

Her mind was spinning, her heart pounding in her chest as they kissed, the sound of the rain outside only intensifying the moment, creating a cocoon of intimacy around them. This kiss was more than just a kiss— it was a culmination of everything that had been building between them for years.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they panted softly, the air between them thick with the weight of what had just happened.

Jeonghan's hand was still cradling her face, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek as he stared down at her, his dark eyes filled with something she couldn't quite place.

"Jiyeon-ah," he whispered, his voice rough, his breath warm against her lips. He didn't say anything else—he didn't need to.

Everything he was feeling was written in the way he looked at her, in the way his fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against her skin.

Luna's heart was still racing, her mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. But when she met his gaze, saw the vulnerability in his eyes, she knew.

This wasn't just a moment. This was everything they had been denying, everything they had been too afraid to acknowledge.

Jeonghan didn’t waste a second. As soon as the kiss broke, his lips still tingling from the warmth of hers, he popped the lollipop he was still holding in between his fingers back into his mouth with a smirk, tasting the lingering sweetness that seemed insignificant compared to the taste of her lips.

Without a word, he grabbed her purse from the back seat and pushed open his door, stepping out into the pouring rain.

The downpour was relentless, soaking him to the bone the moment he left the car, but he didn’t care. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his clothes sticking to his skin as he jogged around the front of the car, his shoes splashing in the puddles that had formed beneath him. The rain chilled him, but the heat still simmering in his veins from their kiss overpowered the cold.

Luna was still frozen in her seat, her mind reeling from the intensity of what had just happened.

The taste of Jeonghan's kiss was still fresh on her lips, her pulse racing, every nerve ending in her body on fire. She hadn’t even noticed that Jeonghan had left the car, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as she replayed the feel of his lips, the way his hand had tangled in her hair, the way he had kissed her like he was claiming her.

She was only brought back to reality when the passenger door opened with a wet, metallic groan, and Jeonghan, drenched and dripping, crouched down to meet her wide-eyed gaze.

His eyes were dark, filled with something unreadable as his hands moved to her seatbelt, carefully unclipping it before leaning in just enough for her to catch the scent of rain and his cologne, now mingling with the smell of wet clothes “Come on,” he murmured, his voice still rough from the kiss.

His fingers found hers, intertwining with them as he gently but firmly pulled her out of the car and into the rain.

The cold rain hit her like a shock, drenching her instantly as her shoes splashed into a puddle beside the curb. She barely had time to register the chill because Jeonghan’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her toward the dorm entrance with a sense of urgency like he couldn’t bear to be apart from her for even another second.

They sprinted through the rain, hand in hand, as it poured relentlessly, drenching both of them until their clothes clung to their bodies. Luna’s breath came in quick, ragged gasps, her heart still hammering from the kiss, from the feel of Jeonghan’s fingers tightly gripping hers.

By the time they reached the dorm building’s entrance, they were soaked, water dripping from their hair and clothes, but neither of them seemed to care.

Jeonghan pulled open the door with one swift motion, leading her inside, their footsteps echoing off the tiled floor as they hurried toward the elevator. As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, the tension snapped back into place, stronger and more electric than before.

The rain had done nothing to cool the heat simmering between them. If anything, it had only intensified it.

Jeonghan stood there for a second, his chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths, his wet hair sticking to his forehead, and water droplets running down his face.

And then, without warning, he yanked the lollipop from his mouth and threw it carelessly to the floor of the elevator, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her knees go weak.

In one swift motion, he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her back against the elevator wall, his body pressing against hers, pinning her in place. His lips crashed into hers again, desperate, hungry, like he couldn’t wait another second to taste her again.

Luna’s hands flew to his chest, fingers curling into the wet fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back just as desperately, just as hungrily. The heat between them was unbearable, the feel of his body against hers, the taste of his lips— everything about him was overwhelming her senses, and she couldn’t get enough.

Between kisses, Jeonghan’s breath was ragged, his voice low and rough. “God, I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

Luna’s response was a soft gasp as his hand slid up her side, pressing her closer against the wall. “Han– oppa…”

He kissed her again, cutting off her words, his lips moving against hers with a fierce intensity. “You don’t even know how much I wanted this, Jiyeonie,” he whispered, his breath hot against her mouth as he pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire.

Luna couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t think.

All she could do was feel— the heat of his body, the way his fingers dug into her waist, the way his lips moved against hers, demanding and relentless. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, imagined it in a thousand different ways, but nothing could compare to the real thing.

Nothing could compare to the way Jeonghan kissed her like he was starving like he needed her to breathe.

The elevator dinged, the sound almost lost in the haze of their kiss. Jeonghan pulled away just long enough to glance at the floor number before a mischievous smirk tugged at his lips. He grabbed her hand again, yanking her out of the elevator as the doors opened.

Their footsteps were hurried as they made their way to his apartment, water still dripping from their clothes and hair. Without a second thought, Jeonghan typed his password, fumbling slightly as he unlocked the door in his haste.

The moment it swung open, he pulled her inside, slamming the door shut behind them with a loud thud, locking it in one fluid motion. Before Luna could even catch her breath, Jeonghan had her pressed up against the door, his hands braced on either side of her head as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against hers again, teasing.

“You’re staying here with me tonight, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft, but the heat in his eyes was unmistakable.

Luna barely had time to nod before his lips were on hers again, his hands sliding down her waist, pulling her flush against him as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any space between them.

The intensity of the kiss made her dizzy, her body reacting on instinct, her hands tangling in his soaked hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. They were both drenched, clothes sticking to their skin, hair dripping water onto the floor, but none of it mattered.

All that mattered was this— this moment, this kiss, this connection that had been building for years, finally unleashed with a force neither of them could control.

Jeonghan’s hand slid up her side, fingers grazing her wet skin beneath her soaked shirt, making her shiver despite the heat between them. His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, down to her neck, where he left a trail of soft, teasing kisses, his breath warm against her skin.

Luna’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his hair as her head tilted back, giving him more access. “Hannie…” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, her mind spinning from the overwhelming sensation of his touch, his lips, his body pressed so firmly against hers.

“Nana-ya…” he hummed back, his voice rough and filled with so much emotion, so much want, that it made her knees buckle beneath her. “I’m never letting you go after this. You know that right?”

Jeonghan couldn’t get enough of her— her taste, her scent, the way she fit so perfectly in his arms. Every kiss was deeper, more desperate like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

His hand slid beneath her shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist, feeling the way her body trembled under his touch. He pressed his lips to the soft skin of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her, a mix of rain, shampoo, and something uniquely Luna.

God, she’s perfect.

He couldn't help the thought that ran through his mind, as if seeing her, feeling her like this, up close, made him realize just how breathtaking she truly was. Every inch of her, from the way she gasped softly at his touch to the way her hands clung to him as though he was the only thing keeping her grounded, drove him mad with need.

Luna’s mind was a mess, her body responding to him in ways she hadn’t imagined. Every brush of his lips on her skin sent a shiver down her spine, and the way his hands roamed over her like he was memorizing her made her heart race uncontrollably.

She’d dreamed of this moment countless times— of Jeonghan looking at her the way he was now, touching her like he couldn’t get enough. But now that it was happening, it was so much more than she ever imagined.

He’s really here. This is really happening.

His hands, his mouth, the way he said her name— it all felt too good to be real like she was living in some fantasy she had conjured. But the heat of his breath against her neck, the way his body pressed into hers, was too intense to be anything but reality. And now that they had crossed this line, she didn’t want to stop.

She didn’t want to think about the consequences, the risks, or the years they had tiptoed around their feelings.

All she wanted was Jeonghan.

Jeonghan’s lips moved back up to her mouth, capturing her in another deep, urgent kiss. His hand slid further under her shirt, his thumb brushing against her ribs, drawing a soft gasp from her lips.

“I hated what I did to you— I shouldn’t have lied to you about my feelings,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low, almost a growl.

Luna’s heart skipped a beat, her hands tightening their grip on his damp shirt. She looked into his eyes, breathless, her lips still tingling from his kiss. “Then why did you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible as her eyes searched his, wanting to understand why he had kepthis feelings to himself for so long.

Jeonghan's eyes darkened slightly as he rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the small space between them. "I was scared," he confessed softly, his voice tinged with something between regret and longing.

But not anymore, Jeonghan thought to himself, feeling the weight of all the unspoken words they had left hanging in the air for years.

He had been so careful, so patient, but now that he had her here, now that he had tasted what they could be together, there was no going back.

Jeonghan can't let her go. Not now.

Luna’s heart ached at his words, but a part of her understood.

They had always been so careful, always so focused on the group, on protecting what they had built together. But she couldn’t stop the pang of frustration that crept in. They had wasted so much time, so many years dancing around each other, denying what was always there, just beneath the surface.

“We could have had this sooner,” she murmured, her voice barely audible as she cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek.

Jeonghan leaned into her touch, closing his eyes briefly, savoring the warmth of her hands on his skin. “I know,” he breathed out, his lips brushing against hers again, softer this time, almost tender. “But I was afraid… of how much I wanted you.”

Those words sent a fresh wave of heat through her, her body reacting instantly to the intensity in his voice.

She didn’t think she could want him more than she already did, but somehow, hearing him admit that he had been holding back for so long only made her desire for him stronger.

Jeonghan’s hands slid up her sides, pushing the wet fabric of her shirt higher, his fingers skimming the bare skin of her stomach. “You’re driving me crazy, Bae Jiyeon,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and desire as his lips found hers again, their kiss deeper, more urgent than before.

Luna’s hands slipped into his hair, tugging him closer as she kissed him back with equal fervor, her mind racing with the realization that they were finally here, that everything they had held back for so long was finally pouring out between them, unstoppable, uncontrollable.

“I don’t want to stop,” Jeonghan whispered against her lips, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped her face, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. “I don’t think I can.”

Luna’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at him, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “Then don’t,” she whispered back, her voice filled with the same desperation, the same need that had been building between them for years.

Jeonghan’s eyes darkened at her words, his hand sliding into her hair as he kissed her again, harder this time, more possessive. His other hand trailed down her side, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Every kiss, every touch, felt like a promise— one that neither of them was willing to break. The world outside their bubble no longer existed. It was just them— Jeonghan and Luna— finally giving in to the undeniable connection they had tried so hard to resist for years.

The heat between them was unbearable, and consuming, and neither of them cared about the consequences anymore.

They had waited long enough.

Jeonghan's lips were relentless, his hands roaming over her with a desperation that mirrored her own. Luna's fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently as she kissed him back with equal fervor. They had waited so long for this moment, and now that it was here, neither of them wanted it to end.

Jeonghan's hands slid down her back, pulling her even closer as if he wanted to merge their bodies into one. Luna's breath hitched as she felt his desire matching her own, his lips moving against hers with a hunger that left her dizzy.

His touch was electric, his kisses like a drug she couldn't get enough of. She wanted more— needed more of him.

Their kisses grew deeper, more intense as if they were trying to communicate everything they had left unsaid for years through their touch alone.

Luna's hands roamed over his chest, and his shoulders, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of his skin. Jeonghan's fingers traced patterns on her back, his lips trailing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

Jeonghan pulled away slightly, his breath still mingling with hers, his eyes searching her face for any sign of hesitation.

The tension between them still buzzed in the air, but now there was a softness there, a quiet moment of clarity that hung heavy between their shared breaths. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing gently against her skin as if he was grounding himself in her presence, ensuring she was okay.

“Jiyeon…” Jeonghan’s voice was soft now, barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything that had happened between them over the years. “If we do this…” He paused, his dark eyes locking with hers, the intensity in them impossible to miss. “You’re mine.”

There it was— Jeonghan’s possessiveness laid out in a simple, yet potent statement.

It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a plea.

It was a declaration, one that carried the kind of certainty that had always been a part of him, but now it was directed solely at her.

His gaze didn’t waver, waiting for her response.

For a moment, Luna just blinked, still catching her breath, feeling the heat of his words settling into her. She could feel the intensity of his claim, but it didn’t faze her— she wasn’t the type to be overwhelmed. If anything, it only fueled her.

A small, almost mischievous smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she tilted her head slightly, her eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of defiance he loved so much.

“Yours, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with that quick wit and teasing edge she wielded so well. “Last I checked, I don’t remember signing any contracts.”

Jeonghan let out a breathy chuckle, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you signed it the moment you let me kiss you,” he cooed, his tone smooth and teasing, though there was no mistaking the seriousness underlying his words. “But if you need a reminder, I can always make it official.”

Luna’s heart raced as he spoke, the familiar push and pull between them sending her mind into overdrive. She liked the way he challenged her, the way he never let her have the last word easily.

But she wasn’t about to back down. Her eyes narrowed playfully, and she leaned in just a little, her voice dropping into a near whisper as she fired back, “You’ll have to convince me, Hannie.”

Jeonghan grinned, leaning his forehead against hers as a soft laugh escaped him, the warmth of it rolling through the charged air between them. “That’s what I love about you,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, soft and almost condescending in its teasing tone. “You never make it easy.

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, his breath brushing against her lips again, his fingers gently stroking her cheek as he leaned in, the weight of his words sinking in deeper. “But I wasn’t asking you to make it easy. I like a challenge.” His voice was almost a purr now, each word laced with the kind of softness that only he could pull off while still holding all the control.

“I always win in the end anyway.”

Luna felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, the sensation of his breath on her skin and the teasing tone in his voice doing things to her that she couldn’t fully explain.

Her witty retort died on her tongue, and for the second time today in their back-and-forth, she found herself at a loss for words, simply staring into his eyes.

And Jeonghan knew it— he saw the way her resolve wavered, just for a second, and his smirk deepened, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip.

“What’s wrong, pretty girl?” he cooed softly, his voice dripping with that condescending baby talk he knew always got to her. “Hm? You okay?”

Luna’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching as she struggled to regain her composure, but the look in his eyes, the way his voice curled around her name, had her completely undone.

All she could manage was a quiet, “Shut up, Yoon Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan grinned, leaning in even closer until his lips were just barely grazing hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. "I love when you look at me like that... all helpless. You're not as tough as you pretend to be, are you?"

"Jeonghan, please... stop teasing me." Luna’s voice was soft and breathy, almost pleading as she tugged at his shirt, unable to handle how slowly he was drawing everything out.

“No? You don’t like it? I thought you liked it, hm?”Jeonghan teasingly whispered against her lips, his voice full of knowing condescension, taunting her with the fact that she always gave in to him. “It’s not fun when you’re the one being teased, huh?

Jeonghan lowered his head slowly, the glint in his eyes unmistakable as he taunted her with a soft, knowing smirk. His face hovered just inches above hers, his breath warm against her skin. She felt the weight of his gaze, heavy and teasing, as he tilted his head, pretending to consider her predicament. The moment stretched on, tension wrapping around them like a vice.

"So quiet now..." His voice was a low purr, almost a coo, dripping with condescension. He paused deliberately, letting his words sink in before speaking again. "Where's all that fire from earlier, Nana-ya?"

The nickname came out in a soft sing-song, teasing her further as his fingers brushed a stray lock of hair away from her flushed face.

Luna looked up at him, her wide eyes almost innocent, her lips parted in the slightest pout. Her heart raced in her chest, a mix of frustration and need swirling within her. "I can't handle it when you're like this... you know that." Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with a soft, frustrated whine as she pressed her forehead against his chest, her body melting into him, overwhelmed by how effortlessly he unraveled her.

Her words seemed to ignite something in Jeonghan, the way her small, innocent plea tugged at his heart. He couldn't help the way his lips curved into a smirk, his fingers instinctively moving to caress her hair.

"Aw, my poor baby," he cooed, his tone laced with amusement as he stroked her hair, letting his fingertips trace lightly over her scalp. "You really can't handle it, huh?" He whispered into her hair, his voice soft but teasing.

His heart swelled at the way she softened under his touch, completely pliable, like she was made for him to tease, to protect, to hold.

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, giving in to the tenderness that washed over him in waves.

"Alright, alright... come here." His voice softened as he leaned down and scooped her into his arms effortlessly, his strong grip making her feel weightless. She let out a tiny gasp, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck while he lifted her as if she were made of air.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her body pressed against him as he held her securely, cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in his world. His chest was warm, the steady beat of his heart against hers calming the storm that had raged moments earlier.

Jeonghan pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as he whispered, "You know I can't resist you when you're like this." His tone was gentle now, the teasing edge replaced by something softer, more protective. He shifted her weight in his arms as he carried her across the room, their bodies still so close, her head resting on his shoulder as she nestled into the crook of his neck.

He pushed open the door to his bedroom with his foot, the soft creak of the door the only sound between them. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of moonlight filtering in through the curtains, casting a pale light over the bed. Jeonghan gently lowered her onto the bed, his hands never leaving her as he carefully settled her down on the plush mattress.

Luna's fingers clung to his shirt, her body still tingling from his touch. She looked up at him, her lips slightly parted as if she didn't want to let go of him just yet.

Jeonghan chuckled softly, "Look at you... so pretty for me. You know I can't resist when you're like this, don't you?" He gently stroked her hair, his voice filled with doting affection, his eyes tracing her features like he couldn't get enough.

Luna's impatient lips found their way along the line of his jaw, teasing, swirling, tasting; her tangled curls brushing against his cheek like a lover's tender caress.

Jeonghan was intoxicated; by her, by this delicious moment that felt like a dream.

His hands, those gentle, long-fingered hands were gently removing her jacket with such finesse, now gripped her hips tightly, pulling her closer against him. He could feel her heat through the thin fabric of her attire, and he groaned, a sound that was swallowed by their ravenous kisses.

Luna gasped, her head tilting back to expose the long, elegant line of her throat. Jeonghan took advantage, his lips and teeth tracing a path of fire down to the hollow at the base of her neck.

Her hands, previously knotted in Jeonghan’s hair, now clawed at his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. He could feel her pulse racing, matching the frantic beat of his own heart.

"Oppa... please. I need you.” Luna’s was voice breathy, a little whimper escaping her as she reached for him, the need in her words almost unbearable.

"Fuck, Jiyeonie," he muttered, his voice a low growl against her skin. "You’re gonna kill me."

"Please, Hannie... I'll be good." Luna breathed out a small, pleading whimper as she promised obedience, her tone soft and submissive, wanting nothing more than to please him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against her. He could feel her, hot and wet even through their drenched clothes, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to grind against her like a teenager.

Bae Jiyeon was trying to kill Yoon Jeonghan.

He was sure of it.

"Han," she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging sharply. "Please."

"Please what? Hm," he teased, his voice a low purr. "Tell me what you want."

Luna’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping open again, meeting his gaze. "I want... I want you to take me… please.”

“Take you where? Disneyland?” Jeonghan couldn’t help himself as he smirked down at Luna who was now looking at him with a look mixed with frustration and agitation. “Tell me.”

"Oppa, I'm trying... but you make it so hard." Luna released a soft, frustrated whisper as she whined, biting her lip in frustration, overwhelmed by the way he is teasing her.

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl. You can do it. Tell me and I’ll do anything.” Jeonghan cooed as he caressed her cheeks.

Luna swallowed hard, her eyes darkening with desire.

"Fuck me, Hannie. I want you, please.” Luna whispered, her voice barely audible yet laden with desire. Her words were like a matchstick set alight, igniting a wildfire within him.

A jolt of electricity shot through Jeonghan at her words, his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He gripped her chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough.

“Fuck me,” Luna said in an instant, desperately.

Jeonghan wasted no time. He grabbed her legs which were still wrapped around his waist. With a desperate and impatient flurry of movement, clothes started flying from all over the room, leaving them both bare and even more desperate than ever.

Jeonghan sat down on the bed, pulling Luna upward onto his lap, and straddling him. His hands roamed her body, cupping her breasts, squeezing them gently.

Luna arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. He could feel her nipples hardening, pressing against his palms, begging for his mouth.

Jeonghan gripped her tighter against him, her legs wrapping around his waist, his hands gripping her ass. He could feel her heat against his stomach, her wetness coating him. He groaned, his head dipping down to capture her nipple in his mouth.

He sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, making Luna squirm in his arms. She arched her back, pushing herself further into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"Fuck, Han," she panted, her hips grinding against him. "I need you inside me.

Jeonghan didn't need any more encouragement. He released her nipple with a pop, his hands shifting to position himself at her entrance. He looked into her eyes, seeing the same hunger reflected back at him. Then, with one swift thrust, he pushed inside her.

"Fuck, Jiyeon," he breathed, his voice ragged. "You feel incredible."

Luna could only whimper in response, her body pulsing around him. She could feel every inch of him, filling her completely. She shifted her hips, trying to take him even deeper.

"Shhh, baby... no need to rush. We have all night. Let me take care of you." Jeonghan cooed softly as he slowed her down, his hands steady on her waist, his voice purring as if soothing her into submission.

“Han…” Luna’s voice was a soft whimper as she buried her face in his neck, feeling exposed and vulnerable, surrendering herself completely to him.

Jeonghan groaned, his control snapping.

He began to move faster, his hips thrusting forward in a steady rhythm. Luna matched his pace, her body rocking against his, their skin slapping together in a filthy symphony. The sound of their fucking filled the room, punctuated by their labored breaths and moans.

"Fuck, Hannie…. feels so good…" Luna gasped, her head thrown back. “Please… fast– fuck,”

"You don't need to say anything, angel. I already know. Just let me hear those pretty little sounds you make for me." Jeonghan spoke softly against her ear, his voice thick with teasing affection as he kissed her neck, enjoying how she melted into his touch.

Jeonghan’s grip on her ass tightened. He slammed into her, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside her, making her cry out.

"Yes! Just like that, Han!" she panted, her fingers digging into his back, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, urging him on.

“Yeah? Just like this, baby?” Jeonghan was lost in the sensation of her, the way she gripped him, the way her body moved in sync with his. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back, his arms burning from the effort, but he didn't care.

He wanted more. He wanted all of her.

"You're driving me crazy, Hannie..." Luna breathed out with a whimper, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as she squirmed on top of him, feeling like she was losing control.

Jeonghan had the audacity to chuckle as shifted his angle, making sure to hit her clit with each thrust.

Luna purred as she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. She could feel his heart beating against her chest. She shifted slightly, grinding against him, matching his thrusts making him groan.

"Fuck, Jiyeon," he muttered, his grip on her tightening. "Stop that or I'll cum."

Luna just giggled, her lips tracing the line of his jaw. "You promise?" she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.

“Brat,” Jeonghan growled, his cock slipping out of her, making her whimper at the loss. But before she could protest, he grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her hands and knees. Luna gasped, her ass high in the air, her face pressed into the mattress.

"Is this what you want, pretty angel?" Jeonghan asked, his voice a low rumble behind her.

Luna could feel his breath on her ass, his fingers digging into her hips.

"Yes," she panted, her face still pressed into the mattress before she lifted her head up to turn back and look at him, her doe eyes glistening in pleasure.

"I just want to make you happy... don’t you want that?" Luna’s voice was quiet and trembling, filled with vulnerability as she looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, needing his approval.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, his fingers caressing the soft flesh of her ass slow and steady. "Yeah? You want to make me happy, pretty girl?" he asked, his voice a lazy drawl. "Give me anything I want?”

“Give you anything you want. Be whatever you want.” Luna arched her back downwards like a cat stretching.

Jeonghan threw his head back, groaning, his hands spreading her ass cheeks apart, giving him a clear view of her glistening pussy. Luna shivered at the exposure, her body aching with anticipation.

He chuckled a dark sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Anything?”

“You're always teasing me, but you know I'll do anything for you, Han…” Luna released a soft, almost resigned whimper as she melted into his touch, accepting her place with a shy smile, letting herself be vulnerable for him.

"Fuck," Jeonghan muttered, his thumb tracing the seam of her pussy, gathering her wetness. "You're so fucking wet.”

“Look at you, dripping for me," He said, his voice laced with desire as he rubbed her wetness, making Luna gasp.

"Aww, baby... you're shaking. Don't worry, I've got you. I always have you. I’ll take care of you like I promised." Jeonghan cooed in a soft, condescending way as he held her leaned down on top of her, his arm wrapped around her neck, holding her close, his other hand soothingly stroking her back while his voice dipped into a protective, possessive tone.

Luna moaned, her face now pressed into the mattress, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her as Jeonghan played with her clit. "Yes please… please take care of me,” she hissed, her body arching against his touch.

Jeonghan smirked, his thumb circling her clit faster, making her gasp. "Like this, Nana-ya?" he asked, his voice soft almost as if he was singing a song to her. "You want me to fuck you like this?”

"Yes," she panted, her body writhing against his touch. "I want you to fuck me like this, oppa.” Luna's voice was a sultry purr, her body still quivering from his touch.

Jeonghan's smirk widened, his thumb was replaced by two fingers now pumping in and out of her hole, making her gasp. "You're a dirty girl, Nana-ya," he said in a tone as if he was scolding her yet his voice also filled with approval. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Luna could only whimper in response, her body aching with need. She could feel Jeonghan's hard cock pressed against her thigh, hot and heavy. She wanted it back inside her, she wanted to feel him stretching her, filling her completely.

"Please, Han," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan growled, his fingers slipping out of her, making her whimper at the loss as he in turn placed his fingers in his mouth. "You taste even sweeter than I thought. Just like I imagined... but better."

But before Luna could impatiently whine once more, Jeonghan grabbed his cock, positioning it at her entrance. Luna could feel the thick head pressing against her, making her squirm with anticipation.

"Baby," Jeonghan muttered, "You're so fucking tight.” His fingers dug into her hips as he slowly pushed himself deeper into her, inch by inch. Luna moaned, her body stretching to accommodate his size, her nails digging into the sheets beneath her.

"Fuck, Han. You're so big," she gasped, her body trembling as he filled her completely in this position. Jeonghan chuckled, his hips starting to move, sliding his cock in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Too much for you, baby?" he taunted, his voice laced with desire. "You can take it for me, Jiyeonie. You can take all of me."

Luna moaned, her body adjusting to his size once again as she clenched around him. "Yes, I can," she hissed, pushing back against him, taking him even deeper. “For you.”

Jeonghan groaned, his hips starting to move faster, his cock sliding in and out of her in a steady rhythm. "Fuck, Luna," he growled, his fingers digging into her hips. "You feel so fucking good.”

“Hannie, just like that," Luna panted, her hips moving in sync with his thrusts, taking cock deeper into her. Jeonghan could feel her walls clenching around him, her pleasure building with each thrust.

“Like a goddamn vice, squeezing me," Jeonghan groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he pounded on her.

“Oppa… Han– fuck,” Luna moaned, her body trembling as he filled her, stretching her, hitting places she didn't know existed. “Jeonghan.”

"Such a good girl for me... that's it. Let me hear you say my name." Jeonghan murmured softly as he watched her, his tone gentle but commanding, savoring the control he had over her at that moment.

"Hannie… fuck," she gasped, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets, her back arching as he started to pick up the pace. “It's too much." Luna gasped, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts as Jeonghan's cock slid in and out of her in a steady, punishing rhythm. Each thrust hit just the right spot, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through her veins, making her toes curl and her eyes roll back.

"Too much what, Nana-ya?" Jeonghan gritted out, his fingers digging into her hips, pulling her back onto him with each thrust. "Too much of my cock? Too much pleasure?"

Luna moaned, her head dropping down, her hair hiding her face. "All of it. It's all too much. It's overwhelming," She panted, her body quivering as Jeonghan's cock slammed into her, again and again, each thrust driving her closer to the edge.

He growled, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck to his lips and teeth. "Overwhelming in a good way, right, angel?" he murmured, his voice a low, sultry drawl against her skin. "You like it when I fuck you like this, don't you? Hm? You're made for me, Bae Jiyeon.”

Luna could only moan and tremble. “Oppa…”

“Does it feel good, pretty?" Jeonghan's question was laced with intent and purpose, and Luna gasped at the sound of it in the dim room. His cock was buried deep inside her, and it was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

It felt powerful, raw, and undeniably intimate.

"Yes...yes, Han," she breathed, her hands gripping the bedsheets as her hips butted against his in rhythm with his thrusts. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

Jeonghan paused for a second before placing kisses on her back and spinning her around to lay on her back, catching Luna off guard.

“You’re so pretty,” Jeonghan purred as he placed his arms at each side of her head, laying in between his arms before he started thrusting harder in her.

Every time he thrust into her, she felt a wave of ecstasy surge through her body, building higher and higher with each stroke.

"Baby— Luna, I want to feel you cum," Jeonghan groaned, his rhythm intensifying as he reached for her climax alongside her.

Luna could only whimper in response as waves of bliss crashed over her. Her fingers curled into fists as her body tensed, every muscle tightening, every nerve amplifying the pulsating sensation ripping through her.

"Oh God, Hannie," she moaned, her voice raw and desperate, "I'm there...oh my— fuck, I'm close!" Her body shook and arched, her head thrown back as she came, her cries muffled by the flesh of Jeonghan’s neck as she hid her face.

"Don't look away... keep your eyes on me, Jiyeonie. I want to see every reaction." Jeonghan said in a soft yet commanding voice as his fingers traced the skin on the back of her neck, guiding Luna’s face out of his neck, loving the vulnerability in her gaze as he held her captive with his words.

"Let me see those pretty eyes... There we go. There’s my girl." He purred softly as he tilted her chin up, guiding her to meet his gaze, his tone filled with a tender yet teasing affection that made her heart race as he continued pounding into her.

“I’m close, Han,” Luna moaned as she tightened her grasp on him.

“Let go, baby. Come on, you can do it,” Jeonghan's thrusts became harder and faster, his body slapping against Luna’s. She could feel her breasts bouncing with every movement, and her nipples hardened as she arched her back, moaning in pleasure.

Jeonghan was reaching the edge as well, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his muscles tensing. Luna knew he was on the brink, and she wanted to feel him explode inside her.

Luna dug her nails into his back, urging him on. "Hannie oppa, cum in me please,” she begged, her hips bucking up to meet his. “I’m close.”

“I’ll cum in you, pretty angel. Anything you want.” Jeonghan gave a final, powerful thrust and Luna felt him erupt inside of her, his seed filling him up as she released as well with a shudder. Her body trembled with the intensity of the orgasm.

Jeonghan groaned in satisfaction, his seed pulsing from his cock, spilling deep inside her as she milked him, her walls clamping down on him, working against his thrusting hips. He collapsed onto Luna, their bodies a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. Luna lay on her back, her heart pounding in her chest, her breaths coming in sporadic gasps.

Jeonghan kissed Luna’s neck, his lips moist and soft against her skin. "Fuck, Bae Jiyeon, you make me feel crazy," he murmured, his breath hot on her ear.

Jeonghan's weight on top of her felt heavy and comforting, and she curled her fingers into the fabric beneath her. She looked up at him, her eyes hazy with lust and pleasure. "You…" she gasped trailing off, her voice still ragged with biss.

"You are magnificent, Jiyeon-ah," Jeonghan replied, his voice soft but with an underlying intensity that made her shiver.

He shifted off her, lying on his side next to her. He brushed a loose curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "See? I told you... you’re made for me.” He whispered with a possessive edge as he looked into her eyes, his fingers gently tracing her jawline, the weight of his claim lingering in the air.

Luna let out a soft laugh, her hand traveling down his chest and settling on his hip as she hid her face in his chest, a blushing mess.

“Stop hiding from me, Nana-ya,” Jeonghan placed a kiss on top of her head as his warm fingers drew circles on her hip. “Why are you shy all of a sudden? Hm?”

“Stop,” Luna playful whined, her pout evident in her tone, though the affection lacing her words betrayed how much she loved the attention he gave her.

"You like it when I talk to you like this, don't you? It's okay, you don't have to hide it. I can tell." Jeonghan was practically purring at her, his voice dripping with teasing condescension, savoring the way she responded to his baby talk and teasing words.

“You’re so fucking annoying, Yoon Jeonghan,” Luna huffed as she removed her face off his chest to playfully glare at him only to be met by Jeonghan’s smug face already looking down at her.

A slow, lazy smile spread across Jeonghan’s lips, and he let out a low hum, clearly amused by her response. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “How do you feel, pretty girl?”

Luna could feel her pulse quicken at the nearness of him, but she wasn’t about to let him win this easily. “I’m fine. I feel fine,” she said coolly, shrugging her shoulders like this was just another casual conversation.

Jeonghan chuckled, a low sound that reverberated through his chest. “You’re fine?” he repeated, his tone teasing, almost mocking. “I just rocked your fucking world and made you mine, and all you’ve got is ‘I’m fine’?”

Luna turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she smirked. “What else do you want me to say? Write a love letter?” she quipped back, not missing a beat.

Jeonghan laughed softly, his fingers trailing down her arm in a way that sent shivers down her spine. “You don’t have to say anything, Jiyeonie,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, his teasing tone gone, replaced by something far more direct. “You already did.”

Luna raised an eyebrow at that, a silent challenge in her eyes. “Oh? And what exactly did I say?”

Jeonghan’s smirk widened, and without breaking eye contact, he leaned in close— too close, his breath warm against her lips. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

The words hung in the air between them, simple but heavy. Luna didn’t have a quick comeback this time. Her heart skipped a beat, not because of the weight of the situation, but because he said it so nonchalantly like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jeonghan pulled back just slightly, watching her reaction with that same unreadable expression. “So… you tell me. What does that mean?”

Luna stared at him, feeling the weight of his words sink in. She could feel her defenses crumbling, but she wasn’t ready to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Maybe I just didn’t want to leave before breakfast tomorrow morning,” she shot back, keeping her voice light, and playful.

Jeonghan laughed again, shaking his head as he rested his forehead against hers. “Maybe. Or maybe… you’re not quite done with me yet.”

Luna rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

Jeonghan grinned, pulling her closer. “I have an answer for you, yeah.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips before pulling back with that same infuriating smile. “Get used to it.”

The words were casual, almost tossed out as an afterthought. But they carried weight— an unspoken promise. And as Luna lay there, wrapped in his arms, she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind getting used to it after all.

In the quiet aftermath, as the weight of everything settled between them, it was clear that this wasn’t just another fleeting moment or a secret whispered in the dark.

And just like that, Luna who started as his English Love Affair had quickly turned into something far less foreign— and far more impossible to forget.

There was no turning back— this was no longer a story of if only, but of everything that came after.

mdni banner: @cafekitsune

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[aventurineswife]

Hii! I hope you're having a nice day :D

Can I please request SAHRS being able to listen to Reader simping over them during gameplay? How would they react to their creator swooning over them?

Anyways, remember to drink water and eat something if you haven't yet! I love your writing style <3

My back... 😔🙏

It starts as a normal day. The Museum of Divinity is quiet, the stars shine as usual, and the characters go about their routines.

And then—

"OH MY GOD, LOOK AT THEM. THEY'RE SO FINE."

A pause.

Everyone stops moving.

Wait.

Was that… you?

The divine, all-powerful Creator… SIMPING???

Chaos erupts.

Welt: Drops his pen. Adjusts his glasses like he misheard something.

Himeko: Chokes on her coffee.

Himeko's smirk is IMMEDIATE. "Oh? You have favorites, dear Creator?"

Welt tries to act composed. But his ears are red.

They both pretend to be unaffected, but inside? SCREAMING.

Blade STOPS FUNCTIONING.

"Did… did they just call me fine?"

He won't admit it, but his grip on his sword tightens.

Dan Heng freezes mid-action.

If you’re swooning over him, his face is burning.

If you’re swooning over Blade, he glances at him with mild betrayal.

They don’t speak about it. But they think about it. A lot.

Aventurine? Smug. So smug.

"Well, well, well… seems like our Creator has excellent taste."

Sunday? LIVING FOR IT.

"Oh? You adore me so? Say more, divine one."

Sunday basks in your words. Aventurine teases relentlessly.

If you simp for someone else?

Aventurine: "A shame. You could have had me, dear Painter."

Sunday: "A tragic oversight, truly. But worry not! You may still admire me."

They’re never letting you live this down.

Kafka smirks immediately.

"Oh, how cute. Do go on, dear."

Black Swan tilts her head, thinking deeply.

"A divine being… capable of adoration? Fascinating."

They start analyzing every word.

How often do you compliment them?

Which characters do you favor the most?

What tone do you use? Flustered? Playful? Devoted?

Kafka savors every second.

Black Swan tries to understand why your affection feels so… real.

Luocha bows slightly. "A rare honor to be admired by divinity."

He’s calm outside. Internally? He’s thinking about it too much.

Jing Yuan chuckles. "You wound me, dear Creator. I had no idea you held such affections."

Lazy smirk, but his heart skips a beat.

If you simp for someone else?

Jing Yuan: "Truly a shame. I thought I was the favorite."

Luocha: "Ah… I see. A tragic fate, indeed."

They’re too smooth about it, but deep down? They’re blushing.

March 7th: SHRIEKS.

"OMG, SAME."

Sparkle: LOSES HER MIND.

"Finally! The Creator speaks the truth!"

They immediately gossip.

If you simp for Jing Yuan? → "I KNEW HE WAS A CREATOR FAVORITE!"

If you simp for Blade? → "Oooo, the dark and broody type, huh?"

They’re so entertained by your reactions. They start listening in more often.

EVERYONE starts listening more carefully.

Characters start acting up more in battle, hoping you’ll say something again.

Some get competitive. ("You called THEM fine? What about me?")

Some get smug. ("You’re completely obsessed with me, aren’t you?")

Some get flustered and pretend they didn’t hear it.

No matter what—

You can NEVER take it back.

Okay guys, no more SAHSRAU anymore. It was fun knowing everyone of you. We shall meet next year 🥰💖

[writing-the-stars]

Unspoken, Unheard

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader; Platonic!Morgan x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a high-stakes case, you face the terrifying task of being bait for a dangerous unsub. As the mission spirals out of control, the unacknowledged bond between you and Hotch is tested, forcing him to confront the risks of letting his heart lead in a world where vulnerability could mean losing everything.

Warnings: Angst (It's Who I Am), Emotional Distance (On Hotch's End. Go Figure), Canon-Typical Violence, Body Injury (Very Minor), No Use of Y/N or Physical Descriptors, Happy Ending. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 6.6k (This was a BEAST)

A/N: Happy New Year!!! This is my very first Criminal Minds fic EVER AND my first story of the new year!! I have been a fan of this show for such a looong time. So I'm really excited to be introducing this as a fandom I write for. I have been hyperfixating on Hotch for a while now (something about stoic, emotionally unavailable people really gets me). Anyway, this really was a labor of love and a passion project. Thank you all for reading! I truly hope you enjoy. Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

A sudden sharp, insistent knocking echoes through the quiet hotel room, jolting you from your restless sleep. Adrenaline surges through your veins, heart thrumming in your ears, as you instinctively reach for the weapon on your nightstand. Blinking against the fog of your interrupted sleep, your mind races, trying to make sense of what ripped you from your sleep.

You listen carefully, waiting to hear if there is anything that could give you context to your current situation. But the silence returns, as if it had never been broken. You approach the door cautiously, your fingers curling tightly around the handle of your gun. Pressing your eye to the peephole, you freeze when you see Hotch standing on the other side. Relief floods through you and you exhale shakily, but only for a moment as you come to the grim realization that there must be another victim. You set your weapon down, running a hand over your head as you prepare yourself for the bad news and a new case development.

But as you open the door, your rehearsed professionalism falters.

Hotch is far from the professional, composed self he presents to the world. His dark hair is unkempt, the gel that usually holds it perfectly in place seemingly forgotten. His v-neck shirt hangs loose around his clavicle, giving you a glimpse of his defined pectorals, and his pajama pants pool awkwardly at his feet, as if he didn’t pull them up all the way before reaching you. The typical mask of calm authority he wears is nowhere to be found as he stares at you with wide, haunted eyes, face pale and glistening with sweat.

There is clear tension in his posture, his breathing a little too shallow and his expression a little too tight. You’ve never seen your friend like this before. Something unnerved him and quite frankly it was starting to rattle you too. 

Hotch hadn’t really thought any of this through. The visceral image of your body disfigured and mutilated just like the victims of this case filled him with raw terror. He needed to see you.

He had to make sure you were safe. He needed to know that you were alive and still intact. To know that you will still look up at him with that wide-eyed gaze filled with so much trust and quiet adoration that it makes his guarded heart falter. To know that when a case is too heavy and you all are exhausted and frayed at the edges, you will still throw him one of those smiles— one that tells him you still believe in him, that you know he will get you all through it. That you are still his team. To know that he will still hear the warmth of your laughter around the bullpen, cutting through the darkest of days at the BAU because you just had that way about you. That quiet, effortless brightness that made the worst days bearable. And he knew it wasn't just the job you were good at; it was the way you kept everyone together.

Most of all, he needed to know that you would still be you. That this job hadn’t taken you away from him— that it hadn’t stolen one more thing he couldn’t bear to lose.

But as the seconds stretch on, the initial terror that gripped him so tightly begins to subside and his mind begins to regain control. The logical Hotch starts to take over, reminding him that everything is fine. That it was only a dream, an irrational fabrication, and he is not the kind of person to allow emotions to overrun his decisions. 

He’s being reckless and this moment of weakness could jeopardize the team, and everything he has worked so hard to build. He needs to turn and leave before this situation gets any more out of hand, but it’s too late. The lock clicks. The door swings open and there you are, alive and whole. His breath catches. He had feared the worst— no, not feared, he’d seen the worst in his nightmare— but you’re here, standing right in front of him. The sheer relief almost makes his knees buckle. 

“Hotch?” 

Your voice is soft but laced with concern, the sight of him so disheveled, so unguarded, sets off a ripple of panic in your chest, “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He stands there, staring at you as though he can’t believe you are standing in front of him. His mouth opens, but no words come out. His chest heaves with uneven breaths, and his eyes dart across your face, taking in every detail as though memorizing it.

“Hotch?” you repeat, your brows knitting together, “What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost hoarse, a shallow attempt at the calm, authoritative tone he usually uses. 

“I just… wanted to make sure you’re alright. We’ve been up late. Thought you might need to check in."

His words are careful, almost rehearsed, but you still hear the vulnerability he’s trying to mask. His eyes dart away from yours, down to the floor, and you can almost see him retreating into himself, as if he’s trying to hide from you. 

"Are you sure you’re okay?" you press a little, unable to ignore the worry curling in your chest. This isn’t just about the case. Something deeper is going on, and you aren’t going to disregard it. 

You step out a little into the hallway, bringing yourself closer to Hotch, trying to gauge if you’re reading him wrong. But this isn’t like him— Hotch wouldn’t show up at your door in the middle of the night without reason.

He looks as if he is barely holding himself together. You know him well enough to know when something is wrong, and in this moment, everything about him screams that he is on edge. It isn’t just exhaustion or stress— it’s something more that seems to be warring with him.

His lips press together in a tight line and you can see the muscles in his neck contract. "I’m fine," he says quickly, urgingly, as if he is trying to convince you and himself. 

The wall of his facade is fissuring and, for the first time since knowing Aaron Hotchner, you feel like he might finally let you in. You push a little harder, hoping that acknowledging the crack in his armor will finally shatter the whole illusion. 

“Hotch, you’re not fine,” you say softly, your voice almost a whisper, “Why don’t you come in for some coffee? I still have some of the good stuff Rossi bought me for Secret Santa.”

Hotch opens his mouth, but the words get tangled, and he immediately closes it again. His throat is tight, seemingly collapsing on itself. There are so many things he wants to say to you. Truths he wants to reveal, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to venture into that unknown territory, to cross that line that’s already too blurry. There are too many things at stake, too many risks he can’t afford to take. He can not allow his feelings to complicate things any further. 

He takes a step back, and in doing so, you watch him fully retreat into himself, restructuring the wall you had come so close to tearing down. Perhaps you pushed too hard. 

He regains the professional composure you have grown accustomed to seeing. His usual authority slips into something sharp, more distant. "We’re on the job," he says, his voice harder, defensive, "There’s no time for that."

His words sting and you feel a pang of hurt as he continues to shut you out. But you remember who Hotch is. This isn’t about you. This is about him, about whatever had shaken him. Hotch has built walls higher than you can scale. Walls that even you—someone who knows him better than most—aren’t allowed to breach.

"Get some rest," he adds, the words flat and sterile, "We’ll need you ready tomorrow."

Your window for something more is closing, and you can’t bring yourself to stop it. You know what’s happening.

He’s scared. Scared of what? You don’t know, but you have a feeling that you’re the cause. Or at least a part of it.

“Good night, Hotch,” you resign, hoping to mask the disappointment of being kept at arm’s length. 

He gives you one last brief nod before he turns away, heading down the hallway with that same brisk, purposeful stride he always uses when he is trying to put distance between himself and whatever feelings are bothering him.

You stand there, the door half-open, watching him go. Your chest aches at the thought of what could have been. 

Closing the door softly and locking it behind you, you begin to process everything that unfolded. Questions pace your mind as you crawl back into bed. What just happened? What just really happened? The moment felt like a confession of sorts. An almost admission of something Hotch has been holding on to, but doesn’t want you to know. 

And maybe you just imagined it, but you feel like you saw a flicker of something in his eyes. An indication that the connection you have been feeling is not one-sided, a hint that you mean more to him than just a colleague, more than just a friend. You close your eyes, but the image of Hotch at your door stays with you, etched into the corners of your mind. An unanswered question you’re too afraid to ask. 

-*-

The local precinct hums with its usual activity— phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and the low murmur of officers exchanging updates on ongoing cases. Yet, the energy is tenser than the previous days of this case. 

Hotch’s behavior has been off all morning— sharply professional, overly focused on the case, and oddly reserved. It isn’t just his terse responses or the way he’s deliberately avoiding meeting your eyes— it’s the heaviness in the air every time you are in the same room. The warmth you usually share with him is gone and his quiet intensity has evolved into a coldness that has made you uncomfortable. 

An awkward distance has grown between the two of you and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s your fault. 

It hurts, but you try to brush it off. You know the job has a way of consuming him. You try to focus on the case, bury yourself in the details, but the weight of Hotch’s distance is becoming impossible to ignore. And you aren’t the only one to feel it. 

“Hey Sunshine,” Morgan approaches your work station, voice quieter than usual, “Everything good with you?” His tone carries a warmth that welcomingly contrasts with the chill you’ve been receiving from Hotch today. 

You look up at him, trying to mask your unease, but Morgan isn’t fooled. 

“You seem a little… off today,” he says, eyes scanning your face with that trademark perceptiveness, “What’s going on?”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, glancing over at Hotch across the room. He’s engrossed in the case files, his posture stiff, his face unreadable. But you feel the weight of his distance press heavy on your shoulders.

“Nothing,” you tell him, trying to diminish the effect Hotch’s behavior is having on you, “Just… tired. The case is taking a lot out of me.”

Morgan doesn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh. And you didn’t notice Hotch getting all icy on you today?”

You still. You didn’t want to admit it, but it’s true. All of his standoffish behavior is directed at you. The distance, the sharper words, he’s isolating himself from you. And it doesn’t take a profiler like Morgan to see it.

You glance back at Hotch before returning your gaze to Morgan. He’s known Hotch for a while. Longer than you. If there is anyone you can gain insight from, it would be him. Lowering your voice, you confide in your teammate, “I don’t know, Derek… it’s like… he’s pulling away. Like something’s changed. I don’t know what happened last night, but whatever it is, it’s different. I can’t shake the feeling that I did something wrong.”

“What happened last night?”

“He came to my room.”

“Hotch?” He asks astonished, surprised by the uncharacteristic behavior. 

“Yeah, he said he wanted to check in with me, but… I don’t know, Derek, something was off. It was like he was hiding something from me.” 

Morgan leans in closer, his expression softening with sincerity. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Hotch is going through something. I’ve been around him long enough to know when he’s bottling things up.” 

You appreciate the comfort in Morgan’s words, even if they don’t entirely ease your concern. You just wish Hotch would open up to you. Let you be there for him and carry some of the weight of his burdens. 

Morgan sighs, seeing the crease still planted in your brow. “Look, he’s been carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders for a while now,” he states, voice turning more serious, “This job— it changes him. Sometimes it makes him pull away from the people he cares about the most, even if he doesn’t mean to. But I’ll talk to him, alright? I’m not gonna let him shut you out.”

You smile up at him, feeling some of the weight lift off of your shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” he continues, voice morphing into a more professional tone, “We’ve got a case to finish, and we need to focus. But after all this is done, you and I are gonna have a talk, alright?”

You nod, giving him a small, grateful smile, “Thanks, Derek.”

Soon after, the reality of the case takes over again. An officer charges in with a disturbing update: a new victim has been discovered. The pattern is clear, the unsub is escalating. The cooling-off period, which had been a crucial factor in the previous profile,  has shrunk dramatically, and you all are running out of time to prevent another murder. The urgency in the room is palpable. The team crowds around the whiteboard and, after analyzing the victims and the unsub’s pattern, you all come to a grim conclusion. You need someone who looks like the previous victims to bait the unsub into a trap.

There is an oppressive silence as the team’s eyes flick to you. The weight of their saddened, knowing gazes is almost unbearable. The fact that you share similar features with the victims of this case had not gone unnoticed by you. In fact, it was one of the first things you noted about the unsub’s victimology. It had been an unsettling realization. One you’d been working through for days, trying to figure out how it would affect your role in the investigation. Now you know. 

The air is heavy with the unspoken implication. You had expected this. It’s part of the job. But nothing can prepare you for the moment when the possibility becomes real. Your gaze flicks to Hotch, but he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed on the board, on the files, on anything but you. He was desperate. Looking for an out, for a solution that did not involve putting you in harm’s way. 

“Hotch,” Morgan says, cutting through the silence, “We need someone who looks like the unsub’s previous victims. We don’t have time to waste.” 

He glances at you, eyes softening, then back to Hotch, sensing the unspoken hesitation. Hotch’s expression darkens. He looks between Morgan and you, his mouth set in a tight line. You can see the internal battle in his eyes—he wants to object, to find another way—but the case can't wait.

“Alright,” Hotch concedes stiffly, his voice potraying none of the inner turmoil he’s feeling, “We’ll set up the trap. We don’t have time for anything else.”

You close your eyes for a brief moment, pushing away the surge of panic that’s threatening to take hold of you. You know it’s the best strategy. It’s what has to be done, and you will do it. But you don’t have to like it.

“You good with this?” Morgan asks, his tone far more personal than professional. He wants to make sure you’re okay, wants to be sure you aren’t being pushed into something you aren’t ready for.

You give a small nod, more for your own sake than his. “I’m good,” you lie, voice steady even though your insides feel anything but.

After your confirmation the team is immediately on, discussing the logistics of setting up the trap. Your gaze flickers to Hotch once more, and for a moment, you think you see something shift in his eyes— something that isn’t just professional concern. It almost looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn't. He just turns back to the board, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken.

His mind races, unable to focus on the task at hand. His thoughts are consumed with you— the thought of you being so close to danger. He can’t stand it. The very idea that you will be bait— the possibility of you being exposed to the unsub, potentially hurt— makes his insides twist with dread. But he can’t show it. Not now. Not when the mission is the priority.

He focuses on the details, assigning roles, making decisions. But every time his eyes shift to you, his stomach tightens. Bait. It’s a professional term, a necessary risk. But to him, it feels like a betrayal—one he couldn’t afford to confront.

-*-

You stand near the edge of the scene, trying to focus on the instructions being relayed through your comms. The humid, night air clings to your skin— another layer pressing on the building panic in your chest. You watch as your team slips seamlessly into their positions with practiced precision. You all have done this before, it isn’t unfamiliar territory; however, it’s different when it’s your life on the line.  

You’re the one baiting the unsub, alone, vulnerable. There’s no guarantee of your safety, no script to follow that ensures a happy ending. You’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way, and that knowledge frightens you more than you’d like to admit. You try to steady your breathing, but your heartbeat is louder than your thoughts. This is the moment when everything could go wrong, and that thought sets fear, real visceral and terrifying fear, the kind you’ve been pushing down for hours, alight in your bones. 

You feel him come up behind you, his presence heavy, solid and grounding. You feel the weight of his eyes on you. The tension from before charging the air around you. Up until now, his focus has solely been on the operation. You know he is just as worried as you are, maybe even more so, but his stoicism doesn't allow him to show it. You wonder if his concern is more focused on the mission going well or on the risk this poses to you. Regardless, he is a comforting presence, one you feel safe to confide in. 

“Hotch,” you murmur, almost too quietly for him to hear, turning to face the man who has grown so dear to your heart. 

He looks at you, expression unreadable, but his quiet intensity soothes some of your panic. 

“Are you sure about this? I- I don’t know if I can do this,” your voice shakes, highlighting the fear you’ve been holding back all night.

Hotch struggles to give you an answer. You are looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and all he can think about is last night— the image of you mutilated, the fact he couldn’t save you. 

The overwhelming need to protect you surges through him again. He can’t—he can’t let this happen. But he is the leader of this team, it is his duty to see this mission through. To bring this case to a close. He can’t allow his personal feelings to change anything, to interfere with this job. 

He forces his voice to remain steady, professional, “It’s the only way.”

You concede with a nod of your head. You don’t argue. You never do. But Hotch studies you, sees the slight tightening around your eyes, the sharp rise in your chest. It makes his heart ache. He feels the weight of this moment. Knows this is a critical point— not just for the case, but for you. He sees how hard you’re fighting to hold yourself together, and for a split second, the professional facade cracks. He takes a step closer.

“You’re not alone in this,” Hotch says, his voice low but steady. He reaches for your arm, gently squeezing the flesh there. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’ve been trained for this. You can do this.”

His words settle over you, your heart rate slowing, and for the first time since this operation started, you can breathe again. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he repeats urgingly, his voice low, protective. It’s a promise. His hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary before he pulls back, the weight of his words lingering in the air between you two. Hotch’s presence, the way he’s always steady, always calm—it gives you the strength you need.

"Alright," you whisper, your voice steadier now, "Alright, let's do this."

As the team readies themselves, you remain in place, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting. Adrenaline courses through your veins, but it’s not just fear— it’s the anticipation. The waiting. You’ve been taught by Prentiss how to manage these moments, how to keep your emotions in check and your senses sharp. You channel every lesson she taught you— stay calm, stay focused, keep breathing. You’ve studied the unsub’s patterns, and every part of you is ready to play your role.

You survey the area, locating your team’s positions. Morgan, Hotch, and Prentiss are stationed inside as backup, Rossi and Reid near the exits, and the remaining local officers are stationed discreetly around the perimeter. You look towards the nightclub, the neon lights, the rhythmic thrum of music faintly audible even from outside. Static crackles in your ear, and you hear Hotch’s voice, calm and steady, “All units are in position.”

The signal to proceed.

You take a deep breath, trying to control your shaking hands. You’re ready. You have to be ready. With one final glance around the perimeter, ensuring your team’s at your back, you steel yourself, stepping into the lion’s den. 

The pulsating beat of the music encapsulates you, the bass reverberating around your body. The flashing lights cast strobe-like shadows across the crowded room. It’s loud, chaotic, and full of life— but that only makes it more dangerous. The lights are meant to disorient and the noise to drown out your thoughts. You see how it is easy for the unsub to get away with his victims. 

You stand in the middle of it all, heart pounding in your chest as you pretend to enjoy the music, to be just another partygoer in the crowd. Prentiss’s voice crackles in your earpiece, barely audible over the music, “You need to relax. You look stiff.”

You nod to yourself, trying to ground yourself in the role. You watch the crowd around you, mimicking their movements. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Hotch standing across the club, blending into the shadows near the back of the bar, dark and brooding. He’s close— but not close enough. He can’t be. You can’t afford to look too conspicuous.

The rest of the indoors team is hiding in plain sight. Prentiss is near the restrooms and Morgan is in a corner booth. And Hotch is watching from the shadows. He’s waiting, calculating—but something in the way he’s watching you makes your heart rate spike.

You catch his eyes and everything feels different. The professional wall between you two starts to crumble. You feel yourself becoming looser under his watchful gaze and you dance. You dance for him, you dance as if you’re the only two people in the room. And Hotch can’t take his eyes off you. 

But then you feel it. A shift in the crowd. 

He’s not the tallest man in the room, but he has a presence that immediately commands attention. His gaze is cold, calculating, but there’s something oddly magnetic about him. He moves through the crowd with purpose, like he knows exactly what he’s looking for. His eyes flick over the people around him, assessing each one with the precision of a predator.

As he approaches you, you feel a rush of adrenaline, but you push it down. Emily’s training coming back to you. He stops in front of you, gaze flicking to your face, studying you for a beat longer than necessary.

He smiles— a dark, knowing smile. “I’ve been watching you,” he says, his voice a hair louder than the music, his tone carrying an eerie calm.

You force yourself to keep your composure. "Have you?" You raise an eyebrow, playing the part. The unsub takes a step closer, his eyes flickering down to your body, sizing you up. You know what he’s doing, know exactly how he’s visualizing your body and all the horrific things he’ll do it— just like the previous victims. It makes your skin crawl. 

“You’re not like the others,” he says, his voice lower, whispering in your ear, but thick with amusement. He’s toying with you.

You manage a small smile, “What makes you think that?” You tease, pretending to be at ease. 

His hand snakes up your body, eyes never leaving yours, “You’ve got a different look to you. You don’t belong here.”

The trail of his hand on your body sends a chill down your spine. He’s not being aggressive— yet —but the interaction feels like an invitation to a game. He’s testing the waters. 

“I belong where I want to belong,” you reply, lifting your chin up to appear more confident than you actually are.

He smiles, his eyes lighting up with something darker. “Maybe you do,” he says, voice quieter now, “Or maybe you're just pretending.”

You take a step back freeing yourself from his grasp, his imposing presence becoming overwhelming. The unsub’s smile falters just a fraction. A flicker of suspicion, quick but undeniable, passes over his face. 

You take a breath, keeping your face neutral, trying not to let anything slip. “We all pretend sometimes,” you answer smoothly, “What about you?”

For a moment, his eyes narrow, the two of you engaging in some kind of silent battle, each trying to read the other. He’s intrigued, but he hasn’t made up his mind about you yet.

“I’ve seen your type before,” the unsub says, taking a step closer to you, shortening the distance you previously implemented, “You’re always looking for something. People like you—”

You cut him off quickly, hoping to regain control of the situation. “People like me? And what exactly is that?”

He leans in a little closer, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “The ones who can’t find meaning in their lives, so they run to places like this thinking they can find answers. They never do.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as his eyes move over you again, this time lingering on your eyes, like he’s searching for something in you— something real. But you know what he’s doing. He’s trying to find a weakness. A slip.

The air between you two grows heavier, and despite everything you’ve been trained to do, despite the calm that you’re trying so hard to project, you feel the pressure building. Your heartbeat picks up, but you push it down. You can’t let him see you panic.

“Well, I guess that depends on what you’re looking for,” you say, your voice more uncertain than you want it to be. You quickly mask the hesitation with another smile, but this time it doesn’t feel as convincing.

His eyes flicker— just for a moment— across your face. Something about the way you said that, the slight nervousness that edged into your voice— it’s enough to make him pause.

For just a split second, he looks confused, as though something doesn’t add up. His eyes narrow, and you see the shift in his demeanor. The playful curiosity turns into something more calculating.

“You don’t talk like them,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His voice is softer now, more contemplative. 

You feel your stomach flip, but you don’t flinch. Not yet.

“You have a very... observant eye,” you reply, forcing the words out with more confidence than you feel. You quickly change the subject, hoping to redirect his attention. “Why don’t we go somewhere quieter? I can show you just how different I really am.”

The unsub hesitates, his brow furrowing as he watches you a little too closely. He’s not sure what it is yet, but he’s starting to doubt that you’re just another unsuspecting person in the club. The air between you thickens, the tension building.

The unsub steps back slightly, eyes scanning you again, this time with deeper suspicion. It’s like a switch has been flipped— he knows something is off. 

“Sure,” he sneers, grabbing your arm roughly and jerking you forward. The action pulls you into his chest as his free hand comes up, producing a blade. The cold metal feels heavy as it presses against your throat— the sharp edge digging into your skin. You freeze, pulse pounding as your fear of this operation plays out before you. One quick jerk and your whole life is over in the middle of a second-rate night club. “What is this? Some kind of trap?” He demands angrily, pressing the knife harder. You can feel the tip against your skin, its sharp edge threatening to break the surface. Every small breath you take makes the blade press in deeper, but you don’t flinch. 

Hotch’s voice rings clear through your earpiece, sharp and commanding, “Move in. Now.”

The team springs into action, bursting from their scattered positions, guns drawn, closing in quickly. Chaos erupts as the crowd disperses from the growing conflict— a cacophony of panic and fear echoing around you, mirroring the terror gripping you inside. The moment the unsub sees them, his eyes widen in recognition, but his grip on you doesn’t loosen. He pulls you in front of him like a shield, his body tight against yours, the knife still pressed to your neck. Panic flickers in his eyes, and he becomes more desperate, realizing the window of escape is shrinking. 

“Stay back!” He shouts, his voice shaking with rage and fear, “One move and it’s over. You hear me?” His grip on the knife is trembling now. He’s scared, unhinged, not thinking clearly. You swallow, trying to stay composed. You’ve been trained for this, but the simulation is nothing compared to the real immediacy of danger. 

“Stay calm,” Hotch instructs, his gaze locked on you. His voice is sharp, but there’s a layer of raw tension there. He’s not just worried about you as a team member; he’s invested. This isn’t just another case— it’s you. He won’t let anything happen to you.

The unsub’s grip on you is relentless, and the weight of the knife against your throat is a constant reminder of how quickly this can turn deadly.

“Why don’t we just talk about this?” You manage to say, your voice steady despite the panic raging inside, “I can help you. We can work this out.” But the unsub isn’t listening. His eyes gleam with madness as he presses the knife harder against your throat. 

“You think I’m stupid?” His voice is low, guttural, “You think this is going to end well for me? For you?”

The tension is unbearable and you know it’s only a matter of time before he makes a move, one way or the other.

“You don’t have to do this,” you try again, voice trembling but steady. His grip on the knife shifts slightly, and you catch a glimpse of hesitation in his eyes. It’s a split second, but it’s enough for you to seize the opportunity. You feel the unsub shift slightly, his weight moving in such a way that it opens up just enough space for you to act. You shift your body weight quickly, slamming your elbows into his ribs. The move is sharp and sudden, and you feel him stumble back, losing his balance for a split second. His hold on you loosens, just enough for you to wrench free from his grasp.

In that split second, everything changes. 

“Now!” Hotch’s voice explodes. Prentiss and Morgan surge forward, moving swiftly, but not close enough. In a final desperate attempt to regain control, the unsub brings the knife up, swinging it wildly toward you. Your heart stops and you freeze, only for a moment, before instinct takes over and you dodge to the side. The blade grazes your cheek, cutting a shallow line across your skin. The sting is instant, but you don’t focus on the pain. 

With the unsub distracted by your move, Prentiss is the first to close in. She grabs his wrist, wrenching the knife away, while Morgan rushes in, tackling him to the ground. As the remainder of the team rushes forward, the unsub struggles, but he is no match for your team

As soon as the unsub is secured, Hotch is there, rushing towards you. He places a hand on your shoulder, his fingers lightly gripping you as though he needs to make sure you’re real. 

“Are you alright?” His voice is softer than it’s been all day, but is still tight with concern. You take a shallow breath, trying to steady your heartbeat. “I’m fine,” you answer, though your voice betrays you, a slight tremor you can not control, “Just some scratches.” 

Your fingers graze over the thin line of blood from the knife remaining on your neck, before landing on the shallow wound on your cheek where you swipe away some of the trickling blood. It’s nothing permanent, but the sting is sharp. Hotch’s gaze flicks between the small wounds, and his jaw tightens. 

“You did great,” his voice is low, but laced with something more. There’s a protectiveness in his eyes now that goes beyond the usual command, beyond the professional distance. Your heart is still racing from the close call, but something in the way he looks at you, something unspoken, makes you pause. It’s more than just concern. 

-*-

The case is over. The unsub is in custody, and the adrenaline has worn off, but the weight of the last few days— the close calls, the near-misses— lingers heavily in the air.

The team is scattered around the bullpen, tired but relieved. Some are gathering their things, others are engaged in quiet conversation. But Hotch, who is usually the first to bury himself in case notes and paperwork, is standing near the window of his office, his back to the room, staring out at the city lights in silence.

You’ve just finished checking your emails, last light on in the bullpen, and are about to leave when you notice Hotch still standing there, a silhouette against the dimming light. The intensity of his brooding is almost palpable and you can’t help but feel drawn to him. You approach his office slowly, your footsteps light on the floor, knowing that there’s something unresolved between you— something that needs to be addressed, even if the words seem impossible to say.

When you get to his door, he doesn’t turn to face you right away, but you can tell by the way his posture stiffens that he’s aware of your presence. After a beat, he speaks without looking at you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is low, still carrying the edge of concern. There’s something in the way he asks that you’ve never heard before, a note of uncertainty beneath his usual command.

You stop a few feet away from him, feeling the familiar tension between you two. But this time, it's different— he's different. His usual reserve is slipping, and the emotional weight of the past days is leaving a crack in his armor.

“I’m fine,” you answer, and you mean it, even if there's more left unsaid. The cut on your cheek has been treated, and physically you’re fine.

His shoulders sag slightly, but he still doesn’t turn. He stands there for a long moment, lost in thought, before he finally speaks again, this time quieter, almost hesitant.

“I need you to know something,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Turning slowly, he faces you now, his eyes intense, but there's a vulnerability in them that you’ve never seen before. The walls are down. There’s no hiding it anymore— he’s exposing himself in a way that feels foreign to both of you.

“I...” he begins, but stops. He takes a breath, trying to steady himself. “I... don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost you tonight. I can’t— I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt to see you in danger.”

The words hang between you two, heavy and unspoken, as he tries to gather himself. You swallow hard at his words, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s the first time he’s said something this personal, this raw. You can feel your pulse quicken as you wait for him to continue.

“I know we can’t do this... but I need you to know,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “I care about you. I care about you more than I’ve let on. More than I should.”

You take a breath, feeling your own emotions rising in your chest. You’ve known for a long time that something was there between the two of you. The tension, the quiet moments of connection. You’ve always felt it, even if you were too afraid to acknowledge it.

“I do too, Hotch. I have for a while.”

His eyes soften at your admission. There’s a tenderness in them that makes your breath catch. He takes a step toward you, closing the distance, and you feel the warmth of his presence envelop you.

He reaches out, his hand resting gently on your arm, as if afraid you might vanish if he touches you too hard. You don’t pull away. Instead, you lean into it, letting the moment settle between you. This is uncharted territory for both of you, but it feels right.

“I don’t know what happens now,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “but I need you to know... I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not again.”

You nod, your heart full of so many things— relief, fear, and the growing certainty that this moment is the beginning of something neither of you can ignore anymore.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, voice steady, meeting his gaze with an honesty you’ve both kept locked away for far too long.

He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of everything you’ve both experienced together in those few words. And then, ever so slowly, he leans forward, just a fraction, and the air between you shifts. It’s not a declaration, not yet— but it’s a beginning. A slow, careful bridge being built from everything you’ve been through.

And at long last, the walls he’s built for so long have finally come down.

If you want to be a part of my taglist, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you!

[tsumuus]

underclassman!todoroki who…

Underclassman!Todoroki who was quiet and distant when you first met him. Your teacher had announced a mentorship program between the second and first years, and you were paired with Todoroki Shoto- a student with a reputation that preceded him. Some of your classmates whispered about him, mentioning his powerful quirk and the family he came from, but none of that mattered to you. What you saw was a reserved boy who seemed to prefer solitude over company.

At first, he didn’t say much beyond polite responses to your attempts at small talk. He was respectful but distant, treating your interactions as purely transactional. You weren’t discouraged, though. If anything, his quiet demeanor intrigued you. There was something about the way his mismatched eyes watched you, as if he was trying to figure out if you were worth opening up to.

Underclassman!Todoroki who surprised you with his determination during your first joint training session. As part of the mentorship program, you were tasked with helping him refine his combat strategy. He was already incredibly skilled, but there was a certain stiffness in the way he fought, as if he was holding himself back. When you pointed it out, he didn’t argue or brush off your critique. Instead, he listened intently, nodding once before adjusting his movements.

That moment marked a shift in your dynamic. Todoroki began to trust your judgment, and you started to see glimpses of the person behind his stoic exterior. He didn’t talk about himself much, but his actions spoke volumes. Whether it was the way he thanked you after a session or the way he started showing up early to your meetings, it became clear that he valued your guidance.

Underclassman!Todoroki who began to fall first. It wasn’t something he recognized right away; it crept up on him gradually. At first, he chalked it up to admiration. You were kind, patient, and perceptive in ways he wasn’t used to. But then he started noticing the smaller things: the way your laughter lingered in his mind long after you’d parted ways, the way you pushed your hair out of your face when you were focused, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about something you were passionate about.

He didn’t know what to do with these feelings, so he buried them. You were his mentor, a second-year with your own goals and responsibilities, and he convinced himself that it was nothing more than a fleeting infatuation.

Underclassman!Todoroki who started lingering a little longer after your training sessions. He always had an excuse- questions about strategy, requests for feedback- but you weren’t oblivious. You noticed the way he seemed reluctant to leave, the way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. It was endearing, in a way, to see someone so composed and self-assured show these subtle signs of vulnerability.

You weren’t sure when your dynamic shifted from mentorship to something resembling friendship, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed his company, even if his stoic nature sometimes made it hard to tell what he was thinking. There was something grounding about Todoroki, something that made you feel like he truly listened when you spoke.

Underclassman!Todoroki who didn’t realize you were falling for him, too. It was slow and subtle, like the way snow melts into spring. You admired his quiet strength, his unwavering dedication to improvement, and the flashes of dry humor he occasionally let slip. You found yourself looking forward to your meetings more and more, not just because you enjoyed working with him, but because you enjoyed being around him.

But you hesitated to act on your feelings. You were his mentor, and you didn’t want to cross any boundaries. Besides, you couldn’t be sure if he felt the same way. Todoroki was hard to read, and you didn’t want to risk ruining the bond you’d built.

Underclassman!Todoroki who finally confessed first, though it wasn’t in the way you expected. It happened during a quiet moment after a particularly intense training session. You were both sitting on the sidelines, catching your breath, when he turned to you and said, “I think I like you.” His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his mismatched eyes, as if he was bracing himself for rejection.

You were stunned for a moment, but then you smiled- a soft, genuine smile that made his heart race. “I think I like you, too,” you admitted, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw a small, genuine smile spread across his face.

Underclassman!Todoroki who wasn’t quite sure how to navigate a relationship but was determined to try. He was thoughtful and considerate, always taking your feelings into account, and you found his earnestness endearing. Your dynamic didn’t change too much; you were still the same pair who trained together, supported each other, and occasionally bickered over strategy. But now there was a warmth between you, a quiet understanding that neither of you had to face the challenges ahead alone.

And as the school year progressed, you realized that your mentorship had evolved into something far more meaningful- something neither of you had expected but both of you cherished.

a/n it’s been a while huh

masterlist

[phamapple]

H.S.K.T

Minjeong could rant about her de taste for the song “H.S.K.T” but that song soon became her most played song when she overheard her crush gushing about it

Warnings; fluff, fem!reader, kissing, quiet x outgoing, music freak reader, lmk if I missed anything cuz I think there’s a lot that I missed :P 5.5k WC

The hallways of Seoul High School were always filled with the sound of laughter and chatter, but for Y/N, the only sound that truly mattered was music. She lived and breathed it, spending every spare moment listening to her favorite artists, discovering new genres, and even composing her own songs.

Y/N's love for music was infectious, and it wasn't uncommon to see her walking down the hallway with her earbuds in, a look of pure joy on her face. Her friends and classmates had grown accustomed to her musical obsession, and they often joked that she had a soundtrack playing in her head at all times.

But amidst all the chaos and noise of high school life, there was one person who watched Y/N with a quieter, more introspective gaze. Minjeong, a tall and soft-spoken senior, had harbored a secret crush on Y/N for what felt like an eternity.

Minjeong loved the way Y/N's eyes lit up when she talked about music, the way her entire face seemed to come alive with passion and excitement. She loved the way Y/N's hair curled slightly at the edges when she wore her earbuds, and the way her smile could light up an entire room.

For Minjeong, it was more than just a passing infatuation. She had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with Y/N, and she didn't know how to process her emotions, or how to navigate the complex, terrifying landscape of her own heart.

As the new school year began, Minjeong found herself drawn to Y/N more and more, her feelings growing stronger with each passing day. And Y/N, oblivious to the quiet, devoted gaze that followed her everywhere, simply continued to live her life, surrounded by the music that brought her so much joy.

—

Minjeong rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she sat down at the lunch table with her friend Karina. "I swear, have you heard that trending song by Lee Hi and wonstein ?" she asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Karina looked up from her phone, a curious expression on her face. "You mean 'H.S.K.T.'?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Minjeong nodded vigorously. "Yes, that's the one! I mean, I get it, the melody is catchy and all, but the lyrics are so repetitive. It's just the same phrase over and over again. I mean, can't they come up with something more original?"

Karina chuckled. "You're just not a fan of rnb, Minjeong," she teased.

Minjeong shook her head. "I'm just saying, there's better music out there. Music that actually means something, you know?"

Just then, Y/N walked by their table, earbuds firmly in place. Minjeong's eyes followed her, a soft smile spreading across her face. She didn't notice Karina watching her, a knowing glint in her eye.

"Minjeong, you're so oblivious," Karina whispered, a grin spreading across her face.

Minjeong turned back to Karina, a questioning look on her face. "What do you mean?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Karina just chuckled and shook her head. "Never mind, Minjeong. Just never mind."

As Y/N and her friends sat down at the table next to Minjeong and Karina, Minjeong's breath hitched in her throat. She felt a sudden rush of heat to her cheeks, and she knew she was blushing.

She tried to play it cool, focusing on her lunch and pretending she wasn't aware of Y/N's presence. But it was no use. She could feel Y/N's energy, her infectious enthusiasm, and it was drawing Minjeong in like a magnet.

As she listened, Minjeong heard Y/N start talking to her friend Ryujin about music. Specifically, about the song "H.S.K.T.".

"Oh my gosh, Ryujin, have you heard the new remix of 'H.S.K.T.'?" Y/N asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

Ryujin nodded, a smile spreading across her face. "Yeah, I heard it yesterday! It's so good!"

Y/N squealed, bouncing up and down in her seat. "I know, right? I've been listening to it nonstop. I'm totally obsessed!"

Minjeong's eyes widened as she listened to Y/N's enthusiastic rant. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Y/N, the girl she had a crush on, was actually a huge fan of the song Minjeong had just been trashing.

As Y/N continued to gush about the song, Minjeong found herself feeling more and more intrigued. What was it about "H.S.K.T." that Y/N loved so much? Was it really as bad as Minjeong thought, or was there something she was missing?

Minjeong's curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself leaning in, listening more closely to Y/N's conversation. She didn't even realize she was doing it, but Karina noticed, and raised an eyebrow.

"Minjeong, you okay?" Karina whispered, nudging her friend with her elbow.

Minjeong nodded, still listening to Y/N's enthusiastic monologue. "Yeah, I'm fine," she whispered back. "I just...I want to hear more about this song."

Karina grinned, a knowing glint in her eye. "Ooooooooooo," she whispered, teasing Minjeong mercilessly.

Minjeong's face went bright red as she realized she'd been caught. But she couldn't help it. She was intrigued by Y/N's passion, and she wanted to know more.

As soon as Minjeong got home from school, she found herself wandering over to her computer, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She had promised herself she wouldn't give in to her curiosity, but she just couldn't help it.

She typed in the name of the song, "H.S.K.T.", and hesitated for a moment before pressing play. The opening notes filled her room, and Minjeong felt a slight wince at the repetitive lyrics.

But as she listened more closely, something strange happened. The first thing that came to her mind was Y/N - her bright smile, her infectious enthusiasm, her passion for music.

Minjeong couldn't help but smile as she thought about Y/N, and before she knew it, she was tapping her foot along with the beat. The repetitive lyrics didn't seem so annoying anymore, and she found herself singing along to the chorus.

As the song came to an end, Minjeong felt a pang of disappointment. She didn't want it to be over. So she did the only thing she could think of - she pressed play again.

And again.

And again.

Before she knew it, Minjeong had listened to "H.S.K.T." eight times in a row. She was surprised by how much she had grown to love the song, and she knew exactly why.

It was because of Y/N.

As she drifted off to sleep, Minjeong couldn't help but wonder what other songs Y/N loved, and whether she would ever get the chance to share her own musical passions with her crush.

Minjeong sat on her bed, her laptop open in front of her. She was determined to create the perfect playlist for Y/N - a collection of songs that would speak directly to Y/N's heart.

As she scrolled through her music library, Minjeong's mind wandered back to Y/N. She thought about the way Y/N's eyes sparkled when she talked about music, the way her smile could light up an entire room.

Minjeong's heart skipped a beat as she imagined Y/N listening to the playlist, her face lighting up with delight. She pictured Y/N seeking her out, thanking her for the playlist, and maybe even asking her to hang out.

With renewed enthusiasm, Minjeong started adding songs to the playlist. She chose tracks that reminded her of Y/N, songs that captured the essence of Y/N's bubbly personality.

As the playlist grew, Minjeong found herself pouring her heart and soul into it. She added songs that spoke to her own feelings, tracks that conveyed the emotions she couldn't quite express.

Before she knew it, Minjeong had created a playlist that was as much about Y/N as it was about herself. It was a collection of songs that told a story, a story of crushes and music and the power of connection.

Minjeong saved the playlist, a sense of pride and accomplishment washing over her. She knew that she had created something special, something that might just help her connect with Y/N on a deeper level.

Now, all she had to do was work up the courage to give it to Y/N.

—

Y/N's eyes widened as she scrolled through the playlist Minjeong had given her. She couldn't believe the effort Minjeong had put into creating it - the songs were all perfectly curated, each one speaking to Y/N's musical tastes in a way that felt almost uncanny.

As she listened to the playlist, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest. It was clear that Minjeong had put her heart and soul into this playlist, and Y/N was touched by the thoughtfulness.

She looked up to see Minjeong watching her, a nervous expression on her face. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as their eyes met, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.

"Minjeong, this is...wow," Y/N said finally, breaking the silence. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Minjeong's face lit up with a smile, and Y/N's heart skipped another beat. She felt a flutter in her chest, and suddenly, she was seeing Minjeong in a whole new light.

Y/N's eyes scanned the playlist, and her face lit up with a bright smile. "You even put 'H.S.K.T.'!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion.

Minjeong's heart skipped a beat as Y/N's face scrunched up, and she pouted, clearly touched by the gesture. Before Minjeong could react, Y/N had thrown her arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

Minjeong's eyes widened in shock, and she froze, unsure of how to respond. She had dreamed of moments like this, but she never thought they would actually happen. She was about to hug Y/N back, but before she could, Y/N pulled away, her face flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry I did that," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what came over me."

Minjeong's heart was still racing from the sudden hug, and she felt a pang of disappointment that it had ended so abruptly. But she tried to play it cool, not wanting to make Y/N feel any more awkward than she already did.

"It's okay," Minjeong said, trying to sound casual. "I'm just glad you liked the playlist."

Y/N smiled, looking relieved, and Minjeong's heart skipped another beat. She couldn't help but wonder what had just happened, and whether Y/N's hug had meant something more.

Karina watched the exchange between Minjeong and Y/N with interest, her eyes narrowing as she sensed the tension between them. She had known Minjeong for years, and she could tell when her friend was crushing hard.

As soon as Y/N walked away, Karina pounced, plopping down beside Minjeong on the bench. "Spill," she said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Minjeong sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know, Karina. I think I might have misread the situation entirely."

Karina raised an eyebrow. "Misread the situation? You mean, like, you thought Y/N was into you?"

Minjeong nodded, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. "Yeah. I mean, she hugged me, Karina. Out of nowhere."

Karina's grin grew wider. "That's not out of nowhere, Minjeong. That's a sign. And I'm not just talking about the hug."

Minjeong's eyes locked onto Karina's. "What do you mean?"

Karina leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I mean, Y/N's been watching you, Minjeong. I've seen the way she looks at you. She's interested."

Minjeong's heart skipped a beat as she processed Karina's words. Could it be true? Was Y/N really interested in her?

Karina's advice echoed in Minjeong's mind as she watched Y/N walk down the hallway. She had been waiting for the perfect moment to confess her feelings, and she couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

Minjeong took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She quickened her pace, catching up to Y/N just as she was about to turn a corner.

"Y/N, wait!" Minjeong called out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N turned around, a smile on her face. "Hey, Minjeong! What's up?"

Minjeong's heart skipped a beat as she gazed into Y/N's eyes. She could feel her pulse racing, her palms growing sweaty. This was it – the moment of truth.

But just as Minjeong was about to confess her feelings, Ryujin appeared out of nowhere, a concerned expression on her face.

"Y/N, baby, I'm not sure I'll be able to follow you to that W2E concert," Ryujin said, her voice hesitant. "Maybe you'll find someone else? I'm quite busy with my family on that day."

Y/N's face fell, and Minjeong could see the disappointment in her eyes. She nodded understandingly, but Minjeong could tell she was trying to hide her true feelings.

Ryujin nodded sympathetically before turning to leave. "Sorry again, Y/N! I feel terrible for bailing on you."

As Ryujin walked away, Y/N let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Minjeong's heart went out to her – she could see how much Y/N had been looking forward to the concert.

Without thinking, Minjeong spoke up, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Hey, Y/N, I'll go with you to the concert! I've heard great things about W2E, and I'd love to see them live."

Y/N's face lit up, and she let out a squeal of delight. "Really, Minjeong? You'd do that for me?"

Minjeong nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "Of course, Y/N! I'd love to spend time with you."

Y/N's eyes sparkled with gratitude, and she threw her arms around Minjeong in a tight hug. "Thank you so much, Minjeong! You're the best!"

As Y/N bounced up and down, Minjeong couldn't help but laugh. She felt a sense of joy wash over her, and for a moment, she forgot all about her confession.

Y/N pulled back, still grinning from ear to ear. "I'll make sure to get us the best seats! Thanks again, Minjeong – you're a lifesaver!"

With that, Y/N skipped off down the hallway, leaving Minjeong to watch her go with a dreamy sigh. Minjeong's heart was still racing, but it wasn't just from the excitement of confessing her feelings – it was from the sheer joy of making Y/N happy.

As she stood there, a goofy grin spreading across her face, Minjeong realized that she had forgotten all about her confession. She had been so caught up in the moment, so happy to see Y/N smile, that she had let her chance slip away.

But as she turned to walk away, Minjeong couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she would get another chance to confess her feelings to Y/N. And maybe, just maybe, Y/N would feel the same way.

The weekend finally arrived, and Y/N's excitement was palpable. She had been looking forward to the W2E concert all week, and she couldn't wait to share the experience with Minjeong.

As she waited for Minjeong to arrive, Y/N found herself pacing back and forth in her room. She had spent hours getting ready, trying on different outfits and doing her hair and makeup just right.

Just as she was starting to get anxious, Y/N's phone buzzed with a text from Minjeong. "Hey, I'm ready! Maybe we should meet up somewhere?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she read the text. She quickly typed out a response, but before she could hit send, Minjeong sent another text. "Wait, don't worry about meeting up. I'll come pick you up."

Y/N's face lit up with a smile as she read the text. She felt a flutter in her chest at the thought of Minjeong coming to pick her up.

As she waited for Minjeong to arrive, Y/N found herself walking around her room, checking her reflection in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time.

Just as she was starting to get impatient, Y/N heard the sound of a horn outside. She rushed to the window and pulled back the curtain, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Minjeong's car parked outside.

Y/N grabbed her bag and rushed downstairs, flinging open the front door and sliding into the passenger seat of Minjeong's car.

As she settled into her seat, Minjeong turned to her with a bright smile. "OMG, your outfit is so cute!" she exclaimed, her eyes scanning Y/N's outfit.

Y/N's face flushed with pleasure as she thanked Minjeong, feeling a little self-conscious about her outfit. "Nah, yours is better," she said, taking note of Minjeong's outfit. "Mine is just casual wear."

Minjeong laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Casual wear? You look amazing, Y/N! I love the baggy clothes on you."

Y/N's blush deepened as she smiled, feeling a little more at ease. "Thanks, Minjeong. You always know how to make me feel better."

As they pulled away from the curb, Minjeong glanced over at Y/N, her eyes shining with excitement. "I'm so glad we're doing this, Y/N. I've been looking forward to it all week."

Y/N grinned, feeling a sense of excitement wash over her. "Me too, Minjeong. Me too."

As they drove to the concert venue, the two girls chatted excitedly, discussing everything from their favorite W2E songs to their plans for the summer.

The atmosphere in the car was electric, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and excitement. She was so glad she had agreed to go to the concert with Minjeong.

As they pulled up to the venue, Y/N's heart skipped a beat. The line of fans waiting to get in stretched around the block, and the air was electric with excitement.

Minjeong grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Ready, Y/N?"

Y/N nodded, feeling a sense of anticipation wash over her. "Born ready, Minjeong."

As the concert got underway, Y/N found herself getting more and more into the music. She was singing along to every song, dancing with abandon, and having the time of her life.

But as the crowd around her grew more intense, Y/N started to feel overwhelmed. The noise, the lights, the sheer number of people pressing in on her from all sides – it was all starting to feel a bit too much.

Minjeong noticed that Y/N was starting to look a bit frazzled, and she quickly grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowd to a safer spot near the back.

"Hey, are you okay?" Minjeong asked, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music. "You looked like you were starting to feel a bit overwhelmed."

Y/N nodded gratefully, feeling a bit better now that she was out of the crush of the crowd. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said. "Just got a bit too much for me."

Minjeong smiled and put a reassuring arm around Y/N's shoulders. "Don't worry, I've got you," she said. "We can stay back here and enjoy the concert from a distance."

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest at Minjeong's thoughtful gesture. She leaned into Minjeong's side, feeling grateful for her friend's support.

As they stood there, watching the concert from a safe distance, Y/N felt a sense of contentment wash over her. She was happy to be here with Minjeong, enjoying the music and each other's company.

And as she glanced over at Minjeong, she couldn't help but notice the way the lights from the stage illuminated her friend's face, making her look even more beautiful than usual.

As the concert went on, Y/N found herself feeling more and more drawn to Minjeong. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something about Minjeong's bright smile and infectious enthusiasm that made Y/N feel happy and alive.

At first, Y/N tried to brush off the feeling, telling herself she was just being silly. But as the night wore on, she couldn't shake the sense that her feelings for Minjeong went beyond friendship.

It wasn't until they were walking out of the venue, the cool night air a welcome relief after the hot and crowded concert hall, that Y/N realized the true extent of her feelings. Minjeong was laughing and chatting with her, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat.

She was in love with Minjeong.

The realization hit Y/N like a ton of bricks, leaving her feeling stunned and disoriented. She didn't know what to do or say, so she just stood there, frozen in place, as Minjeong continued to chat and laugh beside her.

Meanwhile, Minjeong was oblivious to the turmoil going on inside Y/N's head. She was too busy basking in the glow of their wonderful night together, feeling grateful and happy that she had gotten to share this experience with her dear friend.

But as they walked to the car, Minjeong couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Y/N seemed a bit quieter than usual, a bit more subdued, and Minjeong wondered if everything was okay.

"Hey, Y/N, are you doing all right?" Minjeong asked, her voice soft with concern. "You seem a bit quiet tonight."

Y/N hesitated, unsure of how to respond. She didn't want to lie to Minjeong, but she wasn't ready to reveal her true feelings either.

"I'm fine, Minjeong," Y/N said finally, forcing a smile onto her face. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

Minjeong looked at her skeptically, but she didn't push the issue. Instead, she just smiled and nodded, her eyes shining with warmth and understanding.

As they drove home, the silence between them was comfortable and companionable. Minjeong chatted occasionally, pointing out landmarks and talking about the concert, but for the most part, they just enjoyed each other's company, the quiet darkness of the night wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

It wasn't until they pulled up in front of Y/N's house, the porch light casting a warm glow over the scene, that Minjeong finally worked up the courage to confess her feelings.

"Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute?" Minjeong asked, her voice soft and hesitant.

Y/N looked at her curiously, wondering what Minjeong wanted to say. "Of course, Minjeong," she replied, her heart pounding in her chest.

Minjeong took a deep breath, her eyes locked on Y/N's face. "I just wanted to say thank you," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you for being such an amazing friend, for always being there for me."

Y/N's heart swelled with affection, and she felt a lump form in her throat. "Minjeong, you're an amazing friend too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Minjeong smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "I'm glad we're friends, Y/N," she said. "But I have to be honest with you – my feelings for you go beyond friendship."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she processed Minjeong's words. She had been hoping and dreaming of this moment for so long, and now that it was finally here, she didn't know what to say.

"Minjeong, I –" Y/N started, but Minjeong cut her off, her voice pouring out in a rush.

"I know it may seem sudden, Y/N, but I've been feeling this way for a while now. I was too scared to say anything, but I couldn't keep it inside anymore. I had to tell you, no matter how scared I was."

Y/N's heart went out to Minjeong, and she felt a wave of love and affection wash over her. She knew exactly what Minjeong was feeling – the fear, the uncertainty, the hope.

"Minjeong, I –" Y/N started again, but this time, she was interrupted by her own heart, which was pounding in her chest like a drum.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, but it was no use. Her feelings for Minjeong were too strong, too overwhelming.

"Minjeong, I feel the same way," Y/N said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Minjeong's face lit up with joy, and she leaned in, her lips brushing against Y/N's in a soft, gentle kiss. Y/N's heart soared as she felt Minjeong's lips on hers, and she knew in that moment that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

As they pulled back from the kiss, Minjeong's eyes shone with happiness, and Y/N couldn't help but smile back at her. They sat there for a moment, just looking at each other, the tension between them palpable.

"I'm so glad I told you," Minjeong said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was so scared, but it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders."

Y/N nodded, feeling a sense of understanding and connection with Minjeong. "I'm glad you told me too," she said. "I've been feeling the same way, but I was too scared to say anything."

Minjeong's face lit up with a smile, and she reached out, taking Y/N's hand in hers. "I'm so glad we're on the same page," she said, her voice filled with emotion.

As they sat there, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, Y/N felt a sense of happiness and contentment wash over her. She knew that this was just the beginning of their journey together, and she couldn't wait to see what the future held.

The night air was filled with the sound of crickets and the occasional passing car, but Y/N and Minjeong didn't notice. They were too lost in their own little world, a world of love, happiness, and possibility.

As the night wore on, they talked and laughed, sharing their hopes and dreams with each other. They were no longer just friends; they were something more, something special.

And as they sat there, under the stars, Y/N knew that she had found her soulmate in Minjeong. She was excited to see what the future held for them, and she knew that as long as they were together, everything would be okay.

—

Sunday morning dawned bright and early, and Y/N woke up feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. She stretched out in bed, yawning widely, and reached for her phone to check her messages.

As she scrolled through her social media feeds, Y/N stumbled upon a video of the H.S.K.T challenge that had been making the rounds online. She had seen it before, but this time, something about it caught her eye.

Maybe it was the memory of Minjeong's bright smile and infectious laughter from the night before, but Y/N suddenly felt a strong urge to share the video with her girlfriend. She sent the video to Minjeong, along with a message that read: "Min, would you please do this challenge with me :("

Y/N couldn't help but add a few pleading emojis to the end of the message, hoping to guilt trip Minjeong into agreeing. She knew it was a bit silly, but she couldn't help herself – she was just too excited about the prospect of doing the challenge with her girlfriend.

Minjeong, on the other hand, was not surprised by Y/N's message. She had been expecting something like this, given Y/N's love of challenges and silly videos. And besides, she couldn't say no to Y/N's adorable pleading face, even if it was just a emoji.

"Of course, I'll do it with you!" Minjeong texted back, trying to sound casual despite her growing excitement. "When were you thinking of doing it?"

Y/N's response came almost immediately. "Thanks, Min! We'll do it when we meet up at the park :)"

Minjeong grinned, feeling a thrill of anticipation. She had been looking forward to meeting up with Y/N all day, and now she had something extra to look forward to. She quickly got dressed and ready, her mind racing with thoughts of the challenge and what they would do.

As she headed out the door, Minjeong couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and nervousness. She had no idea what the challenge would entail, but she was ready to face it head-on with Y/N by her side.

Meanwhile, Y/N was getting ready on her end, her heart racing with excitement. She had always loved doing silly challenges and videos with her friends, and this one promised to be extra special. She was looking forward to spending time with Minjeong, and she knew that this challenge would be a great way to bond and create some unforgettable memories.

As she headed out the door, Y/N felt a sense of anticipation building up inside her. She knew that this day was going to be special, and she couldn't wait to see what the future held for her and Minjeong.

The park was just a short walk away, and Y/N arrived there a few minutes early, her eyes scanning the area for any sign of Minjeong. She spotted her girlfriend walking towards her, a bright smile on her face, and Y/N's heart skipped a beat.

"Hey!" Minjeong called out, waving enthusiastically. "I'm so excited to do this challenge with you!"

Y/N grinned, feeling a sense of excitement and nervousness. "Me too!" she replied, holding up her phone. "I've got the video all cued up and ready to go. Let's do this!"

Y/N held up her phone, the video of the H.S.K.T challenge playing on the screen. "Okay, Minjeong, watch closely," she said, demonstrating the dance moves. "It's not too hard, I promise."

Minjeong watched intently, her eyes fixed on the screen. She nodded along, trying to commit the steps to memory.

When Y/N finished demonstrating the dance, Minjeong set her own phone down and stood up, a determined look on her face. "Okay, let's do this!" she exclaimed.

Y/N grinned, feeling a surge of excitement. "That's the spirit!" she said, holding out her hand to Minjeong.

Together, the two girls launched into the dance, laughing and spinning to the music. They stumbled over a few of the steps, but they didn't let that stop them. They kept going, their laughter and joy infectious.

As they finished the final step of the dance, Minjeong let out a whoop of excitement and threw her arms around Y/N. The two girls tumbled to the soft grass floor, holding onto each other tightly.

Their laughter erupted into the air, a joyful sound that echoed through the park. They lay there for a moment, holding onto each other, their hearts full of happiness.

Finally, Y/N managed to catch her breath and pause the video. She turned to Minjeong, a smile still plastered on her face. "You're an amazing dancer," she said, her eyes shining with amusement.

Minjeong grinned, her face flushed with excitement. "Thanks to you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she gazed into Minjeong's eyes. She felt a surge of affection and love, and without thinking, she leaned in and gave Minjeong a light kiss on the cheek.

Minjeong's eyes fluttered closed, and she held onto Y/N's waist tightly, her face still flushed with excitement. The two girls lay there for a moment, the only sound their happy sighs and the distant music still playing from Y/N's phone.

It was a moment of pure joy and happiness, a moment that neither of them would ever forget. And as they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, they both knew that their friendship had blossomed into something more – something special, something true, and something that would last a lifetime.

[d-z20]

A Lesson in Witchcraft (NSFW)

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x Reader

Summary: You're studying under the most powerful divination witch on the continent—Lilia Calderu. What began as mentorship soon became something far more personal. But knowledge comes at a cost, and under Lilia’s guiding hand, you’re about to learn your most unforgettable lesson yet.

- OR -

Her methods of teaching you to concentrate on tarot turn out to be far more distracting and she ends up fucking you. Like a lot.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, top Lilia, hints of dom Lilia, plot gets abandoned for porn pretty quick, smidge of soft aftercare, R receives: praise, magic strap, breeding, overstimulation, fingering, oral, I think that's it but I could be wrong

Words: 3.2k

A/N: No body means no death 😤😤 requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The villa smelt of aged parchment and burning candles, a mixture that clung to the tapestries and books stacked in precarious piles around the room. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows against the stone walls, as if whispering ancient secrets to those who knew how to listen. This was Lilia’s domain, her sanctuary, steeped in the echoes of centuries past.

In the moment she had thought would be her last, she had fallen—not onto the waiting swords and to certain death, but into the familiar embrace of her old coven’s residence in Sicily. It was then that she made a choice: no more running, no more denial. She would embrace her truth, her power. And in time, the world would know her name as the greatest divination witch on the continent.

And now, years later, you had sought her out. Desperate. Needing to understand the secrets only she could reveal.

“Tell me,” Lilia said, her voice rich and laced with amusement. “What do you see?”

You exhaled slowly, hands hovering over the tarot spread before you, trying to quiet the thrum of your pulse. The cards blurred under the weight of her gaze. You swallowed hard.

“Concentrate,” she chided, shifting in her seat. The movement was subtle but deliberate, the rustle of her robe revealing the barest glimpse of her thigh. “A divination witch must anticipate what’s to come.”

You bit your lip. You knew what she was doing. Lilia was testing more than just your magical ability—she was testing your control. She always did.

A shiver ran down your spine as she leaned forward, her fingers ghosting over yours. “If you were truly gifted, you’d know what I intend to do next,” she whispered, her breath warm against your ear.

You clenched your fists, struggling to maintain focus. The air crackled with energy as Lilia traced patterns over your wrist, slow, deliberate. No magic bound you, and yet you could not move, rooted to the spot by nothing more than her.

The first touch was gentle—a brush of fingertips down your spine, a shift in the atmosphere that sent heat pooling in your core. Then came the control. Lilia’s presence pressing down on you like a weight, her will wrapping around you tighter than any spell ever could.

She started slow, dragging out each movement, each whisper against your skin. Every time you thought you had a moment to recover, she pushed you further.

Your arousal grew with each teasing touch and lingering glance. Heat curled in your stomach, spreading through your limbs like liquid fire. Your thighs clenched instinctively, already aching, already too aware of the way Lilia toyed with you—keeping you on edge without ever giving you what you so desperately needed. The anticipation itself was maddening, your body betraying you with every sharp inhale, every unconscious tilt of your hips seeking friction that wasn’t there.

"You should have foreseen this," she mused, her voice still poised, still so effortlessly composed. "A good witch always prepares."

Your breath had started to come in ragged gasps, your body trembling under her calculated pace. The tarot cards around you fluttered as if caught in an unseen breeze, the room thick with the scent of magic and something far more intoxicating.

Every nerve in your body felt alight, and your skin was hypersensitive to her every movement. The way her fingers ghosted along your collarbone sent shivers down your spine, the barest press of her nails against your thigh making your breath stutter. It was unbearable—this slow, torturous buildup. Every brush of her lips, every teasing stroke across your burning skin only made the ache between your legs more unbearable, the slickness pooling there undeniable.

Lilia smirked as she traced a lazy circle against the inside of your wrist, watching the way you twitched under her touch. "So responsive," she purred, more to herself than you. "You're practically trembling already."

She finally pulled away, leaving you breathless, your skin flushed with lingering heat. But she was far from finished. Reclining back into her chair, she extended a hand, beckoning you forward with nothing more than a commanding gaze.

"Come," she instructed, voice silk and steel. "Show me how much you've learnt."

Your legs barely held steady as you obeyed, every step reminding you just how wet you were. The evidence of your need slicked the insides of your thighs; the cool air against your heated skin only amplified the ache. The anticipation coiled tight in your stomach; the knowledge that she was watching your every movement made the fire in your veins burn even hotter.

It was only when you reached her that you saw it—her enchanted strap, shimmering faintly with magic, resting against her thigh. Lilia’s ringed fingers traced over the length of it, slow and deliberate, her nails raking just enough to make her shudder. A quiet, pleased sigh slipped past her lips, and for the briefest moment, she bit down on her lower lip, savouring the sensation.

You knew she could feel everything. Every stroke, every touch—it all translated back to her. The way her breathing hitched only made the ache between your legs worse; need coiling so tightly in your stomach it was almost unbearable.

Lilia’s dark eyes flickered up to meet yours, knowing and hungry. She gripped your waist as she guided you onto her lap, the heat of her body seeping into yours, her nails pressing into your skin just enough to keep you grounded. “Come now,” she purred. “I can already tell you’re ready for me.”

"Slowly," she murmured, hands firm yet coaxing as she helped you lower yourself onto her. The moment you sank down, a sharp gasp tore from your lips. You were so worked up, so utterly drenched, that the strap was already slick with your arousal, easing the stretch but doing nothing to dull the overwhelming sensation of being filled.

Lilia hummed in satisfaction, her fingers tightening around your waist as she felt the way you trembled in her grasp. "There... take your time," she encouraged, though the dark gleam in her eyes told you she was savouring every second of your struggle to adjust.

The stretch was overwhelming in the best way. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, your body instinctively trying to draw her in deeper. The magic woven into the strap pulsed faintly, attuned to your every reaction, making the sensation all the more intoxicating. You swore you could feel her twitch inside you, the enchantment allowing her to share in your pleasure.

Lilia's smirk deepened as she watched you shudder, her grip firm as she guided you further onto her lap. "So eager," her voice was silk and steel. "And so very, very wet."

She didn’t rush you. She simply watched, her eyes half-lidded, absorbing every twitch, every soft gasp you couldn’t suppress. And when you were fully seated, she hummed in satisfaction, tightening her hold on your hips.

“Good,” she praised, her grip shifting as she guided you into motion. “Now, let’s see if you can keep up.”

You barely had a chance to adjust before she took control, lifting and lowering you with practiced ease. Each movement sent sparks through your entire body, pleasure mounting too quickly, too intensely. Your nails dug into her shoulders as she pushed you further, refusing to let you slow.

“Tell me, young one,” she purred, lips ghosting against your throat, “can you divine how many times I intend to make you cum?”

You couldn’t answer. Words failing you as the pleasure built impossibly high, your body surrendering to her guidance. She only chuckled, her grip tightening as she thrust up to meet you, pulling strangled moans from your lips.

Lilia was relentless. She drove you to the edge of an orgasm over and over, her name slipping from your tongue like a prayer. And when she finally allowed you to cum, it was nothing short of ruinous.

She held you close as the aftershocks wracked your body, her fingers tracing idle patterns over your sweat-slicked skin. But she wasn’t finished. Not yet.

She rolled her hips once more, drawing a sharp gasp from you. “We’re not done,” she reminded you, her voice wicked and indulgent. “You can take more.”

Lilia's words seeped into your blissed-out mind, thick with promise. Your body was already trembling; every inch of you hypersensitive to her touch, but she wasn’t offering mercy. She wanted more.

"Up," she instructed, voice velvet-dark, her hands guiding you as if you were no more than a doll in her grasp. Your legs barely cooperated as you lifted yourself off her lap, the motion making you shudder at just how wet you were and how slick the strap had become from your cum. Your thighs trembled as you stepped away, but Lilia didn’t let you go far.

"Over the table," she commanded.

You obeyed on instinct, pressing your hands against the ancient wood, the tarot cards scattered beneath your fingertips, their meanings lost in the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. The cool air kissed your heated skin, but it did nothing to soothe the ache.

Lilia took her time. She traced her fingers down your back, teasing over the curve of your ass before dipping lower, spreading your folds with deliberate intent. A sharp breath left you as she dragged her fingers through your slickness, humming in satisfaction.

"So eager," she mused, her tone almost thoughtful. "So sensitive."

You jolted when she shoved two fingers inside; the stretch so easy, so effortless after everything she had already done to you. Your body clenched around her as she thrust them deep, curling just right.

"L-Lilia—"

She hushed you, her other hand pressing against the small of your back, keeping you pinned as she worked you open with measured strokes. Each push sent you spiralling higher, your legs shaking beneath you, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

"You will cum again for me," she purred, her pace quickening, her fingers relentless.

It was impossible to resist. The pleasure slammed into you, violent in its intensity, your body locking up as your next climax tore through you. Your cries filled the dimly lit room, but Lilia wasn’t done.

As your body slumped forward, boneless, she withdrew her fingers, dragging the wetness over your inner thighs, marking you with it. And then, a new pressure—her strap pressing against your entrance once more, still slick with your combined arousal.

"One more," she said, voice dark with promise. "You can give me one more, can't you?"

Your only response was a desperate whimper as she pushed in, stretching you once more, filling you so completely that it sent fresh sparks of overstimulation coursing through your veins.

Lilia chuckled, hands firm on your hips. "Good girl."

Lilia didn’t hesitate. She pulled out and then thrust back in hard, burying herself to the hilt in one swift, punishing movement. The force of it sent you forward, your breath catching in a strangled moan as she filled you.

But this time, she wasn’t just toying with you—she was chasing her own pleasure.

Her grip on your waist tightened as she set a brutal pace, her hips slamming into yours with unrelenting force. Each thrust sent increasingly desperate arousal through you, your body twitching, struggling to keep up with the pleasure that had already wrung you dry.

And then her hand slid lower.

Her fingers—cool, adorned with heavy rings—pressed against swollen clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made you jerk in her grasp. The sensation was too much, too intense, and yet you keened at the contact, pushing back into her touch.

"Lilia—your rings," you gasped, barely able to form words between the relentless rhythm of her hips and the exquisite pressure of her fingers. "They feel so good."

She chuckled darkly, dragging her fingertips over you with teasing precision. "Do they now?"

The contrast of the metal against your overheated skin sent a shiver through you, amplifying every sensation until you were practically sobbing for relief. Lilia only hummed, stroking you with slow, knowing circles as she pounded into you, her own breath coming in ragged gasps.

"You were made for this," she whispered, her voice tight and controlled, though her rhythm was faltering, growing more erratic.

Then, with a deep, low moan, her hips stilled against yours. She pressed in as deep as she could go, her grip turning bruising as she came inside you, the strap pulsing in tandem with her climax. The sensation had you whimpering, your body locking up at the heat that filled you.

She stayed like that for a moment, catching her breath and letting the pleasure wash over her. But she still wasn’t done.

"On your back," she commanded, her voice thick with satisfaction.

Your limbs felt like liquid, barely able to function, but you obeyed. With a soft gasp, you turned onto your back, legs dangling off the side of the table, tarot cards now forgotten beneath you. The room spun with the force of your own exhaustion, but then Lilia was between your legs again.

She pressed a kiss to your trembling inner thigh before dragging her tongue over your pussy, lapping up the mess she had left behind. The sensation had you arching off the table, your hands grasping at the air for something—anything—to ground you.

"Lilia—" you choked, a sob ripping from your throat as she sucked at your sensitive clit, her tongue flicking against it with ruthless intent.

There was no escaping it. You were already too sensitive, too raw, and the moment her mouth sealed around you, another orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your body tensed, legs trembling violently as you came again, your cries echoing through the room.

But Lilia didn’t let up. She took in every drop, drinking in your pleasure like it was the finest wine, her grip firm on your thighs to keep you still as she worked you through your release.

And then—one last time.

She pulled away, her lips glistening, her eyes dark with hunger as she stood. The strap between her legs twitched with renewed magic, still ready, still insatiable.

"One more, just one more," she insisted, dragging you upright and pulling you flush against her. "I want to feel you shatter for me again."

A breathless, wrecked laugh escaped you. “That’s what you said last time,” you managed to protest, your body still trembling, nerves alight with exhaustion and oversensitivity.

Lilia only smirked, utterly unmoved. She brushed a damp curl away from her face before she turned you over and bent you back down against the table.

“You can give me one more,” she murmured, her voice thick with promise. “I know you can.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before she was inside you once more, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. A cry tore from your throat at the stretch, the wet slapping sound of your bodies meeting nearly obscene in the quiet of the room.

At first, her thrusts were deep and slow, forcing you to feel every inch of her inside you. But as soon as she felt your body respond—felt the way you clenched down around her despite your protests—her pace shifted to be rough and unforgiving.

Your overstimulated body had no resistance left. The moment she angled her thrusts just right, pleasure speared through you like lightning, raw and all-consuming. Your climax tore through you with a force that left you gasping, clawing at her back, your entire body clenching around her in desperate waves.

Lilia groaned, her grip bruising on your hips as she buried herself deep, chasing her own release. A guttural moan escaped her as she spilled inside you once more, her hips stilling for just a moment as she let the aftershocks wash over her.

She didn’t pull away immediately. She stayed pressed against you, her breath ghosting over your skin, her fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over your trembling thighs.

Lilia's gaze lingered on you for a long moment, amusement dancing in her dark eyes as she traced her fingers along your jaw. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she gave her next command.

"On your knees," she spoke, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Clean me up properly."

Your limbs were weak, trembling from the relentless pleasure she had wrung from you, but you obeyed without hesitation. Lowering yourself before her, you grasped her thighs for support, your breath ghosting over her strap, now covered with a mix of both of your cum.

Lilia let out a pleased hum as you took the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over it before sinking down further. The taste was intoxicating, a mix of everything she had given you.

"Just like that," she praised, threading her fingers through your hair, her grip tightening as she guided your movements. "Such a fast learner."

You hollowed your cheeks, taking more, bobbing your head at the pace she set. Her fingers curled at the back of your skull, her hips rolling forward ever so slightly, pushing deeper into your mouth. The strap twitched against your tongue, carrying the echoes of her pleasure.

A sharp inhale and then a moan.

"You're being so good for me," she hummed, her voice unravelling as she thrust just a bit deeper. "Now, swallow every drop."

You barely had time to prepare before she came once more, herf cum spilling onto your tongue, thick and warm. The sensation alone made your core throb with residual need. You swallowed obediently, not letting a single drop go to waste, your throat flexing around her as she let out a shuddering sigh of satisfaction.

Finally, Lilia loosened her grip, her fingers stroking over your hair in silent approval. She helped lift you to your feet, steadying your shaking form before guiding you toward the chaise lounge in the corner of the dimly lit room.

"Rest, young one," she said gently, draping her coat—rich in golden embroidery and worn with the weight of years—over your shoulders. The fabric smelt like her, like incense and old books, like the very essence of magic itself. You melted into its warmth, exhaling softly as she settled beside you.

Her fingers ghosted over your forehead, brushing damp strands of hair away with unexpected tenderness. It was a stark contrast to the way she had just ravaged you, and yet it felt just as intoxicating.

Then, without a word, she reached for the deck of tarot cards still scattered across the nearby table. With practiced ease, she shuffled, then drew a single card, turning it toward you.

The Page of Pentacles.

Lilia’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

"How fitting," she mused, tapping the card lightly. "A symbol of knowledge... of boundless potential. Of someone eager to learn, grow, and carve their own path."

She tilted your chin up, dark eyes locking onto yours with quiet pride.

"And I believe, my dear apprentice, that you will do just that."

-----

My only hope is that Patti LuPone would approve of this fic

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[majinael]

You’re not going anywhere.

Michael Kaiser and I met during the final years of my high school. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I was captivated. I became his biggest supporter, his unwavering believer. In time, he fell for me too, even if it took him longer to realize it.

But as we grew together, doubts began to creep in. I found myself wondering if he saw a future with me. He never spoke about moving in, marriage, or anything remotely long-term. At first, I dismissed it, thinking it was normal for someone who struggled with emotions, especially romantic ones. But as time passed, I started confiding in my closest friends. Listening to them talk about their partners planning apartments and futures together, I couldn’t ignore the sharp sting of jealousy.

That night, I sat alone on the couch in his dimly lit room, wrestling with my thoughts. Should I bring it up? Or bury it like I always had?

The sound of the bathroom door opening pulled me from my reverie. Michael stepped out, fresh from the shower, a towel slung carelessly over his neck. He glanced at me, sensing the tension in the air immediately.

“You’re quiet,” he observed, slipping into a pair of shorts.

I sighed, avoiding his gaze.

He crouched in front of me, resting a hand on the edge of the couch to meet my eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

I muttered a weak, “Nothing.”

He didn’t buy it.

“Bullshit. Tell me.”

I slid past him, standing up and putting distance between us.

“I feel like…” I hesitated, then took a steadying breath. “I feel like you’re not taking this relationship seriously anymore. We’ve been together for three years, Michael. Three. And yet, we haven’t moved in together, you never talk about the future. Is this… not what you want?”

The silence that followed was heavy, deafening.

“Do you even imagine a future with me? Or are you just waiting to.. leave?” I added, my voice cracking despite my attempt to stay composed.

He stepped closer, his hand gently landing on my shoulder, trying to turn me toward him in vain.

“It’s not that,” he rectfied “You know my career doesn’t allow me to think about that kind of stuff yet, princess.”

His words only fueled the fire burning inside me. I pushed his hand away, my fists clenching as anger and despair warred within me.

“Then I don’t want this,” I snapped, my voice sharp and unforgiving.

Michael’s eyes widened in shock, his usual composure slipping. Anger flickered across his face as he grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His piercing gaze locked onto mine, but I turned away, unable to hold it.

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, his voice carrying a faint tremor of pain beneath its intensity.

Tears threatened to spill as I bit my lip, cursing myself for letting frustration drive my words. I didn’t mean it. Not truly. But it was already out there, and I couldn’t take it back.

He pulled me closer by capturing my wrist in his hand. Lifting it to his lips, he pressed a tender kiss to the back of it.

“You’re not going anywhere, not because of this stupid fucking reason” he murmured, his tone firm , commanding.

I yanked my hand away, my movement harsh. For the first time, I saw uncertainty flicker in his expression, a rare crack in his confidence. He was losing control of the situation, and it was unfamiliar territory for him.

I understood his reasons. Deep down, I knew he was right. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. My desires, my expectations, felt so far away, and the bitterness was suffocating.

In one swift motion, Michael cupped my face in his right hand, forcing me to look up at him. His touch tilted my balance, leaving me on my tiptoes as he leaned in.

“Stop being unreasonable,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “You’re smart enough to understand.”

I squirmed in his grasp, the position almost unbearable, a frustrated moan escaping my lips. His, curled into a grin -a maddening, knowing grin- before he closed the distance between us, capturing my lips in a searing kiss.

And just like that, my resistance crumbled. His kiss melted away every ounce of rebellion in me, leaving only the raw ache of love and longing.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered against my lips, breaking the kiss only to claim them again.

My back met the wall as he deepened the kiss, his desperation palpable.

“You're not going anywhere.” he murmured, his lips brushing against my jaw, trailing down to my ear in soft, butterfly kisses.

“Tell me you’re not going anywhere.” His voice trembled, a faint whimper betraying his vulnerability.

I couldn’t fight him anymore. Wrapping my arms around him, I pressed myself against him, burying my face in his shoulder.

“I’m not,” I whispered, my voice shaky but resolute.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Britta Phillips - Jem - Truly Outrageous 1985

Jem and The Holograms, also known as simply Jem, is an American animated musical television series that ran from 1985 to 1988. The series is about record company owner Jerrica Benton, her singer alter-ego Jem, and the adventures of her band Jem and The Holograms. The series was a joint collaboration by Hasbro, Sunbow Productions and Marvel Productions, the same team responsible for G.I. Joe and Transformers. The creator of the series, Christy Marx, had also been a staff writer for the aforementioned programs. The animation for most of the episodes was provided by Japanese animation studio Toei Animation. Eleven episodes and the stunningly gorgeous opening sequence were provided by the South Korean studio AKOM.

The series' format included three songs for the featured music videos in each episode. The music videos paralleled the style of rock videos found on MTV at the time featuring fast editing, a quick pace, and special effects. The inclusion of music videos in Jem was a result of the success and popularity of MTV (Music Television) at the time, which began airing four years prior. The show contains a total of 187 music videos with 151 unique songs. Over 200 original songs were written for the series. Several songs are featured on cassette tapes of Hasbro's Jem toy line.

The Jem Theme was composed by Anne Bryant and sung by Britta Phillips. The song is an alternate version of "Truly Outrageous", arranged to fit the TV series intro's imagery and also allows for a verse sung by the show's antagonists The Misfits to be added.

"Truly Outrageous" received a total of 68,6% yes votes!

[yup-thats-me]

slipping through my fingers • Lee Byung-hun

pairing: husband!Lee Byung-Hun x wife!reader

summary: funny tricks of time; growing old with your husband

warning: growing old, age gap. please, please i beg of you don't think too hard about byung-hun and the reader's ages, please. when I tell you me and my friend had to storm our brains for an hour to calculate their ages. please. also, i suggest you listen to the song while reading this<3

"bye bye, momma!" waved goodbye your little girl. she was in high school now, and you and your husband were grateful that your prized girl was not like most teenagers. she was understanding, gentle.

byung-hun stood beside his wife, eyes on the yellow school bus. "seems like yesterday that she came into this world, doesn't it darling?'' he said as he laid his head on her shoulder.

"Mmm", she nodded. "time is cruel."

it really was. how can it be that your daughter is almost at the age where she'll be leaving home when it barely feels that you've been with your husband for barely two years? oh, at it had been eighteen years when you had met Byung-hun.

Byung-hun was a regular at the cafe y/n worked at. he would go there as soon as he wrapped up filming for the day. from the early days of his acting career, he frequented the cafe but it had only been a few months since the waitress. y/n had joined.

she was so sweet, smiling at everyone, not an ounce of anger or tiredness in her eyes. he knew he was at least twenty years older than the girl but it didn't matter, right?

"can i get your name, sweetheart?"

it'd be a lie if y/n said she didn't feel like melting onto the earth. his voice dripping with honey, his eyes smiling.

"y/n."

that had been their first date. Byung-hun had asked her manager if she could leave early. she of course, agreed. how could anyone would deny Lee Byung-hun anything?

that day was eighteen years ago. how time flies.

Byung-hun kissed his wife goodbye. "when I come back let's go out for a movie? with d/n?" she nodded.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"you ready, sweetheart?"

y/n asked fixing her daughter's veil. her little girl was getting married, she's truly going into the world, with someone she loves, adores.

no words could explain how y/n felt. this is the same girl she had given birth to, her little fingers had wrapped around her thumb so adoringly. so naturally.

it's time for her little girl to hold someone else.

y/n wiped the corners of her eyes, not wanting to let her daughter see her cry. "your father is waiting outside. let's go?" her voice trembling slightly.

Byung-hun stood outside the doors, his mind replaying the old times. it feels like yesterday that he held his daughter for the first time, only yesterday had he heard his little girl call him 'appa' for the first time. oh how he had felt the world around him stop at that moment. he really missed the old times.

when his wife came outside holding his daughter, he couldn't stop the tears from falling.

"you look so beautiful, princess." he said hugging his girl.

d/n wiped her tears as well. it felt surreal having her father cry while holding her. "appa, I'm still your little girl. I promise."

y/n patted her husband. the rays of sun falling onto the family, making them look ethereal. after they had composed themselves, y/n softly pushed through the doors of the altar.

she held her daughter's hand, her husband linking his arm with d/n. the music wafted through the venue. some of byung-hun and y/n's friends had tears in their eyes too. to them, d/n was also their beloved girl. time really flies.

when the priest pronounced officially d/n and her lover, y/n had intertwined her arms with her husband. it was much very hard for Byung-hun than her. the man saw his girl as the world, ready to bring the world at her feet. he would become so proud at all of d/n's achievement, no matter small or big. he really was d/n's greatest fanboy.

y/n rested her head against Byung-hun's shoulder, comforting him as d/n and her lover kissed.

beautiful.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"you look so beautiful, my love," came Byung-hun's voice as he handed his wife a cup of coffee as the sat on their porch.

y/n laughed. time had certainly left its marks. "you've been telling me that for the last 35 years, my love."

"and," byung-hun leaned down to kiss y/n's hand. "i would continue to do so till my last breath, sweetheart."

"I love you."