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sunboki · 1 month

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— ENDLESS WINTER. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x f. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. 12k words

AUG'S NOTES. if there’s ever been a more spontaneous fic in history it would be this… every sentence is write is purely self indulgent…. (genuinely a written version of the stories i make in my head while laying in bed)

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

It’s a fever dream walking into the Kingdom that, compared to yours, looks positively flourishing with life. Beasts of all kinds roam about, carrying on with their daily lives, oblivious to the winds of death they’ve swept your way.

Everything in your body feels as if it’s shutting down, unable to feel the sensation of your legs as you trudge forward, the younger, much kinder Beast ensuring you kept pace.

Freezing temperatures carry on the longer snow falls, gluing strands of hair to your forehead, blanketing your lashes while your nose runs incessantly.

In front of you now lies the castle, far grander than you could’ve ever imagined. Twin spires peek above the low-hanging clouds, stone columns towering above.

From your distance you spot two knights positioned on either side of the entryway, large armored helmets with hawk feathers adorning the ridges.

One knight stops your ascent, the light-haired man rolling his eyes profusely.

“Minho, this is important.”

“Important enough you’re bringing a Mage into the Kingdom?”

His voice smooth as honey, he sports a dominant tone when speaking. Stare observant, he watches the other Beast’s expressions with uncanny precision.

“Because if you haven’t noticed Hyunjin,” He leans forward a bit, whispering. “You have the entire Kingdom’s attention.”

At this, either of the Beasts who escorted you turn around, and upon doing so are met with hundreds, if not thousands of eyes boring into their soul. Whether it’s younger Beasts or aged soldiers, those heinous vermillion orbs seem to see through you.

You gulp.

“C’mon,” Hyunjin harshly beckons, nudging you forward through the gates with the younger quick on his tail.

Every color in the Palace is monochromatically grey, although strikes of royal blue reside in large drapes hung from perched balconies.

Similar guards to those outside sift throughout the room, familiar hawk feathers litter everywhere in sight, paving paths to the core of the room where a throne sits.

Pointed edges flank either side of the massive chair, the ocean blue rug underneath reflecting up and out of the ceiling — a glass design stretching wide across the throne room, emphasizing the dusky weather outside.

According to the younger Beast whose title you learned as Jeongin, the King was currently participating in a hunt with Changbin (the lead hunter of the Palace), so after hasty appreciation of the sheer volume of this breathtaking castle, you’re forced toward the dungeons.

Jeongin wears a pitying frown, promising to return with some food to your chambers in the case the King doesn’t arrive for a while.

At least someone in this Kingdom doesn’t insist you’re beheaded.

“Finally, somebody else is here.”

A voice erupting from the darkening depths to your right make you jump, chained wrists clanging abruptly. Through minimal lighting of the burning lamps hastened upon the walls, you make out the silhouette of a man, face bunching in a sweet manner when he smiles.

Unusually, his hands aren’t chained.

“What’re you in here for?” You begin, gaze narrowed in confusion. The chubby-cheeked stranger smiles haphazardly.

“I would ask you the same thing. I’m the King’s Advisor, he just gets tired of me and puts me in here sometimes,” Your chamber-mate sighs, and once you take in what he professed, the urge to laugh becomes too strong to control.

Laughing for the first time in quite a while is sort of relieving, especially when this new acquaintance of yours begins whining his dismay, aimlessly trying to hush your giggles.

Red eyes. You can see them blinking up at you, gleaming when he grins his pointed teeth.

Quickly pausing, you wait in horror as he gradually sniffs in.

Your stomach sinks.

“Wait… You’re a Mag—“

His phrase is cut off by a loud ringing noise, a familiar echo of keys tunneling down the dungeons stairwell.

Another stranger unlocks the door. He’s burly, with curly hair in disarray. Cuffs of animal fur wraps around defined biceps, his top a tight-fitted arrangement of fur and woven leather paired with small iron spikes studding the shoulder lining.

A scar passes down the corner of his lip, long since healed but remaining faded.

“C’mere,” He ushers, voice gruff and rumbling when he unlocks your shackles, big hand pushing you forward up the stairs.

If anybody here had pure Beast in their bloodline, it would be this man. His demeanor is rough, but his touch on your back is surprisingly gentle whilst guiding you upward.

Again you’re granted with the wondrous sight of the Throne Room in all its historic glory, although your gaze directed at the floor keeps you ignorant to so many heads bowed, so many voices cast to silence upon the click of footsteps approaching.

And when you look up, you meet strikingly blue eyes—perhaps a genetic mutation of a sort.

They’re stunning, enrapturing almost, and you find the need to break eye contact immediate, more dire than normal while staring down at you.

Plump, full lips and perfectly sculpted facial features seem that of a Greek god’s, too ethereal to exist in your reality. A glittering, silver crown sits stark atop a black nest of hair.

Either arm rests on the sides of the throne, and you swore you’d never seen someone look so, King-like. That, and the massive cape of wolf-skin draped over his back.

A devil, dressed as an angel.

“Your Highness, this Mage was found near the L/N Kingdom by Hwang Hyunjin and Yang Jeongin while scouting the territory.” A palace-woman announces, the same guard who lingered outside, Minho, standing to your side.

Your blood boils, disregarding every ounce of amazement once inhabited.

It’s him. The man responsible for the demise of loved ones you couldn’t count on all of your fingers and toes.

Minho, as if sensing your frothing rage, mutters through his helmet a staggered warning—remaining upright and unmoving at attention.

“Do not move and do not look into his eyes unless you’re asking for death.”

Your patience dissipates, lip twitching involuntarily.

You can’t remember the last time you were genuinely angry. You were happy, surrounded by people you loved.

Those people weren’t here now, they were killed.

“You murderer! You’re a—“ Your attempt at lashing out at the King stalled when Minho kicks the crevice between your knees, forcing you down on the carpet below.

“Monster! A bloody— fucking— Monster!”

Palace representatives gasp their bewilderment, some beckoning you away to the dungeons, others urging Minho to end you right here and now.

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

The King’s raised hand stalls the accusations, his familiar clicking footsteps nearing closer till he stands before you.

Shifting down into a squat, the man tips your chin up to meet cerulean again, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“Don’t get it mixed up little one,” He murmurs, the pad of his thumb controlling your movement.

“I did not kill your family. Your family killed themselves.”

Fist sharply winding around for a punch, he catches it before you can even register your predicament, iron grip strong enough you fear he might just snap your wrist in half.

“And I wouldn’t recommend fighting back, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Concluding his threat the further he bends your wrist, you whine, face scrunching from the pain until he finally stops, amusedly surveying your expression.

Denying your own enraged shaking, you suck your teeth, focus vehemently pinned onto him.

“Why would you care about my safety?” You snarl, trying to wriggle his hold off to no avail.

“Because,” The King cocks his brows. “I like you.”

About to spit another word, he interrupts you, index tracing the veins of your arm.

“Plus, I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.”

You shiver.

Your second day and you feel as if you’re officially going insane.

The only person tolerable here is Jeongin, that chamber guard whose name you don’t know, and Felix, the castles cook. You barely see the King, and even when he’s present he’s usually quartered in his study.

What he does there remains unknown, information learned in the mere form of startled maids leaving the room and gossip among those wandering the Kingdom.

“Do you know what he does?”

Felix looks up from the dish he was laying in front of you, wispy blond locks bouncing with the movement.

“Does what?” He piques, ridding a stray piece of hair clinging to your sleeve.

“The King, what does he do all day long?”

One thing about Felix you love, his honesty. Regardless of if most would tell a quick fib and flee, Felix, although occasionally working around a topic, takes the time to actually explain things to you.

Allows you to learn more of the place you’re going to have to call home.

“Hm..” He pulls a chair from your right to drop into, and for a moment, you see Ms. Maewether in that smile of his. Your heart aches.

“Chris— I mean, King Bahng is always busy. He plans trade agreements, oversees the hunts, and basically keeps this castle alive.”

Chris?

“Who’s Chris?”

Felix nearly squeaks, burying his head in his hands. Evidently, you weren’t supposed to hear that part, but an eagerness to know more about this solitary King kept your hesitance at bay.

“That’s his name. Christopher Bahng, but you’re not allowed to call him that and not allowed to tell anyone about us having this conversa-“

“Tell who?”

You quite literally almost fall backwards in your seat, failing to anticipate the pair of hands placed on Felix’s shoulders.

A pair of hands, followed by a pair of ocean blue eyes, boring right into you and the horrified boy in front of you.

King Bahng. In the flesh.

“Oh.. Hey Chri— Hello Your Highness.”

Again he corrects. These two must know each other.

“Tell who, Felix?” He speaks, tone nothing short of teasing—though the boy looks just as startled, practically sweating through his clothing.

Still adorning that flanking wolf-cape of his, his dark hair is slightly messy, expression distorted curiously.

You hate him to admit, but King Bahng is horribly attractive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Highness,” Felix chirps, fixing you with a ‘Don’t say a word’ glare you cease to argue with.

Rising up from your seat quickly as if you had any duties in this Kingdom to tend to, you find yourself stalling.

You have so many questions. …And the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.

You’ve received a fair warning on the latter.

“I’ll be off now, Your Highness.”

The last words come out involuntary, used to referring to your own father this way. It made you sick to know you regarded his murderer the same.

And though the King didn’t stand extremely tall (considering how young Beasts were already your height), his hulking stature felt as if it could swallow you whole, pointed canines flashing when he smiled, sending your head reeling.

Pleased.

King Bahng was pleased hearing something nonthreatening come out of your mouth.

Vile.

Yet, you simply curtsied and hurried off, ceasing to notice the immediate growl Felix directed in the King’s direction.

“Good lord, I know she smells good but you’re practically undressing her with your eyes,” The freckled boy grumbles, returned with an uninterested expression from his friend.

Before the King can head off to whatever meeting he has planned, however, he spins on his heel.

“Have you consulted Seungmin about the scent-blocking salve?”

“Possessive, are we?”

His glare shuts the cook up immediately.

“If there is one Mage left, it’s mine. And since she’s the survivor, she’s mine.”

Yeah, he’s not beating the possessive allegations. But if he’s going to gain your trust, and eventually, after much thought, become mates, he’s keeping every other Beast in the Kingdom at a distance from you at all times.

“Jeongin will report when it’s completed. And Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t expect her to warm up to you.”

King Bahng hums.

“I don’t.”

And with that, Felix follows your exit, leaving the King to his own devices, your nectar-sweet smell lingering in his nose.

“If I stare at the same wall for hours and hours, shouldn’t it break by now?”

“You’re a Mage, not telekinetic,” Han replies, repetitively scanning over a piece of parchment assumed to be a guest list.

In the midst of your incessant boredom, you found yourself following the King’s Advisor around, peering over his shoulder at the endless list of haughty names written in languid ink strokes.

Amongst them, you ceased to find your father’s name. You knew it wouldn’t be there, but somehow, you wished if you blinked enough it would magically appear.

King L/N, written in that same, cursive font.

Rounding a corner, you conclude if there’s anyone you avoid more than King Bahng (a.k.a Chris), it was Hyunjin. That man was a serpent in a Beast’s body.

Catching sight of his dreaded ponytail, you hastily retrace your steps, hiding behind a massive doorframe while Han stares at you as if you’re a rodent scurrying at his shoes.

“He won’t bite y’know.”

“If only you would’ve been there when he first found me,” You whisper angrily, practically clawing at the wood desperately till he leaches you out.

Leaching enough, in fact, that you end up right in Hyunjin’s line of sight, who surveys you up and down with a cocked brow to the point you’re sure steam is billowing from your ears.

Mocking. Ruby-red, mocking eyes.

He does bite. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and tears.

You won’t bleed without biting back.

Han’s iron grip tightens on your arm as slowly, oh so slowly, Hyunjin walks closer.

The strategist prowls, edging right up in your face—noses a thread-width apart.

His glower sets your fury alight, lips curled in a deriding notion.

“No need to glare, wouldn’t want wrinkles ruining that face of yours.”

“No need to get so close unless you plan to kiss me, mutt.”

Though, just as Hyunjin preapres to lunge, a big hand holds him back, animal fur cuffs indicating it isn’t the King who stepped in.

The man who had fetched you from the chambers earlier divided either of you. Shorter, but evidently stronger.

“Control yourselves, both of you. For as long as she stays in the Kingdom, she’s The King’s property—“

“I am no one’s property,” You snarl, and the guard turns.

Basked in clear lighting, you can finally see him. Honing dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows, the same scar resides by his mouth, though, his eyes are much kinder than you expected.

Taking a slow inhale, he reads your conflicted expression like an ornate mirror.

“One mage in the Kingdom of Beasts? Sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are his property. So as long as she’s here, nobody lays a finger on her, understood?”

Glancing to each person, either of them ease their apprehension, the bewildered Jisung next to you stifling a breath, Hyunjin rolling his eyes with a loud huff.

Baiting seconds pass, and in that period of time do you realize you never caught his name. Specifically, the guard’s name.

“Excuse m-“

“Seo Changbin,” Han interjects. “His name is Seo Changbin.”

Ah. Right.

Now on the roster of least-likely to kill you, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Han.

Filled with a need to evade, you stand merely as a spectator as each horridly red hue snaps to stare at you, your heart spiking an alarming rate.

The King’s Advisor’s fingers tighten to the point you’re sure he’s blocking blood flow.

“You need to leave. Jisung, get in contact with Seungmin and see when the salve is done,” Changbin instructs, already shoving Hyunjin away.

Salve. What salve?

Failing to give you any explanation, you’re dragged off, boisterously complaining before the highly annoyed man abruptly pauses, finger nudging your forehead irritably.

“You smell.”

Then he leaves, and you’re left to wonder if you’re still in primary school or the Kingdom of Beasts.

You smell? What’s that supposed to mean?

First thing in the morning, you’re torn from your slumber with a blazing sun scorching your eyes.

Your canopy beds silken drapes doing little to block the attack, you whine to an apologetic Jisung who merely sighs in return.

“Sorry sleeping beauty, but we have an appointment to attend this morning. Can you handle getting dressed on your own?”

You roll your eyes, groggily pulling yourself upright. “I was an heiress, not helpless.”

To which he cracks a miniature grin and slips out the door, allowing you to hurriedly strip off your chemise and messily arrange your stays and petticoats.

Out of all things you’d been deprived of, a part of the L/N Clan unable to be divided was your garments.

Somewhere, in the midst of fabric and citrus scented soap, you swear you can still smell bits and pieces of home.

What this appointment entailed you failed to ask, gingerly hustled down winding hallways barely illuminated with sunlight.

The Kings Advisor expertly winds further and further down, georgian architecture littered in symmetrical golden portraits and decorum, casement glass windows twinkling as you walked past.

Having reached a dead end, you’re pleasantly surprised to watch Han jar a brass doorknob open, paving a breathtaking view of the garden ahead.

Garden had to be an understatement. This amount of foliage was nothing short of a forest.

Flowers of all kind surround your walk to a shrouded greenhouse, abnormally brick relative to it’s stone-castle counterpart. Its walls are overgrown in slithering vines, door nearly invisible without proper inspection.

Jisung, having noticed your amazed expression, chuckles.

Granted, it’s been years since you’d seen any form of green vegetation, your astonishment felt justified.

“We’ve arrived.”

Oh how you wish to stay here forever. Not captive by the Beast Clan, no, but in this garden, hidden.

And if the last door took effort to pry open, this was a new challenge entirely. Through thickets of dense hedge and tangled branches, Jisung had to quite literally ram himself into the chittering wood for entry.

“Knock next time would you?” A voice projects from inside, belonging to a man clad in rounded spectacles, a slightly hooked nose, and cleanly hair parted to the side.

The Kings Advisor, apparently having known him, beams his prize-winning smile upon seeing the man.

“Seungminnnn—“ Han drawls out, excitedly waddling over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Stiffly, Seungmin pats his back, an action you fondly watch from afar.

“Ah!” The more ebullient of the two springs up, turning to you. “This is Seungmin, he runs the apothecary here.”

Nodding stiffly, Seungmin ushers you to one of the many mahogany chairs circling a gateleg table; a vase—likely jade with its pale green hue—filled with indigo hydrangea presides in the center.

“And,” Han’s outburst cuts off your awe. “He’s practically my little brother.”

Now you’re in awe again, but for a different reason. And by the evident frown on Seungmin’s face, he can tell.

“Shocking, right?”

Yes, shocking for certain.

Though, before you can reply, Han slaps his hands on either of the man’s shoulders, expression transformed into one of seriousness.

“About time I left then, yeah?” Was spoken while his form hurriedly retreated out the door, leaving you with more questions than answers to what just occurred.

“..He forgot something again.”

Biting back your laugh, you finally take a seat, given ample time as Seungmin shuffles off to the side to acknowledge your everything to its fullest extent.

Matching the plant-infested interior, verdant drawers scatter the corners, a lone, looming medicinal cabinet left ajar as the chemist poured over a variety of assorted concoctions.

Air stained with a damp smell of earth, you notice, much to your curiosity, the longevity of such a place.

This apothecary, though inside the castle, feels like an entirely new settlement of its own. An establishment existing before the war, rebuilt (inefficiently) enough to where it was only required to stand stable.

From first sighting you’d grown an attachment to it, but this newfound understanding, these newfound details setting the apothecary apart from your predicament let you imagine yourself anywhere else, back to a nostalgia you longed for.

A short term fix.

“This.” You’re handed a phial from overhead. It’s a slightly green substance, thicker in texture that rests heavy in your hand. “Is for you.”

Slipping across from you, he surveys your analyzing, arms crossed over a deep brown waistcoat.

“And this is..?” You inquire, looking up from the cork-sealed glass.

“A salve. You had better not waste it, material is low as is and I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.”

Well that didn’t answer your question. You’ve heard conversation about a specific salve for days on end, but no genuine explanation caved in—

‘I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.’

Repeatedly mulling over the words, you can practically feel your heart palpitating, head beginning to spin.

..End already? The endless winter.. ending?

“So you’re saying,” You murmur, placing down this special salve in order to truly regard him.

“There’s a way to end the Endless Winter?”

His brows crease critically, seemingly sarcastic.

“There’s an end to everything sweetheart. Life, death. Start, finish. War,” He meets your eyes with a conniving grin, a face you hadn’t seen on the man before.

“Peace.”

Automatically, you roll your eyes.

Peace? Peace when there was no peace left to be made, no kingdom remaining to make peace with?

“And how do you think the nonexistent Mage will make peace with Beasts?”

Seungmin grins.

“Well there is a Mage left,” He scornfully states, flicking your forehead whilst you palm the sting, frown evident.

“And as far as making peace goes, marriage.”

Marriage.

What.

“Wait- so you’re telling me big bad King Bahng could’ve just hooked up with a Mage and called it a day and everything would be fine?”

Seungmin clears his throat.

“One, Bahng doesn’t ‘hook up’. Two, it’s not as easy as that.”

Of course it’s not as easy as that. Why would it be?

You wish to claw your eyes out of your head, anticipating his explanation.

“Because if you weren’t aware before, marriage ties between Mage and Beast are very difficult to establish. Bahng is picky on everything, and even pickier when it comes to mates.”

But before you can argue there were thousands of suitors roaming the L/N Kingdom for him to pick from, Seungmin interrupts.

“Plus, if anyone else were King I’m sure we would’ve had peace decades ago. You’re lucky you’re in the castle right now, otherwise you would be eaten alive.”

Your face scrunching worriedly, he rakes an exasperated hand through his hair, plopping down on the vanity’s chair.

“Your scent.”

Again, you’re reminded of Han’s ‘you smell’ comment. Why is it showing up a second time?

He groans frustratedly, wordlessly praying you understand.

You don’t.

“Mage have specific scents. You can’t smell it since you’re not Beast. But let me tell you, you smell fucking delightful.”

Oh.

That’s what he meant by eaten alive, and the entire ‘you smell’ conundrum.

Seungmin, rather entertained with the shock written on your face, shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed by the crassness of his earlier statement.

“Now you get the use of the salve, right? And why you’re not allowed to leave the castle?”

Your mouth feels dry of response, beckoned toward the exit without so much as a peep passing through your lips.

However, right as the you’re halfway gone, he stops you, brows cocked.

“Do us all a favor and marry him, will you?”

And like that, the apothecary’s door thumps closed behind you.

If only the “him” he was referring to wasn’t King Bahng, you might’ve agreed.

Marriage in the L/N Kingdom had been a sacred event.

An event you’d been prepared for since childhood, fed daydreams of a day you would be married to a prince-like man with perfect features and a perfect personality, every element fabricated from a young age.

Truly, you loved it. Loved visualizing a life shared with your loved one, whoever that man would be.

Little did you know he might just be King of the Beast Clan.

No. You refused. Marrying a murderer, the murderer of your family, was the last thing you would oblige to.

He sent the command, he led the attack, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of marriage.

Although, one problem. Similar to life back at the L/N Kingdom, supplies only lasted for some time before shipments became low, and pretty soon (according to Seungmin) the salve you were given would run dry.

Meaning, your meager chance of protection lay completely exposed, susceptible to any Beast daring enough to try something.

Two sides of a coin remained. Heads, you marry the murderer of a King and spring returns, or tails, you abstain and are eventually left vulnerable.

You’ve always been the person to confront a difficulty head-on, but, in this case, a different, defensive approach crossed your mind.

Run away.

Despite Seungmin’s sensible reminder to not leave the castle, what other option sounded suitable?

Die physically or mentally, pick your poison.

Or maybe, never drink the poison in the first place. Evade.

Three days have passed since you received the salve, and after applying it behind your ears and between your elbows at dawn, you were free to do as you pleased—within the castle walls.

Yet, tomorrow’s dawn would be divergent. Tomorrow, you would be days away from the Beast Clan.

Sneakily roaming around, you managed to find certain outlets to your disposal. Nearby the chambers you’d been kept in was a moth eaten, hooded cloak seemingly unworn for quite awhile. Ideal for an anonymous escape.

Furthermore, amongst the colloquy during a dinner with Changbin and Felix in the Great Hall, you distinctly recall overhearing information about the stables.

If you were to flee, you needed a horse, and thanks to the guard, you knew right where to find one.

Unable to sleep the night before, your dry eyes blink through the dense darkness, sweeping the candlestick from your side table for a minimal source of vision.

Lathering a copious amount of salve all over your skin, you slip down the winding stairwell, grateful for the shadowed moonlight gazing down upon the Throne Room as you venture.

Bingo. There’s the cloak.

Sweeping the fabric over your shoulders, you slip the hood over your head, creeping down the steep steps leading into a surrounding ward.

On your left, across the butcher’s vendors.

Blindly searching, the whinny of a mare alerts your close distance, carefully winding through lead ropes and linked fences to the first horse in sight.

You have to be fast, the sun will rise at any moment it pleases, and it’s impertinent you’re gone by then.

Hoisting a mere saddle pad over the back, you deem the saddle too noisy, slipping the reins overheard and adjusting their length accordingly.

Jogging forwards, you’re brisk to gain a running leap atop the horse prior to the thunder of hooves charging forward.

Closer to the gatehouse you near, a luckily open drawbridge allowing easy passage across.

Faster, faster. You can’t afford to slow down. Daylight is beginning to peer above the horizon, warming your back with rays of sunlight amongst a snowy landscape.

And when the kingdom wakes up, it’ll be as if you were never there.

But, an undecided factor stayed. Where would you go? There was no kingdom left for you, no home to go to.

For now, you needed to prioritize finding a hiding spot, if only for a night, that supplies warmth.

Given the opportunity, too long out here and you or your horse will indefinitely succumb to the frigid conditions.

Veering off sharply, you sidle beneath a barren magnolia tree, its thick trunk barely blocking the unforgiving wind. Pretty soon you’ll have to keep on, but for now, you’ll savor the temporary peace.

Blue skies indicate it must be nearing morning, and you assume the castle will be slowly waking up. By now, King Bahng would likely be awake as well, you’ve been told he doesn’t sleep well anyway.

Scouts. He’ll send scouts most likely. Knights like Minho or Hyunjin.

Ugh, the mere thought of Hyunjin finding you a second time makes you nauseous.

Except, the longer you consider it, King Bahng is the worst case scenario.

I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.

Those words send an entourage of chills slithering up your spine, and not from the cold.

Because while Hyunjin is a type of spiteful strong you want to avoid primarily due to how annoying it is, King Bahng is a quiet strong, the kind that wouldn’t confess his anger, but have you witness it firsthand instead.

Enough thinking. You have to go.

Using the bumpy roots below you for leverage, you wind a leg around the horse’s back, aiming to reach the edge of the territory before midday.

That was the goal, until you’re pummeling to the ground.

The moment is instantaneous, your horse releasing a shriek as it’s swiped right off its feet, slipping onto hard, icy ground and simultaneously crushing you in its descent.

Almost like vomit you feel the screech of pain building in your throat, a numbness in your right leg along with the warmth of blood soaking your clothing doing little to sustain level breathing.

Then, in the midst of your hysterics, you look upon the visible side of your horse, a pair of claw marks scratched right across its stomach.

Scrambling out to the best of your abilities, you bite your tongue, praying this is one of Hyunjin’s sick, sadistic games and not an obvious ambush.

You refuse to die like this. You’ve survived once and you’ll be damned to give up now.

“I’m impressed. You’re not as weak as I thought.”

A sneering tone speaks from behind you. According to the claw marks, Beast, but not one you remember. And with your current state—being unable to rise to your feet—you’re utterly incapable of ascertaining an identity.

Instantly, your hand reaches up to trace the alcove beneath your ear and neck, any ounce of hope disappearing upon feeling for the salve.

Gone.

“Now, care to tell me what a Mage is doing in Beast territory?”

He’s hiding behind you on purpose, drawing you into a sensory overload, a panicked frenzy of adrenaline and fear.

Deer caught in headlights.

A curved claw unlike those in the Kingdom of Beasts winds your head back, staring straight into the face of something you can hardly deem Beast, more like wolf.

He has this terrifying look in his eyes, and breath that stenches of metal and flesh.

This man is the kind of Beast you’d grown up believing in. Violent, merciless.

Minho, Hyunjin, hell, anyone. Please.

As if second instinct, you assess everything around you, snatching the closest stick to you and jarring the sharp end through the bottom of his chin with all your might.

A gagged, sort of howling sound emits from above you, putrid-smelling blood spraying all over your face.

In split seconds does another form appear in your peripheral, your dread heightening before ultramarine stills the horror in its tracks.

King Bahng.

He’s quiet, expertly slicing the back of the neck, the attacker dropping to the ground motionlessly.

“I could’ve handled it myself.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t respond.

If the first Beast hadn’t killed you, he certainly would. He said it himself, whenever he pleased, he could break you.

So when King Bahng’s arms extend toward your position on the ground, you prepare for the worst, crawling backwards as quickly as possible.

Surprisingly, he kneels down in front of you, and, as your vision clears, you notice the concern written on his face.

Weird, the feeling compiling in your gut as he looks at you like that. The way your eyes build with tears, lungs finally hacking for as much non-congested air available without a single word said.

Just by his expression alone, you’re a fit of blood and tears, the aftershock hardly helping ease the experience.

Crying, in the middle of a forest, with King Bahng as a witness.

“I know, I know,” Is all he whispers, and you barely recognize when he hoists you into his arms, the searing sting of your leg your only indication of movement.

Smoothly maneuvering you again his chest, he cradles your body close, one hand directing his horse as you ride back to what you assume to be the Kingdom.

Through the aching pain, you can’t even be upset about returning, merely focusing on the subtle warmth of his body and the strength willing you to say something.

“You speak nothing of this moment,” You murmur, the King’s body erupting into a tremor of laughter.

“I speak whatever I like whenever I like, sweetness. No one touches what’s mine, yeah?”

Mine. You hate the effect he has on you.

Yet, your snarky remarks are depleting in tandem with your energy; the soothing, shushing sound he’s making and the repetitive thump of hooves doing little to keep you from sleeps tempting beckon.

Eyes drifting closed, his tightened grip pulls you closer, your cheek smushed into the fabric of his coat whilst lost in slumber.

“Hold on a bit longer for me, we’ll be there in no time.”

Recovery, to your luck, is swift. Either that, or Kim Seungmin is secretly a Mage, because within a week spent off your leg, you’re back to normal.

A little sensitive to weight, but overall, healed.

Initially, despite the agony blazing through your body, you were thankful you barely recalled seeing anyone, swept into the apothecary immediately.

The last thing you wanted to see after returning would be the faces. Plus, what about your friends? Jeongin, Felix, Han? You’re sure they looked destroyed.

Except, it’s all fake. A feign kindness given to you only by sympathy. What do the faces matter anyway?

You gorge that question to the very back of your throat when said Cook walks through the apothecary’s door, utmost apprehension apparent. He grabs your face, brows knit—but not in an angry sort of way, more like staving-down-tears.

“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”

Past him, you can’t help but smile seeing Seungmin’s softened expression watching Felix, adoring his preciousness just as you are.

“I promise.”

Nodding curtly, he turns around, leaving you to view the many ingredients scattered across his apron.

He rushed here, cute.

“I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Craning, you can barely make out his deep voice, lowered to a nearly inaudible decibel. Ears flushed pink, you’re filled with a worrisome amount of happiness seeing Felix’s embarrassment trying to maintain an upset facade.

“Hm? What was that?”

Ah, at this point you’re picking fun.

“I said I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Precipitously slipping outside, both you and Seungmin are left to stifle your bubbling laughter, graced with the most appetizing platter you’ve had the pleasure of eating a few minutes later.

However merciful those first few days were, dissipated. And in a short amount of time, you could feel the eyes boring into your back, the questions resting on the tip of tongues.

All the same, nobody mentioned it. And if anything, that made the paranoia grow.

It was gradual. The subtle shadow you swore you saw in corners, the terror stopping your heart in your chest when you swear someone breathed down your neck.

Your body may be healed, but your mind certainly isn’t.

To a degree that two weeks later, you’ve found sleep nearly impossible, lingering in the kitchen in the wee hours of morning, teetering on your wits end.

Some occasions it’s Felix who you see first, wiping the sleep from his eyes, loading coal into the furnaces to heat the kitchen for the day. Other days it’s handmaids, shuffling around busily, carrying goods to and fro.

This time, Minho arrives first, for once wearing regular clothing opposed to his usual armor, steaming saucer in clutch.

Perhaps this is an opportunity, he is a knight after all.

“Hey Minho?”

Tired eyes sweep to your figure on the table, the rim of his cup held to his lips.

“I’m too paranoid and at this point I might die of sleep deprivation,” You huff, referring to his raging, bed-headed self . “…Could you teach me how to use a sword?”

He’s staring at you like you‘ve grown two heads, pulling a chair back to settle in, arms crossed over his chest.

No sentences need to be said aloud, merely spectating the gears turning in his head enough to set your nerves on edge.

Yet, in the midst of your waiting, you note a peculiar bruise peeking from his collarbone, another lingering a tad bit lower.

“And you think a sword is going to protect you?”

The question is genuine, lacking the bemused nature you were expecting.

Another thing you’ve noted throughout your sleepless nights was the continuous amount of times you’d watch the King’s Advisor sneak into his quarters, a realization keeping your response baited.

Seems his love life isn’t a concern.

“Hey, those marks on your neck and shoulder, are those from Ha—“

“When do you want to train.”

All lightheartedness vanishing, you have to chew your lip to avoid ticking him off further by giggling.

“Tomorrow?”

Pushing in his chair with an agreeable hum, you merely whisper a hurried “Thank you” he grunts at, rushing off to who knows where and giving you leeway to recover from the hilarity of it all.

Tomorrow, however, came far too early, not anticipating to be woken up at the crack of dawn, grumpy enough the prospect of blackmailing the King’s Advisor became dangerously tempting.

Yeah, good luck. He’s not budging until you’re on your feet.

Seems you underestimated Han Jisung’s stubbornness.

Rushed into a loose gown, you’re led to the Inner Ward, an open sector in the middle of the castle.

Upon being met with a too-smug Minho, you can practically see the word “payback” hovering above his head, busying himself with fetching supplies.

Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite you.

Ouch.

Except, you’re puzzled. You’re being taught how to deul, yet your teacher isn’t adorning armor nor gear of any kind.

At your confusion, the knight chokes a cocky guffaw.

“First, we learn how to properly move.” He hands you a wooden sword. “If I so much as leave a scratch on you I’m as good as dead.”

Again, he may appear snarky, but his tone is nothing short of serious. Minho is hard to read.

Wait.

Seeing past your panic, the Beast seems to answer your unspoken question.

“King Bahng is visiting the villages today, he won’t be back till the evening.”

A wave of relief grounds your bones, standing rather pathetically while Minho aids in critiquing your position, instinctively shifting into his own in front of you.

“Now, there are a lot of things to consider when dueling. I’ll narrow things down. Don’t overestimate or underestimate your opponent, trust your gut, be aware of everything, and lastly, do not be afraid to deceive.”

Promptly, he’s lashing out before you can even process his advice, wooden weapon drawn above his head as your grip tightens, attempting to block the strike only for his foot to press into your stomach, sending you falling right onto the ground instead.

“Isn’t that unfai—“

“Like I said, deception is your greatest weapon. In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.”

He reaches a hand out for you to take, helping you back up again only to both fall back into your stances.

“Keep in mind, your sword isn’t your only weapon.”

Minding his instruction, you continue onward, sparring heartily till the beating afternoon sun becomes too hot to bask in any longer. Amongst the four hours you had been consumed in training, you’ve snagged certain valuable points.

Calmness is crucial. Your mind streams clearer when you parried, void to the opponent’s increasing frustration—given an advantage of both agility and focus.

Two, unpredictability is a gift. Minho is especially good at being unpredictable.

Whether he charges headfirst or aims the forte of his sword toward particularly weak points, you begin to mimic his performance, growing closer and closer to conquering those signature tactics.

Of course, your enjoyment can only last for a bit before it spoils.

Spoiling as in, Hwang Hyunjin’s random appearance, sauntering into the area as if he’s King himself.

“Well look at this, didn’t think I’d see our runaway and Minho here.”

There’s an air between Minho and Hyunjin, one that forbids Hyunjin from egging his superior on, just like when you were first brought to the Kingdom. Lucky for you, you could be degraded as much as he approved of.

Feigning a dramatic gasp, he gestures to either wooden sword held in raw palms.

“No way, you’re learning how to deul?! Don’t tell me you’ve never learned basic attacks? Oh right, you never had to fight, huh, princess?”

You bite the skin of your cheek, minding your composure.

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

Now he’s asking for it.

“Say,” He sneers. “Let’s duel.”

Keeping Minho from intervening, you apologetically nod to his disproving expression. He knows it’s stupid, even while fetching his armor and adjusting the metal plating to your body, and you do too, but you can’t afford to back down, you won’t.

Testing your abilities carrying a legitimate sword this time, Minho grants Hyunjin a terse scowl, their own wordless agreement to tone down on anything too harmful.

Somehow, it grates your nerves further.

Straight away, he charges his right foot forward, the metal colliding with a loud ring, narrowing your body to shield your unprotected side.

Hyunjin, though skillful in his wrist mobility, clearly uses his size compared to you as an advantage, carelessly throwing around his jabs whilst relying on form alone.

You shuffle back and forth continuously, the commotion of metal rifle drawing the attention of Beasts alike throughout the castle, stopping their movements to survey.

Lurching himself forward once more, you will your legs to support you, balancing the crushing force of his pushing ascent with as much strength as possible.

“If you win, you get whatever sensible award you want,” He grits, using pure weight alone to gain higher vantage. “But if I win, you marry King Bahng.”

Suddenly, interrupting your stunned reaction to his proposal, Minho’s reminder breaches your eardrums.

Deception is your greatest weapon.

Honestly, you’re bewildered Hyunjin hadn’t played petty thus far, and you have no doubt he will any moment now.

You can’t afford to waste the opportunity.

Maintaining your gaze targeted on his face, you steal the chance, slipping your sword right beneath his feet, hooking the guard just fast enough to cause his legs to buckle.

The tip of your sword centimeters from his neck, you cock your brows, finding satisfaction in the glare he’s boring into your skin from his spot on the ground.

In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.

“If King Bahng wishes to marry me, he will deul me himself. That decision isn’t up to you.”

Stalling his immediate laughter upon nudging the sharp point right up against his pulse point, you chuckle.

“I might have to do this more often, you’re not bad when you shut your mouth for once.”

Dropping your sword, you reach out a customary hand he rejects, either of you following Minho to the side stalls to return his armory before a haunting voice stops you in your tracks.

“One more match?”

You’d been ignorant to the Kingdom’s sudden burst of energy, the trembling chains of the drawbridge dropping onto cobblestone ground, the gates shifting open.

Having appeared through thin air stands King Bahng, constantly arriving at the worst of timing.

He’s clad in traditional armor, though his has fancier plating, cleaner sheen, azure hues hidden within the gorget.

Your stomach ties itself into a knot, piecing together the details.

“If this is about the deal, I don’t think I-“

“Oh please princess, this was never up to you. We did this for the sake of the Kingdom, you think we ever considered your say in this?” Hyunjin interjects, quickly escorted away by a frowning Minho and an additional guard you don’t recognize.

Huh?

What… What is he talking about? For the Kingdom? What does he mean for the sake of the Kingdom?

Do us all a favor and marry him, will you? Seungmin’s words ricochet in your skull, the parts assembling perfectly into place.

But if I win, you marry King Bahng.

Marriage.

They knew all along. They knew you were set to marry him and yet, no one told you.

If your betrayal had been violently inflicted, you would look like a rag doll. All this time, these moments you thought were glee-filled, hopeful.

Lies.

Tearing the King’s chance to speak from his fingertips, you pick up your sword, denying your shaky, white knuckles and replacing those broken feelings with rage instead.

No, you can’t afford to show weakness. You must replace these feelings as quickly as possible.

No weakness, no mercy.

“Fine, let’s duel.”

“But-“

“Pick. Up. Your. Sword. And fight me.”

Releasing a sigh, he cautiously pulls his own sword from its sheath, waiting to be counted off unlike Hyunjin.

However skillful you’d been before had completely vanished. Though, you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt, this fight meant your future, meant the minuscule bit of freedom you’d gotten to experience here.

The last thing you wished was to realize you had been lied to, but even more so to realize you’ve been lied to in front of the entire Kingdom, curious faces peering from the castle’s allures.

Your swings sloppy, you credit the severity of the blows as you attack and defend, evidently dueling with fatal intent.

You’ve lost this battle, you know it. Your senses are too overwhelmed to assess spatial awareness, and every muscle in your arm cries out for relief.

Swept off of your feet in a repeated cycle to earlier, you accept, sitting below the tip of King Bahng’s sword, your defeat.

Almost automatically, the pieces of pride you’d attained after your victory against Hyunjin amounted to nothing.

You may beat everyone else, but you will never beat this man, now matter how hard you try. The odds will always soar in his favor, and you will suffer the results of it.

This is not a game you’ll win. Because from the beginning, you existed as a marionette, enjoying such naivety till the comprehension as to who controlled the play hit you.

This theatre was particularly unforgiving.

He won.

If your insomnia before was grueling, this was an entirely new extreme.

Averaging a meager two hours per night, you’re positive you’ve memorized the guest list by heart, staring blankly at the crinkled parchment, unblinking.

In a matter of days, the congratulatory ball will be held.

You’ll be attending said ball as the bride.

Weeks ago, the guest list had simply been a past time, a mandatory errand for the King’s Advisor, a ball you weren’t aware, and wouldn’t be aware, was meant for you.

Your chest feels.. sad? Empty?

Yes. Empty is the word. An emptiness gutting you from the inside, the ugly drawback of exhausted options and worthless optimism.

There’s a lot of things to ponder on as well, factors you have to analyze, ensure it wasn’t another stage for an audience you so foolishly performed.

No escape.

Tuesday, two days before the ball, Jeongin drops by your door, carrying a package under his arm and that effortlessly adorable smile gracing picture-perfect features.

“This is for you, from.. um..” The anxious boy stammers, placing the binded package on your room’s veneer.

“You can say his name, Jeongin, I’m not mad.”

He exhales audible relief, slender fingers wrapping around your hand before you can bid him farewell.

“He— The King, he’s a good person.”

You force a tight grimace, agreeing despite your contradicting expression.

Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore.

Slipping from bed once the young boy’s footsteps fade in the distance, you gingerly unwind crimson ribbon, allowing the leather exterior to unfold.

Inside lies a gown.

A gown that, investigating how breathtaking it is, should be considered nothing short of a ball gown the longer you stare.

Designed as a mantua, the white fabrics paired with lace neck frill and engageantes add an elegance you’ve never seen before. Light, subtle blue hides beneath ruffles of the skirt, further accented by equally blue lace strings fastening the back together and outlining the seam of your square-cut stays.

You can only marvel at the gift given by your future husband, wishing so terribly you could simply run into his arms and pretend everything was well.

If only it was under better terms, as if nothing had happened. If King Bahng was another man, it’d be possible.

And Wednesday night, the root of your problems bares his face, knocking at your door while you were under the impression it was Han instead.

Acting as if you didn’t care was much easier around everyone but him, especially when you were halfway into tying the laces of your dress, the dress he had purchased for you.

What awful circumstances.

“Don’t touch me,” You hiss, regarding the man across from you with a frown.

Lifting either hand in the air, he seemingly invites you to figure out the impossible strings yourself, cueing a very aggravated, very futile attempt at tightening the ties of your ball gown before (hesitantly) allowing the man to slip behind you.

Of course you had to choose now to try it on.

His touch irritably careful, he ensures the fabric is snug fitting but breathable, each woven thread in its coordinating pattern.

Where he learned this you have no idea, only aware of how horrific this close proximity is, your restlessness growing unbearable.

Running his tongue over his top teeth, he backs up slightly, taking you in with apparent speechlessness.

He clears his throat.

“I won’t apologize because I know it means nothing to you, but please, let me explain. I intended to tell you, I just-“

He sounds timid, like a child.

A sour, bitter fury froths like bile in your throat. You want to explode.

“No. No. I didn’t want this! I won’t!” You wind around, pointing an accusing finger to his chest. “You killed them all, my family, my loved ones, children. I hate you. I hate you!” Your voice breaks, a gravelly, disgusting drawl raking your throat raw. Salty, burning tears drip down your collarbones.

Grievance. An innumerable stage of sadness you hadn’t reached before now, overflowing.

As he tries calming you down, you only grow angrier, pushing from your path to the door, ripping the handle awry.

Instantly, his arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back as you kick and scream, fingernails digging into any available skin, dress puffing as your legs flail.

Catastrophic.

“No- No!”

You’re certain the entire kingdom can hear you, but that’s the last concern occupying your headspace, too focused on escaping, far off as you had done earlier, anywhere but here.

“Stop crying,” He commands, either hand on your wrist pinning your back to the bed, expression morphed pitifully. His calloused hand swipes the storming rivulets from your cheeks.

“Please, Y/n, please stop crying. It hurts.”

Your response shortens into a simple sob, aching.

“It hurts..?” You murmur, eyes shifting over his face. “…You hurt?”

Incessant crying causing your skin to burn, he only blinks at you.

A fit of anger forms just as fast as it disappeared in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re hurting? You’re the sick son of a bitch that killed my family and took everything I’ve ever loved away, you don’t deserve to hurt!”

Sucking in a necessary inhale, you angrily flail, wrinkling your nose at the careful tilt of his head, the distance of his face from yours, every scar, every pore close enough to see.

What happened to the King who threatened to break you? Why is he pitying you, looking at you with such kindness?

Longing to bring up how useless the deal was, how the benefits of the marriage aren’t your responsibility, you simply glare, emotions a whirlwind you can’t explain, can’t say aloud.

And all he does is stare. Staring like you’ve said nothing at all.

You want to cry out, want to curse him for all eternity, curse those blue eyes that seem to pave a pathway through your soul.

But you don’t. He beats you to it.

“..Do you know why my eyes are blue?”

What?

“Because I’m not fully Beast. My mother was a Mage. She turned against my father after I was born, left us, and vowed to do everything in her power to destroy Beasts.”

Your face contorts nonsensically, his tight hold on your wrists loosening the longer he speaks.

“And I assume,” He redirects your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

Rearing deja-vú reminds you of your first encounter.

“No one ever told you Mage’s started the war.”

You scoff.

“Or that the Mage planned to cut off all trade supply simply out of spite. And so, I did what I had to—“

“You did what you wanted to. You killed helpless people because of your own problems, my family had nothing to do with it!” Vocal cords throbbing the louder you scream, you try kicking your legs to no avail.

“Your family, Mage, had everything to do with it. My people would have died-“

“Mine already did. So now what?”

A minuscule pinch occupies his brows.

“You weren’t supposed to be alive.”

“But I am, so you might as well let me join them.”

He sighs, a stray, obsidian strand of hair hanging over his forehead.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You test the words on your tongue, wedging your hand out to grab his face, feeling the dip of his jaw as he sucks in a breath.

When you first met, he had told you he’d break you. This change of heart confuses you, grates more anger in your chest.

“And why is that?”

Opening his mouth, he momentarily closes it, then opens again, contemplating the statement with caution.

He’s right, in some way.

You’re not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be saddened. You were meant to be in the ground with them, be one of the many bodies littering the L/N Kingdom, granted an eternal sleep.

Yet, you aren’t.

You survived, and you despise this man with every fiber of your being for that.

But things cannot change. You can’t bring them back, and his situation is just as painful as yours.

You both lost people, or, would’ve lost people.

An explanation or an apology, as he said, isn’t necessary.

So you’ll get what you want, tangibly.

Forcefully grabbing his chin and jutting him closer to you on the bed, your voice drips with venom, noses mere breadth apart.

“Then end this winter and marry me, Your Highness.”

For a split second you swear his gaze drifts to your lips, but you shake the thought away, his sharp canines glinting off the mirrors reflection.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to propose?”

“You killed my family, no need for formalities.”

“Care to remind me why you agreed to marry him? Weren’t you planning to kill him?” Felix piques, apron woven around his thin waist, skillfully measuring flour that’s dusted over his nose.

You needed to get your anger out, then devise a plan. Show King Bahng you weren’t going to succumb to his charms, tricks. Ever.

You hum from your spot on the counter, conversing just as you’d done back in your kingdom with Ms. Maewether.

Technically, he was your new Ms. Maewether.

“Oh no, I still plan on killing him, I just want something first.”

Except, you didn’t talk about murder in front of Ms. Maewether. That was new.

He raises an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?��

Snapping your fingers, you cheerily tap your heels against the cabinets below.

“I want to see spring again.”

Silence overcoming the kitchen, it takes Felix a full minute to understand your preposition before bursting into unadulterated laughter. Well, until he realizes. Then he pouts.

“Aw, I was really looking forward to seeing Chris rejected at the altar.” The smaller Beast whines, popping a piece of sugary sweet dough his mouth and handing another to you.

“Hey, now that’s just cruel,” You mumble, muffled by the delicacy you’re currently chewing on.

“According to you yesterday, not really.”

Ah. Right.

“We just… have a lot to talk about.”

The phrase sounds stupid, but it’s true. Logically, emotionally it’s true. There is a lot in need of discussing.

For now, you’re indifferent.

“I’ve always thought you two were similar.”

The cook’s outburst catches you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always wanted to protect what mattered to you most, and maybe, one day, you can understand why he did what he did.”

Leave it to Felix to be your reasonable opinion.

Nevertheless, an invisible barrier rests between you two. A lie. His lie. The Kingdom’s lie.

“Felix, I will never understand why he did it,” You humorlessly chuckle, hopping from your spot. “So tell me, why did you lie?”

All morning you debated the right time to confront him. Tonight was the night, the congratulatory ball, the wedding. Why wait?

Freezing with his back turned to you, he stops mid-slice, dropping the knife atop the cutting board and gradually facing you.

Oh Felix.

His nose flushed pink, lips quivering, you allow him to race forward and hug you, head tucked into your shoulder while you stand there, motionless.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was decided from the start, but we were told not to tell you, not until King Bahng told you himself.”

You want to tell him it’s okay, make some jokes, act like things are normal. Though your arms stay glued to your side.

“I guess Hyunjin beat him to it, huh?”

His arms tighten around you and, with a sigh, you pat his back, gently nudging him off of you where you can hold that sweet face of his.

“But don’t worry about me, alright? I can handle this, and I forgive you, so let’s move on from this, Lix.” Tenderly rubbing the skin of his cheek, he meekly smiles, an action you can’t help but feel relieved seeing.

You’re strong. You have to be strong. For Felix, for Han, for Jeongin, for your friends throughout the Beast Clan, you’ll be strong. You’ll enjoy wearing the gown regardless of who bought it for you, cherish the wedding no matter the man you’re wedded to.

If you’re going to have to live like this forever, you might as well make the most of it.

On today’s occasion, you’re dressed by a hand maid sent to your quarters, polished and puffed to perfection by the time five o’clock arrives and the banquet officially begins.

And when you see yourself in the mirror, you’re not exactly sure who stares back at you.

She’s pretty, yes, but she isn’t Y/N. She’s a Queen, the Queen of the Beast Clan.

Your stomach wrenches.

By tomorrow, you’ll be married. Married to King Bahng. You will be a wife, the wife of a King just as the L/N Kingdom intended.

The thought continues to plague your mind, sucking more and more oxygen from your lungs that as you’re escorted to the ball room.

You can hardly inhale and exhale normally as Changbin, whom you appreciate enormously, walks you down the aisle, past an abundance of people you’ve never seen before. Beasts, business men, acquaintances alike.

Sensing your panic, your linked arms allow him to spare you a meager glance you anxiously return.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

All previous calmness long dissipated, when you finally redirect your attention from your feet and take in King Bahng waiting at the altar, your rampaging anxiousness increases tenfold.

As the audience claps and either of you turn with your backs facing the crowd, you scorn your lack of a poker face when the King rests a hand on your back.

“Breathe,” He utters, only a whisper you heard.

Wishing to thank him, you bite your tongue, considering the man you’re referring to in the first place prior to replying.

A sharp nod of your head is enough.

Stifling an exhale, you spin on your heel, both bowing to the public before facing each other and holding hands, an action that shouldn’t cause goosebumps to swarm your arms, but does anyway.

“You plan to smash my face in at our wedding?” He murmurs below the customary vows, acknowledging your fingernails digging into his hand.

“Keep giving me ideas and I migh-“

The retort vanishes when he presses his lips to yours, doubling back in shock before his palm on your back keeps you close.

Granting you breathing room if only for an instant, a slow grin tugs at the edge of his lips.

“Then before I die, let me have this first.”

And he dives right back in again, kiss surprisingly tender compared to what you’d expected. Something bruising, dominating.

Instead, the King was soft. Soft as he held your cheek in a hand, soft when pulling you in by the waist.

Separating if only for a fraction of a second, you reach to hold his face, every instinct beckoning you to push him away dissipating into nothing but the nullified drone of your head and the insistent racing of your heartbeat.

“Are you that nervous, pretty? Your heart is-“

You pull him to your lips once more, hating how easy it is to forget, how his lips numb your thoughts—though unable to get enough.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

The guests hollering in your peripheral the lone sound breaching your eardrums, you can’t help thinking.

He did this for his people just as you would’ve done. As for the Mage instigating the war, some secrets shall remain hidden, unable to be answered. You have to accept that among many things.

The King has done nothing but care for you, and as much as you resent him for it, you respect him, if only a tiny bit, as well.

He’s irritable, and not to mention annoyingly handsome. His sympathy-filled eyes might be the death of you, and those dimples of his are stupidly lovable.

But he’s your husband, and somehow, strangely enough, you don’t find yourself hating the thought as much anymore.

Not when he holds you, and especially not when he kisses you as if it’s your last.

After the many hours spent celebrating, you couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about returning to your quarters.

Joined by King Bahng, you find traversing as easy as ever with the help of the (half) Beast behind you, helping navigate past multitudes of people, oddly comforting touch on your back guiding you through the hallways.

Arriving at your room, he pauses, awkwardly shifting his weight on his heels, bewitching gaze flitting left and right, uncharacteristic to his usually smug attitude.

“…Was the kiss too much?”

King Bahng, asking if his kiss was too much?

You wanted to photograph this moment in your mind forever, debating on whether you should tease him about it, egg the normally stoic King on.

However, you tip his chin down, pressing a chaste, soft peck to his lips, amusedly observing him freeze before melting into your touch.

“Could be better.”

He huffs a sigh in response, and you’re left wondering if this is the same man who threatened to break you, the one who now looks like a pouty toddler.

Although, just as you slip by, he takes ahold of your wrist.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You crack a smile.

“Good night Chris.”

And, suppressing your chuckle, you close the door behind you.

Hastily undressing into nightwear and slipping into bed, you stare up at the ceiling, hours passing from the ticking of a clock in the corner, echoing around the room.

Then, abruptly, your door creaks open.

“My gods, what are you doing here?” You whisper into the darkness, the door creaking behind his crouched form, King Bahng’s crouched form.

“I needed to see you.”

Ah. Don’t say things like that.

Pulling the covers further over yourself, you squint accusingly at the man as he enters, silencing your urge to reprimand he saw you mere hours earlier, presumptuously sitting opposite to you.

He scans what’s visible, fixating on your hand for a moment.

“You kept the ring on?”

Noting the gleaming jewel on your ring finger, you can’t help but feel slightly bashful. It’s not like you’re really married, but the thought sends a sort of satisfaction spreading throughout your chest.

“If I take it off, will it become winter again?”

He grins, giggling childishly.

“Is that the only reason?”

Debating on your response, you wet your lips, looking back up at his barely distinguishable face shrouded in darkness.

You have no doubt he’s thriving off your hesitance.

Oh how badly you wish to wipe that look clean, but in reality, keeping the ring on feels as if a part of you from your own kingdom is with you, similar to your old clothing.

The part of you that, if not invaded, would belong to someone loved, newly wedded.

“No,” You mutter, though the phrase is barely audible.

He perks up.

“Hm?”

You regret saying that. But he’s already heard, there’s no use lying aimlessly.

“I said no, that’s not the only reason.”

“Care to tell me the other reason?”

Rapidly averting your attention to your hand, you discover speaking is easier when not looking at him.

“Keeping it on makes me feel like I’m really in love. I like imagining that, being married.”

You miss the sad lilt crossing his face.

“We are married.”

Without missing a beat, you meet his stare.

“Are we?”

Unlike before, there’s no waver to your voice, no caution.

Winding around to your side of the bed, he settles beside your feet.

You clear your throat.

“I wanted to see spring again, and to you, I’m simply a present. A playtoy to your disposal. This isn’t marriage, not how I was taught, this is just a business arrangement.”

Nevertheless, the hurt leaks into your voice. So long to a resilient tone.

“Y/N, don’t do this to me.”

Come to think of it, it’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name apart from last night.

Having had enough of his nonsense, you spring for his collar, dragging him below you on the bed. Opposite to earlier, you’re on top this time, you’re in control.

“You don’t deny it.”

A silence passes.

“I would deny it a thousand times, but you wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t blame you for that.”

He sucks in a breath.

“I only ask you don’t doubt this marriage. This isn’t a business arrangement, and I will treat you with as much respect and love as possible, even if you don’t want me too. That is what marriage is, how I was taught.”

It’s your turn to inhale, lost within the confines of this dark space.

“Chris, do you love me?”

You both have people you love, people you want to protect, wanted to protect. It wasn’t his intention to hurt you, not when he found you after you ran away, not when ordering a salve to keep you safe, nor now, as you lean above him.

Like he told you. You weren’t meant to survive. You were supposed to be peacefully asleep, forever.

This man, this Mage, this Beast, is as much a murderer as your savior. You choose how to condemn him.

“I do, more than you could ever imagine.”

How can you stay mad at a guilty man, a man who kept you alive when you were on the brink of death? Who now professes to loving you, wanting to give you a marriage you’d been cheated of, give you everything you’ve been cheated of with everything in his power.

Hovering right by his lips to the point your chests touch, you place a miniature kiss there.

“I hate you, so much.”

Then another kiss.

His arms, wrapped around your more elevated form, drag you down in an embrace. One hand presses your face to his shoulder, another rubbing circles on your back.

“And I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Raising up, you can’t contain the tremor of your lip, the way your eyes shakily close shut as you steal a third kiss from his lips, a kiss he returns, hands carefully holding each side of your face.

“Chris?” You manage, currently straddling his lap, his body resting against the headboard.

Kindly, he keeps a palm against your lower back, helping you balance.

“Can you show me what it means to be loved?”

You never understood how a person could melt until this moment. He wears that look again, like in the forest. The look that makes you cry.

What love looks like for Christopher Bahng, you don’t know. You have no doubt there will be ugly moments, moments you’ll reconsider, rethink.

You’re both hurt, some wounds still hurting. But for him, for you, you’re willing to take that chance.

“I’d be honored.”

FIC TAGLIST. @stayceebs97 @duhgirl @yourgirljanvi @readr1221 @spearbinnie0327 @hyunjinsartpeice @cheesytangerine @palindrome969 @luminouskalopsia @kiaralynn3838 @chrizztopher97 @starlost-andfound @weeping-angel-in-the-tard1s @zaggprincess2

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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morelikeravenbore · 3 months

Text

Good Boy

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC | Needy Sebastian | spicy one shot 🔞

Needy/slightly unhinged/traumatised Sebastian, post-uncle murdering. All sexual acts are consensual, good ol' P in V against a wall.

Warning: SMUT. 18+ CHARACTERS. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Contains sexual content, reader discretion is advised.

On bad days like these, Sebastian simply couldn't believe in love until it held him close and kissed him and told him he wasn't the deplorable monster he believed himself to be. Love had always evaded him, but by some stroke of luck he wasn't deserving of, he'd found it living in the body of the girl currently squashed between him and the wall.

Word count: 1.4k

READ UNDER THE CUT 👇

[WATTPAD] [AO3] [HL fic masterlist]

Sebastian Sallow was whimpering as he pressed his girlfriend against the wall of the empty classroom, pinning her small body between the cold stone and the urgent heat of his much-larger frame.

His day had been bad from the moment he'd woken up, exhausted after a long night of intrusive thoughts and horrific nightmares. Sweat-soaked from thrashing about for eight hours straight (and not in a fun way), he'd disentangled himself from his sheets and dragged himself, grumbling and dishevelled, into a day that had steadily gotten worse and worse.

First, he'd endured the wrath of Ominis Gaunt, who'd been in so foul a mood that even Salazar Slytherin himself would've quaked in his boots to witness it, then sat through all of his least favourite subjects in a row - including a double period of History of Magic - and finally, been forced to spend several hours flying around the Quidditch pitch in the pouring rain while Imelda Reyes shouted at him that he a useless sack of ugly, half-sprouted potatoes.

As if all that wasn't bad enough, he'd trudged into the Great Hall for dinner so late that he'd only gotten scraps to eat, stubbed his toe on the Slytherin table on the way out, and when he'd finally tracked down his girlfriend in the library, he'd been forced to wait, silent and brooding, for her study group to fuck off so he could finally be alone with her.

When finally - finally - she'd bid them goodnight, Sebastian had marched her directly out of the library, pulled her into the nearest empty room by her elbow, and whined, petulant and needy, into her open mouth, barely able to form the word 'please' as his fingers dug into her waist.

There wasn't much Sebastian couldn't handle; he was an orphan, after all, had survived a foray into the Dark Arts (though hardly unscathed), used all three Unforgivables without much moral objection, and - since there's no point beating round the bush about it - had used said Unforgivables to murder someone.

Yet despite all the tragedies he'd endured in his comparatively short life, the insurmountable odds stacked against his own happiness, and the way he seemed to possess a natural proclivity for fucking things up, the only thing that ever truly unraveled him was love. Or, more specifically, the acute sting that came when he felt himself in danger of losing it; a sting which manifested as a singular, all-consuming need to find relief in physical intimacy.

In other words, Sebastian Sallow liked to fuck his pain away.

'Bad day?' asked his girlfriend, her sweet voice muffled against his chest as he caged her against the wall.

Unable to form a coherent reply, he leaned his full weight against her, groaning into her hair as he rolled his hips against her navel, pressing, pressing, pressing into her warm body until all her breath squeezed out in a tiny huff. He backed up a bit, giving her just enough space to breathe without letting the heat between them cool, but he was too far gone the way of desperation to allow more than a few inches of separation.

Wordless, he yanked the hem of her blouse free from her skirt and slid it up to her chest, groaning at the feel of her soft skin beneath his calloused palm.

She felt like fucking flower petals. Wings of a fucking butterfly.

Fuck.

'It's alright, I'm here.' Wiggling some space between them, she stretched up to kiss the underside of his chin; the only part of his face she could reach, even on her tiptoes 'What do you need?'

He whined again, all decorum lost as his lips grazed her temple, his breath hot on her skin. He cradled her face, pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyebrows, her nose, breathed in the scent of her hair, lost his fucking mind - but he couldn't speak. Not with his words, at least.

'Sebastian, look at me.'

With great effort, he peeled his lips from her neck and looked her in the eyes. Love stared back at him, bright and pure and clear.

Love so brilliant it was staggering.

'Have you been good?' asked love.

No, answered the darkness in his head.

Good? Had he ever been good?

He dropped his head to her shoulder.

'No,' he moaned, 'I haven't.' He licked his way up the slender column of her throat - 'I'm not good' - nibbled her jawline, kissed her chin, pressed his aching cock against her stomach - 'I'm sorry.' His voice was small, unfamiliar. 'I want to be good. You know I want to be good, you know it.'

This wasn't entirely true; he did want to be good, but only when he was with her.

'Why haven't you been good?'

'Wanted to... Hex your study group...' he moaned. 'Wanted to destroy everyone... To keep you... For myself.'

He was panting now, his words broken between frantic kisses as he worked off her blouse. He tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, discarding the first barrier that stood between him and love.

'Called Ominis a twat,' he went on, thrusting against her stomach with increasing urgency. 'Purposely let a Bludger knock Imelda off-course... Enjoyed both... Immensely.'

When she made a sound of disapproval into his mouth, he only became more frantic, desperate to find the places where love dwelt in her body and coax it out with his mouth, his fingers; to suck on it, roll it around on his tongue, sink into its warm, wet depths.

Her bra was the next barrier to be eliminated. If love lived in her nipples, his lips would surely draw it out.

'What about - the dreams?' she moaned, arching into him, sweetness in his mouth.

'Yes,' he whimpered, ashamed.

Yes, the dreams. Fucking Merlin, those awful visions of forbidden curses, of Dark Magic flowing like poison through his veins, green and red lights flashing intermittently.

Visions, so like premonitions, of being bad, rotten.

Unlovable.

'Tell me about them.' She tangled her hands through his hair and pulled. He hardly felt it.

'Dream - b-bad.' Speech was hard. 'Dream of being bad.'

He looked her leg around his hip, bunched her skirt up to her waist, rutted mindlessly against the warm, damp spot between her legs.

That's where love lived.

His cock ached for admittance.

'I'm bad.' His voice was strained, hoarse. 'N-not a good boy.'

Then his cock was out, hot and throbbing in his hand.

Fuck, love was so close. Fuck, he needed it.

Her underwear pushed to the side. Slick heat coated his swollen tip.

Crying out against her skin, 'I'm bad, I'm sorry, I'm bad.'

Sinking in slowly.

Love.

Frenzied and stupid with need, Sebastian pounded her against the wall until he was too fuck-drunk to hear the cruel voices in his head, until all he knew was blissful, wonderful, perfect her.

When her first orgasm shattered through her, he watched, entranced, as love shone from her every pore and gushed over his cock and rang like music from her mouth. His knees buckled with the force of it but he couldn't stop, not now - not until he was drenched it in, drowning in her love, soaked through.

He couldn't stop through her second orgasm.

Nor her third.

Not even when she was limp and blissfully spent in his arms, eyes rolling back in her head and mouth agape.

Not even then.

Because even if he was bad, he would always be a good boy for her.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy smut #Sebastian Sallow oneshot #Hogwarts legacy oneshot

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bruisedboys · 3 months

Note

since u asked for some finnick thoughts😁😁 how bout finnick and shy/clingy reader 😁😁

hello babe omg I am a sucker for shy/clingy!r because she’s me!!! here’s a lil something 4 the perpetually clingy girls

finnick odair x shy!fem!reader (r is shorter than finnick!)

You cling to Finnick’s arm as he guides you through the market. Your fingers are not unlike octopus tentacles, suctioned to him like you’re trying to disrupt his bloodstream. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’re making it a bit difficult to walk. He can’t figure out if he’s dazed from the harsh sun or the fact that you’re so, so close and you don’t seem to want to move.

“Where to next?” He asks you, his words coloured with aching fondness as he gently rubs your bicep.

You peer up at him. You’re shorter than him and Finnick finds a sick sort of pleasure in it, especially when you’re blinking up at him like you are now. You look impossibly cute pressed into his side like this, both your hands curled around his elbow, and the sun kissing your cheekbones.

“Vegetables?” You suggest.

Finnick can’t figure out how you can sound so sweet saying such a boring word, but you make it work somehow. “Okay,” he nods. “We need carrots, right? And tomatoes?”

You nod, puppy-like. “Mhm. And potatoes, I think? If you still wanted to have stew tonight.”

Finnick grins. You’re so cute it hurts. He can’t wait to get home and lather you in kisses. He’d do it now, but he’d worry you’d burst into flames in the middle of the morning market. You get embarrassed very easily.

“Okay,” he says. He bends to kiss your forehead. You’re warm and soft under his mouth. You preen into his kiss like a flower in the sun, and you’re flushed as he pulls away. “I still want it, if you do.”

You frown, but your eyes are sparkling with something akin to lovesickness. Finnick imagines his look quite the same, or worse, probably.

“That’s not how it works,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s your turn to pick tonight, Finnick.”

Finnick grins dazedly. He loves the way you say his name. It’s gives him heart palpitations. “Whatever you say, angel. You know I only like what you like.”

You roll your eyes and huff at him. You duck your head and mumble something that sounds suspiciously like, You’re impossible.

Finnick just chuckles and pulls you closer into his side as he starts moving towards the corner of the street, where the grocers set up their stalls. The market is busy this morning, but both you and Finnick haven’t paid much mind to anyone else, much too caught up in each other to register the rest of the world.

Still, Finnick knows you’re shy, so he keeps you under his arm the whole time, does all the talking at the stalls, pulls you to the side where the crowd is more sparse when he thinks you’re a bit overwhelmed. Sometimes he’ll let you talk to the sellers, and then he’ll buy you a sweet pastry (and add on a free kiss) because he’s proud of you.

At the vegetable stalls, Finnick buys a big stack of carrots (you love carrots) while you cling to his arm. You pick out four of the best potatoes together and Finnick thanks the woman at the stall, you sending her a soft smile.

When you’re done, Finnick’s arms laden with fruits and vegetables, you start to make your way out.

“Is that everything?” You’re asking. You’ve got your hand in his now and you’re swinging it between you. He thinks you’re pleased to be heading home. He is too, it means he’ll get you all to himself again.

Finnick puts on a thoughtful face. “Hmm.” He stops walking and waits for you to do the same. “One more thing, honey.”

Your brow creases. “Did we forget something?”

Finnick leans in close and kisses you chastely. He doesn’t linger too long, though he wants to. Despite the suddenness of his kiss, you tilt up against his mouth and squeeze his hand harder. His heart skips a beat.

“There,” he says, drawing away with a dizzy smile. “That’s everything, I think.”

You blink at him, clearly as dazed as he is. Probably worse. You wrinkle your nose at him.

“You’re impossible,” you mumble. He hears it much clearer than last time.

Finnick grins wolfishly. “That’s my girl.”

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reticent-writer · 1 year

Note

hellooooo

i was wondering if you could do rengoku headcanons where the reader (gn and child, age 4-7) is kinda like giyu (quiet, doesn't talk much, introvert, etc) but extremely clingy and doesn't know how to talk to people other than rengoku?

(plus meeting giyu if possible, making him the readers second dad maybe)

ofc you dont have too :3

love your writings!!

◡̈⋆ʜᴇʟʟᴏ(●’◡’●)ﾉ thank you ❤

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

"Y/n it's time to wake up." Rengoku gently shook you awake with the quietest voice he could muster.

You started to stir as he picked you up and brought you to the common room for breakfast.

Half awake, you tried to not fall face first into your food.

"Kyojuro that child of ours clearly isn't ready for the day." Your grandfather said as he sat you on his lap to feed you.

Contrary to popular belief shinjuro is soft when it comes to you.

"Sorry father I should've woken them up sooner." He said with the widest grin he could muster. Seeing his father handle his child with such care was enough to make his heart burst.

"Yeah you should have."

You are your father were going to a get together at tengens house. You didn't know weather to be excited or nervous.

Walking up to the estate you hide behind your fathers leg as he goes up to tengen.

"Ah Rengoku so glad you could make it and who might this little one be." Tengen knelt down to your height as your father stepped out from in front you.

You looked up at rengoku expecting him to say something but instead he urged you to.

"Hi, my name is Y/n." You said so quickly and quietly that he could barely hear you, even with him being the sound hashira.

"Nice to meet you Y/n. I'm the flamboyant sound hashira, tengen Uzui." He introduced himself as his wives came behind him and did the same.

"I'm hinasturu, his wife."

"Makio, is second wife."

"I'm Suma, his last wife."

It was clear that you had no idea how to respond and it was only making you more nervous.

Thank goodness Rengoku's eyes we're still functional as he noticed your worried face and picked you up to meet the others.

"Good job little one. You did just as we practiced, I'm so proud of you."

He ruffled your hair as you giggled.

"Both child and father souls as pure as snow." gyomei praised the both of you as you approached.

"Thank you gyomei. It is nice to see you on this fine day."

"Hello." You smiled not knowing that he couldn't see.

After a brief conversation that you weren't paying attention to your father moved on to another group of people.

You recognized two of them. Shinobu and mitsuri but there were three men you didn't know.

"Ah the happy family, how are you both." Shinobu say and rengoku handed you off to her.

You didn't mind.

'We are doing fine. I thought today was a great day for all of you to meet my child."

You waved as they all said there hellos.

You were never one for talking especially when it's people you don't know so you quietly listened until shinobu but you down and let your roam.

You were starting to get hungry and spotted a table with all kinds of food. But you were interested in the onigiri and sweet potatoes.

Walking up to the table you realize it's much higher than you expected but you weren't going to give up when you were so close to what you wanted.

You tried climbing. Fail.

You tried pulled on the cloth. Fail

You were about to stack things to reach before you were stopped but the water hashira.

"Do you want some food. " he said.

You nodded and pointed to onigiri and sweet potatoes which he provided. He got some for himself too.

"Your rengoku's kid right." He said.

You nodded.

"I'm giyuu tomioka. Nice to meet you."

"Nice too meet you too."

The both of ate in silence. But it wasn't awkward. You felt like you can talk about anything with him, and so you did.

The rest of the day you spent around giyuu he answered any question you had about anything.

He reminded you of your dad. So kind.

"Y/N IT'S TIME TO GO." Rengoku called.

You turned to giyuu and tanked him as you ran off to go home.

That night you wouldn't stop talking about the great day you had.

Rengoku was glad that you were getting out of your comfort zone and talking to new people.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

#male reader #female reader #gn reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #child reader #x child reader #rengoku x child reader #reticent writes #reticent writer

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stylesloveclub · 1 year

Text

Pleasing (jealous blurb)

In which another waiter flirts with y/n, and Harry gets really jealous.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Y/n stands in front of Harry, dressed in an oversized apron and a silly little chef's hat that she’d found discarded in his pantry.

“Tonight,” Harry announces, “we’re going to make a simple honey-garlic glazed salmon, served on white rice with a side of roasted vegetables. Do you have all your ingredients prepared?”

His kitchen island is covered with all the necessary materials that she might need for the cooking session that Harry’s planned for them. “Yes, chef!” she salutes.

Considering how he’s one of the world’s best chefs and she’s a college student who only ever goes into her kitchen to boil water for her cup of noodles… he thought it’d be cute if he planned a little cooking lesson for her. He’s chosen a meal on the rather simple side – fish is quick to cook and takes very little prepping, and rice is a food that even a child could make. Paired with a healthy variety of vegetables, this is the perfect meal that he thinks y/n should learn to cook for herself so that she wouldn’t be living off of frozen meals anymore.

He rolls his eyes at her silly behavior. “This isn’t Hell’s Kitchen, puppy.”

“I dunno,” she contemplates. “You’re giving Gordon Ramsey vibes right now.”

“Except m’not gonna yell at you and make you cry.” He steps forward and cups her face tenderly, looking into her pretty eyes, his gaze filled with adoration and care. “Just want you to be able to make yourself something other than a frozen pizza.”

She smiles cutely, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly. His eyes flutter shut momentarily, reveling in her soft kiss. “You’re so sweet,” she murmurs against his lips. “M’ready to learn. Tell me what to do.”

He pulls away. “Preheat the oven to 425. Do you know how to do it, or do you want me to show you?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know how to turn on an oven.”

“Hey miss sassy, just asking!” He steps back in surrender. “I’ll get the vegetables ready while you do that, then.” He grabs their carrots, cauliflower, zucchini, and sweet potatoes (all veggies that y/n had picked out when they’d gone grocery shopping together), and runs them under the water to rinse them clean.

Meanwhile, y/n stands in front of his oven, a furrow between her brows. In her shitty little kitchen at her apartment, the oven just has one panel where you enter the temperature you want, and then a single button to “Start.” Harry, however, has two ovens stacked on top of each other, with a bunch of complicated settings. Did it matter if they used the top oven or the bottom oven? Were they baking or broiling? Convection on or off?

“Um, Harry…” She looks at him helplessly, tail between her legs. “I don’t know how to work this.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, drying the rinsed vegetables off. “I thought you knew how to turn an oven on?”

“Okay well your oven is stupid and fancy,” she gripes, crossing her arms as he saunters towards her cockily.

He stands behind her, leaning over her shoulder so that his front presses against her back as he adjusts the settings. One of his hands rests gently on her shoulder as he murmurs in her ear, “Press top oven, then bake. Then you press start once and put in 425, then press it again and it’ll start heating up.”

She grumbles once more, Harry hovering behind her with a satisfied smirk. “What next?”

“Need to cut the vegetables.”

“Okay, I can do that!”

“No, no…” Harry stops her as she reaches for the huge knife that he’d set out on the cutting board. This knife is meant for professionals, sharp enough to cut through a piece of paper in midair. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

She pouts at him. “Harryyy,” she whines. “Let me help!”

“You are helping! You can make the sauce right now, baby, that’s the most important part,” he coos reassuringly, “Let me do the cutting though, don’t want you to cut your fingers or anything. The knife is just a bit too big for you.” He presses a soft kiss to her fingertips as he says it, re-emphasizing how delicate and precious she is to him. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees softly. She can’t help but melt into a puddle when he takes that soft tone with her, talking down to her sweetly and making her feel all fuzzy inside. Of course she’ll listen to him! Especially when he kisses her fingertips so softly like that!

“Good girl,” he praises. “Can you get the honey and mix it with some lemon juice?”

She nods, mixing the ingredients into one bowl and whisking them until the honey is no longer as thick and sticky as it initially was, watered down by the acidic lemon juice. She looks at Harry expectantly, who’s cutting the carrots into bite sized pieces at the cutting board, waiting for the next instructions. “I put some butter to melt in the microwave,” he says, “could you take it out and add it to your sauce?”

She does that as well, then adds some garlic and pepper flakes as instructed by Harry, whisking it together until she has a rich sauce sitting in front of her.

“That’s gonna be for the salmon, so you can set it to the side for now.” He brings a big bowl of chopped vegetables and sets it in front of y/n. “Now we’ve got to toss these with some oil so it doesn’t burn in the oven. And some seasoning, obviously.” He lets y/n add the salt and pepper, and adds a generous drizzle of oil, before showing y/n how to toss it all together so that each piece gets evenly coated. Then, together they spread the veggies out on the baking tray. By this point the oven has preheated all the way, and is ready for the veggies to go in.

“Let me do it,” y/n says when Harry opens the oven.

He looks at her hesitantly, but she pouts up at him with her cute, puppy dog face. The one that gets her whatever she wants, the one Harry can’t say no to. “Fine. But wear some oven mitts.”

After the veggies go in the oven, Harry does most of the remaining work. He massages their salmon fillets with the sauce that y/n made (which he makes sure to compliment, tasting a bit of the sauce and telling her how yummy it is and how nicely she made it), then puts them on a baking pan right underneath the veggies. “We put the vegetables in first because they need 40 minutes in the oven, more or less. The fish, however, needs to come out of the oven in exactly 15 minutes, or else it’ll be dry. Got it?”

She nods from where she’s positioned herself on his kitchen counter, watching him wash his hands. He slots himself to stand between her legs, hands resting on her spread thighs. “What do you think?” he asks, “Easy enough to make on your own?”

She wraps her arms around his neck. “Yeah, I think I could do it. Don’t think it’ll be as good as when you make it though,” she pouts.

He kisses her cheek. “I’ll always cook for you when we’re together. This is only for when I’m away. What did you eat when I was in Milan?”

“Um… a lot of bagels. And dino nuggets.”

He holds in his gag, imagining the sad, soggy nuggets that she must’ve been having for dinner when he wasn’t there to make her gourmet meals. “Exactly. You need to be able to make yourself some nutritious meals for when I’m not here to cook for you.”

Her fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head, staring up at him sweetly. She can’t believe she somehow snagged a guy who cared this much about her, who would spend his weekend teaching her how to cook vegetables so that she had something healthy to eat when he wasn’t with her.

She’s just about to lean in for a kiss when her phone rings, interrupting their little moment. Harry steps away from his spot between her legs, letting her hop down from the counter and rush to her phone.

“Hi!!,” she says to whoever’s on the other side of the phone, one of her friends from college from what he can tell. Her voice is sweet and sugary, like always.

Harry leans on the counter, crossing his arms across his chest as he watches her with a fond smile. She bites mindlessly at her cuticles as she listens to what her friend is telling her, and he stops himself from walking over to pull her hand away from her mouth. Her nail biting habit is one that he’s trying to break, not a fan of the way she sometimes makes her pretty hands bleed from how often she bites at them.

“When are you going?” y/n asks on the phone, pacing from one side of the kitchen to the other. “Today? Oh… no, I don’t think I can come. I’m…um, I’m at my friend's house.” She stutters over her words as she tries to figure out how to word it, very clearly avoiding name dropping Harry, or even hinting that she’s at a guy’s house.

It makes Harry’s brows furrow. She’s at her friend’s house? Friend? He doubts she gets on her hands and knees and begs to get fucked by her other friends.

In his head, they were in a relationship. She was his, and he was hers. No questions asked.

He cares for her quite deeply, if it wasn’t obvious, and for the most part believed that she felt the same way. So he wonders… why would she avoid calling him more than just a friend? Did her friends even know that she was seeing someone, or did she not even want to call whatever they have going on as “seeing each other?”

The oven timer goes off before he can question her about it.

A conversation for later, he supposes.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

“Hey, y/n!”

Harry’s ears perk up when he hears her name, being called from down the hallway.

“What’s up, Jason?” she responds, bright and bubbly. She’s always like that at work, no matter how dragging her shift may be. He thinks that’s why the staff like her so much – she’s a drop of sunshine right in the middle of their restaurant.

“How are you doing?” he asks, smiling down at her and crossing his arms in a way that he hopes makes his biceps bulge attractively. Jason is another one of the waiters at Pleasing, a college student just like y/n. They’d once bonded over the fact that they go to the same university, but he majors in business, which is completely unrelated to what she studies.

“Oh, good! Same old, same old,” she huffs cheerily, waving her hand in the air as if she were waving away her troubles. “V’got a huge party coming in at 8, you know how that is.” Having a table of seven people is always a struggle… larger parties tend to stay at the restaurant for up to 4 hours, ordering a bunch of extra drinks and sweets until they’re practically kicked out of the restaurant. Y/n dreads the thought of how much she’ll be running around, trying to keep up with seven people’s orders, and how late she’ll be stuck here. If they’re coming in at 8… christ she might not get home until 1 in the morning. She wonders if Harry’ll be willing to wait for her so that they could still drive home together.

“Damn, that sucks,” Jason hisses sympathetically. “You know… how about I talk to Alfredo and see if we could switch tables?”

“Oh, don’t be silly Jason! You’re basically done for tonight, didn’t you just get the bill for your last table?”

“I mean– yeah, but I insist.” He smiles down at her charmingly, “you work so hard, I think you deserve to go home early tonight, yeah? Let me take care of your tables.”

Harry decides he’s heard enough. He stands from his desk, brows furrowed and steps out into the hallway, where he sees his y/n, smiling up at this silly college boy. It grinds his gears, jaw clenching and fingers fisting at his sides.

“Jason. Y/n.” he snaps. Their smiles are instantly ripped off their faces, the two employees straightening up as soon as they hear Harry’s stern voice. “What are we standing around for? Don’t you have tables to attend to?”

“Apologies, chef,” Jason says, at the same time y/n murmurs out a soft, “Sorry Mr. Styles.” She looks at him sadly, seemingly wounded by the harsh tone of his voice, and it takes everything in him not to melt at the sight of her sad puppy eyes.

“Get back to work,” he grits out harshly, turning on his heel.

He steps into his office, and slams the door behind him.

“What a miserable old prick, am I right?” Jason murmurs to y/n to lighten the moment, when he thinks Mr. Styles can no longer hear them. She doesn’t respond.

Harry doesn’t know how to interpret her silence.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

There’s a quiet, timid knock at Harry’s office door.

“Mr. Styles?” Y/n steps in nervously, shutting the door behind her.

Harry looks up momentarily, then back down at his paperwork. He ignores her.

“Harry?” she tries again. Again, he says nothing. His brows are furrowed as harshly scribbles something out on his paper, but it’s not his usual concentrated furrow. He seems upset.

“What’s wrong?” she pries, stepping closer to his desk. When he once again doesn't even glance up at her, she huffs. “Why are you ignoring me?”

He stops writing, his blue pen halting mid-word on his paper, before speaking slowly. “How do you think I feel, when I see you entertain that stupid boy’s flirting?”

She pouts, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Flirting? I… I haven’t been flirting with anyone?” she says quizzically, confused by this random accusation.

He scoffs, finally looking up at her. “I know you’re not that stupid, puppy.”

She blinks at him, still confused.

“That boy– Jason.” he grumbles. “He’s so clearly flirting with you.”

“Jason?” she asks again.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”

“I– well… he’s just being nice,” y/n explains, as if Harry’s a child throwing a tantrum. “You’re overreacting.”

He blinks at her, processing her words. Overreacting. As if everyone in the kitchen hasn't noticed the way Jason stares at y/n's ass whenever she bends down, or how he's always falling behind on his tables trying to talk to her! Could she really not have noticed?

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Fine, whatever.” He looks back down at his paperwork.

The audacity of this man, she thinks to herself, to ignore her like a fucking five year old. “He offered to cover my tables, that’s it–” she continues to explain, but he cuts her off.

He holds in the urge to explode. “I dropped it,” he grits out instead. “I suggest you do the same.”

In his head, he's envisioning every single way that Jason's ever looked at y/n weirdly, all the instances in which Jason's flirted with her, asked her if she has a boyfriend. But, if she’s going to ignore the way Jason was smiling at her, standing so close to her, offering to do favors for her... then there’s no point in him trying to fight it.

He’s just a friend to her, anyways.

“Leave me. I have work to finish,” he mutters coldly.

He starts writing, and she feels her heart break a little bit.

“Yes sir,” she murmurs, voice thick as she steps out of his office.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

The rest of her shift is dull.

Jason doesn’t end up taking her table, since Mr. Styles had yelled at them and scared him off, so she’s up on her feet, constantly buzzing from the dining room to the kitchen, heart heavy with every step.

Every time she goes down the hallway, past Harry’s office door, she feels resentment building up in her chest. How dare he? Accuse her of flirting with someone else, when she was literally just doing her job, then ignoring her and kicking her out of his office like she’s some stray puppy annoying him for some food.

God, the fucking nerve! Was she supposed to just stop being nice to people to appease Harry’s jealousy? How could anyone in their right mind think offering to cover someone’s tables is a method of flirting?

“Psst.” She’s snapped out of her rage by Grace poking at her shoulder. “Jason wanted me to give you this.”

She looks down at the small piece of paper Grace holds out to her. “What is it?” She opens it up, and finds 10 digits written down in scrawny, boyish handwriting. A phone number.

Grace smiles at her teasingly. “He asked me if you’re single. He’s super into you, said he’s been trying to drop hints ever since you got hired but you’re always too busy to notice.”

Oh, she realizes, heart dropping. Harry was right.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

She stays behind after the restaurant closes, hoping to get a moment alone with Harry. He hasn’t left his office at all tonight, not even to check on the chefs when one of them burnt some bread in the toaster. As everyone packs up their stuff, closes up their stations, and leaves, y/n stays in the staff room.

Only once everyone has left does she head to his office.

The light from under his door is the only thing lighting up the dark hallway. She knocks softly, but enters without waiting for him to say “come in.”

He looks up, slightly startled. He thought he was the only one left in the building. His tense shoulders relax when he realizes it’s just y/n.

His hair is mussed, curly tendrils sticking every which way as if he’d been raking his fingers through it every five minutes, tugging at his roots frustratedly. “What is it?” he asks. His eyes are red and stressed too… he’s never looked this tired.

“Jason asked me out,” she says, fingers wringing behind her back nervously. Harry freezes. His shoulders tense and his heart stops.

“Oh.” He puts his pen down and looks up at her. “Are you going to say yes?” he asks lightly, no indication of the turmoil in his stomach.

“Jesus Harry,” she breathes, confused and shocked by his words. “No, why would I? Why would you even think that?”

He shrugs. “Makes more sense for you to be dating a college kid. Someone who goes to school with you, who you can tell your friends about.” His words slowly reveal his insecurities, that he’s older than her, boring and something that she might be ashamed of. “Better than dating some miserable old prick, isn’t it?”

“Harry…” she trails off softly. “I’m– I’m not the slightest bit interested in Jason. Or anyone else.” She looks up at him with round eyes, her voice growing shy, “only… only you.”

“Well then, why–” he cuts himself off, trying to formulate his words in his head. He shakes his head at himself, frustrated, and stares at the table. ““The other day, when you were at mine… you told your buddies that you were at a ‘friends’ house.” He looks up at her sadly, “It was like you were trying to keep us a secret. Like you didn’t want them to know you were… seeing someone.”

Her breath hitches in her throat as he continues, “If you don’t want t’tell your friends, then how am I supposed to know that we’re… exclusive? It made me feel like– like you didn’t think this was as serious as I did.”

“No,” she breathes, “no, you’ve got it all wrong.”

She walks around his desk to stand in front of him. He rolls his chair back, and she situates herself on his lap, straddling him and holding onto his face. “I didn’t tell them because… well we just haven’t talked about it, have we?” Her eyes flicker with insecurity as she rubs her delicate fingers over his cheekbones, his stubble rough against the skin of her pretty hands. “Because… well what if I went around telling people that I’m your girlfriend, and you didn’t want that? What if I’m just some clingy kid who just self-proclaimed myself as your girlfriend?”

He holds her wrist gently, keeping her hands pressed against his cheek. “Baby...” he murmurs delicately.

“I was worried that maybe you didn’t want to call it the same thing I did,” she continues sadly. “I– I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Puppy… I thought you knew,” he cups her jaw and looks into her eyes so earnestly that she feels her heart swell. “Thought you knew that you’re mine, that m’obsessed with you.” He nudges his nose against hers softly, “Don’t care what you call it, as long as you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she whispers back with a smile. “Nobody else’s.”

“I… I got so sad when I saw him flirting with you,” he admits shyly. “Thought he was gonna steal you away.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve–”

“S’not your fault, puppy. You’re too sweet to even notice it, always wanna see the best in people.” He chuckles to himself warmly, caressing her cheek softly, “precious little thing.”

“Well, if it helps,” she says, leaning her face towards his touch, “I texted him and said I’m not interested. Told him that I’m seeing someone,” her eyes glimmer happily, “and that it’s pretty serious.”

His eyes grow warm and a grin spreads on his face, “good… yeah, that’s good.” With one hand cupping her jaw and another on her waist to hold her steady on his lap, he leans in for a kiss, slotting their lips together and fluttering his eyes shut.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

When they get home, it’s all soft touches and warm words.

He’s so happy, a warm feeling bubbling in his stomach at the idea that y/n is his… that she’s his girlfriend, or whatever you want to call it. It’d been so long since he felt like this, so long since he’d been in a serious, real relationship. It made him giddy. He felt like he was 12 years old, kissing a girl for the first time all over again.

He pulls her into his bedroom before she even has the chance to put her stuff down, taking her bag from her and stripping her of her clothes. He unbuttons her blouse slowly, kissing her softly as he fiddles with each button, and unzips her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. He guides her hands up to his shirt, so that she could do the same– undress him, kiss him, run her hands up and down his bare chest the way he’s doing to the soft skin of her back.

He places her on his bed gently, hovers over her and kisses all over her, just worshiping her. He kisses her face, her cheeks, her lips, down her neck, over her breasts, and along her stomach. He kisses her core, licks and sucks somehow romantically, until she’s cumming on his tongue, whimpering his name softly and arching her back towards him. Her hands touch all over his body, skimming over his muscular back and gripping his shoulders as he comes back up to kiss her.

He lines himself up with her, and pushes in one smooth, gentle stroke. Her legs wrap around his hips, and he rocks into her, moaning into her mouth and breathing heavily against her neck.

“Fuck baby,” he whispers, “You’re mine. Mine to touch, mine to fuck, mine to look at.” She moans delicately, opening her eyes and staring up at him with rose-clouded vision. “Say it– tell me you’re mine,” he whimpers.

“Yours,” she whines, “all yours.”

When he cums, he cums inside of her, spurting into her in long, thick streaks that fill her to the brim. He moans softly into her neck, shuddering on top of her, and she caresses her fingers through his hair, kissing all over his face until he pulls out. They lie next to each other, and in her sleepy haze, she whispers out his name.

“If I’m yours, does that mean you’re mine too?” she asks, eyes wide.

He turns towards her and brushes her hair out of her face, “That’s exactly what that means sweetheart.” He kisses her sweetly. “M’all yours."

+++

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#harry styles #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles daddy #daddy harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry fic #daddy harry #harry styles daddy kink #ceo harry #ceorry #ceo harry styles

2K notes · View notes

lovelyhan · 11 months

Text

— meet cute of the century (a teaser) ⟢

the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest, clumsiest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

★ FEATURING; wonwoo x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 1.7k words

★ TAGS; meet cute, strangers to lovers, pining, some angst, smut (though this teaser is completely sfw!)

★ TAGS; mentions of accidents but it's not given much detail

★ NOTES; i'm back with my low quality wonwoo bf pics for my teaser headers hehe i am soooo excited to write the rest for this! honestly didn't think the teaser would end up this long but here we are :3c little heads up that some parts of this teaser could change in the full story, but nothing major plot-wise will be taken out. hope you like it!

this is part of the doting on you! series.

There are a handful of things that a college student can do with their free time. Studying, hanging out with friends, and maybe even picking up a hobby of sorts. You, on the other hand, use up all the hours you’re not spending on your undergrad thesis or sleeping the day away at an animal shelter just a few minutes away from your apartment.

Your friends constantly wonder how you’re still able to maintain a remarkable GPA with a part-time job that’s starting to look full-time, but you just laugh their questions off for the most part—saying that other people have got it worse than you, but can still perform leagues better academically.

You also tell them that most of your motivation comes from all the unadopted animals from the shelter. You started as a volunteer just to kill time on weekends when you’re free, but even if you knew better than to get attached to all those adorable faces, you eventually found yourself on the part-time employee roster anyways.

Now you’re rushing to finish your degree so you can get a neat sugar mommy job that’ll let you afford to adopt everyone that’s been stuck in the shelter for nearly a year or more.

Okay, maybe not everyone because you’re no fool with a savior complex. But just enough to give a few furry friends a new home, right?

“Don’t look now,” your coworker, Mari whispers conspiratorially while you’re in the middle of snacking in the break room, “but that cutie you’ve been crushing on just walked inside. He’s checking out the cats out in the playroom as usual.”

Right. Apart from your altruistic dream of adopting as many animals as your financial capabilities can allow, there’s another reason you’re always looking forward to your shifts at the shelter. A reason that you’re a bit too embarrassed to let your friends know about.

You nearly choke on a potato chip when Mari breaks the news and she immediately laughs in your face. Glaring at her, you compose yourself with a long gulp of water before saying, “I do not have a crush on him.”

“Sure,” she plays along. “If you consider making googly eyes at the guy every time he drops by as ‘not having a crush on him’, then I’ll concur.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t, sweetheart. Now get out there and sweet talk him into take one of the kittens home! Pretty sure he wants one if he’s been showing up as much as he did for the last two months.”

While you would’ve argued that the so-called cutie you’ve been crushing on could just like seeing the cats play around in his free time, you don’t really have much energy to play mental gymnastics with Mari. You’ve had a long day of revisions and other nonsense materials you have to submit for your majors, so you’ll let this one slide.

Your workplace is as bleak as every other shelter you’ve seen a few times in your life. Gray walls, concrete floors, and steel cages stacked on top of each other. It looks more like a prison than anything, really, but it’s the staff and those kind-hearted souls who rehome animals that have long been abandoned that give the entire place some life.

While Mister Cutie That You’ve Been Quote-Unquote Crushing On doesn’t exactly fall into either of those categories, you like to think he still leaves the building just a touch colorful once he walks out of the front door.

Speaking of color, he’s wearing a loose, dark green shirt that falls just below his elbows. Cutie—as you’ve deigned to call him not because you think he’s cute but because you’re yet to get his name—has one palm flattened across the viewing glass of the playroom. He’s wearing his usual black face mask today, but from the way his eyes glint behind his glasses, you’re just going to assume he’s having a good time just by watching the cats frolic inside.

“You’re here pretty late,” you state nonchalantly before standing a few feet away from him.

“Is that so strange?” he murmurs with a chuckle, surprisingly not startled with your sudden entrance before glancing your way. “I always show up here at this hour, don’t I?”

God. No matter how many times you hear his voice, you just can’t get over how deep it is. But before any of your thoughts could show on your face, you get talking.

“True. You’ve sparked a debate among the volunteers about your line of work, actually.” Not exactly. You’re not sure if any of the volunteers have even seen this guy, since they mostly work day shifts. “Anyway, are you just here to check ‘em out or am I finally going to hand you the adoption papers?”

His eyes crinkle a bit before he shifts his gaze towards the playroom again. Most of the older cats have already been put back in their respective cages. All that’s left inside are the kittens with way too much energy to spare. The director, A.K.A., your boss, believes that it’s best to tire them out first before settling them into individual enclosures for the night. Keeps the place nice and quiet for the evening shift fellows like yourself.

“Not yet, sadly,” Cutie says with a sigh before pointing at one of the kittens huddled up in a corner. “That one’s new, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve seen him around before.”

“Her,” you correct. “Her name’s Hani. She’s a stray that someone from the university I’m attending brought in last week. It was pretty ugly, actually. Poor thing got into an accident and was bleeding everywhere. Good thing our usual vet was paying a visit when they came here.”

“Oh? That’s a relief then. No wonder she’s got a little limp every time she walks around,” he observes with a saddened tone. “But I digress. You mentioned you were attending university?”

…Okay, why’d the topic of interest suddenly shift to you?

But since it’s a harmless enough question, you reply with, “Yeah. The one that’s just a few blocks away. It’s kinda why the person who found Hani brought her here instead of a vet clinic. The nearest one’s like half an hour away.”

“Good call, good call.” He nods with a look of understanding. “I hope someone comes and adopts her. She deserves all the love she can get. Well, everyone here does of course.”

You flash him a conniving smile, raising your brows a few times. “You could give that to her.”

Cutie shakes his head with another low-pitched laugh. “As much as I’d love to, my…living conditions won’t be suitable for her at all. Or any of the other animals for the matter.”

“Hm?” You stare at him curiously. “Your landlord doesn’t allow pets or something?”

“Mmm… Not exactly.”

The conversation pretty much ends there. Cutie excuses himself—saying that someone is waiting for him at home. You don’t know why your heart deflates a little at the very real possibility that he has a significant other. Then again, if you’re this whipped when you haven’t even seen his face, you could only imagine how easy it would be for him to settle down with someone who has.

Either way, it’s none of your business. And correction: you’re not whipped. Just…hyper aware of his presence every time he stops by.

Despite the fact that you’re dead-set on filing away this strange fascination you have for the guy, however…

“Wait!”

Cutie turns around to face you with an inquisitive look. “Yes?”

You swallow thickly, deciding to just bite the bullet before your nerves get the best of you. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Cu—I mean, Glasses Guy in my head whenever you pay us a visit.”

He blinks for a few seconds, obviously nonplussed by your forwardness but you don’t think your pride can take it anymore if you had to refer to him as—

“You can call me Woo,” he says warmly and you can almost see the smile that stretches behind that black face mask.

Shit. Did your heart just stutter?

“Mister Woo—”

“Just Woo is fine.”

“Okay, Woo,” you start, kind of liking the way that something that’s obviously a nickname rolls off the tongue, “just let me know if you ever want to take Hani home. We’re open twenty four-seven, as you already know.”

He nods. “Sure thing. Is it okay if I can get your number for that?”

Now you have to fight the urge to scowl at him after he’s been so nice to you all night—and every other night he’s dropped by.

This guy isn’t flirting with you. He said it himself—someone’s waiting for him at home! Plus, he’s expressed consistent interest in adopting a kitten for himself a handful of times before. Maybe he just connected with Hani on a level that’s above the others. Enough to ask for your number since the possibility of him bringing one of these angels home is becoming more and more real.

Yeah, that’s definitely the reason!

So you give it to him—hastily scrawled behind an old flier gathering dust in one of the drawers on the front desk. It’s way too big to write just yours and the shelter’s contact details on, but the other calling cards are nowhere in sight. You’ll have to ask Mari if she’s seen them once—

“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch,” Woo tells you while folding the sheet of paper into a sleek black Louis Vuitton wallet.

Wait a minute.

Before you can even seriously ponder about what job he’s got to be able to afford that, Woo is already out of the door—heading into the evening streets without once looking back.

“Gosh, I swear that guy’s an idol in disguise or something.”

That’s the first thing that Mari tells you when you find her doing a few rounds among the sleeping dogs in the far back. You haven’t even spoken a single word about your most recent exchange.

“What makes you think that?”

“He just exudes idol vibes, y’know? Shows up here when the place is deserted. Always acts subtle and inconspicuous. Oh and not to mention how hot he looks even with a face mask on! He could be that one idol your little sister is crazy about.”

You roll your eyes at her odd ways of deduction. “Mari, I’ve seen enough of Haewon’s Mingyu merch to last a lifetime and Woo definitely does not look like him.”

“Oh?” Your coworker perks up with a mischievous smile. “You finally got his name, huh?”

God. This is going to be a long shift.

want to be included in the taglist? send me an ask!

#svthub #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan

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cooking-thru-shortstack · 8 months

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Volume 6 - Sweet Potatoes!

As you can see, we've got some wear and tear on this baby, because I have made quite a few things out of this little gem of a book, and there are great things in store! Very excited to revisit all the ones I've made and to fully complete this book by cooking everything I haven't yet.

It's tuber time!

#sweet potatoes #short stack editions #scott hocker

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peachyscenes · 3 months

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home sweet home | san x yeosang x fem!reader x wooyoung

maybe part three to sweet sweet love and even sweeter love, who knows.

established!sansang & reader, wooyoung happens to be just as loved. woo also has a (not very) discreet crush on reader and sansang, no one minds. reader is the real freak! (/lh) honestly kinda messy since i'm not used to longer pieces hhhh

warnings: smut, smut, this is actually my longest piece and i have no idea how many words this is (word count will be added later), a little plot (?), unprotected sex (do not do this, this is fiction!), foursome, throat grabbing but not choking, bulging (throat and mention of stomach bulge), oral (lots of it), dirty (?) talk, they all like each other and it makes me sick. hints of other kinks but not straight up in your face, idk what else is in here i just started typing 🫶 no established dynamics but san kinda takes charge (but he's not labeled a dom). no use of y/n, everyone has their own nickname for reader

—————

the sun is slightly peeking out through the curtains, but it's not enough to disturb your little trio. although you each have your own bedrooms, san made it clear that he likes sleeping with you. and the night before, yeosang decided to join your sleepover.

san is in deep sleep, his arm is around you and you can feel his warm breath on your back. yeosang is to your other side, he's not a cuddler like san, but every now and then his hand will find yours, just like now. just as you felt yourself going back to sleep, you hear the small buzzing sound of yeosang's phone. you know it's yeo's because of the distinct vibrations imitating the mario theme song.

careful to not disturb your two boys, you reach over to see who it is.

wooyoung.

a small smile graces your features as you answer.

"hi woo."

"o-oh! hi! good morning," wooyoung stutters out. he feels a little bashful hearing your voice this early, he likes the slight rasp that still holds so much love and kindness.

"sorry that yeosang didn't answer, he's still asleep," you say in a hushed tone as to not wake up the other two.

"no, it's cool! i was just gonna tell him that i was planning to head over now, but if you're all still sleeping then-"

"no it's fine woo, come over. i'll make breakfast if you haven't eaten yet."

—

wooyoung doesn't feel awkward being with you. he's welcomed with a hug by you at the door and he's immediately seated and offered a cup of coffee, exactly how he likes it. no, instead he feels at home and he feels a little guilty for feeling this way about you considering you're dating not one but both of his best friends. however, nobody could blame him. you were kind and to top it off you were very attractive.

"yeosang was telling me about your new dance project, he feels real good about it." as you're speaking to wooyoung, you're making several stacks of pancakes to accompany the eggs, ham, and home potatoes you made for breakfast.

"yeah? i'm glad he thinks so. sometimes i feel like i'm not pulling my own weight, but it makes me feel better to know that it's actually going well."

you sent wooyoung a small smile. "don't worry, you always do so well, woo. i've always loved your dancing." wooyoung blushes a bit at the compliment before letting out a small thank you. you plated his food before patting his head. "i'm gonna wake the other two up, ok?"

—

your home is lively as wooyoung had decided to spend the day with you all. he's a real chatter box when speaking to san and yeosang, and it makes you feel a little jealous knowing he's still a little shy around you. it's times like these where you remember a conversation you had with san after sex.

"youngie likes you." san had his arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled you on top of him. his skin was still a little sweaty and his chest littered in love bites and lipstick, he was absolutely gorgeous and you had to fight the urge to take a picture of him and go for another round.

"well i'm glad he does, i like him too." san let out a chuckle before caressing your scalp. he was always so tender, especially on rougher nights.

"no baby, i mean, he really likes you. like how yeosang and i like you"

"but you and yeosang love me."

"exactly."

that night, you giggled at san's confession and told him that maybe wooyoung loved differently. you didn't completely disregard wooyoung's feelings about you. no, that's not something you would do, especially when wooyoung wasn't there to defend or explain himself.

since then, it's been something that's lingered in the back of your mind. but it made you notice things that you hadn't before. you started to notice his lingering gazes, the soft smiles, and how his hugs would last just a tad bit longer. you didn't ask yeosang about it either because it's likely that he knows as well. he and san are very synchronized. and for whatever reason, they didn't mind wooyoung's little crush, so you chose to not mind as well. suddenly, someone wrapped their hands around you, the small hint of citrus fruit hits you. immediately, you know that it's yeosang. speak of the devil.

"what are you thinking about, love?"

"about wooyoung."

"what about wooyoung?"

there's a moment of silence and you're sure that neither yeosang or san would refuse because as observant as they are, so are you. wooyoung may like you, but you also see how much he likes them. like how you like them.

because you love them.

"i hope you don't think i'm being greedy for this, sangie."

"well, that depends on what you're going to say."

you hesitate before deciding.

"why don't we let wooyoung join us?"

—

wooyoung feels like he woke up in a dream. when san asked him if he wanted to join them for a night, he didn't think it was because of you. he also thought it was going to be an outing, not you in between his legs and on your knees. but wooyoung isn't mad because he actually preferred this than going out to dinner with you all.

wooyoung lets out a soft moan as you take more of his cock into your mouth. he's not very long, but he is on the girthier side. he had no idea you'd be amazing at blowjobs, and he's thanking every god in existence.

while you're on your knees, san is right behind you, guiding your head down on wooyoung, praising you for doing such a good job. and right below you is yeosang, eagerly sucking on your clit as you sit on his face.

"that's it baby, making youngie feel so good," san says to you. you let out a moan and you're not sure if it's because of yeosang or wooyoung or san, but you're enjoying yourself and that's all that matters. "make youngie come baby, do it for me, yeah?" and just like that, you're eagerly sucking him off without so much as a sweat and wooyoung is seeing stars as he dumps his load down your throat.

"you took him so well, so proud of you baby." san gives you a charming smile before pulling you off of yeosang's face. a small 'hey!' resounds throughout the room.

"i wasn't done, y'know," yeosang whines as he begrudgingly sits up. "you didn't come, love."

san ignores yeosang as he sits you down right on wooyoung's lap. you take the liberty to turn around and straddle him. his cock slowly becomes hard again as your pussy rubs against it. you feel yourself getting wetter.

"hi." you giggle out before planting a sweet kiss on wooyoung's lips. he returns your giggles with a smile of his own before chasing after your lips again into a deeper kiss.

the bed dips a bit as san sits next to wooyoung. his fingers lightly dance on your thighs before dipping between your legs to tease your clit. you moan softly against wooyoung's lips at the feeling. it is then that yeosang stands behind you and he breaks your kiss with wooyoung to pull off your shirt and bra in one swift movement. you can't help but chastise him for his abruptness.

"sangie! you have have to be careful," you complain to him. he chuckles at you before proceeding to take off his pants. "you can't just pull my bra off like that."

"m'sorry love," he kisses your shoulder. "just want youngie to see you." you huff at him before kissing wooyoung once again. it's san's voice that breaks your little kissing session.

"i know we invited you woo, but i want you to choose what to do first." he tells him. that's just like san, always a giver.

wooyoung looks down to see san's fingers still ghosting over your pussy and it's then that he faintly remembers when san told him how much he and yeosang love to eat you out.

"can i taste you?"

you give him one last kiss before climbing off his lap and laying on the bed,

only for wooyoung to stop you as you're midway on your hands and knees.

"i wanna eat you out from behind, if that's okay..."

it's your turn to feel a little embarrassed before telling him that it's fine. it's not like you haven't received head like this, for christ's sake san loves your ass a little too much, but it's wooyoung and you feel a little embarrassed being spread out for him like that. you make sure to get a bit comfortable.

wooyoung almost immediately presses his face onto your bare pussy before breathing in and letting out a groan.

oh that's hot you think.

"you smell so good. all wet, just for me." you let out a whine as his tongue licks a stripe up before he completely dives in. he stays like this for a bit before stopping to breathe.

"fuck, san was right, you taste sweet."

you let out a moan at his words and wooyoung responds by kissing a cheek.

wooyoung then goes back in, this time he licks a stripe from your clit to your ass, making sure to tongue at your puckered hole before lapping up your juices from the main source.

he's good. a little too good, and you're afraid that you're addicted. your head is buried in the sheets and you think you might rip the sheets if you keep gripping them so strongly. you feel someone nudging your head and when you look up, it's yeosang with his own cock in hand.

without another word, you greedily open your mouth to welcome his length. yeosang is actually longer than both wooyoung and san, but with the many times you've given him head, you're basically trained.

yeosang gently holds your head with one hand as he thrusts into your mouth at his own pace. you can feel him at your throat and he moans at the feeling as his other hand finds your throat to feel the bulge.

"love, you're doing so well, ffuck."

one particular hard suck from wooyoung makes you moan, the sensation causes yeosang to sigh out in pleasure. you know you're gonna cone soon and it's then in that moment you feel fingers at your clit. you momentarily pull away from yeosang to see that it's san.

his other hand is working on his own cock and you can't help but be mesmerized at san. san's cock is thick and it's especially heavier when he's hard, but never have you seen it be this hard. you quickly remember yeosang telling you that san was a bit of a voyeur and you make sure to keep that in mind before turning back to yeosang's cock.

with a final lick from wooyoung, you let out a deep moan as you feel yourself coming on his tongue. wooyoung rides you through your high before parting from your pussy with a final kiss.

yeosang is next, coming down your throat with a deep groan from his chest. san is last, finishing on your back and painting it with his cum.

you all take a moment to breathe before san pulls you up to sit you on your knees and pulls you to his chest.

"you still up for another round baby?" san nips at your neck, waiting for you to respond.

"yes sannie, want you all bad," you whine out. san chuckles before motioning to yeosang. yeosang immediately understands and reaches over to the bedside drawer.

"woo, you're gonna take her pussy. you can take her ass next time."

next time. you hope it comes soon.

yeosang quickly comes back with the lube. you can't help but feel a little nervous. you've done anal before and definitely double penetration, but you don't do it often, so it always feels new. luckily, yeosang senses this and is immediately by your side.

"don't worry love, sannie and youngie will take care of you."

you look at yeosang before smiling.

"and who's gonna take care of sangie?"

he chuckles before caressing your face, "you, if you're still up for it." you nod at yeosang before kissing the palm of his hand. carefully you climb onto wooyoung's lap and align his tip with your entrance and there's almost no difficulty with wooyoung. there's a small stretch, but the slight burn immediately fades away and instead he feels comfortable in your pussy. yeosang is softly rubbing your back as you prepare yourself for san.

you tense a little feeling the cold substance at your hole, but it slowly fades to pleasure as san inserts his fingers.

"'s tight baby, you sure we fuck you enough?"

yeosang chuckles at san's words.

"i don't think so, i mean, we did invite wooyoung, who's to say she won't ask for our other friends. what do you think, youngie?"

"you're quite the greedy one, doll."

you let out a moan at their teasing. you suddenly feel san take out his fingers before taking his own cock and lining himself up.

"breathe f'me baby, relax, okay?"

you nod at san's words and feel him entering. yeosang is by your ear, praising you, as is wooyoung on your other ear. san finally enters you and you're pretty sure there's a bulge on your stomach.

"you feel okay doll?"

"yeah, i feel so full." wooyoung's leaning back on his arms. your head is resting on his shoulder and your hands are holding onto his biceps. san's own hands are on your hips.

slowly, you lift yourself up from wooyoung's lap and fall back down, the feeling of his cock sliding through your walls is euphoric and you really hope he sticks around after this. san takes this as a sign to start moving and eventually you all find a rhythm.

at some point wooyoung lays down, resulting you in riding him and san helping you. the sound of skin on skin resounds through the air.

"y-your cock feels so good youngie. fuck! you fill me up so good mhhh!" you suddenly feel a slap to your ass and a hand on your throat. san is then pulling you back to his chest, almost as if spreading you out for wooyoung to admire.

"what about me baby? don't you like my cock?"

a hard thrust from san has you crying out and he smirks.

"i love it! love your big cock! fuckfuckfuck! please, please, please, san! don't stop please hhng!"

san begins to thrust into you at a harder pace, causing you to fall forward onto wooyoung. wooyoung takes the lead and thrusts up into you, leaving you to just take it. it only takes a few more thrusts from both men before a dam is broken and you come with a loud cry. without realizing it, you had squirted all over both men. san orgasms inside of you right after, slowly pistoning in and out of you before pulling out his now softened cock. wooyoung comes a bit after san, a small puddle of your squirt on his stomach. when he pulls out, some of his cum drips from your opening and yeosang moans at the sight.

wooyoung gently kisses you before laying you down on your back. it's then that yeosang takes over your vision and you giggle at the eager look in his eyes.

"just be a little gentle please."

"of course love."

yeosang pulls you to the end of the bed where he stands and using wooyoung's cum as a lubricant, easily slides into you.

you groan a little at the overstimulation and yeosang does nothing but smile at your reaction.

"sorry." he half-apologizes before pulling out and pushing back in. he keeps his pace as you gradually begin to feel the pleasure of his movements.

"mmm, right there sangie~"

you moan out. yeosang groans and dips down to suck on your nipple. one of his hands travels from your hip to your other nipple, tweaking it between his fingers.

yeosang's pace starts to get faster and it's when you realize that he's close. you reach down between your bodies to fondle his balls and it's then that you feel him come inside you.

—

it's obviously early when you stir awake from your sleep. the sun is barely peaking out, courtesy of the blackout curtains wooyoung got you. when you suggested for him to move in with you all, he was a bit hesitant.

for one, none of you really made your relationship with wooyoung "official". he knew he was with you all and you all knew that you were with him, but no one really bothered to make it official, abd you were all okay with that. besides, it was pretty clear that wooyoung had joined your trio (now quartet).

secondly, wooyoung wasn't sure if he'd be able to move into your home. what if you didn't have enough space? he did own a lot of things. it wasn't until san had told wooyoung that he was going to take his and yeosang's exercise equipment out of the spare room.

you stretch in your spot when the arm that's wrapped around you tightens a bit more. wooyoung is quite the cuddler, that's for sure. on his other side, is san who is holding tightly onto wooyoung as well. you chuckle a bit, thinking that there wasn't much of an issue with the rooms if wooyoung was just gonna sleep with you every night. in front of you is yeosang, who's gently holding your hand in his.

you smile at your trio before ultimately going back to sleep.

besides, it was wooyoung's turn to cook breakfast.

#ateez smut #ateez x reader smut #san smut #wooyoung smut #yeosang smut #san x reader smut #wooyoung x reader smut #yeosang x reader smut

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sweetandgentlecreature · 8 months

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Betcha Won't

Author’s Note: Hello again! I’m so sorry for missing my usual Thursday night upload last week. I was down and out with a migraine for a bit, but now I’m back in action! New avatar, same ole shit, lol. Part 6 of Somethin’ Sweet takes it back a bit with something nice and cozy. I apologize for breaking so many hearts two weeks in a row, so as promised, this one’s much softer. Thanks for reading!!

Summary: Sy makes a camping trip to the lake a night they’ll never forget.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female OC

Warnings: hope you’ve got a dentist appointment on the books, because this is tooth-rotting fluff…minus the smut, of course. Expect a strip tease, descriptions of anatomy, oral sex (female receiving), and p-in-v- sex. I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.

Beta’d by: @peyton--warren ❤️

Playlist

“You got any more of that jerky?” They’d been walking for what felt like hours, but in reality was only 30 minutes. As a Colorado native, Merrin really should’ve been more prepared for a hike than this, but he’d really sprung it on her. She’d anticipated another night at the diner. Friday’s special was prime rib and baked potatoes, and though they’d only been at it for a few weeks now, she knew he wasn’t one to pass up a good meal. So when he showed up outside of her house and told her he had a surprise for her, she was keen to see what tricks he had up his sleeve. She just didn’t know their change of plans would include bug spray. Stumbling her way through the foliage of an unfamiliar path, she reached out an expectant hand in wait for her reward. Sy slapped another piece of cured venison into her palm and chuckled at the noises of delight she made as she happily gnawed on it.

“That’s the last of it. If I’d known how much you’d like my meat, I would’ve brought more.”

Merrin didn’t have to see his face to know how pleased he was with himself, and she gave a playful wack to the back of his head as they broke through the clearing. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Calm, clear water lapped at the pebbled shoreline of a vast lake surrounded by trees. It was a sight that took her breath away. A tent stood off to her left in the plush carpet of grass, filled with all the blankets and pillows he could gather in those big ole arms of his. A little further down, closer to the bank, a stack of freshly chopped firewood waited to be lit. It was a dreamy little scene, put together with so much forethought. He must’ve been working on it all afternoon. Merrin smiled as she took in the sight, and wrapped an arm around his waist to draw him close. “You did all this for us?”

He took a shot in the dark when he’d made the executive decision to move date night outdoors, and though he hoped she’d like the change in scenery, there was still a part of him that worried that she wouldn’t. Seeing her now, beaming up at him like he’d hung the moon when all he’d really done was fight with a flimsy tent pole for twenty minutes made it all worth while. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he smiled back down at her.

“Nah, baby. I did it for you.”

They sat together on a blanket in the grass as the sun disappeared behind the trees. Sparks snapped and crackled on their way up to touch the sky. Merrin sat between his open knees and rested back against him. The old radio from the workshop was propped up by the cooler with the sound turned down low. Since his truck only had a tape deck, Sy had taken up making mixed tapes for her. Merrin tapped her toes to the beat as they watched the gentle waves roll in against the shore. He wondered what was on her mind as he twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. What she said made his heart skip a beat.

“Twenty bucks says you won’t strip down to your skivvies and run into the lake right now.”

Her proposition caught him off guard, and he nearly choked on his beer. Snorting and coughing through the foam, Sy cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Twenty bucks says what?!”

She giggled and turned to look up at him, a mischievous little grin spread wide across her freckled face. She sure likes to keep him on his toes. “You heard me.”

Sy laughed and shook his head. “Do you know how cold that water is? No way, Darlin’. I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna catch a cold for twenty bucks.”

Without missing a beat, she shrugged. “Fifty says you won’t do it bare-ass naked.”

He stopped. Now that could make for an interesting night. “ You ain’t gotta bribe me to get me naked, babydoll. All ya gotta do is ask.”

Merrin stood and brushed the sand from the backside of her jeans. “Come on, Capitan, live a little. When’s the last time you did something fun?”

Sy paused. She was right. Of course she was right. Before her, he couldn’t remember a time in the last decade that he’d let himself do something on a whim. Every t was crossed, every i was dotted. Sitting here by the fire tonight, he realized how much he’d missed out on by overthinking every decision he made. He could stand to lose a little resolve. Before he could make a move, though, Merrin was already kicking off her shoes. She peeled off her socks and tucked them away inside of her beat up sneakers, then worked to loosen her belt.

“Come on, Clay. You really gonna make me do it alone?”

Sy sat back again for a moment to take in the sight. He’d been trying to come up with ways to get her out of those jeans all night long, yet here she was, baring herself to him out in the open like this. Any action they’d had up until now had taken place over the clothes. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her, because fuck, did he want her so badly. In truth, he’d been stalling. It’d been almost a year since he’d been with a woman, since before he met her, before his last deployment. Merrin was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and he just didn’t want to let her down. He knew he wouldn’t last very long once he finally had her. It was apparent now that he’d been stalling for so long that she’d decided to take matters into her own hands. She pulled him back down to earth when she tossed her panties at his face. He snatched them away eagerly to get a better look at her.

“Well, get to it, then. I’ve shown you mine. Now you gotta show me yours.”

Snapping his mouth closed, Sy lept to his feet to toe off his boots. By the time he finished stripping, she’d already made it to the water.

Squealing in surprise, Merrin shuttered as the cold water lapped at her toes. Maybe skinny dipping wasn't such a good idea after all. When she turned round, ready to admit her misjudgment, she bumped right into him. His bare chest was warm against hers, and fuzzier than she’d imagined. She reached out to trace her fingers through the blanket of dark hair and let them trail down his stomach without a second thought. Heart pounding loudly in her ears, she fought to keep her gaze above the waist. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t- fuck.

Fuck was right. One glance at what was waiting for her made her head spin. She didn’t have a chance to react though, before she was suddenly hoisted up into the air and thrown over a broad shoulder. Sy laughed as she squealed and squirmed to free herself from his grasp.

“Nuh uh, no ma’am. Yer the one who wanted me out here. Time ta’ put yer money where yer mouth is. Now hold yer nose.”

Merrin took a deep breath just in time, when they crashed together into the lake. Just as predicted, the water was freezing cold, and when she broke the surface again, Merrin let out a scream of surprise. Laughing through the shock, she stood and splashed him in retaliation.

“Fuck, its cold!”

“I tried ta’ tell ya! Come here.”

Sy chuckled and wiped the water from his eyes, then held out a hand to her. Drawing her in close, he wrapped her up in his arms and swept damp strands of hair from her face. They held each other close and giggled like children beneath the moonlight. He looked down at her as their laughter faded to echoes, tracing each goosebump on her arm with the back of his knuckles. No matter how many times he’d imagined this moment, nothing could compare to the way she felt in his arms tonight. Skin on skin, knee deep in crystal clear water beneath a blanket of stars, not a cloud in sight. A lot had changed since he'd been here last, and though not all of it was good, he was thankful for it all. He’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant he could stay with her like this forever.

Neither of them had to speak to know what would come next. Sy carried her back to shore and laid her down on the bed of pillows he’d crammed into the two-man tent. Neither of them cared that they were still wet from their dip in the lake. In the moment, it didn’t matter. The passion between them burned hotter than the smoldering embers of the campfire outside. She welcomed him onto her and tangled her arms around his neck as they kissed. No matter how close he got, it would never be close enough. She wanted him inside of her, body, mind, and spirit, but he had other plans for her. His lips brushed down her chin and he nuzzled upward until her head fell back in submission. The scratch of his beard against her throat and he kissed his way down felt delicious, and she ached to feel it all over. Though the cold weather made her nipples stand at attention first, they perked up for him now with each pass of his tongue. He caught one between his teeth, but only for a moment, long enough to put a smile on his face as he listened to her purr for him.

“That’s it, Sugar. Sing for me.”

Merrin trembled when his tongue traced around the outside of her navel. Swallowing thickly, she dug her fingernails into the flesh of his shoulders and watched as he settled in to rest between her thighs. Merrin bit her lip as she watched him size her up from there. Maybe it was the beer that made her brave enough to make the first move, but laying beneath him now, she hoped he wouldn’t look too closely. Stretch marks snaked across her stomach and hips, cellulite dimpled the skin of her thighs and ass. Growing up, she’d always been a little heavier than her friends. It wasn’t until she’d gotten older than she’d become more comfortable in the body she was given. Sy looked up at her through lids heavy with lust, as if to read her mind. Sharp teeth carved gently across the inside of her knee to silence the thoughts running through her head. Arching her back, she bucked her hips up towards him to stop his teasing.

“Sy…” Merrin begged through shaky breaths. “Please…”

He sat back on his haunches to admire her. She’d smack that look right off his face if she didn’t think her hands would tremble. He reveled in her desperation, and she knew that. Whining and squirming beneath him, she tried to close her legs in embarrassment. Sy caught her by the knees, one in each hand, and held them wider than before, clear up to her shoulders.

“Nuh uh, little Miss Merrin,” he shook his head in feigned disappointment. “Tell me what’chu want from me.”

Her face turned beet red as blood rushed to her cheeks and spread down her neck as she turned her head to look away. He didn’t like that much. With both of her legs pinned beneath one rough hand, he redirected her by the chin to meet his eyes again. Sucking his teeth, he shook his head again. Say it. Just say it, and I’ll give you the world. He held her gaze and waited patiently for her to get the nerve to open her mouth again. Chuckling softly, Merrin let out a shaky breath as she reached for him.

“I want you, Clay. More than anything.”

“How? How do you want me?”

Draping one of her legs over his shoulder, lips moving at a snail’s pace, Sy kissed his way all the way down. He had the patience of a saint. He could do this all night. Merrin, on the other hand…

“Fuck’s sake, Clayton Lee! Are you just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna eat my fuckin' pussy?”

That was all he needed. Confirmation, one way or another, that she wanted this just as much as he did. His laughter shook the tent, and in the blink of an eye, he dove right in. He spread her open with his thumbs and used the tip of his tongue to explore her weeping folds. Slow, precise, probing movements until he had the lay of the land, then it was game over. He devoured her, lips, tongue, and teeth working together to draw her close to the edge. Merrin mewled and moaned, head back and back arched, ass hovering above the ground as he held her thighs and shook his head from side to side. It wasn’t long before a familiar tightness began to blossom low in her belly, and before she knew it, he had her seeing stars.

He gave her space to come back down to earth again, and once she caught her breath again, he lowered her hips back down onto the blankets. Calloused thumbs rubbed soothing circles into the dips of her hip bones as he waited patiently for her word again. He wore the evidence of her arousal in his beard with pride, the sticky-sweet nectar gleaming in the glow of the nearby fire. Merrin ran a hand through her sweat-dampened hair and melted against the pillow beneath her head.

“Well, shit…If I’d known you were so good at that, I would’ve stripped for you a lot sooner.”

Sy threw his head back and barked out a laugh that drew her own laughter with it. “Baby doll, all ya had ta’ do was ask. I’ve been dreamin’ about eatin’ that little pussy from the moment I first laid eyes on ya.”

But when she moved to sit up, he nudged her back down again. She frowned, confused. Didn’t he want her to return the favor? He simply shook his head, as he intertwined their fingers together and gave a squeeze of reassurance.

“No, baby, it’s alright. I won’t last if ya do that fer me. Let’s save that fer another time.”

Merrin laid back on her elbows and eyed him with reluctancy. She’d never met a man who’d turn down a blowjob, but whatever floats his boat, she guessed. Sy took a moment to reach over into his bag and retrieve the shiny little packet from the outside pocket. Good ole Sy, always planning ahead. He tore through it with his teeth and sat back to grip himself with his left hand. They both watched eagerly as the condom unrolled down his impressive length, and he sighed once he’d finished. Merrin wasn’t inexperienced, but the thought of him splitting her open on that thing had her stomach in knots. He could sense her apprehension, and truth be told, he was nervous too. In a fleeting moment of thought, he wondered if this is what it would’ve felt like to lose his virginity on prom night. He didn’t go to his senior prom, was too busy helping his uncle in the fields that spring, but the nerves he felt now sure felt that way. Every moment they’ve spent together had led up to this. Leaning in to brush his nose against hers, he whispered softly against her lips.

“I’ll go slow. Just…tell me if it hurts, m‘kay?”

“Go slow,” She nodded slowly, repeating his promise out loud as if to make that promise to him too. Dragging the tip of his aching cock through her folds once, then once more, he gathered her wetness there to help smooth the tension. Merrin gasped when he caught at her entrance and breathed through the sting of the stretch her walls gave around him as he worked his way inside of her. Nice and slow, just as promised, he pulled out all the way and tried again and again, until he was fully engulfed inside of her. Hearts pounding in their chests, they clung to each other and worked together, two souls finally coming together as one. One spark, and they’d set the whole forest ablaze.

The shock and awe melted away, leaving room for nothing but unbridled fervor. The gentle, probing shift of hips turned to hungry thrusts. Loud smacks of skin on skin only adding to the ambiance their bodies made. Sounds of lust echoed across the lake, creating a beautiful symphony with the radio and the woods. A bead of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose, seeking shelter in the dip of her collarbone. Painted fingernails left pink lines through the ink on his back. “More…more, more, more,” was all she could think to say, and more, he gave her. He gave her all he had, until he just couldn’t take it anymore. The cry of a warrior ripped through his chest, as he pounded her endlessly and emptied himself into the condom deep inside of her. She came too with a shout, body seizing and writing beneath him, as they rode out their shared climax. When everything was said and done, Sy collapsed on top of her with a grunt. They listened to the bullfrogs croak as they sought the breath they’d fucked out of one another. Moments passed, when Merrin finally broke the silence again.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck yeah, or what the fuck was that?”

The grin she gave him was answer enough, as he turned over to lay beside her.

“Fuck yeah.”

Sy chuckled, grabbing a blanket to pull over them to keep the cool night air out. Even though he hadn’t lasted as long as he would’ve liked, it certainly made for a night he’ll never forget.

“Fuck yeah, baby doll. Fuck yeah.”

Sy was downright giddy the next morning as he drove her back into town. He might’ve stuck his head out the window and sung her praises to the world around them, If it weren’t 8:30 on a Sunday. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and hummed quietly to himself. Across the bench seat, Merrin flipped open the glove compartment and rooted through it for his collection of tapes. When a beam of early morning sunlight gleamed caught something shiny, she dug through the mess to find the source. He watched her from the corner of his eye, but by the time he’d comprehended what she’d found, it was too late. Mouth hanging open, he watched as she examined the condom in her hands.

“Hm,” she said thoughtfully, turning it over to read the back as if she were flipping through the funny’s in the morning paper. “Ya know, I’ve never seen a gold one in real life before. I mean, I knew they were real, but damn. You could drain a bathtub with one’a these things.”

Sy laughed and scratched the back of his neck, relieved to know that she didn’t think he was some kinda sex fiend for keeping a stash here just in case. Well…Maybe she wouldn’t have been too far off, but still. They were still new to this.

“Yeah…Yeah, they’re pretty big, huh.”

Merrin scoffed.

“Pretty big? That steak you devoured was pretty big. You’re fuckin’ huge, babe.”

They pulled up to her house a moment later. Sy put the truck in park and turned off the ignition, but left the keys there. He didn’t want to intrude, so he sat back against the cracked leather seat and looked her way.

“So…got any plans fer today?”

She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

“Besides sitting on a bag of frozen peas? Nothin’, really.”

He nearly choked on his own spit. Merrin giggled as he fumbled to come up with a coherent thought, an apology, something, then leaned across the console to kiss him on the cheek. He’s cute when he’s pussy drunk.

“Come on, Cowboy. I’ll make you some pancakes.”

His stomach growled at the thought of food, and in an instant, he snatched the keys from the dash. He had her door open before she could even laugh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

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