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aikoionic · 6 months

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I WANNA GROW UP ONCE AGAIN [ L.MK ] : TEASER!

yes it’s based loosely (heavily) on 3 idiots 👽

★彡 In college, you and mark form a strange relationship. (you think) he hates you for competing with him for being the smartest in class, while you’re just trying to get a your degree so your parents don’t marry you off to another rich families son. Years later, an old bet gives you and his two friends a chance to look for your long-lost acquaintance, who’s existence is rather elusive.

engineering major!mark lee x engineering major!reader (fem)

★彡 academic rivals, where tf did mark go after college, readers gettin married, johnny stops a plane, haechan forgets his pants, yuta is annoying, mark is gone. reader is the college headmasters daughter sorry if it isn’t obviously lol

「September 5th, Present Day, Johnny. 」 - You attack my heart, you attack my heart!

“in any case of an emergency landing, there are marked exits on either side of the plane.”

it’s days like these that johnny is reminded of how much his job absolutely sucks. it wasn’t his phobia of planes or the fact that he is thousands of feet up in the air and anything could go wrong at any time, it was the fact that he couldn’t keep any friend/relationships going as he was expected in a new country or city every week. the only thing that’s funded is the plane ride, not his entertainment, and the book infront of his face is no longer a story but instead just a bunch of letters on a page.

he often daydreams about what his life could’ve been like, you know, if he stayed with engineering and didn’t follow his passion of photography. he often thinks about college and all the great memories, along with the bad ones, he often thinks about his old friends. he often thinks about mark. mark was a strange, but a once-in-a-lifetime kind of friend, he always talked about the future and how he would love to go fishing every weekend when everybody was well in their forties. johnny feels stupid for believing that mark was right, that everyone was gonna stay friends forever. he recalls the last time he saw him, graduation. everyone was ecstatic that it was finally over, all the exams, all the stress. exactly one week after he was on a video call with haechan, complaining that mark wasn’t answering his phone. it was another week after that the messages stopped going through, and it was another month before he gave up all hope of ever seeing mark lee again.

“we kindly ask that all passengers put phones and laptops on airplane mode for the duration of this flight to new york, we wish everyone happy trave-“ , johnny feels the vibration of his phone through his pocket and the deafening ringtone follows immediately after. he bought this phone three years ago and still doesn’t know how to turn down that damn ringtone. he smiles apologetically at his neighbouring passenger as they grumpily twist and turn to get comfy again after being awaken.

“hello?”

…

“yeah, this is johnny..”

…

his face drops.

“sir, can you please put the phone away.”

“yeah, yeah, one second, please.”

he looks around frantically, he needs to get off this plane, and it’s not because he’s scared. he hastily unbuckles his seatbelt, he needs to get off this plane. he stands up quickly and wobbles, it’s about to take off.

“sir, please sit down, you could get hurt!” the flight attendant yells at him to be heard over the horribly loud plane engine.

“i-i..” he grasps his chest, trembling as if he’s in pain. all the nearby passengers shoot worried looks at the airline staff.

“i don’t- i nee-“, the plane jolts aggressively and he stumble to the ground, grip still tight on his chest.

an attendant reaches up from her seat to grab the phone next to her.

“captain, there’s is a medical emergency on board, you must stop the plane.”

johnny is slumped over in a wheelchair as two members of staff and an on-hand doctor rush through the terminal to get him to the hospital, he looks dead, i mean he hasn’t replied to the staff screaming in his ear to wake up. johnny slowly opens up one of his eyes, his plan worked! he’s off the plane! but how the hell was he supposed to convince the staff he’s fine and is just gonna go look for a taxi to take him home. maybe if he tells them all he needs is some rest? REST? YOU JUST FAKED A HEART ATTACK AND YOU THINK THEY’RE GONNA BELIEVE ALL YOU NEED IS REST?? johnny stops scolding himself and gets to thinking of another plan.

“wait!” suddenly, he jumps up from the wheelchair and puts his hands out to stop them. he breathes deeply a couple times, does a few jumping jacks. what is he trying to prove with this whole performance?

“i’m completely fine now! thank you! you guys carry on, i’ll handle myself from here!”

“sir, wait a minute, you’ve just had a heart atta-“

he ran.

he ran all the way down two escalators, three sets of stairs and out the main entrance. what a shit plan. now he just needs to get home, wait.., he feels around his pockets, where the fuck is his wallet? is he supposed to walk home or something? maybe he should’ve just stayed on the damn plane.

he sees a sign held up by one of the drivers sent for important businessmen, or rich kids who study abroad and get their parents to send them a driver when they come on their annual trip back home, mr. zhong chenle.

“heyy man, long time no see! where’s the car at? i’m super tired!”

“uhh… mr. zhong? is that you?”

“yeah! why, do i look different or something?”

“a lot taller than i remember..”

“growth spurt. now, where’s the car?”

“straight home, sir?” the driver asks after approximately 7 minutes of uninterrupted silence.

“yeah, but go through the downtown first, wanna see it all again, ya know.”

“whatever you say, sir.” the driver sighs, he must’ve never looked at the kids face if he thinks johnny looks anything remotely like a college student anymore. johnny picks up his phone and dials a number he’s dialled about a thousand times.

incoming call, johnny, 12:08pm.

the noise of ruffling bed sheet and pillows fills the room, and a hand groggily slaps the desk to look for their phone without using their eyes.

call accepted

“yeah, johnny, what do you want.” he says while stretching. haechan doesn’t do much on his off days but sleep in until one and play video games. he knows that as soon as he leaves his room his mother is going to give him about fifteen things to do, so he decides to just lock himself up in his room for the weekend.

“get ready in five minutes, i’m coming to pick you up.”

“why, what happened.” there was nothing johnny could say to get him out of his bed.

“yuta called, remember him?”

“yeah, ‘the silencer’” he smirked, the dumb nickname still remembered by the pair even after all these years.

“yeah well, he said that..”

“what, he said what?”

“he said.. that mark’s coming.”

haechan shot up from his bed, making his head rush at the speed.

“WHAT?”

“yeah, he said come to the campus at 1, meet him on the roof.”

he looks at the time on his smartwatch. 12:46pm.

“oh shit..”

“bro, just get ready, fast.”

“yeah, yeah i will!”

he ran toward his bathroom, brushing his teeth and washing his face simultaneously. his sister watched him curiously, confused at why he’s up and out his room at 12.

“listen, i’ll be back soon, tell mom okay?, wait, shoes.” he hastily put his shoes on and wrestled a shirt over his head. “marks back!” he grinned at his sister but she just silently stared at him, biting back a smile.

“wait, but where are you going?”

“just tell mom i’m coming back, okay?”

“‘hyuck, wait!”

“can’t, johnnys here!”

“but you don’t have pants on! donghyuck!”

her shouts fell to deaf ears and haechan raced out the house, looking around for johnnys car. he waved down the car after he saw johnny through the window. the door swung open and haechan jumped in, not even giving it a chance to stop.

“now you want to go home, right, sir?” the driver asked johnny, while haechan was busy tying his laces and trying to contain his excitement.

“yeah but go via the imperial college of engineering.”

“well.. ok sir.”

“ugh, forgot my socks dude!”

“you forgot more that just your socks, hyuck.” he stifles his laughter and points down at haechans legs.

“oh my god..”

the car swerves around a sharp corner and through the gates of the courtyard to the ICE, imperial college of engineering. johnny looks out the window in awe of his old college, which was probably the prime of his life.

the car stops and the boys jump out of the car, johnny goes around to the drivers window.

“thanks so much, now you can go back to the airport and pick up my brother, same last name - zhong!” johnny runs after haechan as he makes his way to the roof entrance.

they sprint up the steps, johnny taking down two at a time, all so that they can see their long-lost friend. they have so much to ask him, where the hell did he go, why’d he stop talking. johnny wanted to slap him and hug him at the same time but haechan just wanted his friend back. they were very close in college, they even shared a dorm room. haechan knows mark didn’t want to cut off contact from them, he knows there was something stopping him.

they make it to the roof right on time, and see yuta standing there with his back to them, staring off into the distance and checking his watch.

“mark?!” johnny completely ignored yuta and instead starts running around the roof after seeing no sign of his friend.

“hey yuta! where’s mark?!” haechan yelled, his eyes looking all around the roof, trying to find him.

yuta smirked and slowly pulled out his phone, still not facing them, waiting for them to realise he isn’t there and come over.

“welcome, guys, long time no see, huh?.” he was dressed up nicely, in a suit with the top button undone, sporting expensive shoes and jewellery, his hair was slicked back, a big difference from the untidy thing he had on his head in college.

“want something to drink?, isn’t this the same beer you guys used to drink up on this roof, late at night?” he forces them to think back to their college days, when they sat upon the roof of the engineering building and drank up to early morning, running to make it to their classes on time, hungover as fuck. he tosses the beer bottle toward haechan and he catches it right before it hits him in the stomach.

“where’s mark.” johnny was getting frustrated now, he stopped his plane with a fake heart attack to be here right now, all for mark.

“patience please, first, i want you guys to look at this.” he holds his phone up close to their faces. a picture of yuta shaking hands with a realtor infront of a big house was on the screen.

“check out that mansion behind me. $3.5 million.” yuta smiled with his teeth while showing off to them both. “swimming pool? heated. living room? oak wood flooring. my new 6496 cc lambourgini.” he swipes through a whole array of pictures showcasing all his luxuries.

you see, mark’s only academic rival wasn’t you, there also was yuta. he was an absolute pain the ass, annoying as fuck but too smart and good-looking for his own good. you, mark and yuta were fighting all year to earn the valedictorian title. always trying to out-do each other with project and homework for a good recommendation from your teacher. of course mark ended up getting it, he was so charming to some of the teachers but so insufferable to others.

“why’re you showing us all this, where’s mark?” haechan interrupted yuta’s spiel about his achievements, demanding to know why he went through all this just for mark to not even be here.

“you don’t remember?” yuta pulls up the date on his phone, the 5th of September.

haechan looked closely at the phone, “yeah that’s todays date, and what?”

yuta smiled and the two then pushed through them, walking up to a part of the wall around the door of the entrance to the roof, that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, covered in green stuff you could only hope was moss. yuta pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket, kicks over a ladder covering part of the wall, and starts cleaning it.

haechan and johnny following closely behind him, curious to see what his explanation was for this.

there, carved onto the wall, was a date,

Sept 5th

“i bet you. ten years from now, we will meet here. same day, same place! and we will see who’s mor- who’s more successful” yuta slurred as he yelled sternly.

“d’you have the balls?! c’mon, tell me! tell me you’ll come back here!”

“remember now? i made a bet with that idiot right here. i kept my promise, i’m back.”

johnny threw the beer bottle at yuta’s feet and started marching towards him.

“I made my plane land, he forgot his pants, all to meet mark, we’ve searched for five years, we don’t know if he’s alive. but you think he’ll show up for your silly bet?”

“no i knew he wouldn’t.” yuta smiled. “he’s too scared.”

“am i gonna punch him or are you?” johnny turned to haechan then turned on his heel to grab yuta’s shirt. haechan stopped even though he really wanted someone to punch yuta.

“well then why’d you make us come here if it was just a bet between you two?” haechan asked.

“to meet mark.. and to see where i’ve reached and where he is.”

“wait, so you know where mark is?”

yuta slowly started nodding and smiled. “well, yeah.”

“w-where is he?”

“he lives up in the mountains now, probably works in some rich guys house or something.”

johnny and haechan turn to each other and smile, they’re gonna go find their friend.

“[name], are you ready to get the dress?!” your mother screams up the stairs even though you really aren’t that far away.

“yeah mom, just gimme a minute!” it’s been five years since you got your engineering degree. you got a good job, with good money, and a good life. but, something’s always been missing from your life, something that stops you from feeling like everything was worth it. you don’t like to think it, but it’s mark. mark was someone who you hated so much in your first year, you didn’t think you would make it to graduation. your past with mark lee is strange, to say the least. you never want to admit that you found yourself falling for him in your last year. he had you thinking your life was going to be amazing forever, that you would fill the gap that been empty this whole time.

yet, here you are, about to go pick up a dress for a wedding you really, really don’t want to be apart of.

your own.

you see, you thought that getting your degree and showing that you can take care of yourself would bypass the need to get you married off to another wealthy family like yourselves, clearly not as your father doesn’t have a son and needed someone to pass his college down to, it’s been passed down by his father and his father before that and his father bef- you get the point. but they thought the best idea was to get you married. it was supposed to be your sister, but she convinced your parents that they can try again with you after she found a man, an art student, to be precise, to marry instead of your family friends son, doyoung. the same doyoung who is going to be your husband in a few days.

you miss all of you friends and especially mark. maybe you wouldn’t feel so lonely if you had kept messaging mark. a little bit after graduation, you and mark got into a fight, something about him not spending enough time with you. you can barely remember what it was about, so clearly it wasn’t important enough to be the reason your whole life changed. the last message he ever sent you was asking for forgiveness and saying something about how you should leave with him. he said he had something to tell you. but of course, you were stubborn and didn’t even check his messages until a week after and when you tried to reply, you found out he blocked you. you don’t remember his number anymore, even though about six years ago it was one you thought you could never forget.

you think of johnny and haechan. two of the funniest guys you knew. haechan was great to study with and always had a great supply of energy drinks in his bag for those all-nighters. johnny was great for advice and pep talks before big exams, if it wasn’t for him your sure you would’ve pissed yourself during your final.

but, we’re they ever really your friends? mark’s blocked you and nobody knows if he is alive or dead, and johnny and haechan slowly but surely fell out of your grasp, the less and less the phone calls and hangouts got, the more you wanted everything to go back to the way it was. when mark was here.

your phone dings, pulling you out of your trance. it’s your sister, texting you that she’s outside waiting to go dress shopping with you, wedding dress shopping.

your phone reads 2:23pm, September 5th.

a/n : yay this is gonna be really good i hope, also it’s my first kpop fic i’m sorry if it’s bad, the whole fic will be out soon but i don’t have a date. honestly if this flops i might not post it lol. also you will find out why they call him silencer later :)! if you wanna be on my tag list for when this drops just ask :)

BYE 😘

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lolahasmoxie · 4 months

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I’m currently soaking in a hot bath, and this thought popped into my head earlier while I was trying to nap

Imagine Eddie the first time he gets to see pussy live and in person.

He’s staring at it like it will reveal the secrets of the universe to him. Like it’s a secret door to Narnia.

He’ll take his thumbs and spread you open, his jaw dropping as he can see the wetness there.

You want to giggle at how intensely he’s looking at your pussy, like you’re going to give him a test afterwards. “You can touch me, you know.”

He hesitantly reaches out, his touch is soft as his long finger gathers up some of your wetness. He gently runs the liquid up and down the edges of your opening. His cock begins to throb when he sees them swell with arousal.

When he sees your clit, he finally makes eye contact with you. You nod, “there’s the sweet spot, sweetheart.”

He takes more of your wetness and slowly starts to circle around your clit. He lets out a low moan when he sees the bud start to grow.

He needs more,

“Please, can I taste you?”

“Fuck, please, YES.”

He licks from hole to clit, groaning into your pussy as your taste explodes on his tongue. When he reaches your clit, his tongue circles it slowly.

When he feels it swell even more in his mouth, he can’t help but start grinding his hips into the mattress.

His hands find your inner thighs and push them back onto the bed as he continues to devour you. He’s so lost in you he almost misses your instructions to use his fingers.

He was not prepared for how warm and wet you were. He knew from his collection of skin mags that he was supposed to look for something that felt spongey, and when he grazes over it he watches in awe as your back bends off the bed.

He strokes you in a steady come hither motion, listening as your breathing becomes more labored. You tell him to use his mouth, and he can’t help but preen as you chant please over and over.

He wraps his plump lips around your clit, his hips rolling in time with his fingers. It’s a steady rhythm that has you thanking any and all higher powers for Eddie’s musical skills.

“Keep that tempo, please I’m so close”

Eddie is compelled to obey your command. Your moans get louder as you crest and when you finally fall over the edge Eddie feels like he’s reached another plane of existence.

Your moans are music to his ears. The way you chant his name as your hand grabs his hair. The way your pussy grips his fingers like she doesn’t want to let him go, and a new wave of wetness coats his fingers.

You’re about to beg him to stop when he finally pulls off your clit to let out an obscene moan as his hips falter against the mattress. His own orgasm has him seeing stars, his hands grip your thighs to try and keep him tethered to this world.

Your eyes are closed, body still vibrating when Eddie shuffles up a bit on the bed. He rests his head on your stomach, his hair tickling your skin as he collapses against you still trying to catch his breath.

You both just enjoy the silence. Eddie kisses whatever skin he can reach. Your hand caresses his face, a smile on your lips when he takes your hand and softly kisses the tips of your fingers. When he finally lifts his head to look at you, he smiles at you so wide you can see every dimple on his beautiful face.

“So, how did I do?

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic

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thealtoduck · 1 year

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Parachute

Tim Drake x Riddler Sidekick!Male Reader

Warnings: Superhero violence, emotional conflict, Reader lowkey accepting the posibility of death (he dosen’t die tho)…

Summary: While on a mission from the Riddler you are shocked by the boy wonders investigation skills…

Part 1

Based on the song ”Parachute” by Caroline Polachek. One of the most beautiful songs i’ve heard.

——

The wooden crate you were hidden inside rattled as it was loaded on to the cargo plane. Eddie had sent you on a mission to steal some new rare parts for one of his plans to outsmart the Bat.

Query and Echo had dressed up as airport workers and smuggled you in to the airport in the crate to be loaded on to the cargo plane. The rattling stopped and for few minutes it was silent, then the planes engines started making the crates vibrate.

You waited till the plane evened out and then you broke open the top of the wooden box and climbed out. You snuck around seeing if they’re were any guards. The coast was clear so you started breaking up boxes to find what you were looking for, eventually you found the parts you were looking for and started shoving them in your backpack.

Then you heard a voice behind you ”Riddle me this, how many Robins does it take to find out the Riddler’s plan and put an end to it?”. You turned around, sighed and stated grumpily ”That’s not even a riddle”.

Both of you took a fighting stance and he said ”The answer is one”. You scoffed and said ”God you’re a loser” and you attacked eachother sending quick punches and jabs at each other. The two of you had always been at a pretty equal fighting level but with different styles.

Robin’s style incorperated better and more polished technique and was more planned out meanwhile your’s used more brute strength and had an element of unpredictabilty. So the two of you usually ended up needing to outsmart the other to win.

You easily blocked and redircted each others attacks leaving you at a stalemate trying to predict your opponents next move. You thought you had a way to get the upper hand so you grabbed the crowbar you had used to break open the boxes that laid on the floor and swung it at him.

But he grabbed on to your wrist and squeezed it forcefully, you tried to jab him in the face with your other hand but he caught your fist. He twisted your arms making you drop the crowbar. He then gave you a kick in the leg making you fall to the ground and he pinned you too the ground.

Robin said cockily ”Not so tough now Y/n” making your eyes go wide. When you joined Riddler he had promised to wipe every trace of your existence making sure you were the only one who truly knew about your past and your real name, which is why he gave you the nickname ”Clue”, only you had the answer.

The prospect of Batman and his sidekick digging in to your past scared you. At first you uttered a shoked ”How do you know that name?” then shock and fear turned to anger making you yell ”How to you know that name!” at the top of your lungs.

Robin was caught off guard by your temper shift and you used it to rock your head forward, headbutting him on the nose. He lost the controlled grip of your wrist and you used an arm and ripped him of off you by his cape throwing him to the floor beside you.

You quickly started looking for an escape route suddenly remebering you’re on a cargo plane meaning you only had one option. You looked around and saw a parachute bag that you quickly grabbed and pulled on.

Robin had gotten up from the floor and was bleeding from his nose from your headbutt. He started running at you and you ran towards the closest airplane door. When you found one and put your hand on the handle Robin yelled ”Y/n, wait!”.

”Please listen” he said in a somewhere inbetween begging and commanding tone. You stood with one hand on the handle and glared at him giving the impression that at the slightest movement he made towards you, you’d open the door and you’d both be sucked in to the open air, falling to the ground.

”The winds are to strong it’s not safe, there’s no telling where they would take you” he warned you. ”How do you know my name?” you asked vemomously one last time. ”We did a lot of digging and we managed to track down your dad, your mom too… we saw where you grew up, we know how you ended up here” he explained.

You only stared at him. ”Please Y/n, we want to help you, we want to give you the shot you never got, all you have to do is surrender”. ”Sure, like i can trust you, i’ll go with you and when we land they’ll take me straight to arkham” you said.

”Y/n listen, i promise you that we want to give you the help you need” Robin explained. You found yourself thinking… you could leave it all behind, your life of crime, your past… gone as water under the bridge.

But to abandon Eddie, Query and Echo… they were more than just your team and they were never leaving the life of crime… sure you had once had a dream that the four of you could leave Gotham and just live a normal life together like a weird messed up sit-com family but you knew that it was just that, a dream.

You were so deep in thought you didn’t notice Robin inching slightly closer to you. ”They’d come to find me if i left” you stated. ”We’ll keep you safe, i’ll make sure of it” Robin answered. He held out a hand and said ”Y/n, please come with me”.

You looked at him for some reason you trusted him, even though he was your rival he seemed genuine. There was something appealing about the thought of a clean slate and a new life. You slowly reached your hand out towards his when a voice cut through the silence.

”Robin, we’re approaching the plane, we contacted Arkham, they’re making a cell ready” Robin’s communicator sounded out through the room. You face quickly turned in to a glare. ”Y/n, i promise it’s not what you-” he started but you quickly turned to the plane door and opened it making a strong wind blow through out the plane.

You spared Robin one last death stare before jumping out in to the open air. The blast of the wind was the only thing audible to you as you fell through the air, The plane was just flying out above over the water of the Gotham River.

You then pulled the ripcord setting of the parachute and you felt as if your body was jerked to a stop as the parachute deployed. Now you were slowly drifting towards Gotham. You looked to be out in the middle of Gotham River.

In a way seeing Gotham felt as if going home or at least the closest thing you had to home. The sparkling lights of the city from above was the most inviting you’d ever seen this hellhole of a city look.

Then you remembered what was waiting in Gotham, cops, Arkham and Bat-Clad vigilantes and all off sudden the winds changed blowing you back out towards the river. The water was probably full of waves and cold as ice, but you didn’t panic despite those unappealing qualities it still looked inviting, the waves were dark but sparkly from the lights of the city.

Then suddenly a strong winds started again blowing you back towards Gotham, towards strip malls, highways and treetops and everything else the city had to offer. It came closer and closer…

And finally you landed.

On the soft ground on the very edge of the city facing Gotham River, you untangled yourself from the parachute and took it off your shoulders. You didn’t know where to go or what to do now all you knew was that you needed a break from both vigilantes and the Riddler.

You went and found a motel to check in to and as soon you entered your room, you threw of your backpack, dropped on to the bed and quickly drifted off to sleep.

#tim drake x male reader #tim drake x male!reader #red robin x male reader #red robin x male!reader #robin x male reader #batfam x male reader #batfamily x male reader #batman x male reader #dc x male reader #dc comics x male reader

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sofiiel · 9 months

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Eddie x Reader : To cure a bad day

Warnings: Emotional/stress eating.

You've had the worst day. One of those hair pulling, teeth gnashing, tear weeping, silent screaming, oh my god that whole thing gave me reflux, let me crawl into a pit and sleep days.

But your home now, it's dark and it's quiet. You're sat on the floor, back propped up against the open fridge. A bottle of your favorite beverage at your side and various snack item remains scattered about.

In your lap sits a whole half of the cheesecake you'd had left over from your date at the dinner a few days ago. You know you shouldn't but it'd be so good with that "eat shit and die, world" mood you're in.

You hear Eddie return home, his keys clattering against the coffee table. The soft thuds of his shoes being kicked off.

He looks around with his brows knitted together, he's expected to see you in the living room, where you usually met up with each other when he got off work.

Eddie pouts for a moment, he'd had a rough day and wanted to steal you into his arms. Squeeze you and bury his face in your neck while he complained about all the bad things should just become you instead, so there would be no more bad things in existence.

But you, were missing.

Looking around, Eddie notices the soft light coming from a darkness in the kitchen. A half smile comes to his face. "Even better" his feet scuffled across the carpet in a hurry.

Eddie opens the silverware drawers and plucks out two forks before plopping down across from you.

In one hand, he offers you a fork, while the other is already reaching for the last strawberry left atop the cake.

Eddie shakes his head to move stray hairs away from his face, "So who or what do we strongly dislike today?" he asks.

You peer up at him in wonder as he just offers you a smile.

"I have a list." he admits.

You tell him what you face today, and he slowly lowers his strawberry. Looking down at it briefly, Eddie scoots across the kitchen floor until he is at your side.

He drops his jaw a little to open his mouth, "say aaaaah!" he sings. Eddie is swerving his fork around like a plane.

"Crshh! Ah, yes, we have a code red emergency," He says as if talking through a radio transmission. "We can't have the sweetest person in the world going sad and sour. Gonna send aid with a strawberry to the soul. Over."

You manage to stifle your giggle to open your mouth and let him feet you the fruit.

Eddie grins, pleased with himself, as he waits for you to chew and swallow.

"All clear, need to do a sweetness conformation." He says, leaning in.

His lips coax a bit of the weight from your shoulders, and his palm on your cheek invites you to lean into him. Eddie's tongue searches for the last remaining strawberry juices, leaving your chilled mouth with a soft warmth.

"Mmm," Eddie hums, the vibration tickling your lips as he pulls away. "Like fresh sugar cane." he murmured, "I'd say that mission was an success."

Eddie, proud of himself and satisfied, starts to dig into the Cheesecake and you follow suit. He takes your hand into his, and holds on while you two continue to share your day with each other.

The bitter feels turning into laughter and drained smiles. The two of you polish off the cheesecake, a good many more leftovers.

Eddie kicks the fridge closed, and you pick up the trash. The dishes can wait until the morning, and just this once you'll each skip your nightly routine.

For now is a time for making a bed in the living room floor. Piled high with couch cushions, bed pillows, stuffies and every last blanket you own. Tonight is the night for snuggling before for TV screen, full and content. Let it watch you tonight.

You and Eddie nod off slowly while he holds you close in a gentle squeeze, and hides his face in your neck. He murmurs half awake that all things should be you, good things and bad, so that they'd all be so much better.

And before sleep takes him, he whispers a cheesecake scented, "I love you, night."

Ok, maybe today wasn't completely the worst day.

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #emotional eating #stress eating

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hwaightme · 1 year

Text

Come fly with me

✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)

The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.

Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.

But there were fatal accidents.

In those same years there were crashes where people died.

And what about those planes that disappeared?

What about the malfunctions?

What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?

What if the wing breaks off?

What if one of the windows breaks?

What if something happens to the pilot?

What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?

Those odds… still not in my favour.

Damn this work trip.

And damn how packed it is.

Damn this window seat.

Right. By. The. Wing.

Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.

Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.

Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.

It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.

But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.

He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?

A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.

You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.

An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-

But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?

“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.

That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:

“Sorry?”

He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”

Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?

“Yes, let’s do that!”

You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.

It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.

You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…

Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…

No high heels…

Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.

Slide down in the Dracula position…

You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.

“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.

“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.

“Aerophobia?”

“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”

“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.

“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.

“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”

Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.

“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”

“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”

“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”

Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.

“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”

The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”

“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”

“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.

This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.

“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.

You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.

“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”

“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.

“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.

“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.

“Not during a standard holiday?”

“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”

“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.

After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:

“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.”

“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.

“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”

“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.

With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.

“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.

It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.

“Lightheaded?”

“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.

“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”

“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.

Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”

“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.

“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”

Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.

“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.

After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.

“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”

“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.

“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”

“Funny.”

“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”

“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.

“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”

“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.

“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.

He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:

“Let me guide you.”

Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-

Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.

“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."

Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?

"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.

Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.

It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.

“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.

“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.

“I am so sorry again-”

“Nothing to be sorry about."

Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.

"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”

Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.

“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”

He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.

“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”

The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.

“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”

Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.

“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”

Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.

“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”

You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.

Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.

Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.

He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.

Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.

It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.

It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.

The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.

His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.

As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.

Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:

“Flying.”

After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.

When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.

On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.

Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.

Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.

When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”

“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”

“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”

“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.

The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.

“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.

“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”

“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.

“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.

“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”

“This really keeps on getting better.”

“What keeps on getting better?”

“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”

“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”

“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”

“Seconded.”

For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.

Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.

Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.

It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.

You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.

This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.

Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.

Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.

You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.

Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.

If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.

To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?

Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.

“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.

“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.

“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?

“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.

You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-

“I can drive you.”

“Huh?”

“If you want.”

He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.

Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.

“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.

“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”

“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.

“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.

He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.

“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.

“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”

“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”

“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”

“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”

“Don’t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.

“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:

“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."

“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”

“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”

“Yeah, and what about my crew?”

“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.

“I can imagine.”

You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.

“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.

“Go on ahead, be my guide.”

Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.

1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.

And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.

Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.

436 notes · View notes

gayandfairycore · 10 months

Text

Do you see right through me?

A/n: I am back! Restarting my streak of posting a fic every few months, XO kitty is my new obsession atm and I have seen no fanfics about the loml, so here’s an unrequested kitty x femreader! This doesn’t really follow everything in the show, but nevertheless I’m happy with it! As always all chaste aged up side note I am curious of your thoughts on the show? I’m sad people disliked the show as much as they did, I actually thought it was pretty alright? cringey at moments, but isn’t that all Netflix’s shows…

Summary: falling in love with kitty covey when she comes to K.I.S.S and your fellow students surprised by your care for the girl. When kitty hears Minho talk about how untouchable you were to anyone. She begins to hope that you feel for her what she feels for you.

Warnings: bullying, panic attacks, mentions of slurs but no actual use of slurs, (not so) unrequited love, homophobia, internalised homophobia, purposely getting someone drunk, daes a smidge homophobic in this fic, this fic is also not proof read because I’m lazy 😌

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You knew she was with dae, hell you knew since the moment she met you, rambling excited about her true love, and The fact that she had flown half way around the globe for a boy.

It felt blaringly obvious that if she were to do that there was no way that she would be into women. Plus you’d never. Ever. Want to steal someone’s partner That was just wrong.

So you would watch from afar, hold on to any touches the girl would give you, and you would force yourself to feel happiness for the girl. Force down any feelings of bitterness when she would stare at dae with love in her eyes.

Kitty song-covey was just so magnetic. It was like she vibrated on a whole different plane of existence. No matter how hard you tried You couldn’t stop half of your heart from breaking whenever she told you the details about her quest to get back dae.

You felt anger burn in you, boil your blood at the audacity of the boy lucky enough to hold her heart. To cheat on her it made you feel sick.

She deserved better, you hoped that maybe better would be you… from the moment you saw her she caught your heart. The illusive y/n l/n.

If she were to ask any student at KISS she would find out the rumours of your name. You were the girl who was smoking hot and yet had never had a boyfriend, despite many boys asking you out in grandiose ways.

You were, too many, The untouchable girl.

And for a girl with such a reputation It felt embarrassing how quickly you began to feel things for her. Non platonic things.

you felt a sense of duty when you saw her slip in those cupcakes. you moved without a second thought the click of your heels on the polished floors as you bent to her level.

“Are you okay?” You’d ask the girl

No reply left her lips, with orange frosting sticky and coated to her dress, tears shone in her eyes. As she looked up at you, with a tearful gaze, her eyes glazed over in embarrassment as she searched her surroundings. Staring down the lens of a phone camera she started to think maybe coming to Korea was a mistake.

The girl begun to replay every unfortunate incident over, and over in her head. There was virtually no one good here.

From her meeting with Minho at the airport, being swerved by principal Lim about her mother, meeting yuri, meeting her long term boyfriend again in person only to find him with a different girl she felt ridiculous.

As the lenses of cameras continued to stay pointed at her, kitty appreciated your kind smile as you pushed yourself off from being knelt beside her

“hey! Nothing to see here people. Go about your merry business.” Youd announce loudly to the leering students as they stared at the girl.

Feeling exasperated when no onlookers attempted to look away you spoke again. With a demanding and expecting.

“Go on! Shoo.” Only turning back to the red head once they made hast to look away, sighing and brushing your hair from your face you took the girl by her fore arm and pulled her up.

Before you could speak daes figure had made himself comfortable at her side rambling on about how it wasn’t what it looked like.

Kitty was clearly overwhelmed, from the jet lag, and the terrible experience she endured it was almost as if the room was closing in on the girl, the crushing weight of what seemed to be her mistakes crashed over her in unkind waves.

When the girl looking around the room, daes rambles became almost muted to the girl as the murmurs in the crowd of people were the final straw for the girl. Your hand on her arm the only thing grounding her from her onslaught of tears, And embarrassment.

Breaking your hold on her arm as the girl ran out of the room you sent an angry glare to the boy standing next to you, sending him a look that says something like ‘aren’t you going to go after her??’

Shaking your head at the raven haired boy when he averted his gaze as yuris perfectly manicured hands wrapped around his arm and lead him away sending an almost apologetic smile towards yourself it wouldn’t fix this mess.

Taking a deep breath you made a move to go after the girl, walking steadfast towards the exit your steps only faltering when the murmurs of the party goers no longer pertained to just kitty.

Gossip started far too quickly for your liking, their words thick with speculation as they questioned your sexuality, slurs muffled by hands into friends ears targeted at you made you begin to feel sick.

The beady eyes of students set heavily on you. The air thick, with each click of heels on the floor, and fast beat of your heart you felt bile rise to your throat. panic set deep in your heart.

Shaking your head and taking a breath, you wanted to leave, no. You needed to leave. With every watchful, beady, speculatory eye that stared seemingly right through you.

The thought kept repeating through your head they see right through you. Slamming through the door to the corridor, kitty is of course long gone, yet you still crane your neck in hopes to catch a glimpse of her. When you come up empty you hasten your steps rushing into the stall of the girl’s bathroom setting down the lid of the toilet and stifling your sobs with your hands stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying.

You repeat it like a mantra, you know you look like a mess, but all you care about is not showing that they’ve gotten to you. Hardening your expression they will not look right through you, you won’t let them. You can’t.

But for this moment you will not hide. Leaning your head against the stall walls, you say it for the first time.

“I’m a lesbian/bisexual/pansexual/your identity”

“I know.” You hear through the door, fear spikes ypur heart jumping to your throat as Q pokes his head over the stall.

“Q? This is the girls bathroom?”

“Yeah…I just wanted to you know make sure you’re alright?”

“I’m not but- how are you in here? Minhos outside distracting the girls from entering the bathroom…”

“Really?” You mutter wiping your eyes with the back of your hand

“Yeah sweetheart, open the door and we’ll take you back to your room.”

“Okay” you chuckle, unlatching the lock the sound of minho frantically trying to come up with excuses as to why the girls toilets are off limits won’t hold out for much longer.

His voice getting increasingly higher as he scrambles to block the door, sharing a look with Q you both grab the door handle, Minhos figure stumbling backwards into your body’s, you and Q both look to the ground grabbing his hand and bursting through the crowd of girls.

Their outraged cries consisting off “was that a boy in the girls bathroom?!?” And “what was he doing in there!” All three of you begin to laugh at your heist.

All three of you trying to catch your breath outside the auditorium, dae comes walking hastily towards your group pointing a finger back in there he asks “why did I just hear one of the girls say Q was in the girls toilets?”

“And that they couldn’t enter because minho said he was hiding a giant cake in the bathroom…”

“A giant cake?” You and Q both ask the boy turning expectantly for an answer

“This feel’s suddenly very judgemental, I didn’t have to help you, you know.” Minho defends, his face hard before dropping his facade after minutes of awkward silence.

Locking arms with the boys you make hast towards the dormitory’s as a teacher locks eyes with the four of you.

“Go, go, go, go” Q pushing, at first your group speeds off with small hurried steps, getting faster until it’s an all out run, when the teacher bursts out of the door. Laughter fills the cool night air as you all rush to your dorms.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The loud ring of your alarm clock waking you up, your roommate still not here, you began to strip yourself of your dress from the night before. Instead sporting the school uniform. Slinging your bag over your back you set off to the cafeteria to buy yourself breakfast.

Your converse scraping against the ground, as you walked the path. A familiar head of hair came into view, biting down your smile you stepped closer.

The sight of Her cannery yellow suitcase bringing a frown to your face, along with the silouette of the boy next to her. You watch in discomfort, hesitant to move, to speak, to breathe. As you watch them embrace, the expression of hesitant love on the boys face is painful. You are painfully aware of just how in love they look.

when the sight of a black car and a silhouette of a girl steps out, you Release a breath you didn’t know you were holding when yuri breaks the two apart and steals dae away. It’s almost as if things aren’t so bad, You suddenly aren’t suffocating. Your converse clad feet walk closer to the red head, calling out her name.

A smile forms on her face as she sees you “y/n! Hey..”

“Covey, it’s nice to see you.” You smile rocking back and forth on your feet. Sizing her up you speak again with a shy smile

“I’ve got to say orange is not your colour.”

your eyes glance down to her suitcase as you tease the girl, any semblance of humour fades as she catches your gaze.

“Oh! Don’t worry!” The bubbly girl reassures “I’m not leaving, atleast not anymore.” She persists smiling with her teeth.

A soft look crinkles your eyes, you’re dead serious when you speak “good im glad you’ve decided to stay here.”

A bashful smile overcomes her face as she takes a look around you both. It’s silent for a few moments. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. Throughout that minute of silence you both seem to rake your eyes over eachother.

You’re the first to break it when you clear your throat. “Um you might want to take your things back to your dorm before classes. here I’ll help you.”

You nod toward her suitcase, and before she can stop you you’re picking up her suitcase, she smiles kindly. The walk to her dorm is quiet, you don’t mention the boys dormitory. Instead you bid the girl goodbye at the door.

And just like that time begins to fly with the girl, Days turn to weeks, stray touches and friendly hugs begin to linger too long. Far too long to be friendly. Atleast from your side.

Something held you back, from telling her, her relationship (if you could call it that) with dae, the fact she wasn’t into girls, or the fear of coming out.

And as Kitty spends her time chasing after dae, you spent your time chasing after kitty, whilst she was determined to be proved right that yuri & daes relationship was fake.

A part of you hoped it wasn’t, it felt cruel to think that as you were actively helping her, but part of you wished on every stray fallen eyelash, and every shooting star you saw. That maybe she’d like you too.

Maybe your touches set her skin on fire like hers did for you. When the day of Minhos party arrives and kitty asks you to do her makeup you jump at the opportunity to be closer to her.

With every stroke of your makeup brush against the apples of kittys cheeks it felt like you were buzzing with excitement just being so close to the girl.

Wanting to savour this moment you went slower, when kitty asked the harmless question of is you could do her lipstick your cheeks almost grew just as red as the blush you applied.

Before you started to dab the red pigment on your finger, tapping it gently against her lips the pads of your fingers bouncing off of her plump lips.

You couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to kiss her, your gaze lingered on her lips as your finger slowed its movement.

Turning your gaze up to meet kitty’s eyes, only to find the girl was already staring back at you.

Q watched intently from the doorway of his room, before he broke your stare on her lips with a “everybody ready?” Both kitty and yourself breaking eye contact simultaneously you Fling yourself away from kitty. Embarrassment begins to creep up your cheeks at being caught.

“You okay Y/n? We don’t have to go if you’re feeling sick.” Kitty speaks her eyes searching yours for any semblance of a lie.

“No, no! I’m alright let’s go.”

And with that you made your way to the door Qs hand gripped your upper arm with enough force to stop you but not hurt

“Hey y/n, yknow I saw you looking at kitty’s lips. If it’s any consolation I think she likes you too.” He smiled, his voice soft and comforting.

You wanted to say ‘really? You think so?

But instead your gaze dropped to the floor and you say an emotionless “she doesn’t like me like that.”

With a sigh from Q he opened his mouth as if to say more, his words dying in his throat as you broke his hold making your way down the hall to kitty’s figure.

Side stepping the girls attempt to hold your hand, her previous excitement dropped from her face for a moment before she cleared her throat “I’ve ordered us an Uber so let’s-let’s go.”

Walking ahead of the girl in a hurry, you miss the disappointed glance she shoots Q he rubs her arm in a comforting manner.

When you arrive to rubik the air is hot and stuffy, sweaty bodies dancing and drinking when florian orders you a fruity mock tail spiking it with what you assume to be vodka you drink it in silence, florian whispering to Q if you were okay.

You block them out, opting to instead dance your feelings away when you begin to dance to whatever was playing you began to feel a sense of freedom, your dance wasn’t anything special, wasn’t even particularly graceful. But you still felt eyes on you, as you turned to look to the pair that was staring at you eagerly you instead are met with the leering face of a fellow kiss student the buzz of alcohol dimming your senses as he leans down to whisper to you.

“We’ll aren’t you just beautiful, tell me can I buy you a drink?”

You don’t think. The alcohol numbing you, all you think is what can you do to take your mind off of kitty.

And before you know what you’re doing you grip his hand and lead him towards the bar, he buys you a drink, the familiar burn of some cheap vodka dances over the back of your throat before youre gripping his hands and you’re dancing with him.

And you dance for what feels like hours, and when you aren’t dancing you’re drinking, the burn of the alcohol stings the back of your throat.

And yet you keep drinking, seemingly oblivious, blissfully unaware of the fact he’s been buying, and buying, and buying, you drinks. And yet he hasn’t once touched a sip of alcohol.

The red flags aren’t red to you anymore, YPU can’t even hear the alarm bells ringing.

Sometime through the night you come to the realisation you’ve lost your friends, you’ve danced for as long as you can your feet aching and now all you feel is sick and exhausted.

“H-hey I think I’m gonna find my friends.” You tell your date, your words slurring together as vomit rises to your throat you take your hands off of the guy.

Ready to go back to your friends, even with dulled senses you’re on high alert when his soft smile leaves his face and his gaze hardens on your chest, his hands spring out to grip your arms in one hand. With bruising force, tugging

before Q sees you begin to wobble as the boy leads you to the exit of the club he walks past Q and florian.

The boys feel an immediate sense of urgency to protect you. They ask if you want to go with this guy, when they get your shaky “no” it’s enough conformation. Florian is pulling you into him as Q is telling the guy to leave you alone.

Breathing shakily, bile rises to the back of your throat, your eyes burning, as you gaze up at the boys their sympathetic faces giving you a once over.

“I just wanted to stop thinking about her.” You cried, slamming your head into Florian’s chest

“Oh dear” florian says looking you over “find kitty.” And just like that Q’s off in search of the girl, when teachers burst through the doors of the club. Principle lim pulling the plug to the speakers.

The club grows silent before the onslaught of people start running for the door, Florian leads you toward the exit. He doesn’t mind listening to your drunk rambles as you walk. Your legs unsteady, your mainly being supported by florian.

Taking the water he hands you with gratitude you take slow sips. Time seemed to barely move, as your memory felt funny. One moment you were in the club a flurry of lights disorienting you the next in your dorm bed room.

Cracking an eye open and groaning from the splitting headache behind your eyes you sluggishly roll out of bed.

Opening the bedroom door Qs figure slouched over the arm of the couch as minhos making coffee in the kitchen.

“Hey, y/n. We have Saturday detention by the way. Since someone got the party busted.”

Watching kitty on the stage her hair pinned up, you think she looks gorgeous in traditional clothing, adoration clear on your face.

Time seemingly slows as you watch her perform, with each movement of the fan your stare is still looking at the girl.

Conflict I’d happening on the stage, you can’t hear what they’re saying but you’re already concerned for the girl. Your heart leaps to your throat as you watch her trip.

Loud cracks of fireworks fill the gymnasium, time stops slowing, your ears block out the sound of scampering feet trying to exit the gym. you’re fully competent and you know what you’re doing when your shoes squeak against the floor you’re running toward the panicked girl.

Ripping off your jacket you throw it over the girls flaming skirt, easing her to the ground as you do so.

Kitty is panicked, frantic breaths leaving in puffed out pants, looking up at her through your lashes, your heart clenches at the sight of her scared face.

“Hey! Hey! I got you, you’re alright.” You state, your fingers that were previously patting wildly at the skirt, stop.

“Th-thank you.” Kitty whispers gratefully, her body visibly relaxing, yet She still looks scared with an emotion you can’t quite make out swimming in her eyes.

you make a move to comfort her more but your hand still’s outstretched towards her when dae comes rushing to her side.

His eyes wild, as he asks the girl if she’s okay, he lets out a breath when she tells him you helped.

“Yknow I would’ve helped her-“ nodding at his words, you feel guilty that you don’t quite believe the boy.

“I know. but I got here first.”

“I’m here now.” He exclaims coldly, his eyes nonverbally telling you to leave, bowing your head you look at kitty,

“I’m just glad you’re okay” and with that you turn and make your way of stage, meeting up with Minho by the door.

A knowing look on his face prompts you to ask “what’s that look for?”

“Nothing! No nothing. Aside from the fact you practically raced up there to save her…”

“You didn’t even think you just…went.”

Trying to no avail to hide the blush dusting your cheeks you cross your arms over your chest “well what’s it too you? I mean you’re famously anti kitty.”

“Mm you’re right, i don’t think she’s right for dae. I think she’s right for someone else…” he trails off making eye contact with you.

He sends you a comforting smile. His eyes flicker to dae as he marches up to both Minho and yourself. slamming Minho into the wooden wall dae sneers out “a you call yourself my friend” In Korean.

Minhos confusion seeps out as he asks “what’s all this about?!?” Also in korean, dae sees red slamming the boy harder into the wood before continuing “don’t pretend like you don’t know!”

Looking frantically around you, you decide to try and pry the boy off calling out a:

“What are you doing dae? let him go!” You cry pulling at the boys arm to get him to loosen his grip. His eyes hard as he turns to you, flinging his arm out, your feet falter at the abrupt movement when he pushes you off him His push sending you colliding with the gymnasium floor. Your hands slap against the ground, tears well in your eyes at the sting of your hands. and the bruise forming on your butt.

Despite your efforts Dae is still glaring at the boy infront pf him, Seemingly not caring that his shove sent you to the floor. “Dae, stop. Stop it! it’s not min Ho!” Kitty cries, “this has nothing to do with him”

“What you’re gay?” Dae laughs, sparing a glance at your form on the floor, Confusion and realisation dawn on the boys face before he mutters an apology to Minho.

sparing a hateful glance toward you on the floor, looking kitty in the eyes, the girl is clearly distraught in her hanbok. Her makeup runs down her cheeks as embarrassment boils. Dae shakes his head as he bursts from the door to the room.

Minho does a double take before giving you his hand, asking tentatively “are you okay?” His eyes rake your figure trying to asses the damage.

“I’m fine, I’m okay.” You stress putting yours hands in the air in attempt to reassure the boy.

“Good, good.”Minho mutters, clearly not believing you in the slightest. pulling you up, He shares a look with kitty watching as she diverts her gaze.

You shoot a glance to the red head, as Minho leads you away. Your concern for the girl outweighs any confusion about dae.

The cool air stings your face as Minho leads you outside, sitting you down on a concrete seat, “are you okay?” He asks.

Sighing shakily you look him in his eyes “yes-“

“And don’t lie to me.” He cuts you off, pointing his finger, he nods for you to continue his hard serious face still there.

“No? I mean! Ugh I really like her? But she clearly likes someone else…and she still has dae. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do?”

“I’m failing pretty much all of my classes, and I’m gay. But I can’t be.”

“Oh you sweet thing.” Minho says pulling you into his chest, running his hands over your head as sobs break from your chest, wetting the boys suit.

“You know it’s okay to be afraid of your feelings for someone, but I can see it Kitty likes you, Not dae.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“God are you really so oblivious?!?” Exasperation reeks from the boy as he stared at you.

“She’s in love with you, you didn’t see it but her face when you saved her was enough to make dae realise she doesn’t like him anymore.”

“Oh my god. That’s what that was?”you question, your stomach dropping in anticipation. Vomit rising to your throat,

“I have to go!” You call breaking from Minhos hold,

“Another job well done” Minho smiles, shaking his head at the wet patch on his suit.

Your feet slam against the ground as you run to find the girl, bursting back into the gym she of course isn’t there.

Doubling over breathing heavily, panic grips your chest, as you look around. Closing your eyes you feel defeated.

“If you’re looking for kitty she’s in the dorm.”

Your eyebrows furrow, as you turn to face dae, an apologetic and yet reserved expression takes over his face.

“I-what? How did you-“

“It’s pretty obvious… no offence. But hey I’m happy for you.” The boy smiles, before turning to go

“How do you know she’ll like me back?” You whisper, daes steps halt as he turns to look at you.

“I’ve seen the way she stares at you when you aren’t looking, she used to look at me like that…” he looks sad as he remarks the girl’s feelings. but when he smiles at you with a watery smile and the nod of his head it’s his way of giving you the go ahead. And suddenly everything lightens up, the weight on your shoulders suddenly dissipates as you accept daes consent to make a move.

To let yourself be happy.

So you do, turning around you jog up stairs, and dodge various people as you make your way through the crowds of students in the halls.

Making your way to the boys dorm had become like a ritual, it was no longer buzzing with joy and laughter as a game or movie was in full swing Minho cooking something in the kitchen or rambling about the films his mum was in.

Instead the warmth in your chest was no longer there, You suddenly feel apprehension, as you stand there, your hand hovering over the door handle, you question if kitty will want this, if you should just turn around and couch surf until you go home.

When the door swings open to a sad kitty, in comfortable clothing, her hairs a mess, and she’s wearing an old ratty tshirt, but she still looks at gorgeous as ever as she stares up at you.

“Y/n?” She asks, her eyes glancing you up and down.

“Hi.” You whisper, bringing your hand up to caress her cheek, you ask her “can I kiss you?”

When she nods it’s all the permission you need, before you place a passionate yet gentle kiss on the girls lips, you pull away when the girl doesn’t move to kiss you back.

Only to be pulled back in my kittys soft hands against both of your cheeks pulling you in her lips crash against yours, the kiss isn’t perfect the techniques all wrong, and it’s sloppy, but you can’t help caring because you’re kissing her.

Tangling your hands in her unruly hair, you smile into the kiss.

When kitty pulls back, you look alarmed the girl feels a sharp guilt at breaking from the kiss, the pads of her fingers run over your cheek gently as if she is afraid you’ll break. The girl takes a breath in

“I’ve begun to learn a lot on Korea, about my mother, my friends, myself. And more Often then not my friends helped me realise things.” Kitty breaths she looks almost afraid to speak as she collects herself you can visibly see the cogs turning in her head as she speaks.

“And well, Q made me realise my feelings. They were confusing, and fun, and scary? But I think i really like them?”

“I think I really like them as well.” You smile, placing a kiss on her lips before continuing “And hey remind me to thank Q for all this.”

“No need you two, this is all the thanks I need.” Breaking from her hold you both turn to face your roomates their smug (mainly Minho) proud faces staring at you both.

“You know For a match maker you’re a bit oblivious.” Q speaks before planting himself on the couch

“I- what do you mean?” Kitty exclaims offended

“Kitty I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you...”

“WHAT!” Kitty exclaims in outrage “but- no- I’m supposed to know these things!!” The girl slumps over dramatically

Sharing content looks with your fellow roommates, none of you can hold it in bursting out in laughter.

It made you realise how much you wish you could stay in this moment forever before tomorrow comes and everything good hangs in the balance…

For now, you all were happy.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

#xo kitty #xo kitty x reader #kitty covey #Katherine covey x reader #kitty covey x reader #to all the boys x reader #to all the boys trilogy #x fem!reader #anna cathcart #sang heon lee #choi min young #netflix xo kitty #xo kitty x fem!reader #wlw yearning #wlw #sapphic #gayness

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xoxoemynn · 1 year

Text

I just started thinking about all the different ways Ed and Stede might kiss next season and vibrated into an entirely different plane of existence.

Desperate kisses. Tender kisses. Passionate kisses. Quick kisses goodbye. Kisses that never seem to end.

Mouth kisses. Forehead kisses. Nose kisses. Hand kisses. Neck kisses.

Seriously just knowing #1 Gentlebeardie David Jenkins had an entire off-season playing with his Ed and Stede dolls and saying NOW KISS and then he got to write them into a script and make it come to life and it's going to be on our TV screens soon I am LOSING MY EVER-LOVING MIND.

Anyway.

#watched that clip of 'you wear fine things well' w/o the music and LOST MY FUCKING MINDDDDDD I AM GONE #OFMD #Edward Teach #Stede Bonnet #Ed x Stede #emynn.op

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silentcrowsilentravens · 2 years

Note

Omg that post where Donna's s/o smothers her face in kisses.. could i please get that with the other resident evil 8 ladies? And Jill maybe?

Yes. Absolutely.

Post referenced in the ask can be found here!

Daniela Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Alcina Dimitrescu, Mother Miranda, Mia Winters, Elena Lupu, and Jill Valentine with a s/o that likes to smother their faces in kisses.

(Gender neutral).

Warnings: n/a

Masterlists here!

Daniela Dimitrescu

She's such a sucker for this. You don't understand.

Dani already has a big grin on her face when you give her one (1) kiss on the cheek.

But you want to go back in for more?

You want to cover her whole face in kisses??

You’ve got her giggling like mad and smiling harder than before, which you didn't think possible.

Almost half of her body has dissolved into flies. She can't even properly maintain her form.

Please do that more. She will do it to you just as much as you do it to her.

Bela Dimitrescu

Bela is a noblewoman. She's a cold-blooded killer. She'll maintain her composure, of course. You aren't going to make her—

Oh?

Affection for Bela?? Lots of affection???

Damn it, she can’t maintain her poker face at all. She goes from having an almost smile on her face to a full-on one instantly.

Her cheeks become a tiny bit warm to the touch.

She's literally vibrating. Like a purring cat.

"Feeling affectionate, are we?" Once you're finished, Bela cups your jaw and presses a kiss against your lips in return.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

"What are you doing?"

Much like my cat when I go to kiss him on his little head, Cassandra has this ridiculously grumpy look on her face as you begin to shower her in affection.

She half-heartedly tries to push you away once before giving up. If she’s being honest, she doesn’t actually want you to stop.

...She likes it. Cassie didn’t think she would. She didn't think she'd even let someone do something like this in the first place, but she likes it.

Keep going.

Alcina Dimitrescu

As she does with pretty much any affection you give her, Alcina soaks this stuff up. Just positively relishes it.

"Scumpete..." she says, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips

She fully leans into your touch.

If she's in a particularly good mood, you might get a bit of a chuckle out of her.

Might also just let you know if you left any part of her face tragically unkissed... Because frankly, that's just a crime.

Mother Miranda

Before you came around, receiving affection like this was something Mira was entirely unfamiliar with. Throughout pretty much all of her life, she's been the person everyone is afraid to make direct eye contact with, let alone initiate some form of physical touch.

(This is, of course, because she might rip their head off. Figuratively? Literally? Depends on her mood).

So when you start smothering her face in kisses, she just. Doesn't know what to do with herself. Her brain doesn't know how to process this. You're overwhelming her. In a good way.

"Mira? You alright?" you have to ask after you pull away because she's still as a statue.

She blinks a few times as she reenters this plane of existence.

You are welcome to do that again.

Mia Winters

Mia did not know how much she needed you to do this until you start doing it. It's an instant day improver.

She's fully melting into your touch.

Batteries she didn’t even realize were low are being recharged.

She has her hands on top of where you have yours on the sides of her face.

For quite a while after, she has a grin on her face.

Elena Lupu

Elena is a tad flustered when you unexpectedly cradle her face in your hands, but then you start covering it in kisses and... hajakashhskshds.

With every single kiss, her cheeks get a little more flushed.

She says your name with a laugh lining her voice.

She tells you to stop without any seriousness whatsoever.

You better be prepared to be given the same treatment you gave Elena at some point in the day.

Jill Valentine

Welp, Jill was kind of tired before you started giving her all these kisses. Not anymore!

She isn't too big on such intense displays of physical affection, but she can appreciate it every now and then.

Like right now.

She just...

Has her eyes closed. And there's a soft smile on her face.

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kkrazy256 · 2 years

Text

oh my god, flight in a few hours. I might just spend it answering those Came Back wrong AU asks. And any more questions about blorbos or anything at all you want to ask, feel free to send

#twiddling my thumbs and vibrating off the plane of existence

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whorinsmokenshield · 2 months

Text

Malalkhrukûn (January)

Summary: Bilbo Baggins is a hobbit. Just as grass is green, the sky is blue, and the Lonely Mountain is tall, Bilbo Baggins is a hobbit through and through, and no one would know this better than himself. Yet strangely, while underneath the dwarf whom he calls king, he’s never been more acutely aware of just how much of a hobbit he is.

Rating: Explicit

(Hi I wrote this for the Year of Bagginshield prompt 'Body Worship' for January. Prompt list by @acorns-and-oakleaves. Ao3 upload here)

~~~~~~~~~~

If Bilbo Baggins were ever able to meet the Valar of his choice, he would choose Aulë, for he would like to shake his hand and thank him in-person for the creation of the dwarves.

There was not a race in Middle Earth, not even the elves, that was able to match up to the raw strength, presence and stature that the average dwarf possessed (at least, in Bilbo’s opinion). They came in a variety, but most shared the same notable characteristics: arms like stone columns, chests like barrels, stout height, thick fingers, and cords of granite-dense muscles strapping every inch of their bodies. Bilbo has long thanked Yavanna that no one in the Shire had ever caught his eye, for had he been married when he laid eyes on his first dwarf there’s no telling what he would have done. Bilbo has similarly thanked Aulë every day that he was blessed enough to even be able to lay eyes on one in his life. Not to mention laying eyes on a particular dwarf; a mighty specimen of a king who might have been carved out of marble, with oiled raven-black locks and piercing sapphire-blue eyes. That Bilbo existed on the same plane as Thorin Oakenshield was an uncountable blessing in itself.

That Bilbo was currently situated underneath Thorin Oakenshield was a turn of events he would not have arranged in even his most fantastic dreams.

The steps that came before being pushed into the king's bedchambers were a blur of hot touches and gravelly whispers that skittered down Bilbo's spine like chills. Bilbo did not know what he had done to catch Thorin's eye that day, but he had half a mind to ask him so that he might do it every day. The scorching wall of Thorin's body had crowded him through the parlor of the royal apartments to the king's bedchambers, moving like a juggernaut until Thorin could kick the door closed behind them and turn the golden lock. At once Bilbo was grabbed by his shoulders, spun around, and kissed within an inch of his life.

Thorin leaned over him and ravished his mouth, beard scratching the skin of his chin and cheeks in the best possible way, then Thorin bit Bilbo’s bottom lip to trick him into opening his mouth.

Bilbo was making cut off moans and noises that were frankly embarrassing, worse still as he let the king dip his tongue into Bilbo’s mouth and take him for a dance, but Thorin was no better. Thorin was groaning from deep in his belly and grasping Bilbo’s arms like he thought Bilbo would sink into the floor. (Which, if Thorin were to keep kissing him like this, Bilbo just might). When the king retreated to gasp for air he would drone little words under his breath that made Bilbo’s body vibrate. There were ones that Bilbo knew: bunmel, the beauty of all beauties; ghivashel, the treasure of all treasures; kurdel, his heart of all hearts. Then there were ones that Bilbo didn’t know, ones that he’s thought before that Thorin was keeping a secret on purpose; galthûn, àrsûn, úkrad, and others. Each one being whispered into his lips made Bilbo feel like flint being struck against steel.

Bilbo was urged backwards, for he was just a sheep against a shepherd’s rod, until the backs of his knees hit the bed and buckled so that he hit the mattress on his back. Thorin climbed over him, hot breath heaving, hands on either side of Bilbo’s head to prop himself up. Bilbo had his own hands up and around Thorin’s neck, cupping it like something precious then thrown around his shoulders as if afraid to fall.

He kissed Bilbo again, again, long and heavy and blindingly hot. Thorin’s hair fell around him in a black curtain and created a pocket of just the two of them, panting and staring up and down into the other’s eyes and at the other’s lips until they inevitably reconnected with twin moans of pleasure.

Thorin hoisted himself further up onto the bed on his hands and knees, trapping Bilbo’s body with his own, and Bilbo thought he could die like that. Under Thorin Oakenshield, on top of royal down sheets, there was little that could compare. Bilbo was the most blessed creature in Middle-Earth.

Then Thorin shifted his weight and dragged his knee up so that it split the space of Bilbo’s thighs, and if he thought his noises were embarrassing before, it was certainly nothing against the whimper of anticipation he let out when Thorin pressed against him.

“M-Mercy…” Bilbo stammered, bringing his hands down to grip Thorin’s tunic. He’d worn it at the guildmaster’s meeting that morning, and all Bilbo could think about was what lay underneath. It was beautiful Durin blue, but couldn’t hold as much as a candle to the carved majesty that it covered.

“Do not speak to me of mercy,” Thorin replied with a teasing, throaty tone that set Bilbo on fire. He dotted every other word thereafter with a trailing kiss from his lips down the column of his neck, and a grind against his hip. “Wearing the crown, made by my own hands, in this fitted robe. The way you spoke to the master of textiles, I should have taken you over that table.”

“Oh, Thorin- Thorin!” Bilbo squeaked as Thorin nipped at the skin in the hollow of his throat and made him squirm. “Y-you said it was a circlet, n-not a c-crown- oh. A-And I don’t even remember what I said to the master- oh, please Thorin!”

Thorin’s hand had decided on its own to wander, and while Thorin ravished every inch of exposed skin above Bilbo’s collar his fingers had begun to play at the hem of his trousers, running along the seam and dipping under just enough to make Bilbo want to beg for him to stop or go.

“To be frank, marlel,” Thorin kissed him to catch the whimpers that were falling from his lips. “Neither do I.”

Thorin’s knee had been creeping higher and higher up the bed and by now was firmly against his overly-clothed cock. Bilbo couldn’t help himself, and his hips moved to grind against Thorin’s muscular thigh. He wasn’t the only one that was overly clothed.

“Off. Now. Please?” Bilbo tugged at Thorin’s collar and coat with each word, and added a bit of a whine to the last one that he knew would turn Thorin into a dwarf of action.

“Your wish is my command,” Thorin bestowed one last smooch, sweeter than the ones before it, and pushed up onto his knees to strip his top half.

Bilbo would have bemoaned the loss of his dwarven roof if not for the show that he was immediately gifted. He laid flat on his back and watched with rapt attention, relishing in Thorin’s heated eye-contact, as Thorin shucked his coat and outer tunic and bared his beautiful, stone-carved arms to the room. Smith’s arms, warrior’s arms, arms that have beaten steel, silver, goblins and orcs into submission. Thorin tore off his undershirt and Bilbo was left winded.

His chest was as firm as marble, and looked nigh unpierceable (if Bilbo didn’t painfully know better). Crossed with puckered scars that were the furthest opposite of revolting, he looked like a battle-tested breastplate. His belly was large and strong, and Bilbo couldn’t help but crave to drag his hands over it- to run his fingers through the dense, coarse hair that darkened it in a mat from his collar to his groin. Bilbo was awed by the sheer majesty that radiated off Thorin’s skin. If he walked around just like this, Bilbo had no doubt every man elf and dwarf from here to the Blue Mountains would not hesitate to bend their knees. Bilbo sure didn’t.

All of this, not even to mention the outline that Bilbo could see against the fabric of Thorin’s trousers. Hard as oak, thick, mouthwatering. They’d done this before, of course they have, but each time Bilbo felt like he was seeing and feeling it anew.

“What are you looking at?” Thorin’s voice breached the fog that had settled over Bilbo and glazed his eyes. Bilbo couldn’t believe he was being teased at a time like this, as if he could get any harder or more desperate.

“You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen in my life,” Bilbo mumbled drunkenly. And by Yavanna, he thought he saw a bit of red dash across Thorin’s cheeks.

Thorin shook his head with fondness. “Hobbits and their honeyed words.”

“You know other hobbits?” Bilbo asked, bemused and teasing.

“I do not need to, for you are the pinnacle of them all, íbinê.” Thorin stepped out of his trousers and pants and knelt back on the bed in a smooth set of movements. “No other would even compare.”

Bilbo swallowed, half at Thorin’s words and half at- well…

“Well, then,” Bilbo said for the sake of saying something.

“But as sweet as your words are,” Thorin said, and settled back over Bilbo so they were hip to hip, his bare chest pressing against Bilbo’s cured thrice-damned robes, his breath brushing against the hollow of Bilbo’s ear. “I prefer it when you’re speechless.”

Bilbo trembled in his hands. “Oh.”

Thorin put his nose back to Bilbo’s throat and inhaled like Bilbo gave him breath. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to the skin of his neck. Bilbo fought not to move too much, for every time he shifted the thick line of Thorin’s cock ground against his crotch and Bilbo was liable to faint. The king ran his hands down Bilbo’s flank until they hit the hem of his outer robes, then they went further and ducked beneath the fabric.

“You, Master Burglar,” Thorin rumbled, perhaps just to make Bilbo shiver, and plucked at Bilbo’s robes impatiently. “are terribly overdressed for the occasion.” Thorin’s palms dragged two hot lines up and under his undershirt, over his stomach. Bilbo yelped as they squeezed his waist.

There was a lot of give in Bilbo’s waist; more than other places on his body, save for his thighs. Unlike Thorin, he was not made of sculpted iron and chiseled stone. He was only a hobbit, after all. Bilbo looked up at Thorin and saw the unparalleled strength and gods-like physique that Thorin wielded as well as he wielded an axe. He had to know what he looked like, how other people looked at him. Thorin was beautiful. A masterpiece, hand-crafted by his Maker.

Bilbo was…well, Bilbo was a hobbit. A soft, squishy hobbit, with a body from a life of luxury and plenty, scarcely muscled even after so many months on the road. A body that Thorin has seen before, but…Bilbo felt odd, now. Perhaps all of that ogling he’d been doing hadn’t done him any good. He could reach up and take Thorin’s chest in his hands and it would give very little because Thorin led a life of discipline and hardship, and his whole being was evidence of it.

Thorin had grown up around dwarves, and his attraction had grown around that. Was Thorin disappointed by him? The softness, the large feet, the lack of beard? Bilbo hadn’t even considered the beard before. Being smooth-shaven was a sign of deep shame in dwarven society, wasn’t it?

Was Thorin even attracted to him, physically? That thought was not a pleasant one. Did Thorin force himself to overlook that every time they made love? Perish the thought. It made Bilbo want to hide under the covers.

Bilbo’s heart fluttered as Thorin began to work at peeling away Bilbo’s layers, but it fluttered for the wrong reasons. It fluttered with nerves, like he was about to be sick with them. Thorin had seen his body before- more than a dozen times, and not all in the bedroom. He didn’t know why now of all times was when he’d decided to feel so insecure. It was decidedly inconvenient to be ashamed of one’s body when in the presence of another who was trying very ardently to get him naked.

Too distracted with his internal turmoil, Bilbo hadn’t even noticed that he’d stiffened up until Thorin’s warm hands froze in place.

“Bilbo?” He asked. There was no tease in his voice. “Alright?”

“Fine! I’m-I’m fine, keep going,” Bilbo assured. Thorin withdrew completely. He took his hands off Bilbo’s body and propped himself up over him.

“Do you need to stop?”

“No, no, I just…” Bilbo sighed and scrubbed his hands down his face. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”

“Never.” Thorin sounded deathly serious. He sat up and off Bilbo, and at once Bilbo both missed his heat and was thankful for the breathing space. He felt like he was about to cry. Damn it all. “Did I do something?”

“No. No, of course not, no. Nothing you did. It’s…” Bilbo couldn’t help but bite back the whole truth. “It’s just…myself. I’m having a hard time tonight, and I don’t know why. We do this all the time, I should be used to it.“

Thorin frowned at him, and Bilbo knew he wouldn’t get away with his half-sentences any longer.

“If you don’t want to do this, Bilbo, you don’t have to.” The concern from his voice came around to his eyes, and seemed to actually be rising into fear. “You should have told me if I was making you uncomfortable.”

“Thorin- no, that’s- I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then what do you mean?” Thorin started to shuffle back off the bed and that was the last thing Bilbo wanted, so he grabbed Thorin by the wrist to stop him. Thorin could shake him off, but stopped his retreat anyway. “If not me, then what? Hm?”

“I mean…I…” The words just wouldn’t come. Bilbo flushed with frustration and averted his eyes from Thorin’s to see if he could find his thoughts again. “Blast it, I don’t know. I don’t know how to say this. You’ll think me a fool.”

His king took pity on him. He took Bilbo’s hand off his wrist and held it. With the silent confirmation that that was alright, he then began to maneuver them both. “Come here,” he said, and sat on the bed behind Bilbo and sat back against the headboard. He coaxed Bilbo back with him so that Bilbo was leaning with his back to Thorin’s bare chest, with Thorin’s chin and beard settled against the crown of his head and Thorin’s arms around his middle. Exactly where Bilbo didn’t want them to be.

He bore it- though, normally he wouldn’t have to. Normally he’d be perfectly content, as warm and fuzzy as he would be if he were a cat stretched out in front of a fire, but Thorin’s proximity to the current object of Bilbo’s ire filled him with nothing but dread and stress. He felt like he’d ruined everything.

“Talk to me, ghivashel,” Thorin mumbled into his ear. “I would have you lend me your troubles so that we could share them. Please.”

“I…” Now Bilbo was going to cry. When Thorin spoke in that way, as if he were penning a love letter, Bilbo felt overwhelmed. Normally he was overwhelmed with something more primal, but now it was just fondness and guilt.

“Was I pushing too much?” Thorin asked, gently. “I thought you were reciprocating. Was I wrong? I won’t be upset. I…I understand I may come across…overly passionate”

Bilbo scoffed, incredulous. Thorin was aware of his faults, how he sometimes failed to read signs of Bilbo’s intentions purely because of how they sometimes differed from a dwarf’s, but Bilbo thought that the body language for being mindless with arousal was mostly universal. “Certainly not.”

“Then?”

There was nothing that could be done for it. Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut.

“Do you find me attractive, Thorin?” He asked with a voice as small as he felt, as small as Thorin’s hands on his stomach made him feel. Those hands twitched and tightened.

“Of course I do,” Thorin said the very second he processed the question. “You have a doubt in your mind about how much I adore you, labthûnimê? Have I made it so?”

Bilbo sighed. The hard part came now, where he tried to keep himself from sounding as vain as he sounded in his head.

“Of course not. I don’t doubt that you love me, that you…adore me.” (Thorin’s blunt passion with words still made him blush even now, in his naked lap) “Not at all. But…are you attracted to me?”

He was quiet for a moment, likely thinking, and Bilbo found himself wishing he didn’t have to think so hard about it. Wishing that he'd just get it over with- or, rather, channel a hobbit and say something indirect and vaguely sentimental to avoid answering the question.’Your soul is gorgeous to me’ or ‘you have a beautiful heart.’

Thorin then said, “I don’t understand, ghivashel.”

Blast it, now Bilbo had to be specific.

“Well…put simply…” Bilbo’s gut churned with nerves. “Well…Thorin, you’re…gorgeous.”

“I…thank you?”

Bilbo was glad that they were back-to-chest, for his cheeks were burning and he was in no mood to be teased for it.

“I mean that you are the most handsome dwarf in the mountain, by far, and…well, excuse me for being romantic, but I do think that you are the most attractive man in Middle-Earth. You’re strong. You exude power, your presence is astonishing. Your hair, your beard, marvelous. I’d use more colorful words, but I don’t fancy myself a poet, and I simply acknowledge that there’s very little that could compare to you.”

Bilbo swallowed.

“Certainly no hobbit. Soft and guileless as we are. And I know we've done this before but…I…I suppose I just looked at myself for the first time after looking at you, and…i-it’s a bit like putting pumpkins against potatoes, if you asked me. Only one of those makes a decent pie, anyway. Oh, I'm sorry, this is so ridiculous.”

Thorin’s hands began to squeeze and tighten.

“Oh, Bilbo.”

Bilbo didn’t love the tone of his words- the pity he thought he heard in it. He didn’t want pity, he just wanted Thorin to understand. What he really wanted was to hide under the bed until Thorin forgot all about this blunder and they could both go back to being blissfully ignorant of Bilbo’s sudden insecurities, but if Bilbo always got what he wanted he’d have been cozied into his armchair in Bag End before he’d even reached Rivendell.

Thorin gripped Bilbo tight enough to hurt and buried his face into Bilbo’s hair, sighing heavily and heating Bilbo’s scalp with his breath.

“I’ve not been good to you, bunmel, if there is even a bit of you that thinks you are not worthy of me. It is I who is not worthy of you.”

Bunmel, the beauty of all beauties. He would use that one, given what Bilbo just confessed to him.

“I don’t want your pity,” Bilbo bit out grumpily, nestling into Thorin’s arms. “You asked, I answered, I don’t want you to make it anything more than what it is.”

“This is not pity,” Thorin ground out. “This is shame. My shame. How long have you felt like this? Why have you never said anything?”

“Thorin, it doesn’t matter, ” Bilbo insisted. He wanted to pull out of Thorin’s embrace, but he was putting those smith’s arms that Bilbo had just been admiring to good use. “I’m being childish and vain, and again, I’d thank you not to not to make it more than it is. And what good would telling you have done, even if I’d had these thoughts before? Not much you can do about it- you may be king, but you are neither Eru nor Yavanna.”

��I would not have allowed that thought to fester. I would not have allowed it to even take root. And I would have done this much sooner.”

“Done…” Bilbo furrowed his face. “What, exactly?”

Then Bilbo was flat on his back, head towards the foot of the bed, as Thorin had gripped him and flipped him and pushed him down as if they were sparring. He forced himself between Bilbo’s knees and shoved him into the mattress. It sent a jolt through Bilbo’s heart, his hands flying up to Thorin’s bare shoulders. Thorin was still naked. Somehow, Bilbo had almost forgotten.

“Thorin?”

Just like that, Thorin’s gentleness was almost gone. The heat in his eyes was not playful, but intense as a wildfire, nearly angry, but only just. He grabbed Bilbo’s hands, one and one, and pinned them to the bed above his head, leaving Bilbo’s front exposed.

Bilbo, who had flagged since the start of his spiral, was now very much at attention.

“Would you like to keep going?” Thorin asked, and fixed Bilbo with a very penetrating stare.

Bilbo flexed his throat. “Y-Yes?”

“Yes?”

He nodded nervously.

“Then stay there,” Thorin ordered. Bilbo did not feel inclined to disobey, for some reason.

“What are you doing?” He did, however, feel a little indignant at being manhandled like that. Just a little, but a little was enough.

Thorin didn’t answer him, the bastard. He sat up on his knees, hands barricading Bilbo on his left and right…and looked.

Just looked.

Bilbo was spread out for him like a vulnerable feast in dwarven robes, and Thorin’s eyes wandered over every line and shadow of his body. Bilbo saw the expression for the first time, ‘undressing him with his eyes’. His face flushed just as hard as it had when Thorin had his hands under his clothes. That dread in his stomach returned just the same.

He broke his rules and brought his hands and arms down to shield himself- or rather, he tried. The moment he moved in that direction Thorin snatched his arms and pinned them again.

“Th-Thorin!” he yelped.

“Stay. There.” Thorin grumbled into Bilbo’s ear, a wave of heat and lightning following. “Or I will keep you there.”

Oh oh oh, he should not have said that. Bilbo was getting harder now than he had been before. His cock pushed against his pants.

“O-Okay, okay,” he whispered tightly.

“Hm.” Thorin retreated again. Bilbo kept his hands where they were as if Thorin had bolted them down. He wouldn’t lie: the thought of disobeying him was not appalling. But he needed to see where Thorin was going with this.

Thorin consumed him with a hunger Bilbo had scarcely seen, going as far as to wet his lips when his gaze sauntered over the swell of Bilbo’s belly and the apex of his thighs. The heat behind his gaze only grew wilder, a fire in a coal mine.

“Íbinel, if you think there is an inch of you that is not more desirable as gold, you would be sorely mistaken.”

Bilbo watched the plane of Thorin’s throat flex as he swallowed.

“I would have you know what I see when I look at you,” Thorin groaned. “I would have you know every thought that comes to my mind, and know it as absolute truth.”

Thorin descended on Bilbo just as he had before, but it was much different now that Bilbo wasn’t allowed to grab him back. His king started by wrapping his hands around both of Bilbo's biceps and licking a hot, wet stripe up the side of Bilbo’s neck. His hips moved agonizingly slow against Bilbo’s pelvis, grinding their members together.

“Thorin!” Bilbo squeaked, and a firm squeeze from Thorin’s hands silenced him.

“Your skin tempts me like no other. The allure of gold does not even compare,” Thorin breathed into his neck. “Soft. Unmarked. You should be wearing my bruises for the mountain to know whose you are.”

Wasn’t that a tempting idea? Bilbo thought so, once the feeling of Thorin’s tongue on his pulse-point stopped corking his thoughts.

“I-I thought…dwarves…valued s-scars?” Bilbo huffed out.

“Scars are strength. They are a mark of survival. Proof of a will to live.” Then Thorin leaned up and in, until his lips touched the shell of Bilbo’s ear again, and his hands squeezed Bilbo's biceps. “You have nothing to prove. Not to me. Not to a single dwarf in this mountain. I have seen you survive with my own eyes. No scar could compare to watching you stand before my enemy and emerge unscathed.” Thorin moaned into his ear. “The things I wanted to do to you on that rock, and damn the company.”

Bilbo couldn’t reply, as Thorin’s hands were moving quickly. From Bilbo’s arms to the opening of his robes, Thorin spared him a meaningful look (at once both an assurance and ‘don’t even think about moving’) and pulled the layers apart to reveal Bilbo’s tunic.

“You look good in my colors,” said Thorin, whose hands had not stopped wandering. They came to rub over Bilbo’s chest and draw out a shaky sigh from Bilbo’s lips. “You’ll look better without them.”

“You and that damn line, I swear, you never run out of ways to- sweet Mahal!” Thorin had pinched one of his nipples with his thumb and forefinger through the fabric of his tunic. How he had even found it was a talent in itself.

“Look at you. I’ve got you cursing in the manner of my ancestors.” He straddled Bilbo’s lap to distract him as he made short work of Bilbo's robe, tossing it off somewhere in the room. He shuffled back down (damn him, and damn the drag of his cock down the length of Bilbo’s crotch that made him whine) and laid himself down on Bilbo’s legs. His chin was in line with Bilbo’s waistband, his fingers rubbing circles just a breath away from the skin of Bilbo’s hips. The electric sensation of almost made his hips jerk a little. So Thorin pinned him down with a bruising grip.

Wearing his bruises for all the mountain indeed. Though he hoped that these ones weren’t meant to be public.

“But were it up to me,” Thorin said, back in that alluring, raspy tone that made Bilbo’s head spin. “The only name you will know by the end of this night will be mine.”

“Oh,” Bilbo whimpered. Then cried, “Oh!”

Thorin’s hands rucked up the bottom of his tunic to lay just above his stomach and Thorin dipped his tongue eagerly into Bilbo’s navel. His beard scraped deliciously over his skin, and his hands pinched and massaged and rubbed along his stomach as Thorin lavished it with his mouth. Bilbo was almost trembling under the strange sensation, hands clenching and unclenching. Feeling the flesh of his stomach give and pull like a soft pillow had Bilbo blushing, in good ways and bad. After many long, trembling minutes of what Bilbo could only describe as veneration, Thorin spoke again.

“I cannot even fathom how this troubles you.” Thorin murmured, his words making damp buzzes against Bilbo's skin that felt like static shocks. “Galthúnel.”

Between his whimpers he stuttered out, “I-I'm soft. I'm n-not as strong as you are.”

“Yes,” -kiss- “you are.”

“I'm- mph-” Thorin nibbled a red spot at the bottom of his stomach, top of his groin, then soothed it with his tongue. “Not like you- oh, stop it!”

“No.”

Using both hands Thorin pushed up Bilbo's shirts until they were over his chest, then up and over his head. Shirtless and exposed, he glanced past the tempting view of Thorin's heady eyes; he could see the flesh of his stomach, tweaked and wet and oversensitive. Well-loved.

Thorin's nose traced a line, passed across his navel and up to his chest, and made eye contact with Bilbo from under his black eyelashes at a very dangerous angle that had Bilbo throbbing in his pants. “You are far stronger than me.”

He knew Bilbo was going to try to retort- he must have known - for the moment Bilbo opened his mouth Thorin latched onto one of his nipples. Bilbo squeaked and threw his head back, his hands fisting into the sheets over his head and straining with the force of his will to keep them still.

There weren't many words to describe the pleasure of Thorin's hot mouth and the scratch of his soft beard laving over Bilbo’s chest, Thorin’s other hand crawling up to pinch and drag his untended one. Bilbo had to resort to mindlessly pushing his hips up to try and relieve the ache that had settled there, and the heat that was beginning to grow. Thorin was grinding down just as he was, rutting at half of Bilbo's speed, and Bilbo half-worried it would be over before it got better.

Bilbo longed to slide his hands into Thorin's hair and tug the way he liked it, but Thorin knew his every move. His biceps only twitched and Thorin had released his pinch on one of his nipples to clamp down on his arms again.

“Thorin,” Bilbo moaned. “Thorin, Thorin- please!”

Thorin had nibbled on him again- the bastard. Bilbo felt lucky he didn't squeal like a lass. Thorin gave him no time to recover, and bestowed his attention on the other. Bilbo's chest was slowly heaving, and he felt certain Thorin would be able to feel his pounding heart through his skin.

The pressure and friction against his cock was not enough, not even close, but it tugged him along like a wheeled toy on a string, closer and closer and closer.

“I'm- you have to-” Bilbo would have been humiliated at how quickly he was going if he had the space for thought around the slick movement of Thorin's tongue catching on the nub of his nipple. The slight scrape of teeth nearly sent him over with a desperate whimper. His hips worked harder and harder against Thorin's cock, chasing his end. “Thorin, Thorin, Thorin.”

Thorin pulled back and clapped his hands down on Bilbo's hips to still them. The stimulation was gone, and though Bilbo's legs twitched and futily resisted the weight of his hands he could feel the edge shrinking back. That wheeled toy was rolling its way right back down the hill.

“Not yet, Íbinê.” Thorin smirked down at him. His weighty cock reaching for attention between his legs belied his self-satisfied expression, but they both knew that Thorin has infinitely more patience than Bilbo had in these matters. He could go for hours. Had, in the past.

Bilbo squirmed a bit, testing the strength of Thorin's grip. He didn't give an inch.

“I-I-I can go again. You know I can. As much as you want,” Bilbo said breathily.

Every dwarf seemed to have a favorite bit of information about hobbits. For Bombur it was their ability to put away meals. For Bofur it was their dedication to the craft of partying.

For Thorin, it seemed, it was their general lack of any sort of refractory period at all. He’d said before he thought perhaps that dwarves and hobbits were made for each other in this respect, given how difficult it was to get the average dwarf ‘up and running’ versus how easy it was to get a hobbit to pop off in as much time. Compared to a dwarf It took next to nothing to get Bilbo singing like a bluejay, and Thorin loved to play him like a harp in an inordinately long symphony.

“Oh, I know you can. Masaddazulmuzm,” Thorin purred. That was one word Thorin refused to translate. “But you'd like that too much, and I haven't been able to prove anything to you yet.”

Bilbo didn't have anything to say to that, given that he was still trying to catch his breath and regulate the pounding of his heart. His hands still laid limply above his head, and there he intended to keep them until Thorin said otherwise.

Thorin leaned back over him, firm as an iron blanket, and though he kept his hips quite a distance from Bilbo's he laid a sweet, heavy kiss on Bilbo's lips. It was slower than all the others, and felt as if Thorin was trying to speak through it. He was an eloquent dwarf, with a mastery of beautiful words, yet there were times like this where there was not a word in any language that either of them knew that was sufficient to convey what they were thinking. Bilbo thought poetry was sweetest when it was being pressed against his lips.

Bilbo laid there and let himself be kissed. Certainly a change of pace, but not a wholly unwelcome one. Thorin dragged his hands down Bilbo’s flank, squeezing gently, and stroking his thumb over the divot of his hips through his trousers. Bilbo’s lips twitched. His whole body felt like a bit of raw skin, but in a decidedly pleasurable way, and the pressure of just Thorin’s thumb was enough to make him jump.

Thorin pulled back a little, allowing their faces barely two inches between them. Thorin’s hot breath brushed over Bilbo’s lips when he spoke to fill the weighty silence.

“There are some days where I simply can’t believe that you’re real,” he whispered. His thumb rolled in gentle circles- not meant to be enticing, more soothing. “When the sunlight catches you just right, I lose my breath. All these beautiful curls, blessedly long enough to braid. Prettier than any stone in the mountain. I would have you as crowning the jewel of my throne, if I knew you would let me.”

“Well, perhaps I don’t always fancy being pinned up against a rock to be gawked at,” Bilbo said.

“I know that to be deeply untrue.”

Thorin moved his hand, and at last they were lying chest-to-chest, with Thorin a warm weight over Bilbo’s front and his beard a pleasant scratch against his skin. Bilbo’s legs twitched again. Thorin swept his palm slowly up the side of Bilbo’s face, crawling up to knit into his hair and let the strands run over his fingers.

“Like pure, spun copper,” Thorin muttered. “And it holds the finest braids my hands have ever woven.”

Thorin’s attentions seemed to have shifted, as both of his hands came to cup Bilbo’s face, to draw the pads of his fingers over his lips and nose and to dance about in his hair like a tailor appreciating fine silk. He had a tiny, mischievous grin whenever his fingers passed against the shell and tips of Bilbo’s ears and caused a shiver to wrack him.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” Bilbo said. “I thought you were meant to be teaching me a lesson?”

Bilbo tried to tempt him, gracefully rolling his hips against Thorins and groaning as the heat returned.

Thorin thrust down, pinning Bilbo’s lower half with his pelvis. Drat.

“I am,” he replied lowly.

His eyes weren’t focused on any particular thing for too long- Bilbo’s eyes, his nose, his lips, and especially his hair all fell under his gaze. He appeared to be getting lost in the lines and planes of Bilbo’s face.

“There is not a part of you that I do not adore,” Thorin continued. “From the hair on your head to the hair on your feet. Your beautiful eyes. Your adorable” -he pinched at the tip of Bilbo’s left ear and made him jerk- “ears. I hunger for you like no other, make no mistake.” In a slick movement one of his hands dropped and squeezed the still-sensitive flesh of Bilbo’s waist quite firmly. “But when I look at you, every inch of you, I see a being so purely beautiful you could have been plucked right from the garden of your maker.”

Thorin’s hand lowered, and squeezed again. His waist, to his hip, to his thigh, to his knee, and back up to rest on his hip again. More specifically, his waistband. Thorin’s thumb teased at the edge of it, flicking the lip of the fabric, and he stared openly at Bilbo just to watch his face get redder with anticipation.

Bilbo trembled. “Please.”

Thorin smiled. “Your wish is my command.”

He hooked his thumb into Bilbo's waistband and yanked down. He did the same on the other side with his other hand, and dragged Bilbo’s trousers and pants down in one move.

Goosebumps exploded over Bilbo’s skin as the chill of the room hit his cock all at once. Thorin was able to fully remove his bottoms and toss them, once again, somewhere into the ether to be picked up later. They both sat naked before the other, staring like statues that faced each other across a shared hall.

“No matter how many times we do this. Each time, you are more beautiful than you were the last,” Thorin husked.

Thorin dropped a kiss to Bilbo’s lips and positioned himself over him. He gave him another, this time to the underside of Bilbo’s chin. Then to his Adam’s Apple, to the dip of his collarbone, to his sternum. Lower he climbed, taking his time as if they had eons of it, his lips and beard making Bilbo’s belly jump as he quickly lavished his navel again, until his head was set between Bilbo’s thighs and Bilbo was so anxious for his touch that he was almost panting for it.

Bilbo looked down at him. Thorin looked up. He grabbed the meat of Bilbo’s furred white thighs and pried his legs apart, Bilbo’s cock bobbing in front of his face. He pressed some teasing, tonguing kisses into the joins of his hip and thigh, chuckling when Bilbo whined and quivered, then he took the head of Bilbo’s cock into his mouth and swallowed him down to the root.

Bilbo clapped his hand over his mouth before he could moan embarrassingly loud. The grip Thorin had on his legs kept him pressed to the bed and prevented his hips from bucking up into the wet heat of Thorin’s mouth.

Thorin slid off, the drag of his tongue curling over Bilbo’s head and punching a sob out of him, muffled by his palm.

“Hands, galthûn,” he warned.

Bilbo obeyed, and uncovered his mouth. Thorin rewarded him by taking him all in at once until the tip of Bilbo’s cock hit the back of Thorin’s throat. He moaned even louder but was forced to resist the urge to silence himself, and ended up curling his hand into a fist and slamming it back down on the bed above his head.

Thorin worked with his mouth and hands. His head bobbed up and down, taking his cock in leisurely pulls, and his fingers were massaging Bilbo’s stones. Bilbo was considerably smaller than him in every way, so it was no hardship on his jaw (so he’d claimed before), and he could just about take all of Bilbo in one hand alone.

“Ah…ah…f-fuck…Th-Thorin, oh, Thorin,” Bilbo gasped. The grip his hands had on the sheets was painful. “So good. You’re so good, ‘s so hot, you’re so…I-I…” Bilbo couldn’t take his eyes off Thorin, until Thorin looked up at him from under his eyelids, lips stretched around Bilbo’s cock, and a rush of heat shot down his body just as soon as he felt Thorin’s thumb press against his fluttering hole.

“Thorin!” Bilbo shoved the back of his head into the mattress and keened as he spent into Thorin’s mouth without so much as a warning even to himself. His lover swallowed him just as easily as he had his cock. His hips jerked and strained against Thorin’s hands, giving spurt after spurt until he was left with just the aftershocks. His thighs quivered, flinching like they meant to close around Thorin’s head, and his chest heaving in beautiful exertion.

“Sorry, ‘m so sorry, I-I didn’t even…oh, mercy.” Bilbo was still catching his breath. Thorin popped off of his sensitive cock- literally ‘popped’, with the sound his mouth made -and licked his lips like Bilbo had given him a faceful of honey instead. Bilbo was glad for it- he had a feeling they were nowhere near done, and the image of Thorin catching his cum with his tongue was almost enough to get him ready for the next round.

“Pleading yet again mercy,” Thorin rumbled. “Yet you give me none yourself, writhing on my bed as you are.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bilbo breathed, then he yelped as Thorin’s calloused hand took hold of Bilbo’s shaft and picked up where his mouth left off. Bilbo could tell by the look on his face that Thorin was drinking up every last oversensitive pant that he tugged out of him.

“Mine,” Thorin grunted. His hand picked up some speed. Bilbo wasn’t as ready for him as he thought; a cold fire had engulfed his stomach, as if begging for a chance to breathe. Thorin leaned over him, propped up on one hand, voice as low as distant thunder. “It is my hand that undoes you. My mouth. My cock.”

Bilbo cried as Thorin gave him a squeeze, nearly ready to shout, ‘too much!’

Instead, what he whimpered was, “Yours! Just yours.”

“Do you want my cock, Suzmazumimê?”

“Oh, please,” Bilbo drawled. He was fighting with himself to keep his hands over his head, twisting the sheets in his fingers, when all he wanted to do was grab Thorin by his beard, yank him down, and demand he stick his cock in him before Bilbo exploded.

“Will you beg for it?”

“I’m about to start!” Bilbo snapped. Thorin squeezed him harder and wiped the next thought out of Bilbo’s head.

Thorin then smirked, and he said, “You won’t have to.”

Bilbo furrowed his brow. Thorin loved it when he begged.

“Won’t?” Bilbo asked, dazedly.

“No. And do you want to know why?”

Bilbo wet his lips. “Why?”

Thorin’s thumb swiped over the head of Bilbo’s member right before he released him, and he grabbed the back of Bilbo’s head to pull him up into a searing kiss.

“Because you are beautiful,” Thorin whispered over his lips. “The fact that you let me anywhere near your gorgeous ass is a gift. Being able to fuck you is an absolute privilege, Bilbo Baggins; I should be the one begging you.”

Bilbo’s face flared up like a bonfire.

“Please,” Thorin breathed again, sticking tiny, mouse-like kisses to Bilbo’s nose, cheeks, and lips. “Let me show you how beautiful you are. May I be granted the privilege of fucking you, Master Baggins?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo, feeling dizzy and nearly confused. He shook his head and sputtered, “Wh- of course! Thorin Oakenshield, if I don’t have you inside me in the next 10 seconds I’m going to- ah!”

“To what?” Thorin tilted his head, some of his hair tumbling off his shoulder.

“To-, to-,” Bilbo fought to find his words again, which Thorin was making exceedingly difficult by the steadily increasing pressure his thumb was putting on the skin behind his balls. When it began to rub in gentle circles, pressing further, grazing just so on the skin of his sac, Bilbo thought he felt something in him snap.

“Oil- inside- now,” he whined and pushed his hips down, hoping to make Thorin’s finger slip into where he wanted it most. “Please, please, please-”

“I told you, úkrad, there is no need to beg.” Thorin parted from him with one last kiss to his nose. “Your wish is my command.”

Bilbo was suddenly alone, strangely cold, when Thorin backed away to reach for their nightstand. He took that breathing space to get situated, shuffling his hips into a more comfortable position, spreading his legs, relaxing back into the bed to try and slow the thrumming of his heartbeat. He was mostly unsuccessful with that final task, as at that point his thoughts had been overtaken with a steady mantra of ‘finally’.

Thorin reappeared with a glass vial, half-full, and knelt right back between Bilbo’s legs like he was born to be there. He popped the cork of the vial, making heady eye contact with Bilbo all the while, and spilled a generous quantity on his hand. He restopped the bottle with just one hand, tossed it away onto the other side of the bed, and…and looked. Just looked. Again.

“I thought you said I wouldn’t have to beg,” Bilbo whined.

Thorin’s eyes dragged down his front. “You don’t. But you just have a little more patience than that, ghivashel.”

“I feel I have been very patient with you, Thorin.” Bilbo also had a feeling that the effect of his indignance was sorely mitigated by his flushed, twitching cock, blushing skin, and gentle panting. He watched Thorin liberally smear the oil over his right hand.

“Just a little bit more, my love.” Thorin’s eyes were fixed on his hole. Bilbo thought he saw his pupils dilate, but it was hard to tell in the low light.

Thorin then took Bilbo’s waist in his left hand, his right disappearing from Bilbo’s sight. When he felt the pad of Thorin’s index landing on the skin of his entrance, circling and rubbing oil around the rim, Bilbo’s stomach jolted and he closed his eyes in anticipation.

Finally, finally, finally-

“Look at me.”

Bilbo whined.

“Look at me.”

Bilbo peaked his eyes open.

Thorin hummed with satisfaction. “There are those eyes.”

“Thorin!” Bilbo griped.

“Easy, easy.” Thorin had a loose smile on his face. “I just had to make sure I wouldn’t miss my favorite part.”

Bilbo thought to ask what he meant by that. Then Thorin’s finger slid knuckle-deep into his hole and Bilbo was moaning.

“Beautiful,” Thorin breathed, though Bilbo could barely hear it over the blood in his ears.

The initial stretch made pleasure zing over his skin. Thorin’s finger was thick- as thick as two of Bilbo’s own -and he moved in slow, even strokes that were agonizingly pleasurable. Agonizing in how slow they were, when Bilbo was just a few seconds away from tossing himself down on his front and demanding Thorin fuck him like an animal. But Thorin’s grip on his hip doubled as an anchor to keep Bilbo from fucking himself down on Thorin’s finger and forcing Bilbo to take what he was given. The prod of his index was almost exploratory, dragging across Bilbo’s walls and teasing his inner rim as it worked him open.

All Bilbo could focus on was the feel of it, until Thorin brushed over a spot that kicked a yelp out of Bilbo’s chest and made his cock twitch hard.

He saw, from under his hooded lids, how Thorin’s lazy smile sharpened.

“There you are.”

All that happened next seemed to happen immediately, in Bilbo’s mind.

Thorin thrust a second finger up alongside the first, and while Bilbo was gasping Thorin put them right up against his prostate and pressed.

Bilbo wailed, precum drooling over his cock, hips rolling and fighting Thorin’s grip.

Thorin groaned, and began to fuck Bilbo properly with just his fingers.

“Oh, oh, more, p-please,” Bilbo moaned, meeting each thrust, legs falling open like he couldn’t physically keep them closed. “Thorin, love, I-I need- harder.”

Thorin wedged a third finger inside of him, and Bilbo’s head was thrashing from side to side.

“I love how wanton you are, íbinel,” Thorin grunted. “I would take the expression on your face and paint it if I possessed the skill. Hang it over my throne, in every hall. Every dwarf in the kingdom would know this beauty.”

He tried to imagine, as Thorin’s fingers pushed him along to his second orgasm, the image of himself in ecstasy hanging for all to see. Bilbo couldn’t blush with embarrassment even if he tried, as every ounce of blood that wasn’t racing through his veins was pooled in his cock.

“Oh, but I never could,” Thorin whispered. “They will simply have to burn with envy, knowing that this,”- he properly jabbed Bilbo’s prostate once more -”your pleasure, is mine and mine alone.”

Bilbo could think of little more than Thorin’s hands and the climbing pitch of his own moans, which Thorin also picked up on. He thrust his fingers even faster, leaning in to close his mouth of one of Bilbo’s nipples as he did before and watching him from under his eyelids.

“Ah, ah, ahhh, Th-Thorin!”

The swipe of his rough tongue over the nub was what did Bilbo in, and he stuttered out a moan and gasp as his hips kicked and he spurted cum over his and Thorin’s chests. Thorin fucked him through it, praising him, rubbing his prostate firmly until Bilbo thought he might weep with the hot-and-cold, staticky feeling of too-much pleasure. His breath was skipping in his chest, which Thorin stroked to help calm him down. His fingers were still inside him, not moving. Thorin was looking at Bilbo like a bag of precious gems.

When Bilbo caught his breath Thorin spread his fingers and pulled an overstimulated mewl from Bilbo’s lips. He shushed him with a swift kiss, and whispered sweet nothings to soothe him through the rest of the stretch.

Thorin was big for a dwarf, and was quite proportional. He was also determined to eliminate any possible chance of Bilbo getting hurt by his own hand (or cock, in the case) and went the extra mile with the stretching before the main deed. Right now his love and care felt like sugar in an open wound, but Bilbo would be remiss to tell him to stop. The timer on his refractory period was ticking down very quickly, and his cock was making a valiant effort to wind back up.

Bilbo spared a look at Thorin. He hadn’t thought to before, with his mind so blurry with lust.

Thorin’s cock was so hard it looked painful; it was flushed deep red from root to tip, great vein bulging on the underside, leaking steadily onto the sheets. The pitch black nest of hair at the base made it stand out even more starkly. Thorin had a gleam of sweat over his chest and neck and a loving, focused expression as he worked Bilbo open. When the pain bled to hot, burning pleasure and the sounds that fell from Bilbo’s lips were more moans than groans, Thorin eased his fingers out of Bilbo’s ass with one last graze of his prostate.

“Thorinnn…” Bilbo whined, dipping his hips down to try and grab him back. He was so empty now, so chilled. If he hadn’t been sure something greater was coming Bilbo might have demanded his dwarf put his fingers right back where they were.

“Oh I know. You’re incorrigible,” Thorin said. He took his cock in hand- which Bilbo watched, with rapt attention -and hissed through his teeth as he gave himself a few pumps. Thorin’s head rolled back and he clenched his jaw tight, looking like he was fighting off spilling into his own fist. Bilbo felt flattered, having not been able to touch him the whole time they were here and still having him nearly overcome with his desire.

“You’re gorgeous,” said Bilbo.

“And you are nothing less than divine.”

Thorin loomed over Bilbo, his hair falling over his shoulders, his arms and legs caging him. Thorin’s cock dragged through the spill left on Bilbo’s belly as he rubbed up against him, teasing him and taking his own edge off.

“No more,” Bilbo pleaded. He kept his hands still, but he moved his lower half up to meet his lover’s. “No more teasing. I need you inside me. Thorin Oakenshield, if you don’t fuck me right now I truly might cry.”

“Mm. We can’t have that. You’re far too beautiful for tears.” But Thorin kept up his slow and dirty grind, and Bilbo actually did hiccup in his frustration and desperation.

“Please, my love. Please, fuck me,” Bilbo begged.”

“Shh shh shh. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you,” Thorin soothed. “Just answer one question, ghivashelimê. One question, and I’ll give you what you need.”

“Anything,” stammered Bilbo. “Anything you want.”

“Just one question…” Thorin rested his forehead against Bilbo’s and gave him a significant look. “Do you believe me?”

“B-Believe you?” Thorin’s cock had begun to rub up against the side of Bilbo’s in Thorin’s grinding, and was making it hard to focus. “Believe what? Wh-what do you mean?”

Thorin stayed his hips, and the only movement was in the rise and fall of his and Bilbo’s breathing.

He asked, “Do you believe me now when I tell you that you are one of the most desirable creatures on this earth, and that I want nothing more than to ravish you until you can’t speak any name other than my own?”

Bilbo’s breathing stuttered a little, and his heart ached. For all that his head was swimming, it allowed him to piece together most of everything that Thorin had said to him since he pinned him down- everything that Thorin did to him not withstanding -and he’d been nothing but earnest. Genuine in his lust over Bilbo’s body, genuine in his very evident appreciation, and genuine in the compliments and praises he’s lavished over Bilbo every time he’s opened his mouth. Bilbo had never felt more attractive than when Thorin was pawing at Bilbo’s curves and ravishing his soft belly, when he only had eyes for Bilbo’s face as he took him down his throat, and when he was watching Bilbo roll through an orgasm with nothing but pure adoration and heat in his expression. And he felt like a fool for doubting Thorin for even a moment.

Gingerly, Bilbo moved his hands. His shoulders and arms were aching and sore, his palms itching from the nail-indents Bilbo had pressed into them, and he brought his hands down between them to cup Thorin’s face. Thorin let him do this, and let Bilbo stroke his thumbs over Thorin’s cheekbones and bury his fingers into his beard.

Bilbo took a deep breath and said with conviction, “I believe you.”

The grin he got in return was downright wolfish.

“Good.”

Thorin crushed his lips against Bilbo’s and took his thighs in hand, spreading Bilbo’s legs apart as far as they could go. Bilbo tried to help, spreading until it hurt, and tangling his hands in the hair at Thorin’s scalp. Thorin hummed deliciously into their kiss, and Bilbo felt the blunt, slick head of his cock pressing up against his entrance.

Thorin began to roll his hips, and as soon as the head of his cock breached him Bilbo broke their kiss with a low moan. He gripped Thorin’s hair tighter. Thorin had one hand on his own cock to guide his way, the other encompassing all of Bilbo’s waist and squeezing in time with his rolls.

“You take me so well,” Thorin muttered as his cock speared Bilbo inch by inch. Bilbo was too overcome with the stretch and fullness to return much more than a whine. “So well. So beautiful. No other could compare.”

He kept his thrusts shallow and even until his hips were flush with Bilbo’s ass. When they connected, Thorin gasped like he’d been holding his breath and his grip on Bilbo’s waist became two on his ankles, bringing Bilbo's legs up and onto his shoulders. Bilbo's puffed as he tried to settle himself, and he opened his eyes to find Thorin’s piercing blue gaze looking at him like he were made of mythril.

“Beautiful,” Thorin whispered again. Overcome, he pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s ankle, and began to move.

His cock fit into Bilbo perfectly, stretching him on every inward thrust and coaxing high moans from him. His movements got faster and faster, driving Bilbo against the mattress. He tried to keep eye contact with his king, but his eyes kept rolling up into his head as Thorin’s cock dragged against that spot inside him and made him see lights behind his eyelids. Thorin was grunting with ecstasy each time their hips connected, each slap of their skin making Bilbo clench on his cock.

Thorin descended on him, folding Bilbo’s legs against him until they were close enough to kiss. He did most of the kissing, as Bilbo’s mouth was loose with pleasure and he couldn’t seem to control it around the yelps and long moans that Thorin was punching out of him at each downward stroke. His lips found Bilbo’s cheeks, his chin, his forehead, the corners of his lips, and his deep huffs were interspersed with praises.

“You were made for me. Made for my cock. Take me so well, so perfectly, you’re so perfect. Amrâlimê, úkrad, bunmel, Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo-”

“Thorinnn…Thor-in, Thorin, oh, ah, Th-Thorin, Thorin!” Bilbo cried. His love had been right- that was the only thing he knew how to say.

“Say my name. Say it. That’s it. So perfect. So beautiful,” he ground out, his thrusts getting sloppy but frantic.

“‘Mmm gonna- ‘m gonna-” Bilbo gasped with half-lidded eyes. “G-gonna make me cum, I’m gonna cum, please, don’t stop- ah! Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

Thorin let go of Bilbo’s legs and instead grabbed his waist like he was grabbing the hilt of a sword. Bilbo let his legs fall to the side and wailed as Thorin’s thrusts became longer, deeper, and harder, his cock grinding against his prostate. One sharp pound jabbed his cockhead right into it and Bilbo came with a keen, splattering over his chest and stomach.

Thorin fucked him through it like his last one, drawing it out and making Bilbo feel like he was about to catch fire. Loose moans still popped out of him as Thorin chased his own end, grunting Bilbo’s name alongside more Khuzdul that Bilbo was hopeless to decipher. After a few seconds, Thorin’s hips stuttered and he was coming with a groan like an earthquake rattling the mountain, flooding Bilbo’s insides and wrenching one last cry out of Bilbo before collapsing onto him.

They stayed together in the humid air, the only sound being their collective breaths trying to catch. Thorin shifted a bit so he wasn’t crushing Bilbo under his weight (despite that currently being Bilbo’s preferred way to die) and stuck lazy kisses on each bit of skin that he could reach. Bilbo lifted his limp, jelly-like arms up so he could rub Thorin’s scalp and bring out that little rumbling sound he made whenever Bilbo played with his hair. A few long moments of this, then Thorin’s softened cock resting inside him became a little uncomfortable. Thorin felt the same, and at last pulled out of him with a quiet groan. He lifted Bilbo under his shoulders and pulled the both of them back so that they were resting properly on the bed, heads against the mussed pillows, and so Thorin could tuck him against his body and breathe into his hair.

Bilbo floated on a cloud of contentment as Thorin’s arms came around him and held him like something precious. One hand traced lazy runes into the soft skin of his chest, and the other did nothing but give him warmth. Thorin pressed his lips into Bilbo’s sweat-damped curls, over and over, and Bilbo hummed with absolute peace.

“I want to make you a new circlet,” Thorin murmured after a while, clearing some fog from Bilbo’s head. “Dahlia flowers. Rubies, set in mithril. I would weave it into your hair alongside your beads. You would radiate beauty like Kementári herself.”

Bilbo’s eyes burned. Red Dahlias. Did he know…? He must. He was so specific about the color, and he knew them by name. Bilbo’s thoughts ran in a manner that reminded him of all those long lessons in flower language from his mother when he was a faunt, reciting from memory what he’d been taught.

Red Dahlias. Red for inner strength, perseverance, and the ability to overcome hardship. Dahlias for commitment, for a bond that endures.

An enduring relationship in spite of hardship. A bond in spite of betrayal. A commitment to forgive in the face of deep, passionate love.

Thorin mistook his silence. “Too much?” he asked.

“No!” Bilbo said at once. He was fighting the urge to sniffle. “No, no, it’s…that…that would be perfect. More than perfect.”

“And the dahlias…they’re-”

“Perfect,” Bilbo whispered. He wriggled in Thorin’s hold, twisting around until they faced each other. “Who told you?”

Thorin looked falsely wounded. “You assume that I didn't learn for myself the language of your people?”

"No I- oh, I didn't mean it like that, you ass." Bilbo flicked his chest. Then he contemplated for a moment. "Did you? Learn it yourself, I mean."

"I had...some help. Mostly so I didn't insult you by accident. But the bulk of the research was mine. I wanted to surprise you."

"You did," said Bilbo. "Even I can't think of another flower that would be more perfect for us. You did well."

Thorin inclined his head, and pressed his kiss to Bilbo's brow. He held his lips there like he meant for the moment to be carved in stone.

“Thank you, úkradimê.”

Bilbo tucked his head beneath Thorin’s chin, reveling in the scrape of his beard, and drifted away in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

Translations for the Khuzdul used:

Labthûnimê- my adoration (adoration-of-me) Galthûn- ‘delicious one’ Àrsûn- ‘hot one’ Amrâlimê - my love Úkrad; úkradimê- ‘greatest heart’; ‘my greatest heart’ Íbinimê; íbinel- My gem; gem of all gems Marlel- love of all loves Masaddazulmuzm; Suzmazumimê- rabbit; my bunny (little rabbit)

Thanks for reading! Let me know if and how you like it. You can read the Ao3 upload at the link above at my main acc Sullen_in_Love.

#the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #fanfiction #my writing #hobbit fanfic #smut #bilbo x thorin #thorin x bilbo #body worship #year of bagginshield

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sunmoonjune · 1 year

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the kingdom of dawn

synopsis: this is a description of the petrichor universe in which my demon!ateez au [dewdrops at dawn] takes place. this will function as a masterlist to fics from this universe as well as information about demons, angels, the world, etc. this is mostly a lore piece, so there is not a lot of the reader in this

warnings: though some of ateez’s demon forms are inspired by obey me! their personalities are not, so in terms of the sins they rule over, they will not be the same as the obey me!demons. this piece details about the fictional world of the petrichor universe and about some of its species so there are mentions of supernatural creatures, as well as blood and death as well as war and killing (kept vague). they are demons, please be warned they will occasionally act like it.

The red strings of fate are knotted tight around your soul as your decision is made. When your hand meets the one reaching out, waiting patiently for your grasp, every nerve-ending in your skin seems to catch fire. Their skin is pleasantly warm beneath yours, but the heat in your body emerges from your heart rather than your hand. The ‘soulbond,’ as the sun-moon being called it, pulls tightly in your chest. It swells with waves of warmth and emotion, before it settles snugly around your heart.

The muscle thumps rapidly beneath your ribs, feeling as though a knot had been cinched firmly around its flesh. Your fingers flex around those gripping yours, and the thread in your chest seems to flutter as if someone had strummed the strings of a guitar. It’s a strange, but not unwelcome sensation – especially since the warmth that it provides makes you feel a little giddy. After a beat, the hand in yours offers a squeeze in response and that same string seems to vibrate.

They’re tugging you forward.

With a gentle pull of your fingers, the hand guides you toward them and into the darkness that shrouds the celestial doorway. Despite your racing heart and the bite of fear eating at your stomach, you take a determined step forward.

The bond swells. It presses into your throat and fills every inch of your form, feeling like a warm blanket settling over your aching muscles. It sinks deeper, saturating your soul and nestling sweetly beside your heart - a muscle of its own, firmly attached to both your soul and your mind. They squeeze your hand again, and somehow you understand that something similar has happened to your unknown guide.

You wish you could see their face.

In the darkness beyond the doorway, you see nor feel nothing besides the warm grip of fingers in yours. It’s an empty expanse of space – soulless and lifeless, barren if not for the guiding touch of your savior.

They show you the way, firmly grasping your hand and refusing to relent in their pursuit forward. For some baffling reason, you trust them. Their guidance is the only thing binding you to this plane of existence, and their touch seems to activate that soulbond in your chest. You are not unaware of the implications of this bond - a string always has two ends. If this person is the other end of your thread - or seeks to guide you to it, you’ll follow them without question.

Though, you faintly wonder why the knot in your heart tugs in different directions. Perhaps, it’s not a single string? The possibility of several threads tying you to another is a little mesmerizing, and you shake off the question before you become too confused.

As the hand persists, your vision is blurred by the sudden appearance of a small bright light in the distance.

It’s faint, but you can vaguely see where shadows disappear into the alabaster shine of some form of light. There’s another sweet tug of the string in your chest, and you find yourself smiling and trying not to stumble over your feet as the form seems to pull you with a renewed surge of excitement.

You nearly giggle at their elation, and offer a squeeze of your hand in acknowledgement.

As you approach the light, your head seems to swell - like the beginning of a headache that leaves your vision blurry and your thoughts scrambled. It’s a little difficult to continue forward, but your guide is kind. With your vision starting to blur, the light growing closer but far more cloudy, you don’t see the shadow of seven more forms beyond the dark expanse.

They’re waiting for you.

Just beyond the other side of this soulless space, there are seven more people waiting patiently for you to emerge in their world. They fidget anxiously, swaying on their feet and chewing on their lips as they await the return of their leader as he left to guide you back into their realm. It’s been far too long, and they’ve grown so lonesome without your presence at their side.

As the light closes in, your eyes slide shut as you cross the border into a new world, an anxious tension keeping them closed until you reach your destination.

Your first glimpse of the Kingdom of Dawn is through rays of golden light arching across the sky as the sun begins its morning journey from one end of the Earth to the other, and the frosty chill of air at the first break of sunrise settles over your skin, cooling your flesh as they cling to the warmth of first light – just like dewdrops at dawn.

*:･ﾟ About the Kingdom of Dawn ･ﾟ:*

This kingdom is home to the immortal world of demons and angels alike. However, it is likely not the same story the human world may portray. You see, demons are not the dark, sinister creatures many tales make them out to be – likewise, angels are not being of elegance and kindness.

In the Kingdom of Dawn, demons can hear your prayers just as well as angels can, however you may never know if they were the one to answer. Demons can live amongst the humans, not bound to the celestial realm as the angels are. Able to switch between a demon form and a human one, they can look just like any other stranger on the street.

In their demon forms, most demonkind have a few defining features, but each is different - just as each human is different.

Most demons have a set of wings, horns and tail - they’re commonplace amongst their kind. Wings can be of different sizes and shapes: feathered, bat-like or scaled are just a few prevalent kinds. Horns and tails are quite the same, and each demon’s will be slightly different. But be warned, many demon’s tails have hidden stingers, and neurotoxins are not uncommon venoms in the Kingdom of Dawn. Try not to get stung!

Most demons communicate with their tails much like a cat – they flick and jump based on their emotions, but are typically far more prehensile than that of a cat. This allows them to curl their tails around objects, and depending on the type of tail, the muscles of their tails can be used to squeeze tight - a dangerous implication.

The extra appendages of demonkind are extremely sensitive - especially wings. Most devils will not allow these appendages to be touched by anyone but their mates. Touching a demon’s wings can be seen as signs of accepting a soulbond. In addition, wings are very important to a demon. They are used in nearly every aspect of life, including mating, hunting, and determining status. Many demons care for their wings and extra appendages with excruciating care. However, tending to these extremities is a personal matter, only shared between mates and lovers.

A demon’s eyes will also no longer have an iris or pupil: eyes belonging to a demon are solid black. The teeth of demonkind are also slightly different; their canines are elongated in demon form, giving their grins a flash of fangs.

Some demons, depending on their strength and power, will have other features. It is said that the High King of Hell has golden jewelry embossing the structure of his wings, for example. Additionally, in their demon forms, each of the rulers of this kingdom has a glimmering crown that manifests around their horns. Each circlet is different, and some crawl up their horns rather than filtering around.

All demons are considered much stronger than humankind. Each devil is born with heightened strength and stamina, and they are considered much taller than humans. Their enhanced skills also extend to healing as well. Most demons can heal superficial wounds, like cuts and scrapes, in a matter of seconds. Other injuries can be healed just as quickly, depending on the strength and power of the demon.

Additionally, some demons can hold great magical capabilities depending on their power. The extent of their powers depends on the demon. The eight rulers of Hell are known for their extensive magic and incredible power, but not many know of their special abilities.

There are several other traits that separate demons from humankind, including the sounds they make. The vocal cords of a demon are formed differently from other species. These differences allow them to make more sounds than many are capable of. This distinctive set of vocal cords was created to aid their kind in Infernal speech - the language of Hell. This dialect is made up of sounds that humans cannot replicate. A mix of hisses, growls and monstrous sounds catalog Infernal speech, and they cannot be reproduced by any other species - making Infernal unique only to demonkind.

While they sound remarkably frightening, demons are not all dark and sinister beings.

Devils can be kind, just as any human could. Despite their stories, most demons don’t actually interact with humans beyond being summoned. Choosing instead to reside in the darkness of Hell, demons are not solely responsible for the chaos of the human world. Deals between a demon and a human are quite rare, and seldom affect the balance and order of the world.

A deal made with a demon is an eternal pact. Once a deal is made, it cannot be broken without immense difficulty for both parties. There is no confirmed record of a deal with a devil ever being broken. There is not much knowledge on this matter, and the manner in which deals are made cannot be confirmed - nor the price that is to pay for such a deal. However, if a deal is made, all those involved will be marked with the tattoo of a chain. It wraps around the left wrist, winding upwards towards the elbow, leaving a link open at the base of the inside of the wrist. This link will connect to the chain of the tattoo on the other parties involved. The tattoo marks a deal, and binds all those involved - unbreakable and eternal.

However, soulbonds between a demon and a human are less rare.

When a soulbond snaps between a demon and their partner or partners, it is an eternal bond that cannot be broken - even by death. Demons will love only their chosen soulmates, and being separated from their mates by great distances or death is extremely painful. However, not all demons will meet their mates. Only the guiding touch of fate and the red string binding their heart can tell.

Some say demons are some of the fiercest and most protective of lovers. Relationships are eternal and demons will love their mates beyond even their dying breath. However, though it may be difficult to kill a demon, it is not wise to get between a demon and their mate unless you crave a fate worse than death. Demons are protective to the end.

Most demons will mark their mates with a pact mark.

Pact marks are sigils of a bond between mates. Like a werewolf’s bite, a pact mark will show other demons that the chosen recipient is protected. Through a pact mark, the soulbond is enhanced, allowing some conscious thought to be exchanged between mates in addition to emotion.

The sigil of pact marks are typically the rune of the demon’s true name. The runes are transcribed in Infernal, so it cannot be read by many others than those in Hell. The pact mark will appear on the recipient’s skin in the form of a tattoo. Locations and sizes of these marks are important and can have several different meanings.

Demons are immortal beings - from the moment they are created, they will not succumb to physical aging beyond maturity (typically around the age of twenty-five). They can still be killed, but not so easily as humans. In fact, most literature that detailed how to slay demons was destroyed many centuries ago. The knowledge has been lost to all but a few. Most believe that the only thing that can kill a demon is an angel.

In comparison to demons, angels are far more involved in the human world.

While demons keep to themselves, choosing not to be involved in the fates of humankind, angels believe it is their right and duty to create a ‘pure’ world. Unless given an order by the archangel Michael, angels remain in the Celestial Realm. However, there is very little information regarding this realm or the business of angels beyond their mission in the human world. They are bound by their creator to exterminate any being that does not hold purity in their heart. No definition has ever been provided for what angels believe to be ‘pure.’

Angels appear differently to every human, but most who survive encounters with such creatures typically entail imagery of multiple sets of wings and clusters of eyes, both unseeing and all too invasive. If you ever encounter an angel, your best bet for survival is to pray to a demon for safety, and hope your heart is pure enough for salvation.

It has been said that the blood of an angel runs gold rather than the scarlet ichor of other species. Though, not many can claim to have seen an angel bleed - angels are extraordinarily strong, propelled by enhanced speed and strength like demonkind. However, despite their strength, it is not difficult for demons to slaughter angels. They can be killed like any other species, and do not possess the healing abilities of a demon.

No one knows what happens to angels after death.

Like a demon, angels’ vocal cords are more suited for a different language. They often have trouble forming the sounds used in human tongues, and typically only speak in a horrifying succession of clicks and screeches. In the rare instance human speech is used, the sound is scratchy and raw - terrifying in an entirely different manner.

Other creatures that may prowl through the Kingdom of Dawn include hellhounds, wraiths, reapers, little demons known as ‘little Ds,’ and many more. Some say there are dragons guarding the borders of the kingdom, but they’ve never been seen by anyone but Hell’s rulers.

In Hell, the High King presides over the entirety of the realm. The seven princes, though not actually ‘princes’ by definition as they are not related in any manner, each rule over one of the seven rings. The rings are divided into categories that are best described as the seven sins: pride, greed, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony and sloth. However, the scope of each of these rings extends beyond just the manner of sin.

Other demons in the Kingdom of Dawn are divided into these sins. Each demon is born into a specific sin, but it does not define their personality or traits in any way. These classifications simply aid in deciding the capabilities of each demon. For example, a demon of lust is more suited to become an incubus rather than a dream-eater. However, their classification does not limit their ability to hone different capabilities.

Additionally, no one knows which of the sins each prince was assigned at birth, aside from a few. While they rule over a certain ring, it is not clear if their presiding sin matches the ring in which they rule.

Everyone is too afraid to ask.

Though rare, some demons do savor the taste of human flesh. It is not common, as they do not encounter many humans, but some demons will hunt humans. There is little a human can do to protect themselves against a demon, unless guarded by another species. However rare they may be, it is best not to wander Hell alone.

In Hell, the realm may be different from the flame-riddled agony of myth, but it still varies from the human world in some aspects.

For instance, the sun only illuminates the sky for a few short hours of the day - between a few hours around high noon. Without the sun, much of Hell is lit by vibrant lights that mimic the sun. Most are powered by magic, and those in the royal palace are fed by starlight.

Much of the Kingdom of Dawn is similar to the human world in terms of structure – the land is not drastically different (though there are still sunken, fiery pits in each ring for those who have committed atrocities). Seasons still change in Hell, though they are slightly different given the lack of constant sunlight. In addition, some human plants still grow well in Hell. They are less common, however, and you will more likely find Hell’s native plants.

For humans living and visiting the Kingdom of Dawn, there are few drastic differences to account for. Of course, if you can avoid the hungry gazes of lower demons, best negated with a ruler of Hell at your side, you won’t have too much trouble in this kingdom.

*:･ﾟ About the Rulers of Hell･ﾟ:*

Choi Jongho, one of the seven ‘princes’ of Hell, rules over the lowest of the seven rings. These rings are not constructed in a manner of superiority, so the level of their position does not equate to their power or rank. The rule of each section was designated based on birth order, so as the youngest of the eight rulers, Jongho was assigned the last ring: sloth.

While he may be the youngest, Jongho is irrefutably one of the strongest of the ruling demons. Based on muscle capacity alone, Jongho can easily outrank his partners in strength. In addition, the youngest was named the General of Hell’s army soon after being named ruler of the seventh ring.

Jongho’s demon form consists of massive, dark wings that fade from an obsidian black to a scarlet red at the ends. Some lower ranking demons have described the general’s wings as though the membranes were dripping with the sticky ichor of blood. The tips of his wing’s claws are incredibly sharp, and the inky color also reflects a scarlet shine when the sun illuminates them.

Jongho’s long, prehensile tail is barbed at the end - sort of like the human world’s sting rays. The barb is difficult to see when relaxed, but even harder to avoid when at the general’s mercy. Be wary – his stinger is laced with a potent neurotoxin with only one cure. His tail is the same deep black color of his wings, and the barb can be hidden beneath the skin of the underside - leaving his opponents ignorant of the awaiting venom. Jongho’s tail is a little longer than some of his mates, and can sometimes be seen dragging across the floor of the palace - if it is not very carefully wrapped around one of his mate’s legs.

The horns of the youngest of the demon rulers curve upwards away from his head. They bend outwards in a single curve before ending with the points skyward, tips sharp and scarlet - matching the faded obsidian of his wings. The dark color of the bottom of his horns blend seamlessly into his black hair, and when the sun shines directly on his figure, you can catch little glimpses of red highlights.

Jung Wooyoung presides over the next of the seven rings, and as age order dictates, the next sin: gluttony. Wooyoung is one of the demons that most believe was not born of the sin they rule. No one quite believes Wooyoung is a gluttony demon, and there have been several rumors attempting to guess his actual sin - to which Wooyoung will never reveal.

Wooyoung is known for his awing ability to bewitch others. Akin to a snake whisper of legend, Wooyoung can convince anyone of anything - he could lead beasts to the grave with a simple smile and coax others into revealing their weaknesses at a single word from his lips. Most aren't quite sure if it’s a power of his or some kind of natural charm.

His wings are some of the most opulent among demonkind. With a tremendous wingspan, one that rivals even the King, Wooyoung’s two sets of wings are a sight to behold. Blessed with two sets of ebony-feathered wings, Wooyoung’s status as a ‘prince’ is made clear. Both wings are coated in dark feathers. Because of this, once a year, he undergoes a sort of shedding season - a molt. During this time, old feathers are preened away and new feathers begin to take their place. These new feathers can be uncomfortable as they grow in, so Wooyoung has been known to be a little pricklier during this time. The itch and ache are constant, and it can be difficult to reach some of the feathers on his own. However, as the seasons continue, Wooyoung has grown used to his molting season with the help of his mates.

Wooyoung is one of the only demon rulers who does not have a tail - the High King being the only other. Not all demons are born with them, and some assume he does not have one due to the second set of massive wings at his back.

The horns of the lord of gluttony are ebony colored, as most demon’s are. They curve upwards in a single bend, and curl backwards around his head in the shape of half moons. His circlet manifests daintily between them in a glimpse of shimmering gold, gemstones gracing the band of ornate, twisting branches. His horns blend into a head of dark hair, the top half colored a deep black while the bottom layer fades into a bright blonde. The two-toned hair is often seen pulled into a half-up style, with a few strands loose and framing his face.

Song Mingi, the next of the demon lords, was assigned the ring just above Wooyoung: lust. Despite being older, many will joke that Wooyoung and Mingi have switched the sins they preside over. Mingi, like his mate, will never say what sin he was born into.

Mingi can often be seen beside Jongho, as he commands the aerial fleet on Jongho’s army. The position of General had been offered to Mingi, but he had turned it down in favor of remaining a soldier. He takes control of much of the training of new soldiers, and commands the section of airborne soldiers during times of war. Mingi’s claws are well-suited for combat, as the razor sharp talons are laced with the same venom in Jongho’s tail. In addition, Mingi’s senses are acutely tuned due to his life in war, and he can sense a mutiny far before a rebellion begins to stir. His clairvoyant abilities certainly aid such senses as well.

The wings that sprout from Mingi’s back are composed of the same sort of bat-like membrane of some of his mates. However, the brown membrane only makes up the inner portion of his wings. At the tips of his wings, by the ends of the bony fingers, the membrane disappears and scales take their place. In comparison to Yeosang, these scales are translucent and glimmer in the sunlight - like a dragonfly. When caught in rays of light, they cast rainbow glares, illuminating the room like a sun catcher. Though they appear fragile, the glassy scales are remarkably sharp, and can cut through skin easily.

The ruler of the ring of lust has a tail that matches his wings. With a long brown base, the prehensile appendage is tipped with a diamond shape of translucent scales. Like his wings, these scales are razor sharp and have no difficulty being used in battle.

Unlike some of the simpler horns of demonkind, Mingi’s horns are shaped like those of a ram. They twist with a spiral shape once, leaving the pointed tips facing backwards. Because of their shape, they can be difficult to maintain, but his mates aid in these processes. The ebony color of his horns stands out from the silver glint of his hair. The light brownish color is mostly silver looking in the light, and it’s long enough to rest against the back of his neck.

Choi San, though some believe was born into lust, is the ruler of the fourth of the seven rings: wrath. His sweet, joyful demeanor may not paint the picture of anger, but San is exceptional at guarding his wrath and maintaining his temper. Although, it is never a good idea to anger the lord of this sin - fate may not be able to protect you from his rage, especially if you threaten his mates.

San was born with a power that is not often seen among supernatural species. With an uncanny ability to control shadows, San can both understand and speak to the slippery manifestations. His shadows are sentient creatures, and San treats them softly despite their otherwise suspicious occupation. As they are naturally occurring, San uses his shadows as spies – allowing them to collect intel for him, which they will whisper back into his ears. His shadows can only be heard by some, but their presence is unmistakable. San controls them well, however, so unless he calls for them, they often remain hidden. Although, some lower demons have said they have seen wisps of shadow clinging to the other demon lords, clinging to their skin and shifting around their limbs like a second skin. Perhaps, they adore his mates as much as San does.

With smooth, bat-like wings, San’s lithe form is built for speed - it makes him the fastest of the demon rulers. The dark membrane is sleek, the obsidian color only interrupted by the alabaster white of the boney frame of his wings. When spread wide, his wing span is impressive, spanning more than twice the length of his arms.

The shadow-singer has a tail that resembles some of the pictures of demonic myth. With a thin, dark base and a tip pointed like an arrowhead, the tail is nearly exactly what some had predicted them to look like. However, they likely did not predict how akin to the weapon the tip would be – his tail is as pointed as an actual arrowhead and it has been used as a weapon in the past.

San’s horns curl around his head, sprouting from his temples and twisting to the back of his head where the point faces behind him. They bend slightly twice, faintly resembling the body of a snake. They blend into the black color of his hair, only standing out against some of the blond streaks of the bottom half. His hair is similar to Wooyoung’s, though shorter than that of his mate.

The next of the kingdom's rulers is Kang Yeosang, the leader of the third ring: envy. As the fourth eldest, this sin was delegated to his rule. No one knows if it is his true sin, as Yeosang is very good at concealing his secrets.

Yeosang, like his king, was born with the ability to heal. His powers manifested young, and they continued to grow as he reached maturity. Though they cannot revive the dead, there are few wounds that Yeosang cannot heal. Those that are beyond his strength to heal are usually those who have been wounded by an angel - their blades are filled with a celestial purity Yeosang cannot counteract.

Much of Yeosang’s demon form resembles a dragon - including his massive wings. The scales of his impressive wings appear a deep obsidian black to the plain eye. However, under the rays of the sun, the scales shift in color - like mica. Rippling magnificently in hues of royal purple and forest green - hints of an iridescent blue catching the light when he shifts - the silky scales reveal a metallic sheen in the light. Since Yeosang’s demon characteristics are so dragon-like, the talons of his wings are slightly larger than some of his mates. The sharp, curled points are daunting when the shadow of his wingspan descends on his prey.

His thick, dragon-like tail is coated in scales of the same caliber - a truly mesmerizing sight when Yeosang soaks up the few hours of mid-morning sun. Letting his scales shimmer and reflect beams of light, the healer muffles his laugh when he catches sight of his mates fawning over his beauty.

Yeosang’s horns are slightly different from the other demon lords; while they emerge from his temples and curve up and over his head towards the back, there is a smaller second set of horns slightly beneath the first. The second set of inky horns are the same shape as the first, just a fraction smaller. Slightly less than half of the size of his main horns, the second set curls in the same fashion over his head, the tips pointed slightly upward. Yeosang’s honey blonde hair does not conceal the root of his horns, allowing a little glimpse of the scales around his temples. Little iridescent scales scatter the base of his horns, as well as the base of his wings and tail as well. Due to his dragon-like appearance, these scales do shed once a season - a sensation that can cause itching and discomfort for the demon. However, the lord of envy claims his shedding season does not compare to that of his mate’s.

Jeong Yunho, third eldest of the demon rulers, presides over the second ring: greed. The tallest of his mates, Yunho’s energetic and joyful demeanor disappears when in command of his court. Lower demons often find themselves cowering under his intimidating stature, the stoic expression on his face a drastic change from the one he wears inside the castle.

One of Yunho’s strongest abilities emerges in the form of emotions. Aside from the soulbond between his mates, Yunho has an uncanny ability for sensing and changing feelings. As he honed the ability, he quickly discovered how to manipulate the strings of a person's emotions. Soon after, he grew adept at his skill, and found a place at Hongjoong’s side in the palace – being able to meddle with the emotions of those not so easily convinced is a marvelous ability, is it not?

Yunho’s demon form appears a fraction of a color lighter than some of his mates. Rather than the dark colors of other forms, Yunho’s demon form is coated in shades of gold and ochre. His wings are composed of the same bat-like membrane of San’s, however, unlike his partner, Yunho also has a second set of wings. Though they are much smaller than the first, two shorter wings, like the hind-wings of a butterfly, emerge from beneath the fore-wings. Both are a dark shade of ochre, each set is remarkably deadly. The bone fingers that form the structure of his wings extend beyond the membrane of his wings, sharpening to a knife-like point and making his wings a dangerous asset. Each section of golden bone looks like a dagger, and when he fully expands his daunting wings, Yunho looks frighteningly beautiful. Yunho’s wings are not often seen as they are deadly to the touch, and he fears harming those he cares about.

The tail extending from the base of Yunho’s spine is also a golden ochre color, and it resembles his wings as well. The thin tail has dagger-like spines along its length. Each one looks like the bony claws that his wings possess, and they protrude about an inch from his tail in a vaguely triangular shape.

Yunho’s horns, also the inky black that his mates possess, curl forward from his temples instead of back. They push forward an inch before twisting upwards to point towards the sky, meeting above the center of his forehead and leaving just an inch of space in between. They too, blend in with his dark hair, and the base of his horns is hidden beneath the mess of black hair.

Park Seonghwa is the eldest of the demon rulers. As such, he maintains control of the highest of the seven rings: pride. Seonghwa is one of the few rulers to reveal that his true sin matches the ring he rules.

The eldest of the kingdom’s lords is a bit of an enigma when it comes to his powers. Very few have seen the extent of his abilities, and those who have are only privy to short glimpses and small tricks. While frustratingly complex, Seonghwa’s powers involve time. Able to see and alter different strings of reality, Seonghwa can glimpse into timelines. With ease, he can open and close gateways to another timeline, as well as take glances into the events of such timelines. However, due to the strength of this power and the dire consequences that could result from a mistake, Seonghwa does not use them often. Only at the request of his king, or at his own personal haste, does Seonghwa divulge in the mystery of his power. Though, even without using them, the eldest has an uncanny clairvoyance for matters of importance.

Seonghwa’s wings are fairly similar to Wooyoung’s, with ebony feathers coating the appendages. He, however, only has one set of wings rather than two. Additionally, Seonghwa has the bone-like claw at the tip of his wings that some of his mates have - a feature Wooyoung does not. Both he and his feathered mate undergo a molting season as new feathers replace the old. Wooyoung and Seonghwa typically spend much of this time together, as they understand the exact care the other needs during this time.

The eldest has a long, charcoal colored tail that spits at the tip, forming two separate prehensile tails. Each of these tails can move on its own, giving him the appearance of having two rather than one. The skin is almost scale-like, but does not have the same texture that Yeosang does.

Seonghwa’s horns extend from a little closer to his forehead, rather than his temple. They are thin, but strong, curling around his head like a crown of antlers. Sort of deer-like in appearance, the horns split into branches and end at the back of his head. Though his hair is an inky black, the base of his horns can sometimes be seen due to the undercut along the side of his head.

Kim Hongjoong, better known as the High King of Hell, rules over the entirety of the Kingdom of Dawn. Every demon in the realm knows better than to challenge the king. Blessed with incredible power and guarded by seven of the realm’s strongest, he is a demon to be feared. Most demons steer clear of the king, intimidated by his power and his status, but those who work closely with him know that he is not an unjust ruler. Hongjoong, despite how intimidating he appears, is a well-liked king. He is fair and dependable as a ruler, and does not treat his realm poorly. Though his rule is unquestionable, he always treats each subject with the same importance as the last - each opinion matters equally when it comes to decision making. However, Hongjoong is still a demon - one of the most powerful of his kind; so should his rule ever come into question, you will be reminded why he is High King.

As a demon of great power, Hongjoong has a plethora of abilities and an extensive knowledge of magic. He can cast spells and brew potions among other tricks, but one of his strongest powers is one that is not commonly seen: Hongjoong is able to delve into people’s minds. He can communicate via the mind, as well as view and alter a person’s thoughts and memories. It’s an extremely useful ability - but a very dangerous one too. Additionally, with enough practice and the right mentor, your mind can be guarded from prying eyes. However, it takes exceptional strength to hide your thoughts from a demon like Hongjoong. Most commonly, this ability of the king is used to establish a connection between the mind’s of his mates. This allows them to speak to each other without a regard for the distance that may separate them.

The High King’s demon form is regal. With blood-red wings adorned with golden embellishments decorating the bone structure, Hongjoong is kingly. His wingspan is the largest of his mates, and the large shadow of his frame is daunting. The appendages are a similar bat-like membrane as many other demons.

Hongjoong does not have a tail in his demon form. However, he does have a venom running through his veins - manifesting the strongest in his fangs. Hongjoong’s bite has the capability of forcing neurotoxin into his prey. The king controls the venom as he pleases, so not every bite is laced with toxin.

The king's horns are very similar to those of his eldest lover, Seonghwa. Both demons have antler-like horns, though Hongjoong’s appear slightly less delicate. They are a fraction firmer, with less branches that are a little thicker than his mate’s. Hongjoong’s horns also curl around his head, ending facing behind him in a secondary crown - the golden circlet between his horns being the first. Hongjoong’s horns are also decorated in the golden jewelry that embellish his wings. They disappear into a mess of brown hair that is long enough to rest against the base of his neck.

So, my dear, with the knowledge of the Kingdom of Dawn now revealed and your fate in the hands of eight demon lords, answer me this:

Are you ready to meet the crown rulers of Hell?

the first installment of the Kingdom of Dawn: dewdrops at dawn – poly!ot8 ateez x fem!reader [demon au]

Pick another door.

a/n: I think I said the word ‘demon’ at least a hundred times in this :0 I felt like I was writing a research paper when I wrote this lol! it was a little strange, but I really wanted to expand on some of the lore in this universe!!

did anyone catch who san’s abilities were inspired by? he’s like the only character from the book I liked lol xD

#petrichor #kingdom of dawn #ateez x reader #demon au #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #ateez au #demon ateez #poly!ateez x reader #poly ateez

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zaeliaeve · 1 year

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𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 [𝓚.𝓜] 𝟏𝟖+ Chapter 3

18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI

warnings: oral sex, vaginal sex, size kink, and daddy kink.

It's fair to say most people would take a wealthy man's money if given the opportunity.

If you add him being in a relationship and having an affair the option to take the money would seem obvious, but for some reason, it wasn't. It was a kind gesture but it was one that felt sleazy taking for Bianca.

Bianca pondered on how to approach the situation and landed on a simple text; one that she didn't really expect him to respond to given his recent moody state of mind. How could one man go from coming in your mouth, to ignoring you like you never existed, and then giving a blank check with flowers that same day? It was hard to keep up with.

Even through all of that, she didn't want to stop anything between them. If anything she craved it more. She pressed her thighs together just thinking about Kylian emptying himself down her throat. Kylian was like a drug.

It was everything about him. His wide friendly smile, his strong broad shoulders, his low sensual voice. It was hard not to be drawn to him.

Although Kylian's behavior was odd she understood it. This was a consequence of being with someone who already has someone they're giving their time and attention to and have for years before her. Camille was the mother of his child and nothing could change that.

Bianca still felt she should show her gratitude even if she wasn't going to take him up on the offer. It was only right.

The only reason Bianca had managed to get Kylian's number was because they would message each other their lunch orders when they needed to. They had only messaged once or twice outside of those terms.

She could only imagine how awkward it would be for Camille to stumble upon his phone and find texts with his secretary. What would she say? How would she feel?

But under these circumstances, it seemed appropriate.

B: You didn't have to do that but I really do appreciate it. Thank you for your kindness, I really needed it today.

Bianca hadn't had time to dwindle on the subject after she sent the text because she spent the next hour on the phone with her mother, completely distracted from anything else. As she was hanging up, her phone vibrated.

KM: I wanted to do it. I hope you enjoy your trip and spend time with your family. Bring back another one of your sister's scarves, Ariella spilled red apple sauce all over mine last month.

She laughed and buried the lower half of her face deeper into her pillow, ignoring the tinge of internal guilt at the mention of his daughter.

B: I'm not going, but I'll have her send another one through the mail.

Surprisingly, he messaged back quickly.

KM: Why not? Do you think I haven't noticed you scrolling through your mom's pictures on Facebook when you're supposed to be working? This is all you wanted

B: I want to go more than anything but I'm not taking your money. I'll be able to go in a few months after I finish paying off my engine. Also, how did you get my address?

KM: I definitely broke a few company policies for you, I hope you feel special.

KM: Do you really think I'd offer you money if I didn't mean it? Considerate it a thank-you gift for all the things your family sends. Your grandma's creams cured my cough in one night.

B: I'm not taking your money!! I don't take other people's things that they worked for.

The irony is not lost upon her.

B: And maybe I feel just a littleeeee bit special.

KM: Just think about it, but who knows for your birthday I might buy you a car out of pure spite!

B: Okay, I will. Thank you again, goodnight Mbappé.

KM: Kylian*** and bonne nuit Bianca. When Bianca came into work a few days later, she was surprised to find a receipt for a plane ticket on her desk. It said her full name and the date which was for that very weekend. Bianca instantly called Kylian's landline phone. "You didn't," Bianca said with surprise as she looked down at the paper, not even saying hello.

He laughed from the other end of the phone. "I did. You wouldn't let me do it any other way," he says like it is nothing.

"Kylian" she whined, tears blurring her vision.

Bianca was overcome with many emotions, at a loss for words as she shook slightly. "Thank you so much I don't even know what to say"

He let out a soft awww before shaking his head, smiling growing wider. "You deserve it. It's not that big of a deal, I don't know if you know this or not but money isn't exactly a worry for me" His tone was light and teasing.

She told him, nose becoming stuffy. "It is a big deal Kylian! Thank you, thank you."

"Go have fun, Bianca."

And she did.

The trip was for four days meaning she missed only two days of work, the other days being her time off anyways. While in her home country, she took time to decompress. Bianca visited her father's gravesite, finally ate a homecooked meal after months, and read bedtime stories to her nephews. It was everything she needed, and more.

It felt so good to sleep in her old bed, but it came with complicated emotions when she would wake up and her father wouldn't be there reading the morning newspaper at the kitchen table. It felt more empty in the house even though the family had only grown since then.

Coming home offered a unique perspective that she was missing for all those months in Paris. As promised, she brought home a big bag of bread, candy, homemade creams, and knitted things for everyone around the office but most of all Kylian.

Going from somewhere hot and peaceful to the cold bustling Paris was an adjustment.

On the day Bianca came back into the office it was absolutely pouring outside. Thunder vibrated the building's walls all day, many of the higher-ups deciding just to go home and work from their own houses.

As the day neared its end she received a text from Kylian.

Taking public transport in this weather will be horrible. You'll go home drenched like a dog. Let me give you a ride

Bianca instantly replied to the text. You've done enough for me this week, I'll be fine (thank u though).

Kylian sent a thumbs-down reaction to her message. I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you. Humor me a bit Bianca

Oh Kylian will you please drive me home in this pouring rain? I'll wash away in the sewers if you don't rescue me!

He responded with a laughing emoji, and then a red heart. Well since you asked so nicely.

They met inside his car, both making sure to walk out separately at different times so as to not be seen together. "I would ask if you want directions but you already know apparently" Bianca teased as he pressed the push-to-start button.

Internally she was gawking at his car.All-white leather seats, a grand glass sunroof, and a big touchscreen console. It was stunning.

"How was your trip?" Kylian asked as he pulled out of his parking spot.

The radio played quietly in the background. "It was therapeutic. My nephews grew so much that I couldn't believe it. The youngest is talking now and when I left he would barely say mama. I forgot time doesn't slow down for anyone." Bianca explained, eyes trained on the smooth road.

Kylian nodded empathetically. "I understand how you feel. Ariella is growing and learning new things every day. The other day she wrote her first name in crayon. It wasn't the neatest, but she did it all on her own. it's scary but rewarding to watch a baby grow into their own person." Something changed in him when he mentioned his daughter, a brightness in his eyes.

Bianca's lips upturned as she looked at him. "That's a big accomplishment. I'm sure you're a proud papa."

He flashed his white teeth. "The proudest."

Kylian changed the subject as he put on his turn signal, the mood switching back to casual. "It was boring at the firm without you. We had one of Leo's assistants fill in as the secretary and he didn't laugh once at any of my jokes. Plus, he wasn't wearing a tight skirt to make up for his personality, so it was even worse" He teased, head nodding to her outfit.

"If that's what it takes for you to leave me alone I'll come in with a hazmat suit tomorrow" Bianca giggled, playing along.

The Frenchman shook his head, a smirk still on his lips. "Without me, you would have quit a long time ago."

He wasn't wrong so Bianca decided not to say anything but to just laugh instead.

"Did you bring me back anything? I hope you brought those little jelly-filled cookies"

Bianca looked out her window, not wanting to make eye contact for what she was going to say. "Actually I brought you a lot of things but I left them in my house. I can bring them to you or..." she trailed off.

"...Or?" Kylian chirped back

She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs together. "Or you can come inside."

He breathed in heavily. "Okay, sure."

They made it to her home and Bianca was almost trembling with anticipation while she turned the key over. When they stepped inside, they took off their shoes at the door before she led him into her bedroom.

Kylian wrapped his arms around her as they stood in front of the bed, Bianca's heart melting at the feeling of his soft lips on her own. It was everything she wanted it to be. Kylian grasped at her body as their tongues met, sighing happily into the kiss. They made out for a while, infatuated with each other's mouths.

"You know I've never seen you naked before" Kylian breathlessly noted after some time.

Bianca leaned up to peck his lips again, eyes twinkling. "Ahh I'm nervous. Close your eyes and I'll get on the bed."

He chuckled and turned around to take his pants off then button down his shirt."You have no reason to be nervous, you're beautiful" he assured her kindly.

Bianca quickly stripped herself of her work clothes before laying on top of the bed, staring at Kylian's muscular back and legs as he stood in his boxers. "You can look now."

Kylian walked over to the bed; silently gasping as he glanced down at the lilac lace adorning her frame. "What's this?" He asked, running his hands over the material covering her chest.

He moved back a bit so he could look at her full body, taking her in completely before crawling on top of her.

Bianca's cheeks flushed red as she tried to nuzzle into his neck to hide her embarrassment. His hands pushed her gently back down onto the bed so their eyes could meet. "You got all dolled up for me, ma belle?" His tone was soft, yet in awe.

His gaze felt so caring it made it hard to keep eye contact but yet she wanted to drown in the feeling forever.

This feels different than before.

"I wanted to surprise you," Bianca says honestly, batting her long eyelashes as she maintained deep eye contact.

Kylian leans down to kiss her affectionately, hand caressing her cheek as if she were made of glass. She inhales into the kiss, breathing in Kylian's intoxicatingly enticing cologne. When he pulls away his breathing is heavier. "You are absolutely perfect."

Her stomach flips at his words and she brings him back down for another kiss, this time with more passion in her own way to reciprocate the sentiment. Both of their hearts are pounding as their limbs laced together, truly enjoying the feel of each other.

As the kiss heated up, Kylian brought his hand up to rub against Bianca's thinly clothed nipple earning a soft mewl from her. Fueled by her reaction, he broke the kiss to leave sloppy kisses down her neck and onto her chest, sucking on the spot he knows drives her crazy.

Kylian unclasped her bra with ease before tossing it onto the hardwood floor. He froze in his place to look at her and smiled at her blown-out pupils, raw lips, and erect nipples. "Magnifique" he praised before attaching his mouth onto her breast.

Bianca's back arched up as she ground onto his already rock-solid bulge, holding his head while he suckled onto her left nipple. She moaned loudly from the intense feeling, holding him as tightly as she could while the wet sensation clouded all her senses.

He rolled his tongue around the sensitive nerves, grazing purposefully with his bottom teeth. A string of saliva was drawn out as he pulled away and moved onto the other breast, repeating the process "s-so good" Bianca babbled out, drunk with lust.

Kylian looked up with darkened eyes as he sucked hungrily, pleased with her whines. Bianca was sopping wet, a small pool of her juices spreading onto Kylian's skin. He pulled away from her chest and kissed downwards until he reached the top of her lace underwear.

Without hesitation, he pulled the lace down her legs before spreading them enough to slide himself in between. Bianca almost screamed as Kylian licked at her wet heat, he held his hands firmly at the top of her thighs.

"So wet for me princess" his voice vibrated as he spoke, causing her to grind down further.

He lapped at her slick folds, moaning at the sweet taste. One hand lifted off of her thighs and he pressed two long fingers at her entrance. Kylian sucked at her swollen clit as he inserted his fingers deeply, quickly finding a steady rhythm.

Bianca's eyes rolled back, uncontrollable noises falling from her lips as Kylian's fingers sunk into her, hitting her most sensitive places. Kylian only sucked harder at her clit, causing her thighs to shake around his head.

It took everything within her brain power to be able to form a sentence, even in pieces. "Fuck me, please fuck me, please Kylian" she got out, brain too gone for embarrassment.

Kylian continued his movements, fingers only speeding up as she quivered underneath his tongue. "Please daddy" she begged, feeling too close to her edge.

He outrightly moaned and stood up off of the bed, leaving Bianca's thighs dripping onto the sheets below. Kylian pulled down his boxers to reveal his fully erect length, precum oozing down the tip.

"My needy little whore" he cooed as he brought her naked body to the edge of the bed.

Bianca smiled at the name before sharply inhaling while Kylian lined himself up with her. He stroked at his length before dragging himself down her folds, soaking his tip in the clear liquid. Kylian pressed his dick up against Bianca's clit, teasing her while she begged him for more.

After he got the reaction he wanted he moved down and slowly inserted himself, drooling at the sight of her gripping him tightly. Bianca tapped on his chest, causing him to freeze immediately in his place. "Do you want to wear a condom?" She asked, still half full of him.

He thought about it for a quick second, but his mind already seemed made up. "Do you want me to wear a condom?" He repeated back.

"No, wanna feel you raw."

Kylian smiled sweetly and then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Likewise, princess."

Bianca lifted her head to watch the slow movements pick back up, sighing in contentment at the feeling and sight of his thick cock stretching her.

He leaned over to kiss her, slipping his tongue in sloppily while he bottomed out fully within her. They made out hotly as Bianca got used to his size. When she started bucking into him, he took that as a sign to start moving again. Slowly, he picked up his pace- groaning raspily as he fucked into her tight hole.

She moved to lift her legs onto his shoulders, crying out in ecstasy when he reached a new level of deep. Kylian's jaw dropped at the new angle as he held on to her tightly, thrusting into her quicker. "Fuck it's b-big" Bianca slurred, eyelids dropping with pleasure.

Kylian pressed his large hand down onto her stomach. "Can you feel it in here, mon bébé?" His tone was low and confident.

Bianca dropped her hand down under his, moaning loudly when she felt a small bulge that popped up in time with his movements. "Y-yes so so deep" she whimpered, tears prickling up at the corners of her eyes from how good it felt.

He was rougher now, completely pulling out before slamming back into her harshly. Kylian gasped out every time his throbbing cock ground against the back of her slick walls. She was loving every moment of it, squeezing around his thick length.

"You're so fucking tight" he panted in between thrusts, his balls twitching at the feeling.

There was a pressure building that she had never felt before. She had had many orgasms in her life, but this was more intense. Bianca began to thrash around on the bed, the pressure overwhelming her in the best way. Kylian groaned as her walls clenched around him even tighter, his orgasm not too far away. "Daddy fuck, I can't."

Even in his lost mind, he understood what was happening so continued at his fast pace, bringing a hand to circle against her clit. Bianca's moans become more frequent and louder as she was at the brink of her edge, the strange pressure growing to be too much.

Kylian leaned down to her ear, his pace keeping at the same rate. "You've been such a good girl for me," he praised, watching her almost unravel underneath him.

"Come all over my cock, princess" he instructed, pressing down harder onto her clit.

Bianca screamed as a clear fluid gushed out of her, wetting Kylian's thighs and lower abs. "Fuck yes, baby. Keep coming all over, pretty girl" Kylian groaned as he fucked her through her orgasm.

Her nails racked down his back as she spasmed around his cock, her world stopping as she squirted all over her bed and lover. Bianca couldn't think about anything other than the dick pounding her, tears pouring down her face at the overwhelming euphoria. "Fuck Kylian" was all she managed to rasp out in between cries.

Kylian kissed her temple softly. "I know, baby. I know"

It took a good minute for the pleasure to finally fade, but her walls still shook around his hard length. Kylian was dangerously close, proud of himself for not coming instantly when he saw Bianca's orgasm.

A wet deeply erotic pop filled the room as Kylian pulled out of her soaking pussy; climbing on the bed and over Bianca with his dick still in his hands.

Bianca stuck her tongue out as Kylian towered over her, cupping his balls while he jerked himself off rapidly. As she went to wrap her mouth around his full length, Kylian held her hair tightly in place so she was hovering over his dick without being on it.

"Wanna give me a facial?" Bianca asked, batting her eyelashes up at him.

Kylian nodded, sweat dripping down from his forehead as he pulled at his cock. Bianca wanted to say whatever she needed to in order to get him there. "Gonna come for me, Daddy? Gonna paint me like the cumslut I am for you?" Bianca purred, sticking out her tongue once again.

He let out something in-between a cry and a grunt as his cock jerked wildly, spurting out his huge sticky load onto her face. Kylian tried to keep his eyes open to watch but couldn't, the pleasure almost bringing him down to the bed fully, knees wobbly.

"Merde" Kylian choked out as he dragged his length over Bianca's semen-stained cheek, using his own cum to jerk off for a little bit longer. After a minute he let out a relaxed breath as his body calmed down.

As soon as Bianca noticed his orgasm had washed away, she mouthed his oversensitive dick to lick up the white residue. Kylian winced loudly but let her clean up the mess, watching as she used her fingers to scoop the rest and swallow it. "You're an angel, Bianca" Kylian breathed out as he leaned down to kiss her, the taste of each other on their lips.

They lazily kissed for a few seconds before Kylian collapsed beside her. He pulled Bianca into his bare chest and let his breathing even out as his eyes closed exhaustedly. "Missed you so much" was the last thing Kylian said before dozing off completely.

Bianca pressed a long kiss to his chest. "I missed you too" she murmured before falling into her own sleep.

Everything felt so serene, so right.

In times like these, it was easy to forget about the world waiting for them outside. It was just them. No distractions, no work, no worries. They slept peacefully for hours, not waking up for anything as they cradled each other's naked bodies.

The bright sun has long since set, the tranquil moonlight allowing their fantasy to live out without the light reminding them of their real lives and responsibilities.

All good things must come to an end at some point.

In the middle of the night, Kylian sat up abruptly, heart pounding in his chest. Bianca stirred next to him, awoken by the sudden movement. His hands scanned across the bed until they reached his phone.

Kylian squinted at the bright light and tapped at the screen until it unlocked. "Shit.." he sighed as he looked down at the dozens of missed calls and texts.

Bianca didn't even know what to say, mind still foggy from sleep. Even if she hadn't just woken up she's not sure if she could come up with something better. "Is she mad?" she croaked out, voice grainy.

"She's pissed and worried. I should call her to let her know I'm okay" Kylian crawled out of bed and put on his boxers, leaving Bianca cold at the loss of his body warmth.

Bianca frowned and watched him disappear into her living room- shutting the bedroom door behind him. Her heart swelled as tears welled up in her eyes, listening as Kylian apologized profusely and made up a web of lies about where he was.

It dawned upon her that no matter what moments they shared he wasn't hers. No matter how many times he caressed her and made her feel beautiful he would eventually go back to Camille. Why am I even upset? I'm the bitch here. I'm ruining their relationship not the other way around.

Kylian broke her out of her thoughts as the door creaked open. "I told her I'm just gonna come home from the office in a few hours after the rain eases up." He crawled back into his previous spot, pulling the blanket over him.

He glanced over to find a dazed Bianca staring up at the ceiling. "What's wrong?" He pinched her nose playfully to lighten the mood.

"Nothing, just tired" she lied, eyes now on him.

Kylian opened his arms widely. "Come here then."

Her worries melted away as she was enveloped in his comforting embrace. Kylian's fingers scratched at her scalp as she drifted off again, Kylian following not too far behind her.

When Bianca woke up from her alarm buzzing loudly she was surprised to find her bed empty. Bianca threw on a robe as she searched for Kylian, but he was nowhere to be found. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a big paper bag on her kitchen counter.

Bianca opened the bag to find a prepacked breakfast from a restaurant nearby with an old piece of paper on top with scribbled writing on it. Don't hate me, I didn't want to wake you up. I hope you enjoy your breakfast. See you at the office -K.M

She shook her head and pulled out the food, throwing the paper back into the bag. Back to reality.

Later that same day it was business as usual. Bianca giggled to herself all throughout the day, still riding on the high of last night's events. A couple of her coworkers pointed out that she seemed to be giddy today, but Bianca kept her lips sealed shut.

"Good afternoon" Bianca's greeted as she heard the front door open, her eyes stayed glued to the computer, typing something into the documents.

When her eye's left the screen she was surprised to be met with a familiar face that she didn't want to see, especially not now. Camille stood with her arms crossed, dark circles rimming the bottom of her eyes. "Is Kylian here?"

Bianca inhaled sharply. "Mr. Mbappé is up inside his office, yes," she confirmed dragging her eyes back onto her computer screen.

Camille headed off to the elevators but turned back on second thought. "Was Kylian really here last night? Did you see him leave with anyone else?" she asked, her tone dripping with worry.

Bianca tried to ignore the hundreds of thoughts coming at her at once, guilt heavy on her conscious. She tried to look casual as she clicked away at her keyboard. "He was here when I left, but that's all I know."

Once again Camille headed to the elevators, this time not looking back.

As soon as the girl left, Bianca buried her head into her hands and groaned loudly. I'm becoming a horrible person.

𝔸/ℕ: 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘! 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕤𝕠 𝕀'𝕞 𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤. 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕀 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕒 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕙𝕒.

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