summary: you're watching a cooking show and Xavier wants his dessert. You, more specifically.
tags: 18+/MDNI đ, established relationship, period sensitivity, explicit sexual content, domestic fluff, Xavie is low-key whipped, kissing, teasing, nipple stimulation, grinding
wc: 1.1k
masterlist
It was nearing the end of the cooking show you were both watching, and Xavier readjusts himself on the couch. His weight is on top of you, arms wrapped around your waist and back.
Todayâs challenge was all about deserts. The contestants were allowed to make anything, as long as it was sweet.
As the judges were tasting the dishes, you couldnât help but notice that Xavierâs face was getting dangerously close to your breasts. The kind of night it was, your top wasnât on properly, some of the fabric had moved down your chest. The tip of his nose just nudges against your soft skin, milky and warm, holding him close.
You try to ignore his face being that close to your chest. His mouth being close to your chest. And you certainly try to ignore him biting his lip.
Xavier wasnât doing it on purpose, you tell yourself as he moves gently to get more closer to you, he was just relaxing on you, getting more comfortable. No need to be⊠so worked up over it.
The judges taste all the dishes, and the worst dish is sent home - made by a very regretful and embarrassed looking contestant.
Xavier says your name, and you almost jump.
âYes Xavie?â
He raises his eyes to look at you, cheek resting against your chest. âAll these deserts⊠and I still havenât had mine.â
You blush and shake your head at his shamelessness, wanting to tell him there was still some Portuguese tarts left over. But you knew he wasnât talking about any dish. He was talking about you.
âX-xavierâŠâ you start, not sure what you should say.
He just stares at you gently with those calm eyes, inviting you in softly.
Xavier's hand raises, sliding his fingertips along your body. When we knows it's okay, the pads of his thumbs find and circle your nipples, already raised and sensitive. Extra sensitive because your period was coming soon, and of course Xavier knew that. It made him want to suck on your tits more, just knowing they were extra sensitive, and you would cling to him more. He raises his head fully off your chest and stares at you, waiting.
âCan I please have some dessert?â
âMmhm,â you nod, not entirely sure what he was meaning, but at this point you didnât care. You needed something from him that was more than his tantalising touch against your skin.
You let him come closer, mouth finding your own as you lay back on the couch. Xavier's lips were warm, relaxing you even further. If that was even possible by this point. Him being a weighted blanket was enough.
After a moment of bated breath, his head bobs down slowly towards your chest, ears tinged slightly pink as he nuzzles himself into your chest.
He brings a careful hand to caress a nipple, as the tip of his nose moves to circle the other. You let out a breath, moving your chest away from him, but as you take another breath it moves your chest closer to his face. Xavier pulls down the fabric a little with his fingers, pressing his body into your touch more, legs intertwined.
âCould you hold me while I do?â He asks gently, looking up at you once again.
âOf course⊠come here.â You gently cradle his head with the inside of your elbow, bringing him closer. If that was even possible at this point.
He tugs your shirt down more and closes his eyes. His lips part, and you carefully guide your nipple to his mouth. You watch him the whole time, and even though youâre expecting the contact, his wet tongue still sends a shiver of pleasure through you. You draw back from his lips, letting out a soft pop. Xavier just waits, mouth open for you to come closer again.
Xavier breathes so gently as his tongue swirls across your now hard nipple before gently tugging on it. Your body arches against his, and you run your fingers through his hair. He lets out a satisfied noise, and you continue to hold him against you, breathing hard.
He gives you a meaningful look, as if to say a thank you, before his gaze turns back to your body. He eventually latches on fully, gently sucking your nipple. Seeing him so concentrated on you only drove you more insane. You tried looking absentmindedly at the tv that was now rerunning a random sitcom. The characters and plot were lost to you, distracted fully by Xavier and his mouth, so you turn back to him and close your eyes.
He hums softly as you gently caress his jawline, face and scalp.
Xavier increases the intensity, sucking harder and harder until you think you canât take it anymore, to the point of squirming, before he pulls back again. You let out a moan before your body decides it wants more and your legs start squeezing around his thigh.
He takes a second to remove his hand, instead finding your lower back as he pulls your hips up on his thigh. The contact makes you moan and Xavier looks at you, lost in your eyes. He kisses you gently on the mouth. Gently but messily, mouth already slick from his own saliva, from sucking your skin.
âYou taste so sweet, my love.â
Holding the back of his head, he goes back to sucking on your chest, leaving small blooms of colour in his wake. Small cute purple kisses trailing up to your neck and down to your rib cage.
That was when you knew you would be here on the couch all night, absolutely and entirely in Xavierâs hands and capable mouth, intent on worshipping you.
Breathlessly, you move against his leg. It provided just enough friction for your clit to be stimulated but it wasnât enough. You move closer to him, reaching down your underwear, adjusting, before pressing against him again. You try to stifle the noise you make, being pressed against him fully, and your clit being that much more sensitive.
âXavie?â You whisper, âwhat do you rate your dessert?â
You both lock eyes and laugh, indulging in a honest moment of intimacy.
âMy star⊠youâre perfect. A ten out of ten.â
Xavier whispers into your ear what he plans to do with you tonight, words anything but innocent. It was steeped in a raw, mature need.
You let out a small whimper as he kisses your temple, before moving back to sucking your tits.
This was going to be a long night and you werenât about to complain. Instead you cradle his head in your arms and close your eyes, giving in completely to his touch.
Because I am a menace do you think you could do this scenario where fem!reader is talking with the lads over the phone but she has bad signal so shes super amd at the bad signal and is like "im breaking up on you" and they think she said shes breaking up with them.
lads boys thinking reader is accidentally breaking up with them over phone call
pairing: fem!reader or fem!mc x xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb, valko (all separate)
warnings: none
a/n: this is too funny absolutely brilliant idea that i had so much fun imagining and writing out thank you anon! i hope you enjoy
xavier (word count: 625)
you called xavier while you were grocery shopping. the plan was simple. you were going to his apartment later for a baking date, and since you knew his pantry was probably lacking anything remotely useful, you decided to ask what ingredients he already had before buying everything yourself. although, if you were being honest, you suspected the answer was going to be very little.
xavier answered after a few rings. "hey. do you need something?"
you smiled at the familiar sound of his voice.
"do you haveâany..."
you looked around the supermarket. the aisles were unusually crowded. boxes were stacked everywhere, carts were blocking the shelves, and employees were busy restocking. the perfect timing.
"what? can you say that last word again?"
you frowned and looked down at your phone. the call was still connected. xavier's name was still displayed on the screen. so why couldn't he hear you?
you brought the phone closer and spoke a little louder. "i said, do youâ"
static suddenly ripped through the speaker. the loud crackling made you pull the phone away from your ear. seriously your service, again? you knew you should have upgraded your phone the last time you had the chance. somehow, every time you left home, your signal decided to disappear at the worst possible moment.
"do i what?"
xavier's voice came through again, quieter this time. "is everything okay?"
you tried to answer quickly before the connection disappeared again.
"no, iâi'm breaking upâ" the static returned. "âwith you."
the call suddenly dropped, and you stared at your phone in disbelief. the little service bar that had completely disappeared.
you immediately tried texting him - sorry, my phone lost service.
the message failed. you tried again. nothing, just the pesky exclamation mark showing it didn't go through.
you sighed, putting your phone away. you would see him soon anyway, and you could explain then.
you pushed your cart further down the aisle, reaching for a box of sugar. then everything changed. a flash of light surrounded you. the store disappeared for a moment. and a familiar voice cut through the beam.
"you are breaking up with me?"
slowly, you turned and standing in front of you was xavier. his eyes were wide, concern written all over his face.
"xavier?" you dropped the sugar box. "what are youâwhat?!"
you stepped closer, completely confused. "why would you think that?"
you immediately wrapped your arms around him. but for a moment, he hesitated, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to hold you back.
"on the phone," he said quietly, "you said 'i'm breaking up with you.'"
his expression softened. "i thought you were crying. that's why your voice kept cutting out."
you couldn't stop the small smile that appeared. of course this was what he thought. it was ridiculous, and somehow, completely adorable.
"no, xavier." you pulled away and held up your phone. "my phone sucks! my service stopped working. see?"
you showed him the failed messages. the evidence was right there. for a second, he just stared, then a hint of redness crept across his ears.
"oh." he looked away, clearly embarrassed that he had jumped to that conclusion. but finally, his arms wrapped around you. relieved. "i see."
"you teleported to a grocery store because you thought i broke up with you."
"i was concerned." he muttered into your shirt.
you smiled, "you're lucky you're cute."
"please stop."
you felt him shaking his head but you couldn't stop smiling. after a moment, xavier pulled away and looked down at your cart.
"so..." he glanced at the ingredients. "are we still having baking night?"
"that was your first question after all this?"
he looked at you seriously then smiled.
"yes, xavie. we're still having baking night."
"good...i'll help."
zayne (word count: 666)
zayne knew he was going to be at the hospital late. you knew it too, which was exactly why you were currently sitting in the parking lot outside a small restaurant, a bag of his favorite food sitting carefully beside you. a surprise.
he had been working nonstop lately, taking extra shifts and barely remembering to eat anything that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. you figured showing up with dinner was the least you could do.
your phone rang before you could start driving - zayne's caller id flashing.
you smiled immediately as you answered, "hi."
your keychains rattled slightly as you went to put the key in the ignition.
"you sound busy."
"i'mâŠnot." you didn't want to let on that you were on your way to see him and hoped your voice wouldn't give you away.
"you hesitated."
he knew you too well. you tried to play it off, "and you spend too much time analyzing people."
"i'm a doctor it's in the job description."
you smiled to yourself as you pulled onto the road. "how's your shift?"
"long."
"that bad?"
"i've had better."
you frowned sympathetically, "did you eat?"
"i had coffee."
"that is not food."
"it had calories."
you drove through the tunnel, still talking. "so i was thinking maybe after your shiftâ"
the call crackled, you glanced at your phone.
"hello?" he asked
"i-was thinking-need-to-break-up " there was static. "your schedule" you tapped the screen. it was still connected. "zayne?"
then the call ended. the tunnel was always bad for service. you should have known you were going to lose him. no matter, you shrugged it off. you would see him soon anyway.
after a few more errands you arrived at the hospital. zayne had just finished with a patient when he returned to his office.
and there you were standing by his desk. setting out dinner.
you turned around with a smile, "surprise!"
for a moment, he looked like he had forgotten how to react. then his expression shifted. not confusion...something worse.
"you shouldn't be here."
your smile immediately faltered. "what do you mean?"
"i thought..." he looked away. "i thought you broke up with me."
the utensil in your hand slipped, and fell on the floor with a clatter. "WHAT?!"
zayne looked at you confused. "the call. when you said..." his voice lowered. "that you were breaking up with me."
there was a brief moment of silence then â "SO YOU WERE JUST GOING TO LET ME BREAK UP WITH YOU OVER A PHONE CALL?!"
the entire office went quiet. some of his coworkers outside the window stopped walking. zayne just stared at you.
"that's what you're upset about?"
"yes! you thought i broke up with you and your solution was just... acceptance?"
"it's not like i had much time to question it, i had patients to see."
"zayne." you said taking a step closer to him
he opened his mouth to speak then stopped, because now that he was hearing it out loud, it did sound absurd. not only would you never, but he should have never assumed.
you crossed your arms standing directly in front of him now.
he sighed, "i'm sorry, it's been a long day."
you raised an eyebrow. "that's your excuse?"
"it is the only explanation i have."
you tried to stay annoyed. you really did. but then he stepped closer, his expression softening as his hands reached for you.
your face relaxed. "i guess i should have called back when i got out of the tunnel."
"yes, you should have."
you rolled your eyes and before you could respond, he leaned down and kissed you. it was slow and gentle. the tension he had felt all day melting away. the kind of kiss that said he was still relieved you were here.
when he pulled away, he glanced at the dinner you brought, and his stomach rumbled before he could stop it.
"go eat before i change my mind and pack this up."
"yes ma'am"
rafayel (word count: 744)
you had just finished getting dinner with some friends and were about to head into a new nightclub. it was supposed to be a great night. no drama. no problems. just a fun night out.
before you went inside, you decided to call rafayel. mostly because you knew if you didn't, he would somehow convince himself you died in some horrible accident.
you waited near the entrance, watching the line slowly move forward. the second he answered, you smiled.
"hey. how's girls night?" his voice immediately turned teasing. "miss me already?"
the music from the club was already blasting through the speakers outside, the bass vibrating through the sidewalk. It was way too loud.
"good, miss youâwhat? having fun."
"that's good...i think."
you smiled, smushing your phone up closer to your ear trying to hear him better.
"if you need a ride home, just let me know."
you looked toward the front of the line. you were almost inside.
"i'm sorryâ"
the music drowned you out. you stepped away from the crowd, pressing your phone closer to your ear.
"i am breaking upâ"
there was static and rafayel's voice barely cut through. "what?"
you frowned, "i said i'm breaking upâ" the connection broke again. you tried moving toward the side of the building where it was quieter. "âwith you."
the call dropped. you stared at your phone. "oh, come on."
you barely had time to register that you had lost signal before your phone started going off.
once. twice. then nonstop. notifications flooded your screen - your social media. yur personal email. your work email. somehow, rafayel had found every possible method of communication and was using all of them.
you opened the first message - we can work this out, i promise.
then the next - please don't leave me. i love you so much.
you continued scrolling. there were at least twenty more. you weren't even sure when he had managed to type all of them.
i don't understand what happened but i am willing to take the blame.
are you ignoring me?
that is fair. i deserve it.
but please know i am suffering.
you covered your face with your hand. you immediately tried calling him back but it steadily beeped. you checked your signal bar. no bars.
you looked at the nightclub entrance. your friends were waiting. the night was supposed to be fun. but now you had a very dramatic boyfriend somewhere thinking his entire relationship had ended because of a bad phone connection.
you sighed, "sorry guys."
your friends looked at you. "what happened?"
you held up your phone, "rafayel."
they immediately understood. "again?"
you nodded, apologizing as you left the line, already knowing where you were going. by the time you reached his place, you weren't even surprised that the door opened before you knocked. rafayel stood there. his hair was messy, and his expression was devastated.
you stared at him, "rafayel."
he looked at you for all of 0.5 seconds then immediately pulled you into a hug.
"i thought you were gone."
"raf-"
"i was prepared to give you space." he interrupted
you couldn't help laughing. he pulled back, looking offended.
"this isn't funny. you broke up with me over a phone call."
"but the thing is i actually didn't."
"you said you were breaking up with me."
"i said the call was breaking up!"
rafayel froze, "what?"
"the signal dropped." you held up your phone. "the nightclub was loud, my service was terrible, and you heard half a sentence."
his expression slowly changed devastation turning into hope, "you mean..."
"i mean i was not breaking up with you."
there was a pause, then his shoulders dropped. the dramatic despair faded into embarrassment.
"oh...so i see now that i panicked."
"you contacted my work email."
"i was desperate!" he looked away. "i thought i was losing my muse."
you softened immediately, because underneath all the drama, that was the real reason. he loved deeply. sometimes too deeply.
you reached up and fixed his hair, "you are dramatic. "
"and..."
"and i love you."
his expression brightened immediately as he pulled you into the house and closed the door.
"good. does this mean girls night is over? i just want to know if i should order dinner."
you laughed, "you're unbelievable."
"but?"
you sighed, "but yes. order dinner."
he kissed your forehead. "next time, please don't break up with me."
"next time, please let me finish a sentence."
sylus (word count: 551)
you should have known answering a call during a mission was a bad idea - but it was sylus. and despite everything you claimed about being professional, you always answered when it was him.
your phone buzzed as you moved through the abandoned district, scanning the area for Wanderer activity. you accepted the call.
"you're calling me during work hours?" you teased.
a low chuckle came through the speaker. "and you're answering during a mission. seems we're both making questionable decisions."
you rolled your eyes. "you missed me."
"obviously."
you opened your mouth prepared to continue teasing him. then something moved behind you.
"sylus, hold on."
a wanderer lunged. you dodged, your phone bouncing against your shoulder as you fought back.
"are you seriously fighting while we're on the phone?"
"kind of busy!"
"i can tell." there was amusement in his voice.
you fired back at the wanderer, moving quickly across the street.
"stay there!"
"i am not the one you need to tell that to."
the wanderer attacked again, and you grunted, pushing it back.
"sylus, i'm breakingâ" static swallowed your voice.
his expression changed. "what?"
you were still talking but all he heard was fragments.
"i'm breaking..." the signal crackled. "...with you."
he heard a crash then silence. for several seconds, sylus stared at his phone.
by the time your shift ended, you were already exhausted. you noticed the missed calls immediately. and the moment you called him back, he answered.
"i am so sorry." you begin trying to explain
"where are you?"
"uh...leaving headquarters?"
"good, when you get outside look to your right."
"why?"
you stepped outside and there he was. leaning against his car like he hadn't just appeared at your workplace without warning.
"sylus?"
"i already ordered you a new phone. your current one is clearly unreliable."
before you could respond his voice cut through again
"now get over here."
you ended the call and crossed over to him.
"are you mad at me?"
"no...i'm irritated."
"because my phone broke?"
he looked over your head off into the distance. "you said you were breaking up with me."
you immediately covered your face. "i was fighting a wanderer."
"yes, i gathered that."
"i said i was breakingâ" you pointed at your phone. "âup because the call was breaking up. the wanderer must have been interfering with my signal. "
sylus stared at you for a long moment, then he sighed. "that is incredibly inconvenient."
for the first time throughout this entire situation, you laughed.
"you thought i would randomly break up with you?"
"no." he answered so quickly it caught you off guard. "because that would be stupid, kitten."
"and yet..." you lifted your phone between the two of you, holding it up right in front of his face.
he looked at the cracked screen for a second before plucking it neatly from your hand.
"it looks like i eliminated the greatest threat."
he turned the phone over once, inspecting it with all the seriousness of someone evaluating an enemy combatant.
"you are such an old man."
you stepped into his space and looped your arms around his neck. shaking your head, you leaned up and kissed him.
when you pulled away, he was already slipping the phone into his pocket.
"the new one arrives tomorrow."
caleb (word count: 632)
caleb answered your call while walking toward the transport bay, his tablet tucked under one arm.
"where are you?" he asked.
you smiled at the immediate question. "hello to you too."
"hello." his tone softened slightly. "now answer the question."
you glanced around your surroundings. "i'm outside."
"outside where?"
"work."
"you're just leaving?"
"yeah. i had to stay late."
"you said that two hours ago." he complained
"and yet here i am."
he huffed quietly, but you could hear the amusement in it. "unbelievable."
"you're one to talk!"
caleb smiled to himself as he listened to you talk. this was the part of missions he hated mostâthe quiet moments before leaving, when he had to memorize the sound of normal things. you complaining about work and the two of you arguing over nothing.
"anyway," you continued, "i was just calling because i wanted toâ"
your voice suddenly felt very far away. caleb pulled the phone away slightly, checking the screen. your id was still glowing right back at him.
"hello?"
"i'm here." your voice came back, but faintly.
stupid reception. of course being so close to the deepspace tunnel. the signal always got weird around this area.
"where did you go?" he asked.
static swallowed half your words.
"i'm breaking" the connection broke then returned for half a second. enough for him to hear the next words clear as day. "up with you"
before he could ask what you meant the call dropped. for a moment, his brain refused to process it. then it did, and the colonel who had faced down impossible missions, hostile enemies, and things most people would never surviveâstood completely still in the middle of the transport bay.
caleb never made it onto the airship. he told himself it was because the mission could wait. clarification was more important.
the moment command cleared him, he was already moving. by the time he reached home, he was still in uniform. he didn't even take the time to change. the second the door opened, he was already inside. you barely had time to look up from the couch.
"caleb? why are youâ"
you didn't get to finish because he was already crossing the room. and then he was holding you. not a casual hug. not the kind where he pulled you close and teased you about worrying too much. this was desperate. like he needed to feel you breathing before he could believe he was home.
you froze, your arms hovering awkwardly before slowly wrapping around him.
"caleb?"
his grip tightened. "we can't break up." his voice came out rough. "not now...not ever."
you pulled back just enough to look at him. "caleb, what are you talking about?"
his eyes were red. actually red. and that was when the confusion turned into concern.
"you said it...on the phone" he whispered.
faint amusement played on your lips, "oh...oh my god."
but caleb still looked at you serious.
"my love we were losing signal," you said slowly. "i was literally telling you the call was breaking up."
the realization hit him all at once. at the same time you stared at his uniform.
"wait." your eyes narrowed. "did you leave the mission?"
"i thought you were leaving me."
the quiet confession made your heart ache.
you reached up and touched his face. "what did you tell them?"
"that there was a family emergency."
"caleb you cannot be serious?!"
"well it wasnt exactly a lie!"
you laughed softly, shaking your head. "you really scared yourself."
"i know." he said so quiet you almost didn't hear him.
"you cried, didn't you?"
his silence answered for him.
your expression softened turning teasing, "the big bad colonel cried?"
"don't start."
his forehead rested against yours, and for the first time since that awful phone call, he laughed.
"lets hope i don't get fired"
valko (word count: 674)
valko had dealt with system failures before. servers crashing. technology malfunctioning at the worst possible moment. he had built an entire company around solving those problems. so when his phone failed him, he took it personally.
the call had started normally. you were on your way home, talking about your day while valko finished up some work.
"you're still in the office?" you asked.
"yes."
"you know, most people leave work eventually."
"most people are not running a company."
"no i am pretty sure even those people go back to their normal lives."
he was still smiling when the call started breaking up. at first, he assumed it was a minor connection issue.
then your voice distorted. "valko, i'mâ"
his brows furrowed, turning the speaker off and bringing the phone closer to him.
"i'm breaking upâ" the words jumbled together slightly. then the line dropped but right before it did he could have sworn you had said "with you"
valko stared at the screen. for several seconds, he didn't move. then he looked around his office. the same office where his employees had spent years developing cutting-edge technology. and somehow...his own phone had just delivered the worst possible message.
within the next hour, his executive team walked into a meeting expecting quarterly reports. instead, they found valko sitting at the head of the table with his phone placed in front of him.
one employee hesitated before asking. "is there an issue?"
"there is."
everyone became serious. "security breach?" someone said
"no."
"system failure?"
"no...my phone."
the room went silent. "your phone?" his assistant asked
valko nodded. "it malfunctioned."
someone looked confused. "we can replace it."
"that is not the point." valko continued. "it caused unnecessary emotional distress."
one employee slowly realized what happened. "sir."
"no." valko's expression remained completely serious. "i am exploring legal options."
"against who?"
"the manufacturer," valko said evenly. "the network provider. possibly both."
he clasped his hands behind his back and continued pacing.
"i am considering emotional damages."
"valko."
your voice cut cleanly through the room. every head turned toward the office door. one of his assistants had called you the moment valko started pacing around his office, throwing papers across his desk and, according to the assistant's very panicked words, "absolutely raging."
you'd changed directions immediately and came straight to his company. now, standing in the doorway, you looked between the nervous employees and your boyfriend.
"what's going on?" you asked carefully. "your assistant called and said it was an emergency."
the moment valko saw you, every ounce of composure disappeared. he crossed the room in seconds and wrapped his arms around you without a second thought, completely ignoring the audience.
"valko?"
he held you tighter. "explain the phone call."
you frowned, "what phone call?"
"the breakup."
then your eyes widened. "breakâ" you slapped a hand over your forehead. "oh! i was saying the call was breaking up!"
the office went completely still. valko slowly turned his head toward his employees. then, with all the dignity he could still salvage, he cleared his throat.
"everyone out."
no one argued. laptops, notebooks, coffee mugsâeverything was abandoned as the room emptied in record time. when the door clicked shut, only then did valko finally look back at you.
he glanced down, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "i see..."
you stared at him for exactly three seconds before bursting into laughter.
"you thought i broke up with you? and you were going to sue your own industry as a result?"
he sighed, sat down in his chair, and effortlessly pulled you into his lap.
"you are never letting this go, are you?"
"oh, absolutely not."
a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. you brushed a thumb across his cheek, still smiling.
"you owe me an apology."
he considered that then shook his head. "no. you owe me."
"for what?"
he looked at you with complete seriousness. "emotional damages."
you groaned, laughing as you buried your face against his shoulder.
pairing: songwriter fem! reader x idol! min yoongi
summary: As a songwriter youâve always trusted your words more than your feelings. Unfortunately, falling for Min Yoongi makes both impossible to ignore. Wanting someone so much that youâre lost for words was slowly driving you mad. And somewhere between studio sessions, late-night conversations, and one too many stupid songs that sound suspiciously alike, you begin to wonder if love is supposed to feel this wonderfully unbearable.
genre: (fluff). co-workerâfriends-to-lovers. romantic comedy. idol au. idiots in love.
warning! ââ none. yoongi might be the most patient and perfect man ever. reader a bit anxious and an over-thinker. bit of jealousy and hurt. cringe scenes of me pretending to know howâs the process of writing songs/music.
authorâs note: i love this one so much i hope you do too. itâs so cute and i try to describe the feeling of falling in love so fast it makes you feel insane the best i could. hope i made justice to the song. i really hope u like this one<3
word count: +14k words
ââââ pretty sad for a girl so in love (series)
It was so frustrating how nothing felt exactly wrong and yet everything had somehow started feeling a little off.
You had spent the last couple of weeks waiting for something to happen, although you couldnât have said what that something was supposed to be. Nothing in your life had changed enough to justify the feeling. Work was still work, your deadlines were still piling up in the same irritating way they always did, your friends were still dragging you out to places you didnât particularly want to go, and you were still sleeping at whatever hour people who worked in music apparently decided sleep was optional. There was no crisis, no heartbreak, no sudden realization that you had chosen the wrong career and needed to disappear to a cabin somewhere in Vermont. If anything, everything was going suspiciously well. Which, somehow, was making it worse.
You sat on the closed toilet lid in the bathroom of someoneâs apartment in Brooklyn, one knee pulled against your chest while the bathroom fan struggled uselessly against the smoke filling the room. Someone had opened the tiny window above the bathtub, but it hadnât made much of a difference. Three of your friends were crowded around the sink, passing a blunt between them and arguing about whether a guy they had met downstairs was actually attractive or just tall. You had been listening for the last ten minutes, occasionally laughing when you were supposed to, but your attention had drifted somewhere else a while ago.
âYouâre not even listening,â Maya said, pointing at you with the blunt.
âI am.â
âWhat did I just say?â
You looked at her for a second, then glanced at the others as if one of them might have been paying enough attention to rescue you.
âSomething about his eyes?â
âSee?â Maya said, looking unbearably pleased with herself. âSheâs gone.â
âIâm tired.â
âYouâve been tired for three weeks. Youâre not even sharing one with us.â
âWell maybe Iâve been tired for three weeks.â You repeated her words like that explained something.
That earned you a round of laughter, all your friends too high to think it was a great joke, although you only smiled before looking down at your phone again. You had been checking it more than usual lately, though you had yet to figure out why. There was always something waiting for you anyway. A producer sending a revision at two in the morning, a manager asking about a session, someone needing lyrics cleaned up before a demo was sent off, or one of the artists you worked with deciding that a song they had collectively abandoned six weeks ago was suddenly the most important thing in the world.
Your own work had become particularly strange lately. You were still writing, obviously, but everything seemed to take longer. You would sit in front of a notebook and know exactly what you wanted a song to feel like without being able to find the right words for it, then spend an hour changing one line and another hour convincing yourself the original had been better. It wasnât writerâs block. It wasnât even frustration with the work itself. You simply felt distracted in a way you couldnât explain.
Maybe you needed a break, maybe you needed to sleep. Or maybe you just needed to stop saying yes every time somebody asked you to go out.. God, you were getting old.
Your phone buzzed in your hand. You glanced at the screen and saw Yoongiâs name.
For a moment, nothing about it felt unusual. You had been working together for a few months now, long enough that late-night messages from him werenât particularly surprising. His new project was still mostly floating around in pieces, half-written ideas and unfinished melodies that existed in voice notes, scattered documents and whatever you happened to remember after a session. He was still working with his group, too, which meant your schedules were constantly shifting, so your work together tended to happen whenever you could find a few hours that belonged to neither of you.
The message contained a file and nothing else. You stared at it.
You: are you at the studio?
His reply came quickly.
Yoongi: Yeah
You: why
Yoongi: Couldnât sleep
You smiled faintly, mostly because it was such a typical answer from him.
You: you have a session in the morning
Yoongi: I know
You: a group session
Yoongi: I know
You: so go to sleep
There was a longer pause this time.
Yoongi: got an idea.
You looked at the file heâd sent again, then at the time in the corner of your screen. It was nearly two in the morning.
You: for what? a personal or group project?
Yoongi: I donât know yet
You could practically hear his voice in the vague little word.
You should have told him to send it tomorrow. You probably should have told him to stop working and go home, because whatever inspiration had decided to show up at two in the morning could survive until breakfast when you were in your paid schedule and sober enough to know what you were thinking about... Instead, you found yourself opening the message again without actually playing the song.
âWho you talking to?â Maya asked.
âYoongi.â
She hummed. âYour Yoongi?â
You looked up. âHeâs not my Yoongi.â
âI didnât say he was.â
âYou literally said âyour Yoongi.ââ
âBecause you work with him.â
âRight.â
Maya raised an eyebrow at your defensiveness but wisely decided not to continue.
Your phone buzzed again.
Yoongi: Are you busy tonight?
You glanced around the bathroom, at the smoke, the cramped space, the people talking over each other, and then at the unopened song sitting on your screen⊠Busy? Not really busy now were you?
A minute later, you were typing before you could think too much about it.
You: iâll come by.
His response was almost immediate.
Yoongi: okay
Yoongi: Iâll wait for you
That was it. No questions, no surprise, no attempt to talk you out of it and tell you how you should be out on a Friday night instead of working like himâŠ
You slipped your phone into your pocket and stood, brushing imaginary lint from your jeans. âIâm leaving.â
Maya stared at you. âTo where?â
âThe studio.â
âAt two in the morning?â
âApparently.â
âWhy?â
You shrugged, already reaching for the bathroom door. âIâm bored.â
That was true, at least.
It was easier to believe you were leaving because you were bored than to admit that, lately, there was something strangely comforting about the idea of being around Yoongi. Not exciting, not romantic, not anything you could put a name to yet. It was just comforting. You had started noticing that you felt more settled after your sessions, even when you hadnât actually accomplished much, you had started looking forward to working with him in a way that felt slightly embarrassing considering you spent most of your life complaining about having to work.
Yoongi just gave you a sense of comfort about your work and understood how important was music for you. Working with him had become a pleasure.
Outside the bathroom, the party was louder than youâd remembered. Music shook the walls, someone was laughing loudly in the kitchen, and two people you didnât recognize were making out against the hallway wall as if they had paid rent there. You found your coat among the pile near the door, waved goodbye to your friends, ignored several attempts to convince you to stay, and stepped outside into the cold Brooklyn night.
The air felt good against your face. You stood on the sidewalk for a moment, pulling your coat tighter around yourself while the noise of the apartment disappeared behind the door. New York was still awake, as usual. Cars passed at the end of the street, a cab slowed near the curb, and somewhere a siren echoed between the buildings before fading into the distance.
You checked your phone again. Nothing from Yoongi. You shoved your hands into your pockets and started walking toward the studio, telling yourself that you were only going because you had nothing better to do.
By the time you got to the studio, the city had gone quiet, the streets were still full of people but the noise had softened into something distant and almost comforting. You let yourself in with the code Yoongi had given you a few weeks ago after the company gave him a studio there. You shrugged off your coat as you walked down the familiar hallway. You had been there enough times now that you didnât really think about it anymore. The studio had stopped feeling like a place you were visiting for work and started feeling like somewhere you could show up without needing a reason, which was probably why you hadnât thought twice about coming over at two in the morning.
There was light coming from underneath the studio door. You knocked twice before pushing it open.
Yoongi was sitting on the couch with his laptop balanced on one knee, headphones hanging around his neck and a half-empty cup of coffee sitting on the table beside him. He looked up when you walked in, and for a second his expression was almost surprised, as if he hadnât actually expected you to come despite having told you to. Then his mouth curved into a small smile.
âYou actually came.â
âYou told me to.â
âI didnât tell you to.â
âYou sent me a song at two in the morning.â
âI sent you a song.â
âAt two in the morning.â
Yoongi nodded thoughtfully, as if you had made an excellent point. âRight, because thatâs so different.â
You laughed as you dropped your bag beside the couch. âThatâs practically begging.â
âIt isnât!.â
He shifted to make room for you, and you sat down beside him, close enough that you could see the project open on his laptop. There were several tracks stacked across the screen, most of them labeled with names that were barely distinguishable from one another, along with a handful of notes heâd apparently written for himself and then forgotten to make comprehensible for other people.
âSo,â you said, leaning forward to look at the screen, âwhat exactly was so important that you couldnât sleep?â
âI donât know yet.â
âGreat.â
âI said I had an idea.â
âYou sent me a twelve-second clip.â
âItâs a good twelve seconds.â
You looked at him and he looked back at you, completely serious.
You laughed again, and he finally smiled properly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tried to hide it by looking back at the laptop. You had noticed his smile before, obviously, but you still found it slightly strange how different he looked when he actually let himself grin. Yoongi had a naturally quiet expression, one that could make him seem more intimidating than he really was if you didnât know him, but when he laughed properly, that entire impression disappeared. His gummy smile made him look almost boyish, and you had already seen it enough times to know that he smiled a lot more than people probably assumed he did.
You had learned that about him over the last few months.
When youâd first started working together, youâd assumed he was going to be difficult to get to know. Not because heâd been unfriendly, but because he seemed like the sort of person who could spend an entire afternoon sitting in silence and genuinely enjoy himself. You had prepared yourself for short answers, long stretches of awkwardness, and having to carry every conversation yourself.
Instead, once heâd gotten comfortable with you, youâd discovered that he talked. A lot.
Yoongi made stupid jokes when sessions got too serious, complained dramatically whenever someone suggested changing a part of a song he liked, sent you random voice notes that had absolutely nothing to do with whatever you were working on, and had somehow developed a habit of asking your opinion on things that had nothing to do with music. He was still quieter around people he didnât know well, but with you, he seemed to have no problem filling the silence.
You liked that. And you liked working with him, too.
It had actually been one of the first things heâd told you when heâd mentioned wanting to keep working together beyond the album he was currently finishing with his group. A few months earlier, after one of your sessions had run much longer than expected, heâd casually mentioned that he had a lot of unfinished ideas and that, if he eventually put together another solo projectâ or even if he just wanted to keep making music without necessarily knowing what it would becomeâ he wanted you involved.
âYou have a good work ethic,â heâd told you at the time, like it was the simplest explanation in the world. âI like working with people who actually want to finish things.â
Youâd laughed because youâd never considered yourself particularly disciplined, but youâd understood what he meant. You were stubborn about your work. If you started something, you wanted to see where it went, even if that meant staying in a studio until three in the morning arguing over one line.
That was how youâd ended up there, months later, with an unfinished album, dozens of half-written songs, and a friendship you hadnât really expected to make.
And because of that, Yoongi texting you at ridiculous hours wasnât unusual anymore.
Sometimes he wanted your opinion on a lyric. Sometimes he had a melody he couldnât place. Sometimes he sent you something at three in the morning with absolutely no explanation and expected you to understand what he meant from context alone. You did the same thing to him. It had become part of the rhythm of working together, and somewhere along the way, the conversations had started lasting longer than the work.
Tonight wasnât any different. You listened to the melody a few more times, stopping it occasionally to point out something you thought could work better. Yoongi played around with the chords while you hummed different possibilities, and eventually the original twelve seconds had turned into almost a minute of music.
âThis part,â you said, pointing at the screen, âfeels like it wants to go somewhere else.â
âWhere?â
âSomewhere.â He looked at you. You shrugged. âThatâs why I said feels like.â
âYouâre very helpful.â
âI came here for free.â
âI didnât ask you to come.â
âYou literally sent me the song like you were begging for help.â
âI sent you the song because I wanted you to hear it.â
âAnd now Iâm here because of those actions.â
âAnd now youâre complaining.â
âIâm always complaining. Be glad Iâm here.â
âIâm glad youâre here.â
You smiled and leaned back into the couch.
For a while, the conversation drifted away from the song entirely. It happened naturally, like it usually did with him. One minute you were talking about the melody, and the next you were telling him about the party youâd just escaped from, complaining about one of your friends and the guy sheâd spent the entire night talking about. Yoongi listened with the same amused expression heâd had all evening, occasionally interrupting with a question or making some comment that made you laugh.
âShould we try putting some lyrics?â You grimaced at that. He immediately noticed. âWhat? Too tired now?â
âNah. I just donât know if now Iâm able to write a song,â you said with honesty.
âWhat do you mean?â
With that, you found yourself telling him about the strange feeling youâd been carrying around lately. âI donât know,â you said, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. âIâve just felt weird recently.â
âWeird how?â
You thought about it. âI donât know. Thatâs the problem.â He waited. You looked down at your hands. âItâs like I know thereâs something I want to write about, but every time I try, it doesnât sound right. And itâs not even one specific thing. Itâs just⊠this feeling. Itâs been there for a couple of weeks.â
âMaybe youâre overthinking it.â
âI always overthink.â
âI know.â You gave him a look but he just smiled. âYou do.â
âThanks.â
âIâm helping.â
âYouâre really not.â
He laughed softly, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. âMaybe you just need to force yourself to write it down.â
âForce myself?â
âYeah. Donât worry about whether it makes sense. Just write whatever comes into your head.â
âThatâs terrible advice.â
âItâs literally how writing works.â
âNot for me.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause if I know it sucks, I wonât leave it alone until I get it perfect.â
âJust write something that sucks and get it out of your system.â
You laughed under your breath. âThatâs easier said than done.â
âYouâre a songwriter. Youâre allowed to write a bad song.â
âI know.â
âYou donât seem like you know.â
You turned your head toward him. âI wonât write a bad and stupid song!â
Yoongi smiled again, softer this time. âJust try it.â
You looked at him for a moment before nodding. âFine⊠Maybe I will.â
The conversation moved on almost immediately. He started telling you about something ridiculous that had happened during a group schedule earlier that week, and you listened, laughing when he exaggerated certain parts of the story. At some point he reached across you for the laptop, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he pulled it closer so he could show you something on the screen.
You looked down at the screen while he explained what heâd been trying to change, his voice close beside you, his shoulder nearly touching yours. You nodded along, half listening before you looked at him.
And something inside you shifted. Not because heâd done anything different. That was the worst part⊠It was completely ordinary. So ordinary that you didnât even think about it at first.
He was still Yoongi. Still your coworker, still your friend-ish, still the person who sent you unfinished songs in the middle of the night because he trusted you enough to listen to them before they were ready. He was still the same person youâd been sitting beside for months, the same person whose bad jokes you had started anticipating, the same person whose messages youâd begun answering even when you were busy.
You simply looked at him and suddenly understood why everything had felt strange.
Why youâd been checking your phone. Why his messages had started standing out among all the others. Why you had started looking forward to sessions even when you were exhausted. Why you felt strangely disappointed whenever someone else had his attention. Why leaving the party at two in the morning had seemed like the easiest decision in the world. Why being around him had started feeling like something you needed rather than something you simply enjoyed.
Your stomach dropped.
Oh.
Oh.
You looked away so quickly that Yoongi glanced at you. âWhat?â
âNothing.â
He studied your face for another second, clearly noticing something you didnât, before turning back to the laptop.
âOkay.â
You swallowed and stared at the screen, although you couldnât tell him what he was showing you anymore. Because suddenly the feeling youâd been trying to write about for weeks didnât seem so mysterious.
You knew exactly what it was. You just really, really wished you didnât.
ââââââââââ
Realizing you had a crush on someone was embarrassing enough on its own. Realizing you had a crush on someone you worked with was worse. Realizing you had a crush on someone you worked with, actually liked as a person, and had absolutely no intention of doing anything about was, in your professional opinion, humiliating.
You spent the next few days trying very hard not to think about itâŠ. This proved to be considerably more difficult than you had expected.
The problem was that there were too many reasonable explanations for what had happened at the studio that night, and you intended to use every single one of them. You and Yoongi had been working together for months. You had spent countless hours in studios together, usually at unreasonable times, talking about music and life and whatever else happened to come up when you were both too tired to keep pretending you were only there to work. Songwriting was intimate by nature, anyway. You had to be honest about things you would probably never say out loud otherwise, and even when the songs werenât autobiographical, there was something about sitting beside another person and pulling apart emotions until you found the right words for them that made you feel closer than you probably should.
Maybe that was all it was.
Maybe youâd simply confused intimacy with attraction because youâd been spending too much time with him.
It happened⊠Probably.
You had read about it somewhere, or maybe youâd invented it to make yourself feel better. Either way, it sounded plausible enough.
And Yoongi was nice. Really nice. He was funny, he listened to you, he respected your work, he remembered stupid little details you mentioned in passing, and he had somehow become one of the easiest people in your life to be around. None of those things necessarily meant you wanted him. They just meant you had a good friendship.
That was normal.
Having a crush on your friend was not. Especially not when your friend happened to be someone you were professionally involved with, someone whose music you were helping shape, someone who trusted your opinion and had made it clear that he wanted to keep working with you beyond the current project. There were lines you didnât cross simply because you were capable of understanding consequences, and you were, at the very least, supposed to be an adult with a functioning brain.
You were a professional, for Godâs sake!
So you decided the best way to deal with the entire thing was to write about it. It was what you always did when you didnât understand something. You put it on paper until it stopped being yours.
You sat at your desk one evening with a notebook open in front of you and your laptop pushed aside, determined to finally get the strange feeling out of your head. You werenât going to write a song, exactly. You werenât even going to write anything good. You just wanted to give the feeling somewhere to exist so it would stop taking up space inside you.
For a while, you stared at the blank page.
Then you finally started writing. You wrote about wanting something you didnât have a name for. You wrote about how easy it was to mistake familiarity for desire, how spending too much time beside someone could make ordinary things feel important when they werenât. You wrote about a voice that had become familiar enough that you could recognize it through a crowded room, about hands resting on a piano, about someone laughing when they were trying not to, about the strange comfort of knowing somebody would answer if you called them at an unreasonable hourâŠ.
The more you wrote, the more obvious it became that you were writing around the thing rather than about it, carefully avoiding the center of whatever youâd been trying to understand. So you kept it vague. You turned it into a poem instead, something distant enough that you could pretend it belonged to somebody else.
By the time you reached the final lines, you were almost annoyed with yourself. You stared at the page for a moment, then wrote the last sentence.
But maybe it isnât anything at all.
You looked at it. That was good. That was exactly what you wanted. You added one more line underneath it.
But maybe it is only a feeling, and feelings passed.
Then you put the pen down.
There. Problem solved.
You tore the page out, folded it twice without really looking at what youâd written, and threw it into the trash beside your desk. You sat back in your chair and let out a quiet breath, suddenly convinced that youâd just performed some sort of emotional surgery on yourself.
It wasnât important, it was just a crush. A stupid, inconvenient, temporary crush. You could handle that. And if you ignored it long enough, eventually it would disappearâŠ
A few days later, you found yourself back at the studio with Yoongi and the rest of the group.
The session had been much more crowded than the ones you usually had with him, mostly because they were working on something together and you had been asked to help with a few sections. It was different seeing Yoongi around the others. He was louder, more animated, constantly interrupting someone or laughing at something happening on the other side of the room, and every once in a while you caught yourself watching him before remembering that you had promised yourself you werenât going to do that anymore.
You were doing very well⊠Mostly.
By the time the session wrapped up, it was late enough that everyone was starting to gather their things. You were slipping your notebook into your bag when Yoongi looked over from the computer.
âYouâre leaving?â
You glanced at him. âYeah.â
He nodded toward the screen. âCan you stay for a bit? I want to fix something and I could use another opinion.â
You hesitated for approximately five seconds. âUm, yeah. Sure.â
Totally normal.
You were coworkers. Friends, technically. People who worked together. Nothing unusual about staying late at a studio with him. You were very normal about this.
You sat down on the opposite end of the couch, leaving what you considered a perfectly reasonable amount of space between you. Yoongi looked at you for a second, then went back to the computer. You tried to focus on the track, you really did. Unfortunately, your brain had apparently decided that now was the ideal time to become hyperaware of every single thing about him. The sound of his voice, the way his fingers moved across the keyboard, the little crease that appeared between his eyebrows when he concentrated. You became painfully conscious of the fact that he was sitting only a few feet away.
This was ridiculous.
You shifted farther toward the edge of the couch.
Yoongi looked over. âWhat are you doing?â
âNothing.â
âWhy are you sitting over there?â
âI like this part of the couch.â He stared at you and you looked around trying to ignore his eyes.
Yoongi seemed unconvinced but didnât say anything. Instead, he turned back to the computer, played the section heâd been working on, and asked what you thought.
You listened carefully, giving him a few suggestions, and slowly the tension in your shoulders began to disappear. It was strange how quickly that happened around him. Within twenty minutes, you were back to normal, arguing about a lyric and laughing when he insisted one of your suggestions was âobjectively terrible.â
âYouâre the one who asked me.â
âI regret it.â
âYou always regret asking me shitâ
âBecause youâre mean.â
âYou can handle it.â
Yoongi didnât directly looked at you. He only smiled behind his fingers before shaking his head. âSee? Mean.â
You smiled despite yourself.
The rest of the evening passed almost exactly like every other session youâd had together. The work became less important as the hours went on, conversations drifting from music to food to his schedule and then somehow to a story about one of his members that made you laugh so hard you had to put your head down on the table.
You forgot, for a while, that you were supposed to be worried about liking him.
You realized that was the thing with Yoongi. He made it too easy to forget. There was something calming about being around him that you hadnât fully appreciated until recently. You could sit beside him without talking and it didnât feel awkward. You could complain about something stupid and he would listen without making you feel stupid for complaining. He never seemed to expect you to perform a particular version of yourself around him. You could be tired, irritated, sarcastic, quiet, distracted, and he treated all of it like it was normal.
By the time you finally looked at the clock, it was well past midnight.
âOh, shit.â
Yoongi glanced over. âWhat?â
âItâs late.â
He checked the time too. âYeah.â
âIâm going home. I have an early session tomorrow.â
âOkay.â Yoongi didnât seem bothered by it. He simply saved the project and started shutting things down while you gathered your things.
âYou staying?â
âProbably.â
âYou should sleep.â
âIâll do that eventually.â
âThatâs why people always complain when you fall asleep in random places.â
âIâm trying to survive.â
You rolled your eyes. âBarely.â He smiled. You put your coat on and slung your bag over your shoulder, lingering for a second longer than necessary before finally heading toward the door âGoodnight.â
âGoodnight. Get home safe.â
You walked out before you could think too much about the fact that youâd spent another night with him and survived.
See? It wasnât that bad.
Maybe youâd exaggerated everything in your head. Maybe the crush really was just a crush, something small and harmless that had appeared because youâd been spending too much time together. Maybe you could simply acknowledge it without doing anything about it and eventually it would disappear on its own.
By the time you got home, you were almost completely convinced.
You changed into your pajamas, washed your face, crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about absolutely nothing in particular.
Except, unfortunately, you thought about Yoongi.
You remembered his laugh. Then the way heâd smiled when youâd made that stupid comment about him handling when you were mean. You remembered his hand resting on the edge of the laptop. His fingers on his lips. His voice. The way heâd looked at you when you were leavingâŠ.
Stop!
You closed your eyes. It wasnât a big deal, it was just a crush. You could live with a crush!
Eventually, you fell asleep.
And sometime in the middle of the night, your brain decided that all of your careful reasoning had been completely irrelevant. What usually ended up with dreams about future lyrics or anxious thoughts over what will you be working on tomorrow⊠it all changed suddenly. Now you dreamed about him.
Not about music, or work, or some vague version of him sitting beside you in the studio. You dreamed about his mouth. His hands. The warmth of him standing close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. You dreamed about his long fingers brushing against yours, against your mouth this time, you dreamed about looking up at him and somehow knowing exactly what was going to happen before he leaned down and kissed you.
It felt real enough that when you woke up, you heart was already beating way too fast.
Your eyes opened fast. You lay completely still, staring at the ceiling, your heart pounding so hard it felt ridiculous. Your skin was hot, your hair was sticking to your forehead, and you were breathing like youâd just run several blocks.
You covered your face with both hands. âOh, God.â
You stayed like that for another moment, desperately hoping that if you didnât acknowledge what had just happened, it would somehow stop being real. It didnât. You dropped your hands and stared into the darkness of your bedroom.
You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.
You didnât just have a crush on Yoongi. You were falling in love with him.
This was going to be a problem.
ââââââââââ
The worst thing about realizing youâre falling in love with someone was that, eventually, you had to admit you were falling.
There was no pretending it was a crush anymore, not after the dream, not after the way youâd spent the following morning thinking about him before youâd even properly opened your eyes, and definitely not after you caught yourself checking your phone three separate times before breakfast in the hope that he might have messaged you. You had crossed some invisible line somewhere between one late-night studio session and the next, and now you were on the other side of it, looking back at the person youâd been a few weeks ago and wondering how sheâd managed to be so blissfully unaware.
You were falling in love with Yoongi.
It was a ridiculous thing to know about yourself with such certainty.
You tried avoiding him at first, mostly because you thought distance would help. You told yourself that if you stopped accepting every invitation to the studio, stopped replying immediately when he sent you something, stopped finding reasons to linger after sessions, the feeling would eventually become less intense. It was a sensible plan. Mature, even. You could give yourself some room to breathe and allow your brain to remember that he was a person you worked with and cared about, not the center of the universe youâd somehow made him into.
The problem was that you didnât actually want to avoid him.
That was the part you couldnât seem to explain away.
You could spend an entire afternoon convincing yourself that you needed to create boundaries, and then your phone would light up with his name and youâd find yourself smiling before youâd even opened the message. If he asked whether you were free later, you were free. If he mentioned that he was going to be at the studio, you somehow found a reason to be there too. If he sent you a song, you listened to it immediately, even when you were in the middle of something else. You wanted to know what he was working on, what he was eating, whether heâd slept, whether the ridiculous story heâd told you about one of his members had actually ended the way heâd claimed it did. You wanted the insignificant pieces of his life just as much as the important ones, which was perhaps the clearest indication that this had stopped being a simple attraction a long time ago.
You wanted time with him. You wanted all of it.
And there was something humiliating about knowing that while simultaneously having no idea whether he wanted the same thing.
That was the worst part. You could spend hours trying to interpret every little thing he did, but there was no way of knowing what any of it actually meant. Yoongi was affectionate with people he cared about. He was attentive. He remembered things. He listened when you spoke. He had a way of making people feel like they were the only person in the room when they had his attention, and because you had become one of the people he trusted, you couldnât tell whether the things that made your stomach flip were simply the way he treated his friends.
Sometimes youâd catch him looking at you across the studio and immediately wonder what heâd been thinking. Maybe he was wondering whether youâd finished the lyrics. Maybe heâd noticed that you were staring at him first. Maybe he was thinking about something completely unrelated.
You wished you could read his mind. You wished you could sit inside his head for five minutes and find out what he thought of you.
Not even what he felt romantically, necessarily. You wanted to know how he described you when someone asked about you. You wanted to know whether he considered you a close friend or simply someone he enjoyed working with. You wanted to know whether he ever thought about you when you werenât around, whether he ever saw something during his day and instinctively wanted to tell you about it, whether your name ever appeared on his phone and made him feel the same small rush of happiness that his name caused in you.
Mostly, you wanted to know what he would say if he knew.
Because sometimes you imagined telling him. Not actually telling him, obviously. That would have been insane. But youâd imagine sitting across from him after a session and finally saying, I think I have feelings for you.
Then youâd imagine his face.
Would he laugh because heâd already known? Would he go quiet? Would he look uncomfortable? Would he tell you that heâd never thought about you that way? Would he say something kind because Yoongi was incapable of being cruel even when he had every reason to be? Would everything suddenly become awkward between you?
That last possibility was the one that scared you most. Because whatever you were feeling, whatever had happened inside your head over the past few weeks, what existed between you and Yoongi already felt like something worth protecting.
You didnât know exactly when the two of you had become friends.
There hadnât been a moment where either of you had announced it. You had simply started knowing things about each other. You knew what kind of coffee he preferred when he was tired and what kind of coffee he ordered when he was pretending he wasnât tired. You knew which songs he was proud of and which ones he refused to play for anyone until they were finished. You knew when he was genuinely annoyed and when he was pretending to be annoyed because he wanted you to argue with him. You knew that he talked more when he was comfortable, that he got quieter when something was actually bothering him, and that his laughter changed depending on how funny he found something.
Yoongi knew things about you too.
He knew when you were lying about being tired. He knew which parts of your writing you were insecure about. He knew that you hated being interrupted when you were trying to tell a funny story and that you tended to tap your fingers against whatever surface was closest whenever you were thinking.
None of it was extraordinary but, somehow, it was everything.
One afternoon, you were sitting across from him in the studio while he worked through a melody, and you caught yourself watching his hands instead of the screen. He noticed after a while. âWhat?â
âNothing.â
âYou keep staring.â
âIâm thinking.â
âAbout?â
âThe song.â He looked at you skeptically. You held his gaze for a second before smiling. âIâm allowed to think.â
âI know. Iâm just curious what youâre thinking about.â
You almost told him. The answer was sitting right there, painfully obvious, and for one terrifying second you wondered what would happen if you just said it.
You.
Instead, you pointed at the laptop. âI think the second verse needs something.â
He nodded and turned back to the screen. You breathed again.
Another time, he sent you a message asking if you wanted to grab food before a session. You spent the entire walk there wondering if heâd asked anyone else or if heâd thought specifically of you. When you arrived, he had already ordered something for you because he remembered what you liked.
You stared at the food. âHow did you know I wanted this?.â
Yoongi looked up from his phone. âI think by now I pretty much know everything you like.â
It was such a simple answer but you didnât like how much it affected you.
âRight. We are spending a lot of time together.â
He smiled. âWe are.â
You wanted to ask him what he thought about that.
You wanted to know whether remembering you was something he did without thinking because he knew you well, or whether there was some part of him that actively paid attention to you in the same way you paid attention to him.
But you didnât ask, you never asked. You became an expert at almost asking.
Youâd start a sentence and change it halfway through. Youâd look at him for a second too long and then pretend you were distracted. Youâd find yourself wondering what would happen if you leaned closer, then immediately move away as if your body had betrayed you.
And Yoongi never seemed to notice⊠Or maybe he did.
That was the other thing driving you insane.
Sometimes youâd catch a look on his face that you couldnât interpret, something quiet and thoughtful that disappeared before you could decide what it meant. Sometimes he seemed to anticipate what you were going to say before you said it. Sometimes heâd look at you for a little longer than necessary, and youâd spend the rest of the night wondering if youâd imagined it.
You wanted to ask him. God, you wanted to ask him so bad. But every time you came close to the idea, you remembered what you already had.
This new friendship, those stupid late-night messages. The jokes that werenât funny enough to justify how hard you laughed at them. The comfortable silence. The way you could walk into a room where he was and immediately feel less tired.
You had spent your entire life believing that knowing whether someone loved you was the most important part of loving them. Now you werenât so sure. Because the more you thought about it, the more you realized that even if someone could guarantee that Yoongi didnât feel the same way, you still wouldnât want to lose him.
You would still want to sit beside him in the studio. You would still want to hear all his unfinished songs. You would still want him to send you ridiculous messages at two in the morning. You would still want to know what made him laugh, what annoyed him, what he was thinking when he stared at the ceiling after a long session. You would still want to be his friend⊠And maybe that was what frightened you most.
You had always thought love was supposed to make you want more.
More time, more certainty, more closeness, more of the person until eventually you couldnât imagine being satisfied with anything less. But with Yoongi, wanting more didnât make you want less of what you already had. You wanted him desperately, yes, but you also wanted to keep the exact relationship you had with him now, even if it meant carrying this ridiculous, aching secret for as long as you had to.
Maybe that was love too. Maybe love was wanting someone so badly that you were willing to let them remain exactly where they were, simply because having them in your life was better than having nothing at all.
So you stopped trying to figure him out. Not completely, of course. You were still curious. You still wondered sometimes what he would say if he knew, still caught yourself studying his expression when he looked at you, still wished you could reach into his mind and steal one honest thought about yourself.
But you stopped needing the answer. Because whatever Yoongi thought about you, whatever he might or might not feel, there was one thing you already knew. He was your friend. And you loved him.
And for now, that was enough.
ââââââââââ
You had written three versions of the same chorus, hated all three, deleted two of them, and were currently staring at the third one as if looking at it long enough might make the words rearrange themselves into something worth keeping⊠They didnât.
The cursor blinked at the end of the line, patiently waiting for you to figure out what came next. You played the melody again, fingers moving absentmindedly over the keys while the piano filled the studio with something soft and unfinished, and the moment the chorus came around you made a frustrated noise and stopped playing altogether.
âGod, this is so stupid.â
You leaned back in your chair and rubbed both hands over your face.
The problem wasnât that you didnât have anything to say. You had too much. And thatâs what made it so unbearable. For the first time in your life, you understood what it meant to have a feeling that was bigger than your vocabulary. You had spent years turning emotions into songs. Heartbreak, jealousy, loneliness, desire, grief, infatuation, all of it had always been manageable once you had a melody and enough time alone with a blank page. You could take something messy and private and turn it into three minutes of words that made sense.
But this was different. Every line sounded too small. Every metaphor felt embarrassing. Every attempt at describing what you felt seemed almost insulting to the feeling itself, as if reducing it to a lyric made it less true. You had written about someoneâs hands and deleted it because it sounded too obvious. You had written about someoneâs laugh and immediately hated yourself for how sentimental it looked on the page. You had tried writing about wanting to be around someone all the time and decided it sounded like something a seventeen-year-old would put in their diary.
Nothing worked, nothing came close.
You played the chorus one more time, grimaced, and started pushing two notes with anger making the piano sound horrible.
âStupid ass song. I hate you, I hate you, I hate youââ
The studio door opened behind you.
âIf you break it youâre gonna pay it.â
You turned your head, stopping your tantrum. Yoongi stood in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, looking at you with a small smile. You stared at him for a second before turning back toward the piano. âHi.â
âHi.â He closed the door behind him and walked farther into the room. You heard him move around behind you, followed by the quiet sound of him dropping his things somewhere near the couch. You didnât turn around again. You were too busy pretending that the last thing youâd said hadnât been heard. âWhat are you doing?â he asked.
âWorking.â
âDoesnât look like it.â
âIâm working badly.â
âAh. Makes more sense.â
You heard the couch creak as he sat down behind you.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You adjusted one of the controls on the equipment in front of you even though there was nothing wrong with it, then played a few notes without really listening to them. Yoongi didnât interrupt. That was something youâd learned about him. He never rushed you when you were struggling to explain something. He didnât fill silence just because it existed. He seemed perfectly comfortable letting you take your time, even when you were obviously trying to figure out how to say something.
Eventually, he spoke again. âWhatâs wrong with it?â
You sighed. âEverything.â
âBe more specific for me.â
âIâve been trying to finish this for hours and I canât.â
âWhy? Whatâs it about?â
You hesitated. Then you shrugged, pretending like it wasnât something big. âLove.â
There was a small pause behind you. âLove?â
âYeah.â
âSince when do you write love songs?â
You turned your head slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. âIâve written love songs.â
âYouâve written songs that sounded like love songs.â
âThatâs the same thing.â
âNo.â
You narrowed your eyes at him and he smiled. You turned back around, trying not to smile yourself. âWhatever.â
He was quiet again for a moment. âSo whatâs different about this one?â
You stared at the keyboard. You could have lied and you almost did. Instead, you said, âIâm trying to write how I feel about someone. How Iâm⊠in love with someone.â
The words felt strange as soon as they left your mouth. Not because you hadnât admitted it to yourself. You had. Youâd spent weeks thinking about it, arguing with yourself about it, trying to write it away and failing spectacularly. But saying it aloud made it real in a way thinking about it never had.
Behind you, Yoongi was silent.
âOh.â
You couldnât see his face. But didnât turn around anyway. For some reason that made it easier for you.
You watched the little light blinking on the equipment in front of you while you continued, your voice quieter now. âI thought I could just write about it, because thatâs what I do when Iâm overwhelmed about my feelings⊠But I canât.â
âWhy not?â
âI donât know.â
You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned forward. âEverything I write sounds stupid. I keep trying to describe it and it just feelsâŠâ You searched for the word. âWrong.â
âWrong how?â
âToo small.â He didnât say anything. You swallowed. âItâs like I know what I feel, but I donât know how to explain it. And thatâs never happened to me before.â
Yoongi hummed quietly, thoughtful rather than judgmental.
âMaybe youâre trying too hard to explain it.â
You frowned at the screen. âWhat does that mean?â
âMaybe you donât have to explain the feeling.â You looked over your shoulder again. Yoongi was still sitting behind you, relaxed against the couch, his attention on you even though you werenât facing him properly. âYou always try to make everything make sense,â he continued. âMaybe this doesnât have to.â
âBut itâs a love song.â
âI know.â
âSo it has to make sense.â
âDoes it?â You opened your mouth to argue but nothing came out. Yoongi smiled faintly at that. âYou could just write what happened.â
âNothing happened.â
âSomething happened.â
âNo, I meanâŠâ You sighed. âNothing happened between us.â
That earned a brief silence. You hadnât intended to emphasize the us. You immediately wished you hadnât.
Yoongi didnât comment on it but instead, he asked, âSo what happened to you?â
You looked down at your hands. âI just started feeling differently.â
âAbout them?â
âYeah.â
âWhy?â
You laughed softly. âThatâs what Iâm trying to figure out.â
âMaybe you donât need to.â You looked at him again. He shrugged. âMaybe you just like them.â
âHim. I love him.â
The words came out too quickly. You froze in place for a long second. It was the first time you had said it out loud. You loved him.
Yoongi didnât say anything for a second. âOkay.â
You looked back at the keyboard. You werenât sure why saying it in front of him made your chest feel so tight. You wanted to throw up so badly. Maybe because youâd never told anyone. Maybe because youâd spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it wasnât serious, and hearing yourself say I love him made every excuse youâd invented seem ridiculous.
Yoongiâs voice was gentle when he spoke again. âDoes he know?â
You shook your head. âNo.â
âAre you going to tell him?â
âI donât know.â
âWhy not?â
You smiled bitterly. âHeâs my friend.â
âSo?â
âAnd we work together.â
âThatâs complicated.â
âExactly.â
He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, âDo you think heâll be upset?â
You thought about it. âNo.â
âThen whatâs stopping you?â
âI donât want to lose what we have.â There was something about the silence that followed that made you feel as though heâd understood more than youâd actually said. You kept your eyes on the keyboard. âI really like what we have now,â you admitted. âTheyâre one of the few people that understands me. I donât want to risk that just because I decided to develop feelings.â
âYou canât really control that.â
âI know.â
âThen maybe you donât have to do anything.â
You looked over your shoulder. Yoongi was already looking at you. You couldnât quite read his expression from the angle, but there was something soft about it, something that made you look away again before you could think too much about it.
âHave you ever felt like that?â you asked.
âLike what?â
âLike you loved someone and didnât know what to do with it.â
He considered the question. âYeah.â
You turned slightly in your chair, just to see him properly. âReally?â
âYeah.â
âWhen?â
He smiled a little, looking at the other side of the room now. âA while ago.â
âDid you tell them?â
âNo.â
âWhy?â
âI didnât want to make things complicated.â
You stared at him. For a second, you wondered if he was talking about someone specific. You didnât ask, you didnât want to know really . Instead, you looked back at the piano and said, âSo weâre both idiots.â
Yoongi laughed quietly. âMaybe.â
You smiled. The tension youâd been carrying in your shoulders seemed to loosen a little. There was something comforting about knowing that he understood, even if you had no idea whether his experience had anything to do with yours. He didnât try to convince you to confess. He didnât tell you that you were being stupid. He simply listened, offering small pieces of advice when you needed them and leaving everything else alone.
Eventually, you played the song again. This time, you didnât try to fix the words. You let the melody run while you listened to it, thinking about what heâd said. Maybe you didnât need to explain everything. Maybe the feeling could exist without being perfectly translated. Maybe the song didnât have to capture all of it, maybe it didnât have to be the greatest melody or the most heartfelt lyrics.
Maybe it could just be a stupid song.
âThat part,â Yoongi said from behind you, âis good.â
You glanced back. âWhich part?â
âThe melody of the chorus.â
âItâs unfinished.â
âI know.â
You smiled. âItâs still bad.â
âItâs not that bad.â
âWow. High praise.â
âIâm serious.â
You turned back toward the piano, trying not to smile too much.
For another few minutes, you worked quietly while Yoongi sat behind you. He didnât offer more advice unless you asked for it, and eventually you realized that you werenât struggling quite as much as you had been before heâd walked in.
When you finally stopped playing, you leaned back in your chair.
âI think Iâm done for tonight.â
âGood.â You heard him stand. He walked around the chair and stopped beside you, looking down at the notes scattered across your desk. You expected him to say something about the song, but instead he simply looked at you. âYou got this.â
You smiled tiredly. âYeah?â
âYeah.â Then he reached down and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, the kind of casual gesture youâd seen him make countless times before, and stepped away. It shouldnât have meant anything. It was just Yoongi being Yoongi. You watched him grab his things and head toward the door. âGoodnight,â he said.
âGoodnight.â
The door closed behind him. You stayed in your chair for a while, staring at the empty doorway.
When you turned back toward the piano and looked at the unfinished song for once you didnât hate it. It still wasnât enough to say everything you felt. But maybe that was okay. Maybe some things werenât meant to fit neatly into three minutes of music.
ââââââââââ
By the time dinner started, you had almost convinced yourself that you were doing better.
Not better in the sense that you had stopped loving Yoongi, because you werenât delusional enough to think a few days of trying not to think about him could undo months of growing closer. But youâd gotten better at carrying it. You could sit beside him without analyzing every word he said. You could listen to him talk about music without wondering whether every opinion he gave you had some hidden meaning. You could leave a studio after spending four hours with him and make it all the way home without replaying every second of the evening in your head.
You were learning how to live with it⊠Which was why it was particularly unfair that the universe had apparently decided to test you at dinner.
It was supposed to be an easy night. Nothing formal, nothing work-related, just a group of friends getting together at a restaurant in Manhattan because it had been too long since everyone had been in the same place at the same time. You had arrived in a good mood, genuinely excited to see everyone, and for the first hour or so, you had almost forgotten that you were supposed to be worried about anything at all.
Yoongi was sitting across from you, laughing at something one of the others had said, and every once in a while youâd catch his eye from across the table. Heâd smile, youâd smile back, and then youâd go back to whatever conversation was happening beside you.
It felt normal and comfortable⊠Until she arrived.
You had known who she was long before youâd ever met her. Most people in the industry did. She was a well-known producer, someone who had worked with Yoongi for years, long before youâd ever been introduced to him, and their history together was one of those things people seemed to know without ever knowing exactly what was true. There had been rumors about them dating years ago, speculation that had never really disappeared despite neither of them ever confirming anything. They were close, obviously. They had worked together for years, understood each otherâs music almost instinctively, and had the kind of familiarity that came from knowing someone long before anyone else had a reason to pay attention.
It didnât bother you at the start. Even before you had feelings for Yoongi, youâd noticed them. Youâd noticed the way she could interrupt him without apologizing. Youâd noticed how easily they fell into conversations that nobody else at the table could follow. Youâd noticed the way he laughed around her, the way she leaned toward him when she spoke, the way he sometimes looked at her like he already knew what she was going to say.
It had never mattered before. Or at least, youâd never had a reason to let it matter. Now, sitting across the table and watching her lean closer to him as they talked, you felt something inside you quietly collapse.
It wasnât even anything dramatic. She said something you couldnât hear over the conversation happening around you, and Yoongi laughed, lowering his head for a moment as she nudged his arm. She laughed too, covering her mouth with her hand, and then she leaned closer again so she could say something else.
You looked away so quickly it made you dizzy for a second.
You tried to keep eating. You tried to listen to the person beside you talking about something that had happened at work, nodding at the right moments and making the occasional comment, but your attention kept drifting back to the other side of the table.
You hated yourself for noticing every little thing. You hated that it was bothering you. Most of all, you hated that you didnât have the right to care.
Yoongi wasnât yours. He had never been yours.
He hadnât promised you anything, hadnât led you on, hadnât done anything wrong. He was sitting at dinner with a friend and talking to someone heâd known for years. There was nothing inappropriate about it, nothing you could point to and say there, thatâs the problem. The problem was you. You were the one who had fallen in love with him without permission. You were the one who had started wanting things you had no claim to.
By the time the main courses had been cleared, you were barely participating in the conversation anymore. Your mood had gone from bright to flat so gradually that nobody seemed to notice. You werenât angry, you werenât even exactly sad, you simply didnât feel like pretending anymore.
When someone suggested ordering dessert, you shook your head.
âIâm good. I think Iâm probably going to head out.â
Several people immediately looked at you. âAlready?â
âYeah. Iâm really tired.â
It was a terrible excuse. You knew it. Yoongi knew it too. He had looked at you the moment you said it, his expression changing slightly as he studied your face. âHey. You okay?â he asked.
âYeah.â
âYou sure?â
âJust really tired.â
He didnât argue about that. You said your goodbyes, hugged a couple of people, and slipped your coat on. You were almost at the door when you heard footsteps behind you.
âHey. Iâll take you home.â
You turned around and Yoongi was already reaching for his coat. âOh, you donât need to. Iâm taking a cab.â
âItâs safer if I take you home.â
âItâs just a car. I canât take a taxi by myself. You were having a great time here I donât want to bother you.â
You stared at him, starting to get a little irritated. Yoongi stared back. âIâm taking you home.â There was something so matter-of-fact about the way he said it that arguing seemed pointless.
âYou really donât have to.â
âI know.â
You sighed, already feeling exhausted. âFine.â
The drive started quietly.
You sat in the co-pilot seat looking out the window while Manhattan passed by in streaks of light, your hands folded in your lap. Yoongi drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting near the center console, and for several minutes neither of you said anything. Which actually made you a little glad, you didnât want to talk at all.
Eventually, he turned the music down a little bit.
âWas dinner bad?â
âNo.â
âYou didnât even wanted to stay for dessert. Thatâs when the conversation gets better.â
âI guess Iâm really tired.â
âYeah. Youâve said that twice.â You looked out the window. Yoongi didnât push. Instead, he tried something else. âDid something happen?â
âNo.â
âOkay.â
You could tell from his voice that he didnât believe you. You didnât blame him, you werenât doing a great job either trying to hide your frustration.
The silence returned and you watched the city outside, trying to settle the uncomfortable feeling in your chest. You didnât want to talk about it. You didnât want to lie to him, either. There was no version of the conversation where you could explain why youâd suddenly become miserable without saying something you werenât ready to say⊠so you stayed quiet.
After a few more minutes, Yoongi spoke again. âYou know you can tell me if somethingâs bothering you.â
Your throat tightened. You wanted to cry so bad it felt almost pathetic. âI know.â
âOkay.â He left it there. A few blocks later, he glanced at you. âDid I do something?â
You turned toward him. âNo.â
âAre you sure?â
âYes.â
He nodded, but you could see that he was thinking. You looked back out the window. He didnât ask again. That somehow didnât make it better. You knew he was giving you space, but you also knew he was paying attention. He wasnât going to force you to talk, but he wasnât going to pretend he hadnât noticed either.
When he eventually pulled up outside your building, you unbuckled your seatbelt. âThanks for driving me.â
âOf course.â You reached for the door but eh called again. âHey.â You paused and looked back at him. Yoongi was already looking at you. âIf you change your mindâŠâ You waited and he smiled faintly. âYou know where to find me.â
You were supposed to complete the inside joke with âAt the studio. As alwaysâ. Instead you nodded at him slightly before looking away. âGoodnight.â You stepped out of the car and closed the door.
You were halfway to the entrance when the window rolled down. âHey!â You turned and Yoongi was watching you with that same patient expression. âYou really were quiet tonight.â
You shrugged weakly, not knowing exactly what to say. âI guess.â
âYou donât have to be.â
You stared at Yoongi but he didnât elaborate. He didnât need to.
For a second, you wondered if he knew. Not everything, surely. Not the extent of it. Not the fact that watching another woman laugh with him had made something inside you ache so badly youâd wanted to disappear. He couldnât possibly know that⊠Could he?
You smiled faintly, because you didnât know what else to do. âGoodnight, Yoongi.â
He held your gaze for another second before nodding. âGoodnight, Y/n.â
The window rolled back up and you walked inside.
You didnât see him leave. You didnât see the way Yoongi stayed parked for another minute, staring at the entrance youâd disappeared through, or the small sigh that escaped him as he finally started the car again. You didnât know that heâd recognized the look on your face the moment she had sat beside him. He had noticed the way youâd gone quiet. He had noticed the way youâd stopped laughing. He had noticed that every time he looked across the table, your eyes were somewhere else.
He had even wondered, for a brief moment, whether he should move away from her. Not because there was anything between them, there wasnât. There hasnât been anyone⊠for a very long time. But because heâd started understanding you well enough to know that sometimes you needed things to be said without actually asking for them.
Yoongi hadnât known whether youâd wanted him to move. So heâd waited. He would keep waiting. Not indefinitely, perhaps, but patiently. Because he wasnât interested in guessing games, and he wasnât interested in making you jealous just to see what youâd do. He stopped guessing and trying to read your mind the second he saw that look on you three months ago. The one he could recognize immediately because he had been wearing it for months before you even had the chance to wonder.
Thatâs why Yoongi didnât want to manipulate whatever you were feeling into becoming something you werenât ready to admit. He simply wanted you to know that if there was something you wanted to say, you could say it⊠And if there wasnât, he would still be there.
That was the difficult part about caring for someone who hadnât caught up to you yet. You couldnât drag them there. You could only leave the door open and hope, eventually, they decided to walk through it.
ââââââââââ
It was insane how much you could think about one person.
You had always assumed there was a limit. A reasonable amount of time a human being could spend thinking about another human being before their brain simply became bored and moved on to something else. Apparently, you had been wrong, because Yoongi had managed to occupy an unreasonable amount of your thoughts without even being there.
It had gotten particularly bad over the last few weeks. His group had been busy promoting their new album, which meant their schedules had become impossible, and your usual late-night sessions had almost completely disappeared. You had seen him only a handful of times, usually briefly, usually surrounded by other people, and your conversations had been reduced to messages sent between schedules. Sometimes heâd send you a song or a voice note, sometimes youâd send him something youâd been working on, and every once in a while youâd manage to have an actual conversation that lasted longer than five minutes.
It shouldnât have been enough to make you miss him but it was.
You missed him in embarrassingly specific ways. You missed hearing him complain about songs he was the one who had written. You missed the way heâd lean back in his chair and close his eyes when he was listening to a new melody. You missed his stupid jokes and the way heâd pretend to be offended whenever you told him one of his ideas was terrible. You missed sitting in the same room with him without having to talk at all.
You even missed his messages. That was when you knew you had a problem. You had started sleeping badly too, which would have been easier to blame on work if your dreams hadnât become increasingly inconvenient. Yoongi had somehow managed to make an appearance in your subconscious often enough that you were beginning to resent your own brain for its lack of boundaries. You could go an entire day without seeing him and then wake up the next morning having dreamed about him as if youâd spent the entire night with him.
It was exhausting and very humiliating. But, worst of all, there wasnât really anything you could do about it. You couldnât exactly call him and say, Hey, Iâm thinking about you so much that my own dreams have become a hostile environment.
⊠So you worked. You worked until late nights and early morning, because work was at least something you could control.
And one nigh, by the time you finally shut down your laptop and started gathering your things, the studio was almost empty. You stretched your arms above your head, rolled your shoulders and checked your phone before slipping it into your bag. Nothing from Yoongi. That was totally fine. You havenât heard from him in three day, you could live like that⊠Yeah, you were lying.
You had just reached the hallway when you nearly walked straight into him.
You stopped so abruptly that your bag swung against your hip. Yoongi looked up from his phone. For a second, neither of you said anything.
You blinked confused. âWhat are you doing here?â
He smiled. âHi to you too.â
âHi.â You looked at him again, as if there was a chance youâd somehow mistaken him for someone else. âYouâre supposed to be on promotions.â
âI am.â
âThen why are you here?â
âFinished early.â
âOh.â
It was ridiculous how much relief you felt at seeing him. You tried very hard not to let it show, although you werenât sure you succeeded.
He looked tired. Not exhausted, exactly, but there were faint shadows beneath his eyes, and his hair looked like heâd run his hands through it too many times during the day. He was still wearing the clothes heâd had on for his schedule, and something about seeing him like that, still carrying the evidence of a long day, made the familiar ache in your chest return.
âYou just finished?â you asked.
âYeah.â
âAnd youâre going to work?â
He glanced toward the studio. âI was going to.â You waited as he lazily shrugged. âDonât really feel like it anymore.â
You raised an eyebrow. âYou came all the way here to not work?â
âI guess.â There was something almost amused about the way he said it. You didnât think too much about it. He looked at the bag hanging from your shoulder. âYouâre leaving?â
âYeah.â
âHave you eaten?â
You hesitated. âNot really.â
âDo you want to?â You looked at him. He nodded toward the elevator. âI mean, Iâm hungry. Could use some company.â
There was no reason to say no. âSure.â
His gummy smile appeared almost immediately. âOkay.â
You followed him toward the elevator, trying not to think about how stupidly happy you suddenly felt.
And if dinner was supposed to be quick, it clearly wasnât.
You ended up at a small restaurant a few blocks away, sitting across from each other at a table near the window while the city moved around you. It wasnât particularly fancy, and neither of you seemed interested in making it anything more than what it was. You ordered food, Yoongi complained about how hungry he was, you made fun of him for acting as though heâd been stranded in the wilderness, and within ten minutes you had fallen back into the rhythm you hadnât realized youâd been missing so badly.
You had almost forgotten how easy it was with him.
He told you about his promotions, about how chaotic the schedules had been, about one of the members nearly falling asleep during a waiting period and another one stealing his food. You laughed at all the parts youâd already heard through messages, mostly because the stories were funnier when he told them himself.
âYou look tired,â you said.
âI am.â
âYou should sleep more.â
âIâll sleep.â
âYou always say that.â
âI do sleep.â
âEventually.â
He smiled. âYouâre keeping track?â
âNo.â
âYou are.â
âIâm not.â
âYou remember everything I tell you.â
You looked down at your food. âI worked with you a long time.â
âThatâs not an explanation.â
âIt is.â
He smiled to himself. You hated that you couldnât tell whether he was teasing you or genuinely pleased by the fact that you remembered things about him.
The conversation moved on, and eventually he asked about your work. You told him about the song youâd been struggling with, leaving out the part about what it was actually about. He listened carefully, resting his chin against his hand. âDid you finish it?â
âKind of.â
âKind of?â
âItâs not finished.â
âYou always say that when you donât like something.â
âI donât like it.â
âWhy?â
You shrugged. âBecause it doesnât sound right.â
âStill writing about love? Is the same song ?â
You looked up, caught in action. He was already watching you. You had forgotten youâd told him that. âYeah.â
Yoongi nodded slowly. âHowâs that going?â
âBadly.â
He smiled. âMaybe youâre getting better at it.â
âOr worse.â
âCould be.â
You laughed. There was something about the way he looked at you when you laughed that made you want to look away, but you didnât.
For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. It wasnât really awkward. You could sit there with him, looking at him across a table in the middle of a crowded restaurant, and somehow feel like you were alone. You found yourself wondering what it would be like to have this all the time. Not the studio or the late nights, or the unfinished songs. But dinner after work. Talking about nothing, knowing how his day had gone. Knowing heâd be there when yours was over.
The thought was so simple that it almost hurt.
Yoongi reached across the table and stole something from your plate.
You stared at him. âDid you just take my food?â
âYeah.â
âThatâs mine.â
âYou werenât eating it.â
âI was going to!â
âToo late.â
You shook your head, laughing. âYouâve become really annoying.â
âYouâve known me for months.â
âAnd you get more annoying over time.â
âBut youâre still here.â
You looked at him and he was already smiling.
Something in your chest tightened. âUnfortunately.â
âSure.â
You rolled your eyes, but now you were smiling too.
He leaned back in his chair, looking completely comfortable, and you realized how much youâd missed this. Not simply seeing him, but being around him without a schedule, without a deadline, without a room full of other people. You had forgotten how much you liked the version of Yoongi that appeared when he wasnât working.
He was softer, looser. He laughed more, he talked about stupid things. He looked at you like you were someone he had chosen to spend time with rather than someone heâd happened to end up working beside. And that thought stayed with you. Because you couldnât stop wondering why he was here.
He could have gone home, he could have gone back to the studio and worked. He could have called one of his friends. Instead, heâd found you leaving and asked you to dinner.
You didnât let yourself read too much into it. You couldnât. Maybe he was simply hungry. Maybe he really had wanted company. Maybe you were just projecting because you were hopelessly in love with him and had started turning ordinary kindness into evidence. So you pushed the thought away. You focused on him instead. On the way his eyes softened when he talked about something he cared about. On the way he smiled when you made him laugh. On the way he remembered things youâd mentioned weeks ago without you ever having to remind him. On the way he seemed to know when you were about to change the subject because something had made you uncomfortable.
You wondered, not for the first time, if he knew you were in love with him.
Then you immediately decided that was impossible. If he knew, surely things would be different⊠Wouldnât they?
You didnât notice the way Yoongi watched you when you looked away. You didnât notice that heâd spent the last week thinking about seeing you. You didnât know that when his schedule had ended early, the first place heâd thought of going was the studio because he knew there was a good chance youâd still be there. You didnât know that heâd checked your usual working hours before leaving the building, or that the decision not to work had been made long before heâd found you in the hallway.
You only knew that he was sitting across from you now. And that you wanted him so badly it almost frightened you. You were sure nobody has ever wanted another person like this. Not with this much tenderness, not with this much patience. Not with the strange certainty that even if you never got what you wanted, you would still be grateful that youâd gotten to know him at all.
When dinner was finally over, neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave. You two slowly stood outside the restaurant together, the night air cool against your face.
âThanks for keeping me company,â Yoongi said.
You smiled. âThanks for asking.â
âI was hungry.â
âMe too.â
He chucked. You started walking toward his car, but after a few steps he fell into pace beside you.
âIâll take you home.â
This time you didnât fight him. âThanks.â
You looked at him and he smiled softly at you.
And as you drive beside him through the city, talking about nothing and everything, you found yourself thinking that maybe this was enough. Maybe you didnât need to know what he felt. Maybe you could just keep having nights like this. Maybe you could keep loving him quietly, keep writing songs that never quite captured it, keep pretending that your heart didnât jump whenever he looked at you for too long.
Because if this was all you ever got, you thought, youâd still be happy⊠You didnât know that Yoongi was thinking something remarkably similar. Only his conclusion was different. He didnât need you to say it tonight. He could wait.
ââââââââââ
By the time you finally gave up, there were pieces of paper everywhere.
Some were crumpled tightly enough that you couldnât remember what youâd written on them. Others had been folded in half, crossed out so aggressively that the ink had nearly torn through the page, while a few had been abandoned beside the piano with single lines written across the top and nothing underneath. Your notebook was open in front of you, several pages covered in half-finished verses, arrows, corrections and words youâd circled so many times that youâd almost worn holes through the paper.
You had spent the better part of the evening trying to write a love song. Again.
You had started with different type of music in your mind. But then you came up with a lovely melody, then changed it. Youâd written a verse, hated it, rewritten it, hated that one too. Youâd tried something softer, something more honest, something less obvious, something that didnât sound like every other love song youâd ever heard. Youâd tried metaphors and descriptions and memories and everything else youâd spent years learning to use when feelings became too complicated to say plainly.
Nothing worked and eventually, you had stopped trying.
You pushed yourself back in your chair and stared at the ceiling, letting your head rest against the backrest as the silence of the studio settled around you. The equipment was still on, little lights blinking quietly across the room, but you had stopped listening to the melody hours ago. For the first time, you werenât angry about it. You werenât frustrated anymore. You had simply accepted it.
Maybe some feelings couldnât be turned into words.
Maybe that was all there was to it. You had spent your entire career believing that every emotion had a language if you were patient enough to find it, that somewhere beneath the mess of a feeling there was always a sentence waiting to be written. Youâd built your life around that belief. Youâd made a career out of taking things people couldnât say and finding a way to say them for them.
And now you were sitting in the middle of a room full of paper because you couldnât describe how much you loved one person.
It was almost funnyâŠ.
The studio door opened. You didnât move.
âWhat the fuck?â
You recognized Yoongiâs voice immediately. You lowered your eyes from the ceiling. He was standing in the doorway, looking around at the state of the room with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and genuine concern.
You sighed. âDonât.â
âI didnât say anything.â
âGood, letâs keep it that way. Donât say anything.â
He ignored you. âI was going to ask what happened.â
You gestured vaguely toward the floor. âThis.â
He stepped inside, carefully avoiding the papers scattered across the floor. âDid you lose a fight with your notebook?â
âI lost a fight with songwriting.â
âAgain?â He asked jokingly.
You looked at him annoyed. âAgain.â
Yoongi smiled faintly and closed the door behind him. âYou okay?â
âYeah.â
He looked at the mess again. âSure?â
You laughed quietly. âYeah. I finally accepted something.â
He pulled the other chair closer to you and sat down, turning it slightly so he was facing you, your knees brushing. âWhat?â
âI canât write love songs.â
He stared at you. âThatâs dramatic.â
âIâm serious.â
âSo youâve decided youâre incapable of writing about love?â
âIâve decided that whatever Iâm feeling isnât something I can write about.â He nodded slowly, as if he understood the distinction. You looked down at the papers near your feet. âItâs driving me insane, though. I keep trying to forget about this but every time I sit down to write something else I just go back to this, it turns into this stupid love song, and then I hate it because it doesnât sound like enough.â
âEnough for what?â
You hesitated. âFor how I feel.â He didnât answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward and picked up one of the crumpled pieces of paper beside your chair. You reached for it. âDonât.â
He looked at you. âWhy?â
âItâs terrible.â
âIâll decide.â
âYou donât want to read it.â
âI do.â
You sighed and let your hand fall. He unfolded the paper carefully, smoothing out the creases with his palm before looking down at the words. You watched his eyes move across the page, suddenly much more self-conscious than you had been when youâd written it.
It wasnât really a song anymore. It was barely even a verse. Just fragments of thoughts youâd been unable to organize, lines about wanting someone so much that it made everything else feel insignificant, about being so consumed by another person, about cliches, about stupid songs. There were lines youâd crossed out and rewritten, words youâd circled and then abandoned, little pieces of honesty youâd only been brave enough to write because you knew nobody was supposed to read them.
Yoongi finished. He didnât laugh, he didnât make a joke. He simply looked at the paper for another moment before folding it once along one of the existing creases.
âI told you,â you said quietly. âIt sucks.â
âI donât think it does.â
âIt does.â
âItâs unfinished.â
âThatâs a nicer way of saying it sucks.â He smiled but you looked away. âI just hate that I canât explain it.â
He glanced back at the page. âYou write about everything.â
âI know.â
âYouâve written songs about things you said you couldnât explain before.â
âI know.â
âSo whatâs different?â
You thought about it. âI donât know.â Thereâs seconds of silence and after a moment, you added, âMaybe itâs because I want the person too much.â His eyes lifted toward you. You continued before you could lose your nerve. âI want them so much that everything I write feels smaller than what Iâm actually feeling. I want him more than any stupid song could ever say. And thatâs the one thing Iâm supposed to be good at. Iâm supposed to be able to take something like that and make it make sense.â You laughed softly, but there wasnât much humor in it. âI can describe heartbreak. I can describe wanting someone. I can make a stupid three-minute song about missing someone sound like the end of the world, but apparently when it actually happens to me, I canât find a single fucking word that feels right.â Yoongi listened without interrupting. You looked down at your hands. âI think I finally accepted that maybe some things just arenât meant to be put into words.â
Yoongi looked at the page again. âMaybe.â
You smiled faintly. âItâs annoying.â
âYeah.â
âEspecially because I keep writing them anyway.â
He looked at you. âMaybe thatâs not such a bad thing.â
You laughed under your breath. âYou donât have to be nice.â
âIâm not being nice.â
âYou are.â
âIâm telling you what I think.â You looked at him. He was holding the paper loosely between his fingers now, his expression thoughtful. âI like it.â
âYeah?.â
âYeah,â his tone was softer. âAnd I think the person would understand.â
Something in the room changed.
It wasnât obvious. There was no sudden movement, no dramatic shift in the air, nothing you could point to afterward and say that was the moment. It was just a look. Yoongi looked at you. And for the first time, you actually saw him. Not the version of him youâd spent months trying to understand from across studio tables and restaurant booths. Not the person whose smiles youâd memorized, whose messages you waited for, whose kindness you kept trying to convince yourself was simply kindness.
You saw his eyes. And you recognized them. Because youâd seen that look before. You had seen it every time youâd caught yourself staring at him in the reflection of a dark studio window. Every time youâd looked at yourself in the mirror after a long day and realized you were smiling because youâd been thinking about him. Every time youâd wondered what love was supposed to look like when nobody else was around to see it.
It was the same look you had.
It was him looking at you like you were something he didnât know how to put into words either.
Your breath caught.
Oh.
You stared at him, suddenly understanding why heâd always been so patient. Why heâd never pushed. Why heâd always seemed to know when something was wrong without asking for an explanation. Why heâd found you at the studio after his schedule and claimed he didnât feel like working. Why heâd insisted on driving you home. Why heâd sat in silence in the car and given you every opportunity to tell him what was wrong. Why heâd kept leaving the door open. Why heâd kept waiting.
You had spent so long wondering what Yoongi thought about you that youâd never considered the possibility that heâd been wondering the same thing.
Your voice was barely above a whisper when you finally spoke. âWould youâŠâ You stopped for a second, and he waited again. âWould you understand?â
Yoongi didnât hesitate. âI would.â
That was it.
Two words. Nothing poetic, nothing clever, nothing that could ever become a chorus or a bridge or a line worth putting in a notebook. But they were enough.
You looked at him, your chest suddenly too tight, your thoughts too quiet for once. Yoongi looked back at you. There was no uncertainty in his expression now. Now that you could see him clearly. There was only patience, only that same softness youâd been trying to write about for weeks.
You looked down at the crumpled paper still in his hand. âDonât throw this away,â he suddenly said. âI think it can become something.â
You smiled faintly. âItâs a stupid song.â
âWell if you donât want it,â Yoongi folded the paper again, more carefully this time, âIâll keep it.â
You looked at him for a second longer than necessary before nodding. âYou can keep it.â A tiny smile tugged at your lips. âItâs yours anyway.â
Alpha!Zandik looking proud as hell looming behind his omega!assistant currently talking shit to Pierro.. pierro angry that there's an unregistered omega hiding as a beta to avoid the breeding programs.. said omega telling pierro to just be happy that zandik is finally interested in "passing on his genes" like they've been trying to pressure him into for decades... zandik with a lovesick smile and his arms crossed nodding along (high as fuck on his newly claimed mate's pheromones) only to get embarrassed later during the night and 'punish' his assistant for saying that
omegaverse fatui breeding facility where they keep a plethora of omegas and military personnel can earn the right to pick and breed one after outstanding effort
m!reader (one good boy at the end), implied inexperienced, genitals not specified. fingering & praise
smut! mdni!! 18+!!!
"S-Sylus," You gasp breathlessly, gripping onto his bicep tightly to ground yourself as you attempt to squirm, for what purpose you're not quite sure. Your body moves on instinct as Sylus easily holds it in place. You're perched on his lap, your bare back against his clothed chest, clad in a soft sweater. You had leaked a visible patch of wetness onto his slacks that he seems rather proud of, enjoying how easy it is for him to work you up. How clear it is that you have never been affected like this by anyone other than him.
"Yes, sweetheart?" he hums in your ear, his voice low and sultry yet somehow humiliatingly casual. His breath brushes against your neck, his arousal pressing insistently against your back. His sleeves are rolled up as if he were washing dishes or handling some other mundane, messy task, but instead he has two fingers deep inside of you, squelching and grinding and pressing farther inside than you previously thought possible. It's embarrassing how easily he unwinds you into a whimpering, gasping mess. His hand isn't even moving particularly quickly; he just pinpointed all the right spots to hit at just the right angles and easily dismantled any defenses you thought you had.
You whine, high-pitched and needy, turning your head sideways to nestle in his neck and feel the comforting texture of his sweater against your cheek. Your hips jerk of their own accord, and Sylus lets out an amused huff, continuing the practiced movements of his hand. "Ohh, I see," he croons, softly kissing your forehead. "Are you close, sweetie?"
All you can do is nod, faintly registering the feeling of drool dripping down your chin, but unable to do anything about it. Sylus tsks, wiping it for you. It feels like your mind is a broken piece of equipment, trying so hard to work but only able to shoot sparks into the air.
"It's alright. You're so good for me." You're not quite sure what he's reassuring you about; all your mind can register is the praise, making you whimper and clench down hard on his fingers. He notices, of course he does. "Aw, you liked that?" he coos, slowly starting to increase his pace, making your breath hitch and a soft squeak escape your lips as the sloshing somehow gets louder.
"You're okay. Cum for me. Be good and cum for me." he growls into your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut with pleasure as you cry out, making a sound that has never come out of your mouth before. Your hips light up with pleasure as your body jerks, held steady by Sylus's firm hands. His strength is unrelenting and completely solid, his arms not moving even an inch as you squirm with all your might. He hasn't slowed down, wanting to watch you feel every bit of pleasure he can wring out of you. "Good boy. Keep going, that's it. Hold on to me." Tears start to drip down your cheeks, and yet he only slows to a stop once the overstimulation makes you start to fight him.
You deflate in his lap, and he softly shushes you, gently lifting and turning your body to face him, pressing you firmly against his chest. You've never felt so floaty and safe. You can hear his heartbeat and feel his hand run gentle circles on your lower back as you let all the tension in your body evaporate.
"Did that feel good? Hmm?" Sylus asks softly, pressing his lips to your neck at your pulse point. You nod dazedly, still coming down from your high. He chuckles. He enjoys the sight of you like this, pliant and trusting. Knowing he can keep you safe at your most vulnerable.
"What about you?" You mumble, sniffling and turning your head up to make eye contact with him. His expression is so tender, so full of devotion that you can feel your heart clench just at the sight.
"Don't worry about me, sweet thing." He brushes a kiss to your forehead before coaxing your head back into its comfortable position, tucked against his heartbeat. You go easily, settling snugly, enveloped in his warm embrace. "Rest for a little while, alright? You did so well." he murmurs, returning his palm to your back and smoothing it up and down your spine, occasionally scratching gently at the nape of your neck, sending pleasant tingles through your system.
"We'll need to take a bath, but we can stay here for as long as you like." He soothes, kissing your jaw and fondly gazing down at you. "Don't worry, I won't rush you. We'll go when you're ready."
You nod, thinking about thanking him but deciding to do it later as you let your mind melt into a hazy puddle.
NSFW! MDNI! Creampie! Breeding! Primal kink! Courting rituals! Biting! Marking! Size kink! Claw marks! Scenting! Mating bites! Nesting! Eggpreg! Front hole sex! Mating cycles! Rafayel has two cocks! Strangers to friends! Friends to strangers! Strangers to mates! Character death! Implied child abuse! Fisting! Readers hole gets called a cunt!
Synopsis: Rafayel arrives at the rescue center where you work, severely injured, and decides he wants you all to himself. Conveniently, after you nurse him back to health, he goes into a rut. Things get a bit crazy.
A/n: i wonât lie thereâs probably a lot of shit in this ho that isnât tagged but Iâm too lazy to go through and figure it out so⊠rip. This is a birthday gift for the loml, and I told her if I finished in time Iâd make a sylus one too!! So be on the look out for that ig. Also.. i started just typing shit halfway through so.. be warned.
âž»
The sea is a cold, dark place.
The briny air stung eyes and dried lips, but underneath the surface, it was even more brutal.
Unfriendly and unwelcoming to even its children, only the strongest survive the clashes of claws and fangs.
As the waves roared and the ocean made its thirst for blood known, currents and beasts alike tore at things that stayed too long.
Itâs even worse in places where food is scarce, where prey is too scared to venture out because they know the only thing that awaits them is the jaws of a fearsome predator.
The lack of food breeds ruthless bloodshed, leading to the formation of the corporation you work for. Squidlings Corp helps preserve lemurian and other merfolk kinds.
Many different corporations do the same; the only difference is that Squidlings Corp doesnât keep them in tanks but instead houses them in a cut-off section of the sea itself. That way, they donât have to deal with the discomfort of being too far from their home.
The latest specimen theyâve brought in is a Lemurian, quite an attractive one at that. He was brought in pretty banged up; deep gashes littered his tail and torso, and his wounds were so extensive that one of his pelvic fins was hanging on for dear life.
He winced and flinched at everything, even the air that blew on his wounds, his tail twitching weakly as he was rushed into an operating room.
At first, no one believed he would make it.
It was a wonder that he survived the swim to the surface, let alone the trip to the care center to be treated.
But after his surgery, you were assigned to be his caregiver. Youâve nursed many mers before him, but this one had a unique problemâhe hated you.
Every time you approached the water, heâd start crying, unlike the human cries youâve heard before. His cry was like a whaleâs, loud enough to melt a whaleâs brain. Or maybe thatâs just because youâre a human. The only time he didnât release one of those shrill cries was when you brought him food.
You understood his reaction.
He wasnât the only one who had reacted this way to you, and you doubted heâd be the last. Coming from a place as untrusting as the sea would do that to you, and the fact of how they ended up in your care in the first place.
Still, it hurt.
Those cries were meant to stun prey, but it also hurt because you desperately wanted to help him.
It was also hard to nurse him if he wouldnât even let you near him.
And the kicker was, he only acted this way with you. Anyone else, heâd act like the sweetest thing. Heâd let them pet him, rub his tail, and even sing for them if they asked.
You knew you sounded jealous, but you werenât. You werenât, right? But every time you saw him be nice to someone else, your chest tightened.
But the way heâd knowingly smirk at you as he nuzzled into someone elseâs hand drove you mad.
So mad, in fact, that you decided to switch with someone else. Her merânot a Lemurianâwas young. A pup who had picked a fight he couldnât win. He was an absolute sweetheart! You may or may not have spoiled him a bit, but everyone does!
He was just so stinking cute and a bit of an idiot, but that was to be expected with how young he was. Feral mersâor at least those unassociated with a packâkind of learn as they go since theyâre left alone the moment theyâre laid. You spent a week spoiling him rotten before his old handler came to you. âWe need to talk.â Firm, final, no room for whatever pitiful excuse you could possibly come up with.
âOkayâŠ? About what?â The look on her face makes you worry. âDid something happen to the Lemurian?â She looks pissed at the mention of him, weird considering before the switch, they were the best of friends. âCome here,â she snapped, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into the nearest corner. âWe need to switch back.â
What? âWhy?â The deep breath she takes tells you just how frustrated she is with her current charge. âHeâs going nuts, thatâs why,â she sighs before putting her hands on your shoulders. âHe keeps trying to get out.â You have no idea what that has to do with you, and that shows on your face because, with a long sigh, she whispered, âHe keeps trying to get out to see you.â
âNo, heâs not; he fucking hates me.â The disbelief shows on your face; you never did learn how to cool your facial expressions.
âIâm serious. When I told him you werenât coming back, he went fucking ballistic.â She huffs, running her hand through her hair and starts pacing. âI didnât think anything of it at first, but then he stopped feeding.â Oh. Thatâs bad. âYeah, it fucking is. Why do you think I came here? You need to take your Lemurian back before he starves to death.â
While that wouldnât happen, if he got severely malnourished, the higher-ups would just send someone to put a feeding tube in him. But still, your conscience wouldnât let you let it get that far. âFine. We can make the switch.â The look of relief that flooded her face made you feel like you were doing a good thing⊠but you knew better, and deep down, you knew you were making a big mistake; you just didnât know how big.
âž»
Walking into work the next day knowing you had to face the mer of your nightmares is not a fun feeling. You were so close to just calling in sickâor, even better, quittingâjust to avoid interacting with the Lemurian who despises you. Despite all of your nerves and the nagging feeling that today is the day you die, you go to work.
When you see him for the first time since you dumped him on your colleague, all of your nerves wash away as youâre struck by his beauty.
Being away for so long made you forget how breathtaking he was.
He didnât notice you at first, or maybe he did and chose to ignore youâhurtful, but better than his cries. Quietlyâas quiet as a mouseâyou approach, watching as the waves lap up at his waist and his long hair cascades down his back.
You breathe in deep, taking in the air of the salty sea before you to calm yourself.
âKnock knock,â you say gently, pushing the rest of your nerves into a hidden corner in your mind.
âI heard a certain someone wasnât eating and was dying to see me!!â Youâre basically skipping toward him as you chirp that out, only slowing down to kneel in front of him.
Watching with bated breath as he finally looked at you.
The moment you made eye contact, the air left your body.
âUhh, who are you?â
Okay, ouch.
âYou seem kinda familiar, you know.â He leans towards you as he says this, breathing you in.
âAre you mad?â you ask, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, breaking eye contact to look at the much more interesting wall behind him.
He tilts his head, trilling in the back of his throat as he grabs your chin and forces you to meet his gaze once more.
âNo, Iâm happy. My handler found his way back to me. Finally.â
âI was worried youâd forget about me again; I wouldnât be able to take that.â He talks so much; heâs never talked this much to you before. Not only is he talking to you, but heâs touching you. This has to be a dreamâŠ
Wait.
âAgain?â The moment you say that word, itâs like it flipped a switch in him, his eyes lowering in a glare as he looks at you. His hand tightening on your chin as he used his other to brush your hair out of your face.
âDo you truly not remember me?â The way he says it breaks your heart; itâs like heâs longing for something you cannot give him, and the way his thumb is brushing against your lower lip doesnât seem too far-fetched.
The look of desperate yearning in his eyes as he leans in closer to you before stopping mere centimeters away from your lips.
âItâs okay, Iâll help you remember.â He rasped before pecking your temple and diving back into the cold, dark, miserable sea.
âž»
It happened a little over a decade ago, the incident in which you met. Back when mers were deemed threats to humanity and anyone who could bring one back was given a hefty award, whether it was dead or alive.
Humans have a knack for fearing things they donât understand, not to say mers arenât dangerous. The tales of them dragging sailors to their dooms arenât just an old wivesâ tale.
Your father happened to be one of the people that took this as an opportunity to purge the world of the things he deemed filth and hunted down as many mer as he could. You didnât know much about his work at the time.
He didnât want you to see how much of a monster he truly was, but as he got older, he realized that if he didnât act soon, youâd become one of those mer-loving freaks.
The summer of your tenth birthday was perfect, he decidedânot too old to have opinions and not too young to not understand his teaching. The perfect age to make sure you grew up right and not turn out like your mer-loving mother.
The boatâGolden Horizon the nameâwas in tip-top shape for how long it had been around. First, it was just a regular cargo ship, hosting cars and such, and in a sick and disgusting way it still is: just hosting much more fishy merchandise.
It was rusted in some places, and you could smell the blood of the beings that were killed here. Not that little you knew what you were smelling, just that it had a weird sour smell that sunk into your clothes and followed you even when you left the ship. At the time, you thought it was just the scent of rust mixing with the briny smell of the sea.
Soon, youâll learn just how far off you were.
The ship croaked and groaned as it sailed away from the pier. The entire time you were on that ship, you thought it was going to sink.
As much as you didnât want to be on a ship as scary as this one, you wanted to spend time with your father. He isnât around muchâsomething about how your mer-loving mother sickens him.
You never knew why everyone had a problem with mer; to you, they were just pretty littleâand sometimes hugeâthings. You always wanted to be friends with one, but daddy always said no child of his would be a mer-loving freak.
That night was your first lesson, your first and last.
You were awoken by singing; it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. So alluring and ethereal, leading you from your quarters to the deck of the ship.
Just as you were about to get close to the railing, your dad yanks you back. âWhat do you think youâre doing?â He snapped, gripping your arm tightly. âI know, I didnât raise someone foolish enough to give in to the songs of a mer.â He gruffs out, letting you go with a shove.
âGo get my harpoon, boy.â
The sneer in his voice as you run to do as he says, even though he calls you that, you know heâll never see you as what you truly are.
His harpoon is by his bed, easily reachable in case of emergency. Itâs heavy in your hands, and you have to sort of drag it out to him, but you manage to get it to him just fine.
The glare in his eyes as he takes it from you tells you that you took too long.
Seeing his glare makes you flinch away, and just as youâre about to slink off into the darkest corner of this ship, he grabs you. âCome here.â He demands, dragging you to the side of the boat.
âIâm going to show you what it takes to be a real man,â he muttered, positioning the harpoon into your hands.
âYouâre gonna kill that bastard mer.â He growls, stepping away from you.
âIf you donâtââ He pauses to lick his lips.
âIâll kill you.â
The endless sea begins to churn around your ship, as if upset that a lowly human thinks it has the right to kill one of its many children.
The merâs song gets louder as the oceanâs waves crash into the side of the ship, shaking it with such force.
Your father is growing impatient; the darkness that surrounds you both isnât making his temper any better. Even though you can feel his anger begin to brew under his skin, you cannot bring yourself to harm another beingâsomething whose heart is beating just like yours.
âJust throw the damn thing,â he snaps at you, roughly pushing your shoulder. âWe donât even know how many are out there; they can sink us at any moment, damn it!â He yells; his anger makes the hair on your neck stand up. Your body trembles, and just as he begins to raise his hand, you throw it.
It doesnât go farâjust slightly over the side. The song stops the instant the harpoon leaves your hand, and the sea becomes tranquil once more.
Your father opens his mouth, but before he can start degrading you and telling you how utterly useless and pathetic you truly are, the harpoon comes flying back. From muchâmuch farther away.
Into his chest.
The scream you let out is deafening. Your eyes switch between your father and the haunting sea below you before finally sticking to your father. You turn your body to face him, eyes and mouth wide in shock.
The only thing to leave his mouth is a croak and blood.
Such a brilliant red itâs almost beautiful.
He reaches for you, trying to grab hold of you. In your fear, you back away. The problem isâyou back away a little too farâŠ
As you fall towards the sea, the waves rise to catch you; they cradle you like your mother did when you were younger. Even as you sink into the depths of the cerulean sea, they caress you with love that you havenât felt in a long time. Itâs actually quite⊠peaceful.
The song starts up again, pulling you into a sense of calm. The song is softer now, as if itâs a lullaby meant to lure you to sleep.
It works; your eyelids begin to feel heavy, or maybe itâs the lack of air. Just as you begin to fully lose consciousness, you feel a pair of arms wrap around you. And the song changes in turnâitâs still soft, but thereâs something there, almost as if itâs telling you not to worry, that youâll be safe.
The next time you open your eyes, you are in a cave that almost seems to cradle you. The walls are covered in bioluminescence, and the moon shines down upon you.
You are still wetânot soaked-to-the-bone wet, but wet nonetheless. Your eyes sting, and your throat is the only dry part of you. If not for the fact that you are wet, you wouldâve thought everything was just some sick dream, but you knew otherwise.
Your head feels like itâs going to explode, and the rest of your body isnât any better. It is only when you let out a groan of pain that you realize you are not alone.
There is someoneâsomethingâwatching you.
Eyes a mix of blue and purple stare up at you from the pool of water in front of you. Itâs the mer.
The mer that killed your father.
You let out a whine of distress, breathing quickening as you try to get away from them with the strength you have left.
Before you can start hyperventilating, it begins to singâthe same soft song from before.
As it sings, it moves closer, its tail rippling the surface of the water.
âYou must be thirsty,â itâheâremarked, pulling himself on shore. He wasnât much older than you by the looks of it. He wasnât more than 12 at the most, but thereâs no way a 12-year-old would be able to throw a harpoon as effectively as he did.
Then again, he is a mer.
Your wide-eyed stare is all the answer he needs before he reaches down to grab a gourd. âCatch,â he chimes, amused at your shock-ridden face as he tosses it your way.
You lick your lips when the gourd lands in your palms; your mouth is so dry it doesnât even wet them. In a hurried, desperate manner, you open it and bring it to your mouth the moment the top pops out.
âSlow down, youâll choke,â the amused mer at the base of your feet urged, concern dripping into his voice. Grabbing the base of the gourd and pulling it from your lips, he manages to drag himself up closer to you while you are drinking. âIâll bring you more tomorrow, along with something to eat, so donât worry.â
You swallowed, looking down at the sand beneath your feet before looking back up at him through your eyelashes. âWhy did you save me?â you ask, ducking your head back down before he could answer. Clutching at your arms as you tried to make yourself as small as possible, âWhy did you kill my daddy?â Your voice cracks as that sentence leaves your mouth; sure, he wasnât always nice to you.
Actually, he was rarely nice to you, but still. He was your father, and no matter what, children are supposed to love their parents.
âFirstly, I saved you because unlike your âdaddy,â you donât deserve to die,â he answers. His voice is stern, in a way that kids his age shouldnât sound. âSecondly, your fatherâif you can even call him thatâthreatened to kill you, and from how scared you were of him, he has beaten you several times before.â His voice is softer this time.
Like he knows if he raises it, heâll scare you, and thatâs the last thing he wants at the moment.
Instead of acknowledging what he said, you ask him another question, one much more serious.
âWhen will I be able to go home?â This whispered question makes the mer freeze; his eyes widen as he looks at you. He knows he wonât be able to keep you, but still, something in his chest aches at the thought of letting you go.
âNot for another week or two; a storm is coming. A big one, the sea will be in turmoil for a while,â he answers before trilling, âGo back to sleep now, you need rest,â he demands, pushing at your shoulders. Before you can protest, he begins to sing, and like before, it says, âYouâre safe, I have you now.â
And that is all you need before your body slips into the kingdom of dreams.
When you woke up in the evening the next day, you found freshly prepared fish waiting for you, accompanied by the gourd from the other day, refilled as promised.
The fish was steaming, strangely enough; its eyes clouded over as a deep, long cut ran down its body. It had been properly gutted, and every cut made on the fish was done with the utmost care. Every small bone that posed a choking hazard was removed and laid next to it, as if to let you know you didnât have to do anything to it.
You donât quite like fish; you just could never get past the taste.
But you donât quite like starving either.
Bracing yourself, you push up from the sand-covered floor and shuffle over to the prepared fish, sitting down to take it in more clearly. You hesitate slightlyâwhat if he poisoned it? You ponder, though that thought is short-lived. With a growl from your stomach, you reach out to pinch off a strip of the fishâs pale flesh.
Your hands shake as you bring it to your mouth. Whether itâs from low blood pressure or nerves, you canât tell. But either way, you slowly push the fish past your chapped lips, caressing it the rest of the way in with your tongue.
The texture is soft, the taste surprisingly sweet. It fills your belly in ways it hadnât been filled in ages; the only thing that could make this meal better is a bowl of rice and some company. After all, everything tastes better when shared. The salt clings to your tongue and is only washed away when you take a sip of water from the gourd.
Youâre about halfway through the fish when you feel his eyes on you, watching you eat. He doesnât come closer; his head only breaches the surface enough for his eyes to peek through.
You let him watch for a while, before the eyes on you start to make you anxious. âStop looking at me,â you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. That doesnât make the mer stop; in fact, you acknowledging him just makes him rise out of the water, closer to you.
âDo you like it?â he asks excitedly, chirping once he finishes his sentence. His eyes look from you back down to the fish bones lying in front of you. âYes,â you whisper, still too scared to speak for the most part.
âYouâre so tense!â he whines, dramatically falling onto the rocks in front of you. âTell you what! To make you less tense, why donât you ask me three questions?â He beams, flicking water up from the sea with his tail.
âRafayel. Next.â He sinks deeper into the water, almost disappointed that you asked such a boring question.
âThere are different kinds of mer, right? What kind are you?â you query, tilting your head slightly as you stare at him.
âIâm Lemurian,â he brags, chest puffing up as he says it.
âYou must be really proud to be one,â you tease, giggling to yourself when he nods in agreement.
âUhmmm, why did you save me..?â you ask for your final question, looking at him like your entire being depends on his answer.
âYou interested me,â he says, after a moment of thinking. âYou are the one I was singing for that night, not your father,â he hisses, angry at the now-dead man.
You canât blame him; the man did ruin the way you met. Youâll probably always think of him as the mer who killed your father andâandâ
âYou know, thinking back on it, you kind of did me a favor.â
What?
The lemurianâs eyes widen so fast you wouldâve thought he was a cartoon character. âWhat?â
You laugh, placing your hands in your lap. âDonât get me wrong, I loved my dad, but over the years he got kind of⊠mean,â you confide, digging your nails into the fabric of your pants. âHe drank a lot, and when he drank he wouldâwouldââ Before you can finish your sentence, a sob started to wrack your body, making you almost incapable of speech.
The lemurianâRafayelâswims closer to you, climbing up the rocks before pulling you into him. âItâs okay, Iâm here,â he soothes, petting your hair. âWhen the storm ends, Iâll get you back to the parent that actually loves and cares for you.â He swears, tightening his grip on you as you finally begin to calm down.
âPinky promise?â you sniffle, holding out your pinky.
âIâll pinky promise if you promise me that one day weâll see each other again,â he offers, letting you ponder your next move.
âI promise,â you say. The moment the words leave your mouth, his pinky wraps around yours.
âThen itâs a deal.â
The rest of your time with the mer is much more fun. He brings you pretty trinkets and talks to you about the most random things. He also likes to paint, which is interesting; he uses a blend of coral and bioluminescence for his paints. He made a painting for you, and it was beautiful. If he were human, heâd be a millionaire.
When you had to leave, you almost didnât want toâscratch that, you didnât want to. But Rafayel kept insisting that it was for the best and that youâd see each other again soon. Still, you didnât want to leave him.
Your time with Rafayel has been the best thing to ever happen to you, and as selfish as it may be, you didnât want to say goodbye to the joy he brought youânot yet. Not ever.
You had no choice in the matter, however; he took you to the surface where you were sleeping. The last thing you saw of him was his iridescent tail splashing into the water.
After he left you there, you stared at the coastline for a while, waiting to see even a glimpse of him.
You never got it.
Afterward, you went about asking random strangers for help finding your mom.
Your mom was ecstatic to see you; tears rolled down her face when she saw you in the police precinct. She looked restless. Youâd been gone for weeksâthis you knewâbut it felt like minutes with Rafayel by your side.
They found your fatherâs remains. Everyone thought that he accidentally pierced himself when the storm started. How they reached that conclusion, you have no idea. But on the way home, you knew that your dad being gone wasnât the only loss you suffered.
In fact, losing Rafayel hurt a million times worse than losing that drunkard.
Every time you see the ocean, you look out at it hoping you can see his blue iridescent fin flicking out of the water. You never do.
And that hurts more than anything.
Losing Rafayel left you with a deep and painful ache youâve never been able to get rid of.
You stay awake at night trying to listen for the song he used to sing to you.
Nothing ever comes.
The ocean remains cold and indifferent as you cry into her, begging for her child to come back.
Waves crash into you, but she remains silent otherwise, letting your tears become another salty part of her.
In her silence, you realizeâthe sea never gives back what she has stolen.
You can only hope to find it again in her depths.
ââ-
You jolt awake, panting, chest heavy with grief and sorrow. As much as you want to tell yourself that it was a dream, you know better. It was too real to be a dream⊠too real to just be an imagination. The dream was so vivid you can still smell the salt of the sea and the humidity of it.
Your breath begins to return to normal as you pat around looking for your phone, eyes blurry still from sleep. You find it and check the time: 05:05. Quite some time before the work day officially starts. It gives you just enough time to talk to Rafayel about this.
Sighing softly, you slowly rise out of bed. Slipping your feet into your cozy slippers while running your hands through your hair, you have to see him.
You have to see him now.
Every move you make is done in a flurry; youâre moving so quickly you almost forget your keys as you rush out the door. You just threw on your work uniformâyou are heading to work after all. Just a tad bit early. Your uniformâs waterproof fabric rubs against the crease of your elbow uncomfortably.
Your uniform isnât exactly the coziest thing to wear, but itâs never been this unbearable. Your skin is so sensitive and itchy.
You move quicklyâyouâre practically sprinting at how fast youâre trying to get to him.
When you smell the salt of the sea in the air, you just move faster, breaking into a full-on sprint.
Towards him.
And when you get there, itâs like he was waiting for you. His eyes lock onto your frame the moment you come into view, his tail moving to bring him closer to you.
âRafayel!â
You call out, panting as you lean over beside his enclosure. Hearing you say his name makes him move with more urgency. âYou remember?â he amazes, eyes sparkling as he stares at you.
âYes, yes, yes,â you rush out, stepping even closer to him. âI just⊠buried the memories I had of you⊠due to the pain they brought me,â you stammer out, reaching out towards your merâyour lemurian, your Rafayel.
âI never thought Iâd see you again,â you whisper, as you finally give in and cup his cheek, smiling softly when he nuzzles into it, giving your palm a small peck.
Rafayelâs webbed hands come up to hold onto yours. Heâs trembling slightly, almost scared that if he touches you, heâll vanish.
âI know,â he whispers. âI know, I wanted to come to you so bad.â He admits, his once hesitant grip tightened, now possessive in a way you didnât know he was capable of, as he nuzzles into you harder.
âI never left you, I just watched you from a distance.â He assures you, his eyes gleam with some ancient power a human like you could never understand, as his webbed right hand comes up to grip just beneath your shoulder. âMy very soul longed to be right by your side.â His voice deepens when he says this. âDonât worry,â he reassured, âweâll never have to be apart again.â His voice is almost hypnotic as he says thisâitâs so soothing, and comforting. And safe.
Rafayel is safe.
Your instincts briefly tell you that you should run, that you should get away from him. But that is quickly shut down by something deep in your brain. Then he starts to sing, softlyâthe song he always sang for you to calm you down, the song that said âdonât worry, Iâm here, youâre safe.â
Then, like a true siren, he pulled you into the depths.
The ocean shattered above you in a foaming blur, and panic overcame you. Salt water floods your senses, burning your lungs. You try to pull yourself away from the Lemurian but the more you pull the more his claws dig into you.
Throughout your struggle Rafayel just pulls you further into the depths, the atmospheric pressure increasing bit by lung-crushing bit.
All the while Rafayel sings, watching you intently. Before you finally pass out from the lack of oxygen.
When you regained consciousness you were resting in a gigantic gutter out clamshell, filled with kale, seaweed, and sponge to make it softer.
The walls of the shell were intricately decorated with pearls and gems that found their way into the sea due to sunken ships, the room the shell sat in was even more extravagant, it looked like the walls themselves were made of pearl.
Dried-out starfish hung from the ceiling with pieces of vibrant colored coral.
It took you a while to realize that you were still underwater, and even then it took you even longer to realize that you were still under and breathing.
Once you realized that fact you quickly searched your body for.. well, gills. You didnât find any, thank god, but that just makes your mind feel with questions.
How are you breathing? Why are you in this next? And most importantly, where is Rafayel?
You rise slowly, your body still aching from the atmospheric pressure change. You were tempted to climb out of the shell but quickly decided not to after seeing that even though you were in a room, the floor of it was entirely gone. In its place was the dark abyss of the sea, jagged rocks, and who knows what else waiting for you to fall into them.
Your skin prickled as the feeling of something looking back at you from the dark arose, your breath grew panicked as something swam at lightning speed towards you. Your eyes quickly snapped shut, arms coming to cover your face as you braced for impact. Only for it to never come.
Hesitantly, you removed your arms and opened your eyes only to be hit with the most breathtaking sight.
Rafayel.
Except, he was entirely different from how he was when you last saw him.
His body was covered in colorful markings and golden jewelry.
Around his neck was a golden collar that connected to silver chains decorated with jews and pearls that circled his waist and connected to an even more elaborate piece that rested on his hips right above his tail. As beautiful as it was it looked like the spine of some poor creature.
Golden ear cuffs framed his ears and golden cuffs decorated with rubies framed his arms.
And to finish it all off, on top of his head lay a simple gold crown.
He looked like a king.
No-
He looked.. like a god.
âRafayelâ your voice echoed through the water, it sounded weird, but you could clearly make out what you were trying to say. âYes?â he answers leaning down towards you, a smug grin on his face.
âRafayel, what has happened to you? Why do you look so different?â You question, reaching your arm out towards him before abruptly jerking it back. âI am as I have always been.â He muses, enjoying your reaction to his new attire.
âThere is a lot about me that you donât know, but with time⊠you will know it allâ he assures you, swimming around the shell that holds you, chirring all the while.
âDo you not like me like this?â He asks you, his tail strokes slowing as a flash of insecurity shows on his face.
âNo, I like it!â You reassured him, beaming a smile at him that was quickly replaced by a look of uncertainty.
âRafayel?â
âHow am I breathing right now?â You ask voice trembling, as you look down at your hands that are just floating in the water. âOh. That.â He frowns, voice monotonous as he says âI merely kissed youâ
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
Three times
EHH?
Your face burns all of a sudden as a flush rises to your cheeks, âYou did what?â You cough out, looking at him from your peripheral view.
âI kissed you.â He says like itâs no big deal, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his mouth to plant a soft kiss on your knuckles.
âJust like this,â he says as he starts to trail kisses down your arm, nuzzling into your neck when he places a final kiss upon your shoulder.
âWould you like me to show you?â He questions, his voice deepening. He bites at the crease of your neck, placing his right hand on the nape of it before finally pulling away.
âWell?â He asks, his tail flicks impatiently behind him as his eyes narrow in on your lips.
You swallow, licking for lips before finally deciding that yes, you do want him to kiss you while youâre conscious enough to kiss back.
So with a little bit of a grin on your face, you nodded. âSure, why n-â you were cut off.
A single cold, scaly, webbed hand cups your cheek as the one on the nape of your neck tightens its grip.
And finally, cold, surprisingly soft, scaled lips meet yours in a passionate dance for two.
A soft moan leaves your lips, which gives Rafayel just enough time to slip his slick, slitted tongue down your throat âMHM!â Your eyes, widen in surprise, hands coming up to push the mer away.
The mer didnât budge, a deep, thrumming rumble vibrated through his chest, echoing like a whale song through the water around you, every time you attempted to shove him back. It was a warning-donât move. With that and his strength the only thing you could do was sit there and whine as his tongue tickled the back of your throat.
After what felt like forever the mer pulled back not too far, he was still close enough that you could feel the heat of the water when he exhaled against your upper lip.
You took a deep breath, only to wince from the mild ache it caused in your lungs.
âYou did all of that just to get me to breathe?â You huffed, keeping your hands on his chest.
âNo.â He states, removing his hand from your cheek and using it to grab both your wrists. Using his hold on them to yank you closer to him, claiming your lips once more.
This kiss was much shorter than the previous one, âthat was just to show you that youâre mine.â He hissed, sinking his fangs into your bottom lip.
âDo you still hurt?â He asks, removing his hands from their current positions on your body and repositioning them under your arms, trailing them down your body, squeezing your flesh as they go.
He watched you intently for any sign of discomfort or distress, happy trilling when he saw none.
âAnd the nest. Do you like it?â He whispered, seemingly scared of what you might say.
âI love it, itâs very soft and extremely beautiful.â You confessed, glancing around the room once more.
âItâs not as beautiful as you, my mate.â He sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist before relaxing his body against yours.
Hearing him call you his mate brings a flush to your cheeks and causes a pounding in your heart, clearing your throat, you lazily wrap your arms around his neck.
âYou think of me as your mate?â You ask sheepishly, after all mers mate for life, to call someone your mate is the same as calling them your husband and well thatâs kind of a big deal.
âMateâ isnât exactly a word you just throw out there.
âOf course, I always have. Since we first met.â He says like itâs no big deal, voice slightly muffled due to the fact that his face is buried in your left tit.
âTruly?â You ask, brows raised.
âThen why were you such an asshole?â You question him before thinking of an even better question, âNoâ better yet. Why did you leave me?â Still upset at the fact that he just left you on a beach surrounded by strangers who couldâve done anything to you. At this he releases a sigh tightening his grip on you, âI had to in order to become what I am now. If I had let you stay, you wouldâve died.â He confesses, clenching his jaw.
âI had many enemies back then, and I was too weak to defeat them all.â He confides, â I needed to become stronger to protect you, so I didâ he hisses out, replacing his head so that itâs nuzzled into your neck.
âIf youâre so strong, how did you end up at the treatment center?â You query, genuinely curious. Mers are seen as the top of the food chain both on sea and land, the only thing that could do that kind of damage is another mer.
âOh, that?â He hums, bored at the question. âI did that,â he confesses, entirely missing the look of horror that creeps onto your face âI knew you worked at squidling, and that was the only way I could think of to get close to you.â Once he finishes that sentence he croons, tired of all the questions.
âWait, Rafayelâ you rush out, ignoring the annoyed click that follows.
Usually when a mer finds its mate they go into heat or rut. Though it can take weeks or even months, when mates are abruptly separated before being able to be bonded together properly. It comes much, much faster.
Rafayel acting restless at the recovery center and having a low appetite all point to signs of a up and coming rut.
âWhenâs your rut?â You ask, brushing your hands through his hair. âIn a few hours maybe, tomorrow if youâre lucky.â Heâs rasps, really enunciating that last part.
âDonât worry, Iâve already prepared food to last you through this cycle. Though I might be too far gone to cook it for you.â He croons, digging his claws into the flesh of your waist.
âYou must forgive me for the way I will act during that time.â He purred out.
âI do not believe I will be able to control myself after so long without you.â Voice husky with sleep, curling his tail around you so that youâre properly cradled against him.
And so that you cannot get away.
âNow letâs rest.â He urged. Before he started to sing, each note tugged at something deep in your mind, luring you into a calming sleep.
You woke up a few hours later to a suffocating heat that made your chest tighten, which is strange considering you fell asleep next to a being as cold as ice.
Rafayel was still pressed flush against you, though his tail had somehow found its way between your legs making it so that you could barely move.
At first, you thought the Lemurian was still asleep, not yet awake to his drastic change in temperature. But then you felt it, subtle cues that you wouldâve otherwise missedâ his claws kneading the flesh of your waist, little flicks of his tail, his slow uneven breath against your neck.
âRafayelâ you whisper, like youâre about to turn around and see the most terrifying creature ever.
He answers you with a crooning hum thatâs so loud it makes your ears ring, âah!â You yelp bringing your hands up to cover your ears.
âSorry, sorry.â Itâs the quiet you wouldnât have heard it if it wasnât spoken next to your ear âItâs hard to control myself like this.â He hissed out, you could tell how hard he was trying to hold back just by how hard he was gripping your waist.
âItâll get worse over timeâ he warns you voice still barely above a whisper.
âYou shouldnât be so close to meâ he hissed, though his tail remained between your legs and his grip on your waist tightened.
âPlease! I canât-â he starts before breaking off into a trill, nuzzling into your neck. Scenting you frantically, almost like his life depends on it, like heâll die if your scent isnât consuming his senses.
His fins begin to glow as his claws scrape down your body, the Lemurian breaks off into a growl when he feels the waistband of your pants, though it quickly turns into a whine.
âPleaseâ he whines, âcan I?â Is all he can say before he starts chirping, the way his claws grip your pants tells you all you need to know however.
He wants to tear them off.
Heâs patient so- so patient as he waits for your response.
But patience can only last so long in a rut.
The first tear is an accident he didnât mean to he even clicks out an apology, but the sound of your pants tearing awakens something in him.
Something that was better left buried.
With a loud rumbling growl, he tears away what remains of your pants, only to get more frustrated at the sight of your underwear. âWhy do you humans wear so much?â He muttered, hurriedly yanking your undies down before growing impatient and tearing those off too.
Somewhere along the way of him hurriedly tearing your pants and under garments off he realized he wanted to see you, and not just that.
He wanted you to see him.
So in a show of strength, Rafayel quickly and efficiently turns you around, though to do so he had to remove his tail from in between your legs which itself was a pain but seeing how fast you closed them was an even bigger one.
âWhat are you doing?â He hisses, all he wants is to be inside you! After so many years of waiting to have you, there are so many things in the way and apparently, you are one of them.
With an annoyed hiss, the Lemurian places his hands on your thighs, âOpen up, or I will make you.â He snapped, baring his sharp, fangy teeth.
âRafayel- wait!â You cry embarrassed at the fact that youâre borderline naked in front of a beautiful creature.
And shockingly he does, taking a deep breath.
âPlease!â He begs, digging his claws into your thighs, âPlease, tell me I canâ he whispers, a trill escaping from his throat, âIâll give you everything you could want and moreâ he promises, looking into your eyes so intently it felt like he was looking into your soul.
With a deep breath you nod, snapping your eyes closed in fear of his reaction to whatâs in between your legs. Only for them to snap open in surprise as Rafayel strokes a curious finger down your folds.
âYou donât have a penis?â He questions a huge, twisted grin spreading across his face as he studies the slick on his finger.
âNo...â you mutter keeping your line of sight out of his general direction.
âYouâre so perfect.â He chirps, placing a hand on the nape of your neck and turning your head to face him.
âYouâre so perfect for me,â he whispers before bringing you into a borderline feral kiss, fingers poke at the entrance to your slick cunt.
âWait! Rafayel you canât-â you try to warn only to get cut off by him plunging two scaly, clawless fingers into you. âFuck!â You moan out, leg twitching as you try to get used to the sudden but familiar sting of having something in your hole.
âRa-rafayelâ you whine out, hole already frothing at the scaled fingers in your hole.
Rafayel only offers you a brief smile before turning his full attention to the slit between your legs, plunging his fingers into you over and over again. Watching as your hole produces loads of cream, before blessing you with another two fingers.
He slowly and carefully inserts them, knowing just how fragile the human body can be even if this particular part seems to stretch around everything you give it.
âWhat do you call this?â He asks, entranced by the way your hole is sucking his fingers into.
âMy- my cunt?â You offer not entirely sure what heâs asking, though this answer seems to be more than enough for him.
âYour cuntâ he says, his inhuman accent slipping out, âis it always this wet?â Heâs amazed by how much slick is leaving you, a lot of it has pulled underneath you and a good amount has trailed down to his wrist.
âNo,â you mumble, embarrassed by the way your body is reacting to the mer before you.
But it is true, of all the times youâve been touched down there, youâve never been this wet. It almost makes you feel icky that you can get this slick simply by being teased by this mer.
âReally?â He says it like itâs the most shocking thing heâs ever heard, âdoes that mean you only get this wet for me?â A possessive grin manages to make its way onto his face.
With a sinister croon, he pulls his hand back, just slightly, then without warning, he nudges his thumb against your already stretched-out hole, âlet me in.â He coos, applying more pressure behind his forceful nudges.
âRafayel,â you whine, grabbing hold of his wrist, âI canât- I canât.â The words are whimpered out a bit too late; the Lemurian has already slipped his thumb into your cunt.
âNgh,â you moan, digging your nails into the merâs thinly scaled wrist.
The mer leans in, happily trilling in the back of his throat, he places a quick peck to your temple. âYouâre gonna take me so well.â He whispers, grabbing your hand that dug itself into his scales with his free one.
Before fucking his wrist into you, watching in amazement as your hole stretches itself in order to take it.
Though as much as he loved watching your hole stretch around his wrist, heâd much rather see it stretch around something else.
So with a sigh, a rather depressed-sounding one at that, he yanks his wrist out of your cunt. Bringing his slick, soaked hand up to his mouth in order to taste your wetness.
His reaction to it is instantaneous, his eyes dilate, and his claws regrow. His chest begins to rumble in a never-ending purr that gets louder when he sees your hole clenching around nothing but water.
âHere,â he trills, guiding your hand to a slit in his tail. âTake me out,â he purrs, pressing his tail into the palm of your hand.
With a bit of discomfort from the feeling of being so full and a large amount of curiosity, you poke at the slit he guided you to, before reaching your hand in.
Itâs not in too deep before you feel something, ah. Scratch that, two somethings, pressing against your hand.
Hesitantly, you wrap your hand around one of them. Swiping over the tip of his cock with your thumb, watching in amazement as his cocks began to peek out of their hiding spot inside him.
âThatâs it,â he whines, lightly flicking his tail as heâs overwhelmed with pleasure.
âJust touch-â heâs cut off by a hum thatâs almost as loud as the last one. Lucky for you, he managed to cut it off before it turned your brain into absolute mush.
âUgh,â you groan, shaking your head to get rid of the ringing soundâ spoiler alert. It doesnât work.
Not that it matters, as sensitive as the Lemurian is, by the time his song did manage to sneak its way out, so did his cocks.
And strangely enough, they were the prettiest cocks youâve ever seen.
The one on top had a wider urethra than the other, though the one on the bottom was slightly longer. Both of them were quite thick, but the one on topâ âthe ovipositorâ, your mind helpfully suppliedâ was thicker.
The bottom oneâ the one meant to fertilize the eggsâ has ridges running down the length of it, the widest of which rested at the bottom.
However, both were the prettiest lilac purple youâve ever seen.
They were both glistening, covered in Rafayelâs own slick and pre-cum.
Rafayel places his clawed hands on your hips, digging his claws into the swell of your ass.
âCan I-â he pauses, choking down his song.
âInside, please!â He chokes out, removing his hands from your waist to bring them up to cover your earsâthough it feels more like heâs crushing your skullâ he finally lets out a loud piercing cry.
âSorry!â He squeals out hurriedly removing his hands from your head, âsorry! Sorry!â He whines, clawing at your thighs.
âRafayel,â you call, placing your hands onto his shoulders, âcalm down,â humming, you pull him towards you, connecting your lips together.
âYou can,â you start licking your lips in embarrassment before continuing, âget inside,â you squeak out.
Clearing your throat before finishing, âI donât want you to be in pain,â sympathy bleeds into your voice, âuse meâ use my body, to make you feel better,â finally giving him permission to do the one thing all his instincts are telling him to do.
âThank you,â he hissed out, wrapping his hands around your thighs pulling you in until the tip of his cockâthe one with the wider urethraâ nudges against your stretched hole.
With an annoyed hiss, Rafayel digs his claws further into you before yanking you closer onto the flared head of his ovipositor.
He moans loudly, louder than you evenâ when he breaches your hole, amazed by how tight it is even after all the attention he gave to your hole to make sure it was properly stretched.
Though, thanks to that and how wet both of you are, it was a very smooth glide into you.âThank you,â he whines once more, moving his hands from your thighs to your waist.
A small thing to note about mers in heat or rut is that they go fucking insane the moment they get something in them or in this case into something, though insane isnât a good word for it.
Feral.
Is a better one.
Overcome by instincts that tell them to fuck and breed even if itâll lead to their demise.
Every cell in their body just tells them to fuck, cum, and breed.
During mating mers are nothing but animals, they turn every human horror story about them into reality.
Mers become these ruthless, killing machines all for the health of their mates.
Thatâs why there are so many horror stories of them eating humans. Human meat is exotic to mers since humans are so hardâ and annoyingâ to kill.
Itâs not only a meal but a chance for a mer to show their mate just how strong they truly are. Luckily, Lemurians are one of the few subspecies of mer to not partake of human flesh.
Though the way Rafayel is treating you, youâd think otherwise.
His mouth hasnât left your neck since he thrust inside you, teeth buried in it so deep it almost hurt, so deep that you almost feel like when he removes them youâll bleed out.
But fortunately for you, his teeth arenât the only thing buried deep in you. His ovipositor feels like itâs nudging against your lungs every time he moves.
Growls leave his mouth as he forces himself to remain still, to not immediately start bucking into your cunt like a bull.
But a merâs patience can only last so long.
And when it comes to Rafayel with you?
Well, heâs the most impatient mer of them all.
The first thrust was an accident and way too soon on your part; youâre not used to having something this deep inside of you. Your insides are so sensitive from the stretch alone; it feels so good itâs almost painful.
But Rafayel, he canât control himself.
Not while heâs in such a wet and warm cunt, not when said cunt is gripping him like it wants to break his dick off.
So you canât blame him for how quickly he loses control!!
Blame that cunt of yours!
It wants this! Itâs taunting him with how tight and moist it is.
The next thrust isnât an accident.
This one is more forceful; it has more power behind it like heâs trying to get your hips to merge with his.
âRafayel!â The sound of his name leaving your mouth is the prettiest song heâs ever heard. He wants to hear it again!
No-no.
He needs to.
With a whine of apology, Rafael gave in to his instincts.
Gave into the voice telling him to make you fat with eggs and cum.
The Lemurianâs thrusts are frantic and desperate, and soâso deep. You can barely draw in enough air between his wild thrusts; the pleasure youâre experiencing borders the extremely thin line of pleasure and pain.
The only thing Rafayel did in response to your mewling was pick up speed, the pressure in his gut was becoming too muchâ it was so close to being relieved.
Just a little more! He was almost there!
After several more frantic thrusts, the dam broke.
And with it, Rafayelâs last shred of control.
With a piercing cry, the Lemurian dug his claws deeper into your waist and sunk his teeth deeper into your neck.
At first you didnât understand what inspired such a change, but then you felt it. Nudging up against the rim of your already stretched cunt- eggs, âRafayelâwait-â you choked out, only to be answered with a low growl.
There is no more waiting, not anymore.
These eggs started developing weeks ago, he needs them out now. And who better to host them than you?
A mate whoâs cunt keeps sucking him in, begging for his eggs.
And who is he to deny your cunt what it wants?
He will give your cunt all the eggs it wants and more.
The first egg is a bit of a struggle, youâre still so tight and you clenching around him doesnât exactly help, not for this part anyway.
But it goes in all the same, all it took was a bit more force to get it inside. Then it was smooth sailing from there.
The first egg settled right against your cervix.
âRafayelâyou cry out back, arching against him, âtake your teeth out of my neck and kiss me goddamn it!â You whine, yanking at his hair with your hands.
He growls at first, unwilling to give you a chance to get away. But, as the second egg begins to descend into his ovipositor and into your cunt he gives in to your demands.
Letting you drag his head from your neck to your mouth.
This kiss is more fang and tongue than any of the previous ones youâve shared, you can taste both your blood and slick on his tongue.
The carnage of the kiss just makes you lose yourself more and more.
Gasping and moaning into his blood soaked maw.
âRafayelâ you gasp out when you feel the second egg finally nudge its way inside of you, âhow many of these are you gonna give me?â The question seems to make him pause, not at all expecting it.
âTenâ he hisses, voice straining against the urge to sing for you, like true mers do during mating.
âRight- fuckâ you moan, whining when the second egg finally plops inside of you nestled right against the first. âSo I just have eight more, yeah?â You rush out, high on the feeling of being so full.
High on being so fucking close to cumming.
Rafayel answers you with a hiss, to focus on getting eggs three and four in you to deal with your questions.
The force behind the lemerians thrusts seems to lighten up a bit after eggs five and six are safely laid inside of you.
The first egg that was laid in you pokes at your womb each time Rafeyel thrusts inside you, it isnât until egg seven comes that it actually starts to breach it.
The feeling has you rolling your eyes back and screaming Rafayelâs name.
Then the egg slides home into your womb the moment egg seven slides into your cunt, and finally.
After waiting for what feels like a century, you cum.
Nails tugging on Rafayelâs hair as your legs twitch and your cunt clench.
âRafayelâ you whine, fucking yourself onto his ovipositor, âmore. I want moreâ youâre almost sobbing when you say it, crying as egg after egg enters your womb as he forces another one in.
âPlease give me moreâ youâre drunk the pleasure Rafayel is giving you, though Rafayel is more than happy to give into your demands.
He trills and chirps as he forces the last egg into you, trusting a few more times to ensure they were all housed safely inside your womb before pulling out.
âRafayelâ no! Stop! Put it back in please!â You beg, not quite ready to let his cock go just yet.
The mer simply hisses at you before taking his other cock in hand, with a playful little hum he carefully slips it inside you. No longer the instinct controlled beast he once was after depositing his eggs.
âDonât worry, weâre not done yetâ he trills, watching as your once tense body relaxes as he pushes his other cock inside you.
âI have to make sure youâre properly bred after allâ the only thing you do in response to that is whine.
Being bred sounds like a dream come true right now, being so heavy with eggs and drunk on pleasure, and full of cock.
You donât even protest when the Lemurian starts to ram into you full speed like a proper breeding bull, just fuck yourself into his thrusts, like a proper breeding cow.
Desperation sinks its claws into you as you feel your climax begin to rise once again.
The pitch of your moans get higher as you fuck yourself onto Rafayelâs cock repeatedly, crying out when your orgasm washes over you, soaking Rafayelâs prefect fucking cock.
You whine when Rafayel continues to thrust into you, your insides are just so fucking sensitive you canât take anymore but you donât want him to stop either.
The Lemurian shushes you in response, kissing over the bitemark in your neck, âIâm almost there, donât worry.â He pants kissing down to your shoulder before sinking his fangs into the flesh there too resulting in another whine on your part.
Your cunt aches and youâre so-so fucking full.
Rafayel battering his cock against your womb just makes you feel more full than you are.
And finally, after what feels like an eternity, he cums.
The feeling is heavenly, it sparks a mini orgasm out of you.
Mer cum is thicker than humans, itâs like that to keep the eggs from slipping out of its host. Over a course of a few hours itâll harden, and youâll be nice and full.
With a huff the Lemurian pulls out of you, gently setting you down on the sponge and seaweed bed below you. âAre you hungry?â He asked leaning over you like a worried mom, âNo, just tiredâ you yawn, pulling him on top of you wincing at the sharp ache in your cunt.
âSing me to sleep?â You ask, though youâre already halfway there.
âAlways.â He responds, before he sings that song that lets you know that youâre safe, and nothing can hurt you.
Not while your mate is here.
â
A/n: Can you tell that I rushed through this? Anyways.. happy early birthday to the loml! Also never writing something this long ever again
caleb has been inviting himself into your bed lately, spending more nights under your sheets than a best friend should. alert as ever, he notices when you try to sneak off with a problem one morning... and doesn't let you.
Your room feels drowsy, soaked in yours and Caleb's dreams like it has been for a few days, though you barely remember how it came this far. Caleb coming to your room, making you unable to say no, and so you've been waking with your best friend's arm over your waist â possessive in that way he's always been â after spending the night sharing a too narrow mattress.
This morning, something's different â uncomfortably different. Tent in your pants kind of different. Definitely not the sort of problem you need your best friend to notice when his hand is resting so close to that pulsating need between your legs. When you shift, your intention was to move away, it really really was. But instead, Caleb's instinct to keep you close kicks into gear, hand reaching, and tightening in his sleep, and unintentionally pressing perfectly over your erection.
You gasp without meaning to, the distressed sound waking the other male from his sleep. Your hand flies down to where his is, hectic when you try to pry it away, but it's too late.
Caleb stirs, fingers flexing as his mind works out what exactly is pressing against his palm, hard and warm, and so, so shameful. Your push is completely useless against his strength, fully awake the second he realized what's going on.
"Caleb-" you try to get ahead of it, defend yourself, make him move his damn hand before you start rutting against it out of pure need- but a strong squeeze shuts you right up.
"What's this, pip-squeak?" he murmurs, sleep drunk, and mean, and if you'd look back, the expression on his face would scare you. But you don't turn around, preoccupied with your own horrified look â wide eyes, hot cheeks, parted lips while attempting to find a way out of this.
You again try to squirm away, desperate words blurring together, trying to excuse yourself, explain this isn't your fault, you didn't mean to-
Finally, Caleb's hand shifts, a wave of relief washing over, muscles springing to action to scramble out of bed, and relieve yourself of this humiliation. But instead you're pulled back against Caleb, his warm chest pressed to your body, both arms wrapping around you to keep you where you are.
"I don't mind," he whispers into your ear, nuzzling the back of your head, "cuddle your gege for a bit, yeah?"
You don't have it in you to protest, not when you're feeling so ashamed of yourself, your body, and how he seems to just brush it off. You're stuck completely stiff, every muscle tensed, humiliation cursing through your veins. But Caleb doesn't do anything more â he's just there contently nuzzling into your nape, probably drifting right back to sleep. Maybe he won't even remember this happened when he wakes up again. The thought eases you, breathing freely again.
This short relaxation is ripped from you when Caleb's thigh nudges between yours, not high enough to make contact with the still very hard problem in your shorts, but so close you can't help but jerk, held in place by Caleb's arms still.
"You're still hard?" he mumbles, like this is common occurrence, common topic even â but it isn't and you're not ready to pretend it is.
"Yes, shut up." Your hiss is rewarded with the pressure of his leg against your groin, and a chuckle at your horrified protest, hand flying down to press his knee away. The fact that you can't even move him an inch scares you.
Caleb's palm flattens on your tummy, caging you in, lips by your ear, "Hey now," he murmurs, knowingly making you shiver, "you're so grumpy, is it because of this?" His thigh presses upwards with more pressure again, ignoring your gasp. "Then⊠why don't I help you get rid of it? Just this once."
"Caleb- noâŠ" your attempts to move away are futile. He promptly interrupts you. "Pipsqueak," Caleb's hand slowly moves down your body, fingertips slipping just an inch below your waistband, and your lungs stop working, "let Caleb handle it. It's what I'm here for."
When his hand moves further, confidently wrapping around your shaft, you no longer have it in you to stop him. The feeling is paralyzing â warm, and wrong, and already overstimulating. Pressing your face into the pillow, you barely manage to turn a moan into a pathetic whimper of his name, still trying to get him to stop, still pretending this isn't the most addicting kind of pleasure.
"It's okay," he growls against your nape, his hand starting with languid strokes, and it's entirely too much, your whole body, and mind on fire. He keeps mumbling, influencing, trying to convince you to enjoy this while your mind is racing how wrong this is â just relax, let your gege handle it, this is what best friends do for each other, you know you want it too.
Caleb's still gravely voice is like paste in your brain, making everything sticky and too cloudy to think right⊠before you know it, your hips rut into his strokes. You feel so ashamed, still somewhere sleepy, too horny for your own good, and a tiny bit curious about the fact that Caleb seems to be pushing his own hips against you in time with his strokes.
A sob rips from your throat before you know it, and the hot tears wetting the pillow below your face surprise even you. Caleb's strokes slow for only a moment before continuing, firmer now, maybe slower too. "Hey, what's wrong?" He pushes himself up on his elbow, leaning over you, nose nuzzling your too warm cheek, hiding a subtle kiss in the gesture. You promptly push your head further into the cushion, away from Caleb.
"You're allowed to enjoy this, pipsqueak," he purrs, his hand continuing to send whole body tingles through you, "forget about the other stuff. We'll still be best friends after this." Somewhere along his words your sobs turn into suppressed moaning, still trying to deny how good this feels. "You'll always be mine. I'll always be your Caleb."
Your cock throbs in his hand, so close, yet nowhere near coming from the pace he set, you really have no other choice but to move your hips the way you need it! When you finally come, your body surrenders completely, allowing it to wash over you like you haven't released in ages. Your mind contrarily fights against it, remaining hesitant to allow Caleb to coax something so intimate from you. Still it makes you limp, sinfully milky ropes shooting over yourself and the mattress.
Somewhere along the haze, you're sure you hear Caleb moan into your skin, syncing with your breathless noises. And when he mutters, "I wouldn't mind waking up like this every day," you're not sure if the tightness in your chest translates excitement or dread.
overview: zayne and his doctor boyfriend hc!
notes: condensing the medical career bc this is fiction and lighthearted (i didn't wanna be logical), not lore compliant (reader is a doctor), cute boyfriends, unedited again bc of time, reader cooks, title from zb1!
tw: mentions of being a doctor!
âŠsunâ° ive been on lads for over a month now and zayne is the loml
â°as much as the two of you would like to pretend your relationship was some interesting office romance, it truly didnât start like that
â°you went to the same med school, that was the only reason you knew each other.
â°zayne was a 3rd year while you were a 1st year,Â
â°you had mutual friends, which allowed you to meet decently often
â°you didnât get together until you were a 2nd year and he was a 4th year, but youâve been together ever since!
â°he was the one to ask you out, mostly because he hates being in the dark about important things, like your feelings for each other
â°however, he couldnât have chosen a worse time if he tried
y/n had just finished his first cadaver dissection of his second year of med school. he had been standing up for almost the whole day, his back aching as he finished the last dissection. the doctor watching the students' work dismissed them, instructing them on the work they had to complete before their next class.
the students talked calmly as they excited, a slouch forming in y/nâs posture as he walked to the biohazard trash can. he took off his ppe, sweat drenching the area under his gloves and chest. the cool air of the restroom took the edge off the heat. the bathroom was on the opposite side of the hallway, y/n shutting the door to the surgery room behind him before entering in the restroom. after approaching the sink, he splashed water on his face, his black undershirt covered in sweat stains. he looked as bad as he felt, the 8 plus hour surgery a monster on his body.
as he exited the restroom he was met with zayne standing outside, a look of subtle panic etching the manâs usually stoic face. âcan we talk, y/n?â zayne asked, blinking once after he finished the sentence. y/n thought he could hear the smallest quiver in his voice while he spoke.
âcan it wait a bit? i just finished my dissection-â y/n asked, zayne running a hand through his hair, glasses falling down his face. he was wearing a pair of grey, cotton scrubs, his hospital id hanging from the pocket in his pants. purple bags lived right under his tear ducts, but not only were they not as noticeable as other studentsâ, they somehow made him look more attractive.
âitâs urgent.â zayne had lost the fear that rested in his voice, his hand moving to push up his silver glasses that had fallen down his nose. taking a deep breath, y/n pushed his hair back, sighing.Â
âfine.â
y/n expected for zayne to say something, but there was silence. unbearable, loud silence. he looked at the man, waiting for the words to leave his lips. y/nâs eyebrow raised, lips pressing into a straight line.
âwould you like to go on a date with me?â zayne asked, his eyes glimmering with the smallest bits of emotion. y/nâs jaw almost dropped, eyes widening.
âi would love to, oh my god.â he spoke, zayneâs hand trailing to find y/nâs.Â
âare you free wednesday?â âfor you, i am.â
â°like the snow melting on a sunny, spring day, zayne warmed up almost the instant they got together
â°his indifferent expressions turned into bright smiles, and his awkward posture turned into comfortable and relaxed affection
â°zayne is a cuddle bug. entirely.
â°long shifts and tiring days drain every cent of energy from his body, and now that youâre boyfriends, thereâs something to replenish his energy!
the clock read 3:37.
y/n had finished his shower, damp hair resting on the pillow of his full bed as he waited for zayne to finish washing up. the two were home late for different reasons: y/n had finished another dissection and was writing multiple essays, while zayne was in the final stretch of his shift.
every second that ticked by made y/n want to close his eyes even more. it was exhausting staying up. it was exhausting working every day. he wished for a break more than he wished for the sun to shine bright on a cold day and for a glass of water when he was thirsty.Â
and then zayne entered the room.
water dripped from his short bangs, pajamas hanging loosely on his body as he practically limped to the bed because of the sore muscles in his legs and back. but this zayne, this tired, wrecked, zayne, made everything worth it.
âmy bloods going to start clotting if i keep only standing and sitting all day.â zayne muttered, sitting down on the bed before pulling the covers on top of him. y/n laughed, moving closer so he was next to zayneâs side.
âyouâre going to get a cold if you fall asleep with wet hair.â y/n spoke, adjusting zayne so he was sitting up, stealing the damp towel from his hands to dry the manâs hair. zayne scoffed, moving his hands to rest on y/nâs thigh.Â
âthatâs not real, you know?â y/n rolled his eyes, rubbing his head a little harder, just to let zayne know he meant to tease him.
âiâm just trying to be a caring boyfriend, stop going all doctor on me.â y/n pouted, shifting once more so he now sat on zayneâs lap. zayne smiled, his hands wrapping around his boyfriendâs waist as a smile creeped onto his face.
âoh, i see. carry on then, handsome boyfriend.â zayne smiled proudly. y/n let out a scoff, pressing a soft kiss to zayneâs cheek. âfinish drying my hair, i feel a cold coming.â y/n stopped his movement of drying the manâs hair, looking at his face. he cocked his eyebrow, zayneâs lips pursing. the man let out a fake cough, doe eyes sparkling as he looked at y/n.
it took all of the strength in y/nâs body to not give in to the man. but sadly, he still gave in to him. he leaned forward, a pressing a kiss to his lips happily. âi love you, now sit still so i can dry your hair.â y/n muttered, zayne breaking into a smile, any traces of that âcoldâ gone.
â°residency was truly when the âoffice romanceâ startedÂ
â°due to the opening of the deepspace tunnel all those years ago, linkon cityâs medical program had condensed substantially, meaning zayne was already out of residency and a cardio surgeon by the time y/n was a first year resident at akso hospital
â°long glances at each other when walking through the halls turned into lingering touches when you visited him in his office in the second you were alone
â°somehow, seeing zayne at work but not being able to engage with him was harder than seeing him a little a home
y/n sat on the couch in zayneâs office, his arms grazing the floor as they moved back and forth.
âyouâre so mean, zayne.â y/n pouted, his eyes looking up from the piece of the floor he was touching to see zayne sitting at his desk. zayne was looking at the files on his desk, sifting through papers until a certain section caught his eye, causing his eyebrows to furrow. there was no response to y/nâs statement, much to y/nâs dislike. âyou see! youâre ignoring me. i finally have a break while you do and you just ignore your boyfriend of 2 years.â
with a sigh, zayne picked up his head from the papers he was processing. he changed his gaze to meet with y/nâs. âhow am i mean?â he asked, a smile appearing on his lips. the new attention made a heat run to y/nâs face.
âyouâre.â he started, his words failing to come out smoothly. y/n coughed to clear his throat, a smile appearing on his lips. âyouâre ignoring your boyfriend when heâs busy and came to see you.â zayne stood up from his desk and walked over to the couch. he leaned down, his hand reaching out to caress y/nâs head.
âiâm sorry. i might not have patients, but i have things to read and charts to do. it doesnât mean i donât love you.â he whispered, zayneâs fingers caressing through the strands of y/nâs hair. âiâll pay attention to you now, i finished my work.â y/n leaned into his touch, nodding happily.
âi know you donât hate me. i like teasing you.â y/n said, adjusting his position on the couch so zayne could sit down comfortably, y/n resting on his chest.
âyou didnât say it back.â zayne spoke, y/nâs hands mindlessly playing with zayneâs long fingers. he caressed the scars on the knuckles while zayne held him tightly.Â
âwhat did i not say back?â y/n asked, looking up from zayneâs hand after zayneâs arms squished him once more. zayne sighed, his fingers breaking from y/nâs grasp to squish the manâs cheeks.
âyou didnât tell me you loved me after i said it.â there was almost a pout in zayneâs voice. was he really that upset?
âi love you sooooo much, my zayne! donât forget that.â y/n said, his head leaning back to see zayne. with a smile, zayne responded back quietly. their lips inched closer together, contact happening for only a millisecond before there was a knock at zayneâs off.
y/n jumped off the couch in fear at the noise, hitting zayneâs chin. he ran to the chair in front of zayneâs desk, zayne rubbing his face while calling the person in to enter his office. âi have the information you requested, dr. zayne.â the resident said, entering in while zayne walked to his desk. âoh, hi y/n.â y/n nervously waved back to the resident, a small smile on his face.
couldnât y/n have zayne to himself for a moment?
â°with the increasing of wanderers in linkon city, positions in the hospital were rearranged once more, and y/n was now in the upper levels as a thoracic surgeon
â°this change also corresponded with the coupleâs 4th year anniversary!
â°now that y/n was not a resident, the couple could finally be public in the hospital
â°it was the flip of a switch: one day zayne and y/n acted like normal coworkers, then the next, they were walking to lunch holding hands, comfortably chatting
the change was amazing. being with his boyfriend in public was amazing. zayneâs hand was laced with y/nâs, a soft smile on the latterâs face as zayne talked about his morning.
âthe resident i was talking to you about did really good on their rounds this morning. i think theyâre flourishing into a confident doctor.â zayneâs voice was steady, his gaze matched with y/nâs. âoh, and the patient who had a cardiac tamponade is recovering well. they should be discharged by the end of the week.â y/n listened to zayne, nodding his head every so often to show he was listening.
zayneâs monologue continued as they walked to the cafeteria, sitting down at a table that caught a majority of the light from the large windows. staff and patients walked around the area, some sneaking glances at the two affectionate doctors.
âi brought two different options, so take whichever you want.â y/n said, opening his lunch kit to reveal two glass containers, one with cold noodles and one with an omelet leftover from breakfast. zayne reached for the cold noodles, opening the lid. he grabbed the two spoons and chopsticks, handing one of each to y/n.
âhave some, these are the ones you made. theyâre really good.â zayne said, already digging in to the meal. y/n smiled, taking a spoonful of the broth before trying the noodles.
âwoah, these are good. i only made them for your lunch while i was at home two days ago, so i havenât tried them.â y/n spoke, zayneâs expression one full of happiness.
âi love you. if i didnât tell you that today. and this is not because of the cold noodles, but itâs a little because of that.â zayne rambled, y/n pecking his cheek.
âi love you too. letâs eat quick, because then we can go outside on a walk before we have to go to work again.â y/n spoke as he pulled away, zayne nodding.
the couple ate their lunch, zayne packing up in lightning speed before reaching for y/nâs hand. the two made their way to the outdoor garden, a smile on y/nâs face as he rested his head on zayneâs shoulder. the conversation between them had gone quiet, the silence allowing them to enjoy the presence of one another. the springtime had caused flowers to bloom in the hospital grounds, zayne picking a pink buttercup from the grass and handing it y/n, repeating the process until the man had a bouquet and they both had flowers tucked behind their ears.
they could get used to this.
â°in the present, y/n and zayne are both attendings at akso hospital!
â°all of that worked had finally paid off (and all of that money)
â°the matched level of seniority allowed y/n and zayne to have a more synced schedule, which gives you more time together
â°7 years had passed since the couple had gotten together, and they couldnât be happier
â°they held hands in between surgeries, instructed residents together, and were stuck at the hip whenever they werenât needed for something emergent
â°they were the model couple of the hospital (so much so that the hospital wanted to use them in promotional material)
â°there are two things zayne loves in this world: y/n and his job, so having them together all the time might have just made him the happiest man alive
y/nâs couch was soft. zayne had picked it out himself, grumbling about how he âregretted the couch he bought for the own officeâ and he âwanted to make sure his boyfriend was comfortableâ. y/n didnât fully believe this answer.
especially paired with the fact that zayne was now always in his office.
âdid you buy this couch specifically so you could bother me while iâm working?â y/n asked, staring at his boyfriend as zayne flopped onto the couch.Â
âno, i bought it because itâs soft and you never-â he said, y/n cutting him off, his hand mimicking zayneâs mouth.
âget enough rest! you stay here when youâre on call instead of coming home to ME to cuddle.â y/n mocked, his lips forming the same pout zayne makes when giving the same speech. a weak laugh escaped zayneâs lips at the mockery, y/n cooing. âdid i embarrass you?â he asked, getting up from his seat to lay himself over zayneâs spread out body.
âouch. and no, iâm not embarrassed, iâm happy you know me so well.â zayne said, his nose touching y/nâs. their eyes held each other in a tight gaze for what could have been nothing more than a second before y/n felt zayneâs lips on his on, gentle moving back and forth, waiting for y/nâs to kiss him back.
y/n responded back, a conversation without words reverberating between the two.
i love you.
i love you even though iâm tired every day.Â
i love you even though work is hard and scary.
i love you for you, and everything you are to me.
i love you.
there was a knock of the door of y/nâs office, y/n pulling away for a moment to respond to the person. âiâm busy! if itâs not an emergency, come back later!â zayne barely let y/nâs response ring before he laughed, connecting their lips again. they were in their rightful place. with each other, loving each other, holding each other.
nothing in the world could top it.
â°happiness couldnât describe all the feelings that zayne felt about y/n (and vice versa)
â°y/n made him so happy, in fact, that thereâs a box containing a ring with a big, glittering diamond sitting inside zayneâs desk right now
Thinking about a White Raven hybrid who's been all alone for most of his life due to the stigmas surrounding the lack of melanin he produces which causes him to become ostracised.
His kind are known to be familiars but he's never been able to have one because they don't let him in the training programs. They peck and attack him really badly if he comes too close :(
So when he finally finds you- Knight Reader! Who has some lingering traces of witch blood in you that makes it easy enough for him to become your familiar.
Of course, the way he does become your familiar is quite unorthodox.
Trying to prove yourself as a true knight and not some girl playing folly, you venture out into the darklands to help a village on the other side that has reportedly been suffering goblin attacks. The king hasn't sent out any armies for whatever reason. So you go instead.
But due to your lack of proper experience and training, the darklands is a place that proves too treacherous for you.
White Raven Hybrid- Crau, finds you nearly half dead leaning beside a boulder. You'd managed to escape an ogre attack with your sword broken in half.
Crau comes down towards you, hopping around your body and you're too fatigued to properly swat him away. Muttering things like, "I'm not dead yet, damn bird,".
"Well that's not nice, I'm only here to help,"
The humanness of the voice makes you snap your head up at the white raven. Eyes squinting in confusion, are you hallucinating already?
"No, not hallucinating. I'm a raven hybrid- if you let me become your familiar, I can save you," he promises, eager beady eyes staring into your own.
"M'not a witch," you grumble, hating the term.
"Well, your ancestors must've been then. It's a weak presence but I can tell you've got some magic in you. Come on- just bond with me and you'll live,"
Your vision starts to fog, even as adrenaline fights to keep you alive. A big part of you fears dying. You're not going to let this be the end of you. No way.
You agree and let him become your familiar. Perhaps it was in an entirely illegal and unorthodox manner as Crau has only ever seen blood magic be practiced in the darklands- but in the end he's your familiar and you're alive.
In truth, Crau proves to be a huge help in the months that come to pass. He acts as a lookout and even helps you fight occasionally (blood on his feathers is a big no). He perches on your shoulder when you walk around town and whispers follow the two of you.
More traditional, old townsfolk are wary of you. A knight who's also a witch with a white raven familiar? Sounds like you come out of some childhood nightmare- which people do end up telling their kids to be wary of you.
The kingdom denies your existence, stripping you of your knighthood. You become a mercenary and the whispers in the streets turn to bargains in alleyways. You're quite good at being a mercenary, much to your dismay because you never wanted this.
Still, Crau proves good company- better than any man you trained with.
Near Spring you manage to settle down at an abandoned cottage. While you hunt for food, Crau leads you to it. Sometimes he even goes out and helps collect berries for you.
Recently he'd been becoming more...affectionate? If that was the word. He'd prepare you bowls of fruits and nuts randomly. Often times he'd be gone for a day or two and come back with jewellery or scraps. It was odd but you brushed it off as a raven thing. Even as he'd also curl up with you in winter times, humanoid form pressed right up against yours.
You try keep some private time to yourselves. Sure, you hear scuttling and stomps in the attic but you try ignore it for the most part.
That is until, one day when you come home from a hunt, you hear him cawing out in a way you never had before. It's like it's been scratched out this throat and it's followed by loud thumps.
You rush upstairs, fearing that he is in danger. Instead of whatever horrific scene you'd pictured up, it is something you never expected.
Crau is in his human form, skin white as snow with soft white feathers sprouted down his spine, on the backs of his arms (to form wings), a small tail at the bottom of his spine which covers his ass. His back is turned towards you, mid-length hair covering his nape and making a curtain on either side of his face. He's on his knees, talons curled and twitching as his clawed hands grip onto a pillow
A pillow with your shirt on it. It takes you a moment to realise what's going on before it clicks. He's humping the pillow. Switching between cawing out and cooing your name.
"Oh."
You slowly come to realise that Crau is in rut and, additionally, that he has bonded with you. Maybe that's why you also feel that heat between your legs.
Iâm not good at writing sorry, and English isnât my first language. First smut ever as well.
This second part is here!
âI donât have a partner.â, is what you say to your mom when she starts asking details about your personal life. Understand her, sheâs worried you might end up like that one crazy aunt who lives with countless cats. âThereâs nothing wrong with that.â
Sheâd say she gets it. No truly, she does. Itâs just that she doesnât want people to think thereâs something wrong with you.
See, youâve never been with anyone else long enough. You dated guys back in high school and college, but it wasnât⊠how could you say it? Concrete.
Just a hobby or something you do because you feel forced to. Because truly, youâre not interested by human. All the times you lie in bed with a guy, every time they "fuck" you or made "love" to you, you werenât truly there. Thereâs always something missing to your puzzle.
Until you pay a visit to your concerned mom, a few meters away from a private beach. Youâd sneak in at night. You toss all your clothes on the sand and jump into the waves. It feels nice, you let yourself relax and float around.
Youâve heard of hybrid creatures before. Itâs rare to witness such things outside of the city or specific farm, where they are created. Youâve never heard of sea hybrid creatures before, though.
So, when you swim back to the shore, youâre surprised to hear a distant male voice singing.
Itâs beautiful, otherworldly melody. You turn around and notice a silhouette surfacing from the darkness. With the moonlight blinding you, you canât make out his face but as his voice rises louder, you know itâs coming closer.
You step back, youâre still wet and naked. You donât have time to dress, just take your belongings and leave. But, you canât. You feel drawn to him, to his melody. You want to hear him sing more. Louder and clearer.
Slowly, your feet walk you back to the waves. Inside your own body, youâre now an empty shell and you need to be filled with his voice. Your senses are numb, everything is distorted and blurry.
The man extends his arms to you, long yet neat claws await you. As your waist immerses, he comes closer to you and finally reveals himself. He is tantalizing, his hair sails along on his neck and shoulders ; you wonder how could his hair be dry already if he just emerged. His ruby red eyes detail you with a fierce hunger, of what kind you have no idea.
He strokes you cheeks with a tenderness that doesnât match his cold attitude. As his song ends, your senses collide with your mind and chorusâŠ
âDanger!â
Your fear stand on end, to his amusement. You see yourself watching your momâs cat toying with a spider, a smile on your face. You try to leave, to scream but he holds you still as his claws scissors your flesh. âHeâs not moving at allâ, you thought. What a tragic yet romantic way to die.
The man leans over you, your nipples rub his chest. His skin, if you look attentively, is covered with thin scales ; gills stripe his trapezius muscles. His fresh lips brush yours. You gasp, and while lips parted he slips his pointy tongue inside.
This canât be happening, you just needed air not to get abducted by a sea hybrid. But what can you do against a creature like this. The way his fingers pinch your nipples has your crying for more. You never felt like this before, so aroused and wild in the arms of any partner. Maybe this is it, this is what you needed all this time.
The merman could feel you like each part of your body was confessing to him. How neglected youâve been your whole life, and he is more than willing to concede to your desires.
He swims you both to the shore, his tail whips waterspouts effortlessly. With delicacy, he lay on top of you. His hair hangs over your visage, you canât look away from him. Youâre falling in his trap. But you donât care.
Not when he breaks the skin of your throat and drinks your blood out of it. Not when he leans over your breast to suck both your nipples. And not even when his head sets above your pussy as his laps at the wetness running down your entrance.
Youâre shameless, really. Your mother has reasons to be worried about you, and you know. But you donât care about finding someone to please her expectations. Itâs alright if you stay alone for one more year. Right now, youâre feeling something, and this something is melting your insides in the best way.
So youâll let this merman fuck you senseless if it means feeling something for once.
Heâs doing great, more than great actually. His tongue do wonders, but seing how long it is, youâre not surprised. He sucks your clit, his wet muscle rolls around it ; he even give it kitten licks to drive you crazy.
âFucking yesâ!â You catch yourself laughing yet moaning like a whore. His hands caress the skin under you thighs then push your knees to your collarbone. Youâre exposed to the night, to the moon and his ruby red eyes. You see him devour your cunt with his eyes, ropes of drool drop on you before he gets back to work. You push his head deeper, he hums softly, approvingly. The vibrations make you cry louder, but who cares, itâs just you and him.
You feel yourself coming, itâs dangerous âoutrageous even. You feel your limbs jumping and cold sweat rippling to your core. But the merman holds your thighs, he grounds you to the sand as the tidal wave between your legs violently crushes you. You donât recognize your own voice, and you have no idea of the mess you just created.
âYouâre so good, so good.â
Stars illuminate your vision, your back is arched as far possible. Youâre recovering slowly, but you both arenât done with one another yet. He lets go of your knees then crawl on top of you. This time, you kiss him, you rolls your tongue around his and suck it, you caress his cold skin.
He takes your hand and guides it to a wet slit. You donât understand at first, you thought he was a male. Not that you mind at this point. Until you push your index through his open to touch something hard.
He moans, his forehead rests on you shoulder. He keeps the hands stroking him in place while his other hand possessively hold your hips. Heâs soaking wet down there. You lean forward, your lips brush the slit and you swear he whines. With your tongue toying his underlying erection, his melodious voice rings through your body. Slowly, not one but two cocks arise. The base are shy pinkish but the pointy tip are raging red. You meet his eyes, needy and desperate.
With both of your hands, you pump his cocks suggestively. He throws his head back, hissing under your touch. He says something but you donât understand his foreign language. He kisses you fondly while you keep working his sensitive area. He squirms, his groans tell you everything you need to know. You feel him twitch and before he comes, you bottom out his cock down your throat. The merman hisses and pushes your head to the base. Ropes of cum fill your stomach.
You cough, out of breath but he isnât satisfied yet. He pushes down and mounts you once more, with his cocks out. He didnât waste time nor did he give you a warning. He bottoms you out like a fierce beast.
âAhn fuck!â
His hips rolls around yours, sensually and effortlessly. You hold on him for dear life as he beats your cunt with his cock. You can feel him inside spreading your walls. You can take so much, you try to roll to the side, but he presses your head against the sand. Heâs fucking you hard, he drags his cock out painfully slow then slaws his hips to the bottom.
âFuckfuckfuck!â
The pleasure feels unreal, you never felt that before. Yet itâs happening, heâs rearranging your inside.
Cold hands flip you over, one leg rests next to his gills. He has you open like a book, before pumping your pussy. The merman watches your eyes cross as he fills you to the brim.
He takes his other cock and push it inside your already full pussy. Your eyes widen.
âWait! I canâtâ I canât itâs tooâ!â
But he does not listen, he pushes himself down your sucking walls. He pinches your nipples and thrusts deeper and deeper until his cocks bruises your cervix. Your whole body is bouncing on his cocks, itâs so fucking good. You donât even understand how this is possible.
His thrust gets messier and wet, his breath is shallow. He kisses every part of you he can reach, licks and sucks your skin with energy. Youâre almost there, you can feel it. Your legs shake uncontrollably, you bite your lips to hold back the huge orgasm building up.
But does want you to, he gives hard hips thrust as he speaks into your ear.
âCum.â
Hips thrust.
âFor.â
Again.
âMe.â
Fuck!
You canât hold it anymore. A few seconds later, youâre squirting all over his torso. Your mouth is shaped like a O as you let out a silent scream. Your head falls back on the sand, you can barely keep your eyes open. Your consciousness is drifting away.
He keeps fucking you, his climax pulses in his veins and while your walls are still soaked and tight, he chases his orgasm.
He moans in your ears, his voice ignites another fire in between your legs, making you both come. This time youâre sure someone heard you, you both are way too loud. He hovers over you, his red eyes hold a love you werenât expecting.
But you see how he keeps thrusting even after his came.
âWhat are you⊠doing?â, you pant.
But he doesnât answer, you feel him shooting loads after loads of his semen inside your sucking pussy directly inside your womb.
Until he pushes past your cervix, making you whine. He takes his other cock and strokes it while his pumping cock feels you with something big.
âWhat is this?!â, you want to take it out but itâs not moving. His tip inflates to pump you with eggs and make sure youâd take it like a good girl.
The hybride massages your breast and hips while another egg stretches your womb. You watch your belly bulging with eggs and the merman pumping you full. When the hybrid pump his last baby inside you, your final orgasm makes your overstimulated body jolts.
Youâre out of breath when he finally pulls his cock out of you. He strokes your cheeks, his eyes observing your belly before he starts crawling back to the ocean.
âWait, where are you going?â
He stops before his head disappears in the darkness.
âWhen itâs time, come back here.â
Then he dives in the water. Like nothing happened, not like you were fucked and impregnated by a wild hybrid.
You have been adopted by a murder of crow hybrids, apparently your tendency towards dark clothes and a love for fluffy rimmed hoods made you a part of their group.
It was snowing and you'd been sitting and enjoying the quiet of the park, putting the new jacket you bought to good use as you thought about what you were doing for the rest of the day when the gaggle of hybrids had come to surround you, all in similar jacket styles or hooded snow capelets. They didn't even start out loud or rowdy, just sat with you until you got up to carry on with your day, and since then they have come to sit with you whenever you're out, growing louder and more chatty as time went on.
They never pushed you to join their conversations, but there was always space for you to jump in if you wanted to, silently including you with our pushing you into having to talk with them.
It was nice.
Around two months into them joining you for your winter park days they finally asked you a direct question, remarking that they had never seen the rest of your murder and hoped they hadn't left you all alone out here day in and day out, which led to the most awkward moment between the group of them and you yet. Pulling back your fluffy hood you look at them, fully human you looking back at the group of crow hybrids and softly telling them you're not an abandoned crow hybrid, just a human that likes the snow and a good sit.
To call their feathers ruffled would be greatly underselling the reaction they had to this revelation. The already rowdy and close knit group of hybrids began talking over each, exclaiming about how they had thought you were an abandoned crow hybrid, and that you needed a new murder to take care of you!
The change from them was almost instantaneous, no longer were they keeping their distance and waiting for you to join them as a crow hybrid, instead they were touchy and clinging to you like a treasure. Their murder had apparently made their minds up very quickly now that your status as a human has been revealed, you are a treasure of their murder and should be treated as such.
Now when you have them join you in sitting on the bench, they are eager to hold your hand, slip hand warmers into your pockets, and hug or cuddle up with you as they warble at each other around you.
Still leaving gaps in their conversations to have you join in, but just much closer, nuzzling into the crook of your neck ways than before.
Knights are noble, bastions of righteousness, and trained to a fault for their styles of combat.
You are... Not quite that kind of knight, but nonetheless you're skilled enough to earn a place in the royal tourney and a visit to the capital.
Mmm the crown prince gets his long fic now too.
Or well a longer piece for him, as this is about 1.3k words.
A capital tourney is less an open melee like the usual bouts knights attend, and more a refined selection process to join certain regiments.
And you'd finally gained enough renown and wins to be invited.
You'd sailed to the capital after earning your knighthood; the tabard you wear is very basic, barely even recognised as a knight's regiment, and you like it that way. Your time as a squire was spent on the fringes of the nation, with less time serving as a weapon fetcher and armour polisher and more active combatant, meaning your etiquette is less refined in comparison to the other knights around you, their own tabards with gilded coats of arms from noble families or designs designating them as knights of certain cities.
Yours is nothing more than coloured cloth.
The lower streets of the capital are like every other city; the closer to the docks you get, the more weathered things appear. Mostly warehouses, shipyards, fisheries, and bunk houses for the sailors coming and going; occasionally, main streets are more tended and patched than the others, but as you begin the slow cart ride further into the city the streets gain a little more flash and glamour.
Thick cobbled streets, markets in squares dedicated to certain products or produce, brothels tucked into slim streets hung with red lanterns, taverns and halls for the common people, all standard for the few cities you'd been in for tourneys before this one.
The cart you're in is filled with knights like you, independent combatants that aren't as noble or shiny as the ones on their horses far ahead of you, but unlike the refined 'proper' knights you knew the common people and enjoyed waving to the children running around the lower streets, flexing and letting the sun catch your chainmail as they call out to the knights passing by. You were a child like them once, and now you're a knight, so you can only hope one of them gets the courage to try to follow the same path you have and earn themselves some valour, honour, and glory.
As the procession rolls forward through the city, headed for the tourney grounds on the outskirts of the noble quarters, far above, in the royal estates, the queen and crown prince are preparing for the event in their own way.
Unlike her son, the queen mother of the nation is sitting on a padded bench, waiting quietly as her ladies-in-waiting do her makeup and pin her hair into a more appropriate style for a day overseeing a knight's tourney. The crown prince, however, is lying sprawled on his mother's bed, boots abandoned as his wings splay out across the full breadth of the mattress, eyes closed but mouth running a mile a minute as he speaks about the noble families that had been writing to him as of late.
"-and no matter how kindly I turn them away, there is always another son, or daughter, cousin, niece or nephew for them to try and offer up to me!" A muffled thud breaks up the prince's words, "No matter how I try to make it clear I am not taking a consort or bride from their family, they will not stopâŠ"
Before her son can continue his ranting, she cuts him off, "Shall I send a letter for you? Tell them that the crown has no need for their attempts to woo my son?" Even just sneaking a look towards her son, she knows he will look chastised and scolded despite her words being genuine. She'd happily tell the nobles of the capital to leave her son alone if he wanted, but he shakes his head and pulls himself from her bed. Wings folded neatly behind him, and his tail barely made a sound as it glided behind him. He stood by her side at the vanity, looking down at the mating scar his mother had from his father, the obvious dragon's bite always on display when she graced the public with her attendance.
"No, I will endeavour to be clearer with this particular family." Adjusting the heavy gold bracers he'd chosen for today, double-checking the fastenings, "I think a letter from the Queen Mother of the nation may be a touch too far⊠this time at least."
As his father and mother still hold the regency, he cannot afford to insult or ostracise the current noble families. At least not till his position as king is secure. He has high hopes for this tourney; there are spaces he needs filled and knights that need removing from the palace guard, so many moving parts to change and switch out before he takes the throne.
And so little time to do it all.
The carriage they ride in has an open top, a display of the capital's safety and the respect the crown has from the people. Far overhead, the roar of his father can be heard as well, the shape of the massive silver-blue dragon, a well-known part of the capital's skyline.
It's not jealousy that makes Xander glare up at the passing shadow his father casts; it's something much harder to explain. Envy and jealousy are part of it, but there is anger, a quiet resentment, and the long-simmering pride of a dragon pushed into a semi-human form. Looking away from the glimmer of his father's wings, the capital familiarly swims past.
He and his mother reach the tourney grounds early to greet the royal knights and wish them well, a standard he had implemented with the new Lord Marshal, who is currently fussing over his bride-to-be in the reserved box below the royal stand.
Cute.
The long hall for knights is loud; squires run to and fro, serfs chase items, and there are simply too many different types of people, far too many to keep track of the actual division of monsters to human knights.
For you, however, this is familiar, like the forward camps of your days as a squire, so you simply snag a free hand and get your chainmail latched and secure before handling the rest of your armour and weapons. The roster for your particular style of swordplay is short; only eight of you made it to this level of display, and from the looks of your competitors, you can tell why. Three of the eight are peacock hybrids, and the other four are mixed bird hybrids or harpies that seem like they only chose to compete in this bracket due to not being chosen for the aerial round.
Not that it changes what you're here for; it's victory or bust for you.
Skipping the last of your armour and favouring a quick rush to the tourney grounds, you hardly care as the royal procession passes by, too enamoured by getting to see the area you will be fighting in. Doing a quick check of the grounds before jogging around the perimeter, taking in where there are dips, rises, and stones peaking from the terrain, everything you can see is an advantage or hazard you need to work around; knowing them now will help when your match comes up.
Looking up at the stands, you can already see the gathered nobles in your mind; they'll sit and clap when appropriate, not like the tourney you're used to, where common folk cheer and scream for the winning knights of the event.
Standing in the centre of the grounds, you feel a little sad; you can't showboat here, can't win your bout and pull your tabard off and fling it into the crowd to some cute face watching as you conquer your opponent. The walls of the grounds are too high for you to climb and sit on as you get a handkerchief or two tied around your belts, it's all proper conduct and ethical standards for knights of the capital, huffing loudly as you adjust the ties of your leather breastplate, casting a wayward glance towards the Marshals box and royal stand, you're caught off guard by the flash of colourful scale and horn.
The purple and blues are perfectly accented with gold embellishments that glint in the sun. As you squint to see more clearly, the owner of said horns and scales turns to look down into the tourney grounds.
Apparently, the sound he made on sighting the lone figure in the open arena was startling for the attendants; his mother, however, laughed, something like a bright and excited sound to cover the rattling purrs and chuffs leaving her son. The ever un-courted crown prince had found his other half most strangely, at the tourney ground of all places, not that the Queen Mother could judge; she ran away and came back with a dragon for a husband after allâŠ
My ask for the 200 followers celebration is that I would really like to see the LIs bragging to each other about how much the Great Moon cares about them, given all of the things the Great Moon has done for them! And them getting into an argument over who is closest to to them.
Good luck with grad school as well!
Thank you! That's very kind of you to say!
I think this may happen in the fic at some point? But as I'm pretty sure it won't be something lighthearted, I'll write a little blurb about this!
Mind you, the timeline is post-main fic plot. So, Valko's gonna be here. And as we're going down memory lane about what the Great Moon!Reader did for all of them, this contains heavy spoilers not only for what has happened in the main plot right now, but also what will happen. Especially Valko and Caleb's arc. So be very aware of that before you open the Read More.
Thank you! Good luck with whatever's happening in your irl too!
Again, none of this will make any sense unless you're familiar with the main fic!
This request was for my 200 Follower Celebration (which is closed now)!
Summary: The boys get into an argument of who holds most of your favour, all the while regaling each other of that you have done for them and how close they are to you.
200 Celebration masterlist
Tales of an endless heart
"Puh-lease." Rafayel scoffed. "As if-" you paused when you heard your name filter out of the small crack of the door- "cares for you lot more than they care about me."
"You tried to kill them two times, fishie."
"And they've forgiven me, puppy." Zayne sighed harshly in tandem with Sylus' cold chuckle. "Besides, they saved me. Even after all that. And multiple times too!"
"So? You're not the only one they saved." Caleb said, scoffing. "If anything, they saved me more. They were keeping an eye to make sure that I was safe long before you first met them."
"Hold up." Valko's voice interjected. "If we're doing things chronologically, then I'm pretty sure I knew them first." A brief lull. "What? I knew of them in their Academy days."
"You knew of them. They didn't know you." Xavier's quiet but firm voice was honestly something you expected, considering his canonical seething jealousy. "I did. They approached me first."
"They spent days with me. They were vulnerable with me first." Sylus said, smugness slipping into his tone. "I was the one that comforted them when you tried to kill them the first time, Lemurian."
"But you also hurt them." You blinked, a little bewildered at Zayne's calm interjection. You hadn't expected for him to indulge this squabble. "They've done more for me than they have for any of you."
"How so, doc? Hm?" Rafayel's voice was light but sharp. "I doubt they did anything as grand or as meaningful as saving my kinsfolk because they were related to me."
"Don't get so full of yourself." Xavier said severely. "They saved Lemurians because they're kind. Not necessarily because of you."
"Yeah, fishie." Caleb said. "If we're talking about saving, it's very clear that they care for me the most. "They plucked me out of EVER's grasp and chose me to be their bodyguard."
"Because they felt bad for not doing anything before you exploded, puppy." Valko said, and you could almost hear the roll of his eyes. "I don't think we're talking about pity and guilt right now."
"Fuck you, Koko, I swear to god-"
"Besides, I'm the one they care for the most." Valko continued, ignoring Caleb completely. "Why else would they have let me travel backwards in time to let me see all of them?"
"Uh. Because it already happened?" Rafayel snapped back. "So that a time paradox didn't happen?"
"Whilst all of you got masks for necessity, honey gave me a collar."
"One that you essentially begged for," Xavier said, the light envy seeping into his normally gentle tone.
"If we're talking gifts, they have given me the most." Zayne said, and thinking back on it, you kind of... had to agree. "From the very beginning, they gave me clothes that they deemed fitting."
"That's because you're fucking poor, Zaynie."
"As though you're any better, Leb."
Enraptured by the petty argument, you caught yourself a little too late, and the door was opening slightly before you could stop it.
You hoped that the small movement would not go unnoticed, but who were you kidding. They were six of the most environment-wary people you knew.
The stark silence made you just relent and open the door fully.
"Uh. How long have you been listening, lovey?"
You huffed out a small laugh at Valko's voice and bewildered expression. You leaned against the doorframe and watched as most of the boys- bar Sylus- flushed very prettily.
"Since the beginning."
You grinned when they blushed even more.
"Well then, honey." Sylus looked very amused with the whole situation, which made two of you. "Let's hear it from you. Who are you the closest to?"
When six expectant eyes landed on you, you stiffened and let out a nervous sound.
"Well, would you look at the time-"
"Boo, it's three in the afternoon."
"-I have a meeting with Dolion-"
"No you do not, my moon."
You took a step back out of the door-
"-my mistake. I have a shareholder's meeting-"
"You don't, angel eyes. I know your schedule."
You cared for them equally. Not that they would take that for an answer. The best option for you, especially considering how if you chose for it, your powers essentially rendered their Evols useless, would be to get away. Asap.
You shifted, preparing yourself to bolt. Zayne's hazel eyes flickered to your body language, but before he could say anything, you bolted.
You couldn't help the laugh bubbling inside of you when you heard frantic scrambling and footsteps giving chase.
"Your fellow Disappointment here" @a-short-ass-disappointment - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
