☁ dawnie bear ☁

reader ♡ writer ♡ atiny ♡ infp ♡ cancer ♡ born in '97 ☁️ in the clouds ☁️ check out my other socials: @/dawn_iscozy buymeacoffee.com/dawniscozy

[dawn-iscozy]

dawnie bear’s masterlist

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" like a cat in a sunny spot "

☁ ot8 + named oc (rora), queer oc, smut + fluff, kinda soulmates au? but not really (just moves very fast), also kinda coworkers to lovers (but not workplace romance), there IS a cat in the story (his name is teddy), found family vibes too ☁

↳ masterlist

status: ongoing word count: ~ 100k (so far)

↳ holiday spin-off

↳ deleted scene

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" strings & arrows "

☁ cupid!yeosang + named oc (nabi), soulmates au, mostly platonic, yeosang centric, college au, also barista!yeosang, very found family cause their families kinda suck ☁

↳ pt. i, pt. ii (currently writing)

status: ongoing word count: ~6k (so far)

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" at the beach, in every life "

☁ sanhwa at the beach!, kinda surfer!san, sanhwa + named oc (birdie), overwhelmed oc, queer oc, sannie is also queer, and he's in love with his best friends, mentioned/background woosang, soft & sad™ ☁

↳ pt. 1 coming soon!

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" it can't rain all the time "

☁ the crow! yunho, yunho + named oc (dove), very loosely based on the 1994 film but I tried to at least fit the sad, grunge-y aesthetics, as such there are themes of death, drug-use, alcohol-use, sexual harassment, violence, and general criminal behaviors ☁

↳ read it here !

status: finished (may continue in the future but idkidk) word count: ~5k

" bowled over (skater boy) "

☁ skater!yeosang, yeosang x named oc (poe), bestie!wooyoung (cause of course!), blood/injury (only a little), kinda stoner!yeo? (one mention), overall just quite soft and silly and cute, other members mentioned and depicted (no seonghwa or jongho, unfortunately 😞) ☁

↳ coming soon!

status: coming soon! word count: 15.7k, so far!

[amaraqwolf]

Good news: if you’re currently laying around and not producing anything, you are a credit to your species.

[willow-wanderings]

It’s recently been found that even hive insects rest. Bees will play with colorful toys. Ants sleep for about 1 minute but they do it so frequently it amounts to a few hours per day. Even trees take breaks.

The only things that work without rest are machines; literally everything that lives requires rest.

EVERYTHING THAT LIVES REQUIRES REST. STOP JUDGING YOURSELF FOR NOT BEING A ROBOT.

[roach-works]

robots require very frequent breaks! welding machines generally have it programmed in that they can’t run so long they melt themselves. ive overseen two different manufacturing robots now and each of them were fragile, finicky idiots that require constant maintenance and repair. they pause in between moves, in between jobs. you’re always keeping an eye on programming errors, on coolant levels, on heat. you’re always pulling bits of scrap out of joints, sweeping up debris, washing off nozzles and untangling hoses. and even then it snaps a chain and takes a whole morning’s vacation.

even robots need downtime.

[can-i-make-image-descriptions]

[Image ID: Tweet from SpookyBritches Jules (@/ SQLPi) on Oct 12, 2020 reading: Reminder that you are an omnivore, a predator, and a pretty big one at that. You are not a bee or an ant. It is, in fact, normal for you to just want to lay around not producing anything. You’re a mammal. Stop judging yourself for not being a hive insect. /End ID]

Plain text: Everything that lives requires rest. Stop judging yourself for not being a robot.

[ismenes]

you know those studies showing that cursing helps with pain tolerance or whatever. that’s how i feel about making my weird little noises to get through my basic daily activities. sometimes you just have to go hggblaaaah for a minute so you can find the strength within yourself to get up or wash the dishes or send an email. mmmnneh. urgh. the torments are unending but you can always make some little sounds about it.

[lelif]

on survival

-// @aridante // @orivu // @buzzkillgirls // ? // ? // richard siken// @cemeterything // moomin, tove jansson// @disenchanted-killjoy // isn't that enough, shawn mendes// @ prettytheyswag on twitter// @ coletyumuch on twitter// ? // ? // bird by bird, anne lamott// undertale// @strawberrycircuits

[dawn-iscozy]

“ like a cat in a sunny spot ” ♡ xv ♡

SERIES PLAYLIST: “ swim ” - chase atlantic ♡ “ honey (are u coming?) ” - maneskin ♡ “ the summoning  ” - sleep token ♡ “ soft spot ” - keshi ♡ “ bubbly ” - colbie caillat ♡ “ kiss me ” - ed sheeran ♡ “ cotton candy ” - yungblud ♡

SERIES WARNINGS: poly, eventual ot8, named oc - “Rora”, derived from “Aurora” (soooooo original, I know), who is basically a self-insert (i’m still on the brink of denial about it). loooots of nicknames/pet names, and even more as the fic progresses (if you read the “a little warmth in winter” you’ll know most of the names already 🤭). things move pretty quickly in this, and it may stray vaguely into soulmate au territory but, like, I’m a sucker for these men and for the way I’ve written them and I just can’t stop.

apologies in advance if the timeline doesn’t make any sense, I’m going purely on vibes and my affection for these 8 men. idk if it deserves a warning, but scents are mentioned a lot in some parts and kinda littered through the rest of the fic (using scent profiles from a perfume/fragrance site that has a line of scents called “Smells Like a Hug From Ateez” and very limited knowledge of fragrances the members may have previously used/just the vibes they give off)

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: hongjoong focused, sleepy phone calls, possessive/jealous behaviors-ish, dress-up with joongie teehee, he’s in a mood and so is she, kinda spicy but not really, i just reallyyyyy like the way i wrote him here 😮‍💨

TAG LIST: @kaleigh-2002 @stickystickyjam @snow0-0fairy @giiouis(if anyone else wants to be added, drop a comment or a message and i'll gladly add you!)

♡ 18+ - no smut but still MDNI ♡

xv: in the clouds

Her weekend started with the ringing of her phone. The sound low but loud in the relative quiet of early morning. It jerked her to full consciousness, yanking her right out of the pleasant doze she let herself stay in for who knows how long. Eyes heavy, hand blindly searching for the device that had somehow managed to tuck under her pillow. Teddy meowing in annoyance at his sleep being interrupted by her shifting one too many times to answer the call and bring the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she asked, voice groggy. Cracking so badly she had to clear her throat and swallow, sitting up to reach for the water bottle she usually kept on her bedside table. The cool liquid soothed the dryness leftover from her sleep, choking out a whine when her throat refused to work properly at first. 

A warm chuckle flowed right into her ear. “Did I wake you, love?” Hongjoong’s voice came through, slightly muffled by the crackle of the line but nonetheless pleasant, voice rounding into an affectionate coo at the end. “M’sorry. I didn’t realize how early it was.”

“S’okay,” she reassured, words slurred and soft but no less sincere as she settled back down beneath her blanket. “Did you need something, Joongie?”

He hummed, the sound sending a pleasant shiver through her, even through the static and the rustling on his end. “Was wondering if you wanted to spend some time with me today.” 

“M’yeah,” she murmured, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders and tucking her chin in. Like she wanted to hide the grin threatening to come across her face. But there was no way to keep the happiness, the excitement from her voice at the idea. “Would love to spend some time with you.”

He hummed again, the sound low and warm, heavier than the one before. Like he was hanging onto consciousness by sheer will alone. “This afternoon?” he asked. “I need to get a little sleep in, but I should be awake again by then. I don’t usually sleep for too long.”

Rora frowned. “Did you not sleep last night?” 

“Hmm-mm,” he murmured. “No. Was workin’ on somethin’ and got caught up.”

“Get some sleep, Joongie,” she said, mouth tugging down at the corners. 

“M’gonna. Don’t worry, love,” he breathed. “Talk a little more?”

“Sure, sleepy.” She giggled, folding an arm under her head and scrunching her pillow up. “What did you have in mind for later?”

“Wanna dress you up,” he said, breath puffing out in a sleepy sigh, words lilting upward like he was excited at the mere prospect. His smile flashed through her mind–close-mouthed and shy but growing bigger like he just couldn’t help it, until his cheeks rounded and his pretty eyes turned to crescents and his head tilted with the force of it. His voice was softer when he spoke again, “Maybe get some food, too. Whatever else you might wanna do. I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“That sounds fun.” A surprised huff escaped her when Teddy stirred, stretching a paw out to hook his little claws into her socked foot. “Teddy, baby, am I bothering you?”

“Teddy?” There was something in his tone that sent a thrill through her, settling warm in her chest alongside her fluttering heart. 

She laughed the feeling away, reaching down pat placatingly between fluffy ears. “My silly little kitty,” she answered, eyes fluttering closed as she got lost in the soft fur beneath her fingers and the purr vibrating against her hip. 

“Tha’s good,” he murmured, words slurred though not lacking in conviction. “I don’t have to be jealous.”

Another laugh came from her. “You share me with seven other men. Are you saying it would take just one more to make you jealous?”

“S’different,” he said, sniffling lightly. Inhaling sharply like he was struggling to stay awake. Humming right into the microphone, the sound enough to have her tummy rolling and goosebumps threatening to line her skin. “This might be better to talk about when I’m not half delirious."

She took a moment to breathe before replying. Inhale. An amused exhale. “We have a lot of things to talk about, apparently.”

“Making a list, are you?” Amusement colored his sleepy voice, warming his voice and her chest. 

“Mmm. Something like that.” She turned to lie on her stomach–slow, careful not to jostle Teddy more than necessary–until her face was half squished in her pillow to muffle her next words. “Your voice sounds nice over the phone.”

“Yeah?” There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his question, no matter how tired he sounded. 

“Yeah,” she admitted, breathless, face burning. 

His answering chuckle was heavy with sleep, right from his throat. “Add it to your list,” he drawled. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Is that an order?” she asked, nibbling at her bottom lip to tamp down on the giddy smile threatening to overtake her face.  

He exhaled sharply, fabric shuffling on his end again. “Making my own list,” he muttered. 

Her stomach gave a little flip at that, heat unfurling dangerously low. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“We’ll see after we’ve had those conversations.” A threat wrapped in a promise that made her next inhale catch in her throat. 

Teddy meowed again, seemingly done with being pet back to sleep, and padded his way up her torso to press right into her face. Fur in her mouth, up her nose, until all she could do was sputter and laugh and push the cat away, breaking whatever tension had started building. “Teddy is telling me it’s time to get up,” she said, affectionately exasperated. “And it’s time for you to rest. Message me when you’re on the way, alright?”

“M’kay.” His voice sounded suspiciously like a whine.

“We’ll talk later, okay? Sleep well, Joongie."

“Mhm. G’night, love.” His voice was barely there, like he was already drifting off. 

She left the call connected until soft snores filled the line and Teddy started to meow and push into her face again. She shushed the cat gently, stroking a placating hand down his back and ending the call before he could get louder and possibly wake the sleeping man. 

The morning passed slowly, her body buzzing with so much anticipation she couldn’t find it in herself to just sit down and find something to occupy herself with. She made a ridiculously complicated coffee for what she had in her fridge–yet another glorified caffeinated chocolate milk. Took a longer shower than usual, taking her time until her skin was soft and she smelled like the new shave oil and sugar scrub she got the last time she went to the store. 

She cooked up a late breakfast when she started feeling hungry–a grilled turkey and swiss with a bowl of leftover tomato soup. Downing water when the food did nothing to tamp down the swell of excitement and adrenaline flooding her system, leaving her heart fluttering and her hands shaking. When the water did little to nothing, she focused on finding something to wear. Something cozy but cute enough. Settling on a pair of oversized sweats with a fun print on the ankles, a grey tank top, and a tan knit zip-up that looked suspiciously like one she had seen Wooyoung wearing not long ago. A whiff of something–musky, woody, floral–let her know it was, indeed, his. 

But that only took so much time, leaving her once more with nothing to occupy herself while she waited. So, she started cleaning up. Organizing things she wouldn’t typically organize. Turning on the television to play YouTube videos to drown out the silence of the apartment and the noise in her brain. Playing with Teddy when he finished eating until he left her hanging to curl back up at the foot of her bed. 

Eventually, though–just as she had finally started calming down–her phone lit up with a notification. A message. Nothing more than a picture of Hongjoong, taken from above, of him sitting at a desk. Wearing a matching sweatpants and sweatshirt set, cream with black designs inked into the fabric, only the black half of his hair visible. Looking cozy enough she wanted to curl up into his side. She imagined it, sitting with him as he worked on the production software that was pulled up on the screen–maybe just dozing off, enjoying his warmth; maybe working alongside him. Maybe even sneaking under his desk–

A message followed just as she had finally processed the picture, shaking her from her little daydreams.

Just have to do something real quick. Be there in about 20.

She focused on finding the perfect gif to reply with. Something cute but reflecting the excitement that was starting to swell up in her chest again. Heart thumping harder against her ribs, fingers twitching, teeth finding her bottom lip. She forced herself to take a breath. Inhale through the nose. Exhale through the mouth. A second one. Then, she picked one–an animation of a white cartoon cat dancing happily. Not a full reflection of the nervousness pooling in her gut, but a direct representation of the shy happiness and excitement that was quickly overtaking every other emotion as she forced herself to focus back on whatever she had been watching before Hongjoong’s texts. 

Exactly twenty minutes later, her phone was dinging with another notification, a call coming through immediately after. She answered with a breathless, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Hongjoong greeted back. “Do you want me to come to your door or do you want to meet me at the car?”

“I can come down,” she said, a little too quickly. “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just your pretty self,” he said, words light. Easy. Like they didn’t make her heart stutter and her fingers nearly fumble her phone. 

“Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll be down in a moment.” Before he could reply, she was dropping the call. 

Her eyes looked around the space as she reached for her bag–something small that held her phone, her cards, emergency cash, and her favorite lip balm. The strap was barely hooked over her shoulder before she was slipping into her shoes and rushing out the door. The trip down the hall and down the stairs was a blur, and she had to force herself to stop for a moment once she stepped outside. Letting the sun warm her clothes and the breeze sift through her hair. Taking a breath as she looked around the lot. 

Hongjoong was parked a few spots down from the building entrance, leaning against his car with arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted. Gaze already locked on her when she finally spotted him. One hand lifted in a tentative wave that she giddily reciprocated before rushing over to him. His name fell from her lips in way of a greeting, heart leaping at the smile that softened his face and the way the sunlight reflected in his eyes. 

“Hey,” he greeted, smile widening, pretty teeth flashing and a little dimple teasing at the side of his mouth. 

“Hi,” she said, leaning up to press a kiss to the little indent before she could think too hard about it. 

His cheeks were as pink as her own probably were when she pulled away. He didn’t say anything, instead guiding her around the vehicle to open the passenger side door for her, a hand pressed to her lower back as she climbed in, the warmth of his touch calming and grounding. 

She settled into the comfort of the passenger seat as Hongjoong rounded the front of the car. Watching the way he walked, the saunter to his steps, the way he pushed his hair back from his face and glanced at her through the window. The way his eyes sparkled in the sunlight and his smile softened his face. 

Her bottom lip was between her teeth and her heart all but performing acrobatics by the time he finally slid in behind the wheel. 

The view from the passenger seat was definitely better than the view from the backseat. The focus on his face as he backed out of the lot, the movement of his lips as he mouthed along to the songs playing softly through the speakers, the grip of his fingers on the wheel, the subtle glimpses toward her as he drove. She couldn’t get herself to look away, gaze stuck on him. Not even embarrassed when he caught her the first, second, and even third time. 

“D’you need to take a picture, love?” he asked, voice low with amusement. 

Her phone was in her hand before she could verbalize an answer, and he crumpled forward with the force of his laugh. She caught the moment, caught the moment after when he glanced over at her, then when he straightened up and rearranged his face into an exaggerated impression of his usual focused face. Caught as he relaxed into the moment, and his face softened into actual focus–one arm propped in the window, the backs of his knuckles brushing his lips, eyes intent on taking in everything happening in front of him. 

She kept at it until his focus broke again, looking over at her with a breathless giggle that scrunched his eyes adorably, hand flattening over his mouth to hide it. But the sound still reached her ears, still sent her heart fluttering. She was glad to notice the tips of his ears were pink. Her heart nearly stopped beating when she noticed the way his teeth dug into his knuckle, as if to muffle any following laughter. Breath hitching when his eyes found her again, an eyebrow raising and the corner of his lips curling up. Amused. Knowing. 

Parking was a quick, easy affair. The lot mostly empty, Hongjoong’s every move practiced as he backed into the space of his choice. Before she could blink, the car was off, engine ticking as it cooled, silence heavy with the absence of music. 

“Ready?” he asked, eyes curved and smile brighter than the sun glaring through the windshield. 

In favor of speaking, she unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed open her door. Her excitement must have been obvious, sending Hongjoong into a round of soft chuckles as she rounded the vehicle to his side, meeting him as he slid out. His eyes sparkled in the daylight as he looked down at her, the gold of his skin a direct contrast against the cream of his sweater, the sun haloing his hair. She had to blink when he ducked down, nose nudging at her cheekbone. The touch fleeting but enough for the warmth of his breath to sear into her skin, dizzy when he pulled away and laced his fingers with her own to pull her inside.

The apartment was silent when they entered, the only sound the rustle of their clothing as they toed off their shoes at the door. “Everyone is out,” Hongjoong said, voice low–soft, like he didn’t want to break the peace that blanketed the place. “Hwa might be back in a few hours if he doesn’t decide to stay with his friends longer, but Sangie and Mingi are working.”

“Do they know I’m over?”

“I told the group chat despite wanting to keep you all to myself,” he said. Then, his mouth twisted into something sly. Something sharp and satisfied that intensified his eyes. “They’re all quite jealous, actually.”

She snickered. “Are they?” 

He hummed. “They blew up my phone, whining about how unfair it was until I muted the chat to sleep.”

“Not sharing me today, hmm?” Her voice was lilting–teasing, amused. 

He shook his head. “No matter how much they beg,” he said, sharp grin still in place, brows rising. “You’re mine today.”

That possessiveness made her mouth dry, tummy warm, fingers twitching in his hold. 

He caught it all, tilted his head. “Is this reaction fear? Or something else?” he asked, expression softening as his eyes moved over her face. 

“I’m not scared,” she said easily, smiling at him placidly, pointedly ignoring the fluttering in her chest at his attention. “Not really. And not of you.”

Relief seemed to replace any satisfaction her statement gave him. Brows going lax and lips tipping up into another devastatingly handsome smile. His fingers tightened around hers briefly before he started pulling her further into the apartment. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, free hand coming to rub at the back of his neck, ears pink again. 

“Something for me?” she asked, disbelief flaring in her chest. 

He hummed as they reached his room, pushing the door open and pulling her in behind him. The space was chaotic. Posters and pages from books and magazines were plastered all over the walls: music and fashion and television shows. A rug–well-worn, perhaps even thrifted, but still soft underfoot–was in the very center of the room. Warm, muted in the loud space.

Every corner housed a piece of furniture that was stacked with various items. A desk that held the music equipment from the picture he sent earlier. Another with crafting materials and a small sewing machine, shelves loaded with scraps and bundles of fabric beside it. A bed covered in a tangle of blankets and wrinkled clothes she assumed were the ones he had slept in. A vanity with a mirror was next to the opened closet, the tabletop lined with skincare and cosmetics. A record stand filled to the brim with vinyls, cds stacked on the floor beside it, beneath a wall-mounted cd-player. 

Fairy lights lined the ceiling, not on since it was daytime and the heavy curtains were pulled open. But she imagined the way they would light up the space. Warm. Cozy, even. So very Hongjoong. 

“Sorry, it’s a mess,” he murmured, looking through the pile of materials on his bed. “Hwa hates it in here, but I don’t think it’s too bad.”

“It feels…you,” she said.

He made a little noise in the back of his throat and straightened up, turning to her with something held tight to his chest. “Thought of you as soon as I saw this. Knew exactly what changes I wanted to make to it. How good you would look in it,” he said, stepping closer with quick, excited steps. 

He stopped a few feet away before letting the fabric unfurl. 

It was a hoodie. Streetwear heavy in design, made even more so with the changes he’d made to it. A raw hem to the collar, a v at the front that would showcase more than a flash of collarbone. Some distressing, bleach splatters, roughly sewn patches littered across the material. The drawstring of the hood changed to something else, something satin-y and dark red. A peak of red and black plaid pleats attached to the bottom on one side. 

“Oh,” she said, blinking at the sweater then blinking up at him. “I love it, Joongie.”

“Yeah?” he asked, head tilting, smirk curling his lips. “Wanna put it on for me?”

Her fingers were tugging off her own sweater before her head was even nodding. “Please,” she said, voice breathless in her excitement. 

His laugh warmed the room as he stepped closer. Hands steady, gentle as he first helped her get her (Wooyoung’s) sweater off, then helped her wear the new one. 

“You ever wear skirts, love?” he asked, pulling the oversized fabric lower, over her hips until it covered the tops of her thighs, nearly kneeling on the floor to do so. “That dress you wore looked so pretty on you, I’ve been wanting to get you in a skirt ever since.”

“Not really,” she said. “Not for a lack of wanting to. I’ve just never really been able to figure out how to style them on myself.”

“Can I put one on you?” His eyes were sparkling up at her, sincere, gentle even in his excitement. 

“M’yeah,” she nodded. Not even needing a moment to think about it. She would probably say yes to anything he said at that moment. Heart fluttering in her chest and mind threatening to go fuzzy at the edges.  

His answering grin was blinding, pretty teeth on full display. He disappeared into his closet with nothing more than a soft kiss to her lips and a skip to his step. “How do you feel about fishnets?” he asked, voice muffled by the sheer amount of clothing in the space. 

“Fucking love them,” she answered, hands fisting in the fabric covering them. “I never have the chance to wear them, though.”

He came back with both hands holding something, and he helped her into each of them. The fishnets offered a fight that she couldn’t find herself even the slightest bit frustrated about. Not when it meant his touches lingered more, when it kept him on her knees in front of her longer, when it had his gaze lingering on her thighs and hips in a way that made her skin tingle. Then he was slipping the skirt up her legs–short and ruffled, black, all lace and faux leather with a bunch of pretty little details she was almost sad would be covered up by the hoodie. The fabric was cool and soft through the openings of the tights, his fingers a striking contrast of warmth. 

Still on his knees, still gazing up at her, he adjusted the clothes to sit how he wanted them to. Safety pins holding the side of the skirt where the zipper wouldn’t zip up properly–a sharp thrill of trust as he wove them through the fabric at her hip, careful to not prick her with them, the press of the metal cold against her skin sent shivers down her spine. 

“Sit for me, lovely,” he murmured, guiding her over to a chair next to the vanity. She did as he said, startled when he crawled right into her lap, feet planted firmly on the floor and strong thighs bracketing her hips. “Pinch my leg if I get too heavy and you need me to move, okay?” 

Rora could only nod, swallowing in hopes of bringing moisture back to her suddenly dry mouth. He was so close like this. All but looming over her as he leaned down to see her face better. The warmth of his body was all-encompassing, the spice of his cologne filling her nose, the solid weight of him pressed against her. 

She couldn’t help it when her hands fell to his thighs, holding him lightly, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed thin layers of skincare and cosmetics into her skin with gentle touches and soft brushes. Breath hitching when his fingers found her mouth, swiping a mouse-y lipstick then a slick gloss. 

He was pulling back from her just enough to look her over, eyes surveying his work with a sort of detachment that really shouldn’t have made her stomach roll pleasantly or bring a flush to her cheeks. His head tilted, teeth finding his bottom lip hard enough that the center whited out. Then his eyes were back on hers, wide and excited and shining. “You look so good, love,” he said, hands coming to her shoulders, shifting to frame the sides of her neck. “Absolutely ravishing.”

Her heart fluttered, pounded in her chest. Unable to do anything but giggle, words failing her entirely. 

Hongjoong leaned closer, nose brushing against her own before he pressed a kiss there. Barely any pressure, but enough that her heart gave a silly little jump and her cheeks warmed. “D’you wanna pick something for me to wear?” he asked. 

Her heart leapt with excitement. “Can I? Really?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, giggling into her ear. “Really.”

Her fingers flexed where they still rested on his thighs, further betraying her excitement at the idea. He giggled more as he stood from her lap and helped her stand.  

Just over his shoulder, she caught movement. The mirror on the back of his door reflected their image back to her, and she finally got a glimpse of herself. The makeup–soft brown and peachy and subtle, but just enough that she could see the difference, the way it enhanced her features. Just enough sparkle in places to make her feel a little whimsical–the corners of her eyes, the tops of her cheekbones, over her cupid’s bow where he had blurred the lipstick. 

“Oh,” she breathed, stepping around him to catch a better glimpse of the outfit, the way it sat on her, the way it made her feel. She watched as his arms came around her middle, chin hooking over her shoulder to show the smug expression on his face. 

“You look so pretty for me. Don’t you, love?” he murmured, nose dragging lightly along the line of her neck. 

She nodded, swallowed. “I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to make your outfit even remotely as good,” she joked around the tightness threatening to settle in her throat. 

His teeth flashed in the mirror, smile hiding in her shoulder before he pulled back from her. His hands settled on her hips to shuffle her closer to the closet. “You’re gonna do just fine. I have plenty of good pieces to pick from.”

A deep breath and she was reaching into the absolute chaos that was Hongjoong’s closet. There was some attempt at organization, but the sheer amount of stuff seemed to make that all but impossible. The space was absolutely bursting at the seams with clothes, shoes lining the floor, accessories hung on a cluttered organizer beside the mirror on the door. 

She didn’t give the space the chance to overwhelm her and reached for the first pieces of clothing that caught her attention. A leather jacket. A graphic shirt with a fun red and white script on the front and sleeves. Black jeans ripped at the knees and up one thigh. Another pair of fishnets were on the floor, and she crouched down to grab them. Turning to look at him over her shoulder, finding him sitting down and taking a brush to his eye, smoking out some liner on his lower lash line. She arched a questioning brow at him, swinging the tights on a hooked finger. “Thoughts?” she asked. 

“You want me to wear them?” he asked, gaze flicking up from the mirror to lock on her face. The liner made his eyes look fierce even as they sparkled in the warm lights of his room.  

“I think they’d be cute under the jeans. Think they’d look good on you,” she said, eyes trailing down him to land on his legs again, the way his thighs looked even in his baggy sweatpants, straining the fabric as he spread them further under her gaze. Imagining the way the fishnets would look through the holes in the pants, tight against his thighs, strong and smooth. She swallowed, tongue poking out to wet the corners of her mouth as she blinked the image away. “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

His laugh was low, right from his chest. A little breathless, a little teasing, absolutely smug. “I’ll wear them if you want me to, love,” he said. 

“Please.” The word came out breathless, almost a whine. 

He smirked, leaning forward, elbows on his knees to look up at her. “How can I say no when you ask so pretty?” A giggle came from him when she visibly shuddered at his words. “Come show me what you’ve picked out for me?”

She froze where she was, clutching the clothing to her chest as if that could stop the way her heart started thundering in her chest. 

“Come on, sweet girl. Come show me, hmm?” he coaxed gently, leaning back in the chair. His hand tapping his thigh, the other stretching out to her–an invitation. His warm palm met her thigh as she stepped closer, slid up to rest on her hip under the layers of skirt and hoodie. Guiding her to settle on his lap until those strong thighs supported her and his fingers pressed into her skin through the openings of the fishnets, blunt nails scratching just enough that goosebumps rose in their wake. “There you are. Good girl.”

Her brain threatened to go fuzzy at the edges, breath hitching on a sigh. “Hongjoong,” she murmured, hands fisting in the softness of his hoodie. 

Soft lips found hers, a tease of tongue over her bottom lip, the sharp nip of teeth. Before she could catch up, he was pulling away. He chuckled when she tried to follow him, brushing his nose against hers lightly. 

“You seem to be in a…mood.” she murmured.

“D’you wanna float for me later, baby?” he asked in favor of an answer, breath fanning over her face. “Can I try to get you there again? Hmm?”

Her tummy gave a slow roll, heart fluttering, a needy little sound stuck in her throat. “Yeah,” she whined, grip shifting to his shoulders as she leaned into him. 

The smile he gave in response was absolutely wicked, tongue gliding across his teeth in satisfaction. “We’ll finish up here, get some food, have that talk about those lists, and then we’ll see if we can turn that brain off, hmm?” 

Her mouth was dry, and she had to swallow to find some moisture again. “I don’t think it’ll be hard to do that,” she admitted breathlessly. 

“Are you fuzzy already, love? Just thinking about it?”

“A little,” she murmured, tongue poking out to wet her lips. “I’m comfortable and having fun and you’re…doing whatever it is you’re doing. And it’s–yeah.”

His teeth found his bottom lip, lids drooping down just the slightest. “Yeah?” he rasped, voice dipping an octave lower. “You like it, love? Like the way I talk to you?”

Her head was nodding before she could think about it (again), and his wicked grin was back in place. 

He simply hummed and gently pried the clothes from her grip. “Stand up for me?” he asked. “I wanna put it on. Can’t wait to wear what you picked for me, baby.”

Her legs were almost jelly when she stood, taking his seat when he stepped away. Her eyes were stuck on him as he undressed and dressed in parts–offering nothing more than a teasing flash of skin at a time. First the hoodie was slipped off, tattooed arms on display for only a moment. His torso was hidden by a tight undershirt that did nothing to hide the swell of his chest and the flat of his stomach before it was covered in the long-sleeve she had chosen for him–oversized enough that it nearly swallowed his figure, sleeves covering nearly half of his hands when they dropped down to work his pants off. 

Her eyes locked on his bare legs as he worked the fishnets over them, stumbling and giggling alongside her, ears and cheeks pink as he fell forward, hand bracing on her shoulder to stop himself from falling over entirely. Looming over again–chest and shoulders and bare neck right in front of her, looking more broad than ever, like he could encompass her entire being, that lovely spicy citrusy smell all around her. 

She worked hard to avoid looking up into his face, knowing the sight would be her undoing. But the other sight may as well have been too, gaze stuck on his legs as he took a step back to gather the jeans he had dropped when he stumbled. 

She was right that they would look good on him, the tights straining against the firm muscles of his thighs and calves, the diamond pattern pressing tight into the plush skin there. The image was interrupted when he bent again, the collar of the shirt dipping to show a tempting swell of his chest again, a flash of his white tank, and then he was tugging the jeans up his legs, hopping in place once, twice, until they sat the way he wanted them to. 

“Tucked or loose?” he asked, fingers tapping a light patter against the button of the jeans. 

“Maybe tucked, since there’s a jacket too. And you can add a belt?” 

He nodded, grinning encouragingly. “Good idea,” he said, fingers working to quickly tuck the shirt cleanly in the front of the pants and sliding the button home. A few belts hung with the accessories on his closet door, and he grabbed a black one to slide smoothly through his belt loops. 

“Any other accessories?” 

“You pick?”

He reached for a line of chain necklaces almost immediately, layering a few different sizes and designs together, another one that was pearls spaced with links and barbs. A chain hooked to his belt. A few rings on his fingers. He stepped over to her, something in his hand–a necklace, chain and pearl with a longer chain layered underneath. 

“Can I put this on you?”

She nodded. 

He tsked at her, brow raising when her eyes snapped right to his face, wide and scolded. “Give me your words, love,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said, breathless. 

He leaned into her space again, looming and close and warm and… Her thoughts were cut off as soon as the necklace was pressing against her throat, Hongjoong’s shirt almost brushing her face as he leaned even closer to see behind her. Him fumbling with the clasp was ticklish, sending a shiver down her spine. The necklace tightened, pressing into her skin in a way that had her breath hitching audibly enough that Hongjoong heard, his low chuckle rumbling in her ear. 

Then, he was leaning back, expression dripping with smug satisfaction. Eyes dark as they roamed over her again. “You do look lovely with something around your throat,” he said, head tilting as he ran warm fingers above where the necklace sat. 

Her next breath stuttered, the pink of her face making its way down her neck and chest. 

His expression turned soft and smug, gaze following the path of her flush. “Ready for food?” he finally asked, eyes twinkling as he stepped back. At her mindless nod, he grinned and continued, “Should we order in or go somewhere?”

“If we order in, we can have that talk.” The words tumbled out, rushed, tinged with just enough desperation that her face threatened to burst right into flames. 

“Eager?” He smirked, fingers trailing down her jaw light enough that her skin tingled. 

“Maybe,” she murmured, sheepish enough that he had to know it was a yes. 

He giggled but didn’t press any further. “We can order in,” he assured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But we’re not talking until after we eat.”

She couldn’t even find it in her to whine about it, not with his lips against her skin and that citrus-y, spice-y scent invading her nose and the warmth of him surrounding her. “M’kay,” she murmured. 

His resulting hum, low and throaty and soso pleased, felt as wonderful as any “good girl” ever had. 

author's note: this really took forever to finish, huh? I've been busy and distracted with another story idea, but I finally found the will and the time to sit down and finish this part. sorry if it's weird or rushed anywhere, though. I didn't edit before posting cause I just wanted to get it out and uploaded 😭

i hope you enjoy, and keep an eye out for the next part (and that other story that's had me so distracted!) 🫣💝

[gaynfl-moved]

[dawn-iscozy]

apologies to the 4 people waiting for the next part of "like a cat in a sunny spot". skater boy/lip piercing yeosang has had me in a chokehold and that's all I can write currently 🧍(keep an eye out for that in the next few weeks, though 👀)

[dawn-iscozy]

“ like a cat in a sunny spot ” ♡ xiv ♡

SERIES PLAYLIST: “ swim ” - chase atlantic ♡ “ honey (are u coming?) ” - maneskin ♡ “ the summoning  ” - sleep token ♡ “ soft spot ” - keshi ♡ “ bubbly ” - colbie caillat ♡ “ kiss me ” - ed sheeran ♡ “ cotton candy ” - yungblud ♡

SERIES WARNINGS: poly, eventual ot8, named oc - “Rora”, derived from “Aurora” (soooooo original, I know), who is basically a self-insert (i’m still on the brink of denial about it). loooots of nicknames/pet names, and even more as the fic progresses (if you read the “a little warmth in winter” you’ll know most of the names already 🤭). things move pretty quickly in this, and it may stray vaguely into soulmate au territory but, like, I’m a sucker for these men and for the way I’ve written them and I just can’t stop.

apologies in advance if the timeline doesn’t make any sense, I’m going purely on vibes and my affection for these 8 men. idk if it deserves a warning, but scents are mentioned a lot in some parts and kinda littered through the rest of the fic (using scent profiles from a perfume/fragrance site that has a line of scents called “Smells Like a Hug From Ateez” and very limited knowledge of fragrances the members may have previously used/just the vibes they give off)

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: super soft and fluffy, ot8 minus one (😞), hickeys/talk about hickeys, does get a little steamy, does lean into the dom/subby stuff from last chapter but not super heavy, gets steamier, like actual smut in the second half, sannie gets alone time, a quickie that surprised even me, lots of kissing, lots of pet names cause of course, probably missing something but can’t think of anything else, let me know!

TAG LIST: @kaleigh-2002 @stickystickyjam @snow0-0fairy (if anyone else wants to be added, drop a comment or a message and i'll gladly add you!)

♡ 18+ - smut below the cut - MDNI ♡

xiv: softest petals

Rora found herself in the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the center island, alone in the quiet of the morning while the eight men continued to sleep. She enjoyed the stillness, sipping the drink she made with the little espresso machine that resided right in the middle of the kitchen island–well used but clean and obviously well cared for. A glorified chocolate milk with a shot of espresso. Iced. Something much richer than she would make for herself on a regular weekday, the coffee strong enough to cut through the sweetness. It was delicious, and it was everything she needed after having woken up so early. 

It was still early, the sky still gray outside the window, slowly turning a blazing orange-pink as the sun made its way above the surrounding buildings. She watched through the opened curtains as the city slowly started coming to life. Still a slow crawl. Not fully awake, but the streetlights started flickering out–one by one–and cars started driving by–one by one. Yellow filtered from the windows of buildings as people started getting ready for the day, some shining in the distance almost like stars. 

The apartment was silent, nothing but the steady hum of appliances. She would have been unnerved in the sheer quiet if it weren’t for the occasional sighs, heavy breaths, and soft snores echoing down the hallway. Someone groaned, slurred words mumbled out that made her stifle a giggle into the sleeve of the shirt engulfing her. Silence settled again, leaving her to stare down into her cup, stirring the drink just to hear the soft clink of the ice against the glass.

The quiet was interrupted by the shuffling of socked footsteps on hardwood, the soft rasp of clothes brushing together, a deep sleepy exhale. She smiled around her straw–one she had found in one of the kitchen drawers–when a solid warmth was pressed to her back, a head dropping down to nuzzle into her hair. “You weren’t in bed when I woke up,” a raspy whine filled her ears, a tattooed arm coming around her shoulders to hold her closer to his chest. 

“Sorry, Youngie,” she murmured placatingly, tipping her head back to catch him in a lazy kiss. The contact sent a little shiver through her, his lips plump and warm, breaths soft. A happy noise muffled against her mouth that did nothing to calm the pleasant flutter in her chest. She was grinning when they pulled apart, absolutely content. “D’you want me to make you some coffee? Then, maybe you can help me make some breakfast for everyone?”

His hum vibrated against her back where his chest was pressed against her, his next exhale warming the side of her face. “Lemme wake up a little more? Coffee sounds good.” 

“Mhm. Take your time,” she said, guiding him to sit in the stool beside her. Attempted to, anyway. He didn’t do much in the way of helping, clinging to her shoulders then her arm as she attempted to shift him off her. He went, though–eventually. But not without letting his displeasure be known, whining low in his throat until she bribed his compliance with soft kisses to his face and a murmur of, “Sit down, Youngie baby. Let me make you that coffee, okay?”

He responded with a petulant sound, head falling to the counter but turned just enough that she could see the way his lips pushed out in a pout despite the corners curling up. She bent down to his level with a light laugh, lips brushing his temple. 

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, pushing his hair back and pressing several little kisses along his hairline. He relaxed into the affection with a sigh, arm coming around her to slide a hand up her back. 

“M’yeah,” he murmured, eyes closed, fingers holding her waist in a ticklish grip. “Was so nice to sleep with you in my arms again.”

She giggled, enjoying the feel of him against her for a moment more. He smelled like sleep and the remnants of his cologne, still radiated the warmth of blankets and one too many people in one bed. She let herself linger there. One second. Two. Maybe more, but she wasn’t counting. Just enjoying his presence. 

Another kiss was pressed to Wooyoung’s face before she wiggled out of his hold. Ignoring his put upon groan, she started working on making an americano for the sleepy man. He stayed as he was, leaning against the counter, head pillowed on his arms. He was all but asleep again, eyes closed and back rising and falling with each measured breath, by the time she was sliding a glass over to him, rousing him with her fingers in his hair and a murmur of his name.

While he sipped at the coffee, she looked through the fridge and cabinets to see what food they had. Eggs, bread, yogurt, various fruits. She found milk and butter, found where the seasonings were kept, located the pots and pans and everything else she might need to use. Soon, a cutting board and knife were on the counter, and an almost brand new looking stainless steel pan was waiting on the front burner. 

“Does everyone like scrambled eggs?” she asked when Wooyoung joined her by the stove, leaning into his side. 

“They should,” he said, reaching overhead for a bowl large enough to mix all the eggs in. “And if they don’t, that’s their own problem.”

She snorted. “If they get upset, I’m telling them you said that.”

Cooking was a quick and quiet affair. Wooyoung whisked eggs with milk before scrambling them in a pan with butter while she washed and cut fruits to put on top of the single-portion cups of yogurt. She didn’t expect any of the others to wake any time soon. Most of them had been awake even as Wooyoung and Mingi had herded her into Mingi’s bedroom to snuggle the night away. Maybe Jongho, considering they both had work that day. But there was always the possibility that he might decide to work from home, as he does on occasion.

As if to answer her thoughts, warmth hugged her back once more. A more solid mass than Wooyoung, a little wider, a cheek nudging at her temple even as she stood. “Morning.” It was a sleepy rumble in her ear, voice deeper than usual but still very familiar. 

“Morning, bear,” she said, turning her head to press a kiss to his sleep-pinkened cheek. 

“M’gonna give you a ride to work,” he said, sleepy exhale stirring the hair at her temple. “That okay?”

“More than,” she answered, leaning back into his hold to soak in the lingering warmth of his sleepiness and the laundry detergent smell of Mingi’s sheets. 

“You sure?” he murmured, voice a low rumble in her ear as he nuzzled into her hair. 

The question brought her to pause, hands hovering in the air, stopped in their journey to lace with the ones resting on her lower belly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She turned in his hold to look at his face. 

There wasn’t much of an expression there, but he was more alert. Eyes still heavy with sleep but blinking wide to stare down at her. A little smile curled the edges of his lips, though. “I’m just asking, precious. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable if people start getting gossip-y at work.”

“I honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck what they might say about us.” The words tumbled out before she even had the chance to fully think about them, surprising her as much as they surprised Jongho. 

His face scrunched up with a laugh, eyes crinkling and gums flashing. Arms coming up to wrap around her shoulders and tug her closer into him.  “I’m glad,” he said, still giggling as he pushed her hair from her face. “But if that changes, tell me, yeah? Or one of the others.”

She was grinning. Cheeks pink and hurting with how wide it was. Chest warm and tummy fluttering as she looked at the open joy on his face. Then, before she could stop herself (though why would she want to?), her hands were cupping his cheeks and she was raising up on her toes to pull him into a kiss. 

A startled sound was muffled by her mouth, but the hold on her pulled her impossibly closer rather than away. Jongho was soft and strong and warm against her, hands sliding down to settle on her waist, an arm banding around her lower back to hold her up better. The strength in the hold made her melt, leaning fully into him, hand sliding along a broad shoulder and up his neck to push into sleep-mussed hair. 

“No fucking before breakfast,” an amused voice said. “And not in the living room unless you’re wanting participants or an audience.”

She broke away from the kiss with a giggle, cheeks warm. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she said, looking over her shoulder to find Wooyoung leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. 

His teeth found his plump lower lip, head tipping to the side. “Let’s note that down for later,” he said, eyes raking over her before straightening back up. “For now, let's eat breakfast before it gets too cold, yeah?”

“M’yeah,” she said. Her attention went back to the man wrapped around her, pressing a kiss to his chin. “Can I make you some coffee?” 

His cheeks went red, lips parted and eyes widened in surprise. Like it was the most unexpected question. Like it was something he had never allowed himself to even imagine. “I–sure, baby. Thank you.”

The warmth in her chest spread. “Americano?”

His eyes were so soft as they scanned her face, big and shiny, like the whole universe was trapped inside them. “Yeah,” he breathed. 

“Go sit down with Youngie, hmm? I’ll have it done for you in a minute.”

“Thank you, precious,” he murmured, leaning close to press his lips to her forehead. 

More of them trickled in as Jongho’s espresso brewed, each one greeting her in one way or another. Yeosang with a sleepy snuggle against her back as he walked by to fill and start the kettle to make some tea. He stayed in the kitchen as the water heated, fingers finding her skin in brief touches, sending sneaky side glances and smiles all the while. Joining Wooyoung and Jongho at the table with a steaming mug and Jongho’s drink in hand. 

Hongjoong greeted her with a raspy “good morning” and a brief kiss to her temple. Body warm against her back, voice miniscule as he asked if she was making coffee, gratitude muffled against her neck when she offered to make him an americano, too. He clung to her as she made it–silent, startling her with wet kisses to her neck, her jaw. A little nibble that made her laugh, and a light slap to his arm that made him chuckle low in her ear.  He leaned against her, a grounding weight, radiating heat through the layers of their clothing that would make her sleepy if she weren’t standing and the apartment wasn’t coming to life around her. She mourned the loss of him even though she was the one to urge him to take his drink and join the others at the dining table. 

She didn’t have to mourn for long, though. Not when someone else was already waiting to greet her. 

Yunho came to her with a heavy arm around her waist and a hand beneath her chin, tipping her head back for a kiss filled with a sleepy giggle. Mingi joined them, turning her around to pull her flush against his front, arms a tight squeeze around her middle and shoulders, chin on her head.  The two of them hanging from her, speaking only in little noises and sleepy groans as she made them drinks, as well. Interrupted briefly by Wooyoung sneaking her drink over to her, holding the straw up to her lips with something between mischief and fondness in his expression. 

She asked what they wanted in a quiet whisper, not wanting to interrupt the silent bubble around them. Milk and caramel for Yunho, iced. The same for Mingi, who seemed too endeared by her excitement in doing the little task for them to admit he didn’t really like coffee. Something Yunho took upon himself, long fingers ruffling his friend’s hair affectionately as he said it. 

“You don’t have to have coffee if you don’t want any, baby,” Rora said, brows furrowed and lips frowning as she looked up at him. 

“I can drink it just fine,” he huffed, glaring at Yunho, who was shaking with barely contained laughter. “Yunho’s just being a dick.”

She giggled, pressing up on her toes to kiss his cheek. He turned his head at the last second, though, catching her lips with his own. Another giggle left her, stumbling into him despite his hold on the back of her head and Yunho’s hands gripping her hips. He tilted closer, lips sliding against her own only to press harder, deeper, fingers curling around the back of her neck until she was left breathless. 

“Extra caramel for Yu, though,” Mingi murmured between pecks. “The puppy has a sweet tooth.” 

“Puppy also bites,” Yunho drawled. “You wanna be next?”

Mingi snickered, seemingly used to his best friend’s threats. Instead, grabbing for the first finished drink to sip at it, nose scrunching mischievously at getting it first. 

They both left her with lingering kisses to her face when Wooyoung called them over to eat before the food got cold, calling her over too with a whine in his voice that she ignored in favor of starting the espresso machine once more. She was still standing at the kitchen island, ice melting in her now empty cup and one last shot in the process of being made for whoever might want it, when Seonghwa came into her space. 

“Why aren’t you eating, bunny?” his voice was low. The words cracking in the middle, but not taking anything away from the warmth of it, the glorious grit left behind by sleep. 

“I was making coffee for everyone,” she answered, leaning against the counter to smile up at him serenely. 

His arms came around her hips, pulling her closer into him. “That’s sweet of you,” he murmured, lips tracing her cheekbone. “Is this something you like to do?”

“Hmm?”

“Little acts of service. Making someone their favorite coffee, helping make breakfast. Not sitting down to eat until everyone is there.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, cheeks warm. “Makes me happy to be able to do things for the people I care about.”

“And the waiting to eat thing?” His nose trailed down to nuzzle into her neck.

“I sometimes wait to see reactions, but today it’s because I had coffee earlier and I’m not really hungry yet.”

His hum vibrated her throat pleasantly, lips wet and warm against her skin. “Come sit with me? I want you to spend a little time with us before we all have to scatter again. Maybe get you to eat a little before work.”

“Do you want coffee?” She couldn’t help the hopeful edge in her voice, the almost begging glint in her eyes when he pulled back to look at her. “I made an extra shot for anyone who might want it.”

Seonghwa’s smile was indulgent, eyes sparkling as they darted around her face. “Sure, bunny,” he said, bumping his nose against hers. “How could I ever say no to you, hmm?”

Her breath caught in her throat at the low rumble of his voice, the sweetness of his tone and the intensity of his eyes. “How do you like it?” she asked, voice all breath, words sticking in her suddenly dry throat as he pressed flush against her front. 

A flash of pink tongue caught her attention, the shine left behind on his full lower lip drawing her full focus. “Sweet,” he drawled, tongue peeking out again. 

Her stomach gave a ridiculous swoop, mouth opening on words that never came. A surprised noise was smothered by cherry-flavored lips, a hot tongue sweeping over her bottom lip before it was sucked into wet heat.

He pulled back with a wet sound and a wicked smirk. “Though,” he murmured, thumb brushing along the slope of her cheekbone soft enough to make her eyes flutter, his mouth hovering just out of reach. “I don’t know what could be sweeter than you.”

The whine that bubbled from her throat was pitiful. “Hwa.” She said his name like it was the only thing she could remember, like he was the conflict and the resolution, like he was everything she could ever need in that moment. In any moment. She couldn’t breathe for a moment as the feeling settled over her, brain threatening to fuzz at the edges. 

Seonghwa seemed to notice. Of course he did. Chuckling, he dipped down to kiss along the side of her face, a tease and an apology all in one. “Come sit with me when my drink is done, bunny.” A suggestion wrapped in a demand, softened by a gentle smile and sparkling eyes, and she wouldn’t even dream of saying no. 

And then he was gone, leaving her breathless and cold. It took a moment for her to process what had happened. Heart still hammering in her chest and hands shaking with misplaced adrenaline (and the caffeine from her drink). She swallowed. Took some deep breaths. Pouted for a moment too long. Then, she jumped into making Seonghwa’s drink. Cocoa powder and sugar mixed into the still warm espresso, pouring it over ice and milk. 

“Here you go,” she said, setting the glass down in front of the oldest, happy to hear that her voice was steady again.

A squeak sounded when an arm banded around her, pulling her into a lap, strong thighs spreading beneath her weight to support her better. A “thank you, bunny” was murmured into her skin, lips brushing over her nape until a shiver shot down her spine and she squirmed. Teeth found her shoulder where the large shirt she was wearing slipped down, barely a nip but enough to make her freeze in his hold. “Just relax for me. Spend the rest of breakfast with us.”

Warm hands smoothed down her thighs, up her sides. Fingers firm, massaging until her muscles went lax and she fell fully against him. “There you go, sweet thing,” he said, nipping lightly at her jaw. She relaxed further, head lolling back onto his shoulder and curling her fingers into the fabric of her shirt. Mingi’s shirt. So big and warm and smelling of fabric softener and just Mingi. She let herself remain, resting there as the men enjoyed the food, letting Seonghwa feed her a few bites, happily accepting a sip of the coffee she made for him. 

Freely letting herself bask in his attention and the feeling of him against her. 

There wasn’t much chatter among everyone, seemingly taking turns to speak only briefly of their plans for the day or about the food being yummy, thanking her and Wooyoung for cooking. However, the relative silence that had settled around the table was interrupted by something that sounded akin to an angry cat. 

All heads turned to a disgruntled Wooyoung, who was leaning as far back in his seat as he could with his arms folded over his chest dramatically.

“Wooyoungie?” she asked, lifting her head from Hwa’s shoulder to look at the other end of the table. “Did something happen?”

“Why have three of eight of us been mauled at the neck, and why am I not one of them?” He looked positively offended as he asked, brows furrowed and lips pressed together, eyes glaring pointedly at Mingi–seated in front of him–and Seonghwa–who was now shaking with silent laughter behind her. Both with reds and purples lining their throats. 

Surprise and relief had a laugh bursting from her chest before she could tamp it down. “You wanna be next, Youngie?” she asked, voice dipping down—soft and sweet—head tilting until it fell against Seonghwa’s.

That seemed to take him by surprise, face softening and arms uncrossing, hands coming to rest on the table to support him as he leaned forward. Clearly intrigued, lips parted and eyes wide. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed. 

Rora giggled. “I’ll come to you first the next time the need strikes, then.”

“Fuck yeah!” 

She hummed. “How do you know it’s three, though? Sannie hasn’t joined us for breakfast and he only had the one last night.”

“I know my way around hickeys, sweetheart. And his neck was a bit too red for it to be destined for only the one.” Wooyoung’s fingers danced over the hollow of his throat, right where Sannie’s own was. Dark eyes wracked over her, seeming to linger on her neck, like he was imagining it equally marked up. His smirk turned sheepish. “I saw him before he left this morning.”

“Sannie already left?” she asked, unable to keep the pout from her voice. 

“He had to open the shop this morning, but wanted to get some gym time in first. He was leaving when I got up to use the bathroom at, like, 5 this morning.”

She had missed him by a mere half an hour. The thought had her equally unable to keep the pout from her face, and Wooyoung was pushing back in his seat and coming around the table to her. He pushed right into her and Seonghwa’s space, ignoring the playfully disgruntled sound coming from his oldest friend to cup her face with both hands. 

“Poor baby,” he cooed, voice dipping down pleasantly, tone dancing a dangerous line between sweet and condescending. “Didn’t get to see Sannie before he left.”

“You’re being mean, Youngie,” she muttered, lips pushing out more, eyes widening in an innocent look that would either make him laugh or make her look absolutely pitiful. 

The answer seemed to be something in between, a warm chuckle falling from his lips, a kiss coming to her cheek with another almost condescending sounding coo. “Don’t be sad, sweetheart,” he said, though his eyes were still twinkling with amusement, the corners wrinkled up with the force of his smile. “You can always go see him later. I’m sure he would love that.”

That did make her perk up, sitting straighter in Seonghwa’s lap, back no longer resting against his chest, relying mostly on the arm banding around her lower belly and the spread thighs beneath her to keep her balanced. 

“You like that idea,” Wooyoung mused, hands falling to rest on her knees, heavy and warm and wholly grounding as his loud cackle filled the space. 

“I do,” she agreed. “Maybe I can go see him at lunchtime?” Her eyes found Jongho, still at the table, watching her interactions with his friends with so much fondness in his gaze that her heart threatened to climb up into her throat. His nod, his big gummy grin at her silent question, left her feeling giddy. 

“He would love that,” Wooyoung assured when her eyes found him again, his sudden sincerity almost like whiplash after the earlier teasing. But she let herself sink into it. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He grinned at her, all teeth and scrunched features, as he stood. One hand reached out toward her, palm up–ready, inviting. Fingers wiggling playfully, almost impatiently. “We can plan out his surprise while you get ready for work.”

♡♡♡

The cheery ring of a bell sounded as she pushed the door open, and she was immediately greeted by the smell of fresh soil and an abundance of florals. It was just on the edge of overwhelming, but still pleasant. Pleasant enough that it had the warmth in her chest doubling. Then tripling when a dimple-grinned San popped out from around the corner.

“Oh!” he said, eyes going wide, grin somehow bigger, eyes nearly disappearing as he hurried over to her. 

“Hi, Sannie,” she said sweetly when he reached her, giggling when he looped his arms around her waist, ducking down to nestle his face into the crook of her neck. 

Light kisses littered the length of her neck, a nose pressed to her jaw. He paused. Tensed. Then, he pulled back with furrowed brows and a pout. “What’re you doing here, darling? Did you message me that you were on the way and I didn’t see it?”

“No no, Sannie. Nothing like that,” she assured, free hand coming up to cup the back of his neck, pressing until he ducked his head down to her level so she could peck his adorably pouted lips. “I missed you since you weren’t there for breakfast this morning, and Wooyoungie suggested that I should surprise you.” 

He visibly melted as she pressed more soft kisses to his lips, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “You want me smitten, huh?”

“Maybe,” she said. She took a step back, lifting the drink carrier of coffee and the dessert bag hanging from her wrist. “Will this help?”

At his awed, endeared expression, she continued: “Wooyoungie said you like americano but to make sure it’s decaf so you aren’t bouncing off the walls and that your favorite was the strawberry cream cake.”

“You definitely want me smitten.” 

“As a kitten,” she agreed. Amusement built in her chest as she watched him process her words, the way his entire being melted and red dusted his cheekbones. “But you already are. Right, kitty?”

Color spread to his nose and teased down his neck, redder than the strawberry decorating the cake she had gotten for him. “Are you here just to tease me?” he whined, pouting at her again. 

“‘Course not, kitty,” she said, tip-toeing to slide her nose against his, giggling when she stumbled into him–the extra weight of the cafe goodies making her a little extra clumsy–and his strong arms went back around her to hold her impossibly close. “Really just wanted to spend some time with you.”

“I won’t say no to that,” he said. 

Her eyes trailed over him when she stepped back from him, taking in the cream cardigan tucked into well-fitted jeans, the shiny belt hugging his waist. The very obvious purpling on his throat, the light smattering of color along the side of his neck. “You didn’t cover them,” she said, satisfaction curling up in her chest and coloring her voice. 

“Of course not.” His answer was matter-of-fact. Like it was obvious. 

Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she had to take a moment to just breathe. San let her silence settle around them, a gentle smile on his face that did everything to enhance the warmth spilling from his eyes. Fingers tangling, he led her through the shop. Bright flowers and greenery passed in her periphery. No doubt beautiful in their own right, but she couldn’t take her gaze from the man in front of her. The way the cardigan drew attention to his shape while softening it, the cream of it emphasizing the golden tan of his skin, balancing with the blond of his hair and the brightness of his personality. 

His fingers flexed against hers, gripping tighter to pull her closer and closer. Until she stumbled into his back and he wrapped her arm snug around his stupidly small waist. She let him. Giggled and wrapped her other arm around him to lean into his solid back, face pressing into his neck to litter small kisses wherever the cardigan exposed his skin. 

The walk to behind the counter was slow but not slow enough for her liking, whining when San moved her arms from around him to nudge her down into one of the two chairs at the register. The goodies she brought with her settled in front of them, and the man turned to face her, straw of his drink already between his lips. Plush and pouty and soso pink. She couldn’t help it. 

She had to kiss him again. Immediately. 

As soon as the straw was gone, lips parted and glistening, she was on him. Soft and deep and moaning as the flavor of coffee and San mingled on her tongue. His groan flowed down her throat, vibrating her entire being, and she sucked at his bottom lip until he gave her another glorious sound to swallow down. Head spinning and heart fluttering, grounded in the moment by the eager press of his mouth against her own and the hand at the back of her head. 

The sheer euphoria of the moment had her giggling before she could stop herself. 

“What’s so funny, pretty girl?” he asked against her cheek, wet lips trailing down her jaw to nip lightly at her ear. 

“Nothing. Nothing’s funny. Sorry,” she breathed, gripping his shoulders as her head tipped back. “Just happy.”

His answering hum vibrated against her neck–almost ticklish, definitely pleasant, sending a shiver right down her spine, a moan sticking in her throat. “Good,” he murmured, pulling back to look at her face. 

She let the word sit in the air for a moment, unable to take her eyes from him. Trapped in his gaze–sharp and dark even as it was soft and warm. So wholly Sannie. She tracked him as he took another drink, pink tongue poking out to catch a stray drop of coffee from his bottom lip. Dimples flashing mischievously. Her breathing stuck in her chest before she could try to steady it.  “I really wish I didn’t have to go back to work after this,” she confessed. “Want you so bad.”

“Oh?” he asked, brow arching and a smirk teasing the edges of his mouth.

Her nod was barely there, accompanied by a bob of her throat as she swallowed. Her skin heated as his eyes tracked the movement. Another teasing flash of tongue, and she wanted nothing more than for it to be in her mouth, on her skin, anywhere and everywhere. 

“I can’t get you out of going back to work,” he started, tilting his head, letting his eyes drift over her form. “But I can close the shop until you have to go and show you the back room.”

Excitement rippled through her, settling dangerously low in her belly. “Please, Sannie?”

“Anything for you, darling.” He smirked, sauntered to the door to turn the lock and flip the sign. In less than a minute, he was back and guiding her by the hand further into the building. Through a door just behind the counter into a cozy space with a couch pushed into the far wall, aprons hung on hooks by the door, and a round table with four chairs. All browns and creams and soft materials all over. 

San was pushing her toward the sofa before she could fully take in the space, hands on her hips and face pressed to her neck. “Let’s make this quick, hmm?” he rasped, breath warming her skin. “Make sure we have enough time to enjoy that cake before you have to go.”

It was frantic after that. Fingers clawing at clothes, pushing under material to dig into warm skin, lips and teeth and tongues anywhere they could reach. Until she was face down on the couch, pants pulled down just enough to get access. Her movements were restricted, the material digging into her thighs as they spread as far as they could go. Not far, but far enough that San’s hand could sneak down to find her clit and press against it in tight circles that made her breathing catch in her throat and her muscles lock in brief surprise. 

His mouth was on her neck, tugging her shirt down for more access to more skin. Tongue and teeth and filthy whispers until she visibly relaxed for him. Pleasure rolled through her in waves, the swirls his fingers worked against her clit, the way he pressed heavy against her back. It clouded her mind entirely, leaving her all but a puddle on the sofa. So caught up in it that she whined high in her throat when he retreated–fingers leaving her high and dry. Wanting. Needing. Feeling too light when his weight lifted from her back only for him to settle heavily over her thighs. 

He hushed her with quiet praises as his hands pushed her shirt up, baring more skin to the room, to him. Goosebumps rose, immediately soothed by the warm, wet press of swollen lips along her spine. His sturdy hands were on her ass, squeezing tight, parting her cheeks to expose her fully to his gaze. “Fucking love your ass,” he rumbled, teeth nipping at her lower back, grazing over the curve of her ass. A heavy bite had her squealing, a wet tongue licking over it had her arching. 

And then San was spitting, a hot trail of saliva that dripped right down to her entrance, pushed in by San’s thick fingers. Just enough to test, to see how slick she was. He spit again, pushed it into her as he fucked the digits deeper, curling them against her walls until her breathing audibly hitched. His satisfied hum made her shiver, a twist of his wrist made her gasp. He tested her more, curling and pressing to find all the spots that made her stop breathing–a push and pull of rough and gentle until she was slick enough for the sound to echo in the room. 

It felt like forever and not time at all before his fingers were leaving her empty and clenching around nothing.

The sound of a belt, a zipper, shuffling fabric, and San was straddling her thighs again, thick tip pressing tight against her entrance. It was an excruciatingly slow slide, one that had her squirming and whining for him to hurry, only for him to hush her again and tell her to relax, to be still. Inch by inch, it felt like forever. As soon as his hips were flush against her ass, he groaned approvingly. She had to agree. He felt exquisite inside her, and she really couldn’t muster up any complaints as he stayed seated inside her just to feel her clenching around him for a moment, murmuring gruff praises into her ear as he leaned over her–one hand braced against the arm of the sofa while the other gripped the back of her neck. 

“Ready, darling?” he asked, breathless, cock throbbing inside her.

“Yes,” she gasped out. “Fuck me, Sannie. Please.”

It was maddening, the pace immediately brutal, hips smacking her ass, cock bullying its way into her tight walls over and over again. She was going to feel it for the rest of the day, going to be left raw and throbbing with the ghost of him. But fuck, it felt good, and she knew she would adore the reminder of the moment. 

The space was filled with lewd squelching as each shift of his hips had her slickening more and more. Skin slapping, gasps, breathless moans echoed off the walls. The absolutely delicious stretch of him, making her clench down around him on a particularly sharp thrust. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, pressing her cheek into the soft cushion of the couch. “So fucking good for me.”

“Sannie,” she choked out. 

“I know, baby,” he breathed, grip tightening in her hair as his body shuddered above her. “You wanna cum? Or d’you just want me to fuck you full? Leave you dripping with me for the rest of the day, hmm?”

She clenched down at his words, hips attempting to kick back. 

“Fuck it,” he said, hands gripping her hips to hitch her up onto her knees. “Need you to cum on my cock. Rub your little clit for me. C’mon, darling. Make yourself feel good f’me.” 

Her hand snuck beneath her, body jolting at the initial touch hard enough that San groaned. The tight swirls from her own fingers, the almost bruising grip on her hip, the heat of him over her back, the frantic throb of him inside her–it all had her hurtling toward orgasm quicker than she thought possible. 

San practically whined, right in her ear. “C’mon, baby. Cum f’me, hmm?” he murmured. “Need to feel you come on my cock. Fuck, darling. You’re so close, huh? Can feel you fucking gripping.”

“Sannie,” she whined, like his name was the only thing she could say, like he was the only thing in her brain. And he truly was. How he felt in her, around her. The smell of him–sweat and hot breath and the sharp warmth of his cologne. The hand in her hair, tugging the roots until it burned so deliciously. She was out of it, fingers clumsy, slipping in her own wetness. So frustratingly close. One particularly hard thrust had her tipping over, pleasure rolling through her so suddenly, she was glad to be face down, loud moans and half-formed curses muffled right into the couch cushions. 

Every muscle in her body tightened with the strength of her release, and San was sent right over the edge with her. Hips stuttering, breath hitching on a keen as he pressed deep, hips flush against her ass as he pulsed inside her. Each little rut of his hips and quiet whine sent her through waves of aftershocks that had her all but sobbing into the cushions.

The silence, the stillness that followed was abrupt, interrupted only by panted breaths as they came back down. Her hips ached, sweat was cooling on her skin, and she felt sticky where their thighs were still pressed together. 

“Hang on, darling,” San murmured, pressing a fleeting kiss to her back. “Gonna get some tissues.” 

A chill washed over her when he retreated, and she shivered, sending a mess of cum and her own arousal dripping down her thigh. She grimaced at the feeling, arms coming up to cradle her head as her face warmed. He was back in no time, whispering apologies through endeared chuckles as she trembled in place. Cold and sore and ready for a nap she didn’t have enough time to take. 

“I didn’t come here for a quickie,” she said, swallowing down a sound as San wiped as much of the mess from between her thighs. “I really did just want to spend a little time with you.”

San’s laugh rumbled in his chest. “I know, darling,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her hair. “How about we go eat that cake now and we can text Jongho to come get you?”

Her cheeks blazed. “I can walk just fine,” she said, words quick, almost defensive. “And it’ll be quicker for me to walk back to work than to have him driving through the lunch rush.”

“I’m sure you can,” San said placatingly, hands smoothing down her arms until her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. “But we don’t have much time for aftercare, and I don’t know how you come down from these kinds of situations. I personally can come down from them pretty hard sometimes if my adrenaline runs too high.” He laughed when her brows furrowed in concern, kissing her pout away before it could fully form. “I was going to have Youngie visit me after you leave. It would make me feel better to have someone with you too, just to make sure.” 

“Okay, Sannie,” she agreed easily. “Let’s go eat that cake now, hmm?”

[rhapsodicdaisies]

Source: madiblue223

[solarsthoughts]

gentle reminder that you’re still a writer even if you haven’t written in days. or weeks. or months. or if you take a long break and don’t write in years.

[formerlyluckymanticore]

Reblog if you will never. Ever. Use AI in your writing.

[dawn-iscozy]

“ like a cat in a sunny spot ” ♡ xiii ♡

SERIES PLAYLIST: “ swim ” - chase atlantic ♡ “ honey (are u coming?) ” - maneskin ♡ “ the summoning  ” - sleep token ♡ “ soft spot ” - keshi ♡ “ bubbly ” - colbie caillat ♡ “ kiss me ” - ed sheeran ♡ “ cotton candy ” - yungblud ♡

SERIES WARNINGS: poly, eventual ot8, named oc - “Rora”, derived from “Aurora” (soooooo original, I know), who is basically a self-insert (i’m still on the brink of denial about it). loooots of nicknames/pet names, and even more as the fic progresses (if you read the “a little warmth in winter” you’ll know most of the names already 🤭). things move pretty quickly in this, and it may stray vaguely into soulmate au territory but, like, I’m a sucker for these men and for the way I’ve written them and I just can’t stop.

apologies in advance if the timeline doesn’t make any sense, I’m going purely on vibes and my affection for these 8 men. idk if it deserves a warning, but scents are mentioned a lot in some parts and kinda littered through the rest of the fic (using scent profiles from a perfume/fragrance site that has a line of scents called “Smells Like a Hug From Ateez” and very limited knowledge of fragrances the members may have previously used/just the vibes they give off)

WORD COUNT: 7.4k

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: ot8 but quite matz heavy, really soft, cozy, no smut but does discuss bdsm/bdsm adjacent things, non-sexual power dynamics-ish, non-sexual subspace, oc is just asks matz to take over in some ways and relaxes, i’ve never written or experienced subspace so idk if this is accurate or not, so kinda dom!hongjoong, and kinda dom!seonghwa, also kinda dom!ot8??, very cozy and soft, honestly domestic af, another bath scene cause why not, hickeys/possessive behaviors-ish, i just really loved writing this part and i hope you can tell 🥹

TAG LIST: @kaleigh-2002 @stickystickyjam @snow0-0fairy (if anyone else wants to be added, drop a comment or a message and i'll gladly add you!)

♡ 18+ - no smut but still MDNI ♡

xiii: sweet as honey

Rora was just finishing up an email when the bell over the cafe door rang out, the sound reaching her even through the light chatter of the group a few tables away and the sound of the espresso machine. She looked up, hands settling lightly on her keyboard, in time to watch Jongho step inside, face passive and hair fluttering about his features. Those pretty, round eyes bounced around until they finally found her. 

She watched in amazement as his features softened, eyes going warm and lips ticking up into a smile that made her heart flutter. She stood to meet him as he came closer, unable to stop the giddy grin from making its way onto her face. Not when her tummy felt so warm and her brain was buzzing pleasantly at the mere sight of him. Before he could say anything, her arms were thrown around his neck. A choked off sound came from his throat, but he reciprocated her embrace and ducked down so she wouldn’t have to tiptoe as much. 

“Miss me or something?” The joke couldn’t mask the breathless surprise in his tone.

“Happy to see you.” She whispered it, like the earnestness of her statement would be void if she spoke any louder. She nuzzled into the warmth of his skin, pressing a kiss right over his pulse point, surprised to feel it pounding beneath her lips. 

“I’m happy to see you, too, precious,” he said, voice a low murmur in her ear, sending a pleasant flutter through her belly. His lips brushed over her hair, pressed into the skin of her forehead, then he was pulling away to smile down at her. “Ready to go?”

Rora nodded happily, and they took the few steps to the table she had been occupying the whole day. Jongho helped her pack up her things, stealing a drink from whatever delicious concoction Yunho had slid over to her not too long ago. His brows raised almost comically, and he turned to glance at the counter over his shoulder. “Yunho, what drink is this?” he called out. 

Yunho was just finishing up an order, saying a soft farewell to the customer as he handed the bag over. His smile changed when he looked at them, the bright customer service grin softening, eyes warming. “Just something we’ve been working on,” he said, wiping down the counter with a coffee stained cloth. “Like it?”

“It’s good,” he said. 

Yunho’s smile brightened more, face practically glowing with pride when he looked at her for confirmation and she nodded her agreement. “Maybe it’ll go on the menu soon,” he said. 

Jongho hummed, took another drink before turning back to her, eyes smiling at her as he watched her gather her stuff. She felt almost shy under his gaze, tummy twisting and face pink, and it didn’t make sense, really. Not after everything that had happened in the past months. They had kissed, cuddled. Hell, the man had even been inside of her. Had seen her cry more than once, had visited her when she was on her period. What the hell could she have to feel shy about now? But logic didn’t beat the feeling, and she found herself huddling into his arms to hide in his chest. 

His laughter vibrated through her, making her blush harder even as she relaxed against him. “You going shy on me again, baby?” he asked, hand smoothing over the back of her head. 

“Shut up,” she whined. “Can’t help it.”

He let her huddle against him as long as she needed, arms around her waist and head ducked to hook his chin over her shoulder. He tensed, she startled. Two other pairs of arms wrapped around them, and she giggled over Jongho’s grumbling. A pair of lips press lightly against her hair, a low voice mumbling, “See you later, doll.” 

Pulling herself out of hiding, she looked up at the three of them. Pressed a kiss to Mingi’s cheek, then to Yunho’s chin. 

“See you later, too, honey,” Yunho said, lips brushing over her cheekbone. 

“Hmm?” Her brows furrowed so deeply she could feel the wrinkle forming between them.

He laughed at her confusion–a soft, warm sound–eyes twinkling with obvious affection. “Mingi mentioned that you might go home with him later and everyone wanted to turn it into a sleepover,” he said, thumb rubbing the furrow from her brows. “They all miss you, honey.”

If that didn’t spread warmth through her whole body, then nothing could. 

♡♡♡

It didn’t take long for them to gather her things from her apartment and set everything up for Teddy. His automatic feeder and water fountain were good to go, his litter box clean, and his little self was curled up in the middle of her bed–exhausted from chasing after his toys and playing with Jongho while she was gathering her things and cleaning up–looking so cute she almost didn’t want to leave again. But the warmth of Jongho’s hand around her own and the insistent tilt of his brows lured her right back out of that line of thought and out the door.

Everyone except for Yunho and Mingi was already there when she and Jongho walked through the apartment door. Wooyoung greeted her when she slipped off her shoes, ushering her inside like it was his place and gathering her into his arms like he needed to hold her more than anything else in that moment. 

“Hi, Youngie,” she said, giggling when he shook his head where it was buried in her chest, hair tickling her chin. 

He was being pulled away, whole face crumpled up with the force of his smile despite the hands on his shoulders shoving him to the side. Sannie was there, lips pouted but eyes sparkling. And those devastating dimples, a flash of pretty teeth when she cupped his cheeks. “Hi, Sannie,” she murmured, pressing up to kiss his chin. 

A glance over his broad shoulders found Seonghwa and Hongjoong lounging together on the sofa, slouched down next to each other, shoulders and thighs brushing, gazing fondly at the interaction. They waved at her when they caught her gaze, and she couldn’t help but blush, still feeling that inexplicable shyness from earlier. She wanted to squeeze between them and snuggle right in. But she also wanted to hide away. Which must have been evident, by the amusement she found on both their faces. 

Jongho ushered her further into the space, hand on her lower back as he guided her over to the sofa. She settled right in, right between Hongjoong and Jongho, and let herself enjoy their bantering. It was a new space, a different apartment. But it felt the same as the other one, and she was convinced that these men could and would take any space and make it their own when together. 

“Hey,” Hongjoong murmured, hand settling lightly on her thigh. His nails were freshly painted a shiny black, fingers decorated with a few rings that brought attention to just how pretty and slender they were. 

“Hey,” she said back, relaxing back into the sofa cushions, shoulder brushing against his arm. His bare arm. Before she could stop herself, her eyes caught on the exposed skin, on the black ink curling around the soft bulge of his bicep and around his shoulder to disappear beneath the frayed black fabric of his sleeveless shirt. 

His hand flexed on her leg, and she looked away, cheeks red. Breath catching when he leaned closer, nosing at her ear. 

“You can stare, love. I don’t mind.”

A strangled noise came from her, and the chuckle that pulled from him was low, stirring heat both in her cheeks and low in her belly. 

Shuffling from the hallway alerted her to a new presence, and she glanced up to find Yeosang stepping into the living room, looking cozy in a pair of sweats and a large plaid button-up. A hand was under his shirt, flashing the sharp line of his hip, the smooth plane of his belly. Her fingers itched to feel the soft skin, tingling with the memory of it. 

“Hi, Sangie,” she said, unable to keep the smile from growing on her face when he flushed pink and yanked his hand down, the shirt falling back into place. 

“Hey, angel,” he said. Despite the smooth way the words came from his mouth, he stood there, just blinking at her. Face blank save for the flush of his cheeks and wide eyes. It was a moment of flustered silence before he finally continued walking into the room. Coming to settle on the floor in front of her, wedging himself between her legs and letting his head rest on her leg. 

Her fingers found his hair, still soft to the touch even after being bleached and dyed, and her heart leapt at the happy sound that came from his chest. 

“How are you, Sangie baby?” she asked, letting her nails drag lightly against his scalp. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, visibly relaxing against her. “Better now.”

Her responding giggle was breathy. “Were you bad before?”

His shoulders tensed for a moment before they shook with low laughter. “No,” he said. “But it’s always better when you’re here.”

Teasingly, she tugged a lock of his hair, a shiver working through her when he stifled a groan. “Smooth talker,” she said, unable to keep the fondness from sneaking into her voice as she leaned back, fingers unfortunately slipping from his hair. She relaxed back into the sofa, into the warmth of the men on either side of her, as the others laughed around them.

♡♡♡

Rora sighed as she stepped into the kitchen. The apartment was as open planned as the other one, but it was just enough space away from the chaos of the living room and the six men that she felt like she could finally have a moment to breathe. 

Not that she necessarily felt like she needed any significant time away or anything. But they were a lot to handle. Seven fully grown adults in an apartment, even if that apartment is meant to house four or more people, was way too much. Certainly, it was more people than she was usually used to. She had only been around them all as a group the one time. Otherwise, so far, she was with them in smaller groups or one-on-one. The energy levels were much easier to manage in those situations. 

Now, it was overwhelming, to say the least. Especially with everything that had just happened, and a few of them were still absent.

Footsteps, the rustling of fabric–barely heard over the chatter and laughter still flowing steadily from the living room–brought her out of her thoughts. A glance over her shoulder saw Seonghwa coming in. His hands were deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched the slightest, large shirt threatening to slip to show more skin. 

“Heard you had a rough couple of days, bun.” Seonghwa said, leaning against the counter beside her. She could feel his gaze on her. Could feel it as he watched her grab a glass from above the sink. As she turned on the faucet. Watched her start to fill the glass. Her heart was fluttering the whole while, and it all but jumped into her throat when he reached around her to turn the water off before the liquid could spill over the lip of the glass. It happened, anyway, her hand trembling before she could attempt to get a handle on it, brain too busy focusing on the way he pressed close to her, the smell of his perfume wafting up–subtle but enough to leave her feeling like a puddle of goo. Warm and sweet with an undercurrent of spice.

He let her be silent, eyes still on her as she took a sip of her water, pointedly ignoring the way his gaze followed the drops of water trailing over her wrist. Burning as she shifted under his attention. A shiver threatened to work down her spine, muscles locking to fend it off. But he seemed to catch it, the corners of his lips tipping up into the ghost of a smirk. 

“Something like that,” she finally murmured. 

He hummed. “You don’t have to tell me about it. But let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you feel better.”

She smiled, ignoring the jump in her heartrate. “Letting me crash boys night helped a lot, already.”

“Boys night,” Seonghwa scoffed, pretty eyes rolling before coming back to her face. Intense, searching, turning incredibly fond when his hand found the one she left on the counter to steady herself. “Call it whatever you want, but we’re all glad to have you here. You aren’t crashing anything, bunny. We only came over because we hope you would be staying the night.”

She startled when someone slipped in behind her, their chest to her back as they bent down to nuzzle her ear. “Hwa’s right, love.”

A shiver worked down her spine as Hongjoong’s breath warmed her neck, his hands hovered over her hips for a moment before finally latching on. He pulled her closer into his body, and she relaxed into his warmth, into his hidden strength. And then the words were tumbling forth before she could stop them. “It feels a lot like life has decided to start crashing in again. Between Jongho being upset about finding out what happened before I came home with Youngie and Sannie–” she paused to place a hand over Hongjoong’s when he huffed out something about teaching him a lesson again, reaching out to tug on Seonghwa’s sleeve before he could take it upon himself to go find their youngest friend. “It’s okay. We’ve talked it out. Didn’t you all talk about this last night? You already know it’s been figured out.”

She giggled when they both grumbled. Squealed when they worked together to lift her up onto the counter and crowded her space, standing on either side of her, a hand on each of her thighs. 

“Sorry, pretty,” Seonghwa murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Keep going.”

She flushed under both their gazes and swallowed, ignoring the heat prickling beneath her eyelids with each blink. “The next day, I heard those women joking about that night, about how they left me there and what they thought might have happened after they left. Saying it would be good for me, that I needed to get laid so I’d be less bitchy and stuck up. Which are all things I’ve heard before and aren’t even what hurt the most. It’s mostly that they just… They literally left the premises. They didn’t just leave me at the door to go have their own fun. They left entirely. And that just made me so angry and–” 

She took a breath, cursing the fact that her eyes were prickling with tears, making her lashes stick together. The breath stuck in her throat when warm hands slid up her thighs. “I confronted them about it. Panicked a bit after and spilled coffee all over myself. That’s why Mingi couldn’t make it over for Jongho’s talk. He wanted to take me home and make sure I was okay and – and I didn’t wanna be alone after that.” She shook her head lightly, brushed her fingers through her hair. “Everything’s better now, but I think I’m still trying to process it. Especially with how well everything’s been going lately. Just felt like waking up from a dream only to step right into a nightmare.” 

“Thank you for telling us,” Hongjoong murmured, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

Silence settled over them for a moment, and she let herself lean into them. Her nose pressed into Hongjoong’s neck, enjoying the warmth coming from his skin as she breathed him in. He smelled different. Not bad by any means. In fact, the smell alone had her tummy swooping and heat rising to her face. Citrus-y. Woody. Just the perfect amount of musk and spice. 

“Did you get a new cologne?” she asked, hoping neither of them heard the way her voice dipped halfway through the question. 

His affirmative hum came right from his chest. “Like it?” he asked, letting his fingers slide up the length of her arm. “I made it.”

She was melting against him, soaking in the smell and the warmth and the vibrations of his low chuckle. “Smells so fucking good,” she murmured, groaning lightly when strong arms came around her waist to give her a light squeeze. 

The moment was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, Hongjoong’s shoulders tensing and her heart jumping in her chest so hard she gasped audibly. Seonghwa’s wide-eyed, frozen stare is what tipped her over into laughter, doubling over with her giggles until she had to hold onto their shoulders to not fall off the counter. 

“There was a party and you didn’t invite me?” Mingi’s low voice joked, pushing his way between his two oldest friends to wrap her into a hug. 

“This is literally your own home,” she said, voice still hitching with leftover laughter even as she burrowed into his warmth.

“Double betrayal,” he whined, burying his face in her hair. 

She hummed, cupping the back of his head, letting her nails drag lightly over his scalp. 

“Something other than food was cooking in here, and I interrupted,” Mingi stated, pulling back from her and looking at his two friends. Matter-of-fact and not expecting any kind of affirmation or denial, but he laughed when he took in the poorly disguised disgruntled expression on Hongjoong’s face and Seonghwa’s affectionate exasperation. “I’ll leave you to it, but Rora is sleeping with me tonight. No arguments.”

“No fair!” Wooyoung cried, pouting as he walked by to fill his glass with water. “You had her all to yourself last night.”

Resounding agreement came from the others, and she could feel her face burning even as she giggled at their antics. 

“Mingi’s the one that invited me, Youngie,” she said. “It’s only fair that I sleep with him, no?”

Wooyoung only grumbled into his glass, gulping down his water before pouting again, shiny lips making it all the more devastating. “Can I sleep with you too, Mangi?” His voice was all syrupy sugar as he asked, all but batting his lashes at his taller friend.

Mingi laughed, something low and rumbling and incredibly fond. “You were gonna end up with me or Sangie, anyway,” he said. “You’re more than welcome to join us. Assuming Rora is okay with it, too?”

Both of them looked at her. One amused, the other pleading. Wooyoung looked every inch of a sad kitty, eyes big and lips pouted (still), and she couldn’t help the way she melted for it. The way she reached out for him, her fingers curling around his jaw to pull him closer to press a kiss to those pretty, plush lips. 

“Sure, Youngie,” she said, bumping her nose against his own. 

Her gaze slid from Wooyoung to the man still standing beside him, cheeks flushing at what she saw there, the way the corner of his mouth ticked up before turning to leave the kitchen. With a happy little noise, Wooyoung joined his tall friend, bumping against him just to get an annoyed grumble to come from his chest. 

Once again, she was left alone with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. Her eyes darted between the two of them, taking in the shared glance, the twin head nods. She froze when they turned back to her as one, pinning her in place. 

“What do you say, bunny? Any way we could help you feel better?” Seonghwa asked, head tilting, hand coming up to cup the side of her face, thumb drifting down the slope of her jaw. 

“Don’t wanna think anymore.” The words were quiet, barely a breath in the stillness of the kitchen. Like the words were scared of being spoken into existence. Not out of shame. Never out of shame. But out of the fear of the sheer intensity the words held beneath them. The way they left her breathless and made her heart lunge in her chest and her fingers grip the bottom of her shirt to keep them from trembling more than they already were. 

“How could we help you do that, love?” Hongjoong’s voice was as low as hers, whispered into the air not like a secret but like a promise. Sincere and warm even as his eyes darkened. 

She inhaled sharply, hands rubbing down her thighs. Then, she straightened. “If you’re comfortable with it,” she started. “Make my decisions for me tonight?”

It was quiet for a moment, interrupted only by the murmur of voices drifting in from the living room. “That’s a lot of control you’re handing over, bunny,” Seonghwa said, expression soft. Voice even softer. “That’s essentially a power exchange. Do you trust us with that?” 

“I trust that you won't do anything to hurt me in this setting,” she replied. 

“Have you done anything like this before?” he asked. 

“Never with a romantic partner, but I had a friend that would do it sometimes. Just little things like what I would eat or do that day. But never, like, fully.” She tried not to fidget as she explained. 

“Are you sure you want to do this with us, bunny? It might sound like something that’ll help but it could end up adding to your emotional load.”

“I trust you,” she said. “And I trust the others.”

Hongjoong’s hand fell to her thigh, and she turned to him. His brows were furrowed and his teeth were digging into his lower lip. But he didn’t look opposed to the idea. Concerned, perhaps. But not like he was about to shut the idea down. 

“I know we discussed safe words before, but this is different,” Hongjoong said. “This is… this is an exchange. A scene, even. Do you want a new word for this?”

“Or a gesture?” Seonghwa piped in to add. “Joongie called this a scene, and that’s exactly what this is. And you could fall into an altered headspace where you could possibly not be able to verbalize what you need. A gesture might be helpful in that case.”

“A tug?” she suggested. “One for attention, two for a slow down, three for a full stop?”

“Can you show us, love? So that there’s less chance of shying away from doing it when needed later?”

She was reaching for the cuff of Hwa’s sleeve before Hongjoong had even finished talking, gripping it between her fingers, eyes on Hongjoong’s face. 

“Attention? Slow? Stop?” 

She tugged with each prompt, one, then two, then three times, heart fluttering in her throat as his lips tipped up and his eyes curved. 

“Good job, bunny,” Seonghwa praised, hand coming to rest atop her head, finger threading through her hair. 

The happy noise that came from her throat was unable to be stopped, and left her face hot. But she couldn't feel too embarrassed when they immediately started cooing at her. 

“We’ll have to talk to the others about this,” Seonghwa said. “Do you want them to be a part of it too? Either as voyeurs, for a lack of a better word, or as active participants?”

“I want them there, of course. But only if they’re comfortable with it too.” She couldn’t help the frown taking over her face. “I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable over something I’m doing.”

Seonghwa crowded closer, pulling her face into his chest with a low coo. “I doubt anyone is going to be uncomfortable, bun,” he murmured, pressing little kisses to her temple. “I’ll go talk to them now, okay?”

Before she could reply, his warmth was gone and she was pouting.

“Do you mind going over a few more things with me?” Hongjoong asked, stepping closer.

“Is there anything you don’t want us doing for you?” he asked. 

Her teeth found her bottom lip as she took a moment. “I’m not…sure,” she said. “Aside from, like, bathroom stuff, I can’t think of anything.”

Hongjoong huffed out a laugh, thumb pressing circles into her thigh. “You can go to the bathroom yourself, noted.”

She giggled, letting her head fall to his shoulder. 

“How about we prompt things?” he suggested. “Like, if you look sleepy we can ask if you’re ready for bed? Or giving some choices if we’re ordering food?”

“I like that,” she said, turning her head to bury her nose into the crook of his neck. That cologne washed over her again. 

“Do you want to call us anything while this happens? Anything you want us to call you?” 

“Just the usual nicknames, I think. Do you have any?” 

He hummed, chin rubbing against her hair. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But only for specific sexual situations and only sometimes.”

“Oh?” Intrigue colored her voice, and there was no way he couldn’t hear it. 

He laughed, low and rumbling. “And they would require another conversation when you aren’t overwhelmed, pretty. We probably shouldn’t even be having this conversation right now.”

“I’m actually quite clear-headed right now,” she murmured, unable to resist the urge to nip the warm skin of his neck in retaliation. “Yesterday would have certainly been a bad time for it, though.”

Another hum vibrated his chest, his grip tightening on her leg when she nipped again. 

“We’re almost done talking, then we can go find something for this apparent fixation you have with biting me.” 

She giggled, melting into him when his hand moved to massage at her hip, fingers pressing firmly into her lower back. 

“When your friend would help you in the past, did you ever go into subspace or anything similar? Any dissociation or floaty feelings or something along those lines?”

Rora paused. “I felt warm and safe when she would help, but I was always aware. I do tend to get lost in thought or dissociate sometimes, though.” 

“Have you ever gone into subspace?”

“I don’t think so?” she said. “I can get a little out of it after sex sometimes, but nothing like what people describe subspace as. Though–” She stopped herself.

“C’mon, baby,” Hongjoong murmured, fingers kneading the back of her neck. “We need to talk about this to keep everyone safe, hmm?”

“The closest I can think of getting to anything like that is when Sannie, Wooyoungie, and Yunho were going over limits with me. I was having trouble staying focused and had to have something to ground me. But I could have also just been super horny that day, so I don’t really know.” 

Hongjoong laughed, fingers pushing up into her hair. “Is that something you would like to happen? Or would you want us to stop if you seem to be dissociating too much?” 

“I would like it to happen, if it does. And if I seem to be panicking or something and don’t stop it, you or Hwa can make that decision for me.”

“What about a drop? Has that happened?”

“Yes,” she admitted around the tightness in her throat. 

“Do you want to tell me the circumstances around it?” he prompted gently. 

“My ex was always a little…mean with his words when we would have sex. And I’m fine with a little degradation once in a while. But he was always–” she swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of Hongjoong’s shirt. “One time he was more mean than usual, and he didn’t give me any aftercare after. Also not unusual, but he said a lot of things that just hurt that night and not a single bit of praise for cushioning before, during, or after. And then I had to clean myself up after he just left. I was out of it for days after, and it was awful, Joongie. I didn’t like it one bit.”

He hushed her gently, pulling her closer to wrap himself around her–a cocoon of warmth and protection. “I’m so sorry that happened, love,” he murmured, pressing kisses into her hair. “Thank you for sharing and for trusting me with this.”

She sniffled. “My friend helped me through it,” she said. 

“I’m glad she was there for you,” he said. 

“Me too,” she said through a watery laugh. 

An affronted noise had her pulling back from Hongjoong. There Seonghwa stood, brows furrowed and jaw set, arms across his chest. “Now why is my bunny crying?”

Warmth flooded her immediately. “Your bunny?” she asked. 

“Yes, my bunny. And no one should be making you cry. Not even Hongjoongie.”

“Tears aren’t always a bad thing,” she joked, staring up at Hwa with big eyes. “Sometimes they’re actually quite fun.”

Hongjoong groaned, but laughed nonetheless. “Now that definitely is a conversation for another time,” he said, taking a step back. 

The whine that bubbled up from her throat at the move sounded more than pathetic, and her cheeks burned with the blush suddenly taking residence there. 

“C’mon, bunny,” Seonghwa said, hands coming to grip either side of her waist. “The others know what’s going on and they’re okay with it. We gotta go figure out what we’re gonna eat now.”

She lets him help her down from the counter, holding both him and Hongjoong by the arm when her legs give up, sending her staggering forward. 

“Should have moved you for that talk,” Seonghwa said with a little frown. “Lets go sit on the couch and we can rub your legs a little.”

So, they did. She sat between the two oldest friends, her focus on the way Seonghwa’s hands kneaded up and down her legs, biting back sighs and groans as the knots in her muscles were worked out. Chatter continued, mild arguments and bickering breaking out over the best place to get food until finally they settled on a Chinese takeout place with a decently large menu. As agreed upon, Seonghwa and Hongjoong asked her to choose between a few different things but ultimately ordered for her. 

It was freeing, to say the least. One less thing she had to worry about. Letting them take that from her hands. When Hwa was satisfied with how jelly her legs were, she pulled his sleeve once, and asked very quietly if she could sit on the floor. Feeling very much like the height change might heighten the way the current dynamic changes were making her feel. 

She was right. As soon as she was on the floor, head propped on the cushion between Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s thighs, she felt more than content. Someone brought her a soft blanket, tucking it around her legs. Wooyoung and Yeosang even sat with her, huddled in their own blankets and whispering (sometimes not quite whispering, in Wooyoung’s case) snarky little jokes in response to the others’ conversations to keep her engaged and giggling, the three of them leaned against the eldest two’s legs

Fingers were in her hair, nails a gentle scratch against her scalp and the steady drone of laughter and conversation was a haze around her. She fell into it. Into the warmth they so generously give. Into the freedom and safety Hongjoong and Seonghwa so kindly offered, the control they took when she offered it. Into the happy little bubble she found herself in ever since meeting these men. 

Floaty. She was floating in the clouds, and she let herself stay there. Not too high, though, letting the soft touches keep her grounded. The passing pats on the head or kisses to her hair as they moved around. The wet press of lips to any exposed skin on her right side and the occasional bite of teeth (exclusively Wooyoung). The warm hand wrapped around her leg, fingers tapping and drawing invisible messages on her skin through the layers of blanket and clothing (Yeosang). She didn’t even have to feed herself, the two taking it upon themselves to take turns feeding her the food that was ordered for her. Watching quietly–enjoying the light tug of Hongjoong’s fingers pulling through her hair–as Wooyoung blew on a bite of food for her, testing the temperature on his lip before offering the spoon, hand beneath her chin. Yeosang following it up with a bite of rice, face absolutely radiant as she chewed, his teeth on display and crescented eyes glistening in the dim lighting of the living room. 

When everyone had finished eating, Seonghwa was leaning down to get her attention. “Do you wanna shower, bunny?”

She was slow in focusing on him, blinking slowly at him. His face was close, eyes bright and smile soft and doing absolutely nothing to clear the fluff in her brain. “Shower?” she asked.

“Mhm,” he said, hands coming to her face, long fingers caressing her cheeks and tickling beneath her chin until she giggled. “Do you want to?”

“With Hwa?”

“Sure, sweets,” he agreed easily. Happily, even. “Or we can take a bath? There’s a tub in my bathroom.”

She was clambering to her feet before he even finished talking, swaying, almost crumbling back down when her knees gave up. A disgruntled whine sounded from her throat, interrupted by a giggle when strong arms came around her middle to lift her right off the floor. The room spun, her vision blurring at the move until a big grin and deep dimples were all she could see. “Careful there, darling,” San said.

A soft “Sannie” was murmured into the warm skin of his neck, her arms coming up to wrap tightly around him. He laughed, a low chuckle that warmed her inside out. 

“Can I carry you there?” he asked, voice low and sweet.

The nod she offered him in response buried her face further into his neck, lips brushing his collarbone, cheek nuzzling against his shoulder. She murmured his name again, relaxing into the way his arms tightened around her. Hands firm but gentle as they held her, fingers dipping teasingly beneath her shirt as it bunched up at her waist, tickling lightly at her skin until she giggled and her fingers tightened in the fabric of his top.

“C’mon, sweets,” Seonghwa murmured, hand curling briefly around her ankle. “Lets get you clean and cozy, hmm?”

An affirmative hum came from her throat, and then San was carrying her down the hallway behind Seonghwa’s slim figure.  Walking slow, being sure not to jostle her too much, whispering little things in her ear that kept her feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Her arms curled around him, lips brushing any inch of him she could get ahold of, unable to keep herself from nibbling. Teeth found warm skin, not hard but enough pressure to leave patches of red on his tan skin. Satisfaction tightened her chest at the sight, and she couldn’t help but suck a little mark into the hollow at the base of his throat, giggling happily against the wet skin when San’s groan echoed off the bathroom walls. 

“We got a possessive little bun it seems,” Seonghwa mused, long fingers threading into her hair to grip lightly at the roots. 

“My Sannie,” she slurred out, nipping over the mark slowly purpling beneath her lips. 

Soft laughter filled the room as she was set down on the bathroom counter. A whine started to bubble up, but was smothered before it could be fully realized. Soft and wet, tasting of cherry. Distracting enough that she couldn’t miss San’s warmth too much, not even hearing when he slipped out and closed the door with a soft click. 

She sighed into the kiss, yielding to it fully as he licked teasingly into her mouth. The slide of his tongue against hers, the flavor of his lip balm as she sucked at his bottom lip had her belly swooping pleasantly. Her hands stayed on her lap, but she couldn’t help but lean forward, closer to him, chest to chest. 

The held back whine from moments ago bubbled up again, and Seonghwa laughed. The sound low and affectionate and just…everything. “Calm down, bunny,” he said, fingers brushing down the side of her face. “I need to fill the tub so we can take that bath, remember?”

“We?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Unless you want to take it alone?”

She shook her head. Pouted. She absolutely did not want that.

“Then be good for me.” 

Her stomach gave a startling swoop at those words, skin flushing hot and head fuzzier than it had been since the whole thing started. “Wanna be good.” she said, voice a dreamy echo in the bathroom. 

“You wanna be good for me, bunny?” He turned to her from where he was perched on the edge of the tub, fingers under the rushing water, testing the temperature. 

All she could do was nod, mouth dry and words stuck in her throat. 

“Does that make you feel floaty?”

“Yes,” she admitted, hands kneading at her thighs. 

He hummed, reaching into a basket resting on a small table beside the tub to pull out a container of bath salts and a bottle of what she could only assume to be bubbles. Lavender and vanilla filled the room, and she wanted to melt into a puddle of warmth right there. The tub filled slowly, and he walked back over to her as it took its sweet time. “Still doing good, sweets?” he asked, hands braced on the counter on either side of her. 

“Mhm,” she hummed, reaching out to curl her fingers around the bottom of his shirt, pulling him closer to stand between her legs. “Kiss?” she asked. 

“I can give you kisses,” he said, hands sweeping up her arms to rest on either side of her neck, thumbs nudging her jaw to tip her head back. “You can give me kisses too. Wherever you want, bunny.”

Her eyes fell to his neck, perusing the elegant line of it. Her mouth all but watered at the sight, tongue dancing behind her teeth at the need to feel the smooth expanse of golden skin beneath it. To sink her teeth in. To leave little bites, to leave traces of red and purple to bloom in their wake. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and her eyes flicked up to lock with his. Usually wide and sparkly but now hooded and dark. 

“What is it, sweet girl? Hmm? Wanna mark me up like you did Sannie?”

“Please?”

“Asking so pretty,” he murmured, thumb stroking down her jaw in a slow slide that sent a shiver down her spine. “Of course you can, bunny. But lets get in the tub first.”

His hands were gentle as he helped her to stand. Steady and slow as he helped her out of her clothes and folded each piece to set on the counter. He did the same with his own clothing. Stripping each piece slowly, folding them methodically to put them beside the pile of her own. Then, he was leading her over to the tub. Helping her inside before climbing in to settle behind her. 

No matter how much she wanted to lean back into his chest and relax into the warmth of the water and his skin, she turned to straddle his lap. Like he knew she was going to, he helped her, hands on her hips, knees hitching up to support her better as she slid closer him. Belly to belly, chest to chest, skin slick with water. Bubbles cradling them and scented steam floating in the air. It was enough to make the haziness of her brain grow. Enough to have her pressing even closer, close enough she could feel the flex of his muscles against her own, could feel him still soft but starting to fill out beneath the curve of her ass. 

Feeling bold, she slid her hands up his arms like he had with her earlier. Over the defined roundness of his shoulders to cup the sides of his neck, using her thumbs to tip his head back. He let her with a throaty groan, head hitting the wall behind him with a soft thud. He swallowed, throat bobbing temptingly again, and she couldn’t help herself. 

Her tongue ran up the temping line of his neck, teeth nipped lightly at the sharp edge of his jaw, kissed the soft skin beneath his chin. 

“Go ahead and mark me up, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and rough, fingers dancing up her spine with light touches that made her hips twitch. “Show everyone I’m yours, hmm?”

The words made her moan, the sound high-pitched and sweeter than the vanilla blanketing the air. She littered his skin with kisses, nips, and bites, enjoying the way his sounds echoed in the room. Low and rumbling and breathless, the sounds so fucking pretty they made her head spin. 

His cock was pressing hot and insistent against her ass by the time she reached the beautiful ridge of his collarbones, teeth grazing the thin skin, sucking a mark into the dip between them like she had with Sannie. Her hips rolled in his lap, nestling him right between her cheeks. “Hwa,” she whined needily. 

“Ignore it, bunny,” he said, petting the back of her head as she bit at his neck again, fingers flexing in her hair. 

“Want it,” she breathed. 

“I’m glad you do. But you’re not getting it. Not right now, not when you’re floaty and we didn’t talk about it before. No matter how pretty you ask.”

Her heart fluttered at the low tone of his voice, the gentle command in the words. His name fell from her lips again, hips rocking forward against his firm stomach. 

“Calm down, bunny,” he murmured, grip tight against the back of her neck. “Be good for Hwa, hmm?”

Her thighs shook with the effort it took to be still, but she did as he said. The praise warming her inside out as she forced herself to relax against him, head on his shoulder and face pressed tight to his spit-slicked neck. 

“There you go,” he praised softly, hot breath fanning her ear and making her shiver. “Such a good sweet bunny for me. Just let me take care of you, good girl.” 

And he did. Making her relax against him, smoothing his hands over her skin and playing with her hair and the bubbles until the water started to cool. Then helping her stand for a shower to rinse the bath away. Lathering her skin with a mellow smelling bodywash, scrubbing in gentle circles until she felt smooth and clean. Washing her hair, letting her scrub him with the rich later of his bodywash while waiting for her hair to condition. Gently turning down her offer to wash his hair for him, instead having her lean against him as he did it himself. Drying her off with a fluffy towel. Massaging lotion into her skin while conditioner sat in his own hair. Letting her sit on the closed toilet while he rinsed the product out, washing the residue off his skin with another quick pass of bodywash. 

She dried him off, loving the small act of service, sprinkling his damp skin with more little red marks of her affection that she hoped would stay until the next day. 

Hongjoong came in when her face was once again pressed against Hwa’s neck, sucking a new purple mark into the curve where his neck and shoulder met. Just in time to see his friend shiver at the little possessive display. His low laughter filled the room, slow and rolling like the steam hanging in the air. 

“Was going to ask if Hwa was taking care of you, but it seems you’re the one taking care of him instead,” he mused, laughing louder when they both turned to him with wide, startled eyes. His gaze flicked over them, lingering on the flush of her skin and the evidence of her affection lingering on his friends neck, dipping down to take in the tenting of Hwa’s low-slung towel.

Seonghwa shifted in embarrassment, but snorted at his friend. “What do you need, Joong?” he said. 

Hongjoong rolled his eyes but held up the bundles he was holding against his chest. “I brought clothes.” He handed one over to Seonghwa before stepping closer to her. “Mingi insisted you wear one of his shirts, but the shorts are mine.”

Giddiness bubbled up in her chest, making her giggle and wiggle in her spot, loving the casual claiming that dressing someone in one’s own clothes could signify. 

Hongjoong’s face softened, lips tipping up into a little smile and eyes gleaming in the dim lighting of the bathroom. “Get dressed, love,” he said. “Mingi and Wooyoungie are getting restless.”

[dawn-iscozy]

“ like a cat in a sunny spot ” ♡ xiii ♡

SERIES PLAYLIST: “ swim ” - chase atlantic ♡ “ honey (are u coming?) ” - maneskin ♡ “ the summoning  ” - sleep token ♡ “ soft spot ” - keshi ♡ “ bubbly ” - colbie caillat ♡ “ kiss me ” - ed sheeran ♡ “ cotton candy ” - yungblud ♡

SERIES WARNINGS: poly, eventual ot8, named oc - “Rora”, derived from “Aurora” (soooooo original, I know), who is basically a self-insert (i’m still on the brink of denial about it). loooots of nicknames/pet names, and even more as the fic progresses (if you read the “a little warmth in winter” you’ll know most of the names already 🤭). things move pretty quickly in this, and it may stray vaguely into soulmate au territory but, like, I’m a sucker for these men and for the way I’ve written them and I just can’t stop.

apologies in advance if the timeline doesn’t make any sense, I’m going purely on vibes and my affection for these 8 men. idk if it deserves a warning, but scents are mentioned a lot in some parts and kinda littered through the rest of the fic (using scent profiles from a perfume/fragrance site that has a line of scents called “Smells Like a Hug From Ateez” and very limited knowledge of fragrances the members may have previously used/just the vibes they give off)

WORD COUNT: 7.4k

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: ot8 but quite matz heavy, really soft, cozy, no smut but does discuss bdsm/bdsm adjacent things, non-sexual power dynamics-ish, non-sexual subspace, oc is just asks matz to take over in some ways and relaxes, i’ve never written or experienced subspace so idk if this is accurate or not, so kinda dom!hongjoong, and kinda dom!seonghwa, also kinda dom!ot8??, very cozy and soft, honestly domestic af, another bath scene cause why not, hickeys/possessive behaviors-ish, i just really loved writing this part and i hope you can tell 🥹

TAG LIST: @kaleigh-2002 @stickystickyjam @snow0-0fairy (if anyone else wants to be added, drop a comment or a message and i'll gladly add you!)

♡ 18+ - no smut but still MDNI ♡

xiii: sweet as honey

Rora was just finishing up an email when the bell over the cafe door rang out, the sound reaching her even through the light chatter of the group a few tables away and the sound of the espresso machine. She looked up, hands settling lightly on her keyboard, in time to watch Jongho step inside, face passive and hair fluttering about his features. Those pretty, round eyes bounced around until they finally found her. 

She watched in amazement as his features softened, eyes going warm and lips ticking up into a smile that made her heart flutter. She stood to meet him as he came closer, unable to stop the giddy grin from making its way onto her face. Not when her tummy felt so warm and her brain was buzzing pleasantly at the mere sight of him. Before he could say anything, her arms were thrown around his neck. A choked off sound came from his throat, but he reciprocated her embrace and ducked down so she wouldn’t have to tiptoe as much. 

“Miss me or something?” The joke couldn’t mask the breathless surprise in his tone.

“Happy to see you.” She whispered it, like the earnestness of her statement would be void if she spoke any louder. She nuzzled into the warmth of his skin, pressing a kiss right over his pulse point, surprised to feel it pounding beneath her lips. 

“I’m happy to see you, too, precious,” he said, voice a low murmur in her ear, sending a pleasant flutter through her belly. His lips brushed over her hair, pressed into the skin of her forehead, then he was pulling away to smile down at her. “Ready to go?”

Rora nodded happily, and they took the few steps to the table she had been occupying the whole day. Jongho helped her pack up her things, stealing a drink from whatever delicious concoction Yunho had slid over to her not too long ago. His brows raised almost comically, and he turned to glance at the counter over his shoulder. “Yunho, what drink is this?” he called out. 

Yunho was just finishing up an order, saying a soft farewell to the customer as he handed the bag over. His smile changed when he looked at them, the bright customer service grin softening, eyes warming. “Just something we’ve been working on,” he said, wiping down the counter with a coffee stained cloth. “Like it?”

“It’s good,” he said. 

Yunho’s smile brightened more, face practically glowing with pride when he looked at her for confirmation and she nodded her agreement. “Maybe it’ll go on the menu soon,” he said. 

Jongho hummed, took another drink before turning back to her, eyes smiling at her as he watched her gather her stuff. She felt almost shy under his gaze, tummy twisting and face pink, and it didn’t make sense, really. Not after everything that had happened in the past months. They had kissed, cuddled. Hell, the man had even been inside of her. Had seen her cry more than once, had visited her when she was on her period. What the hell could she have to feel shy about now? But logic didn’t beat the feeling, and she found herself huddling into his arms to hide in his chest. 

His laughter vibrated through her, making her blush harder even as she relaxed against him. “You going shy on me again, baby?” he asked, hand smoothing over the back of her head. 

“Shut up,” she whined. “Can’t help it.”

He let her huddle against him as long as she needed, arms around her waist and head ducked to hook his chin over her shoulder. He tensed, she startled. Two other pairs of arms wrapped around them, and she giggled over Jongho’s grumbling. A pair of lips press lightly against her hair, a low voice mumbling, “See you later, doll.” 

Pulling herself out of hiding, she looked up at the three of them. Pressed a kiss to Mingi’s cheek, then to Yunho’s chin. 

“See you later, too, honey,” Yunho said, lips brushing over her cheekbone. 

“Hmm?” Her brows furrowed so deeply she could feel the wrinkle forming between them.

He laughed at her confusion–a soft, warm sound–eyes twinkling with obvious affection. “Mingi mentioned that you might go home with him later and everyone wanted to turn it into a sleepover,” he said, thumb rubbing the furrow from her brows. “They all miss you, honey.”

If that didn’t spread warmth through her whole body, then nothing could. 

♡♡♡

It didn’t take long for them to gather her things from her apartment and set everything up for Teddy. His automatic feeder and water fountain were good to go, his litter box clean, and his little self was curled up in the middle of her bed–exhausted from chasing after his toys and playing with Jongho while she was gathering her things and cleaning up–looking so cute she almost didn’t want to leave again. But the warmth of Jongho’s hand around her own and the insistent tilt of his brows lured her right back out of that line of thought and out the door.

Everyone except for Yunho and Mingi was already there when she and Jongho walked through the apartment door. Wooyoung greeted her when she slipped off her shoes, ushering her inside like it was his place and gathering her into his arms like he needed to hold her more than anything else in that moment. 

“Hi, Youngie,” she said, giggling when he shook his head where it was buried in her chest, hair tickling her chin. 

He was being pulled away, whole face crumpled up with the force of his smile despite the hands on his shoulders shoving him to the side. Sannie was there, lips pouted but eyes sparkling. And those devastating dimples, a flash of pretty teeth when she cupped his cheeks. “Hi, Sannie,” she murmured, pressing up to kiss his chin. 

A glance over his broad shoulders found Seonghwa and Hongjoong lounging together on the sofa, slouched down next to each other, shoulders and thighs brushing, gazing fondly at the interaction. They waved at her when they caught her gaze, and she couldn’t help but blush, still feeling that inexplicable shyness from earlier. She wanted to squeeze between them and snuggle right in. But she also wanted to hide away. Which must have been evident, by the amusement she found on both their faces. 

Jongho ushered her further into the space, hand on her lower back as he guided her over to the sofa. She settled right in, right between Hongjoong and Jongho, and let herself enjoy their bantering. It was a new space, a different apartment. But it felt the same as the other one, and she was convinced that these men could and would take any space and make it their own when together. 

“Hey,” Hongjoong murmured, hand settling lightly on her thigh. His nails were freshly painted a shiny black, fingers decorated with a few rings that brought attention to just how pretty and slender they were. 

“Hey,” she said back, relaxing back into the sofa cushions, shoulder brushing against his arm. His bare arm. Before she could stop herself, her eyes caught on the exposed skin, on the black ink curling around the soft bulge of his bicep and around his shoulder to disappear beneath the frayed black fabric of his sleeveless shirt. 

His hand flexed on her leg, and she looked away, cheeks red. Breath catching when he leaned closer, nosing at her ear. 

“You can stare, love. I don’t mind.”

A strangled noise came from her, and the chuckle that pulled from him was low, stirring heat both in her cheeks and low in her belly. 

Shuffling from the hallway alerted her to a new presence, and she glanced up to find Yeosang stepping into the living room, looking cozy in a pair of sweats and a large plaid button-up. A hand was under his shirt, flashing the sharp line of his hip, the smooth plane of his belly. Her fingers itched to feel the soft skin, tingling with the memory of it. 

“Hi, Sangie,” she said, unable to keep the smile from growing on her face when he flushed pink and yanked his hand down, the shirt falling back into place. 

“Hey, angel,” he said. Despite the smooth way the words came from his mouth, he stood there, just blinking at her. Face blank save for the flush of his cheeks and wide eyes. It was a moment of flustered silence before he finally continued walking into the room. Coming to settle on the floor in front of her, wedging himself between her legs and letting his head rest on her leg. 

Her fingers found his hair, still soft to the touch even after being bleached and dyed, and her heart leapt at the happy sound that came from his chest. 

“How are you, Sangie baby?” she asked, letting her nails drag lightly against his scalp. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, visibly relaxing against her. “Better now.”

Her responding giggle was breathy. “Were you bad before?”

His shoulders tensed for a moment before they shook with low laughter. “No,” he said. “But it’s always better when you’re here.”

Teasingly, she tugged a lock of his hair, a shiver working through her when he stifled a groan. “Smooth talker,” she said, unable to keep the fondness from sneaking into her voice as she leaned back, fingers unfortunately slipping from his hair. She relaxed back into the sofa, into the warmth of the men on either side of her, as the others laughed around them.

♡♡♡

Rora sighed as she stepped into the kitchen. The apartment was as open planned as the other one, but it was just enough space away from the chaos of the living room and the six men that she felt like she could finally have a moment to breathe. 

Not that she necessarily felt like she needed any significant time away or anything. But they were a lot to handle. Seven fully grown adults in an apartment, even if that apartment is meant to house four or more people, was way too much. Certainly, it was more people than she was usually used to. She had only been around them all as a group the one time. Otherwise, so far, she was with them in smaller groups or one-on-one. The energy levels were much easier to manage in those situations. 

Now, it was overwhelming, to say the least. Especially with everything that had just happened, and a few of them were still absent.

Footsteps, the rustling of fabric–barely heard over the chatter and laughter still flowing steadily from the living room–brought her out of her thoughts. A glance over her shoulder saw Seonghwa coming in. His hands were deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched the slightest, large shirt threatening to slip to show more skin. 

“Heard you had a rough couple of days, bun.” Seonghwa said, leaning against the counter beside her. She could feel his gaze on her. Could feel it as he watched her grab a glass from above the sink. As she turned on the faucet. Watched her start to fill the glass. Her heart was fluttering the whole while, and it all but jumped into her throat when he reached around her to turn the water off before the liquid could spill over the lip of the glass. It happened, anyway, her hand trembling before she could attempt to get a handle on it, brain too busy focusing on the way he pressed close to her, the smell of his perfume wafting up–subtle but enough to leave her feeling like a puddle of goo. Warm and sweet with an undercurrent of spice.

He let her be silent, eyes still on her as she took a sip of her water, pointedly ignoring the way his gaze followed the drops of water trailing over her wrist. Burning as she shifted under his attention. A shiver threatened to work down her spine, muscles locking to fend it off. But he seemed to catch it, the corners of his lips tipping up into the ghost of a smirk. 

“Something like that,” she finally murmured. 

He hummed. “You don’t have to tell me about it. But let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you feel better.”

She smiled, ignoring the jump in her heartrate. “Letting me crash boys night helped a lot, already.”

“Boys night,” Seonghwa scoffed, pretty eyes rolling before coming back to her face. Intense, searching, turning incredibly fond when his hand found the one she left on the counter to steady herself. “Call it whatever you want, but we’re all glad to have you here. You aren’t crashing anything, bunny. We only came over because we hope you would be staying the night.”

She startled when someone slipped in behind her, their chest to her back as they bent down to nuzzle her ear. “Hwa’s right, love.”

A shiver worked down her spine as Hongjoong’s breath warmed her neck, his hands hovered over her hips for a moment before finally latching on. He pulled her closer into his body, and she relaxed into his warmth, into his hidden strength. And then the words were tumbling forth before she could stop them. “It feels a lot like life has decided to start crashing in again. Between Jongho being upset about finding out what happened before I came home with Youngie and Sannie–” she paused to place a hand over Hongjoong’s when he huffed out something about teaching him a lesson again, reaching out to tug on Seonghwa’s sleeve before he could take it upon himself to go find their youngest friend. “It’s okay. We’ve talked it out. Didn’t you all talk about this last night? You already know it’s been figured out.”

She giggled when they both grumbled. Squealed when they worked together to lift her up onto the counter and crowded her space, standing on either side of her, a hand on each of her thighs. 

“Sorry, pretty,” Seonghwa murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Keep going.”

She flushed under both their gazes and swallowed, ignoring the heat prickling beneath her eyelids with each blink. “The next day, I heard those women joking about that night, about how they left me there and what they thought might have happened after they left. Saying it would be good for me, that I needed to get laid so I’d be less bitchy and stuck up. Which are all things I’ve heard before and aren’t even what hurt the most. It’s mostly that they just… They literally left the premises. They didn’t just leave me at the door to go have their own fun. They left entirely. And that just made me so angry and–” 

She took a breath, cursing the fact that her eyes were prickling with tears, making her lashes stick together. The breath stuck in her throat when warm hands slid up her thighs. “I confronted them about it. Panicked a bit after and spilled coffee all over myself. That’s why Mingi couldn’t make it over for Jongho’s talk. He wanted to take me home and make sure I was okay and – and I didn’t wanna be alone after that.” She shook her head lightly, brushed her fingers through her hair. “Everything’s better now, but I think I’m still trying to process it. Especially with how well everything’s been going lately. Just felt like waking up from a dream only to step right into a nightmare.” 

“Thank you for telling us,” Hongjoong murmured, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

Silence settled over them for a moment, and she let herself lean into them. Her nose pressed into Hongjoong’s neck, enjoying the warmth coming from his skin as she breathed him in. He smelled different. Not bad by any means. In fact, the smell alone had her tummy swooping and heat rising to her face. Citrus-y. Woody. Just the perfect amount of musk and spice. 

“Did you get a new cologne?” she asked, hoping neither of them heard the way her voice dipped halfway through the question. 

His affirmative hum came right from his chest. “Like it?” he asked, letting his fingers slide up the length of her arm. “I made it.”

She was melting against him, soaking in the smell and the warmth and the vibrations of his low chuckle. “Smells so fucking good,” she murmured, groaning lightly when strong arms came around her waist to give her a light squeeze. 

The moment was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, Hongjoong’s shoulders tensing and her heart jumping in her chest so hard she gasped audibly. Seonghwa’s wide-eyed, frozen stare is what tipped her over into laughter, doubling over with her giggles until she had to hold onto their shoulders to not fall off the counter. 

“There was a party and you didn’t invite me?” Mingi’s low voice joked, pushing his way between his two oldest friends to wrap her into a hug. 

“This is literally your own home,” she said, voice still hitching with leftover laughter even as she burrowed into his warmth.

“Double betrayal,” he whined, burying his face in her hair. 

She hummed, cupping the back of his head, letting her nails drag lightly over his scalp. 

“Something other than food was cooking in here, and I interrupted,” Mingi stated, pulling back from her and looking at his two friends. Matter-of-fact and not expecting any kind of affirmation or denial, but he laughed when he took in the poorly disguised disgruntled expression on Hongjoong’s face and Seonghwa’s affectionate exasperation. “I’ll leave you to it, but Rora is sleeping with me tonight. No arguments.”

“No fair!” Wooyoung cried, pouting as he walked by to fill his glass with water. “You had her all to yourself last night.”

Resounding agreement came from the others, and she could feel her face burning even as she giggled at their antics. 

“Mingi’s the one that invited me, Youngie,” she said. “It’s only fair that I sleep with him, no?”

Wooyoung only grumbled into his glass, gulping down his water before pouting again, shiny lips making it all the more devastating. “Can I sleep with you too, Mangi?” His voice was all syrupy sugar as he asked, all but batting his lashes at his taller friend.

Mingi laughed, something low and rumbling and incredibly fond. “You were gonna end up with me or Sangie, anyway,” he said. “You’re more than welcome to join us. Assuming Rora is okay with it, too?”

Both of them looked at her. One amused, the other pleading. Wooyoung looked every inch of a sad kitty, eyes big and lips pouted (still), and she couldn’t help the way she melted for it. The way she reached out for him, her fingers curling around his jaw to pull him closer to press a kiss to those pretty, plush lips. 

“Sure, Youngie,” she said, bumping her nose against his own. 

Her gaze slid from Wooyoung to the man still standing beside him, cheeks flushing at what she saw there, the way the corner of his mouth ticked up before turning to leave the kitchen. With a happy little noise, Wooyoung joined his tall friend, bumping against him just to get an annoyed grumble to come from his chest. 

Once again, she was left alone with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. Her eyes darted between the two of them, taking in the shared glance, the twin head nods. She froze when they turned back to her as one, pinning her in place. 

“What do you say, bunny? Any way we could help you feel better?” Seonghwa asked, head tilting, hand coming up to cup the side of her face, thumb drifting down the slope of her jaw. 

“Don’t wanna think anymore.” The words were quiet, barely a breath in the stillness of the kitchen. Like the words were scared of being spoken into existence. Not out of shame. Never out of shame. But out of the fear of the sheer intensity the words held beneath them. The way they left her breathless and made her heart lunge in her chest and her fingers grip the bottom of her shirt to keep them from trembling more than they already were. 

“How could we help you do that, love?” Hongjoong’s voice was as low as hers, whispered into the air not like a secret but like a promise. Sincere and warm even as his eyes darkened. 

She inhaled sharply, hands rubbing down her thighs. Then, she straightened. “If you’re comfortable with it,” she started. “Make my decisions for me tonight?”

It was quiet for a moment, interrupted only by the murmur of voices drifting in from the living room. “That’s a lot of control you’re handing over, bunny,” Seonghwa said, expression soft. Voice even softer. “That’s essentially a power exchange. Do you trust us with that?” 

“I trust that you won't do anything to hurt me in this setting,” she replied. 

“Have you done anything like this before?” he asked. 

“Never with a romantic partner, but I had a friend that would do it sometimes. Just little things like what I would eat or do that day. But never, like, fully.” She tried not to fidget as she explained. 

“Are you sure you want to do this with us, bunny? It might sound like something that’ll help but it could end up adding to your emotional load.”

“I trust you,” she said. “And I trust the others.”

Hongjoong’s hand fell to her thigh, and she turned to him. His brows were furrowed and his teeth were digging into his lower lip. But he didn’t look opposed to the idea. Concerned, perhaps. But not like he was about to shut the idea down. 

“I know we discussed safe words before, but this is different,” Hongjoong said. “This is… this is an exchange. A scene, even. Do you want a new word for this?”

“Or a gesture?” Seonghwa piped in to add. “Joongie called this a scene, and that’s exactly what this is. And you could fall into an altered headspace where you could possibly not be able to verbalize what you need. A gesture might be helpful in that case.”

“A tug?” she suggested. “One for attention, two for a slow down, three for a full stop?”

“Can you show us, love? So that there’s less chance of shying away from doing it when needed later?”

She was reaching for the cuff of Hwa’s sleeve before Hongjoong had even finished talking, gripping it between her fingers, eyes on Hongjoong’s face. 

“Attention? Slow? Stop?” 

She tugged with each prompt, one, then two, then three times, heart fluttering in her throat as his lips tipped up and his eyes curved. 

“Good job, bunny,” Seonghwa praised, hand coming to rest atop her head, finger threading through her hair. 

The happy noise that came from her throat was unable to be stopped, and left her face hot. But she couldn't feel too embarrassed when they immediately started cooing at her. 

“We’ll have to talk to the others about this,” Seonghwa said. “Do you want them to be a part of it too? Either as voyeurs, for a lack of a better word, or as active participants?”

“I want them there, of course. But only if they’re comfortable with it too.” She couldn’t help the frown taking over her face. “I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable over something I’m doing.”

Seonghwa crowded closer, pulling her face into his chest with a low coo. “I doubt anyone is going to be uncomfortable, bun,” he murmured, pressing little kisses to her temple. “I’ll go talk to them now, okay?”

Before she could reply, his warmth was gone and she was pouting.

“Do you mind going over a few more things with me?” Hongjoong asked, stepping closer.

“Is there anything you don’t want us doing for you?” he asked. 

Her teeth found her bottom lip as she took a moment. “I’m not…sure,” she said. “Aside from, like, bathroom stuff, I can’t think of anything.”

Hongjoong huffed out a laugh, thumb pressing circles into her thigh. “You can go to the bathroom yourself, noted.”

She giggled, letting her head fall to his shoulder. 

“How about we prompt things?” he suggested. “Like, if you look sleepy we can ask if you’re ready for bed? Or giving some choices if we’re ordering food?”

“I like that,” she said, turning her head to bury her nose into the crook of his neck. That cologne washed over her again. 

“Do you want to call us anything while this happens? Anything you want us to call you?” 

“Just the usual nicknames, I think. Do you have any?” 

He hummed, chin rubbing against her hair. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But only for specific sexual situations and only sometimes.”

“Oh?” Intrigue colored her voice, and there was no way he couldn’t hear it. 

He laughed, low and rumbling. “And they would require another conversation when you aren’t overwhelmed, pretty. We probably shouldn’t even be having this conversation right now.”

“I’m actually quite clear-headed right now,” she murmured, unable to resist the urge to nip the warm skin of his neck in retaliation. “Yesterday would have certainly been a bad time for it, though.”

Another hum vibrated his chest, his grip tightening on her leg when she nipped again. 

“We’re almost done talking, then we can go find something for this apparent fixation you have with biting me.” 

She giggled, melting into him when his hand moved to massage at her hip, fingers pressing firmly into her lower back. 

“When your friend would help you in the past, did you ever go into subspace or anything similar? Any dissociation or floaty feelings or something along those lines?”

Rora paused. “I felt warm and safe when she would help, but I was always aware. I do tend to get lost in thought or dissociate sometimes, though.” 

“Have you ever gone into subspace?”

“I don’t think so?” she said. “I can get a little out of it after sex sometimes, but nothing like what people describe subspace as. Though–” She stopped herself.

“C’mon, baby,” Hongjoong murmured, fingers kneading the back of her neck. “We need to talk about this to keep everyone safe, hmm?”

“The closest I can think of getting to anything like that is when Sannie, Wooyoungie, and Yunho were going over limits with me. I was having trouble staying focused and had to have something to ground me. But I could have also just been super horny that day, so I don’t really know.” 

Hongjoong laughed, fingers pushing up into her hair. “Is that something you would like to happen? Or would you want us to stop if you seem to be dissociating too much?” 

“I would like it to happen, if it does. And if I seem to be panicking or something and don’t stop it, you or Hwa can make that decision for me.”

“What about a drop? Has that happened?”

“Yes,” she admitted around the tightness in her throat. 

“Do you want to tell me the circumstances around it?” he prompted gently. 

“My ex was always a little…mean with his words when we would have sex. And I’m fine with a little degradation once in a while. But he was always–” she swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of Hongjoong’s shirt. “One time he was more mean than usual, and he didn’t give me any aftercare after. Also not unusual, but he said a lot of things that just hurt that night and not a single bit of praise for cushioning before, during, or after. And then I had to clean myself up after he just left. I was out of it for days after, and it was awful, Joongie. I didn’t like it one bit.”

He hushed her gently, pulling her closer to wrap himself around her–a cocoon of warmth and protection. “I’m so sorry that happened, love,” he murmured, pressing kisses into her hair. “Thank you for sharing and for trusting me with this.”

She sniffled. “My friend helped me through it,” she said. 

“I’m glad she was there for you,” he said. 

“Me too,” she said through a watery laugh. 

An affronted noise had her pulling back from Hongjoong. There Seonghwa stood, brows furrowed and jaw set, arms across his chest. “Now why is my bunny crying?”

Warmth flooded her immediately. “Your bunny?” she asked. 

“Yes, my bunny. And no one should be making you cry. Not even Hongjoongie.”

“Tears aren’t always a bad thing,” she joked, staring up at Hwa with big eyes. “Sometimes they’re actually quite fun.”

Hongjoong groaned, but laughed nonetheless. “Now that definitely is a conversation for another time,” he said, taking a step back. 

The whine that bubbled up from her throat at the move sounded more than pathetic, and her cheeks burned with the blush suddenly taking residence there. 

“C’mon, bunny,” Seonghwa said, hands coming to grip either side of her waist. “The others know what’s going on and they’re okay with it. We gotta go figure out what we’re gonna eat now.”

She lets him help her down from the counter, holding both him and Hongjoong by the arm when her legs give up, sending her staggering forward. 

“Should have moved you for that talk,” Seonghwa said with a little frown. “Lets go sit on the couch and we can rub your legs a little.”

So, they did. She sat between the two oldest friends, her focus on the way Seonghwa’s hands kneaded up and down her legs, biting back sighs and groans as the knots in her muscles were worked out. Chatter continued, mild arguments and bickering breaking out over the best place to get food until finally they settled on a Chinese takeout place with a decently large menu. As agreed upon, Seonghwa and Hongjoong asked her to choose between a few different things but ultimately ordered for her. 

It was freeing, to say the least. One less thing she had to worry about. Letting them take that from her hands. When Hwa was satisfied with how jelly her legs were, she pulled his sleeve once, and asked very quietly if she could sit on the floor. Feeling very much like the height change might heighten the way the current dynamic changes were making her feel. 

She was right. As soon as she was on the floor, head propped on the cushion between Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s thighs, she felt more than content. Someone brought her a soft blanket, tucking it around her legs. Wooyoung and Yeosang even sat with her, huddled in their own blankets and whispering (sometimes not quite whispering, in Wooyoung’s case) snarky little jokes in response to the others’ conversations to keep her engaged and giggling, the three of them leaned against the eldest two’s legs

Fingers were in her hair, nails a gentle scratch against her scalp and the steady drone of laughter and conversation was a haze around her. She fell into it. Into the warmth they so generously give. Into the freedom and safety Hongjoong and Seonghwa so kindly offered, the control they took when she offered it. Into the happy little bubble she found herself in ever since meeting these men. 

Floaty. She was floating in the clouds, and she let herself stay there. Not too high, though, letting the soft touches keep her grounded. The passing pats on the head or kisses to her hair as they moved around. The wet press of lips to any exposed skin on her right side and the occasional bite of teeth (exclusively Wooyoung). The warm hand wrapped around her leg, fingers tapping and drawing invisible messages on her skin through the layers of blanket and clothing (Yeosang). She didn’t even have to feed herself, the two taking it upon themselves to take turns feeding her the food that was ordered for her. Watching quietly–enjoying the light tug of Hongjoong’s fingers pulling through her hair–as Wooyoung blew on a bite of food for her, testing the temperature on his lip before offering the spoon, hand beneath her chin. Yeosang following it up with a bite of rice, face absolutely radiant as she chewed, his teeth on display and crescented eyes glistening in the dim lighting of the living room. 

When everyone had finished eating, Seonghwa was leaning down to get her attention. “Do you wanna shower, bunny?”

She was slow in focusing on him, blinking slowly at him. His face was close, eyes bright and smile soft and doing absolutely nothing to clear the fluff in her brain. “Shower?” she asked.

“Mhm,” he said, hands coming to her face, long fingers caressing her cheeks and tickling beneath her chin until she giggled. “Do you want to?”

“With Hwa?”

“Sure, sweets,” he agreed easily. Happily, even. “Or we can take a bath? There’s a tub in my bathroom.”

She was clambering to her feet before he even finished talking, swaying, almost crumbling back down when her knees gave up. A disgruntled whine sounded from her throat, interrupted by a giggle when strong arms came around her middle to lift her right off the floor. The room spun, her vision blurring at the move until a big grin and deep dimples were all she could see. “Careful there, darling,” San said.

A soft “Sannie” was murmured into the warm skin of his neck, her arms coming up to wrap tightly around him. He laughed, a low chuckle that warmed her inside out. 

“Can I carry you there?” he asked, voice low and sweet.

The nod she offered him in response buried her face further into his neck, lips brushing his collarbone, cheek nuzzling against his shoulder. She murmured his name again, relaxing into the way his arms tightened around her. Hands firm but gentle as they held her, fingers dipping teasingly beneath her shirt as it bunched up at her waist, tickling lightly at her skin until she giggled and her fingers tightened in the fabric of his top.

“C’mon, sweets,” Seonghwa murmured, hand curling briefly around her ankle. “Lets get you clean and cozy, hmm?”

An affirmative hum came from her throat, and then San was carrying her down the hallway behind Seonghwa’s slim figure.  Walking slow, being sure not to jostle her too much, whispering little things in her ear that kept her feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Her arms curled around him, lips brushing any inch of him she could get ahold of, unable to keep herself from nibbling. Teeth found warm skin, not hard but enough pressure to leave patches of red on his tan skin. Satisfaction tightened her chest at the sight, and she couldn’t help but suck a little mark into the hollow at the base of his throat, giggling happily against the wet skin when San’s groan echoed off the bathroom walls. 

“We got a possessive little bun it seems,” Seonghwa mused, long fingers threading into her hair to grip lightly at the roots. 

“My Sannie,” she slurred out, nipping over the mark slowly purpling beneath her lips. 

Soft laughter filled the room as she was set down on the bathroom counter. A whine started to bubble up, but was smothered before it could be fully realized. Soft and wet, tasting of cherry. Distracting enough that she couldn’t miss San’s warmth too much, not even hearing when he slipped out and closed the door with a soft click. 

She sighed into the kiss, yielding to it fully as he licked teasingly into her mouth. The slide of his tongue against hers, the flavor of his lip balm as she sucked at his bottom lip had her belly swooping pleasantly. Her hands stayed on her lap, but she couldn’t help but lean forward, closer to him, chest to chest. 

The held back whine from moments ago bubbled up again, and Seonghwa laughed. The sound low and affectionate and just…everything. “Calm down, bunny,” he said, fingers brushing down the side of her face. “I need to fill the tub so we can take that bath, remember?”

“We?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Unless you want to take it alone?”

She shook her head. Pouted. She absolutely did not want that.

“Then be good for me.” 

Her stomach gave a startling swoop at those words, skin flushing hot and head fuzzier than it had been since the whole thing started. “Wanna be good.” she said, voice a dreamy echo in the bathroom. 

“You wanna be good for me, bunny?” He turned to her from where he was perched on the edge of the tub, fingers under the rushing water, testing the temperature. 

All she could do was nod, mouth dry and words stuck in her throat. 

“Does that make you feel floaty?”

“Yes,” she admitted, hands kneading at her thighs. 

He hummed, reaching into a basket resting on a small table beside the tub to pull out a container of bath salts and a bottle of what she could only assume to be bubbles. Lavender and vanilla filled the room, and she wanted to melt into a puddle of warmth right there. The tub filled slowly, and he walked back over to her as it took its sweet time. “Still doing good, sweets?” he asked, hands braced on the counter on either side of her. 

“Mhm,” she hummed, reaching out to curl her fingers around the bottom of his shirt, pulling him closer to stand between her legs. “Kiss?” she asked. 

“I can give you kisses,” he said, hands sweeping up her arms to rest on either side of her neck, thumbs nudging her jaw to tip her head back. “You can give me kisses too. Wherever you want, bunny.”

Her eyes fell to his neck, perusing the elegant line of it. Her mouth all but watered at the sight, tongue dancing behind her teeth at the need to feel the smooth expanse of golden skin beneath it. To sink her teeth in. To leave little bites, to leave traces of red and purple to bloom in their wake. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and her eyes flicked up to lock with his. Usually wide and sparkly but now hooded and dark. 

“What is it, sweet girl? Hmm? Wanna mark me up like you did Sannie?”

“Please?”

“Asking so pretty,” he murmured, thumb stroking down her jaw in a slow slide that sent a shiver down her spine. “Of course you can, bunny. But lets get in the tub first.”

His hands were gentle as he helped her to stand. Steady and slow as he helped her out of her clothes and folded each piece to set on the counter. He did the same with his own clothing. Stripping each piece slowly, folding them methodically to put them beside the pile of her own. Then, he was leading her over to the tub. Helping her inside before climbing in to settle behind her. 

No matter how much she wanted to lean back into his chest and relax into the warmth of the water and his skin, she turned to straddle his lap. Like he knew she was going to, he helped her, hands on her hips, knees hitching up to support her better as she slid closer him. Belly to belly, chest to chest, skin slick with water. Bubbles cradling them and scented steam floating in the air. It was enough to make the haziness of her brain grow. Enough to have her pressing even closer, close enough she could feel the flex of his muscles against her own, could feel him still soft but starting to fill out beneath the curve of her ass. 

Feeling bold, she slid her hands up his arms like he had with her earlier. Over the defined roundness of his shoulders to cup the sides of his neck, using her thumbs to tip his head back. He let her with a throaty groan, head hitting the wall behind him with a soft thud. He swallowed, throat bobbing temptingly again, and she couldn’t help herself. 

Her tongue ran up the temping line of his neck, teeth nipped lightly at the sharp edge of his jaw, kissed the soft skin beneath his chin. 

“Go ahead and mark me up, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice low and rough, fingers dancing up her spine with light touches that made her hips twitch. “Show everyone I’m yours, hmm?”

The words made her moan, the sound high-pitched and sweeter than the vanilla blanketing the air. She littered his skin with kisses, nips, and bites, enjoying the way his sounds echoed in the room. Low and rumbling and breathless, the sounds so fucking pretty they made her head spin. 

His cock was pressing hot and insistent against her ass by the time she reached the beautiful ridge of his collarbones, teeth grazing the thin skin, sucking a mark into the dip between them like she had with Sannie. Her hips rolled in his lap, nestling him right between her cheeks. “Hwa,” she whined needily. 

“Ignore it, bunny,” he said, petting the back of her head as she bit at his neck again, fingers flexing in her hair. 

“Want it,” she breathed. 

“I’m glad you do. But you’re not getting it. Not right now, not when you’re floaty and we didn’t talk about it before. No matter how pretty you ask.”

Her heart fluttered at the low tone of his voice, the gentle command in the words. His name fell from her lips again, hips rocking forward against his firm stomach. 

“Calm down, bunny,” he murmured, grip tight against the back of her neck. “Be good for Hwa, hmm?”

Her thighs shook with the effort it took to be still, but she did as he said. The praise warming her inside out as she forced herself to relax against him, head on his shoulder and face pressed tight to his spit-slicked neck. 

“There you go,” he praised softly, hot breath fanning her ear and making her shiver. “Such a good sweet bunny for me. Just let me take care of you, good girl.” 

And he did. Making her relax against him, smoothing his hands over her skin and playing with her hair and the bubbles until the water started to cool. Then helping her stand for a shower to rinse the bath away. Lathering her skin with a mellow smelling bodywash, scrubbing in gentle circles until she felt smooth and clean. Washing her hair, letting her scrub him with the rich later of his bodywash while waiting for her hair to condition. Gently turning down her offer to wash his hair for him, instead having her lean against him as he did it himself. Drying her off with a fluffy towel. Massaging lotion into her skin while conditioner sat in his own hair. Letting her sit on the closed toilet while he rinsed the product out, washing the residue off his skin with another quick pass of bodywash. 

She dried him off, loving the small act of service, sprinkling his damp skin with more little red marks of her affection that she hoped would stay until the next day. 

Hongjoong came in when her face was once again pressed against Hwa’s neck, sucking a new purple mark into the curve where his neck and shoulder met. Just in time to see his friend shiver at the little possessive display. His low laughter filled the room, slow and rolling like the steam hanging in the air. 

“Was going to ask if Hwa was taking care of you, but it seems you’re the one taking care of him instead,” he mused, laughing louder when they both turned to him with wide, startled eyes. His gaze flicked over them, lingering on the flush of her skin and the evidence of her affection lingering on his friends neck, dipping down to take in the tenting of Hwa’s low-slung towel.

Seonghwa shifted in embarrassment, but snorted at his friend. “What do you need, Joong?” he said. 

Hongjoong rolled his eyes but held up the bundles he was holding against his chest. “I brought clothes.” He handed one over to Seonghwa before stepping closer to her. “Mingi insisted you wear one of his shirts, but the shorts are mine.”

Giddiness bubbled up in her chest, making her giggle and wiggle in her spot, loving the casual claiming that dressing someone in one’s own clothes could signify. 

Hongjoong’s face softened, lips tipping up into a little smile and eyes gleaming in the dim lighting of the bathroom. “Get dressed, love,” he said. “Mingi and Wooyoungie are getting restless.”

[thesewersofparis]

this painting came to me in a dream

[sludgebones]

NO ONE appreciated my joke and its two revisions when i posted it so i’m posting it here

[dawn-iscozy]

“ it can’t rain all the time ”

PLAYLIST: “like a villain” - bad omens, “another life” - motionless in white, “take me back to eden” - sleep token, “change (in the house of flies)” - deftones

WARNINGS: the crow! yunho, very loosely based on the 1994 film but I tried to at least fit the sad, grunge-y aesthetics, as such there are themes of death, drug-use, alcohol-use, sexual harassment, violence, and general criminal behaviors

A NOTE: this is heavily inspired by the 1994 film adaptation of “The Crow”, names and characters come very directly from the film and i tried to keep much of the atmosphere. but the plot of the film is glazed over for the sake of just getting the story out on the page. it isn’t necessary to know the film (or the comics/graphic novels or the newest 2024 adaptation) for the story, but it might be helpful/more enjoyable to know the plot. look–i just took some details, changed some others, and ran with them, okay?? i just needed to imagine yunho as the crow, and i made it happen for myself (and anyone who is willing to read this). do NOT expect this to follow the movie’s plot or the movies rules much at all.

Yunho’s head was pounding, sharp waves of pain that felt like knives being stabbed right into the grey mush that should have been his brain. He tried to blink his eyes open, but found himself flinching back, curling into a ball and pushing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. It was too bright and too dark all at once and sent electric currents right through him all over again. Like having shards of glass embedded beneath his lids. Hell, maybe there were, digging in deeper and deeper with each pass of his fingers over the burning pits that should have been eyes.

He breathed through it. Forced himself to inhale one shaky, hitched breath at a time. In - one, two, three. Out - one, two, three. Each inhale like ingesting flames, each exhale on a sob that came from the very bottom of his stomach. He lost count, started hyperventilating, unable to breathe. He was going to vomit - he was vomiting, the bile rising in his throat before he even registered it, splashing wetly against the ground beside him. He would have grimaced, recoiled, if he didn’t feel so weighted down. 

He ached. His whole body felt like just one massive muscle spasm - every bone, muscle, ligament contracted too tight and on fire. Hot and cold; everything and nothing; heavy and weightless all at once. It was maddening. Insane. He had to have gone insane. Fucking crazy, cause why the hell does he remember dying? Why does he remember a frenzy of fists, sharp steel, and bullets? The shattering of glass? The sickening crunch of his own body landing on the rain-slicked pavement below? 

Why does he remember seeing her die? Seeing the glint of a blade before it plunged right into her chest? Red soaking her shirt, the floor beneath her? Why could he still hear the joy-filled cackles of the man in their apartment, their home, their safe place away from everything? 

The memory distorted, splintered and shattered like a broken mirror, tinged red like the blood spilling from his beloved’s wounds. Roaring filled his ears, filled his chest, his throat, spilled from his dry lips, the skin splitting to fill his mouth with the taste of metal. Of rage. 

His screams echoed around him. Bounced off the walls of his skull, bounced off the walls of wherever the fuck he was. 

Drip. Something fell on his face. Cool and wet, right in the center of his forehead. Again. A third time. His lashes fluttered, lids trying to lift but they were far too heavy. Sticky. He frowned, trembling hands swiping at his face. He stilled when fluttering filled his ears, and his eyes were finally able to open. 

There was a bird right in front of his face. Big and oil-slick black and its beak dangerously close. Its head cocked to the side to keep one beady eye on him. He startled, twisting to the side and scrambling away until his back hit a wall. His breath rushed out of him in a harsh wheeze as his skin scraped against exposed brick, the rough material cutting deep into naked, exposed flesh. Slicing until heat dripped down to pool on the floor beneath his ass. 

“What the fuck is going on?” he blurted out, voice loud and echoing in the empty alleyway even as it was a mere croak of breath. He was cold - so fucking cold, like he would never be warm again, like he had never known warmth in his entire life - and his whole body was trembling as flashes of memories continued to fill his mind. Being held down by his legs, by his shoulders, face pressed into the glass-laden floor, forced to watch as she was stabbed. Over and over again, the precious body violated by the sharpness of steel. Over and over. Forced to watch as she sought him out in her pain, in her final moments. Her hand stretched out across the space between them and her eyes big and bright with tears and fear and love. Still full of so much love. For him. For them. And then the light was gone. Her eyes staring at him blankly. Dark in the wretched stillness of her face, gleaming in the harsh yellow fluorescent lighting of their home, still filled with yet unshed tears. 

A sob tore its way from his throat so violently, he had to push his head between his knees to try to catch his breath again. He was going to cry; he already was crying, chest heaving and shoulders hitching with hiccups. He was going to vomit again, stomach lurching even though it was empty. Hollow. His fingers clawed at the tangled mass of his hair as he fought against falling back into hyperventilation, fought against the acid burning its way up his throat.

 She was dead. She died, had been killed right in front. of. him. 

And he had been too! Stabbed in the stomach and pushed out the fucking living room window. So why the fuck was he here? Alive and feeling and too fucking conscious.

The crow squawked, the sound shrill, echoing loudly. Its wings flapped as it hopped closer to him, sharp claws clicking and scraping against dirty, wet pavement. He flinched away from the sudden movement. Flinched again when the black bird spread its wings and took to the air, flying away from him. 

All he could do was stare after the bird’s retreating figure, and as soon as it was but a mere speck of blacker black in the dark of the night, he screamed. He screamed and screamed. Sobbed anew, until his throat was raw and his tongue tasted of copper and he felt as dead as he should have been. The physical pain drowned out the emotions, drowned out the memories. Fueled his rage. 

It began to rain as it simmered away in his system. The blood-boiling anger. The anguish. The deep seated need for revenge. He stood, bones aching, tears and blood mixing with the drops of water flowing down his face. He was going to find them. Find everyone who killed him. Who killed her. And he was going to kill each and every one of them.

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

He stumbled into the apartment -  the one that had been their home, their sanctuary, for years. Rain dripped from his hair, slid down his arms and off his fingertips, to the ground. The place was trashed. Pictures and books ripped and strewn about, glass shattered. Blood still stained the floor, right where he remembered laying, right where he remembered seeing them plunge a dagger right into her heart. Her last breath still rattled off the walls of the apartment, of his skull, and he pushed further into the space, disregarding the pain of glass crunching underfoot, slicing right through sensitive tissue to leave behind prints and smudges on the hardwood.

He stopped to stare at them in awe. Somehow he was alive. He was bleeding, the evidence of it now all over the floor. Red against the grime of the old wood, fresh against the stains of where she had once lain. Stains being all that remained of her. 

Another glance around the space had his heart clenching, stomach rolling like he might be sick again. Then, his eyes caught on something. Hanging on the back of the bathroom door, right where she had left it, the outfit he wore on stage however long ago. A whole lifetime ago. One she had taken great enjoyment in picking out, had taken pleasure in seeing him dressed in for his performance. All black, leather pants and torn cotton long-sleeve, adorned with chains and pins that she had spent hours sewing into the cloth. 

To the side of the door, a vanity. His reflection stared back at him, her favorite cosmetics mocking him where they lie, toppled and dusty with neglect. The days they spent together, him watching her get ready for dates, her urging him to do a facemask with her, helping him with different stage makeup looks. The makeup look she loved on him so much he almost didn’t make it to the venue for his performance, black smudged down his chin and kissed down his neck, mirrored on her own skin. 

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

Dove was cornered. Well, not really. Not entirely. But she couldn’t move if she wanted to get home undiscovered by the group around the corner. She breathed in silent gasps, heart fluttering away like a caged bird, trying not to jump with every shattered bottle and yelled curse from the group. All men, all bigger than her. All obviously under the influence of one thing or another and just looking to cause some kind of trouble. 

It was unlucky that she stumbled upon them–this very specific group of men. They were notorious in the city, even to those outside of the crime circles. Perhaps even especially to those outside the circles. That’s who they loved to prey upon the most, after all. They ran the city, played through it like it was their own personal playground, making it everyone’s own personal nightmare. 

The loudest of the men cursed, and she pressed herself harder into the grimy brick wall that kept her hidden, pressing her lips together to muffle the whimper threatening to spill out. It was dark, nearing midnight. The air wet and cold from the rainfall earlier in the day. Thank goodness it had stopped–even if only for a moment. That didn’t stop the chill that left her trembling, goosebumps lining her exposed skin. 

She had been running late for her shift at the diner and forgot her bag at home, leaving her with the only option of walking home in her uniform. An ugly, too-short thing that left her far more exposed than covered. But the flashes of leg got her more tips and kept the boss off her back. At least she was shorter than most of the other girls, the nasty thing falling a little lower on her thigh. Some of the girls can barely bend to wipe the tables down without showing a flash of whatever they have on underneath. 

Steps, shouts, the distinct sounds of a scuffle. She trembled, eyes squeezing tight, hoping against all hope that none of them came any closer. That she went unnoticed and would be able to make it home unharrassed. The alley way went quiet, but still, she stayed. Her hands gripped her skirt so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms even through the rough fabric. 

Something passed in front of her, and she choked back a sob, refusing to open her eyes. If she couldn’t see it coming, it would be more painless. But…nothing happened. One deep breath, and she let her eyes flutter open, spooking when something moved. A bird, blacker than the night. A crow. Staring right at her. 

It squawked, ruffled its wings, then took flight. She blinked. 

A scream stuck in her throat, knees nearly giving out beneath her. There was a man in front of her. Shrouded in shadows and barely visible, but a man nonetheless. Dressed in all black and leather, slouched and arms crossed over his chest in a way that did absolutely nothing to hide how tall he was. 

Long arms unraveled, fell to his sides, heavy combat boots scuffing against the cracked pavement of the alleyway, long leather jacket rustling with his movements. She squeaked, pushed further back into the wall behind her, lifting onto her toes as if that would help any. He stopped a mere step in front of her, face smeared with makeup enough to hide his expression but not the deep furrow of his brows or the intense darkness of his eyes. White base, black lines through his eyes and lips painted into a pointed smile–gothic and clown-like. 

“Go home,” he said, voice gruff like he hadn’t spoken in a long time. “You shouldn’t be out so late.”

Fear transformed into irritation before she could get a handle on it. “Right,” she scoffed. “I shouldn’t be out so late.”

His brows twitched up, seemingly amused by her anger. But he didn’t say anything, simply tilted his head, over-grown black hair falling into his eyes, and started walking away.

Dove scoffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. The anger dissipated before she was ready, forcing her breath to release from her lungs in a weary sigh. And when she turned the corner to go home, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. 

The man was gone.

She didn’t give herself the time to dwell on it. Who the man was. What he was doing out, in that specific area at that specific time–just in time for the group of degenerates to get in a shuffle that ended in deafening silence. How a man of his stature disappeared so quickly. She didn’t have the time to dwell on it. She shook the interaction off, took a deep breath, and continued on her path home, steadfastly refusing to look around the corner where the group of men should have been, waiting to harass any unsuspecting, innocent person unlucky enough to cross their path. It didn’t take long, not with how fast she was walking, wanting nothing more than to be out of the streets and out of the nasty uniform scratching at her sensitive skin. 

Before she knew it, her apartment building was looming over her. She rushed the squeaky stairs, avoiding the peeling walls of the hallway, coaxing her key into the door to push the creaky door open. Wet boots were toed off, keys thrown on the rickety kitchen table. Usually, she would throw her bag onto the floor by the sofa, but it was already there, the threadbare black fabric mocking her from where it was slouched. 

Her gaze moved from the current bane of her existence to the small body curled in on itself beneath the ratty blanket usually thrown over the back of the piece of furniture. His little head poked out over the top of the material, dark hair a mess and crumbs still on his mouth from whatever after-dinner snack he must have had. The television was playing, casting white-blue light that made him look ghostly, that brought the shadows beneath his eyes, the deep furrow of his brows, and downturn of his lips into stark attention. 

His face was pinched, but he wasn’t restless yet. Whatever nightmare was inevitably going to terrorize him wasn’t there quite yet. She didn’t have to wake him yet. She didn’t want to wake him yet. She would have to, eventually. He needed to sleep in the bed. But he already got so little sleep, plagued by bad dreams and night terrors since that fateful night. 

She turned on her heel, socked feet quiet on the floor as she went to the kitchen. She would give him a few more minutes of semi-peaceful sleep before moving him. A note was stuck to the fridge, words messy and sprawling like the person who wrote them was in a hurry. I gave Gabe the food you left for him. He ate it all and did his homework. I’m so sorry I had to bail before you got here, work called and I can’t miss any more days without being fired. - Sarah

A sigh was all she could give in response. It was a frustrating situation. Scary, even. Any number of things could have happened to her little brother in the time it took for Dove to make it home. But she couldn’t find it in herself feel angry at her neighbor for not being able to stay any later than she already had. Dove had been running late as it was, and she knew the teenager’s boss was short-tempered and fire-happy, that she was trying her hardest to support herself and her drug-addict mother. Sarah needed to work just as badly as Dove herself did. 

She stifled a yawn as she pulled the note from the single magnet she had on the refrigerator door. The paper crumbled in her grip, shook until she crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash. It bounced off the edge, falling to the linoleum floor with a soft sound that sounded all too loud in the dead quiet of the night. 

She should eat. She needed to, even. Having forgotten her bag meant she also forgot her allotted lunch money. Which also meant she was running purely on the one free drink allowed to her at work. Her stomach felt hollow, but she didn’t think she could keep any food down. Not while the adrenaline from her walk home still pulsed through her, not with how much her stomach all but gnawed at itself. 

A sound came from the living room. It was soft, barely there, but it was enough to make her freeze. Silence for a moment, then another noise came. A whimper–one she had become quite familiar with in the last year or so. Gabriel. 

Her steps were hurried as she walked back over to the sofa. The boy had curled into himself, his little form shaking beneath the blanket. She shook the boy by his shoulder, fingers carding through his messy hair, careful to not startle him too much. Forcing calm where she always felt fear and guilt and shame. He had always been scared of sudden noises and loud emotions, and it had become worse after their mother died.

She was not a nice woman by any means, but she had always done her best to provide for Dove as a child and then for him after he was born, even though he was entirely unexpected. Perhaps more distant than she should have been, but she had never lost her temper on them, never cursing or yelling at them. 

Her boyfriends were another story. Each one horrible, each one seemingly worse than the one before him. Always unkind and unforgiving. Thankfully, they treated the kids like they didn’t exist, but they were always angry at their mother. And those situations were always likely to create lasting impressions on anyone, child or adult, who had to witness them. 

“Sissy?” he asked, voice thick with sleep, lower lip trembling and eyes wet, jerking her right back into the present

“It’s just me, baby bird,” she murmured, pulling him up and into her body, suppressing her own tears as he snuffled against her neck. “Let’s get you into bed, hmm?”

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

Yunho cursed himself as he watched the woman leave from his hiding spot in the shadows of the alleyway. What was she thinking walking through this part of the city so late at night? What was he thinking talking to her? Regardless, he shadowed her as she made her way through the city, scowling when she stopped at a derelict apartment building.

He couldn't dwell here any longer. He had shit to get done. People to find. Revenge to exact. He stalked through the night, feeling all the more like a predator as his vision blurred and shifted, aided by his crow companion circling in the air just ahead. 

________

The knife sang through the air when he threw it, the weapon landing with deadly precision, sinking into its own owner’s flesh. Wide, angry eyes losing all light the very next moment. Bodies littered the room, blood running in rivulets, air thick with the smell of gun powder and smoke. The heavy silence of finality–of death–was pierced by the shrieking of police sirens. The crackling of fire. The heavy rainfall against the roof of the building. 

He jumped as the flashing blue and red lights approached, landing heavily on the ground. Heavier than he should have, feet and ankles jarring painfully before he rolled to the ground. The breath was knocked out of him–something that hadn’t happened since he had reawakened in the dingy alleyway however long ago. Pain blurred his vision more than the heavy rain did, and he could feel the pulse of the wounds in his abdomen trying and failing to heal the way it should have. But those bastards had set a trap, injured his crow–luckily, it had gotten away with its life (and his own by extension). 

Yunho blindly made his way through the city, shivering and soaked to the bone before he realized where he was. The dilapidated building sagged over him, looking half-alive in the dirty yellow cast by the streetlights, lowhanging clouds obscuring the top like unruly grey hair, broken windows winking in and out of focus like ghostly eyes in the night. 

He isn’t sure how he found the apartment or when he raised his fist to knock at the door, moving through the building with his mind only half present. He wasn’t in his own body, feeling numb and floaty. It was a choke noise of distress that snapped him back. 

The woman from the alleyway stood before him, clutching the door like she might fall to the floor without its support. She looked frightened, eyes darting over him and then around the hallway. He had to look horrible. Pale and dripping water and blood in puddles. “Help me,” he choked out, barely able to push the words from his throat. 

He was floating again, but present enough to see the shift in her expression. The hardening of her eyes and the firm press of her lips before she turned to look inside. “Gabriel, baby,” she called into the apartment. “I need you to go sit in the bedroom and wait for me to come and get you. Can you do that for me?”

A little voice answered back, trembling but strong. “Yes, sissy.” Soft footsteps pattered through, a door opened then clicked shut. 

Silence settled heavy over the apartment before she grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside. Her grip was tight–grounding–but he could feel the tremors in her fingers as she dragged him further inside. The apartment is dark, lit only by the streetlights shining in from outside, but she navigated the both of them through the space with ease, pulling him quickly down a hall, keeping herself pointedly between him and the closed door just on the other side of the hallway.  

“Shirt,” she said, voice clipped as she riffled through a cabinet beneath the sink. She straightened, first-aid kit in hand, brow arched when she saw that he hadn’t moved.  “Do you need help?” she asked, something softer leaking into her voice as she set the plastic box on the sink, leaving it to balance precariously on the lip of the chipped porcelain bowl. 

“Please,” he whispered around the lump sitting in his throat. His mind was back in his body again, and he felt heavy. So heavy. Like his skin and muscles were pressing in on his bones and weights were attached to his eyelids. He wasn’t sure he could lift his arms on his own even if he tried. 

The woman was quick but gentle as she worked the tight black material from his torso. A startled gasp stuck in her throat, fingers worrying the soaked material and eyes stuck to him. She was trembling again, he noticed. And he looked around her to catch sight of himself in the mirror. Scars littering his skin. Some old, shiny and white against his already pale skin–the ones that had caused his initial death. But it was the new ones, bright red and obviously irritated, still leaking blood down his chest that must have shocked her.  

“Where'd the blood come from?” she asked, stepping back from him, pink-stained fingers raising. “What happened?”

“It was mine,” he said. “Mostly.”

“Mostly,” she repeated, exhaling a sharp breath. “What the fuck does that mean? How the fuck are you alive? These wounds would have most people in the hospital right now. Most people would be dead already.” 

“I’m not…most people,” he said. “I’m not even sure I'm a person.”

His knees were buckling before he could find the strength to stop it. Whatever questions had been blazing in her eyes left, and she scrambled to catch him before he could fall. Grip firm as she helped him a step back to settle his dead weight on the toilet. 

“How are you not dead?” she murmured, eyes locked on the gaping wounds in his chest, the one on his side, the one above his belly button. “You need to be in a hospital with all these.”

“I can’t go to a hospital,” he panted out.

“Why not?”

“I’m already dead,” he said. “I’m supposed to be dead.”

Her eyes were sharp, cutting, as they looked into his own again. “What the fuck does that mean?” Fear and impatience pushed her voice an octave higher. 

His arm lifted on its own, trembling fingers brushing the warm curve of her cheek before she could stumble back. He saw the moment she fell into his memories, the moment the pain hit and she realized what she was seeing. Just enough to explain but not enough to harm her. His arm was falling heavily into his lap before she was gasping, tears clumping her eyelashes. 

She didn’t say anything, blinking through tears and disbelief. She surprised him by reaching for the first-aid kit in favor of wiping the wetness from her face or asking questions. He let her. He let the silence hang in the air, unwilling to break it save for the sharp hisses that escape his throat as she cleaned his skin, disinfected the wounds, and covered them with sterile cotton pads. 

“You’re good at that,” he said, watching her grab his shirt from the floor to throw it into the tub, wipe the puddle of bloody water from the cracked linoleum, then turn to the sink.

“I was a nurse.” Her voice was soft as she started to scrub at her hands, pink foam rinsing away before she went in for another round of soap. Then a third. Then she was hunched over the sink, water still running as her shoulders shook. 

She was straightening before he could say anything else, eyes vacant and so far away concern settled in his chest. “You’re welcome to stay if you have nowhere to go. Don’t go near my bedroom. Goodnight.” With that, she turned and stumbled across the hall. 

The water was still going. 

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

There’s a tiny human curled into her side when she wakes up, the world still gray outside her bedroom window. Whether because it was still raining or because it was just that early, she wasn’t entirely sure. But she wiggled out of bed, anyway, carefully retucking the blanket around Gabriel to keep the chill of the apartment as far away from his skin as possible. 

Flashes of the night before came to her as she walked to the bathroom. The man with his waterlogged clothes and smudged face paint. The blood running down his torso in rivers. The blurry flashes of his life now embedded in her brain. I’m supposed to be dead. How was he not dead? 

Dove felt like she was sleepwalking as she went about her morning. Her coffee was warm but flavorless, her work uniform scratching at her skin feeling like nothing. The walk to work was a blur. Feeling and awareness didn’t come fully back to her until halfway through her shift, and the bombardment to her senses left her shaky and needing to step outside for a moment. 

The alleyway behind the restaurant was empty, lined with trash, the asphalt wet. But blessedly lacking in people. The breeze was light and the mist cool as it fell on her skin. Everything she needed to calm down. 

Something rustled, something else scraped against the ground. Reminding her of a few nights ago. Of last night. Of that man. She glanced around the alleyway, noticed a flicker in the shadows, a crow propped on the ledge of a building just above. Instead of fear, something else settled in her chest. Something almost warm. Something unexpected. 

She didn’t dwell on it. Instead, turning on her heel to walk back inside. 

________

The night was heavy, the clouds hanging low and fog blurring the edges of the world. The heaviness pressed down on her the closer she got to home. The night darker. The fog thicker. A smell swirling its way into her nose. Stifling. Smoke. 

Her heart kicked in her chest, and her steps fell quicker. Harder. Water kicked up from the pavement to wet the backs of her legs as she sped home. Hoping against hope it wasn’t coming from where she was most afraid of it coming from. 

She froze. Stopped breathing. Fire and smoke billowed from the broken windows, people scrambling from the one entrance of the building. She scanned them all, searching, heart in her throat, for a single head of dark ringlets. Where is he? “Gabriel?” she called over the bustle of the people and the crackling of the flames. 

He wasn’t there. 

She rushed to the entrance, ignoring the hands and cries of people trying to keep her outside. She pushed them away, running inside and up the rickety stairs. Sweat beaded on her skin, smoke choked her lungs. She didn’t stop, kept running down the hall, fighting her apartment door open when she finally reached it. 

The fire wasn’t in her apartment. Not yet. “Gabriel,” she called again, coughing as smoke continued to assault her airways. “Where are you, baby?” 

A muffled voice came from down the hall. The bedroom. She ran harder than she had just a moment before, down the hall and into the room. He wasn’t where she could see him. “Gabriel, where are you?” she called again. 

The closet door was pushed open, dark curls and sparkling eyes peering up at her in fear. 

She rushed to him, too scared to worry about frightening him. “Pull your shirt over your nose, baby. Can you do that for me?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, pulling the material up before he had the chance and pulling his hand up to hold it there. “Keep that there, okay?” 

The roar of the fire was getting louder, the temperature rising, the building creaking. They needed to leave. She hurried him out of the room. Out of the apartment. There was a sharp crack, and something fell behind them as they turned into the hallway. Gabriel screamed, gripped her arm tighter, and she ushered him to the stairs. 

They were halfway down when there was another creak. Loud. Ominous. The step beneath her feet gave way, and she fell through. Gabriel screamed again, his grip tight on her, like he was trying to pull her up. 

She was dizzy–from the heat, the smoke, the adrenaline. Unable to focus her blurring vision, but there was no mistaking the sound of footsteps, even with the sounds of the fire and her fear-muffled ears. No mistaking the shadow creeping up the stairs, the long black jacket and large frame. 

He stopped before her, looking every inch an avenging angle in the flickering orange of flame and the haze of smoke. He didn’t say anything, simply hauled her up, set her on her feet, and rushed her and Gabriel the rest of the way down the stairs and outside. He didn’t stop when they got out, pulling them across the street and onto the cracked sidewalk. 

Sirens rang through the air, cutting through the sounds of the fire and the cries and curious murmurs of everyone standing outside, and Gabriel jumped. She startled back into awareness to crouch down to his level. He was crying, struggling to breathe through his sobs. Her heart squeezed as she pulled him into her body. She hushed him, murmuring into his hair, “It’s okay, baby. Just let it out, hmm? There you go. You did so good. Listened to me soso well.”

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

As if Yunho couldn't stop himself, he was reaching out, trembling fingers brushing the wetness from her cheek. And then memories were flooding into him.

“You knew her?” he asked, unable to stop just how broken he sounded. 

“Who?” 

“I saw her,” he said, swallowing hard enough she could hear his throat click. “The woman I was going to marry. My Daisy. You knew her. I saw it, saw her through your eyes.” 

“Daisy,” she whispered. Her voice was soft, wet with a sadness she thought she had long-since gotten a handle on. The memories came back to her  Of a hospital and blue scrubs, the smell of disinfectant, a woman lying unconscious on a bed.  “Daisy Draven?”

His expression said more than words ever could.

“I was her nurse when she was trying to get clean. Before…before I quit.”

“You stayed with her,” he said. “You sat with her all night.”

“I didn’t want her to be alone,” she whispered, voice thick with tears. “But I ended up leaving her, anyway.”

The words hung heavy in the quiet between them, and she hugged her brother tighter to her body, stifling a sob as he shuddered in her hold. It was raining again. The chill pressing in, wet and oppressive, as she willed herself not to break right there. 

He gave a humorless bark of a laugh, pushing a hand through long, wet strands of hair. “Guess we have that in common, then.”

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

ANOTHER NOTE: and it ends here! i had thoughts on how i wanted this to go, but didn't get them down quick enough and entirely forgot. so, there may be a second part or there may not be. that remains to be seen. anyway! if you've made it this far, i hope you enjoyed this! and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! 🎃🍬

[dawn-iscozy]

“ it can’t rain all the time ”

PLAYLIST: “like a villain” - bad omens, “another life” - motionless in white, “take me back to eden” - sleep token, “change (in the house of flies)” - deftones

WARNINGS: the crow! yunho, very loosely based on the 1994 film but I tried to at least fit the sad, grunge-y aesthetics, as such there are themes of death, drug-use, alcohol-use, sexual harassment, violence, and general criminal behaviors

A NOTE: this is heavily inspired by the 1994 film adaptation of “The Crow”, names and characters come very directly from the film and i tried to keep much of the atmosphere. but the plot of the film is glazed over for the sake of just getting the story out on the page. it isn’t necessary to know the film (or the comics/graphic novels or the newest 2024 adaptation) for the story, but it might be helpful/more enjoyable to know the plot. look–i just took some details, changed some others, and ran with them, okay?? i just needed to imagine yunho as the crow, and i made it happen for myself (and anyone who is willing to read this). do NOT expect this to follow the movie’s plot or the movies rules much at all.

Yunho’s head was pounding, sharp waves of pain that felt like knives being stabbed right into the grey mush that should have been his brain. He tried to blink his eyes open, but found himself flinching back, curling into a ball and pushing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. It was too bright and too dark all at once and sent electric currents right through him all over again. Like having shards of glass embedded beneath his lids. Hell, maybe there were, digging in deeper and deeper with each pass of his fingers over the burning pits that should have been eyes.

He breathed through it. Forced himself to inhale one shaky, hitched breath at a time. In - one, two, three. Out - one, two, three. Each inhale like ingesting flames, each exhale on a sob that came from the very bottom of his stomach. He lost count, started hyperventilating, unable to breathe. He was going to vomit - he was vomiting, the bile rising in his throat before he even registered it, splashing wetly against the ground beside him. He would have grimaced, recoiled, if he didn’t feel so weighted down. 

He ached. His whole body felt like just one massive muscle spasm - every bone, muscle, ligament contracted too tight and on fire. Hot and cold; everything and nothing; heavy and weightless all at once. It was maddening. Insane. He had to have gone insane. Fucking crazy, cause why the hell does he remember dying? Why does he remember a frenzy of fists, sharp steel, and bullets? The shattering of glass? The sickening crunch of his own body landing on the rain-slicked pavement below? 

Why does he remember seeing her die? Seeing the glint of a blade before it plunged right into her chest? Red soaking her shirt, the floor beneath her? Why could he still hear the joy-filled cackles of the man in their apartment, their home, their safe place away from everything? 

The memory distorted, splintered and shattered like a broken mirror, tinged red like the blood spilling from his beloved’s wounds. Roaring filled his ears, filled his chest, his throat, spilled from his dry lips, the skin splitting to fill his mouth with the taste of metal. Of rage. 

His screams echoed around him. Bounced off the walls of his skull, bounced off the walls of wherever the fuck he was. 

Drip. Something fell on his face. Cool and wet, right in the center of his forehead. Again. A third time. His lashes fluttered, lids trying to lift but they were far too heavy. Sticky. He frowned, trembling hands swiping at his face. He stilled when fluttering filled his ears, and his eyes were finally able to open. 

There was a bird right in front of his face. Big and oil-slick black and its beak dangerously close. Its head cocked to the side to keep one beady eye on him. He startled, twisting to the side and scrambling away until his back hit a wall. His breath rushed out of him in a harsh wheeze as his skin scraped against exposed brick, the rough material cutting deep into naked, exposed flesh. Slicing until heat dripped down to pool on the floor beneath his ass. 

“What the fuck is going on?” he blurted out, voice loud and echoing in the empty alleyway even as it was a mere croak of breath. He was cold - so fucking cold, like he would never be warm again, like he had never known warmth in his entire life - and his whole body was trembling as flashes of memories continued to fill his mind. Being held down by his legs, by his shoulders, face pressed into the glass-laden floor, forced to watch as she was stabbed. Over and over again, the precious body violated by the sharpness of steel. Over and over. Forced to watch as she sought him out in her pain, in her final moments. Her hand stretched out across the space between them and her eyes big and bright with tears and fear and love. Still full of so much love. For him. For them. And then the light was gone. Her eyes staring at him blankly. Dark in the wretched stillness of her face, gleaming in the harsh yellow fluorescent lighting of their home, still filled with yet unshed tears. 

A sob tore its way from his throat so violently, he had to push his head between his knees to try to catch his breath again. He was going to cry; he already was crying, chest heaving and shoulders hitching with hiccups. He was going to vomit again, stomach lurching even though it was empty. Hollow. His fingers clawed at the tangled mass of his hair as he fought against falling back into hyperventilation, fought against the acid burning its way up his throat.

 She was dead. She died, had been killed right in front. of. him. 

And he had been too! Stabbed in the stomach and pushed out the fucking living room window. So why the fuck was he here? Alive and feeling and too fucking conscious.

The crow squawked, the sound shrill, echoing loudly. Its wings flapped as it hopped closer to him, sharp claws clicking and scraping against dirty, wet pavement. He flinched away from the sudden movement. Flinched again when the black bird spread its wings and took to the air, flying away from him. 

All he could do was stare after the bird’s retreating figure, and as soon as it was but a mere speck of blacker black in the dark of the night, he screamed. He screamed and screamed. Sobbed anew, until his throat was raw and his tongue tasted of copper and he felt as dead as he should have been. The physical pain drowned out the emotions, drowned out the memories. Fueled his rage. 

It began to rain as it simmered away in his system. The blood-boiling anger. The anguish. The deep seated need for revenge. He stood, bones aching, tears and blood mixing with the drops of water flowing down his face. He was going to find them. Find everyone who killed him. Who killed her. And he was going to kill each and every one of them.

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

He stumbled into the apartment -  the one that had been their home, their sanctuary, for years. Rain dripped from his hair, slid down his arms and off his fingertips, to the ground. The place was trashed. Pictures and books ripped and strewn about, glass shattered. Blood still stained the floor, right where he remembered laying, right where he remembered seeing them plunge a dagger right into her heart. Her last breath still rattled off the walls of the apartment, of his skull, and he pushed further into the space, disregarding the pain of glass crunching underfoot, slicing right through sensitive tissue to leave behind prints and smudges on the hardwood.

He stopped to stare at them in awe. Somehow he was alive. He was bleeding, the evidence of it now all over the floor. Red against the grime of the old wood, fresh against the stains of where she had once lain. Stains being all that remained of her. 

Another glance around the space had his heart clenching, stomach rolling like he might be sick again. Then, his eyes caught on something. Hanging on the back of the bathroom door, right where she had left it, the outfit he wore on stage however long ago. A whole lifetime ago. One she had taken great enjoyment in picking out, had taken pleasure in seeing him dressed in for his performance. All black, leather pants and torn cotton long-sleeve, adorned with chains and pins that she had spent hours sewing into the cloth. 

To the side of the door, a vanity. His reflection stared back at him, her favorite cosmetics mocking him where they lie, toppled and dusty with neglect. The days they spent together, him watching her get ready for dates, her urging him to do a facemask with her, helping him with different stage makeup looks. The makeup look she loved on him so much he almost didn’t make it to the venue for his performance, black smudged down his chin and kissed down his neck, mirrored on her own skin. 

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

Dove was cornered. Well, not really. Not entirely. But she couldn’t move if she wanted to get home undiscovered by the group around the corner. She breathed in silent gasps, heart fluttering away like a caged bird, trying not to jump with every shattered bottle and yelled curse from the group. All men, all bigger than her. All obviously under the influence of one thing or another and just looking to cause some kind of trouble. 

It was unlucky that she stumbled upon them–this very specific group of men. They were notorious in the city, even to those outside of the crime circles. Perhaps even especially to those outside the circles. That’s who they loved to prey upon the most, after all. They ran the city, played through it like it was their own personal playground, making it everyone’s own personal nightmare. 

The loudest of the men cursed, and she pressed herself harder into the grimy brick wall that kept her hidden, pressing her lips together to muffle the whimper threatening to spill out. It was dark, nearing midnight. The air wet and cold from the rainfall earlier in the day. Thank goodness it had stopped–even if only for a moment. That didn’t stop the chill that left her trembling, goosebumps lining her exposed skin. 

She had been running late for her shift at the diner and forgot her bag at home, leaving her with the only option of walking home in her uniform. An ugly, too-short thing that left her far more exposed than covered. But the flashes of leg got her more tips and kept the boss off her back. At least she was shorter than most of the other girls, the nasty thing falling a little lower on her thigh. Some of the girls can barely bend to wipe the tables down without showing a flash of whatever they have on underneath. 

Steps, shouts, the distinct sounds of a scuffle. She trembled, eyes squeezing tight, hoping against all hope that none of them came any closer. That she went unnoticed and would be able to make it home unharrassed. The alley way went quiet, but still, she stayed. Her hands gripped her skirt so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms even through the rough fabric. 

Something passed in front of her, and she choked back a sob, refusing to open her eyes. If she couldn’t see it coming, it would be more painless. But…nothing happened. One deep breath, and she let her eyes flutter open, spooking when something moved. A bird, blacker than the night. A crow. Staring right at her. 

It squawked, ruffled its wings, then took flight. She blinked. 

A scream stuck in her throat, knees nearly giving out beneath her. There was a man in front of her. Shrouded in shadows and barely visible, but a man nonetheless. Dressed in all black and leather, slouched and arms crossed over his chest in a way that did absolutely nothing to hide how tall he was. 

Long arms unraveled, fell to his sides, heavy combat boots scuffing against the cracked pavement of the alleyway, long leather jacket rustling with his movements. She squeaked, pushed further back into the wall behind her, lifting onto her toes as if that would help any. He stopped a mere step in front of her, face smeared with makeup enough to hide his expression but not the deep furrow of his brows or the intense darkness of his eyes. White base, black lines through his eyes and lips painted into a pointed smile–gothic and clown-like. 

“Go home,” he said, voice gruff like he hadn’t spoken in a long time. “You shouldn’t be out so late.”

Fear transformed into irritation before she could get a handle on it. “Right,” she scoffed. “I shouldn’t be out so late.”

His brows twitched up, seemingly amused by her anger. But he didn’t say anything, simply tilted his head, over-grown black hair falling into his eyes, and started walking away.

Dove scoffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. The anger dissipated before she was ready, forcing her breath to release from her lungs in a weary sigh. And when she turned the corner to go home, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. 

The man was gone.

She didn’t give herself the time to dwell on it. Who the man was. What he was doing out, in that specific area at that specific time–just in time for the group of degenerates to get in a shuffle that ended in deafening silence. How a man of his stature disappeared so quickly. She didn’t have the time to dwell on it. She shook the interaction off, took a deep breath, and continued on her path home, steadfastly refusing to look around the corner where the group of men should have been, waiting to harass any unsuspecting, innocent person unlucky enough to cross their path. It didn’t take long, not with how fast she was walking, wanting nothing more than to be out of the streets and out of the nasty uniform scratching at her sensitive skin. 

Before she knew it, her apartment building was looming over her. She rushed the squeaky stairs, avoiding the peeling walls of the hallway, coaxing her key into the door to push the creaky door open. Wet boots were toed off, keys thrown on the rickety kitchen table. Usually, she would throw her bag onto the floor by the sofa, but it was already there, the threadbare black fabric mocking her from where it was slouched. 

Her gaze moved from the current bane of her existence to the small body curled in on itself beneath the ratty blanket usually thrown over the back of the piece of furniture. His little head poked out over the top of the material, dark hair a mess and crumbs still on his mouth from whatever after-dinner snack he must have had. The television was playing, casting white-blue light that made him look ghostly, that brought the shadows beneath his eyes, the deep furrow of his brows, and downturn of his lips into stark attention. 

His face was pinched, but he wasn’t restless yet. Whatever nightmare was inevitably going to terrorize him wasn’t there quite yet. She didn’t have to wake him yet. She didn’t want to wake him yet. She would have to, eventually. He needed to sleep in the bed. But he already got so little sleep, plagued by bad dreams and night terrors since that fateful night. 

She turned on her heel, socked feet quiet on the floor as she went to the kitchen. She would give him a few more minutes of semi-peaceful sleep before moving him. A note was stuck to the fridge, words messy and sprawling like the person who wrote them was in a hurry. I gave Gabe the food you left for him. He ate it all and did his homework. I’m so sorry I had to bail before you got here, work called and I can’t miss any more days without being fired. - Sarah

A sigh was all she could give in response. It was a frustrating situation. Scary, even. Any number of things could have happened to her little brother in the time it took for Dove to make it home. But she couldn’t find it in herself feel angry at her neighbor for not being able to stay any later than she already had. Dove had been running late as it was, and she knew the teenager’s boss was short-tempered and fire-happy, that she was trying her hardest to support herself and her drug-addict mother. Sarah needed to work just as badly as Dove herself did. 

She stifled a yawn as she pulled the note from the single magnet she had on the refrigerator door. The paper crumbled in her grip, shook until she crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash. It bounced off the edge, falling to the linoleum floor with a soft sound that sounded all too loud in the dead quiet of the night. 

She should eat. She needed to, even. Having forgotten her bag meant she also forgot her allotted lunch money. Which also meant she was running purely on the one free drink allowed to her at work. Her stomach felt hollow, but she didn’t think she could keep any food down. Not while the adrenaline from her walk home still pulsed through her, not with how much her stomach all but gnawed at itself. 

A sound came from the living room. It was soft, barely there, but it was enough to make her freeze. Silence for a moment, then another noise came. A whimper–one she had become quite familiar with in the last year or so. Gabriel. 

Her steps were hurried as she walked back over to the sofa. The boy had curled into himself, his little form shaking beneath the blanket. She shook the boy by his shoulder, fingers carding through his messy hair, careful to not startle him too much. Forcing calm where she always felt fear and guilt and shame. He had always been scared of sudden noises and loud emotions, and it had become worse after their mother died.

She was not a nice woman by any means, but she had always done her best to provide for Dove as a child and then for him after he was born, even though he was entirely unexpected. Perhaps more distant than she should have been, but she had never lost her temper on them, never cursing or yelling at them. 

Her boyfriends were another story. Each one horrible, each one seemingly worse than the one before him. Always unkind and unforgiving. Thankfully, they treated the kids like they didn’t exist, but they were always angry at their mother. And those situations were always likely to create lasting impressions on anyone, child or adult, who had to witness them. 

“Sissy?” he asked, voice thick with sleep, lower lip trembling and eyes wet, jerking her right back into the present

“It’s just me, baby bird,” she murmured, pulling him up and into her body, suppressing her own tears as he snuffled against her neck. “Let’s get you into bed, hmm?”

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

Yunho cursed himself as he watched the woman leave from his hiding spot in the shadows of the alleyway. What was she thinking walking through this part of the city so late at night? What was he thinking talking to her? Regardless, he shadowed her as she made her way through the city, scowling when she stopped at a derelict apartment building.

He couldn't dwell here any longer. He had shit to get done. People to find. Revenge to exact. He stalked through the night, feeling all the more like a predator as his vision blurred and shifted, aided by his crow companion circling in the air just ahead. 

________

The knife sang through the air when he threw it, the weapon landing with deadly precision, sinking into its own owner’s flesh. Wide, angry eyes losing all light the very next moment. Bodies littered the room, blood running in rivulets, air thick with the smell of gun powder and smoke. The heavy silence of finality–of death–was pierced by the shrieking of police sirens. The crackling of fire. The heavy rainfall against the roof of the building. 

He jumped as the flashing blue and red lights approached, landing heavily on the ground. Heavier than he should have, feet and ankles jarring painfully before he rolled to the ground. The breath was knocked out of him–something that hadn’t happened since he had reawakened in the dingy alleyway however long ago. Pain blurred his vision more than the heavy rain did, and he could feel the pulse of the wounds in his abdomen trying and failing to heal the way it should have. But those bastards had set a trap, injured his crow–luckily, it had gotten away with its life (and his own by extension). 

Yunho blindly made his way through the city, shivering and soaked to the bone before he realized where he was. The dilapidated building sagged over him, looking half-alive in the dirty yellow cast by the streetlights, lowhanging clouds obscuring the top like unruly grey hair, broken windows winking in and out of focus like ghostly eyes in the night. 

He isn’t sure how he found the apartment or when he raised his fist to knock at the door, moving through the building with his mind only half present. He wasn’t in his own body, feeling numb and floaty. It was a choke noise of distress that snapped him back. 

The woman from the alleyway stood before him, clutching the door like she might fall to the floor without its support. She looked frightened, eyes darting over him and then around the hallway. He had to look horrible. Pale and dripping water and blood in puddles. “Help me,” he choked out, barely able to push the words from his throat. 

He was floating again, but present enough to see the shift in her expression. The hardening of her eyes and the firm press of her lips before she turned to look inside. “Gabriel, baby,” she called into the apartment. “I need you to go sit in the bedroom and wait for me to come and get you. Can you do that for me?”

A little voice answered back, trembling but strong. “Yes, sissy.” Soft footsteps pattered through, a door opened then clicked shut. 

Silence settled heavy over the apartment before she grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside. Her grip was tight–grounding–but he could feel the tremors in her fingers as she dragged him further inside. The apartment is dark, lit only by the streetlights shining in from outside, but she navigated the both of them through the space with ease, pulling him quickly down a hall, keeping herself pointedly between him and the closed door just on the other side of the hallway.  

“Shirt,” she said, voice clipped as she riffled through a cabinet beneath the sink. She straightened, first-aid kit in hand, brow arched when she saw that he hadn’t moved.  “Do you need help?” she asked, something softer leaking into her voice as she set the plastic box on the sink, leaving it to balance precariously on the lip of the chipped porcelain bowl. 

“Please,” he whispered around the lump sitting in his throat. His mind was back in his body again, and he felt heavy. So heavy. Like his skin and muscles were pressing in on his bones and weights were attached to his eyelids. He wasn’t sure he could lift his arms on his own even if he tried. 

The woman was quick but gentle as she worked the tight black material from his torso. A startled gasp stuck in her throat, fingers worrying the soaked material and eyes stuck to him. She was trembling again, he noticed. And he looked around her to catch sight of himself in the mirror. Scars littering his skin. Some old, shiny and white against his already pale skin–the ones that had caused his initial death. But it was the new ones, bright red and obviously irritated, still leaking blood down his chest that must have shocked her.  

“Where'd the blood come from?” she asked, stepping back from him, pink-stained fingers raising. “What happened?”

“It was mine,” he said. “Mostly.”

“Mostly,” she repeated, exhaling a sharp breath. “What the fuck does that mean? How the fuck are you alive? These wounds would have most people in the hospital right now. Most people would be dead already.” 

“I’m not…most people,” he said. “I’m not even sure I'm a person.”

His knees were buckling before he could find the strength to stop it. Whatever questions had been blazing in her eyes left, and she scrambled to catch him before he could fall. Grip firm as she helped him a step back to settle his dead weight on the toilet. 

“How are you not dead?” she murmured, eyes locked on the gaping wounds in his chest, the one on his side, the one above his belly button. “You need to be in a hospital with all these.”

“I can’t go to a hospital,” he panted out.

“Why not?”

“I’m already dead,” he said. “I’m supposed to be dead.”

Her eyes were sharp, cutting, as they looked into his own again. “What the fuck does that mean?” Fear and impatience pushed her voice an octave higher. 

His arm lifted on its own, trembling fingers brushing the warm curve of her cheek before she could stumble back. He saw the moment she fell into his memories, the moment the pain hit and she realized what she was seeing. Just enough to explain but not enough to harm her. His arm was falling heavily into his lap before she was gasping, tears clumping her eyelashes. 

She didn’t say anything, blinking through tears and disbelief. She surprised him by reaching for the first-aid kit in favor of wiping the wetness from her face or asking questions. He let her. He let the silence hang in the air, unwilling to break it save for the sharp hisses that escape his throat as she cleaned his skin, disinfected the wounds, and covered them with sterile cotton pads. 

“You’re good at that,” he said, watching her grab his shirt from the floor to throw it into the tub, wipe the puddle of bloody water from the cracked linoleum, then turn to the sink.

“I was a nurse.” Her voice was soft as she started to scrub at her hands, pink foam rinsing away before she went in for another round of soap. Then a third. Then she was hunched over the sink, water still running as her shoulders shook. 

She was straightening before he could say anything else, eyes vacant and so far away concern settled in his chest. “You’re welcome to stay if you have nowhere to go. Don’t go near my bedroom. Goodnight.” With that, she turned and stumbled across the hall. 

The water was still going. 

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

There’s a tiny human curled into her side when she wakes up, the world still gray outside her bedroom window. Whether because it was still raining or because it was just that early, she wasn’t entirely sure. But she wiggled out of bed, anyway, carefully retucking the blanket around Gabriel to keep the chill of the apartment as far away from his skin as possible. 

Flashes of the night before came to her as she walked to the bathroom. The man with his waterlogged clothes and smudged face paint. The blood running down his torso in rivers. The blurry flashes of his life now embedded in her brain. I’m supposed to be dead. How was he not dead? 

Dove felt like she was sleepwalking as she went about her morning. Her coffee was warm but flavorless, her work uniform scratching at her skin feeling like nothing. The walk to work was a blur. Feeling and awareness didn’t come fully back to her until halfway through her shift, and the bombardment to her senses left her shaky and needing to step outside for a moment. 

The alleyway behind the restaurant was empty, lined with trash, the asphalt wet. But blessedly lacking in people. The breeze was light and the mist cool as it fell on her skin. Everything she needed to calm down. 

Something rustled, something else scraped against the ground. Reminding her of a few nights ago. Of last night. Of that man. She glanced around the alleyway, noticed a flicker in the shadows, a crow propped on the ledge of a building just above. Instead of fear, something else settled in her chest. Something almost warm. Something unexpected. 

She didn’t dwell on it. Instead, turning on her heel to walk back inside. 

________

The night was heavy, the clouds hanging low and fog blurring the edges of the world. The heaviness pressed down on her the closer she got to home. The night darker. The fog thicker. A smell swirling its way into her nose. Stifling. Smoke. 

Her heart kicked in her chest, and her steps fell quicker. Harder. Water kicked up from the pavement to wet the backs of her legs as she sped home. Hoping against hope it wasn’t coming from where she was most afraid of it coming from. 

She froze. Stopped breathing. Fire and smoke billowed from the broken windows, people scrambling from the one entrance of the building. She scanned them all, searching, heart in her throat, for a single head of dark ringlets. Where is he? “Gabriel?” she called over the bustle of the people and the crackling of the flames. 

He wasn’t there. 

She rushed to the entrance, ignoring the hands and cries of people trying to keep her outside. She pushed them away, running inside and up the rickety stairs. Sweat beaded on her skin, smoke choked her lungs. She didn’t stop, kept running down the hall, fighting her apartment door open when she finally reached it. 

The fire wasn’t in her apartment. Not yet. “Gabriel,” she called again, coughing as smoke continued to assault her airways. “Where are you, baby?” 

A muffled voice came from down the hall. The bedroom. She ran harder than she had just a moment before, down the hall and into the room. He wasn’t where she could see him. “Gabriel, where are you?” she called again. 

The closet door was pushed open, dark curls and sparkling eyes peering up at her in fear. 

She rushed to him, too scared to worry about frightening him. “Pull your shirt over your nose, baby. Can you do that for me?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, pulling the material up before he had the chance and pulling his hand up to hold it there. “Keep that there, okay?” 

The roar of the fire was getting louder, the temperature rising, the building creaking. They needed to leave. She hurried him out of the room. Out of the apartment. There was a sharp crack, and something fell behind them as they turned into the hallway. Gabriel screamed, gripped her arm tighter, and she ushered him to the stairs. 

They were halfway down when there was another creak. Loud. Ominous. The step beneath her feet gave way, and she fell through. Gabriel screamed again, his grip tight on her, like he was trying to pull her up. 

She was dizzy–from the heat, the smoke, the adrenaline. Unable to focus her blurring vision, but there was no mistaking the sound of footsteps, even with the sounds of the fire and her fear-muffled ears. No mistaking the shadow creeping up the stairs, the long black jacket and large frame. 

He stopped before her, looking every inch an avenging angle in the flickering orange of flame and the haze of smoke. He didn’t say anything, simply hauled her up, set her on her feet, and rushed her and Gabriel the rest of the way down the stairs and outside. He didn’t stop when they got out, pulling them across the street and onto the cracked sidewalk. 

Sirens rang through the air, cutting through the sounds of the fire and the cries and curious murmurs of everyone standing outside, and Gabriel jumped. She startled back into awareness to crouch down to his level. He was crying, struggling to breathe through his sobs. Her heart squeezed as she pulled him into her body. She hushed him, murmuring into his hair, “It’s okay, baby. Just let it out, hmm? There you go. You did so good. Listened to me soso well.”

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

As if Yunho couldn't stop himself, he was reaching out, trembling fingers brushing the wetness from her cheek. And then memories were flooding into him.

“You knew her?” he asked, unable to stop just how broken he sounded. 

“Who?” 

“I saw her,” he said, swallowing hard enough she could hear his throat click. “The woman I was going to marry. My Daisy. You knew her. I saw it, saw her through your eyes.” 

“Daisy,” she whispered. Her voice was soft, wet with a sadness she thought she had long-since gotten a handle on. The memories came back to her  Of a hospital and blue scrubs, the smell of disinfectant, a woman lying unconscious on a bed.  “Daisy Draven?”

His expression said more than words ever could.

“I was her nurse when she was trying to get clean. Before…before I quit.”

“You stayed with her,” he said. “You sat with her all night.”

“I didn’t want her to be alone,” she whispered, voice thick with tears. “But I ended up leaving her, anyway.”

The words hung heavy in the quiet between them, and she hugged her brother tighter to her body, stifling a sob as he shuddered in her hold. It was raining again. The chill pressing in, wet and oppressive, as she willed herself not to break right there. 

He gave a humorless bark of a laugh, pushing a hand through long, wet strands of hair. “Guess we have that in common, then.”

⛆ ⛆ ⛆

ANOTHER NOTE: and it ends here! i had thoughts on how i wanted this to go, but didn't get them down quick enough and entirely forgot. so, there may be a second part or there may not be. that remains to be seen. anyway! if you've made it this far, i hope you enjoyed this! and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! 🎃🍬

[dawn-iscozy]

“ strings & arrows ”

SERIES PLAYLIST: “dancing like butterfly wings” - ateez ☁ ♡ ☁ “cupid’s girl” - marina ☁ ♡ ☁ “nothing, absolutely” - gigi perez ☁ ♡ ☁ “weightless: - all time low ☁ ♡ ☁ “childhood” - the rose ☁ ♡ ☁

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: allusions to/discussions of bad familial situations (for both characters), ot8, but make it platonic, mostly platonic anyway, yeosang centric, everybody loves yeosang, (as they SHOULD), everybody loves nabi too, very found family cause that's my drug of choice ALWAYS, they're all soulmates yall, nothing explicit/18+ but still MDNI, still writing so will update as things come up

A NOTE: yes, I decided last second to change the title (probably won't be the first time for this one) and YES this is part one! this one likely isn't going to be as long as " like a cat in a sunny spot " and will probably only have 3 or 4 parts max. also, it is going to have switching povs, going between yeosang and nabi per part.

enjoy! 💝

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" strings & arrows " - i.

☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁

Yeosang was in a nightclub, surrounded by loud, drunken people. There was a little alcohol buzzing through his system, his friends were laughing, stumbling into his space, bumping into him as they danced to the fun 2000s throwback playlist the DJ was playing. Flashing neon lights lit up the entire space. It should all be distracting, should have his whole attention. But the only thing he could focus on was the red string suddenly attached to the pinky of the person who had been trying to chat up the woman beside him. Bright red and almost glowing despite the dim atmosphere.

The string wasn’t attached to the woman, but there was something swirling in the space between them. Something that only he could see, whorls of red and gold and glitter that were supposed to give away just what fate awaited them. But he never looked too hard into what the colors might mean, opting to keep himself as distanced from the strangers he helped match up as possible, for his own psyche and well-being, knowing how attached he could get to people and things once he knew even an ounce about them. 

Whatever was predetermined for these two, they were meant to meet each other. Perhaps even meant to go home together. That night. Maybe only for the one night, maybe a few more times. The colors pulsed wildly, taking on the beat of the music, like it had a heartbeat of its own. 

There was no stopping the mischievous little grin threatening at the corners of his lips, the tips of his fingers tingling with the power of his arrows. Not really arrows as much as just an extension of his aura, some magic that worked like a static shock. All he needed to do was brush against someone’s skin to metaphorically pierce their hearts, to stir up the lust already blooming between the strangers. So, he loosened his body and let himself stumble into the pair when Wooyoung–drunk and dancing and entirely unaware of his surroundings–crashed into him. 

His fingers, still tingling, brushed against the exposed arms of the two as he righted himself, mumbling apologies that were no doubt drowned out by the music and the swelling chatter of so many people in an enclosed space. The swirling colors between the two ramped up, sparkled brighter, and Yeosang hoped that the dopey grin that was taking over his features looked drunken to the people around him and not as weirdly giddy as he was feeling. As he felt every time he made a match. 

Warm hands found his forearms, and he came face to face with Wooyoung. His friend looked concerned, brows furrowed heavy over alcohol-glazed eyes, full lips tugged down in a pouty frown. Yeosang let himself lean into the alcohol-tinged affection swelling in his chest, hand coming up to pat his friend’s head, watching with equal parts amusement and adoration as his whole face lit up with the touch. As he leaned into the touch–seeming very much like the cat his friends liked to compare him to–and pulled him into his body. 

Yeosang’s groan was more playful than annoyed as his friend snuggled right up to him, smelling of sweat and whiskey and his favorite cologne. Give Wooyoung an inch, and he’ll take a mile. That was just how he was, and Yeosang wouldn’t change it for a single moment. 

“Dance with me, Sangie?” Wooyoung had to speak directly in his ear to be heard over the music, louder than his usual whiny tone when he wanted something from his friends. Hitched with giddy, excited breaths. 

Yeosang grinned. “Sure,” he agreed easily. 

He was grabbed by his hand, Wooyoung’s grip tight in his excitement, and dragged further into the crush of dancing people. It was hot, the floor sticky with spilled drinks, sweat already prickling the back of his neck. Borderline claustrophobic. But the fingers twined firmly with his own kept him grounded. Kept him there and helped the excited rush well up inside him.

Before long, Wooyoung was pulling Yeosang close by the back of his neck and Yeosang was matching the sway of his friend’s hips, letting himself drown in the moment. They danced for what could have been minutes or hours, time blurring as he enjoyed the time with his friends, as he downed his next drink, the warm buzz of the alcohol making it easier to just be there with his friends. 

☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁

Mondays were always jarring, especially after spending his weekend with his friends, out on the town, swirling in the high of the happiness and light they always seemed to carry with them when they were all together and the rush of matching people up. Going back to normal, back to school and work and pretending to be the typical college guy was always hard. But this particular Monday was more jarring than usual. 

Yeosang felt…strange. 

It had started from the moment he woke up, a weird buzzing beneath his skin that had him blinking blearily into the fluff of his pillows way before his alarm was meant to go off. Something akin to the tingling of his fingers with his arrows, a rush in his ears similar to when the red strings appeared around him. But also nothing like it. Much more annoying. And just not. Going. Away.  

It lingered, growing stronger as he went through his usual morning routine. His shower, cooler than he usually would take it, soothed it for a moment. But then his coffee had it ramping up, the heat of making his breakfast stoking the coals even more. Clothes felt awful, even his softest shirts. But it was still cold outside, too early into the Spring season to justify shorter sleeves. 

He toughed it out as best as he could, but he was distracted. He couldn’t focus in his mid-morning class, didn’t get any of his homework finished during his usual before-lunch trip to the library, and he was more spacey than usual while waiting for his friends in the dining hall. 

It felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch–like the beginning of the itchy phase from the tattoo Wooyoung and San had goaded him into getting the year before–and it was driving him crazy. Red nail tracks trailed up his arm, when he had absentmindedly tried to scratch the itch away after getting lost in his head while trying to do his assignments earlier, skin prickly from nearly rubbing it raw to get the feeling to just stop. 

He had pulled out a book, one he had a few chapters to read for class a few days later. It did nothing to distract him. Only made the time seem to go by slower while he waited for his friends to show up. 

They were all busy with their own schedules–different course loads, different majors and minors. But they always made sure they were all able to meet up for lunch, despite them all split off as housemates. Yeosang was with Yunho; Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and Jongho were together; and there there was Seonghwa, San, and Mingi. They saw each other all the time, sometimes even several times a day. Regardless of that, they all found themselves in each other's respective spaces as often as they found themselves spending time alone. 

He blinked back to reality when someone settled in the space beside him, a hand wrapped around his wrist and lifted his arm. He had been scratching again, the red worse than when he had first noticed it. Stark against the post-winter paleness of his skin. Raised and fresh from just a moment ago. Definitely worse than before. His gaze lifted from his arm to San’s face. 

“Are you okay, Sangie? What happened to your arm?”

His friend looked so concerned that Yeosnag’s heart clenched in his chest. “It’s alright, Sannie,” Yeosang assured lightly, tugging his arm from his friend’s grasp, fingers twitching when the buzzing worsened for a moment, coming back to life with a vengeance now that his focus was back on it. He had to fight back the urge to pull the sleeve of his sweater back down, knowing that would make the feeling even worse. Instead, he shut his book and shoved it into his bag to give himself something to do. While he was bent down, he decided to pull the lunch he packed out. “I just had an itch for a moment. Just need some lotion or something, I think.”

His assurance didn’t seem to work, the furrow of San’s brows deepening, hands reaching out to smooth lightly over Yeosang’s arm. “Looks like you’ve been scratching for a while. Hwa probably has some lotion in his bag. Do you want me to message him to make sure?”

“No no,” Yeosang said–too quickly, a little too loudly, if the startled look on San’s face was anything to go by. He sighed, let himself relax into his friend’s soft touches. It seemed to be helping, anyway, replacing the agonizing itch with an almost ticklish feeling, the touch making his fingers twitch involuntarily. He swallowed, forced his voice to steady, to pitch a little lower, calmer.  “I’m okay, Sannie. Promise. It happened when my brain wandered off for a moment. It’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.” San still didn’t look sure, lips pouted and eyes moving over his face as if searching for any hint of discomfort, fingers still working over his arm.

He flinched when San brushed over an extra sensitive spot, laughter spilling from his mouth before he could stop it. Yeosang’s laugh was more like a giggle, chest tight with the ticklish touch and love for his friend. He marveled at how San’s face immediately warmed and melted at the sound of his happiness. 

Then he was being gathered into strong arms, and San was cooing aggressively about how cute Yeosang was. And Yeosang let himself be swept up in it, to be distracted enough to forget the tightness of his skin and the discomfort running beneath it. To forget to act disgruntled at the sudden physical affection, just letting himself throw his head back in laughter. 

“Yeosangie’s accepting physical contact today?” Wooyoung’s voice filtered in through the usual sounds of the dining hall–laughter, chatter, the scraping of tables and chairs against tile flooring. 

“No,” Yeosang grumbled, voice muffled by San’s muscled chest.

He was disregarded, another pair of arms wrapping around his middle, and suddenly he was squished in between his longest-term friends. The familiar, solid warmth of them helped the itch, suppressed it enough he could forget it for even a moment. He slumped between them, letting his body fall lax and heavy in their hold until they whined at him to accept their love and pulled away, settling in their usual seats beside each other at the end of the table. Despite it being their usual interaction, he mourned the loss of them. More so when the strange feeling crept back in alongside the usual cold that came after losing one of his friends’ body heat. It wasn’t as bad as before, though, and it continued to stay at a minimum–suddenly easy to ignore–as the rest of his friends slowly started joining their table. 

Seonghwa came next, hands full of food from the buffet, his bag hanging heavy on his back. Very typical of him, to get his food before finding his friends. No matter how heavy his bag or how many things he’s carrying on his person. 

Eyes followed him as he approached, but he ignored them in favor of sending his friends a smile in greeting. This too was typical. Seonghwa was beautiful, drawing attention everywhere. Even when he hadn’t believed it himself, there was no denying the way people looked at him. Awe. Perhaps a bit of fear. Always like he was one of the most gorgeous people in the room. And that would be true. Inside and out, Seonghwa was beautiful.

The way he loved his people, the way he doted on them and let them know they could rely on him. The way he treated those around him like they mattered and with a level of patience (despite also being quite quick to temper) that even the usually level-headed Yeosang admired. 

He greeted them as he settled at the other end of the table, bag thumping to the floor and sleeves of his cardigan being pushed up to his elbows so he could dig right into his food. 

Yunho and Mingi came next. Together, of course–the package deal that they are–greatly contrasting with each other in the best ways. Mingi the dark to Yunho’s light, black to light blue in aesthetics and personalities alike. But they just went together. Perhaps that could be explained by the decade of friendship between them. Perhaps it was all because they valued each other and their friendship no matter their differences. Whatever explanation, there was no denying their loyalty to each other. No denying how happy they were when they were together. 

They were laughing when they slid into their seats, nodding at everyone even as they kept up their conversation. Something about a project Mingi was working on outside of his school work, something that Yunho was teasing him about between sympathetic remarks and questions about the project’s progress, the process, his excitement about it. 

Jongho slumped into the seat next to Yeosang, eyes bright behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses despite the red and purple settled beneath them, the product of late nights spent studying (or playing video games). Cozy in sweats and a hoodie, books and notebook resting on the table in front of him. He didn’t speak, opting instead to subtly lean into Yeosang’s side, stealing an apple slice from Yeosang’s plate, his hand falling to Yeosang’s thigh, patting it as if in thanks. 

Hongjoong joined last. Late. Pink cheeked and out of breath, but looking more put together than most of the student population. He stood out a bit more than usual, the black leather of his jacket stark in contrast to the whites and pastels littering the dining hall now that Spring was in bloom. He also drew stares when he stepped into a space, though it was sometimes unsure whether it was because of his flustered clumsiness–always dropping or losing something or tripping over thin air–or his larger-than-life presence. Always styled to a certain level. Charming to a fault. Always willing to help and lead in situations that called for it. Always there to protect and stand up for his friends should it be needed. 

He sat in the last empty seat with muffled apologies, bag falling to the ground with a thump so heavy half the table flinched. Hongjoong cursed, immediately bent down to check that his laptop was fine. Sighed in relief, then groaned, head falling into his hands heavily even as he looked around at them all. Purple discolored his eyes, and it was hard to say whether it was from lack of sleep or makeup. Maybe both, judging by the faint sparkle on his lids and just how heavy they looked behind the large frames of his glasses. 

“One of you come get food with me, please,” Hongjoong said, straightening in his seat. 

Everyone at the table aside from Yeosang and Seonghwa were lacking food, and they rose from the table without a single word. 

Hongjoong flustered at that. “I said one of you, not all of you,” he murmured, huffing as he stood.

Wooyoung snickered and slung an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulders. “Just accept it,” he said. “Let’s go get food before Joongie starts throwing a tantrum.”

He only cackled when Hongjoong’s elbow found his ribs. “Coming from the fucking brat,” he said, tone affectionate despite the annoyance he tried to display.

“You love meeee,” Wooyoung sang, leaning closer to sneak a kiss to his cheek.

“Going to fucking kill you,” Hongjoong grunted, pushing Wooyoung away, fending off each of his attempts to get closer with both hands raised even as they walked toward one of the various food lines around the dining hall. 

Yeosang looked down at his own food. It had been sitting there as he zoned out then as he watched his friends. He picked at it. Nibbled on an apple slice, pushed around the vegetables, sighed at the slices of pizza. He was hungry, stomach grumbling angrily at him. But that itch had him so unsteady, so on edge that he didn’t even want to eat. 

“Are you alright, Yeosangie?”

He blinked up at the one friend remaining at the table, surprised Seonghwa had noticed anything outside of his food. Usually, his friend was so absorbed in his meals that he wouldn’t say anything until he was full, which was saying something because despite his slim build, Seonghwa had the biggest appetite of the whole friend group. 

“You seem off today.”

Yeosang sighed, the usual guilt rising up to settle heavy on his chest. His friends knew nothing about his cupid occupation. How could he even being to explain it to them? Oh, by the way, I have matchmaking powers? I’m basically Cupid? He would have to explain so much that he just didn’t know how to explain to them to even begin to start. Just a few years ago, he was a normal dude that spent his free time ignoring his homework and playing online games, trying not to think too hard about his life, his parents. And then one specific Thursday, he was seeing red strings and swirling auras and had tingling fingers. 

It definitely wasn’t something he could just announce, no matter how accepting his friends were. Though, it was a surprise that Wooyoung, his longest-term friend, hadn’t noticed how he changed after his eighteenth birthday. Usually, he was able to detect every tiny change in Yeosang’s mood and never thought twice about bringing it up. A lot had happened around that time, though. Things that he had been keeping Wooyoung vaguely up-to-date on. His parents fighting all the time, the threats of divorce and rumors of affairs. The idea that his dad might not be his biological dad. What college he was applying to, how far away it would be, applying for summer jobs to earn some money before his first semester of university. So, maybe that would explain his friend’s silence. There were so many changes happening, there was no way his friend would be able to contribute any personality changes to any one thing. Nor would he likely ask any questions that might hurt Yeosang in any way when he was already obviously hurting. 

Seonghwa, though not his longest-term friend, was the most openly observant of the group. All of them were pretty observant, but they often opted for silence until the topic was brought up by the affected person. Hwa, however, was the most likely to ask. Always leaving space for them to talk. Always a comforting presence for them all. Always wanting to make sure his people are doing well and helping when and wherever he can.

“I am feeling a little…off today, yeah,” Yeosang admitted, at least giving his friend a bare minimum. His fingers twitched as the itch flared up again, fighting back the instinct to rub and scratch at his already red skin. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seonghwa asked, eyes wide but soft as they roamed over his face, took in every change in his expression. It was intimidating, but not in a scary way. Never in the scary way. Always in the you-can-tell-me-anything-and-I’ll-believe-you way. Always in the way that was difficult for him to keep eye contact. 

Yeosang’s lips pressed together as his eyes dropped, lower lip rolling between his teeth. He shook his head, the heavy feeling in his chest pressing down even more when he looked back up to see the soft compassion written all over his friend’s face. 

“You know you can come to me about anything, right?” Seonghwa said, arms stretching across the table as if to reach for Yeosang’s hands.

Yeosang obliged, settling his hand in one of his friend’s, ignoring the tremor that works through him as he did so. “I know,” he assured.

He watched, heart in his throat, as Seonghwa’s gaze swept down from his face to his arms. His brows pinched, lips tugging down at the corners at the scratch marks marring his forearms. Before Yeosang could muster up a protest, Seonghwa was lifting his bag from the floor and rifling through one of the smaller pockets, grip firm around Yeosang’s hand when his first reaction was to pull away. With a triumphant noise, Seonghwa produced a small tube of lotion, one Yeosang recognized as the one Seonghwa often used when his eczema would start to flare up. 

“Hwa,” he protested weakly. 

His friend hushed him and sent him a smile, something soft and sad that made any ounce of fight fall right out of him. The touch was soft, cold from the lotion, but it soothed the tightness and discomfort almost immediately. Yeosang almost wanted to cry with the relief, letting his shoulders relax and his head bow down to hide the wetness no doubt fighting to fill his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said, tone so soft he wasn’t even sure his friend would be able to hear it over the chatter and clattter surrounding them. 

Seonghwa didn’t say anything. Instead, he squeezed his hands tightly and retracted his touch as everyone started coming back to the table.

The electric current beneath his skin spiked randomly throughout the rest of his day. He got respite whenever his friends initiated any amount of physical affection with him, and he had never been so thankful for just how clingy some of them could be. Mainly Wooyoung and San. But that day he was able to fully take in the casual backhugs and arms and hands on shoulders even from the likes of Hongjoong and Jongho, the ones more adverse to physicaly touch. Perhaps they had taken notice of how, for once, he was relaxing with the touches. How the pinch of his brows would flatten out and his fists would finally unclench. 

Yunho’s arm was slung around his shoulders as they walked to their shared evening class–a photography elective that he decided to fork out the extra cash to take despite it not being necessary for his major–his touch keeping the itch at bay. But something else was welling up in it’s place. Something was drawing him in. No smell or invisible thread or anything, just a feeling. One that attached to him and refused to leave him be, whispering to him to follow, to look around. So different from the usual tingling of his fingers he would get when a soul match was made or the giddy bubbling in his chest when he wanted to have fun with his arrows or the itch that had plagued him that whole day. 

It got louder the closer they walked to their classroom, deafening even in its silence as he settled in his usual seat. Yunho settled next to him, arm dropping from him so they could sit comfortably in the desks, his friend’s large frame making it look so comically small he can’t help but laugh. He murmured something about it to Yunho, sending his taller friend into his own fit of laughter. 

Their glee, however, comes to an end when the clock strikes 5:30 and Professor Oh walks into the room. “Good evening, class,” she greets them all, standing behind the computer at the front of the classroom. “Let’s get started, hmm?”

The whispering dies down and grows more incessant in waves as the class starts and continues. Still there, the discomfort he woke up to still vibrating beneath his skin, but quiet enough that he can focus for the first time all day. He lets himself look around the room when the professor calls for a break, and it’s like the gates of heaven open–everything growing silent, still, for the first time since he woke up way too early–when his eyes land on one specific person. Cozied up in a black zip-up hoodie, dark hair disheveled as they hunch over their desk to rest their head on folded arms. 

He couldn’t quite remember their name. The professor never really took attendance, outside of the first week of classes. But he does remember that they’re always there early. Always in the back corner, bundled up in a sweater that seemed to be at least two sized too big for them and their head down until class started. It seemed they rested their head for breaks, too. 

Yunho pulled his attention away from the stranger, nudging him lightly. “Want a snack? I’m gonna go down to the vending machines.”

“Maybe a Monster? The white one. I have an essay I need to finish by tomorrow.”

“Gonna get you some crackers or something too. It’ll hurt to drink that on an empty stomach.”

Yeosang snorted. “Probably,” he agreed. 

Yunho was gone for less than five minutes, but it was just long enough for the itching, the new whisper in the back of his brain, to start up again. To swell up, working together to become an overwhelming force. By the time his friend came back, his fingers were clutching at his thighs tight enough he was sure there were going to be bruises in the coming days. Yunho’s long fingers swept up the rounded curve of his back to rest lightly at the back of his head, and Yeosang could practically feel the worry coming off him. 

“I’m okay,” he murmured as he sat up straight again. He caught sight of the white can perched on the edge of his desk and the packet of chips propped against it, and reached for the drink to crack it open. “Thanks.”

Yunho’s eyes took on that puppy dog quality that they always took when he was sad or worried, lips frowning uncharacteristically. Yeosang felt bad for worrying another one of his friends, this making three in the same day. Whatever Yunho was going to say, however, was interrupted by the professor coming back into the classroom, shutting the door behind her. 

“If you remember from when we looked over the syllabus, you’ll know that there’s a group project for this class,” Professor Oh started, leaning back against the table at the front of the room, twined fingers resting against her stomach. “You’re welcome to pair up with anyone in the class, but I urge you to choose wisely. This will take up the rest of the semester, and once things are fully locked in, you won’t be able to switch partners. If you don’t have a partner by the end of the class, just let me know so I can help.”

If he remembered properly from when the class had gone over the syllabus, the assignment is about capturing people. More specifically one person, one subject. Getting them in posed and unposed moments, in all their angles, candid moments that even they wouldn’t know about. Capturing the beauty of the humanity and life in this other person. And who better to capture that than someone he’d been friends with for years?

Yeosang’s eyes darted around the suddenly busy room even as his hand creeped over to grip Yunho’s sleeve. He stopped on the person in the back. A woman, sitting ramrod straight in her seat, wide eyes taking in the room. That feeling was still thrumming beneath his skin, never ceasing, but despite the weird pull to this mystery woman–for the sake of familiarity–he turns to Yunho, his own eyes wide and pleading to the amusement of his tall friend. 

☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁ ♡ ☁

It wasn’t as great of an idea as he originally thought. He and Yunho were out, trying to find a place to start taking pictures. And despite both their usual ability to lock in when they needed to, no matter where they were or who they were with, Yeosang was finding it hard to focus. Yunho was more energetic than even his usual, hopping and bouncing around like a Golden Retriever that hadn’t been walked all day. 

Not only was it difficult to work with someone he was used to goofing around with, but that whispering was still there. That buzzing under his skin that had been there since Monday. Almost a full week. There was no way his friends hadn’t begun to catch on to something. He was seeking out affection, letting his friends touch him with much less teasing annoyance and disgust than usual, letting their touches soothe the itch. But all of it did nothing for the whispering. The longing to go find that woman who made it quiet, even if for only a moment. 

It was such a lovely day, too. The sun out and the sky a clear blue. The temperature warmer than it had been in months, signs of Spring slowly making themselves known. A touch of green here, a flower there, more people outside in less layers and lighter and brighter colors. There could have been so many wonderful pictures. And sure, they had gotten some. Of course they did. Yunho was always taking pictures. Yunho was great at taking pictures–Yeosang had never seen his friend take a bad one in their entire friendship. But none of the pictures they took were what the project needed, most of them looking more like aesthetic social media posts.  

“I think we should find different partners,” Yeosang suggested as they continued to walk, fingers worrying the palms of his hands as he stared up at his taller friend, camera feeling heavy around his neck.

“Yeah,” Yunho easily agreed. He laughed when Yeosang visibly relaxed, slinging an arm around his shoulders to jostle him lightly. “Do you want to talk to Professor Oh together before class Monday?” 

“Yeah,” Yeosang breathed out. Thank every diety in existence and nonexistence that this man was one of his closest friends. With anyone else, he probably would have just stuck it out. Would have settled for the not-quite-right pictures and begrudgingly taken the lower score for the project. But he was comfortable with Yunho, and he knew Yunho would catch on at some point and be upset he didn’t mention how he felt in the situation to him. 

Despite the comfort he felt with the conclusion he had come to with Yunho, come Monday, Yeosang was vibrating out of his skin with nerves. He wasn’t sure how the professor would take them asking to switch, but he was hopeful that it was early enough that she would agree without any issue. His friends spent the lunch time asking if he was okay, reassuring him and Yunho with words and soothing touches when Yunho explained what was going on (at least, the parts that he knew about). He was glad they all took that as the reason for him being extra quiet during lunch, glad that it kept Wooyoung and Jongho sneaking little touches to his arms and legs while they all ate their lunches. 

Him and Yunho show up to class earlier than usual, and Yeosang breathes a sigh of relief that the professor is there early, as well. 

“Hey, Professor!” Yunho, ever the kind extrovert, greeted as they came into the room. 

Professor Oh put the papers she had been looking through down on the cluttered table she stood behind to give them her full attention. “Hello, Yunho. Yeosang.” 

Yeosang nodded in greeting, but couldn’t find the words to greet her back. He smiled, instead. Though, he was sure it looked more like a grimace with how nervous he was and how he was fighting back the itch coming back once more. 

“Glad you’re here early. We were hoping to talk to you before class.”

“Sure,” Professor Oh said, smiling patiently at them. “How can I help you?”

“We were wondering if it would be possible to switch partners for the project? We tried working on it together over the weekend and it didn’t seem very…possible for us.”

“I don’t know if it will be possible, but I can certainly bring it up at the beginning of class when I ask for the finalized pairs. But after that, you definitely won’t be able to switch. So, you better make some good choices, you hear me, boys?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Yunho and Yeosang said together. 

As promised, the first thing she addressed before starting the class was finalizing the partners for the project and asking if anyone was interested in switching partners. Relief flooded through him when more than a few hands came up, and the classroom was in chaos once more as people searched for new partners. 

Yunho was snatched up quickly, which was no surprise. His friend was wonderful with a camera, capturing some of the prettiest, most serene pictures he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. As the pairs, both old and new, started settling back into their seats, Yeosang looked around. There was only one person seemingly not paired up, huddled in their desk, hoodie sleeves drawn down over her hands and eyes roaming around. He smiled when her eyes stop on him for a moment before flicking away, down to her desk. 

The buzzing was barely noticeable when he gathered his things and went to stand next to her desk. “Do you have a partner for the project?” he asked., choosing to ignore the shake that tried to settle in his voice. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “He didn’t show up today.” 

“His loss, then,” he says with a little grin, adjusting his grip on the notebook held to his chest. “Want a new one that’ll actually show up to class?” 

She made a sound, something between a scoff and a laugh. It curled the edges of her lips upwards, lit up her eyes with amusement . Regardless, she said, “Sure.”

“I’m Yeosang,” he said, sliding into the empty desk beside hers.

“Nice to meet you, Yeosang,” she said, humor still dancing on her face. “I’m Nabi.”