it seems you may be lost, that’s quite alright! wandering travelers always end up here one way or another. don’t worry! you’re in good hands
requests : closed dears <3
general inbox : open!!
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ the pirates’ ship — atz masterlist
— “my my, what an interesting choice! you’re in luck, the captain and his crew are gone at the moment. quick! let’s sneak inside before they come back~”
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ the siren den - ??? (coming soon)
— “oh! let’s not go here just yet. the sirens are still here, and i would hate for you to get your blood sucked~”
༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ bambi’s cottage
author’s intro - you can learn a little more about me here~
request page - it’s where all the magic happens! there’s rules however, so be sure to read them!
tags - some important tags that i use frequently
hmmm… that should be everything now. well, good luck! and have a sweet time here in neverland~
pairing : kpop idol! bsf! james zhao x normie! bsf! reader
content warning : mndi, slow paced writting, alot of teasing, pussy eating, aggressive james, more teasing, unprotected sex, banter during sex, missionary, 18 + content
word count : 6,165k (oops)
a/n: this might be the last one this month (subtle foreshadowing), enjoy!!
one evening, after a particularly stressful day of promotions and fan meetings, james finds himself exhausted and emotionally drained. instead of heading straight home or to the company dorms, he texts you—a message that simply reads, “can i come over?” no explanation needed between old friends.
james had been your best friend since elementary, and yes, despite the insane growth of his fame from deciding to pursue his dreams, he still always made time for you.
“yeah sure, but im studying,” you replied.
as immediate as ten minutes later, your doorbell rings. you unlock the door without checking, already knowing it’s him. james steps inside, looking completely wrecked despite his perfectly styled hair and expensive stage outfit. the moment the door clicks shut, his “idol” persona crumbles completely. he kicks off his shoes and immediately collapses onto your bed, burying his face into your pillows.
“hey outside clothes!” you hissed at him.
he groans, lifting his head briefly to shoot you an exhausted glare before slowly peeling himself off the bed to remove his jacket and untuck his shirt. he leaves them in a messy pile by your desk before flopping back onto the bed, this time pulling your pillow over his face. “happy now?”
you nagged him just to lift up the mood, but it turns out he’s really tired. your face frowns a bit as you gaze at his tired form upon realizing it. “do you want me to cook you something?”
“you don’t have to... i don’t want to trouble you.” he runs a hand through his disheveled hair, looking at you with tired but grateful eyes. but his stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, giving him away.
“let me cook you some hmm?” you chuckle softly. as you stand up from the bed. you had the urge to pat his hair, you always had because he really had soft hair. you decide to act on it as your hands card through his now golden brown spiky hair. “what do you want to eat, hmm? there might be stores that are still open for ingredients,” you mumble with such warmth in your tone, while playing with his hair as he rested like a tired puppy on your sheets.
his shoulders immediately relax under your touch, the familiar gesture from the old times instantly soothing his frayed nerves. he leans slightly into your hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he catches himself and straightens up. “anything’s fine... something warm. i’m so tired i could fall asleep standing up.”
you laughed at his statement. “no cravings? okay, i’ll just make something with what i have.”
“your food always tastes best anyway... don’t work too hard. wake me up when it’s done…” james hums in agreement.
you walk out of your bedroom to go to the kitchen to cook, as you hear a soft thud as he likely collapses back onto your bed, already half-asleep. you decide to cook seaweed soup, fresh steamed rice, and some banchan already prepared. just a simple meal. and when you’re finished, you gently knock on your own bedroom door.
“james...?”
james shuffles from the bed slowly, finally registering the smell of warm food, and instantly drops the pillow back onto the bed. rubbing his eyes cutely with the back of his hand, he walks toward you, looking like an overgrown sleepy child rather than a globally famous idol. he had such adorable bed head.
"smells heavenly..." he mumbles, practically gravitating toward the kitchen. "you're the best, wifey.”
and just like that, there it is again. that dangerously casual little word that makes your entire brain short-circuit.
because seriously... what are you two?
it’s the question that haunts you at the worst possible times, replaying in your mind over and over whenever he says things like this so naturally, like calling you that is second nature. because what exactly are you supposed to do with a man who throws around words that sound suspiciously domestic, acts like your space is his safe haven, and somehow keeps blurring the line between best friend and something that feels a little too close to be just that?
with practiced ease, james plants the softest kiss on your forehead before gravitating toward the kitchen, making you blush. your gaze lingers on his form as he disappears down the hallway. james is always unguarded around you, always has been. you've seen him at his worst; whether sick, tired, stressed, and he's never cared if you see him like that.
“how did the redred promotions go? you guys made a lot of guests and show visits this time.” you ask before joining him at the table.
james sighs. “it was exhausting. we did like a gazillion guest appearances this month alone.”
"yeah i watched every single video." you chuckled, "the GQ interview was funny, especially when you read about why your visuals always go viral. yet, you didn't answer.”
it made him snort, a small smile tugging at his lips as he remembers the interview. "yeah, i couldn't exactly say 'because I'm ridiculously handsome' without sounding like an arrogant jerk." he says, rolling his eyes.
“and you’re so different in real life,” you comment with a smile.
"that's because you see the real me," he says between mouthfuls of seaweed soup, looking completely at home. "the polished idol version is just a performance. you get the exhausted, messy, annoying version." he taps his spoon against his bowl lightly. "you're literally the only person who treats me like normal james.”
"yeah sometimes i'd like the polished idol james too." you tease, while subtly adding more vegetables to his soup. into which, his eyes catches your hand moving to add vegetables, knowing exactly what you're doing without needing to look. he doesn't protest, just letting you pamper him like you always have.
"you can have the polished version anytime you want," he chuckles, tapping his spoon against yours lightly. "just turn on tv or look at our instagram. the messy version is exclusive for you.” he answers at you proudly.
james raises an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he leans back in his chair. "you want me to be charming and perfect for you right now?" he straightens up dramatically, smoothing back his messy hair and switching his expression to his signature 'idol face' all bright smiles and attentive eyes. you were kind of glad that they took off his veneers and returned his gummy smile that you loved so much.
you laughed softly, "it's not working.”
his perfect mask instantly cracks, collapsing into a sleepy, unbothered grin. james drops the act immediately, slumping back over his soup like a ragdoll. "harsh. the literal world falls for that face and you just laugh at me." he pouts slightly, spooning more vegetables into his mouth.
"hehe i was just playing with ya, don't worry, you can be anything you want with me.”
james instantly melts at your words, the famous idol persona completely forgotten as he leans his chin on his hand, looking at you with soft, affectionate eyes. "that's exactly why i come here," he murmurs, "you're literally my favorite person in the entire world. i can be messy, annoying, dramatic, and you just accept it.”
somewhere between teasing remarks, james notices something he’s quietly picked up on for years, you rarely talk about yourself. somehow, the conversation always circles back to him: his promotions, his schedules, his idol life. and while he knows you never complain, never interrupt, and always listen like his thoughts actually matter... he’s starting to realize how often you carefully sidestep your own.
so this time, he decides not to let you.
“hey,” he calls softly, noticing the subtle shift in your demeanor. he tilts his head slightly, studying you with a gentler expression. “you always listen to me ramble about my idol stuff, but you never really talk about yourself much. what’s going on in your life lately?”
“everything’s good in uni. are you doing your schoolworks too?”
james nods reluctantly, appreciating the gentle redirection of the topic back to him. He knows you well enough to understand that you're not one to open up easily about your personal life. “yeah, i’m managing.”
“that’s good.” you replied.
his brow furrowing slightly as he senses your reluctance to share, james watches you for a moment. “your uni friends treating you okay?”
“yeah... but my club committee members aren’t.” you sigh, a small pout tugging at your lips as you try to brush it off like it’s nothing: like the late nights, mounting pressure, and quiet frustration haven’t been slowly wearing you down. you say it casually, almost teasingly, as if downplaying it enough might make your uni stress sound smaller than it actually feels.
his expression immediately shifts to concern, his idol mask completely disappearing. “club members giving you a hard time?” he knows how dedicated you are to your university club, how much it means to you. the fact that people are stressing you out about it makes his protective instincts surge.
“they won’t cooperate with the event i’m trying to lead,” you admit with a small sigh, trying to sound more casual about it than you actually feel. “but it’s okay... i’m figuring things out.”
"so you're telling me that for the next month, you're going to be buried under a mountain of event planning stuff?”
you chuckle, though it comes out more tired than amused. “i think i’m just gonna do fine? but it’s really stressing me out... i can’t even sleep and eat properly since i also have my acads despite club activities.”
he immediately puts down his spoon, his eyes softening with worry. he knows those signs all too well—lack of sleep, poor eating habits, constantly pushing yourself. it’s the same way he is when he’s overwhelmed with schedules and promotions. only difference is, he has a whole team supporting him.
“you have me,” he says firmly, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.
i suddenly get flustered. “i know.” you smile at him. “but don’t worry much about me.”
james expression softens at your genuine smile, but he's not backing down. he knows you, and you'd rather suffer in silence than ask for help. he meets your eyes squarely, his voice dropping lower. “you're always there for me when my life gets messy. let me be there for you too, yeah? you can call me, text me, or whatever… okay?”
he pauses for a second, then gives your hand a light squeeze, like he’s trying to seal the promise without making it feel too heavy. “don’t disappear on me when it gets hard, alright?”
but his statement seemed more for him than to you, like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was reassuring you.
after dinner, the two of you decide to watch tv together. you settle onto the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs. james immediately drops down beside you, stealing half the blanket and dragging you effortlessly against his side. he rests his head on your shoulder, wrapping an arm around your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. james spams the buttons on the remote until he finds what he's looking for.
when he saw zendaya’s new movie with robert pattinson, the drama. he hits play and pulls you closer, smirking when you try to wiggle away. "nope. stay. i like you here.”
"you're suffocating me..” you groaned, trying to get away. he just laughs and pulls you even tighter, his face nuzzled into your neck. the tv screen lights up as the movie starts. he settles in comfortably, his arm around you like a vice, completely content to just exist like this.
but you know what’s gonna happen next when he’s all getting clingy all of a sudden.
he presses a lazy kiss against your temple, completely ignoring your complaint about suffocation. The movie plays in the background, filling the room with its dialogue, but he pays it no attention, despite how good the movie was starting. instead, he buries his face into your shoulder, humming happily. "you complain, but you aren't actually moving away." he pinches your side playfully. "traitor.”
“stop.. kissing me. it’s gross.” you try to push him off, still half-focused on the movie, shifting in his grip as you attempt to get even a little space back. he laughs against your skin, intentionally pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw. he knows exactly what he's doing, marking you with hickies he'll later suck on proudly.
he bites gently on your earlobe. "gross? really?”
you gasped, “james...” his name slips out of you in a breathless, unintentional whisper, like you’re startled by your own reaction more than anything else. the way you gasp his name, breathy and soft against his lips that are now hovering at your collarbone—it goes straight to his head. james freezes for a split second, his eyes darkening as he processes the sound.
then all of a sudden, he's moving faster.
his lips trailing hot, wet kisses up your throat.
"say it again," he demands quietly.
"j-james! hey!" your stammer makes his heart pound, absolutely wrecked by how cute and turned on you sound without even meaning to be. he pulls back just enough to look at your flushed face, smirking at your scandalized expression.
you glare at him, pressing a finger firmly against his forehead to push him back just enough to create space. “what do you think you’re doing, zhao?” you say, trying to sound stern, though your voice wavers slightly from how close he still is.
"what does it look like i'm doing?" his voice has dropped lower, rougher around the edges. he doesn't move away, instead tilting his head to press kisses along your knuckles.
he can feel you going still, your heartbeat thundering under his lips where they rest against your pulse point. his teasing demeanor shifts into something quieter, more deliberate. he tilts his head to look at you properly, brown eyes searching your face.
“what kind of friends does these things?” and so you question him, brows knitting as you try to make sense of how effortlessly he crosses lines that don’t usually exist between friends.
"hey," he says softly, nudging his nose against your palm still pressed to his forehead.
"you're overthinking it.” his thumb traces gentle circles on your wrist as he watches you blink, his expression softening. he pulls your hand away from his forehead, intertwining his fingers with yours instead. "we're friends, right? friends can do silly things like this.”
fucking stupid statement. and it’s an excuse the two of you keep choosing to believe.
"like what? kissing?”
"kissing hands, wrists, shoulders..." he lists innocently, squeezing your fingers. "it's affection. friends touch each other all the time." he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes warm and reassuring. "it doesn't have to mean anything serious. it's just us."
you laugh in disbelief, shaking your head slightly. “i have friends, and we don’t kiss like this?”
"maybe not like this," he concedes, his breath ghosting over your lips. "but they probably hug, or hold hands, or bump shoulders. physical affection is normal between friends."
he smirks, tilting his head to press a soft, platonic kiss to your cheek. "see? normal.”
"so it's okay for my male friends to kiss my cheek like that?” his playful expression instantly drops, replaced by a scandalized look of absolute betrayal.
he grabs your face between his hands, squishing your cheeks together.
"absolutely not." james says firmly, eyes narrowing. "that is a very specific privilege reserved for me. your male friends can fucking settle with high-fives or handshakes."
“how about hugs? hold hands? and bump shoulders? and more?” you question, narrowing your eyes at him as if trying to pin down where exactly his version of “normal friendship” stops.
james immediately shakes his head, looking offended that you would even offer these things to other men. "hugs are acceptable. brief, polite hugs. shoulder bumps are fine." he lists them like strict rules. "holding hands? absolutely not. and 'more'? absolutely fucking forbidden."
he then states ever so boldly, "i'm the exception.”
you fight back a laugh as you keep teasing him, barely managing to keep a straight face. “no way, that’s not fair to my other friends?”
"life isn't fair," he declares imperiously, continuously squishing your cheeks harder until your lips are puckered. "your male friends get the standard friendship package: high-fives, awkward side hugs, and polite conversation. meanwhile, i get the premium subscription: cheek kisses, hand-holding, shoulder biting, and excessive clinginess. that is the hierarchy.”
“no way. who told you you can?” you say, raising a brow at him like you’re genuinely questioning his authority over the whole situation.
"i declared it myself," he states, sounding absurdly arrogant about it. he releases your cheeks only to wrap his arms around your waist, trapping you against his chest. "also, you literally let me do it. you didn't stop me, which implies consent. too late to renegotiate terms.”
“…and if i have a boyfriend? how is this terms gonna be fair to him?” you challenge, tilting your head slightly as you watch his reaction, testing his confidence.
the word ‘boyfriend’ made his whole body still. the light teasing mood evaporates instantly, his arms tightening around you almost painfully. and his jaw clenches as he stares down at you, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.
"oh? you're not getting a boyfriend," he says flatly.
you pout-glare at him, refusing to back down. “why not?”
"because i won't allow it," he says immediately, sounding absolutely ridiculous but deadly serious. "boyfriends change everything. they take up your time and energy and affection." he presses his forehead to yours, voice lowering. "you'd have less time for me.”
"of course, he's gonna be my new priority then.”
"over my dead body."
james presses a firm kiss to your lips before you can react, silencing any further arguments.
"you're not getting a boyfriend." he repeats against your mouth, as he takes full advantage of your stunned silence, leaning down to press more soft, lingering kisses against your lips. he pulls back just enough to look at your dazed expression, looking utterly smug. "that wiped the argument right out of your head, didn't it? that's what happens when you talk about boyfriends.”
james consumes you, kissing you until your lungs burn and your knees go weak.
his fingers tangle into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the angle, swallowing every little whimper and gasp you make. he breaks apart only to drag his teeth along your jaw and neck, sucking dark marks onto your skin.
"still want a boyfriend?”
"maybe not?”
james groans against your neck, kissing and biting down gently. "good answer," he murmurs against your skin, giving your bottom lip a sharp little bite. "because no boyfriend is gonna kiss you like this."
he demonstrates by kissing you deeply again, making your head spin. he lifts you effortlessly into his arms and striding into the bedroom.
he kicks the door shut, dropping you onto the mattress and immediately crawling over you, caging you in with his arms. he kisses you immediately, silencing any protest before it can start. his weight presses you comfortably into the mattress, one hand sliding under your shirt to rest against your bare waist. "stop thinking about what we are right now." he murmurs against your lips, peppering kisses over your jaw. "we still have forever to think about what happens after when two friends kiss." he settles between your legs comfortably.
he notices the blush that crept into your neck with what he just said, and just smirks at it. "there it is," he murmurs, pleased. "you like that? you like what i’ve said?"
he kisses you again, slower this time, deliberately making you blush more. "my girl," he repeats, the possessive words falling from his lips like a promise. he moves to kiss down your neck, marking you gently. james smiles against your mouth, loving the sound of your breathless little noises, trying to gasp some of his air. he slows the kiss down, savoring the taste of your lips, his hips moving instinctively against you.
meanwhile to you, the words short-circuit your brain, making you squirm underneath him. james takes full advantage, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, his hands pushing your shirt up just enough to expose your stomach. his voice is a low murmur against your skin.
"mine. all of this. every stupid, adorable, frustrating inch of you." he nips at your collarbone. his hands slide under your clothes, tracing warm patterns on your bare skin—possessive, reverent, demanding all at once.
and he rewards your submission immediately, kissing you senseless, his hands possessive and grounding as he explores your skin. the way you just let him. the session dissolves into warmth and whispers, james constantly murmuring "mine" against your mouth, marking you up, keeping you close until your brain is fuzzy and your body is heavy.
james freezes when you tug on his shirt, head tilting slightly as he looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. for a moment, he just stares, chest rising and falling quickly.
the makeout session shifts instantly into something heavier, clothes disappearing between kisses. his skin presses against yours, warm and solid, swallowing your soft moans with his mouth. he kisses you deeply, slowly, stripping you down with practiced ease until you're completely bare and tangled in his sheets.
the room goes quiet, the only sound is your shared breathing.
for a long moment, neither of you moves, just taking each other in fully exposed, stripped of every barrier.
james’s eyes trace over your face, your shoulders, your body, his gaze overwhelmingly soft and adoring despite the nakedness. he reaches out, brushing his thumb gently over your cheekbone. he leans down slowly, pressing his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.
it's an intimate, grounding moment. his hands stroke your sides, thumbs tracing your skin reverently, making it clear this isn't just about sex. it's about trust.
"you're beautiful." he whispers, his voice rough with sincerity. "absolutely beautiful.”
and it’s just so contradictory, james takes his time, worshipping every inch of your exposed skin with his mouth. kissing down your neck, between your breasts, along your ribs. he makes you feel beautiful and desired, his hands roaming possessively. it was supposed to be just another makeout session with him, but it has escalated into something more. he's staying careful, attentive, making sure you're with him every step of the way, but for you… it was different. it felt wrong, almost unreal, how someone like him, so effortlessly beautiful in a way that made people stop and stare, could look at you like you were the only thing worth noticing in the entire room.
“no way. you’re more… beautiful.”
james laughs softly, the sound rumbling against your chest, and the unexpectedness of it. james, laughing at being called beautiful, and it makes your heart stutter. "i'm a man, not a fucking sculpture," he teases gently, but his eyes are warm, vulnerable in a way you've never seen before.
he groaned as he kisses your nose. "we're both stupid,”
“why?” you ask gently, your voice softer now.
"because we're here, naked, staring at each other like idiots instead of..." he smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"...you know." his voice drops lower, huskier. "fucking.”
"we're just taking our moment before we do it.”
"yeah," he agrees quietly. "i like this moment. never had this before—just looking at someone like this." his hand comes up, cupping your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheekbone.
"... me too.”
his breath catches slightly, clearly affected by your admission. james stays there, forehead pressed to yours, bodies touching everywhere. for once, he's not rushing, not demanding, just existing with you in this rare pocket of stillness. his naked skin warm against yours, it was silky. it's strangely intimate, more intimate than the sex itself. just the two of you, completely bare, completely trusting. he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, his expression full of soft, overwhelming affection.
"my girl," he whispers, like a prayer. suddenly, something in his eyes darkens the moment he says it, claiming you his girl, like the words catch up to him after they leave his mouth
the shift is instant. the tender, worshipful atmosphere melts away into pure dominance as his large hands capture your wrists, pinning them effortlessly above your head against the pillow. his body blankets yours, heavy and suffocating in the best way, and his expression darkens with intent.
"no moving those hands.” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. "time to ruin you.”
james seals the order with a bite to your neck, his teeth sinking in just enough to make you gasp. one of his hands stays locked around your wrists while the other explores your bound body freely. with all the kisses on your neck, you can physically feel the scorching pain of your skin.
the sight of you being so compliant, pinned under him, completely surrendering, nearly undoes him. his eyes burn with dark satisfaction, loving how easily you submit.
"you’re just so willing to let me do anything as i please…" he purrs, pressing his thigh harder against your soaked center, dragging it torturously slow. his kisses trail lower, burning a path down your stomach, over your hipbones.
your wrists remain trapped above your head, he settles between your legs, shoulders pushing your thighs wider apart, looking up at you with dark, immense hunger.
"eyes on me," he commands, right before lowering his mouth. he licks into you with one long, flat stroke, making your back arch off the bed. his tongue finds your clit, circling it slowly, torturously, while his free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise. he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he eats you out—watching, dominating, owning every gasp and moan you make. and it’s making you feel so small.
your hands twitch above your head, wanting to grab his hair. the command makes it even hotter; being forced to just take his mouth, helpless to do anything but receive pleasure.
james curls his tongue, licking deeper, fucking you with his mouth until your thighs shake. he's relentless, sucking your clit between his teeth, giving you just enough pressure to make you see stars but not enough to let you cum. when you start to tremble too much, he pulls back, his voice rough.
"not yet. legs over my shoulders.” he lifts your legs over his broad shoulders, changing the angle completely. he groans against your pussy at the sound of you crying and pleading of his name, the vibration sending shockwaves through you.
"that mouth of yours only calls out mine, right?" he growls, licking a slow stripe up you.
and before you can answer, he swallows you down completely, nose pressing into your clit, tongue deep inside. you feel the vibrations of his satisfied hum. his sharp nose doing wonders in your pussy.
“y-yes!”
the confirmation makes him even hungrier. he doubles down, sucking hard on your clit, two fingers sliding deep inside you and curling just right. your hips buck wildly but he holds you down easily, eating you out with messy enthusiasm until you're a sobbing, begging mess.
"i-i wanna grip something james....." you were now struggling to keep your hands up. he sees the struggle on your face, the way your arms tremble from holding still. a wicked grin spreads across his face.
"want something to hold onto, baby?" he asks, voice dripping with mock gentleness. "here.”
he releases your wrists, and you immediately grab his hair, fingers tangling desperately in his messy strands. but he doesn't let you use them to guide him. in fact, he pins your hips down harder with both hands, forcing you to just hold on. his mouth returns with brutal intensity, his tongue lashing against your clit while his fingers pump fast and deep. you tug hard on his hair, and he groans approvingly, the vibration making you cry out.
"that's it," he praises against your pussy. "pull harder. hurt me a little.”
the permission snaps something in you. you yank hard on his hair, making him groan deeply against your clit. instead of pulling away, he presses his face harder into you, loving the sting of your hands in his hair. he doesn't slow down, he made sure he was stretching you and pounding that perfect spot.
"cum." he orders, voice muffled against your soaked body, eyes locked on yours.
your back arches deeply, small tits bouncing and nipples hard as diamonds.
you see stars—literally.
as your vision whites out at the edges. your legs shake violently. your hands tug his hair so hard you're basically riding his face.
"fuck! so good, james!”
his name spills out of your mouth as you scream through your first orgasm. he doesn't let up. he keeps sucking and fucking you with his fingers, prolonging it until you're a mess of whimpers and twitches.
"nghhh!!" your moans become more incoherent, as he continued to ravage you.
your legs shake violently against his shoulders, your toes curling so tight they hurt.
the way james overloads your senses, tongue working your clit ruthlessly while his fingers slam into that spot that makes you lose all ability to speak.
"thaaat's it," he growls against your pussy, enjoying your broken, helpless sounds. he growls deeply against your pussy at the broken sob of his name, the vibration sending your second orgasm crashing through you even harder. you thrash violently, fingers yanking painfully at his hair, but he pins your hips down, forcing you to take every wave.
"good fucking girl." he groans.
he rides it out with you, licking you through the aftershocks until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you're a sobbing, limp mess. his cock aching painfully against his pants. he releases your hips, slowly sliding his fingers out of you and bringing them to his mouth to suck clean. your legs are like jelly, barely able to hold him up as he stands.
james frees his thick strained cock from his pants, and boy, it was leaking and crimson red. the sight of it makes you whimper.
james strokes himself slowly, watching you come down from your dual orgasms, hair a mess, lips swollen, thighs shaking, hands still tangled in his hair. his gaze alone was making you extremely melt.
"tell me what you want," he commands, voice rough with need. "use words.”
you immediately groan in a bit of annoyance. he chuckles darkly, a predatory glint in his eyes at your frustration. he presses the thick head of his cock against your still-trembling entrance but doesn't push inside, just teasing you with the heat of him.
"i've been eating your pussy for twenty minutes." he murmurs, rubbing slow circles against your clit. "the least you can do is ask nicely?”
“you’re so demandinggg.” you pout, dragging the word out. james laughs at you softly, leaning down to kiss your pout away, tapping the tip of his nose against yours.
"i gave you two orgasms without demanding a thing." he points out playfully, rubbing his cock through your soaked folds. he nudges his leaky tip against your entrance. "two words.”
“two words?” you repeat, blinking at him like you can’t decide whether he’s serious or just being impossible again.
"mhm," he hums, pushing just the tip inside you, stretching you deliciously before pulling back out. he repeats the teasing motion, his voice low and commanding. he refuses to give you more than the swollen tip, stretching your entrance teasingly before pulling back out again. "stop whining and ask for it. two words. you're a smart girl." he taps your clit with his thumb, smirking. "what do you want?”
you bit your lip, quite unsure with your first try. "fuck me?”
james smirk widens at your question, his hips flexing slightly to push the tip deeper inside you before pulling back out again.
"try again." he teases, circling your entrance with his head. "you can do better than that. ask nicely.”
“but you said two words!” you protest, gripping onto his arms. nails digging on his skin.
he catches your legs with his hands and hooking them over his elbows, folding you in half.
"you said two words, i said ask nicely. both apply."
"dick, please?” james bursts out laughing, shaking his head against your neck.
"that counts, i guess?" he rewards you immediately, sinking his thick cock inside you in one slow, deep stroke. you moan loudly, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he stretches you perfectly, bottoming out against your cervix.
"there we go," he groans.
"jamessss......!”
"i knowww, y/n- fuck! i know, babyyy." he groans, you're squeezing him so tight it's making his eyes roll back. he starts a slow, deep rhythm, dragging every inch of his thick cock out before snapping his hips forward, burying himself deep.
he kisses your swollen mouth. "too deep?”
"too good!”
he groans deeply at your praise, hips snapping harder, setting a rhythm that has your toes curling. his cock dragging perfectly against your sensitive walls with every thrust. his rhythm stays slow and deep, almost lazy in its perfection, focusing on grinding that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. your legs are draped over his elbows, your body folded open for him, breasts bouncing with each deep stroke.
"cute." james murmurs, watching your face. "can you feel how deep i am? all the way to your womb."
"ahh yes…”
he grins wickedly, liking your responsive nature. most women would be all moans and no words at this point, but you're actually having a conversation with him while he's balls deep inside you, dragging out slow, deep strokes like a fucking king.
"see? you like being full of dick," he teases, snapping his hips forward harder, making your whole body jerk.
your tits bounce in his face and he grabs one roughly, pinching your nipple. your body is like a dream, it was soft, giving, and fucking perfect for his size. he spreads you wider, watching his thick cock slide in and out of your pink flesh.
he entranced by the sight of your soaked pussy stretching around his thick shaft. he snaps his hips harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. he leans down, "gonna make a mess of this pretty little pussy, aren't i?”
the bed shakes, your headboard hitting the wall. he knows he's hitting you deep, spreading you wide. he spreads your legs wider, watching himself disappear inside you. he sees your stomach tightening, your breasts bouncing, your hair messy.
he pants, pulling out suddenly to show you both how stretched and wet you are. your pussy is red, swollen, dripping.
"you're gaping for me, pretty. see that?" he pulls his cock out, watching your hole flutter.
you immediately whine at the sudden loss, feeling devastatingly empty without his thick weight stretching you open. your pussy clenches around nothing, fluttering desperately for something to fill the void. james spreads your legs to watch your hole flutter.
"aww, poor thing." he mocks, rubbing his thick cockhead against your swollen, messy entrance. not wanting to tease you even further, he suddenly slams forward, burying himself balls deep in one brutal thrust.
you scream, your back arching off the bed as he fills you completely, his thick cock stretching you open again. he groans deeply, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he starts a hard, fast rhythm.
you're panting, moaning, and sobbing all at once. your pussy is clenching around him uncontrollably, milking his thick shaft as he pounds you relentlessly. the bed is shaking violently, and you're pretty sure the neighbors can hear your screams.
your whole body goes rigid, every muscle locking up as you climax hard. you squirt all over his stomach and the bedsheets, soaking everything.
james feels your orgasm trigger his own, his cock twitching and thickening inside you before he's unloading thick ropes of cum deep in your pussy. he doesn't pull out, just keeps pounding through your orgasm, his cum mixing with your juices and leaking out around his shaft.
he collapses on top of you after his orgasm, both of you covered in sweat, breathing heavily. as james rolls off you carefully, his softening cock slipping out of your swollen, messy pussy with a wet sound. immediately, a flood of cum leaks out, pooling on the bed beneath you. he looks down at your well-used hole, watching it gap slightly before closing.
"no protection, james. really?”
james grins lazily, reaching out to spread your thighs and examine the mess between them. cum is slowly dripping out of you, mixed with your own fluids. he runs his fingers through it, gathering some before showing it to you.
synopsis: while bts is on tour in your city, you’re lucky enough to run into them at the restaurant you worked at. as the eager and sweet fan you were, you kindly asked for an autograph and enthused them about attending their concert later that week. after giving you their autograph, a note and phone number is left for you to call.
warnings: strictly 18+. threesome. dub con. oral sex, vaginal sex, light anal play, signing an nda, extremely filthy dirty talk, hard dom jimin, soft dom jungkook, subspace, submissive reader, teasing, dumbification, sex tapes, sadist behaviors, masochist behaviors, slapping, choking, alcohol influence, etc.
a/n: i’ve been so inspired recently from all the fics i’ve been seeing about concert scenarios w/ the tannies, and i just had to start jotting my ideas out. i plan on making this extremely fun and enjoyable for some of my more intense readers, and i hope u all enjoy!
𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ taglist is open. currently under the works, but will be released within the upcoming week. comment to be added once full fic is posted <3
done w school officially!!! i’ll be on summer break so i’ll have more time to finish fics now. if anyone has ideas or recs for who they wanna see, inbox is open <3
a mini headcanon-style series featuring none other than dilf/older ateez. exploring forbidden attraction through different scenarios with even more different dynamics — from single or divorced dads, to fully committed ones, to the hot neighbor next door. you both know it's so wrong, but then why does it feel right?
choose your older man, and come take a seat in your fantasy.
i. 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐇 featuring ... CHOI SAN
release date :: march 12th
word count :: 2,2k
dilf!san + best friend's dad. you never meant to fall for someone so much older, let alone your best friend’s dad. desire doesn’t stay one-sided forever, and he’s far from innocent, because some rules are meant to be broken. some things are better left unsaid and kept secret, so hush and accept everything he offers you.
ii. 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 featuring ... PARK SEONGHWA
release date :: march 15th
word count :: 2,3k
dilf!seonghwa + teacher & student. in pursuit of being the perfect student, so close to fulfilling your goal, one of the professors did not give you the high grade you deserved. you wanted to be perfect, not a homewrecker. but if that's what he likes, whatever his type, you'll do it.
iii. 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 featuring ... JUNG WOOYOUNG
release date :: march 19th
word count :: 2,3k
dilf!wooyoung + dad's best friend. wooyoung never expected to struggle this much with wanting something he knows he shouldn’t. he has a life he chose and loves... but he can’t get the image of you out of his head, the woman you’ve become, and the woman that makes his thoughts drift somewhere they never used to go.
iv. 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 featuring ... JEONG YUNHO
release date :: march 22nd
word count :: 2,2k
dilf!yunho + mom's ex. meeting your mother’s ex from college, who is charming and entirely off-limits, a man who exists firmly in the past of your family’s history. you find yourself questioning whether some connections are truly over… or simply waiting to be rediscovered under new lights.
v. 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 featuring ... SONG MINGI
release date :: march 26th
word count :: 2,3k
older!mingi + neighbor next door. having an attractive, older neighbor who throws legendary parties sounds fun, and he’s actually a really nice guy. somehow makes every girl scream his name, while you listen through the wall, wondering if he’s just that good, or if he's someone who might steal more than just your sleep.
i know you literally just posted the mingi smut headcanons but what would a girl need to do for the wooyoung and/or yunho installation 👀
hello!! i have an wooyoung ver. that i posted a while ago. here’s the link to it.
i’m currently working on an ot8 headcanon fic, so the smut alphabet series isn’t a priority right now. i was thinking of saving yunho for last actually :3, i’ve got some ideas for him
❤︎ synopsis — smutty headcanons with song mingi :))
theme: smut ❣︎
pairing: song mingi x gn!reader
a/n: after a couple of months i’m finally posting 🙏 i’m still gonna be inconsistent, but i’ll be trying to crank out fics while working on school :33
cw: smutty headcanons. it’s all filth as usual
a = aftercare (what are they like after sex? how do they treat their partner?)
oh baby he’s an aftercare king. mingi is the type to spoil you rotten with snacks and water, before bundling you up in the softest blankets and pulling you close to his chest. definition of a gentle giant.
b = body part / bottom or top (favorite body part on themselves/partner, do they prefer to top or bottom?)
his height. mingi takes absolute pride in the fact that he can dwarf you easily with his size. his favorite part on you has to be your hips and thighs, mingi’s a thigh kinda guy, especially when he can just grab up on ‘em during sex.
as for dynamics, mingi is a switch that mainly takes on top positions, but he can be dominant or submissive depending on the mood. sometimes he wants to be a little princess too.
c = cum (anything to do with cum)
oh absolutely does it in you. when mingi comes it’s a heavy load too, so seeing it drip out of your hole/mouth will get him hard all over again.
d = dirty secret (a filthy secret they keep)
the moans sampled in ‘in your fantasy’ was from a really old sex clip you and mingi filmed a long time ago. he heavily edited it to keep you safe though.
e = experience (how experienced are they?)
i see mingi being the type to have a few partners, but those being long-term. he’s got experience, and can even teach you a few things.
f = favorite position (what is their favorite position?)
absolutely doggy style. he likes seeing your ass jiggle every time he slams his hips into you, and also the view is fucking hot for him too.
if not doggy style, then cowgirl, front or reverse doesn’t matter, he likes watching you struggle to take his cock while riding him.
g = goofy (how goofy are they? do they prefer to be serious?)
one time he farted while pounding into you. that was goofiest you both got because y’all were laughing like crazy. other than that, he’s not goofy unless something unexpected happens
h = hair (how well groomed are they?)
mingi’s got a bit of hair going on down there, but he’s clean and keeps it nice and pretty for you :3
i = intimacy (how are they romantically during sex?)
oh mingi is intimate. he mainly gets intimate during missionary, when he can really see your face. he will bury his face into your neck and whisper words of affirmation and adoration, wanting you to know how absolutely loved you are.
he’s into hand-holding during sex too, expect a lot of that.
j = jack off (masturbating headcanon)
mingi jerks off quite often when you’re not around, but he’ll still probably end up calling you and asking you to fix his raging boner.
k = kink (what kinda of kinks do they have?)
mingi has a few kinks, and they vary from intensity.
he definitely has a thing for spanking. ass? thighs? tits? it doesn’t matter, he’s going to be smacking it and watching it jiggle. i also see him being into stuff like hair pulling. praise is also another heavy one, whether on the giving or receiving end, it doesn’t matter.
l = location (favorite places to do the deed)
bedroom or studio. he likes to do it in places where he knows y’all won’t get caught. values privacy and intimacy more than anything.
m = motivation (what motivates them/turns them on?)
if he had a successful day in the studio (especially if he was writing some freaky ass shit), he’ll definitely be more motivated to have sex with you for ‘inspiration’.
but really, anything sets this man off. you could just as much as blink at him and he’ll be hauling your ass over the counter.
n = no (turn offs, stuff they wouldn’t do)
nothing that will cause serious pain, like razors or knives. mingi also doesn’t like degradation, it will make him cry. he wants to be praised and loved and reassured.
o = oral (do they prefer giving or receiving?)
oh baby he’s a GIVER. has a phd in eating ass and pussy. while he thoroughly enjoys receiving, he gets more pleasure from giving, and will have you seeing stars by the end of it.
p = pace (are they fast or slow? gentle or rough?)
mingi tries his absolute hardest to be gentle at first, going slow and steady, but sometimes he can’t help himself and will just be pounding away. controlled roughness is mingi’s speciality.
q = quickie (how do they feel about quickies?)
enjoys them. sometimes he just wants to take you for a spin in his car right before a performance. doesn’t do them often though, the idol life can’t afford them most of the time.
r = risk (what risks are they willing to take)
absolutely willing to try new positions, kinks, he’ll even roleplay for you if y’all want to try it out. mingi is open to anything as long as you’re both having fun.
s = stamina (how many rounds?)
insane amounts of stamina. if mingi really wanted to he could go over 6 rounds, but honestly, he likes it when it’s just 1-2 rounds. usually he likes to have sex spaced out throughout the day, so he definitely he’s for more if you call for it.
t = toys (do they own toys, or like using them?)
mingi has yet to own any toys, but he does have his eye on a couple (and maybe like one or two vibrators in his cart). he’s surprisingly shy when it comes to stuff like that, so you’re gonna have to teach him a thing or two.
u = unfair (how much do they tease?)
he tries teasing and can successfully make you squirm and whine in his hold, but most of the time he himself also ends up getting impatient and just starts fucking you harder. so if there’s teasing it’s mostly on you.
v = volume (how loud are they? what kinds of noises?)
mingi tries really hard to be quiet, but whenever he’s cumming he cannot hold back. lots of deep groans and grunts, more hoarse shouts during orgasm.
w = wild card (miscellaneous smut story)
one time mingi said he wanted to try wearing his shades during sex. y’all were going at it missionary style, but as he hunched over your form, the glasses ended up falling off his face and hitting you in the nose.
mingi ended up laughing at your misfortune, before spoiling you and doting on you when you sulked too much over it.
x = x-ray (how much are they packing?)
ooh honey, he’s at least 8 inches underneath all that leather and swagger.
y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
mingi is a yearner, man. he’s got a relatively high sex drive, probably the highest one out of all the ateez members.
z = zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep after?)
out like a fucking lightbulb. usually drapes his arm over your waist to pull you close while sleeping, letting you know how absolutely loved you are after doing the deed.
❤︎ synopsis — smutty headcanons with song mingi :))
theme: smut ❣︎
pairing: song mingi x gn!reader
a/n: after a couple of months i’m finally posting 🙏 i’m still gonna be inconsistent, but i’ll be trying to crank out fics while working on school :33
cw: smutty headcanons. it’s all filth as usual
a = aftercare (what are they like after sex? how do they treat their partner?)
oh baby he’s an aftercare king. mingi is the type to spoil you rotten with snacks and water, before bundling you up in the softest blankets and pulling you close to his chest. definition of a gentle giant.
b = body part / bottom or top (favorite body part on themselves/partner, do they prefer to top or bottom?)
his height. mingi takes absolute pride in the fact that he can dwarf you easily with his size. his favorite part on you has to be your hips and thighs, mingi’s a thigh kinda guy, especially when he can just grab up on ‘em during sex.
as for dynamics, mingi is a switch that mainly takes on top positions, but he can be dominant or submissive depending on the mood. sometimes he wants to be a little princess too.
c = cum (anything to do with cum)
oh absolutely does it in you. when mingi comes it’s a heavy load too, so seeing it drip out of your hole/mouth will get him hard all over again.
d = dirty secret (a filthy secret they keep)
the moans sampled in ‘in your fantasy’ was from a really old sex clip you and mingi filmed a long time ago. he heavily edited it to keep you safe though.
e = experience (how experienced are they?)
i see mingi being the type to have a few partners, but those being long-term. he’s got experience, and can even teach you a few things.
f = favorite position (what is their favorite position?)
absolutely doggy style. he likes seeing your ass jiggle every time he slams his hips into you, and also the view is fucking hot for him too.
if not doggy style, then cowgirl, front or reverse doesn’t matter, he likes watching you struggle to take his cock while riding him.
g = goofy (how goofy are they? do they prefer to be serious?)
one time he farted while pounding into you. that was goofiest you both got because y’all were laughing like crazy. other than that, he’s not goofy unless something unexpected happens
h = hair (how well groomed are they?)
mingi’s got a bit of hair going on down there, but he’s clean and keeps it nice and pretty for you :3
i = intimacy (how are they romantically during sex?)
oh mingi is intimate. he mainly gets intimate during missionary, when he can really see your face. he will bury his face into your neck and whisper words of affirmation and adoration, wanting you to know how absolutely loved you are.
he’s into hand-holding during sex too, expect a lot of that.
j = jack off (masturbating headcanon)
mingi jerks off quite often when you’re not around, but he’ll still probably end up calling you and asking you to fix his raging boner.
k = kink (what kinda of kinks do they have?)
mingi has a few kinks, and they vary from intensity.
he definitely has a thing for spanking. ass? thighs? tits? it doesn’t matter, he’s going to be smacking it and watching it jiggle. i also see him being into stuff like hair pulling. praise is also another heavy one, whether on the giving or receiving end, it doesn’t matter.
l = location (favorite places to do the deed)
bedroom or studio. he likes to do it in places where he knows y’all won’t get caught. values privacy and intimacy more than anything.
m = motivation (what motivates them/turns them on?)
if he had a successful day in the studio (especially if he was writing some freaky ass shit), he’ll definitely be more motivated to have sex with you for ‘inspiration’.
but really, anything sets this man off. you could just as much as blink at him and he’ll be hauling your ass over the counter.
n = no (turn offs, stuff they wouldn’t do)
nothing that will cause serious pain, like razors or knives. mingi also doesn’t like degradation, it will make him cry. he wants to be praised and loved and reassured.
o = oral (do they prefer giving or receiving?)
oh baby he’s a GIVER. has a phd in eating ass and pussy. while he thoroughly enjoys receiving, he gets more pleasure from giving, and will have you seeing stars by the end of it.
p = pace (are they fast or slow? gentle or rough?)
mingi tries his absolute hardest to be gentle at first, going slow and steady, but sometimes he can’t help himself and will just be pounding away. controlled roughness is mingi’s speciality.
q = quickie (how do they feel about quickies?)
enjoys them. sometimes he just wants to take you for a spin in his car right before a performance. doesn’t do them often though, the idol life can’t afford them most of the time.
r = risk (what risks are they willing to take)
absolutely willing to try new positions, kinks, he’ll even roleplay for you if y’all want to try it out. mingi is open to anything as long as you’re both having fun.
s = stamina (how many rounds?)
insane amounts of stamina. if mingi really wanted to he could go over 6 rounds, but honestly, he likes it when it’s just 1-2 rounds. usually he likes to have sex spaced out throughout the day, so he definitely he’s for more if you call for it.
t = toys (do they own toys, or like using them?)
mingi has yet to own any toys, but he does have his eye on a couple (and maybe like one or two vibrators in his cart). he’s surprisingly shy when it comes to stuff like that, so you’re gonna have to teach him a thing or two.
u = unfair (how much do they tease?)
he tries teasing and can successfully make you squirm and whine in his hold, but most of the time he himself also ends up getting impatient and just starts fucking you harder. so if there’s teasing it’s mostly on you.
v = volume (how loud are they? what kinds of noises?)
mingi tries really hard to be quiet, but whenever he’s cumming he cannot hold back. lots of deep groans and grunts, more hoarse shouts during orgasm.
w = wild card (miscellaneous smut story)
one time mingi said he wanted to try wearing his shades during sex. y’all were going at it missionary style, but as he hunched over your form, the glasses ended up falling off his face and hitting you in the nose.
mingi ended up laughing at your misfortune, before spoiling you and doting on you when you sulked too much over it.
x = x-ray (how much are they packing?)
ooh honey, he’s at least 8 inches underneath all that leather and swagger.
y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
mingi is a yearner, man. he’s got a relatively high sex drive, probably the highest one out of all the ateez members.
z = zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep after?)
out like a fucking lightbulb. usually drapes his arm over your waist to pull you close while sleeping, letting you know how absolutely loved you are after doing the deed.
[ex-husband!wooyoung x ex-wife!reader] third & final part of the wifey trilogy | smut minors dni 18+ pinv, creampie, dirty talk, talk of pregnancy, wooyoung is a little shit, beautiful loving sex that will make u want to rip ur hair out | wc 9.8k
i cant believe this mini series is finally over, i had so much fun writing it, thank you for reading and interacting with me and keeping me motivated to write more. i appreciate every single one of you, and your words matter. please enjoy and happy spring xoxoxo 🐝
“Did you know mommy’s sick?”
Just past five thirty on a Tuesday night Wooyoung finished eating dinner with Kyungmin, a meal he threw together quick and easy after he picked his son up from after-school care. Standing at his kitchen sink, he turned around to eye his eight year old with a singular eyebrow raised. “Sick?”
“She keeps throwing up,” Kyungmin, eyes focused on his screen laid on top of the kitchen island counter, didn’t spare Wooyoung a glance as he spoke. “All. Day. Long. Yesterday, she threw up while she was driving me home from school.”
Wooyoung fully turned around at that, brows knitted together, kitchen sink still running, the titanium holding three more dishes he still had to wash. “While she was driving? Or did she pull over?”
His son looked at him with such an incredulous look it made Wooyoung feel a little stupid for asking the question. With a little giggle, Kyungmin answered, “She pulled over, duh.”
“Okay, attitude,” Wooyoung couldn’t help being amused whenever he saw you in your son, even if he thinks Kyungmin is all him. Sitting in the same clothes he wore to school today, a tee shirt, loose jeans that Wooyoung bought him, his favorite Elsa and Anna socks, his eyes went right back to his tablet, the case bright green against the deep granite countertop. “Did she go to the doctor?”
His kid shrugged.
“Kyungmin,” Wooyoung’s tone was stronger, asking for his son’s attention. The boy lifted his eyes away from his screen as Wooyoung asked, “Has she said anything about it?”
“Just said she’s sick,” Kyungmin shrugged again, sounding irritated that Wooyoung was taking him away from his screen time, “she told me not to tell you.”
Wooyoung’s smirk was anything but involuntary. His son, indeed. “But you’re telling me anyway?”
“It’s stinky,” he uttered, crinkling his nose as he said it. A little quieter, a little smaller, he mumbled, “And it’s scary.”
“Don’t be scared,” Wooyoung soothed, turning off the kitchen sink before leaning his elbows on the granite, leaning over the countertop so he can be eye-to-eye with his son. “Mommy’s okay, I promise.”
Kyungmin lifted his eyes, a twinkle of fear swirling in whiskey, eyes that were identical to his own. He whispered, “How do you know?”
It made sense then, why he hasn’t been served papers. Even if it fills him with hope, he knows there’s a long fucking way to go before actual progress is made, although it’s already been over two months since that dreadful night on your living room floor. He expected to be served within two weeks, maybe three, but nine have passed and nothing, not a whisper about his least favorite word that starts with D.
God knows he hasn’t brought it up.
“Because daddy’s always right,” Wooyoung gleamed, and the smile made the corner of Kyungmin’s lips curve upward. Wooyoung’s head tilted, “Aren’t I?”
Kyungmin shook his head, “No.”
“Boo,” Wooyoung’s lip lifted, dragging out the word in a sneer. “Come on, I was right this morning when I said making bunny ears with your shoe laces is easier, right?” Kyungmin’s lips pursed like he was trying to fight his smile from growing. Wooyoung made his way around the kitchen counter, coming up behind Kyungmin, “And I was right earlier when I said you’re still ticklish, wasn’t I?”
His hands jumped for Kyungmin’s sides, and his heart sang listening to his son’s loud, wild giggles. He stopped tickling to wrap his arms around him in a tight hug, planting a kiss to the top of his head. “Daddy’s always right, and I said mommy’s gonna be just fine, so trust me, okay?”
Just fine. Nine weeks of pick-ups, drop-offs, damn near silent, everything was so fucking far from fine he’s barely slept in weeks. He finally came clean with his therapist, who he hoped and prayed had something legally binding her from reporting his lawyer in some way, which might be the result of leftover anxiety from doing such a thing in the first place.
He should have waited. He probably shouldn’t have done it at all, but he did, and he should have fucking waited to tell you. If you’re pregnant, which he’d place a million dollar bet on if you’re throwing up–if this pregnancy was anything like your pregnancy with Kyungmin–he could have waited until you were farther along. Hell, he could have waited until the baby was born.
Any time would have been better than the time he chose. When you two were on better terms, smoother terms, he should have told you then. When it might’ve felt like everything was falling into place. Instead he ripped things apart all over again, and now they’re worse than they were to begin with and fuck he was back to square one or even something worse than that.
His therapist wouldn’t agree with any of that, but whatever. He’s losing his mind. But the little boy in his arms is keeping that singular thread of rationality stronger than steel.
“Come on, stinky, shower time.”
“I’m not stinky,” Kyungmin huffs, “you’re stinky. You smell like… you smell like my butt.”
Wooyoung raises his brows at the little’s head tipped backward into his stomach, “So your butt is stinky?”
Kyungmin smiles, “No.”
“Okay, so maybe we’ll go to bed early tonight, since you forgot how to make sense,” he lifts his son by his armpits onto the floor, and the tablet dangles from his right hand, which Wooyoung scoops up with his own. “This screen is frying your stinky brain.”
“You have a stinky brain,” Kyungmin points, then turns on his heel, giggling just as wild and just as loud all the way to the bathroom.
“This stinky brain created you,” Wooyoung calls after him. “If I’m stinky, you’re stinky!”
“You’re the stinky one!”
Wooyoung can’t help the snort that rips from his nose as he throws the tablet onto his couch, making his way towards the bathroom in the middle of the singular hallway in his entire apartment. Almost-bachelor-pad, Yunho and Aurora had called it. “Then I’ll take a shower after you, stinky boy. Do you need help with the faucet?”
“Yes, please!”
His smile doesn’t leave the entire time he’s in the bathroom. Turning on the faucet to the right temperature, helping Kyungmin with his shirt that got stuck going over his head, even smelling Kyungmin’s stinky socks that really were fucking stinky. Hearing his son laugh again, his favorite sound in the world, he remembers the days he could hold the boy over one forearm like it was yesterday.
Fuck, and he might have another? Another shot at creating a life? Hearing his baby laugh for the first time? Take their first steps? Hear their first word? Another child to see himself in, to see you in, a life created by both of you, by the time he’s spread out on the couch half-listening to Kyungmin singing a song from Kpop Demon Hunters, somehow he mindlessly got his phone out, your contact information on the screen.
Somehow.
You don’t pick up on his first try. So he calls again.
“Is Kyungmin okay?”
You sound like summertime. Even if your voice is ebbed in panic, burnt at the edges like you’re trying to contain the flame, you sound like the morning of August twenty-third, the morning he met you, fifteen years ago.
“He’s fine–”
“What do you want?”
The flame burns freely once more.
He didn’t really think this far. Tongue-tied, he sputters over his next words, “I- um, just- uh–”
“Wooyoung,” your voice is stern, a warning. It doesn’t help how each one of his limbs has seemed to lock up. “What do you want?”
“You.” Fuck his brain and his vocal chords for not working as a team. He lets the following pause settle, hoping you’d take it as a joke, at least. If this was a month ago you would’ve hung up as soon as he said Kyungmin’s fine.
“Well you fucked that up,” you say matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t know it down to his very fucking soul. Closing his eyes, bringing his palm to his forehead, he sighs. “Is there anything in particular that requires you calling my phone at six o’clock on a Tuesday?”
“Am I allowed to talk to you?”
“No.”
“What?” There’s a part of him that feels like throwing the same tantrum Kyungmin threw yesterday. “Why not?”
“Because you’re a deceitful, selfish asshole, and a pain in my fucking ass.”
His lips thin, face going flat. Can he blame any of this on pregnancy hormones yet?
“Look–”
“No.”
“Please–”
“No.”
“Holy shit can I please just fucking–”
“No.”
And the line runs dead. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, throwing his phone on the couch beside him. He groans after watching it bounce to the floor, sinking deeper into the tough, barely broken-in cushions, knees spreading, he’s really fucking close to throwing that tantrum.
According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly.
Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground.
The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible.
Use the stairs, Your father paid good money for those.
Sorry. I'm excited.
Here's the graduate.
We're very proud of you, son.
A perfect report card, all B's.
Very proud.
Ma! I got a thing going here.
You got lint on your fuzz.
Ow! That's me!
Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000.
Bye!
Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house!
Hey, Adam.
Hey, Barry.
Is that fuzz gel?
A little. Special day, graduation.
Never thought I'd make it.
Three days grade school, three days high school.
Those were awkward.
Three days college. I'm glad I took a day and hitchhiked around The Hive.
You did come back different.
Hi, Barry. Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good.
Hear about Frankie?
Yeah.
You going to the funeral?
No, I'm not going.
Everybody knows, sting someone, you die.
Don't waste it on a squirrel.
Such a hothead.
I guess he could have just gotten out of the way.
I love this incorporating an amusement park into our day.
That's why we don't need vacations.
Boy, quite a bit of pomp under the circumstances.
Well, Adam, today we are men.
We are!
Bee-men.
Amen!
Hallelujah!
Students, faculty, distinguished bees,
please welcome Dean Buzzwell.
Welcome, New Hive City graduating class of 9:15.
That concludes our ceremonies And begins your career at Honex Industries!
Will we pick our job today?
I heard it's just orientation.
Heads up! Here we go.
Keep your hands and antennas inside the tram at all times.
Wonder what it'll be like?
A little scary.
Welcome to Honex, a division of Honesco and a part of the Hexagon Group.
This is it!
Wow.
Wow.
We know that you, as a bee, have worked your whole life to get to the point where you can work for your whole life.
Honey begins when our valiant Pollen Jocks bring the nectar to The Hive.
Our top-secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured into this soothing sweet syrup with its distinctive golden glow you know as... Honey!
That girl was hot.
She's my cousin!
She is?
Yes, we're all cousins.
Right. You're right.
At Honex, we constantly strive to improve every aspect of bee existence.
These bees are stress-testing a new helmet technology.
What do you think he makes?
Not enough.
Here we have our latest advancement, the Krelman.
What does that do?
Catches that little strand of honey that hangs after you pour it.
Saves us millions.
Can anyone work on the Krelman?
Of course. Most bee jobs are small ones.
But bees know that every small job, if it's done well, means a lot.
But choose carefully because you'll stay in the job you pick for the rest of your life.
The same job the rest of your life? I didn't know that.
What's the difference?
You'll be happy to know that bees, as a species, haven't had one day off in 27 million years.
So you'll just work us to death?
We'll sure try.
Wow! That blew my mind!
"What's the difference?"
How can you say that?
One job forever?
That's an insane choice to have to make.
I'm relieved. Now we only have to make one decision in life.
But, Adam, how could they never have told us that?
Why would you question anything? We're bees.
We're the most perfectly functioning society on Earth.
You ever think maybe things work a little too well here?
Like what? Give me one example.
I don't know. But you know what I'm talking about.
Please clear the gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach.
Wait a second. Check it out.
Hey, those are Pollen Jocks!
Wow.
I've never seen them this close.
They know what it's like outside The Hive.
Yeah, but some don't come back.
Hey, Jocks!
Hi, Jocks!
You guys did great!
You're monsters!
You're sky freaks! I love it! I love it!
I wonder where they were.
I don't know.
Their day's not planned.
Outside The Hive, flying who knows where, doing who knows what.
You can't just decide to be a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that.
Right.
Look. That's more pollen than you and I will see in a lifetime.
It's just a status symbol.
Bees make too much of it.
Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it.
Those ladies?
Aren't they our cousins too?
Distant. Distant.
Look at these two.
Couple of Hive Harrys.
Let's have fun with them.
It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock.
Yeah. Once a bear pinned me against a mushroom!
He had a paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me!
Oh, my!
I never thought I'd knock him out.
What were you doing during this?
Trying to alert the authorities.
I can autograph that.
A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades?
Yeah. Gusty.
We're hitting a sunflower patch six miles from here tomorrow.
Six miles, huh?
Barry!
A puddle jump for us, but maybe you're not up for it.
Maybe I am.
You are not!
We're going 0900 at J-Gate.
What do you think, buzzy-boy?
Are you bee enough?
I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means.
Hey, Honex!
Dad, you surprised me.
You decide what you're interested in?
Well, there's a lot of choices.
But you only get one.
Do you ever get bored doing the same job every day?
Son, let me tell you about stirring.
You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around.
You get yourself into a rhythm.
It's a beautiful thing.
You know, Dad, the more I think about it,
maybe the honey field just isn't right for me.
You were thinking of what, making balloon animals?
That's a bad job for a guy with a stinger.
Janet, your son's not sure he wants to go into honey!
Barry, you are so funny sometimes.
I'm not trying to be funny.
You're not funny! You're going into honey. Our son, the stirrer!
You're gonna be a stirrer?
No one's listening to me!
Wait till you see the sticks I have.
I could say anything right now.
I'm gonna get an ant tattoo!
Let's open some honey and celebrate!
Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae. Shack up with a grasshopper. Get a gold tooth and call everybody "dawg"!
I'm so proud.
We're starting work today!
Today's the day.
Come on! All the good jobs will be gone.
Yeah, right.
Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal...
Is it still available?
Hang on. Two left!
One of them's yours! Congratulations!
Step to the side.
What'd you get?
Picking crud out. Stellar!
Wow!
Couple of newbies?
Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready!
Make your choice.
You want to go first?
No, you go.
Oh, my. What's available?
Restroom attendant's open, not for the reason you think.
Any chance of getting the Krelman?
Sure, you're on.
I'm sorry, the Krelman just closed out.
Wax monkey's always open.
The Krelman opened up again.
What happened?
A bee died. Makes an opening. See? He's dead. Another dead one.
Deady. Deadified. Two more dead.
Dead from the neck up. Dead from the neck down. That's life!
I've got a lot of big life decisions to think about.
What life? You have no life!
You have no job. You're barely a bee!
Would it kill you to make a little honey?
Barry, come out. Your father's talking to you.
Martin, would you talk to him?
Barry, I'm talking to you!
You coming?
Got everything?
All set!
Go ahead. I'll catch up.
Don't be too long.
Watch this!
Vanessa!
We're still here.
I told you not to yell at him.
He doesn't respond to yelling!
Then why yell at me?
Because you don't listen!
I'm not listening to this.
Sorry, I've gotta go.
Where are you going?
I'm meeting a friend.
A girl? Is this why you can't decide?
Bye.
I just hope she's Bee-ish.
They have a huge parade of flowers every year in Pasadena?
To be in the Tournament of Roses, that's every florist's dream!
Up on a float, surrounded by flowers, crowds cheering.
A tournament. Do the roses compete in athletic events?
No. All right, I've got one.
How come you don't fly everywhere?
It's exhausting. Why don't you run everywhere? It's faster.
Yeah, OK, I see, I see.
All right, your turn.
TiVo. You can just freeze live TV? That's insane!
You don't have that?
We have Hivo, but it's a disease. It's a horrible, horrible disease.
Oh, my.
Dumb bees!
You must want to sting all those jerks.
We try not to sting. It's usually fatal for us.
So you have to watch your temper.
Very carefully.
You kick a wall, take a walk, write an angry letter and throw it out. Work through it like any emotion: Anger, jealousy, lust.
Oh, my goodness! Are you OK?
Yeah.
What is wrong with you?!
It's a bug.
He's not bothering anybody.
Get out of here, you creep!
What was that? A Pic 'N' Save circular?
Yeah, it was. How did you know?
It felt like about 10 pages. Seventy-five is pretty much our limit.
You've really got that down to a science.
I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue.
I'll bet.
What in the name of Mighty Hercules is this?
How did this get here? cute Bee, Golden Blossom, Ray Liotta Private Select?
Is he that actor?
I never heard of him.
Why is this here?
For people. We eat it.
You don't have enough food of your own?
Well, yes.
How do you get it?
Bees make it.
I know who makes it! And it's hard to make it!
There's heating, cooling, stirring. You need a whole Krelman thing!
It's organic.
It's our-ganic!
It's just honey, Barry.
Just what?!
Bees don't know about this! This is stealing! A lot of stealing!
You've taken our homes, schools,hospitals! This is all we have!
And it's on sale?! I'm getting to the bottom of this.
I'm getting to the bottom of all of this!
Hey, Hector. You almost done?
Almost.
He is here. I sense it.
Well, I guess I'll go home now and just leave this nice honey out, with no one around.
You're busted, box boy!
I knew I heard something.
So you can talk!
I can talk. And now you'll start talking!
Where you getting the sweet stuff? Who's your supplier?
I don't understand.
I thought we were friends.
The last thing we want to do is upset bees!
You're too late! It's ours now!
You, sir, have crossed the wrong sword!
You, sir, will be lunch for my iguana, Ignacio!
Where is the honey coming from? Tell me where!
Honey Farms! It comes from Honey Farms!
Crazy person!
What horrible thing has happened here?
These faces, they never knew what hit them. And now
they're on the road to nowhere!
Just keep still.
What? You're not dead?
Do I look dead? They will wipe anything that moves. Where you headed?
To Honey Farms. I am onto something huge here.
I'm going to Alaska. Moose blood, crazy stuff. Blows your head off!
I'm going to Tacoma.
And you?
He really is dead.
All right.
Uh-oh!
What is that?!
Oh, no!
A wiper! Triple blade!
Triple blade?
Jump on! It's your only chance, bee!
Why does everything have
to be so doggone clean?!
How much do you people need to see?!
Open your eyes!
Stick your head out the window!
From NPR News in Washington,
I'm Carl Kasell.
But don't kill no more bugs!
Bee!
Moose blood guy!!
You hear something?
Like what?
Like tiny screaming.
Turn off the radio.
Whassup, bee boy?
Hey, Blood.
Just a row of honey jars, as far as the eye could see.
Wow!
I assume wherever this truck goes is where they're getting it. I mean, that honey's ours.
Bees hang tight. We're all jammed in.
It's a close community.
Not us, man. We on our own. Every mosquito on his own.
What if you get in trouble?
You a mosquito, you in trouble. Nobody likes us. They just smack. See a mosquito, smack, smack!
At least you're out in the world. You must meet girls.
Mosquito girls try to trade up, get with a moth, dragonfly. Mosquito girl don't want no mosquito.
You got to be kidding me!
Mooseblood's about to leave the building! So long, bee!
Hey, guys!
Mooseblood!
I knew I'd catch y'all down here.
Did you bring your crazy straw?
We throw it in jars, slap a label on it, and it's pretty much pure profit.
What is this place?
A bee's got a brain the size of a pinhead.
They are pinheads!
Pinhead.
Check out the new smoker.
Oh, sweet. That's the one you want. The Thomas 3000!
Smoker?
Ninety puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice the nicotine, all the tar. A couple breaths of this knocks them right out.
They make the honey, and we make the money.
"They make the honey, and we make the money"?
Oh, my!
What's going on? Are you OK?
Yeah. It doesn't last too long.
Do you know you're in a fake hive with fake walls?
Our queen was moved here. We had no choice.
This is your queen? That's a man in women's clothes! That's a drag queen!
What is this?
Oh, no!
There's hundreds of them!
Bee honey.
Our honey is being brazenly stolen on a massive scale!
This is worse than anything bears have done! I intend to do something.
Oh, Barry, stop.
Who told you humans are taking our honey? That's a rumor.
Do these look like rumors?
That's a conspiracy theory. These are obviously doctored photos. How did you get mixed up in this?
He's been talking to humans.
What? Talking to humans?!
He has a human girlfriend. And they make out!
Make out? Barry!
We do not.
You wish you could.
Whose side are you on?
The bees!
I dated a cricket once in San Antonio. Those crazy legs kept me up all night.
Barry, this is what you want to do with your life?
I want to do it for all our lives. Nobody works harder than bees!
Dad, I remember you coming home so overworked
your hands were still stirring. You couldn't stop.
I remember that.
What right do they have to our honey?
We live on two cups a year. They put it in lip balm for no reason whatsoever!
Even if it's true, what can one bee do?
Sting them where it really hurts.
In the face! The eye!
That would hurt.
No.
Up the nose? That's a killer.
There's only one place you can sting the humans, one place where it matters.
Hive at Five, The Hive's only full-hour action news source.
No more bee beards!
With Bob Bumble at the anchor desk. Weather with Storm Stinger. Sports with Buzz Larvi. And Jeanette Chung.
Good evening. I'm Bob Bumble.
And I'm Jeanette Ohung.
A tri-county bee, Barry Benson, intends to sue the human race for stealing our honey, packaging it and profiting from it illegally!
Tomorrow night on Bee Larry King, we'll have three former queens here in our studio, discussing their new book, classy Ladies, out this week on Hexagon.
Tonight we're talking to Barry Benson.
Did you ever think, "I'm a kid from The Hive. I can't do this"?
Bees have never been afraid to change the world.
What about Bee Oolumbus? Bee Gandhi? Bejesus?
Where I'm from, we'd never sue humans.
We were thinking of stickball or candy stores.
How old are you?
The bee community is supporting you in this case, which will be the trial of the bee century.
You know, they have a Larry King in the human world too.
It's a common name. Next week...
He looks like you and has a show and suspenders and colored dots...
Next week...
Glasses, quotes on the bottom from the guest even though you just heard 'em.
Bear Week next week! They're scary, hairy and here live.
Always leans forward, pointy shoulders, squinty eyes, very Jewish.
In tennis, you attack at the point of weakness!
It was my grandmother, Ken. She's 81.
Honey, her backhand's a joke!
I'm not gonna take advantage of that?
Quiet, please.
Actual work going on here.
Is that that same bee?
Yes, it is!
I'm helping him sue the human race.
Hello.
Hello, bee.
This is Ken.
Yeah, I remember you. Timberland, size ten and a half. Vibram sole, I believe.
Why does he talk again?
Listen, you better go 'cause we're really busy working.
But it's our yogurt night!
Bye-bye.
Why is yogurt night so difficult?!
You poor thing. You two have been at this for hours!
Yes, and Adam here has been a huge help.
Frosting...
How many sugars?
Just one. I try not to use the competition.
So why are you helping me?
Bees have good qualities. And it takes my mind off the shop. Instead of flowers, people are giving balloon bouquets now.
Those are great, if you're three.
And artificial flowers.
Oh, those just get me psychotic!
Yeah, me too.
Bent stingers, pointless pollination.
Bees must hate those fake things!
Nothing worse than a daffodil that's had work done.
Maybe this could make up for it a little bit.
This lawsuit's a pretty big deal.
I guess.
You sure you want to go through with it?
Am I sure? When I'm done with the humans, they won't be able to say, "Honey, I'm home," without paying a royalty!
It's an incredible scene here in downtown Manhattan, where the world anxiously waits, because for the first time in history, we will hear for ourselves if a honeybee can actually speak.
What have we gotten into here, Barry?
It's pretty big, isn't it?
I can't believe how many humans don't work during the day.
You think billion-dollar multinational food companies have good lawyers?
Everybody needs to stay behind the barricade.
What's the matter?
I don't know, I just got a chill.
Well, if it isn't the bee team.
You boys work on this?
All rise! The Honorable Judge Bumbleton presiding.
All right. Case number 4475,
Superior Court of New York,
Barry Bee Benson v. the Honey Industry is now in session.
Mr. Montgomery, you're representing the five food companies collectively?
A privilege.
Mr. Benson... you're representing all the bees of the world?
I'm kidding. Yes, Your Honor, we're ready to proceed.
Mr. Montgomery, your opening statement, please.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my grandmother was a simple woman. Born on a farm, she believed it was man's divine right to benefit from the bounty of nature God put before us.
If we lived in the topsy-turvy world Mr. Benson imagines, just think of what would it mean.
I would have to negotiate with the silkworm for the elastic in my britches!
Talking bee!
How do we know this isn't some sort of holographic motion-picture-capture Hollywood wizardry?
They could be using laser beams! Robotics! Ventriloquism! Cloning! For all we know, he could be on steroids!
Mr. Benson?
Ladies and gentlemen, there's no trickery here. I'm just an ordinary bee. Honey's pretty important to me. It's important to all bees. We invented it! We make it. And we protect it with our lives.
Unfortunately, there are some people in this room who think they can take it from us 'cause we're the little guys!
I'm hoping that, after this is all over, you'll see how, by taking our honey, you not only take everything we have but everything we are!
I wish he'd dress like that all the time. So nice!
Call your first witness.
So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden of Honey Farms, big company you have.
I suppose so.
I see you also own Honeyburton and Honron!
Yes, they provide beekeepers for our farms.
Beekeeper. I find that to be a very disturbing term.
I don't imagine you employ any bee-free-ers, do you?
No.
I couldn't hear you.
No.
No. Because you don't free bees. You keep bees. Not only that, it seems you thought a bear would be an appropriate image for a jar of honey.
They're very lovable creatures. Yogi Bear, Fozzie Bear, Build-A-Bear.
You mean like this?
Bears kill bees!
How'd you like his head crashing through your living room?! Biting into your couch! Spitting out your throw pillows! OK, that's enough. Take him away.
So, Mr. Sting, thank you for being here. Your name intrigues me. Where have I heard it before?
I was with a band called The Police.
But you've never been a police officer, have you?
No, I haven't.
No, you haven't. And so here we have yet another example of bee culture casually stolen by a human for nothing more than a prance-about stage name.
Oh, please.
Have you ever been stung, Mr. Sting? Because I'm feeling a little stung, Sting. Or should I say... Mr. Gordon M. Sumner!
That's not his real name?! You idiots!
Mr. Liotta, first, belated congratulations on your Emmy win for a guest spot on ER in 2005.
Thank you. Thank you.
I see from your resume that you're devilishly handsome with a churning inner turmoil that's ready to blow.
I enjoy what I do. Is that a crime?
Not yet it isn't. But is this what it's come to for you? Exploiting tiny, helpless bees so you don't have to rehearse your part and learn your lines, sir?
Watch it, Benson! I could blow right now!
This isn't a goodfella.
This is a badfella!
Why doesn't someone just step on this creep, and we can all go home?!
Order in this court!
You're all thinking it!
Order! Order, I say!
Say it!
Mr. Liotta, please sit down!
I think it was awfully nice of that bear to pitch in like that. I think the jury's on our side.
Are we doing everything right, legally?
I'm a florist.
Right. Well, here's to a great team.
To a great team!
Well, hello.
Ken!
Hello.
I didn't think you were coming.
No, I was just late I tried to call, but... the battery.
I didn't want all this to go to waste,
so I called Barry. Luckily, he was free.
Oh, that was lucky.
There's a little left. I could heat it up.
Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever.
So I hear you're quite a tennis player. I'm not much for the game myself. The ball's a little grabby.
That's where I usually sit. Right... there.
Ken, Barry was looking at your resume, and he agreed with me that eating with chopsticks isn't really a special skill.
You think I don't see what you're doing?
I know how hard it is to find the right job. We have that in common.
Do we?
Bees have 100 percent employment, but we do jobs like taking the crud out.
That's just what I was thinking about doing.
Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor for his fuzz. I hope that was all right.
I'm going to drain the old stinger.
Yeah, you do that.
Look at that.
You know, I've just about had it with your little Mind Games.
What's that?
Italian Vogue.
Mamma mia, that's a lot of pages.
A lot of ads.
Remember what Van said, why is your life more valuable than mine?
Funny, I just can't seem to recall that! I think something stinks in here!
I love the smell of flowers.
How do you like the smell of flames?!
Not as much.
Water bug! Not taking sides!
Ken, I'm wearing a Chapstick hat!
This is pathetic!
I've got issues!
Well, well, well, a royal flush!
You're bluffing.
Am I?
Surf's up, dude!
Poo water!
That bowl is gnarly. Except for those dirty yellow rings!
Kenneth! What are you doing?!
You know, I don't even like honey! I don't eat it!
We need to talk! He's just a little bee!
And he happens to be the nicest bee I've met in a long time!
Long time? What are you talking about?! Are there other bugs in your life?
No, but there are other things bugging me in life. And you're one of them!
Fine! Talking bees, no yogurt night...
My nerves are fried from riding on this emotional roller coaster!
Goodbye, Ken.
And for your information, I prefer sugar-free, artificial sweeteners made by man!
I'm sorry about all that.
I know it's got an aftertaste! I like it!
I always felt there was some kind of barrier between Ken and me. I couldn't overcome it.
Oh, well.
Are you OK for the trial?
I believe Mr. Montgomery is about out of ideas.
We would like to call Mr. Barry Benson Bee to the stand.
Good idea! You can really see why he's considered one of the best lawyers...
Yeah.
Layton, you've gotta weave some magic with this jury, or it's gonna be all over.
Don't worry. The only thing I have to do to turn this jury around is to remind them of what they don't like about bees.
You got the tweezers?
Are you allergic?
Only to losing, son. Only to losing.
Mr. Benson Bee, I'll ask you what I think we'd all like to know.
What exactly is your relationship to that woman?
We're friends.
Good friends?
Yes.
How good? Do you live together?
Wait a minute... Are you her little... bedbug?
I've seen a bee documentary or two. From what I understand, doesn't your queen give birth to all the bee children?
Yeah, but...
So those aren't your real parents!
Oh, Barry...
Yes, they are!
Hold me back!
You're an illegitimate bee, aren't you, Benson?
He's denouncing bees!
Don't y'all date your cousins?
Objection!
do not kill me keep your pitchforks at home. happy april fools motherfuckers
.✦ ex-husband!wooyo x ex-wife!reader
݁.✦ porn w a little plot, they have a kid together and it's kyungmin lol, smut minors dni 18+, p in v unprotected, hella dirty talk, wooyo is dominant but kinda just a little shit, oral f!receiving, degradation, hella teasing, big ole breeding kink, n creampie, they call each other daddy/mommy, omfg i used the word jagi pls lmk if u fw jagi im nervous, they argue a little, they're deffo still in love lowk i could have made this a story but i had brainworms. uhhh lmk if i missed anything i don't feel like rereading it
.✦ wc ~9k | straight up copying @chimivx's layouts lately shoutout plum
.✦ wooyoung brainworms 🧘♀️ | part two here!
“When will Daddy be here?”
Suitcase packed, carry-on zipped, as soon as the words left your eight year old son’s mouth, the doorbell rang. A grin breaking out across his face, he cheered, jumping up from his spot on your bed to race down the steps.
“I’m coming– I’m coming– Daddy!”
You hear the front door rip open and the laugh rolling off your ex-husband’s lips, you could bet money on the fact that he just picked Kyungmin up in his arms and spun him around. Throwing your carry-on over your shoulder, your purse on the other, you rolled your suitcase out of your bedroom and into the hallway, stopping at the platform at the top of your stairs.
You should have bet the money. Hoodie on his upper half, baggy jeans on his lower and tucked into the boots on his feet, Wooyoung has Kyungmin tucked into his chest, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head. He stops twirling, smile staying as he catches your eye at the top of the steps, taking a second before softly placing Kyungmin back on the floor.
“You’re late,” your voice comes out clipped, one hand still wrapped around the handle of your suitcase.
He runs a hand through his long, black hair, “There was traffic.”
“I have a flight to catch,” you bite back.
His head tilts, smile deepening to a smirk, “And who’s driving you to the airport?”
“An asshole,” you mumble under your breath, hiking your bags higher over your shoulders, free hand reaching for the railing to keep you balanced before you start for the stairs.
“Here,” he springs into action, taking it two stairs at a time, taking your luggage from your hand before you can get a word out. “I got it.”
“I had it,” you argue, looking down at him, he just smiles.
“I know very well how capable you are, wifey.”
You smack your teeth, huffing down the rest of the stairs, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”
“Come on,” he sings, “it’s funny. Wanna open the trunk for me, Kyungminnie?”
“Yes!” Your eight year old shouts, hauling ass out of your front door and sprinting down the lawn to your driveway. Looking at Wooyoung again, it dawns on you like it always does how much the two look alike, especially as your son gets older.
“You’re seriously not going?” You ask Wooyoung as you close your front door behind you, locking it with the silver key on your split ring.
He calls over his shoulder as he rolls your suitcase down your driveway, “Unless they call me in, no.”
A conference for your job, two states over. You and Wooyoung have always been employed in the same line of work, opposing companies, but essentially the same job. It’s how you met in the first place, fifteen years ago, when you were both fresh out of college and ready to enter the workforce. The conference was held annually, usually you and Wooyoung would travel together, before you divorced him.
You hum, storing the information. You whole-heartedly think he was asked to go already, especially since all of your coworkers have already told you the higher-ups in his company were attending, the higher-ups included his name on the list. He must not be going to spare you, and in a way, you’re grateful for it.
Opening the backseat of his SUV, you throw your carry-on inside, brow quirking at the sight of his bare backseat. “Where’s Kyungie’s booster seat?” You ask over the seats to Wooyoung who’s throwing your suitcase in the trunk.
“Let me press the button!” Kyungmin shouts, and Wooyoung gruffs a strangled noise as he picks your son up by his waist, lifting him high enough so he can press the button to close the trunk.
“He’s big as shit, he doesn’t need one anymore,” Wooyoung says casually after putting him back on the ground.
“Bullshit.” Kyungmin is tall as shit for his age. “He’s only eight!”
Wooyoung opens the door on the other side of the backseat, leaning over Kyungmin after he crawls inside to click his seatbelt into place. “Have you read up on it?”
Not recently.
“He can sit all the way back, bend his knees over the edge, the lap belt is across his hips, the shoulder belt is on his shoulder,” he eyes you from the other side of the car, hand on the car door. “He’s fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me daddy lets you ride without a booster seat?” You ask Kyungmin, ignoring how Wooyoung clearly did his research.
Kyungmin smiles and it’s the exact fucking replica of Wooyoung’s sly grin, “You would be mad and then I can’t be big anymore.”
You sigh, tucking your carry-on in once more before closing the car door. Climbing into the passenger seat, your voice is laced with irritation, “There are some things you should discuss with me, y’know.”
“You research everything,” Wooyoung pushes the button beside the steering wheel and the engine roars to life, “my bad for assuming you’d research car safety, too.”
Cheeks hot, you cross your arms, settling into the comfortable seat of his SUV. He had you there.
It’s a thirty minute drive to the airport, spent listening to soft rock through the speakers, Kyungmin humming along in the backseat to songs you had no idea he knew. So much changes in a year, your son growing like a weed, building a different relationship with his father you weren’t there to supervise. You didn’t need to, you knew that, their time together was theirs, but it’s been a minute since the three of you were together for an extended period of time, outside of pick-ups and drop-offs.
Pulling up outside the airport, while Wooyoung unpacks your luggage and your carry-on, you’re halfway into the backseat saying your goodbyes to your son. Tears prickling your lashes, it’s always hard to leave him, even if the conference was only for the weekend.
You close the door and meet Wooyoung on the other side of the SUV, wiping the tears from your eyes, “Call me if anything happens.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he takes the carry-on from his own shoulder and slips it onto yours with care. “Text me when you land, I’ll call you after he showers so you can say goodnight.”
“Thanks again for driving me,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sorry, my dad was busy–”
Wooyoung cuts you off by shaking his head, his smile warm, “Go have a drink before your flight, sleep on the plane. Don’t apologize for something I was happy to do.”
“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his eye, “Thanks, Woo.”
“Have fun for me, wifey. Tell Mingi and Seonghwa I say hello.”
Rolling your eyes, you snort as you turn on your heel, “Tell them yourself!”
You always forget how big this conference is until you’re here again.
Mingi and Seonghwa on either side of you like pillars, you enter the foyer space, the hotel decked out in red and gold detailing, fancy. Men in suits, women in pantsuits, everyone looked about the same, in different fonts. All here for networking until the schedule begins, splitting off into the theater rooms for speakers, boardrooms for workshops, or sneaking off to the hotel bar to ease the chip of performance off their shoulders.
“Wooyoung’s really not coming?” Mingi asks, gray two-piece suit clinging to his body, buff and broad but slim.
Seonghwa, Mingi’s smaller, shorter half, adds, “I thought he was guest speaking this year.”
Your brows raise, news to you. Mingi shakes his head, blonde hair gelled back not moving an inch, “I heard he gave it to Choi San.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” you argue, approaching closer to the check-in table. “That would give San the upper hand, he wouldn’t let him have it even if it killed him.”
Greeting the red-haired woman at the table, you tell her the three of your names, and she hands you all lanyards with a tri-fold paper schedule. You thank her, and as you split off towards the theater room, Seonghwa continues, “What if he gave it to San because you’re here? Maybe he just wanted to have Kyungmin for the weekend.”
Black hair, short and cropped, faded along his temples, his deep onyx suit makes his skin appear even more golden than usual. He stands out, beautiful and chiseled, like he should be on a runway instead of in an office. You scoff, “He has Kyungie every other weekend, Hwa. This job is like his second baby, his first baby, he wouldn’t just let San have what’s rightfully his.”
Mingi chuckles, stealing your attention, shoulders shaking with each laugh. Rings on his fingers, tie dark and patterned with streaks of silver, Mingi adds his own style into strict, corporate fashion, you have to respect him for it. You can’t be bothered, half of your closet is from a department store.
“I seriously think he’s not here because you’re here,” Mingi shrugs, “just my opinion, though.”
“I’m here every year!” You argue, “We’re divorced, not archnemeses.”
Seonghwa shrugs, “I agree with Mingi.”
“He said hi to you guys, by the way,” you look between the two, taking three open seats at the edge of a row in the middle of the audience, “when he dropped me off at the airport.”
“Wow, he dropped you off,” Mingi feigns surprise, brows pushed up, “intimate.”
You smack your teeth, “Don’t be stupid.”
The crowd gets quiet, the projected screens on either side of the stage lighting up, you cross a leg over your knee and settle into your seat, waiting for the speaker to walk onstage. You should have called Wooyoung this morning, you think, you wonder what Kyungmin’s doing today, if he misses you.
Reaching into your purse with the intention of texting him, checking the pocket you always keep your phone in, you realize it isn't there. Furrowing your brows, panic in your blood, you pull your purse onto your lap, sorting through it, pushing past the old ziploc bags of snacks, lip balm, hand sanitizer, wipes, tissues, a small bottle of sunscreen. No phone. Eyes blowing wide, you whisper to Mingi, “I don’t have my phone. What if Wooyoung calls me?”
Seonghwa nudges your side, eyes on the stage, “I don’t think he’ll call.”
Looking at Seonghwa confused, you hear his voice blow through the room. Speaking into the mic, voice smooth and velvety yet strict and powerful, your jaw drops to the fucking floor. Wooyoung is onstage, long hair pinned back, in the dark gray business-casual outfit he used to keep in the back of your closet instead of a suit.
“Where the fuck is my kid if he’s here?” You’re rigid with terror, ass at the edge of your seat like you were ready to get up and walk onstage, fists squeezing the absolute shit out of the straps of your purse. “He’s supposed to be at home, with my kid.”
Mingi’s hand lands on your flexed bicep, “Kyung’s probably with Woo’s parents, right? He probably got called here last minute, breathe. He wouldn’t leave him stranded or home alone.”
The reminder etches a semblance of relief in your stone bones, but you don’t let yourself feel it. Why didn’t he tell you? You talked to him just last night before he put Kyungmin to bed, he spoke nothing of hopping on a flight and overnighting himself here.
You could kill him. You hear nothing of his speech, not a single word, too consumed by rage and confusion to even hear the topic. You sat with a rigid spine and bouncing knees for the entire hour, jaw clenched, fists tucked into your purse to hide how they didn’t uncurl once. The moment it was over you were up on your feet, barreling through the side of the theater room up to the side of the stage, face bent down in anger.
He sees you before you see him.
“Where the fuck is your phone?” He asks, pulling you by your arm behind one of the screens, standing facing one another, parallel to the back wall of the room.
“Why the fuck are you here?” You whisper-yell, “Where is my son?”
“Our son is with my parents,” he whisper-yells back, “which you would know if you picked up your goddamn phone, I’ve been calling you since last night.”
Your brows furrow, head shaking in utter confusion, “I-I I left it in the room, maybe it’s dead? I–”
“What, did you get laid as soon as I got off the phone last night?” He looks dead serious, “Too important to answer my call about getting put on a red-eye here in the middle of the night?”
You’re replaying the events of last night in your head, did you not plug in your phone after you ended the call? You ate your room service, watched a movie, you wish you would have gotten laid, but a hotel room means you’re free to be alone with your right hand, watching– Oh.
Your cheeks flush, “No, Wooyoung, it must have died, I didn’t even think this morning, I was rushing here after the alarm clock went off.”
“You didn’t think to call me?”
“No!” You shake your head, voice a little louder now, “I didn’t. I think you’re more than capable of taking care of our son without me breathing down your fucking neck, Wooyoung.”
He straightens, face calming, a brow popping in question. “Really?”
“Yes,” you heave a breath, running a hand through your hair, “Jesus Christ. Kyungie’s with your mom?”
Wooyoung nods, “I dropped him off around midnight, I told her we’ll pick him up when we get back, she wants us to stay for dinner. Parked my car at the airport, I got a seat on your flight back.”
Your top lip lifts, “She wants us to stay for dinner?”
“Definitely gonna convince you to take me back,” Wooyoung’s lips flatten in a line.
You fake a cough into your first, “I think I’m coming down with something.”
He rolls his eyes, “I already told her no, don’t worry. Do you want to call her from my phone?”
“No,” you shake your head, “he’s probably having the time of his life. I’ll leave them alone.”
“Are we all free from the shackles of your velcro- parenting?” He grins, eyebrows wiggling.
“Fuck off,” you grumble, “I’m going back to my seat. Nice presentation, by the way.”
“Thanks, wifey,” you can hear humor in his voice, the sly grin on his lips. You shoot him the middle finger behind your back before you’re in front of any eyes.
The rest of the conference is boring. Networking is the only fun part of it, but only when the person you’re talking to hates their job as much as you do. Other than that, it’s small talk of shareholding and statistics, each word off your lips makes you thirsty for liquor.
“Ah, Wooyoungie’s wifey.”
Eyes pointed, you turn your head to find the perpetrator who approaches your back, you were now seated at the bar to avoid this exact thing happening. Choi San, senior executive of his company, a ray of fucking sunshine if he isn’t talking about the direction of your company or trying to fully recruit you for your skills.
You force a smile on your cheeks, “Not Wooyoung’s wife anymore, you know this.”
“Is that why you’re drinking alone at the bar?” He raises his brows, coming up beside you, forgoing the bar stool to stand with his elbows planted on marble.
Your brows slant inward, more annoyed than anything, “Come on, San.”
He chuckles, head dipping low between his shoulders, his dimples visible even engulfed in shadow. He picks his head up, voice teasing, “Are we on a first-name basis now?”
“Mr. Choi,” you correct yourself, voice playful, a grin clawing onto your own cheeks. “Apologies, sir.”
“I like that better,” he eyes your drink, a margarita half watered-down, “now can I ask why you’re drinking alone at the bar?”
“Boredom,” you say through a breath, “nothing better to do than drink tequila. Maybe then I can convince myself I enjoy talking numbers when I’m not being paid to do it.”
His lips purse, smile evident even with the scrunch, “Usually you’re on top of this event.” Humming, he pulls the barstool under him, sitting facing you with his knees spread. “Not interested this year?”
“I miss my kid,” you sigh, cheek landing in your closed fist.
He frowns, “Most single mothers would be enjoying a weekend of freedom.”
“Then I guess I’m not most mothers,” you bring your drink to your lips, eyeing him with low lids over the rim. You can feel it radiating off him, the attraction, the want. You make a show of batting your lashes.
A rivalry he and Wooyoung have, ever since San started at the company, a constant petty, childish fight of who will come out on top. Who makes more money, who’s more successful, Wooyoung has used your marriage and your son for years in spiteful arguments, something Wooyoung has but San does not. You don’t know if he’ll ever marry or have kids, you don’t know if he has any interest in it at all.
“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Jung?” San cracks a smirk, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You’re most certainly not, but maybe the tequila and utter boredom has pulled something frisky in your tone, especially sitting beside a man like him. You don’t answer, placing your glass back down on the bar carefully, and San’s smirk grows. “Dangerous, I can see why Wooyoungie tied you down.”
You pop a brow, “Yeah? Please, do tell.”
There’s no harm in not denying it. Or allowing him to continue, at the very least. You haven’t gotten laid in awhile, haven’t been flirted with, haven’t felt desired in too long. You don’t really care about attention from him, of all people, but it’s kind of nice, in a way– even if you know very well how off-limits Choi San is, and that you won’t let it go any farther.
San’s voice is hushed, eyes low, drinking up your figure like he’d been waiting for this day to come, “You’re intelligent, successful, you don’t let your kindness make you vulnerable.”
You can’t help the giddiness that begins to form, “So you’re the type that likes brains and not beauty?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know I’d fuck you brainless,” he chuckles a little, settling into the barstool, pulling his suit jacket tighter. “You’ve known that for a long, long time.”
And you’ve ignored it for even longer. It still makes your feet shift on the barstool, deepening the ache in your gut you didn’t have before he sat down, he’s never been so bold before. Over the years, in your marriage, you always blamed his flirty tone, wandering eyes on his and Wooyoung’s rivalry. Which is probably exactly what this is, something to hold over Woo’s head, or at least he’d plan to if you went through with it. Which you won’t, but it’s fun to hear what could be if the circumstances were different.
“I have,” you nod, picking up your glass again, “is that what you want, Mr. Choi?”
“I’d make you forget Wooyoung exists,” he leans in, voice low, eyes piercing, “I’d fuck you better than he ever did.”
You hum, swirling the watered-down drink in your glass, “Good to know.”
His lips pursed, eyes dancing with thought before he says, “We’re staying in the same hotel, meet me at the bar tonight if you want it, too.”
You give him nothing but a short, small nod before bringing your drink up to your lips again. You watch him as he walks away, his tailored suit painted onto his ass, his thighs, he exuded money. Poise. He’s never gone as far as this, never been so blunt, never fed you a real option. But you suppose he never could, you’ve been married every time he’s talked to you, up until now.
You laugh a little to yourself before throwing the rest of your drink back.
Exhausted was an understatement for how you felt after the first day of the conference. Tomorrow would be filled with more guest speakers, more workshops, your body dragged as you hitched a ride with Mingi back to the hotel. Your phone was right where you left it, plugged into the charger, but your charger wasn’t plugged into the fucking wall.
Undressing yourself, you called Wooyoung’s mom upon your screen lighting up again, having a quick chat with her before she put Kyungmin on the phone. After he ditched you for ice cream, Wooyoung’s mom was back on the phone, asking you how the conference is, then diving into how crazy it is that they put Wooyoung on a red-eye, how important and successful he is, how you’re so lucky to have him.
“I know mom, thanks, I know,” you mumble between every sentence, face twitching in annoyance, your back pressed to the perfectly made bed, body sprawled out with exhaustion. It’s like she doesn’t even care that you aren’t together anymore.
“You two are coming to dinner on Sunday, yes?” She asks, and you kick your feet out, face scrunching together in a silent whine. “I already bought food at the grocery store today.”
After a silent, agonizing sigh, you answer, “Yup, we’ll be there.”
How could you say no after Woo dropped your son off in the middle of the night?
Her voice raises ten octaves in excitement, “Oh, thank god, we miss you, sweetie. I’m so excited to see you!”
“Can’t wait to see you, too,” your lips fold into a tight, flat smile. “Tell Kyung I said goodnight.”
“I will, we’ll call you in the morning,” you can hear her nod, her voice shaky from sheer joy, “sleep well, sweetheart.”
“You too,” you hang up the phone, then groan, long and low, a sigh following it. Fuck. The most pure-hearted woman, you think you broke her heart worse than Wooyoung’s when you divorced him. Fuck. You can’t believe you agreed to dinner. It’s the least you could do.
You need a fucking drink. The hotel room only has airplane bottles of wine, all white, nothing red, even in the overpriced fridge selection. Sighing, you drag yourself into the bathroom, taking a quick shower before throwing on comfortable clothes and heading to the elevators at the end of the hall.
The bar was empty save for one, probably the only person on the entire earth who you didn’t care if they saw you with wet hair and baggy sweats on. “I just got off the phone with your mom,” you say, pulling out the barstool beside him.
He picks his head up, still dressed in business-casual, “Yeah? I called her when I left the conference, Kyungmin’s having fun.”
“I told her we’d stay for dinner on Sunday,” you reluctantly admit, flagging down the bartender.
“Put it on my tab,” Wooyoung adds after you gave him your drink order, making you scowl.
“I can pay for my own drinks,” you mutter.
Wooyoung smiles, “Consider it my pre-paid thanks for dinner on Sunday, wifey. It'll make her whole year.”
“I’m only coming because she’s watching Kyungie,” you shoot daggers at him, ignoring the nickname, “even exchange. No need for you to pay my tab.”
Wooyoung groans, leaning back in the chair, “Can you go one day without arguing with me?”
Shaking your head, you simply respond, “No, that’s why I divorced you.”
Wooyoung stares at you for a second before snorting, “Ouch.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, both to Wooyoung and the bartender as he places your drink on top of a cocktail napkin. “You didn’t even go up yet? You’re still dressed.”
“Needed to think,” he shrugs, fingers playing with the label on his beer bottle. “They want me to speak again tomorrow, someone didn’t show.”
“Oh, shit,” your face scrunches up as you take a sip, “you gotta make up a new presentation tonight?”
He nods, lips bent, staring at his beer bottle. You lean onto the bar, “Why don’t you let San present?”
He looks up at you, eyes pointed, “Fuck no.”
“Why not?” You make a face like that was the only clear, viable option. “He has one ready to go, does he not?”
“I was asked to present,” his voice grows harsher, “me. Not him.”
“I know, but–”
“You know what, let me ask you something.” He sits up straighter in his stool, eyebrows bent above a look so sharp it could kill. “Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you didn’t answer me last night?”
You blink at him, thrice, “What–?”
“I saw you at the bar today,” he continues, voice utterly venomous, “then he said something to me, insinuating that you fuck. Or fucked. Or are fucking.”
“Do you think that low of me?” Your laugh is out of sheer disbelief. “That I’d fuck him, of all people? He flirts with me, and I don’t exactly stop him, but–”
His laugh mirrors yours, “Exactly. That’s exactly why he said that shit to me.”
“Why should I stop him?” You argue back, “It’s nice to hear that someone fucking wants me, my life is nothing but work and Kyungmin. Even when we were still married my life was nothing but work and Kyungmin, you had no interest in–”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” his voice is steady but bruising, “I’m not starting this argument with you again.”
“What, did you forget why I divorced you or something?” Your hands fly, eyes wide and piercing, “That I was sick of being married to a fucking machine?”
Wooyoung turns to face the bar again, shaking his head, “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m unbelievable,” your laugh has no warmth in it, “you just started being a father and I’m unbelievable.”
“I just started being a father?” He turns his head again, eyes wider than yours now, baffled. “Did you hit your fucking head or something?”
“We split up over a year ago,” your voice is nothing short of theatrical, “drop the fake-surprise, Wooyoung. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”
“And it’s all the same bullshit you’ve been spewing for years,” he takes a long sip of his beer, “maybe you should fuck San, he might be a better fit for you, you’re both liars.”
Slowly nodding, you sink into your seat, voice taunting, “He did say he’d make me forget you ever existed. That he’d fuck me better than you ever did. Should I find out? He’s coming down here tonight to get me, to bring me back up to his room…”
Wooyoung’s grip tightens around his beer bottle, eyes laser-focused onto the bar like the swirls in marble was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You grin.
“…He seems big, real strong, too. Bet he’d throw me around the room, maybe even get me pregnant again. Kyungmin would like a sibling, don’t you think?”
“What are you doing?” He finally looks at you again, voice ragged, angry and blunt.
You shrug, “Since you think me and Sannie would be so great together, I’m exploring options.”
As if it were a movie, something straight out of fucking Netflix, Choi San walks through the deep oak double-doors, still in his tailored suit, a cocky smirk spreading when he sees you. It widens, dimples showing when he spots Wooyoung beside you.
Wooyoung lets out a nasty chuckle, “You’re not kidding.”
“Why would I joke about it?” You lift a brow, “I told you, it was nice to feel wanted.”
“You wanna give Kyungmin a sibling?” He’s looking at you again, and his mismatched eyes are asking more than one question. Heat curls low, it’s been a long, long time since he’s looked at you that way, since he’s said anything more than a passive joke.
You swallow, words caught in your throat.
“Answer me, jagi,” he leans in closer, voice still laced with anger, but it’s morphed into something deeper, rooted in jealousy, in possession. He hasn’t called you that since before you brought up separating, it makes your lips part, eyebrows folding in just enough to crease at the center. “If you’re gonna give him a sibling, it’ll be with his father.”
Licking your lips, seeing nothing but truth and determination in his eyes, you find yourself nodding, whispering a short, “Okay.”
“Charge it to my room, 1117,” he tells the bartender, slamming a bill on the marble before grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you right past San without as much as a glance. You don’t even look at him, you don’t need to, clearly you’ve lost your fucking mind following Wooyoung to the elevators.
The moment the doors open he’s pushing you inside roughly, caging you in against the wall, forehead pressed to yours. “You wanna get fucked?”
You arch into him, whispering, “Yeah.”
“You want me to fuck you full? Get you pregnant again?”
“Fuck,” you whimper, fingers finding his jacket, “yes.”
You tug him closer by his jacket, tilting your head up to find his lips with your own. Your head is fuzzy, body charged with electricity from your argument, being in a goddamn elevator with him pressed to you, your leg lifts to clamp over his back, tugging him impossibly closer.
Nostalgic isn’t the word, it’s like muscle memory, how your lips messily tangle, tongues slotting into each other’s mouths how you’ve always done, two people who know each other better than anyone else. He groans, hips rutting into yours, making you moan into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, tugging at his roots.
“You don’t want San,” he mutters into your mouth, breath heavy, voice rough. “You want me.”
“Shut up,” you mumble back, chasing his lips, he doesn’t let you have them.
“Say it,” he urges, fingers digging into your sides, pushing you harder against the wall. “Say you want me.”
“I want to be fucked,” your voice is clipped, annoyed, “do it, before I go back to the bar.”
His chuckle isn’t amused nor entertained, it’s harsh and unforgiving and makes a chill down up your fucking spine. The elevator dings and he pulls away from you, turning around, leaving the elevator as if he’s completely unaffected. You follow after him, on his heel as he makes for his room, he doesn’t say anything as he places his card up against the sensor, pushing the door open when it rings green.
“Oh, you’re coming in?” He asks, face unreadable.
You pause with one foot through the doorway, “Does it look like I’m coming in?”
He lets go of the door as you walk inside his room, light walls, bare, it mirrors yours. He takes off his jacket, hanging it in the closet, “Thought you were gonna go get fucked by San, you want him to throw you around, don’t you?”
You whine, “Wooyoung.”
He pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his bronzy skin, his sculpted abdomen, his hipbones that poke out from above his waistband. You’re salivating taking in the sight of him, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, touched him.
He starts unbuttoning his slacks, staring at you like he’s bored, “You want me or him?”
You don’t know why you’re putting up a fight. You agreed to this already, your lips still feel swollen, your fingertips are buzzing with need– but admission is letting him win, and you can’t let him win.
“I want,” you mumble as he pulls his zipper down, purposely flexing his body, staring at you through lowered brows. Your breath grows shallow, licking your lips as he pushes them down his thighs, “I want–”
“What?” He tilts his head, voice taunting as he kicks them off his feet, taking a step toward you. His length is prominent through his briefs, a wet spot clear on onyx nylon, “Tell me, jagi.”
“I want,” your fingertips tug at the hem of the zip-up on your upper half, eyes locked into how his veiny hand curls over his length, voice small from how deep into the daze you’ve sank already, “you.”
Approaching you, his height engulfing you, making you feel small, your head tilts upward to see him. His smirk grows, two fingers landing on your zipper, “You want who?”
He slides it down before you answer, jacket falling off your shoulders, revealing the black, lacy bralette you wore underneath. It’s comfortable, and you wore it for that sole reason, despite how it looks, but his jaw ticks when he sees it, chocolate eyes going deep, melted, burnt.
You watch as his fingers find the center, tugging on the elastic band, letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp, a small sound, looking back up at him with glassy eyes, “Stop toying with me and do something.”
“I’m not touching you until you do as I say.” Fingers sinking into the waistband of your sweats, he bends to tug them down your hips, leaving you nearly bare, slowly standing up straight again, his nose so close to your skin he nearly touches you. “Tell me who you want to fuck you.”
“You, you fucking prick,” your back arches as he reaches his full height again, “I want you to fuck me.”
An amused smirk spreads across his cheeks before he feigns a pout, “That was mean, mommy.” Taking his hands to your shoulders, his fingertips trail down your sides, dancing against your skin, his touch, that word, his tone making you shiver. “Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.”
“Why are you teasing me?” You huff, each touch feeling like zaps of electricity, it’s clear he wants to take his time, wants to get you worked up. You want him to fuck you, to ruin you, to put a baby in you, you don’t want him nice. “Fuck me already, Wooyoung.”
“We have time,” his hand hinds your hair, scratching into your scalp before running his fingers through it, cupping your cheek afterward. “No kid, no interruptions, just us. When’s the last time we had that?”
“Way before we split up,” you melt into his palm, soft against your skin, comforting. Home. Your voice comes out airy, almost a whisper, “Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Guilt– already sneaking up your spine, he catches it before it has the chance to spread. “Why not?” His hand that was on your cheek slides down to your jaw, smiling down at you viciously before his grip tightens, “You want a baby, don’t you? Wanted to get fucked so badly you planned to fuck my coworker.”
You whimper as he moves you backward, eyes wide, skin sizzling. He pushes you down onto the bed with nothing but his palm on your face, “You wanted this, and you know there’s no one else who fucks you like I do. Say it.”
“No one else,” you whisper, back already arching as he crawls on top of you, “just you, Woo, no one else fucks me like you do.”
He sucks in a breath, almost a hiss, brows furrowing as his fingers hook into your panties, knees pressed to the mattress on either side of your legs. “You want my mouth? Or my cock? When’s the last time this pussy was stretched out, huh?”
“Mouth,” you lift your hips easy for him as he tugs your black panties down your thighs, “long time.”
“Long time?” He smirks, back to taunting, “Was the last person me?”
“Fuck you,” you grumble out, “do something.”
He sits up straighter and you can feel the cool air of the room on your already-wet core, knees pinning together. “Hiding from me now?” His voice makes you want to rip your fucking hair out. “When I’m the only person who can make this pussy cum? Be nice to me, mommy.”
“Stop calling me that,” your fingers tighten in the comforter below you, “it’s fucked up.”
“I used to call you that all the time,” his brows furrow, “you remember what you used to call me?”
You shake your head, whining, “Stop playing games, Wooyoung.”
“Just give in,” he smacks the side of your thigh, “I’m here, right in front of you, waiting for you to hump my nose like a bitch in heat like you always fuckin’ do. Just say the words, jagi.”
His words, the sting makes you moan, thighs tightening just to get some friction. Resistance is a band pulled taut, you finally feel something vital in you crack, the band snapping, your lips move before you can think about the defeated words leaving them. “Yes, the last person was you, daddy. Need your mouth, your cock, need you to do something– fuck me, please.”
His smile is feline, “There she is.”
Two hands on your knees spread you wide, he dives down to press his tongue flat to your core, eyes flying back into his head when he tastes you. You moan at the same time, your fingers flying down to tangle in his slick roots as he starts lapping at your folds, drinking up every drop you’ve accumulated.
“So sweet,” he moans into you, “missed this pussy.”
Your breath is leaving you in short, shallow puffs, but a cocky, hazy smirk forms on your lips despite the pleasure, “Who’s pussy?”
“Mommy’s,” he says with a smile, eyeing you from between your legs, so shameless it makes you giggle, cut off by a sharp, strangled moan when his nose runs over your clit. “Forget I know you? Like the back of my hand?”
“Been a long time,” you lift yourself up on one elbow, your other hand in his hair, feet hooked over his back as you grind your hips up against his mouth, his nose. “Fuck, feels good.”
His eyes flutter closed, letting your hips grind against him, tongue pushed out pointed, catching on your entrance with each grind of your hips. Your clit ghosts his nose and you gasp, you’re sensitive, you haven’t gotten head in years, you think. “Sh– it,” you stutter, “so good, Woo, ohmygod.”
He groans into you, arms wrapping around your thighs, fingers digging into your hips. Keeping you in rhythm, not letting you falter, he fucks your hips onto his face with perfect pace, each movement strategic, practiced like he did this regularly. It has you weak, toes curling, head dipping back, hips moving recklessly, quicker with each drag over his hot, wet mouth.
He’s loving it, face knitted up in bliss, his hips rutting into the mattress like he needed the relief. The noises you make are loud, lewd, a hymn of pleasure only he could give you, in harmony with the squelching sounds of his mouth against your core, so dirty and nasty it edges you further, brings the pit in your stomach forward like his mouth was a toy.
“Close,” you gasp and his fingers tighten on your hips, head nodding faster, in tune with your rocking hips. Your breath catches as his nose flicks over your clit, the same pace, same pressure, same rhythm, you stutter babbles as the pressure in your gut builds, sounds growing in pitch, muddling closer together, “Fuck, daddy, I’m g’na fucking cum.”
He moans into you like he knew the vibration of his voice would push you over the edge and it fucking does, the sound that leaves you is strained, loud, vulnerably shrill. Joints locking up, face scrunching, head tucked into your chest, you spasm beneath his hold and he rocks you through it, keeping you steady, his rhythm never once faltering as your pleasure hits his peak, rushing through you like a tidal wave, the strongest orgasm you’ve had in a long time.
He slows down with your shaking limbs that lose their speed, breath finally returning to you, heavy and desperate and relieving all at once. “Holy shit,” you breathe through the words, fingers loosening in his hair, tucking your arm beneath you, leaning on both elbows to look down at him. “Intense.”
His smirk returns tenfold, “Of course it was, I made you cum.”
You flatten out on the bed, a soft giggle escaping you as you roll your eyes, “Cocky.”
He presses one more soft kiss to your clit that makes you gasp, body jerking, “For good reason, did you hear yourself?”
You smack your lips, voice amused, “I have half a mind to leave now, asshole. Thanks for the big O, baby daddy, I’ll go back to my room now.”
He crawls on top of you, pulling your thighs down, flush to his own, leaning down so your foreheads are mere centimeters apart, “Baby daddy? Ex-husband is a better title than baby daddy.”
You tilt your chin up, smiling, “How about sperm donor?”
He presses his lips to yours, rough, soul-sucking, you arch into him, hips bucking up to gain friction again. He smiles into your lips, “So mean for someone who just came on her ex-husband’s face like a dirty fuckin’ slut.”
Something small, pitched and shaky leaves you from the tip of your throat, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips to his again like you needed him. Tucking him into you, his hips dig against yours, his bare chest pressed flat, elbows landing on either side of your head. You kiss for a while, sloppy and messy and nostalgic, swapping spit like it was candy, tongues gliding into each other’s mouths like you were making up for lost time.
His hand slips between your bodies, two fingers adding pressure onto your clit, he groans at the wetness, the heat that bleeds into him. “So wet, she missed me, huh?”
“S-shit, inside,” you gasp, grinding your hips against his fingers, “please.”
He presses his lips to yours, kissing you once, twice before pulling away, keeping your chins touching, both of your lips parted and touching as he slips two fingers inside, moaning into each other’s mouths.
He curls them immediately, making you cry out, hands finding his hair again, fingertips clawing into his scalp. He hisses, “So tight, fuck, how am I gonna fit, huh?”
“You’ll– shi– ah, y-you’ll fit,” sensitivity looms, body twitching underneath him, clenching around his fingers that sink so deliciously deep. You kiss him again, grinding against his fingers that scissor you open, “You’ll make it fit.”
He smiles against you, fingers making quick work of your leaking core, “Missed this pussy, can’t believe you haven’t given it up to anyone else.”
“No time,” you whisper and he crooks his fingers angrily, making you squeal out a cry, “fuck!”
“Try again,” he slows, bottom lip ghosting yours, “get it right this time, or I’ll stop.”
“It’s yours,” you whimper, “I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours.”
He’s chuckling as he kisses you again, smiling into your mouth as his fingers massage the front of your walls, calculated and angled, like he was trained to make only your body sing. He stops only to tug his briefs down his legs and the chill that engulfs you is conscious, it reminds you who’s on top of you, who’s pulling these noises from the deepest part of your gut.
Tattoos on display, minus the one at the tip of his spine, skin littered with droplets of mocha, spots you’ve kissed enough times to be burned into your memory. Body lean, strong, angular and unforgiving, all you can do is stare at his beauty, let it calm you, excite you, resurrect you from the loneliness you’ve endured.
His cock springs up between his hipbones, leaking, red, it begged for you even if Wooyoung didn’t, you wonder if this is how he’s felt this whole time. “Missed you,” it slips out of your mouth, two involuntary words pulled straight from the back of your mind, an area gone untouched for over a year.
“Yeah?” He crawls back on top of you, “Missed me or fucking me?”
“Both,” your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, hooking your ankles over his back, “come over more.”
He laughs as he rests a hand on the back of your thigh, unhooking your legs as he pushes it backward, lining himself up with your entrance, “You haven’t invited me over since I moved out.”
“It’s not like you’ve asked to come over either.”
You gasp as he starts pushing inside, hands falling, back arching as he sinks into you inch by inch. His cock is heavy, the stretch is tight, it renders you silent, face scrunched up, a streak of searing heat with each new inch.
“Take it,” he sounds rough himself, voice edged with restraint. “Open up, jagi. This pussy’s mine, it wants me, it’s made f’me.”
Your fingers find his forearm, other hand clawing into the sheets as a broken cry leaves your lips, “Fuck.”
When he sheathes himself fully he leans down, planting a kiss to your slacked jaw, a soft press of his lips that makes you twitch, breath shaky. He plans another one on your lips, voice low, “I haven’t asked to come over because I know you don’t want me there.”
“I want you there.”
“You divorced me.”
“Then let’s get married again,” your whine is loud, core clenching, grinding your hips against his cock.
He laughs again before pulling out, a slow drag of his veiny cock against your walls, mushroom tip dragging against the spot against your inner walls, “You’re cockdrunk.”
He slams in all the way and your body locks up so hard you can’t breathe, his smile is condescending, pushing himself up until his back is straight, grip iron on your calf as he holds it over your chest. His abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, fucking into you so deep you can feel it in your throat, you hold his gaze, eyes watering, brows furrowed, lips pried open.
“Look at you,” he cooes, “like the day I fuckin’ met you, so hungry for it. So desperate for my cock you wanna marry me again.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, bending your other knee just to feel him deeper, “just fuck me.”
“I am fucking you,” he argues, exuding something vile, “and you’re acting like you can’t get enough, it’s pathetic.”
You moan, back arching, holding your other leg back by tucking your hand under your knee, “I can’t.”
“I know, jagi,” he nods, eyes sliding down to where you meet, watching his own cock split you open, how your folds pulse around him, clit twitching. “No one fucks you like I do, right?”
You shake your head, body burning at the sound of him bullying into you, so wet and loud it’s obscene. Your voice comes out raw, shaky, “No one else, just you, daddy– shit, just you.”
He grunts, reaching for your other leg, bending down to throw them over his shoulders, hands planted down on the mattress on either side of your head. “You want me to fuck you full? Give you another baby?”
You reach for him, pulling him down to kiss you, all teeth and broken noises, “Y–es, daddy, please.”
The noise of wet skin slapping skin dances with your cries of pleasure in the air, Wooyoung’s muddled grunts mixing into the symphony, your hips raised to meet his thrusts and his cock dragging against that spot inside you that has you seeing stars, you wail. It’s too good, it’s overwhelming, you’ve never felt like this before, so consumed by pleasure and passion you don’t notice the tears spilling down your cheeks.
“Cryin’ for me?” He leans down to lick the tear that runs down your cheek, his tongue heavy, warm. He kisses you after, sloppy and slow, so unlike the brutal pace of his cock. “Gonna take care of you, mommy. Gonna give you another baby.”
You’re clenching around him nonstop, the pleasure sharp, his words making it so much worse. He frees one leg from his shoulder to tuck his hand between your legs again, pressing his fingers to your clit, “Cum around my cock, jagi. Let me feel it, wanna feel you cum.”
Your hips are bucking with no rhythm, an animalistic, pathetic need to obey him, you need him to reward you, to fill you up. His fingers work in precise circles, tight and harsh, it doesn’t take long for the pressure to build with his cock moving in the same flow. You go silent, breath caught, and he smiles.
“Gonna cum on daddy’s cock? Gonna give it to me?”
All you can do is nod, fingers curling into his hair, all you can do is lay there and fucking take it.
“Cum for me, mommy, c’mon.”
It pushes you over, pressure blowing just as intense as the first time, he fucks you through it, moaning, head turning to sink his teeth into your calf. You seize beneath him, nerve endings fried, mind-blowing pleasure the only thing you can feel, you don’t know what sounds are leaving you, what you’re saying, it’s all too much. He chokes on another moan, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering, you watch with glassy eyes as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, tilting his head to watch himself fuck into you.
“Please,” a small, broken word, it’s the only word you can manage, body still locked tight.
“Did so good,” he shakes his head, “fuck– gonna fill you up so full.”
“Look at me,” you whisper and he picks his head up, face contorted in pleasure, hips bucking. “Look at me while you fill me up, please.”
It makes his face twist, hips stuttering, a loud, extended moan pushing from the base of his gut before his hips move out of rhythm, fucking into you like you’re a toy, relentlessly chasing his own high.
“Gonna,” he stutters, you nod with each word, “gonna fill you up.”
“Uh-huh, please.”
His hips finally still, body falling forward, down to his elbows as he gives you the last few thrusts, deep enough for his release to hit its mark, to do as he promised. Warmth spreads through you, heavy, full, it racks a shiver through you, swallowing down a moan.
He tucks his face into your neck, breath heavy, he plants a soft kiss against your sweaty skin. With nothing to hold him back, he whispers, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you answer, too earnest for what just transpired, arms wrapping around his back, nails trailing against his soft skin. “We haven’t said that in a long time.”
Face still buried, his words are muffled against your skin, “I think I’ll always love you.”
“So will I,” you say it like it’s obvious, voice heavy with exhaustion, “we have a kid together, Wooyoung.”
His cock twitches inside you, soft and spent, you can feel him smile. “Maybe two.”
“I’m not ovulating,” your hands come up to his hair, pulling his face away from your neck to look at you, “chances are low. You really want another one?”
“I thought you did, too,” his brows furrow, “what did we just say all that shit for?”
You shrug, “It was hot.”
He snorts, lowering his head to press his lips to yours, softer than the rest, slower. Filled with all the time you’ve gone untouched, spent separated, each one tearing down the tall, thick wall of resentment between you, brick by brick.
“Does this mean anything, then?” He finally pulls away to ask, and you’re becoming uncomfortably aware of him still inside you.
“Depends,” you whisper, shifting beneath him. Cocking your head, you ask, “Are you still a selfish, narcissistic asshole that only cares about his job?”
He shakes his head, mumbling, “No.”
“Okay,” you lift your chin, “prove it, then. Let San speak tomorrow.”
He snarls, “What the fuck does this have to do with San?”
You smack your teeth, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his pretty face, “It’s a step forward. Do it and I’ll let you take me out on a date.”
He sits back on his calves, careful in his movements, he slips out of you slowly, intentionally. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your overly sensitive clit and it makes you gasp, hips twitching once. You smile through the stimulation, the feeling is nostalgic, something he used to do every time you had sex. You look up at him through heavy lids as he runs his hands up and down your thighs like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.
He finally huffs, “Okay, but I have to make a few calls and get it cleared first.” Leaning down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, he asks, “Do you wanna stay here tonight?”
“Can we shower and order room service and watch a movie?” The question comes quick, as if you knew he’d ask, you lift yourself up on your elbows as he starts crawling off the bed.
“Duh,” he grins, “c’mon, shower time and then we’ll call Kyungminnie.”
You gasp, a smile breaking out across your cheeks, “My baby.”
“Our baby,” he corrects, grabbing you by the ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed, “Up.”
Ajax wants to gag you whenever he fucks you in doggy because you're just too loud and he doesn't know when his siblings will be back from ice fishing. He would've made you suck on his fingers, but he's too busy grabbing handfuls of your ass. He'd rather not deal with someone's lectures after falling witness to your shaky legs and nasty mouth, but he can’t get enough of you.
You're so close to drooling all over your chin, moaning Ajax's name over and over just to rile him up a little.
"Do I need to gag you to shut you up, fuck!" He groans. "Should've used that throat instead, would've stayed quiet that way, hm? But—" His hips snap into your ass again, this time he's so deep that it almost hurts. "-Don't run away now. You feel so good."
You push your ass against him and that's all it takes for your Ajax to fold. He nearly doubles over your back and his thrusts turn into ruthless, forceful slams, as if his entire being has been altered by the mere push of your hips.
Ajax is completely lost in his own little world, ears deaf to your desperate cries and pleas of "A-Ajax, slow down!" or "No more! 's too much!"
He swears you’ll be the mother of his children one day.
a/n : LINKIN PARK MENTIONED. third person perspective. reader is referred to as [name]. reader is incredibly in denial, like super annoyingly in denial. slow burn because that’s the best kind of burn (and also because I write a lot). there’s simply not enough akaza fics out there, so I’m taking matters into my own hands.
summary : every few months, [name] finds herself face to face with a demon she never expected to call anything but an enemy. yet, through the course of their encounters, an unspoken bond begins to form — a whirlwind of emotions she refuses to acknowledge. it isn’t until akaza takes notice that everything begins to unravel. little does she know, he’s been carrying a secret of his own.
cw : fluff, angst, 18+ content; p in v sex, cunninglingus, grinding (clothes on clothes/skin on skin), creampie.
wc : 13.1k
✭
✭
✭
A rare night, but a silent night.
Save for the distant croaks of frogs echoing through the mansion’s central oasis. There on the engawa, the woman sat alone, eyes gazing at the gentle trickling of the pond nestled among its stones and lush greenery. The crisp scent of the damp earth and faint traces of cherry blossoms lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of late March.
Winter had loosened its grip, still a lingering chill remained, carried by the occasional breeze that wove through the garden, barely disturbing the strands of [Name]’s hair.
She exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. Yes, nights like these were rare; quiet, undemanding, untouched by duty or the weight of expectation. For a Hashira, moments of respite were fleeting. And here, in this stillness, she allowed herself to exist without obligation.
[Name] tilted her head back slightly, eyes drifting toward the night sky. The moon hung low, casting its pale glow across the garden, its light flickering against the rippling water. Somewhere beyond the walls, the world continued — demons lurked, battles waged, and the cycle of blood and survival turned endlessly. But for now, in this moment, she was simply here.
And she couldn’t ask for anything more.
As her gaze stayed on the glimmering stars, a sudden creak of the floorboard broke the serene peace, cutting through the gentle hum of the night. Instinctively, [Name]’s senses sharpened, an abrupt darkness overwhelming the calm she had settled into. Her muscles tensed, though only for a moment.
Of course, she already knew who it was.
Akaza.
She didn’t need to turn around to confirm it. His presence was distinct, impossible to mistake, unlike other demons she’d come to face. It was a quiet force, looming and unthreatening in the way only he could manage when he was around her.
“You’re quiet tonight,” she murmured, eyes still on the moonlit pond before her. There was a pause. Then, the sound of steps; soft, until he came to stand just behind her.
“You’re slipping,” Akaza replied, his voice low, tinged with something akin to amusement. “You noticed me late.”
[Name] scoffed, finally glancing over her shoulder. “Or maybe I just didn’t care to react.”
Their gazes met, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. A pale glow came to rest over his features from the moonlight — bringing forth the contrast of the deep navy markings staining his skin, and the un-breaking intensity in his gold eyes. His presence was as familiar as it was conflicting. He was a demon, an enemy. But he was one who had crossed her path far too many times without bloodshed.
Akaza shifted slightly, lowering himself onto the engawa beside her with an ease that felt almost adept.
“You look tired.”
She huffed. “And you’re as blunt as ever.”
He said nothing to that, only tilting his head slightly as if studying her. “Rest doesn’t suit you.”
“Is that so?” [Name] leaned back, resting her palms against the wooden boards. “And what, lurking in the shadows suits you?”
A smirk ghosted over his lips. “It does, actually.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t push him away.
And for a while, neither of them said a thing as the night stretched around them. It was quiet, besides the distant chirr of crickets and the occasional rustling of wind through the trees. The pond continued its shimmer beneath the moon’s light, its surface undisturbed.
[Name] sighed, her fingers curling slightly against the wood beneath her. “You’re not supposed to be here.
Akaza let out a low chuckle. “And yet, here I am.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “You’re awfully comfortable for someone who should be my enemy.”
His smirk didn’t falter. “Would it make you feel better if I stood instead?”
“It would make me feel better if you weren’t here at all.”
His expression didn’t change, but there was something behind in his gaze. “Liar.”
[Name] scowled, turning her attention back to the water. “You really like that word, don’t you?”
“Only when it fits.”
She huffed but didn’t argue. She couldn’t argue. No, not with him.
Then, another long silence fell, and in a quieter voice, Akaza spoke again. “You’ve been busy.”
[Name] arched a brow at him. “Been keeping tabs on me?”
“No.” He shrugged. “I can just tell.”
She hesitated before responding. “Hunting demons is an exhausting job, you know.”
“And still, here you are.” He nodded toward the pond. “Taking in the scenery instead of sleeping like a human should.”
The woman frowned but didn’t deny it. Sleep had eluded her more often than not these days, though she wasn’t about to admit that to him.
“And what about you?” she asked him now, eyes narrowing slightly. “What have you been doing aside from… well, this?” She gestured vaguely between them. “Still slaughtering your way through the nights?”
Akaza didn’t answer right away. His eyes just lingered on the water, as if he were thinking of what to say. “Some nights are quieter than others.”
“What, you take breaks from murder now?” [Name] scoffed.
He didn’t laugh. “Would it matter if I did?”
That caught her off guard. She stared at him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. But his face, his gestures, his expressions — they were always so difficult to read.
“Why are you really here, Akaza?” she asked finally.
He didn’t answer her right away, letting the question linger for a moment before he admitted softly. ”I don’t know.”
[Name] clenched her jaw. That was the worst answer he could have given. Because if he had a reason — if he had said it was just to taunt her, or to fight, or something else she could categorize neatly as enemy behavior — it would have been easier.
But I don’t know was dangerous, because she didn’t know, either.
And that made all the difference.
She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “You’re impossible.”
Akaza’s lips twitched in something resembling a smirk. “Yet, you’re still here.”
Man, did she really wanted to throw him off the engawa right then and there. Instead, [Name] simply clicked her tongue, still she didn’t retort. But as the night wore on, they sat in a continued silence, the sounds of the garden filling the gaps between them. The quiet felt different now.
No longer did it feel entirely peaceful, though it was not stricken with burden either.
For now, neither of them would bring themselves to acknowledge the truth that hung between them. The lines that divided them. The inevitable reality that, one day, they would have to meet again — not like this, but as adversaries.
But not tonight. Tonight, they simply existed, basking in the other’s presence.
“How long has it been?” she asked finally, keeping her voice light as if the answer didn’t matter.
Again, the demon didn’t respond in an instant. He inhaled slightly, like he was testing the weight of her words before exhaling. Then, “Three months,” he said at last.
[Name] swallowed. She hadn’t expected an exact answer, but hearing it aloud settled in her chest like a stone. Three months. That long since their last encounter, since she had last heard his voice or felt the unsettling comfort of his presence.
Still, she kept her sights trained on the water, but she could feel Akaza’s presence beside her — unbreakable, almost solid in a way that unsettled her more than she would ever admit.
She hated this. She hated how easily he existed in her space, how natural it felt to have him there, sitting on the engawa like they were simply two souls enjoying the night. She hated how she didn’t tense in his presence, how she never truly feared him the way she should.
The way she knew she should.
He was a demon, for God’s sake — an upper moon, no less. A sworn enemy of the Demon Slayer Corps, a monster who had taken countless lives, who thrived on bloodshed. And there was no justification, no reason in the world that should make his presence beside her acceptable. But even still, here they sat.
And this wasn’t the first time.
It had started as a game of chance, of circumstance. Encounters in battlefields that never quite turned into fights. Moments stolen in the dead of night that were brief and lingering, their conversations just as much a clash as the blades and fists they should have been exchanging.
It was a dangerous thing. A forbidden thing.
But she didn’t move.
“You seem… troubled.” His voice was even, indecipherable as always.
[Name] simply shook her head. “Not everything is that deep, you know.”
Akaza hummed, unconvinced. “You’re thinking too much.”
She turned to him then, her brows knit slightly. “And since when do you care what I think about?”
He met her gaze evenly, eyes calm as they pierced through her. “Since you started looking at me like you don’t know whether to draw your sword or let me stay.”
She nearly choked — albeit, just slightly. But just enough for her to feel the heat of anger, embarrassment, and frustration coil deep in her gut.
Because he wasn’t wrong, and that was the worst part.
[Name] tore her gaze away. “You’re delusional.”
Akaza cocked his head, looking at her with that infuriating patience he always seemed to have. It made her want to snap, to force him into a fight just so she could drown out the thoughts swirling in her head.
Thoughts she shouldn’t be having. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t right.
She was a Hashira and he, a demon.
There was no place in the world where this — whatever this was — could exist. But despite knowing that, despite the weight of her duty pressing against her, she couldn’t make herself tell him to leave.
She couldn’t… she couldn’t bring herself to sever whatever fragile thread kept bringing them back to this same space.
Akaza leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting up to the sky. “You know,” he murmured, “if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”
[Name]’s jaw tightened. “Don’t test me.”
He chuckled, the sound low, almost amused. “I’m just saying.”
“You always just say things,” she said bitterly, gripping the fabric of her uniform tighter around her arms. “That’s the problem.”
And it was a problem. Because every time they crossed paths, and every time their conversations stretched longer than they should, she felt herself slipping. Not in loyalty, not in duty — never that. But in something else.
Something she wouldn’t dare herself to say — to even put a label on it. Because to name it would be to acknowledge it. And to acknowledge it would be to admit something far worse than treason.
“You should go,” she said abruptly, ignoring the way her hands clenched just a little too tight in her lap.
Akaza glanced at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. "Very well. As you wish," he said lightly, turning his back to her.
"Maybe next time, you'll figure out what you want to say to me."
[Name]’s brows knit, feeling a chill creep up her spine from his words. “There won’t be a next time.”
He smirked. “If you say so.”
And then, just as quickly as he had come, he was gone, vanishing into the night with nothing but the lingering weight of his presence left behind. The woman exhaled, pressing a hand to her temple as if that would rid her of the whirlwind of thoughts he always seemed to leave in his wake.
Damn him. Damn herself.
And damn whatever this thing between them was — this fragile thing neither of them had the strength to say.
✭
✭
✭
The weeks bled into months, and the months edged toward almost a year.
[Name] never saw him again.
At first, she told herself this was a good thing. It was what she had wanted, what she had demanded. No more shadows at the edge of her senses, no more stolen conversations beneath the veil of night, where the lines between enemy and something else blurred too easily.
She should have been at peace. Should’ve.
But the longer the silence stretched, the heavier it became. It shouldn’t have bothered her so much, she would tell herself. Yet the feeling settled in her chest like a dull, aching weight that refused to fade. She convinced herself it was residual tension, a habit of being on guard. Nothing more.
But habits didn’t have her staring into the night, listening for a voice that never came. Habits didn’t make her catch glimpses of movement in the corners of her vision, only to turn and find nothing there.
It was infuriating, how he lingered even in absence. And she hated that she noticed, and she absolutely hated that she missed it.
So she threw herself into her duties, training rookies, taking missions, and fighting demons. Anything to keep her mind from straying. If she was exhausted, she wouldn’t think of him. If she pushed herself hard enough, she could go whole days without wondering — without remembering how he looked in the glow of the moon’s light, how his golden eyes looked at her.
She hated that look. She had wanted to hate that look. But something about it stayed with her, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts like a quiet hunger. And no matter how many demons she cut down, no matter how many miles she traveled, that feeling never left.
Like a splinter buried too deep beneath the skin.
The nights were the worst. The emptiness drew out, vast and unforgiving. Worst of all, she was always alone with her thoughts, with the weight in her chest, with the knowledge that she had pushed him away, and that he had listened.
Her fingers twitched sometimes — grasping at empty air, as if expecting to brush against something that was never there. As if expecting to find him.
It was stupid.
Now, [Name] was not naïve. She knew what people would say if anyone discovered even an inkling of this thing plaguing her. To sympathize with a demon is to betray your own kind., to betray the Corps. That was the unshakable truth she had been raised on, the belief ingrained in her from the moment she picked up a sword. There were no gray areas. No room for doubt.
Demons were monsters. Killers.
They were meant to be slaughtered without hesitation, without question. She had spent years building herself into the kind of warrior who did not flinch at their deaths.
And yet — and fucking yet.
She could not erase the quiet way he had looked at her that night. As if searching for something in her, something neither of them could name in that moment. She couldn’t forget the way his voice had sounded — so still, so unshaken — as he spoke words that had burrowed deep beneath her skin.
“Maybe next time, you’ll figure out what you really want to say to me.”
What had he meant by that? Why had he looked at her like that? And why of all things was it still haunting her?
[Name] exhaled sharply, adjusting the grip on her sword.
The morning was still young, the air even crisp as she moved through the training grounds, overseeing the younger Slayers as they practiced their footwork. She kept her tone firm, her instructions precise. She did not allow herself to falter, did not allow herself to show any trace of the unease that had been gnawing at her for months.
There was no room for weakness. No room for whatever this was.
But even as she corrected a student’s stance, even as she parried blows from a younger recruit, she could feel it — the weight of something unfinished. Of something left unresolved. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew this was not over. Not even as another mission came not long after, one she was assigned to alongside the very man that reigned of flamboyance. The man known as the self-proclaimed “God of Festivals,” Tengen Uzui.
And the journey was a long one, taking them into the mountains where reports of demon activity had increased. The sun hung low in the sky as they traveled, the scent of damp earth thick in the air.
[Name] kept her gaze forward, her posture rigid, and her mind focused. Or at least, she tried to keep it that way. But Tengen was perceptive. More than most gave him credit for. He noticed the moment she grew quieter than usual, the way her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, the way she seemed a little too lost in thought.
“You’ve been awfully gloomy lately,” he said suddenly, his voice light but edged with curiosity. “It’s not like you.”
[Name] barely glanced at him. “I’m fine.”
Tengen raised a brow. “That’s not an answer.”
She sighed, adjusting the strap of her sword on her hip. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh?” He smirked. “So you’re just sulking for no reason, then?”
Her eye twitched. “I am not sulking.”
Tengen hummed as if unconvinced, keeping pace beside her with infuriating ease. “You’ve been acting strange for awhile now. More tense. More mopey. Not as flashy as usual.”
[Name] merely rolled her eyes. “Not everything has to be flashy, Uzui.”
“Says you. But I digress.” His expression shifted slightly, the teasing still there, but now laced with something quieter. “Whatever’s on your mind, it’s eating you alive.”
“I told you. It’s nothing.” She affirmed irritably.
“[Name].”
His voice was softer now, lacking the usual bravado. He rarely spoke like this — so genuine and direct. It caught her off guard for a short moment, and she didn’t like that it did.
She forced a breath through her nose. “I don’t have the energy for this conversation.”
Tengen studied her for a very long moment. But then, to her surprise, he let it go. “Fine,” he said easily. “But don’t expect me to stop noticing.”
She exhaled, relieved that he didn’t press further. Because if he had, she wasn’t sure what she would have said.
Or worse… what she might have admitted.
✭
✭
✭
And again, another restless night where the Hashira lay awake in her quarters, her eyes focused on the wooden ceiling above. The faint flicker of a lantern cast shifting shadows across the entirety of the room, its dim glow barely enough to chase away the dark.
She should have been exhausted.
The days that passed had been relentless; missions that left her body aching, training sessions that tested the limits of her endurance, meetings that dragged into late hours. Yet, despite the weight of fatigue pressing against her limbs, sleep remained elusive.
Because the moment she closed her eyes, she could feel it.
The absence.
The silence.
The lack of his presence.
[Name] exhaled slowly, turning onto her side, her fingers twitching as if grasping for something that wasn’t there.
This was ridiculous.
She had no reason — no right — to feel this way.
Akaza was a demon. A murderer. An enemy to everything she stood for.
So then why did she miss him?
The thought alone made her sick. She clenched her fists, jaw tightening as she forced herself to banish the thought before it could take root.
Because she did not miss him.
And because she did not care.
She was simply… left unsettled by the unfinished resolution. This was simply just… unease. The discomfort of an unresolved encounter, of unfinished words were left lingering in the air.
That was all.
Nothing more.
But even in the deepest pit of her stomach did something whisper to her — a harsh, merciless truth that she refused to acknowledge even once.
Liar.
And then it happened again. Another grim night had come, one indistinguishable from all the others. One that was cold and empty, a stretch of time when the world seemed poised and on the edge of something that couldn’t be seen.
The Hashira moved through the dense mountain forest, her zori silent against the damp earth, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword.
Another call for duty that found [Name] on patrol, her gaze sweeping over the mountain that she claimed as her territory. The air was crisp here, as it had always been — thick with the scent of pine as she moved silently through the dense forest. The only sound was the rustling of nocturnal creatures, their calls breaking through the stillness. It should have been a routine patrol.
And yet, something had changed. A subtle ripple within the air. The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
She felt it before she saw him — just a flicker at the edge of her vision. A presence that slipped through the night like a whisper against her senses. Still, she did not turn. She did not move. But her grip tightened ever so slightly.
“You’ve been looking for me.”
The voice was smooth and deep. It did not falter in the slightest, even as he stood before her again.
And damn him — damn him — the sound of it sent a painful, gut-wrenching twist through her chest. [Name] exhaled slowly, stablizing herself before she finally turned.
And there he was. The same as he had always looked all those times. Untouched by time.
The same golden eyes, the same expression she couldn’t read. The same quiet grace that had always set her on edge. But there was something in the way he watched her now… something that was different.
“I haven’t,” she said, her voice monotonous, not even daring to show a flick of emotion in her features. Not even as she met his eyes.
A pause.
“Liar.”
And there was that word again. One singular word that cut deeper than it should have. Still, her expression did not move, nothing but the small twitch of her fingers against the hilt of her sword.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
“You should have stayed gone,” she retorted, her voice softer this time.
“Would that have made it easier?”
She hated that she hesitated. That, for a brief moment, she considered what he was asking.
A silence fell over them, one that stretched for God knows how long. [Name] could only hear the world around them; the rustling leaves, the distant howl of wind cutting through the trees, the faint hum of crickets hidden in the underbrush.
But none of it mattered. None of it existed. Not while he was here. Not with that damned gaze locked onto her.
Not when she could feel the weight of something unsaid pressing against her chest, like a hand tightening around her throat.
He hadn’t moved, nor had he raised a single muscle. He hadn’t done anything but watch her.
And that infuriated her more than anything. Because it wasn’t just the weight of his presence that unsettled her. No, it was the fact that he knew. He knew she had thought about him, he knew she had searched for something that wasn’t there, he knew she had wanted him gone, and yet, she hated him for staying away.
Again, her fingers twitched in ache to draw her blade.
Would that have made it easier?
His question still hung in the air, suffocating in its simplicity. Would it have? Would it have been easier if he had never returned? If she had never seen him again? If she had been given enough time to erase whatever this thing was, growing inside her?
[Name]’s breath came in short, uneven gasps.
No. No, it wouldn’t have.
Because he had already carved himself into her mind, a wound so deep that it refused to heal, because she had already failed. And now, he was standing here — so close, yet impossibly distant — she hated him for it.
But more than anything, she resented herself for it. For the way her fury twisted inside her like a living thing, clawing at her ribs, and demanding release. So she did the only thing she could, she let it consume her.
With a snarl, she unsheathed her sword and lunged, rage surging through every fiber of her being. The night air split apart with the sharp whisper of steel, her blade cutting through the empty space where he had stood just a heartbeat ago.
But he was fast. Too fast.
[Name] barely saw him move, yet he was already gone, already out of reach. His body shifted effortlessly, the space between them closing and expanding in an instant, his movements smooth and unhurried.
Her next strike came harder and faster in downward arc meant to cleave. But again, nothing. Nothing but her own frustration and her own emotions dulling the edge of her skill.
He sidestepped, his arms still loose at his sides, watching her intently every time.
He wasn’t even fighting back. Instead, he waited, letting herself burn out with each stride, with each thrust, with each swing.
“Stop being a coward and fight me!!” she spat, twisting into another strike.
This time, he blocked, barely lifting his arm as her blade crashed against his forearm. It was a spark of impact. Yet there was no wound, not even a flinch. Just him — standing there, looking at her with something she couldn’t bear to see.
She tore her sword back and swung again, and again, and again. Each time, he dodged, deflected, refused to retaliate. And with every evasion, the fire inside her blazed hotter.
“Stop running!!” she roared, her sword a blur as she slashed, slicing through the air mere inches from his face.
But he didn’t falter.
That was what finally shattered her. [Name] stumbled back, chest heaving, sword trembling in her grip. Her pulse roared in her ears, a wild, frantic thing that refused to settle.
And he just stood there, nothing more of calm and at ease, like she was the only one going crazy. Like she was the only one bleeding from this.
The realization struck like a dagger to the gut. That this wasn’t a fight. This was a spectacle, and she was the fool, swinging her sword for an audience of one.
Her breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the hilt until pain flared up her arm.
Say something, she wanted to scream. Give me a reason to end this. Give me a reason to cut you down. Give me a reason to stop—
“Why…” she whispered, her lips trembling slightly. “Why won’t you fight me?”
The words came out hoarse in half a demand, half a plea. And she hated it. She hated that she needed an answer from him.
Akaza tilted his head, his face stoic. And then, finally, he spoke. “Because I know this isn’t what you really want.”
His words were quiet, yet undoubtedly certain.
And gods above, she wanted to rip them from the air before they could take root inside her. Because he was right and she hated him for knowing it. She hated everything about him.
[Name] exhaled shakily, her grip loosening just enough for her sword to lower — just an inch, but just enough to surrender without saying the words. Her shoulders trembled, whether from exhaustion or something far worse, she didn’t know. But she didn’t want to say it.
The night air pressed against her sweat-dampened skin. Every breath scorched her lungs. She had poured everything into those attacks — her fury, her grief, every shattered piece of herself.
But even then, he remained untouched.
He had let her rage, he had her strike, and he had let her unravel right in front of him. And now, as she stood there, stripped bare by her own anger, she realized… she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know who she was supposed to be in the wake of this.
So she did the only thing left.
She turned away and refused to look at him. She refused to let him see whatever remained of her as silence fell over them again, much thicker than before, and heavy with everything that was left unsaid.
“Next time,” Akaza murmured, his eyes searing into the back of her skull, “figure out what it is you really want to say to me.”
She tensed, nails biting into her palms. She didn’t answer him, she didn’t move. She couldn’t for the life of her. Not even close.
And when she finally dared to look back…
he was gone.
✭
✭
✭
The morning after, [Name] awoke feeling heavier than she ever had before. Her body ached from exertion, her limbs sluggish as she pushed herself upright, but it wasn’t just the exhaustion of battle weighing her down.
It was something deeper within. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge, that she didn’t even want to label.
She had lost.
Not because Akaza had defeated her, he hadn’t even fought back. But because she had given herself away, she had let him see too much. She had lost control, her fury spilling forth in every strike she took out on him, and he had caught every single unspoken word of emotion buried beneath her rage.
And now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t take it back.
She couldn’t erase the way she had needed him to fight her, the way she had wanted him to give her an excuse to cut him down. Because if she had killed him, if she had ended this, then none of it would have mattered.
Then she wouldn’t have had to face the truth. And maybe then, it would have given her some form of relief — some resolution.
But now? Now she was left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of her failure.
So she’d do the only thing she knew how to do, the only thing that had kept her going and alive for all of these years. She moved forward.
She dragged herself from bed and forced herself into routine; training, scouting missions, overseeing new recruits. She did everything she could to fill her days, to keep her mind too occupied to think of him.
More weeks passed. Then months.
And gradually, painfully, the weight in her chest began to settle into something easier.
Not gone. Never gone. But bearable.
She no longer flinched at the memory of his words. No longer lost herself in sleepless nights wondering what if?
She had come to terms with the truth, at least, as much as she allowed herself to. She could admit that what lingered between them was something.
Not friendship.
Not enmity.
Not love.
Something impossible. Something she would never give voice to. And that was enough.
She was at peace. Or so she told herself.
The night was cool as the air carried the scent of fresh earth and dampened leaves of fall. [Name] sat on the engawa, arms resting against her knees while she watched the gentle ripples of her pond.
It had been a long day, but she felt… calm.
Not restless.
Just here. At ease.
She closed her eyes, letting the sound of trickling water soothe the remaining tension in her body.
But in a moment’s peace, granted, it wouldn’t last in her favor. Because the second she felt that familiar shift in the air, that of the presence she knew a little too well, her eyes opened slowly.
Still, she did not move. She did not turn. She didn’t let herself react.
Because the moment she acknowledged him — the moment she let herself feel anything at all — it would all come undone.
He said nothing at first, not making a single sound. B out she felt him. She felt the weight of his gaze settle over her like a second skin. And inch by inch, she felt the space between them shrink — just enough that his presence was no longer undeniable.
And when he finally spoke, it was as if the months apart had been all for nothing.
“It was as I thought,” Akaza said. “You weren’t truly ready to say goodbye.”
Her breath hitched as soon as those words left his mouth. The same feeling poised her again — that slow, steady ache that would bloom in her chest.
Gods, she hated him. She hated that with just a few words, with nothing more than his presence that he could shatter everything that she had spent months rebuilding. She fucking hated it. She couldn’t bear it.
“I thought I’ve made it clear” she said quietly, her voice steady, her fingers curling deeply into her palms. “This isn’t—”
“A place for a demon?” Akaza interrupted, his tone monotonous.
Her jaw tightened.
“No,” he continued, stepping onto the engawa beside her. He left a careful space between them, but not quite enough. “This is exactly where I should be.”
She turned to him then, finally meeting his eyes she didn’t think she’d yearned to see after all this time. They held no cruelty as they bore into her own deeply, none at all that she’d seen in so many demons. No bloodlust. No hatred or distaste. None of the things that should have made it easy to hate him.
And that was the problem. Because it should have been easy. It should have been simple. But it wasn’t… it never had been.
And the fact that he knew that, that he understood, made it all the more unbearable.
“What do you want, Akaza?” she asked, exhaustion slipping into her voice.
There was a pause in between.
“The same thing you do.”
Her heart lurched. And for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. But then it came coursing through her, the feeling of anger. Not at him, but at herself. At whatever foolish part of her had allowed for this to happen.
She sighed, turning her gaze back to the pond. “This is a mistake.”
.“Maybe.”
[Name] felt her pulse steady, like her control was returning. It had been months since the last time. Months since she had allowed herself to think of him. The last time since she had convinced herself she had found peace. But now with his presence beside her, with his voice lingering in the air between them, that fragile peace splintered like brittle glass.
The same thing you do.
The words still echoed in her mind, unraveling the careful distance she had built between herself and the truth. She forced herself to look ahead, to focus on the pond, the water shifting gently beneath the moonlight. Not him. Never him.
“Leave.”
The word left her lips before she could stop it. And she expected him to listen, expected him to step back into the shadows and vanish as he always did. Maybe for certain this time.
But he didn’t. This one time, he didn’t.
Instead, Akaza moved beside her, lowering himself to sit on the engawa. The woman tensed slightly before she forced her head sharply to look at him.
“I said—”
“I refuse.”
She felt something inside her tighten, twisting itself into something excruciating. “You—” Her breath came out unevenly. “You don’t get to decide that.”
He exhaled slowly, those golden orbs of his fixing onto her. “Neither do you.”
Then something inside her snapped. Before she could stop herself, she moved relentlessly, not a single ounce of hesitation within her. She drew her sword in a single motion, the sharp steel slicing through the air and aiming straight for his throat. But in a blur, he blocked it with ease. The force of her strike met the immovable strength of his arm, a gust of wind sweeping between them. Gritting her teeth, she pressed harder, but he didn’t so much as flinch.
“You’re still the same,” Akaza murmured, his voice almost amused.
"Shut the hell up," she hissed, twisting her blade, aiming for another strike, only for him to evade with maddening ease.
Again and again, she attacked. And every time, he dodged, deflected, moved just out of reach. Her frustration mounted, her strikes growing crazier, more desperate. He was toying with her. Making a fool out of her. And it made her furious.
With a sharp inhale, she lunged once more, but this time, Akaza caught her wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to stop her.
She couldn’t catch her breath, the sudden contact sending a shock through her system. His grip was firm and steady, but there was no hostility in it. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her body incredibly tense, her pulse hammering in her ears.
“Why are you fighting so hard?” He said softly, as if speaking to a wounded animal.
It was a simple question — one that required a not-so-simple response.
With it, she felt her throat begin to tighten.
“Because I have to.”
His hold on her wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go. “You don’t,” he said. “Not with me.”
She wanted to tear herself away. She wanted to deny everything — to shut him out, to pretend none of this was real. That it was all just an agonizing nightmare.
But she couldn’t move. She felt like she couldn’t breathe or think.
Until, something in her shattered.
The rage, the grief, the weight of a thousand unanswered thoughts; it all shattered in a way she could no longer contain. [Name] ripped her wrist free, her breath ragged, and without hesitation, she thrust her sword forward, putting the full force of her body behind it.
This time, he didn’t move.
Steel pierced through his chest, sliding past muscle and bone, sinking deep with a sickening finality that sent a violent tremor through her arms. The impact rattled her to her very core, and for a moment, the world around them stood still.
A piercing inhale left his lips; not a cry, not a gasp of pain — just a breath, one soft and barely audible. His body jerked slightly from the force, and then… nothing.
The scent of blood filled the air.
[Name]’s eyes widened, her pulse thundering in her ears. She had felt it — she felt the give of his ribs — the way her blade had embedded itself into his flesh, the undeniable proof that she had struck true.
And yet, he didn’t fall.
Nor did he push her away.
Nothing but the motion of his hands lifting slowly. And for a moment, she thought he would pry the sword from his chest, wrench it free, defend himself. But he didn’t.
Instead, his fingers curled gently around her wrist, his grip steady; not to stop her, not to retaliate, just to hold her there. Her breath came fast, unevenly while her entire body trembling as warmth seeped between her fingers, staining them red. Her mind screamed at her to pull back, to retreat and get away.
But she couldn’t. Because something in her refused, and she couldn’t bring herself to move.
She stared at him, her vision blurring at the edges, her chest tightening with something unnameable. He wasn’t looking at her with anger. Not with pain. Just something else.
Something far deeper than she ever could have imagined.
“Why—?” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.
Akaza let out a slow breath, his voice quieter than ever as his face gave way to something she couldn’t read. “Because you needed it.”
The words hit her like a falling boulder. Something inside her twisted violently as the weight of them sunk far beneath her ribs.
For so long, she had been so sure that this was what she wanted. That if she struck him down, if she ended this, then she could finally be at peace. But now, now that her blade was buried in his chest, now that he stood before her, relentless even in his own ruin, she felt nothing but hollow.
“You let me—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
His grip on her wrists tightened just slightly, a silent confirmation.
“I told you,” he murmured despite the blood dripping from his lips. “You don’t have to fight me.”
She wanted to recoil. She wanted to deny him, wanted to rip her hands away and leave this moment behind before it consumed her whole. But she couldn’t.
Because the truth was suffocating.
She hadn’t fought him because she hated him. She had fought him because she didn’t. Her stomach churned violently, nausea coiling in her gut as she had finally realized the truth after all this time.
His grip on her wrists loosened, giving her the chance to pull away — to finish it, once and for all. But still, she didn’t move. It wasn’t because she lacked the strength. It wasn’t because she had hesitated. But because deep down, in the part of herself she had tried so desperately to silence — didn’t want to.
[Name]’s breath shuddered out of her, her body betraying her in its obvious trembling. Every instinct screamed at her to finish it, to finish him. It should have been easy. He had let her do it, let her get to this point.
And yet, her hands refused to move.
This unbearable, undeniable truth that neither of them had spoken aloud.
“What do you want, Hashira?” His voice was softer now, lower, as if this closeness was something fragile, something that could break if he spoke too loud.
She didn’t answer him. She already knew the answer, and it terrified her more than anything.
She had stabbed him through the heart. She had taken every ounce of suppressed rage out onto him without relent. And even through all of that, he was still here.
Still hers to kill.
More importantly, still hers to let go.
[Name] swallowed hard, an unbearable ball in her throat. Her fingers went slack against the hilt, the weight of the sword suddenly so heavy. The blade was still buried in his chest, the dark stain of blood blooming across his skin and into his jacket, but he made no effort to remove it. He only watched her, his gaze unbearably piercing.
Akaza sighed calmly, before he finally did what she hadn’t expected. He let her go.
[Name] felt her pulse roar in her ears, her vision swimming. He had let her strike him. Had given her this, as if she had needed the proof, the reassurance that she could do it if she wanted to. And that he would never stop her.
But that wasn’t what this was about, was it? It had never been about whether she could kill him. It was about whether she would.
And she didn’t.
A broken sound escaped her throat, something between a sob and a laugh. She didn’t know what to do with the storm crashing inside her, with the emotions clawing their way to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged.
Akaza shifted, his hand raising slowly to touch her face. But even he hesitated. For the first time since she had drawn her blade against, he was the one uncertain.
His fingers hovered inches from her cheek, as if waiting, giving her the chance to pull away if this was something she didn’t want. But she didn’t. The moment his skin met hers, it felt like something within had cracked open.
His touch was cold, too cold. It should have disgusted her. It should have sent her recoiling and pulling away from him. Instead, her breath stilled, her body going utterly still beneath the weight of his palm. Akaza held his breath, as if he’d grounded himself for that exact moment. His thumb brushed the edge of her cheekbone, so soft it was barely a touch at all.
“Do you understand now?” His voice was low and quiet, but there was something else there, making her throat tighten.
[Name] swallowed hard. She did understand now. She understood it even if he didn’t say it directly.
This wasn’t a battle like the one she’d been fighting with herself all along. This wasn’t something she could fight her way out of.
This was her.
Her fear, her want. Her inability to look at him and see a blood-killing monster when all she could see was him.
She despised him for that. She despised how easily he had stripped her of the armor she had spent years forging around herself. That despite everything, she’d let him do it.
Her eyes shut briefly as she inhaled sharply, tearing herself back and wrenching her sword free from his chest in one swift motion.
Akaza let out a quiet, pained breath at the loss of the steel, his body jerking slightly from the force of it, but he didn’t stumble. Not even as blood seeped from the wound, dark and rich before it healed itself with unnerving speed, closing up as if it had never been there at all.
The weight of it all crashed over her, aching and suffocating. For the first time in a very long time, she had finally broken. She tried to suppress it, she stride so desperately to swallow away the ball forming in her throat. But damn it, it was already too late.
A shuddering breath tore from her lips, her hands began to tremble again as the corners of her eyes stung with blurring vision. Her body had betrayed her at last, with every one of its brick walls crashing down.
And Akaza, he didn’t gloat. He didn’t smirk in his own amusement, nor did he use this moment to prove himself right. He just stood there, like he always did.
[Name] let out a choked, bitter laugh, though it held no humor. “I hate you,” she whispered, but there was no venom behind her words, nothing but pure exhaustion. Only something dangerously close to surrender. “I really fucking hate you.”
Akaza cocked his head slightly, his lips curling not into an arrogant smirk, but a small, knowing grin. “I know.”
She forced herself to look at him. She wanted to speak — to say something in retort, something cruel — anything that would drive him away for good. But the words never came.
Instead, she just stared at him, like a lost, angry puppy. Even then, there was a sense of an unseen force that fell between them, pressing itself in uncontrollably.
The demon’s eyes flickered across her face, searching, reading her in a way that made her insides knot. His gaze lingered — on her eyes, on the tension in her lips, the unsteadiness in her breath.
She felt like an open book beneath his scrutiny, stripped bare in a way she had spent years avoiding.
Nonetheless, he did nothing.
And that was what hurt the most.
[Name] had convinced herself, that for so long, she didn’t need him, that this pull between them was nothing more than a fleeting, dangerous illusion. But standing here now, trapped in the gravity of his presence, she knew that denial was no longer an option.
“Why did you come back?” She finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
There was a quiet, undeniable softness in Akaza’s eyes — no mask, no deflection like she wanted there to be. No, it was real.
“Because I couldn’t leave without knowing the truth.” His voice was steady, weighted with something deeper than words.
Her pulse stuttered. There it was, his truth. His want for an answer he’d also yearned for all this time… just like she did.
It had been chasing her for so long, lurking in the corners of every fight, every fleeting glance, every moment she had refused to accept. And now, he was forcing her to face it.
Then he took a step closer.
[Name] held her breath as he did. She wanted to back away — she should have distanced herself from him. She should have done anything but stand there, frozen in place before him.
But the truth was, she couldn’t force herself to. And more honestly, she didn’t want to.
And neither did he.
Then, with careful motion, as if afraid she might break — he raised his hand to her face again.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as his fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. Man, did she hate the way her body wanted to give in to him so easily, into his soft, delicate touch.
Even as his fingertips ghosted along the curve of her cheek, did it become too much. His coldness, his nearness, the endearing way he was looking at her. Not as a Demon Slayer, not as a person who should be his enemy, not as the woman or Hashira who fought him.
Just her.
“You’re not alone,” Akaza confessed, his voice like a whisper against her skin. “You never were.”
With every assurance of his words, every layer of the walls she built broke down, brick by brick. But instead of forcing what she felt away, or pushing it down deep inside her heart… she allowed herself to feel it.
To feel this.
The connection between them, tender and sentimental, something neither of them could bring themselves to say but both knew was real.
Then, Akaza’s hand slid down her jaw, his fingers lingering as if debating whether to let go. For a moment, she thought he would.
Until his palm cupped her face.
[Name] sucked in a breath, the beat of her heart stammering greatly. His touch was gentle but unyielding, holding her there in a way that made her want to fall apart.
And when he leaned in, so close that his forehead brushed hers, that his breath mingled with her own — she knew.
There was no turning back now. Her resistance, threadbare and fragile, it unraveled then and there.
Akaza was here now. And as he was for her, so was she for him.
They didn’t move nor did they speak.
The silence between them was heavy, unbearably loud despite the quietness. Their bodies were so close, their breaths becoming uneven, the weight of all the unsaid things pressing in, pressing down. It was too much, and yet at the same time, it felt like everything they’d been waiting for.
“I’m not going to let you go,” Akaza whispered. “Not again.”
[Name]’s eyes fluttered shut as a single tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. But she didn’t pull away.
Because now, she didn’t care anymore.
This — he — was her truth. He had been all this time. And now, there was no fighting it anymore.
She remained still, her body trembling only slightly as Akaza’s cold hand lingered on her cheek, his breath warm against hers.
Her heartbeat was pounding so loudly against her ribs she was sure Akaza could probably hear it. It didn’t help with the way his thumb traced the tear on her cheek — such a gentle touch, too gentle for a power-hungry demon who’d eaten more than hundreds of her kind. But even that didn’t force her away, like it should have from the very beginning.
[Name] blinked rapidly, trying to force the rest of her tears away, but they came anyway.
She tried to look away out of embarrassment, to pull herself back together, but his hand tilted her chin back, refusing to let her escape.
“Don’t hide from me,” he spoke softly. “Let it out.”
Her chest tightened at those words. And so, at his demand, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
She was so tired.
Tired of fighting. Tired of pushing him away.
His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, holding her there. And then, slowly — gently — he leaned in.
[Name]’s breath stilled, the anticipation crashing over her like an ocean’s wave. She didn’t move from him, not as his lips hovered over hers.
There was a pause until she felt it. The gentlest press of his lips against hers, so soft and delicate — unhurried as he stole the breath from her lungs.
It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hungry or reckless. It wasn’t any of that. No, it was nothing short of passionate — intense in a way like Akaza was memorizing her, savoring the weight of her lips against his own, and pulling her deeper into him in a way she didn’t understand — but felt in every fiber of her being.
[Name]’s hands found his shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of his vest, gripping him as if she might fall if she let go. Her body, stiff and uncertain at first, began to melt beneath the warmth of his touch.
She didn’t know how to respond.
But she felt everything.
Her grip on his shoulders tightened. She had spent so long resisting, fighting against this pull and against him — but now, as his lips moved against hers with a slowness that was both unbearable and intoxicating, she felt that final barrier within her shatter.
She wasn’t supposed to want this.
She wasn’t supposed to want him.
But gods help her she did.
Akaza’s hand remained at the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair as though he were committing the feel of it to his memory, as though he never wanted to forget. He kissed her with a tenderness that unraveled her entirely, each movement of their lips coaxing — like he was giving her every chance to pull away.
But she didn’t. Of course she didn’t.
The warmth of him had seeped into her, and she didn’t want to let any of it escape.
When they finally parted, [Name] sucked in a shaky breath, her forehead resting against his. Her chest was heaving, her body unsteady, but she didn’t let go — and he didn’t either.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to find some semblance of control, but it was impossible. Not when his touch lingered against her skin, not when she could still feel the imprint of his lips against hers.
His thumb brushed against her jaw, tracing slow, reverent circles, and his voice — oh, his voice — low and rough with something dangerously close to emotion had broken through the silence.
“You don’t have to be afraid.”
[Name] scoffed, a bitter laugh catching in her throat. Afraid? She had fought demons. She had walked through blood-soaked battlefields. She had stood at death’s door more times than she could count.
But this — this feeling, this raw and aching need — was more petrifying than any of it.
She swallowed hard, her gaze averting away. “You don’t understand.”
Akaza tilted his head slightly, his fingers still tracing along her jaw. “Then tell me.”
She opened her mouth, the words forming at the tip of her tongue — I can’t lose you. I can’t care for you. I can’t survive this if I do.
But she couldn’t say them.
Akaza exhaled, a sound so soft, so knowing, that it sent another shiver through her. His grip on her waist tightened ever-so slightly, just enough for her to feel the weight of it.
“[Name].”
Her name — her true name — fell from his lips like something sacred.
“I don’t want to be just another regret to you.”
She shook her head, a small laugh escaping her as tears stung the corners of her eyes. And again, another tear slipped before she could stop it. But this time, she didn’t turn away from him — didn’t hide.
And when Akaza leaned in again, pressing another slow, lingering kiss against her lips, she didn’t fight it.
She kissed him back.
And just like that, she let herself fall, deeper and deeper still into the whirlwind of feelings she had long suppressed, slowly as their lips moved in perfect rhythm.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, pressing herself against him. He was cold, yet warm all the same — solid beneath her hands, anchoring her to this moment, to him. The tenderness of the kiss had deepened, something more urgent beginning to stir between them.
A wave of heat spread through her chest, her skin tingling at every touch, every movement. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he held her — like he was giving her everything, like there was nothing left to hold back.
[Name] parted her lips slightly, and the moment she did, she swore she felt her soul nearly leaving her body. With newfound access, the kiss was no longer slow and sensual — instead, it turned heated and desperate, like they had both been waiting for this for so damned long.
She felt him now, really felt him, the growing erection straining against his pants and pressing insistently against her clothed intimacy. The warmth in her veins spread to her limbs, the tension of months coming undone, as though a dam had burst, and the pent-up desire came flooding out, traveling straight to her core.
The warmth of his breath against her skin, the way his hands gripped her waist, pulling her in, refusing to let even the smallest space remain between them. His touch was possessive, not forceful — more needing rather than taking. It was as if letting her go was simply not an option.
[Name] responded in kind, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, as if she could disappear into him entirely. Their tongues moved in an unrelenting rhythm, a dance of both heat and urgency. [Name] let out a quiet, almost inaudible sigh against his lips, like she had been holding her breath for far too long.
Akaza’s breathing was ragged now, uneven, matching the frantic pulse thrumming beneath her skin.
She pulled away briefly, gasping for air, her fingers clutching at his vest as her chest heaved. The intensity of the kiss left her dizzy, her knees buckling beneath her. But Akaza was quick to catch her, keeping her from falling.
Her face was already flushed from their embrace, and now, even more so as she muttered a breathless, embarrassed apology, trying to regain her composure. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize,” Akaza interrupted, his voice low and husk.
Slowly, he eased them both down, bringing himself to kneel as he hoisted her onto his lap, her legs settling against his hips. The shift in position sent a shiver down her spine. Her breath caught, her body tensing at the newfound closeness.
If she hadn’t felt it enough before, well, she certainly did now — the solid warmth of him beneath her, the way his hands gripped her waist, holding her there like he had no intention of letting go.
[Name] swallowed hard, willing herself to suppress the soft sound threatening to escape her lips, her body betraying just how much she was losing herself to him.
But even then, Akaza was far from finished. He guided her back against the floorboards, his touch careful and gentle — like she was something precious, something fragile. And she let him, trusting his movements as he shifted himself over her, his weight barely pressing against her yet grounding her all the same.
His eyes roamed over her, tracing the shape of her face, lingering on her lips, then drifting lower — over the exposed skin of her neck, the rise and fall of her chest, the subtle curves hinted at beneath the fabric of her uniform. He didn’t speak, and he sure as hell didn’t need to. His gaze alone was enough to make her get nervous.
Heat crept up her neck, a flush spreading across her skin as she realized how intently he was looking at her. The silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to name.
“Stop that,” she mumbled, her voice laced with shyness and uncertainty. There was no bite to her words, no real protest — just the overwhelming feeling of being seen in a way she never had before.
“Why?” He smirked, a low chuckle escaping his lips at her sudden shyness. “Am I not allowed to admire the woman dearest to me?”
[Name] rolled her eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You can do that by finishing what you started, Upper Three.” Her tone shifted then, her face growing serious, though a flicker of amusement still danced in her eyes.
Then, his hand drifted to her covered chest, fingers grazing the button of her jacket before tugging at it — yet he didn’t undo it. Instead, his eyes lifted again to meet her own, searching for permission. In a silent plea, her expression softened, and with a small nod, she gave it.
He didn’t waste another second, his fingers slipped each button through its hole, undoing them one by one until her upper half lay fully exposed to him. [Name] sighed as the cool air kissed her skin, sending a trail of goosebumps across her body while her buds hardened. Then, he reached for the belt of her bakama, loosening it just enough to slide everything off completely. She let him, even lifting before her bare skin met the cold wooden boards.
She hissed at the chill, earning an amused chuckle from Akaza.
“You know, demons don’t get cold.”
He watched her with a knowing look she knew too damn well. Especially in regard to what he was implying.
“So, why don’t you—”
“Don’t start,” [Name] cut him off before he could finish.
“Just saying.”
And there she lay, fully exposed to him, and Akaza couldn’t have asked for anything more. His eyes swept over her — not with lust, no, nothing like that — but with pure admiration. As if he were worshipping her very existence, memorizing every inch and color of her skin — the marks, the scars from countless battles, the curves, the beauty — engraving it all into his memory forever.
Her face reddened slightly, flustered under his intense gaze. “Akaza—”
“Just let me admire you.”
Soon enough, he leaned in, his lips finding her neck, trailing impossibly soft kisses along her sensitive skin. Every kiss of his was wet and slow, the warmth of his lips leaving behind a tingly, cool trail that made her shiver with want as he got closer and closer to her chest. [Name]’s grip on his shoulders tightened as her body instinctively arched into him, craving more.
His mouth moved with purpose, while his hand slid up to cup her breast, his fingers kneading it with gentle reverence. And at the same time, his thumb brushed lightly over the delicate bud of her nipple, sending a shiver of pleasure through her.
The touch sparked a soft moan from her lips, a whispered implication of the delight that was building inside her.
The sound she made ignited something deep within him. And as his mouth traveled lower, pressing kisses against her other breast before closing in on the hardened peak — the scent of her growing arousal reached him, sending a shudder through his body. His length throbbed at the thought of being buried deep inside her — if she’d let him. Oh, how he hoped she would.
His tongue flicked over her bud, drawing a moan louder than she had realized before he took the entire areola into his mouth, suckling it gently. Purposefully, he pressed his hardened cock against her soaked cunt, the sudden contact making her gasp.
Her thighs instinctively tightened around him, and she bit down on her knuckles, struggling to stifle the whimpers and moans threatening to spill from her lips.
He noticed, releasing her as he reached for her wrist in protest.
“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest. “I want to hear you. I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.” His gold eyes locked onto hers, filled with unspoken desire. “Please… don’t hide your sounds from me.”
“Akaza…” she breathed, the sound of his name slipping from her lips as a soft plea and compliance.
His name on her tongue, his hands on her skin — it was too much, too overwhelming, and yet she couldn’t stop. The world outside of them, everything she had once believed, everything she had fought for — it all seemed irrelevant now.
It was just the two of them, here, in this moment, consumed by something neither of them had expected, something neither of them could escape.
Then his lips trailed back up to hers, claiming them once more in a deep, searing kiss. She melted into it, into him, as though she had no control over her own body anymore. She didn’t want control. She wanted this. She wanted him, so so badly.
But even as she gave in, as she let herself be swept away by the heat of the moment, a quiet voice in the back of her mind still whispered to her. This was dangerous.
She broke the kiss, gasping a desperate plea. “Mm, Akaza...”
He knew exactly what she wanted. And oh, how badly he wanted to give it to her — because she deserved nothing less than the most mind-shattering pleasure of her life. And he would give it to her… but not just yet.
“Almost,” he mumbled in promise. His lips found her neck once more, trailing down her chest, over her sternum, and lower still — until he hovered just above her navel, dangerously close to where she needed him most.
In an agonizingly slow pace, he kissed his way down her body, nearing her thighs but avoiding the one place she wanted him to be. Each kiss danced around the sensitive area, teasing her further. [Name] could feel her patience beginning to fray, her hips bucking desperately, seeking any kind of friction against her pulsing clit.
“So eager,” Akaza teased, flashing a wicked grin. And gods, how she ached to fuck that grin off his face.
“Don’t tease me,” she complained, pulling his head between her thighs until he effortlessly pried them apart with his hands.
He hovered just above her, his breath hot against her wetness as he inhaled her intoxicating scent. "As you wish," he whispered, his voice dark with intent.
As she directed, Akaza's tongue traced a languid path from the entrance of her pussy to her clit, circling the sensitive bud with intentional slowness before his lips closed around it, sucking with a ferocity that bordered on desperation. Instantly, the sensation became almost too much to bear, [Name]’s hand instinctively flying to his head, her fingers tangling in his hair as her hips bucked wildly, seeking to break free from the restraint of his grip.
But Akaza was nothing short of relentless, his hands pinning her down, holding her in place as he continued to lavish attention on her clit. Her body thrashed against his hand, her moans and whimpers rising to a fevered pitch, a symphony of sound that was both desperate and pleading.
The air was thick with strain, heavy with the weight of her desire as Akaza's mouth worked its magic, drawing her closer to the edge of ecstasy with every passing moment.
"...f-fuck," she whimpered, her voice trembling as she struggled to restrain herself from grinding her hips into his face. The lewd sounds of his slurping and sucking only seemed to intensify her arousal, making her wetter and more eager for release.
Akaza, meanwhile, was consumed by his own passion for her. He couldn't get enough of her taste, which was sweeter and more intoxicating than anything he'd ever experienced before. The flavor of her was like a rich, heady wine, and he was drunk on it, craving more with every passing moment.
She was wet for him, and only him, and that knowledge only added to his arousal. He'd consumed the blood of many humans before, but none had ever tasted as good as she did. In fact, her flavor was almost as intoxicating as the rare and coveted blood of the marechi, a delicacy among his kind.
He was determined to savor every last drop of her, to drink in her essence and satisfy her desires, no matter how long it took. The thought of stopping was unbearable, and he knew he wouldn't be able to tear himself away until she was fully satisfied.
"So good," he moaned, his voice muffled against her skin as he shifted his attention to her opening. His hand slid upwards, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing it in gentle, insistent circles.
The sensation was becoming increasingly overwhelming, and she felt herself teetering on the edge of release.
"H-Hah..." she gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her body began to tense. "Gonna cum... A-Akaza," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breathing. Her hips were moving of their own accord, thrusting upwards to meet his tongue as her climax began to build.
The feeling was intense, all-consuming, and she knew she was on the verge of losing control completely.
As he heard her words, Akaza's movements became more frenzied, his desire to bring her to climax overriding all else. He rubbed her bud with a ferocious intensity, his thumb moving in rapid, insistent circles as his tongue thrust deeper into her, stroking her inner walls with a passionate abandon.
[Name]’s eyes rolled back in her head, her vision blurring as white spots danced before her eyes.
"C-Cumming," she cried out. "Akaza, I'm cumming!"
The words were torn from her lips as her body began to shudder, the first tremors of her orgasm rippling through her like a gathering storm.
At last, her body surrendered to the wave of release, shuddering and convulsing as the crashing tide of pleasure swept over her. Her juices flowed freely, flooding Akaza's mouth with a warm, sticky torrent. He was ready, his lips and tongue working tirelessly to capture every last drop, refusing to waste a single moment of this shared pleasure.
As he savored the last drops of her essence, his own desire reached a boiling point, his erection straining painfully against the confines of his pants.
Yet, he restrained himself, waiting for [Name] to catch her breath as he gently released her trembling legs from his shoulders. His fingers idly drew circles on the skin of her thighs as he shifted into a sitting position, his eyes never leaving hers.
But rather than wait for him to make the next move, [Name]’s yearning proved to be more impatient. Her legs suddenly wrapped around his torso, pulling him closer as she drew him into a fierce, passionate embrace.
Her face was flushed with need, her eyes burning with an unspoken want that left no doubt about her intentions. Though she didn't utter a word, her gaze spoke volumes, conveying a sense of urgency and longing that Akaza couldn't ignore.
Without hesitation, he surrendered to their mutual pining, his hands swiftly moving to loosen the lace of his pants. He shoved them down, his cock springing free as [Name] watched with hooded eyes, her gaze focused on the rigid length of him.
It stood rock solid against his navel, already glistening with precum, a testament of his waning. [Name]’s eyes didn’t break, her attention riveted on his erection as she teasingly widened her legs, inviting him in.
"Seems like I wasn't the only one who was impatient," the words dripping with a sultry teasing, her voice was husky with desire as she spoke.
Akaza remained silent. But damn did the sound of her voice, the sight of her glistening before him send a sharp pulse of heat straight to the tip of his cock.
And again, he leaned over her, his arms caging her him as she felt him brush against her inner thigh. He settled himself to rest over the folds of her glistening pussy, the warmth of her body enveloping him. As he made contact with her skin, his breath hitched in his throat, and he couldn't help but let out a low, husky groan. He began to rub his dick between her wetness, the friction and moisture combining to lubricate himself.
"So wet," Akaza said, his voice low and sultry, as he continued to tease himself against her. "I can feel how much you want me, how much you need me."
[Name] sighed in desperation, her lips parting slightly as she waited for him to claim her. Her hands rose, fingers tracing the contours of his face, her touch sending a shiver down his spine.
"I've wanted you for so long," she expressed, her voice barely louder than their heavy breaths entwining in the space between them.
"And you have no idea how long I've craved you," Akaza admitted back, positioning himself at her entrance.
But he didn’t move forward just yet. Instead, he searched her face for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt that might make him stop. But there was none. No fear, no regret — only a quiet tenderness in her eyes, a trust so deep it left him breathless.
And that… that told him everything.
"Please," she whispered, a soft, desperate plea.
It was all he needed.
“If it becomes too much, tell me, and I’ll stop,” he assured her, placing kisses along her neck and collarbone as he slowly pressed himself inside her with a suck of his breath.
[Name]’s breath hitched, sensitive from her earlier release, her body tensing as he stretched her inch by inch, the overwhelming sensation threatening to spill over into tears.
Sensing her struggle, Akaza stilled, refusing to push any further despite his body wanting to fight against it. Instead, he pressed tender kisses to her face, his touch full of quiet reassurance. But before he could speak, he felt her legs wrap around his torso, pulling him in completely. His nearly choked, eyes widening in surprise at her boldness.
Pain lingered in her expression as she met his gaze, but instead of hesitation, there was a playful grin.
“I’ve felt worse,” she reassured. “So please… don’t stop.”
In that moment, Akaza was certain — she wanted this, she wanted him. Despite the pain she endured, there was no hesitancy, only that of an unwavering certainty.
At last, once she had adjusted to his length, he began to move. His hips rolled in slow, steady strokes, careful not to push too hard too soon. With each measured thrust, he felt her body gradually relax, molding against him as the tension melted away.
He knew it still hurt — he could see it in the way her brows furrowed whenever he pushed too deep. But soon, the tension eased, giving way to heavier breaths and the sweet, unrestrained sounds slipping from her lips.
Before he knew it, he was moving within her far more easily, though she was still so incredibly tight that it nearly unraveled him right then and there. Her growing wetness only made it worse, the slick heat pulling him in deeper, making his own breathing turn uneven as he felt himself slowly losing control.
“Fuck…” he groaned, his brows drawing together as he captured her lips with his, his teeth clenching at the way her walls fluttered around him in response to every sound he made. “S-So good.”
[Name] moaned into his mouth, her body jolting each time his navel pressed against her clit, sending shivers through her. The contrast of her heated skin against his cool chest only heightened the sensation, her hardened buds brushing against him with every movement. Sweat slicked her body as Akaza moved with growing desperation.
“F-Faster, Akaza,” she pleaded, her head pressing back against the floorboards as coils of release began to build inside her again. She felt incredible — better than she ever imagined — after yearning for him for so long. And now, here they were, consumed by the fire of their own desire, lost in the raw need they had for each other.
She couldn’t have asked for anything more.
Akaza's response was immediate, his hips surging forward as he drove into her with increased urgency. The sounds of skin against skin filled the air as his breath came in sharp gasps, his eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to sear her very soul.
“[Name]," he groaned, his voice cracking with pleasure. "You’re squeezing me… so damn tightly.”
He tried to be gentle, truly, he did. But something primal had completely overridden Akaza’s sense of self. He could feel himself getting closer, and he knew, with certainty, that she was almost there too.
But the closer he got, the worse he waned.
His hands found refuge beneath her ass, hoisting her up by the hips as he kneeled and continued his growing assault deep into her pussy. The sudden change in position sent a jolt of electricity through her body, and she felt herself being lifted to new heights of pleasure.
“O-Oh,” she gasped in uneven whimpers as the sound of slapping skin grew louder, her eyes squeezing shut as she turned away. “Fuck! Gonna cum!” The words tumbled out of her mouth, but Akaza was far from finished.
“Look at me. Don’t hide,” he demanded, his voice straining against his own moans. Then, in an unexpected twist, he threw her legs over his shoulders, leveraging himself forward as he plunged into her impossibly deeper than she’d ever thought was possible.
She nearly screamed, her arms hooking over his triceps as he pressed his forehead against her own. The intimacy of the moment was immense, and she felt herself being drawn into the depths of his eyes — watching every expression he made, every twitch of his face, every flash of pleasure in his eyes.
His movements were desperate, fucking into her like a wild animal, and she felt herself being consumed by the same primal urge. The sound of their bodies crashing together filled the air, a cacophony of skin slapping skin, of heavy breathing, and of desperate gasps.
And that was all it took, all it took as he hit that sweet spongy spot that sent her reeling over the edge.
“I’m cumming—oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m cumming!”
The sensation was like a dam breaking, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over her, sweeping her away on a sea of ecstasy. She felt herself contracting around him, her body milking him for every last drop of his cum, as Akaza's own movements became more frantic, more urgent. He was chasing his own release, and she knew that she was the only one who could give it to him.
She squeezed around his cock, still moving frantically inside her as she rode her orgasm, his hips growing sloppier by the second. The sensation of her inner walls contracting around him was almost too much to bear, and Akaza's control began to slip. He was a man, a demon, possessed, driven by a primal urge to claim her, to fill her with his seed.
Fighting back one deep guttural groan, his voice broke, his breath gasping as he drilled into her one last time. The sound that tore from his throat was raw and animalistic. His body shuddering as his arms reached to wrap tightly, but not too tight, around her twitching form. He held her close, his fingers digging into her skin as he rode out the waves of his own climax.
He came, and he came a lot. Deep inside of her fluttering walls that milked every ounce of cum out of him. The sensation was overpowering, a rush of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.
For the first time, Akaza felt himself being drained, his body emptying into hers as she continued to contract around him. It was a feeling of complete surrender, of total release, and he knew that he would never be the same again.
As the last spasms of his orgasm faded away, he collapsed against her, his body spent before his stamina and senses quickly returned, his mind reeling from the intensity of their passion.
He remained still inside her, lifting his head to rest gently on her chest. "Are you... okay?" he asked hesitantly, like a sudden shyness had overtaken him.
[Name] lay there, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, a soft smile curving her lips. "Never better."
They lay in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between them. There was no need for further conversation; their bodies spoke for them, a quiet assurance that everything would be alright.
[Name]’s thoughts drifted to the long months she had spent running from her own heart. She had buried her feelings, hidden them beneath layers of denial, convinced it was easier that way.
It was easier to run.
To replace every ounce of her pain, every ounce of herself that told her these feelings were everything but real. That it was all some sick delusion. And to replace it with something numb.
And it was easier to go, than for her to face all of her pain head on, all alone.
Easier to push away the overwhelming emotions that had clung to her for so long. The fear of letting them consume her had always been stronger than the pull of her wants.
But now, in the stillness of the moment, she realized something — she’d never truly escaped.
This, right here, with him, was where she truly belonged.
Despite the worlds they came from, the roles they were destined to play — Demon Slayer and Demon — she couldn’t ignore the truth that was unfolding before her. They would face each other someday, inevitably, as enemies. It was a harsh reality, one they both understood. But not now. Not in this moment.
For now, they had this. The comfort of one another, the shared sense of peace that seemed impossible in the world they lived in. [Name] pressed her lips gently to his forehead, holding onto the fleeting warmth of the moment.
And for as long as it lasted, she would savor it — this connection, this quiet understanding.
They didn’t need to speak to know. This was their time. And this, was their now.
.
.
.
.
the end.
a/n: Thank you all so so so much for the support from this fic. I can’t believe it gained the attraction that it did, especially as of recent (the infinity castle did something to y’all, huh lmaoooo)
A little back story in pertains to the work is that it was greatly inspired by Linkin Park’s song, Easier to Run. Earlier this year, I was in a bad headspace, with life constantly kicking me in the ass. This song was one that resonated with me deeply, because for me, running away from my problems made it easier instead of facing it head on. But even then, you can’t outrun them forever, and Akaza was an example of that.
Akaza, being my all time favorite character within the demon slayer franchise, drew me to whip this fic up. A story where the main protagonist, the reader, is in deep conflict with her emotions once she begins to realize her feelings towards Akaza. And instead of accepting it, not only because she’s a hashira, but because of the deep resentment she held deep within herself for even thinking of him in that way — a demon, who is a sworn enemy, and an enemy against humanity. It was forbidden, and she knew what was at stake because of it. So what better way than to face her emotions than to run away from them.
Again, thank you all so very much. I would greatly recommend the song to anyone, even encouraging you to give it a listen. Please, take care of yourselves, and each other.
