i like my men fictional or out of my reach

@cursed(your)wombz huh?

He had a pitch-black profile picture and a layout with nothing of note, a banner as equally colorless and unnotable, and a simple bio stating: 

I know what you want…

- C.

And beneath that was a link.

It stood out stark against the black background. You don’t click on it, of course- for fear of being something malicious, you’re avoiding it like you’d avoid a minefield. 

You’ve already heard one too many horror stories on here about such things. One click and you’d find your address posted somewhere. Instead, your eyes drop to the number of followers he had…and your eyebrows are immediately shooting up.

0 Following.

581k Followers.

Now that makes you blink.

Okay- alright, maybe it wasn’t the most astounding number you’ve ever seen throughout your expansive time on the Internet - but it was still niche celebrity-status. Especially on this app. Especially to be stalking an account like yours…where all you did was repost the stray picture of a pretty landscape or yell into the aether about your missing assignments for your friends to comment on. 

Now that was a little strange.

And so you’re scrolling down.

And you never quite know what you’re in for whenever you enter the realm of a person’s account—fanfiction with tags you never knew existed, one part of an argument on social media that really shouldn’t exist, mpreg. 

Which was all fine and dandy to be quite honest- you just never expect to be met with the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The first picture you’re seeing- pinned.

Posted just an hour ago. It’s a mirror selfie taken at a low angle; of a man with his body angled towards the lens and his phone covering his face. In nothing but a towel. With nothing but his chiselled body. His beefy arms flexed as he takes the picture, biceps rippled with a few veins—though still lean and almost smooth to the touch. Pierced nipples. Defined abs. Your eyes linger on the sparse dusting of dark hair leading below, below, below his fluffy white towel…

The picture cuts off just a few inches past his navel. You know because you’re enlarging it.

The photo is almost vampiric in nature.

Somehow. 

Dimly-lit. Beautiful—he clearly knew his angles and lighting. It’s slightly blurry and you can’t make out much of the man’s features - nothing more than the slender length of his fingers, silver rings, and the outline of his dark (perhaps brown?) hair. Touching his shoulders. From just above the hem of his towel, the amorphous blur of a tattoo snakes down his left v-line - and no matter how much you’re zooming in, you can’t quite figure out what it is. 

Something twists at the pit of your stomach as you’re latching your eyes onto the very obvious bulge he was sporting through the towel - very.

The flash created a shadow of his lengthy cock—oh. Hanging between thick thighs, heavy and needy. And it also illuminated the slight dampness clinging onto his body; perhaps he’d just gotten out of the shower, or was about to take on after a workout. 

Whichever scenario it was, both made your thighs clench- fuck.

Fingers slightly shaky, you’re exiting out of the picture and scrolling down for more. 

The next post is a video seemingly taken from the very same instance: it was from the point of view of the beautiful man. Facing downwards, as he zoomed the camera in on his bulge and ran one vein-covered, ringed hand down his abs- down his pelvis- down to that throbbing erection and squeezed himself through his towel. 

And then through your speakers echoes out the most pornographic moan. 

Thank goodness your dorm had thick walls. 

And that’s when you decide that you’ve seen enough.

Not enough as in enough enough to block this strange man and move on with your life- of course, not. As quickly as your fingers would possibly let you, you’re exiting out of the video and scrolling up to a bio that seemed to have more to hide than the first time you read through it. 

The link stands mockingly stark - almost winking at you - against the dark background. You think you know what it is.

And you click on it.

Suddenly, your laptop screen’s flooding with a gaudy pink color. A loading circle swivels in the middle of it for a few seconds, before you’re met with a logo in swooping, slanted black script: C4mBoyfriends. Better than that boy in your dms.

Rapidly, you’re opening up a new tab and typing in the name.

“C4mBoyfriends is an adult streaming platform that hosts webcam performers that choose to label themselves as male. Here they can stream live video, post photographs, and interact on forums with a wide array of paying viewers—for a range of content catering to specific niches or sexual roleplays. C4mBoyfriends, since its recent launch, has shot up in the industry as one of the most-visited adult sites and the safest for its performers. All cuts go to the performers themselves and the site runs on separate donations from its audience.”

Ah- you’d guessed right.

Excitement burbles at the pit of your stomach for a few seconds. You’re clicking back onto the tab with the pink logo, and finding that it’d stopped loading.

It was in the layout of a streaming device, with static images of ongoing streams on one side of the platform, and different pages listed out on top. But what took up the majority of your screen was the vision of the very same man from before- from the mirror selfie, from the video.

This time, it was a stream.

@cursed(your)wombz is streaming—#1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends [101 week streak]. [Only solo]. Your internet boyfriend <3

0 Subscribed.

820k Subscribers.

455k Currently watching.

This time, he had his towel lifted up and his hands fisted around his fat cock.

Perfectly angled. 

Your jaw drops. He was about eight- maybe more inches, though you weren’t in the state to count. Way too entranced by the way his veiny, ring-decorated hands were wrapped around his cock. Large. He was just so loooong and standing tall between wide-spread legs, shiverin’ every time he’s gliding his hand up and down. Up and down. 

Again and again.

Getting faster by the second before he arches-

The edge of his thumb’s reaching for his ruby-red crown—then smearing the glistening liquid that just kept on foaming from the top. He lathers it upon his palm and drags it down his hot erection, making every inch gleam underneath the off-camera lighting.

You’re clicking on a button to increase your volume.

And just in time, too, because then he snakes his left hand down and squeezes his heavy balls- letting out a botched groan that leaves your shorts oh-so-wet. 

Deep and guttural; there’s a slight quiver in them as he whispers. “F-fuck.” Just so full and sensitive—the man’s head tips backwards and his hips buck off the cushioned chair. Sluttily. As though he was fucking something invisible. It’s creaking ever-so-slightly as he settles back down, composing himself just a little bit before he starts cumming.

Pearly white droplets of cum. 

Beading from the very top of his shaft - where he was the most pink n’ angry - shaking as he empties out. Globs of it start to glide down his length, and a few more collect where his silver Prince Albert’s piercing was positioned right beneath his mushroomy tip.

You’re just letting your eyes linger upon that little heap of satiny sap, when the man thumbs upwards and smears that, too. Such a mess.

And you think that might be all- but then he’s reaching his non-dominant hand upwards and pressing down on his frothing cockhead. Stopping himself from cumming - and as he leans to the side, you swear you’re glimpsing the twinkle of even more piercings on the upper side of his shaft. Was that…a Jacob’s ladder?

You’re rendered so damn speechless that you almost don’t register him speaking- “Awwww, did my pretty sluts wanna watch me cum?” 

A shiver runs down your spine at the hitched tone of his voice- drunk on lust. He’s slightly slurring. So alluring, you almost catch yourself nodding.

“Well, too bad.” The man meanly snickers, before he’s suddenly reaching out with his non-dominant hand and angling it higher. The screen shifts to display that very same mouth-watering body from the picture—though, this time with the addition of a black-and-white mask that covered his features from forehead to his sharp jawline. 

The only opening in it was a concave cutout for his mouth - almost reminiscent of a Phantom of the Opera mask. In the background was a clearly expensive bedroom of a clearly expensive home - far different from your single dorm - an artwork that you couldn’t name on the wall behind him. Something like a photograph or a portrait. Something about it was so precise- so cinematic. Like watching a movie scene. He continues, “Because you know why? You don’t deserve it.”

There’s a flurry of comments on one side of the screen, so fast that you wonder how he reads it.

“Didn’t I tell you to spam me with your nastiest stories in the chat?” He asks, and from beneath his mask you catch the outline of dark eyes shifting down those hurried words. Those needy comments. “None of you are nasty enough, so none of you get to see me cum…”

You’re tearing your eyes off of him to peruse what they were saying.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: nuuuuuu please, curse! i’ll get on my knees!!

@vampzo333: me too ME TOO

@likezmenpregnant: My story about the body pillow wasn’t nasty enough? TT

@CCpervnextdoor: AWWWW I’m begging~

@Curse’swifey: I’LL PAY YOU EXTRA PLEASEEEEEEE

@Curse’swifey donated 500 cherries.

“Tch- what a desperate bunch. Just fucking look at yourselves…” And though his words weren’t in the least bit nice, you couldn’t deny just how badly he made your cunt twinge. 

Curse…that’s what his name was, huh?

You’re squeezing your thighs together- your sleep shorts were definitely soaked. 

Curse rolls out the kinks in his neck just a little, and stares down at the camera with a crooked grin. “But that’s not gonna be enough. I said to be nasty- so be nasty.” The active chat becomes nothing but a blur once more: pleas, donations, stories half-typed in their urgency. “And in return I’ll moan whatever name you want me to moan when I cum.”

Before you know it, you’re opening up the sign-up page in a new tab.

Keeping Curse’s livestream playing in the background as you zip through your details. You’re picking out a username for yourself: Ietsmakeamovie and hastily going back to the ongoing stream with your newfound handle. Was it too obvious to make it the same username as your other account? The one that he had stalked?

Fuck- you’re too wound up to think of something else at this point. You decide that you’ll change it later…

Luckily, Curse’s stream didn’t have a paying threshold before you could comment. And you’re jittery with excitement as you pull the laptop closer to yourself and start typing out something—hitting send before you could overthink it.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Seeing you is the first time I’ve gotten this wet.

Curse’s eyes drift down the chat, and he seems to latch onto something. Eyes widening just a fraction.

“The first time?”

Fuck.

You’re feeling a jolt at the way he addresses you - never expecting him to pick out that comment amongst tens of thousands of others that were uttering even filthier things. Curse leans in and speaks with his deep tone, “Those other boys didn’t know how to treat a perfect pussy like yours, huh? This is why they call me the Internet boyfriend, baby.”

@Ietsmakeamovie: Yeah.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Fuck, you’re so hot.

@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t even wanna look away to touch myself.

You feel embarrassed typing it all out - but you console yourself with the notion that no one here knows who you are. And you don’t know anyone here, either.

Curse leans back and starts pumping his cock even harder—taking his left hand off the drivelling top. His milky-white precum is frenzied n’ sticks to his hand like glue, and the chat grows more and more excited as Curse’s actions do the same.

“That’s alright, baby, you don’t have to finger yourself.” He chuckles, eyes locked on the comments. “I’d be doing that for you if I was there.”

@Ietsmakeamovie: Wish you were. You’d reach so much deeper.

@Ietsmakeamovie donated 1000 cherries.

“Fuh-fuck—” He hisses, head throwing back in his chair. You take the time to admire the lines of his prominent Adam’s apple - the way it bobs every time he’s taking a shaky swallow. “No need to donate or anything, baby, just keep- ngh, talking t’me like this and that’s enough…”

@0003h0lesforCurse: holy shit. i’ve never seen him like this.

@CCpervnextdoor: Needy Curse I like it~

@bewbsRlife: KEEP GOING OP KEEP GOING!!

You giggle to yourself.

@Ietsmakeamovie: Enough to make you cum, Curse?

“Greedy, greedy girl…” Through the slightest gaps in his mask you’re catching the way his nose crinkles in amusement. A wolfish smile. “S’that what you all want?”

The chat explodes in agreement.

He cocks his head, “Movie?”

Was that your new nickname now? Hastily, you reply-

@Ietsmakeamovie: Mhm.

“Well then…” He grins, toned body arching off the chair. “Get ready for a show—” Darkened gaze narrowing at the comments, “And you better not take your eyes off of me for a single second- hump your damn pillows if you have to. I don’t care.”

Quickly grabbing your own puffy pillow, you’re stuffing it between your legs.

Right as Curse lets his head loll backwards- and his cum drizzles out of his cock. He’s been edging the poor viewers and overstimulatin’ himself for so fucking long now—all it takes is a few pumps to let the cascade of white coat his hands and his rings. Just the slightest bit of silver peaking through.

Hard and fast.

The man’s cockhead flushes even redder as he drags his high out deliciously. Every burst of dopamine. Every heaving pant. Every pretty moan escaping him. 

It seems to be ramming into him in waves- gooey ribbons of seed coat his digits. Getting smeared like a gloss across eeeeevery single inch, ridge, and vein—and since Curse’s pace was something furious, a few globs of cum splatter across the towel and onto his thighs. A mess that he’s seeming to love.

Because in the next few seconds, he’s wrung out just the final bits of pleasure in him- and is raising his cum-coated fingers up to his mouth and sucking. Staring straight into the camera lens as he does so.

You’re watching slack-jawed as those long, lacquered digits disappear between his lips. Finishin’ them off squeaky clean and letting his head tip to the side.

He mouths, “Movie—”

Part of your username.

Though you hadn’t asked for him to moan your name, as he’d promised to do to one of the viewers had they been nasty enough. And this special treatment…

Maybe he did it to every new viewer. Maybe he just liked how much you complimented him- though everyone else did, too. Either way, it’s perhaps what sets off the bursts of electricity between your legs—and soon enough you’re hurtling into a high you hadn’t even realized had been building up and up and up.

Your lashes flutter shut as the orgasm overtakes you. 

Hips ruttin’ away into the plushness of your pillow- you wonder just how much better riding him would be…

And that’s setting off a whole new layer of dopamine at your core, your cunt quiverin’ as white-hot pleasure makes your heartbeat throb in your ears. Chest pounding. Breaths heavy.

By the time you’ve finished pushing through your high, you’re coming to find that Curse had somewhat cleaned himself up with the towel and was bantering back n’ forth with the chat. He rests his head on one hand and sweeps his eyes down the usernames, “What happened to dear Movie, huh?” Curse pretends to pout. “The first stream wasn’t too much for her, right?”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: kekekeke you’re too freaky, curse!!

@CCpervnextdoor: So dirty~

@daddytoeknee: Must thank Movie for the show though…

Urgently, you’re gathering yourself and tapping a few buttons on-screen.

@Ietsmakeamovie subscribed to @cursed(your)wombz. 

@Ietsmakeamovie donated 2500 cherries.

@Ietsmakeamovie: It’d never be too much.

“Ahhh, there you are.” Such a beautiful smile smears across his face, and Curse’s leaning in to take a closer look at the comments. “And thank you for subscribing, same time tomorrow?”

You’re unsure whether that was directed at you or everyone viewing- but you’re chiming in agreement alongside the rest of the comments. And Curse reads through them, lingering for just a little while longer before he grins.

“Heh- bye, sluts.”

And he covers the camera, the stream cuts off. 

Yet your heart still thunders.

Ignoring the time at the bottom of your laptop screen, you’re then clicking on his profile and scrolling through what other videos he had…

.

.

.

It was your fault that you kept dozing off.

Honestly. 

You should have known better- and you know that you should’ve known better…but you couldn’t help yourself. After Curse’s initial stream, you spent some time browsing through the numerous photographs and short clips that he’d posted; there were even some saved streams that were each dirtier than the last—each with his attractive mask and his even more attractive voice, his sensual cock getting pumped over and over for the audiences.

And so you’d left a few comments, a few hearts.

Throughout all of them, you made the peculiar discovery that they were all more high-quality than the last. The standard of being the #1 on the site, you guess. But the lighting and angles were all just so perfect…

You’d watched them for just a little while- at least, what you’d thought was a little while. Because by the time you’re realizing that your laptop battery was dying, and your eyes were tired, you’re turning your head in the direction of the dorm windows and- fuck.

Why was the Sun coming up?

And so you’d rushed to get at least half an hour of sleep before you had to get up for your 8AM lecture. 

Professor Yaga taught Film 101 as though he was trying to scare everyone off it. Rigorous coursework and never-altered deadlines. Though you yourself wouldn’t consider him an unreasonable man, it was impertinent to be punctual and alert in his classes - and right now, you were feeling neither of those. 

By the grace of the universe, you’re somehow managing to stumble into class just two minutes after it starts. It’s not enough to rouse Yaga’s anger - and either way, you had made a name for yourself as one of his most avid students - though it does get you a sternly raised brow as you apologize and take the nearest open seat.

Just-so-happening to be in the very last row. 

At the very forgotten corner.

Right beside who you knew to be Yaga’s actually most avid student—Choso Kamo.

Had it been a race between the two of you - perhaps between the entire department - Choso would have finished five times before anyone’s even stepping past the finish line. You would’ve gotten second. And that wasn’t to diminish your abilities in any way - you’d long since proven yourself to be one of the best students this course had even seen - it’s just…Choso was a film nerd through and through. 

If there was anyone that could live up to such a title, then it was him.

Choso lived, slept, and breathed film and television. He could name any television show around the world with just a single frame, and most he could recite line-for-line. Oh, that? He learned Korean just to immerse himself in that scene in Parasite. That scene? It was from the 1957 Sri Lankan film Amba Yahaluwo, by the way did you know that Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was filmed there, too?

Knitted vest. Hair in two messy space buns. 

Clunky glasses rested atop his nosebridge, and dark bangs covering most of his vision, you’d often see him tottering around campus with a column of books that was damn-near taller than him. And despite his towering demeanour - from your mental counting, Choso was around 6’2 or more - around most of the student body, he was the type that couldn’t meet your eyes no matter how many classes you shared with him.

Even now, as you seated right next to him and smiled- Choso softly yelps and turns away from.

You don’t take it personally, of course, as he was simply the shy type. And by the flush that rises to his high cheekbones, you know he - at the very least - doesn’t dislike you.

Situating yourself, you’re opening your bag and pulling out your laptop. Opening it- fuck.

The briefest flash of one of Curses’s previous streams—where he had his cock in his hands and his face contorted mid-ecstasy flashes across your screen. And you can’t slam your laptop shut fast enough- cracking it just the slightest bit to exit out of the numerous tabs, fingers nothing but a blur. Thank fuck your volume hadn’t been set on high.

Head ducked, you’re looking out from the corner of your eye to check whether Choso had seen anything. 

But if he did, he shows no indication.

Only keeping his back ramrod straight- his gaze ahead- his flush fiery as he listens to whatever Yaga was saying. 

And so you think you’re in the clear…for now…

Opening your laptop up once more, you’re logging onto your lecture platforms and attempting to forget about last night. Which was difficult when that smile upon Curse’s face, just beneath his mask - was the only thing running through your mind.

And before you know it, you’d been staring blankly at your screen for a few seconds—before Choso inches in just a centimeter closer. Unwilling to let himself take up even more space. He keeps his eyes trained ahead and his voice - fuck, you’d never heard his voice before but it was just so deep and measured, something you wouldn’t have expected out of him - low. 

Whispering to you, “H-he’s on Chapter 18 of Stone Butch Blues, we’re about to write a screenplay for the zoo scene.” 

“Ah…” You don’t know whether you’re more surprised at the timbre of his voice or the way he managed a proper sentence out to you. All your previous attempts at conversation throughout the semester had been futile—and you’d long resigned yourself to the idea that he was too nervous to ever talk to you. “Th-thank you.”

He doesn’t answer but nods in shy acknowledgement.

And as you’re opening up your file, you bask in the realization that Choso Kamo was actually hot underneath those glasses. If only you could see his features further…

Maybe you’re being a little delirious. Your eyes feel heavy. 

Heavy.

Heavier. 

Tap-tap-tap.

A shake.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

A warm hand on your shoulder, by the time you’re opening your eyes- you’re looking up into even warmer, molten chocolate-colored ones. They were framed by fawny eyelashes and thick glasses that made his shy gaze seem ever-so-slightly amplified. 

You think you’re stunned for a few seconds before Choso speaks, “U-um…class is over.”

“Oh.” That makes you dart your head up and look around, noticing that most of the students had filtered in or were in the process of already doing so. “Oh, shit-”

You’d seriously slept through all that?

And Yaga had left you alive?!

No, you weren’t going to question this act of mercy—thank goodness for the last row, because he likely hadn’t been able to see you. Shooting upright, you’re grabbing all your things and hoping you hadn’t snored next to the sweet boy - “Thank you so much for waking me.” You’re turning towards him and saying, earnestness seeping into your tone. “Knowing me, I would’ve slept right through till next class. Might actually have been more convenient.”

He startles into a laugh then raises a hand up to his mouth and quietens himself down, “It’s alright.” You’re staring closely at the little bells of laughter, and he turns his eyes downwards. Bashfully admitting, “Happens to me too, whenever I stay up um- studying. Long night?”

You sigh, “You could say that…” Not a long night studying, but…

And as the conversation quietens down and Choso worries down on his bottom lip, you’re hiking your backpack up on your shoulders and saying. “Well, I guess I should be going then. Catch up on the recordings of the lecture and everything-” Turning, “See you ‘round—and thanks again.”

You make all of five steps before Choso finally gathers up the courage to call out-

“Wait—!”

Confused, you’re facing him once more. “Yes?”

And his hand was out, his fingers were slightly trembling. He was mouthing out the words as though still debating whether to speak them into existence - whether he was capable of. “I…we-” Eventually mustering up the courage once you give a reassuring nod, “When will we meet up?”

That makes you pause.

Was he…

“F-for the assignment.” Choso clarifies, a flush rising to his cheeks as he likely realizes he should’ve led with that. “Professor Yaga’s mid-semester project he always does…”

Ah—you’re clapping a palm on your forehead. How could you have forgotten? Yaga had announced at the start of the semester that about halfway through, the class would be paired up or put into groups to work on a collaborative project that contributed to about 50% of your grade. This semester, it was to write a full-length movie screenplay for a book or musical of your choice. And you’d been excited for it, in fact, but after the…activities of last night it’d completely slipped your mind that he’d be delving more into it this lecture.

And the poor boy stumbles through his explanation, “H-he let everyone choose their partners, and I wanted to wake you up but…you just looked so peaceful.” He fidgets with his fingers and flushes, “I th-thought one of your friends would come up here and choose you but-”

Probing him gently, “But?”

“B-but I’m afraid you ended up paired with me.” Choso just looks so genuinely apologetic- “I’m sorry- no one picked me either. I should’ve woken you up, but we can go talk with Professor Yaga about changing partners if you’d like-”

“Hey—wait.” You’re cutting off his spiel, something in your chest aching at the utterly devastated furrow between his brows. You take a step closer to him, “I would love to do the project with you, Choso. No need to talk to Yaga about anything.”

He looks up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “B-but your friends…”

“I don’t really have close friends in this class, anyway.” You smile, “I’d much rather do it with you.”

“Really—?” Breathed. As if he couldn’t believe it.

And it’s after some time - and a deep inhale - that he speaks again. Finally sinking in that someone would choose him of all people—that you would, that he speaks again. “And um- would you like to work on the script at my place?” Before you can answer, his breath hitches and his head shoots up. “N-not that I’m pressuring you into…it’s nothing weird, I promise! We can meet anywhere else you like- the library, your place- wait, no that’s weird, too…”

“Choso- Choso.” You giggle. And if this was anyone else then you would’ve assumed that they were putting the moves on you. “I’m okay with your place.”

.

.

.

The apartment was a fair distance away from the campus dorms. 

Which made sense, you suppose, given the fact that less than half the people there would be able to afford the rent on such a place—especially after tuition. The highrise dove into the clouds, its vermicular body scaled in glistening windows and gold-accented furnishings within. You got the distinct feeling of being swallowed whole as you entered through the widely-gaped entrance, with several doormen and security that eyed you up and down, bowed at Choso.

You thanked them and made your way - slightly speechless - through the hallways.

This was everything you could ever dream of, and you’re sure you spot the odd actor or two down in the lobby. As you’re getting into an elevator the size of your entire dorm room, Choso punches in one of the highest floor numbers and turns to you-

Throughout the bus ride here, you’d been the one chattering away. And so it surprises you once he finally speaks, “I-I’m sorry…my place is a bit of a mess.”

“Can’t be as bad as mine. I won’t judge.” Who cares about a mess when he lives in a place like this? You couldn’t wait to go inside…

He pushes his chunky glasses upwards and gives you a shy smile, “Thank you.” Looking down at his polished shoes, “You’re so sweet.”

“Thank you.” 

And you rise upwards in silence.

Soon enough, you’re finding yourself being led up to his massive apartment. He’s punching in the numbers of the code and setting his backpack down—telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you shuffle inside awkwardly; past the lavish furnishings and the alien-shaped lamps that all rich places seemed to boast. 

He leads you in the direction of the master bedroom - where Choso said that his film collection was vast and likely to reveal techniques that the two of you would be able to incorporate into your own script.

“I even have a copy of Momijigari- it’s one of my most prized possessions.” He shoots you such a charming smile, eyes twinkling behind his glasses, over his shoulder. Heading inside. 

And you can’t help but follow.

A single step inside his not-so-humble abode and you’re feeling a sudden sense of déjà vu wash over you, rendering you unsteady on your feet. Not quite sure why, you’re sweeping your eyes around the space: the high-quality camera equipment in one corner (not unusual to see for a film student), the chic furnishings, and then over to the empty wall space above the king-sized bed, something in you remained dissatisfied as they find nothing there but white plaster.

Choso notices that you’ve stalled behind and looks over at you curiously—he was taking a seat on the carpet, laptop opened up on top of the coffee table. “Something wrong? I’m sorry, I know it’s really messy but-”

“No, you’re good.” You shake your head, “It’s actually not messy enough.”

He smiles.

That night, you went home and wondered why Choso’s smile looked so familiar.

.

.

.

The musical that you’d chosen for your ‘adaptation’ was The Phantom of the Opera, suggested by you, of course.

And if there had been any connection to the masked man you’d been watching the night prior, then you were just glad that Choso had no idea.

It was far easier, given the fact that it’d already been adapted from the initial novel—though that only meant that Yaga would be critiquing yours even harder. 

So you had to strive to be more cinematic, than the others in your class, stronger in ways than the ones before you - and though you doubt you’d ever match up to Schumacher’s visuals, there was little doubt as to whether you’d be the best amongst the students. This was a screenplay made to impress, and in the week since you’d pored over it—and Choso Kamo’s mahogany coffee table typing away at it, you only grew more determined in the fact. And throughout the week, you’ve been flitting in and out of that very apartment of his.

Choso had been a lovely partner for the project - the best you could’ve ever asked for - and you’re coming to find that he was actually far more funny than anyone ever gave him credit for. Far more open. Far more active when it came to something he was passionate about.

And of course, you knew that he’d be sweet.

Despite his initial insistence that he could do the project himself, you’d taken up half the work. And you’d joined him in browsing through his massive catalogue of movies, in searching up screenplays to read, and in annotating them for techniques when starting to write yours.

You’ve come to make friends with one of the doormen by now. 

Just today you’d watched the 2004 Phantom of the Opera adaptation. And after a few hours of occupying his space and getting to know the nerdy boy a little better, you’d go straight back home to…Curse.

Whenever Choso made you feel tingly with his sweetness, Curse would amplify that heat to right between your legs. 

It’s been a week of getting to know Choso Kamo, and a week of having Curse splashed across your laptop screen—cock furiously hard n’ his moans echoing. He’d smile and utter your username whilst wearing his iconic mask and it’d be a high strong enough to follow into the day after. And often Choso would ask you what you’re so happy about.

Today, in particular, Curse had just finished one of his streams - cumming aaaaaall over the desk this time - when he’d settled himself back down and started chatting with the comments. Responding to one or two of yours.

You’re just about to joke about why he was sticking so long after his orgasm when he speaks once more- 

Voice somewhat serious, “Alright, now…settle down, settle down.” Curse waves his hand airily at the camera, throwing a middle finger up when the chat only gets more frenzied. “Tch- what brats you all are, would you wanna roleplay that someday?”

@vampzo333: YES PLEASE.

@likezmenpregnant: How about you be the brat…?

@Ietsmakeamovie: I would like that. 

@sixeyesorsixh0les: ^^

@0003h0lesforCurse: ^

“Fine fine…” Underneath the mask, he rolls his eyes fondly. “But I really do have something to announce-”

@likezmenpregnant: You’re pregnant.

@Ietsmakeamovie: I’m the father-

@Curse’swifey: NO MEEEEEEEEEEE!!

“I’m thinking of getting a partner for these streams.” He finally admits, rubbing his chin as though still in thought. And your heart stops-

@bipplruletheworld: so down.

@Cursenoticeme44: Omg yeeeeeeeeees!!

@daddytoeknee: YESYESYES.

The chat practically explodes, and you’re unsure what to feel about it—after all, you don’t know Curse and it’d be strange to feel a little possessive over his solo streams, however, you did have your preferences. But then again, you can’t help but imagine just how much hotter it would be to have two people- perhaps to see him make expressions he never has before…

Ultimately, you’re quiet as Curse leans in and scans the chat. His brows furrow just a little as he sweeps through the blurring usernames, “I dunno…I’m still thinking about it- I haven’t even asked this person, to be honest. I just wanted to know what you guys thought.” Nodding his head along or huffing out laughter at some of the comments, “Movie?”

You jolt—at being called out.

He wanted your opinion specifically? You suppose you did contribute to about half his comment section most streams.

But you stall as your fingers reach for the keyboard. 

Biting down on your lip and contemplating for a little while. Though he waits as patiently as ever-

@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t mind!!

Something seems to wash over him as he reads your comment, nodding. “I see.” 

He moves onto something else and his expression was indiscernible. 

You’re flickering your eyes to the artwork behind him, the small corner of it peaking into the frame, and it suddenly hits you that it’s the theatrical poster of The Phantom of the Opera (2004).

.

.

.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

It can’t be.

There’s something your brain was telling you that you’re absolutely refusing to believe—after all, how many people in the world loved The Phantom of the Opera? Hell, how many people in the world have watched The Phantom of the Opera?

That didn’t mean that everyone you came across had a secret identity as one of the hottest streamers on C4mBoyfriends.

You were being paranoid, you told yourself. You were being utterly silly- and the next time you’re going over to Choso’s apartment was the very next day. Which wasn’t entirely ideal, given how much you’d tossed and turned after Curse’s last stream conjuring up all the possibilities…but Yaga wouldn’t accept a request for an extension even if you were set on fire in front of him. And so you went.

The pit of your stomach twists as Choso swings the lavish wooden door open and gives you a beaming smile. So innocent. So sweet.

He shakily pushes his glasses up as he welcomes you in. “Come in—s-sorry if I took a while to get to the door, I’ve been doing some decorating recently.”

His nervous smile is what makes you find your voice. And you’re dubiously looking around the luxurious apartment, “You need to do some decorating?”

“Believe it or not, yes.” Choso huffs. “Would you like something to drink? Or maybe to eat? I checked out that bakery you recommended last time and you’re right- they have the best Danish pastries.”

“Actually, Choso…” You’re shaking your head, shooting him a grateful smile. “I’m good. I’d think I’d prefer to start right away, if that’s alright? I really wanna get to Act 2 today.”

“O-oh, of course—!”

And he’s sweetly guiding you inside, whilst you attempt not to look like you’re taking two steps at a time. Back to that familiar room. Back to that familiar desk. Back to that (somewhat) familiar bed which most certainly did not have an artwork from The Phantom of the Opera on it—

You open the door and the first thing you’re seeing is the familiar plane of that white mask. The Phantom. 

Choso follows behind you and catches you staring at the poster. Gravelly tone echoing from behind, “I told you I did some decorating.”

And you jump-

Swivelling around to find him bearing you a sheepish smile, “Sorry if I startled you.” He pushes those chunky glasses up, “Tea?”

“S-sure…” You breathe, if anything for a thing to occupy your mouth with. Wait- not like that—!

And as Choso disappears down the hall, you’re taking a seat on the bed you’ve sat on countless, countless times before without a single care in the world. Now you’re sinking into the very - the very - edge as though it’d swallow you whole.

Body just resting on the plush comforter before-

“Hey, so I also have coffee if you would prefer?” Comes Choso’s sudden voice.

And you’re startling once more- “Just tea is fine, thanks.” Barely managing to get that through your lips, you’re watching as he disappears…as the sound of his footsteps echo…

Before darting off the bed and now heading towards the camera equipment you’d noticed in the corner the first time you’d been here. What you’d assumed to be part of another one of his classes or personal projects. Now, you’re leaning in and wondering with just which camera he showed his pretty cock off to millions, at just what height of his tripod he made your cunt so heated. 

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck this was real.

Now, you’re noticing things in the room that you’d never noticed before. Like the ring light kept underneath his bed, and the dresser in the corner with numerous rings- those weren’t costume props or anything. They were pure silver.

Heavy.

Heavy, like the pit in your stomach—excited and swirling. Just trembling at the tips of your fingers - ever-so-slightly - you’re reaching out as though to touch it, as though to feel the alternate version of Choso that you knew longer than you knew Choso-

“Ah, so you’ve realized.”

And then his voice permeates the room.

The room that suddenly seems smaller, the room that suddenly seems to rise ten degrees in temperature - though goosebumps skitter across your skin. And almost as though in a horror movie, you’re turning in slow motion to face the bespectacled man who was now holding up a tray of steaming hot tea. 

He walks over soundlessly and sets it on the coffee table with a slight click! And besides that, Choso walks over to the dressing table and puts his silver rings on.

One by one.

His eyes hold court with yours through the mirror, “How long?” Voice a deep timbre. 

You’re taking a step closer without even realizing, “Um…just last night. Just now- actually.”

He chuckles and you realize he’s asking how long you’ve known about Curse.

“I-I found you by chance. About a week ago, actually…” And then you say what’s been on your mind ever since you had, “Ever since you liked and unliked my repost.”

“Ah, a rookie mistake.” Choso comments. “I should have known better than to stalk using my public account.” And with all rings now put on and glinting in the lighting of his bedroom, Choso shuffles through his jewellery tray to pluck his earrings in and one eyebrow piercing. And then…one lip piercing—a lip ring that twinkles mischievously as he smiles.

He rises and you think you’ve never quite appreciated his built frame. 

His deep eyes as they’re locking in on you. Echoing out, “Though…you really can’t say much- can you, Movie?”

And though you knew that he knew- you can’t stop the zaps of electricity running through your body. 

Sputtering out, “Yeah-” Your fists clench and you’re looking up at the object of both your fantasies and your secret interest these past few days - melded into one. “Yeah, I really can’t. Choso you’re so…”

“Different?” He fixes his glasses, “Though I really am shy, I can’t deny that- especially around you. But it helps to be a little more antisocial when I’m around idiots.”

He leans in closer- so close that his scorchin’ hot breath wafts across your features. You have no idea how you’d diminished such a distance so soon…

“And if my memory serves me right-” Choso taps on the edge of his chin, in mocking thought. “-I seem to remember that Movie agreed to have a partner on my stream.” You shiver. And he looks at you adoringly, “So how about it? Wanna make a movie, baby?”

You step a little closer. 

“Only if I get to match wardrobes.”

He chuckles and picks you up to spin you around-

And then it’s getting to work. And then it’s shuffling through his closet to find a mask that matches his own. 

He stretches on the rubber a bit and brings it to you—“I bought this one when I first started, but it ended up being too tight- I think it’d be just the one for you.”

It was. It fit perfectly.

And then he paces around the room and starts to set up- before Choso’s gaze catches you hovering around the bed, and then he’s clicking his tongue and forgoing the tripods altogether. With just the professional lights and the high-quality camera, Choso places the camera on top of the coffee table. Facing the foot of the bed - everything and anything could be seen.

Just with a few clicks he’s started the stream.

And with just a little nudge he’s urging you to sit next to him. 

“Hello, my little sluts—” Choso- or should you say Curse croons towards the camera. On one of his monitors you can see him being projected there - waving, in his knitted vest that clashed with his mask. You stand off awkwardly out of sight from the camera. He smiles. “As you can see, things are a little different today…”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: uuuuuu change of angle!! change of angle!!

@bewbsRlife: ARE WE GETTING A SURPRISEEEEEEE??

@likezmenpregnant: Pls be pregnant, Curse <3

“No- no, I’m not pregnant.” He laughs, “But I have been thinking about what we talked about last night.”

@bipplruletheworld: omg this can’t be…

“And guess what? I did what you guys told me about- and I talked to her.”

@bipplruletheworld: yessssssss

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE^^

@bewbsRlife: WOOOOOO-

@daddytoeknee: Omg where’s Movie, Ik she’d love this- heh. Imagine this WAS Movie though…

“So, my little sluts…” Choso announces, “I’d like to introduce you all to my new partner—” And he’s reaching out and clasping your wrist, looking up to check for reassurance before continuing. Miming whispering to the camera, “And this is her first time on stream, so be nice…”

You’re sheepishly walking into their view. 

Slightly bowing your intrusion into the stream, “Th-thanks for having me?”

“Isn’t she cuuuuute?” He asks the commenters, and there’s a flurry of agreements. You’re even spotting a few questions about your name n’ interests, even kinks, amongst those - all of which Choso waves off with a laugh. “Now now—we can have the Q&A later. For now, let’s get to the fun part…”

@Curse’swifey: FUCK THAT’S MY FAV PART-

@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Movie you’re missing out on a historic moment uwu

And the fun part consisted of clamoring onto the bed as fast as lightning. Letting the mattress dip n’ creak its protests out as Choso sits on it with his back turned to the camera, then lovingly pats his manspread thighs as a signal for you to climb on. Meaty muscles. Thick enough for you to want to sink your teeth into- how could you never have noticed?

Perhaps because this was the polar opposite of how he acted when he was on campus - always keeping to himself, never taking up too much space. Now he was practically vacuuming it all up so you had nowhere else to sit.

And you were more than happy to climb onto Choso Kamo’s lap.

Sitting your ass down on his readily-awaiting seat. From under your skirt you feel something hot—and throbbing between his legs. Cylindrically shaped and curved to the left.

Just the slightest movement makes his rock-hard erection twitch underneath- and you’re whimpering at the lewd sensation. At the way he drips out a hefty dollop of precum that seeps through his trousers and sticks to the front of your panties, making you gasp—“Ch-Cho-”

“Shhhh.” Choso wraps a hand ‘round your throat and cuts you off. 

And before you know it, he’s bouncing his knees to get you to slide your drippin’ pussy up and down his bulge. Up and down. Turning towards the camera, “Ya hear that?” Up and down. “My girl’s so needy- she’s already begging for it. But I dunno if she deserves it, huh?”

@bewbsRlife: I MEANNNN

@theh0rniestsoldier: i’m feeling mean today…

@daddytoeknee: Give her your mouth!!

“Mouth? I love that idea.” Choso titters.

And then he’s giving a teasing slap on the side of your ass cheeks—smack! 

“Please-”

“Sit on my face now, baby.” He purrs, eyes flickerin’ with pure need underneath his mask. Then leaning in to whisper in a loooow tone for only you to hear. “You know Choso, but let’s see if you can handle Curse.”

Then he leans back on the bed - his head pointing in the direction of the camera. 

And you’re shuffling up Choso’s toned, brick-hard body—straddling your knees upon either side of his head, veerin’ your hips right atop that pretty face. You’re sitting - right in front of the camera. Though nothing was revealed…yet. 

And Choso’s digging his tongue up to you instantly- he isn’t even making it past the fabric of your panties. But that doesn’t stop him from lettin’ his tastebuds take a looooong, luxurious lick of your swollen pussy.

Right down your sopping wet slit. 

Suddenly, the room echoes with one of his pornographic moans- the very same ones you’d listened to night after night through your laptop speakers. Now they’re even louder, and somehow even sexier, sending electricity shooting straight up, up, up from your core.

And even more treacherous was the way you’re feeling something cold…and metallic at the very middle of Choso’s tongue. Rock-hard. It takes whatever’s left of your rationality to realize that it’s a silvery tongue piercing smack-dab where his tastebuds kissed your pussy. Scraping alongside where you were most sensitive. 

Instantly; your head tips back and saliva starts bubbling at the sides of your lips. “Fuh-fuck…” And before you know it—you’re starting to drag your throbbing pussy up n’ down his features.

Short, barely-there jerks of your shy, shy hips.

And Choso chuckles huskily to himself at the cute way you were yearnin’ for his mouth. But what you didn’t expect was for him to reach one ringed hand up and squeeze the left side of your hips.

Your only warning.

Before he’s suddenly tightening his hold on you and reaching one more hand up- snaking it beneath your skirt like some pervert. Choso edges towards your throbbing cunt and places one good slap—

It’s the resounding smack! of skin-on-skin that makes you halt more than anything.

Jaw-dropped. Thighs quivering. The white-hot pleasure runs through your spine and leaves you barely hearing his roughened words, a tone lower than you knew his voice to be- as though drunk on the delicious taste of your pussy already. “Greedy, greedy girl…” Choso tuts, “Don’t tell me you’re trying to enjoy yourself without letting our dear audience in on the fun?”

Oh, shit.

You’re letting your head snap to where the camera was positioned and blinking its one gluttonous eye. Comments flooding the screen of the monitor so fast that you couldn’t read them-

You’d completely forgotten about the stream for a second. 

“I—oh, I um.” 

Yet another harsh smack! “Forgot, huh?” Amusement seeps into Choso’s words, as though he’d already guessed the situation.

You admit, “M-maybe…”

“I’m afraid I can’t blame you, baby.” Smack! “Curse’s mouth is too good, huh?” He yammers on and on, his tongue nudging deeper, his rippling tastebuds skidding into every ridge- as if trying to fuck you through your damn panties. “This pussy’s too good–she’s purring f’me already. Hear her?”

And you’re not sure why- but you’re nodding to whatever he says. “Y-yes—fuck.” 

“Mhm. So why don’t we let our lovely audience hear, too, huh?” You’re barely given the time to register his suggestion, before Choso husks out a command. “Lift your skirt up, baby.”

Your thighs squeeze around his head at the notion-

And your fingertips touch the short hemline of your skirt.

@Cursenoticeme44: Holy shit.

@theh0rniestsoldier: i’ve been waiting for thisssssssssss-

@daddytoeknee: WOW.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: bby’s so needy!!

@R€4leater: munch Curse #canon

The chat explodes as you let them bear witness to Choso’s face stuffed between your pretty legs- he’s redly-flushed and ravenous. They could see the slightest glimpse of his nose n’ the way he’s driving it between your sodden pussylips, diving and diving, they could see the glossy layers coating your cunt—and the way Choso’s pink lips come up to suck on it. 

Those handsome cheeks of his hollow out, as he’s makin’ out with your pussy through your panties.

Like a man starved.

Long canines slightly nippin’ at your folds- almost wolfish in mannerisms.

“Oh p-please…” You’re quivering atop him. You don’t even know what you’re begging for—just that it feels so good to have him veering his tongue hungrily against your cunt like this. And you wanted more.

More, more, and more.

Choso’s holding onto your restless hips with a clammy hand- he’s stuck to you almost like adhesive. And he guides your hips - he fucking slows them down - whilst you continue moanin’ and shaking atop his raw mouth. Glistening wet tongue extending even more than its usual length to slide-slide-sliiiiide your panties to the side-

And you’re gasping at the sudden whiff of cold bedroom air against your naked pussy. “Ch-” A spank. “I mean- fuck, Curse?”

“Mhm, m’here, baby.” He drawls out. Slightly slurring with all the extra globs of your pussy juices - pooling straight into your mouth, n’ Choso reaches up and smooches your soft swollen folds to smear it all around. Like some gloss. “M’here aaaaaand- so are 820k sluts that wanna watch you break.”

“B-break?” You’re gaping, “I thought you were just gonna- ngh, eat me out…?”

“Baby, Curse never ‘just’ does anything.” And you’re shocked to find him sliding his tongue out, tipping his head back to refer to the camera on the coffee table. “Isn’t that right, fuckin’ pervs?”

@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah.

@0003h0lesforCurse: duhhhhhhhhh

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU’RE THE BEST CURSE

@Fishygurodad: Fuck, her pussy’s divine.

“Heh…” Choso smiles into your cunt, “And so whaddaya say? How many slaps before I stick my tongue in her?”

@vampzo333: 3

@bbynohuuuuzz: 14

@Ilikepr1menumbers: 29

“Since m’feeling nice- read your favorite one out, baby.” He murmurs.

To which you’re unable to do anything but- you tilt your upper half just the slightest bit closer to the monitor and pick out the first one you can read through the blur of words and numbers:

@Fishygurodad: Until she cries.

Oh.

Your blood runs cold.

Your cunt grows heated.

And before you can either rectify your recitation or beg for mercy—Choso doesn’t hesitate before fixing the rings on his fingers to be slightly higher than before. Making sure they’re in line of him planting one- two- three good, loud spanks on your sobbin’ cunt. “O-oh my god- fuck, mmm, oh my god.”

Until the skin of his fingertips seems to redden, and your pussylips feel raw - “How about that?” He asks- not from you, but from the viewers.

@daddytoeknee: I don’t see her crying yet…also idkkkkk I’m getting Movie vibes.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: movie would’ve loved this-

And then it’s one after the other. Again and again, Choso’s emblazoning the rude outlines of his rings against yours - until you’ve fucking memorized the ridges n’ patterns of the one ring on his middle finger with the carving of an octopus. 

Tentacles flared out.

“Shit, not that damn ring again.”

And as he’s doing so he can’t help himself- fuck, he can’t heeeeelp himself. His canines dig into the sticky fabric of your underwear like a damn dog - and throughout the duration of what his hands were doing, you’re hearing the sharp riiiiip of fabric tearing—!

Soon enough, your panties are tattered and ruined in Choso’s maw- just from his mouth. He spits it out and continues swerving his thickened tips inwards to give a loving pinch on your clit—and you can’t help but burst into peals of shrill, needy cries. Both pain and pleasure mixing as he doles out a final swat-

Before Choso swipes your pussylips apart and spits- the glutinous glob of his saliva landing directly on your hole. He doesn’t give it the time to seep back out—instead, he’s surging up and shoving his face between your legs.

This time, without the barrier of your panties in the way. 

@CCpervnextdoor: HE FUCKING RIPPED IT OFF WITH HIS MOUTH??

@bewbsRlife: HOLY SHIT CURSE-

@Fishygurodad: Shiiiiit, I’d do the same ngl.

And then Choso’s shoving his tongue inside and slurpin’ all around your wet hole like a damn animal…

In and out.

In and out.

Probin’ into slippery sweet spots.

Chin hitting the back of your slit. Plastic mask rubbing against your clit. 

Choso’s pierced tongue was going absolutely fucking wild inside of you. He wastes no time before gripping either side of your cute hips and slammin’ your pussy down onto his mouth- hard and fast. The perverted nerd is slashing his tongue inwards, smearin’ apart your glue-covered folds. As deep as he could go. He doesn’t care if it hurts, he just needs to make sure that loooong slick muscle of his tastebuds were scrapin’ every inch of your walls.

With the curved tip of it, he flexes it against a sweet bundle of nerves. Making you buck with a pitchy moan of his name—“Ch-Cuuuurse—!” And the sensation was made even more delicious with the way his orb tongue piercing presses in contrast against your hot cunt. “It feels so good, Curse.”

“I already know.” Choso pipes up- cocky in all the ways you never knew he could be. “I already know- but what about those fuckers watching, huh?”

“W-well…” Spit drivels down your chin, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes focused to read the urgent chat. 

@bipplruletheworld: they’re so HOT!!

@NERDSAREMYBABYGIRLZ: OHHHH WHAT A MUNCH

@daddytoeknee: Me next <3

And it was clear that they were seeing the effect he had on you- how could they not?

Your eyes were dazed and teary, your thighs were shaking like leaves in the wind, Choso was making your body twitch—just from the way he’s reeling his entire tongue out. And breathing out steadily and slowly against your twitchin’ pussylips, freezing cold air that leaves you even wetter on top of him.

He’s unfastening his mouth - leaving it wiiiiide open for all the satiny ribbons of your slick to enter his gullet. And once you’re done- that isn’t enough riling you up.

Choso leaves a good slap on your folds and asks, “So…what about it?” Muffled through his mouthfuls.

“They agree- they agree—” You’re keening out. Star-struck, seeing pleasure burst behind your shuttered eyelids at the sudden stinging. “Fuck- you’re the hck! best I’ve ever had, Curse.”

“I agree.” He hums. And as if this entire ordeal wasn’t sinful enough, Choso’s swashing around the silky-smooth sap he’d collected from your leaking pussy. Letting the flavor seep into his tastebuds, before he’s then spitting again on your pussy. A semi-opaque layer of lewdness that coats your inner thighs in a sheen that catches the lighting. 

Perfect on camera.

You’re squeezing your wettened thighs together and creating an audible squelch!

“Awwww, look- this pussy agrees, too.”

The gooey addition startles you- and you rut.

Only straight down onto his awaiting fingers.

@girrrrrrrrrrth: oh, shit is he…

@legsopenforcurses: With the rings on, too!!

@likezmenpregnant: My show is onnnnn

It’s such a fucking mess for him to navigate- even with his own fingers. Soon enough, you’re arching your back as you feel him intrude a single ringed digit between those utterly swollen pussylips of yours—almost difficult to find your snug hole between them. You’re damn lucky that Choso’s fingers were slender as well as incredibly lengthy.

Because he’s circlin’ your tight orifice a few times - only a few times - before inserting the sections of his finger. Quirking just right and hitting the exact bundle of your nerves.

That infamous g-spot that made you yelp once he starts and keeps on hitting.

And his rings- oh, fuck, his rings.

Just so chunky and textured. They were the perfect designs to press up against your walls and massage them stupid- every drag meant that you’re feeling them dig into ridges n’ crevices you hadn’t even known existed. 

Hitting and hitting. Curling his dexterous finger and scraping- “Fuuuuck, oh my god.” The doughy tip of his finger soon becomes damn-near molded to the area where it was, and your eyes flicker to the back of your head as you continue anglin’ your hips so he could hit it perfectly. “Right there, Curse- r-right there.”

“I know.” Choso rolls his eyes - at least what seems like it underneath his mask. “That’s why I’m hitting it. Honestly…is my girl dickmatized?” He utters as he sucks on your clit—ultimately erupting a sobbing slurp! that makes him nod. “Mhm, I think my girl’s dickmatized.”

Tipping his head back before you can refute his claims. He then addresses the audience-

“Whaddaya think, my little pervs? Dickmatized already…maybe I should go easy on her, huh?”

@olderandR4w: nooooooooooo

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: NEVER.

@Fishygurodad: Go even harder.

“Tough crowd.” And with that said, Choso’s stuffin’ in just a few more fingers. Each with their own numerous rings and sopping wet sounds accompanying them—slurp!

One. 

Two.

You’re counting about three of his prolonged digits pushin’ your tight walls to their limits, rubbing your sweet spots raw with his constant bashing rhythm, before lustful fogginess coils around your brain. And it’s around here that Choso catches onto the glazed look in your eyes and chuckles—

“Ohhhh, you really are dickmatized.” He hums to himself, though you’re sure the professional mic picks it up either way. “And so soon, too. Probably hasn’t had a good finger-”

A fourth being added so that he can scissor apart your velvety channel whilst still multi-tasking with his other fingers to ram into your g-spot.

“-or even a good mouth on ‘er…” To emphasize his point, he presses a dramatically loud kiss upon your clit. One that’s making you bounce n’ bounce your hips atop his clammy face, and grind your throbbing nub down on his pointed nose. The addition of his mask just makes that cool touch even more lecherous. “My poor girl.” Choso still mutters out despite the way he’s gluing your cunt to his mouth. He pulls away from your clit with a loud pop! “What do you think, my slutty audience?”

At the slurring question you’re letting your head down to watch him. “Ch…Curse, what’ve you got on your mind-”

“M’just asking what else you deserve, baby.” He coos. And questions them once more, “How about a little quiz? Which parts of Curse are going to make my poor, poor girl feel the best? A). My fingers. B). My mouth. Or…”

And he pretends to listen to your noisy wet pussy once more.

“Or C…”  You could practically feel the grin plastering against your needy pussy. The way his eyes narrow in sinful amusement beneath his mask- you didn’t have to see his full face to know that Choso was enjoying this perhaps way more than he should. “—all of the above.”

And it was futile to think that they would answer anything else.

C floods your vision.

You’re letting your mouth droop, and your gaze meet Choso’s own between your legs- but you’re finding that you don’t have to say a thing for him to already know the answer.

And as expected, he gives a final roll of his tongue atop your clit - before munchin’ on your aching cunt once more. This time, he’s tunneling his fingers deep into your cavern whilst still licking inside with his prolonged tongue—when stretched out, Choso’s tongue could reach almost as deep as his fingers could.

Your cunt was being stretched-out to lengths you never thought about before.

Not only were Choso’s fingers thicker than yours, but his tongue was something ravenous- no matter how much you’re flinching in sensitivity, he isn’t slowing down. “Mmm-” He groans, barely breathing through even his flared nostrils. You’re hit with the distinct feeling that he thinks he doesn’t even have to breathe as long as he had you on him like this - “Mmm, hold still.”

Taking advantage of the fact to lavish your sensitive inches with kiss upon kiss. To grind his nose down purposefully on your clit. To glide his metallic piercing across those hidden spots. To bash your poor g-spot in again and agaaaain with his fingers before his tongue’s coming to the rescue to soothe the slightly raw sting-

So it’s not long before you’re throwing your head back and cumming.

Perhaps the strongest you’ve ever felt when you’re in the throes of your high.

You barter your hips forwards and keep up a steady pace - one that’s making Choso hit the exact spots you wanted him to during the peaks of your high. The utmost peaks. “Shit—shit, just like that.” Breathless. “K-keep going, baby, it feels so good.”

And he doesn’t even answer - too caught up in fucking you through your orgasm.

In the way you shudder above him. In the way you’re only getting even sweeter by the second-

Bodyheat raising a few degrees in temperature; your heart sings and the bed creaks with how much you’re jostling from above. This was even better than touching yourself to videos of him, there were so many thrills of bliss that he’s wringing out of you- like he’d wring out of himself during his solo videos. 

With both his fingers and his tongue, slurpin’ and sliding. Those doe-like eyes of his are edging straight to the back of his skull as he feels your drenched walls cleeeeench around his pierced tongue, as though it’s the best thing he’s ever fucking felt. And you’re acting on impulse - you really are - because the coffee table was positioned right beside the foot of the bed.

And all you had to do was reach your arm out to grab the simple camera there. Turning it into your point of view as Choso’s sweaty brown bangs stick to his forehead, as sweat trickles down his temple, as he lets out soft yet unyielding moans whenever you’re squeezing your thighs around his head.

@cockycockowner: no homo but that’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.

@theh0rniestsoldier: woah he’s PUSSYDRUNK

@Fishygurodad: Show me his POV.

@daddytoeknee: Don’t you know that she’s his girl now smh?^^

@daddytoeknee: Movie-core- wya ml??

Choso cocks his head and keeps making out with your pussy in all the ways that make your toes curl—pleasure elongating from your orgasm and spreading into every part of you. Your vessels, your cells, your atoms.

They’re all buzzing with pleasure and still aching for more once Choso finally pulls away with a loud pop! of his lips releasing. 

When they do, you’re sneaking a look down at him and noticing just how red n’ swollen they were. Even the skin around his jaw was flushed with the constant ramming contact. And the viewers are just gobbling it up - subscribing bells keep dinging here and there, and everywhere. 

Just a single look at his stats on-screen reveal that Choso’s climbed up to 870k just since you’d started this stream.

And it’s after a little while - after he’s had his fill - that the dark-haired man finally taps at the side of your thigh to gesture for you to get up. Though, even then, he’s tightening his grip on your body—going against his own fucking instruction to press a final few open-mouthed kisses before he’s done.

He chases after your pussy with his maw for a little- before he’s finally sitting up.

And it’s only then that he seems to notice the camera in your hand, blinking his glazed eyes a few times to make sure he isn’t dreaming things up. Once it finally registers, the most attractive grin spreads across his face. “You changed POVs?”

“Had to.” You admit, “I wanted them to see how pretty you are…”

“Guess you finally learned about sharing, hm? Greedy girl.” He chuckles darkly to himself. And then he starts looming closer, “But you realize that the show’s not done yet, right?”

You gulp.

@Fishygurodad: Fuck her already, damn!! I’m only here for her.

@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Hate to admit it, but he’s lowk right. I think I’ve discovered I’m bi…

@vampzo333: ^^

@girrrrrrrrrrth: ^^

“So impatient.” He looks at the monitor, reading the chat and tuts. “Honestly- so ungrateful. I should end the stream right here and fuck her on my own terms.”

There’s a frenzied flurry of comments- all of which you were sure were begging for Choso not to stop and bashing that one commenter for attempting to start a revolution. To which you’re only giggling and handing over the camera to him.

Choso - as the expert - then positions it somewhere by the edge of the fluffy pillows: where they’d be able to see the expanse of both your bodies and where you’d soon be connected…

And then you’re shedding your clothes in a hurry- making it to your smart blouse before he’s reaching a hand up and tearing through it. The buttons hit the floor, and at your noise of displeasure Choso merely lets out a half-delirious giggle. 

He leans in and whispers, “I-I have a Phantom of the Opera t-shirt I’d love for you to wear.”

The change in demeanour gives you utter whiplash, and you can’t help but stare at him open-mouthed.

“What?” Choso asks, next moving on to shrugging off his own fabrics. They’re landing on a heap beside the bed, and your lips slightly part at the display of his red-hot erection—it’s just as large and sensual as all those streams had proven him to be. Polished strawberry top. Slender veins along the middle. 

A happy trail of dark brown - nearly black - glistened with the splattered remnant of his precum. Just like the gleaming mess across his chin, mouth, and cheekbones that Choso wore like a medal.

He was slightly longer than even on camera- and even prettier up-close. Way up close- he shuffles his body up yours n’ fucks your tits a few times to dollop out glistening translucent precum across yours tits.

“Lighting’s not the best here.” Choso explains- or at least attempts to pin an explanation onto that. Onto something he’s clearly been wanting to do for so long. “Had to highlight ‘em, baby.”

You scoff, “It’s just…” Throwing a cautious glance at the camera, you lower your voice. “You’re so different from how you are in real life.”

“Oh? And how did you expect me to be, huh?” He positions himself between your legs - wrapping both of them around his waist. Before then thinking better of it and throwing them even more lewdly around his neck instead—his plush priggish tip kisses your entrance. “Did you expect me to be like…”

He trails off.

He doesn’t need to complete the rest of his sentence- and you don’t think you’d have heard him even if he tried.

Because in that very moment, Choso’s jerking his pale hips back a mere few inches—then plopping his globular tip between your pussylips and push-push-puuuuuushing. Fucking past the initial restraint of your first ring of muscle, he’s funneling in some thick inches that make your heels bang against the muscles of his back.

And he doesn’t even seem to notice.

He doesn’t even seem to breathe as he’s letting his cock swerve inside. Get suctioned inside. Get his Prince Albert’s piercing crept down your sensitive innards. Get gobbled up between your greedy legs-

You clench ‘round him and Choso throws his head back with a low, broken moan.

“Oh p-please—” He’s babbling out through unsteady pink lips, a lazy line of dribble starting up from one corner of his mouth. Those long lashes of his flutter as he’s reaching one bulky hand up to grip the headboard, and placing his right one on your hips- keeping you steady.

Fingers trembling. Muscles rippling.

@likezmenpregnant: Woah…make him do that again…

@sixeyesorsixh0les: SUBBY CURSE HELLO??

@whimperwhiteboywhimper: oh I am SO here for this

@Fishygurodad: Whatever…

Your eyes bulge once his throat cracks with what sounds like a whimper—“Please it feels so good.” And though you couldn’t quite make it out, even the chat seemed stunned as Choso punctures out a broken stutter of his hips. Delving a few inches into your goopy insides- though not enough to bottom out completely, as you’re still too wound-up for him to fit completely. And you’re able to pinpoint exactly where he’s using the orbed metal of his first piering. With more to come…“Ngh- oh.” Broken noises emanating into your eardrums and the mic. “It f-feels shooooo good, baby.”

Choso’s head drops into the crook of your neck, and there - and there - you’re feeling his cheeky grin.

And suddenly you’re understanding.

Oh—he was toying with you.

And he was doing it in a way that’d completely fooled you- and perhaps all of his viewers, too.

But before you’re able to open your mouth to bite back something at him, Choso staggers his hips back and gives you a vicious jackhammer with his cock, “O-ohhhhh, my god—” Your toes curl atop his shoulders, slippery with sweat. He hadn’t even rammed all the way inside yet, and yet the slightly left-leaning angle of his shaft was driving you wild.

Big and thick.

Running the slick globe of his tip down your walls, Choso probes a direct hit to that spot you loved so much. And he knew you loved it so much—he’d mapped out your entire pussy earlier, of course.

And yet, he’s still gasping as though the pearls gates of heaven had descended right here and there. He’s letting his sweet caramel eyes widen convincingly as he peers down at you, “I-is that…the spot, baby?”

@Curse’swifey: HE sounds SO NGH.

@daddytoeknee: Daddy likey…

@daddytoeknee: Also Movie would’ve really LOVED this, huh?

You hiss, “Curse, you should already know-”

“But how could I know—?” He exclaims. “This is my first time, after all…” Then Choso’s plastering his clammy tattooed hips - with a snake on the side - to yours, as though the two were connected by the force of the world’s strongest magnets: pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing. Every single battering ram of his mazing cocktip ends up lodged against your sweetly bruised g-spot, marking his circumference out with the sheer pace at which he was hitting it. 

“Shit—” Your nails clench on the sheets, and feeling jealous- Choso guides them to fist his hair instead. “Shit, right there. It f-feels so good-”

“There?” The once-nerdy man breathes out in awe. Disbelief every single time - or at least the mocking imitation of one. Swipin’ a line of precum down your nervy spot once more, “Th-there, baby—?”

Something breathy- octaves higher in his tone. “Yes- yes there-”

“There-” Choked up and ruined. Husky grunts hatching in the back of his throat. There was something there in his words that you couldn’t quite pinpoint—a sort of undertone of primal need, primal amusement as he ruined your pussy with his speedily pap-papping hips, but acted as though he had no idea what he was doing. Every single syllable uttered was met with a thorough whack of his curved cockhead against your particular spot- “There there there there- there-”

“Fuh-fuuuck-”

“So this g-spot’s really m-mine now, baby?” Choso asks. 

You whine, back arching off the mattress. “Yes-”

“Does she really have my mark on it now?”

“Yes…?” Eyes shooting open as you’re half-registering his question in your hazed brain. He bores his dark eyes down at you intensely. And as though to emphasize his point, you’re feeling his perfectly round tip squeezing into your throat by the next few thrusts. Deeper and deeper.

His Jacob’s Ladder starting to ease its frigid way past your entrance and glide across the roof of your cunt. It was a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

Choso probes even more, “I-is she really shaped to the shape of my cock now?” 

“Cho—ngh.” Quickly shutting your cockdrunken self up. Quickly reaching a ringed hand up to squeeze your throat- before he’s languidly snaking his way up to squeezing your pretty cheeks together.

Smushing your face in a way that was almost disrespectful- though, not that you were in any state of mind to call him out on it. And there’s a mean inkling in Choso’s tone as he coos, “Awww, b-baby, why aren’t you answering me?” Another rude slap! of his hips make your own sear in flames- that damn strength of his. Those damn piercings of his. “Is your poor, poor Curse not good enough?” 

Before you can answer, he’s looking at the blinking camera. 

“My babies, my girl doesn’t love my cock anymore…”

“I do—I do-” 

Squeezing his doughy-soft restraints - those contrastingly mean fingers of his - around your cheeks. He’s managing to smush your mouth shut and make you echo out the most pathetically pleading whines—as he fucks you. Determined and targeted.

The glossy rotund edge of his tip presses against your g-spot a few more times before you’re managing to make yourself take a peek at the comments on the monitor. 

Almost too far away- almost too blurry with the tears in your eyes. 

@Curse’snewestharem: Awwwww poor bby </33

@CCpervnextdoor: I would LOVE your cock, Curse!!

@girrrrrrrrrrth: is it just me or is he teasing us?

@Fishygurodad: ^^Yeah, he’s totally a fraud.

@Curseswombmommy: ^^girl shut up

“Th-they really think you’re oh-so-innocent…” You’re whispering up at him. Overstimulated tears in your eyes.

Breath hitching every time he’s surging his tattooed hips forwards and hitting that one spot particularly hard. Though there was never such a thing as too hard…

And Choso’s shooting you a secret smile - one just between the two of you - before morphing his expression into that of picture-perfect innocence. Roleplaying the demeanor of his nerdy self on campus, mixed with the utterly sultry—sexual way he was draaaaagging his lengthy cock in and out of your cunt.

Eventually, Choso’s emptying his inches out n’ bruising the bottom of your pussy. All of his nine - you seriously felt nine throbbing inches - inches shaping out the in-betweens of your legs. All of the beaded barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging inside- the slitherin’ feeling of them making themselves at home. Zig-zagging and slithering. 

He feels the sponginess of your cervix and presses a hand down on your abdomen just to make sure, before changing that excitement into one of almost-genuine bafflement- “I-I really bottomed out?” Choso’s pinkish bottom lip juts out and quivers dramatically.

“Of course, you did.” You’re ready to scoff-

But whatever sarcastic sound was in the back of your throat gets quickly dissolved at the sight of Choso with genuine tears in his eyes. Glistening. “But I never- ngh, never thought I’d be able to.” He puts some more merciless pressure on your stomach that makes you buck—

And the only thing you can do is let your head tip back into the pillows.

The only thing you can do is let out a few mottled moans as he rubs over the small tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushing his palm down so that he could feel it. 

Whispering out, “I-I never thought this pussy would claim my cock as- ngh, hers, hm?” And for the moment there, you’re completely sure that he isn’t talking to you. Rather, your pussy that was sobbing out squelches after every one of his jackhemmerin’ thrusts. “And it’s not too big, right?”

“N-never—”

“Because m’just a nerd with a- hngh, biiiiiig fuckin’ cock.” How pitiful, right? He’s letting his long, dark lashes flutter as Choso avoids meeting your eyes—as though in shyness. He drills his hips even deeper - one unforgettable strike after the other following every word he spoke. “Just a big- fat- fucking- cock-”

“Please—!” Eventually, your arms reach upwards and you’re grabbing ahold of whatever part of him it is you could reach first. Which just-so-happened to be his bulky deltoids.

Choso’s brows genuinely seem to furrow at the lewdness of you digging your nails into his muscles, leaving your marks for everyone and anyone to see even after this stream has ended. And so he continues in his faux-innocent tone, “Oh? Did that feel good, baby?”

Purposefully slidin’ his cock across your g-spot so that you’d have to cry out. “Y-yeeees—”

“I didn’t even know, baby.” His mouth hangs open, and the most lustrous squelches! echo between your two connected bodies. Your cunt n’ his precum were making such messes…“I had no idea…”

His Jacob’s Ladder leaves your channel feeling raw n’ overstimulated- you feel raw and overstimulated. 

And you’re laid-out on the bed dazed and feeling so fucking good as Choso’s picking his pace up even more, you notice for a split-second that his hands have moved. No longer was he holding onto your cheeks n’ watching you squirm—now, the nerdy man hooks both hands around your sweaty thighs and pins them close to his body.

Holding them in place as he leans down, down, dooooooown until the caps of your knees hit your tits. 

You’re keening at the stretch, and a searing burn spreads from between your pussy and along your hamstrings. How did he even hide such strength underneath those soft knitted vest? Such a body?

Before you know it, you’re being pressed into your first-ever mating press.

And Choso gapes as though he was just as bewildered as you, “O-oh…did I do that?” He’s fucking asking you—however, when your stunned expression bears no answer, he turns and asks the same question from the camera. The bursts of replies obviously agree n’ tease him. And he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly, “Did I really bend you in- heh-” A slight chuckle escapes him. “—half, baby?”

And what else can you do but nod and nod and nod—? 

“I think this is called a…breeding press?” He cocks his head ever-so-slightly, before shaking his head. “No wait- a mating press.”

“A m-mating press.” You’re repeating lamely.

“I c-can’t believe I’ve folded you into a mating press, baby.” Choso nearly snarls at himself, his hips accelerating until that rouge-tipped cock of his was almost nothing but a blur. “Can’t believe—s’like my body is moving before my mind, ngh. My fat cock’s not hittin’ you too deep, right, my girl?”

“Not in the l-least…”

And he really was long enough to make each and every probe feel as though it was slam-slam-slamming into your throat- the capped crown of his shaft was entering crevices n’ crannies you hadn’t even known you possessed. All marked out precisely by the silvery orb of his Prince Albert’s. 

Just then, after your answer, Choso reaches his left hand up to wrap ‘round your throat - and then hauls you back down to meet his slapping hips.

A thrust even harder than the ones before it.

Your breath gets snatched out of your lungs, dissipating into the heady air filled with the contact-riddled sounds of sex. Hard and fast. Only getting harder the longer you have your ankles looped ‘round his neck—“Not too hard, is it, baby?” Chosos asks you once more.

And you don’t have anything to spit out besides, “Oh f-fuck off.”

He gasps dramatically-

Well, not exactly dramatically. But in a way you knew was fake, and in a way that sends the chat exploding into comments.

The nerd pouts cutely, “Well, that’s not very nice…”

You’re rolling your eyes—right before Choso’s genuinely sending them rolling with his two fingers clamped around your clit. Using the silvery edges of his rings, he runs a few massages that end up with you sobbing and blabbering out your pleasure. 

@Curse’swifey: FUCKKKKKKKKKK they’re both so hot. THEY’RE BOTH SO RUINED.

@peepeesarebetterfictional: they both look like they’re gonna cum soon hehe

@bewbsRlife: CUM CUM CUM CUM CUM

Biting back. “I would argue th-that that’s not very nice, either.”

“But m’just trying to make my gorgeous girl cum…” And from where he’d been looming his pretty face above yours, Choso then lets his head droop down between your tits. During his ravenous pace, he’s roverin’ his mouth all over to kiss and suck at your tits, your nipples.

His cold lip ring drags across your left areola- and he catches onto the way you’re shivering. Before Choso then grabs your nipple between his lips n’ hollows his cheeks out sucking—“Promise m’just trying to make you feel- hah, good.” He mutters, slightly muffled. “Promise I just wanna fuck my cock raw if it means making my lifelong crush feel good…”

“Cho- Curse, are you…?” Your eyes widen.

And his own flap droopily a few times, “Hmmm?”

And that proved it.

That proved it.

Because Choso Kamo could be pretending to be a stuttering, panting, blushing mess on your heavenly cunt all he wanted- he could pretend to be pussydrunk out of his mind. But at the end of the day, it was impossible to hide when pretend turned into something…more. 

When the cocksure streamer that’d been driving you wild all this time morphs into the contentedly pussy-whipped nerd you expected him to be deep down inside.

His eyes genuinely glazed and blinking longingly.

His hair drenched in sweat.

His skin flushed with need- and only flushing even more fiercely the longer he kept his eyes on you. 

Without much ado, you’re throwing your hands around his neck and tuggin’ him as far as he could crane his neck when his entire body feels like collapsing onto you and into your maddening pussy. 

Choso pistons his hips slightly upwards to hear the slurp of his Jacob’s Ladder sliding across your walls, and he grooooans—

“Curse, baby…” You hum.

“Mhmmmm?” He replies with half-lidded eyes. Barely focused.

This was the big, bad #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends? As though sensing your thoughts, Choso’s fingers grow a little more frenzied on your clit. “I need you to cum inside, okay?”

He jolts at the idea- that sinful, sinful idea. Before chuckling, “Never had any other plan, baby.” And then he turns to the camera, “What do you think, fuckers? Think my girl deserves to cum?”

@Fishygurodad: Yes.

@Curse’swifey: YES.

@likezmenpregnant: Yesssss~

@girrrrrrrrrrth: yesyesyes.

@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah-

He’s holding out a little longer to make sure there wasn’t a single ‘no’ in there - and had there been one, you’re sure that Choso would have stopped and edged your incoming orgasm until it was a wave of complete agreement.

Luckily for you, they liked you.

And all he does now is press down harder on your g-spot from inside, lingering, and massage a pretty heart on your clit once more, lingering—before a final, thorough stroke is all it takes for you to hurtle into your second high of the night.

For you to arch your body into his chest, and shutter your eyes. “Ch-Cho…” 

Barely a whisper. He’s crashing his mouth into yours to make sure that secret between you two isn’t revealed. And you’re moaning deeply into Choso’s mouth as you cum—“Feels so- oh. It feels so…”

“Mhmmmm.”

Unable to even find the words.

The only thing you can do is riiiiiide out the massive wave of your high. It’s torrential; pure bliss floods your system from head-to-toe, and no matter how much you’re squirming your overstimulated hips, Choso only succeeds in batterin’ away his pierced cock into eeeevery single hidden sweet spot inside of you. The ones that prolonged your bliss and left spikes of euphoria leading up to your brain.

Your cunt clenched so tightly around his cock- almost as though you didn’t want him to even pull out. And Choso’s sweaty head drops once more into the crook of your neck as he cums with a shudder.

The knot between his brows deepening, the bedsheet around his knees bunching up as he surges his body upwards. Almost animalistically.

Choso bottoms out his furious, twitching cock and keeps it there- “Oh, fuck…” It didn’t sound like he was acting once his bawling red divot starts splatterin’ out more milky white wads. Deeep in the back of your pussy, right where your womb was, Choso puddles out his ecstasy in long ribbons. “Oh fuck fuck fuck—fuck. Always knew it’d feel this good.”

Wave upon wave.

Toes curling. Eyes scrunching shut.

If you thought his moans were sensual before, then you weren’t prepared for the ones your pussy was able to drag out of him - ragged and hollow utterances of your name. Over and over like a broken record, like a mantra.

He’s fucking into you to milk them out of his hefty balls- then fucking you again just to pump those webbed wads right back in. From the top of his rotund tip and dooooooown to the tufts of hairs at his base. All nine inches of him being used to stuff you till the brim—

You’re sure your insides look like an utter fuckin’ mess by the time he’s slowing his tattooed hips down ever-so-slightly—still shaking from the aftermath of his orgasm. This was far stronger than anything he’s ever experienced before. 

Drunkenly, you’re blinking your eyes up at him. “Always?”

He smiles, “Ever since our first lesson of Film 101.” Admitting, he lovingly wipes off a bit of his cum you were foaming between your pussylips. “You referenced Pride and Prejudice when talking about the best lines of dialogue of all time, and I-I’d been a goner since then.”

“Corny…” You snort. Though you can’t help the flutter of your heart.

“So um- coffee after this?”

“It better be dinner.”

He laughs in agreement. “Also I bought a vibrating piercing the other day and have been dying to try it…”

Your eyes widen.

And once you’re helping him pull out- Choso reaches for the camera and gets a good shot of the cum leaking between your legs. Before you’re both waving at it, “Thank you for joining us, today—this was the most fun I’ve had on stream yet- heh.”

You’re shooting the camera a pretty smile, too.

And Choso kisses the corner of your cheeks, “Until next time. This has been Curse and Movie.”

@girrrrrrrrrrth: holy fuck??

@Curse’swifey: WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT NO WAY-

@bewbsRlife: HOLD ON-

@CCpervnextdoor: SAY SIKE RN?

@bipplruletheworld: oh my god that’s amazing.

@likezmenpregnant: Oh, a love story for the ages~

@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU TWO LOOKING FOR A THIRD??

@Fishygurodad: Damn.

@Fishygurodad: Hmu when he messes up.

@daddytoeknee: Stfu he won’t.

@daddytoeknee: Also I totally called it <3

A/N. I did NOT plan to have me inserted and beefing with Toji Fushiguro but here we are-

“But the absence of a tsahìk-”

“Mawey- do slow down.” For not the first time since their trek started, Gojo is turning his head behind him. He might have been a firm leader, but he wasn’t unfair. He watches the Herwi hunters that extend from his feet to far beyond hills of ice and frost - some middle-aged and weathered by the snow already, some fresh-faced and cold with the eagerness to prove themselves. Following them were six-legged canines they called txeylan—powerful hinds pulling sleds piled high with hunt. “The younger ones are having trouble keeping up.”

Gaping, the elder looks between his leader and the younger members near the middle of their group. Flanked by older Na’vi. “But- but olo’eyktan-”

He’s looking up at the irritated sky, “I will see no further talking.”

Though there is an easy smile across his face, the elders know not to cross him. Senior in age—only age. 

They bowed their heads and looked away above all because he is their leader, but below that - deep, deeeeeep below what their prides would allow them to ever admit - because they knew he was stronger. The strongest.

The heir born of a blizzard, Satoru of the snow. 

It was said he opened his eyes during the coldest night of that year. Ice-blue. Bitter blue. Like the pools of crystallized water that the Herwi people would dance their celebrations upon - and that night they held the longest celebrations to date. Arms in arms and singing songs. And giving thanks and giving the young his first taste of snow. 

And though the position of olo’eyktan had an aspect of inheritance to it either way, it was undeniable that the world had just borne their future leader.

He’d grown up taller than other Na’vi his age. Stronger. Stormy flurries wherever he stepped, and a blizzard himself. 

There almost seemed to be a gap between him and everyone else.

Gojo had been sixteen when he was officially granted the mantle of ‘The Strongest’ by the clan. It was only about time, and only because of the elders’ reluctance that it’d taken this long.

And now it was impossible to say whether he was more loved or respected as a leader: the more boisterous of the younger Na’vi certainly loved him, the elders couldn’t stand him, the ones of mating age just couldn’t get enough of him. Though it was all for naught.

In all the twenty-eight years that he’d sifted through these snows - in all the ten years since he’d come of age - Gojo hadn’t so much as looked at another with a degree of infatuation.

Not for a lack of propositions- in fact, if you asked his attendants then they’d tell you that Gojo had a surplus of propositions. At least five Na’vi would stroll up the familiar pathway to his underground hut, calling out sing-song wishes to braid his hair, to walk amongst the ice glaciers together, to mend his fur clothes. 

Hopefuls. 

His attendants were ordered to send them all away with a gift from the olo’eyktan and a firm rejection (though, Gojo finds that that certainly didn’t deter them…)

They just didn’t seem to understand why such a suitable young Na’vi seemed to be waiting…watching…for something even he himself didn’t seem to understand. Always turning his blue eyes to the skies, ever since he was a child, always, always-

Gojo stops in his tracks.

One of his arms raises to halt the procession behind him. 

The Na’vi hunters freeze.

The Na’vi hunters let their tails swish.

The txeylan sniff the air.

Gojo’s long pointed ears twitch in every direction before resting in a single direction up ahead - where the belly of the snow seemed to swell with something. Something that the recent snowstorm had swallowed.

“Olo’eyktan…” One of the younger Herwi behind him whispers. “What is it?”

“Mawey. It might be a dead snow beast.” He hisses, though he knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t uncommon for even the creatures of these terrains to be bested by nature. But something about the figure in the snow was…different from the hounding things they hunted. Much more delicate, much more scrunched in on itself.

Gojo keeps his hand held high in the air and passes on his hunt to the nearby clansmen. Still holding onto his bow and arrows, he edges closer. “Ì’awn- the clan stays here while I investigate.” Leaving no room for a word edgewise.

The wind whips his long hair and kuru as the Na’vi steps closer. And some maddened part of him almost feels that it was as though Eywa, their goddess, herself was trying to get him to stay away.

But an even madder part of him wanted to get closer—needed to get closer.

He was being drawn in.

Making not even a single noise with his padded feet, he’s crouching down before the unmoving figure and using his long skeletal fingers to wipe away those dredges of snow. 

Away from a face—

He gasps.

The rest of the Herwi startles behind him, “What is it- what is it, olo’eyktan?”

“Is it a snow beast? Must we commence the rituals-”

“Cease! Are those fingers it has-”

“Five?”

But Gojo doesn’t answer their queries, instead he’s silently pressing his ear to the swell of the body’s chest and—ba-dump!

Listening to that faint heartbeat.

He’s not sure how this little human was still alive, and he pulls back to look at them- the first he’s ever seen. Gojo has already heard the whispers from other Na’vi clans, of these aliens named mankind whom had settled upon Pandora a few years ago.

He’s heard about humanity’s wits, their machinery, their greed.

He’s heard of the way they’ve hurt his people.

But he’s never seen one up so…close. Were they all this small? How could something so small be so destructive?

Gojo tilts his head down at you and runs one of his cold indexes down the side of your masked face, did they all look so hurt by the cold? He can’t imagine that it didn’t hurt- after all, the only reason that the Herwi had managed to reside in these mountains for hundreds of years was because of its harsh environment. Not human nor animal nor Na’vi wanted to be here—but Gojo always loved this place, as did his people.

He wondered whether it was such passionate love or hate that drew the little human in his arms to climb such peaks. To come this far. 

He can’t help but lean down and scoop the human up into his arms.

“O-olo’eyktan what is the meaning of this-”

“Fnu- shhhh.” Gojo responds in his native language, “She’s resting.”

The olo’eyktan carries the human all the way back the treacherous path to his clan huts.

And every time he looked down, he could see the way that smaller body fell and rose with each faint breath. He could see the flying of human-made coats that did nothing to fight off the cold of Pandora. He could see the pen and notebook stuffed inside it as if they were the most precious treasure of all.

He can see you.

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Day #1 in the Herwi village: 

Woke up in what seems to be the healer’s hut, a wide insulated space that is more or less steeped into the underground with a berth of the entrance AS (above snow). Capped dome on top. Walls are composed of wooden planks on the interior flanked by compact ice from the outside, decorated in the thick furs of what appears to be snow beasts. Long book shelves. Kindling lantern of something bioluminescent and emitting heat. Shockingly warm inside. Vents are present but small to prevent an excess of thin air. Separate storage spaces and areas for examination, implications of advanced surgery and medical procedures taking place far beyond what we humans can understand.

Though Herwi healing techniques seem to be similar to that of other Na’vi clans (particularly the Omaticaya) in terms of relation to Eywa and natural resources, it must be noted that Herwi healing makes prominent use of ice for anti-inflammatory and vessel constricting methods.

Sparse presence of herbs and more emphasis on pressure points (for a copy of the Herwi circulatory system diagram see Page 8…), though the olo’eyktan reassures that there are a multitude of flora endemic to the Pandoran heights. 

The olo’eyktan seems particularly eager to give a tour?

With your eyes blinking open…you think you’ve died and gone onto whatever there was afterwards.

It would’ve been just like you to meet your demise during the pursuit of your research- the higher-ups at your laboratory predicted the same thing. The last thing you remember before blacking out was feeling faint - weeks of hiking up this arduous peak and you’d run out of your provisions a few days ago, surviving on only melted ice to fill your belly. At least, until the sudden threat of a snowslide had resulted in you abandoning your tent and bags behind for escape.

From then on it had only been: you, your pen, your notebook with your research, your translator, and your burning passion to find the Herwi.

It was no surprise that you didn’t last long.

But you suppose you just didn’t expect the ‘afterwards’ to be a blue, blue summer sky. 

Oh—how you missed the cloud-frothed ocean of blue down on Earth. It was never quite the same on Pandora, and you’re just beginning to wonder whether heaven was really home-

“Yawne, txen?”

Before your muddled mind realizes that this really wasn’t your sky after all.

What you were looking up into were the eyes of a Na’vi warrior.

He’s leaning his overlarge body above yours, and you’re pressing yourself flatly against a mattress—one that was made of copious amounts of furs and the softest spun wool to make you feel as though you were floating up on the clouds.

But the farther you’re getting, the more he dwarfs you with his curious peering.

Closer.

And the only thing you can do is look up into his handsome blue face- the lightest of blues you’ve ever seen. 

Now, you have to start this off by saying that every single Na’vi you’ve seen was beautiful—every single one of them. 

But you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone like him before: long white hair, blue eyes almost like a Metkayina, and glowing spots scattered like snowflakes across his cheeks. Heavy eyelids. Taller than your average Omaticaya. Perhaps a bit bulkier, as well.

If you tilted your head just past his looming figure then you could take in the tufted fur clothing he wore, slightly more coverage than of Na’vi from the more tropical areas; with patterns of rosettes peaking out wherever his skin was exposed and dotted like a fainter version of a snow leopard’s. From your own planet.

But you were not on your own planet.

Far from it.

You’re realizing with a jolt that he was one of the Herwi clan-

“Are you…” And though you’d dreamed and wished and hoped for this day for so long—right now you find yourself absolutely speechless. “Are you- fuck.”

To which he only beams- “Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey.” His pearly white teeth are on full display, one little dimple crinkling at the edge of his smile. He just looks so handsome like this that you almost lose your breath- no. It must be the hypothermia that’s getting to you. It must be. And if you didn’t know any better then you’d have said that he almost sounds utterly relieved—“Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung?”

“I ah…” Mouth dropping open. Shit—your translator!

Before he can say anything more, you’re digging in your coats- or at least attempting to. It doesn’t take long for you to shuffle behind the thick blankets and realize that you weren’t wearing those humanly thin layers you did when climbing up the mountain. Well-fitted for the Earth’s cold, but not for the harsh ever-winters of Pandora.

Instead you were wearing…a thick woolen coat?

Much too large on you- almost comically so. It had sleeves that reached a few feet past your fingertips, draped down to your toes, and enough space that you could hide at least five of you inside it. 

No translator.

No pen. No notebook-

He sees this smaller figure fluttering about worriedly and tilts his head curiously, “‘Upe lu nga fwew?” Before handing you your notebook and pen from a table behind him.

“Pardon? Ah- thank you so much—!” You beam at him, and he beams back. But looking into his blue eyes once more, you feel a sudden sense of helplessness wash over you. “But I’m sorry, I still can’t understand you.”

At this the Na’vi furrows his pale brows - you’re not quite sure whether he knew what you were saying, but he seemed to have picked up on your emotions. Nudging his large face against yours with a purring sound, “Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga.”

And a part of you somewhat melts- “I said I really can’t- hahah.” You half-heartedly try to push his incessant face away with a laugh, taking particular delight in noting how happily his tail was swishing. Fluffier with more fur than you’ve observed on other types of Na’vi, also covered in pretty rosettes that swayed to and fro.

It’s right now that you wished you had the patience to stay behind and immerse yourself more in the Na’vi language lessons your laboratory had provided. Most scientists didn’t even go out into the field until they were experts - but you were too antsy, too greedy to know. Something seemed to have called you here whether it cost you your life.

Given you’d picked up on some phrases here and there, but it seems that the Herwi had a different accent from the clips played in those listening tests. Slightly softer, slightly more of a whisper.

Like the breath of winter, his words cooled your mask and heated up something entirely different inside of you. “Oe pey ngim krr.”

Before you know it, the Na’vi clasps both your hands in his—and you’re startled by just how large they are, just how cold. You’re analyzing the way his pale fingers hold your own as if it was all that was tender in the world.

Intertwining.

“Ngim krr.” He looks at you with those azure eyes seriously, opening up the palm of your right hand and touching his to yours. Palm against palm. Breath against breath. “Nìt'iluke.” 

You get the feeling that you were missing something very important- “I’m sorry I really wish…I’m so sorry to ask any more of you- I really am. But have you happened to see my translator anywhere?”

“Tìnga’prrnen?” He cocks his head in confusion, trying to mouth the word.

“Erm- yes?” Hoping that he understood you, “My translator—” You emphasize the syllables- “It’s a little device to understand you-”

You’re gesturing between the two of you- and you swear you see the light blue Na’vi pale. “Tìnga’prrnen? Oe?”

“Yes?” You knew that ‘oe’ referred to oneself.

He balks- maybe you were getting through to him? “Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen-”

“Skxawng.”

Before he’s suddenly cut off by a hard smack to the back of his head- and you’re looking up just in time to see another Herwi Na’vi enter the hut. The dimorphism between this particular strand of Na’vi wasn’t anything too prominent, you find - both were tall, both were pale, both had long tails and rosettes scattered across their agile bodies.

The only real difference was that the one at your bedside was more rugged, with even more pure-white beads woven into his hair. Though that you could chalk up to their separate duties within the clan.

She walked inside as though she owned the place, throwing her long loose hair behind her shoulder. She doesn’t even flinch as she shuts the other man up—as she brings out a black earpiece from behind her and hands it to you. “I believe this is yours. It was dropped in the rush outside.”

“O-oh!” You’re surprised to find that it was none other than your translating device. Taking it gratefully, “Thank you so so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

At your baffled expression - as far as you knew, the Herwi were the last remaining uncontacted clan of Na’vi, with no knowledge of humankind nor their many languages. “I learned your language from my books-” Gesturing around her - you were right to assume that this was her hut, filled to the brim with ointments and books. Mostly of Na’vi origin, but you could spy a few in English and Japanese. “-sent by friends in the Omaticaya. I find your human stories are…quite amusing.”

“I see.” You breathe.

She gestures at herself, “Ieri Shoko of the heart.” Then at the male Na’vi member, “Gojo Satoru of the snow. I apologize for him, he is our olo’eyktan- also the one that found you.”

“So you’re my saviour.” You’re looking towards him- Gojo once more. He catches your eyes and looks away with a pale blue hue dusting his face. “Irayo nga.” Giving your thanks (one of the few phrases you could speak with complete confidence). 

You’re looking towards him- He shudders, “Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen.”

As soon as he’s saying it, Shoko smacks her hand on her forehead- and you wonder what exactly he means. 

So without further ado, you’re fixing the earpiece onto yourself.

“Idiot.” Shoko’s turning back to Gojo, “You know that’s not what she meant?”

Gojo crosses his arms and huffs- “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if it’s for her-”

“Not even Eywa could make that happen.”

“Getting preg-”

“Hello?” Testing—and if the way both Na’vi jerk their heads to you in slight surprise is anything to go by, then you’d say that the translator was working rather well. It was less an earpiece that translated and more a device to target that part of your brain that communicated and understood foreign languages.

Allowing you to both understand and speak in the dialect of the Na’vi - an invention by yours truly, of course. You’d (as close as) perfected it just last year for this expedition. “Can you understand me?”

Gojo stares at you with wide blue eyes.

With his pretty lips parted.

With his tail swishing back and forth.

“I see y-”

“We understand you.” Shoko nudges him roughly in the ribs, “I apologize if we’re a bit startled- it’s the first time we’re seeing a human in person.”

“I could’ve guessed that.” You giggle, flickering your eyes over to the starstrack Na’vi. Though you were equally as such. Somehow you speaking in his language just seemed to make him…“But I want to emphasize that I come in peace- I just want to learn as a scientist, not even my laboratory knows exactly where I am. And I intend to keep it that way.”

Shoko crosses her arms and looks gravely at you, “What do you want?”

“To learn. To research you and your people.” You look between them both, “To confirm the existence of the Herwi clan has been a dream of mine for a long time- not for the papers or the accolades, but because I just wanted to know you.”

“And how can we trust you?” Shoko says, getting nudged by Gojo afterwards.

“I won’t reveal anything you don’t want me to.” Determination dripping in your tone, “Not even if they kill me for it.”

They appraise you, and it’s silent for a beat before Shoko looks at Gojo.

And Gojo nods.

Shoko shoots you a barely-there smile, “Well…human, what do you want to know?”

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.

After you woke up, it was after a long talk and almost three or so hours later that you’d gotten up- Shoko and Gojo had both rushed to your side. Waving them off, you’d attempted to shrug off the coat and hand it back to Gojo - long since realizing that it was his - but he’d almost been offended by the gesture.

Refusing. 

He’d kept a hand behind on the small of your back to steady you with every step climbed towards the entrance. And once you were out- you could practically feel the storm freeze around you.

Colder than cold.

The Herwi looked at you with fear.

They stopped in their tracks and didn’t even look to breathe until Gojo had followed right after. And standing beside him like that, you’d been made too aware of the drastic height difference between you two. The average Na’vi was about nine to ten feet tall, though by the look of it the Herwi of the snow were much larger than their oceanic counterparts—slightly thicker, with limbs that were long and covered in sparse fur to protect them from the cold.

The Herwi average was about ten feet, you’re finding.

Though Gojo stood at a proud eleven feet (11’1 as you come to interrogate out of him more precisely later on) and rested his hand gently upon your shoulder. They had faint scars on them that marked him as a warrior, and you could feel the slight callouses send shivers across your coat-swathed body. His tail curled around your thigh.

You don’t think you even came up to his stomach-

“My people…” He announced in booming Na’vi. “-as some of you may know from the hunt today, we have a guest.”

You shift at the stares.

“More importantly, my guest. And we will make her feel welcome like family.”

“Family?” The whispers came.

“But she is one of the sky people…”

“Part of the family is…but if the olo’eyktan says so…”

“I’ve never seen him so casually touchy with someone before-”

“Shhhhhhh!”

“I understand if you are scared, and to those who wish it- you are free to leave and never interact with her while she is here.” Though none of them do move. Fixated. “But to those who aren’t, I urge you to share the beauty of our culture.”

To which you’d gulped before introducing yourself as you had to Shoko and Gojo.

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Day #2 in the Herwi village: 

The governing system of the Herwi is quite reminiscent to that of other clans - made up by a singular olo’eyktan or olo'eykte, accompanied by a tsahìk (though Gojo assures proudly that he is not mated as of writing this), and a council of clan elders that act as an advisory board.

Most decisions are made solely by the wisdom of Gojo himself, though large choices require a vote from the council as well as his people. Such requisites are rare, however, as it seems the olo’eyktan’s impact extends to the non-council people in such a way that they trust him with everything. (For more on the lovely reception and the sheer popularity of Gojo Satoru see Page 11…)

Governing seems to be harmonious if a little quietly tense in regards to certain elders that disagree yet are ultimately obeisant to their olo’eyktan.

This scientist in particular caused a little stir in the Herwi leadership once a research visit was proposed by the olo’eyktan to the rest of the elders. Though initial reactions had been reluctant, after a terse discussion, ultimately six moons had been granted to collect all appropriate research (due to be checked by the elders prior to leaving). No more. No less.

Six moons should be more than enough!

Shoko might have let it slip that it was Gojo who used his privilege as olo’eyktan to convince the council…and he wasn’t too happy that they’d granted you merely six moons (five days if you’re counting the first night there) to stay here. He wanted to gawk at this new human more, you supposed.

But you were so very grateful to each and every one of them either way - even those wizened elders who scowled at you suspiciously wherever you passed. Though even glares seemed sweet when you were living your dream, hm? And it best be believed that you were taking advantage of every single second you had with the clan - every single second.

Because this was exactly what those cigar-smoking higher-ups had laughed at you for. 

They thought you were chasing a myth.

The Herwi people had been so gracious as to offer you an empty hut, despite Gojo’s fervent insisting that you take his and he can simply tough it out in the cold outside-

And the next day you were up early- perhaps a little too early for the olo’eyktan who’d apparently tracked your trail and followed you around for an hour. Before he finally managed to stop you in the middle of your field study - helping out a young Herwi mother take care of her crying toddler, whilst learning about Herwi childcare techniques - and raised his bag full of food.

Breakfast.

You’re smacking your hand against your forehead as you’d completely forgotten - not quite out of the ordinary for when you got too immersed in your work. But it was different when you had someone seeking you out to take care of you…

And so after sharing the abundance of breads and berries and soups (far too much for but the two of you) with the Herwi mother and child, the two of you sit outside her hut and admired the view of the village. The soft half-sun that melted across the capped peaks, a buttery layer of light that was not even half as bright as on Earth.

But somehow gentler.

Gojo’s raising one berry to his lips before- “Ah…” His mouth drops when he takes a glance at you- more accurately, at your masked self. And he’s stopping in his movements, “Excuse me for just a second, beloved.”

“Oh? Of course.”

You watch as he’s standing up and sprinting light-fast towards the edge of a great steaming lake in the horizon. His figure’s crouching down and cupping his hands in the sparkling water, bubbling with fury. Gojo brings it up to his face and whispers a mantra that you couldn’t quite determine. Not from where you were sitting.

Before carefully bringing it right up to you- “Drink, beloved.” 

He gently leans down to let his fingertips meet your mask.

And you’d had no option—you consider it for science, though a part of you knew you didn’t have to linger your lips so much on his cold skin- but you lift your mask up and drink it.

Once the water floods your throat, you knew something was different.

Your lungs quiver.

Once.

Twice.

And you’d found yourself able to breathe—

Breathing on Pandora.

“How did you…” As you gasp, Gojo reaches out and removes the mask off of you completely. He’d let the earpiece stay on, of course, but lightly grazed his cold digits against the shell of your ear and made you shiver. “I don’t even know what to say- thank you. I didn’t even know this was possible—no other Na’vi clan let alone a mere human has discovered a way to let us breathe normally on Pandora.”

“For you. Lake Yapay.” Gojo says, large hand still cupping your face. “It steams great billowing heat in the day, and freezes by night. Here in Herwi, we use its water to expand our lungs during snowstorms.”

And you want to write it down- you know you should, but the pen in your fingers won’t move. Or more accurately, your fingers won’t move.

He continues, “This land is alive and works in mysterious ways. It has worked for you, beloved, as I knew it would.”

“Thank you again, olo’eyktan.”

“Satoru.” He interjects.

“Satoru.”

He smiles as if it meant the world.

And so your feast commences.

“You have to remember to eat.” Gojo says to you as he scoffs down a sweet paste made of ice-blue berries, “How will you brave the winter storms otherwise? Of course, I will protect you—and yet still.”

“Well, I sure hope I survive six more nights for my research then, hm?” You joke.

But you hadn’t expected Gojo’s face to darken, for him to shake his head. “It’s not fair.”

“Pardon?”

“Six more nights…” And you hadn’t exactly expected him to be so…invested in your research - you admit that you would benefit more from a longer period of studying the Herwi, but you were ready to take what was given. He looks down at the glaring snow and whispers—more to himself. “It’s not fair. I will correct it.”

“Correct?”

“Oh?” And you look from him to the village straight ahead, “Well, I’d be happy either way, Satoru.”

Just then that little Na’vi you’d been helping to watch over before comes waddling and giggling out of the hut to hold onto you- and you pick her up readily.

Gojo took one look at the two of you and shivered.

Shivered.

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Day #3 in the Herwi village: 

Hunts are an imperative part of the Herwi lifestyle—not only is it how the people are nourished, but it’s a social activity, it’s a coming-of-age activity. 

As aforementioned, hunts are commenced and led by none other than the olo’eyktan. A large group of Herwi warriors shall trek across the icelands in one unit, and it was quite interesting to note that most of the younger hunters are positioned in the middle where they are less likely to get injured during such a trip.

It is in the middle of their hike that Gojo will alert when the group is to split up: Snow beast hunters and snow marine stilts. Divide and conquer seems to be the only strategy that somehow tames such an unforgiving environment, and Herwi marine-hunters seem to be picked from the most patient of warriors. They carve out a hole in the middle of frozen bodies of water (never Lake Yapay, this divine body is never harmed) and each positions themself atop a tall icicle beside it to escape prowling beasts and currents. Crouched and ledged atop one, the sheer core strength and balance is divine once they cast their lines and wait.

On the other side of things, we have the Herwi beast-hunters. Using a large variety of weapons, the most popular is noted to be the bow and arrow - used by the olo’eyktan himself. They stalk in the cold white billows of snow with not even a single shiver, they lay in wait for hours, they tire their prey out.

And nevertheless this scientist found today’s hunt rather interesting…

The third and fourth days had passed by in much the same fashion - except for the slight tweak in your routine that included opening your hut door and finding the olo’eyktan standing there every single morning.

Always with food, always with a smile, always with some interesting niveous flower for you to press into your notebook. Then afterwards the two of you would set out to help you interview the Herwi people of all ages and backgrounds, to take samples, to explore the natural fauna, to even join Gojo on one of his Hunts on the third day. 

They admitted that they didn’t focus on hunting as much as they normally did on that trek, too enamored with this strange little human that had showed up one day and had their olo’eyktan glued to her side.

You interviewed hunters and elders (well, the ones that didn’t ignore you completely or were on the verge of cursing you out until they caught their leader’s eye) until your mouth hurt. And Gojo had taken you into the best spot with natural Pandoran fauna, making you jot down notes until your fingers cramped.

Once the sun was beginning to set and the Na’vi were getting ready to head back to their village for the night, you’re taking the opportunity to interview some of the young hunters. Gojo was off in the distance making up for the slightly lowered hunt by ice-spearing more snow beasts. And you were more than happy not to distract him while he took care of his olo’eyktan duties- after all, the other hunters were nice. Never having seen a human before, they’d been more than happy to answer your questions.

Ribbing each other, guffawing as they answered, placing their hands down on you and ruffling your head from above.

Almost as if you were a plaything- and you admit it was in the name of science, you didn’t mind it too much until a particularly boisterous hunter about Gojo’s age had kept swatting at you no matter how many times you politely moved away. Until he’d caught you on the scruff of your coat and tried to lift you up—

You hear the sound of bones breaking before you realize what it is.

Whipping your head behind you in an instant to see that Gojo was behind the other hunter and pulling his hand hard enough that you hear other Na’vi cry out. 

He lets go of you, of course, and you watch with widened eyes as Gojo then bandages his fellow Na’vi’s arm himself. Though you note that he doesn’t apologize.

Gojo didn’t leave your side for a single second after that.

That night after the dinner by the lake, Gojo walks you to your hut and sleeps outside in the bitter cold- no matter how much you tried to get him to take up the bed inside. He’d insisted.

After mating, he’d said.

You wonder whether your translating device was malfunctioning…

(See Page 26 on Herwi possessiveness…).

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Day #4 in the Herwi village: 

Beads.

A well-known part of Na’vi culture, one of the most recognizable, perhaps. The scientific community has written long and extensively on the importance of bead-sharing in the Omaticaya clan, however, this scientist shall be the first to detail the beauty of how this tradition extends to the Herwi clan.

According to the artisans of this village, beads aren’t fashioned through molten stone or seeds or clay—given the availability of such in this environment. Rather, they’re made with snow.

Never-melting snow.

Yes, the design of hona beads from snow is a practice unique to the Herwi clan. Broken off from the hardest icicles growing at a peak of Mt. Hoet said to touch the sky, not only is it a treacherous passage to get to those specialized bits of ice, but the process of making the beads finds itself just as arduous. These icicles are then welded into delicate beads and dipped into the waters of Lake Yapay at night, letting them soak and then carried to freeze at the highest peak once more.

This process is repeated until the beads are as hard as diamonds on Earth- perhaps even harder. Never-melting. Never-breaking. Never-forgetting. Though not too hard so that the Herwi will be unable to carve unique patterns and symbols special to themself. Rinse. Repeat.

Though the clear meaning of such is ambiguous, it is most certainly a way of showing appreciation - as one would have to love someone very much to do this, no?

It was on your fourth day amongst the Herwi clan that Gojo didn’t show up with a beautiful flower or trinket from the terrain- instead, he’s bounding up to you with a string of beads and knotting it against the side of your face.

Pushing it back and taking you in with it.

Without a question.

“Satoru, did you…” You’re holding the line of beads up to the sunlight and watching the little patterns glimmer. They were slightly frosted and flurried like the smallest of snowglobes, “Did you make this for me?” 

And you swear they had the most intricate design of clouds on them, swirling and tumbling.

“Of course.” He smiles proudly. “Us Herwi are taught how to design our very own hona beads ever since we were children, and as Na’vi coming of age we walk up the path to make the first one for ourselves…as adults we make one for our family or…” Mates.

“And this- god, I need to…write about this but I can’t even imagine how long this would’ve taken.” 

“Four days.” Gojo cocks his head and looks down at you- and that brilliantly confident grin of his plasters across his face once more. “For most it takes four years, but for you I did it in four days.”

“Oh, they’re just amazing.” You run a hand down the ice-cold globules, “Thank you, Satoru.”

He holds your hand as he leads you out into the village.

Gojo tells you that night to wear those very beads to the clan dinner - once a week (at the very least) after a particularly successful Hunt, the Herwi people will get together for a massive feast. You’d heard excited whispers about it from the public you surveyed, and it seems that the olo’eyktan had chosen tonight.

Night had begun to fall, and you were dragged playfully by some younger girls straight to the edge of this vast frozen lake. Past snow-capped huts that stuck out of an even more snow-capped ground like eager heads, and ice-jeweled trees and frozen rivers and pathways lit with bioluminescent algae trapped in lanterns of ice.

It was a world in frost.

Where Na’vi had gathered with their families, their friends, their food—all in an array of tables that circled the crystallized body of water like a wedding ring.

Under the snowy night sky they communed. 

“You are wearing my- I mean your hona beads.” Gojo had beamed as he eventually caught up with you and guided you himself. He led you by hand again - even though you weren’t exactly quite sure why…at least it kept you from being toppled over by the other tall Herwi rushing to snag their own seats. “You look beautiful with them, beloved.”

And you weren’t quite sure what to say- though the bubbling pit at your stomach certainly wanted you to tell him something. Instead you divert the topic, “You hunted today as well, yes? Is there anything here that you hunted?”

To which he looks at you with a rather cocky smile, “Beloved, I have hunted more than half of the feast tonight. Trust that you will enjoy it.”

And you might have joked about him being presumptuous- but you really did enjoy the feast.

Under a star-studded sky and glimmering lanterns that twinkled like the freckles upon Gojo’s face, he led you to the very head table that no other Na’vi dared touch. It was rather obvious that this one was meant for the olo’eyktan himself, but what was curious was when your seat had been placed right next to his.

Perks of being a special guest, you suppose?

Shoko was beside you and shot you an amused smile, before preening for another Herwi next to her with a scar that ran across her face and half-braided hair. 

“Utahime.” Gojo had whispers in your ear, “Shoko’s mate.” 

“Ah- I see!” Pen quivering in your hand, you’re jotting down your observations in your notebook under the table. “Perfect. I’m quite curious about the mating rituals of the Herwi, you see. Do you suppose I’d be able to ask them some questions later on in the night?”

“Don’t ask them questions- ask me.” Gojo huffs. Brows furrowing. Lower lip jutting into a pout.

He leans over and wraps his arm around the back of your chair. Squirming, “O-oh…but you’re not mated yet, are you, Satoru?”

“Nope!”

“Right…” But then how could you ask him about mating if he wasn’t—nevermind.

Because just then the group in charge of cooking for the clan had rounded the tables and begun placing their most savored delicacies on top of them. Meats upon vegetables upon berries that you’d seen growing naturally across the mountainside they lived on. It was steaming hot and everything that you could dream of.

Whether you didn’t like meat, whether you didn’t like vegetables- there was always something there for you.

Most of the richest dishes were allocated around the olo’eyktan and your single table, stuffing the surface to the brim until you had to squeeze next to Gojo for space. Of course, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps too busy piling his place with the sweetest treacly milks and frozen desserts that he could reach.

After dinner came the dances.

It happened every night after the community dinner when everyone - full and satisfied by then - would start humming and chanting their ancient hymns. Echoing into the sleepy snow and the ever-young night, someone would pull out two snow beast-skin drums by then. Thumping away to the songs of the snow. 

Children ran off and made snow-prints and snow-fights in the mountains of powder. Family members would begin drowsily feeding each other and insisting they eat more. Others traced their own hona beads and promised they’d make ones for the one they love.

More would punch small holes through the frozen lake and bring the water up to their mouths, of which a sudden blow would make the water freeze and scatter out into the air in twinkling snowflakes. Emulating the stars themselves.

Snow-breathers. 

They’d sing, they’d sound, they’d show off and then…the first mated couple would walk onto the middle of the frozen ice.

Then the second.

The third.

The fourth and the fifth and the sixth-

What a way to end the night, love warming the cold air and couples twirling around each other with their tails intertwined. Usually, you’d be content to clap and attempt to sing along—

But then Gojo stands up- and you almost believe he was ready to leave the table altogether…until he’s reaching his hand out to you.

You.

And you look around in slight surprise- almost as if expecting someone to materialize right beside you and take Gojo’s hand instead. But the only thing you’re getting is Shoko’s approving nod from next to you, before she lets herself be dragged by Utahime onto the frozen lake.

And so you’d danced.

Rather an interesting sight considering the height difference, you admit—but it was beautiful. Gojo scoops you up into his arms with one steadied underneath you, the other holds one of your hands in his. 

So much larger. So much more powerful.

And yet so gentle.

He twirls you around to the music and you laugh at the wind stinging your face.

“Satoru, you’re going to drop me—”

“I should rather die than drop you.”

“But- but what of the other Herwi that will be mistaken?” You ask then, already sensing the envious looks that were thrown your way. 

“There goes my dream of being tsahìk, I’m almost sure of it now-”

“But I haven’t been able to try my luck with the olo’eyktan yet-”

“Oh shush, girl! You seriously think any of us had a chance?”

You look into his handsome face, eyes trained on you despite all the whispers and disturbance amongst his people. Only you. “You won’t be able to find a mate this way.”

Something unreadable in his blue eyes, flickering with fire from the tables and something else entirely. “Perhaps I don’t want one.”

“Well that would be entirely your decision.” You place your hands on his broad shoulders, flexing as they move you around with ease. “But it seems in Herwi tradition, the olo’eyktan is wont to take a mate.”

He raises a white brow, “And who should you believe must be my mate then?”

You didn’t quite know how to answer that.

Averting his eyes- and those of the Na’vi staring at you two. “W-well, Herwi has many fine women and men. Reykol is the best singer.”

“I do not want Reykol.”

“Tìtaron is a good hunter.”

He pulls you closer, “Yes, she is a good hunter. But I am better, and I do not care for Tìtaron.” Reaching up one hand to brush away the snowflakes that had begun dusting your face, “I believe I have already been fated to. Even before I was born, I have already chosen.”

You swallow, “Who, Satoru?”

He only smiles.

“Who?”

But he does not answer, you’re twirled around once more and the moonlight catches your dangling beads.

“Is that…”

“Surely our leader isn’t saying what we think he is saying-”

“But look at him, he looks so…happy.”

You turn your head to catch the fact that most of the Herwi were looking at you, whispering behind their hands. In hindsight, you think that perhaps it was not a coincidence that they ogled you - and particularly the hona beads that you’d been gifted. Not a coincidence at all.

You wore his signature because you were his.

And they all knew you were his.

.

.

.

Day #5 in the Herwi village (the last day): 

Leaving tomorrow, a perceptive scientist may notice that there is only one thing missing from this comprehensive research into the Herwi clan.

The source of Eywa.

As a deity to all Na’vi people, her influence seeps into the songs and prayers of even the highest terrains on Pandora. Into the healing. Into the well wishes. Into the belief system of a people so accepting and harmonious that their tree of Eywa does not need to be visibly present for her will to be carried out.

But as for where she resides here…

Your fifth and final day was less research and more saying your goodbyes to all the friends you’d made in the Herwi clan. You’d be leaving first thing tomorrow, before the sun even rose, according to the sternest of the elders. 

Gojo hadn’t met you outside your hut that morning, and you’d idled away the time packing and repacking your bag of samples and books. Thrice, before you started to believe that he might not come after all.

But that was alright, ultimately believing that he’d show up later on in the day, you visited all the healers, the hunters, the dancers, and the chefs. The mother and toddler you’d grown close to on your first day here, and even a stray elder that had sought you out to bow goodbye. 

All the young Na’vi and the old Na’vi.

All the Na’vi that had come to not fear you and the Na’vi that had found you endearing at first sight.

They’d warmed up to you since you first came here. They gave you gifts, each of them, and your heart ached as you thought of leaving. 

Goodbyes were always painful - but perhaps one most of all. Gojo.

He still hadn’t met you by the end of your route, and you’d circled the village about twice by the time you were done. He was nowhere to be seen.

It was almost as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

It was with a heavy pit in your stomach that you started to head back to your hut—your last dinner with the Herwi people would be in a few hours. Afterwards, Gojo had previously arranged for you to be accompanied by some of the clan’s best warriors on your trek down. 

You just thought that’d include him.

Perhaps you could sleep it off until the final dinner- and you were shutting the door just behind you…

Before sounds a hurried, hasty knock—

You open the door to see the olo’eyktan of the Herwi tribe.

Panting. Covered in snow.

“My apologies, I have spent the day clearing the pathway for us.” Gojo huffs out, leaning against your door frame with one hand. The other reaching out to you—“Come with me, beloved?”

.

.

.

The Herwi source of Eywa was inside an ice cave.

One that would get blocked when the goddess herself did not wish to be seen, one that Gojo had torn through layers of packed ice to burrow a pathway for the both of you. He’d carried you all the way to the gaping mouth of blue ice and ghost snow.

Closing in on you like arms of rime beckoning you to the tree of Eywa. The Tree of Winter.

The cold embrace of a mother.

One you were still not quite sure whether you were allowed to see—but Gojo knew he wanted you to see. He saw you. 

At the end of the cave was an ice column about eighty feet tall and naturally formulated to look like the winding branches of a tree. Dripping to the ground in phantom white snow, each one delicate and graduating from white to blue. There almost seemed to be a glowing aura about it.

Clear mirrors making up the tree’s vines. Honed tips of the icicles rising from Pandora and stabbing down towards it. The top of the tree reached where the cave roof was hollow, beaming a circle of light from the skies that donned Eywa in innocent pink.

You gasped at the white snowsprites that bounced off of the tree and onto your two bodies. 

Where Gojo stand with his back straight, his meaty thighs spread—pearly white teeth biting down to stop himself from fucking moaning at the feeling of your mouth sliding up n’ down his hot cock.

While you were standing.

You didn’t even have to get on your knees.

His eleven foot figure loomed above you, one hand on the back of your head and the other pumpin’ his furious erection. Your maw slips down his puckered tip and he shivers- bucking ever-so-slightly and hitting the back of your throat dead-on—

And yet he wasn’t even fully bottomed out.

He wasn’t even fully bottomed out.

The sudden realization makes you claw at the sides of his blue skin with a whine- direct vibrations that make the puckered tip lodged inside your mouth twitch. He’s sploshing out even more syrupy pre like he couldn’t stop it.

He’s not even trying and it’s already so much, cascading like a waterfall down the front of your chin.

“Now- hah, now.” One of Gojo’s prolonged fingertips reaches out to smear away the slippery sheen across your face- at least, that’s what you think he’s doing.

But instead you’re feeling him curve his rude digits between your lips and push those dewy droplets inside. Shovelling his cock just a little bit deeper, “S’not good to waste it, beloved. Open your mouth and take it all like a good girl, yes?”

“Mmmpf-” A damn miracle that you could get out that much sound in the first place. You’re pulling off to answer, and Gojo jerks his hips a lil’ to chase your damp mouth. “You’re saying you want me to take it all—?”

He shivers, leopard-like tail twitching. “Yes.”

And right before your very eyes, you can see his shaft throb even bigger. 

Harder. 

The prettiest bluish-pink on his tip, one with a divot that leaks out a line of precum. You’re following it with your dazed eyes- before the next thing you’re seeing is a close-up of it.

Gojo has his massive hand plastered to the back of your scalp and is pushin’ your head in, digging his dripping wet tip against the back of your throat. With a groan, the Na’vi pins you to him and hammers out a few sloppy thrusts of his cock.

Again and again.

Slurp after slurp—

“Gonna take it all- hah- my entire cock inside that pretty mouth, yes?” He’s cocking his head to the side and asking down at you sweetly. And he might look all in control, but Gojo’s voice fucking breaks at the very end of his sentence. 

Right in synchronization with the way you were draggin’ your sizzling tastebuds down the veiny sides of his erection. Just the cutest tongue that was eagerly lapping up everything he was giving—“Doesn’t matter if you’re a lil’ human, you’re gonna take the leader’s biiiiig cock, aren’t you?”

Removing yourself from his thickened tip with a wet pwah! “Y-you’re really serious about the-”

“Yes.” 

And he’d apologize for cutting you off later- hell, he’d grovel at your feet if he has to. But right now all Gojo can think of doing is holding onto the back of your head and strollin’ his thumb down the column of your throat. The olo’eyktan can feel that fat cylindrical intrusion where his cock was pumping in and out- and he’s sliding his fingertip dooooooown that bulge. “Aren’t you a scientist, beloved?”

“Y-yes?”

“Then aren’t you curious about just how far a human can take Na’vi cock?”

“Well…” You blubber out, “I guess so-”

“Then consider it for your research.” With each syllable he’s cutting your breath off by thudding his cockhead against the roof of your mouth. “Then just fucking- haaaaah—” And you’re finding that the pre Na’vi cock exuded was actually rather sweet- almost like honeydew flooding up your mouth n’ being slid all round by the intrusion of his shaft. “-take it.”

“Mmmpf—ngh.” Tears were streaming down your face by now, wetting your cheeks and making the Na’vi wipe them away with his thumb.

“Don’t cryyyyy—” He’s airily calling out, almost nothing like the level-headed Na’vi you’d met before. “Big girls don’t cry. Don’t worry- m’gonna give you all of my cock, beloved.”

“S-Satoru-”

But each of your broken yowls were being bullied back in with his bludgeoning wet tip, bruisin’ away its splitted end anywhere and everywhere. 

He swabs into the tiniest nooks and crannies inside your mouth with his sheer size, leaving your knees utterly weak where you were still standing. He’s holding your head up to his cock- “C’mon- feel.”

You peer up at him in confusion.

“Feel for your research.” Fluttering his long pale lashes down at you, a sultry smile spreads across his lips. “How many loooong thick inches you’re being given. How many veins are filling ya up. How many times I hit the back of yer throat like this-”

A shuddering slam right where you were most tender. “Please-”

“M’helping you with your- fuck, research.” He chuckles down lecherously, “By shutting that smart human mouth of yours up.”

“Fuck-”

“Feel it- just feel.”

He thrusts so hard that his heavy ballsack smacks! against your chin, “Feel the way that lil’ mouth of yours can barely even take me. Feel how fat my balls are with cum just for you. Count them? Wanna calculate the girth?” Until it was stinging a permanent girth on your skin, rubbed raw with impact. “Feel the way I- ngh, bruuuise your throat n’ those sensual lips until anyone that talks to you knows I’ve been here.”  He’s babbling on stupidly by now, eyes falling more n’ more half-lidded by the minute. He’s holding on tightly to your restless head and shoves- “Feel the way I fuck my mate—”

Gojo trails off as if shocking himself, and you’re snapping your teary eyes up to him with a muffled- “What?”

But you don’t know whether it’s on cue, you don’t know whether it’s the startle of being caught- but Gojo’s slamming his cocktip way past the back of your throat and cumming.

Oozing out hot dollops of cum that take over your pretty mouth.

Shaft throbbing furiously. Balls twitching like no other. He throws his head back and squelches straight down your throat, and you can feel the thickness of it plug up your voicebox.

So sweet.

So much.

And you’re not sure whether it’s a Na’vi thing or it’s a Gojo thing that he’s cumming so much in one go.

Loooooong miry stripes that trickle down the sides of your mouth- he leans down and pushes them back between your lips with one of his thumbs. Ivory sap constantly leaking down onto your tastebuds, he feels the heady slip n’ slide of his cock against those wads of cum. “Fuh-fuck…”

And then he’s not moving, merely clasping the back of your head and bringing you firmly up against his slender pelvis. 

Your nose rubs against the tufts of white on his abs before you realize that he’d just bottomed-out—just once, like he’d promised. 

And it was enough to send you reeling, feeling the pushback of his swabbin’ tip. Pouring out even more heady liquid every time he was draaaaging down your velvety tongue. 

The tip of your tastebuds flicks his sensitive slit just right and you can feel him pulse deep inside. “Feel me in there?” Gojo’s groaning from above. “Feel how much I ache for you. Feel the volume of my cum- are you counting it?”

“I-I—”

But evidently your half-sob wasn’t enough.

And the Na’vi is reaching down and pinching your nostrils together with his free hand. “Ah ah- focus on your research, beloved.”

And you’re struggling uselessly against his mean action, to which Gojo watches with a predatory gaze at the way you huff n’ sputter. And he has the audacity to snicker-

“I really can throw you around like a ragdoll, huh?”

It’s as if the realization had just struck him and he’s shuddering. 

It almost feels like ages before he’s finally pulling away with a loud plop!

An excess of your cum was leaking out of your maw and threatening to drip onto the floor- “Tch, this is a sacred place, my human.” He’s rasping out—swipin’ up the frothed white cum as if he wasn’t absolutely desecrating you. Pushing those clingy wads between your maw.

He then guides his honed tip to glide across your lips, gluing your lips shut with all his seed.

And Gojo can’t help but admire you- peering up at him with his towering height. All covered in his syrupy slick and speechless, unable to talk even if your voicebox had been left intact.

He smiles, tail swishing happily to and fro. “My human.” Gojo leans all the distance down to kiss you upon your sopping wet lips. “My m- pretty human. My pretty human…”

But you don’t have enough sense at the moment to ponder too long on his little slip-up before he’s bending down close with his hoarse mouth against the shell of your ear.

Making you feel so sensitive.

“-did ya get enough research yet?”

And then he’s good on his other promise: throwing you around like a ragdoll.

Before you know it, Gojo’s thundering down onto his knees upon the frozen floor - taking you right along with him. He grabs his fur coat from a little ways away and makes you rest down on top of it. With ease.

Back flat on the coat. Legs spread high in the air.

Twisted around the back of Gojo’s neck and locked in place-

“Satoru-” You look around the Tree of Winter that only seems to glow even brighter, the snowsprites buzzing. “-are you sure we should be doing this h—oh.”

Gojo doesn’t say anything - he doesn’t have to.

He’s merely unhinging his jaw and letting his loooong pinkish tongue drip out. It was glossy with ravenous saliva, thick at the base, and curved at the tip. The end of it dripped tantalizingly with spittle- almost torturously. 

Achingly needy.

There was an almost feline quality to it that made your thighs clench.

“N-nevermind.”

The only thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo had his tongue stuffed against your wet core and swabbin’ away until you saw white—“M-mmmpf.” His mouth was just so large that he could engulf your pussylips with a single bite, honed canines grazing the outer edge of your cunt while he kisses inwards. “My pretty mate- my tasty mate.”

It’s almost as if he was pussydrunk already.

With just a single slurp of his curvaceous tongue glidin’ up and down your slit, Gojo has his blue eyes rolling to the back of his head and his hips bucking. Wildly. “Why didn’t Eywa tell me that you’d taste so good-”

“Oh my—” Your back arches while his thickened fingertips come between your legs to pinch your puckered pussy into his mouth. Pushing you against him even more - greedy. “Shit, it just feels so-”

Smack!

And without a single warning, Gojo has his roverin’ fingertips slamming down on your pussy. Straight on top of your slit where your clit was hidden, it sends shockwaves of both pain and pleasure up your spine.

You’re gasping and staring down at him-

“Now now, no cursing- be good before Eywa, hm?” That damn hypocrite - and you could see it in that sultry smile of it. Gojo was getting off on the way you’d squirm your cunt restlessly against his face, sighing into the way he starts fucking your pussy once more. “Or else m’not gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours out, ya hear?”

You gape, “That’s not fucking fair-”

Smack!

“What was that, beloved?”

“I said—”

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

Until Gojo’s leaving your pussy raw and needy, and even then he wasn’t done with you- he has the audacity to purse his plump lips and spit. Spit. Letting the sharp strike of saliva make you shiver—

“What was that?” He asks you in such a breathy tone, such a ruined tone. Gojo spoke like if you told him you needed him right now then he would simply shatter. 

And you can only gulp at the state that he was in - you’ve researched Na’vi during times of high pressure, during battles, during their coming-of-age ceremonies. But never had you met one that simply seemed so…feral. “I-I’ll be good, Satoru.”

He smiles like he’s been wanting to hear those exact words for years.

Fingertips jittering with excitement, he then reaches for your intertwined ankles with his tail. 

Locking them in place, Gojo murmurs. “Good…” Before he’s getting ready to dive straight back into your sweetened cunt once more, “Because you better not run-”

And you don’t get to ask just what might constitute you running from his mouth. His tongue.

You don’t get to ask just what it meant when he looked at you with that dark inkling of something carnal, as if he was about to devour you whole.

You don’t get to ask anything, in fact, and whatever questions were already in your throat burst into a zillion pieces at the feeling of him pushing his tongue inside your hole. Properly.

Not lapping away coquettishly on your outer cunt, not slurpin’ up all your treacly juices.

Gojo had his tastebuds stuffed inside your entrance and was draaaaagging them all across every orifice inside of you. Thrusting his entire length in and out at a rapid pace, you could feel the edge of his chin hitting your base with every movement.

Inside and out.

Inside and out.

But the sheer speed of him wasn’t even the bit makin’ you the most dizzy- see Gojo’s Na’vi tongue was something amazing. Something incredible. 

Just so large and lavish that it was stretching your walls out like never before.

“P-please-” You don’t think you’ve ever felt anything like this- the way that Gojo’s textured tongue would mold against your walls, the way he’d pinpoint even the tiniest orifices with his flexible tip, the way he’d expand and contract his tongue purposefully. Until you saw white. Bucking—“Please it just feels so-”

“Where’d ya think you’re going?”

And the slur in his voice makes you pause- “Wh-what…?”

The last thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo tightens the rude grip of his fingertips on your pussylips. And the other one of his hands holds onto your waist to haul you back down onto his mouth- you hadn’t even realized that you’d been edging away in sensitivity. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to run?” Spankin’ those rugged fingertips of his down on your clit once more. You get the feeling that Gojo’s meanly choosing your clit because he knew that’d make you clench ‘round his tongue even more. “Don’t run. Don’t even move.”

“You’re just so fucking- ngh, big and you expect me not to move?” You wail out in indignity.

“Well, who told you to fuck a Na’vi warrior?” He’s countering, those half-lidded eyes of his twinkling with humor. “Better yet- who told you to fuck the olo’eyktan-”

And you suppose you had no explanation for that.

Especially not even Gojo was pumping his thickened tongue into you so fast that any and all explanations in your throat start to dissolve. Instead being replaced by the most pathetic whines and groans as he keeps fucking your pussy greedily.

As though Gojo was a man parched.

Because your wettened pussy was more refreshing to him than the waters of the lake- and if he could, he’d have his head stuffed between your legs every second of the day. Simply slurpin’ up every dewy droplet that escaped out of you, Gojo catches even those tiniest of wads.

Slipping his looooong tongue inside—you’re driven damn near mad once he slithers his length in and grazes your g-spot.

Hips bucking, eyes snapping open. “H-how did you even manage-”

“Ah ah—” His familiar tut, and soon enough you’re glued back down onto his pretty mouth again. Gojo doesn’t even need to try to ease you pliably back onto his face no matter how much you try to run- but oh, it was just so fun to watch your sultry surprise. The way you only got wetter when he manhandled you. “So this is that cute lil’ g-spot human have, hm? I thought it was just something in Shoko’s anatomy textbooks.”

“You- you read her textbooks…” You ask.

“All day and all night.” Gojo replies with a smirk, his ears twitching as he hears the quickening of your heartbeat. “Only Eywa knows how much I’ve touched myself imagining this.”

“Oh—”

It hits you like a flash of lightning- and so do the sudden swipes of Gojo’s tongue reaching your sweetest spots. Thud-thud-thud-thud he’s ricocheting against your bundle of nerves rapidly, making it echo like your own heartbeat in your ears. Thud-thud-thud-thud—

“Shit-” And suddenly you understand- you thought you understood before? But no, now you understand why Gojo had been telling you not to run away initially.

“Don’t run.” He warns.

Because all you’re feeling are the large stripes he’s licking up your slick walls, and the only thing you can think of doing is bucking. Rutting. Reaching for his lips wildly- though your body moves torturously as if you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to run away—“Shit.” 

“Don’t run.”

But how could you not run from it? How could you not even move when Gojo had your body teased n’ toyed with till absolutely no end?

He was hammerin’ his tongue against your g-spot furiously—and you were sure by now that he has the exact pattern of his tastebuds bruised right on that area. Shapin’ your velvety walls to his tongue, Gojo dives in just so animalistically.

And you can’t help but buck. You can’t help but arch your back. You can’t help but reach your hand out and attempt to grab onto something- anything for dear life. 

Again and again. “Shiiiiit is it even allowed to feel this good-”

But the Na’vi leader merely stops your hands with his own, folding them neatly into his hair. Holding onto his clammy scalp- “As Eywa wills it.” He smiles and your cunt’s just so sensitive by this point that you can feel the exact degree of curvature of his grin. “Which reminds me…”

And for your profanity you’re getting three more direct spanks, “Shit-”

One more.

Before you feel him then twist his fingertips on your throbbing clit and pinch- “Ya reeeeally can’t be a good girl f’me, huh?” Gojo asks you with a smile, though there was a hint of something in his voice that reminded you why exactly he was the olo’eyktan of such a large clan. “Look at you—”

“Sh-shit, that feels so-” But he isn’t listening, and you’re fighting the heels of your feet against his broad back. 

“Look at you.” He’s tightening his tail on your ankles and dragging you back down. He’s spitting down through clenched canines, every single word sending sparks up to your hazy brain. Barely even working by this point, surely. “Swearing. Squirming. Moaning like a slut and trying to escape- as your leader, I should punish you, beloved.”

“No more pussy spanking—” You whine, “Just makes me so sensitive…”

“I’m not talking about pussy spanking, beloved.” To emphasize his point he gives just a light tap on your sensitive nub once more.

It leaves you shaking to wonder just what else he has in store for you- though you don’t have to let your mind grapple in the dark for too long. Because in absolutely no time - just a few more vulgar thrusts of his tongue - you’re feeling the sudden plump intrusion of something slender at your hole.

It certainly couldn’t have been his tongue, because you knew what that ridged texture felt like. 

It certainly couldn’t have been Gojo’s cock, because you’d tasted that and you knew he had a much larger circumference. 

So that left only one option—Gojo had your pussylips spread apart and your entrance gulping up every inch of his fingers. They just looked so stark with their blue color disappearin’ into your hole, and Gojo’s increeeeedible length making you feel so full. 

Two of them were all that were shovelled inside- and yet he was already stretching for your very cervix on his first thrust inside. He scours the spongy end of your pussy then slides back out—in and out, in and out, in and out.

Each time his knobbly joints push against your g-spot and left you crying-

“Feel my fingers inside you?” Gojo rasps ruthlessly, his mouth wrapped around your throbbing clit. Groaning at the way you grow even wetter- Na’vi senses were strong, and he could smell the impending orgasm on you. “Feel the way I reach for your- hah, womb all inside? Feel the way I can fuck a baby in you so easily?”

“Yes-” You answer to them all, “Yes yes yes yes—”

And before you can say anything more, his powerful tail hauls you down. Bashin’ in even deeper with his plush fingertips. “Feel the way I’ve found eeeevery cute spot of yours? Feel the way I know your pussy inside and out?”

“Yes- fuck.” And you don’t even care if you’re ‘punished’ any more for breaking Gojo’s stern rules. Gojo himself was slamming his knuckles red and raw against your cunt, fucking his human’s tight pussy. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Feel the way m’making you mine—?”

“Satoru, m’gonna cum-”

“Note it down in your research.”

And then you’re exploding straight into your high - and you know it’s the best you’ve ever had.

Your eyes fall shut and the only thing you’re seeing behind them is pure black with stars of white, pulsing against your bleary vision in time with the furious throbbing at your cunt. Little zaps of pleasure shoot all the way down to the tips of your toes every time he’s moving his maw across your core. Sharp. Sensitive. He’s wedged between your legs and lappin’ up each pulse.

Sluuuuurp—!

Long, aching drags of his tongue. They’re roverin’ over the most sensitive spot of your clit, meanwhile his fingers were glazed in slick n’ fucking you stupid already.

Gojo thrusts you through your high as if he was angry at you. As if he can’t get enough. As if he’s losing his damn mind and you n’ your pussy are the only reasons why-

It takes you only a minute more for your wave of bliss to taper out, fully riding through it. 

And then only another minute more for you go from fucked straight to overstimulated by a few more of his rovering thrusts. He swabs your g-spot once more and you think you’re bawling- “S-Satoru, I’m already done-”

But he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem to hear you.

In fact, you couldn’t sworn that he was grabbing onto your right thigh with his free hand and keeping himself plastered even more into your cunt-

“Satoru—!” You’re calling out helplessly, “Satoru, I’m already- ngh, done-”

“Mhmmmm?” Muttering something wet underneath his breath, and you have to strain your ears to actually hear him. Breathy. Panting. “Research- fuck! More…”

“I can’t even- oh.” It was almost dangerous just how potent he was with his mouth and fingers, and before long your thighs were starting to shake with sensitivity. Causing you to grab onto his scalp even tighter and-

“O-oh.”

And accidentally tug on the long braid of white hair thrown over his shoulder—his kuru.

Did that manage to…

Your breath hitches, and you’re reaching out to graze your fingers down his kuru once more-

“Fuh—fuuuuck.” Gojo throws his head back in a voice that almost sounded like a whimper, his slick lips quivering. His skin covering in goosebumps. His erection throbbing from where you could spy him. His entire large body shakes with the zaps of hypersensitivity going down his spine, “D-don’t think you know what you’re getting into, beloved…” His murky breath clouds out in front of him. 

“You sure?” You challenge - what a privilege it was to see him break.

The olo’eyktan grits his teeth—-“I’m warning you…”

But when were you ever one to listen to warnings?

Without thinking much of it, you tighten your hand ‘round his kuru and tug—

And then he’s on you in a split-second.

He’s not even moving- he’s grabbing onto your hips and bodily puuuulling you right back down till your cunt lips kiss his cock. He’s pushing your legs up until your kneecaps hit your tits. He’s hunching his entire body forwards and-

“Sh-shit.” Your eyes widen, “Satoru, did you just-”

“Yes.”

Just you teasing his kuru is enough to make Gojo spuuuurt out in creamy wads of cum once more, coating the outer part of your pussy in a thick layer. It feels hot and wet on top of you, streaming down to drench the coating. Before he’s swervin’ his swollen tip inside and fucking you-

No hesitation. No preparation.

You’re getting what you deserved, and that was to be fucked like an absolute anima by the Na’vi.

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” He’s spitting- straight into your hotly opened mouth. Those sharp canines of Gojo’s nipping at your bottom lip, “You don’t know what you’ve done- you don’t know what you’ve done-”

“Shit, shiiiit—Satoru.” Moaning out his name like a broken record player. He’s bullying out harsh semi-thrusts against your cunt that leave you scrambling for breath- just shovin’ his puckered tip inside, just tasting the inside of your pussy with his cockhead, just trying to fucking fit.

“Sayin’ my name like that and you don’t even fucking—” Before Gojo feels your soppy walls clench tightly ‘round him, and his lips part a little before racing down and spitting on your cunt. “Fucking fit.”

“You say that like it’s so easy-” You sob out. 

He was pistoning his hips into you ferally.

The only thing he was doing was stretchin’ out your cute hole a few times, just so big that you’re being push-push-pushed up the fur coat you were splayed out on-

A hand at your throat.

“Don’t. Fucking. Run.”

And you don’t have the chance to tell him that you weren’t actually running and in fact it was just his roverin’ hips forcing you upwards- but before you could do that, Gojo’s already rendering you speechless with his cock.

He’s grabbing an even tighter restraint of your neck.

He’s manhandling your entire body down like he’s crazed.

He’s juuuuuust barely managing to squeeze in a sultry inch of two of his massive length- the mere sensation of that in itself enough to send your mind bursting into a heap of stars. It was almost numbing on your lower half, to have this much of him fitted inside you.

Stuffed inside you.

Throbbing inside you.

And it seems that the only one more affected by that fact wasn’t you - it was Gojo Satoru himself. Head falling into the crook of your neck. Tail flinching as it now wraps around your right thigh. Mouth parting with an agonized groan.

“F—fuck.” He’s echoing out hollowly into your ear, “Fuck, you’re so fucking…tight.”

Gojo spits out the word as if it was the very reason the olo’eyktan was shattering right about now. And almost on cue, those sopping wet walls of yours clench ‘round his tip and makes the Na’vi yelp—

“Fuck, don’t do that.” He’s shuddering through his sloppy strokes, his split-ended tip filling you up with dewy precum. “Fuck, don’t do that unless you want to be taught what happens when you pull on the kuru of a Herwi like me, little scientist.”

“What happens?” You ask innocently.

“S’why I’m telling you to fucking—oh.”

Just a few more pulsating clenches of your cunt, and Gojo shivers as though he’s being held hostage by your wet walls.

He bears his canines and snarls at you in the way you’d seen Na’vi do when they want to signal, to intimidate, to mate. 

But you stare up at the olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan with determination.

And he’s giving you one final probe-

“I’m going to get you fucking pregnant.”

He breathes out against the shell of your ear, almost like the last whisper of his sanity before Gojo stares into your wide heart-eyes—and he’s reeling his hips back to plunge.

Uncaring how unready your poor entrance was.

Uncaring how your tiny human body shakes underneath his larger one.

His fat cock swipes between your glittery folds and puuuuushes against the instinctual restraint of your hole, all the way until you start to tremble- and he knows he can’t push any more. He knows he can’t break you.

He’s fighting back every sudden primal urge in him that just wants to fuck you all the way inside- and furiously pumps his solid inches back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Keeping a hand always on the top of your stomach for when he’s feeling his hard globular tip push upwards.

Gojo was just so big that he could feel himself sinking in from the outside-

“And that’s not a promise, beloved.” Gojo’s pale brows furrow as his cockhead starts swabbin’ even deeper after each thrust, “That’s not a promise- that’s not even a challenge-”

“Th-then—?” He’s pushing doooown on your overstuffed core and you find it hard to breathe, both pressures from between your legs and from Gojo pushing on your cylindrical tummy bulge was just…

The olo’eyktan grins when he watches his cute lil’ human struggle to take his entire cock, the bluish hue of it spreading apart your thighs. He reels his slender hips back in quite the long drag—before ultimately hammering- “It’s an oath. Before Eywa.”

A divine oath.

Added to the fact that Gojo was slamming his ruddied tip into you with each syllable- and you could never forget about the sheer size difference. The way that it helped him bend over you and fold you in half as though nothing but a lawnchair—your ass was cleanly dangling off the floor with how much Gojo was bending you.

A mating press. The meanest one you’ve ever seen.

You’re hit with the sudden inclination that you weren’t about to walk out of here any time soon.

And Gojo seems to be doing well on that fact- he hadn’t completely bottomed-out yet, but he was still drilling into you with such fervour. Streaking his cum from before across every inch of you, a layer of white that you feel from the inside.

Feverish cocktip swabbin’ all the way at the back of your cervix, full balls smacking your cunt.

Every time he was hurtling his hips forwards, it almost felt as if the ground beneath you was trembling. 

It almost felt as if he was hitting each of your geysering spots without even needing to try. Just so big that the veiny sides of his cock rubbed n’ dubbed up against those orifices unfairly. 

It almost felt as if you were losing it-

“So I think you’ll have a loooot of fuckin’ research, beloved.” Gojo snickers, his tail flicking you playfully. And at this point you’re not even sure what the conversation was about, just knowing that it was the background music to the lecherous thwacking of his hips on yours. 

So hard that you could feel the wads of his high from before glazing your insides. Dripping all the way near the rim of your cunt before being pumped back inside.

He pushes down on top of that bulge once more and watches you whine, “I almost don’t want to, mmm, ask what it’ll be about…”

“Ohhh, y’know—” Gojo trails off airily, something shaky in the back of his tone that sends shivers up your spine. It makes you almost content to know that you’ve gotten him so pussydrunken- but then again you weren’t too far behind. He tilts his head to the side and looks at you through partially closed eyes, smiling. “-human-Na’vi babies.”

And it’s with that that Gojo finally - finally - drills his cock all the way to the hilt.

Bottoming out.

His breath catches at the realization.

Blue eyes widening. Mouth watering.

It feels so different to have your hot innards surrounding him entirely- and fuck, Gojo wasn’t even sure whether a human like you would be able to take all of him. But it seems that you really were made for him, yes? Every curve and edge of you. Every bit of your cunt that he gives an experimental buck into, before pumping inside like a madman-

Pounding you into the smooth ground of the celestial temple.

It feels like you’re being thrust into heaven itself because of the way he was so big, big, big—all the way from the purple-ish tip that was zig-zagging your walls, to the oversized tummy bulge he was fucking into you, to the way he had you folded. Manhandled.

Gojo’s only lasting a few strokes before he’s crushing you to him so hard that it almost hurts- “Right here—right here.” The hand atop your stomach pushes down where his ruby-red tip was kissin’ and kissing at your womb. “You’re gonna have a lot ta research about fucking- ngh, getting bred by the fucking olo’eyktan. A lot to research about carrying my next heir, yeah?”

“Yes…” Arching your back into him.

“And then here—” That very hand now drifts down to the in-betweens of your pussylips and rubs his thumb over your clit. He’s drawing little circles and hearts on top of your sensitive nub that makes you wrack with pleasure, “Yer gonna have to research giving birth to such a biiiig baby, beloved.”

You shiver at the thought, mostly excitement.

And he purrs as he rubs his cheek against the sweaty crown of your head, “But s’okaaaaay- I’ll help you through every step of it, beloved. My mate.” The Na’vi’s staring down at you lovingly, fucking you filthily. “M’gonna breed you all full, okay? You might just have to research more about Na’vi phenotypes- heh.”

You can only nod. “Please…”

And before you can dwell too long on that last particular word—mate—he’s continuing. “And then you don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing- I can take care of eeeeverything. I’ll wash our kid. I’ll dress our kid. I’ll feed our kid. I’ll do everything and anything just please-”

“Y-yes?” Your voice cracks.

And he winks down at you almost mischievously, “Let’s do some research together on when I’ll be able to breed you all full of my cum next, hm?”

And with only a few more vicious thrusts, you’re feeling your second wave of pleasure tonight take over. You knew it’d been bubbling inside your veins for some time now- and right now it almost felt as if that euphoria was overflowing.

Overspilling.

Just like the gushing wads of slick that drivel over the front slit of your cunt and leave you so wet that you feel like a waterpark. Just rhythmic bursts of your high that leave your body loose and limp, shaking a bit every time that Gojo’s cockhead plummets inwards.

Head muddled.

Eyes rolling to the very back of your head.

This might just be the best orgasm of your entire life, and your wave of pleasure is looooong and drawn-out with how many times Gojo thrusts his cock in to fuck you through it. “Shit, Toru—” 

Again and again and again.

Each time hitting the target of your g-spot dead-on and watching as you gush around him even more. 

You were at Gojo’s complete mercy…almost.

Shaking. Your hands find themselves in his hair once more- or more precisely grazing the long length of his kuru. “Satoru.” You’re breathing out as he shivers carnally, “Satoru, I want it- ngh, inside.”

His eyes widen, “Demanding something of the olo’eyktan, are you?”

“Inside, Toru.” Desperate now.

To emphasize, you’re lightly tugging on his kuru and watching as it makes the Na’vi above you shudder. His cock pouring out heaps of precum that only act as a warning for something…more. “F-fuck, better keep this all in until tomorrow-”

At the very least.

You’re honestly not sure if you can keep it all in even now—because then Gojo’s throwing his head back and cumming long and hard. Harder than he ever thinks he has before- his seed dribbles out of him like a gooey waterfall, taking place inside every nook and cranny you have.

Heavy balls clenching almost aggressively as they empty out inside you.

He’s swervin’ each ounce of it inside by dragging his globular tip, that reddened cockhead making you swear you taste Gojo all the way at your throat. 

Flooding.

Your toes curl, it almost feels as though he’s fucking you into a third and fourth high altogether-

“Until tomorrow-” Gojo barks out through his smoky tone, “Until always-” After reaching his high so many times in one night, his sparks of euphoria just rip through him. And you can feel the sheer intensity of it by the way his slippery slick thwacks! against the back of your pussy, hot and heavy. It seems to inflate you from the inside, “Until we have our…fuck.”

And it’s not like Gojo to let up a sentence. Especially one that wavered with emotion.

“Until I have…” He starts again, blue eyes twinkling. “…you.”

Right now he was cupping the side of your face with his left hand- accidentally…or perhaps not…dslodging the translating device from your ear.

And then the Na’vi olo’eyktan leans with his forehead pressing down on top of yours.

Dragging his hand down the side of your head, where his beads for you twinkled in the glow of Eywa’s tree. Breathing out the words—“Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si.”

He looks at you with a slightly sad smile as if he was almost bitterly glad you didn’t understand. Though little did he know…“Oel ngati kameie, Satoru.”

And the look on his face was worth all the time you’d spent poring over Na’vi language books with Shoko these past few days. At least you understood this.

You grin, “I did a bit of research myself.”

He holds you tight, he holds you as if he wanted you two to become one.

More so.

Eventually—after about four or so more rounds, and once you were thoroughly shattered and kept on begging for it, Gojo had swiped his long kuru into his hand and raised it up to you. You yourself didn’t have one, but if there was anything you learned from being with the Herwi people—it’s that love comes in all forms and differences.

You press your lips to his flower-like nerves at the very end of his braid. Immediately, a rush of something between you two and you understand what he meant about being mates.

You feel what Gojo sees.

You feel what Gojo smells.

You feel what Gojo hears.

You feel what Gojo tastes.

You feel what Gojo feels.

You feel complete.

.

.

.

Day #6 in the Herwi village (day after the mating):

The ancient of the Herwi clan were one of the only believers in fated mates, of one who had been destined to walk beside you upon this good planet through Eywa’s will. It was said that life does not flower until one meets one’s fate, not even the skies shall migrate, not even the ice shall melt. 

Two souls bound to meet.

And until then one can only look up, up, up…

This scientist was found in quite the curious position as mate to the olo’eyktan on the morning after.

Re-entering the village, hand-in-hand, it was inevitable that the Herwi people would stare. Not only was it quite past the deadline of six moons given, but each bore resemblance of a mating session that could’ve been spotted a smile away.

Bite marks. Bruises. Slight falter in walking.

Not to mention that it seems word had spread about the…inoccupancy of the Tree of Winter just the night prior. (Additionally for more on Herwi stamina read Page 69…)

Circling back, the stares were rather unabashed. Some gasping. Some ribbing. Some tuts by elders of the clan who then again turned around with a smile.

It was obvious that they had been praying for the olo’eyktan’s happiness for a long, long time.

It must be noted that congratulations were doled out heavily at the communal dinner that night. Food. Dances. Parades.

It must be noted even further that preparations for coronation at the Herwi tsahìk shall be taking place in a week’s time. Who would have thought, a human being a tsahìk? Who would have thought that humans had fated mates as well?

For this scientist’s final note, preparations are already being planned meticulously for the arrival of a new heir to the Gojo name.

And that leaves the scientific community with one last thing, now that fluency in the Na’vi language is on the path to be attained: the glossary.

Tsahìk - Head shaman, high priest, interpreter..

Olo’eyktan - Male clan leader.

Mawey - Calm.

Txeylan - Best friend.

Ì’awn - Stay.

Fnu - Be quiet.

Txen - Awake.

Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey. - You’re alive- oh, you’re alive.

Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung? - I’m happy. Awake? You’re awake? Are you injured?

‘Upe lu nga fwew? - What are you looking for?

Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga. - Beloved? I’d give you anything.

Oe pey ngim krr. - I’ve been waiting a long time.

Tìnga’prrnen - Pregnant.

Tìnga’prrnen? Oe? - Pregnant? Me?

Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen. - You want to get me pregnant?

Fì'u - This.

Irayo nga - Thank you.

Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen. - I wouldn’t mind being pregnant.

Lake Yapay - Lake Steam.

Hona beads - Endearing.beads.

Mt. Hoet - Vast.

Kuru - Neural queue.

Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si. - I see you, my mate.

Oel ngati kameie, Satoru. - I see you, Satoru.

A/N. It must be acknowledged that Herwi culture was influenced by some aspects of Inuit culture, as well as some aspects of my own Sinhalese culture! Both such beautiful cultures that I was honored to research more in-depth on. Also this Na'vi vocabulary bank was used, and for longer Na’vi sentences this translator was used and might not be fully accurate ahhh-

You’re a pawn in a game of chess that you were born into, and you’d be lying if you said it hasn’t affected the way you view your family. 

Your sister, Fawna, has always had the best clothing, the best tutors, the best choices for everything she could ever want. When she came of age, many balls and parties were held for her to handpick which Prince she wanted to wed to strengthen her seat on the throne. In shocking accordance with her name, you had watched countless men fawn over your elder sister, while you were left in the shadows, neglected, ignored, and forgotten.

If it weren’t for the massive walls that surrounded your castle and the knight who guards you every waking hour, you may have run away years ago.

But no, this kingdom, this cage of stone and gothic archways, is your prison, and you’ve reached an age where you are afraid there might never be an escape. 

One:

Your sister, Fawna, is adorned in the most radiant dress you’ve ever seen. White and gold glitter as she dances in the centre of the grand hall, her jewelled crown fixed atop her pretty head. She’s beaming, and as radiant as ever with her new husband, a lesser prince from a neighbouring kingdom by the name of Mark. 

It’s an eligible match for them both, and the happiness that exudes from them isn’t fake. Your parents would never have allowed their favourite daughter to marry for anything less than love, so they had been sure to surround her with suitable men who would bolster her position without overshadowing her, and she found that in Mark. 

You, meanwhile, stand on the outskirts of the celebration, your arms crossed over your chest like a shield, fingers picking at the plain black dress you’d been instructed to wear. No jewels sparkle on your form; only a simple gold necklace bearing your family crest rests on your bosom, plumped by the corset that strangles you with every breath.  

You notice the soft sound of metal as your knight, a regal man named Johnny, stiffens behind you, and you tear your eyes from your sister to see what’s set off your loyal guard dog. 

A man is approaching, a man you’ve never seen before.

“Princess,” the man nods, standing beside you while Johnny stays stiffened at your back.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure we’ve been introduced,” you muse.

“My name is Jaehyun,” he says smoothly, and despite his omission of title, you recognise the name immediately.

Your heart quickens in your chest, and you realise why your knight has become tense.

Standing next to you is none other than Jung Jaehyun, the Cursed King.

A lump begins to form in your throat, and you swallow it thickly, tightening your arms across your chest. There had been some discourse between your parents and their advisors about inviting this ‘Cursed King’ to your sister’s wedding celebration, but it had finally been decided to keep friends close, and enemies even closer.

Not that Jaehyun is an enemy of your family, per se, but his reputation precedes him. You’ve heard stories of the cursed kingdom to the North, of the witch who had cast a spell on the royal family there after being betrayed by one of the lesser princes many years ago. 

You’d asked your own court wizard about the affair once, to which he’d responded, “I do not speak of dark magic and curses, and you’d be wise not to tarnish the pristine cloth of your house by pushing further on the subject.”

The curse that the man next to you bears is a mystery to all but the magic users who so carefully protect the details of their craft, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about this beautiful man.

He doesn’t look cursed; in fact, if the Gods were to have blessed any person in the room with beauty that rivalled their own, it would be the King currently standing at your side.

“It’s quite the wedding,” Jaehyun muses, his voice soft like rustling leaves in the fall.

“Yes,” you agree. “No expense was spared for Fawna; she’ll be Queen soon. It’s customary.”

Jaehyun nods, and out of the corner of your eye, you see something of a smirk work its way onto his pretty lips. “Customs depend on the kingdom, I guess.”

“Was your wedding not this grand?” you ask, realising as soon as the words escape you that they’re quite blunt.

Jaehyun lets out a laugh, and you breathe a sigh of relief that this mysterious, Cursed King hasn’t found offence in your line of questioning. “I’m unmarried.”

“Oh?” Your brows raise in shock, and you turn to look at the beautiful man. “Sorry, I just assumed-”

“It’s alright,” he assures you, meeting your gaze with eyes that seem to twinkle in the dim candlelight. “I don’t leave my castle often; I’m not surprised that you don’t know much about who I am.”

“But you’re here now,” you point out. “Perhaps now is as good a time as any to get to know each other.”

“I would like that,” the King nods, and you note the way his gaze dips to your throat, where your family crest rests proudly amidst the plain black clothing you wear. “I’m sure you have questions.”

You lick your lips, trying to rein in your curiosity. While your sister was bestowed much of the attention and education of royalty, you’ve still been trained in the art of diplomatic relations for an encounter such as this one, and you won’t be the reason your family offends a King with a supposed curse laid upon his house.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” you breathe, turning your attention back to the crowd.

Another chuckle escapes the beautiful man. “I suppose I should have known you’d be formal on an occasion such as this. Perhaps our paths will cross again soon, in a more intimate sense, where you can ask me the questions that are really on your mind.” 

“Can you presume to know what is on my mind?” you retort, heart rate increasing again at the mystery of this man. 

“I can guess,” Jaehyun tells you. “Would you care to dance?”

Johnny takes a step forward at your back, and you turn to look at your knight. His lips are set in a firm line, his hand on the hilt of his sword. His body posture makes it clear that a dance with the Cursed King is not condoned, and your heart drops with the understanding of why Johnny thinks this is a bad idea.

“Unfortunately, I’m not much of a dancer,” you tell him, and it’s true; Fawna received formal training, but all you’ve done is watch. You’ve heard the term ‘having two left feet,’ and you’d hate to find out that it applies to you at your sister’s royal wedding.

“Another time, then,” Jaehyun says smoothly. “I can tell my presence is no longer welcome.”

He turns to you, gently reaching for your hand. With a bow, he kisses your knuckles, holding your gaze, and with a soft smile, he disappears into the crowd, leaving you confused and excited. 

“You shouldn’t have entertained that man,” Johnny says stiffly in your ear, his armoured glove reaching out to grab at your forearm. He inspects your fingers where the King’s lips had just been, and you tear yourself out of his grasp.

“It was just a conversation,” you snap. “No one else has talked to me tonight.”

Johnny clicks his tongue at you, something he does often when he wants to say something pointed but respects your position as a royal, even though you’re a forgotten one.

“King Jaehyun didn’t seem cursed to me,” you say defiantly. “He seemed nice.” 

“Curses live deeper than the skin, Princess,” your protective knight points out. “It would be best for you to remember that.” 

Two:

It’s the day after the wedding, and many of the royals who had come to visit are already leaving. You watch their caravans of carriages and servants exit through the gates from your window, and you begin to feel trapped. It’s not a new feeling, but it’s one you’ve learned to manage.

Your family has kept a three-acre royal forest that abuts the castle, and any time you start to feel claustrophobic, you go there to walk. It clears your head and helps you feel grounded, so that’s where you go.

Johnny shadows you, silent as ever, as you begin your walk down the path that leads to a small lake. It’s a gloomy day, with overcast clouds blocking out the sun, but the birds are active, and the sound of bushes moving as small animals go about their day comforts you.

When you reach the lake, you pause to look at the water, and that’s when you hear Johnny stiffen behind you. Turning, you find the Cursed King walking up the path, his own guard close in tow.

Jaehyun nods at Johnny as he walks by, coming to join you, and he smirks. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You note the way Johnny and the other knight address each other with glares, both of them resting their hands on the hilts of their swords. 

“I don’t think I mentioned I like to go for walks,” you breathe, turning your attention to the King.

“You’re a Forgotten Princess locked in a castle; this seems like the opportune place to go when you feel trapped.”

Jaehyun’s words ring true to your soul, and it takes your breath away. You’re not sure how to respond, so you simply blink at the beautiful man who seems to have taken great care in considering your motives for life.

“Walk with me,” Jaehyun suggests, holding out an arm, and despite Johnny stiffening again, you take it, allowing the Cursed King to guide you down the trail that loops around the lake. 

“I thought you would have left already,” you admit.

“I couldn’t leave without speaking to you again first,” Jaehyun muses.

“Oh?” You let out a nervous laugh. “I’m happy I made an impression on you.”

“It’s more than that,” Jaehyun says softly, and you get the sense he doesn’t want Johnny to hear what he wants to tell you. “I want you to ask the questions you want to ask.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t get angry,” he assures you. “I want us to know each other more intimately before I make a proposal to you.”

“A proposal?” you squeak. 

“Yes. I want you to know the reasoning behind my interest, and for you to enter into an agreement with full knowledge of my position… of my… condition.” 

Diplomatic training be damned.

“Are you speaking of your curse?” you ask quietly.

Jaehyun smiles. “Yes, the curse.”

“I admit, I’m curious about it.”

“So ask, I can’t tell you unless you ask.”

He confuses you. It’s as if he has something restricting him from being open with you unless you enquire first, so you humour him. “What does your curse entail?”

Jaehyun’s shoulders relax slightly. “It’s a Blood Curse,” he explains. “I’m all but damned. Doomed to live life in a solitary manner.”

“You don’t seem damned to me,” you point out.

He smiles, and you note the way his sharp canines flash in the gloomy light. “You’re a sweet girl, that much was obvious when we first met yesterday.”

“If I may, while I’d love to think my charms have bewitched you, I get the sense there is something else driving your interest in me.”

“A prophecy,” Jaehyun nods.

“A prophecy?” You blink, halting in your tracks to look at Jaehyun.

“A Cursed King, doomed to moonlight, a Forgotten Princess, doomed to a captive life. Opposites, yet alike, brought together, wrongs can be made right.” 

He stares at you, his words hanging in the air. Your heart races in your chest, and your mouth feels dry. “You think… I’m part of this prophecy?”

He nods, his gaze shifting to Johnny, who is encroaching again. Jaehyun begins to move, putting distance between himself and your knight, so you follow.

“I don’t know the validity of the prophecy,” Jaehyun admits. “But I’ve spent too many years living with this curse to give up on a solution now.”

“You’re still young,” you insist.

“Not as young as I look,” he retorts. “The curse is a drawback, but I assure you, if you accept a proposal, I’ll treat you well.” 

Your head is spinning. A King is offering you a proposal of marriage. You will be a Queen, which is something you’ve never considered. You’ll be free… if your father allows it.

“It’s not within my power to accept,” you tell him. “My father has the final say.”

“He will refuse. I’m aware of my reputation. Royals tolerate me, they invite me to save face and ensure a positive diplomatic relationship, but… as is the case with many royal interactions, their outward acceptance of me only runs skin deep.”

“Skin deep,” you whisper.

“You’re thinking about my curse,” Jaehyun tells you. “Your knight doesn’t like me.”

“Did you hear him last night?” you ask in shock.

“I hear many things,” the Cursed King responds mysteriously with a smirk.

“So what do you propose?” you ask. “If you’re certain my father will say no to an engagement, then what course do we have?”

“I could always steal you away,” Jaehyun says simply. “With your permission, of course.”

“You’d risk your peaceful relationship with my father?”

“To break my curse, I’d risk anything.” 

Three:

“You’re dismissed,” you tell Johnny, who is still standing in your room even though the sky has long since turned dark.

The strong muscles in his jaw feather delicately beneath unblemished skin. “Princess, this is not a good idea.”

“Sleep? Since when is sleep not a good idea?”

“You know what I mean,” Johnny tells you, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t.”

Your knight lets out a long sigh. “My ears might not be as sharp as your Cursed King’s, but I hear well enough. I know he made a proposal to you, and I know you’ve accepted.”

“Did you tell my father about the engagement?”

“No.”

“Why not?” you ask, heart racing.

“I’ve been your guard for many years,” Johnny explains. “Your father is my King, but you are my Princess. Forgotten or not.”

Your skin tingles at his words. So he knows how you view yourself. How you think of yourself as forgotten.

“I can’t stay here one more day,” you insist. “This is not my home.”

“A cursed kingdom, a Cursed King, can’t be better than this,” Johnny says, and you get the sense he’s dejected. 

“Jaehyun is the first person who has really talked to me in what feels like years,” you tell him, frowning. “Did you hear his prophecy?”

“Sounded like more of a children’s rhyme than a prophecy,” Johnny scoffs. 

Your frown deepens. “He believes it.”

“He’s cursed, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s insane.” 

“Johnny. I’m leaving,” you say firmly. “Tonight. And you won’t be able to stop me.”

“I guess not,” Johnny sighs deeply. “Which is why I’ll go with you.” 

Four:

“What’s this?” Jaehyun asks as you scurry toward his unlit carriage with your knight in tow.

“He’s coming with us,” you announce, watching Jaehyun’s own guard stiffen with distaste.

The Cursed King holds out a hand to help you in the carriage, and he doesn’t say anything else. 

It’s a large carriage to be sure, but with three grown men inside of it, two of whom are in armour, it feels a little cramped.

“How are you expecting to get past the gate while holding the Princess captive?” Johnny asks.

“It won’t be a problem,” Jaehyun assures you.

The ride is silent aside from the sounds of wheels on cobblestone and the clicking of horse hooves, and when the carriage stops at the gate exiting the castle, Jaehyun moves the curtain to speak to the guard on duty there.

“I’m King Jaehyun, and I am returning to my kingdom with my servants and my guard, Donghyuck,” he announces.

You watch the guard’s jaw go slack. “You’re King Jaehyun, and you are returning to your kingdom with your servants and your guard, Donghyuck.”

Jaehyun nods once, then closes the curtain, and a moment later, you hear the gates beginning to open.

“What kind of sorcery was that?” Johnny asks.

“The cursed kind,” Jaehyun says teasingly. “It works on lesser minds.”

Your skin tingles at the continued mystery of your new betrothed. 

“Why did you decide to come with us, knight?” Donghyuck, Jaehyun’s guard, asks.

Johnny’s lips form a tight line. “Where my Princess goes, I go too.” 

“It’s honourable of you,” Jaehyun muses. “I’m sure she’s happy for your company. New places can be… challenging.”

You get a sense of foreboding from Jaehyun’s words, and now that you’re on the way out of your castle and into the countryside, for the first time, the true gravity of your decision to run away with a Cursed King is fully starting to register in your mind.

You hope this isn’t a mistake. 

Five:

The journey back to Jaehyun’s kingdom was long, but as you enter the gloomy castle that will be your new home, excitement begins to bubble inside of you. It’s a massive estate, with tall archways and spires that stretch high into the clouds.

“Donghyuck will show you to your quarters,” Jaehyun announces as you enter the castle. “We will discuss wedding plans tonight at dinner.”

With Johnny at your side, Donghyuck leads you through hallways and up numerous flights of stairs, not saying a word. 

The room you’ve been given is massive, with a large four-poster bed. The decorations are a touch on the dark side, all moody reds and purples, but it still feels more welcoming than the prison you grew up in.

“Second thoughts?” Johnny asks when you’re finally alone.

“No,” you tell him. “Something about this feels right.”

“Say the word, and we can leave. We can go back to your family,” Johnny says.

You let out a laugh. “Johnny, we’re both in this now.” 

“It’s not befitting.”

“What isnt befitting?”

“A Princess running away with a Cursed King, a marriage without the permission of her father.” Johnny shakes his head.

“Would you have preferred they arranged a marriage between me and some man I’d never met?” you retort. “Some man who is likely at a much later age than myself? Some man who would use me as a concubine, and hold me in a loveless marriage?”

“You hardly know Jaehyun,” Johnny points out, ignoring every aspect of what you’ve said. 

“I know enough,” you snap, becoming increasingly frustrated with your knight’s antics.

“I have to admit something to you,” Johnny says suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Please take a seat.”

You flash him a questioning gaze, but do as you’re told, sitting on one of the embroidered armchairs in the corner. 

“There are things you don’t know about the world. Things few know. Sorcerers and witches have their own secrets, but they’re not the only non-human entities that walk in the shadows of this world,” Johnny explains.

Your heart begins to race.

The knight continues. “There are werebeasts, werewolves, to be exact.”

“I’ve heard the fairy tales, Johnny,” you scoff.

“They’re not fairy tales,” your guard insists. “Werewolves were hunted to the point of extinction, but some realised they could utilise their talents… as warriors, as knights.” 

“What are you saying?” you ask, your blood turning cold.

“I’m saying I’m a werewolf. And so is Donghyuck. And Jaehyun is something else entirely. Something not quite human.”

Your lips part in shock. “Why did you not say something before?” 

“I warned you he is cursed, and it’s deeper than the skin. I tried to tell you, but you didn’t understand.” Johnny shakes his head. “Werewolves aren’t supposed to share these details; it’s forbidden. But you needed to know.”

“So… you turn into a wolf?”

“Yes, on Full Moons.” 

“And… Jaehyun’s knight-”

“Donghyuck. He knows what I am; we recognised each other right away.”

“Is that why you two don’t like each other?”

“We recognise the animal inside us both, recognise the threat.” 

You knew Johnny had decided to come with you to this castle because he thought you were in danger, and now, you understand the extent of it. There’s a lump forming in your throat, and you swallow it quickly, averting your gaze. “Thank you for trusting me with this information, but I don’t think it changes anything.”

Johnny frowns, but he leaves it at that, and you get some rest while trying to digest the information he’s just presented to you. 

Prophesies, a Cursed King, beastly knights, and you, a forgotten princess at the centre of it all. Sorcerers and Witches have been something you’ve accepted your whole life, but the world has been flipped on its head with these new secrets that have just unfolded before you, and you can only hope that this new kingdom is one you’ll actually belong in. 

Six:

“In three days, we will have an intimate wedding,” Jaehyun confirms. “I’ve never been one for extravagance or socialising for the sake of diplomatic relations.” 

Johnny clicks his tongue behind you, and you can tell this is yet another break of traditional norms that is annoying him, but to you, this plan sounds perfect.

“And you think once we are married, your curse will be broken?” you ask.

“I’m hopeful,” Jaehyun nods. 

“What if it’s not?” Johnny asks, becoming bolder by the hour he spends in this new kingdom.

Now it’s Donghyuck’s turn to growl at the outburst, and Jaehyun raises a hand to silence his knight. 

“Whether the prophecy is fulfilled or not, nothing will change.” Jaehyun’s gaze turns to you, and it softens. “I think we will have a good marriage regardless. I promise to treat you well, to respect you, to let you be free, to be a protector and a loving husband, cursed or not.”

Satisfied with his response, you return to your dinner, and you note that Jaehyun doesn’t eat. He’d made some mention of having food when you returned from your journey, but there’s still something unsettling about the Cursed King not eating or drinking in front of you.

“There’s one final matter,” Jaehyun notes. “Your father sent a letter.”

“What did he say?” you ask, grip tightening on your fork and knife.

“He didn’t make any outward accusations, but I get the sense he knows you’re here. He urged me that if I am the person who took you, a marriage would save the reputation of his family, and upon the completion of vows, he would announce the news to your old kingdom as if it were planned from the start.”

“Again, your reputation precedes you, King Jaehyun,” Johnny muses.

“No retaliation?” you question in shock. “Everyone is truly afraid of you.”

The Cursed King shrugs. “It has its benefits.”

Seven:

Your first full day at the castle is spent wandering around the large structure. Every corridor feels like a new adventure, and your silent knightly shadow follows as you take in your new home. 

You’re unsure if the lack of people you see, servants, guards and the like, is because the castle is so massive, or because the King seems to keep a very limited number of staff, but part of you likes the lack of eyes, the lack of attention as you explore to your heart’s content.

It’s around dusk that you discover what appears to be a gallery of sorts, and at first, studying the moody paintings feels like a simple and innocent pastime… until you reach the room at the end.

It’s a small space, with portraits of Jaehyun’s royal family. The first picture is from over fivehundred years ago, but as you circle the room in chronological order, you realise the first photo of what appears to be Jaehyun is from three hundred years in the past.

You stare at the artwork. 

The man pictured is Jaehyun, and the date, worn and carved into the gold frame, is unmistakable. 

The next photo, painted fifty years later, is Jaehyun again, and the next, then the next. 

Six photos of Jaehyun, dressed in different outfits, and dated over the course of three hundred years.

Johnny coughs, and you turn to find the Cursed King himself, standing in the doorway.

“So you’ve discovered another one of my secrets, Princess,” Jaehyun smiles.

“Is this a trick?” you ask. “The dates-”

“The dates are all correct,” he nods, approaching you.

“But… that would make you over three hundred years old!” you gasp.

“I’m the Cursed King,” Jaehyun breathes. “Cursed to a long, solitary life. Outliving every person I have ever cared for. Without the prophecy, without the possibility of reprieve, my heart would have turned to stone years ago.”

“Really?”

“Metaphorically,” he laughs. “It’s been a long struggle.”

“Tell me more about how you were cursed,” you insist.

“My father was a great King,” Jaehyun starts. “But his younger brother did not share the same virtues. He plotted to overthrow my father, and to do that, he enlisted the help of a witch. My uncle seduced her, using her power and knowledge to kill my father so he could take the throne for himself. I was a boy at the time.” You note the way Jaehyun’s eye twitches at the memory. “He promised to make the witch into a Queen, but he broke that promise. So she cursed him.”

“Your uncle is like you?”

“He was.” Jaehyun lets out a deep sigh. “A knight who was loyal to my father saved me from the castle, from what would have been an assassination attempt on my life as well, and he trained me in the woods for many years. But the need for vengeance never went away. When I became a young man, I went looking for my Uncle, and I killed him.” 

Jaehyun looks down, playing with a ring on his pinky. 

“What I didn’t know was that the curse was a Blood Curse. I nearly died trying to kill my uncle to avenge my father. You see, the curse made him almost impenetrable. Almost. But I found his weak spot, and when I finally made the death blow- when I fell dying to the ground next to my uncle, a large quantity of his blood soaked into my wounds, and it infected me with the curse. So here I am, the living memory of the wrongs my uncle inflicted on his house, and on his kingdom.”

“So you’re not the original Cursed King?” you ask in shock.

“No, but I still bear the curse, nonetheless.” Jaehyun offers you a sad smile. “There are more details I haven’t yet shared with you.”

“Tell me,” you insist, reaching out and taking his hand.

“Blood Curses require blood to fuel them,” Jaehyun tells you. “Food, water, wine, no regular diet sustains me. I can not die unless killed in a very specific way, but if I restrict my nature as a Cursed King… the agony of hunger is not something I can stand against either, and trust me, I have tried.”

You retract your hand, stepping back as Johnny steps forward, shielding you from Jaehyun with his body while his hand finds the hilt of his sword.

“I’m no danger to you,” Jaehyun says quickly. “The thirst is something I have been able to control for over a hundred years. But I do require blood, and when I do, I have loyal subjects who willingly donate.”

“Do these loyal subjects die when you drink their blood?” Johnny growls.

“No.” The Cursed King shakes his head. “Not since I was able to control the hunger.”

So your betrothed has killed before in the name of his curse.

Your own blood runs cold at the thought.

“Have you shared your curse with others?” Johnny questions next.

“Never. I would be condemning them if I did.” Jaehyun looks Johnny up and down. “Werewolves are the natural enemy of people like me, people who have suffered from a Blood Curse. Some call the few of us who exist Vampires. I keep Donghyuck and others like him to ensure that no one attempts to use my own blood for nefarious purposes. He is my protector and my controller, in that way.” 

After a few moments, Johnny’s hand drops from his sword. “What of the prophecy?”

“A hundred years ago, my court sorcerer was able to help me find someone with the gift of future sight, and a hundred years ago, the Forgotten Princess was seen. But few other details were given; you must know how frustrating and vague seers can be.” 

“Witches, sorcerers and seers enjoy keeping their knowledge a secret,” Johnny concedes. “But I don’t share that same control. I will share my intentions openly, as I have no need to be anything other than clear with you. If you ever hurt my Princess, I will find a way to kill you.”

“I’ll return the respect of honesty and share with you a detail that only a few people in the world know. To kill someone afflicted with a Blood Curse, you must use a sharp object made of pure ash wood. In the end, after breaking a silver spearhead on my uncle’s hard skin, it was the broken end of the handle that finally pierced his heart. He was as shocked as I was.”

Johnny says nothing, and the tension in the air is thick.

Jaehyun offers you a nod and a soft smile. “Now you know everything, I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

Eight:

Johnny has been trying to convince you to call off the marriage since your encounter with Jaehyun in the gallery, but you refuse. There’s no going back now, and despite Johnny’s insistence that he could take you away somewhere, find a cottage in the woods where no one has to know you were ever a princess, and he can protect you, you know that would never work. 

You’ve committed to this, and it takes Johnny seeing you in your dress as your tailor makes the final adjustments before the wedding for him to finally realise that for once in your life, you’re making a decision for yourself.

Your knight stays quiet as he walks you down to the great hall, and it’s only when you’re standing in front of the large doors that lead to your future that Johnny finally speaks. “What if I say I’m in love with you, and we can still run away together?”

A laugh escapes you. “I’d know you’re lying. You see me as a little sister, as a ward, a Princess. You’re not in love with me, Johnny. You’re married to your duties as my protector, which is the only reason you’re offering this.”

He sighs deeply, looking down at the ground. 

No more words are exchanged as the large double doors open, and Johnny begins to walk you down the aisle.

Jaehyun is in a dark blue and gold suit, with immaculate embroidered details that accentuate his handsome face. He smiles as you approach, and with great reluctance, Johnny hands you to your betrothed.

As Jaehyun had promised, only a few people are in attendance, and he skips many of the formal traditional steps of royal weddings, cutting to the chase.

He stares at you with warmth in his eyes as he says ‘I do’ and you echo his words with shaky hands as he gently slips a massive diamond ring onto your finger. 

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest says, and your heart leaps into your throat.

Jaehyun smiles, his hands slipping down to your hips so he can pull you closer.

It feels like everything has come down to this moment, and as your lips press to his for the first time, there are fireworks, but not the magical kind that would signify the breaking of a curse. No, the eruption of pleasure happens deep in your core, and you hold back a moan, pressing closer to Jaehyun eagerly.

He smirks into the kiss and pulls away, breaking the contact and reminding you of the eyes watching your every movement. Suddenly, you feel flushed with embarrassment. 

“Did we break the curse?” you ask, hopeful that maybe he’d felt something that signified the end to his three hundred years of suffering.

Jaehyun offers you a tight-lipped smile, and he gives his head a little shake before turning to address the small crowd. 

His words to everyone are drowned out in your mind as you think about the curse, the prophecy, and the fact that, as far as Jaehyun’s concerned, this wedding hadn’t actually accomplished anything. 

It feels like a failure, and the pain of that runs deep as your new husband takes your hand and exits with you out of the great hall.

Nine:

After the wedding, there had been a celebratory feast, and your lover hadn’t eaten anything. You’d been itching to talk to him, but hours passed before he walked you up to your quarters with your guards in tow. Johnny and Donghyuck had stayed outside the bedroom, finally giving you a semblance of privacy with the Cursed King, although you knew the werewolf knights could probably still hear the two of you as you began to talk. 

Your King had been weary and clearly disheartened, and with one small cut to his finger that had instantly healed, he had confirmed to you that the curse was still in place.

“A Cursed King, doomed to moonlight, a Forgotten Princess, doomed to a captive life. Opposites, yet alike, brought together, wrongs can be made right,” he had recited, frowning.

“Maybe we just need to give it more time?” you had suggested.

“I have all the time in the world,” he’d half-joked. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Will I not be joining you in your room?” you asked.

“I don’t sleep,” he smiled softly. “For now, you should stay here.”

And so, here you are, on your wedding night, pacing your room with Johnny standing by the door.

“I guess the prophecy didn’t say anything about marriage, or a true love’s first kiss,” you note. “All it said was when we would be brought together, wrongs can be made right.”

“It gives a lot of room for interpretation, as most prophecies do,” Johnny nods. 

He’s doing his best to appear sympathetic, but you get the sense he’s happy about all these developments… or lack thereof.

It’s not something you’re going to discuss with him, but the broken promise of wedding night intimacy is hanging over you like a dark cloud. 

You’re a Princess, and due to the virtues and expectations of being royalty, you’re a virgin.

Your first kiss had just been with Jaehyun, and it has left your body wanting more.

“As you said, maybe it just needs more time,” Johnny suggests. “It’s a Blood Curse that he’s been fighting with for over three hundred years; it might take more than a kiss and a ring to break it.”

“I had really hoped it would be that simple,” you frown. 

“I’m going to say something, and you can’t get mad at me for saying it,” Johnny warns you.

A sigh escapes your lips. “Tell me.”

“The prophecy said ‘wrongs can be made right,’ it never said anything about breaking the curse. Jaehyun has it in his head that you will be the key to him becoming human again, but there’s a possibility that humanity will never be within his reach. Maybe you have to consider other outcomes than what he’s convinced the prophecy promises.”

You think about his words for a moment, taking a seat on your bed. “So you’re saying, maybe ‘wrongs can be made right’ means something other than the curse breaking. That maybe it means…” You search your brain for a different explanation: “having a companion will break the loneliness he’s faced for three hundred years.”

“Or perhaps the light you bring to this kingdom will make a difference. I think it’s pretty obvious that part of Jaehyun’s ‘Cursed King’ reputation comes from the fact that he’s been so wrapped up in himself that he hasn’t really been a good King to his people.”

“You’re speaking treason, Johnny,” you tease.

“He’s not my King. You’re my Queen, there’s a difference.”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips. Johnny’s loyalty to you truly knows no bounds. 

“So our plan is, I give it some time, I help Jaehyun and the kingdom in ways unrelated to his curse, and maybe, the wrongs resulting from his curse will be fixed, while the curse itself remains.”

Johnny nods. “I think it’s a good place to start.”

Ten:

Keeping true to your discussion with Johnny the night of your wedding, you’ve spent the past month trying to do right by your new husband and your new Kingdom.

Johnny had been correct about his suspicion of Jaehyun’s neglect of his people. Many of the decisions had been left to a regal man named Doyoung, whose family line had consisted of advisors for over three hundred years. But Doyoung is a representation of his surroundings, and in the same way that the kingdom has lacked nurturing, Doyoung perpetuates the symptoms of neglect.

He’s hard-headed and stubborn, but Doyoung respects hierarchy, and through working in tandem with him, you’ve already accomplished many adjustments to make the kingdom a happier place.

Jaehyun has given you free rein to do what you think is best, and although you’d never been raised to be a Queen, you’d attended your elder sister’s lessons and adapted the teachings to suit your own kind heart.

Johnny is a big help, too, acting as your own advisor of sorts, as a man who was neglected by his own kingdom until he was strong enough to become a guard. He offers a unique perspective on ways to help the common people, and with each day that passes, you know he’s enjoying his time here more and more, enjoying the fact that the two of you can make a tangible difference in the lives of others.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Johnny and a few other guards accompany you on trips to villages, where you get hands-on experience talking to citizens and hearing ideas about how to make a better life for everyone.

Some parts of being a Queen are confusing for you; for example, trade negotiations aren’t something you have any grasp of. But Doyoung has helped you with that, and together, you brokered an agreement to trade some of your kingdom’s raw natural resources for medicine, which you are now planning to take to the village that has several children facing a long-lasting flu-like virus. 

As you oversee Johnny packing the medicine into the carriage in the courtyard, you notice Jaehyun standing by the castle doors. He’s watching you carefully, and when your eyes meet, he decides to approach.

“Headed to one of the villages?” he asks.

“Yes, the children there need medicine. I wanted to drop it off personally.”

The Cursed King nods. “You’ve done a lot in the month that you’ve been here.”

“I’ve done what I can, but there is more to do. Sick children took priority, but there are small fires to be put out all over the kingdom.”

“And so the Forgotten Princess becomes the Kind Queen,” Jaehyun smiles softly. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Your gaze shifts back to Johnny. “We will be leaving soon, but we will be back by nightfall. Is there anything else I can do for you, my King?”

You get the sense there’s something else he wants to say to you, and you give space for him to find the words.

Finally, Jaehyun lets out a sigh, a smile appearing on his lips. “Would you like some company?”

“You would come with me to the village?” you ask in shock.

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“I think your subjects would love to see you,” you tell him honestly. “They’re adjusting to me, but having your familiar face would calm many of their anxieties.”

“Familiar, but cursed,” he jokes sadly.

“I don’t think your people care so much about the cursed aspect,” you assure him. “It’s all they’ve ever known.”

“I wish I shared your optimism,” Jaehyun tells you. 

“In time, maybe you will.”

Eleven:

You have been queen for two months now, and you’re seeing progress in the kingdom as well as in Jaehyun. He’s warming up to you substantially, and it’s been three weeks since you’ve gone to see villages without your King as your companion.

He’s a silent type of ruler, but his presence does much to soothe his people, and despite the gloomy atmosphere of the kingdom due to nearly constant overcast weather and clouds, the energy of the citizens is getting brighter by the day.

Yet, while there has been movement in the betterment of the kingdom, your marriage has remained stagnant, and you’ve decided to change that.

You know where Jaehyun’s room is, and Johnny follows you there one evening. Donghyuck stiffens at the door when you approach, but he knocks and announces your presence all the same.

Both guards stay outside while you join your husband in his room.

Jaehyun is seated by the window, writing something in a journal. He has many such journals that line his bookshelves, no doubt writings from over three hundred years of being a King.

“Can I help you?” Jaehyun asks. 

“I would like to talk to you about the prophecy.”

The Cursed King makes a motion for you to sit on the chair near his, and he puts down his quill to address you properly.

“I have given it some thought, and I wonder if perhaps the prophecy doesn’t mean I’ll cure your Blood Curse, but that I will bring rejuvenation to you and the Kingdom,” you tell him, doing your best to sound confident.

“So that’s what all your work has been about,” Jaehyun smiles. 

“May I be honest with you?” you ask.

“Always.” He plays with the ring on his pinkie, clearly curious about what you have to say.

“I think, being so wrapped up in your curse has caused you to neglect your people. The citizens are all happy to have you near them, to have you walking in the villages again. Being cursed doesn’t mean you can’t be there for your subjects.”

“It’s true, you’ve made me realise I hold myself in a more negative light than they do,” Jaehyun confesses. “I’m thankful for your efforts, but I feel there’s more you want to say to me.”

“Well, I’m your wife,” you state. “And I would like to be your wife… in all ways.”

Jaehyun grins, gazing down at his fingers, where he continues to toy with jewellery. “Consumation has little effect when you are bedding a King who can’t give you children.”

“It has little effect on the formal expectations of royalty and religion, but a great effect on your wife,” you insist.

“You’re truly not afraid of me, are you, little Queen?” Jaehyun meets your gaze, sizing you up. “From the moment we met, I couldn’t sense any hesitation from you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” you tell him.

“Funny thing that you’re the one promising that while I’m the danger.”

“I signed up to marry you with the promise it would not be a loveless marriage,” you say. “I have done what I can, but now it is your turn.”

“I wonder if this counts as extortion,” Jaehyun chuckles.

“It counts as a failure to comply with a verbal agreement if you refuse me.” You can’t help your own smile, but it fades, and you cock your head to the side. “Don’t you want me?”

The Cursed King lets out a deep sigh. “I do.”

“Then why do you hold yourself back? I can see you resisting yourself.” 

You’ve seen him resisting himself many times. You’ve had late-night discussions where the two of you have been so close to kissing each other before saying goodnight, so many carriage rides where you know he’s wanted to hold your hand but has instead avoided you.

You wouldn’t have come here and put your pride on the line tonight if you hadn’t sensed that Jaehyun longs for you the way you long for him.

“I also promised never to hurt you,” Jaehyun explains. “And I still fear that… if we are intimate, you could get hurt.”

“Are you thirsty?” you ask.

“I just ate.”

“So you’re worried about your own strength?” you question.

“Yes.”

You know Jaehyun well enough now to have become privy to the other details of his curse. Of his insane speed and power, and while Jaehyun is often very controlled, you’ve seen him tear a thick book in half when he didn’t like its ending. 

You stand up, approaching the Cursed King. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes.” He watches you carefully.

“Then test yourself in this, for my sake,” you urge, gently grabbing his hand to pull him to his feet. You guide his palm to your cheek, nuzzling against his cool skin. Your eyes remain locked with his as you test the waters, and soon, Jaehyun joins in. 

His thumb brushes your bottom lip, and your heart skips a beat, anticipating the kiss that soon comes.

He’s so gentle, so delicate as he presses his mouth to yours, and you guide his hand down to your hip so you can wrap your arms around the back of his neck, tugging him closer.

It's your second kiss, but you know what you’re doing, your body reacting instinctively as your tongue swipes his lip.

Jaehyun groans, grabbing at the thick skirts of your dress as they billow out from under the corset by your hips. You thread your fingers in his hair, releasing your own whimper.

The sound sets him off, because Jaehyun pulls away abruptly, and you stand there for a moment, both trying to catch your breath.

“One moment,” Jaehyun says, moving from your grasp to go to the door.

Your heart sinks, wondering what he’s up to, but when he peeks his head out to the hallway beyond and dismisses the two werewolf guards with super hearing, you realise he just wants some true privacy with you.

You can hear Donghyuck’s cackle as the two men leave, and Jaehyun closes the door. “I didn’t want them listening to this,” he tells you.

“Me neither,” you confess.

He returns to you quickly, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips to yours. It’s a more fiery kiss, and even though you can tell that Jaehyun is holding himself back, it feels amazing. 

Your body is reacting in ways it has never reacted, and it leaves you breathless after each heated lip lock. The corset is starting to feel extremely tight, and Jaehyun pulls away, looking down at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“It’s this God-awful dress,” you groan. “These layers. I can’t breathe.”

“How much do you like this dress?” he asks, tugging on the beautiful black fabric with white detailing embroidery.

“It’s not my favourite,” you admit.

“Good.” Jaehyun spins you around and attacks the corset lacing. You feel the tugs of him breaking the string, and once the whale bone trap is loose, he bunches the skirt fabric in his hands and lifts it off your form.

You’re in an undergarment dress, but even so, it’s the most exposed you’ve ever been in front of a man, and your skin tingles as your heart races in your rib cage.

Jaehyun stops to admire you for a moment. “You’ve always been a good Princess, right?”

“I’ve done my best,” you say breathlessly.

“So that means…” Jaehyun steps closer, reaching down to slowly tug your dress up, “No one has ever touched you like this?”

“Never,” you confirm, heart racing even faster. 

His fingers brush your thigh. “And you’re sure you want this?”

“More than anything.”

Jaehyun slips his hand between your legs, and for the first time, he makes contact with your core. You stifle a whimper, grabbing onto his shoulders to steady yourself as he explores your sensitive pussy, two fingers swiping between your folds to test how wet you are.

“You’re soaked,” Jaehyun groans, leaning down to press his lips to your throat.

“I’ve been waiting for this for months,” you gasp as he brushes the sensitive bud that has your skin tingling.

“What kind of husband have I been to deny you?” Jaehyun whispers.

“When was the last time…” you trail off, moaning as he rubs your clit harder.

“The last time…” he brings you back to your question.

“How long has it been since you last bedded a woman?” you ask, knowing that this Cursed King is not a virgin as you are.

“Over a hundred years,” Jaehyun confesses. “I’m not proud of it, but being alive this long gets lonely. And the women offering themselves always wanted to experience the curse; they wanted me to drink from them.”

“Oh,” you whimper as he pushes a finger into your tight core.

“You’re not interested in that, are you, my sweet, innocent, Princess?” Jaehyun asks, breath hot against your throat, his tongue dipping out to tease your skin, making you tingle all over.

“No,” you gasp when his fingers brush a sensitive spot inside of you, making your legs shake. 

“I didn’t think so.” Jaehyun pulls his hand away from between your legs. “Can you lie on the bed for me?” 

You nod, doing as you’re told even though your legs feel like jelly. 

As you get situated, Jaehyun begins to remove his own elaborate outfit, undoing each golden button of his waistcoat.

You watch, skin tingling with anticipation as your Husband finally bares his torso to you.

He’s lean but well muscled, skin as unblemished as his face. His curse has granted him beauty without imperfection, and there is something uncanny about how God-like Jaehyun is, but you push the thought to the side as he approaches the bed.

“I want to do this right,” he tells you, sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed. “How much do you know about sex?”

“I overheard maids talking about it sometimes,” you admit, grasping as he grabs your ankles and tugs you toward the edge of the mattress. 

“There is so much more to the joining of bodies than the Christian procreation-above-all propaganda that many kingdoms adhere to,” Jaehyun tells you. “When two people care about each other, they take the time to actually give their partner pleasure.”

Jaehyun’s lips find your calf, and he slowly kisses you up your thigh, getting closer and closer to your aching core.

“If anything becomes too much, just push me away,” Jaehyun says, and then, he licks a stripe of your pussy, twisting his tongue around your sensitive bud.

You let out a whimper, throwing your head back and gripping the sheets, thighs already shaking from the stimulus.

“Something tells me this will be easy,” the Cursed King chuckles, his breath hot on your core and making you twitch.

“What will be easy?” you ask.

“Making you cum.” Jaehyun pushes a finger back inside of you, his tongue finding your clit again while you writhe against the bed. 

The feeling of having something inside of you is foreign but wonderful nonetheless. You close your eyes and enjoy it, holding nothing back as your moans fill Jaehyun’s room.

It’s hard to decide where to focus, with two different sensations alighting your body with pleasure, you realize you really really like how he’s handling your clit, but when Jaehyun pushes a second finger into your core, your toes curl.

“Jaehyun,” you whimper.

The Cursed King groans. “I like it when you say my name.”

He crooks his fingers up, finding that sensitive spot deep inside of you again.

A cry escapes your lips, and you grip the bed sheets even tighter, feeling another foreign sensation begin to build in the pit of your stomach.

Jaehyun’s lips wrap around your clit and he sucks harder than before, making your back arch off the bed, your muscles twisting with tension.

You’re finding it hard to breathe as he works you open with his fingers, and each firm press of pressure against the spot inside of you has you seeing stars.

You whimper his name again, and when Jaehyun growls in response, the vibrations trigger the tension inside of you, and suddenly the invisible cord in your stomach snaps.

Waves of pleasure slam into you and you cry out desperately, whole body tensing and relaxing in quick intervals as Jaehyun works you through the first orgasm of your life.

The throbbing is deliciously intense and all consuming, making your mind blank. For the first time, you feel entirely grounded in your body. There are no other thoughts, only an ecstasy unlike any you have ever experienced. 

Soon, the pleasure becomes too much, and you reach down to push at Jaehyun’s head. He pulls away immediately, looking up at you while you do your best to catch your breath.

You’ve never felt exhaustion like this, and your whole body feels like rubber as Jaehyun stands up, licking his fingers clean.

“I think maybe I should give you a break, Princess,” Jaehyun grins.

“No.” You shake your head. “I want you to feel what I just felt.”

“You want me to cum too?”

“Yes.” You nod, swallowing thickly, “otherwise it’s an unfair exchange.”

Jaehyun laughs at your weak attempt at a joke, but his hands find his belt all the same.

“Your wish is my command,” Jaehyun tells you.

You watch under hooded lids as the Cursed King removes the rest of his clothing, and you begin to drool at the sight of his cock. You’ve never seen one before, but his is quite pleasing on the eyes. 

He joins you on the bed, adjusting you so you’re resting against the pillows. Then, he helps you remove your undergarment dress, leaving you both fully naked to each other for the first time.

Jaehyun kneels between your legs, which are bent at the knee, feet flat. 

You feel so exposed, but looking up at the gorgeous Cursed King, there are no fears running through your mind.

He reaches down, cupping your breast. Jaehyun’s thumb brushes by your nipple and you moan loudly, skin tingling from the sensation.

“You’re very beautiful,” he tells you as he gets down on top of you, your thighs wrapping around his hips instinctively to lock him close to you.

His lips find yours and you tangle your fingers in his hair, groaning into the kiss with pleasure. 

Jaehyun rocks his hips, his hard cock rubbing between your folds and gently stimulating your still sensitive clit.

One of his hands snakes between your bodies, finding your breast again, where he begins to play with your nipple.

You get the sense that he’s teasing you, and his motions are working. You can feel yourself getting embarassingly wet again, your core beginning to pulse with need.

“Please,” you whimper.

“Are you sure?” Jaehyun asks. 

“Yes.”

“It might hurt.”

“I don’t care,” you insist.

Jaehyun sighs, reaching between your bodies for the base of his cock. He lines his tip up with your core and slowly pushes in, pausing when only an inch of him is inside of you. The stretch is unlike anything, and so much more than his fingers had provided.

You squirm a little, trying to relax below him while your body adjusts to the intrusion, and when Jaehyun can tell that you’ve calmed down, he pushes a little deeper.

It continues this way, small adjustments until your body has welcomed his entire cock inside, his hips now flush to your own.

You’re both gasping as you kiss, and the way he’s reacting to you only makes the situation more pleasurable. You enjoy knowing that your body is providing him the same ecstasy that he’s providing you.

“I’m ready,” you insist, knowing that more is yet to come.

“I’ll be gentle,” Jaehyun promises, and with that, he begins to move, softly rutting into you.

Your soaked core makes the movement easy, your walls swallowing him back in with every thrust. Jaehyun releases a deep groan, pressing his face to your throat again, his breath tingling your skin and making you shiver.

Your core tightens around his cock, and Jaehyun moans even louder, his muscles quivering as he holds himself back from ravaging you, wanting to go at a pace that works for a complete novice when it comes to the world of sex.

Each thrust has you seeing stars now, your inner walls quickly becoming accustomed to what had been so foreign only a short time ago.

No, this feels natural, as natural as breathing, and you breathe Jaehyun in like a woman starved for air.

You trail your fingers across his broad shoulders, teasing the muscles there as he fucks you, his pace increasing as his own inhibitions begin to dissolve.

He’s realizing he won’t break you, realizing you’re stronger than he’d ever thought you would be.

“Please,” you whimper, not sure what you’re even begging for.

“Can you touch yourself for me?” Jaehyun asks, sucking your earlobe into his mouth.

“I can try,” you say shakily, forcing your hand between your bodies to touch the sensitive bud he’d given so much attention to.

Your core clamps down around him and you moan loudly from the feeling.

“Just like that, keep rubbing it,” Jaehyun instructs, fucking you deeper and slightly adjusting his angle so you can continue to touch yourself without him continuously knocking your hand.

You close your eyes, back arching slightly from the pleasure that quickly begins to consume you again.

Each stroke of his cock inside of you feels wetter now, and the slippery sensation has its own erotic ecstacy that makes your mind numb and your body tingle.

“You feel so good, Princess,” Jaehyun moans, his sounds going straight to your core, which is pulsing with desire again. “I want you to cum for me again.”

“Again?” you whisper, still overwhelmed from your first orgasm.

“Yes, again,” Jaehyun confirms. “You’ve been so good for me, you deserve it.”

“Okay.” You rub your clit harder, as he had done when he wanted you to get to the edge faster, and you cry out immediately at how good it feels, your heart thundering in your rib cage as your body begins to tense again.

“Just like that,” Jaehyun praises you. “Such a good Princess.”

His words have you practically melting, physical and emotional pleasure taking over as you work yourself closer and closer-

“I’m almost there,” you tell him, able to anticipate your high now, knowing what comes next.

“Be a good Princess and cum for me,” Jaehyun instructs. “Cum for your King.”

Something about his words sets you off, and one more rub of your clit sends you over the edge. You let out a desperate cry, tearing your hand away from yourself to latch onto his shoulders for an anchor.

This orgasm is even more intense than the first, and now that you’re cumming, Jaehyun lets even more of his wild side come to the surface. He fucks you quickly, each thrust more powerful than the last, rocking your entire body with an electric pleasure that has your legs going numb.

Jaehyun doesn’t announce his own orgasm, but you know the moment he’s reached it. His entire body shivers, a gasp escaping his lips, his thrusts faltering before he buries himself completely inside your hot, wet core.

You can feel his cock pulsating with pleasure, and the repeated moans in your ear are the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

You hold him tightly, your heart thundering in your rib cage as you remain entwined in the most intimate embrace you’ve ever experienced.

The two of you remained locked within each other for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of two extreme orgasms, but finally, Jaehyun pulls away, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry I resisted you,” he says softly.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to.”

Jaehyun presses a kiss to your lips. “I’ll get something to clean you up, and then, you can sleep here.”

“I thought you don’t sleep?” you say in confusion.

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold you while you do.”

He pulls out of you and you both groan at the loss. Jaehyun quickly returns with a cloth, and he wipes the cum from between your thighs. 

“Tonight, our marriage officially starts,” he announces, a twinkle in his eye. “No more separate rooms.”

“And… the curse?” you ask, still holding hope that maybe, somehow, this first act of sexual intimacy had broken it.

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I think I’m starting to accept that maybe I’ll always be cursed, but having you… it rights the wrong. Having you makes it bearable.”

Your heart softens as your Husband joins you in bed, letting you cuddle up to his chest as exhaustion takes over.

Being human and ageing while married to an eternally Cursed King might be a problem, but as drowsiness starts to take you, you know that’s a discussion for another time.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! low key, I want to give werewolf knight Johnny a love interest now too

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🔮 preview. God, your first kiss with this man had felt electric, but now that you’ve been Blood Cursed, now that everything feels even more intense, this kiss is something else entirely.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, heightened vampire sex, y/n is a little more dominant with her new power/strength, blow job, hand job, mutual orgasms, praise, body worship, breast worship, slightly more submissive Jaehyun, I petnames. (hers) Princess.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.1k I teaser wc. 200

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader

bonus

You are now the age Jaehyun was when he was afflicted with the Blood Curse, and every day of your multiple year marriage has felt like it was leading up to this moment, to the moment your body has grown older than your husband’s.

Two years into your marriage, the kingdom’s sorcerer had searched for another seer, and this one had proposed a new prophecy. “Two cursed, to rule the land, two cursed, to right the bad.”

Literacy and the ability to make a prophecy with finesse haven’t necessarily been in the Seer wheelhouse for some time, but the message is clear, and tonight, on your birthday, you and Jaehyun have decided to finally make the forseen future into a reality.

Johnny isn’t the happiest about it, but he’s watched your love for Jaehyun blossom over the years. No one can deny that the two of you are soulmates, that you were put on this world to lighten up the Cursed King and his kingdom.

The well-being of the people hasn’t been better in over three hundred years, and you’ve really solidified the saying that behind every great man is an even greater woman.

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you were walking home once, minding your own business, chewing on some thought. could have been anything. from dinner to what you need to do tomorrow, let’s not act like it matters. none of these little details matter, what does, is that a man was walking towards you. (an: guys i’ll clarify it now that it’s hyunjin. i just hate when fanfics try to describe looks when we don’t know names yet)

the man passed you. smelled great. nothing more.

“is this yours?”

that was him. his voice. he talked to you.

you stopped then and turned around. he was also standing still, looking at you. holding a single airpod.

no. it was not yours. at all. not your airpod.

“shit. yes, it is.” you smiled. a hundred percent aware that the single airpod was not yours.

hyunjin smiled, relieved in a way that suggested he had not planned beyond step one: talk to pretty girl. he asked your name. you asked his. he pretended he wasn’t internally rehearsing how to introduce you to the worst decision of your life.

and that’s exactly how you got yourself into the situation before your getting murdered one, where you kept seeing hyunjin, never really revealing that the airpod was not yours. you didn’t want to, he was just so cute.

and also a serial killer, not like you knew that though.

hyunjin was always the best with the women. or with the people in general. the other seven guys were… doing alright with them, sure, some better and some worse, but hyunjin always got what he wanted. he was the one collecting the people, another person to kill.

which did not happen to you, duh it’s in the first line, but how? how, when the eight of them, eight little nobodies who only got through school and universities because of each other, are so good at killing? how, when it’s the main thing that bonds them together and gives them their sick little dosage of joy? how, when that’s the thing they can do best? how, when they’re fit? lucky? hot?

yea i’ll just stop with all the questions. i’m boutta explain, obvi.

so. you two started meeting up. you not telling him that the airpod wasn’t yours, him not telling you he was planning on sliming you out.

once, he invited you out. you two have been out hundreds and thousands of times(like five times), so it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary to you. not a date, he said hang out. his place. “a few friends might be there” he added. you went. fucking idiot.

the place was so fucking cool. big. looked good. kinda place where you immediately lost cell service and your sense of direction.

“that’s just the guys.” hyunjin had also said when you two got there, gesturing inside.

you met them all in under three minutes, which was about two minutes too many. chan was a gentleman. he smiled. he shook your hand. he had huge arms and was gorgeous.

minho and seungmin both looked like they hated you. looked you up and down. acted like bitches. acted like they didn’t understand what you wanted when you said hi and introduced yourself. acted like you were beneath them. hm.

changbin saved the moment by immediately knocking over a chair and laughing at himself. he was sweet. he asked you if you wanted a drink. that was nice, because he meant that. he wanted to get you something to drink, even if he wanted to kill you after. wanting to absolutely murder you wasn’t personal, so he wasn’t going to make it personal.

felix and unfortunately han, two sunshine or whatever you heard the guys say about them(why were there two?) were sweet, but dumb. han tried to shake your hand and missed. felix complimented your shoes and then apologized to the floor.

jeongin bowed. he asked if you were real. he told chan you were out of his league. chan was about to smash his head into a wall. he seemed intelligent though, a little playful, a little flirty. sweet guy. (also a fucking psychopath y/n run run RUN)

through all of it, hyunjin, the liar, the asshole, stayed near you. calm. watching. soooo fucking hot, man. everyone else was loud or mean or deeply stupid, but hyunjin looked at you like he didn’t quite know what to do with you.

which was funny, because the rest of them clearly knew exactly what they wanted to do with you.

they were bad at hiding it. terrible, actually. chan kept whispering. minho and seungmin stared too long. felix dropped something sharp and went “oops”. jeongin asked, loudly, if you were good at running, then immediately said he meant marathons.

you thought they were weird. intense. hot, unfortunately. you had no idea you were being sized up.

so. like two hours into the hang out. you didn’t have your phone with you, it was in the living room somewhere. you were in the kitchen with hyunjin, leaning against a counter, listening to him explain, calmly, something about the cabinets.

“uhuh.” you said, opening three drawers and finding nothing but knives. so many knives. “oouukay.”

from the living room, something heavy scraped across the floor.

“alright.” chan’s voice came. “enough foreplay.”

you frowned, no idea what he was referring to. yet. “that’s a weird thing to say out loud.”

hyunjin hummed. then seungmin appeared in the doorway, posture lazy, swaying a lil, with a fire poker in his hand. i repeat, fire poker.

you had just enough time to think oh that’s new, before he swung. clean. aimed at your head.

you ducked on instinct. the poker smashed into the cabinet behind you, splintering wood, sending a drawer of knives exploding onto the floor.

everyone froze for half a second.

“jesus.” changbin said from somewhere nearby. “we just fixed that.”

you stared at seungmin. he stared back. you two stared at each other for a while.

“…huh.” you said. “okay.”

then you ran.

the boys just… got into it immediately. switched. getting up. listening to your footsteps. laughing. jeongin whooped. they all obviously had done this before. they were so boyish, all of them. and so fucking evil.

you ran down a hallway, heart slamming in your ribs. a door on your left? locked. on your right, open.

you ran into a study and immediately regretted it. felix was there, sitting on a desk, holding a crossbow. WHERE. DID. HE. GET. THAT. FROM.

“oh!” he said, genuinely delighted. “hey.”

“move.” you snapped.

he winced sympathetically. “can’t.”

the shit that he shot out of the bow that i don’t know the name of thunked into the wall beside your head. close enough that you felt the vibration.

“fuck you.” you said, accepting it surprisingly quick that you were getting hunted down.

you burst back into the hall and nearly collided with changbin. he caught you by the shoulders automatically, steadying you.

“okay.” he said, quick and quiet. “left stair’s blocked. right one buys you maybe twenty seconds.”

“why are you telling me?” you panted.

he shrugged. “i like you.”

then he leaned down, pressed a quick kiss into your hair, warm, apologetic, and shoved you forward by the middle of your back.

“go.” he said. “before i change my mind.”

you went.

behind you, he called out cheerfully: “she went right!”

“YOU FUCKING LIAR.” minho yelled immediately.

you ran up the stairs two at a time. at the top when you turned, han was waiting, holding a bat.

“oh shit.” he said. “hi.”

you grabbed the bat mid-swing, yanked it free, and cracked him across the shin. you fucking rock y/n.

he screamed, fell over, and immediately yelled: “timeout! timeout!”

you ditched the bat(DUMB bitch) and ran into what looked like a… whatever room. it was big, too big, too open, too much of a bad choice.

chan stepped into your path. was this bitch there the whole time? no, he couldn’t be. could he?

“easy.” he said, hands up. calm. annoyingly handsome. “you’re safe for—”

you threw a chair at his head.

he caught it.

you spun, only to find minho closing in. you kicked him in the knee. hard. he lunged. you ducked, grabbed a chair again and swung blindly. the thing is, you were extremely weak tho. the chair could have been a fucking pillow at this point, because he just stepped away from it. and you… kinda went with the chair. but you stood up! luckily.

they loved this. they loved the way you fought. the way you adapted. the way you didn’t scream, just swore and moved and made it harder than it was supposed to be. it made them better. sharper. meaner. more playful.

you ran out the door you came in thru and shut it behind you, jamming a heavy table against it. the boys could have prevented that, they just didn’t. you were way too fun, and they knew that you were getting tired. they knew they were going to win this. again.

you waited a bit.

the door shuddered. once. twice.

then stopped.

silence.

your stomach dropped. that was never good.

“okay.” hyunjin’s calm voice came, suddenly close, from behind you. “i’m gonna need you to turn around.”

you spun.

for a moment, you just stared at each other.

“yeah.” you said breathlessly. “so. the airpod?”

he winced. “yeah.”

“figures. sorry for lying about it.”

“it’s fine. i lied too.” he stepped aside, gesturing toward a side door. gentlemanly. insane. “run.” he said. “i’ll count to five.”

“why?”

he smiled, small. “because it’s more fun when you almost make it.”

you didn’t wait for five. you ran again, heart in your throat.

“YOU’RE DOING GREAT!” felix shouted when he saw you run past him. “I MEAN—STOP!”

yeah. pfftt.

the house stopped making sense after a while. corridors doubled back on themselves, which was fucking brutal. there were rooms you swore you’d already crossed. you ducked into a side room and slammed the door, immediately realizing, too late, that it didn’t lock.

“fuck.” you whispered, hands on your knees, trying to quiet your breathing. and you listened. footsteps walked past. someone laughed, a really… loud laugh. jeongin’s voice echoed from somewhere far off. you could hear how unserious his voice was, talking bout sum “she’s still upright, folks, which is honestly impressive” genuinely just making fun of the situation.

“keys.” you muttered. “i need keys.” because you clearly remembered hyunjin closing the front door after you.

from behind the curtain came a soft, confused, very close: “…huh.”

you froze.

the curtain moved. it was han, holding a knife and a flashlight upside down, blinking at you.

“oh” he said. “hi.”

third hi he said tonight. hi to you too, han.

you stared at each other.

“uh.” he said.

“yeah.” you replied.

a beat passed.

another.

he frowned at the flashlight, turned it the right way up, immediately blinded himself, and yelped.

“sorry.” he said, rubbing his eyes. “didn’t mean to corner you.” serial killer btw.

“you did.” you said. “that’s literally what you did.”

“right.” he nodded. “yeah. so. i’m supposed to, uh—” he made a weak stabbing motion with his hand that held the knife. missed entirely. “—do the thing.”

you glanced at the knife in his hand. them at him. then back at the knife. “you don’t look super confident about that.” you said.

he shrugged. “i get nervous.” he hesitated. then leaned in and whispered: “hyunjin gave his keys to chan, i saw it.”

your eyes widened. “…thanks.”

he smiled, shy. “okay.” he said, stepping aside. “i’m gonna count to… uh… what’s fair?”

“ten.” you said immediately.

he nodded seriously. “ten.”

you bolted.

“ONE—” he shouted, already losing count. “THREE—WAIT—”

you ran out. didn’t get far though, you heard too many noises, so you did what made sense at the moment. hide again. and you did hide again, at least tried, you were soon interrupted by seeing felix, who was crouched behind a couch, chewing on a cereal bar.

he looked up mid-bite. “oh. hello again.”

“move. again.” you said.

he scooted instantly. “yep.”

you walked past. paused. looked back. “why are you hiding?”

he swallowed. “i forgot what the plan was.”

“oh. i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright.”

from the hallway, heavy footsteps approached. chan, probably. he walks confident. you can just… hear his walk. felix heard it too. he grimaced.

“he’s gonna be mad.” felix whispered. “he hates when i lose track.”

you looked at felix. then at the hallway. then back at felix. “you’re fine. it’s not your fault. i think so, at least.” you looked around. “he just feels like the fucking star of the show, having the keys and all that”

felix’s eyes lit up. “oh! yeah, he’s got those.”

boom. that was your plan. sneak the keys into the conversation. get to know about it. you’ll be out of there in no time, y/n.

you looked back at him. “can you distract him?”

felix thought for a second, then shook his pretty head enthusiastically. “absolutely not.”

“…fair.”

he stood anyway, squared his shoulders, and marched into the hallway yelling “HEY BRO I THINK SHE WENT—”

you didn’t hear the rest. you ran. you climbed stairs, ducked under a railing, slipped through a door that led into a laundry room, and locked it. the blessed, beautiful click of a lock nearly made you cry. then you crouched between machines, shaking, trying not to laugh or scream or do both.

minutes passed. nothing. then, a knock. polite. gentle.

you stared at the door.

hyunjin’s voice followed, calm as ever. “i’m not coming in.”

“yeah?” you called. “promise?”

“cross my heart.”

“don’t have one.” jeongin added from somewhere farther back.

hyunjin sighed.

the fact that jeongin heard you talk and didn’t go to the laundry room says a lot about them though. tells you that they’re doing this for fun. that they’re not in a hurry at all.

you edged closer to the door, careful. “i need the keys.”

“i know.”

“give them to me.”

a pause. you imagined him leaning against the wall, hands in pockets, watching the floor. “you almost deserve them.” he said. “that’s the problem.” from down the hall came a crash, followed by changbin yelling. hyunjin continued anyway, softer now. “if you get them, though… you’re really leaving.”

“yes.”

“shame.”

fucking manipulator. that’s what he is. “you’re really leaving” oh boo fucking hoo. sappy asshole.

the doorknob jiggled once.

“five minutes.” he said. “that’s what I can give you.”

then footsteps retreated. you sagged against the dryer, adrenaline buzzing. five minutes. okay. you had to get out for sure, otherwise you would be so dead. so, next, run. you were going to run. open the door and… go… some… way. anyways, that’s what you did after about one minute of sitting on the floor and thinking about how will you do that. you got out, and didn’t stop running so much as you failed forward into the next hallway.

somewhere behind you, han shouted your name wrong, twice, then tripped over absolutely nothing and went down with a sound like a dropped bookshelf.

“FUCK.” he yelled. “i’m okay! I’M OKAY.”

you risked a glance back just in time to see him scramble up, only to immediately collide with minho, who had come around the corner too fast. they hit the wall together, tangled, swearing.

you burst through a door and nearly slammed straight into seungmin. both of you froze. like actually froze. inches apart. his breath was loud. yours was worse. he stared at you. you stared at him. his grip tightened on whatever sharp thing he had in his hand.

“…hi.” you said.

“sup.” he said. “you’re shorter up close.”

“fuck you.”

“later.” he agreed easily.

you looked at him, furrowing your pretty brows.

he glanced down at the knife in his hand, then back up at you. “this is awkward.”

“yeah.”

he tilted his head. “you okay?”

“no.” you said.

“hm.”

there was a beat where neither of you moved. somewhere far away, something crashed, probably han.

seungmin tilted his head. “you gonna run, or are we doing this weird staring thing?”

you lunged left.

he lunged right.

you both smacked into the same doorframe and recoiled in pain.

“fuck.” you mumbled, rubbing your pretty head.

“shit, okay, that one’s on me.” he admitted, rubbing his shoulder. his pretty shoulder. that sweater looked good on him, by the way. yeah. hm. really good. but that didn’t fucking matter when he lunged again.

you screamed, slipped on a rug, and went down hard, only for minho to come in from the side and tackle seungmin directly into a glass table. the table shattered.

you stared.

they stared back.

“…go.” seungmin shook his head, waving you off.

you did not need to be told twice. behind you, minho yelled smth like “WHY ARE YOU LETTING HER GO?”

a crash. a thud.

then seungmin, very calmly: “because you’re pissing me off.”

you ran straight into han and felix arguing at the end of the hall.

“i said left.” han insisted, holding a crowbar upside down.

“you always say left.” felix argued, holding a taser and clearly forgetting how it worked.

you skidded to a stop.

all three of you froze.

you were panting. “can you both—”

felix lunged. han lunged. they lunged into each other. they crashed, arms everywhere, legs everywhere, clothes everywhere, the smell of men everywhere, tangled up, the taser going off uselessly into the air.

“STOP STABBING MY JACKET.” felix yelled.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE HER.” han yelled back.

you stepped over them. “thank you.” you said sincerely, and ran.

you rounded a corner and slammed straight into chan, full chest-to-chest. you both stumbled back a step. he held you automatically, hands on your arms. you stared up at him. he stared down at you.

he almost smiled.

then han came sprinting in, tripped over absolutely nothing, and took chan out at the knees.

“OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY.” han yelled, tangled in chan’s limbs. “I DIDN’T SEE YOU.”

seungmin and minho found you again. jeongin leaned against a wall, wiping dust off his knees. han just got up and felix came in late, and they tripped over each other again. chan just sighed at this point.

you backed toward the door, hands up.

then while getting up, felix slipped. took han down with him. again. they crashed into minho, who slammed into seungmin.

jeongin smiled. “DOMINOES!”

that was your chance to do something. something to even just slow these guys down, anything, bro. so, you did. when chan stood up finally, you lunged for him.

but like… that asshole just laughed in your face and twisted away easily, shoving you past him. “go.” he said. “you’re warmer when you keep moving.”

weirdo. but you ran again anyway, down a side corridor, thru a door and immediately ate shit. your foot caught on absolutely nothing, and you slid, palms burning, your pretty little skin they want to cut so bad just gone like that.

behind you, there was a collective “OOHHHH.”

you rolled your eyes. sighed. thought about just lying there because they would probably still miss even if you were completely still. you decided maybe not. so you scrambled up and ran again, swearing, adrenaline making everything feel fucking crazy. unreal. is this really happening?

you didn’t know how long you ran. time stopped somewhere around the third near death experience.

you went downstairs and upstairs and downstairs again, back and forth, hoping to find something that could save your life. when you were back at the stairs for the seventh time that night, you took the stairs three at a time, only to find han at the top, again, wheezing, holding a knife backwards.

“WAIT.” he said. “hold on—timeout—my lung—”

you ran past him.

he immediately tripped over his own foot and tumbled down the stairs alone, screaming “I’M FINE—I’M NOT FINE—TELL MY MOM—”

you didn’t look back. you burst into a bedroom and slammed the door, locking it just as something heavy hit the other side.

silence.

your chest heaved. sweat slicked your now skinless palms. you pressed your back to the door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, brain finally catching up enough to think.

okay. door. big house. front door has keys. keys are on someone. they told you it’s at chan but he could have gave it to anyone since that.

that was bad.

you stood, looking through the room. window. too high. bathroom. connected. closet. tiny but usable. fuck yes. you hid in the closet just as the door opened.

footsteps. slow. unhurried. manly.

“you know, i really thought we had something.” jeongin. sweet. acting, obviously.

you clapped a hand over your mouth.

he paced the room, dragging something metal lightly along furniture. an axe, maybe.

“like, don’t get me wrong.” he continued conversationally, “i love the chase. big fan. but the eye contact earlier? intimate.”

you heard him stop in front of the closet.

“…you in there?”

you didn’t move.

he sighed. then, dropped to his knees. you could see him through the slats now, sprawled on the floor.

“y/n.”

you could hear your breathing. you could also hear his. which meant…

“come out.”

…he could hear yours too.

okay. fuck. your only option was to make a run for it. so, after taking a biiiiig big breath, you burst out of the closet and kicked him in the shoulder. was it successful? was it a good kick? who knows. it knocked him down, that’s what matters, but it was a pretty lame kick after all. he only went down because he wanted to, not because you actually kicked him good.

anyways, you ran again. out the room. then immediately skidded to a stop when seungmin opened a door in front of you.

he stepped aside immediately. “after you.” he said, gesturing inside.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

you could hear hyunjin make a noise, talking with changbin.

seungmin raised his brows. “i insist.”

he knew that you needed an escape route and this was your only option. you knew he knew.

you sighed. ran through it, and it slammed shut behind you. you could hear a snicker(his voice), then silence. maybe he left. maybe not.

the room you were in was darker. storage. boxes. is this place even owned by these guys? or do they just come here to… play?

you hid behind a shelf, crouching, heart in your ears.

okay. think.

front door. locked. too obvious. you needed keys. you needed a person.

but they were playing. this wasn’t about killing you quickly. it was about the fun. about testing themselves. about proving, again, that they were smarter, faster, better. the teamwork thrilled them. having prey thrilled them.

footsteps approached. you tensed.

door opened. han stepped into the room, tripped over absolutely nothing, and face-planted into a stack of boxes. why always this guy?

“oh COME ON.” he groaned. “i wasn’t even chasing her!”

neither of you moved.

“…you okay?” you asked.

“yeah.” he said, looking up, nose bleeding. “yeah. you?”

“living the dream.”

he nodded. then, very gently, he pointed back towards the door. “they’re coming.” he whispered.

in the doorway, felix appeared, pointing at han. “dude. again?”

you took the chance and got out of your hiding place, quick, and bolted past them both.

felix gasped. “oh shit—sorry—sorry—”

han tried to follow, slipped again, and yelled: “WAIT FOR ME!”

a crash. a curse. someone else falling over him.

you ran down the hall toward what you hoped was the front of the house. behind you, shouting, laughter, whooping, bodies colliding, someone yelling “WHO LEFT THIS CHAIR HERE?” you rounded a corner and skidded to a stop in front of the front door. you tried the door. locked. you didn’t know where the keys are. your chest tightened. behind you, footsteps slowed. confident. chan, seungmin, minho, jeongin, closing in.

you turned around. the wall met your back hard enough to knock the air out of you.

“okay.” you said, breathless, palms flat against cold wood. “okay. this is—yeah. alright.”

the other four found you too. felix, panting. han, limping. hyunjin and changbin obviously not affected because they didn’t really take part of the chase. blocking off every possible exit.

chan didn’t take his eyes off you. “everyone good?” he asked, calm. so fucking calm. knowing he won.

“peachy.” jeongin said.

“bit winded.” felix added. “but spiritually fulfilled.”

changbin gave you an apologetic little wave. “sorry.”

two seconds later, seungmin lunged.

you fought, harder than they expected, apparently, elbowing, kicking, swearing. but they were coordinated now, hands grabbing wrists, legs hooking yours, pressure applied. you went down. not slammed, though. controlled. that fucking pissed you off more.

seungmin had your arms pinned. minho had a knee near your thigh, firm. chan crouched in front of you, looking down at your pretty face.

the second you were fully restrained, jeongin shrieked. “oh my GOD we got her!”

he leapt into felix’s arms. felix caught him, squealing back.

“we did it!” felix yelled.

they spun once. almost fell. han clapped wildly and then tripped into changbin, taking them both down.

you lay there, chest heaving, heart pounding, not knowing what the fuck was happening. because they didn’t seem dangerous, but you knew they were.

chan tilted his head. “you ran well.”

“thanks.” you said.

jeongin crouched low, level with your face. “so. how you feeling?”

“fuck off.”

hyunjin tilted his pretty head, hands in his pockets. “you did really well.” he told you quietly.

you forced yourself to breathe slower. think. keys. chan’s jacket pocket. right side. you’d seen the outline earlier when he caught one of the boys mid fall.

jeongin tilted his head at you. “are you afraid? like, i’m actually asking, because i need to know what to do differently next time. are you afraid of death? did we make you feel like you’re going to die? how would you rate it out of ten?”

you sighed, looking down at the floor. “getting killed is, like, the last thing on my list right now.”

they paused.

seungmin grimaced. “yeah, no.”

“oh, no.” felix said, shaking his head

“dude.” minho murmured.

“we would never.” changbin whispered.

“ew.” han blurted, horrified.

you narrowed your eyes. “ew?”

“no—no—not ew you.” he babbled. “i mean—fuck—you’re hot—shit—sorry—what I meant was—”

jeongin smacked the back of his head. “stop talking.”

seungmin grimaced. “we’re not… that evil.”

minho crossed his arms. “jesus.”

chen straightened slightly. “that’s not our thing.”

you watched it all carefully. the discomfort. the immediate correction. the way the tone shifted. interesting.

“relax.” you said, rolling your neck as much as the hold allowed. “i know.”

“thank you.” han said, sweating. “sorry. respectfully.”

“you’re fine.” you murmured.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

but something had shifted. you saw it. that weird line you’d dropped, half joke, half truth because it’s horrible that we have to live in a world like this, hit somewhere they didn’t like. their version of evil had rules. sooo fucking weird ones, but still.

“okay.” you said suddenly. “wait. wait.”

they paused.

“what.”

“i think i’m gonna throw up.”

“fuck—” changbin recoiled.

“not on me.” minho said, backing up.

“turn her head!” felix yelped.

jeongin scrambled backward on his hands and feet.

chan watched seungmin loosen his grip just a fraction, instinct overriding everything. “are you actually nauseous?”

“yeah.” you croaked, gagging for effect. “stress. adrenaline. it hit now that i’m still.”

hyunjin crouched beside you, studying your face. “you might want to give her space.”

“THANK you.” you gasped.

they got off you. you rolled to your side, clutching your stomach dramatically. and in that shuffle, arms moving, balance adjusting, you shoved your hand straight into chan’s jacket pocket. your fingers hit metal.

keys.

you grabbed them and curled them into your palm just as jeongin leaned back in. “you good?”

you gagged louder.

“jesus.” minho said, disgusted.

“okay, okay.” changbin said. “bathroom, bathroom—”

“down the hall.” hyunjin said calmly.

you scrambled to your knees, pushing past them, one hand over your mouth, the other clenched tight around the keys.

“don’t run.” chan warned.

you made eye contact with him.

and ran.

“FUCK.” seungmin yelled.

“GO GO GO.” han screamed, even though he was on the wrong side.

you sprinted down the hallway, heart about to explode, keys biting into your palm. behind you, footsteps. but now… less playful. more oh shit.

han tripped immediately. felix ran into a wall. changbin yelled: “STAIRS—CUT HER OFF—” and jeongin was just shouting around for fun. just hootin n hollerin.

you ran down the hall.

behind you, hyunjin’s calm voice said: “don’t panic.” which was funny. because they finally were.

you ran away from them. deep into the house again. you heard the footsteps disappear from behind you. good. good.

you slowed just enough to think. you couldn’t outrun eight of them forever.

chan and hyunjin were walking together on the halls. hyunjin had a small, neat folding knife now resting loose between his fingers. chan had taken a syringe with him. already prepped. yes, he can do a lot with only one syringe. his other hand kept brushing the empty space where the keys used to be.

he didn’t like that.

“she took them clean.” chan said.

“yeah.” hyunjin replied quietly. “good hands.”

chan glanced at him. “you sound impressed.”

“i am.”

“you like her?”

hyunjin didn’t answer.

“if we lose her, we change locations.” chan said, ignoring that his earlier question didn’t get an answer. he already knew it.

hyunjin nodded. but there was something under it. for the first time, the outcome wasn’t certain. that was unusual for them, because they usually did really, really good at this. once someone was caught by them, there was no escape. you were the first one who lived to a second round. he found that interesting. and yeah, he might have started developing a tiny little crush on you, back when you two were just meeting up normally. so what? he’s allowed to!

jeongin moved alone. still with his axe that he’d twirled into familiarity. he swung it lightly as he walked. he checked corners, smiling. as if he was dancing.

“y/n.” he called, sing-song. “be honest, was it the flirting? too much? i can dial it back. slightly.”

he stepped over a fallen chair.

“i just feel like we had chemistry.”

he grinned to himself. he loved this part, the story, the tension, the almost. he knew you were thinking now. they got a thinker. he loves that. he hates that.

he paused, listening. then grinned. “oh, you sneaky girl.”

seungmin had the fire poker again. reliable. brutal.

he liked the chase because it stripped people down to instinct. no masks. no pretending. no lying. just raw survival. that’s what he respected.

“c’mon.” he murmured. “don’t go quiet on me.”

you were irritating him. he barely got irritated. ever.

changbin and minho moved together. changbin carried an injection case now, plus a heavy flashlight he could swing if needed. minho had a hunting knife.

they turned a corner. empty.

“she’s doing something.” minho realized.

changbin’s smile(that came upon his face while he was thinking about you, hehehe) faded. “oh.”

they heard a noise and both spun, only to slam into each other again.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE.” minho snapped.

“shit.” changbin said, steadying the other guy by his shoulders. “let’s just go.”

you moved through hallways. your lungs burned, but your head was clear now. you slipped into a side room and crouched low, listening.

footsteps passed. voices echoed elsewhere. they’d spread too wide.

you waited. counted to twenty. then moved.

back at the hyunjin chan duo, hyunjin stopped in the hallway. “she’s heading back.” he said quietly.

chan. followed his gaze toward the front of the house. “you sure?”

“yes.”

“how?”

“it’s what i’d do.”

meanwhile, at the front door han sat on the floor, back against the wall, holding a shovel. felix sat beside him on the other side of the door with a frying pan he absolutely did not need to be trusted with.

“…we guarding?” han asked.

felix looked at the door. looked at the hallway. looked back at the door.

“…yeah.” he decided.

they both nodded, serious.

“you think she thinks i’m cute?” han asked, adjusting his grip on the shovel.

“bro.” felix said immediately. “absolutely.”

“really?”

“yea, mate.”

they dapped each other up.

“if she makes it back here, i call saying something smooth.” felix said thoughtfully.

“what’s smooth?”

“i don’t know yet.”

while they talked, you grabbed a metal… something from a side table. and started walking back toward the front door.

“she definitely liked when i said she was hot.” han said.

“respectfully.” felix said.

“respectfully.” han looked away, then back at felix. “she’s gonna be so impressed when we catch her.”

“dude. literally.”

they fist bumped.

then, a loud sound came from down the hallway, and a metal object rolling fast across the floor toward them.

they screamed, then scrambled to their feet, immediately abandoning the door.

“dude. we’re gonna fucking die.” han cried.

felix grabbed his arm. “if y/n was here right now, she’d hold my hand.”

“yeah.” han said, terrified. “she’d be so brave.”

“should we check?”

“absolutely not.”

“…we should get the others.”

“yes.”

they ran away from the door, deeper back into the house, yelling for backup.

the front door stood unguarded.

you waited three full seconds after their footsteps faded. then you moved. silent. you didn’t run, that was important. you didn’t want to make noise.

behind you, distant voices.

“FRONT DOOR!”

“THEY LEFT IT—”

you walked to the door quickly. put the key in. wrong key. tried another. wrong key. another. unlocked it. opened it.

now, you ran. you ran, and didn’t stop. you didn’t look back. already past the gate. past the trees. gone.

for the first time ever, they’d lost.

the boys regrouped at the front door. empty. door slightly open.

silence.

chan looked at the door. then at hyunjin, who stared at the gap, face blank. he felt respect. and relief.

seungmin looked at the lock. then at chan’s empty pocket. then back at the lock.

for a second, nobody spoke.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” minho said, sneering.

behind them, han and felix jogged in, out of breath and pale.

“okay.” felix panted. “so—update—there’s a hallway demon—”

they stopped when they saw everyone standing still, all backs turned to them.

felix looked around. “anyone else feel a breeze?”

chan walked to the door in three steps and shoved it open the rest of the way. empty driveway. dark trees. no you.

jeongin blinked. “…no.”

seungmin made a sound like someone had just run over his foot. “noooo.”

minho rubbed both hands down his face. “no no no no—”

jeongin looked at the ceiling. “oh that’s embarrassing. that’s so embarrassing for us.”

han gasped “shit, she did it!”

felix nodded. “i always believed in her.”

they high-fived.

every head turned.

“are you two serious right now?” seungmin snapped.

han immediately jumped into felix arms.

chan stepped back inside slowly and shut the door, quiet. too quiet. “no one moves.” he said.

seungmin was already halfway to the threshold, fire poker still in hand. “we can still see the road—”

chan grabbed his arm. hard. “i said no.”

seungmin yanked free. “she’s on foot.”

“she has a head start.”

jeongin crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “so we just—what—clap?”

“use your brain for once.” chan, voice low. “you’ll make mistakes.”

“oh, i’m sorry.” seungmin snapped. “did your pocket make a mistake?”

OHHHHH.

minho swore and kicked a chair across the room. it smashed into the wall. “THIS is why we don’t get cute.” he said. “this is why we don’t play with our food.”

chanbin winced. “okay, that phrase—”

“not the time.” seungmin cut in.

hyunjin leaned against a table, arms crossed, watching the boys.

seungmin looked at him, suspicious. the level of angry where he gets suspicious at anything. “you’re quiet.”

“thinking.”

“about?”

hyunjin didn’t answer.

“you liked her.” minho accused.

hyunjin’s eyes flicked to him, calm and flat. “irrelevant.”

“bullshit.”

chan stepped between them before it turned physical. “enough.”

“no, not enough.” jeongin shot back. “she got past eight of us. eight.”

“seven.” seungmin muttered. “i was close.”

“YOU HIT A CABINET.” changbin screeched.

felix, still holding han bridal style, raised a hand. “i think we should acknowledge that she was very good.”

everyone stared at him.

han nodded seriously. “and brave.”

minho looked like he might actually kill them. “put him down.”

felix gently set han on his feet.

han immediately pointed at minho. “your energy is aggressive.”

minho grabbed a glass off a table and hurled it into the fireplace. it shattered. “THIS is aggressive.”

“billy badass over there.” changbin murmured, crossing his huge arms.

minho didn’t hesitate to turn towards changbin and shove him. changbin shoved back automatically.

“don’t start.” chan warned.

too late. seungmin grabbed minho’s shoulder and pulled him back. minho shook him off. jeongin stepped between them, not to help, just to watch. “god, you’re all so emotional.” he muttered.

seungmin started toward the door again, fury radiating off him. “i’m going after her.”

now, chan didn’t just stop him but actually pushed him away by the chest. a confident, violent push. manly. frustrated. “no.”

seungmin rounded on him. “she’s RIGHT THERE.”

han raised his hand again. “i still think she likes me.”

everyone yelled at once: “SHUT UP.” “READ THE ROOM.” “YOU WERE AFRAID OF THE DARK.” “SHE HIT YOU WITH A BAT.” “YOU LEFT THE DOOR.”

“we were investigating a threat!” felix said defensively to the last one.

“you are the threat, you idiot!” seungmin barked, then grabbed the front of his own shirt and screamed into it.

minho kicked the wall.

chan exhaled through his nose, centering himself. “no chasing into the dark.” he said. “not like this.”

“she’s getting farther.” jeongin argued.

seungmin made a noise like something dying. chan folded his arms. thinking. hyunjin stared into the night air like he could still see the path you took.

behind them, han whispered to felix: “when we catch her, i’m gonna ask if she thinks my eyes are pretty.”

felix nodded seriously. “they are.”

eight dangerous men. outplayed. and every single one of them wanted you back.

so yeah. that’s what happened, like… two weeks ago now? yeah. about two weeks. now you’re living your life. you hadn’t told anyone. what would you even say? you decided to just leave it. process it. give yourself time to get over it.

now you are standing in line for coffee. life’s been fine since that after all, you deserve it. you slept. eventually. not well, but enough. you changed routines. new routes, new locks, pepper spray, therapy waitlist, the works. you tell yourself you’re fine.

your name gets called.

“hey.”

your stomach drops before your brain catches up. you don’t turn around. because you know that voice. so you grab your coffee and walk. behind you, footsteps.

“okay, so don’t freak out.” jeongin says.

you keep walking.

“that’s actually a terrible opener, sorry, ignore that.”

you cross the street. he crosses too. you don’t look at him. you don’t run. at least you try.

“you look good.” he adds.

“go away.” you say calmly.

“working on it.” he says, which is not how that phrase works.

you turn a corner toward a busier street. people. noise. couples. kids.

“no.” you say.

“i just want to talk.”

“no.”

“did you get a haircut?” he tries.

you stop dead and turn. “how long have you been following me?”

“today? or—”

“jeongin.”

he winces. “okay. today today? like twenty minutes. but not in a creepy way. i was building courage.”

you resume walking faster.

he matches it, breath puffing a little. “listen, i know we didn’t end on a great note.”

“you chased me with an axe.” you cross the street without looking. a car honks. jeongin grabs your sleeve and yanks you back just enough to keep you from getting hit.

you stare at him.

“i didn’t come to hurt you.” he says. “if that helps.”

you keep walking. he groans softly and follows. people passing by just see two hot twenty somethings having what looks like a mildly tense situationship talk. it’s kinda crazy that they have no idea what happened two weeks ago.

you walk faster. he matches it.

“you dropped something.” he blurts. when you give no reaction, he tugs at your sleeve. “really.” he says, pointing behind you.

“that only worked once.” you say, yanking your hand out his grip.

“yeah.” he sighs. “worth a shot.”

a florist stand is set up on the corner. without stopping, jeongin leans sideways, grabs a small bouquet, tosses a crumpled bill onto the table, and keeps moving. he shoves the flowers toward you.

you stare at them. then at him. you don’t take them. but you stop walking and finally look at him.

he looks… normal. hoodie. messy hair. no axe. no grin that clearly tells he’s in animal mode. just this pretty guy.

people move around you, annoyed at the sidewalk blockage.

“you have five seconds.” you say.

he nods, serious now. “okay. we’re not going to hurt you.”

you stare. you start walking again.

he follows. “the boys haven’t shut up about you.”

“that’s not flattering.”

“it kind of is.”

“i don’t know what you want. i’m not coming back.” you say.

“i know.”

“you can’t follow me.”

“already am.”

you reached your apartment building. this is bad. this is very bad. you stop again, turning to face him fully now. his eyes shine.

“we don’t want to kill you.” he says quietly.

you search for anything that could say he’s lying. you can’t find it.

“that doesn’t make you better.” you say.

“i know.”

“you’re still—”

“yeah.”

“…if you come near my place again, i call the cops.”

he nods immediately.

“if i see any of you, i run.”

“mhm.” he holds the flowers out again, then seems to think better of it and just sets them on the sidewalk between you. “i just needed you to see that i’m not… only that.”

“…you are that.” you say. you’re not even being mean, just honest. brutally honest.

“yeah.” he says.

you go inside without looking back. not caring about where will he go, when will he go, why will he go.

the next day, you change your route. different coffee shop. different street. hoodie up, headphones on, just really fucking trying to stay away from them in general. you’re in that coffee shop now. then you step out of the café with your drink, and nearly walk straight into a guy. you flinch back hard.

“whoa—sorry—sorry.” a voice says quickly.

you look up. it takes your brain a second. glasses. plain black frames. simple gray t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that this man is fucking fit.

changbin.

he gives you a small, awkward wave like you ran into each other and not like he… he found you. “hi.”

you just stare.

“i come in peace.” he adds, lifting both hands.

you close your eyes. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“okay. before you walk away—i deserve that—but just—hi.”

you glance around. public. morning rush. safe enough. “why are you here.”

he adjusts his glasses. “i just wanted to talk. like, normal talk. not chase talk.”

you sigh, and start walking. “you have two minutes before i start screaming.” that’s more time you’ve given jeongin, though.

he falls into step beside you immediately. “you could’ve called the cops.” he says after a moment. genuinely confused. “you still could.”

you look at him. “you don’t think i’ve thought about that?”

“i figured. but you didn’t.”

you sip your coffee, buying time. “you’d disappear before anyone got there.”

“…yeah.” he admits.

“and then what? i spend the rest of my life wondering if you’re gonna show up mad?”

he nods slowly. he can’t argue that.

“also, i don’t want to tell that story out loud. figured it would be the best for me if i just lived through it and got over it. eventually.” you add, quieter.

changbin nods “okay. yeah. that makes sense.”

you study him. he looks the same as in the house, almost friendly. that makes a question pop up in your head. “have you done that before?” you ask. “like. killing people.”

“yeah.”

“how many?”

he blows out a breath through his teeth. “i don’t keep a number.”

“and why?”

he takes a breath, thinking. actually thinking. “it’s not the killing part.” he says slowly. “not for me. that’s just… the end of it. it’s the before. i dunno. i like the teamwork. but that’s just me, ask the others if you want their version.”

you’re confused. “…did something happen in your past?”

he shrugs. “no. grew up rich. had friends. i have a great job. my mom calls me on sundays.”

you stare at him.

“i’m serious.” he says. “i’m just… like this.”

you hate how calmly he says it. “when did you start?”

“early twenties.”

“why didn’t you stop?”

he gives you a small, almost embarrassed smile. “i’m good at it.”

you don’t answer. a car horn blares down the street. someone laughs nearby. the world keeps going, oblivious. “you scared me.” you say.

“i know.”

“you still are.”

“i know.”

you swallow. you check the time on your phone. “i told jeongin i’d scream if any of you came close to me ever again.”

“i heard.”

“you got lucky.”

“i’m glad.”

a bit of silence.

you meet his eyes. “i don’t trust you.”

“you shouldn’t.”

“but you still came now. why? why can’t you leave me alone?”

he shrugs, small and helpless. “i liked talking to you in the kitchen. before we… started.”

ow. sounds bad. so bad that you take a step back. away from him. you’re scared.

“i don’t feel things the way other people do.” he says finally. he wanted to spit that out for a while now, he just couldn’t scrape the courage together. “it’s like everything’s gray unless it’s intense.”

you sigh. “…at least you’re honest.”

he nods. “i just… i wanted one interaction with you that wasn’t you running.”

you watch him. he’s still scary. “you got it.” you say. “now what.”

he shrugs. “now i go away.”

you study him. glasses slightly crooked. trying very hard not to look threatening. failing, because he looks like he could lift a car.

you almost smile. almost. “don’t follow me.” you say.

“i won’t.”

“tell the others.”

“i will.”

you start to walk off.

“hey.” he calls.

you turn, tired.

“you were really impressive.” he says. sincere. really.

you hold his gaze. “i know.”

then you leave him standing on the sidewalk, alone. alone with his horrible, evil soul. alone with this weird dumb crush he recently developed on you. alone with his biceps, flexing because he feels a lot and it just… happens when he feels a lot.

it’s the next day. normal day. sun’s out. people walking dogs. a delivery truck is parked. blablabla anything that says world goes on. you were paranoid this day, sure, but you survived so far. you’re currently locking your apartment building door after yourself so you could go grocery shopping when a voice behind you says:

“okay, don’t be mad.”

you close your eyes. slow inhale. you turn.

it’s felix. and this guy literally tried to shoot you once, you remember clearly, but he looks… perfect. perfect hair. expensive jacket. shoes that cost more than your phone. holding… a container?

you stare.

he smiles, so sweet. “i made you muffins.”

“…you what.”

“blueberry.” he says proudly.

you look at the container, suspicious. “i’m not eating that.”

he frowns a little. “that hurt my feelings.”

“you tried to kill me.”

“sorry.”

you rub your face. “why are you here.”

he shifts his weight. he’s nervous. it’s cute tho. “we voted.” he says.

“you VOTED.”

“yeah.”

“ON WHAT.”

“on not killing you.”

you just stare at him.

he brightens. “it was almost unanimous.”

“WHO voted no?”

“…minho.”

yoy try to step around him toward the street. he mirrors you accidentally.

“felix.”

he freezes. “yeah?”

“move.”

“oh. right. sorry.” he sidesteps so fast he almost falls off the curb.

“you cannot come here.” you say. calm. really hoping he’ll understand. “you cannot follow me. you cannot bake for me. do you understand how insane this is?”

he nods immediately. “yes.”

“then why are you here.”

he looks at the muffins. then at you. “okay. so. we— i— baked.” yes baby, we know. you told us already.

“i see that.”

“for you.”

“i gathered.”

he nods, satisfied that the point has been made.

you start walking. he starts walking. directly into a street sign. it’s loud.

he recoils. “ow.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“is it bleeding?” he asks, pointing at his face, but he immediately goes cross eyed as you push his face away instead. his skin is warm. feels nice tbh. he blinks at you, unbothered. “you have strong hands.”

“go away.”

“okay.” he says.

he does not go away.

you reach the crosswalk and the light changes. felix steps forward without looking. a car honks.

you grab his hand and yank him back.

he stumbles into you.

“jesus.” you mutter, still holding his hand as you cross. “you’d be roadkill in five minutes.”

he looks down at your joined hands, his big eyes shining, absolutely taken aback by the fact that you would do this for him. well, all that until you drop his hand on the other side of the street.

“thanks.” he says cheerfully.

a man wearing a watch worth a month’s rent, carrying something he made for you that you won’t eat, who could absolutely overpower you, and instead just almost died to a car.

“don’t follow me.” you say.

“okay.” he says, still following.

you glance at him. “you’re unbelievably stupid.”

“thank you.” he says.

“that wasn’t—”

“i’ve been working on self-acceptance.”

pffft.

you stop. “felix, listen. i don’t want you guys here.”

he looks at you, tilting his pretty head in confusion.

“you scare me.” you clarify.

“oh.” he says quietly. that, he understood.

you point at the muffins. “those could be drugged.”

“they’re not!”

“i don’t know that.”

silence hangs between you. street noise fills it. someone laughs across the road. life just keeps going.

“i liked talking to you.” he says finally.

“you didn’t talk to me.” you reply. “you hunted me.”

“yeah. i’m sorry.”

you watch him. disappointed that something this beautiful can be this cruel. “you need to leave.”

he nods. but he doesn’t move yet. “do you…” he starts, then stops. tries again. “do you hate us?”

you don’t hesitate. “yes?” of fucking course bro???

his little brain absorbs that. shoulders drop a little. “okay.”

he holds out the muffins one last time, hopeful in the dumbest way possible.

you just look at him.

he lowers them.

“just go, felix. bye.”

“yeah. bye.”

he turns the wrong direction.

you grab his hood and spin him around. “that way.”

“right.” he says, walking off.

he makes it three steps. turns back. holds up the muffin container. “do you want—”

“no.”

“okay.”

he walks into a bike rack.

you watch him go. he looks beautiful.

you hate him.

you check to make sure he crosses the next street safely before you turn away.

that passed too. a few days later you are leaving a pharmacy in the afternoon, receipt crumpled in your fist, focusing on your surroundings now.

and across the street, leaning against a lamppost, is chan. he raised a hand, giving you a little wave, mouthing: you good?

you mouth back go away.

he nods once, then pushes off the pole and walks in the opposite direction. not chasing now. actually walking away.

then you’re in a grocery store, looking at pastas, deciding which one you want to eat tonight. a hand reaches past you and places the more expensive one in your cart.

you turn. it’s seungmin. black hoodie. baseball cap.

you immediately pull it back out. “no.”

he takes it. puts it back into the cart.

“no.”

back in.

“stop.”

it went on for a good five minutes.

at checkout, you unload your stuff, and when you’re about to pay, seungmin comes up behind you and wordlessly uses his card. do you process that in the head? no, only when he is already at the exit, hands in his pockets, not looking back.

he walks straight into the automatic door before it finishes opening. you hear the thud.

you rub your temples.

then you’re walking through the park because that’s the shorter way home. peaceful. sunlight. children playing. then the bush next to the sidewalk starts shaking.

you stop. you kick the bush. han tumbles out directly at your feet. face in dirt.

“…hi.” he says into the grass.

you look down at him. “were you hiding?”

he looks up at you, leaves in his hair, expression hopeful. “no.”

you start walking again. he scrambles up and follows, then trips on the sidewalk edge.

you catch his sleeve before he eats pavement. “use your brain.”

he nods seriously. “i keep meaning to.”

next time about days later, you see felix before he sees you. he’s staring into a store window, clearly confused by mannequins.

you walk past.

noticing that, he turns and his pretty little face lights up. “hi!”

“hi. don’t.”

“okay.”

he walks into a mailbox.

you only see hyunjin once, at a distance. not close enough to speak. just standing outside a train station, hands in his coat pockets, watching the crowd, not just you.

when your eyes meet, he doesn’t smile, just gives a small nod. then he leaves.

days after that it’s seungmin again. at night. parking lot. you only came with car because it was too far. you’re unlocking your car and a shadow leans against the hood.

“you’ve been avoiding me.” seungmin says, casual as hell, like he didn’t once swing a fire poker at your skull. “man.” he continues “small world, right?”

you turn, pepper spray in hand, and spray it directly into his eyes.

he screams, drops to his knees, clawing at his face. “OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE SATAN PISSED IN MY EYES—”

“stop finding me!” you yell.

he’s laughing through the pain. laughing. “you look good today.”

you drive off while he’s still swearing.

the next time minho follows you through a bookstore. keeps pretending to browse. picks up a book upside down. so you turn a corner and wait. he walks right into it. he also gets a taste of your pepper spray.

“SON OF A BITCH.” he chokes, doubling over between romance and self help. “you fucking—”

“YOU’RE STALKING ME.”

they find you in different places. weeks apart. or days apart. but they always come back.

something is clearly wrong with them. like, all eight are sick in the head. but it doesn’t seem like they’re following you around to kill you. they talk too long. they get distracted. they bring you things. they absolutely eat shit every time you fight back. and you do fight back. diva.

minho and seungmin have been pepper sprayed so many times they flinch when you reach into your bag. jeongin tries every possible pickup line on you. han once tried to sneak up on you and got hit in the face with your tote bag and apologized.

it’s ike they’re still in hunting mode. after you. into you. but now they’re… unsure. they don’t seem to want you dead anymore. they just… want you around now. or to just be around you, at least.

it’s the middle of the night right now. you’re in old sweatpants, hair a mess, waiting for the food you ordered. and soon enough, the doorbell rings. you shuffle over and look through the peephole for a second. delivery uniform. cap. bag. seems normal. so you open the door.

it’s felix. smiling ear to ear, holding your takeout, wearing the uniform jacket and cap. “hi!”

“absolutely not.” you say, already closing the door.

he sticks his foot in. “wait, wait—don’t slam it, the soup’ll spill—”

that’s when you see it, behind him, in the hallway. a man on the floor. the delivery uniform pants still on him, only his jacket gone, the one on felix right now. there’s blood under the man.

your stomach drops. your organs drop. after staring for about a minute, you slowly look back at felix. “…is that—”

“okay.” he says quickly. “before you freak out—”

“BEFORE I FREAK OUT?? YOU KILLED THE DELIVERY GUY?!”

jeongin leans into view, coming next to felix, hands in pockets. “it wasn’t him who killed the guy.”

you point wildly, not even concerned about the fact that there’s two of them now. “THAT IS A PERSON ON THE FLOOR.”

“yeah but like…” minho says, stepping into the doorframe, arm around felix’s shoulders now. “he’s not using the uniform anymore.”

your mouth opens. nothing comes out.

and then, without a word, chan walks past you. into your home. into your fucking home. felix shrugs and follows him. the other six too, actually taking their shoes off.

YOU ARE STILL HOLDING THE DOOR. THEY JUST WALK AROUND YOU.

“what—no—no—no—” you manage, backing up as they enter.

han closes the door gently behind them. “heat’s nice in here.” he says.

hyunjin looks at you and mutters a quiet but confident “hi” before going further into your living room.

changbin walks past you and spins slowly, taking in the room. “oh this is cute. this is very you.”

“YOU BROUGHT A CORPSE TO MY DOOR.” you choke.

felix is still holding the food bag. “your noodles are getting cold.” he says softly.

you make a noise that doesn’t exist in human language. (imagine something close to a windows crash sound)

seungmin tosses his jacket over a chair. there’s a smear of blood on his sleeve.

you gag.

he notices. “oh, relax. it’s mostly the delivery guy’s.”

“OH MY GOD.”

“hey, where’s the hand soap?” han asks, already at your kitchen sink, washing blood off his fingers.

you stare at the red swirling down your drain.

jeongin flops onto your couch. “i like what you did with the lighting in here. mood.”

“GET OUT.” you say, voice coming back in bursts. “GET—OUT—OF—MY—APARTMENT.”

they all look at you. it’s obvious that they don’t really understand what’s your problem.

chan gestures toward the takeout bag. “eat first.”

“I DON’T WANT THE FOOD.”

felix looks devastated. “you picked the combo meal…”

changbin is by your bookshelf now. “you alphabetized? that’s hot.”

“a— i— eugh— what is HAPPENING.”

minho leans against the wall. “okay, in our defense—”

“there is NO DEFENSE.”

“—we didn’t come to kill you.”

“YOU’RE TRACKING BLOOD ON MY FLOOR.”

they all look down.

han lifts his foot. “…shit.”

jeongin points at him. “mop boy.”

han salutes and grabs paper towels.

“listen.” chan says, turning to be in front of you. “we just wanted to see you.”

you stare at him. then at the door. “…you couldn’t text?” you ask hoarsely.

eight grown ass serial killer men exchange glances.

jeongin shrugs. “didn’t have your number.” that’s alright sweetie, not like you can’t find a phone number when you can find an address perfectly. not like you can’t ask for it from HYUNJIN.

you make another sound.

changbin steps closer, hands up, gentle. “okay, hey. we know this looks bad.”

“LOOKS—”

“bad phrasing.” he admits.

seungmin rubs the back of his neck. “we didn’t plan the delivery guy part.”

“that’s WORSE.” you sag against the wall. “you have got to be shitting me.” you whisper to yourself. then you look at them. all of them. in your apartment. on your couch. at your sink. in your life. “out.”

they don’t move.

jeongin tilts his head. “we just got here—”

“OUT.”

changbin actually flinches.

seungmin raises his hands. “okay, volume—”

“you killed someone. again, i assume. and brought it to my DOOR. do you understand how fucking insane that is?”

silence.

“i can’t sleep normally. i check reflections everywhere. i don’t walk with headphones anymore. do you get that? do you get what you did to my brain? i couldn’t function for weeks. every sound was footsteps. every guy walking behind me was one of you. i have three different hiding spots in my own apartment.”

han raises a hand slightly. “this one’s not great.”

“NO IT IS NOT GREAT.”

felix looks genuinely confused. “we didn’t think about… after.”

“YEAH. THAT’S THE PROBLEM. you don’t think about after. you don’t think about people being PEOPLE. you think about adrenaline and teamwork and your little murder club hangouts.”

changbin crosses his arms. “okay when you say it like that—”

“how else is there to say it??” you gesture wildly at the room.

they don’t look guilty. they look… attentive. they’re paying attention. trying to understand you.

you swallow. “no, seriously. i want to know. when you followed me for weeks? when you showed up at my job? when i thought every man walking behind me was about to grab me? that was fun for you?”

seungmin shrugs. “engaging.”

you grab the nearest thing, a throw pillow, and launch it at his face. then relax your shoulders and sigh. “i am a person. with a nervous system. i had a normal life before you guys.”

there’s a long pause.

felix raises a hand slightly. “your food is still warm.”

“READ THE ROOM.”

he lowers it.

han whispers to him: “she’s upset-upset.”

“no shit.” you snap.

chan has his hands on his hips. “you’re saying we made you paranoid and ruined your life.”

you stare. “…are you fucking for real right now.”

“trying to understand the damage.”

“DAMAGE???”

jeongin leans forward on the couch, elbows on knees. “we don’t feel fear like that, or guilt the way you do.”

“yeah, i noticed.”

“but we’re not dumb.” hyunjin says quietly.

your eyes flick to him.

he meets them. calm. honest in a deeply unsettling way. “we know we changed your life. we can see the behavioral shifts. we know what we did. we just don’t care.“

you blink. does this fucking asshole hear himself.

he continues. “and what you’re saying is that our continued presence equals harm.”

you blink “yes.”

“even without immediate violence.”

“YES.”

he nods once. processing. filing it somewhere in his terrifyingly organized brain.

chan takes over. “we’re saying, we understand the outcome. even if we don’t experience the emotion attached.”

changbin rubs his neck. “we didn’t think about the after. usually there isn’t one.”

you let that sit. “yeah.” you say. “because people die.”

quiet.

han finally says, softly: “you didn’t.”

you look at him. “no. i didn’t. and now i have to live with what you did.”

there’s a long silence.

then jeongin claps his hands once. “so. solution. anyone? ideas?”

you point at him without looking. “you are on thin fucking ice.”

he mimes zipping his mouth.

seungmin rubs his face. “okay, but question.”

you glare.

“when we stopped trying to actually kill you… that didn’t help?”

you just stare at him. “…you hear yourself, right?”

he thinks about it. “…yeah.”

felix looks like he’s actually using his brain for once. “we thought… not finishing the job was growth.”

“that is the lowest bar i have ever heard in my LIFE.”

but you see, the thing is, this is a system error for them. you’re not prey right now. you’re not running. you’re furious, first of all. human. loud. hurt. they don’t know this game. they only know the killing and manipulating one, but they want to have you. they just… don’t know how to get you.

chan clears his throat. “so the correct action would be… removal of our presence.”

“yes.”

“immediately.”

“so fucking immediately.”

“we don’t want to kill you.” minho cuts in, hoping that this saves their situation a bit.

“yeah, you told me a hundred times already. your point?” you ask

“we like you.”

you make a face like you bit into soap. “that is not how liking works.”

“for you.” he agrees.

chan exhales. decisive. “we adjust behavior.”

you cross your arms. “into WHAT?”

silence.

felix brightens. “dinner?”

you stare at him.

han nods eagerly.

you look around the room at eight serial killers in your living space, one of them holding a roll of paper towels covered in someone else’s blood. “…dinner.”

changbin shrugs. “low pressure environment. public. you feel safer. we practice acting normal.”

minho adds: “exposure therapy. for all parties.”

“i just gave a speech about how you ruined my sense of safety.” you whisper, voice defeated.

hyunjin nods. “we heard you.”

“and you want to take me to DINNER.”

“yes.”

“why.”

he doesn’t hesitate. “because harming you is now counterproductive to the thing we want.”

you are actually taken aback by the words this guy uses. “…which is?”

he holds your gaze.

“you.”

the room goes quiet.

then han whispers to felix, way too loud: “is this flirting?”

“yeah.” felix whispers back. “i think this is the good kind.”

you drag a hand down your face. “…get the fuck out of my apartment.”

they stand, immediately obedient. getting their shoes on and whatnot.

changbin gives you a small wave. “we’ll text?”

“you do not have my number.”

jeongin points at hyunjin. “he’ll give it to us.”

“I WILL CALL THE POLICE.”

they walk out.

han pauses at the door. “sorry about the sink.”

door closes. silence. your apartment is a disaster. your life is worse.

but… they looked weirdly sincere, actually. and they were.

soon, they stopped showing up unannounced. mostly. they also stopped bringing weapons into your line of sight. mostly. and they stopped treating you like prey. completely.

how were they about you, comes the question.

obsessed.

and they did not process attachment normally. if they processed it. they did not understand love. but they understood preference, and if you told them enough times, then eventually they understood your emotions too. well, not understood, but they processed the fact that you feel the way you feel and they can do something about it if they actually try.

han once fell down an entire staircase because someone said your name and he turned too fast. chan pretended he wasn’t competitive about board games and then absolutely lost his mind over monopoly. hyunjin brought you flowers all the time. you learned that seungmin always had to sleep on his stomach.

you started to understand the function of them. not excuse, no. absolutely not. just understand and process the fact that they’re how they are. and you couldn’t do shit about it, and you couldn’t get rid of them now. so you lived with it.

they still killed, of course. that was one of the few things that brought them happiness in life, so you couldn’t expect them to stop doing it. they didn’t kill around you, though.

but you knew they still did it. and you could feel when the tension built when they haven’t hurt anybody in a long time.

it also… what’s the right word, scared? impressed? took you aback? could be either, what matters is that when you saw that all of them had it in them, even han and felix who behaved like total angels throughout the day, it… upset you. or just moved something in you, seeing that each of them has that empty place where fear or guilt or empathy should go.

they didn’t kill out of anger. it was release. their brains were wired wrong. thrill, control, mastery, stimulation, those hit the reward centers. violence scratched an itch they couldn’t reach any other way.

and after, they were calmer. lighter, like they’d gone for a run. when they were satisfied with themselves, they tried to tell you about it. you always stopped them, because you did NOT need to hear the horrible things they did. no matter how much they wanted to brag about it, how much they wanted to make you proud.

you weren’t safe in the world, but you were weirdly safe with them. and they would have died for you.

but you had to set rules. actual rules. “do not follow me into bathrooms.” “do not threaten my coworkers.” “do not kill anyone within a five-mile emotional radius of me.” the basics. and they tried. god, they tried. but they didn’t really… do well.

once you opened your door to seungmin at one in the morning, and he stood there, breathing a little heavy, COVERED in blood.

you just stared.

he stared back.

“…you good?” he asked.

“are you good??”

“oh. yeah. not mine.”

you almost slammed the door. he stopped it with a hand, but gently. always that now.

“didn’t come here for that.” he said.

“for what, seungmin, WHAT possible reason makes this a normal social call.”

he shrugged. “adrenaline crash. didn’t wanna be alone.”

that did something weird to your chest. not forgiving, just… information. because you realized that now they wanted you. your company, your voice, your hands. and it felt good.

anyways, you told him to take a shower, then you let him hang out with you.

they also fought each other more than they ever fought you.

once minho and jeongin, two extremely capable men mind you, actually went for each other’s throats in your kitchen while hyunjin and chan tried to separate them.

you yelled at them then. they paused and looked at you.

jeongin, bleeding from the lip, grinned. but like in that hot way. “sorry.”

“take it outside if you’re gonna be like this.” you told them.

“fair.” chan said, dragging minho back by the collar.

you weren’t scared of them like prey anymore. you were scared of the capacity. the strength. the speed. the way the air changed when something in them flipped.

you’d seen what they could do, you just weren’t the target now.

they were on your dick constantly, though. emotionally. socially. existentially. texting wasn’t their thing, but presence was. which meant they showed up unannounced a lot. but the reason for that was that they didn’t want to lose access to you, to be honest. didn’t like the thought of that.

one night you opened the door to changbin. he told you he was going to come over later. well, it was late. around midnight.

when he saw you, his eyes lit up, and wrapped you in the warmest, most affectionate, full-body hug of your life.

you froze.

because he was sticky.

wet sleeve. iron smell. your cheek against his skin. your hands touching the back of his shirt.

he squeezed tighter, cheek against your hair. “missed you.”

you pulled back.

looked down.

this boy was covered in blood.

he smiled, soft, relieved. “hi.”

you shoved back, stumbling, hand over your mouth, already shaking your head like that would stop it. you barely made it to the sink before you threw up in it.

behind you, changbin stood there, horrified. “oh. oh no. right. right. that’s— that’s on me.”

from the hallway, jeongin yelled: “did you forget again??”

“I GOT EXCITED.”

hyunjin was the only one who followed you then, already grabbing a towel, turning on the sink. he didn’t look at changbin, and he didn’t look at the blood. he looked at you. “i’ve got you. you’re okay. breathe.”

they kept forgetting what you were. alive. normal. human. that for you it was a body, a person, a life.

it wasn’t the only time, of fucking course. they’d be loose, relaxed, calm. you’d be staring at hands that had done something irreversible two hours ago. there were a few nights like that, a sleeve not changed, a stain not noticed, you throwing up in your own kitchen while eight men who could disassemble a human being panicked because they’d upset you.

not because they felt guilt like you did. because they’d hurt something important in the environment. you. you, who sometimes made it to the sink, sometimes didn’t.

they did learn, though. slowly. painfully. they didn’t feel what you felt, but they learned it mattered. which, for them, was the closest thing to empathy available in the system.

you fell asleep on the couch once while they were over. you didn’t mean to. how could you mean to, when you knew what they were capable of?

and you woke up pinned. well, luckily not trapped, just surrounded. han was hugging your ankle. felix was using your shoulder as a pillow. changbin had an arm across your middle. jeongin was half off the couch but anyways. seungmin pretended he wasn’t involved but his foot was hooked under your leg.

they didn’t experience comfort like most people did. but proximity? pressure? familiar scent? that, they liked.

they were really, really glad that you survived them. and because of that, somewhere in their broken little predator brains, you became home. and what do predators do? bring things home.

once han showed up beaming, holding something behind his back.

“i got you flowers.” he said.

you blinked. that was… new.

he revealed it.

you stared.

it was technically arranged like a bouquet. the only problem was that… they were human lower arms. a lot of them. like flowers. just… arms.

you made a noise. you looked away, then back at it, then had to look away again.

“i thought it was romantic.” he said, crushed.

“honey, i appreciate that, but—“ you gagged. held the doorframe. teared up.

he watched you throw up then. patted your back after.

felix once brought you a wallet because “you’re always losing yours.”

you opened it. immediately closed it. “felix.”

“yeah?”

“return that.”

chan was… fucking brutal. he didn’t bring objects. he brought information.

“found a guy who’d been stalking women in your area.” he said once.

you went cold. “…what did you do.”

he met your eyes calmly. “took care of him, of course.”

you didn’t know whether to scream or say thank you. this one wasn’t bad, actually. you just had to sit down for a minute.

they were not house trained though, not even a little. one time you caught seungmin about to piss in your giant houseplant.

“seungmin.” you sighed.

he froze mid-zip. “…yeah?”

“if you water that plant with your BODY i will end you.”

“okay, okay.” he said, offended. “god. boundaries.”

felix once wiped his hands on your curtains. han sat on your coffee table. minho had to be told three separate times that knives did not belong “wherever feels right.” changbin once tried to “air out” your apartment by opening every window during winter.

and jeongin was just really spontaneous in general. if a guy talked to you, he would insert himself into the conversation, no matter what. “bro.” he’d say, arm slung over the stranger’s shoulders. “i love your confidence. truly. quick question, how attached are you to having kneecaps?”

you hit him. he’d grin. the stranger would evaporate.

hyunjin was the only one who got you normal gifts. they were… brutally expensive, yeah, and you had no idea where he had that kind of money from, but you appreciated every gift from him.

and oh my fucking god, the mailman. felix hated the mailman. for no reason. the man was fifty something and friendly. still, every time the mail arrived, felix would appear at your window, talking bout sum “he’s back.” ???

“felix, that’s his job.”

“yeah but why is he always here?”

“because i live here. that’s how mail works.”

the suspicion remained.

but beneath all the insanity, the red flags, the daily reminder that they could bring a corpse to your doorstep any day, they were sincere. they never played with your feelings. never lied about what they were. never pretended.

they just… adjusted their behavior around one central rule, which was not to lose you. to keep you safe, even if they didn’t understand why they wanted to keep you so safe. or why did you find so many things they did wrong.

you had, at one point, physically grabbed felix by the hair and yanked him backward because he was halfway out your front door, whispering “i just wanna talk to him.” about the mailman.

“NO.” you barked, fist in his hair.

“he’s BEEN HERE THREE TIMES THIS WEEK.” felix insisted.

“THAT IS HOW MAIL WORKS.”

he did not agree with you.

changbin loved cheek kisses. loved them. unfortunately, changbin also had a chronic issue where he just… forgot he was holding things. knife. wrench. crowbar. gun.

you’d feel a gentle kiss on your cheek and open your eyes to see cold steel six inches from your face.

“baby.” you’d say.

“oh, shit.” weapon would go on the table like car keys. “sorry.” he’d say, and kiss your other cheek, now technically unarmed.

then once you mentioned to hyunjin that you were cold and he wordlessly took off his jacket. it had a suspicious stain. he saw you notice.

“…i’ll get another one.” he said immediately.

because he really didn’t want you to be cold. not like he understood what your problem was with a little blood, but alright. anything for you.

now that i’m getting carried away with the stories, i’ll tell you that han did not understand personal space.

for an example, if you scolded him? immediate cling. you’d finish saying “you cannot threaten the barista for writing my name wrong” and suddenly he’d be attached to your side, rubbing his face into you, arms around your shoulders, chin on your head.

“okay, but we’re good though, right?”

“sweetie, i’m trying to pay.”

he’d nod against your hair, not moving. that went on for twelve minutes until a woman asked if he was concussed.

they clung like that a lot, they didn’t understand a lot, they acted up a lot, they hated a lot, but they loved one thing.

you.

they didn’t understand jealousy as an emotion. they understood it as something wrong with their insticts, and you in danger. how did that make sense? it didn’t. it just sounded horrible. because it was. but it was also the most sincere attachment they were capable of.

you were still scared sometimes. still human. still deeply aware of what they were, and reminded of it a lot of times, of course.

but they’d learned one thing with absolute certainty:

you were not prey.

you were home.

The ring feels too loud in the dark. It only goes through twice before you pick up, voice soft and rough around the edges.

“Hello?”

He exhales like he’s been underwater. “Hey, baby.”

There’s a rustle of sheets on your end, the tiny scrape of your throat when you swallow. “Chris?” Your words come out clumsy with sleep. “What time is it?”

“For you?” He glances at the digital clock by the bed, numbers bleeding red. “Like… almost midnight. I think. Did I wake you up?”

“Mm.” The noise is half confirmation, half yawn. “S’okay. I like when you wake me up.”

Something in his chest curls, warm and tight. He sinks back against the headboard, free hand dragging over his face. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur. He can hear the faint friction of your pillow when you roll over. “’Cause it means you’re thinking about me.”

“Always thinking about you,” he says before he can stop himself. His voice comes out lower than he expects, frayed with it. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad day?”

“Long.” He shifts, the hotel sheets whispering against his legs. The movement drags his attention to exactly how restless he is, how his body keeps remembering the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your mouth at his throat. “Miss you.”

You hum again, that drowsy, happy sound that goes straight through him. “Tell me about it.”

He laughs quietly. “About my day, or about missing you?”

“Either.” He can hear your smile, even half-asleep. “Both.”

He lets his head fall back, staring up at the dim ceiling. His hand slips, almost thoughtless, from his stomach to the waistband of his sweats, fingers hooking in the elastic. “Venue was loud. In-ear kept cutting out. Nearly tripped over a cable like an idiot.”

“Bet you still looked hot,” you mumble. 

His pulse jumps.

“Yeah?” His thumb pushes just beneath the band, skimming the warm skin there. “You weren’t even there to see.”

“I don’t have to. I know.” Another rustle; he pictures you curling in, phone tucked close to your cheek. “You’re always pretty on stage.”

He makes a low sound, almost a groan, and has to turn it into a cough. His palm settles lower, pressing down over the heat that’s been bothering him all night.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Just—really wish you were here.”

“Me too.” Your words come slower now, loosening with sleep. “What would we be doing if I was?”

His fingers tighten, breath catching. “Dangerous question, sweetheart.”

You giggle, a soft little puff of air. “You started it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. His hand moves lightly, barely any pressure, just enough to take the edge off the ache while he listens to you breathe in his ear.

“I’d have you in this bed,” he admits, voice barely more than a whisper. “Right now. Stealing my blankets. Putting your cold feet on my legs and pretending it’s an accident.”

Your drowsy laugh is his favorite sound in the world. “It is an accident.”

“Liar.” His knuckles brush under the elastic again, teasing himself with the idea of more. “You’d be all over me.”

“I’m always all over you,” you say, like it’s just a fact because it is. “You like it.”

“I love it.” The words scrape up from someplace raw. “Miss your weight on me. Miss—” He bites back the rest, jaw clenching. His hand finally slips fully under the waistband, fingers curling against the heat there, not daring to move too much. “Miss everything.”

The confession drags out of him in a rasp, one he can’t soften, not when the heat under his palm keeps blooming hotter every time your sleep-heavy voice brushes the receiver. His fingers close a little tighter, just enough to feel the throb against his palm, a slow, pulsing ache that’s been building since soundcheck and finally crests now—alone, half-hard, pressed into a mattress that doesn’t smell like you.

You let out a quiet hum, the kind that melts at the edges. “’m sure you’ll be home soon…”

He squeezes his eyes shut. Soon feels like a lie. His hand shifts again, almost unconsciously, dragging up the length of his cock in a slow, aching glide. The friction makes his whole body jerk, breath catching. He bites down on a groan, turning it into a strained exhale.

“Chris?” you murmur, voice sleep-dilated, warm as a comforter pulled up to his chin. “You’re breathing weird.”

“Just—” His jaw locks. He drags his fist down again, slower this time, feeling the way he’s already leaking into his palm. “Just tired. Keep talking.”

That part isn’t a lie. He needs you to keep talking. Needs your voice like oxygen.

“Mm… what should I talk about?”

“Anything,” he whispers. His thumb circles the swollen head, collecting slick, and his hips lift off the mattress before he can stop himself. The sound he makes is sharp and muffled, swallowed into his pillow. “Just… don’t go quiet.”

You shift on your bed, fabric sighing around you, and he almost loses it. His fist tightens, stroking with just enough pressure to make his stomach clench.

“I changed the sheets today,” you mumble, drifting. “They’re the soft ones you like…”

“Fuck,” he breathes. He can feel them—imagine your legs tangled in them, imagine you curled against him, half-asleep and warm and needy. His pace quickens, slow but deliberate, dragging from base to tip, the slick pulse of pre-come making everything wetter, easier. “Wish I was there.”

“You will be soon,” you mumble again, almost gone. “Stop worrying.”

He can’t stop. Not the worry, not the wanting, not the way his hand keeps moving even as he tries to slow it down. The bedframe creaks softly beneath him. He spreads his knees, letting the tension roll through his hips, breath coming tighter, faster.

“Baby…” he whispers, voice frayed and trembling. “If you were here—I’d have you on top of me. Right now. Sleeping on my chest or riding me, I don’t care which.”

You let out a small, drowsy sound, something between a hum and a sigh. "You do love your rides, don't you? Got a few songs 'bout it."

He smiles into the dark, tugging the sheet lower to give his hips room. “Can’t help it,” he murmurs. “You look best there.”

His fist eases higher, slow as honey. The head slips through his grip, glossy and tender, and the tiniest twist at the top makes his stomach jump. He keeps his breathing quiet—nostrils flared, mouth pressed to the inside of his bicep—while the phone warms his ear with your drowsy little hum.

“M’wearing your shirt,” you confess, voice blurring at the edges. “The one that's big on even you.”

A curse burns his tongue. He drags his hand down, knuckles brushing the soft skin at the base, then up again in a steady pull that leaves a wet sound he kills against his pillow. Pre-come strings between his fingers when he loosens for a second; he collects it with his thumb and smears it over the swollen tip in slow circles until his toes curl.

“Yeah?” His voice scrapes. “Bet it’s swallowing you.”

“Like a dress,” you yawn. The microphone catches the faint rasp of fabric as you burrow deeper. “Smells like you.”

He tightens his grip and works himself with small, practiced strokes—fingers snug at the base, wrist rolling just enough to catch the underside where he’s most sensitive. The rhythm finds him in your breathing: in, out, in, out, each glide timed to the soft rise and fall on the other end of the line. The bed murmurs beneath him; he shifts his weight into the mattress to quiet it, thighs spread, heels digging for leverage he refuses to use.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, because if you stop he will fall apart too fast. “Tell me what color the sheets are.”

A sleepy laugh. “You’re weird. They’re the blue ones.”

Blue. He pictures your knee dragging over them, the hem of his shirt rucking up your thigh, and his hand stutters, catching on the slick crown before he pushes down again with more intent. Heat coils low, tight, insistent. He palms the head, squeezes, lets go—then returns to long, greedy passes that make his abdomen quiver.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, almost gone.

“Listening,” he manages. He tips his hips into his fist, shallow little thrusts that turn his breath thin. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. Your breathing settles, sweet and even. He slides the phone half under the pillow to muffle any sound he can’t swallow and loses the last of his restraint. The strokes turn deeper, wetter; the slick has him gliding, wrist working, fist snugging right under the ridge and rolling up, up, up. He can feel everything—the pulse against his palm, the tug low in his belly, the ache along the underside that begs for more. He gives it to himself, jaw locked, eyes burning.

“Chris?” It’s barely a whisper, a drifting check-in.

“I’m here,” he breathes, strangled-soft. "Oh—"

He folds his mouth into the crook of his arm before the sound can get out, wrist tipping, grip tightening until his forearm trembles. The next stroke drags over slick, the head flushed and feverish in his fist; he rolls his thumb through the slit and the shock of it makes his thighs jump against the mattress.

“Hm?” you murmur, a smear of curiosity through sleep.

“Just—stretching,” he lies into his skin, voice wrecked and quiet. “Go back to sleep, angel.”

You sigh, a soft ribbon. He matches his rhythm to it—glide, catch, twist—working himself in long, greedy pulls. Wet sounds bloom under the sheets; he smothers them in fabric and teeth, hips giving tiny, helpless thrusts up into his hand. The room narrows to heat and the smell of his own skin and the picture of you in his shirt on those blue sheets, thigh slotted over his, mouth open on a sleepy little breath.

“Y’still listening?” you whisper, barely there.

“Always,” he exhales, and it comes out like a prayer.

He tucks two fingers under the head and squeezes, wrist rolling, circling the underside ridge he knows will undo him. The knot in his belly draws tight, tight, until everything inside him hooks on a single thread.

“Channie…”

The way you say his name—heavy, trusting, unaware—tips him.

He breaks quietly. Heat spills over his knuckles, thick and sudden; he milks himself through it with short, shaking strokes, eyes flooding, jaw locked around any sound that tries to escape. His stomach flutters; a second pulse drips mess across his fingers, then a third, slower, as the edge gives way to a bruised, floating warmth. He keeps his hand gentle, ghosting over oversensitive skin, smearing what’s left lower to soothe the ache.

He strokes through the aftershocks because he can’t not—lazy, syrup-slow pulls that make his abdomen flutter and his teeth click softly against his arm. The oversensitivity burns sweet; each glide is a careful skim over tender skin, his palm warm with the mess he just spilled. He breathes with you—inhale, exhale—letting the edge dissolve into a low, molten hum.

“Feel better?” you ask.

His hand stills.

For a second the room goes weightless. Embarrassment flashes hot at the base of his skull; he swallows around it, thumb resting against the slick, pulsing crown like he could hide the evidence from a phone line.

“You… knew?” His voice scratches out small.

A tiny smile curves your words. “You think I don't know my boy by now?” A rustle of sheets as you turn, closer to the mic.

He huffs a laugh that’s more breath than voice, forehead tipping to the crook of his arm. “Didn’t wanna—” “Oh, shush.” Your smile warms the line. “Did you feel better?”

He nods even though you can’t see it. “Yeah,” he murmurs, breath warm against his arm. “Yeah, baby.”

But the calm lasts only a few heartbeats. The ache leaves a ghost behind, a tender, itchy need that his body can’t stop chasing. His fingers slip lower again, testing; the touch makes him flinch. Too much—too sweet. He hisses, then does it again anyway, barely-there strokes that skate over oversensitive skin and pull a helpless sound out of him.

“Mm.” You make a small, content noise. Sheets hush on your end. No questions. No tease. Just that soft proof you’re still there.

He bites his lip and works himself in shallow passes, a careful glide and lift, glide and lift, never quite closing his fist. The head is fever-wet, every brush a spark. “Nnh—” He tries to swallow it down, but the whimpers leak out, thin and needy. The phone’s mic catches the smallest tremor when he breathes your name. “Baby…”

“I know,” You coo. “Hurts, doesn’t  it baby?”

“‘S good,” He can’t help but whimper. He tips his hips, chasing it. The rhythm turns fragile and greedy at once, wrist flexing, thumb smoothing the slit, then backing off when the burn spikes too sharp. “Gos—mmh—s’too much,” he whispers into the dark, and still he keeps going, whiny little sounds catching in his throat. His thighs tighten; his stomach flutters; he drags the edge out because your quiet makes him reckless.

Another stroke skims perfectly along the underside and his breath breaks. “Oh—ohh, please—” No one’s told him to beg, but it pours out of him anyway, raw and small. He palms himself, milking the tenderness until it crests again—smaller, quicker, a trembling spill that paints his knuckles and lower belly with another thin, shocked heat.

“Chris?” you mumble, so faint he almost thinks he dreamed it.

“I’m here,” he pants, wrecked-soft, stroking himself down to nothing. “Holy shit.”

The second afterglow hits like warm rain. He lets his hand go slack, cupping himself so the sparks fade without stinging. A shaky exhale leaves him. He blinks at the ceiling until it steadies, then wipes his fingers with the safe, cool corner of the sheet, patient and quiet so the bed doesn’t complain.

“Love you,” he whispers, voice hoarse and tender.

“Love you most,” you echo, dream-drunk, already drifting.

He smiles, a little whine still caught in the back of his throat as his body sighs into the mattress. One hand spreads over his chest; the other rests palm-down on his thigh, heat fading under his skin. The city glow softens the room to the color of your blue sheets.

“Okay.” Yumi clears her throat. “In celebration of y/n Powers’ upcoming motion picture, I thought it fitting to do a rewatch of the Hollywood sweetheart’s entire discography. As is the case with any movie worth watching, there is a story to be told about Powers’ rise to fame and progression in her films. We start with her first-ever credit as an unnamed ‘girl next door’ in a would-be drama that turned out to be more of a romcom due to its lead’s unintentional and cringy comedic timing. Thus, Powers found herself as a romcom staple, and that’s what audiences are used to seeing from her. It’s quite the leap from girl next door to powerful femme fetal that Powers now portrays herself as in Tarantino’s new film ‘Death, Dawn, and the Rise of Cowboys.’”

Mister Unimpressed has a reputation as being a douche bag of a critic, but between his handsome face and his hardball questions when it comes to plot and character, somehow, he’s recently been promoted to an interviewer for a large publication. In fact, he’s set to interview you for your new film next week, so listening to this review gives you a good idea of what tone the interaction will have. 

He might be an asshole, but he has a deep knowledge of film. 

Despite his extensive history, you’d started in the industry before him, and he’s only actually reviewed the last four of your films, so it’s interesting to hear his qualms about your first movies and his critique, which borders on misogynistic, of your acting.  

“It’s in Powers’ sixth film where we see her make a turning point toward actual drama, and at exactly halfway through the movie, in a slow-paced, heartfelt scene shared with veteran costar Kevin Costner, the audience gets to witness Powers’ very first realistic on-screen tear. Every other attempt at crying before this had felt surface-level, as if Powers was more focused on staying beautiful than truly embodying her character.”

You scoff as Yumi continues to read. Seungcheol is an absolute dick, a handsome one, but a dick nonetheless. 

You’re dreading your upcoming interview with him, but it’s just something you’ll have to endure. 

One:

You’d arrived at the studio ready to take on Mister Unimpressed, but as you sit down across from him, your anger skyrockets.

He’s so much more handsome in person. There’s a regal curve to his lips, and his smooth skin is further defined by sharp cheekbones and perfectly sculpted dark brows. His black hair is slightly longer than he usually wears it, and curled ever so slightly to accentuate the masculine aspects of his attractive face.

Mister Unimpressed is in a simple white button-up, but the suit jacket over it is a greenish beige that sets off the darker colouring of his hair and eyes. The gold chunky necklace around his pretty throat borders on being too eccentric, but for some reason, it just fits, and it matches the gold pinky ring that flashes at you as he adjusts the question card in his hand.  

When he smiles, your heart skips a beat. It’s giving wolf in wolfish-sheep clothing, if there even is such a thing. He’s so beautiful, but you know his mind and tongue are both as sharp as a dagger, and he’s unafraid to use them.

“Ready? Action!” 

“Good morning,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as the interview commences.

“Hello,” you say, forcing a smile as you adjust in your own seat, smoothing your black dress down against your thighs.

“So, ‘Death, Dawn, and the Rise of Cowboys,’ I’m sure many would call landing a role in a Tarantino film as the opportunity of a lifetime. How did you find the experience working on a movie of this magnitude?” 

“It was wonderful,” you admit. “Obviously, for many actors, Tarantino is a bucket-list director. It was such a unique movie set, full of amazing actors and a team that really has movie-making down to an art form. I was very lucky to be part of this.” 

“I’m sure many of our viewers at home recognize you from a handful of rom-coms. You started as a more background character, but you’ve worked yourself up to a lead, with heartthrob Jacob Elordi as your most recent on-screen love interest. Do you feel like this femme fatale, powerful cowgirl character in Tarantino’s film is a type of role you’re familiar with, or is she something new? 

“Well, she’s definitely not the girl next door,” you joke, thinking back to what Seungcheol had said about you in his review. 

He makes a face, cocking his head to the side, and you feel your anger bubble inside of you. “I mean, there are aspects of that naive girl next door attitude, if you took her off her porch, threw her on a horse, and convinced her to commit high-risk train robberies in the name of love for an older man, wouldn’t you say?” 

You take a deep breath. “This film allowed me to work on deeper emotional conflict within my character than I’ve experienced in my recent romcoms,” you insist. “My character, Belinda, has those aspects of softness in her, sure, but she’s much more complicated than that, as most women are. She struggles with the historical context of femininity, and the idea that at that time, it was very much a man’s world.”

“Yet, she’s clearly afflicted with daddy issues and a need to please men, which some would say is a clearly male-centric view of the world.”

“Some may say that, yes, but being a powerful woman doesn’t need to mean you’re not interested in love. Being in love can be one of the most courageous things a woman ever does, and while I won’t get into the statistics on the reasons for that, I think many women would agree with me on that.”

Seungcheol smiles at you, and you get the sense that he’s trying to figure you out. “After a career of romcoms, which is what you’re known for, do you think the audience will appreciate the change into a more drama-centered role?” 

“If Matthew McConaughey could do it, why not me?” you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Do you think your filmography would stand against McConaughey’s earlier works?” Seungcheol cocks a brow.

You take a deep breath, ignoring Yumi in the periphery of your vision as she shakes her head at you, wordlessly begging you to back down.

“Mister Unimpressed,” you sigh, “you might be a renowned film critic, but I’m currently unimpressed with your inability to fully appreciate the feminist notes in my past three films. I think if you decided to review my films with a more female-centric lens, and truly did your homework on what it means to be a woman in different historical contexts, you might be able to take off your big boy misogyny glasses for a minute and appreciate that women can be complex while still engaging in themes like love and longing. Coming of age in a world where men think they have a right to judge absolutely everything women do can lead to a character like Belinda, who is a feared outlaw in her own right, but doesn’t restrict her heart the way men might expect her to. ‘Death, Dawn, and the Rise of Cowboys,’ is a drama, not a rom-com, but it’s a fully fledged commentary on all sorts of human experiences, and my character Belinda isn’t defined by her attraction to older men, it’s simply one of the many parts of her complex characterisation which made her such a challenging, and rewarding character to portray.” 

Seungcheol lets out a whistle. “Well, that was a mouthful.”

“So was your last article,” you fire back. “I get the sense you just don’t like romcoms, or romance in any form. You certainly don’t see the need for it in drama or action films.”

“I’ll admit, romance is my least favourite genre.”

“So you’re not an Adam Sandler fan? He got his start with movies like The Wedding Singer, Fifty First Dates, Mister Deeds- you must not like his castmate Drew Barrymore, or other romcom stars like Hugh Grant, or Emma Stone?”

A chuckle escapes Seungcheol. “I guess if I had to compare you to one of those actors, it would be Sandler.”

“Which I’ll take as a compliment.”

“He’s quite one-note,” Seungcheol says. 

“Seems you never got a chance to see Spaceman,” you seethe, crossing your arms over your chest. “Do you have anything else to ask me?”

“Well, since you think I’m such a misogynist pig, might as well ask one final question.” An annoyingly beautiful grin makes its way across his pretty lips. “How much did that dress cost, princess? It fits like a glove.”

“More than you’re suit,” you fire back, standing. “You can trust me on that.” 

Two:

The premiere had gone off without a hitch, and your interview with Mister Unimpressed has gone viral, stemming all sorts of discussion about women in the industry and the rise of ‘red pill masculine’ thinking. Comment sections are full of backlash and praise for both sides of the conversation, and it’s drawn even more press to the movie. It’s as they always say, no press is bad press, and you’re just thankful your outburst didn’t get you canceled.

It seems many agree with you on the concept of strong female characters still having romantic feelings. There have been a handful of very well-regarded female critics who have written soaring reviews praising you for your work, and a number of costars you’ve worked with in the past have reached out to congratulate you on ripping a new one out of the world’s most controversial critic turned interviewer. 

Even so, the world seems to be holding its breath waiting for Mister Unimpressed’s final review of ‘Death, Dawn, and the Rise of Cowboys.’

He’s usually very on point with his reviews, posting them faster than most critics, so this lag in putting his opinions out to the world is very uncharacteristic and is only adding to the contention surrounding your now infamous interview.

“Still no review,” Yumi sighs as you both settle for your nighttime routine in your hotel room. “This whole situation is a nightmare.”

“I think it will be okay,” you tell her, wiping your makeup off with a cleansing pad. 

Yumi laughs. “I’m glad you’re optimistic.”

“I pointed out major concerns in Seungcheol’s ability to give an impartial review; maybe he’s just rethinking his way of doing things.”

“I’m not sure one call out from a woman could change a man like that.”

“Maybe not, but the backlash might. Many of his female fans are taking my side. I don’t think Seungcheol ever intended to have a primarily red pill male fanbase. He can say what he wants about women, but that man is clearly too vain to give up female attention and praise. He’ll have to think very carefully about how he goes about this.”

Three:

It’s been twenty-four hours since the prescreening release of your new movie, and there’s still no review from Seungcheol. You’re trying to remain calm, but even you are getting worried now. You’re about to start your nighttime routine when you get a text from Yumi, and it stops you in your tracks.

Yumi: Seungcheol wants to talk to you

After a pause to think it through, you call your agent. “What do you mean he wants to talk to me?”

“I don’t know, he reached out, said he wanted to clarify a few things with you before he can post his review.” Yumi sighs. “I’ll send you his number.”

“Is this a good idea?”

“At this point, I honestly don’t know.” 

“Yumi-”

“You have a good grasp on this. I know I’m your agent, and I help with PR, but speaking your mind created waves in the system, and after seeing more and more articles about feminism and the rise of powerful women in film- I don’t necessarily think this has been a bad thing. People like you because you’re raw, and you speak your mind.”

“So I should call him?” you clarify.

“I think so.”

You discuss it for a few more minutes, and then you hang up, staring at Seungcheol’s number as tingles of anxiety waft through you.

Taking a deep breath, you give Mister Unimpressed a call.

“Hi, It’s me, uh, y/n,” you say when he answers.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” For some reason, he actually sounds happy, and it throws you off.

“Well, I’m here to talk.”

“I was hoping we could do it in person.”

“It’s almost midnight,” you point out.

“I know a place,” Seungcheol insists.

You release a deep sigh. “And I suppose you need to talk tonight?”

“I want to post my review, but I really want to run it by you first.”

“As professional courtesy, before you bash me again?” you scoff.

He lets out a deep chuckle. “I can understand why that might be the impression you have, but I promise it’s not what you think.”

“Fine. Send me the location.”

Four:

You hadn’t bothered to get dolled up for this weird impromptu meeting with Seungcheol, and you feel a little out of place when you meet him in a hotel bar. Sure, it’s after midnight, the kitchen is closed, so there aren’t any people, but it’s still a 5-star establishment, and despite the late hour, Seungcheol is as handsome as ever in a red suit.

You wonder if the colour is significant, if he’s about to be a little demon to you again, and you sigh as you take a seat across from him.

He looks you up and down, taking in your beige cardigan and messy hair, your yoga pants and lack of makeup, and you wonder if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t.

He simply clears his throat. “Quite the turnout for your prescreening,” he notes. “I feel I should buy you a celebratory drink or something.”

“You don’t have to buy me anything,” you insist. “What’s this about?”

Seungcheol swallows thickly. “Guess we’ll get right to it.”

“No need to force niceties now.”

Mister Unimpressed lets out a chuckle, toying with the crystal glass of what looks like whiskey in front of him. “No one has ever spoken to me the way you did in our interview.”

You stay quiet, wondering if he’s going to continue. When he doesn’t, it’s clear he expects a response of some kind, so you take a breath. “Is this about the review you’ve yet to post? Some sort of weird blackmail where I have to kiss your ass to get you to write favourably?”

Another grin, and you hate how the smile lights up his face. “You really don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to.”

“This isn’t blackmail,” Seungcheol assures you with a sigh. “I want to hear your perspective on your character.”

“Are you going to take me seriously this time?”

“I just…” Seungcheol relaxes back against the booth, and you’re aware of how broad his shoulders are as he takes a deep breath. “I gave what you said some thought. And I suppose you’re right that I have a very male-centric way of seeing things. I wanted to hear more about your experience as a woman and how that has influenced how you choose to portray characters that you view as powerful, even if the men watching the film might be oblivious to the complicated internal struggles you’re trying to convey.” 

“I’ll discuss this with you, but I hope you know, there’s something to be said about the fact that you’re taking my time to explain this to you instead of doing your own research,” you point out. “It’s as if the onus and responsibility are always on the women to explain things instead of you, as the man, going and looking into the countless essays written by women about this exact issue.”

Seungcheol cocks his head to the side. “I guess I can understand that.”

You take a deep breath. “Let’s talk the whole daddy issue angle. I’m assuming you think it makes the character weak?”

Mister Unimpressed lets out a chuckle. “That might be one way of viewing it.”

“Gendered trauma is an issue in our society,” you explain. “Living in a patriarchal world, often, women feel the need from a very young age to perform for their fathers. They watch brothers get love for being masculine, and some women feel they have to be less girly in order to get that same attention. My character in the film, Belinda, struggled with that. She comes from a family of men, strong men, and when you worship something, imitation is often an outcome. Despite all her hard work, Belinda is still a woman, and she craves the validation that men seem to receive inherently. Think about the Barbie movie, and the iconic American Ferrera woman speech.” 

“You won’t hate me if I have to look it up, will you?”

You sigh, waving your hand to give Seungcheol the space to look up exactly what you’re quoting.

From there, you begin to chat about all sorts of female empowerment. About women directors, and women-centered casts, the Bechdell test, why you chose to work with Tarantino despite his sexualization of women and feet-

Before you know it, it’s two am, and one of the waitresses shyly approaches your table. “Hey guys, I just wanted to let you know, the bar is closing up, so final call.”

“I’m alright,” you smile, taking a breather from your heated conversation with Seungcheol. 

“One more Manhattan, please,” Seungcheol nods to the server, pushing his empty glass to the side of the table. 

The waitress scurries away, and when she comes back, she pauses as she sets Seungcheol’s drink down. “I also just wanted to let you know, Miss Powers, I idolize you.” 

Your heart leaps in your chest. “Thank you.”

“And as for you, Mister Unimpressed, I’m unimpressed by you!” She says it in a teasing tone, like they’ve been doing on TikTok where thousands have been making a meme out of your interview with Seungcheol.

He stares at her, gobsmacked, and the server flashes you another shy smile then scurries away.

“Do women really feel that way about me?” Seungcheol asks.

“Well, you’re single, right?” you laugh. “Maybe it’s the stick up your ass and the misogyny glasses you’re so fond of wearing.” 

“I’m not a misogynist,” he sighs.

“Sure you’re not,” you tease. “And your shit doesn’t stink, and your opinions are always a hundred percent and undeniable-”

He gives you a hard look. “It’s getting late,” he admits. “Can I get you a taxi to go back to your hotel?”

“I’ll call one for myself,” you insist, pulling out your phone. 

“You play characters with daddy issues, but you refuse to let me buy you a drink or get you a cab,” Seungcheol laughs. “Explain that to me.”

“Well, there’s this thing called acting, it’s where I pretend to be someone else-” 

Seungcheol rolls his eyes with a scoff. “I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re a lot different than what I expected you to be.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have such prejudice against people you’ve never met based on who they play on the big screen.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he nods. “Thank you for meeting me.” 

Five:

“Okay, so it’s a long review,” Yumi tells you with excitement as you get in the car to head to an appointment. “I’ll give you the big takeaways and send you the link to read when you have time.”

“Lay it on me,” you laugh. 

“Basically, Seungcheol explained that after speaking with you, he’d tried to do his due diligence by discussing his past reviews of women-centric movies and themes like love with the women in his life. He said a number of them explained that your view was spot on, that you play complicated women with nuance that few men understand even when pointed out to them.”

“Not the women in his family taking my side of things,” you scoff.

“There’s more!” Yumi says, practically shaking with excitement. “He wrote in length about how the two of you met to speak further on the subject off camera. He said, and I quote, ‘Although in the past, I have portrayed myself as Mister Unimpressed, when Miss Powers showed up to an impromptu meeting without any of the glitz or glam, it impressed me greatly. Here is a woman, a multifaceted woman, willing to put in the work to educate a man such as myself, a man who hasn’t always been the most kind in his reviews of her work. Miss Powers pointed out I could have done the research on my own, and in hindsight, she’s correct, but she walked me through her opinions on the deeper conflicts that women face, and she opened my eyes with a level of grace and easy going humour that I will not soon forget.’”

“Wow, I for sure thought he was going to mention my chipped nails or something,” you joke.

“He noted that the interview you did has turned into something of a meme, and his attempts to educate himself aren’t to garner any sympathy. Seungcheol noted that he’s excited to see where your career takes you, as this first attempt to break away into a more drama centred film genre was spectacular. Then he says, quote, ‘Not only is she a Sandler, a Stone, a Barrymore, and a Grant, Powers is without a doubt, the next McConaughey, and we will all be blessed to see her on our screens for years to come.’” 

“He said that?” you ask in shock.

“Verbatim,” Yumi grins. 

“Holy shit.” You sit back against the seat of the car, letting out a deep breath. 

“I don’t know what you said during your off the clock interview with Seungcheol, but whatever it was, you knocked it out of the park.” 

“He probably just wants his female fan base back,” you note, but something in your heart tells you there’s legitimate hope that you’ve helped Seungcheol turn over a new leaf. The feminist inside of you says it’s not your job to have done this for him, but the idealist part of you says it had to be done sooner than later, and unfortunately, when it comes to misogyny and the male centric view of film and media, women have to be more outspoken than ever to make a change like this one. 

Six:

Life has gone on, and in the months since your interaction with Seungcheol, you’ve seen the continued shift in how he reviews things. It’s a good sign that he’s actively trying to be better.

You’re in LA for a red carpet event, waiting for your friend to finish up an interview for her recent movie, and that’s when you notice Seungcheol. It looks like he’s completed an interaction with another movie star, and he catches your eye.

Damn, he looks good. It’s a Black Tie event, and he’s taken it to the extreme, black button up and everything under his dark suit. But it doesn’t look tacky, and there’s a textured element to his monochrome outfit that draws the eye.

You feel drawn to him, and you have the time to approach, so you do. 

“Hey,” you smile.

“Hey, yourself,” he grins back. 

So much has changed about his countenance, it’s almost as if he’s shy to talk to you. This regal, hard hitting man looks cute even.

“You know, with your character development as of late, for a guy who doesn’t like romcoms, you’re setting yourself up to be in one,” you tease.

“As long as it’s a romcom and not a drama.”

“Says the guy who has always preferred dramas,” you point out, cocking a brow.

“I like drama, but I don’t want drama with you. No enemies to lovers bullshit, at least… I hope we were never enemies.” It’s a shockingly candid statement from the man you’d once considered to be a heartless misogynist, and it definitely takes you aback.

“Not enemies,” you say. “I just thought you were a bit of a dick.”

Seungcheol laughs and holds up his hands. “Guilty.”

“Who knew it would take one romcom actress reaming you out to promote so much growth,” you laugh.

“You’re not just a romcom actress and we both know it,” Seungcheol says softly. You watch him look you up and down, and you can see the gentle shift in his expression, the softening of his eyes and the relaxing of his shoulders. “This might seem out of the left field, but how would you feel about getting drinks sometime?”

“Like another educational interview?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a date.”

 You let out a laugh of shock, gaping at him. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

Shaking your head, you look him up and down. You’ve always been attracted to Seungcheol, despite his rather irritating pigheaded personality, but it does look like he’s turned a new leaf. Who would you be if you painted him with one brush and never allowed him to change his colours for a reappraisal?

“I’ll go out with you,” you tell him finally. 

A beautiful grin spreads across Seungcheol’s lips. “I’ll text you.” 

Seven:

You pride yourself on being a powerful woman who doesn’t need a man, but for the date, you allow Seungcheol to play the role of provider.

He picks you up in his Porsche, holds the doors open for you, and takes you to a drinks and tapas place that he’d reserved a secluded seat at.

With no prior discussion on what you’d be wearing other than Seungcheol telling you to wear a nice dress, somehow, you’d both decided on soft green as a colour, so it looks like you’re matching as you take your seats and order some appetizers and drinks.

“As a thank you for my feminist education, you’re letting me pay tonight, deal?” Seungcheol grins. “Get anything you want.”

“Part of me wants to argue-”

“But you won’t, because I’m insisting.”

“Very mans man of you,” you giggle.

Seungcehol shrugs. “Feminism can say what it wants about equality and splitting cheques, but I was still raised with chivalry in mind, and I can’t think of a more deserving woman to take care of, even if it’s just for tonight.”

“You really have turned over a new leaf, haven’t you, Seungcheol?”

“I’ve done my best,” he admits. “Been having movie nights with one of my cousins in town, she’s a huge fan of yours and insisted she teach me about feminism and historical context and stuff.”

“Did you finally watch the Barbie movie?”

“I did,” Seungcheol laughs.

“And?” you grin. “What did you think?”

“I thought it was really good. It kind of gave perspective on living in a patriarchal world in reality versus the matriarchal women-empowered world of Barbie. It made me rethink how important representation of all kinds is in media.” 

“Did you go to school for film studies, or English, or journalism, or anything? They didn’t have a women's studies course when you were in university?” you question, toying with the stem of your sangria glass.

“Being a film critic wasn’t exactly what I went to school for,” Seungcheol says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“No?”

“Originally, I was supposed to be in business. But, I’ve always loved movies. I ended up doing a movie critic column in my university newspaper once a week, and I fell in love with it.”

“Let me guess, you started with movies like ‘The Wolf of Wallstreet,’ and ‘The Big Short’?” you tease. 

Seungcheol smiles and shakes his head. “You know me too well.”

“I think you’re just a little predictable,” you shrug.

“I didn’t know being a movie star meant you minored in psychology.”

“There’s an aspect of psychology in all storytelling,” you point out. “You have to understand that everyone is layered and complex, and if characters in film are done correctly, they are too.”

“What about you? What did you go to school for?” Seungcheol asks.

“English.”

“I should have guessed that,” he grins. “But let me guess this, your favourite was the romantics?”

“And I had a seminar on film adaptations of novels,” you nod. “That kind of kick-started my obsession with taking words off paper and putting them into reality.”

The two of you continue to talk, and when you come to a discussion about your top three favourite movies, with Seungcheol noting ‘The Godfather,’ ‘Twelve Angry Men’ and ‘Jaws,’ everything about him makes sense.

“None of those movies have anything to do with women!” you bellow. “They’re all major failures to the Bechdel test!”

“Jaws technically passes the Bechdel test because there’s one scene where two women talk about living in the town and not about men.”

“Wow, it barely passed what should be an easy test, congratulations!” you laugh, shaking your head at Seungcheol.

“And I suppose your top three movies are all romances?” Seungcheol teases, cocking a brow.

“Don’t even try me. Everything Everywhere All At Once, a movie about the turbulent relationship between a mother and daughter, it includes multiverse and one of the most shockingly cinematic and touching scenes ever when both characters are literal rocks with googly eyes, sorting through their trauma and tumultuous relationship-”

“It won a ton of oscars,” Seungcheol nods. “Good movie.”

“If you had told me you hadn’t seen it, I would have taken you home right now and made you watch it.”

“I’m sure you could take me home and force me to watch other movies I haven’t seen that you think are important.”

He smirks at you like it’s a challenge, and your heart races in your chest.

“Fuck it, pay the bill, and let’s go watch movies.” 

Seungcheol laughs. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Eight:

You’re not sure how this happened, but you and Seungcheol are in your livingroom, watching movie after movie with strong female leads. You’d found an oversized pair of sweatpants and a hoodie for him to wear, and you’re in a matching set, both of you looking like lazy bums over separate bowls of microwave popcorn as you critique and discuss movie after movie.

This has felt more like a night with a best friend than a date, and you kind of enjoy that. Seungcheol had given off a playboy vibe when you’d first met him, but you now realize that without the suit and the chunky gold jewelry, without the Porsche and perfectly styled hair, he’s so much more than that.

He hasn’t flirted with you at all, or tried to inch closer to you on the couch, he’s been completely respectable, and it’s starting to drive you wild.

It’s nearly two am when you finish watching both Kill Bill movies, and you’ve explained that while Tarantino has a few weird sexualization of women tendencies, he still has created some of the most bad ass women in film. You find yourself yawning, and Seungcheol turns to look at you.

“Getting sleepy?” he grins.

“A little,” you sigh. “Come cuddle.”

He raises his brows at you. 

“This is a date, isn’t it?” you whine. “You haven’t been doing any date like things since we got here.”

“I’ve been trying to be respectable.”

“Doing a good job of it, too good,” you joke, closing the distance yourself as you wriggle closer to Seungcheol. He lifts his arm allowing you to tuck into his side and get comfortable.

“To be completely honest, with how much bickering we’ve been doing, part of me wasn’t sure you even liked me that way,” he admits.

“Why would I have agreed to a date if I didn’t like you?”

“Women are complex, I’m sure there are lots of reasons,” he teases.

You find yourself laughing, shaking your head and releasing a sigh.

“See, you just went through like five emotions in the span of two seconds.”

“Count the emotions then,” you insist.

“You laughed because it’s comedic that I’ve reached the point of admitting that women are very complex, you shook your head because men always say women are too complicated to understand, you sighed because I annoyed you, but you smiled after because you’re endeared by how cute I am when I annoy you-”

“And number five? That was only four explanations.”

“And… you cuddled closer to me because despite the conflicting emotions, you’re into me, and you’re frustrated by me being a gentleman when you probably want me to be more dominant even though that contradicts some of your more feminist ideals.”

“A man can be dominant and still respectful,” you point out. “In fact, men who are dominant should be the most respectful since a woman is bestowing her trust on them.”

“Guess that’s true.” Seungcheol shifts. “Here, let's try this.” He gently touches the bottom of your chin, and you adjust to look up at him. “May I kiss you?”

A shiver of excitement runs through you, and a broad grin breaks out on your face. “Yes, please.”

Seungcheol returns your smile, and he slowly dips his head down to press his lips to yours for the first time.

He’s so gentle, and it leaves you wanting more. You grab the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, and he matches your energy. Shifting while kissing him desperately, you move to straddle him, and his hands find your hips, steadying you as you make out, taking each others breath away.

You thread your fingers through his soft dark hair, gently tugging on it and making him groan, his fingers digging into your hips.

You want him so badly it almost hurts, but you force yourself to pull away, gasping and trying to catch your breath as you look down at him.

He looks as dazed as you feel, staring up at you with pink flushed cheeks.