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neellscapsule · 2 days ago

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wayne's secretary

summary | working as bruce wayne's secretary was never an easy job, specially when you're terribly in love with him and he doesn't dare look back.

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader

warnings / tags | most fluffy, some angst, neglected feelings because reader thinks bruce doesn't see her as she sees him BUT HE DOES!!!he is just simply too much of a fool so we can add hurt/comfort

word count | 5.6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. you don't need to read the other parts to understand this since this is about bruce and batmom's past.

BEING BRUCE WAYNE’S SECRETARY ISN’T FOR THE WEAK.

You figured that out about three hours into your first day on the job. You’d walked into the sleek, glass-walled office on the 40th floor of Wayne Enterprises with your little notebook clutched in your hands, fresh off the Kent Farm and still smelling faintly of hay and sunscreen, heart pounding in your chest like a scared rabbit. You’d been prepared for a challenge. You hadn’t been prepared for Bruce Wayne.

The tabloids don’t do him justice.

Sure, they get the broad strokes right. Tall. Ridiculously good-looking. Billionaire. Occasionally seen with models or philanthropists or both on his arm. But they miss the quiet intensity that follows him into every room like a storm cloud, the way his blue eyes could pin you in place with one look, or how his voice, deep and smooth like whiskey, can make your stomach twist in knots even when he’s just telling you to rearrange his schedule for the fifth time that morning.

Actually, it’s a brutal, gladiatorial occupation requiring the patience of a saint, the multitasking ability of a NASA mission control operator, and the emotional resilience of someone who doesn’t cry when a perfectly good apple pie burns.

You are not that someone.

But you try. Lord, do you try.

You’re not sure if it’s the Kent in you or the catastrophic crush you’ve been carefully tending to like a forbidden summer bloom, but you don’t give up. No. You set your alarm for 5:00 AM every day, you iron your skirts and blouses the night before, and you march into Wayne Enterprises with a to-go cup of black coffee that could wake the dead.

You take his calls. You reschedule meetings when Bruce inevitably disappears—out for “personal reasons” that you’re not allowed to question. You politely field phone calls from ex-lovers who think they can just waltz back into his life. You smile through tight teeth when angry supermodels demand an audience with “Brucie.”

“Miss Kent.” His voice cuts through your daydreams as you fumble with the office phone. You curse under your breath—quietly, because you’re still a Kent and Ma raised you better—before turning toward him.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne?” You push your chair back, notebook ready, pen poised like a weapon of mild administrative warfare.

Bruce glances at the clock on the wall. He’s wearing one of those immaculate, tailored charcoal suits that probably cost more than your entire apartment.

“There’s a board meeting at noon. I need the quarterly reports from R\&D printed and summarized.” He pauses, eyes narrowing just slightly. “And cancel lunch with Veronica.”

Veronica. Right. The supermodel. One of the many.

You nod, scribbling it down. “Of course.”

His gaze lingers for a second longer than necessary, unreadable, before he turns and retreats to his office, the door shutting with a soft click. You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the familiar ache settling in your chest.

Because Bruce Wayne doesn’t see you.

Not really. Not the way you see him. He sees a secretary. Efficient. Professional. The girl from Kansas with a polite smile and too many pens in her purse. Meanwhile, you see him—the man behind the Gotham mask, sharp-edged and distant, carrying the weight of an entire city on his shoulders.

And you’re in love with him.

Hopelessly, stupidly, painfully in love.

It’s not ideal.

This is fine. Totally fine. This is the job.

Sure, he makes you take calls from the kinds of women who have their own perfume ads and the press on speed dial, but that’s fine. Sure, he makes you memorize his calendar like your life depends on it, but fine. Sure, sometimes he leaves you with half his workload and the other half of his headaches, but fine.

You didn’t move to Gotham to have a soft, easy life. You moved here because a friend had recommended you and you needed the job, even if your parents were more than happy to let you live on the farm. At first, it was very difficult.

Renting an apartment had been the worst part. Gotham wasn't anything like Smallville, or even Metropolis, where your brother lived. Much more dangerous and dark, but just as beautiful. So, you'd ended up in a moderately affordable building with a small balcony that you'd filled with plants.

And not to mention how the people there weren't even a third as polite. How they gave you weird looks whenever you mumbled a "sir" or a polite "ma'am," but that could also have been because the Kansas accent had become so engrained in you, refusing to leave.

But you’d gotten good at reading Bruce. You had to. He was many things—Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, impossible perfectionist, a certified menace to your daily stress levels—but predictable in his routines. You’d memorized the way his brow twitched when a board member droned on too long, the faint edge in his voice when he asked you to "reschedule" a dinner with some socialite (which always meant cancel entirely), and the carefully contained glances he cast your way when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Of course, maybe that last part was just your imagination.

Because if Bruce Wayne actually looked at you the way you looked at him, well… you'd probably combust right there behind your tidy little desk outside his office.

But no. You were just his secretary. The secretary with a too-big crush, a closet full of pretty, neatly pressed dresses, and a last name that carried weight only in your home place.

“Y/N?”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, rich and low and way too dangerous for this early in the morning. You looked up, startled to find him standing in front of your desk, broad-shouldered and devastating handsome.

You tried not to let your eyes linger on the cut of his jaw or the perfect, infuriating way his dark hair fell over his brow.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. You never called him that unless you were flustered—or hiding something.

“The schedule for today?” he prompted.

Right. His schedule. You were supposed to be a professional. You snatched the leather-bound planner off your desk and opened it with practiced precision.

“You have a ten o’clock with Lucius Fox, followed by a board meeting at eleven. Lunch is with Mr. Park from the GCPD charity board—”

“Cancel lunch.”

You blinked. “But—”

“Park only scheduled it to pitch more PR appearances. I’m not interested.”

You hesitated. “Should I tell him you’re busy or—”

“Tell him I’m unavailable. If he presses, tell him I’m allergic to public relations.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Bruce caught it, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in his eyes before it vanished behind that familiar, stoic mask.

“And tonight,” you continued, clearing your throat, “there’s the Wayne Gala.”

His expression didn’t change, but you swore you caught a flicker of resignation in his gaze.

“You’re still attending, right?” you asked, fighting the urge to fidget with your pen.

Bruce’s eyes settled on you in that way that made your heart stutter—steady, intense, unreadable.

“Are you attending?” he countered, voice deceptively neutral.

You frowned, momentarily thrown. “I… well, I wasn’t invited.”

“You’re my secretary.”

“Technically, yes, but—”

“You organized the entire event.”

You ducked your head, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I just coordinated. It’s not the same.”

His jaw flexed, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then, without warning, he leaned down, palm braced against your desk, invading your personal space just enough to short-circuit your brain.

“Be there,” he said simply, voice low and final.

Your throat went dry. “O-Okay.”

He straightened, adjusted his cufflinks, and walked back into his office, leaving you staring after him like a lovesick idiot.

But here’s the thing.

He does see you.

Bruce Wayne notices everything.

The way you hum when you’re overwhelmed with scheduling requests. How you bring a spare cup of coffee to your desk at exactly 9:15, just in case he needs it. The worn denim jacket from Smallville you sometimes forget on the back of your chair. How your smile never quite reaches your eyes sometimes.

You think he doesn’t care.

But he does.

He cares more than he should.

Because for the first time in years, he finds himself looking forward to Monday mornings. To your quiet, determined voice filtering through the intercom. To your handwriting on his notes.

But he’s a fool.

A coward.

And so he stays quiet.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of phone calls, emails, and one very aggressive supermodel threatening to “storm the building” if Bruce didn’t return her messages. You handled it, like always, smiling politely, making apologies, and filing it away as just another day in the impossible life of Bruce Wayne’s secretary.

But tonight—the gala—it was different.

The Kent in you was screaming this is a bad idea. Smallville had taught you to keep your feet on the ground, your head clear, and your heart safe.

But Gotham had other plans.

By the time you arrived at Wayne Manor, you felt wildly underdressed, even in your nicest gown—soft blue satin that hugged your figure and made your eyes stand out in the dim light. The manor buzzed with the city’s elite: sharp suits, glittering dresses, whispered gossip trailing behind every conversation.

The party swirled around you like a glittering storm of perfume, champagne, and barely concealed arrogance. You sipped at your glass, nerves humming just beneath your skin, but you stayed grounded. For now.

Until you saw her.

Bruce stood across the room near the grand staircase, his expression cool, unreadable—but beside him, clinging to his arm like a designer handbag, was a woman you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

Tall. Blonde. Sun-kissed skin that practically glowed under the chandelier light. Her gown shimmered in the low light, the cut sleek and expensive. She was the kind of woman that belonged in Bruce Wayne’s world. The kind that laughed easily at whispered jokes, who made socialites stare with jealousy and men stare with want. She tilted her head, smiling at him with practiced charm, a hand lightly resting on his chest as she spoke.

And Bruce—he’s not brushing her off. He’s not pulling away. He’s standing there, listening, patient, polite. His expression is carefully neutral, but you know him. You’ve studied him like a language, and you see it—the tiny flicker of amusement when she says something clever, the faint dip of his head when she leans in.

Your heart sank like a stone tossed into deep water.

You looked away, swallowing the bitter ache rising in your throat. Of course. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him with women before. Supermodels. Heiresses. Gotham’s elite tripping over themselves for a chance to stand where she stood now.

You set your glass down with more force than necessary, turning on your heel before your emotions betrayed you. The last thing you needed was to cry into your free bar champagne.

The room blurred as you weaved through the crowd, determined to find some breathing space, anywhere but here.

That’s when you found the bar—and her.

A woman leaned casually against the polished counter, swirling amber liquid in her glass with delicate fingers. Her short black hair framed her face in soft waves, dark as ink, contrasting beautifully with lightly tanned skin and sharp, green eyes that glittered with curiosity as she noticed you approach.

The bartender barely had time to greet you before the woman spoke first, voice smooth and low, with a teasing edge that wrapped around you like silk.

“Well, aren’t you just a breath of fresh air?”

You blinked, momentarily startled. “I… what?”

She smiled, slow and warm, like she was entirely unbothered by the sharp edges of this world. “You look like you wandered in from somewhere far, far away.” Her gaze drifted down your frame, lingering on your still-slightly-flushed cheeks and the soft blue satin of your gown. “Somewhere real.”

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Smallville, actually.”

Her lips curved in amusement. “Figures.”

You slid onto the stool beside her, grateful for the unexpected reprieve from your spiraling thoughts.

“I’m Selina,” she offered, raising her glass. “Selina Kyle.”

“Y/N,” you replied, smiling despite yourself.

Selina’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Pretty name. Pretty girl. What’s your excuse for looking like you’d rather be anywhere else?”

You hesitated, tempted to brush it off, but something about her—maybe it was the friendly smirk or the purring warmth in her voice—made it easy to be honest.

“I work for Mr. Wayne,” you admitted, fiddling with your bracelet. “Secretary. Calendar wrangler. Human voicemail inbox.”

Selina’s expression morphed into something wickedly teasing. “That explains the heartbreak face.”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s not… I mean, I—”

“Relax, sweetheart.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not the first, and I’m guessing you won’t be the last.”

You groaned softly, burying your face in your hands. “Is it that obvious?”

Selina chuckled, the sound light and unjudging. “Only to someone who’s been there. You’ve got the look.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes softening. “Trust me, men like Bruce? They notice more than they let on.”

You lifted your head, doubtful. “Not him. He’s…” You sighed. “He’s different.”

Her smirk widened like she knew a secret you didn’t. “Aren’t they all?”

Despite the ache still clinging to your chest, her flirty, easy confidence soothed some of the sting. You chatted for a little while longer—about Gotham’s ridiculous social scene, expensive shoes, and how impossible it was to find decent coffee in this city. Slowly, the tightness in your chest loosened, replaced by the quiet comfort of unexpected companionship.

But happiness in Gotham never lasted long.

The collision was entirely accidental. You’d been making your way through the crowd again, half-lost in thought, when it happened.

The champagne flutes on her hand dangerously, and one tips, spilling its fizzy, golden contents all over the front of your dress. The cold is immediate, sharp against your skin, seeping through the delicate fabric and turning the soft blue satin dark and sticky.

You gasp, instinctively reaching for a napkin, already sputtering out apologies.

“I’m so sorry, I—”

But the woman’s gaze sweeps over you like you’re something stuck to her shoe. She’s impeccably dressed—pearls, tailored silk, not a hair out of place—and her expression drips with disdain.

“You should watch where you’re going,” she snaps, her voice clipped, precise, and cruelly condescending. “Clearly, you’re not used to being at events like this.”

“I—um—I didn’t mean—”

“Obviously not,” she cuts in, eyes raking over your soaked dress with thinly veiled disgust. “But what can you expect from… assistants.”

Something ugly twists in your stomach. It’s not even the words—it’s the way she says it. Like you’re beneath her. Like you’re a stain on the carpet. And worst of all, she’s not the first to think it.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes burning.

“Excuse me,” you whisper, your voice barely steady.

You turn sharply and flee, weaving through the glittering guests, past chandeliers and waiters and couples who don’t notice you’re unraveling. You burst through the manor doors and into the night, the rain hitting you like cold glass.

The sky is heavy, dark, and pouring, but you barely feel it over the ache in your chest, the humiliation clawing up your throat. You raise your hand, waving desperately until a cab finally screeches to a stop, and you slide inside, your soaked dress clinging to your skin, your heart pounding wildly.

“Address?” the cabbie grunts.

You rattle it off quickly, voice thick with tears you refuse to let fall—not here, not yet.

The ride home blurred past the rain-streaked window. By the time you reached your small apartment, your teeth chattered and your heart ached with embarrassment so sharp it made your chest physically hurt.

Inside, you stripped out of the soaked gown, trembling hands fumbling with the fabric. The champagne stain spread across the satin, stubborn and taunting.

Warm pajamas—fleece, oversized, impossibly soft—helped, but not enough to quiet the storm inside you. You sat on the floor by the sink, the dress clutched in your lap, damp with tears as you scrubbed at the stain in vain.

The first sob broke free quietly, and then another, until your shoulders shook, and you pressed your forehead to your knees.

Your phone buzzed on the counter. You ignored it at first, but when it buzzed again—your mother’s name lighting up the screen—your resolve crumbled.

You swipe to answer, voice trembling. “Hey, ma.”

Her voice wraps around you like a quilt. “Hi, sweetheart. Thought I’d check on you. You were on my mind tonight.”

You swallow, the knot in your throat threatening to choke you. “It was a long night.”

“Tell me.”

So you do. You tell her about the gala, about the pretty blonde, about the woman who made you feel small, about the rain and the taxi and the stupid, ruined dress.

Ma listens to every word, soft murmurs of comfort filling the quiet between your sobs.

“Oh, honey,” she says finally, her voice tender and steady, like home. “You know what I always told you. People can only make you feel small if you let them.”

“I know,” you whisper, curling into yourself. “But sometimes it’s hard not to.”

“I know it is. But you’re a Kent, sugar. You’ve got more heart than that whole city combined. Don’t let some snooty woman take that from you.”

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “The dress is probably ruined.”

“Clothes can be replaced. My girl can’t.”

Your chest aches, but the edges start to soften.

“And besides,” Ma continues gently, “the year’s almost done. Christmas is right around the corner. Why don’t you come home for a bit? We’ll put you to work on the farm. Your father's been asking when he’ll see you next.”

You smile faintly, the image of the old farmhouse glowing warmly in your mind. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Come home, baby,” she said softly. “For as long as you want.”

“Okay,” you whispered, the exhaustion catching up to you. “I’ll come home.”

And for the first time that night, you let yourself breathe.

Until a loud, metallic noise startles you.

“What was that?” your mother’s voice crackled through the tiny speaker, concern lacing her words even from miles away.

You stood frozen in your living room, heart lurching up to your throat. It had come from the balcony. Something heavy. Something… metallic? The rain outside still battered against the glass, wind howling like it was personally offended.

“Probably… the wind,” you tried to sound calm, but your voice wobbled.

“Wind doesn’t sound like that, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t exactly argue.

Your eyes darted around your modest apartment, landing on the first potential weapon in sight—the old, battered broom leaning against the kitchen wall. It wasn’t exactly an impressive choice, but it was better than facing Gotham’s nightlife with bare hands.

“Ma, I gotta go,” you whispered, grabbing the broom in a white-knuckled grip.

“Y/N—”

“Love you,” you interrupted softly, already creeping toward the balcony. “Kiss Pa for me.”

You hung up, slipping the phone onto the counter, broom clutched like a sword as you edged toward the sliding balcony door. Peeking through the glass, your eyes narrowed in confusion. The balcony was dark, but even with the rain streaking the glass, you could make out a broad shape slumped among your poor, potted plants. Your gaze sharpened.

A man?

His cape—or was that a coat?—dragged heavily on the soaked ground, the fabric clinging to his frame. The dim city light caught the unmistakable shape of pointed ears rising from the silhouette of his cowl. Unmoving except for the faint, labored rise and fall of his chest. His shoulders sagged slightly, like they were carrying the weight of the world—or at least tonight’s injuries.

A bat mask. A symbol that had been plastered all over Gotham’s tabloids for months now.

The Batman.

Your eyes widened. "Oh my God…”

Your pulse thudded against your ribs, nerves tangled with curiosity. He wasn’t threatening, not like this. He looked… exhausted. Slumped awkwardly on one side, one gloved hand bracing against the floor as if trying—and failing—to push himself upright.

The other hand pressed tightly to his torso. Even in the dim light, you could see dark, wet streaks staining his suit.

Blood.

The logical part of your brain reminded you: he beats up criminals, not civilians. You were safe… mostly. Still, your fingers tightened around the broom handle, and—against all better judgment—you poked him lightly in the side with the bristles.

“Uh… hey,” you called softly, voice higher than usual. “You okay there, big guy?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, his head tilted up, and even behind the intimidating mask, you could feel the weight of his stare settle on you.

The intensity made you freeze for a heartbeat—but you noticed the tension in his shoulders loosen, just slightly. He wasn’t here to hurt you.

The Batman—Gotham’s Batman—was hurt. And… on your balcony.

This city was ridiculous.

You lowered the broom slightly, heart racing. “Are you… gonna pass out? Or… need help?”

His breathing was heavy beneath the mask, but after a pause, he managed a rough, gravel-edged reply. “Help… would be… good.”

You hesitated only a second longer before setting the broom aside. The Kent in you—years of patching up scraped knees, stubborn farm injuries, and now your brother’s occasional “training bruises”—kicked in.

“Alright, c’mon,” you muttered, slipping your arm under his. “Let’s get you inside before you drown out here.”

It took effort, but between his stubbornness and your determination, you managed to half-guide, half-drag him inside. Rainwater dripped from his cape and suit, puddling onto your floor. Your poor couch squelched as he collapsed onto it with a heavy, pained grunt.

You grimaced. “Okay, we’ll… deal with the couch later.”

First aid. You needed the first aid kit.

You grabbed the small, dented metal box from the kitchen cabinet, snapping it open to see what was inside. It wasn’t exactly stocked for vigilante wounds, but it would have to do.

You returned to the living room, dropping the kit beside him and kneeling at his side, crossing your legs beneath you. Your gaze flicked over him—his gloves were off now, discarded on your coffee table, his bare hands braced on his thighs.

But it wasn’t his hands that worried you.

The blood staining his side caught your attention—the dark smear spreading across his suit, seeping from beneath the armored plates.

Your fingers hovered uncertainly.

“Hey… uh, I’m gonna help you, alright?” Your voice was soft but steady. “But I can’t get to that with all… this.”

Your hand gestured vaguely toward the torso section of his suit.

For a long, tense moment, he didn’t move. The air between you thickened with unspoken questions. Then, finally, with slow, methodical movements, he reached up, fingers finding the subtle seams at the sides of his suit.

The chest armor loosened, peeling away to reveal scarred, marked skin beneath.

Your breath hitched.

Broad, muscular, every inch of him screamed strength and experience—the kind of body molded by years of brutal training and hard-earned scars. Bruises bloomed across his ribs in shades of deep purple and blue, some old, some alarmingly fresh. A shallow gash bled sluggishly along his side, the likely source of the stain.

Professional. Be professional, you scolded yourself.

“This’ll probably sting,” you warned, voice quiet.

Grabbing gauze and antiseptic, you began to clean the wound with careful, practiced hands.

As you dabbed carefully at the wound, the alcohol making him hiss softly through gritted teeth, you fought to keep your hands steady.

He remained silent for several beats, watching you with unreadable eyes beneath the shadow of his cowl. Then, his voice rumbled low, unexpectedly cutting through the quiet.

“You’ve been crying.”

Your hands stilled.

You didn’t meet his gaze immediately, focusing instead on dabbing antiseptic along the edges of the gash.

“Sharp observation,” you replied lightly, but your voice betrayed you—soft, shaky, raw around the edges.

His eyes softened—barely noticeable, but there.

“Why?”

The question hung between you, heavy and sincere. No judgment. No mocking curiosity. Just… quiet concern.

You hesitated, biting your lower lip as you worked. The gauze wrapped around his torso with steady, if slightly trembling, fingers.

“A party,” you admitted finally, taping the bandage in place. “Someone ruined my dress. Said I didn’t belong.”

His eyes never left yours.

“Gala?”

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching bitterly. “Wayne Gala.”

The words hung between you for a second, quiet, but not empty.

Batman’s eyes narrowed just slightly. There was a flicker of something beneath the surface.

“Did something happen there?” His voice stayed low, that smooth, rasping tone that carried authority, but there was an edge of something softer to it now. Less like the Batman of headlines. More… human.

You shrugged lightly, returning your attention to the emergency kit as you began packing away the supplies, the soft rattle of gauze and bandages filling the space between your words.

“Nothing unusual for a Wayne party,” you replied, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice caught just a little. You could still feel the sting of that woman’s words clinging to you like smoke. “Fancy people with expensive shoes and sharper tongues. That’s Gotham.”

His gaze didn’t waver, even as you busied your hands. “Someone upset you.”

It wasn’t a question. You hated how easily he saw through you. You pressed your lips together, not looking at him as you spoke.

“It’s not a big deal,” you lied. “Just some socialite who thinks anyone without a trust fund shouldn’t breathe the same air as them.”

A pause. You risked a glance at him.

The corners of his mouth tightened, and even though the mask covered most of his face, you could feel the disapproval radiating off him. Not at you—but at the situation. At whoever had made you feel small tonight.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” His voice was quieter now, laced with a firm, grounded certainty that sent a shiver down your spine.

You shrugged again, this time weaker. “Doesn’t really matter what I believe. You’ve seen the crowd Bruce Wayne runs with.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, eyes drifting to his injured side before flickering back up. “People like me… we don’t fit.”

His jaw flexed. “People like you?”

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Small-town girl with a Metropolis zip code. A Kent. I grew up feeding cows and fixing fences. The fanciest thing I owned back home was a Sunday dress from Sears.” You pulled the blanket around your legs a little tighter, voice dropping with vulnerability you couldn’t quite hide. “Now I answer phones for the richest man in Gotham and try not to drown in places I clearly don’t belong.”

The silence stretched after your confession, heavy but not uncomfortable. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“You belong,” he said simply, like it was fact—not up for debate. “Don’t let people like that convince you otherwise.”

Your eyes snapped to his, startled by the quiet sincerity behind the words. The shadows softened him for a moment, the harsh lines of the cowl blending into the dim light, but the conviction in his voice stayed.

You exhaled, some of the tightness in your chest easing. “You’re not what I expected, y’know.”

He tilted his head slightly, curious. “No?”

You smiled faintly, relaxing into the couch’s armrest. “All those stories… newspapers, rumors. You’re supposed to be this terrifying, ruthless vigilante. Gotham’s monster in the shadows.” Your eyes traced over him—tired, soaked, bruised. “But you’re… different.”

He let out a low sound that might’ve been the ghost of a chuckle. It was rough, brief, but real.

“I can be terrifying,” he teased, and for the first time tonight, the tension in your apartment cracked just a little, warmth slipping in through the cracks.

Your smile widened despite yourself. “I’ll believe it when you stop bleeding all over my floor.”

His mouth quirked again, the expression faint but not entirely hidden.

A beat of silence passed, comfortable now. The rain outside tapped steadily against the glass doors, a constant hum filling the space.

Then, he shifted slightly, his broad shoulders easing back against the couch, some of the tension bleeding from his posture. His hand pressed lightly to the gauze at his side, checking your handiwork.

“You’ve done this before,” he observed, his gaze drifting over the neatly wrapped bandage.

“Farm,” you answered simply. “Kent household is a masterclass in minor medical emergencies.” You gestured vaguely. “Cuts, scrapes, falling off tractors… patching up stubborn men.”

The corner of his mouth tugged, and your heart did a small, traitorous flip at the sight.

“You handle this better than most,” he admitted quietly.

You arched a brow, teasing. “What, bleeding strangers collapsing on my balcony? Sure, happens all the time.”

“Could’ve called the cops,” he pointed out, watching you closely.

You shrugged, voice light but sincere. “Didn’t think they’d patch you up.”

Another pause. His eyes never left you.

“And… you believe I’m not here to hurt you?”

It was a serious question, but you smiled softly, warmth creeping into your expression as you leaned in, resting your chin on your hand.

“I don’t think you’d let me shove a broom at you if you were the type to hurt civilians,” you teased. Then, softer, “Besides… you save people.”

His eyes darkened with something unreadable, but not dangerous. He didn’t deny it.

You hesitated, then added quietly, “I’ve seen the news. You stop muggings. Get kids out of danger. You might scare the criminals… but you help people.”

The admission settled in the air between you, thick with quiet honesty.

“You’ve been watching me,” he noted.

You rolled your eyes. “Everyone’s been watching you.”

His gaze was sharp, steady—watchful even in exhaustion.

“Y’know,” you began, your voice breaking the quiet, “I didn’t exactly picture my Saturday night ending like this.”

A brow under the cowl arched faintly. His lips twitched—barely—but you caught it.

“Unexpected house guests are common in Gotham?” he asked, voice low, rough, that rasp unmistakable even softened by fatigue.

You shrugged lightly. “Usually it’s angry or drunk neighbors, not six-foot-something vigilantes falling on my plants.”

His eyes drifted toward the balcony door, lingering on the flattened pots, the shattered ceramic.

“Apologies for the casualties,” he muttered.

You smiled despite yourself. “They were on borrowed time anyway. This city’s got terrible sunlight.”

A quiet hum left him, almost a huff of amusement if you were being generous.

You watched him for a moment longer, curiosity outweighing caution now that the shock had settled. His broad frame was hunched slightly, weight shifted to one side to avoid putting pressure on the bandaged gash. The blanket draped awkwardly over his shoulders, the edges damp but slowly drying from the apartment’s warmth.

For a man built like a walking warning sign, he looked oddly… human.

“Is this… normal for you?” you asked carefully. “The whole ‘bleeding on strangers’ furniture’ thing?”

“Occupational hazard,” he replied simply.

You tilted your head, biting back a grin. “Danger pay included?”

His eyes slid back to yours, sharp as glass. “Wouldn’t recommend the career path.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning to join,” you teased, your fingers absently tugging at a loose thread on your pajama pants. “I think I’m barely surviving my current job.”

A pause.

“You work for Wayne,” he stated again, the certainty in his voice settling over the room like fog.

You exhaled a soft laugh. “You’ve got an impressive memory for someone half-delirious on my couch.”

His head tilted faintly, studying you. “It’s… noticeable.”

“What is?” you prompted, curiosity peeking through.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on you, unreadable under the shadowed mask. You waited, letting the silence stretch, expecting him to evade the question entirely.

But instead, his voice came quiet. Honest.

“You stand out,” he admitted.

You looked at him then, surprised by the sincerity tucked between the words. You swallowed, wetting your lips, forcing your eyes down to your hands to keep from staring, and, instead, you shifted topics, easing the tension.

“Bet this isn’t your first run-in with Gotham rooftops.”

His lips quirked faintly. “Rooftops, alleys, warehouses… name it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “That’s one way to see the city.”

“Best way,” he replied simply.

“Define ‘best’,” you teased, your tone soft, lightening the mood.

A pause. His eyes lingered on you, thoughtful.

“Most honest,” he answered.

You smiled faintly, leaning back against the couch. “Guess you’d hate my job then.”

“Secretary?” His brow arched. “Nothing honest about it?”

You laughed softly. “Depends who you’re working for.”

A longer pause this time.

“And Bruce Wayne?” he prompted carefully. “What’s the verdict?”

You hesitated, pulse tripping unexpectedly. Careful. Careful.

“He’s…” You chose your words, fingers twisting your pajama sleeve. “Complicated.”

His eyes narrowed faintly, curious.

“Most days, I think he’s impossible,” you admitted, your voice quiet now, honest in a way you hadn’t planned. “He’s cold, distant… expects everything and says almost nothing.”

“And the other days?”

You smiled to yourself, gaze drifting to the rain-slick windows. “The other days, I think… maybe he’s just lost. Or tired. Or carrying more than he lets anyone see.”

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. You could feel his eyes on you, steady, lingering.

Finally, his voice cut through the quiet again—rough, softer now.

“People notice more than you think.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t elaborate, only watched you with that same unreadable intensity, shadows curling at the edges of his expression.

The room settled into quiet again. The rain softened, tapping faintly against the glass.

And that’s when your gaze shifted—sliding down the sharp slope of his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw.

Strong. Defined. Familiar in a way that made your stomach twist with quiet realization.

Your eyes lingered on his mouth—lips you’d seen pressed into faint, disapproving lines during board meetings, biting back frustration during impossible phone calls, curled ever-so-faintly in quiet amusement when he thought you weren’t looking.

You’d stared at Bruce Wayne's mouth more times than you cared to admit. It was hard not to when you were sitting across from him most days, fielding angry calls from supermodels and rearranging his schedule on a dime.

And now, up close, barely away from you, with his cowl hiding everything but his jaw, his lips…

You recognized him.

The sharp line of his jaw. The curve of his cheek. The slope of his mouth.

Bruce Wayne.

It hit you like a punch to the ribs.

But you didn’t say anything.

Your heart hammered wildly, your mind spinning, but you kept your expression carefully neutral.

You shut your mouth.

And he… didn’t notice. Or he did—and he didn’t care.

His eyes drifted to the window again, watching the rain streak down the glass, the faintest ghost of exhaustion settling over his expression.

You stayed quiet, your mind racing, pulse skittering wildly beneath your skin, but your face remained soft, composed—the same mask you wore around Bruce every day.

For now, your secret stayed safe between the two of you.

And his?

You’d carry that, too.

#bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #kent!batmom!reader #batboys x reader #bruce wayne x you #platonic clark kent x reader

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ktownshizzle · 18 days ago

Text

Pigments & Playlists [Final] | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Between makeup and music, you find the one person worth blurring the lines for. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluffy coworkers to lovers, idol au, older woman (by a few years), smut ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, Undercut Yoongi!!, MC-noona is the embodiment of “independent check, got her own check”, office shenanigans as always, exhibitionist kink, fingering, edging, very minor pain kink, use of a blindfold, power play (im new to writing this so pls forgive any errors), unprotected p in v, idk tell me if i missed any of it, unfair/sexist HR practices, insinuation of self-harm (assumed wrongly), MC hatin’ on HYBE, happy ending woohoo ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 9k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: June 21, 2025 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Yoongi’s discharge today. So proud of you, baby! 💜 Thank you so much @tea4sykes for your brilliant ideas, betareading, and basically keeping me motivated in writing this! Love yew! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes 2: Hope you guys enjoy reading this~ Made it a personal goal to publish today, because I didn't know how June 21 was gonna go for us, but I was sure it was going to be emotional. Consider this a gift from me to you. However you may be feeling today, I hope this makes you smile.

[Full taglist to follow in rbs.]

Part One | Yoongi Masterlist

So Yoongi disappeared after he did that. Frankly, how dare he?!

Way too many thoughts swirling in your head while you lay awake and there is no way you’ll be able to sleep.

Your arm flies across the bed as your hand pulls your nightstand drawer and fumbles inside for the one thing you need to help yourself relax…

Nah. Not the rabbit.

Tiger Balm.

You dab a bit on your temples and the tip of your nose and inhale deeply, letting the menthol work its magic. Yup. That’s the stuff.

Unfortunately, you’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour, heart thudding like something’s wrong. Except nothing’s wrong. You kissed. That’s all.

You kissed and now you’re thinking about it way too much. Not because it was bad. Because it was… something.

And because the more you think about it, the more it’s starting to scare you how much you need it to happen again.

You sigh. Rub at the menthol on your nose, frustrated it didn’t thwart your torturous thoughts.

And then you do the logical thing. You call.

It rings once. Twice.

“...Noona?”

His voice is low, a little scratchy. Not groggy, just sleep-warm.

You swallow. “Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Nah it’s fine,” he says. “You okay?”

You hesitate. “Kind of.”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t fill it. Just waits.

You exhale, quiet. “Remember when you said I could call you if I couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t about my ex though,” you say.

“Okay.”

“It’s about you.”

That makes him hum. You hear the faint rustle of his sheets, like he’s sitting up.

“Me?”

“Own up to what you did.”

Faint chuckles crackle through your phone and you can almost imagine how he looks. Eyes like the moon, shoulders bobbing, grin smug as shit.

“What did I do?”

You groan, tack his name at the end of it.

“Been wanting to do that for a while,” he says after a beat. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” you reply. “It makes me anxious.”

He hums softly. “Because?”

“Because I liked it,” you say. “And I kinda hate how much I’m thinking about it. And you’re probably chill.”

There’s a long silence.

Then he says, calm and careful: “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Thought you don’t date coworkers.”

“And then there’s you.”

You let out a huff—relieved, breathy, kinda giddy. “That’s… okay.”

“Yeah.”

You sit up in bed, pulling your knees in.

“I was gonna wait,” you admit. “To see if you’d make the next move. But then I figured that’s dumb. I’m not a teenager.”

“No. You’re definitely not.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“Mind what?”

“That I’m older?” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Noona,” he breathes. “I’m not really someone who cares about things like that. At the end of the day aren’t we all just human beings trying to find a connection?”

God this man. Your mouth moves before you can think about it any more. “If you’re not too busy… you wanna come over sometime?”

There’s a pause. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“Noona,” he says, teasing, “are you asking me on a…”

“Yes, Yoongi,” you cut in. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

He laughs. Really laughs. Low and bright and warm through the speaker. You want to bottle that sound.

“Technically, I did ask first,” he says. “But yeah. I’ll come over.”

You kick your feet under the duvet before replying, “Okay.”

You talk more.

About nothing. About music. About how Namjoon’s on his ass about a song. About how he’s been working out. You tease him mercilessly about how he just casually dropped the last part.

At some point, the sky turns blue.

When you finally hang up, your body feels softer, a little less anxious. And when you fall asleep, it’s his cute throaty laugh still echoing in your head.

“Yoongi, will you please stop making that face? I’m trying to even out your eyeliner,” you scold, trying not to laugh.

Yoongi, the piece of shit, still keeps at his :] while you skim a q-tip along the outer corner of his eye.

“Yoongi-hyung, why are you acting cutely?” Hobi asks from the next chair. “Are we even filming right now?”

A flush creeps up Yoongi’s cheeks as he responds, mock indignant, “What? This is my face. Not my fault I was born cute.”

You meet Hobi’s eyes in the mirror. Then, he winks. You immediately look away, vaguely mortified.

Wait—does everybody know?

Trying to recover, you boop your powder puff on Yoongi’s nose, sending a cloud of setting powder into the air. “Quit it.”

He coughs once, laughing as the puff drops to his lap. Okay shit, good thing he is wearing khaki slacks and not black pants. But finally, he relaxes.

“Noona, you have a Rejuran appointment later,” Jimin chimes in.

Your head snaps up. “What? How did you…?”

Jimin grins from across the room, eyes glued to your phone screen where it’s charging in one of the other stations. Your sockets were full, so you left it there earlier and a calendar alert must’ve popped up.

“You’re so nosy, Jimin.”

“What’s Rejuran?” Hobi asks, peering over with mild curiosity. “I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“It’s just a kind of facial,” you say breezily, catching Hyein’s knowing glance as she smooths Hobi’s hair with her Dyson. These boys don’t need to know your anti-aging secrets.

“They inject salmon sperm into noona’s face,” Jimin announces with a totally straight face, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Salmon what?!” Yoongi blurts, snapping his head up to look at you. Hobi recoils with a horrified grimace.

“Park Jimin, when I catch you—!”

Jimin squeals and ducks behind a rack of stage outfits as you toss a blending sponge in his direction, trying not to laugh yourself.

The commotion dies down, and you go back to packing up your powders, muttering under your breath, “It’s not even that weird. Just some polynucleotides. Helps stimulate collagen. Keeps the wrinkles at bay.”

Hobi raises a brow. “I don’t see wrinkles, noona.”

“Exactly.” Now it’s you who sends him a wink back.

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. You glance at him and catch him typing something into his Notes app. Thankfully everyone goes back to their own damn business.

A second later, Yoongi tilts the screen toward you just enough for you to read it: Friday night?

Your hand holding a brush freezes for half a second over his cheek.

He’s already looking away like he didn’t just casually drop that invite.

“Okay,” you mumble softly under your breath.

The lilt of his lips tells you he heard it anyway.

The door buzzes. You’ve been so chill all day. Still chill. You're chill. (No, you’re not.) You rush to open the door before you make him wait too long.

Yoongi looks… casual. Just a black sweater layered over a gray tee, soft black pants. Hair tucked neatly under a beanie. He looks like your neighborhood ahjussi.

“Noona,” he says, voice muffled behind a white face mask.

“Wow. You’re on time.”

“I try to impress on the first date.”

You try not to smile too big, but fail.

He takes his mask off and hands you a small paper bag. “Dessert.”

You peek inside. Cream puffs from that place in Sinsa-dong that always sells out by 3 PM. “Did you have to bribe someone for these?”

“I have my ways.”

Dinner is simple, something you can make with your eyes closed. Miso salmon, cilantro lime rice, and a cucumber salad. You make this at least twice a month. You could’ve cooked steak or some grilled chops, something that gave a more date-night vibe, but you wanted to make the menu fool-proof.

You eat at the kitchen counter with his insistence, saying you didn’t need to set the dining table all fancy. (“It’s just me.”) So you sit close together on your bar stools, knees almost brushing. He clears his plate like it’s the best thing he’s eaten. You beam.

“Noona, this is really good,” he says, tapping a napkin against his mouth.

You smirk. “Better than Jungkook’s?”

He slides an arm on the backrest of your chair. “Are you as competitive as the maknae?”

“I’m just playing.” You chuckle. “I know mine’s better.”

He smiles, watching you quietly but intently as you sip your wine.

“What?” you ask, his stare is warming the side of your face.

“Just... haven’t done this in a while.”

“Eaten?”

“No.” He tuts, picks up his wine glass and sips before explaining, “Sat with someone like this. Them cooking for me. In their home. Talking.”

Your stomach dips. Not from nerves this time. From the way he admits it. Simple. Open.

You shrug, keeping it light. “Well. You’ve still got it.”

“Got what?”

“You know… the kids call it rizz.”

He laughs heartily, and you feel his fingers curling against your arm. “Was worried I might’ve lost my… rizz.” He overenunciates the last word, his lisp decorating the edge of the sound.

You raise your brow, not buying it. “Liar.”

He bites his lower lip and shakes his head at you. Your eyes track the way his pretty teeth sink against the pink plush and ugh. Again with this rizz.

After dishes are rinsed and placed in the dishwasher and dessert’s split between bites and laughter, the two of you end up on the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest yet again, just shy of your shoulder. Your head tilted toward his, but not touching, even if you wanted to.

There’s some Netflix movie playing in the background, purely for vibes. Neither of you are really watching. You talk about work. Gossip a bit. He asks about that corner shelf in your living room, the one with the knick knacks. You tell him stories about your travels, touring with Seventeen. He says you have the same lucky cat figurine from Hong Kong.

You try not to let his voice get under your skin. It’s different hearing his warm, caramelly tone when you’re not otherwise occupied with evening out his contour or with the buzz of a hair dryer in the background. It’s criminal how smooth it is when it’s all you need to focus on, even more so when he’s being earnest.

He glances at your hand resting on his thigh. (How did it get there???) Then up at your face. You nod before your brain realizes that he in fact did not ask a question.

But then he leans in and all thoughts fly out the window. His lips taste like vanilla cream and maybe the wine you shared earlier. It’s sweet. Even better than the first one because you’re ready for it.

You shift closer, hands finding their way to the hem of his sweater, thumbs brushing warm skin underneath. His breath catches a little. And then his fingers are trailing up your arm, until they settle gently on your jaw. His thumb presses against your cheek, coaxing your mouth open so he can press his tongue against yours. You feel dizzy with want.

His hands stay respectful, never wandering too far. Just the faint brush against the back of your neck, the side of your thigh. But every press of his calloused fingers leaves a quiet, contained fire in its wake. You need more.

You move closer, straddling his lap, never breaking contact with his mouth. He kisses you deeper, sloppier when your weight settles against him. His tongue licks into your mouth expertly and you welcome it. It teases you long enough to make you wonder how it might feel in other places, too.

Like butter, you're melting, unraveling as his hands find more courage—one sliding up, pausing at your ribs, then higher to cup your tits. He groans into your mouth and it nearly ruins you. You roll your hips forward, barely a grind, just enough to feel him straining between you. Just enough to hear him groan again.

You make out for what feels like an eternity. But you think you’re both on the same page, when your mouths move a little slower, softer. Air starts to seep between your lips as you retreat. You’re somewhere between wanting more and knowing it’s not time. Not yet. But god, it’s close.

Eventually, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, both of you breathless–maybe a little embarrassed.

“I should probably go,” he murmurs, even as he hugs you tighter at the waist.

“Probably,” you sigh, his undercut grazing your neck and igniting a dull, sweet tickle.

You stay like that for a moment, sharing the soft beat of your hearts as they slow back to normal.

He finally rises, slipping back into his white sneakers as you walk him to the door.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says, lingering by the frame.

“Thanks for coming,” you reply, fingers tightening on the knob as you hold it open.

“Next time, my place?”

“Already booking that second date?”

He pulls his mask on, but not before you catch the shy grin he tries to hide.

“I’ll bring dessert,” you offer.

“Just bring yourself. “ he says, gaze flicking down your body, before settling back on your eyes.

Oh. You are the dessert.

And this time, when the door clicks shut behind him, your heart isn’t racing from confusion. It’s welcoming the slow bloom of potential.

You: Thank you for dropping off coffee and donuts for the team Yoongi: 👌

Yoongi: finished it one sitting You: what? You: i got you 10 pcs 🍊 Yoongi: and? You: you dont get acidic? Yoongi: it’s my favorite!! You: i noticed

Yoongi: [spotify playlist link] You: hey dj suga Yoongi: thought you might like You: listened to it on the drive home Yoongi: favorite track? You: musiq soulchild - just friends Yoongi: me too

It’s not like there was a talk. No formal check-in or DTR. But somehow, as the weeks pass, the rhythm between you and Yoongi settles into something steady. There’s no pressure. No constant push for reassurance. No need to define what already feels known.

You see him constantly at work—during rehearsals, music shows, brand shoots. He’s not overly affectionate, that’s just not him. But there are moments. The way his fingers graze yours when no one’s looking. The way his eyes seek you out as soon as he walks in. The way he’ll shift his chair an inch closer when you’re touching up his base, so your knees knock just enough.

He really makes this whole thing feel easy. Comfortable in a way that still thrills you. Because what can be more thrilling at this point in your life than to finally meet somebody that makes you feel vibrant.

What surprises you most is how little insecurity you feel. You’ve seen how people look at him—the other makeup artists, stylists, managers, external clients. There’s something magnetic about him that draws attention without trying. You’ve clocked it. But Yoongi has a way of making sure you never wonder.

It’s in the way he says your name. How his eyes soften when he talks to you. How he remembers the little things. The tea you like. The one concealer you always complain about running out of. Sometimes you find a sticky note in your kit. Or a box of snacks with your name scribbled on it. Just things that say: I see you. You’re on my mind.

And then there are the others. The rest of Bangtan.

It’s a choreography video shoot day, which always means chaos. Full glam’s not required since most shots are wide, so it’s just you and Hwapyeong handling light touch-ups.

You’re finishing Yoongi’s concealer when Jungkook suddenly rests his chin on your shoulder. “Noona, if I promise to sit still, can I go next?”

Before you can answer, Jimin appears behind him. “She’s doing me next. I called dibs.”

“Not how dibs works,” Jungkook pulls back his arm for a mock-punch and Jimin clutches his heart, rattling off a litany of how Jungkook wounds him.

“Hajimaaa,” Yoongi gives them all a staredown.

But then from across the room, Taehyung yells, “Noona, help! My concealer’s making me look gray!”

“AISH!” Yoongi snarls with his non-existent fangs. It’s not even menacing. You know now that his canines are blunt. But he tries, so you giggle.

Jin comes to your rescue. “Why are all of you crowding her? You never even get your faces done for choreo. Fuck off,” Then, sweetly, “Hi noona, just a dab of lip balm, please.”

“HYUNG!” Jungkook giggles as he shoves his elder playfully away from you and they continue to horseplay elsewhere.

Yoongi turns slowly to Jimin and Taehyung, unimpressed. “Why are you still here?”

“Because she’s nice to us,” Jimin says, fluttering his lashes at you with zero shame.

“Because we love her more than you do,” Taehyung declares with a shit-eating grin.

That gets Yoongi to raise a brow.

“Okay, enough,” you laugh, pointing your brush like a weapon. “If you want me to do all your faces, line up like kindergarteners and bring me coffee.”

“Done,” Taehyung shoots up immediately.

When they disperse to bother other members of the staff, you catch Yoongi watching you through the mirror.

“I think…” you murmur as you smooth out the edge of his eye shadow, “I just got myself a new set of boys.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his smile lingers tells you everything.

When he stands up to finally let one of the maknaes take his spot, he whispers, “For the record, I called dibs.” Then pinches your hip slightly.

You’re still grinning when Jimin plops into the chair and narrows his eyes at you. Eye-smiling. Suspicious. Rightly so.

You: check your studio door Yoongi: ? Yoongi: why Yoongi: what did you do You: just do it

(three minutes later)

Yoongi: you cooked? You: 👩‍🍳 Yoongi: you even packed utensils?? You: i’m considerate Yoongi: shit you the best You: i know you’re busy but now you don’t have an excuse Yoongi: you tryna wife me up huh? You: idiot Yoongi: cmere eat with me You: i have a thing You: meeting a makeup artist friend who started her own salon Yoongi: thats nice Yoongi: but next time come in You: k Yoongi: 134340 You: ? Yoongi: door code You: guarding it with my life

(fifteen minutes later)

Yoongi: (photo attached: empty bento box)

Curious how time has passed and with frequency and proximity, you discover new things about Yoongi. Things that only came with time. Things you wouldn’t catch if you weren’t paying attention. Things you couldn’t have known before.

There are lines you never noticed until you were tracing them at rest. Creases that only surface when he’s thinking too hard, or biting back a smile. Dimples, not on the smile lines, but on his chin, when he’s bored. And then there’s the slightest double chin when he’s slumped and snoozing when schedules get rough. It’s your job to know his face, to fill the lines. There are times you touch him a little longer, not for anything but comfort and maybe your greed. He lets you.

Lips, sweeter than any cherry balm you could ever swipe. But far more frequently chapped than you like so you’ve started packing bottled water inside your kit, making him sip while you let lip mask seep between the patches of dry skin. His lips have become your favorite. Sometimes it splits when he does that shriek he often pulls to make others laugh but then it also presses against your shoulder when he’s too tired to kiss you properly. Sometimes they murmur your name like it’s a sexy secret, and you wonder how you lived before hearing it said like that.

There’s also his eyes. Small, but somehow holds a significant power. He has a habit of narrowing them, but now you can tell why, when he’s suspicious, or teasing or just tired, or forgot his glasses. You don’t need him to speak. Sometimes the way he looks at you says more than full conversations ever could.

His default expressions are even more cat-like up close. On default :< When he’s playful :] But your favorite is the :3. You always make sure his features stay sharp, complimenting his felinesque features. You pull his liner outward, shade his jaw, angle his brow. Lil Meow Meow, apparently he is called. And what ARMY wants, ARMY gets.

His hair is finer than it looks. Silky in a way that slips easily between your fingers when you card through it absentmindedly, especially when he’s resting his head in your lap. The strands at his nape get extra soft after he showers, curling ever so slightly where they brush against his undercut. He likes when you play with it, especially the buzzed edges, more than he lets on. You figured that out the first time you tugged a little harder and heard the way his breath caught, low in his throat. Now it’s something he leans into, shameless. One tug and suddenly he’s pliant, open.

He smells like tangerines. Rarely does he not have it in his pocket. But also, there’s this perfume he wears. It clings. Intoxicating and addicting, and you wonder if it’s just you who’s not immune. It lives in your hair, your pillow, your skin. You catch yourself breathing deeper when you catch it, like your body recognizes what’s safe faster than your mind can.

You no longer think about what you used to think of him. When he only said four words, and always closed his eyes.

Finally, you know Min Yoongi. Not the pixels, but the person.

You know him now in the noise and chaos of backstage, from watching him when you have your kit open and he’s on his chair waiting to be groomed.

But you’ve come to know him more in the quietest hours, too. When he wakes beside you in his California king, face bathed in the kind of morning light no makeup could ever imitate. When he opens his eyes, and leans into your space like he always does, all soft and sleepy and sexy.

There’s no need to polish him here. Because this is him at his most perfect in your eyes. When you can just reach for him.

Not because he’s Min Yoongi, the idol.

He’s Min Yoongi, yours. Even without the labels, yet.

You: yoongi. Yoongi: ? You: we almost got caught in the fucking meeting room 😭 Yoongi: that was close. You: close??? do you know what would’ve happened if someone saw? Yoongi: i’d probably get a raise You: ddaeng i’d get fired Yoongi: we’re fine You: you are not serious Yoongi: you kissed me You: you pulled me in Yoongi: yeah and? You: AND?? Yoongi: should’ve locked the door You: Yoongi 😩 Yoongi: you wanted it You: i did NOT Yoongi: your hand was where? You: BYE

You (photo attached: wine glass, bare legs, tv in background): guess what i’m watching Yoongi: don’t care Yoongi: all i see is leg You: rude Yoongi: wear a skirt tomorrow You: so direct Yoongi: thought we’re not teenagers You: thought you said you’d behave Yoongi: sure 😃

Another day in the glam room, another TikTok dance challenge Yoongi somehow said yes to. This time with members of TXT. He’s really never beating the allegations of rizzing up his juniors.

He’s already styled when he walks in. And looking at what he’s wearing... Honestly? He’s wearing you the fuck out. And it’s barely noon.

White tank under a greige short-sleeved shirt, pretty, purple embroidered butterflies sitting on either side of his chest. But it’s the jeans—loose, shredded clean through the knees—that have you scandalized like a Victorian maiden seeing skin for the first time.

“Good morning,” you greet.

He hums, eyes you up and down shamelessly and you know the conversation last night is about to resume in the flesh.

“Hey,” he takes his spot on the chair.

“Looking forward to today?” You ask, turning to pluck a brush and pot from your kit.

“You can say that…”

As you face him, he parts his legs, glancing down at the freshly cleared spot on the floor, then looks back up at you. Waits.

You sigh, already knowing what it is. An unspoken invitation to take your place between his knees. To get closer. So you do.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, feigning indifference, as you swirl the spoolie through your brow gel, wiping off the excess on the rim.

“Not exactly,” he says, smirking, knees closing in on the side of your hips. “But close.”

You start brushing his brows up, grooming them into a perfect arch when you feel it. His fingers, slow and sneaky, sliding up your skirt, skimming the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You look him dead in the eyes.

He winks.

“Yoongi…” you tsk, moving to brush up his other brow.

“Noona…” he shifts forward, tongue peaking on the side of his mouth, which you try try try to ignore.

“Somebody might see,” you mumble.

“Let them.”

“Such a little shit.”

“You love it.” You freeze when you feel his fingers hook your panties to the side and when he discovers that you’re more excited than you let on, “Oooh. You really do.”

Mortified, is what you are. Soaked from anticipation and some light, slight petting. How dare your body betray you like this?!

“I like your skirt,” he murmurs. The hand that isn’t currently violating you taps the floofy fabric like it’s innocent. As if the other one isn’t busy toying with your cunt.

Dignity hanging by a thread, you grit, “Didn’t wear it for you.”

A bold-faced lie. He knows it, too. “Sure you didn’t,” he chuckles.

His index swipes your folds, lazy, teasing strokes that get deeper with every pass, never quite reaching the one spot you need him to.

“But aren’t you glad you did?” At that exact moment, he flicks your puffy clit, circling it like he’s known exactly where it was all along.

“Fuck,” you gasp, pitching forward, hands gripping his knees just to stay upright.

The pot and brush drops to the floor and rolls into oblivion. Much like your sanity.

He hisses through his teeth as he eases his middle finger inside you, walls fluttering at the sudden intrusion.

“So wet for me, baby,” he grins, lower lip caged between his pretty teeth in his pretty mouth. It’s devastating. He’s devastating. And the way he’s watching you fall apart while knuckles-deep, pumping steadily in and out of your dripping pussy only makes it worse. Or better. Definitely worse. But shit, it feels so good.

“Yoongi… shit…” you breathe, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as your knees threaten to give out. Your palms, slick with sweat, slide beneath the frayed denim of his jeans, desperate for more skin, more heat, more of him. Fingertips dig into his thigh, surely to leave little crescent moons in his flesh. He groans, but doesn’t stop. If anything, he moves with maddening precision, adding just enough pressure to make you whimper. You moan, high and sharp, the sound slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Feel good?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do it,” he licks the shell of your ear. “I got you, baby.”

That fuckin’ does it.

You come with a soft gasp, body jerking slightly as heat rushes through you in quiet waves. It’s not loud, not messy, but it rocks you all the same—your breath hitching, muscles clenching, forehead buried in his neck to muffle the sound.

“Shit…” you breathe, blinking as the aftershocks melt through your limbs.

He pulls his fingers out slow and slick, and you wince at the emptiness he leaves behind.

Your mouth falls open. “Yoongi.”

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours so you look up. “When you lose control.”

His lips meet yours, stirring more chaos in your mind. When you pull back, trying to reorient yourself, he leans in again.

“Yoongi… fuck, you need to behave, okay?” You mumble against his lips, nipping his plush lower lip before attempting to pull away.

“But noona,” he lifts himself up, bucking against you once just so you feel the hardness between his thighs. “You're making it hard….”

You’re about to give in, when the door creaks open.

You spring backward like your life depends on it, bumping your back against your kit and you suppress the dull pain across your spine. A familiar voice floats in, Hyein, asking if you saw Jimin.

“Nope,” you reply as you start fixing bottles and palettes randomly. You meet Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror and almost crash out when he brings his hand to his lips—without shame, without pause—and licks two fingers clean.

You nearly choke on air.

“Yoongi needs to be out in 5,” Hyein calls out and closes the door.

The company Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really optional, since you’re both employees. But after a magazine shoot, Yoongi lingers as you pack up and still asks if you want to go with him.

“Why do you say it like that,” you laugh. “Like you’re inviting me to prom.”

“Well… I’m down if you wanna match…” He shrugs, leaning against the wall as he watches you zip up your Zuca.

That’s how you end up in all black—simple, classic, and just a little coordinated with his own sleek black button-down shirt and pants. Yoongi always finds a way to underdress the right way. You compliment him, but he downplays it saying, he just ‘wore an old shirt.’ Yeah, it's the same look from their Grammy performance, but he says it like it should somehow make him look a little less. Joke’s on him, your humble king.

The event is important, but low-pressure. Not quite a red carpet, but still enough eyes to notice when the two of you walk in together. Thankfully Namjoon and Jin are not too far behind with one of their female producers.

You keep a respectful distance, like the professionals you are. But people see. You know they do. A couple of glances. Some whispers. Nothing rude, just… curious. To your insistence and his disappointment, you have dinner with your glam team. Because wouldn’t it be strange if you’re seated with them? You don’t know if you’re ready for a soft launch.

But it sure seems he is. The way he looks at you like there’s no one else in the room. And it’s in the way he caters to you. Like while you’re walking toward the open bar, the strap of your heel suddenly slips loose. You pause, bending slightly to fix it, but Yoongi beats you to it.

He kneels (!!) right there on the marble floor, one hand steadying your ankle as he buckles the strap with steady fingers.

You panic, pulling him by the sleeve of his shirt. “No, you don’t have to—”

“Let me,” he tells you as he so often does. Head down, thumb brushing the side of your foot, he fixes your shoe and suddenly you’re Cinder-fuckin’-ella in your own damn fairy tale.

Obviously, more than one pair of eyes are turning toward the scene. Cos the scene is not something you see everyday: Min Yoongi, rapper-producer-self-proclaimed bad boy, on his knees for this random girl, rugged hands wrapped delicately on her ankle.

A couple of stylists from another team, wide-eyed. One of the project managers from digital looks like she might combust.

Yoongi rises slowly and nods his head towards the bar. You follow him. And that’s that.

After the dinner, you end up at his place. Still dressed up, both of you nursing hot tea listening to a record he chose. Something low and jazzy filters through the room as you curl into his sofa.

“I usually don’t like company parties,” you murmur. “But it wasn’t that bad.”

“Didn’t think it would be,” he says. “I’m glad you came with me.”

He looks at you for a moment, asks, “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think so.”

You were always a good kid, so you never knew what it felt like to be summoned to the principal’s office. It’s probably something like this then. When two days after the company dinner, you were asked to go to HYBE’s HR department.

You’ve never met this woman before, but it’s clear she’s a higher-up. The tightest hair bun you’ve ever seen, cartoonishly wide cat-eye glasses, you already know she’s ripped at least one person a new asshole in the last five business days.

Not much preamble. When she started, oh, she really didn’t mince words and waste time. The way she looked at you spoke volumes of what she thought you had plotted.

“Miss Y/L/N, it has come to our attention that you have gotten involved with one of the members of BTS. As such, you can no longer be the lead makeup artist for the group effective immediately.”

“Due to our current headcount, we are unable to reassign you to another division.”

“Given the years of our professional relationship, we will still provide you with any recommendations you need should you choose to find employment in another company.”

“Your final pay will be sent to you within 30 business days. Please pack up your things and surrender your ID on your way out.”

Somehow, you are able to hold your head high, temper the storm in your chest, and nod as dignified as you can. “I understand. I’ll see myself out.”

You saw this shit coming. Sniffed it out from a mile away. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t sting. You spent more than a decade in this company, shaping and sharpening the creative vision for their two biggest acts, and they’ll let you go all because you decided to date a coworker.

Although they are clearly correct, you are involved with Yoongi, no clear evidence was even presented to you. Nothing was said to indicate that they were in touch with the member of BTS in question to get his side. Regardless, it was never gonna be a man’s fault. She thinks you probably seduced him and took advantage of your close working relationship. Ahh, this is so fucked up.

“Noona…” a voice interrupts your thoughts.

Namjoon.

“Hey—are you…?”

You swipe a tear quickly from your cheek, but he already saw.

“What happened?”

You pull your cardigan tighter around your frame. Was there a point in lying about it? You sigh, “Got fired.”

“WHAT?” Namjoon’s voice echoes down the hall and your eyes widen like saucers.

He springs into action, stringing you like a marionette into every direction until then you end up in… his studio?

“The hell’s goin’ on?”

You shrug, take a spot on the couch. “Not much to it, Namjoon. They fired me because they found out about me and Yoongi.”

It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged this to any member verbally. It feels oddly comforting to say it out loud.

“Does he know about this?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Imma call him right now,” Namjoon fishes his phone from his pocket, but he knocks over something from the side table. It’s a half-full cup of coffee from god-knows-when. “Shit.”

You take some paper towels from his desk and help him soak the brown liquid from the carpet. It’s not really working. His paper towels are kinda thin. And the brown liquid is almost black at this point and it’s making you gag.

“You know what, shit, let’s just leave that. We’ve got bigger problems…”

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna go.” You rise to your feet, smoothing your skirt down.

“Yoongi won’t allow this.”

“I know. But I did break the number 1 rule.”

“Let’s call him.”

“It’s ok, Namjoon-ah. I’m gonna pack up my stuff and go home. It’s a lot to process and I think I need to just… yeah. I’m gonna go home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you give him what you hope is a placating smile. “I just wish I got to say goodbye to everybody.”

“We’ll fix it,” he promises.

“No need,” you call over your shoulder. “Nothing’s broken.”

Bzzt… bzzt…

Your eyes crack open, a slow, confused blink. You’re warm, groggy, skin dry from sleep and mouth sticky from wine. The room’s dark except for the kitchen pin lights still on.

You glance at your clock: 11:02 p.m. it says.

The hell? There’s some heavy knocking going on now.

You pull yourself off the couch, legs slightly cramping, brain not quite awake. So out of it you don’t actually check the peephole before you pull the door wide open.

“Baby—what the fuck?!”

Yoongi’s voice hits first. Then his body—arms wrapping you up so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip between his fingers. His coat’s cold but he smells like cedar and mint shampoo..

“I thought you—” he chokes out, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping the back of your sweatshirt. “You weren’t answering, I—fuck, I thought you—”

“I fell asleep,” you whisper, dazed, unsure how to hold all of this emotion spilling from him. “I’m sorry.”

His hands come up to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s checking if you’re real. His eyes are wet. His breathing unsteady.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did,” you say. “You didn’t pick up. So I just… went home.”

He follows your gaze to the half-full wine glass on the coffee table. His jaw flexes.

“Had a few drinks and crashed,” you add, quietly.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just exhales shakily and pulls you into his chest again, tighter this time. You press your face against his shirt, feel the way his heart is hammering through the fabric.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you mumble.

He doesn’t answer that either. Just holds you there, arms wrapped around you like he needs to physically keep you in his orbit.

You pull back slightly. Look up. “Let me just wash my face real quick. Just sit, okay?”

He nods, wordless, and sinks into the couch like he’s been holding himself up all day.

You go to the bathroom, splash cold water on your cheeks. Brush your teeth. Run a brush through your hair. Change to a lounge set.

You can hear Yoongi’s voice outside. He’s on the phone with someone, and he just told them that you’re okay.

You stare at your reflection, pale and puffy-eyed. Yeah, you’re okay. The lines under your eyes are deeper than usual. But overall, you’re fine.

When you step back out, Yoongi’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. He lifts his eyes the moment you enter, teeth pulling at the skin of his lips.

You sit beside him on the couch, tuck your legs under you. Let your knee rest against his thigh.

“So I got fired…” you say softly, voice thin.

“Namjoon told me,” he says. “I wanted to punch that new HR guy.”

“It’s a woman.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Found that out belatedly after I barged in.”

You smile despite yourself.

“Anyway, I talked to Bang PD. He didn’t authorize this. This HR lady, she’s new. A bit too eager, trigger-happy. I think she wanted to make a statement.”

“Well what kind?”

“She said she just wanted to protect Bangtan from people…” he pauses, shakes his head. “Who might be taking advantage of us. I told her you’re my girlfriend. Fuckin’ idiot!”

Oh?

“They could assign you back to Seventeen,” he prattles on, nostrils flaring. “Not like they’ve found a new person to take over. It’s not easy to find your level of talent and they’re stupid to…”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You said something…”

His mouth parts, a little confused.

“No cause you just casually dropped that.”

“Baby,” he hangs his head, pinching the space between his brows with his index and thumb. “That’s your takeaway?”

“Well,” you shrug. “News to me.”

“You’re my woman, okay? Don’t–” he tuts when you almost cut him off. “Baby please don’t even argue with me on this. You know I’ve been yours. And right now I feel guilty. I should have said so earlier and done my due diligence with the paperwork and shit. But I hate getting legal involved in my personal life. Hoba told me to do it. Cause he’s doling out NDAs left and right, but I don't want you to think you're just some hookup. This is on me. And I’m fixing it, okay. They will transfer you to any group you want.”

“I don’t want it,” you say, more firmly than you expected.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want it,” you repeat.

“You don’t want your boys?”

You roll your eyes, because Seventeen is still some kind of chip on his shoulder. “No. I don’t want pity. Or to feel like they just let me stay because they’re afraid of you.”

“Damn right they are.”

You breathe out, jaw tight. “I want to leave with my head up. And I did.”

Yoongi nods, slow. Like he gets it. Because of course he does.

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t last. Yoongi is still a ball of fire.

“You’re terrifying.”

“Why?”

“You’re so calm.”

You take a moment before you articulate your introspections as you enjoyed your merlot earlier. “You know what? Deep down, I knew it was gonna come to this,” you say. “And if it came down to it, I’d rather just leave HYBE… than you.”

That finally pulls a gentler sound from him. A quiet, pained exhale. His hand finds yours, holds it tight. When you look over, his eyes are glassy again, but his smile is faintly there—gummy, a little lopsided..

“What?” you ask.

He just shakes his head.

“Seriously, what?”

He presses his forehead against yours, closes his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You kiss him, and he lets you. For a minute or two you savor the way his lips slide against yours, no thoughts, just love. Then he pulls back and says something kind of out of pocket.

“I’m rich.”

You stare. “Okay…?”

“You know I can take care of you.” He says it so earnestly, but you can’t help but giggle.

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy. How do they even call it if the woman is older?”

“How the hell are you so cool about this?”

“Because I know I have you, but I know I got me, too. I have some money saved up and some stocks I can sell if need be. Market’s looking bullish anyways…”

“You know how sexy you sound right now?”

“Umm talking about the stock market turns you on?”

“Something about a bull…”

“Want me to ride you like a bull?” You raise your brow.

“If you don’t let me fuck you right this second…”

Yoongi removes each button from your top, one by one, kissing every patch of skin revealed to him. You close your eyes, savoring the tiny, wet kisses deposited to your neck down to the valley of your breasts where he lingers for a beat. Purrs as he presses his cheek against your soft mounds and sighs before lifting his eyes to meet yours.

“Use me,” he says. “I know you’re angry, baby.” He peels your shirt down your arms. “Let it out…”

He holds your nipple between his fingers, twists it, and you groan helplessly in response.

“You can punish me. if you want…”

It takes a while for you to process his offer, between butterfly kisses and the teensiest sucks against your skin, a combination that's driving you wild.

But he’s right. As always. You are mad. Not at him. But the broken sexist system.

“Yoongi?” You tug his hair.

“Hm?”

“Sit back against the headboard.”

He nods and situates himself as you asked.

You walk over to your closet to find a scarf, this white and black Valentino that he gifted you some weeks back. You climb onto him, knees bracketing his hips as you watch the curiosity glistening from his eyes.

You’ve never really done anything like this before. But you’re familiar with it and you’ve always been down to try anything new. Bonus is you know Yoongi likes to play, so this is perfect. Honestly, he is perfect.

“I’m gonna blindfold you. And you’re not allowed to touch me. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

The scarf drapes over his eyes, darkening everything he knows, leaving him with nothing but sensation. Breath. Sound. You.

“Use colors, okay?” you whisper, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear.

He nods, swallows. “Yes.”

“What’s it now?”

“Green:”

You hum in approval, fingers ghosting down his chest. “Good boy.”

You take your time with him. Explore his body in ways you never have before. Yoongi shivers. You watch his Adam’s apple bob, the breath hitch in his chest.

“You asked for this,” you say softly, dragging your nails across his ribs, just enough to raise goosebumps. “So I’m going to use you.” You slap his cheek, earning a soft gasp from him, before his lips curve into a smile. He’s going to enjoy this, you can already tell.

You trace the lines of his body with your mouth. Flick your tongue on his nipples before nibbling on them until they're raw, slightly bruised. You blow cool air against it, earning you a low purr from the back of his throat.

He’s hard already. His huge cock straining against the waistband of his boxers, but you don’t touch him there. This is not like other nights. You want him aching for it.

You slink down to suck faint bruises into the soft dip of his hipbones. Let your nails wander, grazing his soft tummy where pink lines have bloomed like cat scratches. When he moans, hips bucking slightly, you press a palm flat to his stomach.

“Stay still,” you warn.

His voice is a rasp. “Yes, noona.”

You peel his boxers off slowly. His cock springs free—dark at the tip, already leaking. The bead of cum on his tip shines. You circle it once with your finger, feather-light.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hips twitching again.

You slap his thigh—not hard, just enough for pain to mix with the pleasure painted clearly on his face. “I said still.”

His hands flex against the sheets he’s gripping sooo tightly. You see the tension, the need. His mouth opens, lips trembling.

“More…”

You smirk, finally leaning down and licking a slow stripe up his shaft. He whimpers, whimpers! And by god, if it’s not the prettiest sound in the world.

And just for that you can throw him a bone. But you suck only the tip into your mouth and let it pop free.

His body arches off the bed instinctively and one errant hand makes its way to the back of your neck.

Another slap—gentler this time.

“Sorry, noona.”

“Patience, baby. You wanted to be used, right? That means you wait until I’m done.”

You tease him for what feels like forever. Stroke him gently, then quicker, then stop just when he thinks you’ll give him more. Every whine you pull from him shoots straight to your cunt.

His thighs are trembling. “Noona. More…”

You finally straddle him, not lowering yourself yet, just grinding super slow against the base of his cock, letting your slick drag across him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek where the blindfold wraps around his head.

“Fuck, noona, let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you lean forward, let your tits press against his chest, and drop a small peck on the corner of his mouth. His lips pucker belatedly as you pull back.

“You are so hot like this, baby. So good to me,,” you assure him, sliding a hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping it just once, then again, tighter. “Color?”

“Green. Fucking green.”

Finally, you shift to guide him to your entrance. Still hovering. Still making him wait.

He’s breathless now, forehead sweaty beneath the scarf. “Fuck noona. Put it in. I need to feel you—fuck—need to cum in you, please.”

God, he sounds broken. Ruined.

You sink down in one slow, aching glide, and you moan in unison, in pure fucking ecstasy. Your voice high and needy, his low and desperate. He’s pulsing inside you as you steady your hips, letting your walls adjust, keeping him warm.

“Fuck, you feel—fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so tight, noona. So warm—please let me touch you.”

“Not yet,” you grit out, riding him slow and mean, using him. You let your clit drag against the short hairs on his crotch, finding the perfect angle to get you off. He can probably sense it now in the steady swivel of your hips and the stutter in your breath.

“Yeah, just like that, noona,” he says, voice hoarse. “Use me.”

You dig your nails into his chest, bite at his shoulder. You pant. Speeding up your grind. His legs are trembling now, the muscles on his thighs, stomach, taut. “Noona…” He’s babbling now, half-words and curses, his head tossing side to side. “Can’t—shit, please—I’m….”

He’s close. You’re almost there.

“Touch me.”

His hands immediately fly towards your hips, pressing you down, deeper. Grabs your ass and guides your movements.

You fuck him harder like this, ride him like your life depends on it. You feel him losing it. Coming undone beneath you.

“Where?”

“Inside me, baby. Fill me up…”

His whole body convulses, a strangled moan torn from his throat as he spills into you. You follow a heartbeat later, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as you unravel together.

You don’t move for a moment. Just feel his chest heaving beneath you, the sweat between your bodies. You remove the blindfold.

His lashes are wet. He looks wrecked and raw and beautiful.

“Was that okay?” you ask softly, fingers combing his damp hair back from his forehead.

He nods slowly. Smiles. “More than okay.”

You guide him to lie flat again, press your palm to his chest to calm his breathing. You grab a warm towel and clean him gently, kissing each place you left a bruise or scratch.

He pulls you close afterward, arms around your waist, face pressed to your shoulder.

Before you drift off, you remember something you wanted to address.

“Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

“Why were you so worried earlier?”

“Namjoon said you looked a little, like, out of it, you know. And when I couldn’t get a hold of you, I thought you…” he heaves a sigh. “I don’t know why my mind went into that. But I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Your heart squeezes. “That’s not gonna happen, Yoongi. I’m yours.”

He hugs you and doesn’t let go.

Post-HYBE life turns out to be pretty… as Yoongi says, slayyy.

It was tough in the beginning, starting from scratch. You start your own website and portfolio, reach out to friends and contacts to help get your skin back into the game. A few months in, you’re now affiliated with a salon who specializes in editorial and product campaign shoots. Your last one was with Choi San for D&G Beauty.

Yoongi slips deeper into your life until the boundaries blur. A toothbrush in his cup. His shirt in your hamper.

You never needed to say it. Because you both knew that this wasn’t fleeting. That you weren’t getting any younger. That whatever this is feels constant.

One night he sends you a Spotify link. To one song. It’s a BTS track.

He usually doesn’t send his own stuff when you exchange playlists (a ritual that stayed on). You listen to it.

🎵Home - BTS

Your chest tightens. Your fingers hover over the reply. But then he calls.

No hi or how are you. Just one question: “Move in with me?”

Life with him is a burst of pigments.

Yellow, in the warm sunlight that wakes you both every morning. Orange, in the tips of his fingers when he’s peeled his umpteenth tangerine. Blue, in the fabric softener he overused to the point that it triggered an allergic reaction for both of you. (Downy is now banned.)

Green, in the hangover soup you cook for him after a night out. (You, on the other hand, are sober for 2 months now.) Purple, in the marks he leaves on your inner thighs and the soft bruises on your chest. Pink, in the way he blushes when you walk out in his clothes.

And then, finally:

Red, in the two faint lines.

You blink down at the stick in your hand, seated on the toilet, heart pounding.

It’s only a minute before the door creaks open.

“Babe?” Yoongi floats in. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He sees your face first. Then the test clutched around your fingers.

He’s piecing it together.

“Omo,” he breathes, stunned.

You nod, heart tight in your throat.

“OMO OMO, you’re pregnant?” he says it with so much disbelief it makes you laugh through the lump in your chest.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?!” he kneels on the tiles in front of you. His hands are on your cheeks, your shoulders, your belly. “Holy shit!!!”

You’re laughing now, ugly and teary. He pulls you into a tight hug, still stunned.

He leans back, eyes wild with emotion. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

“I guess we are.”

And then the tears come, his. Yoongi chokes out a wet little sound and buries his squishy face in your neck. “Fuck. I’m so happy.”

“Me, too.”

You are.

So happy.

So ready.

So loved.

Between pigments & playlists.

In technicolor. In surround sound.

In the forever you never thought possible.

This spring day.

A/N: Soooo?? Did y'all bogo your shipdas? (dk what the means, but hope you liked it?)

Yoongi is back! While it was a bittersweet note that we got today, I know things are only going to get better from here for him and us. I hope and pray that he knows that he is so so so loved by ARMY.

So the fic! Yes the fic! I’d love some feedback. And a reblog if you are so inclined?

Thank you for reading this you lovely beautiful human, xo

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itzpookiepooh · 1 month ago

Note

Hi my loveee🥰 I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing something where reader/mc does the fake backshots thing to lads men, if that makes sense? Like you go up behind him and bend them over and pretend to give ‘backshots.’ Other than that, I love your work and I hope you have a lovely day/night!

I can sure try!

WHAM!

You asked Rafayel to pick up the paper that fell to the floor as soon as he bent over…WHAM! He jumped up quickly mushing your face. His arms were over his chest as he glared at you. He was beet red and embarrassed.

“What is wrong with you?” He whispered making you laugh.

“I love you?” It was more of a question than a statement.

He doesn’t answer just walks away from you but his eyes don’t leave your figure. He was scared you would attack him again. Before fully disappearing he gives you a ‘I’m watching you’ hand signal.

He was cleaning the counter when you did it. He was shocked and teleported behind you. You were stunned at his fast movements as he blankly stared at you. He returned the favor of course! What did you expect from Xavier?

“How do you like it?” He teases as you wiggle in his grip.

“Xavier!” You playfully hit his hip a few times. He laughs nearly making both of you fall to the floor.

“You started it.” He laughs as you both play fight each other.

Caleb is all for it! You snuck up behind him as he was mid workout and gave it to him. He played along after his confusion washed away. He even fake moans which causing you to fall out laughing.

“Give it to me!” He moaned through his laughter. You burst out laughing because you weren’t expecting it.

“What? You humped yourself dry?” He teases as he hovers over you who’s uncontrollably laughing.

“Caleb stop I’ll pee!” You wheeze holding a hand in his face. He smirks and nods before going back to his workout.

Sylus is all for joking around and he’ll even play along. You saw him taking a break after boxing and decided to pull a little prank. He bent over to grab his water from the floor when you tried to get him from behind. You had to jump a little due to his height which made it funnier.

“Is there a reason you’re clinging to me like a baby koala?” He deadpanned as he stands up straight causing you to hand off of him.

“Well now I look stupid.” You state making him smirk. He switches you both around lacing your hand in his.

“How’s this?” He teases. Your body becomes hot as you glare at him, “Not funny.” You pout as he smiles at you.

“I’m just reciprocating the love.” He hugs you from behind making you melt into his touch. “Yeah whatever.” You reply.

Now you know he’s shy! Why do you insist on doing this to him? He immediately stiffens when you do it, all he was trying to do was reach for some paperwork. He slowly turns to you his eyes slightly wider. You awkwardly smile at him.

“Why are you acting like a rabbit in heat?” He questions you in his regular tone.

“I wanted to see your reaction.” You smile innocently. He blinks at you before standing up.

“It’s surely a…reaction.” You tilt your head at him before letting him sit back down. His neck and ears bright red making you giggle.

“I couldn’t resist.” You tease kissing his cheek. He hums softly before getting back to his paperwork.

I surely tried my best! Trying to get through these last few requests because my week is busy and who knows when I’ll be free again 😩

596 notes · View notes

rcvcgers · 3 months ago

Text

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter ten: fallout

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part

oh yeah, i made a spotify playlist for this <3

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: your relationship with caleb is on the rocks. he talks you out of accepting a job. something bad happens.

word count: 10.5k words

warnings: slightly proofread! i wrote this in one sitting ... don't judge too hard

author's note: hi! thank you so much for being patient with me! part 10 is a little ... yeah. i hope you enjoy it regardless !!

content warning: angst, mentions of death, self blaming, loathing, syringe/drugging

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @young-adult-summer

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

Things weren’t the same after the wedding.

The next morning, the two of you acted as if nothing had happened when your parents came back from their getaway. Their cheery smiles were met by shiny yet fake grins, you and Caleb being affectionate and in love. They made endless comments about how the two of you looked so good together, that your mother was always rooting for you and Caleb to get together as teens and cried about it when he died (he explained that his death was fake for DAA reasons, your parents didn’t press further into the matter).

They offered for the two of you to stay another night, to spend some time in Linkon together and visit the places you loved as a kid. Caleb knew you hated the idea by the way your voice went up an octave. He effortlessly made an excuse that you agreed to come with him to a Farspace Event, that it was unavoidable as a Colonel and his trusty translator.

So, they waved you away and the two of you kept up the facade that you are a couple in love, who cannot keep their hands off of each other, and watched as the image of your parents disappeared from the train’s window.

As soon as they were gone, you dropped the facade and put your headphones on, drowning out the outside world while you nursed a headache from the emotional stress. Caleb kept your hand in his, though, and watched as your face showed cracks for the first time that day.

It wouldn’t be the only time it happened.

To you, life had lost all of its color. Sure, you loved Caleb and wanted to continue your relationship with him. He has proven to you that he will choose you, make the time and effort to pursue you despite the people in your lives trying so hard to keep you apart.

There is still one raincloud that hangs over your head, though. It’s big and is a deep gray color, holding in all of the unanswered questions, anger, and sadness that has rooted itself inside of you. It hovers over the blooming apple tree in your heart. No fruit has come from the tree yet, its life still too young to support anymore weight than it can.

The cloud taunts the tree. It absorbs all of the sunlight that it tries to get, forever rejected the nourishment the tree needs to thrive. It also baits the tree into thinking that it will receive water, a necessity for it to survive. It holds all of the water inside itself, refusing to let go.

The tree begins to wither. It’s once healthy branches begin to turn dry, ready to snap under the pressure or from a forceful gust of wind.

Life at home was fine. You and Caleb remained together, usually opting to spend the night in his apartment instead of yours. You went about your day as usual, translating important documents and even occasionally being called upon to translate live for a high ranking official’s mission. The routine became monotonous, though.

You wake up beside Caleb and share a peck on the lips before getting ready for the day. He made breakfast while you made the bed and cleaned up any messes either of you made the previous night. You stood next to each other while you brushed your teeth. Caleb changed into his Colonel’s uniform while you slipped on one of your office outfits, your own uniform as Caleb likes to call it. You help him with his tie while he pushes your hair out of your face and flattens out the wrinkles of your shirt.

It’d be quiet while the two of you got ready. Usually, you’d be asking Caleb about his plans for the day and you’d share yours. The two of you would share hundreds of happy kisses and pecks on the cheek, always trying to sneak another one in before you have to leave. Now, though, the rooms are filled with a deafening silence, the echoes of your last giggles and shared whispers vanishing from existence.

Once at work, you’d part ways with a small wave, going through the front doors while he parked the car and went through his own entrance. When the two of you left for the day, he would pick you up right outside the building’s doors and drove to whoever’s apartment was called upon that day.

On the weekends, days that you had off, you would run out for groceries while he handed any Colonel business that needed his attention. Your phone dinged throughout the day, texts from Caleb asking you where you are and what you’re doing littering your phone screen. You always answered truthfully but your messages were dry, lacking any excited exclamation marks or funny emojis that would make the two of you giggle later that night.

While you folded laundry, your mind would drift out into space, the insecure thoughts from before floating into your consciousness, your fingers tightly gripping Caleb’s weathered DAA shirt.

The cloud that hangs above your head grows.

Some days, Caleb would stop by the translators sector just to see the smile on your face, but it was nowhere to be seen, your face stoic while you typed away on your computer. When your gazes met, your smile only lasted for a couple of seconds before it vanished, your boss stacking a tall pile of papers onto your desk.

You began to bring work home. Once your boss caught wind of your relationship with Caleb, they thought it would be poetic justice (or just plain bullying) to give you some more work for dating far above your rank and importance. Funnily enough, you began to miss Darryl and the shit he used to give you about being late. Caleb’s face always fell when you got into his car. His eyes would immediately latch onto the papers in your hands, watching as you struggled to piece together the dialect of a language you aren’t used to.

Caleb knew that those nights would end with you working until the moon is about to leave the night sky. He stayed up with you, though, and fell asleep with his chin on your shoulder while you sat on his lap. The low light of the lamp was enough to illuminate the page. You scribbled the deciphered language onto a blank page and yawned throughout the night, mentally exhausted beyond belief.

You weren’t too mad about the workload. It helped you avoid having tough conversations with Caleb. Instead, you helped him learn new words in languages he can barely understand, speaking to him in full sentences while he tried his best to ask you where the library is. It kept things lighthearted despite the two of you knowing that the current solution is a bandaid over a bullet hole.

“Do you want me to take the leftovers?” Your co-worker, Alivia, asks one day.

You stare at the box in front of you. Inside sits countless of papers and documents that are blacked out with only a few words here and there to decipher. A task like this would take you a week to complete and that’s is you pulled all nighters and lost a few hours of sleep.

A break, though? It sounds nice.

“That would be amazing, actually,” you breathe out, already feeling the weight and stress from Oliver’s last minute assignment slip off of your shoulders.

“Of course! You deserve a break too. It’s unfair how you always get the short end of the stick,” Alivia swipes the box off of your desk, placing it on her own. She glances at the clock on her desk and looks back to you. “Go home. I’ll cover you if he says anything. Just go and get some rest this weekend, okay?”

You nod, a genuine smile spreading across your face, and gather your belongings. There’s only a few more hours left of the work day but a break would be everything and more. Without looking back, you rush out of the doors and into the cool air.

The sky is dark, a rainstorm slowly coming in. The weather has been so unpredictable lately. Some days it is bright and sunny with high temperatures and the next it is thundering and raining, threatening to down the floating city. The wind chills your skin. You hug your jacket closer to your body, ready to find a taxi when your phone rings. You don’t even need to look at the caller I.D. to know who it is.

“Caleb,” you answer, teeth clattering from the cold wind, “what’s up?”

“Where are you going?” his voice is filled with concern with a hint of possessiveness. It make you shiver from just how quick he learns about your work life.

“Alivia told me to go home. I thought I’d go to your place and take a nap there. Your bed is better after all,” you add a chuckle to the end of your sentence. You know that it’ll disarm Caleb’s sudden protectiveness. You know him just as well as he knows you. “I can always go to my—”

“No! It’s okay. I could use a nap too,” Caleb chuckles over the phone but his laugh immediately dies when the door to his office opens. “What is it?” his voice is now muffled and you can hear him place the phone against the desk.

You sigh and walk away from the doors and towards the street. The phone is trapped between your ear and shoulder while you attempt to hail a taxi. Caleb’s Colonel voice comes out and you suddenly miss his happy tone. A gust of wind brushes past you, chilling you even more. Maybe this is Mother Nature’s way of telling you that you’re an ice cold bitch.

“I’ll have to see you later. I’m sorry, pretty bird,” Caleb sighs into the phone.

“That’s okay. Why don’t you bring home dinner? Let’s have a night in where we don’t do anything,” you calmly suggest, finally getting a taxi’s attention. The white car pulls up to the curb and you get inside, smiling at the driver, telling him the address.

“Are you sure? I can always cook something. Your favorite!” you hear him move things around on his desk.

“It’s okay. I’m craving that place you showed me anyways,” you shrug.

The world begins to move around you. The taxi slowly moves with traffic but you don’t care. You just need some time for yourself, to be alone and reset your body so you can get out of this funk and move on from the night of your friend’s wedding. It isn’t fair to you or Caleb to have something as silly as miscommunication hold you back from being happy together.

Well, you certainly thought it to be something you could easily get over. You never have been the best at guessing things like this.

When you enter Caleb’s apartment, your phone has been blown up with Caleb checking in on you, seeing if there was anything he can do to help you feel better or if he needed to leave work early. You texted back reassurances, the guilt of your resentment towards her and his relationship eating away at your conscience.

You laid in his bed, wearing one of his many oversized and comfortable shirts, and scrolled through your phone throughout the hours. It felt good to mindlessly scroll through stupid videos and read through peoples arguments over the stupidest things. Your mind was distracted and you didn’t think about the things that have been weighing you down.

You laugh at a video of penguins falling over. You cried at the video of a dog sitting at its owner’s grave. You save a recipe that you think Caleb would be great at making. You roll your eyes at some dude bro who thinks that a woman’s reproductive system looks like a satanic goat.

Hours pass you by and the sun sets in the distance, leaving the room in complete darkness except for the lamp that you turned on not too long ago. Its light is warm, very orange. It carries across the room, the blue light from your phone cutting through the orange with ease, the two colors splitting your face evenly. You roll to your other side in bed, plugging your phone in before it can die.

Engrossed in your own world, you don’t even notice Caleb walking inside the bedroom, already shrugging off his jacket, hanging it in the closet. He smiles at you. The sound of your quiet laughs and giggles make his heart feel full again. It brings a warmth to his chest, one he hasn’t felt in awhile, and begins to shed the skin of his Colonel persona.

“Whatcha laughin’ at, pretty bird?” Caleb asks, a smile on his face.

You gasp and sit up in bed, covering yourself with the dark gray and blue sheets of his bed. Once your eyes land on him, you relax and let out the tension that filled your lungs. Caleb laughs and slips on comfortable clothes, crossing the room and slipping underneath the covers beside you. In one fluid motion, Caleb scoops you up and onto his lap, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Ohhh, I see. You’re laughing at videos of baby animals. Very cute, very cute,” Caleb muses with a smile, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck. He gently presses kisses to your neck and you let out a quiet sigh, closing your eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“I couldn’t,” you admit. You place your hands on top of Caleb’s, feeling all of your worries begin to slip away and out of your mind. “I think I need my boyfriend to help me.”

“Do you?” his tone is teasing yet is so smug at the same time. “Well, I’m here now aaaand I brought dinner.”

“Did you?” you ask with a smile. Caleb nods. You push him away from you and slip out of bed, the covers hindering your movement. Caleb laughs and watches as you scramble outside of the room and towards the kitchen where two white bags sit.

You open them up to reveal an immaculate sight: two big bowls of ramen accompanied by all of the side dishes imaginable. Caleb walks from behind and reattaches himself to your body. He leans into you, catching a glimpse of your smile.

For once, it’s genuine. It is the first smile, one that is real, that he has seen from you never since the wedding. A piece of him aches. He knows that you’ve been stuck on that day, that you haven’t been able to fully process or say what it is that you need and want to say. He’ll be there when you’re ready, though. He will never leave you to go through that alone, especially because some of your hidden anger is directed at him. Rightfully so, of course.

Neither of you bring it up. You eat dinner together and talk about Caleb’s day, even going as far as to see if you could translate a few documents for him one of these days.

It felt…nice. The temporarily relief from avoiding the elephant in the room. The two of you pretend it isn’t there, basking in the awkwardness of uncertainty and things left unsaid. Caleb smiles at you, you smile at him, and the two of you ignore the heavy raincloud that floats over your head. The counter you sit at looks more and more like an executioners block with the cloud ready to chop your heads off.

You watch as Caleb cleans up the dinner mess. He brushes all of the crumbs off of the counter and into the trash can, casually throwing away the plastic bags and bowls that came with the meal. You sit at the counter and watch, chin propped up on your hand as he moves around the kitchen with a relaxed grin on his face.

Guilt washes over you. His smile is so genuine, so pure and good. He’s smiling because of you and you’re sitting here pretending like you don’t want to yell and scream at him for not telling you anything. You want to grab his head and scream at him for making you feel so insignificant in the past and cry in his arms because there truly is no way for you to hate him.

All you see is man who is trying his best to play the game called life. Maybe you shouldn’t hold so much anger towards him and the people in your life. Maybe you should forgive but never forget.

“Why are you starin’ at me like that?” Caleb disappears from your vision.

You blink at nothing and feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you off of the stool and into his arms. You gasp and feel your legs dangle off of the ground, Caleb’s forearms wrapped around your stomach, holding you up. He leans backwards and pulls you back with him. He walks around, chuckling to himself, as you hang there, unable to do a damn thing to stop him. You cross your arms over your chest, already having accepted your fate, and watch as he carries you back to his bedroom.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Caleb kisses the back of your neck. He doesn’t give you time to answer, either, before jumping onto the bed, smushing you beneath him.

With a face full of mattress and Caleb’s full body weight keeping you trapped below him, you accept the bittersweet taste of your death: suffocation by smothering. You had a good run! You did a lot of things, which was fun, even got to date the man of your dreams for a bit there even though it has been angsty as hell so far. You wouldn’t change a thing about it!

Okay, maybe you would change a few things, but who’s really counting, anyways?

Caleb rolls onto his back, bringing you around with him. You dramatically gasp for air, body moving up down down as Caleb laughs. You place your hands on top of his and stare at the ceiling, not making an effort to move your hair out of his face.

“I’m tired,” you say. Caleb nods in agreement. “I think I’m going to sleep right here…”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. The mattress I’m on may be a bit lumpy—”

“Lumpy?!”

“—and it may smell like sweat and jet fuel—”

“Is this pick on Caleb day?”

“—but it’s comfortable enough for the night.”

“Oh, well, that’s good then,” Caleb squeezes his arms around you, literally taking the breath out of you, “because I just love it when I have my girlfriend’s hair in my face throughout the night. Truly splendid!”

You roll your eyes and try not to laugh, sucking in a deep breath when he releases you. You slip off of him and take your usual side in the bed, looking out the floor to ceiling windows. A small yawn leaves your mouth. Caleb adjusts himself behind you and pulls you close to him.

A silence finally falls between the two of you. Is it time? Are you ready to confront him? To ask him all of the questions that have died on your tongue before you got the chance to say them?

The dark rainclouds pass the windows, Caleb’s apartment building splitting the forces of nature with ease. You fixate on a particularly dark spot. It slowly passes by, taking its time to look back at you. If you didn’t know any better you’d think that a bolt of lightning would be shot at you as a punishment for all of the animosity that clings to your heart.

Caleb’s hand is warm against your skin. It stays at your stomach, gently caressing your skin, before it moves up between your breasts. He flattens his palm against your chest. He feels each and every one of your heartbeats. He feels as it quickens from his touch, giving away any kind of nonchalance you wanted to wear. His forearm remains stuck between your breasts. If he were to move his hand further up, he could choke you with ease.

“The clouds look cool,” your attempt at starting a new conversation doesn’t go unnoticed. You swallow the lump that forms in your throat. Caleb nods. You can feel his purple eyes watch you instead of the clouds. “I think you’re the one looking at me now.”

“We haven’t had much time together lately,” Caleb is quick to respond, “we’re busy people.”

“Are we?” you whisper to yourself. Caleb heard it, though. There truly is nothing you can keep from him.

A long sigh leaves his lips. You feel his forehead press into the back of your neck, his breath against your back. You shudder and place your hand on top of his. The clouds outside grow darker. Your eyes gloss over, the urge to cry hitting you like a train. You remain still, though, forever silent in your moment of doubt.

“Can we…” Caleb’s voice cracks. Your heart aches. You close your eyes, holding back frustrated tears. “Let’s not, tonight, okay? We were having such a good time.”

“Agreed,” you breathe out.

“Great,” Caleb pulls you closer to him, draping the bed’s sheets over your connected bodies.

It had been the first good night in awhile. Why would you want to spoil such a blessing with your own stupid thoughts and destructive behavior?

“It’s late, babe, let’s sleep,” your words fill in the silence. Caleb nods, yawning right on cue.

You know sleep will come easy for him with you in his arms. You also know, though, that sleep will continually tease you throughout the night, never letting you fully grasp it.

Caleb always looks stressed when he sleeps. You always thought that sleep was the great reliever, a place where every person can find solace after a long day of stress. Unfortunately for Caleb, it seems like even in sleep he cannot find peace. You can’t help but feel bad for him. He already goes through so much as the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel and deals with the undiscovered parts of the Deepspace Tunnel. You just wish that one day he will be able to sleep peacefully.

Even in the darkness of his bedroom, safely secured in his muscular arms, you can’t help but feel like Caleb is holding something back from you. The lingering feeling beckons at you, drawing you in closer and closer with the possibilities that there is an invisible barrier separating the two of you. Staring at the underlying tension in his brow makes you question what is going on inside his mind.

If you could, you would break open his skull to get to where his thoughts are hidden. You would dig through the blood and rip apart his brain, finding the locked away thoughts and memories that have been left unsaid, finally solving the mystery that keeps you up at night. You’d take away all of the bad memories and leave only the good for him to relive.

Then again, erasing someone’s memories is a cruel thing to do.

You slowly sit up in bed, his dark gray sheets pooling at your hips. Caleb immediately stirs in his sleep, eyes flying open and fixating on you. The moonlight is gentle against your skin as you gaze outside the window, curtains drawn open since you wanted to watch the clouds pass you by before you slept. There is a slight patter against the window. Raindrops collide with the reinforced glass, its quiet lullaby suddenly making you feel like you’re trapped inside a cage.

“Are you okay?” Caleb’s voice captures your attention. He remains in bed, the tips of his fingers already moving against your skin in a soothing manner.

“Yeah,” you nod, forcing a small smile onto your face, “I just woke up. Need to stretch out my body.”

Under the veil of darkness, Caleb memorizes the way your face twitches, picking up on the way your eyes remain on him despite your attention being elsewhere. There’s something in your eyes, a question that has been smothered on your tongue, hidden behind your teeth, never to escape.

Does he want to know what you’re thinking? What it is you are questioning now?

“Do you want to go for a walk?” your question surprises him.

He tilts his head back. Caleb’s purple eyes burn into yours, leaving your question unanswered. Tension slowly seeps into the air. You peel your eyes away from his and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, pushing away and heading towards the bathroom. Thunder booms from outside the window. Caleb sighs and covers his face with his hands. A quiet groan leaves his lips as he forces himself out of bed.

Ever since the wedding, things have been weird between the two of you. You had begun to pull away from him and Caleb was losing his mind, unsure of what he needed to do or say to make things right. You told him that you were fine, that you held no ill will.

Uncertainty and his fear of the unknown burned the back of his brain and it made him careless in his missions to the Deepspace Tunnel. People were injured and lives were on the line, but his mind could only think of you and the sad look that overtook your face whenever he looked away.

It’s the same look you wear on your face now. The bathroom lights are low, just barely awake as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Movement from behind you catches your attention. You look at Caleb’s reflection, watching as he settles himself against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. You suck in a breath.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Caleb’s voice has lost its rasp and the tiredness that hangs in his voice, “why are you wanting to go for a walk?”

“Can’t sleep,” you shrug nonchalantly and turn back towards the mirror, pushing your hair behind your ears and out of your face.

“What about work?”

“It’s the weekend so I’m off,” you avoid his gaze in the mirror, trying to wake up your body so it can keep up with your mind.

Caleb falls silent again. All he can bring himself to do is watch as you untangle the knots in your hair before drawing it back into a low bun, nothing special. When you turn to leave the bathroom, you turn into Caleb’s bare chest. You look up at him, noticing the shadowed bags under his eyes. You reach up and cup his cheek, the man immediately leaning into your touch.

“You should stay back and sleep,” your words are quiet.

He shakes his head. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling his face away from your touch. His touch isn’t warm but cold, his metal fingers hidden beneath its disguise. He gently kisses the palm of your hand, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. Your cheeks heat up but you fight away the feeling, not wanting him to persuade you to go back to bed, to rot next to him while you watch the clouds pass the cage that keeps you inside.

“Let’s walk,” Caleb matches your volume, his purple eyes flickering to yours before he drops your hand, turning around to get changed. You follow him, quick on his tail, and glance outside.

The rain slowly begins to pick up outside. Thunder and lighting grows closer. You approach the window, placing your hand against the chilled glass. The world below is shielding by a cloud.

“Maybe we should stay inside,” you say, eyes focused on trying to see the ground. Caleb groans, frustrated. Your body tenses and your posture stiffens. “The weather picked up.”

“Pretty bird,” you turn around and see Caleb, already in sweats and a jacket, “you just said—”

“I know, I’m sorry—”

“So you don’t want want to go on a—”

“—no we can! It’s just that the weather—”

“So now you don’t want to?”

“No! Yes! Fuck, I don’t even know anymore! Let’s go for a walk,” you push past him and reach for one of your hoodies that sits in a bag you packed not too long ago. Caleb stops you, though, and instead hands you one of his hoodies with a long sleeve shirt. You turn around and watch as he helps slip your shirt over your head, replacing it with the tight long sleeve and hoodie. Once the hood is brought over your head, his purple eyes flicker to yours.

“It’s cold,” he sharply says. He takes your hand and guides you out of the bedroom, entering the dark living room and kitchen areas. You struggle to keep up with his long strides, feet fumbling over each other. Caleb grabs an umbrella that sits by the door and exits the apartment, pulling you with him.

The small journey to the outside world is awkward and tense. Caleb’s grip on your hand is tight, annoyance prominent inside the tension in his jaw, the way it’s clenched as he guides you through his apartment building. The yellow interior lights are easy on your eyes and are dim enough to keep the outside world dark, avoiding any kind of light pollution it may have. A single person works in the lobby, sitting at the desk while you and Caleb pass to leave.

“Hey!” they call out, “The weather is pretty rough—!”

“We know!” Caleb and you bark at the person in sync.

Caleb presses the button next to the lobby door and it slides open, a gust of wind hitting the two of you just as you exit. You slip the umbrella from his hand and open it, holding it out for him. He watches you with a close eye, the wind pushing around your hair, the tip of your nose already cold. He takes the umbrella and laces your fingers with his, weathering the storm together as you male your way to a dimly lit path nearby.

You wrap an arm around Caleb’s torso and stay close to him, face smushed into his chest. Raindrops fly with the wind, smacking against the material of the umbrella. It shields the two of you the best it can. Caleb picks up his pace and you’re practically jogging at his side.

“Caleb!” you shout over the sound of rain and wind. He doesn’t look down, simply walking through the rough weather as if it’s nothing.

Just a couple meters away sits a lit gazebo that sits in the middle of courtyard that’s right beside Caleb’s building. The rows of flowers try to fight against the wind, hanging on by the strength of the plant’s stem, a few petals flying away. Once you reach the gazebo, you push away from Caleb, turning your back to him. He drops the umbrella and it slides across the floor to where your feet are.

“Tell me,” Caleb begins, his voice raised to be over the howling wind, “what did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything,” you counter. The flower bushes that surround the gazebo hit and scrape against the wood. The petals threaten to fly off of the stems, getting lost in the wind. The dark rainclouds descend towards the ground, placing you and Caleb in the middle of its destructive force.

“Bullshit. There’s something going on inside that head of yours. You barely smile anymore and you always bring work home! There’s no time for us anymore!” Caleb walks closer to you. He looks at the back of your head, your hair dry and his hood damp. You don’t even turn to face him, which only annoys him some more. “We haven’t had sex—”

“So this is about sex!?” you snap, finally turning around to look at him. The wind screams from around you. “You’re worried about getting your dick wet again, right? Want me to get down on my knees and suck your dick? Will that make you feel better?!”

“No! Dammit! That’s not—” Caleb groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, “that’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Then what is it, Caleb? Hm? Are you actually worried about me,” you poke his chest, knowingly poking the bear, “or are you just trying to cover your back so this doesn’t blow up on you at the end of the day?”

“What are you talking about?!” Caleb raises his voice to combat the thunder that sounds from around the gazebo. You roll your eyes and turn your attention to the world over his shoulder, looking at the environment get beaten up by the storm.

The dark raincloud that once hung above your head has touched land. It has finally decided that the apple tree, something that managed to grow in the rough terrain of your heart, deserves water. It deserves to have its thirst quenched, to let the cold water touch the dry, green leaves, to moisten the ground that surrounds it.

Truth and honesty are ideals that every relationship should have. It is the fertilizer within the soil that many apple trees like your own are buried in. You forgot that step, didn’t you?

“What did I do? Did Zayne say something to you at the wedding?” Caleb steps towards you but you take a step backwards, your ankle meeting the wood of the gazebo’s railing.

You scoff and look away, crossing your arms over your chest. Even the thought of looking into his eyes makes you feel nothing but dread and utter devastation. Caleb’s back stiffens. His purple eyes run up and down your body; you give him all of the telltale signs that he’s right and that you’re hiding something from him.

Caleb steps forward, trapping you. You look up at him with big and wide eyes. He’s the predator that’s just caught his prey, your pretty little face begging for mercy. He can go easy on you, sure, let you slip out of the net he’s caught you in. You can recover from your mistake by peppering kisses all over his face. He’ll forget all of the misgivings that have been through his way, he can forgive the fact that you believed something that Zayne said instead of asking him directly about it.

“What did he say?” Caleb’s voice teeters between desperation and being demanding. He lowers his head, his purple eyes training on yours with a darkness you haven’t seen before. Your body goes cold. Goosebumps scatter across your skin. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you breathe out, your breath coming out in the form of a plume. “What Zayne said doesn’t matter.”

“Clearly, it does,” Caleb places his hands on the wooden railing behind you. His nose grazes against yours. Your breaths mix into one. You close your eyes, unable to look at him. He presses in further, his body against yours, demanding and present. “Tell me.”

“He said that you’ve been texting her the whole time,” Caleb’s body tenses against yours while you speak, “he said that I will forever be second place in your heart. That you’ll always go to her her first rather than find me. That I don’t deserve you.”

Caleb slowly draws himself away from you. His eyes go dark, cold. The space between you feels like no man’s land, a place where neither of you want to meet in the middle. His tall frame dominates yours, towering over you with ease and with an unspoken authority over you. You are at his mercy.

“Go on,” he says in a low tone.

“Zayne said he loves me. He always has. That I haven’t been able to see it because I’ve been so preoccupied with you,” you continue.

Hurt flashes across his face when you say the word love, a word that he thought he had full control over when it comes to you. Jealousy spreads across his chest. You fall silent. Thunder booms from behind you. Neither of you react.

“What did you say back to him?” Caleb narrows his eyes at you.

“I said that him and I are alike,” you force the words to fall out of your mouth. Caleb’s eyebrow perks up. “We both love someone who will never be able to fully love us back.”

A bitter taste spreads across Caleb’s tongue. Looking down at you, he can see the defiance and hurt in your eyes. You are trying so hard to hold it together, to not cry and break from underneath the pressure. Your walls slowly reinforce themselves, the workers inside your mind resuming construction as you build them taller than you have before. They are now covered with a fresh layer of ice, closing out any warmth that you were once able to find within Caleb’s embrace.

“How about you, Caleb?” your voice is strong against the howls and cries of the wind. The screams from gusts of air don’t dissuade you. You remain strong in your path, knowing that at the end, only destruction will be left. “Is there anything that you wish to tell me?”

Caleb tears his gaze away from yours. The dark gray clouds cover the moon, taking up the entire night sky. The umbrella he brought out hits the wooden perimeter, clicking every couple of seconds, ticking away the time. He moves to the gazebo’s entrance, wanting to walk down the few steps and escape into the night, to get away from the conversation that slowly chips away at your relationship and individual sanities.

“What are you hiding from me?” you ask from behind. His broad shoulders stare at you, his back mocking. You can’t help but feel like you’re being laughed at, being teased for the way you feel. You tried to look past the revelation that Zayne gifted to you, brushing it off as nothing but a simple misdirection to throw you off your rhythm but now, standing here and watching Caleb begin to pull away from you, it feels like Zayne had been right the whole time.

You’re even second place when it comes to figuring out the truth, a third and unwanted person in a relationship that doesn’t even involve you.

“Talk to me, Caleb!” your voice is drowned out by thunder. Caleb turns around and his purple eyes immediately go to your fists that are balled at your sides. Your nails bury themselves into the palms of your hands. The pain is a nice distraction from the confusion in your mind. The thunder sounds like bombs are being dropped. “I told you the truth, why can’t you do the same?!”

“That’s not fair,” Caleb shakes his head, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Isn’t it?” you huff out a breath of air, crossing the distance to stand in front of him. “Do you know what it is like to sleep at your side, Caleb?” your voice cracks, “Do you know what it is like to have to hold you at night when you have another nightmare?”

“Pretty bird,” Caleb breathes your name out like it is a prayer.

“You cry in your sleep, Caleb. You cry and you hold onto me as if someone is going to take me away from you! You always avoid answering me question when I ask you what’s wrong and you never take me up on your offer to talk about it!” Tears begin to flow down your cheeks, bottom lip trembling. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head! I don’t know how I can help you or what I need to do to stop the nightmares! I hate seeing you in pain! I hate hearing you cry as soon as I leave the bed!”

Your hands fly to your face and your fingers begin to furiously wipe your tears away. Caleb reaches out to console you but you smack his hands away, placing a good amount of distance between the two of you.

“You cry out her name, Caleb!” you scream the words over the wind and thunder. Lightning flashes across the night sky, thunder immediately cracking after. The loud boom makes your ears ring. “You cry out her name when I’m right next to you! That’s how I know I’m second place! That’s how I know you are hiding something from me! And it fucking hurts to know that I will never be able to see that side of you. I feel so helpless when it comes to you, Caleb! You have all of the answers when it comes other than me and yet I barely know a thing about what happened!”

“I…” Caleb stammers, his voice falling silent. “I can—”

“Explain?” you cut him off. He blinks at you, his eyes now glossy. “Go ahead, Caleb. Explain. I’ll wait.”

“You know I can’t,” Caleb’s voice is low and is filled with such shame that it makes you want to scream and cry.

The raincloud has drowned the tree. Its soil, which was once too dry, is now diluted from the weight of history and purposefully hidden memories. The water level rises above the ground. The tree is now submerged beneath the water, unable to catch a break in the unpredictable weather cycle.

You suck in a breath, the back of your hand flying to your mouth, covering it. Hidden secrets and questions are now out in the open. They taunt Caleb, snickering at the pain that flashes across his chest. He stares at the back of your head, watching as your shoulders slump over, your body succumbing to the sadness that weighs you down.

“Maybe we…”you breathe out. Caleb’s eyes fill with tears. He clears the distance between you and takes your hands in his, shaking his head.

“Don’t…don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Caleb silences you. the man reaches up and wipes away the tears that fall from your eyes. He shakes his head but you nod, looking into his irritated eyes.

“I need a break,” you finish your thought.

“No, you don’t. We can work through this!”

“I’m tired Caleb,” you sigh.

“I am too but that’s okay!”

“I need to clear my head.”

“Tell me what to do then. Tell me what exactly you need me to do for you to come back to me. What is it? Please, pretty bird, I…I can’t be away from you!”

“Caleb,” you stop him. You hold his hands and squeeze them, unable to bring yourself to look at him. Not now, at least. “I need to be alone.”

It looks like Caleb was just shot ten times and was told to walk it off. He has been shot, has survived an explosion, has been stabbed before, sliced from another man’s knife while working. He was gone through watching his fellow soldiers fall, their planes being shot down during a dog fight. He has been experimented on, picked apart by Ever and Professor Lucius. He has had his memories ripped away from him, hidden in the depths of his mind, and is clinging to the remnants of what is left.

And yet you wanting to be alone, to be away from him, is the one thing that hurts the most.

A single tear rolls down his cheek, eyes strained and hands holding onto yours like you are about to step out of his life forever.

“I-I can’t,” Caleb stammers. His trembling voice pierces your heart.

Are you a bad person? It sure feels like you are. How could you put him through so much turmoil? And yet, how dare he hide his past life with her from you? He has had the chance to explain, to tell you why they will forever be connected until the end of their lives, but he hasn’t. Caleb has remained silent, only offering apologies and pleas for you to not leave him instead of an explanation.

Perhaps truth and honesty are not fertilizer. Maybe they are sharp axes ready to chop the tree down, to destroy all of the progress that you have made. It is a weapon that only threatens to smother the spark that once shined so brightly between you and Caleb.

“A break can be a good thing,” you try to reason with him, “gives us time to realize what is important in our lives. It can give us direction—”

“You are the most important thing in my life,” Caleb interrupts. He captures your cheeks between his hands, making you look up at him. “Don’t do this…please. At least stay the night, sleep on it, and we can talk about it in the morning, okay?”

Caleb’s purple eyes burn into yours. The wind pushes his hair out of his face, his lips slightly chapped from the wind. His cheeks are stained from tears just like yours and his hands tremble against your skin. You slowly inhale, the ice cold wind helping cool your body down from the heat of your anger. A lump forms in your throat.

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding, “I need to be alone, though. I’ll stay out here for just a bit longer.”

“I’ll stay with you—”

“Just go back inside, Caleb,” you pull away from him and cross your arms over your chest, stepping away. You wipe away your tears, knowing that what you are telling him is nothing but a white lie, “I’ll be up there soon.”

You need to do what you do best. Run away. Hide. Pretend as if your world isn’t falling apart from around you and give yourself the time to be a broken person before returning to the face of the earth.

And Caleb? Caleb is the fool who believes you.

He comes up from behind and hug you. It’s a small gesture that rips your heart apart. It makes you drive the knife into his chest even deeper, the hilt of the blade now pressed against his chest.

Then he’s gone. He walks through the ravenous rain on his own and even left the umbrella behind for you to use. Just as he steps through the apartment doors, you stop a cab and get inside, heading for your home.

Bzzrt. Bzzrt. Bzzrt.

Your phone shimmies across the top of your desk. You stare at it, eyes tired with purple eye bags sunken into your skull. The phone stops for a brief moment. A sigh exits your mouth, closing your eyes. The buzzing begins again.

You know exactly who the messages are from. You know exactly what it is that they say and you don’t even want to waste the time and energy to check. You’ll get the same messages later tonight as well then the whole process will repeat itself in the morning.

You would be lying to yourself, though, if you said you didn't miss the way he hugged and kissed you in the morning.

Caleb was not handling the break well, like, at all. He was a mess. He knew that he shouldn’t have left your side that night. A piece of him know that you were going to run away, just like you did in high school and at the wedding. You would call it a calculated retreat whereas Caleb would call it a surrender.

You avoided him at work, which he respected. It didn’t stop him, though, from driving behind the bus you took to and from work, watching as you moved in and out of your apartment so he knows that you’re safe. Caleb also kept tabs on you at work, watching you through the security cameras as you smiled and laughed with other people. People who aren’t him.

Caleb passed you in the hallways of the Farspace Fleet’s Administrative building. Your eyes always met, even if it were just for a second, and it gave Caleb the motivation he needed to stay string, to let you come to him. He knows that if he were to bombard you, it’d only make you want to run further away, back into Linkon where he lives.

Caleb used up all of your sticky notes during the time you stayed away from him. He left you notes on your desk, telling you that you looked beautiful that day and that he misses you. Some of them even asked if you were ready to talk to him, to have dinner and let him explain what he’s been trying to protect you from.

You always said no. A simple text that ended with his colorful sticky notes being crushed under your fist, tossed into the trash for the janitor to take out later in the night.

It’s okay, though, if it is space you need, he will give you space. If you need to take a moment for yourself and realize that he has all of the answers you need, the truth that you crave, then so be it. He will not be the one who stops you.

Well, that is what he told himself to feel better about the whole situation.

He knows that it is not fair to you to keep you in the dark about his and her’s past with Ever. The wounds, though, still feel fresh to him from his early childhood. He works with one of the men in charge of his experimentation, playing a game of cat and mouse to see who can outmaneuver the other. It’s a game that, quite frankly, he’s grown tired of but knows that the end will never come.

Caleb wants to tell you all about it. He wants to unload the weight of turning you away from the darkest parts of his past and mind. He also doesn’t want you to try and carry that burden with him, to try and alleviate some of the pain that heel feels everyday. He already lives with the constant remind of his metal arm, his bones forever trapped underneath the layers of wires and metal. He has sacrificed so much already to not let the professor and Ever win…it’s why he won’t let you near it.

It pains him to know that you are out in the world and are completely on your own. He should be there to help you, to stop you from making any mistakes. It’s why he has waited so long for you. He let the days pass him by, allowing time to slip through his fingers.

He acted like he was fine, that he was okay. He pretended that he got a full night’s worth of sleep even though he stared out the window, hoping that you would walk through the doors at any moment.

He stares at you through the CCTV footage, wondering if you have come to realize that you hold the leash that’s connected to his dog collar. You stand from your desk, phone in hand, and exit the translator’s offices. He follows you throughout the building. You cross down a few hallways, staring at your phone screen. You press the button to an elevator and step inside.

Caleb sits up at his desk. The see through tablet remains in his hands as he stands. He slowly walks towards his office door, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he clicks through the multiple different feeds, trying to find you. It is only when he notices that you have come to his floor that he realizes that you are coming to find him.

The Colonel rushes to his desk, placing the tablet in the top drawer of his desk. He places his cap on his head, fixing his ling jacket in the reflection of the window, making for sure everything is in place and is perfect because he refuses to give you anything less than. Not anymore, at least.

There is a knock at his office door. He clears his throat and snaps his fingers, a hologram projection of the Deepspace Tunnel flashing to life. He glances towards the door and tightens his tie one last time.

“Come in,” he beckons with a slightly gentler tone than usual.

Caleb does not look in your direction, instead focusing on the projection in front of him. When the door closes and he hears the click of your shoes grow closer to him, he turns, taking in your tired appearance. He opens his mouth to say something but can’t bring himself to say it. He knows that you have already chastised yourself for it. There is no need for him to add to that grievance.

“Hi, pretty bird,” Caleb is the first to speak. You lean against his desk, looking around the clean office. When your eyes meet his, your body relaxes before tensing up once again.

“Caleb,” you breathe out, crossing your arms over your chest, “you need to stop texting me.”

“Why? I want to make for sure that—”

“I”m okay?” you finish his sentence for him. He nods and inches closer to you. He reaches out, his gloved hand diverting at the last second to rest on the desk beside you. You shudder from his sudden closeness, his familiar cologne disarming your weapons. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m afraid that I will never not worry about you,” Caleb whispers. He looks down, noticing the way you hold onto yourself for dear life. His eyes flicker to yours, leaning in. He reaches up and grazes your cheek with his gloved fingers.

You suck in a breath. His touch is electrifying against your skin, igniting flames under your skin, burning with the desire to hold him in your arms and to cry together.

“The General offered me a job,” your words cause his hand to move away from your face, “I think I’m going to take it.”

Caleb knows exactly what the General’s job is. He has been granted permission, alongside Ever, to meet with other countries and discuss the Toring Chip. Many of the countries they are going to speak the languages that you just happen to know and are proficient in. If Caleb didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the General specifically made the job positing with you in mind after the peace summit.

The trip is going to take approximately four months to complete, spending a hefty amount of time in every country, meeting with their leaders and the highest ranking officials in their army. There was sure to be talks outside of the Toring Chip. Minerals, weapons, peace treaties, and alliances are sure to be talked about with you in the center of it all.

Caleb offered to go. He immediately contacted the General and told him that if he needed an extra man, that he is there to help. The General laughed and told him not to worry, that he already has plenty of men coming alongside him and to focus on the Deepspace Tunnel instead of unimportant politics.

Chills run down Caleb’s spine. You look up at him with a determined look in your eyes but Caleb knows that there is something inside your consciousness that is pushing you to run away from him. He wishes that you would have looked the other way when the General offered you the position.

“It’s a great opportunity for me, Caleb,” you breathe out, already sensing the underlying anxiety that forms in the back his mind. “It will give them the chance to see that I am more than a desk job…”

“You don’t need their validation for that,” Caleb quickly counters. “You are more than this entire building. You’re better than them. You don’t need to prove anything.”

“What else can I do? It’s either translating for the Fleet or teaching languages in school,” you suck in a breath, your tone sharp, “I’m stuck where I am and this is going to get me out of it.”

“Then let me take care of you. Stay with me, don’t go with them,” he places his hands on your waist.

“You’re acting like I’m going to be gone forever,” you let out a small laugh, placing your hands on his chest, “it’s just four months.”

“A lot can happen in four months,” Caleb’s gaze burns into yours.

“What are you so afraid of?” your question is bold and daring. “Don’t lie. I think we’ve done enough of that lately.”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Caleb breathes the words out as if they are powerful enough to hurt you. “I think that if you accept the job, it will worsen our relationship and push us further apart than we already are.”

His words, while sharp, hold his truth. A piece of you knows that what he’s saying is true, that if you were to leave your relationship won’t recover. The space would have become too much. The distance just unbearable.

Are you doing this on purpose? Are you purposefully ruining the only good thing in your life?

You swallow the rest of your spit in your mouth, looking up at Caleb. He sighs and presses his forehead against yours. You close your eyes, taking in his closeness and the way his skin feels against yours. Caleb leans in and pecks your mouth, his lips lingering for a few seconds.

“I love you. Please, don’t go,” Caleb whispers.

Silence fills the room. He silently draws in a breath, eyes closed as he waits for your answer.

“Okay,” you whisper, “I won’t go. For us.”

A smile instantly spreads across Caleb’s lips. He pulls you off of the desk and into his arms, kissing the top of your head as you bury your face into his chest. His heartbeat comes to a slow, the adrenaline rush leaving his body. You relax into him, missing how tight his embraces always are. He pulls away and looks down at you, cupping your cheeks between his hands.

“Thank you,” Caleb says. You nod in return, a small smile forming on your face before it disappears.

“I should go tell him my decision, then,” you peel away from Caleb, your hands lingering on each other. He nods and watches as you move back to the door, an unsettling feeling resting in the back of his mind the further you get from him. “Can I…come over tonight?” You ask as you reach the door. “We have a few things to talk about.”

“Of course,” Caleb nods, “I’ll make your favorite for dinner.”

“That sounds nice,” your smile turns real. It makes Caleb’s heart skip a beat. You open up the door to his office and leave, heading down the hall from which you came.

Caleb is happy that you agreed to stay. He will make for sure that life is not boring for you, to help you shimmy up the ladder among your fellow translators. Whatever it is that he needs to do, he’ll make sure it happens. He will do anything for you and your happiness, even if it means blackmailing a few Fleet officers to make for sure you get the best jobs possible instead of being stuck at your desk.

His skin tingles. A sharp pain flashes through his modified arm. His purple eyes move back to the door, the General’s voice creeping into his head. He remembers his phone call with the high ranking official, trying to weave through the conversation to find what it is he needs.

“We’ll take good care of her,” the General told him from over the phone before he hung up.

We’ll take good care of her.

Caleb freezes.

The Toring Chip…four months…different countries…Ever has different buildings in different countries, Caleb knows this first hand from being one of the professor’s favorites.

The job targeted you.

He stares at the door, his heart beginning to pound inside his chest. He forces his feet to move, rushing towards the door. He bursts through, catching the attention of a few adjuncts and lower ranking officers. He stops a secretary from walking by, looking down at them.

“The General. Is he on location today?” Caleb demands, his purple eyes cold and dark.

“Y-Yes! I think his plane is about to take off!” the woman quickly responds, scared by Caleb’s dark demeanor.

The Colonel doesn’t waste another second. He rushes towards the elevator, pressing the button that leads to the tarmac on the top of the building where the General and other officials come in and out of. His boot taps against the floor. The elevator smells of your perfume. It only makes him more anxious.

The elevator doors slide open, a gust of wind hitting Caleb’s face as he bursts out of the door. He shields his eyes from the glaring sun, noticing that there are one too many clouds in the sky for comfort. He rushes across the black top, the soles of his shoes scraping against the coarse material.

Am aircraft’s engine roars to life. The machine whirrs, huffing out bursts of hot air and exhaust from the engines. The sound captures Caleb’s attention. His eyes focus on a few dark figures inside the aircraft. Professor Lucius stands inside, leaning into his cane. On either side of him stands two Fleet soldiers, guns in their hands. They look down at the aircraft’s open door.

You and the General stand in front of each other. Your back is to Caleb. The Professor’s eyes move to focus on the Colonel, who stands from across the tarmac. A sick smirk spreads across his face. The General smiles at you, though, and he nods, turning around before moving back up the ramp of the plane. You turn around.

Your eyes meet Caleb’s. You are just about to take a step towards him when the two soldiers who stand beside Professor Lucius move.

They walk towards you.

Caleb begins to run, his feet slamming against the ground. He watches as your face contorts from pain, your hadn’t shooting up to your neck where a syringe was just plunged into your skin. You wobble around, looking at the soldiers before circling around once again.

Caleb screams your name but it is muffled out from the screams of jet engines and planes. Your vision blurs, hand extended out, reaching for him, before your world turns to black, body going limp. A solider picks you up and carries you inside of the plane. The aircraft’s door slowly closes, clicking shut just as Caleb reaches its vicinity.

The aircraft pulls out of its spot. It rolls down the black asphalt, pulling away from Caleb. The plane picks up speed and lifts into the air just as it reaches the edge of the building. Caleb sprints after it, fighting against the gusts of wind from the engines. He uses his Evol to glide through the air, reaching out for you and the plane. He flies across the sky, a mere black speck compared to the aircraft.

But it’s too late. You and the aircraft are out of his reach, disappearing behind fluffy white clouds, out of Caleb’s reach.

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

#caleb x reader #caleb x non!mc reader #caleb love and deepspace #lads caleb #caleb angst #caleb x fem reader #caleb x you #caleb xia #love and deepspace #caleb x y/n #love and deepspace fic #xia yizhou #love and deepspace caleb angst #lads angst #rcvcgers writings #rotten apples ❦︎

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quitefawnish · 5 months ago

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just thinking about reader having an nsft tumblr acct and tf 141 being obsessed with it..

cw: sexual content, slight voyeurism?

soap is the first one to stumble on your tumblr account. he originally got tumblr because he wanted inspiration for meal planning and thought about making his own fitness blog.

of course, he eventually went down the rabbit hole of hornyposting and after a few weeks, he discovered you.

you had started this blog to feel better about yourself, or at least that’s what you told yourself, maybe you just liked the attention. either way, you started off slow, posting in a sheer shirt or just a bra but not wanting to show off too much.

it only took a bit of prodding and pleading from your followers to get you to post your whole body. that’s where johnny first saw you, in a post where you did a full body reveal (sans face for obvious reasons). it had a few thousand notes and was the top picture for some of the tags you used.

soap practically felt his eyes bulge out of his skull at the sight of you, this perfect lass posting pics like that for free??? he was quick to follow you and then look at the rest of your posts, spamming you with likes as he went through your entire blog.

he contemplated keeping you to himself but knew the others would appreciate you just as much as he did, so he saved the original post he saw of you and sent it in the group chat. their messages were immediate, something to the effect of “holy fuck.”

that’s where the obsession with you started, and soap acted as their drug dealer, sharing in the group chat when you posted a new photo. of course, the other three knew that they could coax your username from johnny and they could make their own tumblr account to follow you but they found it more exciting getting your pics this way. one thing he did share with them was your throne wishlist which was full of lingerie and cute clothes you might want.

you had posted in sets you had gotten from other followers and the guys were interested in how they could buy you things too. your eyebrows practically disappeared into your hairline as you checked your phone and saw that your entire wishlist had been bought out. even the stuff that you put on there as a faraway desire, like the pair of mary jane’s you had been eyeing or the marker set that was too expensive to justify buying with your own money.

you always tried to thank people who bought from your throne personally, dming them on tumblr and sending exclusive pics in the things they bought for you. problem was, it was all under anonymous accounts and you didn’t get any messages owning up to the shopping spree. you decided to make a post asking who just bought you all that stuff and that you’d like to thank them.

soap was quick to message you, claiming responsibility for the gifts bought. you both get to talking and he mentions how he shares your pics with his mates, and how they get so excited when he sends a new picture of you. you respond back how you’re honestly so flattered, and you’d like to talk to them as well and thank them for their contribution to your wishlist.

eventually, you find some app or website that you can use to chat with them while not giving out any personal information. of course, when the things they ordered come in the mail, you make sure to send them plenty of videos and pictures.

they are hooked.

now it’s almost like you have four sugar daddies, paying for your bikini waxes (if you want them, they don’t mind hair down there yk), sending you money for groceries, for getting your nails done, or just because. sometimes, they even compete between the four of them to see who can make you the happiest (determined by the amount of exclamation marks you use when thanking them).

a/n: this is so self indulgent and kind of based on some of my experiences when i had an nsft blog on tumblr lolll 🙈 anyway, this is kinda unedited and rambling but would any of you guys want me to write more w this concept?

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apartmentsmoke · 10 months ago

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Evan tells Tommy that he's babysitting Jee, but he still really wants to spend time with Tommy, if Tommy doesn't mind - and Tommy accepts. Jee's part of Evan's family, and Howie's family, and how bad can hanging out with a three-year-old - almost four, he is told by her in the car - be anyway? What he's expecting is a night on the couch watching Frozen. (Kids still like that, right?) Maybe tea parties. What he does not expect is that Evan already has an outing planned to Chuck-E-Cheese. Surprise - Chuck-E-Cheese still exists. He would've sworn they went bankrupt back in 2020.

He's not sure what Jee is going to think of him, but she remembers him from the hospital as "Uncle Buck's dirty friend" and accepts his presence easily enough. She keeps her hand in Evan's as they walk into Chuck-E-Cheese. It's one of the cutest things Tommy's ever seen. There's a thousand kids around, laughing and crying and shouting. He only has to focus on one, he tells himself, and lets Jee lead him and Evan through the maze of games. She stops at a claw machine and demands that her Uncle Buck win her a rabbit toy. After ten minutes, fifteen dollars, and Tommy tagging in, they finally succeed. The next two hours are filled with more exploitative games, the greasiest fucking pizza Tommy's ever had, and Jee spending five minutes deliberating between two similarly-colored bouncy balls to exchange for her tickets. Throughout it all, Evan's patience never wavers, even when they lose Jee for five minutes in the crowd and have to search for her. She's hiding under the air hockey table.

Tommy's doing his best to keep up. He's led all over the place, recruited to help with games, and tries to make sense of Jee's non-sequiturs. While they're standing in line for the bouncy ball, Evan nudges him. There's a big smile on his face. "I know this isn't an ideal date. Thanks for being here." "Of course," Tommy says, and he nudges Evan back. "I like getting to know your family, Evan." It's not what he expected, but seeing first-hand how full of love Evan's family is, how much love he has for them - he wouldn't trade it. Not even for the bluest bouncy ball. Evan's smile grows even wider. They're almost out the door when Jee spots a photo booth and hones in. "I wanna photo," she says, tugging at Evan's hand, and Tommy dutifully follows along. He'll - wait out here, he guesses, while Evan and Jee take their photo. They wouldn't all fit, anyway. It's a little awkward, hanging around the photo booth, but it's fine. They disappear behind the curtain for a moment and Tommy can hear Jee's high, insistent voice and Evan chuckling and responding, though he can't make out the words. Jee and Evan poke their heads out a second later. "You too!" Jee says, and Evan echoes her with a grin. "Yeah, you too. Get in here." They quickly learn there is no way the photo booth is going to fit them all. Tommy fits maybe a third of his body in. Evan frowns, then lights up again. "Hey, Jee, why don't we get out for a second? Then Tommy can sit down and I can sit on his lap and you can sit on my lap. Okay?" "Okay," she says, so Tommy squeezes in, and a second later Evan plops all two hundred pounds of himself and thirty pounds of Jee onto his lap.

"Evan," he hisses, and Evan grins at him, unrepentant. "Smile for the camera, Tommy," he says, and Tommy finds that his smile comes easily, especially when Evan turns to kiss his cheek on the last photo. After they scrabble out of the photo booth, Evan looks down at the strip of photos and their wide, grinning faces. "Oh, yeah. That's going on the fridge for sure." "For sure," Jee repeats for emphasis, and looks up at Tommy expectantly. "For sure," he says, and he's met with twin smiles.

[this fic has matching art by @aringofsalt! it's adorable and you should definitely go take a look]

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #jee yun buckley han #my fic #smoke.txt #dailykinley

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lost-in-thoughts03 · 2 months ago

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Falling for you // Hwang brothers

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Summary: What happened last night was so good, but you keep denying it to yourself. In-ho reveals a previously unknown side of himself.

" My skin on your skin, again and again."

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, orgasm, rough, deep, slow, praising words, dirty talks, unprotected sex, hickeys, possessive, p in v, fluff, In-ho being In-ho, flirting, clingy, mention of rabbits, teasing, denial, grammatical errors

The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing. A soft glow from the city lights filters through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the bed.

In-ho lays beside you, his body warm against yours, his arms securely wrapped around your waist. His bare skin pressed against yours should be enough to make him close his eyes and drift off, but he doesn’t.

He can’t.

Instead, he watches you—your peaceful expression, the way your lashes flutter slightly in your sleep, the faint pout of your lips.

A few stray strands of hair have fallen across your face, blocking the view of your delicate features. With a quiet chuckle, he brushes them away, fingers tracing lightly along your cheek.

Beautiful.

He smiles, his heart swelling at the memory of last night—the way you clung to him, the way your voice trembled so sweetly, the way you completely unraveled in his arms.

The thought alone sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.

You’re dangerous, he thinks, and you don’t even know it.

With a deep sigh, he pulls you closer, molding himself against your back, his arm tightening protectively around your waist.

His lips find the top of your head, pressing a lingering kiss there, then another, and another.

He knows he should sleep, but how can he, when this moment—this—feels like something he never wants to end?

His fingers absentmindedly trace small patterns on your skin, memorizing every inch of you, as if trying to make sure that when morning comes, you won’t disappear.

He exhales against your hair, his voice barely above a whisper.

" You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

You stir slightly in your sleep, making a small noise before nestling closer into his embrace. He smiles against your skin.

Maybe you don’t need to know. Not yet.

For now, he’s content just holding you.

A warm, steady rhythm—soft breaths against your skin, the comforting weight of an arm draped over your waist. It’s what stirs you first, pulling you from the depths of sleep.

You shift slightly, feeling the firm press of a body against your back, the heat radiating between you.

Then it hits you.

You’re naked.

Your eyes snap open, and for a second, your brain scrambles to piece everything together.

The memories flood back in waves—hands roaming, lips tracing paths over bare skin, hushed whispers tangled between sheets.

Your body heats at the vivid recollection of how In-ho had made you feel last night.

Oh. My. God.

You barely have time to process before the arm around you tightens, pulling you back flush against him.

A sleepy, content hum vibrates from In-ho’s chest as his lips press lazily against your shoulder.

" Mm…you’re awake." He murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

Your body freezes.

You don’t dare move, don’t dare breathe. Maybe if you stay still enough, this moment—this absolute chaos of a situation—will reset itself. Maybe you’ll wake up again, and it will all have been a dream.

But then, his lips move again—trailing up your shoulder, grazing the back of your neck.

Abort mission. Immediate emergency.

Your brain is screaming at you to say something, do something—anything to break the tension. So naturally, the first words out of your mouth are:

"…Did we?"

Silence.

And then, he chuckles—the most infuriating, knowing chuckle you’ve ever heard in your life.

" Oh, we definitely did." He says, voice dripping with amusement.

You whip around, clutching the blanket to your chest, finally facing him. " No. No, no, no. That—That didn’t happen."

One of his eyebrows lifts. " Oh?"

" Yes! I mean—Maybe I was drunk! Maybe you were drunk!"

His smirk deepens. " I don’t recall either of us being drunk, sweetheart."

You open your mouth, then close it. Damn it. Damn it.

In-ho props himself up on one elbow, watching your internal struggle with open amusement. His gaze flickers down for a split second, and you realize—you’re still very much naked under this blanket.

Heat rushes to your face. " Stop looking at me like that!"

He snorts. " Like what?"

" Like you—like you know things!"

He definitely knows things.

With an exaggerated sigh, he leans closer, his fingers lightly tracing over your bare shoulder. " Relax." He murmurs, voice suddenly softer, sending shivers down your spine.

" If it makes you feel better, you were very…enthusiastic last night."

You let out a strangled noise, yanking the blanket over your head. " I HATE YOU."

His laughter vibrates through the bed as he tugs at the edges of the blanket. " Come on now, don’t hide from me." He teases. " I didn’t hear you complaining last night—"

You kick him under the blanket.

" Ow—!"

" Shut up, In-ho!"

He’s still laughing, but when you dare peek out from under the covers, his expression softens. He reaches out, brushing your cheek with his knuckles.

" Hey." He says, quieter now. " We don’t have to make it a big deal, okay?"

You chew on your lip, still feeling embarrassed, but something in his gaze—warm, sincere—makes the panic settle just a little.

After a moment, you huff. " Fine. But if you ever bring this up to anyone—"

His smirk returns. " What, like telling Jun-ho that you moaned my name at least—"

You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it.

" OKAY, OKAY!" He laughs, dodging your second attack. " I’ll be good! I swear!"

You don’t believe him for a second.

The teasing, the laughter, the playful bickering—it all dies down eventually, leaving only the steady sound of your breaths filling the quiet space.

The adrenaline fades, and now, you and In-ho just lay there side by side, staring up at the ceiling.

The sheets are tangled between your bodies, your bare skin still warm from the remnants of the night before.

There's a comfortable silence, one that neither of you seem in a rush to break.

Then, In-ho shifts slightly, resting one arm behind his head.

" Are you really sure about this?" He asks, his voice softer now, less teasing.

" About…us?"

You glance at him, catching the way his gaze is still fixed on the ceiling, as if he’s trying not to look too eager for your answer.

You take a deep breath. " Yeah. I think I am."

His lips quirk into the smallest smile, but there’s still a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

" Why, though?" He asks.

" You spent all that time pushing me away, and now suddenly, you’re willing to give me a chance?"

You exhale slowly, thinking. " I guess I realized that…if I keep running away from everything, I’ll never really know what I’m missing out on." You turn your head to look at him.

" I don’t want to live my life full of what ifs, In-ho. I want to at least try—take a risk and see what happens."

He hums, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. " So what you’re saying is…you just couldn’t resist me anymore?"

You roll your eyes. " That’s not exactly what I said."

" But it’s what you meant." He turns on his side, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look down at you.

His smirk widens as he runs a finger along your bare shoulder. " Admit it—you’ve finally accepted that you want me.

You huff, turning your face away. " Forget it. I’m changing my mind."

He laughs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. " Too late, sweetheart. You already took the risk—now you have to deal with the consequences."

You try to glare at him, but the warmth in his eyes makes your heart do that stupid little flip again. You sigh, dramatically. " Why do I feel like I’ve just made the worst mistake of my life?"

In-ho leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, " Because I’m never letting you go now."

You shiver, swatting at his chest. " See, this is why I hesitated in the first place."

He just chuckles, pulling you impossibly closer, his lips pressing against your forehead. " Too bad. You’re mine now."

And for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of that.

You don’t know how long the two of you just lay there, tangled in the sheets, warm bodies pressed together in a comfortable silence.

It should feel awkward—maybe even overwhelming—but it doesn’t.

If anything, it feels…right. Like something you should’ve done a long time ago.

In-ho is still looking at you, his head propped up on his hand, watching your every move with that same infuriating smirk. " So," he drawls, fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip, " now that you’ve finally come to your senses and admitted you want me—"

" Oh my God…" You groan, throwing an arm over your face. " I never said that."

" You implied it." He corrects, nudging your side. " Which is basically the same thing."

You peek at him through your fingers. " Is it, though?"

" Absolutely." He grins. " And now that you've taken the risk, I have to ask—how do you think it's working out so far?"

You roll onto your side to face him, narrowing your eyes playfully. " Hmm…jury’s still out on that one."

His smirk falters for a brief second before he scoffs. " Jury’s still out?"

You hum thoughtfully. " Yeah. I mean, sure, last night was…decent—"

" Decent?" He cuts you off, sitting up slightly. " Excuse me?"

You bite your lip, fighting a grin. " I dunno, In-ho. I was expecting a little more from you, considering how cocky you are all the time."

He stares at you, blinking in disbelief. Then, realization dawns, and he lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. " Oh, you’re funny, huh?"

You shrug. " Just saying—maybe I need more…convincing before I can say if this whole thing was worth the risk."

His eyes darken slightly, and before you know it, he’s flipping you onto your back, hovering over you with a wicked grin. " Convincing, huh?"

You pretend to think. " Mm, yeah. But I guess we could just go about our day like normal instead—"

" Not a chance."

You squeal as he suddenly yanks the blanket over both of you, trapping you beneath him. His lips are already on your neck, his hands eager to prove a very specific point.

And, well…you suppose risks are meant to be taken, after all.

Much later—after more convincing (not that you’d ever admit how easily you caved), after breathless laughter and lazy kisses—you finally muster up the strength to push In-ho away and sit up, the blanket clutched to your chest.

" We really need to get up now." You mumble, running a hand through your messy hair.

" Do we, though?" In-ho murmurs, still sprawled out beside you, looking far too satisfied for his own good.

He reaches out, fingers ghosting over your back. " Because I’m perfectly fine staying right here all day."

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your skin tingles under his touch. " Some of us have things to do."

He scoffs. " Like what? Running away from the cops? Avoiding Jun-ho’s lectures? Come on, stay a little longer."

You give him a look. " You are a cop In-ho, in case you forgot."

" Yeah, but at least I know how to enjoy life in between." His hand trails down to your waist, and before you can react, he yanks you back down onto the bed, flipping you onto your stomach with ease.

" In-ho!" You yelp, struggling against his grip, but he just laughs, pinning you there.

" I think you’re forgetting something important." He says, his voice dangerously amused.

You glare over your shoulder at him. " And what’s that?"

He leans down, lips brushing against your ear. " You literally just said you were giving me a chance. That means you can’t escape me now."

Your face heats. " That’s what you took from our conversation?"

" Absolutely." He grins, flipping you back over so you’re facing him. " And I have every intention of making sure you don’t regret it."

You groan, shoving at his chest. " You’re insufferable."

" And yet, you’re still here."

You open your mouth to argue, but he kisses you—slow and teasing, stealing whatever witty comeback you had prepared. When he pulls away, his expression is far too smug.

" See? No regrets."

You huff, turning your face away. " Jury’s still out."

He just laughs, tugging you close again. " We’ll see about that."

You open your mouth, ready to snap back with something sharp—but before the words can form, In-ho’s lips crash onto yours.

Slow, deliberate, and teasing—he steals the air from your lungs and the retort from your tongue.

The only sound that escapes is a desperate, needy moan melting right into his mouth.

He smirks against your lips, knowing exactly what he’s doing, his kiss deepening until your head spins.

Then, with a possessive growl, he pulls you onto his lap—skin against skin, nothing left between you.

His hard length presses against your stomach, impossible to ignore, making your breath hitch.

He drags his lips down your jaw, kissing, biting, tasting his way to your neck where he sucks hard—leaving a mark, a reminder.

You shudder, gasping when his mouth finds your nipple.

His teeth graze, tongue flicking, then he sucks—hard—sending a jolt of heat straight through you.

" In-ho..." You whimper, but it only makes him chuckle darkly, lips still wrapped around you, nibbling until you're squirming.

" Go on." He murmurs against your skin, voice husky, lips brushing your sensitive flesh,

" What were you gonna say?"

But you're lost now—his mouth, his hands, his cock pressing against you—turning your clever words into nothing but broken gasps.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, desperate for something to ground you, but he doesn’t stop—he only hums against your skin, the vibration making your thighs clench around him.

In-ho pulls back just enough to look at you, lips wet, eyes dark with something primal.

" I’m waiting." He drawls, his voice low, teasing, thick with lust.

" Where’s that smart mouth now?"

You open your mouth again—maybe to answer, maybe to curse him—but he’s faster.

He lifts you just enough to grind you down against his length, dragging the swollen head along your soaked folds, making you gasp and arch against him.

" You feel that?" He whispers, lips brushing against your ear now.

" How badly your body wants me…how fucking ready you are."

A shiver rips through you as he rolls his hips, slow and purposeful, coating himself in your arousal.

He’s not rushing—he’s savoring, watching every little reaction he pulls from you.

His lips trail back down, tongue flicking over your nipple again before biting—hard enough to make you cry out.

" In-ho…please." You pant, your voice wrecked, needy.

His dark eyes flash, pleased. " That’s better."

One hand grips your hip, the other tangling in your hair as he forces your gaze on him.

" Beg for it. Beg me to ruin you properly."

The way he says it, deep and sinful, sends heat pooling between your legs. And you do—you give him exactly what he wants.

" Please…I need you. I need to feel you—inside me…everywhere."

That wicked smirk spreads across his lips. " Good girl."

With a growl, he lifts you just enough, positioning himself. " Hold on." And then he pushes in—slow, inch by torturous inch—stretching you until your head falls back with a broken moan.

He doesn’t stop there. His lips are everywhere—marking, claiming—while his hands grip your waist, dragging you down until there’s no space left between you.

" Mine." He growls against your throat.

" Every fucking inch of you."

And the night is just getting started.

In-ho groans low, the sound rumbling through his chest as he sinks fully into you—deep, so deep you feel him everywhere.

He stills for a moment, just savoring the way you stretch around him, the way your body clenches tight, desperate to pull him even deeper.

" Fuck…look at you." He growls, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise.

" Taking me so well…just like that." He drags his mouth along your jaw, biting down until you whimper.

" Made for me, huh? This perfect little body—fucking made to handle me."

Slowly, painfully slow, he pulls back until just the tip of him is left inside—then slams back in, deep and rough.

You cry out, nails raking down his back, but it only makes him shudder and fuck into you harder.

" Yeah…that’s it." He growls, breath hot against your ear.

" You feel that, baby? How deep am I?" Another rough thrust makes you gasp, your head falling back, body trembling as he keeps the pace brutal and steady—grinding deep every time, hitting every sensitive spot.

" You’re perfect." He pants, lips finding your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave another mark.

" Taking every inch of me like you were fucking made for it…so tight, so good."

Your whimpers turn into broken moans, your body rocking with every deep thrust.

But In-ho doesn’t stop—he keeps whispering praises against your skin, filthy and soft, as his hands roam over you possessively.

" Look at you." He breathes, voice almost trembling with how good you feel around him.

" Fucking yourself on my cock…and you’re still begging for more, aren’t you?"

Your only answer is a whimper and the desperate way your hips move, chasing every thrust, every inch of him.

" Good girl." He groans, slamming in deep and holding you there, buried to the hilt.

" My good fucking girl. You’re gonna take everything I give you, aren’t you?"

His lips crash back onto yours, swallowing your moans as he fucks you slow, rough, and deep—like he’s savoring every second of ruining you.

In-ho pulls back, breath ragged, eyes dark as he stares at you—completely wrecked on his lap.

" Not done with you." He growls, voice rough with need.

Before you can even catch your breath, he grabs your waist and flips you over effortlessly, pressing you down onto your hands and knees.

His large hand slides up your spine, palm splayed between your shoulder blades, forcing a soft arch from you.

" Stay just like that." He growls.

" Fuck, look at this view…"

You feel him behind you—thick, heavy, hard as steel—dragging his length slowly along your soaked folds, teasing you until you’re trembling.

Then, without warning, he thrusts in deep—so deep it punches a moan right out of your lungs.

" Goddamn…you feel even tighter like this." He groans, rolling his hips slow but devastatingly deep, hitting that spot inside you perfectly.

" Taking me so fucking good, baby."

His pace is brutal—slow, deep, deliberate—as if he’s determined to make you feel every single inch.

His hand slides up, tangling in your hair and yanking your head back, forcing you to arch deeper.

" Listen to yourself." He growls in your ear, hips slamming against you hard enough to echo in the room.

" Moaning for me…dripping for me. You love this, don’t you?"

" Yes…fuck, yes." You gasp, back arching more as you push back on him, desperate for every inch.

In-ho groans low, his hips grinding deep, staying buried inside you as he leans down, lips brushing over your ear.

" That’s my girl…taking it all like you were made for me."

One hand leaves your hair, sliding down to grip your hips bruisingly tight as he fucks you harder, deeper, slow enough to drive you insane.

Every thrust pushes you forward, your body shuddering under the weight of him.

" You feel this?" He growls.

" How deep am I? Fuck, you’re perfect…swallowing my cock like you can’t get enough."

His teeth scrape down your shoulder before he bites, marking you again—possessive and rough—as his hips slam against yours, slow and punishing.

In-ho doesn’t let up. He stays deep, grinding his hips into yours until you’re trembling—hips arching back, needing more, chasing every punishing thrust he gives.

His breath is hot against your skin as he leans in, his chest pressing along your back, trapping you there while his cock drags slowly, teasingly out of you…before slamming back in, hard and thick, knocking the air from your lungs.

" You’re not cumming yet." He growls, voice dripping with control.

" Not until I say."

You whimper, head hanging low as your arms threaten to give out, but he’s there—one hand tangled in your hair, the other sliding along your waist to your stomach, forcing you to stay upright.

His cock fills you so deep, it’s unbearable, each stroke measured and slow, making you feel every inch as he drags against your walls.

" Fuck, just listen to how wet you are for me." He snarls, pulling back just enough so you hear the filthy sound of him moving inside you.

" You love this, don’t you? Love when I fuck you slow…deep…make you feel every damn second of it."

You try to speak, try to answer—but all that comes out is a choked moan.

He grins, lips brushing your ear. " That’s what I thought."

His hand slides lower, teasing over your clit—but never giving enough pressure, just enough to make your thighs shake.

" You want to cum so bad, don’t you? I can feel it. But not yet, baby. Not until I’m done playing."

Another deep, brutal thrust has you keening, gasping his name. " In-ho, please—"

" Please what?" he growls, dragging his cock out slowly…painfully slow…until just the head stays inside you.

" Beg me. Beg me to ruin you properly."

" I…I need it." You gasp, desperate, voice breaking.

" Please…fuck me harder…I need you—need all of you."

His dark chuckle vibrates against your back. " Good fucking girl."

And he gives it to you—hips snapping forward with a brutal thrust, so deep you swear you see stars.

But he doesn’t speed up.

He keeps that rhythm—slow, powerful, ruthless—driving you right to the edge, then pulling you back again.

" You’ll cum when I tell you." He growls, dragging his teeth along your shoulder.

" And when you do, you’re gonna cum around me…while I’m buried so fucking deep you forget your own name."

His hand tightens in your hair, forcing your head back as his hips grind against you, hitting that perfect spot over and over until tears prick your eyes.

" Not yet." He breathes, lips ghosting over your skin.

" I’m not done with you.”

In-ho’s grip tightens, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he keeps that unrelenting pace—deep, slow, and punishing.

Every thrust feels heavier, more desperate, like he’s fighting his own need to let go, determined to drag you right to the edge first.

" Fuck—" He growls, hips snapping hard as his cock drives deep into you, grinding against that perfect spot until your body’s trembling under him.

" You’re still so fucking tight…clenching around me like you need it…like you’re begging me to fill you."

Your legs are shaking, arms barely holding you up, but he doesn’t care—he keeps you right there, forcing you to take every inch, every brutal grind of his hips.

His hand slides down your stomach, fingers finally circling your clit—this time with pressure, just enough to make your breath hitch and your body jerk.

" That’s it…feel me, baby." He murmurs, voice thick with lust.

" You’re so fucking perfect like this…taking everything I give you like a good girl."

His lips brush your ear, teasing. " I can feel it…you’re right there, aren’t you?" He grinds his cock in deep, slow circles that make you sob out his name.

" Holding back just like I told you…goddamn, you’re perfect."

You nod, desperate, gasping—your body screaming for release, your walls tightening around him until it’s unbearable.

" In-ho… I can’t—please—" Your voice is broken, wrecked, pleading.

" You can." He growls, his own control fraying as his hips slam forward harder, rougher, grinding deep.

" You’re gonna hold it just a little longer. You’re gonna let me feel you fall apart with me."

His pace picks up now—still deep, but rougher, harder, each thrust sending you forward as he fucks you right to the breaking point.

The sound of skin against skin, your breathless moans, his low growls—it’s all building, the air thick with it.

" You ready?" He snarls, grinding so deep it makes you cry out.

" You’re gonna cum so hard for me, baby…fuck—" He hisses, his own release close.

" I wanna feel you lose it. Milk my cock until there’s nothing left."

His fingers circle your clit faster now, matching the brutal thrusts as he drives you higher—so close it hurts.

" Now." He growls, hips slamming forward as he buries himself deep.

" Cum for me—fucking cum while I’m inside you.”

That final command tears through you like lightning.

Your body seizes, back arching hard as the orgasm rips free—violent, overwhelming, your walls clenching so tight around him it pulls a raw, guttural groan from In-ho’s throat.

" Fuck—that’s it." He growls, his voice breaking as he feels you unravel around him.

" God, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight…milking me dry."

You’re shaking, barely able to hold yourself up as waves crash through you—pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

Every slow grind of his hips keeps you there, dragging out your release until tears burn your eyes.

" In-ho—" You sob, lost, ruined, body shuddering as you cum hard around him.

" That’s my good girl." He growls, his pace stuttering now as your orgasm pulls him under.

" So perfect…taking it all—fucking mine."

With one last deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, cock twitching deep inside you as he spills, groaning your name like it’s the only thing he knows.

You feel it—hot, thick—filling you as he stays locked inside, hips grinding through every last pulse.

" Goddamn…" He pants, leaning over you, lips brushing your shoulder as he breathes hard.

" You took it so fucking good…perfect little body made for me."

He stays there, still buried deep, hands roaming your trembling body as he presses soft kisses over your skin—his voice low, full of praise.

" You did so good for me…took every inch, every fucking drop."

And for a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, the feel of his body heavy against yours—completely spent, completely his.

In-ho stays still for a moment, his breath hot against your shoulder, as if he’s trying to pull himself back from the edge right along with you.

Slowly, his hand releases your hair, trailing down your spine with gentle strokes, soothing the tremble in your body.

" Hey." He whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck.

" You with me?"

You nod weakly, breath shaky, but it’s enough. He pulls out carefully, hissing at the sensitivity, his hands steadying you as your arms nearly give out.

Without another word, he gathers you up in his arms—strong, possessive—and carries you toward the bed like you’re something precious.

Laying you down gently, he brushes the damp hair from your face, his eyes softer now—still dark, still hungry, but full of something else.

Care.

Pride.

" You did so good for me." He murmurs, leaning down to kiss your lips—slow, tender, full of everything he couldn’t say with words.

" Took everything I gave you…fuck, I’m so proud of you."

His fingers trace your jaw, then your throat, lingering on the marks he left there. " Marked you up so pretty…but we’ll take care of it, yeah?"

You hum, eyes fluttering closed as his lips follow his fingers—soft kisses on every bruise, every love bite, every inch of skin he claimed.

He leaves for only a moment—returning with a warm cloth, cleaning you up gently, murmuring sweet nothings as he does.

" I’ve got you…just breathe, baby." Every pass of the cloth is careful, slow, his hands steadying you when you shiver.

When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and pulls you against him, wrapping you up in his arms.

" Do you feel okay?" He asks softly, lips pressed against your temple.

" Not too much?"

You shake your head, snuggling closer, and he exhales a soft laugh—relieved, content.

" Good…stay right here." He whispers, dragging the blankets over both of you.

" Let me hold you."

And he does—his hand stroking your back, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your shoulder as you both slowly come down from the high.

The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat and him—but there’s peace in it now, the kind that only comes after being fully, completely ruined…and cared for.

" You’re mine."

He murmurs sleepily, lips curling into a small smirk against your skin.

" Always."

And you fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing, safe and warm in his arms.

...

You don’t know what time it is. You don’t even know what day it is anymore. All you know is that you have not left this bed since morning, and it is now—what? Afternoon? Evening? Tomorrow?!

All because of him.

You lay sprawled on the mattress, body thoroughly exhausted, the sheets barely clinging to your form. Beside you, In-ho is just beaming, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

His fingers lazily trace patterns on your skin, as if he isn’t the reason you’re currently out of commission.

You glare at him. " You’re like a damn rabbit."

His grin widens. " Is that a complaint?"

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. " I’m just saying, do you ever get tired?"

He hums in thought, then turns on his side to face you, resting his head on his hand. " Not when it comes to you."

You groan even louder. " Gross."

He just chuckles, rolling on top of you again. " Round f—"

You shove him off. " Absolutely not! We need to do something else, anything else, before I die."

In-ho, still grinning, finally relents, lying beside you again. " Fine, fine." He sighs dramatically. " But only because I don’t want to break you."

You slap his arm. " In-ho!"

He laughs, rubbing the spot where you hit him, then suddenly rolls onto his stomach and buries his face into your side, arms wrapping around your waist like a damn koala.

You blink. "…What the hell are you doing?"

A muffled voice comes from your side. " Cuddling."

Your eyes narrow. " Since when do you cuddle?"

No response. Instead, he nuzzles against you like a damn puppy seeking warmth.

Your brain short-circuits.

" In-ho." You say slowly, staring down at him.

Still no response. He just tightens his hold, keeping you locked in place.

And then—then—he looks up at you with the most innocent, pleading expression you have ever seen in your life.

His usual cold, composed demeanor? Completely gone.

Instead, he looks like a little kid who just wants attention.

Your heart does something stupid.

"…Are you pouting?"

"…No."

Oh, he is.

You blink at him, trying to process this. This is In-ho—the man who is usually so smug, so collected, the one who teases you endlessly.

And now? Now he’s wrapped around you like a clingy little brat, wanting to be babied?!

You stare at the ceiling. " What did I get myself into?"

" You said you were giving me a chance." He mumbles into your skin. " So you have to deal with all of me."

Your eye twitches. "All of you include this?"

" Yup." He nuzzles you again. " Especially this."

You sigh, reluctantly running a hand through his hair. " You’re impossible."

He hums, clearly pleased. " And yet, you’re still here."

Damn it. He got you again.

You’ve accepted your fate.

After hours—literal hours—of having every inch of your body worshiped by this insatiable rabbit of a man, you thought you’d finally get some rest.

Maybe even leave the bed. But no. Absolutely not. Because now, you’re dealing with something far worse.

A clingy In-ho.

He’s still wrapped around you like a barnacle, face pressed against your stomach, arms secured around your waist as if you’ll disappear the second he lets go.

You’ve tried moving. You’ve tried reasoning. But nothing works.

" In-ho," you sigh, poking at his forehead. " Let me go."

" No." He grumbles, his grip tightening.

You roll your eyes. " Why are you acting like this?"

He tilts his head up to look at you, eyes narrowing. " Are you complaining?"

You hesitate. On one hand, yes, you are complaining because you’ve never seen him like this before, and it’s borderline ridiculous. But on the other hand…

Your fingers absentmindedly thread through his hair, and he melts.

Oh, for the love of—he’s actually purring.

You bite your lip, trying to process this. This is the same man who always had a sharp tongue, who looked down on others with that signature cold stare.

The same man who, just last night, was far from innocent in the way he handled you. And now?

Now he’s whining because you stopped petting him.

" You do realize you’re acting like a child, right?" You deadpan, scratching at his scalp.

" Mhm.. " He hums, clearly not ashamed.

You groan, dropping your head back onto the pillow. " What happened to the cold and composed In-ho I used to know?"

" He got laid." He says simply. " Now he wants to be babied."

You choke. " Excuse me?"

In-ho lifts his head slightly, giving you a smug, drowsy grin. " You heard me."

You slap your hands over your face. " I’m actually going to die here."

" Nah." He pulls your hands away with ease and laces your fingers together, his voice dropping into something softer, more sincere. " You’re stuck with me now, remember?"

Your heart stumbles, your body betraying you as warmth spreads through your chest.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but the way your fingers squeeze his back tells a different story. " Yeah, yeah." You mumble.

In-ho smirks, pressing a kiss against your stomach before resting his head there again. " Good. Now go back to petting me."

You should resist. You really should.

But instead, you shake your head and thread your fingers through his hair again.

And damn it, you kind of like this side of him.

You don’t know when you officially gave up, but at some point, you stopped trying to escape and just accepted that In-ho had claimed you as his personal pillow.

The day—if you can even call it that, since you haven't left his bed—has been spent doing absolutely nothing, and yet, it feels like everything.

You've never seen this side of him before.

Clingy, needy, downright adorable. It’s almost alarming how much he wants to be babied by you, considering this is In-ho—the same man who once had a reputation for being cold, detached, untouchable.

Now? Now he’s curled up beside you, head resting on your chest, tracing small circles on your hip as if he’ll die if he isn’t touching you in some way.

You sigh, staring at the ceiling. " I need to get up."

" No, you don’t."

" Yes, I do."

" No, you don’t." He shifts slightly, nuzzling against you like a damn cat. " Just stay here."

You groan. " In-ho."

He huffs. " What could possibly be more important than me right now?"

" I dunno, eating? Taking a shower? Rejoining society?"

He finally lifts his head, squinting at you in mild betrayal. " Society? Society didn’t make you feel as good as I did last night."

You gasp, slapping a hand over his mouth. " Oh my God, shut up."

He laughs against your palm, eyes crinkling with amusement. " What? It’s true."

You glare. " If you don’t let me go, I swear I’m going to—"

" You’re going to what?" His voice is pure challenge as he pulls your hand away. " Leave me? Please. We both know you love this."

You open your mouth—ready to argue, ready to prove a point—but then he does the thing.

The thing being his stupidly unfair puppy eyes.

He tilts his head, bottom lip slightly jutted out, his fingers playing with yours. " Stay with me a little longer?" His voice is softer now, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid you might actually say no.

Your heart clenches.

Damn it.

You groan, flopping back down onto the pillow. " Fine."

He beams, immediately wrapping himself around you again. " Knew it."

" You’re so lucky you’re cute." You grumble, running a hand through his hair.

" Mm," he hums contently. " Say that again."

You roll your eyes. " Absolutely not."

Too bad, because judging by the way he tightens his hold on you, you're not going anywhere anytime soon.

" In-ho, move."

" No."

You glare at him, arms crossed as you stand at the edge of the bed, again, trying to get him to release you. You swear, this man has made it his life’s mission to keep you trapped here.

" In-ho," you say slowly, " let me go."

He just grins up at you, lounging in bed like a spoiled cat. " Make me."

Your eye twitches. " I swear to—"

" I love you."

You freeze.

Heat creeps up your neck before you can stop it. " Excuse me?"

He shrugs, completely unfazed. " I love you."

Your face burns. " That is not—"

" I love you."

" In-ho!"

" I looove you…" He sing-songs, propping himself up on his elbows, watching you with a stupidly smug smile.

You glare at him, face now on fire. " You can’t just say that whenever you want!"

" Why not?" His smirk widens. " It’s true."

You clench your jaw, willing your heart to calm the hell down. " That’s not how you use those words in an argument."

" Oh, so we’re arguing?" He tilts his head. " Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re just standing there blushing."

You gasp, covering your cheeks with your hands. " I am not!"

" You totally are."

" I am not!"

" I love you."

" IN-HO!"

He laughs, reaching out to grab your wrist and pull you right back into bed with him. You yelp, landing on top of him, but before you can escape, he traps you there, arms locking around your waist.

His lips brush against your ear. " You’re cute when you’re flustered."

You groan, hiding your face in his chest. " I hate you."

" Liar." He grins, kissing the top of your head.

" I love you."

You want to be mad.

You really do.

But damn it, your heart skips again.

Oh.

A/N: Y/n and Jun-ho met when they were 16. In-ho, on the other hand, began to like her when she reached her legal age—around the time Y/n was in her twenties. (I need to clarify this to avoid misunderstandings between the characters)

Y/n and Jun-ho's age right now: 23 (College students)

In-ho's age right now: 30 (I need to lower down his age to make it more accurate)

Another smut? Damn haha. But I'm so glad that she finally chose him. Really...really choose him. May their love last till the end of this story.

Tags: @maah-sama @colorwastaken @astronomicalastro-blog1 @frontwomann @coruja12345

See u in the next part! 😉

159 notes · View notes

devotedfem · 2 months ago

Text

«Alice in wonderland»

Synopsis: You were so bored you could die, but then a white rabbit caught your attention, you chased it until you fell into a rabbit hole. The rabbit turned into a cute man with doe eyes, saying odd things like; you came back, late to Jimin's tea party, the mad hatter that was waiting for you.

Jikook x f. Reader

5.5K words.

Genre: Alice in wonderland au | yander-ish.

Tags: Inspired by Alice in wonderland, captivity, naive reader, polyamory relationship, obsessive behavior, dark Jimin and Jungkook, they are whipped for reader, bunny hybrid Jungkook, mad hatter Jimin, delusional Jikook, fantasy, re-telling, plot twist, smut, dubious consent.

From the series masterlist; Hush.

Navigation Masterlist.

Permanent taglist.

You were sitting under a tree in the backyard of your aunt's country house, trying so, so hard to pay attention to her words, but failing when a butterfly flies near your aunt with its beautiful blue wings taking your attention away.

“Y/n, would you please pay attention to your lesson?” She sighed deeply, arching a brow and stopping reading aloud the history book.

You smiled at her sheepishly, feeling guilty for being caught not paying attention. It’s just that the book was painfully boring and long, you felt like aging while listening to tedious old stories.

“Sorry auntie, but how can you expect me to pay attention to a book with no pictures in it. The stories are so boring, at least there should be a picture!” You exclaimed feeling frustrated. It’s not like you didn’t want to pay attention to your lesson, it is just that it was hard for you to listen to something so boring.

Your aunt sighed again, shaking her head at your words as if she was dealing with a petulant child.

“Y/n, you’re a grown woman now, you can’t live in a fantasy world forever reading fairy tales. You have the privilege of having an education as a woman, don’t waste it.”

And her words cut deep enough to shut your mouth. She was right, you were now of age, in the perfect stage for marry. But your aunt was kind enough to help you to get an education first. She was ahead of her time and you admire her for that, so the last thing you want it’s to disappoint her.

“Sorry,” you muttered softly, hugging your knees towards your chest.

Guilt flashed your aunts’ eyes, but she kept reading to you the history book without another word.

You stayed quiet listening to her voice telling you stories about dumb and greedy wars, and gradually your eyes closed falling into a deep nap, resting against the tree drunk, unbothered to the world around you. You dreamed about a world that it was just yours, where everything works in the opposite way to the real one, ruled by nonsense and silly laws.

What it is, wouldn’t be there, and what it isn’t, would be there.

And then a thud noise snapped you abruptly out of your sleep. Your frowned and blinked confused at being awaken from a deep slumber, noticing that you were alone in the backyard, still resting against the tree.

And suddenly, a beautiful and fluffy white rabbit wearing a mini waistcoat, stands before you, holding a clock and looking straight at you. You couldn’t believe your eyes; you were completely shocked. Maybe… you were still dreaming…?

“I’m late! late! Late!” It speaks in distress, pointing and shaking its watch. He sounded like a male rabbit.

You gasped and widened your eyes taken aback. Animals don’t speak, that was absolutely impossible, but you have just witnessed the impossible in that moment. And when you pinched your arm to make sure you weren’t dreaming, the white rabbit fled away without giving you the opportunity to ask him questions.

You immediately ran after the rabbit, following him through the woods that were near your aunt’s house. The animal was annoyingly quick, but that didn’t stop you from trying to chase after him.

And then you watched how the fluffy animal entered a rabbit-hole, disappearing from your sight. You got curious, kneeling near the border of the hole, holding yourself by settling your hands on the edges to stare down into the deep void.

And then you slipped, falling right into it. You go down quickly, screaming when the opening of the rabbit-hole above you turned into a blue dot until it disappeared completely and became a pitch-black sky.

But then, suddenly, you were going down in a very unnatural slow way. You frowned, floating in the air and feeling light as a feather as you fell. In the dark tunnel appeared objects out of nowhere, things like books and jars filled the mud walls. You grabbed one book thrilled by curiosity, forgetting immediately your fear from seconds ago, widening your eyes impressed by al the impossible things happening around you. You gasped when a piano came from below, leaving aside the book to play the instrument, but you couldn't do much besides play a key because you kept falling down.

You dropped from the slow spell, falling abruptly onto an arm-chair full of leaves cushioning your fall. You shook the leaves out of your dress, watching your surroundings with uncertainty.

“Where on earth I am?” you muttered to yourself, staring at the odd hallway ahead of you.

For a moment you thought you died when you fell into the rabbit-hole, thinking that maybe this was a kind of limbo between life and death. But some fluffy animal pulled you out of your racing thoughts.

“Wait!” You screamed at the rabbit, but he ignored you, running away faster.

You ran after the rabbit, coming into a round hall with many doors. The animal was nowhere to be seen, you supposed that it might entered one of the many doors, so you tried to open them, but they were all locked.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” You asked in a loud tone, but the only thing that greet you was the echo of your own voice. Your chest sting with fear, you felt trapped.

But then you saw a table with a small key sitting on top of it. You picked it up with a grin, happy to be out of that strange hall. You tried the key on a few doors, but it didn’t open them, too small for their locks, but then you tried it on a mouse-size door, and it fit, opening the little door that shows a huge garden at the other side.

But how would you go through it if you’re too big to fit in? You wanted to cry from frustration, walking towards the table to throw the key on it. But now there was a bottle that says “DRINK ME” that appeared out of nowhere, you frowned watching your surroundings for anyone who put it there, but you were alone. You shrugged, drinking the liquid until the last drop, gasping with fear when you started to shrink to the size of a mouse, the table stood huge and large above you, and your dress was now too big for you to use, you tore a piece off to use it as a new dress.

Thankfully, the key dropped from the table when you knocked it while shrinking, falling to your side on the floor. You picked it up and used it to open the small door, stepping through it and being greet by a fantastical and whimsical world, everything looked so bizarre but so oddly beautiful, it was otherworldly, it was magical just as you imagined a fantasy world would look like.

The garden has tall flowers that loomed over you, speaking and talking between themselves, wearing human faces. They were gossiping about you as if you weren’t there listening to them.

“She’s so different,” said one red flower, looking down at you with contempt.

“She has grown up so well! Jimin and Jungkook will be happy to see her!” Said another one.

You frowned confused, what were they talking about?

“Excuse me, where am I? I’m looking for-“

“I don’t think she’s the real y/n, this girl must be another person,” said the red one, making you widen your eyes.

You asked them questions, but they ignored you.

Thankfully, in front of you appeared a pair of twins, they looked a little bit uncanny but human enough for you to trust them.

“Hi! I’m y/n, I’m looking for a white rabbit, have you seen it?” You asked them, and they looked to each other with a devilish grin, making your stomach churn.

“Is it really her?”

“Nope, ‘don’t think so, the real y/n wasn’t this dumb.”

“Hey,” you said crossing your arms, feeling uncomfortable by everyone here speaking about you in such way.

“Are you following a rabbit?” Asked the twin from the right, you nodded at him.

“Why?” Asked the other.

“Just because,” you replied, starting to walk away, but they followed you.

“You’re going backwards! That’s not the direction, here, forward is backward, and backward is forward, hello is goodbye, and goodbye is hello,” explained one of the twins, spinning your mind with confusion.

“Uhm, I’ll keep that in mind, thank you. I must be going. Goodbye, I mean, hello?” You said hesitating, but the twin nodded, waving a hand at you and staying behind with his brother.

“The rabbit’s name is Jungkook! He’s tall and has huge eyes!” One of the twins yelled at you from behind before you lost sight of them.

You walked for a long time, until your legs got tired. You were so confused of which direction you should take. In this world the right path took you to the left, and the left to the right. It was all so confusing.

And then you watch it, the rabbit from before now looked like a human man. And how did you know it was him? Because he was dressed just like the rabbit, and the tall man has cute doe and large eyes, walking in circles and watching his clock with worry. You ran towards him.

“Hi! I mean, goodbye! I was looking for you, you were the rabbit from the meadow of the upper world!” You greeted him with a smile, but he only frowned at you.

He was so handsome that it took your breath away for a second, but his knitted brows made you feel unease, maybe it was a mistake following a stranger down here.

“Goodbye? Who are you and what are you talking about?”

You grimaced with a blush, the twins were just teasing you, who in their right mind says goodbye when greeting someone? You felt dumb.

“I’m y/n, I followed you here from the upper world, when you were a… rabbit,” you muttered softly.

His doe eyes widened, and something intense and dark flashed on them, but it disappeared as fast as it came.

“Oh, I never thought you would come back. We’ve been, I mean, Jimin has been waiting for you. Come with me.” He didn’t even ask you before gripping your wrist to pull you away with him, almost dragging you. If you didn’t know better you would say that he holds you as if he was scare that you would run away, but why would you do that?

Also, he must be confusing you with another y/n just like the twins and the flowers did, because you never came to this place before.

Jungkook brought you to the backyard of an old and weird house, there it was a large table with a worn-out looking tea set on top of it, the tea party looks gloomy, the tablecloth seemed threadbare and the wooden chairs were almost rotten. A pretty man with a big red hat was sag in a chair at the head of the table, staring into space with a lost gaze.

Jungkook’s grip on your wrist tighten a little, making you frown.

“Jimin, she’s here, our, I mean, your y/n,” Jungkook announced between teeth, with his heavy and serious gaze fixated on Jimin.

The odd man named Jimin bolts upright immediately, standing up from the chair and walking towards you with large steps. You shrink a little into Jungkook, feeling intimidated by the intense and crazed eyes of the man approaching you. He stood inches in front of you, invading your personal space and staring intently at you with a bright smile, so different from his gloomy mood from seconds ago.

“Is… is it really you, y/n? Did you really come back to us?” He gushed with a shaky voice, looking stunned by your mere presence, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

“Yes, I’m y/n, although I don’t remember coming here before,” you muttered, averting Jimin intense eyes.

He gripped your chin to make you look up at him. Adoration flashed his dark eyes.

“It’s okay my moon, we can make you remember,” he said with a devilish grin. He grabbed your other hand to pull you away from Jungkook, but the latter didn’t let you go, looking at Jimin with a stern and warning gaze instead.

“Calm down Jimin, don’t scare her away. She just arrived here,”

Jimin clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on your had, but that creepy expression goes away immediately, being replaced by a bright and teasing smile.

“Oh come on Jungkookie, don’t be a party pooper. I just want to catch her up on all the things she missed when she was away. Do you want to join my tea party?” He asked you softly, looking a little vulnerable this time, as if he was afraid of your rejection. You felt sorry for him, so you nodded and let him drag you away from Jungkook.

Jimin sat again at the head of the table, and you were about to sit on a chair next to him but he didn’t let you, gripping your wrist to pull you towards him and sit you on his lap instead. You shriek taken aback by his blatant and shameless gesture, who does he think he is to sit you on his lap? He’s just a stranger you just met!

“Hey!” You yelp, trying to stand up but Jimin’s tight grip on your waist didn’t let you.

“Jimin!” Jungkook’s strident yell made you flinch, even though his anger wasn’t directed at you. “What the fuck are you doing?” He asked this time more calmly, taking notice of your frightened state. But Jimin pay him no mind, looking at your dress with curiosity instead.

“She used to sit on my lap all the time, we’re just catching up, I have no ill intention,” he replied nonchalant, playing with the fabric of your improvised dress.

You frowned and parted your lips offended, you don’t remember doing such thing with him, and even if that was true, he should’ve asked you first.

“Excuse me? I don’t remember doing such improper thing with anyone, you’re so rude and shameless-“ you were interrupted by his giggle.

“I don’t remember you being this decorous, aren’t you so cute and silly?” he beamed at you, and you were distracted by his sweet and bright smile for a second, it made his eyes turn into crescent moons. But you shook those thoughts away.

“And I don’t remember you at all, so could you please let go of me?” You said between teeth.

Jimin’s smile fell, and irritation flashed his gaze.

“Wouldn’t you like to remember though? To know the wonders of this world? If so, then stay still,” he whispered the last words into your ear like a warn. You gulped with fear, glancing at Jungkook with dread sinking in your stomach, but the latter said nothing, crossing his arms and looking at Jimin with murderous eyes.

“If you don’t leave her alone right now Jimin, I swear to god I’ll have you choking on your cold tea,” he threatened with dark eyes fixated on him. You flinched again; you didn’t like the tension growing between them.

But Jimin looked collected, not affected at all by the threat.

“Oh really? Are you willing to lose her again? To bring back our grief and mourning?” Those words were enough to disarm Jungkook, whose eyes flashed with deep hurt, he inhaled sharp as if Jimin’s words were a weapon aimed at his hurt.

You watched with shock how Jungkook sat right next to you two, saying nothing and averting your eyes, drinking the tea he was going to use to drown Jimin a moment ago. You wanted to laugh bitterly to his face, did he really give up by just words?

Your mind was racing with thousands of questions. What did Jimin mean by all that? Why do they think that they already know you when that was not true? You’ve never been here, and never met them before. And what does Jimin mean by grief and mourning? If it was true that you knew them and you were having amnesia, then it doesn’t make sense to use the word mourn, because you never died.

Nothing makes sense, and you felt like having a headache.

“Hey hey, none of that my moon. It’s time for the tea party not to overthink,” he said softly, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb, “also, where did you get this dress? It’s so unique, I like it.” Your cheeks heated by his compliment, feeling self-conscious of your clothes.

“I made it myself with what was left of my dress,” you muttered without giving further explanations, drained by all that was happening.

Jimin hummed, playing with the fabric again, he almost looked mesmerized by your dress.

“It’s just like you, rare but pretty.”

You cleared your throat, uncomfortable by his words. You squirm a little on his lap, stopping at Jimin’s sharp intake of breath.

“Careful there, my moon,” he whispered near your neck, with his hot breath brushing your skin and making you shiver. His hands gripped tightly your waist to stop you from moving, you didn’t understand at all what you did wrong, but Jimin sounded affected so you stayed still.

You look up and notice Jealousy flashing Jungkook’s eyes, his shoulders looked tense and the grip on his tea cup seemed tight. Why does he look so angry all the time? Jimin also notices, giggling at the latter.

“Don’t be like that bunny boy, she’s also yours.”

You widened your eyes, gasping at his audacity.

“I am my own person!”

“Of course my moon, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jimin said gently, looking at you with puppy eyes, calming you down a bit.

You crossed your arms, looking straight ahead, ignoring them like a petulant child.

Jimin started to telling you about all the things you missed out from wonderland, like how he planned to take down the reign of the evil queen of hearts just because she hurt you once, and how he learned to customize new hats. All while Jungkook refill your cup of tea, giving you sweet treats from the table. The tea didn’t taste bad, the sunlight was warm, and Jimin’s voice was surprisingly soft enough to make you feel comfortable on his lap. Jungkook’s pretty eyes never stayed away from you, studying your expressions as if he wanted to make sure you feel comfortable all the time.

It was nice, it made you forget for a moment that you needed to head back home.

“Uhm, Jimin I need to come back home, but I promise to visit you again, I want to hear more about this world,” you said gently, and you weren’t lying, you wanted to come back but you knew deep down that you shouldn’t, because this man even though is charismatic, is also mad.

A mad hatter.

Jimin’s grip on your waist tightened until it bruised, making you wheeze in pain. Jungkook’s eyes widened with genuine fear at your words.

“No.” Jungkook’s trembling voice took you by surprise, you frowned at him, and he looked embarrassed, clearing his throat and averting your gaze. “I mean, it’s too late, we’re worry that you get hurt again. And I know you don’t remember, but believe me when I say that is for your own good, wonderland it’s dangerous at night.”

His words were enough to make you shrink into Jimin’s chest, who happily kept you into his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“He’s right my moon. Jungkookie can walk you tomorrow to the hall that leads to the rabbit hole. We just want you to be safe,” he whispered gently into your ear, his words were sugar coated, sweet enough to convince you.

“Fine,” you sighed, only because you genuinely don’t know your way back to the rabbit hole. And no matter how much you wanted to run away, they were the only people you can “trust” for now.

You sleep that night in Jimin’s and Jungkook’s house, their place was a cozy cottage, full of tea cups and carrots hidden under the rut. Talking animals such as hares surrounded their home, watching you with their little heads tilted, you noticed the curiosity in their eyes.

They took you to a room at the back of the house, which according to them it was already yours before you disappeared from wonderland. You started to doubt yourself, believing that maybe you were here before and you just forgot about this world. But you knew that wasn’t true, because the clothes in the closet didn’t belong to you, they just weren’t something you would wear. The stuff, the books, the things in this room; none of it belonged to you.

And you were now more than sure that you weren’t the person they thought you were. If that makes sense.

The issue was, that you didn’t stay just for a night, you stayed there with them for a week. At morning they always offered you to see a part of wonderland, distracting you from going to the rabbit hole. One day they brought you to a huge caterpillar that looks wise and that throwed smoke to your face, watching you with surprise, saying stuff like; is it really you?

You wanted to say no so bad, but you didn’t want to make Jimin and Jungkook feel bad. You got used to them, to Jimin’s silly behavior and Jungkook’s protective gaze. You started to have fun every time Jimin customize you a new dress, with his brows knitted in concentration when he was sewing your clothes.

He made you a pretty dress one afternoon, this one was blue and it reached below your knees, what caught your attention was the white apron, which according to Jimin made the dress look even prettier.

You noticed Jungkook’s gaze darkening when you wore the dress, and you felt uncomfortable under their intense stares. Why were they looking at you like that? But you forgot about that when Jimin took you to another tea party, this time with new and funny people that made you laugh a lot.

You were under a spell of wonders and fun, not worrying about coming back to your home. Until one night.

You watched a strange cat emerging from thin air at your window, making you gasp and widen your eyes in shock. Who was that cat? You opened the window, watching how the animal was floating and twirling in the air, with a mischievous Cheshire grin curling on its mouth.

“Aren’t you a surprise? I didn’t know the dead could come back,” it teased with a devil glint in its eyes.

Your stomach churned with dread and your heart pounded in your chest. You didn’t like its words.

“What?” You whispered with a trembling voice.

The cat’s grin widened.

“I can see that you’re not y/n, at least not Jungkook’s and Jimin’s. You’re her impersonator, you look like her, you’re named like her, but you’re not her,” he spoke the last words darkly, its grin looking sinister now.

You gulped your fear down, feeling like all of your doubts and fears had come true.

“What- what happened to her? How did she die?” You clenched your fists, fighting with the urge to run away.

“They killed her, not directly, but with their obsession. They scared her away, making her stumble upon the red Queen who cut off her head.”

Your heart stopped at the cat’s words, your head spined and you felt dizzy with the sudden urge to throw up. You always knew they acted weird around you, but you didn’t know the reason behind of their odd behavior, you didn’t know how deep their obsession run.

You have to get out of that house, right now.

You didn’t glance back at the cat, opening softly the door of your room, watching your surrounds with your senses heightened. When you were sure that no one was around and that the boys were sleeping, you step out of the room, with your feet bringing you silently to the front door of the cottage. Your heart was pounding and your hands trembling when you tried to turn the knob door, but it didn’t bulge.

The door was locked.

You inhaled sharp, closing your eyes to calm yourself down. You need to find the key.

“Going somewhere?” Jungkook’s deep voice make you shriek in horror; you turned around with a hand over your chest.

“You scared me,” you said instead, trying so hard to not avert your scared eyes.

Act normal.

Jungkook arched a brow, humming and walking towards you with slow steps, watching you intently.

“Where were you going at this hour? We already told that it’s dangerous out there at night.”

“I just wanted some fresh air, I wasn’t going far from here,” you simply said, trying to act nonchalant, hiding your trembling hand behind your back. Jungkook noticed.

“Fresh air?” He asked lowly, clenching his jaw and standing inches away from your body, looking down at you with anger flashing his doe eyes. “You wanted to escape, don’t lie to me.” His voice trembled with rage, and his eyes looked crazed, scaring you.

“I- no, that’s not true! I was hoping for you to take me to the hall the day after tomorrow anyway, I don’t miss home, I am always bored back there,” you muttered, trying to calm your pounding heart.

Jungkook gripped your shoulders, something dark and terrifying flashed his eyes. His breath was getting labored, and you could hear his own heart pounding wildly in his chest.

“I promise not to be like Jimin, I told myself that I will mourn you- her - ‘till the day I die. I prayed to God to bring y/n back from the dead. But then, you didn’t come back as the same person, you… you wear her face, her voice and you share the same name, but you’re not her, aren’t you?” His voice broke at the last words, staring at you with despair and grief. His bottom lip wobbled and his doe eyes swelled with tears.

You felt bad for him, so, so bad.

“I’m so sorry for your lost Jungkookie, I- I really am, but I’m not her honey. You should honor her memory by letting me go, by letting her rest,” you whispered softly, putting your hands over his and stroking them gently, looking up into his eyes with empathy. You grew fond of him over the past days, so you felt really sorry for him.

Tears streamed from his eyes at your words, and you wiped them away with your thumb, making Jungkook close his eyes and rest his cheek on your palm, opening them to watch you with deep emotion.

“You’re right, I should take you to the hall before Jimin notice, because he will lose his mind, more than he has,” he said letting go of you, opening the door and waiting for you to get out.

You smiled at him grateful, feeling relieved that at least Jungkook was being rational about this situation. The real danger was Jimin, not him.

It was silent when you two were walking, and Jungkook filled the quiet with his voice.

“I really miss her.”

You curled down your lips, feeling bad for him again.

“Can I, can I ask you how long has it been since she… passed away? If you don’t want to that’s okay,” you said carefully.

He didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, and you thought that he wouldn’t answer you, but he did.

“20 years.”

You stopped walking, widening your eyes.

“What?”

“Time in wonderland works different from the upper world,” he simply said, not stopping his walk. You followed him behind.

The time passed and you still didn’t see the door that leads to the hall, the one that was close to the speaking flowers.

“Are we close?” You asked, hugging yourself at the cold.

Jungkook only hummed at your words, staring into space with a lost gaze.

“Did you know that the other y/n was in wonderland just for two days?” He said out of the blue, you shook your head but he didn’t look at you. “But it was enough to fall for her. I thought I’d forget her face and voice, until you came, all pretty and bubbly. You remind me of her, but you’re different, and you stayed longer too. You’re sweet and innocent, keeping us company and never leaving our side even though we didn’t give you space, I love that about you.” His eyes were blank and empty, and his voice was thick with emotion, making you frown with unease.

“What are you talking about? And how long it’ll take us to get to the hall? I don’t remember it being this far,” you said walking slower, studying Jungkook like a hawk.

He just shrugged.

“What I’m saying is that we fell for you too, you think that this is just our grief talking for us, but is not. You were here longer than her, you were- are - tender and sweeter than her. Jimin is already obsessed with you. We never had company that stayed with us so long, except you.”

He turned around sharply, making you stumble into his wide chest. His gaze was dark and fixated on you like a predator, making you shiver with primal fear.

“Jungkook, you don’t know what you’re saying, I’m not her!”

“I know! That’s why we want you, we won’t let you go after what happened to her, we want you as much and more than we ever wanted her!” He yelled with his crazed eyes and his vein popping on his neck.

He was losing his mind.

“You’re crazy,” you whispered with a trembling voice.

He smirked.

“So are you, we all crazy here,” he sneers, holding and trapping your body against his chest before you could run away.

You squirm in his grasp, screaming, biting his shoulder, crying for help and kicking your legs, but it was pointless. His iron grip on your body didn’t ease at all, standing tall and strong as a rock holding you against his chest with his buff arms, constricting you like a piton snake. You cried so much you ended up hoarse, at some point you felt Jungkook’s hand stroking softly your hair but you ignored him, distracted by the sound of steps behind you.

Your stomach turned with fear and dread by the voice of Jimin.

“Good job Jungkookie, I knew you wouldn’t do the same mistake with this y/n. Let’s bring her back to our home, shall we?” Jimin’s voice sounded too calm and relaxed for your liking, turning your blood ice with primal fear. The flight and fight instincts pounding through your veins.

Jimin was the calm before the storm.

They dragged you to the cottage, forcing you into a chair and tying your wrists and ankles with a thick rope. You look up at them with hatred, feeling hurt and betrayed by Jungkook. The latter averted your eyes, standing behind Jimin.

Jimin dragged another chair across the floor to straddle it, facing you and resting his arms on the backrest without taking his piercing gaze away from you, pinning you under his stare like a predator ready to pounce. You squirm feeling intimidated by his dark eyes boring into you.

“I think we should punish her by keeping her tied up for many, many days. All pretty and bound for us to play as we please, what do you think Jungkookie? Should we?” He asked Jungkook while looking straight into your eyes.

“You can do whatever you want but don’t hurt her,” muttered the traitor.

Jimin smiled like the Cheshire cat.

“Then let’s teach our girl some manners, running away like that from your host is so rude. You’ll learn how to treat us right, how to love us as we love you.” Jimin’s voice was thick with dark emotion, leaning forward to look at you with crazed and angry eyes. His knuckles turned white by how hard he was gripping the backrest of the chair. “Untie her and bring her to our room Jungkookie.” Were his words before Jungkook did as he said, lifting you to carry you to their room as if you weight nothing.

In your way to Jimin and Jungkook room, you watched the Cheshire cat floating outside the window, smirking at you and mouthing the words; I told you.

You were so fucked up, trapped in this world with two delusional men.

But there will be always another day and another chance to escape, you just hope you don’t end up like the other y/n, but maybe that fate is better than to end trapped under their house, for the eternity.

You can read the +18 continuation on Patreon.

Taglist:

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#bangtan fanfic #bts x reader #yandere bts #bts imagines #bangtan fic #bts x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jimin #jimin x reader #jimin bts #bts fanfic

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blindmagdalena · 11 months ago

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Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter two)

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. AO3 | fanfic directory

You’ve been hand-chosen by a god; plucked out of your meager, mundane existence and set delicately into the lap of luxury. Your every need will be met, your every whim and wish made real. By any measure, it’s a dream come true. A life safe from pain, from toil, and from the crushing weight of choice. In exchange, all he asks is that you devote yourself wholly to him.

“What happened?” You ask, voice frayed. Your movements are sluggish, hands rubbing the disorientation from your eyes one at a time.

Homelander catches his own reflection briefly in the mirror across from the bed–making sure he doesn’t have a hair out of place for this crucial meeting–before his gaze moves back to you. “Only the most important day of your life,” he says, feeling as though he’s about to tell someone they just won the goddamn lottery. He watches you rise slowly up into a sitting position, never taking your eyes off of him. He knows that you’re nervous–can smell it on you–but he doesn’t worry himself with that. It’s to be expected initially.

“You just so happen to be the luckiest lady in America,” he tells you, putting on his most charming smile.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, your confusion deepening. He can see the tension in your body rising as well, the pace of your heart lifting to a rabbit-like thrum despite the molasses thick haze of the anesthesia in your system.

He laughs softly, lifting his hands in an encompassing gesture. “I saved you.”

Almost instantaneously, the tense line of your shoulders droops and your eyes soften in a way that erupts a wave of butterflies in his gut. You look nearly ready to fall back into bed with the weight of relief that moves through you, causing you to sway slightly. He feels nearly delirious with the giddiness of the moment, his fingers twitching, itching to touch.

“What do you remember?” He asks, daring to inch closer to you. His hand settles on the bed, fingertips nearly brushing your blanketed knee.

“I remember someone grabbing me. A man. He put a rag over my mouth,” you say, lifting a hand to touch your lips. His gaze drops to follow the movement. He subconsciously licks his own. He’d been such a gentleman while you slept, but that hadn’t stopped him fantasizing. He cannot wait to taste you again. “It smelled like grass or something. I fought, but he was so strong,” you say, a tremble like reverence or fear in your voice. Maybe both.

When you realize that his strength is yours, you’ll never need to fear it–or anything else–ever again.

“And then I blacked out. You saved me from him?” You look up at him with wide, watery eyes and he could almost laugh at how cute you look, cluelessly putting together mismatched pieces of the little puzzle going on in your brain. The breathless wonder in your voice–the way you’re looking at him with such hope–makes his chest swell with pride.

You’re in for a real treat.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, lifting his hand to give your knee a gentle squeeze through the blanket. “That was me,” he says, his smile broad and proud. “What I saved you from was ever stepping foot back in that dingy little apartment of yours again. From that mind numbing mediocrity and the tedium of your mundane little life. I brought you home,” he says, gesturing out to his penthouse with a grand sweep of his arm.

A pregnant pause follows.

He waits, but you still don’t seem to get it. Your heart is thumping wildly with no sign of slowing, and that brief flicker of relief has disappeared entirely, the line of your shoulders drawing back up tight. A twinge of apprehension nestles in his chest.

“Well?” He prompts, his smile faltering. “Say something.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you say, gripping the bedding in tight fists. “You kidnapped me?”

“I didn’t kidnap you, you silly goose,” he half scoffs, half laughs. “I brought you home!” He says again, emphasizing the word ‘home’ as if it will speed along your comprehension. Instead, you look more confused and afraid than ever.

He sighs, dropping his hands down into his lap. “C’mon, you could show a little excitement, yeah? I mean, out of the three hundred and thirty million people in America, I picked you. Those are some fucking insane lottery odds.”

“Picked me for what?” You ask quietly, a rasp in your voice that itches uncomfortably at the back of his neck. You sound ready to cry, which won’t do at all. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

“To be mine,” he says, and while he’s still smiling, there’s an incredulous furrow to his brow.

“Be your what?”

His smile thins alongside his patience. “My–mine, my girlfriend, lover, sweetheart, my-my fucking paramor, whatever you want to call it,” he says, that charming facade slipping as his mounting aggravation with your incomprehension creeps further up his spine.

Where’s your excitement? Where’s your fucking gratitude?

“I don’t even know you,” you say, moving away from him to the opposite side of the bed, sliding onto your feet without ever taking your eyes off of him. You brace your hand on his headboard, steadying yourself.

Homelander stands, taken aback. “Of course you know me. You recognized me instantly!” He says, circling the bed.

For every step he takes forward, you take two back.

He’s bewildered by your response: he’s a goddamn hero, the shining light of providence beaming down on America, and you’re cowering from his approach like he’s some kind of fucking pariah, shrinking back against the mirror when you hit it, cornering yourself.

“You know exactly who I am, and I know you,” he says, uninvited irritation slipping into his voice.

“I know that you like to cook, that you can’t hold your alcohol, and that the best part of your day is the little sweet treat you get yourself after work. You laugh at bad jokes and you watch worse television. Videos about sad animals make you cry, even when they end happy. When you’re depressed you shop online and look at house listings you’ll never be able to afford. I know you, alright? Down to your goddamn skincare routine. So just calm down already.”

Fuck, he needs to reign himself in. He’s gotten too worked up, and you’re stubbornly not calming down at all.

“You’ve been stalking me?” You ask, gaze darting from corner to corner like an animal seeking an avenue for escape. The horror in your voice, in your expression, churns his stomach terribly.

Relax. Relax. Give her a sec. She’ll figure it out, coos a much more confident voice in the back of his mind. He closes his eyes briefly, taking in a slow breath, inhabiting that same confidence.

Everything’s going to be fine.

There’s no other option now.

“It’s–heh–it’s a funny story, actually,” he says, forcefully lightening his tone. He wants you to enjoy this story. Hear the romanticism in it. “I was on patrol, you know, watching for crime, or danger, people in need of saving–I do that a lot–and that’s when I saw you,” he says with a slowly broadening smile, hands lifted towards you like you’re on display. “You were on your way to work, and you handed some homeless guy a box of–”

“John,” you interrupt, staring at him with apprehension.

Homelander’s expression turns stricken, not knowing why you would possibly call him that. In his underlying agitation, he sees flashes of a cramped room behind an enormous door the color of fresh blood. His hands felt so small beating on that terrible door. His throat constricts, and he barely chokes out, “What?”

“John,” you say again, visibly concerned by his reaction. “The man I give food to, his name is John.” Of course it is. As common a gutter name as any.

“Oh,” he says, the muscles in his face tight. It takes him several seconds to recover, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. So, you… Well, I saw you, and you were rushing, working, and you’d come home, rush and work again, and the food, you’d–” Fuck, he’s lost the thread. He feels like he’s coming unspooled, an awkward mess spilled out on the floor. This is not how he wants you to see him.

If only you hadn’t said that fucking name.

He brings his hands up, covering his mouth and nose as he takes in a deep breath, eyes closed. He drops his hands in front of his chest, palms clasped together. He smiles tensely as his eyes open back up. “I’m gonna start over. Hey, hi, I’m Homelander,” he says, slipping into his stage voice without realizing it, speaking the way he would if he was addressing a crowd. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

He splays his hands at that, as if waiting for an applause for his performance. You don’t appear to be of the mind to offer him one.

“Okay… so you have been stalking me,” you say, pressed so tightly against the mirror you might actually crack it. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. You’re just working yourself up now, focusing on the wrong parts entirely. He assumes you’ll be more reasonable when all the adrenaline in your blood wears off. The smell of it on you is terribly sour. “And now you’ve drugged and kidnapped me.”

He lets out a terse breath. “I–mm, I feel like you’re missing the point just a little bit here,” he says through his teeth, heat prickling his neck where his collar touches it, the fabric suddenly growing irritating against his skin. “I was not stalking you. I saw you a few times, and I wanted to meet you. And again, you’re not kidnapped!”

“I’m free to go, then?” You ask, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Yes, obviously,” he laughs, though there’s tension in it. It takes everything in him not to forcibly uncross your arms himself. He much prefers how you looked in sleep, or when he observed you from a distance. This harsh, closed off version of you is making his skin itch. He wishes he could start the take over, the way they do when he’s filming. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Ever seen Paris? Hell, summer in Italy is–”

“Home,” you say. “I’d like to go home, please.”

“Would you-!” His tone is too sharp, too loud, and he cuts himself off, but not before his volume makes you flinch.

He sucks in a breath, bobbing his pointer finger at you. “You-mmm,” he hums, clicking his tongue as he continues to force calm into his voice. “You are home,” he says, giving into his impulse and taking hold of your wrist, tugging your arms out of that tight cross with ease. He pulls you behind him, deciding that if telling won’t work, showing will have to.

Once you see it, you’ll understand. You’ll understand that all of this has been for you.

“Here, look,” he says, throwing open the door to the closet. Your closet. It’s lined with outfits he’s spent the last several weeks choosing for you. Weeks spent finding a balance between your aesthetic and his. You’ll have to match him, of course. He made sure that they compliment his suit while also carrying similarities to the color palettes you’re drawn to.

He spreads his arm towards the display, fingers twitching. “See? Yours. All of it–and whatever else you want,” he says, hyper aware of how delicate your wrist feels in his grasp. You may as well be a bird in his hands, hollow-boned and fragile. “The kitchen, too, it’s yours,” he says, gesturing vaguely off in the direction of it. His attention snaps back to you, laser focused. He gives your wrist a reflexive tug, fighting with himself to keep his own strength at bay.

“I did all of this for you,” he says in a low voice, pinning you with his stare. “Tell me you understand that.”

If there’s an undercurrent of desperation in his tone, he ignores it.

Your eyes are wide and watery, a deer caught in the golden headlights of all that he is. Your breaths come in shallow waves, and the terrible fear that radiates from you makes him want to shake you. Your gaze slides from him to the closet, flitting between the myriad of garments that hang in the closet. All in your size. Some of them are nearly identical to pieces you own, but manufactured by the original designer instead of a cheap knock-off plucked from a department store rack.

And still he can give you so much more. All he asks is that you love him for it.

There’s a tremble running through you. Your throat clicks on a dry swallow, and slowly your attention drifts back to him, sweeping him from head to toe, taking account of him in his entirety for the first time. He tenses. It’s a little strange to be so seen by you, but it feels good, too. He squares his shoulders, wanting you to see the best in him.

“Why me?” You ask quietly, your eyes meeting his. You still look lost, but what he finds endearing is the underlying conviction he sees. You’re always quick to move towards a solution. He likes that about you. He’s not sure what it is that you’ve decided, but it’s clear you’ve made a choice somewhere in your mind.

Because you’re like me.

“Because you deserve it,” he says, drawing you in at the same time he turns his body towards yours. “You’re underappreciated. Undervalued. You’re capable of so much more than the world gives you credit for,” he says, his grip on your wrist flexing. Every one of those glorified pen-pushers at Vought should choke for the way they ignore him, hoisting their agendas onto him while dismissing his ideas. “And you’re lonely.”

Your eyes widen a fraction. Bullseye.

Sensing vulnerability, he moves a step closer, taking hold of your other wrist. He offers both a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to be.”

Neither of us do.

“This is insane,” you whisper, but the inflection of your voice makes it sound like a question. Like you’re considering it. “You’re… You’re Homelander,” you say, as if that should explain everything you hold in your gaze.

And I’m nobody, you must be thinking. Maybe you were once, but no longer. You’ve been elevated in the way only someone chosen by God can be.

“And you’re here. With me,” he counters, his own voice lower now, quieter in the intimately narrow space between your bodies, both hands wrapped around your wrists. There’s a flush crawling up your throat, warming you all the way to your ears. His thumb absently strokes your pulse-point. “Safe. I’m a hero, remember?”

“So, you’re not… going to wear my skin, or eat me?” You ask, voice filled with such dread at the notion he thinks you might have actually believed that was his intention.

He barks a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, first of all, no more Silence of the Lambs for you,” he says, relinquishing his hold on your wrists to slide his hands up your arms, squeezing your shoulders. “Second, no. I’m not going to wear your skin. Or eat you.”

Well… Not like that. He can’t promise he won’t devour you, though. Pin you beneath the weight of his strength–he could keep you down with nothing more than his pinky–put his head between your thighs and trace his name with his tongue until you’re screaming it. The thought makes his cock throb, stiffen. He licks his lips subconsciously, glad for the cover of his cup.

“Okay,” you say, snapping him out of his daydream. “Then you want me to…?”

It seems ridiculous to him that he would still have to explain it. He’ll blame it on the anesthesia.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, taking his hands from your shoulders to motion to the rest of his penthouse. “Cook, don’t cook. Read books, shop, get in arguments on the internet over fictional characters,” he says, swirling his hand in a vague gesture. “Whatever makes you happy,” he says, gaze drifting back to you. All you have to do is do it with me. “Pretty sweet deal if you ask me.” He offers you the sharp edge of a smile, leaving little room for discussion.

You stare at him for a moment that’s too long and too quiet for his liking before your eyes wander, taking in the rest of his room. The balcony beyond the threshold. The mirrors and paintings on the walls, the statues in the corners, the rich dark colors. Everything has been decorated to make the space feel grander, more open. No blank walls. No doors that lock. It’s his home.

And now it’s your home.

“Okay,” you say eventually.

His brows shoot up. “Okay?”

You look back to him, your expression difficult for him to parse. Despite years spent practicing and learning facial expressions–all part of his camera training–he cannot read yours right now. He would be more bothered if he weren’t so distracted by the spark of hope that flares in his chest. “Okay,” you say again, adding a small nod this time.

He exhales a breathy laugh. “Yeah? Yeah! Okay. Alright. Wow, that’s… that’s great,” he says, his grin wide and a touch incredulous. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a sense of suspicion, but his elation smothers it. He had dreaded that you might face an adjustment period, be confused, that there would be tears or anger. You were really starting to get under his skin with all that talk of kidnapping.

As if he were some sort of common thug or criminal, and not a savior.

In his exhilaration, he cups your face suddenly. He feels your pulse spike in his hands, but his focus is solely on your eyes.

“I’m going to make you the happiest woman alive,” he vows with a soft gaze and an eager smile. He leans in close enough to feel your breaths on his lips, tempted to kiss you, but he stops himself. There will be plenty of time for that, and he doesn’t want to remember your first kiss alongside the acrid tinge of your fading fear. His thumbs brush your cheeks, learning the shape of them under his touch.

He’d been wrong when he first took notice of you. You’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he draws away, placing his hands on his hips. “Now… How about we get you a little more comfortable for bed?”

( chapter three )

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander #homelander fanfiction #x reader #my writing #yandere x reader

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