#(i miss him [guy who thinks about him every day voice])

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: You didn't think you'd find someone after your husband of 8 years suggested an open marriage. A few weeks after matching on a dating app, you find yourself swept away on a surprise getaway with none other than Seonghwa: your husband’s boss, and the man who’s been quietly turning your world upside down. The chemistry is undeniable, the tension electric, but you made a promise to be honest with your husband before things go too far. Still... what’s the harm in finding a few loop-holes? If it’s not technically sex, does it really count?

Word count: 13.1K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, a little angst, slow burn, smut (they do something so many times in this chapter lmao sorry i got carried away)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), TEASING, dom Seonghwa, fingering, oral (male/fem receiving), grinding hard (omg i don't know how to explain it, they're literally millimeters from just going at it), lmk if I missed anything! Author's note: I'm in a good mood. And you guys are literally so sweet and supporting, I can not NOT post chapter 2 already!? so here it is! I hope you have an amazing day <3

PART 1

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

You’re not sure how it’s been two weeks.

In some ways, everything feels exactly the same. Same apartment, same unread texts from your husband, same untouched conversation that’s been looming over you like a cloud.

But then there’s Seonghwa.

And somehow, everything feels different.

You talk every day. Constant check-ins, sweet little texts, voice notes when he’s driving, memes he knows will make you laugh. Sometimes he calls at night just to hear your voice before bed. And you don't think you're imagining it, that softness in the way he says your name, the unspoken want in his pauses.

You’ve seen him a few times. Nothing dramatic, no grand dates, just… him. His space. His voice. A mug of tea pressed into your hands. A blanket he tugged tighter around your shoulders without saying a word. Quiet dinners where you talked about the stupidest things, where you teased him until he cracked up, eyes crinkling, hand squeezing your knee under the table like he couldn’t not touch you.

And still, he never pushed. Never asked for more than what you were ready to give.

But that didn’t stop you from kissing him.

You kissed him on his couch after laughing too long at something dumb he said. You kissed him in his hallway when you were saying goodbye and didn’t want to leave. You kissed him once in the middle of a sentence because you couldn’t stop yourself.

Every time, it left you both breathless.

And every time, his hands stayed respectful, cupping your cheek, holding your waist, letting you choose how far. Letting you feel safe.

You don’t think he knows how much that means.

You’re still married. You still wear your ring as a reminder. And even if that feels like a technicality at this point, you haven’t had the conversation. Not the real one. You’ve tried texting your husband more than once, saying you needed to talk. Said you weren’t okay. You meant to say more, but what’s the point when all you get back is a thumbs up or "we’ll talk soon"?

He hasn't been home. He hasn’t asked how you are. You’ve stopped waiting for him to care.

So when your phone buzzes on Friday morning with Seonghwa’s name, you unlock it fast, too fast. Already smiling before you even read it.

Seonghwa: I need you to trust me. Pack a small weekend bag. No heels. Cozy clothes. Something to sleep in. Maybe a swimsuit. Pick you up at 5.

You stare at your phone for a full minute, grinning like an idiot.

You: Is this a kidnapping?

Seonghwa: Yes. But the softest, coziest kind. With snacks.

You: …Fine. I’m in.

Your smile falters, but in the softest way. Your heart melts.

Packing is easy. The hard part is waiting.

You toss in leggings, sweaters, that shirt of his you still haven’t returned. You throw in your swimsuit, mostly because you’re curious. And maybe because you like the idea of his eyes on you. And when you zip the bag closed, you find yourself hoping the quiet weekend isn’t too quiet. That maybe you’ll get to kiss him again, this time in a place where no one else exists but the two of you.

When he picked you up, he had two coffees in a cup holder and your favorite granola bars in the passenger seat. And the second you buckled in, he turned to you, eyes warm and voice soft.

“Hi.”

That it is. Just that one word. And your whole heart melted.

The two hour drive is filled with talking, laughing, and the occasional hand on the thigh from Seonghwa. You don’t know what to expect when he starts driving outside of town and into a wooded area, but when a lovely, aesthetic cabin comes into view, your mouth drops. The inside of the cabin wraps around you like a hug, but Seonghwa’s already moving, dropping both your bags by the coat rack and stretching with a groan that makes his hoodie ride up slightly.

“I should give you the grand tour,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at you with that boyish smile that makes your chest do a weird little skip. “Even though it’s not really grand.”

You follow him through the cabin as he gestures casually, left to a small but cozy guest room, across to the bathroom with a deep old tub and brass fixtures, and then finally his room at the back of the cabin.

“This is mine,” he says, flicking on the light in his bedroom. It’s simple, wooden floors, navy sheets, a stack of books on the nightstand, but it’s very him. Soft and clean, masculine without trying.

You hover by the door. “Feels weirdly like you.”

He chuckles. “That’s either a compliment or you’re calling me boring.”

“Oh, definitely a compliment,” you murmur, eyes scanning the room. “You’ve got good taste.”

“Mm, well, let’s see if that still holds up.”

You raise a brow as he turns and heads toward a door at the end of the hall. “There’s more?”

“It’s technically the basement,” he says, grabbing a light switch and flipping it on, “but it’s my favorite part.”

You follow him down the short staircase, and the moment you step off the last stair, your mouth parts slightly.

The space is warm, not just heated, but glowing. Soft lighting reflects off the water of a wide, in-ground pool, steam rising lazily above it. The air smells faintly of eucalyptus and cedar, and the entire room is surrounded by smooth, stone-textured walls and plush seating tucked into corners. A wall of glass windows looks out into the forest beyond, the trees dark silhouettes in the fading light.

You turn to him, wide-eyed. “You have a pool. In your cabin.”

He shrugs a little, but the corner of his mouth pulls up. “Was kind of a present to my family. First thing I bought when things started going well.”

“Seonghwa.” You step forward and dip your fingers in the water, it’s warm and silky-soft. “We are absolutely coming back down here later,” you say.

He grins. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He watches you a beat longer, something unreadable behind his eyes, then says, “Gonna grab some firewood before it gets too dark. You okay here?”

You nod, but as he heads out, you drift back toward the living room, standing near the wide back windows.

He’s outside now, rolling up his sleeves as he stacks firewood like it weighs nothing. His jaw clenches when he lifts the heavier pieces, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed in focus. It’s almost criminal how good he looks like this. The sky’s turning gold behind him, making his skin glow, casting a soft light through his hair. And you just… stare.

Because this is the same man who ran his fingers gently through your hair on the couch, who kissed your forehead like it meant something, who told you to pack your bag for a weekend away without ever asking for anything in return.

But damn, he’s hot.

He glances toward the window and catches you watching. Raises a brow. Smirks. Doesn’t break eye contact as he sets the last log down and brushes his hands off on his jeans, and God, you feel like your skin is warming faster than the fireplace he’s about to light.

By the time he’s back inside, shaking the cold from his clothes, you’re in the kitchen, pretending you weren’t just ogling him like a teenage crush.

“See something you like?” he says as he walks by, voice low and teasing.

You scoff. “Relax, lumberjack. Just making sure you didn’t freeze to death.”

He grins but doesn’t say anything, just slides up behind you as you start pulling ingredients out of the bag he brought. His arms wrap around your waist loosely, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You cook, right?” you ask, leaning into him just a little.

“I survive,” he answers. “But for you, I’ll follow any recipe you give me.”

The kitchen fills with the soft sounds of chopping and the simmering of sauce, your bodies constantly brushing. He’s touchy in the most subtle ways, hand guiding your lower back as you switch places, fingers brushing yours as he hands you a spoon, lingering way too long when you try to rinse a dish and he steps in just to “help.”

At one point, you drop a piece of onion and groan, bending to pick it up, and he makes a soft, playful noise behind you.

“Dangerous territory,” he mutters.

You glance over your shoulder. “You're in my space.”

He tilts his head, impossibly smug. “It's my cabin.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling, heart full in a way you didn’t expect to happen so quickly again.

And maybe he feels it too, because he kisses your temple again before stepping away to stir the pot.

But underneath it all is the quiet awareness of what hasn’t been said yet. The unspoken weight of your still-husband, and the fact that Seonghwa, for all his charm and sweetness, hasn’t pushed you to talk about it.

So the touches stay light. The kisses stay soft. Neither of you cross that line.

But once the dishes are done, and the fire crackles in the hearth, the cabin feels like a world of its own. 

The pool room is already warm when Seonghwa walks in, steam curling through the air in soft waves. The glow from the underwater lights dances on the ceiling, casting shifting shadows over the stone walls. He moves quietly, setting fresh towels on the bench, lighting a couple of the wall sconces to soften the ambiance. His t-shirt comes off first, then his sweats, revealing black swim trunks that hang low on his hips, and he paces a little, half-distracted as he runs a hand through his hair.

He’s calm until he hears footsteps on the stairs.

When you step into view, wrapped in a towel, his breath catches.

Your fingers grip the edge of the towel a little tighter. You hesitate. The bikini you’re wearing is simple, but it’s more skin than you’ve shown in months, more than your husband ever really looked at, anyway. There's a flicker of hesitation, a flare of insecurity rising uninvited. You almost say something to brush it off, to deflect, but then your eyes find Seonghwa.

And he’s staring.

Not in a way that makes you shrink, but in a way that freezes him in place. Your breath hitches. You glance down and away, trying to ignore the flush creeping up your neck, and drop the towel, stepping toward the pool. You slip into the water, letting the heat rise around your body, washing away a bit of that self-consciousness with it. Seonghwa joins you, smooth and slow, his eyes still lingering.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice smaller than usual, almost embarrassed.

“I know,” he says, not even blinking. “I couldn’t stop if I tried.” His gaze doesn’t flicker. It’s steady, reverent. Like you just knocked the air out of him.

You swim around a bit first, exchanging light, almost flirty conversation. It's relaxed, warm, his presence does that to you. Grounding you, calming that nervous swirl in your chest.

Then, eventually, you stop in the deeper end. You tread water in front of him, breathing just a little heavier than before. Your hands rest on his shoulders, tentative, and he lets you come closer.

Your legs slide around his waist. He catches you easily. Neither of you moves for a beat.

The water sloshes softly around you. His hands settle on your hips, anchoring you, but careful, not grabbing, not pulling. Just holding. You look at him and something in your chest flutters.

“You okay?” he asks softly, eyes scanning your face.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… haven’t worn something like this in a while. Feels weird.”

He tilts his head, fingers brushing your side gently under the water. “You look beautiful.”

You don’t answer, but you lean in, resting your head on his shoulder, enjoying how calming and safe you feel. His hands flex slightly against your hips, like it takes everything in him not to pull you closer. The tension between you simmers. Quiet, patient, but unmistakable. He smells like clean skin and chlorine, his wet hair slicked back, droplets sliding down the strong line of his neck. 

You You don’t meet his eyes at first when you speak. “Can I tell you something kinda… embarrassing?”

That gets his attention instantly. His brows lift, and he leans in slightly, voice warm and gentle. “You can tell me anything.”

You pull back to be able to look into his eyes.

“I’ve only ever been with him. My husband.” The word tastes heavy in your mouth. “I’ve never been with anyone else, and I don’t know… that feels weird to admit.”

He doesn’t flinch. He just blinks once, tilts his head a little. “It’s not weird,” he says, quieter now. “It just means you trusted someone. That’s not a bad thing.”

You bite your lip. “I guess. But now I’m here, with you, and-,” your cheeks grow hot “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know how to be good at this. What if I’m awkward? Or don’t know what you like?”

His hands squeeze lightly at your hips. “You think I’ve been touching you like this because I’m not into it?”

That makes you laugh, and he grins, leaning in just enough that his nose brushes yours. But he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

You glance down at the way your chest rises and falls in your bikini top, the water gliding over your skin. “It’s been a long time since I felt wanted like this. And it’s a little scary, to want something but not be sure how to ask for it.”

Seonghwa’s voice drops, eyes tracing the droplets clinging to your collarbone. “You’re asking just fine.”

His gaze lingers on you, openly, hungrily. His hands are still on your hips, but they inch upward just slightly, thumbs brushing the skin just under the hem of your bikini top. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to want it. The rest we’ll figure out.”

Your breath catches. “I do want something.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours again. “Yeah?”

You press your lips to his cheek. Then his jaw. Then lower, teasing a line down his throat. “I’ve been thinking…” Your voice is practically a whisper now. “It doesn’t count as sex if it’s… other stuff, right?”

He groans, head tipping back. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe,” you murmur against his skin, “but I haven’t had anything in months. You expect me to behave?”

His grip tightens at your waist, and you feel it, the slow, undeniable shift in him.

“You keep grinding on me like this,” he warns, breath uneven, “and I’m not gonna be able to play nice.”

You grind a little harder.

“Oops.”

Seonghwa growls low, then turns swiftly, your back pressing against the warm tile wall of the pool. He doesn’t kiss you right away. He just looks at your parted lips, your damp lashes, the water beading on your chest.

“You’re sure?” he breathes. “No sex. Just this?”

You nod. “Loop-hole.”

He huffs a laugh against your lips, and he finally kisses you. Hungry and hot and messy in the best way. You arch into him, his hands roam freely now, one trailing down to your thigh to hold you in place, the other teasing along your side.

And then he drops lower.

He doesn’t hesitate, not even a second.

Seonghwa shifts your weight in his hands, lifting you like it’s nothing. The warm water laps at your thighs as he sets you gently on the smooth tile ledge that curves around the inner rim of the pool, half in, half out of the water. Your calves stay submerged, but the rest of you is gloriously exposed, slick with heat and nerves and want.

Your breath hitches. You’re not used to being seen like this. Vulnerable, bared, soaked in every way possible, but his eyes never leave yours.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, hands still on your thighs, thumbs stroking gently back and forth. “You tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

Your fingers curl against the tile. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s all it takes.

The second you nod, breathless, trembling, your thighs already spread for him on the edge of the tile, Seonghwa dives between your legs like he’s been dying to breathe you in. He pushes your bikini bottoms to the side and when his mouth finally meets you?

It’s filthy.

A guttural groan leaves his throat the second his tongue makes contact. Dragging through your folds like he’s savoring a rare delicacy. Deep, slow, deliberate. He doesn’t just taste you; he devours. He laps at your cunt like a man starved, tongue dipping in and out with obscene precision, like he’s memorizing every part of you by feel.

Your hands shoot to the tile behind you, head falling back against the damp stone as your thighs instinctively try to close, but Seonghwa growls and grabs your thighs with a bruising grip, holding you wide open.

“Don’t hide from me,” he rasps, voice wrecked and wet. “You gave this to me. I’m gonna take all of it.”

He buries himself in you, face pressed so deep you can barely breathe from the feeling. His nose nudges your clit, tongue sliding through your soaked heat, and he groans into you like you’re feeding something dark in him. You feel the vibration all the way through your spine.

“Fuck, Seonghwa-” you gasp, your voice wrecked, barely above a whisper. “I- I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, not even pausing. “You’re gonna fucking come for me, and then I’m gonna keep going. I wanna hear how beautiful you sound.”

His hands slip beneath your ass, dragging your body closer, tilting your hips so he can really taste you, and then his mouth locks on your clit.

And he doesn’t stop.

He sucks it between his lips like he’s addicted, swirling his tongue, then flattening it, then flicking fast and filthy until your legs are shaking, your moans are spilling uncontrolled, and your fingers are desperately gripping at his wet hair.

His eyes flick up to watch you come undone, and the look on his face is wild. His mouth is soaked, his jaw flexing with how hard he’s working you, but he doesn’t stop. Not when your thighs begin to tremble. Not when your voice breaks in a moan. Not even when you cum with a sob, practically screaming his name.

He pulls back slowly, lips glistening, eyes locked on you with nothing short of adoration and something far more possessive.

“That,” he pants, voice low and full of heat, “was fucking divine.”

You’re breathless, shaking, completely undone.

And he? He just smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice smug and dark as he stands in the water, towering over you. When he kisses you, it’s slow. Deep. His hand cradles the side of your face like you’re something breakable, even after what he just did to you.

You taste yourself on his tongue, but you don’t pull away.

You kiss him back harder.

Because it’s not just filthy.

It’s intimate.

“I’m lost for words.” You say, panting and trying your best to catch your breath.

He looks deep into your eyes with a smile and says; “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.” 

***

The smell of coffee drifts into the cabin bedroom before anything else.

You stretch beneath the soft duvet, your body still humming with the aftershocks of last night. Every inch of you feels different, warm, electric, awake in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. You roll over, expecting to see him there beside you, but the space is empty. Still warm.

And then you hear him in the kitchen. The low sound of a cupboard closing, a quiet curse when something clatters, the faint hum of music from his phone. It makes your heart flutter for no good reason at all, just the image of him out there, shirtless and half-awake, trying to make breakfast like it’s something you’ve always done together.

You wrap the sheets around yourself and pad out to the kitchen.

Sure enough, he’s standing by the stove in a pair of sweatpants, hair messy and damp from a quick shower, one hand stirring something in a pan while the other scrolls his phone, probably checking a recipe.

He glances up the second he senses you. And when he sees you still wrapped in his sheets, skin kissed with leftover waterline marks and sleep in your eyes, he grins. Slow, soft, too fond for someone who’s only seen you for a few weeks.

“Mmm,” he hums, eyes trailing over you. “That’s a good look on you.”

You smile, tugging the fabric a little tighter around your chest. “So is that,” you say, gesturing at the way the waistband of his pants rides low, revealing the curve of his V-line. He doesn’t even flinch at the comment, just raises an eyebrow, like he knows what he’s doing to you.

You walk over to him, slipping behind the counter and stealing a peek into the pan. “What are we making?”

“Scrambled eggs,” he says, “but I’m winging it.”

“Dangerous,” you tease. “Let me help.”

He moves aside without protest, but not without brushing against you as he does, his bare chest ghosting your shoulder, his hand resting briefly at the small of your back. 

You make the eggs while he butters the toast. At some point, he leans in to steal a kiss at your temple. It’s sweet, until his fingers skim your hip beneath the sheet, slow and deliberate. You look up at him, your breath catching. His eyes are darker now, the atmosphere suddenly thick again.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you say quietly, “and I’ll burn the eggs.”

He only smirks. “Burn them, then.”

It doesn’t matter that you’re just making breakfast. Every second feels like foreplay. Eventually, you sit together at the kitchen island, knees brushing. He makes a show of complimenting your eggs, teasing you about how domestic this all is. The whole thing feels… too good. Too easy. And you’re both very aware of it.

At one point, he leans back in his chair and studies you, like he’s committing you to memory, like he wants to trace every line of your smile and lock it away.

“You’re different today,” he murmurs, voice soft.

You shrug, suddenly shy under his gaze. “So are you.”

He reaches over, thumb brushing your cheek. “In a good way?”

“In a really good way,” you say. And you mean it.

Because even with all the heat between you, even with how badly you want to climb onto his lap and pick up where last night left off, there’s something sweeter here, too.

Like maybe this isn’t just heat. Maybe it’s something more.

The day has been blissfully quiet, a perfect mix of soft sunlight streaming through the windows and the warm, fresh air of spring. After breakfast, you and Seonghwa take a slow walk down to the lake, the tension between you two still palpable, but there's a sense of ease too. 

Later that afternoon, you played cards on the couch. He was terrible at it. Mostly because he couldn’t concentrate.

“I think you’re cheating,” he accused, narrowing his eyes at you.

“I think you’re a sore loser,” you shot back, grinning.

He lunged for your cards, and you yelped, scrambling away, laughing. He tackled you into the cushions and tickled your ribs until you screamed. Then everything shifted. Suddenly he was on top of you, your legs tangled with his. His breath fanned across your lips. His hands, once playful, were now still. Firm. Intentional.

He looked down at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Then his voice dropped. “Kiss me.”

You did.

It wasn’t soft this time.

It was desperate.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, palms flat against your stomach, and you arched into him without thinking.

Your hips rocked.

His jaw clenched.

And just when it got too hot, when you were seconds away from completely unraveling again, you broke the kiss.

“Stop,” you whispered, breathless. “We can’t.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes shut tight. “I know. But god…”

You rolled onto your side, pulling him with you, your bodies still flush. “This is torture.”

“Sweetest kind,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder. “But I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

He always knew what to say.

The cabin is warm, the fire crackling quietly as you and Seonghwa lay tangled together on the couch. His arm is around your waist, your head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, both of you half-asleep, breathing in sync. The quiet, the closeness, it’s almost too good to be real. You feel his heartbeat under your cheek, steady and slow, and let your eyes drift shut.

Until your phone buzzes against the coffee table.

You freeze for a second, not wanting to move, but Seonghwa's arm loosens slightly. His eyes stay closed. Thinking he’s still asleep, you carefully slip away and pad into the kitchen, grabbing your phone.

When you see the caller ID, your stomach twist.

Husband.

You answer anyway, voice low.  "Hey… yeah, I'm gone for the entire weekend..." You lean back against the counter, glancing over your shoulder at the couch. Seonghwa hadn’t moved. "Well, how was I supposed to know that you'd be home? You didn't tell me..." you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. Light.

Seonghwa opens his eyes, sitting up slowly. He rubs his hand over his face once before pushing himself off the couch and walking quietly toward the kitchen where he hear you talking. He stops in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame.

You don’t see him. You’re facing the counter, head bowed slightly, twirling the hem of your hoodie between your fingers as you talk.

"Alright... yeah... mhm..." Your voice is too polite. Too... detached.

He can tell it’s him.

Your husband.

Of course it is.

Seonghwa’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to be reminded. But he can’t tear himself away from the sight of you, standing there, trying to sound okay.

"Wait, really?" you say, surprise flickering in your tone. Seonghwa’s brow furrows. You give a soft laugh, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"No, I'd love to, I just, yeah..." Another pause. Another sigh. "Alright... okay... have fun... love you..." you say softly, out of habit more than anything else. Seonghwa’s hands curl into fists at his sides.

You hang up and stand there for a second, phone still in your hand, like you need to collect yourself. When you finally turn around, you’re startled a little at the sight of him. Your mouth opens, maybe to explain, maybe to apologize, but Seonghwa shakes his head lightly. No need.

You tuck your phone into your hoodie pocket and give him a weak smile. "Husband" you say, voice almost too casual.

He doesn’t move, just tilts his head, waiting.

"He... he called to tell me about the upcoming company dinner," you say. "He wants me to go with him like last year."

For a moment, Seonghwa doesn’t respond. Just blinks at you slowly, processing. You see it, how he didn’t expect that. How it threw him off.

"He does?" he finally says, his voice low, unreadable.

You nod, hugging yourself a little. "Yeah. Guess he forgot to tell me before," you joke, trying to laugh it off. "He said it’ll look good if I’m there."

Seonghwa’s heart twisted.

Look good.

Not because he misses you. Not because he wants to share the evening with you. Because it will look good.

"She’s coming too, I’m imagining" you add, tossing it out like it doesn’t matter that your husband’s girlfriend would be in the same room as you. Like it doesn’t tear something inside you open.

Seonghwa’s jaw ticked.

You hurry to fill the silence. "It’s fine. I mean-, it’s not like I didn’t expect it, right? It's just a dinner. No big deal."

But it is a big deal. And you’re a terrible liar.

You keep rambling. "Honestly, it’s probably good. It might make it easier, or whatever. Seeing them in the same room together, maybe it’ll help me... you know, feel better about everything." Your laugh cracks at the edges. You tuck your hair behind your ear, blinking hard. A moment of silence spread between you, letting you mind do horrible things to you. “Can I ask you a question?” your voice is barely above a whisper.

His voice is soft, warm with understanding. “Always.”

You don’t mean to ask it, but it slips out anyway. “Do they look good together?”

Even Seonghwa seems caught off guard. He doesn’t answer, not with words. But the way his expression falters, the way his eyes search yours… it’s enough.

Regret hits instantly. You let out a dry laugh and shake your head. “Right. Stupid question. You can’t answer that.”

You rub your hand down your face, trying to gather yourself, trying to make it easier by asking again, differently. “Do they… act like a couple at work?”

He hesitates. Thinking. Choosing words that won’t hurt more than they have to.

“Not at first,” he says, his voice measured, careful. “It was… gradual. The kind of closeness people notice but don’t talk about.”

You exhale, eyes closing.

“I didn’t want to assume anything in the beginning,” he continues. “She’s friendly with a lot of people. And I try not to get involved in anything that doesn’t concern work.”

You nod. “But it was obvious.”

He pauses. “Enough that I… thought he might’ve been single.”

Something sinks inside you, cold and heavy.

“No ring. No mention of you. He brought her to a few events at work. I didn’t ask questions.”

You swallow, not sure what hurts more. The confirmation, that he doesn’t wear his ring outside anymore or the fact that it makes sense. Of course he would act single at work. That’s part of his charm.

Seonghwa’s expression is gentle, eyes scanning yours like he’s checking for fractures he can’t see.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t want to upset you. If this is too much-”

“No,” you interrupt, voice thin. “I asked. I want to know. I need to.” You stand in silence for a beat, and then you murmur with a broken smile, “But it’s fine. It’s all fine.”

"You don't have to pretend with me," Seonghwa murmured.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Trying not to let the kindness in his voice shatter you completely.

"I'm fine," you whispered.

Seonghwa watches you from across the kitchen. You’re smiling, but he knows better. He sees the way your shoulders curl inward, the way your eyes won’t quite meet his.

"You’re not," he says, just as soft. "And that’s okay."

You glance up, startled, but before you can form a response, he moves toward you, not fast, not forceful, just steady. His hands find your hips with gentle certainty, and he lifts you with ease, setting you down on the counter as if you’re something precious, not breakable.

"Seonghwa-" you start, breathless.

But he’s already there, grounding you. One hand settles gently on your thigh, the other brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His forehead touches yours, and he just breathes with you for a moment. He stays close but doesn’t move further. His forehead drops lightly to yours, his palms warm against your thighs.

"Look at me," he says, voice low, like he’s scared to spook you. His voice is soft but sure. "I don’t want you pretending you’re fine around me." He leans in. "You feel whatever you need to feel," he murmur, voice thick with emotion, “I’m here. I’ll hold you through it. For as long as it takes.”

Your fingers tremble as they clutch at the fabric of his shirt. Your voice is just a whisper. “I don’t want to fall apart.”

“Then don’t,” he says gently. “Just lean. I’ll catch the rest.”

You make a soft, broken sound before you can stop yourself. He kisses you, slow, deep, devastating. Not just because he wants you. Because he adores you.

He breaks the kiss only to press a featherlight one to your cheek. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth. Each one slower than the last, reverent, like he’s tracing the pieces of you he’s afraid might slip away.

"You want me to take your mind off it?" His mouth brushes just beneath your ear, not suggestive, not rushed, just offering.

You blink at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Only if you want to," he murmurs. "Only if you need it."

You nod before you could second-guess yourself, fingers curling into his shirt.

"I want you," you breathe.

Relief floods his features, softening the tension in his jaw. He kisses you like he had all the time in the world to love every part of you. His hands slide up your sides, mapping you like a man learning his favorite song by heart. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your jawline, the shell of your ear, soft, worshipful kisses that leave your skin burning.

"You’re everything," he whispers, pressing his lips to your throat. "You don't even see it, do you?" He kisses a path lower, murmuring against your skin, his hands skimming down your sides to the waistband of your leggings.

He pauses, looking up at you again.

You nod, heart hammering.

Slowly, carefully, he peels them down, helping you kick them away. His palms roams back up your bare thighs, rough and warm.

His fingers trace along the seam of your underwear, teasing the edges, making you squirm. He drags a single finger up the center. Slow and deliberate, feeling the heat of you through the fabric.

"So fucking soft," he mutters under his breath, almost reverent. When he finally eases your panties to the side and slid two fingers through your folds, he curses under his breath. "Fuck," he groans, forehead falling against your shoulder. "You’re gonna ruin me."

He kisses your throat, your collarbone, the dip of your neck, worshiping every inch of you while his fingers find your clit, stroking it slowly and carefully. Drawing circles, light and teasing at first, just to feel you shake.

You whimper, your hips jerking toward his hand, desperate for more.

He smiles against your skin.

"Patience, my love," he whispers. "I wanna savor you." 

A slow, steady glide of his fingers, spreading your wetness, pressing a little deeper. You whimper, hips twitching, and he kisses you again, swallowing every sound like he can’t get enough of you. One finger slides inside you, stretching you deliciously, the heel of his hand rubbing steady against your clit. He moves carefully, gently, but there is a hunger beneath it.

"You have no idea how good you feel," he whispers against your throat, his voice breaking.

Another finger presses in, a little rougher this time, and your mouth falls open in a gasp, and he kisses it, swallowing every sound. He starts a slow rhythm, steady, deliberate thrusts of his fingers, curling just right, dragging sweet friction along your walls. The wet sounds fill the kitchen, obscene and beautiful.

Your head drops back, a soft moan escaping you, and he kisses your throat, licks at your pulse, holding you steady as your body starts to tremble. His fingers work deeper, faster, rougher but never cruel, like he wanted to drag every ounce of pleasure from you, like he needed to prove to you what you deserved.

You whimper, rolling your hips into his hand. He groans low in his throat, as if the pleasure you’re feeling feeds his own.

"That's it," he whispers, pressing kisses along your cheek, your temple. "Take what you need, baby. I’m right here."

He presses his thumb against your clit again, this time firmer, drawing slow, perfect circles as his fingers thrust deeper inside you. Your hands clutches at his shoulders, digging into his muscles, and he lets out a low moan, loving the way you hold onto him.

"That’s it," he says, kissing your ear. "Let go for me, baby. Give it to me."

You can’t hold it anymore. When he angles his fingers just a little differently, brushing against that devastating spot inside you, it breaks you.

Your orgasm builds like a tidal wave, overwhelming and sharp, and when it finally hits, you sob his name, shaking violently against him. He keeps fucking you with his fingers, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body, kissing you desperately the whole time.

"You’re fucking perfect," he whispers between kisses, voice raw with it.

He slowly eases his fingers out of you, kissing you breathless while his hands smoothed up and down your thighs to soothe the tremors. He doesn’t rush it, doesn’t push for anything more.

He just kisses you, adores you, holds you like you were the only thing in his world. "You’re mine here," he murmurs, voice rough, mouth hot against your skin. "Only mine."

The world outside the cabin didn’t exist anymore. No husband. No company dinner. No expectations. Just Seonghwa, tasting you, touching you, worshiping you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

And you can’t get enough of him.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of soft touches and easy laughter. You don’t talk about anything serious, don’t need to. Instead, you lounge together on the couch, stealing lazy kisses. You walk barefoot through the woods behind the cabin, the air fresh and cool, your hand tucked tightly into his. When night falls, you both end up tangled under a blanket by the fire, the room warm and golden, his heartbeat steady against your ear.

Eventually, sleep starts pulling at you.

"Come on," he murmurs against your hair. "Bedtime."

You let him lead you to the bedroom, too tired and too comfortable to protest. You don’t even bother changing, you just collapse onto the bed, pulling the covers up with a small, content sigh. Seonghwa climbs in beside you, and the moment you feel the mattress dip under his weight, you shift closer instinctively, pressing your body against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin.

He wraps his arms around you tightly (maybe tighter than he should have) but you only sigh again, relaxed and trusting in his hold. And within minutes, you’re asleep.

But Seonghwa isn’t.

He stays awake, eyes tracing the shape of your face in the dim moonlight seeping through the window. You look so soft, so beautiful, your mouth slightly parted, your brow relaxed. You have no idea. No idea what you’re doing to him. How badly he want to freeze this moment, to stay like this forever.

His fingers brush your back slowly, barely there, memorizing the feel of you. He can smell your shampoo, the faint sweetness of your skin.

You aren’t his. You’re married. Tied to a life he can’t touch, no matter how much he wants to. And he wants to. God, he wants to. He wants to steal you away, keep you tucked against him like this, safe and warm, without the weight of your sadness, without the ache of your pretending.

But he can’t.

He isn’t your husband. He isn’t your first choice. Maybe he will never be.

So he just holds you closer, selfishly. Just for tonight.

He whispers your name against your hair, so quietly you can’t hear it. He presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger far longer than he should have.

And when his chest tightens painfully with everything he can’t say, he closes his eyes and buries his face in your hair, breathing you in like he can keep a part of you with him, even when you eventually slip away.

Because deep down, Seonghwa already knows: You aren’t his to keep.

But he would love you. Quietly, carefully, hopelessly, for as long as he’s allowed.

***

Real life came back like a wave crashing onto the sand. By Monday morning, the cabin already felt like a dream. Something you both clung to a little too long before the world tugged it from your fingers. There were alarms again. Meetings. Responsibilities. But still, he stayed. In every little way he could.

The following week became a quiet dance of stolen moments. Texts during the day, sometimes silly, sometimes tender. Late-night calls that stretched until one of you fell asleep mid-sentence. A few visits squeezed between everything else, a lunch together, a surprise appearance at your door when you least expected it. You lived in your separate worlds, but threads kept tying you back together, weaving something stronger, even if neither of you dared name it yet.

It’s Thursday afternoon when Seonghwa shows up at your work, two iced coffees in hand. He didn’t tell you he was coming. He just wants to see you.

Standing in the lobby, he catches a sight of you through the glass doors. You’re at the front desk, clipboard in hand, speaking to a group of junior employees. Except you aren’t just speaking. You’re commanding - calm, polite, but firm enough that everyone was standing straighter under your gaze.

"No, the Peterson file needs to be signed by the end of day, not tomorrow," you say firmly to one employee, then turn to another. "And double-check the Johnson numbers. I’m not sending anything out with mistakes." There’s no edge to your voice, just clear, confident authority. You’re the kind of person who expects things to get done right, and people respect you for it.

The group nodded quickly before scurrying off. You look completely in control, completely at ease, and it hits Seonghwa in a way he isn’t prepared for.

He shifts his weight, adjusting the cups in his hands, feeling the low, slow burn start in his stomach. Watching you like this; confident, a little strict, completely unbothered. It made something hot and possessive stir in his chest.

Fuck, he thought, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.

Finally, you notice him. You turn, blinking in surprise before your face lights up in a smile.

You cross the floor towards him, walk through the glass doors, your expression softening in a way that made it even harder for him to stay composed. "You," you say, stopping in front of him, a breathless little laugh escaping, "are not supposed to be here."

"Couldn't help myself," he says, offering you one of the coffees. His fingers brush yours, and it’s ridiculous how much even that made his chest tighten. "You looked like you needed rescuing."

You laugh again, bumping your shoulder lightly into his. "Thanks," you say, sipping your drink with a low, satisfied sigh that just about broke him. "Seriously. Today’s been hell."

He stares at you for a second longer than necessary. "You’re killing it, though. Watching you just now..." He lets the words trail off, his voice dipping a little lower, his eyes dragging down to your mouth before flicking back up. "You’re very…" His voice trails off, then he gives a quiet chuckle. "Efficient."

But the way he says it, the way his jaw tightens just slightly, makes it very clear that isn’t the word he is thinking.

You cock your head innocently. "You okay there?"

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. "I'm fine. Perfect." Only he doesn’t look perfect at all. 

And you definitely notice.

You sip your coffee, pretending not to see the way his eyes linger on you a beat too long. You smile sweetly. "You sure? You look a little… tense."

His mouth twitches, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. But he only hums low in his throat and says, "Busy morning." His hand tightens around his own cup for a second before he quickly hides it behind a sip.

You turn and walk away, tossing a look over your shoulder like a lure. And sure enough, Seonghwa follows. He catches up to you just as you slip through a doorway into a smaller side room, deserted this time of day.

"You shouldn't," he says, shutting the door behind him.

"Shouldn't what?" you ask, wide-eyed and fake-innocent.

"Shouldn’t look at me like that." His voice is already cracking at the edges, walking slowly towards you with dark eyes. "Shouldn't tempt me when you know exactly what you're doing."

You shrug, looking up at him like he’s speaking nonsense. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." you whisper, all wide eyes and fake innocence. You lean up, slightly tip-toeing to place the softest kiss on his lips, barely even touching him.

You smile against his mouth, slow and deliberate, feeling how tense every muscle in his body is like he’s fighting an invisible war.

“Poor thing,” you whisper teasingly, dragging your fingers lightly up his chest, feeling the way his heart slams against his ribs. “You looked so composed out there. All that self-control…”

Seonghwa lets out a low, broken sound when you roll your hips slowly against him, barely brushing where he’s hardest. His head falls back in agony, but he doesn’t touch you yet. Can’t. If he did, he knows he’d lose it.

“Don’t test me,” he grounds out, voice a low warning, but there’s no real threat behind it. Only desperation.

His breath hitches hard, his hands finally snapping up to catch your wrists and pin them lightly against the wall above your head, firm, not rough. 

His mouth crashes into yours, messy and starving, hands still holding your wrists pinned. Every movement is frantic and tender all at once, like he’s trying to show you what you do to him without crossing the line.

But somehow, he pulls back. Chest heaving. Heart pounding.

"I can't," he whispers, like it physically hurts him. "You deserve better than me losing my mind over you in some office." Seonghwa lets go of your wrists and brushes your hair back, his hands gentle now, lingering, almost reverent.

"You’re gonna be the death of me," he whispers, finally pulling back just enough to look at you properly. "I should…" he starts, voice hoarse, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I should get back soon. I have some meetings to prepare for."

You nod, pretending to sip your coffee again, trying to ignore how hard your heart is hammering against your ribs.

“So... the company dinner is on Saturday,” you say, your voice casual, but he could sense the slight tension behind your words. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

His lips quirkes in a soft smile, but his eyes stay gentle. "Yeah, I’ll see you there." He pauses for a moment, letting the silence linger between you two, before he adds, "But, I know it’s not going to be easy for you. I’ll be here, it’s up to you when you need me, yeah?”

You nod, the simple reassurance settling somewhere deep inside. 

“You’ll handle it like you always do,” he says, his voice almost like a promise. “Just…” He pauses, his words weighing a little heavier now. “If you need to talk or vent or even just distract yourself, I’m not going anywhere.”

You can feel the sincerity in his words, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to lean into them, feeling that small spark of comfort. But you also knew that Saturday will come with its own set of challenges, ones neither of you can ignore.

“Thank you,” you say softly, “I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

Seonghwa hesitates before a small smile plays on his lips. “Can’t wait to see you.” He leaves a soft kiss on your lips before you both leave the room.

Seonghwa steps out of the building, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as the cool spring air hits him. He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head, but all he can see is the way you looked at him in that small room. The way your eyes darkened, how your lips parted ever so slightly like you were daring him to lose control.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through the weekend. Saturday was going to be fucking torture.

Seonghwa steps into the elevator, the cold glass walls reflecting his composed expression as the doors close with a soft chime. As the elevator descends, the doors suddenly open on the floor above, and in walks your husband. 

The man who had promised to love and protect you, who had chosen to disregard you for the company of another woman. Seonghwa’s jaw tightens. 

He could see right through your husband and his intentions. Why he wanted to open up your marriage. Why he convinced you seeing other people was a good idea. He was doing this for no one but himself. He didn’t care about your future together, he just wanted to screw around without feeling guilty.

Your husband’s smile is too wide, a little too confident.

"Mr. Park," your husband says, his smile a little too smug for Seonghwa’s liking. "It’s been a while."

Seonghwa nods curtly, his lips twisting into a polite, controlled smile. "Yes, it has."

The elevator jolts briefly as it continues its descent, and Seonghwa can feel the tension building between them, unspoken but thick in the air. Your husband isn’t aware, of course. He’s too wrapped up in his own world, too comfortable in his position.

"Have you been well lately?" the husband says, his voice slightly offhand but probing. "I haven’t seen you much."

Seonghwa can’t help but smirk. He can’t help but think of the way you call his name so desperately, the way your body responds to his every touch. 

Instead of responding directly to that comment, Seonghwa lets a small, knowing smile flicker across his lips. "I’ve been preoccupied," he says smoothly, his voice low. "Had a lot on my hands."

The elevator jerks slightly, making the conversation shift just a little. 

With a cool smile, Seonghwa turns toward him, his tone dripping with polite curiosity. “So, are you bringing your wife to the company dinner on Saturday?”

Your husband looks at him with a raised brow, clearly not realizing how pointed the question is. “Of course, I think she could use some time out of the house,” He gives a smug little chuckle, clearly feeling proud of himself. “My wife’s always at home,” he repeats like it was some inside joke. “I think I owe her to spend some time with her..”

Seonghwa fights back the grimace forming on his face. The way your husband speaks about you like a joke, a thing to be handled or dealt with. Seonghwa can’t stand it. 

He takes a deep breath, his hands casually resting at his sides as he turns his gaze back toward your husband, locking eyes. “Right,” Seonghwa says, his voice steady, controlled, almost too polite. “I’m sure she’ll be a sight to see.”

As the elevator doors open to Seonghwa’s floor, he takes one last glance at your husband. “I’ll see you at the dinner,” Seonghwa says, his words cold, his expression cool as he steps out.

The husband nods. “See you then, Mr. Park.”

But as the elevator doors closed behind him, Seonghwa’s mind was already back on you. On how you moan his name in the quiet of the cabin, how you came undone beneath his touch. He wonders if your husband has ever been able to make you feel that way.

Seonghwa knew the answer.

***

The ballroom is already alive with chatter and the clink of glasses when you arrive. You hold onto your husband's arm, letting him guide you through the doors, even as your stomach twisted itself into knots.

The room is elegant, bathed in warm lights that bounced off the champagne flutes and silverware. Laughter rises from different corners, easy and polished. You pass on your best smile, falling into the practiced rhythm of it all.

You mingle for a while, polite small talk with your husband's coworkers, nodding along as he introduces you around. It’s almost easy, almost. You let him guide you in, your heels clicking over the marble floors, the soft hum of chatter rising around you like a tide.

You smile easily when necessary, playing your part, his polished, perfect wife. But the second you feel a shift in the air, you know. You don’t have to look to know Seonghwa has arrived.

When you finally let yourself look, there he is. Seonghwa moves through the crowd like he owns it. His black suit is perfectly tailored, the crisp white shirt underneath open just enough at the collar to suggest he isn’t as buttoned-up as he pretends to be. His hair, artfully tousled, is just messy enough to hint at how easily he can come undone.

Your breath stutters. He’s all sharp lines and quiet fire, heartbreakingly beautiful, dangerous in the best way.

You watch him, barely breathing, as he slips through clusters of people, smiling, exchanging greetings. Until his eyes finds yours.

A second, no more. But it’s enough.

Heat licks up your spine.

You look away first, pretending to adjust the strap of your dress on your shoulder, willing the blush crawling up your neck to stay hidden. It doesn’t matter. You can still feel him watching you.

You mingle for a few more minutes, caught in some lazy conversation about vacation homes and quarterly reports, when you feel another ripple, closer now. 

Seonghwa is joining your circle.

"Mr. Park!" one of the men says warmly, reaching to clap him on the back. "Glad you made it."

Seonghwa offers a practiced smile, but when his gaze slides briefly to you again, it softens. Just a fraction, before he tucks it away.

Professional. Perfect. Lethal.

Your husband, oblivious, tugs you a little closer against his side, his hand slips familiarly over your hip.

"Babe," he says, smiling, "you remember my boss, Park Seonghwa?"

You turn, offering a smile so polite it feels like a mask. "Of course," you say lightly, extending your hand. "We met at last year’s dinner."

Seonghwa’s fingers close around yours, warm and steady. But his thumb drifts, just barely, over your knuckles. It’s the softest touch, fleeting enough to pass for nothing.

But you feel it. And he knows you do.

"I remember," he says, voice even, with just the faintest undertone that makes something low in your belly tighten. “Nice to see you again.”

He steps back politely, turning to engage someone else in conversation, and you pretend to listen in as well, nodding where appropriate. It’s almost effortless, this performance you’ve both slipped into, two people with nothing in common but a forgettable introduction at a company event. Except for the way your body is suddenly too aware of his presence. The faint scent of his cologne. The way his shoulder moves when he shifts. The tiniest curve of a smile when he senses you glance his way.

You try to be distant. Be in the moment with your husband. View Seonghwa as a polite acquaintance. But your skin tingles. Your body betrays you.

Because when you're alone with Seonghwa, there's nothing careful about him. When it’s just the two of you, he doesn’t look at you like this, distant, indifferent. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that exists. His hands aren’t steady and restrained; they’re greedy, reverent. When he touches you, it’s with purpose, with heat, with worship. He traces your collarbone with his mouth like it's a map he’s memorized. He drags his lips down your spine like he’s praying. His voice isn't calm then. It's wrecked. Raw. And it’s only for you.

The memory makes your thighs shift, pressing together subtly. You blink yourself back to the moment as he turns away to greet someone else, perfectly composed. A phantom smile plays at his lips like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Then your husband shifts beside you again, dragging you in closer, thumb making small, familiar circles against your hip. Your spine straightens slightly, not from discomfort, but from how sharply aware you are of Seonghwa’s eyes flickering in your direction. Just for a second. Controlled, unreadable. But you know him now, too well, and you catch the subtle set of his jaw, the way his breath comes slower, steadier, like he’s keeping something under control.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t react. He nods at the right times, smiles when expected. But there’s something charged beneath his calm exterior. A restraint that hums quietly under every breath you both take.

No one else notices. But you do. And he knows you do.

You barely survived the first ten minutes. And the night had only just begun. 

You and your husband move through the crowd, chatting idly with some of his colleagues. It's polite, surface-level stuff, nothing that makes your heart beat faster. Your eyes keep darting to Seonghwa, who is now across the room, talking to a group of people. But it's your husband who finally draws your attention back to the situation at hand.

His voice breaks through your thoughts, an edge of casualness you don’t quite trust.

“Oh, and this is… well, you probably know her already.” He gestures towards the woman beside him, who flashes a smile that you can’t help but feel is too bright, too rehearsed.

Her. His girlfriend.

Your husband’s words hover in the air, unspoken but clear, as though it’s just a natural thing. "My girlfriend". But he doesn’t need to say it for you to understand. He doesn’t need to make it official when the meaning is already obvious in his tone, the way his hand rests a little too possessively on her lower back.

She’s taller, prettier than you would have imagined, and the first thing you notice is the way she’s looking at him. The adoration, the way her eyes soften. You feel a tug in your chest, a quiet pain that you try to ignore. But it’s there. It’s always there.

She extends a hand, and you take it, forcing a smile. "Nice to meet you." you say.

Her grip is firm. She’s confident. She’s everything your husband seems to want right now.

"Of course. I’ve heard so much about you," she says, the words warm, but the slight edge makes your stomach churn. She looks at your husband with a teasing glint in her eye, but you notice how her gaze flickers toward you, assessing.

As they stand there, chatting, you feel the smallest stir of discomfort in your chest. You want to look away, but you can’t. And maybe you’re just imagining it, but it feels like Seonghwa is watching you from across the room, his eyes fixed on you like he can sense the unease in the air.

Just as you're lost in the tension building between you, a voice calls out from behind. It's one of your husband's colleagues, reminding everyone to take their seats for dinner. As you take your seat, you instinctively glance around, seeking any form of solace in the crowd. And then, your phone buzzes in your bag, breaking through the fog of discomfort in an instant.

You glance down at the screen, your heart skipping a beat when you see the familiar name.

Seonghwa: Are you okay?

The simplicity of his message stirs something in you. Just seeing those words, knowing he's thinking of you, makes the tightness in your chest ease, just for a moment. You take a deep breath, heart hammering in your chest, but you can't help but smile at the message.

You: I'm fine. Just a little distracted.

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. There’s a part of you that wishes you could confide more, tell him exactly what’s running through your mind, but you hold back, not wanting to let everything spill out in a text.

Just as you're about to lock your phone and tuck it away, the screen flashes with a new message from him.

Seonghwa: I’m here if you need me. Don’t forget that. ❤️

Seonghwa isn’t placed near you. Of course not. He is several tables over, seated with executives and higher-ups. But you can feel him. God, you can feel him across the room like a second heartbeat.

You catch his eyes once, mid-conversation, and it’s like the air thickens between you. His gaze dips for a split second, dragging over you before lifting again, back to his polished, unreadable facade.

You quickly look away, cheeks burning.

Dinner is served. Conversation at your table buzzing with casual energy: talk about vacations, investment portfolios, harmless gossip about coworkers. Your husband is in his element, laughing too loud, talking to a specific woman close to him and pouring more wine into his glass than he probably should.

Meanwhile, you barely hear a word.

You pick at your food, your appetite gone. Across the room, you feel the weight of his stare.

When you risk another glance, he’s watching you again. His fingers drumming lightly against the side of his glass, a slow, restless rhythm. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip as he listens to the person next to him, eyes still locked on you.

Your husband nudges you, laughing about something you hadn’t caught. You give a small, polite smile, pretending to sip your wine.

The night drags on. Courses are served. Toasts are made. The CEO stands up to make a long speech about company growth, partnership, community, all the usual talking points. You clap when appropriate. You smile when you should. But the only thing you feel is the pull.

The memory of Seonghwa. The way he looks at you across the room like he’s already planning exactly how he’d have you again the moment he can. You toy with the stem of your wineglass, letting yourself imagine, just for a second, what it would be like to slip away from this table, to find him in some quiet corner, to let him catch you.

When dessert was finally cleared and the crowd began to loosen with alcohol and relief, you catch Seonghwa rising from his table, jacket slinging lazily over one shoulder as he excused himself.

He gives you a glance. A very telling glance.

You know. You know he is giving you the chance to follow.

Your heart hammers wildly against your ribs. Your husband is mid-conversation with someone else, not even glancing your way. You set your napkin down on the table, slow and careful, pretending to smooth your dress as you stand.

You move carefully, pretending to head toward the restrooms like you had a dozen other times at events like this. No one pays you any mind. Not even your husband, still busy with a drink in his hand and a story on his lips.

But you aren’t going to the restroom.

You slip through the crowd, heart thudding so hard you can barely hear the noise around you. Your heels click softly against the polished floors as you follow the path Seonghwa has taken. Down a quiet hall. Past the coat closet. Around a corner, where the light dimmed and the buzz of the party fades into the background.

And there he is.

Waiting. Like he knew you would come to him.

He stands with his jacket slung over one shoulder, dress shirt immaculate, tie slightly loosened at the throat like he’s only barely containing himself. But it’s his eyes that stops you.

Dark. Starving. Fixed entirely, absolutely, on you.

God, the way he looks at you.

Like you’re some kind of forbidden miracle.

You can see his throat work as he swallows hard, his hand tightening slightly on the jacket. His gaze trails down your body like he couldn’t help it. From your shining eyes to your lips, to the delicate line of your neck, the curve of your waist in that dress that fit you like a secret made just for him.

“You’re too beautiful,” Seonghwa says under his breath, almost like it hurts him. 

You step closer, heart hammering against your ribs.

"You shouldn't have left," you whisper.

He gives a low, ragged laugh. "And you shouldn't have followed."

Finally talking to him after hours of pretending, after meeting your husband's girlfriend, you finally feet like you can breathe. 

A door clicks somewhere nearby and you’re startled. Seonghwa reacts faster, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the nearest door. The small conference room is empty, dim, quiet except for your heavy breathing. He closes the door behind you both, and you stand frozen in the center of the room, trembling, watching the muscles flex in his jaw.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispers, voice rough, almost pained.

Slowly, Seonghwa pushes off the door and approaches you, each step measured but strained, like he’s holding himself back with everything he has.

You lifted your chin slightly, daring him. You can feel it, feel the moment his control cracks. One hand reached up, brushing a lock of hair from your face with agonizing care. His fingers trail down the side of your throat, featherlight, barely touching. You shiver.

"You look like this..." His voice broke. "And you expect me to walk away?"

You smile, sweet and dangerous, tilting your head so his fingers could touch more.

It wrecks him.

With a growl low in his chest, Seonghwa cups your face and kisses you, finally. The kiss hungry and aching and furious all at once. Your hands clutch at his shirt, feeling the hard line of his chest beneath. His hips pins you against the conference table behind you, but he still keeps it controlled. Barely.

He kisses down your jaw, the column of your neck, breathing hard.

"Say the word," he rasp into your skin. "Tell me to stop."

You don’t.

You whimper instead and his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you easily onto the heavy table in the center of the room. The second you’re perched on the edge, he stepped between your spread legs, crowding into your space.

You cling to him, kissing him back with just as much desperation. But then you feel it: the thick, heavy press of him against your thigh, straining against his pants. You pull back just enough to look down.

The outline of him is huge and thick and impossibly hard, the shape of his cock straining at the zipper. So tempting it made your mouth go dry. You stare for a heartbeat too long, your breath catching. 

"Sweetheart," he breathes, almost warningly, but you lift your hand before he can stop you and palms him through his pants. Seonghwa chokes on a moan.

"You're so hard," you whisper, in awe. "You always take care of me," you say softly, your hand stroking him slowly, feeling how big, how impossibly hard he is for you. 

"Fuck," he groans, hips jerking slightly into your hand before he catches himself, caging you against the table with his body. "You're going to kill me."

You smile a little, emboldened by how wrecked he sounds, and kiss the side of his head tenderly.

"Let me make you feel good," you murmur against his hairline.

For a moment, it seems like he might resist, like he might be too strong. But then your fingers give a slightly firmer stroke, and Seonghwa whimpers against your throat, a raw, broken sound he can’t hold back.

You slide the zipper down carefully and push his pants down just enough.

Your breath hitches.

Seonghwa is thick, his cock straining hard against the black fabric of his briefs. A wet patch already darkening the front where he’s leaking for you.

You brush your knuckles up the length of him, feeling how hot and real he is under the thin barrier. Seonghwa’s head tips back, his throat working around a broken moan. Emboldened, aching for him, you slide your fingers under the waistband and free him. His cock springs out into your hand. Flushed deep red at the tip, thick veins running down the heavy shaft, already leaking beads of clear precum that drips onto your fingers.

You barely manage to wrap your hand around him, he’s so thick your fingers don’t even meet. Seonghwa curses under his breath, his hips twitching forward into your hand.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "look what you do to me."

You give a shy, wicked smile and stroke him slowly from base to tip, feeling the way he jerks in your palm. So sensitive, so desperate.

But you want more than just to touch him. You shift on the table, spreading your thighs wider.

The wet heat between your legs was unbearable. Your panties completely soaked, sticking to every contour of your cunt, leaving nothing to the imagination. 

Slowly, deliberately, you use the head of his cock to brush against your clothed folds. He hiss between his teeth as you guide him, dragging the swollen tip up and down your slit, the slick heat of you soaking through the thin barrier of lace. The contrast of the rough, leaking tip against your swollen clit made you gasp, hips bucking up into him.

Seonghwa's fingers dug into the table, muscles straining, trying so hard not to just lose control and shove into you. 

"You’re so fucking wet," he groan, his voice wrecked. "I can feel it through the fabric. God, you’re ready for me, aren’t you, my love?"

You nod, breathless, rocking your hips forward so his cock slid along the seam of your panties, right over your aching clit. Every pass made your head spin.

And then, without warning, he shifts his hips, pressing the swollen head of his cock right against your entrance.

You gasp, clutching at his shoulders.

He pushes forward just a fraction, just enough to feel the desperate clench of your body trying to pull him in, but the soaked fabric of your panties holds him back, stopping him from sinking inside. It’s so hot, so thick, stretching you in ways you’ve never felt before, and he hasn’t even really entered yet.

"Fuck," he whispers harshly, grinding himself against your entrance with slow, dangerous rolls of his hips. "You’re gonna feel so fucking good wrapped around me."

Your panties stretched taut between you, the thin barrier rubbing against your clit, your folds, trapping the thick heat of him perfectly against your neediest parts.

"You want me to tear these off and fuck you right now, don't you?" he rasp, voice wrecked with restraint. "God, I could just push a little harder, you'd open up for me so easily."

As if to prove it, he gave a slow, brutal grind of his hips, pushing the thick, leaking head of his cock right against your entrance. So firm, so hot, you could feel yourself clenching down around nothing as you moan.

"Feel that?" he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing your skin. "One more inch, baby. One fucking inch, and I'd be inside you. Filling you so deep."

You sob his name, grinding helplessly against him, the rough drag of his cock against your panties and your throbbing clit driving you insane.

Seonghwa chuckles darkly, drunk on the sight of you falling apart for him. "You like teasing yourself with it, don't you? Feel how fucking hard I am for you?"

He rocks his hips again, pressing his entire length against you, up and down, letting the thick vein along his shaft rub right over your most sensitive spot. 

"You're gonna cum just like this, aren't you?" he whispered roughly.

Seonghwa groans, thrusting against you with a little more force, letting the fat tip of his cock push the fabric deep between your folds, rubbing, pressing, teasing your clit. He pressed the tip of his cock against your panties again, and this time, he hooked a finger under the soaked fabric, dragging it aside.

You gasped, because now there was nothing between you.

Seonghwa’s cock slid along your bare, dripping folds, dragging over your clit with slow, devastating precision.

But the angle, the filthy rub of him dragging along your clit, your folds, almost pushing inside. It was dangerous. It would take nothing, nothing, for him to slam forward and bury himself balls-deep inside you.

"God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good," he growled, rubbing the swollen, leaking head of his cock directly against your clit in slow, devastating circles. "I could just, fuck-, I could slide inside you so easy right now. Fill you up so deep you'd feel me for days." 

Your thighs tremble on either side of him. He moves his hips, grinding his cockhead against your clit, dragging it up and down, side to side, filthy and raw.

"You want that, don’t you?" he whispers harshly. "You want me to split you open on this fucking table?"

But you knew you couldn’t let it happen like this. You were already dangerously close to crossing every line. You whimper, grabbing the edge of the table to stay upright, hips bucking helplessly.

"That's it," Seonghwa growles, voice dark and hungry, his cock dragging sloppily against you. "Grind on me, baby. Rub that pretty little pussy on my cock. Fuck, you feel so good."

Your thighs are trembling, muscles locking up as the rough head of him keeps hitting your clit perfectly, again and again, the thick veins of his shaft dragging over your folds, your entrance.

The noises between you are filthy, slick, messy, obscene.

You gasp, trying to pull away, scared to come and make a mess, make too much noice from this room, but Seonghwa grabs your hips and pins you against him, forcing you to take every devastating drag of his cock.

"Don't fucking run from it," he hisses against your ear. "Take it. I want you to come all over my cock, baby."

Your body locked up, and with a strangled moan, you came, hard and messy, soaking him, soaking your panties, soaking the fucking table. You cry out, clenching around nothing, hips jerking helplessly as your orgasm rip through you.

"That's it," he murmur, watching you fall apart. "Good girl. Such a good girl for me." Seonghwa hisses through his teeth, his cock twitching against you.

"You look so fucking beautiful when you cum," he buries his face against your neck, trembling with restraint. You can feel how close he is, his cock throbbing, his breathing ragged, his hips jerking forward in little, helpless thrusts against your slick center.

But then, you feel it.

The wet heat gathering against your panties, dangerously close to making a mess neither of you would be able to explain. Panic flares, but so does something brave, bold, utterly wicked inside you. Before Seonghwa can react, you slide off the table and drop to your knees in front of him.

"Fuck-, baby, what are you-"

He chokes on his words as you wrap your hand around him, guiding his slick, throbbing cock to your mouth. Seonghwa slaps a hand against the table, a broken, wrecked groan tearing from his throat as you close your lips around him.

"Jesus-, fuck," he gasp, his whole body trembling violently.

You look up at him through your lashes, hollowing your cheeks around him, and the sight makes him come undone. With a low, guttural groan, Seonghwa spills into your mouth, hot and salty and desperate. You swallow every drop.

When you finally let him go with a soft pop, Seonghwa stares down at you, eyes black with lust, lips parted, chest heaving. 

Seonghwa watches you straighten up, his gaze flicking to your lips as you wipe them, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. There’s a spark of admiration in his eyes, mixed with something darker that he can’t hide.

“Wow, ” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, his voice rough with a hint of surprise. He takes a step closer, his tone softer but no less impressed. “That was… hot.”

Seonghwa’s gaze lingers on you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he notices your slightly flushed cheeks, the warmth of the moment still hanging in the air. He could hardly believe how effortlessly you turned everything around, and the look of awe in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Without saying another word, he cups your face gently, his thumb brushing over your lips as if he can’t resist. His touch is tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of what just happened. Slowly, he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. The kiss is a promise, an unspoken understanding that this isn’t over, that there’s so much more to explore between the two of you.

As he pulls away just enough to look at you, he whispers, “Thank God for loopholes.” He pulls back, his eyes lingering on you with admiration, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

“I’m gonna tell him tomorrow,” You say, finally being ready to tell your husband about you dating Seonghwa, his boss, knowing he’ll be home then. “I’m going to tell my husband about you,” you say, softer now. “About us.”

You don’t say why. You don’t need to. Because you both know why you’ve been holding back saying it, and you both know how desperate you both are to get the truth out.

He nods once. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit with a strained smile. “But I don’t want to keep hiding this anymore when he flashes his relationship in front of me,” you look at him through your lashes. “And I don’t want to hold back from you anymore.”

He tilts his head, watching you with something that feels like awe.

Still, the fear bubbles up in you. “What if he reacts badly? What if he says something at work? I don’t want to ruin things for you…” Your voice cracks at the end, and you look away. But he doesn’t let you.

“I’m not afraid of him,” Seonghwa says quietly. “Let him talk. Let him try.”  

You huff a tiny laugh, but your eyes sting.

“I’m serious,” he says, voice gentler. “If he wants to make it ugly, I’ll deal with it. But I’d rather deal with that than watch you shrink yourself to protect me.��

You bite your lip.

“If he suggests you have an open relationship, then he has to understand the consequences of it,” he tugs a piece of hair behind your hair in the most caring manner. “So tell him. Let him know you’re mine now, too.”

Your heart jumps, even though neither of you says what this really means. That he’s not just a fling. That you don’t know how to untangle yourself from what’s happening between you and that maybe… You don’t want to.

“Give me five minutes,” he murmurs, voice low and amused as he glances at the way his tie hangs messily. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

You smile despite everything, still breathless from what just happened, still burning with nerves. You nod and smooth your dress, feeling like something irreversible has just shifted.

As you open the door to leave, his voice stops you again.

“And for the record?” he says, just loud enough for only you to hear. “I’m proud to be the one you’re choosing.”

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi  @vixensss  @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos @tinyteezer @gold--gucciempress @zhangyi-johee @sunnysidesins @spenceatiny18 @yunhoswrldddd @beljakovina @soso59love-blog @trivia-134340 @skzfangirl143 @spicxbnny @h0rnyp0t @mingimangomu @no-nottoday @roguesthetic @hwas-star @tsuukamori @londonbridges01 @nayutalvr @purplelady85 @lover-ofallthingspretty @awkward-fucking-thing @luvbgy @thuyting @p1ecetinyzen @eumpappasmom @marsofeight @maidens-world @girlblogger-04 @renapersa @lol-imtrash2000 @melitadala

[yooahoo]

❤︎ᬼ A HEALING KISS | mark ‘invincible’ grayson x healer! reader

warnings: none! just pure fluff with some mentions of mark’s misadventures

a/n: my first ever post on tumblr and of course I had to bring my current obsession with me ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ and this probably might suck since i haven’t write anything in a long time, but I hope those who find it to enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing it.m

your eyes watch how the stars align on the sky, illuminating the darkness of the night as you wait for mark to come back. sitting on the roof of his house has become something that you always did with him since you were children as a way to talk and point to the constellations to discuss about them, but now? it has become a more intimate experience for the two of you.

it didn’t much time for see a familiar figure descending from the dark sky, his new black and blue suit becoming visible to you as he takes a seat next to you. mark quickly removes his mask before pulling you even closer to him, laying his head on your shoulder after a long day of fighting criminals and villains.

“I missed you,” he said. “like, i couldn’t stop thinking about you, always on my mind when fighting criminals and dealing with another attempt escape at the prison.”

“I missed you too.” you replied, staring at his dark eyes and smiling at your boyfriend, how lucky you must be to be with someone as precious as mark? you don’t have the slightest clue. “but I don’t think it’s healthy in thinking about me every single moment when you are busy dealing with the bad guys.”

he smiled.

that damn smile of his that easily makes you melt, the very same one that could easily blind anyone in the house—in this case, outside.

“well, I think it’s pretty normal for a boyfriend to miss their cute and sexy significant other…” mark kisses your check, making you blush as he holds your chin closer to his, preparing you for another kiss. this time, he plants one right at your lips. “and why i shouldn’t think about you? my incredible and wonderful [name] who is one of the best people to be around and is an incredible healer? like, you are probably one of the best thing that ever happened to me. did I ever told you that?”

a giggle comes out of your lips, only to intensify his love for you. mark never fails to make you feel special, even after the long hours of studying and long hours of healing others heroes of the world, he still manages to sparkle a little bit of energy inside you to stay awake for him.

your hand cradle his face, brushing against his skin until you see it—a faint cut on his cheek. almost unnoticeable, barely there, a tiny wound on his cheek. he probably earned it from the countless fights he’s thrown himself into today. he hasn’t even notice it. but you did.

“stay still.” you said.

your voice is soft, but firm as you hold him gently, touching him almost as featherlight. then, pressing your lips just above the wound, you leave a fleeting kiss—too brief for mark’s liking, but enough. the cut seals beneath your touch, vanishing as it were never there.

for a moment, he says nothing. then, he absentmindedly drag his thumb over his cheek—where your lips has been, where the wound was before—he exhaled. his smile grows bigger when pulling you to his lap, caressing your skin when planting a kiss at your lips, this time more deeply than the one you gave him prior.

mark doesn’t waste time either with his hands, holding your waist closer to him, and not letting you break the kiss apart before taking a taste of your lip balm.

and it’s only then when mark pulls away, but not before stealing another kiss of you when pressing his forehead against yours. his hands holding your cheeks and caressing the sweet apples of your face.

if only time could stop right now, you won’t wish for anything else but to look at his beautiful eyes for eternity. the very same ones that made you fall in love with him ages ago.

“I love you, [name].” he said. “you are one of the greatest things that ever happened to me, you know that, right?”

mark looks at you expectantly of your answer. he already knows the answer, knows what you feel for him since the first date he took you and since the moment he told you about being the famous hero knows as invincible. and despite all of it, mark still the lovestruck man just for you.

the smile never left your face, only increasing when kissing the corner of his lips. “of course, mark.” his hands went lower to your waistband, already holding it like his life depends upon it. “I love you and I will always love til my last breath.”

that’s it.

hearing those words makes him fully energized, already forgetting about the long hours of figuring crimes against dangerous villains and arguing with others supers.

the argument he had with cecil early today has already been dismissed from his mind. he doesn’t need to think about that catastrophe from his failed attempt to have a conversation with the GDA, not when mark has his emotional archon with him right now.

and it’s you. of course.

mark has voice many times and will continue to do it so, but he can’t just be quiet about how much he loves you. even that makes other people already feeling tired of hearing another hour of him blubbering about his perfect and incredible significant other.

he is a guy in love, and he can’t help himself from falling harder for you.

[unsuperingyournatural]

delays and banished omens and Karens, oh my!

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

masterlist

You knew it was going to be a long day the second the airline agent tilted her head at Pedro’s suitcase and asked, “Sir, is there a lithium battery in this bag?”

He’s explained it three times now. Kindly. Clearly. Patiently. Each time to a new associate who somehow manages to understand even less than the last.

Now, Pedro is standing at the counter asking to speak with a supervisor, his jaw tight but his voice calm. You stand beside him at the counter, close enough to feel the tension humming just beneath his calm exterior. Your arms are crossed and you do your best to keep your frustration tucked just beneath the surface.

The bag in question sits perfectly still on the scale. You know exactly what’s in it. So does he. You helped him pack it in the middle of the night, barely awake, somewhere between a press party and two hours of sleep.

To make matters worse, you spot them as soon as you glance past the queue. A few cameras. Two guys with phones already filming. And one very familiar TMZ “correspondent,” grinning like a cat who smells a headline.

They move in fast, just as the supervisor is being paged.

“Pedro!” one of them calls. “What’s in the mystery bag? Something fun?”

Pedro turns slightly, offering a tired smile with a flicker of his usual mischief. “Just socks and a backup hoodie. No secret gadgets or cursed relics today, unfortunately.”

The TMZ guy laughs and presses in a little closer. “Is it true you travel with weights? Emotional or actual?”

Pedro’s expression barely changes, but his voice takes on that familiar dry lilt. “A little of both. But the emotional ones take up way more space.”

You hear the quiet strain in his voice, the kind of effort it takes to stay friendly after two days with no real rest. He hasn’t slept more than six hours total in forty-eight hours. Now he's stuck explaining his luggage to airline staff and TMZ like he's on trial.

Then, as if the circus wasn’t loud enough, the woman behind you in line chimes in. She’s maybe late sixties, her cardigan folded neatly over her shoulders. “Well, if there’s a battery in there, they have to be careful. These rules are for everyone.”

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood. Pedro doesn’t even blink. He turns to her with the same polite smile and says, “There’s no battery, ma’am. But you’re absolutely right about safety.”

You want to snap at her but keep yourself in check, especially since TMZ would love that footage that would guarantee you a firmly-worded call from your publicist. But who the hell is she to lecture him? Who even asked her to chime into the conversation? As if he doesn't already have enough to deal with, now a Karen-lite is sharply watching every move he makes and listening to every word he says.

Before you can mentally vent any more of your frustration at the rude woman, the supervisor arrives. Pedro straightens. You see the small shift in his posture, the way he’s already bracing for another round of repeating himself. You step a little closer and murmur just loud enough for him to hear, “Let me take this one.”

He hesitates for half a second. Then nods once, subtle but sure.

You turn to the supervisor with your friendliest smile and keep your tone warm. “Hi. Thanks for coming. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. This bag’s been flagged, but there’s no lithium-ion battery inside. He’s explained it a few times already, and we’re just hoping you can take a quick look so we don’t miss our flight.”

The supervisor is firm but professional as she runs through the policy. You listen quietly and wait her out. Pedro lets out a soft breath beside you, hand still resting on the suitcase.

Once she’s finished, you politely explain again. Then Pedro opens the bag and shows her. She checks, asks a couple of follow-up questions, and finally—after a brief inspection—nods and says, “This is fine. You’re good to check it.”

You thank her, sincerely, and move away from the counter with Pedro at your side. But before you can get more than a few steps, a small crowd of fans steps into your path, holding out photos, notebooks, and pens.

Pedro smiles as kindly as ever, even as he glances at his watch. “I’ve only got a minute or two, but I’ll do what I can.”

He signs a few autographs, takes a quick selfie with someone who’s shaking with excitement, and answers a question about his next project. The TMZ guy circles like a shark, phone still recording.

“So, Pedro, was it a battery or not? What actually happened at the counter?”

Pedro keeps his tone steady. “No battery. Just a misunderstanding. It happens.”

You can see it in his face, though. He’s smiling, but there’s a thread of exhaustion running underneath. It pulls at the corners of his eyes, makes his responses a little softer, a little slower.

You step in gently, laying a hand on his back. He catches the cue immediately. After finishing one last autograph, he hands the pen back and offers a quick apology.

“Thanks, everyone. Really. But we’ve got to go. Gotta make our flight.”

He moves back beside you, falling into step without a word. Once you’re safely past the check-in area and out of sight, he exhales a quiet, almost exasperated, “Jesus.”

You glance over and catch him wiping a hand down his face, eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

Without saying anything, you reach up and squeeze his shoulder. He leans into it for a second, then slides his arm around you and pulls you close as you walk.

Security is a blur. Shoes off, laptops out, the whole drill. You both get through quickly, collect your things, and hurry to the gate just as they begin boarding your section.

Inside the plane, the two of you stow your carry-ons and sink into your first-class seats, the fatigue finally settling into your bones. Pedro drops down beside you, lets his head fall back against the seat for a second, then immediately leans toward you.

His arms come around you, warm and heavy, and he buries his face against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your sweatshirt. “For handling that. I was close to losing it.”

You press a kiss to the top of his cap. “Of course, babe.”

He sighs and squeezes you once more before settling in, eyes closed.

You let him stay like that, feeling his breath slow against you. Eventually, you reach forward to grab something from the seat pocket—and stop.

Your hand hovers above it.

“Umm… Pedro?”

He doesn’t lift his head. “Mmm?”

“Skymall is gone, right? Like, it doesn’t exist anymore.”

He yawns. “Yeah, pretty sure they went bankrupt. Why?”

You slowly point to the magazine in the seat pocket. He lifts his head, follows your finger, and stares.

Sitting right there, tattered and slightly warped, is a Skymall catalog.

He squints at it like it’s a ghost. “Okay. That’s weird.”

“Weird?” you repeat, your voice inching higher. “That’s an omen. It’s a sign.”

He leans back slightly and studies your face. “Babe. Deep breath.”

“No, seriously, what kind of person holds onto a Skymall magazine for years and then just leaves it on this plane? Right where I was going to sit?”

Pedro sees the panic blooming fast. You’re tired. You’re stretched thin. He knows this spiral well.

Before you can launch into a full theory about doomed flights and cursed in-flight shopping, he leans in and kisses you. Gently. Long enough to stop the rush of your thoughts.

You melt into him. You always do.

When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Someone just left it. The universe is not coming for us.”

You take a breath, still pressed close. “You sure?”

He grins. “Positive. And if the universe is coming for us, we’ll outrun it at baggage claim.”

You laugh, finally letting your shoulders drop.

Pedro picks up the magazine, raises his eyebrows at it, and then promptly stuffs it under the seat in front of him.

"Banished. Never happened. Probably haunted too. That magazine’s got cursed catalog energy."

The plane hums to life, and for the first time in hours, you both start to relax. When you lean back and let your head rest against his shoulder, he takes your hand and laces your fingers together without a word.

Whatever else the day throws at you, you’ll deal with it.

One flight at a time.

[porsche-grey-barnes]

Bucky’s day out

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky barnes x BakerFem!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF!!!, like mouth watering eye tearing fluff, the avengers being nosey, MJ x peter parker (tom and zendaya),

Master list

Next chapter

Previous chapter

enjoy<3

————————————— <3 ——————————————

Steve was excited.

Not only because this girl was putting a smile on Bucky's face, but because even way back when, bucky was always a ‘one date and we’re done’ type of guy.

Steve could tell buck was serious about this mystery girl, not only because the only ‘souvenir’ he used to keep were memories, or tickets from movies, but because steve hasn't seen that smile from bucky in over 30 years.

The smile that would make him look like he was 22 again, like before he went into war, like…he had something to live for.

He would find a way to thank this girl. One day.

Steve, sam, and bucky headed out on thair run the former two wearing small ear pieces.

“So…buck?” sam started.

“Yes?” the brunett supersoldier answered scepticlly.

“Where is it you run off to every day?” sam asked.

————————————— <3 ——————————————

Bucky didnt want anyone to know.

Only doctor Raynor knew about his secret angel, and that’s because she had to know.

He liked keeping y/n to himself. It was his own slice of paradise.

Talking and flirting with her felt so….right.

“Detour” is all bucky answered.

“Need to work off thoes extra calories from all the coffee you bring back?” sam asked.

Crap. damn it sam, couldnt you leave well enough alone. Cant i atleast have her to myself before people ruin it? DAMN IT! I almost missed the turn.

“yeah , sure, man,hey so listen. You guys go on ahead, im gunna take that detour.” bucky said as he stopped at the entrance.

“Why dont we go with you? I could use a cup of coffee. Steve?”

“Yeah we should-” steve was cut off by bucky.

“NO! I-i-mean i- uhm” think barnes.THINK!

“I use this time to think, get better hold of the old me, ya’know?” bucky technically wasnt lying, when he talks to y/n he feels more like himself then ever before. Even before the war.

“yeah, man, go ahead,” sam said. And bucky took off.

Man, i really want to be next to her. She’ll make this sinking feeling go away, just by being there.

————————————— <3 ——————————————

“He’s on the move. Red one and two, any sight?” sam said.

Sam wasnt doing this to be nosey like the others, him and steve actually cared for bucky and want to make sure this girl isnt using him for some kind of five minutes of fame.

“Red one and two here. We have eyes on the target. Hawk?” natasha said as sam and steve nodded to eachother and started down the same path as Bucky just left from.

“Hawks. The bird has flew from the nest.i repeat, the bird has flew from the nest.” the entier team groaned at clint trying to sound cool.

“Tin man?”

“I have eyes on mr.loverman.” Tony said.

A screech came from the other side of the comms making both men stop in thair tracks.

“Sorry, dear friends, i had pressed to hard on the miniature cell phone in my ear.” thor’s broad voice came threw.

“Brother, you arent supposed to press it twice, just the once and lightly at that.” you could hear loki’s eyeroll.

“Love birds, any sight?” sam asked.

“Mr. lover man just passed us. Hes heading towards green team.”

“We have eyes on barnes, he- he stopped. He’s walking into mars’ bakery?” bruce said.

“No, no no no. please dont let bucky be y/n’s guy, please” peter said.

Sam and steve made it to mars’ bakery, and walked in and hid in the crowed.

They saw bucky get in line, his fingers twitching as he got closer and closer to the register.

Once he got there, it wasnt y/n who was there, he could tell from peters picture, it was peters girlfriend.

“Hey, MJ, is she here?” bucky said, and MJ had a knowing smile, and turned around.

“y/n! Your favriot customer is here! See yah buck,” she said and left.

There was some pans banging and then a woman came out from the back in a flour covered apron and flour on her face.

Her eyes scanned the cafe and she visibly brightened when they laned on him, buckys face a mirror of hers.

“Hey doll, what do you have for me today?” he said.

She went to the coffee machines and started to make some kind of drink.

“I call it a summer fling. It’s a bit sweeter than usual, but you might still like it.” she said.

a voice came in threw the line.

“Barnes just thought ‘this is my chance to start off stronger then usual, to give a hint.’” wandas voice came through.

“Can’t be sweeter then you, doll, but hey, I love to eat sweet things.” and bucky winked. Actually winked.

y/n’s face went red, steves mouth was open and peter was getting up.

“Im going to kill him.” peter said.

“I’v never heard him be so brave. Im honestly impressed.” steve put his hand on peter and dragged him back down as he said so.

“So, im not going to get her phone number?” loki asked. And peter glared at him.

“I-ugh- wow- i- here is your coffee, james. Any reason you’re acting so bold?” y/n asked.

“What can i say, doll? Iv got some plans. Anyway, you guys still doing that message’s on a cup thing tomorrow?” bucky said.

“Oh, uhm, yeah, we are. I cant wait! It’ll be so fun!” the girls smile was wide.

“Barnes thought’s were ‘what i wouldnt give for that smile.’ and ‘make her blush again, barnes!’.” wanda informed.

Wanda’s powers have been growing since she started to work with stephen strange.

“Well thats good. I actually have a question for MJ if i can?” bucky said. y/n’s face fell a bit, but not enough to say anything.

“The girl thought ‘am i too boring?’ poor thing is missguided.” wanda says from the comms.

“Of course! MJ! James has a quick question for you!” y/n says brightly, but im pretty sure we can all tell its fake.

“Red and blue, we have passed our land time by a minute. We have to go.” bruce says.

“Got it green.” Steve says and we all leave and head back to the tower.

And now, we all fake the fact that we definitely weren’t following our close friend to see who made him so happy every day.

[nescaveckwriter]

Someone I Used To Know ❣️

A/N: Awww my loves❤️ just a quick little 'one shot' I love this song but I did not know, I'd cry so much - cuz jinkies 🥹 it's a letter to Dean, so buckle up babes and grab a tissue - ❤️

Words: 898

Warnings: Besides a few tears, maybe a bit of swearing and dealing with grief, mention of death. 😱

Also: this is my work, please don't steal it, just like and comment and reblog...❣️❤️🐞

Tags: @jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @k-slla @cutedisneygirl @angelbabyyy99 if anyone wants to be tagged in the future lemme know...❤️💕

The ink on this letter is spilling all over the page, just like my heart—again and again.

I’m in the middle of moving, and one of my friends found that old photo of you and me. You should see it by now—a few years will do that. It’s crumpled at the edges, and the color isn’t that good anymore, but oh, the memories it holds. They never leave.

My therapist said writing to you when I feel overwhelmed with missing you is good for my mental health. I don’t know—the verdict’s still out on that. But it helps. Sometimes, it even feels like you’re getting this. Like you’re reading it... watching over me.

Anyway, I couldn’t talk about it when Julie asked who you were to me. The words just tumbled out: “Just someone I used to know.”

And it crushed me.

Because I couldn’t tell them. Couldn’t say it was the man I was supposed to spend forever with.

The love of my life.

The Dean Winchester.

A man who loves pie, old motel rooms, and classic rock bands. Who prefers a greasy burger over a salad any day.

The man who wore his dad’s leather jacket like some kind of keepsake—some reminder of what not to be.

But for me? It was just another thing that made you you.

Damn, babe, I miss you a little more every day.

Oh—by the way, Sammy’s doing good. I still check in on him… them. Baby number two is on the way, and he’s over the moon about it.

But I can tell—he misses you.

When that Led Zeppelin track comes on the radio, or when he grabs two beers instead of one without thinking. I just take the extra one like it was meant for me. Like you’d want that.

Now, wait—before you cuss me out for drinking beer all of a sudden instead of my favorite red wine, let me explain.

I’ve gotten used to the bitter taste.

Like the bitterness buried deep in my damn bones.

Don’t worry—by now, I’ve gotten used to it.

But I’m still your sunshine baby.

Sorry about the teardrop smudging the ink… I still cry a little when I think back to the first time you called me that.

It was early morning.

I looked a little rough—hair all disheveled from the night before.

Our first time together… and damn, babe, it’s etched into my memory like it happened just now.

The sun was streaming through those cheap motel curtains, casting this soft glow over our tangled limbs.

Your calloused fingers brushed the hair from my face.

And then your voice—deep, rugged, like whiskey over gravel—murmured,

"Sweetheart… you’re my light in this dark world. My sunshine baby."

My heart melted. My stomach fluttered.

And even though I always loved your voice—Darnit, that morning?

It swept my feet out from under me.

It’s like I can hear your laughter right now—that famous Dean chuckle, cocky grin and all.

"I knew you’d miss me, sweetheart."

And right now, babe? I’m trying my damn best to smile…

But the tears won’t stop. They never do.

Hell, the other day, Julie set me up on a blind date.

And I went.

(I’m truly sorry. But don’t worry—I felt guilty for days.)

Anyway… I pulled out that dark blue top you liked so much. The one you said made me look like a lady, instead of the oversized shirts I always stole from you.

Damn it—teardrops on the ink again. Sorry.

Let’s go back. The date.

I threw on my jeans and favorite pair of boots, met the guy at a coffee shop.

(Couldn’t do a bar—they all remind me of you.)

The guy was nice. A gentleman.

But after coffee, when he walked me home… he tried to kiss me.

And it was reflex, okay?

I slapped him across the damn face.

He left with a bloody nose.

And me? I haven’t gone on another date since.

I’m fine growing old alone.

…Okay, that’s a lie.

I don’t want to grow old—not if it’s not with you.

Dean, I’m gonna shoot it to you straight.

I’m feeling that anger again. That deep, bitter, soul-splitting anger.

You left.

You died.

Why the hell didn’t you fight harder to stay?

For Sammy.

For me.

Dammit, I’m so mad at you. And I love you so much, it’s unbearable.

I can’t even look at a damn pie without crying.

I kind of hate you.

And don’t you dare look at me with those emerald eyes and say:

“No you don’t, sweetheart. You just miss me.”

This pen won’t stop trembling in my hand.

This heart won’t stop shaking in my chest.

I miss you, babe.

And it’s not getting better.

Anyway… I should try to sleep.

It’s 3 a.m. by the way.

Yeah, I’m sleeping on the couch again.

The bed’s too big… too cold… too cruel.

'Til next time, babe.

Love—forever yours,

Dean Winchester’s girl.

[rarepairnation]

I just realized I completely forgot to send you an ask for the WIP title game! Please, please tell me about "how to say farewell to the only family you have left but three times over for each of them" 👀 — @emyn-arnens

hehe YES i LOVE this one and i feel like you will too lol. essentially its a very extended set of scenes (think rotk six ending scenes energy) over which faramir comes to terms with leaving minas tirith behind for…not really for GOOD but for the longest time he ever has and undertaking the longest hardest journey he’s ever been on. well i called it that because i write basically solely character dynamics and so each one is centred around saying his goodbyes to his father and his brother in each of the different roles that they play in his life. ive always loved playing with names and titles and levels of formality in interactions between the same people in the different things they mean to one another and it was VERY fun to be like. well boromir and faramir saying their last goodbye immediately followed by the captain-general farewelling his second. the things they can't say and the things they know they're saying. and contrasting that with denethor and faramir where the line btwn father-and-son and steward-and-captain is WAY more blurry and they DONT really know how to talk to each other without some of that duty and a lot of their personal issues creeping into it.

it starts with in the middle of the night denethor and faramir have a civil conversation as father and son for probably the first time in ten years it's a lot of faramir's complicated feelings about his father. like a LOT of them. resolving into. well no matter what has passed between us i am glad we have this one conversation where we can part kindly. here is this part of those complicated feelings. god when they understand exactly what the other is saying and CHOOSE to misinterpret them.

Faramir knows he does not say this to doubt the strength of his company, only to state a truth. Ithilien has ever been a tenuous position, and to hold it in recent months has taken all the shrewdness of Faramir’s tactical mind. There are few he himself would appoint to bear that strain. Yet it is still doubt, and he cannot help but bristle. “There is strength in Ithilien that is not yet spent,” he says pointedly, a cold note to his voice. “I do not doubt it,” returns his father, equally frigid. He looks Faramir in the eye, grey to grey, and his gaze turns merely cool. “Yet to be the forlorn hope is thankless. I would accede the company all that I can spare, if it will prolong the defense.” “And they will thank you for it,” says Faramir, mollified, and angry about that, too. He has forgotten that they are not at council. He does not need to couch his position in shrewd word and inassailable will, striving endlessly against the forward advance of his lord’s judgment. His father would not send his Captain-General if he did not see it necessary, and in truth Faramir would not have made a different decision.

this is followed by boromir, as his brother, helping him dress in the morning. its fun because he spends the entire time being very stoic and squire-ish and pinning and straightening faramir's clothes like a captain who's conducted a million inspections and Not Crying and then like two seconds before the official summons sounds the floodgates open. very...you're never Ready to say the goodbye no matter how much you pretend you are. (i selected this excerpt specifically to contrast with the previous one lol)

“Do not change.” The words burst from Boromir’s mouth in an imploring rush, his hands tightening on Faramir’s shoulders. “No matter what happens out there. I expect you to return with tales I do not understand, with-” he breaks off, sniffs- “with an adoring train of admirers, with some precious book you have carried over hundreds of leagues. Something no sane man would bring upon a journey such as this.” “That, I can promise,” Faramir laughs, even as tears blur his vision. “You may regret making me swear so, when you tire of my incessant chatter.” “I am sure,” says Boromir. “Remind me of it, when that time comes.”

and then. well. he has said farewell to his father and brother. but he now faces the steward and the captain-general before the great gates. and yet they still ARE his father and brother and none of them can forget it!!! god i love messed up family dynamics with my whole whole little heart. yes denethor's line is written to be an explicit parallel to "i sent my son unthanked unblessed onto the field of battle" because i am NEVER not thinking about it.

Denethor steps forward then, until they are separated by but a pace. Lifts his hand, brings it to his heart and then leans down to press his lips to his son’s brow. “Go now, Steward’s son. Go with the blessings of your lord and city, and may your burdens be few and your road run true.” Faramir bows his head, kisses his lord’s hand. When he rises, he meets his father’s eyes. A glance passes between them, a wordless communion. He turns to the Captain-General, then, and they end the farewell in the warrior’s manner, a clasp of the forearm in place of the kiss of fealty.

anyway. yeah. it was so fun to write and ALSO so difficult and wildly heartwrenching. but i miss it. i miss them. when will they (fucked up house of the stewards dynamics) return from the war (theyre always there because faramir carries them in his mind. but you know what i mean). thank u for asking for this one<333

[nanaslutt]

my pretty little wife

ʚ incl: nanami x reader x higuruma

ʚ cont: fem reader, threesome, oral (f!r), double penetration, praise, dirty talk, teasing, pet names (sweetheart, honey), established relationship

ʚ note: the winner of my fic give away @reivunzwho i hope you enjoy!! >.<

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

“How did you two meet?” Higuruma asked, caressing your thigh with his thumb. The sensation sent tingles down your spine, making you all too aware of your body.

“We uh, we went to the same Jujutsu Tech school.” You answered.

“She was one year my junior.” Nanami answered from behind. You nodded, lips parting when his hand curled around your hip.

Higuruma grabbed your chin, tilting your gaze upwards and away from the large hands caressing your body. “Such a small world, isn’t it?” He asked you, smirking at the lust in your eyes.

Higuruma was never one to bring friends home after work, but the new guy at the office–Nanami Kento, was too similar in personality to pass up a friendship with. The two had been going for drinks every couple days, and when you texted Higuruma telling him you missed him and wanted him near, he decided to bring the drinks home.

Unbeknownst to you, the Nanami he was bringing home was the same Nanami you had a crush on in all four years of school. Never was anything acted upon, but you had spent more than a single night fantasizing about the man who currently held you between his legs, his chest to your back.

He was so much larger than he was all those years ago. Even his hands had grown for christ sake, and all of it was too much.

“What was she like as a student?” Higuruma asked, deft fingers working on the buttons of your shirt. He spoke to Nanami over his shoulder like he wasn’t currently undressing you.

Nanami hummed thoughtfully, hands slipping along your thigh, using a single finger to drag the skirt upwards. His touch burned your skin, goosebumps rising in his wake. “A troublemaker, and a bit of a headache–but good.” He answered, “strong, she always carried the burden of the others around her.”

A warm buzz hummed through your body at the praise. You hardly realized your bra covered breasts were out now as Higuruma dragged your shirt down your arms. 

Nanami made a sound behind you that made you preen. “So beautiful.” You gasped at the closeness, not realizing he had gotten so close. “Even more distracting than before.”

His words made you give pause. You didn’t think Nanami cared about anything other than going to classes and doing lessons. But he noticed you? A heady rush raced to your head.

“She is a beautiful thing, isn’t she?” Higuruma agreed, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra with practiced ease. You sighed when you felt the tension around your torso release, your breasts free. “I am so lucky to have such a strong, beautiful wife to come home to every night, and wake up to every morning.” He bragged.

Nanami hummed, agreeing. His hands had reached the tops of your thighs now, and he gripped the tops on either of them and parted them with ease. “Yes, she is very reactive as well.”

Higuruma smiled proudly, sliding your bra down your arms and exposing your breasts. His eyes fell to the mounds, admiring them with lust and love in his eyes. “Do you want to show him how reactive you are for me, sweetheart?” He asked.

Your throat bobbed, but you nodded. A smile found his lips. “And is he allowed to touch? Are you comfortable with that?”

You nodded again.

A kiss was placed by your ear, and you gasped. “Tell me to stop at any time, and I will. I would never want to make you uncomfortable.” With your given consent, his hands slid under your thighs and cradled them, causing you to fall back in his arms when he leaned back with your legs spread, exposing you.

Your hands shot out behind you, gripping his forearms. “Fuck, sorry.”

You could hear the smile in Nanami’s voice when he spoke, “you can touch me, too, honey.” That nickname from his lips. You felt liquid heat pool behind your panties.

The familiar feel of Higuruma’s hands on you made you look between your too spread thighs, spread over Kento’s knees. Hiromi was on his stomach on the couch, jacket discarded and his undershirt unbuttoned to the third, exposing his muscled chest. His eyes looked behind you at Nanami, “You will never see a prettier cunt, Kento.” He promised.

You held your breath as he hooked his fingers in your panties and pulled them down, exposing you for the both of them bit by bit. Nanami groaned behind you, looking over your shoulder while simultaneously spreading your legs more. “Fuck…” He cursed quietly, but you felt the heat of it on the side of your face. “Spread her lips for me.”

Higurma did, using his thumbs to open you up. The expression on his face was clouded, lust filled, his eyes were low and his face was flushed, he looked like he did before he came. This was clearly working him up as much as it was you.

“Taste her, taste her pretty pussy and tell me it’s as sweet as it looks.” Nanami’s voice saying such vulgar words should be a sin, it certainly felt like it. You arched your back into him, squeezing around nothing when you felt the proof of his arousal under you. It felt big.

Higuruma stuck out his tongue dramatically, looking at you from under his long dark lashes before his tongue found your clit. You sucked in a sharp breath when he flattened his tongue and shook his head back and forth, lavishing your clit with attention before his plush lips wrapped around the bud and he sucked–hard.

You cried, turned your head to Nanami’s neck and screamed. He grunted when you wiggled on him, unable to handle the onslaught of pleasure. “You really should stop moving.” He whispered. “How is he meant to eat properly if you keep moving around?”

You gasped, looking up at him. The tips of his ears were red. “It feels so good.” You cried.

He nodded, leaning down, hovering his lips over yours. Your cunt pulsed at the closeness, and wetness dripped onto the eager tongue between your legs, which was lapped up with an eager moan. “I know it does, sweetheart, he looks good with his tongue. Would a kiss make it better? Would it distract you from his tongue ravishing you?”

God his words. You hardly got the first nod out before his lips were on yours. You expected his kiss to be slow and passionate, but he was rushed and you could taste the arousal in his kiss. Two tongues lashed between your lips, dizzying you.

Nanami grunted against your lips, and his hands tightened under your thighs. You were about to pull away when you felt something wet and hard hit your bare thigh.

“Don’t stop.” Higuruma ordered, voice heady. “Good girl, keep sucking his tongue. Yes… Yes, that's it.” Something pressed against your entrance, something big.

“Higuruma-” Nanami gasped between kisses. 

Your husband shushed him, and you tightened your entrance when you felt the head of a cock against it. “I know how bad you want this.” He said, “please her, please my wife from the inside while I suck her pretty clit.”

Nanami was breathing heavier against you now, his back rising and falling quickly. You shuttered when his cock was pushed inside you–what felt like five inches shoving in all at once before the rest of him slid in more gradually. The both of you groaned simultaneously at the intrusion, and Nanami thrust his hips up, pressing himself balls deep against you.

The pressure was intense, it felt like someone was pushing your stomach from the inside. But he was also pressing on a sweet spot inside you that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. “My dreams paled in comparison to how amazing you feel.” Nanami groaned against you. “So tight, honey, you feel perfect.

Higruma groaned, and you whined when his lips suctioned around your clit again, before he popped off just as quickly. “I changed my mind.” He said. 

Nanami’s lips disconnected from yours, and you leaned in to kiss Higuruma. Nanami was still inside you, but you could feel him twitch and throb against your walls with need. You tasted yourself on your husband's tongue, moaning with him before he pulled away and looked at you with the most loving expression.

The clinking of a belt made you turn your gaze down, to where he was undoing his belt with a single hand. “Do you think you can take us both?” He asked, “in here?” he tapped your clit before rubbing two fingers around the base of Nanami’s cock where you were stretched around him, you both groaned at the feeling.

You shook your head, mouth opening and closing dumbly. “I-I don’t know, I’ve never taken that much before.”

Higuruma nodded, “I know, sweetheart.” His hands caressed your face and you leaned into the touch like a kitten. “But do you want to try? Hm?”

You did, so badly, but you were afraid of being split in half in the process. Nanami and Higurma were around the same side, Nanami having more length where Hiromi had girth. Though, you had been cockwarming Nanami for some time now, and could feel yourself adjusting as the seconds went by.

“We will take it slow. Careful.” Nanami encouraged from behind.

That was the last push you needed before you nodded. “ALright, good girl. We’ll take care of you.” Hiromi whispered, locking his lips with yours, distracting you while he lifted your right leg over his shoulder. It was a stretch, and it burned at first, but quickly dissolved when the angle made Nanami’s cock bump into something sweet deep inside you. Each time Hiromi moved, it rubbed that spot.

“Careful, she feels like she’s going to cum. She is twitching around me like crazy” Nanami said behind you as Higruma lined himself up.

Hirimi raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? Are you close, my love?” You nodded frantically, leaning into Nanami’s neck when your husband pressed two fingers inside you along with Nanami’s cock and stretched you. It felt impossibly tight, and it burned, but the sensation blurred with the pleasure he was giving you when someone's thumb rubbed your clit in soft circles with firm pressure.

“You’re doing very well.” Nanami praised, making you whine. Higruma had three fingers now, and was thrusting himself against where you and Nanami were connected. Kisses peppered your neck. “Relax, loosen yourself around me.”

You held your breath, fighting the urge to tense when you felt your husband press the head of his cock against you. You were unable to resist when his head popped inside along with Nanami. “Yes- Yes, my love, I’m in.” He smiled, hands cradling your face. You hadn’t realized tears were falling down your face. “You did it, you did so well.” He was sliding in as you spoke, and it burned.

Nanami made a pained sound behind you, muttering the word “tight”, and you felt him twitch rapidly. His nails dug into your skin as he held himself back.

Higuruma was nearly fully seated inside you when Nanami pulled back, making you shutter. “We’re going to move now, slow at first, okay? That okay, honey?” Hiromi asked.

You nodded through a cry of pleasured pain. Higuruma pushed into the hilt then as Nanami pulled nearly all the way out. A purely male sound spilled from his lips. “I’m not going to last inside you.”

Higuruma laughed, the sound strained when he pushed back in. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and your legs shook when they continued to rub against that sweet spot. The pressure was so intense, it was so fucking much, you had never felt so full. “I’m not going to last either, you- you both feel so warm.”

“And she’s so wet.” Nanami added, quickening the rubbing on your clit. You had no time to warn them you were cumming before you clamped down on them and shattered.

Both men grunted loudly, groaning and gasping as your walls shuttered and milked around them. Your mind was elsewhere then, no longer one with the earth. Through it all though, they didn’t stop moving.

“Good fucking girl, good girl.”

“Wet our cocks, god- that feels so good.”

“So pretty when she finishes too, what a sweetheart.”

“It’s dripping down my balls… God, that was a big one.”

Their praise and words melded into one, their voices unidentifiable as you were now putty in their hands for them to mold, and mold they did.

Their thrusts got harder then, and you screamed when they synced up and both slammed inside your too tight cunt. “I love this.” Hiromi groaned, burying his face in your neck. His body crushed yours, your pebbled nipples rubbing against his coarse shirt.

You nodded, tears running furiously down your cheeks now. Your entire body vibrated and shook now, you had no control over it.

Nananmi panted behind you, kissing and biting your ear lobe, making your eye twitch. “Where do you want me?” He asked breathlessly, thrusts faltering.

You already knew Hiromi was going to finish inside you, as he always did–and you wanted Nanami too as well. You were on the pill, and something about being filled with both their cum set you off.

“Inside.” You whined, tightening around them to emphasize your words.

Nanami released an inhuman groan, and stilled. His thighs shook violently under you, and you felt him release inside you first. Everything was so hot and wet, and Higuruma kept thrusting, working you both over. “Agh- I can feel it- fuck, fuck it’s so warm honey, so- so warm.” Higuruma was rambling now, dizzy with his impending high.

Nanami’s abs jerked and his body contracted around yours when he came down from his high but kept being stimulated with Higuruma’s thrusting. “God-” He moaned long and drawn out.

Higurma grunted. “I’m going to cum, sweetheart. Gonna fill you up with Nanami, and you’re going to take it like my good little wife, aren't you?”

You nodded vigorously, gripping the back of his neck and pulling his forehead to yours while your nails dug into Nanami’s forearm. 

“Such a good girl, my sweet wife-” His words cut off with his orgasm, and he stilled. He jerked above you, moans and grunts spilling from his throat as he spilled inside you. Nanami groaned behind you, eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling of his cock being flooded around with cum.

His body buzzed when he came down, and he smiled against your lips as he took your mouth, whispering how good you were, how pretty you looked.

Neither of them pulled out, keeping you warm and stuffed save for the trickle of their arousal you felt spill out between you–which seemed absurd because of how full you were. But for the most part, they were plugging you up good.

“So, Nanami? She is a reactive thing, isn’t she?” Higuruma asked.

He kissed your cheek, creating a loud smacking sound. “Incredibly so, and she takes everything so well.”

“The best.” He agreed. “My perfect little wife.”

[miihho]

Can you write type of guy headcanons for thanos (230) please? thx <33

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition) nsfw

English

Korean

Thanos / Player 230

—THANOS IS THE KIND OF GUY who’d shamelessly flirt with you, his words dripping with confidence and charm. He’d slip in Spanish pet names like "señorita" so naturally, it was as if he were born to sweep you off your feet.

There was one day when he suddenly dropped to his knees, a smirk dancing on his lips as he grabbed your hand gently. "I might just start my own religion, because of how often I find myself on my knees for you." He said as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, his gaze never leaving yours. You felt your face heat up, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks at the boldness of his actions.

He’d also call you every sweet name in the book—"baby," "angel," "princess," "beautiful"—each one rolling off his tongue with effortless confidence. And if that weren’t enough, he’d take it a step further, rapping his feelings for you in a way that was both cheesy and undeniably endearing.

—He’s the kind of guy who’d have a slow-burn romance without even realizing it. At first, it’s nothing more than casual interactions, small moments here and there. He doesn’t notice the shift—how his thoughts linger on you longer than they should, how he starts to care just a little bit more. It’s gradual, almost imperceptible, until one random moment hits him. Like it would suddenly click that he likes you. And now, he can’t stop thinking about it.

—He’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t give up on you, no matter how many times you ignored him. Your cold shoulder, your silence—it didn’t faze him. If anything, it only fueled his determination. He’d chase after you relentlessly, his confidence unwavering, his charm impossible to ignore, until you had no choice but to face him.

He spotted you weaving through the crowd, your determined strides screaming leave me alone. Naturally, that only made his grin wider. He adjusted his jacket, his confidence as unshakable as ever, and started after you.

"Señorita!" he called out, you didn’t even glance back at him, but when he saw your pace quicken, it only fueled his determination. He caught up easily, walking alongside you like he belonged there.

"Ah, playing hard to get? I like that," he teased, tilting his head to glance at you with that infuriatingly smug smile. "But you know, you make it way too easy for me to chase you baby. You’re irresistible."

You rolled your eyes and turned sharply, hoping to lose him in the crowd. But the next corner you turned, there he was—leaning casually against a wall, arms crossed, like he’d been waiting there all along.

"Miss me already?" he teased with a smirk, his body blocking your path. "You can run, but you can't hide princess. Not from me."

You tried to sidestep him, but before you could get far, he placed a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning hurt. "Ouch, breaking my heart like that? Really?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes in disbelief. "Just stop, I can’t stand you."

With a smirk that practically oozed confidence, he leaned in slightly, his voice teasing yet bold. "Then just sit on my face."

"W-what!?" You froze, eyes wide with shock, your heart pounding. "Just fuck off!" you snapped, brushing past him quickly, your face flushed in a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

He chuckled, watching you retreat with that same infuriating smirk. But you knew, as much as you tried to get away, he wouldn’t stop. He was persistent, and no matter how many times you brushed him off, he’d keep following, keep bothering you.

—He’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t tolerate some random guy flirting with you. If he saw it happening, he wouldn’t hesitate to step in. He’d interrupt the conversation, push the guy back with a forceful shove, and growl, "Back off man! Who the fuck do you think you are hitting on my girl!?" (Yeah even tho you're not his yet)

If the guy was making you laugh or smile, he’d simmer in silence, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface. Once the guy was alone, he’d track him down, corner him, and with a dangerous edge to his voice, he’d lean in, his eyes burning with fury.

"Stay the fuck away from Y/n. Got it?" He said, his fist landing a brutal punch to the guy’s stomach, leaving him crumpled on the floor. "She’s my girl," he’d add, his tone low and possessive. "My woman."

—He’s the kind of guy who can’t help but yell, "Ah, there’s my girl!" with a huge grin spreading across his face when you made it out alive. Without a second thought, he’d rush to you, scoop you up in a tight embrace, and hold you like he’d never let go. "I’m so happy you're alive, baby. God, you don’t know how much I missed you." His grip would tighten as if to never let you slip away again.

—He’s the kind of guy who isn’t intimidated by you. He’ll rush toward you, full of energy, relieved that you made it through when the lights went out. While everyone else stood frozen in fear, staring in shock, you were casually wiping blood off your hands, having taken down a whole group without breaking a sweat.

—He’s the kind of guy who can’t believe he’s dating you after you finally accepted him. Like, a guy like him? Sure, he’s Thanos and pretty damn cool, but damn, you’re way cooler than him. So, every now and then, he’ll just blurt out, “Damn, I’m dating her?” when he thinks about you, or “I can’t believe she’s mine.” and his friend will just stare at him, completely weirded out.

—He's the kind of guy who's wildly in love with you, the type to fight a wild animal just to impress you. He lives to make you laugh, even if it means pulling off the dumbest, most ridiculous stunts. His love is chaotic, loud, and endlessly entertaining, but that's what makes it so unforgettable.

One day he tried to bake you a cake from scratch, only to set off the smoke alarm—but he still proudly presented you with the lopsided, half-burnt result, claiming it was "made with love." Or he'd show up at your door with a bouquet made of random wildflowers (and weeds), proudly declaring it’s “nature’s finest” while grinning like a fool.

—He’s the kind of guy who would let you paint his nails in any color you choose or decorate them however you like, all because he loves you and wants you to have that little piece of him.

—Thanos is the kind of guy who always needs to be in physical contact with you when you're together—his hand on your thigh, his arm around your shoulders. He craves that connection, that constant reassurance of your presence. Public displays of affection? He couldn’t care less. If you want him to kiss you in front of everyone, consider it done. If you mention he can kiss you after a game, why would he wait for privacy when he can claim you right in front of his friends? For him, it’s not just about the kiss—it’s about showing the world that you’re his and making sure you feel adored, no matter where you are.

—He’s the kind of guy who’s utterly captivated by your thighs, completely addicted to the way they feel wrapped around him. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, no place more intoxicating than being suffocated by your softness.

He doesn’t just admire them—he worships them. His lips leave a trail of love marks along your skin, his way of claiming every inch as his own. Between kisses, his voice comes out low and teasing, filled with desire. (He also loves eating you out while you're wrapping your thighs around his head and getting suffocated by it. )

—He’s the kind of guy who would cover you in hickeys, leaving them all over your neck and thighs, a clear sign that you’ve been claimed and are already his. With a smirk, he’d tell you he’s just marking his priority, as if every mark is a reminder of who you belong to.

—He’s the kind of guy who’d proudly show you off to his friends with a grin and say, “Yeah, this my girl right here.” And damn, he wouldn’t just say it—he’d feel like the luckiest guy alive to have you by his side.

—He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t just take you—he claims you. If he ever finds out you're with someone else, he'll make sure you remember exactly who you belong to.

Thanos' rough words dripped with condescension as he gripped your hips, pulling you onto his thick shaft in one brutal thrust. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to pound into your mercilessly. "You're fucking mine, this fucking tight pussy is mine," he snarled, his balls slapping against your ass with each savage stroke. "This fat cock is the only thing you need. That pathetic loser can't touch this, can he?" He reached down to rub you clit, his fingers pinching the sensitive bud as he continued to ravage you. "Hngg!...—pls s'too much! too much! Thanos m'sorry p-please I w-won't do it again."

"Stop?" He chuckled, "We both know you love this. Being used like a cheap whore, stuffed full of dick. Admit it, you'd rather choke on my cum than go back to that limp-dicked loser."

—Hes the kind of guy who loves messy blow jobs. The sight of your lips stretched obscenely around his throbbing cock, your eyes glazed over in blissful submission, he fucking loves it. Loves how you surrendered completely, letting him control every movement as he fucks your mouth.

"Fuck... Your throat was made for my dick, wasn't it? Such a perfect fit, like you were born to worship my cock." he moaned, tangling his fingers in your hair and using your mouth like a cheap fleshlight as he chased his pleasure. The wet sounds of sloppy oral sex filled the air, punctuated by your muffled whimpers and gurgles. (Gosh he fucking loves that) "Fuck yes... hngg—take it baby, take it all, you filthy little cumdump!" His hips snapped forward, burying his cock to the hilt in your gullet while thick ropes of cum spilled in your mouth, forcing you to gag and sputter around his girth. "Look at you, such a good girl, gagging on my dick like it's your purpose in life. You were meant to be a cumdump, weren't you? Fucking slut."

—He's the kind of guy who loses his shit when you squirt into his mouth, he just fucking loves it when you're flooding his mouth with your ambrosial release. Saying "Holy shit," "I love you so fucking much baby," "Mmmm, you're fucking addictive as hell, baby. Can't get enough of this sweet juices." as he greedily laps up every drop. Just the taste of your squirting orgasm would send him into a fucking frenzy.

—He's the kind of guy who takes you apart piece by piece every time he gets you alone, his usual cruel exterior dissolving into raw, unbridled need. He doesn't just touch you—he worships you, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony to draw out every moan, every shiver, every scream he can pull from you.

"You’re so fucking beautiful when you cum for me," he'd say, his voice dripping with hunger as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. His lips never leave your skin, trailing kisses and bites down your thighs, across your stomach, up to your neck.

"Look at you, spread open and dripping for me like the filthy little slut you are," he taunted, dragging a finger through your slick folds. "I bet all those prissy boys never made you feel this good, did they? They probably couldn't handle a real woman like you." he whispers, his breath hot against your ear as your body writhes beneath him. Even when your legs shake and your cries turn into breathless pleas, he doesn’t stop. He keeps you teetering on the edge, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until you’re left trembling, completely undone, and utterly his.

[gothgoblinbabe]

She Wolf

A/N: I said I was gonna get this done and it took me way too long and has an absurd word count but I am incapable of holding in word vomit! Inspired by She Wolf by Shakira cause idc its GOOD and it got me thinking' so here it is. Also you don't have to listen to the song as you read but I think It's fun!

Summary: You've got a crush on your best friend and he's a bit of a dick. He regrets it and tries to apologize but you're already trying to push yourself to move on any way you can, even if it's in some shady club you'd never been to before.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, swearing, Logan's kind of an asshole for a minute, Possessive/jealous!Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), friends to lovers cause that's my fave, fem reader, mutant reader, unnamed creepy guy (?) aaaand Logan absolutely has a pain kink. I think that's it but if there's any I missed please let me know!

Word Count: 7K (im so sorry but I'm not though)

divider credit here

“Are you ever gonna tell him?”

You looked up from your desk towards Ororo’s voice, sighing and taking your glasses off your nose.

“God, I don’t know, ‘ro. I don’t think I should. It’s just going to end with me being humiliated and him never wanting to even be in the same room as me again.”

You’d had a crush on Logan Howlett since the day you first walked through the doors of the mansion six months ago. You’d probably be considered best friends by now with how much time you’d spend together, doing jack shit around the mansion on your days off. Just about everyone could tell he had a soft spot for you and that you had one for him. Logan was a classic ‘tough guy’, constantly trying to hide his kind nature with a hard exterior, but it took only a couple weeks for you to crack that barrier. You weren’t exactly a seemingly ‘soft’ type either.

You’d spent the majority of your life before you joined the X-men hoping from couch to couch and hitching rides with strangers, not really having a destination or a place to call home. You’d been dropped off at a church when you were fourteen, around the time you started to turn every full moon. Your parents couldn’t live with having to chain their mutant daughter in their basement once a month, and so they dropped you where they thought you’d find some ‘help’. You’d been passed from foster home to foster home till you were eighteen, each one passing you up the moment they realized you were not like them. It was always a slip of the mask, something setting you off to make you so enraged your eyes gleam yellow and your sharp canines make an unfortunate appearance. You took off the second you could and being on the road came with its fair share of creeps; men with terrible intentions looking for opportunities. You’d never wanted to hurt anyone - truly - but when cornered by a creep, it was hard to think anyone would miss them. A couple of local newspapers caught on, debating where the wolf that tore men to shreds had gone. You weren’t an animal. You just had teeth like one.

Knowing you couldn’t lurk in town much longer, you’d hitchhiked your way to a camp occupied with people like you; lost with no place to call home. It was there that you’d met a couple of mutants who told you about Charles Xavier and the place that seemed completely unreal until you set your eyes on it. That felt like a lifetime ago by now. 

“I think you're underestimating how he feels about you,” Ororo said, bringing you back to reality. She was sat on the edge of your bed, flipping through one of your magazines as you worked at your computer to try and make a lesson plan for the coming week. 

“I think you’re overestimating how he feels about me,” you let out a short laugh, shaking your head.

Just as she was about to retort, you both heard someone shout your names from the hallway. You looked at each other curiously and left the room, hearing shouting again. 

“Are you guys gonna play Monopoly with us or what?”

You both giggled and made your way downstairs towards Scott’s voice. Him, Jean, Marie, Bobby and Logan were all sat in the living room, the game already set up on the coffee table. Bobby and Marie were picking out their game pieces, assigning everyone else to their own piece.

“Okay, Logan, you’re gonna be the dog,” Marie smiled, dropping the little metal piece into the palm of his hand. 

He was definitely not as amused, “why do I have to be a damn dog?”

Ignoring him, she handed another piece out to Jean, “you’re the thimble.”

She then handed the boat to Scott, the top hat to you, and the iron to Ororo. You all began the game after Scott painstakingly over-explained the rules and how to play. 

It was a good bit into the game that you all became distracted with conversation, eventually leaving the board game untouched. The topic of compatibility came up somehow, the conversation focused on the joy of Bobby and Marie. 

“I think anyone would be lucky to have what you guys have,” Ororo smiled, shifting her gaze between the two of them.

“And what we have, obviously,” Scott joked, hanging his arm around Jean.

“Gross,” Logan chimed in, taking a sip of the beer he’d hidden in the back of the fridge.

“I think someone is jealous,” Ororo said in a singsong voice, poking his arm.

“Of having someone hang on me all the time? No, thanks,” he scoffed.

As stupid as it was, it made you a little sad to hear he had no interest in even entertaining the idea. It wasn’t a surprise, but still a disappointment nonetheless.

Ororo brought up your name and your eyes went huge, silently begging her to keep her mouth shut.

“You don’t seem to mind her hanging on you all the time. I think you’d be cute together,” she said, smiling mischievously at you. Scott and Jean agreed and you had never wanted to smash your head into a coffee table as much as you did in that moment.

“Nah, definitely not my type of girl.”

It was just seven words, out quick without a second thought, and yet it felt like you’d been punched in the gut. You couldn’t take your eyes off the monopoly board on the table, avoiding everyone’s gaze. 

Definitely not my type of girl. 

“I think I should head to bed, it’s getting late,” you mumbled, keeping your head down to hide your blushed face as you got up from the couch and practically ran out of the room and up the stairs. 

“What the hell was that?” Scott scolded Logan the moment you were out of sight.

“That was so mean,” Ororo chimes in, backhanding him on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Logan said nervously , shrugging his shoulders, “…do you think she’s mad at me?”

“Probably more hurt than mad,” Jean said honestly. 

“Shit,” he sighed, putting his beer down to rub his face with his hands, “what do I say?”

“Not that,” Marie replied, “why did you even say that anyway? You could’ve just said no.”

“I think you like her and you’re being mean so that she wont like you back because you’re afraid,” Ororo said after a moment of silence. 

Logan sat quiet for a moment, his hands still over his face.

“Am I that easy to read?” His voice was muffled through his hands.

The rest of them couldn’t help exchanging knowing smiles.

“So you finally admit it,huh? You’ve got a crush,” Scott teased.

Logan moved his hands from his eyes to glare daggers at him, “you shut your fucking mouth or I’ll shove that monopoly board where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“I think that’s a yes,” Jean whispered to her boyfriend.

“Talk to her when you see her tomorrow. We’re not going to let you hurt her feelings just because you can’t accept your own,” Ororo advised, lightly patting him on the shoulder.

“Do you think she’s even gonna talk to me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan tried to catch up with you the next day, always seeing you as you were leaving a room he was entering or passing by and even then, you ignored his calls of your name.

It was a little after dinner now and because it was a weekend, a couple of kids were up playing the PlayStation in the living room. Bobby and Marie sat with them, taking turns with the controllers. 

Logan entered the room after about three laps around the mansion, mentioning your name to the both of them.

“Have you guys seen her? I’ve been trying to talk to her all day, she keeps running from me.”

“Can’t really blame her,” Bobby muttered, his eyes never leaving the TV screen as he button smashed. 

“She’s in her room,” Marie answered before Logan could come up with a retort, “she went up before dinner, said she wasn’t hungry.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair, “she’s skipping dinner now too, great.”

“Go talk to her!” She insisted, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.

He made his way to the stairs and up to your bedroom, knocking lightly on your door. Hearing nothing, he knocked again, a little harder. Still, nothing. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know. I wanna talk about yesterday, I was a dick.”

Silence. Now he was a little worried. He tentatively grabbed the doorknob and turned, cracking it open a bit.

Your bed was made, your desk was neatly organized and you were nowhere to be seen. He noticed your purse was gone from the usual spot you’d leave it in and your closet was open, a couple garments and some shoes strewn about on the floor. It looked like you’d gotten dressed and dipped. He figured maybe Ororo or Jean might know where you were, leaving your room and looking for them instead. He found them shortly after, huddled in the kitchen. Again, he asked if either of them knew where you were.

“She’s in her room, she went up before dinner,” Ororo answered.

“No, she’s not. And her purse is gone.”

Both women turned to each other with the same worried expression.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Having tried your cellphone about thirteen times from just about everybody’s phones, they all decided they had to tell Charles. He used his ability to connect with every mutant on the planet to try and locate you, visualizing with his eyes closed. Everyone stood in his study, anxiously awaiting his conclusion. After a moment of silence, he started to silently chuckle to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asked immediately, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m afraid you all have your work cut out for you,” he replied, finally opening his eyes.

“So, where is she?” Ororo asked, worry in her voice. 

“There is a club called The Nightcrawler - “ Charles began to explain, but Logan interjected impatiently. 

“Club? What, like a book club?” He nearly scoffed. There was no way you were at some sleazy nightclub in the city. You were a homebody and an introvert, neither of which made clubbing enjoyable. 

“Maybe we should just let her have fun,” Jean began to say, but Logan was already halfway out the door.

Uncharacteristically, you found yourself dressed to the nines in the middle of a dance floor full of people. You’d spent a while trying outfits in your room, searching for something you could actually wear out that wasn’t sweatpants and a hoodie. You’d settled on a halter top that tied at your neck and in the back and a pair of ridiculously tight pants that you’d bought forever ago and never had the guts to wear. You ended up standing in front of the mirror, choosing a pair of very cute but very uncomfortable shoes and looking over the outfit. If you weren’t Logan’s ‘type of girl’, you sure as hell were somebody’s. Trying to get yourself out there may be the best solution to forgetting the heart-crushing infatuation you had with your best friend who would never see you as anything more. 

“I feel ridiculous,” you chuckled to yourself, turning in the mirror to see the back of your outfit. You did look good, just super out of your comfort zone. You grabbed your bag and ended up slipping out when everyone was eating dinner. That’s how you ended up where you were, pushing your way through the crowd of people with a drink in your hand. You passed the raised lounge area and felt a hand on your shoulder, making you turn suddenly.

“Hey, you wanna dance?”

He was tall, leaning down a little to shout over the music. He was pretty good looking but didn’t look like Logan in the slightest, which you realized was exactly the point of going out tonight. He was dressed nice and smelled like expensive cologne. 

“Sure, why not?”

As you abandoned your half finished drink on a table and let him pull you a little further into him, a familiar song started to thump through the speakers.

“I love this song!” You exclaimed, letting the nameless guy rest his hands on your hips.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

S.O.S., she's in disguise

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

“Ironic,” you muttered under the music.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan walked ahead of Ororo, Jean and Scott, his long legs taking him much further at a much faster pace.

“Logan, slow down!” Ororo called out, jogging a bit to catch up with him.

“What if she didn’t even want to be there? What if some guy dragged her there?”

“Oh,” Jean laughed, “ I see. You’re jealous.” 

“No.”

“Yup.”

“Nope.”

“So you’d be fine if we walked in there and she is with a guy?” 

Logan slowed his pace as they approached the entrance, “sure, whatever,” feigned disdain in his voice.

The second the door opened, the bass of the music was overwhelming. It was dim, save for a few colorful lights projecting around the room. The four of them were squished together near the door, trying to pick you out in a sea of moving people. 

“This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Scott shouted.

“Not necessarily,” Ororo replied, a smug smile on her face.

“What?” Logan furrowed his eyebrows.

She pointed across the room and he followed her gaze.

There's a she wolf in the closet

Open up and set it free 

There's a she wolf in your closet

Let it out so it can breathe

You didn’t even look like you. He’d never seen you in anything that showed that much skin or any clothes that even hugged you like that, for that matter. 

And you were with a guy.

Sitting across a bar, staring right at her prey

It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way

“So, what did we tell you?” Jean shouted, waving her hand in front of his glaring eyes.

“Just some kid,” he replied dismissively, turning to her, “doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

“You sure?” Scott nudged his shoulder, making Logan look towards you again.

That kid had his hands up the sides of your top with his head craned down to kiss your neck, your back to his chest. You were giggling, playfully smacking his arm. Truthfully, you thought the attention was nice for a change. After trying so hard for too long to get Logan to notice you, it felt good to have someone pay attention to you in that way. 

Not looking for cute little divos or rich city guys

I just want to enjoy 

By having a very good time

And behave very bad in the arms of a boy

You felt his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, enough for his nails to dig into your skin. Out of instinct, you felt your canine teeth start to poke against your lower lip. You tried in vain to tug his hands from you, only making him tighten his grip.

The switch in demeanor was obvious even from across the dark room, your smile turning into a grimace that bared your sharp teeth. You yanked the sleeves of his jacket to make him finally let go, turning around while he still had his arms ghosted around you.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

S.O.S., she's in disguise

“Touch me like that again, you son of a bitch, and I will rip you to fucking shreds.”

You gathered fistfuls of his shirt, bringing him down to eye level so he could see your snarling teeth and gleaming eyes as a hint that you weren’t bluffing. 

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

Before anyone could even tell him to stay put, Logan had already disappeared into the crowd of people.

“God damn it,” Scott huffed, following Jean and Ororo when they went after him. 

“Logan!” Jean yelled, trying to grab his jacket to slow him and only having him slip out of her grip. 

There's a she wolf in the closet

Let it out so it can breathe

“Shit, I’m kinda into the fangs. What, you gonna bite me?” He was whispering in your ear, your hands still on his shirt. Before you could do something you were going to regret, you felt someone tug your upper arm and pull you away from him.

“Come on,” Logan snapped, “we’re leaving.”

“What the hell are you doing here? What do you mean we?” You yelled back. You didn’t want to stay anywhere near that guy but you weren’t ready to leave either and sure as hell not with Logan dragging you out like an angry parent.

“Hey, she doesn’t really look like she wants to leave with you, man,” the other guy interjected, keeping a grip on you by looping his fingers through one of the belt loops on your pants. 

“Yeah? She doesn’t want to stay with you either, jackass,” Logan moved his hand from your arm to hold your hand instead, “she’s not interested.”

What the hell had gotten into him? You felt like you were in the middle of a tug of war with two dogs. 

“No one’s gonna fucking ask what I want, right?” You tried to complain, neither of them hearing you. 

“Your little doggy girlfriend here was just about to take care of me. You mad about it?” The other guy laughed and you nearly lunged at him, Logan’s hand tugging you back. He intended to pull you away so he could get to him first, but Scott, Jean and Ororo jumped in just in time. 

“Alright - enough, enough, we’re leaving!” Jean yelled, pushing you all towards the door, Logan dragging you the whole way. When you finally were out in the cool evening air, you angrily yanked your hand from his.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, turning to Logan, “and what the fuck was that?”

“What was that? You’re welcome - “ 

“I didn’t ask you to come save me - from what, having a good time?”

“Oh, yeah, it looked like you were having a lot of fun,” he scoffed, “he had you by the hip so hard he probably left a bruise.”

He instinctively reached his hand out to check and you swatted it away, “Don’t - Don’t touch me!”

None of them had ever heard you sound so pissed off and you’d definitely never snapped at Logan like that before. 

You took a deep breath and reached down to slip off your shoes, leaving you barefoot on the concrete. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to the rest of them,” but why are you guys here?”

“You left without saying anything, we couldn’t find you and we wanted to be sure you were safe,” Ororo sighed, hugging you in relief, “we’re so glad you’re okay.” 

You hugged her back.

“I just - I wanted to disappear for a while,” you explained apologetically, avoiding Jean and Scott’s gaze. 

“Do you know how stupid it was to run off and not tell anyone where you were going?” Logan scolded you, but Jean clicked her tongue at him.

“Shut it! Enough from you! You’ve done enough damage control!”

The ride home was almost silent, your tired body slumped in the backseat between Scott and Jean, until Ororo spoke from the front passenger seat.

“Honey, I don’t mean this in a bad way, but,” she paused, thinking over her words, “what were you gonna do to that guy if we hadn’t stopped you?”

You understood what she meant immediately. 

“What, you think I was going to kill him?” you asked, crossing your arms and leaning forward in your seat, “I wasn’t. I don’t do that unless I have to and you know even then I hate doing it.”

“I know…so, what were you doing with a guy like him anyway?” she asked, trying to move on from the question that had clearly made you upset, “he seemed kinda shady.”

Logan was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white, dreading the answer.

You shrugged your shoulders, staring at the synthetic fabric of your pants.

“Liked the attention, I guess,” you answered honestly, kind of hoping you could throw anyone off the idea of you being interested in Logan, “it’s been awhile since a guy has liked me like that.”

“He only wanted one thing from you anyway,” he scoffed from the front seat. Ororo glared at him, about to tell him to mind his business before you stopped her.

“And I can’t want it either?”

That shut everybody up and Ororo turned to him again, a look on her face that said ‘you asked, you got the answer’.

You tried to bolt to your room when you all got home but Logan was quick to follow, catching up with you to stand in your path in the hallway outside of your bedroom. 

“What’s going on with you?”

“Leave me be.”

You tried to dodge around him but he stuck his arm out. 

“Logan.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue speaking.

“Move.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me what’s going on with you. You don’t disappear like that, ever. And I wanna talk to you about last night - “

“There’s nothing to talk about. Goodnight,” you huffed, ducking under his arm and opening your door.

“I care about you, you know, I was worried,” he began to explain.

You tried to slam the door in his face but he stuck his foot out, jamming his boot between the door and the doorframe. You let go in defeat and turned away, gathering your pajamas as if he wasn’t in the room.

“Yeah? Why?,” you scoffed, trying with everything in you to bite your tongue but failing miserably, “I’m not your type of girl. What’s there to worry about?”

Logan’s face fell. He pushed the door closed behind him. 

“Is that what this is about? That’s why you went out?”

“Why do you care?” 

You still had your back to him, furiously shuffling through clothing in your dresser.

“Stop.” 

You felt his hands on your arms as he came up behind you, paralyzing you in your spot.

You let him turn you around gently, almost chest to chest.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings -“

“I’m not.”

He leaned back a little to force you to look him in the eye.

“I only said that - listen, I only said that because - “ Logan paused, biting his lip till it nearly bled, but you shook your head and slipped by him again.

“Please, don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Logan.”

You sounded so exasperated, tears forming in your eyes when you turned your back to him.

“Fuck,” he sighed, “I only said that because I didn’t want you to like me.”

You wiped the tear that rolled down your cheek and turned back to him, a confused expression on your face.

“It worked, are you happy?”

“No, I’m not - “

“Well, guess it backfired. Get out of my room.”

You were face to face again, keeping your mouth in a tight line so your lip wouldn’t quiver. It felt stupid to cry in front of him, but you couldn’t really help it once it started. 

“Oh, god, please, don’t cry,” he begged, leaning down and actually bringing a hand up to your face to wipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. You wanted to smack it away, tell him again to just get the hell out , but you couldn’t.

“Why would you do that?” You mumbled out quietly, finally letting the overwhelming feeling of sadness cancel out any rage you had for him. You couldn’t look him in the eye again, concentrating on the throw rug you were standing on.

“I’m so sorry, princess, I am. I’m really fucking stupid,” he huffed. 

You were surprised by the softness of his voice and finally tore your eyes from the floor. He’d called you that before, but usually in a teasing way. This time it sounded endearing, like a plea of your name. 

“And what happened there, at the club? ‘She’s not interested’, what was that about?” You continued.

He sighed, still trying to figure out what exactly it was that he wanted to say. He realized there probably wasn’t much of a way to beat around the bush and he groaned, closing his eyes as he stood in front of you to make spilling his guts a little less agonizing.

“I like you - like you a lot, and I was an asshole because I figured if you hated me, you couldn’t like me back and it would save you the trouble.”

Hearing no response, he finally opened his eyes to see you still standing in the same spot, your lips parted.

“Save me the trouble of what?”

You were confused, your eyes narrowed as if you were angry.

“I don’t know…having to deal with me, I guess. I - I’ve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else and it scares the shit out of me.”

You could hear him swallow hard, his eyes looking everywhere around the room except at you. 

“And earlier, when we picked you up,” he continued, “I acted like that because I was jealous, alright? Can’t stand to see some asshole on you like that, and you were dressed all nice and - I don’t know.”

You’d never heard him sound so nervous in all the time you’d known him.

“You are my type of girl,” he finally choked out, “only type of girl I’d ever want.”

All you could do was inhale sharply, his words echoing in your mind. 

“It’s alright if you hate me, I can’t say I really blame you. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He began to walk out, convinced he’d fucked up beyond repair.

“Logan.”

Your voice stopped his hand from turning your doorknob and he turned back to you. 

No longer crying, you tentatively stepped forward a bit, nervously playing with the front hem of your top. 

“You’re not something to deal with, you know,” you muttered, letting your hair fall in front of your face.

You supposed this was the point where it was your turn to explain.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Logan, probably since the day I walked in here and I just - I think I wanted someone to distract me so I wouldn’t wallow in self pity because you didn’t want me.”

“You were trying to get over me,” he realized aloud, a small smile on his face to hide the hurt, “I deserved that.”

After a moment of tense silence, he spoke again.

“Did it work?”

His voice was low and soft, a tone you’d rarely heard him speak with.

You pursed your lips and finally lifted your head, taking a deep breath. 

“No. I don’t think it was ever going to, either,” you laughed a little, “when that guy asked me to dance, the first thing I thought of was that he didn’t look anything like you.”

Your voice trailed off a little at the end, a little embarrassed to confess that even if Logan had already flat out told you he was interested in you.

Without another word, he came close enough to reach for your hands and gently intertwine your fingers with his. He cleared his throat, nervously chewing his bottom lip before he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

You must have had this dream a million times over, waking up night after night and feeling so empty because none of it was real. But now, with his hands in yours, it was very real.

You eagerly pressed your lips to his, not wanting to waste another second. His lips were soft and you were encompassed in the scent of his body wash and cologne, smelling of pine and cedar wood. You brought your hands up to play with his hair at the back of his head. Logan moved his arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you further into him. 

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were both smiling like idiots.

“We should’ve done that much sooner,” you giggled.

“Agreed.”

His fingers traced small circles on the exposed skin of your back, making you shiver.

He kissed you again, this time with much more intensity. It wasn’t long before your tongues were in each other's mouths and you both had fumbled yourselves over to the end of your bed.

“Wanted you for so long,” he mumbled between kissing your neck and jaw, his hands still sliding up and down your back, “I was so stupid.”

“We both were,” you giggled a little, cut short into a moan when he licked your neck all the way from your collarbone to under your ear.

“L-Logan,” you gasped, unable to hide your blushing face.

He hummed into your neck, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Can I show you how sorry I am? Let me make it up to you.”

His voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you let him pull you onto him to straddle his lap, lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

“Mmm, uh-huh,” you hummed, mouth hung open as he sucked light marks into your neck. 

“You have to use your words, pretty girl,” he brought his head up to rest his forehead against yours. He cupped your jaw tenderly, almost as if you’d disappear if he let go. 

Before you could answer, he moved his hands to drag your hips over his, grunting when he felt the pressure.

“Y-yes, yeah - please,” you choked out between moans, tugging his hair harder every time he pushed and pulled your hips.

“Please what, baby?”

“You - you can make it up to me,” you groaned into his neck. 

He effortlessly lifted you by your thighs and laid you with your back to the bed. You untucked his white t-shirt from his jeans as he crawled over you, desperate to get your hands underneath it. You lightly scratched your nails along his back, making him groan into your ear. He kissed down your neck to the center of your chest, gently slipping his fingers under the hem of your top and around the back. 

“Can I take this off you, baby?”

You were already sitting up before he could finish his sentence, reaching to try and untie the knot at the back of your neck.

“Eager, huh?”, he chuckled, “let me, sweetheart.”

He wrapped his arms around your lower back to tug at the knot, feeling it come loose in his hands. He snaked his hands up to the back of your neck, doing the same to the tied strings there. When it came loose, the only thing holding the piece of fabric to you was his hands at the back of your neck. He let it slip from his fingers, a smirk on his face when it fell completely.

You threw the garment somewhere to the floor and tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, bringing him down with you as laid back again and pressed your lips to his. He pulled back for a moment to yank his shirt off and immediately return his mouth to yours, making his way down to your neck. He brought both his hands to your chest and swept his thumbs over your hard nipples, eventually bringing his lips to them and sucking. 

“Ah - Logan,” you whined, making him smile against your skin.

“I like it when you say my name, pretty girl,” he mumbled, dragging his fingers down your sides and hooking them into the waistband of your pants. He kissed all the way down to your hips, moving himself to lay on his stomach with his head between your thighs. 

Before he could ask you if it was alright to rid you of them, you were already unbuttoning your pants and pushing them down your hips and thighs. He took them off the rest of the way for you and you kicked your panties off with them.

He hooked his arms around your thighs to pull you closer, licking his lips and resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh.

“I thought about you a lot, you know - like this,” he huffed, his warm breath fanning over your pussy.

You had your hands in his hair already, swiping fallen strands of hair out of his face.

“I thought about you like this, too,” you admitted, sighing as he started to plant kisses right above where you wanted him the most.

“Yeah?”

His teasing voice brought goosebumps to your skin and you nodded, gasping when you finally felt his lips graze your clit.

“This what you think about when you fuck yourself?” He mumbled into you, the vibration of his voice making you tighten your grip in his hair. He growled like an animal, trying to push you even further into his mouth by the grip on your thighs.

You were trying to choke out an answer, distracted by the wet sounds of him messily eating you out.

“Y - ah, yes, yeah - not as good as the real thing, though.”

He laughed with his mouth still attached to you and you tightened your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.

He could have spent hours with his mouth to your cunt, practically fucking you with his tongue while you whined his name. 

A knock on your door sounded through the room, the both of you freezing in place.

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling okay?”

It was Scott.

 You grimaced, thankful at the very least that your door was locked, but Logan had a terribly smug smirk on his face. 

“Y-yeah, I’m alright, just - just tired,” you managed to choke out, stuttering when you felt two of his fingers slip into you effortlessly.

“You sure?”

You sighed, hating and loving Logan at the same time for what he was doing. 

“Yup, th-thank you, m’ jus’ gonna go to bed.”

Scott responded with a goodnight and you groaned in relief when you heard him walk away.

Logan was curling his fingers inside of you, still lapping at your pussy and letting you use your grip on his hair to angle his head however you wanted him. You felt the pressure in your lower stomach rise and you tried to warn him, tugging on the hair on the back of his head.

“Logan, I’m - “

“C’mon, pretty girl, c’mon.”

His encouragement sent you over the edge, euphoria blooming from your lower stomach and spreading through you. You had to cover your mouth to muffle your pornographic moans, but Logan reached up to tug your wrist.

“Uh-uh, wanna hear you, beautiful,” he mumbled into you, practically pushing your thighs even further around his head.

“Fuck, L-Logan, too - too sensitive,” you stuttered out, trying to pull his face away by his hair and failing miserably because of his grip around your thighs.

He eventually reluctantly detached himself and crawled back on top of you, sucking the taste of you off his fingers. 

“I could do that for hours, you know, if you let me,” he groaned, pulling your hips up to him so you could feel the weight of his hard cock underneath his jeans.

Still sensitive, you reactively gripped his biceps and dug your fingernails into his skin. You were going to apologize and were quickly cut off by the guttural moan he let out into the side of your neck.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rocking his hips against yours.

“You’re into pain, huh?” 

You figured it was your turn to tease him, dragging your fingernails from his shoulders all the way down his back.

“You’re gonna pay for that, pretty girl,” he grunted, moving quickly to undo his belt and strip himself of the rest of his clothing. 

When his cock sprung up and hit his stomach as he took off his boxers, you swallowed hard; already feeling a wanting ache in your stomach again. You figured he was big - he was already a tall guy, after all - but he was far bigger than any guy you’d ever seen. Logan noticed the way you bit your lower lip, resting himself on top of you again and bringing his thumb up to pull your lip from under your teeth.

“What, are you nervous? It’s alright sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His voice was so soft and gentle, a tone you rarely ever heard from him. 

You could feel the weight of his cock against your inner thigh, heavy and already leaking. 

“ ‘m not nervous, I want you, please,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist. You reached your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance, trying to push him in with your legs around his waist. 

“You sure?” he huffed, trying with every muscle in his body to not slam into you in one thrust. 

You nodded eagerly, scratching at his lower back. 

Logan couldn’t help himself and gave in, slipping himself into you.

“So tight,” he groaned into your neck, pushing himself in even further.

“You - fuck - you’re so fucking big,” you admitted truthfully, nearly drooling at the feeling of him stretching you out. 

“Feels good?”

It was hard for him to speak when you were so wet that he was nearly slipping out of you as he gently rocked his hips back and forth, trying to be gentle and let you adjust to his size. 

“Mm - uh-uh,” you hummed, gasping each time he pushed further.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he huffed and you groaned, digging your nails into him. 

“Y-yes, yeah - want you all the way in,” you whimpered.

That was all it took for him to be buried in you, grinding his hips into yours so that you were pinned to the mattress. 

He worked up to a devastating pace, practically slamming your headboard into the wall.

“S-someone’s gonna - someone’s gonna hear us,” you managed to gasp out, out of breath every time he filled you and pulled back again. 

“Don’t care, let ‘em,” he pressed his forehead to yours, bringing a hand up to your face to affectionately cup your cheek. It was so sweet and almost disgustingly hot, the caring gesture contrasting the intense feeling of him repeatedly slamming into the sensitive spot inside of you. 

He really didn’t have a care in the world about who heard you both, far too lost in the feeling of finally being able to have you under him like that. You had sweat soaked strands of hair stuck to your face, your eyes squeezed shut, and he was almost sure you’d never looked more beautiful. 

“So fucking pretty,” he huffed, his thumb swiping your bottom lip. He had an idea, one he’d considered many times when he thought of you under him like this.

“Bite me.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, threading your hand through his hair, “are you sure?”

“Please.”

You forcibly unsheathed your fangs, letting them tentatively poke at his thumb that was still to your lips.

He moved his hand to your throat, resting it there without tightening his grip. 

“Please.”

His pleading had the heat in your lower stomach rising and you obliged, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. You felt guilty - you didn’t enjoy hurting people - until he was whimpering in your ear, moaning your name over and over again. 

You bit his neck, his shoulders, his lip - all the small puncture wounds healing themselves within seconds. 

Having him so pussy drunk and groaning praises into your ear brought the pressure in your lower stomach to a max and you cried out his name, letting him fuck you through your second orgasm. 

“ ‘s good, huh, princess? Come on me, c’mon,” he was begging, feeling your muscles tense around him. That drove him over the edge, his hips rutting into you and his thrusts becoming sloppy. He finally let himself go, filling you and letting it drip from you onto the sheets. He pulled back a little to see the mess you had both made, your inner thighs painted with a mix of his release and yours. He went to pull out completely and you clamped your thighs around his hips again, keeping him still.

“Want me to stay?”

“Mhm - please.”

The sexual tension was replaced with loving comfort, Logan keeping you to his chest as he laid you both on your side. His chin rested on the top of your head and your face was against his chest with your eyes closed. You smiled at the thump of his heartbeat in your ear, nearly letting it put you to sleep. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he mumbled into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head, “you know I love you?”

The last three words made your eyes shoot open and you looked up at him, worried you’d misheard him or maybe he was just messing with you.

“Really?”

“Of course. You think I would’ve done that with you if I wasn’t in love?”

You thought hard for a second, realizing he was right. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had hookups before, but it had been quite a long time since he’d bothered to even get to know someone like that. He wasn’t the type to lead you on, either - always up front with you, even if he didn’t have to be. 

“I love you too,” you answered, unable to hide the wide smile on your face.

“I should’ve told you much sooner,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as you snuggled into him again.

Before you could both fall asleep from exhaustion, he yanked the comforter over the both of you, hearing you mumble sleepily.

“You can make it up to me some more.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

A/N: If you made it to the end I love you <3 pls lmk what you think and reblog+like if you enjoyed!! also still navigating how to write smut without using cringe terminology so forgive me if that part sucks

[kekewrites]

Tw. dark content, noncon, obsession, toxic, possessiveness, abandonment issues, sloppy blowjob, throat fucking, manipulation, size kink, overstimulation, name calling (cock-sleeve/warmer/bitch), multiple creampies, cunnilingus, slapping (baby slap though), baby-trapping, angst(?), coercion, dead dove do not eat

***

Thinking about being the manager of a yandere!Idol

You found him wandering in the streets, empty eyes and blank expression on his pretty face. If you didn't look hard you might've missed his tall figure. Being a newbie, you were finding it hard to recruit people but as you were about to go home, you caught sight of his attractive yet hopeless face.

The first time you approach him, he was wary and suspicious of you. Naturally so. But you persevere, introducing yourself as an agent recruiting handsome guys like him in the streets for a chance to become a trainee and become an idol.

"Fuck off. Scram."

That was the first words he said. Harsh. But he was all bark and no bite, like a puppy being defensive. After scuffling for a few minutes you managed to give him your card and phone number, convincing him to at least try.

Then a week later, he called and said yes. His voice was low, hesitant—like he didn’t fully believe in what he was doing, but was too tired of the streets to keep saying no.

You met up with him that same evening, in the same place you first found him. He looked cleaner, but still lost. You took him in without question, gave him food, a place to sleep, and most importantly, a reason to wake up.

For the first few days, he barely spoke. He just slept, ate, and stared at the ceiling like he was trying to remember who he was. You didn’t push. You just stayed nearby, gave him space, but made sure he knew, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Weeks turned into months. Slowly, he started coming back to life. You took care of him, through the bad days when he’d lock himself in his room, through the training sessions where he’d collapse from pushing too hard, through the nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat and pretend he was fine.

And you were always there. With water, with snacks, with a shoulder to lean on.

You watched him grow. From that broken boy on the street into someone who sang with soul, danced with fire, and spoke to crowds with a confidence he never had before.

He became an idol. And every time he stood under the lights, every time fans screamed his name, he always looked for you in the crowd.

Because you didn’t just recruit him.

You saved him.

And that’s when it went wrong.

At first, it was subtle. His smiles came more often when you were around, his tone soft and sugary. He’d cling to your side during breaks, crack jokes, brush your hair out of your face with that charming little smirk. You thought maybe he was just grateful, maybe he was trying to show affection in his own awkward way. After all, he’d been through a lot.

But then, it turned into something else.

He started showing up unannounced. Hovering around your office when he had no schedule. Getting visibly annoyed when you spoke too long with other trainees or staff. The sweet words never stopped, but they started feeling… off. Like they were laced with something heavier. Something darker.

The possessiveness crept in like a slow poison. At meetings, he’d glare at anyone who tried to sit next to you. He'd interrupt your conversations, redirect your attention, cut in with sharp remarks masked as jokes.

You tried to keep it professional, gently reminding him of boundaries, of roles, but he didn't like that.

"Why are you always talking to him?"

"Do you really need to be with them all the time?"

"I'm the reason you’re even doing well now, aren't I?"

And you saw it, in the way other staff avoided him, how they started whispering when he walked by. He was getting harder to work with. More demanding. More unpredictable.

But in front of cameras? He was perfect. The golden boy. Smiling, dazzling, every fan’s dream. But behind the scenes… the boy you once saved was slowly becoming someone else. Or maybe this was who he had been all along, buried beneath the brokenness.

And now, you weren’t sure if you had saved him…

Or created something you couldn’t control.

As his fame skyrocketed, managing him became nearly impossible.

He was everywhere, magazine covers, variety shows, drama cameos. His schedule was packed from sunrise to well past midnight, and you were running yourself ragged trying to keep up. But more than the logistics, it was him. His moods became harder to predict. Some days he was gentle, clinging to you like he used to when he was scared. Other days, he’d snap, throw things, or go cold for no reason.

You were still new to the game. Everyone could see you were trying your best, but it wasn’t enough, not for the industry, and definitely not for him.

The company made the call.

“We think it’s best to assign him a senior manager. Someone with more experience managing top-tier idols.”

They dressed it up as a strategic decision. And honestly? You agreed. Things had gotten too messy. Your once-close relationship had turned into something twisted, confusing, and emotionally draining. You told yourself it was for his own good, that maybe distance would help him reset.

“I’ll still be around,” you told him, forcing a smile. “But someone else will be taking care of your day-to-day.”

He stared at you. Didn’t say anything for a long while. Just stared.

Then, softly, too softly, he said, “You’re leaving me.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m just stepping back. This is better for you. For both of us.”

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in his eyes. Something in him snapped that day, not outwardly, not immediately but you felt it. Like a quiet storm gathering behind the clouds.

You thought giving him space would help him unwind. Hoping he can finally indulge in the fame he had, probably get a secret girlfriend

You didn’t expect it to be the thing that finally made him unravel.

***

After that, you finally left.

Your first real break in years. You cashed your paycheck, packed your bags, and disappeared for a while, far from rehearsals, stress, and the boy you once pulled off the streets. It felt… weird at first. Empty. But you told yourself it was needed. Long overdue.

You didn’t keep in touch. Not because you didn’t want to but because it felt like the cleanest way to let go. Still, everywhere you went, there he was. His face lit up LED billboards with that same smile the one from when he had just debuted. Back when things were simpler. Sweeter.

You’d stop and stare sometimes, stuck between nostalgia and guilt. Wondering where it all went wrong. Was it the fame? The past he never healed from? Or… was it you?

But even through the ache, you hoped he was doing better. Independent. Stable. Happy. He wouldn’t have a hard time finding a girlfriend, not with that face, that charm, and a fanbase that worshipped the ground he walked on.

You were walking home from a quiet dinner one night, city lights buzzing around you, when you passed another ad of him huge and perfect lighting up the side of a building. You paused without meaning to, lost in your head.

That’s when your phone rang.

You didn’t even check the caller ID. Just answered, out of habit.

“…Hello?”

Silence. Then a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“I missed you.”

You froze.

And then, a shadow stepped up behind you.

A cap pulled low, sunglasses covering most of his face but you knew. You felt it.

He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear.

“You think you’re gonna escape from me?”

Your heart dropped.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, firm, but not violent. Still, it sent your pulse racing. People were around, but no one looked twice. Just a couple under the lights.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” you whispered, trying to pull away.

He smiled, too calm, too practiced.

“Let’s talk. Somewhere quieter.”

***

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you through the maze of streets, only tightening his grip whenever you slowed down. You wanted to pull away, to yell, but something in his silence kept you frozen.

Eventually, he led you into a sleek hotel, one of those high-end discreet places celebrities used when they wanted to disappear. You were too stunned to resist, your mind racing with every step.

The elevator ride was silent.

He pushed the door open, guided you inside, and shut it behind you with a soft click. The curtains were drawn. City lights barely filtered through the fabric.

He finally let go of your wrist and walked ahead, pulling off his cap and tossing it to the couch, glasses following. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, agitated, pacing the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I looked for you,” he finally said, voice tight. “Every day.”

You said nothing. He turned to face you.

“Why didn’t you call? Text? Anything?”

“It wasn’t my place anymore,” you answered softly. “We needed space. You needed to grow.”

He laughed bitterly. “Grow into what? A product?”

You flinched.

He stepped closer. “So that’s all it was, huh? A business deal? Get the pretty boy off the streets, polish him up, sell him to the world then cut him off once he gets too hard to manage?”

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It was never just business. I cared about you. But things got—”

“Complicated?” he snapped. “Yeah. You left when things got complicated.” His voice cracked, the anger just barely covering the hurt underneath. “So your life with me,” he said, slower this time, like each word hurt, “was really just a job?”

You took a step forward, your chest tightening.

“No. It was real. I-I just... you changed.”

“And you didn’t?” he whispered, eyes shining with something fragile anger, betrayal, desperation. “You walked away like I meant nothing.”

"You matter to me—"

“That’s what it felt like. You gave me everything, then took it all back the second I started needing you too much.”

“I didn’t take anything back,” you said, stepping back instinctively. “I was trying to help you. You were becoming... unstable. You needed someone more experienced. I just wanted you to be okay.”

His hands balled into fists.

“Okay? I was only okay when you were there. You made me." His voice rising with desperate anger. In a flash, he grabbed your wrists and dragged you towards the bed, forcing you down onto the plush mattress. Before you could react, he climbed on top of you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head.

"G-Get off me..." you gasped, struggling beneath him. But he was too strong, too determined. His eyes burned into yours, wild and unpredictable.

"No," he growled, one hand still gripping your wrists while the other tugged at his belt. "You don't get to leave me. I won't let you."

He yanked his belt off and tossed it to the side. Then his fingers were at your pants, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. You tried to close your legs, but he forced them open, settling himself between your thighs.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, but he silenced you with a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. His cock was hard and insistent against your stomach, and you knew he wouldn't stop.

"Please," you whimpered when he let you catch your breath. But it was a lie and you both knew it. He'd never listened to your pleas before.

"Shut up. Shut up... Shut up."

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he undid his jeans and shoved them down just enough to get his cock out. It bobbed in front of you, angry and hungry and so fucking hard.

"Open," he commanded, his grip on your hair tightening painfully.

You hesitated, your lips pressed firmly together. He cursed and slapped your cheek lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to sting.

"Open your fucking mouth," he snarled.

Tears stung your eyes at the sharp crack against your cheek, but you parted your lips just as he slammed forward, shoving his cock past your teeth and into your mouth. He didn't wait for you to adjust, just started fucking your face with hard, brutal thrusts.

Hurts... He's hurting me...

You choked on his cock, gagging and sputtering as he forced himself deeper and deeper down your throat. Saliva flooded your mouth and spilled out over your lips as he used your mouth like a fuckhole, grunting and groaning above you.

Why is he always... mad at me?

He fucked your face hard and fast, not caring about your comfort, only chasing his own pleasure. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you gagged and choked around him, your throat constricting around his pistoning cock.

He used your mouth ruthlessly, slamming into your throat and pulling out just long enough to catch his breath before plunging back in.

You knew he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied, until he'd emptied his balls down your throat. All you could do was try to breathe through your nose and pray it would be over quickly.

Mine. Mine.

He chanted it desperately under his breath, eyes glazed over with lust and obsession as he continued to viciously fuck your face. His hips slammed against your chin with each brutal thrust, your neck bulging obscenely each time he hilts inside you.

"Gonna...fucking...ruin this...cunt of a mouth..."

He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, lost in his own manic pursuit of release. He needed this, needed to take back control, to reclaim you. You had left him, abandoned him, but now...now you were his again. His to use, his to ruin.

Always wanted...to fuck this...painted whore mouth...of yours...

He could feel his balls tightening, his climax building from the base of his spine. He was going to come, going to fill your belly with his seed, mark you from the inside out. You were going to choke on his cum, swallow it all, and maybe then you'd understand. Maybe then you'd realize you belonged to him, and him alone.

"Fuck! Take it all, you...cock sleeve!"

His fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back even further as his hips slammed forward one last time. He hilts inside you, his cock pulsing and jerking as he started to come, flooding your throat and mouth with string after string of hot, thick cum.

Manager... Manager. Manager. I fucking love you.

He groaned long and low, his eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied his balls inside you. His cock jerked and spasmed as he pumped load after load of semen directly into your stomach, your throat bulging obscenely.

"Fuck!" he roared, his voice echoing in the room. "Fuck, yes! Take it all, you fucking...cock warmer!"

He held you in place, forcing you to swallow every last drop, his grip on your hair almost painfully tight. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your abused lips with a wet pop.

He collapsed next to you, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air, your throat sore and raw. Tears and saliva and his own essence coated your face.

"I...I'm sorry," you whimpered, voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to leave you. Please...forgive me..."

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, ah his eyes...they were haunted, desperate. Lost.

"Forgive you?"

He reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, smearing his own cum back into your mouth. You flinched at the taste, but he held you firm.

Forgive you?

His other hand slid down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, to cup your mound possessively. He squeezed, fingers digging into your tender flesh.

"You'd have to do more than that if you want me to forgive you. I won't let you go again. Ever."

H-Huh?

Before you could catch your breath, he yank your hips up and pulls down your pants and panty. You felt the cool air on your exposed ass and pussy.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, trying to crawl away. But he grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, pulling you back onto his still-hard cock. He rubbed the thick head up and down your slit, coating it in a mix of your spit and his own cum.

"Shut up," he snarled, voice ragged with lust and desperation. "Stop fucking fighting me. Stop resisting!"

With one brutal thrust, he slammed forward, spearing your cunt on his throbbing shaft. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. He was too big, too hard, splitting you open.

Hurts... He's being... cruel.

"Fuck!" he roared, starting to piston in and out of your helpless pussy. "Take it! Take my fucking cock!"

He set a punishing pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Each thrust jolted you forward, your tits swaying beneath you. Tears poured down your face as he used you, brutalized you, his hips slamming against your ass with every stroke.

But then, he slowed. His grip gentled, fingers kneading your ass almost lovingly as he rolled his hips into yours. He leaned down, lips brushing the nape of your neck, breathing raggedly against your skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured, voice hoarse. "So tight. Like you were made for me..."

He peppered kisses along your shoulder blades, his touch almost tender. You shuddered, confused, not understanding the sudden change. He rocked into you, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he was savoring the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock. Fuck, so fucking perfect.

"Manager... You're mine, ok? No one... No one can touch you but me!"

But just as suddenly, he changed again. His hips started moving faster, harder, the room echoing with the slap of skin and the creak of the mattress. He hooked an arm under your waist, hauling you back onto every stroke, forcing you to take every fucking inch.

"Yes, fuck!" he bellowed, sweat dripping onto your back. "Gonna...fucking ruin this pussy. Gonna make it mine."

He was panting harshly, his rhythm faltering. You could feel him growing even harder inside you, his cock throbbing erratically against your battered walls. You knew he was close, that he was going to come again.

But then he paused, buried deep inside you, cock pulsing urgently. He gripped your hips, fingers sinking into your skin hard enough to bruise.

"Gonna...fucking...knock you up," he growled. "Breed this cunt. Pump you full of my fucking seed."

You shook your head frantically, a strangled cry escaping your lips at the thought. "No! No, please...don't..."

He ignored you, starting to move again, thrusts growing more intense, more desperate. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes, gonna make you...mine. Gonna keep you...swollen with my child..."

His voice rose with each word, until he was nearly screaming. You could feel his cock jerk and twitch, his climax approaching. He was going to do it, going to come inside you, maybe even...

"Take it!" he roared. "Fucking take it, you bitch! Gonna...fucking...breed you!"

He slammed into you with a last, brutal thrust, his cock erupting deep inside your unprotected womb. You screamed as you felt the hot flood of his seed gushing into you, painting your insides with his come. He groaned long and low, body shuddering, emptying himself inside you.

He panted against your neck, sweat-soaked and sated.

"Manager... You won't be able to run away from me now."

You lay still beneath him, tears leaking from your eyes, a sense of dread washing over you.

He rolled you over, cradling you against his chest, your tear-stained face pressed to his sweat-slicked skin. His arms wrapped around you, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

Tilting your chin up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart clench. Gone was the wild, crazed look from before. Now there was only a solemn, almost reverent expression on his handsome face.

"Manager, you're the only one for me," he murmured, voice low and intense. "My heart, my soul... it all belongs to you. Don't leave me again, alright? All the luxuries, all the fame and wealth... it's meaningless without you here with me."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears that still leaked from the corners of your eyes. He leaned in closer, forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling with your own.

You want to refuse. Want to push him away, but you're eyes gets blurry with tears, getting overwhelmed. Why you?

He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your shoulder, your spine, worshipping every inch of your skin like the devoted disciple he claimed to be. Tears leaked from your eyes at the tenderness of his touches, the heartfelt sincerity in his tone.

It's like the old him...

But even as you lost yourself in the gentle glide of his lips, you could feel the desperation radiating off him in waves. This calm, this tenderness...it was a fragile thing.

He's always been such a fragile boy.

His hands roamed your body with a hunger that was almost painful in its intensity. He was trying to memorize you, to burn every dip and curve into his mind.

He hitched your leg up over his hip, opening you to him. You could feel his cock, already hard and ready again, nudging against your thigh, making you freeze.

He... He's still ready?

He was insatiable, this man. He would never be satisfied, would never have enough of you.

His eyes were wild again, pupils blown wide with renewed lust. He notched himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pushing demandingly at your folds.

"Feel this, Manager?" he whispered hotly, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. "Feel what you do to me? How much I just want to... Fuck you, need you..."

"I-I'm still sore... Please, I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that and just let me in your cunt, ok?"

He surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You cried out, back arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. He was so deep, so hard, stretching you in ways that made you see stars. He's deeper this time?

"Wah... Your cunt still so tight, you're squeezing me dry~"

He started to move, hips rolling into yours with a force that shook the headboard. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, left you gasping and mewling beneath him. He was lost in the heat of you, in the way your cunt gripped him.

"Tell me you need it, Manager," he urged, his cock slamming home and stilling, pulsing urgently inside you. "Tell me you want this... want me... as much as I need and want you!"

He pumped harder, faster, chasing his pleasure, his release. The room filled with the crude slap of skin against skin, with your choked cries and his grunts. He was going to come again, you could feel it in the erratic jerk of his hips, in the way his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you.

"Fuck!" he roared, slamming into you one last time. "Fuck, Manager, fuck!"

"N-no! Don't do it inside again!"

You bit your lips, muffling your ecstasy as you felt the hot rush of his come flooding your womb, your own orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision swam, your body shaking with the force of it.

He's gonna come inside... I'll get pregnant at this rate...

And then, with a long, guttural groan, he was coming again. His cock erupted like a fountain, pumping spurt after spurt of his hot cum deep into your hungry womb. The sensation was too much... too intense... and you felt yourself plummeting into oblivion, the darkness claiming you as his release seemed to go on and on.

The last thing you heard as you drifted off was his ragged voice, panting your name like a prayer.

"Manager... Manager... Manager! I love you! I love you! I fucking love you!"

***

You stared up at the ceiling, the memories of the past playing out like a movie reel in your mind. You could see him there, a young and nervous pop sensation, gripping your hands tightly as you offered him words of encouragement and support.

"You've got this," you had said, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "Go out there and give them the performance of a lifetime. They're waiting for you."

"Okay," he nodded, squaring his shoulders with newfound determination. "Okay, Manager. I can do this. With you by my side, I can do anything."

He stepped out onto the stage. The crowd had gone wild, their screams and cheers a tangible force that seemed to lift him up and carry him forward. He had shone under the hot lights, his voice ringing out clear and strong, his movements confident and sure.

And you had watched from the wings, your heart swelling with pride and love as you beheld the man you had helped to create. He was more than just your client, more than just your star - he was your greatest achievement, your crowning glory. You had taken a scared and scrawny boy and molded him into a god among men, a king among the elite.

But now, as you lay there in the dim light of the bedroom, you could feel the weight of that responsibility crushing down on you. It was your fault, after all, that he had become this twisted and broken creature, this monster who would dare to touch you without your consent, to hold you against your will.

His arms tightened around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath hot and heavy against the back of your neck. He was saying all the right things, murmuring all the right words, but you could feel the dark intent behind them. The gentleness was a lie, a mask he wore to hide the cruelty that lurked beneath.

"Shh, it's alright," he cooed, his lips brushing your ear. "Don't cry, I'm here now. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

But you didn't want him here. You didn't want his comfort or his affection or his twisted version of love. You wanted him to let you go, to release you from the nightmare that had become your life. You wanted to be free of him, to run until you couldn't run anymore, to disappear and never be found again.

But you knew it was impossible. He would never let you go, would never allow you to leave him. He needed you too much, depended on you for his every breath and his every heartbeat. And as long as you remained by his side, as long as you stayed in his life… he would never stop hunting you, never stop pursuing you until he had claimed you completely.

It was a bitter realization, a cruel twist of fate that left you feeling hollow and empty inside. You had once believed that you could save him, that your love and your guidance could be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But now… now you knew the truth. You knew that you had been the one to nurture the seeds of his madness, to feed the flames of his obsession until it had grown into an all-consuming inferno.

And so you lay there, trapped in his embrace, tears leaking down your face as you prayed silently for a miracle, for some way out of this nightmare. But deep down, you knew that there would be no miracle, no divine intervention to come rescue you from the man you had once called your star.

You had been his manager, his guide, his friend… and his downfall. And now, you would bear the consequences of your choice for the rest of your days.

With a sob catching in your throat, you closed your eyes and surrendered to the darkness, praying that when you opened them again… you would be somewhere, anywhere else. But far away from here, and far away from him.

Though, you only have yourself to blame.

You were the one who scouted him after all~

Stupid manager.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Where's The Trophy? He Just Comes Running Over To Me | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: She ended it — he said she was too much. But now every time he wins, he looks for her.

A/N: Here's a little drabble for you guys. Inspiration is still on the down low but MAX WON IN SUZUKA GUYS and this lil idea struck.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

It was all over the internet. The photos of him standing on the second step of the podium in Melbourne, jaw tight, eyes scanning the crowd with this distant, searching look. He should've been proud—second place with a car that was fighting him every step of the way—but it was like he was waiting for something. Or someone.

People on Twitter noticed. Reddit too. The way he didn’t smile properly, the way he glanced toward the sidelines right before the champagne came out. There were theories. Some people even guessed right. He was looking for her.

Max hadn’t been himself for a while. And maybe that wasn’t fair to say, because he was still fast. Still pushing the Red Bull harder than anyone else could’ve. But the car was holding him back this season. Everyone knew it. It wasn’t just bad luck or a weird setup. It was an actual issue. Aero, balance, whatever the hell the engineers were arguing about behind closed doors. Max could drive like hell, but if the car wasn’t ready, it just wasn’t.

Still, it didn’t stop people from whispering about him. And it didn’t stop her from wondering, in quiet moments, if he was okay.

It had been almost six months since they broke up.

Not that the anniversary needed marking.

It happened just before his fourth championship.

The fight had been coming for weeks—tension simmering beneath every conversation, every missed call, every cancelled dinner. She gave him space, tried not to take it personally when he snapped or forgot her birthday or ghosted her texts for two straight days because he was in sim sessions and meetings.

She really tried.

But he pushed. And pushed. And then, one night, he said something he couldn't take back.

It was late. Past midnight. The apartment in Monaco was dead silent except for the sound of Max’s voice echoing from the kitchen, clipped and sharp.

"You don't get it. You never have."

She was standing by the window, arms crossed, the city lights painting her face in cool blue. "Don’t turn this into that. I’ve done nothing but try to understand."

He walked past her, tossing his phone onto the counter with a thud. “You think trying means texting me after every quali like that’s supposed to fix it? I don’t need a cheerleader. I need someone who doesn’t make everything harder by hovering all the time. You're just too much!”

The words came out fast, angry. He froze as soon as he said them.

“I didn’t mean—”

She blinked at him. Just once. Then picked up her bag from the back of the chair. “Yeah. You did.”

Max moved toward her quickly, regret all over his face. “No, I didn’t. I swear. I’m—fuck, I’m tired, I’m under so much pressure, I—”

“I gave you space,” she said, voice quiet but shaking. “I let you push me away. I made excuses for you. I convinced myself this was just temporary. But this?”

He reached out, catching her wrist. “Please don’t go. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I love you.”

She looked at him, heart breaking and already halfway out the door. “I love you too. But I can’t do this anymore. I need space to think.”

She left. No big scene. Just keys on the counter and a cab at the curb.

The last time they spoke was the night of his fourth championship. She watched the race from her couch, pride and heartbreak mixing in her chest like poison. When he crossed the line, the tears came fast. It was supposed to be a moment they shared.

She sent him a message. Just one.

Her: congrats on the title. you deserved it.

He replied five minutes later.

Max: Please call me. I need to talk to you.

Max: I’m so sorry. I think about you every day.

Max: I fucked up. Please don’t shut me out forever.

Max: I know I don’t deserve it, but if there’s any chance at all… please.

She didn’t answer right away. It took her hours to even look at her phone again. And when she finally did, she typed out something simple.

Her: I’m proud of you. I really am. I know it was a stressful time. But what you said… it stuck. I just need some space. I hope you understand.

She didn’t text back after that. Not for months.

Then came the 2025 season.

It started off okay. Not great. Not Max levels of dominance. The car was twitchy, unstable in corners, and the engineers were playing catch-up from day one.

He still dragged it to second place in Australia. It was a miracle drive. But when he stood on the podium, he wasn’t smiling the way he used to.

Then China happened. P4. Not a disaster, but it hurt. Everyone could see he was wringing every last drop out of that machine and it still wasn’t enough. But he wasn’t throwing tantrums or being cold with the press. He just looked… tired.

That was when Lando started texting her.

Lando: okay hear me out

Lando: come to japan

Her: lol what?

Lando: serious. Quadrant’s first launch post-rebrand is in Suzuka and it’s a big deal and I want you there. you always said you’d come if we did something huge. You promised

Lando: don’t be mean i’m sensitive

Her: I don’t think that counts as a promise lol

Her: lando.

Lando: Please. I’ll keep you away from him. swear on my life. you won’t even smell a red bull. max won’t know. just come support your favourite british gamer boy.

Her: I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

Lando: It’s for me not for him. come on. just this one time.

Lando: I’ll buy you japanese snacks and let you win mario kart. i’m begging.

Her: you never let anyone win mario kart.

Lando: but for you. I’ll throw the race.

Her: …

Her: fine. one weekend.

Lando: YES. you’re the best. he won’t even know. it’s gonna be chill. just quadrant stuff. you’ll have fun.

Suzuka was buzzing. She had an amazing time with the Quadrant crew, watching all the behind-the-scenes of photoshoots and going out for ramen with Lando. But she couldn’t avoid the paddock. Not when Saturday’s quali brought a surprise. Max was on pole.

She watched it all from the shadows, tucked behind a wall of McLaren gear and camera rigs, staying low-key like she promised. But when he stepped out of the car, helmet tucked under his arm, grinning wide like it was 2023 again, her heart did this dumb little flip.

God, she missed him.

Race day came. And Max? He dominated.

He drove like a man possessed. Fast. Precise. Every lap smoother than the last. The Red Bull finally looked decent again—maybe not perfect, but close enough in his hands.

And when he crossed the finish line, hands raised, engine screaming, she didn’t mean to move. But her feet took her to the barricades at parc fermé before her brain caught up.

She stayed hidden, sandwiched between McLaren crew and camera guys.

Max was all celebration—yelling over the radio, hugging his engineers, trading high fives and slaps on the back. The joy on his face was infectious, the kind of smile she hadn’t seen in ages. He placed his helmet gently on the stand, grabbed a water bottle from the pit wall, and turned slightly—ready to take a sip—when he spotted her.

He froze.

The bottle slipped right out of his hand, hitting the concrete with a loud thud as he stared.

Then he ran.

No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just sprinted straight toward her and pulled her into a hug so tight it knocked the breath from her lungs.

She was too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to do anything but hug him back. Her fingers curled into the back of his suit, and she held on as the flashes of cameras popped around them like fireworks.

She glanced up, catching Lando a few steps away trying to subtly signal if she needed help—if he should pull Max off her. But she shook her head, just barely.

Max wasn’t letting go.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair, over and over again, voice hoarse with emotion. “I’m sorry. I missed you. I’m so sorry.”

She leaned back just enough to cradle his face in her hands, thumbs brushing his cheeks as she looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time in months.

“Congratulations Max” She whispered, watching him calm down a little.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at her like he was afraid she'd disappear.

"I didn’t know you were here," he said finally, voice rough.

She nodded. "Wasn’t planned. Lando guilt-tripped me."

He gave a breathy laugh. Then his face sobered. "You saw the whole thing?"

She nodded again.

Max stepped closer. "I meant what I said. About being sorry. I think about it every day."

"Max—"

"Just let me say this," he interrupted, voice low. "I was angry. At the team. At the car. At myself. And I used you like a punching bag and took you for granted. That was on me."

She looked at him for a long second before smiling widely.

"Go celebrate," she whispered against his shoulder. "You earned it. I’ll meet you in your driver’s room later ok?."

He pulled back just enough to look at her. Hope flickered in his eyes. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "We’ll talk. After."

He didn’t push for more. Just touched their foreheads briefly before turning back towards the staff ushering him to the cooldown room.

And this time, as Max stepped onto the podium, standing tall as the Dutch Anthem played in the background, as he sprayed Champagne on Lando and Oscar, he didn’t need to search the crowd.

He already knew she was there.

[luvsupa]

a/n two posts in one day… ruh roh… (I miss gojo </3)

ex!satoru who doesn’t really understand the concept of being an ex. he just thinks you want a break from him. but permanently separated? hell no, he could never understand that.

“‘toru… things aren’t gonna work out between us,” you begin as he sits in front of you at your dinner table in your shared apartment. he looks at you with no emotion, as if you didn’t just end things. “we’re growing in separate ways, and i feel i would only—satoru.”

you could scream at him—he’s not paying attention, scrolling on his phone instead. he shows you the order he placed for dinner, coming in twenty minutes. of course, he bought your favorite.

“satoru, can you please be serious for one minute?” you huff, clearly annoyed that he’s not listening while he’s purchasing things he knows will make you swoon.

“i am serious,” he says, placing his phone down to observe your breathtaking features.

“you weren’t even listening,” you say, crossing your arms as you slouch in the seat.

“baby, of course i’m listening—you’re crazy if you think i’m leaving you,” he coos condescendingly, and you roll your eyes.

ex!satoru who, in fact, respected your decision and gave you your personal space, not exactly broken up in his eyes, just a temporary break.

ex!satoru who stays over at suguru’s place for a few months, whining every day and night about how he missed being in your arms.

“i miss her,” gojo says as he pets geto’s cat, miyu, while geto himself groans as he cleans his apartment.

“can you at least help out and stop whining like a bitch,” geto says, adjusting the pillows neatly on his couch. this only causes gojo to frown and embrace miyu in a tight hug, nuzzling his face in her soft fur as she tries to get away from his grasp.

“and let go of miyu, she doesn’t want you holding her.”

ex!satoru who continues to send you money, always sending you hundreds and hundreds of dollars for food, shopping, and especially paying for your necessities. he doesn’t care that you work for yourself—you’re still his baby, and he loves spoiling you. his money is your money.

unknown number sent $500! —go get some food, baby~ ♡

unknown number sent $600! —please unblock me on insta

unknown number sent $300! —i love u, mama

ex!satoru who chokes on his breakfast when shoko says you’re going on a date. gojo, never in his life, was speechless, and that really creeped out shoko and geto.

“satoru… are you good?” geto asks concernedly—even miyu jumps on gojo’s lap, sensing a difference in his character.

“yeah, i’m good…” he says calmly, placing down his utensils to pet miyu’s soft fur.

ex!satoru who does a little investigating of who this mysterious man is, finding his identity within ten minutes. he scoffs when he finds his social media—he’s nowhere near as handsome as he is. what do you see in him?

ex!satoru who sits comfortably in the luxurious restaurant where you and the mysterious man planned to go. little did you know, gojo texted the man, telling him that you’re married.

“aiko?” gojo hears a soft voice call as he turns to look at you. your eyes widen when you see gojo. this has to be some kind of joke—he is fucking crazy. you turn around, going back to the entrance, but gojo grabs your wrist.

“no, no, no, baby, please let me talk,” he pleads, and you fold from the way he calls you baby. oh, how you loved and missed the way he called you baby and claimed you as his own.

he guides you to the chair in front of him as he holds your hand, your pretty acrylics grazing his hands. he loved the way you looked well put together, his baby doll.

“my love, i promise to leave you,” he says, rubbing small circles on your hand. your heart pangs at his confession. “i just want to know how you’re doing.”

“i-i miss you so much,” you say. gojo feels like he’s hallucinating at what you just said. “shoko told me you were having a date today, and i felt so jealous—” you stammer, and gojo blinks multiple times, stunned at what you’re saying.

“this guy aiko asked me on a date, and i wanted to make you jealous,” you continue, frowning at being confused with your emotions. but gojo, on the other hand, is putting two and two together.

“give me your phone,” he sternly says. you stare at him in confusion, but you oblige, taking out your phone from your purse and handing it to him. gojo smiles as your lockscreen is still a baby photo of him. he unlocks your phone—the password still the same, his birthday.

“i was meaning to change the lockscreen,” you quickly state, not trying to look like a weirdo in front of him.

gojo goes into your contacts and clicks aiko’s contact information, calling the number. multiple rings go by, and the man on the other line picks up.

“hello—”

“shoko, i know this is you.”

you look at him and your phone in horror. shoko set you guys up by making a fake number to make you go on a date with ‘aiko’ but really you’d be with gojo.

“ahh, did my plan work? both of you kept whining about each other—it was infuriating. i had to do something,” she says on the other line, gojo clearly hearing geto’s giggles in the background.

“don’t ever do this again,” gojo says as he hangs up the phone. the two of you burst out in laughter, but for you, it’s more embarrassing that you were flirting with shoko through texts!

fiancé!satoru who proposed to you a few weeks later, he’s beyond happy to be in the arms of his baby again <3

[lokissweater]

sunday's 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

{yuta okkotsu x popular f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been in love with you since he started college— living in the shadows of your popularity as he watched from afar how your bouncy and genuine kind soul prospered and shined everywhere you went. but during one of his shifts at the 50s diner down the street from his campus, you walk in with you friends one sunday night and immediately bond over your shared love for elvis presley’s music, yuta stammering and fidgety at how pretty you are up close, and you falling fast for his pinky cheeks, sweet little words, and how he takes care of you every single day.

warnings: college!au, FLUUUFFF omg so cute, lovesick yuta he thinks you’re so prettyyy, no smut in this one!, popular reader, cursing, afab!reader, lots of mentions of elvis presley LOL, little bit of angst, clueless yuta, strangers to friends to lovers.

word count: 9.6k

authors note: THIS ONE HITS HOMEEE FOR MEEE AAAHHHH CAN YOU TELL I LOVE ELVIS PRESLEY? i live and breathe that man and oldies in general, so this is a love letter to him! :] this fic is all of my favorite things combined and it is SO FREAKING CUUTEEEE UGH i hope you all love it seriously <3333 MWAAHHH I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU—

yuta okkotsu had never seen a girl so beautiful.

you were breathtaking, watching from afar, it was truly as if the world revolved around you in the most positive way yuta could think of.

you were popular— a beam of gorgeous light following you everywhere you went as you were always just enveloped by people and strangers and friends, them wanting to talk to you, wanting to get to know you, wanting you to better their lives because that’s what you selflessly liked to do for everyone without knowing.

and every time he’d walk in between lectures and spot you— feeling in the dumps if on certain days he’d miss your presence entirely, he’d just stare. stare with pink cheeks and softened eyes as you laughed and messed around with your friends or did extracurricular activities around campus, always giving a helping hand to those who needed it no matter the status.

that’s what yuta admired the most about you. you didn’t treat anybody differently just because they didn’t stand in the same level as you. you didn’t care about things like that, and you spoke to people with such fucking class and poise, that he always dozed off picturing how it would be like if he ever had the privilege of actually speaking with you.

that’s how most of his work shifts went at the diner after his classes.

he would wait tables or be in the kitchen, wipe down the windows or run the hostess stand… and you’d be on his mind— permanently there to torment him in the loveliest way he knew how.

and on one sunday night, you were unexpectedly there right in front of him at his job.

“hello?”

you waved a gentle hand over his face, and he snapped out of it immediately, cheeks pinky and bright, your friends snickering.

“yes! s—sorry.” he reached behind the hostess stand. “how many are with you?”

“four!” you responded sweetly, yuta having to swallow the huge lump in his throat as he officially saw your smile up close for the first time in his life— a gorgeous contrast to what it looked like from far away.

yuta quickly grabbed the corresponding menus and stepped to the side of the hostess stand, leading you and your friends through the empty restaurant and to a big booth— placing two menus down on each side of the table.

a series of elvis presley oldies (a personal pick from yuta) played through the jukebox in the middle of the diner while you and your friends scanned the menu, yuta fidgeting and anxious with his pen and notepad, waiting for you to order.

“do you have a favorite milkshake from here?” your kind voice spoke, looking up at him.

“uh— milkshake?”

your friends snickered again, but this time, you turned to them and shot them all a menacing glare.

“hey!— stop that you guys…” you shook your head at them and turned back to a red faced yuta, smiling apologetically. “i’m sorry! i’m really sorry.”

your friends only looked annoyed as they buried their faces in their menus or looked away entirely— yuta shaking his head softly.

“n—no it’s alright. um— i usually prefer this one-”

he timidly pointed his pen downward, the words ‘elvis shake’ reading from it.

“it has uh— vanilla ice cream with peanut butter and bananas.” he pursed his lips. “if… if you like that?”

“oh i’m a whore for anything with peanut butter in it!…” your hands spread flat across the menu as you leaned closer, yuta shyly laughing a little at your wording.

you looked up then, your eyes bright and excited and yuta doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him the way you were at that moment.

“is that why you like it? because of the peanut butter?”

“yeah! yeah definitely... m— mainly because of the name though.”

you stopped and your eyebrows furrowed. “elvis? do you listen to him?”

his cheeks buzzed. “do you?”

“y/n!” one of your friends harshly whispered to you from across the table. “are we here to chit chat or are we here to eat?”

“fuck okay! jesus—”

you and the rest of your group ordered, yuta nervously scribbling down the names of various platters and drinks before silently excusing himself to send the note off to the kitchen staff.

and when it came around to serving your food, placing each individual dish down for each person— yuta gently settled the elvis shake you got in front of you, adorned with baby pink sprinkles over a mountain of whipped cream with a cherry on top, something that yuta did extra for you out of the goodness of his infatuated heart, since it didn’t come with the drink in the first place.

he didn’t know why, but he could tell that the energy was different between you and your friends the second time he came around, and after hiding in the kitchen for the entirety of the time you were there instead of outside waiting tables like he was supposed to, by the third time he came back around— you were fighting with them.

he quickly retreated behind the bar and made himself look busy, guiltily eavesdropping as he picked up a random salt shaker and falsely examined it.

“i don’t understand why you guys can’t just be nice!” you pushed. “is having a normal conversation with somebody that funny? every time?”

“y/n you always talk to a bunch of rando’s of course it’s funny.”

“what the hell does that even mean?”

“it means it looks odd and you’re embarrassing yourself every time you skip around not being mindful of who you’re having conversations with!” one of them seethed, their tone judgemental and rude and one yuta didn’t like at all.

“like— like the server today! i’m pretty sure i’ve seen him around campus, he’s odd. why were you asking him about— about— who the fuck were you asking him about?“

“elvis.” you spat. “i was asking him about elvis."

“that guy! who cares? he works here why do you have to always talk to people like that—”

“like what?!” you threw your arms up. “like a normal decent human being would? i can see why you’d lack that.”

“excuse me?”

“yeah. and it sucks for you.”

“sucks for?— okay. i think we’re done here.”

“way fucking done.”

as each of them scooched out of the booth, yuta watched with wide panicked eyes while you stayed seated and silent, arms crossed over your chest and lips tight as you glared.

“i don’t know why everyone loves you so much…” one of them muttered. “there isn’t anything to you.”

and they all walked out, the bell above the door chiming as they did.

yuta’s eyes darted from you to the exit and to them through the window outside in the parking lot, watching fucking gobsmacked as they all got in one singular car and sped off, leaving you there by yourself and with the responsibility of the bill.

soft sniffles reached him, and he turned then, your body hunched over on the table as you cried with your head down, yuta’s heart aching for you.

he put down the random salt shaker he was holding and walked around the bar, slowly making his way towards your table.

“you don’t—”

you shot up startled.

“sorry! sorry—” he awkwardly scratched his pinky cheek. “i was just— gonna say you don’t have to pay the bill… i— i can—”

“oh! no you don’t have to do that.” you wiped your cheeks. “it’s okay i can pay it.”

“but they left you the entire bill.” he said softly.

“i know… it’s okay! really.” you smiled a little through your tears, the sight making his shoulders slump.

how you could possibly smile at a time like this was beyond him.

yuta started clearing the empty plates from your table when you spoke up again.

“i’m sorry you had to deal with their attitude...” you mumbled. “and my ugly crying.”

he smiled softly and shook his head. “no it’s okay. you shouldn’t apologize for them.”

“i should though…” you whined a little. “they were being mean the moment we got here and were just straight disrespectful.”

you leaned back against the plush of the booth and crossed your arms, muttering. “it’s not like they were my friends either..”

yuta quirked a confused brow, setting the last of the plates away in the kitchen before coming back around. “they weren’t?”

“nuh uh.” you shook your head. “i had just met them today actually, from a sorority event. i thought they were nice at first but i started noticing they were a little bitchy.”

“bitchy?” he laughed a little, his heart leaping like a little leap frog at the realization that it was just you and him at the diner alone, the cooks having already gone home seeing as it was past closing time for the diner.

“yeah…” you sighed deeply through your nose. “they weren’t being very nice to the other girls there either… and— and when they asked me if i wanted to come eat here with them i didn’t really want to go but—” you pursed your lips, a sheepish look on your face. “i have a hard time saying no to people so…”

yuta’s eyes softened, leaning back against the edge of the long bar table as he eyed how resilient you tried to come across but damn well knowing you were hurting inside by their actions, your cheeks still wet and your bottom lip in a slight pout.

“what they said to you wasn’t very nice…” he murmured. “i’m sorry they did that.”

you smiled warmly. “it’s okay. i get it here and there.”

his eyebrows furrowed. “here and there? what do you mean?”

“from other people that i meet.” you perked up slightly then. “do you wanna sit?” you signaled to the seat across from you in the booth and he stiffened, eyes wide and cheeks pink as he reluctantly scooched his legs over and sat across from you.

“they just get a little mad when i don’t do what they want me to do.”

“like be mean? like them?”

you shrugged a little, but the way your gorgeous eyes peered up at him indicated that he was right. “i suppose.”

“are all of your friends like that?”

“oh no! thankfully not…” you fiddled with your fingers on the table. “a lot of them are really sweet.”

yuta never thought about how something like this could be a possibility, as all he saw was how much you were loved and idolized and sought after by literally anyone who knew your name— but he missed the mark on the logistics of it. he should’ve known certain girls wouldn’t be in favor of you and desired what you didn’t have to work very hard for to get.

he saw how you wiped the remnants of your wet cheeks and sniffed, looking like you had at least recovered from crying but still a little dejected as you slouched over the table, eyes down.

“do you want… another elvis shake?”

you looked up. “what?”

“a—another shake. do you want one?” he stood slowly from the booth. “or i could get you ice cream? we just have vanilla and chocolate but—”

“oh no! it’s okay really i don’t want to freeload over what you have—”

he giggled a little. “you’re not freeloading. i’m offering.”

and before you could reject him again, he was already making his way to the kitchen— hands skillfully prepping his favorite milkshake like he’d done so many times before since the age of sixteen, and now skillfully and lovingly preparing it for you, the girl he’s adored since the moment he started college.

you stood and timidly followed after him, but instead of fully going into the kitchen, you stopped in front of the vintage burgundy jukebox and scanned the selection of songs.

“you won’t get in trouble?” you worriedly called over your shoulder. “i don’t want you to run into issues with your job…”

“no it’s okay!” you heard from the kitchen, glasses and silverware clinking together. “i’ve been working here since high school and my manager doesn’t mind. i usually um— close on sunday’s on my own too.”

the blender went off as you spotted your favorite elvis presley song on the list of selections, perking up and quickly digging into your purse for any stray quarters you magically hoped would appear inside.

yuta switched the blender off and unhooked it from the base, pouring out the frothy liquid into a fountain glass cup.

“you close on your own on sunday’s?” your head turned to where he was, catching little glimpses of him from the doorway as he moved to and fro. “the entire restaurant?”

“yeah…” he laughed awkwardly. “well— all of the time.”

“all of the time?!” you gawked, popping your head into the kitchen and accidentally scaring him.

“oh shit!—”

“sorry!” you giggled cutely. “i’m sorry…”

he laughed with you and waved you off. “it’s okay.”

yuta looked down and proceeded topping your milkshake with baby pink sprinkles again. “and yeah we’re kind of… understaffed right now. it’s just me and another kid.”

you hummed understandingly, watching the way he finished off your shake with two cherries on top instead of one like last time, making you softly smile in response.

he plopped a straw in. “here you go.”

“thank you!” you bounced excitedly on your little toes and he grinned, handing the glass over to you gently.

“i hope you feel better…”

your milkshake filled cheeks made him laugh as you paused and swallowed, the sweetest expression ever on your face as your eyes flickered to his name tag and back to him.

“i do yuta… thank you!”

the way his name rang off your tongue, something he never ever would’ve thought to hear come out of your mouth, to come out from you, sent him feeling lightheaded as fuck as he dropped his head down to hide his rosy cheeks, walking out of the kitchen as you followed after him.

you paused in front of the jukebox again.

“oh! i didn’t get to hear your answer from earlier.”

he picked his head up. “from earlier?”

“if— if you listen to elvis?”

“oh—” his gaze drifted to where you had your focus on the elvis presley selection panel on the machine. “i do! i love his music.”

you beamed, eyes lighting up so excitedly as you looked at him.

“oh my god i love him too! so much!”

“really?” he smiled. “do you— do you have a favorite song?”

“yeah! i have a lot...” you giggled shyly. “but i mainly like ‘always on my mind.’”

“that one’s a good one!” his smile grew. “i love that one too.”

“right?!” you stepped closer to him, and his face flushed. “and you? what about you?”

“i uh— i like ‘moody blue’…”

you gushed. “i like that one too!”

you loved the way his pinky cheeks bloomed and how kind he was— the way he tried his best to make you, a stranger, feel better with a cute little milkshake, his stuttering and fidgeting something that you found yourself adoring and only made your heart mushy with the weird need to pinch his rosy cheeks.

and he loved elvis.

“i’m glad you like him.” you hummed, running the pad of your index finger mindlessly over the smooth glittery surface of the jukebox. “people don’t really listen to him or oldies in general now.”

you gently set your nearly finished milkshake on the bar table as he nodded his head in agreement, thinking he couldn’t fall more in love with you over the fact that you actually liked one of his favorite artists. “i didn’t—expect you to either…”

you tilted your head. “really? why?”

“because—” he stammered, eyes darting around your breathtaking face. “well you’re popular. and pretty. and in a sorority. and i just—”

“oh— i see!” you smiled with blushing cheeks at his quick compliment, but it didn’t really reach your eyes. “i understand.”

“no but!—” your eyes stayed glued to the jukebox, and he worried that he might’ve accidentally offended you as he frantically tried to get his words together.

“i know it’s all stereotypes and assumptions so i’m— i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright!” you giggled softly. “i just don’t want you or anyone to get the wrong impression of me because of those things is all…”

your eyebrows pinched in thought, and he quickly shook his head.

“i’ve never!” he reached and placed a hand on your shoulder, your cheeks growing hot as he did so. “i’ve never gotten the wrong impression of you…”

“no?”

“no.”

you peered up at him. “what do you think of me then?”

“what do i—” he gulped. “what do i think?”

“yeah!”

“i think uh… you’re really nice.” he mumbled. “really nice. to everyone.. to me. doesn’t matter who honestly. and… you’re not afraid to say something if someone is being rude.”

yuta shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he avoided your gaze. “and you’re helpful… you put a lot of care into the things that you do, which are always never for your own benefit but for the benefit of others.”

he froze. “i— i see you around campus! a lot— so…”

your doe eyes were soft and filled with affection and warmth, the weight of his words settling into your mind as if they’ve always belonged there. as if he’s always belonged there.

you wrung your fingers behind your back then and leaned up on your tippy toes.

“you think i’m pretty?”

beautiful.

yuta hadn’t even realized that he had called you that until the moment you mentioned it again, his eyes widening as his wobbly lips tried to form coherent sentences for you.

“well— well who doesn’t...” he squeaked.

“but do you?” you leaned even closer, your cute smile nearly making him want to blurt out that he’s in love with you and that he’s maybe thought about you being the mother of his children from time to time.

“i— i do.” his eyes flickered back to yours. “i do.”

you bit your bottom lip and gleamed, giving into your impulses and reaching up to gently squeeze his flushed cheek.

“you’re so cute yuta…” you murmured, arm falling back to your side and eyes casting over the jukebox again.

and he nearly just about died.

“do you want a little donut?” he asked. “i— i can get it from the back—”

you and yuta spent literally the rest of the night until two in the morning chit chatting, playing various oldies tunes on the jukebox that conspired of mainly elvis presley, and yuta literally feeding you and giving you anything he possibly could just so he could watch the way you beamed at him every time he did— even when at one point you literally begged him that it was okay, your tummy absolutely filled with sugary sweets and drinks.

you even helped yuta close— disinfecting and wiping down all of the tables, sweeping the floors, triple shining the little elvis mural the diner had by the hostess stand, and organizing the menu’s for tomorrow’s shift.

in the midst of you wiping down the last of the big glass windows by the entrance with him, you thought of something.

“oh my god yuta—” your head snapped in his direction, his eyes widening at your sudden outburst.

“what if i work here?”

he stopped.

“work here?”

“yeah!” you nodded vigorously. “with you!”

he bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming. “with me?”

“uh huh!” you chirped sweetly. “i would love to wipe down tables and listen to music with you everyday..”

yuta’s ears went red as he heard your soft voice say something so cute, wanting to literally run into the kitchen to the sink and dunk his face in sink water to cool off his boiling face.

“if that’s okay!” you sputtered. “am i being weird? am i freaking you out—”

“no! no not at all!” the corners of his lips curled, and he smiled, genuinely smiled. a big loving one that made his cheeks hurt with how hard he was doing it, and one that made your heart lightly flutter inside your chest at the way he was looking at you.

“i can talk to my manager.” he spoke gently. “i’m pretty sure he’ll take you.”

you bounced excitedly on your tippy toes, unexpectedly throwing your arms around him and landing a big fat kiss to his cheek.

“thank you thank you!”

yuta kept true to his word and talked to his manager the following day, who barely even had to think about it since he trusted yuta more than his own damn kids, waving him off and giving him the all clear to have you start the coming week.

“look look! do you likkeeyyy?”

you twirled around in your waitress uniform, the frilly pink fabric moving and swaying with every spin you made as he casually tried to bite down on his thumb in stupid restraint.

“it’s great!” he muttered, teeth locked around his thumb still. “you look great y/n.”

“thanks thanks!”

and you hopped over, giving him another quick kiss on the cheek before skipping away to the kitchen, him ecstatic as he’d been wanting another one so fucking badly again since the first time you did it— him biting down even harder on his thumb when you disappeared from view.

“why do you look like you’re about to shit yourself?”

yuta whipped around and saw his other coworker, yuji, the kid who shares shifts with him sometimes and spills everything and anything that comes out of his mouth without thinking twice about it, standing next to him with a clueless face.

yuji then wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. “is it the girl? the pretty one? the one with the big ass—”

“knock it off—” yuta shoved him away lightly and walked off, crouching down behind the bar counter and sorting through piles of rolled up silverware and buffet napkins.

“do you like her? yes or no?” yuji leaned against the edge of the bar.

his cheeks went pink.

“because if not i’m gonna go try y’know—”

yuta scoffed. “yuji you’re a freshman in high school and we’re in college. she’s in college—”

“okay maybe she likes them young? cougar moment?”

yuta looked at him absolutely horrified and bewildered. “you’re fucking insane—”

his reaction and response only made yuji double over in a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath as yuta looked at him with an unamused face.

“i’m kidding! i’m just kidding i know you like her you’ve been red in the face the minute she clocked in—”

“what’s so funny?”

you popped your head in from the kitchen, making yuta jump again and yuji double over laughing like before, you giving yuta an apologetic look.

“i wanna laugh!” you pouted. “what happened? what’s funny?”

“yuta didn’t like the joke i made.” yuji quipped.

“well what was it? maybe i will!” you smiled sweetly.

“i said—”

“don’t say it!”

yuji ducked as yuta threw a kids menu at him.

“yuta has a cru—”

“shut the fuck up!—”

you covered your mouth with your hands in a little fit of giggles, the sound halting yuta mid throw to look at you with wide dreamy eyes— not wanting to miss the way you laughed and the way your nose crinkled with every hiccup.

yuji snickered and he shot him a glare before standing and walking over to where you stood.

“you don’t wanna hear it…” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with a buffet napkin. “it was freaking weird.”

you settled your giggles down and breathed, nodding cutely. “i’ll take your word for it, yu.”

yu.

“eeehh?! look y/n! look at his face!—”

“shut up!”

for the rest of the days and shifts that you spent together, yuta made it his mission to do things for you to hopefully earn him a sweet cheek kiss in return like last time, all while desperately trying to avoid yuji and his big ginormous annoying mouth actively corrupting some of his attempts on purpose.

yuta would try and bring you any kind of pastry he could give away to you without his manager knowing, or make you milkshakes randomly throughout your shifts or small BLT’s during lunch time to feed you, all for the purpose of watching the way you’d smile and hug him gratefully each time, and if he got lucky, a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“i don’t get it.” yuji shook his head during one of your shifts, him shuffling through a movie magazine on his break. “why don’t you just ask her for a kiss on the cheek? hm? i’d bet she’d do it! ooo better yet—” he looked at him with sarcastic laced excitement. “ask her out you little loser.”

yuta’s cheeks were hot as he listened, watching you from the kitchen take orders and scribble them down on a notepad.

“it’s been months yuta. months. i am in agony every day watching you follow her around like a lost puppy even though it’s the funniest thing i’ve ever seen.”

yuta rolled his eyes, but sent him a small sad smile. “can’t do it.”

“why not?” he whined. “she likes you too!”

“because she’s out of my league.” yuta pursed his lips. “and no i don’t think she likes me.”

“oh man—” yuji hunched over the sink, tossing his magazine to the side and gripping the rim in exhaustion. “she kisses your cheeks and hugs you and literally took this job because of you! what more proof do you want?!” he grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “a straight up confession?! a straight up kiss?!”

yuta’s heart accelerated at the thought as he pictured yuji’s words clear in his mind.

would you ever kiss him?… would you ever like him back?

“m—maybe?”

“what about school! do you guys not hang out or talk at school?”

“we do!” yuta perked up, but his shoulders quickly slumped. “we’re in different circles though so it’s always just for a little bit or casually.”

yuji groaned loudly and smacked a hand over his forehead. “it’s useless. you’re on your own man i tried i tried so hard i can’t help you—”

he continued to mutter under his breath as he picked up his backpack and walked out of the kitchen and out of the restaurant, the end of his shift drawing near as yuta laughed to himself over his words.

he appreciated how much yuji cared and how badly he wanted him to succeed, but even though his unrealistic expectations and hopes annoyed him most of the time as he blabbed on to him about them, yuta knew he was just a kid. so he valued it anyways.

“yu!” you spoke from behind the bar, him quickly rubbing his sweaty palms over his pants as he walked out of the kitchen to you.

“i’m so excited for tonight!” you smiled, your giddy little self practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation.

he laughed. “you’re excited to clean?”

“yup yup! i’m excited to clean with you.”

with him.

yuta adored sunday’s because that’s when you were both scheduled to close together on your own— just like the first time you did months ago, back when you weren’t working there yet.

there were no cooks, no yuji, no manager, and no customers. just you and him as you blasted elvis singles on the jukebox and got a sugar high from the ice cream machine as you wiped down tables and dusted off shelves— one time you literally slipping on the checkered tile by the entrance because you forgot you had just mopped the floor, yuta practically jumping over the bar counter to see if you were okay and him absolutely sick and worried over nothing as he showered you with more pastries and sweets to help you feel better.

that sunday night he got a kiss on the cheek.

so as you both bid the last customers a good night and got right to work, yuta considered yuji’s dumb words.

maybe he should just ask?

“if elvis was still alive i would probably sell myself to go see him.”

he let out a shocked laugh. “sell yourself? like prostitution?”

“mhm!” you hummed, wiping down the bar counter. “think about it— his tickets would probably cost like three thousand dollars. where the hell am i gonna get three thousand dollars? i’m broke and in college.”

yuta shook his head, his lips in an amused grin. “anything for elvis.”

“exactly!” you leaned over the counter excitedly, yuta on the other side with pink cheeks and a fuzzy feeling in his heart. “you get it. only you understand me.”

he laughed.

“i think it’d be cool if they brought him back as a hologram and did concerts that way.” yuta suggested.

you gasped incredulously as a hand flew to slap over your mouth. “yu! you little genius! oh my god i have to start pimping myself out now—”

yuta laughed again and shook his head. “don’t do that. we’ll find a way to get in.”

“we?!” you propped yourself up on the counter with your elbows and cupped his hands in yours, him stiffening with wide eyes and wobbly nervous lips. “you wanna go with me?”

“y—yeah.” he stammered. “of— of course…”

you squealed and nodded quickly, seemingly accepting the hypothetical proposal.

but then you settled down a little. your eyelashes slowly fluttering as you stared at him— a slow 50s love song statically murmuring through the jukebox adding to the atmosphere as you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

but this time it was different.

it wasn’t quick and cutesy and one that yuta barely had time to bask over before you pranced away. it was slow, tender, and yuta could feel the way your soft lips touched his skin and left behind a burn as he let his eyes close at the blissful gentle feeling, him finally able to relish in the rarity of it before you slightly began pulling away, eyes twinkling.

“…do you still think i’m pretty?” you whispered.

he swallowed thickly, your face so close he could feel your breath fanning across his lips.

“i do.” he whispered back, eyes locked on yours. “very much so.”

you bit your bottom lip as you smiled, ever so slightly leaning closer and closer to him as your lips nearly brushed against—

riinnggg!

you quickly pulled away and ran to the back to answer the phone, leaving yuta sitting there swooning and nearly collapsing on the table, his hands cold from not being encased in your own soft hands anymore.

but most of all… leaving him confused. he didn’t know why you were leaning in like that.

“i’m sorry we’re closed for the day!… uh huh… we open at eight am tomorrow if—”

yuta could still feel the blaze your lips left behind on his cheek as you spoke on the phone, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he tried to get his head back down from the clouds and simmer down the beating of his heart.

“someone wanted to come in right now!” you exclaimed, coming back over to your previous spot.

he furrowed his eyebrows. “right now? are you serious? it’s—” he spun around on the barstool and turned his head to the coca cola themed vintage clock on the wall. “it’s nearly twelve am?”

“i know!” you breathed out. “we closed four hours ago.”

“four?!—”

it dawned on the both of you how long you had been inside the diner, fully convinced it would’ve been longer if you hadn’t noticed.

so as the two of you mutually agreed to finish up and gather your things— the jukebox switched to an iconic elvis presley slow love song as you were just about halfway through the entrance double doors, eyes snapping to each other’s.

“aw i love this one…” you spoke softly, a little whine seeping through.

a small close lipped smile spread across his face. “i love this one too.”

“do you wanna—” you stopped.

his eyebrows pinched. “do i wanna what?”

“do you wanna… dance with meee?” you dragged out cutely, slightly bouncing on your toes.

“dance?” his eyes widened. “i— i don’t know how—”

“s’okay! i’ll teach you!”

you quickly pulled his hand and dragged him out, opening one door and jamming a door stopper underneath it so the music of the jukebox leaked out of the diner and through the empty street.

the pavement was a little wet from the morning rain as you took his hand again and pulled him to the middle of the dead empty street, the bottom of your shoes tapping and splashing a little with each tiny puddle you stepped in.

elvis presley’s voice softly hummed through the air, but it was loud and clear to the both of you as you gently took yuta’s hands and set them around your waist, his heart fucking palpitating and feeling like he was about to have a stroke when you wrung your arms over his neck and showed him that pretty smile he loved so much.

you both slowly stepped side to side, the air crispy and cold as your breath’s blew out foggy misty clouds due to the condensation, both of your noses and cheeks flushing red and buzzing warmly as you continued to slow dance— yuta’s grip slowly tightening until he was practically hugging you flush against his body.

out of anything that could possibly happen to yuta in his life, he wanted to remember this moment specifically— with you, dancing in the middle of the street listening to the man that essentially brought you both together in the first place, your beautiful beautiful face looking at him like he was the most important thing in your life… yuta wanting so badly for that to come true as he basked in this little made up scenario in his head that you were already his.

“yu…” you murmured.

he didn’t trust his voice.

“hm?”

“why haven’t you kissed me yet.”

what?

“kissed… you?”

“yeah..” you whispered, your bodies swaying. “don’t you like me?”

yuta let out a shaky breath. “i— i mean yeah… who doesn’t?”

your smile faltered. “i’m talking about you though…”

“oh. well you know i do. i’m sure a lot of other guys would want to kiss you.”

the song drawled to a gradual close and the jukebox reset, you both no longer swaying but still holding on to each other.

your eyes drifted to the side. “other guys?”

he pursed his lips, not really liking the thought of you kissing guys, but answering your question anyways. “yeah… other guys.”

his emphasis on other guys and not on himself left a bad taste in your mouth.

your eyes narrowed in confusion as you looked up at him, yuta a little shocked at your sad expression.

did he say something wrong?

“i thought—” you shook your head softly. “i thought you…?”

“…thought me what?” he cocked his head to the side, his genuine confusion solidifying his rejection in your eyes.

“i— i thought—”

your hands slipped from his shoulders and you stepped back, yuta sadly complying and letting his arms open and fall beside him as you rapidly blinked back tears, his eyes slowly widening once he caught it.

“hey— are you okay? what’s wrong?”

yuta went and reached for you, you backing away in response as you shook your head and gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes at all.

“why are you crying? did i say something mean? i’m sorry—”

“no no i’m fine.” your voice was quiet and sad. “i think we should go home now.”

his shoulders deflated.

“are you sure? we— we usually hang out until at least one in the morning on sunday’s…”

you walked past him and towards the double doors of the diner, letting your tears slip in secret as you picked up your school bag and swung it over your shoulder, quickly wiping your cheeks before picking up his bag and giving it to him.

yuta thanked you and hoisted his backpack up on himself, ushering you gently to step to the side as he pulled the door stopper from beneath and placed it in its corresponding place by the entrance, letting the door close on its own before pulling out the keys from the pocket of his jacket and locking the diner up.

he did all of this— completely unaware to the way you were trying to quiet down your sniffles behind him.

you were so sure he liked you back… now you just felt a little stupid.

of course— the one genuine guy you came across that you actually liked out of all the others that you’ve met, one that wasn’t like the rest and was sweet and funny and caring and so so attentive of you… didn’t like you back.

the one thing you truly truly wanted, you simply couldn’t have— you walking ahead of yuta in silence through the parking lot with your arms crossed as you wondered if the way he treated you was literally just because that’s how he was as a person.

a good person at that. way too good for this world, and way too good for you.

yuta didn’t know why you were so quiet, his chest a bit achy at the absence of your usual cheerful voice.

when you reached your cars, you barely even bid him a proper goodbye like you always did before you got in your car and sped away, leaving a perplexed yuta standing alone in the parking lot— eyebrows pinched together in clueless concern.

you were acting so weird, and you unfortunately continued to do so for the following week.

the next time you came into the diner (which was literally the next day), yuta was taken aback by how bloodshot and sunken your eyes were when you came in for your shift, not saying a single peep to yuji and him when you walked through the kitchen or through the bar counter like you usually did… and it was weird.

through the bustling of the busy restaurant, it was oddly quiet to the two boys, simply because you weren’t your usual boastful self.

and you were hardly talking to yuta either… which pained him the most. you kept it strictly casual— as if you weren’t completely tied together every fucking day for almost a year now, you just completely casual about your day and about the things you had to do whenever he asked you, your one word dry responses sending him through the worst confusing and sadistic loop of his life.

but it wasn’t casual at all. nothing about you was casual. so why were you acting like this? did you finally maybe open your eyes and realize yuta was a big fat nobody who didn’t belong with a girl like you?

yuta nearly cried at the thought. perhaps you had finally realized that.

but how fucking cruel was it that he lived a year of love and beauty and everything that was just you, getting a taste of what it would be like to live a life where you thought of him as something really special and a life where you wanted to basically do everything with him— only to be ripped away from him overnight? with no explanation?

by wednesday, yuta was dead inside.

you didn’t seem to want to do anything with him anymore like before. you didn’t excitedly jump and squeal and bounce on your little toes when it was time for the both of you to clean during your shift or restock the ice cream machine. you didn’t talk to him about elvis anymore or about another ludicrous idea on how to resurrect him from the dead— you didn’t smile like you used to whenever he tried to give you a small pastry, actually rejecting it instead, and you didn’t kiss his cheeks anymore.

by friday, yuji was fed the fuck up.

“what the fuck did you do?!” he whispered harshly at him from the bar, you somewhere in the diner taking orders. “that woman is like a walking zombie. her eyes have been red like red since monday, and she’s not yapping about elvis anymore.”

yuta leaned against the counter with a flat palm to his forehead in worry, feeling like he was gonna be fucking sick over you.

“i— i don’t know.” he stuttered. “i truly don’t know i don’t know what i said that’s making her act like that.”

“okay run it back for me run it back.” he placed both hands on his shoulders and roughly pulled yuta to face him. “explain to me again what happened on sunday.”

“we were closing…”

“uh huh?”

“she wanted to slow dance in the street so we did…”

“okay cute i love that part okay keep going..?”

“and then she asked why haven’t i kissed her—“

“she what?!” yuji choked, “you didn’t tell me this part! you fucking jumped to the parking lot!”

“my bad…” yuta muttered.

“shit— whatever keep going.”

“she also said that she thought i liked her and i said who doesn’t… and then i told her i was sure other guys would want to kiss her.”

“you said other guys?”

yuta’s eyebrows pinched. “yeah?”

“you. said…” yuji repeatedly slowly. “other. guys.”

“yes i did—”

“oh you’re done.” he rapidly shook his head. “i can’t help you i’ve done all i can you’re my buddy and i love you but i cannot take this anymore—”

“woah woah slow the fuck down—” he narrowed his eyes. “what’s so bad about what i said?”

“you rejected her.”

“what? no i didn’t—”

“yes!” yuji nodded frantically. “yes you did you freaking dingus! yuta she wanted a kiss from you a kiss! she literally said ‘when are you going to kiss me!’”

“i thought she was joking about that?” he answered softly.

“i might die early if you don’t figure this out right now.” yuji spat. “when you said other guys, she took it as you saying you’re sure other guys would want to kiss her and not you! do you understand what i’m trying to say?!”

yuta stayed silent.

“you said ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you,’ which is you indirectly saying ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you but not me.’ emphasis on others—”

“holy fucking shit.”

why was yuji kind of smart?

“oh thank god!” yuji breathed out, throwing his hands up in the air before clasping them together and looking up at the ceiling, his eyes screwed shut as he shook his interlocked hands and prayed.

“thank you! thank you elvis presley for finally making him see what a dumbass he’s been this entire year especially this moment your music has never been better—”

yuta shoved his fingers through his hair, his eyes bulging open. “holy fucking shit what the fuck did i do?!”

you walked past the bar just then and they both shot their arms down and tried to appear as nonchalant as humanly possible, you not even sparing them a glance as you walked over to the kitchen and disappeared from view.

“oh you have got to fix this.”

yuta spent the rest of the week trying to devise a plan to ease into the situation and have a conversation with you about it, but doing it fucking poorly as he miserably couldn’t come up with anything and yuji having even worse ideas— going as far as to suggesting he kidnaps you and takes you to elvis presley’s home in graceland and apologize there, yuji calling it a ‘grand gesture.’

by sunday, yuta was grasping at straws.

you slowly looked up from the bar as you saw a little sprinkled donut pastry slide across from the other side, your stinging eyes locking with yuta’s and feeling an immediate colossal pang through your chest when you saw him.

“you um—” yuta sighed softly through his nose. “you haven’t had a donut from here in a while…”

“oh.” your eyes stayed glued to the pastry. “thank you but i’m alright. i’m not that hungry right now.”

yuta bit his tongue. “please.”

he wasn’t pleading for you to eat the damn donut, but he pathetically couldn’t get the words out properly either.

“i don’t want it i’m okay.”

“why not?” he pushed. “you love donuts. you haven’t accepted my milkshakes either and you love those too.”

“i got sick of them.”

yuta froze.

you sounded like a completely different person at the moment, and yuta knew that your words held an entirely different meaning to them— his heart literally throwing up all over his insides in distress.

it was near closing time, the last pair of customers just about finishing up their meal as you both stared solemnly at the uneaten donut.

“are you—” yuta cleared his throat. “are you mad at me?”

the customers called you over then, and you quickly pushed yourself off from the edge and walked over as yuta heard your kind customer service voice from somewhere in the diner finalizing the bill for them, the bell above the door chiming as they left— you coming back around to stand back on the other side of the bar.

“sorry what did—”

“are you mad at me.”

you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “no. why would i be mad?”

“are you upset with me?”

you hummed a no.

yuta wanted to rip his hair out at the fact that he couldn’t fucking think of what to say to you— not wanting to accidentally say something that could offend you like last time without him even knowing, as he didn’t trust his mouth for shit.

“you haven’t looked okay since last sunday.” he murmured. “you don’t look happy around me anymore.”

you pulled your lips into a thin line and pressed hard, already feeling tears threatening to spill.

“it’s just school. it’s tough at the moment.” you mumbled.

“you’re lying.”

you slightly snorted. “okay thanks.”

“no— fuck i did it again.” he screwed his eyes shut. “i know you’re upset with me and i know you’re mad at me. you don’t talk to me as much, you don’t— you don’t take any of the sweets and drinks i give you when you always do, and you refuse to talk to me about elvis.”

“it’s school yuta i don’t know what else to tell you.”

he groaned and pushed himself off the bar, swiftly making his way around the counter to stand right in front of you as your pretty red eyes widened, your body immediately fidgeting.

“please… i miss you.” he mumbled, and your bottom lip started to wobble. “i miss when you wanted me around.”

“i— i do want you around.” you said, so so softly he could barely hear you.

“then please tell me what you’re feeling.”

you brought your hands up and pressed your fingers into your eyes, trying your absolute hardest to keep the tears inside as your body trembled.

“it’s all me it’s not you so— so please don’t worry about it it’s school and— and—”

“i love you.”

you paused.

yuta shakily pried your fingers away from your eyes, holding them in his hands as silent tears escaped down your cheeks.

you shook your head. “no you don’t. you’re just saying that—”

“i love you.”

“stop it you’re being mean i don’t need you to tell me you love me because you feel bad for me—”

you tried to tear your hands away but his grip only tightened as he shook his head and wrung you in, pressing your hands flat over his heart and holding them there as he leaned and pushed his lips to yours, the taste and feeling of you complete fucking paradise as he hoped that the weight of his lips were conveying how much he truly fucking loved you, how much he truly needed you in his life and how much he wanted you to treat him like he was something to you again.

he was tired of you carrying around the missing half of him, but not because he wanted you to give it back.

he wanted you to keep it. he wanted you to keep it forever and ever and not let it dangle over ineptly like you’d done for the past week. he wanted you to kiss it and shove it next to your heart and keep it there snug where it belonged until the day that he died.

the jukebox murmured another soft 50s tune, you slowly but surely letting your tense shoulders relax as you allowed your lips to move against his, your heart screaming and zooming through your bones at the fact that this man was kissing you like you’d wanted and dreamed for him to do so badly for the past year.

you both slowly pulled away with your lips quietly smacking apart, your stunning face finally looking at him the way you always did, the way you used to, even if it was a little timid still.

“are you lying?” you murmured.

his eyes softened as he gently shook his head.

“absolutely not.”

“but you rejected me.”

he sighed through his nose, his hands still pressing yours over his heart as you felt it beat rapidly under your palms.

“i— i didn’t mean to. i swear to god i didn’t mean to.” he gently dropped his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “i was being stupid and worded everything wrong. but— but i’m telling you now that i wanted to kiss you… so fucking bad. you’re too pretty for me so i honestly thought i just didn’t stand a chance…”

you couldn’t believe it.

“i don’t want other guys to kiss you.” he continued. “not at all… just me.”

“just you?” you murmured, and he nodded against your forehead.

“just me.” he propped his chin on the top of your head. “i’m sorry i hurt you and made you cry.”

“no yu…” you spoke gently. “i’m sorry too. and i’m sorry i said i was sick of the sweets you give me… i was lying i love them.”

he chuckled softly.

“it’s okay… i know.” yuta gently caressed your fingers with his thumbs. “but i love you pretty.”

“i love you.” you whispered, and you slid your hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down in a warm embrace as he copied and pulled your body to his so so tightly, your hearts beating in time with one another as he felt his fingertips go numb at your confession, kissing your soft little cheeks over and over and over again until he got giggles out of you.

yuta loved sunday’s… and so did you.

and when he asked you to be his girlfriend that same night while standing over the jukebox, staring at the elvis presley song selection like you’d done many times together before in the past, yuta for the first time realized that he hadn’t felt alone since the moment you came into the diner with your mean friends— finding himself actually thanking them in his head for that, realizing that if they hadn’t then you probably would’ve left with them and he would’ve never gotten the chance to speak to you that night.

the next time you both came into work, you back to your usual jumpy self as you took every pastry that yuta gave you again and babbled about elvis and how you were gonna spend your hypothetical prostitution money on a flight to memphis to see his grave and pay your respects, yuji was elated.

“what happened?! you have to tell me what happened come on you can’t keep it from me i’m just a boy—”

you skipped into the kitchen then and smoothly walked in between them, pressing a gentle cute peck to yuta’s lips before grabbing what you needed from the back and walking back out, yuji’s mouth flinging open and his jaw hitting the fucking floor.

“how— what— when— where—”

you stepped back in after a second and bounded over next to yuta, his eyes soft as he watched you lean your head on his shoulder.

“what?” you asked. “what’s wrong yuji?”

“oh god no!” he wailed, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes in agony. “i thought this is what i wanted but it’s not! i want a kiss like that man!”

he flew to his knees in front of you and took your hand in his. “y/n why can’t you just wait for me please?! wait five years you’re so pretty i won’t confuse you like this dingbat and i’ll give you better sweets and milkshakes than him please!—”

yuta took your hand and slapped yuji’s away. “you freak stand up man the floor is dirty—”

“i need a popular gorgeous girlfriend like you yuta! how could you do this?! i thought we were brothers?! what spell did you cast?! have you ever learned jujutsu?! what have i done!—”

your manager popped his head into the kitchen and you all stiffened.

“yuji why are you crying? everyone outside can hear you, kid.”

yuji flew to his feet and shook his head. “m’not crying sir. everything is fine just fine and dandy sir.”

“okay… well can you check on your tables? leave yuta and y/n to work.”

“yes sir i’ll check on them sir.”

your manager nodded, muttering something about today’s generation as he left and went back inside his office, yuji walking out of the kitchen shortly after with his head down as you both tried your hardest to keep your laughter in, hands tightly clasped over your mouths and silently snickering to keep yuji from hearing it on the other side.

“p—poor him.” you heaved, a hand over your chest. “i hope— i hope he finds his ‘popular girlfriend’ when he’s older.”

“i wish her luck.” he muttered, and your hand slapped back over your mouth again as you burst into another fit of giggles alongside him.

yuta sheepishly outstretched his arms for you once you both settled down, you perking up excitedly with a cutesy little grin as you skipped into them, your arms wrapping snug around his torso as he brought his around your shoulders and squeezed, earning a tiny squeak from you that made him laugh.

he hoped to god he wasn’t dreaming.

yuta started shifting his weight from one to the other, gently moving and swaying you side to side in the kitchen as you giggled and let him lead you like that.

“you slow dancing yu?” you murmured softly, head coming up to give him a kiss on the cheek as he blushed.

“yeah..” he hummed. “i like it when we do.”

“i do too yu… it’s like our little thing! we’re so vintage.”

he snorted, and a charming beautiful smile spread across your face— one that made him wonder how he ever managed to land you when all he did was wait tables and stutter foolishly and wasn’t anyone particularly special like you were.

but you. you were everything. everything and way fucking more as you looked at him like he built the diner himself brick by brick for reasons he still couldn’t understand why.

yuta spoke after a moment.

“…what do you think of me?” he murmured suddenly, cheek mushing up against the side of your head as your brows furrowed.

“what do i think of you?” you asked, your perplexed face slowly shifting to one of realization as it dawned on you how yuta was reiterating your words to him from when you first met.

he grinned. “yeah.”

you pulled back to face him.

“i think you’re kind… you always have been even when i didn’t deserve it.”

his jaw dropped. “what? didn’t deserve it?—”

“i’m not finished!” you pouted, and he playfully rolled his eyes as he shut his lips.

“you’re too good to me yu…” you sighed a little. “you’re so helpful and selfless, and even when things piss you off you still take the time to appreciate them… like yuji.”

you both snickered then, and yuta brought his head down and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“i love the way you love, yuta. i love the way you love me and take care of me and always feed me…” you giggled. “without me ever having to ask.”

you felt his arms tighten around you.

“don’t ever think that you aren’t special to me or anyone or i’ll kill you and go to graceland without you.”

he laughed loudly in your neck and pulled back, half lidded ditzy loving eyes staring back as he leaned in and kissed you— gentle and delicate, his hands coming up to cup your warm cheeks.

“jesus man table nine would not stop asking me for— oh god no!”

you and yuta jumped apart, yuji immediately wailing and crying again as he flung himself to the floor on his knees.

“really?! in my kitchen?! in front of my face?! how cruel can you be yuta?! y/n can you maybe give me a ki—”

yuta leaned down and smacked him upside the head.

“owwwuhh! what’s wrong with just one little kiss man?!—”

“cut. it. out!—”

and just like always, the week came and went, sunday fast approaching as the day eventually came to close the diner together like lovely clockwork— wiping down tables and sweeping the floors, organizing the menu’s and restocking the crayons for the little kids, gulping down milkshakes with yuta like water as you worked…

but most importantly— sharing long kisses in between each sweeping rotation, kissing and pinching his cheeks repeatedly whenever he asked or did literally anything, and slow dancing to the same 50s love song that played when you first tried to kiss him at the bar that one night, swaying together in a silly way and giggling whenever you’d both nearly topple over to the floor— yuta beaming and lovesick as he looked down at your gorgeous smile and your gorgeous face… it gleaming with so much purpose, so much pure love and importance and value for him as you danced—

that yuta decided he wanted you to keep the other remaining half of him too.

forever.

this! is the song that was playing when reader was about to give yuta a kissy kissy on the bar counter, and again at the end if you’re curious :3 it was playing when i wrote it and it literally fit so well and lifted my entire body and spirit and i felt like i was THERE MAN! <333

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @fushigurioo @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs

(HATE when tumblr doesn’t let me tag some of yall i don’t know why it does that!!)

[c0ffeejelly1]

Manhandling him

Multiple character headcannon

Authors note: UGH pls this whole things was for jokes bc I can’t really be that ask to make something I feel is good. Teehee. Also I can mischaracterise all I want okay let a girl dream pls. (POST-TIMESKIP!!)

Warning: man it’s like the smallest hint of the nasty freaky stuff

“Babe, you got something on your face. Let me just…” You reach out to your boyfriend, making him look your way by gripping his chin firmly while you flick away a bit of ‘glitter’ from his cheek. “There you go.”

Strike one.

That was just the beginning of your strange behavior today.

“Hey baby, c’mere I wanna kiss…” you call him over from the other side of the kitchen counter, only to yank on his collar and pull him in for one hell of a snog. “Seriously, you have no business looking this good today.”

Strike two.

Just what was up with you today?

You just got home from work, and as he’s about to sit up to see you, you suddenly push him back down onto the couch, mumbling something about how much you “missed him”.

Strike three.

You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to your lips, but then you pause to check out his face.

Perhaps you took this prank too far…

The type to be oddly into it

“…are you hard?”

This snaps your boyfriend out of his thoughts.

He’d never ever ever thought he could find himself in a situation like this. this is the kind of stuff you see in movies, right? I mean, come on!

Just picture how mortifying it is to be turned on from someone mistreating you! It’s pathetic!

He can’t just blurt out, ‘oh hell yeah I’m hard’ in response to that question—why would anyone even think to ask that? What can a guy do in a moment like this except deny it?

“What? N-no!…” He glances away, feeling the weight of your intense gaze. “…maybe?”

When you raise an eyebrow at him, his mask crumbles entirely. There’s no use in pretending.

You’ve already seen right through him, leaving him no option but to retreat into a shadowy corner and disappear.

“Yeah.” He responds, his voice tinged with disappointment. “I…I am.”

Maybe it’s because of the way you handled him like he was nothing that made him so bothered.

Maybe it was the way you looked so desperate to have him that did it for him.

Either way, he’s discovered something about himself he never knew he ever had.

And make no mistake, you were going to exploit this discovery to the fullest.

“Have I told you how much I love you babe?” You pull back from his face after practically devouring it as he stands there, grinning like a lovesick fool, dishes still in hand.

“I think you should tell me more.”

“Wrap up with those dishes, and I’ll give you a demonstration instead.”

Be ready for one hell of a night cowgirl. Wink wink

Charcters: serizawa, armin, EREN, REINER, ukai, ATSUMU, Osamu, Gojo, CHOSO, leviathan, SATAN, DIAVOLO, IIDA, denki, tamaki, CHILDE, Cyno, sanji, LAW

The type to think you’ve finally gone crazy

you call out to him, noticing he seems lost in his phone. Yet, oddly enough, he flinches slightly every time you speak.

This reaction occurs whenever you draw near him, as if your voice startles him, even when you're just a breath away. It’s not that he dislikes your voice; rather, it feels like he’s a bit intimidated by you now.

What happened to the confident guy who was with you just two days ago? Why does he seem to be tiptoeing around you like a child with a fragile toy?

“Y/N…is everything alright?” He approaches you cautiously, maintaining a bit of distance, trying to balance his interest with a hint of hesitation. “You’ve been…um, I just wanted to check—are you upset with me?”

“Upset with you?” You set your phone aside, raising an eyebrow at him. “Why would I be upset? Did you do something wrong?”

That’s the very question he’s grappling with. Your passionate touches and fervent kisses have left him bewildered about your feelings.

Are you so enamored that you can’t help yourself, or are you retaliating for something he might have done? Suddenly, a thought strikes him.

“…If this is about how intense things got last night, I’m sorry, but you did ask for it when I warned you I wouldn’t hold back—” His words are cut short as your hand swiftly covers his mouth.

“No! No that’s—just no. It was a prank babe, a trend I saw online” you say, removing your hand and placing both on his shoulders. “Last night has nothing to do with today or any other day.”

“Not even you complaining about being sore?”

“Not even me complaining about…wait I never did that!”

“Yeah buts it’s easy to tell.”

Charcters: REIGEN, giyuu, giyomei, JEAN, KAGEYAMA, hinata, kuroo, OIKAWA, AKAASHI, geto, NANAMI, Solomon, IZUKU, Diluc, LAIOS, zayne, LAW (Sowy I can see him as both)

The type to also manhandle you

Did you honestly believe you could manhandle him without facing the same treatment in return? Come on this is your boyfriend we’re talking about, In fact, I think he’s thrilled that you can boss him around so effortlessly.

So thrilled that he makes it into a competition

“Okay let’s see who tackles the first person on the bed.” His eyes shine with enthusiasm as he confidently places his hands on his hips. “If I win I get to have my way with you, and if you win, you get to have me have my way with you. Deal?”

You pause for a moment to process his words “…uh, how is that fair?”

“What do you mean?” he replies, brushing off your concern with a grin.

“I think it’s perfectly fair. No matter the outcome, you get a nice little reward, right?” His voice dances with mischief as he nudges you playfully with his elbow, clearly trying to elicit a reaction.

You roll your eyes at him, feigning annoyance, before relenting, “I guess it’s not so bad..”

“Exactly! Now, I’m going to count down. Ready? 3…2…” Before you can fully grasp what’s happening, he lunges at you, tackling you onto the bed before he even reaches 1.

“H-hey! That’s cheating, you can’t do that!” But your protests are ignored, your boyfriend already having you wrapped in his warm embrace, his face buried against your neck.

“This is what you get for how you’ve been treating me today.”

“What are you talking about?” You pause for a moment, though you suspect he’s finally caught on to your little scheme. “You mean me kissing you like any normal woman would with the love of her life?”

“No. Just you touching me all weirdly…”

“Don’t say it like that you make me sound like a perv.”

“Maybe cause you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“…”

“…”

“I’m not.”

Charcters: RENGOKU, tengen, connie, NISHINOYA, hinata (yes again), kuroo (YESSS AGAIN), BOKUTO, TENDOU, MAMMON, DENKI (twice and what), kirishima, ITTO, rafayel, LUFFY

The type…yeah you ain’t doing that

Screw everything I just said in the intro. If you genuinely think you can manhandle this man and succeed. You’re crazy.

“Hey, come here, you’ve got something—” The moment your hand nears his face, he seizes your wrist, staring at you as if you’ve just committed a serious offense.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh…I’m trying to like get the little speck of glitter off your face.”

“We don’t own glitter?”

“Dust then?” He shoots you a skeptical glance.

“…sure.”

So that was an absolute fail…

But you’re not ready to throw in the towel just yet. No way! You just need to bide your time until nightfall, when he’s all soft and cuddly. That’s when you’ll make your move.

As the evening unfolds and you’re prepping for bed in the bathroom, you catch sight of him reaching for something in the cupboard above you. This is your moment. The time to pull him in close and—

SMACK

“The hell? What was that for?” He rubs his forehead, clearly taken aback by your sudden move.

Who knew kissing your boyfriend could be this complicated? Somehow, you ended up colliding headfirst into him, and now he’s clearly fed up with you.

“That wasn’t how it was supposed to go…” you say with a shy smile, nervously scratching the back of your head. “You alright?”

You gently move his hand away from his forehead to check for any damage, and to your surprise, he lets you.

Wait a minute… you actually moved his hand, and he’s okay with it? Is this manhandling? I think it’s manhandling. It’s manhandling.

“…I did it.”

“Did what?”

“I touched you!”

“??”

Pls stop confusing this man he’s already tired enough.

Charcters: dimple, akashi, MIDORIMA, aomine, sanemi, KAGEYAMA (yes again), TSUKISHIMA, iwaizumi, TOJI, LUCIFER, bakugou, AIZAWA, sylus, ZORO

[miedei]

what can i do for you?

hiding your relationship doesn't exactly go according to plan, not when you have two good-natured coworkers armed with a magazine. (aka the love languages fic i've been neglecting)

a/n: this has been in my drafts since december omfg. not totally sure how i feel about it but i like it i think!! title's from what can i do by penelope road :)

cw: reader has she/her pronouns, established relationship, sneaking around, lots of fluff, garcia and morgan being super nosy and oblivious at the same time, also reader collects shot glasses in this one because i do that too and what i say goes

wc: 3.3k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

His hand in yours is warm, warmer than it should be considering the cool breeze that hits as you walk out of the metro station. A rush of giddiness rolls over you, scrutinizing the domestic comfort of this moment.

Four months of whispered affirmations and nights holed up in either of your apartments have led you to feeling more in love with him than you thought was possible. Even just contemplating it brings a rush of blood to your face, forcing you to huddle closer to him, leaning your cheek against the puffy exterior of his coat. 

Without looking, you can feel his shoulders shake in silent laughter, your mind conjuring the image of his lips pressed together, suppressing the giggles you know are threatening to burst out of him. 

“Cold?” The amusement bubbles up in his tone, and you both know that your uncharacteristically shy demeanour has nothing to do with the temperature. His hand comes up to rub at your shoulder comfortingly. He’s awful.

“I hate dating profilers.” Despite your words, your mouth twitches up into a smile.

“Well, I love dating a profiler. And as a profiler, I can tell you do too.” A mock-exasperated sigh leaves your mouth at his words, but you make no move to part from him.

It’s only when the imposing Quantico buildings come into view that you finally step away from him, hand slipping out of his. His lips quirk up as he eyes you. 

“You think they’d be suspicious, us showing up in the elevator at the same time every day.” 

“Don’t jinx it! We’re lucky they haven’t been insinuating themselves into every part of our lives yet.” You step into the elevator, leaning against the wall and staring him down.

“Hey, if they figure it out, did you know it’s statistically more likely that it’ll be because of you? You touch my shoulder on average 17 times a day. Even when we’re on a case.”

“Oh, don’t start. How many times did you almost call me ‘angel’ yesterday? I can’t believe Hotch hasn’t noticed, especially that one time in his office.” It’s gratifying to see the apples of his cheeks redden with embarrassment. 

Stepping into the bullpen, you step away from him, striding to your desk and calling out greetings.

“Morning, guys. What’s that?” 

Emily and Derek are huddled over Garcia, who’s sitting in Derek’s desk chair with a magazine in hand. 

“Well, sweetheart, someone’s missing their monthly Teen Vogue, it’s accidentally been delivered here instead. We’re just catching up on what the young female populace is doing these days.” Garcia answers absentmindedly, their eyes all fixed on the glossy pages.

“Teen Vogue? Need I remind you, we’re in the FBI. Surely you’ve got work to do.” You stare pointedly at the stacks of paperwork piling up on Emily and Derek’s desks.

“If you must know, this is research, kid. How are we supposed to do our jobs if we don’t know the interests of such a huge potential victim pool?” Derek croons over to you, voice sugary-sweet.

Garcia calls out to you. “Did you know that, apparently, even unconsciously, if a person is in love, they will always demonstrate the 5 love languages to whoever they’re into?”

She holds up the magazine, open to a glossy blue page with ‘LOVE LANGUAGES’ etched on it in swirly handwriting.

You can see Spencer tilt his head at his desk, and beat him to the punch. 

“Are you sure that’s true, Penny? Doesn’t seem very statistically sound.”

“There’s actually been very little scientific research done into the concept of love languages as they’re considered colloquially, and what little there is really doesn’t support it as an actual concept that strengthens relationships.” Spencer chimes in, swivelling back and forth in his desk chair as he muses. 

Emily chuckles, wisely retreating to her desk as Penelope and Derek begin to puff up like irritated cats. 

“Yeah? And what would you know about that, pretty boy? Had some experience lately?” 

It’s clearly meant in a joking way, no real accusation behind it, but Spencer’s eyes widen just a fraction. Enough to bring their attention to it. Enough to get them to pounce. 

You shake your head softly, turning to your desk as Derek and Penelope descend on him, peppered questions being met with resolute silence (and occasional sputtering).

It’s a solid 30 minutes before the two of them let up on Spencer, and that’s only because JJ sweeps through with a case for the team. As you all file into the briefing room, it’s clear Penelope and Derek are still scrutinizing Spencer from across the round table. 

As JJ explains the details of the case, you can’t help but smile at the sight of Spencer patting his reddened cheeks, trying to come down from the mortification and stress of fending off the others. 

In a lull in conversation, you rise from your seat, crossing the room to the pot of coffee sitting under the window. Snatching up two distinctive mugs, you set about pouring coffee, adding copious amounts of sugar into one and considerably less into another, as you muse aloud about the case. 

“Sounds like the victimology is pretty clear. Young men in their 20s, all successful academics who have relatively small social circles,” With the two mugs in hand, you return to the table, setting the FBI logo-emblazoned one in front of Spencer with a discreet brush of your knuckles to his shoulder. 

He looks up with a soft smile, nudging his shoulder back into you, mouthing thank you.

“Should help us narrow down who would’ve interacted with them all.” You finish, settling down in your seat in between Rossi and Emily. 

Hotch nods. 

“The local PD’s already got a few people of interest in mind, but they’re holding off on questioning until we arrive. Garcia, you’re coming with us, the victims’ tech is proving difficult for the local experts to get into. Hopefully this will be a quick one. Wheels up in 30.”

There are multiple decisive nods around the table, most of you standing to grab your go-bags.

Notably, Penelope and Derek stay behind, watching you leave the room with unreadable expressions on their faces. 

If you’d stayed, you might have caught her pulling a glossy, torn-out piece of paper out of Derek’s pocket, crossing off a phrase.

The police department you find yourselves in is more sparse than you’d expected. The police force spread thin, there are only a few officers still in the building. The setting sun filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the conference room. 

“...So, we’ll spend this evening going through the details, and I’m confident we’ll have a profile by tomorrow morning. Based on that, we can see whether any of your suspects fit.”

Hotch’s no-nonsense voice cuts through the light chatter in the room, and the local captain nods. The two superiors walk out of the room to the captain’s office, leaving you with the rest of your team and a local officer. 

Nodding politely at the officer, you walk over to the large table, digging into the copious boxes of evidence stacked on the table and murmuring your initial thoughts to Emily. 

“The victims were all part of the city’s chess league, save for the second one. That seems significant.”

Before she gets the chance to reply, a brutish officer in uniform butts in, shouldering past Emily to take the seat next to you. 

“So, you guys get a lot of these murder cases, huh? This is pretty huge for us, but I guess it’s everyday for you.”

There’s a glint of morbid curiosity in his eye, leaning into your space as he waits for your answer. 

“Um, yes, we’re assigned to murder cases from time to time. But we also consult on all sorts of crimes, like—”

He waves a hand in the air, as if dismissing your statement.

“Yeah, uh-huh. What’s the craziest murder you’ve seen? You know, the real gory ones.”

He’s scooted closer to you now, his face lit up with excitement. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Spencer start towards you, but you’d rather shut this down yourself.

“I mean, yes, we do see quite a bit of violent crime. But the aim of our unit is to shut it down, not sensationalize it. So, we kind of need all of our attention on this case right now. You understand, right?” You try not to, but a hint of exasperation creeps into your tone.

A flash of irritation sparks in his eyes, but the officer backs down, rising out of the seat and tossing a half-hearted agreement at you. 

You sigh as he leaves the room, and Spencer makes his way over to you with a wry smile. 

“I’m glad you dealt with him, I wouldn’t be able to do it as quickly. You’re always so good at dealing with people like that, ang—” He cuts himself off abruptly, eyes darting around the room nervously. 

Holding in a laugh at his slip up, you nudge his foot under the table.

“Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate that.”

After he not-so-discreetly attempts to see if anyone noticed his failure to maintain the facade, the two of you settle in to the casework.

Notably, Derek only gets to work after holding a hushed conversation with Penelope at her laptop.

Presenting a profile is always exhausting, but doing it first thing in the morning after basically pulling an all-nighter is worse.

You stand in front of the gathered crowd alongside the team, alternating with explaining different aspects of the profile. Once you’re done waxing poetic about the presumed trigger that set off the string of murders, you get to sit back and let Derek do the last bit (thank god).

Leaning against the edge of the desk behind you, you put a lot of effort into looking stoic and professional, hoping the gathered agents and officers can’t see the exhaustion oozing out of you. Although it seems an eternity, it’s probably another five minutes of talking until they’re dismissed, and the team gathers in the conference room. 

Hotch looks surprisingly alert, standing at the head of the table and gesturing to different points of interest on the map mounted on the wall. His voice drones on, your drowsy ears registering each sentence a few seconds after. 

“Prentiss and Rossi, you two stay here and question the suspects that the uniforms are bringing in. There’s probably nothing to it, but give it a try anyway.” 

Resting your hip against the table, you stare bleary-eyed at the various faces tacked on to the whiteboard. Despite the coffee in your hands slowly bringing you back to life, you can’t help but muffle a yawn, your upper body swaying with the force of it. 

“Morgan, JJ, you go down to the local news station, see if the tips they’re receiving are actually any good. One of their reporters has been into the PD every day asking for updates. Find out if it’s anything more than journalistic curiosity.”

Spencer steps up next to you, nudging your shoulder with his. Without saying anything, his eyes lull you into a sense of ease. Looking around to see that everyone’s staring at Hotch, you can’t help but lean into him slightly, the lines of your upper arms melding together until your bodies press against each other pleasantly. 

 A soft sigh leaves his lips, and you’re inclined to agree with him. Just this level of touch has you melting, the tension in your body slowly seeping out of your bones. 

“L/N and I are going to meet with the families of the first and second victims. Reid and Garcia, go to the workplace of the latest victim. His computer system needs your expertise, Garcia, and Reid, you take the time to interview his coworkers about his behaviour before the murder.”

Hotch looks around for everyone’s assent, then nods once more, dismissing everyone to their tasks. 

You and Spencer make sure to part from each other quickly, hoping to evade suspicion. Flashing him a smile, you brush past him, catching his pinky with yours for a split second before you follow Hotch out the door. 

Spencer is left in the conference room, brushing his thumb over his pinky with an absentminded smile, oblivious to the shit-eating grin that’s found itself on Penelope’s face. 

Spencer and Penelope are the last to get back from their assignment, the rest of you gathered in the PD before the sun begins to set. Derek’s sitting at the display along the wall, currently showing the live feed of the suspect in the interrogation room along with Hotch. 

The case is shaping up to be a relatively short one, so if the interrogation goes well, you might be able to spend the night at Spencer’s.

Rossi’s voice joins the soft haze of conversation, and you finally snap out of your head in time to hear the tail end of his statement. 

“...Hotch is pretty sure that Reid will be able to crack him. He’s putting on airs, the only way we'll get him to confess is if he doesn’t perceive any threats to his ego.”

Emily nods from her seat beside you, chiming in. 

“They’ve been gone for a while, has Garcia called?”

JJ grins softly, unlocking her phone to display a message full of angry emojis and very little text. 

“I’m assuming something held them up, but she says they’ll be here pretty soon.”

The room falls into an amiable silence, all of you alternating between getting a headstart on your reports of the case and watching Hotch glare at the suspect. Emily lets out multiple heavy sighs, the the last two days catching up to all of you.

It’s probably another fifteen minutes until Spencer and Penelope finally burst through the doors, the latter looking very huffy.

Rossi throws his hands up in mock exasperation, questioning the pair.

“About time you showed up! What took so long?”

Penelope groans, rolling her eyes and plunking herself down into a chair. 

“I was ready to be here a while ago, but Boy Genius over here felt the urge to browse multiple novelty stores, for god knows what reason, before he deigned to let us come back!”

Her cheeks are flushed, and Derek and JJ quickly devolve into poking fun at her vexation. Rossi quickly stands, grabbing Spencer by the shoulders in preparation to steer him into the interrogation room. However, Spencer slips out of his grasp with a lithe finger held in the air. 

Apologies on the tip of his tongue, he paces across the room to where you’re sitting, hand delving into his pants pocket and emerging with a small object wrapped in brown paper. He comes to a stop next to your chair, bending over your shoulder to snatch up a folder from the desk (one that you know has nothing to do with the interrogation he’s about to perform). As he does so, he takes the opportunity to slip the object in your palm. 

Straightening up with the folder in hand, he moves back over to Rossi as if nothing happened. 

Turning the small, solid object over in your hand, you watch the two of them leave the room with a soft smile on your face. You have an idea what might be in your possession. 

The first time Spencer stayed at your apartment, he’d taken a particular liking to the collection of souvenir shot glasses that you had on your mantelpiece. Once you explained your goal of buying one in every city where you’ve had a case, he’s taken it upon himself to help you. 

Just as you’d suspected, when you sneak a glance at the object under the table, a tiny shot glass with a cartoon cat stares back up at you. 

A rush of affection runs through you, slipping the glass into your bag as you attempt to hold in a smile. 

Among the many sounds currently coming from the frustrated Penelope, one seems to be less angry, and more triumphant.

Thank goodness, Spencer gets through to the suspect in an hour, extracting a confession that will more than nail the suspect in court. Because of that, the entire team now finds themselves on the jet once more, in various states of sleepiness. 

Rossi is knocked out, head leaned against the wall, mouth agape. Hotch is similarly asleep, with JJ and Emily across from him, sharing wired earphones as they both try and get some shuteye. 

Derek and Penelope are sitting on the couch, leaving you and Spencer to claim the table. 

You’re not complaining, not when Spencer’s foot is pressing against yours from the seat across from you, and you can use the excuse of taunting him about the chessboard to hear his melodic voice float over to you.

“What was it Gideon always told you? I don’t think you’re exactly thinking outside the box right now, Spence.”

His eyes dance as he looks up at you, hand hovering over the board. 

“You think so? I think I’ll be done with you in 5 more moves,”

A glint of cockiness reflects in his irises, forcing you to shift in your seat, cheeks flushing. 

The two of you quickly duck your heads though, both of you sucked into the game. 

Low voices murmur compliments and jabs, and his ankle hooks around yours before long, sending a tremor of fondness through your body. 

You’re so focused on the game and Spencer, that you don’t notice how Derek and Penelope have fallen silent. It’s only when Derek scoffs loudly that either of you acknowledge them. Shooting you a look loaded with meaning, he gestures to the kitchenette on the other side of the cabin, motioning for you to follow him there. 

With a confused glance at Spencer, you rise from your seat and trail after Derek, watching Penelope slide into your vacated seat with a determined look on her face. 

Turning to Derek, you’re met with teasing eyes, his eyebrows waggling as he looks at you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“What’s up, Morgan?”

He chuckles, the sound coming from low in his chest as he stares you down.

“Sweetheart, you’re not exactly being subtle.”

A silence follows, as you try and discern what he means. Seemingly getting sick of it, he sighs, launching into speech again.

“If you haven’t noticed, you’ve been acting mighty close to Spencer recently, don’t you think? Making him coffee, playing chess, nearly falling asleep on him. You know what that sounds like to me? A crush.”

He brandishes his phone, the grainy screen showing a familiar blue page. The list of love languages has been marked up, each item crossed out and scrawled handwriting marring the image. 

Barely hiding your disbelief, you stop peering at the phone to stare up at Derek instead.

“You’re bringing up Teen Vogue again? What is this supposed to mean?”

He laughs at your incredulity, slinging an arm around your shoulder to tug you into his side, his other hand coming up to ruffle your hair. 

“Fine, fine, you don’t have to say anything. But I’ll help, sweetheart. If you need to convince the kid to man up and ask you out, I’ve got some strategies.”

You can’t stifle a giggle, not when you look over your shoulder to see Spencer with a harried look on his face, trying to listen to Penelope’s frenzied chatter (she’s louder than she thinks she is, you can hear her say get some flowers, and just ask her!). 

Whatever else she’s saying, you’re sure the two of you will laugh about it later, when you inevitably end the night in his bed.

[authorscurse]

Satoru being swarmed and fawned over by girls isn’t an uncommon occurrence. “I’m just a likeable man!” he replies to anyone who asks him about it. Despite all the attention he receives—from girls and boys alike—he has eyes for just one person.

“He’s so hot! Oh my god!” one girl exclaims, glancing at Satoru and Suguru, who are leaning casually against the school lockers.

“Which one? Dibs on the guy with the bun!” one of her friends chimes in.

“The white-haired guy! Imagine how good-looking our kids would be if they had his eyes and hair but my face,” the girl says, clearly on cloud nine as she fantasizes about their impossible future together.

While organizing your things from your locker, you bite your tongue, not wanting to intervene in the loud conversation of the three girls beside you, even if one of them is already fantasizing about your boyfriend.

“I heard he has a girlfriend,” her friend with ribbons in her hair blurts out.

“Things can be stolen if left unattended,” the raven-haired girl smirks while twirling her hair.

“But he isn’t a thing, is he?” you counter, causing all three girls to turn their heads toward you. The girl eager to steal your boyfriend glares at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. You stifle a laugh at her “tough” demeanor, knowing it could easily be broken down with just a few words.

“I’m just saying he isn’t an object. Clearly, you can't seem to see that,” you assert, which only angers her and her minions further.

“Maybe she just wants him for herself, Yumi,” the girl with ribbons suggests, prompting their “leader” to smirk and appraise you from head to toe.

“He would never want her. Why would Satoru Gojo choose someone like her when he has better options?” Yumi states smugly.

“Better options that keep thinking he’s some object to be stolen? What a beautiful array of options that is,” you retort sarcastically, pulling books from your locker. “If you want to take him away, go ahead. But from what I’ve heard, he’s completely too wide-eyed for his girlfriend to even notice anyone else.”

You smile and walk away to your class, leaving them fuming behind you.

As soon as the bell rings, students rush to the door and exit the school. The rain pours heavily outside, causing water to drip through the windows of the classrooms.

“Goodbye, Miss Cawas,” you bid your teacher before stepping out of the classroom. The corridors are nearly deserted, with everyone clearly wanting to stay dry as they dash for the exit.

“Mind giving me a ride?” you hear Yumi’s faint voice ask as you approach the school exit.

“Can’t, I’m waiting for someone,” comes the familiar voice of your boyfriend, declining her request. You chuckle softly, placing one of your earbuds in its case.

As you come into view, Satoru’s smile widens as he waves. A warm feeling surges through you, and you wave back. Your smile quickly morphs into a smirk when you see the color drain from Yumi’s face as you approach them both.

“Hi, my love. Had a good day?” Satoru asks, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your lips. You catch Yumi’s jaw dropping from the corner of your eye as you reciprocate Satoru’s kiss.

“Oh, hi, Yumi,” you greet her with a saccharine smile. Her eyes drop to Satoru’s arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“Y-you’re—”

“Toru’s girlfriend, yeah,” you interject.

“Y-you’re very lucky,” she says, struggling to swallow the mean and crude comments she clearly wants to unleash.

“Actually, I’m the lucky one,” Satoru laughs, turning to you. “Let’s go before the rain gets stronger.”

“Okay, love,” you reply, caressing his cheek. You step aside as he opens the car door, Yumi still staring at you both, watching your every move.

“Oh, Yumi!” you call out just before getting in, and her eyes snap to you. “Satoru’s eyes do look really pretty, don’t they? Too bad only my kids will inherit them. Have a good day!” You smile sweetly at her before slipping into the car with Satoru.

You watch Yumi’s figure fade from the side mirror as the car pulls away.

“You okay?” Satoru asks, concern etched on his face.

“Mhm, all good,” you say, closing your eyes and letting the warmth envelop you.

The ride is spent in comfortable silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the car roof.

“I think our kids will look even better with your eyes than with mine,” Satoru muses, glancing at you with a soft smile.

“Then with your hair,” you reply, making him nod and smile even more. He takes your hand in his and kisses it, never tearing his eyes away from the road.

You don’t mind that Satoru is fawned over by countless admirers every day. You know very well that he has eyes for you and you alone. And you only have your eyes on him.