#(it did slow things down at times where I had to read in more detail though hehe)

[provincara]

I was thinking about how the books in the Lumatere Chronicles have definite main characters, but that we also get other POVs througout the series, which led me to this: POV percentage per book/the series as a whole (this wasn't the most accurate research in the world, but it's close enough damn it).

I would have guessed that we had less of Froi's POV in Froi of the Exiles because all of the other POVs are so prominent in my memory, but I think Marchetta is just really good at spacing it out and timing things perfectly. We don't get Isaboe's POV until the last book, which I didn't realize before. Something that I HAD realized before, though, is that we don't get Trevanion or Beatriss after the second book, which has always bummed me out a little bit :( like, they get married and we don't get to hang out with them anymore (they were always kind of outliers though, as all the other major POVs are from the younger generation, which makes sense narratively). Also, Quintana's POV is the only one in first person, which I think is fascinating and such a wonderful move.

[bruhstories]

Bet IV

p.1 here & p2. here & p.3 here & p.5 here & p.6 here

mandatory mdni because things will start to get heated up in the following chapters.

summary: you're starting to feel things for the man who hired you to take care of his cat. but he's only being nice. that's it and nothing more. pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, domestic violence (reader gets slapped by her uncle), veeeery slow burn, reader's dad is dead w/c: 2.1k

a/n: if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can't find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.

"Where were you last night?"

You sighed at your uncle's question, sick and tired of explaining the same thing over and over again. He woke up earlier than he should have, especially for a man who worked night shifts at a warehouse. He did it on purpose, just to have more reasons to pick on you, and you knew that all too well. You lived through that hell for the past ten years.

"I told you, I was cat sitting." 

"Cat sitting." He repeated with derision in his voice. "You need to get a real job."

"I have two real jobs." You reminded him, and it took all your willpower not to raise your voice at him.

"Where's the money, then? Huh?" Your uncle grabbed you by the wrist, twisting it backwards.

"I'm getting paid today!"

"How much?" 

"660,326!" You cried out as his fingernails dug deeper into your skin.

"I better see that money on my nightstand by tomorrow morning." He let go of your wrist. "Keep the change."

How generous, you thought, rubbing the crescent-shaped dents in your skin. At least he didn't hit you, but your small victory crumbled when he turned on his heels, smacking you with the plastic fly swatter in his hand. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

You didn't cry, not in front of him. Never in front of him. 

But when you stepped through the doors of Mr. Hwang's penthouse, the dam broke, and tears streamed down your cheeks. They burned when they touched the cracked, swollen skin, courtesy of your uncle, but you still smiled at the sight of Eunjoo.

Instead of waiting next to the water bowl, like she had done before, the cat jumped on the countertop, her paw gently touching your wrist, where the imprinted dents of his fingernails were still visible. You didn't know why, but Eunjoo's gesture made you cry harder, heavy tears falling onto her plate. 

"Good kitty." You sobbed, daring to pet her, and she allowed it, nuzzling your hand for the first time since you met her.

Without wasting a single moment, you took out your phone to take a selfie of you and Eunjoo, and sent it to In-ho, with the caption 'Making progress!' You thought he might be happy to see her slowly lower her guard and get attached to you.

Who hurt you?

Stupid. How could you be so stupid to send a selfie when your cheek was grazed and puffy? Of course Mr. Hwang would ask about it, he was a nice man, one whose kindness you didn’t think you deserved.

I accidentally walked into a lamppost! Silly, right?

Hoping that the lie would be convincing enough, you carried on with your tasks after eating with Eunjoo, and to your surprise, it worked. It fooled him, but you weren’t proud of yourself in the slightest. 

You need to be more careful next time. If anything happened to you, who would take care of Eunjoo until I return?

It shouldn't have hurt reading his reply, and yet your heart ached. What did you expect? You were an employee, he obviously wanted his cat to be safe, not you. And how could someone like him even care about someone you? You came from different worlds that could never intertwine.

I will.

No thank you, no sad face — you were bitter, even though, rationally, you had no reason to be. Besides, you lied to him in the first place. Maybe if you told him the truth, he would have sent a different reply. It didn't matter. In less than five days he would come back, pay you and never speak to you again. Just like all rich people did.

You cleaned the bathrooms that morning, scrubbing the bath tubs, the toilets, the sinks and the floors until your fingertips stung and your head pounded from the bleach fumes. The vibration of your phone startled you, and you wiped your hands to check the notification.

Have I upset you?

Okay, maybe he did care. Or maybe he was just very observant and noticed your monotonous reply.

Not at all, I just have a lot on my mind. I'm sorry that you worried about me, or that I seemed upset! You're right, I need to be more careful next time.

Please don't take this the wrong way, miss, but I've never met anyone who apologised for making me worry about them. You're quite special.

You did a double take when you read Mr. Hwang's reply, and a wave of remorse crushed your heart. The man was too nice for you to lie to him, but you didn't want him involved in your family affairs, either. There was a strong internal conflict within you, a battle between honesty and dishonesty, but for the time being, dishonesty won, no matter how disgraceful it was.

Choosing not to reply, as time was ticking and the Abduls would be waiting for you soon, you swiftly finished tidying up the bathrooms and put away all the cleaning products so Eunjoo couldn't get to them. With the automatic feeder full, fresh water in the bowl and litter boxes clean, you left.

In all fairness, you didn't know what to reply to his text. No one called you special before, except for that one guy you dated who only wanted to sleep with you, and unfortunately succeeded. It wasn't your proudest moment, but you moved on since then. You stared at the text, typing a reply, then deleting it, then typing again, and you did that for the duration of the entire bus ride back to Guryong Village. By the time you knocked on Ali's door, you still hadn't come up with a response.

What could you even say? Thank you? Likewise? I'm sorry I lied to you, my uncle slapped me with the fly swatter? No. In telling the truth, Mr. Hwang would pity you, perhaps even offer you more money, or food, or clothes, and you didn't want to be pitied. You wanted your hard work to be recognised, not to use your social status or depressing background as an excuse.

Mrs. Abdul couldn't feed you that day, and that was fine. They needed to prioritise themselves, since they didn't live any better than you. Luckily, you saved enough money to buy a kimbap roll for lunch and a bag of rice crackers for dinner and breakfast. Resourcefulness was, perhaps, your strongest point and the reason you survived for so long.

The theme park was packed with tourists and locals, gathering to watch the parade, and you took the time to entertain children and take pictures with them, always on your feet, always working. Back in the dressing room, you took the comically large mascot head off, sweat dripping down your face and neck. Summers were worse — there were body parts you didn't think could sweat.

"Excuse me, Y/N?"

You looked up from your seat to a man around your age, a coworker named Donghyun. He had worked there for a few months or so, but you barely spoke.

"Yes?" You smiled, resting your elbows on the mascot head in your lap.

"We're getting paid today, and a few of us are going for drinks after work. I was wondering if you would like to come." Donghyun avoided looking into your eyes, nervously pinching the soft fur of his own mascot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I have another job I need to get to. Maybe another time."

"Yeah, another time." He nodded. "Hey, could I get your number?"

"Why would you want my number?" You laughed, immediately pursing your lips when Donghyun frowned. "Sorry, yeah, of course I'll give you my number!"

You were such a people pleaser, it was ridiculous, but he seemed to feel better after saving your number in his phone. And there was no harm in making new friends.

"I'll text you later." Donghyun nodded with a smile and left.

What a strange interaction, you thought. It wasn't unusual for men to like you — you were pretty, smart, funny — but you just weren't interested in any of them. In fact, it was their age and maturity that didn't appeal to you. They acted like prepubescent pricks, trying to impress anything with a vagina and a pretty face by being obnoxious and loud and downright irritating.

Older men were different. They had manners, they were respectful and caring. They knew how to dress, knew how to speak to women, kind of like Mr. Hwang.

Oh. 

God, you needed to forcibly remove that thought from your mind before it spiraled into something worse. In-ho probably wanted nothing to do with you — no, he definitely didn’t want anything to do with you. He was just a nice gentleman who happened to not be married. Maybe he had a girlfriend that didn't live with him. Or maybe he worked so much he couldn't afford a relationship. 

Maybe he murdered people.

You laughed at that ridiculous idea — no one in their right mind would do that, especially not Mr. Hwang. He had a cat, for God's sake. Murderers usually killed animals, surely he was just a normal man with a lot on his mind, a workaholic, or a hermit.

Walking into your boss' office, you received your pay and counted the money — 662,326. You got more than you should've, completely forgetting about the pay rise. Your uncle didn't need to know about that, and you took the extra 2,326 and hid it in a small pocket inside your backpack, along with other money you saved. Unbeknownst to him, you secretly opened a savings account in the hopes that one day you would be able to leave and rent your own place, but you only had 1,094,463.60 won, which was barely enough to cover the deposit.

One day. One day you would leave all that abuse behind and have a fresh start. But today was not that day. 

Back in Gangnam-gu, you entered the penthouse earlier than normal and dropped your bag on the floor next to your worn and torn boots. You were hoping they would last through winter because you really couldn't afford a new pair. Eunjoo ran to greet you for the first time, and your heart was filled with joy at the sight of the cat rubbing against your leg. She was growing on you, and you soon realised how much you'd miss her when Mr. Hwang returned. Perhaps he'd let you visit her. 

You turned the TV on and played some songs by ABBA, the sadness of the morning gone, replaced only by joy and optimism. Things would turn out well, you just knew it. You grabbed In-ho's black clothes and placed them in the washing machine, all the while dancing to the beat of Money, Money, Money. It was a song you related to, but you didn't want to find a wealthy man. You just wanted to have enough money to survive without your uncle.

"It's a rich man's world." You sang to Eunjoo, who wiggled her butt, playfully attacking your feet. 

"All the things I could do if I had a little money, kitty. I would get my own apartment, I would donate to orphanages and charities. Oh, don't look at me like that." You frowned when Eunjoo stared at you judgmentally. "I would! There are people out there who need help. But you know what I would get for me? A hotteok! Ah, I would kill for that cinnamony goodness."

You placed the food on the floor and opened the pack of rice crackers. 

"My dad got me a hotteok on my seventh birthday. It was the best birthday ever and- oh my God, I'm talking to a cat." Laughing at the sudden realisation, you shook your head in disbelief. "Well, you're probably my only friend anyway. You don't judge me. You don't care if I'm rich or poor. You just listen and eat. Oh!"

Good evening, Mr. Hwang! Could I ask what your favourite dish is?

You decided that would be your gift. Cooking wasn't your strongest skill, but you were confident in yourself. And who didn't want to come back to a hot home-made meal? Maybe he liked jajangmyeon, or jjigae, or something sweet, like chapssaltteok. The possibilities were endless.

Beef Wellington. Why?

Your heart sunk to your stomach. Beef fucking Wellington? How on Earth could you even afford all the ingredients? The tenderloin itself was probably over 65,000 won. But you were going to do it for him, regardless of what it cost. You felt that Mr. Hwang deserved it. 

I was hoping to cook it for you when you returned. I'll admit, I didn't think it would be such a... fancy dish, but I'm sure I can manage. 

Have you tried it before?

I'm afraid not. Is it good?

Exquisite. You'll have to stay and try it when I return, yes?

Chewing on your bottom lip, your heart skipped a beat at his request. You knew he was just being nice, but you couldn't stop the sudden burning desire to just obey. 

Yeah, I'll stay. 

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn  @hobiesbrownsgf  @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol  @mariiestfu  @ratsnestinmyhair @missroro @talia-the-gemini @fortluocha @true-queen-of-mischief @ssa-callahan @bibliophile-yomna @wwastro @heartsforseo @marymun @glads-stuff @starryeddie @kisses2kanao @gagaga167 @l4venderia @scryi @lelisae @twicelover2 @ashtrosstuff @cruel-affair @cdej6 @veragrhm @nikos-a-clown @cchewhaz @pepsicolacoochie @lily-ann-b @red22wolf @nellabear @unabletonotlovesatoru @happiness2112 @waterjewelsspite @luna-looniesnlog @plan3t-plut0 @full-sunnies @houta-habtet-houta @alexisabirdie @riri53 @bluehourss

[holyblonded]

return of media day | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: you are about to drop your first signature cleats with nike and they decide to do a joint shoot with alexia

warnings: rfef mentioned 😐

notes: this was extremely cute y’all. it’s a bit short but i couldn’t think of anything else to add. tell me what else yall want to see with this series!!

You were already half-asleep in the car on the way to the shoot, having just landed back in Spain after international break. Nike hadn’t given you too many details about today, just that it was important and you had to be there.

So naturally, you showed up in a hoodie, sweatpants, and slides, looking like you had just crawled out of hibernation. You walked onto set, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze in place.

“There’s no way,” you muttered, blinking rapidly.

You turned away, rubbed your eyes again, then looked back to confirm you weren’t hallucinating.

“ALE!”

Alexia barely had time to react before you full-speed sprinted at her and jumped, forcing her to catch you mid-air. Alexia let out a surprised grunt as you crashed into her, legs wrapping around her waist like some kind of overly excited koala.

Her first instinct was to scold you, but an involuntary smile spread across her face as she held you. “You’re so dramatic.” She huffed, adjusting her grip to keep you from sliding to the floor. “You do realize I’m not a crash pad, right?”

You ignored her, squeezing tighter. “I knew I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“You thought you were hallucinating?” Alexia chuckled, finally setting you down.

“I’ve been awake since five a.m., Ale. I didn’t even know where I was going today. Nike just shoved me into a car and told me to smile.” You pulled back slightly, holding her shoulders as if to make sure she was actually real. “And then I see you? My brain short-circuited.”

Alexia smirked. “Understandable. Seeing me is a life-changing experience.”

You lightly smacked her arm. “Don’t make me regret missing you.”

By now, everyone on set had stopped what they were doing, watching your reunion with varying degrees of amusement. A cameraman filming the behind-the-scenes content caught the whole thing, likely already thinking about how to turn it into a dramatic slow-motion edit.

“Wait—” Alexia suddenly furrowed her brows, looking around the studio. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” you repeated, blinking. “Why are you here?”

Alexia gave you a deadpan look. “I work with Nike.”

“Well, so do I,” you shot back, placing your hands on your hips.

A pause. Then, ever so slowly, the realization dawned on both of you.

“Oh my god,” Alexia exhaled, eyes widening.

“No way,” you whispered dramatically.

“You’re the shoot?” Alexia asked, pointing at you.

“And you’re part of it?” you gasped, pointing right back.

“Did neither of you read your emails?” one of the Nike reps finally interjected, rubbing their temples.

You and Alexia turned to them, completely unapologetic.

“Absolutely not,” you said in unison.

Alexia shook her head with a fond smile, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Well, I guess this just got a lot more interesting.”

You grinned. “And a lot more chaotic.”

The Nike rep sighed, muttering something about “athletes and their aversion to reading”, before motioning for the crew to resume setting up.

Meanwhile, you leaned into Alexia, still grinning like an idiot. “Hey, Ale?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you miss me?”

Alexia rolled her eyes, pulling you closer. “Unfortunately.”

The interview started off smooth. Professional. Standard media day questions.

The crew had set up the cameras, the lights were bright, and the atmosphere was lighthearted. You and Alexia sat side by side, answering questions about the new cleats, the upcoming season, and your goals.

Then, someone asked, “How would you describe each other’s playing styles?”

Alexia hummed, tilting her head thoughtfully. You turned to look at her, fully expecting a compliment, maybe even some poetic analysis of your skills.

Instead, she casually dropped, “Estrella is… chaotic.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“But effective,” she added, holding up her hands like that softened the blow. “You never know what she’s going to do next. It’s terrifying.”

You scoffed. “Wow. That’s crazy. You know, I was gonna be nice, but now?” You turned to the camera, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “Alexia is a control freak.”

Alexia gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest like you had personally insulted her entire family. “I am not a control freak.”

“Oh, you so are.”

“I just like order,” she defended, crossing her arms.

“You demand order,” you corrected, smirking. “Everything has to go exactly how you see it in your mind, and if someone does something unpredictable, you short-circuit for a second before trying to control the chaos.”

Alexia opened her mouth, then closed it, then sighed. “Okay, maybe. But that’s a good thing.”

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, Capitana.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes playfully before turning back to the camera. “Well, since we’re being honest, I stand by what I said, chaotic, unpredictable, borderline reckless—”

“Hey!”

“—but effective,” she repeated, laughing.

You turned to the interviewer, pointing at Alexia. “This is why she stresses me out.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “You stress me out.”

The media crew was loving it. The interviewer barely held in their laughter.

“Alright, so if you had to pick one word to describe each other’s playing style?” they prompted.

Alexia didn’t even hesitate. “Unhinged.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. “That is so rude!”

“You’ve literally nutmegged someone while tying your shoe,” Alexia shot back. “I rest my case.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Fine. If I’m unhinged, then you’re bossy.”

Alexia smirked. “I am your captain, you know.”

“And I am your problem,” you teased back.

The media crew burst out laughing as Alexia groaned, throwing her head back.

“You are a menace.”

“And you love me.”

Alexia sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “Unfortunately.”

The interview wrapped up, but the banter continued as you walked off set.

“Chaotic?” you muttered. “That’s crazy. I bring excitement.”

“You bring stress,” Alexia corrected.

“Same thing.”

“Absolutely not.”

You smirked. “Admit it, though. You love playing with me.”

Alexia gave you a side glance, shaking her head. “I tolerate it.”

You grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

Everything was going smoothly—well, as smoothly as anything involving you ever could—until it was time to officially start the photoshoot for your signature cleats.

You stood in the center of the set, cleats laced up, lights shining, the Nike crew prepped and ready to go. Just as they were about to start, you clapped your hands together.

“Wait, hold on,” you said, making everyone pause. “Before we do this, we need to discuss the name of my cleats.”

Alexia, sitting off to the side watching, sighed deeply, already sensing disaster.

The Nike reps exchanged nervous glances.

“Alright, so,” you began confidently, “I was thinking we call them The Menace Ones.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“No,” Alexia said immediately.

“Okay, okay,” you continued, undeterred. “The Chaos Touch?”

“No.”

“The Ankle Breakers?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Nutmeg 3000?”

“Please stop talking,” Alexia groaned.

You turned to the Nike crew, hoping for support, but they all seemed too afraid to challenge Alexia’s authority.

“Fine, fine,” you huffed dramatically. “I’ll be normal about it.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced.

For the next twenty minutes, you behaved. You posed, dribbled, and shot dramatic looks at the camera like a professional. Everything was going perfectly.

Then came the first break and you disappeared.

Five minutes later, you returned, dressed head to toe in an Adidas tracksuit. The entire room fell into stunned silence.

Alexia’s eyes widened in pure disbelief as she stared at you. “No.”

“What?” you said innocently, adjusting the collar of the jacket. “We’re on break.”

“TAKE THAT OFF,” Alexia demanded, already storming toward you.

“I just thought I’d switch things up—”

Before you could finish, she grabbed your arm and started dragging you toward the changing room.

“You are going to get us both killed,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“You have to admit it’s a little funny,” you said, barely suppressing your grin.

Alexia shot you a glare. “You are lucky Nike likes you.”

“And you are lucky I love you enough to go change.”

Alexia sighed heavily, releasing you with one final warning look. “If you come out in Puma next, I’m leaving.”

The camera zooms in on your cleats as you spin them in your hands, running your fingers over the details. The black leather shimmers slightly under the studio lights, gold speckles running along the sides like stars scattered across the night sky. The laces are a deep navy, and the sole glows with a metallic silver finish. A rich purple fades into the black near the heel, blending seamlessly like the sky at dusk.

You smile softly, tilting the shoe toward the camera.

“These are the Estrella 001s—my first signature boots with Nike,” you say, voice filled with quiet pride. “The name comes from my nickname, Estrella, which means ‘star’ in Spanish. But it’s more than that.”

You turn the boot over, showing the gold lettering on the back heel tab, where Estrella 001 is printed vertically in a clean script.

“For me, stars have always meant guidance. I used to look up at them when I felt lost, like they were the only things that stayed constant. They remind me of my past, my struggles… everything that made me me.”

The camera pans over the subtle red and yellow stitching near the tongue of the cleat.

“This is for where I come from. Barcelona, Spain,” you continue. “I might not play for Spain anymore, but it’s still my home. It’s where I fell in love with football. Where I met the people who shaped me. I’ll never forget that.”

You flip the boot back over, running your thumb over the inside, where a tiny phrase is stitched in white.

“It says, ‘Siempre pa’lante.’ Always forward. That’s something Ale taught me when I was going through a tough time. I didn’t always believe it, but she did. And now? Now I do too.”

You set the cleat down and glance toward the camera, a small smile playing on your lips.

“But I wouldn’t be here without my family. My real family.”

Your eyes flick over to Alexia, standing off-camera.

“When Ale took me in, she gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever have again. A home. A place to belong. Someone who loved me without conditions.” You pause, voice thick with emotion. “She didn’t have to, but she did. And I’ll never be able to thank her enough for that.”

The camera smoothly shifts toward Alexia, who is very obviously blinking back tears, her lips pressed together tightly as she tries (and fails) to hold it together.

You grin. “Are you crying?”

She sniffs, shaking her head. “No.”

You smirk, standing up and walking over. “She’s crying.”

“I’m not—”

Before she can finish, you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. She exhales sharply, but her arms immediately come up to hold you close.

The camera catches the soft, warm moment between you two.

“You took me in,” you murmured. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Alexia’s arms tightened around you. “You were mine the second I saw you.”

You squeezed her tighter, voice thick. “Thank you for loving me, Ale.”

She kissed your forehead, whispering softly. “Siempre pa’lante, mi niña.”

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (Masterlist)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Subgenders: Omega! Reader, Beta! Yoongi, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Jimin, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Hoseok, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, Enemies to friends to lovers, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt and Comfort,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 80k so far

—  Warnings: Violence, Blood, Murder, sexual and physical abuse, PTSD, themes of healing, suspense, mute character's, depictions of eating disorders, healing, hospitals, epilepsy, assassins, spyies,

Before you read:

This is the second version of this story, it's better, edited and longer. But if you want to read the first (near complete) version of this story you can read it on tumblr here, or on Ao3 here. there's like a million words of it lol.

not everything is tagged in this version. there is quite a bit of triggering content. i go into much more greater detail about the m/c and the abuse that she suffered at the hands of Geumjae in this version. if there is anything that doesn't get a tag and you feel it needs it, please don't hesitate to tell me!

This version is a lot longer than V1, and because of that the chapters don't line up, chapters 1-13 cover chapters 1-4.

While there are only a few things that have been taken out/restructured, but yoongi and the m/c get a dedicated slow burn love story in this now. i've also added 60k to what we did have so please give this tons of love!

i will not be reblogging these parts nearly as much as the others, because i want there to be less crowdedness on my feed. i will try my hardest to respond to comments if there are any this time around.

~-~

Prologue: Omens

Summary: you watch your husband murder someone, and try not to make it worse

Part 1: The Beta

Summary: Seokjin meets Yoongi when he's at his lowest.

Part 2: The Funeral

Summary: The death of a king pin makes the whole picture come crumbling down. In 120 days, Yoongi will decide who rules the criminal empire.

Part 3: The Alpha

Summary: Seokjin meets Namjoon when things are finally getting good, will the introduction of an alpha disrupt his and yoongi's little pack?

Part 4: Of Violent Dogs

Summary: Kim Namjoon will kill. That is a fact that you can count on.

Part 5: The Pups

Summary: Namjoon meets Jungkook in the Emergency room. "he's sick Joonie, and you can't make him better." that doesn't mean he's not going to try.

Part 6: Prey Animals

Summary: A death and A dinner party (a woman that yoongi can't take his eyes off of.)

Part 7: Hoseok

Summary: Yoongi brings home a stray, but luckily he's going to stay. (Yoongi won't, Yoongi is going to leave)

Part 8: Just Not her

Summary: Yoongi cannot decide if he trusts you or not. After being followed, he interrogates you to figure out your motives.

Part 9: Ribbons

Summary: A dinner at the Moon house prompt Yoongi to get closer and closer to you. But how close can he get before he pricks his finger?

Part 10: Junk Drawers and Daydreams

Summary: Yoongi just wants to figure you out. Just that. He promises.

Part 11: Warm Monsters

Summary: Yoongi's attraction gets harder to ignore, as does your suffering.

Part 12: The After

Summary: In Yoongi's absence the pack sort of falls apart.

Part 13: Bruises and Butterflies

Summary: One life doesn't equal seven.

~-~

Commonly asked questions:

Why the different name? because i thought it would be confusing to have two series's by the same name on the same page

Why are you editing this story? because i want to put it up for physical purchase either on amazon (ew i know) or some other alternative, the beginning of the story had always bugged me because it was not paced the same as the rest of it.

[spencessocks]

quiet moments

summary: after a tough case, you and spencer share a quiet conversation on a plane ride home.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

word count: 1.3k

the team had just wrapped up a grueling case and were on the jet back to Quantico. everyone was exhausted, including yourself. yet you could never sleep on airplanes, too many variables that made you uncomfortable. you looked around the plane—most of them had dozed off, but spencer was still awake, his knee bouncing as he stared out the window.

you got up, shifting into the seat next to him, setting down your lukewarm coffee.

“you know,” spencer started, his voice slightly rough from lack of sleep, “sleep deprivation can cause symptoms that mimic intoxication. cognitive impairment, slowed reaction times, even—” he paused, blinking sluggishly. "what was i saying?"

you bit back a smile. “something about being drunk without the fun part?”

“right,” he nodded, then yawned, rubbing his eyes. “also, did you know that octopuses have three hearts? two pump blood to the gills, and the third pumps it to the rest of the body. when they swim, that third heart actually stops beating.”

you hummed in response, more focused on the way his head was starting to droop to the side. “that’s fascinating, spence. why are you telling me this now?"

spencer blinked at you, his hazel eyes glassy with exhaustion. “i don’t know,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “i guess… i just don’t like the quiet.”

you gave him a small smile, shifting to get more comfortable. “well, lucky for you, you’re talking to the one person who can’t sleep on planes.”

spencer huffed a soft laugh, but it quickly dissolved into another yawn.

"why aren't you asleep anyway?" you asked, dawning on you that he was usually knocked out on the way back home.

spencer blinked slowly, like he was trying to gather his thoughts but kept losing them along the way. “dunno,” he mumbled, his voice softer now. “i think my brain’s too full.”

you tilted your head. “too full?”

he let out a tired chuckle, rubbing his eyes. “yeah. too many thoughts. case details, statistics, things i could’ve done differently. it’s like… my mind doesn’t know how to shut up.”

you frowned slightly. you knew spencer tended to overanalyze things, especially after a difficult case, but seeing him this exhausted and still unable to let go of it made your heart ache.

you weighed the options of encouraging him to open up or shifting his focus. in the end, you decided it was best to steer his mind away from it, saving the deeper conversation for a later moment.

“well,” you said, looking around, “if it won’t shut up, maybe you don’t have to fight it. maybe you just need to focus on something else.”

spencer let out a quiet huff, his fingers moving to your sleeve, absentmindedly playing with it. “like what?”

you thought for a moment, then shrugged. “like… okay, if you could be anywhere right now—anywhere but here—where would you be?”

spencer blinked, clearly not expecting the question. he glanced toward the window, eyes distant for a second. “florence,” he murmured eventually. “at the biblioteca medicea laurenziana.”

you grinned. “of course your dream getaway is a library.”

spencer's eyebrows bunched up, but there was the faintest hint of a smile there. “it’s not just a library. it was designed by michelangelo. the reading room has these long wooden benches, and the windows let in just enough light to make everything feel… warm.” his voice softened, like he was already picturing it. “it’s quiet, but not in a bad way. the kind of quiet that makes you want to take your time, let yourself get lost in the pages of something.”

you watched him as he spoke, the tension in his face easing just a little. “that actually sounds really nice.”

spencer hummed in agreement, his head tilting slightly against the seat. “where would you be?”

"see now me personally, i would be at home."

spencer blinked, his tired eyes meeting yours. “home?” he echoed, with a bit of disbelief.

you nodded. “yeah. and i totally thought that's what you would say too! not that your fancy library doesn’t sound amazing, but after a case like this? i’d want to be home. my own bed, my own sheets."

spencer considered that for a moment, his fingers absently tracing a pattern against his knee. “i guess that makes sense,” he murmured. “home is… safe.”

you smiled softly. “exactly. we'd be curled up on my couch, wearing something way too comfortable, eating something terrible for us, and watching a show we've already seen a hundred times.”

spencer’s lips quirked, just barely. “which show?”

you thought for a second, then smirked. “something I don’t have to analyze or think about—just background noise while I relax. maybe doctor who.”

spencer hummed in approval, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he forced them open again. “good choice,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. “did you know doctor who holds the guinness world record for the longest-running science-fiction television series?"

you grinned. “yes, spencer. i think that's the 5th time you've mentioned it.

“it’s an important fact,” he defended, but there was no real weight behind his words. his body was slowly giving in to exhaustion, his hands now folded in his lap.

you raised an eyebrow, amused at how determined spencer was to share his random facts, even as his eyelids drooped. "i’m starting to think you’re secretly trying to get me to memorize guinness world records," you teased.

he let out a small, tired chuckle. “well, maybe you’ll need them one day. what if you’re on Jeopardy and the final question is about doctor who?” his voice trailed off, and his eyes flickered closed again, clearly fighting sleep.

you leaned back in your seat, watching him struggle to stay awake. "spence, if I ever end up on Jeopardy, i think i'll have bigger problems than knowing the longest-running sci-fi series."

he blinked slowly, "you never know," he murmured. "it could be... the question." he nudged your shoulder lightly.

you grinned, nudging his shoulder back. "i’ll let you be my phone-a-friend then."

spencer took your hand in his, the simple sentiment warming his heart a bit.

spencer let out a sleepy hum of agreement, his head tipping toward you just a little as he tried to keep talking. "i wonder if there’s a record for... most consecutive hours spent talking about doctor who..."

you snorted slightly, "i think i know the guy it would go to, actually."

a faint grin tugged at his lips. "oh? do you?" his voice was soft, still thick with exhaustion, but the playful glint in his eyes suggested he was still hanging on to the conversation, however faintly.

"yeah," you said with a teasing smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "he's pretty cute."

spencer blinked slowly, the words registering a beat later than usual. his eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually be too tired to process the compliment. but then, his lips twitched upward in a cheeky smile, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "oh? he sounds like quite the catch," he replied.

you leaned in just a little, a smirk playing at your lips. "yeah, yeah! he really is. very knowledgeable... and, you know, he has this whole charming, slightly awkward thing going on."

spencer let out a soft laugh, but it quickly turned into a yawn. “seems like my kind of guy,” he murmured, the warmth of your hand in his still grounding him, pulling him just a little bit further out of his sleepy haze.

"you’re a little biased," you teased, squeezing his hand again, more gently this time.

a soft chuckle escaped his lips as he tried to stifle another yawn. “maybe just a little."

"get some rest, spence," you whispered, pulling his hand into your lap.

his brows furrowed, like he wanted to protest, but his body was already betraying him, slumping further into the seat.

“just close your eyes,” you coaxed softly, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “pretend we’re on my couch, watching doctor who. nothing to think about, nothing to analyze.”

spencer let out a slow exhale, his body finally relaxing. his head rested against yours softly.

you let out a quiet breath, letting yourself relax too. you listened to his breathing for a while, hearing and feeling the way it got deeper as he slipped into sleep. your eyelids became heavy, and somehow, the pressure in your ears became insignificant.

if this was the closest thing to home you could get right now, you’d take it. your body sunk into the seat, and before you knew it, you were asleep, too.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Does anyone have any tips on writing flashbacks? I'm finding the tense a pain -- "When Jonathan was a boy, he had once run into friends at the local chip shop. "What are you doing here?" Biff had said .... But if not using perfect tense, what's a good way to transition into and out of flashbacks?

I know I've read good ones, but I can't remember how it worked (because it was "invisible")

One big issue with flashbacks is that there are so many ways to do them. That makes juggling when and where to do them a bit tough. However, there's definitely some things to keep in mind:

Some Don'ts

Don't use a flashback right before conveying information the flashback makes essential. The one is a bit confusing, but imagine this - you're in the middle of a confrontation with the big bad. Right before they start fighting, a flashback reveals the villain killed your main character's brother and therefore this is personal! ...Except that information would have been better revealed much earlier in the novel, especially if everyone but the reader knows it.

Don't start a flashback in the middle of an action scene. You could, for example, throw some quick remembrances of something that happened in the past, but if you're interrupting a critical scene to yank the reader back to a multi-page event in the past, you're killing all the tension in the story.

Don't let a flashback take over the main plot. If the flashback is more important than what's happening in the present, you're writing the story from the wrong point of time. You might want to consider shifting the narrative to that time period, and dealing with the "current" plot at a later point in the book or settling for quick, contextualizing flash forwards.

Don't use a flashback to hide things from the audience. The absolute worst way to use a flashback is to make a scene look like it happened in a way that it didn't. If your flashback is deliberately misleading in a way the characters of the story are aware of, don't use it. For example, let's say your MC flashes back to her father's murder. It's framed to look like her uncle did it. But your MC has known all along her mother was the murderer. The flashback isn't a story she's telling, it only exists for the readers, and audience she's not aware of. Even in first-person with an unreliable narrator, a flashback is not a good way to introduce doubt in a story. It makes the reader feel as if they've been cheated.

Some Dos

Use flashbacks to convey something essential to the story. You might have pages of past events that you've cut out of your story. I certainly do. But including them slowed down the pacing and killed the tension, and ultimately, I narrowed it down to what was essential for moving forward the plot. If the flashback tells us nothing about the character, the plot, or the world in relation to either, it's probably not necessary.

Use flashbacks for character-building. Your character is formed by their past. You will need to touch on that past in some ways. A flashback triggered by a painful memory (discovering an old toy, looking at a photograph, etc) might be a way to go about it.

To show how the character got there. Your character stumbles into a bar with a head injury. As they attempt to have a normal conversation, we flash back to the car accident they fled from.

Use flashbacks to highlight but not show the real issue. This is harder to convey, but if your character is trying to avoid the truth of an event, they might often revisit the event (a fight, an argument, a conversation), but not cover all the details. This skews toward hiding things from the reader, so you should be careful about it. However, if the narrator is avoiding the truth, there are ways to do it (flashing back but not covering the whole event, flashing back to pieces of the event, etc).

Use flashbacks to frame what actually happened. Your character tells a story about themselves the whole book, but the flashback reveals what actually happened in a moment that reveals the true nature of their character.

Types of Flashbacks

Mid-scene, short paragraphs. Good for characters struggling with trauma, trying to avoid the truth of something, or looking at an image or thing that jogs their memory.

A few pages of needed context. Your MCs are at a party. They're laughing it up, seemingly having a good time. The next page or so steps back into the fight they had in the car on the way there, and how they spent time fixing their makeup before going inside.

A whole chapter - maybe. As I said above, the longer you spend in a past event, the more likely that is the main story. But if you need the POV of a character from the past, or need to highlight a critical event that you deliberately skipped over when it happened, a chapter might be a good call.

How to determine what kind of flashback you need and where you need it? That depends on where you're at in the story.

Does this flashback convey critical information about your character?

Does this flashback convey critical information about your plot?

Does this flashback add to or fit into the tension of the scenes around it?

Does the flashback slow down or stop the action? (It may be in the wrong place in your story.)

On that note, is your finale flashback-free? (If you're wrapping up the story, you need to have all your cards on the table.)

There's many, many more things we could get into, but that's a decent start. Working in flashbacks is a matter of trial and error at times, so don't shy away from them when drafting. You'll figure it out!

[wlw-imagines]

A Green Duffel - Emily Prentiss x Reader (Criminal Minds)

a/n: i've survived to day two of may fics - although not sure too many fics going into may will reach a word count as much as the JJ fic did, i may not survive that - but here is more criminal minds!!!!!

summary: you are the newest recruit to the BAU. You're quiet and reserved. Emily Prentiss clocks it immediately: the silence, the tension in your shoulders, the green duffel bag always at your side like a shield.

While the team warms up to you quickly, Emily finds herself drawn in, trying to connect. But every attempt is met with polite, muted smiles. She starts wondering if she’s doing something wrong.

Part of May Prompts: Day Two, a green duffel bag

You arrive on a Wednesday. No big announcement, no formal welcome. Just a nod from Hotch, a paper to sign, and a desk at the edge of the bullpen. Exactly as you wanted it. Your green duffel bag lands on the floor beside your chair with a soft thud. It’s scuffed, weathered, the kind of thing someone’s had for years. You keep one hand on the strap even as you sit.

“Hi,” you say to the agents around you, to no one in particular. Not cold. Just... quiet.

Emily watches from a few desks over. She’s halfway through her second coffee, watching the way your eyes track the room like you’re already mapping the exits. Like you’re waiting to be asked to leave before you’ve even started.

“Hey,” she tries, going for the casual tone. “What’s with the bag?” She nods towards your duffel sitting at your feet.

You glance at it. Then at her. “Just... my stuff.”

There’s a moment, an oppurtunity for this something to turn into a conversation, but then you pop in one headphone and look away. Emily doesn't push, doesn't pry, doesn't scoff. She just hums and lets her gaze linger on you a moment longer before pulling herself back to her work.

Later, you eat lunch alone. Headphones in. Not music, probably. Maybe just white noise or a podcast. Garcia tries to sit beside you, but she can see you are tense, it is subtle but sharp. She retreats with a gentle smile.

Emily still doesn’t push. Just watches.

That week, she holds the elevator when she sees you coming. Once, she places a second coffee cup beside yours on a slow morning. Doesn’t comment on whether you drink it.

She starts small. Sticky notes on your files.

“Nice work on the timeline.” “You caught that detail no one else did. Good eyes.”

You don’t respond at first. But you stop throwing the notes away.

By the next Friday, she sees you reading one of them twice before sliding it carefully into the pocket of your coat.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The case is brutal. A hostage situation in the middle of a residential neighborhood. There are too many eyes, too many variables. By the time the chaos shows any sign of clearing, the sun is dipping behind the skyline and you're kneeling in the dirt, your gun still raised, a young, trembling kid clinging to your arm.

You talk the older child down gently. Not with training, not really, but with something softer. Realer. You kneel to his eye level, your voice low and steady. You don’t promise it’ll be okay, you just stay with him until he lets go of the knife and starts to cry.

Later, back at the precinct, Emily passes by the makeshift kitchen where you’re washing blood off your hands. She leans in the doorway, arms crossed. Watching.

“You didn’t even flinch.”

You glance at her. Shrug. “I used to flinch too much. So I... I guess I just stopped.”

It’s not said with pride. Just fact.

Emily looks down at the scuffed tile floor. “I saw how you worked with that kid. It was... special."

You don’t respond, but something in your shoulders softens.

When you return to the BAU the next day, your green duffel is tucked right under your desk again. You never leave it in the locker room. Even when it’s just a paperwork day, even when you’re not on rotation. Always there. Like an anchor.

Emily notices. Of course she does.

She gestures toward it one afternoon, nonchalant. “That thing’s seen more desks than some of our interns.”

You smirk. “Probably smells worse, too.”

She smiles back. A real one this time.

“Still not gonna tell me what’s in it?”

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed. Not defensive. Just... considering. Eventually you shrug, not answering but not really avoiding. “It’s just easier this way,” you say eventually. “Having it close.”

There’s a silence that follows. Not awkward but thoughtful.

Emily tilts her head. “Easier?”

You nod. “In case I need to go. In case I forget where I am. It’s dumb.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she turns to go, tossing her words over her shoulder as she walks away:

“I don’t think it’s dumb.”

You glance down at the bag.

Neither do you, really.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You don’t show up that Friday. No message. No explanation.

Garcia assumes you took a personal day, but Emily knows better. You didn’t clear it with Hotch. You left no trace. Not even the green duffel bag sits under your desk, just the empty space where it usually lives, like something missing from a room you didn’t realize had changed.

By Saturday evening, Emily is pacing her apartment. She’s already texted once. 'Hey. Just checking in. You okay?' She didn’t want to overstep. She’s typing again now, something a little more direct, deletes it. Tries again. Repeats, 'Are you okay?' Deletes that too. In the end, she just stares at your contact name until her screen dims.

Garcia calls it a Y/N spiral. The kind where you vanish and come back like nothing happened, your emotions sealed off like rooms in a locked house. “I think she's just the kind of person who… forgets people care,” Garcia says softly, concern etched between every word.

Emily doesn’t answer. She’s already thinking about Monday.

And just like clockwork, you stroll into the BAU that morning, coffee in hand, hair still damp from a shower. No explanation, no apology. Your duffel bag is slung over your shoulder, same as always, dropped beneath your desk like a piece of punctuation at the end of a long sentence.

You look… fine. A little tired. A little more pale. But whole.

Emily waits until lunch to say something. She finds you alone by the vending machine, staring at the blinking lights like you’re trying to make a decision but forgot what it was.

“You can’t vanish like that,” she says gently, not accusing. Not angry. Just… exhausted with concern. “We care about you.”

You blink, like the words don’t make sense. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Emily breathes in through her nose, then out. “I noticed.”

Later that evening, when the office is quiet again and all conversation has died down, Emily returns to her desk and finds a note stuck to her monitor. A small post-it, your handwriting barely more than a whisper.

Thank you for noticing.

She holds the note between her fingers for a long time, smiling faintly like it’s something precious. And it is.

It’s not a conversation. It’s not a confession.

But it’s something.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s late again. It's always late around here. Most of the team has already gone home. Only you and Emily remain.

She finds you curled up on the couch in the break area, half-asleep, your duffel bag wedged between your knees like a shield. You look small in a way that doesn’t match the rest of you, all sharp edges and clipped responses during the day. Now, you're just… sleepy.

She doesn’t speak right away. She just sits across from you, watching the way your fingers absently tighten around the strap of the bag, like you’re afraid it might disappear if you let go.

Rubbing your eyes, you eventually murmur, “Didn’t feel like going home.”

Emily nods. “I’ve had days like that.”

You glance down at the duffel bag. The fabric is worn at the seams, a little frayed where the handles meet the zipper. It’s seen miles. Cities. Sleepless nights. Places you don’t talk about.

Emily’s voice is soft when she asks, “Can I ask what’s in it?”

You hesitate again, trying to test out the idea of opening up to this woman. But something in her tone, not demanding, not curious for curiosity’s sake, makes it feel safe.

“It’s… everything,” you say finally, like you are revealing the innermost part of you. “Clothes. A toothbrush. A blanket. Letters. Spare phone charger. There’s a book I’ve never finished. Some stuff from the academy.”

She tilts her head slightly. “You carry it with you all the time.”

You shrug, staring down at the scuffed floor. “It just… felt easier that way. I didn’t always have somewhere to land as an adult, or as a kid, so I kept everything important close. I guess I never really stopped.”

Emily doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. You go on, voice quieter now.

“I bounced around a lot as a kid, got used to it, swore I never would when I grew up." You sniffled a little, "Guess I was too used to it. When I first started bouncing between field offices, it was just easier not to unpack. I’d stay in motels, sometimes friends' couches. And the bag-” You laugh softly, self-deprecating. “It was like my home. Everything I trusted fit in here.”

You glance up to find Emily watching you with something unreadable in her eyes. Not pity. Not judgment.

Understanding.

“It’s not dumb,” she says, voice gentle. “We all carry something.”

You smile, barely. “Yeah? What do you carry?”

For a moment, Emily doesn’t answer. Then she reaches forward, fingers brushing the worn canvas of your bag before her eyes meet yours. You took a deep breath in, she was close. You avert your eyes.

“More baggage than that could fit,” she murmurs. “And hope. That someday, you’d talk to me like this.”

You meet her gaze once more. It lingers this time.

And for once, you don’t pull away.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s quiet in the kitchenette. The kind of silence that hums under your skin, like the whole world is holding its breath. The coffee pot is still half full from hours ago, untouched and cold. You’re standing at the counter, back to the door, shoulders tight, trying not to cry.

But you are. Quietly. The kind of crying that sneaks up on you, you weren't expecting it. Your throat was tight, breath shallow, tears slipping down your cheeks without permission.

You press your hands against the edge of the counter. As if you could hold yourself together with just that.

Then, behind you comes the soft scuff of boots.

You don’t have to turn to know it’s Emily.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Doesn’t ask questions. Just steps into your orbit like she’s done a hundred times before, but this time, she stays.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, even though you’re clearly not. Even though your voice shakes and your shoulders do too.

Emily doesn’t call you out on the lie. She just says, “I’m here.”

And then, gently, like approaching a scared animal, she reaches for you. Her hand rests lightly on your back, just between your shoulder blades. Warm. Steady.

You go still.

For a moment, it’s too much. The kindness. The contact. The safety.

Then, slowly, you turn toward her. And it happens without decision. Your head dips, your arms slip around her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like your body’s known all along what to do when it finally felt safe enough.

You sink into her like she’s gravity.

Emily wraps her arms around you without hesitation, holding you tightly, not to fix anything, not to pry it open, just to be there. Just to anchor you.

You bury your face in her shoulder, the fabric of her shirt already damp where your tears soak through. Your voice is muffled when you finally speak.

“That’s why I’m scared,” you whisper.

Emily strokes a hand slowly down your back, soothing, like she knows exactly what to say without words. “I know.”

You pull back just enough to look at her. Your eyes are glassy, lashes wet. “If I let this in… if I let you in… it could- What if it ruins me?”

Her thumb brushes under your eye, catching a tear. Her smile is small, achingly soft.

“Then we’ll be ruined together,” she says.

You laugh, barely. It’s a breath more than a sound. But it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re carrying the weight of everything alone.

You lean your forehead against hers. Just for a moment.

Neither of you speak.

You don’t need to.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The morning feels different.

Soft sun through the office windows. A warmth that doesn’t quite reach your desk, but still… it’s something.

Emily’s already at her desk when you walk in. She glances up out of habit, expecting the same routine. The green duffel bag, slung across your shoulder like armour.

But it’s not there.

She blinks. Straightens. Her eyes linger on the space where it should be, and then, slowly, lift to meet yours.

You don’t flinch. Don’t look away.

“I left it at home,” you say, voice quiet, with a small shrug. “Didn’t feel like I needed it today.”

There is a moment of silence.

Then, something warm flickers in Emily's expression, not quite a smile, but close. A small inhale, like she’s breathing in the moment. “I’m proud of you,” she says softly.

You shrug again, slightly more bashfully. But there’s a glint in your eyes, just for her. “It’s just a bag.”

Emily gives a small shake of her head. “No. It’s not.”

You nod. You know she’s right.

You sit down across from her and pull something out of your coat pocket. Folded carefully in your palm, a soft green bracelet, threadbare but strong. A braid of fabric, faded with time. From the bag. From the beginning.

You hold it out to her.

“For you.”

Emily’s brow furrows. “What is it?”

“It’s from the lining of the bag,” you say. “I, um, tore it out last night.” You smile, shy. “Something for you to carry. In case I forget you’re here.”

She takes it without hesitation, fingers brushing yours as she loops it around her wrist. Her thumb lingers at the knot, securing it tightly.

“I won’t let you forget,” she murmurs.

There’s something reverent in the way she looks at it. At you.

Across the bullpen, Garcia peeks around the corner and sees the two of you. She opens her mouth, then pauses. Smiles to herself. Retreats, quietly.

The day passes differently. Lighter.

You still keep your headphones on, but one ear is open now. You laugh at something Morgan says, even roll your eyes affectionately when Reid gets too lost in his own tangent. You still keep to yourself, mostly, but not entirely.

At lunch, Emily passes you a coffee. No words. You take it with a soft thanks, your fingers brushing again.

Later, when you both end up walking down the hallway together, you don’t move away when your arms touch.

It’s not a grand gesture.

Just a small step. But steps add up.

You leave together that night, not because you planned to, but because neither of you considered otherwise.

In the elevator, she glances at the bracelet again. You catch her looking, and for once, you don’t look away.

“You’re not scared?” she asks.

You shrug. “I’m still scared.”

Emily’s hand brushes yours. “Then we’ll be scared together.”

You don’t say anything.

But this time, you let your hand stay.

[em1989ts]

𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

five hargreeves x fem! reader smut

masterlist

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ (reader and five are both 20), sex pollen so dubcon?, unprotected sex, breeding kink, thigh riding, fingering, oral (m recieving), hair pulling

summary: you and five, your best friend, get stuck in the apocalypse together. he's immune to the radiation that lingers in what's left of the world, but not you, so when you find a unique flower that sprays an interesting pollen at you, five is more than happy to help you out with its side affects

author's note: i have been reworking this fic for weeks because i just did not like where i was going with it every time but now i finally sat down and finished it, i think i was trying too hard to make it too detailed plotwise but now i really like it, its not proofread so i'll go back and fix any mistakes if i notice any but i hope you enjoy!

The world was different now, what was left of it at least. 

You were holding on tight to your memories of what life was like before the world ended, but your headaches, growing ever more constant, made them gradually slip away. 

The more obvious details were easier to remember: green grass, blue skies, animals, breathable air. You missed when nature meant beautiful, thriving life. 

Now, the only things growing were spiky weeds and vines, the occasional fungi. 

The air was too dry, filled with ash, and the radiation levels were too high for much to grow. 

You had your theories about what could’ve happened to the world, so did the only other human still alive: Five Hargreeves. 

~~~

Years ago, when you were just 8 years old, your parents believed it would be best to move directly next to the umbrella academy. They cared heavily about your safety, so heavily in fact that they homeschooled you, and almost never let you leave home. It was dreadful, for your curious nature wanted to explore your new surroundings in the city. You often leaned out your window, trying to get a peak at one of those superpowers kids who got to see the world. 

One night, as you read by your windowsill that overlooked the alleyway separating your apartment building from the academy, you watched as the children filed one by one out of a bedroom window, down a fire escape, all giggling with sneaky excitement. They snuck out for the first time in their young lives, noticed you and extended an invitation to join them, and the rest was history. You got along well with the Hargreeves children, particularly Number Five. 

He shared your love of retaining knowledge and the passion of wanting to explore the world, as well as prove your ability to sustain yourself independently. The two of you used morse code to speak through your windows at night, and you told each other just about everything. He told you all about his father, and how he wanted to prove him wrong about his time travel abilities. You encouraged him to try them out, to go to the future, and he agreed, as long as you came too. 

On that November morning in 2002, you were waiting in the alley for him to finish breakfast, and once he ran out and took your hand, your lives had never been the same. 

~~~ 

Now you were about twenty, realizing that spending the rest of your life with your super human best friend may be more difficult than you ever would’ve thought. 

Firstly, whatever ended the world resulted in nuclear fallout, which led you to believe a giant explosion abolished the Earth. While Five was genetically immune to the radiation, with the energy that emanated from his spacial jumps, you were a perfectly average human who couldn’t resist the symptoms of radiation poisoning. It was slow, with average headaches interrupting your already rough days and confusion messing up your already decaying memory, but you both knew you couldn’t last forever in this world. 

Secondly, being stuck with your childhood best friend who you happened to fall in love with was absolute torture. Somewhere along the way your immature intellectual astonishment turned to adolescent romantic admiration. Being the last two people on Earth made it so tempting for you to just tell him how you felt, but you couldn’t even fathom how’d heartbroken you’d feel if he turned you down as the last girl on Earth, you’d probably toss yourself into nuclear waste just to rid yourself from the embarrassment. 

The two of you had gotten quite close over the last ten years. He held you in his arms at night, just to protect you from the cold, he made sure you were the first to eat, just to make sure you don’t starve, and he did his best to make sure your sickness wasn’t worsening, just for your survival, of course. What you didn’t know was that he was constantly worrying about you, not that he didn’t want to be the only person alive but because he couldn’t imagine a world without you. You were the only one that listened to him, that believed in him when no one else would. The only one that made him feel like he was worth something in this world. His worst nightmare had already happened to him, as he had to bury the bodies of his adult siblings, but his new one was losing you. It killed him to watch you slowly but surely grow more sick, and he wanted to defer your inevitable end for as long as possible. He was in a race against time: time travel you both out of here before you took your last breath. 

~~

The weather was a sure sign that spring was finally arriving. You believed it to be April, the ten year anniversary of the apocalypse, with the back and forth sunshine and rainstorms. Currently, you and Five were walking down the side of the freeway, dragging along wagons full of your belongings and your apocalypse buddy, Dolores. It was almost dark and you were starting to look for a not too busted up car to take shelter in for the night. The fields looked like death. They were filled with dark, spiky vines and grass that looked permanently dried to a crisp. 

You adjusted the bandana over your nose, growing frustrated at its tightness, and pulled it off your face entirely. The air wasn’t as smoky as it used to be, the rain helped clear it out, and you could feel another storm on the way. Your lungs took in the air and whatever microscopic particles were floating about. 

“Put it back on, Y/n,” Five scolded, disappointed in your disregard for your health.  

“You tied it way too tight, it was getting uncomfortable,” you answered back. 

The two of you kept walking side by side until you came across a van that appeared large enough to store your belongings and to allow you both to stretch out comfortably. 

You followed this same routine every night: you’d scavenge, find a suitable vehicle or building, then break in. 

As Five used a swiss army knife in an attempt to open the back door of the van, you leaned against the side doors, your eyes scanned over the fields to examine to your surroundings, looking out at the vast field of dried up plants, not expecting to see anything different, until your eyes caught on a small, bright plant growing not too far from the road. 

Without a word, you immediately pushed off the van, quickly grabbing Five’s attention. 

“Y/N, what are you-”

As you ran through the field, you felt the dry plants scratching your shins, creating the tiniest, painful cuts, but you didn’t care. The fluorescent flora became clearer as you got closer, eyes entranced by its glowing color before Five blinked in front of you, causing you to crash into his chest and almost tackle him. He stabilized the two of you, grabbing both your arms and holding you tight to stop you from running off again. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Five started, “First of all, don’t run off like that. Second, you don’t know what that is.” 

“Oh, please,” you said frustrated, trying to shimmy out of his grasp, “It’s a flower.” “Yes, I know,” he deadpanned, “But there’s no way a normal flower could grow in these conditions.” 

You freed yourself and knelt down to admire the beautiful flower. Its petals glowed brightly as its orange pigments had you entranced. Five cautiously stood behind you, ready to pull you away any second, but he wasn’t fast enough. 

As you leaned downward to smell the flower, the anther puffed out quickly, spraying a cloud of glowy pollen directly into your face, before the petals closed in on itself and encapsulated the flower. 

“Y/N!”

Stunned, you fell onto your back, eyes wide and face burning as the pollen covered your cheeks and infiltrated your nose. Five quickly leaned over you, he had pulled his goggles down and used your bandana to wipe the pollen off your face before he noticed a drop. Then another. Then three more dripping onto your flushed cheeks. 

The rain snapped you out of your daze as you sat straight up. Five cautiously held up his hands and waited for you to say something, “You alright?” 

“I think?” You didn’t feel any different really, besides an oncoming sneeze. 

He helped you stand up and the two of you ran back through the field and to the van, where he continued to pick the lock. Once he got it open, you both worked rather quickly to get settled so as to not get drenched. You gently placed Dolores in while he tossed in any items from your wagons that couldn’t get too wet. The two of you covered them with a small tarp before he tied them together around the tire with a rope. You jumped into the back of the van, Five following suit, and quickly shut the door. 

It was dark in there. You tried the overhead light but you knew the battery ran out years ago. Other than that, the van was in good shape, with a couple dusty blankets in the back, a case of water and a small stash of granola bars which the two of you scarfed down rather quickly. 

“This might be our best find in a while,” Five said, leaning against the wall, looking down at you as you laid on one of the blankets, trying not to chug the water. 

He had been keeping a close eye on you since the flower, worried there was something you weren’t telling him. And he was right. 

Ever since you stepped out of the contaminated yet refreshing rain, your body had felt uncomfortably warm. A cold sweat covered your body, which felt like it was almost buzzing, and a growing sensation of desire was settling in your lower stomach. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, not waiting to catch another glimpse at Five, worried about the thoughts he would give you. With the two of you sharing the small space, there was no way to relieve the pressure between your legs. You could feel his eyes burning into you, of course he’d notice if you tried getting any friction. 

“Hey, look at me,” he said, breaking the silence. 

You still didn’t want to face him, you knew he knew something was off, that the flower did something to you. Instead of turning your head towards him, you faced the opposite wall and closed your eyes. 

When he reached over to take your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him, the action alone dampened your underwear as you stifled a whimper. 

He knew something was wrong. Not only were you unusually quiet but you looked flushed and sweaty, and almost like you were in pain. As he started into your eyes, he could see how bloodshot they were, your pupils incredibly dilated. 

He kept his hold tight on your face, moving your chin around to inspect every angle before you took hold of his wrist with both hands, trying to pull it away. 

“That flower did something to you, I know it,” he stated, as if it weren’t already obvious, “How do you feel?” 

How on earth were you supposed to answer that? The pain of not being touched was increasing quickly, and the urge to jump his bones and ride his thighs to relieve the pressure was becoming harder to suppress. You could only hold back so much longer, but you knew if you let go, your friendship would be fucked. 

You finally peeled his fingers off your face, holding his hand in front of you, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from sucking his fingers right then and there – God, what was wrong with you? 

Groaning, you released his hand and turned over onto your side, sliding your hands down your face. Thankfully, your clothing was dark, so he couldn’t see the damp spot of your uncontrollable arousal leaking out of you. 

Your behavior scared him at first. If that flower was poisonous, and you died a slow agonizing death as your body slowly shut down, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he could have prevented it, if only he had been more careful with you. But as he analyzed you further, he became much more relieved to piece together what the pollen was really doing to you. 

The flush of your skin, the soft gasps you let slip from your throat, the way you indiscreetly squeezed your thighs together, the look of complete and utter desire and desperation swarming your eyes. 

He’d seen small glimpses of that look over the years, but he’d always thought it was his increasingly delusional imagination considering you were the only girl alive on Earth, and he was nothing but a hormonal boy. He thought of those years spent feeling ashamed of how his mind could turn you, his closest friend, into an image of his own desire as he would imagine your hand wrapped around him instead of own, as he got himself off while you were dead asleep next to him.

Selfishly, he was glad you were in pain, because he was the lucky last soul on Earth who could relieve you. Although, not without a little more teasing first. 

He combed his fingers through his shaggy hair, attempting to hide his smirk before grabbing your arms and sitting you up. 

The way he moved you with such ease made you think about how he could move you into whatever position he wanted, and how easily you would let him. 

He settled you upright against the wall of the van, you almost teared up at the feeling of his strong hands leaving you, before he started unzipping your sweatshirt. 

“Let’s get some layers off you before you overheat,” he explained. 

“Okay, that’ll help,” you quietly agreed, trying to keep your composure as if watching his hands undress you wasn’t torture. 

“Arms up,” he instructed as he slipped off the next layer, a grey long sleeve shirt, leaving you in a white tank top. 

You have to admit, you did feel much cooler, but the moments where his fingers would graze your arms was driving you insane. 

He then wrapped one arm around you to lift your hips up slightly off the carpeted floor of the van, so he could remove your cargo pants with his other hand. 

You could’ve screeched with excitement, though thankfully you buried your face into his shoulder to contain yourself. You had a layer of boxer shorts before your panties, but you felt exposed compared to him, as he was still fully clothed. 

“Any better?” he asked, still in close proximity to you. His face seemingly inching closer to yours. 

You nodded. 

Not trusting yourself with words. 

Not trusting yourself at all. 

He knew. 

Just from looking up at his face, you knew he knew. He wore the same face he always wore when he was right about something. That smug know-it-all face you’ve grown the desire to completely smother with wet kisses over the years. He knew what you needed and this son of a bitch was daring you by holding it over your head. 

“Ready for bed?” he asked with an innocent voice, contrasting from the dark look in his eye. 

It felt as if all those years together led up to this moment. The moment where the two of you did nothing but sit next to each other. Inches away from the other’s face. Eyes staring into the other’s, occasionally breaking free to stare down at their lips. Daring the other to be the one to break over a decade of friendship. Once he saw that glowing twinkle in your eyes, amidst the darkness of dilation, he knew you’d break first. 

He caught you in his arms as you pounced on him, your last shred of composure was ripped away as soon as your lips met his. Five was the only thing on your mind. 

His lips. His hands. His arms. His fingers. 

Him. 

You wanted it all. 

The kiss wasn’t gentle at all. It was harsh and wet. The two of you had no patience, you had the rest of your lives to be gentle and loving. You wanted each other at this very moment. As you made out, he continued to peel off the last of your clothing. He lifted your hips, sliding down both your boxer shorts, tossing them into the passenger seat of the van. Before removing your panties, he moved to feel how damp you got them over the fabric. He almost growled into your mouth as he pulled his slick fingers away, finally pulling the soaked fabric down your legs. 

His arms moved to cage you against him, which felt like absolute heaven, and when his hands lowered to grab your ass, dragging you across his thigh, the moan you let into his mouth was angelic. 

That needy feeling between your legs finally being relieved was enough to make tears fall, cooling your flush cheeks, as his tongue continued to dance with yours. 

He moved to kiss your jaw, leaving a soft trail of saliva until he moved under your chin, and down your neck, leaving harsh intentional marks.

With your head tilted up, and your mouth free, all you could do was moan as he continued to drag your bare, slick cunt across his clothed leg. You were so sensitive that every time he pulled you across the fabric of his pants, you could’ve come. 

As he bit every inch of your neck, he brought his hands to lift up your top, already noticing how you’ve forgone a bra, and grasped your breasts. So engulfed in the pleasure, you’d barely noticed how you had been left to move yourself against his thighs. He swapped his hands for his mouth as he wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed slightly, while taking a nipple into his mouth. 

You gasped, rutting your hips faster against him, with one hand holding onto his hip for dear life while the other was entangled in his hair, pushing his head into your chest. As your gasps and whimpers grew increasingly higher in pitch, you began to hump his thigh with more need, chasing your high that was steadily building up. 

You could feel him smiling smugly into your tit, then you realized you’d been moaning his name, begging and pleading for him to let you come. 

He moved his mouth back to yours, quieting your desperate pleads as he brought both his hands to your tits, pinching and twisting your nipples, stimulating you enough to finally push you over the edge. 

You shuttered against his thigh, your chest arching into his, and your moans losing themselves in his throat, you rode out your orgasm, gradually slowing down the pace of your hips until you were slowly dragging them through the puddle on his leg, sliding your slick across the fabric. 

Five buried his face into your neck as you slowly recovered, arms wrapped around your middle, moving you to sit closer to the bulge in the front of his pants. 

Instead of feeling relieved from the effects of the pollen, you felt the need rush right back between your legs. 

You leaned back in his arms to take him in with your eyes — his messy hair, his swollen lips, flush face. He was still fully clothed, contrasting your completely naked figure. 

Five noticed you scanning his jacket, coming to the conclusion that yes, maybe it was a little unfair that you were the only one completely exposed. He lifted you into his arms and brought you over to the other end of the van. Then he shuffled back a few feet and watched you sit there, naked and needy, waiting for his next move. 

He then carefully removed everything he was wearing – his jacket, his now stained pants, his two shirts – and before he could remove his boxers, you crawled over and did it yourself. 

You kneeled before him as you took him out of his boxers, and into your mouth. 

“Fuck-” he groaned as he felt your warm tongue under his cock. 

He was big. You almost choked when you tried taking him down your throat as far as you could, you just needed to taste him. He took your hair in his hands as he guided you, not wanting to push you too far, and not wanting to come down your throat just yet. 

When he felt the pressure building, he quickly pulled you off him by your hair, taking a second to admire your dazy eyes and the drool dripping down your chin. 

Five then tackled you, literally throwing himself on top of you, your head landing on your pile of clothes, as his lips once again crashed into yours. He quickly pinned you down and held your wrists together in his left hand, his other snuck down between your legs, sliding through your folds. You could feel his cock hard against your stomach, practically leaking onto you. His fingers were soaked as they slid back and forth, over and over, until you got fed up with his teasing and started moving your hips to feel more. 

“Hold still,” he said, trying to be assertive yet laughing a little at your desperation. 

“Please, Five,” you frowned, your neediness was no laughing matter, “Just put them in alread-”

You cut yourself off with a moan as he slid to fingers into you, immediately setting a strong pace, curling them to perfectly hit that spot inside you, making you squirm. 

He brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles until your eyes rolled back into your head. Your orgasm was sneaking up on you, and he could tell by your more frequent gasps and higher moans, as well as your cunt tightening around his fingers. Before you tipped over the edge and the pleasure could wash over you, he pulled out his fingers, watching intently as the built up pleasure disappointed.  

“What- Five!” you whined, your hurt eyes met his as he sarcastically frowned, before he smiled once again, and lined himself up with your entrance. 

You’re lucky that you and Five are the only people alive, because that means the two of you can be as loud as possible. When he pushed himself in, the two of you groaned so loud it could’ve been heard from miles away. You both had to hold still for a few moments, as to not come immediately. The two of you were completely engulfed in each other, arms wrapped around the other, pulling them as close as possible. Once he started to move, you felt like nothing you’d ever felt before. Every time he thrusted into you, it sent a wave of pleasure through your whole body, as your cunt tried to suck him in. 

Five had never felt so good in his entire life. He’d imagined what you’d feel like before, but you were so much better than he’d ever imagined. So tight, with your wetness drooling everywhere. He buried his face into your shoulder as he rutted into you, appreciating the smell of sex that filled the van. You buried your fingers in his shaggy hair, occasionally giving it a tug that made his dick twitch inside you. 

“Ah — I’m close,” Five grunted, his thrusts sloppy. 

“Me too,” you whimpered, feeling a familiar pressure that was begging to be let go. 

Five reached one of his hands between the two of you to circle your clit once more, giving you the stimulation to come one more time, knowing he’d soon follow. 

“Five, ahh – I’m gonna-”  

The wave hit you, your body completely let go. Your cunt spasmed around Five, coming harder than you ever have before. You barely registered it, as your brain went fuzzy, but you could feel your come squirt all over your legs, Five’s as well, as he kept thrusting through the sticky mess, moaning loudly before stilling. His body shook as he came inside you, face buried in your chest as he tried to pull himself as close as possible. His come was warm, filling you entirely. 

The two of you laid there on the itchy carpet of the van for what seemed like forever before Five slowly pulled out and sat up, hearing a hiss from you that ached him a little, before he watched his come spill out of you, as you laid there, completely fucked out. 

He dug through his bag to find the cleanest cloth he owned to clean the both of you up with. He made sure to be as careful as possible with your sensitive areas as he wiped the come off you. 

He went through your bag to find new underwear and a tank top to redress you with, before he put new boxers on himself and settled back by your side. 

“You better not forget this,” he grumbled playfully as he kissed your forehead. 

You smiled lightly with your eyes closed. 

“How could I?” 

~~~

taglist: @misakiisstupid @lveegsoi @groovydazephantom @tremendoushearttaco @spidermansfangirl @madscamp02 @beanzwritez (send a request in the inbox or comment to be added!)

~~~

[cheolieji]

Uh, hi! Been reading ur work by a lot of time now and I really like it<3 just had never won the courage to actually come and make a request. Hm, I dunno if it's possible or if u r okay with writing it,

How about a svt x 14th member, like hm, they are in some award show or something and 14th member is way more stunning than usual on her outfit, like a real life doll. And well, svt members get like protective, a lil jealous? Like not a familyhood jealousy but like platonic? And a hyung line member(whoever u wish) from all that is happening decides to confess and kisses 14th member and well, they become real. (Dunno if you do suggestive or things like that, if you do maybe that could be part of the end?) If not that's okay!

Thank uuuu, hope u have a great day♡

Doll pt 1 - ??

wc: 1,623

pairing: read and find out👀

Idol au

genre: fluff with tension, suggestive (so mdni)

14th member fic (feat.svt)

guide for requesting on my page, check [17] (pink highlighted) for my yes and no's

PART 2 (Doll part 2)

A/N : thank so much for requesting! and dont be shy/scared to send asks guys it's there for a reason and if you're afraid of being judge (which won't happen) you can just make it anonymous :)

and I absolutely love and appreciate it when you guys send me asks, genuinely makes me so happy

A/N 2 : had hella technical difficulties with the pictures soo no pictures today lmao (I'm honestly bad at technology so deal with it)

You weren’t someone who typically turned heads at award shows. At least, not in the way you were doing tonight.

Standing at the edge of the red carpet in a sculpted satin gown that hugged your figure like it was made just for you, hair cascading down your back in soft waves, lips painted a red that could kill. You looked unreal. A living doll. Far from the baggy sweats and oversized shirts you usually wore in rehearsals.

And your members noticed.

God, did they notice.

"Is she serious right now?" Mingyu muttered, his eyes tracking your every step like you might disappear if he looked away.

"She said she was wearing something simple," Jeonghan whispered, eyes wide.

"That's simple? I need to reevaluate my standards," Seungcheol sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

It wasn’t just them. Other idols were staring. Some of them too long. Too bold. Too obvious.

"Is he looking at her chest?" Vernon squinted across the carpet.

"Yep. Definitely." Joshua’s voice was clipped and sharp.

"She’s not even doing anything," Woozi muttered, arms crossed, clearly annoyed.

But Wonwoo said nothing.

He just watched. The kind of quiet stare that felt like heat on your skin.

You caught him once. Just a glance. You smiled.

It wrecked him.

---

Later, backstage, after the lights had dimmed and the applause faded, you walked into the waiting room barefoot. Heels in one hand. Water bottle in the other.

"You guys killed it out there," you said, dropping onto the couch beside Wonwoo. The satin of your gown brushed against his thigh. You felt the tension in his body.

"You look tired," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly. "Stage killer mode catching up to you?"

"I'm fine," he replied, voice tight.

"You've been quiet."

He turned to you slowly, eyes scanning every detail of your face. The lipstick. The shimmer. The curve of your shoulder. His jaw tightened.

"I didn’t like the way they were looking at you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Them. Everyone. They don’t get to look at you like that."

You leaned in a little, intrigued. "Why not? You don’t usually care."

"I do."

There was a pause. One of those pauses that felt heavy with everything left unsaid.

His hand came up to your jaw. Thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth where the red had smeared. His gaze flicked to your lips.

Then he kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and hunger. You felt your back press against the couch as his mouth moved over yours, slow but deep.

When he finally pulled back, your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Lipstick ruined. Eyes locked.

"You look too damn good tonight," he said, voice low and rough. "I'm done pretending I don't want you."

A knock came at the door. Staff calling everyone for encore.

You didn’t move. You just smiled, slow and dangerous, already thinking about what came next.

"Then stop pretending," you whispered. "Show me."

The encore was a blur.

You danced, smiled, did everything expected of an idol under the lights. But your mind? It was still backstage. Still with him. With that kiss.

And Wonwoo? He didn’t stop watching you.

Even from across the stage, you felt his eyes on you like a magnet. You met his gaze once, briefly, and the smirk he gave you promised more than words ever could.

--

Back at the hotel, things moved fast.

You barely got the door open before you felt his presence behind you, quiet but electric.

“Yours or mine?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t even hesitate. “Mine.”

The second the door shut, his hand was on your waist, spinning you gently to face him. You didn’t get a chance to say anything before his mouth was back on yours, firmer this time, more certain. Like he’d been thinking about it all night. Like he was starving.

His hands slid down your sides, fingertips brushing over the silky fabric of your dress. It was almost reverent, the way he touched you. Careful, but greedy.

“You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, “how hard it was not to do this the second I saw you tonight.”

You laughed softly, breathless. “You looked like you were about to murder someone on the carpet.”

“I might have,” he admitted, lips trailing along your jaw. “They all looked at you like you were for the taking.”

“And I’m not?”

“No.” He looked into your eyes, completely serious. “You’re not. You’re mine.”

The words settled low in your stomach. Hot. Sharp.

His hands moved to the zipper at your back, but stopped. Waiting.

You nodded, heart pounding.

The dress slid down your body like it was melting off, pooling at your feet. You stood in front of him in only your underthings, bare and exposed in the soft hotel lighting.

Wonwoo’s eyes darkened.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, stepping closer until there was nothing between you but heat and air. His hands found your waist again, thumbs stroking your skin like he couldn’t help himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He leaned in, kissing you again, slower this time. Deep and deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.

And tonight, he did.

Your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, tugging him toward the bed. He followed without a word, lips never leaving yours, hands never stopping. You fell back onto the sheets together, limbs tangled, breath shallow, hearts racing.

He kissed down your throat, across your shoulder, everywhere but where you needed him. Teasing. Taking his time.

You arched into him, whispering his name like a secret. “Wonwoo…”

He looked up at you from between kisses, lips swollen, pupils blown.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You cupped his face, smiled with lips still tingling from him.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed. “Not tonight.”

[immortalmrwavell]

A Worthy Replacement - Part 3

(Original story posted March 23rd 2023) This story has been significantly Updated!

Written for @bodyswappingandshit/@bodyswappingandshit-1

And finally the whole story is back. I made some very noticeable changes to this one which some of you who read the original may notice. A couple additional scenes were added. One scene was even completely changed and reworked from scratch to make things flow a little better. Hope you all enjoy!

Read Part 1 Here! Read Part 2 Here! Read The Epilogue Here!

Martin found himself waking up early the next day. He’d forgotten to close the curtains last night, leading to the morning sun blinding him the moment he opened his eyes. He closed them again with a groan as he rolled over, bed creaking under his weight. He found himself lamenting over the amazing dream he’d had last night. In it he’d not only got to see the incredible Chris Bumstead in person but he also ended up transforming into him somehow! It was so vivid as well. Like he could actually remember taking that muscle bound award winning body all for himself. ‘If only that were real’ he thought. Only as the seconds ticked by, he started to remember more and more details from the dream. To the point where it no longer seemed like a dream. And come to think of it… his bed felt unusually small.

After a minute or two he rolled over a little only to find that his weight and size felt odd, not to mention the facial hair he felt rubbing against the pillow. His waking brain swiftly began to connect the dots causing Martin’s eyes to snap open and look down at himself. The very first thing he saw was a pair of thick meaty pecs nearly blocking his view of what looked to be an enormous hulking body hidden under the covers. That was no dream. He really did become Chris Bumstead! And now he was waking up in his body!

A giddy smile soon crossed Martin’s face as he went to town feeling and groping his body once again. Tweaking his bodybuilder nipples with glee as he threw the covers off himself to admire everything he had now. Running his hands along his abs, giving his meaty thighs a hard slap, squeezing his colossal biceps and of course massaging his gorgeous muscle tits with glee. The best part of it all though was that he had Chris’ morning wood! Naturally he just couldn’t ignore it for another second. He wrapped a hand around the meaty shaft, still relishing in just how much thicker it was than his old one, and didn’t waste any time. He was too horny to tease himself or go slow, instead jumping immediately to jackhammering his new cock with no remorse.

The real Chris, in his underwear form, was still sitting across the room atop the pile of clothes Martin had left him on. Forced to bear witness to his own body pleasuring itself. Having to listen to Martin grunting with that stolen voice as he pumped away. That alone was already torturous enough. Yet, just as he didn’t think it couldn’t get any worse, Martin started groaning about how much he loved being Chris Bumstead and having such a giant sexy body all to himself. Chris wished above all else that this nightmare would end.

It felt as though it went on for hours with this imposter furiously beating his meat to the point where hearing him moaning about finally cumming seemed like a mercy. Martin tensed his abs and, with nothing but pure lust for his new form in his eyes, shot a huge load all over himself. His muscular torso gaining a healthy coating thick cum as he couldn’t help but lay back with a huge grin on his face. How the hell did he get so lucky he wondered. To be graced with a body so perfect that he’d mistaken it for a wonderful dream.

The new bodybuilder took a minute or so to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm before sitting up. He reached over towards the bedside table, grabbing a box of tissues before pulling a couple out. He gave himself a good wipe down, making sure to get right in between the ridges of his thick abs where the cum had pooled. It was only as he tossed those used tissues into the bin across the room that the pair of underwear atop the clothes pile caught his eye once more. He’d completely forgotten about it until just now. Martin couldn’t help but let a sinister smirk creep across his face knowing the real Chris had seen everything that just went down. Was that mean of him to take so much pleasure in? Yes. But was it hot? Absolutely!

He pushed himself off the small mattress and planted his heavy feet on the floor before standing with a long stretch. Reaching his huge arms up nice and high as he stretched the expanse of muscle across his broad back. With a relieved sigh, Martin stomped over towards the discarded clothes and picked up Chris, still just a helpless pair of underwear. Immediately he could hear Chris’ muffled voice echoing through his mind again but he didn’t pay it much attention just yet. Instead he just scooped up the rest of Chris’ gym clothes from yesterday. After all, he was still in his old apartment and none of his old clothes would ever fit a body like this. Maybe he should’ve asked Mr Wavell to resize them. Oh well. Instead Martin made a mental note to head down to Chris’ house today where he’d be able to get some fresh clothes and check out that place for himself. It was his now after all. With that in mind and his clothes in hand, Martin promptly made his way towards the bathroom.

Chris found himself getting dropped onto the cold bathroom floor along with the rest of the gym clothes he’d worn yesterday before that Wavell guy came and fucked everything up. He could just about see Martin stepping in front of the mirror with a gleeful look on his face. As expected it didn’t take long for him to start checking himself out again. Flexing his arms and bouncing his pecs joyously. Even digging his nose into his armpit and getting a whiff of that fresh morning scent. Chris was beginning to wonder if that body snatcher was ever gonna get tired of that. Probably not at this rate.

Martin just couldn’t get enough of it. The raw size, power and smell of his body was nothing short of intoxicating. That alongside his gorgeous looks make him feel on top of the world. He admired every defined ridge of muscle as if he were the one that’d sculpted them. Feeling every bulge with a look of pure pride and satisfaction crossing his face. Truly nothing could beat the feeling of being a complete and utter muscle god. Hell being a gigantic hunk of a man was basically his job description now! Here to look amazing and set the standard.

Though before he moved to brush his teeth, there was one last thing Martin wanted to do. He moved a tad closer to the mirror and started pulling a bunch of silly faces that you’d almost never see the original Chris doing. It was so surreal and hilarious at the same time. He did all sorts from sticking his tongue out to a huge cheesy grin and even giving his reflection the puppy dog eyes. By the end he certainly got a good laugh out of it and weirdly enough seeing this face move completely under his command helped him feel just a tad bit more in tune with his new body. It was like showing his mind that the body reflected back at him was really his own now which helped with a subtle disorientation that came with seeing himself in a mirror.

After having his fun, Martin made sure to give his face a good wash and his teeth a clean before finally getting dressed. Naturally he pulled on the possessed underwear first and the moment he did, his mind was flooded with complaints from Chris about having to see Martin jerk off the cock that he stole, shouting about how it’s his body and demanding that Martin find a way to fix this ASAP. Martin tried to be nice at first as he pulled on his shorts and tank top but Chris just wouldn’t let up. In the end it took Martin losing his patience and threatening to toss Chris into the washing machine at max spin for the haunted underwear to finally pipe down a little.

“Look. I’m sorry. But you have to understand how FUCKED this all is for me.” Chris would continue in a less combative tone than before. “I’m a pair of fucking underwear! I don’t even know how the hell I'm still able to see and hear everything.” Chris couldn’t help but note the pungent scent of sweat that’d lingered on his fabric form overnight, now enhanced after having been secured around Martin’s groin and ass yet again. “…and smell everything.” He added with a grimace in his voice. He didn’t even want to acknowledge the fact that he could also taste every drop of sweat and cum that permeated his new form.

“Yeah I get it but I don’t have any clue how to undo any of this. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. It feels like I’ve told you that like a hundred times and it’s only been like a day.” Martin huffed as he fixed his hair in the mirror. “The only person who could turn us back to normal is that Mr Wavell guy but I think he really gets off on doing stuff like this so… yeah.”

“So yeah?” Chris repeated. “Is that it then? I’m just supposed to accept being a pair of underwear for the rest of my life!? All while you get to steal my life!?” Chris was already getting fired up again.

Martin sighed. “Look. I promise I’ll figure something out. But in the meantime could you please stop whining? And stop telling me what I can and can’t do with this body while you’re at it. Until we find a solution, all this muscle belongs to me and I’m allowed to flex and grope it as much as I please.” He reached down and grabbed his dick through the fabric of his shorts and the possessed underwear. “That includes this cock. Got it?” Martin stated firmly.

Chris was silent for a moment, biting his metaphorical tongue so as to not say anything that’d get him thrown in the washing machine. “Fine.” He said flatly at last.

“Good. Glad we’re clear on that.” Martin replied, feeling oddly proud of himself for the confidence and assertiveness he’d displayed. He wasn’t sure if it was Chris’ personality bleeding through somewhat or if just being in his gigantic body was making Martin feel that way. Regardless of why, it felt good.

With that Martin gave his reflection one last look over before turning to exit the bathroom. He was pretty surprised with how well he was hiding his true thoughts from Chris so far. With their minds being connected he had to be careful as to not think too hard about how badly he wanted things to stay this way forever…

———

About half an hour later Martin found himself finishing a rather large bowl of oats along with a small smoothie he’d whipped up as per Chris’ suggestion. As he dunked the bowl into the sink to be washed, he began to wonder what the hell he should even be doing right now. After all he couldn’t just go to work like usual because, if Mr Wavell’s spell did what it was supposed to then, his former identity should’ve been erased altogether. That’s not to mention the fact that he was now a famous bodybuilder.

“So uhhhh… What do you do for money and all that? I mean it can’t all just be… whatever you get for being Mr Olympia right?” Martin asked curiously, not knowing nearly as much as he should.

Chris rolled his hypothetical eyes at the question before answering reluctantly. “I run two businesses that I mainly advertise online. You must’ve seen them if you were a fan. Cbum Fitness and Raw Nutrition. Oh and Bum Energy. Just another reason you need to find a way to fix this. Otherwise I know you’re sure as hell gonna crash and burn all of them. Especially since everyone probably thinks I’ve gone AWOL for the past day already.” Chris grumbled.

Suddenly it all clicked. Martin had seen all that stuff on Chris' Instagram and YouTube. Cbum Fitness was Chris’ clothing brand, Raw Nutrition was his supplement brand and Bum Energy was his energy drinks. Unfortunately Chris was probably right about the last part as well. Martin wouldn’t even know where to start when it came to running all of them. “Alright fine, I’ll head down to your place later but you’d better fill me in on everything I need to know about your friends, family and businesses. Otherwise it’s gonna be your fault when they crash and burn as you say.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. You want to take over my life that badly? Why would I tell you all that when the less I tell you the more of a chance I have of people figuring out you’re an imposter that somehow stole my body!” Chris scoffed.

“Okay. You wanna play it that way? The washing machine is right there, little guy.” Martin threatened yet again.

This time however, Chris didn’t budge. “Do your worst. You might have my body right now and sure there’s nothing I can do to stop you from touching it like a freak but there’s no way in hell in just going to give you everything you need to be me.” He stood firm.

Unfortunately Martin couldn’t force the information out of Chris and it didn’t seem like the man turned underwear was gonna budge on his stance. It was unfortunate. Martin had hoped after their conversation in the bathroom that things would be a little easier but it seemed this was still gonna be a battle. He thought about following through with his original threat until suddenly a naughty little idea popped into Martin’s head. Luckily for him, he was able to block his thoughts just enough for Chris not to hear what he was planning…

Seconds later Martin grabbed his phone off the counter before swiping over to the camera. It was only when Martin pulled his shorts down, also Chris to actually see what was happening, did the other man begin to question what he was about to do. Chris was expecting Martin to pull him off and toss him in for a 1200 spin in that dreaded machine… but Martin didn’t pull him off.

“H-hey!?” What the fuck are you doing??” Chris shouted internally as Martin proceeded to glance over his shoulder while taking photo after photo of his thick muscle ass. Doing his best to capture its size as it pressed tightly against the fabric of his underwear. Making sure to get plenty of low angles that would make it look as juicy as possible. All while listening to an onslaught of protests in his head. Once he was satisfied, Martin brought his phone back up and began scrolling through all the photos he just took. So many ass pics. He could already feel his cock starting to stiffen. If Martin had seen these kinds of pictures of Chris before this whole fiasco, he probably would’ve locked himself away to masturbate furiously for hours on end over them.

“Oooooo… that one’ll do nicely!” He smirked before exiting the photos app and jumping over to Instagram. Upon logging in he was delighted to see that instead of his original account, Martin’s phone was now logged into Chris’ official and verified Instagram account instead! It only made sense considering his former self no longer existed. With a sinister grin he immediately went to post a new story on the account. He grabbed the best of many ass photos he’d just taken and selected it for the story before adding the caption ‘Who else thinks my ass is lookin juicy as fuck today?’ His finger hovered over the post button for a moment, knowing the power he held right now. Then with one final smirk Martin pressed that very button and watched as within seconds the story was getting likes, DM replies and reposts galore! Not too surprising considering he now had over 25 and a half million followers!

It was getting increasingly difficult for Chris to read any of Martin’s thoughts as the latter got better at hiding them. It was scary how fast Martin had learned to do that. But he was able to gather enough of Martin’s residual thoughts to know that he’d posted something to Instagram. That coupled with the pics Martin had just taken threw Chris into a panicked spiral. “Oh no no no! What the hell did you just do!?” He shouted in a panic.

Martin didn’t say a word. He simply opened up the story again and lowered the phone in front of his crotch so that Chris could see for himself. Needless to say he was absolutely mortified to see an admittedly rather alluring picture of his thick muscle ass posted on social media for everyone to drool over!! There were already messages flooding in, mainly from gay men, thirsting over how incredible his ass looked. After a moment or two of shock, Chris went ballistic! Screaming and threatening Martin to take it down right away but the man now in possession of his body was completely unfazed by his madness. Instead he opted to set up an old tripod he hadn’t used in ages before opening his camera app once again and placing his phone on said tripod.

The hulking man took a few steps back after hitting the record button, making sure that his full body was in frame. With that he managed to capture a glorious shot of Chris Bumstead standing in only a tank top, briefs and gym socks. Those enormous thighs on full display for all to admire. The real Chris was both confused and very worried as Martin spun around to show his backside once more. Martin proceeded to look over his shoulder towards the camera once more with a grin before arching his back a little and bending his knees. Chris could already feel those colossal cheeks pushing against the back of the underwear. However it wasn’t until he began to feel a certain up and down, almost bouncing, motion that it dawned on him what Martin was doing…

“Mmmm wow… look at my ass shake!” Martin chuckled as he proceeded to twerk like a pro for the camera. “Fuuuuck… even with all the muscle there’s so much recoil to it.” He complimented himself while biting his lip. Within seconds his cock was at full mast yet again at the sight of his big muscle butt jiggling like it was. He made a point to show it off as much as possible, rotating his hips a few times before squatting down a little more and really throwing it back as if he were a porn star trying to make his living.

Chris was utterly appalled by what Martin was forcing his body to do. Let alone recording it!? The mere idea of seeing himself doing that in front of a camera was mortifying! He tried telling Martin to stop but by now he should’ve known that was pointless. Instead he just had to sit and endure it whilst feeling every shake of his own ass against his fabric body until Martin was finally satisfied.

“Now that is a hot video. I’m willing to bet there’s people out there who’d pay hundreds to see yo- me twerking like this. Maybe more…” Martin commented as he watched the recording back, knowing full well that before all this he would’ve spent his life savings to get his hands on a video like this. “So now you’ve got two choices. Either you tell me what I need to know or I post this video of me shaking this gorgeous ass. Simple as that.”

Chris was silent for a moment but that alone was telling enough. “Fine… I’ll tell you.” He mumbled at last just as Martin knew he would.

———

Over the next couple hours, Martin took a crash course on the personal life of Chris Bumstead. Making sure to ask every important question he could think of about his new life to which Chris reluctantly answered. Though it’s not as if he had much of a choice with the threat of his body twerking going viral looming over him. Martin tried to memorise the basics but ended up writing most things down. Especially the important stuff like bank details, passcodes and specifics about his businesses and brand deals among other stuff. But even the simple things were crucial to be honest. After all, the last thing he needed was his new family and friends interrogating him and thinking he had amnesia or something.

It was only when Chris mentioned that it wouldn’t be easy to fool his close family that something clicked for Martin that hadn’t crossed his mind until now. He was so focused on himself that he hadn’t realised that he now had a muscle monster for a brother in law as well! Iain Valliere!

Naturally Martin had seen Iain all over Instagram as well. Both from his own posts and in posts with Chris. And just like Chris, Iain was an absolute beast with breathtaking amounts of mass packed onto his impressive frame. Most would describe Iain as a mountain of a man with a rough exterior but in reality he was just a big teddy bear. And a cute one at that. Martin had fantasised about Iain nearly as much as Chris over the years. In his head he still imagined Iain towering over him with overwhelming size but now that Martin had Chris’ body, they’d be about on the same level. The thought was exhilarating.

Already Martin was thinking about how he’d not only get to meet but workout alongside and be family with Iain. His mind was stuffed full of dirty ideas revolving around the two of them groping and admiring each other’s bodies. Pressing their beards together in a whirlwind of kisses as they rub their bulges together. Martin grabbing at Iain’s muscle butt as they argue about who’s topping and who’s bottoming. Of course it couldn’t happen. Iain was his brother in law, not to mention he was straight. It was nothing but a delicious day dream… but then again Martin’s dreams had been coming true lately. So who knows?

“I swear to god. If you try to put my lips anywhere near Iain, I will find a way to send you to hell if it’s the last thing I do.” Chris growled from below. Apparently Martin hadn’t been masking his thoughts about his new brother in law all that well.

“Yeah yeah whatever.” Martin huffed dismissively. “That’s not gonna stop me from admiring that sweet eye candy when I get to meet him though.” He added with a chuckle.

Eventually 11:00am rolled around and Martin decided it was about time he hit the gym before checking out Chris’ place. He finished taking whatever notes he needed before gathering up his stuff and making a quick protein shake. He tossed it all in a bag ready to go before stuffing his socked feet back inside those huge pungent sneakers.

Chris had asked a couple times if Martin could take him off and wear some normal underwear to the gym. Of course Chris knew better than anyone how sweaty his body could get while working out and he didn’t want to experience that first hand when his own ball sweat starts to soak into him while Martin works those muscles. Yet Martin refused. After all, he was still a novice when it came to the gym when compared to someone like Chris. He might need the bodybuilding champion’s advice for certain exercises. And so Martin stepped outside to begin his walk to the gym. A place he’d no doubt be spending a lot more time at from now on in some form or another.

———

Upon stepping foot inside the gym once again, Martin couldn’t help but feel a wave of nervousness cascade over him. Until now this new body had been granting a newfound sense of confidence in himself. Knowing that he was bigger and stronger than most of the men here should’ve given him quite the boost. Yet instead Martin couldn’t help but blush and start to feel incredibly shy as he noticed people looking at him in awe, clearly recognising him for who he was. It was swiftly becoming clear that being a celebrity was something that would take some getting used to. For now he just tried to mind his business and make his way into the locker room, saying hello to a couple fans along the way and even taking a picture with one guy. Surreal.

Upon opening Chris’ locker, Martin was greeted by the spare clothes and towel he’d left in there the last time he was here. Well at least now he’d have something else to wear after the gym until he got his hands on some more clothes that actually fit around this tank of a body. For now he proceeded to drop off his bag in the locker after pulling out his protein shake. He closed it up before taking a deep breath and heading towards the sound of clanking weights and grunting men on the main floor.

Martin glanced around the gym at all the various different pieces of equipment. Of course he’d used most of it before and back then he wasn’t worried about making a silly mistake here and there. Nobody would’ve been looking at him anyways. But now? He could already feel everyone’s eyes on him again even if some of them were pretending not to stare. He couldn’t help but let his nerves get the best of him at first, instead opting to start by walking on the step machine for a while to build himself up. During which he took his sneakers off as it was usually best to do such during leg day… or so he told himself. Allowing the pungent scent from his socks and feet to be freed. Even now those socks were already damp with sweat and they would only become more so as his session went on.

During this he found himself having a bit of an inner conversation with Chris. The sentient underwear was telling Martin to stop procrastinating and just get the hell on with it. Besides they’d already gone over Chris’ whole leg routine for the day so all Martin had to do was man-up and get it done. Chris also made a note of saying he wanted it over with as soon as possible as he was already beginning to smell a faint aroma of fresh sweat which he wasn’t particularly fond of. Just hearing that though was more encouragement than anything to get stuck in and train as hard as possible.

After giving himself a moment to work up to it, Martin jumped off the step machine and made his way over towards the leg extension machine. Come on! He was Chris Bumstead now for crying out loud! He couldn’t let the fear of judgement get in his way. Instead he got himself sat down on the machine after adjusting the weight to the exact amount Chris had suggested. 130KG! Martin hesitated for a second as he slotted the pin in. He wouldn’t have dreamed of doing that much weight before but looking down at his gigantic quads gave him all the confidence he needed to give it a shot.

Though the weight was heavy, Martin found himself managing to crank out two full sets without too much issue. At which point he decided to up the weight from 130 to 140. After that he was finally starting to feel a burning in his quads. Ordinarily it would be a dreaded sensation that he’d have to push through to get the results he was striving for. But right now it felt incredible! It was sore and strenuous sure but it was like this body had grown accustomed to love that feeling. The burning sensation of pushing your muscles to work hard and grow was something this body was addicted to and he loved it! Before long it was like his legs had a mind of their own as they continued to push through the reps.

After another set of so he found himself satisfied and ready to move onto the next exercise and if memory serves then it was over to the hack squat machine. As Martin began his low weight warm up set, he failed to notice how some of the wandering eyes from around the gym began admiring his form on a… deeper level. There was a small group of women behind him giggling to each other about how his butt was even bigger than theirs. Another woman was quietly wondering to herself how it would feel to get dicked down by a hunk like Martin, or rather ‘Chris’. Meanwhile even one of the men was trying to hide his growing erection as he marvelled at the way Martin’s chiseled body strained against those tight gym clothes.

But Martin was too distracted by the voice of Chris in his head already complaining about the smell. Martin was already starting to build up a strong sweat and nobody was more aware of that fact than the pair of haunted underwear that had to absorb it. And absorb it he did, much to his dismay, as Martin continued to work up more and more of a sweat once he put some proper weight on the machine. Making sure to go nice and deep with every squat. Sweat dripping from every pore as that musky testosterone filled aroma only grew more powerful.

Beforehand Martin had been partially dreading the idea of having to workout everyday to maintain this body. It was a ton of work afterall to maintain a physique this godly. Most who say it’s a full time job and they’d be right. Yet now here he was loving the burn as any doubts about keeping in shape faded away.

“Fuuuuuuck… I’m so damp…” Chris mumbled in the back of Martin’s mind as the hunk finished up his last set here. “God it fucking smells…” he continued on, referring to Martin’s cock and balls stinking him up as they got hotter and sweatier along with the rest of his body. Though just hearing those comments made Martin’s dick twitch.

“That’s right… soak it up.” Martin whispered under his breath before taking a swig of his protein shake.

“Mmmff… Uurghh… F-Fuck you…” Chris managed to grunt back at Martin but he was clearly struggling through all those man smells that must’ve been overwhelming his senses.

Just knowing Chris was being forced to sniff it all up was driving Martin crazy on the inside, as if everything about this experience hadn’t already been driving him crazy. It was basically the equivalent of if Chris had been forced to shove his face into his own crotch and was unable to remove it. It was making Martin so damn horny but he had to keep his cool for now. He took a few deep breaths to help maintain his composure so that he didn’t spring a tent in the middle of the gym.

This cycle ends up repeating itself throughout Martin’s entire routine. As with every new exercise Martin would only find himself sweating more and more, leaving a seemingly endless supply of sweat for Chris to unwillingly absorb into his fabric body. After the hack squat he jumped to the leg press machine, keeping his feet to the bottom of the pad to help with quad isolation upon Chris’ instructions. Though Martin couldn’t help but notice the subtle slurring of Chris’ words as he explained. Like he was getting more and more drowsy as the session went on. Yet Martin continued on, pushing himself further and surprising himself with how good his form was thanks to muscle memory.

Before long Martin was completely drenched in sweat after completing a few sets of Bulgarian split squats, which were honestly hellish even with his incredible new body. But as he made his way over to a weighted calf raise machine, Martin couldn’t help but notice how quiet Chris was getting. Throughout that entire last exercise, all he heard was “Sooooo moist… Mmmmmm…” along with a couple other murmurs that he couldn’t make out. It seemed like having to absorb all that sweat and musk was having more of an even deeper effect on Chris’ consciousness than Martin thought it would.

It didn't take long for Martin to get into rhythm with the calf raises, tugging on his large sneakers again beforehand and entrapping his musky scent inside them once more.

As he did he found himself glancing around the room again. Seeing all these people of different shapes and sizes. And yet… he was the undoubtedly biggest of them all. Huge all over with pure muscle that would’ve made him look like a hulking monster had it not been for his perfect proportions. He couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of pride in that fact but he tried to stay humble all the same just as the real Chris would. Of course that didn’t stop him checking himself out a little in some of the many wall mirrors after his last exercise before finally heading back to the locker rooms.

He pulls out the bag with the spare clothes from yesterday along with a clean towel before getting undressed. He figured he could get a shower at Chris’ place if he wanted but it’d probably be better to take care of this workout stench ASAP. He proceeded to wrap the towel around his waist after taking off his possessed underwear and tossing them in his locker for the time being, still slightly concerned about the lack of communication from Chris as he headed towards the showers. The last things he’d heard were all low hums and groans.

Naturally a part of Martin wanted to do a replay of last night where he’d been worshipping himself under the steaming water but he couldn’t even begin to imagine the headlines if people heard him pleasuring himself in a public gym. Nope, now he was a celebrity he had to be a lot more careful about everything he did. Unfortunately that also meant he couldn’t go around stealing other men’s sweaty clothes and sniffing them, even if that was how he managed to get this famous body to begin with.

Thankfully he managed to keep himself under control despite not quite getting used to how erotic it was to wash such a huge muscular body. Martin stepped back into the main locker room with the towel around his waist once again before reaching into his locker and grabbing the clean clothes Chris had brought with him the previous day. There was a clean pair of underwear as well which he considered pulling on but Martin ended up grabbing the pair Chris was trapped inside again anyway to see if he’d gotten over whatever weird haze he was in earlier. After all, there was still so much he needed to learn about his new life.

Martin locked himself in a changing cubicle, ironically the same one in which his transformation had occurred yesterday, and pulled on the underwear first and foremost. Right away he could hear Chris’ voice in his head running through his head.

“Yooouu fuckinn asshole… Give back… my… my… mmmm-musk… fuuuuuck…” Chris mumbled. He was still slurring his words as if he were drunk out of his mind but at least he was talking again. “Wet… smelly… muuusskk…” He continued to ramble.

With a sigh of relief, Martin threw on the rest of his clothes before grabbing his things from the lock and marching his way out of the gym. Next stop was his new house so he could start figuring out his new life for real!

———

The next few days were a headache to say the least. Trying to integrate into another man’s life wouldn't have been easy regardless but especially for a man as famous as Chris Bumstead. It didn’t help that the real Chris was still quite reluctant to help out of spite half the time and Martin usually had to resort to blackmailing him again with the video he’d made.

When he first arrived at Chris’ house it was quite the whirlwind. He had friends and family alike all asking where the hell he’d been. He had come up with some elaborate lies as to why he’d gone awol for a day and a half. Not to mention half of them having seen his Instagram story which was a little harder to explain. Guess he hadn’t really thought that one through at the time. Regardless, by some miracle, he was able to convince them he was the real Chris. After all it's not like anyone would actually suspect something as insane as that right? Nonetheless Martin did get a few comments about how he seemed a little… off. Luckily he was able to convince everyone that he was just struggling with some ‘Personal Stuff’ that he wasn’t ready to talk about just yet.

He’d even gotten to meet Iain for the first time. Martin made sure to savour the big bro hug that Iain gave him, pressing their bulky bodies together. Iain went on to ask if Chris was doing alright with the weird stuff that had seemingly gone on in the past day or so. It was clear they had a deep bond and Martin could really feel how Iain cared for Chris like a real brother. But still… the lack of space between their thick powerful bodies made it difficult for Martin to control his growing hunger to just grab the other man and smash their lips together. He could see it so clearly in his mind. Wrapping his arms around Iain’s wide shoulders as they melted into the kiss together before rolling into the couch in a mess of lust and passion. But Martin knew that wasn’t how it would really go. Iain would likely push him away in disgust and who knows what would happen to their family after that. That said Martin thought it best not to accidentally blow up his brand new personal life the first chance he got. For now he’d just have to settle for his own imagination in that regard. Making the most of times when Iain hands brushed against Martin’s own bulging muscles during their future workouts.

Eventually Martin found himself settling into Chris’ life pretty well. He had a decent place for sure. Not too big but still fancy enough that anyone could tell he was fairly minted. Martin had already gotten glimpses of the place before when watching Chris’ YouTube videos in the past. It certainly looked a little different now though. Like there wasn’t as much of a feminine touch to the place anymore. He could only assume that was because of Wavell’s reality spell making it so he and Chris’ former fiancé were never together.

On that note, Martin was happy to find he was still absolutely a hundred percent gay. He’d wondered if maybe being inside Chris’ body would’ve made him bisexual or something since Chris had been straight but nope. He was as gay as could be. If anything he might’ve been more obsessed with men than before and that was saying something. As far as he could tell though, the world still believed he was straight. That was evident enough when Iain asked him if he’d been seeing any women lately. He’d dodged the question at the time but that did make Martin wonder how he was gonna break the news. A post on one of his socials would be the obvious choice but then again he could make more of a spectacle of it if he waited until a bodybuilding show to announce it. Or maybe he could set up an account on a gay dating app and let the news spread all by itself. Lots to think about there.

Besides that Martin continues to run his new businesses as well as he can while keeping up with the workout routine Chris had guided him through. Well sort of anyway. It was like every time Martin went to the gym these past few days, Chris was getting more and more drunk on the sweat and musk. Always slurring his words when they communicated and making off hand comments about how he wanted more sweat and musk. Going on about how he wanted the smell now rather than rejecting. Martin even resorted to washing Chris despite the protests in an effort to get him back to normal which didn’t work exactly how he’d planned. If anything it just pissed him off, saying how it felt like he’d been forced to eat soap. Sure it made him a tad more normal for a while but it didn’t take long for him to start groaning about musk again once Martin continued to wear him.

It got to the point where Martin had considered not wearing Chris at all from now on. It sounded like his mind was starting to erode the deeper the musk seeped in. Only wearing him once in a while to preserve consciousness. But he couldn’t. Martin so often found himself needing to ask questions for direction in his new life. Not to mention he couldn’t help the fact that hearing Chris groan about loving his former scent turned Martin on like hell. Even now after about a week of his new life he was back at the gym again and wearing his haunted underwear like usual. Just doing what was now supposed to be his normal routine while trying not to get a boner because of how much he loved his new self and how much he adored hearing the original Chris submit to his musk.

———

It was chest day for Martin and he was really aiming to push his limits on seeing how much he could bench press. He hadn’t actually maxed out on something like that yet. Mainly because he was usually working out on his own and he knew going super heavy would be a dumb idea if he didn’t have someone to save his ass if it went sideways. But today he had the perfect person to spot him for safety. None other than his brother in law Iain!

They’d taken to doing a session together in Chris’ home gym rather than a public gym since it gave them more space and privacy. Something that Martin had come to appreciate after all the looks and interruptions he’d received in public gyms. Plus this meant he could be all alone to secretly admire Iain’s body just as much as his own.

Martin had just spotted Iain as he did his own set of bench presses. The whole time he found his eyes glued to Iain’s huge meaty pecs. After taking off his own shirt, Martin had been able to convince Iain to take his off as well. Now all Martin could think about was rubbing his own hefty pecs against Iain’s sweaty ones.

Once Iain was finished, Martin began racking the bar with some more plates until that thing looked terrifyingly heavy. Totalling up to 200KG or 440lbs of weight.

“Jesus brother. Are you going for a one rep max or something?” Iain quipped as he watched Martin secure the plates with a clip on either side.

Martin smirked at Iain as he got laid down on the bench. “Yuuup. Last time I tried, my PR was about 197KG. Just thought I should try and make it an even 200. It’s been awhile after all and I feel like my strength has improved a little since then.” Martin explained and he was pretty much spot on. He’d remembered Chris talking about his personal records on YouTube before. The thought of using Chris’ own body to beat a record he’d set was exhilarating to say the least.

He gripped the bar firmly with good form as Iain stood over him after getting into position. Martin tried really hard not to think about how close Iain’s cock was to his head right now as he gritted his teeth and steadily lifted the bar off the rack and down towards his chest. Iain made sure to keep the bar level while not interfering too much, instead shouting words of encouragement down at Martin.

“Come on Chris! Up! Up!” Iain’s words rang through Martin’s head like a beacon of light that helped to ignite a deeper strength inside himself. With all his might Martin began to push the bar upwards, watching as it slowly lifted up. “There you go! Keep going! Come on, you're Mr Olympia aren’t ya?!” Iain continued, causing Martin to let out a roar in response. His arms and chest were on fire as he forced the bar to rise higher and higher until he finally did it. He actually benched 200 fucking kilos! Even as Iain was helping him re-rack the bar, Martin already had a giddy smile plastered across his face.

“Damn…” Martin huffed through laboured breaths.

Iain just smirked down at him. “You’re still not touching my PR.” He said playfully. It was true. Iain, the muscle monster that he was, had a record of about 225KG or around 500lbs.

“Well I train for the classic aesthetic, not to be a mass monster like you.” Martin replied while sitting up and grabbing his water bottle.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to feel better.” Iain laughed.

The pair continued their chest day like normal. Hitting all the different exercises to keep their pecs huge and full. Egging each other on and joking like real bros. It was pretty crazy how well Martin had been able to slip into this. Already he found himself talking and acting quite convincingly as Chris. Iain hadn’t even questioned him since that first time Martin had met him. It was just a shame Martin couldn’t think of a way to get Iain into worshipping their bodies together without it sounding incredibly weird. Instead Martin would just have to resign to picking up Iain’s tank top ‘by mistake’ so he could stuff his nose into it in between sniffing all of his own sweaty clothes.

———

The morning after his delicious chest day with Iain, Martin found himself waking up with yawn in the new bed he’d gotten used to since moving into Chris’ house. It was much bigger than his old one and far better suited to his size. He dozed for a couple minutes before finally sitting up with a stretch.

He trudged downstairs before going about what had become his regular morning routine by now. He was wearing Chris yet again but the possessed underwear had become much more docile as of late. He would still answer when called upon but he always sounded sleepy and he didn’t seem to protest as much as he once did whenever Martin went on a self worship frenzy. Regardless Martin got on with his morning.

He’d had some breakfast and done some stretching when he made his way into his personal gym. He was ready for an intense back day but was stopped in his tracks when I saw another man he didn't recognise using the leg extension machine in his home gym!? Had he broken in? Was this stranger a crazy fan??

“Hey!” Martin shouted, swiftly making his way over. “What the hell are you doing in here?!?” He demanded an answer, subconsciously making his frame look as big and imposing as possible.

The stranger hardly even flinched. He glanced up at Martin before flashing him a quick smile. “Ah. Was wondering when you’d finally get your arse out here big man.” The intruder replied with a notable British accent. “Hold on. Got a few more reps.” He added without a care in the world as he continued to push the weight.

Martin just sort of stood back in shock. Who the hell was this guy? He wanted to be angry but he couldn’t help feeling strangely at ease for some reason. Of course it didn’t hurt that the man was a total hunk. He wore tight clothes that left little to the imagination and certainly flattered his hefty build. So thick with juicy muscle. Fuck. Martin was getting far too used to being exposed to hulking men as of late.

The stud finished his set, leaning back in the seat for a moment as he caught his breath before standing up. He placed his hands on his hips as he turned his attention back to Martin. “So. How have you been getting on with that body? No problems I hope?”

Martin narrowed his eyes at the stranger. “What the hell are you talking about? A-and why are you asking me questions!? You’re the one who broke into my house!” He bellowed, not quite processing what the man had said at first.

“What? You don’t recognise me?” The stud hummed playfully. “Suppose I do look a little younger since the last time you saw me.” He continued before raising both arms up into a double biceps flex. “And a bit juicier.” He added with a snicker. “It’s me. Wavell!”

Martin’s mouth hung slightly agape as his kind tried to process what the man before him had just said. Wavell? The same Wavell who had perfect silver hair and a lean physique that never failed to catch someone’s eye. The same Wavell who seemed to wear nothing but immaculate suits. The same Wavell who used some otherworldly magic to turn Martin himself into Chris Bumstead!?

“W-what? You mean…?” Martin hardly got a sentence out before the hunky warlock finished it for him.

“Yup. The very same Mr Wavell you know and love. I know I look a little different right now but come on Martin. You can tell it’s me… can’t you.” Those last two words came out slower and deeper as Wavell’s eyes glowed an unmistakable violet.

“Holy shit! It really is you! Fuck!” Martin shouted, not knowing whether to feel excited or nervous. “W-what happened to you? Did you steal someone’s body as well?”

Wavell looked down at himself before running his hands along the mountains he called pecs, massaging them a little before explaining. “Well yes and no. I won’t go into all the details but I essentially have two bodies. Sometimes in the silver fox daddy you saw before. Sometimes I’m a young hairy hunk instead. Depends on my mood I suppose.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Oooh on that note, look at how fat the leggings make my arse look.” Wavell spun around before Martin even had a chance to think. He hoisted up the back of his shirt slightly to give a good full view of his heavy bubble butt as it pressed aggressively against the tight leggings that struggled to contain his lower body. “I mean my arse always looks fat but still. Fuck. Bet you wish your cock was buried to the hilt inside it huh?” Wavell shook his bubble butt enticingly.

“I… Uhhhmm…” Martin’s mouth went dry at the sight. Wavell was right though. Every instinct in his body was telling him to rip those leggings open and ravish that thick ass. But before he got a chance to even consider following through, Wavell spun back around again to face Martin.

“Ahhhh no need to answer. I know I’m adorably handsome and fuckable beyond belief.” Wavell said half jokingly while crossing his arms over his considerable chest. “But anyway, down to business. The real reason I’m here is because I wanted to ask if you’d received any of Chris’ memories yet?”

“Memories? Nope. I’ve just been asking him a ton of questions mainly. Although he hasn’t been as helpful lately. He won’t stop grunting and going on about my smell.”

Wavell grinned as it seemed Martin hadn’t figured out the other little aspect of the magic he’d placed on both Chris and Martin. “Well faking it might get you through the short term but eventually you’re gonna find yourself tripping up trying to juggle Chris’ life if you don’t have all the memories you need to do so. Luckily for you however, all you need to do is ask him.”

“What do you mean “ask?” Like he can just give his memories to me whenever he wants?” Martin questioned.

Wavell shifted on the spot a little while nodding his head. “Pretty much yeah. All you’ve gotta do is ask Chris to give you his memories. If you can get him to agree then they’ll automatically be transferred over to you. After that you should be all set for the long game.” The warlock stroked his beard nonchalantly, his bicep subtly flexing at the movement. “And guessing by what you’ve told me… I’m willing to bet he’s already pretty suggestive.”

Martin glanced down at his crotch. Was it really that easy all along? All he had to do… was ask?

“Well as much as I’d love to stay, chat and suck each other off, I promised my boyfriend I wouldn’t be long. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up already to see what’s taking me.” Wavell chuckled. “Besides I’ve got no doubt you could have a guy over here sucking your cock within the hour if you really wanted. I doubt many gay men would say no to all of that. Unless you’re too obsessed with your new brother in law to think about anyone else of course…” He gave Martin a devious smirk.

“How did you know about that??” Martin questioned.

“Magic.” Wavell said as he waved a pair of jazz hands at the clueless sculpture of a man before him. “Anyway I’ve got bodies to swap, people to transform and a boyfriend to please so I’ll leave you to it bro. I have every faith that you’ll squeeze those memories out of your friend down there and be living your best life soon enough!” He clasped his hands enthusiastically. “So until we meet again Chris.” He smirked before vanishing right in front of Martin’s eyes in a swift tornado of purple smoke. Theatrical as always. He didn’t even give Martin a chance to say goodbye.

And so the bodybuilder was left on his own once again. Now he knew exactly what he had to do in order to truly make this new life his own. And he was going to take it.

———

The door to Martin’s new place swung open as he arrived home after a jog back from the gym, already having worked up a decent sweat and for good reason. He didn’t have anything lined up for the rest of the day as far as he could recall which meant he had the place to himself with no distractions. Perfect.

“So Chris. Not sure if you heard what that crazy magic guy said but I’m gonna need you to give up ownership of your memories.” He proclaimed out loud after tossing his shorts off and across the room. “So. You gonna give em to me or what?” He continued with a cocky demeanor.

Chris groaned a little as he tried to comprehend Martin’s words. “Mmmm… fuuck… what? Memories?… N-no. They’re mine… you can’t have them.” He just about managed to reply despite his seemingly drunken state.

“Oh yeah? Well let’s see if I can help change that tune of yours. You like feasting on your own sweat don’t ya?” Martin jumped on the treadmill without hesitation, tapping a few buttons before the thing started to move. “Well how about I get some extra cardio in for you?”

“Yes I… No… No I don’t absolutely fucking love that amazing sweaty scent. No fuck!…” Chris battled with himself and the new urges that’d been festering inside his mind ever since he was cursed. Urges that had become increasingly difficult to fight against to the point where it was bordering on addiction. The still sane part of him wanted to hate that overwhelming scent and taste that bombarded him almost everyday but this other twisted part of himself was in love with it. But he couldn’t give in. He couldn’t let this imposter win and take everything from him! He had to fight for his body! For his life!

Martin soon found himself turning the treadmill up from a jog to a run. Hearing the machine creak slightly under his weight with every step was delightful. More and more sweat dripped from every pore. Soaking his tank top and more importantly his underwear. He pushed himself to go for as long and fast as possible. Running until beats or salty sweat were dripping from his nose and the beard. He was drenched. So much so that Chris was being completely engulfed by the intensifying stench and taste to the point where he could hardly form a single thought about anything else. Before long he was groaning endlessly about how much he fucking loves the manly scent like a pig.

“Ready to… give up those… memories yet!?” Martin shouted heavy breaths down at the pair of sentient briefs as he slowed the treadmill to a brisk walk. He was hoping that the overload of stimulation would wear down the former Mr Olympia just enough to slip up and agree.

“Fuck! Fuck! So sweaty! So fucking smelly! Smells soooo good! I-I-” Chris stuttered as he finally processed what he’d been asked again. “I… I…. said no! You c-can’t have… mmmmhh… mmmy m-memories!!” He continued to protest despite it all which came as quite the shock to Martin. If it were him, Martin would’ve broken ages ago. Guess that went to show Chris’ champion mentality. A mentality that would soon belong to Martin one would hope.

He really thought that would do it though. Martin started to think that maybe he’d have to give it a few more days. Wait for Chris’ mind to corrupt a little further until it was hopefully more malleable. Maybe then he’ll be able to get the answer he wants. However, just as he was about to give up, an idea sprung to mind causing a devilish smirk to spread across Martin’s handsome yet stolen face.

The massive hunk of man hurried his way to the bedroom after jumping off the treadmill, kicking off his sneakers and peeling off his shirt. It wasn’t long before he found himself kneeled on his new king sized bed in nothing but his underwear while facing the huge bedroom mirror. Damn he loved his new place. Almost as much as he loved pleasuring this new body of his. A body didn’t ever plan on losing.

With that Martin sunk a hand down into his briefs, earning a strangely satisfied grunt from Chris as his fabric body was stretched. After which grabbing his already half hard cock and giving it a few strokes. Now usually this would be the point where he pulls down his briefs some more to unleash his cock in all its glory… but not this time. No sir. Those briefs stayed right where they were as Martin kept pumping away at his huge manhood despite the constraining fabric.

“H-hey? Mmmm fuck… W-what are you doing!?” Chris panicked a little while battling against his urges, trying hard not to moan out again about how much he adored the scent he was absorbing. Unfortunately for him Martin didn’t answer. He simply continued to jack himself off while glancing at his own reflection in the mirror and talking to himself. Telling his reflection how fucking huge and sexy he was and that he’d never go back in a million years.

It wasn’t long before Martin’s fat cock started to leak precum and, just like all the sweat so far, Chris was forced to drink it up and taste his former body’s pre. He tried to ignore how good it tasted at first but it was impossible. It was even better than all the sweat he’d been guzzling so far. So sweet but salty at the same time, yet so so addictive. It was divine! He wanted more. No he needed more! It wasn’t long before he was begging for more cum to taste. To spread inside his fabric form and savour it just as he did with all the sweat.

“Yeah you want it? You want my cum? Well I can give you a whole fucking load if you if you’re that much of a slut for it!” Martin promised, continuing to jerk with vigour.

“Yes! Yes please give it to me! I need it so badly! I need to taste it!” Chris begged in a frenzy. God if only his past self could’ve seen him now. Trapped as a pair of his own briefs and begging to be nutted inside. “Please just blow your load in me! I need it!”

That was it. Martin had him at last. He kept pumping for a few more minutes and letting Chris soak up as much precum as possible before finally posing a deal. “Alright I’ll give it to you. But only on one condition. Give me those fucking memories!!” He demanded.

Chris was silent for a moment. It was clear as crystal that he was trying to resist the temptation. He tried so hard to say no but he just as badly wanted to have that load. It was tearing him apart! So much so that he ended up shouting out an answer on impulse.

“Yes! Fine! Take them! Have my memories! I don’t care, just blow your looooaaaaadddddduuuhhhhhhh…” Chris trailed off as suddenly the very memories he’d just agreed to give up were suctioned out right out of his mind in one of the most pleasurable sensations he’d ever experienced.

“Holy fuuuuuuucckkkk!!!” Martin bellowed out as an entire life began pouring itself inside his head. Core memory after memory showing up in his mind one after the other as if he’d actually experienced them. All of Chris Bumstead adventures, experiences, ideas and skills swiftly becoming his. An entire identity transferring itself in a whirlwind inside his head as everything slotted into place. That experience instantly skyrocketed to the number one most bizarre thing Martin had ever felt and probably ever will feel. Quite literally having a life flash before his eyes.

Before he knew it the sheer intensity of the transfer caused Martin to bust one of the biggest loads of his life, soaking the underwear even more so than it already was with his thick virile seed. Some managed to push through the fabric and drip onto the bed sheets but most of the cum was absorbed rather quickly for… obvious reasons.

“Yessssss… cummmm! I love cum! Cum and sweat! Soooo delicious…” The original Chris mumbled mindlessly. With all his memories drained he hardly even knew who he was anymore. Now he was nothing more than a piece of horny sentient fabric with a one track mind. To serve his master. To show off his master’s ass and bulge. And of course to absorb his master’s essence.

After catching his breath, Martin slipped off the underwear before dropping it on the floor in a messy heap so he didn’t have to hear those horny moans any longer inside his head. Instead he took a step towards the mirror and looked at his reflection again. Before now he’d always felt like an outsider. And Imposter parading around in someone else’s skin. But now? He was the real deal. That man staring back at him in the mirror. It wasn’t some other dude who’s body he’d stolen. It was him! He was Chris Bumstead now! And nothing was ever going to change that!

“And I’ll be a better version of Chris than you ever were.” He muttered, looking back at the discarded cum filled underwear on the floor before turning back to the mirror. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward towards the glass and pressed his bearded lips against the reflection. Making out with ‘himself’ shamelessly. God he fucking loved himself. And he was gonna love his new life even more!

With that the new Chris made his way to the bathroom so he could wash up and get all this strong manly stench washed away for the time being. And as he stood under the running water, the new Chris began to ponder how he was going to introduce his new sexuality to the world yet again. I still hadn’t come to a decision but he was eager to introduce the world formally to the new and improved Chris Bumstead! One that was very… very gay.

Epilogue coming soon…

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 20

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Dark, Mystery, Betrayal.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

"Still acting cocky in front of me?" you said, arms crossed as you gave her a slow, deliberate once-over. "I'll give you that."

She was wearing the arcade's staff uniform—cheap polyester, name tag slightly crooked. So, after getting fired from the hotel, this was where she ended up. Fitting.

Natasha rolled her eyes. This had to be the worst first day imaginable. Working at the town’s run-down arcade—where most of the employees were disinterested part-timers—and now, getting summoned by you. Jake’s vague text hadn’t helped either. Just “She wants to meet. Arcade.” As if the universe hadn’t humiliated her enough already.

“How may I help you?” she asked flatly, voice dipped in sarcasm, jaw clenched.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you smirked, tilting your head. It was delicious watching her swallow her pride.

She scoffed. “Yes. Miss 'I-Made-It-Better-Than-All-Of-Us’. Why are you even talking to me?”

You stepped a little closer, lowering your voice. “Because I need an answer.”

Natasha lifted her chin, suspicious. “And you think you’ll get that from me?”

“No,” you admitted. “Not without incentive. That’s why I’m offering you a deal.”

Her arms folded across her chest, nails digging into her sleeves. “Like Steve did?”

Your brows rose, slightly caught off guard.

“Still don’t get it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Why help people who made your life miserable?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your gaze drifted to the flickering neon lights reflecting off the arcade floor. The air smelled of popcorn and old coin machines. You thought of what Ransom once told you during a corporate negotiation: Keep your enemies close. And make them owe you.

There’s nothing free in life.

“That’s the difference between us,” you said finally, locking eyes with her. “I don’t go out of my way to ruin the lives of people I don’t like.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. You could tell she wanted to fire back—but she couldn’t. Not when you were right. Her silence said more than a comeback ever could.

You reached into your coat and pulled out a single envelope. Slender. Crisp.

You held it between two fingers, just out of her reach. “It’s a reference. For the magazine editor in New York.”

That got her attention. Her posture straightened. Her eyes followed the envelope like a hawk. Especially after she read the marked with the unmistakable letterhead of Vogue.

“But after this, you’re on your own.” You extended the letter slowly. She reached for it with no hesitation, snatching it like it might disappear. The hunger in her expression said everything.

A rare, genuine smile curled on her lips. “Anything to get me out of this town.”

Then the smile vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a guarded glare. She tucked the letter into her jacket pocket. “Alright. What do you want to know?”

“What happened when you were in Paris?”

The question hit her like a slap. Natasha’s eyes widened. “How—how do you know?” Her voice trembled, her guard slipping for a moment. But then her face twisted in realization. “Jake. That blabbermouth.”

She exhaled sharply, leaning against the old Pac-Man machine. The soft, flickering lights of the arcade reflected off her tired eyes as she stared up at the ceiling.

“I still remember every detail,” she murmured. “Every photoshoot. Every casting call. At first, it was everything I dreamed of. But when things start going too well—there’s usually something rotten beneath it.”

Her voice darkened.

“Wrong time, wrong place,” she said. “I didn’t know that photographer had ties to human trafficking. I just followed my senior a couple of times—she invited me to some yacht parties. Thought it was glamorous. The kind of life you see in magazines. Then one morning, Interpol raided the model apartment I was staying in. They dragged me in for questioning.”

She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. “After that, I got blacklisted. No agencies, no callbacks. Just silence.”

You felt something crawl under your skin. A cold, uneasy chill. You didn’t like Natasha—but no one deserved that.

“You were framed,” you said softly.

Natasha looked at you. Really looked at you. As if she didn’t expect you to understand—let alone care.

She laughed once, bitter and hollow. “Yeah. Meanwhile, the real yacht girl—my senior? She’s thriving. Still modeling. Still flying private. Guess what? That same yacht we partied on? It’s hers now.” She shook her head slowly.

There was a pause.

“I should’ve listened to Bucky when he told me to come home.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Wait… he visited you?”

She nodded, arms crossed now, as if hugging herself.

“Half the reason I chose Europe was because of him,” she admitted. “After graduation, he studied abroad. I thought… maybe if I did the same, I’d understand what pulled him away. He warned me, though. Told me to come back.”

“He asked you to quit modeling?” you asked.

She gave a shrug, one shoulder rising lazily. “Not in so many words. Just said, ‘No matter what you think you’re running from, it’s always safer near home.’”

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

You swallowed. Hard.

That unease in your chest tightened. The chill from earlier turned into something heavier. A realization. What happened to Natasha… it felt too familiar. Too orchestrated. The same kind of sabotage that happened to Steve.

First, they leave this town with dreams in their eyes. Then somehow, everything falls apart—one scandal, one disaster, one twisted coincidence after another. And every time… they end up back here. Back under the thumb of someone who always seems a step ahead.

Bucky.

A shiver slid down your spine.

What if Bucky doesn’t just wait for people to come back? What if he makes sure they do?

You didn’t say it out loud—but the thought clung to you like smoke.

“Grateful that he got me a job at his hotel,” Natasha muttered, snapping you out of your thoughts. “But fuck his mom. That just made things worse. Being stuck between the two of them…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “They hate each other.”

“Isn’t that obvious?” you said quietly.

Natasha gave a crooked smile. But then her expression darkened again.

“Oh, you really don’t know,” she said. “After you left—even before prom night—he changed. Completely. Like something snapped in him.”

She paused, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear.

“He blamed Linda for everything.”

Silence followed, heavy and sharp.

“He’s changed.”

Her voice was quieter now. Like she wasn’t sure if she was warning you or herself.

“After you left…”

“No. Even before you left,” Natasha said, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I could tell. The way his eyes followed you—everywhere you went. He never admitted it, of course. But I asked him. God, I asked him so many times when we were still together.”

She leaned her back against the arcade machine, her fingers tracing the edge of the worn glass as if trying to ground herself in the past.

Back then, she and Bucky were the golden couple. The cheer captain and the quarterback. Perfect on paper. Untouchable in the yearbook.

But now imagine this:

The quarterback secretly pining for the nerdiest student in school—the same one he let his friends mock for years. The same one he’d never openly defend. Cliché. Tragic. And Natasha? She wasn’t about to give up her crown for someone he couldn’t even admit he liked.

So she played along. Pretended not to notice. Pretended he wasn’t looking past her, always.

“It got worse when Ransom transferred,” she continued. Her voice dipped slightly, eyes narrowing at the memory. “The way you two got close—it drove Bucky mad. He kept running his mouth about Ransom. Talking trash about ‘the rich city kid.’ But that’s all he did—talk. He never laid a finger on him.”

She paused, looking at you as if testing how much truth you could handle.

“That’s the difference between me and Bucky,” she said. “I fight for what I want. Bucky just broods in the dark, hoping fate does the dirty work for him.”

A beat of silence.

“Something snapped in him,” she finally said. “The day the whole class found out you graduated early. That you left town with Ransom.”

She exhaled, slow and sharp. “After that, Bucky quit the group. Didn’t come to prom. I had to go with Thor instead.”

You blinked. “Then what happened?”

“We all started drifting. Different paths, different cities,” she said quietly. “But when things got bad… he found us. When we had nothing left—he showed up.”

“We?” you echoed.

Natasha nodded. “Me and Jake. We were broke, barely getting by. Bucky offered us jobs at the hotel.” She shrugged, as if trying to make it sound casual. But the tension in her jaw betrayed her unease.

“What about Thor?”

Natasha let out a small, knowing laugh. “Thor? Don’t worry about him. He’s taken care of. Turns out the mayor secured his future.”

Your brows knit together. “The mayor?”

She smirked. “Oh, you really don’t know, do you? You’re the last to find out—Thor is the mayor’s illegitimate son.”

Your stomach dropped. You stared at her, stunned, like she’d just told you the moon was fake.

“That’s why Thor doesn’t work at the hotel,” she went on. “He prefers cars. Always has. But don’t let that fool you—he’s Bucky’s right hand. Loyal in ways that don’t make sense anymore.”

Then she stepped closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone… but I saw Thor driving Dr. Stark to the new hospital site last week.”

Your blood went cold.

Thor. Driving.

And suddenly you were back in that moment—the twisted wreckage. The flashing lights. Steve’s car accident.

No. Not an accident.

A setup. A message. A warning.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I… I have to go.”

Your voice was shaky, but you didn’t wait for a response. You turned and bolted from the arcade, the door swinging wide behind you. The cold night air slapped your face, sharp and real.

Natasha didn’t follow. She stood there, stunned, one hand still resting on the Pac-Man machine, blinking like she couldn’t believe what had just happened. She received a way out from you. Damn, karma has a way of making her life more miserable.

Outside, the air felt colder than it had a moment ago. Sharp against your skin. The kind of cold that crept into your chest and made it hard to breathe.

You rushed to your car, hands shaking as you unlocked it. Slamming the door shut, you locked it immediately and gripped the steering wheel. For a moment, you sat there, staring out through the windshield.

You were scared. Not just shaken. Scared.

Then you started the engine and drove—fast. All you knew was that you needed to get out of that town. Now.

The tires hummed on the cracked road as the lights of the town blurred behind you. Trees whipped past on either side of the narrow highway. You gripped the wheel tighter, your breath uneven.

Then—

POP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Your car jolted. The steering wheel lurched in your hands. The sound of dragging rubber and metal filled your ears.

“No. No. No. No.” You pulled over, slammed the brakes, and threw open the door.

You stepped out, heart pounding.

Flat tire. No—two. Both on the driver's side.

You stared at the car like it had betrayed you, then screamed into the night:

“What the fuck is this timing!?”

The sound echoed across the empty road. You wanted to scream again. Cry. Throw something.

Instead, you fumbled for your phone. Your thumb hovered over the screen, then tapped Jake’s name.

“Jake, pick up. Please pick up—”

The phone rang once. Then again.

“Y/N?” his voice came through, groggy, confused. “What’s going on? Are you okay—?”

But then you heard it.

A low hum. Headlights.

A car was slowing down behind you. You turned slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. A cold shiver ran down your spine. Your skin prickled.

The car stopped a few feet behind yours. The lights turned off.

Then the doors opened.

Bucky stepped out of the driver's side, calm as ever, hands tucked in his coat pockets. Thor came out on the other side, his tall frame towering behind him, arms crossed casually like this was nothing.

You froze. Your back went rigid. The phone was still at your ear but you couldn’t speak. Your breath stilled. You felt like you might throw up.

This was it. Your fear made real.

Bucky gave you a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Hey,” he said gently, like this was just a coincidence. “I got worried you weren’t coming back to the hotel. So… me and Thor took a little drive. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His voice was warm. Too warm. Like honey over glass shards.

He looked like he’d found you at the perfect time.

Too perfect.

‘How did he find me so soon… unless he was already following me?’ you thought. Your heart dropped.

This man.

You couldn't run from him. Not easily.

“Hello? Y/N? You there?” Jake’s voice crackled on the line, snapping you back into reality.

Without looking down, you slowly pressed end call. Jake’s voice faded, but it reminded you of one thing:

You weren’t alone. Not completely.

You took a slow breath, then gave Bucky a tight smile. One that didn’t reach your eyes.

Fine. You’d play along. For now.

But inside, your mind was already racing—planning your next escape.

Because you knew now.

You were being hunted.

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[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Ignored | Salesman x Wife!Reader

Summary: He knows his work can take much of his time. But the worse punishment its being ignored by you.

Warnings: Possessive!Salesman - Angry!Salesman - Violent!Salesman - Sad!Salesman - Manipulation - Toxic!Relationship - Suggestive - Grammar mistakes -

It was true. He had started to leave earlier and came home late. He was tensed, tired and angry. Everytime he had to face these excuse of humans made his blood boild.

But he was good, too good at it. And the money he got from it was a big amount. Enough to give you, his dear wife the life you have always deserve.

Splendind nights out, visists to the most precious places, fashion clothes and precious little details (expensive ones). He loved to pampper you in them. He could not help himself but pull his card out the moment he saw you looking at something. It was a reflex, even when you tell him that its not necesary he still insists.

If you want a private Island then he would do his job three times or even more times better.

You ask and he does. Thats how it works. The only thing he expects from you its to be at home when he comes. To get him with a delicious dinner, your soft voice making the stress go away. You would make him lay down on your lap as you play with his hair and tell him sweet nothings. Its almost unfair how much of a effect you have on him.

However, this past days these things have not been happening. Did food wait for him when he returned ? Yes. Where you there with open arms to ease him ? No.

It had started slow, you giving him simple responses when he talked to you. Mornings when you would say you were too tired leaving him to not really enjoy the shower missing your body against his. Not responding his messages or calls (He almost killed the next person he had to recruit when your voice email sounded back).

And at home you would give him the cold shoulder. Your attention on a book (that he got you and now he wants to burn) or your phone (that he hacks and sees what you are doing).

Honestly he is started to get tired of this. He has lots of patience with you. He loves you, in a insane way. But he cant help but feel...bad. The feeling makes him want to vomit because how the object of his love and adoration, the one he crafted and made a live with just...ignores him?

Yes he knows he can be difficult at times. He tries his best so you only see his good part. But this is ridiculous, no one would dare to disrespect him like that.

There is a centrain charm on your way of going against him. But he does not like it. He prefers the doting wife. The one who showers with love and affection. Not...this.

"We need to talk" Are his words on friday night after a long day recruiting and a cold and lonely shower.

He is quiet angry.

"Im reading" You said back not bothering to look up from your book.

Alright, now he is pissed.

He takes some steps towards you, his taller frame casting a shadow over you as he takes the book from you rather harshly.

"We need to talk, and we will" He says in a cold tone, making sure to mark the page you were reading before taking your arm and pulling you towards the bedroom.

The light blue walls and the big bed welcomes you as he throws you on the bed. Under other circunstances this would mean a good time, but with the look he is giving you right now, its not. Its a look you have never seen before, a look that sends shivers down your spine as he closes the door with a click and starts to walk around. Arms crossed as he fakes to think.

"What?" You ask seeing him go to the wardrobe and for the safebox pulling out a smaller box. He pulled out  a syringe  and a bottle with some transparent liquid.

"Dear...you are scaring me"

"Scaring you?" He asked with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "My Love, you should never be scared of me. I just want to talk" He did answer once more getting closer to her syringe  in hand.

"Then for what is that-"

"Because I need to understand Love. I need to understand whats going on with you" He says anger in his tone. "You have been ignoring me for the past few weeks. Me, the Man of your life. Who gives your the world and does everytning so you dont have to lift a single finger"

One hand traces your face doing down to your neck giving it a grip.

"I work so hard, for you. I just ask for you attention. But you cant even give me that" He says pushing you down on the bed the syringe  now close to your neck.

"Is there someone else ? Have you lost your love for me ? Im not enough now ?" He ask the syringe  inches from your skin.

"N-no, please let me explain" You said tears falling

He does not move but gives a small nod so you can talk

"I...I was stupid. I started to feel like your work was more important. You have always be with me. You make time for me and we pass our days together. And then you...you start to leave earlier and be home late. You...you look different every time you get back. I thought..that if I did not give you my attention you would stop. But I never saw how much I was hurting you"

He does not move for a few seconds letting the words sink in. Then he leaves the syringe  on the nightstand. He cleans off your tears kissing them.

"Oh my dear sweet wife. How could you be so dumb? My work would never be more important than you" He makes you sit on his lap as he moves you like a small creature.

"I have been under so much stress...and so much work. Im sorry I should have tell you. Last thing i wanted was to get ignored by you and hurt you. Not that I would ever do it"

Well, if you were seeing another men or women then yes. He would hurt you so much. You would be calling his name and only his. Never daring to think on going behind his back.

Much like right now. He is sure you would never ever again ignore him. Not after that scared he gave you. He still feels you trembling in his arms and its almost arousing to him.

Fear. Such a primal feeling. He loved being the one behind it. The face that was associated with the word.

"Shh my love. Its ok, we are ok. You wont ignore me again and now you know there is nothing more important than you" He whispers biting your ear.

"That syringe..."

He laughts, a well faked one.

"Do you really think I would ever hurt you my Love?" Yes, yes he would. If it did mean you staying with him and obeying him. "That was a bad joke on my side. My apologizes" He gives you a big kiss on your cheeck. "Lets order some food, we can watch a movie too and call it a night"

He sees you nod but before you can move he holds you in place one finger pointing at his lips.

You kiss him, not giving him much pressure but he is not letting you go that easy. He forces his tongue inside your mouth, tangles it with yours, his hips moves making you feel him growing hard under you. One hand presses your neck guiding your face as he leaves your lips and trails kisses down your neck and collarbone.

"Im almost temped to dich food and just have you" His tone is dark, possessive as he kisses you once more. "But I know you must be starving so we can save that for later"

You wont ever know that syringe did have a powerfull sleep drug...to make you unable to escape him if that was your plan.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

How He feels. VS. How He acts.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch12

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: SMUT, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity. Jungkook is such a TEASE. Mr lee is in this chapter LMFAO. (thats lowkey my second man)

smut warnings: they fuck in his dressing room pre concert LOL, wall fucking, nipple play, breast play, clit play, someone knocks on the door and he just keeps going, oral f and m receiving, missionary, strength kink, uhh idk yall but its nasty

wc: LONG

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @aznstoner

a/n: i am so sorry for takiny so long to release this chapter, im actually super happy w this. dince im not the best at writing sexually explicit details, i decided to focus more on the emotional tone during the smut. what are ur guys predictions to what happens next?? as always tysm for reading ILY

masterlist , <prev | next>

The day of the concert is finally here.

Five days have passed in a blur—slow when you were staring at your phone, waiting for a reply, and too fast when you realized how little time you actually had to process everything. Jungkook had been busy, that much was clear. You hadn’t seen him once since that night at the field, busy with dance practices, stage rehearsals, but it wasn’t like he had disappeared. If anything, he’d made his presence known in the way he always did—through little things.

A message in the morning, simple but warm. “Good morning. Excited?”

A random voice note in the afternoon, his voice slightly breathless, a little out of focus, as if he was speaking between rehearsal breaks. “Almost tripped on a speaker just now. Imagine if I just fell flat on my face mid-performance.Would you still cheer for me?”

A call late at night, just as your eyes were starting to shut, his voice softer in the dark. “You’re coming, right? You better be. No refunds.”

He hadn’t said much about the concert itself, just that he’d handle everything. And he had—down to the hotel room he booked for you and Nari, which, in her words, was “some straight-up billionaire sugar daddy behavior.” You weren’t sure what to make of it. It was just Jungkook being Jungkook—thoughtful, a little extra, and completely unaware of how easy he made it for you to get used to this.

And maybe that was the dangerous part.

The hotel room is extravagant in a way that almost feels comical—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, sleek marble countertops, and a chandelier so obnoxiously large that Nari had dramatically gasped upon entering, claiming she had ascended into her “rich bitch era” overnight.

“Y/N.” Nari’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and brimming with excitement as she turns to you, hands on her hips. “This man. Booked you. A fucking penthouse. A PENTHOUSE.”

You glance up from where you’re sitting on the plush bed, slipping on your sneakers. “Nari, he booked us a room.”

“For what? For vibes? It’s only a little closer to the venue than your place. He just wants to spoil you,” she declares, plopping onto the bed beside you. “Like, for real. I would kill for my man to treat me like this.”

“He’s not my man,” you mumble, fixing the hem of your simple yet stylish outfit. The two of you had agreed on something lowkey—nothing too flashy, just enough to blend in with the crowd.

“Yet.” Nari smirks.

You glare at her. “Shut up.”

She grins, but surprisingly, she doesn’t push further. Instead, she busies herself with checking her makeup in the massive vanity mirror, adding a final touch of highlighter. The hotel room smells faintly of expensive cologne—probably lingering from the last guest—and something floral from the scented candles Nari had insisted on lighting “for the aesthetic.”

Your phone buzzes beside you.

Jungkook [7:42 PM]: u on your way yet?

Jungkook [7:42 PM]: I mean, I know you are, but just pretend I don’t have security watching the hotel entrance.

You [7:43 PM]: ?? stalker behavior.

Jungkook [7:43 PM]: and.

Rolling your eyes, you grab your bag and nudge Nari. “Time to go.”

The Uber ride to the venue is mostly filled with Nari hyping herself up while you stare out the window, watching as the streets become more crowded the closer you get. The realization fully settles in when the car slows down near the venue—thousands of people are gathered outside, their excited energy buzzing in the air.

It’s overwhelming. The sheer amount of love people have for him.

They only know him from what they see on screens, from music videos and interviews, from performances and social media snippets. They don’t know the way his voice softens when he’s tired, or the way he pouts slightly when he concentrates, or the way he texts you at the most random hours with pictures of his dog.

Your phone buzzes again.

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: Is there some guy there with slicked-back hair, a suit on, looking kinda hot like me?

You [8:02 PM]: Shut up. Who?

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: Talk to him. Tell him your name.

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: He’ll take you backstage.

You [8:03 PM]: WHERE WHAT I DONT SEE ANYONE

Jungkook [8:03 PM]: Gotta go. Have fun finding him.

“…He’s such an idiot,” you mutter, staring at the texts in disbelief.

Nari leans over, reading them over your shoulder. “Girl. We have to go find this dude now? In this crowd?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

It takes longer than you’d like, but after some awkward glances and frantic searching, you finally spot what you think is him—a tall, intimidating-looking man standing near the barricades, scanning the crowd like he’s waiting for someone.

Nari nudges you forward. “Go.”

You clear your throat, stepping closer. “Um. Hi. Uh—are you here for—um, Jungkook told me to—um—”

The man simply nods. “Come with me.”

You exchange a quick look with Nari before following him, trying to keep a low profile. It seems to work—most people probably assume you’re just being led to the restroom or something. But the moment you step past security barriers, through a side entrance, and down a hallway leading to the backstage area, the reality of it all settles in.

The dressing rooms are bustling with movement—stylists darting back and forth, crew members making last-minute preparations. The air is thick with the scent of hairspray and cologne, the sounds of muffled voices and distant music vibrating through the walls.

Nari, completely unfazed, immediately starts taking selfies in front of the vanity lights. “This lighting is insane. Oh my God.”

You barely have time to take in your surroundings before—

“No pictures in here.”

The voice is unfamiliar, deep and authoritative, sending a jolt of panic through you. You and Nari freeze, phones halfway raised.

Then you turn around—

Jungkook.

Standing there. Shirtless. Bare face. Hair still slightly messy, damp from whatever pre-show routine he had just finished.

He grins. “Gotcha.”

“Oh my God,” you exhale, pressing a hand to your chest. “What the fuck—”

Nari looks equally as stunned, though for different reasons. “Jungkook, you cannot sneak up on people like that when you look like—like that.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling. Then, without a second thought, he steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

You stiffen, momentarily surprised. But by now, it’s almost second nature—the way he holds you, warm and firm, the scent of his body wash lingering on his skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice close to your ear.

You nod, swallowing. “Yeah. This is just… crazy.”

“I know. celebrity shit, right?” He pulls back slightly, smirking down at you.

You shove his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Meanwhile, Nari has fully recovered and is now scanning the room like a predator. “Jungkook. Are you alone?”

He blinks. “Uh… yeah?”

“Are any of the other members here?”

He gives her a blank look. “Nari. This is my solo tour.”

Nari sighs dramatically. “Damn. So no Kim Namjoon.”

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. Then, as if remembering something, he suddenly points toward one of the stylists in the room—a tall, ridiculously attractive man adjusting a set of brushes on a table. “Hey, he’s single.”

Nari turns. Takes one look. Then confidently strides over and plops herself down beside the stylist.

The guy stiffens. Looks at her. Looks at Jungkook. Looks back at her.

Jungkook leans closer to you, grinning. “That dude is so scared right now.”

You sigh, shaking your head fondly. “She’s a menace.”

“And you love her for it.”

You glance up at him—his hair still damp, his skin glowing under the vanity lights, his eyes soft as he looks at you.

You swallow. “Yeah. I do.”

Jungkook hums, gaze flickering over your face. “Good.”

“You’re actually here,” Jungkook says, a grin already tugging at his lips. His voice is warm, familiar, and just a little breathless—like he can’t believe it himself. He takes a step closer, tilting his head as he studies your face. “I missed you.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. It’s not even what he said, it’s how he said it—so casually, like it was just a fact. Like he didn’t just drop it in the middle of a crowded dressing room, with stylists and staff bustling around, adjusting outfits, checking schedules, calling out times. But all of it fades because Jungkook is looking at you like you’re the only person in the room.

You swallow. “I—” You’re aware of the way your face heats up, how your voice wavers when you finally say, “I missed you too.”

Jungkook grins, and there’s something dangerous about it—something mischievous and knowing, like he was waiting for you to say it. Before you can even think about what that means, his fingers curl around your wrist, and suddenly, you’re being tugged forward. “Come,”

“What—wait—” You stumble after him, glancing back at Nari, who is very much not paying attention, currently perched next to the stylist Jungkook had called single earlier, chatting him up with all the confidence in the world.

“She looks preoccupied,” Jungkook muses, not even slowing down.

You barely get the chance to react before you’re being pulled past the chaos of the main dressing area, down a quieter hallway, and into another room. This one is different. It’s calmer, quieter, the sounds of the outside world muffled behind thick walls. The air is cooler here, tinged with expensive cologne and faint traces of fabric softener.

Your eyes sweep over the room, taking in the space that clearly belongs to him. The lighting is softer, casting everything in a warm glow. A sleek vanity takes up most of the wall, lined with makeup and hair products, but what catches your attention is the small golden plaque sitting at the edge of the mirror. Jeon Jungkook. His name, perfectly engraved, like it belongs here. Because, of course, it does.

To the side, a rack of outfits stands perfectly arranged—different variations of black, shimmering details, all expensive and carefully selected. A pair of stage shoes sit neatly beneath them. The entire space is neat but lived-in, touched by him in ways only someone who knows him would recognize.

You exhale softly, still turning, still taking it all in. “This is… a lot.”

Jungkook watches you with an amused glint in his eyes, arms folding over his chest. “Starstruck?”

You shoot him a look. “By you? Never. This? Yes.”

He grins. “Liar.”

The moment is interrupted when a woman with a sleek black bob and an air of effortless efficiency strides into the room, already pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “Jungkook, you need to start getting ready,” she announces, barely sparing you a glance as she sets down her kit beside the vanity.

Jungkook nods and moves to sit in the chair, spinning once before settling. You linger by the doorway, suddenly feeling a little out of place. The stylist doesn’t say anything about you being here—doesn’t even look at you twice—which somehow makes you more self-conscious. You shift on your feet, unsure of what to do, until Jungkook pats the empty chair beside him.

“Come sit,” he says easily.

You hesitate, glancing at the stylist, silently asking for some kind of approval. She doesn’t even look up from where she’s sorting through foundation bottles, just waves a hand dismissively. “As long as you don’t mess up his face, I don’t care.”

That’s… reassuring?

Slowly, you move to sit, feeling oddly formal in the cushy chair beside him. Up close, you can see just how tired he looks—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way he leans back into the chair like he hasn’t had a moment to just breathe all day.

“Long day?” you ask.

Jungkook exhales a laugh through his nose, eyes closing briefly as the stylist tilts his head to start on his base makeup. “You have no idea.”

You smile, arms folding in your lap. “Yeah? Try working a diner shift where a group of middle-aged businessmen keeps asking your friend for her number and writing thirsty notes on napkins.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap open, eyebrows raising. “What?”

You nod solemnly. “I had to physically pry one from Nari’s hands because she was about to read it out loud in front of everyone.”

He laughs, head tilting as the stylist tuts and pushes it back into place. “I need to hear what they wrote.”

You make a face. “Something about her being sweeter than the whipped cream on their pancakes, and that wasn’t even the worst one.”

Jungkook snorts, covering his mouth. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know,” you say, equally appalled. “But she was thriving. Every single one of them left with a broken heart.”

“Of course she was,” he murmurs, amused.

The stylist hums, leaning in to blend the foundation across his jaw. Jungkook tries to keep still, but he keeps turning his head toward you whenever he talks, forcing her to keep nudging him back into position.

“Stay still,” she says, unimpressed.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Then, half a second later, “So how many guys are in love with her now?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Too many to count. The diner is officially her kingdom.”

Jungkook grins, but it softens after a beat. “And you? No secret admirers?”

You scoff. “No weird napkin notes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He hums, watching you through the mirror, a little too intently, a little too curious—until the stylist tugs his face back again with an exasperated sigh.

“Jungkook, please.”

The time passes quicker than you expect. Between Jungkook getting prodded and pampered by the stylists, the easy conversation, and the occasional Jungkook, stay still, the whole process feels surprisingly… normal. Like you’ve done this a million times before. Like sitting beside Jungkook in his dressing room while someone does his makeup is just another part of your day.

And then, suddenly, he’s done.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts as the stylist steps away, satisfied with her work. Jungkook stretches his neck, examining himself in the mirror with a lazy kind of approval. “Nice,” he mutters, rubbing a thumb against his jaw before he suddenly—without warning—reaches for the hem of his shirt you didn’t even realise he’d put on a few minutes ago.

You don’t even have time to process what’s happening before he’s pulling it off.

Your brain short-circuits. He’s shirtless. Again.

The mirror betrays you immediately. You don’t even mean to stare—you don’t—but Jungkook is right there, in clear view, and suddenly there’s a whole lot of bare skin and a whole lot of defined muscle and your brain just shuts down.

This isn’t new. This has happened before. A million times, (twice) even.

You swear you only stare for half a second. Maybe a full second. Maybe a little longer, but that’s hardly the point because when you finally snap out of it and tear your gaze away—heart thudding embarrassingly hard—your eyes flick up to the mirror again and—

Jungkook is looking right at you.

You freeze.

He grins.

“For the millionth time,” he drawls, voice rich with amusement. “See something you like?”

You nearly die on the spot.

“No—” you stammer, cheeks burning, eyes everywhere but him. “I—I was just—the mirror—it’s there—so obviously—”

He laughs, loud and delighted, as he throws on his next outfit: a sleeveless mesh vest hoodie that does nothing to help your situation. If anything, it somehow makes it worse. It clings to his torso, effortlessly stylish, the fabric shifting with every movement. He layers it with a slightly oversized jacket—just casual enough to be cool, just structured enough to make him look even better than he already does. He pairs it with loose-fitting jeans and his signature boots, the entire ensemble looking so effortlessly put together that it’s almost unfair.

You force yourself to look anywhere else, swallowing hard. “You could’ve warned me.”

“Warned you about what?” Jungkook teases, fastening a simple chain around his neck. “Me changing? Thought you were used to it by now.”

You glare, knowing full well that your flushed cheeks are ruining any attempt at feigned indifference. “I was looking at the mirror.”

“Mhm.” He smirks, tilting his head. “And what did the mirror show you?”

You nearly throw something at him.

The two of you settle into an easy quiet as the pre-show chaos hums in the background. There’s nothing left to do but wait. Jungkook stretches out on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, looking completely at ease despite the impending concert. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re sitting on a time bomb—this entire situation is insane, and yet he’s acting like it’s just another day.

At some point, a staff member brings in food—just a few things Jungkook ordered earlier—and the two of you dig in. It’s nothing too heavy, just something to keep him going before he goes on stage, but the way he pushes a container toward you, all casual and wordless, makes your heart do a weird little thing.

“So,” you say after a few bites, just to fill the silence, “are you nervous?”

Jungkook, mid-chew, raises a brow. He swallows, then grins. “Nope.”

You squint at him. “Not at all?”

“Not at all,” he repeats easily, plucking a fry from the box between you. “It’s fun. The stage, the energy—it’s like…” He trails off for a moment, as if searching for the right word, then just shakes his head. “It’s the best feeling in the world.”

You hum, chewing thoughtfully. “I feel like I’d be terrified. Thousands of people watching your every move?” You shudder dramatically. “One wrong step and boom—memed forever.”

Jungkook barks out a laugh, amused. “That has happened, you know. But I don’t mind now. It’s part of it. Used to freak out about a little mistake but now? They come with it all, it’s inevitable.”

You watch as he picks up his phone, casually opening Twitter like he does this all the time. His expression shifts almost immediately—lips twitching into a fond smile, eyes soft with something warm.

“I always do this before a show,” he says, scrolling through his feed. “I love seeing how excited ARMY gets while they’re waiting.”

He angles the screen toward you, showing a sea of posts—fancams from outside the venue, people in matching outfits, handmade signs, inside jokes only his fans would understand. It’s a flood of love, of uncontainable anticipation, and Jungkook is soaking it all in like it’s his lifeblood.

“Look at the crowd already,” he murmurs, swiping to a video someone posted from the pit. The venue is packed—people chanting, singing, waving their lightsticks even though the show hasn’t started yet. “They’re amazing.”

You glance at him, taking in the way he watches the screen—completely adoring, like he still can’t believe all of this is real. Like it means something to him, deep in his bones.

And suddenly, you get it.

This isn’t just a job to him. This isn’t just a routine. It’s love.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, nudging his foot with yours.

Jungkook grins, eyes twinkling. “Maybe.”

Jungkook stretches, rolling his shoulders back before standing up, the shift in his energy almost instant. His relaxed posture straightens, muscles flexing as he starts moving through warm-up exercises, humming lightly under his breath. You watch as he tests his voice, adjusting his stance, subtly bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer before a fight.

Then, almost as quickly as he got up, a staff member peeks in and calls him out for something. Most of the stylists follow, leaving the room feeling noticeably emptier, the only company left being one last stylist who seems far more interested in her sandwich than small talk.

You sit there for a moment, picking at the food in front of you, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. The room feels heavier now—quieter, save for the faint sounds of activity outside. You wonder how long he’ll be gone.

Then, suddenly, the stylist speaks.

“How have you not got caught?” She laughs.

The words are casual, spoken between bites, but they hit like a slap. You blink, looking up, only to find her still chewing, barely sparing you a glance.

“All this shit,” she continues, taking another bite. “Is like… super risky.”

It’s not outright rude, but there’s something about the way she says it—offhanded, like she’s scolding you without really scolding you—that makes your stomach twist.

You part your lips, unsure of what to even say. Do you defend yourself? Do you tell her that this wasn’t your idea? That Jungkook was the one who invited you? That you never asked for any of this?

Even though you really, really don’t wanna stop.

But before you can even muster up a response, she dusts off her hands, bins the rest of her sandwich, and walks out. Just like that.

You exhale, long and slow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

She’s not wrong.

It is risky.

Jungkook is Jungkook, an untouchable force with an entire world watching his every move. And you? You’re just… here. Sitting in his private dressing room, eating his food, waiting for him like you belong in this space when—realistically—you don’t.

You know how the internet works. How fast rumors can spread. How easily people can twist things. If someone saw you right now—if a picture leaked—what kind of headlines would come out of it? Because you’re sure it wont be another awkwardly blurry, badly angled photo like last time.

Would this get him in trouble? Would you?

The intrusive thoughts pile up too quickly, drowning you in doubt. By the time Jungkook returns, beaming with two drinks in hand, you’re barely holding it together.

“Look what I got,” he says, passing you one. He’s still a little breathless, his excitement crackling like electricity in the air. “My favorite—”

“Should I leave?”

It comes out of nowhere. The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, your fingers curling tightly around the drink. Jungkook’s smile falters.

“What?”

“I—I should leave,” you repeat, swallowing hard. “What if we get caught? Is— me being here a problem?”

His expression shifts immediately, the warmth in his eyes dimming. His brows furrow, lips parting slightly like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Who said that?”

You hesitate, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said anything at all. “No one, I just—”

“Who.” His voice is sharper this time, more urgent, his entire demeanor changing as he takes a step closer.

You stumble over your words, not knowing how to explain. “It’s just—people talk, Jungkook, and—”

“So..” His jaw tightens. “You think I don’t want you here?” His voice is low, raw with frustration, disbelief, and maybe even a little hurt. It hits you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, it feels like the air between you both is thicker. The weight of it presses down on you, suffocating, almost.

You try to breathe, but it’s like your lungs are fighting against you. He takes a step closer. Your heart stutters.

“Hmm?” His hand comes up slowly, almost deliberately, and it rests on your chin. The grip is firm, but not harsh—secure, like he’s not letting you look away. And just like that, the space between you both feels electrified. The tension grows thick, undeniable.

Your voice falters, caught in your throat. “N-no, I just—”

“Just what?” His voice drips with mockery as he nudges your chin higher, his thumb tracing just under your jaw. “Because I can show you, if you want, how much I want you to be here.”

His words fall heavily between you, your breath catching in your throat. There’s a flash of something—desire, maybe fear—rushing through you. The proximity is almost too much, and yet, you can’t pull away.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words won’t come. The silence stretches, thick and heavy between you. He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything more. Without warning, he closes the distance, his lips crashing against yours.

He doesn’t break the kiss, but his hand shifts, sliding up to gently grip your chin. His fingers are firm, tilting your head back to meet him fully. His touch is deliberate, guiding you closer to him as if he’s in control of the pace, the way your lips part slightly to let him deepen the kiss.

He pulls away, and you can’t help the soft whine that escapes your lips at the loss of his kiss. A smirk curls on his lips as he stands, his gaze holding yours with that same mischievous glint. He locks the door with a quiet click, the sound somehow louder in the charged silence, before striding back to you, his steps confident, almost predatory.

Jungkook approaches you slowly. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitches, the weight of it all suddenly crashing down on you. You’re in Jeon Jungkook’s dressing room, and god knows how much time he has before his performance. “W-what? This is insane… someone could hear us…”

Jungkook stands in front of you, his voice low and teasing as his hands settle on your hips. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

You nervously flicker your eyes to his lips, your heart racing. “I… I don’t think this is a good—”

He cuts you off with a chuckle, cupping your face in his hands and gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “I want all of you…” His tone softens, but the grip on your waist tightens, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “But if you’re not comfortable doing this here, we don’t have to.”

Suddenly, the thrill of being caught washes over your doubts, and before you can second-guess yourself, you crash your lips back on his. You feel him smirk into the kiss, the heat between you two escalating.

You lose track of time, as if you’ve been kissing him forever—and honestly, you’re not complaining. Every kiss feels intense, your lips teasing his lip piercing, occasionally nibbling it.

You hear him grunt softly against your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slip down to your neck, his fingers gripping just tight enough to leave you breathless, urging you closer.

He pulls back just enough, his hand still on your neck, keeping you anchored to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” His eyes don’t leave yours, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse race. Like it always does. Slowly, he undoes his jeans, the sound of the zipper almost deafening in the charged silence between you.

He chuckles softly, struggling a bit to kick his jeans off. His lips are magnets, pulling you in despite the little space between you, and you can’t help but press yourself against the hand still wrapped around your neck. You lean in desperately, hungry for his kiss again.

“Patience, baby,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement, though his eyes are full of hunger. He kicks his jeans off, and before you can fully process, his lips are on yours again—quicker this time, more urgent. But just as you start to deepen the kiss, he pulls away, leaving you breathless.

Frustration bubbles up inside you, but it’s replaced by a new heat as his hands move down, frantically pawing at the straps of your dress. His fingers tremble, eager, desperate, as if he can’t get it off fast enough.

You help him, giggling, your hands trembling as you slide the dress off, letting it drop to the floor in a heap.

Your fingers move eagerly to his jacket, pulling at the fabric, “Off,” You urge him, while his lips are still on yours. The kiss is frantic now—more breathing than kissing, your breaths mingling between heated sighs.

“Please…” The word escapes you in a soft, desperate whimper, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as you tug at his jacket, unwilling to wait any longer.

Jungkook is now shirtless, and so are you, your nipples instantly harden to the cold air from the AC in the room, your bodies pressed together. It’s a bit awkward, in the sense that you’re on your heels, grinding ever so slightly on the bulge of his boxers, but you couldn’t care less.

His hands roam over your skin, hot and so needy, as he kisses his way down your neck. His lips are soft but deliberate, savoring the feel of you, every inch of your skin. You shiver under his touch, throwing your head back and curling your fingers into his scalp, heart racing, the sensation of him against you overwhelming.

He pauses at your collarbone, breathing against your skin, his voice low and husky, “Feel’ so fucking good.”

“F-fuck, please…” You gasp, breath hitching as Jungkook works his way down your body, his lips trailing slowly over your skin, teasing you with each touch. He chuckles softly against your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine, before he takes his time, sucking gently on each of your nipples, pulling a quiet moan from your lips.

His hands roam, gripping your hips, pulling you closer to him as his mouth leaves a trail of heat across your skin. You feel his smile against you, a smugness in his teasing, but it only makes you crave him more.

Before you can even process it, Jungkook’s on his knees in front of you, his hands sliding down your body to peel off your panties. The sudden shift in position leaves you breathless, his movements deliberate and slow.

He noses at your slit, inhaling deeply, with a lewd, audible swoosh of air, his eyes dark with hunger. You can’t help the way your hips buck slightly at the sensation, the thrill of it all making your heart race.

“Mm, babe,” he groans, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Smell so good…” His breath fans against you as he presses closer, his hands gripping your thighs as he teases you, making you ache for more.

Before you know it, your patience runs thin. Unable to wait any longer, you grab a handful of his hair, guiding his face where you need him most. The moment your fingers tangle in his locks, he doesn’t hesitate—he dives in, licking, sucking, and lapping eagerly at your core. His low chuckle vibrates against you, clearly amused by your desperation.

You can’t help but grind against his face, unfortunately messing up his makeup with your juices which just flow out onto his lips, chin and even his nose, driven by need. His touch is intoxicating, each movement of his tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“Jungkook—” you gasp, his name falling from your lips as you lose yourself in the sensation.

He licks at your pulsing clit, alternating between gently dipping his tongue into your walls and sucking hard, each movement calculated to make you tremble. His pace doesn’t falter, and you can feel the vibrations of his moan against you, sending a rush of heat through your body. The sound, raw and desperate, only fuels the growing fire inside you.

You can barely focus on anything else, lost in the sensation of him, his persistence, and the way his body moves against yours, like he’s trying to memorize every part of you.

“Jungkook…” you whisper, the tension building.

He looks up at you, a knowing smile curling on his lips, before he softly brushes his hands against your skin, his hands gentle on your thighs “Let go,” he murmurs. “It’s just us here.”

You feel something prodding at your entrance, his tongue still not letting up- if anything, hes going much faster now. Licking and slurping like a damn starved man.

If theres anything you know about Jungkook, its that he does not hesitate to go all in when it comes to your pleasure. You’re convinced that he-

“Could eat this pussy for hours, babe” He mumbles into your slick, slushy core. It’s disgusting how much this man has you fucking drenching his pretty face.

And he just let’s it happen.

Like a real ass man.

Before you know it, his finger intrudes in. “Fuck!”

But it’s not just the movement of his finger that has you reeling. It’s the damn silver ring he’s still wearing on his middle finger. The cool metal presses against you with every thrust, the contrast between the chill of the ring and the heat of your body sending waves of sensation through you. Your hips move instinctively, pushing harder into his face, chasing the friction.

And Jungkook? He just fucking laughs into your pussy, like he knew he’d coax that reaction out of you.

He moves his finger slowly at first, deliberately tracing that spot he somehow found so easily. The sensation is almost too much, and your breath catches in your throat as he picks up the pace, each movement deliberate, making you tremble beneath him. Then, without warning, he adds another finger, stretching you further, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips.

“Jungkook- Fuck!”

He doesn’t stop. His rhythm quickens, frantic tongue flicking at your clit and his hold tightening around your thighs.

At this point, you’re lost to it, unable to think, to breathe. The ache in your hips from frantically grinding is overpowered by the sheer pleasure of well- Jungkook. All that’s left is him, the way he moves, the way he makes you feel. It’s too much, and you can’t hold back anymore.

The wave crashes over you before you can even catch your breath. Your body trembles with the release, his name a breathless echo on your lips as your vision blurs. You’re grinding faster than ever now, and Jungkook knows not to change his pace, keeping it up until you have to physically pry him off of your pussy.

He rises back up to you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer. His eyes darken as he licks his lips, like he can’t bear the thought of not tasting you again. It’s a look that sends a rush of warmth through your chest, making your breath catch in your throat. You exhale softly, unable to hold back a small giggle at the way he’s looking at you.

He smirks, that playful glint never leaving his gaze. “That good?” he teases, because Jungkook would probably rather die than not tease you with his silly remarks, his voice low, but there’s a softness beneath the teasing, a hint of something more intimate.

“Always make me feel so good,” You say, a little breathless.

You nudge him playfully, but then you become acutely aware of the way he’s pressed against you, the hard bulge pressing into your lower stomach. It’s like the air between you thickens, the tension rising again, and you can’t help but feel your own pulse quicken. Jungkook’s movements shift, grinding into you without even realizing it, his body reacting to the closeness like it’s second nature.

He notices the way your breath catches, the way you become more aware of his movements. His lips curve into a knowing smile before he dips his head lower, his mouth brushing softly against your breasts.

“Forgot about these, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

He kneads your breasts with a gentle but insistent pressure, his hands moving with purpose. His tongue flicks out, teasing each nub, and the sensation causes soft Ah’s escape your lips, the sound mixing with the growing rhythm of his body pressed against yours.

The grinding of his hips against yours becomes faster, more urgent, but it’s the way his touch feels—soft, yet driven—that leaves you breathless, wanting more.

Your patience begins to wear thin, and without thinking, you reach for his boxers, pulling them down slowly. His cock springs out, slapping against his abs with a soft thud. He grabs the base, spitting down on the tip that’s weeping with pre-cum, and begins to stroke it slowly.

Did it get… bigger?

You moan shamelessly.

Jungkook grins at you, the playful glint in his eyes never leaving. The way his body reacts to you, the anticipation, only heightens your own. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the closeness and the intensity.

“Want it so bad,” you whisper, feeling your heart race.

His smile deepens, and without hesitation, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours as he takes a deep breath, the heat between you both growing with every movement. His fingers graze your skin tenderly as he takes a moment to look at you, his expression soft, but with a hunger that makes your stomach flutter.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice rough, yet gentle. There’s care in his eyes, a tenderness that grounds you despite everything. His strokes don’t let up, and the lewd squelch of it fills the room.

You meet his gaze, your breath shaky, but you nod, your hands trembling as you skim your hands over his chest, feeling him up, feeling the connection that seems to run so much deeper than the physical everytime you’re intertwined in this sense.

His hand moves to yours, guiding them to his cock a quiet confidence, and everything feels right—natural.

As your hands reach for his cock, Jungkook’s breath hitches. He leans in, his eyes locking with yours, watching you carefully as you start to move your hand gently under his, his expression a mix of admiration and need. The way your fingers wrap around him feels so intimate, and he can’t help but groan softly at how the size of his cock makes your hand look fucking miniscule.

“So good,” he murmurs, voice low, as if trying to ground himself in the moment. He watches you, seeing the way you take control, how the trust between you builds with every movement.

For a second, he stops you, his hand over yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, the simple gesture of reassurance. Then, with a quiet breath, he pulls back slightly, allowing you to take the reins. There’s a softness in his gaze, as if he’s telling you without words that he trusts you completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his tone laced with wonder and vulnerability, and you feel it—how much of him is laid bare in these moments. His cock is heavy in your hands, hard as a fucking rock. And you whimper while tightening your grip, wanting more of his moans.

He starts to fuck into your fist, his breath warm against your neck, each movement slow and deliberate. His lips find their way to your neck, a soft moan escaping him as he pulls you closer, grounding himself in the moment. You respond, your pace quickening, feeling the tension between you both build.

“Like that…,” he breathes, voice thick with desire, but there’s something more there—a vulnerability, a need for the closeness, for your connection. You can feel him, not just physically, but emotionally, and it makes everything feel even more intense.

His hands find their way to your body, his grip tightening as he holds you, like he wants to be closer than ever.

The desire between you both intensifies, and Jungkook’s thrusts into your hand become more urgent, his breath coming in soft gasps.

You can feel his tension, the way he’s holding back, desperately trying to stay present in the moment. His lips trail back down your neck, his moans muffled against your skin, and it only makes the connection between you stronger.

His pace quickens, fucking your fist faster than ever, the need for more growing, but then, suddenly, he pulls back, his eyes locking with yours. He fucks your hand frantically with his cock while staring at your face, as if that’s the only thing he needs to get him going. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, something raw and unspoken.

His cock twitches on your stomach when he moves away, practically begging for release. And you cock an eyebrow at him teasingly.

“Turn around,” he whispers, guiding you gently but urgently, his hands pressing against your waist as he pushes you against the wall.

He spreads your thighs slightly, bending down to tease your folds with his tip. Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping your lips. You instinctively reach for him, pulling him closer, your hands finding refuge in the crook of his neck. He presses a soft kiss to your skin, but before you can fully settle into the moment, he pulls away, a look of frustration crossing his features.

“Shit… condom,” he mutters under his breath, as though the realization hits him too late.

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand brushing over his chest, as if trying to ground himself in the situation. You turn around, searching the dressing room for what he needs, but before you can speak, he leans in, kissing you deeply, a fleeting connection before he steps away.

“Wait,” he says, his voice low and hurried. He moves toward the couch, pulling his wallet from his jacket. He rummages through it and then, with a quick motion, pulls out a condom, his focus entirely on you.

He hands you the condom, a sheepish smile on his lips, and for a brief moment, you’re caught off guard, unsure of what he wants. But then, it clicks. He wants you to put the condom on for him. The realization warms you, and you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head.

“You absolute baby,” you tease, your voice light with affection as you gently roll the condom onto his cock. His grin widens at the playful remark, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of admiration and affection. He presses a soft kiss to your lips again, a fleeting moment that makes your heart race even faster.

He pauses for a moment, his hand brushing over his cock a few times before he gently turns you back around, his breath hitching in his chest.

“Ready?” he asks softly, his voice full of anticipation but tempered with care, wanting to make sure you’re on the same page.

You let out a soft whine, the feeling of anticipation building inside you. You push back against his cock, and he fucks his length between your ass cheeks for a few seconds, kneading the skin. You crave more of him, and the connection between you both feels almost too much to bear. He takes a slow breath, trying to steady himself, before gently guiding his cock in to you.

He enters you slowly, his movements tender but filled with the intensity of the moment. You wince slightly, the familiar stretch making your walls ache, but it quickly melts into a soft moan, the sensation overwhelming in the best way.

“Tight fuckin’ fit,” he murmurs softly, his voice rough with desire, as his forehead presses against yours when you tug his face towards the crook of your neck and look at him, your hand in his scalp. Eyes closed in a mix of pleasure and awe at the closeness between you both.

He quickens his pace slightly, and you breathe into his mouth, your desperation growing with each movement.

“Harder,” you whisper, barely able to contain the yearning in your voice. He listens, his movements becoming faster, deeper, and you feel every inch of his cock inside you, as if he’s anchoring you to the moment.

His touch moves lower, fingertips grazing your sensitive clit, sending shivers through you. The sensation intensifies, and your senses blur together—his warmth, his rhythm, your connection. Every part of you feels alive with him.

“Harder,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. Jungkook responds immediately, his movements becoming faster, more urgent. You can feel him everywhere, a deep connection forged in each motion, each breath.

Without warning, he pulls away gently, turning you around and guiding you to the floor. His hands are careful but firm, making sure you’re comfortable even as the intensity builds. He straddles you, not putting too much weight on your torso, and you find your head resting against the cool wall. The change in position has your breath hitching.

His body moves in front of you, and there’s a moment of humor when his wet cock taps your cheek by accident. You let out a small laugh, pretending to look scandalized, but the playful teasing fades as he focuses entirely on you.

Jungkook’s grip on his base is steady, his eyes locked with yours, silently asking for trust. He guides you with a hand nudging your heard forward towards his cock carefully, urging you to take control in this moment, but there’s no mistaking the power in his hands, the authority in his touch.

He waits for you to follow his lead.

You focus on ignoring the ache building within you, your mouth finding him as you draw him in. His breath hitches, and he groans, his hand resting gently in your hair. “Yeah, baby…” His voice trembles, and you can feel the rush of his desire.

You welcome him, moving with him, guiding him deeper, the taste of the condom isn’t particularly the best, but you’re too turned on to care, as your hand encourages him gently. You feel the heat building even further. Your movements quicken, a rush of desperation taking over you as he fills your mouth entirely with his cock.

But just as it feels like you’re lost in it all, he pulls back, his touch soft yet firm. He gazes down at you, and before you can fully process it, he’s stumbling backwards, a sudden coolness following as he spreads your folds out, before shoving his cock in so hard you cant help but to squeal, taking control in a way that leaves you breathless.

“Fucking shit—,” he groans, his hands moving to your body, gripping your waist tightly as he deepens his thrusts, the rhythm between you both frantic and desperate.

A gasp slips from your lips, your head spinning with the overwhelming sensation when suddenly, a knock at the door breaks through the chaos. Your heart stops. Jungkook freezes as well, both of you frozen in the moment.

“Jungkook?” The doorknob turns, the sound of someone approaching sending a wave of panic through you.

He looks at you with a smirk, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that holds a certain dominance. His hand gently presses against your mouth, silencing you. The intensity between you builds up more, and the knocks at the door spur him to fuck into you faster, the pressure mounting as he keeps moving, determined not to stop despite the interruption.

“Im fuck- Fuckin’ busy!” He shouts towards the door, enthralled by the ring of white your leaving around his dick. And you try so hard to muffle your moans, but at this point…

Whoever it is outside definitely knows.

Another knock at the door echoes, and your breath catches in your throat as his pace quickens, hitting that spot that makes everything else fade. The pressure builds, and with a quiet, teasing whisper, he leans down to your ear and murmurs, “Stay quiet, baby. Don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing, hm?”

You glare at him, frustrated and desperate, but your body betrays you as you shift your hips back against him, your breath shallow, a soft whine escaping your lips. You’re lost in the feeling, fighting to keep quiet, but it’s almost impossible.

Another knock at the door sounds, but it only seems to push Jungkook even further, his movements becoming even more urgent. He doesn’t reply this time. His hand moves from your mouth, trailing to your core, and you can feel the frantic energy in his breath as he urges you to stay quiet, but it’s becoming harder to hold back. You press your lips together, eyes squeezed shut, silently hoping whoever it is will leave quickly.

When the knocks finally stop, the room fills with the sound of his thighs smacking against yours at an alarming pace, and you can’t help but gasp at the way his tip just annihilates that spot.

You grip his broad back, grounding yourself as he lifts you, holding you up on his kneeling form by your ass cheeks, gently but firmly, guiding your body in time with his movements. The sensation builds rapidly when he starts lifting you up and down his length, and you throw your head back, one hand behind you on the wall, and you press your lips against his, matching his movements as best as you can, your hands gripping his hair, needing him closer.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, babe.” He moans softly into your ear, his voice shaky. “I’m close.”

You nod, your body shaking with anticipation. He quickens his pace, his breath against your skin making it harder to focus. The sound of his voice, the closeness between you both—everything swells within you, and in an instant, you feel yourself losing control, your body responding to the rhythm, desperately seeking more.

You give in, the intensity of the moment pushing you over the edge, and you let out a breathless moan, your body moving with his, seeking that final connection.

You press your teeth into his back, the soft bite grounding you as your frantic movements slow to gentle, steady motions. He groans deeply, and you feel him tense, the weight of the moment heavy as he fills the condom.

He pulls back just enough to kiss your face, his lips brushing softly over your skin, and it makes your heart pound in your chest. His voice is low, filled with emotion as he murmurs something about how perfect you are.

You hold him close, your fingers in his hair, your breath shaky as you pull him against you, feeling the warmth of his breath on your neck. Everything around you fades as you just let the closeness of the moment wash over you.

After what feels like an eternity of comfortable silence, the position becomes awkward. Jungkook’s body shifts as his softening length reminds you of the moment’s gravity, and you wince slightly. Sensing your discomfort, he gently pulls away, lifting you carefully and guiding you to the couch where his jacket is laid out. He doesn’t seem to mind at all that some of you have spilled onto it.

You start to speak, “Your jacket—”

He interrupts, his voice soft but full of concern. “Are you okay?” He leans down, brushing your hair back from your face, his touch tender, as if trying to make sure you’re okay.

You nod softly, watching him slide the condom off and dispose of it in the takeout bag from earlier, tossing it in the bin with a quiet finality. The intimacy of being naked together feels overwhelmingly heartwarming, almost frightening in its vulnerability. You try to push away the overwhelming thoughts, but one sudden realization hits you.

You look around, your heart skipping a beat. This is Jungkook’s damn dressing room. How much time do you really have before his concert?

Your voice catches in your throat, worry creeping into your expression. “Jungkook—how long—”

He walks over to you, a sense of calm settling over him. He throws his briefs back on and plops down next to you on the couch, his presence grounding. “Relax,” he says, his voice soothing. “We have a while.”

You sit in silence for a while, the weight of the moment settling between you. The lingering feeling of the aftermath slowly begins to take over, and you look around the room, your eyes landing on a pack of baby wipes. Hesitant, you take them in your hand, your cheeks flushing with a sense of shyness. Gently, you clean yourself, the act feeling oddly intimate in its own right, especially with him still beside you.

But Jungkook doesn’t make you feel self-conscious. He looks away, respecting your space, and for a moment, it feels as though the world outside of the two of you has faded away. You slip your panties back on, and despite the effort to clean up, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ll need a shower to truly feel refreshed. The wipes didn’t do much, but you’re too tired to care right now. The thought of the shower later is the only thing on your mind.

You plop back down next to him after slipping into your dress, giggling softly at the sight of him still in his damn briefs. “You’re acting like you have all the time in the world,” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Jungkook hesitates for a moment, and the smile on his face falters just slightly. For a split second, his eyes shift away from yours, and he runs a hand through his hair, his thoughts drifting somewhere far away. You don’t pry, but the tension in his gaze doesn’t go unnoticed.

Because he takes your words differently.

He doesn’t want to spoil the moment, doesn’t want to burden you with the weight of his departure when everything feels so fragile between them. So, he throws on his clothes quickly, forcing a smile back onto his face. As he presses a kiss to your head, his heart clenches, feeling the guilt of what he’s doing.

But for now, just for this moment, he’s going to hold onto you. He won’t let go of this. Not yet.

Jungkook chuckles, guiding you over to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you both is one of disarray—hair a mess, clothes slightly askew, faces flushed, and there’s an undeniable glow that only comes from being thoroughly worn out.

You both burst into laughter at the sight. His grin is wide, amused, and somehow softer than usual.

“Well,” he says, his voice teasing, “I’m definitely getting in trouble for this.” He looks at you, shaking his head. “Should’ve known I’d be a disaster right before a show.”

You laugh, turning your face towards him. “We both look like we just got hit by a bus, actually.”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, stepping closer. “But a cute bus, right?” His voice is playful, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

“I guess,” you mutter, still smiling, feeling all the tension melt away.

You both stare at your reflection for a moment, your exhaustion more endearing than anything else. He looks at you with a soft expression, that familiar warmth creeping back into his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter now, as if checking in after everything that happened.

You nod, smiling gently at him. “Yeah… I’m good.” And you mean it, because despite all the chaos, it feels like a moment just for the two of you.

A few minutes pass, and the two of you sit side by side on the couch, munching on a packet of crisps that’s been left on the table. They’re not great—dry and bland—but it’s enough to keep you both occupied. You pop one into your mouth, immediately cringing at the taste, and Jungkook bursts out laughing.

“These are terrible,” he says between bites, his voice muffled. “How did we even end up with these?”

You shrug, snickering. “I honestly have no idea. But we’re committed now. No turning back.”

You both giggle, the sound echoing through the dressing room. The playful mood lingers as you both try to finish off the last few crisps, trying to keep up the charade that you’re enjoying them, even though your faces say otherwise.

Finally, Jungkook tosses the bag onto the coffee table and leans back, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, I can’t handle this anymore. Let’s go out.“

Before you can protest, he’s already pulling you toward the door, stumbling a little as he tries to maneuver around. You laugh at his uncoordinated steps, and with a teasing look, you playfully nudge him as you follow.

“Jungkook, you’re gonna trip,” you warn, your smile never fading.

“Never,” he smirks, but his voice is light, almost playful, as he struggles to keep his balance.

Jungkook steps out of the room first, running a hand through his completely wrecked hair, trying and failing to fix it. His jacket is off now, leaving him in just that mesh vest, his skin flushed, a light sheen of sweat glistening along his collarbones. You, on the other hand, are still giggling under your breath, barely holding it together as you trail after him, dazed and dizzy from whatever the hell just happened in there.

But the moment your feet hit the main room, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“Stop fucking around. You have 15 minutes—get it together.”

You freeze.

Jungkook does too.

A manager—you’re not even sure which one, considering your brain short-circuits the second you hear them—stands a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze unamused. They don’t linger, though, turning on their heel just as fast as they appeared, leaving the words to hang thickly in the air.

The shift in Jungkook is instant.

His jaw tightens. His playful energy vanishes. His hand—wrapped so securely around yours just moments ago—lets go.

And that—that stupid little action—stings more than it should.

You know it’s nothing personal. You know it’s just him slipping into work mode, flipping the switch like he’s probably had to do a million times before. But the sudden absence of warmth against your palm makes your stomach drop anyway, leaves something unpleasant twisting in your chest.

Jungkook, for his part, doesn’t even glance your way. He exhales sharply, runs a hand down his face, and—

Drags you right back toward the main room.

You barely have time to process it, blinking up at him as he tugs you along like nothing happened.

“Damn, he was—“

Before you can even finish the sentence, his grip tightens, and you let yourself get pulled along, your heart still racing for entirely different reasons now.

“FIVE MINUTES!”

The call cuts through the room, and if things were chaotic before, now it’s mayhem.

Jungkook is in the middle of his last warmup, his voice clear even through the surrounding noise. His stylists are fussing over him one last time, his in-ears are checked again, and yet—despite all the urgency, despite the fact that a whole team is practically pushing him toward the door—he’s looking around the room.

For you.

The second he spots you, he doesn’t hesitate. He runs over, dodging people left and right, slipping past staff who are trying to usher him forward.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly, stopping right in front of you. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Ask someone to lead you to your part.”

Before you can even process his words—before you can nod or reply—he leans in.

And presses a quick peck to your cheek.

Your brain short-circuits.

Your breath catches, your entire body freezes, and your face burns—the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin long after he pulls away.

By the time you manage to stutter out a weak, “B-Bye,” he’s already stepping back, flashing you one last grin before he turns on his heel.

Just like that, he’s swept away by a frantic crowd—managers, stylists, camera crew—phones and cameras snapping photos of him as he disappears down the hall.

And the second he’s out of sight—

Nari squeals.

After what feels like an eternity of hesitation, you finally ask one of the assistants, unsure of who to turn to. They give you a polite smile and direct you toward a hallway.

You follow them, your heart still racing from that moment in the main room. What just happened? Did he—did he really kiss you? It feels surreal, like it’s a little too much to process all at once.

The assistant leads you down a winding corridor, the sound of the concert beginning to build in the background. You expect to be led to some VIP seating area or a cushioned chair at least—something fancy, considering Jungkook had promised you a special spot.

But when you walk through a door, you’re met with nothing like you expected.

The private room is a whole new level of luxury. It’s spacious and minimalist, with sleek furniture and subtle lighting. The real kicker, though, is the window that stretches from floor to ceiling, offering you a perfect view of the stage. You can hear the crowd’s energy building outside, the thrum of excitement growing louder.

It’s like your own personal VIP box, but a hundred times better.

You stand there for a moment, blinking at the view. The wide window gives you an uninterrupted look at the entire stage, and the energy of the crowd below seeps through the glass. For a moment, you just stand there, soaking in the awe of it all. This isn’t just VIP seating. This is something else entirely.

Jungkook… You think, already feeling a little overwhelmed.

You turn to the manager, who gives you a polite nod before slipping out of the room, leaving you and Nari in stunned silence.

Nari’s the first to speak, her eyes wide as she takes in the view. “Oh my god…” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. You don’t even need to say anything—your jaw is just hanging as you both stare at the sheer scale of the concert.

The crowd outside? Absolutely wild. The entire arena is packed with people, their energy almost tangible from where you stand. And then, the fan chants.

It starts slowly, then builds, echoing through the room and vibrating against the glass like it’s alive. The fans’ synchronized voices send shivers down your spine. You can hear their collective excitement, feel their connection to every word, every syllable they sing. It’s intense. Electric.

You and Nari exchange a glance, and you can both feel it—the overwhelming magnitude of what you’re witnessing. This isn’t just a concert. This is a movement.

“They’re insane,” Nari mutters, still staring in awe. “Like… how is this even real?”

You don’t have words to answer her, too caught up in the sea of fans, the flashing lights, and the vibrant energy that fills the room. This is what Jungkook is a part of. This is his world. And, somehow, you’re in it.

You both finally settle into your seats, taking in the view for a moment longer before Nari starts snapping pictures. She’s practically hyperactive, constantly repositioning herself and you, demanding different angles. “No, no, this one! From this side, trust me!” she insists, handing you her phone to take a shot of her looking ‘candidly’ out at the crowd. You roll your eyes but go along with it with a smile, snapping a few photos before Nari’s satisfied with her little session.

Meanwhile, you find yourself casually picking at the snacks on the buffet table Jungkook probably had arranged for you. Some chips, a few pieces of fruit, a tiny sandwich here and there. Nothing fancy, but it’s definitely keeping your stomach busy as you wait.

Nari, on the other hand, is more focused on her phone, scrolling through pictures and checking messages, but every now and then, her eyes flit toward the stage. It’s a strange mixture of calm and chaos—here you are, in a private room with an impeccable view of everything, yet your mind keeps racing back to Jungkook.

The buzz of the crowd grows louder as more fans flood in, and you know the show is about to start. Slowly, the lights in the arena begin to dim, casting the room into a soft twilight. You sit up a little straighter, suddenly feeling the anticipation in the air. The world feels still for just a moment, before the chaos outside swells again, and you realize—this is it.

The concert is finally about to begin.

[maskedbyghost]

Since you’re bringing happy tears to me right now🥹🩵 can I request more fluff?! Ugly tears fluff?

Like what if it’s Simon & reader’s first Christmas as friends? (More like they’re in between trying to figure out if they’re friends or lovers because they haven’t expressed their real feelings but the connection is there)

Always love your writing!!!!🩵🩵🩵

you and simon had never been anything more than just friends. well, maybe there was something more, but neither of you dared to name it.

after all, he was the first person you’d trusted enough to show your fears, the only one who’d ever known about the nightmares that kept you up some nights. and he… he’d shown you his face once, late one night on a mission, lifting his mask like it was a gift, trusting you with a part of himself that no one else had ever seen.

you’d always been there for each other, in a way that went deeper than most friendships, but neither of you wanted to risk saying too much, scared to mess up something so good.

this christmas, everyone else had gone back to their families, friends, leaving the two of you alone at the base. no one else, just you and simon, two people who’d always kept everyone else at a distance.

so, you’d both decided to leave, to go somewhere far away, where no one knew you, and it could just be the two of you, away from the ghosts of family and friends you didn’t have.

the night was quiet, the kind of silence that felt softer somehow. you and simon sat in a small, dimly lit room in a tucked-away little inn, miles from the base, from the world you knew. it felt right, though; this, here, with him.

you didn’t expect a gift. the idea of him picking something out for you, knowing your thoughts, remembering the little things you shared, was something that caught you off guard when he placed the book in your hands, wrapped in a rough piece of brown paper.

you looked down at it, recognizing the title immediately—the book your dad used to read to you, something you’d only ever mentioned once in passing, but somehow, he’d remembered.

you didn’t mean to cry. it just happened, the way your breath caught in your chest, and tears started falling, slipping down your cheeks as you tried to blink them away, but they kept coming. he watched, looking a little lost, almost panicked, like he’d broken something precious by mistake.

“stop that,” he murmured, voice low, rough, as he reached up, awkwardly brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “didn’t think you’d… react like that.”

you laughed a little, sniffling, but the emotion was still there, too raw, too much, and he seemed to struggle with it, looking at you as though he couldn’t bear it. suddenly, his hand moved to your cheek, and then he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours, tentative at first, like he was testing something fragile.

you melted into the kiss, feeling the warmth and comfort that only he could bring, and you realized that this was where you belonged. his kiss was hesitant but sincere, like he’d waited a long time to be close like this.

when he pulled back, his hand still resting on your cheek, his thumb tracing slow circles along your skin, you could see something different in his eyes—something vulnerable, like he’d stripped away every layer he’d ever built to protect himself. it was a side of him he rarely showed, one you’d only caught glimpses of in the dead of night, after long missions, when he’d let his guard down just enough for you to see the man behind the mask.

“didn’t mean to… make you cry,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “just thought… thought it’d make you smile.”

you managed a shaky laugh, still catching your breath as you looked up at him. “you did, simon. it’s… it’s perfect. i just… didn’t expect…” your words trailed off, too heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

he watched you in that intense way of his, studying every inch of your expression, as if he were memorizing this moment, committing every detail to memory. “guess we’re not too good at this, huh?” he said quietly, his tone almost gentle, though there was a hint of self-doubt in his voice that tugged at your heart.

you shook your head, reaching up to cover his hand with yours. “we don’t have to be good at it, simon,” you whispered, letting yourself lean into his touch. “we just… we just have to be us.”

something in his expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. he didn’t say anything, but his fingers tightened slightly, as if he were afraid that letting go would mean losing this fragile thing between you.

slowly, he leaned down again, resting his forehead against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath, the quiet steadiness of him grounding you in a way no one else ever could.

you stayed like that, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet comfort of each other, the silence between you filled with everything you didn’t have the courage to say. in that stillness, you felt more at home than you ever had, the weight of loneliness lifting, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the reassurance of his presence.

“we’ll figure this out,” he murmured, almost to himself, as if he were making a promise. “you and me… we’ll figure it out.”

your eyes met his again, and in that shared gaze, there was a silent agreement, an understanding that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

--------------------------------------------

hope you like it queen <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[bethebesttoyou]

Love Me Not - Choi Soobin

Sypnosis: A friends with benefits relationship might not be as easy as it looks...(has it ever been?)

pairing: College student! Soobin x College Student! reader

song: Love Me Not - Ravyn Lenae ( on repeat and all think about is soobin >.<)

warnings: suggestive writing (sorry no smut, i don't know how to write dirty TEEHEE), I hope I do the relationship justice anyways? swearing, self sabotaging reader (yikes), jealousy, whipped reader (YIKES), UMMMMM ANGST, fluff ending cause fluff endings are superior. Not much dialogue like the others?

Wc: 2.8k

A/N: this is my peace offering cause I have been stuck on writing vampire in the corner.... I want it to go somewhere BUT WHERE?? Anyways this is my sorry for taking so long (unless y'all aren't even waiting on it then ignore this little rant) Just a little one shot >.<

You let out a small scoff and chuckle as you look back down to the ice in your drink. Raising it to your lips and taking another big gulp. The drink you had mixed together was terrible, at the time not really caring what was in the drink as you continued to pour and pour into the red cup.The  taste of bitterness that stuck to your tongue, the overall warmth on your face caused by the big careless gulps you were taking, all of that made whatever you were witnessing much more bearable. 

Soobin had been laughing at something the girl with light orange hair had said. He had been talking to her for a while now, leaning his back against the wall, looking down at her with glazed eyes. You didn't blame him either, she was hot. You would have been looking at her too, if your thoughts didn't surround him and him only. Thinking of everything that happened, missing him, needing him. But you were way too prideful to admit any of that to anyone else. 

In your head, you knew you had made a mistake. Really. It had been all your fault that the one fun thing going on in your life was over. Friends with benefits had only been a minor solution to both of your lives at the time. Hell, when you guys met, you were hardly friends, but the instant connection you had that night made talking about the dry spell you were both dealing with easy to talk about. It wasn't like you couldn't get anyone in bed, it was the trouble of finding someone worth getting in bed with. It was only after a few more run ins, a few more of infectious laughter and casual flirting, that Soobin had, very shyly, suggested the idea of maybe you both benefiting each other in some way (Read: Sexually). You were surprised just how easy he got you to say yes. He really didn't have to do anything, just the awkward clearing of his throat and the blush that painted him across the face, would do it. You had explained your expectations, and he had too, you were both just looking for fun and while you had gone into great detail about how relationships were not your thing and it was really the last thing you were looking for, he watched you with acceptance in his eyes, making you assume he was feeling the same way. It was gonna be great. 

And what a great idea it was.

It started off slow, the exchanging of numbers and the call that never came. You felt bummed, maybe he was backing out, maybe the course of drinks he had made him say silly things. But you felt your heart still, when on a random tuesday night, while your head was buried in books, did you get a text:

“You up?”

Long story short, you were up, you did meet and it was the start of midnight greetings and morning goodbye kisses. You weren't surprised with how good he was, if his demeanor and the way he carried himself (confident and comfortable) told you anything, was that he wasn't lacking in anything, and you were right. With him, you felt like you could go for hours and it wasn't enough, there was so much of him and you wanted it all. He seemed to feel the same way, from how he wouldn't let you go home until early mornings when he felt forced to, a class he would try to get you to skip would come in the way of the both of you. You  would say goodbye and wait for the text and start it all over again. 

And for a while, that's all it was, until you got used to his hands on you even when the fun was over. With winter rolling in, it was hard for you both to get out of bed, his warmth became an essential, a need. Morning goodbyes became afternoons “see you tonight”s and eventually sometimes you would just stay. The day was cleared, you had nowhere to be, and conversations would just flow and fill his tiny apartment. Meeting for just sex, became sex and maybe a new cafe you thought he'd like, or sex and a new movie he thought you'd like, and sometimes…sex wouldnt even happen. It would just be a night filled with rants or maybe no talk was necessary, he would just have you lay on his bed scrolling through your phone while he played on his computer, looking back at you every now and then, the small smile he'd send you before turning back, would have you thanking the room was dark, making the heating of your face go unnoticed. 

“Sounds like a relationship.” Taehyun, who had been snooping on soobin’s instagram account, looked through his tags before looking up at you with an eyebrow raised. 

“Huh?! Where did you get that?” You had been catching Taehyun and Ningning up on your weekend, that of course involved Soobin. 

“Wait, you guys aren't dating?” Ningning asked in shock.

“What the hell? No… I told you, we're just having fun on the side…” Taehyun and Ningning look at each other before looking back at you. Ningning puts her spoon and yogurt down slowly, reaching for your hand.

“Oh…Y/N, babe… you're in a relationship.” 

“Im not! Were literally just fucking.” You whisper the last part. 

“No… youre fucking… and going to cafes, staying the night, learning how to play his video games, cooking each other dinner…I mean… you met his friends…” 

“Fuck buddies dont do that…” taehyun agrees. Ningning shakes her head. 

“Are you guys exclusive?” Ningning questions, “Have YOU been with another person?” 

“I-I…no but… that's what got me here in the first place, I couldn't find anybody that I wanted to sleep with…” 

“But Soobin changed that?” 

“Stop. Don't ruin this for me. We're friends who happen to sleep together.” 

“We're not trying to … But it's clear that there’s feelings involved…and if you are sure they're not from you-” 

“They're not.” You say way too quickly. They look at each other again. 

“Then they are coming from someone else…” 

You were at Soobin’s again that night, just like almost every other night, and he had you enclosed in his arms, with your back against his chest, hand under your sweater, rubbing your stomach softly, his head on your shoulder as the movie played. But you weren't paying attention. Your heart had been thumping chaotically all night long, even he questioned if you were okay to which you blamed it on the large coffee you had a couple of hours ago. But truthfully, the conversations with your friends, especially Ningning’s words, have not only caught you off guard, but have planted a seed of fear in your stomach, one you needed to prove wrong, for whatever reason. 

You turn around quickly and straddle him, catching him by surprise. 

“Woah,” he chuckles, “Are you feeling better?” He asks looking up at you, his hands immediately finding their place on your waist. His eyes glazed and soft, he was falling asleep yet, he still smiled at you, and you felt heat rising from your chest to your neck. 

“Im fine.” You say, before leaning down kissing the corner of his lips as you make your way down his neck hastily. 

“Hey… are you sure? I mean we can watch the movie, dont feel forced to do anything…” 

“I'm fine, Soobin. Do you feel forced?” You snapped. 

“No… I-Im always down but you're never this quick to jump into it, what's the rush? We were just gonna watch the movie today…” 

“Ugh.. Soobin…” You get off of him, standing up and running a hand over your face. You start grabbing your stuff that had been laying around, your heart rapidly picking up speed, you were freaking out. 

“Y/N… hey… what's wrong?” He tries to grab your hand, but you pull away, and the look on his face sends you a painful shock to your chest. But you can't stop the word vomit. You're anxiety is ramping up minute by minute. 

“Fuck buddies dont watch movies, Soobin. They fuck. Its in the name. If we're not going to do that, then why call me over?” 

“What? We're not fuckbuddies,” He scrunches his eyes in disgust of the crude label, “…We're friends with benefits.” 

“Same shit. This was merely just to have sex and now, I have you caressing my stomach like you want to put a baby in it or something.”

“I'm sorry? What is going on? Where is this coming from?” He’s standing now, towering over you. 

“I told you… I didn't want a relationship… And now here we are, acting like we're years down the line, like you're going to propose to me tomorrow!” 

“Im so confused. Y/N. We're friends.” 

“With benefits…meaning there were boundaries a-and we crossed them.” 

“Like how?” 

“Like everything! Meeting your friends, staying the night… god we crossed them from the very beginning… kissing goodbye?! That's relationship stuff!” 

Soobin, who had been staring at you incredulously, now softens his stare, his eyes looking more sad with each passing second.

“I didn't think that stuff bothered you. You always kissed back. I didn't think any lines were being crossed. I-im sorry, really.” His eyes were looking anywhere but you at this point, and that was a good thing. You felt your heart breaking with each word he spoke, and you weren't sure you could hide it. You didn't want him to say sorry, it felt wrong as soon as he said it. 

Silence enveloped you both, and you felt the lump in your throat. He sits down and runs his hands through his soft black hair, removing the hood of his sweater in the process. He pushes his glasses up, before looking back up at you. You hated how, even in the more intense moments, he looked so good, you had to push the thoughts of him back to the further corner of your mind. You were standing still, believing if maybe you didn't move you'd go invisible, or be swallowed whole. 

“What if I do like you?” Soobin stands up again, getting closer to you, “What if I do want this to be more than a casual thing?” Your heart felt a sense of relief, like his words released the pressure you had been holding in, but your head rang alarms. And like a true self sabotager, you had to ruin even an ounce of hope for yourself. 

“I think we should end this…” You whisper before grabbing your keys and walking out the door, ignoring his gaze and the aching feeling of your heart tearing. 

And now here you are. Weeks since the last time you saw Soobin, and the time had been doing a number on you. You had never been the type to miss a fling, much less the feeling, but with Soobin, it was like an entire piece of you had been missing. Like an addict, you tried to find another source, tried to hangout with different friends, different guys, but it was never enough. Your body ached for his hands, his hold, his lips, your heart ached for his laughter, his rants, his sweet nothings, the intimacy that felt like it couldn't be replicated. At night, you couldn't sleep without his soft snores in your ear, without his legs entangled with yours. You wanted him, needed him. 

And now, as you think about it, you realize you loved him. And you never even hid it. Taehyun and Ningning knew, from the look that they gave to each other, Ryujin knew now, as she watched you watch him. It was there plain for everyone to see. You only made a fool out of yourself, rejecting it more. Regret pooled in your stomach.

 But you did this, and as you leaned your shoulder against the wall with Ryujin telling, more like yelling, in your ear about what she just saw in the kitchen, your punishment was to watch one of the hottest girls you've ever seen throw herself onto him. You couldn't imagine her getting the same treatment right? He wouldn't stoop so low right? 

It didn't seem possible to you, until you see the girl grab his hand, and lean to whisper something in his ear, a blush spreading across his cheeks, just like that night. 

“I'm sorry, I really can't do this, I have to go.” You say, if you watched anymore, you were sure your stomach would twist into oblivion, creating some blackhole and swallow you whole. 

Actually, that doesn't sound too bad right now. 

You hand your drink to her, her eyes looking at you shocked, before you quickly make your way to the door.  

The cold breeze eliminated any looming buzz you felt, and remembered you had catched a ride with Taehyun, who was nowhere to be found. You’ll just walk. 

“Hey!” You hear from behind you, and as much as your heart wanted to make its way to the very familiar voice, you kept walking, dreading to have any conversation with him. 

“Hey! Y/N! Stop!” He finally catches up to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to turn to face him. 

You wanted to laugh at the way his face changes from a determined look to a shocked one, as he notices tears are spilling from your eyes. Your nose and eyes, red and puffy. You settle for a chuckle, before wiping your eyes with your coat. 

“Come to tell me, ‘I told you so’ right?” 

“I told you so?” 

You shake your head. 

“I'm an idiot. I'm so dumb.” 

“Stop.” 

“No, Everyone knew, you had to have known, right?” 

“You're not making any sense again-” 

“I love you! I love you so much I cant fucking stand it. And I'm scared! I'm not made for love or for… whatever this is! And you come and make it fucking easy!” 

He's staring at you, wide eyes and red nose. 

“Don't you think you made it easy too? Don't you see how easy you made it for me to love you!? To need you!? I don't even have to try, it just comes naturally to me to want to be around you all the time! Even just having you in the room puts me at ease, Y/N. What are you so scared of? We had a taste of what it could be like together, and you loved it, I know you did. Just please…” 

“I'm not making it easy now…What if it's like this all the time? What if you get tired of having to push me? What if I become some type of burden, and you get tired of me?” You're full on sobbing now, choking on some of the cries while you talk. He smiles softly, before running his fingers under your eyes, catching the stray tears. 

“Love is work, and as long as you're willing, I will work hard for you, I will never get tired of you, I want to be with you. I want to be near you forever, I want to feel your love, forever. Please, just please give me a chance to show you that we can do this? That you can do this? Loving each other comes to us so easily, I know you felt that… Please…” He's resting his forehead on yours, and for the first time in your life, you ignore the trainwreck of thoughts that try to flood your head, thoughts of insufficiency or doubt, and you nod your head. 

“I want you to say it…” he says, “Tell me you want to be with me… please…” Soobin pleads, his own insecurity needing some type of reassurance. 

“I love you, I want to be with you.” You whisper, and in a split second, his lips are already on yours. His kisses you hungrily, your teeth clashing together. His hands are on both sides of your head, holding you in place, you pulling him forward in, by the pull of his jacket, getting rid of any space between the both of you. 

“Hey!” you hear Taehyun’s voice from a distance, “Is it safe to assume you have another ride?!” Ningning cackles, not that you really cared, not when Soobin is holding your gaze, before he smiles and yells back,

“Yeah, I’ll get her home!” He raises his hand up, to signal taehyun and ningning to leave. You both laugh still staring at each other, at this point, the temperature dropped lower, your breaths now crystalizing in the space between you. 

“I'm going home?” You pout. He smiles, before pulling you in for another kiss. 

“Not a chance.” 

A/N: HUH HUH??? ;> what we think? I realized we focus on the reader alot but what the hell... we are the main events too !!!! I hope you guys liked it!! I enjoyed writing this one too!! It flowed out pretty well!! Ive always been bad I keeping things short so Im glad I was able to cut down my word count LMAO. Anyways!! lemme know what y'all think!! >.<

[kyri45]

Can you do another q&a

Sure thing

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 18/02✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@snsp6 ha chiesto: Don’t know if this was answered but what was the inspiration for bio parents au??

no inspiration. just my stupid brain not being able to like something without taking my whole life.

@roseltelle ha chiesto: Are you ok with AUs I was thinking about writing a fanfic. Basically with a younger Mk. Events of the show haven't happened yet, Wukong and Macaque aren't on ok terms yet (Slow Burn) unlike the show.

I don't think I understood. You're asking if you can do an AU of my AU?

@mistress-of-nightmares ha chiesto:YOU MENTIONED YOU HAD MK'S FINAL OUTFIT READY SINCE LIKE SUMMER, IS IT GOING TO BE THIS PRINCE-RELATED THEMED??? (sorry for all caps it just came to me and I screamed)

that's not the only one I already had in mind.

@shaya21 ha chiesto: Hey kyri I have a question maybe that was already ask and you answer it, so sorry if you did but does macaque, wukong and mk purr in your au ? When they are really relaxed and with someone they trust, like mk when he fall asleep in redson arm in the last chapter. That’s all And thanks you for making such a good au, that’s something I really appreciate (my life his based on😅)

No I don't think they purr.

@mysticanchorcheesecake ha chiesto: I just wanted to say.. I LOVEEE UR ART AKCIFdkfkdKckd!!! *Calms down mentaly* i a HUGE fan of ur parenting au.. thats it luv u ^^

Thank youu!!!!

@kilani-123 ha chiesto:Does Mk know that Wukong and Macaque are still engaged?👀

no

@deafeningcolortastemaker ha chiesto: Hi Kyri45!!!I have a little question for you and for Spicynoodleshipping.....WILL THERE BE MORE MK AND RED SON KISSED???I'm very worried. I really love spicynoodleshipping, and I would like you to release some pictures of spicynoodleshipping more often.😆 Well, good night to me, since it's 11 pm in Russia.Well, good! It's time for me to sleep, until the next Kyri45 meeting!!!

yes

@angelsbunnies ha chiesto: Was MK freaking out when he got sucked back cause he couldn’t finish adding more details to his little doodle?

poor baby yes he was.

@metalheaded-freak ha chiesto: Kyri, I just wanted to say… thank you, for creating the Bio Parents Au, it’s been such an emotional journey and honestly? If it wasn’t for you then I wouldn’t have gotten into the fandom the way I did. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you were the gateway for me to fully embrace this fandom and not be afraid to show what I do, so once again thank you!

awww tysm!!!

@ddle-lrd ha chiesto: GELLO (help gello lol) IM A HUGE FAN OF YOUR SHADOWPEACH BIO PARENTS AU AND CURRENTLY TAKE YOUR ART COURSE! I really wanted to know if the series will (unfortunately and reasonably) come to an end? Will S9 be the last or second last? (Like before the last season) Again, big fan and big supporter of your art even though i can’t support you financially besides the art course -L0S :))))

Awww tysm for all the support!

Also yes the Part 9 is the last part of the main story.

@peachy-pies-random-stuff ha chiesto: Hi Kyri! Me and my partner have been reading the Shadowpeach bio parents AU together and we're both addicted to it! Also the thing you said about writing uncharted territories..... Should we all be worried??? 🤨🤨🤨

I mean.... yes and no?

@land-of-frogs-and-dragons ha chiesto: Your monkie kid au is gonna get me to watch Lego monkie kid ngl,,,, saw your au on TikTok and went "oh I can't NOT watch this" and haven't regretted it since. 10/10 I love your art style and you draw mk's hair so fluffie I love everything about your art style and your au

thank you! heheh he has fluffy hair.

@pensoul2 ha chiesto: I was looking back at the LMK Bio AU and Redson's hair. His hair got me wondering if he ever tried cutting it. Would the scissors or the object cut his hair melt?

omg I want to believe that yes, if his hair is too hot it would melt the scissor. But I also like to think that they aren't really made of hair. It's they fluctuate between solid and plasma.

@shaya21 ha chiesto: Hiiiiiii I wanted to ask, you drew redson in bloom outfit from Winx. Do you think you can do macaque in musa outfit ? Oh and thanks for your amazing shadowpeach bio parents au it's amazing

@mysticewya already did the whole wix club team as LMK character, you should check them out.

@onyxxess ha chiesto:hiii!! ive been a fan of your artwork for a whole, esp the shadowpeach bio parent au. theres one thing i havent been clarified withCan we make edits of your art and post it on other socials like tik tok or insta?? (with creds)i would really love editing your artwork!

Yes you can. with credit. I'm both "kyri45" on IG and TT

@misagiiza ha chiesto: Hi Kyri45! My name is Izadora and I'm a huge fan of yours. I'm Brazilian and would love to translate your comic so other people could have the opportunity to know your talent!

Thanks, Iza.

Hello Izadora, there's already user "wukong_lmk" on TikTok that's doing the brazillian translation

@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: Will we see a dance party in the celestial realm lol 😆🩷🩷😊

yup

hellopollon ha chiesto: Wait, so Macaque's scroll is close to theirs too or...?

Yup!

@mkthemonkiekiddd ha chiesto: Have you ever thought about doing different lmk AU’s after the current AU youre working on? (Like for example, infection AU, swap Au, etc.)

mm nope. I prefer to keep building on what I've already created

@whatdaflippityfloppity ha chiesto: I absolutely adore your comics and the way you draw Nezha! (He's my favourite character and needs more screen time and ✨angst✨ T-T) Quick question; Is Nezha ever going to rebel against his father? 🥺 Maybe to like, stop his father from using the pagoda or something?

he did it in the past multiple times he will most likely do it again