#AND THE TEXT SAYS SOMETHING LIKE 'secret time just for the three of us'
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BIM BAM BOOM what about bff trio!Lilia & Idia x f!reader, with romantic tension and petty jealousy, with a reader who's as much of a chaotic cheerful extrovert as Lilia (because the idea of Idia's favorite people all being his shut-in nightmare is hilarious, and the bat needs a bff to match his energy and go on adventures - and drag Idia along)
If you have the time and energy, perhaps a before and an after "you're musclered/gloomurai???>reveal" parts, for the shift in their respective relationships with reader and each other (more/less snark, judgment and rivalry...)?
I understand this is a big ask, if it's too much feel free to ignore this! Thanks for sharing your writing, have a nice day~
Iāve been plotting on this š@bju3c0re
BSF!Idia really is,, Something, once he warms up to you. Itās already rare for him to reach out online, nevermind speaking to a 3D āg-g-girl š¤Æā.. He thinks a lot about the alternate reality where your wifi was a touch worse and you couldnāt join that first vc- of course heās grateful for your friendship and all the āwise adviceā you dole out (ājust pop a tidepod broā), but youāre SCARY!! So, NO, he canāt handle meeting up yet :( But arenāt you just nice enough to wait, though? For him? If he was given the chance to go back in time.. Heād fall for you in every universe, even if you only ever see him as another raid buddy <\3
BSF!Idia knows better than anyone else that youāve got him on a short leash- but do you really have to show it off to Musclered? Out of everyone on the web? Heās tired of third wheeling your campaigns, hearing your hushed laugh over HIS mic once you meet up or how you act all surprised getting a gift from the guy who shouldāve been your fav.. That kind of happiness is supposed to be his, you were his friend first,, Once he writes a text good enough to trick you into loving him, heās sure heāll NEVER feel jealous again!! (Isnāt security like the only meta buff relationships get? WDYM NO?) Despite the horror show heās sure your first meetingāll be, he can appreciate the hypothetical benefits of meeting you IRL- seeing you, touching you, smelling and just.. Taking you in. Heās bidding his time for anything scandalous (BOO! hand holding >:0), but in the meantime heās just peachy getting to grind as a duo, so long as you are <3
BSF!Liliaās never been your friend, duo, or partner. Heās just,, A guy youāre weirdly into online, and he wouldnāt have it any other way!! He wants you to pine and get all needy at the sound of his voice- because heās just as shameless⦠Straight up nasty with how hard his knuckles strain against his phone at the prospect of being your only gamer friend, but of course his dream gets crushed by some noob :/ Itās very much a cat fight for your attention between the two, and you know itās toxic, but whatās the point of being chronically online if youāre not indulging in pointless drama?
BSF!Lilia is obsessed with you, in the sense that your relationship is entirely parasocial- PLEASE vent about your day and let him comment on allllll the freshmen he knows and hates, thatās what heās here for! Heās also, like, the worst with advice to a comical degree.. Whether heās giving or taking, do NOT trust anything heās saying, because he DOES use his loveable face to lie to you on the daily. Send help. Itās gotten to the point where even Idia (yknow,, Master of all things āpeopleā) canāt tell the difference, and the three of you spend hours more on call looking for āsecret lootā because your old man is a lonely little fibber </3 Itās still Lilia, so his pranks are never really gone, but heāll straighten right out if youāll say that heās your favourite.. Even if itās just as the villain in your story <3
#disney twst#twst#twst yuu#disney twisted wonderland#yuu twisted wonderland#twst wonderland#twst x reader#idia shroud#idia shroud x reader#idia twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland idia#idia x reader#twst idia#lilia twisted wonderland#lilia vanrouge#twst lilia#twisted wonderland lilia#lilia vanrouge x reader#lilia x reader
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so i was thinking about this one again, and i realized how i'd write it if i were writing it: after the Tawan situation gets fucked and Vegas has to skip town, Kim takes Macau in to keep him safe from any fallout.
in this scenario, Vegas doesn't want to leave Macau with Gun's temper but Macau isā¦idk, at school or something, and Vegas can't wait for him to come home before he has to leave.
he tells Macau to bunker down somewhere else, don't even come home, it's too dangerous, Vegas refuses to risk Macau being used for leverage or let Gun take out his irritation on him.
except Macauā¦doesn't have anywhere to go. maybe he went to the safehouse he and Vegas setup in secret except his father's men are already there. luckily, Macau saw them before they could see him, he's booking it before they could hope to notice him, fucking nope.
Macau's too scared to risk going to any of his and Vegas's other hideaways (Gun wasn't supposed to know about the first!!!), too worried for Vegas to call him while he's on the run. winds up stalling back at school because he doesn't know where else to go and needs a crowd for cover while he thinks.
the janitor finally has to kick him out when it's past dinner time and the school is well and truly closed, and Macau is terrified at this point. he doesn't know where to go, is too panicked to think of what to do next much less think of a plan, realizing he really should've just called Vegas from the start but turning in circles feeling like it's too late to call him now.
then he reaches the parking lot and there's a car waiting for him.
the fact that it's Kim waiting for him in said car is not reassuring.
he and Kim just stare each other down for a solid three minutes before Kim points expectantly and Macau spends about ten seconds debating if he should just bolt before reluctantly climbing in, mentally apologizing to Vegas the whole way.
"Tao called and said you were lingering around the school, looking worried," Kim says out of the blue.
"ā¦okay????" Macau says, because Kim seems to think that is an explanation but he is so fucking confused.
twenty minutes later, they are at Kim's apartment and Kim is giving him a towel, a toothbrush, and a clean set of clothes and pointing him to the guest bedroom freshly setup.
fucking what
the ensuing stay is. so awkward. it is so awkward it is physically painful. neither of them know what the fuck to do around each other. Macau doesn't know that Kim tried to shoot Vegas the last time he saw him, but he did hear enough to know Kim was vaguely involved in the whole mess so like. he can guess. Kim is mostly ignoring him too. Kim spends most of his time pacing over some distraction or staring silently at a wall or avoiding Macau except when he asks what Macau wants to eat at meal times. he eventually calls Vegas to check in and absolutely bluescreens when Vegas asks where he's staying because how is he even supposed to answer that. Macau hates being cooped up and trapped in Kim's apartment, except Kim tells him he's free to come and go as he needs to because he's on the apartment registry and the building security will let him in anytime, and Macau just has to?? live with that information??? Macau spends three days sick to his stomach wondering why Kim's holding him or when his uncle might try to leverage him against his dad or Vegas, except Vegas texts at some point warning him Gun visited him on a rampage and is in spitting form, stay wherever the fuck he is because their father and uncle are starting fights over anything they can throw at each other, and Macau realizes Kim picked him up to keep him safe from everyone.
it is one of the kindest things anyone's ever done for Macau and he and Kim still can't manage to sit in the same room for more than two minutes because it is so. awkward.
š What fic are you currently daydreaming about?
well currently, i'm daydreaming about youtuber vegas fic because i finally straightened out some structure issues that have been blocking me, but !! i don't want to spoil that one, so instead: open door policy fic
so. i love when kim and macau think the other is the worst. macau likes to prod kim for fun. kim reacts with exactly the amount of grace one would expect (none). macau hates the main family for all the grief that's been piled onto vegas. kim wouldn't go out of his way to kill vegas, but he will shoot with zero hesitation if vegas is a threat (see: warehouse). i also headcanon kim and vegas closer in age to each other with a ~4-5 year age gap between macau and kim, so they don't really have any fuzzy childhood memories to tie them together either.
my point here: kim and macau do not like each other, and have zero reason to try to like each other.
kim also has macau whitelisted on his apartment guest list and an extra bedroom set aside Just In Case.
in this fic, ...something, idk what, happens and macau has nowhere to go and no one he can turn to. the something would probably have to be outside of their standard family drama, or at least seem that way, or... ??? idk, something that would result in macau somehow winding up in kim's apartment for safe haven and the ensuing awkwardness of neither of them having the slightest clue how to act around each other but kim is. y'know. looking out pretty hard for macau and macau isn't going to spit on that generosity. and apartments are small, they're eventually gonna have to like... talk...
idk, there's zero concrete thoughts to this scenario, i just want terrible awkward bonding between kim and macau because fuck that guy, but no one touches their family š¤
[[ ask me about fics im not writing ]]
#macau: so. uhm. this thing that youre doing-#kim: you dont have to say anything about it.#macau: THANK FUCK goodbye#except ofc this whole situation would absolutely result in awkward forced non-con cousin bonding#they are walking away from this with another family member in their corner every step is terrible<3#kinnporsche#ask game: fics im not writing
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the cover art for the newest moriarty the patriot: the remains chapter is so cute and soft i am never going to get over it š have not stopped sobbing over my beloved baby moriarty brothers ever since i saw this
#THEY MAKE FLOWER CROWNS!!!!#AND THE TEXT SAYS SOMETHING LIKE 'secret time just for the three of us'#did they sneak out?! just so they could read books and make flower crowns together?! aaaaa#babies.....#moriarty the patriot#albert james moriarty#william james moriarty#louis james moriarty#moriarty brothers
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prompt: max finding out one of the driver's "innocent" sister actually has a secret diary/account dedicated to all her naughty desires for him
Sweet Like Candy ā„ļø
Max Verstappen x Camgirl!Reader

sugar coated, lies unfolded, you still lick the wrapper. its addictive, you know this (but you still lick the wrapper)
At 27, three time world champion Max Verstappen has become bored with the blinding glamour and fake crowds who try to cling onto his fame. So when you catch his interest, sparking desire for the first time in months, he quickly becomes obsessed. He just never imagined his favourite camgirl would turn out to be his ex teammateās shy, little sister who needed to pay off her college loans.
Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, camgirl!reader, Riccardio!reader, basically sugar daddy! max vibes lolz, somnophilia, blackmail, filming, cheating, 3.8k WC
Max Verstappen knew he was famous - everyone wanted a piece of the most desired driver in the richest sport on earth. When he'd been younger, high off the rush of being crowned a world champion, heād been cockier about it, too. He enjoyed the smug arrogance that came with his skill, with his million figure paycheck, knowing that most men he met wanted to be him and most girls wanted to be with him. And it certainly didnāt hurt that he looked the way he did, all 6 foot of thick, built muscle and angled jawline with intense blue eyes. Heās had more than his fair share of rolling around in the sheets (and private jets and yachts and backseats of luxury Aston Martins - you get the picture) with countless models and actresses.
Now, at 27, heād mellowed out, being quietly assured in his confidence and dominating aura. His talent and insane track record does all the talking for him without him needing to say a word when he steps into any room. And heād stopped his playboy ways too, now the very picture of a loyal family man with his long term model girlfriend and her child who he doted on. It was true that he didn't hold any romantic feelings for her or love her particularly - but that was rare these days, anyways, with the superficial women who constantly surrounded him. But he knew he had her loyalty and in turn, she was provided for with access to Max's fame and finances.
Sure, heās still offered temptations of money, drugs, alcohol, and sex on the daily, with tens of thousands of people desperate to offer him something to get a taste of the famous Max Verstappen. But unlike his younger self, his self control these days was much better. He rarely found something new that he hadnāt already tried and gotten bored of in his glamorous life as a F1 driver. Heād already started planning his retirement after his Redbull contract ended, somewhere on a remote island far away from all the greedy swarms eager to sink their claws into him.
So one day when one of his mates sent him a link, and your OnlyFans page pops up as he hovered over it, Max just rolled his eyes. His friend had texted that he had to check this chick out, she was so fucking sexy. Max had almost ignored it, already being used to countless offers from insta models DMing him on the daily. But maybe heād been extra bored that day, because somehow he ends up clicking onto your page. And everyday, he thanks whatever fucked up God was watching from above that he did. Because what he saw next quickly became the world championās secret obsession.
Youāre a cute young 20something, the very vision of a pure angel who lusted for dirtier fantasies she was too shy to ask for in real life. Your OnlyFans feed was filled with horny thoughts about wanting to get fucked by your older brotherās hot friend or which sexy songs you liked to listen to as you breathlessly use your pink bullet vibrator. It's a new page, started only a month ago, but you already have a few thousand followers, all drooling over the innocent yet tempting pictures you post. Nothing too raunchy - but more suggestive, in tight pastel crop tops with your nipples poking through or a shot of your curvy ass in a white lace panties. Probably a college kid, Max guessed, from the fact that the corner of a textbook could sometimes be seen in your photos and that you offered more naughtier photos to those viewers who payed a little extra. Clearly not any sort of adult film actress - and Max would know, because heād definitely had some fun with one (or two) before.
But the real cherry on top was when he scrolled across a recent video stream youād posted. Playing it out loud in his empty penthouse, his cock immediately hardened at the sight of your petite, curvy figure dressed up in lacy lingerie. You sat on your fluffy bed, surrounded by pink fluffy cushions and throw blankets, your face hidden from your teasing smile up. Your glossy, pouting lips giggle easily as you sway your hips in the cute lace babydoll youāre wearing, excitedly chattering about some pop singer you liked or the other. You're answering prying questions viewers are asking, reading them out loud from the chat. Did you have a boyfriend, what's your ideal type of man?
Max likes the soft, playful sound of your girly voice. His mind dirtily wonders what you'd sound like moaning underneath his much larger form. You hmmm for a second, pouting cutely, before shyly admitting that there was just one guy youād had a crush on for ages, but he had no idea you existed. A friend of your brother's, in fact, you guys probably know him, you mused. Heās pretty famous! Comments flood the chat, trying to guess if he was a singer or actor or-
Nope, heās an athlete! You giggle, biting your glossy lip and playing with your hard nipples. Max canāt resist palming his own cock through his sweats as he hungrily enjoys the sight of your pretty brown areolas through the see-through lace. He-mmmh-heās Dutch, you begin, suppressing cute gasps as you toy with your oversensitive, perky tits. So tall, too, and super strong, I love seeing him shirtless! Iāll give you guys one more clueā¦heās the fastest man alive when you put him in a racecar.
Ice blue eyes narrow as the comments finally hone in on just who you were talking about. So this is why his friend had sent him this, huh? He couldnāt deny he wasnāt pleased with the way you giggle cutely and confirm that your big fat crush was on Max Verstappen. I know itās wrong, you whine, breathless as your small, manicured fingers slip down your body to play with the edge of your panties. Itās so naughty, he doesnāt know me and even has a pretty girlfriend, but every night I dream about him fucking me. Heās so hot, so dreamy, and that Dutch accent of his - you cut yourself off with a pleasurable moan, now teasing the audience as you finger yourself through your dripping panties, not letting anyone get a full view of your innocence. Letās just say Iād let him use me anytime, anywhere, however he wants, you laugh sweetly, your voice a contrast to your dirty words.
Oh, fuck. Talk about a vixen. He hadn't seen a treasure as rare as you in a long time. And it looked like many, many viewers enjoyed your particular brand of angelic sinfulness as multiple donations flood in, begging you to finally take your panties off on the main stream. Max can't stop himself from sending a generous one himself, after jacking off to completion at the sweet sounds of you cumming through your panties. You'd eagerly humped one of your pink cushions, tits bouncing through the practically see through lingerie, moaning Maxās name as if he was right there under you when you reached your peak. Oops, sorry guys! You giggle again, your sweet voice now bashful. Got too caught up, next time Iāll make sure to say the name of the highest donor, mmkay?
It's a good OnlyFans account - no, a great one, but Max didnāt think of it much afterwards, getting caught up in his own busy life and making sure to erase his search history in case his overly paranoid girlfriend came snooping. The fact that you'd mentioned he was friends with your brother also meant very little, given his very large circle of friends and acquaintances given his fame. Everyone liked to say they were mates with Max Verstappen, F1 champion, even if the extent of friendship had been a single handshake.
To his surprise though, a few days later he received a private DM from you, sweetly thanking him for his generous donation! Curious, he opens your message, knowing you wouldn't know who he was from his generic username of CatDaddy33. He hadn't thought he had sent you much at all, maybe a couple grand? You deserved it, working so hard to dress up cutely and pay off whatever college loans you probably had.
But apparently you thought it was a very lavish contribution, because youād sent him a very tempting photo as a thank you gift. Heād almost dropped his phone when he sees your lush bare tits, out on display as you stuck your pink tongue out cheekily, the rest of your face still hidden. Just for you. Hope you enjoy! you captioned, one small hand cupping your breasts and squeezing a pretty nipple that practically had Max salivating to sink his teeth into. Oh, he certainly enjoyed it, saving it to his private collection to jack off too later when his uptight girlfriend wasnāt in the mood - which was usually the case the majority of the month.
He ends up logging back onto your page that night to enjoy your latest steam, then another, and soon enough he had a full blown infatuation with you. Your tempting, curvy figure and your pretty lips that you bite as you keep talking about how turned on Maxie had made you in the qualifying today, looking so muscly and angry! has him downloading your naughty nudes to his phone. Itād been a long time since a girl had gotten him get so turned on, after all. You drove him wild with your girly, innocent mannerisms paired with your sexy body and filthy words as you play with yourself, always making sure to never fully reveal your face or naked cunny to the viewers with a slutty outfit covering you.
Of course, he generously tips each time he visits your page, resulting in you frequently sending him more thank you presents each time. Lately you've been asking him if he wants you to wear a certain outfit or call out his name in your next video, but he texts back that he just enjoyed watching you have fun, sweetheart. And that's true - because that's all this can be, just a private guilty pleasure for him to enjoy behind closed doors. The rest of the world wouldn't respond well to his dedicated, family man image if they knew that the Dutch champion secretly liked his girls sweet and begging for his attention on adult websites. Even though his actual relationship had become more of a PR facade, now, and had been that way for well over six months. The last chemistry fizzled out when sheād tried to wake Max up with her mouth on his morning wood, somehow trying to make up for weeks of no sex. He made up some excuse about being stressed for the race as he rapidly softened despite her repeat attempts, pushing her off him and going to shower.
But as soon as heās under the warm steam, heād only had to close his eyes and picture your perfect, full pouting lips on his cock instead for his impressive semi to come rushing back. As he lazily strokes himself, he wonders what your eyes looked like, still having never seen them with how you kept the top half of your face off the frame. Would you look up at him sultrily as your pink tongue darted out and licked his slit, or did you prefer having him meanly shove his cock all the way in as you gagged with wide, teary doe eyes? He guessed the second fantasy would be your pick, judging by how your breath seemed to hitch in excitement whenever a commanding order was DMed to you following a donation. The submissive type, for sure, whoād once said sheād eagerly let Max Verstappen have his way with her wherever, however he wanted her-
He came with a muffled groan, panting heavily as his release drips down to be cleaned away by the hot water. Maybe heād finally give into your pleas to him to request something and ask you to suck a sweet lollipop for him on your next stream.
He puts his distracting thoughts about you to the back of his mind as he arrives on the paddock, camera flashes going crazy as they note the increased distance between the Redbull driver and his unhappy girlfriend as she trails behind him. Frankly, Max had stopped caring what his public image was at this point in the season, knowing it was only a matter of time before he got his PR manager involved to cook up some mutual breakup story to feed the media.
Qualifying goes well and the race even better for once, despite the shit box his car had been this season. Afterwards, he greets Daniel, who greets him excitedly and commends his race efforts. The two drivers are laughing, catching up easily in their conversation - when a small figure turns the corner to come up next to Danielās side. Oh! The Australian man grins, gently tugging the shy figure by his side forward. You remember my little sis, right Max?
The Dutchman stared at your blushing face as you nervously avoid eye contact with the much taller blonde. Cute, he thinks briefly, finding your brown doe eyes and Riccardio curls pretty. Sure, I remember her, we met at the Silverstone race last year, right? It had been a brief meeting, Daniel swinging by the Redbull garage to congratulate Max and youād been trailing behind him. Max vaguely remembered you from your younger days, when youād shyly stayed out of the older boys' way when he had visited Daniel in his Perth family home in Australia. But youād grown up now, and had chosen to attend college overseas in London, and Max politely asks if you were still studying there. On a full ride scholarship too, Daniel confirms proudly, fondly ruffling your curls and making you protest. Still wonāt accept a dime from her older brother, even with the ridiculous London rent.
Pouting rather adorably, you quickly fix your hair, glaring at your sibling as you mutter that you didnāt want his tax evasion money, thanks, you could look after yourself. Max laughs, pleasantly surprised you had some teeth behind your blushing, pretty face. You immediately look up to see his gorgeous blue eyes looking at you in interest before nervously flicking them away again, clutching onto Danielās hoodie as the two men resume their conversation. Later, as he watches you walk away, Max canāt help thinking about how your girly voice and pouting lips had looked so familiar. He knows many beautiful women, but there was something about your unique, natural face that made attraction swirl in his chest. Heās still thinking about it that night, annoyed about not knowing where else heās seen you besides at your brotherās side.
And then your latest video had him sitting up straight in shock. Because he recognises the hoodie thatās draped across the back of your chair in the corner of the screen. He'd recognise it anywhere. You, of course, probably had not thought twice about the item of clothing that belonged to your brother - with it just looking like another piece of F1 merchandise to anyone watching. But Max knew that Redbull insignia on the back, signed DR3 along the logo generically but with an extra little present that Max had drawn on himself when his teammate had fallen asleep next to him on a private plane ride. The crude, cartoon dick drawing stares back at Max through the screen as he immediately recognises what heād found funny as an 18 year old. There was only one person in the world who would own this sweatshirt personally customized by the world champion - and given the fact that you were the one who seemed to have borrowed itā¦.the mystery of your identity finally unravels.
He sends you a private DM that very night, not wanting to play any games. He knew he had to have you, now that he knows youāre right under his nose. I know whoās little sister you are, baby.
You respond back immediately, which isnāt suprising considering how youāre in the same time zone currently. I have no idea what youāre talking about, you text, trying to deny his claim. Max smirks. He almost feels mean for winding you up but he knows youāll be so grateful for it in the end. Youāre telling me you arenāt Daniel Riccardioās little sister? I saw you on the paddock today. No point in hiding anymore.
You seen his message for a few tense minutes, and he wonders if he approached this wrong because you could just block him. But then you frantically send back a how the hell do you know that? How did you find out?
Max chuckles as he corners you right where he wants. And an hour later youāre on a private video call with him, very differently dressed that your usual skimpy attire in a baggy t-shirt that covers all your skin as you demand to know just what he wanted. Of course, you still have no idea who he is, because even though he has his camera on, his face is well out of view. You can only squint at the image of a fit appearing guy, dressed casually in sweats but his strong muscles still showing through. You impatiently read out the next DM he sends you. I want to see your pussy, spread open for me completely-What the hell?! you shriek, outraged.
You try to get out of it, saying that was too embarrassing to do, but he makes you realise there it was futile to resist. He orders you to show your face in the video, saying thereās no point hiding it anymore since he knew exactly who you were. All over DM, of course - he couldnāt have your recognising his deep, Dutch voice that you always gushed about.
You pout cutely, lips downturned and an upset expression on your face as you slowly undress yourself for him. Then you follow his orders, gently playing with yourself as you teasingly suckle on your pink vibrator so that he could imagine what youād look like with your lips around him, instead. Max lazily jerks himself off to the sight, enjoying how you started obediently following his instructions once you saw his hand reach into his sweats and slide his erection out. Your doe eyes went wide with guilty desire at the sight of his impressive, hard length, and you swallow back drool when you see his leaking, angry tip. Soon he had you spreading your puffy cunny lips wide for him to greedily look at, before you start sliding your little vibrator in between your achy core. He makes you call out his name like you always did, of course, and say out loud all of the dirty fantasies youād been dreaming about lately involving your brotherās best friend. You cum intensely and Max follows shortly after, the both of you caught up in the sinful activity.
Itād been easy enough to find out the room number youād been staying at as the Riccardio siblings were at the same hotel as him, and even easier to get the swipe card. He was Max Verstappen, after all. Leaving his bitchy girlfriend alone in his room, he makes his way to yours in the middle of the night. The hallway light briefly illuminates your peacefully sleeping figure when he opens the door, quietly locking it behind him.
Youāre deep asleep, plush tits rising and falling, dressed in a cute see through lace nightgown and matching panties. After admiring the sight for a few minutes, he slides into bed behind you, finally getting to toy with those pretty nipples and squeeze the plush ass heād been fantasising about for weeks on end. You quietly moan in your unconscious state, sleepily grinding back against the warm, hard body holding you and arching your back into the hungry mouth suckling on your stiff nipples. Soon heās wedges his fat cock in between your thick thighs, panting heavily as he fucks then slowly so you donāt wake up. He barely lasts a couple minutes, his head dizzy with pleasure for the first time in months as blood rushes to his already hard cock. After heās cum copiously all over your tanned skin, he slides off your panties to take for himself, making sure to rub his creamy release along your puffy slit with his large hands. He canāt resist sliding a finger inside to get feel of how luxuriously tight your pussy feels, groaning when he feels your walls clench down on him. His cock was going to experience heaven when it finally got to sink home inside you, he was sure.
You spend your day confused the next morning, remembering hazy wet dreams from the night before but not quite being able to recall exact what youād dreamt. And youād never been able to find your favourite lace panties, assuming they got lost in the laundry when room service cleaned up. Until your online bully, as youād taken to calling him, sends you a naughty photo. Itās one that he could only have had access to if heād taken it himself, you realize with a shocked gasp, as you stare at your peacefully sleeping figure. A gigantic cock, much bigger than any of your cute toys, slides into the waistband of your pink panties - which are completely see through from how soaked theyāve become. And that was one of the tamer pictures Max took that night. He wonders how youād react to the one he has of his drooling tip brushing against your parted lips, his sticky release from earlier now leaking into your wet mouth.
Youāre even cuter when youāre not putting up a fight his message says. You freak out, of course, but he doesnāt respond to your frantic questions and instead orders you to be dressed up for him tonight in that navy lace babydoll and matching blindfold set heās having delivered, okay?
You swallow, unable to hide the rising curiosity and desire at the rich, mysterious stranger you had drawn in. You canāt really be mad at him when he sends a $10k reward to your account after teasing you with the filthy photos heād been taking. A girl had to pay off her college loans, after all.
Besides, a hot, muscled sugar daddy appealed to you a lot more than streaming for thousands of strangers. You couldnāt wait to meet him tonight!
āāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāā
A/N: ššš thank you so much for waiting patiently my dearest readers, work has been crazy but I finally have some time now to feed you!!! Get ready Iām about to be dropping some hot pieces for you including part 2 of earned it and haunted!!
#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen#max verstappen smut#f1 imagine#f1 smut#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#18+ mdni#max verstappen x oc#max verstappen x you
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childhood sweethearts - chris sturniolo x fem!reader



summary: you and chris have been best friends since pre school, but your relationship had taken a new turn. you tried to hide it, but a family party at your parents house reveals all.
warnings : suggestive. fluff. swearing. slight angst. mentions of your family.
you were fucking your best friend.
there was no other way to put it.
and you were fucking him good. so good. too good.
it had started as soon as he turned 21. something inside of you changed. of course, you would never deny he was attractive to look at. all three of them where. you had grown up with them your entire life but you werenāt blind. you could appreciate when someone was attractive. but ending up panting and moaning in his bed was not on your 2024 bingo card. or ever, matter of fact.
it had been because you were both drunk, you had both said the next morning.
āhappy birthdayā you had joked, as you slid out of his bed that next morning, stark fucking naked with hickeys on your collarbone. he had laughed and threw your tshirt at you, and nothing between you changed.
until a week later, and you woke up in his bed again.
ādid i satisfy you that well?ā he had joked.
the third time, you both laughed.
āwe better not make a habit of thisā you had said.
but by the forth time, you lingered that next morning. he didnāt want you to leave. you didnāt want to leave.
and by the fifth time, which was approximately 30 minutes into lingering around after the forth tine morning, you were done for.
months passed and you were fucking him almost daily. a lot of the time at your own apartment, a silent confirmation between you both you didnāt want anyone else catching onto what you were doing. but it wasnāt just the sex. it was the longing text messages. it was the secret thigh and hand holding under a table. it was the quick glances and smirks when no one was looking. it was the stupid fucking pounding of your heart every second of the day.
you had told yourself it was because you were both bored. winter had come around, you weren't going out as much as you used to, you were both busy with work. you were both a little release in a cold winter. but it was when you all flew home to boston for the christmas and new year, and he secretly grabbed your hand behind your back when you were watching the fireworks on his parents back garden, the back garden you had grown up in, throwing mud at each other and eating ice creams, that this was becoming more than just casual sex.
when you had gotten back to LA, things had shifted. you cuddled together more often than not, he held your hand when you were out and alone in quiet spaces, he pulled you into his chest so he could play with your hair and you could feel the warmth of his body. you had even stopped trying to hide your new turn in the relationship from matt and nick. they never asked, never questioned, they just watched. by standers in what to them was clearly a growing shift between the two of you. he was your safe person. your safe space.
but neither of you said a word.
so when the butterflies run through your stomach at your moms party, you dont know if to throw up or act upon it.
_
the sun was shining on your childhood back garden and the chatter was loud. you hadn't been home since christmas and the first hint of sun and their daughter being home had your parents hosting a family gathering, just like they did when you were kids. your family where bustling around you, people were drinking, a ray of cups or soda cans littering the garden table already and music was playing softly. but you were disengaged. of course, it was without saying that the triplets would be here. your mom had treated those boys like her sons when you were growing up and she had such a protective streak over them, especially considering their now fame. it was not even a question or a doubt when you announced you were going to move to LA with them, to purse your own career too. your parents trusted them more than anyone else.
but as you sipped your glass, generously full with your favourite alcoholic drink, your legs began to twitch. when you were home for christmas, it had been easy. you were both so busy with your families that it was probably the one time over the last 8 months you had been able to keep yourself separated. but not this time. chris has snuck out your childhood bedroom this morning and down the stairs to your front garden with a giggle on his lips like you were 16 years old and your parents had no idea who he was. fucking him in your childhood bedroom, trying to keep quiet so your fucking parents couldn't hear you, had bought up stronger feelings than ever. you couldn't be apart from him. and he couldn't you.
"are you okay, m'love?" you mom asked as she walked past you. she was doing her usual hosting, making sure everyone was okay, make sure the music was fine for everyone and all the different age groups of your family around you.
"mm?" you ask, looking up.
"you seem ... on edge" she looked down at you with genuine concern, but you smiled, taking a sip of your drink.
"im good, mom. promise. sorry. do you need help with anything?" you asked.
and it was as if right on queue, that they arrived. it was nick who screamed your moms name first, a huge smile over her face when she turned and saw all three triplets walking over to her, but your head snapped immediately to his. its like he'd done it on purpose, or where you just absolutely insane? but either way, he was wearing your favourite outfit. the sweatshirt that you always tried to, and usually successfully steal, but he'd always take it back. just so you could play the whole game again.
"oh, my boys" she beamed, walking over and grabbing each of them in turn for a hug. they were all so gentle and sweet with her. "can you please sort out my daughter?" she asked now, looking back at you. chris speaks immediately.
"whats up?" he asks, looking at you intensely, but you roll your eyes, standing up and heading straight to him to give him a friendly hug.
"im fine." you say, pulling out of the embrace quickly. your mom had eyes like a hawk, one sight of anything different, she'd be the first to know. as you look at him briefly before moving over to hug matt, he sees it too. he knows.
you hug both matt and nick and your mom makes herself scares, telling them to help themselves to food and drinks as the usually, a laugh escaping all of you and her comments, but it isn't long before your family are pulling the triplets from pillar to post. they were genuinely part of your family by this point, and your family missed them as much as they missed you.
so you drank.
you stupidly fucking drank and drank.
and stupidly kept the triplets topped up to. walking past them every now and then and passing them fresh beers, nick fresh white claws, all the whilst getting through your own drinks like they were going out of fashion. after a couple of hours passed, your general feelings has subsided. you were doing a good job of avoiding chris the best you could so to not draw any attention to you, and everyone was in high spirits.
but when you stupidly caught his eye for a little too long, the alcohol surging through your system, you knew it was game over. you sat down, your parents on the chairs to your left, everyone laughing and engaging in conversation when he came and sat beside you. his legs spreading, knees knocking with yours, a slight lean on the arm of the chair closest to you. and you too, opened your legs a little wider, your knee connecting with his and resting their perfectly, leaning across so your shoulders touched.
your eyes stayed away from him, closing on your close family around you. thankfully the music was loud enough that you couldn't work out what anyone was really saying to each other unless you fully engaged yourself, so you knew no one would hear you two either.
"avoiding me, pretty princess?" he asked, a smirk you had to hide with your drink.
"avoiding me?" you reply back, a scoff escaping him.
"reckon anyone would notice if we went upstairs?" he said, the hint of beer hitting your nose letting you know he'd leaned closer. so your turn, your faces inches apart.
"feeling brave, are you?" you ask. he smirks, eyes looking down at you and then around you. but when he stops short, a smile illuminating his lips and he slowly pulls back, you already know. your heart stops.
"another drink, or you good?" he asks, his sultry voice now gone. you cough, sitting up.
"im good, thanks." showing him your full drink. his beer bottle was too full. he looked down at it, his mind thinking fast before he let out a laugh. his nervous laugh.
"im gonna get some food. starving." he says, and then he scrambles off. you watch him. you watch his strides as he enters your kitchen, the way he claps hand with someone who you can't quite see, and then you turn around. your moms eyes, burning into you like a stake.
you smile, going to stand yourself up, but a giddy look appears across her face. her hand immediately slaps on your own.
"mom" you say, but she shakes her head, leaning towards you.
"is he the boyfriend?" he asks, her eyes scanning the room so know one else can hear you.
"what boyfriend?" you ask, puzzled. she laughs.
"you've had a glow about you the last two visits. and when you call. both me and your dad noticed it. we haven't said anything in hopes you'll tell us but" she pauses, eyes scanning to the kitchen where chris has just walked. "is it chris?"
the butterflies running through your stomach almost make you sick. glow? had it been that obvious? you had tried, so hard, to not let anything show. tried to even gaslight yourself into thinking the whole thing was just casual, but your moms words where confirmation that it wasn't, at all.
"no, mom. its not."
she shrugs. she doesn't believe you.
"excuse me" you said, and she only laughs as she turns around, settling into conversation with everyone else around the table. you don't care about anyone else, your legs go into auto pilot as you stand yourself up, placing your drink down onto the table and heading towards the kitchen. your eyes scan but the room is empty, and you know damn well he didn't walk out back into the garden. so your legs carry you further, through into the living area, around the corner up the stairs and straight towards your bedroom door. one small push of the handle and he swings it open, pulling you inside, slamming you against the door as he recluses it.
his lips are on yours in seconds, and you can't help it, your hands instantly grab his hair as his hands come to your waist, squeezing tightly as his body presses you against the door. you're frantic, the alcohol running through your system, but you know this won't go further. not now.
when your kiss finally slows, and he rests his head on your forehead, you're both breathless. looking at each other, he gives you a smile.
"she notice?" he asks.
you pause for a second. "yeah."
"think we got away with it?" he asks. you don't say anything. "no?"
you smile faintly. "shes known since christmas, i think."
he closes his eyes, his jaw muscles tightening. but his forehead never once leaves yours. you wait. because you're scared if you speak, you won't be able to stop yourself.
"when do we expect defeat, y/n?" he asks now, eyes opening and his forehead finally leaving yours.
"what?" you ask. your hearts in your damn throat. he takes a step back, turning and walking towards your window. it faces the front of the house so unless anyone has gone round to the driveway, they won't see him. he doesn't answer, just stares. you stay pressed against the door until the silence becomes to much.
"chris-" but he stops you, turning around.
"what the fuck are we doing?" he asks. "you're my bestest friend in the world but i dont think it should feel ... like this?"
you gulp. "like what?"
"like im in love with you."
you let out a shaky breath, and then you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips.
"jesus christ," you say. "who'd have thought it, huh?" you walk towards him, and he looks at you wearily before you wrap your arms around his neck. "i feel like im in love with you too." you say.
he stares at you, his eyes scanning your entire face before he lets out a groan, picking you up and throwing you down onto your bed. a squeal escapes you as you don't expect the motion, before you're laughing as he straddles over you, pinning your arms behind your head.
"why the fuck has it taken us so long to fucking say it" he says, looking at you intensely. you're uncomfortable as fuck, legs hanging off the bed as your back is in a slanted angle, but somehow you never want to leave this spot.
"the sex just too good, makes you forget maybe" you tease, and he rolls his eyes as he lets go of your hands, standing off the bed. you sit yourself up, looking at him as he runs his hands through his hair before he holds his hand out to you.
"come on" he says, and you take his hand, allowing him to pull you up and over to him, smoothly placing his arm around your shoulder. "im sick of acting like this isn't happening"
you chuckle. "do you think matt and nick know?"
he rolls his eyes. "the way you scream my name sometimes, babe, i think they've known since day one."
you jab his side with your finger, and he laughs as he tries to move away. but when you reach out and grab his t-shirt, he swiftly pulls you into his chest.
"this might be a stupid questions," he asks, looking at you with a grin, "but will you change your title from best friend to girlfriend?"
stupid fucking question indeed.
"happily."
#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo fanfic
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is it casual now? (teaser) š« seungcheol x reader.
ā
seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ā
teaser word count: ~8,000 ā
genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ā
footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3
Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.
Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.
Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, howeverā
Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?
You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.
You're his makeup artist, after all.
When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.
That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.
You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"
When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. āCheol,ā you say exasperatedly, slowly. āItās the middle of the night.āĀ
"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over himā just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."
"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."
You let out a low hum at Seungcheolās fingers brushing against your skin. āMmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,ā you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.
You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all overā the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. Heās tired, and you can tell. Youāve always been able to tell.Ā
You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you.Ā
One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.
"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.āĀ
āFiveāā you repeat as you bear Seungcheolās weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and thereā your soothing touch, your light tone. āOh, how ever will you live?ā
Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.
"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."
āI was asleep,ā you protest, butā whether or not you noticeā your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.
āThatās my penance,ā you say drowsily.Ā
"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you.Ā
He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over againā hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,ā he says in a tone that brokers no argument.Ā
āGreedy,ā you mumble, but both of you know it doesnāt matter.Ā
Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.
All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled inā when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.
He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But itās done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheolās, as you smilingly mumble to him, āThere. Two kisses.āĀ
His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in.Ā
You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. Youāre both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morningā there's something else to it.
He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.
āCheol,ā you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. āYouāreā mmphā being greedyāāĀ
"Fiveā" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."
One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.
Itās never a second more with Seungcheol. Heās always out the door when he can go, when he has to. Heās never been a glutton for time, and so itās enough for you to sense that something is wrong.Ā
You break away from him.Ā
Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and youāre looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. āLong week?āĀ
He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.
He glances at your faceā the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyesā and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.
"Long year," he corrects.
You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. Thisā whatever the two of you haveā itās an outlet that wonāt break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wantsā he needsā
You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesnāt always know himself. āHow do you want your fifth kiss?ā you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue.Ā
Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.
It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.
He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."
Youāre back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. Itās a kiss that lovers give each other, even though youāre the furthest from that.Ā
It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.
His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after.Ā
"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."
This time, you laugh against his mouthā a slightly muffled sound, not any less amusedā but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. āYou have to let me breathe, Cheol,ā you huff.Ā
Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.
He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.
"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.
He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but heās saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved.Ā
"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."
Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."
He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.
He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.
His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."
When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows heās gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.
It's a little addicting.
"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.
He kisses youā devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night.Ā
But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.
All it makes him do is pull you closerā press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.
He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.
Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and itās like music to his goddamn ears.Ā
He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely.Ā
A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like thatā knows what he's in for.
He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.
There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.
A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.
If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.
Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.
āSeung,ā you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. āIām going to get a noise complaint againāā
āI'll pay the fine,ā he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.
To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.
āYou can't just keep paying forā ahā the fines,ā youāre babbling. āThey're goingā t-to kick meā Seung, fuck!"
Whatever youāre trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.
The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.
"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have toā"
āJesus Christ,ā you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheolās hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. āMy neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and itās all your fault.ā
āMy fault?ā Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighborsā wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin.Ā
His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.
"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.
Of course, that adds up. You hadnāt been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he canāt blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so youāre looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face.Ā
āWanna check for yourself?ā you taunt.Ā
A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.
"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."
You give him half an eye roll thatās more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.
āHappy?ā you half-joke, your voice low.Ā
He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.
"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."
His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch lightā almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.
He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.
He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheolās gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall.Ā
He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.
His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"
āYes, please,ā you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.
He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.
His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.
He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insaneā you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.
He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.
His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habitsā a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.
Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."
He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "āM not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "āM perfectlyā hng!"
Everything is working in his favor.
You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.
"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.
This is his favorite place in the entire worldā right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.
"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"
There it is. The million won question.
The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets.Ā
You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."
That's all he wants to hear.
He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."
The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.
"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Pleaseā"Ā
When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.
He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."
"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows youāre not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to.Ā
"You know what Iā" youāre saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until youāre completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him.Ā
Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"
He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."
That thought alone makes his blood sing.
It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like thisā he's gone.
And then youāre asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"
He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.
He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"
You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear.Ā
All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication.Ā
"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and heās convinced heāll pass out then and there.Ā
"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."
He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and itās nothing short of a command.Ā
He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back.Ā
The sight of you underneath himā your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.
He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,ā he breathes.Ā
He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.
The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show oftenā that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.
He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.
You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that youāre getting from his knee. āSeung,ā you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. āPleaseā donāt wanna wait any moreāā
āWhereās all that snark now, hm?ā he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But heās not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately.Ā
"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing youāāĀ
A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. āCan we get this off already, please?ā you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts.Ā
He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.
He kicks them off once youāve yanked them down, and his handā which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse pointā feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.
Youāre looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."
"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"
Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.
But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his.Ā
He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep youāre in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words.Ā
"Ruin me, Seung."
You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.
He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.
"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minuteā"
He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing.Ā
"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.
You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.
"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."
His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and youāre gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that youāre practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because youāre too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. Youāre both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little.Ā
His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.
When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. Heās completely sheathed inside of you and youāre fluttering around him in a way thatās dangerous.Ā
āYācan move, Seung,ā you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. āAs fast and hard as you want.āĀ
You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure.Ā
"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "Iā"
His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.
You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out thatās halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheolās shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you.Ā
Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."
Your words, your voiceā it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.
He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.
It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seungā Seungcheolā Cheolā"
Yes, you're saying, yes.
Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them.Ā
It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.
You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane.Ā
"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'mā ah, fuckā Seungā"
His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. Itās a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.
He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Loveā Iā"
He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.
He's on the edge, he's there, he'sā
"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."
It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp.Ā
He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. Thereās the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.
He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. Heās weak because of you.Ā
"God," he finally manages to mutter.
He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.
His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."
You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "Youā" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."
His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. Itās a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.
A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.
"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"
Youāre a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this.Ā
Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. Itās the only answer heās going to get from you for now, it seems.Ā
He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.
"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."
His eyes opened once again to look at you.
"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."
He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.
You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.
The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.
He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.
There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow.Ā
It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normalā that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that youāll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.
But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.
He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, andā
Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.
And then things end, not really by your own accord.
The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign soundā at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling himā his phone in his discarded jeansā in the godawful middle of the night.Ā
He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.
"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"
You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."
Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.
Once heās reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"
"Hyung!"
It's Soonyoungā of course it's Soonyoungā calling.
"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."
"It's midnight, Soonyoung."Ā
You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"
Seungcheol lets out a huffā a mixture of resigned affection and irritationā at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.
But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.
"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"
You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.
"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"
He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.
Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol.Ā
"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.Ā
The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of youā his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.
"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."
You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but youāve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.
"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."
Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.
"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.
You let the words hang there for just a moment. Itās an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. Itās the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than thisābecause he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.
You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. Youāve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just⦠thought about it.
The thought never wins.
"Letās clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."
He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...
He can't think about it right now, though.
Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."
It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. Heās essentially traded one exhaustion for another.
As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "Iāll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrowās noise complaint."
"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."
His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."
Ā "Youāre not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. Itās the truthāheās not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing youāre being pulled close every so often.
When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.
"Youāre right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. āNot sorry. Not even a little.ā
He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheolās shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It couldāve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheolās phone pings with a textāsurely Soonyoung asking if heās found his headset.
Youāre the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when youāre there."
Resigned. Thatās the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."
True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoungās headset.
He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.
I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.
Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone.Ā
you're a fool. head home. take care.
A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.
He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.
He needs to head home. He needs to take care.
And heās an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one.Ā
#seungcheol x reader#choi seungcheol x reader#scoups x reader#seungcheol smut#scoups smut#seungcheol imagines#scoups imagines#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt smut#seventeen smut#( am i happy with this ? not ... entirely! but it's here! LOL )#( i think i've mentioned once before that i'm not very good at smut so this was dizzying )#( but it's also The longest svt fic i have in my drafts. i just cant be assed [yet] to beta it )#( anyway.... enjoy [???] <3 )#(š) page: svt#(š„”) notebook
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I saw this on Twitter (i forgot the @), but it really got me thinking. What would your hc be if the boys were playing the game and you were the mc? I hc that Caleb would save every "y/n laughing compilation" he comes across, rafayel would edit y/n's face on random fish and make crack edits and from his alt account he would drop the most gorgeous fanart, and for some reason I feel like sylus would use "quality time" religiously
Hi anon, thank you for sending this in ^^
I completely agree with your takes. Here is my take to compliment yours.
Rafayel: Is the undisputed Fanart King, sketching your character from every angle, in every possible outfit. If an art contest exists, he has already submitted three entries before anyone even knew it was happening. But beyond his artistic obsession, he is also the cursed glitch hoarder. While normal people would be horrified at a headless version of you appearing in-game, Rafayel takes screenshots for exclusive content, considering it a divine blessing from the tech gods. Despite his god-tier art skills, he has zero patience for level locks that force him to wait before progressing, so instead of playing at a normal pace, he rage-quits for months, then returns to binge the game in one sleepless week. His camera roll is half fanart, half stunning in-game scenery that he edits like itās going in an art gallery.
Xavier: Does not play games for casual enjoyment. He plays for answers. He is a speedrun menace, hitting the first dialogue option before the text box even fully loads. If he gets stuck, he immediately transforms into a lore-devouring beast, reading every spoiler possible just to figure out how to proceed. The only thing keeping him from fully losing his sanity is his refusal to buy premium currency, his pride dictates that he must grind every last diamond by sheer willpower alone. And so, he hoards gems like his soul depends on it, progresses at breakneck speed, and once heās finished all available content, he descends into 3 AM theory rabbit holes instead of doing something sane like, you know⦠sleeping. He probably has a color-coded spreadsheet tracking all the route impacts.
Zayne: No one would ever suspect that the infamous, critically acclaimed AO3 writer Frozen Seal, master of soul-crushing angst and tender, breathtaking romance, is actually the stoic, overworked cardiologist Zayne. His fics have a reputation for being so emotionally devastating that readers leave essays in the comments. His update schedule? Completely dictated by his hospital shifts. His authorās notes? Usually something like "Sorry, a patient coded. Will update later." Writes the most heart-wrenching, steamy romance scenes with surgical precision, leaving readers sobbing and sweating in equal measure. Has the smut writing skills of an ace author- which are god tier. Daydreams about you constantly, except when heās actively resuscitating someone (Even he has limits.)
Sylus: Sylus owns everything. Every premium outfit, every pose, every CG. His entire paycheck is funneled into this game, and no one will ever know the full extent of his power. If questioned about how he maxed out every possible feature, he simply smirks and says, āSkill issue.ā But despite single-handedly funding the dev team, he is infuriatingly secretive about his content. His in-game gallery? Locked. His premium screenshots? Hidden. Some speculate he has developers tied up in his basement feeding him exclusive content, but according to Sylus, itās simply the fruit of his labor. Strangely enough, despite having literally everything, he still has beef with the gacha system and will cuss out the algorithm if he doesnāt get his way.
Caleb: Is cursed with abysmal gacha luck, pulling three-star memories every single time without fail. He suffers, but at this point, he embraces the suffering like a tragic hero. His nights are spent watching crack compilations at 2 AM, laughing silently to himself like a man on the verge of losing his mind (he is this š¤š»close). By all accounts, he plays the game rationally until your character appears, at which point all logic is abandoned. He has every single one of Zayneās fics bookmarked, and he doesnāt just skim he analyzes them like scholarly literature, leaving long, heartfelt comments. And, of course, in the quiet solitude of his room, a freakishly realistic body pillow of you sits on his bed. If questioned? He doesnāt even blink. "Itās a limited-edition collectorās item."
#lads headcanons#love and deepspace#love and deepspace caleb#love and deepspace sylus#love and deepspace headcannon#love and deepspace x reader#rafayel x reader#caleb x reader#sylus x reader#xavier x reader#zayne x reader#fluff#role reversal au#asks
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Sooooooo excited for a SickBed Part 2 for Mouse!!!! also iām literally obsessed with your writing - i check for updates on any of ur series like all the time!! šš
That's so sweet to hear! Have something considerably less sweet! Chef's been craving some serious angst for days š
The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 2
Part one is Here!
Masterlist is Here!
ā ļø Content warning: Young sick child, descriptions of a seizure, descriptions of a hospital environment ā ļø
You're transported to the hospital after receiving several doses of anti-seizure medication for monitoring and tests. Unless he'd wanted to risk giving away their secret identities, Bruce has to act like he doesn't have access to an entire medical bay in the cave under his house, and lets them take you. Hal gets in the back of the ambulance and Bruce remains behind with his sons, shuffling tiredly into the kitchen and looking like the world is on his shoulders. It's rare that he wears his exhaustion so brazenly.
"They're stable," he announces to the room. Several pairs of shoulders un-tense, and Alfred offers him a mug of hot chocolate. His fingers curl around the handle, but he settles for cradling it while staring down into the liquid. "You can all go back to bed."
"Fuck off," Jason says, "you think any of us can go back to sleep after that?"
"Language," Alfred gently chides. "Master Bruce is right. There is little else we can do for the evening. Our young Flittermouse is in good hands, and Master Harold will alert us to any significant changes, if there are any."
"And Dick," Tim says. He's drained his cup. Bruce gives Tim his, and he takes it to keep his hands busy. "He texted me back. He's gonna meet Hal at Gotham Central."
"Thank you for telling him," Bruce says. He turns to Damian, who hasn't looked away from his own cup. "Damian? How are you fairing?"
"Fine," he says too quickly. He grimaces and tries again. "I am just fine. Merely surprised the illness turned this bad."
Surprised is the understatement of the century. You're alive, you're in good hands, but he can't get the image of you foaming out the mouth and jerking uncontrollably out of his mind. He can't stop hearing you choking and gasping for oxygen. He can't stop thinking about how you might be dead right now if he hadn't listened to his gut and checked on you.
You might be dead right now if he hadn't checked on you. Surrounded by a family of vigilantes who had been none the wiser.
"I want to go to the hospital," he says suddenly. "I know you won't permit me to drive, so someone else needs to take me there. Now, preferably."
Bruce rests a hand on Damian's shoulder. "You did your part, son. You got help and they're gonna be okay. You don't have to ā"
"I'm sorry," Damian says, "I don't know why I phrased it like a request. I need to get to the hospital, so I can either be driven there or find my own way."
There's silence for a minute. Damian sits still while wordless conversation is exchanged with everyone else at the table. For a brief moment, he feels like the baby of the family again.
He almost would have reclaimed that title if he hadn't found you ā
A hairline crack appears in his mug. He stands from his seat and Bruce's grip on his shoulder briefly gets tighter.
"I'll take you," Bruce says. "Pack a Go Bag and meet me in the driveway in ten minutes."
"I'll be there in four," Damian replies, heading off. He fetches a change of clothes, his sketchbook, a phone charger, and swings by your room to grab the plush bat you sleep with in your bed.
--
Dick is sitting in a stiff plastic chair in the emergency room lobby, dressed in a thick hoodie, sweats, and a baseball cap to avoid getting any excessive attention at three in the morning. He won't stop chewing on his thumbnail when Damian walks in and kicks his leg.
"Report," he demands.
"Hello to you, too, baby bird," Dick mumbles. He tips his head up just enough to be able to make eye contact under the lip of his hat.
"I'm growing very tired of repeating myself in this family," Damian hisses. Dick sits up fully at that and sighs.
"They stopped seizing," he explains. "Haven't woken up yet, so they're in an observation room getting some blood drawn and being prepped for an MRI. Only one family member's allowed back at a time, so Hal is with them."
"Tell him to switch me places," Damian demands. "I don't have his number."
"You're gonna put it in your contacts after this," Dick says. A statement, not a question. Damian nods solemnly. "Good. I'll text him."
Damian sinks into the chair beside Dick and sets his bag on the ground, digging out his cellphone. He takes a peek at the group chat he's in with his brothers, scrolling through more recent messages talking about your upcoming birthday, and whether or not you're turning old enough to get a cellphone of your own. Bruce insists a seven-year-old will not need one, but everyone has been collaborating on a PowerPoint presentation to show Bruce all the points in favor of it.
All of Dick's points have just been "I can ask for selfies any time," and all of Jason's have just been "I'll finally have a reason to use my own if I can call Mousey whenever I want," so it's largely been Damian and Tim coming up with points that might actually sway Bruce.
He scrolls further back in the chat history in lieu of anything else to do, stopping to look at any pictures each brother has exchanged. A new book series Jason took interest in. An article about high tension wires Tim shared. Lots and lots of selfies from Dick. God, his eldest brother's picture should be in the dictionary next to Vanity. An article featuring Dick on the cover of Vanity Fair.
He's about to close out of the chat when he spots a picture Jason sent about two weeks ago of you. You're outside in the Manor gardens and clearly asleep in a patch of sunflowers, likely having worn yourself out playing. The sky in the background is clear for once, and the sun is just starting to set, which means the flowers are starting to turn to the next brightest source of light.
They're all facing you.
The framing is impeccable. It's a beautifully-captured, candid moment, likely taken seconds before Jason descended and woke you up with a surprise tickle ambush, as he tends to do when he finds any sibling napping somewhere, the bastard.
Damian makes it his lock screen, then pockets his phone and waits there in silence with his brother.
--
You're sleeping when Damian finally gets to see you again. Hal relented to switching places with him, knowing he would find his way to you regardless of his answer, so he didn't put up any fight.
He stands quietly in the observation room the entire two hours it takes to run all your scans, then follows the nurses as you're wheeled into a room and hooked up to some fluids and a heart rate monitor. They tell him that you're not likely to wake for at least a few more hours, but he's adamant that he's to stay at your side.
When he's alone, he snags your charts and looks them over, using his limited medical knowledge to glean as much as he can from the report. As far as he can tell your brain is fine, which is the biggest relief, but he's still going to grab a nurse and make them explain the parts he doesn't understand to him so that he can get the whole picture.
Damian digs your bat plushy out of his bag and gingerly tucks it under one of your arms. Your skin is pale and clammy when he makes contact with it, and he scowls.
"If you get any worse, I'll be livid," he tells your unconscious body. "Stop scaring your family. It's unbecoming of a Wayne."
You, understandably, don't respond. Damian watches your chest move smoothly up and down, watches the monitor display your heart rate, but he still keeps a hand around your wrist to track himself. The tangible proof of life helps settle the deep anxiety in his chest.
"I mean it," he mutters, "if you develop some kind of complication, or seize again, or d ā"
He grits his teeth and shoves away the surge of panic that threatens to overwhelm him. Breathes slowly and deeply. Moves his hand from your wrist to lace your fingers together with his, squeezing tightly.
"The thought should never have crossed my mind. You simply have to get better," he says, factual. "You don't have a choice, even if I have to give up my mantle to...hnn."
Damian falls silent as he looks at you. An idea forms in his mind, blooming quickly. Roots take shape and travel down his spine, until they find a home in his chest and curl around his heart. He's hit with a wave of certainty he's never felt before in his life.
He messages the group chat with his brothers, sending a singular text, then digs out his sketchbook and a pen with one hand while he continues to hold onto yours.
Damian to All: I want to go to medical school.
--
You awaken with a massive headache. It's bright and hot and you're terribly dizzy. You're confused, knowing you went to sleep last night in your large, dark bedroom, with silky sheets and your stuffy, but now you're lying in a tiny cot with one scratchy sheet and being blinded by the overhead light.
"Daddy," you try to call out, but your throat is hoarse and you start coughing. It feels like you've swallowed a box of knives. Something squeezes your hand and you feel a palm against your forehead. "D-...D..."
"You're safe. Breathe as slowly as you can. I'm going to sit the bed up."
The voice is familiar. You squint blearily in the light and can just barely make out your brother's face.
"D-Dami?" You croak, wheezing for breath.
"Yes, Flit, it's me," he says. Once you're more or less upright, he briefly leans across you. "Pardon the reach. I'm going to put a cup of water in your free hand. Drink it very slowly."
You fumble with the cup. Damian helps you hold it, and you take small sips. It doesn't soothe the stinging in your throat, but he looks so uncharacteristically worried for you that you just keep drinking the water until it's empty.
"How do you feel?" He asks.
"Bad," you mumble. "Where are we?"
"Gotham Central Hospital." Damian puts the empty cup aside and sits down in the chair next to your bed. He still hasn't let go of your hand. "Your illness took a bad turn, and you had a seizure last night. Doctors brought you here to make you better."
"Oh. Am I better now?"
"Not yet." Damian grabs the clipboard with your information on it and glances over it again. "We know that you have severe viral pneumonia, but it's not lobar or interstitial like I thought. I suspect your seizure isn't part of the original problem, just a manifestation...of...um."
Damian stops talking when he notices your confusion. You scrunch your nose and give him a helpless frown.
"I don't know what that means," you say softly. You look absolutely devastated. "Am I gonna die?"
Damian's heart leaps into his throat. He squeezes your hand almost painfully tight and stands from his chair, leaning over you with wide eyes. The green in his irises almost seem to flash, like Jason's when he's extremely angry.
"No," he says fiercely, saying your name with a shakiness you've never heard before. "You will not die. I won't let it come to that."
You stare back at him, sniffling.
"Promise?"
"I promise. I swear it."
You relax a little. "Okay. I trust you, Dami."
Your brother's face does a strange twist. It looks like his eyes start to get shiny, but he leans down and rests his head against your shoulder before you can really find out. He smells like home, instead of the weird, chemically-clean scent of the hospital room, which is comforting.
His arms come around you in a gentle hug. You lift your hands and reciprocate as best as you can, limbs feeling like jelly. It's nice. Damian doesn't hug you very often, so you do your best to savor it. When he pulls away, his expression is carefully neutral and closed off again. He sits back down and resumes holding your hand.
"Father and Timothy are in the waiting room, if you'd like to see them," he says, checking his phone. His notifications have been flooded with questions from his brothers (and demands for pictures from Dick, for some reason. You're sick, not posing for a photoshoot). He brings up his dial pad, ready to call whomever you want.
"Yeah," you nod, desperate for comfort from more of your family. You don't like the bright hospital room. You hope having more people around will make it less eerie.
Damian rings Bruce without fanfare and tells him your room number, then hangs up again. He goes to stand, about to leave the room, but you tighten your grip on his hand before he can slip away.
"Stay?" You ask quietly.
He sits back down instantly, brows raised. You don't spend much time with Damian, considerably less than you do with your other brothers, but he seems taken aback by you seeming to enjoy his company just as much as the others'.
"Yes," he says, voice whisper-soft, "I'll stay with you."
You give him a tired smile. Then your ears start ringing and your vision whites out. The last thing you hear before losing consciousness is Damian's frantic cry of your name.
#littlest wayne au#batfam x reader#damian wayne#bruce wayne#jason todd#platonic batfam#gn reader#angst#tim drake
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KNOCKOUT (001)
āøŗ Ż ą¹ Synopsis : ź£
Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.
āøŗ Ż ą¹ Characters : ź£ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N
āøŗ Ż ą¹ Chapters: 1/?
āøŗ Ż ą¹ Trigger warnings : ź£ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas
āøŗ Ż ą¹ Other warnings : ź£ grammatical errors.
āøŗ Ż ą¹ Author's Note: ź£ So, again, I am back at it. Completely fictional.
I donāt look in mirrors if I can help it.
I glanceānever stare. I avoid reflections like theyāre landmines, each one threatening to detonate everything Iāve worked so hard to bury.
I pull my hoodie tighter around myself as I walk down the hall of my apartment building. Even though itās warm out, I keep it on. I always keep it on. Oversized, black, long-sleevedāmy version of armor. Fabric that hides the parts of me I hate the most.
Which is basically all of me.
My thighs touch when I walk. My arms jiggle when I reach for things. My stomach⦠donāt get me started. Every inch of me feels wrong, and no matter how many times people say things like "beauty comes in all sizes," I can still hear the laughter from the girls in middle school locker rooms. I can still feel their eyes on me. Judging. Mocking.
I learned early that boys only look at girls like me when it's a jokeāor a dare. So, I donāt let them. I keep my head down, earphones in, and move like Iām invisible.
Itās safer that way.
I fake normal better than most. Smiles when Iām supposed to. Laughs at the right moments. I even let my mom believe Iām doing "so much better" lately.
She wouldnāt notice either way. Sheās too busy.
She works fifteen hours a day and answers my texts with thumbs up emojis or, if Iām lucky, a "K." I get it. Sheās trying to keep us afloat. But sometimes I think she works that much so she doesnāt have to come home.
Canāt say I blame her.
My dad is... well, heās usually passed out almost every time I visit them. His breath smells like cheap whiskey and bad decisions. He tells me Iām beautiful sometimesāslurred, half-sincereābut only after his third drink. And the next morning he doesnāt remember saying anything at all.
I hate that I still want him to mean it.
No one knows how I eat in secret. How I wait until everyoneās asleep to tiptoe into the kitchen and stuff myself until I can barely breathe. Chips, cereal, cookiesāwhatever I can find. Itās not even about the food. Itās about silence. About filling something inside me that always feels empty.
Then comes the shame. The guilt. The promise to do better tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes.
People think being fat is a choice. Like I woke up and decided to hate myself. Like I donāt already know what every calorie means. Like I havenāt stood in dressing rooms, numb and silent, while my mom said, āYou just need a little more discipline.ā
If she only knew.
But she doesnāt. No one does.
And thatās how I survive. By hiding the real me. By locking away every ugly thought and pretending I'm okay. Itās exhaustingābut Iām good at it.
I finally curled up In my bed, wrapped in the same blanket Iāve had since high schoolāfrayed at the edges, soft from too many washes. The TV was on, playing some show Iāve already watched three times over. Something comforting. Familiar. The kind where characters have perfect lives, perfect friends, and perfect bodies. The kind where no one ever breaks down crying because they canāt zip up their jeans.
I mindlessly shove popcorn into my mouth, even though Iām not really hungry. I just need something to do with my hands. That, and I donāt know how to exist in silence.
Outside, life moves. People laugh, date, go out for coffee and brunch and spin class. I watch it all through the filtered lens of social media, like Iām peeking through a window at a party I wasnāt invited to.
But the truth is... I donāt want to go.
Not really.
Being outside is exhausting. People are exhausting. The stares, the judgmentāeven the polite ones, the forced smiles, the awkward glances that say "I see you, but I donāt want to."
Iād rather sit here, in the stillness of my own space, where no one expects anything from me. Where I donāt have to suck in my stomach or pull down my shirt every time I stand up.
Unless she visits.
My best friend, Vicky. The only one whoās ever stuck around long enough to see all my ugly truths and not run for the hills. Unfortunately she lives two hours away. We talk every day thoātext, memes, random voice notes that trail off mid-sentence because we always know what the other means. But when she visits? Thatās when I pretend, just for a night, that Iām someone else.
Someone better.
Weāll pour a glass of cheap wine and sit on the floor like weāre still seventeen. Sheāll blast music we used to love and Iāll let my hair down, throw on a slightly-too-tight dress I usually hide in the back of my closet, and for a few hours, Iāll play the part.
Iāll laugh too loud. Iāll talk too fast. Iāll flirt with the mirror and call myself a bad bitch even though I donāt believe a word of it.
Itās not real, but itās fun to pretend.
Sometimes we go outāto a bar or a lounge or some half-dead pub that plays throwbacksāand Iāll catch a man looking my way. And for a second, Iāll feel like maybe... maybe this time is different.
But it never is.
They smile. Then hesitate. Then give me mixed signals that make my head spin. One moment, itās flirty texts and compliments. The next, itās radio silence or a sudden ghosting like I imagined the whole thing.
I used to blame myself. Still do, if Iām being honest.
Maybe Iām not pretty enough. Maybe they didnāt like how my body looked up close. Maybe they thought I was funāuntil they realized I came with baggage.
They say Iām āhard to read,ā but they never bother to learn the language.
Now, I donāt expect anything. I donāt chase, and I definitely donāt hope. Hope is a cruel thing when youāve been fed disappointment your whole life.
So I stay here.
Buried in the comfort of my bed. With my blanket and my snacks and my fake little world where I donāt have to feel like a mistake.
And honestly?
Sometimes, it feels like the only place I truly belong.
Some nights, the silence feels like itās screaming.
Tonight is one of those nights.
The TV is still on, playing something meaningless. Just noise to drown out the thoughts. But it doesnāt work. It never really does. The thoughts always find their way back ināslipping through the cracks like cold air under a door.
I donāt even know when I started crying. My eyes just feel heavy, and my chest aches like Iāve been holding my breath for hours.
I sit there, knees hugged to my chest, tears rolling quietly, silently. Because thatās the only way I know how to break downāalone. Always alone.
I wish I could explain this feeling. This tightness. This numb, dull throb of sadness that doesnāt go away. Itās not just about my body, though thatās a part of it. Itās the loneliness. The kind that makes the world feel like itās moving on without you. Like youāre stuck behind glass, watching everyone else live while you just... exist.
People talk about love like itās this magical thing. Like it just happens. Eye contact across a room. Sparks. Butterflies. Hands brushing and souls colliding.
Iāve never had that. I donāt even know what it feels like to be touched by someone who wanted to stay. Who wanted me. Not some idea of me. Not some mask I wear to get through the day. The real me.
And Godādonāt even get me started on sex.
Everyone acts like itās supposed to be this beautiful thing. Passionate. Intimate. But for me? It feels terrifying. Not just because of my bodyāthough that fear is always there, a weight pressing down on meābut because letting someone that close means showing them everything I try so hard to hide. The scars. The stretch marks. The parts of me I canāt fix.
The parts of me Iāve learned to keep locked up.
Sometimes I wonder if Iām even capable of being loved. Like maybe I was born with something missing. Or maybe Iām too much. Too broken. Too guarded. Too something.
Would anyone ever actually stay, if they saw all of me?
The depression makes it worse. It lies to me. Tells me Iām unworthy. That Iām hard to love. That Iām destined to always be someoneās maybe, someoneās almost. The girl whoās good for conversation but never good enough to hold.
And the worst part? Some days, I believe it.
I hate how much I crave affection, even though Iām terrified of it. I hate that I want someone to hold me and kiss my forehead and tell me Iām safe, but I wouldnāt know how to accept it if they did. My body would flinch, my mind would panic, and Iād probably ruin everything before it even began.
Because thatās what I do. I ruin things.
And then I cry about it in the dark, wondering whatās wrong with me.
I wrap the blanket tighter around me and bury my face in my arms. My tears come harder now, not quiet anymore. Ugly sobs that make my throat burn. I wish I could scream. I wish I could tear it all out of meāthe pain, the shame, the fear.
I just want to be held. Not for how I look. Not for what I offer. But for who I am.
All of me.
Even the messy, haunted parts.
Even the parts I donāt know how to love myself.
But maybe thatās a lot to ask.
Maybe no oneās coming.
Maybe Iām all Iāll ever have.
-
Friday night.
The clock on my screen blinks 6:01 PM, and just like that, my shift ends.
Another day of smiling through gritted teeth, typing out canned responses to strangers who think ācustomer supportā means āemotional punching bag.ā My fingers are sore, my eyes ache, and I have exactly zero energy left to pretend to be a functioning adult.
I close my laptop and sigh, rolling my neck until it cracks. My apartment is dim, lit only by the fading orange glow of sunset bleeding through the blinds. I consider changing into pajamas and crawling under a blanket burrito-style. Itās what I usually do on Fridays. My little reward for surviving the week. Thank God I was a home office or else Iād be definitely drained at the office.
Then I hear it.
Knocking.
Sharp, insistent, like the sound of someone who knows youāre home.
I freeze. Iām not expecting anyone.
Another knock.
I drag myself to the door, hoodie still on, hair a mess, socks mismatchedāclassic me. I open it cautiously, peeking through the crack.
And there she is.
āSurprise, bitch,ā Vicky grins, arms wide like sheās just delivered the winning lotto ticket.
Right behind her stands Trevor, tall and unbothered, holding a paper bag that smells suspiciously like garlic bread. He nods at me like weāve just seen each other yesterday, even though itās been months.
āWhat the hellāā I blink. āYou guys didnāt tell me you were coming!ā
āThatās what makes it a surprise,ā Vicky smirks, pushing past me into the apartment like she owns the place. āAlso, we know youād say no if we warned you.ā
Sheās not wrong.
Trevor chuckles as he walks in behind her. āHey, Y/N. We brought food. Donāt yell at us.ā
I just shake my head, trying not to smile too hard. Itās impossible with these two.
Vicky and Trevor have been together for five years now. They met onlineāsome obscure Reddit thread about mental health turned into DMs, which turned into phone calls, which turned into a weekend meetup that never really ended.
Sheās a psychologist, whip-smart with a razor-sharp tongue and a heart of gold. Heās an IT guy, quiet and patient, the kind of man who listens more than he talks and somehow always knows when you need space... or a hug.
Theyāre that annoying kind of couple that actually worksāthe kind that finishes each otherās sentences and still giggles at inside jokes no one else gets. Itās weird seeing that kind of emotional intimacy up close. Beautiful, but also kind of brutal.
Because deep down, I want it.
That connection. That safety. That soft, quiet love that doesnāt disappear at the first sign of mess.
And it hurtsājust a littleābecause a part of me still believes Iāll never have it.
āYouāre staring again,ā Vicky teases from the couch. āAre you mentally writing fanfiction about us?ā
I roll my eyes, laughing despite the lump in my throat. āNo, Iām just wondering how two socially awkward nerds made it work.ā
Trevor winks. āMagic and memes.ā
āAnd therapy,ā Vicky adds, tossing a cushion at him. āLots of therapy.ā
We eat. We talk. We laughāreally laugh, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. For a moment, I forget about everything else. My body. My fears. My loneliness. It all fades under the glow of garlic knots and sarcastic banter.
Until Vicky suddenly looks at me with a mischievous glint in her eye.
āWeāre going out,ā she says.
I blink. āOut where?ā
She stands, brushing crumbs off her jeans. āItās a surprise.ā
Trevor groans playfully. āGod help us all.ā
I hesitate. My instinct is to say no. Iām not dressed for āout.ā Iām not mentally prepared. My anxiety starts bubbling upābut Vicky grabs my hand before I can retreat.
āTrust me,ā she says, softer now. āYou need this.ā
I swallow hard, nod slowly, and let her pull me to my feet.
-
An hour later, weāre walking down a narrow alley lit by a single flickering bulb. The sound of bass and shouting grows louder with every step. The building looks like an abandoned warehouse, tagged up and half-brokenābut there's a bouncer at the door and people going in like it's nothing.
āWhat is this?ā I ask, narrowing my eyes.
āYouāll see,ā Vicky smirks. āJust⦠keep an open mind.ā
I glance at Trevor. He just shrugs and smiles, which tells me nothing.
We walk ināand the moment we do, the world shifts.
Itās hot. Loud. Electric. The air is thick with sweat, adrenaline, and tension. People crowd around a caged ring in the center of the room, shouting, cheering, drinks sloshing in their hands.
A fight is happening. An actual underground fight.
āWhat the hell, Vick?ā I whisper, stunned.
The air hits me like a punch.
Heat. Sweat. Noise.
A crowd of bodies packed like sardines, all facing the makeshift cage in the center. The shouting is relentless, echoing off concrete walls, drowning out my thoughts. People are laughing, jeering, spilling drinks. Some are on tables. Some are barely dressed. Every part of it screams get out.
Vicky turns back and says over the noise, āTrust me. You need this. Itās good for your mental health.ā
I shoot her a look. āYou dragged me to a fight club for my mental health?ā
She grins, unfazed. āYou live in your head too much. This place? It pulls you out. Itās raw. Real. No filters. No fakeness. You just feel everything, whether you want to or not.ā
I open my mouth to argue but the words stick. Because as chaotic as this place is, I can already feel the numbness cracking. Not in a good wayāmore like being ripped out of a too-warm blanket and thrown into a blizzard.
I tug my oversized hoodie tighter around myself, the sleeves swallowing my hands. My skin feels too exposed, like people are looking at me even when they arenāt. Iām not dressed for this. Iām not ready for this.
I did shower before we left, thank God. But even that small self-care win canāt calm the panic twisting in my gut now.
Overcrowded places make my skin crawl. Iāve never liked loud spaces, or too many people talking over each other, or being somewhere I canāt make a quick escape from.
Itās too much.
I scan the room, my eyes flicking from face to face. Most people here are loud, confident, half-drunk or fully fearless. Girls in tight dresses, guys in muscle shirts and tattoos, people laughing like this is a Friday night comedy show and not two men bleeding into the floor.
And then thereās me.
Tucked into the corner. Hiding. Heart racing. Wondering why the hell I agreed to this.
āVick,ā I say, leaning closer to her so she can hear me. āI donāt think I belong here.ā
She turns, her face softer now. āYou do. Just breathe.ā
But how can I?
Every step into this place feels like walking deeper into someone elseās life. Someone who isnāt afraid. Someone who belongs in their skin. Not like me. I shrink without even realizing itāshoulders curling in, body trying to disappear into the folds of my hoodie. My safe zone.
I donāt want to be here.
I donāt want anyone to look at me.
But at the same time⦠some twisted part of me does.
Just once, I want to be the girl someone notices.
And I hate myself for it.
āJust give it a minute,ā Trevor says gently, voice like a low anchor in the storm. āYou might surprise yourself.ā
But I donāt want to surprise myself. I want to be back home, curled up in silence, not vibrating from the bass of a place that smells like blood and beer.
StillāI donāt leave.
Because as much as I hate this, as much as I want to run, thereās something about this space that feels important. Like Iām on the edge of something.
Even if I donāt know what.
Suddenly, the crowd erupts louder than beforeācheers, screams, a few scattered boos. Everyone turns their attention to the ring as a man climbs through the ropes.
A voice booms from the crackling speakers overhead, broken slightly by static but loud enough to cut through everything.
āIn this corner, we got the reigning champ of the Southside pits⦠undefeated in seventeen fights, no tap-outs, no knockoutsāonly carnage. You know him. You fear him. Put your hands together for THIAAAGOOOOO!ā
And thatās when I see him.
Thiago.
He steps fully into the ringāand my heart stalls.
Heās massive.
Tallāat least six foot fiveābuilt like a mountain, shoulders so broad they look like they could crush skulls. His skin is littered with scars, some healed into thick ridges, others fresher and angry red. A jagged one runs across his collarbone like a warning sign.
Heās bald, his head gleaming under the overhead lights, and his faceāGod, his faceāit looks carved from stone. Cold, emotionless. A sharp jaw, a crooked nose thatās clearly been broken more than once, and dark eyes full of fury.
Heās not just a fighter. He looks like heās made for war.
And heās terrifying.
My stomach flips. My body stiffens. I take a half-step back without thinking.
āHoly fuckā I mutter, clutching my hoodie like itās a shield. āThis is insane. That guy looks like he eats souls for breakfast.ā
Vicky doesnāt respond right away. Sheās watching the ring with a curious glint in her eye. Trevorās more stoic, but even he looks a little tense now.
Thiago circles the ring like a predator, chest rising slowly, eyes scanning the crowd like heās daring someone to challenge him next. He radiates dangerāpure, undiluted rage wrapped in muscle.
āHeās one of the best here,ā Vicky finally says. āOr the worst, depending on how you look at it.ā
āHe looks like he could snap someone in half,ā I whisper.
āHe has,ā Trevor says casually. Too casually.
My hands start to sweat.
Why are we here?
Why did Vicky think this was good for me?
My anxietyās climbing fast. My heart wonāt slow down, and my breath is catching in my throat. I donāt belong here. I donāt belong anywhere near people like him.
Just being in the same room as that kind of angerāraw, visible, unfilteredāit makes my skin crawl. It reminds me of my dad on a bad night. It reminds me of yelling behind closed doors. Of breaking things that donāt heal. Of fear you canāt explain to anyone.
I canāt tear my eyes away, though. Even as my body begs me to.
Because thereās something about him that feels like a mirrorāsharpened, brutal, broken.
And maybe thatās the scariest part.
The refereeās voice cracks through the mic again, pulling the attention of the crowd back toward the entrance ramp. People around me start shifting with excitementāsome chanting already, others leaning forward, trying to get a better view.
āAnd in this cornerā¦ā the announcer growls with theatrical flair, āā¦the one youāve been waiting for. The wildcard. The Ghost of the East Ring. Heās fast, heās vicious, and he doesnāt say muchābut when he moves, you listen. Give it up forāJUNGKOOK!ā
The lights dim just slightly. Smokeāreal or fake, I canāt tellāfloods in at the entrance. Then he steps out.
And everything slows.
Heās smaller than Thiago, yeah. Not small, just⦠more compact. But somehow his presence fills the room in a different way. Controlled chaos. Stillness before a storm. His body is lean but powerfulātattooed arms flexing under the flickering warehouse lights as he casually rolls one shoulder, then the other.
A black wet mullet hangs across his forehead and brushes against the nape of his neck, damp with sweat or maybe water poured over him before walking out. His dark eyes flick across the crowdāslow, methodicalālike heās searching for something or someone specific.
When his gaze sweeps past me, I freeze.
He doesnāt pause. Doesnāt even notice me. But for a second, I feel⦠seen.
Then itās gone.
He climbs into the ring like heās done this a thousand times. Calm. Efficient. No flashy entrances or chest-beating bravado. Just quiet readiness.
Unlike Thiagoāwho still paces like a caged beastāJungkook stands still in his corner, bouncing lightly on his feet, head down, breathing slow. Controlled. Poised.
A storm in waiting.
āWhatās his deal?ā I mutter, frowning as I watch him from under my hood.
Vicky grins. āThatās Jungkook. He doesnāt talk much, but he moves like poetry.ā
Trevor nods. āHeās fast. Thiago hates him.ā
āWhy?ā
āHe canāt catch him,ā Trevor says with a half-smile. āAnd when he tries, he gets hit. Hard.ā
The bell hasnāt rung yet, but the energy in the room is shifting. The crowd is buzzing, already leaning forward in anticipation. Two men. Two energies. One unhinged rage, the other ice-cold focus.
And Iām standing there in the shadows, heart pounding, watching it unfold like itās all some dream I donāt belong in.
But I canāt look away from Jungkook.
Thereās something about himāquiet, deadly, beautiful in a way that shouldnāt belong in a place like this. Like heās made of sharp edges and unspoken things.
And I have no idea why heās making my chest feel like this.
The moment the bell rings, everything changes.
Jungkook and Thiago explode into motion at the same time, their bodies colliding with a sickening thud as the crowd roars around us. The sound is deafening, a mass of screaming voices and wild excitement. I canāt take my eyes off them. The chaos, the violence, the raw powerāit feels like itās coming at me in waves.
Thiago lunges first, furious and relentless. His fists are like battering rams, crashing into Jungkookās body, and the crowd is losing it, egging Thiago on. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sickening, and I feel a rush of uneaseānausea swirling in my stomach.
But then, Jungkook moves.
Itās so fast, so fluid, that I barely register what happens until Thiagoās momentum is thrown off. Jungkook ducks under his next punch, a move so smooth itās like watching someone glide through water. He weaves out of the way, and then, like a snake striking, his fist connects with Thiagoās jaw with a crack that echoes through the room.
Thiago stumbles back, and the crowd goes wild. Thiago roars in frustration, lunging againābut this time, Jungkookās ready. His footwork is impeccable, always staying just out of reach, and every time Thiago throws a punch, Jungkook dodges it like heās reading Thiagoās mind.
And then, in an instantāJungkook moves in, faster than I can process. He shifts, gets in close, and with one sharp, devastating blow to Thiagoās midsection, he drives his opponent to the mat. The crowd gasps.
Thiago struggles to get back up, but itās no use. Jungkook moves in again, his body like a machine, precision in every movement. With a calculated swing, Jungkook lands another hitāthis one to Thiagoās head.
Thiago falls.
The crowd goes wild, a tidal wave of cheers and screams as Thiago is knocked out cold. Jungkook stands over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. His nose is bloodied, but his eyes are laser-focused, scanning the crowd as he stands tall, shoulders heaving, sweat glistening across his skin. Heās breathless, but thereās no sign of slowing down.
The referee steps in, holding up Jungkookās arm.
āWinner!ā he shouts into the microphone, his voice drowned out by the roar of the crowd. āJungkook!ā
My breath catches in my throat as I watch Jungkook stand there, still and proud, despite the blood smeared across his face. He doesnāt celebrate like Thiago would haveāno shout of triumph, no cocky grin. He just stands there, like this is exactly where he was meant to be.
Iām still frozen in place when the crowd starts to quiet down, and my eyes move to Vicky.
āHow do you know these two?ā I ask, still watching Jungkook as he wipes the blood from his nose, catching his breath. āYouāve been here before, right?ā
Vicky glances at me, her eyes flashing with something I canāt quite place. āIn my four years of studying psychology here? Yeah. Iāve been to this place three times. Every time, Iāve seen Jungkook win.ā
My brow furrows. āThree times?ā
Vicky shrugs, leaning in to make herself heard over the fading buzz of the crowd. āJungkook doesnāt lose. Ever. And not just here, either. Heās been in the underground circuit for a while now. He doesnāt talk much, but the guyās a machine. Everyone here knows that.ā
Iām still staring at Jungkook. The blood on his face doesnāt make him look weakāit makes him look⦠stronger. Like the fight is a part of him, something embedded in his bones. The way he carries himselfāthe way he movesāitās like thereās nothing in the world that could touch him.
Heās not just a fighter. Heās something else.
I try to push the feeling down, the one stirring in my chest, but itās there. Something about him pulls at me.
āHeās scary,ā I whisper, though the words donāt feel like they fit the way Iām feeling. Itās more than fear. Itās something like⦠awe. And maybe a little envy.
āScary?ā Vicky laughs. āNah. Heās a fighter. And trust me, if you ever find yourself in his corner, youāll know exactly why people respect him.ā
I donāt answer. My mind is too wrapped up in the image of him standing in the ringābarely breathing, bloodied, but still unshaken.
Iām about to turn away and find a quiet corner to collect my thoughts when a sharp pang hits my stomach.
I canāt ignore it.
āVickyā¦ā I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. āWhereās the bathroom?ā
Vicky doesnāt even look at me, still watching the ring as the crowd starts to thin. She gestures to the far side of the room, near the back exit. āDown that hall, last door on the left.ā
I nod quickly and make my way through the maze of bodies and noise, feeling like Iām moving through a fog. I donāt care whatās going on around meāI just need to get some space, somewhere I can breathe and not feel so⦠exposed.
The hallway is dim, the walls dirty and covered in old graffiti. I find the door easily enough. But when I push it open, my stomach drops.
Thereās no sign for male or female. Just a simple bathroom with no distinction.
Great.
I freeze for a moment, standing in the doorway. I can hear people in the bathroomāvoices. Laughter. But Iām not sure if theyāre men or women, and the last thing I want is to stumble into a situation where Iām forced to confront anything uncomfortable. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears.
Thereās a stall at the far end, empty.
Without thinking twice, I rush in, lock the door behind me, and press my back to the cool metal of the stall. The air feels thick again, like itās closing in around me, and I force myself to take slow, steady breaths, in and out.
But itās not enough.
The panic is risingāfast. My hands start to shake, my chest tightens. I try to block it out, but the air feels suffocating, too thick, too hot. I can hear the muffled sound of footsteps and the low murmur of voices from the other side of the bathroom.
Just breathe. Itās fine. Youāre fine.
But Iām not.
The panic is already clawing at my throat when the door to the bathroom swings open. Two women walk in, their voices high-pitched and giggly. I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay as still as possible, praying they wonāt notice me.
āOh my God, did you see Jungkook out there?ā One of them says, her voice dripping with excitement.
āYesss!ā the other responds, laughing. āI was like, wowāhow is he so hot? Like, heās got that whole dangerous vibe, you know?ā
āTotally,ā the first one giggles again. āI would literally do anything to be with him. I donāt care if heās a fighter. He can take me down anytime.ā
My stomach twists. I close my eyes, feeling the heat rush to my face. This is exactly what I hate. This feeling of being on the outside, the feeling of not being the one theyāre talking about. Not being the one that someone notices.
āCan you imagine how good he must be in bed? I bet heās rough,ā the second woman whispers with a smirk. āLike, you know, heās got that energy. He could probably have any girl he wants. Hell, heās probably had every girl heās ever looked at.ā
My heart stops. My hands are trembling against the cold stall door, but I canāt bring myself to leave. I canāt seem to move. The words echo in my ears, over and over, and I want to scream.
Why does this bother me so much? Why does this hurt?
I canāt understand it.
I want to run out of here. I want to disappear. I want to get away from the laughing, the whispered thoughts about Jungkook, about how heās someone they can haveāsomeone they want.
For a second, I wonder if Iāll ever be wanted like that. If anyone will ever look at me the way these girls are looking at Jungkook.
Stop.
I breathe in deeply, trying to steady myself again. My fingers are cold and clammy as I grasp the edge of the toilet paper dispenser. The walls of the stall feel like theyāre closing in on me, but I force myself to stay still. I have to. If I move, itāll make everything worse.
The last thing I need is for them to hear my panic, my heavy breathing, my brokenness.
The girls continue talking, oblivious to me in my corner.
āGod, Iām so jealous,ā the first girl sighs, ābut I bet Iād die if he even looked at me.ā
āYou think heād go for a girl like us?ā the second one snickers. āDoubt it. Heās probably all about the hot, fit girls. You know the type.ā
The conversation continues as if Iām not even here, and I can feel the sting of their words, even though I try to push them down.
He doesnāt want girls like us.
The thought slips out before I can stop it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesnāt make the hurt go away.
I wait for what feels like forever, the girlsā laughter and giggling fading as they finally leave the bathroom. Their footsteps echo down the hallway, their voices growing softer with each step. The silence that follows feels too loud, too heavy.
I take a few more slow breaths, trying to steady myself. The panic is ebbing, though the tightness in my chest lingers. Youāre okay. Itās over. Just get out of here.
I wipe my clammy hands on the sides of my jeans and push open the stall door. My legs feel weak, unsteady, as I step out into the dim hallway, my heart still hammering in my chest.
Just get to the door.
I make my way toward the exit, trying to ignore the lingering heaviness in my chest. But as I round the corner, Iām blindsided by a sharp collision.
āOof!ā The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. I stumble back, my phone slipping from my hand and hitting the floor with a hard thud.
I immediately bend down, scrambling to pick it up. My face flushes with embarrassment, my hands shaking as I retrieve the phone, fingers fumbling for a moment as I focus too much on my own awkwardness.
āIām so sorry,ā I stammer, voice barely above a whisper as I stand up, still feeling the warmth of my cheeks. My eyes instinctively dart to the floor, avoiding any kind of eye contact. The last thing I need is for someone to see how flustered I am. Especially not after all those words in the bathroom, all those thoughts swimming in my mind.
Then I hear a low chuckle.
I freeze. My stomach lurches, the breath in my lungs catches.
No way.
I look upāand there he is.
Jungkook.
Heās standing in front of me, his presence almost overwhelming. Heās no longer in the fighting gear, but even in casual clothes, he still carries that intimidating aura. His shirt is loose, sleeves rolled up to show off his tattooed arms, and his black jeans sit low on his hips. His black mullet hangs a little messy, slightly wet from sweat or maybe water.
But what catches my attention firstāwhat makes my stomach twistāis his face.
Bruises. Dark, angry purple bruises marking his cheekbone, a cut across his lip, and his noseāstill swollen and bleeding slightly. The aftermath of the fight. But even with all that, thereās something so⦠captivating about him. Like a storm you canāt look away from.
I feel my heart pounding harder, my palms slick. Every insecurity Iāve ever had seems to slam into my chest all at once. Oh my God. I must look like a mess. No makeup, a baggy hoodie, messy hair. Heās so⦠perfectly put togetherāeven with the bruises.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. I stand there, completely frozen, completely aware of how ridiculous I must look. I hate how much I want to hide.
āAre you okay?ā Jungkook asks, his voice surprisingly soft considering the way he fights. His eyesādark and unreadableāscan me for a second, waiting for a response. He tilts his head, an eyebrow quirking slightly as if waiting for me to speak.
For a moment, I canāt find my voice.
What the hell am I supposed to say to him?
āIāuhāyeah, Iām fine,ā I stammer, cringing at how small my voice sounds. āSorry about, um, bumping into you. I wasnāt looking where I was goingā¦ā
He chuckles again, this time a little quieter, almost like heās amused by my awkwardness. āNo problem.ā His gaze shifts down to my phone in my hand, and thereās a flicker of something in his eyes, like a silent understanding. āYou should probably hold onto that better. Might break it next time.ā
I nod quickly, biting my lip. āYeah. Iāll, uh, be more careful.ā
The silence stretches between us, and I canāt stop myself from feeling completely out of place. His mere presenceāhis proximityāfeels like a weight on my chest. I want to say something more, something that doesnāt make me sound like an idiot, but the words are stuck in my throat.
What is he even doing here? My brain races. Why is he talking to me?
The bruises on his face, the way he carries himself, the intensity he exudesāeverything about him screams confidence, while I can barely keep myself together.
āHey,ā he says again, his voice quieter this time, almost like heās trying to make sure Iām not completely shut down. āYouāre alright. You donāt have to apologize.ā
I look up, meeting his eyes for the first time since I bumped into him, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. His gaze is steady, almost piercing, and thereās something strangely gentle in the way he looks at meālike heās trying to figure me out.
āIām sorry,ā I murmur again, my voice soft, barely audible. āI⦠didnāt mean to cause any trouble.ā
He shakes his head slightly, a small, amused smirk curling on his lips. āNo trouble. But if youāre gonna keep bumping into me, I might start thinking youāre doing it on purpose.ā
My face burns. I canāt believe this is happening. Heās standing right in front of me, and Iām acting like Iāve never spoken to a guy in my life. Iām sure I look like a mess.
I look down again, hoping he wonāt notice how flustered I am. But when I glance back up, I catch a glimmer of something in his eyesāa mix of curiosity and something else I canāt place.
āWell, Iāll make sure to avoid you next time,ā I mumble, trying to force a smile, but it feels so awkward.
Jungkook doesnāt say anything right away, but his gaze softens just a fraction. āDonāt worry about it,ā he replies simply, his voice steady, like heās seen this kind of thing a thousand times.
And then, with a slight nod, he turns and walks past me, heading back toward the crowd, leaving me standing there in the dim hallway, my heart racing, my breath still shaky.
Did that really just happen?
Monday
The morning light hits different when youāve had a whole weekend to forget the world. I wake up to the sharp trill of my alarm and the sun creeping through the blinds like itās personally offended Iām still in bed.
Vicky and Trevor left late last night, their hugs lingering longer than usual. We spent the rest of the weekend curled up on my couch, talking about everythingāreally talking. The kind of conversations that make you feel both lighter and heavier at the same time. The ones that peel you open in a way thatās terrifying but necessary.
Vicky told me sheās worried about how I retreat when Iām hurting. Trevor said he thinks I deserve to stop living like Iām waiting for something to break. I didnāt say much. Just nodded a lot. Smiled at the right parts. I donāt know how to explain that sometimes, talking about the darkness makes it feel more real.
But it felt good.
Safe.
And now Monday feels like a slap.
I throw on my usual work-from-home uniformābaggy hoodie, leggings, messy bunāand log in just before my boss can ping me. My headsetās tangled, my coffeeās lukewarm, and the emails are already giving me hives.
By 10 a.m., Iāve mentally clocked out.
Iām rereading the same sentence for the third time when Katherine messages me.
Katherine (10:03 AM):
Hey! Got a sec to hop on a quick call?
Katherine is the kind of person who always has her camera on during Zoom meetings. Perfect hair. Perfect lighting. She once told me she drinks celery juice every morning. I pretend to like her but mostly because Iām afraid sheāll sense my existential dread through the screen and report me to HR.
I reply with a thumbs-up emoji and brace myself.
She starts with small talkāweather, client updates, a weird squirrel that got into her balcony. And then she says it.
āSo, this is random,ā she begins, her tone suddenly shifting. āBut... you were at The Pit this weekend, right?ā
I blink. āHow do you know about that?ā
She smiles like sheās trying to be casual. āOne of my best friends is in that crowd. I used to go with her sometimes. Total chaos. Honestly, I thought you were more... I donāt know, library-core?ā
I laugh awkwardly. āIt was a surprise outing.ā
āAh. That explains it.ā She leans closer to the camera like sheās about to deliver state secrets. āSo listen⦠Iām telling you this as a friend, okay? Donāt get too caught up in Jungkook.ā
My stomach flips.
I try to keep my expression neutral. āIām not⦠I donāt even know him.ā
āYeah, well,ā she says, ājust in case. Iāve known him for a while. He runs with a rough crowd. Really rough. Heās not some tortured artist or romantic bad boy. Heās a fighter. Like, literally and metaphorically. The guy doesnāt let people close. And if he does? It never ends well.ā
I swallow. āOkayā¦ā
She shrugs, taking a sip from her green smoothie. āHeās rich, by the way. Like, crazy rich. Family money. Old money. The kind that hides skeletons behind designer walls. Heās rebelling against it, or whatever. But stillātrust me, girls like us?ā Her voice softens, almost sympathetically. āWe donāt survive guys like him.ā
I stare at the screen.
Katherine offers a smile like sheās just done me a favor. āAnyway. Just thought you should know. Back to work!ā
The call ends.
And I sit there, headphones still on, heart pounding, trying to make sense of everything she just said.
Girls like us.
We donāt survive guys like him.
I donāt know whether to laugh or cry.
Because I already knew that.
But hearing it out loud?
It stings in a way I wasnāt ready for.
The call ends.
And itās like the silence in my apartment changes shapeāheavier, sharper, pressing in from all sides.
I stare at my screen, blinking at the spreadsheet I was supposed to be editing, but all I can see is his face again. Jungkookās bruised jaw. His quiet stare. The way his voice was soft when he asked if I was okay.
I thought it meant something.
God, Iām so stupid.
Why did I even let myself feel anything at all? One second of attention from someone like him and Iām already spinning stories in my head. Already hoping. Already aching.
But heās not a story.
Heās not the exception.
Heās a walking warning sign with pretty tattoos and a reputation I shouldāve seen coming a mile away.
And me?
Iām the girl who doesnāt even look in mirrors.
The girl who flinches when someone raises their voice.
The girl who hides from kindness because it always turns into disappointment.
What the hell was I thinking?
I push my laptop away and curl in on myself, wrapping my hoodie tighter around my body like it might hold all the unraveling parts together.
Itās pathetic, how easily I fall back into this. This sadness. This hole. Like I never even tried to climb out.
My chest feels tight again. Like thereās not enough air in the room, not enough silence in the world to quiet the noise in my head. Katherineās voice keeps looping:
āGirls like us⦠we donāt survive guys like him.ā
Sheās right.
Not just because heās dangerousābut because Iām already drowning.
I donāt need someone like him lighting a fire next to the flood.
Iām barely surviving myself.
I canāt afford to let someone else in. Especially someone who could burn me just by standing too close. Iāve done that beforeāopened the door a crack and let someone walk in like they had a right to rearrange the furniture in my soul.
And when they left, they took everything I had with them.
I wonāt survive that again.
I donāt care how soft his voice was. I donāt care how different he seemed. I donāt care about the way his eyes looked like they could hold secrets.
Iām not his mystery to solve.
Iām not some redemption arc.
Iām tired.
I just want to be left alone.
So I grab my phone, fingers trembling, and type out a message to Vicky.
me (11:21 AM):
hey. Can we talk later?
She replies almost instantly.
Vicky (11:22 AM):
of course. you okay?
me:
not really.
Vicky:
Iām here. whatever you need.
I drop the phone onto the bed and let myself cry.
Not the quiet, hidden kind this timeābut the ugly sobs. The ones that shake my whole body. The ones that feel like mourning.
Because thatās what this is.
Iām mourning the version of me who thought, even for a second, that maybe someone like Jungkook could want someone like me.
But that girl doesnāt get to stay.
She was too hopeful.
Too naive.
And hope? Itās just another way to hurt yourself when you know better.
-
The apartment walls feel like theyāre closing in again.
My chest is still heavy from crying, my eyes swollen and tired, but I havenāt eaten anything since yesterday. My stomach growls like itās mocking me, like even it is tired of my emotions.
I donāt want to go outside. I really, really donāt.
But I donāt have the energy to argue with myself anymore.
So I throw on the armorāthe same oversized black hoodie Iāve worn three days in a row, the one that swallows me whole. Baggy sweatpants that drag at the hem, sleeves covering my hands. Greasy hair scraped into a low, half-hearted bun. No makeup. Glasses on. Invisible mode activated.
If anyone looks at me, theyāll see nothing worth seeing.
Which is exactly the point.
The convenience store is just down the block. Two turns and Iām there. I donāt make eye contact with anyone. I keep my head low, shoulders hunched, heart pounding in my ears for no reason at all.
I grab a pre-made sandwich, a pack of chips, something sweet. Something to feel something. The cashier doesnāt say much. I pay and leave, crinkling plastic bag in one hand, the weight of my exhaustion in the other.
And thenā
I hear it.
A low, throaty vrrrrmmmm.
A motorcycle.
It pulls up to the curb just as I step outside. Black. Shiny. Sleek. Yamaha. The kind of bike that looks fast even when itās parked.
The rider is dressed in all blackāblack jeans, black hoodie, black gloves, black helmet. The mirrored visor reflects the late afternoon haze, faceless and quiet.
But somehowāsomehowāhe looks straight at me.
Not at the store. Not at the sidewalk.
At me.
I freeze.
My breath catches in my throat. My pulse spikes. No one sees meāno one is supposed to see me. Especially not like this. Especially not him.
Because I know.
I know itās him.
Even before he moves, before he speaksāmy bones recognize the tension, the quiet storm under the surface. My body flinches like itās muscle memory.
I take a shaky step back. Then another. My fingers curl tighter around the plastic bag like itāll protect me. I turn, heart in my throat, ready to bolt in the opposite direction.
But thenā
āHey!ā
Just one word.
But itās enough.
The voice is familiarālow, rough around the edges, quiet in that way that still demands attention. Not yelling. Not sharp. Just⦠deliberate.
And it comes from behind me.
I freeze mid-step.
My grip tightens on the bag, but I donāt turn around. My whole body tenses like Iām waiting for the ground to open and swallow me whole.
Please no. Please let me be wrong.
But thenā
āYou dropped this.ā
I glance down. My receipt flutters on the pavement behind me.
I should keep walking. I want to keep walking.
But something in that voice⦠that calm, steady voiceāit wraps around my ribs like wire and holds me still.
I turn, just a little.
And there he is.
Helmet off now. Tousled black hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat or wind. Dark eyes, unreadable. That same bruised jaw from the fight. That same calm chaos in the way he stands, like heās always ready to run or punch somethingābut right now, heās doing neither.
He holds out the receipt between two fingers, casual like heās done nothing unusual.
I donāt take it.
I canāt move.
I just stare at him, half-hidden behind the oversized hoodie and fogged-up glasses, knowing full well thereās nothing about me worth noticingābut he still is.
His eyes linger for a second.
Not in a gross way.
Just⦠curious.
Like heās trying to place me.
āYou are familiar, didnāt we spoke this weekend after my fight?ā he says, voice soft but certain.
I donāt answer.
I canāt.
He waits a second longer, like heās giving me a chance to say somethingāto confirm or deny or at least reactābut I just stand there, frozen in oversized fabric and fear.
āDidnāt mean to scare you,ā he says after a moment, voice even lower now. Almost gentle. āYou okay?ā
Something in me cracks.
I shake my headānot to answer the question, but to shake off the moment. The whole thing. Him. This.
I take a shaky step back, then another, until I turn away again. This time, I do walk.
Fast.
He doesnāt follow.
But I can still feel his eyes on me.
And it hurts in a way I wasnāt ready for.
By the time I get back to my apartment, Iām sweating under my hoodie even though itās barely 65 degrees out. My legs feel like theyāre made of wet sand. I shut the door behind me, double lock it, and lean against it like maybe itāll hold me up better than my spine currently can.
What the actual fuck just happened?
I drop the plastic bag on the kitchen counter and stare at it like it might answer me.
How the hell did he end up here?
What are the odds? Noāseriously. Statistically. What are the goddamn odds that Jungkook, bruised, violent, beautiful Jungkook, the guy from the underground fight club with a face like a problem Iād never solveāwhat are the odds that he parks his sleek-ass murder-cycle right in front of my stupid corner store?
Does he live around here?
Does he live on my street?
Fucking hell.
My head spins. I kick off my shoes and shuffle toward my room like a zombie with trust issues. I donāt even bother with lunch. I just face-plant onto my bed and let out a strangled scream into my pillow.
Muffled, of course. Donāt want the neighbors to call someone.
My brain is already galloping down all the wrong roads.
What if he does live nearby? What if I see him again? What if he recognizes me next time, not just as āthe girl from the fightā or āthe hoodie gremlin who nearly dropped her sandwich,ā but meāthe real, fragile, overthinking version who wears pain like perfume and flinches when people care?
God, what if he saw through me already?
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
And just like that, it begins.
The daydream.
The soft edges blur and shift, my breathing slows, and the version of reality I can actually tolerate starts to take shape.
In this one, Iām still meābut Iām her, too.
The cooler version. The one who didnāt flinch. Who took the receipt with a small smirk, thanked him, maybe even made a joke that made his bruised mouth curve into a smile.
Maybe he wouldāve asked my name.
Maybe I wouldāve told him.
Maybe we wouldāve sat on the curb, talking about the way silence sometimes feels safer than words. Maybe he wouldāve looked at me like I wasnāt invisible. Like I wasnāt too much or not enough or anything in between.
In this version, Iām magnetic. Mysterious. Someone he wants to chase.
Not someone who runs.
Not someone who hides.
But the fantasy falters the second my phone buzzes.
A calendar notification.
Break over. Back to work.
I blink, and the ceiling collapses.
The daydream dissolves like mist under a spotlight.
And Iām back here again.
Greasy hair. Unanswered emails. Sandwich still untouched on the counter.
I sit up with a groan and reach for my laptop, the screen lighting up with the cruel reminder that no matter how hard I try to disappear, the world still expects me to perform.
Because I donāt get to be the girl in the fantasy.
I just get to pretend I'm okay for eight more hours.
-
Itās been three days.
Three long, weirdly quiet days since that day outside the convenience store.
He didnāt follow me.
He didnāt try to talk to me again.
But I havenāt stopped thinking about it.
Or him.
Or the way his voice sounded when he said āheyā like it wasnāt a loaded word, like it didnāt feel like it cracked something open in my chest.
But today, I need air.
Iāve answered all my emails. Sat through two Zoom meetings where I didnāt say a word. Ate half a protein bar and convinced myself that counted as lunch. The weatherās decent. Grey sky, soft breeze. Not hot, not cold. The kind of weather that makes you feel invisible in a good way.
So I shower. Real clothes arenāt an optionāmy body still feels like a burdenābut I pull on my cleanest hoodie and loose cargo pants. I throw on some concealer, smudge some eyeliner. Just enough to look⦠functional. Human-adjacent. Lip balm, not lipstick.
My comfort zone.
I pop a Red Bull from the fridge, grab my lighter and smokes, and head out.
The walk to the park is quiet. Familiar. Itās only a few blocks awayālined with sad little trees, apartment windows with peeling paint, and the occasional dog-walker tugging along a leash like itās a lifeline.
By the time I get there, Iām already feeling a little lighter.
I head straight to the bench.
My bench.
The one facing the outdoor fitness area. Itās a concrete platform with metal bars and makeshift equipmentāmostly used by shirtless guys trying to impress no one in particular. Usually, I avoid the place when itās busy. But Iāve learned the timing.
Late afternoons on weekdays? Itās usually empty.
Quiet enough to breathe.
I sit down, crack the can open with a hiss, and take a long sip. The carbonation burns down my throat, sharp and sweet. I pull a cigarette from my sleeve and light it, the flame catching with a soft flick. First drag, and the world slows down.
My mind goes quiet.
For once.
I exhale smoke into the open air, let it drift above me, unfurling like a sigh I didnāt know I was holding.
And thenāI see him.
At first, I donāt realize itās him.
I just register movement.
Someone using the pull-up bar.
Shirtless. Muscled. Moving with a kind of effortlessness that makes my stomach flip.
I glance up, casual.
And freeze.
Itās him.
Jungkook.
His back is to me, muscles flexing as he pulls himself up again and again, like heās chasing something only he can see. The tattoos on his arms are vivid under the dull light, ink curling down to his wrist in sharp, beautiful lines.
He drops down from the bar, hands on his hips, chest heaving with each breath.
Heās glowing with sweat.
And for a secondāI forget how to exist.
He doesnāt see me.
Not yet.
I duck my head fast, pulling my hoodie slightly forward like itās a curtain I can hide behind. I take another drag of my cigarette, hoping the smoke masks the sudden panic rising in my throat.
Why is he here?
Again?
Does he live around here? Was Katherine right?
Or is this just some twisted coincidence?
He wipes his face with the edge of his tank top, and I catch a glimpse of more tattoos on his ribsāblack ink over golden skināand I have to look away. My heartās beating like Iāve done a line of adrenaline instead of just caffeine and smoke.
I shouldn't be looking.
Heās not for me.
Heās a storm in a human body. A fighter. A blur of danger and sharp edges.
And Iām just⦠this.
This hoodie.
This body.
This invisible mess on a park bench, pretending the world isnāt too much.
But even as I look awayā
I can feel it.
That shift.
That pull.
And when I glance back, just once, just quickā
His eyes are on me.
Right on me.
Unmistakable.
Direct.
Not in a flirty, playful, hey-girl way.
No.
Itās deeper than that.
Like he remembers me.
Like he sees something he doesnāt quite understand.
I look away so fast I almost drop my Red Bull.
My fingers are shaking again.
What the fuck is happening?
Why does it feel like heās always three steps ahead of where I want him to be?
#jungkook#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook angst#jeon jungkook#bts#bts jungkook#bts fic#jungkook fanfiction#jeon jungkook x reader#jungkook fic#jungkook recs#jeon jungguk#jungkook imagine#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts scenario#bts oneshot#bts x reader#bts x you#bts angst
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Heyyy there I saw your post about allowing a request for various squid game characters. Can I request Hwang In-ho/front man?
Partner! Reader x Hwang In-ho/Front man
Like s/o doesn't know anything about the games and In-ho just have a whole nother identity just for her. She knows that In-ho goes on a business trip for 7 days and then comes back like nothing happens. And just before In-ho leaves for the "business trip" they have fluff moments and In-ho tries his best to keep her out of his other life
š«¶š«¶š«¶
Secrets I have held in my heart
Summary: What the requests says
Pairing: Hwang In-Ho x GN!Reader
Warnings: none just fluff and maybe feelings of guilt, bathing together but it's NOT smut
Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting this! I hope you enjoy it! I also tried making my own dividers. It's not the best, but if I make one that's decent I'll post them for people to use
Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!
Read on Wattpad & AO3 here
Hwang In-Ho was an interesting man. But he was yours. Your friends and family say they find him to be scary or something off about him. But you can't see him anything else than what he is, a caring husband who makes sure to provide well for you.
He tells you that his job is working at a sales company of always testing new products for people and surveying so you really thought nothing of it. Majority of the time he would go on business trips for at least a week. He never told you where he was going but you never wanted to bother him so much.
It was three days before he left and he always made sure to spend all his time with you. Taking you out to eat at your favorite place, watching your favorite movies, cooking and taking naps together.
Doing these things with you made him happy, but he also felt bad about lying about his work to you. He knew that your perspective and love would change because of that.
He didn't want to lose you because of that. But he also couldn't lose his job.
Today was the last day he would be spending time with you and he wants to make the most of it. You woke up with breakfast in bed. Your favorite.
"Don't worry about work sweetheart, I called in sick for you."
You smiled knowing you were really going to spend the day with him together
After you finish your breakfast, you two would take a warm bath together. Nothing sexual, just you two holding each other and making small talk.
Then it would be you guys just watching TV and cuddling with each other.
He really loves you so much. It was hard keeping his double life from you. But all that mattered was that you were safe and anything that you knew could put you in danger.
A few hours have passed and he ordered take out on your favorite restaurant. There it was again, just talking and him saying he's going to miss you
Before you knew it, it was time for you both to go to sleep. You were sad knowing that the next morning he would be gone.
Both of you guys were wrapped up in each other, cuddling and innocence of you two sleeping together meant so much to him.
The next morning came and he had to get ready to leave. You helped him prepare the stuff he needed, suits, snacks, and a goodbye kiss.
"Promise you'll text me everyday to at least make sure you're alight?"
"I promise my darling."
Both of you smiled at this and kissed each other as he was heading to his taxi. He looked back at you and waved to you.
You waved back and soon the car drove off.
When he was in the car, he pulled out his phone with a text message asking if he was on his way. He responded and then took something out of the pocket from his jacket. It was a picture of you. It would at least be a reminder of everything he's doing for you to have the best life possible even if you didn't know.
It would be a few hours before he had to put his love aside for you and keep focus on the bigger picture.
Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Hwang In-Ho Masterlist | Request Guidelines | Who I Write For | Join my taglist!
#creamecafe#squid game#squid game season 2#squid game s2#no spoilers#hwang in ho#front man#player 001#squid game x reader
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part one / part two
brother's best friend!haechan who can't seem to wait any longerānot when your almost-confession lingers in the back of his mind like a song stuck on repeat. he remembers the way your fingers were stained with melted chocolate that day, how your voice trembled like you were about to say something that could change everything. but you didn't. and he waited. but alas, patience was never his strong suit. so one afternoon, he marches into your favourite candy store, the one you've dragged him to since middle school, and asks the employee behind the counter how to make something from scratch. something sweet. something meaningful. he spends the whole day there, tongue between his teeth in concentration as he tries to mold soft sugar into the perfect shape. he messes up a few times, fingers sticky and uneven jelly hearts scattered all over the table. but he doesn't stopānot until he finally crafts one that feels just right.
brother's best friend!haechan who shamelessly lies to your brother after realising he forgot his wallet, facetiming and begging for money to pay for the handmade candy under the pretense of buying a new game. "it's co-op," he insists over the phone, eyes wide with fake innocence. "we can play it together, dude." your brother grumbles, suspicious but ultimately soft, mumbling something about how he better get first player privileges.
brother's best friend!haechan who texts you in all-caps to meet him at your usual cafe at 4pm, the same one you both used to wait at after school while your brother finished class, saying he has something extremely urgent to tell you. you expect another one of his silly ideas, maybe a new inside joke. but when you arrive, he's already there, sitting at your favourite table, fidgeting with his rings and tapping his foot under the table leg. there's a mug waiting for you, your usual, as well as a small box placed right in the center like it's holding his entire heart inside. when you sit, he doesn't speak right away, just watches you with that look he always gives youāthe one that sees too much, that lingers too long. then, slowly, he pushes the box toward you with both hands, eyes darting nervously. you open it. see the candy. a tiny, misshapen heart. when you look up, he meets your gaze and says, "i'm in love with you."
boyfriend!haechan who suffers through hours of your brother's dramatic yelling after finding out, arms flailing, voice rising three octaves higher than usual. "you?! andāand you?!" your brother screeches for the third time. haechan's trying his best not to laugh, and you're trying not to bury your face in your hands. when your brother finally storms off, muttering about betrayal, haechan simply throws an arm around your shoulder and presses a kiss to the side of your head, grinning like it was all worth it.
boyfriend!haechan who holds your hand differently now, not cautiously, not half-hesitant like it used to be. but with certainty. with a sense of home. he laces your fingers together like he never plans to let go, swinging your joined hands between you as he hums a tune neither of you can name. even when it's hot and your palms are sweaty, even when your brother is glaring from two feet away, he doesn't ever want to let go. instead, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes dancing with mischief and affection, daring the world to try and take you from him.
boyfriend!haechan who leaves sticky notes in your bag, your books, your hoodie pocketsālittle pieces of his heart tucked between your daily life.Ā some are doodles, a wonky bear with hearts for eyes. others are confessions disguised as jokes, today's forecast: 99% chance i'll fall harder for you. when you confront him on the way home, he acts innocent, gasps dramatically, and insists it must be some kind of secret admirer. but the pink on his ears gives him away every single time.
boyfriend!haechan who can't seem to keep his hands off you, always needing to touch, even in the smallest, softest ways. he cups your face after a long day like it's a ritual, like it resets his energy. he threads his fingers through your hair with care, pulls you onto his lap when you're too sleepy to sit upright, lets you nap on his shoulder while playing with your hand, tracing the lines in your palm as if he's memorising every curve like it was written just for him. he kisses the corner of your smile like it's his favourite place in the world.
boyfriend!haechan who takes you stargazing on a warm night, lying side by side on the rooftop, your hands tangled between you.Ā he talks about dreams and silly thingsāhow he's always wanted to be a dancer, how he's still scared of heights. you laugh until the night settles into a soft hush, and then he turns toward you, eyes reflecting the moonlight, voice quieter than the breeze. "you're my first love, you know," he says. it's not at all dramatic, not a setup for a joke. just honest. "and if you'll have me⦠you'll be my last, too."
notes inspired by poppop! the employee in question is daehee bc i believe haechan would bully him into letting him in the kitchen orz also this was delayed for way too long im sorry plz come back to me brother's best friend hyuck yearners!!!!!
perm. taglist ā” @renjunsversion @ddolbyong @f6llsun @egojo1st @sungbites @nonverdolly @strwberie @blondemrk @chenlezip @markkiatocafe @stqrgr7 @jisungji @taroddori @haeriaes @kukkurookkoo @polarisjisung @dudekiss3r @dejundesign @uncasings @sweetpinkblueberry @spacejip @yushiela @insbread @t-102 @haelvrty @pl4netx1a @haeivie @natakgae @fae-renjun
#haechan x reader#haechan fluff#haechan headcanons#nct x reader#nct dream x reader#nct 127 x reader#haechan imagines#nct imagines#nct dream imagines#nct 127 imagines#nct fluff#nct dream fluff#nct 127 fluff#haechan scenarios#nct scenarios#nct dream scenarios#nct 127 scenarios#nct dream headcanons#nct 127 headcanons
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Law & Medicine
James Wilson x Female Attorney Reader
Summary: James Wilson has a secret relationship and House finally discovers it.
TW: Dating, rude comments, House being House.
James Wilson had a secret and House was determined to figure out what it was. House figured that Wilson had been keeping this secret for quite a long time. At first he had been careful, but now he was starting to slip up.
Wilson had changed. It wasn't anything extreme, but he took more time for himself and had started to become more secretive. Normally, it was not an issue, but now that House seemed to be fighting for Wilson's time, he knew there had to be something big going on.
Originally, he hoped that whatever was distracting Wilson would blow over. House almost thought that it did, but then he noticed that Wilson started avoiding him.
House planned on going through Wilson's phone when he left it in his office like he usually did, but it wasn't there. Wilson had started keeping his phone on him at all times and even stepping out of the room when he received a phone call.
His emails showed nothing besides some conversations with his divorce attorney, but he should have the woman on speed dial after three divorces. House was sure that they even exchanged Christmas gifts with how much money he brought to their law firm.
House was at a loss and when he finally got ahold of Wilson's phone it was more of the same. He did notice that Wilson had a chain of text messages with his attorney which made him reconsider his earlier dismissal of the emails.
House looked up the woman online, she was a certified divorce attorney in New Jersey that worked for a reputable law firm. It just seemed strange to him that there had been recent conversations despite Wilson having been divorced for years. It was always possible that one of his ex-wives had dragged him through a legal tar pit again, but it was highly unlikely.
Wilson had separated from his wives amicably and none of them harbored any ill will towards him. House reached out to Sam, Bonnie and Julie individually in order to figure what attorney they used in their divorces.
None of the woman used Y/N L/N.
...
Wilson stepped into his office and sighed when he saw House laying on his couch, "Can I help you with something, House?" Wilson asked. He took off his lab coat and sat down at his desk, opening one of his files.
"I know your secret, Wilson," House stated, bouncing his cane on the ground beside himself.
"What secret?" Wilson asked, flipping the page in his folder.
"You've been keeping secrets from me and I got curious. A simple search through your text messages and emails told me that you're speaking to a lawyer," House said.
Wilson looked up at him, "You went through my messages?" He asked incredulously.
"Of course I did. I also called your ex-wives," House said.
Wilson scoffed, shutting his file and tossing his pen down on the desk, "Why? Why would you do that?" Wilson asked.
"If one of your ex-wives were raking you over the coals again, I wanted to know. But none of them had ever heard of this divorce attorney before," House stated.
Wilson sighed, running his hands over his face in frustration, "Why do you need to know everything that goes on in my life?" He questioned.
"You were avoiding me," House said.
Wilson shook his head, "I can't believe you called my ex-wives. That is just- I don't even know what to say," He said.
"Who's the attorney and why do you need one?" House asked.
"If I tell you will you leave it alone?" Wilson asked.
"Depends on what the answer is," House said.
"Her name is Y/N and we're engaged," Wilson admitted.
House sat up, looking over at his friend, "You're engaged to a divorce attorney? Have you learned nothing? That's like taking a crap in the middle of your dinner table, you just don't do that," House said.
"This is exactly why I didn't tell you!" Wilson exclaimed.
"I'm not wrong and you know it. This marriage is gonna crash and burn like the last ones, but this time she's gonna take everything. Lawyers are sharks and you're chumming the water," House said. He stood up from the couch and limped over to the doorway.
"You should know better, Wilson. Come find me when your marriage falls apart," House said, stepping out of the office and slamming the door. Wilson huffed, shaking his head before returning to his paperwork.
...
Wilson was working in his office, filling out some paperwork in patient files when his phone buzzed on the desk. He set his pen down and picked up his cellphone, smiling when he saw the message notification on his phone.
Y/N: 'Hey, I'm meeting a client at PPTH and was wondering if you want to meet for lunch after. Let me know.'
The smile quickly fell from his face as he called her, raising the phone up to his ear. Wilson could feel his heart speeding up in his chest as the line rang. There was a soft click as Y/N answered his call.
"Hey, you," She greeted softly.
"Are you here?" Wilson asked.
"Yeah, I just walked in. Why? Is everything okay? " Y/N asked.
"Can you just meet me in my office? I think a friend of mine might be trying to mess with me by hiring you and I just need to be sure," Wilson said.
Y/N let out a small laugh, "You work with people who would do something that juvenile? " She questioned.
Wilson sighed, "Unfortunately... Just stop by my office before you go there, okay?" He requested.
"I'm on my way up, I'll see you in a minute," Y/N said.
"See you in a bit," Wilson said, hanging up the phone and tossing it down on the desk.
Wilson sat in silence for a moment as he debated what he was going to do if House was really doing what Wilson thought. If he was, there would definitely be some serious consequences.
Maybe he could mess with his piano or replace his Vicodin with laxatives or maybe even destroy his guitar. It would definitely be cathartic to smash his guitar to smithereens after having his privacy violated.
A soft knock sounded on the door of his office, "Come in," He called.
Y/N opened the door and stepped into his office, "So, who do you think is screwing with you?" Y/N asked, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. She crossed her legs, setting her briefcase on the floor by her feet.
"Gregory House," Wilson said.
"That's my client," Y/N replied.
"My god, he's crazy and he can never let things go... He thought I was being secretive and he went through my phone and computer. He found our messages and called my ex-wives to figure out if they knew you. Then he told me not to talk to him until our marriage fell apart," Wilson rambled, gesturing wildly.
Y/N listened to him silently before standing up from her seat and grabbing her briefcase.
"I'm going to go talk to this douchebag and I'll meet you back here in under an hour, okay?" Y/N questioned.
"He doesn't need a lawyer, Y/N," Wilson stated.
"I'll handle it, honey. Just stay put," She advised, Wilson nodded.
Y/N moved around the desk, leaning down and giving Wilson a quick kiss before making her way out of his office.
"This isn't going to be good," Wilson mumbled to himself.
#james wilson x you#james wilson x reader#james wilson imagine#james wilson#james wilson x female reader#gregory house x reader#gregory house#house imagine#house md#house md imagine
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out of bounds (part seven) (end)
pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader
rating mature 18+ for smut
summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where youāre both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, heās tempted to break the rules for the first time.
Ā» part one | two | three | four | five | six
Ā» masterlist
When you wake up in your cabin the next morning, itās the first time since you arrived at camp that you wish you were waking up in your own bed back home.
Because after the way everything came crashing down on you yesterday, you donāt want to face whatās waiting for you.
At best, you have three weeks left of the season, of living with Ami after she broke your trust, of dealing with whateverās going on with Zach if Malcolmās words on the field didnāt make their way to the directors.
At worst, you and Zach get fired. And if your season really is cut short and youāre kicked out of here, youāre worried heād only see you as the rule he broke, the girl who played a role in ruining something so important to him.
You check your phone to see the text exchange you had with Zach a few minutes after you left him outside last night. He had texted Iām sorry. You replied me, too.
Youāre not sure how to even have this conversation. He was clearly upset with you last night and you can understand why he would be.
But at the same time, youāre uneasy thinking about the night you first told him that Ami knew about you two. He said he was okay with it, and now youāre not so sure, because last night, he texted that all was good, but it seemed like he was anything but good when you ran into him.
Zach had told you heās not always upfront about when somethingās bothering him. You know itās simply a piece of who he is ā itās not personal. But you canāt rid yourself of the ache in your heart when you realize that even after youāve shared so much together, youāre no exception. He keeps things from you, too.
You get ready for the day, deeply wishing your secret relationship had stayed secret.
Youāre sitting with your campers in the dining hall when Ami approaches your table a few minutes into breakfast.
āCan we talk real quick?ā she says quietly, cupping a hand around the inside of your elbow. You nod, following her outside.
āI am so, so, so sorry,ā she says once youāre out of earshot from everyone. āI totally get why Zachās mad and I get if youāre mad, too. I chewed Malcolm out for it first thing this morning for what itās worth.ā
You wish you knew firsthand how Zach is feeling instead of hearing through Ami. You figure she heard through Malcolm, but it hurts that you havenāt spoken to him yet.
āWhyād you tell him?ā you say with a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms.
āIt honestly slipped out,ā she begins. āYou know how I told you I thought things were starting to get serious?ā
āYeah.ā
āThe night before the game, I asked him if he sees anything in the future with us andā¦ā Ami shakes her head, her frown deepening. āHe was all like, this is just a fun thing for the summer. But I just kept trying to convince him and then I blurted out you and Zach are planning to stay together, so why couldnāt we?ā
She sighs.
āIām so mad at myself,ā she says. āI started this fling with him agreeing it was casual, but I caught feelings and embarrassed myself and told your secret in the process.ā
You take a moment, genuinely empathetic of her heartbreak. If Zach had told you he didnāt want to pursue things with you after the season, youād be gutted.
āIām sorry he did that,ā you say.
āItās okay. He wasnāt mean or anything. Just honest.ā
You nod, figuring as much. Youāre not surprised to hear that Zachās best friend wasnāt unkind about it. Zach wouldnāt be the type to willingly surround himself with mean people.
āI really am sorry,ā Ami says. āWhen I yelled at him about it, he said he knew not to say it loud enough for Ruby or any of the kids to hear.ā
āBut other counselors were around,ā you say.
āThatās what I said,ā she sighs. āAnd I swear, I told him not to tell anyone, but he was like, if any staff take it seriously, Iāll say I was just kidding around. But he apologized and I could tell he felt really bad. Apparently, heād never seen Zach that upset.ā
You look down at the grass, wishing the weight of regret on your shoulders was enough to erase it from ever even happening.
āAre we still friends?ā she asks. āIām so sorry. Iām not usually this dumb, I swear.ā
You exhale slowly. You can tell sheās devastated. And whatās done is done.
āYouāre not dumb,ā you tell her. āIām convinced thereās something in the air here that makes it hard to keep secrets.ā
Ami gives you a grateful smile, chuckling softly, clearly remembering the stories you told her all about the close calls you had with Zach.
āI can get on board with that theory,ā she says.
āDo you think Ruby heard? Or if any other counselors took Malcolm seriously?ā you ask.
She takes a moment, then shrugs.
āI donāt know,ā she admits. āAll I remember is being really mad at him. Did she say anything to you or to Zach?ā
āNot to me,ā you say. āI donāt know about Zach. We only talked for like a minute last night. It was weird.ā
āWeird?ā
You nod, relieved you can at least find some sort of release with venting to her about this.
āI think he was upset with me, but didnāt want to say so. And I didnāt want to force him to talk, so I left. We said sorry to each other over text. Things just⦠feel off.ā
āPlease donāt tell me my big mouth broke up the cutest couple ever,ā she says.
āEver?ā you laugh.
āEver.ā
She gives you a quick, appreciative hug before you both have to run back inside.
You meet Zachās eyes a few times through breakfast. Even though heās all the way across the big, loud hall, the air between you feels stiff.
Of all the difficult things youāre feeling, the sharp sense of guilt is the most overwhelming. Even though he was the one who took the first step, asking to kiss you that night by the lake, you wish youād have resisted the temptation.
Because you know that however much anxiety youāre feeling, heās feeling it a hundred times worse.
When Zach sets out to the pitch after breakfast, surrounded by boisterous kids, he accepts that the hope that heād feel better after getting some food in him was misguided.
Heās always hated when his thoughts race like this. Thereās no clear right answer, no obvious way to fix this. And while heād like to listen to his impulse to ignore the discomfort, thereās no way to do that.
He knows he needs to talk to you. Heād do anything to fast forward past the serious conversation and get back to how things were.
Thereās a very real chance that your relationship has been exposed. Itād be so embarrassing to have to face his aunt and uncle after breaking the one big rule, when he, of all the staff, is supposed to know better.
Heās not sure theyād really even go through firing anyone and would possibly just settle for a warning, but them finding out would be punishment enough for Zach.
He takes the fact that neither Ruby nor Tom have approached him since the game yesterday as a good sign. Plus, Malcolm assured him that whoever heard his words on the field wouldnāt take it seriously. But thereās never a guarantee.
Zach doesnāt like being mad. But he is. At his best friend. At his girlfriend. At himself. He tries to throw himself into work, pretending like the unsettled feeling hanging over him isnāt there.
By the end of the day, you still havenāt had a chance to speak to Zach. And now that youāre even closer to being found out, youād rather not take the risk of talking in a public place.
So, you check the schedule to see that the next time one of you has an empty cabin is two days from now, when Malcolm is on an overnight shift.
Before dinner, you text Zach: want to talk on thursday night when malcolmās gone? i think itās best we have privacy.
He replies: yes. smart.
And then, because he canāt help himself, because heās afraid he screwed up, he texts: miss you.
The message is a reprieve from the stress youāve been feeling all day. You respond: miss you, too.
When Friday rolls around, Zach feels like he hasnāt spoken to you in years, instead of just days. He rushes to his cabin after lights out, tidying up like he did the first night you came over.
Heās sure in heās in the clear because he hasnāt been spoken to by his aunt or uncle. They donāt know. While that is a relief, knowing heās on shaky ground with you is enough to keep him on edge.
You knock quickly and quietly. Zach opens the door. He canāt help himself. He has to hold you.
You close the door and face him and he wraps his arms around you so suddenly that you let out a startled gasp.
āHey,ā he says hoarsely, nuzzled into your neck. You hug him back.
āHi.ā You breathe in his familiar scent, fresh like the morning breeze. He pulls back to see your brows pinched together, your eyes searching his face. He hates that you look surprised that heās giving you affection.
āYou okay?ā he asks.
āYeah,ā you answer on impulse. You shake your head. āActually, no. I mean, well, we havenāt been fired. Thatās good.ā
āYeah. If they knew, they wouldāve have said something by now.ā
āRight,ā you say. You take a deep breath. āBut things feel different. With us.ā
Zach hates to agree, his lips falling into a small frown. He doesnāt want to do this. He just wants to hold you and kiss you and joke around with you.
āItās because we had another close call,ā he says. āItās okay. Things are different because we havenāt snuck out to make out in a shed in a while.ā
His joke falls flat as you look down at the floor. His hands are still on your waist and when you comfortingly drag yours down to rest on his chest, it slows his thoughts down a little.
āI want you to tell me when youāre not okay,ā you mumble when you gaze back up at him.
Zachās stomach numbs with anxiety. He can feel it rising, the reflex to pretend everythingās fine when itās not.
āI did,ā he says. āI do. Remember the night on the dock?ā
You nod. The way he had opened up to you about how heād struggled with being bullied for being a quiet kid was different. That wasnāt about you.
āI mean I want you to tell me when Iām the reason youāre not okay,ā you reply. āI heard from Ami that Malcolm said heād never seen you so upset.ā
āBecause I was mad at him,ā Zach half-chuckles. āAnd heās over-exaggerating.ā
Itās not entirely true. The conversation had been the most tense one theyād ever had.
Malcolm was lighthearted about it at first, saying it was a joke and that he was offended that Zach hadnāt told him about how he was breaking rules with you. But once Zach had tersley told him he could have messed everything up for him, Malcolmās smile disappeared and he apologized profusely.
Zach couldnāt blame him. Heās hardly ever the type be serious. But so much is on the line here.
Confrontation is easier when itās his best friend of years, but it still isnāt exactly comfortable. So confronting you, a girl heās helplessly falling in love with, opens the door to an argument and to you deciding heās too sensitive and not worth the hassle.
āI donāt want to push you,ā you tell him, ābut I remember you telling me that you get over things on your own and you donāt have to that with me. Itās okay if youāre mad that I told Ami.ā
āBaby,ā he whispers with a smirk. āWhat else could you have done? She saw these, right?ā
His fingers are featherlight over your collarbone, gently rubbing over the fabric of your shirt. He wonders if the hickeys are still visible.
āI couldāve hidden them better,ā you say, āor come up with a lie.ā
āIām not mad at you,ā Zach breathes.
A quiet, tense moment passes between you. Youāre not convinced.
āDo you promise?ā you ask, eyes doleful.
His smirk fades. At this point, heād be lying straight to your face if he said yes. Seeing you so sad is gut-wrenching. Being dishonest with you while youāre like this would just be wrong.
āItās⦠complicated,ā he rasps.
You bite your lip. Youāre not upset that heās mad. Youāre upset that you had to pry it out of him. Your hands fall off his chest and you step back, swallowing the tears threatening to fall.
āCan we sit?ā he asks softly.
You give in, settling on the edge of his bed. He sits next to you. Watching you like this is making every part of him ache, his mouth going dry.
āWhen you told me you donāt admit when youāre upset,ā you say, āI wondered whatād happen when I did something wrong.ā
Zach swallows hard. It sounds like youāve been on edge since that night you went shopping together, holding onto his words.
āSo, what, youāve been on eggshells since then?ā he asks, his tone low and sympathetic.
āNo. I just mean that problems are bound to come up and I want us to feel comfortable telling the other when they do.ā
You expel a deep sigh, crossing your arms. Itās hard to explain, the sense of instability this has been giving you. You want to be able to take him at his word when he says everythingās okay. Not have to wonder and nag him.
It concerns you if this will be the dynamic in your relationship. Maybe itās too soon, but you canāt shake away the worry.
Zach nervously threads his hand through his hair. He doesnāt know what to say.
āI shouldnāt have told you,ā he mumbles regretfully.
You meet his eyes, lips parted in surprise.
āWhat?ā you say. āYou should have told me. I donāt want you to suffer alone.ā
āSuffer is a stretch,ā he says with a small smile.
Again, you donāt laugh. The tension keeps thickening instead of easing, his heart hurting more instead of feeling lighter.
āHey,ā Zach says, placing a warm hand on your forearm, ālisten, I just want us to be good again. We would have lost our jobs by now if they knew. They donāt. Weāre fine. Youāre still my girlfriend, right?ā
āOf course.ā You uncross your arms to hold his hand, saddened that heās wary of the possibility of you giving up on him.
āSo, letās just move past this and enjoy whatās left of the summer.ā
āAnd what happens next time I upset you?ā you ask.
āIāll tell you,ā he says. You gaze at him, not sure if you can trust him.
āYou will?ā you ask.
Itās the first time heād ever been on the receiving end of a critical look from you. His heart feels like it cracks down the middle.
This was the spark that catalyzed every break-up heās gone through.
Youāre kind of a pushover, Zach.
Why are you so scared of telling the truth?
Youāre a nice guy, but you suck at communication.
It reminds him of when he was a kid, ridiculed for not using his voice, or really, not using it the way people wanted him to.
And itās too much. Things with you were good and easy until you insisted on pulling his uncomfortable feelings out into the open.
Zach sighs your name, a subtle edge in his tone. He keeps his gaze on the floor, lips firming, grip on your hand loosening.
Despite your intentions to understand him, to have an honest conversation, you realize that youāre doing what you tried to avoid. Youāre pushing him.
āOkay. Sorry,ā you whisper, moving your hand away.
āThis is why I donāt say anything,ā he admits. āBecause now youāre beating yourself up. Iāll be fine. I am fine.ā
āZach, if I hurt you, you deserve an apology,ā you tell him. āAnd you canāt get one if I donāt know whatās going on in your head.ā
He runs his fingers through his hair again, wishing he could just go back to how things were a few days ago when you were kissing and touching and laughing together.
He doesnāt reply. He doesnāt know what to say.
You lick your lips before speaking again. Despite everything, you just want to make him feel better and to figure out whatās next.
āAmi didnāt mean to tell him,ā you say. āBut since other people heard him during the game, I think we should just get through the rest of this season without taking any risks. Does that work for you?ā
The sinking feeling of rejection settles deep in him. Avoiding risk means that you want distance again. And this time will be different. He can feel it. Things between you are so obviously tense. You want space from him and not just because it could get you in trouble.
He swallows down the painful lump in his throat, pushing away the hurt.
āYeah,ā he says with a shrug. āIf you can resist me.ā
Zach meets your eyes with a smile that you know isnāt genuine. Youāve figured out by now that making jokes is his defense mechanism. This time, you let him do what he needs to feel better.
This conversation only broke things down further than fixing them, but even though youāre exasperated, you donāt have it in you to leave him the way you did a few nights ago.
Zachās muscles lose all their tension when you lean forward, your lips brushing against his. Itās the best reassurance you can give him.
When he kisses back, cradling your face in his hands, your heart hurts a little less. You pull away, staring into his soft blue eyes, surprised how you can mad at someone but also so eager to make them happy.
Itās because itās Zach. The man who looks out for you, who puts your clothes back on for you after intimacy, who stresses over the very thought of even accidentally hurting you.
After you pull away, he gives you the first genuine smile since you got here. You squeeze his hand before you stand up to leave. He pulls you back for one last kiss.
The following Saturday is the most excited youāve seen the kids. In the early morning, counselors and campers are set to depart the campground in school buses to a museum thatās currently running a sports science exhibit.
Youāve overheard the vets talk about how field trips are the most exhausting days of the season, but you welcome it. You want the distraction.
After guiding your campers onto your assigned bus, you settle in the first seat behind the driver. Your heart does a flip, somehow both happy and sad, when you realize that the counselor youāre sharing the bus with is Zach, the man you need a distraction from.
His brows raise when he comes up the steps, a smile appearing on his face before he guides kids to fill up the seats. Even though you left things sort of tense, itās nice that heās clearly happy to see you.
When he settles on the seat across the aisle from where youāre sitting, he crosses his arms and leans back against the window, biceps bulging under his t-shirt.
āHow was the shift?ā Zach asks. āThe night before a field trip is always a wild card.ā
It takes you a moment to realize he looked at the schedule to see you had an overnight shift. Of course heās checking on you even when youāre not on the best terms.
āNot great,ā you admit. One of the girls in your cabin had woken you up after she had a nightmare. You spent a long time calming her down and then had trouble falling back asleep yourself. āIām thinking I should learn how to do monster checks.ā
Zach grins. His heart warms whenever you reference something heād told you. He loves that you remember his silly little routine with his sister.
āDo I have to teach you everything?ā he says with a sigh.
You laugh and fight the impulse to shift over and sit next to him. Despite the fragile state you left things in, you miss touching him.
Throughout the bus ride, youāre both in lively conversation with the campers. You notice that Oliver clings to Zach, talking with other kids but always close to his counselor. He clearly has found comfort in him and of course, Zach shows him nothing but endless patience and kindness.
You canāt forget how he told you Oliver reminds him of himself when he was a kid. It hurts to picture Zach as a kid, shy and reserved, needing to stay close to an authority figure so he doesnāt get made fun of.
He admitted to you how he spent so much of his childhood sad. Somebody so sweet should never have to be sad.
You glance over at him to catch him staring at you.
āMaking it obvious?ā he says, echoing what youād texted him when you teased him for the way he looked at you by the campfire many nights ago.
You wish you could go back to when you were still careless, sneaking around, no conflict wedged between you. But you only nod with a chuckle, looking away.
Minutes before you arrive at the museum, Zach stands and gets everyoneās attention. You gaze up at him as he goes through the rules and reminds everyone that theyāre representing the camp today.
It gives you a moment to really take him in, your eyes travelling over his hard jaw and tousled hair. Heās easily the kindest, most charming man youāve ever met.
He makes a joke about how this is his campersā chance to prove that theyāre better listeners than yours. You gasp and stand, encouraging your girls to prove Zach wrong.
Once you plop back down on your seat, you grab one of the granola bars you packed for the kids just to throw it at Zach. He feigns shock when it hits his chest with a light smack.
āThatās not representing our camp well at all,ā he scoffs. He looks at the wrapper and smiles before he rips it. āMixed berry. Nice.ā
āGive it back,ā you say.
He takes a bite, looking at you with a smirk.
āWhat? I didnāt hear that,ā he says.
You canāt stifle your laugh when you look away. Zach keeps his eyes on you, imagining a world where he doesnāt have to be your boyfriend in secret. But he feels lucky to be your boyfriend at all.
When you arrive at the museum, you direct your campers in a hectic rush. Youāre standing by the bathrooms, trying to keep your campers together, when Malcolm passes by.
āHaving fun?ā he jokes to you over the noise.
You chuckle awkwardly, considering itās the first time youāve spoken with him since the staff game. Ami had told you things with her and Malcolm ended amicably, but sheās been keeping her distance, and since youāre usually with her, you havenāt had any chance to talk to him.
āLoads,ā you play along, looking out at the sea of kids through the lobby. After a few seconds, he looks around and kneels closer.
āHey, my bad about everything,ā he says. āI didnāt mean to start any drama.ā
āItās okay,ā you say quietly, sure he can read the regret on your face.
āI was kidding around,ā Malcolm explains. āNobody would believe heād actually break the rules. Youāre obviously special since he did.ā
You know he said it to make you feel better, but it has the opposite effect. Without you here, Zach wouldāve had another easy, stress-free season, instead of one full of sneaking around and risking his job and reputation.
āI guess so,ā is all you can say with a forced laugh.
When itās finally time to head back to the buses, youāre exhausted. You make sure all your campers are accounted for and you settle in the front seat, wishing it was more comfortable.
You sit with closed eyes, trying to rest while you can, chatter surrounding you.
Zach sits in the front, smirking to himself when he sees you. Your eyelids flutter open and you look around, adorably disoriented. You meet his gaze.
āIām just resting my eyes,ā you say with a sweet chuckle.
āTake a nap if you want,ā he says. āI got this covered.ā
You smile gratefully and close your eyes again. His eyes travel over your pretty face, taking you in, missing everything about you. Heās never wanted time to go by quickly this badly.
A few days later, the directors announce that thereāll be a comet passing over the campground next Saturday night, falling right in time with the seasonās last fun day.
Tom asks Zach to run an errand into town to buy all the binoculars he can find. And because heās respecting your wish to stay at a distance, Zach invites Malcolm to go with him instead of you.
It doesnāt take you and another first-year counselor, Theo, long to set up blankets on the grass behind the staff cabins on Saturday night.
You had rushed through your dinner and volunteered to do it. At the end of the day, itād be nice to get a good reference from your bosses. Theo overheard and offered to help, making conversation as you set up.
When the campers and counselors come out, they settle across the field. Ami stands next to you as your eyes quickly find Zach, whoās handing out binoculars.
āRemember to share,ā he says to a few kids close to you. He looks down at you as he passes by. āHey.ā
āHey,ā you say. Itās the first thing youāve said to each other in a week.
āGet a room already,ā Ami mumbles quietly after he leaves.
You snort a laugh. You wish.
Tom stands in front of everyone and shares facts about the comet, pointing to where itāll be seen in the sky and telling everyone that itāll be visible by binoculars for a few minutes, so thereās no need to fight over them.
You know the kids well enough to know theyāll still find a way to argue.
Once itās time to search the skies, you gaze up at the stars on the off chance that youāll see it without binoculars.
āAny luck?ā Theo asks, staring up next to you, his binoculars over his eyes. You hear impressed ohhās scatter over the crowd. āWhoa,ā he says a second later.
āNo,ā you laugh.
He lowers his binoculars and hands them to you. You thank him and try to find the comet, but you canāt see anything but stars through the lenses.
āI canāt see it,ā you tell him sadly.
āHere - can I?ā Theo says, his hands hovering over your shoulders.
āSure.ā You let him guide you to adjust your angle, his palms firm on your shoulders.
āI think you need to look just a little higher,ā he says. You follow his instructions and then you see it. A bright circle with a pale streak of light following it. Itās beautiful.
āWow,ā you say with a big smile.
Everyoneās gazing up at the sky except for Zach. Heās looking at you smiling while Theo has his hands on your shoulders. Another man is touching his girlfriend and she looks happy while he does it.
He shakes his head to himself as frustrating jealousy squeezes his heart. Staying away from you has been tough, but watching someone else touch you is on another level of agony.
After the comet passes, everyone packs up for the night. The kids are still chatting about how cool the comet was as they make their way to the camper cabins.
Ami leaves your cabin for her overnight shift while you shower. You gaze up at the ceiling as you wash your hair, wondering how you already have only seven sleeps left before the end of the season.
On Saturday, parents are arriving to pick up their children and staff will pack up their things and the season will be over. Itās been a long summer, but youāre happy you came ā you made money, rekindled your love for soccer, and best of all, met Zach.
You still havenāt spoken with him about what dating will look like when youāre done here, considering your colleges are an hour apart. But at least you donāt have to worry about getting fired anymore. Youāre sure it would have left a mark on your relationship.
You settle on your bed in your pajamas, scrolling on your phone for some downtime. Minutes later, thereās a knock on your door.
Itās Zach. And thereās a fire in his eyes that you havenāt seen before.
āHi,ā you say softly.
āIt doesnāt work for me anymore,ā he says gruffly.
āWhat?ā
āNot being with you doesnāt work for me anymore.ā
You stare at him with parted lips, heat rushing through your body in seconds.
āWhat do you mean?ā you ask.
āWatching another guy get close to you is too much, okay?ā he says. āYouāre my girlfriend.ā
Your brows furrow in confusion, recollecting all that happened since the last time you spoke. He seemed fine when he greeted you earlier tonight. Who got close to you since then?
It comes to you in an instant. Theo helped guide you to spot the comet.
āThat wasnāt anything,ā you tell him.
āIt was to me,ā he says, the jealousy still ripping through him. āI donāt care who knows about us. I want him to know.ā
Itās like heās another man, not the Zach you know. His lustful stare and his dominating presence and his possessiveness are making your heart pound. Instead of the tension thatās been following you for the past two weeks, the air between you is electric, full of burning anticipation that youāve both been trying to avoid.
You donāt care about how things were left. And you know you shouldnāt do this. But youāve never been good at ignoring your impulses when it comes to him.
āCome in,ā you say.
Zach doesnāt need to hear another word. Once the doorās shut behind him, his lips meet yours. You tremble under his hot, hard kiss.
His hands are firm against your jaw, gripping you as if youāll slip away. Your breaths start to quicken as you kiss deeper, his hands pushing you back towards your bed.
Feeling you again, tasting you is an overwhelming relief. Itās like heās home again. His body is buzzing, his boxers starting to feel tight already.
You let him guide you on your bed, his commanding frame leaning over as you settle on your back. His mouth trails to your throat, kissing you as you cup the back of his neck.
āIām yours, okay, baby?ā you whisper.
Your words make him moan against your skin, his hips bucking against you. Heās been dreaming about this for too long. Once heās had you, having to keep you at a distance and act like youāre nothing but coworkers is torture.
Desire takes over you, your hand trailing to feel him over his sweatpants. Simply pressing your palm against his hard bulge makes you involuntarily writhe beneath him.
Youāve never had your mouth on him the way he had his mouth on you and now, you desperately want to please him, to show him how heās the only one you want.
āI miss you so much,ā Zach whines. āI canāt do this anymore.ā
āI know. Me, too,ā you reassure him. āLie on your back for me.ā
You obeys, letting you perch over him as you kiss him, but he canāt let go of control, not all the way. He pulls your shirt up, a groan of pleasure leaving his mouth when he sees that youāre braless.
You tug your shirt over your head and he roughly pulls you closer by the waist, giving him access to your bare chest, kneading and kissing.
You arch your back, moaning in pleasure as he sucks at your skin. Youāre already aching for him, knees growing weak, biting your lip as he tongues you.
It takes all your willpower to pull back, but you shift lower to tug at his sweatpants. He shuffles to let you pull down his pants and boxers in one movement, his cock springing out.
He heatedly takes his shirt off, giving you the view of his naked body that youāve missed so much.
Zachās breath hitches when you lean to hold him at his base. Your lips are torturously close to the head of his cock.
āYou donāt have to,ā he says, his voice thick and hushed. You smile at him. Thereās the man you know and love, checking in on you, making sure youāre comfortable.
āI want to,ā you say. When you shift to kiss him on his tip, he shudders. This is all he needs, to know you want every part of him, like he wants every part of you.
You swirl your hot tongue over him and he throws his head back in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut. But he wants to watch. He wants to see how you look pleasing him like this.
He meets your eyes as you lock your lips around his length. His head is swimming watching you slowly take him in, pacing yourself, getting his cock wet with your spit.
You pull back with a smack of your lips, stroking him, eyes hard on him.
āWhy would I even look at another guy when I have you?ā you ask. Zachās sure heās never felt this good in his entire life.
You take him in your mouth again, sucking as you start to gently bob up and down. You breathe slowly as you lower to reach his base, quietly gagging when you take him all the way.
Your hot mouth tight around him makes pure euphoria flood his system.
āThatās so good,ā he says, strained. āFuck, baby, thatās so good.ā
He lowers his hand to gently lace his fingers through the roots of your hair, applying no pressure, simply just wanting to hold you.
You pull back, your wrist slowly twisting as you pump. The sight of you like this, your lips glossy and your eyes lustful and your fingers wrapped around him, is unlike anything heās ever experienced.
āYou deserve to feel good,ā you whisper.
Heās not sure he agrees based on the way he acted the last time you talked in his cabin, but you silence his thoughts when you take him in your mouth again, cheeks hollowing.
Zachās groans are strained and his breaths are shallow as you suck and lick. The sounds of your mouth against him are near perfection. He knows whatās really perfect is the feeling of being buried deep inside you, both of you wrapped in bliss.
Heās still feeling the flame of jealousy and so badly needs to show you how much youāre his and how much heās yours. He finds the strength to gently pull your mouth off of him by your roots.
You meet his stare, letting him take full control as he guides you onto your back. The sight of him standing over you, tongue running over his bottom lip as he pulls down your pajama bottoms and panties makes arousal pool in your gut.
Zach leans over, chest heaving and cheeks flushed as one arm holds him up and the other dips between your legs, fingers firmly dragging up and down.
āTell me only I get to see you like this,ā he rasps.
āOnly you,ā you praise. His touch grants you such elation that you start to feel dizzy. āAnd only you get to touch me.ā
His jaw clenches at your words. He traces circles on your clit, gazing down at you as your breath catches.
āYou like how I touch you?ā he says.
āYes,ā you moan. āYouāre so good at it. Youāre so good at everything.ā
Zach lowers to kiss you, tongue pressing into your mouth the same moment his finger dips into you. You writhe under his touch, the pressure of his finger inside of you making you moan again.
āMore?ā he whispers, the pad of his middle finger nudging against your entrance.
āMore.ā
He slowly sinks a second finger into you, groaning at how tight and wet you are around him. He starts to slowly pump in and out, curling his fingers at the hilt, pulling back just enough to watch your expression.
His movements are slow and firm, and when he starts to rub your clit with his thumb, you clutch his shoulders in deep pleasure.
āLike that,ā you whisper. āMy good boy.ā
The praise makes him feel like he might go insane in the best way. He canāt take the ache anymore. He pulls his fingers out, shifting to grab a condom from your drawer.
You watch him through heavy lids, taking in how perfect every inch of him is, spreading your legs so he can get inside you as soon as possible. Zach lines up against you as he lies over you, his throbbing tip gently pressing against you.
āReady?ā he whispers.
You donāt answer, hungrily gripping the backs of his hips to pull him forward. He groans, in heaven from how much you want him.
He sinks into you completely and itās a flawless type of pain having to adjust to him so quickly. He pulls back and thrusts back into you hard, lips against yours, mouths open.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, both of you already sweaty, and you pant together as his slams fill you over and over, jolting you, your bed shaking.
āYouāre my good girl,ā he whispers through sighs. āMine only.ā
Your moans tangle with his, your soft heat squeezes him, and when you wrap your legs around his hips, he wants to live in the moment forever.
Zach knows he loves you. And he knows he has to wait to say it because heād hate for you to feel pressured to say it back. If heās lucky, when itās time, youāll say it back.
He grinds against your clit with steady friction and he fills you with hard pressure, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.
āIām gonnaā¦ā you breathe, clenching around him. You canāt finish your sentence, losing your voice as you come, sparks firing through your body.
Feeling you flutter around him is what sends him over the edge, kissing you as he unravels, hips stuttering with sloppy thrusts as his body releases all the tension and hunger and love he has for you.
He collapses on top of you, still hard and inside you, leaving soft kisses on the corner of your lips.
When he finds the strength to stand and clean himself up, he comes back to bed with a warm, damp towel, kissing your bent knee as he gently wipes you, letting you stay on your back and come down from your high.
Zach eventually lies down next to you, cradling your jaw, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone as you gaze at each other.
āIām sorry,ā he whispers. āIām sorry things were weird with us. Iām sorry Iām so bad at talking about things sometimes.ā
You meet his eyes, gently raking his messy hair back, remembering how itās the first thing you noticed about him.
āItās okay,ā you say softly. āIām sorry I pushed. I get if itās hard for you. I just want us to be honest with each other.ā
āI was mad,ā he admits. āAnd I already hate being mad, but being mad at you just felt so wrong. I know you didnāt mean for it to come out.ā
āWhy do you hate being mad, baby?ā
āBecause I just⦠I feel weak.ā
āWeak?ā
āLike I should be able to change the way Iām thinking about it,ā he says. āI should be more understanding.ā
You let out a soft giggle, kissing the tip of his nose.
āYouāre the most understanding person I know,ā you tell him. āYou canāt control how you feel.ā
āI think I feel too much,ā Zach confesses. His heart is pounding again. Heās never been so raw with somebody. But the deep adoration in your eyes makes the vulnerability less scary.
āYou feel the perfect amount,ā you tell him. āYour heart is big and thatās not a flaw.ā
He leans closer, kissing you tenderly.
āPlease tell me next time,ā you whisper. āWhatād you say when I didnāt tell you I was sick? I have to let you know when I donāt feel well? It goes both ways.ā
He chuckles and kisses you again.
āI will,ā he says. āAll Iāve been thinking about is you and how I screwed up and how I donāt want to screw up again.ā
āAll Iāve been thinking about is you and how I canāt wait to be your girlfriend without having to hide it.ā
A bigger smile grows on his lips, his eyes softening at your words. Youāre a pure ray of sunshine in his life. For once, heās confident a girl will stick around when she sees just how messy his head can get.
āHow often are we going to be seeing each other when weāre out of here, huh?ā you ask. āWe have a whole hour between us.ā
āThe distance from your cabin to mine is already hard enough,ā he says. You laugh hard and he realizes just how much he missed the sound. āEvery weekend, at least.ā
āDeal,ā you say. At that moment, your stomach lets out a hungry growl and you sigh a chuckle. āI rushed through dinner and I donāt think I ate enough.ā
He sits up, collecting your clothes off the bed. You laugh when you watch him tugging your panties over your ankles.
āWhat are you doing?ā
āWeāre sneaking into the kitchen,ā he says. āYouāre not gonna be hungry on my watch.ā
The night air is cool as you make your way towards the dining hall. Sure enough, Zach finds a few snacks in the kitchen cabinets to satiate you, sitting on the counter next to you, chatting about what your class schedules will look like when the school year starts.
You get lost in conversation, and an hour later, youāre both almost dozing off. You decide to finally head to bed, rushing out of the hall and towards the staff cabins, hand in hand.
Your shoes crunch against the gravel path past the campground office so loudly that you almost donāt hear your name called.
You rip your hand out of Zachās and turn to see one of your campers, Jemma, standing close by.
āHey,ā you say, almost frozen in anxiety. She definitely saw you and Zach holding hands. āWhy are you out of your cabin?ā
āI woke up,ā she says with a shrug. āAnd I couldnāt fall back asleep so I wondered if I could see any more comets. Were you guys just holding hands?ā
You donāt know what to say. You clear your throat and shuffle closer to her.
āIāll walk you back, okay?ā you say. āYouāre not supposed to be out at night without a counselor.ā
You drop Jemma off, the whole walk over filled with you avoiding her questions and asking her about anything you can think of. Zach is in your cabin get back, his eyes wide.
He said he didnāt care who knew earlier tonight, but you know he was overtaken by his emotions. You can tell by his expression that heās tense. This is bad.
āShe saw us,ā he says, almost robotically.
āShe saw us,ā you confirm. You sit next to him on your bed. You figure you should lay it out on the open. āAnd she loves to talk. And itās not appropriate to ask her to keep a secret. Sheāll tell her friends.ā
āI have to tell my aunt and uncle,ā he says, ābefore they hear from one of the kids.ā
You meet his eyes. The happiness you were feeling is deflated now, overtaken by dread. You have to accept that your worst fear just came true.
āWe have to tell them,ā you say. Tears prick at your eyes. āIāll go with you. Iām so sorry. This screws everything up for you.ā
āNo,ā he says. āI said you were worth the risk and I meant it. I knew going into it that this could happen. It happened. Weāll deal with it.ā
āYouāre really okay?ā you ask.
āIām weirdly relieved,ā Zach admits, looking at you with empathy. āAre you okay? You could get fired.ā
āYour job became more important to me than mine a long time ago,ā you tell him. āYou have more on the line. Thatās why I feel so bad.ā
āIām the happiest Iāve ever been with you. Iād do it all again even if I knew itād end like this.ā
āYouāre not going to see me as the girl that ruined this place for you?ā
āBaby,ā he says with a disbelieving exhale. āOf course not. Youāre the best part of this place.ā
āReally?ā
āOne hundred and five percent,ā he says with a smile, reminding you of how heād answered the same way when you asked if heās sure he wants to start secretly dating.
His sweetness is what makes your tears finally fall. He kisses you softly, shushing you and rubbing your back as you dig your head into his chest. You stay like that until you feel too tired to sit up any longer.
The next day, you and Zach meet at the campground office before breakfast as planned. Heās the most nervous youāve ever seen him as he turns the handle and enters the room, greeting Ruby as she types at her laptop on a circular table.
āCan we sit for a second?ā Zach asks.
āOf course,ā she says. āWhat brings you in?ā
You settle next to him at the other end of the table, realizing your knees are bouncing in anxiety. He told you heād take the lead. You glance at his profile, glad heās still as calm as he seemed last night.
āWe, uhā¦ā He looks at you. āWe kind of broke the no dating rule. And last night, Jemma saw us holding hands. I wanted to come to you before you heard from anyone else. Iām sorry.ā
āMe, too,ā you say, meeting her eyes nervously. āIām really sorry. And I completely understand if you need to let me go. But please give Zach a little grace.ā
āWhat?ā he mumbles. You hadnāt talked about doing this.
āHe loves it here,ā you tell your boss, the words spilling out of you. āIām sure you know that already. Iāve never seen someone so passionate about a place. He respects and admires you and Tom so much. The way he talks about this camp and the way he enjoys the job is part of why Iāve grown to love it so much. Heāll be crushed if this ruins his reputation and if he canāt come back to work here. I know Iām in no position to ask for anything, but please spare him.ā
āHey,ā Zach says to you softly. Heās so moved that if he didnāt already know he loved you, this would be the moment that sealed it. āItās okay. I deserve to lose my job.ā
āZach,ā Ruby says. You both look at her. āSweetheart. You really think I didnāt know?ā
āWhat?ā you and Zach say in perfect unison.
āIāve known you all your life,ā she says. āI can spot when somethingās up with you from a mile away.ā
āWait⦠what?ā he says again. āHow? Since when?ā
āYouāre not one to get mad at the kids for little things. But then we had that barbecue and you,ā she says, eyes landing on you, āgot hurt because some campers were rough-housing.ā
You feel for the now healed burn on your forearm.
āTom told me all about it, how uncharacteristically angry and worried you got,ā Ruby tells Zach, āand then it took less than a day to confirm my suspicions. You really donāt know how obvious you are. You smile like you just won the lottery whenever sheās around.ā
You feel your face go hot, butterflies swarming in your stomach. Itās the second time someoneās said Zach seems extra happy around you.
āSo, you knew?ā he says. āAnd you didnāt say anything?ā
āI didnāt want you to feel embarrassed,ā she says with a shrug. āI figured youād do a good enough job hiding it from everyone. And Iād never fire you. Youāre a⦠whatās Malcolm call it? A nepo baby?ā
āHey,ā he says with a relieved laugh.
āKidding,ā she says, eyes darting to you. āI treat all my staff equally. And weāve never actually fired anyone for dating. We just strongly discourage it because of things like last night. Itās inappropriate if campers see any sort of PDA.ā
āWe were just holding hands for a second, I swear,ā Zach says.
āI know,ā she sighs. āBut no more cutesy stuff, got it?ā
āGot it,ā he says. āSo weāre not fired?ā
āJust go to breakfast and let me enjoy my coffee,ā she says with a small smile.
āThank you,ā you say quietly.
As you and Zach head out, Ruby calls him back for a moment. You wait outside for him to make sure everythingās okay.
Zach closes the door behind him, expecting a verbal lashing.
āI like her for you,ā Ruby says. He beams, unbelievably relieved.
āYouāre really not disappointed?ā he asks. He should have known his kind-hearted aunt would be so compassionate.
āHoney, Iām happy,ā Ruby says. āEven you need to break rules sometimes. You must really like her if you decided to stop being a goody two-shoes for once.ā
āI do,ā he says confidently. āAnd I am not a goody two-shoes.ā
āDebatable,ā she teases.
When he steps out of the office, you share a sigh of relief, laughing.
āWhatād she say?ā you ask.
āChanged her mind. I am, in fact, fired.ā
You scoff, nudging his shoulder.
āHey, no touching allowed,ā Zach laughs. āSave it for after lights out.ā
āShh,ā you laugh, looking around in case anyone heard. āHave you learned nothing?ā
He smirks at you.
āThanks for saying that stuff about me back there,ā he says.
āItās all true,ā you reply.
The last week of camp is the fastest of them all. Gossip spreads about you and Zach, but you just deny it whenever kids bring it up, both saying youāre just friends.
Packing up your cabin and saying goodbye at the end of the season is one of the hardest things youāve done all summer.
Two Months Later
The triple whistle blow signals the end of the game. Youāre absolutely spent, hands on your knees, so tired that you canāt even celebrate that youād just beat an unbeatable team.
Last year, they beat you every single time, but now, you look up at the scoreboard to see your score at 3, and the visitorsā score at 2. Soon enough, your teammates pull you into a hug, the air buzzing with pride and excitement.
The hot shower you take in the locker room after the game is unbelievably rewarding.
You beam when you see Zach standing by the stadium front doors. His face lights up the moment he sees you.
āYou were amazing,ā he says, pulling you in for a hug and taking your heavy duffle bag for you as the crowds exiting the building surround you. āDid you hear the crowd when you nailed that one tackle in the second half? I was so proud that I told the guy beside me that youāre my girlfriend.ā
You laugh, perching up on your toes to quickly kiss him.
āAnd whatād he say?ā you ask.
āHe just looked at me like this,ā he says, pulling an annoyed expression. You laugh again. āBaby, you killed it. Best defense Iāve ever seen.ā
āNow youāre pushing it,ā you chuckle.
āIām serious,ā he says. āYouāre amazing. Whoād you train with? Obviously a pro.ā
āAlright,ā you roll your eyes, smiling.
āI mean it. And five.ā
You lace your fingers in his, grinning. The more you opened up to each other, learning about how hard it can be for Zach to express his difficult emotions, āand fiveā became your way to assure each other you mean what youāre saying, a silly reference to how he loves to say āone hundred and five percent.ā
āAnd fiveā is your way of saying you promise. That youāre sure. That thereās no reason to doubt anything.
āWow, and five?ā you say. āSo, youāre not just trying to flatter me before dinner.ā
Zach grins, pulling you in for a hug. Youāre set to go to his house to meet his family after you get ready in your dorm.
āYouāre sure youāre not too tired?ā he asks.
āI donāt care how tired I am,ā you say. āI canāt wait to meet them. And seeing Tom and Ruby again will be nice.ā
The MacLarensā house is warm and welcoming, just as you expected. You feel like you already know his parents and sister within minutes and when Zachās aunt and uncle arrive, itās comforting to see them, knowing they already like you.
Throughout dinner, Tom and Ruby tease Zach for how obviously lovestruck he was at work all summer. Even his sister joins in, calling him cheesy.
āI hope you know weāre all just joking, sweetie,ā Zachās mother says to you quietly, clearly a bit worried youāll think theyāre being too harsh on your boyfriend.
āI do,ā you say kindly. In the time youāve been together, youāve joked with Zach that teasing seems to be his love language. Itās sweet seeing him at home, joking with his family, looking up at you every so often to make sure youāre having a good time.
After you say your goodbyes, Zach drives you to your dorm. He pulls up to your building, the back of your hand warm from where heās been resting his palm.
Every time youāre in his car, you think about the first time you were in it back in the summer, going into town, getting to know him. Youāve been in it so many times since then, driving around and playing your favorite songs.
āWell, thank you again,ā you say, relieved to have heard he knows his family loved you, just as he suspected. āI had fun.ā
āYou fit right in,ā Zach says. He hopes itās not too much, but the longer heās been with you, the less scared he is of being too much.
You smile at him, proving him right. He doesnāt have to hold back.
āI was thinking something,ā he says, āwhen I was looking at you at dinner.ā
āWhat?ā
āThat I always knew that things between us didnāt go so fast because of the whole forbidden thing,ā he tells you. āTheyād go that fast anyway. For me, at least.ā
You smile, relieved to hear it. You spent so much of the camp season wondering if the rule you were both living under was the reason things escalated the way they did.
Youāve talked about the summer, reminiscing on your memories, laughing over your favorite moments, finding it hilarious how stressed you both were about the bosses finding out about you when they already knew, but you never dove into how fast your relationship went.
āYou have no idea how nice it is to hear that,ā you say. āI agree. I wouldāve been just as crazy about you if we met outside of work.ā
āMe, too,ā he says, his dimples caving into his cheeks as he gazes at you. He takes a deep breath, bringing your hand up to his mouth, kissing your palm. āI love you. And you donāt have to say it back, but I just want you to know.ā
āI love you, too,ā you say, feeling weightless. āObviously.ā
āYeah?ā Zach doesnāt know when his heart started pounding this hard, but itās thudding in his ears.
āYeah,ā you say. āAnd five.ā
He leans close and kisses you over and over, just like he did the first night on the dock.
But this time, instead of saying that you should stop and that this isnāt allowed and that you could get in trouble every time your lips part, youāre whispering that you love each other.
(the end)
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#zach maclaren and you#zach maclaren and y/n#zach maclaren and reader#zach maclaren x y/n#zach maclaren x you#zach maclaren x reader#zach maclaren
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Okkotsu Yuta NSFW A-Z
Part of my 20k follower celebration (past due)
Warnings: if it isnāt abundantly clear, this is smut :)
A/N: in honor of hitting 20k followers a while back, Iām going to be posting 10 NSFW alphabets for JJK men - here is scheduled post number 13 :)

A = Aftercare (what theyāre like after sex)
Yutaās aftercare is perfect in every possible way. This man puts so much effort into making sure you are comfortable, clean, and happy after sex. Heāll usually always run you a bath, even if you are exhausted. Heāll carry you into the bathroom and get in the tub with you. He takes the time to fill it with epsom salts and calming aroma scents like lavender and eucalyptus. Heāll massage your body wherever you say youāre a bit tender and heāll make sure to scrub you clean. Yuta feels energized after sex so itās not surprising that he has so much energy to take care of you. Heāll make sure to dry you off thoroughly and help you dress in the softest of pajamas. Heāll dry and brush your hair for you, get you water and even pain relievers if he thinks youāll need them.Ā
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partnerās)
Yuta is totally infatuated with your chest. He adores everything about it, big, small, flat, doesnāt matter, heāll spend hours sucking on your chest. Yuta loves to spoon with you, his hands under your shirt and cupping your chest happily, he isnāt even doing it to initiate something with you, he just adores the warmth and softness they offer him. When heās fucking you, he loves watching your hands scramble to hold your chest because heās rutting into you too damn hard and causing your whole body to recoil because of it. Which, of course, only makes him work harder.Ā
Yuta is quite shy at first, finding it hard to pinpoint a part of his body that he favors. But, over time, Yuta finds he has a lot of confidence in his arms. Specifically his forearms, because of the way they bulge when he uses his strength to keep you in place. Or maybe when heās fucking you in front of a mirror and can see the way his arms look wrapped around your waist.Ā
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Heās filthy, in every way possible. Yuta loves seeing you ruined and fucked out, but he also loves seeing you covered in the sticky mess that his cum makes. Honestly, heāll cum anywhere you want him to. Even then he canāt make the promise that itāll end up where you want it, he could aim for your chest but end up on your face, he could aim for coming inside and accidentally pull out and spill his load on your sex. It depends how lost he is in the moment.Ā
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Yuta really likes when you degrade him and call him mean names. He doesnāt even have an explanation for why it turns him on the way it does but he loves it. That and the fact that he finds you so unbelievably hot when youāre mad at him⦠which is really rare cause he doesnāt do many things to piss you off. But fighting is inevitable in relationships, and for the two of you it usually ends in marathon sex so he canāt say he doesnāt like arguing either. He tries not to piss you off on purpose⦠unless heās really horny and in the mood to get fucked stupid.Ā
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what theyāre doing?)
Yuta doesnāt have a ton of experience but youād never guess it. Heās had maybe two or three partners max and only one instance of a one night stand. Still, heāll get texts from blocked numbers begging for him back because nobody can fuck them like he did. Heāll show you the messages when they come in and let you handle them how you please, he has all he needs right in front of him so he couldnāt care less about texts like that. Needless to say, Yuta not only knows how to make someone feel good, but how to leave a lasting impression.Ā
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Missionary, and if you find that boring clearly youāve been doing it wrong. Yuta adores missionary, I mean he enjoys fucking you in just about every position but there is something so intimate about missionary that drives him up the wall. He loves how close you are, how he can feel your body moving against his, how his weight is making you wheeze and squirm and just produce the prettiest noises heās ever heard. He loves how he can still kiss you, bite you, and suck hickeys on your neck even when you beg him not to. He loves how he can hear you so perfectly, watching your face contort as you try and hide your cute noises. Itās perfect.Ā
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Yuta can be a bit humorous during sex, cracking a few smiles at you and sly comments. It just feels weird for him to be completely serious when with you, even if heās mad or worked up. Yuta will never fail to pull a smile onto your face as he says something so sweet it nearly makes your teeth ache. Heās such a love bug, especially when heās being intimate with you.Ā
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Yuta has a love-hate relationship with his hair down there. He likes to keep it short and neat but sometimes life gets away from him and his hair grows out more than he would like it to. You, for one, donāt care about his hair down there but Yuta can get a bit shy if youāre getting intimate and he hasnāt had time to clean up his groin lmao
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
If you couldnāt tell by his favorite position and his humor, Yuta is very romantic during sex. But romantic in a shy way when youāre first getting into things, as he lets loose, so do his words. You swear Yuta is telling you he loves you every time his hips connect with yours⦠itās because he is. Heās nearly lovesick for you as he ruts his hips into you, doesnāt matter if he just saw you this morning, that man misses you and he will make sure you know it.Ā
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Yutaās frequency can vary depending on his mood and work schedule. Before meeting you, he would get himself off once a week minimum. Most weeks heād jerk off a healthy two-three times. Now, the only time heāll jerk off is if heās away from you for too long or if he really needs to do stuff and he canāt get it to go down on its own. Yuta also isnāt shy about using toys to get himself off ā that means vibrators, pocket pussies, butt plugs oops-
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Master/Slave kink, I will not go into detail on this one I just⦠I just think heād like it if you ordered him around and called him a good boy. Heās heavy on dom/sub but heās easily a switch and enjoys being in either position. Yuta has a mild breeding kink, one that only comes out when heās really upset⦠like if you get injured. Iād also say Yuta is into somnophilia because there have been times he returned from a mission and youāre already passed out but heās worked up. Youāve discussed it before so itās completely consensual and he finds it so cute when you start making noises in your sleep as he buries his fingers inside to prep you.Ā
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Yuta loves fucking you on just about any surface but heās grown quite fond of bathtub sex. Something about the steam filling the room, the hot water, the intimacy of the moment, the urge to be careful in order to not make a mess of the room. There are so many factors that go into fucking in the bathtub that Yuta almost views it as a challenge, which is part of the enjoyment. Yuta is also an avid lover of car sex, for similar reasons to fucking in the bath, he likes the risks that come with it. He finds the possibilities of getting caught or trying not to make an absolute mess to be very fun⦠plus watching you try and keep quiet is amusing for him.Ā
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Heās a sucker for non-sexual intimacy just as heās a sucker for sexual intimacy. Yuta has absolutely popped a hard-on because you cuddled into him while sitting on the couch. Heās mildly embarrassed about the fact that some of the most innocent touches get him worked up, but he just canāt help how in love he is with you. Yuta is also very obsessed with lingerie, heāll never expect you to wear it for him or always be wearing cute undergarments. But itās a real treat for him when you decide to ādress upā in that sense. You may notice him being a tad more handsy with you when you tease him with a lacy waistband peeking above your pants.Ā
N = No (something they wouldnāt do, turn offs)
Hateful, mean, spiteful sex. Anything along the lines of hooking up just to put someone in their place if that makes sense? He can certainly be rough, but itās out of love and adoration for you. Heās never liked the idea of hook-ups or one night stands, heās much more into emotions and really caring about someone when sleeping with them.Ā
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Yuta is all about your pleasure so itās not surprising that he has a preference for giving oral. Not to say he doesn't love receiving it, he definitely adores it, but going down on you is almost like a guilty pleasure for him. Heāll go down on you to relieve his own stress, spending hours between your thighs until he is satisfied with how many times youāve come. His skills came naturally, somehow knowing exactly what to do when he got down there. If you were his first? Youād never guess it, Yuta is very skilled with his tongue⦠something else thatāll make him blush if you mention it. Heās still shy somehow.Ā
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Yuta can and will adjust his pace to your liking, but naturally the man is pretty eager and can start off faster than intended. He learned over time that it is much more gratifying to work his way up to the rougher and faster paces, especially since youāll start to whine and beg for him to go faster or be rougher. The way you plead with him drives him absolutely wild. When heās sleepy, worn out from a day's work and still needs to satisfy his cravings of you, Yutaās hips take a much more languid and sensual roll. Heāll press his lips to your ear so you can hear his breathing struggle as he whispers his love and adoration for you.Ā
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Yeah but also no⦠heās conflicted mostly because he can never keep a quickie⦠quick. Even car sex can span on for twenty minutes if heās not mindful. He just gets so lost in you and your body, how is he supposed to speed things up when he feels he has all the time in the world?
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Heāll experiment with you for sure but he will shamelessly research what you want to try before even bringing it into the bedroom. He does this because he wants to make sure itās safe and something he will also enjoy. But he also does this to make sure he does it properly for you, buys the right things, has the right idea on the concept. He wants you to enjoy it properly of course.Ā
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Bless you honestly, this man can go all fucking night and even past the sunrise if he really wants to. Heāll wear you out and make sure you need to call out of work the next day because he swears heās not done with you yet. Yuta is an avid lover of marathon sex and he has the stamina to keep up with it. Usually he can go as long as ten minutes per round once he gets inside of you but he will not hold himself back from coming, so heās not usually one to stick out the full ten minutes unless heās just trying to tease you. He knows going longer can sometimes become painful.Ā
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Yuta loves toys, both on you and himself. He thinks they are incredibly fun to use in bed with you and just by himself. Heās not opposed to any toys really, heāll buy/use whatever he feels like or whatever you express interest in wanting. Nothing is really off limits in that sense.Ā
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Yuta can tease you but heās not really unfair. Heāll edge you unintentionally and make up for it seconds later. Heāll praise you until youāre squirming, roll his hips a little slower to hear you whine, but heās never dragging on his teasing. Heād rather see you crying from pleasure than desperation cause heās holding back.Ā
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Yuta. Whimpers. Yuta. Whines.Ā
You canāt tell me anything different. Yuta will not restrain his noises⦠mostly because heās incapable of doing so. Heāll moan and curse, babble on and on about how good you feel, thank you over and over for letting him have you. Heās learned to not be embarrassed by his noises because he realized how much they seem to turn you on. He takes it as a compliment now.Ā
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
One of Yutaās biggest guilty pleasures is cock-warming. He loves being close to you, cuddling you tightly as you both try and sleep. So why not take it a step further and just⦠slip inside. His only issue is that he can never promise itāll remain cock-warming. His hips or yours turn restless at some point and youāll easily get carried away. But, on nights where youāre both able to control yourselves, Yuta will knock out within seconds of slipping inside of you.Ā
X = X-ray (letās see whatās going on under those clothes)
When soft, Yuta is sitting at 5.2 inches. Once hard, Yuta is 6.3 inches and curves upwards. Heās got a good girth to him, the kind that requires some getting used to but doesnāt hurt if he prepares you correctly. Heās got a pretty cock, which youāve mentioned before just to see his face turn a shade of scarlet as you kept reassuring him that you meant it. Heās paler with a pretty flushed pink tip and some light veins running along his shaft.Ā
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Man he could fuck you every day of the week, all hours of the day, if he had the time. His sex drive is unbelievably high, this boy was touch starved and now he canāt get enough.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He will not fall asleep until he assures that you have been properly taken care of. Yuta also feels pretty energized after sex so he may not come right back to bed after heās sure youāre comfy. Depending on the time of day, heās actually gone for a run after or cleaned the house before accompanying you in bed again. You like to tease him and call him an overachiever for doing more cardio after all the cardio he just did. Typically though, if you fuck before bed, heāll be asleep within thirty minutes or so.Ā
#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jujutsu kaisen scenarios#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen okkotsu#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk drabbles#jjk imagines#jjk scenarios#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jjk smut#yuta okkutsu#okkotsu yuta#yuta headcanons#jjk yuta#yuta okkotsu#yuta smut#yuta x reader#jjk yuuta#yuuta smut#okkotsu yuuta#yuuta x reader#yuuta x you#jujutsu kaisen yuuta#jujutus kaisen#jjk
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A Cracked And Fissured Door
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
"You just...you make me feel like you only want me when nobody's looking."
It stings, if she's being honest. Being kept at an arms length when in public. Most people know about them, so she's not sure why he's so...cold and distant when they're not alone.
Masterlist
"If he sends us out before next week I'm quitting." Soap groans, back cracking as he flops down forward on the bar. "Three ops in a week? What do I look like, a machine?"
Gaz snickers, raising his glass to that. "Bloody might well be at this point."
She hides a smile behind her own drink, leaning back into the bar. They had done three ops in a week, mission after mission after mission. It had been pretty rough, just as Soap said and she was more than ready to crash and burn and sleep for three days straight but abandoning their tradition of getting drinks at this specific bar everything Saturday was not something anyone on the 141 was willing to break.
"Just be glad we got the weekend off." Ghost says from beside her. She smiles warmly at him, is rewarded with a slightly blank look.
The flicker of her smile is hid behind another sip.
"Betcha your gonna take advantage of that, eh?" Soap nudges her, looking pointedly between her and Ghost. The latter rolls his eyes and says nothing.
"Only thing I'm looking forward to is an actual mattress." She knocks back the last of her drink and stands, shrugging Gaz's arm slung over her shoulder. "Speaking of which, I think it's about time we call it a night." Casting a glance at her boyfriend, who merely nods in confirmation and pushes the stool back himself, she nods at the others. "Don't cause too much trouble, boys. Text us when you're home safe, yeah?"
"We just got shot at for a week, don't think a car ride home is gonna be the end of us." Soap snorts.
"You never know." Is all she says before stepping out of the bar with Ghost, who offers her her coat to shrug on.
"Hell of a week." She comments, glancing at him gratefully as she shrugs on the warm fabric.
"Just glad it's over," Simon says simply.
Walking back to their car, she can't help but cast quiet glances at him as they walk. She knows Ghost notices them, chooses to keep looking ahead and keep the silence.
Truth be told, she aches to touch him.
Aches to feel his skin on hers, to feel the callouses of his hands brush against hers. His heat, ever all-encompassing makes her feel safe in a way no bulletproof vest ever could.
"Think I might ask Price to assign me desk duty for a while." She jokes, knocking their shoulders together gently.
To the untrained eye, to someone who might not have been tuned to what makes Simon Simon, it wouldn't have been noticeable, but he leans subtly away so they don't touch again.
She doesn't mention it, but it makes her heart heavy.
It's nothing new. She's not sure why she's even surprised anymore.
Trying again, her arm hangs beside her, purposefully brushing against his gloves. The frown on her face deepens when he shoves his hands into his pockets.
Maybe it's the exhausting week she's had, but it gets to her, infects her heart, mind, and soul with the insecurity she keeps locked behind a cracked and fissured door in her mind.
It stings, if she's being honest.
He's not the most...social person. Closed off and private, but baring her soul to someone she loves and getting so little in return...
Being kept at an arm's length when in public, even though their relationship is not a secret. Most people know, actually, so she's not sure why he's so...cold and distant when they're not alone.
The car ride home is silent, but not in a comfortable way their quiet is usually shared. Simon seems to pick up on it, because he grips the steering wheel a little too hard, the tension in his shoulders a little too foreign.
Gaz had no problem touching her. A friendly punch to the arm, an arm around her shoulder. Soap was a touchy person by nature, nudging her and ruffling her hair.
So why was it that Simon always pulled away?
The one person who should love her the most, who should be proud of loving her...why does he pull away and pretend this thing between them doesn't exist.
She doesn't get it, hasn't understood for the past two years they've been together. Pushing was not something she'd considered given his stubbornness and private nature, but there's no denying she's always felt a twinge of hurt whenever he disregards her in public.
Was he...ashamed? Of her? Did he not want to be seen with her?
The thought latches itself onto her, sucking away the usual confidence she carries and leaving her a nervous mess. It makes her sick. Before she knows it they're back home but she can't find herself to walk any farther than the front door that's shut behind her.
He doesn't comment on it, just casts her an inquisitive look before moving to the kitchen in view.
Simon always did like a cup of tea before bed.
"Simon?" The word comes out a little garbled, caught in her indecision, and morphed into something muffled. He hears it, because of course he does, and hums. Doesn't look up from where he's rifling through the cupboards for his kettle.
The air is cold in her lungs, freezes up with nerves, and this is all so ridiculous. It's stupid and she shouldn't be feeling this way but she does because she just does.
Trust was a precious jewel, a diamond only given to those who trusted enough to keep it unmarred. Necklaces and earrings and bracelets, she feels like she could make millions of intricate pieces with the bits of trust she had bared for Simon to take and keep as his own.
Simon knows what she loves, what she hates, how she feels about anything and everything. The rhyme and reasons, the way she ticks, and what throws her off kilter. He knows it all, it's been given willingly and eagerly to the man who took her heart with that rough demeanour on the tarmac two years ago.
She had given him all her gems, the shiniest and the dullest ones, but he's never even been bothered to spare her a piece of coal.
When she doesn't speak immediately, he pauses his movements and sets down the kettle on the counter with a 'clink'. "What's the matter, love?" He straightens up.
"Do you want to be with me?" She blurts out, unable to fathom leaving this conversation for another day. Not when she's so worked up and hurt and feeling.
His face stays blank, and when he responds it's almost as if he's doing it carefully. "What do you mean?"
"I mean what I asked." The sides of her coat are clutched with a knuckle-white grip, nausea making her an inch away from ruining the lovely carpet they'd picked out together when they'd first moved in.
Simon furrows his brows. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"That's not what I asked." Unease starts to curl up in her gut. "Do you like me, Simon?"
"Of course I fucking like you, what are you talking about?"
"You sure don't act like it."
There.
It's in the open now. Simon stares at her for a moment, shocked or stunned or whatever emotion that causes him to clam up for a moment.
He never really was good at this part of their relationship, but this...it was vital. It was important because she refuses to let this problem define what they have together.
"You don't touch me when we're not alone." She starts, "You act like I'm just no one when we're out together. You barely acknowledge me any more than anybody else, pull away when I try to touch you." It feels good to let this all off her chest. Months and months of trying to figure out what was going on. "Tell me why. I just want to know why."
"I'm a private person-"
"No Simon, that's not what this is." She shakes her head, emotion rising inside her. "You just...you make me feel like you only want me when nobody's looking. Like I'm...like you want to keep me a secret."
Her eyes are glassy because saying it hurts so fucking much, but it needs to be said. It needs to be voiced, he needs to listen and acknowledge-
"You know that's not true, so it shouldn't be a bloody problem-"
"Do I?" A laugh burst out of her, unexpected and short. It's enough to cut him off, cause him to narrow his eyes. "You've never told or indicated that to me. Not once. Not in two years."
"It's common sense. I wouldn't be with you if I didn't want you." She can tell he's trying to stay level, to meet her in the middle but all caution gets thrown to the wind because is he really trying to argue with her on this?
"No, it's not." She insists, trying not to raise her voice as anger bubbles up inside her. Was he not getting it? Not understanding that this was hurting her? That he was hurting her? "Sometimes I-..." She swallows, "Sometimes I'll be having a great time, like today. I'll be laughing and enjoying myself and then I'll glance at you, or try and do something as simple as brush shoulders, and I'll watch you push me away. Or pull away." Her voice waver but she fights to keep it steady. "And it makes me feel miserable because what is it about me that makes my own boyfriend not want to accidentally touch me?"
"Why didn't you tell me before?" He says, hackles raised at being put on the spot like this. Ghost doesn't mean to, but this is all so new to him and the only thing he knows how to do in these rapidly changing situations is to be sharp and jagged and tense. "If you're so miserable, why are you still here?"
"Because I love you!" She cries out. "And I can't help but think that I might never get the same back from you." Her grip on her coat tightens.
There's a beat of silence.
"I never asked you to. You knew what you were getting yourself into."
His words cut through the quiet, as sharp as the blades he keeps strapped to his thigh.
"Oh, fuck you." She whispers. "Don't give me that bullshit. That's not an excuse for not trying-"
"Not trying?" His voice gets slightly louder. "I try every day. I try to be someone you deserve but you're bloody well making it difficult when-"
"Just stop!" She yells over him. "Stop. I'm not asking for something you can't give. I'm just asking for an explanation."
"I can't-"
"You can!" To her dismay, her eyes burn with tears that are bound to fall in a few seconds, but she's too far into it to turn around now. "It's been two fucking years, Simon. Two years. I've never pushed or pressured you, I've listened and sat here and tried to be the one you can come to, but you never do." She sniffles, wiping her tears away roughly.
He stays silent, visibly frustrated but letting her talk.
"Do you know what they say back at base?" She spits out. "About me? They say I've forced you into being with me." A hollow laugh. "That I've got some dirt on you that keeps you quiet, or that I'm just someone you pass the time at night with because everyone thinks that you want nothing to do with me during the day. They talk about why we're still together, why you're still with me when you clearly have no interest." Her tears are long forgotten, left to trail down her cheeks in rivers of hurt. "They say...they say I'm only on the 141 because of our relationship."
And that was what hurt the most. Her own skills undermined like that.
That startles him enough to pull his brows in confusion "I didn't know..."
"Of course you don't, why would they say it in front of the man who looks like he could snap their spines in half?"
She waits for him to speak. To say something, anything, but all he does is stare at her with those half-blank eyes that she can never decipher and it infuriates her because did he not just listen to what she's told him.
"You know what, forget it." She chokes out. "I'm done. I'm fucking done with this." She gestures to them both, vaguely watching his eyes widen with muted panic. Getting shoved into a woodchipper would be less painful than the hurt that tears through her chest, hiccupping on swallowed sobs.
"Hold on-"
"I can't be the only one keeping us both afloat." She reaches behind her for the doorknob. "I don't want that. I love you, Simon. I really do, but it hurts so fucking much when you act like I'm disposable, like you're ashamed of being seen with me."
The door is pulled open by her, and then roughly shoved shut by Simon. He moves quicker than she could register, behind the counter one moment and right in front of her the next. His hand stays firmly on the door, keeping it shut as he leans down to catch her gaze.
"Ashamed is the last thing I am about you." He says quickly, clumsily. "I-...fucking hell that's not right at all, love."
Simon is...he's panicking.
The thought strikes her immediately with the way his chest rises and falls quickly, the lack of that cold clipped grace in his voice.
"I don't care." She chokes on a cry, hands planting themselves firmly on his chest to shove him away. It's like nudging a brick wall. The man is immovable, standing in place with their bodies so close it feels like they're sharing heat. "I'm tired, and you're making it worse so let me go." He grabs her wrists, presses them against himself to keep her in place. His hands are warm, rid of the gloves he usually dons.
She's met with every inch of that scarred face of his. She hadn't noticed but he'd discarded his mask as he'd been rushing around the counter to get to her.
"Listen to me." He breathes, trying to get his thoughts straight and keep her there with him. He can't lose her, can't let her walk out the door because he's afraid that she might never come back. "Please."
It's the last word that pauses her struggle. Simon...he was someone who operated on orders and demands so the frantic and silent plea pushed into the word is enough to make her still for a moment.
And a moment is all he needs.
"I've never..." He thinks for a moment. Never has she seen him look so frazzled. He tries again. "Everyone I've ever loved has been killed." Her eyes widen at the declaration. "My family. My friends...everyone." His breath fans over her face with how he's leaned down, hot so very him. "I think I'm afraid if I show the world I love you it might try and take you from me too." Simon's voice breaks at the end, as if he's voiced something from his nightmares and despite the pain she's feeling the sound slices through her. "And I can't...I can't live with losing you too."
With bated breath, he waits for her to respond. Part of him can't bear to look her in the eyes after the admission but he finds himself staring at her face anyway, drinking in any sign of hope.
Hope. How long has it been since he's felt the warm rays of such a feeling?
Slowly, so slowly it makes his breath hitch, she tugs her hand free on his. For a moment Simon thinks she might push him away again and his heart sinks like a stone, but then her fingertips graze his face, her hands cup his cheeks and suddenly they interlock behind his head, pulling him in.
Simon crushes her into him, tucking her head under his chin with a shuddering breath of relief. He's not lost her, not completely.
Hope.
There was still such a thing for a man like him after all.
"I'm not going anywhere." She mumbles into the crook of his neck, the feeling of his lips moving on his skin sending a shiver up his spine. "I'm so sorry, Simon. If you'd told me that before I would have tried to help-..."
Simon shakes his head immediately, arms tightening around her. "I chose not to tell you. The thought of coming home and seeing you on the ground...bloody...like them." He swallows past the lump in his throat. "Fuck, I'm sorry I hurt you, sweetheart."
Simon didn't apologise often, so when he did that means he knows he's fucked up.
She does not tell him it's alright, that she forgives him or that he's fine. Because he's not. His apology, his honesty doesn't make the months of hurt go away. It still aches at her like before, but this time the ache has a meaning behind it. It has a reason.
They hold each other for a moment, against the door, two people knee-deep in a problem that's been brewing for weeks and weeks, bubbled over the edge in the ugliest way possible.
"I need you to try." She whispers after a moment, the barest of smiles gracing her face when he nods slowly.
"I know." He says simply against her hair. Gently swaying in each other's hold, both are content to stay there for a while, to calm their racing hearts with the knowledge that the other is still there, is real and solid under their hands.
And it's enough.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā· Ā· āāāāāāā Ā·š„øĀ· āāāāāāā Ā· Ā·
Change is a slow trek to an ever extending finish line.
Simon keeps his word. If there's anything it's good at, it's resilience. Though it makes him antsy and paranoid and dare he say slightly nervous to open such a part of him to somebody again, he tries.
He tried because he'd rather saw his own arm off than be the one who gives her a reason to leave. Not her. Not the best thing that's happened to him in years, the person who's managed to wake up Simon after years of being Ghost.
A subtle brush of hands as they walk.
An arm around her shoulder while they drink.
Thighs and sides pressed together as they take their seats on a heli.
The squeeze of her knee from under the table.
It builds and builds into something warm and new and fresh, a feeling that overshadows all the worry he had about the universe having a vendetta against him because if there was one good thing that Simon Riley wanted to keep, it was her.
Their weekend is filled with conversations, real conversations about things they've kept to themselves, worries and concerns, and moments of hesitance. He tries his best, though some words die on his tongue before he can get them out. She pushes him, but never more than he can take. Heart, body, and soul, she knows him like the back of her hand but he's the only one who can truly let her into his mind.
All that aside Simon also has another more personal task to work through once their weekend is over.
After paying some not-so-nice visits to more than a dozen people (to his absolute fury), she never once hears a peep of another disgusting rumour ever again.
Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!
(26/07/2023)
#call of duty modern warfare 2#modern warfare x reader#angst#fanfiction#fanfic#fluff#x reader#x y/n#cod mw22#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost modern warfare#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#cod ghost#cod mw ghost#ghost simon riley#mw2 ghost#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#cod mw2#cod fanfic#cod fanfiction#cod fic#cod fluff#cod gaz#cod headcanons#cod imagines
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š«š¢š š”š š°š”šš«š š²šØš® š„ššš š¦š: š©šš«š šØš§š | š.š¬.

warnings: unresolved angst, secret pregnancy, breakup, abandonment, decision of being a single mother, please let me know if i missed anything!Ā
word count: 3,333
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six
oh, you were so excited. since you were a little girl you dreamed of being a mother. and when you started dating chris six years ago, you knew you wanted him to be there with you. you wanted to grow old with him, raise kids with him and watch your grandchildren grow up.
and now here you were, standing on the front porch of chrisā childhood home in boston, barely standing still as you anxiously yet excitedly fiddle with your rings. buried deep in your spacecamp wellness tote bag was the biggest secret, that in this moment, nobody besides you and God knew of.Ā
you had texted chris, telling him that you needed to talk. within seconds, he answered, agreeing with you. you didnt know what he needed to talk about, but you had to tell him.Ā
you knock on the door, the door immediately being opened by chris, who had a serious look on his face. you reach for his hands, gently taking them in yours.Ā
he gives you a weak smile, pulling you close as he kisses your forehead, leading you inside. you walk into the living room, flashing nick and matt a quickly smile as they hurry out of the room, odd looks on their faces as they leave you and chris alone to talk in the now quiet house, since his parents had gone out.Ā
āokay, so. i need to tell you something.ā you reach for chris, who ignores your reaching arms, sitting next to you, a bit of a distance between you as he buries his face in his hands.Ā
you knew how he was. when chris got like thisāquiet, tense, distantāit meant something was weighing heavy on his heart. something heād been thinking about for a long time, probably rehearsing how to say it in his mind for days, if not weeks. your chest tightened as you watched him, his elbows propped on his knees, fingers threading through his hair like he was trying to steady himself.Ā Ā
"chris?" your voice came out softer than you expected, your excitement from moments ago quickly being replaced by a gnawing pit of dread. you reached out again, but he didn't look at you. his silence said more than words ever could.Ā Ā
he sighed, dropping his hands and finally meeting your eyes, and that lookāGod, that lookāhit you like a punch to the stomach. his eyes, usually so warm and full of love, were clouded with guilt and something else you couldnāt quite place. regret, maybe.Ā Ā
"iā" he started, then stopped, his jaw tightening. "i donāt even know how to say this." his voice cracked on the last word, and you could feel the tears welling up in your own eyes, unbidden, your throat tightening in response.Ā Ā
"chris, just say it. whatever it is, we can figure it out, okay?" you tried to sound steady, but your voice wavered, betraying the panic clawing at your chest.Ā Ā
he shook his head, leaning back and running his hands through his hair again. "i donāt think we can figure this out. thatās the thing," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.Ā Ā
your stomach dropped.Ā Ā
"what... what are you talking about?" you asked, even though you already knew. you needed him to say it, to rip the band-aid off, even if it would tear you apart.Ā Ā
he looked at you then, really looked at you, and the pain in his eyes was almost unbearable. "i canāt do this anymore," he said finally, his words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last.Ā Ā
your hands fell into your lap, your heart shattering into a million pieces. "what do you mean? you... you canāt do us anymore?"Ā Ā
chris nodded, swallowing hard. "iāve been thinking about this for a while," he admitted, his voice raw. "and i hate myself for it, but... i think itās better if we end things now before we hurt each other more."Ā Ā
"hurt each other?" you echoed, your voice trembling. "chris, what are you even saying? weāre not hurting each other. i love you."Ā Ā
"and i love you too," he said quickly, his voice breaking. "but sometimes love isnāt enough. i feel like iām holding you back, like i canāt give you what you deserve. you deserve someone who... whoās better at all of this than i am."Ā Ā
you shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "thatās not true. youāre everything to me. why are you doing this?"Ā Ā
he reached for your hand then, and you almost pulled away, but you couldnāt. even now, even as he was breaking your heart, you craved his touch.Ā Ā
"because i donāt want to be the reason you lose yourself," he said, his voice steady now, like heād convinced himself that this was the right thing to do. "iāve seen it happen before, and i canāt let it happen to you. i love you too much for that."Ā Ā
you opened your mouth to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that this was a mistake, but the words wouldnāt come. deep down, you could see that his mind was made up. the stubbornness that you loved about him was now the thing that would tear you apart.Ā Ā
chris stood, his hand lingering on yours for a moment before he pulled away. "iām so sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "you have no idea how much this hurts me."Ā Ā
āchris, stop. you.. you cant do this, not now..ā you whisper, youre heart breaking as he stands up, beginning to walk away.
you softly chase after him, reaching for his arms, tearing streaming down your face. he faces you, gently taking your hands in his.Ā
āi love you, baby. so much. but im doing this because i love you. i see the hate you get from my fans, and it kills me. it kills me so fucking much knowing that i cant do anything to stop it, no matter how many things i say to them. "and that's why i can't let this keep happening," chris said, his voice cracking as he looked down at your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your trembling fingers. "you donāt deserve any of this. you donāt deserve to feel like you have to fight for your place in my life. none of itās fair to you."
your chest tightened, and the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over. "but chris, i donāt care about any of that. the fans, the hate, the comments... none of it matters to me. youāre what matters. youāre the only thing thatās ever mattered."
he let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back his own tears. "but it should matter, baby. you say it doesnāt, but i see it. i see how it wears on you. youāve stopped posting your art, stopped sharing the things you love because youāre scared of what theyāll say. i see how you smile less. and i canāt... i canāt live with knowing that iām the reason for that."
"youāre not the reason for it," you argued, your voice desperate, shaking. "those people donāt even know me, chris. theyāre just looking for someone to blame because they canāt have you for themselves. thatās not on you. thatās on them."
he shook his head, his grip on your hands tightening. "it doesnāt matter if itās on them. itās still happening because of me. and the longer we stay together, the worse itāll get. you think itās bad now? itās only going to get harder. i canāt stand the thought of you going through that for me."
you felt your knees weaken, like the weight of his words was pressing down on you, suffocating you. "but donāt you see, chris? youāre worth it. weāre worth it. i donāt care how hard it gets, iāll fight for us. iāll fight every single day if it means i get to keep you."
his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked at you, his expression torn between love and heartbreak. "and thatās what kills me the most," he whispered. "you shouldnāt have to fight for us. love isnāt supposed to be like this. itās supposed to be easy, and safe, and full of joy. and i... i canāt give you that right now. not the way you deserve."
"youāre wrong," you said, your voice barely audible, your heart breaking with every word. "love is worth fighting for. youāre worth fighting for."
he gently starts walking you toward the door, the fight to not cry visible on his face "you donāt understand, baby. this is me fighting for you. this is me trying to protect you from everything that comes with loving me. i donāt want you to look back in a few years and resent me for all the pain you went through just to be with me."
"i could never resent you," you said, your voice firm despite the tears streaming down your face. "never. youāre everything to me, chris. please, donāt do this. donāt throw us away because of something we can get through together."
he closed his eyes, his head bowing like he couldnāt stand to see the pain in your eyes anymore. "iāve already made up my mind," he said softly, and those words hit you like a knife to the chest. "this is the hardest thing iāve ever had to do, but iām doing it because i love you. because i want you to be happy, even if itās not with me."
"you are my happiness," you cried, your voice breaking. "donāt you get that? youāre all i need."
"and youāre all iāll ever love," he said, his voice heavy with finality. "but sometimes love isnāt enough."
he leaned in and kissed your forehead one last time, his lips lingering there as though he was trying to memorize this moment, to etch it into his memory forever. when he pulled away, you saw the tears streaming down his face, and it shattered you even more.
"i love you. im sorry" he whispered, his voice trembling as he softly pushed you out of his front door, his heart heavy with regretĀ
you stood there, frozen, your entire world crumbling around you as you watched him slam the door in your face. your hand instinctively went to your tote bag, clutching it like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. the secret you had been so excited to shareāthe little piece of him you were carrying, the piece of both of youāwas now a weight you didnāt know how to bear alone.
"chris," you called out one last time, your voice a broken sob as you hoped heād open the door again "please. the baby.." you whispered, your voice barely audible, a plea that hung heavy in the air.
but he didnāt say come back. he didnt open the door. you heard his footsteps get farther away, meaning hes going up to his bedroom, leaving you alone with nothing but memories of the past six years, the echo of his absence, and the secret you hadnāt been able to tell him.Ā
you stood there, staring at the door that had just closed in your face, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp. the cold, boston air of january nipped at your cheeks, but it didnāt register. all you could focus on was the weight in your chest, the ache that had settled there as you stared at the house in front of you.Ā Ā
chrisā house. the house where it all began.Ā Ā
your eyes drifted to the porch below you, the same porch where youād sat together as kids, eating popsicles in the summer and talking about everything from your favorite cartoons to your wildest dreams. you remembered how heād teased you about the way you always peeled the wrappers off your popsicle sticks, how his laughter had filled the air and wrapped around you like the warmest embrace.Ā Ā
your gaze lingered on the window to the living room. you could almost see the two of you, years ago, sprawled out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between you, arguing over which movie to watch. he always let you pick in the end, even when he pretended not to care about the cheesy rom-coms you loved so much.Ā Ā
and the backyard⦠God, the backyard. you could still picture the two of you running around barefoot, him chasing you with water balloons until you tripped and fell into the grass, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. it was in that backyard where heād kissed you for the first time, his lips brushing against yours so softly you thought you mightāve imagined it. but you didnāt. it had been real. and it had been everything.Ā Ā
now, those memories felt like ghosts, haunting you as you stood there, clutching your tote bag like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. how could he do this? how could he shut the door on everything youād built together? on all the years, all the love, all the promises whispered under the stars?Ā Ā
your eyes drifted to his bedroom window, and your heart clenched. you remembered sneaking in and out of that room, climbing the trellis late at night when you just couldnāt stand being apart for another second. the way heād pull you into his arms the moment you made it inside, his voice low as he whispered, āyouāre crazy for doing this, you know that?ā but his smile always told you he didnāt mean it.Ā Ā
now, the window was dark. no light, no sign of him. just an empty, hollow void where he used to be.Ā Ā
you took a shaky breath, your hand instinctively going to your stomach as the weight of your secret pressed down on you. how could you have been so excited just moments ago? how could you have thought this was going to be the happiest day of your life, when now it felt like your world was ending?Ā Ā
tears blurred your vision, but you couldnāt bring yourself to move. you stood there, rooted to the spot, as if leaving would somehow mean letting go of everything. of him. of the life youād imagined together.Ā Ā
your mind replayed his words over and over, each one cutting deeper than the last. āi canāt do this anymore⦠you deserve better⦠this is me fighting for youā¦āĀ Ā
you wanted to scream, to bang on the door until he opened it and let you in. until he saw that you were still standing there, ready to fight for him, for you, for everything youād built. but you knew it wouldnāt change anything. his mind was made up.Ā Ā
and so you stayed, your feet frozen to the porch as you stared at the house that held every memory youād ever shared with him. the house that had once felt like home.Ā Ā
but now, it felt like a strangerās. cold, distant, and unreachable. just like him.Ā
yet, back in the house, chris was a wreck. he broke up with you. he was sitting on his couch, face buried in his hands as nick makes his way back downstairsĀ
ādid you.. do it?ā nick asks, sitting next to his brother.Ā
chris couldnāt bring himself to lift his head. his hands trembled as they covered his face, tears streaming through his fingers. he nodded weakly, barely able to get the words out.Ā Ā
āyeah,ā he whispered, his voice cracking. āi did it.āĀ Ā
nick let out a low breath, leaning back against the couch as he crossed his arms. he didnāt say anything right away, just studied his brother with a mix of pity and frustration.Ā Ā
āand how do you feel now?ā nick finally asked, his voice cautious, careful not to push too hard.Ā Ā
chris shook his head, his hands dropping to his lap as he stared blankly at the coffee table. ālike shit,ā he admitted, his voice raw. ālike i just ripped my own heart out.āĀ Ā
nick frowned, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. āthen whyād you do it? if itās tearing you up this much, why push her away?āĀ Ā
chris sighed, dragging his hands through his hair. ābecause she deserves better,ā he said, his voice thick with emotion. āshe deserves a life without the hate, without the constant pressure of being with someone like me. she says sheās fine, but i see it, nick. i see how itās breaking her, and i canāt⦠i canāt keep doing that to her.āĀ Ā
nick studied him for a moment, his brows furrowing. āand you think this is whatās best for her?āĀ Ā
āyeah,ā chris said, though his voice wavered, as if he wasnāt entirely sure himself. āi mean.. it has to be. right?āĀ Ā
nick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. ālook, man, i get it. you think youāre protecting her, and maybe you are in some ways. but breaking her heart? breaking your own heart? that doesnāt sound like protection to me. it sounds like youāre running away.āĀ Ā
āiām not running away,ā chris snapped, his voice rising before he quickly deflated, his shoulders slumping. āiām not. i just.. i love her too much to keep putting her through this. i donāt want her to hate me one day because of all the shit that comes with being with me.āĀ Ā
nick tilted his head, his expression softening. āand what if she never would? what if she meant it when she said youāre worth it?āĀ Ā
chris shook his head, his eyes welling up with tears again. āit doesnāt matter. i made my decision. itās done.āĀ Ā
nick leaned back, letting out a long breath as he watched his brother unravel in front of him. āyouāre stubborn as hell, you know that? but youāre also an idiot.āĀ Ā
āthanks, nick,ā chris muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.Ā Ā
āno, seriously,ā nick said, leaning forward again. āyouāre sitting here, miserable as hell, and sheās probably out there feeling the same way. and for what? because you think you know whatās best for her? maybeājust maybeāyou shouldāve let her decide that for herself.āĀ Ā
chris didnāt respond, his jaw tightening as he stared at the floor. nick sighed, standing up and giving his brother a pat on the shoulder.Ā Ā
āyouāre gonna regret this, chris,ā nick said quietly, his voice laced with a mix of sympathy and frustration. āand when you do, I hope itās not too late to fix it.āĀ Ā
nick walked away, leaving chris alone on the couch, the silence of the house pressing down on him like a weight. he sat there for what felt like hours, replaying the moment heād closed the door in your face, the sound of your voiceābroken, desperateāechoing in his mind.Ā Ā
āplease. the babyā¦āĀ
the words hit him like a freight train, and he shot up from the couch, his heart racing.Ā Ā
āthe baby?ā he whispered to himself, his mind scrambling to make sense of it. had he heard you right? had you really saidā¦Ā Ā
panic set in as the realization washed over him. if what you said was true, then he hadnāt just broken your heartāheād walked away from something so much bigger, so much more important.Ā Ā
without thinking, chris grabbed his keys and bolted out the door, his chest heaving as he searched the street for any sign of you. but you were gone.Ā Ā
ādamn it,ā he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he paced the porch. he needed to find you. he needed to know if what you said was true, to explain himself, to tell you heād made a mistakeāa huge, life-altering mistake.Ā Ā
but deep down, he feared it was already too late.Ā
he goes back into the house, now pacing his kitchen, periodically sipping from a can of pepsi.Ā
ācouldāve jusā.. yeah, she couldāve just been callinā me ābabyā, i mean, she always did.. shes not.. theres no way, she cant be..ā he rambles, running his hand through his hair, his whole body nearly shaking.Ā
you? you were already back home, crying your eyes out in bed as you held the test in your hand. were you really going to raise this baby on your own?
āāāāāāāāāāāāąØą§āāāāāāāāāāāā
a/n: nearly threw up writing this
- aurora įÆā®āĖ
find other parts of this series here
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#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo angst#rory's blogšš#Ā© chrisstvrns#auroras blogšš#aurora's fanfics ą©ā©ā§āĖ#āĖā” chrisstvrns#aurora's 'right where you left me' series °āā.ą³ąæ*:d
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