#BUT UR RIGHT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN RISKY

[smoozie]

I am the kind of person who needs to be understood thoroughly and cannot stand a misinterpretation of my intentions or words. So I am BITING on the cage of my enclosure over that stupid session 7 post

[overbearingstruggles]

How nice of my favorite band to show up for the last show

[angelplummie]

ur art baby trapping fic is all i can think abt btw

but but but. what if after the first time it becomes a regular occurrence, and after the first few times, when he buries himself as deep as his long cock can go inside you and cums so hard he loses vision, you think maybe it’s time to be safe again. you’ve taken a few pregnancy tests, and it’s seeming like you’re getting away with the risky sex, but the risk is not worth the reward.

you saunter into the kitchen one morning, were art reads the news on his laptop, sipping a black tea. what a serious man you were dating. your arms snake around his neck loosely, and you kiss this top of his blonde head.

“i’m gonna order some more birth control. what’s that gynos number again? i know i wrote it down somewhere but i can’t remember.”

art stilled. he placed the mug squarely on a coaster.

“you don’t need that.”

he reached up to hold your forearm gently, to ghost the pad of his thumb against your soft skin.

“well, i do a little bit. we’ve been lucky, but if we keep going raw we might be in trouble. then you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

he hummed, stomach flipping. you were so close to figuring him out.

“that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“what?”

he kissed the peach fuzz of your arm.

“i’d like being stuck with you.”

you didn’t let go, but you didn’t move either.

“are you saying you hope i get pregnant?”

“no,” he lied softly,”but if you did, that would also make me happy. wouldn’t it make you happy?”

you inhaled, shocked.

“i guess. i don’t- i don’t know how i would feel. i haven’t given it much thought. have you?”

he moved to get up, and you stepped back, unfurling yourself from him.

the chair scraped against the floor, and you watched arts feet as he moved around it to get back to you. he turned to face you, beautiful face set in a knowing, subtle smile. he took your face in his long hands, one on either side of your jaw.

“i’ve thought about a future with you and being with you forever, and about having a baby with you.”

your lips parted slightly, that rosy feeling cresting your cheeks and nose.

“i love you very much. i want you very much. is it that strange to think i might want to start a family with you?”

a cloudy feeling, humid and twinkly, filled your head. you drew in breath, but before you could make any kind of reply he kissed gently on your forehead, which nullified the part of your brain that might have any problem with what art was saying ever.

“why is that strange baby?”

“it’s not strange.”

“that’s right.”

and he pulls you into his chest. your arms remain tucked to you, and he wraps himself around you. tenderly his chin rests on your hair, and your breath in his smell. art was so clean, and so smart and kind. and he loved you. he wanted to be with you. you were so lucky.

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

and that night, when he got you on top of him, cock buried deep in your tiny cunt, he made you feel even luckier. you were so wet it spilled down his shaft that split you open, down to his round full balls. his hands were clamped like shackles around your hips, preventing you from moving.

your hands splayed on his perky chest, you frowned in an effort to not fall apart, and he watched you with unbridled glee. you try to bounce, and your tits shake, but he holds you in place, all your leg muscles no match for the few at work in his arms. he watches as your titties settle still, his soft little angel.

“art please,” you dig your nails into his pillowy chest, but he doesn’t even flinch as you turn his pale skin pink.

“yes please,” you whisper. he smiles, thinly veiling his glee.

“you wanna ride me?”

your pussy clenches. even bellow you, he’s so far above. so much wiser and calmer.

“i’ll let you. on one condition.”

his fingers dug into your love handles, leaving white marks on your side. he readjusted himself, burying his cock inside your further, making you huff.

“tell me,” your cunt was so tight he had to pause as it squeezed him,” that you want me to get you pregnant. say the words.”

you blinked, trying to direct any of your attention away from the pseudo-pain of having him inside you still. his demanding tone alone makes your cunt throb, and wet his fat cock even more.

“what?”

“tell me you want me to cum inside you raw.”

your head tips back, and you swallow.

“i want you,” you say, thoughtless, desperate, so cock hungry it makes arts chest heave under your talons,” to cum inside me raw. get me pregnant please. please art, just fuck me.”

art grunted, and squeezed your hips even harder.

“yeah? you want that?”

and he drew you up on his dick, biting his lip hard enough to leave indents, to split skin.

he guided you up, so that only his pink tip stayed hooked inside your tight pussy hole.

yeah was the only word you could form, and you said it over and over like it was his name, like it was a prayer.

“ok baby. whatever you want.”

and he drove himself into you, holding you above him like an oversized fleshlight. you sounded like a fleshlight too, wet and soft and malleable to him. a wet schlick permeated the room with every thrust as he held you, suspended in the air, and fucked you like you weighed nothing.

your grip dragged up to his forearm, leaving a pink trail in your wake, jaw tipping open.

“art, art, art.”

as he moves sharply in and out, pounding your pussy, you legs turn to jelly, and you feel the distinct urge to writhe. you resist, and instead jerk with his every movement, moaning pathetically.

“you’re so tight. god,” he spits through gritted teeth. it’s like he’s angry at you, and he bullies your little cunt like he hates you. but he doesn’t hate you, he loves you very much. he can’t believe your his, he can’t believe you want to be his forever. he will make you happy. he will. you just have to give him a child.

his v-line and his hips crash into the softness of your thighs and make loud slaps. he grunts as he feels the tip split you open time and time again. you feel it, a deep thud inside you every time he presses down, and you whine absently.

“art, hold me.”

“what?”

“hold me.”

immediately, he rises from his lying position and props himself up on his head board, yanking you to him again. and then you were face to face, with his tousled blonde hair and blue, honest eyes, and his beautiful face. just as you asked, he held you. two strong arms encircled you waist, pushing your tits up on his chest.

digging his heels into the bed, he began pumping, buried so deep that he could only work the last increments of his cock into you. your eyes are misty, are big and desperate. your open mouth

"you ok?"

"yeah. I love you."

"mm."

and he kissed you again, tongue pawing at the inside of your mouth, like a kitten at a ball of yarn. he moaned rhymically, with every beat of your little heart. every moment you lived as his was total pleasure. you inched your hips forwards and back, against the force of his thrusts and kissed the side of his mouth, his cheek, his neck.

“you’re so beautiful,” he huffs,”you’re so pretty. i’m gonna get you pregnant.”

“please.”

“yeah, i know you want that.”

“yeah, i want it.”

you fuck yourself on him, and he kisses you again, harder, messier, noses smushing and tongues moving against each other.

“oh,” he says, and you know he’s close. so you say him what he wants to hear. what you know he’s wanted to hear this whole time. your clit presses against his pelvis, and as you tip over the edge you give him what he needs, like a good girl. friend. a good girlfriend.

“daddy, daddy.”

and it’s over. his grip tightens, pressing you harder against him so you can’t move at all in his lap. his hips stutter, and he lets out a grunting, groaning whine into your cheek, into your ear.

his balls tighten and twitch, and a fat load spurts inside you, clinging to your cervix and dribbling out of your spasming hole.

“fuck, god.”

one arms stays around your back, the other reaches up to your neck, to caress the skin and reach up into your hair. to stroke your jaw with his thumb as you both pant, slack jawed and satisfied.

“fuck.”

“art?”

“yeah?”

“i bet that did it. i bet i’m pregnant.”

“i bet you are. are you scared?”

you looked at each other and smiled, wide and goofy, forehead to forehead.

“no. are you? i really mean it, you’re never getting rid of me now.”

“darn.”

[parfaitblogs]

bad idea right? ❀ s. reid x reader

in which hooking up with your ex is probably not a good idea... right?

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst/smut (18+ mdni) tags: porn with plot. reader's mentioned wearing a dress. fingering. kind of fade to black p in v. i think im incapable of writing no d/s dynamics so soft dom!spencer my beloved. i don't mention protection but he wrapped it just trust me guys. really awful decisions are made.  word count: 3.9k a/n: i know i KNOW i said im writing fluffy smut but i simply cannot help myself... anyways this has been in the works for far too long (months...) but i have a lot of ideas for this dynamic/pairing so if we want more pls tell me 💗💘💕💕💗 i will do it!!! maybe im already doing it!!!!!💗💘💗💘💓don't fuck ur exes and thank u again for 1k ily

"Hey."

There was a beat. Then another. By the third beat your heart had started stuttering in your chest and your adrenaline-induced activities had caught up to your brain. You were slowly sinking into yourself under his gaze, that probably wasn't scrutinising, but definitely felt that way. Regret pooling in your stomach because yes, this was an absolutely awful idea, and he had clocked it within the twenty minutes it took for you to get here after his last text. 

His last text that did technically say you shouldn't come over, but if you did he wouldn't leave you stranded out in the hall. Such a gentleman, you had thought.

"I said you shouldn't come," he chastised, and your legs wobbled beneath the weight of your regret. 

"You also said I could—"

"—As a courtesy," his voice was firmer than you remembered him ever being, and your heart stuttered uncomfortably in your chest at the sound of it. 

"Well don't add courtesy messages if you don't want me to take them seriously," you retorted, and your arms crossed over your chest. 

He was silent for a few moments, gears turning behind his eyes, deciding if he should send you home or let you in. Then, he was stepping back, and gesturing for you to come inside — and you were.

Admittedly, six months was a long time. Being here at all is risky, and there was that fear of there being a girl sitting curled up on his couch, watching an episode of something Spencer had bribed her to watch. And maybe if you were any more sane, you would not be carefully analysing every inch of his apartment. Searching for — and expecting there to be — someone residing in spaces you had once found comfort in. 

But; no one. Then you decided that thought was stupid, because Spencer Reid was not (stupid), and he wouldn't have asked you to come to his apartment if there was a girl there. 

"Why are you dressed up?" he asked you, eyeing the dress you had on, even as he brushed past you to head into his kitchen. 

"Had a party," you replied, clasping your hands behind your back, watching him walk around his apartment with so much ease. Maybe this was only awkward for you.

"Is that why you messaged me?"

"No. No. I didn't drink," you quickly said, shaking your head, immediately clocking where his own thoughts had wandered off to. 

He nodded his head, leaning against his kitchen counter, rubbing his palms together as he studied the marble countertop, seemingly needing to find his words. "Then why did you?"

Your lips parted, silence settling between you two for a few moments longer, unsure if your internal turmoil from the night you had been having should be something for his ears or not. 

You decided it was. "Everyone's in relationships. And all their partner's were there with them at the party."

"And you were alone."

"Yeah."

He slowly nodded his head, his gaze settling on you again. "You were lonely."

Your shoulders shrugged, your own eyes dropping to the floor as embarrassment crept up your spine uncomfortably. "I missed you."

"Don't."

"What? Miss you?" 

"Yes," he said, voice strained enough for your stomach to flip. "That isn't fair."

"I know."

"You're the one who ended things."

"I know."

He was silent then, his hands dragging down his face, pausing to dig the pads of his index fingers into his eye sockets. He sighed, his arms dropping by his side heavily, eyes returning to you. Again. 

"You can't do this," he grew firmer, the sudden tone of voice causing an uncomfortable dull ache to form in your chest. 

"Do what?" you asked, quietly. 

"Come see me every time you feel lonely."

"I don't come see you every time I feel lonely."

He bore holes into your face, eyes meticulously committing features to memory, before he straightened his shoulders, exhaling through his nose. "Don't make this a habit."

"It won't," you said, quickly, a promise you both knew you couldn't make truthfully.

Hesitantly, he nodded his head towards his couch, and despite the blaring alarm in your brain telling you to just go home and forget about it, your feet carried you over to it. Sinking into the plush of black leather you had sat so many times before, the fabric cold against your legs.

His face softened involuntarily, staring at you, heart achingly vulnerable and small, tucked into the corner of his couch. It almost made it easy to forget the past six months and everything leading up to the breakup. Almost. 

He stayed standing, as a power move or because he was simply awkward, you didn't know anymore. The man you were currently sharing air with did not seem the same as he had half a year prior. That hurt. 

Sitting up straighter, you clasped your hands in your lap, fixating your gaze on the coffee table in front of you. "I'm sorry."

He didn't respond for a moment, seemingly caught off guard by your sudden apology. Then, feet shuffling that indicated he was walking away from the couch, and your heart sank to your stomach. 

"For what?" he asked, his voice gruffer than he had intended. 

Your breath hitched. "Breaking up with you, I guess."

Too many memories filled your mind from what had happened, and you felt the guilt you had suppressed for months crawl its way back up your spine. 

"And you think sorry can make it all okay?" his voice had a hint of bitterness in it, and you couldn't even blame him for it. 

"No. Obviously not," you said, shifting on the couch to turn your head to look at him, fixating on him as he attempted to busy himself with rearranging the books on his desk. "Can you come here, please?"

His movements paused, and he lifted his gaze to you. There was a silent battle between your eyes, before you inevitably won, and he nodded, letting go of the hardback book he was moving and instead walking over to you on the couch. 

"I feel awful. For the way I left," you told him when he found residence on the other end of the couch, the distance technically small, but to you, seemingly massive. 

"You didn't seem upset when you left."

"I was. Please believe me."

He was no longer looking at you, but you were at him, and there was a disapproving expression on his face that told you he simply didn't, despite the quiet, "Okay," that fell from his lips. 

Unsure of what else to say, you let the silence encase you, instead flickering your eyes around the apartment, attempting to pick out minuscule changes he had made since you'd moved out. Nothing insane jumped out to you, other than the lack of your presence. There no longer being a collection of your own books on his bookshelf, brightly coloured trinkets not cluttering the kitchen countertop anymore. Which was fine. Even the items you had left here unknowingly, you hadn't expected to still be residing in his apartment. 

When your gaze settled back on him, you found him staring at you already. Your lips pulled into a small frown, while his parted, breath catching as if about to say something, then stopping. 

"You look pretty," he settled on telling you. And if you were any more stable, maybe your heart wouldn't have flipped in your chest. 

"Thank you," you mumbled, feeling your cheeks burn slightly. 

Despite the fluster such a simple compliment brought you, you couldn't look away. And it seemed neither could he. Staring at each other for ticking minutes, until you were finally breaking the brick wall of tension and standing up. 

"I shouldn't have come," you told him. "You were right."

"I should agree with you," he replied, watching your every movement. Even as you halted your beeline towards his door, confusion creeping up your spine. He had noticed it. 

You turned back to him. "But you don't."

"No. I don't," he agreed. "We ended abruptly."

"I left."

"Yeah."

It had been a huge misunderstanding, in the grand scheme of it all. A misunderstanding you had logically worked out after a week of dwelling on it all, but then had far too much pride to reach out to him again. Instead, allowing the remnants of your relationship to rot away in the back of your mind, never to be touched again. 

Until you were violently reminded just how much you had thrown away that night in a room full of happy people. 

Letting your shoulders soften, you trudged back over to him, standing rather awkwardly in front of him on the couch. Not that it felt awkward. You decided awkwardness was impossible when Spencer Reid stared at you like you were the sun materialised in his living room — the same way he had when you were still with him. And after six months of not seeing him, and an entire awkward conversation later, you finally wondered if anything had actually changed at all.

How you felt about him certainly hadn't. Eyes fixated on him like he was going to disappear if you even twitched, and you had the fleeting thought of kissing him. Which then turned into a recurring thought, until you were actively fighting the thought because this was not your boyfriend and kissing him was quite possibly the worst thing you could ever do. 

But God, did you want to. 

"I resented you for a long time."

You ignored the guilt eating away at your heart, and the hurt that settled in your stomach. You deserved his resent. 

"You don't anymore?" you asked, voice choked up from the thick ball of a sob caught in your throat. 

"No," he shook his head. "I don't know what I feel anymore."

You nodded your own head wordlessly. "That's fair."

He exhaled sharply, and his fingers pressed into the inner corners of his eyes. "You shouldn't be here."

"So you've said."

"No, I mean—" he cut himself off, lifting his gaze back to you. "I have things I want to do, that I will regret."

"With me?" You already knew the answer. 

"Yes," he confirmed anyways. "And we shouldn't."

"We definitely shouldn't," you agreed. 

He stood, dropping his hands by his sides, and you feared for a moment he was going to kick you out, just for the sake of his own sanity. Maybe it would be better for the both of you if he did that. 

He didn't. 

Instead, you learned quite quickly that he was battling the same internal conflict you were. And maybe he was attempting to ignore it; same as you. Maybe he had lost that war and that was why he was acting on those terrifying impulses. 

"I want to kiss you."

You were mostly shocked the words hadn't come from you. But by the time you had registered that fact, you had also registered you were nodding in agreement, followed by your consent, and he then was kissing you. 

And it was like no time had passed at all. 

His lips on your own were as desperate as you remember — even in the quieter mornings he would kiss you like you'd disintegrate beneath him, never to be seen again. And, with matching his desperation, you found his knees buckling as they hit the edge of the couch, and he was coaxing you down onto it with gentle hands on your hips. 

Abiding his physical request, your knees dug into the cushions, on either side of his body, and he was stuttering through breaths, lips detaching from your own. Your protests about it died on your tongue quickly as he kissed down your jaw and over the skin of your neck — delicately, for he had always been keenly aware of how sensitive the vessels and nerves in your neck were. 

"You definitely haven't drank tonight?" he mumbled against your skin once his lips had reached the top edge of your dress.

"No," you confirmed with a shake of your head, and he let out what seemed like a sigh of relief — you didn't know if feeding into that idea was good for you mentally or not. 

His fingers trailed up the length of your spine, your back arching on impulse as goosebumps arose on your skin. Tender hands found the thin straps of your dress, and his head lifted to look at you again. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," you breathed out, content flooding over you as he did as he had intended, and you were slipping your arms out of the straps of your dress.

"This is such a bad idea," he mumbled, and all you could do was hum in agreement, for he was still pressing kisses along your skin down past your collarbone. 

Maybe it was the lingering thought that you shouldn't be doing this that egged you on. The knowledge that your friends would probably consider a violent end for you (and him) once they found out. That this was bad, and you were going to regret it the second it was over. 

His hands dropped back to your hips, and you searched for his lips again with your own, kissing him once more. Your dress bunched at your waist with help from Spencer, and hands that grappled at your ass tugged you impossibly closer. 

"Are you actually going to hookup with me on your couch?" you murmured against his lips. 

"Where would you prefer us to be?" he asked you, tilting his head back so he could see you once more. 

"Your bed."

If he disagreed with your suggestion, he hid it behind a nod, tapping your thighs so you could climb off of him. Which, you did, leading him towards his own bedroom, similarly to all the ways you had done it before. He tried not to dwell on that. 

"Have you been with anyone since we broke up?" 

Your voice was filled with an insecurity you wished to burn as you climbed onto the bed. The sheets so familiar you felt like crying. 

"Do you really want the answer to that question?" he asked, positioning himself over you, fingers placed at your waist.

"No," you decided, a response he knew you'd reply with. "But I guess that is an answer within itself."

"I guess," he agreed, head ducking back down to kiss over your shoulders and collarbones. 

"Were they good?"

"I'm not answering that."

"So they were."

He said your name, chidingly, nipping at your skin. "If you want to do this, I need your focus to be here. Not the other people I've had sex with."

"Okay. Sorry."

He only hummed as a response, the hand on your waist dropping past your hips, gently parting your legs and running his fingers up the skin of your inner thigh. 

Everything he did felt hauntingly familiar, and easy. As if the past six months had been nothing more than a bad dream, and the man who was above you, pulling your underwear down your legs and hiking your dress up to your waist, had done this twice in the past week already. 

You'd resonate in that fantasy for as long as you could. 

You squirmed as he brushed a finger through your folds, and he smiled, his mind no doubt reminding him of all the times you had done that before.

"Take your time," you muttered, bitterly, as he repeated the gentle ministration a few more times. 

"I will," he bit back, though the amusement in his eyes as he met your gaze again told you he was similarly as impatient. "I'm just figuring out what makes you feel good."

"You've forgotten?"

"No," he shook his head, the word flying off his tongue as he circled your clit with his finger, with a frustrating expertise. "I'm reminding myself."

"I like being kissed."

He laughed, quietly. Your heart warmed in your chest, while his lips brushed delicately against yours once more. "Thank you for the reminder."

"Of course," you said, and he was then swallowing a moan as he kissed you, pushing a finger into you at the same time. 

His eyebrows knitted together, something you only make out because his lips have tugged into a frown and you were pulling back to peer at him — only to be coaxed back into a kiss by his searching lips. You decided not to ask why he's confused. Or concerned. Or whatever the expression he was making was for. 

"Spencer," you breathed out when he had kept his finger still for too long (in your opinion), and he's quick to mumble an apology and start thrusting his finger. 

Whether he was more conscious of the sounds you were making, or simply just wanted to kiss you, you didn't know. But his lips stayed connected to yours as he fingered you in practiced motions, that you were focussing so closely on. Perhaps too closely, for he was nipping your lower lip when you had stopped actively kissing him back. 

"Is your distraction an indicator of something good? Or do I need to work harder?" he asked you, lifting his head to watch you squirm as he added another finger. 

"No, it's something good. It feels good," you reassured him.

The heel of his palm grazed over your clit, and you whined. So, he did it again. You moaned louder. He curled his fingers inside of you, and you moaned at how overwhelming it all was. He might have slept with more people in between, but you certainly hadn't, and it was becoming all too much, all too quick. 

You were acutely aware of the movement of his own hips on the bed beside you, your lips tugging up in amusement at the desperation he was displaying. Comforted by the fact that you were not alone. 

A particular brush of his fingers upon that spot inside of you cut off your thoughts, and you gasped, jerking your head away. At that, he did it again. And again.

"Spencer—Spencer," you whimpered, brokenly, grappling for any semblance of control over yourself. 

"Mm?"

"I'm gonna come," you told him. An honest mistake, because he was now pulling his fingers out of you, despite your quick protests. "No—what the fuck?"

"Shh," he said through a smile, kissing you to quieten your loud objections. "I want to come with you. Is that okay, honey?"

Oh.

Overwhelmed with a sudden shyness, you nodded your head, cheeks warming, and any opposing words dying on your tongue. "Yes. It is."

In an all too quick motion, he went from fully clothed above you, to fully naked and beside you, you having discarded of your own dress at the same time. Absentmindedly, because you were a little too focused on  what it was you were actually doing, brain running rampant about how awful of an idea it was. 

But then he was shifting your legs open, hand running up and down the skin of your thighs as he positioned himself at your entrance, and you were forgetting all about it. 

In a slow, languorous thrust, he pushed himself inside of you, a low hiss leaving his lips as he stilled, your own eyes fluttering shut, hands balling into fists. 

"This, I forgot," he breathed out, and you felt his hair tickle your shoulder as he rested his head against it. 

"You have an eidetic memory."

"Not for touch. Not like this," he explained, voice strained. "Sorry, sweet girl. Give me a minute."

The pet name had your heart fluttering, and you felt tears sting your vision as the violent reminder that this will never happen again flashed in your mind. You willed that thought away, trying to focus on the feeling of him inside of you, and how good it was in the moment. 

"It's been like twenty," you grumbled, pushing your hips back against his, and a choked laugh left his lips. 

"Seconds, maybe," he answered, a hand dropping to your hips. To still them or ground himself, you didn't know. "Exercise patience, please."

"Forgive me, but you did just stop me from coming."

He bit your shoulder. "Exercise manners too, while you're at it."

At that, you inhaled, before saying in an awfully sweet voice, "Can you please fuck me, Spencer?"

"Was that so hard?"

"Fuck off."

"After I make you come, I will," he answered, tone of voice unbearably innocent. 

A stark contrast to the drag of his hips out of you, and the sharp thrust back in (just to punctuate his point, of course). At its unexpectedness, you gasped, voice cracking and heart somersaulting. 

Every thrust into you was a constant reminder of what you had given up. What you had lost. A string of moans from you so achingly familiar to his ears, and heavy breaths from him making you want to never let this end. 

He was everything, and perhaps your hands were an inch too small to hold all of him. 

As quickly as it had all began, it was over, and you were left in the centre of his mattress, staring up at a ceiling you had intricately dissected with your eyes many times before. 

He had disappeared to his bathroom, assumedly to get clothes for himself, and hopefully something for you and your walk of shame you were no doubt doing in less than thirty minutes time. 

There was a growing sick feeling in your stomach you could at least identify to be anxiety, paired with the gross feeling of regret for your actions. You were never meant to see him again, despite what your heart had wanted. You forced yourself to be an adult about this, to cut him off. Your friends had pathetically changed his contact name to don't answer on a night out for their own personalised reminder of what talking to him would ensue. Why didn't you fucking listen?

He returned from the bathroom, a pile of clothes you had forgotten you'd ever even left here in his hands. You wiped the sides of your face with the backs of your hands, fluttering your eyelids to cut off anymore tears, sitting up.

"You should probably go," he said. If there was anything left of your heart to shatter, he just did.

"You're kicking me out so soon?" you asked him, failing at keeping your tone of voice light. When he hesitated in a response, you discovered why you no longer let your heart speak for you. You cracked a small smile, shook your head, and muttered, "Kidding." 

He didn't need to know you were subconsciously begging him to let you stay.

You stood, albeit on shaking legs, and took the clothes he was offering you. Pulling them on under such a watchful gaze was almost embarrassing, even as he busied himself with stripping the sheets from his bed to avert his attention. He was still keeping note of your presence in his space. 

"I—um, bye, Spencer," you stammered, throat closing up with every passing minute. 

He looked back at you. "I'll see you out."

"No," you were quick to deny him. "It's okay, I know where the door is. I'll see you around. Maybe. Probably not." Stop talking.

"Yeah. Maybe," he agreed with no real sincerity. "Goodbye."

"Bye," you said, again, hesitating to leave behind the remnants of an even more destroyed relationship. 

Though, you had to.

And as you left, you discovered that yes. Everything between you two had changed.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[patscorner]

could u write kate martin x reader where they’re huge basketball rivals who end up falling in love?? maybe it starts out as like a secret relationship and then the media finds out and goes crazy abt it!!

also i love love love ur writing sm

Absolutely! Love you!

Rivals

Summary: The Gophers and Iowa have a generational rivalry with each other, tensions dating back years. What happens when one of Iowa's top players injures you?

wc: 3,248

Contains: slightly suggestive, mentions of blood, insta posts at the bottom, not proofread well, hella long

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The Minnesota Gophers vs. the Iowa Hawkeyes was one of the oldest rivalries in women’s college basketball history. Whether it’s overly aggressive plays, double technicals every couple minutes, and shoves being exchanged. It’s tradition at this point to have one or two chippy moments at one of these games.

So it’s no surprise when tonight is no different. It’s tied, 83-83 in the third quarter with two minutes and thirty-six seconds left. The air is so filled with tension, it was like a heavy cloud of negativity loomed over both teams. Patience was thin on both benches, and everyone, even the people watching from home could feel it.

You’d been guarding Kate all night, and to say it was a challenge would be an understatement. She was agile and quick on her feet, and in some cases, she just managed to slip through your defensive skills. But, you were able to keep up with her, following and predicting her moves closely. She got a couple shots on you, but you didn’t let that stir your determination.

You were on your A game offensively tonight, too. Whether it was weaving through players with ease, calling good screens, or taking risky threes, you were doing it all.

It was paying off, too. Until the beginning of the fourth quarter. The game had just resumed, you guarding Kate once more. She’d been more physical, which you weren’t expecting, but you adapted, quickly matching her energy.

You had gotten the offensive rebound, running back to the Iowa basket, Kate hot on your tail. You get into position to make a layup, but Kate is right there to block your shot. She smacks the ball, but her momentum sends her body into yours, sending you flying to the ground.

You crash into the base of the basketball hoop, back hitting the floor first, followed by your head smacking into the stanchion. You squeal loudly, but the crowd's deafening cheers drowned out any noises you could’ve made. You’d made the layup, but that was the least of your concerns.

You’re grabbing your head, rolling over on your side, trying to find a position that relieves some of the pounding that has started in your head. Kate immediately goes to check on you, but that doesn’t last long when your teammates push her out of the way to get to you. One of your teammates starts yelling at Kate, who yells back, and the referee's whistle pierces through the air, signaling technicals for both players.

You’re still curled up under the basketball hoop, holding the back of your head, when you feel a warm liquid. You pull your hand away, and your eyes widen as you stare at your crimson cover palm.

Everyone who knows you, knows you hate blood. The red liquid sends a wave of nausea to your already banged up head, and you close your eyes to avoid the tears falling, and to relieve some of the tension that the lights were causing. The crowd silences as the camera shows you looking at your hand in horror.

Your breathing picks up as you continue to look at your hand. Tears fall from your eyes as you start to hyperventilate, unaware that eventually the lack of oxygen would cause you to lose consciousness.

You're only out for about 30 seconds, but that was more than enough time for you to be surrounded. You wake up to the athletic training staff, your teammates, and the coaching staff around you. You're running on autopilot, so the first thing you try to do is sit up, which doesn’t end too well for you. You attempt to lift your head off the ground, but a sharp pain shoots down your back, causing you to gasp loudly.

“Shh-stay still, honey.” one staff member assures you. You groan in response, feeling multiple hands on you at once. You don’t say anything as you try to roll over on your stomach and attempt to relieve the pain in your back. You have a pounding headache and have no idea what’s going on or what happened.

“You gotta stop moving. The ambulance is on the way.” You freeze at these words.

Ambulance?

You have no idea what happened but all you know is that you have a basketball game to play. "W-we gotta play.” You croak out, looking at your teammates, tears brimming your eyes. You watch through blurry eyes as they shake their heads.

“No, kid, I think you're done for the night."

"No, no, n-no we gotta play- we're so close." You whimper out shakily. A couple of your teammates turn their heads, your statement making an already emotional moment even more heart-wrecking.

You feel someone grab your hand and rub it soothingly, attempting to distract you from the increasing pain in your spine. The Iowa bench was kneeling out of respect, because rivals or not, they weren't fucking monsters.

You sigh, accepting that you were done for the night and probably a while after. “What happened?” You whispered to no one in particular. You felt someone adjust the towels that you didn’t realize were under your head. The once white towels were colored now, and you felt sympathy for whoever had to clean them after.

“You fell kid, but you’re gonna be okay.” one of your teammates says. You hum in response.

All you could do is pray that she was right.

The crowd gave you a standing ovation as you were put on the stretcher and wheeled into the back of the ambulance. Despite their attempts to keep you awake, the loss of blood made it hard for you to keep your eyes open.

On the way to the hospital, they check your memory, which is pretty good, all except the moments leading up to the incident. All you remember is the girl that ran into you. When they get you to the hospital, they run their tests and find out that you had a pretty bad concussion, along with a crack in your spine. It’s safe to say you were done for the season.

Eventually, you were released, immediately starting physical therapy and, put in crutches and given a body wrap. You finally check your phone, and you see thousands of overwhelming messages from friends, family, and teammates. You respond to a couple of them, informing them that you were okay before going to instagram. Normally, you’d stay off of social media, but you needed something to distract yourself.

You’ve got hundreds of notifications on there, too, but one stands out the most.

A message from @katemartin

Just wanted to sincerely apologize for knocking you down the other night, I hope you know it wasn’t intentional. I don’t know if you’ll even read this, but you’re in my thoughts and prayers. Opponents or not, you’re a good player, and it’s devastating to see you injured. Get well soon.

Your heart swells at the message, as tears start to brim your eyes. You don’t know what to say, because this has never happened to you before. Usually, when someone gets injured, they get a pat on the back, and that’s it. But she went out of her way to message you.

You heart her message before typing a message back to her.

Thank you for the prayers, I know it wasn’t intentional, I watched the playback. I appreciate the message.

After you click send, you decide to leave it and begin scrolling through your feed. Nothing interesting comes up until you see Kate doing a post-game press conference. She’s asked her thoughts on the collision between you two.

“It was a basketball play. I had no intention of slamming into her like that. She’s an amazing player, like I seriously look up to her. The way she carries herself and the way she plays, that’s an example I think a lot of people should learn from.” she takes a deep, shaky breath, clearly trying to keep her composure. It breaks your heart to see her this shaken up about you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for being a part of the reason she’s not playing. Everyone deserves to do the things they love, and it’s not fair that I took that from her. Our teams may be hella competitive rivals, but despite that, this is a sisterhood. We aren't friends, but never would I ever wanna hurt her like that. It was an accident.” Kate’s voice cracks at the end, and her teammate rubs her back as she looks down.

“It was an honor to play with her, and I wish her the best.” she finishes, before the clip ends.

You’re in tears by the end of it, and you just want to give her a giant hug, tell her that you forgive her, and that you’ll be back on the court in no time. But instead, you stick with responding to her message she had just sent you.

How are you doing?

It’s been 4 months since your injury, and you’ve been talking to Kate non-stop. You and her had been texting back and forth, calling, and falling asleep on facetime. A lot of the time was talking about nothing in particular, with a couple updates as to where you are in your recovery.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart tighten when you talk to her. It’s like a breath of fresh air. Even though you were barely around her, you felt like you were missing something whenever you two weren’t having a conversation. You knew you were falling and falling hard. Little did you know, Kate was falling just the same.

Kate couldn't sleep well to begin with, but now she definitely couldn't sleep without talking to you. She couldn't go a minute without thinking about what you were doing, what you were wearing, what you were thinking. It got so bad that her teammates were practically begging her to ask this mystery girl out. Her daydreams were distracting her from her practices, the way she played in games, and her schoolwork.

Finally, (after Caitlin went on a ten minute rant about how painfully in love she was), Kate found the confidence to ask you out on a phone call. She was nervous and stuttering over her words, her face painted a beautiful pink.

"Maybe we could hang out sometime, like by ourselves. Like we could go to like the movies-or maybe out to eat somewhere. Or-or not, y'know we could hang out with other people, like our teammates, like not together because I don't think they like each other very much, but we could like not tell them, or we could tell them b-"

You cut off her rambling with a laugh, finding her anxiousness adorable. "Kate 'Money' Martin are you asking me out?" You ask, raising your eyebrows teasingly.

You watch as her face reddens even more, her teeth capturing her bottom as she playfully rolls her eyes at your mocking tone. "Y'know what, never mind. I take it back." She smiles at you.

"Oh, no, no, you got me locked in now." You say smiling softly back at her.

"Is that a yes…?" Kate asked in a joking manner, but you could sense a serious undertone to it.

You bite your lip lightly, staring at the blonde on your phone screen.

"Whatcha got in mind?"

Kate made the six hour drive to Minnesota that Saturday after booking a hotel room not far from campus. As much as you would've liked her to stay with you, you knew your dorm mates wouldn't approve of having her in your shared space. They knew you were talking to someone, but you were very cautious about when you talked to Kate, often doing it fairly late into the night when they were asleep or not home. You thought you were doing a good job, as they never brought up anything about it.

Either way, to not draw attention, you both decided it'd be best if you went super late at night, knowing that the second the public finds out Kate was in Minnesota, rumors would fly, and the media would go crazy. So, you came up with a shifty excuse to be out of the house at three a.m. on a random Saturday morning. You had no idea what Kate had set up, you just knew that you were meeting her at a random park near campus.

Turns out Kate had the date very planned out, from how long it would take to get from point A to point B, to where'd you'd be sitting. She took you to the beach, and even though it was dark, the sounds of the water crashing onto shore was enough for you.

Then she paid, against your will, for sushi. You went into the restaurant and you both sat in the car and ate your meal. Conversations flow smoothly all night, without a single moment of uncomfortable silence. The evening was filled with laughter and lighthearted banter, the both of you losing track of time until the sun started to bleed into the night sky.

You both were tired, tangled in the bed of Kate's truck, basking in each other's company. You were so comfortable, and you never wanted this moment to end. Kate was different from anybody else you'd ever met before. Even though this was the first time you'd even hung out with her, you wanted nothing more than to hold her forever. And to make her yours.

"What're you thinkin' about?" She asked, breaking the silence and pulling you from your thoughts. You're laying on her chest, her arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close.

You look up at her and find her gaze already in you. "The sun's coming up." You whispered, licking your lips. Her eyes trail down to them before finding their way back to your eyes. The way she looks at you almost makes you fold right then and there.

"Hmm." Kate responded as her eyes made their way back down to your lips and stayed there. After a moment, you brought your hand up to her cheek to direct her eyes back to yours. You smile as her face turns a bright shade of red.

"You're so pretty." She whispers as she seemingly examines your face. Now it's your turn to blush.

It almost makes you angry, the urge to kiss her lips. You want nothing more than to pour all your words into one kiss.

Fuck it.

You push your lips to hers, passionately expressing your feelings for her wordlessly. It takes her a second to process what's going on, but as soon as she does, she's melting under your touch. She's like putty in the palm of your hand at this point.

You adjust your body, lifting yourself so that the both of you are facing each other. You wrap your arm around her waist, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Your moment catches Kate off guard, causing her to moan lightly. You smile before pulling away.

Pants fill the air as you both attempt to catch your breath, letting the tension linger in the air. "Holy shit." Kate lets out a breathy laugh.

You chuckle with her, rubbing her waist absent-mindedly.

She rolls over back on her back, staring at the sky, you mimic her actions, sighing deeply. You can sense that the end of your date is near as the sun rises.

"I have to go." Kate whispers. You nod, reaching down and intertwining your fingers. You were right.

Over the next five months, you and Kate took turns seeing each other in the same way, at night, mostly ending up with you two touching each other (in more than one way). It was starting to get exhausting to hide it from your teammates, so eventually, Kate let it slip, and they weren't surprised. They already had their suspicions since the injury.

You weren't too pleased when she told you she'd revealed your secrets, but you were relieved that they didn't hate you. It gave you enough confidence to comfortably tell your team, who, like the Iowa team, wasn't surprised or upset at the idea of you and Kate being together.

It lifted a huge weight off your guys' chest, feeling better about leaving at two or three in the morning. The longer your relationship went on, the more comfortable you both got.

This was both good and bad, as you fell more in love with each other every day. But it also came with the desire to see each other more, which led to you both growing impatient and making sloppy mistakes. It started with you accidentally posting a picture of you holding Kate's hand on your public story instead of your close friends, like you had intended. Even though you couldn't see her face, you knew some people would be able to figure who it was, plus, at that point, it was an early relationship, and neither of you were ready for that kind of attention. Luckily, you deleted it before anyone could see it, but it was too close of a call for your liking.

Another slip-up happened a month later, where you posted a picture in Kate's hoodie, but you were able to pretend that you both happened to have the same hoodie.

The last straw, though, was Kate being recognized by a fan while pumping gas. You ducked down in the trunk as you watched the fan approach her and ask for an autograph and picture, which she agreed to.

The fan had a short conversation with her, which you later found out they had asked about why Kate was in Minnesota. The best Kate could come up with was that she was 'visiting a friend', which you teased her about her lack of an answer.

The fan posted about Kate being in Minnesota and why, and it shocked the internet. Some fans had done a deep dive and found dots that connected you to Kate, such as the hoodie picture. At this point, you both were tired of hiding, tired of not being able to go out during the daylight or support each other during games.

So you both decided it was time to let the people know.

Yourusername

liked by katemartin and 294,210 others

yourusername: Find your person. They make life worth living

user| oh??

user| mystery woman?

user| I knew it

-> user| I feel like we all know who this is at this point

katemartin

liked by yourusername and 968,148 others

katemartin: You're my end and my beginning, even when I lose, I'm winning

user| no wait a minute

user| pov: the dots are connecting

user| my fav enemies to lovers story

caitlinclark22| took you long enough 🙄

-> yourusername| something you'd like to share with the class Martin??

-> katemartin| @caitlinclark22 I hate you.

->katemartin| @yourusername … no…

-> caitlinclark22| @katemartin you should be thanking me 🤗(pay up)

-> user| Caitlin in the comments has me cackling

user| Caitlin instigated is something I didn't know I needed

-> caitlinclark22| I did not instigate… just gave a gentle shove

-> katemartin| @caitlinclark22 I will gently shove you off a cliff 😍😄

->caitlinclark22| awww ur so cute😗

______________________________

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @breeloveschris

[rileyslibrary]

(Can i just say i love ur work, i too read them like bedtime stories, u perform a great service to humanity my good comrade)

Also, could i request perhaps Reader needing to go undercover for a mission and getting a bit too close for comfort with some baddies and thus making Ghost worry? He’s certainly not jealous by any means tho, of course not! Nope. Not jealous at all. Not even a smidge.

He is tho. He’s jealous. In his own Ghost way.

Thank you for your kind words, nonny and sorry for being so late!

Reader is an undercover tourist in Paris for this one. No warnings, other than a pretty sulky Ghost. More A/N at the end.)

———————————————————————

He hasn’t uttered a word since you returned to your temporary base. No “good job,” no “well done,” no “thank you for risking your life for the team.” Nothing. He didn’t even stick around for the debriefing. Instead, he stashed his gear in his locker and headed straight to the kitchen.

Usually, after a high-stress operation, Ghost would go to the kitchen to make some tea. Yet, the way he went about his business today seemed more like he was about to sharpen his knives than brew himself a ‘cuppa’.

There is a reason he’s upset, though, and you know it. While you are always prepared to risk your life for the team, your latest actions were pretty... out of character, so to speak, and Ghost took notice of that.

You stare at the closed kitchen door, wondering what’s unfolding behind it, how he feels, and whether he can communicate it without lashing out.

“Maybe it’s best to give him some space,” Price advises, narrowing his eyes. “You did a pretty risky thing back there; no reason to push your luck.”

“A whole kitchen’s worth of space, Captain?” you retort. “I’ll evacuate if things take a turn for the worse.”

“Call for backup if you can’t handle it,” he winks at you. “And don’t tell him I did that,” he says, pointing at his closed eye.

You smile at him, and push open the kitchen door. Ghost sits at the table, his back turned towards you, hunched over a cup of tea. He has his balaclava draped over his right thigh and his gloves on the table.

“Your hair is a mess.” You tease.

You reach to fix the stray hairs hanging over his forehead, but he pulls away from your touch. You lower your hand and go for the kettle instead. This will be much more difficult, you think to yourself.

“Coffee?” You offer. Although you know he’d refuse, you feel it’s a good way to break the ice.

Yet he doesn’t reply. Instead, he reclines on his chair and stirs the tea with a metal spoon. With your back turned to him, you pour the preheated water into your cup, add coffee granules, and cool it down with a gentle blow. The clinking of the metal spoon against the ceramic mug continues until it suddenly stops.

“Are you alright, mademoiselle?” He mocks, with a fake—and quite terrible—French accent, mimicking the enemy guard who “rescued” you when you dramatically pretended to twist your ankle in front of him.

A chuckle escapes you, and you turn to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter. He keeps his gaze fixed on his cup.

“I had to buy some time for Soap and Gaz, Lieutenant,” you explain. “They were inside that safehouse, gathering-”

“Intel,” he interjects. “I was there too; no need to rehash it.”

“The guards were dangerously close, sir,” you press on. “There was no time.”

He shakes his head. “No time doesn’t mean dropping to your hands and knees like a coquette, bawling your eyes out, waiting for a French knight in shining armour to come and save you now, does it?” he spats.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Coquette’? You? He knows damn well the fall was staged, the tears were fabricated, the vulnerability was an act. The fall did hurt; otherwise, it wouldn’t have been believable. But shedding tears over twisting your ankle? No way. You’ve endured bullet wounds in the past, for heaven’s sake, and barely flinched. Ghost knows that. Yet, he looks more…

“Jealous, Lt.?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” He murmurs, scratching his forehead.

“Say what you want,” You shrug. “But you must admit: it was a pretty convincing fall.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Nothing says more ‘convincing’ like kissing the cobblestones of Paris.”

“Alright,” you say, leaving your cup on the kitchen counter. You cross your arms in front of your chest and nod upwards. “What would you have done, then?”

“Shoot him,” he responds, his black-painted eyes shifting from the cup to you. “That’s why I was up on the rooftop, remember?”

“What’s the point of going undercover if you’d eliminate the threat like that?” You persist. “And in a public place like that? Come on, Lt.!”

He pushes his cup to the side, places his hands on the kitchen table and stands up.

“Have you ever thought of what would have happened if your cover was blown?” He asks, raising his voice. “How was I supposed to protect you if you were right in front of my bloody target?”

You keep staring at him, his last words replaying in your mind.

How was I supposed to protect you…

You look at your mug on the counter; the steam from the coffee is almost gone. It must have been transferred onto him instead, you think to yourself. Might as well let him blow it off. Let him vent.

“I know how to protect myself, Ghost.”

He sits back on his chair and brings his tea closer, shaking his head.

“You should’ve waited for the signal.” He says. “We’ve got a plan for a reason.”

“I understand, s-”

“Falling in front of the enemy, letting him scoop you up like a fucking princess in agony, removing your shoe, fetching you ice from the coffee shop wasn’t part of the plan.”

A smile threatens to escape your lips, but you suppress it. You turn your back to him and pretend to clean the counter. There’s no reason to anger him more.

“Sir,” you begin. “What is the problem here: me not following orders or letting the guard run to my aid?”

“I don’t care about that French prick touching your ankle.” He murmurs.

Well, seems that ‘French prick’ touching you bothered him as much as you not following the plan. You stop fake-wiping the counter, grab your mug and turn towards him.

“I apologise, sir,” you say. “It won’t happen again. But you could have voiced your concerns in a less... abrasive way.”

“Wasn’t the pavement abrasive enough?” He snaps. “What’s next? Are you going to cry over it?”

You click your tongue and approach the table, extending your hand for a handshake.

“Alright, enough,” you say. “Let’s make a truce and end this right now.”

He remains still, looking at you. He finally reaches for your hand, but instead of shaking it, he twists it so your palm faces down. With a smirk, he stands up, brings it to his mouth, and kisses it.

“Isn’t that how that fucker would have done it?” he asks, still smiling.

You roll your eyes. At least his anger has died down and you’re left with his—typical—snarky self. You pull a chair across from him.

“Mind if I sit?” You ask.

“Normally, I’d tell you to ‘hit the bricks’,” He murmurs, motioning for you to take your place. “But you’ve already done that.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I keep confusing “ankle” with “uncle”. You twist your ankle, not your uncle ffs.

[stuffeddeer]

okay but..... pathetic yearning beast!stalkerzai... he's so quiet abt his obsession with u making up any excuse to have u around for subordinate purposes and when ur not around him he makes sure he can still keep tabs on u AHHH hes so sad and so smitten

"pathetic" i dont need to hear any more. im on board.

The continuous knocking on your apartment door leaves you anxious, quickly pulling on a comfy sweatshirt before answering the door. A breeze flies into the room, causing you to shiver, before you make eye contact with,

"Why aren't you at work today?" Dazai crosses his arms, an angry expression on his face. Though, the pout he wears causes it to be less intimidating than he'd normally be.

You glance into your apartment briefly, still feeling chilly while exposed to the outside air. "Um... I don't work?"

"You always work."

"Right. Which is why I have today off." Awkwardly, you itch your arm. "Am I… needed, Boss?"

Dazai sighs before walking into your apartment (with no invitation) and closes your own door behind him. "You're freezing."

"I'm slightly chilled," you shrug, brushing off the notion. Any other subordinate wouldn't dare correct the boss of the Port Mafia, but he'd always been more lenient with you - supposedly because you ‘aren’t as dumb’ as the rest. "But that's what the hoodie is for."

Without another word, Dazai plops down onto your couch, making a show of looking around your apartment. It’s tiny - the whole thing barely the size of his office at HQ — and Dazai wonders if you’d rather move in with him. For more space, of course. And he guesses you’d be saving on rent that way, too.

“How do you know where I live?” You ask curiously. Sure, it’s probably somewhere in your files, but your boss never seemed like the type to care.

Shrugging, he murmurs, “It’s my job.”

You want to make this visit quick, but kicking out your boss didn’t seem like a smart idea. “Are you thirsty? Would you like a cup of tea?..”

Yes, Dazai wants to try your tea. Just because you’re his subordinate, and he needs to make sure it’s up to par. What if he needs you to serve tea to some associates in the future? “I’d love one.”

Biting back a sigh, you fill your kettle before placing it on the stove, watching as your old gas stove flickers on. Silence hangs between you two - you had no intention of carrying the conversation when he just barged in uninvited.

Dazai seems to have a similar idea, sitting laxly on your couch and waiting for his tea. You pour one cup, uninterested in making one yourself, before placing it on the coffee table in front of him. “Sugar? Milk?”

“This is fine, thanks.” He takes a sip. Heavenly, he’s sure. Well, all tea tastes the same, but something about it coming from your hands… delectable. It’s as though he can taste the love you must pour into every cup.

Mouth shut, you take a seat on the chair across from him. “May I ask, sir, why are you here? Am I needed?” The question is posed once again as you hope for a quick resolution. Kicking out your boss is wrong, but hopefully he’ll read between the lines and show himself out - the same way he showed himself in.

A long sip of tea permeates the otherwise silent room. He’s doing this on purpose, you’re sure of it.

“…I was worried,” he mumbles into the mug, sound muffled and quiet.

“Sorry?”

“You should be,” he replies, uninterested in repeating himself. “I needed you today, only to find out you vanished into thin air.”

“I didn’t run, if that’s what you’re implying,” your eyes narrow. You would not be mistaken for a traitor.

“No, no,” he grins. You were at your most entertaining when you became combative. Dazai much prefers you like this rather than subservient. “You took today off.”

Correcting the boss of the Port Mafia was risky, but, “You gave me today off. A month ago, after that mission, you told me to pick a day to relax.”

That’s… true. It was a strenuous mission, and while Dazai made sure to keep you out of the fray, he thought a gift like that would make you feel touched and indebted to him. Annoyingly, he’d nearly forgotten, since Dazai had planned on reneging at the last minute to trap you with him. For your work ethtic, of course.

A pout graces his lips, unhappy at your disappearance from his side. And that he had no rebuttal to it. “Well, I still need you. I made dinner reservations for two accidentally, and the restaurant is rather strict. You need to come with. The meal will be comped, of course."

“Sir, I don’t— “

“Don’t want your job?” His eyes narrow, pout vanishing immediately. You had to go along with it. “I’m sure you don’t mean that, over something as silly as a nice dinner.”

“...Of course, sir.” You tug on the strings of your hoodie, wanting to emphasize that you aren't exactly dressed for something 'nice.' "What time am I expected?"

Dazai has to stop himself from swooning. How adorable. Well, it’s not you that’s adorable, of course. It’s the juxtaposition of such n oversized hoodie on you that he finds adorable, not you yourself. Definitely. “We can leave now, actually. Get changed, please. I wouldn't say there's a dress code, but it's not a 'hoodie' establishment."

Rather than lashing out at him for the snide comment, you choose to bite your tongue and head into your bedroom.

Exhausted was too light a word to describe how you felt. Donned in a 'nice' outfit that was rather uncomfortable, you stood outside in the cold air and harsh breeze as Dazai suggested to the host to let him in. This bastard didn't have reservations for one, much less two.

After the manager is called over and recognizes Dazai, you're quickly ushered in beside him. Dazai pulls out a seat at a secluded table in the back, gesturing for you to sit. "Come."

Without a second thought, you sit in the very seat he'd pulled out, stifling a yawn as he pushes you in. You’re Dazai's best employee - he must keep you close at all times. Which is why he takes advantage of your position as his subordinate to orders you waste your day off in a fancy restaurant across from him. If you want time off of work, you’ll have to spend it with him - just so he can keep an eye on you, of course.

[hannie-dul-set]

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [3].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, talks about stalking, talks about death, data privacy violations, so much emotional whiplash yummy, a very long conversation, google dependent historical information. WORD COUNT. 6.3k.

NOTE. this chapter finally made its way out hell 😭😭😭 per usual, please let me know your thoughts on the chapter! a single comment on ao3 inspired me to finish this, so ur feedback really means a lot! enjoy<3

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 3 — can we go back to being parasocial?

IF SOMEONE HEARS YOUR SUMMARY OF THE EVENTS THAT UNFOLDED WITHIN THE PAST FEW DAYS, they may accuse you of lying. Delusional, even. You’d think the same had you not been the center of it all— yet the proof is in your pockets. Your phone. In the album Choi Yeonjun failed to sign, stuffed inside your bag at the last minute before you left your apartment earlier.

The summary. Right. Yes.

“Can they stop sharing that video of Yeonjun excessively flirting with a fan?! I’m going to kill myself if I see it one more time.”

You were lucky enough to nab a fansign slot. But instead of getting Choi Yeonjun’s signature, you ended up getting a kiss of a hand instead, along with a scrawl of numbers on your album that you’re far too terrified to try to dial.

“Hey, send me our photo with Soobin the other day,” nudges Huening from beside you. “I’m gonna print it out and put it in a locket and use it as a family heirloom.”

You bumped into one of your favorite actors, Choi Soobin, in the middle of a late night convenience store run with your friends to fuel your group all nighter, stained his shirt with your ice cream, and got a photo with him in the process.

“By the way, have you called the business card yet? What are you gonna do with your broken phone screen?”

And Choi Beomgyu may or may not have professed his undying love for you, asked for your hand in marriage, and started crying in front of you in less than ten fucking minutes.

“She’s zoned out.”

The problem is, you can’t even bask in the delightful absurdity of it all because one common thread from all those three separate instances has been keeping you up for nights. It’s clawing at your brain, lingering in the back of your mind like an incessant stalker— which, mind you, is not a pleasant feeling when the very causes of such disturbance were once the bringers of joy and all things good in your otherwise meaningless life as a cog in the capitalist machinery that is society.

“Hello? Are you awake?”

Said problem being the fact that you’re pretty sure they all called you by your name at one point.

How the fuck do they know your name?

“I deleted Twitter. I Airdropped it to you. No, I have not called it yet. Now please let me think in peace.”

Crazy. This is all too crazy. In the first place, what are the odds that you bump into three celebrities within one week’s time? Is this some sort of prank, or something? Are those three filming a hidden camera show together? No, no. That couldn’t be because there’s no fucking way a company is sane enough to stage a risky hidden camera prank during a fansign knowing full well how obsessive and insane fans can get. You’re lucky your face wasn’t caught in any of the videos circulating online— video of you and Choi Yeonjun, mostly him, acting out a fucking sageuk. You’re lucky you haven’t been doxxed yet.

“Finish your sandwich,” Taehyun clicks his tongue, nudging your food closer to you, and you sigh heavily. Maybe you’re just wrong, you think, taking a bite from the bread. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe you’re just overthinking.

You eat your lunch and steal some wet wipes from Gaeul in between. Right. It’s not like you’re ever gonna bump into them again. You live in, as cliche as it sounds, two different worlds after all. You’re just gonna watch their dramas, listen to their music, enjoy their performances, and that’s it that’s it that’s it.

“Prof Jang sent a message. Class is canceled.”

But still—

“Woohoo! Let’s go to the new dessert shop that opened downtown.”

Choi Beomgyu’s voice saying I love you, Choi Soobin’s cologne wafting in the air you were breathing in, and Choi Yeonjun’s lips pressed against your skin.

How can a sane person just forget about all of that?!

“Why do you look like you’re fantasizing about perverted shit?” Woohyun slaps you in the face with a reality check. This is fucking stupid.

“I’m not fantasizing,” you grunt, because they were events that actually fucking happened— they weren’t birthed from your brain’s insanity. “Anyway, dessert? Where is it?” You ignore your burning face, hoping that your friends decide to ignore it too, but Gaeul has her eyes narrowed at you. Crap. She didn’t recognize that it’s you in the videos right? Holy fucking hell, you’d rather die.

“Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

Oh. Well. That’s— that’s something. A good something because she hasn’t suspected you yet, moitioning instead to your cracked phone that has been buzzing under your notice because you’ve been thinking way too fucking much.

You check the caller ID, but it’s an unknown number, and it doesn’t match the business card you got from your run in with the alleged Choi Beomgyu. “Hello?” you answer, and a voice you don’t recognize says your name and asks if it’s you. “Yes, this is her. Who’s this?”

Another item added to the weird as fuck things that happened to your this week. You excuse yourself from your friends, and with knitted brows, you listen to the stranger at the other end of the line. “You met Choi Soobin the other day at a 7-Eleven in Gangnam, right?” The fuck? Did someone see you that day? Is this a stalker? “This is his manager. Lee Byeongho. I would like to speak with you regarding a certain matter.”

Now, hold the fucking phone.

“Is everything alright?”

You respond to Huening’s concern with a stiff smile before turning away from them. “Did I do something wrong?” you fuss into the call. “I didn’t post any of the photos from that day. I never talked about it online either, and I’m pretty sure my friends haven’t either. Wait. Wait a minute. How did you get my number?”

“Yes, it was difficult to obtain knowing only your first name and university.” That doesn’t answer your question. That just gave you more questions. “But, no. You aren’t in trouble. Actually...I called because you’re the only one who can help us— help Soobin— get out of trouble.”

Your face scrunches up.

“I’m at your campus right now. Parking lot. Do you mind meeting me for a moment?”

Just what did you get yourself into?

“You haven’t finished your food. Where are you going?”

“Somewhere,” you reply, quickly snatching your half-eaten sandwich from the table as your friends follow your swift movements with matching looks of confusion. “I’ll be right back. It’s nothing, don’t worry.” However, you are quite worried. You’re pretty sure Lee Manager, or whatever, is committing some data privacy crimes against you, but the one thing you want at the moment is answers. Your brain is about to explode from all the fucking questions and confusion. There’s a sliver of hope that meeting up with this sketchy guy can answer a few of them. You’d take that chance to air out your head.

There’s a black van in the parking lot. It’s the first thing you noticed because one of its doors are open, and there’s a familiar looking guy waiting just in front of the exposed seats. 

He notices you approaching. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says. What’s with men you’re meeting for the first time treating you with familiarity? You’re going to rip your hair out and throw yourself into moving traffic.

“Sure, but can you get to the point?” you stiffly say. “I’m a little busy. I still have classes in a bit.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. This whole situation must’ve come off as a shock to you.” Great, now you’re feeling bad. Soobin’s manager (allegedly) looks like he’s been through a whole lot as well. “Anyway. You are a fan of Choi Soobin, correct?”

“Well,” you blink. “Yes.”

“How about the dramas Kang Jaehee has written and directed?” he follows up. “Are you a fan of those as well?”

Your brows furrow. “I guess?” Peach Tree. That Summer. Mogi. Those are the titles that come right at the top of your head. “What does that have to do anything with me?” Manager Lee spares you a look of pity. You feel like this meet-up is just set out to making you even more fucking confused.

“I sincerely apologize. I didn’t want to drag you into this either, but I’m afraid you’re the only option I have,” says Manager Lee despondently. “Since...since you are a fan of Soobin, and I assume that means you also care about his career, so—”

He pauses. Like he’s practicing the next set of words he’s about to say inside his head.

“—do you mind meeting up with him to convince him to take the lead role for Kang Jaehee’s upcoming drama?”

But nothing could’ve prepared you for that.

What.

What the fuck?

“Mr Manager. Sir,” you start, appalled beyond comprehension. “I’d appreciate it if you start making a bit more sense.” 

“Trust me, I can’t believe I’m doing this either.”

You’re speechless. Your mouth is hanging open with no words coming out because, again, what the fuck? Manager Lee looks just as defeated as you, as if he weren’t the one who had just presented that ridiculous proposal. You are, quite frankly, at a discernible loss. 

Manager Lee lets out a sigh and digs a hand into his pocket. “I’m afraid this is all the time I have today. But please contact me once you’ve made a decision.” Another business card acquired. This is just dandy. “I am really hoping for your cooperation, miss. I’m sure you’re aware of Soobin’s inactivity lately, and my intention of approaching you today is simply in order to help my star’s career. Please consider the favor positively, and we will compensate you as much as my authority can allow.”

With that, you’re left with another laminated piece of paper in your hands. Gosh. This is a headache. When you get back to your friends, they notice the distress you’re in, further justifying a visit to the new dessert store, and seeing how your soul has completely left your body, you’re dragged along with them with ease.

“Hey, pick one. My treat,” says Woohyun. You let out a grunt and point at a random pastry on display. Next thing you know, you’re seated in between Huening and Gaeul at the store you don’t even know the name of. 

Huening is force feeding you an eclair. “Eat.” Your scowl disappears when you allow the eclair entry into your mouth. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? Who did you meet earlier?” 

Seeing as you show absolutely no intentions of telling them, they refuse to question you about it further. Good on them, because there’s no way in hell you’re spilling your predicament. Not until you find out exactly what kind of situation you’re in, at the very least. The two business cards feel like they’re weighing your pockets down, a constant reminder of their existence along with the scrawl Yeonjun left behind.  

“I know exactly how to make you feel better.”

The declaration comes from Gaeul, who slides her phone over to you, and when you look down to see what exactly her miracle medicine is to make you feel less manic, you hack out a cough upon seeing Choi Yeonjun’s face on her phone screen. “The hell is wrong with you?” asks Taehyun from across, giving you some water to push down the eclair lodged in your throat. “I know you like him, but even that is an overreaction.”

Jesus, you’re close to losing it. When you’ve avoided choking to death, Gaeul puts an airpod into your ear, and you hear Yeonjun reading out some comments. “Choi Yeonjun, you look really happy lately, did something good happen? someone asked,” he says while having snacks of his own. “First of all, why are you calling me Choi Yeonjun? It’s like you’re putting a wall between us. I don’t like it.”

Gaeul makes a noise of some sort and had you not been subjected to this week’s insanities, you might have reacted the same way too. Instead, you simply listen to his live in caution, feigning disinterest as you watch him nibble on some pretzels and churros through the screen, continuing to answer the slew of questions in the comments.

“Anyway, you’re right! Something good did happen.” Yeonjun hums while picking out a pretzel from the paper bag, rustling noise and a lively tune filling the audio for a moment— a short moment, right before he continues speaking. “That’s because I finally met the love of my life.”

Taehyun has to give you his water again.

“Oh? Oho, what’s with the exclamation points?” he laughs. “Did I meet them the other day? Hmm...that’s a secret. You’re curious? You think it might be you? Well, let’s see. Should I describe her?”

“God, he’s so fucking messy,” says Gaeul from beside you. “This is why I like him. How many calls is he getting for his manager and company this time?”

“What’s going on? Why is she so startled?”

“Yeonjun’s talking about his apparent soulmate, I don’t know. Wanna listen?”

“Didn’t he get in trouble for doing the same thing last time too?”

Now, you’re not one to give a shit about his love life, and you like to stay out of that side of celebrity gossip as much as you can, but Choi Yeonjun himself is droning on about the love of his life right now. You can’t not hear about it even if you want to. However, as much as you want to let things come into one ear and out through the other, you can’t. Because— wait. Wait. His description is eerily familiar. His description is making you double take and second guess what you’re fucking hearing.

“Sounds a lot like you,” Taehyun remarks without much thought, right after Choi Yeonjun says that the girl he likes has a bit of an attitude, but he likes that about her.

Huening lets out a snort. “Yeah, that’s definitely you. Why don’t you go in a wedding dress the next time you attend a fansign? Who knows, you might have a shot.”

You snap them a dirty look. Fuck. This is making your head spin. For the second time, Choi Yeonjun’s tendency of putting himself into headlines and the trending searches for doing something insane is giving you nothing but stress.

“I did give her my number, but she hasn’t messaged me yet, so I’m quite hurt.”

Number. Hold on a fucking second.

“The comments are going crazy.”

You grab your bag from underneath you, dropping it down to your lap.

“Hey, if you’re watching this, pl—eeeeease contact me. Kim Noona thinks I have a phone addiction now because I’ve been dying waiting for your call.”

You quickly get up from your seat.

“Yo, where are you going this time?”

“I need a minute,” you announce, eyes scanning the store for a quiet place alone while hugging your bag to your chest. There’s nowhere. Looks like you have to get out. 

“Damn, we were just joking. As if you have a chance with a celebrity like him.”

Huening’s joke is ignored and you quickly leave outside the doors, making a sharp turn around the corner, slipping through the passersby downtown until you find an empty alley. Your heart is racing. Your heart is racing like crazy and you may be reaching right now. You may be acting crazy, but what Choi Beomgyu said during the interview with Yeong-Il the other day is echoing in your mind, and— in conjunction with everything else that had happened— you’re starting to think that maybe he wasn’t joking.

Your cracked phone screen greets you when you take it out of your pocket. On your other hand is the first business card you got this week.

“Who’s this?”

“Hello. Good day.” You tell them your name, the events that led up to you receiving this number, with the hope that maybe you’re finally on to something. “I’d like to talk about the compensation for my broken phone.”

Whatever that something is, you’re gonna get to the bottom of it.

*

It’s already beyond closing time at Kwiyeomdongmoim Cafe (a mouthful, you know), yet your pink apron is still neatly tied around your waist as you pace back and forth, to and fro, in circles inside the breakroom. The time is half-past nine in the evening. You should’ve clocked out thirty minutes ago, but you’re still waiting. 

The knock on the door signified the end of your wait. You turn to see your boss’s head popping in through the half-open crack. 

“Three guys are waiting for you,” informs Seokmin. “They all seem handsome. Are they your suitors?”

When you ditched your friends at the still unnamed dessert store the other day, you did it to make a few calls. Three, to be exact. Today is the culmination of those calls, which is why you’ve been erratically nervous the entire freaking day. Choi Soobin, Choi Beomyu, and Choi Yeonjun’s managers all answered respectively when you called all the sketchy numbers you got and made some negotiations (apparently, the mess on your album is Yeonjun’s number, but he got his phone confiscated after that livestream). 

“As if,” you say, walking up to the door leading back into the cafe. Suitors, more like stalkers. Fans stalking their idols is common, but the other way around is a pretty fresh idea. “Anyway, thanks, Kyeom. Thank you for letting me use the store for a while.” Because this is the only private place you can think of outside of your own home— and there’s no way in hell you’re letting them in there when you don’t even know how they managed to get hold of your personal information.

“We’re closed anyway.” Seokmin smiles and makes way for you to pass by. “Go ahead and do your thing. Do you want me to stay inside or keep watch?” 

“You can stay inside, it’s alright.” 

He nods. “Call me when you’re done. Scream if you need backup. I can handle all of them.”

You laugh and thank him once more, a pat on his arm before you decide to peek out the door first as a precautionary measure. From your spot, you can see three thoroughly covered men in windbreakers, caps, and masks sitting on three separate tables in the store. The blinds have already been rolled down, so you can’t see anything outside, but there doesn’t appear to be any cameras around, so you take it as a safe sign to finally leave your hiding spot.

The moment you do, the break room door creaks, and all three pairs of eyes immediately fall on you. 

They stand up. They call out your name in unison.

Holy shit.

And when they do, they all look at each other with a sudden flash of hostility in the air.

Um. Well. How are you supposed to do this? “H—hello,” you manage to squeak out, prompting their attention once more. Soobin takes off his cap and removes his mask, the other two following suit, and oh my god. Oh my god. You suck in a deep breath. Today, you are not a fan. You are an interrogator. This is not a fansign. This is an interrogation. 

“I— uh, I asked your managers if I can meet you all to—today for a specific reason.” Wow. Good job. Your hands are shaking and you can’t look up from the floor or else you’d start losing your mind. “But—but, before that— would...would you like some drinks…?”

Interrogation paused. You need to get your shit together first.

“Please enjoy.”

With the help of your boss (because your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and you dropped the first one you made), you managed to whip up four iced teas and settle all three of them into one table at the very back of the store. You send a stiff smile at Seokmin after he placed all the drinks on the table.

God, you owe him so much— especially when he’s being unreasonably glared at by the three men sitting with you right now. Choi Beomgyu to your left, Choi Soobin to your right, Choi Yeonjun directly across from you and holy fuck, you have yet to look at them properly yet for your own safety. They haven’t been talking to each other either, simply sitting and waiting for you to speak. You’re pretty sure they know each other though, at least by name, being in the same industry and all. 

To say that the tension in the air is suffocation would be an understatement. How...how do you start this? The fuck should you say first?

“You know, I was really happy when Kim Noona told me you called.”

Apparently you don’t have to start it. Choi Yeonjun does it for you.

“But why are these two crashing our date?”

And that’s when things also start to get messy.

“Date?” Choi Soobin interjects. He sounds offended. Why does he sound offended. “What are you talking about?”

Choi Yeonjun doesn’t get a chance to make his case. Because Choi Beomgyu from your left suddenly snatches one of your hands from the table, prompting you to look at one of them for the first time tonight, and your eyes fly wide open. “I’d...like to apologize for the other day. I was just overtaken by my emotions. I hope you weren’t too freaked out.”

You are quite freaked out because holy shit, this is too much maybe. Not maybe. Yes. This is too much. Too. Much.“Hey, why are you holding her hand?!” you hear Choi Soobin exclaim from your other side. Choi Beomgyu’s soft expression suddenly disappears into a glare and a sneer the moment he shifts his gaze.

“You’re holding her hand too!”

“Why can’t I?!”

“Hey, this isn’t fair! One of you switch with me—”

Dizzy. You’re feeling dizzy. Your head is spinning and you’re suffocating from the heat emanating from your very face. Whatever they’re arguing about isn’t even reaching your ears anymore. You’re getting lightheaded and your sweaty hands start slipping out from the two’s weirdly tender hold on your hands because your body is physically breaking down.

“Shut up! Oh my god, my head—”

Your vision actually starts spinning for a second so you quickly bring the bottom of your palms to your temples, elbows on the table to balance yourself, only to be wobbled and shaken because the three suddenly jolted off their seats in panic.

“Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, just please—for the love of god— sit down and shut up.”

They sit down and shut up. You massage your temples in silence. You remove your hands from your face and, after sucking in a deep breath and releasing it thereafter, feel your heartbeat settling into a normal rate. As normal as it can get in this situation.

“Whew. Okay. I think I’m ready. Let’s get down to business.” Finally, you’re the one steering the conversation. You give each of them a once over as quickly as possible because now you know that prolonged eye contact will only hurt you. You settle with looking at the gaps between each of them. That’s fine. You’re fine. “Choi Soobin, Choi Yeonjun, Choi Beomgyu.”

It’s like three bulbs just lit up in succession. Your brain is starting to hurt.

“A—as I was saying, you three are some of South Korea’s biggest celebrities and although I am, in fact, a big fan of all three of you—” Why is Choi Soobin growing pink. Why the fuck is he blushing. “—that— that does not make me fail to recognize the amount of weird shit that’s been happening lately, and I think I need answers.”

They are still sitting down and shutting up. They listen to instructions well, at the very least.

“First, how the fuck did all three of you know my name without any prior introduction. Second—”

The words get clamped in your throat. It’s lodged in there very tightly because you make the mistake of looking one of them in the eye, only to notice that all three of them are looking at you with the same expression. An expression you can only describe as longing.

And your face starts burning.

“Se— second, why…why do you all keep looking at me like I’m an ex you want to get back together with…?”

Maybe you asked the wrong question.

Because for some reason they all look sad now. Really sad. Really fucking sad and it’s making your stomach clench and nerves all numb and funky because making three big celebrities all sad simultaneously is a bragging right at one end of the spectrum, and a national crime at the other.

It’s Choi Soobin who cracks the silence. “I…I had a feeling when I saw you again for the first time at the store.” Again? “Do you not remember me?”

Your face furrows. “No…? Did we ever meet before you became an actor?”

Hurt. The look of sadness has now spiraled into hurt and one might think you just stabbed and twisted a knife into his fucking gut.  “How—how about me?” Your attention turns to Choi Yeonjun who isn’t looking any better. It’s like his entire world view was just proven to be wrong and why does it feel like you’re the one to blame. 

What else can you do but shake your head in denial? Now he looks like he’d just been told he’s adopted!

“You’re…you’re joking,” he tries to laugh it off, but it only comes off as strained and shaky, then, in one fell swoop— desperate. “R—right…?”

“Great!”

Before you start feeling even shittier, Choi Beomgyu finally decides to join in. 

“And here I thought her forgetting about me was the worst case scenario.” His tone is bitter. There’s a snap in his words. “I didn’t think there’d be other bastards in the same situation as me. God fucking damn it.”

There’s a moment of silence. You watch as realization hits the other while you’re still left in the dark. Choi Yeonjun juts his seat closer. Choi Soobin tries to reach a hesitant arm to your direction, but you’re  tugged to the other side by Choi Beomgyu, who’s suddenly a little too, too close.

“Hey.”

Your hands are clamped together. 

“I meant it when I said I love you. I do. I have loved you four hundred years ago and I still love you now, and if whatever god or deity decides to make you meet you for the third time, I’ll still love you then.”

Beomgyu’s holding both of them in between his in a firm grip.

“Second life is about you. Blue Spring is about you. You’re the person I’ve been waiting for from the beginning of this life until the last.”

Now, if this situation wasn’t crazy, your heart would be skipping a beat right now.

But it is crazy. This is fucking insane. And you look around to see that there’s a weird look of sympathy and understanding in the other Choi’s eyes, clearly not recognizing the visceral insanity of this situation, which fills you with a swallowing lump of existential dread. You pry your hands out of Beomgyu’s grasp (you swear you can hear glass breaking), and slowly turn to Choi Yeonjun and say, with a very hesitant, very cautious, “Y...you too…?”

The look on his face says it all. And then you swivel over to Choi Soobin.

“And you?” 

“I’ve lo—”

“No!” you snap. “Don’t finish that sentence. Please. Oh my god.”

You see Seokmin popping his head out from the corner, mouthing an are you okay? and you shakily bring up a weak thumbs up. “Well, isn’t this interesting,” you hear Choi Yeonjun say, which feels like a slap in the face because what exactly is interesting about this. “Here I thought I was special.”

“Get off your high horse,” retorts Choi Soobin, a sneer in his voice. You double take. Choi Soobin is supposed to be sweet and gentle and kind. Who is this man? “Whatever kind of past you had with her doesn’t mean anything. I met her first. I met her at the end of King Danjong’s rule.”

“Ha!” Choi Yeonjun starts. “We got married under King Taejong. I’ve loved her before any of you did.”

Now, what the fuck?

Choi Soobin’s face pales and he chokes over his words. “M—married?”

There’s a smug grin on Choi Yeonjun’s face. He leans back against the chair with his arms crossed in victory. “You heard that correctly. Married. Pack up your bags. Unless you want me to tell you everything we did on our we—”

“Shut up, shut up, I don’t want to hear it!”

Marriage. King Danjong. King Taejong. Second life. The gears are churning inside your head. You don’t like the direction where the gears are pointing.

“What about you?”

Choi Yeonjun raises the question and the attention is now on Choi Beomgyu. He’s been quiet. The other two wait for him to say his piece— a feigned air of disdain and arrogance but there’s an unconcealable undertone of nervousness underneath it all. Your iced teas have been left untouched. Choi Beomgyu simply scoffs and presses his crossed arms against his chest.

“I have no reason to tell you any of that. This is between me and her.”

And at your mention, you receive the undivided attention of three pairs of eyes once more. Your heart rattles. God fucking damn it. Listen, you’re an avid consumer of the entertainment industry. You’ve watched a good amount of dramas and have read a good amount of manhwas to surmise a conclusion with the bits and pieces of stray information being tossed back and forth between the three. And it’s all ridiculous. But you have nothing else to work with unless they come spilling their guts themselves.

“So,” you clear your throat. “Are you three, like…a couple…hundred years old…?”

They all look offended. 

“No!”

Well, maybe you’re wrong about that part. But after a very long, convoluted discussion, the “facts” (if you can even call it that), are finally laid down on your feet.

They say you’ve all met before. Separately, in three separate lifetimes, with this one allegedly being your fourth unless there were lives in between that they can’t remember. One thing for certain is that the three of them remember the life they had while loving you— and they loved you very much apparently because those feelings and memories got carried over even after they got reborn into the present day.

The problem is, you don’t have the same symptoms. You don’t remember anything about your past lives. Hell, you can’t even remember anything in this life before you hit two years old. 

You slump in your seat. The table rattles. They get up from their chairs and come circling around you in concern.

“Are— are you okay, do you need to lie down? You could rest in my van for a while and—”

You swat Choi Yeonjun’s hand away before it could land on your shoulder. You’ve now got your hands on your face in stress, and peeking through you see Choi Soobin on your right, crouching down and looking up at you with furrowed brows and big, sad eyes. On your left is Choi Beomgyu, half-seated on the chair. You let out a very long, very anguished and muffled groan. This is too much. “If— if what you guys are saying is true,” you say. “What does it matter?”

There’s a tense pause in the air. 

“What do you mean…?”

You spring up from your seat and turn around, Choi Yeonjun in front of you. 

“I mean what does it all matter? King Sejeong, Joseon era, or whatever— I don’t care about all of that. We’re in the twenty-first century right now. I’m neither your lover nor your wife. I’m just a fan of your dramas and music and performances and that's it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t really want to see their faces right now. You let a huff of air slip past your lips, turning back around to collect the untouched glasses of drinks on the table.

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet me and explain. I hope it’s all settled. Thanks for clearing everything up today. You can now all leave.”

It’s Choi Yeonjun who races after you when you make your firm and quick strides to the counter. He cuts off your path. “I—I don’t understand,” he chokes out. You make the mistake of meeting his gaze and see the threat of tears glazing his eyes. “What—what do you mean?”

Admittedly, that hurled a giant pang against your ribcage, knocking the air out of your chest, but you move forward. You brush past him, setting the glasses back on the counter, and— after a moment’s pause— you turn around, a heavy weight on your shoulders. It’s like gravity is trying to suck you deep into the mantle. “What I’m trying to say is we should all just get over what happened all those hundreds of years ago and live our lives in the present. I mean, I don’t know any of you. Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to keep clinging onto the past, especially when you guys are nothing but strangers to me in this life?”

Dead silence. You don’t dare look at any of them in the face. You try and retreat to the break room as quickly as you can, hands fumbling to untie your apron along the way, but you stumble over your steps, screeching to a halt the moment you hear someone say—

“Do you think it’s that easy?”

You could hear your heart in your eardrums. 

It takes all the strength in your body for you to look back, to see the pained expression on Choi Beomgyu’s face standing the farthest away from you out of the three. “Do you think I put my name out there so that it’d be easier for you to find me, wrote all those songs about you in the hopes that I could see you again if you’re someone I can just easily forget?”

Your throat tightens. It’s like you’re swallowing a boulder.

“If you wanted me to forget about you, you shouldn’t have died right in front of me then. You shouldn’t have told me you loved me right before you went cold in my arms if you wanted me to fucking forget.”

Oh.

Oh, god.

Choi Yeonjun and Choi Soobin don’t look any better. It hits you that you might have been more than a little bit unfair.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know your history. You don’t know what the fuck happened between you and them throughout those years that made them feel so strongly about you. But it must be harder for those who remember than for those who forgot.

It’s not like they chose to live in the present with half of their souls stuck in the past, either. You’ve been acting awfully unfair.

“I was being insensitive. I’m so sorry,” you exhale. Your knees feel like they’re about to buckle. Your head is spinning in circles. “But to be honest, this is all still very overwhelming, and I’m having a hard time comprehending and making sense of everything. It doesn’t feel real.” You try to take a step closer, but your legs give in. Choi Yeonjun quickly rushes to balance you back on your feet.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says, softly. You can’t look at him. God, these guys really know how to bring your guilt all the way home.

“Thanks, um, anyway—” You breathe in. Shit, you can’t believe you’re considering this. “Again, I really can’t and won’t be able to understand the magnitude of your— well, uh— feelings, since I really don’t remember anything. But how about…I spend some time with each of you individually, and maybe…maybe it can help in jogging back my memories?”

The atmosphere shifts. Ah. This feels like a fucking trap.

“You— you mean it?”

To be honest, you’d much rather just not deal with any of this, just stay at home and continue living your life with these three men as persons you only know behind the screen. But those looks in their eyes— hopeful and melancholic— make you feel your organs are being rearranged every five seconds, and you’d feel bad leaving them with the pain of this conversation especially after they poured out their hearts to you.

You can’t deny the joy and escape they’ve given you for the past couple of years you’ve spent as their fan. Maybe entertaining this unreality is the least you can do.

“I mean, well,” you start, clearing your throat. “Choi Beomgyu, you still need to pay for my phone. Choi Soobin, your manager wanted me to talk to you about something, and Choi Yeonjun—”

You look at the guy who still has one arm pressed against your back, two hands in a firm grip on your shoulders. He’s looking at you and batting his eyes expectantly. You let out a sigh and set yourself loose.

“I need to discuss something with you soon, too.” As in, please stop vaguely mentioning me in your live streams because I fear I might find an angry mob in front of my house. “I think I have all your contact information anyway.”

There aren’t any more reactions coming from them. This seems like the best possible solution for all of you. You sigh again. This has been an emotionally draining evening. You can’t wait to get some fucking rest.

“I’ll be in touch with you or your managers soon. For now, let’s call it a day.”

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[lolahauri]

in ur shane abc you said he’d like fucking in the joja break room but the only one who’d likely walk in is sam… i don’t think he’d stop fucking you if sam walking in and maybe he’d offer to share? ;)

anon i love you, are our minds connected or smth? i was literally imagining that as i typed it out! here's a lil drabble for you bestie.

-> GN Reader & Pronouns, Threesome, Public Sex, Eiffel Tower Position, Dubcon Elements, Not Proofread. <- (MDNI)

~

so imagine you and shane have been married for a while. everything is great, except for one thing. sam. sam is absolutely head-over-heels in love with you. you're oblivious to it, but shane sees it clear as day. he sees the way sam blushes when you talk to him or give him a gift, the way he eye-fucks you when you're wearing some tight jeans or a crop top, the way he always seems to make his best jokes when you're around, it's so fucking obvious and it pisses him off that you don't believe him.

but it pisses him off more that sam can't seem to get the hint that you're his. so, he makes a plan. he's going to show sam just who you belong to.

you'd had your fair share of hookups in the joja breakroom before, so he knew it wouldn't raise any suspicion when he texts you to come by on his break. what you didn't know was that you were coming by just five minutes before sam was scheduled for his own break.

~

the minute you snuck into the room with shane, he had you bent over the table, taking you hard and fast from behind. one of his large hands was cupped around your mouth, the other had a firm grip on your ass cheek. you didn't know what had gotten into him today, but you were loving the aggression, he was pounding into you so hard you were practically seeing stars.

and because of the state you were in, you didn't even notice at first when sam walked in. but shane did... he was looking right at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, watching sam's wide-eyes dart between you and him.

when you did notice him, you gasped into shane's hand, tapping on him to try and warn him someone was there. he only stopped briefly to ease your worries.

"yeah, yeah. i know he's there, doll, don't worry."

wait, what?

you weren't sure how to feel at first. you did find sam cute and all, maybe you even had a crush on him, but you never really discussed this beforehand. did sam plan this too? would it be considered cheating if you liked it? why is this turning you on so much?

shane just laughed at your confused expression, "you look so worried. c'mon, don't cha wanna give him a show? looks like he's waiting, doll."

you looked up to see sam unzipping his jeans just a few feet away from you. when his cock finally sprung out, you couldn't help but clench around shane. it's so long

"shit, you're squeezing me tight. you like this, huh?" shane started to thrust into you again, going in sync with sam's strokes. "you like having an audience? maybe i'll let you suck him off, too. give him a little taste of what i get from you every night. ya want that, babe?"

shane removed his hand when you nodded, looking back up at sam and fucking into you a little faster. "what d'ya say, sam? you want 'em to blow you? don't be shy, they're looking forward to it."

"Ah- fuck yes." sam groaned out. you parted your lips immediately, sticking out your tongue and eagerly waiting for him to slide it in. he didn't waste any time either. he pumped his cock in front of your face a few more times before pushing in down your throat.

you felt a couple tears threaten to spill from gagging, but you didn't want to stop. they were soon fucking you perfectly in sync. every time sam hit the back of your throat, shane bottomed out in your sensitive hole.

the pleasure was beginning to be too much for you, it was exciting. you'd never done something like this, let alone in such a risky place. you almost felt like you could cum hands-free from this, from being used like a toy by your husband and best friend.

as soon as their thrusts started getting sloppy, shane reached around to finish you off before they came. "cum for us, doll. let him hear how pretty you sound cummin' on my cock." that's all it took for you. you screamed out in pleasure, sending vibrations up sam's cock, and squeezing down on shane's.

both of them reached their high right after yours, filling you to brim with their fresh loads. you wished they didn't have to pull out, though. you'd never felt so full, so complete in your life. was it wrong to love this so much? maybe...

~

as you all cleaned up and got dressed, sam finally spoke up. "so, uh... could we do that again sometime?"

shane laughed, "we'll see about that. but first-" he turned you and playfully slapped your ass, "you go home, take a shower, and wait in bed. i'm not done with you just yet."

shit, it's gonna be long day.

[vikkirosko]

Ok so I’ve read all ur stuff for Adam x reader and now I need to send a request so here it goes!

Could I get Adam in a relationship with a suuuuuper sweet reader like they’re polar opposites but their relationship is freakin amazing and Adam is all jokey and not very serious when he comes to the hotel for the extermination until Alastor pulls an uno reverse and pulls out reader to get the upper hand on Adam

I know it’s not much but I’ve had this idea floating around in my head since the last episode came out and I need drama! 🤣 You can choose how it ends or change it how you need to but ur stuff has been great and I’d love to see what you can do with it! 😊😊😊

🎸 Adam x Reader headcanons Dirty trick✨️

There were many good things in Heaven. Adam could do almost anything he wanted. But the best thing that happened to him was getting to know you. You were the lightest, sweetest and friendliest person he had ever met. The fact that you started dating him was the reason for his joy. Your relationship was unlike any of his previous ones. He was really happy. On the day of the extermination, he went to Hell in high spirits, knowing that he would return to you very soon

He treated everything that was happening without much seriousness, including the battle with Alastor. The sinner annoyed him, but not so much that he was really angry. This went on until suddenly, you appeared in Alastor's hands. At that moment, Adam's composure cracked. You shouldn't have been there. You should have stayed in Heaven. But here you were, taken hostage and now your life was in danger

Adam began to fight much more fiercely. He didn't want you to see him like this, but now there were no other options. He was supposed to protect you and bring you back to Heaven. He wanted to kill Alastor, but he could only injure him. The fact that he escaped meant less than the fact that you were safe again. He told you to stay on the roof and run away if there was even a hint of danger. Adam was going to deal with all this as soon as possible, and already at home he talked to you about how it was too risky to go after him

You saw Adam fight against Lucifer's daughter, and then against Lucifer himself, and all you could do was hope that he would return home alive, and when Lucifer did not kill him, you breathed a sigh of relief. You were going to help Adam at least get up, but you didn't get close to him. He was killed right in front of your eyes. You felt your legs weaken and you sank to the ground, and tears began to flow down your cheeks. You wanted to scream, but the scream got stuck in your throat and your head started spinning

Lute took you back to Heaven, where you were consumed by your grief. You cried until you ran out of strength. Lute visited you and made sure that you didn't forget to take care of yourself. She knew how much Adam loved you and couldn't let you ruin yourself. It was hard for both of you and you both tried to cope with your grief, but Lute intended to fight on, and you hoped that you would be able to meet Adam again, if not in this life, then perhaps in the next

[hitomisuzuya]

ur fav servant scara anon here!!!

Please may I see a servant scara x fem reader fluff? Like they’re just walking around the estate, secretly (so higher ups don’t see him and get him in trouble) holding hands and he’s all blushy and bashful and angry

Servant Scaramouche x fem!reader. Fluffy fluff fluff.

I'm sorry my stuff has been so bad lately. I don't have much confidence in my writing right now. However, writing this made me smile.

You'd told Scaramouche that your favorite flowers were in bloom around the estate, and you wanted to go for a walk to see them with him. It didn't matter what it was, Scaramouche could never say no to you.

It was a few minutes into the walk when Scaramouche something, letting out a huffy, discontent sigh. You weren't reaching for his hand right away. Or fast enough for him.

He loved it when you reached for his hand first. It made him feel like you were clinging to him, depending on him. He bumped his hand against yours impatiently.

You looked up at him, and smiled softly at him. It made his heart skip a beat. "If you wanted to hold my hand, you could've just asked,' You teased, intertwining your fingers through him.

Scaramouche's cheeks flushed. "Whatever," He felt you squeeze his hand exactly like you were clinging to him. It was the feeling that he needed. You giggled, earning you a scoff and an eye roll.

While you admired the flowers, Scaramouche admired how beautiful you looked looking at the flowers. His eyes would dart around occasionally to see if the higher ups spotted you together. And for another reason he suddenly saw in the courtyard.

His expression in immediately soured. Not this guy again. He'd been coming around an awful lot lately, saying he had meetings with the higher ups, but he knew what utter shit that was. This guy was a threat that needed to neutralized.

Scaramouche had told him to fuck off more than once. But he just kept coming back. "Nope," He hissed as you walked by with him. He put his hand on the guy's forehead and pushed him right into the bushes. "For fucks sake, is there no other woman in the world!?" He was even more irked when you took your hand out of his.

You put your hands on his cheeks, skimming your thumb across one of them. "Scara, it okay," You said soothingly. He huffed, turning his cheek into your hand. "Let me make things perfectly clear for him right now." You pressed a kiss to his lips.

Scaramouche's eyes widened for a moment before he kissed you back. He knew it was risky for you to do this, but it also showed how far you were willing to go to reassure him that you wanted to be with him.

He let himself melted into the kiss for a few moments before he pulled away. "For goodness sake, someone else might see," He grumbled, putting his fingers on your lips to feel their soft on them.

[https-furina]

alhaitham 45 pls idk if ur event is still open for sugar and spice but 👀👀

✎ the books hold secrets untold.

ft. alhaitham x gn!reader

prompt: "if i kiss you right now, i won't be able to stop."

w.c. 607 words

content: fluff, secret relationship waahahahah, risky kisses in the house of daena, reader is a bit bold, acting grand sage! alhaitham

notes: my first completed alhaitham req for the event aaaa !! everybody clap for haitham for getting content from me /j i was minorly feral for this

the house of daena is pristine, it has been since before your creation - since before the creation of your own boyfriend, in all of his current glory as the acting grand sage of the akademiya. this title comes much to his distaste, it leaves a bitter sting on his tongue when he's made to utter it and he would grimace whenever someone referred to him as such. that's why it had became your favourite thing to shove in his direction half pointedly when you were tired of the level of sass that could come from the man's mouth sometimes.

and at this current time, he's drafting his resignation for the aforementioned position. he's much comfier in his role as the scribe, you can see that in the way he carries himself through the akademiya. you also see the way he's physically pained to sit in the incredulously large chair in the sage's office - after all, why the hell did it need to be that big? alhaitham makes a distressed noise as he runs a hand through silver strands of hair, his brows knitting together as he falls at his wit's ends trying to word his resignation to his liking. that is ultimately why you - as his loving partner - whisk away to hide in the bookshelves for a few minutes.

alhaitham has his reasons for keeping the relationship secret - one of them being that emotional, loud blond roommate of his - and so do you, so neither of you have qualms about the situation. even more so, it's a bit of fun adrenaline to spice up your otherwise bland life as a scholar. you're not entirely sure if alhaitham would agree with that. regardless of his opinion, he has your body trapped between himself and the bookshelves as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. alhaitham is by no means one for public displays of affection but he's starved, his fingertips twitching as they brush against the leather bound tomes behind you.

your hands run through his hair, sifting through the silver locks as you rub the pads of your fingers on his scalp in short, soothing motions. alhaitham doesn't make a sound - nothing out of the blue - but his breath hitches against your skin and a smile is drawn on your face at the small gesture. you press your lips to the soft of his hair, letting out a low hum.

"haitham," you mumble quietly, a whine eliciting from you when he pulls his head away, leaving your hands to fall to his shoulders, "kiss me."

you're a little short of demanding, your lower lip poking out as you give the emotionless male puppy eyes in an attempt to convince him. it's risky, the house of daena is a public library and the central hub for the akademiya's internal activities but you frankly don't care. you want alhaitham; his touch, his familiar scent, the taste on his lips. it seems to be a lingering thought for him as well as his eyes trace down to your lips.

"if i kiss you right now, i won't be able to stop." he's quite honest with his response - he's aware of his self restraint when it comes to anything regarding you.

you lean up with a wicked smile that alhaitham can only begin to wonder what it stemmed from, locking lips with the the scribe in a heated attempt at getting any form of closure. between soft pants for breath against each other's lips, alhaitham manages to hear your barely legible "then don't."

there are secrets that only the books know, stories that pages whisper in hushed tones.

© https-heizou 2023.

[sunnebeam]

run away with me?

A 'DARKEST LITTLE PARADISE' DRABBLE.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

warnings: mafia au (but no specific details in this particular drabble), mentions of sex work, making out in the car

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: in case u didn't know, i'm still currently on my aug-oct vacation (see details in pinned post!) and this post was scheduled in advance :> this is shorter than usual but i hope it's still enjoyable. and u know the drill, don't forget to leave feedback & share ur thoughts &lt;3

— prev: everything just stops | next: this is how the world works

Yoongi's lips touch yours and all your inhibitions go away.

You deepen the kiss, having deprived yourself of him for so long so now, you can't seem to get enough. You climb out of your seat to move across the center console and onto his lap.

He plants his hands on your waist, groaning into your mouth with his lips consuming yours.

"Yoongi," you mumble against his soft lips.

"Yeah, princess?" he hums.

You pull away and he almost whines at the loss. But he quickly recovers to hear what you have to say.

"I love you, too."

He freezes.

"I love you," you repeat, smiling as you let your feelings run free. "Maybe not like how the past me loved you. But I guarantee you it's just as much, if not more."

His breath hitches before he shakes his head, chuckling.

"You have no idea how much I needed to hear you say that."

He pulls you back to him, resuming your makeout session but this time with more sentiment.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, and you kiss him back just as passionately. The atmosphere naturally starts to escalate and soon enough, you're rocking your hips against each other, seeking friction.

It's been a while since you last had sex, what with your birthday and the revelations that came with it. Your bodies crave each other desperately, having been deprived for so long.

It would be understandable if you do end up fucking in the car. But unfortunately, there's something holding you back.

A black, shiny, metallic something.

You feel its outline in one of Yoongi's pockets and you know it's a gun. Instantly, your mood plummets when you realize just how extreme his line of work is, how risky and dangerous it is.

You don't think you can handle that lifestyle.

"What's the matter, princess?"

You stare at him, your eyes that were droopy and lust-filled just seconds before are now wide and pleading.

"Yoongi," you whisper, "would you run away with me?"

For the second time that day, Yoongi freezes at your words.

"If I asked you," you continue, still in a whisper, "would you give up everything and come with me?"

"What are you saying?" he finally utters.

"I have some money saved up," you tell him. "I always knew I was gonna quit my job at the brothel eventually and I've been saving up for a while now."

You take his face in your hands, caressing his cheeks, before you ask him again one more time.

"Run away with me, Yoongi."

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[keeksandgigz]

ugh maybe something angsty to fluffy with eddie , like nightmares or a silly argument turned too big leaving both in tears but then resolved

idk baby ugh i love ur writing tho !

aww stop i love u <3

this is literally my first ask ever im so excited!! hope u enjoy :)))

He knows better than to fall asleep.

The world lays still around him, the sound of lone crickets plays as his lullaby while he stares at his banged up ceiling.

Everytime he closes his eyes he feels like he's suffocating, still in the stuffy, dusty and slimy Upside Down, the blood at his throat almost choking him to death.

It's his first night alone back home. Him and Wayne had been cleared to go back earlier that September morning after spending a whole summer in a cramped infirmary on a small cot that made his feet stick out.

Noises of people snoring, talking, moving around. Even people crying and screaming in their sleep. You sleeping in the cot right next to him.

Your shoulders rising and falling. On nights where he couldn't sleep he'd count every breath you took, until his brain grew tired and fell victim to slumber.

But tonight there was just eerie quiet. No breaths to count except his own, shallow and irregular in his chest, as he tried not to focus too much on the way the skin of his naked chest stretched taut by the stitches given to him felt under his hand, casually resting there.

The faint white and red splotches of mangled skin felt funny under the touch of his hands. Even then, he tried to not touch them. He didn't like the way his body would retract from his own touch. Almost as if he was scared of himself.

He hadn't let you see them yet, everytime you hung out and reveled in each other's company never went further than a few risky kisses. Your hands traveling to the hem of his shirt being abruptly stopped by his fingers intertwined in yours, moving away from his waist.

It was silent, the way you understood his limits. He'd never let you know he wasn't comfortable, and you could not have possibly known what lied under the too- big shirt he'd taken from the donation box.

Tonight, though, he finds himself missing counting your breaths, imagining you back at home in the comfort of your bed. Are you awake too?

Sick and tired of thinking, closing his eyes only to see monsters behind his lids, the feeling of the crumpled, rough sheets under his back, he gets up. He slips a shirt on, along with a pair of pants and fishes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pockets of his jacket, perched carelessly on the chair.

He heads to the front porch. He closes the front door behind him, trying to keep quiet. Wayne's at work, but the habit of tiptoeing and whispering around after months of living in a communal space still stuck with him.

He sits on the stairs of his porch, letting the cigarette between his lips as he fights with the yellow lighter his dad had given him to start a spark.

"Fuck" he curses under his breath as the lighter proceeds to not produce a light. His breathing becomes uneven as his cheeks flush with anger. Frustrated, he tosses the lighter in the patch of grass in front of him. Useless fucking thing.

He doesn't even know why he still has it. The last time he'd seen his dad was over two years before. He'd never gone that long without a visit.

He's tempted to go in the kitchen and light up his cigarette with the stove, but Wayne didn't like him smoking inside. Instead he just sits there, unlit cigarette between his lips as he looks at a certain spot in the trailer park.

The same spot he'd almost died at.

He's so entranced by that one patch of dirt that he doesn't notice a car driving into the trailer park. His eyes diverting only when the headlights almost turn him blind.

It's you.

The car turns off and you come out of it, dressed in some cute pyjamas, a jacket that once belonged to Eddie covering you from the late September gale.

"Can't sleep either?" you say, staring at his dumbfounded face as you approach him on the wooden porch stairs.

"Too quiet. Missin' the old man who talked about cake in his sleep" he lets out a breathy laugh.

"My bed was too comfortable. My back is too fucked up from the cot, can't sleep on a soft mattress anymore. Missed having a bed next to yours, Munson" you nudge him, he just gives you a tight- lipped smile.

"Missed watching you breathe" he says, cautiously "Helped me sleep at night. I'd count every breath you took"

"Having any nightmares?" you ask, placing your head on his shoulder.

"Can't have nightmares if I'm awake. Everytime I close my eyes it's like I'm back in there, so I just.... don't sleep" he says, playing with the still unlit cigarette in his mouth.

The air is light between you two, an air of friendship, unweighted by your knowledge of what happened to him. You bring him relief, solace.

"Tell you what" you begin "you can light that cigarette with my car lighter, we split it, and then we go back inside and you can watch me breathe. So you can sleep" you blink up at him. He blinks at you back.

You offering to sleep with him in his bed wasn't something he'd have expected out of his life. Especially at this time of it.

All he does is nod as you take the cigarette from his lips and light it in your car, coming back with it already between your lips.

You're warm when you settle yourself next to him on the bed, under the rough blankets. The pillows smell like him. You inhale.

He doesn't know whether to hold you or leave you alone. He just opts to be a little closer to you as he lets you close your eyes. A weak "G'night, Munson" escapes you as you exhale and close your eyes.

He watches the silhouette of your shoulders rise and fall.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven...

He falls asleep before he can get to fifty.

[528-hotline]

Hi! Can you write something like semi-public sex with matthew with him coming inside you? And he let you walk without panties so everyone can see his seed dripping by your pussy into your legs🫣

semi-public sex. with matthew !

pairings | dom!matthew x fem!reader

warnings | SMUT, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, dacryphilia, slight degradation, manhandling, slight public humiliation, usage of pet names (baby, princess), matthew stuffs your panties in your mouth :3

word count | 1.7k

a/n 💌 i wanna kiss ur brain anon <3 this is so AAAAAA i enjoyed writing this that i got carried away and went a little overboard… 🫣 anyways, i hope you’ll enjoy <3

NSFW UNDER THE CUT (18+ ONLY) MINORS DNI

your self-control was losing its composure.

you mentally slapped your brain for being such a menace for being turned on by his veiny hands and everytime he flexes his biceps. what’s even worse is that he decided to wear a tight black shirt, making his upper body more detailed. you can clearly see his chest through it, which is why it’s one of your favorites on him.

you and matthew went on an park date, it had different stalls of food and other stuff. although you were having a good time trying new food and buying random trinkets, you’re distracted and you keep glancing on your boyfriend, making you feel more lost in the thought of him fucking your insides because of how attractive he is today.

after quite some time, you and matthew decided to sit on a bench for a while to rest a bit from walking.

perfect timing.

you leaned on his shoulder and he leans back, putting his head over yours. you (innocently) put your hand against his thigh, drawing small little circles in it. “you seem a bit down today, you okay? you didn’t really have to agree to go here if you wanted to stay home,” matthew assures you in a soft tone. you love this side of him but you badly want the other side of him instead.

“‘m good baby, i had a good time here... it’s just i have a little problem…”

“oh no.. what is it?” he asks innocently, as you move your hands up his thigh, rubbing his crotch lightly.

“mmm, want you cock in me right now…” you whimpered in his ear, continuing to touch his jean-clothed cock, as you attempt on trying to flip his switch. “p-please, been wanting it since we got here… been a good girl too..”

he chuckles as a response, making him clench his jaw. he grabs both of your thighs, putting it over his thigh, running his fingertips up and down. he tilts his head down to whisper, “here at the park? baby wants to be risky, hm?” you nodded eagerly, biting your lip.

“i’ll give you risky, you naughty girl.”

you both stood up the bench, matthew grabbing your wrist, leading you to a secluded area with full of trees. both of your tracks stopped at a humungous tree, enough to cover both of you away from people.

both of you scanned the area to look if there would be people around. when the coast was clear, matthew grabs your waist, pulling you into a steamy kiss. he grabs one of your breasts, massaging it through his palm. tongues swirling at each other, breathlessly pulling out afterwards.

he turns you around, facing the tree, as he pulls you closer to him, feeling his hardness down there. as he plants kisses on your neck, both of his hands went underneath your top, as he flicks both of your tits with the tip of his fingers teasingly, instantly hardening in just one touch. the tingly feeling traveled down your pussy, making you more aroused and wet all over your panties.

“mhm, fuck… please,” you whined as you readjusted your position, sticking your lower body more on to him as you put you arms and hands on to the tree to maintain your balance. you stick out your ass even more to grind on his hardening dick. the friction between his dick and your pussy made you clench in and out.

matthew had the perfect view and access to your pussy, as you were wearing a skirt and panties, with side ties. a wet patch already formed all over your panties, he then teases you by rubbing his thumb all over you clothed clit. “m-matt… please, can’t take it anymore… n-ngh…”

“you planned to wear this, didn’t you?”

“i-i really wore it for you just in case,”

“well, if that’s the case..” he hikes up your skirt even more, he unties both sides of your panties and an enormous amount of your accumulated wetness welcomed his sight.

“now be quiet and be a good fuckdoll for me,” matthew whispers behind your ear, as he stuffs the panties you wore in your mouth to keep your whiny little mouth shut.

he pushed down his pants and his boxers halfway, pulling out his hardening cock. he teases your slit, feeling your wetness all over. his cock goes over your clit, rubbing his tip aggressively over it, producing absurb wet noises.

“shit, you really kept it in…” matthew slides his fingers on your slit to gather some of your wetness on his fingers as he rubs your clit agressively with ease.

“h-hng…!” you squirmed helplessly, closing your thighs and eyes rolling back from the pleasure, “such a noisy slut… you wanted to be in this situation but you can’t be quiet.” he stops rubbing your sensitive clit, replacing it with a slap. the overwhelming feeling made you jump a bit in your position and hold on more to the tree for stability as you were almost losing it.

matthew pries open your pussy as he starts to put his cock inside slowly. you had to shut your eyes close and you had to bite down the panties that were balled up in your mouth to keep yourself from squirming so loudly from the pleasure.

because of how wet your pussy is, matthew instantly slides himself inside without a warning. you were taken aback by how deep he instantly went, quietly whining from the sudden feeling. “fuck, you’re so wet.. my cock went in just like that…”

he thrusts in slowly to adjust in a little bit, letting himself lost into the warm, tight feeling of your pussy. he pulls you back, grabbing you by the neck. “such a perfect little hole just for me to fuck…”

you whined from his words, as you bounced yourself in his cock even faster, “ah, you want me to go faster?” you nodded eagerly, he then shoved his cock even deeper. you let out a muffled groan, you swore that your eyes rolled back so much from resisting your composure.

matthew’s thrusts were even faster, as the skin slapping became more prominent. “s-shit, you feel so good baby…” moaning in your ear as the grip on your waist tightens.

tears started to form in your eyes as your walls keep clenching from the overwhelming lust slowly taking over your whole body.

“so tight, keep clenching just like that…” he groans near your ear. he starts rubbing your clit aggressively making you clench even more on to his dick, “h-hmf!! n-no!” you moaned over the panties, throwing your head on to his shoulder as tears were trickling down your face.

he quickly covers your mouth, his eyes darkening from your sudden action. he stops rubbing your clit and he slaps it instead, making your thighs quiver. “keep making noises or i’ll never let you cum. understood?”

even if you want to moan so bad, you had no choice but to follow him. you nodded, and after that, pace was even faster than before. what’s worse is that he was hitting the same spot repeatedly, and you had no choice but to let out soft mewls and cries from all the pleasure.

“fuck, such a pretty cumslut crying over my cock… you’re almost there?” he whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as the pleasure’s almost taking over your body.

you nodded, as he thrusts in to you in an inhumane speed. he lets go of your mouth as he grips both sides of your waist as if his life depends on it. his strength took over him that your feet starts to lift off the ground, making you arms lean on to the tree, carrying you like a ragged doll, thrusting his cock in and out of you like there’s no tomorrow. he throws his head back, sending himself over the edge, an indication of an orgasm nearing. “i-i’m cumming princess… u-ugh…”

you mewled from the immense amount of pleasure that you’re feeling as the tight coil in your stomach was about to burst. you gave up from keeping your noises in, quietly whining out of desperation as your pussy clenched his dick so tightly from the fast pace. your mind was in a haze, you were completely losing yourself as your orgasm is approaching.

“f-fuck…!” shots of warm liquid went in to your cunt, also you cumming at the same time. you cry out of pleasure from all the overstimulation and the warm feeling, your pussy never felt this thrilled and full. he pulls out his dick away from you, his cum, mixed with your own, trickling away from your pussy.

he pulls back his pants quickly, and he notices a continuous stream of cum coming out, he then gathers up all the cum that been flowing out using his fingers.

“keep it in, you cumslut.. or i won’t fuck your pussy even more once we get home,” you nodded aggressively, mewling while he fingers back both of your releases that’s been dripping down your thighs.

“good girl. now, i’ll have this, baby. you wouldn’t wanna wear this anymore since it’s wet, right?” he fishes out the panties off your mouth, he then folds it up, stuffing the wet underwear in his pocket.

“w-what…?! how am i–“

“since you want your filthy little cunt to be fucked so bad, you walk without your soaked little panties.” his sentence leaving you dumbfounded.

“b-but there’s a lot of people…”

“well, that’s the point of your punishment, doll. to let everyone know how much of an impatient cumslut you are,”

“now walk.”

you had no choice but to walk without your panties. you had to clench in your pussy as much as you can to prevent his cum from leaking out.

the 5 minute walk to the parking space felt like torture to you.

it was difficult to hold it in because your thighs and legs felt like jelly, and all your remaining strength is giving up on you as you’re using it for trying not to unclench your cum-filled pussy. and everytime his sticky cum starts dripping from your thighs, you try to pull down your skirt, but matthew miserably swats away your hand.

“don’t even try to fucking hide it, you little slut.”

[strwbrryeyes]

can u do daichi and/or tsuki x tennis player! reader who plays singles (1v1 instead of doubles which is 2v2 lool)? hcs or fic would be fine :3 esp w a reader who hurt their wrist mid season n is rlly frustrated bcus they can’t play until next season unless their wrist gets better bcus that happened to me <//3 (i play anyway even if my wrist is shit bcus i love tennis; daichi would scold me so bad for it too <//3) thank uuuu, i think u mentioned exams (or finals idk the difference) in ur latest posts so i hope they went well!!!

𖦹°｡⋆ Wristache and heartache (daichi x reader)

⟡ cw: angst, reader has an injusry and feels hopeless, comfort, fluff, lmk if i missed anything

⟡ a/n: i dont know anything about tennis. im alos bad with titles.

Daichi Sawamura had always admired your dedication to tennis. As the captain of the Karasuno volleyball team, he understood the love and passion that athletes carried for their sport. Daichi also knew the importance of listening to your body, something you seemed to be struggling with ever since you badly injured your wrist.

The injury has been a big  setback and it was starting to take a toll on you. The season was in full swing, and you were supposed to be playing singles matches, something you were no doubt the best at. Yet here you were, on the sidelines, forced to sit out due to the sharp pain in your wrist. You couldn’t even try to step foot onto the court during games or team practice because your coach had made it clear: no matches until you were fully healed and cleared by the doctor and although this decision was the right one and a necessary one, it still left you feeling frustrated and heartbroken.

Despite the pain and coach’s orders, you couldn't stay away from the court for too long. Every day after school, you'd find yourself at the community center’s tennis courts, practicing your serves and forehands, wincing occasionally when the pain shot through your wrist. You knew it was risky, but tennis was your entire life and ticket to a scholarship for university. You couldn't afford to be away from it for possibly the rest of the season. However, your secret trips to the tennis court were short lived.

Daichi watched you from a distance one afternoon, his brows furrowing with concern. He had come to pick you up like he has been for the last few day, but seeing you push yourself despite your injury was beginning to worry him more than usual. He approached you slowly, hands in his pockets, trying to find the right words.

“[name],” Daichi calls out with a firm voice that had a hint of worry “we need to talk.”

You looked up, surprised to see him there. You hadn't expected him to come this early. "Hey, Daichi. Just give me a few more minutes. I need to work on my backhand." You said before turning back to throw a tennis ball into the air until Daichi took the tennis racket away from you.

Daichi shook his head, his expression stern. "No, we need to talk now. You're pushing yourself too hard. You need to rest."

You sighed, frustration bubbling up inside you. "I can't just sit around and do nothing, Daichi. Tennis means everything to me. If I don't practice, I'll lose all I’ve worked for these past three years!" you say as you snatch your racket back from him.

He walked over to you, taking the racket from your hand gently once again and setting it aside. "And what good is practicing if it only makes your injury worse? You won't be able to play at all if you don't let your wrist heal and then that’ll make you feel worse!”

"But what if I never get better? What if this is it for me?" Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you shout at Daichi.

Daichi's expression softened. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands. "You will get better but to do so, you have to be patient. I know it's hard and the last thing you want to do right now, but sometimes the best way to keep going is to take a step back and heal. I'm here for you, and I am sure your team is too. You don't have to go through this alone."

"I just miss it so much, Daichi. I feel so useless." You leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his words, allowing you to let a few tears roll down your face.

"You're not useless," he assured you, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "You're one of the strongest people I know. Strength isn't just about pushing through pain, it's also about knowing when to rest and take care of yourself."

You nodded, his words sinking in. "Okay," you whispered. "I'll try to rest more."

Daichi smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "That's my girl. And don't worry, I'll make sure you stay out of trouble."

You chuckled softly, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "I'm counting on you."

The following weeks were a test of your patience but as promised, Daichi kept a close eye on you, making sure you followed the doctor's orders and rested your wrist and the rest of your body, making sure you were fully relaxed and at ease. It wasn't easy, and there were days when you felt like giving up, but Daichi's support helped you stay strong the whole way through.

He'd often join you at the courts, not to practice but to keep you company as you watched your team practice while you were on the sidelines. He'd even bring his volleyball team along, turning your forced downtime into fun, supportive gatherings as everyone loved their captain’s sweet girlfriend. It wasn't the same as playing tennis with your team in the moment, but it reminded you that you had a strong support system no matter where you went, and that made you feel so much better about this tennis break.

Slowly but surely, your wrist began to heal and you started feeling better. The day you were finally cleared to play again was a moment of pure happiness, not just for you, but for everyone who had supported you through this slump and setback.

As you stepped onto the court for your first match back, you looked over to the sidelines where Daichi stood along with his own team, cheering you on with a proud smile. You knew you couldn't have made it through without him. 

And as the match started, all you could feel was happiness, determination, and most importantly, thankful for your loving boyfriend who was there for you every step of the way because without him, you aren’t sure you would have made it through these last few weeks.

With Daichi by your side, you can do anything.