#I appreciate the author so much for making this work of art all for a pun

[lostfracturess]

HOW TO FAKE DATE A DOCTOR — SATORU GOJO

pairing — doctor!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — for six months, you've watched dr. satoru gojo order the sweetest coffee on your menu every morning at exactly 7:15 AM. for six months, you've convinced yourself his intense stares must mean he's spotted something medically concerning about you—maybe a suspicious mole or concerning symptom. but when a desperate white lie about a fake boyfriend results in him volunteering to play the part at your family's christmas dinner, what begins as a simple pretend relationship might just turn into something real.

word count — 9 k

genre/tags — coffee shop AU, holiday romance, fake dating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, fluff, idiots in love, reader is a med student and barista, gojo is a cardiologist, age difference (reader is 25/gojo early 30s)

warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, non-graphic medical talk

author's note — hey lovelies, welcome to my first attempt at a holiday romance. this was meant to be a short drabble but somehow turned into this 9 k words of pure fluff and pining. it's my little christmas gift to you all hehe. whether you're celebrating with family, working holiday shifts, or just enjoying a quiet day, hope this makes you smile. thank you for reading, and merry christmas !! <3 (fanart in the header)

masterlist

You first noticed him six months ago.

It wasn't just because he was strikingly handsome, with hair the color of fresh snow and the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, though that certainly didn't hurt. It wasn't even because of his white coat and the stethoscope casually draped around his neck, marking him as one of the doctors from the nearby hospital.

No, what caught your attention was the way he looked at you.

Every morning, like clockwork, the bell above the door would chime at precisely 7:15 AM, and Dr. Satoru Gojo would walk into your café. He'd order the sweetest drink on your menu (always with extra whipped cream), and while you prepared it, his eyes would follow your every movement.

It wasn't creepy or uncomfortable. And it definitely wasn't flirting — at least, you didn't think it was. Perhaps he saw something, a suspicious mole you'd never noticed, and now he was trying to figure out how to tell the coffee girl she’s dying without ruining her morning rush. 

That had to be it.

You’d catch his gaze lingering when he thought you weren't looking. Sometimes, he'd tilt his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It made you wonder what he was thinking. Was he judging your latte art? Probably. You were still working on that.

But when you turned around to give him his iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream and three shots of caramel (it never varied, not once in six months), he'd break his smile to you, his gaze softening for a second, and then his fingers would brush against yours as you handed him the paper cup.

He always thanked you with “Much appreciated”. It made your heart skip a beat, if you'd be honest. Not that you read all too much into it of course. And so for six months, this had been your routine. 

5:30 AM: Arrive at the café.

6:00 AM: Open up, prep for the day. 

7:13 AM: Start making his drink because you knew he'd walk in exactly two minutes later. 

7:15 AM: Heart fluttering slightly as your hand brushed his as you gave him his order.

10:00 AM: Shift end. 

10:30 AM: Rush to classes.

Some mornings, he’d arrive in wrinkled scrubs, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to him. Other days, it was a tailored dress shirt, sometimes with a matching tie. But the routine never changed.

Same order, same time, the same easy smile that would soften slightly when you remembered his order without him having to say it. Not that it was hard to begin with. 

“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Maki would say, nudging you with her elbow as Dr. Gojo left. You’d roll your eyes, but a faint blush crept up your neck anyway.

Between customers, you'd try to squeeze in some studying. The early morning shift wasn't exactly ideal, but it paid better, and you needed every cent you could get for your pre-med textbooks. Those things cost more than your rent, it felt like.

Your anatomy textbook usually lay open behind the counter, hidden from customers' view but accessible during slower moments. Sometimes, when the morning rush died down, you'd catch Dr. Gojo's eyes flickering to the pages as you made his latte. His expression would shift slightly, but he never commented on it.

You wondered sometimes if he was judging your highlighting technique (chaotic at best) or your margin notes (mostly question marks). He must have gone through all this years ago, probably with much more grace than your current fumbling through medical terminology.

The café job barely covered your expenses — between tuition, rent, and those damn textbooks — but at least it was flexible with your class schedule. Your manager understood when you needed to switch shifts for exams, and the free coffee helped during all-nighters.

Your coworkers thought you were crazy for taking such early shifts. "No one should be awake at 5:30 AM," they'd say. But they didn't understand the quiet peace of morning prep, the satisfaction of perfect latte art, or the way certain blue eyes would crinkle at the corners when you got his order just right.

It was a small thing, a fleeting smile, a brush of fingertips, but it was enough to make the early mornings, the aching feet, the constant struggle, almost worth it.

Not that you stuck to this schedule just for him. Obviously not. The extra dollar per hour for opening shift was the real motivator. The fact that it coincided with Dr. Gojo's apparent coffee schedule was just... coincidence.

Sometimes, during chaotic study sessions between customers, you'd catch him watching you mouth medical terms to yourself as you steamed milk. His eyes would linger on your textbook, then flick back to your face with that same intense look that made you wonder if he was counting your remaining days or something—or still trying to figure out if that one mole on your cheek was turning malignant.

The morning you had your anatomy midterm, your textbook sat next to the register, full of sticky notes and frantic annotations. You saw him notice it, saw something shift in his expression as he took in the obvious signs of exam stress. That day, he left an extra large tip with a small note that just said "Good luck."

It was probably just pity. He'd been through med school. He knew the hell you were going through. That had to be it. Absolutely. No other explanation.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you added the note into your wallet, shoving it down next to a crumpled grocery list and a faded movie ticket stub, as if burying it under a pile of mundane objects could somehow bury the flutter in your chest.

For six months, this had been your life. Balancing early mornings, late classes, endless studying, and the mystery of a doctor who looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

So when he finally broke pattern that random rainy monday morning, it wasn't with some dramatic revelation about your health you’d imagined. Instead, he tilted his head slightly while waiting for his usual and said, "You changed your hair."

You nearly dropped the caramel syrup. After six months of intense stares and loaded silences, after convincing yourself he was cataloging your symptoms or contemplating your mortality, he was commenting on your hair?

"Oh." Your hand instinctively went to the ends you'd trimmed over the weekend. "Yeah, just a few inches."

"It suits you." He said it so casually, like he hadn't just shattered half a year of mysterious doctor mystique with three words. Then, with that same matter-of-fact tone, "The pathophysiology textbook you were reading last week—Robbins, right? It’s really good. Especially the part about metaplasia. Interesting stuff."

And just like that, the spell was broken. No terminal diagnosis. No earth-shattering revelations. Just a doctor who apparently noticed haircuts and had opinions about medical textbooks. 

The sudden normalcy of it all was almost jarring. For months, you’d been half-convinced he was silently cataloging your every freckle, every mole, every perceived imperfection, convinced he was about to deliver some devastating news. Now? He was talking about metaplasia. It was almot—anticlimactic. 

And, if you were being honest, a little embarrassing. All those covert checks in the reflection of the espresso machine, all those frantic Google searches for “atypical nevi”—for this?

You almost wanted to laugh.

After that day, your morning routine shifted slightly. He still came in at exactly 7:15, still ordered the same diabetis-inducing latte, still watched you work with those intense blue eyes the color of glacial ice. But now he'd occasionally comment on your study materials, or mention an interesting case that related to whatever chapter you were currently highlighting.

"Cardiac arrhythmias today?" he'd ask, spotting your textbook. "Had a case of atrial fibrillation yesterday. The patient presented with…" He’d then launch into a quick explanation, sketching a diagram on a napkin that somehow made more sense than three hours of lecture on the same topic.

Your coworkers were almost disappointed by this development. "That's it?" Maki had said when you told her. "Six months of smoldering looks and he just... helps you study?"

But somehow, it felt right. The mysterious doctor with pretty eyes turned out to be just a man who noticed details and perhaps had a soft spot for struggling med students. 

He still made your heart do that stupid flutter thing when his fingers brushed yours during the handoff, but now you had a perfectly logical explanation for that of course—the vagus nerve or some other equally fascinating cardiovascular phenomenon he'd just explained.

That had to be it.

Some mornings, when the café was quiet and you were stumped by a concept, he'd even linger a few minutes after getting his order. He’d lean against the counter, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, gesturing with his cup while breaking down complex medical theories into digestible pieces, somehow making autoimmune disorders sound as simple as iced latte recipes. 

"You'll make a good doctor," he said one morning, completely out of nowhere and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

Your relationship—if you could even call it that—settled into something comfortably in-between. More than customer and barista, less than friends, but with a rhythm all its own. He'd quiz you while you made his usual, turning morning coffee runs into study sessions.

"Name three complications of chronic hypertension," he'd say while you pumped caramel into his cup.

"Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, and kidney disease," you'd reply, adding the extra shot of espresso he never actually ordered but always appreciated.

"Good. Now tell me about secondary causes."

One random Tuesday morning, however, the bell didn't chime at 7:15. You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. 

7:16. 

7:17. 

A knot of unease tightened in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really. Why did you even care? He was just a customer. A regular customer, yes, but still just a customer. It wasn't like you were waiting for him or anything. You were just—used to the routine. That was all. 

But despite your attempts at rationalization, a small, nagging worry began to gnaw at you. Had something happened? Was he okay? You found yourself staring at the door, your hand hovering over the espresso machine, your usual movements faltering slightly. You even messed up a latte, the foam swirling into a sad, lopsided blob instead of the usual pretty rosetta. 

At 7:20, just as you were about to convince yourself he’d just overslept and that you were being completely ridiculous, the bell finally rang. He rushed in, slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice a little rushed. "Crazy morning at the hospital."

He looked like he’d run all the way, which was odd. Why would he run? It’s not like his coffee was that important. Right? And yet, your stupid heart did a little flip at the sight of him, a traitorous swell of warmth blooming in your chest. He made it. He was here.

He stayed extra long that morning. After the rush died down, he listened to you recite your flashcards, correcting your pronunciation of medical terms with a patience that made you wonder if he moonlighted as a professor. It was a strange sort of intimacy, this shared moment of slow study amidst the busy morning rush and the soft hum of the refrigerators. 

And you never wanted that morning to end.

Your coworkers had stopped teasing you about him—mostly—and started asking if he could explain their own health questions instead. Then came the random stormy Wednesday that changed everything.

The morning had started normally enough—he arriving at 7:15 sharp, you already having his sugar latte ready. But the sky had opened up while he was waiting, rain drumming against the café windows. It wasn’t a gentle shower. It was a deluge, the kind that turned streets into rivers in minutes.

"Did you bring an umbrella?" he asked, watching you glance at the downpour.

"No," you sighed, already dreading the soggy walk to campus. "I checked the forecast last night—it said sunny all day." You internally cursed the weather app.

"When does your shift end?"

"Huh? Oh, uhm 10 AM. I have microbiology at 10:30."

His lips twitched into a faint smile and he left without another word. You tried not to feel disappointed—what had you expected? It's not like he could control the weather.

But at 10 AM sharp, as you were pulling your jacket tighter and preparing to make a run for it, you spotted him through the rain-streaked windows. He was standing outside the café in his white coat, holding a large dark blue umbrella. 

Your heart definitely did more than flutter this time.

"Ready?" he asked when you emerged, as if waiting in the pouring rain for some barista was perfectly normal doctor behavior.

"You didn't have to—"

"Can't have my favorite barista catching pneumonia," he said. "Besides, I'm heading that direction anyway." You knew for a fact the hospital was in the opposite direction.

The walk to campus was suddenly—intimate. It was strange being this close to him. You’d seen him every morning for months, but always across the counter, a safe distance separating you. Now, you were walking side-by-side, the scent of his cologne so close it made it hard to focus on anything but his proximity, to say the least.

"So, what are you studying in Microbiology?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"We're covering bacterial pathogenesis this week," you replied, and the conversation drifted naturally to a discussion of how different pathogens could affect various organ systems like it was normal small talk.

As other pedestrians passed, their own umbrellas bobbing and weaving, he’d subtly pull you closer. Each time he did, your breath would catch in your throat, and a fresh wave of warmth would wash over you. You were grateful for his height, because you were certain your cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red.

It was absurd, how flustered you were by such a simple act, but the feeling of his arm occasionally brushing against yours, the shared intimacy of the small space beneath the umbrella, was enough to send your heart racing.

Desperate to focus on something else, you blurted out, "What kind of doctor are you, anyway? I never actually asked."

"Cardiology," he replied simply.

“Cardiology,” you repeated, the word lingering on your tongue. A doctor of the heart. When you reached the medical sciences building, he paused, lowering the umbrella slightly. The rain had begun to ease, but the air still smelled wet and clean.

"Thanks," you said, meeting his gaze. "For the umbrella escort."

"Anytime." That soft smile again, the one that made your heart do a stupid little skip again.

As you watched him walk away, umbrella tilted against the rain, you realized something had shifted. Maybe you weren't quite friends, maybe you weren't quite anything definable, but whatever this was—it felt like the beginning of something. Something more than just sharing an umbrella on rainy days.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Winter arrived on a random thursday morning, transforming rain into snow and turning your early morning walks to work into arctic expeditions.

It was during one of these frigid mornings, while you were preparing Dr. Gojo's usual order and the steam from the espresso machines fogging up the frost-covered windows, that your phone rang. Your mother's contact photo flashed on the screen.

You answered with your phone pressed between ear and shoulder, still working the machines. "Hi, Mom."

"Sweetheart! I was just planning Christmas dinner. You're bringing someone this year, right? That nice boy from your anatomy class you mentioned?"

You winced, catching Dr. Gojo's raised eyebrow from where he stood at the counter. "Mom—"

"Because Aunt Marie's daughter just got engaged, and you know how she gets—"

"My boyfriend's actually busy with hospital rotations," you blurted out, immediately wanting to punch yourself. "He's, uh, very dedicated to his work."

"Boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me? What's his name? What does he—"

"Sorry, Mom, huge line forming, gotta go!" You hung up, letting your forehead thump against the coffee machine with a groan.

"That sounded stressful," Dr. Gojo commented, amusement clear in his voice.

You looked up to find him watching you with that slight smile that always made you shiver. "Just my mom being... my mom." You resumed making his latte. "She's convinced that at twenty-five, I'm practically a spinster."

"Ah." He tilted his head. "And this fictional boyfriend with hospital rotations?"

Your cheeks heated. "Seemed easier than explaining why I'm still single. Between work, classes, and studying, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date." You handed him his usual. "Plus, now she'll stop trying to set me up with every eligible male she meets through her book club."

"A creative solution," he said, taking a sip. "Though hospital rotations over Christmas? Sounds like a terrible boyfriend." A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, well, imaginary men are often disappointing." You started wiping down the counter, needing something to do with your hands. "At least this way I'll have a few weeks of peace before I have to tell her we broke up."

"Sounds like you've done this before," he observed, watching you attack an imaginary coffee stain with perhaps too much force.

"Is it that obvious?" You sighed, abandoning your fake cleaning. "Last year he was studying abroad. The year before that, he was sick. I'm running out of excuses, honestly. Pretty sure my mom's stopped believing me, but she plays along because it's less awkward than admitting we both know I'm lying."

He made a thoughtful sound, then pulled out his prescription pad (why did doctors always carry those around anyway?). You watched, confused, as he scribbled something down and slid it across the counter.

"Here," he said. "My number. Call me during Christmas dinner."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Well, your imaginary boyfriend should at least make an effort, don't you think?" His eyes held that familiar amusement. "I'll tell your mom all about my very important hospital rounds, maybe throw in some medical words. Make it convincing."

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Was he… offering to pretend to be your boyfriend? You couldn't quite process what was happening. 

"You know," he said, after you'd probably been quiet for too long, "some of us actually do work hospital rotations over Christmas."

"I know, I just—" You stopped, realizing how her words might have sounded. "Oh god, I didn't mean to imply… I know you probably have to work during the holidays too, I wasn't trying to—"

"Someone has to make sure all those Christmas dinner caused heart attacks are properly treated," he interrupted, that familiar, almost-smirk back on his face, easing the tension in your shoulders. "Though I do get Christmas morning off this year."

You couldn't tell if he was trying to make you feel better about your lie, your accidental insult, or just sharing information. With Dr. Gojo, it was often hard to tell. After a moment of stunned silence, you managed, "Are you… sure?"

"Perfectly.”

"Thank you," you said, finally finding your voice as you picked up the slip of paper. "Really, thank you."

"Anytime," he said, that familiar, soft smile gracing his lips. "Consider it a Christmas gift. From your very dedicated, albeit fictional, boyfriend."

As you watched him leave, coffee in hand and snowflakes catching in his white hair. Even if he was probably going to tease you endlessly about your fictional, workaholic boyfriend for weeks to come, a small, stupid part of you was already looking forward to it.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The Christmas dinner was a random Friday night.

The table, laden with enough food to feed a small army, was surrounded by the usual suspects and the dinner turned out to be exactly as excruciating as you'd expected. You'd barely made it through the appetizers before the interrogation began.

"So, this boyfriend of yours," Aunt Marie started. "What did you say he does again?"

"He's a doctor," you said into your mashed potatoes.

"A doctor!" your mother brightened. "You never mentioned that part."

Your cousin Sarah leaned forward. "What kind of doctor? Where did he study? How did you meet?"

You were considering faking a sudden illness when your phone buzzed. Dr. Gojo's name lit up your screen with a video call request. You hadn't even suggested a video call—he was truly committing to this.

"Oh, that's him now!" Your mother said, clapping her hands together. "Put him on speaker!"

Before you could protest, you were surrounded by a sea of curious relatives as you answered the call. The screen filled with Dr. Gojo's face, and—oh god—he was actually in scrubs, in what looked like a real operating room.

"Hey, my love," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and the casual nickname hit you like a train, making you forget your own name. You felt your cheeks flush and it didn’t help that he somehow managed to look unfairly handsome even under the surgical lights. "Sorry I couldn't make it. We had an emergency valve replacement come in."

"Are you... actually in surgery right now?" you asked.

"Just finished!" He tilted the phone slightly to show a glimpse of a team of medical staff behind him, all of whom waved. One even gave a thumbs up. "Thought I'd catch you before dessert. Is that your family I see?"

Your entire extended family crammed themselves into frame, cooing and waving at your "doctor boyfriend" who was dedicated enough to call from work.

"Oh my god, he's gorgeous," your cousin said.

"Dr. Gojo," your mother pushed forward, "we're so disappointed you couldn't join us. Though of course, saving lives comes first!"

"Please, call me Satoru," he said, flashing that unfairly attractive smile of his. "And I'm more disappointed than anyone. I was really looking forward to trying your famous apple pie that your daughter keeps telling me about."

Your mother clutched her chest, delighted. You had never once mentioned her apple pie to him. 

"Are those Christmas decorations I see in the OR?" your aunt squinted at the screen.

And indeed, there were actual Christmas lights strung up in the background. Either this hospital was very festive, or he'd gone to ridiculous lengths for this act.

"We try to keep the holiday spirit alive, even here," he said, then suddenly looked off-screen. "Oh, looks like we have another emergency coming in." Dramatic beeping noises increased in the background. "I'm so sorry, but duty calls. It was lovely meeting you all!"

"Such a dedicated young man," your mother sighed after you ended the call.

"So handsome too," Aunt Marie added. "Those eyes!"

You slumped in your chair, caught between mortification and amusement. He really didn't have to go that far—the Christmas lights in the OR? The perfectly timed “emergency”? The entire surgical team playing along? It was almost impressive.

Your phone buzzed with a text: 'How'd I do? The lights were my colleague's idea. They says Merry Christmas, by the way. Your family seems nice.'

Another buzz, a separate message: 'Also, I expect a slice of that famous apple pie at the café tomorrow. After that performance, I think I've earned it.'

You typed back: 'You are absolutely insufferable. That was completely over the top.'

His response came almost instantly: 'Is that any way to talk to your dedicated doctor boyfriend who just saved a life AND charmed your entire family? I'm hurt.'

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Your phone buzzed one more time: 'By the way, your cousin already found my hospital's public contact info and sent a friend request. Should I accept? I feel like a committed boyfriend would.'

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He was absolutely loving this. 

Way too much.

The next morning, you weren't surprised when he showed up at his usual 7:15, despite it being his day off. What did surprise you was that he was still wearing scrubs. They were rumpled, like he'd been wearing them for a while.

"Please tell me you didn't actually work all night just to make that video call more convincing," you said as he approached the counter.

"You know, I am a doctor in real life, right? This isn't just a cover for your mom." He smirked. "But anyway, just finished an actual emergency shift." He glanced at the paper bag you had waiting next to his usual sugary coffee. "Is that… what I think it is?"

"Your well-earned reward for yesterday's Oscar-worthy performance." You handed him both coffee and pie. "Though I still can't believe you got your entire surgical team to play along."

"Bold of you to assume I had to ask." He took a bite of the pie and his eyes widened slightly. "Okay, your mom's reputation is deserved. This is actually amazing."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts, because—" You hesitated, took a deep breath, and decided to just rip the bandage off. "She invited you to dinner. Tomorrow."

He paused mid-bite. "Oh?"

"I told her you're probably busy—"

"What time?"

You stared at him. "What?"

"What time is dinner?" He took another bite of pie, looking perfectly casual about the whole thing. "I actually have Sunday evening off, and this pie has convinced me your mom's cooking is worth experiencing in person."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "I've already met them virtually. Might as well complete the experience. Unless you're worried I'll embarrass you?"

"I'm worried you'll be too convincing again," you said. "My mom's already planning our wedding, by the way. She told me this morning that your 'dedication to work' proves you'd be a good husband."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a future mother-in-law."

"This isn't funny!"

"It's a little funny." He leaned against the counter, grinning. "Come on, one dinner. I promise to be slightly less charming this time."

"Somehow I doubt that's possible," you said before you could stop yourself.

His smile widened. "Was that a compliment?"

"That was a complaint about your inability to do anything halfway." You busied yourself with wiping down the already clean counter. "But fine. Sunday at seven. Try not to bring Christmas lights this time."

"No promises." He pushed off from the counter, taking his coffee and pie. "Oh, and by the way?"

"Hmm?"

"I accepted your cousin's friend request. She's already invited me to your family's New Year's party."

He was halfway to the door when he paused, turning back with an expression that was softer than his usual teasing smile. "You look pretty today, by the way. The new sweater suits you." 

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn't even realized he'd noticed you'd changed from your usual work shirt into a cozy sweater for your afternoon classes.

He was out the door before you could stammer out a response, leaving you to wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into. And why one simple, genuine compliment made your heart race more than all his dramatic boyfriend performances combined.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

Sunday evening found you pacing a worn path in the carpet by your parents' front door, checking your phone every two minutes. 7:15 came and went—apparently his almost unnervingly precise timing only applied to coffee runs. 

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that doctors had unpredictable schedules, but a nervous flutter had taken up residence in your stomach.

At 7:20, your mom’s worried, "Maybe he got called into surgery?" was interrupted by the doorbell. You took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, and opened the door.

Standing there was Dr. Gojo—Satoru, you supposed you should call him now—looking slightly disheveled in a way that somehow only emphasized his unfairly attractive features. His white dress shirt, though slightly untucked at the waist, bore the clear signs of a hurried ironing, and he was carrying what looked like an expensive bottle of wine—definitely not the kind you’d find at the corner store.

"I'm so sorry," he said, running a hand through his already slightly tousled white hair. "Emergency consultation ran late, and then traffic was—"

"It's fine," you interrupted, a wave of relief washing over you. He’d actually come. "Really. You didn't have to—"

But the rest of your sentence disappeared into a surprised squeak as he stepped forward, closing the small gap between you. He leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, his free hand settling naturally on your waist, just above your hip, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

"Hi," he whispered against your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today at the café."

You stood frozen, brain short-circuiting from the casual intimacy of it all. This wasn't part of the plan. You hadn't discussed... this. The way his hand felt warm through your dress, how his cologne made you slightly dizzy, how natural it felt to have him this close. It was as if your body already knew this was right, even if your mind was still scrambling to catch up.

"I... you..." Words. You needed words. "You're late."

He pulled back just enough to give you that familiar amused look. "And you're blushing."

Before you could even process that observation—or the fact that your heart was currently attempting to beat its way out of your chest—your mother appeared behind you. "Satoru! We're so glad you could make it!"

He smoothly stepped past you to greet your parents, all charm and apologies for his lateness, seamlessly weaving a plausible story about a last-minute emergency consult and unexpected traffic. He shook your father’s hand with just the right amount of respectful firmness and charmed your mother with a compliment about her festive decorations. All while he left you standing in the doorway, slightly dazed, trying to remember how to perform basic human functions like breathing and blinking.

The slight smirk he threw over his shoulder as he joined the others in the living room told you he knew exactly what he'd done.

Insufferable man.

The dinner was simultaneously the longest and shortest evening of your life. Satoru slipped into the role of doting boyfriend with an unsettling ease, weaving medical anecdotes (carefully tailored for a non-medical audience) and charming compliments into the conversation like he'd been rehearsing for weeks. He even managed to compliment Aunt Marie’s notoriously sweet cheesecake without visibly wincing.

He sat close enough that your legs brushed under the table, his hand finding its way to your knee during your mother's third attempt to bring up wedding venues (she was already browsing bridal magazines online, you’d noticed). The casual touch, which should have made you incredibly nervous, instead felt strangely good, like a shared secret between the two of you in the midst of the family chaos.

"And how did you two actually meet?" your aunt asked over dessert.

"She makes the best coffee in the city," Satoru answered smoothly, his thumb drawing absent circles on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. "Though it took me months to work up the courage to say more than my order."

You nearly choked on your wine. He was mixing truth and fiction so seamlessly you almost believed it yourself. 

Every story he told had just enough reality to make you question your own memory. He mentioned how you study between customers, but added details about imaginary conversations. He even talked about your first "date" with such specificity that you found yourself half-believing it had happened.

His hand never left your leg for long, occasionally squeezing gently when your relatives’ questions became too invasive. Somehow, he’d effortlessly positioned himself as both the charming guest and the attentive boyfriend, deflecting awkward questions with a disarming smile. And you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life as you were for him breaking the pattern on that random, rainy Monday morning.

"He even helped me with pathophysiology," you found yourself saying, leaning into him slightly, enjoying it. Two could play at this game.

"She didn't need much help," he replied, his voice laced with a warmth that sounded genuinely proud. It made your heart flutter. "Just someone to hold her flashcards while she made my ridiculously sweet coffee."

Your father, who hadn't said much all evening, finally smiled. "She works too hard sometimes."

"She does," Satoru agreed, his hand sliding just a fraction higher on your thigh under the table. "Though that's one of the things I admire most about her." A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away, focusing on a particularly uninteresting spot on the tablecloth. This is getting out of hand.

As the conversation shifted to some other topic—something about your uncle's questionable golf swing—you leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for him to hear, "You're awfully charming."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower so that only you could hear. "Funny, you don't seem to hate it." You felt your cheeks burn even hotter now.

By the time dinner ended, your mother was completely smitten, your aunts were bickering over who would host the next family gathering (with Satoru as the guest of honor, of course), and your cousin had somehow convinced him to follow her Instagram—and had already tagged him in three separate stories.

It was all too smooth, too perfect, too real. 

The way he helped you clear the table, his hand brushing the small of your back in a casual, yet intimate touch as he passed. How he effortlessly recalled every detail you’d ever mentioned about your family, from your grandmother’s obsession with crossword puzzles to your father’s love of bad puns. The soft, lingering looks he gave you when he thought no one was watching, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

"You're very good at this," you said as you stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes after dinner.

"At what?"

"Playing pretend."

His hands paused for just a moment. "Who says I'm pretending?"

The wine glass you were drying slipped from your suddenly nerveless fingers. You managed to catch it before it shattered on the tile floor, but not before making enough noise to draw his attention.

"Hey." His hand was immediately at your waist, steadying you. "You okay?"

"Fine! I'm fine, just—" You set the glass down carefully, very aware of how close he was standing.  When you turned to face him, you found yourself effectively trapped between his broad frame and the hard edge of the kitchen counter. "Slippery hands. From the... soap."

"Hmm." His eyes searched your face, and for a fleeting moment, you thought—you could have sworn—his gaze flickered down to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. "You know, for someone who spends all day handling hot liquids, you've seemed very clumsy tonight."

"Maybe I'm just… distracted.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he leaned infinitesimally closer, his eyes fixed on yours. One hand came up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips grazing your skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. "By what?" 

"You're doing it again," you whispered.

"Doing what?"

"Being too convincing."

A slow, almost hesitant smile spread across his face. It was a smile that reached his eyes, a smile that felt utterly real, utterly intimate, making your heart stutter in your chest. "Perhaps," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin, "maybe I'm not trying to convince anyone anymore."

You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, the slight tremor in his hand where it rested on your waist, the way the kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too small, too—

"Who wants coffee?" your mother's voice carried from the dining room, making you both jump apart. Satoru cleared his throat, taking a hasty step back, his hand dropping from your waist. 

The rest of dinner passed in a surreal haze, neither of you quite able to forget the charged moment in the kitchen. What was that? You kept replaying the scene in your mind. His hand on your waist, his breath on your lips, the sudden shift in his eyes. It had felt… different. More real than any of the playacting. 

It wasn't until your aunt, after a drawn out round of goodbyes and air kisses, finally got up to leave that anyone noticed the shift in the weather. "Oh my goodness," your mother gasped, pulling back the curtains. "When did it start snowing?"

Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland that would've been charming under different circumstances. At least a foot of snow covered everything, still falling heavily in thick, white sheets.

"The weather alert says it's going to continue all night," your father reported, checking his phone. "They're advising against any travel. Roads are already getting bad."

Your mother immediately switched into hostess mode. "You absolutely can't drive in this, Satoru. These roads won't be plowed until morning, at the earliest."

"I'm sure I can—" he started.

"Absolutely not," she interrupted. "You'll stay here tonight. Both of you."

You nearly choked on air. "Mom—"

"Don't be silly, dear," she said, already bustling towards the hallway. "You can take your old room, of course. It's all made up. Satoru," she called over her shoulder, "I'll go find some spare cloths for you." Then, turning back to you, she added, "And honey, you still have some things in your old room, so it'll be just like old times!"

Old times? What old times? Your childhood bedroom with those old embarrassing school photos and faded posters of your first boyband crush that you’d somehow never gotten around to taking down? This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not part of the plan.

He wasn't supposed to see that side of you.

As you counted down the seconds until you completely died from embarrassment your parents bustled off to prepare the rooms, leaving you and Satoru alone again. He leaned against the window, watching the snow fall, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Convenient weather we're having," you said suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I somehow arranged a snowstorm?"

"At this point, I wouldn't put it past you."

His laugh was soft and warm. "As flattered as I am by your faith in my abilities, even I can't control the weather." He glanced at you. "Though I have to admit, this is working out better than my original plan of pretending my car wouldn't start."

"You're impossible," you groaned.

"So I've been told." He pushed off from the window, moving closer. He stopped just inches away, until you could feel the heat from his body. His gaze dropped—or you thought it did, your pulse quickening at the mere possibility—to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. You blinked, trying to clear your head. No, it couldn't be. "Though I notice you're not exactly complaining about the situation."

Before you could formulate a witty retort (or even a coherent thought, for that matter), your mother’s voice rang out from upstairs, effectively putting an end to whatever was about to happen. "I found some spare clothes, Satoru! And honey," she called down, "your old band t-shirts are still in your dresser!"

You covered your face with your hands. "Please forget everything she's about to show you."

"Now how could I possibly pass up the chance to see teenage you's fashion choices?" 

You peaked through your fingers to find him smirking, looking far too delighted by this turn of events. This was going to be a very long night.

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

"I really can sleep on the floor," Satoru offered for the third time, shifting his weight awkwardly in the doorway of your childhood bedroom. He looked around, taking in your teenage decorating choices, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Don't be ridiculous." You tried to sound casual as you smoothed down the NASA bedsheets you'd had since high school on your small bed, that suddenly looked barely big enough for one, let alone two adults. "We're both adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."

He was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced up, you found him studying your teenage self's wall decorations with poorly hidden amusement. It was a chaotic mixture of faded movie posters (mostly featuring heartthrobs from your early teens), band posters (an ambarrasing One Direction poster taking center stage), and a poorly crafted periodic table, complete with hand-drawn elements and color-coded categories.

"Nice periodic table," he finally said.

"Shut up," you muttered, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it easily, because of course he did. "Some of us were nerds before med school."

You turned to your old closet, pulling out one of those oversized band t-shirts you'd lived in during high school. You gripped the hem of your sweater, suddenly very aware of his presence in the small room.

You could feel his eyes on you, a weight on your back, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You paused, your fingers frozen on the soft knit. "Um… could you…?" you trailed off, not wanting to meet his gaze.

He didn't say anything, didn't move. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back. Finally, you turned, holding your band t-shirt protectively in front of you. "Seriously. Turn around."

He blinked. "You know, I am a doctor. I've seen it all."

"Still," you insisted, your cheeks flushing. "Turn. Around."

He sighed, but finally turned his back, though the lingering amusement in his eyes told you he was still enjoying the situation immensely.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, pulling the t-shirt over your head. You smoothed it down, then took a deep breath. 

"I would never," he said.

"You can turn around now."

He turned, his face carefully composed, though a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. His eyes traveled from the hem of the shirt to your face, making your heart stutter. "You look… cute."

"You're a terrible liar.”

You both settled into bed with careful movements, lying rigid as boards, backs facing each other in a vain attempt at maintaining some sort of personal space. The mattress, however, had other plans. It dipped under his weight, creating a subtle slope that kept trying to draw you toward the center—toward him. 

Your childhood bed, which had seemed perfectly adequate when you were sixteen, now felt absurdly small. You pressed against the edge, but it was no use, there couldn't have been more than a few inches between your back and his. You could feel the heat of his body, warming the small space between you, his every breath, the subtle shift of the sheets when he moved.

The silence stretched, filled only with the sound of falling snow outside your window and your own heartbeat. It felt so loud, you were certain he could hear it.

"Thank you," you finally whispered into the darkness. "For tonight. For all of it. You didn't have to do any of this."

The bed shifted as he turned over. After a moment's hesitation, you did too, finding yourself face to face with him in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through your old curtains. His hair was disheveled from the pillow, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it.

"It was fun," he said simply, his breath warm against your cheek.

A small laugh escaped your lips. "Fun? My mom interrogated you about your entire medical history, my dad made you look at his coin collection for an hour, and my cousin tried to show you every embarrassing photo of me from middle school."

"The braces years were particularly charming."

You kicked his shin lightly under the covers. "Shut up."

He grinned, the warmth in his eyes visible even in the dim light. "I mean it, though. Your family is… lively."

"That's a polite way of saying chaotic."

"They care about you. It's nice."

You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. "Why did you really come tonight? You could have easily found an excuse to avoid this disaster of a family dinner."

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to?"

"No," you said. "Nobody wants to spend their evening being questioned by my parents and subjected to my aunt's weird baking."

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. "Maybe I wanted to understand you better. See where you came from. Meet the people who made you... you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Why would you care about any of that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

You stared at him, suddenly very aware of how close you were, how little space there was between you in this too-small bed. "No," you whispered. "It's not obvious at all."

"Then I must be doing a terrible job of showing you."

Your heart was racing now, your voice barely audible. "Showing me what?"

Before you could respond, he shifted, until he was hovering above you. Your breath caught at the change, at how his white hair fell forward framing his face, at how his eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies in them.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was nothing like the casual touch of lips from before. It was soft, sweet, and achingly tender at first. He moved against you slowly, his lips parting slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You met his silent invitation, your own lips parting in response. One hand cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, while the other braced against the mattress, supporting his weight. 

Then, with a soft sigh, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency that made your heart ache with a longing you hadn’t known you carried. He pulled you closer, just a fraction, the kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding, yet still laced with a surprising tenderness. 

You could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your own chest but then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. He didn't move far, though, remaining close enough that you could still feel his breath on your face, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Still think I'm just playing pretend?"

This time, you didn't hesitate. You were the one who moved forward, your hand sliding into his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers, pulling him back down to you. His surprised intake of breath was quickly lost as your lips met again.

This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent, six months of watching and waiting poured into a single moment. He made a low sound in his throat as your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. 

His own hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently into the sensitive skin there. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your band t-shirt.

"I've wanted to do that since the first time you rolled your eyes at my coffee order," he said against your lips, his voice rough in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

"That long?" You tried to sound teasing, but it came out breathless instead.

He smiled against your lips. "Longer, probably." He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jawline. "Though watching you try to diagnose yourself with every terrible disease I mentioned was pretty entertaining, too."

You groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then, quieter, more intimate, "But I've got plenty of time to make it up to you."

His lips trailed down your neck, each gentle press sending shivers through your body. When he reached the collar of your t-shirt, he paused, his fingers toying with the hem. "Can I?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he slowly, teasingly, pushed the fabric up, revealing your stomach inch by inch. The first brush of his lips against your bare skin made you gasp, your fingers tightening reflexively in his silky hair.

He took his time, pressing kisses to your belly, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Your back arched, subtly at first, but with increasing urgency as his lips and hands explored your skin.

His fingers, still toying with the hem of your shirt, finally slipped beneath the fabric. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips. "More," you whispered, the word barely audible, but he heard it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Your heart raced, your skin flushed, every nerve ending racing with the promise of what was to come.

He dragged the fabric down your legs, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider, and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his kisses trailing down your inner thigh. And then his mouth was on you, and the world fell away. 

⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚｡❆

The next morning felt like stepping into a dream—a world where Dr. Satoru Gojo, the man you’d spent six months convinced was silently diagnosing you with rare diseases, was actually just a man utterly smitten with you.

It was as if a blurry lens had finally snapped into focus, revealing a picture so obvious you almost laughed. All those intense stares, the carefully timed coffee shop visits, the way he’d linger at your counter, even helping you study—it had never been about mysterious illnesses or professional concern. 

He’d simply been trying to be near you, and you’d been too busy inventing medical mysteries to notice.

And the most embarrassing part? How obvious it had been to everyone else. Your coworkers’ knowing looks finally made sense, as did your mother’s immediate acceptance of him as your “boyfriend.” Even his colleagues had been in on it, helping stage that ridiculous Christmas video call just to make you smile. 

When you later confessed your obliviousness to your coworkers, their reactions ranged from ��Finally!” to a bewildered “Wait, you mean he wasn’t actually your boyfriend this whole time?”

Over breakfast, as he effortlessly charmed your mother into accepting a third helping of pancakes he casually dropped the bomb to your mom, “I actually rearranged my entire consultation schedule to match her shifts. I don't even like coffee."

Your mind went blank for a moment. He… what? Then, the implications crashed down on you. He’d rearranged his entire work schedule just to see you. And he hated coffee. He’d only ever ordered those sugary lattes because… because of you.

A blush crept up your neck, and you couldn't believe how adorably dense you’d been.

He met your gaze then, his blue eyes softening in that way that always made your heart flutter. Only now you understood what that look truly meant. He hadn’t been studying you. He’d been cherishing you with his gaze. He’d wanted to see you, to be near you, to simply be with you. And the realization made you ridiculously, undeniably happy.

Satoru walked over to you from where he stood next to your mom and leaned down, his breath warm against your temple, and pressed a soft kiss there. You closed your eyes, savoring the simple touch. God, you wanted more. You wanted him closer, his arms around you, his lips on yours again, just like last night.

You'll probably never get enough of that.

He pulled back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. His gaze held yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. Then he whispered three words that made your world stand still, "I love you."

Three little words.

But those three words little changed everything.

It felt as though time itself had stopped. He loves me, the thought echoed in your mind, a fragile, beautiful sound you couldn't quite believe was real. You’d imagined this moment countless times in secret, tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart, but you'd never truly believed it could happen.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his hand, the sweet scent of pancakes, and the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window, you knew you’d never been happier in your entire life. 

And most importantly, you didn't have to pretend anymore. He wasn't just someone you were pretending to date for your family's sake. He was actually your boyfriend. Really, truly your boyfriend. And what had once felt like a performance suddenly felt very much like coming home.

But the best part? At exactly 7:15 the next morning, he still walked in, ordered his usual diabetes in a cup, and watched you work with those intense blue eyes. Only now, when you handed him his drink, he'd pull you close for a kiss that tasted of caramel and cinnamon.

"You know," he said one morning, watching you make his order, "for someone smart enough to get into med school, you were remarkably dense about this whole thing."

"Says the man who spent six months staring instead of just asking me out."

"I was building suspense."

"You were being creepy."

"Maybe," he said, then smilled. "But it worked, didn't it?"

And really, you couldn't argue with that. Though you did make his next latte extra sweet, just to watch him pretend to enjoy it.

After all, some things were worth suffering through overly sugary coffee for.

masterlist

author's note — if you're familiar with a certain story on my blog, then no you didn't see this story, and this is definitely not a healthier version of another couple, and i absolutely do not have a thing for medical AUs, okay thank you.

anway, this was supposed to get spicier, but time got away from me because i really wanted to share it with you all for christmas so this is only suggestive, but i hope you enjoyed it either way. & thank you so much for reading this far !! your support means everything to me.

wishing you all a very merry christmas !! hope your holidays are filled with sweet coffee, warm embraces, and maybe even a handsome doctor of your own <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[littlemissclandestine]

ASK: ahhh i’m obsessed w ur adler headcanons!! pretty pretty plsss could we have more soft!adler headcanons? or maybe a few headcanons for how adler might react to realising he’s slowly falling for bell!reader before they discover the brainwash twist?? 🥺👉👈 either way just wanna express my appreciation for how you characterise him!! <3

Author's Note: Tehe back at it idk. This was an ask I got months ago but just had incredibly bad writer's and art block. Trying to get those creative juices flowing again! Thank you so much for the ask and the kind comments anon. I really really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy! <3 (your ask disappeared after i put it into Tumblr drafts??)

More Soft!Adler Headcanons:

In the morning before work, Russell wakes up a little earlier than you to spend some more time on his appearance. You see him shaving his few day old stubble and decide to help him out, taking the razor. He’d study your facial expression as you concentrate on going round each jagged edge of his scar, making sure to not cut him. His blue eyes tracing every little mark on your face, absolutely in awe of how beautiful you are even when you furrow your brows and he’d gently push a strand or two of hair out the way that had fallen over your eye. As you rinse the blade under the tap, he’d grab your chin and peck your lips, getting the taste of shaving foam in your mouth and you two would laugh about it.

I can imagine in Winter, Russell and his s/o ordering hot chocolate with some cream on top/coffee, walking and talking. When he notices your cream/foam moustache, he chuckles to himself but you pay it no mind, thinking it was his response to something you said. But he chuckles again and you question him. -> “Oh uh nothing. You just uh…got a little um...hold on.” He’d lean in and lick your lips before planting a kiss on them and leaning back to look at you with a smile, leaving you dumbfounded.

Witty jokes and comments that make you think how the hell did he come up with that one are definitely on the menu. Russell will sometimes randomly just burst into Russian or German mode and will try and teach you some words and jokes too. Mostly the swear words because everybody wants to know the swear words 

Adler and his fellow operatives were chatting one day in public with their gear on as they were on their way back to a hotel for the night before their early morning flight but the sight of kids running up to him caught his eye. They asked him questions, the usual ones, the story behind the scar and what he does for a living. At first, he wasn’t exactly the warmest towards them but when one of the kids begged him to pick them up, he grumbled and gave in, watching them just take his sunglasses and the other asking if they could touch the scar, earning a smile from him. Him an his group sat down and spent some time kicking a ball around and taking the time out for the children before they had to head back. Adler gave them all fistbumps and bent down to plant a cap on one of their heads with a wink and a side smile -> “Keep it. I don’t need it, kid.”

Slowly falling for Bell!Reader Headcanons: Part 1

Russell Adler didn’t think it was possible to be honest. Him falling for another person. Always thought of himself as a lone wolf after his divorce. Never took any interest in dates or anything because he simply didn’t have the time and partly due to a fear of being hurt again that he refused to acknowledge

Yet he found himself weirdly drawn to you. Maybe it was a sick and twisted fantasy of his, the visage of him being a human, cracking with every fleeting touch. The true monster in him seeping out, revealing his true colours

When he picked you up and out of the SUV in Trabzon, he felt nothing. Perhaps some sense of accomplishment as he was one step closer to locating the man he’d been chasing for 13 years but nothing more. As the initial interrogations continued in a secure location and your balaclava was yanked off by his own hands, a part of him knew he’d get attached when he saw you, in your rawest form  but he quickly pushed that thought away as fast as it appeared in his mind. But it’d creep up every now and then during the experimentation as he’d speak into the microphone and exhale the smoke through his nose as he stared at you through the glass, watching you carefully before dipping his head as he hears you let out a gut-wrenching scream and struggle in the chair, putting out his cigarette and calling it a day.

He’d catch a whiff of your perfume nearby to where he was working in the safehouse. The perfume on your wrists stayed behind on the desk after your leaned over to pass him something or rested your forearms on the desk. The subtle scent of your shampoo and body wash in the bathroom, lingering in the air. He’d inhale deeply and close his eyes, imagining you as his head resting on the back of his chair for a few moments before he stopped himself and his eyes snapped open, making sure nobody was nearby as if he was scared someone could read his thoughts.

A candle you’d left on for him as he worked late into the night once was never forgotten. Adler would relight it to remind himself of you when you were gone on a mission with the others, telling himself it’s just because it smells nice.

A Brick in the Wall: As Bell took photos of Kraus, Russell would glance over at her, watch you paying attention, adjusting the camera lens, sticking your tongue out as the camera shutter clicked and a small smile would creep onto his lips before he looked away and cleared his throat, giving you your next order. God, what was he thinking?

Some things however were just pure protective instinct. Like grabbing your forearm to pull you away from the railing as you stepped up onto to look over the edge of a balcony at night. He needed you alive for the mission of course, no other reason

 Or when he’d tuck his extra magazines into your ammo packs and make sure all your straps and harness were tight enough. Or even holding his arm out and across your chest when he had to hit the brakes hard while driving with a gentle you okay? after a few beats of silence

Or when he’d bought some food and you were out of it after an MK-Ultra session during the early days and he’d give you a little extra without a word to keep your strength up, looking into your eyes briefly as you cried but the guilt was creeping up on him and he’d leave before you sobbed. He’d close the door just as you burst into tears, his hand on the doorknob behind him and he’d sigh deeply, his eyes shut, trying to compose himself before walking off to find Park. They’re just a red. He’d remind himself constantly. But just a kid too…

Desperate Measures: As Belikov let the two of you in and you took out the guards and changed into their uniforms, he couldn’t help but sneak a few glances. Before you walked up the stairs, he stopped you and checked you over, head to toe, the expression on his face neutral but his mind was in overdrive. Russell took a step closer and his hands found the bottom of your skirt and tugged on it, pulling it down so it revealed less. A single nod and his lips a thin line before he turned and walked off. He refused to admit he didn’t want anyone looking at you the way he did.

He finds himself a little self conscious. This isn’t like him..since when was Russell motherfuckin’ Adler worried about the way he was perceived by a red of all people? Putting more aftershave on himself, a spray of cologne to mask the smell of cigarettes that had found its way into his clothing after years of the bad habit. A quick check in the mirror to adjust his outfit and hair before pushing the bridge of his sunglasses up and into place

Safe to say, you took him by surprise. He was of course impressed by your combat and cryptography skills as well as endurance during MK-Ultra, thinking it was such a shame you were on the wrong side. Began thinking of what-ifs…

After one particularly gruelling session, you were screaming and refusing to take the pills that Park was giving you to help you sleep, saying they made you want to vomit and the anti-sickness was not doing anything but Park explained that she couldn’t do much about it. Russell heard this from the other side of the door as he walked past your room late at night, telling Sims to source a different medicine he knew of. The next day, he entered your room as you wailed again, thrashing against your cot and he adminstered a dose, barely speaking to you before leaving again but as you clutched his hand, he rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand before letting go. Your touch overwhelmed him.

When he’d see you hang out and play poker or some board games with the others as he was filing reports and chasing up contacts, a tiny frown would form on his face, he’d start picking at the skin on his lips as he watched them or he’d look down and dust his pants off or fiddle with a pen, anything to distract himself from the green-eyed monster

If he heard you singing a song in the other room, he’d put it on for you in the car without a word spoken, you just staring at Adler as if to say how did you know that?

On one chilly night, you fell asleep in the dark room and Adler stood there in the doorway, looking at you, your breathing steady, face rid of anguish and you looked at peace in the red light. Slowly, he made his way over and draped his jacket round your shoulders, thinking to himself it’s just what any decent person would do. Can’t have his tool catching a cold now…

During stakeouts, Russell would start telling you random facts about himself he’s never told another person, saying to himself you’ll be gone soon anyways, that you were an outsider so that’s why it was easier to talk to you.

This feeling he had only seemed to grow with each mission. Instead of letting the others help you out when injured, he’d grip your shoulder as soon as they got in, steering you towards the nearest stool before anyone had a chance to say anything and command you to sit, treating you like the dog you are while he fetched the supplies.

As the weeks passed, he’d take you to your room and patch you up there, wanting some one-on-one time with you, making casual conversation, half to distract you from the pain and half to suppress the thoughts going round in his mind about being so close to losing you

He made you laugh once or twice and couldn’t stop thinking about it. It sounded even better than when Woods or the other crew members made you laugh and it made him smile to which you pointed out but he stood up and left shortly after, his standard, stoic expression returning to his face

Adler would stay up on a few occasions to make sure you slept, scanning your face as the pills began to take effect, his arms folded as he stood, looming over you, his finger scratching at his arm even though it wasn’t itchy. It was just unease which he consistently pushed down but he noticed he was getting more fidgety when it came to you. Almost like the guilt was eating him from the inside out. He’d take off his watch, place his cigs on the side and settle into a chair, telling himself it’s just for a few minutes but once he did stay the whole night, leaving before the others woke up. Nobody ever knew

If you ever asked about your time together as friends and during Vietnam when you’d having trouble remembering, he’d keep it short and sweet, but every now and then he’d make up something that was what he wished it would have been like. Nothing too out there.

During mission briefings, he’d find himself laying his attention on you the most as he talked, wanting to know you were really listening to him and secretly asking for your input too and once the others had returned to what they were doing before, he’d pull you to the side, asking you if you were okay with the plan and if there’s anything you need to go over. I mean, you were the main star of course so it makes sense but his hand would reach for your upper arm and then retract. Boundaries, Adler…

One thing that killed him though was the fact that you only ever grabbed him out of fear, during MK-Ultra when you didn’t want him to leave, when in agony from a gunshot wound, or just as you dropped off to sleep after he injected your when you were being disobedient. Couldn’t admit he wanted you to grab onto him in desperation as he- Get a grip, Adler! When did he start thinking of you like that?

After Cuba, he felt nothing. No sense of accomplishment yet as he was one step further away from locating the man he’d been chasing for 13 years but now he was two steps closer to saying goodbye to you for good…

[loverboybrightsideghost]

it must be sad to be someone who can't find and doesn't want to look for the meaning in anything. thinking art is boring, thinking the long, drawn-out semi-abstract explanations musicians and artists give before they show their work is meaningless fake bullshit. it must be such a dull world to live in where one doesn't obsessively examine every word, every note from a work you love to find the beauty and the message and meaning and purpose in every grain of sand that gives it form. how sad.

[flowingredscale]

i know most of u follow me for reasons entirely unrelated to my fics and ao3 and stuff but Man i am really debating either not posting anymore or taking down my stuff. idk its just like. rahhhh

[lovelesslittleloser]

Somehow my brain made me google if there were any stories called ‘Bee-incarnation’, and when I found out there was something directly adjacent, obviously I started reading it immediately. I once again cannot remember what happened for my brain to conjure the thought, but then I suddenly said aloud ‘this is all so incredibly BEE-ZARRE’ and I laughed and then I noticed my laugh sounded kinda ‘ohoho’-esq so I repeated the laugh in order to sound more like some cliche villainess in anime and now I’m here.

Also here’s the thing you’re welcome

[slytherinshua]

someone tell me how to enjoy smaus

[kaidasdesires]

“Your Eyes Only.” : Heeseung

☾ grouping: Heeseung x afab reader

☾ rating: 18+, explicit content

☾ wc: 7.6k

☾ content warnings: aphrodisiac, altered state, y/n feels like she's been drugged, explicit sex, wax play, light choking and hair pulling, brief oral

☾ summary: Heeseung calls y/n to the studio to show her a new song he's working on. He thinks y/n is as beautiful as a piece of art and wants to show her what that looks like to him.

Or, Heeseung is a siren and uses his voice to seduce y/n and show her how good he can make her feel.

☾ author note: This story is fiction and does not reflect the personalities or desires of those it is written about. This story has some scenes that may be uncomfortable for some readers, read at your own discretion.

☾ taglist: @who-tf-soddhi , @imnotyizhuo , @deobitifull , @ochaluver , @jakeswifez , @helenngxz , @enhalusional , @d-dilemma , @heerinnie , @qeeun-didi , @capri-cuntz , @strxwbloody , @jungwonloverr , @b3tt7boop , @zara2318 , @simbabyj , @gnvi-eve , @babygirlskz98 , @nshmrarki , @50-husbands , @peonywon , @moonpri , @binneulton , @leeheeso , @roslayy , @tunafishyfishylike , @fancypeacepersona , @irenic-max , comment below to be added! <3

It had been a few weeks since the night you got drunk and Jungwon told you everything. Jungwon had still tried to avoid the conversation when he could so you didn’t get much more information out of him. However, as you predicted, nothing had changed. Even with the confession, all of the boys continued to act the same. Sure maybe a little more handsy or flirty than before but nothing crazy. 

It was late in the evening, you had just gotten out of the shower, the steam clinging to your skin as you reached for your phone. A notification lit up the screen, and your heart skipped a beat as you saw the sender's name: Heeseung.

Hey, are you awake?

You cocked an eyebrow, intrigued. It was unusual for Heeseung to text you in the evening like this. He was usually busy with practice or working on new music.

I’m awake. You okay? 

As you waited for his response, you dried your hair, a towel wrapped around your head. Your mind raced, contemplating why he would be texting you like this suddenly and at this hour.

A moment later, your phone buzzed again.

Can you come to the studio? 

A slight pang of nervousness hit you. Heeseung didn’t answer you if he was okay and normally his messages weren’t so short. Your hair was dry enough so you quickly changed into a tank top with a cardigan and leggings. 

I’m on the way. 

You texted him back, a sense of urgency hitting you as you left your house and locked the door behind you. The walk was only about 10 minutes and you quickly stopped by the convenience store to get some snacks and coffee for Heeseung. You knew he would appreciate the gesture, as he often spent long nights in the studio working on his music.

Once you got to the building you rang the doorbell and Heeseung buzzed you in. You headed to the elevator and quickly hit the close door button behind you. As you waited for the elevator to arrive on the right floor you thought briefly about how you could cheer Heeseung up if he was having a hard time. Maybe these snacks would help. 

You headed down the hallway to the studio door and when you knocked Heeseung let you in. 

“Hey!” You said a little bit out of breath from your walk and carrying things. When you sat down on the little couch you noticed that Heeseung was alone in the studio. “Where is everyone? Is everything okay Heeseung?” You asked concern in your voice was evident.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted you to hear something I was working on before I showed it to the rest of the guys.” He responded, closing the door behind you. 

“Oh!” You nodded before giving him a sweet smile. “It must be something important to you. I’d be honored.” 

He smiled back. His eyes trailed to the bags you brought with you. “What’s this?” He questioned. 

“I brought you some coffee and snacks. I was honestly a little worried Hee, you don’t typically text me this late at night.” You responded, pulling the snacks and a canned coffee drink out of the bag. 

The studio was a bit cramped. A small couch, a desk that held the music mixing equipment and Heeseung’s computer, a swivel chair, and then the mixing booth. Heeseung sat on the swivel chair in front of you. He took the coffee drink, popped the tab with one hand, and took a sip. 

“I’m just fine. Better now that you're here though.” He said. When you met his eyes he was eyeing you up and down before he took another sip. 

You couldn’t help but blush as his eyes trailed down your body. Your tank top was exposing your chest more than normal but you had just grabbed something that wouldn’t stick to your damp post-shower body. 

Heeseung stood up and pulled a lighter out of his desk before using it to light a few candles around the studio. Heeseung preferred it to be dark when he sang or was working on writing something. You remember he had mentioned before that he didn’t care for artificial light either which is why he opted for candles instead. 

“I hope you like it, I wrote it with someone I like in mind,” Heeseung said, a smirk on his face even though he wasn’t looking at you. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever shown me something I don’t like Heeseung.” You complimented him in response. Then you sat back on the couch getting more comfortable while Heeseung went into the booth and put on his headphones. You assumed his comment wasn’t about you. He started the music and your ears were met with a slow sensual beat. You closed your eyes and listened as Heeseung sang. 

My body is burning up because of you

My heart thirsts because of you

Like a fever, fever, fever, fever

His voice was so beautiful that it seeped into your ears like warm honey. The smell from the candles only heightened your senses as you listened. The smell was something like cedar, a comforting woody smell but with a hint of cinnamon. It was a nice smell. You wished that you could smell this sort of scent all the time. 

I want to embracе you

I want to embrace you

Push me away but my firе still burns

Turn to ash but the flame still rises

You opened your eyes to find that Heeseung was looking right at you as if he was singing to you. You blushed, not realizing he had been watching you. A second after your eyes met his you felt your head spin. You leaned forward and clutched onto the couch to help stabilize yourself. You weren’t the type to suddenly get dizzy like this. Maybe the smell from the candles was getting to you. Heeseung continued to sing, the melodic tune washing over you. He was still watching you but he didn’t seem concerned. 

Like a fever, fever, fever

I want to ache for you

I want to ache for you

Your body started feeling hot and tingly. You were worried you were getting sick suddenly, but you didn’t feel bad per se, just a burning sensation against your skin and a bit dizzy. If it wasn’t so sudden you argue that it felt kind of nice in a way. You lifted your head back up, and everything seemed to be moving a little bit slower than before. You looked back to Heeseung, he was still looking at you, watching you. 

Don't stop 

Yes, all day, all day burn me

Please stop 

My sun, stop baby, oh baby

I beg you, do something, anything

His voice was like fire in your veins, every note he sang you felt like an electric pulse through your body. You felt an overwhelming feeling of desire, a craving for touch and closeness. You pulled off your cardigan, the heat becoming too much for you to handle. 

You didn’t notice when Heeseung had stopped singing and exited the booth. You were still trying to understand why you suddenly felt so weird. He sat beside you and gently patted your head. His hand coming down to rest on the back of your neck. 

“It’s okay, you’ll get used to it soon.” He said, once again glancing over your more exposed skin. “It’s not too much is it darling?” he asked looking at the goosebumps raised on your arms. 

“Heeseung– what– what did you do?” you asked, head still spinning. The sudden pet name almost manages to go over your head. You wanted him to be closer, touching you, anything to help ground you. You grabbed onto his sleeve hoping it would help the feeling. 

“I know Jungwon told you about us. But I noticed that nobody has had the guts to make a move on you yet. Unsurprising really.” He replied, insinuating that the other boys were weak or scared. “This is… just part of who I am. But you're okay, don’t be afraid.” 

“You drugged me?” you asked, feeling even hotter now. That was the only thing that made sense in this situation. Or did it? How could he have possibly drugged you when all he did was light candles and sing to you?

Heeseung laughed before he placed a hand on your chin and pulled your face up to look at him. “I would never do that pretty girl. Don’t you remember what I said? I told you not to worry and that none of us would ever hurt you.” He reassured you, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. 

That voice you had heard in your head at first the other night had been him. Now you felt crazy. A little scared and surprised by the way you couldn’t but help want Heeseung to kiss you. He was so close and you wanted more. 

“Come here, you can sit in my lap until I'm done working on this.” He spoke up, obviously aware that you didn’t want to let him go considering you still had a death grip on his sleeve. The older boy pulled your arm gently to get you to let him go before he grabbed both your hands and helped you onto your feet. Your knees threatened to buckle below you as you followed him to the chair.

This wasn’t something you normally would ever do. Of course, you found Heeseung handsome but he was always so calm and mature. You never dared hit on him because all his flirting seemed like just something he’d say to make someone feel good. You were sure he had someone he was seeing or that he wasn’t interested in you. But then again you felt that way about all the boys before Jungwon’s confession. Why would they be interested in you when they could have any girl they wanted? 

Heeseung guided you to the chair with care before he sat down. At first, you went to sit in his lap with your back pressed against his chest but he stopped you. 

“Turn around.” He said, gently turning you by the waist. His tone was somehow soft but firm at the same time. You knew he wouldn’t tolerate any pushback you gave him, so you obliged his demand. Then he guided you to staddle him and sit in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and adjusted your hips which resulted in a quiet grunt from the older boy. You couldn’t help but press your face into the crook of his neck. Normally you wouldn’t be this bold but you just wanted to be touching him. The smell of his cologne only fueled the heat you felt as you breathed against his neck.  

After a minute of listening to Heeseung clicking on his keyboard, he instead opted for filling the room with the sound of his humming. The vibrations against your face and the sound so much closer to you made you want more of him. Why was his singing making you feel this way? 

You felt worked up, and hot. You just wanted him to touch you. It was almost subconscious when you made the slightest shift against Heeseungs hips.

He responded with a quiet “mmm.”, not giving you the response you had hoped for. 

You pressed your lips against his neck, giving him a few small kisses. Maybe that would get him to react.

Again, there was almost no response from the older boy. Instead, he just continued to hum. 

Your pussy was starting to throb. This whole thing confused you. You didn’t understand why you were so ungodly horny. You didn’t understand why your body was reacting this way. You sat there, contemplating between letting the feeling overtake you or maintaining the image Heeseung had always seen you as. At most, the boys had only ever seen you making out with a guy or in your bathing suit, besides the other night, nothing of this level of intimacy had happened between any of you. You were sure they saw you as a bit modest and shy, which wasn't necessarily true, but that's all you ever showed them.

You pushed your forehead into Heeseung’s collarbone in defeat before using your hips to grind into him. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Heeseung teased as he stopped typing and placed his hand on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing small circles on your skin where your tank top had risen on its own. 

You huffed a bit. You were desperate for him to do something at this point, but he wasn’t giving you anything. But you were too stubborn to blatantly give up your still somewhat respectable appearance. You did the same action again, except this time, you could feel that he was getting hard underneath you. 

“Darling, I’m not done yet.” he cooed, trying to act like your actions weren’t getting to him. 

You couldn’t help but let out the smallest little whine. You felt him smile, probably a cocky one. Nonetheless, he continued with his humming and typing while you continued slowly grinding against him. His cock twitched in his sweatpants begging for more friction. You obliged, tightening your arms around his shoulders to get more leverage as you pushed harder against him. 

This earned you another quiet grunt, followed by the sound of Heeseung’s laptop being shut suddenly. The noise caused you to jump. 

“You’re lucky y/n,” he said, his voice much darker than before. “You’re lucky that I'm going to go easy on you since I’m the first.” 

You felt his hand slide up your back and his fingers tangle into your hair before he tugged your head back suddenly. You squeaked, not expecting the sudden action nor the pain tingling across your scalp. 

He looked over your face. It was red, flushed with desire. Your eyes were glossy and round, begging him for more. Mouth slightly parted as you processed his actions. He smirked. 

“Look at you, so pretty and desperate for me already” Heeseung whispered, leaning into your ear “I should make you ride me right here like this.” 

His hot breath tickled against you and sent shivers down your spine. His sudden change in demeanor was intoxicating and his words made you only want more. 

Instead, Heeseung reached both hands under your ass and lifted you and himself from the chair before moving you to the couch. You clung onto him, not wanting to lose the feeling of his body against yours. He kept you on his lap, but this was more comfortable for the both of you than the swivel chair. 

You looked at him, he too looked a little bit flushed and needy, not that he would admit that. 

He reached up to grab the nape of your neck, and he finally gave you the attention you had wanted. He pulled you to him and kissed you. His kiss was much harder than the kiss at the party but it was still slow and drawn out. He kissed you passionately like he was savoring every single movement. 

His hands found your lower back again but slowly started to push up the fabric. Then they roamed over your sides leaving trails of tingling heat behind them. The kiss deepened as Heeseung’s tongue licked its way into your mouth and you started to rut against him again. 

“Fuck,’ He cursed as your clothed pussy rubbed against him. You could tell he was holding back because of the way his fingers pressed deeply into your sides, almost as if he was trying to ground himself. 

You pulled away from him, briefly taking over the lead to reach your fingers under the hem of his shirt and pull it off. You looked over him, his muscles and toned body surprising you. You hadn’t expected his body to be so nice. 

“Your turn.” He said after giving you a second to look him over. He lifted your shirt slowly over your head, keeping eye contact with you the entire time until he threw your shirt onto the floor.

Then his hands roamed the softness of your exposed body fingers gliding over your sides and under your breasts. He pulled you back down into the kiss before slowly kissing along your jawline and onto your neck. He sucked and bit on your neck not hard enough to leave any lasting marks but enough to elicit quiet whimpers from you. You ran your fingers through his hair earning a hum of satisfaction. As he continued to kiss your neck, you felt his hand travel up your back until it reached your bra, and in one smooth motion, he unclasped it. 

Heeseung pulled back from you, still maintaining eye contact with you. “Can I see you, darling?” He asked, not wanting to do anything that you were uncomfortable with. 

You nodded and let the bra fall off your shoulders and into your lap exposing your breasts. Your nipples hardened quickly at the change in temperature earning a smirk from the older boy who was already admiring you. 

“Wow y/n, you’re beautiful.” He whispered, reaching out to knead the soft mounds in his hands. You blushed, suddenly feeling shy and exposed. 

“Such a pretty girl.” He continued with his compliments, now taking your nipples in between his fingers. He played with them for a minute, rubbing them and pinching them causing you to shiver at the feeling. 

He looked over your features once more, and seeing that you maybe felt a little shy or nervous he started to hum again. This time humming quietly while he leaned down to suck on your nipples. The vibrations and the sound cause that dizzying hot feeling to overtake you again. He continued like this for a minute, swapping between his fingers and his mouth before he gently pushed you over to where you were lying back on the couch. 

You watched him as he stood up and pulled down his pants. Leaving him in just his underwear. His cock was hard and his underwear was wet where he had already begun to leak. He didn’t seem embarrassed by this and it only made you more aroused, knowing that he was just as worked up as you were. 

“Please.” The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. 

“Hmm? Please what darling?” Heeseung replied, leaning down over you and reaching his fingers into the band of your leggings. He kissed down your stomach as he slowly pulled your leggings down. He continued to hum between the kisses, the humming keeping you intoxicated and warm. 

He pulled your leggings off, leaving you exposed except for your panties. You were so hot, but also the tiniest bit cold since his body wasn’t touching yours anymore.

“Have you figured it out yet?” Heeseung asked, stepping away from you momentarily to the other side of the room. 

You couldn’t see where he had gone since he had disappeared behind your line of sight. 

You weren’t sure exactly what he was asking, your mind consumed with just wanting him to fuck you already. “Hee,” you whined, “want you.” The second part came out much quieter than his nickname.

“Oh, I know you do pretty. But you just need to wait a little while longer. There was a pause before he continued.”You know how much I love to make art right?” He asked, voice now coming back closer to you. 

You could only nod in response. 

“Close your eyes.” He demanded gently. You did what he asked, shifting your thighs back and forth to give yourself some sort of friction, the heat and need unbearable between your legs. 

“You’re so breathtaking y/n, that I can’t help but use you as a canvas.” He said, a smirk evident in his voice. 

It was hot. Incredibly hot as it trickled down your chest, in between your breasts, and towards your belly button. You yelped, surprised by the sudden pain that quickly turned into pleasure. 

And again, burning hot down your thighs, trickling over the edges towards the couch. You fidgeted, unable to hold back the surprised squeaks every time the feeling came. 

You opened your eyes to see Heeseung standing over you, the pine and cinnamon candle that he lit earlier in hand. The red wax left hot trails across your body. He tipped the candle again, watching your face as the wax trickled inwards on your thighs towards your heat. He enjoyed watching your face squeeze up in pain followed by a wave of pleasure. 

He continued this for a while, trickling hot wax across sensitive parts of your body while admiring you. By the time he was done, red wax that almost looked like a pattern of lightning or tree branches covered your body. 

“There, now that I’ve painted my beautiful canvas, it is also up to me to ruin it.” He said, voice laced with a darkness that you hadn’t anticipated. 

He placed the candle back on the table before inviting himself between your legs. He was quick to pull off your panties, not giving you a chance to be shy or nervous. It was obvious he couldn’t hold back anymore. 

He admired your pussy. Using one finger to trace between your folds and tease your clit before running back down. 

You gasped, begging him for more without asking. 

He slipped one finger in with no resistance, and then a second. He was lacking the same patience he had had for hours beforehand. His eyes were full of a hungry lust. 

You mewled as his fingers pressed into you, the feeling relieving your aching heat just a little bit. “Ah– Heeseung,” you moaned quietly. 

He curled his fingers as he pumped them in and out of you, reaching for the spot he knew would have you squirming under him. He leaned forward over you, took one hand, and wrapped it around your throat. He didn’t squeeze enough to really choke you, but enough to make sure your attention was solely focused on him. 

“Tell me what you want darling.” He said, speeding up his movements and purposefully hitting the sensitive spot over and over. His dark eyes peered into yours as he waited. 

You moaned as your body tensed up to his touch, both hands coming up to grab onto his arm that was still around your throat. You could barely catch your breath with the way your body was tensing up, hips arching off the couch, but you knew he wouldn’t give you any mercy until you gave him what he wanted. 

“Heeseung–ah– please,” you whined, little gasps coming out between each thrust of his fingers. 

“Ah, so pretty for me honey, but not enough.” he cooed, fingers continuing their assault. 

“Nngh– please Heeseung, please fuck me,” you begged, tears pricking at your eyes. 

He chuckled, slowing his fingers down and watching you as you panted. He released his hand from your neck before pulling his fingers out and sticking them into his mouth to clean them off. 

“Good girl,” he praised, “I thought you'd never ask. All this time you’ve been trying to keep this side of you hidden from me. But look at how good you are, listening to me and doing what I ask. Do any of the other boys know you’re such a slut darling?” 

His words overwhelmed you. Sure you weren’t a virgin, but you’d never done anything with the boys. Gotten off to the idea of fucking them before sure, but that was a secret that you kept to yourself. You never wanted to risk harming them by getting caught or hurting the bond that you had with them. 

You shook your head, giving Heeseung an honest answer. 

“I’m so lucky, getting you all to myself like this, even if it's just for a little while.” Heeseung smiled, the dark glint of desire ever present in his eyes. He pulled away from you again, standing up to take off his underwear. You watched as his cock hit the skin of his stomach. You found yourself surprised once again, his cock was bigger than you anticipated. 

He pumped his length in his hand, running a finger over the head to smear the pre cum along his shaft. He looked so good like this.

With a sudden wave of desire and determination to earn more praise you sat up and replaced Heeseungs hands with your own. You stroked him a few times before leaning over and kitten-licking the top. You didn’t hear any reaction from Heeseung, so you decided to push it further. You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. When you sunk down on him you finally looked up at him through your eyelashes. 

“Fuck–ah fuck,” Heeseung groaned as you took him into your mouth. You had caught him off guard and were rewarded by his surprised reaction. It took him a second to compose himself, his eyes opening to meet yours. He watched you for a moment as you bobbed up and down on his cock slowly. You could tell he was savoring the view and the feeling of your mouth on him.

Then he reached forward to run his fingers through your hair, an affectionate action before his fingers tightened around the strands and pushed you farther down onto his length. 

“You’re so pretty like this y/n,” Heeseung cooed as he held you down on his cock, far enough down that you felt your throat starting to spasm around him.

You tried your best to not gag as he held you down. Tears welled in your eyes as you looked up at him. His words were gentle, but his actions were stern and dominant. 

“You’re so good darling, showing me how badly you want to please me. But,” he paused before pushing you all the way down onto his length till your nose hit his stomach, “I don’t think you could handle it.” He whispered, before releasing you completely. 

You choked as you pulled off of him, followed by a gasp for air and a few tears running across your cheeks. You hadn't been prepared to deep-throat him like that, but the action turned you on tremendously. How his words were so sweet but his actions only made you want to egg him on. To see how rough he would get with you. 

Heeseung interrupted your thoughts as he leaned over to kiss your forehead before laying you back on the couch. He got on top of you and your heat clenched around nothing as you felt his cock slide against you. 

“I’ve been wanting this for a long time y/n,’ Heeseung whispered into your neck as you felt him reach down. He ran his cock up and down your folds, sliding easily because of how wet you were. 

You gasped at the feelings before reaching up to grab onto his shoulders. 

He teased you like this for a moment, watching you carefully in between leaving kisses on your neck and jaw. 

“Tell me you want me darling,” Heeseung urged, pushing the tip against your entrance. 

“God– please Heeseung, I want you… so bad Hee,” you begged, raising your hips in an effort to coax him into you. 

With your consent, the older boy groaned, slowly pushing himself into you. He rested a hand on your cheek as he did so, watching carefully for any indication of pain. 

You leaned your head back, mouth parted in a silent moan as he bottomed out before slowly pulling back out and repeating. 

He continued to fuck you slowly, leaning down to kiss you passionately as he thrust into you. Your fingers entangled into his hair, tugging gently which earned you a moan from Heeseung between kisses. Your tongues fought for dominance, and occasionally Heeseung took your bottom lip in between his teeth. 

After a minute of this, Heeseung dipped his head back into your neck before speeding up his thrusts. He fucked into you faster and harder and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His thrusts brought out continuous strings of lewd moans from you. 

You opened your eyes in surprise when you felt Heeseungs hand press over your mouth. “Your noises are so beautiful darling, and I so badly want to hear them. In fact, I wish all the boys could hear you moaning for me baby. I wish everyone in this building knew who you belonged to tonight,” he paused, taking a moment to peer into your eyes. “But I can’t have you letting the whole building know what we are doing in here hmm? That might get me in a bit of trouble.” He finished his thought with a quick raise of his eyebrow. 

You could only nod in response as he continued his motions, a spring of tension coiling in your stomach with every thrust. 

With his hand still over your mouth, you could only listen to the sound of his panting and quiet grunts. His voice was still beautiful even in this situation. 

“Oh, by the way,” Heeseung spoke again suddenly, “I’m a siren.” 

He removed his hand from your mouth and instead moved to pull your legs up to your chest so he could get a deeper angle. Gasps and whines left you in quick succession, this position only tightening the coil in your stomach further. 

You were having trouble processing what Heeseung had just said to you and of course it was hard to believe any of what Jungwon had said was real but the new information gave you clarity on what made you feel so aroused tonight. Heeseung’s voice. It intoxicated you and consumed you and it was all at Heeseung’s will. 

You moaned quietly at the idea of this. How he could get you so worked up with just his voice. 

After a moment, Heeseung reached down in between the two of you and his fingers found your clit. He rubbed small circles as he continued to fuck into you harshly. 

You dug your nails into his back and began to tremble from the overwhelming stimulation. You knew it wouldn’t take you that long to cum considering how worked up you had been. Heeseung knew this too. 

“You know what that means?” He asked, sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead slightly. 

You shook your head, giving him a curious look in response. 

“It means,” He smirked. “From now on, every time you hear my voice. You’ll be reminded of this moment. You’ll be reminded of how good I made you feel, and how desperate you were for me. How you trembled underneath my fingers darling.” 

The idea of this sent you into a spiral of arousal, you heard Heeseung singing all the time. He practically never stopped singing. How would you ever be able to sit in on any of their practices or concerts? Heat rushed to your core at the images and scenarios in your head. You whimpered, a small pathetic noise of desperation. 

“Heeseung,” you moaned as his fingers and thrusts continued. You felt his cock twitch inside of you, the sound of you calling his name obviously getting to him. 

You couldn’t hold back much longer and you knew he couldn’t either. His thrusts were becoming a bit sloppy and rushed. 

His eyes met yours again, neither of you saying anything for a moment before you spoke up. Your orgasm was approaching quickly now. 

“Heeseung, please, please don’t stop.” You begged, your head rolling back again as you allowed yourself to be consumed by the feeling of him fucking you. 

He picked up speed with determination and he leaned down once more kissing the side of your jaw and then your ear. 

“You’re so pretty y/n, I know you want to cum for me.” He said, his voice though not singing, sent that dizzy wave of overwhelming arousal over you again. 

“Hee—hee, please.” You cried as you were thrown desperately toward the edge, the coil so tight you could barely breathe. 

“Cum for me. Cum nice and hard for me darling. Show me how good you feel.” He all but commanded into your ear, his thrusts and fingers maintaining a slower but consistent speed and motion. 

And you did. Unsure if it was from his voice or at your own will but you came hard. You came so hard that no sound escaped your lips, you were breathless, air stolen by the waves of pleasure as they cascaded over you. Heeseung fucked you through your orgasm and kept fucking you until you shook from overstimulation. Once he finally pulled his hand away from between you he was able to focus on his own climax. 

His pace quickened, and your body still clenched around him, overstimulation causing tears to brim at your eyes. 

“Heeseung,” you moaned, and it was lewd. You sounded almost straight from a porno and that was all he needed. 

“Fuck—,” he cursed, surprised by what you had just done. His thrusts became uneven and frantic before he pulled out and came over your stomach. His quiet groans alone were almost enough to get you fired up again. 

Your head was floaty as you watched him come down from his own high. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed happily. Then his eyes met yours and he looked so much different than before. He looked at you endearingly and lovingly, any sadistic dominance gone from his eyes. 

He was quick to get up, grab tissues, and wipe you off. You looked down and saw the wax that still covered your body. That was going to be a pain to clean up but it was so worth it. 

Heeseung helped you back into your clothes before he got back into his own clothes and settled back onto the couch sitting beside you. 

There was now somewhat of an awkward silence as you didn’t know what to expect next. You honestly just anticipated that you would go home from here and it would be just like a one-night stand of sorts. 

You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, a slight twinge of disappointment at the ideas your head was creating. 

Heeseung grabbed your hand and laced his fingers in between yours. 

“Y/n, I’m sorry. For being so quiet that is.” He said, obviously having sensed your anxiety. “I’m just honestly speechless. You’re so beautiful and I feel lucky to know you and get to experience and share a friendship and… this…with you.” His other hand motioned vaguely not sure what to consider your relationship at this moment in time. 

You couldn’t help but smile at his words and nod in agreement. 

The older boy took your hand and pulled you up. He grabbed your cardigan and helped you slip it on before leading you to the door and turning off the lights. 

“Let’s go.” He said, hand still entangled in yours. 

He grabbed a sweatshirt from a hook by the door and slipped it on pulling up the hood over his head. Then he pulled out two black masks from the pocket and handed one to you before putting on the other one. He looked over to you, his eyes showing a big smile.

“Where are we going?” You asked, having enough comprehension skills to realize that he was taking you somewhere and that’s why you both needed to have your identities covered a bit. 

“Home of course,” Heeseung replied, pulling you out the door and closing it behind him. He led you towards the elevator. 

“Oh—, Home?” You questioned. It wasn’t often that you went over to the dorms so late at night. Did he mean back to your place? The boys never came over to your place either and it definitely wasn’t in good shape for any guests.

“Mhmm.” He replied as the elevator doors closed. He was still holding your hand tightly, almost as if he was worried you might not want to come with him. 

Truth be told, you were still feeling the post orgasm high and you didn’t really care where you went right now as long as it was with him.

He continued leading you outside of the building and when you made it outside he turned to head towards the dorms. 

“The dorms?” You questioned. Obviously, you knew this was the likely answer but it somehow still surprised you. 

“Yep!” Heeseung replied, not giving you anything more than short answers that way you couldn’t argue or try to change his mind. 

“But Heeseung, uhm… why?” You asked. It was late, and coming over just to hang out wasn’t really the best idea. You’d need to leave soon before you got too sleepy. 

He chuckled, his fingers squeezing yours for a moment. “I’m not going to just let you go home after that y/n. I’m not a fuck boy.” 

“Well, I didn’t say that.” You replied, whacking him on the shoulder with your free hand. He laughed again and you wished you could see his smile instead of the mask. 

The rest of the short walk was quiet except for the various sounds of isolated cars or chit-chat of other people walking around. The city truly never slept around here. 

Heeseung unlocked the door when you arrived, finally releasing your hand before pushing open the door. The dorm was quiet except for the TV in the living room which was playing some sort of anime. You slipped off your shoes and cardigan welcoming the comforting warmth of the dorm. 

Heeseung went into the kitchen to grab you both some water. As you waited you noticed that Jake had fallen asleep on the couch. You smiled and walked over to turn off the lamp that was shining in his face. 

When you turned back around you jumped, surprised to be somewhat face to face with Jungwon. He was wearing a tank top and sweatpants. His muscular arms caught you a bit off guard as he normally never wore exposing clothes like that. 

“J-Jungwon!” You whispered, trying not to wake up Jake. 

“What are you doing here so late?” Jungwon asked, his brows furrowed a bit. 

“Oh- I was just-,” you stammered.

Obviously, you weren’t going to tell Jungwon what you had been doing. But coming up with something else was impossible, your brain wasn’t awake enough to come up with anything quick enough. 

“She came with me,” Heeseung spoke suddenly from behind you once again causing you to jump. 

Jungwon looked at Heeseung, and then to you, and then back to Heeseung. Then Jungwon looked back at you and your skin prickled as you watched him eye you from top to bottom. The look in his eyes changed, but to what you couldn’t tell. His eyes stopped on your chest briefly before he nodded and his facial expression went back to normal. You flushed, Jungwon didn’t normally steal glances at you so obviously like that. 

“Ah,” he paused his tone unreadable, “That’s good. I was worried about you y/n, showing up late like this.” 

“Don’t worry,” Heeseung replied, “She’s safe with me Jungwon.” 

Jungwon nodded again before walking away and into the kitchen himself. Heeseung handed you a glass of water before he took your hand again and pulled to towards his bedroom. 

You were surprised, however, when Heeseung stopped and pulled you into the bathroom. 

“I’ll grab you some clothes of mine you can wear to sleep in. I can shower with you if you want, or you can shower by yourself if you’d be more comfortable,” he said before turning to head towards his bedroom, “Oh, and use whatever shampoo or body wash you want, everyone has different tastes so there’s a few to choose from.” 

You nodded and closed the door behind him. Processing everything that was going on was overwhelming but the idea of staying in the dorm made you feel a little giddy inside. You took a few sips from the glass of water before sitting it down on the counter. 

Heeseung’s knock brought you out of your thoughts as he slowly opened the door. In his hand were some sweatpants and a T-shirt. He smiled at you before setting them down on the counter beside the glass of water.

“Do you want me to shower with you?” He asked. Heeseung’s eyes also trailed your bare skin. “You might need some help getting all that off.” He continued pointing to your chest. 

You looked down and suddenly your face started to burn. How the fuck did you forget the wax! It’s not that Jungwon was looking at your tits but instead, he was looking at the wax that covered your chest and cleavage in tiny trails. 

You looked back at Heeseung, the mischievous look on his face told you that he knew exactly what you were thinking about right now. But it was too late now, there was nothing you could do about it. 

“I think that would be nice actually. Thank you, Hee.” You replied. 

Heeseung was happy to help. He helped you undress and got the water going for you so you could get in and enjoy it for a moment while he brushed his teeth and undressed himself. 

You let the warm water trail down your body washing away any other stress and anxiety you had about the situation. 

When Heeseung joined you couldn’t help but admire him once more. The way his bronze skin glistened in the water as it cascaded over him. The older boy took your hand and placed it on his chest.

“Don’t be afraid.” He said quietly. You tilted your head confused but when you looked up and met his eyes you saw they were now bright blue with small slits in them. The blue color was so bright it reminded you of glaciers as they floated in the ocean. His skin twitched under your fingertips as small silvery blue scales pushed through his skin in various places the water was hitting. 

“Oh—wow.” You responded, shocked by what you were seeing. 

You looked up again and saw small spikey fins that had grown out from the tips his ears. Everything else about him stayed the same. 

“Heeseung. You’re stunning.” You said, blown away by what you were seeing. When he released your hand you noticed that his fingers had become webbed too, obviously to help him swim if he was in the water. 

He smiled. “You’re not scared right?” 

“No not at all just… do you... have a tail fin?” You questioned, giving him an innocent but curious look. 

The older boy laughed. “Of course I do. I can just control it better than my scales and fins. It would be quite awkward if I just grew a tail and fell over right now wouldn’t it?” He responded, chuckling again at the image he had created in his head. 

You laughed with him at the scenario. 

Then he helped you wash and made sure to get all of the wax off your body before also helping you wash your hair. You allowed yourself to be pampered by him even just briefly. You wondered if you’d ever get to see his tail and watch him swim. 

After you both finished washing, Heeseung helped you towel dry your hair and get into his clothes before he took you along into his bedroom.

You chuckled as you watched the older boy flop onto the bed and tuck himself under the covers. 

“Well,  come here darling.” He said, patting the bed beside him and holding up the covers for you to get in. 

You got into the bed with him and he opened his arms for you to get comfortable and lay on his chest. You were surprised by how quickly his siren features disappeared after getting out of the water and drying off. It was silent for a moment besides the sound of his heartbeat in your ear

“Are you sure this is okay?” You said, breaking the silence. 

“What? Cuddling with me?” He questioned you. 

“Well, just all of it.” You replied anxiously. 

His arms tightened around you. 

“Don’t worry to much y/n. Do what makes you happiest and we will all be happy. You should know that I will— well, we all will do everything in our power to keep you happy.” He replied, his tone a lot more serious now. You could tell he was being genuine. 

You nodded, before leaning up to give Heeseung a kiss. Even though it was dark you could tell he was blushing by your sudden action. 

When you laid back on his chest, he began to hum once again. Except this time, instead of arousal you just felt warm and fuzzy. His humming enveloped you in a soft blanket of safety and comfort. You felt loved and appreciated and beautiful in his arms, and you weren’t sure you’d ever want to leave them. 

The warm cozy feeling Heeseung was creating for you was quick to whisk you to sleep but before you drifted off you wondered briefly how you had gotten so lucky to be sought after by this group of boys. You wondered if this was a dream and if you’d wake up soon. You wondered if you’d figure out what monsters the other boys were, and secretly you hoped you’d find out just like you did with Heeseung tonight. 

☾ author note: thank you for reading! this chapter is arguably the tamest out of them all so please look forward to whats to come next! can you guess who is what monster?

chapter two (coming soon)

chapter directory

[dontbelasagnax]

I find as fandom has assimilated towards a capitalist mindset of consumption, there has been a larger focus on fanart and fanfiction- both in spaces that view creatives as "content creators" and spaces where creatives are seen as writers and authors but lauded similarly to celebrities or deities for gracing the common people with their creations.

This has produced a side effect wherein fanart and, primarily, fanfiction are seen as the Best Forms Of Transformative Works... which means that any other type of transformative work is thrown by the wayside.

There should be no hierarchy of fanworks - every single work is a labor of love (or spite... I see y'all throwing middle fingers to canon 😉) and should be recognized as such. Fandom is a community. It's not a transactional relationship. Everyone contributes and interacts out of shared passions and interests.

If you make podfics, gifs, photo edits, fanvids, fan binding, metas, fiber arts, jewelry, fanmixes, translate fics to another language, run/contribute to a fan wikia or compile lore and resources in other ways: I see, appreciate, and cherish all the hard, love fueled work you put into your creations.

Not to say that fanfic and digital art are over-appreciated (Since I do see that many people are allergic to pressing reblog. It's a community. We're supposed to share and communicate. Lurkers are valid but for the most part, interaction with like-minded people is what fandom is intended for.) but the pedestal they are placed on needs to be lowered. Your favorite artists and authors are real people with real lives. They piss and shit just like you. They work in retail and healthcare and are unemployed due to disability. There is nothing extraordinary about them and they are wonderful human beings all the same. No one is better than anyone else. We're all equals here on this playground.

That said, I think we need to uplift the underappreciated fanworks and creators and give them more attention so they are on equal footing with fanfic writers and fanartists. Reblog the gifsets and tell the creator you're in love with how they colored the gifs, keyboard smash in the tags when reblogging a plush doll someone crocheted of your blorbo, try listening to a podfic on your commute home instead of an audiobook and remember to leave a comment when you get home.

As a final note, I want to give a warm hug to anyone who has sat refreshing tumblr or ao3 hoping that maybe someone will tell them they did a good job. To anyone who has considered quitting their fandom endeavors because their posts or works never get as much attention and love as the rest of the artworks or fics in the fandom tags, your creations are worth making and sharing. Numbers do not equate to quality, nor can they convey how loved your creations are by a given person. Only you can bring your unique sparkle to fandom and your presence is absolutely welcome no matter how big or small, grandiose or inconsequential, important or worthless you think it is.

[nemesyaaa]

pygmalion au // rafe cameron x reader

summary ; “ you love someone you can shape, who has no will to escape. ” artist!rafe x muse!reader.

warnings ; unsafe feelings. slight of angst. smut. kind of fantasy/magic. art glorification. attachment issues. innocent!reader. fear of losing somebody. first time. rafe being a lost boy. dubcon. pygmalion' weird story. toxic!rafe. mentions of drugs. oral (m. receiving). p in v. insecurities. praising. artist hands appreciation. minors DNI.

author's note : 3,5 k words for this. one-shot. also a lot of tummy appreciation (tysm @shawtycoreee 🫶🏿). out of the smut, i tried to write it so poetic 😭🤟🏿

— “ wrap me up, enfold me. i am small and needy. warm me up and breathe me. ” breathe me by sia.

it was alone and late at night that rafe cameron began to create you, not really knowing at the time he started his art what work you would produce. he only cut the stone with his hands. before forming your body, he fantasized about it internally, not really knowing what a woman's anatomy actually looked like. you were like a crazy dream he was trying to sort out, a fantasy he was trying to make real. he sculpted with his straight calloused and tired hands, manipulating the fragile and sensitive material with precision.

he hated doing badly, but it was what he did best. as he worked, he sank into his own fascination. you were magnificent, no, you were divine, the glorious treasure from his hands. it was scary and breathtaking. he had never done anything so beautiful, never created anything so charming. you had this firm, seductive chest, completely bare and hard, the movement of the stone making your belly round and chubby. you were carved in marble, an inanimate statue that had found favor in the eyes of his creator.

when he had finished your face,

he had been amazed but above all frightened by what his fingers had achieved. he had given shape to your lips, your nose, your mouth and your eyes. and now that you had a look, it was like you were confronting him. because now that you had pupils, you could look at him too, you could judge him too. you could be as superior as him, but also equal to his worth.

you were his most beautiful work of art, literally his ethereal and angelic muse. and above all, you made him nervous. not only were you realistic, but you were a woman, you were like one of the goddesses from greek mythology, completely naked.

it was unexpected, but he had knelt before you, before your altar, on his legs and his hands. he was so white and desperate like a lost sinner having only his god to pray and glorify in order to survive.

you had seen his lips part in a prayer, his mouth tighten in a whisper. and you had ears, certainly made of stone, but you had heard it. you had heard his wish lost in the void. yet he had nothing of a believer, you could hardly imagine this man on the benches of a church, but you were also cruelly incapable of seeing and understanding who he really was.

when he stood up, you felt his hands on your skin, the coldness of his ring, but also the awkwardness of his touch. you could tell it was the first time he touched someone intimately, because he didn't really know where to put his hands but he also didn't know how to touch you without destroying you.

rafe cameron was not a god. he could break anything he touched. and maybe that was why he was so nervous and pathetic. you belonged to him now that he had created you so he refused to lose you without even knowing you.

he had hoped that god would make you a real woman, because you were perfect, too sublime to be just a piece of stone.

he didn't need to pull himself up to reach you, he was much taller, more intimidating in terms of size. he could lift you up and control you with just one hand.

you looked so alive so why, why did he only hear one heartbeat in the room? why was he alone breathing in this cold and empty room? why did you only have life in appearance?

you could feel in his look that he was questioning, that he was troubled, that all the beauty of his blue eyes was overwhelmed. but you had also felt his face so close to yours, his breath fanning across your molded lips. he had been hesitant, but his mouth had finally found yours.

and you surprised yourself by loving the taste of his pretty lips, but above all by being able to touch it.

and it was like that kiss had been real enough of how he felt about you that god had decided to give him a chance.

you had sensed all the ivory of your body, of your muscles, becoming sublimely gorgeous, all your stone beauty becoming human and alive. as if his devotion had allowed you to be free and to exist.

when he felt your mouth melt on his, he pulled back in fear. you weren’t supposed to be real even if he wanted you to be. since when did statues come to life?

"oh fuck, what's going on here?... i think i'm going crazy...all that fucking coke…”

“you created me.” you replied, slightly hurt by his reaction because he was supposed to be happy.

"no, you're not supposed to be alive. i mean, you're art, you can't be human."

“i’m human!” you contradicted, stepping forward from your marble base.

rafe wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or a dream. but his gaze was anchored on you, he couldn't take every inch of his eyes off your body. he was magnetized by your magnificence.

you came just close enough to take his hand and place it against your chest. “don’t be cold to me. don’t leave me. what would i do without you? you can't reject me. you need me. ”

maybe that was the game changer for rafe cameron. because he had just understood that since you were his, you belonged to him, you were entirely dependent on him. you couldn't escape, and above all, you had no desire to.

he could do what he wanted, you were like a doll created to respond to the slightest of his favors without ever complacent. you were not only perfect but unimaginable.

” be on your knees for me.”

and the next second, you were staring at him waiting for another order.

"mmh...i know your body by heart. i shape all of this. but you have never seen mine. no worry, i'm going to fix that, okay? you're going to please me tonight and not make me regret 'have given you life?”

you nodded in agreement and he smiled because you were too innocent, too sweet for someone like him. he had unzipped his pants, making them fall to his legs like his boxers.

and it was the first time you saw a naked man in front of you, but it was also fair for you because you had no clothes. “let me help you…” he offered with a smirk. his thumb had rolled over your lips, creating a slight slit between them. “ you need to open that pretty mouth wider...” he added, taking advantage of your vulnerability to use you.

"you know it will only hurt if you don't relax. so don't be tense. because even if it's big, you're gonna take it, doll. not gonna be easy on you because it's your first time. show me what you can do baby, let me feel how grateful you are for your creator. "

he had pushed his tip against your lips, forcing his way into your mouth, making you open bigger to accommodate his cock in your cavity. it was new to you, and you weren't even sure if you could satisfy him because it was the first time you had done something like that, and especially used your mouth in that way.

you thought this area was used to create intimacy between people, not to do dirty things.

“baby, i really appreciate how sweet you can be, but don’t let me do all the work…” he had scoffed. and your heart skipped a beat when he shoved himself further in your mouth, so much so that you felt him hit the back of your throat, all the speed of his harshly strokes leaving you breathless.

you choked on his movements, saliva pooling and dripping between the corners of your enlarged lips. “that’s what happens when you don’t do your part of the job properly…” his tone was falsely accusatory as you couldn’t catch your breath from his pace. he had no pity, you had turned on him too much. and to fix it, he blamed you by harassing your throat with his fat cock.

"but since you leave me no choice, let me show you how to be a good girl for me..." he had plugged your nose, pinching it hard, forcing you to take him entirely, without being able to breathe. his length swallowed in and out, your tongue barely able to support his weight which grew as he bullied your lips.

you belonged to him so he didn’t care if he ruined you a little. he told himself that he would repair you.

he released your nose when he felt you were about to pass, with a sadistic giggle. your eyes were wet with tears. “oh baby, don’t give me that look, you’re wasting your time, i don’t feel pity. ”

you continued to pump him until your jaw arched tighten and become more tense. he pulled out for a moment, spitting in your tongue, before using your throat again. his grunts were frantic and rapid, hot breaths in sync with the pornographic sounds that emanated from your sucking. his large palm was wrapped around the back of your neck, controlling your posture. “ give me that sweet eyes again, and i will make them cry.”

he took so much pleasure in watching you swallow him hard, grunting every time he entered your throat hoping to relax it but causing the opposite effect. "'ot finished. take those balls too." he had pulled back to lift his painfully throbbing dick and place it against his stomach, you had started to lick them, letting your tongue work the entire surface, coating them with saliva. "feel? how full they are. they're gonna stuff you real bad. " you sucked on them when he pushed them directly into your mouth, making him let out throaty sounds. your mouth felt so good, he wondered if your pussy would be just as her.

between your legs, it was completely soaked. your sloppy slit dripping onto the floor. it wasn’t like rafe was ignoring that mess. he was just purely mesmerized by your lips, by the way you cupped his balls so well, and how his cock reacted to each of your licks.

you were definitely his best work. it was more than art, it was heavenly. he was incapable of not using you after creating you. he had his urges, and you had to respond to them.

he had started fisting his length, leaving you lapping at his genitals dangling above your face. the cum had gushed through the air, landing on you. he had rubbed his trailing tip on your cheeks, giving a new color to your skin.

he wondered if you were human enough to feel all this degradation. in a short movement, he had placed you in front of the standing mirror of the workshop, and had driven his body against yours. he spat into his hand before jerking off a little, pressing the head of his cock against your sticky dirty folds.

he placed his arm across your stomach, one hand gripping one of your breast, pressing it more firmly once lodged inside you and grunted as he felt how tight you were, how hard your pussy stretched in his path. thanks to the mirror, he could see each of your reactions, but above all, see your part pumped each of his inches. all his size had disappeared between your flowing walls.

your twitching cunt clenched around his girth, your canal squeezing him. his thrusts were merciless, burrowing into your soiled folds. rafe rocked his hips roughly, as his dick bullied your puffy core. he wondered how a loser like him could have created a goddess like you. and he was desperate to know if he could make you stupid, if his cock that destroyed and filled you was good enough for someone like you.

you had created a mess and frustration in him.

he was in love with the bouncing flesh on your tummy against his arm, your tits swaying when you took him. it was a grace.

he reached out and hit your spot every time he buried himself inside you, his face sank in your left shoulder. you could feel the strands of his hair against your skin, his mouth against your collarbone. you were his, he was fucking you like this. you were only alive when he touched you. you could feel his obsession and adoration in every thrusts, no matter how brutal they were. it was his way of showing you that you couldn't escape him and that you could never.

his rhythm was hard, as your pudgy tummy jiggled under his strong fingers who were digging into you. you were so giddy, fucked like a ragdoll not able to said if it was the butterflies that make your stomach spiraling, or that thick dick shoved inch by inch further into your messy slick. his other digits at your clit, massaging the small and eager bud. he was big enough to maneuver you and embraced your small frame with his muscular biceps.

you were too little, too fragile underneath him.

he was your creator, he gave you air but he could also take it away from you. you were completely dependent, not only you, but every crumb of your body. he was pounding into you with the inability to detach his cock from your fluffy pussy. he loved hearing your voice choked with tears and moans against his ear. it was a sweet melody, a symphony.

your body was perfect, straddling his, your skin slapping his. your lips gurgling around his fingers that you could no longer take without dropping them, because of his violent assaults. you drooled all over your mouth, struggling with the drool that splashed all over his hand.

you couldn't see anything anymore, it was blurry. you didn't even feel tired anymore, you felt like a stupid doll, unable to think and reflect, only able to take this cock nastily harassing you and stretching you violently.

with his muscular and heavy hand on your throat, he forced you to look at the mirror. there was something incredible and perfect in his hands, and you knew it from the moment he started sculpting you. they were so good and incredible, covered with veins that systematically bulged. they captured your belly fat well. “don’t hide this from me. it’s my property.”

he had harpooned your flesh between his fingers, making it move and hang down more as he fucked you senseless.

“if i shaped you like that, that meant i wanted you like that.” your tummy was caged in his grasp. “ i mean, look at that belly, it's all beauty, i swear.”

he had moved his hand to the lower part of your stomach, pressing that area of your skin, feeling his bulge farther in you. in this corner of the room, there was only you and him, only your whimpers against his fingers and the pleasure you felt. there was only this mirror that stared at you and reflected you in the darkness with the only light of the moon as a beacon.

you were divine, you had the perfect body of a goddess. and even having cum with you, even causing your third orgasm, he didn't want to pull out. it was as if he was afraid of the emptiness he expected after this. and maybe you too were dreading the emptiness inside you after he filled you up so well, your soaked pussy dripping with his cum, drooling all over the floor.

he had finally taken it out, his fingers entering you to collect his mixture and place it against your lips. “don’t let it go to waste.”

you had cleaned his fingers until they were pure again.

he had his eyes on you, like a human in front of art.

he still didn't realize. but he refused to let you escape. but it wasn't like you could. he had created a home here, all over this room and in you. he had established a domain in every inch of your skin. he only had to see you to know that you were his own creation.

you kissed him, slightly awkwardly but he made up for it with his mouth on yours. “you can’t abandon me.” he whispered. “i don’t want to abandon you.”

and it felt good to hear your words. you didn't know him well enough, or not really, to know how sick he was. but you felt grateful that he gave you life, because it was priceless. he had made you, and you were his.

“ what are you doing?” when you felt chains encircling your wrists, you weren’t sure if you liked it. "i really want to believe in you sweetheart but i also can't trust anyone. you have legs, you can run away from me but with this metal, you're stuck.”

“i don’t really like it…” you admitted and he replied “no one likes it but the difference is that you don’t really have a choice either. you're mine. your feelings, your body, your eyes, all of that is mine. even that pouty sweet face of yours. ”

you turned your head to let him know that you didn't appreciate it, and to give him the silent treatment. and he smiled. “it doesn't kill me, baby. you can pout. ”

you didn’t respond. "you really want to give me this treatment? maybe you really don't want me to be nice to you after all..."

he had smiled. “"okay...I'll give you what you want." he had disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with an object that you couldn't identify. " what is this ? "

"now, baby wants to talk...but it's a little too late, i'm making the rules here so...say hello to your new favorite toy. it's a gagball.”

you didn't feel it was useful until the ball went into your mouth and stopped you from speaking. you could only drool and grumble around the object.

"why that face, baby? that's not what you wanted? i swear you still look pretty. just quieter. i'm going to go to sleep. and tomorrow you'll show me how sorry you are for that attitude. you want to know if i would forgive you? maybe it would be too easy, you understand? you have all night to prepare excuses and they better please me because i can be even more creative than that to punish you. “

the next day he woke up in a good mood. and above all, you were always there.

he had picked up the bottle of water from his table, wondering if you were thirsty. but when he arrived in front of you, he changed his mind. he used it to wake you up.

"i'm so clumsy...sorry, baby." but there wasn't an ounce of regret in his voice so you knew he was joking. you learned to read his face.

“you know how sorry i am…” he added, facing your gaze.

“you’re not…”

"yes, right. such a clever baby. are you thirsty?”

" yes..."

“maybe if you show me how good and nice you are today, i can consider bringing you another bottle.”

"what do you want..."

“it’s not what i want, sweetheart. but what you will do to satisfy me. see the small difference ? ”

it had been several weeks, a month in fact, since the day of your creation. you had spent your time in this workshop, chained to this wall. you were only alone when rafe left, when he left you in the shadows.

in fact, he was clearly having fun with you. you were dependent on his affection, and he knew it. you reacted to the slightest attention he gave you, even the most mean and bad. but above all you were incapable of hating rafe cameron.

he had made you a magnificent creature, a living human, you would be even crueler than him if you hated him.

after all, you were his muse. he had the right to use you. that was also the thought he had drilled into your brain.

everything he did was for you. and you should be grateful.

but sometimes he wondered, if he killed you, would you come back to life? was there magic in you or was he just in a fucking wonderful dream? he did enough coke to get high for days but this time it lasted too long for it to be fake.

your relationship was strange because sometimes you felt loved, especially when he hugged you after being rough with you, his palm gently caressing your back. like any human, there was tenderness in him. he could be nice. he knew how to be one but that didn't mean he enjoyed being one. he just thought that if he was too mean, you would disappear.

and that was not something he could tolerate. during all this time spent with you, he had not learned, no, he had not succeeded, to live without you.

artists brought art to life, but art gave meaning to the artists' lives.

before you, he was alone.

he had prayed for you. he needed you. it was his final call.

rafe cameron fell in love with you before he created you, before he even imagined you.

and maybe that was why he was so mean to you, because he never knew love, so how can you blame him for not knowing if you loved him back or make fun of him?

he was pathetic, full of rage and violence. but you couldn't hate him, because you and him shared the same tears. the same pain.

he made you, and you made him. he was afraid and you were scared. you wanted someone to love you, and he wanted someone that could love him.

“ i swear, y/n. don't leave me alone. even when you looked away, you make me feel like a monster when i'm not. so please, do the same as me. ”

“ what ? ”

“ don't make me feel like somebody else exists. i'm the only world you can live in. ”

[drchucktingle]

Chuck, how do you deal with people who are rude about you and your work? I write queer romance and I want to put my writing out there for people to read, but I'm a very sensitive person and I know it will be hard not to take insults personally and let them affect me. I don't want to let that stop me from expressing myself and sharing my art, but I'm scared!

very good question buckaroo. i am a good example of this as pretty much EVERYONE was rude about my work for many years calling it 'so bad its good' (it is just good) and 'terrible photoshop' (i think it has a great and instantly recognizable style) and 'intentionally stupid premises' (i dont think there is anything stupid about sex being fun and whimsical and playful). even these days the reaction of the VAST majority of buckaroos who discover chuck have this reaction AT FIRST, and then learn to appreciate the tingleverse in a more sincere way over time.

all that is to say BEING DOUBTED HAS WORKED OUT VERY WELL FOR ME. art that changes meaning over time can be very powerful, so if someones initial reaction to my trot is one thing and then it evolves into another thing, well that is just good art. while it can feel bad to get a bad review, i would say a bad review just means you have entered a realm of tension and change and discord and WE ARE TALKIN ABOUT ART BUD so that, in itself, is very exciting.

i think of what i do as 'punk writing', and a big part of that means pushing against preconceived sensibilities. not many other authors will proudly say 'there SHOULD be some spelling errors in my erotic shorts because i wrote it in a day and edited it once. that is the FEELING i want to create', but that is my way. by creating what is in my soul i KNOW i am going to bother some buckaroos and that is okay.

now i am NOT assuming you are also doing punk writing (that is okay of course we all have our own styles. what i am doing with tinglers is pretty rare), but it still stands to remember that there are 7.8 billion people on the planet of this dang timeline and some of them are bound to be bothered by your creations. that is not a problem, that is just part of baring your authentic self.

the other thing to remember is theres no REAL right or wrong in art. it can be analyzed in different ways and i tend to look at it in a way of comparing intention to result, but even THAT is not strictly correct. therefore any bad review of something you make is not actually BAD it is just someones information and feedback for you to take or leave. a one star review is just another opinion, it is no more right or wrong than your own opinion, and that is wonderful. it is freeing.

if i see a bad review of my own book, lets just say CAMP DAMASCUS for instance, i do not get upset because i know this: that reviewer is not wrong. camp damascus is five stars for me, but it is one star for someone else AND THAT IS OK. THAT IS THE WAY IT SHOULD BE. THAT IS GREAT ART. also MAYBE THEY KNOW BETTER THAN I DO. just because i wrote the book does not mean i am the authority on it, and the conversation and tension between those that enjoy something and those that despise it is a creative act. the audience engaging with your work is just your art emerging from its cocoon and saying 'here i am. lets see where i flutter off to now'

do not fear the river of this timeline sweeping away your creations and carrying them where it will. this is inevitable, but it is also beautiful and freeing. you cannot swim against it and that is okay bud, because YOU HAVE ALREADY WON. you have already created something and given a piece of yourself back to this timeline and that is a great honor and privilege. it is literally all there is

by creating ANYTHING you are proving love is real, and that is something to be proud of

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Missing Piece

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Spencer is always leaving little gifts for you, mostly flowers that you use to brighten your apartment. There is always one flower missing, and you finally find out the reason why.

Square Filled: gift for @goodthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

This is one of those rare days when you wake up before your alarm. You had gone to bed early last night since Spencer went to bed early. He had a tough day at work, and since you don’t like to be up by yourself when someone is sleeping, you went to bed with him. Spencer is such a light sleeper that you’re afraid of making noise that will wake him. He barely gets enough sleep as it is.

You roll over in bed and bury your face in Spencer’s pillow. His side of the bed is cold since he left it to go to work a few hours ago. The blackout curtains do a really good job of keeping the light out so you don’t know if it’s barely sunrise or if the sun has been up for hours.

You get out of bed and peel the curtains back slowly to let in enough light for your eyes to adjust. You continue until the curtains are all the way open and the entire room is bright. Something Spencer loves doing is leaving little gifts for you like flowers or candy or your favorite coffee. This time, it’s a beautiful bouquet of flowers that’s sitting on the bedside table next to your phone. The bouquet consists of roses, sunflowers, and lilies that he most likely put together from the local flower shop down the street.

I hope these brighten your day. I love you so much - Spencer

You clutch the note in your hand with a smile and walk over to the closet. There is a box of every single letter Spencer has written you. You don’t throw anything out because you love keeping these little tokens of your relationship. The only thing you throw out that he has given you are the flowers.

You take the bouquet and walk to the kitchen to separate them into smaller bouquets that you can put all over the house. There are six spots where you put flowers to give the rooms a bit of color, so you remove the old ones and put the new ones in. However, there is always just one left over because Spencer never gives you a full bouquet. He always gives you eleven flowers instead of twelve.

You’re not sure why but you never ask him. You’re just grateful to get flowers.

You and Spencer always schedule lunch together unless he’s on an active case, and the B Team is in the field for this week. To pass the time, you get started on your morning chores. You want Spencer to come home to a clean house. He works hard so that you don’t have to. It’s not that you’re incapable of getting a job or unable to hold one down, you just love being a stay-at-home wife.

It gives you the opportunity to work on your art. You love sewing, embroidering, and knitting anything you can get your hands on. You have your own Etsy shop that you make things for, and a lot of people on Facebook Marketplace want to buy your items. By not having a normal nine-to-five job, it gives you plenty of time to work on your craft. You have a bunch of commissions to work on so after your morning chores, you get to work on one of them. Once you get in the zone, it’s easy to make two hours feel like ten minutes.

Around lunchtime, you set your work aside and get ready in something light and flowing. It’s a nice day outside and you don’t want to be stuck wearing jeans and a T-shirt. You take public transportation to work since Spencer took the car this morning, and you reach the BAU in thirty minutes. The receptionist knows you by heart so she checks you in with a visitor badge before you go to the elevator.

JJ and Derek pass by with files in their hands when you enter the bullpen, and they both smile at you.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“I’m taking Spencer to lunch. Do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, he’s in Hotch’s office. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

They walk off and you approach his desk. Everything is neat and in order, not to your surprise. You sit down and twirl around before spotting a single rose on his desk. It’s the same color rose as the one that was in the bouquet he gave you this morning.

“Hey, I’m ready to go.”

“Is that the missing flower from my bouquet this morning? Which, I loved by the way. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I keep one on my desk so I know when it’s time to get you a new bouquet.” The feeling of love floods your body at the simple gesture. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m always ready,” you grin.

He kisses the top of your head and leads you out of the BAU. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for this man and clearly, he feels the same.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[jobean12-blog]

Rooted in Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Plant!Dad Bucky and he's beefy!)

Word Count: 1,740

Summary: You and Bucky run into each other (literally) while plant shopping.

Author's Note: So a few days ago a friend shared the amazing art done by @nalonzooo and I immediately fell in love with her plant!dad bucky! Please go check out her page, it will just make you so happy! Her art was the inspo for this story and will be for the rest of this Universe- which I already plan to do more of! Thank you all so much for reading and thank you @nalonzooo for sharing your beautiful work! And thank you to my lovely friends @witchywithwhiskey @vonalyn and @biteofcherry for your support and help! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰

Warnings: Fluffy sweet fluff, plants and Alpine!

You hand the money to the cashier with a smile and gently cradle your new plant to your body before walking off toward the car. You’re not paying attention to where you’re going because you’re looking down and cooing over your new friend, a spider plant, whom you’ve aptly named Spidey.

Suddenly the sun goes out of view and a shadow falls over you just before you walk straight into what feels like a wall.

“Oof, shit,” you mutter, juggling your spider plant and thankfully managing to hold on to it. “I’m sorry!” you quickly add, now looking up.

You can barely see the person behind all the green leaves and fronds but you do hear a deep voice say, “no doll, I’m sorry! I can barely see where I’m going and should probably have gotten a cart. Are you ok?”

Your giggle escapes without warning but you assure him you’re fine.

“Um, do you want some help? I only have one plant so I can take one or two off your hands.”

He stands there for a moment, clearly contemplating you’re offer. “You know what, that would be great!” he says finally. “Can you grab the two smaller ones here.”

His body shifts so you can take two plants that are resting precariously on his forearm.

“Sure!”

You reach over and carefully take them from him, revealing something you were not at all expecting. 

There’s a fluffy white cat curled up in the crook of his arm, it’s blue eyes peering at you with curiosity.

“Oh how cute!” you squeal.

Plant guy chuckles. “That’s Alpine. He’s very friendly so you can say hi if you want.”

Your hand immediately shoots out to rub Alpine gently on the head and then scratch behind his ears.

“He’s so sweet and handsome,” you gush.

After several moments spent doting on Alpine you realize poor plant guy is still standing there holding way too many plants.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “I’m sorry! You’re totally standing here waiting to go to your car and carrying a whole forest and here I am just petting your cat like it’s nothing.”

“It’s really ok doll,” he says. “I appreciate the help and Alpine loves the attention.”

You try to peek around the large leaves to get a look at this guy’s face but you can’t really make out more than a black hat and the outline of a dark shadow of hair lining his sculpted jaw.

But when he says, “my car is just over here,” and he starts walking to the parking lot you get a better glimpse of the rest of him and can’t help the way your breath hitches.

“Damn…” you whisper to yourself.

He’s tall, with long thick legs and broad shoulders and an ass you already want to grab hold of.

“Well,” he starts. “My keys are in my back pocket and uh…”

You put the plants you’re holding down onto the pavement and hold out your hands. “Here give me a couple more this way you can free up a hand.”

“Good idea,” he says with a chuckle. “I was about to ask you to reach into my pocket but that wouldn’t be appropriate before at least a date right?”  

You bite your lip to stifle your laugh, thinking that you wouldn’t have minded at all.

As you take three more plants from him you get a clear view of his face and you can’t help but stare.

Sparkling blue eyes meet yours, framed by long, dark lashes and as your gaze sweeps over the rest of his face you realize he’s literally gorgeous.

“Hi,” you say far too breathily.                                                                                

“Hey doll,” he answers with a megawatt smile but seemingly oblivious to your obvious appreciation as he opens the trunk and starts to place the plants down.

As he’s lightening the load of foliage Alpine starts to crawl up his arm until he’s settled comfortably on his shoulder.

Once his hands are free he extends one to you. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you repeat, then give him your name. “How did you get that from James?”

He huffs out a laugh. “James Buchanan Barnes is my full name and my family shortened the middle and stuck with it.”

“That makes sense then,” you say lightly.

“Thanks again for the help. I’d probably still be wandering around the parking lot looking for my car if it weren’t for you,” he admits, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

“Glad I could help,” you say, meaning it. “You must have a lot of space for all these.”

You sweep your arm out, motioning to his trunk full of plants.

“Yeah, well…I mean sorta. It’s kinda gettin’ like a Tetris game, but I’ll make it work.”

He looks down at your feet, just now noticing your plant.

“I see you got a spider plant,” he says. “New plant parent?”

You nod before starting to bend down and pick it up. He stops you with a soft hand to your shoulder. “I’ll get it and let me walk you to your car at least.”

He grabs the plant and you see Alpine cling tighter to his shirt and shoulder. A few strands of hair fall loose from his hat and around his ear and when he stands again Alpine starts batting at them.

You cover your mouth, hoping your giggle won’t be heard but Bucky narrows his eyes playfully before explaining, “this cat is a menace.”

“Does he behave around all your plants?” you ask. “I bet they’re fun to bat around.”

You start to walk toward your car which is on the other side of the parking lot, chatting as you go.

“Actually, he does. I rescued him when he was just a kitten and started collecting plants around the same time so he’s used to them and knows he’s not allowed to mess around.”

You reach up and give Alpine a soft pat, cooing at him before you continue.

“I really hope I don’t kill this one,” you sigh, now glancing over at Spidey. “I love plants but they don’t love me.”

“That was me too,” he tells you. “It actually took me two spider plants before I got the hang of it. I still feel bad about the first two.”

“This is my third,” you say quietly, making a face. “Third plant. Not spider plant specifically. But to be fair the first two were definitely not starter plants. I don’t know what I was thinking…well, I do. They were really pretty, with these beautiful flowers- I love flowers- and I wanted them so…”

“I get it doll,” he says, “we all like pretty things.”

He looks at you, holding your stare and when you smile knowingly you see the pink creep along his cheeks again.

“So how many plants do you have?” you ask with a smirk.

“Umm,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s see…I mean there’s the kitchen and that’s probably one, two, three, four…and then the living room…one, two, three, four, five…” he continues on, talking mostly to himself as he counts and lifts his left hand to finish.

You notice he’s wearing a leather glove and when he’s done getting his final count he looks from you to where your eyes are focused.

“So if I’m counting right that’s over twenty-five plants,” he says sheepishly. “And uh…old war injury.” He twinkles the fingers on his left hand at you with a lopsided smirk.

“A plant connoisseur and a war hero,” you say, hoping your tone comes off as genuine as you mean it. “And you have the best cat!”

He brightens at your words and tugs Alpine from his shoulder, cradling him in the crook of his arm. His tight Henley does nothing to hide the bulge of his bicep and the best you can do is try to focus on how cute the cat is so you don’t blurt out any of the lascivious thoughts racing through your mind.

“He is the best cat!” Bucky boasts.

Bucky leans closer to you, as if he’s telling you a deep, dark secret, his voice low. “I have this plant on my balcony that attracts a lot of butterflies and he’s so good that he won’t even try to swat at them. He just sits on my chair and watches them all afternoon! But never goes after one.”

“Best. Cat. Ever.” You proclaim, scratching under Alpine’s chin. “And I bet they are beautiful to watch.”

“If you love flowers you’d love the plants on my balcony!” he says excitedly. “It’s like a rainbow. And I have this indoor desert rose plant that’s just incredible and my gardenia’s not only look amazing but they smell amazing too.”

Your smile only grows as he continues chattering on about all his flowering plants but he must realize he’s been rambling because he suddenly trails off and his eyes get wide.

“Oh man,” he stammers. “Shit, doll. I’m sorry. That was a lot.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“I don’t mind at all,” you tell him honestly. “I think it’s wonderful. Actually, I’m hoping you can give me some tips to keep Spidey alive.”

You pat the plant pot and then delicately rub one of the long, thin leaves.

“Spidey,” he says with a big smile. “I love that. And I name mine too.”

“Phew,” you say. “Thought I was going to be the weird one on that.”

“Tell you what,” he says. “I’d love to help you keep Spidey alive but only if you agree to meet me for coffee this weekend.”

You tap your finger to your chin, pretending to think it over. “What do you think Alpine?”

The cat blinks at you then meows loudly.

“He said you should,” Bucky interjects. “That was definitely a yes.”

“In that case, definitely a yes,” you say.

“That’s great doll!” Bucky replies with a grin. “How about Saturday?”

“Sounds perfect.”

After you exchange numbers and agree on a coffee shop between your two apartments you say goodbye.

“Thanks again for your help and I’m really looking forward to our coffee date,” he says, then clamps his mouth shut.

He stares at you with wide eyes again. “I uh…I didn’t mean date…what I meant was…”

“It’s ok,” you say softly, stepping closer and kissing his cheek. “I’m looking forward to our date too.”

@randomfandompenguin @book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @sebstanwhore @goldylions @littleseasiren @kmc1989 @lookiamtrying

[egcdeath]

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate. 

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite. 

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly. 

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else. 

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her. 

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation. 

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now. 

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.  

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar. 

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating. 

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you. 

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters. 

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda. 

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch. 

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man. 

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before. 

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone. 

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning. 

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money. 

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city. 

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous. 

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats. 

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw. 

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity. 

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time. 

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters. 

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could. 

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too. 

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give. 

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that. 

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world. 

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family. 

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day. 

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all. 

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered. 

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship. 

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him. 

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building. 

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree. 

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it. 

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support. 

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him. 

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father. 

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters. 

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this. 

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself. 

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man. 

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive. 

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry. 

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend. 

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you. 

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner. 

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him. 

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you. 

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless. 

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh. 

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time. 

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless. 

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye. 

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away. 

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away. 

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in. 

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her. 

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal. 

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good. 

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you. 

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital. 

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him. 

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him. 

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep. 

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged. 

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included. 

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict. 

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people. 

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt. 

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you. 

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so. 

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up. 

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you. 

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands. 

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head. 

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all. 

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins. 

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk. 

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation. 

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear. 

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine. 

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately. 

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him. 

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered. 

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner. 

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously. 

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so. 

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car. 

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting. 

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either. 

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours. 

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him. 

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him. 

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed. 

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?” 

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend. 

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on. 

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised. 

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was. 

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story. 

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box. 

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles. 

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him. 

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did. 

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense. 

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship. 

[purplephloxpress]

Another year, another Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day!!!! If you are a writer of fanfic, please know just how appreciated you are!! Fandom would be such a different space without your creativity and labors of love. 💜

Holidays are all about making traditions, and the bookbinding friends with @renegadeguild once again came together to bind copies of fics for their authors as a show of our appreciation. This year I had the absolute joy of binding Emergency Help Wanted by the wonderful @piyo-13 and even got to collaborate with her on some of the design elements! It's a Modern AU Jiang Cheng/Lan Xichen fic that starts with a "help wanted" ad.

EMERGENCY HELP WANTED

I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.

Ok. So. I may have gone a little feral with this one. Online "help wanted" ad spiraled into loading wheel scene dividers, spiraled into fake Google search result headers, spiraled into FULLY committing to those authentic looking text messages. In full color. (There are so many. I typeset in MS Word. It was SO worth it, but god what a struggle at some points.) And don't forget the "recent searches" title page! Or the computer cutout on the cover! (It's bluescreening, just like Lan Xichen through this entire fic!) Also that cover/title page image that I just kept adding details to. (It's supposed to be Lan Xichen's desk, so it simply didn't feel right until it had sticky notes on the computer, #1 dad on the mug, scissors and measuring tape, scribbles on the sticky notes) Did I have a ton of fun designing this one? Perhaps. Couldn't say. Maybe just a tad. (This is a lie I had an ABSOLUTE BLAST!)

Historically, I've waited until I finish at least the typeset before reaching out to the author, but not so with this one! I got the idea for the fake google search results from Piyo's authors notes, teasing the contents of the next chapter. But! Those didn't start until about chapter 4! So I reached out and asked if we could collaborate and I'm forever glad I did! Not only does this have teasers for each chapter, I also got to bounce design ideas off of her, including what shade of blue and purple for the text messages. Because my friends, that is a serious matter and changed SEVERAL times throughout the process.

Also shoutout to all my Renegade friends who gave input and encouragement over the past year while I worked on this (what endpages to use? how to make this shade of green perfectly Nie Huaisang? how do we feel about this text message design? or how about this one?) - I love you all dearly and appreciate you so much for putting up with my nonsense at all times.

Binding details below the cut!

Fandom: The Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi

Pairing: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin / Lan Huan | Lan Xichen

Bookcloth: Aqua/Purple Dubletta from Colophon Book Arts

Endpapers: Craft Consortium Ink Drops - Ocean pack

Textblock paper: short grain cream from Church Paper

Titling: We R Memory Keepers foil quill

Endbands: leather cording core, DMC embroidery floss for the bands

Body Font: EB Garamond

Title Font: Berlin Sans FB

Text Messages: Roboto

Additional fonts: Times New Roman, Kunstler Script, Magis Authentic

Title page image from Rawpixel and designed in Canva

Various computer graphics from The Noun Project

Tumblr insists on eating and doubling text in this section at its own whim, so if there's something missing that you're curious about, feel free to DM me an ask!

[the-peak-tmnt]

Hey The Neon Void readers, quick update from the author's sister!

(art commission by @kaysdenofchaos)

Hi readers of The Neon Void fanfic. This is the author’s older sister. She’s been getting a lot of fan art and asks lately. She’s sent me screenshots of a few unanswered ones looking for advice on how to respond.

While all the love and support of TNV is genuinely appreciated, my sister @sugarpasteltmnt is not equipped to respond to a small handful of these asks/comments that are, quite frankly, inappropriate.

Sugarpastels is not a therapist, and she’s certainly not an internet stranger’s therapist.

She’s an adult with an extremely demanding and stressful job for a very large client. Some of you have already experienced and enjoyed her work IRL without knowing it. Her company is close to finishing another project that will bring a lot of joy to hundreds of thousands of people every year, but working on a project of that scale is extremely stressful.

She is writing this fanfic for fun. TNV is a way for her to decompress and put her creative energy towards something other than work.

What’s not fun is coming home to asks/comments from readers who are projecting their own struggles/mental health onto TNV, and even Sugarpastels herself, and demanding some sort of attention from her over it.

Let’s be real: it’s fun to watch our blorbos suffer! So much of fandom is just us putting our favorite characters in Situations because it’s fun. Simple as that. But I think another reason TNV has resonated so strongly with readers is because of the way Sugarpastels writes the internal struggles of these characters.

We are both aware that TNV deals with mental health topics. Since the early days of “modern” fandom, fanfiction has been a way for people to explore complicated, difficult and sometimes even taboo subjects. There’s no shortage of complex feelings being explored in TNV, which is why we’re all having so much fun reading it.

But that’s all it is; an exploration. Sugarpastels is not a mental health expert. I’ve read a handful of books on PTSD and mindfulness for research while writing my own fanfic, and I would never consider myself prepared to help someone else.

It’s okay if you relate to things from TNV. I know I do! Again, fanfic has always been a way to read about things rarely dealt with (or handled poorly) in published fiction/tv shows/movies. I will always argue one of the greatest things about fanfiction and other fanworks is being able to see ourselves and our own struggles through our favorite fictional characters.

But Sugarpastels is not a fictional character. She’s a real person. Most importantly (to me at least) she’s my little sister, and this big sister cannot handle watching some of her readers expect more of her than is appropriate.

So I’m asking you to please be mindful of what you ask/say to not just her, but literally everyone on the internet. Unless you’re chatting with someone regularly, they do not know you. Whether it’s friends, family, teachers, coaches, etc, there are people in your life who know you personally, and are therefore better equipped to help you than a stranger on the internet.

Sugarpastels is so full of empathy that it’s hard to not feel for you when you send things like this. But it just isn’t fair to put that kind of unnecessary pressure on someone who is, at the end of the day, just trying to have some fun writing about ninja turtles bein’ sad.

(That being said, PLEASE DON’T BE SCARED TO SEND HER ASKS AND FAN ART!!! They make her day every single time and are seriously so, so appreciated. She’s texting me about it constantly how much she loves all of TNV’s readers. This whole post is really directed at an extremely small percentage of her readers, but there have been enough I felt something needed to be said.)

[shadowkoo]

Just Dance It Off

→ Summary: You're over the moon when you land the female lead in the end-of-semester show. It feels like your hard work has finally paid off, everything is going great. Well, until you learn who your partner is…

↠ jimin x f.reader | 9.5k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, angst, fluff, ballet dancers au, enemies to lovers, performing arts college au

→ Warnings: explicit and unprotected sex, jealousy, masturbation, alcohol consumption, underage drinking, use of fake ID, mild exhibitionism, creampie, hair pulling, angry sex, nipple play, degradation, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple smut scenes, heavy teasing & banter, edging, orgasm denial, light choking

→ Author Note: This is a rewrite of an old 2019 fic of mine, so I hope you enjoy the newest version! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! Also a biiiiiiig thank you so Sarah @caelesjjk for beta editing this for me. Go show her some love if you aren't already following her! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

“Oh, no,” you hear one of the dancers behind you whisper to another, “Look who’s walking in.”

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you casually stretch, your eyes betraying you by glancing over your shoulder toward the door, dying to see who they’re talking about. You recognize him almost immediately and the whispers continue to grow about the slender male who is walking across the room to set his stuff down.

Park Jimin.

Of course, he would be auditioning for this show. It’s his final semester, and you really should have seen this coming. Especially since you knew he was bound to get whatever position he was auditioning for. That’s a given.

Park Jimin always gets whatever he wants in life; whether that be a specific role in a performance, who his performance partners are both on the stage…and in the bedroom, that sort of thing. He’s the most pretentious person you’ve ever met, seeing as he acts like he is God’s gift to the dance world, and you’re already dreading any interaction you’ll have with him.

Rumor has it that his daddy, former dancer and sponsor, paid his way into Juilliard, but as much as you hate to admit it, he (unfortunately) happens to be very talented and you doubt the school didn’t already have something lined up for him, regardless of who his family is. Unlike you, who was on the waitlist for two months and had to take out a loan worth more than your life to attend this school.

Your eyes meet his and Jimin does a once-over before moving onto the people to your left. What a prick.

“Y/N!” a voice yells from the entryway. Your familiar, freckled, redheaded best friend is quickly prancing towards you.

“I’m so happy to see you here,” Catalina squeals before hugging you tightly. “What part are you auditioning for? Please tell me it’s lead. God, I miss you. It sucks that we don’t have any classes together this semester. How are you?”

You hug your petite friend back, “I miss you too! Please tell me that you’re not also auditioning for lead, I don’t want to be judged against you. Your pirouettes are perfect compared to my lousy ones.”

Her laugh echoes through the room. “Apparently you didn’t hear about my recent tumble,” she jokes, bumping her shoulder into yours. “I’ll gladly be in the background after my solo-gone-wrong.”

“Alright, everyone!” One of the male judges calls out, walking past the lineup of dancers to collect everyone’s entry form. “We’ll start with the routine you were required to memorize as a group, and then it will be individual evaluations after. Make sure your numbers are secured and let’s line up outside the door.”

After taking your place and getting into position with the rest of the packed room, you wait for the cue to begin. The routine is short and simple, and years of practice have made some of the required moves second nature.

Before you know it, the judges are escorting people out the door for the individual sessions.

You're about twentieth in line, right behind Cat. That makes you a bit nervous because, even though she’s not auditioning for the lead role, her impressive skills might land her a more prominent part than the one she’s aiming for.

Everyone else is quietly chatting in line while you do your best to relax, working through your routine in your mind. This is one of your pre-audition rituals. It always helps with easing your nerves.

By the time you finish running through a couple of full-outs in your head, you’re second in line. You wish Cat good luck as she’s ushered into the dance studio. Her five minutes go by almost too quickly, but she exits with a happy smile.

“Hey, good luck! Kill it, okay?”

You nod, quickly following after the woman who calls your name next.

“Miss Y/N, it says here that you’re auditioning for the female lead. As a sophomore?” Mr. Jenson, one of your dance professors and judge, questions. You prepared for this. It’s very uncommon for an underclassman to try out for such a prestigious role.

“Yes, sir. That’s correct.” You hold your head high.

“Well, I have to say I’m quite impressed with your confidence. Whenever you’re ready.”

You wait for the familiar beginning notes of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz Of The Flowers to play before flying effortlessly through your well-practiced routine. You’re banking on the emotional state of your dancing along with the technical moves you’ve included to impress the judges, and based on their faces when you finish, you figure you did just that. You can’t help but grin widely as you watch the four of them scribble furiously onto the sheets of paper. That’s a really good sign.

“I have to say, I was a little thrown off in the beginning by your song choice since it’s so, hmm, how do I say this, so amateur. But I was very surprised by what you chose to express and the level at which you dance,” the first judge says.

“Yes, the lines you created with your body were very exquisite,” another praises.

You nodded, taking in their advice and criticism.

“Thank you, Miss Y/N, you may exit.” Mr. Jenson says with a smile.

As soon as you step out the door and exhale, you feel a sense of relief. The excitement of your successful audition courses through you, filling you with good energy.

You find Cat stretching in the warm-up room next door.

“Oh my god, you got it. Didn’t you?” She squeals the second she sees your face.

“I don’t know…” You have a pretty good idea based on their responses and comments but aren’t positive.

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “That’s your ’I just nailed my audition’ face. You totally got it.”

“I hope so. God, wouldn’t that be so insane? When was the last time an underclassman got the lead?”

Someone behind you scoffs; you look over your shoulder and see that it’s Jimin. Your eyes narrow at him, but Cat turns you back before you go off on him. “Not worth it, the rest of us seniors think it’s great that you’re trying for a top spot. How about we go get a drink from the vending machine while we wait?”

You nod before grabbing your warm-up bag and follow her out. “I can’t believe him. He’s so stuck up,” You grumble once you’re far enough away that no one but Cat can hear you.

“He’s always like that, just be thankful that you don’t share any classes with him.”

You’ve heard that Jimin is usually the center of attention in class, whether it’s his choice or not, so you can’t imagine being stuck in one with him. It sounds like it would be impossible to get good feedback if the teachers only care about him.

After you both buy the drinks that you want, you head back. The line is smaller but it will still be at least a half-hour until everyone has had their turn. You sigh impatiently and head back into the warm-up room.

Deciding to sit along the mirrored wall, you rummage through your bag to find a pair of headphones and put your favorite playlist on shuffle while you wait. Even though it feels like half the day goes by while you’re sitting there waiting, it’s really only been about an hour.

Everyone’s attention lands on Madam Jamie, one of the contemporary dance professors, when she asks everyone to re-enter the audition room.

“Okay,” she starts once everyone gets in line, “Those whose numbers I am about to call, please step forward. Dancers eleven, one fifty-three, one forty-seven, seventeen, thirty-eight, twenty-two, and one ten.”

Cat gives you a concerned look as she steps forward without you.

“Seventy-two, fifteen, sixty-eight, thirty, thirty-four, eighty-two, one twenty-one–” you step forward and sigh in relief once she spoke your number. Tuning out the rest of the numbers called, you smile at Cat as she reaches for your hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Everyone else, I’m sorry to inform you that you have not been selected. Thank you for your time,” She finishes, resting her clipboard against her chest.

Those who didn’t make the cut are escorted out as Mr. Jenson stands up to make an announcement.

“I have everyone’s part listed here,” He shakes the paper in his hand. “It’ll be left on this table for you all to look over. However, I want to first congratulate you all. We are excited to have this much talent for the semester’s exhibition show. We have some great things planned and cannot wait to get started with you all. Please take note of our rehearsal schedule. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Eight to noon. Most of you should not have conflicting schedules as all dance classes are held in the afternoon anyway, although if you do have a problem just stay after and we can work it out. Madam Jamie and I will see you back here Monday morning. Dismissed.”

You and Cat both wait until more people clear out of the room before you have the guts to read the paper.

Catalina Wilde - Corps de ballet

Your eyes wander across the page as you search for your name.

Y/N - Lead Female Soloist

Turning towards each other, you squeal “Oh my god,” at the same time.

“I can’t believe it. We both got what we wanted,” you excitedly rush out.

“I know, this never happens. Oh, I’m so excited!” She reaches for your hand and squeezes it again, picking up the paper with her other hand.

“Oh, no.” She turns the paper towards you, “Look who your partner is.”

Park Jimin - Lead Male Soloist

You huff, “Of course, I’m not surprised.” You turn your head and search the mostly-empty room for him. You have a feeling he’s still here, it’s like you can sense his presence.

“Cat! You coming?” the group of dancers near the door asks.

“Shoot, I’ve got to head to my next session. I’ll see you later, okay?” Cat says, giving you a quick hug as she runs out the door.

Leaving just you and Jimin.

Deciding to let go of your prejudice against Jimin, you figure the best move would be to congratulate him on getting the part he auditioned for.

He watches blankly from the mirrored wall as you walk towards him.

Once in front of him, you stick your hand out. “Hey congrats, I’m looking forward to–” you begin before he rudely cuts you off by holding up his hand.

“Yeah, whatever,” he sneers, “We need to take this extremely seriously so I expect you to be at our rehearsals an hour early so we can get in extra time,” he looks you over again, “From what I can tell you’re gonna need it.”

“Also,” apparently he isn’t finished, “I expect that you’ll be taking care of your diet from here on out since I’m going to be lifting you and I don’t want my arms to give out, or worse, snap.”

“Well, you can always go to the gym and work on that yourself,” you say defensively. What a jerk.

“So can you, sweetheart.”

“Uh, wow. Okay…” Here you are trying to congratulate him and here he is treating you like dirt. “Guess the rumors are true,” you mutter as you shift your duffel strap further up your shoulder, turning to leave.

“Excuse me?” Well, shit. He wasn’t supposed to hear that part. You look him in the eyes without showing any regret for your previous statement.

His eyes narrow at you, clearly not liking your RBF, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Sorry.” However, you aren’t.

“You know,” he remarks, “I don’t care about what you’ve heard about me or what you think about me. I care if you’re going to be too immature for this role and if that’s the case I’ll have no trouble replacing you.” He follows you out the audition room.

Oh boy, you’re pissed now. You turn around and get right in his face.

“What the fuck? In case you haven’t noticed, you aren’t in charge here. Just because you’re a senior and I’m a sophomore doesn’t make you any better than me,” you bark while shoving a finger in his chest.

“Secondly, I don’t need to believe the rumors because you’ve just proven them to be true. You’re an ass to all of your partners to the point that they don’t want to dance with you so you can,” you lift up your hands to finger quote this next part, “Pick who you think is good enough.”

You scoff, “Well, here’s a fun fact dickwad. I’m not going anywhere. The judges chose me and I fully intend on dancing as the female lead in the show. So get the fuck over yourself ‘cause you’re about to be seeing a lot of me in these next few months. Got it?“

"Fine,” he huffs, pushing past you.

“Fine!” you snap, turning away from him and heading towards your next class. Now that you're thoroughly annoyed and not in the mood for your next class, which happens to be a two-hour lecture on the history of interpretive dance, you sigh and get moving before you’re late.

The first two weeks of ‘rehearsals’ are spent training, just at a higher level than you’re used to. However, you hide it well. You’ve been making sure to keep up with the upperclassmen because you know that you are, unfortunately, replaceable if Madam Jamie or Mr. Jenson deems it necessary.

It doesn’t matter that your thighs feel like they are on fire, or that your calves might be ripping at every bend and arch you make. You’re going to complete the one hundred pliés just like everyone else without a single complaint.

Jimin must have taken your last conversation to heart, or he’s exceptionally good at masking his feelings if your words bothered him, because he’s been an excellent partner all week. Although, you know you aren’t going to grow a typical relationship with him as you did with all of the other partners you have had over the years. You’ve been friends, good friends, even, with your previous partners, something you know is never going to happen with Jimin.

He doesn’t do small talk. He really doesn’t have much to say at all other than pointing out when you are making a mistake. No good comments, nor praise–not that you’re expecting any–but it would have been nice to hear him say that he is impressed with how well you’re keeping up with him.

It’s Friday of the second week, which means that it’s the last day of the training period aka hell week, thankfully. You’re dying to get started on learning the actual program. You aren’t looking forward to Jimin’s request of showing up an hour earlier than everyone else this next week, but even though you hate to admit it, the extra time will end up benefiting you.

Today also happens to be the day the choreographer is coming in. You’ve heard the whispers throughout the school this week, everyone trying to guess who it’s going to be.

And after seeing who Madam Jamie walks into the studio with, you’re so happy to see that they were all wrong.

“O-oh my–ohmygod,” you bumble and did a double-take. It couldn’t be, could it?

The brown curls hung gorgeously on the tall man’s head and you internally drool at how much better looking he is in person. He’s so tan, so fit, so delicious–

“Can you concentrate?” Jimin grumbles in annoyance, pulling you out of your slightly inappropriate thoughts. You’re doing partner stretches, which does require some level of focus, but not enough that you have to look away from the literal Italian God who stood a mere six feet away. “What’s your deal anyway? We’re supposed to be preparing our muscles for the toughest training session yet and you’re over there stuttering like a fool.”

You scoff at him and lower your voice, “Don’t you know who that is?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Does it look like I care?” He mutters, pushing the backside of your thigh towards your torso.

“You can’t be serious,” you exasperate. “That’s Luca Black! You know, one of the most famous choreographers in the dance world right now. I can’t believe you don’t see how big of a deal this is.”

“The only thing I care about right now is making sure your hamstrings are loose so you don’t kick me in the face when we’re dancing.”

Now there’s an idea…

“Alright, everyone! Front and center please,” Mr. Jenson announces as he walks in the door, right on time as usual.

“Dancers, I would like you to meet Mr. Black, your choreographer. I expect you all to treat him with the same level of respect that you give me and Madam Jamie.”

“Oh please,” Mr. Black says, stepping forward, “You can all call me Luca.” His smile hits the heart of every girl in the class, and even a few of the guys. “I am looking forward to working with you all to make this performance one to remember. Can we get into a lineup to start?”

Everyone moves into the typical sequence based on each person’s position of where they belong. Which meant that you and Jimin were dead center with Luca’s eyes right on you.

You swallow slowly when he walks towards the two of you. “You must be Y/N. Mr. Jenson has told me quite a lot about you. I have to say, I am most excited to work with a dancer like you.”

Jimin is perplexed that Luca went straight to you. If anything, he’s the better dancer here and he doesn’t quite understand why a sophomore is getting so much attention. He’s nearly sick to his stomach listening to the nauseating conversation that you two are having.

“It’s an honor to have you working with us Mr. Black,” you say in awe as you shake his hand.

“Luca,” he corrects before lifting your hand to kiss it, “And the pleasure is most definitely all mine.”

“Sorry,” you pant, rushing through the door. “I know I’m a couple of minutes late. I couldn’t find parking. Why is it so freaking busy? It’s barely seven.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Jimin says ignoring your question. You bite your tongue and get straight into your morning stretches.

“What do you want to work on today?” you ask, knowing what he is going to say after you’re warmed up. For the past three weeks, you and Jimin have been dedicating extra time to perfecting scene two's Pas De Deux.

It’s the only section of this scene where you’re both completely alone on stage and Jimin is dead-set on making it nothing less than perfect. He reasons that just because you are the only two people on stage doesn’t mean that the audience’s attention is a given, you need to earn it.

Which is a very on-brand thing for Jimin to say.

“Do you really need to ask?” He snickers with a playful smile plastered to his face.

“Nevermind then,” you banter back, joining him as he finishes stretching.

You’ve surprisingly gotten pretty comfortable with Jimin after spending more time with him. Dancing with him is mostly fun, besides when he calls you out on your mistakes…repeatedly. But even then, you know he tries to mean well. You both have to be the best or the other will end up looking like a fool–which (you assume) neither of you want to happen.

Knowing that you’re almost halfway through the semester is a little terrifying. All the dancers have been making great progress and everything is coming together seamlessly, but you can’t help but feel the nervousness set in.

You take a deep breath and clear your thoughts, getting nervous right now will do you no good. Thankfully, when you start dancing your mind settles and you’re able to concentrate on your performance. 

Well, that is, until Jimin drops you during the lift. You might have understood the mistake if he hadn’t done it three times prior.

“Get up.” He holds his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet. “We need to get this number down, you know how important it is.”

“I’m aware of that,” you hiss. “But it would be nice if you weren’t letting me fall every two seconds.” You rub your aching side and stretch to see if that helps ease the pain.

“Just dance it off, you’ll be fine.” Jimin walks over to his stuff along the wall, before bending down to grab his water bottle.

You scowl. “Stop being ridiculous and hold me properly. I don’t have teeth anywhere down there,” you say motioning to the space between your legs. “You can put your hand where it belongs without worry, you know.”

Jimin blushes as soon as he hears your words, he turns away quickly before you notice. Yes, it’s technically his fault that you keep falling. It isn’t intentional, but he can’t help it. Especially when he can feel the warmth of your center from where his hand is resting when he goes in for the lift.

The thought of other parts of him being this close to your heat is driving him crazy and yeah, he may have faltered, which yeah, may have caused you to crash down once…twice. Okay, maybe three times. Or four?

It doesn’t matter. He’s so hyper-focused on why he’s thinking about you like this at all. You’re attractive, he already knew that. But this new-found thought of wanting to take you hard and fast, right here in the studio is something else. It comes from deep within, and he can’t decide if he wants to squash the idea completely or let it lead to something wild.

Jimin shakes his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts just long enough for you to both get through these next ten minutes before the rest of the crew arrives for rehearsal. “Alright, let’s go again.”

You get into position, Jimin falling behind you. You try to hold still but his breath tickles your neck while you wait for the music cue.

The motions are practically natural to you at this point, and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself in case you fall again.

You rapidly suck in air when you feel Jimin’s fingers press deep into your inner thigh this time as he lifts you. They are incredibly close, much closer than they were last time.

You won’t ever admit to it, but your mind is overflowing with dirty thoughts of Jimin’s fingers somewhere else. Particularly somewhere that would have you writhing within seconds.

Those thoughts are distracting, and you’re late for your cue to jump down. And somehow instead of jumping, your body twists around in a weird way as your head dives down toward the ground below you. Tensing, you brace for the impact that doesn’t come.

Unexpectedly, Jimin manages to catch you before any damage happens, and he quickly pulls you up, as if you were never upside down to begin with. His arms are wrapped right below your butt, causing your head to be directly above his. How on earth it got there, you have no idea.

But you aren’t questioning it. Adrenaline runs wild through your body, and you cling to him as if your life depends on it. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, scared that you still might fall somehow.

Your faces are only a few inches apart in this position, which allows you to see how soft and smooth Jimin’s lips look. You slowly lick yours as he lowers you down to the ground, keeping the same amount of distance, or lack thereof, between you two. The realization that it would be so easy to kiss him right now has set in and you swear Jimin has the same mad thoughts; especially when he’s gripping your hips this tightly.

What you both don’t realize is that outside of the main doors, the rest of the dancers are watching with wide eyes and shocked faces. If it weren't for the unmistakable red hair you see in the mirror's reflection, who knows what might have happened? You don’t think about it, instead, you pull away and play it off before heading toward your bag to grab a drink.

“Morning everyone! What are we all waiting for?” Luca says from behind the dancers, “Let’s go in and get warmed up.”

He opens the door and sees you and Jimin at opposite ends of the room, each taking big gulps from your water bottles. Interesting…

Cat walks in and sets her stuff down next to Jimin’s and silently watches him. His face is flushed but she can’t tell if it was because of the intense moment you two just shared, or from the strain of the lifting sequence. She was the first to notice the look you two shared before the crowd outside the door, and she has a weird feeling about it.

Last she knew you were still fighting with Jimin during your pre-practices, although she’s very aware of the saying ’there’s a fine line between love and hate’. Cat makes a mental note to ask you about this morning’s situation later.

The first half of practice is weird, to say the least. Jimin is treating you like nothing happened. And while technically nothing happened, something almost did and you don’t know how you felt about the something.

Needless to say, you aren’t on top of your dance game today. It’s hard to concentrate with your head filled with empty-answered questions and even more confusion.

“Okay, everyone,” Luca echoes, stealing every dancer’s attention, “Let’s take five. When we reconvene we’ll do a recap of Scenes One through Three with no breaks. If we can get it down we’ll move onto the beginning of Scene Four today.”

You and Jimin happily turn in opposite directions, grateful for some space.

“Y/N, can you stay back? There’s something I want to go over with you,” Luca calls out, stopping you from heading in the direction of Cat and some of the other girls.

Oh no. That’s never a good sign.

“Don’t worry, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he says after seeing your smile falter. “I just see a little room for improvement with the last sequence before the song changes in scene three.”

He gestures for you to get into position in front of him, which you do without hesitation.

Luca moves closer to you and rests a hand on your lower back, “Tighten here and stretch.” He shows you how to position your body to make it look more elegant and elongated. “See how much longer you look now?” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Hold yourself like this through the rest of the dance. Trust me when I say you’ll notice a difference. So will everyone else.”

A blush creeps up your neck when his hand slides across your hip before he steps away from you, “Thank you for the tip.”

His eyes burn into yours, and you feel the heat growing in your lower stomach. “Anytime, Y/N.” His lips turned into a small smile, which you returned.

Jimin stalks silently as Luca touches you, his anger bubbling deep down inside him. Fuck, he doesn’t exactly want you, but he definitely doesn’t want anyone else to have you either. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Luca touching you like that or giving you those looks; looks that have disguised intentions with ulterior motives behind them.

He wants to tell Luca where to go and how to get there, but he knows better. Not only would it be unprofessional as hell, but Jimin would probably be screwed out of a lot of future events if he tells one of the best choreographers to fuck off.

He forces himself to look away and takes another deep breath, calming down a little before part two of rehearsals starts.

The second half of rehearsals ends sooner than expected, and Jimin storms off before you even have the chance to talk to him about this morning. You sigh, your eyes trailing his fast exit.

“Y/N! I’m heading to the vending machine for a granola bar, want to come with me?” Cat asks. You’re sure that her question has a hidden agenda too, but you go along with it anyway since you’re starving and need to eat something small before your next class.

“Sure, just give me a second to switch out of my pointe shoes.” You don’t like to wear yours for walking since they’re new and still stiff.

“So,” Catalina begins, watching you put the money into the machine. “What was that this morning? And don’t you dare try to say it was just dancing, because I’ve seen 'just dancing’ with Jimin and that was not at all what I saw earlier.”

You groan internally, not wanting to deal with her interrogation. Cat isn’t the type to judge you if you told her that you would’ve fucked Jimin right then if it wasn’t for the fact that you noticed her (and the rest of the dancers). But you don’t want to admit it to yourself.

Saying it and thinking it are two very different things, and you aren’t sure you can come to terms with saying that you want to fuck Jimin. Hell, you have no idea if you will feel the same way in an hour. So you choose to keep it to yourself for now.

“Did something happen between you two?” she asks bluntly.

“No, nothing happened between us.”

“And is that a good or bad thing?” she questions next.

“Good,” you huff, “I think…”

It’s been another busy few weeks, and things have been going great…until today. To be honest, this is probably the worst dance day you’ve had in years.

“I’m sorry guys, let’s start from the top,” you apologize again for messing up. The scene you’re going over today isn’t complicated by any means, it’s only a transition scene. But your head is elsewhere which, in turn, makes you mess up every couple of seconds.

You're not getting many approving looks from the room. Luca is a little worried, Madam Jamie has pursed lips, and the dancers are severely annoyed with you.

“No, Miss Y/N.  Stop before you hurt yourself.” Mr. Jenson lets out a frustrated sigh. “Kyra, would you stand in for Y/N and show her how it’s properly done?”

You’re embarrassed that it’s gotten to this point. What is with you? You’ve done this sequence perfectly with Jimin this past week, hundreds of times at least. Now with the extra dancers on the floor, you seem to be forgetting it all.

Taking soft, shallow breaths is the only thing keeping you from crying in front of everyone. But they wouldn’t notice. All eyes are glued to Kyra, a senior who had also auditioned for the same role as you, as she dances with Jimin.

They dance beautifully, you can’t deny it, even if you want to. You can’t help but wonder if she would’ve been the better choice for the female lead.

“Thank you, Kyra. Everyone back into position now.”

Kyra walks past you and smirks. You know she’s thinking the same thing that you are. She probably also thinks that she’s capable of sweeping in and stealing your position. Like hell if you’re going to let that happen.

Even so, it’s not your decision to make and you know if you keep screwing this up it’s more than likely to happen.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s your deal?” Jimin whispers once he lines up with you again. The last thing you need is for him to make you feel worse for fucking up.

“I don’t know, it’s not a good day for me,” you whisper back as your eyes fill with tears. You’re completely exhausted, defeated, and disappointed.

“Just dance it off, we all get days like this. Follow my lead, okay? I promise I won’t let you mess up again.”

You nod, blinking back your tears. This is a different side of Jimin than you’re used to. He’s caring and knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

After shaking off the earlier mishaps, you get yourself together and push through practice, making sure that the first official run-through of the program is a total success. It makes you feel a hell of a lot better than two hours earlier. You can tell that the rest of the group is just as ecstatic as you and Jimin are.

“That was great, Y/N!” he says, pulling you into a comforting hug. “See, all you needed was a little reassurance.”

You’re slightly sad when he pulls back, the warmth of his body is no longer felt. “Thank you for today. I would’ve completely fallen apart without you.”

“Hey don’t worry about it, make sure you get some rest this weekend. See you Monday!” He smiles softly and waves bye. Who knew Jimin had more to him than what everyone else saw?

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn your head and see Madison, one of the upperclassmen who’s also in the show, walking toward you.

“What are you doing tonight? Some of the girls and I are planning on going out to celebrate our first successful run-through of the show. We’re wondering if you’d like to come?” She leans in a little closer, “We have a fake you can use to get into our favorite club, Wander. We’d love for you to let loose with us.”

Usually, you would turn down any interaction that involves alcohol, especially since you’re underage, but you don’t want to disappoint your potential new friends. Plus it does sound like a lot of fun, and after the practice you just had, you deserve to let loose and relax.

“Yeah, totally! I’d love to come.” Madison smiles and you both trade numbers.

“Okay cool, I’ll text you my address later. We’re gonna get ready at mine before we head out. See you later!” She gives you a quick hug before heading out the door.

You’re secretly excited to hang out with the older girls since you don’t have many other friends in your year. Especially not now with all your free time taken up by rehearsals.

Jimin stands outside the dance studio’s side door, slyly eavesdropping. He makes a mental note to accidentally run into you later. He isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but he doesn’t want to go without seeing you for two days.

You intrigue him, and after your almost-kiss, Jimin wants to know what your lips feel like for real this time, not just what he has been imagining.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks over the pounding music. You have no idea what to ask for; you obviously don’t drink and ordering something from the bar is a little out of your comfort zone since you don’t know what you’re doing.

Madison catches on and takes over. “Five shots of tequila for our group!” she yells while leaning over the bartop so he can hear her.

Oh boy, you don’t know much but you know enough to feel safe assuming tonight will be wild if you’re starting with shots, of all things.

With about a month left until the show, deciding to let loose with the girls is exactly the kind of break you need. Dancing, drinks, and good friends. Looking around, you’re happy to see that you have all three. It’s all a part of tonight’s plan.

What you don’t plan for, however, is seeing Jimin in the middle of the dance floor with Kyra all over him. After practice today, this is a total slap in the face.

You aren’t sure if the progress you’ve been making with Jimin is just one-sided, or if you had been imagining it this whole time. It feels like you’re both taking two steps forward in the right direction and then something like this will happen, sending you ten steps back.

Your eyes are glued to Kyra’s body as she dances with him, her hips moving at the perfect speed. You can’t help but be jealous of her. Not only is she gorgeous and a great dancer, but she also has a way of demanding everyone’s attention in any room she graces. Although, there���s only one person’s attention you want right now, and from what it looks like, you doubt you’ll be getting his anytime soon.

“Oh my god, is that Luca?” Catalina asks with a surprised tone, pointing towards the opposite end of the bar, “No way, it can’t be.”

“It is,” you laugh nervously before looking away. You’re a little worried that he might remember that you’re under the legal drinking age, only by a year, but still. How embarrassing would it be for him to get you kicked out…

“That’ll be $42,” the bartender drones, pushing the over-spilling shot glasses toward your group and happily taking whichever girls’ fifty-dollar bill in return.

You lift your glass along with the others, “Here’s to letting go and having fun!”

The tequila burns the back of your throat but that doesn’t stop you from hollering, “Let’s go dance!”

You pull Madison and Catalina onto the dance floor, coming to an abrupt stop when your back collides with someone., “Oh my gosh, I am so sor–” You pause and stare at the dark-haired man, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi ladies, I hope you’re not getting into too much trouble tonight,” Luca jokes with a wide smile displayed across his face. He looks gorgeous dressed in all black, the leather jacket tops off his outfit.

“Oh of course not, Mr. Black,” Catalina giggles playfully, “We’re all good girls here.”

He raises his eyebrow which makes each of you giggle, “I’m not so sure about that. Can I buy you all a drink? Or is that a little weird?”

You look around at the girls; they do the same.

“Uh, sure? Madison finally says, breaking up the awkward silence.

Cat and one of her friends entertain Luca’s conversation while they wait at the bar. You slyly peek over your shoulder while dancing, looking for you-know-who. You can’t find him, but you’re happy to see that Kyra has moved on to her next man of the night.

"Hey,” Luca says, walking towards you with an extra drink in hand. “Here you go. Shhh, it’s our little secret,” he says humorously.

You thank him for the drink, nervously swirling the ice with the slim black straw in your cup.

“I’m happy I ran into you,” he begins, “Can I talk to you for a second, alone?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” You nod to Cat, silently saying that you’ll catch up with her later. He smiles and pulls you aside from your friends.

“What’s up?” You ask tensely while Luca grins, running a hand through his hair.

“I just want to tell you how impressed I’ve been with your progress so far, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you at rehearsals.”

Oh my god.

“Really?” You gape.

“Absolutely,” he reaches for your hand, bringing you closer to him before bending down to plant his lips on yours. You freeze as he kisses you gently, entirely unsure of what to do in that situation.

He quickly pulls back after reading your body language, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Luca,” you say curtly, taking a step back, “I appreciate your tips in class and kind comments, but I think we should keep things professional here. You’re the choreographer and I’m a student...”

“Of course, I apologize again. How about I walk you back to your friends and we forget this happened?”

“That would be perfect.” You’re thankful that things don’t seem too awkward, and you only hope things will stay that way when you see each other Monday morning.

Jimin’s fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms as he clenches his fists. Fucking Luca Black. He was heading your way to say hi, but Luca led you in a different direction than the one your friends are heading to. He should have known better, but he follows behind slowly. And what he sees when he finally turns the corner doesn’t sit right with him.

Luca’s hand on your cheek as the two of you kiss. Jimin isn’t exactly sure who initiated it. And even though it’s eating him alive, he doesn’t want to know because it pains him either way.

He watches as Luca pulls away, and takes note of your stunned face. Jimin wants to believe that was because you didn’t enjoy it. He can’t hear what you’re talking about, and he truly wants to believe that Luca is making you uncomfortable based on your reaction to the kiss. But that hopeful thought is squashed as soon as you smile and take Luca’s hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

Jimin is still trying to process what he just witnessed even though you’re both long gone. He steps out of the shadows and throws his drink at the wall, ignoring the sound of the glass breaking behind him. Grumbling under his breath, Jimin takes the closest exit and slams the club door behind him.

He heads home with the hopes that a cold shower will ease his rage, but the cool water running down his back isn’t doing much for his boiling blood, nor is it getting rid of the image of Luca’s lips on yours. And inevitably, he can’t get you out of his head either which in turn results in him masturbating to those thoughts of you … which is anything but calming.

Jimin closes his eyes and imagines that it’s him kissing you, not Luca, and that he’s the one who has you pushed up against the wall. He can practically hear your soft whimpers, the ones you make when you’re doing partner stretches that always have him close to losing it right there in front of everyone at rehearsals.

But it isn’t him who’s stretching with you. His length quivers in his hand as he speeds up, trying to change his thoughts to you aroused in the club bathroom, his hand sliding underneath your dress and slipping into your panties. Jimin throws his head back at the image of you getting all worked up, but once again, it isn’t him that’s driving you wild. It’s Luca.

After the fifth attempt and still failing to picture himself with you, Jimin gives up. He groans, looking down at his length’s angry red tip that’s aching for release. And there’s only one thing that will give him that. You.

But not an imaginary you. The real you. The real you wanting him just as much as he wants you. He doubts that you ever will, not when you can have Luca instead.

Meaning that Jimin is basically screwed.

Monday is a killer. Jimin has been hateful to you all morning, and you genuinely have no idea why. He seems to be fuming now at the end of rehearsals, compared to the quiet angry vibe he was giving off earlier this morning.

“Hey, great job today Y/n. You’re doing phenomenal. I can’t wait to see this all come to life next week. See you tomorrow!”

“Thanks! Yes, see you tomorrow Luca.” You wave bye while he rushes out of the room, leaving just you and Jimin behind.

Jimin waits until Luca is out of earshot before saying anything. He’s been annoyed all day by your and Luca’s behavior after witnessing the two of you making out in the hallway of Wander.

He’s disgusted, even more so by the afterthoughts of Luca bringing you back to his place and taking advantage of you. Needless to say, he didn’t sleep much this weekend.

“God, you’re such a suck-up,” he criticizes, failing to hold back his evil words. “How special do you think you’re going to feel when the paid help you’re boning doesn’t remember your name the second he moves on to the next school and finds a new student to seduce?”

“Excuse me?”

“You can pretend all you want but I saw you Friday night. With him.”

Oh god…

You shake your head, “Jimin, I can explain–”

“Whatever, waitlist. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He turns around and internally grimaces, upsetting you isn’t what he was going for. He’s pissed and unfortunately, you’re the only person he can take it out on. It’s a dick move to say things like that, especially since you deserve to be here just as much as everyone else.

Jimin knows he should just let it go, but he can’t help it. It’s been eating him alive all day. He’s pissed that you’re acting like a damn fool because of Luca’s attention. Luca’s eyes hadn’t left your body the entire day.

Fucking perv.

Jimin is more pissed that it’s bothering him so much. He shouldn’t care, he doesn’t–or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Jimin’s words stung, and you’re shaking out of pure anger. “What the fuck is your problem? I can handle the normal stick-up-your-ass behavior but it’s on a whole new level today. Chill out, okay? It isn’t what you think. Nothing happened after he kissed me. Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but it actually made me, like, super uncomfortable and he apologized directly after. We both agreed it wasn’t professional, so piss off Jimin. And even if I did decide to take it further with Luca, it wouldn’t concern you. So stay out of it.” You’re near him when you finish, with crossed arms and eyes glaring.

It’s unbelievable Jimin would make such a comment; the last thing you need is for him to start telling people what he saw.

You know you would be harshly reprimanded for using a fake ID to get into a club, but also for accepting a drink from someone who is a teacher, and especially for kissing that same teacher.

Jimin is just as heated as you are. So his intuition was right that night. His anger only grows, wanting to punch Luca over and over again for making you uncomfortable like that. How could Luca not tell that you weren’t actually into him, but rather idolized him for his contributions to the dance world? How dare he use that against you to pull a move like that?

“Fine,” he growls in your face, totally furious at the situation, and furious with himself for caring this much about it–about you. You’re driving him crazy, even now when you’re pissed with him. It turns him on how strong and defensive you always are, and fuck, he wants to do something about it.

“Fine,” you snap back, taking another step forward as your eyes subconsciously lower to his parted mouth.

In a matter of milliseconds, your lips collide and your hands are all over each other’s bodies. He lifts you into his arms and slams your back into the mirrors. It’s a miracle that they don’t shatter from his force.

You gasp at the contact and Jimin takes the opportunity to shove his tongue further into your mouth. Your legs lock around his waist while you continue to explore each other’s mouths and bodies ravenously.

Jimin pulls away and tugs your leotard down your arms, freeing your breasts from the tight compression.

“You’re so fucking annoying, do you know that?” He snarls before leaving a line of rough kisses along your neck and down your chest. You whimper at the sensation and run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re so fucking loud, do you always have to say so much?” You moan in response.

Jimin is starved for your taste and can’t wait any longer. His hands travel down your side while his lips close over one of your soft peaks, sucking it in between his teeth.

You mewl, crashing your head back against the glass from the sheer amount of pleasure.

Jimin abruptly pulls away and brings his face back in front of yours. “What? Do you have something to say?” he asks with fire in his eyes. But with his lips replaced by his fingers, twisting and tugging, you’re helplessly tongue-tied.

He moves one hand lower and another soft moan escapes your lips, his middle finger dancing dangerously above your panties before dipping into your slickened folds.

Jimin knows exactly where and how to touch you, causing your head to spin. He feels himself hardening watching your face contort in pleasure, and nearly coming in his pants when you slowly lick your bottom lip, pulling it in between your teeth and letting out a long moan in the process.

“Mmm, Jimin,” you cry, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Jimin notices this and instantly pulls away. You don’t get to come that easily. Even though it makes him super fucking excited to see what his touch does to you. God, this is so much better than what he imagined.

You whimper at the loss of his touch, “What the fuck?”

“Turn around,” he demands, his eyes flooding with lust and a dash of something dark. He undresses you rather quickly, leaving your tights and leotard wrapped around your legs.

You decide you aren’t going to let him have all the fun, sneaking a hand back behind you. Jimin grits his teeth in pleasure as your hand slips into his pants. His length twitches in anticipation of feeling you wrapped around him. You pull his member out and lead him between your damp folds, moaning deliciously at the contact.

The scent of your arousal has now filled the room and Jimin can’t hold back any longer. He wants to fulfill his fantasy of taking you hard and fast, right here in front of the mirror. Without a warning he slams himself into you, causing you to lose your breath.

Your back is against him as he relentlessly pounds you from behind. The force of his thrusts are hard and you use your hands as leverage against the mirror to avoid being crushed by him, even though it would certainly be worth it.

Jimin brings a hand up around your neck and holds your head straight so he can watch when you come. You’re close and he knows just what to do.

“Say my name,” he demands, using his other hand to pinch your clit. “Look at me and say the name of the man who’s making you come like you never have before.”

“Jimin, oh my-” The waves of pleasure wash over your entire body, every inch of your skin tingles. You pulsate around him, but he’s not done with you yet.

“That’s damn right.” Jimin twists you around again, lifting you against the reflective glass. He keeps his fast pace, with a fistful of your hair held between his tightening fingers.

“You’re such a fucking slut. Look at you losing it over my cock,” he snarls with a clenched jaw, “I’m gonna fuck you like this until the rest of the class comes in.”

Jimin rams into you with twice the amount of force as before. “I’d make that fucking Italian bastard watch as I take you hard and make you feel this good.” He brings his lips up to your ear and whispers, “He could never,” before harshly biting your ear, sending you completely over the edge for a second time. 

Jimin watches you unfold, your beauty completely mesmerizes him. Your entire body is on fire from oversensitivity while Jimin’s fingers rub your throbbing nub. You watch, completely hypnotized, as he brings his soaked fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Oh, don’t think we’re anywhere near done yet,” he smirks devilishly, moving his thumb back to your clit and rubbing in crude circles. Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation, and you can’t catch your breath. It’s too much.

Jimin hisses when your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight right now.” It isn’t long after those words leave his lips that he’s shuddering inside of you, his release shooting into the depths of your heat.

Your insides coil as you reach the peak of your third and final orgasm. Jimin holds your legs steady as you come hard over his cock, and swallows your moans with his mouth.

He slowly retreats out of you and presses his flushed cheek against yours. You can feel his heartbeat thumping out of control while you both catch your breath.

After a moment, he draws back and lowers you to the ground. You both chuckle at the state of your appearance. “I think I have a towel in my bag, one sec.” He says while tucking himself back into his pants as you readjust your hair, trying to make the whole ’i just had sex’ look a little less obvious.

You’re still breathing heavily when he returns to wipe you clean.

“Mmm,” you hum in total satisfaction, and still a little out of it - if you had to be honest. “I should piss you off more often.”

He gives you a look, “Hurry up and get dressed before anyone sees you.”

You’re the one to smirk this time, “I thought you wanted people to see me?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“Hurry up, you’re taking too long,” you whine while Jimin attempts to undo his stage pants as fast as he can.

“I’m trying,” he mutters, silently praying when his zipper finally works, “There we go.”

He lines himself up to you and pushes into your center.

You bite your lip to avoid making any noises as he stretches you out. The two of you are in the small storage closet behind the stage; there’s only about an hour or two until the opening night show starts.

Jimin thought you had to be joking at first when you whispered how badly you needed him after you both were dressed and ready to warm up with the rest of the dancers. But much to his delight, you weren’t kidding.

Hopefully, they won’t notice your absence. Who are you kidding, they probably know that you two are fucking. Plus, it’s kind of obvious when both lead roles go 'missing’ at the same time.

At first, he was torn between following you into the tight space–wanting to be in another tight space–and doing what he normally would call the right thing, which was preparing for tonight. But after seeing the look on your face, Jimin was quick to follow you into the closet.

“Shhh, you need to stay quiet,” Jimin grunts quietly with a hand over your mouth, silencing your moans.

You grip his shoulders as he quickens his pace, bringing you both over the edge.

“Holy fuck,” he quietly whines, the sensation of your inner walls clenching his length is addicting. It isn’t long after your sweet release that he’s quivering. He pulls out, knowing you can’t dance with his release filling you. He shudders one last time, his come shoots out and onto the wooden floor below.

You giggle, “Good thing we’re in a place that can clean that up.” you say referencing his load.

He rolls his eyes at your joke and leans in to give you a quick kiss, “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“Yes, typically.”

You flatten out your costume and zip each other up, leaving the closet one at a time. You first of course, since you needed to touch up your makeup now. Leaving Jimin behind to clean up his mess.

About fifteen minutes later you meet Jimin backstage to practice, stretch, and chat along with everyone else. The jitters are bouncing off of everyone and you can’t stand still from excitement, a little nervousness too. But mostly excitement.

“Jimin, are you feeling okay? You look a little stiff and tired if I must say…” Madam Jamie mentions after watching him practice a few scenes.

“Nothing to worry about Madam, had a tiring warm-up is all. Not to worry though, I am more than ready for tonight.”

Madam Jamie reminds him how important rest and lots of water are when practicing hard before moving along to the next student.

“Hmmm, what is it that you usually tell me?” You begin, giving him a coy look, “Oh right. 'Just dance it off.’ That should fix your issue, correct?” You look down at his crotch, and back up at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, daring you to go on.

“After our vigorous warmup, I’m sure you do. But we’re going on stage soon. So suck it up, sweetie.”

He can’t wait to make you regret that statement when he teases you later tonight. He had big plans to celebrate. And knowing you, you would love them.

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