#I don’t get it go get some work or go home or something

[rafesweetie]

sometimes prissy!reader has a bit of an attitude … it’s safe to say season 1 rafe doesn’t tolerate it.

your wispy eyelashes almost touch your eyebrows as you roll your eyes at your boyfriend, who was telling you that there was still another two whole hours of the golf game left.

it wasn’t your fault, the weather was beating down on you and making your soft skin sweat, your thighs were so hot that they were sticking to the seat in the golf cart, and you ran out of water and beer an hour ago, and the cart girl was no where to be seen. you were promised a comfortable and relaxing day, and instead you’re hot and bored.

rafe’s lip curls up in annoyance at your eyeroll, and he scoffs and walks away, leaving you pouting in the cart. he’s trying to enjoy the day, there’s no way that he’s letting his prissy girlfriend spoil the fun by needing his constant attention.

fanning at yourself when the sun blares down on you, you’re truly putting on a show for rafe, exaggerating so he can take you home. even with his baseball cap that he stuck on your head at your third complaint, and the last sip of his beer that he gave you half an hour ago, you’re still not satisfied. he’s starting to think you’re never satisfied.

“rafe, do you have any sunscreen? i think i’m getting burnt,” you call out after he swings the golf club.

“you think i pack fuckin’ sunscreen? not my fault you’re wearing a tube top, little shoulders bound to get burnt,” he steps back to let topper take his shot. “top, you got any for my girl?”

“nah, man, never pack that shit,” topper answers. rafe can hear you groan from your seat, and usually you’re at least saying ‘thank you’ for checking, but you’re so bored that you’re beyond sweetness.

“do you guys have, like, anything? this is so boring,” you complain from the cart.

topper asks, “did you bring your phone?” and you tell him it died.

rafe’s frankly done with your subtle tantrum, stomping over to you, swinging the club in circles as he walks. if your brain wasn’t so foggy from the heat then you’d admire how his arms look in that polo top, but you can barely even think.

“how about you keep score? hm, kid, how does that sound?” he offers, handing you the scorecard.

“that’s boring, i don’t even know how golf works, don’t know how to do this,” you complain. “rafe, i just wanna walk home, i’m done with this, so boring,”

“all i’m asking is for you to keep score.”

“i don’t have a pen.���

“use your lipliner,”

your lip curls in distaste, a habit picked up from your boyfriend. “that’s stupid, its like, $40,”

“hey,” he scolds. “don’t know where this little attitude came from but it stops now, okay? shit, babe, just trying to enjoy the game. you wanna, uh, you wanna walk home? that what this is? is that what you’ve come to?”

“are you dumb? i’m in heels—“ he cuts you off instantly, not liking your insinuation one bit.

“hey! hey—“ you expect him to grab your jaw or wrist but he grabs your nipple through your shirt, tugging at it so you’re dragged closer to him.

“don’t speak to me like that, a’ight? not fair to me. tried to bring you out here for a fun day, don’t need the fucking insults. say something nice to me or don’t say shit at all. or i can bring you home right now and give you some shit, and i promise you you won’t like it. sit in the cart, keep score, be nice. can you do that?” he continues. you nod, and he pinches your nipple harshly, making you squeak, then lets go.

you watch rafe’s vieny hand adjust your top after that, then watch as it moves up to your cheek. he pats it, gives you a nod with some pretty harsh eye contact, then leaves.

he always knows how to shut you up.

[jadeshifting]

— SCRIPTING YOUR FAMILY. ( i swear it can work even if they’re not dead )

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— DISCLAIMER. script what you want !! this isn’t judgement or an attempt to convince you of anything. i still have ded family in some realities, don’t worry :^)

alright, so a lot of shifters skip right to scripting their DR families straight into the afterlife. gone, nonexistent, dead and buried. this is for a myriad of reasons, though for me and everyone i know, it has a lot to do with backstory, or the idea that family ties are going to cramp our style or get in the way of our dream life and the plot. but, for anyone who’s interested, let’s flip the script (pun intended) and talk about why creating an original, unique family for your desired reality can actually make your experience richer, more meaningful, and a whole lot more fun !!

WHY KEEP THE FAMILY DRAMA?

first off, let’s address the elephant in the room: family can be a lot. but scripting them out entirely can be like throwing the baby out with the bathwater !! there’s tons of potential to consider there. a family offers plenty of opportunities to add depth, lore, and a whole bunch of emotional layers to your DR. think about it—what’s a life without a little family drama, a bit of cozy love, or even a quirky aunt who always brings the laughs? it doesn’t have to be a big, happy family—it can be whatever you feel like you need, whatever fits

HOW TO BUILD YOUR DR FAMILY

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— SIZE MATTERS ( but not really ) .　　. 　 ˚　. when scripting your DR family, start with size. do you want a big, loud, chaotic family with siblings running around, or something closer to a small, tight-knit crew? maybe you’re an only child who’s the apple of your parents’ eyes, or perhaps you’re in the middle of a bustling household where everyone’s got a role to play. there’s no right or wrong—just what feels right for you, and what you feel like you need in that specific DR

— CHOOSE YOUR ROLES .　　. 　 ˚　. who’s in your family? a loving, supportive mom who’s your biggest cheerleader? a cool dad who’s kind of your best friend? maybe a set of grandparents who tell you the most insane stories about their youth, or a mouthy sibling who keeps you on your toes. think about the roles that would enrich your life in your DR. remember, these people are there to support your life, not unnecessarily complicate it

— CONNECTIONS .　　. 　 ˚　. now, here’s where it gets fun (in my opinion): your relationships. are you super close with your mom, the kind of close where you can endlessly gossip and have deep life talks? is your dad the type to give you space but always manages to have your back when it counts? maybe you have an insane sibling rivalry that spans over a decade. the relationships you script can add so much flavor to your DR—it’s all about creating connections that resonate with you, and support you in all the ways you want to be supported

FITTING INTO THE LORE ( making it make sense )

if your DR has a specific lore or world-building element ( Hogwarts, Marvel, etc. you know ), weave your family into it !! maybe your mom’s a legendary witch, or your dad’s a top Auror. perhaps your family runs a magical bakery, or you’re part of an ancient lineage with a complex magical or academic heritage. the point is, your family should feel at home in your DR, adding to the story rather than feeling like an afterthought that detracts from it

SOME IDEAS FOR YOUR DR FAMILY

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( just to get you started )

— MAGICAL LINEAGE .　　. 　 ˚　. your family has a rich history tied to your DR’s lore—maybe you’re descendants of a powerful wizard, or you’ve got a long-standing feud with another powerful family. drama

— ECCENTRIC GROUP .　　. 　 ˚　. a family full of eccentric or seemingly ridiculous people—a dad who invents magical gadgets, a mom who’s an expert potion maker, siblings who are always concocting some mischievous or downright strange plans

— TIGHT-KNIT TEAM .　　. 　 ˚　. quiet and likely unassuming—just a small, close family who’s been through everything together together. you lot might not be flashy, but their love and support are solid and you know you can always count on them

— CHAOTIC CLAN .　　. 　 ˚　. a massive, bustling family where everyone’s got their own unique role. maybe you’ve got siblings with vastly different personalities, parents that always have something insane to say, or aunts and uncles hailing from faraway places. family gatherings are always an ordeal

DON’T STRESS THE DETAILS

here’s the deal: scripting your DR family is about enhancing your experience, not stressing you out or detracting from all the things you wanna do. whether you want to create a sprawling family tree or just script a few key members, it’s all up to you. and remember—at the end of the day, your DR is personal to you. it’s about what makes you feel connected, supported, and ready to dive into the adventure of a lifetime

so, build that dream family !! whether they’re magical, mundane, or somewhere in between, totally supportive or bringing never-ending drama to spice things up, at the end of the day they’re there to add richness and depth to your DR. and trust me, it’ll make your journey all the more special if you let it !!

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[nanenna]

Warning: Implied bodily mutilation.

Okay, so remember how this prompt started and why Danny's dissociating hard enough he's in the next universe over? Kon gets a sudden, visceral reminder. UwU (Nothing graphic, all implied. This time)

-----

It was nice having all of Just Us together again, even if it was only for a pre-mission information gathering meeting. After contacting Wonder Woman about it this was now official League business, specifically JLD business. So here he, Tim, Cassie, and Bart were, sitting in one of the meeting rooms on the Watchtower across the table from Wonder Woman and John Constantine. Tim had a presentation all ready to go, including Danny’s drawings and one blurry photo he somehow managed to get of the boy, as he explained everything they knew so far.

“It does seem this boy is from an alternate universe,” Diana agreed as she looked at the star chart Danny had drawn compared to their own. It seemed about half the stars Danny had drawn were a match.

“And even if not, I can’t help search for him with this,” Tim said.

Diana looked over to Constantine.

“I would need to get a read on him, preferably after I get some supplies and get everything set up.”

Kon sighed, “I’ll talk to Ma and Pa. Promise you won’t do any damage to the house.”

Constantine held his hands up, “I’ll clean up after myself.”

“I’ll put together a rescue team,” Diana said.

Kon and his friends all frowned, “We’re already a team.”

“Kon will need to go since Danny already knows him,” Cassie pointed out. “And since we’re already a team we work best with each other.”

Diana nodded, “Alright, I and John will come with you as back up and to make sure we can make it home. We’ll make arrangements to get his supplies, in the mean time I think it’s best you start introducing Danny to others. Ma and Pa at the least.”

Kon nodded, “Sure, I can do that.” He stood up, since it sounded like the meeting was over.

“Before you lot go running off,” Constantine interrupted, “just wanna say not everything from Earth is human.”

Kon sat back down.

“You mean like us?” Cassie asked with a confused frown.

“Yes and no. There’s Amazons and Atlanteans, sure. But there’s also the Tuatha Dé Danann, Hulder, Vila, Kami, whatever you wanna call them.”

Kon had no idea what Constantine was talking about, he looked over to Tim. “The fair folk, or fairies. Like Morgaine le Fey.”

Kon nodded, he had some idea what Constantine meant now.

“Dream walking isn’t something many humans can do.”

Kon remembered something he hadn’t paid much attention to earlier. “Danny called me Nocturn, the Ancient of dreams. He thinks this is all a dream, I don’t think he even knows he’s astral projecting.”

“Right, so he could be fae and knows it, he could be fae and not know it, or he could be a human who managed to make friends with something that sounds like a fae lord. And depending on what it is it changes the rules of hospitality, so be careful about that.”

Tim sighed, “I’ll give them all the fae crash course.”

“The Bat is surprisingly correct and thorough on that.” Constantine sighed, then looked towards Kon. “Look, mate, I know you won’t like this but it might be best to let him think he’s still dreaming for now, just until we get him out of whatever situation is so bad it has him dissociating into the next universe.”

He was right, Kon didn’t like it.

✧✦✧

It had only been a day, Kon wasn’t expecting to see Danny again so soon. At first there had been a whole week between the first and second sighting, but they had been getting closer and closer together over the last couple weeks. Kon wasn’t sure if that meant he just didn’t always run into Danny or if he was actually astral projecting more often. But he hadn’t seen Danny two days in a row yet.

Except now he had.

Kon had finished explaining the whole situation to Ma and Pa, had helped them pick out which room in the big old farmhouse they would let Constantine borrow, and promised to introduce them to Danny the next he saw him. He’d previously told them about him so they could keep an eye out for him, but it seemed they hadn’t seen him yet. Kon was just heading out to the barn for evening chores when he saw a misty figure out in one of the fields. Kon had almost missed them, due to how misty the fields were with rain coming down, but he stopped and squinted and yeah, that was Danny.

“Hello,” Kon greeted as he approached.

Danny didn’t look over, keeping his face turned up and eyes closed. “I can almost feel it.” The rain was going right through him, leaving misty trails in his translucent body.

“At least you don’t have to worry about getting wet.”

“I miss it.”

That’s it, just miss it, not even a comment about how he wants to go stand in the rain when he’s awake.

“Would you like to come inside? Meet my Ma and Pa? I’ve told them about you.”

Danny did blink, looking over at Kon owlishly with his haunting green eyes. “I suppose I have been too lonely.” Danny lifted off the ground and drifted towards Kon, who also lifted into the air and started leading Danny towards the farmhouse.

“I’m not Nocturn.”

Danny looked over with one of his indulgent smiles.

“I mean it,” Kon said quickly. “I don’t want you to think I lied and said I was him when I’m not.” He may need to let Danny think he’s still dreaming, which technically he’s not wrong about, but Kon wasn’t going to try to pretend to be someone he’s never even heard of.

“If you say so.”

Kon sighed, he’d tried. They arrived at the house then, Kon carefully wiped off his shoes before going in. Danny didn’t have a lower half to bother with. “Ma, Pa, I have a guest.”

“Oh, is it one of your friends or did Diana and John finish their shopping trip already?” Ma asked as she walked into the room. When she spotted Danny she stopped and looked at him for a moment before smiling brightly. “You must be Danny, Conner’s been telling us about you.”

Danny looked up at Kon, “Conner?”

Kon shrugged, “Earth name.”

Danny just nodded, then turned back to Ma. “I am Danny, it’s nice to meet you.” He held a hand out, the arm attaching it to his body barely there.

Pa came in just as Danny introduced himself, then he gave the boy a hearty handshake.

“Well, can you eat?” Ma asked.

Danny shrugged and looked to Kon, who also shrugged. Danny turned back to Ma, “I can smell.”

Her mouth rolled into a thin line, “Well how about I make you a cup of hot cider and we can see how that goes.”

“Sure.” Danny followed Ma into the kitchen. He managed to pull out the chair himself to sit in it, legs still missing and hands barely a suggestion as they were folded in front of him on the table.

Ma set about pouring some of the cider they had into a pot to heat up. While that was going, she bustled around the kitchen gathering enough mugs for everyone.

Pa sat across from Danny at the table while Kon stood to the side, just watching her until she poured the steaming cider into the mugs. Kon picked up two of them and handed one off to Danny, while Ma gave Pa his.

“Thank you,” Danny said to both Kon and Ma when the mug was placed in front of him.

Interesting, according to Tim fairies were allergic to saying thank you. So either Danny was raised human and didn’t know he was a fairy, or he was a human and this was all Nocturn.

Danny closed his eyes and seemed to savor the long sniff he took of the mug he’d pulled closer to himself. “It smells so good.”

“Thank you,” Ma said proudly, taking a sip for herself.

Danny leaned forward and carefully picked up the mug, tipping it to take a sip. Cider splattered on the table. Danny frowned down at it.

Kon quickly picked up one of the kitchen towels and wiped the spill up. “That’s a bummer.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can make myself solid enough. It’s so weird, normally I have to try to not be solid.”

“Well I’m sorry you can’t eat,” Ma said with a sigh.

“It still smells really good.” Danny settled the mug in his hands to be cradled just under his nose.

No one seemed sure what to say to that. It was Pa that tried to change the subject. “Why don’t you tell us about yourself, Danny?”

“I’d rather not.”

Kon couldn’t help wincing, even said in Danny’s soft, dreamy voice that was a bit harsh.

Pa recovered, “Alright then, how about we tell you about the farm? It’s been a real nice year so far. The animals and crops are doing well.”

“It’s been easier since Conner’s been actually staying instead of just visiting,” Ma added.

“What?” Kon asked.

Ma tittered, “Since Danny showed up you’ve been staying the whole time instead of just visiting.”

“I visit every day!”

“You do,” Ma agreed with a wide smile. “Don’t change that it’s been lonely since Clark and Lois moved back to Metropolis, took little Jon with them.”

“They visit a lot too!”

“That they do,” Pa agreed. He gave Danny an exaggerated wink, “We’re real lucky our boys can make the time to come visit us so often.”

Danny smiled gently at Pa, “It does sound-”

Danny’s mug clattered to the table, spilling cider across it and splashing some on the floor. Kon moved to start cleaning it up when he realized why Danny’s mug had fallen.

Danny’s right arm was missing.

Danny looked down at it with his usual passive expression, “Oh, so that’s what that feeling was.”

“What?” Kon asked blankly.

“They’re gonna run outta limbs eventually.”

Kon looked over to Ma, who had her hands pressed over her mouth, and Pa, who was frozen half standing. Then he looked back to Danny, who was still frowning at his shoulder. “W-what?”

Danny looked passively up at Kon. “You already know what’s going on, it’s why you made this waking dream for me after all.”

Kon stared at the arm that wasn’t there, not even a misty hint.

Danny sighed and closed his eyes, a nearly invisible arm and hand reappeared and quickly became as solid (half at best) as the other hand. He picked up his fallen mug.

Kon thought about how Danny’s arms only seemed to be there half the time. He thought about how Danny’s legs almost never seemed to be there. Kon thought about how he wasn’t entirely sure what Danny’s face looked like besides his brightly glowing eyes.

Ma was already sopping up the cider with a kitchen towel, Pa was at the linen closet grabbing bigger towel. Kon was outside, crouched over in a squat with his fingers laced and pressing against the back of his neck. He heard Ma distantly shout for Clark, but he was too busy trying to get his breathing back under control to notice.

DP x DC Prompt/Plotbunny #6

After days? weeks? months? years? in this mercy-forsaken lab, Danny finds himself slipping; his core straining under the weight of what he's been subjected to. In a last ditch effort to save his fracturing soul, his brain simply stops processing the pain and allows his mind to escape into a waking dream.

Danny knows it's a dream. If he thinks about it; he can still hear, see, feel the scientists at work. He doesn't think about it; instead embraces whatever false world his mind decides to concoct for him.

.

Several states away, a young boy opens his eyes to the inside of a strange pod in an abandoned lab. Though he cannot see it yet, a strange metal tag dangles from his ear, stamped on one side with the word 'CADMUS' and on the other with 'R-13'.

[n1daehodefender]

can you write headcanons with your usual characters (dae-ho, thanos, etc) were they find reader crying in like the bedroom or smtg and they just got home so they don't know what happened, but still kinda comfort reader the best they cant (idk if this makes sense)

Their reactions to finding you crying

Pairing: kang dae ho, Nam gyu, thanos (Su Bong) Separately!

Warnings: Warnings: Emotional comfort, mentions of crying and emotional distress, gentle themes of reassurance.

A/N: requests are open

Kang Dae-Ho

Dae-ho had been looking forward to seeing you all day. Work was exhausting, and all he wanted was to relax with you, maybe joke around about something silly or talk about your day. But the moment he walks through the door and hears the faint sound of muffled crying coming from the bedroom, his heart drops. His playful energy vanishes, replaced by deep concern.

He doesn’t barge in immediately. Instead, he pauses to collect himself, not wanting to startle or overwhelm you. Quietly, he knocks on the doorframe, his soft, “Hey, are you okay?” breaking the silence. When you don’t respond right away, he carefully opens the door to find you curled up on the bed, tears staining your cheeks. The sight of you like this pulls at his heartstrings, and any jokes he might’ve planned to crack to lighten the mood are completely forgotten.

Dae-ho moves slowly, not wanting to make you feel pressured to explain yourself. He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently brush a stray tear from your cheek. His voice is soft, filled with that golden retriever-like warmth you’ve come to love.

“I’m here, okay? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He gives you space to decide whether you want to lean into him or not, but when you do, his arms wrap around you like a safe cocoon.

Dae-ho’s hugs are everything: firm yet gentle, warm and grounding. He strokes your hair with one hand while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. Occasionally, he presses a light kiss to the top of your head. His presence is steady, reminding you that you’re not alone.

He doesn’t push you to explain, though it’s clear he’s worried. Instead, he keeps his words gentle and encouraging:

“You don’t have to say anything right now. Just know that whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”

His tone is earnest, his voice trembling slightly from how much he hates seeing you hurt.

Once your tears subside, Dae-ho suggests small things to make you feel better, like getting some fresh air, eating something comforting, or just lying together for a while. He stays with you the entire time, not leaving your side even for a second. If you eventually open up about why you were crying, he listens without judgment, offering reassurance and positivity where he can.

Nam Gyu

Nam Gyu doesn’t expect to find you upset when he gets home. He’s usually the one you greet with a smile or a sarcastic comment, so the quiet, heavy atmosphere hits him immediately. He hears faint sniffles coming from the bedroom, and his mind races with worry.

The second he sees you crying, his heart clenches painfully. He doesn’t hesitate to approach, his strides purposeful but not rushed. Kneeling in front of you, he cups your face gently, his eyes scanning your expression for any signs of what might’ve happened.

“Hey, what’s going on? Did something happen? Who do I need to deal with?”

His tone is serious, laced with protectiveness, but his touch is gentle.

Nam Gyu hates seeing you cry and will do everything in his power to make it stop—not because he’s uncomfortable with your emotions, but because it physically hurts him to see you in pain. If you don’t want to talk about it, he respects that, but he’ll still hover protectively, sitting close to you and holding your hand. If you lean into him, he wraps you in his arms tightly, his chin resting on top of your head as he murmurs reassurances.

“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you. Whatever it is, you’re not alone in this.”

His hugs are firm and grounding, making you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as he’s there. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, occasionally tilting your chin up to wipe away tears with his thumbs.

Though Nam Gyu isn’t the most emotionally expressive person, he steps up when you need him. His words are straightforward but heartfelt, and he’s willing to listen for as long as you need, his attention completely focused on you.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

If you eventually explain, he listens intently, his jaw tightening if it’s something that upset or hurt you. You can see the barely restrained protectiveness in his expression.

Nam Gyu will insist on taking care of you afterward, whether that means cooking your favorite meal, running a bath, or just lying down with you. He’s not the type to leave you alone, ensuring you feel safe and loved before he considers relaxing himself.

Thanos (Su-bong)

Su-bong is in a great mood as he walks in the door, ready to tell you about something funny that happened during his day. But the moment he hears soft sobbing coming from the bedroom, his mood shifts entirely. His heart aches at the sound, and he immediately heads toward you, his earlier excitement forgotten.

When he sees you crying, his playful demeanor is replaced by quiet concern. He kneels beside the bed, his brow furrowed in worry as he gently calls your name.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, love.”

Though his instinct is to crack a joke to cheer you up, he knows better than to do that right away. Instead, he focuses on being present for you, letting you feel whatever you need to feel.

Su-bong’s approach is a mix of gentle affection and lighthearted attempts to make you smile. He’ll wrap you in a warm hug, one hand stroking your back while the other holds your hand. If you don’t pull away, he presses a soft kiss to your temple and whispers:

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

If you’re unresponsive, he doesn’t push but stays close, his presence steady and reassuring.

He’s incredibly tactile, holding you close and wiping away your tears with the sleeve of his shirt (despite you protesting that he’ll ruin it). His touch is gentle, and his hugs feel safe and secure.

Su-bong’s words are soft and soothing, filled with unconditional love and support. If you eventually share what’s wrong, he listens attentively, nodding along and offering comforting words when needed. He’s also not afraid to be vulnerable with you, admitting that it hurts him to see you cry.

“You don’t have to explain, but if you ever want to, I’ll be here, okay?”

Once you start to feel better, Su-bong’s playful side re-emerges. He might crack a light joke or do something silly to make you smile, but he’ll also make sure you’re comfortable—bringing you snacks, cuddling with you, or watching something lighthearted to lift your spirits.

[aureatelys]

hotch being super touchy with bau!reader during a night out with the team and like cannot wait until they’re home or something ? (idk if this helps!!)

citrus

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c. 1.5k c.w.: fluff!! suggestive content, established relationship, mentions of alcohol, needy touchy hotch <3

a/n: thank you so much for the request! i realize now while typing this that you may have been asking for horny hotch but instead i give you needy hotch with a touch of horny. not my best work but i hope you like it <33

You first start to suspect something’s wrong when Hotch sits next to you on the jet.

Not that Hotch sitting next to you was an abnormal occurrence, however ever since you two came clean about your relationship with the rest of the team, both of you made the effort to maintain as professional as possible. Which meant not sharing hotel rooms even though you’re sure the budget manager wouldn’t complain, no favoritism, and no PDA.

The no PDA rule was particularly difficult for you because, how could you not touch him?

The team had just finished up a kidnapping case in Florida. Nearly two weeks of suffocating in the humidity and dealing with swarms of mosquitos every time you stepped outside of the precinct. The relief from being in a familiar setting and the working AC is tangible when you plop down into a window seat facing the front of the cabin.

When you notice Hotch approaching you and taking the seat next to yours, you barely hide the surprise on your face. Hotch just merely raises an eyebrow at you before he jumps into debriefing.

Afterwards, when everyone has either fallen asleep or victim to playing chess with Spencer, Hotch knocks his knee against yours.

You look up from your book, a question forming on the tip of your tongue, when you notice Hotch hunched over his files and eyebrows creased in concentration.

It must have been an accident, you think. Except he does it again.

“You okay?” you ask, placing your bookmark and setting your book aside. It’s not like you were paying attention anyway, having had read the page at least two times by now.

“Fine,” he mutters, not unkindly, before scribbling something at the bottom of a file and moving onto the next one.

The past two weeks had been difficult for everyone, and the week before wasn’t any easier. You assume that Hotch was just itching to go back to your shared apartment to check on Jack before passing out in your bed.

And then he bumps against your knee again.

You don’t say anything this time, instead picking up your book and hitting your knee back against his. You just barely catch the corners of his mouth quirking up.

-

You could’ve sworn Hotch was going to decline tagging along with you when you decided to go out to O’Keefe’s with the rest of the team as soon as you landed. You were even expecting a glare, silently telling you that everyone needs to go home to get some rest and that he is driving you two back to the apartment whether you like it or not.

You start to think Hotch is really up to something now when he shrugs and agrees to tag along with you, promising just one drink.

And then, Hotch rests his arm on the console while driving, his hand worryingly close to your thigh despite Reid and JJ sitting in the backseat. Then, he’s placing a large hand on the small of your back when you’re walking into the bar, causing a shiver to run up your spine despite the warm evening air. Then, he sidles up next to you in the booth, thighs pressing against each other and his wide shoulder brushing against yours. It’s a lot of touching, which you’re clearly fine with, but touching from Hotch, at work, several times in the span of 30 minutes?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask, having to lean in to be heard over the music even with his good ear.

Hotch raises his eyebrows at you over his drink. “I told you, I’m fine.”

And it’s like you’re able to see the idea form in his head, having spent so much time with him on and off the clock that you’ve luckily gotten better at reading him.

You still nearly jump out of your seat when Aaron places his warm hand on your thigh, underneath the table where nobody else was able to see.

You’ve gotten used to how touchy Aaron can be behind closed doors. At home, he’s constantly touching you—an arm around your waist, a finger tracing the curve of your jaw, or a kiss pressed at the crown of your head.

But this? A hand on your thigh at a bar in front of your coworkers?

You can feel the heat of his palm seep through your pants, annoyingly close to where you really want him the most. Is that what this is about?

“You two lovebirds alright over there?” Emily calls from the other side of the table, looking spectacularly sober despite you witnessing her downing shot after shot.

The sudden weight of 7 different pairs of eyes on you has you even more frazzled because Aaron’s hand only squeezes the flesh of your thigh while he glances at you casually, his free hand wrapped around an old-fashioned.

“Just talking about how I need another drink,” you say, hoping that your voice doesn’t sound as strained to them as it does to you. And technically it is true as you shake your glass to emphasize the ice cubes clinking around with no fruity drink accompanying it.

When you notice Garcia’s mouth open to volunteer to come with you, you scramble up out of the booth, glad that you chose the outside spot, and weave your way through the crowd to the bar. You try to ignore the way the right side of your body suddenly feels colder without Hotch’s body pressed up against yours.

You’re waiting for your drink when you feel a hand snake around your waist. The only thing keeping you from spinning around to maybe unethically flash your badge is the familiar weight of Hotch’s palm pressed against your hip and the citrusy smell of whiskey on his breath against your ear.

A giggle bubbles out of you, instinctively leaning back against his chest. You’re secretly glad that he left his suit jacket in the car, leaving you to ogle the way the crisp white dress shirt stretches over his shoulders. “Seriously, what is with you today?”

His lips ghost over your ear, the low tone of his voice making your knees weak. “I’m not allowed to touch my girlfriend?”

Girlfriend. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing that.

You lean even harder into him, one of your hands coming down to grab at his toned forearm as you reach for your finished drink. “Of course you can. I just can’t remember the last time you’ve been this touchy in front of everyone, or ever really.”

“I don’t hear any complaints.”

“I might start if you don’t kiss me.” And it’s mostly to just poke fun at him because Hotch hasn’t even held hands with you in front of the team, much less kiss you in a crowded bar with them undoubtedly watching and whispering amongst themselves.

You’re expecting Hotch to huff a laugh against your ear, letting go and stepping away from you. Maybe even him holding your hand while he leads you through the dance floor and back to your booth to humor you.

You don’t expect Hotch’s free hand to come up and cradle your chin, tilting your face towards his almost uncomfortably to press his lips against yours. It’s soft, chaste even, but the fact that he’s kissing you in front of your colleagues and strangers, in a crowded bar with the loud music nearly thrumming through your veins, makes you feel hot all over.

His arm tightens around you, spinning you around until you’re facing him, and he swallows the gasp you unintentionally let out as he deepens the kiss, your mouth instinctively parting. You’ve been dating for months but kissing him still feels like that very first time in his office, the hard edge of his desk digging into your hip and the glow of the sunset highlighting the clear affection in his eyes.

When you pull back, you notice a pink tinge high on his cheeks and the way his tongue peeks out to lick his lips, as if chasing the taste of your fruity cocktail. “What was that for?”

“Just letting you know that I can’t wait to take you home,” he says, pulling you until the entire line of your body is pressed against his. Your hand unconsciously comes to rest on his chest and you’re not sure if you can feel the bass line for the song playing or the thudding of his heart.

His hands start trailing down to your ass and you seriously wonder how touchier he can get.

But, like you realized earlier, it’s been weeks since you’ve had alone time with Hotch. So, you untangle yourself from him despite his protests and slip your hand in his pocket to retrieve the car keys. You grin when it’s Hotch’s turn to jump.

“I’ll meet you at the car?”

“I already said bye to them for us, let’s go.”

And then he’s pulling you towards the exit with his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist. You barely have the chance to peer over the moving crowd to see the rest of your team waving at you, wearing shit-eating grins.

[zara-renata]

Good Boy | masterlist | ao3

@wearysparrows and i were talking this morning about dogs and work was really slow, so i just... wrote dog!sylus all day today. @leaderincrows is bursting with ideas for dog!sylus, but I only managed to fit some of them in this time (i'm so sorry, i hope you like anyway!). Maybe there needs to be more dog!sylus, i don't know. So voilà, I present you my very stupid take on the trope -> After a stray dog gets injured helping you in a fight against Wanderers, you take it home with you. Then one day, you wake up and find a man in your bed instead of your beloved dog. sylus x gn reader, sylus x mc. sylus acts like a real dog for 2/3ds of the fic. nsfw, there's penetrative sex, not with dog!sylus but with human!sylus (sylus penetrating), oral for both you and sylus, as a treat. Minor doggy injury, but he's fine. fluff, banter, teasing.

The snow is falling. Fat flakes, thick. The world is still, all sounds muffled under the blanket of snow covering the ground. 

The blood is bright on the snow, against the white. 

Your chest heaves as you stare down at the huge, beautiful dog. Wolf? You’re not sure. You’ve never been able to have a pet, never spent much time with animals. Wolf hybrids are outlawed within Linkon City limits, so you think it’s most likely that the injured animal before you is some kind of large shepherd dog. An albino, going by its red eyes, its long, silky looking thick coat of white fur, blending in with the snow.

Except for the blood.

Your Hunter’s watch alerted you to metaflux fluctuations while you were out with friends, in a park near the restaurant where you were having dinner. They stared, wide-eyed, as you stood up right as the main course arrived. 

“Duty calls,” you said.

Tara looked worried. “Why don’t you call for backup?”

You shook your head. “It’s not that big of a fluctuation. Xav’s sleeping, I’m not gonna wake him up for this.”

She glanced around at the group, gaze lingering on the guy whom she was trying to set you up with. “Okay…” she said, grimacing.

You knew you were going to get an earful for interrupting the blind date that Tara had arranged but you didn’t know you were attending when you arrived, in order to fight Wanderers. It was your night off too, after all. 

The guy seemed nice. Handsome. You just… felt nothing when you looked at him, when you listened to his small talk. You’d rather be out in the snow, risking your life.

Yeah, Tara might be right. There might be something wrong with you.

You were just bored, otherwise.

Without the adrenaline. The rush. The sense of accomplishment.

Most men you met just didn’t get it.

None of the men you met ever made your heart race, the way doing your job made it race.

Now, here you are. In the hushed, falling snow, staring down at the dog that just saved your ass from a surprise second Wanderer, while you were busy putting down the first.

The dog received a nasty swipe to its belly as a reward for its efforts.

It’s lying in the snow, curled in on itself, licking, licking.

You tuck your Deepspace Hunter standard issue firearms into your holsters, barrels still smoking in the cold. Crouch down into the snow, your boots crunching.

“Hey, buddy,” you say softly. One of the dog’s pretty, huge, pointy ears flicks in your direction, but it remains focused on tending its wound, its long tongue pink, its breath puffing in the frigid air.

You inch closer, waiting for a sign of defensive aggression, but the dog seems content to let you approach.

Finally, you’re crouched next to it. You lift your hand, and it lifts its head. It stares at you with its strange, bright red eyes. Bright, like the blood on the snow.

It sniffs your hand, nostrils flaring, and then lowers its head. As if deigning to allow you to pet it.

You stroke your fingers along its long snout, along its cheek. It huffs, closes its eyes.

“Can I see your tummy?” you ask, running your hand from its snout, down its shoulder, to rest on its side.

It lets you. Watches your hand, and then licks it.

You lean further, letting your hand rest on its leg. “I’m going to lift your leg now, take a look at your belly,” you inform it. It doesn’t move, so you take a chance, and do as you promised. 

The dog lets you.

Lifting the dog’s leg, you see it’s a boy, unneutered. You’re surprised. Most pets, unless they’re registered for breeding or are show animals, are required to be neutered or spayed in Linkon City. You wonder if he’s a stray. 

But your attention is caught by the long, shallow gash along his lower belly, where his thick, luxurious fur is the most thin. It’s not deep, but it’s bleeding quite a bit.

“You need to see a vet, buddy,” you tell the dog.

He growls, low in his throat. You still your hand, thinking maybe he changed his mind about you touching him. You lift your hand, but then he nudges it, butting it with his nose, as if demanding that you continue caressing him.

You laugh. “Okay. Okay.” You resume petting him. 

He’s not wearing a collar. There’s no way for you to know if he’s a stray, or has an owner to call, who can help come and collect him, to care for him. Based on how beautiful and healthy he looks, you doubt he’s a stray. But you can’t just leave him here.

You stroke his fur, while slowly reaching into your coat pocket for your phone.

You make a call. The answer is swift. A bit exasperated. You can imagine the man on the other end pinching his nose, nudging his glasses aside as he does so, long-suffering from yet another strange request from you.

“You do realize that I’m a cardiac surgeon, and not a veterinarian.”

You humor him. “Yes, yes. I will make it up to you, I promise.”

There is silence on the line. Then his soft, soothing voice. “There is a new bakery that recently opened. They specialize in macha desserts.”

He knows you hate macha. This is his way of punishing you.

You smile. “I’ll treat you. Come quickly.”

“I will.”

The dog’s eyes never leave yours, the whole time you’re on the phone.

Zayne is as good as his word.

He arrives quickly, striding through the thick snowfall, at home in the frigid cold, seemingly unbothered with his handsome wool coat only partially buttoned, his scarf hanging loosely around his neck.

The dog watches him, with his strange, strange eyes, but doesn’t act defensive. As if he knows that this man is here to help.

Zayne couches down next to you. Sighs.

“What happened?”

“Wanderer claws. No poison, or venom. Just the nasty gash there.” You gesture at the bleeding wound, the white fur crimson now, matted.

“Has he shown any signs of aggression?” 

You shake your head.

“All right, but that’s no guarantee he won’t react when I start working. I’ll sedate him.”

The dog growls, narrows his eyes. You have the funny feeling again that he can understand everything that’s happening to him, what you’re saying.

“I’ll hold his snout,” you blurt. 

Zayne frowns, slightly. “He could bite you. He could have an infectious disease. Absolutely not.”

You turn to the dog. “Focus on me, okay buddy? Dr. Zayne is gonna fix you right up. It might hurt, but you can handle it, right? You’re such a good boy.” You speak low, soft, soothingly. The dog’s ears swivel, flick. He whines when you say Good boy. He inches forward, painfully, in the snow to get closer to you. You rest your hands on either side of his big jaws, stare into his eyes. “Do it,” you tell Zayne. “Please.

All you hear is his frosty silence, before a resigned sigh.

The dog whimpers, but doesn’t snap, or otherwise react, as Zayne cleans his wound, stitches him up. As he wraps the clean bandages around the wound, covering the bloody, matted fur. The dog just looks into your eyes, panting, shows no sign of reacting poorly to the pain.

When it’s over, the dog closes his eyes. You run your hands from his muzzle down his neck, back through his thick fur.

“Good boy,” you say, again, softly. His long, fuzzy tail thumps weakly in the snow in response.

“He’ll need antibiotics. You’ll need to arrange for an actual vet for that.”

You nod. “Thanks.” Then pause. Grimace. “I need one more favor.”

Zayne stares at you, lovely hazel eyes flashing behind his glasses. “Do I even want to know?”

“I came here on my motorcycle, and I want to take him home. Make sure he recovers okay. Find his owner, hopefully.”

Zayne immediately understands what you’re asking and frowns again, more deeply. “No.”

“Pretty, pretty please?” You’re not above begging, wheedling like when you were children.

“The upholstery in my car cannot handle all that—” he waves a scarred hand at the lustrous, incredibly thick fur of the dog, and his long, sharp looking nails.

“I’ll pay for any detailing or damage your car might need, along with the macha bakery!” you offer, desperate. You don’t think any cab in the city will accept your not-wolf as a passenger.

Zayne stares down at the dog. His shoulders sag a bit.

“On one condition.”

You perk up. “Anything.”

“Take my scarf. You’re not even wearing a proper winter coat,” he scolds, sounding infinitely exhausted with your inability to properly take care of yourself. He turns to you, lifting the scarf from his neck and wrapping it gently around yours. It’s warm around your neck, and smells good. “How you think you’ll care for a pet, as well as yourself, is beyond me,” he grumbles. He looks down at the dog. “Come.”

The dog just stares at him. Leans further back in the snow.

“Come, now,” Zayne tries again. Cold, imperious.

“I don’t know if he can walk,” you begin, but Zayne shakes his head.

“His side is injured, not his legs. He can walk.” 

You glance uncertainly at the dog, whose ears are now flattened back against his head. He’s panting heavily, where before he wasn’t. He looks miserable.

You steel your spine. “Okay, I’ll carry him to your car.”

Zayne pinches his nose again, knocking his glasses a little. “No, I’ll carry him.”

He kneels, lifts the dog with a grunt.

You swear the dog looks smug as he rests his head on Zayne’s shoulder, ears pricked up and swiveling again. He watches you as you trail behind them both in the snow to Zayne’s fancy car.

You’re going to have to add Zayne’s drycleaning to the bill of what you owe him.

You thank Zayne, return to the restaurant.

You offer your excuses to your disappointed-looking blind date. You don’t have the heart to refuse to give him your number.

Finally, you make your escape. Break the speed limit to get home before Zayne and your… not wolf.

Zayne carries the dog into your place, sets him down on your living room rug.

He looks down at his fur-covered coat when he’s done, expression unimpressed.

“Bill me,” you say, trying to sound cheerful, as if you’re not already deducting the accumulated costs from your bank account and wincing internally. 

Expensive fucking dog, and you’ve only had him for an hour.

“Do you want to stay? Have something to drink?” you ask, the least you can offer after your doctor’s excessive generosity tonight, even if you now owe him.

He shakes his head. “I have to return to the hospital. But thank you.” He stares down at the dog, who is now sitting on his haunches just fine, breathing normally. His ears are straight up, swiveling, swiveling. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks, absently.

You tilt your head. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He keeps staring at the dog. “There’s something…” his voice trails off. He shakes his head, seems to shake off his thoughts. “Nevermind. Call me, if you need anything.”

“Thank you, again. Let me know when you’re free soon, I’ll clear my schedule for macha,” you say, cheerfully, despite the fact that you hate it terribly. He nods, makes his way to your front door.

“Oh, do you want your scarf?” you ask, suddenly remembering that he insisted you wear it. You begin unwrapping it from your neck. 

He pauses at the door. “No. Keep it, for now. You can return it when we meet again,” he says, strangely. As if he’s actually saying something else. Like it’s insurance to see you again, when he’s your doctor. Of course you'll see him again.

You thank him quietly, and then he’s gone. You hang the scarf carefully on one of the pegs in the wall of your hallway.

You return to the living room and stare at your new friend, who still sits on his haunches, watching you attentively.

“Hey, Buddy. I don’t have anything for a dog. No food, no leash. I’m going to have to go to the supermarket and pick up some stuff for you.”

The dog just listens, watches. You frown. “Okay. I’m going to go now. Don’t eat my shoes.”

You turn, walk to the door. You put your boots back on, and as you do so, you feel a cold nose nudging the back of your bent neck. You shiver.

“Hey,” you say, turning. The dog has followed you to your hallway. You hate thinking of him as ‘the dog.’ 

“Do you have a name?” you wonder out loud.

The dog whines, a little, tilting his head. “I bet you have some regal name. You seem like a very expensive dog, with a rich owner.”

The dog just huffs.

“Maximus,” you say. Trying it out. He lowers his head, bumps your shoulder with his snout. You laugh. “Okay, not Maximus. Uum.” You think. “Charles?”

The dog growls. 

“Okay, okay.” You try again.“Sherman.” 

The dog actually takes a step back, growls more deeply. You laugh even louder. “I should call you Sherman as punishment for being so picky.” He looks unimpressed, bored. But his ears are pressed back against his head. His tail is thumping the floor in agitation.

You can’t bear to see him so put out, so you decide against calling him Sherman even as a joke.

You stare at him thoughtfully. He’s so beautiful, with his soft, long fur. It almost has a pearl sheen, in the subtle lighting of your hallway.

Finally, a name comes to you. You don’t know why, but you say, “Sylus.” A name that you’ve never known anyone to have before. Not anyone you’ve ever met, anywhere, anyway.

His ears flick forward. He approaches you again. Rests his head on your shoulder.

“Oh, we like Sylus?” you tease him, and he lets his tongue loll out, leaves a wet swipe on your ear. You laugh, pushing his head away. “Sylus it is.”

He watches as you finish tying your boots.

As you shrug back into your coat. As you walk out the door. 

He’s there when you return. Sitting patiently, in the same position. As if he was waiting for you to come home the entire time. His tail wags eagerly.

You dump all the shit you bought for him on the hallway floor.

“You’re already the most expensive thing I’ve acquired in a long, long time,” you grouse at him.

You unlace, kick off your boots. Hang up your coat.

You don’t notice that Zayne’s scarf is no longer hanging on the peg in the hall.

You take the huge bag of dog food to the kitchen. He follows you, head low, watching every move you make. You hum, taking a bowl from your cupboard, scoop out some of his food, set it and another bowl filled with water next to your kitchen island.

When you turn, you find him staring at you, ears swiveled toward you.

You stop humming.

He takes a step forward, nudges your thigh. He’s so big, he comes up to your waist. “What do you need, baby?” You run your hands through his fur. You don’t know where the term of endearment came from. It’s just, despite his size, the fact that he looks like an alpha predator, something about him screams ‘big baby’ to you. In the same way you knew that he wouldn’t bite you as Zayne tended to his wound.

You just know. 

Like you know his name should be Sylus.

This dog is making you insane.

He whines softly. Lets out a little ‘awooo.’

You stare at him. He does it again. A sad little, awooo. Then he nudges your hip with his nose.

You suddenly understand that he wants you to keep humming.

You start humming again, and he looks incredibly satisfied. He sits back on his butt, tail thumping on your floor.

From that day on, you hum, every time you’re home. You decide that the next time you have to leave him, you’ll leave music on for him to listen to you while you’re gone.

You have no idea what you’re going to do with such a big dog if you can’t figure out who owns him, but you’re going to keep him if no one else will. Already, the thought of parting from him hurts your heart in a way that shocks you.

Even as he turns his nose up at the dry food you bought him.

Even as he only eats meat leftovers from takeout from the night before.

Even as he lets you bathe him, docilely sitting in your small shower, but then once he’s out of the cabin, he stares you directly in the eyes even as you say No!!!! and he shakes his body, his soaking wet fur, so hard that the entire room and everything in it, including you, is soaked.

You stand, shellshocked, dripping onto your little, soaked bathroom rug.

“Sylus,” you say. Glaring at him. He sits back on his butt. He doesn’t avoid your gaze, like other dogs. He stares right back at you.

You strip out of your clothes, leave them in a sad little pile on the floor. Naked, you kneel down, take a towel and gently rub him down. He licks your arm, your hand. As if to say he’s sorry. You don’t believe it for a second.

When he’s towel dry, you take out your blow dryer.

His eyes close halfway in hypnotized pleasure as you slowly, diligently brush him with the new doggy brush you bought and dry him with the dryer set to low.

When you’re done, he’s so fluffy, his coat so shiny. You want to bury your face in him. You check his stitches. They look fine, even after the shower.

But you’re still naked, and soaked. You shoo him from the bathroom, step into the shower. Wait for the water to warm up again.

You wash your hair, let the water beat down on your sore shoulders. With your job, something is always sore.

However, after a few minutes, you notice that the water isn’t draining. You look down and see a massive amount of white fur blocking the drain.

You hang your head, exhausted at the prospect of cleaning the drain before you can be done for the evening. 

This fucking dog.

Finally, the shower is clean. You’re clean.

You step out of the bathroom, walk naked to your bedroom.

Sylus is lying on your bed. As if he owns the place. His big head rests on his big paws, and he watches you, his ears swiveling, flicking, as you stop and put your hands on your hips.

“Off.” You are not letting this monstrous, furry thing sleep on your bed. You’re already nuts about him, but this is a step too far. “I got you a dog bed. You can sleep on your doggy bed.”

You go to your closet, and you feel his glowing ruby eyes follow every movement you make. As you slip on underwear. Soft pyjama pants. A tank top.

You turn. He hasn’t moved. “Be a good boy, and get off the bed.”

He pretends not to hear you. Just looks away, as if fascinated by the view outside your bedroom window. He huffs, as if bored, tail swishing slowly.

“I spent way too much money on a glorified pillow of a dog bed for you to sleep on, Sylus. You can sleep on your doggy bed,” you insist, trying to infuse your voice with authority.

One ear twitches toward you, but otherwise he doesn’t move.

“I’m not afraid to shove you off, even if you are injured,” you threaten, lying. There’s no way you could do that to him.

He can obviously smell your lie. He just looks back at you. Thumps his tail.

You’re tired. You’ve got a long day again tomorrow, starting with a five in the morning run. You give up.

“Fine. Just for tonight,” you concede, crawling onto the bed. “But you stay on the end of the bed,” you grumble, snuggling under the covers. You switch off the light, and hear a satisfied sigh from your new companion.

You come awake slowly, not from your alarm, but from the warmth. You’re sweating. It’s a bit hard to breathe.

You blink open your eyes, slowly, to find a giant, soft, space heater of a dog curled up against your stomach and chest where you’re lying on your side, his big head resting on the pillow next to yours. He’s snoring softly. Every now and then, his legs move restlessly, as if he’s dreaming about running.

You roll over, peer at your clock on your nightstand. Ten minutes before you need to be up for your run. You groan. Every minute of sleep is precious, and your new dog deprived you of ten whole minutes. 

Well. You’re awake now. You sit up, and the culprit who woke you up early startles, jumps to his feet. You stare at him. He’s a little taller than eye-level with you, as you sit on the edge of the bed.

“Good morning, naughty boy,” you say, dryly. His ears flatten against the back of his head. He takes a step forward, nuzzles into your neck with his wet nose, sniffing. You laugh, pet him. He seems mollified after being jerked awake. As if he has any room to be upset about being woken up early.

You stand, stretch. He jumps off the bed, follows you to the closet. You strip out of your pyjamas, pull on your running things. He tries to follow you in the bathroom when you go to pee, but you shoo him away, shut the door in his face.

When you emerge, he follows you to the kitchen. You shovel down a piece of toast, a sip of water. You dump the last of the leftover meat in his bowl, which he greedily eats. You make a note to get him wet food the next time you go to the store, since apparently your new (probably temporary) dog is a fancy boy.

“I”m going for a run. You stay here and be a good boy, okay?”

You walk to the hallway, and he follows. “No, you’re injured. I’ll take you out to pee and poopoo when I’m done with my run.”

His ears flatten on his head again. He squeezes past you, blocking the door with his bulk.

“Sylus,” you sigh. “You’re hurt. You can’t come on a run with me yet.”

He huffs. Shakes himself, like he shook himself last night in your bathroom. Then, like a king deigning to kneel for a peasant, he lies down and bares his belly to you.

You gasp. The stitches. The angry wound from yesterday. 

Gone. As if they were never there. Just the soft, unmarred skin of his tummy where his fur thins.

You check your Hunter’s watch. No metaflux. You don’t sense any, either. He’s not a Wanderer. He’s just a miracle. You remember Zayne’s strange expression, staring at him yesterday.

You wonder if he’s some escaped medical experiment. 

You resolve to take him to the vet, see if he’s chipped, with his owners on record. If he’s not, you’ll put up posters where you found him.

You don’t want to.

You want to keep him.

But you should do the right thing, and at least make a reasonable effort to find his true owner before allowing yourself to hope that you can keep him. This giant dog, whom you do not have time or space for, to keep properly.

But your heart hurts, when you think about taking him to a shelter. Saying goodbye to him.

“Okay. Okay,” you say. He rolls over, sits up. “I still have to go for my run. I’ll be back to take you out, after.”

He huffs, moves forward, nudges your hip with his nose. He then lopes to the bag of things you got him the day before, and he brings you his collar and leash, clutched in his big jaws, still with the tags on.

You laugh.

“Okay. Okay, you win. Again.” You roll your eyes, surrendering. You kneel, and he lowers his big head, pretty, glowing eyes never leaving yours, as you thread the black and scarlet, gem-studded leather collar around his neck with the empty tag shaped like a heart, clasp it tight. You clip the leash on the collar.

He does a little dance at the door, as if excited, tail wagging. 

He runs with you through the gray, quiet, early morning. The snow hushes your footsteps. He doesn’t falter once, the entire run. 

At the end of your run, as you’re walking to cool down, about to head back to your place, he suddenly dashes forward, jerks the leash out of your hand.

“Sylus!” you cry, trying to run after him. He disappears into an area full of shrubbery and dense vegetation, heavy with snow along the bare branches, the pine needles. You have no idea what got into him. Just as you’re about to get on your knees and try to crawl in after him, he re-emerges. He brings you his leash in his teeth.

“What the fuck, Sylus?” You stare at him.

He huffs. Runs a circle around you, kicking up snow. As if to say, Take the leash, take the leash.

You think back over the run. About how he didn’t stop, once. To sniff. Or to pee.

“Did you need to peepee? Or poopoo?” He just growls, bobs his head with his leash in his mouth. “Oooh, baby’s shy!” You laugh. “You better remember this, when you try to follow me into the bathroom again.” You take his leash from between his sharp, sharp teeth.

He leads the way back to your apartment building. You admire his big paw prints in the snow.

Before you leave him to go to work, you snap a photo of him, staring at you solemnly. As if he’s posing. You leave him with music playing and the curtains open, the door to your indoor balcony open for a view.

At work, you make a vet’s appointment. You print off a bunch of “Found” posters for Sylus for if he’s not chipped, with his cute picture front and center. You do paperwork, patrol the city, laugh and joke with Xavier and Tara.

She gives you the earful you expected, about ditching your blind date. She’s only slightly mollified when you show her the picture of Sylus, who looks like such a big handsome boy in the photo.

You’d rather hang out with your dog, than see that guy again.

But you don’t say that out loud.

This dog is making you insane.

You stop by the store on your way home, pick up an absurd amount of meat to cook, as a backup, you tell yourself. For if Sylus refuses to eat the wet food you’re also buying. Not because you have the bizarre urge to feed him food meant for a king. Meant for a king, and not your stray dog who is the least obedient creature you’ve ever encountered.

You let yourself into your apartment, and are a bit surprised, maybe a little disappointed that your new friend isn’t there to greet you already. You know it’s absurd, to wish he had missed you as much as you found yourself missing him throughout your day.

You kick your boots off, carry your groceries to the kitchen island. You glance around. No Sylus.

You peek on the balcony. No Sylus.

So that leaves the bedroom.

You pad quietly through the living room, and then pause in the doorway to your bedroom, shocked at the chaos before you.

Your dirty laundry basket, knocked over.

All of your laundry spread in a little nest, surrounding your dog.

Your big, beautiful, regal dog, who is lying on his belly the floor in the midst of your dirty clothes, like a sphinx, diligently licking a pair of your underwear meant for the wash that he has trapped between his paws. He’s so absorbed in his current activity that he doesn’t seem to notice you at all.

“Sylus!” you yell. Bellow. Air raid siren level of volume.

The noise seems to rip him out of his meditative licking. He blinks, looks up, pauses. Then he stares you right in the eye and takes another lick.

“No! Naughty! Naughty boy!” You stride forward, intending to yank your underwear from his mouth, but he just… chomps down on the slip of fabric, pulling it into his mouth with his tongue and teeth. Then he tries to swallow. “SYLUS!” 

You drop to your knees next to him and grab his snout. You place one hand on his snout and the other under his lower jaw, and then you try to pry his jaws apart, as he continues to clamp down. “Drop! It!” you order, through clenched teeth. He ignores you, resisting your efforts, but not growling, not snapping at you. Simply...ignoring your insistence.  “Drop it!!!”

He swallows, instead. 

You stare at him, huffing from the effort, as you realize that he has just successfully eaten a pair of your underwear.

You’re really, really glad you made that vet appointment already.

It’s only after he has retreated to your bed, completely unashamed, unapologetic, and you’ve started putting your laundry back in the basket, that you notice Zayne’s scarf amidst the pile of clothes. It’s now completely covered in fluffy, white fur, and it stinks like dog.

You hang your head in defeat.

This dog is making you insane.

You take him to the vet. He’s not chipped. 

“If you’re going to keep him, you’ll have to neuter him.”

Sylus’s ears twitch, and he growls menacingly, deep in his throat. The vet stares at him, a strange look on his face. You say something vague, about making an appointment once you’ve exhausted your options in finding his true owner.

The vet has no idea what breed he is. Suspects he might indeed be part wolf. But without a genetic test, he can’t say for sure. He looks at your dog in contemplation. “A fine animal. It would be a shame if he’s a hybrid, and you couldn't keep him.” His eyes flick to yours. “You’re a Hunter, right?”

You nod, wondering why he’s asking.

“One of your lot saved my daughter from a Wanderer attack, a few years ago. Handsome guy. Bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

You stare at him. “Was his name Xavier, by any chance?” you tentatively ask.

The vet nods. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

You look down at Sylus, who is leaning against your leg, eyes closed. “He’s my partner,” you say quietly.

“Hmm,” the vet says. He puts his tablet down. Seems to come to a decision. “Well, it looks like we’ve already got the genetic test results back about your dog. He’s just a mutt. Mainly shepherd, husky.”

You jerk your head up, stare wide eyed at him.

“Agreed?” he asks.

You could cry. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, not believing that you’re one step closer to keeping your incredibly disobedient, lovely good boy.

The vet shrugs. “Test results are test results. Just take him to obedience training. Make sure he gets plenty of exercise. This type of dog needs a firm hand, and an outlet for excess energy. They can be really destructive if they get bored. Like a bomb going off in your house.”

You snort. Think about your laundry. Your poor underwear, which the vet says was small enough not to present a problem for your giant dog. He’ll just shit it out, later.

“Thank you,” you say, quietly, sincerely. You’re breaking so many regulations—ethics rules, accepting gifts for your work as a Hunter, violating city ordinances, because your dog is clearly not just a dog. But you’re realizing you’d do a lot of shady shit, if it means keeping your good boy.

“No, thank you,” he responds, shooing you and your good boy out the door.

You take Sylus home. He curls up on the couch with you, rests his head in your lap, as you watch tv. 

And so it goes.

Morning runs.

Taking him for walks.

To keep him from going after your underwear again, you take big doggy toys that frankly look like butt plugs and fill them with peanut butter. You freeze them. It keeps Sylus busy all day, licking the peanut butter out of the toy.

You try to take him to a dog park, to interact with other dogs. He ignores them, looking bored out of his doggy mind.

You try to throw a ball for him, play fetch. He refuses to chase it. He just runs around you in circles, nips at your heels. Herds you into running with him. Then he’ll refuse to go faster than a walk, once you get tired. As if he knows.

You try to throw a frisbee for him. That, he likes. He catches it in the air, almost as if he’s showing off. Then he’ll bring it back, but refuses to release it from his jaws. You learn that you have to kiss him on his pretty white head in order for him to give it up. His tail wags furiously, every time you do.

This dog is making you insane.

When you come home, exhausted from a particularly tough battle, or an even more grueling day of paperwork, he waits for you at the door, his beautiful, blood-bright eyes big and excited to see you, his tail wagging so furiously the whole lower half of his body shakes.

You suddenly don’t feel so tired, as you kneel down, press your face into the scruff of his neck. His soft fur smells so good to you, even though he’s just a dog. You no longer feel lonely, or dread coming home to your empty, quiet apartment.

After a while, you resign yourself to hanging up the posters once you get home from work. The last hurdle, before you dare hope that you can keep him.

When you arrive at your place after work, you find Sylus on the balcony. Somehow, the window is open, just wide enough for two crows to perch there. They chatter at your dog. He just huffs in response, but makes no effort to bark at them, or chase them away. 

The entire floor of the balcony is covered with the torn-apart paper strips of what used to be the posters advertising the dog you found, with your phone number on it in case someone is missing their beloved pet.

Your beloved pet.

You wonder if it’s so terrible, to just… accept that you’ll never know who had him before. And that he’s yours now. They should have chipped him, collared him, branded him as theirs if they care about him. You decide to get his tag engraved. 

You put the hanging of posters on the backburner in your mind.

You eat with him. You, sitting at your kitchen island. Him, out of his bowl next to your stool. You snuggle with him while watching movies, TV. You take him for walks, for runs. He’s your constant companion, when you’re not at work.

When Xavier comes over to hang out, to cook and read, Sylus basically crawls into your lap despite your protests and his size, and won’t move unless you promise to make him meat along with the ramen you make for yourself and Xav. Once you’re done and back to reading, he’s back, impersonating a chihuahua instead of the wolf he probably is as he wiggles into your lap.

One evening, you’re dumping more meat into your picky-as-fuck dog’s bowl when you receive a call from an unknown number.

You answer.

“Hey. Um. Hi.” A tentative voice.

You wait. The other end is quiet. “May I ask who is calling?” you prompt, hoping you can just hang up. You hate talking on the phone. It’s never good, when someone is calling you out of the blue. Warn a person with a text, damn!

You’re about to hang up when the other person says. “Hi, yeah, sorry. I’m your blind date. The one from when you had to leave to fight Wanderers?”

You shake your head, shocked. You had completely forgotten that you had given this guy your number. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” you ask, dreading his answer.

“Yeah, hi.” He chuckles nervously. “Thanks for picking up. I was, uh, actually calling to see if you’d like a… if you’d like a re-do. With just the two of us?”

You blink. Try to think of an excuse. 

You think of Tara, her badgering you to live for more than just work. To build new relationships. How much effort she puts into trying to introduce you to people she thinks you might like.

Even though you don’t like anyone. 

Except your friends.

You glance at Sylus, who has lifted his head from his paws, his ears pointed at you, like he’s listening intently.

Except your dog.

Your mind is blank. “Uh, okay,” you blurt, wincing. “When is a good time for you?”

He rattles off some dates. You check your Hunter’s watch, settle on a date, a time, a place to meet.

He sounds excited, like he can’t quite believe you agreed to go out with him again, before you end the call.

You shake your head. How bad can it be? It’s just dinner. You get to eat, and then you’ll let him down gently. Or maybe, who knows? You might feel a spark, a spark that’s been missing for you, for so long. You try to be positive. Maybe this guy will be the one to make your heart race, when no one else has been able to.

You get ready for bed.

Sylus is already curled up next to your pillow, no longer even pretending to initially sleep at the end of the bed like the first night you ordered him to do.

You crawl into bed, lift the duvet for him to slide under, and he curls up against your chest and stomach. You fall asleep easily, as you’ve been able to do, ever since he came home with you.

You come awake slowly. 

Like the first morning you brought Sylus home, something wakes you, but it’s not your alarm.

You’re warm. Really warm.

But instead of the soft fur that you’ve come to expect, waking up every morning with your dog taking up more than his fair share of the bed, you feel smooth, warm… skin?

You turn your head. Look over your shoulder, to the source of the warmth at your back.

You think you might be dreaming.

You must be dreaming.

What else could explain the gorgeous, very human, white-haired, red-eyed man looking back at you from your own pillow, where your dog used to be?

This dog is making you insane.

Are you so desperate for companionship that you can stand, that will make your heart race, that you’re dreaming that your beloved dog is the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life?

What the fuck would a therapist have to say about this dream?

You’re so, so glad that you don’t have a therapist, and will never, ever have to tell anyone about this fucking dream.

You slowly turn your head again. Close your eyes. Your alarm hasn’t gone off, after all. Maybe you can just go to sleep in your dream, wake up, and pretend this never happened.

You hear a low laugh rumbling behind you, rumbling through you. 

A muscular arm snakes over your side, pulls you back against a warm, pillowy chest. “Is this how you greet your good boy?” A deep voice, rough with sleep but still soaked in amusement, murmurs in your ear.

“My good boy is a big fluffy dog,” you bite out, squeezing your eyes shut harder against the warmth, the muscles, the voice. “I don’t know what the fuck you are, other than a really weird dream.”

A big hand—alarmingly big—lifts from your stomach, where it was holding you tight, and tenderly brushes your hair away from your neck, your ear. The … dream behind you noses into the back of your neck, inhales. “I have fluffy hair. And I think you can feel what I am, without even needing to look.” The dream adjusts his hips. Your eyes open, despite your best efforts, widen as you feel a big—alarmingly big—dick against your ass.

“I am not having a sex dream about my dog,” you declare.

The dream laughs, low, a rich fucker’s laugh. “No, you’re not having a sex dream about your dog,” he says. “Unless you’re into that. And then I can oblige, but it’s still my mind inside your dog, I’m afraid.”

Okay, that’s enough. You whip around in the dream’s arms, stare into familiar ruby-glow eyes, so close to you, sharing the same pillow. “Who the fuck are you?”

One corner of his full mouth lifts. He’s so beautiful, it hurts. Your heart is racing.

“You should know,” he says, eyes drifting from your eyes, to your mouth. He lifts a hand again, runs it along your hair, so, so gently. “You named me, after all.”

You don’t dare hope. Just as you haven’t dared hope that you could keep him, from the moment you saw him launch himself at the Wanderer slinking up behind you, preparing to attack you. As you saw him rip out its throat, and watched, heart in your throat, as he was flung into the soft snow as a consequence.

You’re afraid to say it. To name your insane hope.

This dog is making you insane.

“Why so quiet? You couldn’t stop talking to me, telling me about your day, about your dreams, your fears—telling me what a wonderful boy I am, when I was your dog. Does this form not please you?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your hair. He takes your hand instead, places it on his own hair.

It’s so, so soft. Even softer than his fur. You can’t help yourself. You pet him, brushing your fingers through its shimmering strands.

You finally manage to speak. You don’t want him to ever think that you don’t delight in him. “I didn’t say it doesn’t please me.”

“Then say that it pleases you.”

You think of all the moments you’ve shared with him. All of the things you’ve said to him, as he’s lived at your side, in your house. You wince. Then you think of how he made Zayne carry him to his car.

“You could walk, that first day. Zayne didn’t have to carry you.”

He looks pleased, smug. It’s jarring, seeing the expression on his human face that you felt like you saw on his doggy face. “I was injured,” he sniffs. “Any doctor with an ounce of compassion would have offered to carry your injured pet.”

You scowl at him, ignoring his jab at Zayne. “You intentionally soaked me, in the bathroom, that first night.”

He smiles wider, just a little, a canine tooth peeking out between his lips. “But I didn’t make you strip off all your clothes and groom me while gloriously nude. That was all you, sweetheart.”

You lean forward, bury your face in his warm, strong neck. “You ate my fucking underwear.”

He coughs, the first time sounding a little abashed. “When I’m shapeshifted, certain urges… are amplified. Keep that in mind, if you want me to fuck you as a—”

You jerk back, cover his mouth with your hands. “I do not want to fuck you as a dog, Sylus.”

“Excellent, I’ll fuck you as a human then,” he says, voice muffled from behind your hand, but his subtle smile loud and clear under your palms. 

“Sylus!”

“Yes, owner?” he asks, eyes wide, falsely innocent.

You drop your hands. “Don’t call me owner,” you whisper. “You’re my companion, not my possession. You have been from the day you came home with me.”

“Then say that this form pleases you,” he says, sounding uncertain for the first time.

“How can it not?” you ask. “You’re beautiful.”

He shrugs. “Not everyone sees what you see.”

“You’re beautiful. But you’re a naughty boy,” you say, slipping your fingers under the collar he’s still wearing. It’s loose on his human neck. You pull, gently. He whimpers.

“A very naughty boy,” he agrees, breathless. “How will you punish me?”

“First, by making you wash Zayne’s scarf. It wasn’t nice what you did to it.” You punctuate each word, by pulling his collar a little for emphasis. He grumbles, but looks slightly drunk. Eyes half lidded in pleasure. You continue. “And by interrogating you. Who are you, really?” You have so many questions, even as you feel him, hard and warm, against your stomach. 

He huffs. “Would you believe me if I said that I’m the head of the largest criminal organization on the planet, and I’m the most wanted criminal on not one, but two planets?”

You stare at him. Laugh a little. “You were my dog, and now you’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my bed. I’d believe you if you said you’ve loved me for lifetimes, and have been waiting for me to be reincarnated in order to make me fall in love with you all over again.”

“How convenient,” he says. “Because that’s the other answer to your question.”

You laugh, loudly. 

This dog is making you insane.

“Wanted criminal, soulmate. Irrelevant. You ate my fucking underwear, Sylus.”

He leans forward, nudges your nose with his long, regal snout. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and your heart races, races. “Is it a crime to want to savor something so delicious?”

“It’s a crime in some jurisdictions to pilfer underwear, yes,” you say, laughing, breathless in turn. You return his kiss. His lips are so, so soft. He makes a little sound of pleasure in his throat.

“Then arrest your naughty boy,” he murmurs. “And teach him what the real thing tastes like, instead of the leftovers.”

“You like leftovers,” you tease, thinking of all the takeout meat you’ve been setting out in his doggy bowl in between the fresh stuff.

“With you, I’ll take what I can get,” he admits. “But maybe if you tell me how to be a good boy for you, you can reward me with a fresh taste.”

Your heart is going berserk in your chest, as you look into his earnest, big, wet, crimson puppy eyes. It doesn’t matter, that he has been lying to you this whole time. That he’s tricked you into revealing so many of your secrets to him, as he wagged his tail for you, kept you warm in bed, as he ran by your side, kilometer after kilometer. Your heart is racing, and you think it recognized him, the moment you looked into his beautiful eyes in the snow.

You tell him how he can be a good boy. He uses his mouth, his big pink tongue, to soften you, make you wet. He licks you, like he licked your underwear. With single-minded, hypnotized focus. You tell him to mind his teeth, when he gets bitey, gently flick his ear to get his attention. His eyes drift between being closed as he savors your taste, and open, eagerly watching your face as he pleasures you, as your body begins to shake, as you gush into his mouth.

You lie there panting for a few minutes, watching him as he licks his lips, his fingers, his palms. Like a dog, licking its paws after making a mess in its bowl.

You suddenly desperately need to return the favor. You roll to your side, sit up. “I want to taste you, too.” He looks surprised, but pleased. He gets up on his knees, takes the back of your head tenderly in his big palm, petting your hair with his other hand. You open your mouth, and he guides his big cock to your lips, smears his own wetness across your lower lip, before gently feeding you his dick.

You have to open your mouth all the way, to allow him in. He moves his hips, little jerks, watching your reaction before sliding deeper, silken along your tongue, ember-eyes glowing under half-lidded lashes. You can’t take all of him, he’s just too big. You suck, use your tongue. Offer your hand, wet and sloppy for your dripping mouth, for him to tunnel through. He helps you adjust your grip. He grunts, with each little thrust. Helpless noises in his big, big throat. He smells so, so good. Skin, and sweat. A bitter tang from his leaking dick.

Finally, he loses patience. “I don’t want to come in your mouth. I want to come between your legs.” He’s panting, hair messy, sweeping over his forehead. “I want you to feel good too. May I? Please? I’ll make it so good for you.” His deep voice has a whiny edge.

You nod, looking up at him, mouth still stuffed with him. 

He slowly pulls out of your mouth, uses his hand on the back of your head to urge you up to meet him, so that you’re kneeling on the bed too. He wraps his big arms around you, hugs you, tightly. Kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye. “Are you sure? How do you want me?”

You lift your hands to his cheeks, kiss him too. His cheek. The corner of his eye. His lips. “You’ve been such a good boy, making me feel good with your mouth. You can have me however you’d like me.”

He doesn’t have a tail to wag right now, but if he did, you think he’d wag himself off the bed. He kisses you, hard, tongue licking into your mouth. He eagerly urges you down, onto your back. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, and you’re grateful for all the mobility, the stretching you do as part of your job, as he splits you wide open, holds you by your ankles, and fucks into you slowly, so slowly at first, before leaning down, bending you in half, filling you hard and fast, over and over again. Sounds come out of you that you’ve never heard before, because you’ve never felt so good, so full before. He fucks into you at an angle that makes you moan loudly, surprised, and he ruts into you there again, and again. “Am I your good boy?” he pants, desperate, in your ear.

“You’re such a good boy, Sylus,” you assure him, turning your head, biting down on his earlobe. “My good boy.” He suddenly comes, hips jerking messily, with a loud whine, a deep grunt. 

After, when your sheets are filthy and you’re both sweaty, cum drenched messes, you rest your head on his big chest, let your fingers circle one pink nipple, sift through the human fur swirling around it.

“Why didn’t you just introduce yourself like a normal person, ask me on a date?”

He snorts. “Oh, hello, my name is Sylus Qin, I’m the leader of Onychinus and your employer’s public enemy number one. May I buy you a drink? Perhaps, fuck you stupid afterwards? Love you for the rest of our lives?” His voice is wry.

You laugh, delight ballooning in your chest at his sense of humor. “Okay, maybe that would have been a little much, and I would have been suspicious. But infiltrating my life as a dog?”

He touches his finger to his lip, tilts his head. “I thought about kidnapping you. Violently trying to jog your memory by re-enacting our contentious first meeting.”

You swat his chest with your hand. “That’s a terrible fucking idea.”

“In retrospect, you are correct. Fortunately for me, the twins talked me out of it. They convinced me that being a cute, cuddly dog would be more… effective.”

You look up at him, curious. “The twins?”

He hums, low in his throat. “You’ve met them. Crows on the balcony.”

You think back, remembering the mysteriously opened window. The “Found” posters, ripped to confetti on your balcony. “The ones who destroyed my posters.”

Sylus nods, strokes his knuckles down your cheek, your neck. “The unnecessary posters containing your personal information, like your phone number, for any random fool to use to call and bother you.”

You sigh. Drift for a while, wondering how you’re going to explain your new dog and your new man in your life to your friends. To your family. “Caleb is going to hate you.”

He smirks. “I’m not worried about your brother.”

You look at him curiously. “You know who he is?”

He leans down, inhales your sweaty hair. Makes a happy noise. “I like to stay informed when I’m interested in a new acquisition. And you’re the most valuable thing I’ll ever acquire.”

You roll your eyes. “Why are you not worried about him? He’s been so weird, since he’s been back. Possessive.”

Sylus gestures at his arm, as if to indicate Caleb’s new augmentation. “I’m good with weapons. I’ll tinker in his arm, give him a little upgrade. Maybe give him sensation back. He’ll love me.”

You stare at him. No one else is supposed to know about Caleb’s arm. It’s like, a state secret. “How do you know so much about upgrading weapons?” you ask, instead of asking how he knows about Caleb.

“Do you really want to know?” He lifts a lovely silver eyebrow. “It has to do with my business. I’ll tell you, but you have to keep it a secret.”

You rest your cheek back on his chest. “Another time, maybe. I’m too tired to process all the shady shit you must do in order to be on the Association’s most wanted list. You definitely fucked me stupid.”

You feel him preen underneath you at your compliment. His invisible tail wags, wags. “Not just on the list, sweetheart. At the top of the list,” he says, smug. “And shady shit… You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, beloved? Like accepting the equivalent of a retroactive bribe from your vet, and breaking all sorts of Linkon City laws to keep your ‘dog?’”

You groan. “I can’t believe you witnessed that.”

“I feel privileged to have witnessed your fall from grace, and all because of me,” he teases you, hugging you tightly.

You just shake your head, close your eyes. Fret about your brother again. “You think you can handle him?”

He scoffs again. “Once he sees how sincere I am, he’ll have no choice but to accept me as your other half.”

You hold your breath. Ask him what you’re dying to know, what you haven’t dared hope, even as you gave in to your racing heart, your affection for him, and loved him with your body, as well as your heart. “So you’re sincere?”

He gently flicks your forehead. “You’re the only person, in any lifetime, that I’d eat out of a bowl on the ground for, beloved.”

You laugh, kiss his chest, right over where his strong, big heart is beating.

In the end, you get to keep him. You let your blind date down gently, but decisively.

You come home one day, and he is eagerly waiting for you, in his human form. You had promised him a treat, after all.

“You’ll have to bend down a little,” you say.

Without hesitation, Sylus drops to his knees, and then places his hands on the floor.

You stare down at him, as he looks up at you, soft white hair, soft red eyes, gleaming in the light.

Your heart is racing again, just from his eyes on you, his scent filling your apartment.

You bend down, thread a new, subtle leather collar around his neck. It will hang on the wall, when he’s using his doggy collar, in his big wolf form. But when he’s a man, out in the world, away from you on business, getting up to no good and causing trouble—as he still occasionally does in your bedroom as he manages to tear the stuffing out of the plushies you’ve caught with other people when you’re away for too long—he’ll wear this one for you.

The one that says good boy on the heart-shaped tag on one side, and your name on the other.

You never do make that neutering appointment with the vet.

[mandarinmoons]

Dessert

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! reader Summary: Upon finding out that Spencer left his lunch at home reader heads over to The BAU to hand it over to him along with an extra sweet surprise Words: ~ 600 Warnings: None

“Spence, someone’s here to see you!”

Spencer looked up from his paperwork toward the voice that called him. He saw JJ near the doorway with another woman next to her, not a stranger, but someone he knew all too well. It was you.

As his eyebrows furrowed, Spencer stood up and made his way over to you. His work was the last place he expected you to show up, not that he wasn’t happy to see you, but his relationship to you wasn’t something he had mentioned to anyone, not even his mother.

You and Spencer had only been dating for a few months and with everything going extremely well during that time he still hadn’t told anyone on the team about you, and why should he? Spencer was a fairly private person and with how demanding and dangerous his job could be he didn’t want to open the door of horrors to you to keep you safe, to not scare you away. Everything was still so new, the highs of the honeymoon phase were still felt by the both of you and with Spencer’s life going down the way that it has, he was determined to make it last as long as he could. He needed a break from everything, as anyone else does, and being in your arms was his escape.

“Y/N, what’re you doing here?”

You chuckled as you held up a tupperware container to Spencer’s face, his confusion turning to realization in an instant.

“You forgot your lunch. I thought that I’d bring it over.”

Spencer cleared his throat and took the container in his hands, his eyes falling to the floor as he felt his teammates glance over at you both from across the bullpen. He felt his cheeks heat up and it was evident that he wasn’t going to be able to keep his sweet little secret under the wraps. With the room being filled with profilers, everyone was bound to know what role you played in Spencer’s life.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Spencer’s lips were quick to turn into a small smile when he heard you chuckle and the smile grew wider when you took him in for a hug. Hugs were usually something Spencer wasn’t accustomed to, but he could never pass one up when it came from you.

Your arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck, your fingers lightly caressing the back of his nape making a shiver go down his spine. Spencer’s free hand went to rest on your lower back, his fingers copying your movements with his thumb caressing the fabric of your sweater, this is exactly what he needed to get through the day.

“Oh, don’t forget dessert.”

Before Spencer had a chance to question what you meant, your hands cupped his cheeks and Spencer froze as you peppered light kisses over his face. His eyes blinked rapidly as he took it in, his cheeks now on fire from the loving act.

Spencer watched as you waved at him goodbye and walked out the door, feeling as if his feet were glued to the floor as he wasn’t able to move. His gaze stuck to the doorway you departed from, hoping you’d perchance run back in for one last kiss.

Spencer felt a slap on his back and nearly jumped on the spot from the sensation, then hearing a familiar chuckle belonging to Derek and a sigh parted his lips, knowing what was bound to come next.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, player.”

You can find my masterlist here! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[revelboo]

I’m really want Waspinator smut, I’m waiting for it

I doubt reader is, though 😂 Or for his really confused attempts to court, because he’s in love. Reader… still thinks of him as their dumb, ugly puppy, but they’ll figure it out pretty soon

Worker Bee Pt 15

Waspinator x Reader

• Unfortunately, he’s healed enough to go back to being aggressively clingy. As soon as you’d tried to squirm out from between him and the back of the couch, he’d just wrapped his arms around you and pressed his face against your chest. And whined. Making you feel guilty about carefully pushing his head away to get free, because you can’t just sleep on the couch all day. You have work to do and you’re not looking forward to that at all. Normally working from home is a good thing, but the idea of trying to do Zoom calls with him around? That’s just terrifying.

• Venting as he loses the warmth of you, he follows along behind you waiting on you to stop so he can snare you again. Little touches teasing him like when you’d brushed his antenna with your soft fingers to nudge his head away. Reaching up to run his servos over one, he watches you grab a bag and carry it back to the couch before pointing at him. “Don’t touch,” you say and his wings flick at your strict tone.

• Eyeing him as he keeps running his servos over an antenna, you sigh and head into the kitchen for some cereal. It’s hard to tell if he’s listening, let alone understanding you when he just stares at you like that. Fixing a bowl, you turn and almost run into him, frowning up at him in exasperation and going around him to sit at the table. “Not touching bag,” he says, dragging your chair out to insinuate himself between your thighs. Again. He’s touching everything else, though as he lays his head in your lap and just stares up at you. There’s no brain cells in that ugly bug head. You know there aren’t. He doesn’t know he’s doing anything wrong and he’s just going to aggressively follow you if you move. You’ve already fought this war with him and lost before. So you try to ignore him and eat your cereal.

• Wrapping his arms around you and the chair, he watches you eat. Not rebuking him this time and he buzzes softly at you, mandibles snagging your covering. “Are you eating my shirt?” You ask, looking down at him. Feels you slowly inhale and then you lay a soft hand on his head, fingers brushing his antenna to make him freeze. Not pushing him away. Touching him gently. No one has ever touched him with such kind hands before except you. Never belonged anywhere but here with you. “Why are you whining now? Cause I don’t want you eating my shirt?”

• Exasperated as he just keeps whining, still chewing the bottom hem of your shirt, you give up on trying to figure out what’s going on in his head. He’s obnoxious, but you don’t think he means to be. And no matter how annoying he is, you had been worried when you’d found him out there in the snow unmoving. Because he’s yours. Your problem. “Waspinator’s little friend,” he whines, the words more buzz than intelligible and you hear something in your chair crack under his clawed servos. And you nearly fall backwards when the back of the chair just comes loose, broken. Optics wide, his immediate reaction is to hide and cringe down. With nowhere else to go, he shoves his face between your thighs, antennae flattening against his head as you yelp and both of your hands land on his head.

Previous

[latrespada]

ᯓ ✈︎ rotten to the core

Caleb’s jealousy knows no bounds. He becomes fiercely possessive whenever anyone gets too close to you, especially if he sees you interacting with someone else. The moment he perceives a threat, a "punishment" follows, one that’s far from ordinary. His discipline feels more like a mix of control and intimacy, blurring the line between pain and pleasure. As intense as it is, you can’t help but crave more, questioning if it’s truly a punishment when it leaves you yearning for more of him.

lads caleb x reader

warnings: jealousy, teasing, light bondage, couch sex, finger sucking, caleb's evol going out of control, slight choking, possessive sex, rough sex, sex while on the phone

6k words rated : e

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62332453

A/N: I find Caleb's jealousy attractive; not the toxic kind, but the pathetic type that tries to one-up everyone, even over trivial matters. Also the possessive jealousy. That is HOT!!

Take note of Caleb’s outfit in this; it's that nerdy one he wore in his trailer when he’s upset for poking his plumpy butt. The one with the white sleeveless top and his thick, beefy, veiny bicep. And the glasses.

If you don't know what I mean, check it out : https://x.com/kittysylus/status/1879371878793724285/photo/2

CRED divider by @enchanthings-a

The golden hues of the setting sun spill through the windows as you step into your home, finally free after a long day of finishing work reports and your monthly physical. The sight of Caleb sprawled out on the couch immediately warms you. He’s lounging with one arm propped behind his head, a book balanced casually in his hand, the picture of relaxed ease.

“I’m home,” you call out as you flop onto the couch, not caring that you’re practically lying on him.

“Hectic day?” he asks, his voice low, a welcome balm to your weary mind.

“Not really,” you murmur, rolling onto your back and wedging yourself into the narrow space between him and the couch cushions. “I’d still rather be off fighting Wanderers than stuck doing paperwork, though.”

“At least you weren’t in danger,” Caleb replies, turning a page in his book before tucking his arm back behind his head.

You sigh deeply, staring at the ceiling. “I had another appointment with Zayne today. The results are steady, which is good. I just have to keep taking my meds.”

Caleb’s tone shifts slightly when he replies, darker somehow. “Is that so?”

You glance up at him, sensing the tension in his words. He’s staring at the book, but it’s clear his thoughts are miles away.

“Yeah…” you answer cautiously, tilting your head to catch his eye. When he notices your gaze, he snaps the book shut and tosses it to the floor with a thud.

“Does Zayne really need to be your doctor?” Caleb asks abruptly, his voice laced with something unspoken.

You blink, startled. “I mean, he’s the best cardiologist—”

“I know that,” Caleb interrupts, his words sharp but not unkind. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.” He reaches out and places a hand over your face, shaking your head gently, as if to dismiss the topic.

You bat his hand away and sit up, turning to face him directly. “Don’t I deserve the best there is?” Your tone carries a faint edge, one you didn’t intend, but it’s there nonetheless—a hint of hurt.

Caleb frowns, his expression clouding with something close to jealousy. “You do,” he admits, but the words come out like a hiss.

“Then Zayne will stay my doctor,” you say firmly, standing and blowing him a playful kiss as you make your way toward the kitchen.

Behind you, Caleb mutters under his breath, then calls after you, “Why him, though? Isn’t there some policy against this?”

You stop in your tracks and turn to him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Caleb gets up and strides toward you, his smirk not quite masking the seriousness in his eyes. “You can’t have some sort of intimate relationship with your doctor—family, romantic, whatever. Maybe I should report him.” He chuckles, but the sound is hollow.

You close the distance between you, placing a hand firmly on his chest. “That’s not funny, Caleb,” you say, pouting as you meet his gaze.

His laughter fades, replaced by a look you can’t quite read. The tension lingers in the air between you, heavy and unspoken, but the warmth of his presence anchors you nonetheless.

“I’m joking. Since when can’t you take a hint?” Caleb ruffles your hair as he walks past you, heading into the kitchen. He’s trying to play it cool, but there’s an edge to his voice, something unresolved. “What should we have for dinner?”

You lean over the counter, your arms folded, watching him closely. The way his shoulders tense, as he opens and closes cabinets, gives him away. It’s painfully obvious that his mind is still on Zayne.

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself.

Caleb freezes mid-motion, turning to face you with a puzzled expression. “Oh great, you’re probably thinking of a joke he said.”

You snort. “Zayne and jokes, really?”

Silence falls between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. The two of you lock eyes, a silent battle of wills. His expression falters for just a second, enough for you to see that even he knows how ridiculous his comment is. Zayne’s humor is notoriously flat, and everyone knows it. Caleb breaks eye contact first, turning back to rummage through the cabinets, feigning interest in their contents.

You rest your chin on your crossed arms, a smirk playing on your lips as you study him. You know Caleb like the back of your hand—better than anyone. He’s never been one to openly admit jealousy, but his actions scream it louder than words ever could. Caleb has a compulsive need to be the one who makes you smile the widest, laugh the loudest, and feel the most alive.

The thing is, Caleb’s never shown this kind of jealousy toward Zayne before. Back in the day, things were simple; everyone was friendly, and there was no room for these petty emotions. But ever since you became a hunter, with mandatory check-ups and more frequent visits to Zayne’s clinic, Caleb’s demeanor started to shift. Not that he’d ever outright forbid you from doing something—he knows better than to try that—but his subtle, possessive tendencies? Oh, they’re there, and they’re obvious.

You bite your lip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You’re plotting now, deliberately trying to press his buttons.

“You’re so clingy, Caleb,” you drawl, dragging the words out just enough to poke the bear.

“Hm.” His nonchalant response is laced with tension.

“I mean, just last week, you did the same thing.”

That gets him. Caleb slams a box of pasta onto the counter with a thud, his palms splaying out as he leans forward, head tilting back toward the ceiling like he’s begging for patience. He inhales deeply before turning his head, not his body, to look at you. His eyes are sharp, and piercing, and there’s an intensity to them that makes your breath hitch.

“I said I was sorry,” he says, his tone eerily calm, almost robotic.

“Yeah, well, things escalated, and he heard us,” you grumble, leaning back for effect.

Caleb picks up the pasta box again, shaking it as he waves his arms dramatically. “Why does the upstairs neighbor even need to talk to you every time he sees you?” he complains. “What’s his name again, Xander?”

“Xavier,” you correct without missing a beat.

Caleb freezes mid-motion. His shoulders stiffen as he turns his head just slightly, his expression neutral but with just enough of a comedic edge—thick-framed glasses perched on his nose, his jaw set—to make you stifle a laugh.

You catch the faintest twitch in his bicep, a telltale sign that your teasing is working.

You press your hand to your mouth, trying to smother a grin and the laughter bubbling in your throat. You know full well that Caleb remembers Xavier’s name perfectly; he just deliberately got it wrong to downplay how much he pays attention. And now, judging by the look on his face, he regrets giving you an opening to correct him.

“He’s my work partner,” you say with a light chuckle, trying to sound casual. “We were talking about work…” You pause briefly for effect, watching his expression remain frozen. “A work gathering.”

The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken thoughts, but the way Caleb’s jaw tightens just enough lets you know you’ve gotten under his skin. You don’t mind, though—it’s all part of the game.

“And what? Did this Xavier complain?” Caleb sneers, dragging out the name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. His exaggerated disdain is so obvious, it’s hard not to laugh.

“No,” you reply with a chuckle. “Worried, maybe. But honestly, how do you even explain that situation?”

Caleb rolls his eyes in mock frustration, the gesture exaggerated but not unexpected.

“And to answer your earlier question,” you continue, pointing a finger at him while puckering your lips for emphasis, “Zayne isn’t breaking any rules.”

Caleb’s gaze drops to the box of pasta in his hands as if seeking answers there. His silence speaks volumes, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his head. He’s not even trying to mask his annoyance anymore.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” you tease, leaning casually against the counter. “Zayne and I do have a personal connection, but that was way before he became my doctor. Besides, we lost touch long before any of that. So, technically…” you smirk, “no rules are being broken.”

Caleb tosses the pasta box onto the counter with the dramatics of a jilted soap opera star, the motion so over-the-top it makes you laugh.

His jealousy is nothing new—it’s always been there, simmering beneath the surface. But when it comes to Zayne, it’s glaringly obvious and almost endearing. What makes it funnier is that the jealousy is entirely one-sided.

He doesn’t speak. Instead, he just stares, his gaze unyielding but not threatening, more predatory. The intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, but you bite your lip to hide the thrill it gives you.

Finally, Caleb strides toward you with purpose. Your arms instinctively fling open as if welcoming his approach, and his hands grip your waist firmly—almost possessively. It stings, but not unpleasantly. Before you can process it, you hop up, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

His nose brushes against yours, the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips as he whispers, “It’s not fair. He gets to listen to your heart, to be so close to your chest.”

You laugh softly, his childish complaint both absurd and hypocritical. Caleb spends more time listening to your heartbeat than Zayne ever could. Every chance he gets, he lays his head on your chest, claiming it’s his right.

“Zayne needs a stethoscope to hear my heart,” you tease, letting your voice drop into a husky, breathy tone. “But you don’t need that.”

In one swift motion, Caleb spins you around and lays you flat against the counter, his hands gripping your hips. His lips trail down your torso, his breath hot against your skin.

“I should be the only one listening to your heart,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I know every inch of your body better than any doctor. Why would you even need them?”

“Doctors can tell a murmur from a regular heartbeat,” you retort with a smirk.

“I’m done talking about cardiology,” Caleb mutters, his grin wicked. “I was talking about other doctors.”

He spreads your legs slightly, resting his head against your stomach, his breath fanning over your skin as he exhales deeply.

“Am I being punished again?” you ask, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Do you want to be?” he mumbles, his lips brushing against your skin.

You chuckle softly, biting your bottom lip. “No.” With a quick push against his head, you slide off the counter before he can pin you further. “I need to get out of these clothes. It’s been a long day,” you say, your tone dripping with sass.

As you move past him, Caleb grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. “Let me help, then.”

“No,” you reply, shaking his hand off with mock defiance.

He sighs, his voice dipping into a playful growl. “Be a good girl.”

“No.”

“Sit.”

Before you can process what’s happening, your knees buckle, and you find yourself on all fours, your hands bracing against the floor for balance. Caleb’s gravity control Evol pins you down just enough to make his point.

“Atta girl,” he teases, his tone light yet commanding. He crouches before you, tilting your chin up with a gentle but firm hand. “Let. Me. Help. You.”

“He’s going to hear us again,” you giggle, finally achieving the reaction you’d been aiming for.

“Then tell him to stop eavesdropping, pipsqueak,” Caleb retorts with a smirk.

Releasing his control, he effortlessly picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. With a playful grin, he throws you onto the couch and towers over you, his overwhelming and intoxicating presence.

“Another word and I’ll have to keep you quiet,” he warns, reaching for his glasses.

You grab his wrists, your eyes wide and pleading. “No, don’t!” you gasp, as if what you’re about to say is of utmost importance. “I really like those glasses,” you pant.

He pauses, his confusion almost comical.

“I think they’re better than Zayne’s,” you add with a sly smile, exhaling deeply.

Caleb’s lips twitch as he suppresses a grin. “You’re so greedy when you want something, aren’t you?” Without waiting for a reply, he slips two fingers into your mouth, his touch teasing and deliberate, a silent dare for you to defy him again.

The wet, suctioning sound of your lips wrapped around Caleb’s fingers is maddeningly erotic, a melody of your surrender and his control. His fingers press harder against your tongue, sending a jolt down your spine. You gag reflexively, but instead of pulling away, your hands shoot up to grip his wrists, holding him in place, determined not to cough them out. His fingers glide in and out in steady, rhythmic waves, teasing and deliberate, while your chest rises and falls with labored breaths. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you keep them locked on his lips.

Caleb’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips before his teeth catch the bottom one in a fierce bite. His eyes, dark with intent, linger on the way your cheeks hollow with every movement of his hand. It’s written all over his face: this is a prelude to what he really wants. He’d rather have your mouth working over his dick than his fingers.

With a low chuckle, he pulls his fingers free, leaving your lower lip glistening with saliva. He holds his hand up, watching the way the wetness glimmers under the dim light. “You really enjoy using yourself as your own lubricant, don’t you?” he says with a teasing laugh, his voice dripping with smug amusement.

“It’s natural,” you pant, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Caleb shifts, rising onto his knees as he peels off his shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the coffee table. His toned torso gleams, and he snaps his fingers at you, motioning for you to sit up straight. You comply without hesitation, adjusting your posture as he towers over you.

With one knee between your legs and the other planted firmly on the couch, he removes his dog tag, dragging the cool chain across your face. “You know the rules,” he says, his grin wicked.

You pout, rolling your eyes. “I gave you that as a gift, and you’re always using it for your twisted games.”

He smirks. “Then get me another one.”

“No way. It’s one of a kind.” You slide your hands up his torso, fingers tracing every dip and ridge of his muscles. “There’s no duplicate. It’s yours and only yours,” you murmur, cupping his face. Finally, you clasp your wrists together in silent surrender, signaling you’re ready.

Caleb places the dog tag between his teeth. He tugs at the hem of your shirt and in one swift motion, it’s off, discarded to the side. You unclasp your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders as he deftly begins wrapping the chain around your wrists.

“You could use your evol this time,” you suggest, your voice sultry and playful.

His hands pause for a moment, his eyes focused on the chain. “Yeah,” he mutters, though his tone is uncertain. “Last time I tried that, I used it on the bed instead of you. Snapped the legs and bottom planks clean off.”

A smile escapes you, breaking the tension. “That was your fault.”

“Fair,” he admits with a mischievous grin, “but with the way you were screaming my name and begging for more, I got… distracted.” He pulls the chain taut around your wrists, his eyes locking with yours. The tightness isn’t just around your wrists—it’s in the air, a tension so thick it makes your heart race.

Before you can say anything, he grabs his shirt that he tossed aside earlier. Caleb moves behind the couch, you tilt your head back to catch a glimpse of him. He’s smiling, a wicked grin that makes your pulse race. He steps closer, and gently pushes your head forward. “Let’s try something new,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. The soft fabric of the shirt wraps around your eyes, plunging you into darkness.

Your heart stutters, a mix of excitement and apprehension swelling inside you. What does he have planned? Did you push him too far this time? The not knowing leaves you vulnerable, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. Bound and blindfolded, you realize the gravity of your position. Your hands are useless, your sight is gone, and as the shirt muffles the sounds around you, you feel the loss of another sense creeping in. You’re at his mercy, and the uncertainty is both thrilling and maddening.

You strain your ears, desperate for any clue to his movements. The soft padding of his footsteps echoes faintly, but you can’t discern their direction. Is he in front of you? Behind you? The muffled noise seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. You sit still, biting your lip to stifle a nervous breath.

Then, the sound sharpens—familiar and unmistakable. His shoes hit the floor with a soft thud. Your breath hitches as the faint jingle of his belt buckle follows, the metallic clink chilling you to the core. The slow, deliberate rasp of his zipper being pulled down comes next, and you swallow hard. You hear the rustling of fabric sliding against his skin before the faint sound of his pants hitting the floor.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. Caleb is naked. And you are completely unaware of where he is. From which angle he’ll approach, you have no idea. The suspense builds with every passing second, your senses heightened as your imagination runs wild. Every breath, every rustle of fabric, every shift in the air sends a jolt of anticipation through you.

In an instant, you’re pulled, your body shifting swiftly before you can even process it. You find yourself lying awkwardly on the couch, your legs raised high, teetering off balance. The soft plop of your shoes hitting the floor fills the room, and then his hands are on you—strong, purposeful. His touch slides down your calves, lingering at your thighs before settling firmly. It’s clear now—your legs are on his shoulders.

The faint sound of your belt unbuckling breaks through the haze of anticipation, followed by the slow, deliberate unbuttoning of your pants. You feel the cool air on your skin as he slides them down with excruciating patience, taking your underwear with them. The quiet thud of your discarded clothes hitting the ground feels final, leaving you bare and exposed.

Caleb lowers your legs gently, guiding you upward. His hand rests on your back, firm yet careful, directing you as you take a few hesitant steps. The walk is short, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he presses your back forward, bending your upper body over the armrest of the couch. Your belly rests against the soft fabric as he positions you, spreading your legs apart just enough to make you feel vulnerable, your feet planted firmly on the ground.

His hands are warm as they settle on your lower back, and then you feel it—the slow, teasing slide of him rubbing against you. The head of his dick brushes your clit with deliberate precision, sending sparks of heat shooting through you. A silent moan escapes your lips as he continues the agonizing tease, his movements designed to drive you to the edge of madness.

Caleb leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “As of now,” he whispers, his voice low and dripping with desire, “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who knows how fast your heart is going.” With no warning, he thrusts into you, forcing a gasp from your lips.

“Nngh… Caleb…” you moan, your voice trembling.

His rhythm is relentless from the start, his hips driving into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust pulls a sound from you, your bound hands trapped beneath your chest as the chain lightly grazes your skin, heightening every sensation.

“Haah… fuck,” Caleb groans, his voice rough with pleasure. “Do you even know… ha… how possessive I can get?”

You’re silent, unable to form words as your face presses into the couch, your teeth biting down on the fabric in an attempt to stifle your cries.

“And to… ahh, fuck,” he chuckles darkly, his voice strained. “To edge me on like that… mmhn… you must like—” His words are cut off by his guttural moan as his body shudders.

Leaning forward, his teeth sink into your shoulder, the sharp sensation blending with the intensity of his thrusts. His hips angle upward now, hitting a spot that sends you spiraling, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

“Mmmh, Caleb…” is all you can manage, your voice raw and pleading as he consumes every part of you.

Caleb shifts his weight, pulling back just long enough to stand upright. With fluidity and strength, he flips you onto your back. The movement leaves you momentarily breathless, your body pliant beneath his control. He raises one of your legs over his shoulder, his fingers gripping your calf with a possessive firmness. The other leg, he adjusts carefully, ensuring your foot rests securely on the armrest, but not before gently pushing it outward, spreading you even wider for him.

His breathing is labored now, audible and heavy, and though you can’t see him clearly, you can imagine the sight of his chest. Broad, muscular, and glistening with sweat, rising and falling with each ragged inhale. It’s a sight that would’ve stolen your breath, if it hadn’t already been taken by the moment.

One of his arms snakes around the leg draped over his shoulder, locking it in place with a grip that’s equal parts firm and tender. His other hand anchors itself on your hip, steadying you as he positions himself. And then he begins again.

The first thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, his rhythm rough yet calculated, each movement hitting the spot that leaves you trembling. His hips snap forward with a force that feels primal, yet controlled, a deliberate effort to draw out every sound, every reaction from you. You’re soaked, your arousal slick against him. The lewd sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, every thrust accompanied by the wet squelch of your fluids mixing. It’s intoxicating.

He leans in slightly, his lips hovering close, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper as he murmurs your name. The way he says it feels reverent, like a prayer or a plea, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Yeah…” you breathe, your voice soft and airy, surrendering to the moment.

“Let me be…” he pauses, “…let me be the only one… to make your heart—” His voice falters, replaced by a sensual chuckle, deep and rough. “God, let me be the only one to make your heart race like this.”

“Mhm…” your reply comes out sweet but low, carried on a sigh. “Okay…”

The air between you and Caleb is electric, every touch igniting sparks that threaten to burn you from the inside out. With your leg still firm on the armrest, you use it to push your body to the other side, forcing Caleb to adjust. As your leg drops off his shoulder, he moves instinctively, following your silent invitation to walk around the couch.

Before you can process his next move, he’s sitting in front of you, pulling you up with ease until you’re perched on his lap. His hands are warm and firm, one gripping his dick as he guides himself back inside you, the other trailing up your back in a slow, deliberate motion. His fingers rake through your hair, sending shivers down your spine, before tangling and tugging gently but possessively. The motion tilts your head back, exposing the curve of your neck to him.

His lips hover there, a breath away from your skin, teasing, promising. You can feel the heat of his desire, the way his breathing deepens as he restrains himself from biting down.

“Mine,” he breathes, his voice thick and husky.

“Yours,” you moan in response, your voice trembling, “always yours.”

The words seem to fuel him further. He releases your hair and leans back into the sofa, his strong frame supporting you effortlessly. You stay balanced on your toes, knees bent, riding him with an aching, deliberate rhythm. His hands grip your waist tightly, guiding you, pulling you down harder onto him as your hips sway back and forth.

He curses your name, his voice dripping with raw hunger.

“Just like that…” he groans.

Your knees finally give out, and you collapse forward, your body trembling. Though your blindfold keeps you from seeing him, you can feel his presence—his lips so close to yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with your own. You bite your lip, a soft laugh escaping through a moan. With your bound hands, you fumble to touch his face, brushing against the frames of the glasses he kept on.

Your frustrated laugh makes him grin, and before you know it, he’s shifting you both, rolling you onto your side. Spooning you, Caleb pulls your top leg back, hooking it around his own. His arm snakes beneath you, gripping your neck gently but firmly, while his other hand finds your bound wrists. You feel his fingers slide beneath the chain binding them, his touch deliberate.

“If I take this off…” he murmurs, his hips pressing forward as he thrusts deeper, making you gasp. “You have to promise to keep the blindfold on. Got that?”

“Okay…” you manage to moan.

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, his laugh dark and low. With a swift pull, the chain loosens, and your hands are free. Before you can react, he places the dog tag in your mouth. “Here, bite this,” he commands, his lips brushing your ear as his tongue flicks against the sensitive skin behind it.

His pace picks up again, rough and insistent, each movement sending waves of heat through your body. His hand on your neck tightens ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he’s in control.

His other hand moves to your breasts, squeezing and kneading, his grip leaving no doubt about how much he wants you.

Desperate to feel closer, you swing your now-free hand behind you, finding his face and pulling him down toward you.

“C-Caleb…” you choke out, his name a breathless plea.

“That’s it,” he chuckles against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder before biting down softly. “Say my name. Let me be the only name you call.”

His words are a command and a prayer, each syllable dripping with possession. He presses into you harder, his teeth grazing your skin again, his groans mingling with your moans.

The tension between you and Caleb is palpable, every motion from him driving you further into a realm where pleasure and desperation intertwine. His grip on your neck tightens, stealing your breath in the most intoxicating way, your vision blurring with unshed tears as your body reacts to his overwhelming dominance.

Your voice, broken and raw, escapes in a gagged gasp. “C-Caleb…” The dog tag tumbles from your lips, clinking faintly as it hits the surface below.

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach. You barely have a moment to adjust before he pulls your hips upward, your breasts pressing into the couch. His thrusts are erratic, primal, and you claw at the armrest, arching your back deeply to meet him. His hand finds your hair, tugging harshly, while his other grips your waist with a force that leaves bruising promises. His silence, punctuated only by rough breaths and muffled grunts, speaks volumes.

You’ve witnessed this before—when his composure cracks and his evol flares, chaos is inevitable. Around you, the room trembles with his lack of control. Items crash to the floor, shattering against the walls. You gasp, instinctively reaching for the blindfold to tear it off, but Caleb’s hand leaves your hair and slams your wrist to the armrest.

“What did you promise?” he growls, his voice venomous yet dripping with that intoxicating edge of command. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hand firmly.

His pace quickens, his movements losing all semblance of rhythm. You’re caught between gasping for air and choking on moans that feel too loud, too needy. Your head drops forward, but your body remains arched, submitting entirely to the chaos you ignited.

The destruction crescendos until it feels like the entire room collapses in a cacophony of falling objects and Caleb’s unrelenting presence. Then, it stops. Abruptly. Caleb pulls out and steps away, leaving you trembling, breathless, and straining to track his movements through the sound of his footsteps.

“Flip over,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. You comply, lying on your back, your chest heaving.

He spreads your legs, his touch suddenly gentle as his fingers trace your most sensitive places. He slides them inside you, teasing, coaxing moans from your lips. It’s a stark contrast to his earlier ferocity, and it leaves you spinning.

Then you feel it—a cold, slightly heavy object placed on your chest. It vibrates softly, confusing you until you catch the faint ringing sound. A phone.

Your hand instinctively moves to grab it, but before you can pull your blindfold down to see who he’s calling, Caleb snatches the device away.

“Tch. You’re just not listening today, are you?” His voice carries a mix of irritation and amusement. “Invite him to dinner,” he says, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Confusion floods you. Who? But then the line connects, and you hear Zayne’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” Zayne asks, his voice tinged with polite concern.

Your heart skips a beat as Caleb presses the phone to your ear and aligns himself with you once more, thrusting in with devastating precision. Your hand flies to your mouth, desperately trying to stifle the moan threatening to spill out.

“Zayne!” you yelp, your voice trembling. “W-would you like to… haaa… join Caleb and I for…” You trail off, unable to finish as Caleb’s pace intensifies.

There’s a pause on the other end. “I’ve got work to do, unfortunately,” Zayne replies, his tone shifting slightly, as if he’s picking up on something amiss. “Are you alright? You sound… in pain.”

“I’m okay,” you manage, your voice strained. “You sure… about dinner?”

Caleb chuckles softly, low enough that only you can hear, and it makes your cheeks burn.

“I’m sure,” Zayne says, his tone now skeptical. “Is it your heart? Is that what’s hurting?”

“What?” you gasp, your voice cracking.

“Is it your heart that’s hurting?” Zayne repeats, his voice calm but laced with something knowing.

“No! Of course… ngh… not,” you insist, struggling to keep your composure.

“Hm…” Zayne hums, his voice dropping as if the realization has hit. “Take care of yourself. Doctor’s orders.”

“I will. You too… and… haaa… doctors shouldn’t be skipping meals…” you add quickly, finishing in a rush.

Caleb pulls the phone from your ear, grinning like a cat who’s cornered his prey. “Yeah, the busiest man should at least join us for dinner every once in a while,” he says, his tone laced with taunting competitiveness.

“Hang up!” you insist, your voice tinged with panic.

Caleb smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, but he obliges, ending the call. He pulls off your blindfold, his mischievous gaze locks onto yours, his dominance and jealousy radiating all around you.

You pull Caleb closer, your legs instinctively wrapping tighter around his waist as his hips snap forward, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your hands push his glasses up, and you kiss him—a gentle initiation that Caleb quickly turns hungry. His lips capture yours, biting softly at your lower lip, his kisses messy and demanding, speaking a language of unspoken need. Your arms wrap around his neck, nails digging into his back as your laughter mingles with soft moans, the sound a harmony of shared desire.

“Let me see,” you sigh, pulling away just enough to speak.

Caleb tilts his body slightly, granting you a glimpse of him sinking into you, his movements hypnotic. The sight drives you to arch your back, pressing your body further into his, making him reach deeper. You gasp, throwing your head back before kissing him again, your lips clinging to his as though he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Mine,” Caleb murmurs between kisses, your name falling from his lips like a vow. The rawness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His rhythm grows relentless, each thrust drawing you closer to your peak. The pressure of his evol pins you firmly against the couch, intensifying every sensation.

“Caleb…” you whimper, your voice breaking, “I’m gonna come…”

“Hold on,” he growls, his voice strained and desperate, as though battling his limits.

“I… I can’t.”

The confession tears through the haze of pleasure, but it only drives him faster, his movements erratic and unrestrained. Your body tightens around him, and his voice grows hoarse as he whispers your name like a prayer.

The tension snaps, pleasure rushing through you in waves, your cries mingling with Caleb’s as he follows. The room shakes under the force of his evol—objects crashing and scattering as the world seems to respond to his intensity.

Breathless, you both collapse into the quiet aftermath, the weight of gravity settling once more.

“Fuck…” you both exhale in unison, voices harmonizing as you lie tangled together, your heartbeats racing in sync.

Caleb’s glasses slip off his face, landing carelessly beside you as he collapses onto your body, his weight pressing you into the couch. His breath is warm against your skin, uneven but soothing. With a gentle shift, he maneuvers you so that you’re lying on top of him, your head resting on his chest.

You listen to the steady rhythm beneath your ear, his heart racing but calm in its consistency. “Your heart’s going fast,” you murmur, a hint of amusement in your tone.

“That’s because of you,” he replies, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. He reaches for the dog tag nestled between you both, pulling it free as he tilts his head down to kiss the top of yours. “I want to be the only one whose heart you make beat like this,” he confesses, his words a vow and a plea all at once.

“You’re impossible,” you tease, your fingers idly tracing around his chest, circling his nipple in lazy patterns.

He catches your hand, his eyes falling to the blistered marks along your skin. His expression tightens with guilt as he lifts your hand to his lips, kissing each mark tenderly, as though his touch could erase them. “I’ve got to stop using this to bind you,” he whispers, his voice laced with regret.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, your breath finally steady. Sitting up, you straddle him, bending down to kiss him softly. His hands rise to cradle your face, his touch gentle, reverent. Your foreheads touch, the dominant air that usually surrounds him dissipating completely.

For a moment, it’s just you and him, hearts beating as one, and the world fades away.

You rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as the quiet settles between you. His hands stay on your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks, as if grounding himself in your presence. “Stay like this,” he whispers, the words almost inaudible but weighted with meaning. You nod, your lips curving into a small smile, and close your eyes. In this moment, there’s no jealousy, no chaos—just the warmth of his embrace and the unspoken promise of always coming back to each other.

[mafiadad5]

House of cards. || l.hc + n.jm

“You want to make quick cash, I have a way.”

♤ now playing- house of cards: bts

♤ Jaemin and Haechan x fem!reader (ft. seven dream)

♤ genre/warnings: smut with plot, angst. college au implied, but also illegal activity au, 18+ mdni!, dom!jaemin, vanilla!haechan, slight threesome, multiple sex scenes, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do.), breeding/creampie, marking, praise, degrading, pet names, fingering, hair pulling, Jaemin is really manipulative and possessive, betrayal, mention of a gun once or twice.

♤ W/c- 21k

a/n- this is my longest fic. I actually love this, lmk what u think!

"You're late." A voice hummed beside you as you took a seat, out of breath.

"I know," you panted, setting your bag on the desk and wiping the sweat from your forehead. "I ran here, and I'm still late."

"Don't worry. You didn't miss much." He chuckled softly, his fingers already typing on his laptop. A moment later, you heard the ding of an email notification. "I sent you the notes you missed, you're covered."

"Thanks Haechan, you're the best." You said with a grin as you opened your laptop, his gesture warming your chest.

The lecture moved quickly, and by the end you had managed to catch up on everything you missed. Packing your bag, you were ready to get out of there when a light tap on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks.

"Hm?" You asked, turning to face him.

"Did you forget we planned to grab lunch today?" He asked, tilting his head with a soft smile.

"Oh shit Haechan. I completely forgot. I've just got so much work today." You admitted, guilt already creeping into your tone.

"That's okay," he replied, his smile not falling. "We can work together after lunch, if that's cool?"

You hesitated, but his demeanor made it so hard to say no. "Yeah, that sounds good Haechan."

"Great!" He cheered, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

As you walked together to your favorite lunch spot, you found yourself noticing small details: the way his laugh carried in the air, the soft way his arm brushed yours, the golden hue of sunlight bouncing off the sidewalk. You wondered how many times you'd walked this same path, but never really seen it.

The line wasn't too long, and Haechan squinted at the menu, breaking the silence. "Hmm, the pesto sandwich sounds good. I might have to try it."

You nodded, glancing at the menu. "Yeah, that does sound good."

"What about you? Should we both get it?" He asked, his eyes lighting up with the suggestion.

"Oh, I'll probably just get some coffee or something." You replied nonchalantly, shifting your focus elsewhere.

"Just coffee?" He turned to you, his brows knitting together in concern. "Are you not hungry?"

"I mean, I am, but I have stuff at home. I'll be fine." You said, brushing off his concern.

"Y/n." He said, his tone shifting to something softer. "If you're hungry, you need to eat, plus, I really want to try the pesto sandwich with you. Come on—get one. I'll grab your usual coffee too."

"No Haechan, it's okay...I swear. Don't worry about it. Just get your own stuff—I've got mine." You shook your head, trying to keep your voice light.

He tilted his head at you, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes that he always has when he convinces you. "But I want to try the pesto with you and if you're not going to buy it, who's going to?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. 

"Exactly." He smiled. 

"Just go grab a table, okay? I insist... please?" His voice softened, the sparkle in his eyes making it impossible to argue.

You sighed in defeat, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Fine, but this is the last time, okay?"

"Sure, sure." He said breezily, already turning toward the counter.

As you walked to your table, you couldn't help but reflect on his kindness. It wasn't just this—Haechan always had your back, always knew how to make you feel cared for even when you didn't want to accept help.

He returned a few minutes later, balancing a tray with the sandwiches and your coffee. "Special delivery." He said, setting it down with a grin.

"Thanks Haechan."

"Okay, let's dive in." He said, holding up half of his sandwich toward you like a toast.

You giggled, clinking your sandwich half against his. "Let's dive in."

You both ate quietly at first, comfortable silence filling the air as you both ate, but something in the moment stirred an ache in your chest, and you found yourself speaking before you could stop.

"Haechan." You said softly, your voice carrying a hint of sorrow.

"Hm?" He hummed, looking up from his food. 

"I just... I want to thank you for always having my back— for everything. It really means a lot to me."

His expression softened, and he rubbed at his mouth with a napkin before responding. "Y/n, there's no need to thank me. I care about you, and I'll always be here for you no matter what."

The sincerity in his voice made you pause, and for a moment, you just looked at him, taking in the way his eyes seemed to shine in the sunlight.

"Haechan... I need to tell you something." You said, your tone shifting to something more serious.

His smile dropped slightly, replaced with a hint of nervousness. "What's up?"

"I'm going back home," you said quietly. "For good."

The words hung in the air, and you watched as his face fell.

"What? How are you going to...? Wait, are you dropping out?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

You nodded. "Yeah. I'll figure something out when I get home."

"But you don't have a plan yet?" He pressed, desperation creeping into his voice. "Stay a little longer, you can figure it out here."

"Haechan, me not having a plan back home is still more stable than being here." You said, your voice cracking slightly.

"But you're working so hard. We only have one year left. You can do it—I know you can." His voice was full of belief, but there was a sadness there too, like he knew he couldn't do anything to persuade you.

"Haechan... your belief doesn't pay the bills. I work two jobs, and I'm still a full time student— i'm exhausted. I can't do it anymore." You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His leg bounced under the table, and he bit his lip before finally nodding. "Yeah, no, I get it. I really do." He lifted his head, forcing a small smile. "I just hope we stay in touch. I'll always be here to support you, ok?"

"Of course. We're still going to be friends Haechan. Nothing's going to change that, I promise."

He nodded quietly, packing up his things and gathering the trash. "I should get going, I know you have work to do."

"But I thought we were going to work together?" You asked, confused.

"Yeah, I know, but I don't want to distract you." He said, his voice soft but distant.

You frowned. "Haechan, I'm sorry if I upset you..."

"You didn't," he said quickly, his smile hesitant. "I get it, really. I'll talk to you later, ok?"

"Ok. Bye Haechan." You said, watching as he walked away. ══════════════════════════ You sat on your bed, lost in thought, the weight of your decision pressing down on your chest. The faint glow of your phone screen caught your attention as a notification popped up.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Your brows furrowed as you typed back quickly.

“Yeah, sure. Do you wanna call?”

The response came almost immediately.

“No. I want to talk in person.”

A flicker of concern passed through you. Haechan wasn't usually this abrupt.

“Oh, okay. Where do you want to meet?”

“I'll pick you up. Be there in 15.”

Your stomach twisted as you stared at the screen. Something about the way he phrased it felt off, but you pushed the feeling aside.

“Ok!”

You threw on a jacket, glancing at yourself in the mirror. What could he possibly want to talk about that couldn't wait? The thought clawed at you as you slipped outside, waiting on the curb.

The low hum of an engine pulled your attention, and a sleet jet-black BMW rolled up to the curb. Its tinted windows blended seamlessly into the darkness, making it look more like a shadow than a car. The door unlocked with a soft click, and you climbed in, greeted by the faint scent of leather and cologne.

Haechan glanced over at you, his expression unreadable as he reached over to check that your seatbelt was fastened. He didn't say much, just nodding before pulling back onto the street.

"Where are we going?" You asked, your voice cutting through the low hum of the engine.

"Just on a drive, if that's okay with you." He replied, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he maneuvered through the quiet streets. Something about his demeanor—his silence, the sharpness in his posture made the air heavier.

"Yeah, that's fine." You said slowly, trying to see where his mood was at. "What's up? What did you need to talk about?"

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was weighing his words carefully. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "I have a way you can stay here."

Your chest tightened. "Haechan, I already told you I can't—"

"Just listen." He cut you off sharply. His tone wasn't angry, but the sudden edge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, nodding. "Ok. What is it?"

"It's risky as hell," He admitted, his grip on the wheel tightening, "but it'll make you a lot of money. More than enough to pay for your tuition and bills."

Your stomach turned. "What kind of 'risky' are we talking about?"

He hesitated again. "I can't tell you too much."

Your brows knitted together as unease crept up your spine. "This sounds very... illegal." You said, trying to add a bit of humor to ease the tension, but the way his jaw clenched at the word made your pulse quicken.

"Would you do it if it was illegal?" He asked, his tone half joking, half dead serious.

"I'm not becoming a prostitute, if that's what you're implying." You joked, your nervous laugh filling the silence.

That earned a small chuckle from him, though it was short. "No, it's not that."

"Well, can you at least tell me more?" You pressed, your voice full with both curiosity and concern.

"I can't." He said firmly, his eyes flicking toward you for a brief moment before returning to the road. "It's something I have to show you. Look—if you're not comfortable, you can back out anytime, but I do it, and... well, look at what you're sitting in right now." He gestured briefly to the interior of the car, the soft leather seats and pristine dashboard. "It's not as bad as you think."

Your heart was pounding now, the weight of his words sinking in. "Haechan, you're scaring me. Seriously."

He exhaled sharply, his grip on the wheel loosening slightly. "If you're scared, then this isn't the right job for you." He said, his voice softer, but still firm.

You bit your lip, your hands clenching in your lap. "But I want to stay," you said, your voice shaky. "I want to try."

He glanced at you again, his expression unreadable. "So, you're down? Like I said, you can back out if you don't want to."

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah... I'm down."

He pulled up in front of your apartment building, the car slowing as he turned to look at you. "Alright. Let's talk about this more over lunch tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah." You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "Sounds like a plan."

You stepped out of the car, your legs shaky as you walked back to your apartment, the hum of the car fading into the night as Haechan drove off. ══════════════════════════ The next day, you sat at the small café table, your leg bouncing anxiously.  The cup of coffee in front of you was untouched, growing colder by the minute as you waited.

Finally, you spotted him weaving through the tables. He placed a red gift bag on the table beside him as he slid into the seat across from you.

"Hey Y/n!" He greeted, his tone cheerful.

"Hey." You replied with a small smile, sitting up straighter.

"How were your classes? I know you had some rough ones today." He asked, his voice light and casual, like the two of you hadn't had a tense conversation just the night before.

"They were... ok actually." You said, your smile tightening slightly. "What about you?"

"Pretty chill. You know I only have one class on Thursdays." He said, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed shrug.

"Right..." You nodded, feeling the tension tighten in your chest. The conversation was good, but you couldn't ignore the elephant in the room. "So... are you ready to talk more about, you know?"

The moment the words left your mouth, his demeanor shifted. The brightness in his expression dimmed, replaced by something harder to read. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto yours.

"What if I told you," he began slowly, his voice softer but laced with a teasing edge, "that I didn't have anything to talk about and just wanted an excuse to have you come to lunch with me?"

Your brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by his response. "Then I guess it worked, huh?" You replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

That seemed to satisfy him, and for a moment, his bright smile returned. "It did." He admitted with a quiet laugh, shaking his head. But then, just as quickly as the lightness had returned, it faded again, and he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "There's not much I can say here." He said, glancing briefly around the café as if to check for eavesdroppers.

Your heart skipped a beat, your palms pressing nervously against your thighs under the table.

"But," he continued, sliding the red gift bag across the table toward you, "I wanted to give you this for tonight. Don't open it until you get home, ok?"

You stared at the bag, your fingers hesitating before brushing against the smooth handles. "What's with you and these cliffhangers?" You asked, trying to keep your tone light even as your mind raced with possibilities.

He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "I guess I just like keeping you on your toes."

Your lips twitched into a nervous smile, your fingers now gripping the bag. He stood up suddenly, smoothing the front of his jacket as he prepared to leave. "I have to go," he said, glancing at his watch. "but I'll pick you up at 9:30 tonight, ok?"

"Ok." You nodded, your voice quieter now as you looked up at him.

He paused, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "Oh, and look your absolute best." He added, his lips curving into a small mischievous smile. "Even though you're pretty good at that already."

You felt a warmth creep up your neck at his words, but before you could respond, he was already turning away.

"See you tonight." He called over his shoulder, raising a hand in a casual wave.

You waved back, watching him walk his way through the café and out the door. The moment he was gone, the tension you'd been holding onto seemed to double. You glanced down at the gift bag sitting innocently on the table, its crimson color popped against the pale wood. ══════════════════════════ You got home and instantly opened the red gift bag, pulling out the contents with a mix of awe and unease. Inside was a beautiful black dress, its fabric soft and luxurious, shimmering faintly under the dim light of your room. You spotted the price tag and your jaw dropped—$300.

Holding the dress up, you sighed and reached for your phone, opening your text with Haechan.

"Haechan I can't accept this."

"Why not?"

"Because it's so expensive. I have black dresses I can wear. I'm giving it back when you pick me up."

"No offense, but those dresses aren't good enough."

"Ouch..."

"Sorry, you should've just accepted it and been quiet..."

"K whatever, bye."

"Bye Y/n. See you tonight."

You sighed again as you locked your phone and set it down on the bed. Your fingers grazed the dress, it was beautiful, but left you feeling conflicted. A nap seemed like the best way to shake the nerves eating away at you, so you curled up under your blanket, your mind buzzing with unanswered questions.

When you woke, the sun had already set. You got up and started getting ready, making yourself look your absolute best, just like he requested. The dress fit perfectly, clinging to you in all the right places. You styled your hair and touched up your makeup until you barely recognized yourself in the mirror.

As you waited by the window, you heard the familiar low rumble of Haechan's car before your phone even buzzed. You grabbed your things and stepped outside, the cold night air brushing against your skin as you walked toward the sleek black BMW parked by the curb.

Haechan stepped out of the driver's seat, and your eyes widened at the sight of him. He was dressed in tailored black pants and a silky black shirt that glinted faintly under the streetlights. His dark hair was styled in a perfect middle part, and his warm, tan skin seemed to glow even in the dark.

"You look gorgeous." He said, smiling as he opened the passenger door for you.

"I could say the same about you." You replied, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

He got back into the car, and the two of you drove off. The silence in the car wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy, only the faint hum of the radio and the low growl of the engine. Your eyes kept drifting toward Haechan as he drove, his profile sharp and focused, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"So," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I have three rules for you before we get there."

You nodded, your heart skipping a beat as you turned to him.

"Rule one: don't talk to anyone I don't introduce you to or people who aren't customers." His voice was steady, but there was a slight edge to it.

"Ok."

"Rule two: never, ever come to this place without me."

You hesitated but nodded again. "Ok."

"Rule three: never go home with anyone, and I mean anyone. No excuses, no exceptions. Do you understand me? This is very important."

The weight of his words pressed down on you, but you nodded. "Yes, I understand."

"Good." He said, his tone softening slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on the road.

The car pulled into a narrow alley, lined with other luxury cars that gleamed under the dim glow of overhead lights. You glanced nervously at Haechan as he parked and got out, quickly walking to your side to open the door for you.

You stepped out, the sounds of the city muffled in the quiet alley. Haechan guided you toward, what looked like an ordinary convenience store. The bell above the door jingled as you entered, and your stomach twisted with confusion. It was... just a convenience store.

You followed Haechan to the counter, where a small man with a gray beard greeted him warmly. "Haechan! We missed you!"

"Yeah, I've been busy. Glad to be back." Haechan replied with a polite smile.

The man's eyes flicked to you, and his smile grew slightly. "And who's this?"

"A friend." Haechan said, glancing at you before returning his attention to the man.

"Only a friend?" The man teased, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Why do you always press me like this? She's only a friend." Haechan chuckled, but his tone shifted to something more serious.

The man's expression got serious. "You know how I feel about new customers." He said, his voice low.

Haechan pulled out a stack of cash and slid it across the counter. "Maybe this will change your mind?"

The man raised an eyebrow but pushed the money back. "Keep your money young man. I'll make this exception because she looks like she could make me some money, but don't do it again. Or you're done."

"Yes sir," Haechan said with a respectful nod. "Now, can we go?"

The man grunted, then pressed a button under the counter. A faint click echoed through the room, and a beaded curtain at the back of the store shifted slightly.

Haechan motioned for you to follow him. Your steps were hesitant as you glanced back at the man, who gave you a small smile.

Haechan pushed through the curtain and opened a hidden door, revealing a narrow, dimly lit staircase. He turned to you, his hand reaching for yours. "Come on."

You hesitated, your fingers trembling as they intertwined with his. The air grew colder as you descended, the sound of your heels echoing faintly on the worn steps.

"I don't know Haechan," you whispered. "If this is too much trouble, I can leave. I don't want to get you in trouble."

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. "We're in." He said firmly. He gestured to the door at the bottom of the stairs. "This is your last chance to turn back. Are you in?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm in."

A small smile tugged at his lips before he turned back and opened the door.

The room beyond was like nothing you'd ever seen—a lavish, red and gold space filled with poker tables, roulette wheels, and slot machines. The crowd was a mix of old and young, all dressed in the finest clothes, their wealth on display in every detail.

"Here we are." Haechan murmured beside you, his voice low and steady.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene. The luxuriousness, the mystery, the faint hum of tension in the air—it was intoxicating.

Goodness, what had you gotten yourself into?

══════════════════════════ Rule #1: don't talk to strangers or people who aren't playing customers.

Haechan led you into the vibrant room, his demeanor cool and collected as if this was second nature to him.

"So, here's a quick rundown of the place." He began, his voice calm but commanding as you trailed closely behind him. "These are the slot machines. You won't be here much because, honestly, people just kind of do whatever here. It's not really our focus."

You nodded, glancing around at the glowing machines that lit up the space. Laughter, cheers, and frustrated groans filled the air as people obsessively pulled levers and pressed buttons.

"These," he continued, leading you past the slot machines to a series of spinning wheels surrounded by a mix of excitement, "are the roulette tables. They're not huge money-makers, but I think you could handle them. People listen to pretty faces."

He smirked, shooting you a sideways glance that made your cheeks flush slightly.

He chuckled and moved on. "Now, these are the Rummikub tables." He explained, gesturing toward a quieter section of the room where small groups of people sat in the game. "This is my personal favorite because I like to play, but it's not where the big money is. You won't really need to be here unless you're playing for fun."

He stopped for a moment, scanning the room before continuing. "And finally, these are the poker and blackjack tables." He said, his tone shifting slightly as he pointed to the most crowded section of the room. The energy here was different—intense and electric. Stacks of cash and high stakes surrounded every table. "This is where we want to be. These tables are our bread and butter. This is where the real money gets made."

You took it all in, your stomach twisting slightly with nerves. "Um, Haechan, not to kill the vibe or anything, but I don't think this is for me." You admitted hesitantly. "I'm terrible at gambling. They'd destroy me out there."

He stopped walking and turned to face you, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "You're not gambling Y/n." He said, his voice patient but firm. "That's not the job."

"Then... what is the job?" You asked, feeling a little more nervous now.

He smiled as he pushed open a heavy red door labeled "EMPLOYEES ONLY." Inside, three men were gathered, each with a distinct aura that made it clear they were used to being in charge of something.

"Haechan! Where've you been?" One of them said, standing up to greet him with a firm handshake.

"Busy, as always." Haechan replied with a grin. "But I'm here now. Got something new to show you." He turned slightly, motioning toward you.

The man looked you up and down with a raised eyebrow. "And who's this?"

"This is Y/n. She's going to be working with us." Haechan explained, his tone casual but confident.

"She's gonna be a money maker, I can tell already." The man said, extending a hand toward you. "I'm Mark. Nice to meet you Y/n."

You shook his hand, offering a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too."

"Hi, I'm Renjun." Said another man seated at a desk covered in monitors displaying security camera feeds. He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the screens. "Wow, you're really pretty." He added, looking at Haechan. "Where'd you find her?"

Haechan rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Mind your business."

"And I'm Jisung." Said a tall guy with a deep voice, walking into the room. "I'm the boss around here."

"Jisung, you are not the boss." Another voice interjected. A sharp looking man sitting in the corner smirked at Jisung. "I'm Chenle. Don't listen to him—he just likes to act important."

You laughed nervously, glancing at Haechan for reassurance.

"Alright, alright." Haechan interrupted, steering the conversation back. "I'm gonna go find the actual boss. Can you guys give Y/n the rundown while I'm gone?"

"Of course." Mark said, gesturing for you to sit down.

As you took a seat, Mark leaned forward. "Ok, so here's how it works. Your job is to keep people here. Talk to them, smile, flirt a little if you need to. Serve drinks, compliment them—basically make them feel like winners so they keep playing. That's it."

"That sounds... easy enough." You said, nodding slowly.

"It is, for the most part." Mark agreed. "But here's the deal—if you cash out less than $500 in tips and earnings by the end of the night, you get a strike. Four strikes, and you're out. Got it?"

"Got it." You replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Haechan returned a few minutes later, his smile reassuring as he asked, "You ready to start Y/n?"

"Yeah, I'm ready." You said, standing up and smoothing down your dress.

He led you back out to the floor, stopping at a busy poker table. "Here's your first table of the night. Just do your thing."

Hours had passed, and while the work had been easier than you expected, it was also exhausting. Smiling endlessly, chatting up customers, and walking back and forth had drained your energy. You were relieved when Haechan finally appeared beside you, leaning in close to whisper.

"Let's go cash you out." He said softly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You followed him to the office, your feet aching. The room looked the same as before, but the men inside seemed more worn down now, their postures slouched and expressions slightly tired.

Mark perked up when you entered, shooting you a friendly grin. "How was your first night Y/n?"

"It was good." You replied, managing a smile. "Some weirdos, but I can handle it."

Mark chuckled. "Yeah, that's pretty typical. Just remember, we're here to protect you. None of us are gonna let anything happen to you—or any of the other women who work here." He added, his voice kind, but firm.

Jisung chimed in, offering you an encouraging smile. "He's right. We don't tolerate anyone stepping out of line. Now, are you ready for your cash out?"

You nodded eagerly, and Jisung walked over to a machine in the corner, his fingers flying over the buttons.

"Renjun, can I get a head count for her?" Jisung asked without looking up.

Renjun who was still monitoring the cameras, swiveled in his chair to glance at you. "She's got about ten customers." He reported before turning back to the screens.

Jisung pressed one final button, and the machine whirred before spitting out a stack of cash. He counted it quickly, nodding to himself before handing it over to you.

"$7,500." Jisung said impressed. "Not bad for your first night."

Your eyes widened as you accepted the money, the weight of it startling in your hands. "Thank you."

"What?" Chenle exclaimed from across the room. "$7,500 on her first night? That can't be right!"

Haechan laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Just accept that there are people better than you Chenle."

Chenle shot him a disbelieving look, muttering something under his breath, but Haechan ignored him. Instead, he turned to you, his expression softening. "Alright Y/n, can you wait for me at the entrance? I still need to do my cash out and talk to them for a minute."

"Yeah, sure. It was nice meeting you all." You said, waving to the others as you made your way to the door.

"It was nice meeting you too!" Jisung called after you, the rest of them nodding or waving in agreement.

You walked out, heading toward the entrance. As you neared the door, a deep voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Where are you going?"

You turned around, and your breath hitched slightly. The man addressing you was easily the most attractive person you'd seen all night.

"Oh, I was just leaving." You said with a polite smile.

"Why so soon princess?" He asked, stepping closer, his voice low and smooth.

"My friend is leaving, so I'm going with him." You explained.

"Haechan?" He asked, tilting his head.

You nodded. "Yeah, that's him. You know him?"

He smirked. "Yeah, I know him. So... you're dating or something?"

You shook your head quickly. "No, we're just friends, but I came with him, so it's only right to leave with him."

"It's right to stay too." He countered, his voice dripping with charm. "I'd love to have a beautiful woman to look at a little longer."

You laughed softly, the flirty glint in his eyes making your cheeks warm. "Well, I won't stay beautiful if I don't get my beauty sleep. I'll be back, you'll have someone to stare at again."

He slipped five crisp $100 bills into your hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly. "You promise?" He murmured.

"Pinky promise." You replied with a playful smile.

Satisfied, he flashed you one last grin before walking away, leaving you slightly flustered and holding the money. You couldn't stop smiling as you waited for Haechan.

He appeared shortly after his own cash out complete. "Ready to go?"

"Yep." You said, following him out the door. The crisp night air hit your face, refreshing after the stuffy casino atmosphere. You climbed into Haechan's car, unable to contain the excitement bubbling inside you.

"I still can't believe this." You said as he started the engine. "$7,500 Haechan. Are you kidding me? That's so much money!"

Haechan glanced at you, his smile bright. "You did really good. I didn't even make that much tonight."

"Well, technically, I made $8,000." You held up the five $100 bills, laughing. "This random guy gave me this to promise I'd come back. I didn't even do anything!"

Haechan's smile fell slightly. "Wait, didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?" His tone had shifted, becoming more serious.

Your excitement dimmed just a bit. "Well, he was a customer, obviously, so I didn't think it was a big deal. I didn't want to be rude."

Haechan sighed, his grip tightening on the wheel. "How could you be so sure it was a customer?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right." You said, your voice low with defeat. 

He took a deep breath. "Just... be careful. Some of these guys, they'll push boundaries if you let them." He spoke softly, relaxing again.

You nodded, a small wave of unease washing over you. "I'll be more careful next time."

"Good." He said, his easygoing demeanor returned as a small smile painted his face.

You tilted your head in curiosity as you started to think. "So, isn't it just a regular casino? What makes it illegal?"

He chuckled softly, though there was a darker edge to it. "It's a lot more than just gambling Y/n. This place is a money laundering front. No taxes, no oversight. A lot of the cash that comes in is dirty—earned through illegal means. We clean it for them, and we profit off it. Also people can't snitch if we use them to keep playing. Like if someone drinks too much and blows a $1,000,000 check, that's not our fault and they just have to take that L."

You frowned. "That sounds... really shady. What about the people who lose all their money? Doesn't that bother you?"

"They're not innocent." He said, his voice firm. "Most of them are criminals or addicts. They're already hurting themselves or other people. We just benefit from it. That's the business."

His logic made sense, but it didn't sit entirely right with you. "I guess you're right..." You said softly, though a small frown lingered on your face.

Haechan glanced at you, his smile returning. "Don't overthink it. You're just here to make money, not solve the world's problems."

You nodded slowly, leaning back in your seat. "What happens if I don't want to go through with this?"

Haechan's cheerful expression dimmed slightly. He hesitated before answering, as if carefully choosing his words. "Well, you could just walk away. No one's going to stop you if you don't come back. But..." His voice dropped, and for the first time that night, he looked genuinely uncomfortable. "If you talk—if you go to the police, or try to blow the whistle, things get messy."

"Messy how?" You asked, your throat tightening.

He glanced at you, his gaze serious. "You could be arrested. They'll find a way to charge you with something without exposing themselves. And if that doesn't work..." He hesitated again, his grip tightening on the wheel. "You could... disappear."

"Disappear?" You echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Killed." He said bluntly, though his tone was soft. "But that's only if you snitch. As long as you keep your mouth shut, you're safe. I'll protect you from everything else. You just have to trust me."

You stared at him, his words sinking in like cold water. "I trust you." You said finally, though your voice was shaky.

Haechan's expression softened, his usual bright smile returning. "Good. I've been doing this for a long time Y/n. I know how to keep you safe."

He pulled up to your apartment building.

"Thanks for tonight." You said, your voice quieter now. "For taking care of me."

He smiled. "Anytime. Text me when you're inside, ok?"

You nodded, climbing out of the car and heading up to your apartment. Once inside, you dropped your things and leaned against the door, exhaling a shaky breath. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"You're okay, right?"

You smiled faintly, typing back.

"Yeah, I had fun. Thank you for caring about me this much."

His reply came almost instantly.

"Always."

You meant it when you said you trusted him, but as you stared at the $8,000 now sitting on your counter, a lingering unease settled in your chest. This all felt too good to be true. ══════════════════════════

The days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, you'd settled into a strange rhythm at the casino. You'd show up with Haechan, who would always meet you at your door, teasing you about taking forever to get ready.

"I swear you spend more time picking an outfit than we do making money." He'd joke, leaning against your doorframe with that familiar smirk that made your stomach twist.

"Maybe I like looking good for tips." You'd reply, brushing past him with a smile that was just as teasing.

It wasn't long before you learned the ins and outs of the job. Jisung and Chenle started treating you like one of the guys, offering pointers and cracking jokes about your mistakes. Mark was a constant source of encouragement, always reminding you to keep your head up when things got overwhelming.

And then there was Haechan.

He was always there—your partner, your guide, your protector. He would steer you away from customers he didn't trust, stand close when someone got too handsy, and give you a quiet thumbs up from across the room when he saw you closing out a big tip.

"You're a natural." He'd say whenever you doubted yourself, his voice warm and sincere in a way that made your chest ache.

It wasn't just his words. It was the way he would linger a little too long when handing you your coat, his fingers brushing against yours. The way his eyes would soften when you laughed, like he was seeing something he didn't know he needed.

You tried not to think too much about it. After all, this wasn't the kind of world where feelings could blossom freely. There was always a shadow hanging over you—an unspoken reminder that nothing about this life was safe.

Still, moments with Haechan felt... different. Like tonight.

The casino had been unusually packed, the noise and lights more overwhelming than usual. You worked the floor for hours, smiling until your cheeks hurt and dodging the advances of too drunk customers. By the time the night was over, you were exhausted, leaning against the wall near the entrance as you waited for Haechan.

"Long night?" His voice pulled you from your thoughts.

You looked up to see him standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets and that familiar playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Understatement." You muttered, pushing yourself off the wall.

He chuckled, tilting his head toward the exit. "C'mon. Let's get out of here."

The drive back was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between you, but then Haechan broke the silence.

"You've been killing it lately." He said, glancing at you. "Seriously. Even Chenle said he's impressed."

You smiled, the compliment warming you more than it should have. "Thanks. It's been... a lot to get used to, but I think I'm finally getting the hang of it."

"You are." He said softly, his tone more serious now. "You're doing great Y/n. Better than I expected."

"Better than you expected?" You teased, raising an eyebrow. "Wow, ouch."

He laughed, the sound filling the car. "That's not what I meant. I knew you'd do well—I just didn't think you'd handle everything this easily. It's not exactly... normal, you know?"

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. "Yeah, I know, but I've got you guys, so it helps."

His expression softened, and for a moment, he didn't say anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "You've got me at least."

The words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the way he looked at you—like he meant it, like he wanted you to believe it.

"I know, I've always have." You said, your voice just as soft.

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, the tension between you settling into something warm. When he dropped you off at your apartment, he lingered for a moment, leaning against the car door as you fumbled with your keys.

"Get some rest." He said, his tone lighter now. "You've earned it."

"You too." You replied, pausing in the doorway. "Haechan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For... everything."

He smiled, the kind of smile that felt like it was just for you. "Always."

You closed the door behind you, leaning against it as your heart raced.

The weeks continued to pass, each night at the casino blurring into the next. You found yourself looking forward to the moments you shared with Haechan, the quiet car rides and the easy banter that seemed to come so naturally.

It was in the way he'd stand a little too close when you talked, the way his hand would linger on your lower back as he guided you through the crowded floor. You told yourself it didn't mean anything, that it was just Haechan being Haechan, but deep down, you weren't so sure. ══════════════════════════ Rule two: never, ever go to this place without Haechan.

It was early evening when Haechan's text popped up on your phone. You were putting the finishing touches on your makeup, already running late.

"Don't bother getting ready tonight. I'm sick, and we're not going in."

You frowned, rereading the text. Your heart sank. Tuition was due in two days, and while you had some of the money saved up, you still needed tonight's cash out to cover the rest.

You quickly typed back.

"I need to go. Can't you power through just for a few hours?"

His response came faster than you expected.

"No Y/n. Just take the night off."

It was one of the rules he'd drilled into your head since day one: Never go to the casino alone. But the deadline for your tuition payment loomed over you, and staying home wasn't an option.

You made up your mind quickly, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

The casino was just as chaotic as usual—loud music, flashing lights, and the hum of people talking, laughing, and gambling. Without Haechan by your side, it felt overwhelming, but you pushed past the nerves. You told yourself you'd just do a few rounds, make your money, and leave before anyone noticed you were there alone.

As you made your way through the floor, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Princess."

You turned around, your heart skipping a beat when you saw him—the guy from your first night, the one who'd slipped you $500. He looked just as attractive as you remembered, dressed sharply with an air of confidence that made him stand out even in a place like this.

"Leaving so soon?" He asked, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Uh, no. Just... getting started." You replied, trying to sound casual as your heart raced.

His smile widened, and he stepped closer. "What if, instead of working, you spend the night talking to me?"

You raised an eyebrow, half laughing. "You want to pay me to talk to you?"

"Why not?" He said smoothly. "I think you're interesting, and I'd like to get to know you better."

You hesitated, glancing around the room. "I don't even know your name."

"Jaemin." He said, holding out his hand.

You shook it, your gaze narrowing slightly. "That name sounds familiar."

"It should." He said, his smirk deepening. "I'm kind of a big deal around here."

You tilted your head, trying to place him, but nothing clicked. "I don't know what that means, but ok."

He chuckled, leaning in just enough to make your pulse quicken. "One conversation. I'll pay for your cash out tonight if you do."

You froze, your eyes narrowing. "How do you even know about cash outs?"

Jaemin's grin widened, his voice dropping lower. "Because I'm the boss sweetheart. The one who runs everything here."

Your heart stopped. "Wait—you're the boss?"

"Guilty." He said, his tone casual but his eyes locked on yours. "Now, about that conversation?"

You didn't have much of a choice. If he was really the boss, there was no way you could turn him down without risking your job—or worse.

"Alright," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "but I expect you to keep your promise."

"Always." He replied, his tone smooth as silk.

The two of you ended up in one of the VIP lounges, a secluded space far away from the noise of the casino floor. The atmosphere was intimate, the lighting low and warm.

"So," Jaemin said, leaning back on the couch and studying you with a faint smile. "Tell me about yourself."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Isn't this supposed to be about you?"

"I already know about me." He said, his tone teasing. "I want to know about you. What made you decide to work here?"

You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "I needed the money. Tuition's expensive, and this seemed... easier than working three part time jobs."

He nodded, his expression softening. "Fair enough. So, what's your major?"

"Business," you replied. "and before you ask—no, I'm not planning to end up in a place like this after I graduate."

Jaemin laughed, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Smart girl, but you know, you've got a natural talent for this. You could go far if you wanted to."

"I'll take that as a compliment." You said, your lips curving into a smile.

"You should. I'd be lying if I said you didn't catch my attention the moment I saw you."

You felt your cheeks heat up but managed to play it cool. "Well, you'll have to get used to disappointment. I'm not here for attention—I'm here for money."

Jaemin tilted his head, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "And here I was thinking you came back tonight because you couldn't stop thinking about me."

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. "You're ridiculous."

"Am I?" He asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Because I think I'm pretty good at reading people, and right now, I'm reading you."

"Oh yeah? And what's my story Mr. Boss?" you asked, crossing your arms and leaning back.

He mirrored your posture, smirking. "You're smart, ambitious, and probably way too good for a place like this, but you're also a little reckless—you wouldn't be here alone tonight if you weren't."

The flirtation in his voice was impossible to ignore, and your heart picked up speed. "Maybe I'm just bad at following rules." You said, your tone light but your gaze steady.

"Good," Jaemin said, his voice dropping an octave. "I like people who know how to break the rules."

The way he said it made your stomach flip, and for a moment, you were grateful for the low lighting that hid your expression.

"Careful." You said, forcing a smirk. "I might start to think you're the reckless one."

"Who's to say I'm not?" He replied smoothly. He leaned back, watching you like he was waiting for you to challenge him further.

The energy between you was magnetic. It wasn't until Jaemin's next comment that your breath caught.

"Tell me something princess." He said, his voice soft, but deliberate. "Do you always play hard to get, or is that just for me?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. The intensity in his gaze made it impossible to think straight.

"You really think I'm playing?" You managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just enough to make your pulse race. "I think you're having fun, but if I'm wrong, you can tell me to stop anytime."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. Before you could say anything, the moment was interrupted.

"Jaemin."

Both of you turned to see Haechan standing in the doorway, his expression stormy. His eyes flicked between you and Jaemin, his jaw clenched tight.

Jaemin stood, his demeanor casual despite the tension radiating from Haechan. "If it's about business it can wait." Jaemin said, his tone light but firm.

"It's not." Haechan replied, his voice clipped. "Can we talk? Alone."

Jaemin glanced at you, his smirk softening into something almost reassuring. "Don't go anywhere princess. I'll be right back."

As soon as the door closed behind them, you braced yourself. It didn't take long before Haechan came back, his expression darker than before.

Haechan's shoulders tensed as he stared at you, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might snap. "I just don't understand why you'd risk everything by coming here alone. Did you even think about what could've happened to you?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm reckless Haechan." You shot back, your voice sharp. "I'm not stupid. I was careful, and you weren't here. What was I supposed to do? Sit at home and hope for the best while my tuition goes unpaid?"

His nostrils flared, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice but not his intensity. "You were supposed to trust me. I told you I'd take care of it, and instead, you went behind my back and broke the most important rule here."

"Trust you?" You echoed, scoffing bitterly. "You mean the way you've been keeping things from me? Like the fact that Jaemin owns this place? You want me to trust you, but you don't even tell me the full truth."

Haechan flinched slightly, guilt flashing in his eyes before frustration took over again. "I didn't tell you about Jaemin because I didn't want you getting mixed up with him. He's—"

"He's what?" you interrupted, your anger boiling over. "Because from where I'm standing, he's the only one who's been upfront with me tonight. And maybe if you had been honest from the start, I wouldn't have felt the need to come here on my own."

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't just some game. Jaemin isn't some harmless guy throwing money around—he's dangerous Y/n. I've seen what happens to people who cross him. I didn't tell you because I was trying to protect you!"

"Protect me?" You repeated, shaking your head. "You're not protecting me Haechan. You're treating me like I'm incapable of making my own decisions, and I'm tired of it."

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a heavy cloud. Haechan's shoulders sagged slightly, his expression softening but still guarded. "I'm not trying to control you." He said quietly, his voice almost breaking. "I just—"

He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as he looked away.

"You just what?" You pressed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else you couldn't quite place.

"I don't want to lose you." He finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The vulnerability in his words hit you harder than you expected, but it wasn't enough to extinguish the frustration still simmering in your chest.

"You don't get to say that after everything." You said, your tone softer but still firm. "You don't get to act like you care and then keep me in the dark."

His jaw worked as he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You're right." He said, his voice heavy. "I messed up, but you still shouldn't have come here alone."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "And you shouldn't have lied to me. Looks like we both messed up."

"Let's just go." He said after a long pause, his voice low.

You nodded stiffly, still too angry to say more. As the two of you walked out of the lounge, Jaemin's voice followed you.

"Leaving so soon princess?" He called, his tone laced with amusement.

Haechan didn't even look back, his hand brushing your arm as he gently guided you toward the exit.

The car ride was silent, the air between you thick with unresolved tension. You stared out the window, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, while Haechan gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

As you approached your apartment, he finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "We'll talk about this later."

You didn't respond, but the flicker of hurt in his tone made your chest ache. As much as you wanted to hold onto your anger, you couldn't shake the feeling that tonight had changed something between you. ══════════════════════════

The tension between you and Haechan was suffocating, and the silence in the car lingered long after you had arrived home. He didn't follow you inside, didn't offer his usual lingering goodbye, just sat in the driver's seat, gripping the wheel, his knuckles white as if he was fighting every instinct to say something.

You didn't look back when you walked into your apartment, but the guilt started to settle in the moment you closed the door behind you. Still, your frustration bubbled just beneath the surface. You knew Haechan cared, but you also felt trapped under the weight of his protectiveness, like he didn't see you as someone capable of standing on your own.

As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You hesitated before grabbing it, expecting a text from Haechan, but instead a random number flashed across the screen.

"Did you make it home safely princess?"

Jaemin. Your lips twitched into a small smile despite the events of the evening. Why does he care? you wondered.

"Yeah, I'm home. Thanks for asking."

Almost immediately, he replied.

"Good. You shouldn't let Haechan get to you too much. He's always been protective, but he means well."

You stared at the message, your mind racing. Why does it feel like he knows so much?

"How did you even get my number?"

"I have my ways."

Your stomach twisted at his vague response, a strange mix of unease and intrigue coursing through you.

"That's not an answer Jaemin."

"Let's just say I make it my business to know the people who interest me. And you Y/n, are very interesting."

Your cheeks flushed at the implication, but a small part of you bristled at the invasion of privacy.

"You're really something else, huh?"

"Only for you princess."

Before you could respond, another text came through.

"I'd rather see that smile of yours in person than try to guess how you're feeling through a screen. Think you can handle another night at the lounge soon?"

Your heart skipped a beat. He was so smooth, so disarming, and it was hard not to be charmed by his confidence. But after tonight, you weren't sure how you felt about stepping foot in the lounge again.

"We'll see. I don't want to cause any more trouble."

"You're not trouble Y/n. You're a breath of fresh air in a room full of suffocating smoke."

Your heart fluttered, you hated how easily his words affected you.

"Goodnight Jaemin."

"Sweet dreams princess."

You set your phone down, biting your lip to suppress a smile, but the weight of your fight with Haechan lingered. You knew you'd have to face him again soon, and the thought filled you with equal parts dread and anticipation.

The next morning, you weren't surprised when Haechan showed up at your apartment. He didn't knock, just let himself in with the spare key you'd given him months ago. You found him leaning against your kitchen counter, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk." He said, his voice low, but steady.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I know."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm still mad. I'm furious actually, but more than that, I'm scared. You don't understand how dangerous Jaemin is Y/n. He's not some harmless flirt—he's the kind of guy who could ruin your life without blinking."

You flinched at his words, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "And what if I can handle him? What if I don't need you swooping in to save me all the time?"

Haechan's jaw clenched. "It's not about you needing me. It's about the fact that I can't sit back and watch you get hurt. You're too important to me."

Your breath caught at the intensity in his voice, and for a moment, you didn't know what to say.

"Haechan..."

He shook his head, stepping closer. "I know I've been holding back, not telling you everything, but it's not because I don't trust you—it's because I don't trust him. Jaemin doesn't do anything without a reason, and if he's got his eyes on you, it's not because he's just being nice."

You frowned, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions. "I can't just ignore him Haechan. He knows things—about the lounge, about you, about me. Part of me feels like if I don't play along, it'll only make things worse."

His eyes softened, but his frustration was still evident. "If you think Jaemin is the kind of person you can play along with, you don't know him like I do."

"I'm not an idiot." You snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. "I don't need you to lecture me about how dangerous he is. I'm just trying to figure this out on my own terms, without you controlling every step I take."

His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped. "Then figure it out, but don't come crying to me when it blows up in your face."

Your chest tightened, his words cutting deeper than you expected. "So that's it? You're just done?"

Haechan's expression was stormy, but there was an unmistakable sadness in his eyes. "I don't want to be, but I can't protect you if you keep running straight into the fire."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold back tears. "Maybe I don't need your protection Haechan. Maybe I just need you to trust me."

He didn't say anything for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you as if searching for something. Finally, he exhaled sharply and grabbed his jacket.

"Well I don't." He said flatly, heading for the door. "Since you're so big and bad now, figure it out yourself."

══════════════════════════ Rule #3: never go home with anyone.

The door slammed behind Haechan, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment, and for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the space he left. The words he'd said still stung—especially the way he'd walked out without looking back, as if you weren't even worth the fight anymore.

You didn't know why it hurt so much. Maybe it was the way he'd always been there, his protective instincts always so fierce. Or maybe it was the way he'd seemed to abandon you when you needed him most. Either way, the emptiness in your chest wasn't something you could ignore.

You sank onto the couch, trying to clear your head. You don't need him, you thought. You're strong enough to handle this on your own, but as much as you told yourself that, the ache in your heart didn't fade.

After a while, you found yourself reaching for your phone and staring at Jaemin's number, the memory of his charming words still lingering in your mind. He'd always known how to make you smile, how to make you feel like you were the only person in the room. Honestly, right now, you needed that distraction.

You hesitated for a moment before typing out a simple message.

"Hey, are you working tonight?"

You didn't have to wait long for his reply.

"I'm always working, but I'm free if you need some company. You gonna come see me tonight?"

There was something about the way he phrased it that made your stomach flutter. You knew what he meant, and despite the mess that had just unfolded with Haechan, you felt the pull toward him. Maybe it was wrong, maybe it wasn't the healthiest decision, but in that moment, you didn't care. You wanted to feel wanted again.

"I'll be there in a bit."

You changed quickly, putting on something that made you feel confident. You weren't exactly sure what was drawing you back to the casino, but you had to admit, Jaemin was part of the reason. The way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you were the center of his world, it was intoxicating. It was exactly what you needed after the fight with Haechan.

The casino was as chaotic as always when you arrived, but the moment you stepped through the door, your eyes immediately found Jaemin. He was talking to someone, but the second he saw you, his gaze sharpened, and a smile spread across his face.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to grace me with her presence." Jaemin said, walking toward you. His presence seemed to fill the room in a way that made you feel all eyes on you.

"Couldn't resist, huh?" He added, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I guess not." You replied, unable to fight the small smile tugging at your lips. You leaned against the bar as he approached, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the tension between you, the unspoken connection that had been simmering from the moment you first met him.

Jaemin stepped in closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "So, what's a beautiful woman like you doing here all alone? Shouldn't you be somewhere safer?"

The way he said "safer" made it sound like a challenge, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"I don't know," you answered, keeping your voice steady, "maybe I wanted to see you again."

His smile widened, and without missing a beat, he placed his hand lightly on your back, guiding you away from the bar. "I'm glad you did. I was starting to think I'd have to drag you here myself."

You chuckled at the thought, but there was no mistaking the way he was looking at you now. His hand lingered lower on your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

As you both moved through the crowd, Jaemin leaned in closer, his voice just above a whisper. "I've been thinking about you Y/n. You've been on my mind since that night at the casino."

His words were smooth, but it was the intensity in his eyes that made your stomach tighten.

"Have you?" You asked, voice dropping to match his intimacy. You were close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his proximity making your heart race.

"Yeah." Jaemin replied, a sly smile playing on his lips. "I can't help myself when I see someone as stunning as you. I like the way you move, the way you talk, the way you look at me." His fingers brushed the edge of your arm as he spoke.

You didn't pull away. You couldn't. "Well, maybe you shouldn't have been so bold then." You teased, your breath catching in your throat as his gaze darkened.

"I'm bold because I know exactly what I want." Jaemin said, his voice a smooth caress against your ear as he leaned in even closer. "And right now, I want you."

You swallowed hard, the tension between you two almost unbearable now. "What are you saying Jaemin?"

He stopped walking and turned to face you, his hand gently cupping your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. "I'm saying... maybe you should come back to my place tonight. We can skip all the small talk and go straight to what we both want."

Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat rising between you, but even then there was a lingering thought in the back of your mind—Haechan. You had just had a fight with him, but did that mean you had to go through with this?

Jaemin didn't wait for your answer. "You don't have to decide now, but I'm not going to ask again." He whispered, his lips so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. "Let's see where the night takes us."

And before you could stop yourself, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Okay."

You followed him out of the casino, your heart racing as you left behind everything familiar—everything safe. Jaemin's house was breathtakingly luxurious—sleek and modern, with high ceilings and expansive glass walls that reflected the glittering city lights, but you didn't get much of a chance to take it in. His focus was entirely on you, and you were too consumed by him to care about your surroundings.

The moment the door shut behind you, his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. His lips crashed into yours, hungry and demanding. There was no hesitation, no time for second thoughts. He guided you deeper into the house.

Jaemin's kiss was intoxicating, his tongue teasing yours as he deepened it, his hands gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go. You barely noticed when he guided you into a room, sitting you on the cool surface of a dresser. His body moved between your legs effortlessly, as if he'd always belonged there.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes blazing with unspoken desire. "So pretty." He whispered, his voice rough yet tender. His lips found your jawline, trailing soft kisses down your neck. Each touch sent shivers cascading down your spine, his hands squeezing your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the dresser until there was no space left between you.

Your breath hitched as he kissed harsher now, his lips sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving marks. You couldn't stop the soft moans escaping your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked his way deeper into your senses. His touch, his scent, his presence—it was overwhelming.

Jaemin's hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your hips as he pressed you against him. He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged. "You sure about this?" He asked, his voice low.

You smiled, biting your lip, your voice barely steady. "I'm sure."

His lips curled into a smirk, satisfaction evident. Without wasting another moment, he lifted you off the dresser and turned you toward the large mirror across the room. Your reflection stared back at you, flushed and disheveled, as he bent you over the smooth wooden surface. His hands roamed down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake as his lips found the back of your neck.

"Look how pretty you are." He murmured, his deep voice washing over you. His eyes locked on yours through the mirror, a mixture of admiration and desire in his gaze.

As he slid your dress up over your hips, exposing more of your skin to the air, you felt your breath hitch. His lips trailed down the back of your neck, leaving a trail of soft, open mouthed kisses that sent tingles down your spine.

The warmth of his hands returned, firm and sure as they settled on your hips, holding you in place. One hand slid lower, his fingers brushing against the sensitive heat between your legs. Even through the fabric, the contact made you tremble.

His smirk widened as he watched your reflection react to his touch, your lips parting in a soft gasp. "And you're so wet for me already." He whispered, his tone teasing yet dripping with satisfaction.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the mirror. His fingers pressed against you more firmly, circling in a way that had your knees weakening beneath you.

"You feel that?" He asked, his voice low and rough against your ear as he leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back. "That's how much you want this. How much you want me."

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your body responding to his touch in ways words couldn't capture. He grinned at your reflection, his confidence intoxicating as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck.

"Good." He murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Because I'm not stopping until I've had all of you. 

Jaemin's eyes stayed locked on yours through the mirror as he reached down, pulling away the last barrier of clothing keeping you from him. His gaze never left, taking in every inch of your exposed skin, the heat in his expression enough to make your pulse race. His fingers trailed teasingly along your inner thigh, drawing shivers from your body before finally sliding between your folds.  

When he slipped one finger inside, your breath caught, and a soft moan escaped your lips. "Jaemin." You whimpered, your head falling forward slightly as your body instinctively pressed back against his hand. He didn't hold back, setting a relentless pace that had your knees trembling almost immediately.  

"What's the matter?" He asked, his voice low and taunting, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Can't handle it? You're gonna have a rough time if you can't even take my fingers princess." His laughter was dark and quiet through the room as he pushed another finger inside.  

"I can take it." You shot back, your voice laced with determination—though the words broke into a shaky moan as his fingers curled just right, brushing against that spot that made you see stars.  

"Yeah?" He replied, his tone both amused and challenging. He quickened his pace, his fingers pumping in and out of you, the slight curve of them sending waves of pleasure rolling through your body. "Then take it. Show me you can handle it."  

Your stomach tightened, the coil of heat building steadily as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck... oh my god" You gasped, your hands gripping the edge of the dresser for support as your legs started to quake.  

Jaemin's smirk widened, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "It's okay. Don't fight it. Just let go for me. Soak my fingers princess." His words were both commanding and soothing, pushing you right to the brink.  

"I'm there." You managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper as your body gave in. Your knees buckled, and a flood of warmth coursed through you.

Jaemin slowed his movements but didn't stop, milking every last tremor from your body before finally pulling his fingers out. He lifted his hand into view, his fingers glistening as he tilted them slightly.  

"Look." He said with a satisfied smile. "Look at what you did."  

You barely managed to lift your head, still catching your breath, but when your eyes met his in the mirror, the smirk on his face sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He brought his fingers closer, holding them in front of your lips.  

"Clean me up." He ordered softly, his eyes dark with desire.  

Your tongue flicked out, tasting yourself as you took his fingers into your mouth, your lips wrapping around them. The way he watched you, his gaze heavy and unwavering, sent a shiver down your spine. When you were finished, he pulled his fingers away slowly, a wicked grin spreading across his face.  

"Such a good girl for me." He murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

"Turn around for me." Jaemin murmured, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Before you could move, he grasped your chin gently, tilting your face up to his. His lips met yours in another deep, hungry kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. When he finally pulled away, his lips were slightly swollen, and his gaze burned into yours. 

"Now, take my pants off." He whispered.

You didn't hesitate. Your hands moved quickly to undo the button and zipper, pulling his pants down his hips and letting them pool around his ankles. Your fingers hovered teasingly at the waistband of his underwear for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips gave you all the encouragement you needed. You slid the last piece of fabric down, freeing him completely. 

"Good." He praised, his voice a soft growl. "Now turn back around." 

You obeyed, turning to face the mirror again. His hands settled on your hips as he stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against your back. His lips brushed your ear as he spoke. 

"I want you to look at yourself the whole time I'm fucking you. Don't you dare look anywhere else. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." You whispered breathlessly, your body already trembling in anticipation. 

"Good." He murmured, his lips curving into a grin as he teased your entrance with the tip of his length. 

He paused for just a moment, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror, savoring the way your body reacted to his teasing. Then, without warning, he pushed his full length into you in one smooth motion. 

"Fuck." You whimpered, your fingers gripping the edge of the dresser as your body adjusted to the stretch. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve alive and buzzing. 

"You're so fucking tight." Jaemin groaned, his voice a breathy moan, almost like a chuckle. His hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he began to move, his thrusts deep. 

"You're taking me so well." He murmured, his eyes dark and intense as they met yours in the mirror. "Like this pretty little hole was made just for me." His smirk was wicked, dripping with satisfaction as he watched you. 

The room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, your moans and his low groans. Every thrust was harder than the last, and his grip on your plush thighs tightened, holding you steady as he drove into you relentlessly. 

The pressure was overwhelming, instinctively your head began to lower, seeking relief from the intensity. 

"What did I tell you?" Jaemin's voice cut through, sharp and demanding. 

"To... to look up the whole time." You stammered, your voice shaky and weak. 

"Then why are you looking down?" He asked, his breath hitching slightly even as he kept his relentless pace. 

"It feels so good." You whimpered. "I... I can't take it." 

He chuckled darkly. "Then I'll make you take it." 

One of his hands slid into your hair, gripping a fistful and pulling your head back up. Your eyes met his in the mirror again, and the intensity in his gaze sent another wave of heat crashing through you. 

He picked up his pace, thrusting into you harder and deeper. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, drowning out everything else. Your back arched as he pulled your hair tighter, forcing you to keep your eyes on the mirror. 

"Such a filthy slut," he growled, his voice low and rough. "but you can't take it, hm?" 

You tried to respond, to form words, but all that escaped were broken moans and gasps, your voice caught in your throat as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. 

"Fuck." Jaemin groaned, his pace faltering for just a moment as his thrusts grew rougher. "I'm almost there. You gonna cum with me?" 

You nodded frantically, unable to speak, your body trembling as your stomach tightened.

"Good fucking slut." He rasped, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with one final thrust. 

The two of you came undone together, your release washing over you so intense you thought you might collapse. Jaemin's groans mixed with your cries as he spilled into you, his grip on your body grounding you as you both rode out the last moments of pleasure. 

His hands softened, sliding up your sides and pulling you gently against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his breathing still ragged. 

"You did so well." He whispered, his tone soft and full of praise. "So fucking perfect." 

You forgot about the fight with Haechan, about the rules you'd broken. Well, you tried, but as you got cleaned up you couldn't stop thinking about him.  ═════════════════════════ Jaemin had gotten a call that he needed to return to the casino to handle some business. The car ride back was unnervingly silent, and when you finally arrived, he didn't spare a moment. Without so much as a glance your way, he rushed inside, leaving you behind.

You sighed, shaking your head before following him in. You finally reached the office. Inside, Mark, Jisung, and Chenle were gathered in conversation over some paperwork.

"Where did you two go?" Mark asked, getting up from his chair the moment he saw you.

"To his house." You replied casually, brushing off the weight of the evening.

"To his what?" Mark stuttered, his voice rising slightly. His eyes flickered to Jisung, who immediately froze mid gesture.

"Are you okay?" Jisung added, a hint of worry in his tone as he exchanged a wide eyed look with Mark.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why are you asking me that?" You asked, growing defensive under their intense stares.

"Well..." Jisung hesitated, leaning back in his chair. "No one ever goes to Jaemin's house. I mean no one." He paused, sucking his teeth.

"Well, at least no one who's seen again." Chenle said without looking up from his papers.

You blinked at him, stunned by his bluntness. "I'm here, aren't I?" You replied, forcing a smile. "I really think he likes me."

Jisung and Mark exchanged another skeptical look, their eyebrows rising simultaneously.

"He definitely treats you differently." Jisung admitted.

Mark on the other hand scoffed lightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You couldn't go after someone a little safer though?" He teased.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "Someone like who?"

"Someone like Haechan." Mark suggested, his smirk widening.

"Haechan doesn't even like me." You shot back, shaking your head.

Mark's smile twisted slightly, awkwardness replacing his teasing. Chenle for the first time looked up from his papers and locked eyes with Jisung. A shared understanding passed between them.

"Oh, um... I don't think that's—" Mark started to say, but his words were cut off as the door swung open.

"What's up guys?" Haechan said, walking in like he owned the room. His sharp eyes swept over everyone, lingering briefly on you before moving on.

"Hey Haechan." Mark greeted, forcing a casual tone.

"Hey." You added, offering him a small smile.

Haechan nodded at you but didn't stop to engage, heading straight for Mark.

"Haechan." Mark blurted, clearly still in disbelief. "Y/n actually made it to Jaemin's house."

Haechan froze for a moment, then chuckled. "Yeah, I know." He said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I'm surprised she made it back." His gaze flickered to you.

"What's that supposed to mean Haechan?" You asked, your voice rising slightly with offense.

"Oh, I don't know." He replied coolly. "Maybe that you could've been killed. You do realize no one makes it out of Jaemin's house, right?"

You glared at him. "Well, you never told me that."

"It's almost like I did though." He snapped, his jaw tightening.

"I survived, ok? I'm fine." You crossed your arms, but he wasn't looking at you anymore. He turned his back and walked toward the counter, busying himself with some documents.

Mark mouthed something to you, gesturing toward Haechan with pleading eyes: "Make it right."

You sighed deeply, swallowing your pride. Rubbing the back of your neck, you walked up behind Haechan and gently touched his arm. "Can we talk Haechan? Please?"

He stiffened at your touch, turning his head slightly to glance at you. His eyes were dark, and unreadable. "Didn't I tell you I was done with you?" He hissed. His words stung more than you cared to admit.

"Haechan, please." You said softly. "I don't want you to be done with me. Can we just... talk?"

For a moment, his expression softened, the anger in his eyes replaced by something you couldn't quite place. He sighed. "Fine, but only for a second."

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the room, leading you down a secluded hallway. The narrow space left little room for distance, forcing you both closer than you'd been in weeks.

"What?" He asked sharply, his voice low and full with frustration.

"Haechan." You began, your voice quiet. "I'm sorry, but what did you expect me to do?"

"I don't know—maybe listen to me. Not break my trust. Not put yourself in danger." He shot back, his words tumbling out in a rush.

"I can protect myself." You said, trying to meet his gaze.

His laugh was bitter. "Y/n, Jaemin is dangerous. You seriously could've been killed. Do you have any idea how bad this night could've gone?"

"But it didn't," you countered. "I'm fine. I made it back."

"You think this is the end of it? You've put yourself in a situation you can't get out of. What happens when he gets angry at you? What happens if you piss him off—if one night he decides you're not worth his time anymore?" His voice cracked slightly, his vulnerability slipping through. "You don't get second chances with people like him."

You stepped closer, cupping his face in your hands. His breath hitched at the sudden touch, his eyes searching yours.

"Haechan." You whispered, "I know I've made mistakes. I know I've hurt you, but I trust you, and I need you to trust me too."

"It's not that I don't trust you." He murmured, his hands ghosting over your sides before he pulled them away. "I just... I can't let anything happen to you. I'll never forgive myself if I do."

You leaned in closer, your forehead brushing against his. "Nothing's going to happen. I promise, i'm right here."

For a moment, the world fell away as your lips met his. The kiss was soft, yet filled with an unspoken longing. When he pulled back his eyes were glossy, his lips slightly parted.

"Go home." He whispered.

"Haechan—"

"Go home." He repeated, shaking his head. "I'll call you a car, but you can't stay here."

Reluctantly you nodded. "Ok."

You lingered for a moment longer before turning and walking away, your heart heavy, but hopeful as you exited the casino.

══════════════════════════

It was another night that you had spent there without Haechan. It wasn't the first time, but after the talk you both had you wanted him to be there with you at least.

Taking a small break, you slipped into the back office when your phone buzzed with a notification.

"Darling, can you meet me in the private hallway, please? I know you're here."

Jaemin's text sent your heart racing. Without hesitation, you rushed to the hallway, trying to figure out what he wanted. When you arrived, you saw him standing there—with Haechan.

A smile played on Jaemin's lips as you approached. "You needed me?" You asked, glancing briefly at Haechan, whose expression was unreadable.

"Of course. I always need you princess." Jaemin replied smoothly. Then he turned to Haechan, his tone sharpening. "But I think Haechan needs you too. Isn't that right Haechan?"

"Jaemin, what are you talking about?" Haechan stammered, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips.

"Answer the question. Do you need her?" Jaemin pressed, his gaze unwavering.

Haechan's composure faltered. "Yes," he admitted softly. "I need her."

Jaemin smirked. "You know, I reviewed the security footage and saw you two here in this very hallway." His tone grew colder. "I don't like people taking what's mine Haechan, you know that."

"I'm sorry Jaemin. I didn't realize things were that serious between you two." Haechan said, glancing nervously at you.

Jaemin stepped closer. "Have you fucked her yet?"

The bluntness of the question caught Haechan off guard. "No." He replied quickly.

"But you've thought about it, haven't you?" Jaemin pressed, his voice dangerously calm. "You want to, don't you?"

Haechan hesitated, his throat dry. Jaemin had a way of knowing everything—even things you didn't fully realize about yourself.

"Yes." Haechan admitted, his voice barely audible.

"Yes what?" Jaemin demanded, tilting his head.

"Yes, I want to fuck her." Haechan said, glancing your way before looking down.

Jaemin turned his attention to you. "And what about you princess? You've thought about it too, haven't you?"

Your stomach churned. Lying wasn't an option—not with Jaemin. His piercing gaze demanded the truth.

"Yes," you confessed quietly. "I've thought about it." 

Haechan glanced up at you for a second, a gleam of light shining in his eyes. Jaemin's smirk widened. "Good. Tell me, which one of us do you want more?"

Your eyes flickered to Haechan for a moment, he shook his head, looking your eyes before you answered. "You Jaemin. Of course."

He seemed satisfied with your response. "Come here princess." He commanded softly.

You stepped closer.

"Get on your knees for me."

Obediently, you sank to your knees before him, looking up with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Haechan shifted uncomfortably. "Uh... maybe I should go—"

"No." Jaemin interrupted firmly. "Stay right here."

He turned back to you. "Princess, pull my pants down. Make me feel good. Maybe I'll forgive you."

You obeyed, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled his pants and underwear down, freeing him.

"Don't act shy." He teased, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "You've seen it before."

You took him into your mouth slowly, earning a low groan from him. His hand found its way into your hair, guiding you gently at first, then with increasing intensity.

"Fuck, just like that." He praised, his voice husky.

Haechan's breath hitched as he watched. He tried to look away but couldn't, getting more turned on by the second.

Jaemin's grip on your hair tightened as he thrust deeper, his groans growing louder. "You're doing so good baby. Keep going."

The wet sounds him in your mouth filled the hallway, along with Jaemin's moans and the occasional choked gasp from you.

Haechan's hands clenched at his sides, his arousal straining against his pants.

"I'm close." Jaemin groaned, his movements growing frantic. "Let me finish in your throat."

Moments later, he spilled into your mouth, his release warm. You swallowed, wiping your face as Jaemin smiled down at you.

"You did so well princess." He murmured, stroking your cheek. Then his gaze shifted to Haechan.

"Now it's his turn."

"What?!" Haechan exclaimed, his voice rising. "I'm not sucking your dick Jaemin!"

Jaemin rolled his eyes. "You're such a fucking idiot Haechan. Y/n, baby, go to him."

You crawled over to Haechan, your eyes searching his for permission. "Can I?" You asked softly.

Haechan's lips parted as he nodded, his breaths shallow. "Yeah... you can."

Your fingers worked at his waistband, unbuttoning and unzipping slowly. When you freed him, his dick was hard and twitching.

"Are you sure?" You whispered again.

"Yes, I'm sure." He replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned forward, taking him into your mouth. His moans were soft at first, then grew louder as you moved. His hands hovered uncertainly before settling lightly on your head.

"Fuck Y/n." He whimpered, his voice cracking with pleasure.

Jaemin watched intently, a smirk tugging at his lips.

When Haechan's hips began to buck, Jaemin interjected. "Stop."

You and Haechan froze, turning to look at him.

"I want you to fuck her." Jaemin said, his tone low and commanding. "Finish inside her."

"Man you're a pervert." Haechan muttered under his breath before turning back to you. "Do you want this?" He asked, his voice tender.

"Yes." You answered, your cheeks flushed. "More than anything."

Moments later, Haechan had you pressed against the wall, your dress pushed up and underwear discarded. His movements were tentative at first, ensuring you were comfortable, but soon his thrusts grew harder, more desperate.

"Fuck, feels so good." He moaned out in a smile. He wanted you like this for a while, and now he finally had it, even if Jaemin was there to see it. 

"Gonna cum, Haechan." You moaned out, throwing your head back on the cold, hard wall. 

"Me too." he whimpered, becoming undone as your walls clenched around him. 

"You gonna finish deep inside me, hm? Fill me up with your seed?" You whispered out in a breathy moan. 

"Fuck, yes." Haechan whimpered out, twitching inside of you as your stomach tightened. 

Jaemin just watched the scene unfold, his cock twitching as he looked at the both of you moving on each other. He didn't want to admit it, but it was hotter than he imagined.

Haechan finished in you, taking a deep breath as he twitched in you for a second. You both came down from your highs, avoiding eye contact as he exited you.

"Well, that was worth watching." Jaemin spoke. "Now you two get cleaned up and meet me in the office. I have some news." You two obliged, getting cleaned up before meeting the others in the office. ══════════════════════════

The door swung open, and the room fell silent as Jaemin stepped in, his presence commanding as ever. His sharp gaze swept across everyone, warning them not to interrupt.

"Good to see everyone working so hard." Jaemin said with a faint smirk, his tone deceptively light. He sauntered toward your desk, stopping in front of you with an unreadable expression. "Y/n, stand up."

Confused, you obeyed, your eyes flickering to Haechan, who was already frowning. Mark and Chenle exchanged glances, but no one said anything.

Jaemin cleared his throat, placing a hand on your shoulder as he addressed the room. "I wanted to let you all know that Y/n will no longer be working here."

The air grew thick, you stiffening as your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

"What?" Haechan's voice was sharp, breaking the stunned silence. He stood up, his jaw clenched as he stared at Jaemin.

Jaemin smiled faintly, ignoring Haechan's outburst. "She's moving in with me."

Mark's eyes widened, and Chenle shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Jisung stared at the floor, unwilling to meet anyone's gaze. No one dared to speak out, but their unease was intense.

"Jaemin, I—" You started to say, but his hand tightened on your shoulder, silencing you.

"It's not up for discussion." Jaemin said, his gaze locking with Haechan's. "She'll be safer with me, and I'm sure you all understand that."

Haechan took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "You can't just—"

"Haechan." Jaemin's voice was calm but carried an edge of warning. "It's done. You should be glad I'm looking after her."

You glanced at Haechan, seeing the hurt and anger swirling in his eyes. He looked at you with betrayal.

"Y/n." Jaemin said, his tone softening slightly as he turned to you. "Go wait for me outside. I'll join you in a moment."

You hesitated, looking back at Haechan, who shook his head slightly, as if begging you not to go, but you nodded at Jaemin and walked out of the room, your heart heavy.

The hallway was quiet, but you could hear Haechan's heavy footsteps behind you before he even said a word. You turned, catching the stormy look on his face as he approached.

"Y/n." He said, his voice low. "What the hell are you doing? You can't just go with him."

You blinked, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "Why not? He's just being protective, right? I mean, he said I'll be safer with him." You shrugged, forcing a smile. "Makes sense to me."

Haechan stared at you like you'd just grown a second head. "Are you serious right now? You really think Jaemin's doing this out of the goodness of his heart?"

You tilted your head. "Well... yeah? I mean, he's been really sweet to me. Maybe he just, I don't know, likes me?"

Haechan let out a bitter laugh, rubbing his hand over his face. "Y/n, he doesn't like anyone. He doesn't care about anyone. You're not moving in with him because he's sweet on you—you're moving in with him because he wants to control you."

"That's a little dramatic." You said, crossing your arms. "He hasn't done anything to hurt me."

"Yet." Haechan snapped. "He hasn't done anything yet. Do you know how many people have gone to Jaemin's house and never been seen again? Do you know what kind of man he really is?"

You sighed, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. "Haechan, you're worrying over nothing. I'll be fine. He's not going to do anything to me—I mean, I survived last time, didn't I?"

"That's not the point!" Haechan snapped. "You're not taking this seriously, Y/n. He's dangerous. This isn't some fairytale where everything turns out fine just because you smile and say you'll be okay."

"I am okay." You insisted, your tone firm but still lighthearted. "You're just overthinking it. Jaemin likes me, and he's not going to hurt me. I mean, come on—look at me. Who would want to hurt this?" You gestured to yourself, flashing him a playful grin.

Haechan's jaw tightened, his frustration through the roof. "This isn't a joke Y/n. I'm not 'overthinking it.' I'm telling you you're walking straight into a trap, and you're acting like it's nothing."

You softened a little, stepping even closer. "Haechan, I get it. You're worried about me, and I appreciate that, but I need you to trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't." He said flatly, his voice dropping. "You don't know anything about what you're doing. You're just... you're just trusting him like he hasn't already shown you who he is."

"I trust myself." You said, your tone turning stubborn. "And I trust you to be there for me if something does go wrong."

His eyes softened for just a moment before hardening again. "You shouldn't have to count on me to save you. You should listen to me before it gets to that point."

You shrugged, offering him a small, almost apologetic smile. "But where's the fun in that?"

"Y/n." He said sharply, stepping closer so you could see the anger and hurt in his eyes. "I'm not kidding. This isn't a game. If you go with him, I don't know if I'll be able to protect you. I don't know if I'll even see you again."

Your chest tightened at the raw emotion in his voice, but you kept your expression light. "You're being dramatic again. I'll be fine Haechan. I promise."

He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face as if trying to find some crack in your confidence. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're impossible, you know that? If anything happens to you—"

"Nothing's going to happen." You interrupted, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be fine. You'll see."

He didn't look convinced, but he finally stepped back, letting you go. "Just... don't forget what I said." He said quietly, pulling you into a long hug. 

"I won't." You said holding him tightly, offering him one last smile before heading back to Jaemin.

As you walked away, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Haechan might be right—and that your stubbornness might cost you more than you were willing to admit. ══════════════════════════

At first, Jaemin's house felt almost like a dream. The kind of dream that was too extravagant to be real. He gave you the best room, stocked it with things he said he'd noticed you liked—your favorite snacks, clothes that fit perfectly, and books you'd mentioned in passing. The fridge was always full, the view from the balcony was breathtaking, and Jaemin himself was, well, everything you thought he'd be: charming, attentive, even affectionate.

For a while, it was easy to forget Haechan's warnings, but as the weeks passed little things started to feel... off.

It began with Jaemin's schedule. He started coming home later and later, offering vague excuses about "business." When you asked for more details, he'd give you a pointed look and a dismissive, "Don't worry about it."

Then there were the boundaries—ones you didn't even realize he'd set until you accidentally crossed them.

One day, you'd decided to take a walk around the neighborhood, needing some fresh air. When you got back, Jaemin was waiting for you in the living room, his posture unnerving.

"Where were you?" He asked, his tone calm but cold.

"Just outside." You said, shrugging. "I needed some fresh air."

"Next time, tell me first." He said, his voice dangerously quiet.

You blinked. "I didn't think it was a big deal—"

"It is." He interrupted, his eyes locking on yours. "You don't leave this house without telling me. Understood?"

The weight of his stare made your stomach twist, but you nodded. "Ok."

After that, things escalated.

One evening, you had gotten a call from Haechan. He wanted to check in, to make sure you were okay. Jaemin walked in while you were still on the phone, and the look on his face made your blood run cold.

"Who was that?" He asked once you hung up.

"Haechan." You said honestly. "He just wanted to see how I was doing."

Jaemin didn't say anything at first, but the tension in the room was suffocating. Finally, he leaned against the counter, his gaze sharp.

"You don't need to talk to him anymore." He said flatly.

You frowned. "What? Why not? He's my friend."

"Not anymore." Jaemin said, his voice calm but firm. "You're with me now. You don't need him."

"Jaemin, you can't just—"

"I can." He cut you off. "And I am. If you're going to be here, you follow my rules. No Haechan."

You stared at him, your heart pounding. "This is ridiculous."

"Is it?" He asked, stepping closer. "Or are you just too stubborn to admit that I know what's best for you?"

The way he towered over you, his eyes dark, made your throat tighten. You wanted to argue, to push back, but something in his demeanor stopped you.

From then on, Jaemin's behavior grew more controlling. He wanted to know where you were at all times, who you were talking to, what you were doing. If you questioned him, his responses ranged from smooth and manipulative to outright threatening.

"You're lucky I'm patient with you." He'd say with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Most people wouldn't tolerate this kind of behavior."

Or, "I'm keeping you safe. You don't realize how dangerous things could get if you don't listen to me."

Every time you thought about leaving, Jaemin's words echoed in your mind. "Where would you go? Back to Haechan? Do you think he'd be able to protect you from me? From the people I know?"

He said it so casually, but the threat was clear.

One night, you sat alone in your room, staring out at the city lights. You felt like a bird in a gilded cage—trapped, isolated, and unsure of how you'd gotten here. Haechan's warnings played on a loop in your head, and for the first time, you started to wonder if he'd been right all along. ══════════════════════════

Jaemin was in an unusually good mood when he walked into the room that evening. His face lit up with a rare excitement. 

"Get dressed." He said, his tone almost playful. "We're having a dinner tonight."

You looked up from the book you were pretending to read, your heart sinking. "A dinner? With who?"

"Someone important." He said, brushing off your question with a wave of his hand. "Wear something nice. I want you to look stunning."

That familiar unease settled in your chest. Jaemin's version of "important" usually meant trouble, but you didn't argue. Instead, you forced a smile and got up, heading to the closet to find something appropriate.

An hour later, you found yourself sitting in a private dining room of an upscale restaurant, your nerves on edge. Across from you sat a man Jaemin introduced as Jeno, a name that didn't mean anything to you, but clearly held weight with Jaemin.

Jeno was polished, with a sharp suit and a demeanor that put you on edge. He and Jaemin chatted easily, their conversation littered with inside jokes and references to "opportunities" and "potential".

"So." Jaemin said suddenly, turning to you with a wide smile. "I've been telling Jeno about you. He's impressed."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Impressed with what?"

"With your adaptability." Jaemin said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "And your loyalty. Those are rare qualities."

Jeno nodded, his gaze piercing. "Jaemin speaks highly of you. That's not something he does often."

You offered a polite smile, but your palms were sweating. Something about the way they were both looking at you made you feel like a pawn in a game you didn't understand.

After dessert, Jaemin finally got to the point. "Jeno has a proposition for us." He said, his tone casual but his eyes glinting with something sharper. "An opportunity to make more money than we've ever dreamed of. Filthy rich."

Jeno chuckled, raising his glass in agreement.

"But it's not something we can do here," Jaemin continued, his gaze fixed on you. "We would have to move. Start fresh in a different country. Somewhere far from all of this."

Your stomach dropped. "Move? Where?"

"Europe, most likely." Jeno said, his voice smooth. "The details are still being finalized, but it's an opportunity you wouldn't want to miss."

You forced a laugh, trying to mask your growing unease. "This sounds... big."

"It is." Jaemin said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It's everything we've been working toward. This could change our lives Y/n."

Your heart was pounding, but you nodded along, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

That night, back at the house you couldn't hold it in anymore.

"You can't be serious about this." You said as Jaemin poured himself a drink.

He glanced at you, his expression already stiffening. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because it's insane." You said, your voice rising. "Moving our lives, moving to a different country... It's too much."

"It's not too much." He said, his tone sharp. "It's a chance to have everything we've ever wanted."

"Everything you've ever wanted." You corrected, crossing your arms. "You didn't even ask me if I wanted this."

Jaemin slammed his glass down on the counter, making you jump. "What do you think this has all been for? The late nights, the risks, the sacrifices? Do you think I'm doing this just for me?"

"I don't know Jaemin." You said, your voice trembling. "Sometimes it feels like you don't care what I want."

He took a step closer, his gaze dark. "You don't know what you want. That's the problem. You're scared of taking risks, of stepping out of your comfort zone, but I'm not. I see the bigger picture, and I'm trying to bring you along with me."

"I'm not scared." You shot back, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Then prove it." He said, his voice softening slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. "Trust me. I've never steered you wrong before, have I?"

You hesitated, your mind racing.

Jaemin's hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that made your heart ache. "I'm doing this for us." He said, his voice low and persuasive. "I want to build a life with you. Don't you want that too?"

Your defenses faded under the weight of his words and the intensity of his gaze. You wanted to believe him, to trust that he had your best interests at heart.

"Ok." You said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."

A slow satisfied smile spread across his face. "That's my girl." 

But as he pulled you into his arms, a pit of unease settled in your stomach. ══════════════════════════ The Europe deal was finalized. Jaemin had been talking about it all morning, logistics and plans, leaving no room for hesitation. His excitement was infectious, but you couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort in your chest.

As he left to finalize more details with Jeno, you stood in the lavish bedroom he had claimed as yours and stared at your phone. It was time. You had texted Haechan. 

"Can you come over?"

It took a moment before the three dots appeared on the screen.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

You hesitated. Telling him the truth felt too dangerous, but you couldn't lie to him either.

"I'm fine. Just come. I'll send the address."

"I'm on my way. Don't ring the doorbell? Got it, but you're scaring me."

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. That was so like Haechan—always worrying about you, always trying to fix things.

The minutes ticked by slowly after you sent him the address. Your heart pounded in your chest, equal parts excitement and dread. You knew Jaemin would be dangerous if you didn't execute things right, but you couldn't bring yourself to care, it was time.

When you finally heard the soft knock on the balcony door, you exhaled sharply and hurried over to open it. Haechan stepped inside, his eyes immediately scanning your face.

"You scared me." He said, his voice low but firm. "Why did you call me here?"

You didn't answer right away. Instead, you grabbed his wrist and led him deeper into the room, shutting the door firmly behind you.

"Y/n, talk to me. You stopped talking to me before, so why now?" He urged, his brows furrowed.

Before you could answer, you both froze. The sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hall, followed by the unmistakable voice of Jaemin.

"Y/n?" His tone was sharp, suspicious. You could hear the anger simmering beneath it. "What the hell is going on in there? Open the door."

Haechan's eyes widened, but you simply smiled, reaching up to lock the door.

"Y/n." Jaemin growled from the other side, rattling the handle. "Open this door right now."

"Sit down." You murmured to Haechan, your tone almost playful.

"What?!" He hissed, his panic barely contained.

"Sit down." You repeated, your hand on his chest as you pushed him gently back onto the bed.

"Y/n, I swear to God, if you don't open this door—" Jaemin's voice rose, his fist banging against the wood.

You ignored him entirely, your focus solely on Haechan. His eyes darted nervously to the door, but when your lips met his, all his resistance melted away.

"Are you seriously doing this right now?" He whispered against your lips, his voice a mix of disbelief and desire.

"I missed you." You murmured, climbing onto his lap, feeling the warmth radiate from his body.

The banging on the door grew louder, Jaemin's voice a scream now. "Y/n, I'm not playing games with you. Open this damn door!"

But you didn't care. For the first time in months, you felt free.

"Y/n, I don't think this is the time. We have to get out of here." Haechan muttered, a hint of concern lacing his words.

"Do you not miss me too?" You asked, your voice soft, yet teasing as you pushed him down onto his back, your body hovering over him.

"Of course I miss you." He responded, his breath hitching as he gazed into your eyes.

"Then shut up and kiss me." You replied, your heart racing as you leaned in, capturing his lips with yours once more.

When his lips met yours, it was as if the world outside ceased to exist. The frantic knocking and Jaemin's angry shouts faded into the background.

Haechan wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you as close as he could. You fumbled with the button of his jeans, unzipping them with trembling fingers as your lips remained locked together, lost in each other.

With a swift motion, you pulled down his pants and underwear, and he mirrored your actions, shedding your own clothes in a flurry of urgency and desire. 

He sat up, holding you securely in his lap as you sank down onto him, both of you letting out a long awaited moan that lingered in the air.

"Fuck, I miss you so much." He whimpered, breaking the kiss to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours, eyes filled with a mix of passion and lust.

"I missed you too baby. I told you I'd be fine." You smiled, leaning into him again, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

As you began to move, the moans that escaped your lips grew louder, a deliberate tease for Jaemin outside, who was still banging on the door.

"I'm almost there." You moaned, breaking the kiss and resting your head in the crook of his neck, feeling the tension coil tightly in your stomach as you clenched around him.

"Me too." He whispered, his voice strained with pleasure. He held you tightly as you both rode out your highs together, lost in a world that was just the two of you.

In that moment, nothing else mattered—no angry knocks, no outside world—just the intoxicating connection between you and Haechan.  ══════════════════════════

"Haechan, you have to go." You whispered, removing yourself from on top of him.

"Y/n, this is insane." He whispered fiercely, his eyes wide with fear and frustration. "We need to leave together. He's going to kill you!"

You stepped closer to him, your hands brushing his as you looked into his panicked eyes. "No Haechan. You need to leave. Go to the casino and wait for me there. I'll handle this."

"Handle this? Y/n, you're not listening! You can't face Jaemin alone!" His voice cracked as he spoke with despair.

You placed a hand on his cheek, trying to calm him. "I know you're scared. I am too, but I need you to trust me ok? I've got this."

His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. "Let me be the one to face him. Please. If anyone's going to take the risk—"

"No." You cut him off firmly. "This is my fight Haechan. I need you to leave now. If you stay, you'll only make things worse."

He stared at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, he let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Fine, but if you're not at the casino in an hour I'm coming back for you. I mean it."

You gave him a small reassuring smile. "I'll be there."

Reluctantly he climbed over the balcony railing, glancing back at you one last time before disappearing.

You turned back to the door, unlocking it and stepping aside just as Jaemin stormed in, his eyes full of fury. He scanned the room quickly, his gaze snapping to you.

"Where is he?" He demanded, his voice low.

"He's gone." You said calmly, crossing your arms.

Jaemin's expression darkened, and in a swift motion, he pulled a gun from the back of his waistband, pointing it directly at you.

"Don't lie to me." He growled.

Your heart pounded, but you didn't flinch. Instead, you stepped forward, closing the gap between you and the barrel of the gun. "Shoot me then." You said, your voice steady.

Jaemin's hand trembled, the gun shaking slightly as he stared at you in disbelief. "You think I won't?"

"I think you won't." You said, your eyes locked on his. "Because you need me."

For a moment, he stood frozen, the weight of your words sinking in. Then with a frustrated growl he lowered the gun, tossing it onto a nearby chair.

"Why do you always have to make things so difficult?" He snapped, running a hand through his hair. "I'm trying to protect you—to take care of you. Don't you see that?"

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. "Protect me? Jaemin the only person you care about protecting is yourself. All of this—Europe, the business—it's not about us. It's about you and your greed."

"You're wrong." He insisted, stepping closer. His voice softened, dripping with fake sincerity. "We could have everything together Y/n. Power, money, freedom. Just say yes and I'll give you the world."

But weren't falling for it. You stepped back, your expression cold. "No Jaemin. Here's what's going to happen. You're going to Europe, transfer all your assets to the casino and you're signing it over to Haechan."

His face twisted in anger. "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you really think I'd give everything up because you asked me to?"

He stepped closer, his tone turning darker. "If you think you can threaten me you're wrong. I'll kill you, and Haechan too."

You smirked, unbothered by his threats. "You won't touch either of usJaemin. Because if anything happens to me, there are people who will make sure you pay for it. Dirty cops, powerful people. They'll come for you—and only you."

His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" You challenged. "Go ahead. Try me. You'll find out just how serious I am."

For the first time, Jaemin hesitated, the confidence in his demeanor fading. He stared at you, his mind clearly racing.

"You're lucky I'm keeping you alive." You said, your voice low and sharp. "Because you didn't have the decency to do the same."

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

You tilted your head, your smirk growing. "Do you seriously not remember my face?"

Jaemin's expression froze. For a moment, his mask slipped, and you saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes, but just as quickly he composed himself, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

"I don't know how I could forget." He said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Guess I didn't look that deep in your eyes."

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "Well, you should've because now those eyes are the last thing you'll ever underestimate."

Jaemin's smirk fell, and for the first time, you felt the power shift entirely into your hands. ══════════════════════════

The casino buzzed with its usual energy, but all eyes turned to the center of the room when Jaemin strode in with you at his side. He walked with purpose, his expression a mix of authority and resignation. The usual crowd. Mark, Haechan, Jisung, Chenle, paused their work to watch as Jaemin climbed onto the small stage at the front of the room.

"I have an announcement to make." Jaemin began, his voice carrying across the space. "I am resigning and stepping away from the business. I'll be signing over the casino to Haechan, and after today you'll never see me again."

The room erupted in stunned murmurs. Jisung's jaw dropped, Chenle stared in disbelief, and Haechan blinked rapidly, trying to process what he just heard.

"You're signing it over to me?" Haechan asked.

Jaemin nodded. "Yes. I've decided that you're the best fit to take over."

Haechan shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't want it. Mark deserves it more than anyone. He's the one who's been running this place while the rest of us deal with... other things."

Mark's eyes widened. "Haechan...what?"

"You're the one who works the hardest." Haechan insisted. "This place wouldn't even function without you. You should take it."

Jaemin turned to you, his brows knitting together. "What do you think?"

You gave a small shrug, your expression calm. "That's fine with me."

Without further argument, Jaemin stepped down and signed the paperwork to transfer permanent ownership to Mark. The room was silent as he set down the pen and turned to face everyone.

"Guess that's it." Jaemin said, his voice tinged with something like relief. He looked at you, his smirk returning. "Can I at least get a kiss goodbye princess?"

You walked up to him, leaning in as if you were going to fulfill his request. Instead you whispered in his ear. "Fuck you." Before planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Stepping back, you waved with an exaggerated flourish.

"Goodbye Jaemin. Don't come back."

Jaemin chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're a piece of work." With that he turned and left the casino, disappearing into the night for good.

Mark looked dazed, clutching the paperwork like he couldn't believe what just happened.

Haechan rushed to you, pulling you into a tight hug. "You're okay, I can't believe you pulled this off. How did you even do it?"

Chenle leaned against the counter, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, what did you do? Spill."

You gave him a sly smile. "That's a secret."

Jisung shrugged. "That's fine. We're just glad you're back."

The group laughed, but the mood shifted when you cleared your throat. "Actually... I'm going back home."

The laughter stopped, and everyone stared at you.

"What?" Haechan asked, his voice low.

"I need to get away from all this." You said softly. "It's been... a lot. I just need some time to figure things out."

The room was quiet for a moment before Mark nodded. "We get it. You've been through so much. You deserve to take care of yourself."

Everyone murmured their agreement, but Haechan looked crushed. "You're leaving again? Y/n come on. You dropped out of school anyway—why not stay? Stay with me."

You gave him a small smile, touching his arm. "I need to do this Haechan. Please understand."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine, but we're driving to your apartment to get your stuff. I'm not letting you leave without spending time with you first."

You grinned. "Deal, but... can I drive your car?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to drive my car?"

"Yeah." You said grinning.

He hesitated, then handed you the keys with a playful eye roll. "Fine, don't crash it."

The drive to your apartment was smooth, the atmosphere between you and Haechan lighter than it had been in days. Once inside, the two of you collapsed onto the couch, the worry finally melting away.

Haechan leaned back, looking at you curiously. "Wait... How did you know how to get to the casino by yourself? I mean yeah, we've driven there a lot, but you can't even remember how to get to my place half the time."

Your smile fell for a moment, and you shifted in your seat. "If I tell you the truth, don't get mad, ok?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, a teasing edge to his voice. "What did you do Y/n?" ══════════════════════════

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Haechan stared at you from the couch, his brows furrowed with curiosity and confusion.

You took a deep breath, suddenly feeling the weight of the secret you'd carried for so long. You sat next to him, avoiding his gaze as you started.

"When I was 18 I lived in another state with my parents." You began, your voice soft but steady. "They were... rich. Very rich, but it wasn't clean money. They were involved in something shady, but they never told me what it was. I didn't ask—I didn't want to know."

Haechan's expression softened as he listened, sensing the shift in your tone.

"One night, I was in my room when I heard gunshots. I froze, I didn't know what to do. I peeked out of my door, and... I saw them. My parents lying there on the floor... dead."

Haechan's eyes widened, and his hand instinctively reached for yours.

"There were three men." You continued. "They were cleaning up the mess, moving things around, making it look like it didn't happen there, and then I saw him. The one in charge, and I remember his face so clearly... Jaemin."

He leaned back stunned. "Jaemin?"

You nodded. "I'll never forget that face. The way he looked so calm, so... collected. He even sat at my large family photo, looked at us smiling together and didn't care. I didn't know what to do so I ran. I left the state, and I spent months trying to figure out who he was and what my parents were involved in. That's how I found out about the underground casino."

Haechan stayed silent, his jaw tightening as he processed your words.

"I found out where it was and applied to a college nearby. I needed to get close to Jaemin, but I couldn't just walk into his life. So, I went to the casino to check it out. At first, I thought I had the wrong place. It looked like an ordinary gas station."

You gave a small, bitter laugh. "I was ready to call the cops and let them handle it, but then... by pure chance. I saw someone leaving through the back behind the beaded curtains... I saw you."

Haechan stiffened, realization dawning on him. "Wait... me?"

You nodded again. "I recognized you later at school. We had classes together, and I knew if I wanted in, I had to get close to you. So, I told you this elaborate story about being broke and needing money for tuition. I even thought you'd get suspicious because of my nice apartment, but you didn't. You felt sorry for me, and you trusted me. That's when you introduced me to the casino— you were my way in."

He blinked, his expression a mix of hurt and disbelief. "So... you used me."

"It wasn't like that." You said quickly, placing a hand on his arm. "At first yes, it was about Jaemin. The plan was always to take him down, but then I got to know you. I started to care about you a lot."

Haechan's jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away. "What's going to happen to Jaemin?"

"When he gets to Europe, he's going to be arrested. I've been working with people—dirty cops, private investigators. I made sure that he'll be broke, with no way to come back here or rebuild. Everyone here will be fine. The business is safe, and so are you."

Haechan looked down, shaking his head. "You planned all of this... from the beginning?"

"Yes." You admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "I had to. He destroyed my family. But I promise you... I never meant to hurt you."

He was silent for a long moment before finally looking at you. "So what now? You're just... leaving?"

"I have to." You said softly. "This isn't my world. I've done what I needed to do. I need to go back home, to where I belong. But..." You hesitated, looking into his eyes. "If you want... you could come with me."

Haechan's eyes widened. "You're serious?"

"I'm serious." You said with a small smile. "Come with me, stay with me. We can leave all of this behind and start over."

He let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing as he processed your words. "Ok." He said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Let's go."

The two of you packed up your things, leaving behind the chaos of the casino and everything it represented. Weeks later, you found yourselves in your home state, in a house far removed from the shadows of your past.

Haechan stood on the balcony, looking out at the peaceful view. "You know." He said, glancing back at you, "I never thought I'd end up here— with you."

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Me neither, but I'm glad we did."

He turned to you, his expression serious. "No more secret ok?"

"No more secrets." You promised.

And for the first time in a long time, you both felt free.

══════════════════════════

mafiadad5

[nomie-11]

First Call Back

masterlist! | part 1 here!

synopsis: after your impromptu move to Piltover, not all of your solutions are solved, but you're finally together again, so maybe this could work out, right?

pairings: vi x reader, powder is lowkey reader's adoptive daughter

“I’m heading out early today, so don’t look for me when you wake up. Breakfast is in the fridge, Powder is At school, and I’ve started the laundry. Don’t forget that ‘how is Powder adjusting to fancy private school meeting’ is tomorrow at 7:00. I promise I’ll shower after work so I don’t scare off the teacher. See you later. Love you, babe.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, September 3rd, 7:32 a.m.

—————

You hadn’t quite made up your mind about Piltover yet. Yes, you had already moved there, and what little belongings you had were already set and away in your new apartment, but Piltover was weird. 

You could tell Powder wasn’t entirely happy about it, too. You and Vi had lined up the move so that Powder would start fresh on her first day of her first year of high school. The two of you (and Caitlyn) had even taken Powder out to get some new clothes, and she appreciated it, but you knew when she wasn’t feeling great. 

It all came to a head when, one night for dinner, you were sitting across from Powder, Vi on your other side with her textbooks and notes spread out, headphones pulled securely down over her ears. 

“How was school today, baby?” you asked softly, looking up from your plate to her, sitting in the kitchen chair she had claimed as her own, her knees pulled into her chest. Her soft, violet blue eyes were rimmed red as she glanced at you. 

“It was fine,” she mumbled, using her fork to push around her food on her plate, immediately shifting her gaze back down. She hadn’t taken a single bite all night—something that used to be foreign, she always used to eat, purely off the knowledge that you had sacrificed something for her plate to be full. 

With a soft sigh, you reached across the table, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. 

“You’ll tell me when you want me to braid your hair, okay?” 

She just nodded, dropping her fork onto the plate and pushing it towards you. “Thanks for dinner.” 

—————

“Did Powder tell you what’s going on? Those fancy Piltover assholes have been bullying her—saying she’s too skinny, that her hair is weird. They took her sketchbook today and started tearing out pages. When she got home from school, she just went straight to her room, didn’t even say hi. I had to force her to tell me when she finally grabbed a snack and took one of your high protein, high calorie bars that she hates.”

—phone call from Y/n to Vi, September 28th, 4:39 p.m.

—————

The walls of the apartment were a sterile white. Powder originally was excited to decorate them with you, but the excitement had fizzled out as quickly as it came. Boxes still sat unopened in the corner of her room, her sketches and art supplies untouched. The bright posters you’d picked out to liven up the place remained rolled up on her desk. She spent most of her time curled up on her bed, headphones in, drowning out the world. 

It hurt to see her like this. Powder had always been the spark, the light in the darkest days. Now, her spark seemed dimmed, weighed down by the move, the new school, and the unfamiliar faces that didn’t bother to understand her. 

That night, as you were tidying up the kitchen, you heard her soft footsteps approach. Powder hovered at the edge of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, looking smaller than ever. 

“Hey, baby,” you said, wiping your hands on a towel. “What’s up?”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering to the floor. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Can I… can I have some juice?”

“Of course,” you replied, trying to keep your voice light as you moved to the fridge. “You want your usual cup and straw too?”

She nodded, still not meeting your eyes. You grabbed the juice in silence, the quiet punctuated only by the soft click of Powder’s favorite cup against the metal of her straw. When it was ready, you placed the cup in front of her at the table, sitting down across from her. 

For a moment, she just stared at the mug, her hands cradling it for warmth. Then, she took a shaky breath and said, “I miss home.” 

Your heart clenched. “I know, baby,” you said softly. “It’s okay to miss it. This is a big change.” 

She nodded again, her eyes glassy. “It’s just… everything’s different here. The school, the kids, they don’t get me.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, reaching out to take her hand. “I”m sorry I can’t fix this for you, but you don’t have to go through this alone, okay? Me and Vi—we’re here for you. Always.” 

Powder sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. Then, out of nowhere, she murmured, “Thanks, mom.” 

The words hit you like a freight train. Your breath caught, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her. Powder didn’t even seem to realize what she’d said, her focus still on the mug in her hands. 

—————

“I don’t think she even knows she did it on purpose. But it still hit me, Y/n. Like I’ve been trying so hard to make things better, to be there, and she… she doesn’t even see me like that. I guess I deserve it. I left her.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, September 29th, 12:14 a.m.

—————

The next morning, Vi wasn’t at the breakfast table. Powder had barely touched her cereal, her spoon stirring it listlessly. You decided against pushing her to eat more; the last thing she needed was added pressure. 

“Vi’s still upset, huh?” Powder asked, her voice small. 

“She’s just tired, baby,” You said, sitting down beside her. “She loves you so much, Powder. You know that, right?” 

Powder nodded, but her eyes stayed downcast. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.” 

“I know,” you murmured, brushing a strand of her soft blue hair behind her ear. “It’s just… complicated. She’s trying to figure out how to be what you need. And sometimes, it’s easier for her to feel like she’s not enough.” 

Powder looked up at you then, eyes wide. “But she is. She’s enough.” 

“I think she needs to hear that from you,” you said gently. 

—————

“Can you come home? Powder feels like shit, and I know you said you’re going for a run and I shouldn’t wait up for you, but I need to talk to you tonight.���

—phone call from Y/n to Vi, October 12th, 11:23 p.m.

—————

Powder had already gone to bed when Vi finally came through the door, her face flushed from a run that went on for longer than was originally planned. You were sitting on the couch, nursing a cup of tea, waiting for her. 

“Hey,” you said softly. 

“Hey,” she replied, toeing off her shoes. She didn’t sit beside you, instead heading for the kitchen to grab a glass of water. 

“You can’t just keep running away,” you said, your voice calm but firm. 

Vi froze mid-pour. “I’m not running,” she said after a moment, her tone defensive. 

“Yes, you are,” you said, setting your tea down on the counter. “Powder needs you right now. She feels terrible about what happened, Vi. And honestly? So do I.”

Vi turned to face you, her jaw tight. “Why would you feel terrible? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Because I should’ve seen this coming,” you said, standing up. “I should’ve talked to you about how she sees me, about how much she relies on me when you’re not around. This wasn’t fair to either of you.” 

Vi’s shoulders slumped, her anger deflating. “I just… I wanted to fix things,” she said, her voice cracking. “I wanted her to see me as her sister again, not some stranger who shows up every now and then.” 

“She does,” you said, stepping closer, resting your hand on her arm. “But Vi, you can’t force her to heal overnight. She’s grown up. She’s changed.” 

Vi’s eyes filled with tears, and she set the glass down with a shaky hand, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face in her shoulder. “I’m not cut out for this,” she whispered. 

“You are,” you said firmly, wrapping your arms around her. “We’ll figure this out.”

—————

“I helped Powder with her art project last night. We stayed up until midnight cutting out tiny stars because Powder didn’t like how hers turned out. It was the first time I’ve seen Powder smile in weeks. I think… I think we might be okay.” 

—phone call from Vi to Caitlyn Kiramman, October 17th, 10:22 a.m.

—————

The next week, the three of you went out for ice cream. It wasn’t much—just a quick trip to a small shop down the block—but it felt like a turning point. Powder clung to Vi’s arm the whole way there, her sketchbook tucked under her other arm. Vi didn’t let go once, even holding the door open with her foot. 

As you sat at a table, Powder flipping through her drawings to show Vi her latest ideas, you caught a glimpse of the sister Vi had been before everything had fallen apart. She laughed at Powder’s jokes, teased her about her favorite colors, and even let Powder draw on her arms around her tattoos.

“Maybe you should get it tattooed,” Powder said with a smile, pulling back her marker to give you a clear view of the intricate lines of flowers crawling up Vi’s mechanical ink. 

Vi grinned. “You think so? Maybe we can get matching ones someday.” 

Powder’s eyes lit up. “Really?” 

“Totally,” Vi said, ruffling her hair. 

You watched them, your chest tight with a mix of relief and undying love. For the first time since the move, things felt… okay.

—————

“I saw Powder hug Vi today. Like, really hug her—not one of those quick, awkward ones. She clung to her, just like she used to. Vi cried when she thought I wasn’t looking.” 

—phone call from Y/n to Caitlyn Kiramman, October 28th, 7:48 p.m.

—————

Powder and Ekko had claimed the living room, their laughter spilling into the kitchen where you and Vi were cleaning up after dinner. Powder’s sketchbook and Ekko’s toolbox—filled with small scraps of metal and wires—were spread out on the coffee table, and you could hear them trading ideas for some kind of contraption they wanted to build together. 

“They’re loud, but I’m not complaining,” Vi said, drying a plate. 

“Neither am I,” you said with a soft smile, handing her another dish to dry. “She’s never had a friend like him before.”

Vi glanced over her shoulder at the two teens, her expression softening. “She deserves to have someone like him. Someone who gets it.” 

“Yeah, she does,” you agreed, turning back to the sink. “Genius and madness. Let’s just hope they don’t blow up the apartment.” 

Vi snorted, leaning on the counter beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. “If they do, at least we know Powder will find a way to fix it.” 

You chuckled, glancing over at the living room. Powder was laughing now, a real, uninhibited laugh that filled the apartment with a warmth you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. Ekko was gesturing wildly, clearly explaining some grand idea, and Powder was nodding along, her now short blue hair bobbing with enthusiasm. 

“She’s totally doing better,” Vi said quietly, her eyes on her sister. 

“She is,” you replied, reaching for her next dish. 

Vi’s hand covered yours, stilling your movement. “Thanks for sticking with us,” she said, her voice low but sincere. “I don’t say it enough, but I don’t know what we’d do without you.” 

You squeezed her hand, your heart swelling. “You don’t have to thank me, Vi. I love you both too much for you to ever have to know what you’d do without me.” 

The sound of something crashing in the living room snapped both of your heads toward the noise. Powder and Ekko froze, their eyes wide as they looked at the overturned coffee table and the scattered parts of their project. 

“Uh… we can fix it!” Powder blurted, already scrambling to gather the pieces. 

Vi groaned, running a hand over her face. “I stand by what I said. They’re definitely blowing up the apartment.”

You laughed, grabbing a towel to clean up the spilled juice. “At least they’re having fun doing it.” 

Vi smirked, shaking her head. “They’re lucky they’re cute.” 

—————

“Hey, Cait. I know I’m running late for our lab, I swear I’m on my way—I just got a little held up at home. So much is going on. Powder’s smiling more, and she’s made this friend—a kid named Ekko—just moved here from Zaun with his adoptive father. They’ve been hanging out at our place, and for once I don’t feel like I’m walking on eggshells around her. 

And Y/n just applied to Piltover University for night classes. Can you believe it? She’s so nervous, but I know she’s gonna crush it. I told her I’d help with whatever she needs. Anyways, I’m on my way! Don’t wait for me.” 

—phone call from Vi to Caitlyn Kiramman, November 4th, 11:14 a.m.

—————

The day your acceptance letter arrived, Vi practically tackled you in excitement. 

“I told you!” She crowed, spinning you around the kitchen. “I told you you’d get in!”

”Vi, put me down!” You laughed, trying to wriggle free. 

“No way! This is huge, Y/n!” She said, finally setting you down but not letting go of your hands. “You’re going to college! You’re going to kill it. I’m so proud of you.” 

You blinked back tears, your chest tightening at the pride shining in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have even applied if it wasn’t for you.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Vi said, pulling you into a hug. “You did this. And I can’t wait for study dates, and walking you to and from class, and complaining about professors together, and—”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I haven’t enrolled yet, Vi. Deep breaths.”

—————

“I booked a reservation at that fancy rooftop place Caitlyn told us about. I figured we deserve a night out, just us. Ekko’s staying over with Powder—don’t worry, Benzo is cool with it. So… wear that dress I like, okay? I want to show you off a little.” 

—phone call from Vi to Y/n, 

—————

The rooftop restaurant was beautiful, lit by strings of fairy lights that twinkle like stars. Vi had somehow snagged a table near the edge (she name-dropped Caitlyn Kiramman and the hostess got nervous), where you could see all of Piltover stretched out below you. She looked good—too good—in her black button-up, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off her tattoos and rippling muscles. 

“You clean up nice,” you teased, sipping your wine that tasted like a week’s worth of groceries. 

“You’re one to talk,” she shot back, her eyes shamelessly roamed over you. “That dress is illegal. I should arrest you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That line’s terrible. You shouldn’t take pickup lines from an enforcer-in-training.” 

“But it worked, didn’t it?” She said with a smug grin. 

The night passed in a blur of laughter and soft touches, a reminder of the easy connection you’d had before life got so hard. For the first time since you graduated and she moved to Piltover, you felt like a couple again-not just two people trying to hold everything together. 

As you walked home, Vi slipped her hand into yours, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain from earlier in the evening. The streets were quieter now, the usual hustle of Piltover replaced by the soft hum of distant conversations and the occasional buzz of an airship overhead. 

“You know,” Vi started, her voice thoughtful, “for two kids trying to figure out how to raise another kid, we didn’t do too bad.” 

You smiled, squeezing her hand. “We did a pretty good job, actually. Powder is turning out great. She’s like this because of you, you know.” 

“Us,” she corrected, her gaze earnest. “Powder would’ve run for the hills if it was just me.” 

“You’re underselling yourself,” you said, nudging her shoulder. “You're a great big sister. She knows that now.” 

Vi’s lips quirked into a soft smile, her free hand brushing over her short hair. “I guess I’ll take the compliment. But I hope you know you’re the glue. Powder and I just cling to you.” 

The sincerity in her voice made your heart ache in the best way. “I do. I know.” 

The building loomed ahead, its familiar stone facade dimly lit under the streetlights. As you reached the doorway, Vi stopped, turning to face you fully. Her hands found your waist, pulling you just a little closer, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over the fabric of your dress. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured, her voice loud. “And I’m so proud of you. Not just for tonight—for everything. Going to college, always working so hard for Powder, you’ve been carrying all of us, and you make it look so effortless. And I don’t tell you enough how much I… love you.” 

The words were warm and steady, her familiar cadence grounding you in a way that nothing else could. “You don’t have to. I feel it every day.” 

Her smile softened, her eyes searching yours in the quiet of the moment. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing yours with a tenderness that took you back to the first time you kissed on the roof of her dad’s old apartment building. You melted into her touch, your hands sliding up to rest against her chest, to feel the steady beat of her heart beneath your fingertips. 

The kiss deepened, a slow, deliberate exchange of all the things words couldn’t express. When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, Vi rested her forehead against yours, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Let’s go home.” 

And with her hand still tightly around yours, you did. 

—————

“Hey, Pow! Don’t forget to set your alarm! I need you distracting her all day tomorrow so I can get the apartment ready. Time to propose!”

—phone call from Vi to Powder, June 13th, 1:43 a.m.

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Try, Try, Try 1

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics including adultery and trying to conceive. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: husband!Andy Barber, friend!Thor

masterlist - to be added

Summary: your husband puts high expectations on you but you don't think you'll ever be enough for him.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A single line. Negative. You cringe as you hold the plastic stick over the bin in disappointment. There’s a knock at the door. 

“Well,” Andy’s voice rumbles through. 

You drop the test into the garbage and exhale softly, “not this time.” 

You crank on the faucet and rinse off your hands. The door opens from the other side and Andy meets your eye in the mirror. You can see the same disappointment in him. He even looks angry. 

“You been taking your vitamins?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod to the pillow box, each day a separate compartment, filled with the multicolor tablets. “I’m off coffee finally. No drinking. I gave Lisa a bunch of wine.” 

Your husband sighs, “you were ovulating. You said so.” 

“Andy,” you shrug. “It just takes time.” 

“Three years,” he says. “Yeah, a long time.” 

You wince at his disapproval. You shut off the tap and dry your hands. “I know. I’m trying.” 

“We’re both trying,” he insists. “Even on the days I’m tired, from working, when all I wanna do is nothing, I try. All according to your calendar. Are you sure you’re doing it right?” 

“What?” You face him. “Yeah, it’s an app and the tests--” 

“I don’t know. Maybe you aren’t trying as hard as me. Or maybe you’re hiding something.” 

His accusation is like a slap in the face. You blink furiously and shake your head, “what are you saying?” 

“You went to the OBGYN last week. How do I know you didn’t get pills? Or an insert?” 

“Huh?” You grimace. You got your IUD out the month before the wedding; because he asked. It wasn’t fun or easy. “Why--” 

“Cold feet? I mean, you leave dishes in the sink, maybe you’re not ready for a kid.” 

Your lashes flutter as your eyes burn. You leave a glass or two in the sink but the place isn’t a sty. You heave and swallow down the hurt. He’s frustrated. That’s it. 

“I’m ready. I’ve been just as ready as you,” you croak. 

“Hm, well, maybe you should book another appointment. Get a referral and figure out what’s wrong with you.” 

“What’s wrong--” 

“There are options. In vitro. Surrogate,” he crosses his arms and leans on the door frame, “I’m not getting any younger. Neither are you.” 

You want to say that it could be him. That you’re not necessarily the problem but you can’t be entirely sure of that. You sniffle, “Andy, I want it just as bad. I understand that it’s hard but you don’t have to be mean.” 

“Cecilia and Mark started trying last year and she’s about to pop,” he retorts. “And Timothy, he’s older than I am and he’s got twins.” 

“Andy,” you plead. “You’re acting like this is some conspiracy.” 

He looks away as if to suggest that’s possible. You stagger with hurt. His mom always accused you of being a gold digger. Does he believe you? He’s the one who told you to quit your job and stay home. 

He clears his throat and his eyes flick over sharply, “almost forgot. Found a cooking course for you. Down at the Elmwood.” 

“A cooking... what?” 

“Mom suggested it. Said it could help with everything. Make it more manageable if you know what you’re doing.” He drops his hands to his hips. 

“But... you like my cooking.” 

“Honey, you cook out of cans and the freezer. It’s something but if we’re going to have a little one, you need to start making more organic meals. Processed foods are awful, especially if you’re going to be breastfeeding,” he girds. 

Your heart sinks even further. You just can’t do anything right. Not since he put that ring on your finger. You’ve let him down in so many ways. You can’t give him a baby, you can’t cook what he likes, and last night he said you were too dry. Not your fault when he doesn’t offer any foreplay. 

“It will be fun too,” he offers. “I’m sure you’ll make some friends. Maybe some who can give you good advice... moms.” 

You restrain the flinch and nod. “Sure, probably will be. I guess... learning new things is good.” 

“Sure it will be, honey,” he shoves away from the wall and comes closer. “Look, it’s not that bad, alright?” He brushes his hand over your hip and along your lower back. He turns you to face him, “we can try again. Before work?” 

He pulls you against him and you have to resist tearing away. You’re not mad. You’re hurt. Why can’t he ever tell you what you do right? 

“Sure,” you run your hands up his white tee shirt. 

“Mm, when’s the last time we were spontaneous?” He purrs as his attitude shifts entirely. “Come on, get on the counter. Just like old times.” 

Your cheeks sear at the memory. When you were his law clerk, it was so exciting. Your little rendezvous, the under the desk fun. Now it’s so much pressure. Now he really feels like your boss. 

He backs you up and you brace the counter. He helps you up and pushes between your knees. You gasp as he steps between them and pulls down the straps of your nightie. A shiver speckles goosebumps across your chest as he bends to bury his face. 

You clasp the back of his head as he fondles one tit in his hand and latches onto the other. He groans as he teethes at you and sucks as he pulls back, stretching your nipple until it pops free. He looks up at you and purrs. 

“You know, when you’re expecting, those are gonna be bigger,” he stands and you hide your disappointment. No foreplay. Again. “I can’t wait.” 

He spreads your knees and pulls you so your pelvis is curled. He pushes down the elastic of his boxers as he slides you closer to the edge. He grabs your shoulder, pushing you back against the mirror as he guides himself along your cunt. 

He growls as he pushes inside of you, rocking until he finds his way in. He grunts and snaps his hips as you whine. It scrapes dryly as you’re unprepared for his suddenness. You brace his forearm and grit down on the pain. 

“You’re dry again,” he snarls and thrusts. 

You rasp, “sorry, I’m trying.” 

You reach down to your clit and he swats your hand away. He snags your wrists and brings them above your head. He pins them to the mirror and rams in harder. You whimper and curl your legs around him. 

“Ah, Andy--” 

“Yeah, you like it, don’t you? Like how big I am?” He pounds into you without patient. “Want me to fill you up, don’t you?” 

You gulp and gasp around his raw intrusion. He squeezes your wrists until your fingers throb and you notice how he watches himself in the mirror, almost entirely unconcerned with your presence. You turn your head down and bite your lip as he uses you. You just need him to get off and then you can go cook him a breakfast he won’t he even like. 

[admirationandromantics]

Best Friend's Brother

This request is literally 10 days old, which, to some, might not seem as a long time. For me however, it is. I'm sorry, but as I've described, I'm just trying to balance writing and school right now, so I'll be writing a little less than before.

Word count: 1,6k (unedited)

could u write a best friend older brother trope josh x reader. luv you works btww xx -anon

I knock on the door, waiting for Beth to open up. We’d planned a movie night while her parents were gone, and Hannah was at Sam’s. Josh was still home, but she told me he wouldn’t be a bother, and would probably stay in his room the whole night. 

I have met him many times before, and would even call us friends. Though at the same time, I often wonder if he looks at me like another baby sister, despite only being one year apart. He often gives me a hard time, teasing me and joking around, but most times, I don’t mind. I usually also hope that he never means anything with his small occasional comments, because nothing will happen either way. My best friend’s brother? That would be a problem just waiting to happen. 

Josh and I have been drunk together, partied together and been on get togethers together, though I’m not familiar with everyone in their group yet. 

I stand outside, my patience running low in the cold weather, wishing I brought a scarf. I hear footsteps coming from inside. Finally. The door unlocks, and a broad, tan Josh in a thin rolled up sweater and some sweatpants stands there, arm against the doorframe. He gives a small smile, looking me over. 

“Well, look who decided to come while the parents are out” he coos, a small whistling sound coming out of his lips. 

“Well, hello Joshua, care to let me in?” 

He smiles, contemplating whether to make this difficult or not. I look around, sighing and waiting for an answer, thinking about shouting Beth’s name and telling her that her brother is being a prick. Luckily, he opens the door further, making space for me to walk inside. “Thank you” I say, trying to hide my smile a bit. I’ve been here many times before, so I immediately know where to hang my coat and leave everything else. Josh keeps standing there, watching me. 

“Beth is out, said something about getting snacks for your movie night” He explains, and I nod. The store is not far from here, so she will probably be back soon. 

“Well then, do you know which movie she’s got planned?”

“Of course I do, I’m the one who helps pick them out”

I give him a curious and sceptical look, not having heard this before. He keeps his gaze locked on my gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

“Have you?” 

“Every time” 

My mouth opens a little. Beth is always talking about her great taste in movies, never having mentioned this before. 

“No, are you serious? Beth has never given you any credit”

“Little sisters… what do you expect?” 

I hum, not knowing how to respond to that. I walk inside, him following closely as I sit myself by the kitchen counter. 

“So, what movie have you chosen then?” I ask, looking up at him again. Instead of sitting, he just leans against the counter with one arm, body turned my way. I can’t help my gaze, looking over his revealed forearms. 

“Something a bit different than usual…” he smirks, eyes following my gaze down to his arms. I break free, leaning forward a bit. 

“Okay, what movie?” 

“A scary one” 

“No”

“Oh yes” 

I whine, leaning back again. I hate scary movies, I hate jumpscares and gore. Why can’t people just like normal, funny, cozy stuff? 

“Josh, are you serious?”

“And there we go, you’re starting to use my nickname” 

“Joshua! Are you serious?”

“Well, that lasted for long”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. This is not how I want to spend my night, and considering that the walk home will be dark and scary, this movie will definitely fuel my fears. 

“Hey, calm down, it’s a good movie, maybe you just haven’t seen a good scary movie yet, this one might change your mind about the whole genre” He smiles, a hand going to my arm. I can't help the small blush coming from the touch, his fingers warm and comforting. I don’t want to do this, but I really can’t object when Beth is the one getting everything ready, and I just need to show up and have a good time. Or pretend I’m having a good time. 

The door opens, and his hand is immediately removed as Beth comes in, a big bag in her hands. She doesn’t notice me at first. 

“Beth!” I exclaim, and she lifts her head, nose a little red from the cold outside. 

“Hey, oh sorry, I didn’t have time to go earlier today” 

“That’s completely fine, here, let me take it” I state, walking over and taking the bag from her hands as she starts undressing. 

“My brother didn’t bother you?” 

I look over at him, and he just gives a small laugh, shaking his head and putting his hands up defensively. 

“No, he was fine” 

“Good, now, let's go” She smiles, leading me away from him, into their living room. She finds a couple of bowls, letting me distribute the snack in them as she works on getting the movie going. 

“Okay, so I know you’re not a scary movie-person, but I know this one is really good, so please, keep an open mind” 

I laugh a little, thinking back on the fact that Josh is the one who actually picked this out. 

“I’ll keep an open mind then” 

“Great” 

The movie starts, and we both sit down, a blanket over us as the lights dim. At first, the movie seems fine, the occasional jump scare, which scares me much more than it does Beth. Still, I keep watching, body tense and uncomfortable, but I can’t take my eyes off it. We’re in the middle when someone gets violently cut up, and the camera doesn’t bother to show us anything else than the blood and flesh flying everywhere, the gore not stopping. I take a breath, pulling my eyes from the screen and standing up. 

“I just need to use the bathroom”

“Gonna puke?”

I laugh a little, the tension in my shoulders easing as she talks. 

“No, but if there’s no important information in this sequence, please feel free to skip it, I'll be quick” I say, already making my way to the yellow-lighted hallway. It's light, in contrast to the room I was just in, and that makes me ease up a little more. Gosh, if this was to keep going, I wouldn’t dare walking home tonight. 

Suddenly, I hear a click, and the light goes away, leaving me in the dark hallway. I stop, looking around, unsure about what just happened. Another breath escapes my lips, reminding me that I can’t keep holding my breath everytime something startling happens. The hallway looks empty both ways, so I continue further, crossing my fingers that the light in the bathroom at least works. 

Before I can react, a couple of strong arms grab me from behind, caging me. I’m about to yell out, but as if anticipating it, the hand goes over my mouth, muffling my screams. I’m slammed into the wall, not too hard, luckily, but I close my eyes before the impact arrives. As I open them again, a smiling Josh is standing in front of me, biting his lips to hold in his laugh. My heart is still beating fast, breaths coming in and out in a rapid manner. I grab his hand roughly, dragging it off my mouth. 

“Joshua Washington! Are you fucking insane??” 

He bursts out laughing, arms against the wall beside me, holding himself up as he leans over. I shake my head, mouth still a little open in shock, whilst he can’t stop laughing. 

“Maybe, but you should’ve seen your face!” He chuckles, one of his hands going to his stomach to compose himself. It’s probably hurting right now from all the laughter. 

“Joshua! What the hell is wrong with you!?” 

“Okay, okay, calm down, just a little prank on my part” He smiles, finally calming down. 

“I have been watching a fucking horror movie, and you pull this shit?”

He bites his lip again, tilting his head a bit to examine me. 

“Oh, come on now, you’re totally thinking it’s funny” 

“No, I’m not” 

“Or you’re into it or something…”

“Wait, what, no I’m not, what kind of sick-”

Before I can process what’s happening, his lips are on me. I feel his breath, his body close, soft lips moving ove mine. My heart is still beating rapidly, but oddly enough, it calms with the way he’s touching me. Tender and carefully, not like himself at all. His hand goes to my waist, body pressing mine into the wall, opening his mouth a little. I hear a little groan leaving his throat. He pulls away, faces close as his eyes go over me, looking up and down. I almost think he looks a little vulnerable, but his signature smirk finds its way to his lips again. 

“Well then, calmer now?” 

I look at him, confused, conflicted. I scoff, shaking my head a bit. 

“No, I think I need a little more help” I state, hand going to the back of his neck, pulling him into me again. Capturing his lips on mine, already opening my mouth. He does the same, one hand on my hips, pulling me into him. 

“Hey, finished in the bathroom soon? I’ve paused the movie, the gore is over!” Beth shouts from the living room. We both pull away from each other and look over to the living room, luckily not seeing her there. I look back at him, seeing his chest heaving, hot breaths coming from his mouth. He turns, looking into my eyes. 

“Guess we better finish calming you down later” He smiles, pushing himself off me and the wall, walking back to his room. 

Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 21: Timeout

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: address it...

Welcome to the chapter 21 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

Reader's POV

The gym was quiet except for the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the rhythmic bounce of a basketball. Paige was shooting free throws while I set up my camera on a tripod, capturing the smooth arc of her shots.

I adjusted the camera, stealing a glance at her. “You sure you’re okay...we're okay, to be back here?”

Paige caught the ball on a rebound and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m good, ma. Besides, we talked everything out, right?”

I nodded, though a lingering tension sat between us.

Coach Geno walked in, clipboard in hand, and stopped mid-step when he saw us. “You two good again.” He sighed, shaking his head. Seeing the still unresolved tension between us.

Paige dribbled the ball, looking like she was trying to decide whether to argue or stay quiet. I spoke up instead.

“We’re good, Coach. We talked through everything. I’m filming the practice plays, and Paige is just—”

“Working off some steam, til practice starts.” Paige finished.

Coach set the clipboard down on a bench and crossed his arms. “I don’t doubt that you two think everything’s worked out, but there’s a lot of emotion running high. And frankly, it’s bleeding into everything—practice, even the team dynamic. You both need to take the rest of the today as well to figure it out away from this gym. And you Y/n, I sais no drama for my team, so fix it.”

“What?” Paige’s voice was sharp, her frustration evident. “We’re fine, Coach.”

He raised a brow. “You say that, but the way you’re gripping that ball says otherwise.”

I glanced at her hands, realizing her knuckles were white against the orange leather.

“Go home. Talk. Take a breath. Come back when you’re really ready.” His tone softened slightly. “This team needs both of you, but you’ve got to get on the same page first.”

Paige reluctantly set the ball down and nodded. “Alright, Coach.”

I packed up my camera, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on me.

Back at the apartment, I went straight to the bathroom to shower, letting the hot water wash away my frustration. I’d thought we were making progress, but Coach’s words brought back the doubt I’d been trying to push down.

Paige’s POV

The sound of the shower running filled the apartment as I flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed, and Nika’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hey,” I answered, trying to sound normal.

“What’s going on with you and Y/N?” she asked bluntly.

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “We talked about everything, okay? It’s fine.”

Nika snorted. “Fine? Coach just sent you both home, and called me to call you. That doesn’t scream fine to me. Im all the way in Seattle, don't make me come kick y'alls asses.”

I stayed quiet, not wanting to admit she was right.

“You’ve been off since she came from covering my game in Seattle, you know she wouldn't cheat on you, and damn sure not with me, Paige.” she continued. “And it’s not just affecting you. Y/N’s walking around like she’s carrying the weight of the world. She's trying to understand being in the spotlight, when she's just a photographer. So whatever’s going on, you need to fix it, and fix it fast.”

I sighed, closing my eyes. “I’m trying, Nika. We talked about it, but I don’t know… It feels like there’s still something between us that we’re not addressing.”

“Then address it,” she said firmly. “You love her, right?”

The question caught me off guard, even though the answer was obvious. “Yeah, I do, I really fucking do.”

“Then act like it. Stop holding back. Be honest, even if it’s messy. She deserves that, tou tell her thr truth.”

I sat up, Nika’s words sinking in. “Thanks, Nika.”

“Don’t thank me. Just figure it out before Coach benches both of you for emotional interference,” she said, hanging up before I could respond.

When Y/N came out of the bathroom, her damp curls framed her face, and she was wearing one of my old UConn sweatshirts.

“You okay?” she asked, sitting beside me.

“Yeah,” I said, taking her hand. “But we need to talk.”

Her brow furrowed. “I thought we already did.”

“We did, but I don’t think we were completely honest with each other—or with ourselves.” I took a deep breath. “I’m scared, Y/N. Scared of how much I care about you and how fast this has all happened. Scared of what happens when I leave for the WNBA.”

Her eyes softened, and she squeezed my hand. “I’m scared too, Paige. But we can’t let that fear control us.”

“I know,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “I don’t want to lose you, no matter what happens next.”

“You won’t,” she whispered, her voice steady.

We spent the rest of the night in the gym, working off the tension through laughter and quiet moments. Paige filmed me trying to shoot a three-pointer, and I filmed her laughing at my terrible form.

The unspoken was there, but for now, it was enough to simply be together.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 , @starlighttsv , @authentic-girl03 @sevyscoven ,.... (more to be added)

[thegreatmousebafoon]

( y’all this is a long one- but trust me it’s worth it lol )

5 y/o Rosie ( in a strangers car ): You said my dads where at the hospital?

Kidnapper: Oh, yeah-… he was in a car accident. They just wanted me to take you home.

Rosie: right… and um, which one is it?

Kidnapper: um… the.. tall one. Your other dad is staying with him.

Rosie: hm, ok!… so, you drive a mini-van.

Kidnapper: uh.. yes? So?

Rosie: but you have no kids?

Kidnapper: …. No, I don’t- how did you-

Rosie: hm and no ring… can’t find a husband?

Kidnapper: Hey listen here you little-

Rosie: It’s probably because your well past your prime. I suggest some surgery. Not even working out or a touch if make up will help you-

Kidnapper: HEY- you- this is not worth it- I’m stopping the car- GET OUT!

Rosie: … I know what you’re trying to do.

Kidnapper: … what?

Rosie: We don’t have a car to get into an accident with and my dad, the taller one, thinks hospitals are a waste of time. My OTHER dad is a doctor, so if he was hurt he would probably take care of it.

Kidnapper: ok well… what are you gonna do about it? I’ve still got you.

Rosie: ( slowly hold up something in her hand )

Kidnapper: … you have a phone?

Rosie: No im too young for a phone, this is a pager.

Kidnapper: oh yeah? And who are you gonna page?

Rosie: my dads. About 45 seconds ago.

Kidnapper: …

Rosie: judging by your complete lack of skills, you where not hired by any of my parents various enemies, therefore you do not know who they are. I’ve been sending them Street names so they know where we are. I say you have about ( checks her hello kitty watch ) 15 seconds until they get here.

Kidnapper: …

Rosie: since we have some time, here are some critiques of your technique. First of all, actually do some research before you go into-

Kidnapper: you’re giving me advice? Shouldn’t you want to prevent me from doing this again-

Rosie: oh well, one of my dads, Sherlock Holmes by the way, in case you’ve heard of him, hasn’t had a case in a week and he’s just about lost his mind. If you where to manage getting out of this alive, I was hoping I’d have a case to give him, and I wanted you to make it interesting for him.

Kidnapper: … that’s… morbidly sweet.. I think?

Rosie: yeah, well, it’s kind of pointless now judging by the red dot on your head.

Kidnapper: Wha- ( turns around to see a laser pointed at their forehead ) … Oh shit-

Rosie: ( checks her watch again ) 20 seconds, they’re getting slow. By the way, my other dad, the shorter one, and the one that I’d guess is pointing the snipper at you right now, is a retired military veteran from Afghanistan, with nearly perfect aim. He has killed about-

Kidnapper: I THOUGHT YOU SAID HE WAS A DOCTOR-

Rosie: He had bad days. Ok! Byeee-

Kidnapper: Wait- if you knew what I was doing, why did you stay in the car?!

Rosie: I was really hoping you’d be able to get my dads out of the house. They’ve been driving me crazy. Sorry you where such a disappointment. Have fun in jail!

[pinkkkkat]

Hi!! Hope ur having a good day! Could I ask u to write something abt caitvi x fem!reader who forgets to take care of herself (bonus points if she's a workaholic)

hi i’m SO late i’m so sorry baby

(reader is a student because i’m an overworked student and this is self-indulgent like everything else i write also this is nsfw sorry if that’s not what you wanted anon! no use of y/n)

it’s not new for you to work yourself to the bone. whether it’s pulling more than one consecutive all nighter to get papers finished on time, or spending full twelve hour shifts in the library pouring over your books and notes, you slip easily into an all-work and absolutely no play mindset (not that showering or hey, eating, counts as ‘play,’ but anyways)

usually, nobody notices. so what, you disappear sometimes (for weeks), but you always pop back up looking normal, so it doesn’t draw attention. everyone knew that you were a dedicated student. the only reason caitlyn notices you’ve stopped caring for yourself is because she sees the trait of obsessively working until you drop reflected in herself

you started dating caitlyn and vi in the early summer, so they had ever seen you in your element. when the academy starts back up in the fall, your girlfriends are excited to see the sparkle in your eyes when you tell them about your passion, hands moving animatedly as you talk at a rapid pace. vi often teases you for being a nerd, but cait is much the same, so it’s two against one there

anyways

i think cait would bring it up to vi first, asking if she’s noticed how you’re starting to pull away a little, and when they do get to see you, you’re not yourself. usually, you keep your appearance well put together, hair down and outfit chosen to bolster your look-good feel-good attitude. lately though, the bags under your eyes have become prominent, and some nights you don’t come home, saying you’re gonna work late at the academy, but then not going home at all

at first, vi is just super proud of you, for working hard at what you love. she understands what it’s like to want something so bad that you can’t help but “stay in the grind.” she sends you texts in the group chat often throughout your busy days, pictures of her at the gym or a gif of little cat, always with a message saying she’s so proud of her girl, that she loves you

after cait mentions how worried she is, vi starts to notice that you’re not as cheery as before, on top of the eye bags an disheveled appearance that is starting to become your staple look. she’s frustrated with herself for not noticing and taking care of you, and with you a little for not taking care of yourself. cait convinces her to let her try and help first, as someone with a more similar academic experience

caitlyn starts showing up at the academy, at least once every day. she brings food, and coffee, and sometimes she gets jayce, but more often viktor, out of the lab to accompany you. she always takes your hand, dragging you from what you’re doing to sit with her and just talk. she’s subtle about her worry, not wanting you to feel guilty, but wanting to change your habits slowly without you noticing (cait is so conniving i love her)

as the semester continues, you only seem to get worse, despite cait’s best efforts. cait is consistently holding vi back from saying something blunt, because she doesn’t want to upset you, or to cause you to give up on what you love all together out of guilt. in the end, you end up coming to them, having completely exhausted yourself and tilting your last straw

it’s late when you get to the kirraman household, knowing you girlfriends are there. you don’t know what time it is, the sun having set some uncounted number of hours earlier. you knock on the door (even though you know you can just walk in), embarrassed about how bad you’ve let yourself get. cait opens the door and envelops you in a long hug after taking one look at you, standing on her porch in a big sweatshirt, sniffling a bit, unwashed hair piled onto the top of your head

“oh my darling, come inside”

she’s warm and so soft with you, and you’re already feeling better. cait shushes every attempt you make to apologize, for showing up out of nowhere after not really showing up at all for a little while. she brings you up into her room, where vi sits on the end of the bed

vi nearly knocks you to the floor with the force of her hug. she’s strong, and she’s whispering to you about how much she loves you, and how proud she is of you for coming to them for help when you need it, for recognizing that in yourself. her words bring you to tears, and her arms wrap tighter around your torso. you feel cait join in on the hug, tucking you and vi under her chin and squeezing her arms around you both

they bring you to take a bath, and vi gets in first, hissing at the hot temperature of the water. you sit between her thighs, and she wraps her arms around your torso, calloused hands covering your entire stomach. cait sits on the edge of the tub, asking you about your work, and sternly but lovingly detailing how much time you’re allowed to spend at the academy from now on, until you find an appropriate balance between your work and your life. vi hums in agreement with everything cait says, punctuating every particularly harsh sentence with a soft kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder

they leave you in the bathroom to wash your hair in he shower, and when you come out of the bathroom, you’re wearing one of vi’s hoodies from her gym, and cait’s too long pyjama pants, and you look more refreshed than you have since the summer. you look so cuddly and cute that cait starts cooing at you, and you giggle, batting her hands away when she squishes your face

vi is sitting on the bed, manspreading in that way that she does, and she’s smiling softly at her two girls

(NSFW NOW BTW)

“c’mere baby”

and you do, standing between vi’s legs as she wraps her hands around your waist. you lean down to kiss her, and soon enough her tongue is licking at our b otto’s lip, and you’re opening your mouth to let her in, your hands draped loosely around her neck. you sigh into the kiss when vi’s hands starting palming at your hips, your waist

vi pulls you into her, lifting you effortlessly into her lap so you’re straddling her. the kiss gets deeper, and you whine when vi pulls back. she smiles at you, and tilts her head towards the top of the bed

“how pretty is our girlfriend, huh baby?”

you turn to look, and there’s cait, wearing your favourite set of pink lingerie and sitting up against the headboard, hair down and legs spread open only slightly. you flush a bright red when you see her, mouthing parting slightly when you lick your lips. vi bounces you on her lap for a moment when you don’t say anything

“tell her baby”

“cait, you’re gorgeous”

vi leans into mouth at your neck, murmuring to you about keeping your eyes on caitlyn, and you do. you’re still blushing, silly in your position, but you can’t help it, with how caitlyn is staring at you while vi sucks marks into our soft skin. vi shimmies further onto the bed with you, and hooks her hands under your thigh to lay your down softly on the bed, your back pressed to cait’s chest

cait is immediately sweeping your hair to the side and digging her teeth into the side of your neck, causing a sweet little noise to slip out of your mouth. vi groans at the sound, pressing a strong thigh up against you as your hands make purchase on her biceps. cait’s mouth on your neck is teasing, a nip followed by soothing kitten lick, and vi is holding herself up above you, her free hand hooking under your knee to bring your leg up over her hip as she pushes her leg against you more firmly

eventually, you’re getting desperate and whiny, and vi gives in as soon as she hears the first “vi, please,” slip from your beautiful mouth. she pulls your (cait’s) pyjama pants down, panties too, and your immediately rucking your hips into nothing, searching for some friction to help you out. normally, vi is a lot more teasing, but not today

“vi is gonna take care of you, okay sweet girl?”

and vi does. she presses her hands onto the backs of your thighs, pushing them open and up. without any prelude, she gets to it, licking through your wetness and groaning at the taste. you’re arching away from cait, whose one hand has taken to holding your hips in place to help vi, the other tucking itself underneath your (vi’s) hoodie to pluck at your nipples

it takes no time at all for your girlfriends to have you a whimpering, squirming mess, begging to cum. cait is whispering softly to you, hot breath slipping over the shell of your ear, shushing you and telling you how good you’re being for them, how much you deserve to feel good, and could you cum for them, please?

you do, of course. it cracks through you, hips stuttering on vi’s mouth, legs trying to clamp shut but stopped by vi’s strong hands. vi works you through it until you’re whining and pushing at her head, overstimulated. you collapse in heavy breaths, thoroughly sated and exhausted

caitlyn is instantly tugging at you to turn around, head resting on her chest. she pulls you tight to her with a hand on your waist after readjusting your sweatshirt to be comfy. her spare hand comes up to run through your still-damp hair. vi slides your panties back on but abandons the pj pants, kissing her way up your bare legs and rewinding you of how well you’ve done, and again how proud she is

vi tucks herself up behind you, spooning you, arm thrown over both you and cait. that’s how you fall asleep, pressed tightly between the two of them. you drift off instantly, and over your head, vi and caitlyn smile at each other

you don’t overwork yourself again