#I wasn’t expecting to finish this so soon

[dadvans]

wip wednesday

bucktommy mpreg :: buck finds out he's pregnant after tommy breaks up with him and they make a mess of the boundaries

Tommy comes up the stairs two at a time when he doesn’t find Buck downstairs.

Think of it, Buck tells himself: Tommy bringing over another guy he knows who can fuck his mouth as good as Tommy can fuck his ass. It drives him right to the brink, and Buck promises himself, he can make it through the finish line and fake a sweaty, heaving nightmare by the time Tommy finds him.

He doesn’t.

“Buck?” Tommy says again, and then he sees Buck like a slug furled out in his sheets writhing and chasing the orgasm that just won’t come, so then he takes that awful one step back down, and says, “Oh, I’m sorry. Oh.”

Buck finally stops fucking his fist and slams his good hand palm flat into the mattress beside him. “Shit! No, I am. I am. Please don’t go. Give me a second. Fuck.”

“Buck,” Tommy says from the stairwell, deeper now, like he’s been weighted down by despair. Buck twists to look at him, but he can’t even see Tommy’s face.

“Sorry, I thought I could,” Buck continues unthinkingly, “I thought I could finish before you came up here. I’ve just been— the hormones are making me crazy. I wasn’t trying to—“

“You told me to come over when our calendars synced up to discuss a birth plan, and—“

“—Yeah, yeah, I absolutely said that and I meant it, and maybe I hoped you would have called or texted first—“

“—I called—“

“—Shit! Sorry, fuck. Have you ever heard of pregnancy brain?” He feels delirious. Too horny and trying to find the one branch on his way down that will bear his weight. His dick is throbbing, even when its only half-hard now. There’s this ugly need to get off roiling through him like a hot pot of water left on a stove too long, ready to boil into nothing at all if left alone. “It’s that, I swear. I’m so fucking horny right now I wish I knew what’s right and what’s wrong. I thought I could fake it, get off and whoever came in, no one would know, but I heard your voice, and, fuck, Tommy, please.”

“Buck.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see your call.” He looks away, chin tilting back up to the ceiling as he slides his flat palm down the underside of his hard dick and thrusts against it, dry grooves and all. “It could’ve been my fucking mom, I wouldn’t have known.”

Buck hears Tommy breathe in and out from so far away, the same measured, shaky rhythm as his hand, slow and cruel, keeping every last ugly feeling alive.

“Want me to meet you outside, what, ten minutes?” Tommy asks. “Twenty?”

He should say yes, sorry, yes, please, he’s so fucking sorry. It’s these goddamn hormones, it’s this goddamn oops baby, he’ll get his shit together, buttoned up and on schedule, regular, as soon as he can.

But then there’s the thought of Tommy, two fingers in his ass, gritty with lube and slow as anything, them rocking together in the same spot he’s in now. There’s Tommy picking him up behind the thighs to get the back of Buck’s knees cradling his shoulders, driving into him so deep that Buck could taste him, right in this bed, moaning shaky into the same pillow he’s already sweating into like the walls would’ve fallen down around them. There’s Tommy, voice honey warm, saying, “There you go, baby, take it, take it all.” A ledger of things that would make his breaker box burst if he were an old home.

He closes his eyes, grinds his teeth together. “These hormones are just over-riding everything else in my brain, okay. And it doesn’t have to mean anything, but it would be a lot quicker if you came up here instead and helped.”

He expects Tommy to say no. He expects Tommy to say, in the best case scenario, “You know I can’t do that, I’m sorry.” He expects Tommy to say, in the worst case scenario, “Go fuck yourself.”

The tiniest hope, the ugliest hope that lives too deep down for Buck to think about, bursts hot and heavy when Tommy sighs and takes the few steps back upstairs.

[bulkyphrase]

Post-CACW Stony: a fic rec list

I've been on a Captain America: Civil War kick lately, and since I know that Steve-friendly CW Stony fic can be hard to find, I've put together a rec list!

I am thoroughly team cap, but these range from being anti-accords to just not getting into the issue, and all are Steve-friendly as long as you can accept a lot little loving Steve-whump.

Atlas by nanasekei (@elcorhamletlive) (Not Rated, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 11,505 words)

Summary: They don't hear each other.

Eigengrau by vorkosigan (@the-vorkosigan) (Teen And Up Audiences, 16,811 words)

Summary: Tony is captured; he doesn't know by whom, or why. He doesn't know how much time has passed since. What he knows is, he can now hear something in the adjacent cell, and that 'something' sounds a lot like Steve Rogers.

Nights When the Wolves Are Silent, and Only the Moon Howls by Cluegirl, Defiler_Wyrm (@cluegrrl) (Mature, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, 77,612 words)

Note: has a Stucky element too, but the relationship between Steve and Tony is the main focus.

Summary: “Could you drop all that stoic shit and be my freaking-the-hell-out wingman for just like, five seconds here?” Steve wasn’t sure he could think of anything he wanted less to do than to freak out about his wounds just then though, so he reached across his chest and gingerly patted Sam’s clenched knuckles. “It’ll be fine,” he promised, believing it. “Serum’s handled worse.” “You know, I actually believe you,” Sam allowed after a long second of glaring. “Which is deeply alarming, considering how much of your connective tissue I’ve touched in the last 4 hours. Now you wanna tell me what Russoff’s men did to you that made it look like you got mauled by a bear?” Steve flinched, then breathed the memory down to size. “Not a bear,” he murmured. “Wolves.”

More below the cut!

(trust me when i say) i'll get back to you by machi_kun (@machi-kun) (General Audiences, 1,549 words)

Summary: “Me and Rogers are not on speaking terms anymore.”

An Infinite Number Of Monkeys At Typewriters (Or, Steve and Tony Finally Get It Right) by JenTheSweetie (@jenthesweetie) (Mature, 18,864 words)

Summary: Tony blinked up at the face staring down at him. This was impossible. This was definitely 100% not possible, he had not just started giving a good morning handy to - “Steve?” After the events of Civil War, Tony and Steve wake up in bed next to each other in an alternate universe. It goes about as well as you'd expect it to.

And Miles to Go Before I Sleep by Cluegirl (@cluegrrl) (Mature, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 152,765 words)

Summary: They all made mistakes. They all have regrets. They all have nightmares, suspicions, and questions they'd like to ask. And they all left business behind them that was never quite finished. This is the story of how the Avengers ask those questions, get their answers, and come together like fucking adults to make things right again.

Bring Him Home by seventymilestobabylon (@seventymilestobabylon) (Explicit, 13,769 words)

Summary: Tony misses Steve very badly after the Accords. Some days he deals with it better than other days. (a fic featuring the booty call flip phone, minor kidnappings, and time jumps between chapters because the election has been happening and my brain has been too mush to make a proper plot)

Conjugal Visits by xtricks (Explicit, 4,252 words)

Summary: AU: Steve Rogers gets captured fairly soon after Civil War and sent to the Raft. Tony discovers that trying to appease your enemies doesn’t work and ends up a prisoner too.

Down Came the Rain by captainoutoftime (@captain-outoftime) (Explicit, 75,274 words)

Summary: A mission goes badly for Natasha, who is discovered de-aged to three years old. She recognizes no one, but every kid knows Captain America. When Tony grudgingly makes a call, Steve makes good on his promise to answer. Steve has to work together with Tony to take care of a traumatized child and figure out how to turn their itsy bitsy spider back into a Black Widow. Neither of them really want to talk about what happened in Siberia, but living in close quarters, they have to come to some sort of peace - even if it means addressing some feelings they'd rather not admit to having. As they work together to solve the problem of a re-emerging Red Room, Steve uncovers something he never expected to find again: family.

Hating Steve Rogers by nanasekei (@elcorhamletlive) (Not Rated, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 16,243 words)

Summary: The thing about hating Steve Rogers is that it shouldn’t be easy - but it really, really is.

I Have Questions by YourFadedGlory (HisNameWasAce) (@yourfadedglory) (Not Rated, 2,808 words)

Summary: There is only so much that Steve can carry. His legs quiver and his heart aches, he looks skyward, and in a startling moment of clarity he lets the shield go. Gouged and battered, it rings like a bell when it hits the stone floor. He wonders for a split moment if it will weigh on Tony the way it has weighed on him.

The Crying Game by fohatic (@fohatic) (Explicit, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 36,403 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers stared at the dimly glowing digital screen of the little burner phone, rereading the text message as if it might somehow give away something he missed the first dozen times he scrutinized it. His frown only deepened, though, brows drawing together with consternation as the 88 characters only left him with an even more ponderous sense of uncertainty. If you meant what you wrote, I'll be at the Swissotel Sarajevo, 4/18. Presidential Suite. 9pm. Come alone. ...Nearly a year after Steve and Tony's fallout—and only weeks after press rumors that Tony and Pepper's engagement was inexplicably called off—Steve gets a message on the dedicated burner phone. Despite his instinctive reservations, he's compelled to answer the mysterious call. An approximately canon-compliant story.

the hope that kills you by meidui (@meidui) (Mature, 1,227 words)

Summary: Steve used to go on so much about freedom and choice. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. Some of the freedom he loved was big, big enough for him to lay his life down for over and over, and some of the freedom he loved was small, like the wind in his hair when he took his motorcycle out, but now he has to sob and take it when Tony sucks a deep flowering bruise where his prison uniform couldn’t possibly cover and whispers in his ear, “Who’s gonna help you now? Where are you gonna run?”

live for the hope of it all by meidui (@meidui) (Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, 1,880 words)

Note: This is a sequel to the hope that kills you

Summary: “You can keep me here, can’t you?” Steve asks a little desperately as Tony kneels over him, spreading himself out all the better for Tony to take. He must have really hated his cell on the Raft, Tony thinks before he loses himself in Steve’s body, and for a little while, everything is the same as it has been for the past six months. It’s only after, in the dark and quiet of his own bedroom with Steve sprawled sleepy and heavy across his chest that Tony realises— This is their cell now.

The Phone by AvengersNewB (@avengersnewb) (Mature, 9,039 words)

Summary: Tony hates the flip phone Steve sends him, but he keeps it close at all times, and it never rings until it finally does and the news might help put things into perspective - Captain America : Civil War fix-it. or The phone can't take the place of your smile. [podfic added as chapter 2]

the things we invent when we are scared by nanasekei (@elcorhamletlive) (Not Rated, 18,305 words)

Summary: Steve is trapped in a dream machine, programmed to make him believe he's living his happiest fantasy. Tony goes inside to wake him up, but what he finds is a lot more complicated than he expected.

there's nothing but blue skies by Meatball42 (Mature, Major Character Death, 647 words)

Summary: “This isn’t good,” Steve said grimly.

[fanfictionstuff]

Amaimon X Student 12

So, i'm mostly done writing the Amaimon x Exorcist chapter 3 but this idea came to me and I couldn't let it go. 🫢

When Shiemi assures you, that yes, Rin deleted the photo, she is sure of it. You open your photo app once again. “Wait, it’s actually cute.” You comment, gazing at the photo. “Okay, it’s really cute.” You grin. 

Izumo scoffs. “It’s gross _____.

Paku leans closer to you to get another look. “It is kind of cute.”

“Right?” You grin. 

Izumo glares at the two of you. “It’s not cute at all, and you would think differently if you saw what we saw on the camping trip.” She tells Paku.

You huff, “I was on the camping trip; it’s cute.”

“And clearly, you’ve got a screw loose.” You pout at her words but don’t argue against it. 

After the four of you finish, you go your separate ways. Shiemi and you head to your apartment while Paku and Izumo head in different directions. The walk to your apartment is quiet, and Shiemi seems really nervous throughout. Once you arrive, you gently nudge her inside, “Okay, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said anything, I just didn’t realize you didn’t know, and I said it in front of other people.” She looks like she’s going to start crying, so you quickly wrap your arms around her. “No, no. Shiemi, it’s okay. Izumo and Paku are some of our closest friends, right? It’s okay. I’m just glad you told me.” She nods against your shoulder as she hugs you back. 

“…._____?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You didn’t really put his…thing…in your mouth, right?” 

“….” 

----------------------------------------------------

Amaimon cautiously steps into Mephisto’s office. The king of time had sounded odd over the phone when he requested that Amaimon come for a brief chat. 

“Oh, I'm glad you’re here. Please, take a seat and enjoy some tea. We need to have a brief chat about Miss ____.” He gestures to the chair opposite his desk as he speaks to Amaimon. Said demon glances at the chair and then back at Mephisto before calmly sitting down.

“Tell me, what do you know about Miss _____?” 

“…” 

Mephisto nodded. “I suspected as much. She comes from a long line of exorcists, a lineage typically marked by great power. For centuries, they have served the order tirelessly.” He observed Amaimon cautiously, and as expected, there was no sign of reaction. “Unfortunately, many of them were wiped out during the Blue Night, particularly the younger generation. Miss ______ is the last one left to carry on the bloodline unless her parents have another child, though honestly, that seems unlikely.” Still, Amaimon remained unfazed. “Her parents are exceptionally strict; I’m unsure how she managed to convince them to let her stay at True Cross to graduate. Regardless, since she’s the last of her bloodline and her family is so demanding, they are already searching for suitors for her. They want her to marry and start a family soon after graduation. I’ve heard she has developed a bit of a crush on you.” Once more, there was no response from Amaimon. “Stay away from _____; I had thought you were merely trying to provoke Rin. I wasn’t aware you had become intimate with her.” 

Amaimon opens his mouth, looking for a moment like he might argue with Mephisto, but then he nods. “Okay.”

Mephisto raises a brow, surprised Amaimon agreed so quickly. I suppose he’s not as interested in her as he made it seem to Rin; good, it’s less of a headache for me. “You may leave.” 

As Amaimon leaves Mephisto’s office, thoughts of you and another man begin to fester in his mind, fueling his anger with each step. No other man should be able to kiss you, hold you, or be intimate with you. No other man should ever hear the sounds you make; or have the privilege of tasting you, and no other man should know what it feels like to have your mouth around their cock. You belong to Amaimon. You’re his pet.

His anger quickly escalates into rage as he heads to your apartment without hesitation.

You jump when there is a loud knock on your door; confused, you pull away from Shiemi. “Coming.” You’re surprised to see Amaimon standing in the doorway when you open it, but what’s more surprising is the emotions on his face; the normally unbothered demon king is now furious. Almost on the same level as you saw the night he attacked Rin on the camping trip. “Uh, come in?” Despite your common sense telling you otherwise, you step away and welcome the demon into your home. He steps into the house and quickly heads to your bedroom. Where he’s aware you keep documents. “Shiemi, you should leave.” 

“But-“

“It’s okay. Look, if I don’t text you within an hour, feel free to call someone to check on me, alright? I promise I’ll be fine.” It’s not a promise you should be making, but you’re eager to find out what’s bothering Amaimon. You can hear him going through various drawers in your bedroom. “Actually, I’ll call you since someone tends to text from my phone. So, if I call you, you can be sure it’s really me, right?” Gradually, she nods, allowing you to guide the blonde out of your apartment. 

As you enter your bedroom, you find Amaimon sitting on the edge of the bed, casually flipping through a stack of documents. It’s evident he has uncovered what he was looking for. A frown crosses your face as you move closer, slowly realizing what he has discovered. “Did Mephisto tell you? I haven’t even shared it with Shiemi or Rin, and they’re two of my closest friends.” You let out a sigh; it’s a topic you prefer to ignore, preferring to live in a world where this isn’t your reality. It’s easy to pretend until another file arrives in your mail every few weeks. 

“My parents didn’t have a choice; they were matched up and told that if they didn’t like it, too bad – they needed to have a child. Fortunately, they fell in love, which is quite rare in my family. However, having witnessed what their own parents and other family members endured emotionally, they didn’t want to put me through that. They’re offering me a choice among the potential suitors they’re finding. I can even go on dates with them before making my final decision. There are a couple that my grandparents have selected.” You pick up a file from the bed and show him a photo of a gross-looking man twenty years older than you. “Luckily, my parents are trying to find me someone I’ll at least be attracted to; as you can see, my grandparents couldn’t care less if I’m attracted to them or not.” You toss the file in the trash can beside your bed. “Why did Mephisto tell you?” 

“Rin Okumura showed Big Brother the photo I sent him. He told me I need to stop bothering you, and why.”

“Oh.” 

Amaimon carelessly tosses the files from his hands onto the floor. “I don’t like to share,” he declares, stepping on a few of the fallen papers as he exits, slamming the front door behind him.

You sigh, bending down to pick up the strewn documents. “I guess that’s the end of that. I was hoping to live in my fantasy a bit longer.” You had been trying to ignore all the files, but now you realize it’s time you have to accept it. Carefully, you start to scan through the documents and photos. Most of them end up in the trash, as you discard them without bothering to read beyond their names and ages. You had initially set aside a couple of options to discuss with your parents, but now they’ve become mixed up with all the others. Upon revisiting them, you find yourself less interested. How can you be interested after experiencing perfection?   “No. Stop _____. It’s time to grow up. They want me to be at least engaged within a year of graduating.” 

Unlocking your phone, you take a photo of the files you had originally been slightly interested in discussing with your parents. 

Hey, Mom, I’ve been thinking about picking a husband. What do you think of these three?

After sending the text, you give Shiemi a quick call to reassure her that you’re okay and not to worry. You rush to end the call and toss the phone across the room. Your eyes flicker to the files you’ve selected once again. “I hate this.” you groan, hurling them across the room as well.

------------------------------------------------------------

Your mother doesn’t reply until the next day, and it’s a call instead of a text. When you receive the call, you’re sitting with your friends for lunch. 

“Hey, sweetheart, how are you?” 

You lean against Shiemi as you answer. You really don’t want to talk about your potential future husband now, and you haven’t even told your friends yet. “Fine, I’m just having lunch. What’s up?” 

“Oh, I’m calling regarding the message you sent. I’m pleased to hear that you’re finally considering it, but I have some unfortunate news.” Her voice carries a hint of detachment. “It’s about Hano-san.” She pauses, letting out a sigh. “Sadly, he passed away last night.”

You straighten, having trouble processing her words. “Huh?” 

“Yes, it was a demon attack, but there aren’t any details. Nobody knows what demon it was; the only signs it was a demon were that he was found with his weapons drawn.”

Oh fuck. 

[tripleglitchwriting]

I saw that the request is open, so I thought. How about a first contact au with rotb optimus? I've always liked that old bot haha

Hell yeah I rewatched the movie for this. Sorry it took longer for me to actually write this than I anticipated 😅

Some Things Are More Important

CW: Unintentional fearplay, calling a person “it” (also unintentionally)

Ah, the junkyard. A beautiful array of scrap metal glinting under the sun day after day, perfect for welding and crafting. For the longest time the atmosphere of the place put you off, but your drive to create overtook your fear and replaced it with passion.

The day your life changed was no different than any other. You took your time packing your things, preparing to scavenge once again, though the evening sun was already threatening to advance further down the sky. You didn’t need much, it wasn’t a far trip and certainly not a difficult one. You left in good time, pushing down the uneasy feeling you got when you stepped outside the house.

There was a specific piece of metal you were looking for, one you saw a couple days ago but wouldn’t fit in your cart due to how full it had been. It was the perfect size and shape for what you needed, of course you had to leave behind the one thing you needed now, though it couldn’t hurt to pick up some other materials while you were at it. Masterfully navigating your way through the junk was a special talent of yours, one you were quite proud of, so it struck you as odd when a random truck showed up in the middle of the yard.

It was red and blue, one of those trucks that carried huge cargo boxes and were scary to drive next to. It was pretty beat up, though you can’t imagine why someone would leave it here of all places rather than a used car lot or something. Well, you thought, it wasn’t your problem, so you didn’t treat it as such. You simply continued your search. There were so many great pieces of metal, you ended up staying there until dusk, yet you still couldn’t find the one you were looking for.

Now that you think about it, it must’ve been where that truck was now. Maybe somebody moved it, or worse, took it. It would be a huge bummer to lose such a perfect piece to your puzzle, so you figured staying out to look near the truck wouldn’t hurt anybody.

After around ten minutes of picking through trash, you heard a sound. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was unnerving to say the least. It sounded like metal scraping together so you brushed it off as the wind blowing on some light metal or something. Five minutes later it happened again, this time louder. Not long after it happened again, and by now you were getting pretty freaked out.

Taking metal from the scrapyard wasn’t particularly illegal, after all you’d learned how to do it properly from your law-abiding friends, however it came with a certain set of risks. Getting cut by rusty metal, stepping on a stray nail, or even getting robbed by someone who preys on scrap pickers like yourself. You didn’t want to know what the sound was and you weren’t about to find out, perfect piece be dammed. It was time to cut your losses.

You didn’t take two steps before it happened.

A strange, mechanical, alien sound rattled from behind you. You whipped your head around despite your survival instincts telling you to run immediately. Before your very eyes the red and blue truck started pulling itself part, little pieces forming a much, much larger figure. It looked nearly human really, if not for being impossibly large and also a robot truck.

A gobsmacked look etched itself on your face, not that you noticed it. You were a little preoccupied at the time, with the giant robot reaching a giant robot hand at you. Just then you realized there was a giant robot hand reaching at you, and you screamed louder than any horror movie victim ever could. The hand froze for a second, taken aback by your sudden noise, but when you remained frozen it continued its pursuit.

It was already too late by the time your body agreed to let you move. Incomprehensibly large fingers wrapped around your comparatively small form, gripping you tight enough to stop any struggles you tried to make. The thing held you up to its face, bright blue eyes shining like headlights in your vision. There were plenty of words that came from your mouth at the time, none of which were at any point comprehendible. To your utter shock, the robot seemed to notice this.

“Perhaps I have downloaded the wrong language pack… or I have found the wrong species…” It said to itself in a distinctly human voice.

“Wh- what the- what are- what are you?” Hooray! You got a sentence out. Your heart was not as excited though, as it felt more like it was going to pound out of your chest.

“So you can speak.” The voice boomed, knocking any hope you had of replying out of your throat.

“What?? What???” You rasped out, two words was better than none, you supposed.

“Did I… break you?”

“Did you- no, no you… didn’t. Please don’t.”

“I do not intend to bring you any harm, little one.“

“Then… stop squeezing… me” The grip immediately loosened. You took in a deep breath of air. “Thank you…”

“My sincerest apologies, I did not mean to hurt you.”

“That’s good to know… but, um, what exactly are you? I asked it before but… you know.” The robot nodded with you, a thoughtful motion but a generally unwelcome one because even the smallest moments it made caused you a bout nausea.

“Yes, introductions. My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots.” Optimus Prime… a strange name. Though it’s not like your current situation was any more normal.

“…I’m Whyen, nice to meet you. Could you… put me down, by any chance?” Optimus nodded, gently setting you down. He stood up again, but realized how much you had to crane your neck up to see him, so he resolved to a kneel.

“What are you.” However tough he looked on the outside, you would feel the sheer curiosity oozing off his voice.

“Uh, I’m a human.”

“Human… and you’re the dominant species on this planet?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I see. I was lucky to find a vehicle mode with your language on it.”

“I… don’t really know what that means but ok. So, what are you?”

“I am Cybertronian, from the planet Cybertron.”

“Huh. Another planet.” You kicked by the oncoming existential crisis in hopes of more answers. “Right… so, if you’re from space, why are you here?” His face suddenly shifted from curiosity to a grim look of remembrance.

“There is a war on my planet. Me and my team have ended up here on accident, I’m afraid.”

“Oh… well, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I have no intention of staying here longer than we have to, doing so could endanger this entire planet.”

“Wait, what? The- all- the whole planet?”

“Yes,” He responded in a low, distant voice. “Our enemies, unlike us, would not hesitate to destroy any planet if it meant winning the war.” You started at him in shock. In an attempt to avoid further panic, you decided to take a different route on questioning.

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“The Autobots, my friends.”

“So you’re saying… you’re leading your side of the war? Like a general?”

“Yes, to put it simply.”

“Wow… this is… a lot. How are you going to find your friends?”

“I… do not know. I was attempting to contact them before I noticed you.“

“Oh…”

“Do not worry. If the Deceptions attack this planet, we will protect it with our very sparks. A young species such as yourselves do not deserve to be punished for our mistakes.” Your expression softened. As this metal titan spoke to you, in gentle, deep tones, you felt strangely at peace. You felt silly for ever being afraid of him, like you’d known this alien for ages. He didn’t even know you, yet he was willing to risk his life for your home.

“…Thank you.”

“Do not thank me now, young human, I have yet to get your people out of harms way.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to be okay?” Optimus’s eyes widened for just a second before his face broke into a warm smile.

“…I will be just fine.”

“Well, if it’s my planet at stake… I want to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yeah. I know more about this planet than you do, so I can show you how things work around here. It’s the least I can do.”

“That is very kind of you, you have my thanks.”

“Well, first I have to get home and sleep- my house isn’t too far from here, and I live alone so you don’t have to worry about anyone else freaking out. Not many people live around here.”

“That is good. I… apologies if I am too bold, is it okay if I carry you back to your home? It would be in our best interest to get to your home as fast as possible.”

“Ah, true. Well, I guess so.” He laid out his hand. It took you a second to climb on a stabilize yourself, nodding when you were ready for him to move. And he did, and you guided him all the way home. You hardly even noticed the junkyard and forgotten scrap metal you’d spent the night collecting.

Some things are more important.

[tallest-tiptoes]

i just want to find a new to me show that grips my attention and get me to fall in love with new characters but it seems like too much to ask for right now

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.”

Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.”

He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“Not gonna tell me it gets easier?”

He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know.

“I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs.

She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.”

He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back.

“You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

“Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go.

She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.”

He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t know. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.”

He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly.

“You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.”

He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.”

“Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.”

Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.”

He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock.

“He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.”

“Madelyn and Daniel?”

She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.”

One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.”

Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.”

“Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.”

“Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table.

“Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.”

She makes a humming noise.

“C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.”

Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle.

He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.”

“Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.”

He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?”

Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.”

Logan both blushes and preens at the same time.

Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?”

She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.”

He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.”

She laughs, “good gin and tonic?”

He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.”

She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,”

“Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.”

Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.”

“We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts.

“Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused.

“Ah.”

“Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.”

She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases.

The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?”

She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.”

Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.”

“Your work allows you to do that?”

Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.”

“You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.”

“I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious.

“No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.”

“Manager?”

“God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.”

“Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.”

“Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?”

“Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him.

He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice.” She smiles.

Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.”

Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him.

“You seemed a bit more relaxed.”

“No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.”

Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.”

Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?”

He shrugs as best as he can.

“I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.”

“You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs.

Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.”

“What happened?”

“She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.”

Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.”

The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies.

“What?”

“I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.”

“Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar.

“I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.”

Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?”

Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?”

“The one that gave Fred shit.”

“I thought she died?”

The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?”

“Mate, you didn’t hear about that?”

“No!”

“She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.”

“How do I not remember this?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,”

“No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.”

“Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.”

Logan groans, “Os, no.”

“Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.”

“Oscar, please, it’s my mom.”

“She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush.

He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.”

“Lando was looking.”

Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.”

He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.”

“He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns.

“I saw that too.”

“But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?”

Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.”

“Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?”

“I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.”

Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.”

“We all want to age like her.” George agrees.

“What are you saying?” Fernando frowns.

A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.”

Fernando frowns, “Lines?”

Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank.

Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.”

The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck.”

“Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,”

“He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her.

“He did it! He did it!” She cheers.

The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.”

“Got it. Where’s Alex?”

She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.”

Both of her hands fly up to her mouth.

“Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.”

She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.”

“Holy fuck.”

The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes.

“You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.”

She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.”

“Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.”

“I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried.

“You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.”

She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?”

He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.”

“He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her.

His smile widens as he takes the seat.

“I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear.

“I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?”

She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.”

“Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.”

She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?”

“You did.”

“Sweet.”

“Very. How’s the head?”

Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.”

She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.”

“Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it.

She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.”

“True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.”

“I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.”

“Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.”

“I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.”

“Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?”

“It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.”

His brows press together. “Max?”

“Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?”

Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.”

“You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.”

“I go on dates.”

“Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.”

She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists.

“Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?”

“Yes.”

“Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?”

Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,”

Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?”

“Oh.”

Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.”

“I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!”

He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces.

“Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?”

He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press.

“But how are you feeling about it?”

Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.”

He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.”

Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.”

“P10 and P9.”

He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.”

Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.”

“Not yours?”

He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.”

Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?”

Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.”

“Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.”

“And if I go into the wall?”

Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?”

Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.”

“Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.”

Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.”

He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him.

“And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his.

“So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say.

“I’m a mom.”

He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.”

“Logan is important to me.”

Oh, god, did Logan not like him?

“The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.”

“Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?”

She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.”

“I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?”

Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.”

He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.”

“His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right.

“His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?”

“No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.”

She stares at him, lips pressed together.

He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.”

She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?”

“The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears.

“I am his mother, just adopted.”

“Not that either of you see it that way.”

“No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.”

“Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?”

She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.”

“Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.”

“How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch.

“Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun.

Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach.

“What?”

“How was your date last night?”

Her smile widens. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?”

“No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.”

“About what?”

“Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well.

She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.”

“What about Max?”

She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.”

“You know, I’m okay with it.”

“I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.”

Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.”

Logan flushes at the words.

“He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age.

He flushes even more. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.”

“I am an adult.”

“You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.”

He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?”

She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?”

“Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?”

“First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder.

“Am I late?”

“Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen.

“Can I,”

She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.”

“Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her.

“Logan and you are both going to get on too well.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“You both don’t like when I lift anything.”

“What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back.

Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.”

“One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.”

“See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head.

“I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.”

Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.”

He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.”

“Are you sure?”

Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage.

The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at.

“Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.”

“Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely.

“Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?”

The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member.

“Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?”

He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.”

“And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases.

“No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.”

“I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.”

“Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.”

“Oh?”

Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.”

Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room.

“Hi, schat.”

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats.

His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.”

“Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask.

“He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.”

Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?”

She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.”

“Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.”

“Anything I can help with?”

She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops.

“Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?”

His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.”

“The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.”

“They have to be not performing well.”

“They’re a rookie in a back marker team.”

“They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about.

“They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.”

His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?”

“Nine.”

“I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.”

She shakes her head.

“Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?”

She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his.

“The driver’s Logan.”

“What?”

“Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.”

Max stares at her. “How?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.”

“He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.”

“I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.”

“It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it.

“Why’s that, honey?”

He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team.

“I guess you are a bit spoiled.”

He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle.

“That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.”

He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more.

“I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.”

She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.”

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends.

“Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder.

“How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner.

She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.”

He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?”

“I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.”

“I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside.

“I know.”

“Logan still wanting to do his new routine.”

She nods, lips pursed.

He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?”

She throws him a look. “Us?”

“You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that.

“Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.”

“Will Logan be joining us for Florida?”

“Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.”

Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,”

“You go to Milton for a day after.”

He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.”

“Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.”

“Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.”

“Yes?”

“Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend.

He freezes.

“Max.”

“I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[derealizationns]

"intimacy"

characters - katsuki bakugou x fem reader

synopsis - katsuki’s tough facade crumbles as soon as you two are together, and he loves every second of it.

genre - fluff!!! so much fluff 🥹

warnings - none 🫧

katsuki loves intimacy. he definitely won’t show it, but he’s all for it. that boy is so used to being tough and everything, that it makes him crave those tender and gentle moments.

just imagine simple things like making dinner. the world seems silent, the only things you can hear are the shuffles of yours and katsuki’s slippers and the raindrops hitting the roof of your shared home. bakugou is chopping food on the counter, with you sitting beside him on top of the island, swinging your legs and just observing his movements.

your presence brings him so much comfort, though you aren’t even doing anything special. just the feeling of domesticity makes katsuki experience some weird warm sensation in his chest. he subconsciously smiles at that. it’s a faint smirk, but you still notice it.

after jumping off the countertop, you wrap your arms around his chest and place your head on his muscular back. he huffs with fake annoyance, but in reality, this gesture makes him incredibly happy.

“whatcha doin’, idiot?” he asks.

you roll your eyes at his question.

“i’m showing love to my incredibly strong boyfriend, don’t pretend that you don’t like it.”

at that moment, katsuki shuts up. he can’t lie to your pretty face, that would be cruel, so he just decides to remain silently enjoying your presence and warmth.

some other day, you are lying under the covers with your boyfriend. it’s saturday afternoon, meaning that you two have a day off, just for yourselves. bakugo decided that both of you should watch a movie that just came out, but truth be told, he didn’t even pay attention to it. the boy is simply staring blankly at the tv, visibly deep in thought. you quickly notice his weird behavior and decide to bring it up.

“kats?” you start.

his attention quickly switches to you, bright red eyes staring into yours curiously.

“what’s wrong?” the question falls from your lips.

his expression changes to one of slight shock. perhaps bakugou didn’t realize that he was visibly zoning out, or maybe he just didn’t expect you to mention it. after a few seconds of silence, bakugo finally speaks up.

“nothin’ is wrong, why you askin’?”

you sigh at his words. he is clearly hiding something from you. just when you wanted to scold him for his obvious lie, he speaks again.

“just thinkin’… ’bout how much i love you, i guess…” he starts, but he’s not looking at you anymore; his eyes are fixed on the ceiling. bakugo feels so embarrassed after he says this. the boy silently curses himself for speaking up.

you look at him confused but can’t deny the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest. katsuki wasn’t the one to express his love so directly, and that took you aback.

“every memory i have with you makes me feel… weird. like, not bad weird, just… puzzled, i guess? i’ve never felt that way, so it’s hard to exp—” you cut off his rambling before he finishes.

“i know what you mean, kats. every moment, even the simplest and most boring one, stirs up something within you, am i right?”

your boyfriend sends you a shocked look. he didn’t expect you to read his emotions so well. you just said everything right! how is that possible? did you read his mind or something? or maybe… it was because those were the same feelings you have…?

“yeah… i think you’re right…” he mumbles, visibly embarrassed by this conversation, so you think it’s time to cut it off.

“but it’s a good feeling, right? like you’re not… overwhelmed?” you ask him worriedly.

katsuki shoots you a look that you think was supposed to be scolding.

“what? no, you idiot. it’s… it’s good, i like it.”

you smile at his words and tuck yourself closer to him, bathing in his warmth.

“that’s good…” you whisper and feel yourself slowly doze off, as bakugou leaves a soft kiss on your forehead.

you sleep soundly, dreaming about every soft and domestic moment you had with katsuki. and there were many more to come.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ kirara’s notes . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

thank you for reading this, hope you liked it! likes, follows and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🤍🫧

[tonycries]

Go For It, Gojo! [Part 2] - G.S.

Synopsis. Just two weeks ago you could barely stand him - so, really, why is your heart beating so loud? Surely, it’s just the way he’s got you pushed against the wall, face stuffed in your cunt - right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, academic rivals to lovers, student president! reader, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight angst + comfort, vibrators, banter about physics, cunnilingus, Yaga is tired, oral sex (male + female), college! AU, both reader and Satoru do some growing up, overstimulation, super sappy actually, pet names (sweetheart, hardass), swearing.

Word count. 10.5k

A/N. Passed out five times, here’s Part 2 (joke). PART 1 HERE. Art by @_3aem on X.

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers, if you will. 

Which is probably why, for someone who didn’t know the definition of shutting the fuck up, he sure was intent on staying quiet about whatever this was.

It’s been exactly 2 weeks, 5 days and 17 hours since you and Satoru had entered this weird limbo, and there still wasn’t a peep out of the man about what the two of you are to each other.

Friends? Acquaintances? A booty call that he happens to argue way too much with? You’d smack that pretty nose of his if that was the case - as soon as you admittedly stopped being a pussy yourself…

But, semantics.

And right now, his fingers intertwined with yours as he practically drags you through the aquarium ticket counter - you couldn’t help but wonder - was this a date?

Not exactly lovers, but definitely more than friends, a tense understanding crackling in the air between you two. Something prickly and jittery that pooled in your stomach and made your head spin. 

And as someone used to having the answers to everything, it bothered you that you didn’t have the one to this. 

You haven’t been to an aquarium since you were a kid - quickly having outgrown it at the ripe age of seven. So, really, it made sense that the 6’3 manchild beside you insisted it was the perfect spot to celebrate finishing your assignment.

“That damn quantum entanglement hell.” you’d called it - and ranted about all the way inside - more so to fill the charged silence than anything. His fingers still tight around yours despite the dissipating crowd, burning into your skin.

“You know for someone who loves the elegance of science, you’re an extra hardass about quantum entanglement.” he titters in-between worried mutters of “doesn’t that old lady look like the mafia queenpin from the café.” as you two try to navigate your way through the aquarium.

You desperately cling onto his remark - a sense of normalcy you could finally breathe in.

“Well, Satoru, for someone who treats life like an improv show, you sure have a knack for avoiding scientific precision,” you retort, some strange part of you delighting in the way his fingers tighten around yours. 

“Precision is for pussies.” he chuckles, bringing up a hand to your face, fingers wiggling in a ludicrous attempt at hypnotic suggestion. “Besides, sweetheart, life is a cosmic joke, and quantum mechanics is the punchline.”

“As expected from a Pilot-Wave theorist, that just sounds like an excuse to be lazy. ‘Oh, let’s embrace uncertainty and blame it on quantum mechanics!’”

“It’s also the punchline.”

“At least my punchlines make sense.”

He lets out an exaggerated whine, “And here I thought we were bonding over shared disdain for the hard-headed laws of physics.”

“Shared disdain? I actually respect the laws of physics. They’re the backbone of our universe.”

“Maybe.” he responds, voice a bit uncharacteristically somber. “But, quantum mechanics, uncertainty, whatever. In the end it doesn’t matter the universe, aren’t we all just wandering through a sea of unpredictability? It’s exciting.” he weaves through the crowd with you, gaze flickering between you and the vibrant schools of fish.

And maybe you’re an overthinker - you’ve always been told you were - but it felt like his words carried a heavy tone that went beyond your stupid little debate about quantum entanglement. This was not about physics.

“That excitement often leads to chaos, no matter the universe.”

“Embrace the chaos in every universe then. It keeps things interesting.”

“You’re incorrigible.” you scoff, meeting his intense gaze head-on, skin flaring at the sheer intensity of it. “I bet in every universe you’re an unchangeable hell-raiser.”

“Maybe.” He leans in, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, gaze now locked on you, his lips dangerously ghosting your ear. “Or maybe I’m just more of a hands-on learner?”

It might never have been about physics.

It’s innocent fun, right? Two classmates celebrating the end of an assignment? Innocent, innocent fu-

“Y’know with the way you’re so dripping wet f’me, I’m starting to think our lil’ arguments are just foreplay, prez.”

Sleek plastic cold against your back, Satoru’s mouth hot on yours - hungry and insistent. Lips tangy with the taste of minty toothpaste and the thrill of the forbidden as he cages you against that heady bathroom stall.

“You’re the one that riles me up. Got a degradation kink, Satoru?” you shoot back between gasps as his greedy hands map every curve and dip of your body. Groping. Kneading. Such a fucking tease.

“Mhm~ Love when you talk dirty to me, sweetheart.” he hums into the heated skin of your neck. White-hot tingles of electricity running along your body. “Though, I really prefer when that smart mouth is choking around my cock instead.”

“I’m gonna hah- drown you in the fucking clownfish tank.”

“Kinky, but that’s not that’s not the magic word, sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth - in both pleasure and irritation, but most importantly the need for more more more. He always did drive you insane. Words choked, “P-please.”

A sharp moan rips from your throat as long fingers graze your swollen folds through your soaked panties. Teasing the dainty hem. Pulling it down. Delving in. Curving deftly upwards, easily pressing into that one spot inside. Over and over. In and out in and out in and-

“Teasing hah- teasing bastard.” you hiss, even as your traitorous hips buck into his touch.

Satoru chuckles darkly, breath warm against your ear, sending shivers running down your spine. “Your teasing bastard.” Your heart pounds in your ears, mind caught on the “your”, drowning out the distant hum and bustle of the aquarium outside. 

And before you can open your mouth - maybe to say something so utterly stupid - he falls to his knees. Pretty lips ghosting your inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. A stark contrast with the cool air of the bathroom stall. 

Mindlessly, your legs press together, a bead of slick trailing enticingly down them - aching for an ounce of friction. Down, down, down-

And Satoru notices - of course he notices - because his tongue darts out urgently, tracing the seam of your swollen folds. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, pooling your juices on his tongue before letting them flow down his throat - groaning as if it was his favorite taste. 

Shit, you really were his favorite taste. 

Nose-deep in your cunt and on his knees in that cramped aquarium bathroom, all he can do is lap up your juices. Cock aching, tasting you, breathing you in like a man dying of thirst. 

Pulling down his trousers just enough for his throbbing erection to spring free. Leaking tip smearing against his toned abdomen, trailing down the prominent vein in the middle. A large hand firmly gripping the base, pressing his heavy balls so obscenely on your calf, pulling in sinful little tugs to you.

Blood rushes straight to the throbbing erection in his hands at the way your breath hitches, pretty little mewls of his name leaving those kiss-bitten lips. Such a shame he had to muffle them, two fingers in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. 

Ah, he didn’t get to see those manta rays yet, but it’s alright - right now, hips bucking helplessly into him, your hands knotted in his hair - you’re his favorite view anyway. His pretty girl.

“Hngh- Jus’ like that, Satoru.” you moan.

He groans into your dripping pussy, vibrations sending a jolt of electricity shooting through your veins, making you clench further around the tongue pushing its way into your heated hole. Cunt aching for release, and his leaking cock not far behind as he fucks his fist urgently. Grinding into you like a fucking dog in heat.

“Please.” 

Granting your unspoken request, he moves purposefully. Nose catching on your clit, rubbing it over and over as he alternates between gentle sucks and rapid thrusts of his tongue dipping into your entrance. Satoru’s unspoken pace sends you spiraling into insanity - and the edge. 

Almost there.

You lock eyes with him, seeing just as much need for you reflected back in his own eyes. Flitting between his hungry gaze and the thumb teasing his flushed slit. Jerky, desperate strokes of his hand along his veined length - up, up, up - just the way you do it.

Time seems to stand still as with one two three thrusts you shatter all over his tongue. Choked-up cries of his name bouncing off the walls of the empty bathroom as you chase peak after peak on his pretty face.

Your vision blurs at the edges, blood roaring in your ears. Torn between wanting to scream in pleasure and not wanting to be arrested for public indecency. Breathless whispers of pleasure slurring together as your mind clouds with only Satoru Satoru Satoru-

As the haze clears slightly, you realize you’re cradling his head, stroking his silky locks soothingly. Pulling away - embarrassed more at this than what just transpired - you let Satoru rise to his feet, towering over you. 

“On your knees, sweetheart.”

Still delirious from your orgasm, you mindlessly drop to your knees before him. Wordlessly, he guides himself into your mouth, precum salty on your tongue and cock glistening in the dim light of the bathroom.

His hips begin to thrust, matching the pace from before as he fucks your hot mouth. You relax your jaw, letting him take control as he plunges deeper and deeper. Fighting the urge to gag as he hits the back of your throat. Saliva drips down your chin so lewdly, smearing on his cock,

Satoru’s breathing grows heavier and heavier as your nose hits the tufts of hair on his pelvis, already wet with precum and spit. Grip searing on your scalp, you look up to meet his gaze - eyes half-lidded and tears clinging to your lashes.

Maybe it was the carnal look in your eyes, or the way your glossy lips stretch so prettily around him - because with a guttural groan, Satoru spills his load down your throat. Grasp steady on your hair, making you sputter and drink every drop as his cock twitches on your tongue. Cum dribbling down the corner of your lips, the tap! tap! tap! of it ringing in your ears.

As his high passes, you feel as if you’re in a daze as Satoru helps you up. Voice shot and throat burning as he cleans the both of you up. 

Gentle hands on your cheek, a thumb caressing your lips. Your face burning at the way he looks at you. Why does he look at you like that.

A soft smile plays on his lips - kiss-bitten and prettily glossed with your juices. Wordlessly, he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, sending a sudden tug at your heartstrings.

“I bet in every universe we sneak around and choose the worst lil’ hideouts.”

Yeah. Yeah, maybe you did.

And you don’t know why it hurt. 

It’s almost like you’re on autopilot as you quickly smooth down your clothes and follow Satoru outside, back into the bustling aquarium as inconspicuously as possible. 

As you walk side by side, you can’t help but feel the previous euphoria inside you coiling into something more. Something uncomfortable.

Passing by a group of kids excitedly pointing at a giant tank of tropical fish, you feel a wistful ache as you’re reminded of simpler times. Back when you didn’t analyze everything interaction. Maybe back when things were better.

Pulling back, “Satoru…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“About what happened…about us-” you sputter out, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “I don’t want-”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, y’know.” 

Your head snaps up. Unspoken words lingering in the air - is it me or you that doesn’t want to talk about it.

Your eyes catch on the shine of his hair in the cool light. The subtle flex of muscles beneath his shirt as he leads the way through the mesmerizing corridors of the aquarium, the soft glow of the tanks casting an ethereal light on his silhouette. 

His hand warm in yours, and that little dimple at the corner of his grin as he turns to you. Devastating.

It was like something snapped. And it hits you with a pang. All glory and beautiful.

He wasn’t yours.

And he probably might never be.

Somehow that terrified you. 

Because in the end, weren’t you just playing along in his elaborate cosmic joke? Just part of his unknown?

But why did that hurt so much?

“Gojo, I’m going home.”

Fear.

---

There have only been three times in his life that Gojo Satoru has truly felt fear. The first, of course, was right after kissing your pretty lips in that dingy closet - if there was ever a true “ah, if I live I’m making this my legacy” moment then that was it. 

The second was when he accidentally walked in on Yaga practicing his interpretative dance routine in the faculty lounge. The man had some moves - but it was something that Satoru saw nightmares about for days.

And the third time? Well, that’s the ongoing saga of trying to decipher you and why the hell you were sitting in another row during Advanced Quantum Physics, so gorgeous and unbothered ignoring him.

No texts, no calls, no snarky debates on anything since the aquarium a few days ago.  

Almost as if he was back to square one - worse even.

So yes, Gojo Satoru is scared. In fact, some might even say he’s utterly terrified. 

But even more than that, he’s so so stupid.

Because for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d done to mess up that fragile little connection that you two had formed. 

Maybe you just liked seafood too much to visit the aquarium? That couldn’t be it…

Did you find out he accidentally knocked over that stack of books in the library and blamed it on you? No, he’s heard you blame worse things on him to his face. 

Have you finally gotten sick of him?

…

Nahhh.

He steals a glance in your direction. Eyes mapping your ramrod posture, the way you’re hanging off of Yaga’s every word, and that slight frown marring your features. Ah, you looked so beautiful there even when you looked like you’re about to have an aneurysm.

It’s as if you’ve erected an invisible fortress around yourself, and he’s outside looking in. Desperately calling for you.

Satoru sighs inwardly, realizing he’s going to have to pull out the big guns. With the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he clears his throat, shifting his chair a little too loudly to yours in the row in front of him. 

Paying no mind to the irritated glance that Yaga (and you) shoot at him, he whispers loud enough that it probably carries to the entire classroom. “So, prez~ Did I accidentally stumble into an alternate universe where you still hate me or have you just been avoiding me like I’m a contagious disease.”

You flinch - probably both at the audacity and at him addressing you. Eyes still firmly trained on the now-disgruntled Yaga, you reply curtly, “This is not an alternate universe, Gojo. And I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy ignoring me? Space might’ve worked for Neil Armstrong but it won’t work for me, sweetheart. Just tell me what I did so I can get on my knees and beg for forgiveness.”

Your brows furrow, eyes rereading the same sentence on your textbook over and over. “Just focus on these causal dynamical triangulations, Gojo.”

“Oh yeah, I had one of those once.”

“Satoru. I swear to-”

A sharp call of your name - followed by his. Professor Yaga’s irritation, now palpable, hangs in the air like a storm. “If you two can't maintain some decorum, I suggest you continue your discussion outside.”

Satoru grins unabashedly, batting his long lashes, “Why, Yaga, I thought you enjoyed our discussions.”

“Out, both of you.”

Each word clipped and shattering your dreams of becoming Professor Yaga’s protégé into tinier and tinier pieces. 

“You heard the man, prez. Let’s take this show on the road.” 

Hastily, you gather your belongings, shooting an apologetic glance at Professor Yaga, who gives you a sympathetic look in response. As the door slams behind you, noise ringing in your ears, you stand frozen in a mixture of shock and disbelief. 

Satoru, however, seems unfazed. “Well, that was an unbridled success.”

Irritation spikes as you hiss out, “What?”

“I mean, you called me Satoru for the first time in days so I consider that an unbridled success.”

A strange stab at your heart, and maybe for the first time since working together on that quantum entanglement assignment, Satoru’s joke doesn’t land. 

Your eyes narrow at him, “This isn’t a joke, Satoru. I needed Professor Yaga’s guidance - how else am I going to get a research position with him?”

“It wasn’t a joke.” 

Following your weighty silence, Satoru lets out a heavy sigh. The expression on his face looked more serious than you’d ever seen it as his eyes search yours. “Look, prez, I didn’t mean to mess things up for you - though Yaga basically worships the ground you walk on so-” 

At your raised eyebrow he gets back on track, “Anyway, something’s wrong and I just wanted to understand what’s going on between us.”

A humorless laugh leaves your lips, “Now you want to talk about us?”

You clench your fists, frustration and confusion boiling over within you. You know you’re part of this too. You know you’re not blameless in this tangled mess. And right now, the sheer warmth of his gaze made a strange little part of you consider just giving in and running to his arms. Fuck what he wants of you. Fuck all the uncertainty. 

And that’s exactly what scared you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts within your mind. “I don’t even know what ‘us’ is, Gojo. And I don’t think you do either.”

Your voice is surprisingly steady - as are your feet as they carry you away from Satoru. You’d caught one, final glance at the slump of his shoulders, and the silent plea in his eyes. 

Purposeful steps sound in your ears as you walk to God-knows-where. Yet, they still stutter - as does your heart - as Satoru’s voice rings in the hallway behind you, “Take all the time you need, prez. I’ll win you back with my world-renowned Gojo charm again~”

Light words following a heavy admission, his humor attempting to bandage over the cracks of what you two had not too long ago. The echo of his words accompany you down the corridor, and despite yourself, you find your lips tugging into the slightest beginnings of a smile. The slightest.

It’s okay. This is okay. Things can go back to whatever they were now - normal, steady.

“World-renowned Gojo charm.” you repeat under your breath, ready to find a quiet corner of campus where you can throw yourself into causal dynamical triangulations. 

Gaze unwavering, Satoru stands still, searching for any signs of you looking back. Turn around. Turn around turn around turn-

“Mr. Gojo, are you going to find the building exit with the same enthusiasm you exhibit when spouting lines from your imaginary romance novel?”

“Ah. Yaga, I was just- wait imaginary? I can assure you that my charm is as real as quantum mechanics - just ask your star student! Although these days even quantum mechanics might have trouble explaining why she’s-”

“Mr. Gojo.”

“Understood. On my way.” A comical salute, “May your lectures be as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks~”

“Good. And please, spare us all from any more ‘unbridled success’ in the future.”

---

The following week turned into a delicate dance, a waltz of cautious side steps and tense half-glances - all of which were met by that fond gaze that made your heart clutch so involuntarily. Like a silent drama where neither of you knew the next line.

The sprawling campus now seemed so tiny, a tension connecting the two of you like an invisible thread. From Professor Yaga’s class - now so dull without that usual bickering - all the way down to that café just off-campus where the stuffy air hums with old banter and unspoken words.

Yet, the routine remained unchanged, you still found yourself visiting there time and time again - by that little booth in the corner, right next to the window. Just without your familiar companion.

You never realized how quiet the café could get without someone talking your ear off about everything from the Pilot-Wave theory to why the little girl at the grocery store who mistook him for a Kakashi cosplayer is definitely conspiring against him. 

It’s thrown you off - and you’re sick of thinking of that stupid smirk when you’re trying to meticulously sort through the overflow of student archives.

Ugh, you’ve been losing sleep over these for days. Feeling hot under your temples, you try to push away the pressure behind your eyes - If you don’t get this categorized before the next meeti-

“Whatcha reading, sweetheart?”

Speak of the devil.

Startled, you look up from your sea of paperwork. 

Ah, there he was. All nonchalance and grace, eyes twinkling with mischief and an easy grin curling his lips. And for a moment - a brief, fleeting moment - you’re filled with a familiar warmth, tension from the past few days melting into nothingness.

“Oh, just some archives.” you blink, with a measured calmness.

“Absolutely fascinating.” Satoru chuckles, sliding into the chair across from you with the casual elegance of someone who’s completely unaware of the mess he left in his wake. “What’s next, a riveting analysis on the historical significance of paperclips?”

Ignoring his banter, you focus diligently on the task at hand - Gakuganji would have your head. “If only. Now what do you want, Satoru? I’m busy.”

His grin widens, undeterred. “Busy with what? Cataloging the thrilling history of staplers and notepads?”

You shoot him a pointed look, “The secret lives of archives can be more scandalous than you think, Gojo.” 

“Just how do you contain your excitement, prez?”

“I don’t.” you drone out. Shuffling your papers, gathering them with a deliberate focus. “Now, if you’re done with your stand-up routine, I actually have work to do.”

Satoru straightens up, the playfulness in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. “Wait wait, sweetheart, we need to talk.”

You let out a sigh - there it is. And maybe you were being petty. Maybe you were slightly scared. “Oh, now, we do? How convenient.”

“Can’t we just go back to the way things were? I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He runs a hand through his silky locks, a gesture that usually accompanies his frustration. 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Weird? Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now. You just never bothered to notice until it got inconvenient for you..” You stand up, your archives now neatly organized. “I have to finish seven files of these now, excuse me.”

A subtle ache takes residence in your bones as you walk away, his gaze hot on your back. The barista, a friendly soul who had witnessed countless interactions between you and Gojo, offered you a sympathetic smile as you made your way out.

The café's atmosphere, once cozy with laughter, now suffocatingly laced with unease. That invisible thread connecting you both feels strained. Hanging by the thinnest of threads - on the verge of snapping. 

And, yet, through it all one thought rings clear. 

You missed him.

Satoru didn’t know what hurt more - the way you called him “Gojo” or the way he didn’t even get a giggle out of his paperclip joke.

“Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now.”

Yeah, definitely the way you called him “Gojo”.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the cloud of doom himself. I can barely enjoy my Earl Grey. What’s eating at you, young man?” 

Satoru’s head snaps up at the curious croak, tone a mix of concern and amusement. His eyes meet sharp, perceptive ones that seem to cut through his sulky haze. Oh, it’s the mafia queenpin.

At his wordless staring she plows on, taking a seat opposite him, “Oh c’mon, boy. Don’t think I haven’t seen you lurking and moping about. You’ve got as much subtlety as my late husband - and he once tried to hide a mistress by having her disguise as a potted plant.”

A half-hearted grin makes its way onto his face, “No potted plants here, just the usual existential crisis. You know how it is.”

The old lady snorted, unimpressed. “Please, spare me the theatrics. I’ve seen drama queens with more subtlety. Now spill.”

Satoru hesitated, wincing at the stare that seemed to cut right into his soul. It reminded him of a little someone. 

Finally, he sighs relentingly, “It's complicated. Things with someone... changed. I miss the way it used to be, you know?”

A sharp cackle, echoing in the empty space around them. “Ah, love troubles. You youngsters make it sound so dramatic. Look, boy, if you want something, go and get it.”

He huffs in defeat, now way more into impromptu love counseling than he initially thought he’d be. “I tried but-”

But the old lady cuts him off, sharp and incisive, “Trying isn’t the same as doing, kid. And let me tell you, I’ve seen enough guys like you wasting time pondering instead of acting.” 

It seems this mafia queenpin brought out all the childish, petty sides of him. Because Satoru whines in a way that he definitely wouldn’t if you hadn’t been avoiding him and if you hadn’t called him “Gojo” and-

“But she hates me, and she’s sick of me.” A rare vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Maybe things were better the way they were.”

“Life’s too short for that crap. And trust me, that girl does not hate you, you’re just scaring her off. I would have smacked you after that first dumb comment about paperclips.” The old lady snorts, dismissing his complaint. “Uptight academics, always scared of their own feelings. Afraid that if they acknowledge them, the world might end.” 

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected insight. “Scaring her off? I'm just being myself.”

She leans in, sharp eyes drilling into him - picking him apart. “Being yourself doesn't mean avoiding the real conversations. You’ve got feelings, boy. Instead of playing the joker, try being sincere for once. Maybe you’ll be surprised.” 

Taking a patient sip of her tea, “Now, go and fix whatever mess you made. Or better yet, just grab the girl and give her a damn good kiss. Works wonders.”

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected advice. The old lady cackles again, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Now, scram, and let an old lady enjoy her coffee in peace.” 

He nods, more to himself than her, feeling a strange mix of determination and embarrassment at being given advice by the same lady he had a silent bet with you about being an underground overlord.

Immediately standing up, he salutes her goodbye before rushing out - only to stop abruptly halfway out the door. Turning and speedwalking back to the table, with a mix of curiosity and urgency. 

“Hey, granny, I have a question.”

“Anything as long as it isn’t my age, boy.”

“Would you happen to have any mafia connections by chance?.”

Ah, you think you’re dying. 

Or maybe that’s just what the towering stack of papers on your cluttered desk want you to think…

It mocks you. A painful reminder of the mundane world you were now in. That invisible thread connecting you to that little booth in the corner of the café now feels like a noose tightening around your neck. 

What’s done is done. And right now you have bigger fish to fry - fish shaped annoyingly like the unresolved chaos of these archives.

You rub your eyes, room swaying slightly as you squint at the tiny print, letters melting into one another and conspiring against you. Rereading the same sentence over and over, sweat beading on your forehead.

God, was the heater on too high?

The documents on the desk seem to dance, a mocking waltz that laughs in the face of your feeble attempts to restore order. Chaos. 

Stop it.  

An incessant pounding on your temples, blood roaring in your ears. 

You reach for a pen, your fingers fumbling as it slips through your grasp. Falling onto the floor with a clatter that reverberates in your throbbing head. Chaos. 

The room is stifling, walls closing in on you. Breaths hot and labored. Temples drumming louder. And louder.  Urgent and insistent. Chaos.

“Open up! It’s Satoru!”

Satoru.

Body acting before your brain, you stagger out of your seat, the world spinning dangerously as you clutch onto the desk for support.

Satoru?

Your unsteady feet carry you towards the door - almost subconsciously. You wince at the stab of pain in your temples as it throbs in time with the urgent knocking.

Hands unsteady on the doorknob, vision bleary, yet you’d recognize that shock of cloudy hair anywhere. His words hit you before the realization that Satoru was here, and why was he here looking so adorably disheveled like he’d run here and what was he rambling about now-

“I'm so so sorry. I messed up, I should’ve noticed. I know I’ve been avoiding the real conversation and I didn’t realize how much-”

His voice, tinged with a vulnerability you’re not used to hearing, is abruptly cut off as Satoru looks up from where he was fumbling with his fingers in nervousness - wide blue eyes taking in your glassy eyes and clammy skin. In your hazy vision you make out the deep concern creeping its way onto those pretty features.

“Sweetheart?”

A sudden wave of dizziness hits you. The room tilts, and for a brief, disorienting moment, you feel like you’re floating in space. Ah, didn’t know you could breathe in space. Wonder if you’ll win a Nobel for this discovery?

A sharp call of your name cuts through the haze, the last thing you register before the world folds around you like a delicate paper. Fading to black., and perhaps the warm arms around you are the only thing grounding you right now. The chaotic waltz has won.

Now, the great Gojo Satoru usually calls his mother for only one of two reasons - 1. His beloved ramen shop is closed, or worse - out of his favorite special spicy sauce, and 2. A dire and life-threatening emergency.

“Mama! I’ve got an emergency and no it’s not the ramen this time.”

His mother’s voice crackles through the phone, a mix of concern and amusement. “Satoru, are you sure it’s that dire? I’m at a work meeting, y’know”

Dramatically, “Of course, mama. Someone I care about is sick. Yes, I have a heart under this fabulous exterior. A real one.”

A brief pause, “Oh my lil’ Toru~ You mean you finally confessed to that student prez you’ve been swooning over for months? The one with ‘a brilliant mind like a quantum computer’ and ‘eyes like-’”

Squirming in embarrassment, “Well- not exactly, but-”

“Spill.”

“I need the recipe to our secret family chicken soup, like, urgently. It’s a life-or-death situation.”

His mother’s laughter echoes through the phone. “Life-or-death, huh? Alright, my little drama king, I’ll send it right away. But you owe me a detailed account of what's happening.”

“Deal!”

With a click, the call ends, and Satoru is left in your hallway, holding you in his arms, desperately awaiting the secret weapon - his mother’s legendary chicken soup.

In the meantime, he shifts you in his arms, steady hands carefully lifting you off the ground, cradling you to his chest. 

Face burning at the practiced way his feet carry him to your room. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Don’t make me regret not calling an ambulance. Should I call an ambulance? No, chicken soup first, then maybe an ambulance. Ugh, I should've paid more attention in first aid.”

Slow, deliberate steps through the corridor. Heart dropping as his eyes catch on the mountains of scattered papers and files. Next time he passes by Gakuganji’s office he’s gonna swap the keys on that fossil’s keyboard. 

The soft click of the door closing seems too loud in the quiet room as he lays you gently on the bed. Heart clenching at the way you bury yourself mindlessly into the covers, pretty eyes still screwed shut, he mutters to himself “What am I going to do with you?”

His gaze drifts to the scattered papers on the floor, starting to gather them, creating a semblance of order amidst the chaos. Satoru glances at you, noticing the creased lines on your forehead even in your unconscious state. A pang of guilt hits him.

“Avoiding the real conversation, huh?” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He risks a glance at your sleeping figure again, “I’m sorry, my sweetheart.”

Finishing his impromptu cleanup - and after taking maybe one picture of you all snuggled up - he gets up determinedly to make the legendary chicken soup. “I’ll make it right, prez. First, chicken soup. Then, we'll have that real conversation, no matter how scary it gets.”

You wake up to the cacophony of pots and pans, and a voice…cursing bad cooking for being genetic? The aromatic smell of chicken soup hits you - as does the cold sweat beading on your forehead.

Joints aching, you try to sit up, the room still spinning - but ever-so-slightly less than before. Recollections from earlier slowly come to you, you don’t even have to look at the figure now standing at the doorway to know who it is.

“Whoa, there, sweetheart. Lay back.”

Your weakened smile is met with a worried frown. Satoru’s gentle tone, masking his franticness, rings in your ears like a song you loved but haven’t heard in a long time. He rushes to guide you gently back onto the bed, a thumb wiping away the sweat trickling down your temple. “Soup’s on the stove. But first, let’s get you cleaned up. Is that okay?”

Before you can protest - as if you had the strength to - Satoru scampers off to your bathroom. You lay there in the deafening silence as he does. You had an image to uphold, archives to categorize, and a Satoru to distance yourself from. 

But right now, your eyes meeting his like constellations aligning in the night sky as he returns with a small basin filled with warm water, a soft cloth draped over his shoulder, you think that you wouldn’t mind falling apart for him. 

Sitting down beside you, his gaze never leaving your face, “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” A tenderness in his voice matching the warmth of the damp washcloth gently dabbing your forehead.

A heavy feeling settles in your gut. You want to shy away from the fondness in those blue depths as they never leave yours. You want to block out the hushed whispers of reassurance as his fingers trail lightly across your skin, uncomfortably hot. You want to cry. 

And you don’t realize you are until Satoru’s hand stiffens, eyes widening with emotions you can’t name. 

Oh. 

Satoru has seen you strong, capable, and fiercely independent. He’s seen you turn his elaborate equation into a doodle of a ramen bowl with the caption, “Even my ramen has more substance than this theory, Satoru.”

But Satoru has never seen you like this. 

“Hey, hey, c’mon. It’s okay, prez. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Satoru whispers, as if afraid that speaking louder might shatter the fragile reality you both find yourselves in.

His words hanging in the air, and the sincerity in his eyes coax you to unravel the knot of emotions you’ve been suppressing ever since you were pushed into that damn closet with him.

“Satoru.” And it spills out. “I’m scared. And I missed you. And I’m scared that I missed you - scared of what that could mean, and scared of where this might lead. Because I missed you and you’re here.”

His brows furrow in concern, but he remains silent, urging you to continue.

“I've built walls, convinced myself that I can’t afford to be vulnerable out of fear of the unpredictable. Yet, here we are. I can’t escape it, and it terrifies me.” you confess, eyes flickering away from the intensity of his gaze as if avoiding the reality of your words.

Satoru inches his hand closer to cradle yours. “You don’t have to be scared, prez, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice a steady anchor, “Though, I was scared too. Scared that if I confronted these feelings, you’d run away. So, I waited, telling myself that I was giving you time, but honestly it was just a shitty excuse.”

His thumb caresses the back of your hand, a gentle rhythm matching the beating of your heart. “Because for all I spout about chaos and uncertainty, facing these feelings head-on is scarier than any angry Yaga.”

A fresh wave of tears - both at his admission and at that familiar attempt to lighten the humor. “You’re an idiot you know.” you sputter.

“I know.”

“And your theories on life and the universe are stupid.”

“Absolutely.”

“And your overpriced glasses make you look like the fourth blind rat from Shrek.”

“Now that’s too far, he’s a mouse, sweetheart.”

A watery chuckle as his fingers interlace with yours. Satoru leans in, his forehead resting against yours - no care in the world for how contagious you might be. Because fuck if the sickness might not be then these feelings sure were.

“You scared me, y’know.” he confesses.

“I’m sorry. I should have taken care of my-”

“Not that.” Satoru’s unspoken words echo in the small, charged space between you two.

Your heart clenches, understanding. “For that, I am sorry, too.”

Disappointment spikes your heart as he withdraws slightly, hand feeling cold at the sudden absence. But before you can question the impending doom at his mischievous glint, Satoru produces a pen from your top drawer. 

“What are you up to now, Satoru?” you drone, raising a brow at his antics.

“Just a little insurance policy.” he smirks at your confused hum, taking your left hand back in his. Pen poised over your ring finger, ink cold on your skin.

“Insurance policy against what?”

“A promise.”

A delicate infinity sign, it draws your gaze and locks it there. You almost miss the flush creeping up on Satoru’s ears, “Just a symbol, y’know- We can get an actual ring if you want, my mother is actually best friend’s with-”

The sight of him makes something bloom in your chest. It hurt. Not because of fear, but because you felt so full. 

Cutting off his rambles with your lips on his. Steady, and electric, molding together as if they were meant to fit perfectly. A lingering promise. 

When you finally pull away, he huffs out an euphoric laugh. “I was gonna say you look like you wanted to kiss me so bad, but you already did.”

Rolling your eyes, “Think if I tell you something now you can write it off as me being sick and delirious?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Satoru, I love you.”

And that’s all Satoru ever wanted to hear.

“And I love you, in every universe.”

---

The sleep that follows Satoru’s “world famous Gojo family chicken soup” - and that heavy conversation - is the best you’ve had in days. You dream of manta rays in tuxedos, the guests of honor at yours and Satoru’s Nobel prize ceremony.

And, 12 full hours later and finally clear-headed, you find yourself groggily standing in the middle of your room. Blinking in disbelief at the perfectly categorized files of archives, and the sparkling organization of your once-scattered space - Satoru, peacefully snoring at your desk, pen still tightly gripped in his hand.

He��finished all of it?

Your heart clenches, warmth flowering all over your body. 

As you approach, Satoru stirs, those familiar blue eyes slowly opening to meet yours. A dazed smile stretches across his face as he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“Got a bit carried away. Guess you really are rubbing off on me, prez.” he chuckles, his voice still laced with sleep. 

“Good then, soon your brain won’t be a black hole of theoretical abstractions.”

Eyes sparkling, he throws his head back to laugh, carefree. “There’s my girl. Feeling better now, hm?”

Your face burns at his words, and his proximity as he stands from his chair to tower over you. Heat radiating off his skin. “Yeah, all thanks to your mother’s recipe.”

“And my charm, of course.”

“Oh, yes, the begging on your knees.”

“Hey it worked, didn’t it? Don’t insult the world-renowned Gojo charm that way~!”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smirk. “Yes, yes of course. That world-renowned ‘Gojo charm’ strikes again. Is that why Yaga sent me a gift basket apologizing on your behalf?”

“Listen, sometimes collateral apologies are inevitable. And I learned the hard way that wishing Yaga’s lectures are as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks does not go well.”

A startled laugh escapes your lips, sound bouncing off the once-heavy walls, and you almost miss the captivated expression on Satoru’s face. A tender smile spreads across his lips.

Laughter bating, you throw your hands around his waist in one, fluid motion, relishing at his flustered expression. “We should go to the aquarium again sometime.”

“Mhm~”

A beat of silence. One. Two. 

“Satoru?”

He leans in, minty breath fanning your face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you.”

Body moving almost subconsciously, your lips crush against his. Hungry and yearning. Kissing each other with a desperation that eclipses the need for air. He didn’t mind dying if it meant suffocating by your lips anyway - both of them. 

You let out a muffled moan as he pulls on your lips, hands snaking down to grip your ass, squeezing possessively. His tongue was sloppy, intertwining with yours with matching urgency. Trapping yours between his ruby lips, sucking so lewdly. 

Large fingers bruising on your waist, pulling you flush against his body till you could feel the incessant banging of his heart against his ribcage - or maybe that was yours. 

His shirt is all but ripped off of him - as is yours, and if you were in a clearer state of mind you’d feel sad at the tattered state of your favorite Steins;Gate t-shirt. But all that flies out of your mind at the creamy skin of Satoru’s chiseled chest. 

You raise your hips to meet the throbbing erection now straining against his pants, fabric stretched and precum forming a pool right at the tip of his leaking head. A low groan is stifled into your mouth, almost as if it hurt to be apart. 

Satoru’s fingers dig into your hips, moving you to grind against his achingly hard length at a maddeningly sensual pace. Up and down, up and down, up and-

A white-hot jolt of electricity runs down to your cunt each time the prominent vein down his side catches on your covered clit, thin panties now soaked with your slick and his precum.

You almost don’t recognize the disappointed whine that leaves your lips as he pulls away, delicate strings of spit snapping.

“You drive me insane, sweetheart.” he murmurs, breathless with lust. 

“The feeling’s mutual, Satoru.”

And it was like something snapped - maybe his sanity, probably you by the end of this.

Because with a low, carnal growl, Satoru picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Seating you roughly onto your nearby desk and pinning you down. Papers scattering everywhere in the heat of the moment, rendering his earlier hard work useless. 

Satoru crowds your space, ravaging your mouth, grinding against your heated core till the only thing you can see is him, the only thing you can feel is him, the only thing you can think of-

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction is maddening, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Yet, Satoru, as always, disrupts your plans. Breaking the heated kiss, he trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You cry out - both in pain and pleasure - as he continues his assault, digging your nails into his sculpted back.

“I won’t be the first one to cum.” he mutters into the crook of your neck as a hand roams up your thigh, deftly pulling off your shorts. You writhe beneath him as lithe fingers tease the hem of your dripping panties, relishing in the choked gasp that leaves Satoru’s mouth as your swollen lips catch on his tip.

“Oh yeah? Damn well won’t be me either.”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before he tears off your panties, pocketing this pair as well for a lonely night - though, with the way your cunt quivers at his touch, he doubts it’ll be any time soon. “Wanna bet, prez~?”

He plunges his fingers inside you with a savageness that steals your breath away. Easily finding that magical spot, thrusting inside to hit it with scary accuracy over and over. Your plush walls convulse around him, crying out his name. Ah, he missed this. 

But you weren’t gonna sit there and be one-upped. A trembling hand moves down to urgently tug down his tight boxers. Rock-hard cock springing out, glistening with precum, your favorite shade of pretty pink. It made your mouth water. 

Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels your tight grip on his length, thumb swirling deftly under the sensitive slit. Spreading his precum along his flushed head. Torturing him. Warmth pooling at your core at the way he fucks your fist in mindless, shallow thrusts.

“Fuck. You really do drive me insane.” he groans, voice strained with desire as he keeps up the punishing pace of his fingers in your dripping cunt. Both of you unrelenting. Both of you in a fight for the other’s release.

It’s a close tie.

“Oh- oh, sweetheart I’m-” 

And Satoru spills into your hand in thick, hot spurts and pornographic moans. Your fist still pumps up and down his twitching length, milking him for all he’s worth as you tip over the edge as well, walls fluttering around his merciless fingers.

“I win.” you challenge, eyes half-lidded as you still reel from the intensity of your orgasm. Satoru’s fingers quiver inside you as he pulls out with a hiss. Pupils blown-out, the look in his eyes feral.

A slow grin spreading across his lips, words breathless and tinged with a bit of insanity that made your pussy clench, “Best out of three?”

“Always knew you were a sore loser.”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“You’re on.”

Before you know it, you’re being thrown onto the bed, bouncing at the sheer force of the throw - cut short as Satoru looms over you, pinning you down onto the mattress.

His lips graze yours with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as they grind on yours. You moan as his still-painfully hard erection throbs against your wall, head falling back in surrender as your swollen folds envelope him in his favorite heaven. Sensitive - so sensitive. 

Hands moving to your breasts, cupping them, teasing. Rolling your nipples between his deft fingers as your hips buck wildly into his. Precum and slick smearing obscenely. Faster. More desperate. Absolutely filthy. Racing towards the end.

And your voice cuts through the heady air, “W-wait, Satoru, wait. As the winner last time…” Words trailing off enticingly, a hand reaching hastily underneath your pillow. 

Oh, just when Satoru didn’t think you could surprise him any more. 

A jolt goes through his body at the thick, pink vibrator that emerges from beneath the pillow. Sleek metal catching the light, his eyes trailing up, up, up, intimidatingly large in your hands.

Eyes widening, Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you handle it with practiced ease. Flip, switch - bzzzzz-

It rings in his ears and resonates through the room. A surprised smile stretched across his lips, despite himself. “Oh, who knew the esteemed student prez was such a little minx. Shit, sweetheart, gonna give me a heart attack.”

“You’re not the only one with lonely nights.” You nod pointedly at his pants - strewn across your bedroom floor and panties stuffed safely in his pocket. 

You bite your lower lip in a way that has probably all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his pulsing cock. Aching for something. Aching for you. 

Sensually, you press the buzzing toy against your clit, hips bucking at the immediate and intense stimulation. A jolt of pleasure making you gasp.

Satoru watches, spellbound, as you writhe beneath him - eyes locked so dangerously with his. He can see the slick beading at your folds, pooling onto your bed sheets. 

Impulsively, he reaches out, wrapping a large hand around yours, guiding it to your dripping hole. “Now…” your eyes light up in excitement at his predatory tone. “That’s just playing dirty, prez. I might just cream myself.”

Agonizingly slow, Satoru eases the vibrator inside you, walls clamping down so deliciously. A clever hand draws tight, little circles on your throbbing clit. 

You arch off the bed at the sensation and the stretch - full. So full. Full and so in heaven.

A fresh wave of slick coating the already-glistening metal, Satoru begins to fuck the toy into you, matching the rhythm of the vibrations. Relentless, he was absolutely relentless. Base meeting your swollen lips, tip kissing your cervix. 

It drives you insane. He drives you insane. 

“Fu-fuck Satoru-” Breathing ragged, tears pricking your eyes at the sensitivity, it only takes one two three more thrusts of the vibrator stuffing your cunt before you’re cumming with a loud cry of Satoru’s name, till you see stars behind your eyes. 

“Ah, I’m so glad we made it to the bed this time.” 

“Idiot.”

“Love you too~” Satoru continues to fuck into you mercilessly with it over and over, drawing out your high until you’re left limp and boneless beneath him. The only thing you can do being to take it.

As the shocks of electricity in your body fade, Satoru carefully removes the vibrator. You whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“Round 2 goes to me.” smugness evident in his words, slightly muffled by your lips.

“Shut up and kiss me. It’s the tie-breaker.”

His lips capture yours in a deep kiss. You can taste the salt of your sweat on his lips, and the desperation of the moment. It’s intoxicating. More addictive than any drug in the world. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him against your body - sticky with sweat and cum - till you can feel his rock-hard cock once more. Eager and aching for you. Teasing your folds with his leaking tip, readily spreading for him.

Finally, after what feels like hours - maybe even weeks - of buildup, he sheaths himself in your snug cunt the way you’d been dying for these lonely nights with just your vibrator. And with the way Satoru lets out a low, desperate moan - head thrown back - you think he might share the sentiment.

“God. Hah- Ah you look so beautiful under me, sweetheart. Hngh- wouldn’t get used to this in my lifetime.”

“Then hngh- find me in the n-next.”

He presses in slowly, languidly - a sensuality that envelopes you and makes you keen at the stretch. Finally bottoming out, he savors the heavenly feeling of being completely inside you. You really were heaven on Earth. 

Pulling back, prominent veins grazing that spot just right, he rams back into you with purpose. Savoring you. Torturing you. “Satoru oh- f-fuck me like you hah- mean it goddamit.”

But it’s not long before the great Gojo Satoru loses his handle on himself. Maybe it was the tears clinging to your lashes. Maybe it was the way your legs wrap so tightly around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. Or maybe it was the fucked-out whines of his name spilling from your mouth.

Because he’s fucking into you desperately. Feral, deliberate strokes that make you ass sting at the smack of his heavy balls. The harsh slapping of skin on skin echoing in your heady bedroom at his unforgiving cadence.

The air charged so tensely that you could barely breath - or maybe that was the way Satoru’s furious tip kissing your cervix over and over knocked the air out of your lungs. Every nerve ending in your body felt alight with white-hot pleasure, electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head - filled only with Satoru Satoru Satoru-

Vision blurry, head dazed so lustfully, you barely notice the way Satoru reaches down between you, his fingers familiarly finding your clit to rub harsh circles on it in time with his thrusts. It’s too much. Ah, you were going to pass out.

Instead, you cum - all over his twitching cock. The sensation almost too much as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. Especially when your walls clamp down, milking his cock so sinfully as Satoru spills into your snug cunt.

Balls tightening as he thrusts thick ropes of seed into your dripping pussy, your juices mixing with his as he thrusts animalistically into you, fucking it deeper and deeper. Decorating your plush walls white, cum spilling out of your sloppy hole as it overflows. 

Flashes of light behind his eyes at the sensitivity - pain, pleasure, yearning all melting into one, gooey mess that mirrored his heart right now. Desperate calls of your name leaving his lips like a prayer. Because maybe you were his salvation.

With a moan of pure ecstasy at the feeling of being so full you think you’d explode, you pull Satoru to you, nails dragging down his shoulder and every part of you wrapped around him so impossibly tight. As if you never wanted to let go - and you didn’t.

You don’t, even as you both gasp for air - and sanity. Even as he collapses his sweaty body onto yours, careful to not crush you with his weight. And you especially don’t let go as those dazed eyes bore into yours, a tender moment in the weighty silence. 

Because right now, no words were needed.

“I love you.”

“And, I love you. In every universe.”

Except maybe those. 

It’s only once reality is setting in, exhausted and intertwined so tenderly in his arms, that a sense of familiarity permeates the heavy air. 

“I win.”

An agitating, grating voice that you loved so much.

You let out a dragged out groan, rolling your eyes. “That’s only because I went easy on you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d love to prove you wrong, sweetheart, but I think my dick is out of commission for the next week at least.”

A sharp bark of laughter startles its way out of your lips as he bounces you two on the mattress, laying on his stomach and swinging his feet as if he was at some slumber party.

“Soooo~ Now that we’re finally dating, I can finally stop holding back on the quantum entanglement puns, I’ve got a list on my Notes app that-”

“I’m gonna entangle your face with my fist.”

“Jokes on you I’m into that.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

---

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers. 

So, of course, he had to barge into the hell that was his new 8am class with style. Bursting in through the swinging doors, imaginary cape flowing in the wind. Sue him, so what if he’s an attention-whore?! 

His bright gaze sweeps over all the students barely keeping their eyes open, before finally landing on you - on the edge of your seat, brows furrowed so adorably and eagerly drinking in every word Yaga droned on about. Who the hell found advanced quantum physics that riveting?

Intrigue piquing as he makes a beeline to you, Satoru’s heart lurches at that weird little part of him that wishes your attentive gaze was on him instead. Strange. 

Sliding into the empty seat beside you, of course he immediately turns on his world-renowned Gojo charm. You’ll be putty in his hands in no time~!

“Any closer to Yaga and you’d be fucking his wife, y’know.” 

“...”

Okay, maybe that didn’t come out as suave as he expected, but damn, not even a giggle?

You couldn’t blame the guy for getting nervous in front of a pretty girl! Nor could you really blame him for plowing on despite that - not after the jolt of electricity that ran through his body the second your irritated eyes met his. 

Oh wow. So that’s what it’s like to have your soul pierced and buried six feet under.

It was sort of addicting.

And if Satoru thought his knees were weak at just a glare from you - well, he was not ready for the way you snapped at him and told him to shut the fuck up. Ah, truly a woman of his dreams. 

Not even half an hour into the lecture and if you asked Satoru to recall a word spoken by Yaga then he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. The words went in one ear and he couldn’t even remember if it went out the next - too focused on getting your attention on him at least once more. 

He just wished you’d look at him - let him see all the shades of your eyes, and the exact degree at which your lip curls in annoyance. What would that smart mouth say to him next? 

“Now, would anyone here be able to discuss the interpretations in the debate between the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

Which is why he positively jumped at the chance to show off his academic prowess to you. Only to find…you teetering on the edge of your seat as well? 

Your voice is even, a fiery glint in your eyes. He’s entranced. 

“The Copenhagen Interpretation uses Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and emphasizes measurement to state that quantum-level particles can act as both waves and particles. It’s the most widely accepted and pragmatic theory.”

Oh. This was going to be interesting.

Heart banging against his ribcage, voice slightly shaky, “Not to be the devil’s advocate but the Pilot-Wave theory makes way more sense practically.”

Thus, Gojo Satoru, in his failed attempts to flirt, starts a rivalry with you that shakes the entire physics department - and his heart. 

He was sure if he told Shoko and Suguru the real reason why he was suddenly spending hours poring over his physics textbooks then they’d definitely laugh their asses off - after giving him a good smack for being so ridiculous. 

It’s not that he didn’t like being on the receiving ends of your snarky remarks and death stares - but it’s just that he also wishes you’d kiss him silly while you do it. God, for someone voted campus hottie three times in a row, why was it so hard to just ask you out?

Which is why, seeing you being dragged into their little circle at that off-brand frat party, he thinks - ah, this might just be fate. 

Silently thanking Shoko for her accidental wingmanning, Satoru watches in amusement as you reluctantly scribble your name on that crumpled piece of paper. And if he slipped in a couple extra with his name on it, well, he was only glad you were too busy cursing his entire bloodline out to catch him.

The smell of cheap beer filling his senses, strobe lights matching the banging of his heart against his chest. Even if he did cheat at the game a little, Satoru didn’t think he’d end the night with your soaked panties burning a hole in his pocket - and the whisper of your lips on his searing even more. He was dazed. 

Was that…a dream? 

It must be, right? There’s no way the gorgeous student prez who hates his guts would suddenly be in the same proximity as him - let alone let him tonguefuck you into insanity. 

You tasted so sweet.

Yeah, must’ve been some hallucination. 

Months later, your soft grumbles in his ear, and your hand warm in his, swinging playfully between you two in the buzzing aquarium - a part of Satoru still thinks he’s hallucinating.

“Slow down, Satoru! The fish aren’t going anywhere.” you huff as he flits excitedly from tank to tank, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store. Yet, you couldn't help the beginnings of a smile curling at the corners of your lips at his childlike excitement.

“Can’t! I couldn’t show you this last time, even a hardass like you’d love it.” 

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by the breathtaking sight before you.

A grandiose tank - a kaleidoscope of an underwater world that stretched beyond your field of vision. Hues of blues and greens glimmering before you. Marine life you wouldn’t be able to name - no matter how many hours of watching NatGeo - in an ethereal dance across the water.

“Last time we were here we talked about multiverses. I know now, I hope that in every universe, we’ll be here together. Standing side by side, watching the deep blue and arguing about physics.”

Eyes widening at the beauty - and his words - you turn to Satoru, only to see his piercing gaze already on you. Satisfied grin bathed in a soft blue light from the tank, his twinkling eyes reflecting you and the lights and you. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

“See? Didn’t I tell you you’d love it? I’m always so great at these thi-”

You shut up that big mouth - with your lips on his. 

Tender and weighty - as if you two had all the time in the world. And, your hands electric under Satoru’s touch, cold metal of the infinity sign searing into your ring finger - you think you probably do. Because Satoru’s tastes like candied apples and everything you could ever want. A promise.

“T-told you I was irresistible.” 

Confident words, muffled by your lips. You pull away with a disbelieving huff of laughter, and you’re glad you did - because you catch a glimpse of the nervous twinkle in his eyes and the flushed cheeks betraying him.

“You wish.” you chuckle, brushing your fingers over his cloudy white locks. That familiar, easy grin tugs on the corners of your heart, and for a moment - just this moment - it feels like just the two of you in this bustling aquarium. In this uncertain world.

“Sure do.” he whispers, as if a secret - meant for just the two of you. 

“Now, my prez, wanna go to our little booth at the café and debate the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

A/N. Can you tell the title was inspired by Go For It, Nakamura?

Also so sorry for posting only sporadically this week, for some reason my posts refuse to show up under any tags and as a creator that’s really discouraging. But here’s to next week being better hopefully!

Plagiarism not authorized. 

Taglist:

@bbyxxm @maskedpacific @mrs--imperfect @dunixxd @scarammouch

[aquaticmercy]

Sleeper

Summary : When Bucky falls in love with the antihero he’s sleeping with, he offers her a place in the Thunderbolts*.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x antihero!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, sex (a prominent theme but not graphic), cursing. Borderline obsessive behaviour. Congressman Barnes as per the Thunderbolts teaser. Batman/Catwoman-like dynamic. (Let me know if I miss anything.)

Word count : 6.5k

Note : This fic was genuinely written because of the van scene in the Thunderbolts trailer. That’s it. That’s how down bad I am for Thunderbolts Bucky. Reader is an antihero called ‘Sleeper.’ The Thunderbolts are referred to as ‘the team.’ The reader and Bucky first met a little bit before FATWS. I also have a cap! Sam fic coming out soon because my god. I am drooling over these two. Enjoy!

Bucky first heard of your existence in whispers.

He had heard your codename in hushed tones when he got off the ice in Wakanda, after Shuri helped rid his brain of the trigger words that haunted him.

Several of the Dora Milaje had crossed paths with you in Ivory Coast, and they had told everyone in the palace about how terrifyingly efficient—and violent— you had been. They said you finished the job before they even got there.

Your codename was nothing but silent rumours by those on the fringes of the intelligence community. They called you ‘Sleeper’— it wasn't a name you chose for yourself, but you have chosen to embrace the fear that people associated with it. 

You were an antihero, a vigilante who left rivers of blood in your wake.

Four years ago, you started tracking down the same corrupt officials and Hydra remnants that Bucky was trying to arrest.

The difference: Bucky set out to turn them in, you had your heart set on killing them, fast and efficient, as you always have been.

The first time you crossed paths with the former Winter Soldier, it was in a crumbling KGB safehouse in Eastern Europe. Bucky had taken down most of the guards, ready to haul the high-ranking operative to a jail cell in DC where he can await his trial. He was tired, the strain of therapy and sleepless nights holding him down, but this mission kept him focused.

But when he reached the operative’s office, the target was already slumped over his desk, cold and lifeless. 

"Guess I beat you to it, soldier," you said, voice laced with a confidence that made his stomach twist. You let him process the sight of you—fitted black suit, gloved hands, and a smirk that told him you were not only dangerous, but damn well aware of it. A mask obscured your eyes, but even with half of your face covered, he could see how smug you looked.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he said, voice low.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking for you permission.” You tilted your head, the ghost of a laugh in your voice. You were watching him, sizing him up with those sharp eyes that felt like they could through see every part of him he tried to keep hidden. 

“Sergeant James Barnes, right?” You said his name with a familiarity that sent a jolt through him. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Never thought I’d actually run into you, though. Lucky night for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, not trusting this mysterious stranger, though he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. “And you are…?”

“I have no name to claim for myself,” you shrugged, leaning back against the wall, “but people call me Sleeper.” You let the name linger, knowing he’d recognize it. 

His memory reeled back to Ayo and the Dora Milaje, who had warned him of you: ruthless, volatile. A ghost who disappeared without a trace, always a step ahead. He’d just never expected Sleeper to be… so easy on the eyes.

“I didn’t ask for your help.” He repeated with no conviction. He narrowed his eyes at the body. “Especially not like this.”

You shrugged, pushing off the wall and strolling over. “Relax, soldier,” your gaze met his, “I only go after the ones who deserve it. Just because I do it my way doesn’t mean I’m the villain here.”

“Still doesn’t make it right,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of curiosity underneath his stormy blue eyes.

“Then stop me,” you challenged softly, leaning close enough to feel his breath. “If you can.”

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

You grinned, a spark of intrigue lighting up in your gaze. “I’ll be waiting, James.”

And before he could respond, you were gone.

He knew he should’ve stopped you— but some part of him was glad he hadn’t. 

As you disappeared, he felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time: excitement.

—

From that day on, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head. 

At first, it was frustrating. You were hard to track, ruthless—and yet there was a sickening righteous principle to your actions that he couldn’t deny.

As the weeks went by, something else rooted in his brain when he thought of you. Fascination. 

His mind often wandered about you during his quiet, sleepless nights, wondering who you were beneath the mask, beneath the mystery and the whispers.

Sam noticed, of course. He'd raise an eyebrow whenever Bucky lingered too long over case files where you'd been mentioned. He’d nudge if he seemed overly eager to volunteer for missions that involved your typical targets.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll show,” Sam teased once, nudging Bucky. “She’s dangerous, though. Is that your type?”

Bucky scoffed, but he knew Sam was right. And maybe that danger was part of what kept him intrigued.

—

The next time you crossed paths, it was in a dark alleyway, both of you dripping with sweat and breathing heavily after taking down an underground fighting ring. 

“You know,” he’d said, “killing them doesn’t make it justice.”

“You think turning them in is enough?” Your voice had cut through the air like a knife, but there was no malice behind it. You wanted him to understand your line of thinking, wanted him to know. “People like them are everywhere. They’ll get out. They’ll come back.”

“So you think you get to decide whether they live or die?” he challenged, jaw tight.

“No,” you said, readjusting your mask. “But I do it anyway.” There was a flicker of sadness in your gaze that he noticed, even if you tried to hide it.

What had happened to you? He thought to himself. What have you been through?

In that moment, he noticed the pain behind your eyes, the kind of pain he knew intimately. You weren’t just someone who killed for vengeance; you must have had your reasons. You must have carried scars that ran deep, maybe deeper than his.

—

From that point on, Bucky made it a habit to look for you on every mission. It was like an unspoken game, this cat-and-mouse chase. Every time he saw you, the tension between you grew. 

Sometimes, he’d get there first, managing to intercept before you could execute the target. Other times, you’d arrive at the same time. He’d try to talk you out of it, to make you see things his way, but you’d laugh him off, the kind of laugh that hinted at more than your fair share of heartache. 

And sometimes, you’d tease him, push boundaries he wasn’t sure he should cross.

“You like this, don’t you, James?” You’d whisper it low, close enough for him to catch your scent, a faint hint of gunpowder and vanilla perfume. “The chase. Getting to play the hero while I get my hands dirty.”

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. 

—

Bucky grew obsessed, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Every encounter left him more and more drawn to you. He’d search for files on you for days on end without sleep, but all he found were reports with no concrete evidence. He found himself looking for excuses to track your movements, hoping he’d be there to stop you but not quite sure he wanted to succeed.

One night, after another close call, you leaned into him as he pushed you up against the wall. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the electricity charged in the space between you. You looked up at him, the smallest hint of vulnerability peeking through your mask.

“Why do you keep doing this, James?” you asked, voice softer this time. “You can’t save me.”

“Maybe not,” he replied, frowning as his eyes looked down to the edge of your lips, “but I can try.”

That night, he wondered just how long he could keep up this dance before one of you finally gave in.

—

One night, while you were on a caper in Prague, everything changed for the two of you. 

The mission had been bloody, chaotic, and a little too close to mayhem for Bucky’s liking. You had taken down an entire network of arms dealers, setting fire to one of their last remaining munitions blocks and leaving it to burn. 

Bucky had arrived too late, frantically trying to contain the chaos you’d left in your wake, alerting local authorities, making sure the flames didn’t spread to a nearby market.

When he caught up to you, adrenaline ran hot through his veins. 

He'd followed you through winding streets and up dark staircases, up to the hotel you were holed up in. He followed you into your room, locking you both in.

His voice was tight, anger simmering beneath. “You’re careless.” His blue eyes were striking underneath the european moonlight, “you could’ve taken out half the neighbourhood, and for what?”

“I got the job done, James.” You shrugged, trying to look unbothered. “It’s not pretty, but it works.”

He stepped closer, and you held his gaze, “You know, I’d turn you in if you weren’t so…” he paused, his voice faltering, as if the words were lodged in his throat, “Weren’t so…”

Your pulse quickened. “If I weren’t so what?” You snapped, daring him to finish, to admit what had been hanging between you two since the day you met.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you into a fierce, bruising kiss.

You didn’t hesitate—you kissed him back with just as much fire, your hands tangling in his hair.

Bucky’s hands found your waist, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave marks. He pushed you back until your shoulders hit the wall, lips moving down your jaw, then hot against your neck. His breaths were ragged, matching your own, and he was holding you as if letting go would mean losing control entirely. 

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as his mouth found a sensitive spot on the dip in your collarbone, his hands roaming possessively over your back, down your sides.

You pulled him back to your mouth, desperately needing that connection. 

When you finally broke apart for air, his forehead rested against yours. You untied your mask and threw it across the room.

Fuck. he thought as his eyes widened, taking in your full facial features for the first time. You were even more beautiful than I imagined you to be. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought to himself, I’m done for.

He was ready to throw you in jail cell. Instead, he ended up in your bed.

That night, in the dim light of your cheap hotel room, clothes were shed in hurried, frustrated movements, and all that pent-up tension finally found its release.

That first time had been desperate, raw. Both of you were driven by the need to let go, to feel something other than the weight of the cold blooded kills and the darkness you both carried.

Ever since then, every time you crossed paths, it was the same: adrenaline-fueled clashes and heated conversations about morality turned into hotel room rendezvous, hands grasping, lips colliding, both of you seeking the kind of solace you could only ever find in each other. 

—

You’d never admitted it out loud, but Bucky had an effect on you. When he was around, you found yourself hesitating just that split second longer before slicing your target’s arteries and leaving them to bleed.

You didn’t feel the need to wipe out every enemy anymore, and his disapproval of your methods had started haunting you in ways you’d never expected. Maybe that was why you’d started allowing him to find you more often, taking on jobs you knew he’d be there for. 

It was a dangerous game, but you kept playing it. He was obsessed with finding you, and you weren’t about to stop him.

He’d learned to read you better, your patterns, the places you tended to show up. By the time you landed in some city on the opposite end of the globe, he’d be there like clockwork, showing up right before you finished a job, confronting you before you could disappear into the night.

But the nights you spent together were… different. 

You never asked about each other’s pasts; you kept it in the here and now, keeping him at a safe distance even as you let him pull you under the covers time and again.

Every time he asked your real name, you’d smile and brush him off, deflecting his curiosity with a kiss or a teasing answer. He didn’t press, but you could see the questions in the way his brow furrowed, could feel the affection in the way he lingered in the mornings after, with a soft smile in his eyes that made your heart beat faster.

Each time, he told himself it was just catharsis, just a release of frustration for both of you, nothing more. But that excuse had worn thin over the years, and Bucky knew it as well as you did. 

He knew it wasn’t one sided either. He wasn’t blind to the way you’d look at him as he drifted to sleep next to you. Once, he caught a flicker of something vulnerable in your eyes before you put the walls back up. 

And God, was he drawn to you, to the side of you that fought so fiercely, that showed just enough vulnerability to keep him coming back. He was so fucking desperate to understand you better, to see more of the person underneath the mask.

—

One night, after a mission in Manila, you’d both ended up in a small, worn-down cheap hotel room overlooking the city lights. You were leaning against the headrest of the bed, a hint of sweat clinging to your skin, breathing still unsteady as you came down from the high you gave each other.

He watched you, his gaze lingering on the barely-perceptible rise and fall of your chest. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. There was a tremor in your tone, a flicker of something vulnerable that he wasn’t sure you meant for him to hear.

“Like what?” he asked, nuzzling closer to you. His now long hair was tied back in a low bun, your hair tie holding it together because he didn't have one of his own.

“Like you want something from me that I’m too broken to give,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes. But he reached for you, tipping your chin up until you had no choice but to look at him, and there it was—that flicker of affection he knew ran just as deep in you as it did in him.

“Maybe I want it anyway,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. “You ever think of that?”

“This is just a release, James.” Your gaze softened for just a second, long enough for him to catch it before you shook your head, pulling yourself from his grasp. “It’s just something we both need.”

Even as you said it, you weren't convinced. He reached for you again, pulling you close, and kissed you because that was the only thing you’d let him do.

You melted into him once more, you found yourself wondering just how much longer you could keep him at arm’s length.

—

The shift in Bucky’s life had been as dramatic as it was unexpected. You’d never pegged him for politics—neither had he, to be fair—but here he was, representing his district, looking sharp in a suit that cost more than the last few hotels you’d met in combined. 

He’s upgraded. Freshly elected, polished up, all suited and respectable as a congressman, fighting for reform from a marble office by day and for justice in dark alleys by night. 

But tonight, with that half-smile he only gets with you, he’s still the same— still carrying that simmering tension in his lips, his hair tousled from a long night of pursuing you through the shadows. 

After a mission that had you both knee-deep in an abandoned bunker hunting a rogue assassin, you found yourself together once again. Only this time, the hotel he’d booked was far from cheap. 

He brought you to a five-star suite. The bed was massive, the sheets soft, and the view from the window sprawled out over the city skyline, a stark contrast to the dingy rooms you’d gotten used to. 

Now, lying beside him in the rumpled silk sheets, you watched him catch his breath. You moved off of his lap to lay next to him, euphoric from the guilty pleasure you both indulged in. 

“You know, the second someone finds out Congressman Barnes has a relationship with a violent vigilante, you’re out of office.”

He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. “Relationship?”

Fuck. He caught you slipping up. He caught you thinking about a relationship with him.

“Casual sex is still a relationship, James.” You shrugged, trying to save face. You turned to him, with a lazy, unconvinced smile, “Strings attached or not, it counts.”

He shifted, the corner of his mouth twitching as he watched your wall break, even if only one brick at a time. “Casual,” His fingers traced idle patterns along your bare shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Unless you’re pretending you don’t want it anymore.” You paused, leaning closer, “Or maybe you just like that I could ruin everything. That I could say one word to the press, post one picture online and your reputation is finished. You’d be back to square one.”

He chuckled, his fingers grazing down your arm. It was terrifying, how comfortable he’d become with you. “I trust that you wouldn’t,” he said softly, voice laced with that steady confidence, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

His declaration hung in the air, and you felt guilt striking in your chest.

This wasn’t supposed to be part of this arrangement. Trust was for partners, for couples, for people who wanted things that lasted. 

You shook it off, leaning back, a little smirk tugging at your lips as you lifted a brow. “You’re right. I do have a soft spot for you, Congressman Barnes,” you added, the title rolling off your tongue with a touch of sarcasm, “Consider it my gift to democracy.”

He laughed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. His hand drifted down to catch yours, holding it in a way that felt too natural, too comfortable for what you were supposed to be. 

You both knew, despite the banter and the invisible boundaries, this thing between you was already past casual. It was the reason he keeps showing up where you showed up, the reason you’re letting him into your life in ways you never let anyone before. You were both just too stubborn to say it.

He pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a way that feels almost… affectionate. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it, forgetting the consequences, the danger, the fact that this man might just unravel you completely and you would have no say in it whatsoever.

When you pulled back, his fingers trailed over your bare waist. “Maybe it’s more than just a soft spot,” he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow, heart beating out of your chest. “Let’s not get sentimental, James,” you brushed, letting your fingers graze his jaw as you murmured, “You’ve got an image to protect, after all.”

He lets out a sigh that’s part laughter, part frustration. He knew you were deflecting. “Right,” he said, brushing his lips against yours again. 

“You and your image,” you chuckled, “Out there, shaking hands and making speeches about justice while you sneak off to hotel rooms with someone like me.”

He grinned, not a trace of shame in his expression as he turned his gaze back to you. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line. Even if it takes…” His voice lowered, dropping into that deep, teasing tone that made your stomach knot. “…a hands-on approach.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the last person who’d ever get me in line, James.” You leaned closer, though you didn't believe a single word you said. 

There was a long silence for a while. He eventually reached out, brushing a lock of hair back from your face, his thumb tracing over your cheek.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.”

As the city lights cast a faint glow over the room, you lay there in silence, limbs tangled together in a way that felt a little less no strings attached every time.

—

The next time you meet, you were on a late-night operation on the dark outskirts of the city. You’ve tracked down a group of mercenaries. They’re as ruthless as they were careless, leaving a trail of devastation across the criminal underworld. But tonight, their recklessness will end with you. 

You moved through in silence, precise, methodical. One by one, you took them down, not killing, but incapacitating them. Your fists were quick, your strikes precise. It’s what you’ve done for years, a grim pattern of efficiency that never required a second blow. Just as you reached the man who hired them with your knife drawn—a local crime lord—you felt his presence before you saw him.

“Think twice, Sleeper,” Bucky said from behind you.

You froze, heart pounding as you stood over the crime lord begging for mercy. It would be so easy to end this now, but with Bucky watching, you hesitated.

You lowered the knife.

Instead of killing him, you tied him up alongside the other mercenaries, ignoring the questions in their fearful eyes. Bucky made a call, alerting local authorities to pick up the mess you’ve left behind.

“What now?” you asked, walking away from the carnage. You were expecting the usual pattern: another hotel room, a brief reprieve from the violence, nothing more. 

But he surprised you, lacing his hand in between your fingers, warm and secure. 

He had never, ever, showed affection outside closed doors.

“Come with me.” 

—

You didn’t expect Bucky to take you back to his place, but soon you were standing outside a sleek high-rise in the heart of the city. You followed him up to his penthouse apartment. It’s almost disorienting— the polished floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You found yourself standing in the quiet entryway of his home. The walls were painted in light, earthy tones, and the furniture was clean, modern, yet warm.

You glanced around, taking in the small details that hinted at Bucky's life beyond the missions. There were bookshelves lined with novels and memoirs, some old and looked like first editions, others barely touched. A few black-and-white photographs decorated the walls—New York City at dusk, a forest path, a beach sunset. It was an oddly peaceful place for a man like him. Certainly too peaceful for someone as broken as you.

“This is risky, James,” you said, looking up at him as he closed the door behind him, “Showing me where you live.”

“No, it's not,” he replied, his conviction absolute. “I trust you.”

There it was again. That word. Trust. The thing you never quite knew what to do with, especially coming from him.

You studied the way his favourite leather jacket was tossed on a chair, a half-read book by the couch. It felt like stepping across an invisible line. You set your mask down on the table before he grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

“This feels like crossing a boundary, James,” you admitted. You knew he should pull back, give you a chance to retreat. But you didn't want him to.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he cupped your face as he tilted your chin up gently. “What boundary?” he asked.

He knew that there were nothing separating you two. Not anymore.

The space between you vanished as his lips met yours. You kissed him back, losing yourself in the process of tasting him. His hands slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer. Kissing him felt like falling— like surrender.

You made your way to his bedroom, bodies tangled together, a blur of heated whispers and gasping breaths. Clothes fell away, discarded like old skin. The way he looked at you, it was like he was memorising every inch of you.

In that moment, you realised: the boundary had never been there. Not for him. Maybe not for you either.

—

The room was quiet as you lay tangled up in Bucky’s sheets. The duvet smelled like him, unlike the neutral, sterile scent of the usual hotel sheets. 

You’d never admit it, but it was intoxicating. 

The satisfied pulsing in your body had put a hazy filter over everything. 

Bucky smiled softly, kissing your forehead before reaching to his bedside drawer, pulling out a small glass box, placing it gently on your palm.

"Here," he murmured, almost shyly. He opened the box to reveal a hair tie inside. 

Oh. You recognised it. The ends were a bit frayed, the colour faded.

It was the hair tie you’d given him in Manila, a lifetime ago, a little piece of you that he’d tucked away in a corner of his home

You blinked, caught off guard. "You still have that?"

He shrugged, but his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. Was he… embarrassed? "I thought it was... worth keeping."

"Careful, James,” you couldn't help but tease him, nuzzling closer into his arms. “Keep this up and you might just start falling in love with me."

You felt his breath hitch.

He looked up, finally. Nervously.

Instead of denying it, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, warm whisper. "Would that be so bad?"

His fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver through your spine. Your heart fluttered irregularly, your head spinning in a daze as you tried to keep your thoughts down.

No.

You couldn’t let him see that he was getting to you like this, so you did what you always did: you deflected, grinning forcefully and rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, right," you said, brushing off the moment. As much as it broke your heart to deny the truth, you were doing it for his sake and yours. "I'm not that easy to love, James."

He chuckled softly, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin as he pulled you closer, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Maybe that's why I do." 

You shifted away from him, wrapping yourself in the sheets as if they could shield you from what he was offering — and from the ache in his gaze. 

"We can’t…" you said, voice barely above a whisper. "We can’t do this."

Bucky's eyes darkened, but he would be alright. He expected this from you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his desire for you and something else… there was something bigger. 

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly. “I have… a team.”

That caught you off guard. 

Bucky? On a team? He’d always seemed like a lone wolf, just like you. 

“There’s a couple of former Widows, who you’d get along with. Two other super soldiers. And someone who can… phase. Quantum experiment gone wrong.” He paused, “We’re trying to make something real here. And it’s missing someone.” His fingers trailed down your forearm, eventually clasping your palm in his, “It’s missing you.”

He pushed a strand of hair behind your ears, trailing your jawline delicately with his metal hand, “I need you.”

The invitation went unanswered for a moment. You swallowed, caught off-guard by how badly he seemed to want this, how he wanted you to be part of it.

“I work alone, James,” you said, brushing off the offer with a small, bitter smile. “You know that.”

“But why not?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Why won’t you let someone else in for once?”

The frustration in his tone was raw, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of pain flash across his face from this rejection.

“This is your chance to do something good the right way,” he pressed, and there was a quiet urgency in his voice. “No more hunting down bad guys with no direction. No more living like you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

His words sank in, and your walls felt shakier than ever. The idea of leaving the past behind, of actually building something… you hadn’t let yourself imagine it in years.

“Just think about it,” he said softly, placing his forehead on yours. “You don't have to decide now. Just… consider it.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug, but the truth was that his offer echoed in your mind, louder than you wanted to admit. He smiled at your dismissiveness, recognizing the crack in your armour. He didn’t push further. 

You realised that for the first time in a long time, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to say no.

—

The next time you saw Bucky was in the middle of a mission neither of you had wanted. 

Just a week had passed since you’d spent the night in his apartment. Since then, you had told yourself you shouldn’t return. You couldn’t. You were getting too close, feeling too much.

It was getting dangerous.

But then Bucky had reached out to you, voice tight and desperate, the kind of desperation that stripped away all his pride. It was a vulnerability even you hadn't seen from him before. His team was in over their heads, he’d said. He needed you. 

You’d agreed to help, but you’d been careful to remind him that this was a one-time thing. One mission, and that was it.

But then everything went wrong.

It happened so fast, you barely understood how everything had gone wrong. 

You were with Bucky, fighting side-by-side, the two of you moving as if connected by some invisible thread. 

You had taken a blow, separating you from everyone else. You tried standing up but fuck! The impact had shattered your ankle, sending a searing pain through your leg. Your nerves were on fire in a way they had never been before.

You couldn't move. 

You couldn't get up. Couldn’t run.

And then the ground shifted, an explosion roared from behind, and the next thing you knew, a van was thrown across the road, hurtling straight toward you.

For a single, frozen heartbeat, you realised this was it. 

It was over.

You saw the faces of bystanders staring from the sidewalk, their eyes wide, too horrified to look away. You let go of the cold steel of your knife still gripped in your hand. The acrid taste of smoke on your tongue intensified. And the truck—a wall of twisted metal hurtling closer, closer, impossibly fast.

You’d spent so many years brushing so close to death that you always thought you’d be ready.

But now, all you felt was regret.

Regret that this was how you’d die: in the middle of a cold, empty street, surrounded by strangers who would never remember you, never know who you were or what you’d done. 

Alone. 

You thought of Bucky in those last seconds—his quiet smiles, the way he’d look at you like he could see through every wall you put up, the silent crutch he’d offered without expecting anything in return. Bucky, who’d trusted you, who’d somehow cared for you even after everything you’d done. 

For the first time, you felt regret for every life you’d taken, every person you’d left to die in your wake.

Your life had been nothing but survival and bloodshed. You had told yourself it was necessary, that it was the only way. But here, now, with your own death inches away, it all felt hollow.

You’d given up hope, abandoned the idea of redemption long ago—because you were too broken.

And yet, with Bucky, something had changed. He had looked at you and somehow seen past it all. He’d made you feel as if maybe, just maybe, you were something more than the ghost you’d become. Maybe, instead of running, you could have found a way to fight for something real, something that mattered. 

Maybe you could have been someone better. 

You would never know now.

The world narrowed, and you braced yourself for the inevitable, hoping it would be quick and painless. Your fingers tightened, clinging to the memory of him in those last, precious seconds as you waited to feel the impact—

But it never came.

Instead, there was a rush of air, a deafening crash, and then—silence. You blinked, dazed, your heart still hammering, and when you looked up, Bucky was standing there, his metal arm outstretched, braced against the van that he’d deflected away.

He turned to face you, his expression raw, worry carved deep into his features as he scanned you, checking for injuries. For a moment, he just stared, his breathing uneven, as if he’d been the one facing certain death.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice panicked.

You tried to answer, but the words tangled, caught in your throat. You managed a nod, barely able to process what had just happened. 

“Shit,” he kneeled next to you, “Is your ankle broken, can you walk?”

You stared at him, trembling as he tore a part of his shirt and wrapped it around your injury for support.

Bucky had saved you. He had thrown himself in front of a hurtling vehicle without a moment of hesitation, as if your life were worth that sacrifice. 

He had saved you.

You were alive because of him.

Alive, when you’d already accepted that you were going to die alone.

No one had ever done that for you. No one had ever saved you—not like this, not without asking anything in return. Hell, you never thought that you deserved to be saved.

“You’re okay, Sleeper,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was reassuring himself as much as you. “I’m here.”

His words settled into the cracks that had broken open inside you, filling them in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t realised how empty you’d felt until now, how long you’d carried the weight of loneliness, of believing that this life—this endless, solitary fight—was all you deserved. 

Bucky made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be alone. That maybe, even after all you’d done, there was a place for you outside the shadows.

“Don’t call me that,” your voice trembled, “I don’t want you to call me Sleeper anymore.”

Bucky stopped for a second, confused. “What do you want me to call you, then?”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Something inside you broke, raw and vulnerable, and the name you’d hidden for years slipped from your lips before you even realised it. Your real name—your last, fragile piece of self you’d kept locked away, hoping one day you’d be able to reclaim it. 

It felt right with Bucky, like you could trust him with it, like you could let yourself be seen.

Bucky’s eyes widened, his face softening as he repeated it, almost reverent, like he wanted to remember how it felt to say it. 

Hearing him say your name, like a prayer, like it was sacred, like it mattered— tore down whatever walls you had left. He’d given you something you didn’t know you could have: the feeling of belonging to yourself again. The feeling of belonging to the world again.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers shaking. He moved, pulling you closer. His touch was grounding, steady—a lifeline that anchored you to the moment, to this fragile reality where you didn’t have to be alone anymore. 

You pressed your lips to his, but this kiss was different— it wasn't casual or sexual as it has always been. This time, it was gentle, carrying something other than desire, something precious and fragile. 

Something worth nurturing.

When you finally pulled away, he looked at you lovingly. 

“I’ll join you,” you said, the words coming from some deep part of you that had been waiting for someone to give you this chance, this choice.

Now you realised that this choice was yours all along. All you had to do was take it.

And you did, because maybe, instead of running from yourself, you could find a way to make things right. Maybe you could fight for something greater than yourself.

For the first time, wrapped in Bucky’s embrace, you believed that maybe you could be someone worth saving.

—

A month later, you were all gathered around a small campfire, tucked away in a quiet corner of nowhere. 

The night was cool, the fire warm, and laughter bubbled up from the group as you shared bits and pieces of each other's lives. 

“Team bonding,” John had said.

John passed around a nearly empty bag of marshmallows, Alexei poked at the fire, and Yelena and Ava exchanged eye rolls at everyone else’s antics, though they leaned closer together under the same blanket.

Eventually, the conversation drifted, as it often did, to you and Bucky. 

“So… how did the Winter Soldier and Sleeper even meet?” Yelena asked, raising an eyebrow as she threw another marshmallow into her mouth. 

The moniker you had adopted still twisted in your stomach every time you heard it, but it had lost its edge. This time, you felt in control. Like you owned it.

"I have theories,” Alexei nodded, crossing his arms, “but I have to know."

You shared a look with Bucky, a small smile creeping on both your faces. “There was a Hydra agent we were both after.” you began, biting back a frown. “And… well, I was angrier back then.” 

He placed his arm on yours, a comforting gesture.

“You wanted him alive,” you said. “I had… different ideas.”

“After that—” Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “—She was all I could think about. I kept showing up wherever she was, trying to figure her out.” 

“So basically,” John said, trying to hold back a laugh, “Bucky is a bit of a stalker.”

“A stalker?” Bucky echoed incredulously, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘dedicated.’” 

“No, no,” Ava interjected, “you followed her everywhere did you not? ‘Stalker’ is the right word, Barnes.”

“Fine,” he admitted jokingly, “But what can I say? It was love at first sight.” 

Yelena gagged theatrically and John clutched his stomach in a fit of laughter.

Alexei just chuckled and muttered something about “American romance.” Ava made a face, disgusted but secretly amused.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with them, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, looking down at you with a quiet smile.

In some way, this still felt too good to be real.

For the first time, you realized you’d found exactly what you’d been missing all along. A home. Maybe even the closest thing you’ve ever had to a family.

A place where you belonged.

And you knew, looking at all of them—especially at Bucky—that this was just the beginning.

-end

[heegyukeluv]

your eyes only (lhs) - req

pairing: heeseung x afab & musical actress!reader

synopsis: You were used to having all eyes on you; after all, as a renowned musical actress, capturing everyone's attention was part of your job. But the moment you noticed a pair of eyes in the audience gazing at you with such passion, you knew things would change.

my's note: first and foremost A✨!!!!! YOUR VISION!!!!!! please i’m so happy you gifted me with the pleasure of developing this super cute and loving story. i really had so much fun writing it, and i hope you like it too!! also during the smut scene i got a bit carried away by these pics and maybe i’ve dedicated too much time talking about heeseung’s arms 😀 not sorry btw

warnings: fluff, small angsty (but with a happy ending!!!), explicit language, SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, protected sex 💪🏻, fingering, kinda rough sex? (this is the roughest i think i can do, unironically lol). lmk if I missed something!

request: reader is a musical actor/actress who takes many roles in musicals, plays, some movies and so and so forth. heeseung goes to one of the reader's musicals and is enamored by their voice and talent, and of course, their looks. (read the full request here!)

wc: 19k

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire

Heeseung rushed his way out of his car, jogging through the people in the middle of his route to get to the theater as soon as he could, already knowing Sunoo was so pissed off with his lateness.

He spotted the blonde haired furiously typing on his phone with a scowl expression, alone, waiting for him.

“Don’t even start with your lame excuses,” Sunoo stopped Heeseung before he said anything when he finally got to the younger’s side, glaring up from his phone and already hurrying his steps towards the theater entrance. 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung tried his best to sound apologetic, softening his gaze, opting for not making up any justification.

It wasn’t like he purposely got stuck in the traffic at all, however, he definitely was guilty about leaving the house twenty minutes later than he promised, just because he decided to finish up his League game. 

It was Saturday, of course he would choose to spend some screen time doing his favorite hobby. 

“I know you don’t like musicals, or almost anything related, but you kinda gave me your word, so…” 

They both walked side by side, stopping quickly to show their tickets to the worker who let them in after verifying it in the system. 

“I know, I know. And I’m really sorry.”

The lights were already off as the show was about to start, making them struggle a bit to find their seats; close to the edge and not too far from the stage.

“You won’t regret coming, Hee.” Sunoo smiled sweetly, already at ease with his behavior, picking up his phone to take a picture of the glowing set, just waiting for the right moment to start. He wasn’t really pissed with Heeseung, he knew the older one was actually doing him a favor. “I saw some pictures on instagram and it’s so pretty.”

Although Sunoo wasn’t lying about him, he was actually excited with the idea of watching something so different from his natural liking, and the bright, enthusiastic face Sunoo showed made his expectations grow even higher. 

Heeseung diverted his eyes to the theater main floor when the instrumental started sounding through the speakers, indicating the play was about to start, a shiver of excitement running all the way through his spine while he straightened his back on the chair.

The story was being told from the main character’s perspective, as expected. But what really got Heeseung tilting his head to the side and his eyes glistening in interest was the incredible beauty of the actress.

She had expressions on point, as if she was born to be there, happily wandering through the whole stage with bright smiles, looking at the crowd once and a while and acting with pure talent. She shone in between the other actors, drawing attention easily towards her. Of course she had the main character aura that helped it a lot, however, at some point Heeseung was sure that he, himself, had an extra spotlight on her, eyes never leaving her meticulously calculated movements and attractive face.

The way she showed raw emotions from the beginning got Heeseung laughing, worried and relieved – a rollercoaster of emotions he never thought he would go through just by watching a Tangled musical.

He also caught himself wishing for the actress to drift her eyes through the crowd just once more, so she would feel his intense gaze and look at his way, in a very utopic, hopeless, line of thought.

When the said Aurora got the chance to finally sing, Heeseung just let himself completely fall in love, unconsciously sighing as his heart faltered a beat every once. He didn’t expect her to have such a loving, enchanting, singing voice, making his body ache in despair to have more of it.

The final act got him all smiling, clapping his hands with genuine enthusiasm as the actors bowed to the crowd thanking them for watching. When the curtains dramatically closed, Heeseung inclined his head a bit to the center so he could watch you going away, leaving him with a taste for more.

He thought about trying to go to the backstage, especially when he saw a few people lining up apparently to get a photo with the cast, but Sunoo was already walking his way out of the theater and he deduced it had some kind of special ticket to get that.

“Who is Aurora?” Heeseung eagerly asked Sunoo when they stepped out of the theater, walking through the parking lot. He had literal crossed fingers hidden inside his jacket pockets, in hopes of Sunoo knowing about the actress.

Sunoo playfully raised an eyebrow. “I know you don’t like musicals, but not to know who Aurora is, is kinda–”

“No, I meant the actress,” Heeseung hurried to correct himself, blaming the fact he was still in awe. “Do you know her name?”

“Oh,” Sunoo replied by taking his phone out of his pocket and opening his instagram, showing the screen to Heeseung. “It’s Y/N. She’s one of the most famous actresses for musicals like that. I love her acts, like all of them,” he replied with a big smile, gesturing with his hands. 

Heeseung quickly got his phone to follow you after getting your username, not even caring about thanking Sunoo as he slid through your cute feed, shamelessly liking some of them. It wasn’t like you would notice him, as you had thousands of followers and a very busy routine, as it looked like.

And oh, you were so, so beautiful.

“So, how do you like it?” Sunoo asked with a small smirk when they stopped by Heeseung’s car, not failing to notice how the older one got really invested, although he wasn’t much sure if the fixation was about the musical itself or you.

“Honestly?” Heeseung locked his phone and opened his car. “I loved it more than I expected,” he answered with a genuine smile, a smile that did nothing to hide his real interest.

“It’s a pity this is the last one,” Sunoo said with a small pout when he entered the car, sitting on the passenger seat.

“W–What do you mean the last one?” Heeseung halted all his movements to fully face Sunoo with a slightly bewildered expression, who offered him confused eyes and a small frown.

“It’s the last Tangled musical they're gonna do,” he explained. “Y’know, they don’t do the same musicals over and over again. Especially with Y/N. She’s constantly casted for new ones,” Sunoo added, watching Heeseung’s face softening in relief before he started to drive. 

“You seem to know a lot about her,” Heeseung said with curiosity, eyeing Sunoo quickly before paying attention back to the road, the street lights passing by working as a beautiful background.

“Yeah, I really love her work.” He said with a dreamy tone, and Heeseung nodded, since now he was kind of loving your work too. “It’s a shame we don’t get to have more from her here in the town.”

“Hm?” Heeseung's head snapped to face Sunoo, and gladly he had stopped at the red light in time. 

“Musicals work almost like a band tour. They go through the whole country, stopping by cities for one or two weeks, it depends on the demand. This one had a three week engagement here!” He said excitedly, Heeseung paying attention to every detail. His heart sank inside his chest with the now acknowledgement of how your job worked, and the fact that he definitely wasn’t going to see you soon. “But college got me stuck, so I didn’t have the time to come and watch it. That’s why today was so special, as I texted you. It was the last one.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Heeseung said with a tender, genuine smile.

Heeseung’s car stopped by Sunoo’s place, and with a quick goodbye he left, leaving behind a completely silent Heeseung, lost in his own thoughts. How would he feed his newest obsession?

When Heeseung finally got back into his apartment, he cared little about changing his clothes into something more comfortable, sprawling on the couch while stalking your social media for a bit.

He watched your newly posted instagram stories, most of them being reposts of videos and photos from the audience that tagged you into it, saying how proud of you they were, how much they liked and how pretty you looked. 

Heeseung remembered Sunoo taking a picture of the set before the play started, and quickly asked him for it so he could post it on his story as well, using the lame excuse that he wanted to show his followers his most new-found interest.

Of course Sunoo didn’t really bought it, but sent it anyway. 

Heeseung had never felt nervous about posting something on his instagram, especially on his story, a place where pictures and videos only lasted 24 hours. Nevertheless, in the past you weren’t in the equation, you weren’t the main target, you didn’t even existed to him. So he double-checked the small text and if the picture looked good enough to stand out in between the probably hundred others you got tagged into, pressing the “send” button.

“First time watching it. I loved it so much. You really know how to catch people's attention @ y/n ;)”.

As the picture loaded, Heeseung instantly wondered if it was too much, with widened eyes and heart pacing fast, panicking a bit as he paid close attention to how some of his friends liked and replied to it almost immediately, but nothing came from you.

He waited for a few minutes for your possible repost, since you were online just seconds ago, scrolling through his timeline, a chill feeling overgrowing in his chest every time the small red ball of notification painted the top of his phone. Then he let out a defeated sigh as the reality settled in – meeting you was unlikely, and the chances of someone as famous as you noticing an ordinary guy like him seemed impossible.

That night he hopelessly hoped to dream about you and your voice, so he could experience more of your distant, idol-like presence. He was so intrigued about you. Your beautiful features, your perfect acting, your incredible voice, everything extremely fascinating for his poor, weak heart.

Unfortunately Heeseung did not dreamt about you, but he woke up with his phone buzzing under his pillow. 

With eyes squinting, Heeseung tried to understand why he got followed by a bunch of random people on instagram from last night. There were also a lot of texts from Sunoo in caps lock that his mind skipped reading and his everyday notifications that he always ignored. And then his attention was caught with your name.

He expected you to repost as you were doing for the majority of your fans, but you didn’t only reposted. You replied to him, directly.

“Thank you, sweetheart! Hope to see you more, then <3”

“It’s just a message. She probably sends it to everyone. She seems reachable through her social media.”

Heeseung was trying to convince Sunoo – and himself – that your reply meant nothing but a simple, standard gesture from an artist thanking their fans. After all, he was a grown man who understood how the industry worked, how they encouraged fanservices as a way of attracting more people from the outside and maintaining the ones who already considered themselves as fans. 

Albeit his heart danced a different melody than his mind, doing flips just by remembering your sweet words.

“I don’t think so,” Sunoo retorted with a small grimace as he finished cleaning the corner of the cafeteria’s main counter. “The usual?” He asked Heeseung before getting ready to make his drink.

“Yeah, I’m running late for work,” Heeseung replied, glancing at his phone just to confirm that he probably would be ten minutes late to that morning’s meeting. 

“But I think you should shoot your shot, y’know,” Sunoo said with a grin while mixing all the ingredients. “Slide into her DM’s or something.”

Heeseung couldn’t hold back a small chuckle, leaning his upper body on the counter. “Is that how young people flirt nowadays?” 

Sunoo threw an offended glare at him. “Don’t act like you’re an oldie. You’re literally only 2 years older than me,” Heeseung laughed loudly at his reaction, shaking his head.

“I won’t do any of that, Sunoo,” he said softly and straightened his posture. “I’d rather just follow her work from afar. Me being in the audience and her, on the stage. That’s the closest I can get from her,” he now spoke more firmly, as if he tried to ground Sunoo’s expectative – and his own – down to reality. 

He spent his whole Sunday watching filmed performances from some of your old plays, unable to get enough of your angelic voice, your palpable talent, and of course, your gorgeous, captivating outstanding looks. The knowledge that your job made you be constant for a year or less, and then you were away for months, preparing for the next musical, shattered his hope and made him accept that he would have to wait for you to return.

“Well, you do you. But in my personal opinion, you’re missing a big opportunity,” Sunoo handed Heeseung’s coffee, waiting for the charge and the usual tip.

Once again, Heeseung shook his head, smiling and paying for his drink. “Thank you, have a great day Sunoo.”

“You too, Hee.”

Heeseung wouldn’t admit that easily, but he gathered some of his favorite performances from you in a youtube playlist, so he could listen to it while driving through the city, the way to his work sounding prettier with your beautiful voice echoing in his ears. 

As he parked his car, rushing to his meeting, he didn’t felt the large amount of stress he normally dealt with during Mondays, your melodic singing still fresh on his mind, easing the way he handled things through the day. 

The following weeks passed fast with his daily routine; you, still filling up his head in an addicting mix of your sweet vocals and his eagerness of witnessing you owning the stage again.

Heeseung craved the electrifying rush of his heart racing with wonder after you captivated his soul he once felt when first watched you perform, as if he was in abstinence. 

He monitored your social media for almost two months, hoping to see an announcement of your next musical or anything similar enough to give him a chance to listen and see you live, feeling extra hyped whenever he saw a picture of your practice, or other things related to your upcoming project.

He never got so invested in something or someone the way he was in you, especially after just so little time tasting from the source.

During a random Tuesday, fauxing listening to Jake’s rant about his new love interest and how confused he was feeling, he caught himself traveling through his own head, wondering what triggered this obsessive behavior.

Was it how dreamy you looked and sounded?

Was it the fact that he had to wait to get more from you?

Or maybe was the fact you were unreachable, acting like a bait to his delusional romantic heart?

Did he really fell in love with a famous person?

How bad was that? 

“And you're ignoring me again.”

Heeseung blinked a few times to regain his consciousness back to reality, the one where Jake was shooting him an annoyed look and his food was getting cold; the thoughts about you and his respective questions evaporating from his mind quickly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted today,” Heeseung slurped his, now, cold ramen, avoiding Jake’s judgmental eyes and grabbing his phone to see the notification that got it buzzing on the table.

“Oh, you tell me.” He rolled his eyes, before giving a quick head nod at Heeseung’s direction. “What’s going on?”

“Uh, nothing. You can continue your–” Heeseung was about to change the subject back to whatever Jake was talking, not wanting to admit that the reason he got so zoned out was you, although Jake was pretty much aware of this part of his friend’s life; Heeseung being a mess and failing completely in the art of downplaying. But then he saw Sunoo’s message. “Oh shit.” 

“What?” Jake asked with concern, observing Heeseung’s expression morphing from a shocking one with widened eyes and mouth slightly agape, to an extremely joyful one, with a big smile creeping out of his lips, growing gradually.

“Oh shit, oh shit.” 

“What!?” Jake exasperated, almost jumping over the table to try and see what got Heeseung so excited on his phone, curiosity overtaking him. “Huh?” He tilted his head with confusion, sitting back on his chair, trying to understand Heeseung’s overly stoked reaction over a simple poster from a musical.

On the other hand Heeseung’s heart was racing too quickly for his own liking, his hands faltering the grip on his phone as he read the dates for the performances, which were starting that weekend in some random place he didn’t paid attention since what caught his eyes was the theater name from the next week. 

He couldn’t believe it.

You were coming back.

After all the waiting, here was the chance he'd been craving – the chance to see you live again. His fingers twitched with excitement as he clicked on the link to the ticket sales, not even caring about Jake’s bewildered face and questions, too focused on rushing to the ‘buy menu’.

“Oh shit, this is happening,” Heeseung muttered to himself, more to confirm it than to explain anything to Jake.

“Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on or just forget I’m right here?” Jake demanded, clearly frustrated but also amused by Heeseung's sudden outburst.

Heeseung finally looked up, beaming, eyes gleaming with something Jake never really saw before; it was like a child who got their first videogame after years of asking for it.

"It’s her, Jake! That singer I told you about. She’s performing here in like… A few days?" The cool facade he tried to maintain had a fall long ago, his ‘fanboy side’ being more revealed than he wanted.

Jake’s confusion lingered for a second before he remembered Heeseung relentlessly talking about this mysterious woman, the musical actress who had somehow captivated his friend so intensely. He let out a knowing groan. “So, you’re still obsessing over her, huh?”

“Not obsessing,” Heeseung corrected with a grin that betrayed him, his whole expression showing that he was, in fact, obsessing. “Just… Eager.”

Jake shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Eager, huh?” He leaned closer, raising an eyebrow up. “Yeah, that’s what everyone says, and then they spend a fortune on front-row tickets."

“Oh, right. Front-row…” Heeseung mumbled to himself as he got back to his phone, browsing through the available seats, hands slightly trembling as his finger pressed down to choose one of the best seats in the theater – front and center – with Jake’s words echoing in his mind. Thanks to Sunoo, he saw the announcement just in enough time to pick that one, and he completely ignored the price for the said ticket. 

“You’re really doing this?” Jake asked, incredulous watching Heeseung smile growing just before he bit his lower lip trying to contain it, as he leaned back on his chair. 

“I have to,” Heeseung said, finding it hard to not smile. His whole body was partying with his heartbeat serving as the background music. "This is my chance to see her again."

Jake rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his amusement. “You’re so random.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung admitted with a shrug, his thoughts already drifting to the date he would see you, imagining your captivating presence on stage, singing with your ethereal voice, finally feeling every note in the same room as you with the attention you deserved.

He couldn’t wait.

Every time you opened a new show in a different city, your body reacted as if it was your first time on stage, the blended nervousness and excitement working perfectly together and resulting in an adrenaline boost for you to be on cloud nine. 

You loved your job with all your soul. The family-like friendship you developed with your beloved crewmates and actors, the backstage of the plays where you sometimes helped with the props letting your creativity flow freely, the difficult work of memorizing the scenes keeping it to the original at the same time you add a few self-written lines here and there, even the chaos of the quick costume changes and fast makeup touch-up in between scenes.

But what got into your heart the most was the ability to sing your voice out, being the one under the spotlight, expressing yourself through your acting, surprising people with your so known talent the same amount you made them clap for your breathtaking performances – the cheers after every play you finished making you fulfilled, a constant feeling of accomplishment. 

You worked hard to get into that position though. Years of intense studying in college, years of hard vocal lessons you still took to this day, years of working much to be paid less, until fame hit you and things have worked amazingly well since then. 

Now, facing the closed curtains already in your performer mode, you waited your cue to enter the stage and own it as if it was yours – and almost every time, it actually was. 

“Thirty seconds, Y/N,” your stage manager said to you and you nodded.

The new play was about an old film called Anastasia, in which you played the role of the said character. It also featured one of your favorite songs to sing, "Once Upon a December”. The haunting melody and lyrics evoked feelings of nostalgia, hitting deep on you as you drove yourself through it, just like the main character, searching for your identity and place in the world.

The atmosphere your fellow actors and crewmates created while you sang was the epitome of your presentation in your opinion; the created ballroom simulating phantoms dancing around you, so endearingly majestic and graceful, while they, themselves, sang the background, mimicking the lost memories of royalty Anastasia. 

It would be an euphemism if you expressed yourself as just excited, especially due to your practice time on your expressions and voice changes to sound as heartbreak as the musical actually was, expecting the general opinion to enjoy it as much as you did.

You could hear the buzz from the public, showing the same enthusiasm. And with that in mind, you got your cue to enter the stage, fast and confident steps guiding you to your place.

As you directed yourself through the stage gracefully, easily taking the breath of anyone watching you, once more the sentiment of belonging eveloped you with a mix of love and deep sense of purpose.

The cheering, the emotional tears, the claps. You felt the audience's admiration through their eyes as the final note echoed in the theater while you held your last pose, breathing heavily as the weight of your performance resonated in your heart.

The curtains closed after you and the other actors bowed to the crowd, who gave a standing ovation to all of you. Your smile was bright and big as you walked your way to the backstage, high-fiving your co-workers – your friends –, sharing the sentiment of accomplishment as you searched for some water, throat extremely dry after so much effort. 

Before you could even think about anything else, someone suddenly bear-hugged you.

“I don’t know how you manage to awe me everytime.”

You laughed, letting your friend lift and swirl you. “Oh come on, Jay. You literally saw every single practice,” you said with a light-hearted teasing tone and Jay gently put you back on the floor, letting you go from his strong embrace. 

He rolled his eyes before replying. “You did amazing, as always.”

“We did amazing. It's teamwork, don’t forget it,” you winked at him and you both walked to one of the couches, so you could sit and rest for a bit. Your knees burned like hell after spending so much time wandering across the stage. “I wouldn’t be able to do any of that alone, especially without my favorite producer,” you nudged his shoulder playfully, drinking more of your water, making Jay chuckle.

The whole cast and some other crewmates came to compliment your amazing performance, you praising them back and always highlighting how grateful you were to have them not only as co-workers, but as a family, acknowledging the strong importance of their roles during your performances and in your life.

You went through the things that needed to be fixed for the next shows with your stage manager, the small changes in positions for the next theaters the tour would go based on their size and structure, while listening to the equipment and props crew discussing similar stuff.

“So… Where are we going to celebrate our “Anastasia debut”?” Yunjin asked, already frustrated with the fact that all her fellow members were talking about work just after working, you included.

“Don’t you have work to do?” You shoot her a small, playful grimace and she mimicked it, mocking you. 

“I just did it, idiot.”

You smiled big as you hugged her from the waist, pulling her closer while resting your cheek on her belly, before questioning. “Where do you wanna go?”

Although partying wasn’t a part of your overall interest, having some drinks with the ones you cherished to be around always sounded fun, so with Yunjin leading – as usual –, many of you followed her into a small pub, having the fun you deserved after months of work that leaded to that night’s rewarding performance. 

You couldn’t wait for the upcoming ones, your schedule packed with the amount of dates programmed for a long, exciting, run.

“Ugh, I love Seoul,” Yunjin murmured with a concentrated frown as she took some pictures from the bus window. 

You chuckled, quickly glancing at your friend before grabbing your phone so you could reread some of the lines from the musical. Not that you struggled with memorizing the great amount of words you normally got, but you never let the chance to do a double check-up pass; always offering your bestest to your beloved audience was your prime motto. 

So you didn’t even realize when the bus started slowing its speed, snapping out of your focused bubble only when you started to hear a small chant of your name. You looked up from your phone screen, watching a little crowd pass by the glass window waving at it showing big smiles, without even knowing if someone was noticing or not. 

You always did.

Part of your job was to handle an audience, to make them fall in love with your acting and singing, so you could maintain them as close as possible and keep being able to live from what you loved the most. You enjoyed the interactions, treating them with the same amount of kindness and fondness they showed you through cute texts and letters, not to mention their words whenever they got to meet you in person. You tried to make yourself as available as you could, organizing your day to always have some free time to talk with your fans through your social media. 

Although exhausting sometimes, it was a worthwhile endeavor at the end of the day – to sleep with the fresh conscience and heart fulfilled, feeling their genuine love and support, no money could pay that.

When you finally settled at your hotel room, you gave yourself a small self-love treatment by taking a long shower and doing your skin care before heading to the theater with part of the cast to do all the warm-ups routine you needed.

The day carried a revitalizing sensation, your heart thumping with enthusiasm as the third performance of Anastasia approached. This time, however, it was more than special. It was in Seoul, your hometown – a simple fact that worked perfectly as an emotional aura for your background story.

Seoul always held a special place in your heart. No matter how the tour went, you made sure your managers knew that taking Seoul off the list was unforgivable; no matter the demand, no matter how much you could lose financially, you had to perform there. And you thanked your cast and respective crewmates for understanding your request.

While you wrapped up all the final touches from your makeup, hair and costume, drinking your last sip of water, you waited for your cue, as usual, unaware of the surprises the night held for you.

Because on the other side of the story...

Heeseung sat on his front seat with hands trembling and a fluttering heart. Every movement from the crew organizing the set to be perfect made him sweat in eagerness. He was so close to see you again, to witness your charming presence, your divine vocals. He didn’t knew much about the story from Anastasia, expecting for you to sweetly tell him through your performance. 

He was actually absorbed in the story being told, albeit his leg shaking showed his anticipation for your appearance. 

Thenyou finally stepped up onto the stage. Heeseung’s breath got caught on his throat, widened eyes glued on your every move, on your every expression, never daring to let you escape out of its sight; the front-row seat offering him the perfect view of your amazing looks and talented acting, the sound echoing through the theater tingling his ears in the best way possible.

Then your voice filled up the theater. Heeseung let out a quiet sigh, mouth slightly opened, feeling light headed by how gorgeous you sounded – there was it again, the rush of his heart fluttering in the addicting way it did before, entranced by you, this time intensified, stronger, far more passionate. 

As the melody of “Once Upon a December” flew through the air, your beautiful, shooting tone made it even harder not to shed some tears, alongside the couples dancing around you in an atmosphere almost painfully beautiful.

Heeseung was so enamored by every detail of you. How you expressed emotions with your body, with your singing, with your facials. His gaze never left you, following through your out’s and in’s from the stage to change outfits or scenes, missing you every moment you weren’t on the stage.

During your performance, each glimpse you shot at the crowd sent a shiver down his spine, as he silently begged for you to give him one, quick, minimal look, the smallest attention you could offer to him. 

For a brief second, you did. Not intentional, but your eyes meet for milliseconds. Heeseung’s heart skipped a beat; the way you smiled as if it was to him fed his delusional self too hard for his own liking. He had to ground himself back to reality in order to continue to savor your captivating performance. 

From your point of view, something was different that night. Among the sea of concentrated, curious expressions you normally faced while on stage, one particular person kept drawing your attention in a way it never happened before. 

You came across many people watching you, most of them with widened eyes, or mouth open, or a small smile, regular reactions you got from the audience once you showed up.

However, the young man sitting in the front-row flooded you with such endearing reactions; his eyes gleaming with admiration, intensely following your every move almost making you blush. He looked at you as if you were the only person in the room. Soft, tender expression sending a weird mix of reactions through your body.

As you kept doing your act, you couldn't help but glance back at him again whenever you got the chance, trying your best not to be obvious with your sudden curiosity about this stranger who seemed so completely captivated by you.

His reaction was almost adorable – the way his face lit up, as though your small acknowledgment had made his entire night. You felt a warmth in your chest, knowing that someone out there was this touched by your performance.

Through the rest of the play, you forced yourself to focus only on finishing it perfectly. “Anastasia” asked for less of a passion, happy ambiance and more of a sentimental one, and because the spotlight was constantly on you, it was very unprofessional to forget your main reason to be there and falter on your acting.

Nevertheless, each time you quickly landed your gaze on the strange, young – and attractive – man, you couldn’t help. He wasn’t just a regular fan. There was something more in his orbs, something deeper, something magnetic, and you caught yourself having an internal conflict. 

As you held your pose for the last piece of the play, showering emotion through your eyes for the happy ending, you nodded proudly to yourself when the cast prepared to wrap things up with the final performance.

Whoever the strange was, you apparently made quite an impression. And maybe, just maybe, he had made one on you too.

“Anastasia” was scheduled to be performed for three consecutives days, an entire weekend. Heeseung bought tickets for all of them, craving to experience you in all the ways he was able to – with the big stage separating you both, leaving him to just observe you from afar while you did your job.

Your job.

After the first night finished, Heeseung questioned himself whether he was perceiving things beyond reality, maybe distorted, influenced by his strange, yet pleasant and intense feelings for you. If not, he was pretty sure that you watched him as much as he watched you.

He recognized the flips his heart did every time your eyes landed on him, just to avoid quickly and slip back into your character – the need of seeing you again being reinforced by those exact little glimpses towards his direction, a river rushing through his head, full of confused thoughts.

Still, he reminded himself not to get too carried away. After all, you were working, captivating the audience was your job, which you did gracefully, gorgeously, charmingly. And charmed he was, in every possible sense of the word. 

By the second night, Heeseung arrived earlier than he planned, the excitement to see you again swelling in his chest. Though this time he wasn’t on the front-row either alone, he still got a great seat to see you.

“I can’t believe you liked the musical that much to see it again,” Sunoo teased with a small smile.

Heeseung’s cheeks warmed instantly, a faint blush decorating it as he avoided Sunoo’s glance, before saying. “Y–yeah, I liked the musical a lot. I had to see it again,” he offered an award laugh, looking down his lap.

“Right. The musical.” 

Heeseung was about to respond when the lights began to dim, the known introductory instrumental and the storyteller started to play their roles. His heart skipped a beat as his head lifted, eyes following the actors entering the stage as they started to tell the plot. 

Just like before, as soon as you stepped onto the stage, his eyes glued on your beautiful figure. You looked even prettier that day, although you didn’t change anything since last night.

For a millisecond your emotional eyes drifted quickly to the crowd and Heeseung’s breath hitched, eager for you to notice him in order to confirm his delusional state, or worse, do the reverse, making him understand he was looking at the situation using too much of his romantic side.

His seat was not an easy spot to see him, and somehow that comforted his inner self. If he was right about last night, you would catch his presence, his intense, focused, admiring orbs following your every move. Otherwise, he would give up on whatever he was feeling about you.

On the other hand, Heeseung barely knew you were having a strong internal debate every time you went backstage to get out of your scene after finishing it. Heeseung had no idea you were looking for him like crazy, the best way you could. Heeseung couldn’t even imagine you, out of all the actors, would be using your highlight time, singing, to search for his mysterious presence, pretending to look at the audience as you normally did. 

And you found him during “Once Upon a December” as you expected to do, since it was your moment to sing facing the crowd.

Ironically enough, the exact time you sang the line “Someone holds me safe and warm”, you locked eyes with him – caught totally out of guard, your heart started thumping in your chest too fast for your liking as you widened your eyes, then quickly recomposed yourself and fluttered your eyelids shut, concentrating on singing your emotional song. 

Somehow you got captivated by his mysterious, yet gentle aura, standing out so easily among the sea of people, offering you cute and genuine reactions, showering you with admiration. Like a magnet, you kept glimpsing at him, finding it, again, adorable, how he always held eye contact, seeming a bit surprised, and then shyly drifted away. Even after finishing your solo, you couldn’t divert your gaze.

Heeseung, however, was a total mess. He noticed everything, and as an automatic response his heart was pacing fast, his throat getting dry and his mind spinning. It couldn't be a coincidence that you glanced at him that often mid-performance.

“I might be crazy,” Sunoo whispered out of the blue, using the loud sound of the singers doing their performance to stifle his voice. “But is Y/N looking at us? Or better, at you?”

Heeseung drifted his bambi eyes to Sunoo and back to the stage, frowning. “You–”

“See! She did it again!” Due to his exasperated way of saying, his whisper sounded a bit high. Some people gave him a mad grimace, he huffed an embarrassed laugh.

"She's an actress. She probably looks at a hundred people like that every night," Heeseung explained with a low voice, trying to convince himself more than Sunoo.

“Whatever you say,” Sunoo grinned at his friend before returning to watch the play.

As expected, the musical ended gracefully after a few moments of tension and the story finished to be told. Your acting skills shone through you every move, captivating the audience until the last second. 

The lights dimmed once more, and the applause echoed through the theater vigorously in appreciation for that amazing show. Heeseung standed up to clap along, not even hiding he was searching for you amidst the chaos. When the cast bowed to the crowd, looking at them after straightening up to face the audience, a last and steady eye contact was held before the curtains closed, leaving Heeseung speechless, mouth slightly agape.

“Even if she looks at everyone, she had some special eyes for you tonight.” Sunoo said low near to Heeseung’s ear, feeding all his thoughts.

Heeseung left the theater more confused than he expected, trying to figure out if the connection was true, or if all the world decided to trick his mind. In any case, he had one more day to untangle the blended strings of his sentiments, and maybe, if he was lucky enough, the last show would work differently from the other two.

You were removing your makeup on your hotel room desk, Yunjin sitting on your bed finishing her own skin care routine. 

“I know this sound crazy and unprofessional, but last night there was a guy on the front-row–”

“The burgundy-haired guy! He couldn’t stop looking at you!” Yunjin cut you off, saying loudly and too excitedly.

Your head snapped towards her. “Burgundy– Wait, you’ve noticed him too!?” You asked flabbergasted, before going back to cleaning your skin, removing your makeup.

“Of course I did, he was almost eating you alive,” she said, rolling her eyes as she applied her skin toner. You looked at her again, but now with a shocked face, trying to figure out the meaning behind her phrase. “But with love. In a cute way!” She clarified after noticing your exaggerated reaction.

“I was afraid I was seeing things,” you frowned, looking at her through the mirror in front of you.

“Girl, definitely not,” she smirked. “If he shows up tomorrow again, please, for the sake of everything, get his number,” she demanded seriously and pointed to you with the bottle of the cream she held. 

“Oh, of course I will,” you said with a layer of sarcasm, not holding back your grin. “I’ll jump off of the stage mid-performance, hand him a paper and ask for his number.”

Yunjin giggled, nudging you with wiggly eyebrows. “Maybe that’s the grand finale we all need.”

You chuckled at her response, however, your thoughts drifted back to the said burgundy-haired guy, the memory of his intense, pierce, yet lovingly eyes glued on you sending a small heat to your cheeks as you finished your skin care.

When you woke up the next morning, your stage manager demanded the presence of everyone in the theater way earlier than you expected for some practice time. 

As the night approached, you found yourself now behind the big, red curtains with the buzz from the audience serving as a background. You stood in a corner of the backstage area, counting down from ten to one as a mental exercise to calm yourself. 

The anxiety you felt wasn’t the usual thrilling excitement before entering the stage, the longing to shine as the main act from the night. No, this time it was mixed with something else. 

There was a big chance the nameless guy would be in the audience once more, eyes glued on you like a magnet, attracting yours instinctively, in a way you didn’t found too pleasant still; a tall, strong barrier inside your chest making it difficult to ease things while working.

The familiar voice from Jay broke you out of your thoughts, interrupting your now inhale-exhale exercise.

“So, I’ve heard you’re changing your performance for today.” He said, voice laced with playfulness and curiosity.

You turned to face him, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“Get the number of the ‘burgundy-haired guy’?” His eyes sparkled with a mix of tease and amusement. “Or whatever Yunjin named him. Who uses burgundy as an everyday word?”

You shut your eyes close, finally understanding his words. “Ah.” You chuckled softly. “Yeah, the burgundy-haired guy.”

Jay laughed, warm and reassuring, placing both his hands on your shoulders so you wouldn’t avoid his gaze as you opened your eyes. “Invite him backstage today.”

Once again, you offered him a confused look, but now with a strong lack of confidence among it. His quick senses noticed your doubtful expression and added with a soft voice. “Y/N, you’re a human. You’re allowed to feel your feelings. Even if it’s about someone from the audience.”

You kept looking at Jay’s gentle eyes, not even a hint of judgment behind them. “Ok,” you said in response, nodding slowly before a smile tempted to curve into your lips. “Better option than jumping on him mid-performance to ask for his number.”

Heeseung had finished watching you for the third time, doing the exact same things, singing the exact same songs, saying the exact same lines, with the exact same props and cast.

Still he experienced shivers down his spine once you sang “Once Upon a December”, a song that quickly crawled his ranking of your performances, topping all of the others. Not only that, you also seemed way confident today. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, was getting flustered.

You didn’t care much about being obvious with your glances at him that night, sustaining eye contact longer than he expected. Heeseung felt that you were performing for him only, just like he watched you as if you were the only person on the stage. 

You both shared an unspeakable connection in between the play – you, keeping as professional as possible; while Heeseung tried not to run away from your sharp, intriguing gaze.

Despite your initial nervousness, especially without knowing if the mysterious guy would appear again, feeding your anticipation inside your chest as you entered the stage, it took less than minutes for your eyes to find him, sitting on the side, giving you a small, shy smile. 

You made no effort to contain your heartbeats increasing each time your eyes met, allowing your body to feel the wave of euphoria running through it, regardless of your hesitant thoughts about being unprofessional.

Whenever your character demonstrated happy emotions, with your lips curving into a smile, you searched for him as though you were smiling at him. Same thing when you sang some specific lines, searching from his sweet orbs following your figure already. Although the concept of the musical wasn’t necessarily romantic nor suggestive, there were some gaps you could use to your advantage, and you did. 

By the end of your last performance in Seoul, you smiled brightly and big at the crowd, thanking them alongside your crewmates, bowing and waving goodbye; the known sense of accomplishment flowing into your veins, now blended with the excitement for your next move.

As you walked your way out of the stage, before the big curtains fully closed, lights already dim in the stage but bright on the seats side, you searched once more for the man who had charmed you. He was also making his way out of the theater, your heart pounding in despair as if you were about to lose him.

But like you attracted him through your intense staring, he looked back directly at you. Boldly, you offered a shy smile, biting your lips hesitantly before grabbing your manager's arm and sneakily pointing out to who you wanted to meet backstage.

Heeseung’s heart raced as he watched the ongoing scene, mind unable to wrap a full comprehension about why you and some stranger were staring at him, even scanning his surroundings to make sure he wasn’t seeing things – like maybe you were looking out for some other person. Then he noticed you pointing and the other strange nodding, as if they finally understood your intentions, almost mouthering an “oh”.

Heeseung tilted his head, swallowing hard as a slight frown formed when he saw you vanishing behind the closed curtains, leaving him to deal with his puzzled brain alone. He blinked a few times, then shrugged to himself, putting his hands in his jacket’s pocket, even shaking his head trying to recompose.

As he took the exit direction with the rest of the people, a security guard suddenly stopped him by grabbing his shoulder, saying in a low tone. "Sir, you’ve been requested backstage."

Heeseung was unsure if he heard correctly.

"Backstage? Me?" He stammered, mouth slightly open and bambi eyes full of confusion. Did he do something wrong?

The guard nodded and motioned to him. “Follow me, please.” 

Heeseung legs felt like jelly following the random guard into the said backstage, a blurred motion of his surroundings as the crew passed by, some removing the props off the stage, many others wandering around, and then he recognized the actors from the musical talking in between themselves, loud laughters echoing through the small area, some with their stage clothes on.

Then he saw you.

Still wearing parts of your outfit, smiling radiantly while chatting with someone he made no effort to identify – his body perked up with the sight of you, his whole being drawn like a magnet. 

He barely noticed the guard was long gone by now, leaving him standing awkwardly with mingled feelings he couldn't figure out yet. Bewilderment was a euphemism to describe it. 

You seemed even prettier now than under the spotlight, shining on the stage. You seemed natural, although you still had makeup and pieces of your exaggerated royal costume on. 

As you sensed the intensity of his stare, you turned, eyes locking immediately with Heeseung’s. The spark he would often feel when watching you perform ignited again, hands trembling, heart painfully resonating loud on his ears as the whole world seemed to fade out when you started to walk into his direction. 

He was so in awe he didn’t notice you were hesitant, your movements appearing to be slowed down in his vision.

“Hi.” You said softly as you reached closer, biting your lower lip to suppress your excited smile, afraid of scaring the guy off.

Your gaze wandered his face, taking in his gorgeous features; adorable bambi eyes showing you an entire night sky full of stars, cheeks with a faint blush, cherry lips slightly parted. Unnecessarily attractive. 

If you paid close attention, you would perceive how his ears also were painted in a light shade of red.

“Hi.” He breathed out in an astonished way, a sweet voice that made your stomach do a flip.

“I’m sorry for bringing you here so suddenly.” You started, and although you felt a small heat in your cheeks, you didn’t broke eye contact. “I– Honestly, I was afraid of losing sight of you,” you grinned shyly. “I’ve noticed you in the audience for the past two days and today as well.” You explained, after receiving nothing in response. “I wondered what got you so invested,” and then you chuckled, forcely agreeing that your choice of words was enough to clarify – for sure it wasn’t, but you decided to deal with whatever consequences later. 

Heeseung blinked with the new piece of information that entered his brain, perplexed by how sincere you worded it. 

“You noticed me?” He could feel his heart faltering some beats and then fastening again, totally desynchronized. Gladly he could figure out something to say, since his throat felt like closing. 

“Yeah, quite hard not to when you look at me so intensely with your beauti– with your eyes,” you tried to sound chill and playful to ease things, making it less awkward. However, the way you spoke seemed a bit too flirty, not to mention you almost let a compliment slip out of your mouth, and he blushed harder, chuckling. 

“I didn’t mean to stare. I mean, you’re an actress of course you’re used to that, but I recognize I might have crossed the line,” he was strong in maintaining his eyes on you, but the way you were looking through your eyelashes, blinking slowly, so prettily right in front of him, broke down his confidence – in a good, amazing way. Everything feeling like a fever dream.

You giggled, loving how you were affecting him, just as much as he was messing you. Before you could say anything, he added with a small shrug.

“I just got captivated by you.” And he went back into locking his eyes with yours.

Now it was your time to get a bit flustered, still, you held it together just before reuniting all the forces you found internally to say your next words.

“You’ve crossed no lines,” you smiled. “And I’ve got captivated by you.”

You watched how his Addam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the tension on his body loosening slightly, his timid smile spreading gradually wider as though your words unlocked something different deep within him. Somehow, you got even curious about what he could show you.

“May I ask your name?”

“Heeseung. Lee Heeseung,” he responded, offering you his hand. Your eyes followed the movement as you gave him a sheepish grin, grabbing his warm palm, the touch lingering enough to make your breath hitch.

“I’m Y/N,” you replied playfully, making him laugh, holding hands still.

His eyes turned into small crescents as he did so, his soft chuckle resonating beautifully in your ears. For some random reason, your heart started to beat faster, an interesting feeling spreading all over your chest, making you sigh.

“You were incredible up there,” Heeseung said after you both let each other’s hands go, blocking the awkwardness from establishing in between you two. 

“Yeah?” You raised an eyebrow and your lips curved into a smirk, knowing very much you did amazing, but a compliment from a gorgeous man like that easily ruined your confidence and contradictory, at the same time, it flattered your ego. “Thank you.” You said, right before analyzing you and Heeseung were standing in the middle of nowhere inside the backstage of the theater, so you gently grabbed his arm and dragged him with you to a corner.

Heeseung just followed you, in trance with your beauty, with your presence, with you. He also observed that your normal voice sounded quite different from when you were on stage. Endearing, if he dared to say.

As you reached a quieter corner, you let go from his arm and leaned into the wall, curiosity filling your eyes as you bit your lower lip.

“Sorry about that,” you said with a small, awkward chuckle. “Didn’t want us to block the path,” you nodded to where you were before.

“No problem,” Heeseung replied, still processing the sudden pull, the phantom of your warm touch still tingling on his skin. 

“So, besides me,” you said, crossing your arms in front of you, a hint of playfulness glinting in your eyes. “What did you think of ‘Anastasia’?”

Heeseung let out a chuckle, his tongue briefly sweeping over his lips as he took a moment to answer. 

“I loved every bit of it,” his voice dropped slightly and his gaze deepened. Although the known tenderness seemed to be mingled with it, there were more layers on it. “But I have to admit. You were my main focus.”

You giggled again. Second time in just a few minutes together. Heeseung actually felt like going to heaven and back to earth with the sound of your giggles, having to physically stop himself from his hands touching you, caressing your adorable blushed cheeks or landing on your hips.

“You flatter me,” you said sheepishly, uncrossing your arms. “But I’m sure I wasn’t that distracting, Heeseung.”

His name sounded so much more beautiful in your voice – the way you said it was magnetic, with a hint of sensuality and teasing, making his heart skip several beats.

“You definitely were, Y/N.” He opted to play in your game, taking a step closer, recognizing the change of the atmosphere between you two. 

You also were aware of the shift in the air, allowing your flirty, shameless part to shine brighter during the conversation. “I think I owe you a proper thank you for being such an attentive audience member.” 

Heeseung’s smile slowly faded out, his eyes softening and growing more intense, half-lidded with anticipation as you reached to hold his hand. 

“How do you plan on doing that?” He asked, husky voice tickling your stomach, his fingers sweetly playing with yours.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, your nervousness evident as you replied, “Would you mind waiting for me to change? It’ll take about an hour...” 

“Absolutely not,” he eagerly replied, eyes lightening up with expectation. Then he lifted your hand until his lips touched it and placed a tender kiss, as an unspoken promise he would wait for you. “I’ll be right here. Take your time.”

The soft press of his lips on your skin sent a shiver down your spine, the warmth spreading directly into your heart making your pulse race. 

Unwillingly, you released his brief, yet electrifying touch, offering a flustered grin and a reassuring nod while the anticipation grew within you. As you turned towards the changing room, you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your back, never once losing sight of you.

Yunjin met you there, more excited than you by your supposed date, to which you shut down right away saying it wasn’t a date. Despite your complaints, she kept her usual cheerful energy, helping you to undo your hairstyle as you removed your makeup, just to apply something more natural and less theatrical. You took a quick shower, as the heavy stage clothes and intense movements during the performance had left you feeling sweaty and disheveled.

Despite rushing your time, the fear that Heeseung might already be long gone was rapidly sinking in, so you hurried your steps out of the changing room when you finished your things, walking back to where you left him.

You let out a relieved sigh as you saw his figure happily talking with one of your friends, now with his back facing you.

“Oh, so you already met Jay.” You greeted them with a smile.

Heeseung averted his attention to your approach, your fresh sprayed perfume infiltrating his airways. He took his time to check you out shamelessly with his pretty bambi eyes filled with a perfect mixture of adoration and something darker.

“Yeah, he did.” Jay nodded with a smile, before leaning closer to whisper in your ear. “He seems pretty great, Y/N. Amazing choice,” and he wiggled his eyebrows playfully, walking away after saying a quick goodbye.

You felt your cheeks heating up with your friend's words, a faint blush decorating the area, to which Heeseung noticed right away. 

“You look beautiful.” He said softly, loving how casual you wore yourself; loose black shirt, baggy jeans and black converse.

Your natural look would always be his favorite – he wouldn’t admit that easy, but he stalked your instagram like crazy during the first days, so he was aware of a few things about your visual. However, no one prepared his heart to face it so closely, your beauty glowing even stronger now. 

“Thank you.”

He got startled when you kindly took his hand with yours, pulse racing with the sudden intimate touch. Nonetheless, he was loving every second of it, fearlessly lacing your fingers, paying close attention to your reaction. As he expected, you smiled sheepishly. 

“Would it be disappointing that my suggestion is a private bar near here, so we can drink and talk?” You hesitantly asked as you started to head towards the exit.

“Of course not.” Heeseung shot you with one of his sweet, reassuring glances. “I would go anywhere with you.”

You chuckled, unconsciously squeezing his hand as you tried to run from his flirty eyes. “You shouldn’t say things you can’t carry out.” You said, teasingly.

You both reached out of the theater using the back exit, avoiding the public so you could have some privacy. Being famous had its perks, but also a lot of downs, the lack of privacy being one of them. Nonetheless, you loved each individual part of it; since the beginning of your career you built a good community. In your relationship with your fans, you constantly reinforced yours and theirs boundaries. 

“You think I can’t?” He quirked an eyebrow, a sly smirk taking place on his cherry lips. You couldn’t help but focus on how Heeseung appeared even more handsome under the city’s nightlights, sharp lines being evidenced while the fresh breeze messed up his burgundy hair. “Should I prove you wrong, then?”

You got a bit taken aback with his sudden confidence, yet, you loved to see this new side of him blooming with you, allowing yourself to indulge in the game as much as you were enjoying the player.

“Well,” you began to talk. “You have three days before I head to the next city.” 

Although Heeseung’s chest tightened with your unexpected reality shock, reminding him that you were a busy woman, and traveling a lot was a enormous part of your work, he decided to enjoy your presence as much as you let him to, instead of overthinking about your soon departure.

Heeseung waited for you for months, he would wait for more if he needed to. 

His smile softened, still, his eyes sparkled by your subtle challenge. “Three days, huh? I’ll have to make them unforgettable then.”

You laughed, his words sending a pleasantly thrill in your core, excited with his promise. 

“Isn’t that too much pressure?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I like a challenge,” Heeseung shot back, playful voice laced with something deeper, almost daring. 

You giggled at his response, only now noticing he hadn’t let go of your hand since the beginning. Initially, you were apprehensive about the intimate touch, but Heeseung’s presence stirred a surprising sense of ease within you. His effortless way of breaking through your barriers made you feel comfortable enough to be yourself, dissolving your reservations with a natural grace.

You wondered if it was because he seemed genuine with his actions, since the very first night offering you such sweet glances and admiration eyes.

During your walk, you could see through his kind actions how respectful and caring he was, switching places with you so he was the one on the road side of the sidewalk, letting you walk in front of him whenever the space was narrowed by the flush of people, and mostly just by letting you to talk without interruptions.

Despite Heeseung’s ability of lowering your defenses, you still had some difficult thoughts about allowing it too much. A strong part of you were afraid of giving other people’s free access to your private life. You wished Heeseung could prove to you he was worth it. 

You reached the bar quicker than you expected, your relaxed chat filling up the walk as you discovered some of Heeseung’s personal traits and that he worked in the entertainment industry, being the one behind the scenes in the marketing area for some brands. Also you find out that his favorite hobby was to play on his computer during his free time and watch random youtube videos.

Since you knew the place, you chose a recluse seat near the corners, where no one could see you both having your intimate time together.

“I have to be honest,” Heeseung said after he sat down, facing you. “I’ve been in Seoul for God’s know how long, and I have never seen this bar.”

You laughed, grabbing the menu, your hungriness screaming in your stomach. 

“I love it here.” You smiled. “It’s very private and not many people are allowed to enter. Actually, if I’m not mistaken, it’s kind of an artist type of place? Like famous people and, I don’t know, CEOs come here.” You explained, Heeseung nodding to your words.

Heeseung was so thrilled with the whole experience of getting to know you better. He had always envisioned you as an idol-like figure. Your unreachable, distant persona, unallowing his mind to go further than watching you on stage. 

Ironically enough, the natural side you showed so far warmed his heart even more. Your bold humor, your confident actions, how your eyes lit up when you talked about your job and interests – everything working perfectly to make it harder not to fall for you.

Seeing you out of the actress aura, in a more relaxed and genuine setting, only deepened his fascination. The charm you once threw at him increased gradually as he felt his heart fluttering with your laughter and easy talk. 

You both got along like it was meant to be.

“I actually became interested in musicals because of you,” he admitted after some chatting, sipping the non-alcoholic drink he ordered.

“How come?” You asked, interested in the story, biting your pajeon.

One thing you loved about your job was to hear people’s stories of how they got interested in musicals. You’ve heard many, some because of their parents, some due to curiosity, others because of seeing it online. 

However, Heeseung’s one was a bit… Different from what you expected. 

“Oh,” Heeseung expressed with a shy smile, lowering his eyes to his glass, playing with the border of it. You cocked your head to the side, wondering why he went silent after your question. “I kinda…” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, the movement neatly noticed by you. “Fell for your aura, y’know?” He tried his best not to say he fell for you. “Your voice is amazing. And you looked so confident.”

You blinked slowly with a bright smile, loving to see his flustered self gathering all the resources in his body trying not to be so obvious, although his eyes never lied to you. Heeseung’s words and the way his body was reacting unlocked something bold inside your chest. 

You were about to speak, thanking him for his appreciation or whatever your mind could come up with, but he continued. 

“The first time I watched a musical was when you did Tangled,” Heeseung was doing his best not to look at your eyes, afraid of losing his inner battle and saying what he wasn’t planning to. “I was accompanying a friend that loves you.”

“Oh,” You said excitedly, a smirk on your lips. You raised your glass and clinked it with his. “Cheers to your friend then.” You laughed at his confused reaction, now finally looking at you with his blushed cheeks, unnecessarily adorable. “Thanks to him, we met. Isn’t that right?” 

A darker shade of red painted his cheeks as he smiled bashfully.

“I think we can say that, yeah.” He nodded, taking a good sip of his drink, bambi eyes following your movements. 

You leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling with what Heeseung read as mischief, making his heart falter some beats.

“So you’re saying you’re a fan of mine now?” You teased, biting your lip shamelessly as your eyes drifted to Heeseung’s cherry ones. The alcohol in your veins facilitating not only your words to come out, but your actions to be bolder. 

Heeseung got initially stunned by your not so subtle flirting, pulse increasing fast. Then he decided to get on your game, purposely wetting his lips just to watch your gaze tracking motion of it. 

“Definitely a fan of yours, Y/N.” He smirked, also leaning in, your faces close enough for your breaths to slightly mingle. 

“And you’re devoted too. Attentively paying attention to me…” You purred, tilting your head to the side as your eyes softened, totally switching the atmosphere between you too once more. 

Something about the way Heeseung was attractive, had a good talk and seemed to be loving spending that small time with you, was stirring with you, to the point of you moving uncomfortable on your chair because the way he seemed to be so kissable right now was driving you insane.

Heeseung had his lips slightly agape and glistening due to his recent sip, hooded eyes analyzing your expression with adoration and wanting, as if he wasn’t afraid of showing off his feelings anymore. You appeared to be more interested in what he could offer than he was captivated by you, allowing Heeseung to gradually become confident.

His gaze lingered on your lips, the corners of his mouth twitching into a sly smirk. 

“My car is parked in the theater parking lot.” He murmured, looking around before standing up just to sit on your side – you didn’t knew if it was purposeful, but the way he positioned himself  covered your figure, so no one would recognize you. “Can I take you somewhere more private?” He took the chance to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You were flabbergasted by his sudden caring gesture, albeit intrigued by the boldness in his eyes. A small breath escaped your lips as your heart started to beat fast. 

“Somewhere more private?” You echoed, voice barely above a whisper. 

Heeseung nodded, now gently brushing his thumb on your cheek, heating the area.

“Only if you want to.” He added, his voice dropping down a tone, eyes locked into yours.

Your whole body got electrified by the amazing sensations Heeseung was making you go through. 

“Take the lead, pretty boy.” You voiced out as you moved your head just enough to plant a small, tender kiss on his palm. 

Your words were all it took for Heeseung to ask for the check, and didn't let you pay for your food and drink when he did so, despite your objections. You rolled your eyes, though your heart fluttered at the way he took charge so effortlessly, as if the thought of you paying for that night never crossed his mind. 

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to be around the theater still. Is it ok for me to go get my car and then I pick you up here?” As if he hadn’t been a gentleman enough throughout the night, he questioned before you could stand up, taking your privacy into consideration for his decisions. 

“Sounds great.” You answered, forcing your body not to overreact and your voice to sound as normal as you could. “But how do I know you won’t leave me hanging?” You questioned cheekily, though there was a hint of insecurity in your voice. After all, Heeseung could be the most captivating man in the world, but you had only known him for a few hours.

“You have to trust me,” he said, throwing you a quick cocky wink paired with a smirk as he made his way out of the bar, longing his gaze on you before disappearing from the main door.

Heeseung had no idea how those simple words and gestures affected you. Crossing your legs did little to calm the rush of feelings surging through your core. 

You sighed, grabbing your phone to message Yunjin about the change of plans. She was way more excited than you, making you laugh as you typed you probably wouldn’t sleep at the hotel with her that night. 

Anyway, you were also making sure someone in your circle of friends knew your whereabouts. Again, being famous had its downs, and dealing with creepy people was on the list as well. 

You waited sitting for a few minutes before going outside, since you didn’t wanted Heeseung to make the effort of turning off his car to announce he was waiting for you. Gladly, there were a small number of people outside, and you stood near to the security guard just in case. 

You spotted a black car pulling up in front of where you were standing after a while, the window rolling down revealing Heeseung on the driver’s seat with a small smile. 

“Hey,” your lips curved into a relieved smile and you opened the door to enter the car. 

Heeseung felt bad for being unable to do that for you since he had stopped in a traffic place where he couldn’t stop for too long. Instantly you sent your live location to Yunjin, just to be safe.

“I know I was the one who brought up finding a more private place,” he started, a bit uncertain. “But do you have any place in mind?” 

His question made you think for a while. Your hotel was out of question, since Yunjin was sleeping there too. 

“I don’t wanna take you to my place right away.” He added quickly. “Don’t get me wrong. I just don’t feel you would be as comfortable there…” He trailed off, glancing at you for a millisecond. 

“Because you know your place better than me.” You completed, quirking an eyebrow at him with a smirk tugging the corner of your lips. 

“Exactly.”

“Are you a stalker or just a perfect gentleman?” You asked with curiosity and playfulness. 

Heeseung let out a hearty, loud laugh, filling up the inside of his car as he ignored how his stomach did a flip about being a perfect gentleman in your eyes. 

“Neither, I hope.” He chuckled, looking at you warmly when he stopped in one red light. 

You smiled, enjoying how at ease you became around him, the blended seductive and playful atmosphere around you two building up the ideal scenery for you to fall for Heeseung. 

On the other hand, Heeseung wasn’t different. Slightly afraid of scaring you or making you uncomfortable, but still, loving the way you expressed yourself so vividly, making him laugh every second. 

“So… We’re going…?” He sweetly asked after your silence, waiting for your suggestion.

What Heeseung didn’t expect was to see your whole face lit up with seductive playfulness, the anticipation building up before you spoke, your velvety, low voice sending signals straight to his core, as your eyes drenched him in lust.

“Anywhere we can have a bed, Heeseung.”

Heeseung didn’t let you pay for the chosen hotel room as well, to which your body reacted instantly as the heat increased, your desire dripping out your eyes as you devoured him shamelessly. 

His impeccable manners were almost too good to be true, being such a gentleman during the night, leading the way, but only after your consent, after asking you, after you taking the decisions. He listened to your wants and found a solution easily, a characteristic you found extremely attractive. 

It was incredibly refreshing to find a man like him, so devoted to making you feel like a queen, allowing you to simply relax and enjoy yourself without you having to ask for it.

Now, however, you needed him to solve another problem, the one in which your arousal had left your panties dampened and you restless.

Seeing his charismatic interaction with the worker as nonchalantly doing the check-in, the smile after thanking them, the skilful hands grabbing his wallet, his eyes switching from tenderness to raw desire when landing them on you. Heeseung was clearly struggling to contain his eagerness to take you to an intimate setting as soon as possible. His restraintment was driving you wild, intensifying your anticipation.

How were you being so affected by that? Also, you weren’t one to hook up on your first meeting – not even calling it a date, since it was a rushed last minute type of situation. 

Then you remembered. Heeseung had built up the perfect atmosphere for you both since the very first day you saw him.

His beaming expression, eyes glued on you, showing genuine enchantment by your performance and now, you understood, by your beauty as well. You felt more than flattered to charm someone so hot and attentive as him. 

His easy going personality and the way he acted like a true man, demonstrating to genuinely care about you, made a perfect blend of your ideal type – you didn’t even knew you had one until now.

As soon as you entered the elevator, it took one simple glance from Heeseung for you to attach your lips on his, shivering at the sweet taste of his mouth as your hands searched for support on his shoulders. 

He got taken aback by your sudden decision, but didn’t hesitate to reciprocate your touch, eager for more since day one. Oh, he was in heaven by the way you were falling apart right in front of his eyes, because he, himself, was drowning in your presence since the beginning. 

His mannerism around you was flawless, how he positioned his hands respectfully on your waist instead of lower, making you smirk in between the rushed kiss, totally contradictory to how his tongue passionately searched for yours to deepen the touch.

There were no words being spoken at that moment, but so much was being vocalized through his hitched breath and your soft moans, the ones that made Heeseung’s dick twitch in his pants. 

“Fuck,” he groaned and threw his head back when you deattached your mouth just to kiss other parts of his exposed skin.

In no moment you wondered if it was a set up, because if so, Heeseung was a better actor than you. There was no way he was faking his reactions while your lips sucked the flesh of his neck vigorously, as if your life depended on it, not even caring about marking the area as you did so. 

Both of you shared the same thinking: the door needs to open soon, otherwise the elevator cameras would be filming something very intimate. 

Heeseung went back to kissing you, already addicted to your taste, sucking your tongue and lip fervently just to hear your sounds once again. You scratched his nape with your fingernails when you finally heard the sound of the door opening, both of you giggling in between the kiss since none of you decided to move away, stumbling your steps until you reached the room door. 

Heeseung positioned your back against the wall just to skilfully unlock the entrance, pushing you against the door to open and closing it back with his feet.

You took no time to appreciate the beauty of the room, eagerly waiting for the moment the back of your knee would hit the bed and you would finally have Heeseung hovering you the way you wished the most.

You removed Heeseung’s jacket and tossed it at some random place on the floor before he maneuvered your body when you reached the soft mattress, so you could lay comfortably – his strong grip on your thigh and hip sending jolts of excitement to your core as you gasped for air, but never once completely breaking the contact of his sultry, hot mouth against yours.

He wasted no second to position himself over you, the weight of his body pressing yours in an electrifying way, his lips only backing away to place rough kisses on your neck, nibbling your ear lobe as his fingers infiltrated your shirt to touch the bare skin of your stomach.

Your body reacted instantly with the amount of stimulus, arching into him, yearning more and more of his heated hands and mouth working wonders on you. Instinctively, your fingers tugged his beautiful strands of hair while pulling him down, closer, inciting Heeseung to continue his assault on your sensitive flesh. 

However, as your impatience grew, so did your desire.

“Heeseung…” You breathed out, panties already ruined by how wet you were.

“Hm?” He murmured, trailing kisses until he reached your mouth again, his hands still heating the area of your waist as he caressed it painfully slowly, giving you a rush of chills.

You kissed him back, then pushed him away by pulling his hair, searching for his now darkened eyes, filled with lust and a small hint of the usual tenderness towards you. You watched how his gaze switched between your lips, your eyes and other areas of your face, as if he was memorizing every feature of yours to keep them as a personal picture. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” you whispered with your voice rich with desire, your heavy breaths mingling with Heeseung’s in an intimate way you didn’t expect to feel with him so easily.

He chuckled at himself, blinking slowly as he bit his lower lip, hooded eyelids demonstrating how far gone for you he already was, lost in his pleasure. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, planting a sweet kiss on each of your cheeks. “You just feel too good.”

And he wasn’t lying. 

The way your body reacted to all of his touches so far was driving him instantly to hell and back to earth, his own skin tingling with a hunger he never felt before just by hearing your small, beautiful sounds. Heeseung wished to stop time and have you like that for the rest of his life, even if it sounded exaggerated and premature. He developed feelings for you long enough to have his mind working in that way, yearning for every bit of you, with his sharp gaze catching all of your reactions as he always did.

“I want to enjoy every second I have with you.” Heeseung admitted genuinely. You noticed the top of his ears turning into a cute shade of red. 

“You can do that,” you reassured, downing your hands from his hair to his shoulders and then to his strong arms, almost moaning after feeling them tensing under your touch. “But please,” you pleaded firmly with a low voice, squeezing his biceps. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

With a small nod, a sly grin and a brief peck on your lips, Heeseung sat on his knees, the hands once under your shirt just brushing slightly the area, glided slowly over your skin as he moved to undress the fabric off of your body. 

He searched for your gaze before moving forward. “Are you sure about that?” He had stopped himself mid-action for your consentment, and you couldn’t help but smile, finding adorable his respectfulness with you, despite the obvious shared intense, almost tangible, desire.

“Totally.” 

After your word he finally removed your shirt, leaving your upper body covered only with your bra.

You shivered under his lascivious gaze, devouring you shamelessly with a satisfied smirk. He looked drunk as he approached again, brushing his lips on your collarbone and then near your breasts, playing with it over the clothing piece teasingly, looking up at you with his big bambi eyes showing a faux innocence. 

The fresh contact of his mouth and tongue against new parts of your body made you arch your back again, closing your eyes to enjoy the sensation. You felt his hands working its way to free your boobs and when he finally did, you moaned in relief.

“Fuck,” he groaned with a small, attractive frown, as if he was mad with your beauty. “You look perfect.”

You fluttered your eyes open, catching a sight of how dedicated Heeseung was sucking your hardened nipple while his hand massaged the other, eventually switching sides to give both equal treatment, and you also caught him already looking at you, savoring each of your reactions.

Little did you know that while tasting you, he was also engraving into his memory those raw, genuine expressions, so different from the ones he had seen when you were on stage, acting. 

You managed to reach for the hem of his beige shirt, teasing to slide them off. He noticed right away your attempt and quickly helped you by sitting on his knees and undressing himself, revealing to your hungry eyes his slightly tanned torso, his muscles tensing as he moved to toss the clothing piece to the ground. 

Heeseung got shy under your thirsty gaze, but how could you look at him any other way? His body seemed flawless under the room’s dim light, broad shoulders, biceps and chest with just the right amount of muscles. Not to mention the silver chain necklace adorning his neck, which you found particularly attractive, and his gorgeously messy hair.

“You’re so fucking hot, Heeseung.” You murmured with sincerity, your fingers trailing over his arms, feeling the firm texture beneath your touch. 

The room appeared to shrink, the air getting thicker as your respiration accelerated with the view. The anticipation to feel all those parts pressing flush against yours grew, a thrill of excitement running throughout your body straight to your cunt. 

Heeseung acted out of instinct after your praise, as if upon realizing your desire mirrored his own, the carefulness, the gentleness he was cherishing to give you during the night instantly vanished just to be replaced by the raw yearning of being inside you. 

Of course he would still listen to your demands, there was a vivid part of him willing to give you the affection you deserved. However, by the way you cheekily smiled and how your gaze sharpened after him yanking his own jeans and then yours, he knew how you wanted it to happen.

Heeseung brushed his painfully hardened dick on your thigh as he reached for your mouth, kissing you fervently while one of his hands explored your clothed pussy. He moaned against your lips when you purposely slightly moved your leg to grace his cock with a bit more of friction, as a way of thanking him for rubbing your pulsing clit over your panties.

It was a shared intimate touch covering the visceral need of fucking you for good, his inner battle going on about how to treat you, since your non-verbal answer – lustful eyes and smile – didn’t meant much to him to be certain within his decision.

“Heeseung,” you moaned, grinding against the skilful fingers making circles on your clit, the fabric preventing you from feeling them directly on your pussy, making you annoyed. “I want you, stop teasing me.” You demanded, and instantly Heeseung moved his head to the curve of your neck, gently kissing it while pushing your panties to the side to start fingering you.

He collected a bit of your arousal on your slick folds, literally moaning just by the feeling of his digits sliding with ease on your pussy, pressing your entrance with one and then two, loving to hear your beautiful whimpers.

Heeseung supported himself with one arm just to watch your pleasant frown, your mouth slightly agape, your breath hitching, eyes fluttered shut.

“You look so fucking beautiful right now,” he admitted in a low, husky tone, sending shivers to your spine. 

You opened your eyes, a sly smile adorning your lips as you said. “Imagine how beautiful I’ll be with your cock instead of your finger, then.”

Heeseung’s dick twitched against your thigh with your words. You observed his eyes darkening even more, taking in the challenge as his life depended on it, barely giving you time to process him removing all the clothing pieces from both of you, offering the gorgeous view of his reddened and extremely hard shaft, tip dripping precum. 

Your mouth watered, but you ignored your sudden urge of sucking him, since your biggest want was to have that dick inside of you as soon as possible. 

You tracked his movements with your eyes, a low groan escaping from your throat as you watched Heeseung put on the condom and pump his length a few times. The vein of his arm popped due to the motion, making you wonder how hot he would look desperately touching himself, a thought you opted to keep to yourself for now.

“I hope you don’t hold back.” You provoked, quivering beneath his heated body as he positioned himself to enter you, supporting himself with one arm as your hands found its comfort on his shoulders. 

Heeseung looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a cocky smirk.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

His words only fueled the fire between you, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he aligned himself perfectly, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“You’ve set the pace,” he murmured, low voice dripping with desire. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled as a response to his dirty and teasing words, a soft moan escaping your lips as he started to fill you up so perfectly. But Heeseung gave you no time to savor it properly, beginning to thrust deep and hard, yet agonizingly slow, as if he was messing with you right after your explicit request. The playful glint in his eyes made it clear how delighted he was by setting the rhythm, toying your pussy just how he wanted, enjoying a bit too much the show of the changes in your facial expressions.

“You feel so fucking good,” Heeseung sighed with a pleasant frown. 

Your walls clenching around his sensitive dick was driving him insane, the euphoria to fuck you harder and faster rising in his chest, albeit he did his best to control it because he had two goals that night. First, to experience you in every possible way, and second, to make sure you never forgot just how incredible he could be at it.

You wanted to curse Heeseung’s pace, but it would be a lie to say you weren’t enjoying every second of his slowness, how it allowed you to feel each inch of his cock deliciously sliding inside you, delaying your run towards your relief.

Heeseung attached his lips on yours while keeping the deliberated grind, a passionate kiss mingled with your soft moans and hitched breaths.

There was something about the way he was treating your body with such devotion, taking his sweet time to taste your mouth while feeling your pussy sliding on his length, gradually learning exactly how to satisfy you.

His hands caressed your skin with affection, sensing it shivering under his contact, then he shot you a playful look, repositioning himself on his knees as he grabbed a pillow to place it under your waist, opening and slightly lifting your legs, in a way to give him easy and full access to hit you deeper.

You whimpered by the instant amazing feeling of Heeseung finding your g-spot right away, his face lighting up with the new information you just gave him without uttering a single word besides his name within moans.

“F–fuck, Heeseung–” Your broken voice and the desperation in your eyes served as the final push for Heeseung to lose control and speed his thrusts, your knuckles turning white with your strong grip on the sheets. 

You let out a sequence of whimpers, groans, moans, whatever sounds you were able to make, entirely lost in your lustful pleasure, your whole body shaking on the bed as Heeseung frantically and intensely moved his hips.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I’d make your days unforgettable,” Heeseung’s husky, confident voice triggered a new wave of ecstasy throughout you.

You winced underneath him, fully unable to say cohesive words. Your mouth fell open, eyes rolled back right before fluttering shut within a frown. The lewd slaps sounds of him pounding roughly on your pussy making you completely dizzy, his urgent rhythm driving you close to the edge.

Heeseung’s breathing was heavy and erratic, filling the room together with your loud moans as he pushed you near to the brink of release, his hands squeezing whatever part of your legs he touched, your own hips unconsciously grinding to meet his rhythm. 

The knot on your stomach tightened gradually, and Heeseung’s pace became unsteady. The small piece of your mind that still worked correctly deduced Heeseung was just as close as you to his own climax, so you tightened your walls purposely and opened your eyes just in the right time to catch a glimpse of Heeseung throwing back his head, consumed by his pleasure; his flushed neck glistening in sweat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he moaned, the fucking chain necklace dangling.

“Hee– close–” You tried to warn, you really did. But the whole moment got you overwhelmed in the bestest way possible. You barely had strength to think, let alone talk.

Heeseung snapped out of his blurry bliss with your voice echoing in his ears. His eyes searched for you right away, instantly moaning at the view of you, perfectly messy, falling apart, just for him to see.

He leaned forward, decreasing the distance between your torsos. Without a second thought, your hands roamed over his firm, strong arms until you reached his nape, pulling him into a sloppy kiss, as though your body naturally gravitated towards him, like a magnet.

Neither of you could keep on the kiss, Heeseung’s head falling besides yours as your fingernails scratched his back, the urge of your so close orgasm making you desperate. 

“Please–” You pleaded without much thinking, legs evolving Heeseung’s waist trying to help his erratic movements. 

“Come for me, yeah?” He murmured against your ear, holding back his own release just to feel your walls clenching him while achieving your orgasm. “Come for me like a good girl.”

And you did. Screaming his name, digging your nails on his skin, waving your body as the surge of your breathtaking climax rushed over it.

You felt Heeseung’s dick throbbing right before he filled up the condom with his release together with the beautifulest moan of the night, the one where he said your name lasciviously, hoarse and intimate in your ear.

Heeseung’s exhausted body collapsed on yours, his sweaty skin clinging to you and yet you gave no care. Your focus was on catching your breath, trying to ground yourself with your sight still hazy from the intensity of your climax. 

“Holy shit,” you managed to whisper as you kept panting.

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung immediately replied, a small hint of guilt hidden in his husky voice.

“For giving me the best orgasm of my life?” You breathed out, chuckling. The post-orgasm high made you feel like jelly.

He laughed. The sound warming your chest and also helping you to calm down quickly.

“Did I hurt you?” Heeseung questioned with concern, looking at you.

You shook your head in response and he smiled. Your hooded eyes followed Heeseung’s gorgeous figure, going quickly to the bathroom to discard the condom and back to the bed, laying down next to you.

“I wasn’t planning on going that hard with you at first, but–”

“Yes, you were.” You interrupted with a playful smile. “And I’m glad you did. It was amazing, Heeseung,” the compliment slipped out of your mouth with ease as you caressed his hair and then his face.

Heeseung let out what sounded like a relieved sigh, as he pressed a peck on your cheek, then the corner of your lips before sucking your lower lip and kissing you properly. 

“It was my pleasure, Y/N.” He whispered against your mouth, kissing you again with a sweetness that seemed impossible after what just happened, but you knew it was real, because he offered you the same tenderness since day one through his eyes.

You found yourself snuggling on his chest and he hugged you warmly. There was something in Heeseung's acts that exhaled intimacy in a way it scared you, knowing deep down if he kept treating you like that, you would inevitably grow attached to his presence. 

You got lost in your thoughts for a while, torn in between the warmth of his body touching you with care and the sinking feeling of his inevitable departure. Although Heeseung seemed to be an amazing man, nothing would stop him from simply leaving, especially when there was no mention of commitment from any of you or whatsoever.

Nonetheless, Heeseung's connection with you appeared to grow stronger each second you spent together, because his first words after the long silence were “Can I get your number?”

You lifted your head from his torso, a bit flabbergasted by his sudden, unexpected question. You had to blink a few times and watch his bambi eyes show you curiosity with your reaction to know he wasn’t messing around. 

“Sure. If you promise not to leak it out.” The only answer he offered you was his pinky for a pinky promise, to which you took in with a serious face. “You can’t break it, yeah?” And he laughed.

“Cross my heart, I won’t.”

The following three days felt like something in between a k-drama and a fever dream – too perfect to feel real. 

Heeseung had work during the mornings and the afternoons, meaning he couldn’t be with you the whole day – unwillingly, of course. To which you thought it was great, since it allowed you to hang out with Yunjin and Jay, and also to concentrate on your job, rehearsing for the next performances alongside your castmates, warming up your vocals with your teacher, re-reading the lines just in case. 

However, the anticipation tightened in your stomach with every buzz of your phone with a notification, heart racing reading Heeseung’s name on the screen. 

“I wanna see you soon.” “Can’t wait for tonight.” “Missing your pretty face, ngl.”

His simple texts did no good to help your inner battle, nor his perfect mannerism for caring about your health, your voice, your sleeping, the small things that sometimes neither you cared that much.

The fear of getting attached extremely fast to someone and having your heart broken was almost suffocating, and somehow Heeseung managed to wipe your thoughts away within every encounter.

There weren’t too many after the night you spent together, but each had a distinctive situation that deepened your connection.

Monday, he picked you up at your hotel after work for a small dinner at his favorite restaurant. You found yourself thirsting over his extremely good looking figure when he showed up in a simple, yet mesmerizing black button-down shirt with the first three buttons undone revealing a hint of his tanned skin beneath, and his usual heart-melting smile.

“Ready for tonight?” He asked you with a beaming face that filled your heart with warmth and a cocky grin that later on, led you to ride his dick until your legs burned after you both reached the chosen hotel for the night. 

You were nothing but astonished with how deeply invested you got in Heeseung, longing for his presence every minute. The chemistry between you both was electric, the sexual tension almost palpable pairing in the air, blended perfectly with the easygoing atmosphere you always shared. Heeseung fulfilled your desires easily, as though he was reading his favorite book – you – knowing every line by heart. 

The second time you met was in the middle the following day, when he decided to spend his lunch hour with you, sharing a meal as you casually chatted about everything. Heeseung had a comforting way of listening to you with softened and attentive eyes, nodding along, occasionally adding his own point of view with a relaxed charm. Not to mention how smart he sounded as he talked with his soft tone and how beautiful his laughter sounded when he genuinely enjoyed a joke. 

“I didn’t know you enjoyed cooking that much,” he remarked at some point, his eyes lightening up after you shared your hobby of experimenting out new foods just to get their recipes and try doing it by yourself in your kitchen every once and a while during your free time.

You had no idea connections could be developed so quickly with someone as you did with Heeseung, how your energies and personalities complemented in a way that made every interaction feel effortless, as if words didn’t needed to be fully spoken in order to understand each other.

Later the same day, Heeseung met you at night again. He timidly admitted he hadn’t prepared much for the evening, but ended up making you the happiest woman on the earth by driving you both to a dinosaur museum exhibition after learning your fascination with them.

As you explored the exhibit, your eyes sparkled with excitement, and Heeseung couldn’t help but smile at your enthusiasm. You animatedly explained the different species ignoring completely the small text next to every skeleton – Heeseung doing the same, since listening to your voice sounded way more interesting than reading.

Your tone raised with joy as you pointed out the massive skeleton of the stegosaurus, eyes gleaming with love, your big smile making Heeseung’s heart falter some beats. 

“You look so cute,” Heeseung said, chuckling softly, his hands hidden in his jacket’s pocket while tenderly watching you bouncing on your feet.

You beamed back at him. “It’s so interesting and cool to imagine those big boys walking on earth before us. Like, we are not literally, but somehow stepping on places they once stepped too.”

Heeseung’s gaze lingered on your glowing figure and at that moment, he recognized. He fell in love with you.

Not only for the talented actress on the stage, the amazing singer with an angelic voice, the famous performer who loved her fans with her whole heart.

Heeseung fell mainly for the genuine, happy, confident and warm woman in front of him. The one who easily sent chills through his spine just for laughing at his stupid jokes. The one who made the air thicker with her strong presence, just to stumble on her own legs and chuckle at it. The one who knew what she wanted and how she wanted. The one who secretly shared she was good at painting and handicrafts. 

He could spend nights in hotel rooms hearing your moans and pants, feeling your intimate touches, kissing you mouth and any other place on your body he wanted to, but nothing compared to the fulfillment feeling spreading inside his chest when seeing you so pure, with raw emotions like that. 

That night ended up like a date. He left you at your hotel and went home after kissing you slowly and tenderly at the entrance of the building, wishing you a good night's sleep and for you to take care.

It was your last day in Seoul before heading to the next city with the musical, and the bittersweet feeling weighed heavily on your heart. You were struggling with the drowning sentiment of leaving Heeseung behind, the idea of not knowing when, or even if he wanted to keep on seeing you made the lump in your throat hard to swallow.

Your insecurities grew heavier each second before the encounter. You hoped for Heeseung to come up with the sweet sorrow and necessary conversation first, since your messy, anxious thoughts did nothing to help you go through it without assuming the worst.

“Hi, pretty.” His sudden appearance startled you, drawing your gaze from the distant random point on the street you were staring at. “Sorry,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, his hands finding their comfort place on your waist, grounding you.

A smile spreads across your face, eyes brightening up with relief.

“Hi.” You greeted back, leaning to kiss him on the lips, pouring all the affection you felt into that simple gesture. 

You wished Heeseung could sense how deep you were falling for him, quickly becoming a vital part of your daily life in such a small amount of time.

“Are you okay?” He asked with concern, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead. “You seemed a bit oblivious.”

You shook your head, not only as a response to his question but to wipe away your confused thoughts. 

“I’m better now.” You said, which wasn’t a lie.

“Great,” Heeseung whispered with a smile against your head before kissing the top of it and then held your hand to walk you to his car. “I’ve prepared something different for today.” He said with a cheekily grin, the playful glint on his gaze making you squint your eyes, suspicious. He laughed at your reaction, then you quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?” You smirked, curiosity instantly replacing your melancholic inner thoughts.

“I hope you like it.” He kissed the back of your hand before opening the car door for you to enter.

The drive was calm, Heeseung eased your mind without even noticing he did. Just the smell of his cologne and his warm touches on your thigh whenever he stopped at a red light, and the habitual chatting that got you invested with ease worked perfectly to sooth you. 

At some point Heeseung nonchalantly revealed he was applying to switch to work remotely, and you genuinely cheered since for the last few days he complained about the amount of hours he had to drive, and the home-office modality helped him to have more free time. 

His own information faded out by himself in the following conversation as he changed topics, you barely noticed his sly expression whenever he glimpsed at your yapping figure, gesturing about how annoyed you felt when you had to do group work during your college. 

“What’s that?” Your eyes sparkled with the colorful atmosphere you were approaching, your whole body perking up as you watched some stalls passing by the window as Heeseung searched for a place to park.

Heeseung chuckled, drifting his eyes between the road and you, but not answering your question.

Then the realization hits. You shot Heeseung with one of your bright smiles, that got him almost giggling just by seeing it.

“You’re insane.”

“I thought it could be a good place for you to learn some recipes.”

And just like that, you fell even harder for him.

Heeseung took you to a cozy outdoor market filled with food stalls, a few street foods trucks and local artisans. The atmosphere was lively, with music playing in the background and laughter echoing around you.

As you stepped out of the car with his help, the scents of diverse foods flooded your airways and you almost groaned with pleasure, your stomach growling with hunger as your mouth watered. 

Heeseung held your hand the whole time you wandered from stall to stall, not even knowing where to start, but sampling everything from savory snacks to sweet treats, your senses dancing with the flavors and scents, doing some random love shots with Heeseung. 

He didn’t complained a second about the constant walking. To watch you lose yourself while tasting things, making pleasant frowns and doing little dances whenever you liked something, paid back any sore he would have to deal with on the next day.

Some people recognized you, asking for a picture to which you politely declined, and Heeseung instantly gave you a confused look, since you usually made time to give them a little attention.

You searched for a free table for you both to sit, and as you stared at the three delicious small dishes in front of you not knowing which one to prove first, Heeseung spoke up.

“Isn’t that your favorite?” And then he pointed to the tteokbokki, after reading your indecisive frown, biting his own food. “Start with this one.”

You looked up at him with shock, then your gaze softened. It was Heeseung after all, the man who paid attention to every detail of you. However, your still pulse increased, your cheeks heating. 

“Can I ask you something?” His voice broke the silence after a while again, and you nodded. “Is there a reason for you to refuse to take pictures with your fans today?” 

The question sounded curious, genuine at it most, free from the weight of any judgments. Heeseung was trying to understand your decision rather than impose his opinion on it.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” you explained softly, wiping your mouth with a napkin. 

He tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing. “How does that make me uncomfortable?” 

You shrugged, taking a bite of your corn dog before answering. “I don’t know. People who hang out with me that aren’t from my area often don't feel comfortable whenever I stop to talk to my fans.”

Heeseung raised his eyebrows, a bit taken aback by the revelation. Of course people had their rights of being uncomfortable with certain situations, however, being friends with you meant knowing your personality and how much you enjoyed those small interactions. So it sounded a bit odd to hear you say that.

“Well, I don’t mind at all.” He said with a gentle smile. “Actually, it’s sweet to see you interacting with them.” 

Your lips curved into a genuine smile at Heeseung’s reassuring words, especially because at some point he was a fan of yours, so to hear his mind on that conversation hit slightly deeper.

“Thanks, it means a lot.” You mumbled. “But if you ever feel awkwardly left out–

“No.” He shushed you with a portion of his food, shoving into your mouth with a playful laugh, making you roll your eyes and giggle.

The rest of the night went as comfortably as possible, filled with laughter and playful teasing moments. The thought of your departure on the next day haunted both of you, but you managed to brush away whenever your eyes met, the atmosphere softening again. 

After you finished eating and drinking, Heeseung guided you to a quiet, secluded spot near the market. It was a small lake in the middle of a park, where a few other couples shared intimate affection as well.

Heeseung wrapped his arms around you from behind as you held on the railing overlooking the water. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his warm and soothing embrace caused a heavy sigh to escape your lips, and tears began to sting the corner of your eyes.

“You know, it's always good to come back home.” You murmured, voice tinged with nostalgia while you admired the peaceful view. Gently resting your back on Heeseung’s chest, you added. “And it's always bittersweet when I have to leave.” Your voice got stuck in your throat, heart pounding in uncertainty for your following days. “It became so much harder to leave now, Heeseung.” You admitted with a trembling voice, the tears quietly slipping down your cheeks

You felt Heeseung’s sweet lips touching your neck to place a gentle kiss before he turned you to face him. Kind hands caressing your face, cozy eyes eveloping your words with warmth and understanding. You felt loved. And it was hurting so much.

Heeseung cleaned your tears with his thumb, pressing soft kisses to your eyelids afterward.

“We can find a way,” he whispered, his own voice failing to stay steady. “I’m too attached to you at this point.” He admitted with a shy smile. “I know I said I’d make your days unforgettable, but now I’m the one who is unable to forget you. And I don’t want to even try forgetting you.”

A wave of relief rushed your body, happy for being on the same page, glad that Heeseung listened to you, overjoyed he shared similar feelings. You sobbed, snuggling closer to his body in order to feel him more, burying your face on his neck, the scent making you cry even harder. 

Heeseung hugged you tightly, yet, gently, his arms involving you in a fond, safe bubble.

“I can visit you during my free time,” he said to reassure you.

“I’ll come to visit you too.” Your voice came out muffled due to your position, so you reluctantly pulled away from his embrace to search for his eyes. They were red, as if he was holding back his own tears. “I mean, I don’t live too far from here, the problem is my work–”

Heeseung silenced you by attaching his lips on yours, not wanting to hear your “but’s” and worries at the moment. He wanted to envision a good future for both of you, and also he was taking advantage to kiss you once more.

The shared touch was laced with an anticipated longing, slow and bittersweet, still full of affection. Your breath hitched while mingling with the soft sounds of contentment, hands exploring each other’s bodies, cherishing every inch before the inevitable departure of yours.

“I’m afraid you won’t get used to my work,” you whispered, relieving one of your biggest insecurities when Heeseung broke the contact to catch his breath.

“What do you mean?” He asked, slightly breathless, mind hazy from your kiss. God, he really wished you both managed a way to get back together, if not he would go insane without your sweet lips.

“It’s a demanding job, as you know.” You explained, playing with his ear lobe. Heeseung closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “I’m always traveling, I’m always going to places, constantly on the move… Even visiting can be difficult.”

“I know,” he replied softly, still not exactly understanding your full point. Yes, he would miss you, but he was sure it could be managed.

Despite, from the start he knew you were a busy woman, barely having time to yourself as you told him a few times. And he was willing to adjust some things in his life if that meant having you by his side. 

Heeseung didn’t said anything more, making you wonder. Would he back off after all of that? Or that meant he was fully devoted?

“And it doesn’t bother you?” You asked. 

“No,” he replied sincerely, opening his eyes just to lock them onto yours, as he brushed a little strand of hair from your face before he cupped one of your cheeks. “It’ll not. If you promise you’ll always come back to me.”

And you would. After all, by the end of the day, all you could see was his eyes only.

Heeseung grew attached to watch you. Not only when owning the stage and captivating the audience with your talented acting skills, but in any other moment as well.

His eyes followed your every move, from the moment you frowned while waking up to the moment you fell on his arms, panting after him fucking you hard.

Yeah, you both managed ways of getting back together, with his now remote work, traveling around with you became easy. He missed his friends every once, and that led you both to constantly go back to Seoul and spend some days visiting, especially to see Jake and Sunoo, who freaked out when he discovered – through instagram! – his friends were dating one of his biggest inspirations. 

Now, in your brand new purchased shared apartment, Heeseung eyes tracked you wetting your lips while humming the melody of your upcoming musical, while doing some work on your computer. It was a routine he definitely could get used to.

And as always, you felt the sweet weight of his gaze, smiling even before searching for him.

“What?” you asked, laughing at how Heeseung positioned himself beside you on the couch; his cheek resting on his hand, elbow propped on the armrest, as he shot you a lovestruck expression – soft smile and tender eyes. 

“I love you.” 

Months ago, those words would have taken you by surprise.

You remember vividly how flustered you became, heart racing, stuttering on your own words, unable to cohesively say anything back. Heeseung joked about how an amazing actress managed to lose composure and not talk like that, and after you slapped his shoulder playfully, you kissed him passionately, mumbling what could have been a ‘I love you too’.

This time it didn’t surprise you, still, left you momentarily speechless. You would never get used to the electrifying wave washing over your body whenever you heard Heeseung declaring his love for you.

Just like you always did, you felt the heat rising to your cheeks under his intense gaze. Closing your computer, you leaned closer, settling yourself comfortably on his lap.

“I love you too, Hee,” you replied softly and sincerely.

You smiled, before kissing him.

Heeseung’s embrace was your heaven. Heeseung’s lips were your hell. And in between that, he kept his eyes on you. Always.

[starkwlkr]

pretty in pink | logan howlett

an: this comes straight from my delusional mind

dad!logan (you can choose if you want this to be an old man logan fic!!)

All week your daughter, Ada, had been reminding everyone about her sixth birthday that was coming up. She made sure you and Logan marked it on every calendar in the house. During dinner, all she talked about was her pink princess themed party.

“And the cake has to be pink!” She said for the hundredth time. She sat in her chair at the table completely forgetting she was supposed to be eating her spaghetti.

“We know, bub. You told us everyday before and after school.” Logan said.

“I told the girls in my class to come too. They said they wouldn’t come because we’re freaks.” Her excitement about the party died down.

Laura, now a teenager, gave her sister an encouraging smile. “They’re the freaks. You’re the coolest girl in school. That means we get to have all the cake.” That earned a laugh from Ada. Logan chuckled, it warmed his heart to see his daughter’s bond.

“Your party is going to be the best, my love,” You stood up and grabbed your and Logan’s plate that were now empty. “Finish up and then get ready for bed, both of you.” You walked to the kitchen sink and began to wash the dishes.

Laura immediately challenged Ada to see who could finish their spaghetti first. After a scolding from their parents, Laura let Ada win. Soon, the sisters raced upstairs to get ready for bed.

As you and Logan finished cleaning, you couldn’t help but think about your little girl. Your sweet innocent little girl didn’t deserve to be called a freak. Your thoughts were interrupted when a car pulled up to your driveway. You weren’t expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.

“Stay here.” Logan said to you after he wiped his hands on a dish rag. He walked out the door ready to confront whoever it was. The car’s headlights were blinding him, but once he heard the familiar voice call his name, he put away his claws.

Inside you were still wondering who it was. Before you could join Logan outside, Ada had run down the stairs already in her princess pajamas.

“Mommy, who’s outside?” She asked you. Her question was answered when Logan walked in with Rogue by his side. Ada screamed in excitement when she saw her other sister. “You’re here! You’re here!” The little girl ran to Rogue and gave her a welcoming hug.

“I wouldn’t want to miss your princess party.” Rogue picked up the girl.

“Are you going to sleep in my room? Dad got some new books for me!”

“Oh you bet we’re going to stay up all night reading those books! I’ll be up in a few, let me talk to mom and dad for a sec,” Rogue set her down. The adults watched as Ada happily skipped up the stairs to her room. “Alright, what’s wrong?” She looked at you and Logan.

“What? Nothing wrong, why are you asking?” Logan asked surprised by her question.

Rogue knew she wasn’t going to get a straight answer from Logan so she looked at you. You sighed and told your daughter the truth. You were nervous about Ada’s party. A few of her classmates did tell her they were attending, but you were convinced they were only coming to make fun of her and ruin her big day.

“Those little shits ain’t going ruin my girl’s party.” Logan added.

“Honey, those little shits are first graders.” You corrected him.

“Little shits or not, Logan’s right. This is Ada’s party and she’s going to have the best damn princess party in the world.” Rogue declared. Before she left, she gave you and Logan a kiss on the cheek then walked up the stairs to Ada’s room.

Logan noticed that you still had a concerned look on your face. “Hey, Ada is going to be okay.”

“I just don’t want my little girl to get hurt.” You said.

“I won’t let anything or anyone hurt any of my girls.” Logan reminded you.

With that, you and Logan finished cleaning and went up to Laura’s room to say goodnight. As you reached Ada’s room, you saw her and Rogue already asleep. You quietly took the book out of Rogue’s hand and put it back on the bookshelf then adjusted the blanket over your daughters. You gave them both a goodnight kiss and left the room.

In the morning, Ada was the first to wake up. She ran to yours and Logan’s room as fast as she could and jumped on to the bed screaming that it was her birthday. Logan groaned since she had landed on his stomach.

“Wake up! It’s my birthday!” She giggled as Logan sat up and brought her into his arms.

“How old are you today? Eighty? Ninety seven?” He watched as Ada’s smile dropped.

“No, that’s you!”

You were trying so hard to hold in your laugh, but failed. Logan playfully rolled his eyes. It was Ada’s day, he wasn’t going to get mad at her on her special day.

“Okay birthday girl, I believe your sisters promised a special birthday breakfast just for you.” Logan told Ada.

The now six year old gasped as soon as she heard ‘special breakfast’. She immediately jumped off the bed and ran downstairs to the kitchen where Laura and Rogue were making breakfast.

Logan sighed deeply and rolled over to his side, his eyes meeting yours. “Remember . . . Everything is going to be okay today.”

You hummed in response.

Eventually you and Logan joined the girls in the kitchen. Laura and Ada were throwing grapes into each others mouth while Rogue laughed at them failing miserably. Ada had thrown a grape so far from Laura that it hit Logan’s head when he walked in.

“Ada! You hit an elderly man!” Rogue teased.

“Kids.” Logan rolled his eyes yet again.

As a family you all sang happy birthday to Ada as Rogue placed a stack of pancakes topped with whipped cream and Ada’s favorite fruits. The little girl’s smile brought joy to her family.

“Wait, let me get the camera!” You ran to the cabinet that had random items inside. You grabbed the camera and snapped a couple of pictures of your girls and Logan.

It was a beautiful start to a beautiful day.

As the day went on, Rogue and Laura helped decorate the backyard with princess themed decorations. Ada was too busy running around in her pink princess dress to help. Logan was inside blowing up balloons until members of the x-men started showing up.

“Is that the big bad wolverine in a plastic tiara?” Scott Summers chuckled at the sight of Logan wearing a tiara that Ada had given him.

“Watch it, I don’t want you bleeding all over my daughter’s party when I—” Before Logan could finish, Ada joined them with more tiaras in hand. She gave one to every member telling them they couldn’t enter her party if they didn’t wear it.

And that’s how Scott Summers ended up with a plastic pink tiara on his head.

Ada was enjoying her party so far. A couple of classmates did end up attending. You saw as they played on the swing set that Logan had bought for Ada for her last birthday.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Logan said as he stood beside you.

“Hey,” you relaxed more when he was close to you. “Did you see the big box Storm brought for Ada? I bet it’s a big doll house.”

“You’re wrong. It’s definitely a large case of beer for me and you to enjoy when our girls are passed out.”

You chuckled. “After this, no more parties until next year.” You placed a kiss on his lips.

“Whatever you say . . .” He got another kiss in before Ada came running to you with a butterfly knife in hand and the biggest smile on her face.

“Mommy! Daddy! Uncle Wade got me a pretty knife!”

“Uncle Wade?!” “What the fuck!” You and Logan yelled at the same time.

“Hey mommy milf dearest! Peanut! Guess my invite got lost in the mail . . . again. I’m starting to think it’s on purpose. Harsh! Whatever, hey kids! Who wants to learn how to use this baby!” He held up his gun.

“Wade, No!”

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day twelve.

Hands + Mirror Sex (2.2k words)

summary: Your wandering eyes lead you to the best show you have ever seen.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, chocking, mirror sex, unprotected sex, creampie.

The Austin GP turned out nothing like you expected it to. Sure, the car didn’t have the pace and the McLaren wasn’t the quickest car this weekend, but that last lap was really what made your blood boil. How was that even fair? It wasn’t, and you knew Lando wasn’t going to be his bubbly self after how that turned out.

You saw it coming; he was usually down for the tiniest things, but this? You were already thinking a million things to take his head off the result, at least for a little while.

He got out of the car, and you could see he was disappointed, taking his gloves off and walking with his head down as he made his way to the garage. 

“Lando,” you softly called him as you got close to him. He still had his helmet on, so you couldn’t see any more than his eyes, which didn’t look as happy as they did before the race. “I’m really proud of you, despite everything, you did the best you could out there.”

He let out a sigh as he took his helmet off. Lando was pissed, and so was everyone else. “Yeah, didn’t really have a choice there.” He said, ripping the balaclava off his head.

His hair bounced a bit as he did so, which usually made you smile and want to run your hand through his curls, but the way his hands looked as he fisted the material had your eyes fixated there, and you didn’t even notice at first, but as soon as you did, you tried to look back at him as he vented a little, but he just looked so good you just couldn’t look away. Suddenly, you forgot what you were talking about. 

“It was a little messy, definitely not what we were hoping for. Max clearly went way too hard and also gained an advantage with it, but I guess don’t make the rules. I tried, but he went off the track too, so I didn’t have a choice. I don’t know what they were expecting me to do, really.” Lando let out another loud sigh as anger stained his words, clearly waiting for you to say something back, but when you were silent for a little too long, he followed where your eyes fell, a smirk creeping on his face when he realised. “Are you listening to me?”

“Huh?” You looked up at him, feeling bad for not getting a single word that left his mouth. “Yes, you did great, honey.” You gazed up at him for a moment, your face burning in embarrassment, but that was long forgotten when your eyes fell to his hand again — this time, the one holding the hemet.

Lando stepped closer to you, forcing you to look at him as he whispered, “I guess you’ve got other things in mind. Good, you’ll help me forget about this shitshow later.”

With that, he walked away, ready to take on his post-race duties. Now you were embarrassed.

It took a good while for them to finish everything up; with media and the debrief, you were left to wait for him in his room. The wait felt like hours, especially knowing what you signed yourself up to with your wandering eyes.

Finally, you saw him come through the door and quickly grab his things. “Let’s go, we’re getting out of here.” He looked oddly calm and collected as he handed his hand out to you, which you happily took.

“So what was the debrief? Is the team going to say something?”

“Oh, so now you wanna talk about it.”

You playfully punched his arm with your elbow as you both left the small room, walking to the car that would take you back to the hotel. The ride back was pretty normal, just talking about random things and what you would do before heading to Mexico; it wasn’t until the hotel door closed behind you that his demeanour completely changed.

He pushed you against the door as his things fell to the ground, capturing your lips in a needy kiss. “Couldn’t even vent properly cause your mind was too focused on my hands,” he said into the kiss, biting your bottom lip softly before kissing you again. 

All you could do was kiss him back as low whimpers scaped your lips. But then you felt one of his big hands caressing your tummy, slowly making its way up to your neck. Your heart nearly stopped beating when he wrapped a hand around it, putting a little pressure as the other one fell on your bum. It was simply impossible to stay quiet in that moment.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered before locking eyes with you. 

You could feel a red tint spread across your face at how much that turned you on as a burning feeling grew between your legs. “No,” you said, following his lips once again. 

He was smiling against them, applying a little more pressure as he guided you into the room. Instinctively, your feet were walking towards the bed, but with a sudden squeeze, he stopped you. 

“Not tonight. I didn’t know you enjoyed them so much, sweetheart, you deserve a show.” 

Lando kept walking until you made it to the bathroom, only stopping when you were both in front of the big, full-sized mirror. He turned you around so you would face yourself, but kept his hand around your neck.

“Undress for me, baby.”

You did as he said, slowly taking every piece of clothing as your eyes fixated on his big hand, veins prominent as he held you. His other one was exploring your body as it lost the layers, squeezing every inch of your skin.

His eyes never left your face; he was truly enjoying your expression change as he got closer to your folds, your teeth capturing your lower lip as he reached your pussy.

“Is this what you’ve been thinking about all day? Mhm? My hands making you feel good?”

All you could do was nod, your clit already invaded as he played with it slowly. He teased you for a couple of minutes, until a desperate moan made him apply more pressure and dip a big finger in your dripping hole. It always felt good, of course it did, but there was something about watching him do it, his finger disappearing inside you, glistening in your arousal.

Lando got closer to your ear — so close to you you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. “This is what I get to see every night under me. Do you like what you see, love?” 

“Uh huh,” you replied, your mind too focused on your pleasure to form any words.

His pace quickened as he inserted another finger, making everything intensify by a thousand, your legs almost giving in. You caught a glimpse of his face, his gaze so deep and immersed in making you come. This almost made you crumble, until he stopped.

“On your knees,” he demanded. You were a bit confused by this, but who were you to deny him? You were about to turn around to face him, thinking he was asking you for a blowjob, but you saw him shaking his head in his reflection. “You’ll be facing yourself. Like I said, you deserve a show.”

You went on your knees and watched him undress himself, his eyes locked with yours as his clothes fell to the ground somewhere in the over-the-top hotel bathroom. You were almost salivating at the sight, and you knew he was teasing you by how slow he was being, but you were so desperate to feel something that your fingers found your needy pussy. Oh but by the look that he gave you, you knew he didn’t like that one bit.

“Not so fast, baby.” He said it with an extremely low voice, and your hand immediately fell to your thigh.

Lando kneeled behind you, now completely naked, as he grabbed the hand that just seconds ago was buried between your folds. His eyes found yours again, and without hesitation and an intense look, he took your wet fingers in his mouth, licking them clean with a moan. God, was he trying to kill you?

“You tend to get so desperate, my love. You know how much I hate that.”

“S-sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay. Just let me do the work.”

You saw him grab his cock, or at least you knew he did, but his reflection was hiding behind you. With a few tugs, he guided it to your pussy, running his head through your folds a few times to take some of your wetness.

“Ready?” He asked, and you just nodded. Once he was perfectly positioned behind you, he sunk his cock into you, loving the way your mouth fell open as he was buried deep inside you. As he gave you some time to adjust, his right hand went back to wrap around your neck, giving it the right amount of pressure. “You’re gonna love the view.”

He started slamming into you, slowly at first, his arm wrapping around your torso to keep you stable. You nearly couldn’t believe your eyes; the way he was holding you, his veins more visible than ever, his pretty face contortioning in pleasure, his cock disappearing inside you. He was right, what a show.

It was almost too much, he was hitting all the right spots. Moans, whimpers, and skin snapping against yours echoed in the bathroom, your hot bodies steaming as he fucked you from behind, making the mirror in front of you somewhat foggy. But you needed more.

“Lando,” you whimpered.

He hummed in response, and almost as if he knew exactly what you were asking for, his fingers found your clit, rubbing small but quick circles. This almost made you lose balance, but it was so worth it.

You couldn’t help your eyes closing for a moment as your mind got so lost in pleasure you thought you were about to pass out, but with a hard squeeze on your neck, he demanded you to open them, finding his deep, dark gaze.

“I said you would be watching yourself, remember? Keep ‘em open for me.”

You nodded as your eyes explored the image in front of you, your mesmerised stare encouraging him to go faster and harder. With his mouth positioned right beside your ear, you could hear every little sound he was making, moans and senseless words through gritted teeth as he tried to keep it together.

He wasn’t gonna lie; even though he made it clear he wanted you to enjoy the show, he was enjoying it just as much, if not more. You had never done it in front of a mirror, but now that he knew what that was like, he would definitely be suggesting it more.

It was like he couldn’t get enough of you; he always got to see you take it, but this? This was different. He was slamming you so hard he knew he wasn’t gonna last long, so he had to make sure you were close.

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna watch yourself cum in my cock?”

“Yes, please.” You were begging at this point. You were also close, and with him applying more pressure on your clit, that feeling only got more and more intense. You were sure your knees would be bruised by the end of this, but that was the least of your worries as you felt you were about to snap. “So close,” you whimpered.

“Good.”

With a few more thrusts, you fell over the edge, the loudest scream he has ever heard leaving your lips. His fingers left your pussy as he felt you combulsing against him, wrapping his arm around you again to stop you from falling forward.

You didn’t care anymore, you closed your eyes in pure euphoria as your orgasm hit you, your hand falling in the mirror in front of you and leaving a print in it. The sight before him and the way your pussy was pulsing around him brought him to a sweet release, pumping into you a few more times before his hot cum spilled inside you.

Heavy breaths took over the bathroom. You slowly opened your eyes to meet his, the view almost making you horny again.

“Did you like what you saw, sweetheart?” He asked, this time using the sweetest voice known to man. Anyone that heard him mutter those words would never imagine what he was truly asking you.

“Yes. We have to do this again.” Breathless words escaped your lips.

“You haven’t even seen the best part.” As he said this, he slipped out of you, your combined fluids dripping out of you. Both of you stared at the way your thighs got tainted with them, and you almost felt embarrassed at how his stare lingered for a little too long. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” And with a kiss to your temple, he stood up and made his way to the shower, turning it on and making sure the temperature was right.

He came back to you a few seconds later and handed out his hand to help you get up, his arms were holding you as you made a mental note to get a bigger mirror for your shared room back home.

↺ back to navigation — Kinktober masterlist

[k9wa]

⟁ A BULLET A DAY, ft. BOOTHILL.

⠀ — where teasing, annoying, poking and prodding all fall under the same category; flirting.

⚠︎︎ more mechanic! reader, gn, boothill being an idiot, flirting, suggestive, he has fake teeth to me, something about tension + leaving him high and dry is soooo ….

from this request !

it’s a miracle, truly, how boothill manages to be so tempting and endearing yet so utterly irritating and infuriating at the same time. 

and it’s hot, sure, but that just makes it all the more annoying, leaves you frustrated and with an odd pool in your stomach.  

boothill managed his way into your supply of bullets, happily tossing back the brass casings like a simple snack. it was a genius idea at the time, really, giving him a stomach that can store ammunition. though had you expected him to chew on the damn things instead of swallowing them— you know, like he was intended to— you would’ve just given him a little side bag to save yourself the work.

you half hoped the lead stuffing the things would seep into his still intact brain, but chastised yourself for the thought soon after having it. you don’t hate him that much. your brain should check back and try the thought again in twenty minutes. 

“y’know what’d be real neat, buttercup?” boothill’s legs were kicked up lazily on your workbench as he sat next to you, waiting for you to finish a small modification on his revolver. “spikes in my boots.” he lifted a foot up, rolling his ankle a bit. “you know, them retractable ones. be able t’a have some real fun with those things.”

you snorted, his efforts to dodge his synesthesia beacon as entertaining as always.

“since when do i take requests?” you asked, eyes focused down on your work— far too used to his antics to lift your head anymore.

“since when d’you deny gettin’ to tinker with me?”

he brought his feet down to the floor and leaned forward on his thighs, the denim of his pants tightening around them. “what, gonna make me say please and thank ya now?” 

you truly wanted to reply, say it wasn’t a half bad idea and that you’d look into the upgrade. until he started shaking a few bullets around in his palm like they were fucking almonds.

now boothill noticed the clench of your jaw, and oh how he revelled in it. he’s fully aware how the crunching of brass and lead peeves you, ie. you telling him to knock it off an hour ago— (“it ain’t hurtin’ nobody, is it now?”—) but you’re just so darn cute when you’re ticked off. he’s gotta push your buttons just a lil bit. 

“somethin’ the matter?” the way his sharp teeth gleamed through that damn grin weren’t doing anything to help. 

he took a bullet between his thumb and forefinger, the shiny gunmetal digits pinching the ammunition as he held it up next to you. “d’ya care for one, sugar plum?”

fine, you thought. two can play that game.

you tore your attention away from the old steel revolver, finally turning to look at him. boothill prepared for an insult, one he’d tell you was ‘flatterin’ and all,’ but it didn’t come.

you leaned towards his hand, keeping your eyes locked with his that glowed a familiar and faint red. 

then you took the bullet between your tongue and top front teeth, gently pulling it out of his hands with your mouth.

his smirk actually dropped— you’d think someone stuck an infected usb into his ear with all the ideas that flooded the forefront of his brain, making his circuits just tingle with excitement. something about the hot single mechanic in his area.

you turned back to your desk, removing the bullet from your teeth and twirling it between your fingers idly as you gave a once over to his revolver, as if nothing had happened.

boothill blinked, chuckling gruffly with a shake of his head as he slumped back in his chair, flicking another bullet into the air with his thumb and catching it in his palm with a gentle clink! the cyborg gave a low whistle as he kicked his feet back up.

“ain’t you somethin’,” he drawled, earning a chuckle from you. “y’sure know how t’keep a man on his toes, don’t ya buttercup?” 

“i dunno what you mean, boothill.” you only offered a hum, willfully ignorant to boothill’s colourful imagination.

“oh i’m real sure y’don’t.” he shook his head, another chuckle rumbling his chest and sending a shiver down your neck.

“say,” he leaned towards you, his shoulder to yours, feeling a little lucky and dropping his voice to a knee-weakening purr, “if that pretty mouth a’yers likes metal, i’m more’en happy t’a—” 

“all done.”

all bets go down the drain. boothill deadpanned as you clicked the barrel of his gun into place and handed it back to him, standing up to stretch your arms.

“shops closed for today,” you fold them, leaning back against your bench. “you better get a move on before i have to kick you out.”

boothill’s eyes trailed up your figure, taking his sweet time finding your face. the cowboy raised an eyebrow into a cocky arch despite him swearing his body was on the verge of its cooling protocol. 

“you keep woundin’ me, sugar.” 

“i dunno what you mean, boothill.”

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[pathologicalreid]

prisoner | s.r.

in which you and Spencer conduct a custodial interview with a serial killer - Spencer's first since he was released

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: post prison reid, fwb but also mutual pining, serial killers, prison, panic attack, chiromancy word count: 3.66k a/n: i originally came up with this idea in 2023 😭 😭 it's about time i finished it lol. definitely suffers from exposition overload but i don't caaaaare.

Fourteen times.

You had asked him fourteen times if he thought he was going to be okay doing the custodial interview. No one else was available to do it, but you still had your reservations. Sending Spencer to a prison felt wrong, even if he wasn’t on the inside of the bars anymore.

Without telling him the reason, Emily elected to send you with him to the facility, she said it was because you had never done one before, but you knew it was deeper than that. “How many victims?” You asked, not taking your eyes off the road as you drove to the destination.

“Eight,” Spencer answered, looking through the case file. The killer had asked for the interview, hoping to be transferred to a minimum-security facility. The odds weren’t good, but you needed to oblige the request even if it wouldn’t prove successful.

You hummed, turning down the road, you pulled up to the security station. Presenting your credentials to the guard, he lifted the gate for you, and you found your reserved parking. “Do you want to take the lead?” You asked him, trying to gauge how he was doing.

Nodding, Spencer got out of the SUV. You shut off the engine and followed suit. “Unless it doesn’t seem like he’s responding to me, I’d rather not present him with someone who fits in with his victim pool.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you said sardonically, grabbing your bag from the backseat before locking the car and following Spencer inside.

The two of you went through security, locking up your weapons and going through metal detectors. It wasn’t until you went inside the first gate that you noticed it; Spencer was fiddling with the belt loop of his slacks. “I can feel you staring,” he whispered so only you could hear. You watched his posture relax when the gate buzzed and opened in front of him.

You smiled softly, “I can see you fidgeting,” you responded. At work, the two of you were merely coworkers who knew each other really well, so you couldn’t just reach out and take his hand. Not that you’d want to, in a prison full of serial killers.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, implying that he wasn’t right now. The smile fell off your face as the two of you followed the guard into the warden’s office.

At the sight of you, the warden stood and smiled, “You must be Agents Y/L/N and Reid, thank you for making the trip down here.”

Raising your eyebrows, you reach out your hand for the warden to shake, “He’s Dr. Reid, actually.” You corrected, seeing as Spencer didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Ah, my apologies, Dr. Reid,” he responded kindly, gesturing for the two of you to follow him.

Spencer gently brushed your hand as you followed the warden. It was so subtle that someone else could’ve brushed it off as an accident, but Spencer Reid never did anything without purpose.

“Marshal Lukins is the most prolific killer we’ve had in my time here, we aren’t expecting anything to come of this, but you know as well as I do that we have to humor the psychos,” Warden McCall told you, stopping in front of a gate and calling out for it to be opened.

You raised your eyebrows, deciding against telling the warden that Lukins profiled as a sociopath, not a psychopath. “How’s his behavior been here?”

The warden shrugged, “He won’t be winning any merit badges any time soon, that’s for sure. Spends most of his time in solitary, really.”

“His file said he had gotten into an altercation with another prisoner, what was that about?” Spencer asked.

McCall cleared his throat, “turf war. You know, prison gangs can get rowdy. Especially when they find out the feds are coming.”

You raised your eyebrows, grateful you couldn’t see Spencer’s expression. “Oh, yeah,” he said quietly.

Then you were in front of a serial killer, someone who had been put away years ago, but the way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. “Marshal Lukins?” You confirmed.

“Why hello, pretty lady,” Lukins responded, rising from the chair. His legs were chained to the ground, but his hands were free.

Behind you, Spencer cleared his throat, “Sit down,” he ordered. Taking a tone of authority that you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him.

Taking your seat across from Lukins, you looked him in the eyes, “You may call me Agent Y/L/N.” 

Your interviewee shrugged, “I’ll call you whatever I want in my mind later.”

Ignoring the hairs that stood up on the back of your neck, you rolled your eyes at the skeevy pervert. “If you want to be transferred, you’re not making a very good first impression,” Spencer intervened, likely aware of your discomfort.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first criminal to make a pass at you, and in your line of work, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m not much worried about first impressions, people usually have a first opinion about me before they even hear my voice,” he responded, leaning back in the chair.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from responding, yeah, that happens when you murder eight women. “What would you rather our opinion of you be? That you’re misunderstood? Did you find god in prison, Marshal?” You asked him.

He leaned over the table ever so slightly, yellowed teeth flashing beneath the fluorescent light that hung above the interrogation table, “Would you like me to show him to you?”

Raising your eyebrows, you maintained a bored disposition while flipping open your files, “No.”

With custodials like this, you weren’t allowed to have photos in your files. Lukins was a sexual sadist, and the profile that Aaron Hotchner had put together was damning, describing the man in front of you to a T. He even got the age correct, right down to the receding hairline. Even though Lukins was in prison, you’d never provide him with visual aids to relive his crimes.

“Why did you request this interview if you weren’t interested in playing nice?” Spencer asked, setting his own files on the table in front of him, but he refrained from opening them. He managed to memorize their contents on the drive from Quantico, enabling him to weaponize his memory.

Lukins put his hands up in mock surrender, “I was hoping they’d send me someone nice to look at, make a good conversation with, and boy am I glad I took that chance.”

Spencer clasped his hands together and set them on the steel table, “Thank you,” he responded, keeping himself stone-faced in the presence of the killer.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the criminal in front of you snapped, jutting his chin in your direction.

Bored, your partner spoke up again, “Yes, you are,” he corrected. You were unable to communicate with Spencer without tipping off Lukins, so you let him continue, trusting that he knew where he was going with this. “In your trial, you said all of your victims were your sheep,” Spencer recalled from the file, “Is that why you shaved their heads before gutting them?”

Lukins scoffed, bored easily within the confines of the interview, “My sheep were my friends, but every sheep needs a wolf. Isn’t that right, Bo Peep?” He asked you, meeting your gaze despite the fact that Spencer all but told him not to engage with you.

You narrowed your gaze at him, tilting your head innocently, “Would you have let me be one of your sheep?”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you needed a shower, “You would’ve been a nice addition, could’ve rounded out my numbers.”

He reached out a hand, trying to take a piece of your hair between his grimy fingers, but you stood up quickly, stepping back from the table and almost tripping over your chair in response.

A few prison guards came in at the sudden movement, and Spencer had a vice-like grip on Lukins’ wrist, keeping him away from you. Tossing his arm back at him, Spencer glared at the killer, “No touching,” he instructed, looking back at you to check-in. He opened the door to the room, ushering you out before looking at the guards, “I want him in cuffs.”

With a hand on the small of your back, Spencer herded you to the private space that the two of you were expected to inhabit for the day. “Hey,” you spoke to him once the door was shut behind you.

Spencer was filled to the brim with nervous energy, shaking out his hands in an attempt to expel his nerves, “We should just go back to Quantico.” He shook his head, brown curls fanning out around his face, “There’s no way he can tell us anything that will get us to endorse his transfer.”

Watching him like this made your chest ache, and you had no idea what to do with that emotion. Your relationship with Spencer was strictly horizontal—usually—and you found yourself floundering when it came to how to act outside of bed. You wanted to take his hand, desperate to run your fingers over his knuckles and find the familiar callus from where his pencil rests on his finger, but you just couldn’t get yourself to reach out.

You hadn’t known Spencer before he was arrested in Mexico, but you made your mark on him without ever letting him lay his eyes on you. You sent letters to him along with the rest of the team, refraining from talking about cases and instead choosing to use your letters as a personal diary, chronicling your first three months with the Behavioral Analysis Unit with your prison pen pal. Periodically, you put money in his commissary account, despite the rest of the team telling you that you shouldn’t feel inclined to.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, your eyes tracked his pacing in the conference room before you started to voice your concern, “We have to go back in, Reid.” You grabbed a water bottle from the counter and twisted the cap off before handing it to him.

He took the water begrudgingly, glaring at you as he did so, “Why do we have to go back in, exactly?” After taking a sip of the water, he handed it to you so you could have some. You could’ve grabbed your own, but surely this was quicker.

“Lukins said I would’ve rounded out his numbers,” you told him, nervously fiddling with the cap of the water bottle as you waited for him to get it.

Spencer adjusted his tie, pulling the silk fabric further from his neck, “Yeah, I heard him.” It bothered him, the slightest implication that you were endangered in that interview room put him on edge, but all you could do was sit down and watch him.

You sighed, “We only have a record of eight victims. We don’t know what he’s rounding to, but that’s at least two more bodies that we don’t know about.” Lukins could be rounding up to ten, which would be the closest option, or you were looking at the possibility of a considerably higher body count. Your fear was that he would use those additional kills as a bartering tool to get a transfer.

He stopped in his tracks while he processed what you were telling him. Spencer turned to you, lips parted before he nodded, eventually agreeing with you even if it pained him to do so. “We should call Emily and let her know what’s going on,” he told you, taking a seat across from you and placing his head in his hands. “I’m gonna step outside for a second,” he said, getting up just as quickly as he took a seat and swinging the door open, leaving you alone in the conference room.

Holding your tongue, you stopped yourself from voicing your approval, even though you did think some fresh air would be good for him. Instead, you watched the door click shut before fishing your phone out of your pocket, tapping on Emily’s contact before bringing the phone to your ear.

“How’s it going?” Emily asked you as soon as she answered, and you couldn’t help but picture your unit chief waiting by her phone, hoping to hear from you or Spencer.

You sighed, inadvertently cluing her into how the custodial interview was going, “We might have a problem,” you told her. Continuing on to explain what had happened between you and Marshal Lukins, all the way up through your discovery that he might have a higher victim count.

Prentiss clicked her tongue on the other end of the line, “What does Spencer think?”

The question didn’t come as a surprise to you, neither did the fact that her inflection told you that she was sneakily trying to ask you how Spencer was. Wiping your free palm along the fabric of your pants, you leaned against the table, “Reid thinks Lukins is out for blood.” You opened your mouth to continue but were interrupted by an alarm being tripped, your head snapped up as lights started to flash on the walls.

“What’s going on?” Emily questioned you over the phone, but you could barely hear her over the blare of the alarm, a low-pitched buzzing sound that made your brain feel like it was vibrating within your skull.

Clambering to your feet, you grabbed your water bottle and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you as you looked aimlessly around the prison for someone who could offer you an explanation. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurted into the receiver, stuffing your phone in your pocket and making your way to the front of the prison, ignoring the men who shouted at you from behind bars.

You looked down the walkway, watching as the failsafe on the doors was triggered and they slowly started to shut, triggering you to try and make a run for it. “Y/N,” Spencer called out your name, picking up his own pace from the opposite direction.

It didn’t take you long to realize that you weren’t going to make it, skidding to a halt as the bars clicked shut in front of you. You weren’t scared until you watched Spencer pull at the door, frantically trying to slide it open, “Reid,” you said his name, trying to get his attention. “Reid,” you shouted that time, trying to make sure he heard you over the alarm.

He didn’t pause to look at you, he simply continued to pull at the bars.

“Spence,” you said desperately, and that time his eyes snapped to yours. Wide brown eyes bore into yours as you placed one of your hands on his, both of them encircling the bar. “It’s not going to open,” you reminded him. A fact he was well aware of but didn’t want to acknowledge.

Silently, he leaned back into the wall, sliding down the side of it and looking up at the ceiling, pulling at his tie again, this time taking it all the way off. “It’s a lockdown,” he panted helplessly, “They’re in a lockdown.”

You nodded softly, having drawn that conclusion on your own, “It’s okay,” you told him softly, reaching through the bars and taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re alright, Spence,” you continued, your tone bordering on a coo.

He pulled his knees to his chest and slung his free arm over his legs, hugging himself.

It broke your heart to watch him like this. You pointed in the direction he came from, “Look. Hey, you could be free to leave, I’m the one who’s locked in,” you told him, highlighting the fact that the bars were blocking you, but Spencer could make his way back to the entryway.

“Not helping,” he told you, his voice almost a gasp as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Your shoulder’s slumped forward slightly, “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

Spencer just shook his head, squeezing your hand in response when you started sweeping your thumb over his knuckles. You ignored the buzzing of your phone in your pocket as you watched him, completely focused on making sure he was okay before you did anything else.

With your free hand, you grabbed the water bottle that you took from the conference room and slipped it through the bars. “Here, take this,” you murmured, setting it on the ground next to him when he didn’t take the bottle from you.

He visibly relaxed when the alarm stopped going off, but the lights were still flashing, which offered somewhat of an explanation as to why the door hadn’t opened yet.

You fiddled with his hand, opening up his palm and tracing the lines on his hand with your index finger, “Have you ever had your palm read?” You asked him, twisting your head to get a better look at it.

He looked at you, the panicked look in his eyes had subsided, promptly replaced with incredulity, “When have I ever struck you as the kind of person who would get my palm read?”

Shrugging, you slowly traced his love line, “You like Halloween, I thought maybe you’d let your curiosity get the best of you.” Although you supposed if Spencer really wanted to have his palm read, he’d just do it yourself. “When I was in college, my summer job was reading palms in a booth at an amusement park,” you informed him.

Spencer chuckled at your revelation, and the sound made your heart sing, “That is… oddly endearing.”

Nodding, you looked at his hand again, “Chiromancy says men were born with their left hand, and their right is what they accumulate throughout life,” you told him softly, sliding your other hand through the bar.

“Actually, I was born with both of my hands,” Spencer responded, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, studying his left hand intently, “You have water hands,” you said, showing him his own palm as if he’d never seen it before.

Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “Well, now you’re just making things up,” he openly teased you that time, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

Humming, you furrowed your brows and pointed at his hand, “This is your head line,” you explained. “See how it’s long and straight? It sort of tapers off before the end of your palm—that means you tend to think realistically.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he challenged, but his eyes were following along as you pointed at his palm.

You shook your head and sighed, “Here’s your life line,” you said, pointing to a different line and tracing it with your fingertip. “It’s straight and goes down to the edge of your palm, which means you’re cautious about relationships,” you continued softly, leaning your head against one of the bars of the door.

He was silent after that one, briefly taking his bottom lip between his teeth and looking down at his hand. You could tell that even though he didn’t quite believe what you were saying, he was perfectly fine with humoring you.

“This is your fate line,” you told him, entirely expecting to lose him the moment you began discussing fate. “It’s broken down the middle and curved in different directions, and that means you’re prone to a lot of changes in life. Changes influenced by external forces.”

Gently, Spencer pulled his hand away from yours, flexing his hand before looking down at it, “You’ve officially lost me.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up, “I’m surprised you lasted this long.” Just long enough apparently, the doors buzzed soon after, and you withdrew your hands from the slots as the bars slid into a hole in the wall.

Spencer got up first, dusting off his hands before he extended a hand to help you up. Your hand lingered in his for just a moment too long, the exchange oddly intimate for the two of you before his arms dropped to his side, “Thank you,” he murmured, a shy smile on his face.

Shrugging, you crossed your arms in front of your stomach, “There’s nothing to thank, Reid.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that it was disappointment that flashed across his face at your reply.

The warden had rather unceremoniously asked the two of you to leave, citing security concerns and letting you know that he’d be in contact with Emily to reschedule. Emily had called you six times during the lockdown, but you’d texted her once everything was clear.

Which left you heading back to the SUV with Spencer, there were prisoners out in the yard, so he walked on the inside, blocking your body from the view of the inmates. “Are you alright?” You asked him, feeling more free to inquire now that you were in the open air.

He nodded, “I’m fine, I just really wasn’t expecting something like that to happen when I asked Emily to send me on this custodial.”

Your footsteps faltered at his words, “You asked to go on this custodial?”

Spencer frowned, “I was on this case originally ten years ago, so I asked Emily to let me go.”

“And she said yes?” You asked incredulously.

Spencer opened the back door for you to place your bag in, “Not initially, but eventually she realized that I’d be her only option if she wanted to get it done today.” He shut the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, “It’s a lot earlier than I thought we’d be getting back, do you want to stop and get lunch on the way back to Quantico?”

Your eyes went wide and you were grateful that he couldn’t see your expression, “Uh, sure. Why not?”

“Perfect,” he said, “Maybe I can get you to tell me why you avoided reading my love line.”

[artdcnaldson]

okay but PLEASE elaborate on Olympics!Art AU

TeeHee

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), feral obsessive behavior, infidelity

A/N: And you would do it too, that’s all I’m saying. Also IMPORTANT note: I love Tashi, she is a mother to many. However this fic has a very obsessive reader who just wants to fuck a married man, at Tashi’s expense

Maybe you were a bad person.

You’d met Art and Tashi Donaldson before— a year back at an event held for Tennis’ rising stars. That was you, some other guys who had done well in the Juniors, a girl from an Ivy League, and more people that fell into the blind spots of your interest..

You must’ve looked so sweet in your formalwear, approaching the couple with shaking hands so you could say just how big of a fan you were. You had no ill intent then, not when you were face to face with two people you’d idolized since you were twelve and watching the Junior US Open. That night you’d taken a deep breath as you stared at the ceiling of your home, feeling like you’d made it.

Sure, Art was handsome, and you’d lived the past decade harboring a massive celebrity crush on him, but he was married, he was untouchable. Art Donaldson oozed that sweet, devoted husband shtick. Anniversary posts, birthday posts, Valentine’s Day posts, Mother’s Day posts. He had a daughter, he posted about how much he loved being a dad.

You were fine accepting that your fantasies of fucking Art Donaldson were strictly fantasies. But that was before you qualified and had to see him every fucking day.

Art Donaldson, who held open doors for you, who talked to you casually, like he might an old friend. Art, who stood in the long line in the food court with you, ate something he probably shouldn’t have, and asked that you don’t tell Tashi.

And you’d smile conspiratorially, and assure him his secret was safe with you. The implication being that you’d keep that secret, and more. As many as he’d ask you to, really.

You’d see him on a practice court, running drills with his wife, and feel the heat of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. You’d turn away, focus on your own game, practice until your hands were aching and sore.

“Where’s Mrs. Donaldson?” You asked one night after you’d been sexiled and had to sit out in the hallway waiting for your roommate to finish up. Art leaned against the wall, standing tall above you, so you had to crane your neck. You liked that point of view, on your knees looking up at him, you wondered if he liked it too.

“Oh, she’s staying in a very nice, very expensive hotel room with our daughter right now,” he said with a grin. “As soon as my events are done, that’s where I’ll be too.”

“Oh,” you said, bringing an easy smile to your lips. “Well, we’re all glad you’re here now.”

“We?” He questioned.

You gave a coy smile, batting your lashes so sweetly. “Maybe just me.”

There was a strange expression on his face for just a moment. Then he laughed like it was nothing. He wished you a goodnight and good luck in your matches the next morning, and disappeared into his own room.

You medaled in women’s doubles. They published photos of you and your partner biting the silver between your teeth. That same day, Art Donaldson took home gold. You were there to see the very end of his last match— every single collision of racket against ball, every step, every grunt of exertion. Your thighs clenched as you watched, fists balled up in the fabric of your skirt.

You wanted him in a needy, desperate sort of way. Like a groupie for a rock band, or a virgin being sacrificed on a mountaintop. You watched him celebrate with a kiss from Tashi and felt that same need like an open wound. Jealousy was festering in you like a rot.

The dive bar wasn’t what you’d expected. Something Art had found with a quick google search and a few minutes with a translation app. He’d knocked on your door to invite you, wearing the beaming smile of someone on top of the world.

“So you’ll come?” He asked after he told you all about it.

“Mhmm,” you said, heart hammering against your ribs. “I’ll come.”

And there you were— in a dress that hardly qualified as such— standing so close to him that you could smell his expensive cologne. His arm would brush yours, he’d glance over and apologize with a warm hand to your arm. You’d clench your thighs together and peer at him through your lashes. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.

A few of the other players disappeared to play darts, or watch the late night coverage of the other sports still competing. You stuck by Art’s side, happily allowing his attention to fall on you completely.

“I saw parts of your doubles final,” he said finally. He was drinking a brand of beer you’d never seen before— something local, you supposed. “You looked beautiful out there.” Your eyes lit up, and then he added. “The way you were playing, I mean— it was phenomenal.”

“Well, I’m no gold medalist,” you said. You let your hand rest on his arm, and looked up at him. The fingers on your other hand toyed with the edge of the medal, warm from where it had been flush against his chest.

He swallowed. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, but he didn’t discourage it. Not one fucking bit.

It wasn’t lost on you that Tashi wasn’t there. Not that it was really her type of venue, from what you had gathered. It wasn’t lost on you that Art Donaldson was at a dive bar, drinking random Brazilian beers, instead of celebrating with his wife, with his daughter. Fuck all those posts on his instagram— if he really was a good husband, a faithful one… that’s the only place he’d want to be.

“I saw your match too. I ran right over after my ceremony to watch,” you confessed. It was hard to concentrate on anything else— you were standing so close to him that you were nearly pressed completely into his body.

His lips twitched in interest. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mhmm. It was incredible. You were so dominant out there, just taking what was rightfully yours.”

He swallowed again, gravitating closer. Your tits were practically spilling out of your dress— he probably got the perfect eyeful when he eased you closer with a firm hand on your lower back, when he looked down at you through blown pupils.

“You looked so fucking hot out there, Art,” you said, lips brushing against his jawline. “You can’t even imagine how it felt sitting there, watching you win. How turned on I got… how wet.”

Art exhaled a shuddery breath. “Jesus Christ.”

It must’ve been a while since he had someone want him this bad, you thought. Clearly he needed it— needed a pretty, sweet thing to tell him just how much they wanted him. You could be that. You could do that.

“I’m not wearing panties,” you whispered in his ear. His grip on you tightened and you had to suppress a giddy smile. “You can feel if you want. I won’t tell.”

He swore under his breath and glanced around. Everyone was too occupied or drunk to give a shit about what the two of you were up to.

He grabbed your hand, pulled you away into the bathroom. You looked pretty even then, in the flickering lights, sat up on the edge of the sink eagerly awaiting his attention.

When he wrenched your thighs apart, he was greeted by the pretty sight of your glistening cunt— sticky with arousal and need. His hand fit there perfectly, right where you needed it.

“Fuck,” you gasped. His fingers rubbed through your slit— wet and hot and aching for him. Your head fell back, knocking against the dirty mirror. “Want you to use me— whatever you want, just take it.”

And you meant it too. This was your teenage idol— a man you’d touched yourself to the thought of countless times. He owned your body, your sexuality, as much as you did. It was only fair he took from it whatever he pleased.

You watched with hungry eyes as he fumbled with the button of his pants, then shoved them down just enough to free his dick.

Your mouth fucking watered with the need to feel it on your tongue, nudging against the back of your throat. You weren’t opposed to begging— you nearly started before you got it into your hand.

Warm, thick, pulsing. Precum beaded at his tip, so you smeared it around the sensitive head of his cock with your thumb. He groaned, bucked into your fist once, twice before he moved your hand.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he said, slapping the inside of your thighs. You obeyed wordlessly, spreading yourself out invitingly. He pressed closer, so you felt him rutting his dick against your pussy, coating it in your arousal. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

The words came out with equal parts disgust and awe. He probably thought you were a slut with the way you were throwing yourself at him. You wished he’d just call you that, spit it in your face.

Your cunt pulsed with need, aching to be filled up finally. The culmination of years of fantasizing. Art pressed himself against your entrance, sinking himself into you with the slow reverence of a man who liked making love.

He buried himself inside of you and had to stop moving to keep from cumming then and there. He was a perfect image of restraint— the way his fingers dimpled the flesh of your hips in a bruising grip.

Art wanted to be a gentleman— to give you time to adjust to the size of him, to ease you into it and let the pleasure be a slow, soft burn. He pulled out nice and easy, slid himself into your wet, throbbing cunt. That was all fine and good, but you knew it was just pretense. You were laid out and wanting, begging for him to use you as his own personal toy.

“I’m not your wife, Art.” You met his gaze, locked your ankles around his waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The first thrust, the first real one, knocked the air from your lungs. That silence didn’t last long— because you got what you wanted— he was really fucking you, bullying his cock into your pussy with the same need and desperation that you felt.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve— fuck— you’ve got no fucking self respect, huh?” He pounded into you, leveraging his grip to pull you against him, really impale you on his dick.

The moan that escaped you was pornographic. If he kept talking to you like that, if he kept fucking you like that, you’d cum.

“You don’t even care, do you? This fucking pussy’s squeezing me so tight— you fucking love this,” His voice was strained, interrupted by groans and pants.

You moaned, eyes rolling back. “Love this,” you echoed. When you looked down, at the sight of him splitting you open, of the ring of creamy arousal circling the base of his dick, you felt dizzy. Like you were standing on top of a tall building and looking down. Sort of out of body, tethered in the present by brutal thrusts into your pussy and the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies joining.

Your fingers moved between your thighs, rubbing needy and insistent at your clit. So close to finishing that you wanted to cry and just ask to start over again, that you’d savor it more a second time.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned suddenly. You felt him start to pull out, to leave. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— not yet, you didn’t want it to end like that. “I have an IUD,” you lied through your teeth. You used your legs, pulled him closer, deeper. “Just keep going, don’t stop. I’m right there.”

He moaned against your throat— holding you tight, fucking into you with animal need. Your fingers moved against your clit with an insistent need. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge. Your moans so loud that Art had to put his medal between your lips to shut you up.

And you were so pliant— letting him drill into your aching, used cunt, your mouth tasting like metal. You felt his rhythm falter— one, two harsh thrusts that knocked muffled moans from you until he came, painting your insides thick, creamy white.

He stayed buried inside of you for a while— panting, doing his best to catch his breath. You spat out the medal and it fell back against his chest, spit slick and shining. You reached up, ran your fingers along his face, reverently, sweetly. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and you tucked it away with delicate fingers.

When he pulled out, you felt that sinking feeling of loss and jealousy in your chest. He redressed in silence, turned away like he couldn’t stand to look at you, or the mirror. Shame rolled off of him in waves that you wanted to brush away.

It wasn’t bad, you’d assure him. You’re a tennis star, you’re the greatest in the world. You should have whatever you want, whenever you want it.

But you didn’t say that. You just tidied yourself up as best as you could and slipped back out into the bar. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.

[tbaluver]

Hi! I love your work and this is my first time requesting.. so please ignore if not interested! ♡

the roles are reversed and you are their favorite character and the LADS boys are the player! That’s all I hope you have a good day/night!~ 💗

When They're The MC- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: slight suggestive content below otherwise fluff ! a/n: hihi anonnie ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ thank you so much for requesting this was such a cute request (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) i hope this was alright and if it wasn't pretend it doesnt exist ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) otherwise i hope to see you again soon anonnie ! enjoy reading ! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Xavier is the type of player to listen to your secret times or tender moments and fall asleep listening to your voice. He likes to imagine you’re right beside him before he falls into his peaceful slumber.

However he does get hard listening to your suggestive audio or scenes that play out.

Spends most of his time grinding out materials for your memories so your character is strong when he reaches end game. Almost has your DeepSpace Trial finished and your affinity level maxed.

Ignores all the calls and text messages of the other main leads except yours.

When he runs out of content for you in the game, he would find solitude on watching edits or reading fanfics of you until the game finally updates its lore for you. Sometimes he'll replay the kindle moments of his favorite cards of you, which is literally all of them.

Zayne:

Nobody expected Zayne to be the type to play this game and at first, neither did he. But he downloaded the game out of curiosity and ended up playing until he reached the end game.

He has your affinity almost maxed out while the rest of the other leads are lower level. He would know all of your lore and has read all of your anecdotes without skipping them for the gems.

Uses the quality time to keep track of his studies but he can’t help but often glance at his screen and find you glancing back at him as well.

He has the Aurum Pass Premium and saves all of his diamonds for your upcoming banners. Does not even bother checking any of the other main leads in the game unless the banner included you

He ONLY plays this game in his room or whenever he's alone. Even though he has his headphones in, he can't help but look around to make sure nobody heard any of your suggestive sounds that sounded like a breathy moan. His ears would turn so red and he can't help but find his hand sliding down his pants

Rafayel:

The type of player that took hours customizing his character to make sure it looks exactly like him. He spends a lot of time with his character and yours in the photo booth. He tries to do a lot of glitches so it looks like you guys are kissing or hugging or him hitting it from the back.

The type that never lets you have a turn at the claw machine. If you managed to have a turn first, he’s IMMEDIATELY requesting to have the next turn. Yes, he thinks your pout is cute whenever you don’t get the plushie but he is NOT wasting any affinity points.

He would use all of his daily emojis just to talk to you and pokes you a lot in the cafe until you get annoyed.

The type to make the most beautiful fanart of you and make the most entertaining edits of you on social media. The type to freak out when he hears your solo banner is coming. He’s literally kicking his feet and rolling around in his bed in excitement

Sylus:

Sylus wasn’t interested in the game at first until your trailer kept popping up and out of curiosity and interest in your character, he decided to try it.

He became the BIGGEST spender when it comes to only your character. He would have all your cards maxed out from the levels and to the protocores. Each card he has of you would be ranked up to level 3 and most of your five stars are awakened. He has all your outfits and all of your poses.

However he would have the biggest frown on his face when he loses his pity the first couple of pulls. That’s not going to stop him until he has all your memories.

He is the type to tease your character by touching you a lot in the cafe to the point you're crossing your arms with a pout and your cheeks are flushed.

Spends a while in the photobooth to stare at your chest or you characters butt. Shamelessly tries to do a couple dirty glitches and the thought of you being real wouldn't leave his mind

Bonus: They all hate Lemonette.