#I’ve known this AU for five seconds

[dakusan]

BLOOM UNDER NEEDLES

Tattoo Artist!Hwang Hyunjin x Reader | he’s touched you five times. tonight, he ruins you

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You’ve been friends for years. He’s inked every part of your body except the one he’s dying to ruin. But the second you show up again, hips bare and eyes burning, asking for another piece? He doesn’t just mark you. He fucks it into you. This is possession. This is art. This is obsession.

💌a/n: This one’s for @bemyaehiweloveskz, who sang into my inbox the sweet sounds of "tattoo artist!Hyunjin x reader". You asked. I delivered. We’re doing this first come, first serve, so next Filthy Friday, it is Seungmin's time to shine. So buckle the fuck up. p.s. reblogging = mouth-to-mouth resuscitation p.p.s. yes, you can request the other members, please do. who do you wanna read after Seungmin? p.p.p.s. If this fic made you moan, clench, or whisper “jesus fuck,” you now owe me your spine, one (1) unhinged tag, and a slightly sinful reblog. That's the deal. I don’t make the rules. (I do.)

⚠️ warnings: 18+ | MINORS DNI | EXTREMELY NSFW | Friends-to-lovers tension finally snaps and it’s carnal, needy, and fucking overdue | Oral (f. receiving) | Latex gloves | Spit | Tattoo chair sex | Filthy dirty talk — praise + hunger: “sweetheart,” “good girl,” “let me taste you again.” | Fingering | Thigh gripping | Ass worship | Tattooing as marking kink | Reader on all fours, bent over the chair | Clit attention that makes your brain fog | Aftercare so tender it hurts

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Love Talk — WayV « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:53 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Seoul's early spring was always deceptive—sunlight soft on the surface but the air still kissed your skin cold when you walked too fast. Your coat’s too light, your hands half-numb, but the minute you step into NO SAINT INK, everything warms.

The scent hits you first: incense and antiseptic. Burnt vanilla over sharp alcohol wipes. Clean, familiar. The quiet hum of lo-fi beats weaves through the matte-black interior—half gallery, half hellmouth. Every wall is scattered with framed flash art—some crisp linework, others feral, chaotic sketches with phrases like “Bite Me” and “Pretty Hurts” etched beneath dripping roses.

The warmth isn’t just from the heater. It’s him.

Hwang Hyunjin is hunched over a drafting table toward the back of the studio, black hoodie sleeves rolled to his elbows, ringed fingers smudged with graphite. His hair is tied up—loose bun, strands falling across his cheekbones, lip bitten as he sketches something you can’t see. You pause in the entrance, watching him work.

God, he’s always like this. Still. Focused. A little too beautiful for a tattoo shop that’s home to chaos incarnate (read: Han Jisung) and Felix’s glitter-drenched custom piercings. Hyunjin feels like a walking contradiction—poetic and sharp, serene and volatile. An ink-stained symphony of clean lines and deliberate hunger.

He looks up.

His eyes meet yours instantly, like he felt you enter the room. Not surprised. Just… aware. Like you live inside a part of his brain he never locks.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, soft as velvet over bone. The corner of his mouth quirks—barely a smile, more of an acknowledgment. Like he’s happy to see you but won’t say it unless you ask.

“Hi,” you breathe, stepping inside fully, the door shutting with a soft chime behind you. “Still open?”

“For you?” His pen halts. “Always.”

You snort, dropping your bag onto the client couch. “That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard.”

He leans back in his chair, arms stretching over his head, hoodie rising to reveal the silver flash of his hip chain. “I save my best lines for Han’s clients. He likes to pretend he’s the shop flirt.”

“And you?”

“I prefer…” He pauses. Tilts his head. “Slow burns.”

There it is—that unspoken thing. You’ve known Hyunjin for years now, back when NO SAINT INK was just a cramped two-room hole above a bakery and he was still an apprentice shading roses on fake skin.

You were his first real client. Small piece. Inside of your arm. Something small.

Since then—five tattoos. All from him. All delicate. Personal. Quiet marks he made on your body with gentle hands and steady breath. And he never once crossed a line. But he always hovered near it.

The way his thumb would linger too long when wiping down ink. The way he’d mutter, “Hold still, pretty,” and your pulse would stutter like a skipped beat. The way he’d sketch flowers that looked suspiciously like the one he placed under your collarbone, and you’d find them in his book months later, unlabeled—but unmistakable.

Still, you stayed friends.

Coffee runs. Late-night ramen. Art gallery detours. Matching silver rings you bought at a flea market once and never really talked about.

And now, standing here again, watching him toss his sketch pad aside like it’s weightless, you feel it—that shift. The quiet knowing. Like the seed of something unsaid is finally cracking open.

“You working on a new piece?” you ask, nodding toward the table.

He shrugs. “Just sketching.”

“For a client?”

His gaze flicks to you. Unblinking. “Not yet.”

There’s something thick in the air now. Not awkward—just dense. Weighted. You clear your throat.

“I, uh…” You hesitate, fingers brushing your wrist. “I wanted to ask you for something.”

His brows raise slightly. “What kind of something?”

You pause.

Then you pull a folded sketch from your pocket. Smooth it out on the counter. His eyes drop to the paper.

It’s a flower. Hand-drawn. A Lily of the Valley—delicate, nodding petals arching off a thin stem. At the base of it, a faint phrase in cursive: “I bloom where I ache.”

He stares for a long moment.

When he speaks, it’s almost reverent. “You drew this?”

You nod.

His thumb traces the corner of the page. “Where do you want it?”

You swallow. “Right here.” You place your fingers at the sharp curve of your hipbone, just beneath your waistband.

Silence.

You can feel the air shift.

Hyunjin doesn’t move for a second. His jaw tightens. When he finally lifts his gaze, it’s slower. He looks at you like he’s taking you in all over again.

“You want me to tattoo you there?”

“Yes.”

A long breath. “Why me?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He steps around the counter. Closer. Close enough to smell the cedar on his hoodie, the faint scent of ink that never quite leaves his skin. “You could’ve asked anyone here. Jisung’s the wild one. Felix would pierce your entire soul if you let him.”

You shrug. “I don’t want chaos.”

He raises a brow. “And what do you want?”

You meet his eyes. Slowly. Gentle. “You.”

The pause between you is deafening. Then—his voice, low and frayed. “You can’t say shit like that when I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“You’ve touched me five times.”

“Not like that.”

Not yet, you think. And suddenly, the air feels even heavier.

But then he steps back. Just a little. Just enough to breathe. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

You nod once, pulse thudding.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “After hours. Just us.”

You try to play it cool. “For professionalism?”

His mouth twitches. “No. For focus.”

You arrive before closing.

The sun is already dipping past the horizon, casting long shadows across the alley where NO SAINT INK lives—half-sacred, half-possessed. The neon signs haven’t lit up yet, but the glow inside is warm. Low amber light spills from the studio windows, wrapping the interior in something softer than usual.

You knock once before nudging the door open, a little bell jingling above your head. Your hands are full—an iced Americano in one, a paper bag of pastries in the other.

“I brought bribes,” you call, stepping into the familiar scent of incense, ink, and disinfectant.

From somewhere in the back, you hear him.

“Depends,” Hyunjin says, voice echoing through the curtained hallway. “Are they sweet enough to justify me rearranging my entire night for your hipbone?”

You roll your eyes, smirking as you head toward the front counter. “Don’t act like you weren’t already gonna.”

He appears a moment later, pulling back the curtain with a casual flick—black long-sleeve pushed to his forearms, hair loose today, curling slightly at the ends. His silver earrings catch the light as he moves.

You offer him the coffee.

He accepts it without question, sipping as he glances at the bag. “What is it?”

“Strawberry scones.”

He pauses. Blinks once.

Then, soft and flat: “You’re trying to seduce me.”

You shrug, innocent. “You said you preferred slow burns. I’m just feeding the flame.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. Amused. Maybe impressed. Maybe ruined.

“Come on,” he murmurs, nodding toward the back. “Booth’s ready.”

You follow him through the curtain, until you reach Hyunjin’s space. It’s quieter here.

Dimly lit by a single lamp angled down over the chair. Black walls. Floating shelves with sketchbooks stacked high and carefully labeled bottles of ink arranged like altar offerings. A large framed print of a blooming rose leans against the far wall—your eye catches on the familiar linework.

One of his.

He gestures to the seat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You do, settling your things on the side table as he rolls on a fresh pair of gloves. The snap of the latex still makes something flicker in your chest.

“Still want the Lily of the Valley?” he asks, voice calm but slightly huskier now. He hasn’t met your eyes yet. Too focused on laying out his stencil materials. Too aware of what’s coming.

You nod. “Still want you to do it.”

That makes his head lift.

His eyes find yours. And this time, they don’t look away.

Slowly, you reach for the hem of your sweatshirt. Tug it off in one smooth motion, leaving you in a cropped tank top and soft cotton shorts. No tights. No barrier. You watch his gaze dip—briefly—to the exposed skin of your upper thighs.

Then you hook your thumbs into your waistband.

“Here okay?” you murmur, sliding the fabric just low enough to reveal the curve of your hipbone—the exact place you want him to mark. The edge of your panties still covers what it needs to. Barely.

His inhale is so sharp you hear it.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. His voice is quiet. Rough around the edges. “That’s… That’s perfect.”

You try to keep your tone light. “You’ve seen skin before, Hyun.”

“Not like this.”

Your breath catches.

He steps closer, holding the stencil between gloved fingers. His touch is steady when he kneels beside the chair, head tilting slightly to examine the space. But when his hand settles on your waist to hold you still, you feel it.

The difference.

It’s not professional anymore. Not strictly. Not the way it used to be.

His palm is wide. Firm. Anchoring you. But his thumb brushes the hollow just above your hip, a spot he doesn’t need to touch at all. His breath ghosts over your stomach as he positions the stencil, close enough that your skin prickles.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs. The same words as always.

Only this time—you feel them in your thighs.

You inhale slowly. Exhale.

He presses the stencil gently to your skin. Smooth. Measured. His gaze flicks up once, meeting yours from below, and you swear—just for a second—he looks like he wants to bite.

“There,” he says softly, pulling back to admire his placement. “Check it in the mirror before I commit?”

You nod, rising carefully to your feet. His hand lingers a second too long before letting go.

You step over to the full-length mirror mounted in the corner. Turn slightly. Examine the stencil on your skin—delicate lines, tiny petals, soft cursive nestled against bone. It's beautiful. Quiet and aching and so personal it almost hurts.

He watches you from the chair, arms crossed now, gloves still on, forearms flexed just slightly as he leans back.

“Well?” he asks.

You meet his gaze in the mirror. “It’s perfect.”

“Then lie back for me, angel.”

You lie back on the chair, the black leather cold beneath your skin, even through the thin cotton of your tank. The lamp above casts everything in a halo glow—focused, intimate, like a spotlight trained just on you.

Hyunjin is quiet as he moves around the station. He preps with the same practiced rhythm you’ve seen five times before—ink cap, paper towels, sterile wipes, machine hum warming in the corner. But there’s something different in the air now.

A little too still. A little too loaded.

And then he turns.

Rolls his stool over beside you, knees brushing the base of the chair. He’s sitting close. Closer than he usually does when tattooing you. The heat of him radiates under the low light, hands gloved and resting on his thighs as he looks at you.

At your skin. At the spot where he’s about to mark you.

“You good?” he asks, voice low and a little hoarse.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… aware that I’m in my underwear in your lap basically.”

He snorts softly. “First of all, dramatic. You’re not in my lap—yet.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t take it back.

You glance down. “I just meant, y’know. This placement. It's a little…”

“Intimate,” he finishes.

You nod once. Slowly.

He leans forward. Just a little. “Does it bother you?”

You blink. “No. Does it bother you?”

He tilts his head, mouth twitching like he wants to smile but won’t let himself. “You think I’m bothered?”

“I think you’re trying very hard to act like I’m just another client.”

That earns a quiet laugh. Low and sharp.

“You haven’t been ‘just another client’ since the first time you asked me to tattoo your collarbone with that stupid flower that made you cry.”

You shove his arm playfully. “It was a sentimental flower, not stupid.”

“It was both. And you cried like I stabbed you in the soul.”

“It hurt!”

“It was a two-inch peony.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, biting back a smile.

He smiles now. Full, real, warm. It fades just slightly as his gaze drags down again, returning to your exposed hipbone.

You feel your stomach tighten when he speaks again—softer now.

“Touching you like this… isn’t nothing.”

You swallow. “So don’t pretend it is.”

He nods. Silent agreement. Then slips back into motion.

He sanitizes your skin first. Cold alcohol on gauze. His fingers brush over your hip as he cleans the area, and even through the gloves, it feels like fire.

“You’re already warm,” he murmurs.

“You’re hovering,” you shoot back.

His laugh is quieter this time. “I have to. This is a sensitive area.”

“Mmm, right. Totally necessary to lean in so close your necklace is touching my stomach.”

He does not, in fact, move away.

Instead, his thumb brushes just below your waistband, fingers spreading gently across your hip as he holds your skin steady. “Stop wiggling.”

“I’m not wiggling.”

“You are.”

“You’re—” Your voice hitches slightly when his palm presses down with more intention. “You’re being a menace.”

“Always.”

He picks up the tattoo machine with his other hand. It buzzes softly to life, a familiar whir that still makes your nerves spike.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You okay?”

You nod.

“You always get twitchy right before the first line,” he says softly, like he’s reciting an old memory.

“You always hold my hand when I do.”

He pauses. Just a beat.

Then—he gently reaches up, slides his fingers between yours, and squeezes once.

You don’t let go.

And then—

“Here we go,” he says quietly.

The needle touches your skin.

Sharp. Hot. Deep. You flinch slightly, but his hand on your hip tightens instantly—not rough, but anchoring.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Breathe. Just like that.”

The buzz continues, steady and rhythmic as he pulls the linework with impossible control. You force yourself to focus on the sound of his voice instead of the pain.

“You’re good,” he says again, thumb brushing a slow arc into your skin. “Taking it so well.”

You blink hard. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Say what?”

“‘Taking it so well.’ That’s porn voice, Hyun.”

He grins—sharp and unrepentant. “So?”

You glare at the ceiling. “You’re unbearable.”

He leans in slightly, still drawing. “You’re wet.”

Your whole body freezes.

“I—excuse me—”

“Your skin,” he says smoothly, as if he wasn’t just trying to end your life. “It’s damp. Warm. From the alcohol. What did you think I meant?”

“You know what I thought you meant.”

He hums, like he’s pleased with himself. “Interesting.”

You let out a long, slow exhale.

“Still doing okay?” he asks, voice back to low and sincere.

You nod, chest rising and falling. “Yeah. It’s just…”

“What?”

“Hard to stay still when you’re—” You cut yourself off.

His voice drops. “When I’m what?”

Your mouth feels dry. You look down at him. He’s crouched over you, hair falling forward again, neck bent in full concentration. One gloved hand spreads over your hip, holding you down, while the other guides the needle with ridiculous precision. He looks like he’s worshipping your skin. Like this act—this pain—is a form of reverence.

“You’re touching me like I’m yours,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The sound of the machine falters—just a fraction. He doesn’t speak for a second. Then, finally—his voice low and wrecked: “That’s because you are.”

Those words echo.

Not just in your ears—but in your bones. Your breath stutters. Your lips part. You watch him blink, jaw flexing like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Like he’s wondering if he can take it back.

You know he won’t. Because he meant it. Because it’s been there—under every lingering look, every playful comment, every time he touched you for just a little too long after finishing a piece.

This has never just been ink.

Not for him.

And not for you.

“Hyun…” you whisper, unsure whether it’s a warning or a surrender.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he sets the machine down—gently, slowly, deliberately—onto the tray beside him. The buzz fades into nothing.

His gloved hand is still on your hip.

Still holding you steady. Still not moving.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says softly, but his eyes never leave yours. “Not while I’m tattooing you. Not while you’re lying here half-naked and trusting me.”

“But you meant it,” you say.

His jaw tightens. “Yeah.”

The silence between you goes thick again. Almost unbearable.

And then—still seated beside you, still bent low enough that his breath brushes your stomach—he murmurs, “Do you want me to stop?”

You stare down at him. And shake your head. “No,” you breathe. “I want you to finish.”

It’s not just about the tattoo. It never was. Something changes in his face. His pupils dilate. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s tasting the weight of what you just said.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

But when he picks the machine back up, his hands aren’t steady anymore.

The lines are still perfect—Hyunjin doesn’t do less than perfect—but his breath is uneven. His gloved fingers flex harder on your skin, not quite possessive, but close. His knuckles brush the edge of your underwear again and again, and not a single one of those brushes feels like an accident anymore.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, like he’s talking to himself.

You’re not sure if he means you or him.

“I’m fine,” you manage.

He hums. Low. “You always say that. Even when I’m breaking you open.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily. You’re certain he notices.

“I’m almost done,” he says. “Just a few more petals.”

You nod, chest rising with shaky breaths. “Okay.”

Hyunjin works in silence for the next few minutes. Only the buzz of the machine fills the air. His jaw is tight, lips parted, eyes flicking from the lines to your face and back.

Your breath stutters every time his fingers press a little deeper into your skin to hold you steady.

He notices. He always notices.

"You need to stay still, baby," he murmurs after a minute, like it costs him to say it gently.

"I'm trying," you whisper.

"I know," he says. "You're doing so good for me."

The pet name lands hard. You bite your lip, trying not to squirm. He grins. Quietly. Like he’s winning.

Another petal. Another clean line.

Your skin stings, but his voice is soothing. Warm. Reverent.

“Almost there,” he breathes, wiping the fresh ink with gentle circles of gauze. “I promise.”

You nod, nails digging into your own palms.

And then—

He stops.

The buzzing dies.

You feel the soft click of the machine being placed down. The final swipe of his gloved thumb wiping excess ink. The moment his hand lingers too long, brushing up toward your waist.

“…Finished,” he says quietly.

You look at him.

His expression is wrecked. Dark eyes, blown pupils, the barest sheen of sweat at his temples. He swallows hard, blinking slowly like he’s holding back a flood.

He pulls the gloves off.

Snaps. Tosses them to the tray.

Then looks at you like he’s still starving.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs.

You sit up a little, and his hand immediately comes to your back to support you—too gentle, too familiar. The intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.

You watch him work.

He squeezes out clear cleanser onto a pad, drags it carefully across the ink. Wipes you down like you’re porcelain. Like you’re sacred.

You shiver.

“There,” he says, fingers resting lightly at your waist. “We should wrap it but…”

You blink at him. “But?”

His eyes flick to your mouth. Then to your thighs. Then back to your eyes. “…But I don’t think I can keep my hands off you long enough to give you proper aftercare,” he admits, voice breaking open.

But then Hyunjin blinks, jaw clenched, and suddenly he’s standing. Suddenly he’s all discipline again. You watch in disbelief as he turns, grabs a box of plastic wrap and surgical tape like he didn’t just tell you he wants to ruin you.

You blink up at him, chest heaving, as he cuts a clean piece and starts prepping like this is a normal day.

Is he seriously—

“Lie back,” he murmurs.

You hesitate.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “Gotta protect the art.”

You lie back, narrowing your eyes.

He crouches again, presses gauze delicately to your tattoo, then begins wrapping with the kind of precise tension you'd expect from a fucking surgeon. His fingers glide over your waist as he smooths the film into place���practiced, familiar, infuriatingly neutral.

"You're being professional again," you mutter.

His mouth twitches. “Would you rather I forget how to do my job?”

“I’d rather you remember what you said five minutes ago.”

“I remember everything I say to you.”

He tapes down the final corner of the wrap, hands steady even though you can see the vein twitching in his neck. You can see the way his mouth keeps parting like he’s holding back a groan. His eyes won’t meet yours for more than a second.

And then, like a fucking menace, he clears his throat and reaches for the aftercare sheet.

The goddamn printed paper.

“I know how to—”

“I’m required to go through it,” he interrupts, not looking at you. “So. No heavy workouts. No soaking in water. No scratching even if it itches. Moisturize gently once the wrap’s off—”

You sit up abruptly.

His words die in his throat.

You reach for the collar of his shirt, grab it, and pull him in. You kiss him like you’re done waiting. Like his little show of professionalism just lit a fire under your skin. Like you’re done pretending you’re not his.

His body reacts before his mind can catch up—he lurches forward into you, hands bracing behind your back, and kisses you back like he’s making up for every second he spent pretending he wasn’t about to come undone.

Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct.

He groans into your mouth, deep and unfiltered, like the leash he had on himself just snapped in two.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you whisper against his lips.

He pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead to yours, breath heavy.

“You think I was trying to stop myself?” he says, voice rough. “No. I was trying to deserve you.”

Your breath catches.

He kisses you again—deeper this time, desperate.

Then he’s standing. Hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you like it’s nothing. You wrap around him, gasping into his mouth as he sets you down on the tattoo chair again—but backwards this time, so your back is to his chest, your legs spread.

“So,” he says low in your ear, voice gone completely to sin now, “how’s your pain tolerance, baby?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m about to fuck you without touching your new tattoo,” he growls. “And I’m not sure if that’s going to make you scream louder… or quieter.”

Your breathing’s uneven. Your skin still stings faintly from the tattoo. And Hyunjin—Hyunjin is standing behind you, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying not to shake.

"Stay still," he murmurs. “You’ll make me lose it.”

“You already have.”

He huffs a breath that sounds like a laugh if it weren’t laced with so much need. Then his hands trail lower—thumbs hooking into your shorts.

He pulls slowly. Too slowly. The fabric drags over your thighs, bunches at your knees. You shift, arching slightly without meaning to, and he groans low in his throat.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at this."

His palm smooths over the curve of your ass, fingers spreading wide like he’s cataloguing every inch.

"You’re unreal," he mutters. "Always knew it. But like this?"

The shorts hit the floor.

And you hear it—the hitch in his breath when he sees your panties.

Thin. Soft. Lace-trimmed. They’re slightly pulled up from your earlier writhing on the chair, and now they’re framed perfectly. Your ass is practically spilling out of them.

Hyunjin makes a sound that is not human.

“Oh, baby…” he murmurs, hand splaying fully across one cheek. He squeezes—firm, greedy. “You wore these for me?”

“I didn’t know I’d be bent over in front of you,” you say, voice breathy.

“Bullshit.”

He leans in, lips brushing your lower back, just above the wrap.

“You always knew where this was going,” he whispers. “You’ve been showing me this ass every time you walked into my shop with your little skirts, your cocky smirks—”

A kiss over the curve of your ass.

“I tattoo you with a straight face, and you sit there like I’m not fucking hard the entire time—”

His hand slides lower, palm pressing against your inner thigh. His fingers trail along the hem of your panties, teasing.

“I should rip these.”

“You won’t,” you gasp.

“Oh?”

“You like how they look too much.”

He chuckles—low, dark, reverent. “You’re right.”

And then he does something you don’t expect.

He kneels behind you.

Both hands on your thighs, spreading you gently. His thumbs drag upward, slow, until they reach the curve of your ass again. He groans softly under his breath—visibly, audibly, aching.

Then—

A kiss. Right on your left cheek. Then another. And another. Trailing closer to the centre. “You know,” he murmurs between kisses, “this view might actually kill me.”

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, and pulls them down.

Hyunjin lets out a shaky, reverent breath. His hands grip your thighs harder. His lips are parted, his eyes wild.

“…Holy fuck. You’re dripping. Just for me.”

His voice is guttural—low enough to make your spine arch without thinking. You can feel his breath right there—hot, heavy, reverent.

Then—

Spit.

The sound is sharp. Obscene. You gasp as it hits you—warm and wet, mixing with your slick, sliding between your folds.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin breathes, watching it trail down. “You make me so fucking messy already.”

And then he dives in. No hesitation. No soft teasing. He licks you like it’s instinct, like it’s oxygen, like this is the first and last meal of his entire life. His tongue parts you, slow and deep. He groans into your pussy like he’s overwhelmed by the taste.

“Jesus,” he whispers between licks. “You taste like a fucking dream.”

His hands grip your ass, spreading you wider. His tongue flicks over your clit—once, twice, and you jolt, gasping into the leather chair.

“Keep still,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “Let me enjoy you.”

Then he sucks. Hard.

Your whole body shudders. Your knees nearly give. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. He alternates between long, deep licks and desperate flicks, burying his face in you like he wants to live there. Like he’s tattooing his tongue into your memory.

One of his hands slips down, fingers trailing to your soaked entrance. He groans when he feels how ready you are.

“Holy shit,” he pants. “You’re gonna let me fuck this perfect pussy, aren’t you?”

“Yes—god, yes,” you whimper, pressing back against him, dizzy from pleasure.

His fingers press in—two at once, slow but deep. Your walls clench around him, and he curses under his breath.

“Already so fucking tight,” he groans. “Can’t wait to stretch you out on my cock, baby. But first—”

He curls his fingers. Licks again. And you scream. It’s filthy. It’s divine. It’s Hyunjin with a mouth full of you, humming like he’s high off the taste, dragging you toward the edge faster than you can take.

“Don’t hold back,” he says against your cunt. “I want you to cum all over my face.”

You don’t even answer. You can’t. You’re too far gone. Your thighs start to tremble, hips twitching uncontrollably, and he knows.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tongue relentless. “That’s it, pretty girl. Let go for me. Cum for me.”

And with one more curl of his fingers and one more harsh suck on your clit—

You do.

You break. Hard. Shaking, moaning, collapsing forward against the chair as your orgasm rips through you. You gasp his name, legs trembling, slick dripping down his chin.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going. Licking you through it. Kissing you through the aftershocks. Fingers still inside you, soothing, teasing, owning every wave of it. When you finally lift your head, panting, dazed, and weak in the knees—he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick. His eyes are dark. His chest is heaving.

“You’re even prettier when you fall apart,” he whispers.

Then he licks your juices off his bottom lip—

And stands.

You see the outline of his cock in his jeans—thick, hard, straining.

He steps forward, rubbing against your ass, groaning into your shoulder. “Now,” he says, voice wrecked. “I’m going to fuck you so deep, the next time you come in for ink, you’ll still be dripping from this.”

His hands fumble with the button of his jeans, curses falling from his lips like prayers.

“Fuck, fuck—why are these so tight today—”

You glance back, dazed and flushed, still bent over the chair, legs weak from his mouth.

He finally shoves them down, briefs included—and there he is.

Long. Thick. Red at the tip. Veins tracing the sides. So hard it curves slightly, twitching with every heartbeat. Your mouth parts involuntarily. He catches your gaze.

“You staring?” he says, breathless.

“Obviously.”

He smirks—then hisses when his own hand wraps around the base, pumping once to relieve the pressure.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he mutters, stepping closer, cock dragging over your ass, your soaked thighs, your still-sensitive folds. “Bent over my chair… ink still fresh… wrapped like a fucking gift—”

You whimper as he grinds against you, the head of his cock smearing pre-cum along your skin.

“—and all mine.”

He strokes himself once more, then lines up—sliding the tip through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

You jolt.

“Still sensitive?” he asks softly.

You nod.

He leans down, voice curling around your ear.

“Good.”

And then—

He pushes in. Slow. Deep.

Your breath catches hard. He’s thick—stretching you inch by inch, until the pressure is so full, so overwhelming, it blurs the edges of your vision.

“Fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips, fingers sinking into your waist. “You’re so tight I could die.”

You moan, forehead pressing into the leather. “Move, Hyunjin—please—”

He pulls out halfway—

Then slams back in.

Your cry echoes through the studio.

“Sound so pretty,” he pants, setting a rhythm—deep, deliberate thrusts that hit every nerve-ending you didn’t know you had.

Every time his hips meet your ass, your body jolts.

“You were made for this,” he mutters. “Made for me.”

One hand slips around your waist, sliding between your legs again, fingers finding your clit with pinpoint accuracy.

“Hyunjin—!”

“That’s right, baby,” he growls. “Take it. Take all of me.”

He pounds into you harder—louder now, the slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room. His name spills from your lips over and over, useless and raw and desperate.

The tattoo stings with every motion—but you don’t care. You’re fucked open and filled and god, he’s not stopping. You look back over your shoulder, dizzy, ruined.

And Hyunjin’s eyes are locked on your face—wild. Starved. Obsessed.

“I’m not done,” he says, voice barely human. “Not till you cum on my cock. Not till I fuck my name so deep into you it echoes.”

His fingers rub faster. His thrusts get rougher. And then—

Everything snaps.

You cum again—louder, harder, legs shaking, walls pulsing around him like a vice.

“Holy fuck,” he shouts, cock twitching—

And then he’s spilling into you, deep and hot, hips stuttering, breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, the only sound is your breathing. The ruin. The afterglow. His cock still buried inside you. His arms wrapping around your torso as he leans in and presses a kiss to your back.

“Worth every second I waited,” he whispers.

You laugh—wrecked and glowing. “Told you you’d break the chair.”

“Worth it,” he grins.

Then: “Round two?”

You snort. “Gimme ten minutes and a juice box.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Done.” He kisses again, again, and again. “You okay?” he whispers.

You nod slowly. “Better than.”

He chuckles under his breath, one arm tightening around your waist. “I could stay inside you all day,” he murmurs. “But we’d destroy the whole damn shop.”

You feel him pull out—slowly, carefully, letting you feel every inch retreat until your body clenches one last time in protest.

A gasp escapes your lips.

Hyunjin groans softly behind you. “Don’t do that,” he warns. “I’m already thinking about round two.”

You give him a breathless laugh and he grins. Now pulling up your panties, still bunched halfway down one thigh. He slides them up slowly, smoothing the lace back into place, pressing a kiss to your right cheek as he finishes.

Next come the shorts. He helps you step into them, then pulls them up gently, carefully over your still-tender skin. He pauses at your waistband. Fingers resting there. Holding.

“Let me see it,” he whispers.

You glance back, confused.

“The tattoo.” he clarifies, voice soft.

You shift your hip toward him, tugging the waistband down just enough.

He crouches again.

One hand cradles your thigh. The other touches just above the wrap.

His eyes go soft.

“I can’t believe I finally got to mark you,” he says, almost to himself. “Right here. Where no one else gets to touch.”

You watch him trace the wrap with two fingers, reverent. Then—

He kisses the corner of it. Barely-there. Sacred. You feel your heart stutter. He looks up at you—flushed, hair a mess, lips swollen, eyes absolutely feral with devotion.

“Come home with me,” he says.

Your breath catches. “Hyunjin—��

“I’m not done with you,” he murmurs. “I need to see that tattoo in the morning light. Need to kiss every part I didn’t get to tonight. Need you in my bed. On my sheets. Wearing nothing but your bruises and my name.”

You stare at him. Then lean down. And kiss him. Soft. Slow. Final.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay. Let’s go.”

You wake up to the feeling of his fingers on your hip.

Not just touching—tracing. Careful. Curious. Worshipful.

The morning light spills through the blinds in lazy stripes, painting the sheets in pale gold and soft gray. You’re lying on your side, half under the duvet, one leg bare and bent—perfectly exposing your hip. The wrap is still on.

Hyunjin is shirtless, hair an absolute mess, lips kiss-swollen and pink. His chain dangles forward as he leans down to look closer, one hand brushing back your shirt to keep it out of the way.

You blink sleepily. “You’re staring.”

He doesn’t even pretend to deny it.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs. “I know I just did this, but I still can’t believe it’s mine.”

You snort. “You mean mine.”

His gaze flicks up.

“No,” he says softly. “I meant what I said.”

He leans in. Kisses just beside the wrap. “You let me mark you,” he whispers. “Right where I’ve always dreamed.”

You feel your stomach flip, heat blooming down your spine. “You’re being sappy,” you mumble, hiding your face in the pillow.

He grins. “You love it.”

His fingers trail lower. Along your thigh. To the dip just before it curves into your ass.

You squirm. “Hyunjin—”

“Let me see how sore you are,” he says, voice suddenly lower, throatier.

He lifts the covers. Exposes both legs. His eyes darken at the sight—faint bruises from where he held you. Scratches on his arms from when you clung to him.

And then—he kisses your thigh. Slow. Open-mouthed. Lingering. “I want to put another one here,” he says.

You blink. “Another what?”

“A tattoo,” he says. “Something small. Hidden. Right where only I get to see it.”

He slides lower, kissing your inner thigh now. His hair brushes your skin. His breath is hot.

You shiver. “Hyunjin…”

His mouth pauses a breath away from your cunt. Then: “Or maybe I’ll just taste you again first. Remind you who you belong to before we start sketching.”

You moan—already soaked, already clenching.

But he just smirks.

“You want it, don’t you?” he murmurs. “Want to be mine in ink and sweat and everything else.”

You nod, voice wrecked. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He lowers his head again. “And you will be,” he whispers. “One mark at a time.”

[yi2huo]

C'MON KEEP UP! ₊ university au 𐙚

𐙚 𓈒 𓈒 SYNOPSIS ) ; after a throwaway statement from heeseung, you can't help but notice your best friend jake in ways you've never noticed before. even worse, things get complicated when sunghoon gets added to the mix

PAIRING ) — college!jake x fem!reader ₊ fluff, humor

WC ) — 2.2k+

INCOMING MSG ) — ding ! i took a mini hiatus but i'm back !! i can't wait to post more this summer >< if anyone has any requests, feel free to drop them through asks ♡ 

“cute necklace, y/n.” heeseung drops into the seat next to you and you slide your bag over to the left to accommodate him. you lean your bag against jake who is sitting to your left, and he uses the opportunity to steal a sip from your drink. 

with the professor already rambling away about quantum mechanics, you struggle to pay any sliver of attention to heeseung’s words as he continues to yap. “where did you get them from?”

muffling a yawn, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the star dangling from your neck. the sharp indents prick you back into a memory. “oh, these. they were a gift from a friend.” 

“oh, a friend? or do you mean your boyfriend?” 

you faintly hear jake choking on the drink but your attention is quickly stolen by heeseung’s words. 

they’re throwaway, that much is obvious from his wandering eyes to his wide yawn as he pulls out his laptop. they shouldn’t mean anything yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

he hums, raising an eyebrow as he spares you a quick glance. his gaze flickers somewhere behind you for a second and you would have looked too if his next words didn’t pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. 

“like what you look for in a person.”

“i know what a type is.” you quip back, hoping the playful hostility can hide your sudden surprise. 

“then why do you look so disgruntled?” he turns on his laptop, ignoring the loud whirring that blares. “don’t tell me it’s someone like me?” 

that causes you to scoff. “definitely not, i’ve known you since you were five.” 

heesung continues to stare at you, pressing you wordlessly and you give in, finally surrendering more thought to his question. 

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good-looking? someone who’s… not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they’d have to be smart but not in a i-don’t-have-fun kind of way. like in a cute way." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humor, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you chuckle quietly, muffling the sound as the professor spins around to glare at someone else talking. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” heeseung says, grinning.

“don’t be stupid.”

“or—hear me out—your type kinda sounds like jake.” 

“okay, now i know you’re actually stupid.”

“come on, you two—”

your voice is a harsh whisper when you chide, “will you shut up already? he’s sitting right there!”

“you two have been friends for years.” he matches your volume this time, to your relief. “you’re telling me you’re friends with your exact type and haven’t felt any sort of way about him?”

you make a face and shove him playfully. you open your mouth to say more—a jab at heeseung’s own lovelife instead—when a piece of chalk cuts through the air and faintly skims past your nose. you turn back with a start and make eye contact with a very angry professor, his bald head shining in the light. 

“is there something you’d like to share with the class?” 

you let out a strangled squeak, sinking into your seat as heeseung chuckles beside you. 

“no, sir.” 

when the lecture hall finally moves on from your show of embarrassment, you turn away to pretend to busy yourself with your bag. when you come back up, positive that your face has cooled off such that you can almost look presentable again, your eyes accidentally meet with jake’s. 

there’s an unreadable expression on his face, eyes wide and unfocused as he stares at you. feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, you quickly look away and sink down into your chair yet you struggle to completely ignore him. you watch from your peripherals as he looks away, sunghoon whispering something into his ear and chuckling though he seems to not be having it, swatting him away like a fly.

seeing his face made you think. maybe heeseung was right, didn’t jake match your type criteria? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and smart? 

with a start, you look back at heeseung. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” heeseung chuckles. “are there any more?"

the professor slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and forced groupwork. your conversation with heeseung quickly slips from mind as you’re lost in the mountain of work. 

when you enter the lecture hall the next day, you’re surprised to find jake already there and seated at the same spot. it seems like you’re the only two people there and you awkwardly take your seat next to him. you had arrived early to avoid the early morning rush but you wondered what his excuse was.

“good morning.” you mumble, flashing him a small smile. you take the chance to observe him, frowning slightly when you watch him push up his glasses as he continues to read a heavy chemistry textbook. 

since when did he wear glasses?

his eyes flicker to yours as you unpack. “good morning.”

“what’s with you?”

jake clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my DS, jake i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s fine!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, turning on your laptop. “it better be. i need to run pokemon black on that. when are you going to finish using it?”

“soon. i’m almost finished with the elite four. my party is basically set, i was just waiting to finish an assessment before i grind it and…” he trails off suddenly, the animated look on his face fading. he clears his throat, pushing up his glasses somewhat clumsily. “i mean, if that’s what you wish i shall return it to you as soon as possible.” 

you turn to him horrified. “so you did break my DS!”

“i said it’s not broken!” jake bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i’m simply being considerate.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong? why are you talking like that?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“hey, no need to get defensive. i’m just saying you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

jake leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, textbook forgotten and placed harshly down on the table with a thud.

you tilt your head. “where's hoon? you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

jake peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch jake mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favorite anime had delayed its upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with sunghoon, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to sunghoon’s usual behavior.

“are you trying to be like hoon?” you try.

jake whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be all, what was that word you used earlier? more considerate.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

jake remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

jake’s speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think sunghoon is well-mannered?”

“well, yes?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “at least more than you.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think hoon’s great and everything—”

“you think sunghoon’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think sunghoon’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think sunghoon’s great.”

"i didn’t say all of that! why are you putting words in my mouth?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

flushing, you flail for words. “are you… are you jealous of sunghoon? i thought you guys were past things like that!”

jake grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “i am not jealous of sunghoon.”

the door to the lecture room is thrown open and sunghoon steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and jake as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” jake says and glares at him.

sunghoon blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“jake’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. jake, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, jake."

you snicker as jake huffs and glances away, intent on ignoring sunghoon’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown sunghoon out too, your traitorous mind observing jake’s eyes. you had always thought it was just a neutral brown, but looking at it now, it seemed more like amber dripping like honey, the chocolate hue sparkling and dimming as the lights flickered overhead, and you watched the light dance through his eyes.

something shifts and it’s not just the aircon suddenly turning on. something like realisation dawns on you though you have no time to come to terms with your new thought when jake turns to look at you. startled, you hold his gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

jake glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

sunghoon looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” jake says.

sunghoon clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was, and your realization is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

jake clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns when you don't give him any other reaction.

your professor saves you from addressing his statement as he walks into the room. unlike every other day, you have no snarky comment to make about his radiant bald spot. your mind fails to work as you turn over jake’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with jake and the talk you had with heeseung yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked sunghoon?

you watch jake’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. your professor’s monotonous voice drawls on and yet jake doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face your professor again, jake’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

jake has a crush on sunghoon.

[wherethefigsfall]

"Introvert’s dream”

Dealer Ellie Williams x fem reader (college au)

A:N i was thinking of making this into a series?

Ellie didn’t usually stick around after deals. She came in, handed off, dipped. Easy. She didn’t do party small talk, or mingling, or whatever weird drinking games required yelling and cheap vodka.

But tonight, something made her hesitate. And that something was sitting cross-legged on a armchair, chewing on the straw of a Capri Sun like it wasnt the most bizzare thing to do at a frat party. You.

Ellie watched you for exactly three seconds too long.

You noticed. Smiled.

“Lost?” you asked, eyes all curious and teasing.

Ellie stuffed her hands in her pockets. “No. Just… surprised they had actual juice here.”

You held up the pouch. “Limited edition. I fought a football player for it.”

Ellie huffed a laugh. “Worth it?”

“Depends,” you said. “You wanna split it?”

That’s how she ended up next to you on the armchair, knees knocking, sharing a drink like you’d known each other longer than five minutes.

You looked over. “So… what’s your deal? You’ve got this mysterious energy of someone who either writes poetry or sells weed.”

Ellie smirked. “I do both. But only one pays.”

You grinned. “Weed?”

“Tragically, yeah.”

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just… full of something light and buzzing. You shifted a little closer, your jacket brushing her sleeve.

“So what’s your pitch?” you asked. “If I wanted something chill. No spiraling.”

“I’ve got a blend called ‘Introvert’s Dream,’” she said, like she hadn’t just made that up on the spot and gave herself the ick in the process. “It makes everything kinda glowy. Music sounds better. People get quieter. You’ll forget you’re at a party within, like, five minutes.”

You tilted your head. “That sounds… really nice.”

Ellie looked at you then — really looked. Soft lighting, softer eyes. You weren’t like anyone she usually met during deals. You weren’t performative. You weren’t trying too hard. You were just… here. And warm. And really fucking pretty.

She reached into her pocket and handed you a small pre-roll, fingers brushing yours.

You blinked. “How much?”

She shook her head. “Free.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “You’re a terrible businesswoman.”

Ellie smiled. “I’m selective.”

⸻

You ended up on the porch, sitting on a blanket someone had left behind, passing the joint back and forth as the sounds of the party got swallowed by the night.

You exhaled, your voice softer. “I usually hate these things. Too loud. Too many people trying to be interesting.”

“Same,” Ellie said. “But you’re not trying.”

You turned to her, half-shy. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“It’s a compliment.”

You nudged her shoulder with yours. “You’re kinda nice. For someone who allegedly writes poetry.”

She gave you a mock glare. “Allegedly?”

“Prove it.”

“Not on the first hangout,” Ellie said, smirking. “You gotta earn the bad metaphors.”

You smiled, all teeth and pink cheeks. “Fine. I’ll settle for another Capri Sun.”

Ellie laughed, soft and real. “Next party. I’ll bring one just for you.”

⸻

Later, when you said you should head home, Ellie hesitated.

“Hey,” she said, scratching the back of her neck, suddenly unsure. “Can I text you? Or is that too… weird?”

You smiled.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

And when you walked away, Ellie sat there for a second, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, wondering what the hell just happened — and kind of hoping it would happen again.

[yeonmuse]

CHROME HEARTS ──but I break them still

❪ CHROME HEARTS ❫ nishimura riki & fem!rea 118O ⋆♱✮ fluff/angst ༯ university au ꫂ ၴႅၴ synopsis──★˙nainais library !! @k-films

℘an᭪ : written, texts & social media threads included in this chapter, welcome to my new tag-list recipients thank you for joining us on this journey. Also this is the first time I’ve written one of my smaus in first person rather than third, let me know if you guys like this better or if I should go back to writing third person reader pov.

CHAPTER 4 | stop aura farming

The art room— the place where all the magic happened, or at least it had been in your eyes. you never much cared for anything that didn’t involve eating, sleeping and breathing art. Art was something instinctive to you, something that had consumed your life from a very young age. When all you knew to write were stick figures and blended colors on an empty white page. You never cared much for your studies– though you always excelled in them nonetheless, aside from bio which you ultimately sucked at. You never cared much for parties or gaining the socialite title that many your age seemed to strive for. Your life was about art, the thing that connected you to a world outside of just your reality that was all plain black and white. The one thing that had always made you feel alive even when life had gotten complicated and heavy.

──Other than the faint noise of a paintbrush dusting against a canvas and pencils scraping coffee toned test sheets, silence hung over the room like a suffocating blanket. To you the silence was gratifying and provided a subsistence needed when working in the artistic atmosphere. You’d always found comfort in silence, no matter how heavy it sometimes got. Many times you’d be so focused that eventually the silence had become so overbearing and weighed that it’d completely devour you. A beautiful yet agonizing thing the quietness could be, and Ni ki had been on the polar opposite of such a spectrum who absolutely hated the silence been the two of you.

The quiet had completely swallowed the room whole, as if the art room had drifted off into its own sector of the universe. Not a squeak in the hallway or sound of faint footsteps in the distance. Not a hum or a yawn from you who’d been completely locked in on your work, it had been completely undeniable quiet. The only sounds cutting through momentarily was the subtle scratch of pencils on paper and brush to canvas and it had remained that way for over fifteen minutes. Initially when class ended and the professor had granted the two of you permission to stay behind and work longer he’d thought it to be the perfect opportunity, alas it gave him the chance to move in, to finally get you to crack and show him what lies beneath your cold and poised surface. All he’d known about you was simply from having observed you over the course of the first semester– the way your brows furrowed when you were perplexed or annoyed, how you’d letyour art consume you as if it were the only thing that seemed to matter..you weren’t just beautiful, you were complex, like a puzzle fit for only him to figure out.

But Ni ki had done all but speak to you within those fifteen minutes you were both sat there. He just sat silently observing, every now and then his focus would shift to his art piece until he’d eventually given up on it completely. To him you were a mere distraction, his desire and hopes for you to spare him one glance, to hear the call of his name from your lips had completely blinded him and yet it had never happened.

Fifteen minutes had long gone and eventually time stamped at five fifteen, feet shuffled on the other side of the art room door and then it swung open, an odd group pouring in seconds later. A sigh spilled from your lips on the other side of the room and you immediately shut your sketchbook, understanding your peace had now been disrupted for the day.

“I told you guys to study without me.’’ you groan, slipping your supplies into your bag and resting your arms on the table as you gave them each a look of disarray.

“Yeah and we didn’t listen so now what.’’ your brother antagonizes, making you roll your eyes at him. You didn’t even have to cook up any responses or clap backs because within seconds mako had been pushing him out of the way to get to you.“Will you move.’’

One person sat in the back of the room every now and then watching the interaction between the seven of you. Ears perking up each time he’d heard you laugh or crack a joke and even though it hadn’t been towards him he found himself smiling. Little parts of you had slightly unfolded before his eyes in the form of your friendships, though just as quick as they’d all come flooding into the room they eventually left, taking you along with them and he was once again left alone to the silence.

“Maya was not lying it was completely dead in there.’’ Melody comments as they’d moved further from the room. “You could have at least said something to him. He did by you those 300 dollar crayons.’’

“Oil pastels not crayons..and what would I even say to him. He asked me out remember it’s still pretty awkward.’’ you respond in defense

“To be honest you’re the only one that’s making it awkward because you have the social capabilities of a mouse. He doesn’t seem like he’s being awkward about it, even if he still likes you. You’re the only one still dwelling on it.’’ Hunter shrugs before taking a long swig from his coke can and tossing it into a nearby trashcan once he’s completely emptied it out.

“For fucks sake can we talk about something other than this guy?’’ Mako complained, turning to face them all and back stepping as you all walked along the hall. “Please i’m begging anything..’’

“We can talk about Chlo and the fact that she’s trying to spend her birthday sleeping and wasting away.” Maya moves in with a swift change in subject and now all eyes are on Chloe.

“What do you mean don’t you want to go out and celebrate with us?’’ you question, brows furrowed and lips shaped into a confused pout.

“It’s not that I don’t want to spend it with you guys i’d just rather sit this one out after all the quizzes and studying and work i just want to sleep.’’ she huffs, a look of exhaust shading over her face.

“Well if that’s the case we’ll all come over and we can sleep and not do anything together. You aren’t allowed to spend your big 20 alone.’’ you inquire, linking your arms with hers and resting your head on her shoulder as the two of you walked.

“Sounds good to me as long as I can sleep.” Chloe responds, resting her head on top of yours and closing her eyes.

“So it’s settled then this saturday we stay in and rest and next saturday we go out to celebrate.” Melody says, her voice bouncing off the walls with how loud she’d been.

“No one said anything about going out next saturday?” Jongseob looks at her through half lidded eyes, brows knit together in confusion.

“No shit, I’m saying it now dipshit.” She responds, starting and endless back and forth between the two of them that seemed to last until they finally reached their destined area for study group.

CHAPTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | five

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, inaccurate school system talk

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 0.6k

authors note: we're back, literally. there will be more flashbacks in the future so stay tuned. Also I made a playlist with the songs up to this part.

04 | 05 | 06

Sophomore year - 2022

Statistics. You weren’t the biggest fan of the class, yet you took it every semester of your major. One positive thing this class brought you was Kelce. You and Kelce had met thanks to your moms when you were kids and had also gone to kindergarten together. You had moved houses, and when it was time for elementary school, you belonged to a new district, so you didn’t attend the same one as Kelce. But life brought the two of you back together last year in this very same class. As a freshman, you thought you wouldn’t know anyone, but there was the familiar face with whom you had shared so many memories. Kelce didn’t hesitate to talk to you, and it felt like no time had passed. 

This was supposed to be the second class, but the professor was sick last week, so there was no class. Even if this was the first class, he was already assigning a project. It was small, but it had to be done in groups of no fewer than three people, and those groups would remain for the rest of the semester. 

“You can work with us,” Kelce said. 

“Us who?” you asked, confused; he was alone. 

“He is late; he had an impromptu basketball meeting.” Just as on cue, the guy Kelce had been talking about walked into the class, excusing himself to the professor and standing in front of you. 

“You’re in my seat,” he said in a gentle tone. 

“Well, you weren’t here.” You gave him a little smile and added, 

“I think I can forgive you just because of that smile,” he smirked. 

“Just sit down, Rafe,” Kelce motioned to his friend, and you just stared at him. 

After the class ended, Kelce formally introduced the two of you and mentioned that he would create a group chat to talk when needed. You said goodbye to both and left for your next class.

“So, how long have you known her?” Rafe asked Kelce.

“Since when do you care how long I’ve known someone?”

“Since today,” he paused. “Now answer.” Kelce chuckled.

“Since we were kids; our moms are friends. You would’ve met her if she hadn’t moved away before we started elementary school.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

“Why would I mention it before?… Wait! You liked her,” Kelce laughed as they walked out of class.

“Not to be that guy, but have you seen her? Why wouldn’t I like her?”

“Have some backbone, would you? You don’t even know her.”

“And that’s your fault! Why have you kept her hidden?” Kelce laughed out loud again.

“I haven’t kept her hidden.”

“Do you like her?”

“Calm down, would you? No, I don’t like her. She is pretty, but she’s not my type, and I’ve known her for so long I can’t see her that way.”

“I didn’t know you knew Rafe,” Sarah says as you both make your way inside the coffee shop.  

“I don’t; Kelce introduced us yesterday in statistics class, and now we are working together as a group.”  

“That’s nice. He’s pretty good with numbers.”  

“Good to know. I’m not a big fan,” you said, chuckling softly. “How do you know him?”  

“Oh, he is my cousin. We were born almost at the same time and grew up together,” Sarah smiled.  

“It’s like you are siblings.”  

“Oh, we definitely treat each other like siblings sometimes,” she laughs.  

You both continued talking and decided to order because the guys weren’t showing up, and Ruthie had told you that she was going to be late because she had forgotten to buy groceries. After you two had ordered, you sat and continued talking while scrolling through your phones.

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REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[cupidcures]

When Tulips Kiss | Hwang Hyunjin SMAU

you and hyunjin were THE couple back in high school, and the two of you thought that you had found your perfect match. until one day, one misunderstanding turned everything around. the love that you had for one another turned into spite, anger, and hatred. a few years later, one of your best friends since childhood came home from studying abroad, resulting in your friend group to finally be complete again. but on your way to meet up with your friends at the local boba place, you run into the one whom you have grown to despise.

PAIRING: hwang hyunjin x f!reader

GENRE: social media au (with written parts), university au, non-idol au, crack, fluff, angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers, lots of push and pull, hyunjin’s a fuckboy

WARNINGS: mature themes, profanity, suggestive and talks of sexual intercourse, kms+kys jokes

FEATURED IDOLS: all stray kids members, soloist chuu, jiwon of fromis_9 (y/n fc), chaewon of le sserafim, and more

STATUS: ongoing

DISCLAIMER: this is 100% fiction and doesn’t portray how the featured idols act in reality, this is made purely for entertainment

𝜗𝜚 NAVIGATION

PROFILES: 𝜗𝜚 sonny angels || 𝜗𝜚 big hero 6

ZERO || introduction

ONE || let’s get the band back together!

TWO || we are SO back

THREE || LOVESTAY NIGHTCLUB!!!

FOUR || something about her

FIVE || hyunjin approved (?)

SIX || civil

SEVEN || the best of both worlds

EIGHT || de-stress

NINE || happy birthday

TEN || what is she doing?

ELEVEN || nintendo

TWELVE || keep it down

3TEEN || who are you

4TEEN || friends

5TEEN || don’t be mean

6TEEN || wish you were sober

7TEEN || hush up boy

8TEEN || ayen on top!

9TEEN || no feelings at all?

TWENTY || what a coincidence

TWENTY-ONE || gyu

TWENTY-TWO || guitar hero

TWENTY-THREE || take a hint

TWENTY-FOUR || nobody’s surprised

TWENTY-FIVE || log off.

TWENTY-SIX || WRONG ACCOUNT.

TWENTY-SEVEN || am i cooked?

TWENTY-EIGHT || nothing has changed

TWENTY-NINE || the second time?

THIRTY || a win is a win

THIRTY-ONE || #needthat

THIRTY-TWO || i’m a simp

THIRTY-THREE || i like studio ghibli

THIRTY-FOUR || throwback

THIRTY-FIVE || hwangster

THIRTY-SIX || better off

THIRTY-SEVEN || what if

THIRTY-EIGHT || + hyune

THIRTY-NINE || goodnight

FORTY || our gf

FORTY-ONE || THAT’S TERRIBLE

FORTY-TWO || she’s all i’ve ever known

FORTY-THREE || something’s not right

FORTY-FOUR || haribo

FORTY-FIVE || …

AND MORE TO COME…

TAGLIST (CLOSED)!

[hongjoongspoetry]

Pretend You Love Me | Choi Jongho

🥂 Summary: Jongho, heir to Choi Clothes, and you are soulmates marked by each other’s names on your wrists since birth. Instead of a fairy-tale romance, you’re stuck in a fake dating contract to restore Jongho’s tarnished image created by scandals. As you navigate public events and play the part of a cute couple, the lines between fake and real blur together. Despite your undeniable chemistry, you refuse to take him seriously due to his reckless past. As the arrangement nears its end, you must confront the truth about your feelings and whether you can move beyond the contract.

🥂 Pairing(s): Badboy!Jongho x Student!Reader

🥂 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, fake dating AU, fluff, humour

🥂 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), the MC goes by the lastname Jeong, Jongho is a rich kid, the MC not so, Jongho smokes and rides a motorcycle, light alcohol consumption, a lot of teasing, pet names (pretty girl, soulmate, sweetheart & Jjong), probably incorrect portrayal of CEOs and charity events (bare with me, i'm just a girl), some kissing, adult language

🥂 Wordcount: 9.0K

🥂 Author's Note: Click the image for a higher resolution (Tumblr, I hate you). This is my first time ever writing for Jongho and also the fastest I’ve finished a fic — just 4 days, to be exact! It was a lot of fun playing around with the soulmate idea and turning Jongho into a bad-boy-ish character. I hope you all enjoy the second fic of the Cherry Blossom March Event and feel brave enough to share your thoughts with me! I'm really curious to hear what you think and have to say :3

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of matures themes and adult language. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Event taglist

To go out with people widely. It could mean all sorts of things. A person whose presence spreads widely. Someone who possesses the ability to form broad connections and reach far with their impact, whether it be through influence, relationships or personal qualities. To go out with people widely was the meaning behind the chosen hanja of the name Choi Jongho. The same name that was imprinted on your wrist since birth in black and reminded you daily of your other half. Everyone was born with a name on their wrist that assigned them to a soulmate the moment they entered the world. All you had to go by was the names on your wrists and hope it would be someone sane. Everyone didn’t have to worry about that though as some faced a fate worse than death — their soulmate mark written in white. It symbolized the death of their significant other. One would think the word would change into red, like anger and blood, but no. You liked to think the white represented innocence, cleanliness and new beginnings, almost like an angel. 

Your soulmate mark was the same since you were welcomed to the world. Wailing loudly and alerting everyone of your arrival. It hadn’t changed over the course of your twenty-five years long life, for better or for worse. Ever since you could remember, you loved listening to the stories of how people met their soulmates. At family gatherings, you would sit on the knee of your relatives and ask them kindly to retell the moment they met their husbands or wives, but your favorite story was always your parents'.

It was a few days before New Years and both of your parents just recently turned eighteen. The biggest snowfall of the year graced Seoul, like a late Christmas miracle, and the streets were swarmed with people enjoying the freezing weather, young and old alike. Your parents hadn’t known each other by then. They lived in the same neighbourhood, but weren’t aware of just how close they were to their soulmates. Your mother, young and happy, gazed up at the snowflakes being pulled by gravity when something cold and hard struck her, followed by horrified gasps. She crouched down, cradling her head, gently pressing against the side where the snowball had hit. A few seconds later, a young man approached her, apologizing and bowing so deeply that he nearly toppled over. It was your father who had launched the snowball at his friend, misaiming and hitting your mother instead.

Little you hoped to experience a romantic encounter with your soulmate as your parents did. You would stay up way past your bedtime and fantasize of meeting your soulmate, coming up with various scenarios that changed every night, but nothing could prepare you for the surge of emotions when your eyes locked. It was your first day of high school and all of the first year students were gathered in the gymnasium, patiently waiting for the principal to call out their names and their respective classes. You sat in the fifth row on the seventh seat, hands clutching the hem of your blue plaid skirt. It was nerve wracking — starting high school, meeting new people and creating friends. Then there was the possibility of finding the one. The principal cleared his throat, probably getting dried from pronouncing all the names right after each other. You pitied him, but that sentiment flew out the window as he moved onto your class. Out of all the three hundred first years and out of your thirty classmates, one of them was named—

“Choi Jongho!” You burst into his office, letting the door bounce off the wall. 

The secretary, frantically chasing after you with desperate pleas not to disturb the designated successor of Choi Clothes, stood in the doorway, her face twisted in a mix of fear and nervousness as she failed at her job. Successor, my ass. That man didn’t know anything beyond smoking a pack of Marlboros a day, dodging his responsibilities, and defying his parents. The man in question was currently sitting behind his desk, one ankle propped on his knee, fully decked out in Valentino — a black suit that was probably bespoke, tailored to his fitting. His hair, a natural shade of dark cocoa, was parted down the middle and showcased his forehead while his hands were decorated with various pieces of jewelry, starting with big fat rings on his fingers, a golden watch and a matching bracelet. Jongho didn’t look the least phased by your appearance nor by the loud entrance. In fact, he looked as monotone as ever, but you saw the brief twitch of his fingers. While he was at the company, he wasn’t allowed to take a smoke until lunch or after work and it sure was getting to him.

“Miss Jeong,” came the annoying voice of his secretary as she began reciting the script drilled into her mind from her first day on the clock. “Mr. Choi’s schedule is fully booked this afternoon and he does not have the time to discuss–”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out as you zeroed in on Jongho and raised a brow, silently challenging him to do something. On cue, the stone cold expression morphed into sunlight seeping through an array of thunderous clouds as he broke out in a charming smile and averted his attention to the woman behind you still going on about rules and policies. Gentle as a breeze and with a faux sweetness to his words, he cut her off. 

“It’s alright, Eunij. I called her over to plan our date for the evening. We won’t be long, I promise.”

To really secure the win, Jongho flashed her his significant gummy smile that looked sweeter than sugar itself. Jongho knew he was good looking, you knew he was good looking, everyone knew he was good looking, but what they didn’t know was that he used it to his advantage for years. He would flash them a smile warm enough to melt through ice and cheesing eyes that portrayed the sweetest chocolate in the world, but his mouth wasn’t just good for a handsome distraction. More often than not, Jongho would sweet talk his way out of situations. It worked nine out of ten times. The one time it didn’t work was on you.

As expected, Eunji blushed beneath his attentive gaze and your insides turned on fire. The swirls of his name on your skin burned hotter than a blowtorch and no ice bath would save you from the stinging pain. She threw you one last look before closing the door with a gentle click that could barely be heard in the silent room. Being left alone in the solitude of his office and away from the prying eyes of his father’s employees, Jongho allowed the sugary facade to slip like cotton candy dissolving at a brief contact with water. The round eyes of a teddy didn’t find you, but rather a pair belonging to a hungry bear who’s just had his territory disturbed.

Jongho clasped his fingers together and leaned on the mahogany desk, putting his whole weight on it. “I take it you didn’t come here to give me chocolates for White Day?”

Hadn’t you known Jongho for a decade or so, you’d be confused at the teasing remark coming from a man looking anything but in the mood for playing around. You ignored the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and got straight to the point, hoping it would calm the beautiful creatures pushing you to the brink of puking.

“Why did you agree to attend the charity event on my behalf?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend?” 

“Fake-girlfriend,” you corrected him and crossed your arms. “I can’t just change my life to accommodate yours, Jongho, this wasn’t the deal. The contract explicitly said we would be under a fake guise until your name was cleared of rumours and scandals.”

“And how do you think that would happen if we don’t play the part of a happy couple? I can’t go on my own, that tells them I’m more available than ever before, especially when we recently went public with the relationship.”

You yielded under his intense gaze and changed the direction of your attention on the shelf to your left displaying various brands of alcohol ranging from pricey Japanese whiskey to Italian wine. The inside of your cheek was caught between your teeth as you contemplated your answer. He had a point, but you didn’t want to boost his already hugemongous ego. Darting your tongue out to lick at your dry lips, you turned back and found his eyes still staring into the depths of your soul as if searching for the red string that tied you together.

“Just… Just ask me next time before you make a decision on your own, okay? That’s all I want.”

The need to defy everyone and everything danced through his veins, yet the rewarding feeling of succeeding to annoy the other party wasn’t as satisfying when you were on the receiving end this time. He flexed his jaw and the hand that slipped beneath the table to rest on his thigh clenched into a tight fist. 

“Fine…” 

“Thank you.” 

That marked the end of your conversation and you took it as your cue to leave. Jongho’s voice calling out your name brought you to a stop. You didn’t let go of your hold on the doorknob, just turned slightly to show him you were listening.

“We’ll pick you up at six PM on Friday and I’ll have Eunji send you the clothes before then.” As if having the ability to read your mind, he quickly added what felt like the most obvious thing in the world. “And yes, the dress is long sleeved.”

That was probably the sole good thing with the contract, besides the paycheck that sold you in the first place. You weren’t picky with the arrangement and went along with everything stated in the agreement — going on a few dates for publicity, holding hands, kissing, posting each other on social media, attending events and galas. Wearing clothes created by Choi Clothes came with the duty of fake-dating the heir of said agency, however you did make it clear you’d only sign the papers if all the clothes were long sleeved, reaching well over your wrist as not to disclose the soulmate mark. The easy money you once thought you’d earn by fake-dating the successor of Choi Clothes turned into a full-time job with no room for slacking off. Just a few more months, you thought and walked out of Choi Enterprises. 

It was still hard to wrap your head around everything. You recalled the day they came knocking on your door. A woman and man dressed in expensive clothes that seemed to cost more than the will your parents set aside for you. They introduced themselves as the managers of Mr. and Mrs. Choi, the owners of Choi Clothes. The ice tea you poured in the prettiest set of china you owned were left untouched as the managers — the names you have long since forgotten — explained their unexpected visit. The Chois selected you as the perfect candidate for their little stunt to ensure their son wouldn’t put the entire family line at shame and burn the whole establishment to the ground before he could even acquire the title as CEO. 

Your task was, more or less, to be the candy glued to Jongho’s side and together play the part of a couple head over heels for each other. The pair was patient as you bombarded them with questions, meanwhile they only had three — Do you have a soulmate, have you met your soulmate and how is your criminal record? The quiet voice in the back of your mind pointed out how they probably already had the answers, but didn’t want to seem totally uninterested in you.

At first, you didn’t want to do it. Not only were you going to play pretend for a good few months, but you weren’t even allowed to know who you were going to fake-date as they didn’t want you to decline the offer and run your mouth to a newspaper publisher. The fountain pen with gold swirling engravings on its sides looked scary as it lay abandoned beside the pristine contract. That quickly changed when you saw the never ending zeroes slothed after the word ‘total salary’. Your morning shift at the closest seven-eleven that was about to start in thirty minutes flashed before your eyes and you never signed something as fast as you did that contract.

Perhaps you would’ve said no if you knew the heir was going to be none else than your soulmate. The universe worked in miraculous ways and somehow always made sure to lead you back to him. A magnetic pull that steered you in every direction until you would stand before him again.

The weekend came around and so did the event taking place that Saturday afternoon. It would be marked as your second public outing as a couple feeding into the eager eyes and cameras of South Korea. Mr. Oh, Jongho’s designated driver, pulled up in a squeaky clean limousine that looked more out of place than a kitten raised by a group of squirrel monkeys in the Amazon rainforest. Mr. Oh was a kind older man inching closer and closer to his retirement, always wearing a smile and never speaking without referring to others by their titles. In the few and brief encounters you had with the man, he would always greet you with a ‘Hello, Ms. Jeong’ while opening the rear door for you despite being told to just call you by your name. The backseat was already occupied by Jongho sitting in yet another expensive suit.

The suit jacket was black with white tiger-like stripes erupting from his shoulders and reaching all the way down to his midsection. It had six silver buttons, two for practical use while the rest were there for embellishment. Jongho — never one keen on showing too much — chose to keep the jacket buttoned and you wondered how he could endure it, considering he wore a white turtleneck beneath. The pattern wasn’t what caught the eye of the beholder, rather it was the millions of bedazzles covering the whole piece, making it reflect beneath any form of light, identical to the ones on your dress. His hair was styled in a middle part and unveiled his forehead, a sight you had seen a dozen times before, but were still left breathless. It was already established that Jongho was a handsome man, however the suits created by his parents certainly brought out the best of him — accentuating his confidence, breathtaking features and magnetic presence in a way that left everyone in awe. 

Jongho brought you back to reality as he did a rundown of the charity event, what questions to expect and what answers to give, the names of some important people you would definitely speak — or at least greet — with tonight and who would exit the limousine first. You definitely missed the way his eyes ran over your figure, seemingly appreciating you in a beautiful dress from the latest spring collection of his parents. The Chois apparently had a knack for chic attires because your dress wasn’t anything over the top either, but would definitely unscrew some jaws. It was strapless and started from your bosom with a straight neckline allowing your collarbones to be captured by the crazy shuttering cameras. The dress was tight around your torso, giving a perfect picture of your figure beneath, but grew loose from your hips and down. The material didn’t stop until it grazed the ground you walked on, despite wearing a pair of black stiletto heels that were made for your feet and clicked with each step you took, announcing your arrival to everyone in a close vicinity.

Speaking of your lower body — your left leg was exposed as a long slit protruded from your upper thigh. Both of your arms were covered in black detachable sleeves reaching up to your mid bicep and cuffing around the cushion of your hand. You almost threw a fit when you took out the dress from its gigantic box and noticed the lack of sleeves on it. You were one phone call away from canceling the whole agreement hadn’t you seen the remaining parts of the attire.  To top it off, the Chois gifted you a set of golden jewelry and a black clutch handbag spacious enough to fit your phone, lipstick and wallet. The matching set of earrings, rings and necklace were nothing too outstanding, but enough to take on the elegance of a model.

“We’ll be there for an hour or two and then Mr. Oh will take you home.”

You ignored the part where it was stated Mr. Oh was taking you home and focused on his subtle slip-in of defying his parents’ rules yet again. Your brows furrowed together and Jongho suppressed the need to even out the skin between them. “No, Mr. and Mrs. Choi explicitly said we had to be there until the very end of the event.”

Jongho leaned into his seat and spread his legs further apart until one of his knees touched your thigh. A chuckle void of amusement filled the passenger compartment and he sighed as if you said the joke of the century.

“I think you should relax a little, sweetheart. My parents should be grateful I’m attending in the first place.”

You pursed your lips to keep yourself from giving your input where it clearly wasn’t wished for. Jongho looked out of the window while you admired his side profile. Jongho was the epitome of a whiplash — you never knew when he’d shake you off like a poisonous insect or help you fly as if you were an injured ladybug. His nonchalance left a bitter tang on your tongue, the similar taste after downing a beer you knew you’d puke back up in a few hours, and the imaginary Jongho was crushed in the world you created in your brain.

The karma of thinking such thoughts was instantaneous as the skin beneath your soulmate mark flared to life. You wondered if Jongho experienced repercussions whenever he was treating you badly. The rest of the drive was done in silence safe for the newest global hits playing through the speakers. Four songs later and the limousine temporarily came to a stop before the entrance of a big building looking like something straight out of a movie. A red carpet was rolled out from the doors to the street where everyone’s ride was instructed to stop and let the guests out. Mr. Oh exited first and walked around the oblong vehicle as Jongho simultaneously fixed his suit although it was free of any imperfections.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

The door opened and Jongho stepped out, an array of flashes went off accompanied by the calls of his name — the photographers begging for a crumb of his attention. Jongho straightened his jacket, offered everyone a smile and quick wave before holding out his hand to face the dark heavens. That was your cue. No one really knew who you were outside of being Jongho’s girlfriend and even after you became public, they could find little to no information about you online. Thus, you didn’t expect the clicking of cameras and flashes to multiply in your presence. You grabbed Jongho’s hand per your agreement and stepped out with your exposed leg first then, when you fully exited the limousine — an upgrade from Jongho’s death trap of a motorcycle — you smoothly looped your arm through his and firecrackers erupted on your skin at the contact.  You stood tall and got a couple of inches on him thanks to the heels, but he didn’t seem bothered by it and neither was the company otherwise you doubt they would’ve sent it in the first place.

Standing in the centre of attention wasn’t as nauseating as you originally thought it would be and whether you want to admit it or not, it was partially because of Jongho being there to anchor you. It wasn’t his forthe to whisper sweet words of encouragement, but he portrayed his support in other ways such as leading you through the overwhelming photographers, sneaking his arm around your waist and respectfully resting his palm above the curve of your hip. It helped that you rehearsed the events of the night from start to finish with Jongho and wouldn’t be in for a surprise. Taking advice from your favorite childhood movie, you put on the brightest smile of your career and moved along. The audience didn’t need to know you were finding comfort in the famous line from Madagascar. 

The inside of the venue was prettier than any other interior you had ever laid eyes on. To be frank, it wasn’t anything exceptional, but the simplicity made it appear so. The main colors of the theme were creme white and beige, and were integrated into everything. The seats were plush chairs made out of velvet material in an ashy shade of beige while the tables were round with white marble tops. There was a path leading straight down the area and separating the room into two occupied with seats on both sides. On the other end of the pathway was a slightly elevated scene where the hosts of the event and guests would give their speeches, and use the smartboard to their liking. The ceiling was the most alluring sight though. Oblong light bulbs hung from the ceiling as sheer garment circled the light in waves. It gave a sense of elegance as well as coziness. 

A waiter dressed in a simple black suit offered you champagne on a platter and while you didn’t wish to become drunk, you still needed some alcohol to get through the night, especially when you were going to meet some of Choi Clothes’ most trusted business partners. You both took a glass each and mingled around with Jongho’s arm still glued to you as if it belonged right above the swell of your hip. Not many words, if any at all, were exchanged as you mainly drank in the design of the place while simultaneously ignoring the stares and whispers of the remaining guests, all eyes glued to your forms fitting perfectly with one another like two lost pieces of a puzzle. They were all curious about the pretty lady beneath Jongho’s arm and how the reckless Choi managed to find a girl that would look past his bad habits and disrespectful personality. If only they knew. 

Jongho’s situation wasn’t entirely a secret. Everyone knew he was somewhat of a problematic guy with another style of living that wasn’t fit to his parents’ standard. They didn’t feel all too proud waking up to multiple articles of Dispatch flaunting pictures taken of Jongho leaving clubs early in the morning surrounded by boys and girls of all kinds, certainly not the kind to be invited to exclusive fashion events and charities. Jongho hadn’t changed much over the years, if you recalled correctly. He would rarely be present during lectures. He was physically there, but his mind had transcended off to dreamland long before the lesson started. The one interest he had was soccer and even that ended shortly into his second year as he got with the wrong crowd. If someone needed him, he could be found smoking on the roof or behind the back of the school with a handful of students who also had successful parents.

It was sheer luck Jongho was an only child and that his parents were in need of a successor, otherwise he would’ve been kicked to the curb a long time ago. Apparently, the Chois grew sick of his careless behaviour and gave him an ultimatum — clean up his mess or not be signed as an heir to the company. Jongho defied them like always, until his credit card ran empty and he realized his parents wouldn’t relent. He came crawling back with his tail between his legs and agreed to their proposition. You never understood him or why he acted the way he did. He had everything, practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth and it amazed you that the universe decided to tie your souls to each other. Jongho certainly wasn’t the soulmate you expected and your meeting wasn’t anywhere near the romantic encounter your parents experienced.

“Let’s take a seat before the aunties swammer us,” he whispered in your ear and led you to a table with a gentle nudge to the small of your back. 

The touch sent plausible tingles of electricity up your spine and the intensity never wavered even when he withdrew his hand to pull out your chair for you — a great play to showcase his inner gentleman. He took his righteous place on your right side, but immediately regretted it. His ploy of escaping the aunties proved to be futile as Mrs. Kang, a good business partner of Jongho’s paternal grandparents, butted into your table and plopped down on the vacant seat beside you despite her name not being on the list and began shooting invasive questions. The older lady wanted to know everything about you — your age, name, workplace, how you knew Jongho, who your soulmate was, if you and Jongho were soulmates. She pulled on the imaginary rubber band attached to Jongho’s wrist until it snapped and rebounded against his skin.

“Mrs. Kang, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

The chatter around the table quieted down at Jongho’s sharp reply and you acted quickly to ease the tension. You placed your hand over his and gave it a firm squeeze. The motion averted his attention from Mrs. Kang to your stern gaze. A silent conversation ensued between you.

“Stop.”

“She’s the one who started it.”

“I don’t care. It won’t look good for you or your parents.”

Jongho eventually gave in and leaned back in his chair. The sudden cold shoulder on his part was him telling you he wasn’t pleased with the outcome. Not like you cared. Yes, your part of the deal was to be his fake-girlfriend, but you couldn’t just let him do as he wished to the people around him as it would reflect a bad light on you too. 

“Welcome everyone to the Fashion For Aid charity event aimed at assisting children in group homes! I want to express my sincere gratitude to everyone for attending on this fine evening…” 

The host was a man in his late sixties with a head full of hair and face clean of any. You weren’t paying much attention to what he was saying as you weren’t well versed into the fashion world, but you did your best to at least look immersed in his speech. The man to your right wasn’t looking any more interested than you did and actually managed to sit through the first five minutes of the opening ceremony, until he got bored. After that, he played a game of what-could-Jongho-do-to-annoy-his-soulmate-in-the-fastest-way-possible? He did everything to get on your nerves — drumming his fingers against the edge of the table, staring at you then looking away when you met his gaze, loudly cracking his neck and fingers, and frequently checked his phone. The moment the host finished his lengthy speech and encouraged everyone to visit the table full of sweets and drinks placed on both sides of the room, Jongho jumped from his seat, hand already reaching into the inner pocket of his suit.

“If you’ll excuse me, a man’s gotta use the bathroom.”

“Jongho!” You hissed after him, but he either didn’t hear you or blatantly ignored you. As you moved to follow him, an inkling feeling telling you the bathroom was the last place he was headed for, a wrinkly hand landed on your thigh and successfully stopped you from going after him.

“Oh, honey, it is not worth stressing over him. Youngsters like that boy don’t change and he won’t do it even with a beautiful lady by his side.”

A bucket of water spilled over you and froze all forty-three muscles in your face. You somehow managed to force the corners of your mouth up and fake a smile, but the sincerity was not evident in your eyes.

“I, uhm, don’t want him to change. Really.” You added in the end as Mrs. Kang raised a brow in non-belief. “I like Jongho as he is and I don’t think he needs to change to fit in other people's crowded boxes.”

“If you say so, dear, but… if you’re interested, I have a nephew your age who would suit you much better than Mr. Choi.” She turned in her seat and scanned the crowd for said nephew. A fire lit beneath your chair as she began waving him over.

“Oh, Mrs. Kang, that's not necessary.” The reassuring words fell on deaf ears — literally — and although you weren’t too keen on lying, you already had one rich kid to look after. “I think I heard Jongho calling for me, I’ll be right back!”

Jongho was in fact not calling you over. Jongho was gone, disappeared into thin air and abandoned you in a room full of strangers. It would be a miracle if he hadn’t asked Mr. Oh to drive him someplace, leaving you to figure out your own ride home.

“Fucking hell, Jongho,” you muttered and weaved through the crowd of successful people and nepotism babies. 

The venue was so packed with people you couldn’t even try searching for the bathrooms and opted to go back out again. The outside wasn’t void of people either, as some foreign faces stood socializing with each other, drinks in one hand and fat cigars squeezed between the pointer- and middle finger of their other hand. Not searching for more aunties or uncles to flag you down, you walked away from the people to a place that seemed vacant. Who would’ve known the universe was pulling on your red string and leading you in the direction of your soulmate. Turning the corner of the building, you stumbled over the view of Jongho crouched down behind a couple of taller bushes. Much like the other gentlemen, he too had a slim cigarette placed between his lips, dragging the poisonous smoke right into his lungs. You understood why out of all the places, he chose to smoke on the other side of the building. It was less prone to attract the paparazzi searching for something juicy to spread on social media. 

Jongho didn’t kill the glowing stick as you appeared in his peripheral vision nor did he show a sign of acknowledging your sudden appearance. You didn’t go out of your way to chastise him for smoking in a public setting either, instead you took a stance beside him while he inhaled the last of the cancer-stick and looked straight ahead. It was already stuffy just standing there in silence, you didn’t need to stare at him with questions swimming in your eyes.

The warm sun of March was replaced by the round and bright moon, allowing a certain frost to the early spring breeze. You crossed your arms over your chest and caressed the exposed skin of your bicep with your thumb in a poor attempt at subduing the coldness. The dress was beautiful, but it certainly wasn’t made for such weather and you were questioning their professionalism as they didn’t give you a coat or any other outerwear. On the other hand, Jongho had been admiring you for the last couple of seconds since you took the place beside him and the sharp goosebumps littered on your body didn’t go unnoticed by him. He balanced the cigarette between his lips and slipped the suit jacket off himself. The rustle of clothes caught your attention and before you could realize what was happening, a newfound warmth wrapped around you followed by a mild fragrance of charcoal, pine needles and espresso. 

“You don’t have to–” 

“I’m not letting my date freeze her ass off.”

You tried ignoring the harsh squeeze of your heart and a pang of heat blossoming from the center of your chest, sprouting out to the rest of your body. This was just Jongho being kind, nothing more, nothing less. Yet your heart and soulmate mark thought otherwise. The stinging smell of his cigarette was a perfect distraction and your nose scrunched at the awful burn. Jongho needed all of three seconds to take one last drag of the stick, blow it away from your face and throw it to the ground, his expensive boot coming down to turn it to speckles of ash. 

“I’m going back inside,” you announced after another minute of silence. “It won’t look good if both of us are missing.”

“Who cares what they think? They’ll always have something to say about me in the end so it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to prove them right, you know?”

You didn’t get another answer after that and decided to take your leave. A warm hand circled around your wrist, their thumb grazing the covered soulmate mark and stopping you in your steps. You turned around, Jongho’s hand still on you but his eyes avoiding yours at all cost.

“...Wanna get out of here?” He eventually asked.

Another beat passed and you pressed your lips together. “We really shouldn’t, Jongho, besides it’s against the contract.”

A genuine laugh escaped him and he moved toward the opposite side of the event, rounding the corner you didn't appear from. “Screw the contract.” 

You quickly followed his lead, intrigued and worried at where he was headed. Perhaps you got worked up for nothing as a bunch of expensive cars as well as limousines were parked in neat rows, the moonlight reflecting off their polished hoods and trunks. 

“Where are you going?” You hissed and bunched one end of your dress to not accidentally step on it and twist your ankle.

“Why don’t you find out?”

How you managed to find yourself in this situation was beyond you. Not once was it stated in the contract that you would need to use Jongho’s death trap as a form of transportation, yet there you were sitting on the back of his motorcycle as he zoomed through the street. It was a miracle he successfully managed to sneak it into the parking lot without having any of the guards or chaperons turning him down. Then again, it was Choi Jongho they were dealing with. What Jongho wanted, Jongho got.

Your arms were tightly wrapped around his midsection and your eyes squeezed shut, almost believing the danger of the situation would disappear if you couldn’t see the blur of scenery whiz past you. Jongho smirked at the feel of you squeezing him to death and he purposefully revved the bike to go faster just to hear your squeaks of fear slip beneath your helmet. He wasn’t even going half the speed he was used to, but he felt just a twinge of remorse for you. The motorcycle slowed down and eventually stopped before a red light.

“You can open your eyes now,” he spoke into the built-in bluetooth in his helmet and placed his hand on your intertwined ones, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a soothing motion. The whipping wind was quickly drying your hands and he was cursing himself for the pair of gloves he forgot on the edge of his bed. 

You did as told, albeit opening one eye at a time just to make sure he wasn’t sugarcoating the situation. For once, you were happy about being wrong.

“How much more?” You asked, your throat dry and beginning for a sip of water. 

“We’re almost there.” The traffic light switched to yellow. “Hold on tight now.”

It took an eternity — twenty minutes — until Jongho put the motorcycle in neutral and turned off the throttle as well as the ignition switch, and allowed the weight of the vehicle to lean on the kickstand. He took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the gelled strands in the process and placed the helmet on the surface of the fuel tank. You slightly released your grip on him, but were still reluctant to move as you were afraid of somehow falling off the motorcycle or tipping the whole thing over and thus let your fingers hover over his sides. Jongho’s feet were planted on the ground for extra security and comfort, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see you sit stiff as a board. He turned away and brought his shoulders up to his ears as he quietly chuckled to himself. The helmet was still on your head and your cheeks mushed by the pillowy cushion inside, making you look like a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts.

“I thought you hated her?” He asked through his giggles.

“Huh?”

“The motorcycle. I thought you hated the motorcycle, besides can you let go off me now? Unless you like touching me–”

You didn’t need to hear more to fling your hands in the air. The abrupt motion almost caused you to fall back, hadn't you grabbed Jongho’s shoulders again. It was sheer luck that he was sturdy enough not to lean back from your harsh grip. He laughed again, a chuckle that brought his gummy smile into the moonlight. It was a sound you came to like and wouldn't mind hearing for the rest of your life. The admission caused your ears to burn with embarrassment and you were grateful that the soulmate connection was limited to the scribbled name on your wrist, not giving your other half the ability to feel your emotions or hear your thoughts.

“Okay, go like this. Place this foot,” he patted the side of your left thigh, “on the ground and swing your other leg over the bike, then carefully step off. Hold onto me until you’re completely off so you don’t fall.”

His instructions were easy to follow and you managed to get off without hurting yourself, him, or damaging his prized possession. The sound of water softly washing up against the sand reached your ears and it was only when you dismounted the motorcycle that you took in your surroundings. The view was nothing short of exceptional. You stood on the sidewalk with stairs leading straight down to the riverside area, giving you a perfect view of the river. It was slightly blurry and you couldn't quite figure out why. As your hand subconsciously reached up to rub your eyes, you accidentally brushed against the visor. Unsure how to remove the helmet without discomfort, you decided to simply slide the visor up instead.

The Mapo Bridge was even prettier at night, with its blue and purple lights twinkling beneath the dark sky. At least a hundred cars drove across the bridge in the few minutes since you arrived and the sound of their tires and whirring motors added a sense of tranquility to the setting. The prettiest of it all were the cherry blossoms slipping off the branches of the Prunus serrulata trees. The ground was covered in pink and white petals, and some even landed in your hair. It was magical.

It dawned on you just where Jongho had brought you — Yeouido Hangang Park. While you were busy taking in every little detail of the scenery, Jongho retrieved his keys from the ignition and stopped beside you. He buried them in the pockets of his pants to prevent you from noticing he was fidgeting with the keys, thus keeping his dignity intact. He couldn’t have you going around thinking you were the reason behind the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and whether that was true or not would stay with Jongho, and Jongho only.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out.

Jongho hummed in agreement, yet his eyes didn’t budge from your form. It didn’t matter that you wore stiletto heels with a designer dress, a suit jacket multiple sizes too big for you and a sports helmet on your head — you looked as beautiful as the first day he met you, all those years ago in high school. He cleared his throat and stepped in front of you, the pads of his fingers gently grazing the skin beneath your chin as he unclasped the straps of your helmet. The little click snapped your attention to his eyes full of focus that shifted from your chin up to your lips, and lastly your eyes. As if stuck in a trance unable to look away, you drowned in the warmest hue of brown molded out of the richest cacao beans in the world. Jongho slowly took hold of your helmet and began pushing it upwards, but with a gentleness you hadn’t witnessed before. He was so careful and the imagination of having your head ripped off your body didn’t come to life. 

“Thank you,” you whispered as he successfully removed the gear.

“No worries… I’m sure my mom would have my head if I let a lady walk around in designer clothes with a cheap helmet on.”

Although his intentions weren’t to tickle your belly, the sound of your laughter spread a fervor through his body and shone light on the darkest parts in him. It was contagious and he found his own lips curling up, eyes cheesing and that angelic voice of his handing out gleeful melodies to the few people taking a late-night stroll in the park. 

“Come on, let’s take a walk.” He held out his hand for you to take and you did without a second thought. “I meant your heels, but lucky for you I have two hands.”

You began withdrawing your hand, but Jongho had already laced your fingers together and refused to let go. 

“You're unbelievable,” you muttered, pretending the heat of embarrassment wasn't attacking your cheeks.

“I can live with that.” 

Jongho pulled you along toward the flight of stairs and patiently walked with you. It didn’t matter that it took five minutes to reach the bottom because he was with you every step of the way and if you said anything otherwise, Jongho would’ve argued the night was still young and that the five minutes were worth it as he got to spend them with you. He was lucky his parents chose a candidate who wasn’t insecure of themselves to the point they apologized for every minor inconvenience, because Jongho wasn’t sure how the sweet words would fit his unruly persona. The first three steps on the sand made you change your mind and you quickly removed the heels, flexing your stiff feet and releasing a breath of relief. The expensive pair of footwear were handed to Jongho who hooked his pointer- and middle finger in the heel counter while his other set of fingers were still braided with yours. 

“It’s nice here,” you admitted and looked out on the river. The other side was covered with a bunch of buildings, much like the ones behind you, and looked like a scene straight out of a movie. Where the lights of the apartments, universities and hospitals took on the looks of the stars above.

“Mmmmm, it’s quiet and empty.”

“Do you come here a lot?” 

Jongho pondered for a moment. “Sometimes… I can think easier when there aren’t a bunch of people breathing down my neck, plus the ride here helps me clear my head.”

“It’s overwhelming, right? I mean being in the spotlight constantly and having your every move watched from an early age, no?”

He shrugged. “It was at first, but… I stopped caring after a while and people stopped expecting things from me.”

You hummed in understanding and let the gentle waves wash over the conversation. The curiosity you once carried with you concerning Jongho’s defying personality simmered down to nothing and you realized it wasn’t a topic you should venture in on just yet. Instead, you changed it to something less serious. 

“You know, I didn’t think we’d see each other after high school, but look at us now. Holding hands beneath the stars… Are you perhaps starting to like me, Jjong?”

One end of Jongho's lips curled into a shit-eating grin and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and you couldn't tell if it was from the nickname or from bringing up old high school memories. Jongho’s walking slowed down until both feet were planted on the sand, not bugging despite you being half a step ahead of him. You looked over your shoulder to see what was the reason for stopping. 

“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered by the fact that you think I’m just now starting to like you.”

He shortened the distance between you, leaving barely any room for air to squeeze past your bodies. His thumb traced a never-ending circle across the back of your hand and your heels had long since dropped onto the sand, giving him the freedom to cradle the side of your face. Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart seemed to sprout a pair of angel wings, soaring in your chest at the contact of his skin on yours.

"To answer your question, soulmate, I’ve liked you since the day I saw you in that gymnasium." Jongho's eyes traveled over your face, giving each feature and detail equal attention, as if he wanted to memorize your beauty as though it were a cheat sheet for an exam. "You were dressed in that cute school uniform, your hair braided and kept out of your face, and you looked absolutely sick to your stomach. That’s when I knew our souls were made for each other. I didn’t even need to know your name or look at your wrist. I just knew."

The world went silent around you. The sloshing of water, the chorus of cute laughter and the moving vehicles were muffled sounds that didn’t reach your ears. A furious heat crawled up your back and neck, nipping at your cheeks until you were on the brink of burning up like a firework, but the rest of your body — your fingers, toes, nose and ears — were freezing cold. A massive star nearing the end of its life cycle suddenly exploded and your hearing came back. The air that had caught in your throat was let out as Jongho’s words settled in your mind.

“Jongho,” you lamely whispered in return. 

The secret you had carried for years turned out not to be much of a secret after all, and the hundreds, thousands, of people you thought you were fooling day in and day out weren’t deserving of that title. Because the biggest fool out of them all was you.

“You knew all along?” 

Jongho shrugged and tore his eyes from your dumbfounded expression down to your wrist. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.” His thumb slid up beneath your detachable sleeves, exposing the name you kept hidden for years. “I mean, it isn’t everyday I hear about a pretty girl with my name tattooed on her wrist and hers on mine.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first. The fact that he called you a pretty girl, his thumb caressing your soulmate mark or him knowing you were destined together since high school. Your tongue darted out to lick at your bottom lip and his eyes were quick to follow the brief movement. He swallowed thickly and forced them up again. 

“I take it you knew too?”

You nodded in return. “When they called out your name in the assembly and I caught the side of your face.” 

“I’m happy you didn’t approach me then,” he suddenly admitted and chuckled as your brows pinched together. “Fate brought us together in the end.”

“But we aren’t together-together.”

“Last time I checked, you pretty much signed a contract to date me.”

“Fake-date you.”

The tongue poking the inside of his cheek looked ten times more attractive beneath the moonlight, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hand through his hair and kiss that darned smirk off his face. Perhaps the soulmate bond went further than a name scribbled on the outer layer of your skin, because your wish wasn’t too far from Jongho’s. He, too, wanted to get a taste of your lips. To have some remnants of your lipstick smudge against his and guess the flavor of it — maybe strawberry or cherry, though he always took you for a coconut girl. 

He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay, fake-date then… Better?”

Not in the least.

“Much better.”

“It’s not for me,” he quickly added.

“Why?”

Jongho inhaled a sharp intake of air and waited, playing the scene out in his mind and weighing out his options before puking his thoughts and feelings out in an almost vacant park. “Because… I want to do stuff with you. To hold your hand, take you out on dates, kiss you, hug you and just be with you like a real couple. I want to know that the look you have when you’re with me is real, that it isn’t just a job for you. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.”

“I have always wanted you,” you confessed shakily. “Before I even knew you, Jongho. There was nothing more I wanted than to find my soulmate and that hasn’t changed. Even when I did find you and lost you at the same time, that desire still lived within me. It still does… And when I found out you were the rich kid who needed a fake-girlfriend, it felt like the world was laughing in my face, but I realized it was giving me a second chance. Us a second chance.”

Now it was Jongho’s turn to look dumbfounded. You took his silence as a sign to continue.

“And all you had to do, Jjong, was ask. Even now. Just ask for what you want.”

The man stared at you as if heaven were beneath your fingertips, as if a single touch of your finger would bring him eternal peace and serenity. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and no one else could compete with your beauty — even if they were sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Jongho was never a listener — always defying and doing as he pleased. Yet this one time, the one time, he would be darned if he didn’t.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The stars aligned as his lips gently pressed against yours. Jongho was right, you tasted like coconut and it had him craving for more, yet the fear of pushing you away was greater than his need. The fingers of your free hand tangled into the side of his shirt to steady your swirling mind, but did little for your erratically beating heart. Jongho wasn’t rough nor eager to ravage your mouth with his tongue, rather on the contrary. It was a soft and lingering kiss that tested the waters. You parted to inhale air before diving in for another kiss, this one a little more urgent and daring than the first, but equally sweet. Jongho’s tongue swiped at your bottom lip and you tilted your head sideways while allowing him access. Even now with his tongue exploring your mouth, the kiss didn’t change from intimate to hungry. A fire was set in your lungs that ached for oxygen and you were left with no choice but to break apart. Jongho rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing and heavy gasps for air fanning your faces. 

“You drive me crazy,” he said between breaths.

“I’m not… doing anything.” You had to fight the smile threatening to dance across your lips. This was a whole new side to Jongho, a side you had never seen before but wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“Precisely and you still make me lose my mind.”

The stubborn smile eventually broke through and Jongho huffed out a chuckle at the gleeful expression. I’m-not-doing-anything his ass. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek once and twice, but froze in motion as you asked him a question. 

“Did you really mean everything you said earlier? About the contract, I mean.”

“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat. “If I could, I would terminate the contract, but keep this. Keep us.” 

A beat passed and then another. Your thoughts were flying wild, narrowly avoiding each other and the explosion that would ensue. 

“Let’s do it then,” you eventually said. That was the second bravest thing you had done in your life. The first would be signing the contract while running on four hours of sleep. “Let’s do it for real.”

Jongho gauged your expression, searching for any sign of uncertainty or regret. When he couldn’t find even a hint of either, he pressed his lips against yours. Affection, joy and excitement poured into the kiss, and Jongho hoped you would feel at least half of it.

Unbeknownst to the new couple, two people stood by Jongho’s motorcycle. The man wore a fancy black suit, while the woman’s dress elegantly hugged her curves as she stood effortlessly in her heels. A set of black sunglasses obscured their eyes, despite the fact that the sun had long since exchanged places with the moon. The pair seemed out of place in Yeouido Hangang Park surrounded by people dressed in casual clothing. Passersby noticed it too, shooting them strange looks, but neither of them cared. Their attention was fixed on the couple brought together by destiny.

“I knew she was the one for him,” the man proudly admitted and puffed out his chest.

The woman beside him scoffed. “Please, I was the one who found her Linkedin and recognized her name from Mr. Choi’s wrist.”

The pair gave you one last look before turning around and clambering back into the limousine, which drove them straight to the charity event. They had left the party in a hurry the moment they noticed the absence of the successor of Choi Clothes and his fake girlfriend — or should they say, his real girlfriend?

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[formulafanfics13]

The Devil Wears Prada and a Breitling - Toto Wolff 🔥

masterlist

Summary: Sent undercover to take down Toto Wolff — the feared criminal mastermind known as Der Schattenkönig — an agent is exposed and captured the moment she enters his suite. But instead of death, she’s met with dangerous seduction, psychological domination, and feral, punishing sex that leaves her compromised in every sense of the word.

Warnings: dubcon (dubious consent), D/s power dynamics, rough sex, public figure as crime boss AU, fingering, oral sex (F receiving), condom use, degradation, coercion kink, enemy-to-lover dynamic, psychological manipulation, power imbalance, mind games, light humiliation.

You knew who he was before he even stepped into the room. You’d memorised the dossiers. Pored over every blurry photograph. Watched hours of grainy CCTV footage, all useless from the neck up because the man never lifted his gaze. Always looking down. Always making people come to him.

Toto Wolff, also known in certain closed-circuit government documents as Der Schattenkönig - The Shadow King. A multi-billion-euro empire of laundering, logistics, and legal manipulation wrapped in the glossy, philanthropic packaging of global motorsport.

He didn’t run drugs. Didn’t move girls. He thought both were beneath him. He ran systems. Banking trails. Grey money. Fixers. Bought power. And now you were supposed to bring him down.

Undercover alias: Y/N Moretti. Private operations consultant. Background cover: Monaco-based crisis PR with ties to F1.

Mission: Get close. Get trusted. Get inside. 

You weren’t expecting it to work this fast. The doors of the private suite opened in silence. You turned slowly, wine glass in hand, the slit of your black Versace gown pulled high over one thigh, deliberate. Strategic.

Toto walked in like he’d been there all along. Six foot five. Austrian steel. Bespoke charcoal suit, white shirt unbuttoned to the base of his throat. Breitling on one wrist. Ring on his pinky. Not a trace of visible weaponry, but every inch of him screamed control.

He didn’t smile. His eyes swept the room. Landed on you. “Miss Moretti,” he said, voice so deep it felt like a hand on your throat. “We meet at last.”

You stepped forward, heels clicking. Tilted your head. “Mr. Wolff,” you replied, holding his gaze. “You’re taller than they say.”

He arched an eyebrow. “They?”

You smiled slowly. “The media.”

He took your hand. Cold fingers, firm grip. He didn’t kiss it. Just held it a second too long. “You’ve done good work,” he said. “I’ve read every file.”

You feigned a blush. “Then I’m flattered.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Something calculating behind his eyes. “No,” he said. “You’re not.”

Your breath caught. And then he turned. Walked to the bar. Poured himself a scotch. He didn’t ask if you wanted one.

“You’re not here for PR,” he said. No inflection. Just fact.

Your pulse stuttered. “Excuse me?”

Toto turned. Leaned against the bar. Rolled the glass between his fingers. “I did some digging,” he said casually. “You don’t exist before 2021. No Monaco apartment. No high-profile clients. Not a single photograph that can’t be traced back to a fake portfolio.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I’ve had agents try to get close before,” he said. “You’re prettier than most.”

Your throat dried. “Toto-”

“Take off the earpiece,” he said.

You froze.

“I know it’s behind your left ear,” he added. “I had the suite swept before you arrived.”

Slowly, mechanically, your fingers reached up. Slid the tiny black comm from behind your ear and set it on the table.

Toto smiled, soft and terrifying. “There,” he said. “Now we can talk.”

You stared at him. Heart thudding. “Are you going to kill me?”

He took a sip of scotch. “Not yet.”

You swallowed. “What do you want from me?”

Toto set his glass down. Walked back toward you. Slowly. Like a fucking wolf. He didn’t stop until his body brushed yours, until you had to tilt your chin to look him in the eyes. “I want to know,” he said, voice low, “how far you were willing to go to get me.”

Your lips parted.

“I want to know if you were planning to fuck me before or after the intel extraction.”

Your breath hitched. He noticed.

“And I want to know,” he added, reaching up and brushing your hair off your shoulder, “how wet you are right now, standing in front of the man you were sent to destroy.”

You should’ve slapped him. Pulled a knife. Run. Instead you let out a broken sound as his hand slid under the slit of your dress, fingers dragging slow up the inside of your thigh, knuckles grazing your skin, until he pressed his palm against the heat between your legs.

You were soaked. He felt it. And smiled. “Well, well,” he murmured. “Looks like the little spy wants to be compromised.”

He pushed your back against the wall with one hand, the other slipping under your dress and curling two fingers inside you like he owned the space. You gasped, thighs twitching, body betraying you with every pulse.

“You think I didn’t plan for this?” he asked, fingers fucking you slow and deep, his thumb brushing your clit like a goddamn weapon. “I knew the moment they sent you, they’d pick someone like you. Pretty. Clever. Lonely.”

You moaned, breathless.

“Let me guess,” he continued, voice like velvet sin, “they told you I was dangerous. That I’d hurt you. That you needed to be careful not to fall for the mask.”

He curled his fingers just right and your knees buckled. “But they didn’t tell you what I’d do when I caught you.”

“Toto-fuck-”

“Language,” he said sharply. “Unless you want me to stuff that pretty mouth so you stop saying my name like you want to die for it.”

Your head slammed back against the wall. He dropped to his knees. Without warning, he pulled your dress up to your waist and buried his face between your thighs, licking and sucking like he was claiming you. You cried out, hips jerking, hands tangling in his perfect black hair as he moaned into your cunt.

“That’s it,” he growled, lips wet. “Let the man you were sent to destroy make you fucking scream.”

You came with a sob. Toto stood up, wiped his mouth, and pulled a condom from his breast pocket. Like he knew. Like he always fucking knew.

“Turn around,” he said, voice pure steel.

You did. He shoved your dress down. Bent you over the glass table. Lined himself up and slid into you in one brutal thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs.

He fucked you hard. Hands on your hips. Body slamming into you like punishment. Like reward. “Do you know what I do to agents who lie to me?” he grunted. “I fuck them until they beg for mercy.”

You clawed the table, sobbing. “I didn’t mean-”

“You meant to deceive me,” he growled. “Now you’ll learn what it means to belong to me.”

You came again, broken and loud. He pulled out, tore off the condom, and jerked himself until he came across your ass with a groan, chest heaving. The room went silent. He pulled your dress back down. Smoothed your hair. Buttoned his cuff.

“You work for me now,” he said, voice calm again. “Say it.”

You turned, legs trembling. “I work for you.”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

[reds-hoodies]

Blink and You’ll Miss It (pt2)

Tags: Jason Todd X GN!Reader, Soulmate AU, fluff

Word Count: ~820

A/N: here you go :D!! Sorry this took so long, had some IRL stuff come up-

Enjoy!

Prev

Jason Todd was not an optimist. He knew better than to believe in fate or destiny, so for the longest time, he never believed in soulmates. At least, not for himself.

That was, of course, until three weeks ago.

He had never had his world rocked so hard. He had never seen anything so captivating, and it had consumed his every waking thought.

He needed to find you.

But for the past three weeks, it seemed like he had been chasing a goddamn ghost.

He had watched security cameras, pieced together patterns, and found that you had a few frequent spots: a café, a park, a stupidly overpriced farmers’ market in the Diamond District. But every time he thought he had you pinned down, he showed up and— nothing.

It was like you were just barely out of reach.

Right now, though, Jason sat in a booth near the back of the café, hood up, arms crossed, waiting. He had been there for an hour, prepared for a stakeout, ready to plant himself there all night if he had to.

His phone buzzed.

Babs: That person you’re looking for? Just showed up at the library.

Jason blinked at the screen. Then another buzz.

Babs: Looked around for like five seconds, then left in a hurry 👀

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His fingers tightened around the phone.

You had been looking for something.

Or someone.

His pulse picked up, and he was already moving to get up when movement outside caught his eye.

Through the café window, he saw you.

Jason went still, barely breathing as he watched you weave through the crowd, moving like you were on a mission.

For half a second, he just stared. His brain lagged behind his instincts, stuck on the fact that you were right there. So close, how-

He bolted up, nearly knocking into a passing customer as he stepped out of the booth, his heart slamming against his ribs.

His phone buzzed again, but he didn’t need to check it to know.

You weren’t just passing through. You had been looking for him.

And he wasn’t losing you this time.

The screeching of the subway echoed off the concrete walls as Jason jumped down the steps and through the turnstile.

He spotted you just as you stepped onto the subway platform, glancing around and searching. He moved before he could think, shoving past a few late-night commuters.

Then, right as you turned, your eyes met.

Once again, the world slowed. The station blurred, colors bleeding together the same way they had before— slow and steady. He stopped in front of you.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His voice was rough, caught somewhere between a breath and a confession. He couldn’t help but reach for you, and when your hands finally touched-

Everything erupted.

It was blinding, burning with colors he had never known could exist. The whole station hummed like it was alive, like the universe itself was exhaling, yes, yes, this is right.

Yet, he couldn’t tear himself away from your gaze. Because in all the chaos, nothing was more brilliant than you standing before him. His soulmate.

The one who hadn’t just brought color back, you had rewritten the world itself.

Your eyes were wide, your jaw slightly slack as you stared at him. He felt your grip on his hand tighten slightly, shaking with the intensity of the moment.

“And I’ve been looking everywhere for you…” You trailed off before groaning and cursing under your breath, realizing the ridiculousness of the situation.

Jason exhaled, shaking his head before letting out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.

“Guess that means we’re stuck with each other now, huh?” you muttered, giving a sheepish grin as you tilted your head. You stepped forward hesitantly, eyes flickering around like you were still processing everything.

Jason felt his own smile mirror yours.

“Yeah… looks like it.” His voice was quieter now, but certain.

Jason wasn’t one for PDA usually, but when you laced your fingers through his, he decided then and there nothing would be able to tear him from you.

A subway car rumbled to a stop beside you, doors hissing open.

Neither of you moved to get on.

“Sooo… dinner?” You broke the silence.

“You stalk me for weeks,” Jason narrowed his eyes, “Completely screw up my search for you by looking for me, and now you’re asking me to dinner?”

“Sounds like the pot’s calling the kettle black here.” You shot back, “But yeah, I figured we earned it.”

Jason considered you for a moment, “Fine.” He smirked and nodded, “But I’m picking the place.”

And as you walked up the subway steps together, Jason took one last glance at the world around him: The reds, the blues, the warm city glow. At you.

And for the first time in a long time, he really liked what he saw.

Prev

[nonphoto-blue]

Lucky Lucky ꕤ Cho Hyun-ju x Reader [1/?]

Read on AO3 Masterlist Summary: After your previous manager runs away to America with the funds meant to kickstart your debut, your band 4tune is left to pick up the pieces in an impending scandal. The new manager, Cho Hyun-ju, says she’ll do everything to ensure your debut is successful, but it’s a long road until she gains your trust, especially when her own secrets come to light. Or, the kpop/krock/band AU no one asked for.

Warnings: Slowwwww burn. Kind of an inherent power imbalance but reader isn't taking bs from anyone, and reader is 20+. Reader is AFAB and uses she/her. She's implied to be Korean/from South Korea but no physical description is used.

A/N: So I've had the horrible idea of a kpop au for Squid Game since the first season came out. Originally I'd thought of a Sangwoo x Reader fic but it felt in bad taste at the time. Season 2 came out and I can't stop thinking about Hyun-ju so uh. You're getting this.

Five years. You’ve been in trainee hell for five years, learning the ins and outs of PR, songwriting, language, appearances, how to fucking smile at a camera when all you wanted to do was sing and play guitar and look out at a crowd with more people than you can count on your hands. All for your dreams to be stolen away, packed up in bags and expedite-shipped to the United States. 

If you could go back in time to tell your past self to save herself the trouble and give up music altogether, you’d consider it. Or at least tell her to flip off the agency scout the second he approaches. Sure, you’d still be busking on the street, but you’d be spared this bullshit and continue life with hope still. You don’t want to be an idol. You want to be– you are a musician, and the evidence was going to be your debut.

Your band, 4tune, is slated to record your debut in a month, and begin promotions just a couple months from now, but thanks to your no-good-money-stealing-piece-of-shit ex-manager, the money set aside for appearances and advertising is no longer in the company’s bank account. With grim faces, you, your bandmates, and a few members of the company higher ups gather around a table in an emergency meeting.

“It’s ridiculous,” Se-mi crosses her arms across her chest, huffing her bangs out of her eyes. “What a coward.” She stands, crossing to a floor-length window and staring at the skyline of Mapo-gu, disbelief written on her face. 

Your mouth forms a thin line. “Who just… takes the money and runs? How was he allowed to take all of it anyway?”

“That’s all we know,” the CEO, Hwang In-ho, murmurs. He laces his fingers together and scans the rest of the band’s faces as you take in the not-quite-death-sentence he delivered your group. “We’ve got the police in South Korea and the United States investigating, but they haven’t found him yet.”

“So what does this mean for 4tune? I mean, are we… still going to debut?” Young-mi asks. 

“We don’t have a manager, we don’t have money, we don’t have a debut.” Jun-hee puts a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes in exasperation. 

“Actually,” In-ho raises a finger. “We do have a new manager for you. She couldn’t make this meeting, but she’s coming up from Busan after lunch. You’ll meet her tonight or tomorrow.” He leans forward in his seat, and rests both arms on the table in front of him. “Rest assured, you will debut.”

You can’t help but feel your lips curl into a sneer. A new manager? Who’s to say this one won’t make off with whatever scraps of money are left? You hear Se-mi scoff from the window, her thoughts echoing your own. Jun-hee looks hesitant, but Young-mi looks up at In-ho with hope.

“What’s her name? What’s she like?”

“Cho Hyun-ju. She’s an old acquaintance.” Looking over the group’s faces, In-ho stands, and begins to make his way to the meeting room door. “I’ve known her for a long time. She’s a good person.” Hardly glowing praise, but you suppose anyone would be better than the ex-manager. The other company members follow In-ho out of the room, meeting adjourned, leaving just your group members with their thoughts.

Your gaze lingers on the frosted glass door they left from. “Great. A manager, but no money. She can drive us around and shit, but we have nowhere to go. What’s the point?” Your words are bitter, spat in sorrowful resignation. 

Young-mi, ever the optimist, takes your hand in her’s. “Let’s give her a chance. In-ho sajangnim vouched for her, I say we see how she clicks with us before giving up on her.” She smiles meekly at the other members. None of you share her optimism, but with a shared side eye, the rest of you begrudgingly hear Young-mi out and agree.

“Fine,” you offer. “But if she does anything remotely shady I’m clawing my way out of this contract.” ꕤ

Despite the sudden wrench in 4tune’s future plans, you all have a schedule to uphold, so you go through the motions as if nothing was wrong. After a short break for lunch, language classes, pose training, you finally make it to the only part of training that doesn’t feel like a chore: rehearsal as a whole band. 

The rehearsal space is intimate; a small room with warm wood-panel flooring and a three-person couch in the corner. Se-mi’s drum kit is already set up on the drum rug, as is Young-mi’s keyboard and three amps, one for Young-mi’s bass, one for Jun-hee’s guitar, and one for yours, as well as a vocal mic on a long arm. Stepping into the space brings an energy you thought would be lost following this morning’s bad news, and you place your guitar’s hard case down with a determined vigor.

You unlatch the case, and pull out your guitar, a Fender Lite Ash Telecaster. The strap rests perfectly on your shoulder, the neck fitting perfectly in your left hand, a guitar pick in your right. The quarter-inch cable plugs into your guitar with a satisfying click and the amp hums to life when you switch it on. You set upon tuning your guitar, but it doesn’t take much adjustment for any member of the band, and soon your group is playing the first notes of what will be your title track for your debut.

It’s an upbeat song, and the lyrics are inherently hopeful and optimistic. You feel the stress pouring out of you as you hear how well the band plays together. From the wailing of Jun-hee’s guitar, to the machine-like precision of Se-mi’s drumming, to the effortless jumping from keys to bass by Young-mi, pride fills your heart knowing that you’re collaborating, and creating something beautiful in spite of everything going wrong.

You play rhythm guitar and sing. Closing your eyes, you pour your heart and soul into the high-energy chorus, the softer verses, and everything in between. As the outro plays out and you all play your final notes, a soft applause that crescendos into a quick flurry of claps breaks through your reverie. 

You hadn’t noticed when she came in, but at the door stands an unfamiliar woman. She’s tall, and seems a bit younger than In-ho. Her hair is cut at her shoulders with blunt bangs reaching her eyebrows. She’s dressed well, and she’s not standing timidly per-se, but there’s an awkwardness to how she holds herself, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed in this space.

“I’m sorry,” she smiles at the band. “I was told you were in this practice room and I heard you playing. You all sound amazing.”

Young-mi smiles back. “You must be the new manager! It’s nice to meet you! I’m-”

“Young-mi, right?” Young-mi nods. The woman turns to the drumset, “You’re Se-mi,” to the lead guitarist, “and Jun-hee,” and then she turns to you, and says your name so tenderly, so kindly, every fiber of your being is shouting at you to give her a chance. “And yes, I’m Cho Hyun-ju, your new manager.” ꕤ

Rehearsal stagnates after Hyun-ju’s arrival as the band seems more interested in the new arrival than playing, but you keep your guitar plugged in and guitar strap on. Young-mi puts down her bass and steps away from her keyboard to approach Hyun-ju immediately, Jun-hee following soon after. You pluck out a few notes here and there, trying to at least try to get through your part of the next song, but after Se-mi stands up from her drumset, you give up trying to continue rehearsal.

Hyun-ju seated herself on the couch in the corner. Jun-hee and Se-mi stand in front of her, and Young-mi sits beside her. “I’m excited to work with you all,” Hyun-ju half-bows in her seat. “You sounded amazing playing just now, your debut will be a hit, I can just feel it.”

“We’re happy to have you here too. I’m sure you’ve heard but our last manager flaked out on us.” Se-mi explains. Hyun-ju hums a condolence, eyes casting down to the ground. “We’re almost ready to record our album, so I’m sure you’ll have a lot to do coming up.”

You clear your throat, walking over to the group. “What experience do you have managing?” You don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does. It’s supposed to be a light conversation about her work history, not an interrogation into her credentials. Hyun-ju’s face falters at the stern tone, and you kick yourself internally.

“Managing specifically, I've done most of the tasks individually before. That is, things like schedule management and driving and the like. I do have experience in the music and idol industry outside of management.”

You try to school your expression, you really do, and you pull your lips into a not-quite-smile that ends up looking more like a grimace. “Well then,” you push out, “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

[emakataken]

Part 6.B

This is pre-canon, slow-burn AU, Buck arrives at Station 118, ruled by Captain Gerrard. Tommy/Buck/Sal.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6.A

…

Dinner was loud in that way only firehouse meals ever were cutlery scraping, half-shouted jokes, the clatter of utensils and overlapping stories. Gina had brought enough food to feed two shifts, and the kitchen smelled like herbs and roasted garlic, rich and warm.

Buck passed out plates, unusually quiet, his eyes tracking the room. Tommy stood beside him at the counter, dishing out lasagna while trying not to glance toward the doorway where Sal and Gina were laughing with Chimney and Hen, her hand on his chest like she belonged there.

Buck leaned in, voice low. “You okay?”

Tommy didn’t look at him. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Buck handed off a plate, then glanced at Tommy then to Sal and Gina. “You don’t have to stand here and watch this. We could go...”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. He turned to Buck, eyes cold. “You’ve known us five minutes. Don’t act like you get it. Jesus you’re such a fucking child.”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Buck flinched but his voice remained calm and firm. “I'm just saying it doesn’t take a genius to notice…”

“Don’t,” Tommy snapped. He dropped the serving spoon and leaned in. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t. So do yourself a favor and keep your head down. You’re still a probie, remember?”

The silence was still enough to sting.

Buck stepped back, face blanking off fast, retreat instinct kicking in. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Loud and clear.”

Tommy didn’t move right away. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching near his temple. The words sat bitter in his mouth, already curdling. He glanced at Buck, just for a second the apology on the tip of his tongue. He sighed as Allen moved up to the counter and went back to serving like nothing happened

Buck sat near the end of the table, posture loose like he didn’t have a care in the world, but his eyes were too sharp, too tired. Cautious in a way they haven’t been in weeks.

His gaze didn’t wander to Gina, though she moved easily through the space, smiling at everyone like she belonged, passing out plates with practiced charm.

It didn’t land on Sal either, even as he leaned in toward her with a kiss to her temple, touched the small of her back like he’d done it a thousand times.

No. Buck watched Tommy.

Tommy, who hadn't said more than a handful of words since the kitchen. He spent more time stirring his pasta than he did eating it. Only smiled when he had to, and even then, it was brittle.

And when their eyes met across the table, Tommy’s gaze faltered. Not because he didn’t want to meet Buck’s eyes but because something in him twisted at the thought that he might not deserve to.

Buck raised his glass slightly. Held his gaze. Gave him a quiet, steady nod. Just… I see you. It’s okay.

Tommy felt his stomach unclench a fraction. Like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding tension there until it let go.

“You must be the infamous probie,” Gina said, bright and cheerful as she set a slice of pie in front of Buck. “Sal swore you were gonna give him an ulcer a month in. Said you were reckless, impossible, wouldn’t shut up.”

Buck stared at the apple slice with faint offense before smoothing on a smile. “I’ve been working on my charm,” he said dryly. “Trying to be only mildly impossible these days. Failing mostly.”

Gina laughed, oblivious to the tension. “Well, either it’s working, or he’s too exhausted to complain.”

Sal gave a half-laugh. “He’s better now,” he grunted, eyes flickering across the table.

“He’s more than better,” Tommy said without looking up, voice quiet and even. “Kid’s solid.”

Gina raised her eyebrows, amused. “Wow. That almost sounded like praise, Thomas.”

“It was praise, high praise indeed Buckley.” Chimney chimed in.

Sal shook his head, eyes softening fondly. “Don’t let it go to your head Hershey.”

Across the table, Gerrard lifted his glass. “For a Navy boy, he might just straighten up.”

Buck’s eyes didn’t lift from his water glass. The burn crawled slow up the back of his neck, heat settling at the tips of his ears. He clenched his jaw, then swallowed the bite of pride and forced the words that were expected of him. “Thanks.”

Allen snorted. Rodrick chuckled around a mouthful of bread.

Gerrard turned to Gina, grinning around his fork. “And you, darling, you’re a hell of a cook. Sal, you better get your act together. Woman like this doesn’t wait forever.”

Gina laughed, light and easy. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Sal reached for her hand. “We’re not in a rush.”

“Maybe you should be,” Gerrard said. “She’s a fine woman. Not too many like her left.”

And Buck saw it, the way Tommy flinched, just barely. The way his shoulders curled in tighter, jaw working, fork going still. The flicker of something sharp in his eyes before it dulled again. The way he didn’t look at Sal, or at Gina, or anyone.

Buck swallowed hard and looked away.

He’d seen how Sal looked at Tommy when no one was watching. Saw it in the field earlier, how Sal’s instincts had kicked in and without a second thought he’d pointed Buck toward Tommy, not himself. Because that was what mattered. Because it always had. Tommy’s safety came first. Always.

And Gina? Gina would never know that. Not really. Not the way Buck did now.

Tommy tried to laugh at something Hen said, but it was off. Hollow. The kind of sound that didn’t belong in his throat.

He didn’t look at Buck again, but he didn’t have to. Because Buck saw everything.

And Tommy hated it. Hated that Buck had touched something fragile in the kitchen and now wouldn’t let it go. Hated that even now, Buck kept circling close not demanding anything, just being there, quietly honest in a way Tommy hadn’t prepared for. Hated that forgiveness came so easy from him. Like Tommy hadn’t drawn blood with his words.

And when Gerrard clapped Buck. “Some men know when to commit. House, job, woman. It’s not that hard if you’re built right,” Buck flinched. Barely a shift in his shoulders. Anyone would’ve missed it.

But Tommy didn’t. And he hated that he noticed.

Hated the way Gerrard’s gaze slid between Buck and Hen when he said it, like the joke had layers. Like it landed where he wanted it to.

Sal had gone still at the table, fingers curled tight around his glass. His smile didn’t break, but the tension in his shoulders said enough. Said he heard it too.

His eyes flicked to Buck. Then to Tommy. Before shifting toward Gerrard with hatred thrumming through his veins.

The kitchen had mostly emptied out, chairs pushed in half-heartedly, leftover pie wrapped in foil. The noise of dinner had faded to the occasional murmur from the common room and the soft clink of dishes in the sink.

Tommy scrubbed at a stubborn spot on the casserole dish, jaw tight, his shoulder pressing into Sal’s as they worked side by side. Sal dried plates beside him, his elbow bumping Tommy’s ribs when he reached for another.

They didn’t speak for a long time.

Tommy’s fingers flexed around the sponge, knuckles whitening before he finally spoke. “Gina’s staying late,” he said, not looking over, his voice rough like he’d been holding the words in with his teeth.

Sal didn’t take the bait. Just wiped down the next plate, his thumb tracing the rim absently. “She won’t.”

“You sure about that?” Tommy’s hip nudged Sal’s.

Sal exhaled through his nose, setting the plate down with a quiet clink. “She knows the rules.”

Tommy scoffed, low and sharp, his shoulder pressing harder into Sal’s as he scrubbed. “Yeah? She’s been around two years. That long enough to start thinking the rules no longer apply?”

Sal turned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tommy rinsed the dish, water sluicing over his wrists, and didn’t answer right away. His fingers trembled slightly before he clenched them. “Means I don’t know how many more smiles she can fake before she decides she wants more than the story.”

Sal frowned, his hand hovering over the next plate, fingertips brushing Tommy’s. “She knows what this is.”

“She thinks she does.” Tommy finally looked over, blue eyes darker than usual, his hip pinning Sal against the counter. “But sooner or later she’ll want the wedding. The baby. The white fence. And you…” He broke off with a shake of his head, returned to scrubbing, pulling back.

“No,” Sal said immediately, his hand snapping out to grip Tommy’s wrist. “Tommy. No.”

“You say that now.”

“I mean it.” Sal’s voice was firm, quiet, his fingers tightening. “You think I’d let her trap me? Walk away from this?” He gestured between them with his free hand, his knuckles brushing Tommy’s stomach. “From you?”

Tommy didn’t flinch. His free hand came up, fingers curling into the front of Sal’s shirt. “I think you’d do whatever it took to keep Gerrard off our backs. And if it meant marrying her to keep his mouth shut...” He patted Sal’s chest in a bitter caress. “I think you’d convince yourself it was for the best.”

Sal’s hands stilled on the towel. The silence stretched, flatlining for a hard minute. “You think that little of me?”

Tommy’s breath hitched, his forehead dropped to Sal’s for a second before he pulled back. “No. I think the world’s never made it easy for you or us to pick us. And I know how scared you are of what Gerrard can do. Hell, I’m scared too. But I’m tired, Sal. I’m tired of watching her hang on your arm like she’s already has the ring and wondering how long I’ve got left before she tries to make it permanent.”

Sal leaned into him, his nose in Tommy’s hair. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

“You say that like it’s simple.”

“It is.” Sal turned, finally, his blue-green eyes locked on Tommy’s, his palm sliding up to cradle the back of Tommy’s neck. “You’re it for me, Tom. You always have been.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one still fighting?”

Sal’s jaw tightened. His gaze dropped to Tommy’s mouth. “Because I got so used to trying to protect us that I forgot to ask if we were still whole.”

Tommy stared at him, his fingers twisting tighter in Sal’s shirt.

Sal met his gaze, his thumb caressed Tommy’s cleft for half a second before pulling back. “I’m not ready to be out. But maybe... maybe you’re right. Maybe we don’t need to hide, either. We used to be good at quiet. At simple. At just... living.”

Tommy swallowed. “Yeah. We were.”

“I miss that.”

Tommy wiped his hands dry and leaned back against the sink, his knee slotting between Sal’s. “Me too.”

The confession hung between them, too big for the firehouse.

Tommy reached out, slow, giving Sal every chance to pull away. His thumb grazed Sal’s wedding ring, the one he wore on a chain under his shirt, the one they’d bought drunk in Vegas years ago, laughing like they’d ever dare to use it.

Sal caught Tommy’s wrist, not to stop him, just to hold on.

Outside, Gina’s laugh floated down the hall.

They didn’t let go.

Buck stumbled into the hallway, toweling off his hair post-shower, and froze.

Sal and Tommy sprang apart but not fast enough.

Buck’s gaze flicked to Sal’s hand, still half-curled around Tommy’s wrist. He looked away, sidestepping them. "I didn't see anything."

Tommy’s chest ached. Liar.

Part 7

[zylev-blog]

Time travel AU featuring Bart + Danny

The reach had taken over the planet. The Justice League had lost a long time ago, and had been killed. The ghost army had also been defeated, and things were grim. This had led to their current predicament: building a ghost portal so they could go find the being known as Clockwork, who was their last hope. If they couldn’t find Clockwork, they truly lost. Earth would be lost. And Bart didn’t want to admit defeat yet.

“No no, you’re swapping the wires.” Danny huffed, taking the wires from his hands.

“I’m not even sure this junk is going to work.” Bart sighed.

“My parents used to make fully functioning guns with scrap.” Danny responded as he added the wires to the wiring harness, “I’m hoping I can do the same.”

“Hoping and working are two different things.” Bart pointed out.

“Look, I died in a portal made by my parents. I know what they look like and how they work. Even before that, I helped them build it. I know what I’m doing.” Danny didn’t look at him as he clicked everything into place.

“I hope so.” Bart’s voice was quiet. “A lot of people died to get the ectoplasm stores from the Reach’s vault.”

Danny didn’t respond at first, only looking away from him with grief written all over his face. The silence stretched for a few minutes before Danny responded with a quiet, “I know.”

Danny got out of the wall and pressed a few buttons on a nearby pin pad. “Let’s go through this again.”

“I know what’s happening next.” Bart rolled his eyes. “If Clockwork lets us go back to the past, we pose as tourists. It’s just a good thing I’m related to the Flash, even if I’ve never met him.”

“Yeah, and my parents aren’t friends with Batman yet with how far back we have to go. I don’t think they’ve ever met yet.” Danny crossed his arms.

“We’ll be fine.” Bart wasn’t sure if he was convincing himself or Danny.

Danny started the portal, and it hummed to life. Green sparked in the middle as the fabric of reality tore open. Both Danny and Bart watched, transfixed, as green swirled around the inside of the portal.

“Yes!” Danny exclaimed, and high fives Bart.

That’s when they heard it. Reach ships were getting closer to their location. He heard the telltale sign of explosions getting closer and closer as everything in their area was destroyed.

“In! In!” Danny exclaimed, starting the self destruct sequence. Bart wasted no time and sped into the portal, and a second later, Danny appeared behind him and the portal closed. Well, it looked like they had no choice now but to go forward.

[candycandy00]

Hii! For your 2k followers event can you do

Character: Toji

AU Setting: Prison (As prisoner)

Spice Level: NSFW

Mood: Writers choice :)

Kinks: Whatever you see fit!!

Catch You on the Outside - A Toji x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. AU. Fem Reader. Toji as a Prisoner. Rough sex. Rough oral.

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! These two requests were very similar so I combined them. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Dividers by @benkeibear!

You’re walking down the hall of the prison, just finishing your daily sessions with the prisoners in your therapy program, when you see him. 

Fushiguro Toji. You heard he was being transferred here, but you didn’t realize it would be today. He’s quite notorious, with a long list of convictions. Multiple counts of murder, extortion, armed robbery, assault, and dozens of lesser offenses. If it’s bad, he’s probably done it at some point. 

He’s so much bigger in person than he looked on the news. How tall is this guy? And he so muscular that he looks like he could wrestle a grizzly bear and win. He’s also much better looking in person. His face, though scarred and a bit rugged, is very handsome and his eyes are a sharp emerald green. 

As a team of six guards lead him by you, his eyes shift over to you. They travel shamelessly up and down your body, and it feels like his gaze is peeling your clothes off right there in the hall. It makes your face flush with heat. You’re no stranger to being ogled by the prisoners here, but there’s something absolutely obscene about the way Toji does it, the look in his eyes that says, “I’ll be fucking you by the weekend”, the way he subtly licks his lips, the way he smirks as if he could break loose and snap every guard’s neck before anyone could draw a gun.

It all sends a shiver down your spine. And as much as you hate to admit it, you feel a growing wetness in your panties. 

The next day you’re surprised to find out Toji signed up for the therapy program. He didn’t seem like the type to give therapy a shot, and you wonder if he only signed up so that he could be alone in a room with you. It wouldn’t be the first time a prisoner has tried that. You can always tell right away when they have no interest in actually talking about their feelings. They spend the session staring at your tits and sometimes even making disgusting comments or outright asking you for sex. You report their behavior and boot them from the program without a second thought. 

So what will it be with Toji? As you walk into the room to have your first session with him, you find yourself almost hoping he’ll proposition you. Of course you wouldn’t act on it. You’re a professional after all. But it might give you some masturbation material for tonight. Lord knows your brief run in with him yesterday gave you plenty for last night. 

He’s sitting in a metal chair, his wrists handcuffed behind his back. There’s a table in front of him, and another chair for you to sit across from him. Three guards are standing in the room. 

“You three can step out,” you tell them. Guards never stay in the room during sessions. Instead they wait outside the door. There’s also a camera in the corner of the room. It doesn’t record sound, only visuals, to protect the privacy of the prisoners. 

“We were told to stay in here,” one of them says. “Fushiguro has been known to attack doctors and therapists in the past.”

You glance over at him, and he gives you a smile. 

“He’s handcuffed, what’s he going to do?” you ask. 

One of the guards glances apprehensively at Toji. “I don’t think you realize how dangerous he is, ma’am.”

You bristle at that remark. “Are you seriously implying I don’t understand how dangerous my job is? I’ve worked with violent criminals daily for five years. I’ve had knives held to my throat. I’ve been punched in the face. Three different men have tried to rape me. So don’t tell me how dangerous this is!”

The guard seems to shrivel a bit at your outburst. “I’m sorry, but we can’t just leave you alone in here with him.”

“Listen,” you say, stepping closer to him, “doing my job properly depends on establishing trust with the prisoner. I can’t do that with you three hovering around in here. So wait outside the door. I’ll scream if he tries anything.”

The three guards look at each other, then one of them sighs and says, “We’ll give you twenty minutes.”

With that, they file out of the room and shut the door. You stare after them for a moment, feeling irritated but also proud of yourself for standing your ground. Then you walk over and take the seat across from Toji. 

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll have a word with the warden before tomorrow’s session,” you tell him, pulling your notepad and pen, as well as a recording device, from your bag. “Do you have any objections to me recording our conversations?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t care.”

You study his face. He still has that oddly confident look, as if he’s only staying here in prison for the fun of it. 

“Fushiguro-san, I want to make something clear right off the bat. If I think you’re not serious about this program, I’ll remove you immediately. But if you want to give therapy a fair shot, I’ll be happy to help you to the best of my ability.”

“Call me Toji,” he says, a smirk on his scarred lips. “And I’m completely serious about this. Why else would I sign up?”

You’ve already pushed record on the device and sat it between the two of you on the table. “Some prisoners sign up just to get close to me,” you say, opening your notebook to a clean page. 

“Really? Well don’t worry,” he says, that damn smirk still on his face, “I’m not that desperate. I’ve fucked enough women to last a lifetime.”

The comment gives you pause. Professionally, you should be relieved. But personally? You find it a little insulting. You click your fountain pen. “That’s good to know,” you say smoothly. 

“Don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” he says. 

“Of course not. It’s best for you if you see me as a professional here to help you.”

He laughs. “Best for you too.”

You look up from your notepad. “What do you mean by that?”

He tilts his head slightly, looking at you the way a lion looks at a wounded zebra. “If I saw you as a woman I wanna fuck, I’d have you bent over this table already.”

You know exactly what he’s doing, and he’s not the first. You sit your pen on the table and look at him with a cool expression. “And if I saw you as a man I want to fuck, Toji, I’d be under this table deep throating your cock right now. Thankfully, we’ve established that’s not the case, so let’s begin the session, shall we?”

His eyes widen slightly, then a broad grin spreads over his face. “Well, aren’t you a little firecracker!”

“No, I’m a woman who has dealt with men like you for years. So if you want to shock or frighten me, you’ll have to do better than that.”

There’s a gleam of excitement in his eyes as he stares at you. “How about I take these cuffs off and ram your pretty little head into the wall until it’s just a bloody pile of hamburger?”

You scoff as you jot down notes. In red ink you’ve written “violent tendencies” and “empty threats”. You barely glance up at him as you say, “You can’t just take the cuffs off, Toji. They’re pretty much designed to prevent that.”

“Really?” he asks, then he slowly pulls his hands forward in front of him. Only one has a cuff on it, the other metal ring dangling uselessly from it. 

Your first instinct is to jump up and flee the room. He’s loose! He’s probably been loose this whole time. The most violent man that’s ever been in this prison, that you’ve just been provoking, is just a few feet away from you. Should you scream? Could the guards even make it into the room before he kills you? 

Wait, if he wanted to kill you, he probably would have already. You decide to take a gamble. “So?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even, praying he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in your hands. “What are you going to do to me, Toji?”

He’s already pulled his hands back behind him. His earlier movement had been subtle enough that the guard monitoring the camera probably didn’t even notice. Toji grins. “There’s a lot of things I wanna do to you. The list is growin’ the longer I talk to you. The question is, what do you want me to do?”

You look at him for a moment, at his smug, handsome face, at his muscular form flexing beneath the tightly fitted black T-shirt. Did the prison not have a shirt big enough for him? You sit back in your chair, crossing your legs. “I want you to take therapy seriously. I want to help-“

“You want me to split you open on my cock,” he says, cutting you off. “You think I can’t tell when a woman wants me? I bet your little pussy is drooling right now.”

You stare at him wordlessly. Damn it, he’s right! You uncross your legs and cross them again, trying to give yourself a bit of relief. You want his rough, thick fingers inside you. 

Toji leans back, letting his thighs spread apart. He’s pushed back far enough from the table for you to see his crotch, and the outline of something impossibly huge. He notices you looking. “That’s right. Take a good look. I bet you’ve never seen a dick this big before. Now imagine how it’s gonna feel when I’m ramming it in your tight little hole.”

Your breaths are coming quicker despite your best attempts to remain calm. You glance up at the camera in the corner. Toji follows your gaze. 

“I’m guessing you need to do something about that,” he says. “Probably wouldn’t look very professional to be on camera getting your guts rearranged by a prisoner, huh?”

You place the pen and notebook in your bag and stop the recording device. The twenty minutes are almost up. “I’ll think about it,” you say as calmly as you can. 

He smiles at you as the guard opens the door and escorts you out. 

For the next several days, you continue your sessions with Toji. Neither of you mention his proposition, and he never removes the handcuffs again, at least as far as you know. Still, just knowing he can if he wants to gives you a thrill. 

He’s surprisingly open during his sessions. He tells you about a miserable childhood, a violent youth, a marriage that ended in the death of the only woman he ever loved, and (most shocking of all) a teenage son he hasn’t seen in years. 

“I send him money,” he tells you. “He accepts it, but he never answers when I call or text him. Not that I blame him. Guess it’s embarrassing to have a murderer for a father.”

There’s a hint of sadness when he says it, the first genuine emotion you’ve seen from him. But he shrugs like he doesn’t care and moves on from the topic. 

Fushiguro Toji is a fascinating man. If possible, you’d love to help him. 

But first, you want him to fuck you until you can’t form thoughts. 

A week after your first session with him, you decide to do something about that damn camera. It’s an easy task for you, someone who can move freely through the prison and has the trust of everyone there. The first step is to disable the monitor in the security room, which you do with no issue. It’s a temporary thing though, so you have to hurry to the consultation room and disable the camera itself while the monitor isn’t working, so no one sees what you’re doing. 

Once the camera has been broken, you’re home free. You’ve worked here long enough to know it’ll take several days for them to replace the camera. 

So today, when the guards walk out of the room, you lock the door behind them. Toji notices, and glances at the camera. “I take it that’s not recording?”

You nod. “It’s completely busted.”

He moves his arms around in front of him, uncuffed, and stands up, rolling his shoulders. Then in an instant he’s right in front of you, pressing you back against the wall, looming over you with a threatening aura. “You’re takin’ a big risk,” he says, “being alone with a guy like me. You must want my dick real bad.”

Your heart is pounding. This man could snap your neck like a twig. He could kill you before you can blink. But fuck, you’re so turned on! 

You smile up at him, using your hands to press back against his chest. “Sit down and I’ll show you how much I want it.”

His eyes seem to light up. He wears that familiar smirk as he returns to the chair and sits, lazily opening his legs. As you walk over, you unbutton your crisp white shirt, revealing a sexy lace bra you picked for today. You drop the shirt on the floor and unzip your pencil skirt, stepping out of it. You’re wearing matching lace panties with silk stockings and a garter belt. You chose the sexiest combo possible for this encounter. 

Toji seems to appreciate your efforts. His eyes drink in your form as he palms himself through his prison issued sweat pants. Then he slides the waistband down, and the biggest cock you’ve ever seen pops out. Strong and tall like its owner, it’s already rock hard. It looks delicious. 

When you reach him, you drop to your knees in front of him and grasp his shaft in one hand. Your fingers can’t even wrap all the way around its veiny girth, but you stroke him slowly, watching the massive organ twitch in your grip. You lean forward and lick the tip, then slide your tongue all around it, drenching it with your saliva before taking it into your mouth. 

It doesn’t fit, but you manage to get most of it in without choking. You’re pretty proud of your throat game, so you press even further down, letting him fill your mouth completely, almost swallowing him. You hear a short grunt and feel his big hand on your head, holding you down. You focus on breathing through your nose, your tongue licking the underside of his cock while your throat tightens around him. 

Finally he releases his grip, and you pull back enough to lick him properly, sucking on the tip with your pursed lips. Then he’s in your mouth again, and you’re moving your head back and forth, looking up at his face as you repeatedly take him halfway down your throat. 

His hand is now resting on your head, not applying any pressure but threading his fingers through your hair. “Fuck, you weren’t kiddin’ about bein’ hungry for my dick!”

After a few more minutes pass, his grip tightens again, and he shoves your head down even further than before, completely cutting off your air. Then, he shoots his cum directly down your throat, forcing you to swallow every drop. 

When he releases you and pulls out of your mouth, you sputter and gasp, then you diligently get to work cleaning his cock with your tongue, savoring the taste of his cum. You’re in a hurry to get him hard again. You’ve arranged for the sessions to last forty-five minutes, and you don’t intend to end this without being thoroughly fucked. 

Thankfully, Toji has plenty of stamina. He’s hard again in no time, standing up from the chair and tearing the delicate lace underwear from your body. You wince, trying not to think about how expensive they were. 

His hands are all over you, roughly exploring every inch. When his hand dips down between your thighs, and he feels how wet you are, he grins. You’re waiting for some quip, but instead he jerks you around to face away from him and pushes your upper half face down on the table. He gives your bare ass a slap before his hands spread your cheeks. His knees push your legs apart, and with no warning, he shoves all the way inside your dripping pussy. 

You gasp at the stretch, at how fucking huge he is, but he doesn’t hesitate for a moment before he’s pounding into you. He’s probably aware of the time limit himself, so he wastes no time with letting you adjust to his size. 

He fucks you hard, so hard that your feet are knocked off the floor and your legs dangle from the table. You hold onto the edge of it with both hands, gripping it for dear life, crying out obscenely each time his tip slams into your cervix. 

“Ahh, fuck! You’re gonna break me!” you yell. 

You hear Toji laugh behind you. “I thought you could handle me!”

You rise up from the table, arching your back, and reach back with one arm to grab his shirt and get some leverage. You take one of his hands from your waist and move it down, between your pried open thighs. He takes the hint, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it vigorously, spreading your leaking fluids all around. You moan at the touch, leaning back into him, letting the pleasure overtake you. 

With a thrill, you imagine the horrified looks on the guards’ faces if they walked in. You locked the door, but they have a keycard to open it. At best it would buy you a few seconds. But the thought of being caught moaning and cumming on a murderer’s cock sends you over the edge. You cry out, your body spasming as Toji impales you, your aching pussy clenching around him. 

“You got yours,” you hear him say, his fingers giving a quick pinch to your hyper sensitive clit, “now I’m gonna fill you up.”

You barely have time to process those words before you feel his hot cum shoot inside you, all the way to your core. 

When he’s finished, he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. He watches you lean against the table for a few moments, trembling and trying to catch your breath, too exhausted and sore to even close your legs. But you have to straighten yourself out. The clock is ticking. You stagger over to your pile of clothes and pull them back on, shoving your shredded underwear into your bag. 

You look at him, sitting there looking so smug and calm… and so very fuckable. You reach into your bag and pull out the item you swiped from the security room earlier. You step over and hand it to him. 

“This is a master keycard. It should let you open any door until they figure it out. Do whatever you please with it,” you tell him. 

He takes it, slipping it into the pocket of his sweats. “Awful nice of you.”

“Go and see your son. Make things right with him.”

His eyes widen, then he looks away, seeming the slightest bit awkward for the first time. “You’ll get fired if anyone finds out.”

You shrug. “So I won’t let anyone find out. Don’t snitch on me.”

He laughs as he looks back at you. “Thanks, doll. I’ll find you on the outside.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Is that a threat?”

He smiles, the scar on his lips stretching. “It’s a promise.”

[mikathemonster]

𝓜𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓵 𝓘𝓷 𝓜𝔂 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭, 𝓐 𝓑𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓼𝓽 𝓘𝓷 𝓜𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓭!

THIS IS PART ONE OF AN ONGOING SERIES.

synopsis. when tasked as the newest social media manager for Middle Earth's biggest metal band, the bassist makes it his mission to personally piss you off <3

pairing. Fíli / Gender-Neutral Reader

content. enemies to lovers, metal band! AU, modern tolkien! AU, slightly fem-aligned reader, possible ooc Thorin

song inspiration. "Untouched" by the Veronicas, "I Don't Wanna Be Me" by Type O Negative, "Again" by Flyleaf

wc. 5791

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Most people would be delighted to have a job this huge just two years out of college. Hell, your previous classmates would probably kill to be in your position. But being the social media manager of one of Middle-Earth’s most famous metal bands wasn’t the dream you originally thought it would be.  Sure, Durin’s Doom was known for the craziest fan base that’s kept them popular for the last few years they’ve been active, but everyone knew that their social media advertising was severely lacking compared to their rivals. When they did manage to post videos of their concerts, they would quickly go viral – known for their flashy pyrotechnics and rather attractive band members. This in turn would attract new fans of various demographics, but none of their previous social media managers would last long enough to ride that wave.

This is where you came in. On the cusp of their two-year anniversary from their first sold-out show, their manager hired you – fresh out of college, bright-eyed and eager to prove yourself – to run a full blown marketing campaign for Durin's Doom.

Within your first few months with the band, Thorin Oakenshield, the band’s manager, had told you right off the bat that you would be going on their Mithril Memoirs tour for the next five months. Named after their newest album, it was their biggest tour yet: a total of 62 shows starting in Erebor and stretching from Gondor to Moria and ending with some smaller sets in the Shire. Featuring music from their new album as well as some of their cult classics, each concert was easily almost three hours long – many were already sold out.

“We need to make their content more personal,” he had explained while smoothing back his long black hair. You could see faint streaks of silver in it, probably from age as well as stress. 

“Now, you’re all at the height of your career,” Thorin added. “It’s the first time they’re going on a tour of this size.”

“The shorter videos seem to do well online, that’s enough for me,” Kíli chimed in, a grin on his scruffy face as he relaxed into the futon in Thorin’s office. His short brown hair was pulled back away from his face, other than his bangs.

He was the lead guitarist of the band and one of Thorin’s nephews. He was fun to hang around, but you didn’t always care for how carefree he could be. 

“Well, I’m not just here for content like that,” you sighed. “There’s more to managing a brand than making TikToks and t-shirts.” As if you had gone through four years of study just to make Instagram Reels; you would sooner turn in your degree.

“I never understood that app anyways,” Gimli grumbled. The drummer was just the youngest of the band and yet you swore sometimes that he had the soul of your cynical grandfather; he even had the long beard to match. “I always keep swiping and pushing unnecessary buttons.”

“Perhaps more fan cams would help?” Ori suggested, completely negating the fact that you had tried to steer them off of video content. He was the second youngest, with short brown hair and a short beard to match. He was also the vocalist of the band. “The fans always love using them for their edits online.”

“I’ve seen those!” Kíli beamed. “They can’t get enough of us! Ori, did you see the one where they were shipping Gimli and–”

“Enough,” Thorin’s voice boomed, shutting them down. “All of you. We’re trying something new. Thanks to all of the interviews you’ve all elected to skip out on as of late, your fans and even investors feel disconnected with you.”

“I thought they liked our mysteriousness,” Kíli grumbled. 

His uncle shot him a glare, which seemed to shut him up for now. “Those touch-starved fans of yours who make edits of you late in the night won’t be satiated with just a young face, Kíli.”

Kíli’s expression sank. You held back a smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

“Do you have something to add, Y/N?” Fíli finally spoke, much to your chagrin. The blonde bassist and backup singer loved trying to get on your nerves. You had learned quickly to not be fooled by his charming braided beard or charismatic smile. Unlike his brother, he was more tightly wound. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as mischievous.

Your smile dropped. “Only that I agree, is all. Thorin has a point.” 

Thorin sighed. “All of you, quiet. Y/N, I have put you in charge of the new campaign I’ve begun setting in motion.”

The plan in question? Video content, of course. Your worst enemy.

Surely, there was nothing wrong with video content as a concept. Editing footage could be quite fun if you had the time on your hands. But the time needed to complete such a task was usually double your usual output, meaning you were usually isolated for hours just to get the job done.

In truth, your real passion was in the networking of your job. Outreach coordination with new sponsors to create social media campaigns had always been your strongest suit. You loved the conversation and mingling; being able to talk about what you were doing was what made it exciting. It was what kept you motivated. And it didn’t stop at just sponsors. You loved to read the comments people would leave on a post you had spent so much time on. It was what made your job so special.

According to Thorin, your job while traveling with the band was to make a documentary-style post with the members every week of their tour. Ideally, he wanted you to capture content showing the journey of the band as a means of telling their story to their fans. Through this, their fans could see exclusive behind-the-scenes content and build an even better relationship to their favorite heavy metal dwarves. And not to mention the fact that it would totally boost ticket sales. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if you were totally alone on the project. Once in Moria, you’d be having an assistant help you out, a dwarf by the name of Threl. You were relieved to hear you’d have some help, but you were still worried you wouldn’t be able to handle this big of a project on your own.

It wasn’t a lack of confidence; you knew your work ethic was nothing to scoff about. You were determined and very eager to show your worth. But this was nothing compared to your past jobs, which were much smaller than a five month tour with Erebor’s most famous metal band.

And oh, what a nightmare it was!

The first month had actually been fairly easy. At first, it wasn’t so hard; weekly content was always a better deadline than daily content. Ori was always willing to help film as the vocalist, even going so far as to tease some unreleased music in some of the videos. Every now and then, you’d even livestream from inside the tour bus, showcasing the layout or sitting on the couch while eating dinner. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the easiest way to wrangle Kíli and Gimli for content. They were always trying to sneak off, getting into all sorts of trouble. You hadn’t seen either of them for a whole weekend while the tour stretched through Mirkwood; it drove you insane. But you were lucky to be assured by Ori, who told you that both of their elven partners lived there. 

While it was still irksome for them to shirk their responsibilities, a part of you had been relieved to hear their reasons. Besides, you had some solace seeing that Thorin wasn’t entirely pissed off at their absence.

“They do this every time we travel here,” Ori explained. “Long distance love is like that.” 

You smiled, pausing from editing the tour footage. “It must be lovely to pass through for them, then. Spending time doing romantic things for the ones they love.”

“It is, Kíli always makes Tauriel a gift basket before he sees her here,” Ori smiled softly. “It’s so romantic, though I know she’s just excited to see him at all. She plans out the entire day for them when he’s in town, doing all sorts of fun activities.”

“Among other things,” Fíli interjected with a smirk.

Ori frowned. “Come on, you don’t need to tell any secrets here–”

“Oh, I can certainly tell you what they’re doing,” Fíli retorted. “It’s no secret, that’s for certain.”

“Fíli, seriously.” Ori rolled his eyes.

“I’m just saying, they don’t seem eager to be back in these bus beds,” Fíli couldn’t keep the grin off of his face.

“We get it,” you intervened, an unamused stare directed towards the bassist. “You guys have sex. Seriously guys, we’re not kids here. And I don’t want to hear about your… escapades.”

“They’re no escapades of mine!” Ori cried as he pointed a finger at his bandmate, appalled that you would even rope them in together. “He’s the one always bringing someone over in the wee hours of the night!”

“Well, some secrets don’t need to be aired out, do they?” Fíli returned, clearly caught off guard.

“Easy for you to say, huh?” You raised a brow, scoffing. “Sitting there as if you weren’t about to air out your brother’s laundry.”

“That’s the brother tax!” Fíli raised both arms in a shocked surrender. “He does it to me all the time, telling everyone my secrets!”

“What secret? I can hear you plain as day!” Ori replied. 

“Well excuse me for not putting on a noise machine! Didn’t realize you didn’t own any earbuds.”

“Seriously, who even wants to do that in these bus beds? They can barely fit us!”

“Bold of you to assume that we use the beds.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” You stood up, picking up your laptop with you. Suddenly the tour bus’s couch didn’t seem as comfortable as it had just been. You would just have to edit the footage elsewhere.

“Pack it up, guys. Y/N said the party’s over.” Fíli joked, much to Ori’s dismay.

You made your way to the passenger seat of the bus, eager to leave the boys behind. At least you hadn’t slept in the tour bus with them; you could still be thankful for the hotels. All you had to do was keep making videos and not wonder about what happens on the bus after you’re done filming.

Thankfully, you were already seeing results. Thousands of fans would join the livestreams and even more loved the weekly videos. Thorin was pleased with your work; you were already proving yourself rather quickly. Besides, even if the band members were a little too exuberant for you, it didn’t stop you from enjoying the free concerts from backstage. It made you feel like a kid again to hear the loud music and see the flashy pyrotechnics, only this time you had the grown-up job to go along with it.

By the second month, even the band members were starting to enjoy the process a little more. Kíli adored the attention he got when he brought the camera on stage to film and his fans loved being included even more. Sometimes you could never find your camera because Ori and him had stolen it to go film some sort of lunch mukbang in between concerts. Even Gimli had started pitching in, albeit by only doing Q&A videos, claiming that he couldn’t stand the other stuff. Noticing how much they had taken to the videos, Thorin had even purchased another camera specifically for the band to use. You were more than grateful for the eager help.

But conversations like the previous were the reason you were living a partial nightmare lately. You had gotten to know the band members and their odd quirks and you always knew how to deal with them. You’d even feel inclined to call them your friends. But for some reason, the bassist knew how to push every single button you had. With no hesitation.

Fíli was always a wild card. Both of Thorin’s nephews were wild and impulsive, but you could usually predict whatever Kíli was scheming; you knew his tells by now. Plus, he usually worked in pairs, so it was always easier to track him down. His brother on the other hand? If he wasn’t sneaking in some pretty groupie into the tour bus late at night, then he was out partying with the band or locked away song-writing. And while it was abysmal, you were fine with the routine, so long as you were out of it. But lately, he wanted to entertain a new objective: getting under your skin in any way he could. 

You had already thought him annoying in these first two months of tour; with his witty remarks and sarcastic drawl, he seemed like every other egotistical musician you had met. And sure, when he and his brother teamed up, the pranks were funny; even you could admit that. But as the third month began, he had decided it was his personal mission to drive you insane. And you were starting to lose it.

There you were, in a hotel Thorin had booked at the last minute due to the bus breaking down. Hit by torrential rain storms while touring through Gondor, the band had to cancel two of their three tour dates there just for the sake of safety. To say Thorin was stressed was an understatement; along with issuing refunds for the lost concerts, service also had to be done to the bus, and there was no telling how long that would take. Thus, Thorin had gotten everyone three hotel rooms, all right next to each other. One for the band, one for yourself and one for Thorin. You hoped that the soft bed would help a little of his stress, but there was no telling for the grumpy older dwarf.

But despite having to cancel two of their concerts, the morale of the band was better than ever. So used to sleeping in the bunk beds of the bus, this hotel was like a paradise to them. Sure, they were devastated that they wouldn’t be able to perform, especially Kíli and Ori. But like kids in a candy store, the young dwarves wasted no time in enjoying their break from the cramped bus. Kíli and Gimli had already started having drinking competitions in the hotel bar. Ori was making use of their expansive spa services. And as per usual, Fíli was nowhere to be seen. 

But none of that mattered to you now, because you were too busy making full use of the indoor pool. 

You sunk your body into the warm waters, glad that you had packed a bathing suit at all. You were worried it had been for nothing, since your past hotels hadn’t had anything more than a small gym. But this? This was perfect. A sigh escaped your lips, even more grateful that the pool was heated. There was nothing more relaxing than a midnight swim, and while it was still early in the night, you had every intention of staying as long as you were allowed. 

Your body felt light as air as you floated on your back, letting yourself drift wherever the water chose to take you. It was a large pool, and empty too, so you were eager to make use of the space. You closed your eyes, steadying your breathing so you’d stay afloat, half tempted to grab a lounge float and take a long-needed nap in the waters. Even without a float, you could feel yourself drifting away in an almost meditative space. It was bliss. The water hugged you like a warm hug and you felt light as ever. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this light or this relaxed. You made a mental note to recommend this to Thorin; maybe this would help him to relax from his own stress.

In this tranquil moment of yours, nothing mattered. Not the band. Not your job. And certainly not your–

“You drowning over there, love?”

Immediately your head shot up to see who had interrupted your pool-induced peace, but the sudden motion only made you lose your perfect floating posture. Arms flailed in the water and cheeks felt hot from embarrassment, as you steadied yourself back to standing upright. You must have looked like a dying fish.

You looked over at the intruder, embarrassment now turning to annoyance as you rolled your eyes and loudly groaned. Lo and behold, a whopping twenty feet away at the other edge of the pool was none other than Fíli, the famed bassist of Durin’s Doom. You didn’t even care about him seeing your obvious annoyance.

Constant teasing and mockery was his usual modus operandi, which meant that tranquil state you had been in was far, far away now. 

“You probably wish I was,” you retorted. “I was enjoying myself, you know.”

“And I was enjoying the view,” he responded just as quickly. Sharp-witted, he was. 

“I could file that as harassment, you know.” You scoffed. 

You shrank into the water, eyeing up his cargo shorts and loose fitting tank top. “Nice swimsuit.” 

“Well I didn’t exactly pack for a vacation, now did I?” He sat down at the edge, bringing his feet into the water now. 

“I suppose not,” you said, hands running through your hair to get it out of your face. It seemed you were stuck with sharing the water with him. “Enjoying the pool?”

“I should be asking you that.” His eyes seemed to burn into you. “By the way, lovely swimsuit.”

You scoffed. “Very original.”

“What? I mean it.” He grinned. “What’s wrong with a little harmless flirting?”

You stood there, stunned. For a second you wondered if your ears had gotten waterlogged. You even felt your eye twitch.

“It just seems a little out of place for you–”

“Oh come on,” he waved, dismissing your thought. “It comes naturally when I see someone as stunning as yourself.”

Okay, now you were certainly confused. 

“Is this another strategy of yours to annoy me?” You asked. “Because I’m not just some fan, here. I know your antics by now.”

“Depends on if it’s working or not,” he said. “What a joy it is to be known.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he was just being annoying. Honestly, it felt a little relieving to know he didn’t mean it. He was your boss’s nephew and you were not willing to risk this job when you had put so much work into it already.

“Don’t you have someone else to be pestering right now?” You asked.

“Where else should I be?”

“Maybe somewhere that doesn’t require a swimsuit,” you scoffed, swimming over to the steps of the pool so you could sit.

Fíli laughed at your remark. “Well excuse me for being reasonable with my packed wardrobe. Clearly you packed more accordingly.”

“That’s the beauty of staying in hotels instead of a metal band’s tour bus,” you remarked, and you couldn’t help the laugh that followed. For a moment, you would actually consider this interaction nice.

“And here I thought you were just having a bunch of one-night stands.”

You did a double take at his words. “Right, because you’re certainly one to talk. I’d say I have a little more self-worth than that.”

“Don’t disrespect the hustle, now.” He countered.

“Oh, is that what it is? I’m not sure if Ori would agree. Should we ask him?”

“Are we flirting right now?”

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the pool, but at this moment he wasn’t entirely annoying. Witty, sure. Annoying? Eh, you could handle it.

“As flattering as that may be,” you said, climbing out of the pool. “I think you’ve misread flirting for me just doing my job.”

You started wringing your hair out, water clinging to your body as you reached for your towel.

“I didn’t realize witty banter was in the job description,” he joked.

“It’s not,” you nodded. “But it does come with the employee. Banter and I are a package deal. Call that the Y/N tax.”

He laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile at yourself.

“Is that right? So I misread you filming me a lot more often lately? Is that correct?” He raised a brow, his smile now turning into something more unreadable.

“You’re joking, right?” You raised a brow, unsure if he was still messing with you or not. “Are you talking about the montage we’re making?

“I’m serious,” he nodded. “This whole time I thought you were trying to tell me something.”

Your eyes widened and you had to bite your tongue from mouthing off. He genuinely thought that you filming B-Roll of him was your way of flirting? As if this was some shoddy romantic comedy. And even if it were, you certainly knew to be more forward than that.

“Fíli, I can assure you that the only reason I may have been capturing more content of you is simply because you’re the member with the least amount of footage.” You turned to face him, stepping closer as you tried to clear the air. The warmth of the water was starting to get to you; you could feel your cheeks burning. “We’re making fan cam montages for each of the members right now, all from the shows we just did in Minas Tirith. I just made sure to capture more of you since you’re so hard to track down half of the time.”

“I was brought on this tour by your uncle to produce results.” You did your best to come off as firm and poised. You wanted there to be no room for misunderstanding between you two. “There was no ulterior motive. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.”

He sat there for a moment, silent as he understood. Then he nodded, looking down at his feet before meeting your eyes again. You could only watch in silence, baffled by his behavior. You hoped he understood; the last thing you needed was any miscommunication with something like this.

“Right then,” he slapped his hands on his thighs, nodding to himself. “My mistake.”

He looked to you, offering his hand as his usual smirk returned to his face. A silent ask to help him up from the pool.

You sighed, reluctantly crossing over to him, your free arm reaching out to help as your other hand kept your towel in place. “Alright then, let’s just–”

And before you could even realize what had happened, SPLASH!

Water filled your nose and your arms flailed about as you panicked to get your footing on the pool floor. You were lucky you were in the shallow end as you managed to quickly recover and stand in the water. But much to your dismay, your towel was now soaking in the warm waters with you. It had been a personal towel, too. The only one you had packed.

Fíli couldn’t control himself from laughing, his eyes crinkling like old paper at the sight of his little prank. Perhaps that had been his plan all along, to reel you in with some accusation of flirting all so he could act like a child and push you into the pool. You wouldn’t put it past him. Him and his brother were always down for childish antics. The bar was never too low for the likes of them.

“Are you serious?!” You shouted, now visibly upset. “Is that your new thing? Making me think my job’s on the line so you can just drown me? Is that what we’re doing here?”

He stood up now, still roaring with laughter. “Drown you? You were doing that very well by yourself earlier! What would you need my help for?”

He was practically wheezing now. “You should have seen the look on your face!”

The thought crossed your mind to drown him yourself. It would’ve been easy with your height difference anyways. But that would mean losing your job as well as a few morals, and so the idea left your head just as quickly as it had come.

But gods, it pissed you off to see him laughing so hard at your expense. And your towel’s expense!

“Well that’s just great,” you muttered, losing your patience with the bassist. You collected the sogging wet towel from the pool, now much heavier with the weight of the water, and gave it your best shot as you threw it at him.

THWACK! Right into his smug little face, the weight of the wet fabric pushed him back until he stumbled forward, falling into the water like a buoy.

You laughed to yourself, surprised it had been so effective and feeling a little bit of satisfaction as you waded over back to the stairs. Though, it seemed you would have to walk back to your hotel room sopping wet. Because for some god forsaken reason, this hotel didn’t offer complimentary towels.

You didn’t even want to go near him right now to retrieve the towel. It would be too tempting to just drown the dwarf.

You crawled out of the pool, wringing your hair once more as you watched the blonde resurface, towel now in his calloused hands.

“And for the record,” you called out, hoping his ears were dry enough to hear you. “If you weren’t so impossible to track down, I wouldn’t have to record you all the time. Seriously, I can never find you unless you’re onstage. It’s either you’re performing or you’re out at the pub or you’re teasing Ori or you’ve got some girl on the bus couch!”

You stormed off, heading straight for the door before turning around and giving your last piece of mind. “I can’t even look at those couches the same anymore!”

Slamming the door behind you, all you could think about was how much you desperately needed a shower and a warm bed.

Hours later, after a cold walk to your room followed by a warm shower, you were just about to tuck in for the night before Ori had already come knocking on your door asking for help to bring Kíli and Gimli to bed. According to the poor nervous vocalist, Kíli and Gimli had gotten piss drunk while playing a handful of drinking games. The games didn’t stop until one of the players conceded one way or another, and in this case, both players had conceded by blacking out and passing out.

“I came down from my massage to find them both slobbering and slurring their words,” he explained with a panicked tone. “I don’t know what else to do! Thorin will kill us if he finds out!”

“Ori, it’s almost one in the morning,” you frowned at the young vocalist. “Are they really that drunk already?”

“I know and I’m so sorry to bother,” he said. “But I wouldn’t have come asking if I didn’t have any other option. Plus, you’re our friend.”

“If they’re already out, why not leave them there? Let them soak in their own consequences?” Despite your annoyed tone, you were already putting on some shoes to come with him.

“Thorin would kill us even more if we did that,” he frowned. “The press would have our heads.”

You rolled your eyes; in your opinion, you didn’t think that a dwarven metal band caught plastered would read as much of a headline. It would be like saying water was wet, or a fork was found in a kitchen. But Ori’s panicked state was enough to make you want to help the poor fellow.

“Where is Thorin, then? Or Fíli?” You asked, wondering how no one else seemed available to help. 

“Thorin’s asleep and I couldn’t find Fíli in the room,” he frowned. “Please help me, Y/N. I’ll do whatever you want for the next week when we’re not performing, I swear!”

Fìli, nowhere to be found? Again, a fork was found in a kitchen. You weren’t even surprised anymore; it wasn’t like you were eager to see his smug face, anyways.

“Alright, alright,” you waved. “There’s no need for all of that now. Let’s just get these two in bed. You can thank me later.”

You followed him down to the hotel bar, where a very displeased bartender greeted you with a glare. You did your best to apologize and close their tabs, adding in a generous tip while Ori attempted to wake them both up.

“Come on, we’ve got to get you in bed,” he pleaded.

“Bed? I’m already in bed,” Kíli giggled to himself amongst his incoherent babbling.

“Alright, come on, boys,” you sighed as you joined them. 

“Should we try one at a time or both at once?” Ori asked.

You looked over at Gimli, who was curled up on a hotel lobby couch. For now, Kíli was being the most disruptive. You wrapped his arm around you, motioning for Ori to help out as you tried getting the poor dwarf on his feet.

“Best we start with him, I think,” you grunted, having to hold up most of his weight.

An hour later, you had successfully dragged two very drunk dwarves out of the hotel bar, into the elevator and all the way down the corridor to their shared room at the end of the hall. Kíli had been lucid enough to get up and walk, but his definition of walking was quickly discovered to just be hanging on to you two. Gimli, on the other hand, only needed the incentive of another beer to get him to go to bed. Fortunately, he passed out in his bed before he could realize you two were duping him. Unfortunately, he had thrown up all over your feet on the way up.

Ori was doing his best to take care of a half-lucid Kíli, helping him drink some water and get into bed while you vigorously scrubbed your feet in their bathtub. You considered it karma; if they were going to throw up on you, the least you could do was wash it off in their bathroom.

“That’s it, then,” Ori whispered as he came into the bathroom to wash his own hands. “We did it.”

“Albeit with some casualties,” you gestured to your feet. “I’m never doing that again.”

Ori gave a worried laugh. “Again, I’m so sorry about that. I tried to get him to a trash can–”

“Yeah, like he was going to go for that,” you groaned. “He kept thinking it was a big glass of water.”

“He gets really stubborn like that when he’s drinking,” Ori explained. “You should see him on Elven wine.”

You sighed. “Well, at least we got the job done. We make quite the team, it seems.”

“One that I hope we don’t have to break out again anytime soon. Again, I can’t thank you enough for your help. I genuinely don’t know what I would have done without you.”

You laughed at Ori’s remark, sharing the sentiment. “It’s fine; it’s over with now. Are they both asleep?”

“Kíli might moan and groan a bit more, but Gimli’s out cold. Either way, it’s enough work for tonight. And I’d feel awful if you had to help out any more than you already have.” He gave you a sheepish smile, thanking you again for your efforts at almost three in the morning.

“What are friends for?” You gave a weak laugh, drying your feet off as you gave a fist bump to the vocalist. “At least you all don’t perform until tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, just our luck; they’ll both be complaining all day about their hangovers,” he sighed. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Ori,” you smiled, giving him a hug before quietly leaving their room and finally returning to yours.

You shut your door behind you, a huge sigh of relief leaving your lips as the promise of your warm bed now seemed ever closer. A part of you was tempted to just sink into your bed, but you knew that your entire body probably needed a scrub after deadlifting drunken dwarves. Tonight seemed full of obstacles.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Never mind. Apparently your obstacle was another late-night visitor. You groaned, ripping open the door without even bothering to look through the peephole. 

“Ori, I thought you said they were asleep…” You shook your head, caught off guard by the person in front of you. “You’re not Ori.”

There stood Fíli, eyes heavy with sleep and your towel, now dry, clutched in his left hand. He was in different clothes than when you had seen him last, ditching the wet cargo shorts for some rather comfy-looking flannel pants and a white tank top.

“Oh, they’re surely asleep,” he confirmed. “And in my bed, no less. I just came from there.”

“Sorry, I thought you were Ori,” you frowned. “We just finished putting them to bed… Wait, where have you been? We were looking for you earlier when we had to drag your brother from the bar.”

“I’ve been in the laundromat. I had to ask some of the staff for help, so it took a while.”

He handed the towel over to you, its fibers still very warm, as if it had just been taken out of the dryer. “I came back to return this. I figured you might want it back.” 

You took it with curious eyes, now feeling a little embarrassed for hitting him with it earlier. “You went through the trouble of washing and drying it?”

“Consider it my apology for hitting on you earlier.” He said. “You’ve got one hell of a throw, by the way. I’m lucky I fell into the pool and not the concrete.”

Now you felt your cheeks flush, embarrassed of your lack of patience earlier. 

“Right, I’m sorry about that,” you swallowed your pride as you apologized. The last thing you needed was any incident that could make you lose this job. “I just want to make it clear that I have no ill will against you–”

“It’s behind us, don’t worry. It’s not like I’m a tattling child who will tell my uncle,” he reassured. “We’re adults.”

You let a small breath of relief pass your lips.

And for a moment, you two just stood there. It was a bit awkward, but at least the air between you had been cleared.

“Well, it’s late,” he muttered.

You nodded. “Right. Good night then, Fíli. And thank you for my towel, that was kind of you.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐WHERE IS MY MIND?

summary — in which it’s the dystopian reality of what the future has become — the year 2077 in the city that never sleeps, night city. during a heist gone wrong, you end up with the prized relic that the depths of the city are hunting for. the relic, a biochip, contains the remnants of the last owner — a retired assassin known as the winter soldier that haunts the nightmares of misbehaving children to this day. however, it seems you’re not dealing with the famed assasin, rather bucky barnes, the former avenger.

pairings — bucky barnes x mercenary!reader (au)

pronouns — no pronouns but i consider reader to be a girl or at least fem! presenting

word count — 3192

note —  and if i said potential mini series?? this is based on cyberpunk 2077!!! its loose enough where you dont have to be familiar with the game to understand it :) but if you’re familiar, possibly light spoilers to the konpeki plaza incident???? i’ve changed it up but just in case <3

IT WAS A GIG like any other. the promise of cash being wired in return for what should have been a simple heist to steal a biochip that you knew nothing about. you weren’t paid to care about what you stole or killed, you were just the merc behind the trigger. 

one moment, the relic — as they called it — was in your hands after being pulled from its resting place behind glass in the tall arasaka building that loomed shadows over those scrambling to get by on the pavements below. the next, a simple scan of the chip with your eyes and a number flashed up red in your vision. a number that was slowly dropping with every passing second. 

“fuck me,” you grumbled under your breath, toying with the chip between your fingers. “‘s not gonna survive, fuck!” 

the gun was clunky in your hands — not your first choice, but one that you’d picked up along the way after enough of a scuffle down in the building’s lobby. now on the highest floor, your only way out was down the elevator. you just had to try to divide your attention between saving the relic and making it out of the building alive.

if the chip hit a reading of 0%, the gig would be a total fail. you were broke, surviving on whatever scraps in your shithole of a megabuilding apartment you could get your hands on, and even pulling gigs now was difficult when you hadn’t made a name for yourself yet. this heist would get your name on the wall of fame, maybe even paint a target on your back — but man, you’d be swimming in enough cash to get you more than just by. the days of pickpocketing wallets and hunting for any sell-out corpo job that provided enough money to put food on the table would be long gone if you got the chip out of here alive. 

the number was falling faster as you sunk two bullets in the heads of two separate guys. four bullets down; eight more until you’d have to reload. 

sixty-seven . . . sixty-six . . . sixty-five . . . sixty-four . . . was it getting quicker? you could’ve sworn five seconds ago it was on eighty-two. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you ran as the words escaped you, a bullet flying for every expletive spilled. three perfect headshots cleared the hallway down to the elevator. your boots were the only sound as you ran like your life depended on it. in a way it did. 

you slammed your hand on the elevator’s button, pressing it a million times as if it would make it go faster, until the doors screeched open. there was no hesitation as you buried the remaining five bullets into the body of the man that ran forward with his gun aimed at your chest. he flopped to the floor, blood and oil oozing from the gaping holes in his chest. you stepped over him, unbothered by the overkill, and hit the button for the ground floor. 

your eyes lit up error-code green as you scanned the chip in your palm. fifty . . . forty-nine . . . forty-eight . . . time was running out. reloading your gun, the lightweight chip felt heavy the longer you held onto it. the screen at the top of the elevator counted down the floors just as menacingly, and nearing the bottom now, you shook your head in disbelief as you held the chip up to the back of your neck. “here’s to hoping this fuckin’ works,” you sighed, inserting the relic into the thin gap for holding important shards, praying for a fucking miracle in saving the biochip and your career. 

the elevator doors dinged and no one would be the wiser that you even had the relic in the first place. you lifted your gun up, waiting for the doors to open as your heart raced a million miles an hour. finger tight on the trigger, your heart finally stumbled, skipping a beat when a sea of soldiers in dark gear stared back at you, each with their assault rifle raised and red dots lighting up your skull. 

one man stood front and centre, dressed to the nines in a fancy corpo suit that looked freshly pressed to match his freshly cut hair. a smirk rested on his lips as he lifted his revolver in the same fashion the army behind him were. “goodnight, merc,” he said as he pulled the trigger. the bullet screamed as it tore through the air until finding a home in the centre of your skull, clattering your gun to the floor until your body fell along with it. eyelids glitching shut like a broken toy robot, the man that stalked forward disappeared behind the internal flashbang of your brain shutting down and painting the last of your vision in blinding white light.

DEATH WAS STRANGELY NOT something you thought about often. you took lives when contracts told you to and didn’t dwell on them any further once you got paid. you went home and slept like a baby on your rock hard mattress without any other thoughts than what fixer you were going to hit up next for another gig. it was your day-to-day to get by: pick up a job, wipe blood off your hands, get paid, hit up a bar, and send the rest of your money to pay rent for the week. if you got hit, shot or stabbed, you hit up vik, your favourite doctor, and paid off what little you could find to lessen your tab. vik liked you like a slightly irritating, very distant daughter and that was the only reason you got away with paying him back whenever you could afford it. you never had to worry about the prospect of death when you knew he had you covered. 

what was after death? no one knew for sure, but you couldn’t work it out as you remained in permanent blindness. drenched in a cold white daze, all you could do was stare blankly into nothing like you were being punished into deliberating your sins. perhaps this was your final location, stuck trying to get forgiveness for every sin you ever committed. it would take forever to go through every single one, every speck of blood never wiped fully clean from your hands until it made up more than your own blood that streamed through your veins. it would take eternity to ask for forgiveness for every single sin, a long track record laid before you that stretched back until you were a kid struggling to survive on the treacherous streets of night city. 

maybe you weren’t dead. 

every few moments the blinding numbness receded just enough for you to catch glimpses of the real world. being thrown unceremoniously into a junkyard. submerged back into the cold whiteness. the worried faces of vik and a blonde girl standing over you. white again. the inside of vik’s clinic, tools being thrown around like your life depended on it. white again. the world upside as you hung from vik’s shoulder, the soft ding of the elevator muted against the building’s colourful residents. white again.

there was no way to determine whether it was a past memory or reality taking place in a series of snapshots. vik had been your saving grace too many times to tell. 

YOU woke up in the familiar uncomfortable comfort of your bed, eyes blurry as a migraine brewed behind them like a hurricane. there was that blonde girl again, sitting on the edge of your bed like you were friends, two pill bottles rattling in her hands. her eyes were kind, the way they normally were whenever you rocked up to vik’s half dead. you never knew her name, just the fact that she was incredibly spiritual and had a shop in front of vik’s clinic. they were close, another unrelated father-daughter dynamic much like you had with the doc, except their bond wasn’t a dysfunctional disaster. 

there wasn’t enough time or energy stored in you to be able to dwell on not being dead. since when was a bullet to the skull not an immediate death? you couldn’t even try form the words. the blonde didn’t mind. she showed you the two pill bottles, explained how the blue pills would keep him quiet and how the red ones would set him free ( who was him? you had no idea ) and tossed you the bullet from your brain in a vial before leaving. like a spell, you immediately fell back under, knocked out and sleeping like the dead. the dead you should be. 

“GOTTA GET OUTTA HERE,” the voice was deep and awoke you with a start. it hummed around your head like angry bees, buzzing rapidly until you couldn’t hear your own thoughts.

rubbing your eyes with your palms, you blinked away the sleep until you noticed that a dark figure stood leaning against your wall by the window beside your bed. his hair was long enough to sit neatly above his shoulders, falling down his face like curtains to hide true intentions, and more importantly, his baby blue eyes. they looked haunted, like they had seen things worse than the average day outside in night city; more haunted than your own. his leather jacket was black to match the rest of his combat gear down to his boots. besides his eyes, the only other things that stood out were the fact that you could see he had a black-metal hand, no doubt vibranium, and the silver dog tags strung around his neck.

you barely had enough energy to do more than stare, the stranger in your apartment something unordinary that you knew you should probably deal with. maybe reach for the gun under your pillow or the knife under the other one, sluggishly pull yourself to your feet and threaten the strange man. your hand crept for the gun after deciding that was the play, moving slowly and surely until your fingers ducked under the pillow . . . and then he did something unheard of.

he glitched. glitched.

he didn’t malfunction in the way people with poor cyberware or cyberpsychos pushed past their limit did. he glitched without moving. blue lines tore through him like a hologram, and he seemed to not notice it in the same way you did. still, you grabbed the gun and held it up like a shield, pointing it at him and hoping it was your mind playing tricks on you. holograms were a thing of the past with the constantly new tech that was evolving. the last hologram made was probably back in the late 2040s. it wasn’t possible for one to be in your room or look this realistic.

the man didn’t look bothered by the fact that he had a pistol aimed at his chest. “mornin’, doll,” he drawled. you blinked at the odd nickname, lethargically pulling yourself up from the bed until you were standing in front of him. your grip on your gun didn’t falter once. 

“where’d you even come from?” you dared to ask. he merely glanced at the gun like it was a toy. 

“how the fuck should i know?” he retorted without missing a beat, crossing his arms over his chest. “i wouldn’t be here if i knew.”

good point. problem was, you had no idea either. with a sigh, you holstered your gun in the waistband of your pants and turned your back to him, heading towards your front door on shaky legs. you didn’t have a plan in the slightest, but visiting vik seemed to be the right thing to do. maybe he understand this better than you and the blonde did. 

you barely made it three steps when suddenly the man appeared in front of you, glitching in as blue lines hung from every aspect of his body. like you were pushed without his hands even touching you, you found yourself flat on your back on the floor.

“who d’you work for?” his eyes blazed, the blue of his eyes scarily dark as his low voice lowered even further. “start talkin’!”

his fist was raised back in a punch, and to your realisation, so was yours. with a simple wave of your other hand, you watched on as the man’s hand moved in the exact same way. his anger momentarily gone, you took that as your move to slowly sit up. “fuck,” you wiggled your fingers, his doing the same, before you brought your palms up to look at them, hunting for a connection that wasn’t there. 

“fuck,” the man repeated, his form glitching more violently this time. his eyes met his palms in the same way yours did. 

reality dawned on the man faster than you could blink. this time it wasn’t you controlling your movements, it was him. and that must’ve meant the blonde was right. the pills were for him. “fucking chip,” he reached into the back of his neck, your movements mirroring his as your fingers brushed the spot that you had inserted the biochip in to preserve it back at the arasaka tower.

“no!” your eyes widened, trying desperately to tug your hand away from your neck but to no avail. he was in your head and you had no control. your eyes darted to the blue pill bottle on your bedside table just out of reach. “wait!”

your vision glitched in a haze of purple and blue static before the world around you fell dark.

“UGH,” YOU GROANED. WAKING up on the cold floor of your apartment was something you didn’t typically do often all things considered. sometimes you made it to the rug under the couch before passing out. this time, you didn’t have a choice.

combat boots glitched into view, demonstrating the clear pacing the man must have been doing in your mind. a soft groan pulled from your lips as you sat yourself up, leaning back against the bedframe to glance at him properly this time. when you looked now, there was something familiar about him, something you couldn’t put your finger on.

“let’s try this again,” you cleared her throat to speak clearer. you weren’t sure how long you were out for, but with the way your throat felt dry, you assumed the man’s stunt had really zapped any remaining energy you had. “civil, this time.”

he puffed air into his cheeks, pacing stopping entirely. instead, he sunk down to his knees, joining you on the floor. “okay.” he didn’t seem very willing to comply.

“who are you?”

he paused like he had to remember the exact details of something so personal. “bucky barnes,” he answered, voice made of stone, his eyes just as cold. you didn’t like the way that everything you did seemed to stare you down like a mirror. your breathing, pushing your hair out of your eyes, adjusting yourself on the ground . . . all in perfect synchronisation. perhaps this was the true haunting for not succumbing for your long list of sins. maybe miraculously surviving that bullet was just to torture you some more.

it clicked. 

“wait—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head and watching him do the same. you quickly eyed the pills out the corner of your vision. surely they would stop this nonsense and make you feel a little less connected to him. “like . . . the winter soldier, that guy?” he nodded. “like the one who tried to take down arasaka tower with the avengers?” he nodded again, this time a tick in his jaw. “in 2023?”

“were right the first time,” he said gruffly, rolling his eyes. he didn’t look frustrated, something softer but still just as fierce. a silent bout of reminiscing. if it took time to get him out of your head, you were definitely going to see if you could take a peek into his memories. “don’t have to keep asking.”

you ignored him. “great,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “got a dead assassin in my fuckin’ brain. just fuckin’ perfect.”

bucky didn’t mean to snap. tensions were high and the irritation was gnawing into him like the bites of poisonous ants. falling back into old habits would not help this in the long run, but right now it was all he could feel. “you think i’m havin’ a good time, doll? i can feel our minds touching, can feel myself get wired into your neurons . . . nothin’ i can do about it! i’d get out if i could.”

there was a pause as he pulled himself to his feet. if he were really there pacing, his boots would start wearing down the hexagonal floor tiles under his feet. “it’s just a copy of the engram . . . i gotta be . . .”

by out there somewhere you were kinda hoping that he meant his body or maybe even his things. 2023 was a long time ago, and the world knew for a fact that bucky barnes was dead. only two made it out of the take down of arasaka, and both were now widely known fixers in the merc world, trying to put their past behind them all these years later. you just hoped that bucky remembered he had died that day so you didn’t have to break the news to him.

your mouth opened and closed a few times, the sight of a gaping fish as you tried to figure out what to say. you were tired, sick of the pulsating migraine brought on from no doubt bucky as you reached for the pill bottle, ignoring the searing muscles burning with pain through your torso. “can we work this out later?” you asked, softening your voice beyond the rough exterior you only ever showed. “just . . . just let me rest and we can work out what the fuck this relic shit means for us now.”

bucky’s eyes flickered to the pill bottle. he crossed the room to where you were sat and crouched down in front of you. you could feel the presence of his hand lingering in your brain, ready to slap them away ( which you assumed controlled your movements and got you to throw them ) if he wasn’t happy. “promise me.”

he was so close it was starting to hurt you more than just psychologically. every movement in every limb felt like a sharp pinch over and over again, entwining your movements with his the longer you went without the pills. “alright, alright,” you nodded, twisting the cap off the bottle. “i promise. fuck, hopefully see you never,” you mumbled as you tipped a little blue pill out and threw it into your mouth, swallowing it dry. 

his glitchy presence began to disappear from your sight, and you sighed thankfully and pulled yourself to your feet. climbing up onto your bed, you were out like a light the second your body slumped against the mattress.

[sweetkpopmusings]

changbin coworker headcanons <3

a/n: i hate that it took me SO. LONG. to upload another coworker headcanons post :-((( i'm currently suffering in the office so thinking about giggly coworker!changbin is my saving grace <3 pics not mine~

content: fluff, nonidol!au | wc: 0.9k | warnings: none really! some mentions of food | pairing: coworker!changbin x gn!reader | requests: open

it’s honestly hard to remember a time at work when you and changbin weren’t friends

changbin was always known for being good-natured, friendly, and an absolute joy to be around, which you were informed of on your first day

needless to say, people were quite jealous when you became the favorite of the most well-liked person in the office

changbin would argue that you’re the most liked though because he likes you so much, with all his heart, forever and ever 

he tells you this like every day :,-( just the cutest

speaking of changbin being cute

he is determined to turn any bad day around asap

like the second he sees the hint of a frown on your face, he is going full y/n-deserves-the-best-day-ever mode

he’ll do anything from impromptu girl group dance performances every time he walks by your desk to reading dozens of dad jokes off a random website to absolutely CHEESIN’ at you until you smile back

also totally is on his rich kid behavior when it comes to buying you snacks, drinks, trinkets, or anything else he thinks you need to get through the workday

any time you offer to pay him back he looks like he’s going to cry because “i just want to treat you!! you are my friend!! i can only survive the hours of the workday because you’re here!! the least i could do is buy you this thing!!”

“this thing” is like a five course meal on a wednesday but whatever you say changbin <33

even though he feels it’s his daily responsibility to make sure you’re working in a stress-free environment, good luck doing anything in peace

his voice is on max volume 97% of the time

and the other 3% his voice is on bass boosted whisper

if you sit next to him in a meeting, he WILL get you in trouble for disrupting the presentation

if you’re not talking to him, he’d whisper “y/n!!! why are you ignoring me???” and then your boss would call you both out for being disruptive and you’re sitting there like ???? i’ve been completely silent 

before you can say anything to defend yourself, changbin is apologizing and saying “we’ll never do it again” which is a total lie lmao

he doesn't care though. he sits next to you every time and will throw a fit if you run away

you’re his buddy so it's mandatory in his mind to sit with each other at all times

changbin also gets jealous of other coworkers hanging out with you

like someone asks you how your weekend went and he is in a tiff because "i can't believe you're replacing me with them!!!!!!” and you  barely remember their name but you spend 30 minutes cheering changbin up so he stops pouting and does his work

somehow you’ve become a changbin babysitter because really he’s just a goofy little kid

sometimes coworkers will ask you for tips on working with changbin

whenever he’s collaborating with others, he ends up (unintentionally) derailing brainstorms or group meetings by telling a story or making jokes that are the slightest bit related to the conversation at hand

and people love his charm but they also need to do their work

which is why, after you pass one one successful trick, people come to you ALL the time for advice

you’re now known as the changbin expert

changbin finds this out at a company party and while he confronts you for “exposing seo changbin trade secrets” he actually is SO endeared by the fact you’re known for knowing him so well

he shares this with all of his friends because he wants to brag yet again about how you’re the coolest person ever and therefore he is the luckiest person ever

while a lot of the time with changbin is all fun and games, he knows when to take a step back and bring you calm energy or serious moral support

it may not be his default state to refrain from giggling and dancing, changbin cares deeply about your wellbeing and will switch up his vibe according to your mood/needs

absolutely the BEST listener whenever you need to rant

like he books out a (soundproof) conference room so you can talk trash about a project or a person

and the whole time he is agreeing with you wholeheartedly 

if you ask, he’ll offer you solutions, but he’s also willing to simply be a shoulder to cry on or someone to listen to whatever’s weighing on your mind

obviously, you thank him for it every time, and he reassures you that it’s just him doing his job

when you remind him of what his actual job is, he says he got promoted to “y/n’s emotional support coworker”

you laugh so hard at this that it becomes an inside joke between the two of you

for his birthday, you get him a nameplate for his desk with that job title, and he loves it so much he nearly cries :-( he shows it off to everyone for weeks and places it prominently on his desk to remind everyone who your #1 fan is :’-)

no one tells you this, but the truth is that, before you started working there, changbin never had the zoomies as often as he does now

for as much as he is known to be your support system, meeting you reinvigorated his presence in the workplace, and seeing you in the morning is enough to turn his mood completely around

that’s why, even on his worst days, changbin wants nothing more than to make you smile even if it means he has to scramble at the end of the day to finish the report that was due the next morning lol because you, without having to try, are changbin’s sunshine <3