#Reception desk benefits

[interiorergonomics]

The Impact of Front Office First Impressions

Investing in a custom-made reception desk is about more than just aesthetics.

Actually, it's about creating a strong, positive first impression that resonates with everyone who enters your office.

Demonstrate a commitment to quality and professionalism through a thoughtfully designed reception area, you can enhance your brand image and build stronger relationships with clients, partners, and employees alike.

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Manager and their Idol

8.5k. G/N. Soft, colleagues to lover (guess I love this trope). Masterlists

You had imagined life as a K-Pop idol manager to be much more glamorous.

You pity your young naive self. The one that envisaged schmoozing with stars and rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers, and instead set you on this horrid, lacklustre path.

What you didn't expect was the amount of time playing driver. Carting that stupid pink haired brat around. Waiting on him hand and foot during shoots and interviews, and being at his beck and call.

You have saved his ass more times than you can recall, ran through scripts with him, practised his stupid dances and moves alongside, protected him from unhinged fans and reporters and scavengers.

And yet you can count on one hand the amount of times he has thanked you.

Actually no, it didn't require any hands because he has thanked you exactly zero times for all your early mornings and late nights and for going above and beyond your duty.

Out of desperation, you had asked your boss if you could manage someone else and the request was declined.

"DG has taken a liking to you," she said, tone impressed as if that was something you should be proud of.

"Great," your smile comes out as more of a grimace.

And goddamn, this agency was so stupidly prestigious and the benefits and perks here really are second to none. Just why did Diego fucking Kang have to be their top idol.

.

.

The first time you crossed the threshold into his building, greeting the reception security guard and entering his penthouse keycode like you had been let in on the world's greatest secret, you had tiptoed around like a child in a museum. After all, this was DG's residence. The DG!

You had ooh-ed and aah-ed at every little thing. 

Taking delight in seeing his interior design of choice, the type of candy that he snacks on, the shampoo and conditioner he uses, the way he organises his desk. This is the chair DG sits on to eat. This is the sofa DG lounges on to watch TV. This is the bed he sleeps in, the bath he uses, the toilet he-

Any wide eyed innocence and awe evaporated after your first week working together.

Today, you stab in the entry code and let the door shut with a bang. 

You set his now cold coffee order on the kitchen counter and rifle with practised fingers through his unopened mail to see if there is anything you should draw his immediate attention to. You pick up his discarded clothes from the floor (and for fuck's sake, this suit jacket was on loan) and make your way to his bedroom where tufts of pink hair peeks out from under the cover.

"Good morning," you announce, locating the remote to open the blinds and letting in some sunlight.

Bedsheets rustle behind you.

"Good morning Diego," you repeat and give one warning, "I hope you're decent." With that, you throw the covers back to find the scantily dressed idol glaring up at you.

You remember the days when this sight would have made you weak at the knees. Seeing him half naked, in the flesh, freshly woken up with bedhead and half lidded eyes. It's what most of Korea dreams of, including yourself once upon a time.

Now all you feel is extreme irritation.

"Good morning," you say for the third time, plastering on a saccharine smile that you know DG sees clearly through because it is insincere as hell to anyone with half a brain cell. You let the fakeness shine through anyway.

For a split second, DG frowns as his eyes drop to your lips and then he pretends everything is good. Smiling back prettily, sharp canines on show and stretching. Lifting his arms overhead, showing a good stretch of pecs and abs and the line of muscle in a V pointing like an arrow straight down to his-

You roll your eyes.

"You're late." You throw the covers back over him and stride back towards the door. "We should have left half an hour ago." You leave out the part where you had been waiting downstairs in the car and after an hour of no show and no anything, you stomped your way up to his home.

DG, sensing your mood, adds oil to the fire with a smirk, "Why didn't you wake me then?"

If that idiot bothered to look at his phone, he would see a number of missed calls and unread messages from you.

Whatever.

"Hurry up."

.

.

DG has come across many people like yourself over the years. All cute and bright eyed, way too soft.

He never gave you any special treatment, for better or worse, and assumed that you would eventually burn out or give up and move on to something more worthwhile.

Unfortunately, in a rare turn of events, he had miscalculated.

Of course most people would be starstruck, it's only natural. But he mistook your sincerity and kind smile for ignorance and missed your sharp, observing gaze, and astute mind.

He's impressed, and he really can't remember the last time he was impressed.

In a matter of days of working together, you had managed to cut through the bullshit and within the month got him more compliant and docile than anyone else ever has.

Which should be a huge fucking problem, and raising red flags all over DG's mind.

...Except-

What's really troubling him right now, as he sulks in the passenger seat and you in the driver's, is that you have developed some sort of resistance to his charms.

Maybe a part of him does actually miss the you who he formed the first impression of. Who looked at him in wonder, with the same admiration that everyone else did.

Now that he knows you, he hates that he had thought that initial admiration was insignificant and worthless.

.

.

DG has a stash of candy in the car.

Or more accurately, you keep a stash of candy next to him to a) Shut him up and b) Keep him tolerable.

If DG wasn't so aloof, the fact that he has an incurable sweet tooth (and probably cavities to prove it) would have made headlines as a cute K-Pop fact and likely garnered sponsorship and advertising deals with all sorts of confectionary brands.

You had only found out during your adventures as his manager, rifling through his kitchen drawers trying to find his goddamn phone that he misplaced and you stumbled upon his stash of candy.

It really was a disgusting amount, something you'd expect a gaggle of grade schoolers at Halloween to hoard, not Diego goddamn Kang.

And then you also found out if he's not quiet and haughty in the car, making the atmosphere awkward, he likes to comment on your driving.

Who even sits in the passenger seat next to their 'chauffeur' anyway? He complains about you braking too suddenly and not accelerating fast enough. How you drive like an 80 year old with cataracts, and you're too slow when the light changes to green.

The turn in your relationship happened when you snapped at him to shut the fuck up after losing the final shred of your sanity on a three hour drive.

DG, to your dismay, didn’t miraculously lose his hearing and turns to you as you silently berate yourself for voicing the quiet thoughts out loud.

Although, you're in the deep end now. You're gonna get fired anyway, so if he says anything else you might as well give him a flick on the forehead or a pinch or maybe a punch to the face-

Instead, he laughs.

It's nothing like the laugh you have heard on TV and in interviews. The rehearsed and manicured 'haha' or cool chuckle that suits his shiny persona. It's kinda goofy and a lot endearing.

What's even more endearing is the way he does actually shut the fuck up for the rest of the journey. You like him a lot more after that.

So. You digress.

The candy is a way to keep the sweet toothed maniac quiet. Even if it doesn't work, at least it's harder to make out what insults he's slinging with a lollipop rattling around his mouth.

However, he has never ever shared any with you. Any of the candy that you stock, and pay for.

(That you technically claim back on company expenses, but you're trying to be self righteous here.)

Ever.

In all the months of working with him, he gobbles away happily even if your stomach is growling and you refuse to take any yourself out of principle.

Until-

"Here."

"Huh?"

Taking advantage of your response and open mouth, DG leans into your personal space and feeds you some chewy strawberry something or another (which coincidentally are his least favourite), fingers lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second.

Three things happen in quick succession.

The burst of sugar hits your tongue.

You nearly choke.

You narrowly avoid swerving.

"Careful now," DG grins when you get the car and yourself under control, and glance at him with a scowl.

Good. That proves you're not completely immune to his charms.

.

.

That bastard has now taken it upon himself to feed you candy at every opportunity.

You wonder if he's doing some sort of Pavlov experiment. The sweetness trying to erase any sourness you feel towards him.

It sort of works, and you consider biting his fingers off one of these days.

You hear the crinkling of wrappers, one for him that he pops into his mouth, and one for you that he gives without asking.

You angle your head towards him, and his fingers graze your lips every time.

Neither of you comment on the change but the intimacy drives you a little crazy.

.

.

And DG too.

Because intimacy works both ways and damnit his little gesture to keep the pretty blush on your face has backfired.

The only form of intimacy he knows comes from discreet hookups and low key links. Not someone who is around day in, day out. Or anyone that goes deeper than one night stands and booty calls.

You're there, you're always there. Of course you are, you're his manager.

But today, he feels under the microscope with you standing a couple metres away and keen eyes watching the camera monitor.

It's a no nothing day. Standard schedule where he shoots a fragrance commercial and he exits a pool all wet and sultry, white t-shirt clinging to his muscled body.

Then another scene where he writhes around slightly on a sunbed and eye-fucks the camera.

How it sells a fragrance, he never knows. The mystery of showbiz.

"Cut! More powder!" The director shouts out, the crew springing into action and DG knows exactly why.

He feels strangely embarrassed and flustered, which has manifested into his cheeks being flushed, and god he can't even remember the last time he has been like this.

It’s out of character and he needs to get his head together.

As the make up artist hurriedly dabs on some foundation, you make your way over to him.

"Are you sick?" you ask, concerned and reaching out to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.

"I'm fine," He says, turning away from your attentiveness and staring at a point in the distance.

.

.

With most people, if DG wants them out of sight, they stay out of sight.

But as his manager, and a very competent one at that, it’s harder to get you to leave.

Not that DG wants you to either, don’t get him wrong. 

The only constants he has around him are people who want something from him. And yes, he knows you’re only in his company because you work with him. However, he really can’t doubt the concern he always sees in your eyes. The compassion and empathy even when he makes you want to scream and tear your hair out.

His standoffish demeanour is not new to anyone. It’s part of his appeal to be quite honest. 

Yet he feels bad over the next couple weeks as he turns it up to eleven and tries to create some distance. He registers the hurt on your face as he is extra short with his answers and behaviour.

.

.

Pandering to overinflated celebrity egos and the insane Korean work ethic often leads to after hour shoots and dinner delayed until past midnight.

Honestly, this wreaks havoc on your sleep schedule and your skin.

"Here." You retrieve DG's takeout from the paper bag.

A double portion of delicious fried chicken with a side of kimchi and pickles. It's a change of pace from what most idols order, yet he doesn't give two shits about calories or sodium intake and to add insult to injury, somehow manages to keep his trim figure.

You lament your soggy salad sitting at the bottom. As if it’s not sad enough right now - once you arrive home, the lettuce will be wilting and room temperature and you will eat it in your dimly lit apartment with nothing to keep you company except the sound of the TV.

DG notices you turning to leave his penthouse, and his mouth moves before his brain can.

"Aren't you staying?"

"What?" You double take at the question.

DG's company is usually worse than your lonely meal for one. 

He’s annoying and you frequently want to slap him, but how he has been with you lately has been troubling and you actually feel a sense of relief at his offer.

(You had wondered if you might have been getting sacked up until this moment.)

Nevertheless, in all your time working alongside, you have never had a proper meal one on one together. Nothing more than you driving with one hand and the other hastily shoving a burger into your mouth as he looks on in disgust.

You would have dwelled on this more, wondering what's changed, what’s happened, but then-

"I'll share." DG nudges the box towards you, and the delicious scent of deep fried, battered goodness wafts along with it it

All your misgivings and your salad is forgotten.

.

.

Almost.

No, you were wrong.

Eating with DG, without any distractions such as traffic to navigate or other boisterous colleagues around, is unnerving. Disarming.

His haughtiness remains, but how haughty can someone be when munching on a drumstick.

All frostiness from the past weeks melts away as you both eat your way through his chicken.

He’s talking more tonight than you have heard in a while.

You find him funny, and really quite bitchy. Which you did know all along except it's much funnier now his slanderous comments aren't directed at you.

And has he always looked at you with such a piercing gaze? So intensely focused on what you have to say. Even if you're just complaining about your boss, blurring your lines of professionalism, he gives you his full attention.

You really can't remember the last time you have been in each other's company like this. 

You loathe to admit that even with what an asshole he is, DG's shine hasn’t dulled enough for you that you don't understand the appeal.

.

.

Leaning forward, DG whispers into your ear.

To anyone else, it looks like an over-affectionate idol with their manager. If they could hear his words, "I'm going to kill you," they would think otherwise.

Ok, so this one is your fault.

The good times have to come to an end and maybe you should have been more careful with his pride and joy - some ridiculously overpriced and over-specced vehicle.

Taking advantage of the clear blue Seoul skies, the pink haired menace was the one who drove you today in his fancy imported sports car, but the speed limits and the rest of the traffic was not on his side.

Already running late, even for him, he parked somewhere convenient and illegal then passed you the keys, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as he strode off to meet his music producer and choreographer and left you to park his baby elsewhere.

Why he entrusted you with it, you're not sure.

You would have done it anyway though, because when else are you going to have an opportunity to drive a supercar, if your boss didn't call at that moment. Questioning your expenses and DG's schedule and confusing you about the fitting at a fashion house and hair styling appointment that you knew like the back of your hand but when someone is so confidently incorrect, you start to doubt yourself.

By the time you got off the phone after pacing up and down the street and checking and double checking DG's timetable, you finally make your way back to the car-

And see it in the middle of being compounded.

You had begged and pleaded with the two men who were having none of it and you left, tail between your legs, to beg and plead with the other man who you knew would also have none of it.

Damn, you hate it when you prove yourself right in these instances.

You know DG won't really kill you, but he will likely make your life hell for the next couple weeks.

.

.

A normal person being pissed off at you would probably result in the silent treatment until tempers cool down.

DG does the opposite. Sort of.

He takes pleasure in making things as awkward for you as possible, until you're squirming in your seat trying to stay professional, thinking about your job and your rent and your bills; or torn between wanting the ground to swallow you up.

Around other people, your boss, your colleagues, his colleagues, he sidles up to you all smiles and soft looks. Slips purposely into banmal, and then oopsy, pretends that he didn't mean to be so informal with you around others.

Gossip soon stirs about your and DG's close relationship, if there's something else going on. Only you can see the mischief in his eyes and the malice in his smile and you think about yanking him by the ear and demanding to know what he is playing at.

Alone, he denies any sort of miscreant behaviour. Barely listening to you complaining and snapping at him. Ending with him outright ignoring you and you fume even harder.

This time, you're not sure the punishment even fits the crime. 

Any guilt soon dissipates when his car is returned in perfect condition within a couple days but his performance lasts for weeks.

.

.

Teasing you has always been fun for DG - when your cheeks dust angrily with pink and your eyes burn with fire.

The equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails in the school yard.

.

.

Meetings with HNH Group usually do not involve you. If it does, at most you are waiting in the car.

Luckily, there are also an assortment of cafes and restaurants within a stone's throw and it gives you some time to debrief and catch a breather from following DG's hectic schedule.

The downside is you're never sure if a two hour meeting will be condensed to fifteen minutes or if a quick catch up with Charles Choi and other Executives turns into an all nighter.

There's been days where you have ordered a meal, then had to abandon it with a sigh and a longing look as you spot DG striding out of the building looking pissed off that you're not already there, or stayed in the vehicle with the engine running and your stomach rumbling as short appointments overshoot.

Maybe this is another consequence from DG being petty and irate with you for getting his car towed - you're left snoozing at the steering wheel of your runaround, the idol standard-issue luxury minivan, waiting for his return.

It's far too late in the evening for anywhere to be open, only the fluorescent lights of convenience stores and glare of the HNH logo illuminates the streets.

DG opens the sliding door, climbs into the back and slams it hard enough to jerk you awake and rattle the entire van.

He’s sitting by himself in the back, which is odd enough in itself.

As you blink away the dregs of sleep, in the rearview mirror, you notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His eyes stare vacantly out the window. DG is clearly upset about something, enough to crack through his aloof veneer.

"Are you ok?" You don't get a response, not even a passing glance.

Obviously something has gone wrong with the HNH Group meeting and the stress has manifested.

You wrack your brains thinking of something that might cheer up this asshole and you think of the only thing that improves your mood when you're on the verge of a breakdown.

(Usually due to the aforementioned asshole in your current presence). 

"Tteokbokki and beer?" You offer. It’s past your bedtime but a sulky DG for the rest of the week will also ruin your week too.

DG briefly looks at you before going back to staring at the window. It’s not a no.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night. 

At your favourite late night hole-in-the-wall, you eat far more tteokbokki than DG. On second thoughts, you don’t remember him eating any at all. You’re talking and downing beers to fill the silence, trying to perk up this silly celebrity. Loose lipped and spilling far more details than you would if you were sober, with him seated opposite and sipping on a soda. 

As the night ticks along, he thaws and a small smile settles on his face watching you gesticulate and ramble about your life.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night-

With DG driving, piggybacking you up to your apartment, and tucking you into bed.

.

.

DG can’t stop thinking of the weight of you on his back, arms slung over his shoulders, legs at his waist and his hands gripping your thighs.

You slurring drunkenly into his ear as he climbs the stairs in your building. It’s mostly nonsense. He can’t make out your words but remembers your breath tickling his skin.

And when he wraps your duvet around you, the brief moment of lucidity in your eyes as you look at him, softer than you ever have, you tell him, “Thanks Diego.”

Diego.

.

.

Nothing changes between the two of you after this. Not really.

You still find him an enormous thorn in your side. Incredibly stuck up and haughty and you continue to want to throttle him on a weekly basis but you are immensely grateful for him not leaving you a passed out heap on the sidewalk.

You’re in the middle of chastising him once again, dragging him out of bed as he is running late and being an absolute dick about it. Taking it easy as if he has all the time in the world. 

Well of course he does. He’s not the one that will be getting an earful from your boss or on the receiving end of the production crew’s complaints, as if trying to manhandle and cart this manchild around is easy.

“Diego Kang, I swear to fucking god-”

"James." He says, interrupting you as he picks out and pulls an eye-wateringly expensive jumper over his head.

"What?"

"Call me James when it's just us.” He checks out his outfit in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with it, before moving onto his hair. “James Lee. That's my real name."

DG, or James Lee, keeps his eyes on his reflection. Inspecting his non-existent roots, styling his fringe to make it fall just so and applying a liberal amount of hair product.

Nonchalant and casual even as he offers something desperately personal about himself.

"James," you say, trying out the sound for yourself. A name that seems at odds with his loud K-Pop shell but you imagine a time before the fame and the celebrity and the pink hair and it somehow fits.

"James," you repeat, and receive a small smile in return. Then it drops as you add, “If you don’t get your ass in the car in the next five minutes I will kill you.”

.

.

“James,” you think to yourself before you drift off to sleep that night. 

How peculiar.

“James, James, James.”

.

.

Celebrities these days are multi-hyphenates.

DG is an Idol-CEO-Actor, or at least trying to add the last one onto his resume. On looks alone, he would have already gotten his foot through the door. Add on his reputation and popularity, he is drowning in offers.

What you personally dislike more with K-dramas scenes though, is how long things take. How much it revolves around other actors and their managers whereas DG being in the studio or filming a music video is pretty much all him.

This K-drama is supposed to be the next big thing. 

With the biggest names attached, including DG who is making a cameo. The cameo that was also scheduled to be filmed five hours ago but you have both just been lurking in his dressing room since.

Along with some measly snacks and refreshments, which the crew has been kind enough to provide. 

However, the snacks are all but gone (thanks to you) and the refreshments are dwindling and there is no end in sight.

DG, or James, as you have started to call him in your head, is on his phone. He’s always on his phone. Scrolling through news articles, responding to important emails and messages.

There’s only so much news or celebrity gossip you can take. You have exhausted your own social media feeds and you have spent far too much money on your gacha games and the guilt has set in.

You twiddle your thumbs on the sofa next to him as he takes no notice of your presence and you decide to rest your eyes. 

Why not anyway? DG doesn’t need anything right now, work won’t be interrupting you, and there’s nothing for you to do. Just for a minute or five. Until someone from the production team knocks on the door and announces that it’s time for his scene.

DG side-eyes you when he notices your breath start to slow and deepen. Falling asleep on the job, really?

Then you let out a snore before smacking your lips together a couple times and he holds back a snort. He reasons that he should let you have some time to rest. After all, you’re the one that drives him around, his life is in your hands everyday and tiredness kills.

He’s on his phone for a few more minutes, reading through more emails on PTJ Entertainment and out of the corner of his eye he notices you drooping.

Body slowly slumping to slouch over him, until your head makes contact with his shoulder and you’re snoozing happily on your newfound pillow.

It’s equal parts inappropriate and cute.

Ugh, DG is 99% sure you’re drooling on him and the wardrobe department isn’t going to be happy when he returns the outfit.

Either way, that’s not going to be his problem. He adjusts minutely, makes it just a touch more comfortable for you and continues to scroll.

.

.

You wake up to a wetness by your mouth, and to your horror, DG smirking down at you.

.

.

Despite none of this being your fault, you apologise to everyone about having to reschedule DG’s music video shoot due to the previous day’s K-drama delays.

To your relief, the music video goes swimmingly and without a hitch, and the production is wrapped up on time. 

You’ll happily bet that his new song will go straight to No.1. If not, then at least the sensual music video will guarantee DG remains top of mind for weeks. 

You’re updating your boss and even she seems to be pleased.

"This is just work." DG interrupts as you're mid call.

You look up at him, brows furrowed.

Holding your hand to your phone to mute the speaker, you whisper, "I know."

"Good," and he walks away leaving you as confused as ever.

It's not the first time you have seen him shoot an MV, which thank the heavens is so much more efficient than bloody k-dramas, and also not the first time that there's been scenes that emulate an intimate moment. Lips nearly brushing together. Hands roaming bodies under fake rain.

Even if DG notices that you're watching the scene, eyes glazed over and bored, he still felt the urge to explain to you that there's nothing between you and the leading lady in the video.

Once out of sight of everyone, he facepalms himself for his ridiculousness.

.

.

You’re right, and you absolutely love it when you’re right.

The song goes straight to No.1 and holds that position for weeks, fending off competition from boy bands and girl groups and other solo artists. Apparently it’s going to be the song of the summer.

The music video also breaks records for being the most watched within 24 hours.

DG only reviews it once for post-production checks and finds it just fine.

There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on that seems off with it.

He wonders what it would look like if it was you starring opposite him.

.

.

“Where on earth is he?” You grit your teeth and grip harder onto the umbrella that is threatening to be swept away by the wind.

And another thing with being DG’s manager: it’s fine if he’s late but not if it’s you.

(Although to be fair, this instance of him being late is likely due to this particular music producer he’s meeting with enjoying the sound of his own voice.)

You were running late exactly one time in the past, during the first couple days of managing him, when the skies opened and drenched the earth. 

Heavens forbid DG’s perfect, beautiful, flawless hair is ruined by the rain. 

It’s not like he looked like a drowned rat. The paparazzi caught him in a wet t-shirt, fabric clinging to his abs and his pink hair slicked back stylishly. Even the goddamn raindrops were running fashionably down his high cheekbones and dripping off his pout.

For the next week, the tabloids and internet forums went wild with how hot he looked. 

(Who knows, maybe that was the inspiration for his fragrance commercial.)

Nevertheless, DG was displeased and it made its way back to your boss how displeased he was.

Ever since, you have been the unfortunate soul waiting in all manners of weather for him. Rain storms, blistering sun, freezing snow.

Today, it’s your favourite. Rain. You shiver against the elements trying to take shelter under the building entrance canopy, the wind whipping the downpour every which way and you’re getting soaked regardless of how you angle your umbrella.

“Hurry up, DG.”

You check the time over and over. He would be early to his next appointment if he exited the building now. 

…On time.

…On time if the traffic was in your favour.

…Late, but not terribly so.

…Fashionably late.

… Late enough to piss everyone off in the room.

Shit. Just as you begin to fret, wondering if something has happened to him-

Clicks and flashes from cameras alert you to his royal highness finally making an appearance, ready to exit the studio and making his way over to the car.

He materialises by your side, and you mutter a familiar phrase to him. 

“You’re late.” 

It’s a mantra you’re tired of repeating, but he relishes if the amused grin is any indication.

Without a word, he takes off his trench coat and drapes it around your shoulders. His right hand covers yours over the umbrella handle, left wrapping around your waist as he guides you through the throng of reporters and fans.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath. 

You can imagine the optics now from the papers and your boss. It looks… Well. Not terrible but not the best.

“You’re soaked,” is all DG provides, accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

He opens the driver’s door for you before he climbs into the passenger’s side.

.

.

Thank goodness for your gift of the gab.

He’s being a gentleman, you tell everyone that would listen. Isn’t this what Korea wants? An idol with manners and who looks after everyone? Is empathetic and caring?

Think how well it would resonate with the female demographic, who wants a boyfriend like this! The older boomer demographic, who thinks none of the young ‘uns have any manners anymore!

Your boss isn’t convinced until the advertising offers for umbrella companies roll in.

.

.

Truth be told, DG doesn’t know what possessed him to do that. Especially in front of cameras.

Though, it’s not like he could just let you get even more drenched could he? You’re standing there, looking pitiful and he was just going to let you hold the umbrella over him when he should be the one taking care of you-

Hold on.

DG frowns at himself.

Damn.

.

.

James Lee has never looked after anyone besides himself. You need to look after yourself if you are to survive this dog eat dog world. To make it atop the Pre-Generation, the First Generation and now the Second.

He had unfathomably high expectations of himself (that he managed to achieve) and low expectations for relationships (that hadn’t been proven wrong yet).

People have flitted in and out of the chapters of his life, no-one staying around for long. Definitely no-one staying around long enough to know him, for him to grow comfortable with. 

Perhaps it has been the forced closeness that has caused him to let his guard down. Cabin fever, in a sense.

But James Lee, Diego Kang, has himself also been around long enough to know there’s more to you and he wants more of you.

.

.

Finding reasons to spend time together isn’t difficult. Actually, finding reasons to spend time apart would be much harder.

You both get on with your jobs and your duties, even as the closeness grows day by day.

And every time when you’re alone and you call him James, his heart grows fonder.

.

.

Out of all the seats available in his apartment, James lounges next to you, long legs draping over yours.

It's another night in together.

These seem to be happening with increasing frequency. DG at least used to keep up appearances, networking with his fellow celebrities.

Parties where you used to look at him with distaste as starlets surrounded him, award shows that he couldn't care less about as you hung around in the background.

Now he prefers to stay in with you, using work as a thin excuse. Studying lyrics that he has already memorised, going over dances that are long ingrained in him.

"You're not going to her party?" You ask, you were sure this fan-favourite and DG were an item or had history. At the very least, the who's who of the industry always attended her gatherings.

"No," his eyes continue roving over the lines.

Then when you thought the conversation was done, he looks over the top of his paper, eyes sparkling with playfulness, "I prefer being here with you."

Oh. Your breath catches in your throat.

You think you might never breathe normally again.

.

.

No, that’s a lie. Any opportunities for rose-tinted glasses has long passed by. You both know each other too well for that.

You breathe perfectly fine. Actually, this morning you are taking deep breaths to try and centre yourself. 

It’s not working. 

“You’re always fucking late,” you snap, giving in to your anger.

Sometimes you think it is your fault for not watching over DG 24/7. That instead of going back home, you should just live with him so you can shake him awake when he is supposed to get up instead of when he wants to.

And does it hurt him to look the least bit contrite at making your life a misery? 

Why does he have to look so smug with a lollipop stick hanging out his mouth? Seriously, between all the rushing around this morning, when did he find time to look for goddamn candy?

“For fuck’s sake, James.” You’re speed walking towards his front door, looking at the Maps app on your phone and miss his smile at you snarling his name. 

You’re already running behind and every route to the recording studio is red due to roadworks or an accident or just plain ol’ congestion. “Shit!”

Your finger jabs at the elevator button multiple times.

“It’s not going to get there any quicker if you do that,” DG speaks lowly into your ear and you get the urge to pinch him.

Instead of prodding some more at the button, you turn around and prod him in the chest.

“You’re going to get me fired one of these days,” You growl. “It’s fine for you, Diego goddamn Kang, the star who is pretty much untouchable. I’m not. I’m replaceable. There’s a million people who would take my job-”

DG snatches your hand, holds it still. “You’re not replaceable.” Then adds with an infuriating grin, “So what if we’re late.”

The minivan is skipped, and his answer to your problem is his other pride and joy. A motorbike that looks far too aggressive and a complete death trap.

“I’m not getting on that,” you say as DG hands you leathers that materialised from god-knows-where and a spare helmet.

“Fine,” he says, shrugging and throwing a leg over. “I don’t think your boss will be happy.”

“Fuck!”

.

.

If this was any other situation, you would be acutely aware of yourself pressed up against DG’s back. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Except all you can focus on is that you’re going to fucking die. You think you might be screaming.

“Stop screaming!” His disembodied voice calls out. Oh. Turns out you are.

For some reason, DG had thought the helmets with built in speakers and mic would be better for communication. Fun, even. Frankly, you’re just giving him a headache.

(Not to mention the fact that he bought a spare helmet at all. And leathers that he thought would be exactly your size.

He had never rode with anyone before and you certainly had never expressed any interest. Yet he passed by a motorcycle store when he had rare time to spare, and visited on a whim.

If he dwelled on this anymore, DG is sure his headache would turn into a full blown migraine.)

Later that night, when the ringing in his ears finally subside, he will still think about the way you held him.

.

.

When public opinion is on your side, then that’s fantastic. Amazing. You tend to get away with all sorts of things.

When it’s not, the truth can become muddied and there’s mental gymnastics from all sides painting you as the villain.

Fortunately, public opinion generally works in DG’s favour, especially in the case of his stalker who got sentenced for more jail time than if she was harassing a normal person, but not long enough to account for all the distress she has caused.

Such is the criminal justice system.

Her date of release looms large and near. DG, despite his talent and fighting prowess, realises certain traumas can’t be erased.

He grows on edge. Skittish. Snaps at any and everything. It’s noted by journalists. Other managers gives you questioning looks

You don’t miss his change in demeanour. To you, the reason behind it is obvious. 

You’ve heard about this case, everyone has. It dominated headlines for almost a month: the crazy sasaeng fan who believed herself to be DG’s girlfriend before moving onto another poor soul and was finally arrested.

As he spirals, nothing you do or say to him manages to get more than a nod or a frown. You try to offer that she had fixated on someone else before she was arrested, hoping that was a small consolation to him. And though he managed a weak smile, the black cloud still hangs over him.

In the end, you pack your bags and arrive at DG’s one evening. Instead of letting yourself in like you usually would, you ring the buzzer, smile into the door camera and tell him “It’s me!”

The door swings open to reveal DG looking perplexed (and worse for wear). Head tilting, curious and inquisitive when he sees your suitcase and carrier bags full of snacks.

“I’m staying for a while.”

“According to who?”

You barge past him anyway with a grin.

.

.

The date of his stalker’s release arrives and passes without drama.

You miss your home comforts but it makes you happy to see DG’s mood genuinely improve as the days go on.

The luxurious oversized mattress, fancy spa shower, and jacuzzi bathtub also helps to make your stay a bit more bearable.

Not to mention each morning DG actually cooks breakfast for you. Turns out he’s not bad at all at playing a househusband, and it’s also maddening how he manages to get up each day before you when he hasn’t got any place to be.

“Thanks James,” you say, when he presents you with a home cooked meal and his smile grows a bit more each day.

.

.

Peace doesn’t last.

Blurry photos of you both leaving and entering DG’s apartment at all hours of the day and night make the front page of certain news sites.

Headlines scream with leading questions. 

“Relationship beyond Manager and Idol?”

“How a Manager seduced their Idol.” 

“Who is this mystery person that has tamed DG?”

Why anyone deemed it newsworthy is beyond you. You’ve been to his apartment a million times. 

Yes, you suppose the closeness of DG and yourself in the photos can look a little suspect. 

In this particular one, it looks like you have your hand caressing his chest when in actual fact you were shoving him away for a dismissive comment he made.

And the other photo, of his hand on your wrist, was actually him dragging you away when he spotted a herd of fans in the distance.

More pictures unveil themselves.

A snapshot of you driving and DG feeding you candy.

You and DG, whispering intimately in your ear as his supercar is being towed away in the background.

You red faced and drunk as DG piggybacks you outside your building.

His jacket wrapped around you, hand on your waist and angling the umbrella over you.

Him smiling down at you (ok, you admit that you didn’t realise how soft that looks to other people.)

Finally an exceptionally pixelated image of you both on his bike, that could be anyone really.

Unfortunately, your opinion is in the minority as the articles are inundated with comments and furious, tearful fans shrieking that their idol is betraying them. 

Simply unhinged.

.

.

The speculation grows. You’re damned if you do deny anything, damned if you don’t. Your talent agency puts out an official statement.

To your ire, the statement is ‘no comment’ rather than anything more definitive. You glare at James when you find out, suspecting he has something to do with this.

He gives you a shrug, and a familiar look of mischief.

To his credit, he doesn’t leave you completely to fend for yourself. You stay off social media for your sanity, and when the paparazzi hounds you, he's the one with his arm around you, cutting a path through the crowd and shielding you.

It adds fuel to the fire. Does nothing to help your case. 

Still, you can’t help feeling safe and secure with his hand guiding you - holding onto your waist, round your shoulder, or simply - 

Your hand in his.

.

.

Outside of the conference room, where DG is wrapping up a press release for his newest album and nothing else, a reporter slinks out and approaches you.

You’re used to being on the other side of the conversation. Part of the staff, herding DG through camera flashes and questions being thrown at him though there was always some sort of camaraderie. Both parties just trying to do their job with deadlines and targets to hit.

This time you just feel a weariness as you see this person making a beeline towards you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They say, holding out their hand for a shake which you take with reluctance.

“Hi.”

A voice recorder is thrusted into your face, and you automatically take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, but I just have a couple questions for you.”

“Um...”

“There’s been lots of sightings of you and DG together-”

You open your mouth to argue-

“Can you confirm your relationship with him?”

A vacant smile settles onto your face. It’s a practised expression where you follow all the cues to be polite and professional even as internally you wish to be anywhere but here. “I’m his manager.”

“Are you two together? Romantically?”

“I’m his manager.” You repeat through gritted teeth, and you’re surprised to hear your voice calm and collected.

“Is that a no? Or-”

“What even is this question?” You scoff, ignoring the way your cheeks heat, and refusing to partake in this circus a moment longer. “This is over.”

You manage to at least catch them looking apologetic, before you stride off into a corner to take a deep breath.

.

.

DG, much more adept and experienced at fending off questions, had finished the conference early and caught the entire exchange, watching you both with a bemused look.

Walking towards you with quiet, measured footsteps, his hand settles onto your lower back as he murmurs your name.

He bites back a laugh at your small, startled jolt.

DG tilts his head to signal ‘this way’. You give him a look but follow him regardless. Trailing behind, moving far away from other prying eyes. 

Up a flight of stairs, through multiple fire doors, turning left then right then another right then maybe a left. It doesn’t matter. You’re hopefully lost and decide to just put your faith in this wretched idol.

He finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he reaches an empty corridor; stopping mid-step and you collide into his back.

“Ack!” You exclaim, hitting the solid wall of muscle.

He lets out a huff of laughter and whirls around to face you, noting how cute your look of surprise is.

How strange though, that this is his current position. But is it really unexpected that the person that has been by his side for months has finally worked their way into his heart and has somehow learned to read him when no-one else could?

If he really thinks about it, yes actually, it is unexpected. No-one else has managed to grow close to him before. As James Lee, as Diego Kang. Birds of a feather or opposites attract or everything in between, no-one has got him like you do. 

There’s still so much more to tell and show you but… First things first.

Fidgeting, you shift your weight from one foot to another, growing self-conscious waiting for DG to talk, only to find him staring intently at your face. Impatient, you give in and speak first.

“What is it?”

“...”

“Diego-”

“James.” He cuts in abruptly, “It’s just us right now. Please.”

You blink in shock at the please and correct yourself at his insistence, lowering your voice so it doesn’t echo down the empty hallway. “James, are you ok?”

“Better than ever,” he says, a smirk now pulling at his lips.

You register his change in mood and narrow your eyes, wondering where this is going. “Why are we here?”

“When the reporter asked if we were together, you said you’re my manager.”

“I am your manager.”

“But you are interested in me.”

It’s not a question. DG, no James, says it like a fact and there’s no doubt in your mind or his. You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Open it once more-

What.

You feel some cogs in your brain misfiring and all you can manage is a feeble, “Huh?”

“You told them you’re my manager, but didn’t say no to being with me.”

“...”

“So. What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Us.”

“You like me. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

You take a step back. “...”

Another step. “...”

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

And your back hits the wall with an oomph.

DG slaps his hand on the wall beside your head, bends at the waist and leans his weight forward until he’s eye level with you. “Tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”

“...”

You’re cornered and he searches your face for a response.“Y/N?”

“...”

Fuck. Fuck!

How on earth are you supposed to respond when he looks at you like this. When his face is millimetres from yours and his breath is on your skin and his dark eyes pierces into your soul, pupils blown deliciously wide.

With his stupid pink hair and his fringe flopping, framing his face and his high cheekbones.

The stupid canines of his poking out that gives him so much character and is so hot it hurts when he flashes it accompanied with an arched brow and an arrogant smile.

His stupid pout and his stupid lips, that you know is constantly moisturised with a fancy overpriced lip balm to make it look kissable for the cameras.

And Jesus Christ, you hate to admit it but they do. They 100% do because somewhere in the back of your brain you always knew they look kissable but it has been often clouded by just simply how annoying and bratty you found him.

Except right now you don’t find him annoying or bratty at all.

Even as he’s confessing his feelings with complete confidence, no unease, no anxiety or doubts, because he always had a way of worming under your skin and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

Damn it all.

“Kiss me,” you tell James, and he isn’t surprised at all by your reaction, face lighting up at your confirmation.

He shifts. 

Hand coming up to cup your cheek. He rubs his thumb twice over your skin, savouring you any way he can before tilting your face towards his. His lips at first brushes against your forehead. Leaves a trail down your nose, peppers both cheeks and then your chin. 

He draws back once, takes in your sweet face and gives you a smile so soft it makes your heart hurt.

Then finally, after wanting this for so long, presses his lips against yours.

Diego Kang, James Lee, tastes like candy and sugar.

[chaisshitposts]

𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇-𝐊 / 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐅𝐒 + 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆

what is psych-k? •°. *࿐

according to the psych-k frequently asked questions, PSYCH-K, "is a proven and safe way to change subconscious beliefs that perpetuate old habits of thinking and behaving that you would like to change."^1 dumbing it down, you are using psych-k to tap into your subconscious and conscious simultaneously, rewiring your brain with a single affirmation. and while doing this, you may begin to have a rush of negative, limiting thoughts, but instead of pushing them away in frustration, you will invite them in. think of it like this... you are the teacher and your affirmation is a brand-new lecture. you're standing at the front of the room in front of many desks, all filled with 'students' aka your thoughts, emotions, etc. as you are 'lecturing' (repeating this affirmation over and over and over) the 'students' begin to disrupt you with hurtful words or overall trying to debate with your 'lecture'. how do you handle this? you continue to 'lecture', you can continue to listen to your 'students', and eventually, the 'students' will quiet down until there's complete silence and that's when your 'lecture' has started to implement its knowledge into your 'students'.

how does psych-k work? •°. *࿐

"PSYCH-K® is a unique process, having evolved from years of brain research and thousands of sessions with individuals and groups. It creates a receptive, “Whole-Brain State” that dramatically reduces unwanted resistance to change in the subconscious mind. The subconscious can be accessed in a way analogous to a personal computer. PSYCH-K® works as a kind of ‘mental keyboard’ — a user-friendly method of communicating with the subconscious mind that is simple, direct, and verifiable."^2

has there been scientific research on psych k? •°. *࿐

absolutely. if you'd like to read more about this, you can go here and download the various articles and give them a quick read.

how does psych-k differ from other methods as well as other healing techniques such as meditation? •°. *࿐

if you're looking for a thorough answer to this question, feel free to look at this for reference as it better explains the answer to this question in its entirety. the bottom line, however, is that this technique is just as important as others and is not meant to replace any other methods, it is simply another addition. many healing techniques will depend on outside sources of the person, such as a psychologist, hypnotist, or anyone with similar titles. however, psych-k will depend on the inner-workings of those who are performing it, psych-k simply provides the tools and you, the one who is getting into this 'whole brain state' are the one actually doing all of the work. you will be the one taking apart your limiting beliefs and replacing them with whatever you truly desire.

will it benefit me? •°. *࿐

PSYCH-K, "[...] enables you to communicate with your subconscious mind so you can change beliefs that are limiting your self-esteem, relationships, job performance, even your physical health…and much more! PSYCH-K® is popularly characterized as a spiritual process with psychological and physical benefits. While the term “psych” is often used as an abbreviation for “psychology,” in our case it is used as a variant spelling of the word psyche, meaning “mind,” “soul,” or “spirit.” The letter “K” represents the Key to sustainable success."^3

why should i test out the psych method? •°. *࿐

just like anything else, you do not need to try this out, however, what do you have to lose? the results may shock you.

can anyone do the psych-k technique? •°. *࿐

absolutely anyone can do the psych-k, it is not limited to any particular group of people, and it can effect people differently depending on how they use it.

how do i do psych-k? •°. *࿐

there are many videos on YouTube that will provide a visual guide of instructions on how to do it, however, this is the video that I use and I highly recommend that you watch the entire video to get a logical understanding of what's happening (if you prefer logical info like I do). and if you're having trouble figuring out how to position your hands, watch this video as well. I'd also like to mention that if you're unsure of which side of your brain has more resistance to a new belief, set yourself a timer for 5 minutes and do psych-k with your left ankle crossed over your right and your left hand crossed over your right. after the timer goes off, switch your right ankle to cross over your left, and your right hand to cross over your left. a l s o, if you decide to have resistance against this method bc or any method in general (bc you're stubborn perhaps), take the time to do psych-k and affirm that all methods work for you, boom, fuckin' foolproof.

can i use psych-k to manifest anything i desire? •°. *࿐

yes, yes you can, you're changing your beliefs right in the moment, there are no fuckin' limits unless you create those limits for yourself.

can i use psych k to enter the void state? •°. *࿐

yes, you can do anything you want with psych-k. @urgurljodie has a bit more information on this, but, i am aware that they sent an ask to someone and stated that while doing psych-k you should affirm that you're in the void state/in the void etc.

how do i know if I'm doing it right? •°. *࿐

there's no need to overcomplicate this, don't fear the replacement. simply sit down, get into position as instructed in the videos provided above, and follow their words. stay in the psych-k position for as long as needed, repeating your new belief over and over, invite the resistance in, and simply keep thinking this new thought until you no longer feel resistance towards your new belief. you'll know if you did it right, promise. may sound unbelievable at first, but again, what do you have to lose?

can i combine psych-k with the laws of manifestation? •°. *࿐

absolutely, use any affirmations you want.

do i have to do psych k to eliminate limiting beliefs? •°. *࿐

nope! this is simply just another method of sorts, you don't need to try anything you don't want to. no one is forcing this shit down your throat...

notes •°. *࿐

i'd recommend this technique that combines psychology and kinesiology to anyone and everyone who thinks they are struggling to build new beliefs or manifest their dream lives. the worse that could happen is that it doesn't work or it just takes you a little longer to replace the programming in your mind. give it a try and report your results. a l s o, before anyone comes at me i will give proper and due credit to @urgurljodie for bringing light to this technique to the tumblr void community, ya should be thanking them for this. this particular technique has thoroughly pleased the logical and more scientific-based limiting beliefs I've had for a while. this post was simply meant to add onto what's already been established, all due credits go to the developer of the technique of rob williams as well as the tumblr user mentioned above.

references.

all of the quoted information comes from this site.

1. https://psych-k.com/faq/#what

2. https://psych-k.com/faq/#what

3. https://psych-k.com/faq/#what

4. here's some information on muscle testing and psych-k

5. clearer instructions for the correct posture (en)

6. more information on the whole brain state

[saintmuses]

❝𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣❞

Pairing:

Soft!Dark!Thomas Shelby x Ada’s BSF!Reader

Summary:

Ada’s best friend had been much of a family. When she was requested for her hand in marriage to another, perhaps she was too much of a family.

Warning(s): slightly Dub-con. Inappropriate touching. Possessive!Thomas. Implied Jealousy. Threat. Controlling. Minors, dni! Note: this is a mini series, so there will be three parts.

Word Count: 963

She had remembered the feeling the first time she had met Thomas Shelby. He was a kind of person who laughed with a twinkle in his eyes.

She was seventeen when she became Ada’s first friend in Birmingham, and she had only got to meet him for a few months before he enlisted for the Great War. After he came back, his pale blue eyes cascaded in ice, and he didn’t laugh or smile anymore. However, he became more receptive towards her, always having eyes on her as if she was a member of his family or Peaky Blinders.

Ada’s painted lips grew taut as she looked at her apologetically. “Oh, about that…” she trailed off with a sigh as a response to her impending marriage proposal with the man she had been going steady with for a while now.

“What is it, Ada?”

“You would need to consult with Tommy about that. Although I don’t think you should…” Ada trailed off, realizing she had said too much.

Her eyes narrowed at the Shelby sister, catching onto what she was not saying. “And why not?”

Ada hesitated, “I’ve heard that Edward already asked for your hand, but evidently Tommy did not give his blessing.”

Her blood ran cold at the implication of not being able to marry Edward. “Why do I need to ask Tommy for permission to walk down the aisle?” She questioned, fiddling with the hem of her coat. “I’m not really a part of this family.”

“Well, Tommy already considered you as a part of the Shelby family, otherwise he would not let you attend the meetings.” Ada pointed out, flicking off an invisible lint off her coat.

“You mean to tell me that I have to consult with Tommy with any decisions I make regarding my future?” She enunciated each word slowly, but with tension filled with anger. Ada’s gaze turned sympathetic.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you are not the only one.”

“No,” she said sharply as she fumed internally. Her eyes flashed in irritation. “Because he has already gotten involved with making decisions for my future that has nothing to do with the business of the Shelby family.”

Slamming the doors open with a soft bang, she stormed into his office without glancing at Lizzie who was about to greet her.

“Thomas!” She shouted, gritting her teeth.

He barely looked up from his paperwork that was scattered around on his ordinate desk. “Y/N,” he said simply, placing his pen aside.

She heard Lizzie closing the doors behind her so no one else could interrupt them.

“I heard you received a visitor recently,” she prodded angrily, eyebrows raising to prompt him to speak.

He heaved a sigh which bristled her, and she crossed her arms when he ran his hands down his face before rubbing his eyes as if he just received a headache.

I swear this man-

His words interrupted her internal tirade. “He asked me for your hand in marriage,” he said calmly, intertwining his fingers on top of the desk. “And I said no.”

“And why not?”

He pushed himself out of the chair, grabbing a decanter to pour himself a fresh drink of Irish whiskey. “Because it does not benefit the family if you were to marry a man like him.” Her eye twitched slightly when she heard the glass met wood as he placed the tumbler back on the desk.

“A man like-“ she cut herself off, trying again before anger got the best of her. “He’s respectable, he has wealth which he would be able to provide support for his and my future family, and-“

“And I said no, Y/N.” He said sharply, interrupting her which effectively caused her to close her mouth. His words were stern as he stared down at her with icy blue eyes. 

She looked at him in disbelief, a sense of chill ran through her veins when things did not connect, fitted like pieces of a puzzle. “You can’t make choices for me.”

His lips quirked slightly, “you’ll find that I can.”

Her eyebrows slowly furrowed as she stared up at him, observing his expression. 

Before she could lunge out of the armchair, away from the office, and away from him, he had already anticipated her move, reaching for her.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, dragging her to him, gripping her tightly with a clenched jaw and unbridle danger lurking in his strict gaze.

“Careful, sweetheart.” He warned her softly; However, his tone gave away to the threat that was simmering underneath the surface. 

Her bottom lip trembling as she peered up at him with glistening eyes. “Why would you do that?” She asked quietly, voice shaking inaudibly. “Why would you get involved with my life when it doesn’t even benefit you to begin with?” 

He didn’t say anything yet as his thumb teased the waistband of her skirt before his fingers lightly skimming down between her thighs, brushing her cunt over the thin opaque material and her underwear. 

She was shocked by how reactive her body was to his ghostly touch. She shook her head, looking pleadingly into his cold eyes for some sense of mercy.

He tilted his head before he pressed down hard on her clit through multiple layers of fabrics. She gasped, her entire body jerking at the unfamiliar combination of pleasure and a twinge of pain that seemed to render her immobile, not without a shudder.

He then leaned his head forward, closing the distance between their faces. He lightly brushed his lips against hers, barely touching. “Because if you were going to marry anyone, it would be me.” He murmured, his voice was dangerous as he stared deeply into her eyes before releasing her, stepping away from her presence.

act i | ❝𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣❞

act ii | ❝𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣❞

act iii | ❝𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙❞

[jamjaemin]

꒰ "Be brave, Angel" ꒱ 彡 ♡ ⋆｡˚ (m.l and h.l)

summary:you want your first tattoo. but are you ready to deal with who will do this to you?

Word count: 6k!

Pairing: tattooartist!mark × tattooartist!haechan × f!reader

Content: fuckboy!mark/haechan, slutty!reader, Praising, petnames(good girl, princess, ect), friends with benefits,teasing ,threesome, double penetration (pussy and ass), ass and pussy spanking, unprotected sex,creampie ,no mention of aftercare :( , lmk if i miss any.

A/n:This is based on the poll I posted before I know y’all voted the most for mark but some besties wants them both like I don't blame them bc I'm down bad for this two. I'm literally busy but yeah here it is I hope you like it, thanks for your time bestie, enjoy♡.

the soft tinkling of bells rang out as you opened the studio door, but your nerves were so sensitive that you flinched as if the sound had been amplified by large speakers. The frigid air inside the studio ruffled the hairs on your arms and you pulled your cardigan tighter around you, immediately recognizing the soft music playing in the background.

If this was a visit like one of the other times you’ve been here with your friends, for company and support in getting their tattoos and piercings, then you would have been able to once again admire the modern decor and beautiful artwork hangs on the walls - all strategically placed to catch the attention and arouse the interest of clients.

But this was no ordinary visit. For once you weren’t here for your friends. You were here for yourself.

No one but you and Johnny knew of your intention to get your first tattoo and you didn’t want to change that, wanting to surprise your friends since they had been encouraging you to get it for years.

That was weeks ago, and frankly, you’d almost forgotten that you’d expressed that wish to Johnny. At least until you got a message from him, asking you to come down to the studio as soon as possible to see the finished artwork that he would use as a base to finally get your tattoo done. You weren’t nervous until that moment.

But when the possibility of getting a tattoo stopped being a ‘possibility’ and became a matter of 'when’, you started to regret your own decision.

It’s been three days since you received the message and only today did you pluck up the courage to come to the studio.

But judging by the way your hands were cold and clammy you didn’t think you had mustered enough courage.

Swallowing down the nerves you took a deep breath and looked towards the reception desk, but there was no one there.

Oh.

You are completely alone.

That means there’s still time to turn around and walk out the same door you just came through, right? Yes right. It would be the perfect excuse.

“Well, at least I tried.” You said softly, already turning towards the exit.

“Y/N?” The melodious sound of Haechan’s voice interrupted your hurried steps, and you squeaked through your teeth, knowing it would be very difficult to escape now. 

“Y/N! Wait, what are you doing here? Are you expecting one of your friends?” He asked already walking towards you, not noticing - or choosing to ignore - the tense expression on your face, choosing to hold his arms out to you in an invitation to hug.

“Hi, Hyuck. Uh, not really, not exactly…” You replied, accepting his warm hug. When he let go and looked at you questioningly, you sighed.

“I’m here because Johnny said he finished the artwork I asked him to create. I’ve been talking to him about getting a tattoo.” The last part you said in a whisper.

“Really?” He smiled brightly in response and added,“if that’s what you really want, you can bet it’ll all be worth it when the job is done.”You brightened up a bit, nodding slowly and offering him a gentle smile, silently grateful for his support.

The nervous knot in your stomach felt a little less dull thanks to hyuck's sweet words.“But I’m afraid unfortunately we can’t do that today, dear.” He said in an apologetic tone, looking disappointed in himself.

You furrowed your brows and cocked your head in confusion, waiting for his next words. 

“Johnny isn’t even here. Today he went to a family meeting, as we’re near to closing time for the studio, he’s already left.”

Closing time?You looked up at the clock on the wall, blushing and stuttering an embarrassed response when you saw that he was right, the hand almost reaching the closing time mark for the studio.

You squealed with your hands over your mouth.“Oh my God! I’m sorry. I didn’t even pay attention to the time. I should have checked the time before coming.”

Damn, it was just like you to be embarrassed like that.

“Hey, no need to apologize, if i know where's the artwork I would have done it myself. I’m sure Johnny wouldn’t mind staying after hours to see you, but he really can’t miss this meeting.”

“D-don’t worry about it, really. I’ll come back another day, it’s no problem to-”

“I’ll attend her.”

You both looked at the source of that voice, both of you surprised by the sudden appearance of someone else in the room.

There, casually leaning against the doorframe, taboo clutched between the long fingers of one hand, the other comfortably tucked into his pants pocket, was mark lee.

His body was covered in black clothes as usual. Combat boots and jeans, a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the numerous tattoos on his arms.

“Oh, mark, this is Y/N, she’s the client of-”

“I know who she is. I said I’ll attend her, the art is in my office along with the others.”

The abrupt cut left your cheeks red and you looked away at the man beside you, leaving them to stare at each other in the tense silence afterwards.

You were about to say that you didn’t need him to attend to you, but Haechan spoke first.

“That would be amazing”

You heard Mark breathe a little bit heavily, the sound piquing your curiosity until you looked up at him, seeing that his gaze had now fallen on you – disturbingly bored and somehow still so intense.

He keeps looking at you like he’s sizing you up with that sleepy look; like he’s trying to understand you just by the way you’re standing there next to his friend and your friend bc you talked with hyuck comfortably so many times but mark...you didn’t have the chance.

The man before you doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that you’ll find his obvious inspection impolite.

No, instead he just stares you down from head to toe completely, undisguised and not saying a word as he does it twice. By God, twice!You always felt like there was a suffocating tension surrounding the two of you, even though you haven’t exchanged a single word with each other in the months you’ve been in the studio with your girls.

You always told yourself that it was all in your head, but when he looked at you like that it was almost impossible to control your own thoughts.

With a shudder you break your gaze and fix your attention on Haechan again.

“No, don’t worry about it. I can come back another day, I really don’t want to disturb anything.” You said pulling away, but Haechan’s grip on your hand didn’t allow you to go very far.

“Wait. Mark is an amazing professional and I don’t think there could be anyone better than him to get your first tattoo, not even Johnny.”You fought back the urge to say that you had serious doubts about that, especially given the look of sheer boredom on the man’s face and all that awkwardness surrounding the two of you.

He didn’t seem like someone capable of offering emotional support and allaying your fears.

“Fine. Lock the door when you leave.” He set the tone for the end of the conversation before you could argue, but you heard hyuck whispering to mark before he turn and head back inside "leave? take care of her until i comeback" giving him a playful wink.

“you, follow me.” You watched his broad back disappear from view, then turned your eyes to Haechan, smirking at you like he knows you were scared to get your first tattoo. His joy was so intense that you didn’t have the heart to say the things you were thinking, instead offering a forced smile and a gentle hug before walking away to follow his friend.

“see you” You waved at him stepping into the hallway that led to the tattoo and piercing procedures.

"I'll join you soon baby" haechan whispered to himself.

You didn’t know how to react around him and you were afraid it was obvious from the almost robotic way you followed him.

Even on your other visits to the studio, you hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in the man’s presence. Always mysterious and elusive, you noticed over the course of visits that he preferred to work in the back, creating fine art for inspiration and serving specific clients by appointment directly with him. And the few times you saw him it was always the same awkwardness as usual, the same disturbingly intense stares and a total of zero verbal interaction.

He just slowly cooked you up in an excess of visual intensity and then was gone.And now he said he would get your tattoo.God, you didn’t think you could be more nervous than you are right now.

Mark doesn’t say anything to you as he places the book on top of a small table in the corner, heading over to the alcohol spray bottle and disposable wipes, using both to sanitize the black leather high recliner chair you’ll be sitting in for the next few hours. You just watch him, nudging the toe of your sneakers into the other as a distraction as you wrap the cardigan more tightly around your body.

When he’s finished sanitizing the chair you understand it’s your cue and, sucking in a deep breath, you push your legs to move to the padded chair, your body feeling like heavy lead as you just imagine the pain that will come from shoving a needle in your skin. You settle into the chair, hands clasped on your thighs and body taut as a bow, staring at mark’s work like a frightened hawk. If he had noticed how nervous you were - and you really think it would be hard for anyone not to - he said nothing about it, opting to continue his preparation silently.

His moves are practiced, probably memorized after so much time working at it, and he barely looks at you, completely focused on his little world. The only time he stopped what he was doing and gave you any attention was to hand you a clipboard.

“Before we get started I need you to read and sign this if you agree to the terms.”You nod and he immediately goes back to what he was doing, leaving you alone to read through paragraph after paragraph of the studio’s consent and disclaimer if the job doesn’t turn out exactly the way you wanted it to.

You found it really hard not to approve the final work, given what you already knew about the team and their perfect artwork. But you found such terms understandable and necessary, as working with the public could be challenging at times.

You’ve read the document almost through when a sound of packages opening catches your attention and you look away to the man in front of you. None of your friends had done any procedures with mark, despite their many efforts and attempts to make an appointment, but here you were, waiting for him to finish preparing the materials to get your tattoo done. You couldn’t believe it.

He was attractive in a way that would make a woman swoon. His eyebrows were full and his ears were decorated with a variety of piercings and when he turns to grab something from the top shelf you find yourself fighting an appreciative sigh as you get a clear view of his profile, everything about him was appealing.the sight causes the already visible blush on your face to deepen to an even more embarrassing degree.

The sound of a new song starting up snaps you out of your reverie and you stare awkwardly at the clipboard in your hands, deciding that you definitely assent to all the terms and quickly signing your name at the bottom - your handwriting not as graceful as usual, due to the way your hand is slightly shaking.You hand him the clipboard and he places it on the table next to other documents, turning his attention to the materials.

You see him sort out alcohol, wipes, packets of disposable needles, and a small container of ink, all neatly arranged in a straight line on a tray that he brings over to the leather chair you’re sitting in. He sets it down on the side table, along with the pistol and stencil he would use as a base for your art, pulling a stool on wheels next to your chair.

“The tattoo will be in the rib area, right? Under the breast.” He asked quietly, sitting down on the stool. You looked at him curiously through your lashes, surprised that he already knew the location of your tattoo.

“Y-yes, how do you know?”

“johnny told me.” That’s all he told you about it and, surprisingly, that’s all you needed to understand. “Alright. I need you to take your shirt off.”

He says without looking you in the eye, unflappable and confident, putting the pair of black gloves on his hands with a final snap that only served to make you even more agitated.

While you logically knew that you would need to go topless for this particular tattoo, there was an extra nervousness about doing it in front of him. And you knew it was because it was him, because that self-conscious nervousness wasn’t there at the time when you thought johnny would be doing the procedure.

But there was no choice, and besides, he wasn’t being anything but professional with you. Surely he’s seen a lot more exposed skin than that during procedures.

With a sigh of courage and decidedly rosy cheeks, you pulled the cardigan from your body, quickly doing the same with the light shirt you wore underneath, tucking both into your backpack.

You bite your lip and rub your hands on your thighs, focusing on feeling the material of your skirt against your skin in an attempt to calm yourself down. But your efforts go down the drain when he looks up at you, that disinterested, half-lidded look opening for the briefest of seconds as he looks down at your black push-up bra hugging your breasts. You nearly choke on your saliva because, by God, for two seconds you’re sure a purely appreciative look danced across that bored expression of his.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

“Lie down please so I can sanitize the area.” He grumbled letting the disposable mask rest on his chin, and amidst your mental daze you wonder if he only has black items to use.

You comply, lying back on the soft leather, looking up at the ceiling. You almost jump at the feel of the icy liquid on your skin, instantly shivering at the sensation. The smell of antiseptic hits your nose and you try to breathe more slowly, feeling the circular movements of cotton on your sensitive skin.

“I’ll paste the stencil now.”

As you watched, his fingers smoothed over the stencil, the dark outline showing against your skin. He slowly removes the paper and your gaze strays momentarily to his mouth, his lush lips catching your attention as he nibbles on his lower lip in concentration. You blush and look away quickly, afraid of being caught. It takes a moment for you to realize he’s talking when you turn your attention and notice his lips moving.

“See if you like the position and design. Don’t hesitate to say if you don’t like something, the time for changes is now.” He says it more seriously than any of the times he’s addressed you tonight (which hasn’t been many), voice low and direct, wanting you to understand the importance of this moment.

You swallow and accept the round mirror he hands you, positioning it so you can see the art. Your lips part immediately.

“Oh.”

The delicate butterflies and hearts stretches across your rib cage, just below your breast, rising just a little up the side. The way the design undulates naturally, as if a particular breeze is constantly on your skin, gently shaking your tattoo. You find yourself smiling at the beauty and elegance of the art. It wasn’t a large or very ornate tattoo; you were absolutely sure that mark had already done tattoos infinite times more complex than this one. But it was beautiful. Beautiful in an undeniable way, an art made obviously by gentle and skilled hands.

“It’s…it’s beautiful. I love it.” You say quietly, still turning the mirror to observe the design from all angles, a soft smile on your lips.

Mark didn’t respond immediately and you looked away from the mirror to see the cause of the silence. You felt your smile lessen at the way he was looking at you, specifically at your lips. That realization brought butterflies to your stomach, your cheeks flushing again. He didn’t speak up when he realized you’d caught his gaze, eyes rising to look at your flushed cheeks, then locking into your slightly widened eyes.

“Hmm, can we get started then?” He questioned quietly, still looking at you in that disturbing way, pulling the mask to cover the lower half of the face.

“Y-yes, please.” You said, handing the mirror back to him with trembling fingers. Even with the mask on you heard the amused snort and couldn’t help but feel even more embarrassed. The laugh itself was low and silent, just above a rumbling, guttural breath. It made you feel silly and childish.

Great, now he thought you were an idiot.

“This is a pretty sensitive area, so it might be uncomfortable. I need you to take a deep breath for me. I’ll start with a simple line and you tell me how your pain tolerance is, okay?”

You stiffen but nod, doing as he asks. He grunts a little, satisfied with your compliance, but you barely hear it over the now-screeching sound of the pistol.

“Here we go.”

You bite your bottom lip hard with the initial sting. It hurts. It’s not uncomfortable as he mentioned earlier. It’s painful, really painful. Your small hands curl into fists on the chair and you struggle to breathe slowly, trying to focus on that instead of the stinging pain in your skin. He goes on with the simplest strokes for a few minutes and you’re rigid as a rock during the whole process.

“Hey, you’re okay?”

He pulls the needle away from your skin for a few seconds and you take the opportunity to sigh in relief, refusing to open your eyes because you know they’re teary and you definitely don’t want him to think you’re a crybaby.

“Y-yes, fine, you can continue.” You respond, praying your statement sounds confident enough for him to believe it and continue.

But he doesn’t continue.

“Open your eyes.”

You shake your head slightly, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Y/N, open your eyes for me.” He orders harder, the fingers that are still flat on your stomach pressing your skin a little to get your attention.

Having him say your name that way makes you gasp softly, obeying what he says after a deep breath.

As you knew, the act of opening your eyes causes the accumulated tears to fall, streaming down the sides of your face. You sniff and blush harder, feeling the weight of his gaze on you - so intensely dark, like the sky in a quite night.

“It’s okay to cry. This is a pretty sensitive area and, after all, it’s your first tattoo.” Despite the look of boredom, his words are spoken in a reassuring, deep tone that immediately works to quell the worst of your nervousness.

You nod and wipe the tears with your fingers. He waits for you to calm down as he draws slow circles on the skin of your stomach, and despite the fact that you’re pretty sure this gesture isn’t entirely professional, you still feel better about his patience. You’re honestly surprised by this, as his overall expression suggested nothing but utter disinterest. But you accepts the kindness with open arms.

Suddenly the door opened slowly and it's hyuck, his gaze never leaving your face as he start clicking his tongue teasingly before he said “my little girl crying?”

“Can we try again?” mark said looking back at you.

This time you nod more confidently, a small smile on your tearful face and it’s convincing enough that he accepts with a satisfied grunt.

Hyuck gets closer to you and brush his hand softly on your cheek calming you down, neither his words or gestures seems just friendly but you didn't have time to focus on that when all you can feel is pain.

The pistol buzz returns and you make an effort to be more relaxed this time, humming softly to the music playing through the speakers.

“Do you like this song?” he asks casually and you jump an inch as you feel the needle again in your skin, the pain returning as before. But you try to focus on his question.

“Yes, very much.” You say with some difficulty, but glad you have something you can use as a distraction while he continues tracing the painful lines on your skin. The needle scratching your skin in a more sensitive part now, if that was possible, and you squeal a whimper. Mark looks up at you and you smile weakly, waving to say that everything was fine.

Haechan bite his lower lip softly at your words feeling his cock twitching from how hard he is seeing you like that but after some time he decided to complete tatting you to forget about it and that's how they exchanged roles.

He hums thoughtfully and then is silent, long enough for you to think he’s not going to say anything else. But then he speaks.

“Ready, princess?”

You blush at the nickname, but try not to imagine too much. "Yes I'm ready" you breathed.

“That’s my girl,” he turns to your ribs as you try your best not to feel dizzy - whether it was from the object currently stabbing your skin or the words that had just come out of hyuck’s mouth, you didn’t know.

He swallows thoughtfully, the movement making his Adam’s apple rise and fall, immediately drawing your attention to his neck.

You shyly bite your lip as you stare at the tattoos visible across his skin; the striking features of a butterfly right in the center of his throat, the lush wings spread out to either side. A single rose in the space just behind his studded ear. The top of a dragon’s head peeking through the collar of his black shirt, indicating a larger tattoo spread across his back and biceps.

You swallowed hard.

“Hm, do you like my tattoos that much?.” He asked after a while of silence, pulling back a little to look at your tattoo from a different angle, pulling you out of your thoughts. Long fingers gripping your ribcage area firmly, but gently massaging every now and then, making your mission to ignore the signals more difficult by the second.

And so you two go on for a little over one hour, the excruciatingly long time it takes for your tattoo to be done. You cry sometimes and wince at others, but haechan is patient and so as mark who was sitting across from him watching his work more likely watching you.

Of course, you try to remember that they are professionals and that they probably do this for his other clients. But it’s hard not to feel special when they're so nice.

Sometimes you feel hyuck's fingers caressing your skin in a way that you suspect is beyond what a professional needs to do, and yet you struggle to mask your emotions. It becomes particularly difficult when he asks you to pull up your lower bra line a bit so he can finish off the tattoo. Of course, you don’t lift the fabric completely or anything, but the bottom half of your breast is visible and that’s more than enough to make you hyper-aware. And it only gets worse when you feel his gentle touch on the side of your breast, a series of goosebumps erupt over the area, the length of your face down to your collarbone turning red with the embarrassing reaction. It’s absolutely mortifying and you try to cover your embarrassment with a strained laugh, saying the air conditioning was making you cold.

It sounds too ridiculous to be taken seriously, but haechan push it, his dark gaze is dancing with amusement and interest. "Oh i know you liked it, princess"

“i-...You finished?” You ask when he turns off the pistol buzz, placing the object on the tray, throwing the disposable items in the adjacent bin along with the gloves and mask. He stands with his hands up, stretching his muscles tired from being in the same position for so long. You try not to visibly drool at the sight of the muscles in his arms stretched out like that.

“Yes. Do you want help getting up?” he looked back at you, his smirk growing bigger just like what's between his legs.

Yes, you did. In fact, you wanted him to do more than just help you up. But of course you didn’t say that.

“No, that’s fine. I can do it, thanks.”

Despite this, you have trouble getting up. And the fact that he’s watching your every move like an eagle doesn’t help matters. Your tattoo area hurts like a bitch and your body looks like it took a beating, but now you couldn’t take back what you said, it was a matter of pride. Then with delicacy and patience you drag yourself across the chair, avoiding putting weight on the most painful areas. It takes longer than you’d like, but eventually you’re on your feet.

Mark has one eyebrow arched and a half smile on his lips, but mercifully doesn’t comment on what just happened.

“Here, want to take a look?” the younger one asks, nodding towards the full-length mirror on the wall.

“Yes yes!” You responded excitedly, looking forward to seeing the job done.

“Wow, it’s so…so beautiful!” You admire the artistry on your skin, now more vivid and expressive than before. Lips clamped between teeth, nearly jumping with glee at the result. The detailing is elegant and beautiful. It’s even better than the sketch they have drawn.

Your skin throbbed and burned, but you couldn’t be more pleased. The reflection in the mirror is just perfect. “Johnny is an amazing artist I swear, he’s amazing.” 

Haechan seems to think about what you say, but the way his brows are slightly furrowed tells you he’s still confused. Hearts fluttering in your eyes as you look away from the mirror at the silent man beside you. But mark on the other side is quiet, deathly quiet.

You’re so nervous that you’ve offended them that you feel your body almost shaking where you’re standing. But then he slowly approaches, standing behind you in the mirror, staring intently at the overview of his work now permanently imprinted on your skin with a thoughtful hum.

“It looks really good on you, princess.” He says from behind you, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of cigarettes and mint gum, and something woody like sandalwood. A scent so intoxicatingly masculine it almost makes your head spin. He's literally behind you pressing on your ass and you’re still only in a bra and thigh-length pleated skirt.

Sweet hell.

You open your lips to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. The two of you just stand there, staring at each other in the mirror, neither of you knowing how to act.

God, he feels it too, right? That tension around the two of you?

It is haechan who breaks the silence, apparently more in tune with his feelings than you are.

“Okay, let me clean this up.“

You’re feeling shaky from your recent interaction, but you nod quickly, watching as he cleans your skin. The cold water soothing the tattoo burn.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do, now that mark is standing close to you too saying nothing, just staring at you in that disturbing way.

For a solid minute, maybe two, he still doesn’t say anything. The look he pinned you with made breathing very difficult but then he finally parts his lips to say something, and you allow yourself to exhale expectantly.

"It wasn’t Johnny who made the art.”

Mark’s deep tone rang like molten gold, clearly knowing he was too close for things to be considered platonic at this point – though it didn’t seem like he minded too much. No, whatever is going on between the three of you is coming to a head right now. You can feel it in your bones.

“E-excuse me?” You blink rapidly, feeling your senses go dangerously numb at his approach, he lied to you.

“I said…” He says more slowly, tilting his head letting the attraction that now seemed mutual run through your veins. “That it wasn’t Johnny who designed your tattoo art, princess.”

He keeps looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. Disturbingly intense. You try and can’t remember the last time someone looked at you with such obvious desire. The sexual tension rapidly rising.

His long fingers glide along your jaw, tracing the shape, caressing your cheekbones. You don’t entertain the illusion that he can’t hear the rapidity of your breathing, perhaps even the rapid pulse under your flushed skin.

You looked to your right and realize that haechan already cleaned everything and he's staring down at you smirking before he whispered in your ear "Every time you visit the studio I wonder what it would be like if we are more close. What it would be like to have friends with benefits...with a pretty little thing like you"

You swallow the choking lump in your throat, lips parted on a shuddering sigh. It’s palpable that something big is coming and you don’t know if you can handle the rest of what he has to say. Still, you want to hear him say it. You wants him to tell you the things that make your stomach flutter and your toes curl. You want it so bad.

“I want to ruin your pussy, fuck you until your throat hurts from screaming. I want to make you cum with my cock, my mouth and my fingers. I want to lick every damn inch of you.”

…

For a few seconds the world stops turning. Nothing but what he said occupies your mind. You were going to die. Right there, in their tattoo studio.

"I….” You try, although the options are so many that you don’t know exactly what to ask for, your tongue feeling heavy inside your dry mouth, “…please.”

 “Please what, sweet girl?” Mark's head dips to your exposed neck, wet lips pressing against the skin there. His breath is hot and your eyelashes flutter at the contact, then his tongue slides out to drag slowly against your skin.

you sighed and can't reject this offer ofc, as if your words had been forcibly punched out of your body. Desperate. “Just touch me, please.” you breathed, halfway between crying and begging.

“…Where?” He pulls away to look you in the eyes. His pupil is swollen, almost completely black with lust. A smile plays on his lips.

“Everywhere. Everywhere, I just need to—” You can’t pronounce the rest. Instead, your breath is interrupted by a sudden pressure against your lips, and it takes you several moments to realize exactly what’s happening. Mark is kissing you.

Haechan take the chance and grabbed your waist his fingers tracing up to your back unclasping your bra like a pro. “Been dying to see these tits,” he said, giving the one on his side a squeeze the one you tatted just under it but You hadn’t bothered the pain when all you feel is pleasure.

Mark sucked and kissed all over your lips, while hyuck focused on your nipple. His tongue flicked the peak before taking it in his hot, wet mouth.

Right behind the three of you there was a big couch facing the mirror where you saw the final result of the tattoo.

The older one doesn’t wait for to long before taking a few steps back, until he lands comfortably in the couch that you only now realized was there. “Come here, princess.” He ordered.

But haechan grabbed you hard from your wrist and pushed you against mark making you sit on his lap, god he look so turned on, just an hour ago he was smiling brightly and welcoming you.

With a movement of muscles he is pulling the black shirt over his head - he's shirtless, tattooed chest and neck, his bun was slowly coming undone after all the moving. "hold her legs up" He growled while his friend spread your legs lifting them up in the air.

Haechan kneeled down face only few inches away from your panties, the way your pussy was pulsing now watching his tattooed fingers rubbing on your wet underwear, he damn near moaned. “She’s fucking soaked.” The way he spoke about you made your pussy ache even more.

He pushed them to the side and you tried to close your legs but mark grip was stronger, his fingers digging into your soft skin. “Don’t you dare try to hide this pretty pussy from me” hyuck said giving your cunt a good slap making you gasp.

Getting closer then slip between your legs. He kissed your throbbing clit before licking up your arousal, your head feel back on mark's chest with a moan while hyuck devouring you mumbling and degrading your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit faster and harder. Before you could draw another breath, you were tipping over the edge.

Looking at mark with those needy eyes and squirming all over his lap making him throb as well, "shh- I know baby, I know". Haechan licked at you until you finished, then looked up you grinning “So sweet, fuck.”

Mark start hooking his fingers into his pants and yanking them down along with his boxers, his big veiny cock was in a light needy shade of red. He tugs on your skirt as you risen slightly from his lap carefully avoiding your tattoo, For a few seconds you just look at him, asking - begging - for him to guide you in what to do next, and he doesn’t let you down.

One large hand holding both of your wrist behind your back and the other one grabbing his cock guiding his tip on your folds, “Come on princess, let me have you…” He practically pleads against your skin huskily, his larger body slightly trembling in need beneath yours.

You lick your lips and nod shyly looking back at hyuck who is fully naked now standing in front of you not only watching your pretty face but rubbing circles on your clit and choking you softly squeezing on your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered into your ear as he reach down and slowly rub your folds back and forth with the tip of his cock harder, spreading your slick across the entire length of him. “You have no idea what you are doing to me, princess…”

Your pussy burns as you stretch around his cock. You whimper softly when you felt him inside you, he encourages you the whole time, murmured compliments between his tense jaw.

You close your eyes and sink an inch deeper.

The burning stretch and you biting your bottom lip. When you squeeze a little, mark lets out a groan of pleasure. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Just like this. Good girl. You’re going so well, princess,” he says through a pent-up groan as you lower until the plump tip of him is inside you, the praise coursing through your veins like liquid fire. “Come on, I know you can take my cock.”

“Does it feel good, baby?” Haechan asks hoarsely, pinching your nipple, as he smiled seeing you coming undone.

“S-so good! It’s so good!” You almost cry, He runs his tongue across your bottom lip and you let him in to explore your mouth, your tongues gliding over each other.

A loud moan is shared between you and mark as you sinking fully into his cock. You swear you can feel him in you chest as he opens you, pulsing and writhing wildly where you spasm along the length.

Bouncing on his cock while choking on another is how you ended up, both of them taking turns on fucking you.

“Gonna be a good girl and take us both, right?” hyuck asked. Your lip went between your teeth at the thought of having both of them inside you. You’d never done something like that, but fuck it sounded good. The second you nodded, haechan was lifting your hips and sinking you on to him. You let out a his as your soft walls opened for him. “Fuck she's so tight,” He groaned.

“mmh that ass is even tighter,” mark said from somewhere behind you giving it a spank. You instinctively rolled your hips, letting your body adjust to hyuck. He rocked his hips up slightly, admiring the moans it pulled from your lips. Mark tried to be as patient as he could so you could adjust to his friend, but his patience feared very thing watching his cock disappear inside you. He did not like feeling left out.

You felt mark press up behind you, He pushed you down so your chest was flush against hyuck’s, allowing himself to spread your ass cheeks rubbing your juices all over it. He used his thumb to spread it over your hole before lined himself up to you. His cock head pressed against you, slowly pushing through the ring of your ass.

“Aahh fuck mark!” you whined as he slowly filled you up. You gripped haechan’s shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin 

“You can take it, be brave, angel” mark insisted, continuing to press inside. He bottomed out with a deep satisfied sigh. “See? Taking two cocks like no problem, that's it baby.” 

They began to move inside you. It was such a strange, full sensation, but fuck you couldn’t deny it felt so good. They moved slowly at first, making sure you were enjoying it. With each moan that left your lips the moved more freely. 

Both men continued to thrust into you more faster. Hyuck’s moans were lighter, on the precipice of a whine, while mark’s were deeper and raspier. It was music to your ears. “Fuck gonna cum? Let it out princess,” mark moaned.

You nearly screamed as the pleasure in your lower stomach completely snapped. Your whole body shuddered as your orgasm flamed through you, your body shaking and twitching, tears falling down your cheeks as you collapsed on top of haechan.

Copyright 2024 © jamjaemin

[ghostlytide]

For Business Only | One

I hope you like it ^^

Vincent Renzi x Fem! Reader----1.6K

MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

After the whirlwind affair Vincent and you shared years ago, he was sure his goodbye was definitive. A fleeting memory filled with both regret and a peculiar ache that he can’t quite place. But life wishes to scorn him once again when his newest case obliges him to seek out your help. Though this case isn’t the only complicated thing in this strictly professional relationship—not with the way his heart seems to jump at your proximity, or the already familiar tune of your voice. For all the things that had changed, would this mean your story could have a different ending now?

General Tags: Second Chance/Exes to Lovers; Slow Burn; |They were Coworkers; Denial of Feelings; Pining & Longing; Idiots in Love; Eventual Friends (?) with Benefits (?); English isn't my first language so watch out for typos;

It was a late spring night when Vincent said his goodbye to you, so it was only fair that your reencounter would occur in another.

Life played both hommage and karma at him, remembering his words: You may forever hate me, but I promise you that you'll never see me ever again. I've bothered you enough.

That night, he had regained the common sense that had slipped out his grasp since you entered the law firm as an intern; eager to learn from whoever would spare you a glance for something more than to request their thousandth cup of coffee.

Of course, he did.

And how could he not to? When you were so bright and cheerful, all the opposite from those seniors who had seen the worst, to experience who knows how many times the balanced and blind justice's weight to tip at the wrong side. To have to face the client's hopeless expression.

Of course, you'd probably be sheltered from such a dark world at your station once you reached juniorship. But that wasn't the point right now.

Just as it wasn't the point to reminisce. He felt as ashamed as it could be possible while climbing the stairs of the skyscraper, which on the inside was decorated with pieces of steel, glass, and contemporary art that combined perfectly against the simple columns and the frescoes painted in the dome of the main hall.

Vincent shouldn't be overwhelmed by the sight, but he'd never been inside the Building of the Société Générale, white marble walls against a dark mosaic creating a cube to showcase the colorful paintings hung on the walls.

The secretary at the front desk showed him the way to the elevator behind the reception, polished black walls against the metal door as Vincent felt a pull in the pit of his stomach—either for the sudden upward movement or for nervousness, he didn't wish to dwell much on it.

Walking much faster than he wanted to, the secretary passed through an empty, quiet hallway in which Vincent could read a myriad of plaques varying from Accounting Department, all the way to Human Resources.

Finally, she stopped at a door labeled as Banking Associate: Cultural Department. Calling your name, she said: "Monsieur Favrè has sent his lawyer impromptu to meet you."

A muffled voice—your muffled voice echoed in the still hallway, stirring old memories inside of him he wasn't aware of keeping in the first place. "Alright. Let him come in."

A simple nod and the woman was gone. It was only the two of you now.

He took his time, a skipping beat. At the same time, you finished writing away at your keyboard. Then the door was closed with a gentle click.

"Monsieur Delaroux, what can I do for y—" A tentative pause, your bright, smart eyes locked into his. "Vincent?"

This hadn't been the deal planned out in his mind; he was almost hoping you'd ask, with a puzzled voice, who he was as if memory could morph at will rather than being one's source of torture.

So many years passed since he heard his name coming out of your soft lips, that if he remembered quite well, would taste like mocca and vanilla. But why was he remembering that now, from all times?

"Hello," he said, an awkward smile shining in the well-lit office. He put one of his hands inside the pocket of his dress pants, suppressing the childish urge to wave.

You blinked. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I know this isn't what we agreed on," he started, using small steps to get closer to the desk, as if you were a deer likely to run off, or a lion ready to pounce. Vincent had no idea which of the two could be worse. "But I need your assistance for a case. You're the most capable person I can think of, so I had to come and ask for your help."

Reclining from your seat, he let the words simmer into you, using the little time he had to look around your office, part of him was curious to see if he could still recognize a glimpse of the old you, and what he could learn from the present.

"How did you find me?" you asked, hands gesturing from him to sit in front of your desk.

"There are not many art lawyers with your name," he said, slightly flustered he had to admit about searching your name among colleagues, prying into your life when his promise was all the contrary. It wasn't the first time he felt like a fool, yet prideful because he was here for work.

And solely for work.

"I have a case linked with a small private art collection." His voice was plain, devoid of any emotion. He wasn't Vincent right now, the man that tried not to break your heart but failed terribly; he was Maître Renzi one of the talented lawyers from the before small law firm that now was rising like smoke after every case taken. "A murder. Probably linked to the growing art stock. I need an expert in the subject to conduct the required procedures."

"Since when do you take cases about private art collectors?" you hummed, eyes almost twinkling with amusement from all those times he had shit on the upper class and their slippery ways around the judicial system.

It was a good sign that you weren't bringing up his words last spoken, the past that at this moment felt too much aflush despite the time trying to bury it.

"This one is an exception." He couldn't help but get defensive, feeling like a stupid teenage boy being teased despite you being quite some years younger than him. "The owner of the law firm assigned me this case directly. We need to win so the firm can have an expansion." Which meant more law specialties, and more hired lawyers. And then it was… "They're even considering putting an Art Law department."

You could join, he almost said foolishly. Why would you like to be coworkers with him again, when that exact professional relationship prompted all the rest?

You seemed to be thinking the same. "It'll pay well," he added before you could say anything that derailed from his sketched conversation. "And it can help with your curriculum." Vincent signaled to the plaque in front of your computer, reading Junior Consultant. "It could be the case that turns you into a Senior."

There it was the ghost of you, biting your bottom lip in a pondering manner while your gaze was glued to the empty seat next to him.

"What makes you think you're going to win?"

"Have some faith in me, will you?" He chuckled, though deep inside he knew what you meant. It was a question that always lingered at the bottom of his mind, the one that stole his sleep some nights.

"Vincent—"

"Trust me. This is a high-profile case, very important for all people involved. I need your help. I know you're the only person that can help me." He couldn't make another empty promise. To never see you again? Vincent just broke it, and the opposite of that, to be partnered with you as colleagues didn't sound appropriate either. "You're the only one I can trust to remain on my side even if everything goes to shit," Vincent muttered after a while, blue eyes searching for yours as he tried to convince you with pity, even. Because you could never say no to him, and because this case was obliged to use all the desperate, creative measures he could think of.

Though Vincent wasn't lying about said statement. And you knew it.

You looked at him in a long, silent gaze that felt strangely, annoyingly charged inside the medium-sized office, silent so thick he heard the moment you chortled, a breathy, contained laugh that blessed him with the tiniest of smiles.

"Send me the generalities of the case so I can give it a glance tomorrow and write the protocol to follow."

"If tomorrow is one of your free days, we can discuss it over lunch," Vincent found himself saying before his brain could tell him to do better. "I'll give you a printed copy of everything so you can revise it easier. I apologize, but due to the nature of this case, I don't find myself comfortable with sharing this information via remote."

You put away the pencil you were playing with, settling it against the wooden desk with a thunk. "Breakfast. Tomorrow at 9 AM meet me at the Fontaine Saint-Sulpice. We can go to a nearby café once there." Looking from your computer to him, you arched an eyebrow. "Something else you need? You should go before the receptionist notices that you aren't Monsieur Favrè's lawyer."

He shrugged. "I showed her my card, she didn't say anything."

"Well, I'm not allowed to take private clients while on my shift."

"I'm not a client, we're colleagues."

You gestured away. "Wording. You know what I mean."

"You're a lawyer, Mademoiselle, wording matters."

"I write contracts and track art exhibits, Vincent," you told him in a familiar tone he recognized from when you two engaged in a well-needed, unwinding banter. "The one asked to give speeches is you, not me."

"Well, then you better prepare for an exception, because you will have to declare at court about your findings." Vincent heard your sigh and took in the sight of your angry pout, one you dedicated at him when it was time to get out of his office and help other junior lawyers while on your time as an intern. He was surprised to find it as charming as it once was. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He stood up, torn between walking facing you or just striding toward the door. He did the last one, turning to smile at you while his hand tapped to feel the door's handle.

It was his time to call your name. "Thank you. Truly."

You nodded, one of the locks of your hair falling toward your brow, obscuring your view. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vincent."

[lulublack90]

Prompt 10 - Only One Bed/Room

@wolfstarmicrofic May 10, word count 860

Sirius and Remus had been sent away to a conference. They were to stay overnight and take notes of future implementations that could benefit the company. 

They didn’t know each other well, Remus only having been at the company for a month, but they got on well enough. Remus, Sirius had found, was a tough nut to crack. He didn’t like to give up personal information, and small talk didn’t come easily to him.  

Sirius pulled into the hotel's car park and turned off the engine. They got their bags out of the boot and headed to reception. 

“Okay, Mr Black. I’ve got you and Mr Lupin in room 210. There is a lift to your left or stairs to the right if you prefer. If you need anything else, there will be someone here at all times.” The smiley receptionist beamed at him with bright red lipstick coating her lips.

“Wait!” Remus exclaimed. “Why is there only one room?” He looked horrified. The smile had faltered a bit on the receptionist's face as she double-checked with her computer. “We were almost fully booked when your office booked in, you got the last room in fact.” She looked at Sirius with a worried look on her face. “Erm,” She paused, trying to find the words. “There’s only one bed in that room.” She flinched when Remus slammed his hand down on the desk. 

“Well that’s just peachy.” He growled. “Is there seriously nothing else?” She typed away on her keyboard. 

“No, Sir. We’re fully booked all weekend. 

“Let's at least go look at the room. You never know we might be able to make it work.” Sirius picked up Remus’s suitcase and purposefully walked towards the lift. Remus eventually followed once the doors pinged open. 

They stood in silence as the lift travelled the short journey between floors. Sirius fumbled with the key card and opened the door to their room. 

The bed was tiny. It was meant to be a double, but Sirius was certain it couldn’t be a standard one. There wasn’t even a sofa, just a metal chair.

“Nope,” Remus said and turned to leave. Sirius grabbed the back of his jumper before he could get very far. “Hey, let go!” 

“It’s only two nights,” Sirius said. “Do you really have that much of a problem sharing a bed with another man?”

“No, Sirius,” Remus rolled his eyes. “It’s just—Oh, never mind.” He stormed past Sirius and dumped his bag on the bed. That seemed to settle it. 

“Right well, I’m going for a quick shower and then do you want to go down to the restaurant?” He asked as he pulled out his toiletry bag. Remus just grunted, which Sirius took as a yes. 

Showered and feeling better after their long drive, Sirius emerged from the bathroom and found the room empty. He wandered down to the restaurant and found Remus sitting at the bar with a beer. He flagged down the bartender and asked for the same and another one for Remus. 

Dinner was quiet. Remus barely said two words, but at least the food was good. After another beer apiece, Sirius was ready for bed. 

“I’m off up,” he yawned. Remus seemed reluctant to leave the bar. 

“I’ll finish this and come up.” He told Sirius. That works out fine, Sirius thought. At least that way he could get ready for bed and not feel awkward about it. He brushed his teeth, changed into his baggy lounge pants and got under the covers. 

The bed may be small, but it was ridiculously comfortable. Sirius snuggled into the plump pillows and felt his eyes already drifting shut. Then there was a loud knock at the door, which yanked him from his dozing state. He got out of bed and opened the door. They’d only been given one key card.

Remus stood there and gaped at Sirius. Sirius had a myriad of tattoos on his body and Remus’s eyes darted across the visible ones. He groaned and darted past Sirius, locking himself in the bathroom. 

“Do you want your bag?” Sirius asked through the door.

“Yes please,” Remus replied, his voice slightly higher than usual. He opened the door wide enough to snatch the bag from Sirius’s hand. “Put a t-shirt on, for crying out loud.” He snapped before slamming the door in Sirius’s face. Sirius had no idea what he’d done to piss Remus off, but he went and grabbed a t-shirt from his bag and slipped it over his head before he got back into bed. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn’t even hear Remus leave the bathroom. 

The next morning, he woke half on top of Remus with his limbs tangled with the other man's. He carefully tried to disentangle himself without waking Remus, but those honey eyes met his with a scowl. Sirius swallowed. 

“Sorry, I must have rolled in my sleep,” Remus didn’t say anything and got out of bed before locking himself in the bathroom again. 

This was going to be a long weekend, and they still had another night to go.  

Part two

[norel-ravenclaw]

Friends With Unexpected Benefits

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Featured characters: Angel Dust x gn reader

Rating: 16+

Word count: 500ish

Description: Angel is your first - and best friend in the hotel. You lean on each other more and more, in a variety of ways.

WARNINGS: | cursing | sexual jokes and touch | reader has unspecified ‘intimacy issues’ |

Starting the first day you arrived at the Hazbin Hotel, Angel Dust was the one you could connect with and talk to the easiest. As Charlie insisted on a group introduction party, Angel’s humour and friendliness made it tolerable. He was intrigued too by your receptiveness to his teasing. You accepted his touch and lewd jokes, giving as much as he dished out.

Leaning over the back of the sofa, two hands snake around your shoulders. “You’re fun,” he drawls. “We should hang out.”

“Like, going out and doing stuff, or laying in bed scrolling on Sinstagram half dressed?”

He blinks in surprise and grins. “I’m down for either.”

You return his smile. “Me too.”

Fiddling with the hem of your shirt, he says, “I get off tomorrow at six.”

“Okay. But you’re helping me pick out what to wear.”

“Done.” He effortlessly vaults over the back of the sofa and grabs your hand, tugging you towards the stairs.

You laugh and let him practically drag you up to your room, throwing open your closet doors.

“Oh hun, your shit is awful.”

You lean against the wall by your bed. “Yep. Vaggie’s hand me downs really aren’t going to cut it.”

He pulls out a plain white t shirt. “Tie this in the front and roll the cuffs on those sweats. It’s a start, anyway.”

You laugh and put it back. “Whatever you say.”

When it’s time to leave, you meet him in the lobby. At first you can tell he’s putting on a show after a long day of working. But once you reach the first store, he quickly gets into it.

It’s not long before Charlie’s credit card is practically smoking as Angel helps you build a wardrobe to last an eternity in hell.

You stop at his favourite restaurant, having a few drinks. He starts shit talking about his boss, and the laughter between you gets easier.

After a few glasses, your walk back to the hotel is a little tipsy. You link arms and end up matching your steps, laughing as your gait becomes more exaggerated.

You stumble through the doors of the hotel and head up to your room to put everything away. By the time you’re done, you turn around to see Angel passed out on the foot of your bed. You grin wryly and lay down next to him, awkwardly pulling corners of blankets over parts of you and him.

When he wakes up in the wee hours, he sees you snuggled against him, and can’t help but smile.

The next evening, he gets home late and opens your door, knocking as he does. “Sup bitch. You here?”

You drop your phone on your face and he laughs. “Um hi.”

He tosses his handbag onto your desk and sits on the edge of your bed. “I’m taking ya up on that offer ya made yesterday.”

You see his hands shaking as he unlaces his thigh high boots and slip off the bed to help with the other one. He looks momentarily surprised by your thoughtfulness, but smirks and says nothing.

You raise a brow as he starts stripping off more and more layers of his costume.

“What, I thought this was clothing optional.”

“Eh sure. Why not.”

Stripping down to his underwear, he tosses the latex and leather aside with a sigh of relief, snuggling into the soft blanket. “Fuck, so much bettah. Hey I don’t have your Sinsta. Shit, or your number.”

You make a grabby gesture and he hands you his phone, rolling onto his side while you input your info. “Heh you’re kinda cute, aintcha?”

Raising a brow at him, you hand back his phone. “You think?”

His fingers dance up your leg, hiking up your new pjs. “Mm, these are so soft. And so are you~”

You drape a leg over his and thread your fingers into his hair, gently untangling the knots. “Haha.”

Going back to scrolling, Angel watches you for a second before smiling softly and looking at his own phone. “Ha! Your first Sinstagram post is a pic of the fuckin hotel wall?”

“What? The pattern’s pretty. I’m into that old style stuff.”

“Loser.”

“Mhm.”

He melts under your touch as you pet his hair until you both fall asleep.

A couple days later comes another exercise from Charlie that leads to an unexpected confession on your part.

Angel presses for details when you go back to your room. “Hey sweetheart, what the fuck was that about earlier, huh?”

“Oh, uh… I just have intimacy issues. Heh.”

Suddenly he’s on you. “Oh? Well, ya got yourself the perfect therapist right here, darlin~ Hey we could role play that~”

Your eyes widen. “Oh! Uh… Wow, I mean…”

One pair of hands goes to your hips, and another on your shoulders. His slutty smirk softens a bit. “I mean it ya know. I can help you.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I can’t afford you~”

He rolls his eyes and pulls you into a hug. “What’s the point of having all these skills if I can’t even use them to help my best friend. Come on, let me be useful to ya, make you feel better.”

You squeeze him back. “…You wouldn’t hate it? I’m kinda messed up. I don’t want to make anyone deal with this shit… much less you.”

He pulls back to look in your eyes. “Hey, maybe it’ll be nice to go soft for once. I’ll take good care of ya. I promise. Maybe… we can work through our shit together, huh?”

You blush and give him a lopsided smile. “So… are you really okay with this whole… friends with weird benefits thing?”

“Fuck yeah, babe.”

[pocksprincess]

Chapter 3 - On The Job

Series masterlist

Obito Uchiha x f!reader

Modern AU, obi still has scars, reader (25) is a vet nurse, I don't like neji but I tried really hard to be fair to him in this lmao, this is a filler chapter soz

Word count - 950

Beta baddie - thank you @dabilove27 <33

<- Prev | Next ->

Monday morning comes all too quickly and subsequently your introduction to the elusive Neji Hyuuga. You sigh heavily as you pull into an employee designated space in the practice's carpark, turning off the ignition and slumping in your seat. Your eyes are sore and you're exhausted from a weekend of cleaning and unpacking the rest of your belongings. Your list of house chores seems to be never-ending, but the place is starting to finally look and feel like your own.  

You haul yourself out of the car and step into the mild air. The last vestiges of Summer cling desperately to the landscape–the trees resisting the yellow hue that is beginning to tint the ends of their leaves and the stubborn heat persisting even in the early hours. It's bearable now, only the promising nip of Fall on the breeze making it so, but you know that in a few hours it will already be too hot within the practice in your stuffy uniform. 

You swing your bag over your shoulder as you make your way across the lot to the front doors, a bell chiming your arrival as you step inside the reception area. Pretty much everything throughout the building is a clinical white and smells of disinfectant but there is the underlying smell of pet fur and kibble permeating the air. You smile happily at TenTen as she sits behind the front desk, sipping on a mug of tea in one hand while she taps away on the keyboard with the other. 

"Morning, TenTen,” you yawn, eyeing up her mug enviously. 

"Morning!” she chirps, giving you a wide smile, her signature space buns wrapped neatly with little bows. How on earth is she so chipper in the morning? 

"Water's still hot in the kitchen!” She gestures to the employee common room behind her and you slouch toward the door to grab your own mug of something hot. 

"Thanks,” you mutter sleepily as you pass her. She laughs at your bleary eyes and barely awakened state, giving you sympathetic eyes. 

As soon as you step into the kitchen area with its small coffee table and saggy armchairs tucked away in the corner, you come across a tall and slender figure with long, dark hair standing with his back to you. You stop in your tracks and get zero seconds to prepare yourself before he whips around, hair flowing around him like a goddamn L'Oréal ad, and addresses you.

"Ah, good, you're here.” His voice is clipped and curt, all business. “And right on time.” He gives you a look down his nose as if he doesn't think you capable of being punctual despite having never met you and you just now proving him otherwise. His eyes are the most delicate lavender grey, a stark contrast to his hard personality. Before you can even think to respond he's moved on.

"Come, we need to prepare consultation rooms one to three for the morning appointments.” And with that he simply walks out of the room–no introduction, no small talk…no caffeine! TenTen purposely didn't warn you, the wretch! Bet she's laughing her ass off in reception.You groan inwardly and dump your bag on the table before hurriedly trotting after him–you get the impression he doesn't tolerate those who can't keep up. 

Despite the early (and rather full-on) start, your day has been fairly routine and mundane–you performed a health check on an elderly cat with arthritis, struggled to wrestle a great dane onto the extra large scales for his weight check and gave an adorable little chihuahua puppy its first vaccinations and baby microchip.

All the while, Neji allowed you to step forward and show what you know, occasionally adding things for the owners benefit and prescribing medication. And after each appointment he gave you a full performance review on each of your actions. You honestly don't mind, you get the feeling he'll keep you humble and in top form. 

By the time lunch rolls around, however, you are about ready to drop. Your own fault for going to bed so late, but you really wanted to finish putting up the shelving unit in the living room so you didn't lose all the screws and fiddly little pieces. You sink into one of the squishy armchairs with a hot mug of coffee in your hands. Finally, caffeine. But now that you've stopped, your mind wanders (as it so often has since first meeting him) to your insanely cute neighbour.

He's pretty much all you've thought about since Saturday afternoon–those captivating eyes, the way the muscles in his arms flexed and bulged as he crossed them over his broad chest, the touch of your fingers…you couldn't even hide your obvious attraction, you must have looked so desperate, practically halfway to climbing him like a fucking tree. But the moment that stuck out most in your memory was how he pulled his hand away from yours as if you had burned him. How he'd tucked his scarred arm into his side and out of sight. He'd even angled his face so that his left side was most prominent. It makes your heart ache just thinking about it again. 

He doesn't hide his scars but he clearly does his best to not draw attention to them. You recall the way the whorled pattern pulled at the corner of his mouth in shock when he opened the door or when he graced you with a small, shy smile. You wish you knew what he'd been thinking during that whole interaction.

But more pressing than that thought, you have a question that you desperately hope is answered sooner rather than later–when will you see him again?

[cambion-companion]

Woven Fate part 1

Exploring the idea of the reader/Tav being sent by Raphael's daddy to spy and distract him from power grabbing INSTEAD of Haarlep. Throwing into the plot that the reader is still kidnapped by the Nautiloid and thus becomes a keystone in Raphael's crown heist.

I'm starting this off as a drabble, to set the scene and get a feel for the reception of such an idea before I fully commit.

I really want this to be a multiple part series, perhaps with a prologue of how the reader was sent by Mephistopheles to spy on Raphael instead of Haarlep (or whatever Haarlep's name was before HoH).

Raphael x reader (gn) | reader's race is up in the air, though probably from infernal persuasion, I like giving you guys the freedom to use your imagination as much as possible | rivals/enemies to assets with benefits

“’Go distract my son’ he said, ‘it’d be easy’, he said.”  You growled in frustration as, for the umpteenth time that week, you cleaned up after Mephistopheles’ infuriating son. “I can hardly report back to the old chap while elbow deep in his son’s shitter.”

You felt the familiar warping press of the planes flexing, signaling Raphael’s arrival back home.

You heaved a sigh. “Great.”

“What a lovely sound to return to.” Raphael greeted, strolling into the boudoir, not deigning to look at you. “Ready to return to my father with your tail between your legs?”

“For the thousandth time, no.” You sat at his ornate desk and propped your chin upon your hand. “Though I am putting my foot down.  Utilize the slaves you have to do your menial labor, I’m done.”

“You are one of my slaves, pet.” Raphael murmured, a hard edge to his voice.

“I serve your father, Raphael.  Or should I double check with him really quick?”

Raphael rounded on you, eyes burning.  You stood to meet his anger, your defiance flaring corporeal flames around your body.

“You serve me.”  Raphael said each word with dangerous emphasis.

“I’m going on strike.”  You seethed back.

He towered over you, your noses almost touching, the mutual enmity palpable in the hot air.

“You are yet protected by the archdevil, for now.” Raphael’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he regained composure. He didn’t step away. “That does not shield you from my wrath, little impling.”

That rankled. “What’re you going to do, fuck me sideways on the floor again?”

“Begone, nattering pest.” Raphael waved a hand in agitation and turned from you.

“I know about your plans for the crown, Raphael.”

That stopped him in his tracks.

You smiled slowly. “This is precisely the kind of thing that led to my being sent here.”

“Then it is evident you are failing at the job my father appointed you.”  Raphael tsked and began his daily ritual of setting in order his contracts.  The rustle of parchment mingling with the crackling fireplace as he feigned disinterest. “What do you plan on doing with this information?”

“I’m keeping it close to my chest, for now.”  You cooed, stepping near him and sliding your hand along his tense back. “Just wanted to let you know, master. I am a player not a pawn.”

Raphael caught your hand and held it tightly, squeezing until your fingers hurt.  “Naive creature. Then you are bound to lose.”

“Who said I’m playing against you?”

The question hung in the air.  Raphael breathed in slowly, deeply, his hand relaxing ever so slightly around yours. You slipped your fingers from his grip and kissed his cheek coyly. “Just a thought.”

Then you deftly made your way from his boudoir before you devised other ways to tempt the Fates.

You had indeed been dealt an interesting hand, and were determined to explore your options to determine which path would be most self- beneficial.

A plan that might have come to fruition had the Nautiloid not thrown a wrench in it. Traversing the vast barren fields of Avernus near the House of Hope, you saw the Mindflayer ship blast into being. Too close to where you were.  You felt the horrible ache of familiar helplessness as the monstrous ship bore down on you.

A flash of white, an excruciating pain, then all went dark.

[schemmentisjacket]

Chapter 6 - First Day pt 3

Authors Note: Little something something about non binary queer new teacher coming in, leading to Melissa finding the one.

M:

They stooped slightly in front of you, tattooed hands out, blank palms up.

‘We’re gonna take it steady okay?’

You put your hands out and take hold of their forearms to steady yourself. They support you under your elbows and help you to your feet.

You stumble slightly as you make it to your feet, their strong hands moving to your waist carefully as you re-centre yourself.

They’re so strong, god get it together. You’re a mess, you think to yourself.

‘Do you want to hold onto my arm and I’ll support you with my arm around your back?,’

They ask, arm moving firmly around your back as they move you into your side. They pick your bag up from beside the desk in their other hand.

You nod and grasp firmly around their bicep, other hand holding their soft knit jumper to your forehead.

They support you down the corridor and out into the car pack, the cool breeze a relief against your flushed cheeks, not sure if from the accident or the warmth of their body against yours, strong, sturdy and supportive.

They’re an inch or two inches taller than you in your docs, so you slot comfortably into the side of their body as you walk along.

They lead you over to their jeep, popping the locks and opening the door for you. They drop your bag in the footwell and help you up into the passenger seat. The leather seats were cool through your jeans and blazer and you rested your head against the rest. The throb in your head steady, you close your eyes relishing the coolness.

‘Hey, no sleeping beauty,’ Charlie murmured as they started the car from the drivers seat, and angled the air con to gently blow in your direction before pulling out of the carpark toward the hospital.

You opened your eyes and took the opportunity to take in their profile from your seat.

Glasses sat perfectly their nose, accentuated their chiseled jaw line and the graduated fade of their hair, you could see a small mole or freckle on their scalp through the closely shaven hair.

There hands were still bare from gloves and you could see colourful tattoos on the backs of them, a small red woodland creature on one and a bright blue bird on the other. The fingers on the hand closest to you sat on the gear stick and you could see they spelt out STAY, you couldn’t quite see the other side.

You reach out with your free hand and run a finger along the back of the hand over the kingfisher that decorated it.

‘These are beautiful, why do you hide them?’

You speak quietly, scared to disturb the comfortable silence that surrounds you, only the smooth growl of the engine as background.

Charlie shrugged glancing over at you, ‘I guess I’m worried that most people see them as unprofessional. I’m already weird in some people’s eyes, always worried about what parents would think about someone like me teaching their kids. Add being tattooed to that and even some teachers would have stuff to say about it. Can you imagine Barbara seeing me like this?’

You chuckled, ‘Barbara ain’t as stuffy as you think, unless you got Bitch tattooed across your chest.’

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Parent with a tattoo, turns out she’s actually super supportive of the school, gets involved all the time.’

‘No nothing like that. Mainly animals and powerful women really. We’re here.’

Charlie popped the door and ran round to help you from your side, and into the emergency room. They helped you to a seat before popping to the reception to check you in and bring the paperwork over you’d need to fill in. Looking around it was pretty quiet, guess that’s the benefit of a Monday afternoon injury you thought.

You filled in the paperwork, Charlie holding the jumper to your head as you worked through the form.

‘Schemmenti!’ Called the Doctor.

‘Will ya come in with me? I don’t really like needles.’ You asked.

‘Of course I will.’

You sat whilst the doctor did the usual tests, shining lights in your eyes, asking questions, before beginning to clean up the blood from your face.

‘I’m going to need to numb the area and then clean it before stitching you up.’

Charlie scooted their chair closer to you, and took your hand in theirs. You squeezed as the Dr injected the anaesthetic into your hairline, before beginning to clean out the cut.

‘So with head injuries like this, we would recommend having someone with you to wake you every few hours for the first 24 hours, just as a precaution. Do you have someone at home?’

‘Jacobs away tonight and tomorrow he’s staying at his parents place, it’s his mums birthday.’

Charlie squeezed your hand again, ‘You can stay with me, if you want to?’

‘I wouldn’t like to impose.’

‘It’s no imposition. I’d worry about you.’

‘You’re all sorted then. You can take pain killers as normal. I’d recommend every 3 hours to be woken. Keep an eye on any changes in behaviour. Any problems come back in.’

[interiorergonomics]

Benefits of Custom-Made Reception Desks

Choosing a custom-made reception desk offers numerous benefits which significantly enhance both the look and functionality of your reception area.

Invest in a unique, high-quality piece of furniture tailored to your specific front office needs and brand. You can even create a welcoming, professional as well as efficient space that makes a lasting impression on clients, visitors and employees alike.

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

**This is sort of a sister book to @quinloki 's Birds of a Feather (Marco x Reader). They take place in the same universe and you'll see some crossover scenes. **

1

Your drive to work was always a beautiful sight, even on a cloudy day. The early morning light cast purple shadows over the pine tree covered mountains that surrounded Lvneel City. It was a picturesque landscape, the perfect mix of a city plopped down in the middle of farmland.

You have worked at a very busy veterinary hospital for the past nearly five years as a receptionist. Phoenix Rising Animal Hospital was owned and run by Dr. Marco Newgate. It was a small animal clinic, meaning you only catered to dogs and cats. On very rare occasions Dr. Newgate would take on a special case from an animal sanctuary or rescue. He was an extremely talented board certified internist. As the practice grew a new doctor was added to the roster. An up and coming soft tissue and orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Trafalgar.

You didn't know him very well even though you saw him five days a week for the last two years. He rarely spoke to you and was very intimidating. To put it simply he was incredibly unfriendly. A pretty big contrast from your boss. He was also unfortunately infamous for being the reason assistants and techs quit.

You often found the doctors didn't deal with other humans quite as well as they did animals. He was no exception - blunt and a bit demanding, but an excellent surgeon. The world of VetMed was hard enough without having to deal with an uptight impatient doctor.

This particular morning wasn’t any different than usual. You pulled up to the hospital at 7:30AM and unlocked the doors before turning off the alarm and switching the lights on. Dr. Newgate’s classic Mercedes rolled into the lot not long after you.

“Good morning F/N.” he greeted as you powered on the computer and clocked in at the reception desk.

“Mornin’ doc.” you replied merrily, “I’ll get the coffee going in a few minutes.”

“That would be perfect, thank you.” he yawned heading into his office, “Don’t forget Chopper is training with you again this week-yoi.”

“I’ve already got his goals listed for the week.”

As if on cue the little reindeer in question entered the lobby with a small backpack hanging from his shoulders.

“Morning F/N!” he chirped trudging around the desk to drop his belongings and clock in.

“Hey Chopper, when you get settled would you mind checking the task log and start sending out appointment reminders for me while I go get the coffee started?”

“You got it.” he replied changing to his human point form to reach the desk more comfortably.

Chopper was in tech school and while he had to train with the medical staff, part of his schooling also required him to know the inner workings of reception. Not all practices have reception staff so it would benefit him if he ever left your hospital.

You made your way through the treatment areas and passed the doctors offices where the break room was. Humming a tune you started your routine of getting the staff’s coffee ready. This won’t be the only pot brewed during the day either.

While the machine groaned to life and the strong scent of breakfast blend filled the room you set out everyone’s favorite mugs making sure they were clean and started the dishwasher up with yesterday’s dishes. You continued to bebop around the small room heating up a poptart until you were able to steal the first cup of coffee. As you sang to yourself and focused on preparing your mug a tattooed hand reached out for the yellow cup to your left. You startled and let out a small squeak turning to the dark haired doctor that had so quietly entered the room.

“Oh,” you chuckled at yourself while he went ahead and filled his cup, “good morning Dr. Trafalgar, ya scared me.”

He wasn’t slated for surgeries on this day so he wore a navy button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, black slacks and boots.

His golden eyes swayed in your direction as he hummed and then turned to leave the room.

“Mornin’ F/N!” Shachi, the head scrub tech, called passing the doctor on his way out.

“Hey.” you replied with less energy than usual.

“Did he say something rude to you?” the redhead thumbed toward the doorway.

“No, he didn’t actually say anything. I’m pretty certain he hates me.” you chuckled.

“No one could ever hate you. He’s just a grump. Once you get to know him he isn’t so bad.” Shachi reached for the orca decorated mug that was next in line on the counter.

“Talking about Law?” Penguin, another tech, asked entering the room.

Technicians like nurses worked closely with the doctors and often addressed them by first name.

“What gave it away?” you laughed.

“It’s like Shachi said, once you know him he isn’t so bad.”

“It’s been two years guys, I don’t think getting to know him is an option at this point.” you placed your poptart on a small plate and got ready to head back to the front desk, “And that's okay, I don’t need to be friends with the doctors.”

“That’s hurtful-yoi.” your boss had now joined the conversation.

Blushing you choked out an awkward laugh, “Not you, of course,”

“Because I pay your bills.” he teased further.

“Y’know, I think I hear Chopper calling me…” you finally made your exit and hot-footed it back to reception.

The morning slowly continued on as consults and recheck appointments began for both doctors.

Chopper was slowly getting used to answering the phone but you stayed nearby and took over the more complicated calls. He switched back to his smaller form and sat on the desk next to you taking up less room.

Sometime after 9AM an emergency call came in.

The little reindeer was flustered as he hung up, "W-we have an ER coming in."

"I heard you ask if it was a hit-by-car. Is it a stat?"

"I believe so, it was actually attacked by people." he answered watching you grab the phone receiver and dial 999.

"ER 236 please." your voice chimed calmly over the hospital intercom, "ER 236."

Your extension rang almost immediately.

"Yo." Shachi said before you could say anything.

"Hey, we have a stat coming in. Can you send someone up to receive them? I'll get paperwork ready so we can make a chart when they get here."

"Bepo will be up in a minute and I'll let Law know."

"Thanks." you hung up the phone and turned to Chopper, "Next time we get a call like that we need a little more information so we can start a chart immediately."

"Ah, I'm so sorry F/N." he covered his little face.

"You're not in trouble, Dr. Trafalgar just likes to have as much information as possible when the patient gets here. I know the person you were talking to was probably a little panicked and in a hurry but it's helpful for all parties." you patted his shoulder gently.

Not long after the call the ER patient arrived being carried uncomfortably by an exhausted woman in blood stained clothes. Shachi and Penguin rushed up front with a gurney when paged to do so. They reentered with the saddest blue nose pitbull pup. She couldn't have been more than a few months old, shaking and covered in blood.

Humans were cruel.

Dr. Newgate escorted the client in after the poor thing threw up in the lobby. You assisted in directing her to the spare toothbrushes while Bepo gathered some clean scrubs from the laundry.

A little over an hour later, once things had settled your extension rang.

Knowing who it was you took a deep breath and answered,"hey there,"

"Hello F/N, the puppy will be staying for a femur fracture repair." Dr. Trafalgar's voice was soft and calm, almost tired, "Can you go over the estimate I've entered in the chart with the client and get a deposit?"

"Oh, uh actually she is not the pup's owner. I can ask Dr. Newgate what he'd like to do until we locate them."

"No need." he murmured curtly and hung up.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair.

"I wonder if they'll let one of us adopt the puppy if it has no owner." Chopper sipped a cup of tea.

"Yeah we get first pick of surrendered pets. I wouldn't mind taking her. It's been a while since I had a dog in the house."

"Good news for you then, F/N," Penguin had just stepped into the lobby and leaned across the desk, "she's not chipped."

[valiantstarlights]

[Wedding Planner AU] Part 3: Wedding Dress

Part 2: On the Restaurant's Balcony Area

I would like to thank @seiya-starsniper for reminding me about this AU, and making me realize that I had not, in fact, posted this chapter yet. 🙇‍♀️ It has literally been sitting (90% completed) in my labyrinth of notes since June 25. 😂

CW: just the usual 28 angsty stab wounds 😊

Being inside the Endless mansion is like being in a tomb.

Not that Hob has been to any tombs, since that would require a fuckton of money as well as the absence of common sense, but the air inside was noticeably heavier. No doubt the tangible weight of generations' worth of expectations and disappointments.

He remembers Dream not wanting to go back home for the holidays. How he took his sweet time packing, and even then he only packed light: a toothbrush bought from the convenience store near the dorms, a bottle of black nail polish, and snack sized chocolate bars enough to last him a month. He didn't take any of Hob's clothing with him, even though he wore them almost exclusively during the school year. He claimed that it was because they might get taken from him, but Hob suspected that it was because Dream had been ashamed of him.

Their eventual break up had proven him right.

"Mr. Gadling!"

Hob turns towards the pool area and spots Ms. Muse, wearing a bright yellow sundress and looking positively radiant. Meanwhile, Hob is a frazzled mess, having come straight from Constantine's main office all the way across London, making nonstop calls to catering companies in his car about the billion and one hors d'oeuvres Mrs. Muse and Mrs. Endless wanted.

"Ms. Muse," he greets amiably, and notices the distinct lack of her groom-to-be, as well as their overbearing mothers. "Is everyone else running late?"

"Oh, no," Ms. Muse says, and gestures to the comfortably padded wicker chair beside her. It seems that this meeting will be taking place in a less formal setting. Hob wonders if it is for his benefit or hers. Does he look as sleep-deprived as he felt? "Mother and Mrs. Endless are attending a soiree in Berlin, and Dream is working inside." She points to the side, where a dark figure is seated behind a desk, typing on his laptop, face set in concentration and earplugs in.

Hob remembers that face well. Dream is deep in 'the zone,' as they called it, back in the day. Hob remembers bringing him tea once in the early days, only to find it cold and untouched, and Dream apologetic afterwards. He had insisted on drinking the cold tea, but Hob took pity on him and drank the tea himself. After that incident, he would only make tea for Dream when he surfaces from his 'zone,' and it's a system that worked for them.

He wonders if Ms. Muse knows that, then mentally slaps himself. Of course she does. She's Dream's goddamn fiancee.

And more to the point, she would know Dream better than him, being in the same social class. They probably attended the same rich people parties all the time since they were kids.

Hob should just get this over with and leave. He still has more than three dozen calls he has to make before the end of the day, and an appearance to make at one of the junior wedding planners' small wedding receptions, to make sure that everything goes well, and to serve as back-up in case something goes wrong.

It's barely midday and he's already so fucking tired.

He takes out a stack of bridal magazines, since Ms. Muse expressed in her email that she prefers to flip through magazines rather than browse pinterest boards. Hob went the extra mile and got a couple of good vintage issues as well, in case she prefers the style of older gowns.

"Here," he says, and slides the stack towards the middle of the glass-topped wicker table between them. "Please feel free to browse and point out anything you like, even if it's just a color palette from a certain gown, the style of the lace, or the hairstyle of the model. We'll narrow down your choices later, and I will write and note down all your preferences. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me."

Ms. Muse dimples at him and excitedly flips through the topmost magazine on the stack. "Thank you for doing this, Mr. Gadling," she says. "I know it's not easy, what with our mothers' extravagant ideas, but you still manage to do everything so well and so professionally. I'm glad you're our wedding planner."

"Of course," Hob says, returning her smile, but doesn't say anything more. Lord knows what would happen if he were to speak his mind and tell her that all he's thinking about lately is foisting off the Muse-Endless wedding to someone else, preferably to someone who doesn't have a romantic history with the groom-to-be.

--

Hob notices that Ms. Muse is different when her mother and Mrs. Endless are not around. She looks more at ease, and instead of holding herself up so rigidly, she was slouching a little, one elbow on the table and one leg tucked neatly underneath the other.

She has told Hob that she definitely wants to have a simple, Grecian style gown made with light fabrics, and maybe a short train. She wonders if she could have a wedding gown that ombres from white to a dark orange at the bottom, while her bridesmaids (Dream's sisters and her own), could wear sunset-colored gowns to a style of their choosing that would fit their body type well.

"Delirium would definitely want to wear something like this, but have it ombre from a dark pink at the top to white at the bottom," she says, pointing to a Cinderella-style gown.

"Is Ms. Delirium Endless your maid of honor?" Hob asks as he notes down the page where the Cinderella gown is located, as well as the title and the issue number of the magazine where Ms. Muse found it.

Ms. Muse nods absently, waiting for Hob to finish his notes before flipping the page. "We have been friends since we were toddlers. I remember getting into so much trouble when she dared me to dye my hair bright green."

Hob chuckles. "I'm sure you looked like a very beautiful forest nymph."

"That's certainly one way of looking at it," Ms. Muse says, smiling. "But now I hope to repay the favor by making Deli look like a very beautiful radish."

Hob hums and reviews his previous notes. "Seeing as all the gowns of the wedding party are to be sunset-themed, I'm sure your mothers wouldn't take issue with it, if that's something that you're worried about."

Ms. Muse sighs happily. "I'm so glad we see eye to eye, Mr. Gadling. Oh, but please don't tell anyone about the secret meaning of Deli's dress!"

Hob smiles at her, this beautiful woman with a sunny personality. No wonder Dream fell hard for her. "Your secret is safe with me, Ms. Muse."

--

They talk about colors and fabrics some more, as well as the style of wedding veil that would pair well with her wedding gown. Ms. Muse, Hob is coming to find, is a very reasonable woman, very much unlike her own mother.

He just knows that she will be a good wife to Dream.

Hob had just finished answering her question about the feasibility of long wedding veils at a beach wedding and how detailed their embroideries can be, when Dream comes out from his office space and walks up towards them.

"Dream!" Ms. Muse says cheerily. "Are you going to be joining us after all?"

Hob makes sure the lines of his body are relaxed as he writes some more detailed notes, so he has the excuse of not looking up and greeting Ms. Muse's groom-to-be.

"No," Dream says. "I'm just taking a short break to get some tea. I still have emails to reply to and a meeting to oversee."

Ms. Muse nods understandingly. They really are a good match. Were it Hob in her place, he would have pestered Dream to eat something as well, and maybe rest his eyes and mind and hands for at least ten minutes. He would have asked Dream to lie down on his lap and stroke his hair until he falls asleep, then wake him up with kisses once his low-volume alarm beeps.

No wonder Dream got tired of him.

"That's too bad," Ms. Muse says. "But no worries! I'm having fun looking through the bridal magazines Mr. Gadling brought. Maybe we could even decide on what flowers to put in the wedding bouquet today."

"Sounds wonderful," Dream says, and he does sound like he means it. Hob wishes he could excuse himself without drawing any attention. He's sure Dream wouldn't even notice or care if he disappeared, but it would be rude to Ms. Muse if he just left.

Maybe he should just leave anyway so the bride and groom could have some time for themselves. Let them unwind for a bit and openly show each other affection without an unwanted audience.

"It is," Ms. Muse says brightly. "I was nervous because the task seemed daunting, but Mr. Gadling has been super helpful. He really knows his stuff, and he listens well and is very kind."

A pause. "He is," Dream says, and there's something in his voice that sounds unsure and vulnerable and maybe even a little hopeful. Hob quickly squashes that treacherous thought. Dream is about to get married. He would do well to remember that.

"Oh, hold on," Ms. Muse says, standing up. "Let me ring someone for tea. We could all use some, anyway."

She walks away, her yellow sundress waving like a flag behind her.

Hob does not have to look at Dream to know that he is staring after her.

Hob says nothing. He has nothing to say. Not now, when he is just the help.

"Thank you for assisting Calliope," Dream tells him, when Ms. Muse has disappeared from view.

"Of course, sir," Hob tells his notes, his tone bland and professional. "It's what I'm here for, you know. Gotta be helpful somehow or I'm gonna get fired."

The last part comes out bitter, and Hob doesn't know why he thought to say that. He should have just stopped talking after the first sentence and left Dream to navigate the awkward silence alone.

"Our mothers wouldn't dare to fire you," Dream says quietly. Gently. Hob grits his teeth as subtly as he could. "You are the best in your field. They would be hard-pressed to find someone better."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Mr. Endless," Hob says airily, and this time he looks straight at Dream when he says it. Dream looks taken aback when their eyes meet. Hob wonders if he could see the pain of the last ten, fifteen years in Hob's eyes. Hob hopes he does. Hob hopes he feels every last fucking glass shard buried in Hob's heart, still bleeding to this day. "I'm sure they would immediately find someone better to replace me with."

Dream looks like Hob just slapped him.

For a moment, there is pure devastation on his beautiful face. Lips slightly parted as if feeling the need to explain, eyes wide and wet, brows furrowed in hurt.

Hob has never seen him look like this before. They had never argued badly enough in the past to the point where Dream would be brought to tears.

Hob almost stands. Almost reaches for Dream to hold him in his arms, and allow him to hide his face against his neck while Hob pets his hair softly and soothingly, shushing him and murmuring against his ear that he doesn't mean it. That he's just hurt. That the last thing he wants is to hurt Dream.

But before Hob could do anything, decide whether or not to comfort the lost love of his life, Dream's mask reforms, and between one blink and the next, he is once again the picture of neutrality. "As you say, Mr. Gadling."

Hob opens his mouth. To apologize, perhaps, or to ask Dream how long it took him to move on.

'How long before you and Ms. Muse got together after we broke up?'

'How long before I'm only just another bad memory from the past?'

'How long did you really love me?'

'Were you actually in love with me, or was I just another way for you to rebel against your parents?'

He closes his mouth and says nothing. And for a few moments, he and Dream just looked at each other, Hob cataloguing all the ways Dream is still the same, wondering if he could have maybe done something differently that would have made Dream stay with him. Or maybe their relationship has always been destined to fail. They come from different backgrounds, after all, and Hob should have known to listen to fairytales.

Princes do not end up with paupers. They end up with beautiful princesses and live their lives happily ever after.

The only indicator of Dream's tumultuous thoughts is him raising his hand and almost unconsciously fidgeting with the ruby pendant of his necklace.

As soon as Hob's eyes drop to it, though, Dream stops entirely and places his hands on his sides, like nothing happened.

They were startled out of their silent staring when the door to the side opens, and Ms. Muse comes out like she brought the sun with her, as well as a fancy metal tea tray with three cups and a kettle that would not be out of place in 18th century Versailles.

"Mrs. Jones would be by in a bit with afternoon tea snacks," Ms. Muse says, just as Hob rises from his seat to take her burden from her. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Gadling. See how kind he is, Dream?"

"I have to return to my work," Dream says, and plucks the black teacup and its accompanying saucer right out of the tray that Hob is still holding.

Like Hob is just another goddamn servant employed by the Endless.

Then again, Hob thinks sardonically, that's exactly what he is, isn't he?

It's actually so nice to finally see that this is how Dream really sees him. Now Hob won't have to guess just what he is to him. What he always was.

Ms. Muse shrugs. "Sure. But don't work too hard, okay? Death will have my head if she finds out you're not taking proper breaks."

Dream visibly softens at the mention of his favorite sister. "Of course. I will see you later, Calliope." A colder glance at Hob. "Mr. Gadling."

Hob fights the urge not to bow mockingly. He settles for his default professional mode. Dream has just shown him where his proper place is, and Hob would do well to stay in it. "Mr. Endless."

Without another word, or indeed, another glance at Hob, Dream turns and walks away.

[hisunshiine]

— burning love | jhs

♨ pairing: firefighter!hobi X firefighter!reader ♨ au/genre: fire department AU, workplace au, anti-valentine’s, coworkers2lovers, fwb2l, fluff, smut, angst ♨ rating: M ♨ wc: 5,266 🜂 warnings: longtime pining, reader gets a minor injury in the line of duty, catching fire, explicit smut, fingering, handjob, shower sex, vaginal penetration, oral (m receiving), multiple orgasms, cuddling  ♨ an: thank you to @downbad4yoongi​ and @ressjeon​ for beta reading, and to @colormepurplex2​ for storyboarding last night! this fic has a small bit of self-indulgence in celebration of @peachiilovesot7​‘s birthday, which she shares with our birthday man, Hobi! i wanted to post this yesterday, but unfortunately, due to circumstances outside of my control, it’s only a day late. i hope you enjoy!

Rolling out of the bed, you glance at your phone to see it’s just past 5:30am. Silencing the alarm that had been blaring for the past few minutes, you stretch before tiptoeing your way through Hoseok’s room. Once in his bathroom, you eyeball the marks he left. 

You know that Hoseok likes you, hell, you know that he wants more out of this ‘friends with benefits’ deal the two of you have worked out, but you just can’t bring yourself to be in a relationship. As coworkers in a dangerous field, you think it best to keep the distance you have, seeking out one another for sex. 

The only issue is that you tend to seek him out daily. The two of you work the same shift, and spend time together off the clock as well. You practically live at each other’s apartments, and according to your friends, you act like an old married couple. Except you refuse to acknowledge the feelings you’ve grown for him, and he for you.  

Climbing into his shower, you reach for your bathing items that he’s set aside in their own designated spot and while the action warms your heart, it also makes you nervous that you’re becoming too comfortable carving out a space in his life that’s meant for a girlfriend. After showering, you grab your toothbrush placed next to his at the sink, and notice after the fact when you go to hang up your wet towel back where you procured it from that Hoseok recently added a hook to the wall next to his towel for yours. 

It’s all a little too much, especially today. February 13th. The day before the day you hate. All of these things are just a reminder that maybe you’re too involved with Hoseok, and that despite not having discussed it, he may start to expect something you aren’t ready to give to him tomorrow. You finish getting ready in a silent panic, noting that Hoseok is still sleeping peacefully as you leave early for work.

Arriving at the two story building, you smile as the rising sun glances off the upper glass windows of your workplace. The bright red number seven showcases that you work at the best station in the district. Station 7 is your pride and joy, and as you open the door to enter, it’s a day like any other. Of course, today is a Monday, which means the station will be filming their weekly segment for the news, and with it being National Heart Month, the focus for the day is on ‘How to Keep a Heart Beating (with CPR)’. 

As an anti-Valentine’s Day person, you find it a little cheesy that your coworkers want to decorate the station for Valentine’s Day tomorrow, as you’d much rather have a nice taco spread for Taco Tuesday, but your idea was vetoed at the monthly station meeting last month. So imagine your surprise when you walk in and see a lack of red and pink hearts decorating the front reception area.  

Park Jimin, one of your closest friends, yawns from where he sits at the desk, covering his mouth before offering you a lazy wave. 

“Morning, Sunshine.”

You look around the room, trying to find who Jimin is calling ‘Sunshine’. 

“I don’t see Hoseok anywhere,” you announce after concluding it’s just the two of you in the intake area.

“Ha-ha, you are so funny this early,” Jimin says with a glare of his eyes. “But why am I not surprised that Hoseok is the first thing on your mind?”

Dropping your backpack onto the counter, it’s now your turn to glare at him.

“Shut up. We’re just fuck buddies.” You hide your face by unzipping your bag and pretending to look for something.

“Does he know that?” Jimin questions, and you break your defense to look up at him puzzled.

“Um, pretty sure he does, seeing as he literally was just pounding into me a couple of hours ago.”

“Sweetheart, while I typically love the details of your sex life, you know that the emphasis was on the ‘just’ part of the sentence. ‘Does Hoseok know that you two are just fuck buddies?’” 

“He hasn’t ever said he wants more from me, so…just leave it, Jimin.”

“Hmm…touchy. Are you maybe…upset that he hasn’t expressed wanting more?”

Once again you dig in your bag, wishing you had just said good morning back and not engaged in this conversation.

“What? No, pshh, I told him when it started that we wouldn’t be more.”

Jimin sighs, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. 

“Idiot.” 

You throw the first thing you grab in your backpack—your deodorant— at him. “I meant that in the most loving way!” 

“I’m going upstairs to put away my belongings. You’re off at 9am, right?”

“Yup, and then the next two days I’m off. Just in time for Valentine’s Day.”

“Oooh, hot plans with Theresa?” you ask over your shoulder as you begin climbing the stairs.

“She planned a surprise for me, you know Valentine’s is about the woman doing something for the man.” Jimin says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah, and next month for White Day, it’ll be your turn.” The stairs turn once you reach the first platform, so now you can look down into the desk area and the top of Jimin’s head. He looks up at you with a smirk as he tosses your deodorant up to you.

“And if you don’t make a move tomorrow, you’ll be eating black jjajangmyeon in your black sweatpants the month after like the single loser you are!”

Stomping the rest of the way into the firefighter’s dormitory, you notice that two beds are occupied. Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook are two regulars who work the same 6-day shift as you. Today just so happens to be your first day back from your rest period, so the three of you and Hoseok, will be doing the day shift from 9am to 6pm today and tomorrow. 

“You guys slept here last night?” you ask, sitting on the bed across from Taehyung. You’re already dressed in your uniform, but still have a little under an hour until your shift starts so you put away the small deodorant canister and get comfortable. 

“Yeah, we covered for Sammi and Vanessa. They were supposed to be on call for the One-Stop Support Center for residential fire fighting devices, but apparently they needed to prepare for tomorrow.”

“Why couldn’t they prepare today?”

“Oh, trust me, our doting, pregnant fiances have spent the past few days whispering and  plotting away.”

You laugh at the image Taehyung paints of their significant others. Sammi, his fiance, is four months pregnant and works in the Control Center of the station with Jungkook’s fiance, Vanessa, who is also five months along. The two are often seen together giggling and chatting, and much like Hoseok, are rays of sunshine in the office. 

“I bet it was boring being on call for the Support Center.” You make conversation as the two get up and begin shrugging on their field uniforms over their tank tops and athletic shorts.

“We had maybe three calls the entire time, and we were home until the last call came and it was this elderly man, he needed installation support at his shop. He runs a bakery and was about to start the ovens when he noticed that his gas detector wasn’t lit up. So at 4am, I’m in a deep sleep cuddling my babe, when the phone wakes us up and we have to stop here and get a new HKA-800 to install.” Jungkook sighs as if the elderly baker ruined his night.

“I hate installing gas leakage alarms,” Taehyung sighs. “They’re always in hard to reach spots, and I would’ve rather stayed in bed to be honest.”

“I feel like they knew a call was going to come in at that time…they’ve never swapped on call shifts with us before.” Jungkook muses.

“So, which of you pretty boys is filming today?”

“I am!”

You turn to the doorway of the dormitory and see Jung Hoseok enter with his duffel bag on his shoulder. He looks stunning as usual, black hair styled effortlessly to frame his face. He’s fully dressed in his field uniform, reflective vest situated over his lithe frame and you kind of hate how all of his clothing hides the marks you left last night, unable to show that he belongs to you, even if you tell yourself he’s only yours when the two of you are alone. 

“I’m surprised Hobi, the whole place isn’t covered in candy hearts or red and pink decorations,” you tease. “I thought you would have wanted it to be all pretty for airing.”

Hoseok’s face makes a surprising change to irritation.

“When would I have had time last night to decorate?” He says with a raised eyebrow at you, alluding to your activities that kept him busy. “Besides, the Fire Chief didn’t give the approval until this morning! I saw the email when I woke up. I’ve got all of the supplies right here in my bag.”

“Oh no, you better watch out, Hobi, you know Sunshine over here hates Valentine’s Day.”

You roll your eyes, laying back onto the pillow and feigning disinterest. 

“I just don’t understand why women have to declare their feelings first and then wait a whole month to have them reciprocated. What if you break up during the month between?”

Jimin trudges into the room, flopping onto a free mattress. Glancing at the clock, you see it’s ten till nine, and figure his replacement must’ve just arrived. 

“Sammi is too pregnant to leave me, she wouldn’t make it five minutes down the road before calling me crying from the car to say she misses me. She would turn around and be back in my arms. Plus, Jaykay and I have already planned our White Day surprise for them. They have no need to worry.”

“If only we all could be so lucky to date best friends, get engaged, and pregnant all within a couple months of each other.”

“I mean, if you would—”

“Park Jimin, you shut your mouth right now!” You effectively cut him off as his eyes land on you, full of mirth. You wish looks can kill—Jimin would be frying under your burning gaze.

“Well, I’m going to start putting up the hearts now!”

Hobi begins to unzip his bag but jumps when the siren begins to sound.

Jumping out of the bed, you grab your vest from your bag, and the four of you hustle down to the trucks. 120 cases of fire are called into dispatch every 12 minutes across the country, and the life of a firefighter is always a race against time.

Valentine’s day is just another day to you, in fact, it’s your second day shift in a row, leaving you with ample time to celebrate, if you were the type. Yesterday was busy, which is unsurprising—the day before Valentine’s day many women are baking sweets and chocolates for the person who has caught their affection, and the stress of making the perfect treat often leads to a level of carelessness not usually seen. Eleven small kitchen fires took up the whole shift, and Hoseok was unable to film his CPR news clip or decorate the station. 

The next morning, Hoseok is ready to turn your workplace into a Valentine’s Day extravaganza. As you approach the main door, you see window clings in the shape of hearts and cute phrases plastered against the glass.

Walking in, you see candy hearts attached to red yarn strung along the edge of the reception counter. Behind the desk, Hoseok stands on a ladder, hanging up red balloon letters that spell out L-O-V-E.

Unable to hold back a groan, you cause Hoseok to teeter dangerously as he realizes he’s not alone. 

“Morning, babe!” Kim Seokjin greets cheerily from where he’s supposed to be holding said ladder, but you look around dejectedly.

“Damn it, Chief Kim really vetoed my Taco Tuesday idea?”  

“Tacos?” Jungkook appears from the back room behind the reception desk, eating a bowl of cereal.

“Yeah, I thought maybe he would decide to order us tacos for Taco Tuesday.”

“It’s only 8:30, sunshine. Maybe it’ll be here at lunch time.”

“Good thinking, Kookie! So, let’s hope today is less busy than yesterday, so we can leave on time and you and Taehyung can enjoy your surprise.”

“I am begging. Tomorrow we work the night shift, so I’ll have plenty of time to sleep in. Do you have any plans?”

“Nothing planned, no. You know I don’t do Valentine’s Day.”

You miss the way Hoseok’s face falls as he turns back to the task at hand.

“Ah, yes, one day you will find someone, and maybe you won’t hate Valentine’s Day so much.”

“Maybe when pigs fly.”

You can’t lie though, Hoseok has the reception area looking festive in a non-cheesy way; you actually don’t want to vomit at the sight of it. Luckily, he isn’t able to make it far into the building with his bag of ornaments and tinsel, and the sound of the alarm going off halts his efforts once again. 

“This is bullshit,” he huffs under his breath, but you hear him anyway as you walk side by side to the truck. 

Valentine’s Day is really not your day. The first call of the morning sent you out to a residential area where a wild boar wandered into. Being chased by a wild boar before you even have a chance to stretch is not your idea of fun, but the guys were able to herd it back to where it came thanks to your sprint.

Back at the station, Fire Chief Kim Namjoon greets you in the hallway, and when you ask about tacos for lunch, he apologizes.

“I’m sorry, it slipped my mind. In order to feed everyone on staff, we would need to put in the order ahead of time, there’s too many departments. How about next Tuesday?” he offers, buff arm rubbing the back of his neck in guilt. You can’t stay mad at his dimples, so you let him off the hook, saying next week will be fine. 

It’s not, not really, but you aren’t the type to say no to free food. You had just hoped to have something else to take your mind off of Valentine's Day. Especially with your crush/fuck buddy walking around the station in his perfectly fit uniform decorating the windows with hearts and talking about how much he loves today. 

The only reprieve is that today is just as busy, and the window clings are as far as Hoseok gets before the alarm rings loudly, sending your group running once again. This time, it’s a fire, but not as small as the baking incidents yesterday. This one requires full gear and an extra truck from a neighboring station. And when Hoseok disappears back inside the building with Jungkook to locate a tearful child’s missing pet cat, you find yourself antsy to reach him. 

Five minutes later, Jungkook comes stumbling out, saying that the smoke was too thick on the path he took to the left, but the right hallway Hoseok took should be easier to navigate since the fire started on his side.

Pacing as you wait for Hoseok to show, you can’t help the fear growing if he weren’t to return. You knew it was your own self-sabotage that kept this thing with Hoseok from turning into something more. You have had your heart broken in the past; you put in more effort to a man who did not deserve it and it backfired on you. Growing up you were raised to feel that it was safe for you to share your love with others, but now it just felt safer to keep Hoseok at arms length. 

Still not seeing Hoseok return, you now know that you would have rather explored the feelings he brings out of you and let it turn into a burning flame than to lose him in one. There’s a reason why Sammi and Vanessa no longer fight fires with their significant others. Long before either was with child, the two switched to dispatch services, because of the warnings of the dangers of loving your firefighting partner.  

Breaking all types of protocol, you run into the building and find Hoseok appearing through the heavy smoke with the cat in his arms, and a sigh of relief spreads through your body. This pause to take him in, inspect him for damages while still being inside a burning building is exactly why you shouldn’t have run inside.

A wooden beam, brittle from the flames eating away at its hold, crumbles to the ground around you. Hoseok, arms full with the fluffy pet and voice covered by the roar of the flames, is unable to do anything but watch as you fall to the ground, semi-pinned under the remnants of the beam. 

Sprinting, he has a clear enough mind to leave you behind to get the cat to safety before returning with help from Taehyung less than a minute later. The two are able to lift the wood off of your leg, and Hoseok carries you from the building, now empty of residents and their pets. The other station takes over dousing the flames as a second station arrives to help, and with orders from the Fire Chief, your unit brings you back to the station. 

You’re not that hurt, no broken bones, just a minor sprain and first degree burns where the beam lay on your leg. Luckily your protective gear prevented worse damage from occurring had you been in civilian clothing and in the infirmary at Station 7, you sit under the watchful eyes of your Fire Captain and Lead Aid Car Specialist, Min Yoongi.

“Please explain to me why I have to do a write up for Chief Kim explaining that you broke protocol and ended up injured.”

“I’m sorry Yoongi-Op—Captain Min.”

Your older brother glares at you. 

“I promised Eomma that you would not get hurt under my watch. Luckily, I wasn’t there or I would’ve dragged you back myself.”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking, Yoongi. Hobi had just been in there for so long and Jungkook had already returned, and the flames were getting worse, so I just—”

“You just forgot your duty as a firefighter, and I think it’s time you tell him how you feel, Sunshine. In the meantime, you’re grounded.”

“What? But—”

“You had a beam fall on you in a burning building, leaving you with first degree burns—lowkey second degree—on your leg! You aren’t going out on any more calls until you’re cleared.”

Of course, before your brother can finish treating your wounds, the alarm is already calling away Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. This time, it’s a small incident with bees swarming a preschool’s playground area. You know Hoseok hates bugs, but with only three members of the team available, he has to go. 

Seokjin strolls into the infirmary just as Yoongi bandages the last piece of gauze around your burn, and you prepare yourself for a stern talking to. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day, sunshine. And you almost died trying to search for the man you deny having feelings for. I think it’s time to do something about this crush, don’t you think?”

Well, that was unexpected. When did everyone learn your true feelings?

“You’re not subtle in the slightest.” Seokjin shares, reading the look on your face. “Neither is he. You both like each other, so stop being stubborn.”

“Valentine’s Day is almost over, Seokjin. Even if I wanted to do something, I’m injured and there’s no time.”

Seokjin’s face morphs into determination.

“Hobi is the easiest man to please. You should know, he likes you, doesn’t he?”

“Rude!”

“I’m just pointing out the obvious. So let’s think, what has he wanted to do this whole time?”

“Decorate the office to celebrate Valentine’s Day.” 

“So what do you think would be a good way of showing him you care, and making yourself ineligible to participate in Black Day in a couple of months?” 

“I…” you pause as if thinking about what you could do, but you already know the answer, “I can use his decorations and finish what he started. Maybe cave, and celebrate Valentine’s Day for once.” 

“I knew you were smart and Hobi had to like you for a reason.”

“I’m also really good with my—”

“Really don’t want to know what you’re good at doing to my best friend!” Yoongi cuts you off, placing a cold compress to the wound.

“Alrighty!” Seokjin claps, “Moving on, so what are you going to have prepared when he asks to stay with you tonight, which we know he’s going to do, because he wants to take care of you.”

“Surprise him with tacos for Taco Tuesday and some bomb ass sex,” you say with a smile, happy to fulfill your own wish as well

“Sounds like a great plan. Though you may want to just accept the sex will be mid until your injury heals.”

“Alright, so this is all a great plan, but, small problem. I’m stuck here under medical watch until I get off! Who can help decorate my apartment?”

“Don’t be dense, Sunshine. I already texted the pregnant ones. They’re off today and done setting up for Tae and Jaykay, and they’re on their way to your place now. Text them your keycode so they can get in.”

“Why would they help me? They’re pregnant! And have their own things to prepare for!”

“Because, sweetie, we love you and we love Hoseok and we’ve had a bet going for ages that we’d love to have settled.”

You frown at his words, but understand. You love all of your coworkers too, trust them with your life—literally—and the fact that everyone has been rooting for you and Hoseok to work out thaws your frozen Valentine’s Day heart.

When your crew arrives back from the playground relocating the bees, you watch as Hoseok’s face breaks out into a blinding smile.

“Wow! You guys really did all of this?”

Seokjin is sitting at the reception desk with you and he nods his head in your direction. 

“It was Sunshine’s idea.”

Hoseok turns wide eyes to you, and you think you see a little hope in them. Part of you knew that Hoseok always wanted more, but the other part of you doubted he could actually see you as his girlfriend. In the past, the guy who broke your heart couldn’t see you as his girlfriend despite you doting on him as if you were his wife, which is what led to your walls being so high. But thanks to your friends and the incident today, you realize that Hoseok is someone you can trust with your heart. You already trust him with your life. 

“I thought it was the least I could do, I know you really wanted to celebrate Valentine’s Day.”

Coming around the desk, he kneels in front of you being mindful of your propped up leg.

“Thank you, Sunshine. I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

You can’t hold back your smile, and he pulls you into a hug. He’s warm, and you melt in his embrace as Seokjin pretends to wipe back happy tears as he watches the two of you. 

“Sunshine, I’m sure you want to go home, but I still have to record the heart health clip, and then we’ll head to your place, okay?”

“No worries, Hobi, Seokjin and I took care of that for you too. And we made sure to showcase all of your decorations.”

If he could physically do it, Hoseok would be staring heart eyes at you. Even without transforming the shape of his eyes, you see more than the hope from earlier in them; there’s gratitude for making his very long day easier, and something else you aren’t sure if you can put into words.

“I’ll be right back.” Hoseok sprints from the reception area and up the stairs, returning only a few moments later with his duffel bag hanging to his side. Grasping your backpack from the counter, he threads his arms through the straps before bending his knees and reaching for you. Lifting you up bridal style, you laugh as he walks you out the glass doors, enjoying the smile adorned on his face. 

Hoseok refuses to let you walk once at your place, carrying you from the car to your second floor apartment with ease. You were already showered from being on medical leave for the day, but as Hoseok types in the code to your door, he promises to shower fast so as not to leave you alone for long.

The words fade from his lips as he crosses the threshold with you in his arms, the sight of your apartment decorated romantically for the holiday shocking him silent. You thank your coworkers silently for their efforts, before tucking your face into Hoseok’s neck. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hobi.” Your voice is low, but he hears you, and his spine shivers when you press a kiss to his neck. 

He’s still silent, but you can feel his heart racing as he looks down at you in his arms. 

“Shower with me.”

You nod, and he rushes to your bathroom, setting you down on the closed toilet lid so he can strip down, and you do the same, standing up gently once naked with your hand balancing you on the sink. Opening the glass shower door, he turns the tap on to a medium level due to your injury. Your brother said you were okay to shower, you just had to make sure to redress the wound and he would bring your antibiotics by tomorrow after he picked them up from the pharmacy.

Hoseok tugs you towards him lightly as you follow him gingerly into the warm water. The two of you silently wash each other, being gentle around sensitive areas. Once clean, he pulls you to his chest and into a hug you didn’t realize you needed. Being in his arms like this after today’s events, it finally hits you. You love this man. You feel your eyes start to water, sniffling, and he looks at you closely. 

“What’s wrong, does your leg hurt, baby?” the pet name slips out. 

“No, it’s fine. I just—” you take a deep breath before looking into his pretty brown eyes. “I think I have some really big feelings for you, and I was so worried about you earlier, if something had happened to you…”

“Nothing happened, Sunshine. I’ll always make my way back to you, you know that.”

“You better.”

He leans down and kisses you, soft, heart-shaped lips calming the storm in your mind.

“I will, baby.”

You pull him by his neck back to you, this time deepening the kiss as his hands begin to explore you. You feel his fingers slip between your thighs, spreading you open and entering you without wasting any time. Gasping into the kiss, you reach for him, feeling his semi-firm cock harden as you begin to stroke him. The water helps with your speed, and the two of you twirl your tongues together as you match pace. 

“I need more, baby,” you pant, and Hoseok removes his fingers from where your walls have gripped him, reaching for the backs of your thighs to lift you up. Putting your back to the wall opposite the faucet, you squeal from the cold tile along your spine. Hoseok just chuckles while angling his now fully erect member at your opening, pushing himself inside slowly so he can savor every ridge of your pulsing walls. 

Thrusting into you, his mouth decorates your skin with blooming maroon marks until you cry out in satisfaction as he makes you cum. The angle he holds you in is perfect for kissing your g-spot with the tip of his cock, and your skin tingles as your nerves react to the climax. Sliding out of his hold, he grunts when you push him where you had just been pinned, using his body to help you glide to your knees, careful of your shin injury. 

Taking Hoseok into your mouth, you rival the loud sounds of the shower as you lewdly suck and slurp your essence off of his cock as his hands firmly hold the sides of your head. You look up at him as you press your nose to his taut abs, eyes wet with unshed tears as you breathe through your nose to gather enough to pause and swallow around him as you grip his thighs. You can tell when he’s at his breaking point, the pads of his fingers dragging along your scalp as his muscles tense and you bob with sucked in cheeks and flicks to his frenulum until he’s spilling his warm cum down your throat.

Hoseok grasps you under your arms and pulls you to him, kissing you hard. 

“Fuck, Sunshine,” his nose drags softly along yours in an eskimo kiss. “I think I—” 

The sound of your doorbell chiming through the apartment reaches your ears, having installed a small speaker in the bathroom and bedroom so that you never miss a delivery.

The two of you giggle as you decide who will get the door, but Hoseok, ever the gentleman, grabs a towel and your robe. You spend a few extra moments cleaning between your thighs before turning off the water and following Hoseok out of the bathroom. 

Catching sight of him in the hallway, he’s walking a delivery bag from your favorite taco restaurant in Seoul to your kitchen counter. Stepping over the rose petals littered along the hallway, you join him.  

“You even got us tacos?” he asks in awe, adoration lacing his tone.

“Of course, I did, it’s taco Tuesday and Valentine’s Day, and I just wanted to show you how I feel about you.” It feels good to admit it.

Turning away from the unopened bag, Hoseok picks you up again, carrying you to your bedroom. 

This time, he makes love to you slowly, his hips rolling in that magical way he does, fingers laced with yours by your head as your bodies fit together deliciously. Your eyes never leave his, both of you staring deeply at each other as you rock in tandem. Feeling him all over you, reaching the deepest parts of you, you cry out as tears roll down your cheeks in pleasure. 

“F-fuck Hobi, I’m so close,” you whimper, hands squeezing his tightly as the pressure builds.

“Give your all to me, Sunshine,” he begs, and you know he isn’t just asking for your orgasm.

“It’s yours, Hobi,” you admit, “I’m yours.”

Your words encourage him as he picks up speed and depth until you release together. 

Cuddling into his arms, you turn your lips to his chin, placing tender kisses to his smooth skin. 

“I love you, Hoseok.”

In the quiet of your room, it’s as if a roaring fire fills your ears as you wait to see if he’ll extinguish the worry that begins to spread—

“I love you too, Sunshine, have for a while.”

He tilts his head so he can return kisses to your lips before your bodies align once again to create a friction of burning love that blooms bright enough to consume you.

© hisunshiine 2023. All rights reserved.

thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are much appreciated! 

[theambitiouswoman]

Can you please give some advice on how to focus and stay focused? I'm having trouble focusing when I read, write, and study. I would like to improve my life by learning a lot of stuff. But I can't do that without having myself to focus. Help me. Please and thank you! 💖

Find a quiet and comfortable place that's well lit to study or work. Make sure the environment is clean/ uncluttered and your desk does not have anything on it that you do not need. Turn off distractions like your phone's notifications and avoid social media. You can also start by doing some relaxation techniques, like meditation or breath work prior to, to rid your mind of all the noise. Create a task list and simplify the goals for what you want to achieve. If you don't have a goal or a way to hold yourself accountable, you wont be motivated to do the thing, and will have to really force yourself. Tackle the most important tasks first. Working in short bursts, like 25 minutes and then taking a 5-minute break, can help keep your mind sharp. You can even set an alarm and challenge yourself. This is a good way to teach yourself to hold yourself accountable.

When I can't focus, I start by doing tasks I enjoy that might not even be related to the tasks at hand, but it helps get me in the zone. In school, if I have to read something I did not enjoying, I started from the end and worked backwards. Same thing with tests.

Remember that not everyone learns the same way, so you need to discover which technique works best for you to help be receptive, absorb and process new information.

There is a learning style theory called VAK (or VARK). This model basically suggests that people have a preferred method of receiving information which are:

Visual (V): They prefer to see or visualize information. They benefit from diagrams, charts, pictures, and written texts.

Auditory (A): Auditory learners best retain information when they hear it. They benefit from lectures, discussions, and verbal explanations.

Kinesthetic (K): They prefer hands-on experiences and movement. They learn best when they can touch or manipulate the subject or when physical activity is involved.