#Save me a seat please!! Window one

[faebled-stories]

Under Control

Le Sserafim's Kim Chaewon x Male reader

AN: First time writing smut and male reader. all for the request of my friend. (you know who you are)

Chaewon had always been the kind of person who thrived on control, keeping people at arm’s length with her sharp tongue and biting wit. Even before Yunjin met her, Chaewon had already cemented a reputation for being difficult—a self-proclaimed “brat” who could both charm and irritate in equal measure. Her mastery in pushing buttons was unmatched; it was as if she derived amusement from digging under people’s skin, just to watch them squirm.

Tonight was no different.

The soft hum of the café filled the background as Yunjin glanced at Chaewon from across the table. The overhead lights cast a warm glow, contrasting with the chill of the iced coffee Yunjin gripped in her hand. Outside, the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows added a rhythm to the evening, a subtle underscore to the tension simmering between them.

"You know unnie," Yunjin muttered, her patience starting to fray, "one of these days, your attitude is going to backfire." She took a long sip, savoring the brief respite as the coolness of the drink soothed her frustration.

Chaewon, lounging back in her chair with her usual casual defiance, smirked. The sharp lines of her bob cut swayed slightly as she tilted her head, her eyes glinting with the challenge she knew Yunjin was trying to avoid. "Backfire? Please. You know people love me for it, they pretty much beg me just to be in the same room. I can't help that I'm all that"

The confidence in her voice was almost palpable, filling the space around them. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, a small, idle gesture that betrayed just how much she reveled in Yunjin's irritation. It was a game she loved to play—pushing, prodding, and watching to see how far she could go.

Yunjin sighed, rolling her eyes, the exhale carrying the weight of her exasperation. "It's exhausting, unnie. You keep everyone at a distance, do you know how many people come up to me and the rest of the members begging us to pass on a message to you. Not everyone’s going to play along with your games forever, you know."

Chaewon merely shrugged, her smirk unfazed. "Maybe I just haven't met someone interesting enough to bother with, actually no, it's impossible because no one will be able to stop me" She leaned forward slightly, the playful air around her intensifying. The soft light caught the edge of her grin, casting a mischievous shadow over her sharp features.

But Yunjin wasn’t letting it slide this time. Her eyes narrowed, lips twitching as a sly smile began to form. The café’s ambient noise faded for a moment as she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Oh, don’t worry. That’s about to change."

For the first time that night, Chaewon's smirk faltered. She blinked, her brow furrowing just slightly as she caught the shift in Yunjin’s tone. There was something different here, something she couldn't quite place. “What are you plotting now?” The suspicion in her voice was thinly veiled, her usual bravado giving way to the sliver of wariness that had begun to creep in.

The café lights seemed to dim just a fraction as Yunjin picked up her phone, her fingers dancing over the screen with a practiced ease, the number wasn't saved but her fingers seemed to by typing out of muscle memory. Her smile grew, her excitement barely contained as she made the call, sealing the fate of the days to come.

“Hey… yeah its Jen, I need to borrow you… no no no, not for me but for a friend”

---

Days later, the sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting a deep orange glow over the café’s interior. Chaewon’s arrival was met with the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversations blending together. She slid into her usual seat across from Yunjin, her sharp eyes immediately picking up on her friend’s uncharacteristic excitement.

"Okay, spill." Chaewon’s eyebrow arched as she studied Yunjin’s barely concealed glee. "What’s going on? You’ve got that look again."

Yunjin leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that seemed to hover between them. "You’re going to love him."

Chaewon crossed her arms, her posture stiffening as skepticism washed over her. The café’s warm light bathed her in an amber hue, highlighting the suspicion etched into her features. “What? Who are you talking about? What are you planning, Yunjin?”

Yunjin’s grin widened, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “Just trust me. He’s perfect for you, in more ways than one.”

A faint drizzle had begun outside, the rain tapping lightly against the window panes as Chaewon’s curiosity was piqued despite her better judgment. She huffed, feigning disinterest even though her mind was already racing through the possibilities. “I swear, if hes like anyone of the weirdos i’ve met i'm going to kill you”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Yunjin interjected with a barely suppressed chuckle. “He’s not what you’re expecting.”

The rain outside grew heavier, the pattering against the glass intensifying as if matching the undercurrent of tension that began to fill the space between them. Chaewon’s gaze flickered to the window, watching the droplets streak down before returning to Yunjin, her suspicion deepening. She could feel something shifting—something inevitable on the horizon, just out of reach.

“Cmon it's almost time” the red head pulled her leader out of her chair as the excitement was too much for her to handle.

---

The bar’s atmosphere was different from the quiet warmth of the café—darker, more intimate. The amber glow of low-hanging lights bathed the space in a soft golden hue, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was thick with the scent of worn leather and whiskey, mingling with the low murmur of voices and the steady thrum of background music. It was the perfect setting for what was about to unfold.

Yunjin leaned against the bar, tapping her nails on the counter as Chaewon adjusted in her seat. The space was comfortable, the kind of place they frequented, but something about the air tonight felt heavier, more charged. Chaewon’s eyes flitted toward the door as it swung open.

In walked Y/N.

He moved with a quiet, deliberate confidence that immediately drew attention. His tall, broad frame seemed to absorb the space around him as he made his way across the room, his dark eyes scanning before locking onto Chaewon’s. She felt the shift immediately—a faint flutter in her chest that she was quick to squash. Her fingers tightened around her glass, the condensation wetting her palm.

There was something about him that irritated her. The way he walked with such ease, as if the room bent to his will, set her on edge. Who did he think he was?

“Unnie, this is Y/N—Y/N, meet Chaewon,” Yunjin said with a grin, the playful glint in her eyes betraying her enjoyment of the situation. She greeted Y/N with a hug, whispering something quickly to him  "You know what to do." before turning back to Chaewon.

Y/N extended a hand toward Chaewon, but she didn’t move. Her smirk widened as she surveyed him, her posture cool, detached, as if she were appraising him like a figure in a gallery she was already bored of.

“Chaewon,” Y/N greeted, his voice deep and steady. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Chaewon’s smirk remained, but there was a sharpness in her gaze as she tilted her head. “Oh really? All good things, I hope,” she drawled, the sarcasm dripping from her words, “Or are you here to try and do what other couldn't”

Y/N lowered his hand without a hint of hesitation, his smile never faltering. “Yunjin did say you have a knack for getting what you want,” he responded smoothly, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. “She said you can be a bit… bratty when things don’t go your way.”

Chaewon’s expression shifted, her smirk vanishing, replaced with a cold, sharp glare. “Excuse me? Bratty?” The word lingered on her tongue like a bad taste. "That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Y/N shrugged, his gaze calm and unyielding. “Well, she did say you’re good at using that charm of yours to manipulate situations in your favor. I’d call that bratty.”

Chaewon leaned back, crossing her arms in defiance. “Manipulate? I prefer to think of it as persuasion, and I don't even have to try, It's not my fault they bend over backwards for me. ” Her voice was haughty, each syllable dripping with superiority. She tilted her chin up, daring him to challenge her.

Y/N didn’t rise to the bait. His response was calm, measured. “Whatever you want to call it. It’s a fine line between persuasion and manipulation, though, isn’t it?”

Chaewon’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, her eyes narrowing as she felt her control slipping, just a little. “You think you know me? You think you can come in here and figure me out with a few words?”

He smiled, slow and deliberate. “I don’t know everything about you,” he admitted, “but I know enough to see through the act.”

Her smirk faltered.

Y/N leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his voice soft but laced with confidence. “You hide behind that attitude because it makes you feel powerful. It’s how you keep people at your fingertips. But I’m not playing your game.”

The air between them thickened, the space closing as Chaewon leaned in, her glare icy. “You think you’re different? Special?” Her voice lowered, venom in every word. “You’re just like the others. And you’ll crumble, just like they did.”

Y/N’s gaze didn’t waver, his smile deepening slightly. “I’m not like the others. I won’t let you push me around.” He paused, letting the weight of his words hang between them. “You’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

Chaewon’s breath hitched. The words cut deeper than she wanted to admit, and for the first time in a long while, she felt off-balance. Vulnerable.

But pride was a stubborn thing.

She straightened, forcing her usual smirk back into place. “ I heard that speech way too much. Do you really think you can handle me?” she asked, her voice dripping with arrogance, even though a flicker of doubt crept into her mind.

Y/N’s gaze softened, though his confidence never wavered. “I don’t need to handle you, Chaewon. I just know that you’re not as untouchable as you want everyone to believe.”

Chaewon leaned in closer, her voice low and dangerous. “ I'd like to see you try and prove it. I need a good laugh”

Y/N’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a quiet, unshakable confidence. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I will.”

Just then, Yunjin came back to grab her bag that she left next to her leader. Sensing the charged energy between them she knew it was time. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said casually, grabbing her bag. “Don’t kill each other while I’m gone,” she added with a wink before slipping toward the restroom.

Moments later, Chaewon’s phone chimed softly. She glanced down, seeing a message from Yunjin, who had left her seat.

Yunjin: His safe word is cantaloupe, I thought you should know. I told him not to mention it, but better safe than sorry. Have fun! xoxo

Chaewon stared at the text, her brow furrowing. "Safe word?" she muttered under her breath.

Before she could make sense of it, Y/N leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Yunjin has a blabber mouth, doesn’t she?" His voice was low, a quiet murmur laced with amusement. "She told me what you are. And what you need."

Chaewon’s cheeks flushed at his words, though she fought to maintain her composure. She pushed him back slightly with a scoff, though her voice wavered with a trace of uncertainty. " She might know a lot but she doesn't know everything about me"

Y/N’s smirk deepened, his dark eyes gleaming with a quiet intensity. "You’re a fake," he said matter-of-factly. "You go around pretending to be something you’re not, just hoping one person can challenge you. but deep down, I know the type of person you are. I've seen them multiple times. Yunjin knows it, too. You want to be put in your place. You need to be taught a lesson."

The words stung, but Chaewon couldn’t deny the way they ignited something deep inside her—fear, anticipation, and a thrill she couldn’t quite place. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to respond, her voice filled with false bravado. "And who do you think you are to teach me anything?"

Y/N’s expression didn’t waver. He leaned back slightly, his calmness almost maddening. "Someone who won’t let you get away with it." His voice was a low rumble, a quiet challenge that seemed to vibrate in the air between them.

It was a challenge she couldn’t resist, though hesitation lingered beneath her bravado. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to back down, even as curiosity gnawed at her. "I bet you’re all talk and no bite," she said, crossing her arms defiantly. 

Chaewon stood up with a huff, her expression a mix of determination and uncertainty, the storm outside mirroring the turmoil inside her. “Well, get on with it. Let’s go to the place where I will inevitably prove you wrong."

---

Once they arrived at his apartment, Chaewon felt a surge of confidence, believing she had the upper hand. The interior was cozy and inviting almost like there was a family inside, with dim lighting casting long shadows across the walls. The scent of something warm and delicious wafted through the air, enveloping her senses and putting her at ease. Chaewon looked around, feeling a sense of control return as she surveyed the space. “So, this is your home?”  she said, a playful smirk on her lips. “Nice ambiance, a little soft for someone with tough words don’t you think? I’m not impressed .”

Y/N turned to face her, his expression unreadable as he watched her closely. Chaewons pride was strong, really strong but seeing the look of the man in front of her For the first time in a long time, Chaewon felt vulnerable—truly vulnerable.

He looked at her with a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Strip," he said, his voice a command that sent a shiver down her spine. His command echoed through the quiet space. Chaewon's eyes widened, but she didn't move. "I said strip," he repeated, his tone unyielding.

Her hand started to move but it stopped, “What? You don't get to tell me that, if anything you should be the one stripping first” The Idols heart was pounding and she didn't know why but she was slowly crumbling.

“I'm not going to ask again” that's all Y/N responded with but his words held such power. They stared at each other for a while. Chaewon’s eyes were the first to break under the the pressure of Y/N’s stare

With a huff, she began to remove her clothes, each article dropping to the floor like a declaration of war. She felt his gaze on her, hot and assessing, as she revealed her body to him. Her cheeks burned with a mix of anger and arousal. Who did he think he was, ordering her around like this? And who was she? to blindly follow orders.

But as she stood before him in nothing but her matching bra and panties, her group's title on the hem of both, she felt a strange sense of vulnerability. Her usual armor of snark and sass had been stripped away, leaving her exposed and...wet?. She could feel the dampness growing between her thighs, and she hated it.

"On your knees," he said, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from arguing. She dropped to the floor, her knees bending on its own, her eyes flashing up at him with defiance. "Now,” he started, staring into her eyes  “tell me, who's in charge here?"

Chaewon opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. She knew the answer, but she didn't want to admit it. The power she had clung to so fiercely was slipping through her fingers like sand. She could feel it, the shift in dynamics, the tipping of the scales.

Y/N stepped closer, his hand reaching down to cup her face, slightly squishing her cheeks together. "Answer me" he said, there was no room for argument in his tone.“I am?” Chaewon forced out. Her tone answered the question for her. He squeezed her cheeks tighter as he stared down onto her eyes. She couldn't stand him staring at her like that, and involuntarily her voice responded “You are” . It was quite as she was still clinging on the small thread of pride she had left, He let off the pressure on her cheeks. Before caressing it with his thumb “ Correct and tonight, you're going to learn what happens when you misbehave."

The air grew thick with anticipation, the soft lights casting a warm, flickering glow across their bodies. She got picked up with ease and placed on a brown leather couch. She was sitting on it as he stood above her. Chaewon felt the heat of his hand as it trailed down her neck, over her collarbone, and down to the swell of her breasts. She gasped, her body betraying her.

He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down her spine. "So eager," he murmured, he grabbed her short hair and forced her to look down, her black underwear had a very visible wet mark. Chaewon stared at it in shock. Why is her body liking this? He then had his thumb circling her hardened nipple through the fabric of her bra. "But I do have a rule for girls like you, no cumming until I say so."

Her eyes widened, and she felt a jolt of panic. This wasn't how the night was supposed to go, he was supposed to be the one begging, like every other guy she had been with. Not her, especially not on the couch just in the middle of a living room. But as his hands continued to explore her body, setting every inch of her on fire, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she had met her match.

Y/N's touch grew bolder, his fingers tracing the middle of her panty, teasing and taunting her. She squirmed, desperate for more, for the relief she knew he could give her. But he remained in control, his eyes never leaving hers as he toyed with her.

"More" she whispered, hating herself for the need in her voice.

A small smile appeared on Y/N’s face “what was that?” Chaewon did not want to repeat herself, but as he kept tracing his fingers just inches to where she wants it, her words came out without a thought

“More!” this time it was louder

He leaned down, his lips a mere breath away from hers. "Not yet," he said, his voice a soft growl. "I want to hear you beg just a little while longer. It will be good practice for what you will endure"

The humiliation burned, but the desire was stronger. Chaewon had never begged for anything in her life, but as his hand slid down to her soaking wet panties, she found herself doing just that. "Please!," she cried, her pride crumbling like sand.

Y/N's eyes gleamed with victory, and he finally gave her what she needed. His fingers slipped inside her easily, stroking her with a skill that had her back arching and her eyes rolling back in her head. It was never easy for her. The amount of fake orgasms she had to do was a number she wasn't proud of. But almost instantly she felt the beginnings of an orgasm build, her body tightening around him like a vice.

It felt amazing but just as she reached the peak, he pulled away, leaving her trembling and desperate. "Not yet," he said, his voice a dark promise. "You still haven't earned it."

The night had turned into a battle of wills, Chaewon's pride clashing with her desperation. She begged, she pleaded, she cursed, but he remained unflappable. He could hear it in her voice that her heart wasn't in it yet.. Each time she was brought to the edge, he would pull back, leaving her gasping for air and begging for release.

It was a dance of power, one she had never experienced before. And as much as she hated to admit it, she found herself enjoying the thrill of the chase.

Finally, in what felt like hours for Chaewon, the last piece of pride hanging on by a thread had snapped, the unbreakable had been broken and… 

She broke.

"Y/N please, I'll do anything!" she panted, her voice raw with need. "Please, let me cum. I can't take it anymore, you win, PLEASE!"

Y/N's smile was wicked as he leaned down, his breath hot against her skin. "Anything?"

Her nod was frantic. "Anything. Please Y/N! "

With a chuckle, he leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Then, my dear princess, prepare to be tamed."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized that she had no idea what she had just agreed to. But in that moment, with the storm outside mirroring the tumult within her, she didn't care.

He picked her up, carrying her to the bedroom with an ease that belied his strength. The rain pattered against the windows like a drumbeat, setting the rhythm for what was to come. He laid her down on his large bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly stripped away her remaining clothes.

The thunder rumbled in the distance, a prelude to the storm he was about to unleash on her. Chaewon felt her body respond, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was his, utterly and completely.

And she had never felt more alive.

Y/N's touch grew more insistent, his fingers delving into her wetness, stroking her until she was mindless with need. His lips followed the path his eyes had taken earlier, kissing and nipping at her skin. Each touch was calculated to drive her to the brink of insanity. Chaewon could feel the tension in the air thicken, coiling around them like a living thing.

Her breath came in desperate pants, her body arching towards him. "Please," she begged again, the word falling from her lips like a prayer.

He smirked, his eyes dark with lust. "Since you asked so nicely, I’ll shorten the time. Just hold on a little longer okay?" he murmured, his hand moving to her throbbing clit. He rubbed slow circles, the pressure just right, and she could feel the beginnings of a climax building. It was as if he could read her body like a book, knowing exactly where to touch to make her squirm.

But just as she was about to fall over the edge, he stopped again. Chaewon let out a wail of frustration, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. "You're going to cum when I say you can," he reminded her, his voice a low growl.

The power exchange was intoxicating, and she found herself eager to please him, to do whatever it took to earn her release. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the words, but they spilled out anyway. "I'll be good. I promise. I’ll even say sorry to Yunjin if that’s what she wants. I’m begging you please let me cum"

He chuckled, the sound sending a fresh wave of arousal through her. "We'll see about that."

He began to speed up his touch on her again, she was dripping more than ever, his touch feather-light. Each stroke brought her closer to the precipice, until she was begging for more. "Please, Y/N," she whimpered, her voice barely audible over the rain.

Suddenly, she felt his fingers plunge deep inside her, and she lost control. Her body bucked against his hand and like a switch something clicked, without her choice she had the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced ripped through her, her inner walls clenching around his fingers her voice screaming as if she was in a climax of a song, but this climax was different than anything she had before. For the first time in her life, she squirted, the wetness soaking not only her legs but the bed beneath her and her master.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed with a hint of anger and amusement. "You weren't supposed to do that," he said, his voice tight.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the pleasure was too intense for her to care. "I couldn't help it," she gasped.

He then let her legs fall as he stepped away, slowly undressing his clothes while Chaewon can barely watch him, her vision foggy and her legs still shaking, but what she could make out was him placing his keys, wallet and his phone off to the side as if there isn't and trembling idol just behind him. Any thought was immediately pushed out of her mind.

He walked over, his cock, not the biggest but larger than any she had ever seen in real life, standing tall and proud. She didn't want to think about it but her mind goes to Yunjin, what the heck, she's been taking this monster?  " It seems you're going to need to be taught a lesson after all," he murmured.

Y/N took his position and sat behind the idol and let her lean on him, she felt his member rub against her back there’s no way Yunjin took that for fun. Now facing the wall Chaewon justn noticed the abnormally large mirror facing perfectly towards her. She felt a slap on her thighs indicating for her to spread them. Once open her legs were locked as Y/N used his own legs to secure the position. 

He started to rub her breast gently pinching and pulling each nub. “Why did you cum without permission?” He whispered directly to her ear. The idol had done plenty of interviews but this was a question she couldn’t answer. 

A loud smack was heard across the room as Chaewon failed to respond . A smack directly to her sensitive area. “AAGGH” she squealed. Why was the smack making her more wet? was the only thought in her mind before it was interrupted “That’s not the answer I want”

“I-I don’t know why it just happe-“ another smack across her pussy, the sound that came from it was different, her pussy was soaked, and now Y/N's left hand now snaked around and found itself onto Chaewon neck giving a light squeeze. 

In the reflection Chaewon saw his other hand lift up about to slap her lower region again but she forced out the only answer she could think of. 

“I came because I’m a bad girl” she saw his hand stop before she continued “I’m sorry for cumming, I’ll do better”

“Good, but you still need to get punished” he released her legs before giving one more slap to her pussy he knew she was ready again. 

“On your hands and knees, show that ass to me” Not like before when Chaewon would hesitate, she almost immediately used her remaining strength to get on her knees and her hand resting on the sheets. She looked up and could see herself in the mirror, a sight she had never seen.

“Y/N I’m still sensitive, please be gentl-

Without warning, he entered her aching pussy, filling her to the brim and then some. Chaewon screamed as her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself stretch to accommodate him. He began to thrust, hard and deep, making sure to pull out just enough for Chaewon to think it was done before slamming back in, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing through the room.

He didn't relent, pushing her past any limit she thought she had. Each stroke brought a fresh wave of pain and pleasure, until she was a writhing mess beneath him, her nails digging into the bed. She could feel her orgasm building again, despite the fact that she had just cum.

"Y/N, If I cum again it will hurt" she begged, her voice hoarse. "I can't take it."

But he was relentless, he began to speed up his hips pistoning into her without mercy. "That the point baby. you came without permission," he grunted. "Now you're going to be punished."

Her body betrayed her, responding to his rough handling with a second orgasm that was even more intense than the first. She screamed his name, her muscles clenching around him as she squirted again, less than before as she was empty. but the sensation is still overwhelming.

He groaned, his own release imminent. But he held back, he flipped her so she's now facing him, his eyes boring into hers. "You're going to cum again and again until I'm done with you," he said, his voice a command.

The thought was too much, her body already so sensitive. But she could feel it, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within her. Placing her legs on both sides of his torso he positioned himself so he was above her, piling down with force and giving her no room to move as he fucked her through the aftershocks, his strokes unyielding and unforgiving.

"Please," she whimpered, the same word she would use earlier but now for a different reason. tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "I can't."

But she did. Over and over, this position made it easier for him to hit that spot that everyone craved to be abused. until she was a trembling mess, begging for him to stop. Her voice was raw, her body bruised and sore. But he didn't listen, not until she was so overstimulated that she was begging for mercy.

As Y/N was using his body weight to press down even deeper into the idol she felt another one coming but this time she felt like she was at her breaking point. As the orgasm drew closer she tried her best to avoid it.

“No no no please noo-AGGHHH ” she screamed as she felt it, the pain of another orgasm, her pussy squeezed so tight it almost made Y/N pull out but he kept hammering

Finally, Y/N leaned down, his face flushed with exertion and pleasure. "Where do you want me to cum?" he asked, his voice thick with arousal.

For a brief, prideful moment, Chaewon considered telling him to pull out, to prove that she wasn't his. But the feeling of him inside her, the way he filled her completely, was too much. Her body was singing with the need to be claimed. "Inside," she gasped, the words foreign to her mouth. "Please, I need it." She instinctively wrapped her legs around Y/N leaving no room to pull out.

He groaned, his eyes darkened with lust. "As you wish, princess" he murmured,before he pressed a searing kiss to Chaewon, his strokes growing erratic. And with a final, powerful thrust, he came deep inside her, his thrust getting slower with each pump.

At the same time not even a minute after her last one, Chaewon's orgasm crashed over her, she had never ever had anyone cum inside her, even with a condom, the sensation set her into spasms of pleasure and pain so intense she saw stars. The idols' abs cramped for a couple seconds and her body quivered uncontrollably around him , her nails digging into his back as she screamed his name. Her voice was hoarse. It was as if her entire being was made of pleasure, and she was shattering into a million pieces.

As the tremors subsided, she collapsed against the bed, her chest heaving. The room was quiet except for their harsh breathing and the steady patter of the rain outside.

Y/N pulled out of her, and she felt the warmth of his cum spill out, mixing with her own juices. The intimacy of the moment was almost too much to handle. He took his finger and scooped up the leaking cum before placing it in front of the pillow princess. She took his finger in her mouth tasting the cocktail that they made, her pussy pulsating at the taste.

As Chaewon lay there, sweaty, trembling, and panting, she barely registered that the sound of the rain had stopped. The rhythmic pitter-patter against the window, which had once mirrored the erratic beating of her heart, was now replaced by a heavy silence that enveloped the room. The air was thick with the remnants of their passion, hanging like a cloud of heat and electricity, while the dim light flickered, casting playful shadows on the walls that seemed to dance in time with their heavy, labored breaths.

Le sserafims leader felt utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both terrifying and strangely comforting. The cool sheets beneath her stuck to her skin, clinging like a second layer, and every inch of her body hummed with a lingering sensitivity, as if it had been electrified from within. She could still feel the phantom touch of Y/N’s hands ghosting over her skin, their warmth and weight a reminder of how completely he had taken control. Her legs felt weak, barely able to hold any tension, while her arms lay limp at her sides, as though every ounce of strength had been drained from her.

Her mind raced, trying to piece together what had just happened. The memory was a blur of sensation—hands gripping, bodies moving in perfect sync, his voice commanding, hers yielding in ways she never imagined possible. She had never given up control so willingly, never allowed herself to be led so fully by someone else. It was foreign, intoxicating, and the overwhelming pleasure that had coursed through her body like a tidal wave had left her utterly spent. But at the same time she had never had an orgasm let alone multiple so full, so powerful, so electric, in her life. The realization sent a fresh wave of shock through her. It was terrifying, being so completely vulnerable, so stripped of her usual defenses. Yet, it was exhilarating in a way she had never known before. As much as she hated to admit defeat, she couldn’t deny that Y/N had proven himself to be more than she could handle.

Y/N leaned over, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, the touch soft, almost reverent, and in stark contrast to the intensity he had shown earlier. "You did well," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a balm to her frayed nerves. "How did you feel? You know... being so obedient?" 

The words sent a shiver down her spine, her body reacting before her mind could fully process the question. Obedient. It was a concept that felt alien to her—Chaewon, who had always been fiercely independent, always in control, now reduced to something so pliant, so willing. It was as foreign as the deep, bone-deep satisfaction that still thrummed through her body. And yet, she found herself nodding, unable to form words, unable to refuse him anything at this moment. The submission was startling and in that silence she smiled softly and nodded her head.

Y/n smiled at Chaewons response, petting her hair affectionately  before he slid out of bed, his body glistening with sweat under the soft light, muscles still tense from exertion. Chaewon’s gaze followed him as he moved, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of his back, the way his shoulders flexed with each step. The absence of his warmth left her feeling exposed to the cold air in the room, and instantly, she missed his presence. The space between them felt like a chasm, though it was only mere feet, and her body still thrummed from the overstimulation he had caused. She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts and emotions she didn’t know how to process—desire, confusion, fear, and a strange sense of relief all battled for dominance in her head.

The sound of the bathroom door opening pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. Her body tensed in anticipation, a flicker of excitement sparking in her chest as she expected him to rejoin her, maybe push her over the edge again. But instead, the sound of running water filled the room, calming and steady. A few moments later, Y/N returned, carrying a warm washcloth. The contrast in his demeanor from moments ago—when he had dominated her completely—was stark. Now, his touch was tender, almost reverential, as he pressed the cloth against her skin, gently wiping away the sweat and the remnants of their passion. 

Chaewon squirmed slightly when he reached her most sensitive areas, the sensation still sharp, and he chuckled lightly at her reaction. It was a sound that was both comforting and teasing, a reminder of the control he still held. Yet, there was a tenderness in the way he cared for her now that spread warmth through her chest, a feeling she didn’t quite know how to name. Was it gratitude? Trust? Or something deeper, more dangerous, that she wasn’t ready to confront?

As he finished cleaning her, he leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did," he whispered, his voice low but firm, the words laced with a promise that sent a ripple of something dark and thrilling through her. "But don’t forget, you’re mine now." The possessiveness in his tone made her heart race anew, a reminder of the shift in power, of the new reality she had stepped into willingly. 

And with that, Chaewon knew she had entered a world she had never known before—a world where she might just find that being tamed was exactly what she needed. Her body, her mind, her very will had bent to his, and instead of fear, there was an undeniable sense of liberation in that. 

---

Across town, in the dimly lit dormitory of the Le sserafim girls, Yunjin sat in her bedroom, reclining comfortably on her bed. Her breath was steady, though her pulse still raced from the high of her own release. Her lips curled into a satisfied grin as she slowly pulled her hand away from the waistband of her underwear, her fingers glistening from the pleasure she’d just given herself. The feeling of euphoria mixed with a deep sense of triumph settled in her chest. She had been listening… to every word, every breath, every plea, and every sound that had unfolded between Y/N and Chaewon, all of it pouring through the open line on Y/N’s phone.

Perfect, she thought, as she brought her fingers to her lips, licking them clean, savoring the taste of her own satisfaction. The echo of Chaewon’s voice, her begging, her screams, and her cries replayed over and over in her head like a song she couldn’t get out of her mind. Each sound had fueled her own pleasure, bringing her to the edge and pushing her over it with such sweet satisfaction.

Yunjin’s body trembled with the aftershocks of her release as she stared at the phone screen, the call still running, the seconds ticking away in silence now that everything had played out. She savored the moment, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction, and let the sense of power wash over her. Everything had gone exactly as she had expected. Chaewon was exactly where she needed to be—under control, vulnerable, and pliant.

With a final glance at the screen, Yunjin smirked, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. She tapped the screen to end the call, and as the screen went dark, she let her head fall back against the pillow, letting her sleep take over with a smile on her face.

[withleeknow]

moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

“Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead. 

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.” 

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here.  “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 13.07.2024]

[diamonddaze01]

fleeing feelings

pairing: hvc x fem!reader | best friend!seungkwan genre: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, university au wc: 9.6k warnings: alcohol consumption (pls drink responsibly!!) a/n: for @k-vanity 's “falling for you” event! My prompts were London Fog (“You said what to who now?! Why?!”) and Pumpkin Spice Latte (“Excuse me, but is this seat taken?”) // enormous thank you to @cheolism for the most gorgeous banner // and thank you to my lovely betas @lovetaroandtaemin and @tusswrites

summary: so you might have told vernon you loved him while drunk – now all you have to do is avoid him. forever. 

The headache is real.

It feels like someone decided your skull was the perfect canvas for a jackhammer. Each throb sends waves of pain coursing through your brain, and even the soft hum of the world outside your window seems like an assault on your fragile state. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure your last memory was of collapsing into your bed after a night of regrettable decisions, you’d swear you were dying.

You blink up at the ceiling, groaning as sunlight streams through the blinds, slicing through the dim room like a guilty conscience. Your eyes ache at the brightness, and you throw a hand over your face in an attempt to shield yourself from the assault. The cold sheets are a welcome contrast to the fire that’s raging inside your head.

You wish for sleep, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you're greeted by an annoyingly chipper voice, too loud for a Sunday morning at 11 a.m.

"Morning!" Seungkwan chirps, a little too cheerfully for someone who clearly has no understanding of the term hangover. He's holding a glass of water, like it’s the most exciting thing in the world, and you can't help but squint at him through half-closed eyes. He’s got that same gleeful smile on his face, looking way too awake for someone who shares an apartment with someone who just wants to die right now.

"Seungkwan, please... It’s too early for your brand of happiness," you croak, your voice hoarse and barely audible. Your throat feels like you swallowed sandpaper, and you barely have the strength to sit up.

"Well, it’s already late enough for me to help you feel better," he says with a grin that’s too wide to be genuine, handing you the glass of water and an aspirin like it’s some kind of miracle cure. "You don’t want to end up like last time, do you?"

You roll your eyes, trying to sit up but the world tilts dangerously. You clutch the glass like it might actually save you, your fingers trembling from the effort. "Last time?" you mutter, still a little too disoriented to make sense of anything. “I barely remember last night.”

Seungkwan’s grin stretches even wider. "Oh, last night was a memorable one," he says, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he’s got the best secret in the world.

You squint at him, struggling to keep your eyes open. "What do you mean by that?"

The moment it leaves your mouth, the memories come rushing back, one after another, like a broken dam finally giving way. You and Vernon had gone outside for some air, the cool night breeze refreshing against your skin. You remember the conversation turning quiet, the alcohol still buzzing in your veins, the way the breeze ruffled his hair, and then...

Oh god. Oh no.

You freeze, the blood draining from your face as your stomach drops. Your heart stutters in your chest as you try to piece it together. You had told Vernon you loved him. In your drunken haze, it had slipped out, but now? Now it feels like the kind of thing you would never, ever do if you weren’t so far gone on cheap whiskey and bad decisions.

You look at Seungkwan, your face crumpling in embarrassment. "I... I told Vernon... I told him I love him."

Seungkwan blinks at you, the shock clear on his face. For a second, it seems like he doesn’t even know how to respond. Then, his eyes widen comically, and a burst of laughter bursts from him. "You said what to who?!" He takes a step back, as if the sheer magnitude of your confession has physically knocked him off balance. "You confessed? To Vernon?" He cackles, his laugh loud and echoing in the quiet of your room.

You slump back against your pillow, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You wish the floor would just swallow you up. "I didn’t mean to! I was drunk—okay?" you mutter, your words barely making it out.

Seungkwan is practically vibrating with laughter. "Oh my god, you actually did it," he says between fits of giggles. "That’s so—wait, wait. What did Vernon say back?"

And that’s when the panic sets in. You stare blankly at Seungkwan, your brain spinning. You want to remember, you need to remember what he said back, but it’s a complete blank. The memory of his face, his expression, even his words—they’re gone. As if it never happened. You feel a new wave of nausea rising in your stomach.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to speak. "I don’t remember," you confess, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Seungkwan stops laughing, blinking at you like he’s just realized you might be serious. "What do you mean you don’t remember?" he asks, sounding more confused than before.

You press the heel of your hand to your forehead, trying to steady your dizzying thoughts. "I... I can’t remember what he said back. And that’s worse than not hearing anything at all."

Seungkwan’s face falters for a second, then the teasing glint returns in his eyes. "Well... you have to face him, right? He’s literally just down the hall," he points out, his voice softening as he sits on the edge of your bed. "And you’re gonna have to talk to him eventually. You can’t avoid him forever."

You frown, looking at him as if he's spoken a foreign language. "And why the hell not?"

Seungkwan leans in, his finger counting off the reasons like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life. "One: he’s our best friend. Two: he lives down the hall, not in another universe. And three..." He pauses, dramatically. "He’s your BEST FRIEND."

You groan, rolling over and burying your face into your pillow, desperate to block out the light, the noise, and Seungkwan’s well-meaning logic. "You already said that," you mumble into the fabric, wishing the pillow could swallow you whole.

"I’m emphasizing," Seungkwan replies, sitting back in a huff. "Emphasizing that he knows you like the back of his hand, stupid. He’s not gonna let you avoid him."

You moan into the pillow. "I can’t even think about facing him right now, Seungkwan. Not today."

"Tough. You’re facing him eventually, whether you like it or not," Seungkwan says, but his voice softens, his hand brushing your back comfortingly. "But hey, I’m your best friend. I’m here to support you through whatever happens."

You just grunt in response, curling back into the pillow like it might somehow shield you from reality. "Great. As long as you’re here to watch me suffer."

Seungkwan grins, his voice full of mischief. "That’s the plan."

You can feel the weight of your poor life choices pressing down on you as you sit in the overpriced, over-crowded coffee shop, nursing the lukewarm disaster that is your latte. It's one of those days where everything tastes like regret—coffee included. Your laptop screen blurs as you try to focus on your prelab. You're supposed to be working, supposed to be productive, but all you can do is mentally list everything that went wrong in your life in the past 48 hours.

The lab professor? Completely useless. Your grade? Already plummeting. And as for the whole Vernon situation? Yeah, let's not talk about that.

You can feel the throbbing pain in your temples as your mind drifts back to that night—the confession that slipped out of your mouth when you were way too drunk. The look on Vernon’s face... God, you're so embarrassed. If there was a hole to crawl into, you’d dive right in and never resurface.

Beside you, Seungkwan is breezing through his own prelab, the same one you’re supposed to be working on, but it seems like he’s in a completely different world. As usual. He taps away at his laptop, his fingers moving in a rhythm like he’s been here for hours—when in reality, he probably hasn’t even started yet. You scowl at your laptop as the blinking cursor mocks you for not getting anything done.

You take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together. "God, I hate this class. And I hate that professor," you mutter, rubbing your temples. "Why did I even sign up for this? Why is life like this?"

Seungkwan doesn’t look up from his screen, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Because you're a glutton for punishment. You're just mad because the only thing you're getting out of this lab is the overpriced coffee."

You huff, sloshing your latte around in its cup in a way that makes you wish you could just drown in it. "Yeah, well, I’m about to drown in this lab report if I don’t figure it out soon."

"Should’ve taken easier classes," Seungkwan snorts, and you shoot him a glare. He knows you better than anyone, and he knows you're not the type to shy away from a challenge. You don’t even have the energy to argue, so you let him win this one.

The door chimes as someone enters, and your focus breaks. You glance up, hoping it's just some random student walking in to grab their iced coffee, but no.

Of course not.

You hear that low, familiar voice, the one that makes your heart do a little flip. "Is this seat taken?"

No. No. Fuck.

There, standing by the table, looking like he belongs in some glossy magazine for college students who know how to look effortlessly cool, is Vernon. The guy you still haven’t figured out how to face after that monumental fuck-up of a confession two days ago. And now? Now he’s standing there, staring at you and Seungkwan with a hesitant smile, probably wondering if it’s safe to sit down or if you’re about to sprint out of here like a coward.

Seungkwan, the absolute bastard, beams at Vernon. "Oh no, it’s totally free," he says, too eager. He's so happy to make this as awkward as possible. You could almost feel the smugness radiating off him. "Come sit, Vernon. We could use the company!"

Your heart sinks into your stomach as Vernon takes the seat across from you, not missing the subtle shift in your posture. He looks at you with those eyes of his, eyes that are both too warm and too intense, and you feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You can’t look at him. You can’t.

You force a smile, but it feels like you’re pushing your lips together with a crowbar. "Uh, yeah. Just working on it," you mumble, barely even aware of what you just said. Your brain is too busy doing its best to not short-circuit. You take another sip of your latte, hoping the caffeine will somehow pull you together. It doesn’t.

Seungkwan, the little devil, doesn’t help at all. He’s practically radiating glee, enjoying your discomfort far too much. "Yeah, Y/N here is just dying to finish her part of the report," he says, clearly trying to get a rise out of you. "But it's okay, she’s doing just fine! Aren’t you?" He shoots you a wink, but Vernon doesn’t catch it—thank God.

Your eyes flick to your screen, looking for any excuse to not talk to Vernon right now. You just need to not look at him. "Actually, I forgot something," you blurt out, standing up abruptly, not even thinking it through. "I just... I need to grab something. I’ll be back in a second."

You don’t wait for anyone to respond. You don’t even look at Vernon as you grab your bag and make a hasty retreat to the counter. Your heart is pounding in your ears, and your breath feels shallow. This was a terrible idea. Why did you invite him to work on the prelab in the first place? Was it because you wanted an excuse to spend time with him? To not feel so much?

You don’t know.

You leave the cafe altogether, your mind racing, and find yourself walking aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to cool off. The cold air outside stings your cheeks, but it’s a welcome distraction from the heat of embarrassment still flushing through your body.

You pull out your phone, needing something to take your mind off everything. It pings almost immediately with a message from Seungkwan:

Boo 🍊: so... how long are u gonna avoid him

You laugh weakly, but it’s more from disbelief than anything else. You text back quickly:

Y/N: i’m not avoiding him

Y/N: i’m just

Y/N: strategically distancing myself until i can look him in the eye without dying of shame

Boo 🍊: ur not gonna go back to the cafe because its too much?

Your phone dings again in quick succession. 

Boo 🍊: u realize ur only making it worse right

You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip to suppress a groan. Oh god, Seungkwan, shut up.

Y/N: i’m already halfway across campus

Y/N: oh well, can’t exactly go back now

Boo 🍊: he looks like you kicked him in the nuts and then ran away btw

Boo 🍊: i’m keeping him company 

Boo 🍊: ur not getting away with this btw i’m never letting u live this down

You exhale loudly, already feeling the weight of your decision in the pit of your stomach. What did you think would happen? You’ve messed this up royally. Again.

Y/N: I hate you so much.

Boo 🍊: no u don’t !  you’ll see him again soon. probably tomorrow

Y/N: fuck you

Boo 🍊: love u too! don’t worry i’ll handle this 

Boo 🍊: good luck with that prelab see u at home <3 

You slump your shoulders in defeat, staring at the screen of your phone. There’s no getting out of this. You’ve somehow managed to make this even more awkward. Of course, Seungkwan would drag it out. You wouldn’t expect any less from him.

You drag yourself back into the apartment, the weight of your failed escape attempt still heavy on your shoulders. The door slams behind you, and you sigh deeply, almost as if trying to shake the embarrassment off your body. You kick your shoes off and leave them by the door, your bag slung over your shoulder like a dead weight. You’re so done with everything.

The apartment feels like it’s mocking you—seemingly quiet, except for the hum of Seungkwan’s obnoxiously loud voice floating from the living room. You hear the faint click of his phone screen as you shuffle toward the couch. You can practically feel him smirking at your impending doom even before you see him.

Sure enough, when you walk into the living room, he’s lounging on the couch, sprawled across it in his usual dramatic fashion. He’s scrolling through his phone, one leg thrown over the side, looking like he hasn’t had a care in the world since he woke up. 

You throw yourself onto the couch next to him, feeling the familiar softness of the cushions sink beneath you. The weight of the last few hours presses down on your chest. It’s so comfortable here, but you can’t fully relax. Not with him sitting right next to you, clearly enjoying the aftermath of your spectacular mess.

“Don’t even say it,” you groan, pushing yourself into the cushions like they might swallow you whole.

He doesn’t even glance up from his phone. Instead, he lets out a small, knowing laugh. “So... how’s the avoidance game going?”

You just close your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to disappear. “I’m never leaving my room again. Ever.”

Seungkwan bursts into laughter, the sound filling the small apartment and bouncing off the walls. It’s enough to make your skin crawl, but you can’t help but feel a bit of a tug at your own lips. He’s genuinely enjoying your misery, and you hate it. “I mean, it’s been two days, and you’ve already chickened out at the café. That’s a solid record.”

You groan dramatically, rolling your head back against the cushion. “I didn’t chicken out. I just... needed a moment to not make eye contact with him, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Seungkwan says, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s why you bolted out of there like a squirrel avoiding a hawk.”

You push his shoulder weakly, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Shut up, Boo. You have no idea how embarrassing it was.”

“Of course I do,” he says smugly, setting his phone down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “I was the one trying to hold a conversation with Vernon while you were having your little meltdown across campus.”

“Can we please not talk about it?” You bury your face in your hands, muffling your groan of embarrassment.

Seungkwan’s voice is dripping with amusement. “Well, you better figure it out soon. You invited him to our café session, and now you’re running away from your own mess. It’s hilarious.”

You sit up, rubbing your face in exasperation. “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again.”

Seungkwan shrugs, his grin still wickedly satisfied. “Well, it’s not like you have much of a choice. I mean, unless you’re planning to live in that room of yours forever?”

You lean back against the couch, the soft fabric cool against your skin. You feel the weight of your thoughts settle in again, and with it, the overwhelming desire to hide from the world. “I can’t,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s gonna know I’m avoiding him on purpose.”

“Yeah, he’s not that dumb,” Seungkwan says, flipping through his phone lazily. “But you know what? You could avoid him for a while. You just need to avoid... everything you’re supposed to do, forever.”

You turn your head slowly to look at him. “That’s your solution? Run away?”

“Pretty much,” Seungkwan says, completely unfazed. “But you have to be more creative. Maybe pretend you’re dead? Or like you have the plague?”

You snort, despite yourself, the idea so absurd that it almost lightens the mood. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just start wearing a sign around my neck: Please, don’t talk to me. I’m a walking disaster.”

Seungkwan grins, his eyes lighting up mischievously. “Honestly, I think it’s a good look for you.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hold back a laugh. “You’re the worst.”

Seungkwan stretches out, his grin wide and smug. “Look, I saved you today, but don’t expect me to keep doing this forever. At some point, you’re on your own.” He reaches for his phone, ready to return to his lazy scrolling.

You sit up, the absurdity of the situation hitting you in waves. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out... eventually.”

Seungkwan gives you a side-eye. “Sure you will. But for now, enjoy the free ride, disaster queen.”

It’s just your luck that, of all people, Vernon is your lab partner today. The second your professor calls your name, you feel your stomach twist into knots. You swear your internal groan echoes in the hum of the fluorescent lights above you. Why him?

Across the lab, Vernon’s already tugging on his gloves, eyeing the instructions on the counter like he’s got his shit together. You can’t help but stare at him for a second, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, the way he moves like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The thought of having to work with him makes you feel like you’ve been thrown into a pressure cooker, and you’re about to explode.

You try to focus, really, you do. But it’s impossible. Your brain keeps wandering back to him. His fucking hums. His stupid little smile. The way his dark eyes flicker up every now and then to make sure you’re still there. It’s like he knows exactly how much he’s fucking with your head, and the worst part? He’s probably not even trying.

A Bunsen burner hisses in the background, and the sound almost makes you flinch, like it's too loud in the otherwise quiet lab. You try to focus on the beaker in front of you. Try to just get through this. But it’s hard when all you can feel is the weight of his gaze on you.

“Got it, Y/N?” Vernon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He’s leaning against the counter now, watching you with a lazy grin, like he knows what he's doing to you.

Your face flushes involuntarily, and you shoot him a tight smile, hoping to play it cool. “Yeah, got it,” you mumble, though your mind is a jumbled mess. Your hand shakes slightly as you pick up the pipette, and you swear he notices, but he doesn’t say anything. That’s even worse. You hate how easy it is for him to get under your skin.

It’s bad enough that you’re stuck with him, but now you’ve got to get through an hour-long experiment without combusting. The tension is palpable, and it’s making you want to crawl out of your skin.

But then, just as you’re about to lose it, you spot Seungkwan strutting back from the fume hood. You swear you can feel the relief hit your chest like a tidal wave. Perfect.

Seungkwan doesn’t seem to notice you until you’re already walking toward him, your feet moving on their own accord, desperate to make the switch. When he looks up, his gaze flickers over you, and that smirk creeps onto his lips. The one you know too well. The one that says, I’m going to fuck with you now.

“What’s up, Y/N?” he asks, popping his gum. “Need help with the chemical equations? Or is it more of a personal emergency?”

You throw your hands up, exasperated. “I need to switch lab partners, Seungkwan. Like, now.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Really? What’s wrong? Does Vernon’s inability to mix chemicals properly scare you, or are you just that tired of looking at his face?”

You grimace, frustration bubbling in your chest. God, why’s he gotta make it worse? “No, it’s just… I can’t focus with him staring at me every five seconds.”

Seungkwan’s smirk widens, and you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Oh, so that’s what it is, huh? You’re not focused because Vernon keeps looking at you like you’re his personal chemistry experiment?”

Your heart rate spikes. Fuck off, Seungkwan. “Shut up, I’m being serious,” you mutter, but you can hear the hitch in your voice, and it makes you want to punch yourself in the face.

Seungkwan doesn’t let up, leaning in closer with that same cocky grin, looking far too pleased with himself. “Is that why you’ve been staring at him for the last five minutes, then?” he teases, and you swear you can hear the little giggle in his voice. “I didn’t realize we were doing that kind of experiment today.”

Your blood goes hot. “Stop it!” you hiss, but you can’t keep the embarrassed flush from spreading across your face. “I just need you to switch with me, Seungkwan. That’s it.”

Seungkwan chuckles lowly, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Oh, okay. So you want me to switch with you just because you can’t handle the heat, huh?” He taps his chin, like he’s thinking about it, but it’s obvious he’s already decided.

“Fine,” you say, voice low but firm. “But only if you actually want me to send that video of you drunkenly crying about chickens to the entire friend group. You remember that one, right? The one where you were saying, ‘Those chickens are my babies, I love them so much’?”

Seungkwan’s eyes widen, and for a second, you swear you see a flicker of panic. You almost smile, but you hold it in. Gotcha.

“No,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to backpedal. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” you reply smoothly, crossing your arms. You can feel the smug grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “So, how about it? You switch with me, or I make everyone’s day a little more interesting?”

Seungkwan looks around the room, clearly considering his options. He’s not stupid enough to let that video go public. “Okay, okay, fine. You win, Y/N. But you owe me for this one, big time.”

You give him a sweet smile. “Deal.”

Seungkwan walks over to Vernon, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Vernon, buddy, looks like you’re stuck with me as your partner today.”

You barely suppress a laugh as Vernon’s head jerks up in surprise. “Wait, what? Really?”

You take that as your cue and grab your stuff, moving toward Chan’s station. You’re feeling lighter already, knowing the rest of this class won’t be nearly as awkward. Chan’s a great guy—easygoing, level-headed, and most importantly, not Vernon. 

You set your bag down on the counter and look over at Chan, who’s already elbow-deep in his notes, completely unaware of the chaos you just caused. “Hey, Chan,” you say, forcing a cheerful tone despite everything. “Looks like we’re partners now.”

He looks up with a bright smile, oblivious to the fact that he’s been dragged into your mess. “Oh, hey, Y/N! Sounds good to me.” He’s so sweet and always so positive, but… well, the thing is, Chan could not for the life of him keep track of chemical reactions if his life depended on it. This could be the worst decision you’ve made today.

You sit down, a little defeated, as you adjust your gloves and open the instructions. You’re partnered with Chan now, but nothing feels quite right. As sweet as he is, chemistry might as well be a foreign language to him. You glance back over at Vernon’s lab station, which, of course, is conveniently located just a few feet away. You can hear the familiar sound of Vernon and Seungkwan’s voices drifting toward you, but you’re so not ready to face them just yet.

You feel your chest tighten as you try to ignore it, but then Vernon speaks again. “I don’t bite, Y/N,” he teases, his voice cutting through the air like a soft command. It’s casual, playful even, but it does nothing to stop the heat that floods your face.

You swallow hard, praying the blush on your cheeks isn’t visible. This is not the moment. Not the perfect moment to have him distract you. Your pulse picks up at the sound of his voice again, and you can almost feel his gaze on you. You don’t look back, but you know he’s probably waiting for a response.

“Y/N?” Chan says softly, his voice pulling you out of your mental spiral. “Are you okay?”

You quickly look away, feeling that familiar heat creeping up your neck. “I’m fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’m fine.”

Your stomach flips as an idea strikes you—fake sick. You’ve done it before, and it’s a perfect way to buy yourself some time away from Vernon, maybe even the entire day.

Just get through this, and then you can run away forever.

Your body starts to tremble slightly as you put a hand to your forehead, doing your best to sound miserable. “Ugh, I don’t feel so good...”

Chan immediately rushes to your side, concern flashing across his face, and you can hear Seungkwan's snort of disbelief. Vernon looks at you with a furrowed brow, clearly not buying it. But he’s too polite to say anything. “You sure? You look kinda green.”

That’s your cue. You make a dramatic move, leaning over the lab counter, your hands gripping it as if you're about to collapse. Your stomach gives another exaggerated roll as you close your eyes. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” you say in a voice that’s so over the top, it sounds like it came straight out of a soap opera.

You expect Vernon to panic, maybe grab your arm to steady you, but instead, he just stares at you, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Really?” he asks slowly, clearly unconvinced. "Or is it that you want to run away again?"

Oh my god. You freeze, horrified that Vernon might actually be onto you. You try to hide your terror behind your palm, rubbing your eyes like you’re just too tired to keep up the act. “No! No... I’m definitely sick,” you say with a cough for added effect.

But Vernon isn’t having it. He places his hands on his hips, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “You’re not even trying to hide it. Just admit you’re avoiding me. What’s the deal?”

You panic, fully aware that your ridiculous performance isn’t going to fool him for long. You grab your bag off the back of the chair with a look of pure desperation. “No, no! I just—uh, I need to go to the bathroom! I’ll be right back, promise!”

Before Chan can protest, you push past him, stumbling out of the lab with as much speed as your shaking legs can muster. You burst out into the hallway, nearly running into a group of students on their way to their next class. Too close. You force your breathing to steady as you walk briskly, acting like you haven’t just staged the most obvious escape ever.

You round the corner, ducking into the nearest restroom. You push open the door, locking it behind you, leaning against the cool tile wall as you try to gather yourself. What is wrong with you?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Seungkwan, of course.

Boo 🍊: i was joking when i said u should get the plague idiot

Boo 🍊: ur the worst actor i’ve ever seen

Y/N: i had to ok

Y/N: this is a nightmare.

Your phone buzzes again almost immediately. 

Boo 🍊: ur so obvious it’s kinda gross

Boo 🍊: chan’s gonna fail this lab for u. also. U NEED TO TALK TO VERNON AT SOME POINT

Y/N: not today!

It’s Friday night. One week since that confession. And honestly? All you want right now is a shot of shitty tequila, a cheap beer, and some damn good music to drown out the past seven days. You’re tired of thinking about it. You’re tired of pretending like last weekend never happened.

The second you and Seungkwan step through the door of Mingyu’s house, you're hit with a wave of noise. It’s too loud, the bass too heavy, but somehow, that’s exactly what you need. The house is packed, the kind of party that screams “let’s fuck up everything in the best way possible.” You spot Mingyu behind the kitchen counter, already wearing that signature smirk of his, mixing drinks for whoever’s brave enough to stand in line. But then—of course—your night has to take a turn.

Vernon.

He’s sprawled out on the couch, head bopping to some random SoundCloud rap, looking way too at ease in his flannel and backwards cap. Fucking perfect. You mentally groan. You’d hoped for at least a few hours of peace tonight, but apparently, that’s not in the cards.

Seungkwan nudges you, elbow digging into your side. “Well, well, well,” he says with that knowing grin. “Guess your worst nightmare is here.”

You shove him back, rolling your eyes. “Don’t make it worse.”

“Too late,” Seungkwan chirps. “Now, let’s get some tequila in your system.”

You head straight for the kitchen, not bothering with small talk. The music is too loud, the room too warm, and your head is already swimming with the thought of one thing: tequila. You pull the bottle off the shelf with the same speed as if it’s your lifeline, and without hesitation, you pour yourself a generous shot. No chaser. Just straight into your system.

Seungkwan eyes you carefully from the counter. “Careful,” he singsongs in your ear, his voice dripping with teasing. “That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

You shoot him a sideways glance, the corners of your lips twitching upward. “Shut up,” you mutter, then down the tequila like it’s water. The burn sears down your throat, and the warmth spreads through your chest almost immediately.

You reach for another shot when—just your fucking luck—Vernon walks into the kitchen. His eyes land on you instantly, like he knew exactly where to find you. You want to swallow him whole—no, just pretend he's not even here– but you know that’s not going to happen.

“Wow, look who’s getting to the good stuff early,” Vernon says, voice as smooth as ever. His gaze flicks down to your hand around the bottle, and then right back up to your face, and something in his eyes makes you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Seungkwan shoots you a sideways look, his smirk turning even more mischievous. With a dramatic sigh, he pushes himself off the counter, clearly done with this conversation already. “Alright, well, have fun with that,” he says in a sing-songy voice, clearly aware of how uncomfortable this is getting. Then, he makes his exit, blowing you a mocking kiss from the doorway before disappearing into the living room.

You roll your eyes at his back, shooting him a silent curse with your eyes, but the moment Vernon steps forward, all that annoyance evaporates into something else entirely. Your focus is back on him, and that damn smirk on his face.

“Didn’t know tequila was your thing,” Vernon says casually, leaning against the counter next to you. You move to pour another shot, but Vernon steps closer, cornering you against the counter with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. The proximity is almost suffocating, and you feel your pulse spike in your neck, your heart pounding. You try not to make eye contact, your gaze fixed firmly on the bottle in your hand, as if it could somehow shield you from him.

Vernon’s smirk widens, and he leans in slightly. “Y’know, you need to look at me to make conversation,” he says, voice low and teasing.

Before you can even process what’s happening, his hand slides under your jaw, his fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and for a second, you forget to breathe. His eyes are almost burning into you, and you can’t look away—not that you want to.

For a second, you forget about everything. Your entire focus narrows to the guy standing in front of you, the guy who’s been fucking with your head for over a week now. You try to focus, try to snap yourself out of it, but damn—he looks good. Too good. That stupid backwards cap, the flannel shirt that’s just loose enough, the way his jawline sharpens under the dim kitchen light. You swallow, trying to keep your cool, but fuck, he’s too close. Too damn close. You want to push him away, but the closeness has your body freezing, every nerve on edge.

It’s the same feeling you had last week. And it’s happening again.

Fuck. No. This is not how it’s supposed to go.

Your mind races, trying to think of something, anything, to get out of this. Then—like a miracle—Mingyu strolls by, not even realizing the chaos you’re trying to keep under control. You latch onto him like a lifeline.

“Mingyu! HI!” you shout, ducking under Vernon’s arm and making a beeline for him. You grip his arm with a little too much force, probably dragging him away from whatever conversation he was having with someone else. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, but you don’t even give him a chance to ask why you’re acting like a madman.

“Long time no see! Let’s catch up!” you practically drag him out of the kitchen before Vernon can say anything, and Mingyu shoots a glance over his shoulder at you. He looks confused, but soon the music envelops you, and he happily throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you onto the dance floor.

The music is a blur of bass and off-key notes, but the tequila in your system helps dull everything, smooths out the jagged edges of your thoughts. Mingyu is practically yelling in your ear, his voice way too loud for the volume of the song, but you can’t help but laugh at his unrelenting enthusiasm. He’s screaming the lyrics to some cheesy pop song—something from five years ago that you can’t even remember the name of—but he’s grinning, and you can’t help but mirror his energy. For a moment, the heat of the room and the chaos of the party become distant, fading into the background, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you forget about Vernon. You forget about everything.

Mingyu pulls you into a ridiculous spin, and you laugh, the sound lost in the music. His arm tightens around your shoulders as he twirls you back into his chest, but just as you feel yourself getting lost in the rhythm, your phone buzzes in your pocket. It’s Seungkwan.

You swipe the screen without thinking, still caught in the whirl of the dance floor.

Boo 🍊:  he’s staring at you

Your heart drops.

You freeze mid-spin, suddenly feeling too warm, too exposed, like you’re still back in that kitchen, caught between the tequila, the tension, and the pull of Vernon’s eyes. The phone screen flickers in your hand, but you don’t even need to read the message again to know what it means. You know Seungkwan’s been watching the two of you dance around each other, and you know who he is. Vernon’s watching you. He’s staring.

You glance over your shoulder instinctively, and there—across the room, leaning against the doorframe—is Vernon. That tantalizing smirk is still in place, like it’s carved into his face. His eyes are on you, not even trying to hide it, and that stupid look on his face says everything. The way he watches you makes your skin tingle, and the realization hits you harder than the tequila burn in your stomach.

“Yo, you good?” Mingyu’s voice cuts through the noise, pulling you back to the present. You swallow hard, still trying to shake the feeling of Vernon’s gaze on you. You force a smile and nod, but all you can think about is the way Vernon is watching you.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, grabbing his wrist, “I think I need a drink. I’ll be right back.”

Before he can protest, you make a beeline for the kitchen again, your feet moving quicker than you can process. You need space. You need air. The heat of the dance floor still clings to your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the suffocating feeling that’s starting to build in your chest. The tequila's starting to wear off, but your nerves are still shot, and you can’t get rid of the image of Vernon leaning against the doorframe, eyes fixed on you like he’s just waiting for you to make a move.

The kitchen’s quieter, the music a distant hum, and you’re almost grateful for the space, the absence of people. You grab the tequila bottle again, not caring if anyone’s watching. You pour yourself another shot, but before you can even bring it to your lips, you hear footsteps approaching. You don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“I think we should talk,” Vernon’s voice sounds closer than you expect. You try not to flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from stiffening. You move to step away, but then his hand is on the counter next to you, trapping you in place. You don’t want to look at him, not after everything that’s happened.

“I’m serious,” he adds, tone shifting just slightly. There’s a quiet edge to his voice, a softness you’ve never heard before, but it only makes you hesitate more.

You finally raise your gaze, and for the first time tonight, you meet his eyes. His smirk is still there, but there’s something else too—something you can’t quite place.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” you say, your voice lower than you intended.

Vernon’s eyes flicker for a moment, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face, but the moment’s gone too quickly. He chuckles lightly, not mocking, but with a sense of finality.

“Fair enough.” He straightens up, taking a step back, giving you a little more space, but still standing there. “But just so you know…” His voice softens again, the teasing replaced with something a little too sincere for your comfort. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Fuck. That’s it. You can’t be here anymore.

You spin on your heel, heading straight for Seungkwan, who’s been knee-deep in a Mario Kart championship with Soonyoung and Seokmin. The game is so intense that Seungkwan barely notices you storming up to him, too busy yelling at the screen as he tries to secure his victory.

“Time to go,” you say, your voice sharp enough that even Seungkwan can’t ignore it.

He looks up from his game, a little confused. “What? We just GOT HERE!”

“TIME TO GO, SEUNGKWAN,” you hiss, a little louder this time, unable to mask the frustration that’s bubbling up in your chest.

Seungkwan groans, annoyed that his Mario Kart dominance is being interrupted, but he stands up anyway, muttering something about the injustice of it all.

But then, like a fucking curse, Vernon appears in front of you, stepping into your path just as you try to make your exit. His presence feels almost too heavy in the moment, his gaze unrelenting as his lips curl into that same familiar smirk.

“Leaving so early?” he asks, voice laced with amusement, and his eyes lock on yours, steady and impossible to ignore. It makes your stomach flip, and you feel that heat in your cheeks you can’t seem to get rid of.

You avoid his gaze, turning your face just enough to escape the intensity of it. “Oh yeah, early morning,” you mumble, desperate to get out of there. “Lots of stuff to do, classes and all…”

Vernon tilts his head slightly, his smirk widening as if he can see right through your bullshit. “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he says, voice matter-of-fact, as if calling out your feeble excuse is somehow amusing to him.

Shit.

You try to force a smile through it, but it feels like it’s made of plastic, fake and thin. You avoid his gaze like it’s radioactive. “Yeah, uh… just, you know—okay, bye!” You nearly shove Seungkwan out the door before Vernon can say another word.

The second the door slams shut behind you, Seungkwan bursts out laughing, his voice loud in the quiet of the carpark.

“You’re such a mess,” he cackles, still trying to catch his breath. “Did you seriously try to pull the early morning classes excuse? Like, no one knows tomorrow’s Saturday?”

You shoot him a middle finger, too tired to even care. “Shut up, Seungkwan. Just drive.”

He laughs harder, but at least he doesn’t push it further. Seungkwan’s car engine roars to life, and as he drives off, the weight of the night slowly lifts from your shoulders. But in the back of your mind, you can still feel Vernon’s eyes on you, like they never really left.

Dinner a week later is nothing fancy—just some ramen you scrounged up after dragging yourself through another shit show of a week. The kitchen, warm and dimly lit by the overhead light, feels like a small refuge, and for a second, you’re fine with being here. The steam rising from your bowl swirls in the air, and you twirl the noodles absentmindedly, trying to ignore the weight of everything slowly settling over you.

Seungkwan’s sitting across from you, casually slurping his ramen, but there’s something in the way his eyes flicker up, a strange glint in them, that makes you pause. The silence stretches for a moment, the kind that feels like it’s waiting for something, and then, as if he can’t hold it in any longer, he drops the bomb.

“Vernon’s coming over later.”

You freeze, a piece of noodle hanging from your chopsticks, your eyes wide. “WHAT?” You nearly choke on the noodles, the shock making you forget to swallow. “Why the hell is he coming over? Are you—seriously?”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, lips curling into a grin that doesn’t match his feigned innocence. “Just to study,” he says, shrugging like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Our lab midterm is in a couple of days, and we can’t figure out the damn ratios for the prelab.”

Your mind stutters, trying to catch up with what he’s saying. Vernon, your uncomfortably charming classmate, is coming here. Of course he is. “Seungkwan, you know I—” You stop, frustrated, searching for words that aren’t quite coming. This is your house, your space, and you’re already struggling with the thought of being alone with him. The awkward tension from the last few days suddenly feels so much heavier now.

Seungkwan, not missing a beat, looks over at you with a teasing grin. “Haven’t you run away enough? It’s been, like, almost two weeks.” He’s got that smirk on his face again, the one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing all the right buttons to get you riled up.

You glare at him, trying to muster some kind of defense, but your words come out quieter than you expect. “I’m not running away,” you snap, though it’s weak. It’s been two weeks of exactly that. “I’m just—busy. You know, college stuff.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, and you feel your resolve crumble under his knowing look. “Yeah, sure. College stuff. That’s totally why you’ve been dodging Vernon for the past week. Can’t blame you though—guy’s got a way of making things... uncomfortable.” He chuckles at his own joke, but there’s an edge of teasing that cuts too close to the truth.

You groan, rubbing your face in frustration. “Stop making this worse.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Seungkwan shrugs, his grin widening. “Haven’t you thought about actually talking to him? It’s not like you’ve got that much time before he shows up.”

“Don’t remind me,” you mutter, then, more to yourself, “I didn’t plan this. He didn’t plan this. This is... This is all just—” You stop yourself, shaking your head, your words trailing off.

Seungkwan chuckles again, but this time, it’s softer, almost like he’s giving you space to breathe. “Look, I’m just saying, maybe stop running away for once. You’ll figure it out.” He slaps you lightly on the back, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

But before you can even gather your thoughts, Seungkwan’s phone rings. He picks it up immediately, urgency lacing his voice, and you’re taken off guard.

“Seokmin?” He pauses, listening. “What? Is the fish… what? It can’t breathe??” He gasps, standing up quickly. “I’ll be right there, man, I swear! I’m coming now!”

He hangs up, looking at you, his face twisting into exaggerated concern. “Emergency. Seokmin’s fish is dying.”

You blink, disbelief painted on your face. “You’re fucking joking. You’re actually leaving me with Vernon? Alone?”

“Yup!” Seungkwan says, already halfway to the door. “You’re on your own, Y/N! Don’t burn the place down!” His laugh echoes as he bolts out, leaving you standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring after him in utter disbelief.

Great. Just great.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. Your stomach does a flip, nerves bubbling in your chest. You almost consider pretending you’re not home, hiding in your bedroom until Vernon leaves. But that’s childish, and you can’t avoid this forever. With a sigh, you pull yourself to the door and open it, finding Vernon standing there, looking annoyingly comfortable with that goddamn grin on his face.

“Hi,” he says, voice teasing but warm. “So, Seungkwan tells me we’re doing some studying?”

You step aside to let him in. The last thing you want is to be rude, but the silence that follows as you both walk to the kitchen feels suffocating. You can practically feel the tension hanging in the air, thick with all the things you’ve been avoiding. His presence lingers, like it’s always been there, and yet it’s different now.

Vernon leans against the counter casually, and you busy yourself with rearranging things on the counter, anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t make yourself meet them. Every time you think about what happened, your heart races, and the words you said to him feel like a blur. But they’re always there, hovering on the edge of your thoughts.

Finally, Vernon breaks the silence, his voice softer than before. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You freeze. The air in the room seems to tighten, and his words land with the weight of a trap you didn’t see coming.

“What?” You try to laugh it off, but the sound comes out rough, more strained than you intended. “Pshhhh nooooo.”

“You have.” Vernon pushes off the counter, stepping closer to you. His movements are deliberate, but there’s a softness in them as he closes the space. His eyes remain locked on yours, steady and searching, like he’s waiting for you to crack, to finally admit something. You can’t look away, your breath shallow, the pulse at your neck pounding hard. “And you can’t even look me in the eye. Did I do something wrong?”

His voice is gentle, almost too gentle, and it makes your chest tighten. You shift uncomfortably, your arms folding across your body, a silent defense against the intensity of his gaze. The room feels smaller now, every inch of space filled with the heat between you. You feel trapped, your heart hammering in your chest, yet there's nowhere you'd rather be—and that's the problem.

“No, Vern, I just—” You stop, sucking in a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I said something I didn’t mean the other night.”

Vernon’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something in them—recognition, maybe? The way his lips part slightly, a mix of confusion and understanding. “You didn’t mean it?”

The words hit like a physical blow, and your stomach twists. You want to take them back, but instead, you find yourself retreating into yourself, avoiding his gaze. “I—what?”

“Did you mean it?” Vernon presses, and you swear you can feel his gaze like a weight on your skin. He’s not backing off, not letting this go.

You’re caught. You open your mouth, but no words come out, and the silence between you feels like it’s suffocating. You feel the heat rising to your face, your hands trembling by your sides.

“Mean what?” you finally manage, voice quieter than you’d like.

He steps even closer now, his body inches from yours, and his gaze doesn’t falter. His lips barely part as he speaks, the words lingering in the air between you. “Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N. You told me you loved me.”

The room spins, the ground beneath you feeling unsteady. You blink, your chest tightening as the memory of that night rushes back, sharp and overwhelming. Your hands move restlessly, clutching at the counter as if it’ll keep you from falling.

“But I was drunk—” You stumble over the words, desperate to explain, but his gaze doesn’t waver. His eyes are steady, unwavering, and you can’t escape them.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” Vernon says softly, his voice firm, but there’s no anger in it—only a certainty that rattles you.

“I just didn’t mean to put you on the spot—” You try again, but this time, he stops you, his tone more reassuring than you expect.

“You didn’t,” he says quietly, his hand reaching out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You didn’t put me on the spot.”

“Okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain. You can’t tell if you’ve just misunderstood everything or if this moment has shifted entirely. You blink at him, still trying to catch up.

Vernon smiles then, a soft, almost affectionate smile, and the air between you shifts. The tension eases just a little, but it’s still thick, like something’s hanging in the balance. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“No…” you whisper, the words coming out almost too quietly, but Vernon just laughs.

“I said I loved you too, idiot.”

You freeze. The words crash into your chest, and you feel the ground tilt beneath you again. This time, it’s harder to recover from. “You—you WHAT?”

Vernon chuckles, his grin widening, and this time, it’s teasing, almost mischievous. “Come on,” he says, stepping closer. His chest is almost brushing yours now. “I love you too. Can you stop running away now?”

“I WASN’T!” you protest, but the words fall flat, not convincing even yourself. Your body is tense, but his proximity makes your heart race in a way you don’t quite understand.

“You were,” Vernon says, his smirk softening just enough to catch you off guard. You feel your knees go weak at the way his gaze softens, like he’s pulling you into something you’re not sure you’re ready for. “But it was kinda cute, y’know?”

Before you can even think of a response, he's right there, too close—like, uncomfortably close. His presence feels like it’s swallowing up all the space between you, and suddenly, you’re backed up against the counter, like he’s somehow managed to get you cornered without even trying. It’s all too familiar, too much like that night at the party. You can’t help but stiffen, but it’s not bad, just... intense.

You can feel the heat radiating off him now, like it’s pulling you in, and the way he’s leaning in just enough that you can’t help but tilt your head to meet his eyes—your heart starts hammering in your chest. Too close. Way too close. Your body wants to take a step back, but you don’t, mostly because you’re pretty sure you’re not even sure where to go from here.

And he knows it. You can see it in the way he’s standing, like he's completely unbothered, like it’s no big deal that he’s got you backed up into a corner. Your shoulders feel tense, but your feet just stay planted where they are, like they’ve been glued to the floor. His gaze locks with yours, and you can feel that pull, that thing that makes it hard to breathe—like your chest is getting tight and you’re not sure if you want to run or stay.

There’s this low buzz in the air between you two, and you don’t know how much of it is him or how much is just your heart freaking out. His breath is right there, close enough that you’re aware of the way it catches every time you look at him. And you can’t even tell if you’re annoyed at how close he’s gotten or if your mind is too distracted by how nice it feels to have him this near.

You’re trapped, but you’re not sure if you mind it. It’s like your chest is about to burst from the tension, or maybe it’s going to stop completely. Either way, you're not entirely sure which one you're hoping for.

“No more running,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady, eyes never leaving yours. There’s no doubt in his tone, no hesitation, like he’s already made up his mind. The space between you two feels charged now, the air thick with the unspoken.

“No more running,” you echo, the words slipping out before you can stop them, and for the first time, they feel right. You’re not sure why, but you believe it.

And then, Vernon leans in, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss is slow, soft at first, like he’s giving you space to catch up. His lips are warm and a little sweet, tasting faintly of mint from the gum he’s been chewing earlier. You inhale through your nose, catching the subtle scent of his cologne—fresh, with a hint of wood and citrus—that wraps around you like it’s always been there, like it’s familiar. Every part of him seems to make the world outside feel distant, unimportant. The tension, the uncertainty, the past few days—they don’t matter anymore. 

The pressure of his lips increases, more certain now, and the warmth of his mouth sends a flutter through you. You lean in, responding, your hand instinctively finding the chain around his neck, pulling him closer, as if you can’t quite get enough of him. It’s slow, deliberate, like he wants to savor it just as much as you do. For the first time in days, everything feels like it’s in its right place.

When he pulls back, it’s just enough to speak, his lips still lingering on yours. “Y’know,” he says with a playful grin, “We could’ve been doing this two weeks ago if you weren’t so emotionally constipated.”

You laugh, breathless, pulling him closer by his chain. The heat creeping up your neck is almost unbearable. “Shut up,” you protest, half-smiling. “You can’t blame a girl for what she says when she’s drunk.”

“I won’t,” he agrees with a smirk, kissing you again, this time a little more urgently. “But I can’t make any promises about Seungkwan.”

From the hallway, you hear Seungkwan’s unmistakable voice, a triumphant cheer echoing from the door.

[thecharacterchronicler]

Bloodline (Part 1) || Ominis Gaunt x Reader || Smut

Outline: Your family arranged for you to marry Marvolo Gaunt. Fortunately, your best friend Ominis steps up and makes sure to save you from such a fate.

Word count: 4’515

Warnings: English isn’t my first language so possible misspelled or misplaced words, arranged marriage, abusive families (mentioned), first time s*x, friends to lovers and explicit smut.

(( Part 2 - Please )) - (( Part 3 - Heirloom )) - (( Masterlist ))

The familiar flip-flap of owls entering the great hall through the windows resounded in Ominis’ ears, excited chatter rising from the students sitting at the tables as, one by one, they received their mail. The sound of paper falling on a wooden surface nearby piqued his curiosity, he didn’t receive letters often, nor did you or Sebastian but an envelope had unmistakably landed in front of one of you.

Your clothes rustled as you moved to take the paper in your hand, tearing apart the top of the envelope as your owl took flight again, its wings almost grazing Ominis’s hair on its way back to the owlery.

Despite the noise of other students all around, Ominis distinctly heard you take a sharp inhale of air, your silence as you read the letter addressed to you feeling somewhat tense.

“Is everything alright ?” He asked you, but you didn’t reply right away, too focused on whatever you were reading.

He waited a few more minutes, noticing the way your legs grew restless and your movements became agitated. You were sitting at the opposite side of the table from him and your foot bumped into his a few times as you nervously readjusted your posture.

He was too polite to insist and didn’t want to push you to share something you might want to keep for yourself, so even though he was dying to question you about the mysterious letter you had received and why its content seemed to upset you, he simply cleared his throat to remind you that he was waiting for an answer to his question.

“It’s a letter from my family.” You explained, with a slight tremble in your voice. “They say that they arranged a partnership for me, effective immediately after graduation.”

“A partnership ? You mean some kind of professional training ?” Sebastian asked, before biting into an apple.

“That would be an internship.” Ominis corrected him, shaking his head. “I think she meant something more intimate than that.”

“Like… A relationship ?” Sebastian inquired, still munching on his fruit.

“A marriage.” You stated, defeated.

“I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

“I am not.”

“It’s common for wealthy and powerful families such as hers to arrange weddings, especially if it’s a matter of keeping their bloodline alive and pure.” Ominis explained, a shiver running down his spine. That was something his family did too, they were obsessed with maintaining the quality of their bloodline, suitable matches were carefully chosen, sometimes within their own family members.

“It’s more of a business contract than a marriage.” You added, with a sigh. “And my parents are making it very clear that I don’t have any say in the matter.”

“Do you know who’s the lucky fiancé, though ?” Sebastian asked, seemingly taking such terrible news lightly. Way too lightly. It was a tragedy, really. You deserved better than to be forced into a loveless marriage under the pretense of keeping a bloodline going, securing the pride and superiority of the worst kind of wizards to exist. Maybe Sebastian couldn’t quite grasp the gravity of what you had been asked to do but Ominis knew all too well how you must feel, being robbed of your free will and freedom by a controlling and corrupted family.

“It’s Marvolo Gaunt.” You answered, bluntly, before getting up from your seat on the bench and leaving the great hall in a rush. Although Ominis couldn’t see, he felt the intensity of your gaze piercing right through him, until you were no longer in the room.

His chest tightened and his body tensed at the sound of his older brother’s name. Marvolo probably was the most cruel wizard he knew, aside from their father. Although they shared the same blood, the same family and the same education, Ominis wasn’t afraid to say that his brother was immensely deranged and should have been locked up in Azkaban a long time ago, like the rest of his family actually. The only reason rules didn’t apply to them and they were free to commit the most vile and cruel crimes without facing punishment was because they were Gaunts, descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin and held more power and wealth than any other family of wizards in the country.

And now you were going to be one of them.

He couldn’t imagine you, taking part in the cruel acts his family committed for fun. And if you didn’t, they would find a way to punish you for it, just like they had punished him in the past. The Gaunts were dangerous, and you needed to stay away from them, no matter what.

Ominis stood up, reaching for his wand to guide his steps through the corridors and halls of the castle. He needed to find you and he knew his wand would know exactly where to take him. He was racking his brain, trying to find a solution to save you from such a doomed fate as he followed mindlessly the path his wand indicated. Eventually, he found himself outside, in a narrow courtyard. Wind rustled through the leaves of a nearby tree and caressed his face, sending a cold shiver through his body. He couldn’t feel any rays of sunshine warming his skin, meaning it must be a rather cloudy afternoon. He could hear the sound of water moving in the fountain at the center of the courtyard, birds singing in the sky… And soft muffled sobs. His wand twitched, tugging him in your direction.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Ominis told you, once he was standing in front of you. He could hear the sobs shaking your body as clear as day but still felt compelled to bring his hand to your face, wiping the warm teardrops away from your cheeks with his thumb. “Marvolo really isn’t a suitable match for you.”

“It’s alright, I knew this day would come eventually. I was just hoping my parents wouldn’t force me into this as soon as I was done with school.” You replied, another teardrop falling from your lashes and rolling down your cheek..

“There must be something we can do about it.” Ominis said, instinctively brushing off the fresh tear from your face. “What if you were engaged to someone else ?”

You laughed although you didn’t find anything amusing about the situation.

“During my seven years here, no one ever courted me, no one attempted to ask me on a date, I have no other prospects. And you know as well as I do that my parents shouldn’t risk angering the Gaunts.”

Ominis furrowed his brows. You were right, if your parents broke their promise to marry you off to one of his siblings, they might not make it out alive. If his parents had arranged for you to be wed to Marvolo, it meant they considered your blood pure enough to perpetuate their dignified bloodline. It was a rare occurrence, usually no one was deemed worthy enough so chances were that they’d do everything in their power to ensure that you’d become a Gaunt now that they had approved of you.

If you broke the arrangement to be with someone else, a wizard of lower class and reputation, his father would take it as an offense and you’d have to pay for such a daring act. If you married Marvolo, then surely he would take advantage of you and of your obligation to satisfy your family and his, he’d be cruel and violent, he wouldn’t care about you and would never treat you with the respect you deserved… There was only one option left.

“Marry me.” Ominis stated, determined.

“What ? What are you saying ?” You spoke, dumbstruck by the sudden suggestion.

“My parents want you to ensure the purity of our bloodline, your parents want you to earn the status and power that come with my last name… So marry me instead.”

“Ominis, you don’t have to. I can’t ask you to do that for me, that’s…” You argued, shaking your head.

“It’s a matter of time before my parents arrange a wedding for me too. I think I’d much rather be married to someone I consider a friend than a stranger they would have picked for me. So really, you’d be the one doing me a favor.” Ominis continued, his heart beating faster as he spoke. He knew it was a good idea, it would save you from Marvolo, from his family and, despite being a Gaunt himself, he would do his best to treat you well. He would never hurt you, never mock you, never give you any reason to regret choosing him instead of his brother…

So please, say yes.

His mother adjusted his tie. She told him that the all black suit she had gotten tailored made for him suited him better than anything he ever wore. She said it brought his blue eyes out, and that everyone would be able to tell that he was one of the heirs of the Gaunt name. Ominis wasn’t sure what was meant to be a compliment and what was meant as a jab, but he simply nodded at everything she said.

By the time he walked down to the garden of the imposing manor, his mother’s arm looped in his, he felt dizzy with anxiety. His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to burst out at any minute. His ribcage felt so tight around his lungs that he could barely breathe correctly, and the more time went by, the more sweaty his hands became.

He could hear the chatter of the numerous guests his parents had invited as they took place around the lectern that had been placed at the very center of the garden. The familiar smell of roses tickled his nose, meaning the white rose bushes must be in full bloom in this season. He could feel the sunshine on his face and the warm summer air on his skin. It was a beautiful day on the gloomy manor.

His mother let go of his arm, leaving him standing on his own in front of what he imagined was an impressive audience of grumpy wizards. He still couldn’t quite catch his breath and, the moment the ambient chatter died down, his throat instantly felt constricted and his body tensed up.

He heard the whispers among the crowd and the footsteps approaching in his direction. It was unmistakably the way of walking of a man, confident and determined while the lighter steps next to his were more hesitant. In the past seven years, Ominis had memorized the sound of your steps. He also could recognize your smell in a crowd and knew exactly how soft your skin felt under his fingers. He could tell if your hair was up or let down from the way you touched and played with it and he knew that the quiet, almost imperceptible breaths you let out meant that you felt nervous. He knew all of this and more yet, he had no idea what it felt like to kiss your lips or hold you in his arms and that felt awfully wrong, considering what you both were about to do.

The man that had accompanied you walked away, leaving you standing with Ominis in front of prying, curious eyes. You didn’t say anything to each other, too busy trying to not pass out from how anxious you both felt. The contract was written and placed on the pupil in front of you, its tricky clauses oozing with dark magic.

It wasn’t just any contract. It was a cursed one, meant to bind you together forever. The words til death do us part took a different meaning as you signed your name at the bottom of the page, knowing that if you ever tried to leave him, you’d most likely be instantly killed by some kind of dark spell that probably was forbidden to cast. The promises you made by signing this contract were definitive and the consequences if you failed to hold them were deadly. At the very least, you both could feel thankful that you weren’t making such vows to a complete stranger.

Ominis signed the parchment too, the ink dripping from the quill dark red like blood. The contract was sealed with applause and illegal magic, making you his wife. For the rest of your lives.

The dinner that followed the ceremony was dull and mostly boring, a display of Mister Gaunt’s power and a lecture on his narrow views about muggles and mudblood wizards, as the guests listened quietly to his speech, nodding in agreement every once in a while. Eventually, Ominis took his leave, pretending that he was exhausted from the events of the day. You excused yourself too, glad to find him waiting for you in the hallway.

He knew the manor he grew up in in details and could navigate it without the help of his wand. He guided you upstairs, through the dark corridor that led to his bedroom. He opened the door for you, letting you step inside first before following you in and shutting the door behind him. He had never had any guest in his bedroom before and that realization made him feel uneasy. He knew that the servants kept his room neat and tidy - just how he liked it - but he wasn’t sure of what you were going to think about the ancient desk he sat at to write his letters to Sebastian, or the books that lined the shelves of bookcases that reached the ceiling. And what about the four poster bed he slept in, he had always found it large and comfortable but suddenly he worried it might be too small to share with you.

“Once we move into our own home we’ll be able to sleep in separate rooms. But for now, I think it’s better if we share mine.” He said, hoping that you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable here until then.

To convince his parents to let him marry you instead of his brother, he had pretended he was madly, irredeemably in love with you. At first, they didn’t like it, saying that love made men foolish and pushed them to their demise but, eventually, they came to the realization that him wanting you so badly would serve the purpose of continuing their bloodline. Many heirs could be born from such desires.

Now that you were here, in the intimacy of his bedroom, he couldn’t help but think about it. How amazing it would be to kiss you, touch you, make you his as everybody expected him to. But he wouldn’t do it. Mainly because he was a gentleman and had promised himself that he would never, ever, disrespect you. And also because he was determined to not give his parents the satisfaction of having any heirs from him. The Gaunt bloodline was poison, corrupted with dark practices and immorality. Sooner or later, one of them would cause unforgivable chaos in the world, so he was determined to prevent it from happening anyway he could.

“I’m sorry that you had to do this.” You told him, taking a closer look at the books on his nightstand. You sounded sincere, as if you felt guilty that he now had the privilege of calling you his wife. “You should have been able to marry someone you love.”

Ominis had never felt anything remotely close to what was described in the books he read for someone, nor did he experience the crushes Sebastian so often had on a random person every once in a while. The only woman that had somehow interested him was you. He cared about you. And maybe it was an acceptable foundation for a marriage.

“You should have been able to do that too.” You sat on his bed, your wedding dress crunching up above your legs. He approached, heart hammering in his chest. “But for what it’s worth, I consider myself lucky to call you my wife.”

You smiled and reached out to take his hand in yours. His palms were sweaty, as per usual when you were around, but you didn’t seem bothered by that, pulling him so that he’d sit on the bed next to you.

“Do you mind if I try something ?” You asked him, a bit hesitantly. He took a sharp inhale of air, his body straightening up with sudden tension. In appearance, he seemed quite uncomfortable to be sitting so close to you, and even more now that you had asked him such a question, but he nodded despite hating being unsure of what to expect.

You moved closer, slowly. Your scent tickled his nose, he knew it by heart, he had fell asleep more than once to the faint perfume you left on the common room’s couch pillows, usually prompting him to dream of you. He felt your soft, warm breath caress his skin, indicating that your face was inching impossibly close towards his. He held his breath as you pressed your delicate lips to his, giving him a chaste kiss to seal your union, far from prying eyes.

He kept his eyes closed when you moved away, conflicted emotions passing on his face. He wasn’t expecting to feel so many tingles in his stomach after such a light and short kiss, yet even now that you had moved away, he still felt millions of butterflies tingling under his skin. He left out the breath he had been holding, taking just enough air to say your name, softly.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to know what it felt like.” You apologized, and he knew from the sound of your voice that you must be blushing.

He had wondered what it would feel like to kiss you too, more than he’d like to admit. A friend shouldn’t be curious about such things, it felt wrong to him, like he was betraying you by having such intimate thoughts about you. He hated how conflicted he felt whenever he woke up with an erection because he had spent the night dreaming of you touching him, and he hated how his primal instinct sometimes took over and he’d end up brushing against your chest or your back under the pretense that he couldn’t see what he was doing. He shouldn’t feel so desperate for his friend to kiss him again, and surely he shouldn’t want to be given permission to explore the body of his friend in details… But perhaps, if such desires weren’t acceptable between friends, they could be considered reasonable ones to have for his wife…

“Don’t apologize, we’re married now after all.” He gulped, feeling the temperature of his body rising. “Kissing is one of the many things that will be expected from us.”

You moved, suddenly growing agitated next to him. He could hear the rustle of the fabric of your wedding dress, the sound of clasps being opened and knots getting untied. He didn’t dare to move, not even breathe, as he carefully listened for a clue as to what you were up to. Then, he felt your hands on his chest, slowly undoing the buttons of his vest, one by one.

“What are you doing ?” He asked, his breath catching in his throat when his hands, resting on his lap, brushed against your bare thighs.

“Another thing that is expected of us.” You simply replied, now dragging his vest down his shoulders, before repeating the same actions to remove his shirt. He heard your surprised, yet quiet, gasp and the way your breathing became labored at the sight of his chest. He felt your fingers tracing the lines of his abs, brushing against the blond hair under his navel and grazing the elastic of his pants.

He said your name in a whisper, wanting it to be a warning but coming out like a desperate plea. You shouldn’t be touching him like this, not because it was what your families required of you. You should only do it because you wanted to. So he knew he had to stop you before it went too far, before he wouldn’t be able to refuse, before his body was set ablaze by his repressed lust for yours otherwise, there would be no way of stopping him anymore. He would consume you. Worship you. Devour you. And his promise to never disrespect you would be just a distant memory already, because none of the things he wanted to do to you were respectable.

But you weren’t making it easy for him to keep his word. Your hand was still tracing the lines of his chest like he was some kind of sculpture you were admiring, taking in every detail like he would. And when you moved to sit on his lap, straddling him and trapping him between you and the bed, he tensed up and groaned.

He brought his hands to your hips, telling himself that he’d gently guide you off of him so that he’d be able to remain a gentleman and not take advantage of the admirable loyalty you had for your family with your determination to complete your marital duties right away, but when he felt nothing but your warm skin under his fingers, when you leaned forward to press your naked chest against his and plant another soft kiss on his lips, the remaining of his will power to resist you dissolved.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, we’re friends.” He said, because that was what he usually told himself whenever he thought about you while rubbing himself in the shower. Except he wasn’t the one gripping on his erection this time. You had easily opened up his pants and now the evidence of his desire for you was held tightly in your hand. Your thumb stroked the tip of his erection, spreading the clear drop of precum that had escaped from it over the sensitive pink skin.

“We’re not friends anymore, Ominis. We’re married.” You corrected him, your words destroying the only argument he had to convince himself to not behave like some kind of wild animal as he couldn’t seem to stop his hands from exploring your naked body. “I wasn’t allowed to organize my wedding, chose my dress or invite my friends… Don’t rob me from having a beautiful wedding night. Please.”

His erection twitched in your hand. You were asking so nicely, so politely, for something so intense and passionate, it made him even harder. He put his arm around your waist, securely holding you as he removed you from his lap and laid you down on his bed with a strength you never expected him to have.

“Are you sure this is what you want ?” He inquired, holding himself above you with his hands gripping the headboard, his pants and underwear down to his knees.

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, with a shudder of excitement.

“Very well.” His voice was low, revealing just how badly he wanted this too. He placed a hand on your knee and followed the path all the way up to your core. He could feel the wetness and warmth coming from your center, begging for his attention. He traced the slit between your legs a few times, making you gasp with anticipation. Then, he pushed a finger passed your entrance, your whimper resounding in his ears. He moved his hand in a back and forth motion, not really aiming to pleasure you this way but trying to memorize a path he couldn’t see.

He took his finger out, bringing his hand back to his impatient cock. He wiped your wetness over his tip, mixing it with the fresh drops of precum that coated his skin. Once most of his hard length was slick and sticky, he brought his tip exactly where his finger had been, rubbing it between your wet folds to gather even more moisture before finally pushing it inside you. He heard you gasp loudly and he did too, the tightness of your cunt taking him by surprise.

He easlily managed to slide even deeper, burying his entire length inside of you with a satisfied sigh. He could hear your panting breaths, your soft cries in reaction to his movements inside you and the way you moaned his name, encouraging him to rock his hips against yours a few times.

It was nothing like he had thought it would be. His hand had never made him feel as good as you did, your warmth, wetness and tightness around him were intoxicating. The most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.

He slowly pulled himself almost all the way out, only to shove himself back in with more force. He could feel his tip hitting deep inside you, pleasure building in his abdomen with each of his quick pushes.

The sounds you made were music to his ears, the way you reacted to each of his thrusts was delightful, better than what he had imagined in his most vivid fantasies. He never expected you to be so loud, perfectly showing him how good he was making you feel. He increased his speed and you moaned even louder, practically crying out his name.

He felt your legs closing around his waist, keeping him close while your nails dug into his back, the whole bed shaking in rythym with his movements. Was he too rough ? How could he not be ? It was impossible to be more gentle when the pleasure he felt with each thrust kept intensifying, he was going to lose his mind, chasing the feeling, building it up until he couldn’t take it anymore.

You cried out one more time and your body tensed up, tightening around him so viciously that he finally reached his climax, instantly filling you up with his release. You kept your legs around him, your body spasming with intense pleasure as he struggled to catch his breath for a moment, his thoughts slowly coming back into order.

He waited until your body stopped twitching to remove himself, feeling your shudder as he pulled his spent erection out of you. You still were softly panting, your chest rising and falling under his hand while the other still clasped tightly the headboard. He leaned over, easily finding your lips from which breathless gasps still escaped. He kissed you, gently, as a way to apologize for losing control of himself and felt relieved when you returned his kiss even more fervently.

He moved to his side, lying down next to you to give you enough space to catch your breath but you inched closer, nuzzling your naked body against his in a cuddle that felt even more intimate than what he had just did to you.

“Thank you.” You said softly, sounding truly happy. Ominis smiled, his fingers absently caressing your back, playing with strands of your now messy hair. “I’m glad to have you as my husband.”

Husband. The word turned in his head, reminding him that you now were officially a couple. Mrs Ominis Gaunt; his best friend, his wife, his lover… His.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

Next in this series;

[rileyslibrary]

The team is invited to a wedding. You and Ghost are trying to pass time.

———————————————————————

You walk down the candlelit path leading to the wedding reception, holding a beautifully wrapped gift in your arms. A friendly usher welcomes you with a warm smile and extends his hands, offering to take the package from you. As you hand it over, a hostess greets you politely and asks for your name. You introduce yourself, and she scans her clipboard.

Your gaze is drawn to the chateau in the distance, which appears to have been plucked from a fairytale. Questions about its history and the people who once called it home fill your mind. Who used to live here? And who is generous enough to offer its premises for newlyweds to host their wedding receptions? How old is this place, anyway?

“Fourteen,” the hostess says.

“Excuse me?”

She takes a look at the clipboard before returning her gaze to you. “You’re seated at table 14.” She repeats.

You nod and walk to the garden to find your seat. Like the chateau, the dining area outside is quite a sight: tables with crisp tablecloths, beautifully decorated with floral arrangements, flickering candles, and elegant glassware.

You spot your table; it’s almost empty, save for a familiar face sitting on one of the chairs. Well, not entirely familiar, as you only see it on special occasions when he is absolutely required to remove his balaclava.

“Nice place,” you quip, and he turns to look at you.

“It’s not mine,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to the distance.

You sigh and roll your eyes. “It was a comment about the estate, you asshole.” You explain and take a seat right next to him.

He huffs and points his thumb at the chateau. “That thing is nice?” he retorts, slowly shaking his head. “Not my style.”

“What’s your style?” you ask, hoping to engage him in conversation.

“Something smaller, simpler,” he says, looking at the chateau, “without so many... windows.”

“No windows?” You inquire, raising one eyebrow. “You’re not secretly a vampire, are you, Lieutenant?”

He smirks and rolls up his sleeves. “Me? No,” he murmurs, “but this wedding is sucking the bloody life out of me.”

“Because you were so full of it before,” you say jokingly. “Can’t you be happy for your comrades for once?”

He reclines in his chair, intertwines his fingers, and places his hands on his stomach. “Let’s just say that I could have been even happier for them in the comfort of my own home,” he replies.

You set your clutch bag on the table. “Why didn’t you just stay at home then?” You ask.

“Social obligation,” he explains with a shrug.

You widen your eyes and raise your eyebrows. “Social obligation?” You repeat, a smile forming at the corners of your lips. “That’s something I never expected to hear coming out of your mouth.”

He scoffs and picks up the wedding favour that has been carefully placed on his plate. “Oh, yeah?” He points to the golden letters on the small pistachio-coloured box, “Wait till you hear me say ‘macaron’.” He replies sarcastically, attempting to pull off a fake French accent.

You playfully put the back of your hand on your forehead, pretending to be fainting. Simon smiles and leans back in his chair, repositioning the box on the table.

“The others?” You ask, “They’re not here yet?”

He scans the area with his eyes slowly before pointing in the distance. “There’s Price talking to the couple...” he looks over his shoulder and motions towards the bar, “...and Soap is waiting for his drink.”

“What about Gaz?” You ask.

“The Sargent was talking to the maid of honour a little while ago. They could be testing the stability of the century-old furniture in there,” he speculates, looking up at the top floor of the chateau.

Your mouth drops open. “Diana, the medic?” You yell.

He presses his index finger to his lips. “Shh!” He whispers sternly.

You apologise, then place your hand over your mouth and whisper, “Diana, the medic?!”

“Oh, please,” he sneers, “as if you didn’t notice how they greet each other at the base.”

“I had no idea!” You reply, surprised.

“Well, maybe if you stopped talking so much and started paying more attention to your surroundings, you’d notice things a little bit more.”

You stick your tongue out at him and mock his statement. He smiles and gently nudges your leg with his.

“You wore heels.” He comments, looking down at your feet.

“I did,” you confirm, “and what of it?”

He clears his throat, smirks, and shifts his gaze to the horizon.

“What?” You repeat.

“Nothing.” He responds, and his smile broadens.

“Tell me!” You command and crack a smile.

His shoulders move up and down as he suppresses his laughter. He’s thoroughly enjoying watching you beg for an answer. You pinch his arm, and he groans.

“Hey,” he says between laughs, grabbing your wrist to stop you. He gestures towards the distance, where the maid of honour walks to the front of the stage, explaining something to the DJ while instinctively fixing her hair.

“I wonder how long it will be before Kyle appears.” You mumble.

Ghost turns around. “Not long,” he says, motioning towards the bar. You turn to face Soap, straightening Gaz’s tie.

“You think MacTavish knows?” You ask.

“Soap?” Ghost asks, shaking his head. “Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Look at him,” he orders. “Would he be so focused on fixing Gaz’s tie if he knew? On the contrary, he’d be bugging him for details.”

You place your hand on his shoulder and lean closer to his ear. “Yes, but we know about their secret endeavours,” you whisper, “what do we say to him?”

He tightens his grip on your wrist and widens his eyes. “We say fuck all,” he replies sternly. “I told you, observe more and talk less.”

“Oh, unless you get to gossip with one of your teammates instead?” You tease.

“I’m not gossiping!” He protests. “Gossiping involves judging other people’s life choices.”

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms. “And what is it that you do, Lieutenant?”

He shrugs. “People-watching.” He states.

“People-watching.” You repeat.

He gives a nod. “And I guarantee you,” he murmurs, “that someone here is doing the exact same thing to us: watching us laughing, me pushing your leg, looking at your heels, you pinching my arm, whispering in my ear. Do you think we’re the only ones who keep an eye on others?”

You blush and look around, hoping to spot the perpetrator who will prove Ghost’s theory.

“You mean to tell me that other people are watching us and think we’re flirting?” you ask, embarrassed.

“Aren’t we?” He smirks.

You blush even more and sit up straight. “Yeah,” you admit with a smile, “we are.”

———————————————————————

A/N: Thank you to that anon who inspired me yesterday. I may have written half of the story while at the wedding reception. 😬

[xshadowdelta]

Witch

Irene x Male Reader (3.6K Length)

"Hey rookie, it’s time to work."

You stood up and left that small service room, in whose sign was written 'Authorized Service Only'.

It was your first week in this new summer job as a bellboy at the most famous 5-star hotel, right in the middle of the city with a huge amount of guests every day. You got here thanks to a friend’s recommendation, not your dream job, but you really needed the money, and the pay was juicy. You arrived at the reception hall where your manager was standing next to a mountain of suitcases, feeling as if your soul wanted to leave your body seeing all those bags.

"Miss Bae Joohyun’s luggage, room 362, as soon as possible, she is waiting for it."

It took you a while to place every one of the suitcases in the luggage birdcage, using every skill you had in the Tetris game to not drop them. Then you took the elevator to the third floor, and once there, you drove until you reached the indicated room by your senior.

You knocked on the door and fixed the wrinkles in your jacket, since your first day, the manager had been very insistent on looking perfect in front of the clients. You heard the sound of the door opening and forced one of your best smiles,

"Good morning, Miss Bae, here is your luggage."

The woman in front of you didn’t say a single word as she scanned you up and down, just a slight head move to give you permission to get inside the room, meanwhile, she continues with the phone call in which she was involved.

Oh yeah, another rich middle-aged woman with a major superiority complex. You frowned and let out a whisper that only you could hear.

"Witch…"

But you have a job to do, so you entered the suite along with the luggage and began to unstack all the suitcases.

You looked back at the woman who was now standing, looking at the beautiful views offered by the windows of that room. She was speaking in a foreign language, maybe korean.

Yet you managed to understand the word "stylist" and it gave you the feeling that the person on the other side of the line was getting a good scold.

You could only see the profile of her face, enough to detect a serious and cold expression that you didn't like at all, but still you had to admit that she was a very beautiful woman.

The work was finished at the same time she ended the call. Your eyes met for a moment, and you felt a shiver run through your body. You gave her a small bow before saying goodbye.

"Have a good stay with us, Miss Bae, we are at your disposal." You were already close to the door when her voice stopped you.

"Wait a moment, please."

Another smile was forced in your face before turning on your feet to come face to face with her.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Here is your tip."

She got some bills out of her wallet and offered them to you. You hesitated at first, but you ended up taking them, and for the first time, your smile was a genuine one. You save them in the pocket of your uniform, ready to finally leave that room.

"By the way, just from one look, have you been able to deduce that I am a witch?" Suddenly, your breathing stopped, and your skin tone turned pale white. You were sure you had said it quietly enough for her not to hear that.

"Being a woman as important as me. I must be alert to everything that happens around me, don’t you think?”

Cool, now she can read minds, definitely a witch.

"I apologize, Miss Bae, it was never my intention to hurt your feelings." Your voice trembled, knowing you could be fired because of this.

"Feelings? I put them aside many years ago."

The confusion on your face was notorious, your eyes followed her to see how she took a seat, watching you with a scary look. Another shiver ran down your spine. Running away from there was not a good idea, first because it wouldn't solve anything and would make you look like a coward, but the truth is that you wanted to disappear from the world at that moment.

On the other hand, you could just cry like a baby begging for her forgiveness, that would certainly be ridiculous, but it would save your ass from a guaranteed dismissal.

"Miss Bae…"

"Don’t tell me. Do you want us to forget this incident, right?"

Her face was cold, and her words sounded like ice, sinking deeper and deeper into your chest. But you couldn't articulate a single word, just nodded your head.

For a small period of time, you thought that a halo of kindness would take over her, and she would give in to your request to forgive you, but kindness wasn't in the dictionary of Bae Joohyun.

"Get naked"

It took you a few seconds to understand the request she had just made. She didn't take long to repeat. "What are you waiting for? Get naked"

"WHAT?"

That scream only made her angrier, hitting the ground with her foot, impatient. Her look did not change at any time, she continued staring at you, challenging you.

"I see, you don’t care about this job, so…"

"Wait…"

Your hands started to move, and your uniform jacket fell to the floor. You continued unbuttoning your shirt, making your naked torso visible.

Next was taking off your shoes so you could get rid of your pants that would accompany the rest of the clothes on the floor, leaving you in underwear under the watchful eye of Mrs. Joohyun, who now had a slight mischievous smile while looking at you.

"I think we have a different concept about nudity."

You looked down at your nether area, and then your eyes returned to her. She was really trying to humiliate you in every way. "Everything?"

The coldness of her gaze was enough of an answer for you, making you slide your hands over your boxers, leaving you now completely naked. "Now I want you to stay there, don’t move and pay attention."

You felt like you were about to faint right there when you saw that woman spread her legs on the couch, raising her dress to reveal her panties, which she pushed aside.

She was showing you her naked pussy before she started caressing it with her hand. You couldn't believe your eyes, a minute ago you were fired, and now you had an incredibly hot woman masturbating herself right in front of you. Joohyun licked his own hand as she stroked herself fast, starting to moan with no shame. Despite finding yourself in this complicated situation, watching this show made your body react, and your penis was already completely erect. You tried to move one of your hands towards your penis, but Joohyun's voice stopped you. "Told you to, don't move!" "Remember that your job is at risk."

Then she inserted two of her fingers inside her pussy to stimulate herself more. Hear her loud moans, and the watery sound due to the humidity of her vagina was driving you crazy.

Joohyun continued like this for a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, Meanwhile, you were praying that this torture would come to an end, and miraculously she would decide to forgive you and run away out of there, straight to the employee bathroom to masturbate yourself, thinking about what you were experiencing at this moment.

"Come here" She demanded in an authoritarian tone, and you approached until you were right in front of her, which didn't stop her from continuing to pleasure herself.

"On your knees."

Now, your face was practically a few centimeters from her pussy, but you didn't expect Joohyun to let out one last pleasure scream, squirting directly on you.

You closed your eyes at time, however, now your face was covered by Joohyun fluids, who was now breathing tiredly but still looking at you, with a serious expression on her face.

“Wow”

Was the only thing you could say, you were in shock after what had just happened. You ran your hand over your face, trying to clean up the mess, licking a couple of your fingers in the process.

"Delicious"

"What have you said?" She was stunned, and her voice tone sounded even more enraged.

"You are delicious, Mrs. Bae."

That answer made her get up from the couch in a bad mood. She walked to the pile of your clothes on the floor and grabbed the tie that minutes ago had surrounded your neck, but now was being used to tie your hands at your back.

"What are you doing?" You asked, standing up.

She stood next to you and, without warning, grabbed your still erect penis with one of her hands, making you gasp.

"You keep saying vulgarities, you need a real punishment."

She whispered in your ear, starting to masturbate your penis slowly, making you moan a little bit. She was increasing the pace, stroking you with both hands at the same time.

"You were supposed to feel humiliation, and instead you had the courage to taste my fluids and the nerve to say 'delicious.'  I have never met someone like you, you are quite a challenge."

Your brain was unable to say anything as it was busy moaning in pleasure at Jonghyun's touch.

"Mrs. Bae, I'm about to…"

"Don't you even dare, now it's my turn to taste you."

She stopped touching you and crouched on her knees in front of you. She looked up, straight into your eyes, you saw that look again, that no longer seemed so cold, but immediately closed your eyes because of the immense pleasure you felt when her mouth devoured your cock.

Your body staggered, and you cursed for having your hands tied at that moment. You opened your eyes again only to see how she sucked your cock over and over again at an accelerated but constant pace, damn, you were in heaven.

She grabbed your balls, and at the same time she was sucking you, pressing on them, making you feel a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Fuck, you have a good dick here."

She spit on your cock, going back to masturbate you, making wet your entire length, so that now when she sucked you, she also slurped some saliva.

“Mrs. Bae…”

She stopped for a second and looked into your eyes again.

"Irene…call me Irene."

The beat of your heart increased because of that, a feeling that was quickly replaced by another wave of pleasure when you noticed how she reintroduced your penis into her mouth, now even reaching his throat, causing her to choke on your cock.

You looked at the ceiling, trying to hold on as long as possible, wishing this moment would never end, then you felt a pinch of pain in your thighs, so you looked down again.

Your eyes found the view of Irene grabbing your thighs with her nails and the entirety of your cock inside her mouth, with some tears welling up in her eyes. She closed her eyes and started moving her head back and forth. You could say she was using you to fuck her own throat.

She stopped to take a breath, but immediately lifted your cock with one of his hands and began licking your balls desperately. "Keep looking at me or this will end here."

It was the first instruction that you would gladly follow.

She ran her tongue along the entire length, licking every inch before giving your tip a special treatment and taking it back into her mouth, this time masturbating you with her hands at the same time as she sucked you off. That made you about to explode.

"Irene…" You managed to say between several moans.

Then she let it off from her mouth again and masturbated you fiercely with both hands, looking at you with lust. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, sticking her tongue out. You knew what she wanted.

There was no need to say anything else. A few more seconds, and you let out a huge load of semen that fell directly into his mouth and face, squeezing until the last drop fell.

Irene's face was now a real mess. She had managed to swallow part of your cum, but other threads of semen fell near her eyes and part of her hair. She didn't mind at all, she was busy cleaning your cock now.

She got up a little later, walking until she stood behind you again, untying the knot that was imprisoning your hands. She took one of your hands and dragged you to another room in the suite, the bedroom with a huge bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she caught your attention again.

"Do you want to keep this job?"

Once again, you nodded your head.

"If you can make me have an orgasm, I'll pretend none of this ever happened, you understand?”

"Loud and clear."

You tried to hide your nervousness as best you could and mentally preparing yourself to give her the greatest effort of your life, your future depended on what happened in the next few minutes.

You took a few steps towards the direction where she was, she was imposing, she was scary, yes, but at the same time, you had a sensation running through your body that you had never experienced before, and you wanted to go until the end.

You bent your head straight to kiss his neck. She let out a sigh, a good sign, you deduced. You trailed kisses along his neck at the same time that your hands roamed her body.

"Not bad, but this is nothing out of this world."

You shouldn't rush, she was provoking you, you knew it. Make a mistake, and it will be over. However, you also knew how to play that game.

"Excuse my clumsiness, Mrs. Bae, my job consists of transporting suitcases, not to sexually satisfy clients, even so you seemed to have enjoyed my cock."

Your lips now kissed the part of her naked chest that was not covered by her dress.

"Even now you are still behaving like a reckless, shut the fuck up and take me off this damn dress…now."

She raised her arms, so the dress came out more comfortably, her black lace bra was still annoying, but with a deft movement it quickly disappeared as well, leaving you with the view of her naked tits.

Your mouth quickly acted as shelter for her boobs, drawing loud moans from Irene. Her hands traveled to the back of your head, pressing you closer against them.

"Just like that, fuck, work on these fucking little tits."

You sucked her boobs and licked her nipples, which at this point were really hard by the moves of your tongue. With every second that passed, Irene became more moldable under your touch.

At that moment, you took advantage of to move one of your hands to her lower zone, totally wet after the first session, you touched her pussy over her panties using circular movements.

"So fucking wet, Miss Bae." You said it with a superior tone.

"Told you to shut up." She was getting angry again.

"As you wish."

You replied and suddenly kissed her lips. Irene opened her eyes in surprise, but it didn't take long for her to respond to the kiss with even more energy, until both of you got separated to take a breath.

"It's funny, men are usually afraid of me, and I love to create that feeling in them, but it also makes them never dare to kiss me. I almost forgot how kisses felt." She said with a half-smile on her face, touching her swollen lips.

"In that case, let me help you remember."

You said, emboldened, kissing her again with passion, making her respond with the same lust and starting a battle of tongues inside your mouths. You lost your balance due to the fury of the kisses, and you fell on top of her when her back hit the bed.

When you separated from her again, you could see how her messy hair had fallen on her sweaty forehead and her cheeks were completely red, but you were surprised by her smile, this time it was a full formed and sincere smile.

"Show me what else can do that mouth of yours."

You kissed her lips again, a quick kiss this time, which was followed by another path of kisses all over her body until you reached her panties, you managed to take them off to finally see her naked pussy.

You kissed her thighs previously before sinking your face against her area, making her moan louder than ever. Your tongue moved fiercely against her pussy folds as Irene's screams filled the room.

"Don't stop, don't even dare to stop."

You were giving your best to make her feel good. Her moans, screams, and bad words only motivated you to continue doing this with more intensity. Having your tongue a rest, you quickly replaced it with your fingers, masturbating her with all your strength.

"Holy fuuuuuck, I’m cuming!" She screamed, curving her back and, once again, squirting a lot from her pussy, messing part of the edge of the bed and the bedroom floor.

She had now difficulty breathing correctly, and her chest was up and down again, trying to calm herself. Your fingers once again caressed her pussy, this time doing it so slowly. You approached to kiss her once again.

"Irene"

You called, so both of you noticed your penis fully recovered, ready for more rounds. She smiled at you, turning around, remaining face down, then you stared at her trained ass.

"Come on, what are you waiting for? Fuck me".

Your penis got excited hearing those words. You stood up immediately to stand behind her. Grabbing her hips and aligning yourself with her pussy, inserting your entire length at once into Irene's pussy.

"God, you're so tight." You moaned, starting to thrust into her.

"Yes, fuck, stretch my fucking pussy with your big cock."

"Holy shit, Mrs. Bae."

You increased your thrusts, making everything more and more primitive, to the point that your balls were colliding with her hips every time you buried your length inside her.

Irene couldn't stop moaning and screaming, grabbing the bedsheets with her hands while moving her hips to give more depth to your moves.

You didn't hesitate to grab one of her ass cheeks tightly with one of your hands and then give her a slap that echoed through the room and made the woman scream. You repeated it a few more times, having the same result.

"This is what you wanted, right? A witch like you just wanted to be fucked this hard."

One more spank to her already red ass, drove Irene crazy.

"Yes! Fuck yes, fuck me please! Don't stop now! Use my witch pussy however you want."

You kissed her neck from behind and ran your tongue down her back as your hips moved at a constant pace for a longer period of time.

"Wait." she said between moans. "I want to see you."

You took out your cock off her, allowing her to turn around, giving her another passionate kiss, you took her hips and brought her closer to the edge of the bed, sitting there, she opened her legs for you.

You entered inside her again, resuming your task of fucking her hard, Irene wrapped her arms around your head, moving a little on the bed, allowing you to fuck her deeper.

"So fucking deep." She sighs, closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, she met your eyes, making her blush a bit. You didn't ignore it and brought your lips closer to hers, touching them but not kissing her.

"Mrs. Bae, I'm about to cum." She took your face in her hands, smiling.

"Inside me, until the last drop… I need it."

That was the last thing you needed, Irene hugged you and in a last effort you fucked her harder than ever until you shot all your cum inside her pussy, making both of you reach an orgasm. Both of you really had made a mess.

Irene laid on the bed, still shaking, with one of her arms covering her face. You laid to next to her, looking directly at her.

"Don't worry, today is a safe day."

"That’s fine of course but wasn't my real concern."

Irene lowered her arm and stared at you for a few moments, her eyes widening as if she had forgotten the reason of this. He pretended to cough in an attempt to hide her mistake by sitting back on the bed.

"Yes, about that… You did your part, so I'll do mine, and I promise I won't say anything about what happened here."

Feeling a big relief at that moment, you didn't say anything more than "thank you" to get out of bed in search of your work clothes. You had a schedule to complete.

"I will stay here for a few days because of work."

You left your shirt half buttoned to watch as Irene leaned against the door frame, now wearing a bathrobe from the bathroom.

"Maybe you can offer me this special service again." Her mischievous smile made your face get one, too. "I am at your total disposal, Mrs. Bae."

[luveline]

hey love! first of all: i have to admit i started watching criminal minds for the first time earlier this year only bc of your spencer fics! can we get more stripper!reader and spencer? love your writing!!!

thank you!! It’s a slow routine. You begin in a crouch in your underwear, just like at the club. Chest to your knees, arms twisted with the backs of your hands touching. But, unlike at the club, this underwear is comfortable. There’s nobody watching, and you won’t make any tips. You don’t have a pole nor a stage. 

You run through the routine but forgo any pole tricks. You stretch for long, slow minutes, dancing from one space to another. The music in your head isn’t anything you’d play at home, but it works to keep time. You end on your knees again. 

It’s not fun. 

You stretch toward your phone and pick it up. Spencer’s texted you twice in the ten minutes you weren’t on it. 

Hi gorgeous, the first begins, do you want to sleep over? I can make you dinner. 

The second, Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever called you gorgeous before, is that weird? Please come over and pretend I didn’t say that if it was weird

A third pops up while you’re reading. Can I come get you? 

You text him back with pleasure. He’s the only guy in your life who talks to you just to talk, without thinking he could fuck you if he says enough right things, even though he has fucked you. Hi babe you can call me anything it’s not weird, I’ll come over! Not working this week, maybe I can stay two days(?) let me know so I can pack enough clothes 

You can stay all week, if you want to. I miss you 

You imagine him holding his phone, his cheeks pink with blush. 

I miss you too, you text back. 

Just bring what you want to and we can work it out later

Working it out later could mean anything with Spencer. He’s silly enough to try and put you in his clothes, and generous enough to take you shopping if it saves the time it takes to drive you home. 

You’ve packed a bag of clothes and shower things when your phone rings. Spencer’s contact photo covers the whole screen, the two of you together with your face cut out, his smile wide. You were both a teeny bit tipsy. 

“Hello?” you answer, bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Hi!” He sounds nervous. “I’m outside. Am I gonna get towed?” 

“Not if you stay in the car. I’m on my way down right now.” 

“Okay, see you in a second,” he says. 

He never looks comfortable behind a steering wheel. You aren’t sure why he doesn’t sell his car, maybe because it’s dirt cheap to maintain. He never seems happy to be driving is all. 

He smiles when you approach his door, which is better. He rolls down the window. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. You bend at the knees to see him better. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I had a weird feeling about you, like you weren’t alright.” 

You lean down further. “I’m okay.” 

He grins. You’re waiting for a kiss he doesn’t give, finding yourself a subject for his staring, completely still as his gaze follows around your face. He makes no move to kiss you, and for a moment insecurity blossoms. 

“Well, you look okay. Are you getting in? It’s cold,” he says, nodding toward the passenger side.

“No help with my bags?” you ask, closing the door when he tries to open it. “Kidding.” 

You round the hood and climb inside. Then Spencer kisses you, polite but emphatic, one on your lips and another just under your jaw as he squeezes your shoulder. You feed into them lovingly.

“Maybe you can stay at my place forever? That way I can stop missing you all the time,” he says, pulling away slowly. 

“And when the mystery is gone?” you ask. 

“I don’t want mystery with you.” 

Spencer takes your bag from your lap and shoves it into the back seat. You drop the smaller one on your shoes. 

“Do you wanna get pizza or something?” he asks. 

You hold your jaw where he’d kissed you. “Sure,” you say, tingles of his kiss lingering under your hand. 

“Or Chinese? What do you want?” 

You want more kisses, but you love that he always gives you options. “Pizza for sure. Curly fries, too. Hold my hand?” 

Spencer takes it with gusto over the gearstick, and whatever felt like it was missing earlier fills itself in. “Wait,” you say softly, before he can take the car out of park, “just…” You grab his side and drag him toward you for a hug. Holding hands wasn’t gonna be enough —Spencer doesn’t know it yet, but you love him, love how safe he makes you feel, love how fun he makes your life. You can be yourself with him, no matter who that really is.

Spencer holds you, his hand across your shoulder blade rubbing soft lines. 

[helaintoloki]

I am just so obsessed with the idea of Five and Reader's domestic life (without all those doomsday shite) 🫠 so please, if you can, I'd love to read something related to that 🙏🏻

a/n: hi anon sorry for the wait ! i just started the fall semester and haven’t had much time to write but i hope you enjoy this little slice of life -esque fic

warning: basically pure fluff

The dance hall is nearly empty save for the elderly couple rocking back and forth in each other’s arms in front of the stage where the big band plays their last song of the night. Tired busboys and cleanup crew members clear away the tables and sweep up any mess to prepare for the next day of business. Despite the evening coming to a close, you’re in no hurry to leave Five’s arms as he delicately twirls you around the dance floor to one of his favorite songs.

“Ready to call it a night?” He asks with a careful smile after watching your eyes nearly flutter shut for a third time. He knows you well enough to detect when you’ve reached the point of exhaustion, but he also knows you’re not one to ever admit this out of your own volition.

“Tired already, old man?” You counter playfully, but you don’t protest as he begins to lead you off the dance floor and out the doors to your car. Your feet are killing you and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed, and Five is fully aware of your current internal dialogue. He helps you into the car and even slips off your heels for you before taking his place behind the wheel.

“This was nice,” he admits in a soft voice, glancing over at you in the passenger’s seat. Your head is pressed against the cool glass of the window as you watch the city streets pass by, and you let out a gentle hum in response to his comment.

“It’s nice we get to do normal couple things now,” you agree thoughtfully. “No assignments to complete, no world-ending apocalyptic threats to stop, no timelines to fix. Just us getting another chance to relive our twenties again in a world where the moon is still intact.”

“I’m sorry about all that,” Five relents with a tired sigh. If not for him you probably never would have been wrapped up in all that mess in the first place, and he feels partly responsible for the chaotic nature your life had taken on the last few decades.

“Hey,” you call gently, prompting the boy to glance over at your sincere gaze and soft smile, “I wouldn’t change it for the world, you know that. I literally had the chance to, but I decided against it.”

“Don’t remind me,” he scoffs quietly at the memory. The Handler had cornered you once with an enticing deal- a chance to return to your own time in exchange for Five’s whereabouts and his plans to stop the end of the world. She mistakenly underestimated your loyalty to the time traveler, and you had gifted her with a solid right hook in response to her offer. That all felt so long ago to you both now.

The headlights of the car drown your front yard in artificial light as Five finally pulls into the driveway of your humble home. After everything had been set back to normal and the Cleanse had been stopped, you both decided to move out into the suburbs and purchased a lovely little fixer upper in a quiet neighborhood where almost nothing seemed to happen. It was exactly the fresh start you needed, and every time you stepped over the threshold through the front door you felt your heart fill with warmth all over again just like it had the first time Five had carried you inside.

“I think we should get a dog,” you voice aloud for no particular reason as you flip on the lights and shut the door behind you. The house is cozily warm despite your absence, and already you can feel the eagerness rising within you at the thought of crawling into bed.

“A dog?” Five repeats with a raised brow as he hangs his coat on the wall and sets your heels upon the shoe rack next to his own.

“After married people get a house they usually start having kids, or they get a dog,” you explain with a casual wave of your hand as you walk through the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a glass of water. “I think we should get a dog.”

“Not a kid?” Five teases as his fingers playfully poke into your side. You jump at the feeling, and he uses the distraction as an opportunity to steal your glass from you so that he may take a hearty gulp of water before you can protest.

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. At least, I’m not. I can hardly handle babysitting Grace and the twins as it is.”

“To be fair, they take after their parents,” Five reminds you with a sarcastic chuckle before handing you your freshly refilled glass of water. “I think our kids would stand a better chance.”

“A Hargreeves child with a y/l/n as their mother?” You retort with a pointed look and uneasy smile. “Not likely. I’d like to remain chaos free for at least another few years before we get to that.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he relents with a sigh before wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve had enough chaos to last us a lifetime. The kids can wait.”

“So we’re getting a dog?”

“We’ll get a dog,” Five chuckles with a careful nod as he presses his lips to your cheek.

“Can we name him Mr. Pennycrumb?”

“Mr. Pennycrumb?” Your husband retorts skeptically, pulling away to analyze your facial features in search of any falsehood or mirth. “Where’d you come up with that?”

“I read it in a comic book once,” you offer with a simple shrug as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world. Despite how much time he’s spent with you, you still always find a way to surprise him when he least expects it. It’s one of the many things he loves about you, and it’s why your relationship has remained so strong after all this time. It’s hard to reach a stalemate when you’re always keeping him on his toes.

“Of course, what was I thinking,” Five hums thoughtfully as he pulls away from your figure and sets your now empty cup in the sink. “Mr. Pennycrumb it is.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and turns to leave for the bedroom, but your melodious call of his name has him stopping dead in his tracks. You move forward to loosen his tie for him, an adoring smile on your face as you peer up at him through your lashes and quietly voice, “I love you.”

He grins, his gaze soft with a look that is only reserved for you as he presses his lips to your forehead and gifts you a tender hearted kiss. What he ever did to be lucky enough to have someone like you, he’ll never know, but what he does know is that he’ll gladly spend the rest of his time on this earth making you happy with the life you’ve built together.

“I love you too,” he utters reverently before pulling you into his arms once more for another kiss.

[moonstruckme]

our girl with the emt!marauders is constantly in pain lol. how would you feel maybe writing about one of the boys getting hurt for a change? she gets called to take whoever home! it can be funny cuz it’s usually her ass who needs saving. (only if it’s tickling that writin itch)

Thanks for requesting babe!

cw: back injury

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 708 words

Sirius is already hobbling out of the front door when you pull up at the curb, James hovering beside him like he’s about to keel over and Remus walking behind them both with a worried indent between his brows. 

“Hey.” Sympathy bends your voice as James opens the door for him. Sirius grimaces, slowly lowering himself into the passenger seat. “Wow, I didn’t expect it to be this bad. You can’t straighten up at all?” 

“Nope,” James answers for him. He comes around to your side of the car and leans through the open window for a kiss. “He’s strained a muscle in his lower back. Only thing to do right now is rest and ice it.” 

Remus passes Sirius his seatbelt before he can reach for it himself. “Try to keep still,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss across his temple before looking at you. “Please try to drive extra carefully so he doesn’t hurt himself, love. And don’t let him do anything at home.” 

“This has got to be the first time I’ve been asked not to help out around the house,” Sirius teases. “I’d like to use my current privileges to extend this dish-doing ban indefinitely, please.” 

You find yourself in agreement. Is Remus really worried about Sirius rushing home to do chores? Just last week you had to show him where you keep the broom. You’ve lived together for over a year. 

Your dubiousness must show on your face, because James laughs and says, “He’s already injured himself worse by trying to put the moves on Remus.” 

“Hardly my fault,” Sirius says dismissively. “He’s very tall, have you noticed? I don’t have the proper equipment for mountain climbing.” 

You snort, and he grins, a true show of resilience by a soldier down. 

“I won’t let him do anything,” you tell Remus solemnly. 

“Thanks, lovie.” James plants another kiss on your cheek, rounding the car to lead Remus back inside. “Rest and ice,” he reminds you. “Keep an eye on him!” 

“I twinge something in my back and suddenly it’s like I’m not even allowed to speak for myself,” Sirius gripes.

You laugh, putting the car into gear. “Welcome to my world.” 

You take Remus’ cautioning very seriously, drifting into all your stops and easing slowly around each turn. The drive takes about twice as long as it usually would, but there are no incidents. When you get home, you do your best to give Sirius the princess treatment the boys always give you when you’re injured or ailing; you insist on opening his door for him and helping him inside, you set up a mountain of pillows to support the ice pack behind his back, and you put the remote in his hand so he can choose something to watch while you make the both of you lunch. 

“I feel very lame,” Sirius says as you come back with sandwiches and drinks. It’s a repetition of the same complaint you heard every time you started to slow down for a turn or glanced over to check on him during the drive here. “But I will say, this luxury service is starting to make up for things.” 

“Really?” You grin at him. “You’re not experiencing any urges to get out the vacuum or lift heavy things?” 

“Oddly enough, no.” 

“Crazy.” You take a bite of your sandwich, cozying up on the other side of the couch to watch the film he’s chosen. 

“You know,” Sirius drawls, “I realize I’m making this all look very easy, but I wouldn’t reject a cuddle.” 

You turn, and your boyfriend is looking over at you with a raised brow. You smile sheepishly. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He scoffs. “Sweetheart, if I’m too injured to cuddle, they may as well put me down. C’mere.” 

You scoot to the other side of the couch, curling into your boyfriend’s side but covertly leaning your weight against the back cushion instead. 

“Better.” Sirius kisses the top of your head firmly. 

“We probably shouldn’t tell Rem and Jamie about this.” 

“Oh no. When they get home, the story is that I was miserable being laid up all day and didn’t enjoy it at all. God forbid I have to do it again tomorrow.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

finding freedom

words: 4.2k

warnings: emotion abuse (not from rafe), potential physical abuse (again not from rafe), friends to lovers, brief violence, brief mention of fatphobia/readers body size, soft!rafe (but he still punches someone bc rafe is gonna rafe)

“can we please just not do this today?” you sigh, smoothing your hand down your freshly straightened hair, needing every strand to be set in place for midsummers tonight.

“i’m not doing anything, can you not be a bitch?” scott groans, fixing his tie in the mirror.

you sigh just quietly enough for scott not to hear. the start of your relationship was perfect. he never called you names or hurt you’re feelings, but that changed quickly, and now you’re numb to his insults. you love has faded into nothing, feeling like you’re more of a glorified maid than an actual girlfriend.

“i just don’t want any problems at midsummers tonight.” you say. “the whole town will be there.” at least everyone in the town whose approval you care about.

“i won’t start any problems if you don’t.” scott says, walking out of your shared bedroom. you never should have agreed to move in with him so quickly, but you were getting tired of your parents overbearing nature, only for them to leave for florida permanently a month after you moved out, giving you no other option on where to live.

you check your teeth for lipstick in the mirror once more before following him out.

you ride to the country club in silence, scott staring at the road ahead while you gaze out the window, eyes turning glassy as you slip out of focus like you have more and more lately.

you arrive at the celebration, knowing scott won’t open the door for you. he hasn’t in weeks. you step out, adjusting your dress that had ridden up from being sat down in scotts sports car.

you walk side by side with scott, instead of hand in hand. you wonder if people even know that you’re a couple. if they would ever suspect it when you certainly don’t act like it.

“what do you want to drink?” scott asks, already eyeing the bar.

“i don’t want anything.” you say, hoping that will stop scott from drinking too early as well, but instead he walks away, leaving you alone.

“hey.” a familiar voice purrs out as you turn around quickly.

“rafe!” a smile spreads across your face as you see one of your oldest friends. he quickly wraps you in a tight but still appropriate hug.

“no scott?” rafe asks, looking around hopefully.

“he’s um… already at the bar.” you laugh gently, feeling the awkward tension rise already. scott loves to have you all to himself, which caused you to lose touch with a lot of your friends, even rafe who you used to see at least every other day.

“already.” rafe hums out, words stinging.

“yeah, i should probably catch up with him…” you trail off, walking away leaving rafe looking at you with evident disappointment. 

you find scott amongst the crowd, but don’t bother making your way towards him as you spy kelce and his sister sat at a table in the corner.

“hey!” you smile and take the open seat.

“girl, its been so long! where have you been?” kelces little sister asks. 

“uh-” you’re about to make something up, when thankfully kelce saves you.

“oh shit, i love this song!” he hops up from his seat, chair clattering against the sun bleached hardwood. “dance with me, y/n?”

“yeah, sure.” you take kelces hand, happy that you seem to have slipped back into your natural rhythm as you dance, his hand high up on your waist to avoid any cries of indecency by the other attendees.

you dance with kelce through a couple songs before being passed off to one of his friends you don’t know very well, but you’re happy all the say, laughing as the crowd of younger folk grows as the songs shift more modern.

“y/n, can i have your next dance?” rafe asks, scooping you away from your current partner with ease.

“of course.” you feel your cheeks blushing unwillingly from the way he holds you close to his chest.

“babe, lets go home.” scott suddenly appears next to you.

you take an obvious step away from rafe, putting distance between your bodies for both of your sakes. “i’m not ready yet.” you say, attempting to keep your voice soft.

“well i am. so come on.” scott grabs your forearm, pulling you away.

you manage to look back at rafe as you get dragged towards the door. “sorry.” you mouth, hoping he doesn’t rush after you and cause a scene, even though you can see the anger on his features.

scott finally lets go when you’re out the door as you follow him across the parking lot towards his obnoxious bright yellow sportscar.

“give me the keys.” you say.

“i can drive.” scott says, waving you off.

“you are drunk!” “i said i can drive, woman!” scott shouts at you, ripping open the drivers side door and depositing himself in front of the wheel.

“then im not going with you!” you yell.

“fine, stay here for all i care!” scott slams the door shut and doesn’t even glance back at you as he backs out of the spot, wheels squealing as he leaves the parking lot.

“fuck.” you curse, heading back towards the country club. you make it to the front step before you even realize that you’re crying, tears escaping down your face. you quickly brush them away, hoping kelce or maybe topper or sarah can give you a ride home.

you take a minute to calm yourself before stepping back in, the atmosphere so different to how you feel inside.

you see rafe stood in front of the window to your right, clearly watching everything that went down in the parking lot.

“rafe-”

“are you okay?” he questions, head tipping forward, staring at you with intense eyes.

“i-” you clear your throat, holding back the tears as you force a smile on your face. “of course im okay.”

“i see the way he treats you. its wrong.” 

“we’re fine.” you shake your head, voice as loud as you can make it without cracking, yet still a whisper.

“do you want to spend the night at tanneyhill? the guest bedroom is open for you always.”

“i-i guess that would be fine.” you shrug. “just cause hes drunk. he… he isn’t drunk often.” its a bold faced lie, yet you still tell it, covering for your boyfriend and dampening the anger still sketched across rafes brow.

“mhm.” rafe leads you back outside. he doesn’t talk to you for the ride back to tanneyhill, but it doesn’t feel the same as the oppressive silence that fills the car whenever you’re with scott.

“thank you. i’ll leave in the morning.” 

rafe just nods.

--

you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at scott. “well?” “well what?” he questions, throwing his hands in the air.

“you really don’t know what today is?” 

“no, and you won’t tell me!”

“forget it.” you push yourself off the bed. “i’m taking the jeep.” you call out, not bothering to tell him where you’re going.

you’re not even sure at first as you drive around before you ultimately decide to drive towards the tennis courts. you have none of your equipment, but you can at least sit in the stands and watch others play as a way to pass the time.

“what are you doing here on your birthday?” 

you let out a squeal in shock, almost closing the door on yourself. “rafe! you scared the shit out of me!” “sorry.” he holds his hands up, wide smile on his face. “but seriously, you’re playing tennis on your birthday?”

“scott forgot.” you blurt out. “so… i was just kinda driving around aimlessly.” you shrug.

“well, let me take you out then birthday girl. lunch?” you realize after rafes suggestion how hungry you are and nod quickly.

rafe takes you out to your favorite restaurant, immediately telling the waitress it’s your birthday and you’ll be having dessert first, making you giggle and roll your eyes as an ice cream sundae is brought out for you to share.

“hey.” rafe says, bringing you back to the tennis courts to pick up your car now that the sun has set, having spent the entire day together. “i got you a present.”

“really?” you gasp. “rafe, you didn’t have to!” 

“you’re my friend, its no problem.” he shrugs, reaching into the backseat and handing you a thin wrapped box.

“oh my god, thank you.” you reach across the center console, pulling him into a hug before ripping into the colorful paper, eyes widening when you realize what you were just gifted.

“absolutely not, its too much!” you lift up the beautiful gold bracelet, stone embellishments inlaid into the pattern.

“come on, you deserve something beautiful today. let me help you put it on.” rafe doesn’t give you any time to argue, taking the bracelet and slipping it around your wrist, fingers gently touching your skin as he clips it.

“i-i seriously can’t thank you enough.”

“all i want in return is for you to be happy.” rafe says, looping your fingers together. 

you squeeze them back, holding back your tears as you mutter a goodbye, promising to call rafe soon before heading back home to scott. any time you feel upset on the ride back, you just look at your gift and think of rafe.

“you still don’t know?” you call as you enter the house.

“it’s your birthday.” scott appears from the living room, handing you a gift bag.

“are you serious?” you follow him deeper into the house as he flops back onto the couch, eyes on the television.

“i got you a gift, what more do you want?” scott groans.

you can’t help but laugh, a mean, bitter laugh as you look into the bag. “you’ve got to be kidding me.” it’s an eyeshadow palette with a $2.99 sticker on it. you don’t care about the cost of gifts, but this is clearly something he just picked up from the dollar store with zero thought.

“its makeup. you like girly shit.” scott shrugs.

“yeah, thanks.” you say sarcastically, throwing the bag onto the coffee table as you stomp away. you hear scott following you, and you almost make it into your room before his hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back towards him.

“what the fuck is your problem?” he shouts.

you want to yell back, want to scream in his face and let go of all your rage, but as his hold tightens on your wrist, you don’t dare to speak up.

“i tried to get you something you liked.” he reasons.

“i know.” by some sick standards, he did.

“i can give you something else you like.” scott guides your hand to his crotch, placing it there before you snatch your hand back.

“i’ve got a headache.”

“of course you do.” scott rolls his eyes, walking back down the stairs without another word.

--

“you could have at least asked me before you agreed to dinner.” scott says, changing out of his sweatpants into an old pair of jeans.

“you don’t have to come.” you shrug, adding the bracelet rafe gifted you last, your favorite accessory to every outfit, no matter how casual. “its just gonna be rafe, topper and kelce.”

“of course im coming. you think im going to let you go out to eat with three men without your boyfriend?” “do you not trust me?” you raise an eyebrow.

scott just shrugs, and leaves his answer at that, grabbing his car keys as you follow behind.

you’re the last one to arrive, a small apologetic smile on your face as the boys see scott following right behind.

the waitress comes to get everyones drink orders now that the party is complete. you order a lemonade, with scott getting himself a beer, as usual. you notice rafe gets just a cold glass of water, his eyes meeting yours from his spot across the table.

“alright, what can i get yall to eat?” the waitress pulls out a notepad and pen.

everyone orders for themselves until it gets to scott. “ill have the stake, medium well. she will have a side salad.”

you furrow your brow, you never talked about wanting a salad beforehand. “um, actually i’ll have the chicken parm.”

the waitress glances between the two of you before nodding and scurrying away.

“god, you’re getting so fat.” scott says under his breath, yet you still clearly hear.

you wait a few minutes, attempting to listen to whatever sport kelce and topper are going on and on about, when the urge to cry becomes too overwhelming and you have to excuse yourself, walking towards the bathroom before slipping outside.

you are leaned up against the exterior of the building, chest rising and falling as you attempt to control all the feelings you have building inside of you.

“why don’t you say anything to him?” 

“god, rafe.” you place your hand on your chest. “you’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

“i heard what he says. i see the way he treats you, and i can’t just sit back and watch that happen.”

“what am i supposed to do?” you look up at rafe in desperation.

“break up with him.” he says simply.

“we live together. i-i have no place to go. this is a small island, and we have mutual friends. i can’t just walk away and never see him again.

“so how long are you going to put up with it? because i am seconds away from smashing his face in.” rafes fist clenches in anger, like hes visualizing punching scott this very moment.

“i… i’ll do it today. at home so i can get my stuff then i’ll go to a hotel-”

“tanneyhill. you’ll come to tanneyhill. i told you, the guest bedroom is always open for you.”

“thank you, rafe.” you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug, allowing the minutes to stretch by as he holds you.

“lets get you inside, yeah?” 

you nod, allowing rafe to lead you back into the restaurant. scott has a suspicious look in his eye but stays silent.

--

“we need to talk when we get home.” you say, scotts foot pushed down on the accelerator as he speeds home.

“what is there to talk about?” he questions.

“just some things i want to get off my chest.” you leave it at that, returning to the silence you’ve come to know well.

you can barely wait until you’re through the door before the words spurt out. “i want to break up.”

scott stands there with a blank expression, causing you to doubt whether you actually verbally said anything. 

“i want to break up.” you repeat.

“no.” scott says, face flushing with anger.

“what do you mean no?” you question.

“is this because i called you fat? well, im sorry for that. i just think you could lose a little weight.” scott throws his hands up in the air like he’s the victim.

“i just can’t take this anymore. i’m not happy. you’re not happy. why are we torturing ourselves?” “you’re not leaving.” scott takes a step closer to you. “i won’t allow you to fucking leave.”

“scott, please.” you shake your head.

“you’re mine!” he yells, bursting forward to grab your shoulders, pushing you against the wall as you let out a shriek.

your eyes closed, accepting that this is the time. this is when you will be hit. you just hope it doesn’t break anything as you wait for your fate, but it never comes.

your eyes open to see rafe burst through the door, immediately accessing the situation and shoving scott away from you.

“what the fuck!” he shouts, charging towards rafe, but it's no use as rafes fist rises and meets his nose, knocking him onto the ground and out cold.

“are you okay?” rafe wraps you in his arms as your body crumbles, holding you up like your weight is nothing as you sob.

“i-thank you.”

“i’ve got you. come on, lets go get your stuff. im taking you to tanneyhill.”

you nod, in a haze as you gather up your belongings, leaving behind anything that can be left as you get just the essentials, rafe helping you carry them out, even as you step around scotts still body, lying on the floor. you check to make sure his chest is rising and falling, and then don’t look at him again.

--

“ive never seen you so happy.” sarah laughs as you flit around the kitchen, making the biggest breakfast you can for the entire cameron family. eggs prepared in every way, toast, waffles, pancakes, anything and everything. it’s really all for rafe, your savior.

“what is there to be upset about?” you shrug. “i’m single!”

“and youre spending lots of time with rafe again.” she eyes you up and down as your hand shakes slightly pouring a glass of orange juice for wheezie.

“shut up.” you whisper, but the smile doesn’t drop from your face, especially as rafe enters the room. you transformed in the night, the shackles of scotts emotional abuse finally falling away, allowing your true self to reappear.

“im taking you out to dinner tonight, y/n.” rafe says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“you haven’t even had breakfast yet and you’re already thinking about dinner?” you laugh, shoving a plate full of his favorites into his hands.

“to celebrate.” he shrugs. “maybe i’ll convince top to throw a party.”

“ugh, i really don’t want to be around drunk people.” you admit. you want to celebrate, but preferably without alcohol at least for a month. rafe just nods, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before taking a seat at the island next to sarah.

“after you’re done eating, you can help me look for an apartment or a condo.” you tell rafe. “maybe i could ask ward about-”

“you know you don’t need to be in a rush to leave, right?” rafe interrupts you.

“yeah, but i don’t want to take advantage.” you shrug.

“you’re not.” rafe says, that serious, intense look back in his eye.

“okay.” you nod, soft smile on your face as he takes a bite of his waffle. you turn back to the stove as the timer goes off.

“oh, and maybe we could look for some place to move in together.” you glance back at rafe as he speaks, not caring that your bacon is getting crispier and crispier. “probably time for me to leave the nest anyways… and there’s no one i’d rather live with than you.”

--

“gosh, y/n, you can talk about something else.” rafe laughs as you launch into another discussion about what kind of house or condo you could move into together, what features you’re looking for and renovations you want to avoid.

“i’m excited!” you whine, taking another bite of your food.

“its cute.” rafe says, making you almost choke as you take a quick sip of your water.

“i just really can’t wait to live together. it’ll be so refreshing after…” you don’t need to say his name, not so soon after. 

“of course.” he nods. “do you want dessert?” rafe asks, seeing the waitress walking over.

“maybe we could split a hot fudge cake?” 

“here’s another water, sir.” she winks at rafe, handing him another glass even though his is not even half empty. “and can i get you anything for dessert?” she leans down, feigning to be reaching into her apron for her notepad, but is clearly just showing off her chest.

“one hot fudge cake, two spoons.” rafe barely pays attention to her as she scribbles it down and walks away disappointed.

“well, she’s bold.” you huff, glaring at her back until she rounds a corner.

“jealous?” rafe smirks, making your eyes widen.

“i never said that!”

“mhm.” rafe takes a sip of his new water. “don’t worry, you’re cute when you’re jealous too.”

--

“really, thanks for this topper.” you smile, accepting his hand as you step onto his family yacht, taking you and a couple friends, of course including rafe, out for a day on the water.

“just happy to have my friend back.” he says. you feel so lucky to have such amazing people surrounding you, supporting you after your breakup and not holding the way you treated them while in your relationship against you.

you take a seat next to rafe as topper begins to pull the boat away from the dock, allowing your eyes to close and head to rest against rafes shoulder as you feel the sun warm your skin.

you lay like that until topper navigates the yacht into deeper waters for everyone to jump off and swim. you hang back for a moment, watching everyone throw in floating pads or inner tubes as you smile, feeling more relaxed than you have in months.

“ready?” rafe asks.

“oh, yeah.” you pull off your coverup and jump into the water, laughing when you come up as rafe cannonballs right next to you.

you spend the next couple of hours in the water, only getting out to dive right back in. you swim around with rafe, but manage to break away from his attention to talk to your other friends for a bit as well.

your stomach rumbles as topper calls for lunch, having packed sandwiches into the fridge in the yachts kitchen before you left. you sit on your towel on the deck, rafe bringing you back a sandwich and bag of chips as everyone begins to talk.

you watch happily, content to sit back and just be in the moment. you tense up slightly when topper brings out a cooler of drinks, relaxing only slightly when you realize it’s only enough for everyone to have one or two beers or white claws and no one will be getting plastered.

“wanna head back in the water?” rafe asks when you're finished.

“actually…” you look at one of your friends screaming as kelce scoops her up and jumps into the water with her in his arms. “wanna go lay on the sundeck?” “yeah.” rafe follows you away from the crowd until you reach the large white cushions and spread yourself over them, arching your back and stretching.

rafe sprawls out next to you, but turns himself to the side so he can look at you.

“i like you, y/n.” he says.

“i-” its so sudden, so forward, yet so rafe.

“you don’t have to say anything back. but you should know, especially if we are buying a place together.” you nod slowly, taking in his words. “i like you. and i want to kiss you.”

you just nod, a smile spreading across your cheeks as rafe moves closer, placing his hand on your cheek as he leans down, lips pressing against yours.

you’re elated for a moment, until your nose catches the smell of alcohol and you freeze, realizing there’s still the sticky sweet taste on his lips as you’re suddenly transported back to feeling what it’s like kissing scott.

you pull away suddenly.

“i’m… shit. i’m sorry.” rafe stands quickly before you can even process.

“wait!” you call out, legs feeling like jelly yet you force them to work, standing as you rush after rafe, but by the time you reach the main deck, hes taken off on one of toppers jetskis, heading towards home.

“what happened?” topper asks, seeing the tears in your eyes.

“we-we kissed and-” you let out a sob. “i got a flashback of scott because of the beer smell and i pulled away and-” another sob racks through your body. “he thought i was rejecting him but… i love him topper! i need to go and find him and tell him and-” “calm down, okay? you can’t do anything in this state.” topper places his hands on your shoulders, moving you to sit in a chair.

“everyone back on the boat!” he yells, his tone unusually authoritative as everyone scrambles to get the floaties back into the boat.

the yacht moves faster than you thought possible as topper races back, knowing how important this is to you, and to rafe. he’s not going to let his friends miss out on true love just because of a misunderstood trauma response.

thanks to the slow jetski, you reach the dock only a minute after rafe. you’re off the boat and running after him before the lines are even secured.

“wait!” your feet slap against the wood until you reach rafe, grasping his wrist and pulling him to face you.

“just-” rafe sighs. “let me go, y/n. you can stay at tanneyhill of course just… i don’t need you to reject me again.” “let me explain!” you shout, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i wanted to kiss you, i swear. i just smelled the beer on you, and i got a flashback to scott. i got freaked out, it had nothing to do with you. im just… still recovering.”

“shit.” rafe groans, head tipping back at he stares at the sky for a moment, collecting his anger. “i’m so fucking stupid. of course you need more time, you just left him a couple days ago.” “no im… i like you too rafe. i know i need to heal, but i want to do that with you. i love you.”

rafes face turns briefly to one of confusion before a smile takes over. “im going inside to go use toppers mouthwash real quick then im coming back to kiss you. don’t move.”

sfw taglist: @bejeweledreverie @winterrrnight @ladyinbl00d

[ajortga]

cute and absolute

pairing: jenna ortega x actress!fem reader

word count: 1.8k+

summary: it doesn't go unnoticed that you are one of the only people that jenna lets her walls down with.

based off request!

-

Where Jenna only accepts r's touch ??? Tyy

-🥝

-

Jenna is squirming in the car, screaming at her friend to drive faster so she can eat. 

“I’ve been on set since 6 fucking AM! It’s been 10 hours and I’m hungry! I skipped breakfast for this damn shit! What the hell do you mean you can’t get a burrito right now? All I want is a damn burrito and you’re telling me that we have to pick up Y/N, our friend, and first buy the book you wanted because it’s closer? CLOSER?” She screams, gripping her knuckles that were already white enough.

Jacob, one of Jenna’s friends laughs hard, a little threatened but not enough to be stopped. “It’ll only take 15 minutes at most! It’s more convenient, the bookstore is along the way and closer to our location, then we can just buy any burrito you want aft-” 

“CLOSER? YOU KNOW WHAT’S CLOSER?” Jenna throws her arms up in dramatic effect, huffing, “Me going insane! My sanity is at 10% right now, and if I don’t get my burrito this instant, I’m going to crash this car and fucking run to the nearest place that has a burrito. DON’T touch me!” She yells, smacking her friend's arm away because she cannot think properly at this moment.

“I’m STARVING, and I’m a woman who needs food to survive in this film ECONOMY! Can’t you drive any faster?-"

Jenna suddenly hears your voice outside from the slightly opened car window. She peeks her eyes out, her hands holding the glass. She suddenly sees you, looking sweet, happy, and perfectly sane as you come out of your driveway. “Hi, Jenna!” You exclaim, completely unaware that she was just ballistic for a burrito 5 seconds ago.

Her frustrated demeanor melts off suddenly, a goofy grin on her face as she sees just how happy you are. She brings her hand up, waving. “Hi!”

She just forgot how hungry she was and the person she just was less than a minute ago. Why was she so upset that she had to wait longer so Jacob could pick you up? She stopped feeling the need to bang her head on the nearest wall. 

“Jacob was telling me that you had a long time on set, something about how I had to save him because you were going crazy, so I got you some snacks.” You pull out a bag filled with goodies from your pantry.

The man that was driving stuttered as Jenna slowly turned to him, “I did not say it like that.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, grabbing your phone and swiping and squinting. “It says here, “Please save me from this woman, she’s acting like a toddler that just shit her pants. SOS, crying crying emoji..” Um, oh and here. “This girl is so dramatic, complaining about not getting her burrito, she's wailing in the back seat. Please save her.” Don’t lie to me.” You state with a grin as Jenna munches on chips.

He rolls his eyes, grumbling. 

Jenna interrupts, “Okay, Jacob, you traitor.”

“You cannot be talking, slapping my arm away when I try to calm you down but Y/N being some sort of angel and making you all cuddly.”

The fuming brunette slowly turns back to normal as you slither your arm around hers, laying your head on her shoulder. “Glad to know you love me. How was filming without me?”

Jenna sniffs, letting you ruffle her hair, “One of the directors was trying to show us how the scene should play out, the popcorn in the microwave caught on fire.”

You nod, awkwardly as you look around. “Was it your popcorn?” You guess.

She huffs and sinks into you, “Yes, and now I'm starving."

-

Aliyah is losing her mind. First, her father was fixing the doorbell, and now it seems to be ringing on its own. Now, her older sister won’t cooperate as she tries to steady Jenna’s legs that are in the air. The brunette shrieks, causing Aliyah to pull away and make her tumble.

Aliyah groans, “This is the thirteenth time already! Let me make this clear, you asked me to help you do this random one handed handstand, but you won’t let me even touch you so I can get you into the right pose? You’re so weird.” 

Jenna shrugs, her head on the floor as she hangs upside down from the couch. “I am letting you touch me!”

“No you aren’t! You start shrieking and then falling face flat when I do! How the hell are we going to make this work if you won’t cooperate?”

The two siblings hear some shuffling as you crawl through the dog door, fitting yourself in. They blink, staring at you as you wiggle yourself through and throw a hand in the air, showing that you brought food. “Burritos!”

“Y/N! What are you doing? Go through the back door you doofus! You could’ve just knocked!”

You finally manage to squirm your way in as you stand up, brushing some leaves off of you and throwing them into the trash. You flip your hair, crawling through doggy doors were one of your talents. You signal her Jenna to hear you out as you put up a finger, “First of all, I was ringing the doorbell like, five thousand times, then I knocked, and no one was answering! I’m not letting the food get cold.” You pause, looking at Jenna who is currently staring at you upside down and hanging from the couch. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to do a one handed handstand.” 

“Oh, wait. Oh! I know how to do that!” Happily, you hand her sister the bag with burritos and tacos, before collapsing to the floor.

There was awkward silence as Jenna and Aliyah stared at each other, “Um..”

Jenna always knew you as the silly girl across the block. Even after 5 years of friendship, she thinks you’ve just gotten sillier.

“That wasn’t it, I haven’t done it in a year. Hold on.” You position yourself, slowly doing a handstand. Jenna can see your shirt slowly rising up and showing your stomach as you keep yourself steady. You lift an arm off and hang it up. “Did I do it?”

Jenna giggles and flops down the couch. “Yeah. I think so.” She crawls behind you and picks up your body that was upside down.

“Hey!”

-

“Okay, slow and steady..” You say softly, squinting and holding Jenna’s legs, making sure she was in the right position. “Aliyah, try steadying her while she puts one arm up.”

“No way, nope.” She argues, eating her taco, “She literally kept shrieking when I tried to and starting kicking and squirming.”

“She’s not shrieking right now?”

“Well you’re just different I guess, you’re her best friend, so..”

You raise your eyebrows, a smile tugging on your lips as you tickle Jenna and make her fall on you. “You just love me, don’t you!?” You giggle, hugging her as she squeals and nuzzles against you.

-

It was late in the evening as you got changed into pajamas and flopped onto your bed. Nights like this always felt better, where you would switch on a show, read a book, or call friends. You decide to check some emails, looking over some asking for you to star in movies, replying to companies that want you as their ambassador, you click out of the tab. 

A small ding sounds on your phone as you see that Emma had texted you. 

meh meh myers: LMAO look at this article i found about u and jenna: https://hypotheticalsofcelebrities

y/n: okay my own researcher and detective, or should i say pippa fitz amobi? u get me?

y/n: lemme go check it out

meh meh myers: yus ily

y/n: ur the pip to my ravi 🥺

meh meh myers: corny

You laugh at yourself as you open the link, the article named ‘Escalating Relationships, Cute or Absolute?’

You roll your eyes and scroll down.

Fans say that they’ve picked up on the actress’s behavior, scooting away from castmates who’ve gotten too close during interviews and only staying close to one or two close ones. Not that she’s uncomfortable, taken from the way she seems unfazed most times. But, it is noticed that she seems like a bundle of happiness with individuals. A clip right here shows her with a fellow castmate, Y/N L/N, both starred in the famous series, Wednesday. It is caught on how Ortega was silently making sure that her friend was okay during an interview that had turned a little more uncomfortable for the other girl, squeezing her hand and clinging onto her. It seemed to have worked, for how the girl began to relax. What a friendship they have!

The tiny moments of comfort and physical touch occur in other interviews too, as well as cute Instagram comments on each other's posts that come off as playful flirting. Some comments are pasted here.

Jenna Ortega commenting on Y/N’s post of a photoshoot press for Wednesday last year in September:

jennaortega: That’s my girl

Another one on a post of the girl just doing an Instagram photo dump this year in March:

jennaortega: if you squint closely you can see me doing the dishes for my wife in the third photo

jennaortega: i will take your last name if i have to

jennaortega: my woman, i love you

Y/N L/N commenting on a post for Jenna’s Adidas campaign last year in November:

y/n_l/n: i will be the only one applauding the longest for u

y/n_l/n: tis is why i got adidas merch

Fast forward to Christmas with a dump of Jenna’s favorite people (Y/N included) in December last year: 

y/n_l/n: I love you this is why I wanted to bake the turkey

y/n_l/n: merry christmas to my favorite person

Another one to a selfie of Jenna posted this year in April:

y/n_l/n: oh i’m interested, what’s your number?

y/n_l/n: sign my contract to be with me forever? comes with a long time of house wife chores!

-

What do you think? Are they just really good friends with the cutest flirting? Or secretly dating? Answer us down in our poll, cute, or absolute?

Final vote with 20K votes

Cute: 24%

Absolute: 76%

—

carrots4life: but like, their relationship is both cute and absolute! why aint that a option?

mangofrosties: they are def dating istg i’ve never seen them both this happy unless they are together

-

You smile, looking away from your laptop as you kick your feet. You do feel like Jenna had a soft spot for you, she always hugged you first, tried picking you up, falling asleep with each other on set. But she was just your best friend, you would all say to interviewers.

The door slightly creaks as you turn, smiling. “Hey baby, I think you should see this.”

Jenna flops on the bed with you, letting you cuddle her as she kisses you and reads your screen, a goofy grin on her face.

“I guess they caught on that we might be more than friends. I mean, it's not a lie that we are best friends, girlfriends is just a small little detail."

“Cute and absolute.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Nine.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Ten. The Playlist. Series Masterlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky are holding it together. Until you aren’t.

Pairing - DadsBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - cursing. hospital setting. talk of illness/health issues. panic attack.

Word Count - 3k

Authors Note - I probably sound like a broken record, but… thank you all so much for your patience and support. couldn’t do it without you. can you even believe that next chapter will be chapter ten? thanks for sticking with me. sorry for this rollercoaster of a chapter. there is still more to come - don’t worry!! <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You don’t remember the journey.

One minute, Bucky’s grabbing your hand and bundling you into the passenger seat of his truck, buckling you in as your hands shake. The next, he’s undoing your seatbelt, telling you that you’ve arrived as he puts the car in park. You don’t recall speeding across town and into the city. You can’t even think back to the roads flying past in a blur as your thoughts run at a hundred miles an hour.

The only thing that’s on your mind is your Dad.

You and Buck take the stairs two at a time, hands clasped together tightly. When you reach the reception desk, you try to speak, but nothing comes out. Your words have dried up, dissolved and evaporated into thin air. Your soulmate saves you, once again.

“We’re here to see a family member in cardiology. Can you tell us where to go, please?”

The receptionist looks up at you both, before nodding her head in the right direction.

“Follow that hallway, then through the double doors and up the stairs. Go left, and you’ll see the sign.”

You’re on autopilot, heading straight towards the doors. Bucky follows you quickly, throwing a chaste but genuine thanks to the lady behind the desk as he goes.

“Baby,” he calls after you when you reach the top. “Baby, hold on.”

You spin around, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Your bottom lip quivers as he tucks some hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek gently.

“Take a breath, please. You’re gonna faint before you get there.”

You inhale as deeply as possible, your lungs only filling to half capacity. You grab onto his hand for a second, squeezing as hard as you can.

“Okay. Breath done. Let’s go.”

You take off down the hallway, leaving Bucky to jog after you. Finding the big blue sign that reads Cardiology, you storm through the doors, looking around frantically. You spot Room 4 and head straight into it.

The room is all white, clinical and clean. There’s sunshine beaming through the window, but it doesn’t seem to warm the space. It’s cold, almost ominous. It makes it hard to breathe.

The bed is empty, crisp sheets tucked tightly into the plastic sides. Your Mom is sat in the chair beside it. She looks small, swallowed by the blue material.

“Mama.”

You don’t recognise your own voice. It’s choked and strangled, foreign to your ears.

She practically jumps up, striding across the room to wrap you in her arms. Inhaling the familiar scent of home, you hug her back as tightly as you can.

“Where is he?”

“He’s in surgery.”

You breathe a half sigh of relief. You’d feared the worst, when you’d walked in and seen the empty bed.

“What happened?”

Bucky’s been leaning against the door frame, watching you both carefully but giving you space. The tone of his voice is calm, collected. He’s holding it together for you.

“I honestly couldn’t understand it all. They were telling me so much information so fast.”

She sits down in the chair while you and Bucky perch on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“It was supposed to just be an appointment, wasn’t it?”

She nods.

“They did the EKG and weren’t happy with the results, so the nurse put us in this room while she waited for the Doctor. Then the Doctor burst in, talking about blockages and bypasses and emergency surgery.”

Her hands are trembling, neatly manicured nails being picked at repeatedly. Bucky reaches over and links his fingers with hers, all grounded and reassuring.

“They put him in a gown,” she continues, “and all of a sudden they were wheeling him away. I can’t even remember what I said, or if I said goodbye or I love you.”

“Mama, you will have said I love you. I promise you that.”

“She’s right, Lori. You will have said exactly the right thing. You always do.”

She squeezes his hand gratefully, taking a deep breath.

“The Doctor said he had a blockage, and they were worried about blood clotting. That’s why they rushed him in. The nurse said she’d update me when she knew anything, but I haven’t spoken to anyone yet.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. You know what Jack’s like,” Bucky laughs. “He’s the toughest guy I know.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, freshen up a little. Call me if a nurse comes in, won’t you?”

You nod, clasping her hand tightly for a moment.

“Promise, Mama.”

She stands up carefully, inhaling before leaving the room. Your posture instantly crumbles, faked bravado leaving you as soon as she’s out of view.

“I’m so scared,” you whisper.

Bucky hears it clear as day.

He slides closer to you, wrapping both arms around your frame. Pressing a kiss into your hair, he runs his fingertips up and down your spine gently.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re allowed to be scared. But everything is going to be okay. I know it will be.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you mumble into the cotton of his shirt. “It should, but it doesn’t. That scares me, too.”

Bucky traces the features of your face gently with his thumb, his ocean blue eyes never leaving yours. He dances his finger over the slope of your nose, your cheekbones, the curve of your lips. His skin is warm and calloused against yours, polar opposite to how cold you feel.

“I’m your soulmate,” he murmurs, “but I’m not a miracle worker. Fuck, I wish I was. There are gonna be some things that I can’t fix for you, no matter how badly I want to. We just have to ride them out together, sweet girl.”

You nod, leaning in to rest your head against his pounding heart.

It still beats to the rhythm of your name. Even after all this time.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You don’t jump apart when your Mom walks back in.

Upon first glance, the picture is simple - a girl being comforted by her Dads best friend. A hug. Reassuring words.

If you look closer, the image becomes a little more complicated - her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt. His hand cradling the back of her head. Familiar lips softly pressed to her temple.

Any other time, someone might question the sheer intimacy of the moment. But not now.

Now, all focus is drawn to the nurse in sky blue scrubs that appears in the doorway.

“You’re all Jack’s family?”

You all spin to face her, nodding frantically.

“Thought so. He’s out of surgery, and he’ll be brought up here shortly.”

“Is he alright?” your Mom asks, standing up. You can physically see the tension rising in her body.

“He’s doing okay. The Doctor is going to come up and talk to you a little about some… complications. But he’s okay.”

The reassurance at the end of the sentence doesn’t make any of you feel any better. You’re stuck on the word complications.

As if on cue, your Dad is wheeled in, all laid up cosy in crisp white sheets. He has oxygen tucked up under his nose, tubes and wires attached to his hands. He looks fragile, which is a state you’ve never seen him in before. Usually, he’s larger than life, braver than a bear, with a booming laugh that can make anyone smile. In this current moment, he looks like a little boy again, put to bed softly by his mother on a school night.

They get him situated as the Doctor approaches the three of you, huddled by the chair to stay out of the way.

“The surgery went well. The blockage has been fixed, and hopefully shouldn’t reoccur. We’ll put him on medication for the future, blood thinners most likely, to prevent anything further.”

Your Mom nods, lips pressed together.

“The nurse said there was complications?”

Bucky’s voice is low and careful, the timbre of it reverberating next to you.

“We ran into some trouble with the anaesthetic. We struggled to wake him for quite some time, and then his blood pressure completely bottomed out. We managed to get him steady again, but it was a little touch and go for a minute.”

Your Mom sits down slowly, holding onto the arms of the chair with taut knuckles.

“Your husband is going to be just fine, ma’am. We’ll manage any future worries with meds. Some people just don’t respond well to anaesthesia, especially if they’ve never had it before. We’ll monitor him over the next few days, keep him under observation just in case. But it looks positive. I assure you.”

She inhales, leaning back and exhaling the breath.

“He’ll probably just sleep it off for the rest of today, so don’t worry if he’s barely conscious. His body has been through a trauma, and he needs some time to recover.”

You all nod, Bucky’s hand reaching out to squeeze yours momentarily. He subtly presses a kiss into the nape of your neck, as if to melt the tension away.

You all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“If you need anything, there are always nurses walking around on this floor. They’ll call me if necessary.”

She smiles before leaving, picking up her clipboard as she goes.

“Thanks, Doctor!” Bucky calls after her, making both you and your Mom laugh softly.

The three of you remain still for a while, scared to make any sudden moves. Eventually, Bucky stretches his legs.

“I’m gonna grab some coffees. The usuals?”

You both nod at him.

“Be right back. Call me if you need anything.”

You can’t take your eyes off him as he leaves. You miss his warmth instantly.

“He’s a good guy,” your Mom whispers to you from the chair, where you’re perched on the armrest. She’s watching him go too.

You hum in agreement.

“He looks out for you.”

You hum in agreement once again, albeit this time a little quieter.

“You guys are close, these days.”

You inhale calmly.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He’s got my back.”

“He likes you a lot.”

Before she can continue, your Dads eyes flutter open slowly. You both jump up, standing on either side of his bed.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Dad.”

He blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the harsh lighting.

“How you feeling, tough guy?”

He smiles softly, and the relief that fills your body is so overwhelming, you feel as if your legs might give out. You hold onto the metal bars of the bed for support, praying you stay upright.

He groans a little, throat hoarse.

“Water?”

Your Mom puts the straw in his mouth, nodding in approval as he sips.

“I’m good,” he croaks. “Got my girls with me.”

You both laugh.

“Jack, as much as I’d love to be your girl…”

Bucky is stood against the doorframe, keeping a careful distance from the family moment. Your Dad chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re the prettiest one, Buck,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. You all can’t help but laugh even more.

“How you feeling, honey?”

“Fine. Tired, though.”

“The Doctor said you’d most likely just sleep it off all day. Go back to sleep, if you want to. We’re right here.”

He nods, closing his eyes instantly. Your Mom settles back in the chair as Bucky hands her a coffee. He goes to give you yours, but you place it down on the side table.

“I’m gonna get some air. Be back in a minute.”

He gives you a look that says are you sure?, but you’re already out the door, not glancing back.

“She doesn’t like hospitals.”

Bucky nods in recognition, but can’t focus on anything except the severe levels of rising anxiety in his chest.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You can’t find your way out, and it’s making you panic more.

You’re throwing doors open, running down sets of stairs. Eventually, you see an exit, and barge through it with no regard for your surroundings. You’re at the front of the hospital, somehow making it to the main entrance.

Your lungs feel like they’re burning, white hot heat filling them with each weak inhale that you manage. The world is turning, suddenly, the entire axis of the Earth shifting on its head. Gasping, you grab onto a railing, desperate to just take a full breath and calm down.

The more you try to breathe, the worse things seem to get. It feels like the non existent walls are closing in, claustrophobia settling into your weary bones. Your legs buckle as your surroundings spin.

You don’t even register the impact of your knees hitting the ground, nor feel the pain that follows. You’re only minutely aware that you’re even on the floor because you can feel the warm tarmac underneath your palms.

Suddenly, there are two strong arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you into a solid chest. You relax against it, tired of fighting.

“It’s me, baby. Shit, it’s me.”

The voice is panicked, almost frantic in the way it hits your ears. There’s a hand stroking over your hair, strumming over your cheekbone, squeezing your shoulder. You wonder for a second if anyone has ever died from something like this. You feel as if you’re pretty close.

“You’ve got to start slowing your breathing, honey. Can you hear me?”

You think you nod. You assume you do, because the voice continues.

“Put your hand on my heart,” he says as he does it for you. “Just like that. Can you feel the beat of it, underneath your palm? It sounds like a drum, right? One two, one two, one two. Can you focus on it?”

You try to hone into the sound. You think you might be able to distantly feel it, where your hand meets his shirt.

“How about if we create a pattern together? And we’ll both follow it? Like this.”

The voice tilts your chin upwards, so you’re looking into his eyes.

“Bucky,” you choke out.

“Breathe when I breathe, okay? In, and out,” he inhales and exhales. “In, and out. There we go, atta girl. In, and out. You got it.”

You stay collapsed on the sidewalk for what feels like hours, breathing when he tells you to. You focus your vision on his ocean blue irises, finding your home in them. Eventually, you feel like you’re somewhat filling your lungs, and the world stops spinning.

“There she is.”

You drop your head onto his chest, warm tears soaking into the material of his shirt.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You finally let yourself relax, sagging against his body as he holds you close.

“Fuck, you scared me. Are you hurt?”

You don’t even know the answer to that question yourself.

Bucky starts checking you over, looking for any visible injuries. When he reaches your knees, he inhales sharply.

“Shit, baby. We’ll have to get some antiseptic on these grazes of yours. You’ll have some badass bruises tomorrow, tough girl.”

You realise, slowly, where you are. You’re on the sidewalk outside the hospital, sat on the floor, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. You try to stand up too quickly, and wobble backwards.

“Woah, easy. There we go. Come sit over here with me.”

There’s a wooden bench not far from the entrance, tucked in between a hedge and a flowerbed. You take a seat, surveying the bloody mess of your knees as you do.

“They look worse than they are, baby. Promise. We’ll fix them when we go back upstairs.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you and tugs you into his side.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, hmm?”

“Don’t like hospitals,” you whisper. “Never have.”

“Is there… any particular reason? Or is it just one of those things?”

“Spent a lot of time here when I was younger,” you admit quietly. “I was kind of a sick kid. Had my own set of issues. Lots of appointments and stuff.”

Bucky nods against the top of your head, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“You never mentioned anything.”

“Didn’t think it was relevant.”

He hums.

“I’m sorry,” you confess. “For causing a scene. Being dramatic.”

“Honey,” he scolds. “You’re not dramatic. We’ve all got our fears, the things that make us tick. I promise you, no one thinks you’re dramatic. You feel how you feel, and that’s okay.”

You sigh in defeat, pulling your knees up under your chin.

“I think I was holding it together until I saw he was okay. When I knew he was fine, I just… crumbled.”

“That’s a perfect reflection of your character, you know. Keeping it together for everyone else.”

You chuckle dryly.

“Maybe. I suppose.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you sit outside for a while longer, breathing in the fresh air and revelling in each others embrace.

“We should probably go back up. They’re going to wonder where we are.”

You go to stand up, but Bucky pulls you back down onto the bench.

“Honey, wait. There’s something we need to… talk about, before we go.”

You turn to face him, and instantly tense up. He looks worried.

“Buck, what is it?”

“I… I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. Or how we’re meant to handle this. I really, really don’t know what the best angle is here.”

“You’re scaring me,” you say as you cradle his face. His scruff tickles your palm, and any other time, you both would have laughed.

“Before I came down to find you, your Mom raised a question with me.”

“… which was?”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales it shakily.

“She asked me how long you and I have been soulmates.”

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[poppadom0912]

Request

Matt Casey and Wife Reader

There’s a big crash and 51 gets called out to it and they find Matt’s wife’s car in the crash all smashed up and Matt’s pregnant wife unconscious and hurt inside with their toddler son Jack who is crying. So Matt and the 51 guys do their best to save the family of their own Captain.

Warnings: Car crash, canon-typical injuries, death.

A/N: Once again, one month later. Life is not vibing right now but it's okay. I hope anyone who celebrated Eid had a wonderful time! very belated Eid Mubarak.

I hope this suffices and meets your expectations. I know this was sent ages ago and I apologise for the very long wait, I've just had zero inspiration and drive to write. This month has been very stressful with exams but please do enjoy!!

Matt was angsty and restless ever since his 24-hour shift started. There was no reason as to why he was but no matter what he did, he couldn't get rid of the feeling. He tried sleeping it off, eating lunch and even calling you when they weren't busy, but he still felt unnerved.

Just as he was about to text you, wanting to quickly check in again, something he'd been doing much more regularly now that you were pregnant along with looking after your toddler, the bells rang.

Internally groaning, Matt tried ignoring whatever his body was trying to scream at him and rushed towards the trucks, everyone quickly getting their uniform on before jumping into their 'allocated' seats.

It didn't take too long to arrive at the scene, the mess being much larger than what they anticipated. But maybe this was good, the more work he had to do, the less time he had to himself and to contemplate on whatever was bothering him today. The scene was one large mess, cars mangled together for what seemed like miles.

Maybe this was the exact distraction he needed.

Boden began shouting orders, Kelly and him following as they too started to delegate roles between their own respective crews. With equipment in hand, everyone scattered to hopefully start minimising this massive mess. From the looks of it, several casualties were to be expected with many more injured.

Squeezing between cars, Matt looked through broken windows looking for anyone who was stuck or left behind, also keeping an ear out for any shouts of help. Only, he didn't hear anyone shouting for help, but he heard crying.

It wasn't piercing like a newborn; he knew that sound well, but it sounded like a child and that made his heart skip a beat. Ever since Jack was born, calls involving kids become infinitely worse to handle.

Running towards the crying, Matt held his breath in an attempt to hear better, but his feet suddenly came to a stop before his brain could even register what was happening.

That was your car that along with many others, was laying on its side.

Matt vividly remembered you telling him your plans for the day this morning while he got ready for work and you fed Jack. You were going to run to the office to pick up some bits before taking Jack out to the trampoline park with some of his friends and other mums.

Apparently, you never made it to the park.

The crying continued and everything came crashing down on him. It wasn't just any crying, he recognised it easily now that he was closer.

Rushing forward, Matt ignored the broken glass and dropped to his knees as he looked for his family.

He saw you first. Your eyes shut, blood trailing down your forehead, head slumped to the side and seatbelt digging into your body that sat unmoving.

He then looked in the back where the crying hadn't stopped, Jack's eyes screwed shut as he wailed, the occasional 'mama' audible between cries.

"Jack. Daddy's here Jack." Matt forced out, his throat constricting at the sight of his hurt family. First things first, he had to get Jack settled and out the car before he could get you out. "Jack, it's me."

His crying calmed down, eyes peeling open as his crying slowly eased when he found his father.

"Are you okay Jack? You hurt anywhere baby?" Matt asked, easily taking apart the door and getting in besides the car seat.

"Daddy." Finally having one of his parents with and responding to him, Jack started to cry again, making grabby hands towards Matt as his words went through one ear and out the other.

"It's okay. I've got you now." Matt cooed, unbuckling from his car seat and before he could do anything, Jack launched himself into his dad's open arms.

A small oof was forced out of Matt from the sudden force of Jack catapulting into him. But he tightly wrapped his arms around his toddler nonetheless, his chest somewhat lighter with his boy safe in his embrace.

"Matt, is that- oh shit." Kelly swore as he rounded the car, eyes going wide as he saw father and son.

"I'm taking him to Sylvie." Matt started, holding out Jack for Kelly to take so he could jump out of the car that was still on its side and creaking with every movement he made. Without another word, Kelly took his godson and waited for Matt to get out before handing him back over.

"I'm waiting on Cruz and Violet." Kelly said, his eyes remaining on the father and son duo, both of their arms wrapped tightly around the other in fear of being separated again. "We've got Y/N, I promise."

Matt didn't even bat an eye when his best friend made a promise, one of which they were never allowed to make as first responders.

With another glance at your unconscious body, Matt held his breath as he stepped away, his heart constricting when Jack realised what was happening, trying his best to not crumble at his toddler's cries for his mama who wasn't responding to him.

*****

Somehow, Jack came out of the crash relatively unharmed besides the few cuts and bruises. He was for sure to be sore for the rest of the week. You however, your physical state was harder taking into account your pregnancy and they could only do so much in an ambulance.

It took them some time, but they had gotten you out safely, laying down still unmoving on a backboard. There were two of you but only one of him and with the way Jack was gripping his uniform jacket, there was no way he could leave, especially when he'd whimper at any movement he made, in hear his father would leave him alone.

Boden had dismissed him from the scene, giving him the permission to ride in the same ambulance as you, Jack not once letting go of him.

The hospital was in its usual disarray but Matt's concern was so high for you and your unborn child that he didn't even bat an eye at all the doctors and nurses running around ragged.

Natalie had seen you immediately, wasting no time in checking your physical state before scanning your stomach.

Matt could've cried when Natalie confirmed there was absolutely no harm caused besides whatever had been inflicted upon you.

After a few more checks and tests, Natalie turned to him with an understanding smile.

"She most likely has a concussion, some bruises that will definitely be sore for few weeks but nothing internal or severe."

Matt sighed in relief, his entire body deflating as he slumped back in the chair, Jack moving with him from his now permanent position in Matt's lap.

"You can go sit with her."

And so he did without any further prodding.

Walking back into the room, Matt looked your unconscious figure over, confirming with his own eyes that everything was indeed fine and you were in fact healthy.

Manoeuvring the sleeping toddler in his lap, Matt sat down and placed your hand in his. His fingers gently caressing the scars and scratches on your hands, knuckles raw and red from the sudden impact.

Closing his eyes, Matt lightly pressed a kiss into Jack's hair, his eyes stuck on you.

His little family were all safe and with him here where he wouldn't let them out of his sight. If his throat got tight and his eyes watery, glistening in the bright hospital lights, no one saw.

No one would blame a man who almost lost all his family before he could even meet its final member.

Matt sniffled, shaking away such unnecessary deprecating thoughts. You were all here now, unharmed for the most of it, and you were back with him. That was all that mattered.

[haveihitanerve]

The idea, surprisingly, came from Batman. “I just…” Clark sighed. “It’s getting harder and harder to keep up my facade. Clark Kent is who I am, but I can’t not be Superman yknow? And well, I’m running out of excuses.” Oliver nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I get that.” “Why don’t you just tell them.” Batman interrupted. The two heroes looked at him in surprise. “Tell them?” Oliver asked incredulously. Batman nodded, looking at them as though they were daft. “Yes, tell them.” He sighed, running out of patience when they didn’t understand. “It’s the perfect excuse and if you really stress it then no one will believe you.” Oliver made a face. “Yeah sure Batman.” He drawled sarcastically. “Like you actually do that.” Batman stared at him for a few seconds, then snorted, turned, and walked away. “See?” Oliver muttered, victorious. 

“Clark you have that interview now with Bruce Wayne, he’s one of our biggest sponsors- why aren’t you gone yet?!?!”Perry half screamed as Clark half hazardly packed his satchel and made sure he had enough paper, his tape recorder had enough storage and his pens were working. “I know I know.” He muttered back, slinging it over his shoulder. “Sorry, I’ve never had an interview this late.” He half growled, heading out to grab a cab and head over to Wayne Enterprises, their meeting spot. The taxi driver seemed to sense Clark’s anxiety because he most definitely did not follow the speed limit but Clark was too panicked to tell him to slow down and tossed him a few bills before sprinting up the stairs to WE. “Mr. Kent!” Bruce Wayne greeted warmly, opening the door for him. “Hello Mr. Wayne,” Clark greeted politely, taking his offered seat. “Sorry for being late.” Bruce waved him off, pouring himself and Clark a glass before sitting himself. “It’s no matter, really, your payback for my cutting our last interview short eh?” He winked, handing the glass of water to Clark. Clark sipped it in thanks, opening his notebook. “Yeah… why did you by the way?” He asked. Bruce chuckled. “Clark, darling, didn’t you know? I’m Batman, Justice called.” Clark chuckled, clicking on his pen. “Yes, right, of course.” His eyes caught movement from the corner of his eye and he spotted a woman in a beautiful red dress walking past the window. Before he turned his attention back to his interviewer, a light illuminated the sky. Bruce stood. “Sorry to cut it short again, old friend, but duty calls.” He gestured to the light in the sky before rushing out, coincidentally after the woman. Clark rolled his eyes, packing together his things. “Once a playboy always a playboy.” He murmured, slinging the bag over his shoulder, but before he could walk about Bruce arrived again, hair disheveled, and shirt askew. “Sorry about that,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gordon needed some aid but Robin had it handled.” Clark let his eyes drift only a second over Bruce’s appearance before looking away and taking a seat again. “Robin…” he agreed. “Right. Is that her name?” He muttered quietly, smiling to himself as he dug through his satchel for his pen, missing the smug look the playboy sent him. 

“Ollie!!!!” Oliver Queen grinned, turning to face the overly high pitched male voice calling his name. “Brucie!! It’s been too long!” Bruce laughed, falling into his arms in a hug, voice dropping back to his normal baritone. “It really has been, glad to see you.” Oliver smiled warmly. “I am so pleased to see you too, these Galas get so boring.” Bruce chuckled, eyes scanning the crowd of party goers. “Well, you’re always welcome to seek me out at these sorts of things bud, except when I’m working to save the city.” Oliver chuckled, taking a sip of his champagne. “So true.” He agreed. “You’re doing a great job at it too, man.” Bruce smiled wanly. “Thanks. It’s hard work though. Wayne Enterprises in the mornings,” his voice dipped low. “Saving the Gotham citizens as Batman at night.” Oliver choked on his drink, laughing. “Exactly!” Bruce grinned back, almost triumphant. His eye caught some movement at the corner of the dance floor and both men turned, spotting his third oldest son, flicking his wrist in a certain movement. Bruce’s eyes darkened. “Alright Ollie, it was nice catching up, but Justice calls: Gotham needs me.” Oliver chuckled. “Right on.” 

A week later Oliver and Clark once again found themselves chilling in the main den, complaining about the difficulties of keeping their secret identities secret. Batman walked in, listened for two seconds, and promptly groaned. “I told you,” he complained. “Just tell them!” “It’s not that easy! And that defeats the whole purpose of keeping it a secret!” Oliver argued back. Batman looked at him. “I did it. To both of you actually.” Clark snorted. “Yeah right.” Batman turned to him. Suddenly his voice changed pitches. “Mr. Kent! So pleased to see you, sorry to have run out on you earlier, but well! Justice calls, oh, but Robin handled it!” Clark paled. Batman turned to Oliver. His voice went even higher. “Ollie!! It’s been too long my friend, but we’ll have to chat some other time you know how it is, Justice calls!” Oliver turned a strange shade of white. “See?” Batman- no Bruce Wayne said with a smirk. “Easy.” Back at home in the Batcave, the batkids were losing their minds. 

(Yes they placed bets)

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?��

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[glorysbox]

leon x gn!reader

summary: re2r leon fucks you in his jeep... that's it. 1.5k

warnings: explicitly 18+, one pump chump leon LOL

“Fuck—“ Leon shifts under you, his grip on you tightening momentarily. The pads of his fingers dig into the skin of your thighs… a very, very desperate attempt to ground himself. “I can’t… slow down, please.”

Leon’s head thumps against the leather backseat of his Jeep. His eyes are screwed shut as he lets out a shaky breath, the calloused pads of his fingertips releasing and gripping you—squishing you. You can feel him throbbing inside of you. You can feel each and every twitch and motion of his hips as he’s desperate to keep his cool and not cum inside of you after just two minutes. It’s cute.

Leon is cute.

“You’re so sensitive,” You coo at him, your hands reaching to feel the muscles of his chest through his shirt. He’s clothed still—as are you, save for the way his pants and boxers are haphazardly bunched at his ankles and how yours have been thrown somewhere else. “I just started. You already can't take it?.”

It’s dark. You can barely see your boyfriend’s face, but you’re almost certain that there’s some semblance of a pout on his face as you tease him. It’s always like this when you’re on top. He can’t focus on anything but you. How you make him feel good. How pretty you look on top of him, even if he can’t fully see your face.

“Just… just give me a few seconds, okay?” Leon’s tone is shaky as he speaks, hushed as his hands start to roam further from your thighs and up towards your torso. They rise, higher and higher, the palms of his hands dipping under your shirt and exploring every inch of skin that he can reach. His cock throbs inside of you again. “Don't make fun of me. I can't... can't help it when I'm with you.”

You can practically *feel* the heat radiating from his face as you hold back a smile, squinting to see him from the darkness that surrounds the both of you in his Jeep. The tinted windows and the fact that it's the middle of the night do nothing to help... but Leon really couldn't wait any longer. He needed you now.

"I'm not making fun of you..." You reassure, cupping his face with your hands and making him look at you. It does nothing to stop the borderline possessive way that his hands caress your body. The feeling of his hands on your body isn't unfamiliar—it's welcomed. He seems to know all the places to touch that make you whine and press further down on his cock. "It's cute. Does that make you feel better?"

"No." He leans forward, his lips brushing against your own in a chaste kiss—before his hand escapes from under your shirt and cups your cheek, bringing you closer to him. The kiss is sweet—just like he is. He’s always sweet. Wetness pools between his thighs, staining the leather seat of the Jeep as he shifts under you again. Leon’s hands travel downward again, anchoring themselves on your hips as he pulls away from your lips.

“You’re so…” He trails off as he slowly brings you up, temporarily releasing himself of the vice you have around his cock. His breath is warm as you feel him let out a deep exhale—less shaky and more anticipating than before. “So good to me.”

With slow, deliberate motions, he sinks you back down onto his cock. Savoring the way you feel around him. Mindful to not be too rough with you. He can barely make out the features of your face in the darkness, but that doesn't stop him from trying. Doesn't stop him from imagining the way your eyebrows are probably drawn together and how your mouth is probably slightly ajar.

“I love you… fuck. I can’t…” Strings of praise and you feel so goods slip from his lips as he begins to guide you up and down, soft gasps accompanying them as the slick sounds begin to fill the air of the Jeep once more. It's only been a few moments, but he already feels himself obsessing over the way you clench around him once more. His eyes are trained on the junction where the two of you meet; his breaths quickening to match the pace that he's beginning to set.

Unsurprisingly, Leon’s hips are starting to press up into yours as he guides you down onto him. He wanted to be more gentle. But he never really was good at controlling himself. Especially when it comes to you.

“L—Leon—“ Your words come out in hushed gasps, cut off by the sounds of your own moans as you grip desperately at his shirt. He’s handsy as he fucks up into you: gripping your shirt, his free hand reaching up to grab onto your hair, his fingers pinching at the meat of your thigh, hand trailing along the curve of your stomach—desperate to feel all of you.

The slapping of your skin onto his gets louder and louder, his hands pulling you down onto his cock as he thrusts up into you to meet halfway—his moans in your ear as all of his inhibitions seemingly leave him at just the feeling of you. You can’t help it, at this point. Can't help the sticky mess you’re making on his lap. The way your face is buried into his neck only seems to spur him on more.

You can feel the SUV rocking in tandem with his movements. His hips tilt ever so slightly, desperate to meet that spot inside of you—to pull those noises out of you that he’s come to crave every single time. Leon always gets what he wants, too. The sound of your whine, pathetic and wavering in his ear makes him smile—his own sighs and groans as he slips in and out of you not much better.

“So good—you’re so good to me. Fuck. You feel so—“ He fucks you like he means it. He kisses you like he loves you. And it’s too much. Leon is quick to kiss you. His soft lips latch onto your own, splitting from you only to place more kisses on the side of your mouth and pressing more onto the skin of your neck. “So good. Come on, you can take it.”

The words are meant to be more encouraging than anything else… yet, he can feel the way you tighten and clench around him—can feel the way drool slips from the corner of your mouth and leaves wet spots on his shirt—can hear the muffled moans that you can’t hold back in his chest.

He wishes he could see your face. See the way your eyes are lidded and how they roll toward the back of your head when he hits the spots he knows you like... but from the way his thighs are flexing and twitching under you, he's not doing much better. Just the image of it in his head is enough to make him squirm.

Broken strings of praise and groans fall from his lips, the pads of his fingers digging into your hips nearly painfully as he shifts under you.

"Can't... can't, Leon. Please, I'm gonna..." You sigh out, barely managing to piece together the sentence from his nearly punishing pace as he fucks into you like it'll be the last time you'll ever be together. You feel his fingernails digging into the skin of your ass.

Even in the darkness from the tinted windows of the Jeep, you can see how his head lolls from side to side as he's so desperate to hold on to his control. To get you to cum first. Leon is a gentleman like that.

Well... he tries to be.

But the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him... the way you paw at his shirt... the way your skin ripples each time it meets his own from his brutal pace.

To think that he'd even lasted this long truly was a miracle.

It’s not hard to tell when Leon’s about to cum. His hips tremble, he grips you with really no regard for his strength—he whines and whines and his hips stutter and lose their pace quicker than he was able to gain it.

“Fuck. Fuck. You feel so good—you feel too good—“ His tone is higher, his body taut and thighs flexing as his hips twitch and jolt under you. Leon pulls you down onto him, keeping you in one place as his hips uncontrollably rut into you. Thick ropes of his cum sputter inside of you as he cants his hips on you, grinding and pulling you as close as possible until he’s whining more because it’s making him feel too good.

It's silent for a few minutes after. Really, the only thing that can be heard are Leon's shaky and rapid breaths and the long forgotten music from the radio playing in the background. He trembles beneath you, hands loosening on the nearly punishing grip that they held on you only a few moments ago.

Leon's hands rub along your hips, his thumb pressing gentle circles into the spots he was just tugging on. You can't see his expression... but something just tells you that he's flashing you that toothy grin that he always does whenever he wants to charm you. "That was—"

"You lasted longer this time."

"Stop… are you making fun of me again?"