#Semi-Professionals Schedules

[cloudtransprncy]

Tease

Chaewon x Male Reader | 8k words Tags: manager x idol, secret relationship, pent up, semi-public, sneaking away, horny as fuck, chaewon is hot as fuck, I wish it was me

Chaewon looks too good in that dress. Three weeks without sex. How long before you snap?

Jus sumn quick for yall.

Chaewon [1:42 AM]: I've been touching myself thinking about you every night this week. It's not enough.

Chaewon [1:43 AM]: Good luck keeping it professional tomorrow when you see what they have me wearing for the HOT trailer shoot 😈

You stare at your phone, heat flooding through your body. Three weeks without her. The longest you've gone since you started dating a year ago.

Fuck, she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

Three weeks without her touch has made every message like this a form of exquisite torture. You can practically hear her voice in your head as you read her texts.

You're dating Kim Chaewon. LE SSERAFIM's leader. And you're one of their managers.

It started on a company retreat last spring—a late-night conversation about music that turned into coffee, then dinner a week later, then her pressed against your apartment door, whispering that she'd wanted this since the moment you'd been assigned to their team.

You'd both agreed it would be just once.

That agreement lasted approximately 8 hours.

No one knows. Not the company. Not the members.

Not even Jiyeon, the other manager who works with you handling the girls' schedules.

And right now, your girlfriend is driving you fucking crazy.

The comeback prep for "HOT" has been exactly that—hot, intense, and keeping you both so busy you can barely catch your breath, let alone sneak away to be alone together.

You've tried everything to deal with the frustration. Late-night FaceTiming while she touches herself in her dorm room, biting her pillow to stay quiet. Watching the videos you've made together—her riding you on your couch, her bent over your bathroom sink, her on her knees looking up at you with those eyes.

None of it is enough. You need her. You need to taste her, feel her skin against yours, be inside her.

The warehouse set is all sleek white surfaces and ribbed glass partitions. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold natural light that makes everything look clean, sterile, and expensive. The perfect contrast to the fire they're trying to create with this concept.

Staff members in black hurry around with clipboards and equipment, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. This "BORN FIRE" trailer shoot has to be perfect—it's launching LE SSERAFIM's most ambitious album "HOT" yet.

You check your own clipboard, making sure everything's on schedule while trying not to think about Chaewon and whatever outfit has her texting you at 2 AM.

The irony isn't lost on you. Here you are, supervising the filming of a teaser—literally called "BORN FIRE"—while Chaewon herself is the true teaser. She's igniting something in you that's becoming increasingly difficult to contain. The line between her performance for the video and her performance for you is blurring dangerously.

"Manager-oppa, the director wants to run through the toy car scene again," Eunchae says, bouncing up to you in her feathered white outfit. "Have you seen Chaewon unnie? She's next."

"Still in wardrobe," you answer, keeping your voice steady. Like you're not thinking about how Chaewon moaned your name in that hotel in Jeju last month, her body shaking beneath yours as she came for the third time that night.

Sakura walks past with her stylist, the long white dress trailing behind her. You spot Kazuha already positioned on one of the white block structures that fill the set. The whole group is scattered around the space in various stages of preparation.

"Jiyeon-ssi," you call to your fellow manager, "can you check if hair and makeup are done with Chaewon?"

Jiyeon nods and heads toward the dressing area. You turn your attention back to the monitor, where the director is reviewing footage.

Then it happens.

The quiet murmur of the set shifts. You feel it before you see it.

Chaewon walks onto set, and your entire body goes rigid.

Your throat goes dry instantly. God, you love her in white—the way it makes her skin glow, how it emphasizes every curve you've memorized with your hands, your mouth. You force yourself to breathe normally even as memories flood your mind unbidden. She knows what this does to you. She's counting on it.

The white strapless dress is even shorter than it looked in the concept sketches and fittings you'd seen last week. It hugs her body perfectly, showing off shoulders you've kissed a hundred times.

The black belt cinches her waist—the waist you've held in your hands while she rode you until you both saw stars. But it's the boots that kill you. Thigh-high, black, lace-up boots that make her legs look endless.

You force yourself to look away, back at your clipboard. Professional. You're a professional.

But memories flood your mind anyway:

Chaewon straddling you in the backseat of your car, hand pressed against your mouth to keep you quiet while security guards walked past.

Chaewon pressed against your kitchen counter, panties around one ankle, begging you not to stop as you dropped to your knees.

Chaewon in your bed, hair spread across your pillow, eyes locked with yours as you moved inside her, whispering that she loves you.

You still remember the first time she said those words—three months in, both of you sweaty and breathless, her eyes wide with something like surprise at her own admission. You'd felt it too, that terrifying, exhilarating free-fall into something neither of you had planned for.

"You good?" asks one of the camera assistants, noticing how you've been staring at nothing.

"Fine," you say, the word clipped.

On set, Chaewon takes her position. In one scene, she stands tall on a miniature white car, the contrast of the boots against the white making her look like some kind of goddess. In another setup, she holds a diagram against her bare shoulder, eyes focused directly at the camera.

She's perfect. Professional. The director loves every take.

But then, during a lighting adjustment, when everyone's attention is elsewhere, she looks directly at you.

It's quick—barely a second—but in that moment, her professional mask slips. Her eyes darken. The corner of her mouth quirks up.

It's the same look she gave you the first time you told her to get on her knees.

The director calls for the next setup. Chaewon moves into position with the other members, all of them in white, creating a visual that's both innocent and somehow sinful.

You take a deep breath. You've been so good. So professional.

But when she walks past  you, she whispers, "Bet you want to take this off me so bad," so quietly only you can hear it, you know exactly how this day is going to end.

You are completely, totally fucked.

You're in hell.

Not the burning, fire-and-brimstone kind. The sleek, white, glass-walled kind.

A special kind of hell designed with surgical precision by Kim Chaewon—your weakness, your fucking undoing.

The "BORN FIRE" shoot continues. It's been three hours. You've managed to stay professional for exactly none of them.

"Cut! Five minute break," the director calls.

The set erupts into controlled chaos—stylists rushing to touch up makeup, lighting techs adjusting gear, Kazuha and Eunchae huddled near the white blocks watching practice videos on their phones.

You stare at your clipboard like it contains the secrets of the universe.

Chaewon moves through the space like she owns it, boots clicking against the polished concrete floor. The sound alone makes your pulse kick.

She stands by the glass partition, sunlight catching on her hair, making it glow against all the sterile white. Your eyes follow her despite your brain screaming not to.

"Manager-oppa," she calls, voice sweet and professional. The sound hits you low in your stomach—the same tone she uses right before she begs you to fuck her harder.

"Can you bring me some water?"

She knows exactly what she's doing. Every staff member sees a hardworking idol asking her manager for a simple favor.

You know better.

You grab a bottle and walk it over to her. That's when she strikes.

Her fingers brush yours as she takes the bottle—deliberate, electric—the touch lasting a half-second too long to be accidental.

"Had a dream about you last night," she murmurs, voice pitched for your ears only.

The cap of the water bottle clicks as she twists it open. She drinks slowly, throat working in a way that triggers a vivid flashback—her on her knees three weeks ago, swallowing around you, looking up with those same dark eyes. You'd gripped her hair so tight she'd moaned around you.

Her tongue darts out to catch a drop on her lower lip. Her eyes never leave yours.

You say nothing. Your grip on the clipboard turns your knuckles white.

Jiyeon passes by, checking her watch. "Chaewon-ah, wardrobe wants to check your outfit before the next shot."

Chaewon nods, all professional sweetness. "Coming!"

She brushes past you, close enough that you catch her scent—something floral and expensive that you've tasted on her skin a hundred times before.

The stylist adjusts something on the back of her dress while she stands in front of the monitor. You try to focus on the schedule, on anything but the curve of her shoulder blades, the way the belt cinches her waist.

"Everything good?" the stylist asks.

Chaewon nods, then turns slightly. Her eyes find yours in the reflection of the monitor. "Perfect."

The tech walks away. You're about to do the same when—

"Woke up so wet this morning."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat that makes you grit your teeth.

She doesn't even look at you. Just keeps checking her reflection, adjusting a strand of hair like she didn't just set you on fire.

You step closer, voice low. "Watch yourself."

She smiles—sweet, sharp, fucking dangerous. "Always do. That's why I look so good."

The director calls everyone back. You retreat to the safety of the production table.

You adjust your clipboard, grateful for its coverage. This is what she reduces you to—a professional with years of industry experience hiding an erection like a teenager. The thought should embarrass you, but instead, there's a twisted pride in how she still affects you this way, even after a year together.

For exactly twelve minutes, you breathe. Focus. Reset.

Then she slides into the chair next to you.

"Can I see the schedule?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. Professional. Proper.

You hand her your tablet without looking up. Three staff members hover nearby, discussing lighting for the next scene.

Sakura sits across the table, focused on crocheting something delicate and blue, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The click of her crochet hook provides a steady rhythm to the chaos around you.

That's when you feel it—her hand on your thigh under the table. Casual. Like it belongs there.

Your entire body goes rigid.

"Chaewon," you warn, barely a whisper.

"Mmm?" She leans in, pretending to point at something on the screen. Her fingers start to move. Slow strokes up, then down. Teasing.

You inhale sharply, willing your face to stay neutral.

The staff members move away. But Sakura is still there, focused on her project, the hook moving in and out of the yarn.

Chaewon's hand inches higher, bolder than she's ever been. Her pinky grazes dangerously close to where you're already hardening against your will.

"Stop," you hiss.

She leans closer, her breath against your ear. "I'm ovulating, you know."

Your vision blurs. Blood rushes in your ears.

"You'd feel it the moment you were inside me—"

Sakura looks up suddenly, her eyes meeting yours across the table.

Your heart stops.

Chaewon doesn't move her hand. Instead, she laughs at something on the screen, all innocent charm. "Manager-oppa, the schedule looks too tight. Don't you think?"

Sakura tilts her head, then returns to her crocheting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's hand is still on your thigh, still dangerously high.

You wrap your fingers around her wrist under the table, stopping her hand but not removing it. A dangerous compromise.

Her pupils dilate. That's when you see it—she's not just playing with you. She's affected too. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing just a little too quick.

She's as desperate as you are.

The realization hits you like a kick to the chest.

"Two minutes!" someone calls.

She extracts her hand slowly, deliberately. Stands up, smooths down her dress. The movement pulls the hem even higher on her thigh.

"Think you can last the rest of the day?" she asks, a challenge glinting in her eyes.

Before you can answer, Jiyeon approaches. "Chaewon-ah, they need you for the car shot."

Chaewon nods, all business again. But as she walks away, she glances back—just once. Just enough for you to see the hunger there, mirroring your own.

The next hour is psychological warfare.

Around you, the set buzzes with activity. Makeup artists touch up the members between shots. The director argues with the cinematographer about lighting. A production assistant nearly trips over a cable, sending everyone scrambling.

And through it all, Chaewon wages her private campaign against your sanity.

This is high-stakes chess played under fluorescent lights.

Every staff member represents a potential career-ending leak. The director who's worked with three generations of idol groups and has seen every possible scandal. The company photographer who reports directly to the CEO. The stylists who know every whispered secret in the industry.

One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything you've both worked for collapses.

She steps onto the miniature white car, boots planted wide, the dress riding up her thighs as she poses. The camera loves her. Every angle is perfection.

You remember the first time you took her for a drive, six months into your secret relationship. She'd climbed into your lap at a deserted scenic point, the gear shift digging into her leg as she rode you, both of you half-clothed, desperate, her breath fogging the windows as she came.

Now, as she stands on that toy car, her eyes find yours between every take.

During the group shot with the white blocks, she trails her fingers along the edge of the structure, the same way she's traced paths across your chest in the dark of your bedroom. Her fingernails scrape lightly against the white surface, and you swear you can feel phantom scratches down your back.

Each pose becomes more provocative. Each glance more daring.

When the stylist adjusts her dress between shots, Chaewon stretches her arms overhead, making the hem ride dangerously high. The movement fills your nostrils with the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something deeper—that clings to your sheets for days after she leaves.

In the solo shot with the diagram pressed against her bare shoulder, she turns just enough that only you can see how her teeth catch her bottom lip—the same way they do when you're deep inside her.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your skin feels too tight. Every minute is torture, and the fact that you're surrounded by people—Jiyeon checking the time, Eunchae asking you questions, staff members constantly brushing past—only makes it worse.

This isn't just teasing anymore. This is Chaewon pushing both of you to the edge.

Then comes the final blow.

During the last break, when the set is buzzing with activity, she passes by the narrow space between the equipment cases where you're checking inventory.

No one can see you here. Just a sliver of space hidden from the main floor.

She stops, just for a second. Leans in.

"Just fuck me in the changing room already."

The clipboard nearly snaps in your grip.

She walks away, satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

And something in you—the last thread of your control—finally snaps.

You count to ten. Wait until she's back in position on set.

Then you move through the space with purpose, face composed, steps measured.

Professional.

You reach her just as the director calls for a lighting check.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist—firm, decisive.

She looks up, triumph flashing in her eyes.

"Do you wanna get caught, you stupid bitch?" you whisper, the words harsh but your tone almost loving.

Her lips part. A small gasp that only you can hear.

"Manager-nim, is something wrong?" the director asks.

"Wardrobe issue," you say smoothly. "Won't take long."

You pull her away from the set, past curious eyes, past Jiyeon's raised eyebrow.

The changing room is too exposed. Too many people.

Five years in this industry has taught you one thing: discretion isn't just preferred, it's survival.

You've built your reputation on professionalism, on being the manager who anticipates problems before they happen.

Chaewon is the one variable you can never fully calculate, the one risk you can't mitigate. And God help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You spot it—a storage room door, slightly ajar. Dark. Empty.

Perfect.

Her breath catches as you change direction, leading her toward it.

"What are you—"

You push the door open. Pull her inside  The storage room door closes with a soft click.

And finally—fucking finally—you're alone.

One second passes.

Two.

Then Chaewon launches herself at you.

Her hands grab your face with bruising intensity, fingernails digging into your scalp, your jaw, anywhere she can grip. The heat of her palms sears your skin as her mouth finds yours with desperate precision. The kiss is nuclear—all teeth and tongue and hunger. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you taste the metallic hint of blood, then soothes it with the velvety warmth of her tongue, exploring your mouth like she's trying to devour you whole.

Her body presses against yours, tits crushed against your chest, her hips grinding with shameless need. She grabs your hands and places them on her ass, demanding your touch without saying a word.

"Fuck, I missed your mouth," she gasps, her breath hot against your lips as she pulls at your clothes, fingers trembling and scrabbling at your belt, nails occasionally scraping against your abdomen. She can't seem to decide where to touch you—her hands moving from your chest to your shoulders to your neck, back to your belt, frantic and greedy. "Missed your hands. Missed your cock."

You slam her against the shelves, the metal rattling with a satisfying clang that echoes her gasp. Your hands are everywhere—her face, flushed and warm beneath your palms; her throat, pulse hammering wildly under your fingertips; the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath; the dramatic curve of her waist that fits perfectly in your grip. Every touch relearns the terrain you've been starved of for three endless weeks.

She reaches behind and grabs your wrists, dragging your hands to her ass, forcing you to squeeze the firm flesh. "Touch me everywhere," she demands, voice thick with need. "I've been dying for it."

"You took too fucking long," she pants against your lips, her voice vibrating through you as her hands finally get your pants open, the sudden coolness of air a sharp contrast to the heat of her touch. Her fingers brush against your cock, a teasing touch that makes your jaw clench.

The storage room closes around you—metal shelves on one wall digging into her back, garment racks crowded with costumes exhaling the scent of fabric softener and makeup, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner threatening to topple with each movement. A single fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows that carve her features into something almost feral with need, highlighting the sheen of sweat beginning to form at her temples, at the hollow of her throat.

She makes quick work of the black safety shorts beneath her dress, the fabric making a soft whisper as it slides down her legs before she kicks them away. The movement is so fluid, so urgent, that your mouth goes dry with anticipation. She grabs your hand, guiding it between her legs, letting you feel how ready she is. "See what you do to me?" she whispers, eyes locked on yours.

You spin her around, the quick motion making her gasp. For a moment, you just look at her—the elegant column of her neck where a few baby hairs escape her bob cut, curling with perspiration; the delicate slope of her shoulders, pale and perfect under the harsh light; the dramatic curve where her waist meets the swell of her ass, emphasized by the black belt that begs to be gripped. The white dress clings to every inch, revealing the heat she's generating beneath it. Your mouth waters just looking at her, tongue dragging across suddenly parched lips.

Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp crack, the sound startlingly loud in the confined space. She jerks forward, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. The pale skin instantly flushes pink under your palm.

"Hurry up," she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark and glassy with impatience, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of brown remains. She arches her back, pushing her ass against your hand, silently begging for more.

You grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave impressions. "Shut the fuck up."

Her breath catches with an audible hitch. You know she loves it when you talk to her like this—can feel it in the goosebumps that rise under your touch, in the way her thighs tremble slightly.

You run your hands up her sides, feeling the heat radiating through the thin fabric, then down to the hem of her dress, bunching the material as you start to lift it. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound that seems obscenely loud in the small space. Your hands slide up her thighs, skin like silk beneath your calloused palms, finding the lace edge of her panties. Black, of course. The contrast against her pale skin is stark and mouthwatering.

Another smack lands on her ass, harder this time. You watch the flesh jiggle under the impact, the imprint of your hand blooming pink against her porcelain skin. "You like that?" you ask, already knowing the answer as she pushes back against you.

"Yes," she hisses, grinding back against your hand. "Again. Harder."

You comply, landing another sharp slap, watching the way her body jerks forward before pressing back, seeking more. "Look at you," you murmur, "So perfect for the cameras, but in here, you're just a dirty little slut who gets wet from being spanked."

She moans at your words, the sound vibrating through her entire body. "Only for you," she whispers, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you.

Spinning her back around, you claim her mouth again, tasting mint and desperation on her tongue as your hand slips between her legs, pressing the lace against her. The fabric is soaked through, warm and clinging to her folds. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your shoulders, sliding down your chest, grabbing at your ass to pull you closer, like she can't get enough of touching you.

"Goddamn," you mutter against her lips, the words a vibration between your connected mouths. "Your pussy's fucking drenched."

You hook your fingers into the lace and yank it aside, the elastic snapping against her thigh. Your middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, feeling how swollen and ready she is—hot and slick and perfect against your fingertips.

"Look how fucking wet you are," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure as you circle her clit, feeling it harden beneath your touch. "Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

She whimpers, a high, needy sound that goes straight to your cock as she grinds against your hand. "I told you I've been wet since I woke up," she pants, her breath coming in short, hot puffs against your face. "Thinking about you. About this. About you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name."

She tries to reach for you, but you catch her wrist with your free hand, her pulse jumping beneath your grip as you pin it above her head against the shelves. The metal is cold against her skin, making her hiss.

"Not yet," you tell her, voice dropping to a growl. "I want you desperate first."

"I'm already desperate," she hisses, trying to rock against your hand, the movement making her belt buckle clink against itself. Her free hand grabs at your shirt, your arm, anywhere she can reach. "Just fuck me already."

You turn her again, pressing her face-first against the metal shelving. The cold surface makes her gasp, back arching instinctively away from it. She braces herself, legs automatically spreading wider on the concrete floor, the heel of her boots making a sharp click as she repositions.

You grab her belt from behind, leather warm from her body heat, using it to arch her back, positioning her ass higher. The positioning makes the dress ride up further, exposing more of her thighs, making her stance more obscene, more perfect.

Another smack lands on her exposed ass, harder than before, the sound cracking through the small room. She jerks forward, a moan ripping from her throat.

"Fucking perfect," you mutter, kneading the flesh you just struck, watching the pink handprint fade and bloom again under your touch. You land another blow on the opposite cheek, evening her out, making her squirm.

The scent of her arousal hits you fully now—musky, sweet, unmistakable. Your mouth waters at the smell of her, cock throbbing painfully in response.

You reach up, fingers finding her hair, gripping the short strands of her bob at the nape of her neck. Not pulling, just holding, controlling. The sensation makes her moan, her head falling back into your grip.

"Please," she whispers, the word a broken, ragged thing as she tries to push back against you.

You keep her in place with your dual grip on her belt and hair. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me," she begs, all teasing gone from her voice, replaced with raw need. "I need your cock inside me. Now."

You release her hair to lean over her, your chest pressing against her back, trapping her heat between your bodies. Your mouth finds her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. "After all that teasing? All those filthy little comments with people right fucking there?"

You land another hard slap on her ass, watching the flesh redden under your palm. "This what you wanted? Getting your ass slapped while the whole crew is just outside?"

"Yes," she admits, voice small but sure. "Needed it so bad."

You drag the head of your cock through her slick folds, the sensation making both of you groan—her wetness hot and silky against you, making everything gloriously frictionless. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't make you wait longer."

"Because," she pants, voice vibrating with need, "you want this as bad as I do."

She's right, and you both know it.

You guide yourself to her entrance and thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, clinging heat.

The sound she makes is primal—half gasp, half moan, pure fucking need. Your hand clamps over her mouth immediately, palm registering the warm wetness of her breath, the softness of her lips.

"Shhh," you warn even as you pull back and drive in again, the slick sound of your joining obscenely loud in the small space. "You want the whole fucking staff to hear how you take cock? How their perfect Kim Chaewon is just a dirty little whore in here?"

She shakes her head, but her pussy clenches around you at the words, a vice-like grip that sends stars exploding behind your eyelids. You know she loves the risk, the filth, the knowledge that just outside this door, she's Kim Chaewon of LE SSERAFIM, but in here, she's just yours to use.

"That's what gets you off, isn't it?" you growl against her ear, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "Knowing they all think you're so sweet, so professional, when really you're in here letting me fuck you raw in a storage room."

Moving your hand from her mouth to her throat, you feel her swallow against your palm, her pulse racing beneath your fingers. You don't squeeze, just hold, feeling the vibrations of her moans traveling through her slender neck.

"That's right," you growl against her ear, teeth scraping the shell. "Remember who you belong to."

Her response is a full-body shudder, her inner walls clenching around you, making you groan at the sensation.

You fuck her hard, each thrust making her body jolt against the shelves. The metal creaks ominously, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin, the harsh sounds of your combined breathing. Your hand comes down on her ass again, the sting making her gasp, her pussy clenching around you in response.

"You love that, don't you?" you murmur, watching the red handprint bloom on her pale skin. "Love getting your ass slapped while your tight little pussy gets stretched around my cock."

"Yes," she admits, voice breaking around the word. "Love it. Love everything you do to me."

Without pulling out, you grab her left thigh and lift it, the smooth leather of her boot sliding against your palm as you plant her foot against a lower shelf. The new position opens her up, lets you sink even deeper into her molten core.

"Fuck," she whimpers, head falling forward against her braced arm, the tendons in her neck standing out in sharp relief.

"That's it," you growl, watching yourself disappear inside her over and over, mesmerized by the sight of her taking you, by the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you. "Take it deeper."

You grip her belt with one hand, bunching her dress even higher with the other until it's completely out of the way. The sight of her perfect ass jiggling with each impact makes your head swim, blood rushing in your ears. It's already pink from your earlier attention, the skin warm to the touch.

Your hand slides up her spine to grip her hair again, this time with purpose. You gather the short strands in your fist, tugging just enough to make her back arch further, to make her gasp, throat exposed and vulnerable.

"Look at you," you say, voice rough with exertion, the words punched out of you with each thrust. "LE SSERAFIM's perfect leader, taking cock in a storage room, being such a whore. Such a pretty little slut with your ass all red from my hands, your pussy dripping all over my cock."

She pushes back against you, taking you deeper, her body greedily swallowing every inch. "Harder," she demands, voice breaking on the word. "Fuck me harder. Make me feel it tomorrow."

You grip both her hips now, fingers digging into soft flesh, and pick up the pace. The new angle has you hitting that spot inside her that makes her whole body tremble, makes her walls flutter and clench around you. The wet sounds of her pussy taking your cock fill the small space—obscene, filthy, perfect.

"You're so fucking tight," you groan, feeling her walls grip you like a silken vice. "Squeezing my cock like you're trying to milk it dry."

You switch your grip, one hand finding her throat again, feeling her swallow against your palm as you apply the gentlest pressure. Just enough to remind her who's in control, to make her breath catch. Your other hand comes down hard on her ass again, the smack loud enough to make you both freeze for a second, worried it might have been heard outside.

"You've been a fucking menace all day," you growl, your pace relentless, the sound of your bodies coming together a wet percussion. "Strutting around in this dress, whispering that shit in my ear, touching me under the table."

Your grip on her throat tightens fractionally, making her pulse jump against your fingers. Her only response is to push back harder, taking you deeper, her body yielding and demanding all at once.

"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" you ask, voice low and rough in her ear. "Slap your ass, pull your hair, fuck you where anyone could walk in and see you—see what a desperate little whore you really are."

"Yes," she admits, the confession barely audible. "Anything. Everything."

The tension builds between you, a tangible thing in the small, overheated room. The air is thick with the scent of sex, with the sounds of pleasure barely contained, with the electric certainty that this is exactly where you both need to be.

You change the angle again, leaning over her back to reach around to her front. The new position grinds your pelvis against her ass with each thrust, your cock hitting new spots inside her. Your fingers find her clit, circling it in tight, firm motions, feeling it swell and harden under your touch.

"Oh fuck," she gasps, her inner walls fluttering around you like wings. "Right there, don't stop."

You don't stop. You keep up the relentless pace, feeling her get wetter around you with each stroke, her arousal making everything slick and hot and perfect. Your fingers on her clit get slicker, the combination of her arousal and your spit making obscene wet sounds that mix with the slap of skin on skin.

"That's right, take it just like that," you encourage, voice strained. "Take it like the cock-hungry little slut you are."

Instead of being offended, she moans louder, her body responding to your words as much as to your touch. You know exactly what she likes to hear, exactly how far to push the fantasy of degradation that excites her so much.

The pleasure is so intense you have to grit your teeth to keep from coming too soon. Three weeks without this—without her tight heat squeezing you, without her desperate little sounds, without the feeling of being buried inside her—has left you balanced on a knife's edge of control.

"You close?" you ask, voice strained, the words feeling like they're being ripped from your chest.

"Yes," she pants, the word almost a sob. "So close."

You reach up with your free hand, tangling your fingers in her hair again, carefully pulling her head back to expose the elegant line of her neck, watching the muscles work beneath the skin as she swallows. You bend to press open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, right where the dress leaves her skin bare, tasting salt and sweetness.

"Think about this tomorrow," you murmur against her skin, lips dragging over the goosebumps your breath creates. "When you're sitting in meetings, when you're in practice, when you're smiling for the cameras—remember how fucked you look right now. Remember how your ass felt getting spanked while my cock was inside you. Remember what a perfect little whore you are for me."

Her breath catches. Her pussy clenches around you. She's right on the edge, her body wound tight as a bowstring.

"Remember you're fucking mine," you growl, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out before she can stop herself, the sound sharp and startling in the quiet room.

You cover her mouth again, palm feeling the heat of her breath, the wetness of her lips, but it's too late—the sound echoed in the small room. Both of you freeze, hearts pounding, listening for any reaction from outside.

Nothing. Just the continued sounds of the busy set.

The moment of fear transforms quickly back into desperate need. Your thrusts become harder, deeper, more deliberate. Her body responds with renewed hunger, pushing back to meet you stroke for stroke, the rhythm between you perfect and instinctive.

Your hand slips from her mouth to her throat, not squeezing, just feeling her pulse race under your palm, feeling the vibrations of her moans travel through your fingertips.

"You gonna come for me?" you ask, feeling your own orgasm building at the base of your spine, heat coiling tight and insistent. "Gonna come all over my cock like the needy little slut you are?"

She nods frantically, beyond words now. Her body tightens around you, clenching with each thrust, the pressure building visibly in the arch of her back, the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers curl against the metal shelf.

You can feel your own release building, the tight grip of her pussy dragging you toward the edge. You've been thinking about this for weeks—dreaming about it, jerking off to memories of it—and now you're finally here, buried inside her, both of you desperate and filthy and perfect.

Her breath hitches. Her pussy flutters around your cock. You know the signs—she's right there, teetering on the precipice.

One more hard slap on her ass, the sting making her gasp, her inner walls clenching around you in response.

You lower her leg from the shelf, repositioning her with both feet on the ground, but spread wide. You grip her belt again with one hand, keeping up the pressure on her clit with the other. The new angle has you grinding against that spot inside her that makes her go crazy, makes her whole body tremble.

"Come on," you urge, your own control slipping, voice rough and broken. "Come on my cock, Chaewon. Let me feel it. Let me feel what a fucking whore you are for me."

Her body responds instantly, like your words were the final trigger she needed. She buries her face against her arm to muffle the sound as her orgasm rips through her, her pussy clamping down on you in rhythmic pulses, a flood of warmth surrounding you. Her legs shake so hard you have to hold her up with the grip on her belt, feeling the tremors travel through her entire body.

The sight of her completely wrecked, the feel of her convulsing around you, the knowledge that you did this to her—it all sends you over the edge. You thrust deep one last time, grinding against her ass as you come, filling her up with pulse after pulse, the pleasure so intense it's almost pain, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers, the backs of your knees, the top of your skull.

"Fuck, Chaewon, fuck," you chant, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as you empty yourself inside her, feeling the way she milks every drop from you, her body greedy even in its exhaustion.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just the sound of ragged breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace, the distant muffled voices of the set filtering back into your awareness.

You're still inside her, softening but reluctant to break the connection. Her body occasionally trembles with aftershocks, her pussy giving your cock little squeezes that make you hiss with oversensitivity, the sensation bordering on too much.

You run your hand gently over her ass, soothing the skin you'd been striking moments ago. It's still warm to the touch, a faint pink that will fade before she has to be back on set. Your touch is gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before.

"You okay?" you murmur against her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

"Better than okay," she whispers back, voice wrecked but satisfied.

Eventually, you pull out slowly, both of you groaning at the sensation. You watch as a trickle of your come leaks from her, sliding down her inner thigh. The sight sends a possessive thrill through you, primal and satisfying.

She straightens, turning to face you. Her makeup is smeared, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes have that dazed, satisfied look that only comes after she's been thoroughly fucked. A thin sheen of sweat makes her skin glow under the fluorescent light. Her short hair is disheveled where you'd gripped it, sticking up in places that you smooth down with gentle fingers.

You grab tissues from a box on the shelf, gently cleaning between her legs. She watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips—so different from the smirk she's been tormenting you with all day.

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, suddenly aware of how rough you were, eyes searching for marks on her throat, her wrists, her hips, ghosting your fingers over her ass where you'd struck her.

She shakes her head, running her fingers through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp in a way that makes you shiver. "Babe, It was perfect."

You retrieve her safety shorts from the floor and help her back into them, then smooth down her dress. Your hands linger on her waist, not quite ready to let go, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric.

A smirk forms slowly on her face, eyes glittering with mischief as she leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "Think they heard?"

You press a final kiss to her shoulder, lingering there, inhaling deeply—tasting salt and perfume and her, that essence that's uniquely Chaewon beneath the expensive fragrance. Your lips trace a path to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling her pulse still racing beneath your mouth.

"Not if you keep your mouth shut next time," you murmur against her skin, unable to resist giving her one more gentle bite.

She hums, the sound vibrating against your lips. "But where's the fun in that?" she whispers, that familiar playful defiance in her voice.

As she attempts to take a step back, her legs buckle. She grabs your shoulders to steady herself, her usual composure completely absent, the bratty confidence from seconds ago vanishing.

"I can't move," she whispers, voice wrecked, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. All the sharp edges of her personality momentarily dissolved, leaving her soft and vulnerable in a way no one else ever sees. "My legs won't work."

"Good," you murmur, unable to hide your satisfaction as you press a kiss to her forehead, supporting her weight. You hold her close for a moment, feeling the way she melts against you, completely undone.

After a moment, that familiar glint of mischief gradually returns to her eyes. The transformation is beginning; the desperate, wrecked woman slowly rebuilding herself into the polished idol.

In this moment, with her guard completely down, she looks younger, softer. The harsh fluorescent lighting should be unflattering, but somehow it just makes her look more real—smudged eyeshadow, faint red marks on her throat where your fingers were, her hair disheveled despite her attempts to smooth it. For a few seconds more, she's just yours.

She reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness. Her eyes, usually sharp and mischievous, soften as she looks at you. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—so different from the desperate ones you shared minutes ago. This one is deliberate, unhurried.

"I love you," she whispers against your mouth, the words barely audible but unmistakable. It's not something she says often—both of you knowing how dangerous those words can be in your situation.

Your hand comes up to cover hers where it rests against your face, holding her there for a moment. "I love you too," you reply quietly, the words filling the small space between you. "Even when you're being a menace."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Especially when I'm being a menace," she corrects, and you can't help but smile.

You glare at her playfully, and she giggles—the sound at complete odds with what just happened, with the filthy things you both just did, with the woman who was begging for your cock and calling herself your whore minutes ago. The contrast is jarring and perfect; this duality of hers that only you get to witness.

She leans in and kisses you deeply, but without the desperate edge from before. This kiss is softer, a promise.

When she pulls back, you can see the clock ticking in her head. Reality intruding.

"You go first," you say, checking your watch. "They'll be looking for you. The shoot needs to wrap in twenty minutes."

She nods, takes a deep breath, and you watch in fascination as she transforms back into LE SSERAFIM's leader right before your eyes. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, her expression becomes more controlled. It's like watching an actress step into character—except you know both versions are equally real.

She checks her reflection in her phone, adjusts her belt, smooths her hair with practiced precision. Only you would notice the slight tremble in her fingers, the pink marks on her hips where your hands were, the satisfied glow in her eyes that the camera won't quite catch but you can see clearly.

"How do I look?" she asks, voice steady now, almost back to the professional tone she uses with everyone else.

Like she's just been thoroughly fucked. Like her thighs are still sticky with both of you. Like she's hiding a universe of secrets behind that poised expression. Like she's yours.

"Perfect," you say instead, swallowing the possessive thoughts.

She smiles—not the coy smirk from before, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by the polished mask she wears for everyone else.

Just as you think she's about to leave, she presses one last kiss to your jaw, her fingers trailing down your chest with deliberate slowness. Her lips move to your ear, breath hot against your skin.

"I'll be thinking about this all night," she whispers, voice dropping to that register that makes your pulse quicken despite your recent release. Then, even lower, just for you: "And touching myself the second I get back to the dorm."

Before you can respond, she's slipped out the door with a final squeeze of your hand, leaving you alone in the storage room with her promise echoing in your mind, the scent of sex still hanging in the air, mingling with her perfume.

You give it two minutes before following, clipboard held strategically in front of you, expression carefully neutral as you adjust your own mask—the efficient manager, all business.

By the time you return, Chaewon is already back on set, taking direction for the next shot, nodding professionally at the photographer's instructions. Her posture is immaculate, her expression perfectly calibrated—looking as composed and professional as if she'd just been touching up her makeup instead of being bent over a shelf with your hand prints on her ass.

No one looks at her twice. No one notices the way she stands slightly differently, favoring one leg. No one sees the slight darkening at the base of her throat where your mouth had been.

You watch from behind the monitor, maintaining a careful distance, occasionally checking your phone or making notes on your clipboard. The perfect picture of professionalism.

She gets into position, poised and beautiful under the lights, following direction flawlessly. The camera loves her—captures her elegance, her poise, but misses completely the woman you know.

Then she glances directly at the camera, and for just a second—

The look she gives—half-lidded eyes, the barest hint of teeth catching her lower lip, a fleeting microexpression of remembered pleasure—that's just for you.

And you know, watching her seamlessly return to her perfect idol persona, that you'll both be counting the minutes until you can be alone again.

...

AN: Yes I'm a certified CHAEWON simp. This is strike 3 chaewon from me with more coming.

[sungbeams]

MIDNIGHT IN MILAN — lhs

they say love makes you do stupid things...surely fucking your boyfriend in the bathroom at the prada after party when your relationship isn't even public and neither of you can afford a dating scandal isn't that stupid, right?

⟡ ┆ pairing. lee heeseung x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, established relationship, idol AU (both heeseung and yn)

⟡ ┆ warnings. semi-public sex, unprotected sex, mirror sex, mild choking, creampie, fingering, tiniest hint of degradation (he calls her a slut like once), one singular spank, some hair pulling, not really any aftercare

⟡ ┆ word count. 6.4k

⟡ ┆ note. i know the hype around tipsy hee already died down but i simply couldn't let this go. started writing it literally the same day the pictures dropped, then got hit with a massive writers block and only recently managed to finish this. biggest thanks to @jayparked who listened to me complain about this fic and contemplate just deleting it all. this fic wouldn't be here without her :(

"Fuck, Hee—" your broken moans echo off the dark walls around you as you throw your head back at the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot that has your hips chasing after his, "feels so good. Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Not planning to, baby," Heeseung grunts out his reply, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you back to meet his sharp thrusts, sending shockwaves up your spine all the way to your head, making you feel woozy at the intense pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Your gazes meet in the mirror in front of you, your arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up. One of his hands moves up your body, his fingers wrapping around your throat and applying slight pressure to it to cut off the needy whines spilling from your mouth. Your eyes roll back at the sensation, head falling forward and your body crashing into the counter beneath you, your arms too weak to hold yourself up anymore. 

"That's my good girl, so desperate for my cock, huh?" Heeseung smirks to himself, continuing to roll his hips into yours. He wants to tug on your hair, hold you in place so he can look at your fucked-out face, but he knows he needs to be careful not to wreck you too much, not to leave any marks — or at least none that leave no doubt as to what you're doing here.

Truly, the two of you should be ashamed about what you're doing, but neither of you can bring yourself to care — not in the slightest. Right now, the only thing you're concerned about is Heeseung's cock repeatedly drilling past your folds into your soaked heat, how snug your walls feel around him, hugging him, molding to his shape with each snap of his hips. Maybe come tomorrow when you wake up and you think back to this moment, you'll bury your head in your hands and wonder what drove you to make such stupid, such careless decisions. 

After all, you are currently having sex with your boyfriend in a private powder room at an afterparty you had been invited to as brand ambassadors. You should be professional. Mingling with people, maybe having a drink, getting some of your pictures taken, but no, instead you're getting your guts rearranged by a man barely anyone knows is your boyfriend.

In your defense, the past few days had been beyond stressful, and you hadn’t been able to get any alone time with Heeseung in what feels like forever. Not during the busy days ahead of your flight to Italy, not during the 14-hour plane ride from Seoul to Milan for Fashion Week, and certainly not during all the schedules you had the past two days. Moments of privacy had been sparse, reduced to rare bathroom breaks since you shared a hotel room with one of the other members of your group.

----

Stepping out of the van to attend the afterparty, you force an effortless smile onto your face, repeatedly reminding yourself that this was your last schedule of the night and then you'd get a night of sleep just to hop onto another seemingly everlasting flight back home where you’ll be greeted with at least a few days without any public appearances. So you push yourself to ignore the ache in your feet from wearing heels all day, ignoring the throbbing in your head from the lack of sleep, food, and water, which only intensifies from the flurry of flashing cameras greeting you, or the pinch in your lower back from where you assume a safety pin must've come loose.

Hours pass by in the blink of an eye, pictures being taken with either your fellow group members or other celebrities and influencers also attending the party; a drink gets pushed into your hands, and the alcohol momentarily numbs your body and washes the pain away, allowing your shoulders to relax and your breaths to deepen as you take in your surroundings. Lo and behold, a few feet away from where you are, you find him standing: Heeseung. Hands in his pockets as he's talking to some unidentifiable celebrity in front of him.

Almost as if he feels your gaze on him, he glances away from the man before him, your eyes meeting for a brief moment. You take an involuntary step forward, like he's drawing you right in, before your manager steps in your line of sight, "They want a picture of you girls with Enhypen, something about wanting the two K-Pop groups attending in one picture together."

You nod your head at her words, trying to steal one last look at your boyfriend, only to see him walking right in your direction, together with Sunoo and Jungwon trailing after him, their manager leading them right to where you're walking to.

A staff member pushes and pulls you all into position, telling you where to stand and how to pose, and by some sort of miracle you end up right next to your boyfriend. Your manager shoots you a quick look, and you teasingly roll your eyes at her as she's silently warning you to not make your relationship too obvious, seeing as your company has been pretty outspoken about not wanting the public to know about what was going on between Heeseung and you.

While the photographers look over their pictures, trying to decide if they need more or if they're satisfied with what they got, you lean slightly to your right, close enough so the man next to you would be able to hear your hushed whispers, "You know...I heard some people talking about there being private restrooms at this venue. Just thought I'd mention it in case you'd like a moment alone to take a bit of a breather from all the socializing."

"Oh? Is that so?" you can hear the slight smile in the low rumble of his voice as he leans down, masking his closeness by adjusting the leg of his pants, "Guess I'll have to check them out in a bit then."

"Alright, everyone, we'll take a few more pictures and then you can go back to the party," one of the photographers interrupts your conversation, drawing all attention back to the front. You position yourself slightly to the left again, creating more space between your boyfriend and you to avoid angering your managers.

A few more pictures taken, and you're finally released. Almost instantly, you excuse yourself from your group, beelining towards the aforementioned restrooms, making sure not to draw any attention to yourself despite your heart beating rapidly in your chest at the thought of some alone time with your boyfriend, sending blood rushing through your ears, loud enough to drown out the quick click-clacks of your heels against the tiled floor underneath you.

The anticipation is killing you as you're waiting for Heeseung to show up, staring at your phone just to see the status of your message to him with the details of exactly where you are change from 'delivered' to 'seen' right in front of your eyes. Minutes feel like hours as you tap your foot nervously against the marble floor beneath your feet, trying your best to ignore your throbbing pussy, your folds covered in your slick and clinging onto your underwear already — all just because of the mere thought of what he would do to you within these four walls.

You glance at your phone again when three rapid knocks followed by two more taps against the wooden door next to you startle you. Opening the door with a smile on your lips, you lean out slightly, your head turning left and right to scan the hallway, "Are you sure no one followed you?"

Wordlessly he nudges you back inside and closes the door behind you. His lips are on yours in an instant, moving with familiar desperation as he pushes you against the closed door. His hands are all over you, grasping onto your hips, pulling them flush against him and allowing you to feel the growing bulge in his pants press against your lower abdomen. Your heart beats erratically in your chest — the sound almost drowning out the soft clicking of the lock turning behind your back — hands scrambling to find something to hold onto as lust takes over you, clouding your mind. His lips work against yours in a beautiful frenzy, rushed but still taking his time, nipping at your lower lip, entangling his tongue with yours in a passionate dance that wordlessly tells you everything you need to know.

Your body relaxes right against his, all tension melting away with each movement, the space between you charged with tension, thick and hot, as Heeseung pulls away. 

"Don't worry, we're all alone, baby," he breathes against your lips as his mouth trails down to your neck, eagerly covering your skin in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle themselves in his hair. 

The tiny voice in a deep, dark corner of your mind tells you not to mess it up, not to leave a single trace for people to suspect what the two of you left the party for, to avoid any scandal at all costs. But your need to be as close as possible to your boyfriend overrides any and all logic left inside you, so you ignore it, pulling him closer to you instead and letting him graze your skin wherever he desires. Contrary to you, he seems to still have some care for the consequences of your escapades, seeing as he moves down the collar of your dress to continue the path of his lips there, sucking and softly biting the supple flesh, leaving marks easily hidden. 

With his hand pressing against the small of your back, he pulls you away from the door, and the two of you stumble over towards the massive mirror situated behind the vanity of the powder room. Your ass digs into the cold marble of the counter as he crowds you against it, fingers holding your hips in a bruising grip — enough to almost hurt, the sensation just the right mix of pain and pleasure to pull a whimpered plea from your lips — before moving lower. His hands massaging your round cheeks has you biting your lip, whining as he lifts you up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist just to feel his hard cock straining against his pants and press right into where you need him the most.

"Hee...please—" you cut yourself off with a moan, louder than you had anticipated, and he quietly shushes you in response.

“Shh, baby, we don't wanna get caught now, do we?"

His lips form into a smirk against your skin as you shake your head with a slight pout on your lips. You really don’t want to get caught; you don't want to even think about what it would mean for both of you if people found out about what the two of you are up to in here, but your mind is begging, screaming at you to let it all out, let him know how good he's making you feel.

"You can be loud in the hotel; how about that, sweetheart?”

Oh, screw him. Getting you worked up over the possibilities the future holds for you before even having you now.

Your reply comes in the form of a quiet whimper, mind wandering off to all the possibilities your soundproof hotel room offers. His hands snap you out of it, interrupting your train of thought as they push underneath the bottom hem of your dress, reaching for your soiled underwear to press his fingers right against your cunt, feeling just how absolutely soaked he has gotten you.

"Fuck, baby, what's gotten you this wet, huh?"

"You, Hee—" you exhale, chest heaving up and down as he toys with your clit through the damp cotton of your panties, hips bucking up to chase his fingers, "please...please just fuck me already."

“Love when you beg for me like this. Shit," he groans, eyes closing for a brief moment in a hopeless attempt to compose himself, panting like a dog as he pulls away from you. His hands move over the buckle of his belt in a frenzied rush, fumbling slightly before he manages to undo it, opening his zipper with shaking and twitching fingers. His pants hit the floor with a thud, joined by the black briefs he had been wearing underneath, and he's back on you before you even have a chance to gawk at his cock, thick and heavy, with an angry tip, red and leaking precum already. Despite having seen it multiple times, it still never fails to take your breath away each time you get a chance to look at it. 

His lips crash against yours in an almost bruising kiss, distracting you from his fingers hooking underneath your underwear, pushing it to the side as his other hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself a few times until he lets his head kiss your entrance. In one fluid movement he pushes himself inside you, both of you letting out synchronized moans as you feel your walls stretching around his girth. His size still surprises you, despite this not being the first time together with him, and even though your cunt is dripping — your slick arousal running down your folds just to pool underneath you — you're still having trouble taking him wholly. His throbbing length fills you up so well you swear you feel him all the way in your belly, gasping as you spread your legs wider to grant him even more access to your wet pussy.

His fingers find their way back down to your clit, no longer obstructed by your underwear, massaging it slowly to help you relax around him. And it works; your body lets go, tension melting from you as you allow him to pull back slightly and thrust back in again, slowly managing to push further and further into you until he fills you to the hilt, his hips making contact with your ass. Pressing your face against his shoulder, you try your best to muffle your moans. Your cunt molds itself around him with each clench of your walls, desperate whines tumbling past your lips as his cock pulsates deep inside of you, as you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him. 

"Taking me so well, baby, such a good girl for me. You ready for me to move, sweet girl?"

You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words at all, mind fuzzy with pleasure. 

And he hasn't even started properly fucking you yet. 

Heeseung presses a gentle kiss against your lips, already swollen and raw, his bruising kisses lingering on them, before he begins to move, hips thrusting into your greedy hole as you cling to him, holding on tightly as best as you can. His forehead falls against yours, labored breaths mixing together and becoming one as you pant into each other's mouths, a needy blend of curses occasionally interrupted by your names tumbling from both of your lips. Your eyes meet his, losing yourself in them as they pull you in further and further. His gaze makes you want to shy away, intense and all-consuming, while at the same time it just as well makes you want to throw your head back, moan his name for everyone in this building to hear just how good he's making you feel.

"So good—fuck, feels so good, Heeseung," you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you lean further into his embrace, his arms holding you upright as the control of your own body slips further from your grasp.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly how you wanted him all night, his cock brushing right against your cervix with every thrust, his hands all over your body in a desperate frenzy, his mouth latched against yours, tasting you like a starved man. The feeling of having him all over you is overpowering your every sense, hopelessly trying — and failing — to keep your moans at bay, choking back a desperate whine in the back of your throat.

Heeseung can't help but coo slightly at you, your urgency going straight to his ego, as well as his cock, twitching deep within your spongy walls as he moves your legs to wrap them around his waist tighter as he grunts and groans, "Such a dirty thing, letting me fuck you right where anyone could hear us. Shit, gonna let me use your pretty cunt, gonna walk out there with my cum dripping down your legs like the little slut you are?"

Your answer comes in a whined 'yes' as you throw your head back, eyes screwing shut, hot sparks shooting through your whole body. Your legs twitch around his hips, nerves tingling as you start clamping down around him. Lust clouds your judgment, wanting to draw this out as much as you could, not wanting to cum just yet. Staying in here any longer than absolutely necessary wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do; in fact, it would be the complete opposite of smart. With every second the two of you are together in this restroom, his cock pressed deep inside you, brushing against your cervix, you risk the chances of getting caught, of someone hearing you moan out his name.

Fortunately for you, Heeseung seems to have a similar thought process. Slowly, his thrusts come to a halt, and he pulls out of you. The emptiness he leaves behind rips a pitiful whine from you, and he shushes you by pressing his lips against yours in a quick, gentle kiss before moving you off the counter and turning you around. You don't mind him manhandling you — you enjoy it even — his touches soft but forceful as he makes your back collide with his chest, your eyes meeting in the big mirror in front of you.

"Be a good girl and bend over for me."

His breath is hot against your ear, voice low and drenched with desire oozing off it thick like honey as you feel his cock dig into the flesh of your ass, the combined sensations sending shivers down your spine. His fingers graze your thighs as he lifts the bottom of your dress above your ass, letting it pool around your hips. Slowly, he pulls your underwear down your legs, his blunt nails scraping your burning skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. The ruined cotton falls to the tiled floor beneath your feet, transparent and sticky with your arousal, as you lean your torso onto the counter, holding yourself up with your shaking arms. You step out of them, blindly kicking them to the side to allow yourself more freedom to move.

Impatiently, you look over your shoulder, wiggling your ass to silently urge him to hurry up and get back to fucking you again. He can't resist the temptation, even if he would’ve attempted to try, running his hand over your bare ass, caressing your soft, round globes before landing a slap against your smooth skin — not a particularly harsh or painful one, not nearly as forceful as you know he’s capable of, but hard enough to send a wave of electricity through your body, a muffled sob falling from your lips at the sensation — before placing them back on your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh with a bruising grip.

Not wasting any more time, he slides right back inside you. The different angle pulls a moan from you, mixing with the low groan falling from Heeseung's mouth as your warm pussy embraces his cock. One of his hands presses against your back, pinning your front against the cold marble counter underneath you, your arms shaking as you scramble to find something to hold onto. The sounds tumbling past his lips make you clench around his length, the low rumble of his groans bouncing off the walls surrounding you, his chest heaving up and down with each erratic roll of his hips turning you into a panting mess as he repeatedly hits that one sensitive spot within you. You try your best to hold eye contact with him through the mirror, wanting nothing more than to see the pleasure clearly written on his face right as you cum, but you simply cannot. 

Your head falls forward, eyes screwing shut as you let pleasure take over you — your mind, your body, all of your senses.

His hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor, looking up briefly just to see his eyes trained right on where you're connected, watching his dick disappear within your creamy hole again and again, laser-focused as if he was in a trance. He pulls you back to him with each of his thrusts, making you meet him with even more force. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, your sobs joining the squelching sound of wet skin slapping against skin reverberating around the room. He drives inside you at a merciless pace, each thrust harder than the last one, making your entire body jolt at the force of them.

Heeseung steadies himself, taking his hand off your hip to place on the counter beside you, quickening his pace just slightly as his cock twitches inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

"Hee-'m so close," you whine, fingers clawing at the marble counter, legs shaking as you feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge with each drag of his heavy cock inside of you, each snap of his hips against yours.

Heeseung throws his head back at the sensation of your cunt fluttering around him, groaning out as his nails bite into your skin, "Just a bit longer, baby, almost there."

His hand on your shoulder pulls you up, your back colliding with his chest as he continues the merciless pace of his thrusts. The angle at which he keeps fucking into you feels overwhelming, consuming your whole mind and body, yet pleasurable in the best way, and you swear this is the closest you've ever been to heaven before. Your soft whines and pants turn into moans, growing louder with every passing second as you hold onto Heeseung's arm wrapped around your front, pressing you into his chest.

In a moment of clarity, Heeseung notices just how loud your moans have gotten, and as much as it pains him, he knows he quickly has to think of something to silence you unless you want someone to hear you on the outside of the door, resulting in a guaranteed scandal. His solution: his hand wrapped around your throat.

A gasped whimper escapes your mouth as you feel his fingers pressing into your skin, the slight pressure and the weight of his hand against your throat causes your head to spin, his grip not strong enough to hurt or leave marks but send dizzying pleasure right to the depths of your belly. Your breath hitches as your airways constrict, eyes rolling into the back of your head, hand reaching up to hold onto his wrist, making sure his hand stays right where it is, already addicted to the feeling.

The lack of air combined with his relentless thrusts sends you into a frenzy, you feel like you're floating, your limbs tingling, and the world around you blurs, your only focus on Heeseung's gaze that meets yours in the mirror in front of you. He's attentive, watching you closely and making sure you can still breathe — which you can, but the thrill of it all leaves you light-headed and gasping for air — while chasing his own high, pressing his lips into your shoulder to muffle the desperate groans threatening to escape him. 

His grip on your throat tightens, just barely, but enough to cut off your air supply for just a short moment, the rush sending a brand new wave of arousal pooling in the depths of your belly. It feels like he's everywhere — his cock thrusting into you at a merciless pace, his hand wrapped securely around your throat while his arm winds around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, not allowing you to move in the slightest. The intensity of it all is overwhelming your senses, the lack of oxygen making everything sharper, more intense, and you're reveling in the sensation of him pounding into you and sending every nerve in your body buzzing with electric pleasure.

"God, so greedy, couldn't even wait until we were back at the hotel, could you? Just had to have my cock buried deep inside you, can't get enough of it, right, princess?” he grunts lowly as he loosens the grip on your throat, lips pressing into your ear, sending shivers down your spine as your walls clamp down on him while you suck in a desperate gasp of air. 

You're too far gone to respond, your mind clouded with lust, hazy and floating like a cloud on a balmy spring day. All you can do is moan out his name, over and over again, a prayer falling from your lips as he continues thrusting into you, your body pushing against his tight hold of your waist, instinctively moving to meet every snap of his hips. His pace is relentless, Heeseung's thoughts replaced by his need to cum, desperately chasing his own high as he drives you closer and closer to the edge of blissful oblivion. The coil inside you winds impossibly tight, your legs shaking, and if it weren't for your boyfriend holding you upright, you know you'd be a mess of tangled limbs on the cold tiled floor beneath your feet already.

"Cum inside me—fuck, Heeseung, please," you plead breathily, your voice cracking as desperation takes over it, insatiable hunger and need setting your insides on fire.  

"Shit, you want me to cum inside you, yeah?"

His hand rubs over the mound of your ass, soothing your raw skin, sensitive from the slap he delivered to it just mere moments ago. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips with such force you're sure to find bruises the following day. 

“God, yes, Heeseung!” you cry out, your voice breaking as you feel the knot inside you tighten rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter until it's a white-hot ball of pleasure, ready to explode and set your body alight.

He leans down slightly, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers into your ear, “Be a good girl and cum for me, then you’ll get what you’re asking for. Come on, let go, cum for me, pretty girl."

And just like that you find yourself tipping over the edge, his words breaking the dam inside you and allowing your high to crash over you like a tidal wave, destroying everything in its wake. Pleasure courses through every inch of your body. Every vein, every nerve is set alight and dragged along the powerful and overwhelming waves of your release. Your slick walls clamp down around him like a vice, spasming with every drag of his cock, every brush of his mushroom tip against that one spot that makes stars explode in front of your eyes.

His grip on you loosens enough to allow your upper half to fall forward, catching yourself as you lean on your forearms, left panting and completely undone as you gasp for air, lungs burning and desperate for the sweet taste of oxygen.

Heeseung lets out a strangled moan at the feeling of your dripping cunt tightening around him with even more force, his control slipping as his thrusts become urgent and uncontrollable. He murmurs something underneath his breath, but the rush of your heartbeat echoing in your ears is too loud, drowning out his words, which you assume are mumbled curses of your name.

You lose yourself in the sensation, barely able to form any coherent thoughts as your climax drags on. Each wave drags you deeper and deeper into the current of pleasure, leaving you gasping for air, body twitching and trembling as Heeseung prioritizes his own pleasure, chasing his high with renewed fervor.

Heeseung has never been a selfish lover, always putting your pleasure first, making sure you got to cum at least once before even letting himself think about the possibility of his own release. And maybe that’s part of the thrill for him, repeatedly — intentionally — edging himself until he finally gets what he wants from you, driving himself to the edge of his release over and over again until he is so sensitive he feels like he’s about to explode from just the slightest stimulation.

“Oh fuck, baby—“ he pants with a strained voice, his chest rising and falling rapidly, breaths ragged as he finally allows himself to let go.

With a low guttural groan, Heeseung spills himself inside of you, thick spurts of his warm cum shooting deep into your pulsing cunt, painting your insides white and oozing out of your pussy past his cock. The heat of it sends tiny aftershocks through you; your body shakes as you try to catch your breath, looking into the mirror to see him working himself through the last dredges of his orgasm, jaw slack and body trembling. His face is glistening with sweat, beads of it rolling down his throat and disappearing beneath the neckline of his black shirt.

The sight of him is enough to make you ache with need all over again — his face twisted in pleasure, his eyes dark and unfocused as he watches his cum leak out of your wrecked pussy around his length. You cannot help but think of the folder on his phone, password protected to keep it from the wrong eyes and filled to the brim with pictures you hope never see the light of day: his cum dripping out of your ruined cunt; his cock shoved into your mouth, the lower half of your face messy with a mix of spit, cum, tears, and lipstick; love bites scattered across the skin of your neck and the insides of your thighs like the constellations of the night sky. If you had more time, you’re sure he would add to that growing collection of his, pulling out his phone and snapping multiple pictures until he was satisfied, moving your body into various positions to get the best shot.

Instead of allowing your small daydream to become reality, Heeseung pulls out of you, the sudden emptiness leaving you whimpering and clenching around nothing, the squelching wet sound of him slipping his cock out of you echoing around the room.

He takes another moment to admire the mess he's made of you, leaning back slightly as he watches his cum drip from your drenched hole. He reaches out, letting his fingers run between your folds to collect his cum just to shove it back into you. The sight of your pussy swallowing his digits, your puffy lips embracing them with ease makes his cock twitch again, overstimulated and sensitive but still aching for more.

“Hee—fuck, please,” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, mind fuzzy and eyes heavy as you watch him through the mirror in front of you. 

You try to drink it all in, wanting this moment embedded in your memory until the end of your days. His dark hair falling into his eyes, focused on the white globs of his cum slipping out of your cunt from around his fingers and running down your thigh. His skin is flushed, sweat beaded on it like little gems glued to reddened satin. It trails down his neck to his chest, revealed by the undone top button of his shirt. 

Heeseung interrupts your little ogling session when he pulls his fingers out slowly, savoring the way you shudder at the loss. 

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror before he gently turns you around to face him: lips puffy and swollen, eyes watery and completely wrecked despite your combined effort to prevent just this from happening when you were still able to think clearly before your minds were clouded with lust. 

“You did so well, baby,” Heeseung murmurs, his voice thick with a twisted mix of pride and possessiveness as he angles your head so his lips capture yours in a kiss that sends another wave of burning heat through you, igniting the glowing embers lingering deep within you.

His hands slide to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he effortlessly lifts you up, your bare thighs resting on the vanity underneath you, the cold marble biting into the raw and tender skin of your ass.

“Made such a mess, can you feel it dripping out of you?” — you nod at his question despite knowing he didn’t ask for you to answer — “Want me to clean you up?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out your reply, eyes glossing over at the intention.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, the unspoken meaning of his words written as clear as day on his face as he slowly lowers himself to the tiled floor beneath his feet, spreading your legs in the process to make room for him to fit between them. He looks up at you from between your spread thighs, leaning forward slightly to press his lips against the insides of them, alternating between nibbling and sucking, sure to leave marks for you to find the next day. A whispered sigh of his name slips past your lips as you throw your head back slightly, his lips ghosting closer and closer to where you need him, to where his cum was still dripping out of you.

His warm breath fans over your wet center, lips just a hair's width away from your pulsing cunt when a gentle knock interrupts you. Heeseung jumps up at the sound, back on his feet in an instant. Your eyes are wide in panic as you meet his gaze before you both turn to the door.

“Shit,” Heeseung mouths as he rushes to grab some paper towels to wipe your mixed juices from between your thighs, hoping that whoever just knocked on the door isn’t aware of the fact that there are currently two people in this bathroom. Two people who certainly could not afford to be caught in a position like you are currently finding yourselves in.

“Heeseung? It’s me, Jay.”

The sigh of relief leaving both of you could almost be described as comical if not for the tension still lingering between you, all the worries and anxieties of a secret relationship almost coming true. Haphazardly, Heeseung pulls his pants up, the undone belt still hanging from his hips as he helps you down from the vanity, hands tugging at the hem of your dress to give you at least a slight bit of decency. He takes one look in the mirror, letting out a small groan before shuffling over to open the door.

The moment the door opens, Jay turns towards both of you, hands buried in the pockets of his pants as he awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other. The redness of his ears confirms your suspicions that he most likely heard more than you would’ve liked, immediately sending your blood rushing to your head, face burning with embarrassment at your friend catching you in such a precarious position. He clears his throat once, trying — and failing — to subtly take in Heeseung’s appearance before shooting a small, albeit flustered, smile at the two of you.

“We gotta leave, like,” he takes a look at his phone to check the time, “right now, actually. I already bought you both some time, told them you weren’t feeling well, and Heeseung wanted to make sure you’re alright. You should…clean yourselves up a bit. Meet us at the entrance in 5?”

You both nod as you watch Jay turn to leave after looking your boyfriend and you up and down once again, shaking his head as he deeply sighs in disappointment — a sound almost eerily similar to one you had heard your parents make several times when you were younger — and you swear as he walks away you can hear him mumble to himself about how you were like two hormonal teenagers, not able to keep it in your pants for even one night.

“Well, guess we gotta get you cleaned up, huh, sweetheart?” 

“Oh no, we don’t!” you jab your finger into his chest as he chuckles at you, “I get cleaned up, and you can go meet up with everyone. It’ll be less suspicious if we don’t show up at the same time.”

Heeseung holds up his hand in fake surrender, a smile still playing with his glossy lips as his eyes roam over your body with one last hungry gaze. Despite the burning ache inside him, the quick kiss he presses against your lips is nothing but sweet and gentle, tenderness quickly replaces the darkness formerly taking over his eyes, “I’ll text you later. Maybe we can manage to sneak you into my hotel room later.”

“Sounds like a plan,” your hands wrap around his arms, giving his biceps one last affectionate squeeze before ushering him out of the bathroom and away to join his group members, giving you a few more precious minutes to clean up, make yourself look somewhat presentable — or at least presentable enough to not have any fans or press question just what exactly happened over the past hour — and find out where you had kicked your underwear in the heat of the moment.

You take a moment to watch your boyfriend walk away, the slight bounce in his step is a dead giveaway for the people who knew him that he just got laid, but lucky for both of you, no one of importance should be able to figure him out and turn this whole thing into an issue for the two of you. Just as you’re about to turn around and assess his damage in the big vanity mirror, Heeseung turns around one more time, eyes twinkling with mischief as he takes you in, watching the way your eyebrows rise on your forehead in a silent question at his sudden halt.

“Oh, and baby?” you nod your head in response, “Make sure to wipe the lipstick from your chin. We wouldn’t want anyone to find out what a greedy slut you are for me, would we now?”

© sungbeams — all rights reserved. i do not give permission to copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

[corameiwrites]

𖦹 searching for love 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: your shift at a small bookstore is about to end when a handsome stranger walks in five minutes before closing

wc: 2k

pt. 2

A far off chime sounded from the old grandfather clock, signaling the passing of another half hour. That meant it was 8:30, and more officially, 30 minutes past closing time. Normally, you would have been packed up and locking the door by 7:58, eager to get home to your grouchy cat, messy room, and half-written research paper. There was nothing normal, however, about the six-foot something man with biceps the size of your head, meticulously browsing the shelves of your bookstore. 

Well, not yours, but the number of shifts you picked up having to pay the bills for your not-so-cheap Gotham apartment had basically made this place your second home.

So when the very fit and handsome stranger walked in a mere five minutes to closing, you lingered a little. Behind the counter at the front of the store, of course. It was far too scary to go and ask him if he needed help—you would run the risk of embarrassing yourself further. 

Earlier, when he had entered, you made the mistake of welcoming him with a rushed “Good Morning” despite the full moon visible through the store windows. He had glanced in your direction, nodded, and walked further into the store, going to start his long search of whatever it was he came here to look for. 

Which, by the looks of it, he found. 

He set the books down near you, looking at an assortment of random trinkets and bookmarks displayed on the counter. 

You smile, recognizing the titles. “Are you a fan of Austen?” 

His head sprung up as though he hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.” 

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” Looking up the titles on the rather out-dated computer, you ring them up on the register. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.”  The corners of his mouth twitch up in a semi-smile as his hands retreat into his leather pockets. An odd choice to zip a leather jacket all the way to his chin, but who are you to judge? It's only now you're looking that you notice the scars littered across his face, as well as the few wisps of stark white hair across his forehead. You look down into his eyes, and though it was only a fleeting moment of prolonged eye-contact, it made you feel far too vulnerable.

��Looking away and vaguely remembering some staff meeting about professionalism, you read the total amount due to him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” His face blanks, and he blinks twice before digging through his pockets. His brows furrow. “Sorry, I…” his hands pat down his cargo pants before his shoulders slump. His face turns to one of slight annoyance. “I lost my wallet.”

“Oh.” Frankly, you don’t know what to do in this situation, and by the looks of it, neither does he. It's a little awkward—do you suggest he trace his steps? Call the bank to pause all his cards? But he’s paying in cash. Oh god, a thought crosses your mind. Is he a criminal? Fortunately, your mouth speaks before you even process what's coming out of it. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, and it's embarrassing the way your eyes track the movement. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. “I work tomorrow and Wednesday until closing if you want to come in around this same time, but I could tell my other coworkers of the situation if you come in a different day or time.” 

Silently, he stares at the poster. You recline back to your standing position, mentally slapping yourself for sharing your work schedule with a complete stranger who could very well be a criminal. A hot criminal. 

“...You close at eight?” 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” Thank you for finally showing up, customer service voice. He frowns, lifting his arm and pushing the sleeve of his leather jacket up before looking at you in shock. 

“You're closed right now?” he asked, though it sounded more like a state of a fact. 

You start to fidget with your clothes. “Technically speaking, yes.” 

His hand flies to his face, semi-face palming. “Shit,” he starts to back away slowly towards the door. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You smile at his panic, feeling a little amused despite yourself. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

“No, it's horrible, I’m horrible.” You can’t help but let out a small chuckle at his apologetic demeanor. By now he's halfway out the door, but turns back at your laugh.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up Pride & Prejudice, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

To that he nods, leaving and walking down the sidewalk in a rush. You stand for a minute, replaying the strange yet exciting interaction, hoping that the man would come again to claim his books. 

You were absolutely going to text your best friend about this when you got home. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♥  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Jason Todd had lost track of time. Maybe it was the warm lighting that made the strain on his eyes decrease, or the soft music soothing his aching head, or the various earth-tone decorations that made him stay longer than he intended. He had only meant to hide for a couple minutes, enough to get Condiment King off his trail and onto Tims. That was until he spotted Pride & Prejudice on a shelf with the exact cover of the one he read in Bruce's library when he was younger. Blaming it on nostalgia, he picked it up, and before long the quaint bookstore became less of a hideout and more of an actual store. 

In all honesty, he could have spent the rest of his patrol in the place if not for an angry text from Tim cursing him out; something about going MIA and getting the mustard and ketchup smell out of his suit. Snapped back into reality, he found himself with a rather large amount of books he definitely couldn’t fit into his motorcycle bag. 

Through little internal debate, he lowered the amount to three books, Pride & Prejudice, 1984, and This Is It, chastising himself as he made his way to the front. It was reckless spending so long hiding when he was supposed to be out on patrol. Hell, his helmet and guns were thrown behind a dumpster in an alleyway down the street! For all he knew, they could be stolen and pawned by some homeless person. 

But there was just something about this store and its ability to make him lose track of time. 

He hurried to the register, glancing at the super-hero themed erasers. He spotted some of his family's personas, grimacing inwardly. Ever since coming back to Gotham, they had been pestering him to join them at the manor outside of vigilante duties. Personally, he would rather be shot ten times before–

“Are you a fan of Austen?” 

He looked up, a little spooked. Did he totally forget that there was another person here, working? Maybe. Scrambling his head for a response proved a daunting task, and that smile you were giving him wasn’t helping. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.”

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” You looked through the books, ringing them up on your computer. You seemed almost pleased with his choice in literature. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.” That knowledge, for some reason, makes him happy. From what he remembers, he also enjoyed the tale of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy when he was younger. 

He put his hands in his jacket pockets, slouching a little more than usual as he studied your clothing and your face. You were young, probably around his age and good looking, working at a bookstore; definitely not anyone dangerous. He knew his height and build tended to intimidate people, and despite its uses when he wore the mask, off-duty he rather disliked it. He didn’t look kind or soft the way you did. Conscious of his build and the darkness outside, he did what he could to hopefully put you at ease. 

You turn back to the register, clicking a few buttons. “That’ll be $14.33.” you look back up at him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” Legally, he couldn’t use cards since he was supposed to be six-feet under. He moved his hands around in their pockets, trying to find his wallet. “Sorry, I…” Patting down his pants, he inwardly groans, remembering leaving his wallet in his safehouse of the week before going out for patrol. “I lost my wallet.” 

“Oh.” Yeah, he's a dumbass. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” Your voice is hesitant and he swears on everything he will always check if he has money in his pockets before entering another establishment ever again. 

Running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he picked up on, he waves you off. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. You're still talking to him, but he looks at your face, noticing small details he hadn’t before, like the unique slope of your nose, the shade of your lips and how delicately your lashes fall over your eyes. When you stop talking, he averts his gaze at what you pointed to. 

“Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M., Sat.---Sun. 12 P.M. to 5 P.M.” He reads it again, trying to remember the day. Damian wasn’t on patrol, so it was a weekday. “Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.” He rereads it once more in confusion. Given the darkness outside, there's no way it wasn’t past eight already. 

“...You close at eight?” he hesitantly asks. 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” If you were closer, he probably would have teased you about the customer service voice. He checks his watch. His whole body freezes as he reads the time. 

8:34

His head whips to you in confusion. “You're closed right now?”

“Technically speaking, yes.” You seem almost bashful as you answer.

Instant mortification fills his body, and he could hit himself for what he’s done. Not only did he unintentionally skimp out on patrol with Tim in a bookstore, potentially scaring the innocent and hot worker, but he wasted that workers time by wandering around for thirty fucking minutes past closing.  He starts to leave, apologizing to you, and despite your assurances, he can’t bring himself to face you knowing he’s kept you working later than you should. He's halfway out the door when he hears you laugh, and he momentarily pauses, turning halfway to face you. 

You’re smiling.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up a book, waving it at him, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

His throat seems to close up, and whether it's from embarrassment or that smile, he can’t tell. Nodding, he quickly leaves the store, walking in long strides back to his gear. Guilt, shame, and confusion all pile up inside him as he puts on his thigh straps, holstering the guns he put a little more care into hiding. Zipping down his leather jacket, he puts his helmet on, which immediately reconnects to his line with Red Robin. He's met with instant accusations and threats. 

“Wait for me down Fourth and Main, I’ll be there at nine.” He murmurs quickly, grappling to the top of the nearest building before disconnecting from the line. He perches over the edge, watching the lights in the bookstore shut off before you run out, closing and locking the door.

He takes extra care to keep himself hidden from your sight, ducking behind various rooftop structures and grappling to different buildings, silently protecting your late walk home. It’s only when you’ve entered your building and he sees a corner apartment window light up that he leaves. 

He’ll return to that bookstore tomorrow.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Need Someone Soft? 141 x Camgirl!Reader

Summary - Kyle attempts to keep a secret, Simon discovers a very pretty webcam model.

Tags - Masturbation, internet stalking, voyeurism(?) exhibitionism, reader is mentioned to be plus sized (or mid-sized if you wanna argue)

divide from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

A/N: Still on a semi-hiatus. Just having camgirl thoughts.

Kyle hated this, your inconsistent schedule. You said certain days of the week and every weekend... and yet you were nowhere to be seen. He had bought the singular video up on your profile but that was it, that was all you had.

Really he shouldn't have expected much out of a model who's tags warned him that you were new. New and inconsistent it seemed. Until a few days turned into a week, then a week turned into two weeks and soon enough there was only a few days until it was a full month since you had been online.

He had followed your little blog that you posted updates on and had masturbated so many times to that one video on your profile that, well it would be a lie if he said it didn't do anything for him anymore. Oddly, the video had become a comfort.

Like knowing he had a few candies waiting for him after a long day of drills and training. Even on missions, when it got slow and they were in a safe house Kyle pulled up the video. Careful of course to keep it silent but he had your sounds memorized by now.

He would follow the rhythm you set, slow at first as your tight cunt got used to the dildo stuffed inside of you, your hips jerking a little when you find that right spot on your clit and keep your vibrator there. A mixture of lube and your own juices dripping from around the dildo and down the fat of your ass.

Fuck, his mouth watered just thinking about it.

Then he got an alert in his email. A blog update. All it said was I'm coming back and I have a new toy to test out, ;) and by the grace of god it was a screenshot of a lovense order for a lush. His mind swirled with the possibility of being able to send tokens upon tokens to make it vibrate. To control your pleasure through a screen, the possibility was tantalizing. And yet, he didn't know when you would be coming back. Today? Fuck, not today. Not while he was meant to be sent off on an op with Soap.

God damn it.

Simon didn't normally use websites like this. Then again, most of his wanks were borderline clinical. He would conjure up whatever image he needed to get off and tug at his cock until his spend coated his hand. So why was he on this website to begin with? Well, he was curious alright?

Curiosity killed the cat.

He flickered through the 'longue' as the website called it, something that chuffed him a bit he had to admit. A porn website attempting to make itself seem a little more professional.

Adorable.

It wasn't his first time on a website like this, far from it. He just normally didn't do this at all. But he knew he liked the new models. The ones who weren't quiet sure what they were doing. He also liked the ones who were rounder in the middle, thighs thick from good eating and a nice round ass that he could imagine bouncing off of while he fucked her into the mattress.

So he scrolled through the new tag until he stumbled across what he was looking for. He glanced at your username and immediately 'friended' you which was really more like subscribing. He would get alerts when you would go live now.

You were sat all pretty on your bed, hair tucked behind your ears and he looked at the room topic. His eyes latched onto the words lush activated.

Oh.

Oh.

He glanced at the tokens in his imaginary wallet on the website. 1000, he could make that work. He tugged his cock from his briefs and grabbed the bottle of lube tucked away in his drawer before he poured a generous amount on his cock. He gave it a few tugs, just watching as someone else tipped you and activated the lush nestled inside your pussy. Just watching as you squirmed and the nearly mute sound of your mewls reached his eyes. Fuck he needed headphones.

Using one hand he typed his first sentence into chat, you do privates?

[grantmentis]

PWHL 2024-2025 Primer

It's that time of year again folks. PWHL starts on November 30th.

The sections of this primer are: What is the PWHL, Where can I watch, Rules/League Structure, Official league pages, journalists to follow, and an introduction to each team (what they did last year, who's on the team, notable players, you should root for them if you..)

What is the PWHL?

The Professional Women's Hockey League was created in 2023 and launched in January 2024. It is currently the sole professional women's hockey league in North America.

Heading into the 2024-2025 season, the PWHL has six teams: The Toronto Sceptres, Boston Fleet, Minnesota Frost, New York Sires, Montréal Victoire, and Ottawa Charge. Each team plays 30 regular season games per team. You can find the full season schedule here.

Where can I watch?

Disclaimer; We don't have an official 100% confirmation on the American and non-North American ones yet, just reports from journalists who I do deem trustworthy. I will edit any changes and highlight them in bold if necessary.

On Television/Streaming

Canadian fans will have games on TSN and its affiliates (such as TSN+) primarily, with select games on CBC and Prime video.

French broadcasts of Montreal games can be found on RDS (18), Radio-Canada (6) on ICI TÉLÉ and ICI TOU.TV

Full streaming/television schedule for Canada

All fans not in Canada are available to stream on the PWHL Youtube regardless of location (so if you're "in market" there's no black outs like there is NHL games)

Last year regional games were held on: Bally Sports North in Minnesota, NESN/NESN+ in Boston, MSG/MSG+ in New York, Sportnet Pittsburgh has carried select games. Not 100% confirmed this will be the case last year. Even if your regional sports network carries it, however, you should be able to access it on Youtube in America

In Person

Toronto and New York (sort of) have new locations this year

Toronto Scepters play at Coca-Cola Coliseum

Ottawa Charge play at TD Place

Montréal Victoire play at Place Bell

Boston Fleet play at Tsongas Center (Lowell, MA)

Minnesota Frost play at Xcel Energy Center

New York Sirens will play at Prudential Center (Newark, NJ)

There are also many neutral site games this year including Detroit, Quebec City, Raleigh, Vancouver, Denver, Buffalo, St. Louis, and Seattle that you can read about here

What are the rules? The League Structures?

Who makes the playoffs and what do they look like?

Please keep in mind that with such a young league, it's possible this will be tinkered with.

Each game is worth three points: 3 for a regulation win, 2 for an overtime win, and 1 for an overtime loss

Last year, the PWHL had 4 of the 6 teams make the playoffs. The number one seed got to choose their opponent between the third and fourth seed.

All series were best of five series, the two semi finals and then the finals.

Rules

If you are an NHL fan looking to jump in, here are the differences in the PWHL. The rulebook is also here.

Bodychecking is allowed in the PWHL, so long as it is done in an attempt to play the puck or gain possession. While women's hockey has always been physical, bodychecking at this level is fairly new, the SDHL in Sweden started to allow it just in 2021 and then the PWHL last year, so refs and players are adjusting in how they're going to draw the line between legal and illegal. This is also not the case in international competition, so it is a little different than the olympics or worlds if you are used to watching those.

The PWHL has a "jailbreak rule" which means that if you are shorthanded and score, the penalty ends.

In shootouts, a player can go as many times as they'd like.

New this year is the "No Escape" rule where players of a penalized team are required to stay on the ice to start the penalty kill.

Coaches can challenge delay of game puck over glass penalties.

Hits to the head, headbutting, and grabbing an opponents helmet strap, throat protector, or hair is an automatic major penalty and game misconduct.

What are the official social media pages? Who are good people to follow?

Official league pages:

PWHL: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

There's also a unofficial bluesky bot that re-posts all of the PWHL X content

Sceptres: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Fleet: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Victoire: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Frost: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Sirens: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

Charge: Instagram / Twitter / Tiktok / Youtube / Website

News and Journalists:

This is not a comprehensive list, just a starter pack! feel free to add any recommendations in the comments.

Kyle Cushman: Works for the score, covers the whole league (as well as some nhl), keeps public statistical information. The Score author page / Twitter / Bluesky

The Ice Garden: Long time women's hockey publication. I'd also recommend going through their contributor/author page and following them individually! Website / Twitter / Bluesky

Hailey Salvian: Long time reporter for the Athletic for women's hockey Twitter

Kenzie Lalonde: TSN reporter based in Montreal covering PWHL among others, also does play by play Twitter

Rick Menning: Local reporter for the Sirens Twitter

Kelsea Durham: Local reporter for the Boston Fleet for Inside the Rink Linktree

Christine Roger: French-Canadian reporter, who posts in French, mainly about Montreal Twitter

PWHL Report: Content aggregator for if you don't want to follow a bunch individually and really the only one i've seen post stuff to Instagram Twitter / Instagram

Who are the Boston Fleet?

The Boston Fleet were last years runner up in the league.

Their roster can be viewed here, with updates to be expected in the next few days as training camp cuts and contract being signed, the waiver period starting for teams to sign players that got cut from other teams training camps, and final rosters are made.

Notable players: Hilary Knight (captain), Aerin Frankel (Star goalie), Alina Müller (Swiss hockey star), Hannah Bilka (first round pick this last draft.)

You should root for this team if: You like defense-first hockey, strong New England college hockey connections, rooting for the youngest ice hockey player to win an olympic medal (Alina Müller), a player who got a custom outfit for pride night (Jamie Lee Rattray), Jewish hockey icons (Aerin Fankel), and players who are also podcasters and make a lot of tiktoks (Lexi Adzija and Taylor Girard)

Who are the Montréal Victoire?

The Montréal Victoire finished second in the standings last year, where

Live roster viewable here with expected updates the next few days

Notable players: Marie Philip-Poulin, Laura Stacey, Erin Ambrose, Ann-Renée Desbiens (all four are long time Team Canada legends), Lina Ljungblom (young Swedish superstar), Mikyla Grant Mentis and Kennedy Marchmand (both former PHF MVPs)

You should root for this team if: You love two way defensive minded centers, rooting for the league favorite, star players who are married to each other (Poulin and Stacey), short defenders (5'1 Amanda Boulier and 5'2 Cayla Barnes), post game victory dances, I dont even know how to describe this but heres grant mentis and Lásková watching golf i have to put it here

Who are the Toronto Sceptres?

The Sceptres were the first place team in the PWHL last year.

Roster here, once again will change this week

Notable players: Natalie Spooner (league MVP and long time team Canada player), Sarah Nurse (Olympic record holder for points and top scorer), Julia Gosling (first round pick), CJ Jackson (backup goaltender, social media darling, and LGBT activist), Renata Fast (top defender for both PWHL and Team Canada)

You should root for this team if you: love all the Team Canada players who grew up outside Quebec and also the coaches (all but three players are Canadian and many have played internationally for Canada, the coaching/management also largely from team canada and shares stylistic similarities), are interested in Nursey Nights (Sarah Nurse's collaboration with Black Girl Hockey Club during Toronto Sceptres games!), want to root for the other league favorites, love noted pancake enthusiasts (Kali Flanagan), or if you're more on the savory side, love a hot dog enthusiast (CJ)

Who are the Ottawa Charge?

The Ottawa Charge finished fifth in the league last season

Roster here with updates to come

Notable players: Brianne Jenner (team Canada and captain of Ottawa), Emily Clark (top scorer), Kateřina Mrázová (top scorer and Czech national team icon), Danielle Serdachny (second overall pick), Ronja Savolainen (Finnish national team mainstay and SDHL icon)

You should root for this team if you: Have an interest in Czech players (Mrázová, Vanišová, Tejralová), you like podcasting players (but gay this time), enjoy a team that regularly updates their youtube channel and does a fan fest and has some of the best player created content, like a team that is not afraid to make bold roster moves

Who are the Minnesota Frost?

The Minnesota Frost are your inaugural PWHL champions!

Here is a live, updating roster

Notable players: Kendall Coyne (Captain, Team USA), Taylor Heise (last years #1 overall pick and one of the leagues scorer), Grace Zumwinkle (also a top scorer), Nicole Hensley (star goalie and also Team USA starting goaltender typically), Michela Cava (extensive experience as top player in PHF, SDHL, and Russia.)

You should root for this team if you: Have a lot of midwest pride and like teams in the WCHA, value speed when watching hockey, like players with unconventional paths to stardom (Hensley, who played at Lindenwood in college and made team USA only after college finished), want to root for the ultimate playoff sicko (Michela Cava, who has 4 championships across four leagues, two finals MVPs, and is over a point per game combining all playoffs), like franchise cornerstones who are besties and call each other 'the dog to their cat" and vice versa (Heise and Zumwinkle)

Who are the New York Sirens?

The New York Sirens finished last in the PWHL last year

Roster with updates to come

Notable players: Abby Roque, Alex Carpenter (both team usa and PWHL top scorers), Corinne Schroeder (had the best goaltending season in PHF history in 2023 and followed it up by having one of the best PWHL seasons despite a tough workload), Sarah Fillier (first overall pick this year, team Canada star), Maja Nylén Persson (round two pick, SDHL best defender of the year last year, team Sweden's #1 defender), Noora Tulus (finnish national team star and one of the best SDHL players of all time.)

You should root for this team if you: want to see a team really build itself up from the ground floor, as theres a lot of roster turnover this year and a new coaching staff, with a lot of exciting draftees. like a team that has a little more physicality/grit. want to maximize the number of crossovers with other professional sports teams possible, like the nickname pizza rats. Want to enjoy some of the best mic'd up content (Roque)

[bbangtans]

daybreak | jjk | oneshot

Summary: One of your favorite things to do when you were in your early 20s was stay up late where reflective conversations eventually blurred into nonsense as the sun rose alongside someone you thought you would spend the rest of your days with… Now you’re stuck in New York City for one night due to a delayed flight with that very person standing there in his leather jacket and guitar case in hand across from you at the airport gate. See, fate is a funny thing and Jeon Jungkook could always find the humor in anything.

pairing: rockstar!ex!jk x f!reader genre/tropes: angst, fluff, exes to ???, right person wrong time/second chances, jungkook is so romance film lead coded – charismatic and well-spoken and genuine and ughhhhh i be fawning frrrr, this takes place where both jk and reader are 28ish, jk is a lead singer in a band with tae-jimin-yoongi, and y/n is a working professional rating/warnings: M | alcohol consumption, lots of swearing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (don’t be all willy nilly with this tho!!!), dig bick jk lmfao, oral (f receiving), heavy petting, multiple orgasms. a/n: inspired by my faaaaaave movie before sunrise bc if there’s anything namjoon and i have in common, it’s that we are yearners 🤝 and SURPRISE! she's here a lil earlier than promised <3 word count: ~10.1k

The longest string of curses you ever muttered in your life escaped your lips as your tense eyes focused on the words CANCELED obnoxiously displayed on the monitor indicating the status of your flight, which was supposed to take you back to the comfort of your home in Seoul. This is ignoring the fact that you also had a big presentation to prepare for a client but you got pulled into this conference last minute by your boss – lucky you. 

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry. Unfortunately, all flights have been temporarily suspended due to emergency maintenance as a result of the aircraft recall. The most I can offer is to book you on the next available flight scheduled…” The poor airline employee offered with an apologetic smile. You stepped back as you realized this very employee had to face the brunt of the crowd who also suffered the same fate as you. 

You swallowed your anger, empathetic to this person who was merely a messenger. “Okay, when is the next flight?”

“It will be tomorrow at 10:15AM. That’s the earliest we can do, unfortunately. I can have you booked on that flight and you’ll have the details emailed to you shortly.” 

Sighing, you nodded your head. “Cool, thank you… but will the airline be able to provide a place to stay since –”

You were cut off by an angry – and entitled – middle-aged woman. “Excuse me but what is the airline going to do about this? I’m supposed to be in Seoul by 10PM on the 24th. How is this airline going to ensure that? Do you know how much I paid for this?”

You were at your wits end as you watched other passengers try to come down on the woman as you walked away. At least you were in “The City that Never Sleeps” so finding something to do won’t be that difficult. You jerked your carry-on bag along as you tried to exit from the commotion of your gate however you did not get far as you were stopped by someone who stood before you amongst another fleet of passengers dealing with the same issue as your flight. You recognized that signature, worn leather jacket and stickered guitar case from miles away.

“Jungkook?”

The call of his name pulled him back into reality as it appeared as though he himself was checking if this was actually happening. Your mind started racing as you couldn’t help the shock that washed over you. So many questions flashed by as his surprised gaze met yours.

“Hey…” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “...Having flight issues too?”

Sitting at a coffee shop in the terminal across from each other, it was… awkward, you both could not deny. 

Jungkook cradled his iced americano while your now empty vanilla latte cup rested there. A funny representation of both of your approaches to life. It was also a point of teasing that Jungkook previously used to his advantage during the days of shared kisses and intimate dates. Times when you and Jungkook would lie shoulder to shoulder on a bed of grass in open fields and wish upon shooting stars.

“This sucks, doesn’t it?” You tried to break the ice, seeing Jungkook’s uncharacteristic silence. Perhaps these years have changed you both.

“The flight thing or us sitting across from each other like this?” Jungkook cracked and you let out a breath of laugh. 

Toying with your empty cup, you nodded at nothing in particular. “Definitely the flight thing, and regarding right now… not sure. But I can’t lie that it’s nice to see a familiar face amid this chaos.”

His shoulders slacked as if tension melted away and Jungkook sat up more confidently in his seat. “Yeah, I bet. And wait…” He paused before leaning towards you in surprise. “Are you here in NYC alone? What brings you here?”

You waved off his worry, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “I came here for a 2-day work conference so I was strictly here on business.” Funny to think that reaction was almost impulse despite the passage of time between you both.

“Have you been to New York before? Did you at least get a chance to explore the city after your conference?”

“No, and no, honestly. It took a lot out of me and the company is pinching pennies by only giving me a short window here outside of the conference. What about you, what brings you here? Is this your first time stuck here?” You rested your head on your hand that was propped up on the table.

Jungkook’s unforgettable grin made its appearance as he noticed your growing ease at the situation. “The band’s here on tour. We’re about to start our Europe leg but of course… shit had to hit the fan with the airplane scandals. And nope, this is our third time in New York. We were first here on tour a couple of years ago.” 

You smiled at this. “That’s right. I’m sure you’re a seasoned professional being on the road and all with the SNAFUs that come up… Congrats though, I hear the band has really taken off. You guys deserve all the success.”

“You don’t know how much that means to me,” Jungkook started, grinning wide as ever. “No seriously, it means a lot coming from you.”

“You’re messing with me.” You frowned in jest.

“No, not at all. You were that push to get my head on straight, y’know? Even before we … ended things… you were one of the few people who genuinely believed in us. And I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Feeling your face get warm, you shook your head in a humble gesture. “I only saw and believed in the obvious. I mean look at you guys now, touring the US and now even Europe? This success was all in the making.”

“But enough about the band! How’re you? Being all professional going abroad on conferences and stuff. What are you up to?” Jungkook took a sip from his Americano where the ice had become significantly smaller.

“I’m a product manager, and so that keeps me busy 9-5 on the weekdays.” You joked. “But other than that, just floating along. Hanging out with friends, taking life a day at a time, y’know? I’m nowhere as interesting as you, Mr. Rock Star… Living in LA and all.”

Jungkook laughed as he slipped off his leather jacket and revealed an entire sleeve of tattoos on his right arm. You eyed them curiously as he had always talked about wanting tattoos in your younger days. It was good to see that he was able to have that aspiration come to fruition. Another reminder of the passage of time between you both.

“Don’t say that, I think you’re one of the coolest people ever. No one approaches life the way you do, Taehyung-hyung might be a close second… but he doesn’t have the flare that you do.” He started then his smile turned slightly void as he followed up. “Would it be awkward to ask how things are with…”

“...Who? Oh, Seokjin?” You casually asked, truthfully you had not said that name since your eventual breakup almost a year ago. TL;DR you both weren’t compatible because you weren’t ready to settle down for whatever reason despite him being ready to take you both to city hall at the drop of a hat. “Uh… we ended things a while ago actually.”

“Right, yeah,” Jungkook responded vaguely. “Sorry if that was weird, it’s just that he and Yoongi-hyung are friends and you haven’t come up in a while whenever Hyung mentions him but sorry if I’m prying and sorry if I am especially making this awkward but –” He was rambling. Cute.

“Jungkook,” You rested a hand on his forearm, ignoring the surge of electricity that unknowingly jolted you both. “I get it, no worries.”

You both couldn’t help the smile that broke out on your faces.

“So what about you? Seeing anyone?”

He looked almost offended by the question but brushed it off. “Me? Nope, life’s been too hectic with the band these past two years to be seriously involved with someone.”

“Uh huh,” you mused before Jungkook cocked his brow in confusion at your response.

“What?”

“‘Seriously involved’? So you have been dabbling in some rockstar tendencies.” You wiggled your eyebrows teasingly. The 21-year-old in you aches, but today you are 28 and not exactly that same old person as before. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I don’t want to discuss that with you of all people. And besides, we haven’t made it to the big leagues yet. We’re just tadpoles in a lake, we still gotta work our way to bigger waters.”

You only laughed, and Jungkook let you with his arms folded over his chest – basking in this moment he never thought would happen.

However, it was interrupted as an aproned barista approached you both, being the only patrons left as the coffee shop was getting ready to close for the day. The freckled teen awkwardly cleared his throat with a broom in hand. You then observed the fact that the chairs were already perched upon tables – a clear sign that the establishment was closed for business. You both hadn’t realized how much time had passed in chatting. “Hello, I’m sorry but we’re closing for the day. You are welcome to take your drinks with you to the gates though.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No worries, my bad.”

You and Jungkook apologized at the same time while hurriedly gathering your belongings. 

Walking out, Jungkook sighed as he held the handle of his guitar case in his tattooed hand. “I can’t believe a place in the airport closes at fucking 5PM.”

“Jungkook, it’s a coffee shop. Closing at 5PM is considered late for that industry already and besides, this isn’t Seoul.” You laughed.

“True… but…” Jungkook cast you a sideways glance. “What are you going to do until your flight tomorrow morning?”

You could only shrug. “Not sure, I was just going to camp out here at JFK.”

A moment of silence passed as you both walked on in no particular direction, only the sound of the wheels of your carry-on suitcase and the heavy footsteps from Jungkook’s combat boots. Despite the 7 years that passed, you could still tell Jungkook was mulling over something. This fact honestly surprised you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You offered gingerly.

“Now, this is going to sound crazy,” he spoke, his mind clearly running miles a minute and barely able to keep his once stable walking pace. “Hear me out all the way through, okay?”

“Sure.” You shrugged.

“So, my manager got each of us a hotel room not too far from the airport –”

“Jungkook.” You interrupted him incredulously, on the verge of seeing red. Offense, disrespect, anger… it all pulsed through you at once. By this point, you both had stopped in the middle of the wide airport corridor between gates. “Are you fucking serious –”

He held his hands up in defense. “You said you would hear me out!”

“...fine.” Arms crossed over your chest defensively, and you took a step back.

“Like I said, I have this hotel room so what if we kept our stuff there and we explore NYC tonight? Then when morning comes, you could grab your things and head back to Seoul and get back to your routine.” Jungkook now positioned himself where he stood directly before you, eyes connected to yours. “You said it yourself you didn’t get to see NYC. And I’ve been here before, so it all works out.”

You obviously still looked unconvinced with arms crossed over your chest defensively. 

“Okay, how about this: there’s a Smart Carte baggage drop-off in Terminal 4 of JFK. Forget stopping by my hotel room, you can drop off your things here so by morning we can both be here for our flights. I’ll be on my way to Vienna and you’ll be headed back to Seoul. How does that sound?” Jungkook negotiated. “Listen, Y/N. It’s just been so nice to hang out with you and I don’t know but there’s something in me that can’t pass up this opportunity to at least help you see the magic of NYC… and to spend a few more hours with you.”

“I…”

Jungkook stepped forward with a pleading stare. “Please, I promise it’ll be worth your while. I feel like you would regret this not happening as much as I would. And if it convinces you, I promise that we can forget that this night ever happened after the fact. I swear…”

A smirk broke out on your face after a tense beat of silence and mulling over his words. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Jungkook could not fight the smile that reached his eyes as he breathed a sigh of relief and then turned, gesturing for you to start off what would be your journey of the evening together.

By the time you both made it into Manhattan proper, it was prime dinner time. You felt the grumble of your stomach as you and Jungkook sat in the back seat of an iconic yellow taxi. Embarrassedly, you put your hand over your stomach in a feeble attempt to keep it quiet. 

“So, y’all are headed to Katz’s?” The taxi driver asked as he glanced at the two of you through the rearview mirror. He was an elderly man wearing a newsboy cap and the taxi itself smelled of the endless cups of coffee he consumed during his day on the clock. 

“Yup, we’re hoping the dinner rush isn’t as bad,” Jungkook responded in a friendly manner. “It may be a Tuesday but it’s Katz’s after all.”

The driver chuckled as the traffic was beginning to chip away and the taxi started to speed up on the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you as you watched the city sky begin its transition into an orangey-pink sunset. “I’m assuming this fella over here has been to the City before, but is this your first time, Miss?”

You nodded your head. “Yes, actually I came for a conference but have limited time here.”

“Oh? When do you head back to…” he trailed off, not sure how to continue the sentence.

Jungkook took the chance to chime in. “Seoul… in Korea. She heads back tomorrow actually.”

The driver let out a low whistle. “That’s a crazy turnaround time. But listen, New York is a magical place – despite whatever those bozos not even from the city have to say. It has character, and so much can happen in the City that Never Sleeps. It is a land of possibility. And here, thirty years ago, is actually where I met the woman who became my wife. It’s a special place, for sure.”

“I bet.” Jungkook grinned as he looked out the drawn window, taking in the newly warm springtime breeze. 

Jungkook let you take the ride in silence, unsure of what was going through your head about this whole situation and in all honestly cursing himself for possibly pressuring you into doing something you weren't comfortable with in the first place. He kept casting cautious glances your way when you weren’t looking. 

Eventually, the taxi came to a halt. 

“Alrighty, here we are!” The driver pulled up on the busy intersection and you were in awe by the throngs of people despite it being one of the earlier weekdays and the very end of rush hour. Jungkook paid for the ride and ushered you both out of the taxi respectfully.

“Thank you for the ride!” You called out as you exited the vehicle.

“Enjoy New York and all she has to offer!” the driver bid you two before driving off to find his next patron of the evening. 

Jungkook almost choked mid-bite of the huge signature pastrami sandwich you both decided to split as you continued to share about that one time your mutual friend back in Seoul, Hoseok, had accidentally cussed out an innocent employee at a haunted house. 

“No way.” He barely managed to get out between his mix of coughs and laughs, grabbing the attention of worried customers inside the establishment. He grabbed his cup of water to ease his throat.

“Yes, way! Afterward, he kept bowing in apology. I felt so bad but Namjoon and I were too busy laughing to step in to help.” You put your spoon down, making a good decision to not have a bite of the shared chicken noodle soup as you giggled at the memory. 

Once Jungkook calmed down and took a sip of his water, he looked at you in amusement. “Classic Hobi.”

“I know right? But regardless, he’ll always be an angel. Despite that, he doesn’t have a single bad bone in his body.” 

Jungkook nodded in agreement. “I miss that guy a lot, man.”

You smiled up at him. “He misses you, too – I’m sure.”

He rested his sandwich on the plate. “Let me know if I’m being weird… but I missed this.”

Your smile faltered as it grew slightly wary. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, genuine. “I just feel like you’ve always been someone I easily get along with and y’know… considering our past and how things aren’t super awkward now. In all honestly, I thought you were just going to ignore me and keep walking away at the airport due to the possibility that you might’ve hated me… I wouldn’t have blamed you, though. I was a bit of an asshole when we ended things. And I am sorry about that. Genuinely.”

You could easily recall that night.

You looked at him, confused. “What?”

“I said I don’t think we should continue seeing each other.” Jungkook stood his ground despite the internal turmoil. “I… just feel like I’m holding you back.”

“You can’t be the only one to decide that, Jungkook.” His words finally started to settle in your bones and it felt like a thousand cuts.

“Listen, you deserve a lot more… and we both know that.” 

“Jungkook, you aren’t listening. You can’t just pre-emptively end things like this over something like that – not without discussing it with me too.��� 

You tried to reason with him by resting a hand on his arm. He finally looked at you with tears in his eyes. You knew at that point, there was no talking him out of it. He firmly believed this was the right choice for you, no matter how inherently selfish he didn’t realize he was being. Being kind to a fault in true Jeon Jungkook fashion.

He was breaking up with you.

You smiled bittersweetly at the memory. “Yeah… that is a fair thought. But you know, we were young. Barely 21 years old. And while that was only 7 years ago, we were different people. I can’t imagine making the same decisions we did back then now.”

“I guess we were.” Jungkook offered, understanding that this was your way of accepting his apology. 

“And!” You picked up your spoon again to scoop yourself a spoonful of some chicken noodle soup. “That was before we had developed prefrontal cortexes. And besides, I could never hate you now… I finished with that when I turned 23.” You joked but he froze slightly at your words.

Jungkook made sure to make direct eye contact with you filled with something that could move mountains. “I never intended to hurt you, I really didn’t.”

Your tone also went serious yet understanding. “I know, I know now. And I appreciate you for telling me.”

Despite the bustle of that tiny deli in the middle of the dinner rush, all you could see was Jungkook and all he could see was you. The understanding weighing upon you both now.

“Thank you for also trusting me with taking you out tonight, that means a lot to me.”

“Me too.” You nodded up at him. “I doubt there’s anyone else who would be able to get me out here like this either. I can’t even remember the last time I pulled an all-nighter… it was probably when we were still in undergrad.” The two of you shared a laugh that was abruptly interrupted. 

“FINAL CALL! Final call for order number 72!” The person working the counter exclaimed with the order bill in his hands. No one went up to the counter so the employee shook his head to himself in disapproval before proceeding to keep it pushing. 

The scene had finally calmed so you turned to Jungkook expectantly. “Alright, we had dinner. So where are we headed now?”

Jungkook wiped the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin as he said, “One of my favorite bars in the city! The vibes are so nice and they often have open mic nights so you get to see some local talent”

“Sounds amazing.”

“Oh, it will be,” Jungkook promised.

“I have to go to the bathroom real quick before we head out, though.” You said as you got up. 

He nodded his head as he motioned for you to go. “Do what you gotta do.”

Inside, you looked at yourself in the mirror in the bathroom, unable to grasp how this whole thing could have happened. One second you are about to cry from how cruel the universe was to sitting at a historic deli with Jeon-freaking-Jungkook. 

Once you returned, you saw him writing on a napkin which he then folded up and placed in the pocket of his jeans at the sight of you approaching. 

“What’s that?”

“Just some thoughts for a possible song that came to me.” Jungkook got up and left some cash for the tip on the table. “C’mon. Let’s head to our next destination!”

Sitting on the subway, thigh to thigh with Jungkook taking the aisle seat and you on the window seat, he told you that he doesn’t remember the name of this favorite bar but just how to get there. He said that, apparently, was all that mattered as you sat on the A Line train. Trying your best to ignore the close proximity due to the seat and Jungkook’s broad frame, you both took turns taking shy stolen glances at each other – hoping each other would notice just as much as you both wish you wouldn’t. The warm and slightly stagnant air made you both run a little hot, your cardigan resting in your lap and Jungkook’s leather jacket in his.

However, the car of the train started to get packed to the point where people had to step into the aisle right next to Jungkook. The sudden stops causing people to bump into the shaggy-haired singer. You scooted to be more flush against the wall of the car, motioning for Jungkook to get closer to avoid more hits from the rough ride and sudden backpack attack. He looked at you sheepishly as he accepted the invitation, where his arm went around the top of your seat and shoulders to make room for his wide build. 

“I hope this is okay.” He gave as he rested against you.

“Yeah, no worries.” You had a smile of reassurance that he mirrored.

It was hard to avoid each other eyes at this point. 

You wondered how long it had been since you were last nested against him and why you didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you thought you’d be despite all those years. However, this was no surprise as Jungkook always had that weird effect on you.

“Pardon me, is it cool if I stand here next to you?” A tall, handsome figure appeared from your left side. You peered over your shoulder at the sudden question. It was about an hour before Epik High was supposed to be on stage but you entered the venue early since you wanted a good place to stand on the floor. There were pockets of people but surely not enough where someone had to approach you and ask like that. 

Promptly, you had to bring yourself back to reality as you cleared your throat. “Yeah, sure… no worries.”

A bunny-toothed dazzling smile appeared and you watched as his eyes curiously traveled down to the long-sleeved tour shirt you held. A purchase to remember this concert. “Thanks. And oh! I was tempted to get that shirt too. It’s pretty sick.”

Feeling a little self-conscious you avoided his fixed gaze, “Yeah. Their designer for this tour’s merch did an awesome job…”

Jungkook nodded mostly to himself, believing that he was making you uncomfortable. “Listen, sorry if I’m making this awkward but my name’s Jungkook, and I think you seem really cool. But if I’m bothering you, totally let me know and I can give you your space! No hard feelings or anything.”

You smiled at his frankness and shook your head at this. “No, no. Sorry, I think you seem cool too, and I don’t mind at all.” You said before giving your name as well.

“That’s a pretty name,” he responded. “It suits you.” 

You politely laughed off the subtle compliment. “Thank you, and I hope so.”

Steadily, you and Jungkook became deeply immersed in conversation – talking about how long you both had been fans of the artist, why you both ended up attending this concert alone, and getting to know each other generally. Most significantly, you found out that you both attended the same university and were the same age among the many things discussed. The conversation flowed comfortably after that initial interaction. That hour before showtime had passed so quickly that you hadn’t noticed how much the venue had filled up and gradually forced you and Jungkook to be shoulder to shoulder from how packed it had become. By the time the venue fell dark and signaling that Epik High was about to set foot on stage, the crowd had slightly pushed forward, forcing you to be closer than ever to Jungkook.

“Sorry, I hope this is okay.” He spoke sheepishly at the proximity.

“No worries.” You smiled at him and at that moment the pyrotechnics of the stage went off, as the concert began – strangely calm despite having only met the man not too long before and cheers erupting from the crowd that surrounded you. There was just something about him.

There was always something so human (as cliche as it was) about open mic nights. People stand on stage and recite poems where they bare their souls or sing original songs written about the throes of life. A little appreciation for the small things that you and Jungkook shared. You both enjoyed the local buskers back in Seoul during undergrad, especially around springtime when things overall seemed brighter and full of life. 

You sat with your pineapple tequila as Jungkook went for his whiskey on the rocks, occasionally shaking the ice cubes around in the glass between sips. You both sat at a booth off to the side of the stage where you could get a decent view of the performers. 

“So…” Jungkook started.

You tore your gaze away from the current performer, a girl singing a cover of a Laufey song, to find Jungkook staring at you with a glint in his eye. “...So?”

“I’m honestly surprised you took my offer to spend time with me tonight – with some negotiating, of course but surprised nevertheless.” Jungkook chuckled as he took another sip of his drink. “What was it that convinced you?”

You toyed with a loose strand of hair in contemplation of his words. 

What did convince you? Was it the frustration from the flight fiasco? The fact that you were in New York for the first time? This was a question you only recently started to ponder because saying yes felt so right but you couldn’t explain why.

“I just trust you. And it’s been so long since we’ve been in the same place at the same time.” You began, noting how his eyes have softened at your words. “I honestly didn’t know what to think when you first stood there in front of me, y’know? I kind of thought I was hallucinating. I thought that maybe the stress from all the flight mess was getting to me. 

“I honestly never thought I would cross paths with you ever again, considering how the trajectory of our lives headed. You live in LA, working full-time on your music and touring. I live back in Seoul, where there’s always a deadline looming over me and I have to set off to meet some client. And besides…” You held his stare where there was a gentle smile on his face. “I knew I wanted to spend more time to catch up with you the second we sat back in that coffee shop at the airport.”

Relief and something else that you couldn’t place washed over his face. Was it regret? Was it longing? You didn’t know exactly but you felt his free hand reach for yours from across the booth. The calloused fingers of his hand from hours of playing guitar caressed yours as he stared at the way they connected. Still a perfect fit. Your first real bit of physical connection since that fateful day when you were both 21 and young and dumb and lost. 

“Yeah, me too.” Jungkook started. “But for me, it was the moment before you even saw me. When my eyes found you at the gate, I seriously couldn’t believe it.”

You laughed at this. “Well, I hope that time has done me well since you last saw me.”

Jungkook chuckled as well as he cocked his head to the side. “Are you kidding? You look phenomenal. I’m convinced you always will.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re trying to butter me up.” You joked but deep down, the intensity of the intimacy scared you. It was like a fireplace left dormant for so long had finally lit up. It surged through your whole body and you weren’t sure how to deal with it. You withdrew your hand back slowly and instantly regretted the coldness from the loss of contact. However, it frightened you with all things considered. “You’ve always been such a charmer.”

Jungkook’s expression faltered when you fully pulled back your hand but he tried his best to hide it. Holding your hand just felt so right, like it was the divine providence of the universe – written in the stars and made to fit. No other body could bring the warmth he felt from when he was around you. He was convinced that with your every step, flowers bloomed and skies cleared. He was always a goner for you, and that still stands true to this day. 

How funny the universe was, Jungkook thought to himself, that it could create someone so wonderful but have them exist on a different path from his. 

“Alright, alright! That was a fantastic cover from Gina. Let’s give her a round of applause, everyone!” The MC and presumed owner of the bar stepped on stage and spoke into the mic, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Now, we have a guest singer that I saw sign up, his name is JK Jeon. Let’s give him a warm welcome!”

You whipped your head to face a sheepish Jungkook finishing the last bits of his whiskey before he patted you on the head and headed towards the stage. “When did he…”

The leather-jacketed, confident lead singer Jeon Jungkook of Bring the Soul appeared before you as he adjusted the mic stand and introduced himself in perfect, unaccented English. “Hi everyone, my name is JK. I signed up because this is one of my favorite places in New York so I thought I’d sing something for you, especially because there’s also someone important here with me today.” 

His eyes locked with yours in that moment and you forgot to breathe for a second. He looked so otherworldly in that bar, he had the aura to make the dingiest stage look like some elaborate arena. He was born to perform.

Your second pineapple tequila arrived and it was a much heavier pour from the bartender. However, you were grateful as the surge of emotions overcame you. Everything was feeling surreal again and you definitely needed this drink despite being a little bit of a lightweight.

“So, this song is titled ‘seasons’ by a band called wave to earth. Hope you enjoy it.” 

With that, he signaled for the song to start and the first keys of a piano filled the dim bar. Not once did Jungkook’s eyes leave yours as he sang. You were absolutely bewitched as the song progressed, and so was the rest of the bar. A couple across the room embraced each other, two friends shared a toast of their drinks with a lively clank, and the bartender even paused to take in Jungkook’s singing… all these people were brought together by his undeniable talent. Your heart was so full and you were so proud, and distracted until you really started to listen to the lyrics of the song.

But I'll pray for you all the time

If I could be by your side

I'll give you all my life, my seasons

By your side, I'll be your seasons

My love

A thunderous applause surged through the bar as Jungkook thanked the audience and stepped off the stage fluidly before heading straight for the booth where you still sat. However, instead of sitting across from you, he slid into the bench where you were and settled right next to you.

“How was that?” Jungkook’s arm naturally went around your shoulders and you swore you were soaring. 

You rested your head on his bicep as you gazed up at him, and Jungkook was swooning at how adorable you looked then. The dim, soft lights make you look ethereal to him. “It was amazing, as always.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Jungkook stroked your hair as you continued to rest your head on his arm. He could tell you were beginning to feel your drinks in your system since you had long finished your two pineapple tequilas and were now babysitting a pint of beer. 

“Hey, Jungkook.” He barely caught it as you basically whispered it out. “Y’know, I’m going to be really sad about everything once morning comes.”

His eyes widened as he shared the same sentiments. “Yeah… me, too.”

“But!” You suddenly shot upright in posture and surprised him as you grabbed your drink by its handle. “None of that dramatic ‘goodbye’ shit in the morning!” You tipsily pointed at Jungkook with your beer who only laughed at your theatrics as some foam spilled.

Between chuckles, Jungkook was barely able to let out at the sudden shift in mood. “Okay, then what do we say at the end? When it’s morning time?”

“What people always say at that time – ‘good morning’ and not goodbye. Let’s make it a nice ending for us, I feel like that would do us both justice.” Your gaze was too hazy to see the seriousness that lined his face but he shook it off and plastered his signature smile despite the storm in his heart. “I know it’s a little cheesy, but I don’t want to be sad in those last minutes with you.”

“Okay, we’ll bid each other ‘good morning’ when dawn comes then we go on with the rest of our lives. No sad stuff.” You missed how tight-lipped his grin was. 

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Alright, follow me!” Jungkook called from over his shoulder as he jogged to catch the door to the rooftop of some swanky highrise apartment complex that you two managed to sneak into. 

He held the door open for you, with his free hand exaggeratedly ushering you to go first like a medieval knight. “After you, m’lady.”

By this time, the alcohol had flushed out of your system on the twenty-minute walk Jungkook had brought you on after hearing about how much you wanted to see the skyline but didn’t want to pay a ridiculous amount for a view. And this is where it led you: on the lounge rooftop of a luxury apartment building. The twinkling lights of the city sparked beneath you. The haphazard spacing of the lights from nearby buildings were windows into the lives of the people who occupied the space. Then, you had the great Empire State Building literally blocks away, its spire brightly illuminating the night. To your right, there was a patch of darkness that was Central Park. 

You were breathless at the sight before you. Suddenly, you felt connected with every fiber of your being. The light midnight breeze that swam between your loose strands of hair felt like a glass of fresh water as it revitalized you. There you were, in New York City – looking at it from a bird’s eye point of view. Nothing could have ever prepared you for this. 

You then felt Jungkook stand close next to you as he bumped his shoulder with yours playfully. “How is it?”

“It’s so beautiful.” It took everything in you to tear your gaze away from the view to look at Jungkook. “How did you know about this place?”

He snickered mischievously. “One of the label’s former execs used to live in this building. He used to talk about it all the time and I couldn’t help but remember it. Glad it lived up to all the talk though, it is gorgeous up here.”

And with that, he began to walk over to the outdoor couch hidden behind the privacy of a cabana in front of a fire pit. He turned it on effortlessly before plopping down on the couch right beside the glass-protected edge of the building for what you assumed to be a maximum viewing experience. You followed and sat down, his arm naturally finding its way wrapped behind your shoulders. 

“I never thought I would be able to experience something like this,” you marveled at the night skyline with an at-ease smile on your face, letting your body fit into a nook created by Jungkook’s. “Never would I think feeling so small like this would be so comforting. I don’t regret this at all.”

Absentmindedly, Jungkook’s hand began to play with one of the strands of your hair. “Yeah, same. I regret a lot of things, but this definitely wouldn’t be one – not by a long shot.”

“Oh? Like what kind of regrets?” You asked him, scared to look into his eyes at that moment. 

“Letting my insecurities and tendencies for perfectionism get the best of me. There were so many times when it got in the way of being present. Whether it be with the band, my life… and you.” His hand froze as he cleared his throat. “I regret letting you go. And I feel like the biggest idiot on the face of the earth, y’know? I thought that I had to be successful to be worthy of your love. To be worthy of someone so utterly beautiful inside and out. You were truly my morning light. And I hurt you. I hurt you because I was insecure and so lost in my head.” He blew out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “And Y/N, I can’t even begin to explain how much it kills me to sit here with you knowing I did that. And I think that’s because my heart will always be yours, y’know. And I know I’m rambling but I’ve been meditating on this for the past few years because it always bothered me to hear how great and peachy things were for you with that Seokjin guy from Yoongi-hyung, I… don’t know…”

You sat up and finally made eye contact with Jungkook at his confession, resting a comforting hand on his chest. “Jungkook, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” You whispered as Seokjin stood before you under a streetlight at the park not too far from his apartment. 

“My love, I just can’t do this anymore. I love you so much but it’s time we both be honest.” Seokjin reached for your gloved hand. It was the tail end of autumn and the first signs of winter were beginning to make its appearance. “I don’t think we should meet anymore.”

Tears lined your eyes but the rush of the emotion present was so foreign to you. You knew you should have been sadder and while you were sad... However, at that point, you realized that you were more sorrowful about losing Seokjin as a person in your life than your actual romantic relationship ending. That’s when it hit you, the tears falling. “How did you…”

“My love, you're one of the most intelligent people I know but I don’t think you even realized it yourself. But your heart isn’t in it with me. And that’s okay, I’ll always have a soft spot for you and I’m sure you know that.” Seokjin sighed as he respectfully let go of your hand and took a definitive step back, still handsome and composed. “I’m afraid I just can’t keep fighting like this for a love that was never meant to be mine in the first place.”

“I think that it will always be you.” You whispered, at this point your lips just mere centimeters from Jungkook’s. 

“It’ll always be you, too,” Jungkook responded, too drunk in your perfume and the feeling of your being so close to his. “Y/N, can I tell you something now?”

“Of course.”

“Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?”

Wordlessly, you closed the gap between you two. The second your lips connected, it felt a lot like a warm summer day. Electricity turned static force kept you connected like that. Soon, lips moved in sync like rolling ocean waves during low tide. Hands lost in hair and tracing all the valleys of each other’s bodies, leaving goosebumps at they traversed every familiar inch. Jungkook’s plush lips felt so homey and so right. Your hand went right back to resting on his chest, feeling the intense beating of his heart. A pace set for you only. 

It hurt so much to have to disconnect so you both could catch your breath. 

“Wow…” Jungkook licked the last taste of you off his lips, savoring the moment with his eyes closed and forehead rested upon yours. “I missed this so fucking much. I missed you so much.” 

“Please kiss me again...” Your eyes gazed into his and he obliged happily. 

And your lips found each other again just like that.

Hands grew more adventurous as the kiss grew more heated. Jungkook’s calloused and cold hands made their way under your shirt, cupping your tender breasts through your bra. At this, you gently pushed him to sit back further on the couch so you could climb on top. The second you straddled his hips, you began to grind down onto his clothed dick, earning you a grunt of satisfaction. His hands grew impatient as he then pushed your shirt and bra up to reveal perky nipples, the chill of the night making them more erect. 

“You look a little cold, baby. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He said before taking one nipple into his mouth and his free hand making sure the other wasn’t left unattended. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you as he was living up to his words. 

You reached down between your bodies and slipped them into his denim jeans, feeling his hot and heavy dick in the palm of your hands. This got you another grunt from Jungkook, suddenly you were on your back lying down on the couch and Jungkook flashed you his charismatic smile. “Getting a little handsy, I see.” He leaned down and began kissing your neck, remembering your sweet spot despite your time apart. It was his turn for his hand to slip into your pants, gathering your slick between his fingers to play with your clit.  “Baby, let me eat you out, okay?”

You could have easily come right then and there. 

You barely managed a nod as you felt him pull down your jeans and panties in tow after kicking off your sneakers. Once off, Jungkook sat back as he in the sight of your sprawled like that before him. Snapping out of his daze, he crouched down and just lost all sense of shame the second his mouth tasted you. Sucking rhythmically on your clit, rubbing circles on your inner thigh, it was all too much. The sloppy sounds of his saliva mixing in with your wetness were all you could focus on as you felt your walls tighten on nothing. 

“Jungkook, baby, your fingers…”

He didn’t need to be told twice as he continued his string of slurps on your pussy and inserted one finger, beginning to stretch you out. The loudest moan escaped you embarrassingly considering you both were in a public place. However Jungkook didn’t care, he was making up for lost time after all. And then another long digit went inside you, pumping wildly and that was it.

The threads of the rope in your stomach were wound so tight that the fine fibers were beginning to give. Jungkook knew your undoing was near so he continued his onslaught of your pussy with his mouth and fingers. Soon enough, the rope snapped, your eyes sealed shut as you saw white and your jaw went slack while you continued to leak out. Your body felt utterly buoyant, among the clouds, and your mind far ahead of your physical being. How long had it been since you came like that?

Jungkook happily lapped up your cum like a man who had gone without water. “You look so fucking beautiful, so beautiful.”

“Need you… inside…” You finally said as you came to and began to remove Jungkook’s leather jacket and his white tee. “More, I want more of you…”

His smile shined as the bottom half of his face was proudly covered in your slick. That dazed smile stayed plastered as he undid the bucket of his belt, the jingle of his pants and boxers hitting his ankles had you in anticipation. 

“Your wish is my command, baby. All yours… I’m all yours” He continued to toy with your already sensitive clit as he began to gently push himself inside your tight core. Both your eyes went wide with how good the tight fit was. It took everything in Jungkook to not come at that moment. His eyes only got a glimpse of the delectable scene of where he entered you before he had to screw them shut in concentration. “You feel so good as always, could die like this.”

You began to move around him, wanting friction and he took that as his sign to start moving as well. What started as slow and steady, became desperate and erratic. He hovered over you, his lips on the valley of your neck and hand gripping onto your breast as you felt every single velvet inch of him fuck you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, trying to pull him closer if that was even possible. It was all-consuming, it was otherworldly. He hit you in all the right places and it was so good that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Jungkook, just like that, baby. Let’s come together, okay?” You spoke into his ears which kicked him into overdrive. You were so full of him. His hand fondling your painfully erect nipple, his mouth right on the spot he knew would have you, and Jungkook groaned as you clenched him so tight, having him reach his own undoing. A sheen of sweat lined Jungkook’s forehead as he cocked a focused brow. He drank in the fucked out image of you, encouraging him to thrust into you even more sporadically despite how sensitive you both were.

It felt so right to be filled up with his cum, with his dick, with him. 

The two of you sat there in that fucked out state for a couple more minutes to catch your breath again. 

Eventually, Jungkook got up with that dopey smile still on his face as he began to dress you despite still lying on the couch and straighten your clothes. He punctuated each movement with a peck on your swollen lips. His movements were more delicate and tender compared to the heated desperation from moments ago. Once he was dressed as well, he collapsed with you on the couch with his arm slung around you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He made eye contact again, however his airy smile faltered at seeing your bittersweet expression make another appearance. “Hey, baby… what’s wrong?”

“Where do we go from here, Jungkook?” You asked as you reached for his face, caressing a cheek with your thumb. “Because now I’m going to be even more sad when morning comes…”

Fuck. Jungkook had been so caught up in that moment that he didn’t realize what the consequences would be after the fact. While he sure as hell didn’t regret what happened, he didn’t want to hurt you any more than he already has. 

“It doesn’t have to be like that… we can work something out. I can figure something out. I just – I just don’t want you to regret this, regret us… Just give me some time to think and I can –”

You quietly stopped him with a shake of your head, letting him know that it was okay. “It’s okay, you belong in LA, where your life is now. And I belong in Seoul, where my life is now – I know that much. I can’t ask you to uproot your life and give up the band, nor could I leave Seoul given everything happening at home. Just know that I don’t regret this, not at all. However, it’ll be quite sad when morning comes.”

Jungkook could only nod at the heaviness of your words. While they were a hard pill to swallow, they were correct. Both those things rang true in his head. He ached for you so much now he had another taste of life with you, but you both knew there was nowhere to go from here. By late noon, you’ll already be on a flight back to Seoul and he’ll be headed to Vienna to start the European leg of Bring the Soul’s tour. 

“I’ll be sad when morning comes, too. Irrevocably sad.” Jungkook knew that would be the extent of all he could say then. 

Silently, he sat upright where he led you to rest your head in his lap. He looked down at you fondly, a matching bittersweet expression on his face as he began to stroke your hair. A quiet promise was exchanged between you both to enjoy these last moments of intimacy before the sun rose. 

You both had fallen asleep on that rooftop lounge. Then you woke up around 6AM to Jungkook trying to get you up, talking about taking you to one more place before the night was officially over. Eventually, you both were jogging out of the luxury apartment building, hand in hand, as the two of you entered the subway station to head southwest to the piers to catch the sunrise. 

It was a solemn train ride, to say the least. Both of you avoided each other’s eyes on the ride, like anxious teenage lovers who experienced their first quarrel. It was hell, and the time when you both got off at your correct stop couldn’t have come sooner. His hands still intertwined with yours as you walked off into the morning world, the sun beginning to make its appearance known. The morning’s dew still coated the patches of grass as you both traveled to the edge of the pier which overlooked the water. 

At this point, the blue hour had long passed as the bright star that is our sun began to peek through the horizon. The sky turned from midnight blue to a vibrant yellow with hints of orange. That’s it. This is it…

The morning had officially come. 

You cursed every cliched metaphor referencing the elusiveness of time… the grains of sand slipping through fingertips, the ticking of clock hands that echo in the back of your head, the passage of breezes, and the eventual rising of the morning sun. 

Jungkook smiled gently, wiping away a tear with his thumb which you didn’t even feel form as it fell down your cheek. “Don’t worry.”

“I just want you to know that I loved being in this moment. Sharing this night with you, that tonight it felt like New York was all ours. I could have never seen its beauty and experienced its magic the way I did with you.” Barely managing through your cries, you gasped for a breath as you tried to make out the next words. “But why did things have to turn out this way?”

The loud caws of the seagulls as they flew over the pier and the cold morning air fell onto forgotten senses as the only thing you could feel was the intensity of Jungkook’s stare on you. From your forehead that he placed a tender kiss upon, to your eyes that mirrored that silent longing his contained, the nose that he nuzzled against his, and chin that he held softly in his rough hand… It was like he was taking a picture of you at that moment. A moment where he was not rockstar Jeon Jungkook, but the Jungkook who always found a way to make you laugh and the Jungkook you dreamed of sharing matching rings with. And you were not the person living too fast for anyone to keep up with, but a person who could find the beauty in anything and the person that Jungkook could write a million and one songs about.

“Shh,” he comforted you as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. “I really can’t thank you enough for tonight… I’ve never hated to see morning as much as I do now.” He chuckled dryly at the irony of all. 

You pulled back, surprising the man who towered over you. You held his confused face in your hands and smiled. “Me, too. I hope you know that.”

“I do now…” He whispered as though louder words could break the moment before placing a chaste kiss on one of the hands that cupped his face.

“Now what?” Your hands fell from his face and rested on his chest. 

Jungkook sighed in contemplation as he peered past you into the blossoming orange horizon before recentering his eyes on you and grin losing its warmth, being replaced with sadness. “Good morning, I guess.”

The gravity of the situation settled upon you both silently.

“None of that dramatic ‘goodbye’ shit in the morning!” You tipsily pointed at Jungkook with your beer who only laughed at your theatrics as some foam spilled.

Between chuckles, Jungkook was barely able to let out. “Okay, then what do we say at the end? When it’s morning?”

“What people always say at that time – ‘good morning’ and not goodbye. Let’s make it a nice ending for us, I feel like that would do us both justice.” Your gaze was too hazy to see the seriousness that lined his face but he shook it off and plastered his signature smile despite the storm in his heart. “I know it’s a little cheesy, but I don’t want to be sad in those last minutes with you.”

“Okay, we’ll bid each other ‘good morning’ when dawn comes then we go on with the rest of our lives. No sad stuff.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Good morning, Jungkook.” No matter how dazzling your smile was, Jungkook could never be distracted from the tears that lined your gorgeous eyes. 

No physical closeness could ever combat the weight of what daybreak meant for you both.

“For JK?” The driver of the Uber called out of the window as he pulled up. 

You and Jungkook stood before each other again, hand in hand for the final time. You squeezed his rough hand, a wordless command of it’s time to let go. And just like that, his hand – despite its hesitation – followed and released its grip on yours. No matter how disheveled you both may have looked from the sleepless night of journeying, it all felt surreal.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

“Good morning, Jungkook.”

Then one more quick kiss before you had gotten into the car he ordered for you and began the journey back to your life. A life without Jeon Jungkook. You rode with the window down, taking the sight of New York in a new day’s light. It felt so foreign and so different from the New York you experienced in the last fifteen hours with Jungkook. That taxi driver was right, you were convinced, that New York was a magical place and had so much more to offer. 

You abruptly felt something wrinkle in the pocket of your jeans as you adjusted yourself in the backseat of the car. Reaching in, you fished out a Katz’s Deli napkin and remembered how Jungkook was writing on it when you had excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You carefully unfolded the napkin and read what was written on it: I’m sure by the time you’ll see this, you would’ve given me the most memorable night I could never forget even if someone were to beat it out of me. I’m dreading sunrise as I write this right now. Though, I’ll hold close what tonight has in store for us. I don’t know if our paths will ever cross again, but I’m sure that this was the most beautiful sunrise I could ever experience because it was with you.

You pondered the possibilities as the heartache fully set in from reading his note. What if you told this Uber to turn around right now? What if you stayed longer? What if you took Jungkook’s offer to figure something out? What if you didn’t have to say goodbye on that forsakenly beautiful pier? What if?

However, it no longer mattered. 

This was the reality you both lived in. 

You had the connection, felt it again, and let it take its course. 

That was what mattered. No what ifs, maybes, or perhapses. What matters is only what happened and that it, in fact, did happen. 

Jungkook watched your car disappear into the morning traffic commute, gone was the warmth that you both shared on that chilly spring morning. He began to laugh at himself, at how cruel the universe was. It could have been perfect. It could have been the ultimate love story. It all could’ve. 

Jungkook kicked a random pebble in his path as he finally looked at his phone log after putting his phone on Do Not Disturb for the whole duration with you.

Min Yoongi | 2 Missed Calls

FROM: Min Yoongi | Where the fuck did you run off to?

Park Jimin | 6 Missed Calls

FROM: Park Jimin | Yah, where’d you go??

FROM: Park Jimin | Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid I swear to god Jeon Jungkook 

Kim Taehyung | 5 Missed Calls

FROM: Kim Taehyung | You bastard, don’t tell me you went off to explore New York on your own

FROM: Kim Taehyung | Broooo, you didn’t even check in to your hotel room? You should’ve told meeeeeee

FROM: Kim Taehyung | You’re so foul for leaving me just to be bored while you went on a night adventure of the city that never sleeps smfh

Manager Sejin | 13 Missed calls

FROM: Manager Sejin | Kid, where the HELL did you go? Call me back asap

FROM: Manager Sejin | Jungkook this isn’t funny

Jungkook laughed at the missed notifications from the group and his manager before giving Yoongi a call back, reasoning that he would be the most level-headed given all the missed notifications after sending a quick message. 

TO GROUP: Bring the Soul | Hey, I’m ok lol. I’m at the pier

The caller's ring sounded twice before Yoongi picked up groggily, but still picked up nonetheless. “Where the hell did you go last night?”

“Just hanging around. New York is a magical place, hyung.” Jungkook responded vaguely but Yoongi caught the hint of bittersweetness in the younger’s tone. 

“Alright… We’re about to get breakfast at a restaurant close to you. I’ll text you the address. Meet us there by 9AM.”

“Sounds good, hyung.”

“Okay. And uh… are you alright?” 

Damn Yoongi’s intuition, Jungkook thought to himself and sighed into the receiver of his cell phone. 

“Yeah… it’s a damn good morning after all.” 

© bbangtans | please do not re-distribute in any way without permission.

[jonathancraneswife]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫 / Robert Fischer

pairing - Robert Fischer x (fem!)reader

summary - When things at Fischer morrow get out of hand, robert asks for a favour from his very own secretary; you.

words - 2.4k

warnings - MDNI 18+ — oral sex (m! receiving), creampie, quickie, semi- public act, fluff, pleasure uses as relief, handjob.

notes - look who decided to post after almost a decade..imagine this is my first fic of the year wow istg i am coming back into writing, send requests

masterlist

In the fischer morrow, you were known to be the perfect secretary. you didn't just manage schedules and filtered emails

you knew the inner workings of the company better than most of its leaders.

And behind the polished professional demeanor rested a sharp intellect mastermind who calculated her every move with focused precision, you navigated the situation with effortless control leaving no chance of doubt for others to leave behind your work.

People in the company referred to you as a calculated person who was always one step ahead, many times you had received praises from the leaders at the annual ceremony of the company, you had great titles lined up in your office, overall you are the best employee of fischer morrow.

At this moment you stood in your boss’ office, casting a brief glance at your wrist-watch as you tapped your feet continuously on the ground, with every passing second you felt impatient and worried.

your boss. Robert Fischer, was a highly demanding person. rich and arrogant heir who would always throw tantrums at the smallest thing in the company but ever since his father died he has been utterly disturbed.

The man in question, your boss was fashionably late for the deal, for FischerI morrow, this was a crucial opportunity to secure their future, every second of this dealing was meticulously planned.

And if the company leader himself didn't show up, the deal would be called off entirely. you retrieve your phone from your bag and dial Robert's number, this was the twentieth call since the morning.

He didn't pick up the phone, yet again.

Minutes ticked by the absence of your boss, Robert, which became glaringly obvious. your frustration grew. The meeting agenda was tightly clutched in your hands as you glanced at the clock for the fifth time in ten minutes.

you couldn't help but grab the phone to call him once again, your fingers hovered over the keypad. the ring tone reached through your ear, each beep was mocking your anticipation.

“oh, come on” you muttered under your breath, the call went to the voicemail again, you hung up with a sharp sigh, tossing the phone onto the desk and leaning back in your chair.

Glancing at the clock one more time, the meeting would start in half an hour from now, where he could possibly be–?

The void of your thoughts was abruptly broken by the faint creak of the door. your gaze snapped toward it, Robert stepped into the cabin with an air of casual indifference.

The tension that had been building inside your chest finally eased, letting out a sigh of relief, you rose up from your chair. now striding in his direction.

“Sir, everyone is waiting for you. I hope you are aware how important this deal is for you and the Fischer morrow” you say, your tone was strictly professional.

The expressions on Robert's face were shifted slightly. his usually composed demeanor flattered as worry and uneasiness was crept on his face.

“Well aware” he muttered, his usual defiant tone was now laced with tension, his eyes darted towards the clock.

“Great, now we have to move things for the meeting quickly. We don't have enough time left” your voice was toned in annoyance and irritation.

you turn to the door, hurriedly your steps were determined to leave for the meeting

but before you could take another step, Robert’s hand wraps around your wrist in a tight hold, his desperate grip pulled you back in your place.

The warmth of his touch contrasts with the cold air in the room, confusion stirred up in your mind at his sudden actions, Robert’s firm grip on your wrist sends a jolt through your senses, leaving you trapped in chaos of your own uncertainty.

“I need to talk to you about something” Robert spoke, his demeanor was subtly shifted to vulnerability.

Yet another tantrum, you thought. bracing yourself for whatever his arrogant mind has conjured up to say this time, “I am all ears, sir”.

The moment this words left your lips, he grasped your waist closely, pulling you closely towards his body, earning a gasp from you at his sudden actions.

“Listen, t-today is an important day for me, for this company. D-dad has dreamed about this dream since the day he started off to build this morrow”. His voice drops to whisper.

“When he was on his death bed, he called me and said that I-I have to secure this deal, it is my responsibility now, and if I failed this opportunity then he'd be disappointed in me” Robert finishes of with a sigh.

Both of you were caught in a moment of exposure, as his personal assistant you knew how insecure and sensitive Robert was, only you knew under that cold facade rested a man who was deeply hesitant and self-doubting.

“..I know we will secure this deal, you have worked for this day and night, suffering from countless sleepless nights for this one project. they will be worth it” You tell him in a reassuring voice.

He shakes his head, “No- no, my gut feeling says that I am going to fucking lose this, and I cannot bare that loss-”

you cut him of abruptly, “Sir, you are just stressed and anxious about the deal, I believe you can do this, I trust you”.

Trust, a value Robert held above love, tension in his chest eased down at you assuring words, but the storm in his mind remained tugged in his thoughts.

“I-I know you trust me, but I need a favour from you, this is something only you can do” He continues in a low voice, “but this is something we have never done before…”

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, his twisted sentences made you perplexed

“What is it?” you questioned, “you can tell me without any hesitation”.

He sighs again, his eyes remaining on the floor as he speaks, “This is something more intimate, something more than personal” Robert intertwines his fingers with yours, his ocean blue eyes locked into yours sending a shiver down your spine.

"...This is so awkward," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. Robert hesitated for a moment, his eyes avoiding yours before finally admitting, "I-I need you to pleasure me”.

your eyes widened at his unexpected request, shock and uncertainty flashed on your face, For a moment. You weren't sure if you heard him correctly, his words echoing in your mind as you tried to process their true meaning.

His gaze softened as he took in your reaction, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words to ease the tension he had created.

“Please don't deny this, I need this, I need you, right now please I beg you. we can be quick” He pleaded out, his blue eyes sparked with true genuinity while his hold on your hands tightened.

you noticed the way his expressions turned more weak , Robert’s shoulder were hunched signalling lack of confidence. You paused, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before responding, “Alright.”

Robert's features instantly softened, a flicker of relief washing over his face.His eyes, which had previously been shadowed with uncertainty, now brightened with a spark of hope.

He gently took your hand, leading you toward the leather couch nestled in the corner of his office.

Robert settled himself on the leather couch, He spreads his legs widely while his arms rested on the back of the couch, his blue eyes radiating a silent invitation for you to join him.

Once he was settled, you slowly dropped to your knees positioning yourself carefully between his legs, you knelt before him.

you were positioned between his sprawled legs, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Robert's blue eyes burned into yours radiating a silent invitation and a warning for you to hurry up.

slowly, you reached out and grasped his belt buckle, with unsteady fingers, you unclasped the buckle letting it drop on the floor beside you. The zipper to his trousers took an eternity to descend down in the charged silence of his spacious office.

As you pulled down the remaining fabric, his cock sprange free. erect, thick , heavy and the sheer size which was impossible to ignore, his length throbbed before you, The musky scent of his arousal filled your nostrils. you could feel the heat emanating from his skin.

your eyes locked with Robert's as you tilted your head slightly. "Do you really want this ?" you asked, your heart beating faster in your chest.

He nodded instantly, his voice was steady but there was an underlying desperation in his tone, “I need this” His gaze bored into yours, reassuring you with every possible movements.

you swallowed hard, forcing down the lump of fear that had settled in your chest like a heavy weight.

Hesitatingly, you wrap your hand around his impressive size, feeling the pulse twitch against your palm. Robert let out a sharp groan, his fingers curling around the leather couch.

you began to stroke his cock, your hand moving in fast and rapid motion. squeezing his length gently in your hands. the pace of your movements fastened leaving Robert breathless.

Leaning forward, you flick your tongue around the top of his cock to taste him, running it along the underside of his length, The sweetness explodes in your mouth.

you felt the weight of his shaft around your tongue, the thick vein pulsing with each beat. your tongue danced around the sensitive flesh, tracing every contour of his sensitive skin, you swirled around it around the swollen crown.

“Fuck, your being such a good girl today” Robert lets out between shakey breaths, his nostrils flaring as he tries to regain his control.

In the response, you took him deeper feeling his shaft in the right channel of your throat, your head darts up and down with precision, your lips guiding around his thick shaft in a hypnotic rhythm.

Robert gripped your hairs in a fist, urging you to take him deeper in your mouth. you took him in your mouth then inch throbbing by inch, until you could feel his swollen head at the back of your throat.

your head bobs up and down on his massive cock at furious, restless speed. The crude wet squelches and sloppy slurps of your desperate sucking filled the room punctuated with Robert’s grutal and primal groans.

your throat bulges obscenely at each brutal thrust, your neck muscles clenching around his invading grith as you suck his cock with solid licks.

Robert’s grip on your hairs tightened, “right at the spot, I am fucking loving it” he grunts, his voice coming out in pleasureable moans.

your skull slams in his groin at a punishing pace, your lips were tightly sealed around his throbbing shaft. guttural, animalastic groans and grunts tear from his throat as you suck him wild and desperate abandon.

His hand fists in your hair, gathering the dishevelled locks into a ponytail, he uses his grip to bob your head up and down in brutal, reluctant speed.

The head of his shaft brutally bruises the back of your throat making you gag on his cock, you struggle to breath. your lungs sceaming for air as he grinds his hips faster over your mouth.

your eyes bulge, tears pouring down your face while the streaks of mascara paint your cheeks as his cock head was deeply buried in the back of your throat.

The room was filled with the musky scent of Robert's arousal mixed with your stuffed moans and his animalistic groans.

He slams your head down one last time, burying his cock to the hilt in your convulsing throat. His body goes rigid, muscles seizing as his climax crashes over him like a tidal wave.

“I need you to take all of me, swallow every last drop for me” He groans, his voice was raw and primal. His shaft pulses and jerks, swelling impossibly thicker as it unleashes a torrent of hot, thick cum directly in your mouth.

you feel the first scalding spurt hit your throat, His cock twitches and bucks as it pumps out what feels like an endless amount of cum, flooding your inside with his essence.

you swallow greedily, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of his potent release, Some of it backs up, oozing out around his shaft and dribbling down your chin.

The room fills with the scent of sex and orgasam, the air thick and heavy with the musky perfume of his climax. Robert grinds into you, holding you in place as the last weak spurts dribble onto your tongue.

His chest heaves, sweat pouring down his face as he gasps for breath, riding out the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. Finally, with a shudder and a groan, he releases your hair, his softening cock slipping from your abused throat with a wet plop.

After the moment, you slowly get up. feeling your cunt clenching and throbbing at the same time, soaking wet through your panties.

You straightened your pencil skirt, smoothing the fabric with trembling hands, and buttoned up your blouse, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying the effort to compose yourself.

While Robert, stood by the couch adjusting his tie with one hand while tugging his trousers on his torso with the other hand.

Avoiding his piercing gaze, you cleared your throat and broke the silence. "Sir, the meeting starts in less than ten minutes. We really have to hurry." your voice was steadier than you expected, but your cheeks still burned with the memory of the scene.

Robert nods, the parable tension of the deal still lingered in his eyes. his expressions were vulnerable and sympathetic, he called out your name, “Wait”

“...stay with me during the meeting” his voice was shaken, a rare crack in the armor of his professional cold demeanour.

You nod approvingly , your tone calm and professional. "As your secretary, it’s my responsibility to guide you through the deal and ensure everything goes smoothly.”

Before he could respond, you reached out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist in a firm yet comforting grip."Mr. Fischer," you said softly but with conviction, "you’re going to close this deal, I believe in you.”

The sincerity in your voice lingered in the air, grounding him in a way that words rarely did. his guarded expression softened, and he gave a slight nod, drawing confidence from your comforting words.

[secretficblogs]

"First Date Jitters" Divorced David "Deacon" Kay x School Counselor! Reader

Summary: Your date with Deacon gets derailed but you still find a way to make the most of it.

What to expect: 4K words, Light mention of divorce, Canon warnings (hostage situation, robbery, light mention of gore/guns), drinking, descriptions of being cut, flirting, fluff, comfort

A/N: I blushed so hard when yall asked for a part 2, I didn't really proofread btw

You could feel the seconds ticking away as you sat at your meeting. Why did school counselors need to sit in on district meetings, anyway? You glanced at the clock on the wall, 4:47.  Your leg was bouncing underneath the table, a representation of your nervousness. It was your first date in god knows how long. You still needed to run home, change, and meet your date, but you were stuck with what could've been an email. You looked again, 4:48, oh my god.

“Would you be for or against this change, (Y/N)?” Your boss shook you from your thoughts, leaving you to look at the schedule change in front of you. 

“I-I think this looks… great. I don’t have any suggestions.” You slide the paper to the center of the table, glancing back up at the clock. 4:52. 

“Alright well, if that concludes things… I'll let you guys get going. Thanks for hanging back for a bit.” The staff began to stand and file out of the room. The English teacher, you knew her as Jane pulled you aside.

“So, spill! What are you so keen on leaving for?” She rubbed her hands together, leaving you to roll your eyes.

“I’m going out on a date.” You answered, throwing on your cardigan. Jane danced around you and let her noises of excitement draw attention to the two of you. 

“Alright, alright,” you laughed. “I don't even know if it will go anywhere. Just nice to get back out there, I guess.” You rubbed your arm, as you made your way out of the conference room. 

“I'm just so happy for you! It's about time. You have the best time tonight, okay? Stay safe, and call me if you need a lifeline!” She shouted your way as you both made your way towards your respective cars. You thanked her before closing your door.  You made quick work of the dinner rush and ran up the stairs to your apartment. Quickly locking yourself inside, you immediately started changing into the semi-formal dress you had set out last night. You glanced up at yourself in the mirror, deciding a touch-up would do you good. You grabbed out a darker lipstick, one you wouldn't wear to the school. You looked at your phone, 5:19. You rushed to get your heels on and grab your purse, taking one final look at yourself in the mirror. 

“Okay, (Y/N), let's get back in the game.” You ruffled your hair and made your way back down to your car. You peeled out of the parking garage. Your fingers tapped against the steering wheel praying for the light to change. The drive felt longer than it was, and the counselor in you told you to breathe before you left your car. 

David sat in his car rubbing his hands on his thighs, nervously. He recognized you in the car that pulled up across the parking lot. He watched you fix your hair in the rearview, and step out of your car to straighten your dress. David’s nerves were calmed once he noticed you were anxious too. He stepped out and made his way to the door, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed.

You walked towards the door and saw him waiting in the lobby. He met you with a smile and you immediately felt your knees weaken. Together you walked up to the host station and told the young girl the name of your reservation. She quickly led the two of you to your table and took your drink order. You both ordered wine and began making small talk about the restaurant you chose. 

“So did your interest in international food lead to your love for travel, or was it the other way around?” He asked, watching you take a sip of your drink.

“They are not mutually exclusive. My mom’s a professional chef, so I grew up trying all of her experiments. That's how I ended up in LA. She found better business here than Oregon.” You rambled. You couldn't tell where the feeling came from but you wanted him to know everything about you. 

“How old were you when you moved here?” David questioned. He seemed genuinely interested, which you liked. 

“I was 12. I wasn't too happy to leave the humidity. It took a while for my asthma to get somewhat used to the lack of moisture.” You folded your hands in your lap, smiling back at him. He nodded and you could see him commit the fact that you have asthma to memory. 

“How about you, did you grow up here?” You felt he was at an unfair advantage, knowing so much about you from your office.

“Yeah, born and raised.” He nodded.

“Nice, do you travel much?” 

“Not as much now, with the kids, but occasionally I'll find myself in neat places for work.” David felt his heart race a bit at the mention of his kids. He knew the entire reason they met was because of his kids,  but he knew many single parents’ kids scare partners off. 

That feeling quickly dissolved when he looked up from his glass to see your smile. He went to say something but your waitress came over. You both chuckled, realizing you hadn't looked over the menu much. Fortunately, you were both able to make a quick decision and get your food ordered. Your waitress refilled your glasses and left you to continue talking. 

“You said you had a meeting today, right? That go well?” He broke the silence. 

“Oh, yeah, it wasn't too bad. I really didn't need to be there. I was just excited to go home and get ready.” You looked away, shy to admit you were looking forward to your date.

“I’m glad. This is all I’ve talked about all day,” You looked up at him, shocked. “My team was so sick of me that they sent me home early.” David chuckled, leaving you to smile dumbfoundedly. 

“That makes me feel better, I wondered if you'd get bored tonight…” You sheepishly mutter.

“Why would you think that?” David's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“...Well, I don't have the most interesting life. I mean, you're a SWAT sergeant. I'm sure you get invitations for dates all the time.” You trailed off, taking a sip of your wine to stop your rambling. 

“I don't usually entertain that. I don't really enjoy being hit on. Most people just like the uniform anyway.” He tried to make you feel a bit better. “Also, you're insanely cool. I mean your office is decorated with so many interesting things. I gotta know more about that.” He folded his hands on the table.

“Well, ask away.” You grinned feeling warm from his words.

“The paintings on the walls didn't look like prints. Did you paint them?” David questioned. You began to answer, but your waitress brought out your dishes, set them down, and asked if you needed anything. You both ordered another drink and turned back to each other.

“The portraits are mine, but there are a couple of landscape paintings, sculptures, and trinkets that I got from friends and vendors.” You took a bite of your dish after speaking.

“Your paintings are amazing. Did you consider going into art before counseling?” 

“No, no. It's always just been something I did on my own time.” You gently shook your head. “There have been times where I've illustrated for friends and small startups, but not enough to go full time with it. Moreso just to help out small businesses.” You explained.

The two of you continued asking each other questions and eating in between. Time seemed to stop for the night. The only thing you and David were concerned about was each other. As the sunset turned into a dark sky, you sat across from David, captivated by him. You could tell he knew it, too. He would hold your eye contact for slightly longer than normal, and whenever your hands were on the table, he would make it his mission to rest his hand atop yours. 

The drinks didn't help either. Neither of you wanted to get drunk on your first date, but you definitely felt tipsy. The alcohol made both of you more brave, light touches turned to hand-holding, and your conversations became more personal. You both talked about your parents and how they felt about your jobs. You talked about your time as a therapist and he talked about some of his more significant cases. 

“I tried to be a therapist for the elderly because I thought it would be less pressure. David, I was so wrong.” You laughed, shaking your head. He chuckled as you recalled getting harassed by old men and women for 40 hours a week.

“Deacon.” He interjected.

“What was that?” You tilted your head to the side, confused.

“Call me Deacon. That’s what my team calls me.” He just wanted to hear you say it.

“Well, alright. Deacon.” You smiled, feeling your cheeks begin to hurt. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. You stared at each other, enjoying just being together. Your romantic staring contest was broken by your waitress dropping off your check. You reached for it, but Deacon was too quick.

“Deacon. Come on.” You reached your hand out, silently asking for the receipt. 

“No, no. I asked you out. And, I'm honored you accepted, despite not knowing me.” He nestled his card in the tin and set it aside, turning his attention back to you.

“I get the feeling you're not going to budge on this, so thank you.” You folded your arms across each other and set them down in front of you. 

“It was nice getting out, it's been a while since I did the whole ‘first date’ thing” Deacon allowed himself to be honest.

“I completely agree. It's more awkward than I remember.” You laughed. 

You and your date continued talking long after your drinks ran out. You felt so warm with him, and the wine didn't encourage you to leave him either. You continued flirting and getting to know each other before a commotion was heard a couple of tables behind you. You took your eyes off Deacon to turn around finding a group of people dressed in dark informal clothing. One of them held his hand underneath his jacket which made you whip your head back to Deacon. His once soft expression was replaced with a look of concern. 

“Um- Deac? I- Do you think somethings wrong?” Your hand made its way to the back of your neck in an attempt to rub away the rising tension. He didn't respond, looking down into his lap. You worked at a school, so it wasn't hard to tell he was texting someone. Your heart raced. It was obvious Deacon agreed that there was a problem.

You were going off sound alone, as the group of people were behind you. You managed to twist your head and spare a glance their way, only to find them talking very quietly with the now frightened host. Whatever they were telling her was scaring her shitless. You felt so bad for her, wondering what she was thinking.

With Deacon clearing his throat you looked back at him, and he gave you a forced smile. He rested his hand on the table, a silent request for you to grab it. You interlocked your fingers and squeezed, letting him know you were anxious.

“Be honest, how likely is it they're here for a table?” You met his eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation. You didn't need to though because he sighed and gave up on trying to hide his feelings from you.

“Unlikely. They look familiar, probably wanted for something. We can't do anything about it right now, so just relax. It'll be alright.” He soothed as he looked past you to see the host leave the group. The group of people looked around, one in particular made eye contact with a woman nearby. The older lady was decked out in diamonds and a fancy bag. The man must have been feeling bold because he walked up to her and held his jacket slightly ajar. Deacon couldn't see what he was concealing but it was pretty obvious it had to be a gun. 

The woman's face fell and the man she was with stood up clearly offended. Deacon's worst fears were confirmed when the man pulled out a gun and pistol-whipped the older man. Other patrons in the restaurant screamed and moved away from the man. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and turned to see Deacon beside you. He pulled you around the table and pulled you down to the ground. He told you to stay there before turning back towards the commotion.

You peered around the table to find the woman was forced to take off her jewelry and pass over her bag. Deacon raised his gun and announced he was LAPD. You were shocked. He was outnumbered and you had no idea if anyone else carried. You turned your attention to the other group members. One ran out once the hostility started, and two others looked at each other in a mix of disbelief and anger. You took this as a sign this wasn't planned. It also seemed like the group wasn't willing to kill. The man aimed his pistol at Deacon but refrained from firing, resorting to yelling instead. This scared all of the now hostages but only made Deacon feel better. If talking meant not shooting, he was okay with it.

It was hard for you to make out what he was saying, but you could tell he was scared. He likely acted on impulse and was struggling to de-escalate the situation. It's unlikely they knew a cop would be there, especially since your name was on the reservation. A couple of people tried to weasel their way out of their booths and sneak away but that only made the man more upset. His audience was leaving. He aimed his pistol and the nearby chandelier and fired, leaving you to scramble from your hiding spot as glass debris fell around you and nicked at your skin.

 You tried not to think about the blood pooling on your arms and face and just focused on finding cover elsewhere. Deacon had to trust the best way he could help was by keeping his gun raised, and trying to talk the man down. The other guys noticed the situation getting progressively worse and tried pulling him back towards the door, but it only angered the man more. He whipped around to yell at them, giving Deacon an opening to run and tackle the man. 

You were shocked because there was no telling what the other guys would do. Fortunately, the man's accomplices took the lowered guns as a sign to run. Your eyes followed them through to windows as they ran across the street. They didn't get far before police cars cut them off, and they were forced to surrender. 

Hearing shouting, you looked back to your date pulling the man up from the ground, his hands held behind his back. The gun was kicked away, and before long people wearing SWAT uniforms arrived, putting handcuffs on the gunman, and taking him away. Deacon didn't waste any time running over to you and looking at your various cuts. 

“I'm so sorry, (Y/N).” He grabbed the black napkin from the table to press it against your forehead, making you wince. 

“Y-... You didn't shoot the chandelier,” You looked around at the chaos surrounding you. EMT’s loaded the old man onto the gurney. Patrons hugged and made their way to their tables, unsure of what happens next. “Everyone’s okay thanks to you. You called the police?” you asked as he held your hand over the napkin, a silent request for you to hold pressure. 

“I texted a coworker. They took care of getting a team here. I don't think they called the patrol cars though. Maybe the host called.” He looked over your other scrapes, gauging how much medical attention you needed. “I think some of these need stitches…” Deacon looked over to see the EMTs occupied with the elderly man, and some other people complaining of heart rates.

“I still think I’m too shaken up to drive-” You were interrupted.

“I'll take you.” Deacon placed his hands on top of yours.

“Okay.” You sheepishly responded. You let him pull you up and with a hand on the small of your back he led you to his car. Deacon was helping you into the passenger seat when an officer ran over.

“Deac! You okay, man?” The man rested his hand on the open door looking at the two of you.

“Yeah, Yeah. Thanks for coming so quickly, Hondo.” He nodded looking towards the restaurant and the guests funneling out. Another two teammates ran over to you, and the idea that you were meeting his squad set in. You felt yourself sink into the seat, as you looked at the ground.

“Hey! Is this your date?” One of the other teammates asked.

“Are you okay?” Another member asked.

When you hesitated to respond Deacon spoke up on your behalf. “Luca, I knew it was wrong to hope I’d get through this date without you crazies. This is (Y/N). She got cut up by the chandelier, so I was going to take her to the hospital to get patched up.”

“You know you gotta meet the squad family early! I’m Luca, this is Chris, and that is Hondo.” The man explained. You tried to nod along, but the shock and the blood loss made you dizzy. 

“Uhh, yeah yall need to get going. We can do introductions later.” Hondo said, taping his teammate's shoulders. You have him a smile, before waving at them. Deacon shut your door and jogged around to the other side. Once he was inside he sped off, quickly navigating the Friday night traffic.  You occasionally zoned out, putting gaps in your memory. Deacon tried to keep a hand on you at all times to help ground you. He helped you check in, and stayed by your side as you got stitched up. He stepped out a couple of times to take phone calls. He profusely apologized every time, even with you explaining it was okay.

The nurse finished with your bandages and instructed you to keep your injuries clean and dry. He left, giving you and Deacon time alone before you had to head out. You sat in silence for a while, his hand in yours. You felt yourself zoning out again, and Deacon must have noticed too because he spoke quietly, drawing you back to the present.

“How are you feeling?” He rubbed the back of your hand, a concerned expression on his face.

“... I'm hurting, but I’m alive. This is what you experience every day?” You kept your eyes on the floor.

“I usually have a lot more warning, and protection, but yeah. It can be hard to digest and process emotions when things like this happen. Your wounds are large enough to raise some concern for infection too. Don't think you can't reach out… okay?”

“Thank you, Deacon. Know that I'll take you up on that.” Your worries dissolved, finally being safe and patched up.

“Are you ready to head out? I can just take you home.” Deacon suggested.

“And leave my car at the restaurant? I don't have a way to get it back to my apartment.” 

“I'll pick you up to grab it tomorrow morning. Or I’m sure I can have Hondo drive it back for you if you're worried about it being at the restaurant that was just robbed.” He was happy to make any accommodation if it meant you wouldn't worry as much. 

“That’s… really nice. I’d like that- you can just take me home though. My car should be fine.” You blushed, excited to extend the date longer. With a plan in place, Deacon led you to the lobby, and out of the clinic. He, once again, helped you into your seat before letting you direct him to your house. The ride was relatively quiet. The only thing on your mind was working up the courage to invite him in. You worried he would take it the wrong way, or think you were just expecting sex. Deacon pulled into your spot in the parking garage, slowly turning to you. 

“This place is… sketchy.” He mumbled.

“Most apartments in the heart of LA are…” You smiled. Deacon watched as your smile faded, watching the gears turn in your brain. “...Would you want to come in? I mean- like, just to talk. I don’t want this date to end.” He smiled back, making you comfortable by adding, “If you don't have a bedtime tonight, that is.”

“I would like that,” He laughed before continuing. “Annie has the kids this weekend.” You smiled and reached for your door handle. He put a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. You couldn't help but laugh and gently shake your head as he ran around to help you out of the car.

You led him to your apartment, his hand never leaving your waist. You wouldn't have guessed his love language was touch, but it was comforting regardless. You tried to think about the state of your apartment, deciding it was probably fine. You unlocked your door, and let him inside.

Deacon took in your apartment, just as cozy as your office. He could tell you took pride in your space and enjoyed just being in it. The overhead lights were off, and lamps and soft warm light made the living room very inviting. He looked for more pictures on the walls, finding more from hikes and parties. You asked him if he wanted something to drink, and he quietly said he'd have whatever you were having. Deacon was focused on the walls of your home. He heard two beers clink against the coffee table. He soon after felt your arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“You do this with all your first dates?” He asked laying his hands on top of yours. 

“This date wasn't a normal one, and you know that.” You laughed into his back. You retracted your hands and led him over to your couch, where your drinks were. He sat down and grabbed his beer, putting his arm over the back of the couch and urging you to sit by him. 

You obliged, cuddling up close to him. A brief silence settled between the two of you until you thought back to how you met. 

“Did you and Mathew talk more about his writing?” You ran your finger over the ridges in the bottle.

“I did. I think it brought us closer together. He decided to show Annie, too. I think it's helping us understand what he's going through and helps him know he can still rely on both of his parents.” He paused to gauge your reaction at the mention of Annie, but the reaction on your face was happiness—happiness for his son and his family. “It’s all thanks to you, you know…” He took a sip of his drink.

“Ah, it's my job, Deacon. Those kids are important to me, and they all need support from their school. It takes a village, or whatever the saying is.” You furrowed your eyebrows thinking about the countless visits kids have had with you, and how many students crashed your office during their lunch to discuss their feelings. The students who you let nap on your chairs, the lunch program you helped run, and so many more small moments that added up to big changes for students. 

“Well, whatever you're doing it's working. Lila thinks you're great too. Over the past few weeks, they haven't stopped talking about you.” He mentioned.

“Thank you.” You felt uncertain about how the kids gushed about you up around Annie, so kept the response short. Deacon must have noticed because he grabbed your hand. You looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m glad you asked me out.” You said quietly.

“I’m glad you didn't think it was weird.” Deacon earned a laugh from you. “So, does that mean you'll go on a second one with me?” He asked.

“It does, but you gotta pick the restaurant this time.”

The end :P

Taglist? Thanks for the support!

@pear-1206

[terrorcamp]

Terror Camp is hiring!

We are looking to expand our volunteer staff for this year’s conference.

We have two job listings based on our current needs, but if we receive a lot of great applicants there is the possibility we’ll split up these responsibilities into 3 or even 4 separate positions.

Terror Camp is a fully volunteer, remote, asynchronous workplace (with occasional sync meetings as schedules permit). We communicate over Discord and organize our documentation over Notion and Google Drive.

We are looking for people who can devote up to a few hours a week, depending on the time of year. Commitment increases around the times of Submission Opening (June 1), Submission Closing/Acceptances (September 1-Oct 1) and the conference itself (early December).

Terror Camp looks great on your resume. You can say that you volunteer for a successful community-led online history & heritage conference with an audience in the thousands!

You don’t need to match the job descriptions perfectly in order to apply. If your experience doesn’t match up but you think you’d still be good at the job, please apply anyway!

Here are the positions we're looking to fill:

🎨 Designer 🎨

Terror Camp is seeking a dedicated Designer who will:

Ideate and deliver a new evergreen brand identity for TC that can be revamped and reused each year

Including logo, logotype, color scheme, font families, and other brand assets for use on web, social media, and printed merch

Be an proactive team member with strong communication skills, able to quickly and regularly deliver new graphics for promotional use on social media and in email marketing

Help design an evergreen/permanent collection of merchandise as well as a limited-edition collection for this year’s conference

Assist our Webmaster in revising our website & email marketing templates to fully match new brand identity and meet best practices for UX

Potentially work on print layout for a Terror Camp book or zine (TBD)

This job would be a good fit if you:

Work or have worked professionally or semi-professionally as a graphic designer; or are a hobbyist designer with a standout portfolio

Have experience working with both digital and print assets

Have a working knowledge of web design best practices and HTML/CSS

Have experience with Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign, Canva (but not ONLY Canva, sorry) and Wix or similar WYSIWYG ESP/site builder

The Designer will report to our Assistant Director/Webmaster, & will also collaborate closely with our Marketing Lead on graphic assets for social media and with our Merch Lead on preparing designs for print.

To apply, please fill out this form.

💬 Communications Coordinator 💬

Terror Camp is seeking an enthusiastic Communications Coordinator who will:

Own Terror Camp’s main email inbox and oversee all direct communication with attendees and interested parties

Respond promptly to inquiries including:

Requests for past recordings

Requests to join the Discord

Questions about schedule, programming, submissions, guests, and other conference topics

Catch inbounds to social media inboxes (Tumblr, X, Bluesky, Insta) & answer or redirect to email as appropriate

Act as coordinator/assistant for Marketing Lead, with responsibilities including:

Scheduling pre-written content

Assisting with ideating and drafting content, proposing content ideas

Cross-posting content to multiple platforms

Consistently and frequently engaging with social audiences (finding content to repost, replying to people, etc)

This job would be a good fit if you:

Work or have worked in any digital customer-facing environment; have experience with support tickets and/or ongoing user communications; have run social media for brands or institutions; are an efficient and clear writer able to work creatively within brand voice guidelines

Have successfully and sustainably moderated Discord servers, Tumblr communities, social media for other fandom projects like fests, zines, and charity events

Can spare the time and attention to respond to inquiries and turn around new social media posts in a timely manner

Are prepared to represent the Terror Camp brand professionally and maturely in digital public spaces

The Communications Coordinator will report directly to our Marketing Lead.

To apply, please fill out this form.

If you have any questions about these positions, please email us at command [at] terror [dot] camp!

[b0xerdancer-writes]

Our Little Secret

Eris x Azriel's Twin! Reader

Summary: Azriel and his sister have always been opposites, she weaved light he bent shadows, he liked the dark and cold, she lived for warmth and light. That led her to Eris Vanserra. The two began secret but not so secret meetups that eventually blossoms into more.

Warnings: 18+, implied semi-graphic smut but not full scenes, attempted murder, injuries, blood, war, death, pregnancy, depression and self-doubt.

Word Count: 8,995

Notes: Shorter but sweet hope everyone enjoys some soft Eris!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were several pros and cons to being Eris’s mate and Azriel’s twin sister.

Pros included the ability to claim visits to Autumn as part of my spy job now that we were in an alliance with them as Eris began ascending the throne and needed assistance in weeding out the vermin that had invaded his fathers court. 

Cons included that my brother absolutely hated the male, so any interactions we had were either secret or strictly professional in nature with others like my family around us. 

However when the tides had turned after a rather eventful week tucked away in the halls of The Forest House, after an advisor had hired an assassin to try and take out Eris, neither Eris or I were prepared for the aftermath.

My brother was able to bend the shadows to his whim, he had always shrunk into the shadows and found peace in them after our half brothers had burned his hands. I however, was the opposite. My brothers and father had clipped my wings from birth, I would and have never known the call of the wind. Where my brother found comfort in the shadows I found my comfort in those small warm rays of light that would peek into our basement cell from the small barred window  we were too short to reach. My brother had learned to weave the shadows to his whim, I had done the opposite and learned to weave the light to mine. 

Where my brother hated and despised the now High Lord of the Autumn Court, I had come to love and cherish him. Especially when our spontaneous meetings became a regularly scheduled secret. 

Eris and I had started at a dance, his piercing eyes had found mine as I stood on the dias with my brothers; he had approached with an eerily attractive atmosphere around him as he stalked up to me, he stood a step below me as he bowed and offered his hand out for a dance. Together we had taken the ball by storm all the onlookers had been mesmerized by the passion and fierceness in which Eris and I brought forward, we had both intrigued the other from the second we both came to an abrupt stop with the end of the pounding, loud, and energetic music and our chests were heaving as we panted trying to catch our breath. 

That night had ignited something between us because later that same night he had sought me with the intention of making small chat to get closer, he had approached me with a champagne flute but by the end of it we had defected from the rest of the party and found ourselves rutting against each other in an empty conference room. That would be the first of many times we would end up hidden away in a backroom slotted against each other, just happy to have someone who’s passion matched our own. 

It had simply become a normal thing for us, every high lords meeting and every alliance talk, we would wind up in each other without fail. As meetings continued his mask began to fall away and after we had both come undone and beads of sweat had started to form between us he would confess his fears or the things that had troubled him, a recent beating from Beron here or nerves from the threat of war looming over our heads. 

When the war did come to a head, I had been using light to mask parts of our armies, rendering them invisible to Hybern and his own army; we ultimately prevailed but not without our own amount of casualties, Eris had come rushing towards the medical tents Beron tossed over the hind quarters of his horse. I had been sitting with Azriel and the rest of the inner circle, a healer stitching a spot on my arm where a sword had gone  a little too deep for me to be comfortable with and wasn't healing quick enough for the healers to be comfortable with, when we heard the commotion. I could hear Eris screaming and the second the nurse cut the thread from my arm I was out of the tent, Eris was soaked in blood and trying to pull Beron off the back of his horse; I could hear the grief in his voice as much as the panic was obvious on his face, I helped Eris pull him down and a healer met us halfway to the tent.  Just as Beron and the healer made it through the curtain Eris had dropped to his knees, adrenaline finally wearing off, he started crying so I dropped to my knees beside him and pulled him tight against me. 

Once his sobs started to garner attention I motioned for him to stand and ushered him out of the way of the crowds into my tent. I pulled him into my chest, running my fingers through his hair while his sobs became hoarse and weak; the metallic smell of his father’s blood clung to him and I slowly stripped him from the stained garments, I grabbed the cloth that was draped over the edge of the small bowl filled with water for washing sat and began cleaning where the smears of blood lingered on his skin. As I dabbed at the blood his sniffling stopped and he stared down at where I kneeled to sponge at a spot on his hip, I looked up at him with a sad smile and his head dropped to let his hair curtain his face.

With one hand tucked into my hair he pulled me tight against his thigh and muttered a small barely audible “Thank you.” 

Once I had finished cleaning him he sat on the edge of my bed, a small swirl of light nudged at his hands and he smiled as he let it caress him like how one of his hounds would have, as I was slipping out of my own blood stained clothing one of my light beams presented me with clothing from Eris’s own tent.  He took them from the small beam with a smile and slipped on the comfortable night clothing, I slipped into my own comfortable sleeping clothes and climbed onto the bed beside him. He buried himself into my chest and curled around me, I wrapped one wing over the top of us and we laid there for a few minutes before he gave out a shaky breath. He began to tell me how he had found Beron and he fully believed it was his fault the older male had been injured, Eris had left his position in the Autumn Court squadron to meet with Helion and the rest of us on the opposite side of the battlefield, leaving Beron exposed. Apparently somehow Beron and his brothers had been ambushed, the rest of his remaining brothers were dead but Beron was unconscious and breathing; as he moved to check Beron’s wounds he had realized the older male was beginning to bleed out and hauled him up to the horse, someone managing to get him on the beast. 

I soothed him, telling him it wasn’t his fault, that the mother had a sick sense of karma; and that was all this was, karma, for his actions towards Eris and his family. We fell asleep an hour or so later, Eris’s soft snores lulling me into my own sleep. It was around midnight when I felt the bed shift, the smell in my tent stung my nose: a sharp Cinnamon and smoke mixed with a spice that reminded me of the autumn court alcohol Eris had given me after one of our usual meetups. It was Eris’s comforting scent amplified a hundred times over, it was only when my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw Eris sat up elbows on his knees and hunched over that I realized the stinging was caused by a surplus of magic in the air.

“He’s dead” Was all Eris mumbled as he looked back over his shoulder at me.

Only then did I get a good look at him, his ears seemed more pointed, his eyes more predatorial and enticing, every detail about him that I had noticed before was amplified; from the red of his hair to the freckles that littered the bridge of his nose, I felt myself fall more in love with him with every detail I took in. 

“Don’t look at me like that starlight.” A low growl from his voice had goosebumps growing over my skin and every hair standing on end all at the same time.

I couldn't even mumble an apology to the newly made high lord before his eyes widened and his scent thickened with the added addition of his arousal. In a split second he had pounced on me, his lips finding their home on my neck. We spent the rest of the night lost in eachother, he was clearly rougher and more feral with the newly found energy and stamina that had come with becoming a high lord. 

Our bond had only grown from there, after the war was over he had asked Rhys for help in discovering which of those in his court wanted his downfall or were members of the illegal markets his father had let the Autumn Court become home to. The Autumn Court was bright at all times of the day, between the actual sun in the day and the fireflies and bonfires that lit up the night, I had been sent to act as Emissary and spy.  It had started as miniscule tasks like tracking down and destroying supply carts carrying black market goods or stalking through the castle under my invisible illusion to listen in on private conversations that could have been conspiratorial in nature. It was one of these overheard conversations that sent me rushing to Eris’s room, heart pounding so rapidly I felt it in the back of my throat.

It was late in the evening, Eris would have retired from the throne room or his study and would have been in his private chambers getting ready to wind down for the night, I slipped from the perch where I had heard the alarming news and found the faintest crack of light under Eris’s door; the faintest amount I needed leaked from the door as the lights in the hall began to dim, much like how my brother used the shadows to transport him around I used the light to step silently into Eris’s chambers. The fireplace, the thing illuminating the room so brightly, crackled softly and I took the faintest step forward towards Eris.

He turned quickly, dressed only in a pair of loose trousers with his hair half up and cascading over his shoulders; he had grown it out since becoming high lord. “Starlight? What's wrong, why do you look so panicked? What did you hear?”

“Eris! You have got to be wary! I heard two of the advisors conspiring together to assassinate you! They spoke not of when it was planned but it is coming!”  I took a few steps towards him reaching out to grasp at his upper arm, an attempt to convey my desperation to him.

“Thank you Starlight, but remember they know not of your spying capabilities, I have no evidence against them yet. We will have to wait for the assassin before we can condemn those males.” He ran one hand across my cheek, pulling me tightly to him with a dark longing in his eyes.

“Eris I-“ he cut me off before I could continue, his eyes sparkled with that same dark look.

“Look Starlight, I can handle myself but if it would please you and make you feel better about the situation then stay beside me tonight, watch over and protect me darling.” His voice was a soothing melody in my ears, lulling me into a false sense of security with the ever present weight of the assassin hanging above us.

“Please…” I mumbled and buried my head in his chest.

“Of course starlight” he mumbled into my head as he planted a small kiss into my hair.

He curled up in bed and I curled up on the loveseat tucked into the corner of the room with my illusion dusted over me; thankfully the night was uneventful and in the early hours I climbed into the bed beside Eris who wrapped his arm around me in a groggy fog.

After a week the threat had yet to be seen and Eris’s schedule had seemed to become busier, leaving him rarely alone with anyone or even by himself until the very end of the day.  My duties as emissary had been paused by Eris himself as he noticed I had become overly exhausted and was becoming increasingly sicker as the days continued, I had fallen asleep in meetings or even had to dismiss myself from some of them due to nausea. 

“Until you are cleared by my appointed healer,” Eris had firmly told me, “I’ll be pausing your duties as emissary here.”

I had grumbled but agreed to schedule an appointment with the healer that afternoon to appease him and be allowed to continue with my job. The halls were quiet in the staff wing, most of the servants would be spread out across the rest of the manor at this time, preparing for dinner or guest rooms, or just general cleaning. I knocked softly on the healers office door, a greeting ushered me in from the other side.

Inside was a young eccentric male that reminded me of Helion in a way, he ushered me to sit in a padded seat across from him. Eris had written to him with his concerns about my health and the male asked me if I had any concerns of my own. I just agreed to what Eris had identified with a grumble and he moved on with the exam.

“How long has this been occurring?” The male's hands glowed a faint green as he ran his hands around my body several inches above my skin.

“It’s progressed since the Last night of the war, at first I just assumed it was an after effect of the fae bane exposure.” I was uncomfortable with the males' closeness to me and shifted in my seat.

He nodded and continued his examination, it was rather uneventful as he checked through multiple things. 

“Its a long shot but there's one more thing I’d like to check if thats okay?” He asked me with a shrug.

“Yeah why not, that way Eris will be satisfied and I can get back to my duties” I shrugged back at him.

His hands changed from that green glow to a pink glow and his eyes widened, a smile grew on his face. “Congratulations. It seems like my long shot guess was correct.”

He turned from me and back to a small pad of parchment and scribbled a few things down on it before handing it to me, my fave paled as I read the care plan ahead of me.

“I’d like to schedule a week from now to follow up with everything, you will still be in this court correct?” I nodded and he scribbled on another piece of parchment. “Then I'll see you at the same time in a week!” He handed me the second parchment with the next appointment scheduled on it.

The walk back to my chambers had begun as quiet,  the setting sun outside the windows a tell of the hours spent in the healers office. The parchment folded up in my pocket a heavy weight as I thought how to tell Eris the news; lost in my thoughts I had taken a wrong turn and ended up in Eris’s private wing, an indication of where my mind was at and whose company it sought out for my distress, except something felt off in the wing as I was several halls from Eris’s room but a foreign sour scent lingered at the edges of the air. Had I not been a trained spy the change in scent wouldn’t have alarmed me but I knew Eris’s scent too well, knew how it both soured when he was upset and how it could be a breath of fresh air when he was in a happy mood, and I knew when someone was trying to hide their scent. 

I felt the muscles in my back around the deep scars twitch like they never had before, like I had watched them do when my brother's wings flared. An unease screamed at me and that familiar sense of dread rose in my throat, I tried to swallow it back but a loud shattering noise sent me down the hall at a full sprint. The halls were dark and I was unable to Lightstep into Eris’s room, I rounded a corner to find the door to his room cracked open and I threw it open to find Eris fighting off a bane laced dagger from his throat. My intrusion on their fight was enough of a distraction to gove Eris a one up by shoving the dagger away and throwing the unidentified male off of him, the make retailiated just as quickly sinking the dagger into Eris’s side as borh were scrambling up from the floor. I screamed as I watched Eris howl in pain and collapse on the floor, the intruding male moved towards the windows; there was enough light in the room for me to lightstep right behind him and sink the twin sister dagger of Truthteller into his neck, the adrenaline in my system was enough for me to decapitate the male. I didnt care if it would have looked better to bring him to the dungeons, I had overheard that conversation and knew who had conspired against my Eris. 

Once the head hit the ground I turned to Eris who was holding the dagger and his side with shallow breaths, with blood pounding in my ears and tears beginning to well up I dropped to my knees to find him barely conscious.

I pulled his head into my lap and cried over him begging him to stay with me, his faint voice tried to soothe me but the crack in his voice was enough for me to realize I very well could lose him tonight. 

“You have to stay with me Eris, you have to! You cant leave me like this Eris! I need you!” I sobbed into his slowly rising and falling chest.

One of his hands found its way into my hair as a soothing gesture. “You’ll be okay Starlight.” 

It broke me even more and I shook my head, tears rapidly cascading down my face. “No! I wouldn't be! You can't leave me like this Eris! You aren't allowed to die here! I’m pregnant Eris! Do you hear me! You can’t die, you have to be here for me and the babe!”

I felt Eris stiffen, his grasp in my hair tightening. “Your-“ I nodded and he smiled softly but his breathing became even shallower. 

I felt his grasp loosen and drop from my hair, my head shot up only to watch his eyes roll back in his head. I screamed and called his name and when no response came I was hauling him into my arms. Drawing every ounce of power I could spare I folded and weaved the light around us while screaming for Rhys in my mind. He answered almost immediately and I let him see what had happened just as I felt the weave of light complete and I was reappearing in my home court, I was greeted by my brothers and Madja who ushered us into a room with a bed they had me lay him on. I was pulled out of the room into the living room by Rhys and Azriel, my twin wrapping his wings around me as I sobbed into his chest.

I had cried myself to sleep in Azriel’s arms but was awoken by a sudden wave of nausea that had me pulling myself away from him and into the kitchen  where I found myself expelling what lunch I managed to eat before the appointment earlier today. Azriel was behind me pulling my hair farther out of the way for me and he rubbed my back softly, a soothing gesture.

“You alright?” His voice was a quiet whisper as the house was in a quiet slumber except for the occasional noise of Madja doing something in Eris’s room.

I nodded and slid my hand into my pocket handing him the folded pieces of paper. He read over them as I rinsed my mouth out with water from the sink and spit it back out. 

“By the mother.” He cursed “You're pregnant?” He looked at me quizzically and I nodded toeing my hair into a half up bun in case another wave of nausea hit me. 

“Yeah.” I mumbled, throat hoarse.

“It's his isn't it?” A look of sadness and pity crossed his face, a sorrow deep in his eyes. I nodded again.

“How long?” He asked, his voice cracked.

“Me and Eris? Since the first ball we met. The babe? Conceived the night he became high lord. I started getting sick shortly after that.” My own voice cracked as I fought back tears.

“Does he know?” He sat the papers on the counter and extended an arm out to me, I placed my hand in his.

“I told him right before he passed out, I told him it was why he had to pull through.” A sob broke through my lips, and Azriel pulled me into him. 

I broke down sobbing into his chest, he wrapped his wings around us until Rhys clearing his throat broke through the air. Azriel pulled me back by the shoulders and wiped the tears from my face, Rhys shifted awkwardly on his feet in the doorway clearly having heard and seen our exchange. 

“We’ll talk about this later, okay Starlight?”  His voice was soft as I nodded.

We both turned to Rhys who joined our little circle, He took my hand in his as he spoke. “Madja managed to stitch up his wound and said he's stable but still unconscious while his body tries to heal itself, she managed to flush the bane out of his system but it weakened him enough his healing delayed and he lost a lot of blood. She doesn't know how long he will be out but you can go in there now with him if you want.” He pulled me into a tight hug  and I thanked him.

I slipped into the room where Madja was bottling up a few potions for Eris, she gave me a small smile and a nod. 

I rested one hand on her shoulder the other on my stomach and leaned back against the table she was working on. “Thank you Madja, for saving him for us.” 

She nodded her accent heavy as she spoke to me. “You care very deeply for him, it's a good quality to have to love that purely. Your brothers may not recognize why you care but they understand your emotions, It's why Rhys had no restraint in summoning me to work on the High Lord you care for.” 

I smiled at her. “Yeah, I'm not gonna lie to you Madja, I think he's my mate. He's always just had an allure that called me to him, since the first time we met we just clicked like a puzzle piece. When I saw him on the floor there, something so deep in my chest I didn't know it could exist screamed and throbbed with a red hot glowing pain. I think I’ve always just known we were mates, in my adrenaline and panic I think the bond finally snapped but I was too overwhelmed and worried to really process everything going on.”

She smiled and nodded at me. “A good bond doesn't need to ring true, like Rhysand told you he simply looked at Feyre and knew. You simply know what he is to you and that is fine, it doesn't have to be a grand realization.” 

“Thank you, Madja.” I gave her a soft smile and she pushed a small bottle into my hand.

I looked at her quizzically as she smirked. “For the nausea the babe causes.” 

A blush rapidly grew on my face and my eyes widened. “How did you?”

A sparkle glistened in her eyes, she had always been a grandmother to the entire inner circle. “Girl, i’ve been treating you since you and Azriel joined Rhys here, I know your scent and any good healer knows what a babe does to a female's scent.  It was entirely too easy to scent it on you for me, hopefully that helps with any and all nausea you have. Just one drop of the vial into any drink you have once a day, it's tasteless so it should mix well with anything.” 

“Thank you again Madja. Have a goodnight.” She smiled and nodded at me and slipped out the door. 

I turned my attention to the shirtless male in the bed, white bandages wrapped around the lower half of his torso and his breath was a steady rise and fall of his chest, no longer weak and shallow. He laid on his uninjured side with his loose bangs falling in his face, I leaned on the bed to move them out of the way when one of his hands tightened on my wrist and he mumbled something I couldn't make out; but I knew Eris he had done this many times when I’d return from the bathroom to crawl back into bed with him. I smiled softly and kicked off my boots then curled up beside him, he wrapped his arm  tightly around my waist while I played with the loose hairs that fell into his face.

A groan coming from Eris was what woke me up just as the light started peaking through the windows, he had tried to sit up and was clutching his side where the dagger had been.

“Woah! careful Eris I don't want you ripping any stitches.” I fussed over him till I was able to get him laying back down.

A sickly smile was on his face as he winced. “Morning Starlight.” 

I scowled at him. “Morning Starlight? That's it! You almost died, Eris! You absolute dork. I was worried, you know?”  

He smiled at me, still relatively pale and weak as his body used the energy to slowly repair itself. “What you said before I passed out… Is it true?” 

I nodded and his hand found mine. “Are you mad?”

His voice cracked. “Darling, why would I be mad?” 

I sighed and made my way over to the table where Madja had left a few bandages and busied myself with collecting what I would need to change his bandages. “I just figured since you originally said you didn’t care for children.” 

“Darling, come here.” He called for me with his hand outstretched. 

I rounded the bed carrying the small collection of medical supplies and set them on the end table. I looked up at him through my lashes and began to slowly undo the wrap around his torso, he winced as we got to the lower bandages that stuck to the edges of the wound where blood was crusted to the cotton.

He winced as I dabbed on some anti infection and pain cream Madja had whipped up. “Darling.” His voice was a bit firmer.

I looked up from the gnarly bruising purple and red wound held closed by black thread and found his eyes, tears welling up in my own eyes as he spoke to me. “Darling I’m not mad. I wish I could get up from this damn bed to hold you and show you what this means to me.” 

I smiled at him before I turned my attention back to the wound, the edges had started to seal back together nicely, a faint red scar slowly beginning to emerge was an indicator it would heal nicely. 

I began rewrapping the cotton bandages around him as I spoke. “We have plenty of time to make up for it now then.” 

I tucked in the cotton and helped him sit up slowly. He grimaced as he spoke, adjusting to the strain in his body. “Thank you Starlight.  Because of you I had a reason to keep fighting. I said that I didn’t care for children back then because I was scared I would end up too much like my own father, but because of you I know I won’t,” he laughed softly “You wouldn’t let me. If you have helped me realize anything, it is that everything I do to better myself and my court is only possible thanks to you and how you believed in me. The thought of doing it all for you has helped me through every time I doubted myself.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked into his amber ones. “Eris…” 

He gave me a smile that was mixed with a wince as he tried to pull me into his arms and lap. “Don’t worry Starlight, I'm not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.” 

I let out a small laugh as I buried my head in the crook of his neck. “…For both of you…” he added. 

“I’m sure you will be an amazing father Eris.” I yawned and curled up closer to him.

I awoke to a wave of nausea, excusing myself from Eris’s arms saying I would bring him some food as we and slipped into the kitchen, the little vial in my hands. I stirred a drop into a warm cup of tea and sipped on it for a few seconds till the nausea dissolved and I was able to actually drink the warm concoction, I reached for a plate in the cabinet and put a couple of warm pastries the house had made for breakfast on it; another cup of tea ,which I had stirred some honey into, for Eris in my other and started my trek back to his room. 

I felt Rhys’s talons knock on my mental shield and I let him in with a tired “Good Morning.”

“Morning! How's he doing?” Rhys called back to me.

“Sore but awake.” I answered by showing him the imagery of the wound in my mind.

I felt his grimace as he replied back to me. “I’ll send Madja up in a bit then.”

“Thank you Rhys.” I motioned back to him.

I felt him slip from my mind with a “No problem sister.” 

As I neared the room I heard talking coming from inside of Eris’s room, the door was cracked and I could see Azriel glaring down at Eris before he cracked a smile and patted Eris’s shoulder. 

“Look I know we have had our disagreements Eris but I want to be a good male here, for my sisters sake not yours, you make her happy and as long as you are trying to be a good male for her and are going to step up and be a good male for the child you two made then I have no qualms with you. Deal?” He sighed and extended his hand out to Eris to shake.

Eris winced and met Azriel halfway, shaking his hand. “Deal. I plan to be your brother in law anyways.” 

I had to stop myself from choking on air, as I pushed the door open slowly acting like I hadn't just overheard their entire  conversation. “Alright I’m back and I brought croissants and a warmed honeyed tea with me.”

I turned to look at Azriel, faming my surprise to see him, he raised a brow ar me before nodding and moving to help me carry the plates. “Sorry, I was just coming to check how everything was going on in here, I sent some of my spies out to do a sweep of your court in case any other assassins or conspirators were in place.”

I perked up as he said that sitting the plate of croissants on Eris’s lap. “I can get you a list of those who have given me reason to believe they mean ill intents towards Eris or the Autumn Court in general.”

“That would be helpful.” Azriel nodded, “no rush though, I don’t wanna cause you or Eris any undue stress.”

“I’ll write it down here in a bit when we settle in for the day.” I handed the cup to Eris as he took a sip from it.

Azriel gave me a soft smile and a nod as he slipped from the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Eris nibbled at the pastry in his lap and I fixed myself up a spot in a padded chair at his bedside, making the list for my brother. Eventually Eris finished his breakfast and I sat the plate on his end table, he gently pulled me into his lap and tucked me into his uninjured side.

“We have lots to talk about Starlight.” He crooned at me. “Like what name ideas you've had so far for our little flame.”

I sighed softly nuzzling into his warmth. “I haven’t really thought about it, other things have been on my mind.”

“Like what Starlight?” He mused.

“Like what this means for us?” I chirped back at him, thinking of the earlier conversation I listened in on.

“And what do you want for us Starlight?” He inquired with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

I hummed back at him. “I'd like to be an us.”

He hummed back at me, mimicking my own. “And what kind of an us would you like to be?”

I smacked his shoulder softly. “. I dunno, something more than what we are right now? Something official? Married? Mates? I don't know, just something more.”

He snorted trying to play off his panic that he may have been planning the same thing. “A bit forward with the marriage part there huh Star-“ he paused and looked over at me quickly, his eyes wide and sparkling. “Wait. Did you say mates?”

I swallowed and nodded shallowly. “Yeah.”

His eyes sparkled brighter. “I was waiting for you to figure it out for yourself, when did you realize?”

I smiled at him adoringly. “I think I’ve always just known, honestly.”

He moved to cup my face in one of his hands. “I realized the night of the war that Beron died, when you were cleaning the blood off of me with such care.” He pulled me deep into a kiss and hummed. “I think I realized then because it showed how much you cared, you have always been the only person to ever care for me to such a  degree.”

I pressed my forehead to his,adjusting how I sat against him. “Then we have forever to look forward to.”

Eris groaned and tried to press another kiss to my lips but missed as I adjusted and his lips landed on my neck instead. “The second I can get out of this bed, we are accepting this bond.” 

I snorted and he pouted. “Any questions regarding what the healer said about the pregnancy?”

His eyes sparkled again like one of his hounds he favored when Eris would throw them a scarp at the dining table. “How far along are you then, love?”

“Probably about 2 and a half months, if my assumption of the conception date being the night you became High Lord.” I reasoned.

He raised a brow at me, his hand moving from my hip to rest on my stomach. “And why do you assume that night, we have slept together plenty of times.” 

I placed my hand on top of his and watched as his eyes dropped to our combined hands. “I assumed that originally because I started getting sick shortly after that, and my second assumption was the added hormonal boost of all that extra magic in the air. But! Now you have just backed up my assumption without even knowing it.”

“How?” He challenged.

“If it was also the night you realized I was your mate then your hormones and instincts were already heightened from the new magic in your veins and on the hormonal and instinctual boost from the mating bond and then boom!” I made a motion with my hands, “Your hormones and instincts were triple, maybe even quadruple what they were before.”

“Okay, yeah, that actually makes sense.” He mumbled.

Eventually Madja came back in later in the evening, she looked over Eris’s wounds and gave him the all clear as long as he took a few days of rest off. She said she would come by Autumn in a few weeks to connect with the healer there and to help monitor my pregnancy, she handed me a few extra vials of anti-nausea potions with a pat on my back and told me to take it easy myself since I had been stressed enough the day before to make up for several months. She applied a salve to Eris’s wound and placed a smaller bandage over it, since the risk of tearing it was less severe. I handed Azriel the list of possible conspirators and he took it with a nod, his spies would continue to investigate thoroughly since I was officially out of the spy commission. 

We returned to the Autumn Court where Eris held an emergency meeting for the entirety of the Forest House staff, he called me on stage with him and announced our mating bond, his intention to marry me, and the news of my pregnancy. As I looked over the crowd tucked nicely under Eris’s bad side to provide support I noticed several of my brother’s spies I had grown close to after working with them for so many years, it was bitter sweet seeing them there, knowing that after all these years they were here to watch over me the way I had watched over and trained all of  them with brother when we first joined Rhys’s inner court. Then Eris rolled his shoulders and cleared his voice, the atmosphere of the entire court changing with it. He growled out the names of the two traitors that had hired the hit man on him, two of my brother’s spies dragged them forward and they started begging and panicking as Eris told his court of their treachery.  Guards dragged them off to the dungeons and their own deaths were ordered by me as Eris gave me the opportunity to pick the punishment, I found it only fitting they be killed for their crimes as they tried to kill my mate. 

It was the first of many things Eris would have me decide for the court but we had other matters to handle first. We spent the rest of the week relaxing as the rest of his wound healed till all that was left was an angry red scar and by the end of the week the smallest bump had become visible along with the obvious scent change that let everyone know of my condition, it was barely noticeable but it was enough for Eris to be practically feral. When a craving for one of the Autumn Court’s signature desserts, a pumpkin bread loaf, hit me Eris had slaved away in the kitchens till he presented one he baked himself to me. The bond had been consummated,after everything had settled into place a week or two later we were married in front of his entire court and the rest of our friends and family; after our marriage ceremony he held a second ceremony making me his high lady.

Months passed by and my bump grew quickly, by the fourth month Madja had condemned me to general rest since she knew it would be impossible to keep me in bed but I was to be relaxing at all times, either laying down or sitting on either a bed or a padded couch. Between Madja and the male healer who I learned was named Nicoden’s constant checkups I learned they were mildly concerned with the speed in which the babe was growing, at first I argued with Madja it was probably due to wings from the Illyrian blood but she shot down my suggestion when she made the point Feyre wasn’t nearly as big with Nyx and he had wings. Eventually Nicoden made a suggestion about there being more than one babe, we had caught it too early to discern genders or numbers the first time I had seen him, he cited the fact Azriel and I were twins when Madja tried to disagree; it had come down to Nico and Madja putting money on it and both of them glaring at the other as they checked the babes, my answer came in the format of Madja digging into her pockets to smack a few notes into the males outstretched hand.

“Can we keep this between the three of us? I want to surprise Eris with the news.” I asked. 

They both agreed and Nico turned to me excitedly, “Do you want to know the gender of the babes yet?”

When I disagreed he got very smug, knowing something like that and being one of the only two to know.  “Anything I can do to help with the surprise?”

Madja kissed my forehead and helped me adjust how I was sitting so I could get a sip from a drink I had mixed my anti nausea medicine in. “Actually Nico, there is. Since I’m on rest could you run into the city for me and pick out a toy for each of the babes? Wrap them all in a box together and I’m sure he will catch the drift.” 

Nico was practically vibrating in his seat as he nodded excitedly, Madja congratulated me and dismissed herself to winnow home. Eris was in his last meeting of the day when Nicoden returned with the box and an eager smile on his face. 

‘Tell me how it goes.’ He mouthed.

I rolled my eyes and agreed, shooing him out of the room. I sat the box beside me on the padded chair and returned to my book while waiting for Eris to return to our room for the night.

It was about an hour later when my red-headed mate slinked into our room, exhaustion evident in his features. He had been swamped with meetings trying to get everything wrapped up with the investigations and getting the newly appointed ones adjusted to their roles before he would have to take a few weeks off with me when the babes arrived. 

He dragged himself over to me, kissing me softly. “Hello darling, I missed you.” he groaned as he sat on the sofa beside me and stretched out. 

“I have a surprise for you love.” I mused, closing my book and tossing it to the coffee table.”

“Oh? What’s that love?” He yawned.

“Here, open it, slowly now.” I handed him the delicate box.

He straightened how he was sitting, plopping the box into his lap and pulling two plush toys from the box: one a small fox and the other looked like one of his hounds. “Two toys? Is it for the babe?”

“Babes.” I corrected.

“Babes?” He asked, eyes wide.

“Babes.” I nodded.

“Babes!” He cheered

Tears welled in his eyes as he littered my face with kisses until he suddenly pulled back brows furrowed. “How did you get these? You didn't go into town did you?” 

I snorted at his protective nature. “No, I had Nicoden go and fetch them for me after we found out so I could surprise you.”

“Remind me to give him a bonus.” Eris growled out to me with a smile on his face as he pulled me into a sloppy kiss.

I took the toys from him and sat them softly back into the box, he pouted at me but cut himself off by yawning. “Alright Eris darling I do believe it is time for bed. We are all tired.” 

Eris stood motioning for me to wait and took  a few steps forward as he yawned, the fangs that grew when he became high lord flashing in the firelight. My eyes raked over his body as he began unbuttoning his dress shirt, tossing it in the basket the laundress would take in the morning. 

He looked over at me with a feline-like grin on his face. “Do you want to change into anything love?”

I nodded and watched as he kicked the heeled shoes he wore into their place beside the door. “Can I get my  black nightgown? The silk one?” 

He nodded and stepped into the walk-in closet coming back out with my gown over his shoulder, he had changed into loose silk pants that matched said gown and tossed his slacks into the basket. 

“This one right?” He held it up for me to see and when I nodded he sat it on the foot of the bed.

He walked over to me , helping me slowly stand and he escorted me to the bed; I held onto one of the four posters as he helped me out of my daily wear and into the silk sleeping gown. When we were both satisfied with the level of comfy we were at, he helped me into the bed and under our covers; he rounded the bed to crawl into his own side, though he was quick to curl up around me with his hand on my stomach and he was out like a light the second I dismissed the faelights. 

The rest of the pregnancy was rather uneventful, but when the babes decided to come several days early they made up for the lack of excitement. Eris had been in a meeting with Rhys, Azriel, Cassian, and the rest of the inner circle discussing heightening defenses for the babes ceremonies and the ball that would be hosted in their honor when they decided to come; while I was simply being helped up from my bed by Madja, who had made her home in the autumn court a week before the babes birth to be prepared for them, to go to the bathroom. I had stood and  only taken a couple of steps when my water had broken and Madja told me not to worry, summoning Nicoden who quickly prepared the room for the birth faster than I could blink. Madja had written to my mate and brothers, informing them of the upcoming labors and invited them to sit outside the room but due to the protective natures males got over their mates and spawn were not allowed inside till after everything was completed; Madja helped me into a birthing gown and into bed while Nico summoned the gaggle of top of the line healers he and Madja had picked, in total there was about 6 healers counting Madja and Nico in the room that evening.  It had been a rough labor due to tears and cuts from the wings on one of the babes; the smaller of the two ,a male, had a pair of wings equal to the size of his body and the talon of his wing had caught wrong on his way out and cut into me but thankfully my body healed it rather quickly. The blood made the labor seem worse than it was, after the first of the twins, a large wingless female, was out the rest was rather easy until the smaller twin’s wing caught. Madja was focused on me while Nico focused on the babes health, one nurse I remembered as Madja’s apprentice from Velaris was constantly monitoring my vitals, another was at my side dabbing my brow with a wet cloth, one was helping Nicoden with the babes and the final one was stood off to the side writing down whatever he was told too.  

Eventually both babes and myself had been cleared, Nico passed them both to me and they curled up right against my chest. Madja had all the nurses off to one side as she and Nico magiced the room clean, a talent I noted I would so have to learn soon.  Nico and Madja exchanged looks to each other before both nodded and Nicoden cracked the door open, stepping out to talk with my mate and family. When he came back in, Eris followed, peeking his head in, his eyes fell on me and the babes and I watched as they teared up; he took a few steps into the room softly shutting the door so it wouldn’t wake either sleeping babe and crawled onto the bed beside me. He sat very patiently beside me, his eyes sparkling with tears as he watched the two babes sleep and cling to their plush toys. The nurses, Nicoden, and Madja all dipped into the hall with my family to give us space. 

I nodded towards the babe on my left side where he sat”Your daughter, hold her Eris.” 

“My… daughter?” His voice cracked and I watched the tears start rolling down his face.

“Yep, she was the first born.” He looked up at me, the complete adoration in his features was the biggest indication of how he was feeling. 

“Oh! The mother has blessed us.” He mumbled and sniffled, looking back down at her.

He rocked her gently and she opened her eyes, his bright golden ambers, she cooed and giggled up at him. “Well hello there.” He cooed right back at her, booping her little nose with his finger.

She grasped onto his finger and he looked up at me and looked like he was about to burst at the seams with tears. “Ohhhh Eris!” I mused at them softly.

“Seraphina? For her name?” He asked with a whimper.

“I like it, Seraphina she is then.” I smiled at him, he leaned in to give me a kiss. 

“What about your son Eris? Would you like to hold him too?” I asked softly, and he nodded swiftly.

He placed Seraphina back into my arms and took the tiny male from my arms, he fit perfectly in the palm of Eris’s hand and when Eris realized how small he was he broke into tears.

“He’s so tiny, love… He fits in my hand.”I could see the tears run down his cheeks as he held the tiny winged male close. 

“Eris, love, its okay.  Nothings wrong with him.” I cooed to him.

“He’s just so tiny… What if I hurt him?” he mumbled and sniffled.

“You would never Eris, I know that. You are a gentle and patient male, you can do this.” I mused, extending my free hand to his cheek.

He looked up at me, eyes sparkling with tears. “You name him, I named her.” 

I hummed considering a few options before I finally spoke. “Orius?” It's the name of one of the stars above Velaris.” 

He nodded softly “Orius and Seraphina, our babes, by the mother.” 

He held Orius close and sobbed, fully sobbed. “Eris love, what's wrong?”

“What if I can’t do this? What if I turn out just as bad as Beron? I can't do that to them, look at how precious they are!” His voice cracked as he confided in me.

“Eris,” I called to him softly, my voice barely above a whisper in the intimate setting. “ What did I say about your fear of becoming Beron?”

He hiccuped as he tried to suck in a breath. “That my fear of becoming Beron, is what will keep me from becoming Beron and will help me become a better father than he was?”

I smiled at him and yawned softly. “Exactly, I know you Eris Vanserra and I know you will be the best you can be for me and for them now too.”

I pulled him into a kiss and he managed to pull himself together just enough to thank me. “Think you can handle your family or are you too exhausted?” 

“I can handle them, if I get too tired I’ll just fall asleep with them here.  They can’t blame me.” I joked and he snorted.

He waved his hand towards the door and snapped, it swung open softly on its hinges and I watched as everyone realized they were invited in. Azriel was the first through the door and the first to my side, the rest of the circle lounged in various seats around the room. Nyx had gone with Madja and Nico so his mother and father could meet the newest editions, but he was still a babe himself so he simply slept in the older female's arms while they made their way back to Nicoden’s office. 

I passed off Seraphina to Azriel, his eyes welling up as he looked her over. She was bright eyed and curious, cooing away at him.

“Meet your niece Az.” I yawned and Eris moved up the bed to sit against the propped up pillows with me. 

“Well hello there mam.” Azriel whispered at the small female who shook her little fist at him.

I yawned and nuzzled into Eris, I fell asleep rather quickly exhausted from the birth but now comfortable enough with my family around to relax. Everything was going to be okay, I had Eris and we had our Seraphina and Orius. Eris’s spiced cinnamon scent was like a lullaby as I drifted off into dreamland imagining what our future would look like from here on out. No matter what the pros and cons ended up being, I was happy they resolved the way they did, everyone together celebrating.

Taglist: @minaethrym, @melsunshine

[comphy-and-cozy]

Fourth Down Conversion - Brady Skjei

Pairing: NFL!Brady Skjei x cheerleader!Reader (f)

Summary: On the sidelines underneath bright stadium lights, a spark flickers between Tennessee Titans star quarterback, Brady Skjei, and you, a cheerleader for the team.

Word Count: 4.7K

Author's Note: Written for @jxmieoleksiaks for @wyattjohnston's Winter Fic Exchange! Hope you enjoy this dive into this AU with everyone's favorite All-American quarterback! Inspired by @smileysvech's NFL Brady moodboard.

Warnings: Mature content (semi-public blowjob), alcohol use, persistent man pursuing a woman, maybe a little too much world building. The standard sexism/sexualization of women that comes with professional cheerleading, etc.

← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

Brady Skjei has everything: Money, fame, talent, devastating good looks. As the star quarterback for the Tennessee Titans, it’s safe to say that he is a man that women want to be with and who other men want to be. Since having a record-setting college career culminating in a National Championship title and a Heisman trophy, he’s continued to excel in the NFL: 2 MVPs and one Super Bowl ring to his name, with the expectation of more to come in the coming years.

His 6-bedroom mansion in Belle Meade is decadent. Luxury marble countertops, a fully stocked wine cellar, and a home cinema satisfy his extravagant lifestyle, known for hosting excellent celebration parties. He’s got a team the size of a small youth soccer team that services his house, cooks his meals, and keeps him in top physical shape in his state-of-the-art basement gym. In essence, his life is pretty close to perfect.

But he doesn’t have a girl.

And not for lack of options—being Brady Skjei certainly has its perks. With Instagram models fawning over themselves, desperate for a chance to be his arm candy for even just a night, he merely has to flash his ovary-bursting smile to win women over. He’s had rumored (but never confirmed) flings with no less than two top tier celebrities, the gossip columns frequently spotlighting the handsome quarterback, his face plastered across glossy magazine covers in grocery stores. 

But the truth is, because of his travel schedule and lifestyle, it’s hard for him to casually date. And even if he could, half of the girls in his dating pool only want him for clout. At first, it was nice, even fun, to have his pick of virtually any girl he wanted. But after a few years of it all, he’s started to grow bored of the same desperate, too-eager act. He doesn’t really have the energy or the time to distinguish between the authentic ones and the ones seeking five minutes of fame, so it’s easier to stay single-adjacent, earning himself the unofficial title of playboy millionaire. 

The upcoming season will be Brady’s second in Nashville, his seventh in the league, and all eyes are on the Titans, expected to challenge for a title in the postseason. His first season in Nashville, the team made a playoff run for the first time in nearly ten years. There’s a buzz in the city, his name becoming synonymous with something akin to the savior of the state of Tennessee sports.

For you, a three-year veteran on the Titans Cheerleading team, it means tighter expectations, smaller margins of error, and an increased demand for perfection. You’re fortunate to have a remote job that affords you a flexible schedule, allowing you to spend extra time at the studio practicing or at the gym training. It’s exhausting, albeit exciting.

You’ve chatted with Brady a few times, but only surface-level, having seen each other around the Titans’ practice facility from time to time. Enough for you to be somewhat comfortable in his presence, but never enough for you to expect him to remember—or even know—your name, let alone approach you and say hello.

But here he is all the same, greeting you as you sit cross-legged on the ground, your small sewing kit beside you. He frowns at the sight of you sewing in additional padding around the inner hem of your sequined uniform. “What are you doing?”

You tie off the last thread and flip the top right side out to inspect it and ensure there are no visible signs of your doctoring. “I have to add in padding because the sequins cut into my sides.”

“They cut you?”

“Sometimes it makes me bleed on a bad day.”

Brady’s eyebrows crease. “Your uniforms aren’t made in a way that won’t hurt you?”

“The uniforms are made for male entertainment,” you say with a matter-of-fact shrug. It’s true—you’re more than aware of the fact that being under the male gaze is part of your life, part of your job. You accepted that fact a long time ago; you might as well take advantage of your youth and fast metabolism while you can.

“That uniform was made for guys like me.”

It’s a bold statement, one that takes you a moment to recover from. You zip up the case containing your sewing kit and toss it, along with your uniform, back into your bag before you stand and lock eyes with him. If he’s going to be bold, then so are you. “Brady, what are you doing?”

“Wanted to ask you out on a date.” He says it casually, like he had just been walking by when the idea struck his fancy. Like it isn’t completely out of the blue.

Your eyes roll. You watch the way his eyes trail over the Nike Pros you know are just a little too short, gaze traveling down your freshly self-tanned leg. His eyes move back up to meet yours, the dark umber glittering at you along with an expectant smile. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little cliche?”

“What is?”

Your eyebrow raises, conscious of the way you kneel—not bend over—to tug your gym bag off the floor. “The cheerleader and the football player?”

A feline smirk crawls its way onto his face. He’s even more handsome with a smile. “It’s a classic.”

“Goodbye, Brady.”

You’re in sweatpants on your couch, splitting a bottle of wine with two of your teammates. Love Island is playing on the television when your phone buzzes beside you. The red alert notifying you of a new Instagram message has you swiping to read it, the blue checkmark catching your attention.

[bradyskjei:] Call me when you’re ready to take a chance. 555-890-4392.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way your pulse thumps a little quicker in your throat. It’s no longer just a passing fancy, akin to an intrusive thought that takes over; he’d taken the time to look up your Instagram and send you a message to reaffirm his interest. The thought makes you shiver.

Not only is it quite literally written in your contract, but it goes against your moral compass to entertain the thought, the boundary of not sleeping with your colleagues a firm one for you. He isn’t really a colleague, you tell yourself, not technically, anyway. Either way, it’s a little taboo, and the idea of sneaking around tempts your daring side.

But he also scares you. Not just because of his celebrity, though the idea of being in that level of spotlight is intimidating, too. His reputation isn’t anything you’re interested in; you don’t want to get involved with gossip columns and celebrity drama. It’s also his larger-than-life persona, his lifestyle so much bigger than anything—or anyone—you know.

But you can’t deny that you’re attracted to him.

You don’t reply, assuming that he’s got much more important things to do than check if you’ve seen his DM. But another hour goes by and you see another message.

[bradyskjei:] left on read? ouch.

Part of you is annoyed by the double text, the insistence despite your clear lack of interest—men—but another part of you recognizes his persistence as his way of showing you he really is interested. You’re sure he’s never been told ‘no,’ but there’s something about him that doesn’t make you turn away in disgust. He could have his pick of any girl he wants, and yet here he is, spending his time messaging you and noticing that you’ve read it and not responded.

Your response is simple: “I’m not interested in being a play thing.”

[bradyskjei:] What if I’m not interested in having a play thing?

Admittedly, your curiosity does ring—what does that mean? You stare at the screen, at the electronic keyboard, searching for something to say. Nothing comes, and you decide that no reply is a reply in itself.

Week 9 of the Titans’ schedule is a home game and it’s against the Ravens, one of two other opponents who remain undefeated. There’s an air in the city, a palpable, infectious energy, that’s seeped into every building, street, and stoplight. Having your life revolve around the team, feeding off of their success and contributing to the atmosphere in the stadium, it’s hard not to let that contagious excitement flutter in your chest. You’re a genuine Titans fan, rooting for the success of the team.

So when Brady throws a career-high 4 touchdowns, you find yourself leaping in the air beside your teammates as the whistle is blown and the field is flooded by reporters and players converging in the middle to shake hands. It’s been weeks since he last tried to pursue you, but at the moment, you’re just like every other Nashville resident, and you’re ecstatic that the best football player in the world is on your team.

By the time you’re done packing up your things in the cheerleaders’ locker room, your heart rate has returned to normal. Slipping on an oversized sweatshirt, you sling your Adidas bag over your shoulder and bid goodbye to the few girls left in the room. Brady Skjei is on your mind as you walk out into the lobby, that handsome, heart-melting smile like a fucking teenage heartthrob.

Which is why your heart does a triple flip when you see him walking down the opposite hallway. He turns his head at the sound of your footsteps, a grin breaking out onto his face when he realizes it’s you. “Guess it really is my lucky night.”

Your smile is coy, but you can’t fight the real smile that blooms at the way he beams. There’s a light in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from his exhilarating night. “Congratulations, Brady. It was a hell of a game.”

“Thank you,” he says. You like the way he says it, like he’s so genuinely grateful for your compliment. It surprises you, the peek into the real him, the one that’s beneath the big grins and Nike commercials. “Heading home?”

You nod. 

There’s a brief air of hesitation, gone so quick you thought you imagined it. Then he asks, “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

“You want me to go out in downtown Nashville, in the city where you just had a huge milestone game and your name is the only thing everyone’s talking about?” You can’t help the incredulous tone of your voice or the pointed look you give him.

He smiles, letting the indirect accolades roll off as if they don’t mean anything to him. Maybe they don’t. “Does that mean you’d be talking about me too?”

You ignore his chide. A vision of flashing cameras, trending hashtags, and an inbox full of hate messages from jealous Instagram models passes through your mind, a dread filling your gut. You’re not ready for that. Not for a few hours with a man you barely know.

“I’m really not in for a crowd,” you say, turning to walk away. It’s the truth, but part of you—you’re really not sure which—wonders if you shouldn’t have rejected his advances. What if you did have a connection? 

You only get to take one step before he’s calling after you again.

“What do I have to do to get you to give me a chance?”

You pause, thinking. Then you turn and smile. “Win a Super Bowl. Then we’ll talk.”

Brady is preoccupied all night, constantly surrounded by teammates, friends, family, and beautiful girls. If he remembers your unofficial promise, or intends to act on it, he doesn’t show it; you don’t even get the chance to talk to him amidst the celebration. You don’t hear from him at all, so you assume your lack of interest has caused his own to dwindle, writing you off as a lost cause and moving on to the next target.

About a week after the Super Bowl, you’re at the stadium clearing out your locker in the dressing room. The deep, familiar voice comes from behind you.

“I won the Super Bowl.”

When you turn around, Brady Skjei, Super Bowl MVP is standing in the open doorway. He’s sporting joggers and an expensive-looking sweatshirt, and you wonder what he’s doing at the stadium.

“You did,” you say, not trying to hide the grin that grows on your face. “Congratulations, Brady. You—you’re… really special to watch.”

He looks surprised at your genuine compliment, and he blinks. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating?”

His smirk is wicked, eyes flicking down to your leggings. “What if I want to celebrate with you?”

God damn, is he smooth. Against your own will, you feel your heart pulse a little bit faster. “Me, huh?”

“Who wouldn’t want to celebrate with the prettiest girl in Nashville?” 

“Laying it on pretty thick, aren’t you, Skjei?”

“Just telling the truth,” he says with a wink; you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Then, “How do you like dive bars?”

Pausing, you allow your eyebrows to raise before looking back at him. “All that pining and now you’re okay with our first date being at a dive bar?”

“Who said anything about a date?” he says, winking, then grinning at the expression on your face.

Twenty minutes later, you’re stepping hesitantly out of his truck (that costs more money than you have in your savings account) and walking through the door he opens for you. Your self-preservation radar is blinking as you take in the seedy bar, but Brady’s large, looming presence at your back comforts you. The bar isn’t empty, but it is definitely a dive: dim lighting, a neon Miller Light sign on the wall right beside the ‘Cash Only’ sign written in sharpie, and well-worn barstools create a dingy ambience. The bartender doesn’t look up at the opening of the door, but he does nod in familiarity when Brady approaches the bar. You wonder how in the world he knows about this place. 

From the booth you settled in, you watch the two exchange a few words before the bartender sets off to grab the two Bud Lights that he hands him. Back across from you, he slides one bottle across the table at you. He offers the lip of his bottle in a silent toast, which you clink yours against before you take a drink.

“Not so bad, huh?”

“How do you even know about this place?” you laugh incredulously. 

“Been coming here since I moved here,” he explains. “Tom—the owner—was one of the few people who didn’t treat me like this huge elephant in the room. It was the only place I could be just… Brady.”

You cast your eyes down, gaze tracing over the initials carved into the wood of the table. You were guilty of doing exactly what he said; making him into someone larger than he is, letting the weight of his name make your decisions about him before even giving him a chance. 

“It comes with the territory,” he says, like he can sense your guilt. “Everyone does it.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I am the savior of Nashville sports,” he says with a cheeky grin, and just like that, any discomfort has dissipated, clearing the air in an instant. Then he asks, “How long have you lived in Nashville?”

At first, you hesitate, debating with yourself how much of yourself you want to reveal to him. You look into his eyes, trying to determine how interested he really is. They glitter as he looks at you, that handsome, all-American charm radiating over his features. But beneath that, you see sincerity, almost a pleading look—maybe for you to just give him a tiny bit of leeway. 

“Four years. I’ve been on the cheer team for three,” you ultimately say. 

“Dancer?”

Your eyes narrow. True, it isn’t far-fetched to know that the majority of professional cheerleaders have a background and training in dance, but you’re suspicious of how he knows it. Does he know because he’s been around them since being thrust into the world of the NFL, or did he have a more intimate knowledge?

“My sister’s a cheerleader,” he says with a shrug. You get the strange sense he was reading your thoughts. “And, believe it or not, I am capable of making friends that are female.”

“Can you blame me for my suspicion?” 

Another broad grin. “Only a little.”

Conversation comes easier than you expect. Turns out, you have more in common than you thought, and in addition to being handsome and talented and successful, he’s also got funny on his resume. He tells you about his sister, his dogs, and how he typically spends his offseasons. The longer he talks, the more you realize he really is just a normal guy beneath a public persona and 8.1M Instagram followers. 

Bit by bit, he breaks down the brick wall you’ve constructed around yourself, your hesitance around getting to know him evaporating with each laugh that he pulls from your lips. It surprises you how nice it is to see him like this; it makes you feel special that he’s comfortable enough to peel back a few layers with you. You wonder how many people get to see this version of Brady.

And good lord is he handsome. You’ve never really had much of an opportunity to speak with him up close; you never noticed the scar on his chin, the ridge in his nose, or the freckle on his jawline. Sitting across from him, he looks at you like you’re the only person left in the world, not seeming to notice the handful of other patrons in the bar or their lingering stares. 

Being the center of his attention, the subject of his attentive gaze, is intoxicating.

“Man, you are so out of my league,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle, leaning back against the cushion back of the booth. He shakes his head like he knows he’s in trouble. Even in the dim lighting, his cheeks are tinged with pink.

You can’t help the laugh that barks out in response. “You realize who you are, right?”

“I do.”

“And that you’re quite literally in the biggest sports league in the world?”

He nods, that same sincere look in his eyes as before. “I think you’re insanely beautiful. And talented. And funny. Unless you’re a serial killer, you’re the perfect catch.”

The joke creates an easy opportunity for a laugh, but you find your heart fluttering at his words. As much as you’d like to be immune to the weight of a compliment coming from Brady Skjei, it’s easier said than done. Satisfaction and humility bubble up inside you against your will, and you smile and thank him shyly. It isn’t lost on you that it’s exactly what people say about him.

When you told Brady you’d get one drink with him, you really meant it. But even your impenetrable fortress isn’t immune to his charm; three drinks later, you find yourself pressed against the passenger door of Brady’s car while he mouths at your jawline. His lips are hot against your skin, heating radiating through your body while they trail fire over your neck. A soft moan escapes your lips—it feels so fucking good, so good that you can barely even bring yourself to care that you’re in the middle of the parking lot getting felt up by NFL superstar Brady Skjei.

Your hand clutches onto his bicep, another gasp escaping when his teeth sink gently into your skin. His tongue caresses the sting, finding a tandem that earns another rush of pleasure down your spine. The space between your legs is hot in your leggings, your center seeking out his firm leg; you feel the smirk against your neck before he nudges his knee between your thighs.

His groan rumbles against you when your hips begin to grind yourself against him, creating the friction you desperately need. Soon enough, you’re whimpering shamelessly with his large hand—the one that throws the football—groping at the flesh of your ass to guide you along.

“C’mon,” he murmurs against your lips. “Lemme see you.”

The heat formulates in you faster than you expect, exploding at the apex of your thighs as you cry out. Almost immediately, his hand claps over your mouth to cover the sound, an amused laugh on his face at what he’s done to you, unable to control your own scream. His breathing is almost as heavy as yours when he curses in your ear. “Fuck, baby.”

Your lips are damp from where they were locked with his, feeling slightly swollen as you smile at him when he pulls away, opening the door for you and offering his hand to help you inside the car. “I’ll take you back.”

When he settles back into the driver’s seat, he turns to look at you with a smile before he puts his seatbelt on. Maybe it’s the beer or maybe it’s the fire he lit inside of you, but something makes your hand reach out to stop him, instead leaning over the center console to kiss him hotly. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, accepting your kiss eagerly and allowing you to brush your hand over his thigh. At first, it lingers on the inside just above his knee, but the return of his tongue to your mouth encourages it to draw higher.

Brady’s breath hitches in his throat when your palm comes up to press against the firm bulge beneath his zipper. You like knowing you have an effect on him, like the way he releases a sigh when you apply a little pressure and squeeze him. 

“Can I?” Your question is a purr in his ear, fingers toying with the waistband of his joggers.

“You want to get your hands on me before I get to touch you? That’s criminal,” he says.

“Guess you gotta work harder than that,” you tease, liking the power you have over him when his dick is in your hand. 

His response is simply a groan, followed by a conceding nod, lifting his hips to help you shimmy his joggers down his legs. It’s a bit cramped in the car, but all you’re focused on is the sizable erection that springs free. Headlights turn on in the parking lot, illuminating the road beside you, and you keep a normal expression even as your hand wraps around his length—you’d almost forgotten that someone could very realistically catch you here, in the act. 

He’s warm, soft skin over the very hard appendage. Your fist begins to stroke, earning a lower groan from him. Glancing over, you smile at the way his eyes close; it amuses you that Brady Skjei, one of America’s most eligible bachelors, is falling apart over a handjob in a dive bar parking lot. 

When you lower your mouth to his tip, allowing your lips to ever so gently brush the head, you look up at him in another silent question.

Brady practically whines. “Now you get to taste me before I get to even touch you?”

“You already tasted my lips,” you say, fully aware of the innuendo. His answering grumble makes your lips curl up on your face. 

His tip is warm, soft against your lips, a dribble of precum leaking out that you catch with your tongue. He’s firm in your mouth, and you find yourself pleased at the physical evidence of his attraction to you. The guttural sound that leaves his throat is motivation to take him further, working your lips around his length.

Nothing about sucking Super Bowl Champion Brady Skjei’s dick in the parking lot of a seedy dive bar is normal, or even remotely how you anticipated your evening would go. But now that you’re here, something inside of you is determined to see it through—if he wants to be a simp, you’re going to give him a reason to be a simp.

Unlike most other men, he has a body part that’s more prized than his penis, but you’re willing to bet that it’s a close second on the list. So you worship him, giving each inch the attention it deserves. Judging by the white knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel, his other hand tangled in your hair to keep it out of your way, you’re confident he approves of your performance.

He grunts out a warning before he finishes, and afterwards, he opens the glove box to fish out a handful of fast food napkins—celebrities, they’re just like us!—and offers you one to help clean up your mouth. “I think I’m in love. D’you want to get married?”

You laugh. “I have to say, a marriage proposal is quite the endorsement.”

“I have a lot to endorse,” he says. “God, you’re perfect.”

Brady drives you back to your car at the arena, one of three vehicles left in the staff parking garage—perhaps the cleaning crew, given how late it is—and he looks at you when he puts the car in park beside yours. “You gonna give me your number this time?”

“I have your number,” you say with a smile. You’re not sure what the last little bit of resistance left in you—you just sucked the guy’s dick in a dive bar parking lot, for Christ’s sake—but it’s what takes the driver’s seat and puts up one last layer of defense.

He smiles back, unbothered by your antics. “I’d like to see you again.” “I’m sure you would,” you reply with a smile, casting a glance down at his lap and earning a chuckle from him. 

“I’m serious. A date. Nothing physical. I have to prove to you that it’s not all about that for me.”

You hesitate. “A drink is very different from a date. I could get kicked off the team—”

“I can be discreet.”

“I don’t know, Brady. The consequences are much steeper for me than for you if this goes sideways.”

Brady grimaces—he hadn’t thought of it like that. He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s trying to conjure a magic solution out of thin air. Then he announces, “I’ll take the blame.”

“I’m not sure it works that way,” you say with a sad smile. 

“I won them a Super Bowl. I’m pretty much untouchable,” he continues, and he says it without an ounce of ego behind his words. “Breaking the tiny rule of pursuing a beautiful girl—which there is evidence of, by the way—won’t even be a scratch on my record.”

You consider his words. He had a point. Brady Skjei is untouchable in Nashville, and you do have the evidence proving his interest long before you ever agreed to see him outside of Titans-sanctioned events. Would it actually do anything to save you should things go sideways? You aren’t sure, but you think it has to count for something. 

There’s also the fact that beneath the surface, through your interactions with him, you’ve found he’s kind, funny, and caring. He’s exceeded all expectations, so much so that he had you humping his leg after just a couple of beers. You feel a flutter between your legs at the thought of what he might have you doing after a real date. 

You hate to admit that you’re really intrigued at what a date with Brady Skjei would look like. How it would feel to spend time with him that has a label, an intention. If it’s anything like tonight—simple and fun and easy—it’d be wonderful. Though you’ve tried to ignore it, there’s something there, the hint of a spark. You can’t deny your curiosity to see if it fizzles or flames. 

“Just one date?” you ask, and the grin that forms on his face is wider than the one he had after he won his second Super Bowl ring. 

“That’s all I need.”

[dol-dee]

Monroe the Moribund (They/Them)

Name: Monroe Age: 21 Species: Human (Fox TF) Pronouns: They/Them Height: 197cm (207cm with heels)

"You know what they say- you're never dressed without a shit eating grin" ^^

Fulltime Professional Penthouse Pet</3 A typically spoiled rich kid with a superiority complex, who had a fall from grace. (the superiority complex persists unfortunately)  Monroe’s the bastard child of an affair who got adopted into the family against the cheaters wishes, to serve as a constant reminder and emotional chess piece.They quickly became their step parents prized pet, something akin to a lover, child and a handy bargaining chip whenever some palms needed to be greased or a deal needed to be sweetened. Doltown is not a good place for anyone but the rich, privileged  and powerful; and Monroe got to find that out intimately- shipped back to the place of their conception and kicked down into the bowels of the town, the instant their step-parent died. Forced into an ever increasing debt. A parting gift by their remaining parent for a torturous slow demise.

They're annoyingly charismatic and charismatically annoying. A vain piece of work who has trouble connecting with people, despite being practically surrounded by them at all times. A known menace, mooch, flirt and a prolific liar who lies.

Extremely prideful with a very utilitarian view of people. They’re the type of person who views everyone but a few exceptions as unimportant background characters with no internal lives. And determines someone's worth by their relevance in the different social ecosystems they frequent.

Monroe is Dee’s overgrown pet fuckboy, situationship, quasi-family and alleged best friend all rolled into one- who also unwittingly mated to her the second the fox transformation got forced onto them. They spend most of their time away from doltown, practically vanishing into thin air for weeks or even months at a time. Purposefully keeping Dee in the dark in regards to their work as a live-in sugar baby, managing the pathological antics of whichever high net-worth individual is willing to pay the exorbitant rates required to fund their continued survival. 

Fun Facts!

Prideful cunt that will take the bit too far, always

Generally pretty unflappable because youre less than nothing in their eyes

Depersonalizes people by exclusively using pet names or nicknames for them. Dee is one of the only people who has the privilege of being called by her name.

probably bailey's top earner and thus afforded more protection (practically untouchable),..But only as long as they keep being useful

worked at a host club and as a model before becoming a fulltime sugar baby

touchy mf. Not to keen on being touched themself but anyone else is fair game

Shit at fighting, good at dodging- slippery like an eel

Developed chronic pain thanks to the mating bond

suppresses the fox tf as much as possible and purposefully ignores it. Yes they turned compartmentalization into their personal sport, thanks for asking

Has an Eating Disorder

Assumes they have a low life expectancy and is making the most of it

they love annoying and unsettling people. They need to be charming and courteous 24/7 usually so they enjoy being a menace to anyone they know is/deem as - unimportant. It Also serves as a sort of test to see who sticks around.

scar on their nose and neck, both from attempts on their life

has their own little spy network. They mainly use it to keep track of Dee- Her schedule and anyone who's getting close to her. They check the Orphan roster semi-regularly to keep track of most of the Orphans as well. Just in case.

Loves to watch Dee eat. Weirdo

Got their Room privileges revoked a while ago due to their frequent absence and thus stays with Dee whenever they're back in town (despite having an apartment they could return to)

Hands out money to other orphans like candy. it makes them look better

They dress provocatively as a form of protection. If someone left scars or bruises it would be easy to see

their debt is ever increasing thanks to their remaining parent, who pays hefty sums to Bailey to ensure Monroe will slowly be ground into dust

Lover of Fashion, trashy movies and smut books

[withthecolorizedkennedys]

could you write a president jack x reader smut 🥹

35,000 Feet

synopsis: you’ve spent months resisting the president, keeping things strictly professional, but at 35,000 feet, your resolve starts to nosedive.

word count: 2.5k

pairing: john f. kennedy x reader

rating: 18+; includes depictions of semi-public sex and vaginal sex

author's note: i just realized i spelt synopsis wrong in all my previous posts fml

The hum of Air Force One's engines provided a constant backdrop to your thoughts as you made your way down the narrow corridor. The plane was quieter at this hour—most of the staff had retreated to their designated areas to catch what little rest they could before landing in Berlin.

You checked your watch: 11:42 PM.

When the call had come through to your cabin phone, you'd nearly ignored it. "The President needs those polling numbers from Pennsylvania before we land," his secretary had said, voice clipped with efficiency. You knew it was bullshit. Those numbers weren't due until next week, and Kennedy had never once requested them ahead of schedule.

For three months, you'd managed to maintain a professional distance. Three months of strategy meetings where his eyes lingered on your mouth while you presented policy briefs. Three months of "accidental" brushes in narrow doorways, his hand finding the small of your back as he let you pass. Three months of late-night discussions that veered dangerously close to personal territory before you'd excuse yourself, citing early meetings.

You weren't naive. John F. Kennedy's reputation with women was as well-documented as his political acumen. You'd seen the way he looked at you from day one—that particular focus he reserved for challenges that intrigued him. And God help you, you'd wanted him too, right from the start. But you'd worked too hard to get here, climbing through ranks of men who assumed your degree was merely decorative. You wouldn't throw it away for a presidential conquest, no matter how tempting.

So you'd kept your distance. Kept conversations professional. Ignored the heat that spread through your body when he rolled up his sleeves during late-night strategy sessions. Pretended not to notice when his hand lingered on yours while passing documents.

But tonight felt different. The air in the plane seemed charged, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. Your knock on his private office door sounded unnaturally loud.

"Come in."

The office was dimly lit, just his desk lamp casting a warm glow across the polished wood. Kennedy sat behind his desk, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened. He didn't look up immediately when you entered, instead finishing whatever he was writing with deliberate strokes of his pen.

"You wanted the Pennsylvania numbers, Mr. President?" You kept your voice neutral, professional.

He set his pen down slowly, finally raising his eyes to meet yours. "Close the door."

You hesitated, hand still on the doorknob.

"Please." The word wasn't a request.

The door clicked shut behind you. Kennedy stood, moving around his desk with that fluid grace that belied his chronic back pain. He leaned against the front edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

"We both know I didn't call you here for polling numbers."

Your throat went dry. "Sir, if there's nothing you need—"

"There is." He pushed off from the desk, closing the distance between you in two easy strides. "You've been avoiding me."

"I've been doing my job."

"Brilliantly." His mouth quirked up at one corner. "That's not what I'm talking about."

You took a step back, feeling the door press against your spine. "Mr. President—"

"Jack." He placed one hand on the door beside your head, effectively caging you in. "When we're alone, I want you to call me Jack."

His proximity was intoxicating. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with something uniquely him—clean skin, fine wool, the barest hint of whiskey on his breath. You could see the faint stubble beginning to shadow his jaw, the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes.

"This is inappropriate," you managed, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Is it?" His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. "Tell me you haven't thought about it. Tell me you haven't wondered."

Your pulse hammered in your throat. "What I've thought about doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." His voice dropped lower, intimate. "I've watched you for months. The way you hold yourself back. The way you leave rooms when conversations get too personal. The way you flinch—just slightly—when I touch you. Not because you don't want it, but because you want it too much."

His accuracy was unnerving. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "We work together."

"We do a lot of things together." His thumb traced the outline of your bottom lip. "Working is just one of them."

"Sir—Jack—" You corrected yourself, trying to regain control of the situation. "This can't happen."

"It's already happening." His eyes held yours, intense and uncompromising. "It's been happening since the moment you walked into my office three months ago and told me my Cuba strategy was shortsighted."

The memory made heat rise to your face. You'd been new then, still trying to prove yourself, and you'd spoken without thinking. Instead of firing you, he'd laughed—a genuine laugh—and asked you to elaborate.

"I respect you too much to lie to you," he continued. "I want you. I've wanted you from the beginning. And you want me too." His hand moved to your waist, fingers splaying possessively. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll step back. We'll never speak of this again."

The challenge hung in the air between you. You could deny it—should deny it—but the lie stuck in your throat. His proximity was overwhelming, breaking down the carefully constructed walls you'd built.

"You're not wrong," you whispered, the admission feeling like surrender and victory all at once.

Something flashed in his eyes—triumph, desire, relief—before his mouth claimed yours. The kiss was nothing like you'd imagined in your weakest moments. It wasn't gentle or tentative. It was consuming, demanding, his lips insistent against yours as his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

You responded with equal fervor, months of denied attraction erupting in a single moment. Your hands found his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt. He made a sound low in his throat, pressing you harder against the door as his tongue swept into your mouth.

His hand at your waist slid lower, gripping your hip, then your thigh, hiking your skirt up inch by inch. "Tell me to stop," he murmured against your mouth, even as his fingers traced the edge of your stockings.

"Don't stop," you sighed, past the point of professional concern, past the point of caring about anything but the feel of his hands on your body.

He smiled against your lips, a predatory curve you felt rather than saw. "Good girl."

His fingers found the damp center of your underwear, and he groaned when he felt how ready you were for him. "Christ," he muttered, pressing against the fabric. "You've been walking around my plane like this? Soaked through and pretending you don't want me?"

Your head fell back against the door as he pushed your underwear aside, his fingers exploring you with devastating precision. He watched your face intently as he worked, gauging your reactions, learning what made your breath catch.

"Look at you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "So composed in those strategy meetings. So professional. If they could see you now…"

His thumb circled your clit as two fingers pushed inside you, and your hips bucked involuntarily. He captured your gasp with his mouth, kissing you deeply as his hand established a rhythm that had you clutching at his shoulders.

"Jack," you moaned against his lips, feeling yourself climbing rapidly toward release.

He withdrew his hand suddenly, leaving you aching and empty. Before you could protest, he was unbuckling his belt, his movements swift and efficient.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed, bracing your hands against the door as he lifted your skirt to your waist. His hand slid between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward until your cheek rested against the cool wood.

"I've imagined this," he said, positioning himself behind you. "In meetings. During briefings. Watching you present those economic projections last week, all I could think about was bending you over my desk and fucking you until you screamed my name."

The crude language from such a polished man sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. You felt him, hard and insistent, pressing against you.

"Tell me you want this," he demanded, one hand gripping your hip, the other tangled in your hair.

"Yes," you gasped. "God, yes."

He entered you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming—the stretch, the fullness, the knowledge that this was John F. Kennedy, the most powerful man in the world, groaning in pleasure as he buried himself inside you.

He established a relentless pace, each thrust driving you against the door. One hand snaked around to find your clit, circling it in time with his movements. The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear.

"You feel incredible," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your neck. "Better than I imagined. So tight. So perfect."

His words, combined with the persistent pressure of his fingers and the deep, rhythmic thrusts, pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm hit with unexpected force, your inner muscles clenching around him as waves of pleasure coursed through your body.

He groaned at the sensation, his rhythm faltering momentarily before he resumed with renewed vigor. "That's it," he encouraged, working you through the aftershocks. "Let go for me."

As you came down from your high, he withdrew suddenly, turning you to face him. His eyes were dark with desire, his hair disheveled where you must have run your fingers through it.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to his desk, sweeping papers aside with one arm before setting you down on the polished surface.

He pushed you back until you were lying flat, your legs dangling off the edge. Standing between your thighs, he looked down at you with undisguised hunger.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured you like this?" He ran his hands up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher. "Spread out on my desk, waiting for me."

He lowered himself over you, his mouth finding your neck, trailing hot kisses down to the collar of your blouse. With deft fingers, he unbuttoned it, exposing your bra. He made a sound of appreciation before pulling the cup down, freeing your breast to his mouth.

The wet heat of his tongue on your nipple sent fresh arousal coursing through you. You arched into his touch, your hands finding his hair, holding him against you as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other.

When he finally positioned himself at your entrance again, you were desperate for him. He entered you slowly this time, watching your face as he filled you inch by inch.

"Look at me," he commanded when your eyes threatened to flutter closed from the sensation. "I want to see you."

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze as he began to move inside you. This time his pace was measured, deliberate, each thrust deep and purposeful. He maintained eye contact, an unexpected intimacy that was almost more overwhelming than the physical pleasure.

"You're mine now," he said, his voice a low growl. "You understand that, don't you? This isn't just tonight. This isn't just once."

The possessiveness in his tone should have alarmed you, but instead it sent a thrill through your body. You nodded, unable to form words as he hit a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

"Say it," he demanded, slowing his movements to an agonizing pace. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," you gasped, desperate for him to resume his previous rhythm. "Please, Jack—"

Satisfied, he increased his pace, driving into you with renewed intensity. His hand found your clit again, circling it with practiced skill until you were teetering on the edge once more.

"Come for me again," he urged, his own control visibly slipping. "I want to feel you."

Your second orgasm built more slowly than the first, but when it hit, it was even more powerful. You cried out his name, your back arching off the desk as pleasure radiated through every nerve ending.

He followed shortly after, his rhythm becoming erratic as he approached his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he groaned your name, his body tensing as he came inside you.

For several moments, neither of you moved, both catching your breath in the aftermath. He remained inside you, his weight supported on his forearms as he looked down at you with an expression that mingled satisfaction and something deeper, more complex.

Finally, he withdrew, helping you sit up on the edge of the desk. You both adjusted your clothing in silence, the reality of what had just happened settling over you.

"I should go," you said, buttoning your blouse with fingers that weren't quite steady.

He caught your hand, stopping you. "Stay."

"Jack, we can't—"

"Not for that." He smiled, the boyish charm that had won over voters now directed entirely at you. "Though I wouldn't object to a repeat performance once we land in Berlin."

The suggestion sent a fresh wave of heat through you, despite your recent satisfaction. "This is complicated."

"Life is complicated." He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentler now. "This doesn't have to be."

You knew it wasn't true. Nothing involving John F. Kennedy was ever simple. But as he pulled you against him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was surprisingly tender, you decided that complications could wait until morning.

He released you reluctantly, straightening your collar with a proprietary touch. "Get some rest. We land in four hours."

You nodded, moving toward the door on slightly unsteady legs. As you reached for the handle, his voice stopped you.

"That economic briefing tomorrow—wear the blue dress."

You turned, raising an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"

His smile was slow, deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. "It has buttons all the way down the front. Easier access."

The implication was clear. This wasn't a one-time indiscretion—it was the beginning of something. Something reckless, potentially disastrous, but utterly irresistible.

"I'll see what I can do, Mr. President," you replied, unable to suppress a smile of your own.

The blue dress hung in your cabin closet. You'd wear it tomorrow, you decided. After all, who were you to deny the President of the United States?

[lipstick-and-libraries]

Between the Lines

PT. 4

𓋜 Pairing: Minho (XO, Kitty) x fem! Reader

𓋜 Series: The Roommate Exchange

𓋜 Summary: When You and Minho are paired for a class project, unexpected moments of honesty and tension arise. Between late-night conversations and shared silences, you discover that some things are harder to hide than you thought.

𓋜 Notes:

Hello my loves!!

I know that I take a while to upload, however, i fully intend to finish this small series and still give you more than just 4 chapters, soo..what would you think about another chapter coming out directly after this as a thank you for everyone who so kindly supports my thoughts that I didnt expect anyone to see.

Anyhow, I hope you guys are fans of slowburn and heartbreak because from now on this rollercoaster will get a little more bumpy, love will do that to you, and especially to You and Minho <3

𓋜 Taglist:

@finnbbl

@literallysza

@knivesdoingcartwheels

@teaandbacon

@dragonwitchy

@formula1mount

@strayk1ds143

@uhsophiesblog

@iweirdthingsblog

@random-human02

@elizabethgracie

@verycoolmiyah

@mintydump

@shiiiii-okayyyy

@munsonsquinn

@tagakalat

@mirahyun

@cultish-corner

A special thank you to everyone on the taglist, i love you guys ꨄ

Please do let me know if i have forgotten you, i keep the names in my notes app so i shouldnt forget anyone but if it happens anyway i am deeply sorry

If you want to be added to the taglist, just put it in the comments, your reposts or in my asks, even if I havent answered I 100% have seen it and added you <33

Enough talking from my side though, enjoy you study date with Minho

The buzz from the creative showcase announcement still lingered around KISS like an unspoken challenge. Posters were plastered on every wall, reminding students of the looming event hosted by none other than Minho’s father—a showcase designed to highlight the best talents at the school. For most, it was an opportunity. For Minho, it was a reminder of everything he tried to avoid: expectations, vulnerability, and being seen beyond the carefully curated persona he presented to the world.

But none of that mattered right now.

Because Minho was staring at the name list posted outside his literature class, and there it was—bold and undeniable:

Group Project Partners: Minho & (Y/N)

He blinked, hoping his eyes were deceiving him. They weren’t.

“Wow,” Q’s voice broke through Minho’s silent panic, appearing over his shoulder with an amused grin. “Fate really isn’t subtle, huh?”

Dae chuckled beside him, leaning casually against the wall. “You’ll survive. Maybe.”

Minho shot them both a glare before shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s just a project. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Because every time he was around (Y/N), he turned into the version of himself he didn’t recognize—awkward, uncertain, and far too aware of every glance, every word, every silence. She had this way of looking at him, like she could see past the walls he’d built, and it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

The first meeting was scheduled for the library, an attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Minho arrived early—an unfamiliar habit—but he told himself it was because he wanted to pick the best table. Definitely not because he was nervous.

He chose a spot near the back, where the shelves of books created a semi-private alcove. The table was sturdy, the chairs comfortable, and the lighting just bright enough to work without being harsh. He set his bag down, pulled out his notebook, and tried to focus on the assignment sheet. But his mind kept drifting, replaying every interaction he’d ever had with (Y/N), searching for clues on how to navigate this.

When she finally arrived, balancing her laptop and a stack of books, she gave him a polite nod. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Minho replied, sitting up straighter than necessary. He gestured to the chair across from him. “I figured this spot would be quiet enough.”

“Good call,” she said, sliding into the seat and setting her things down. She opened her laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her face as she pulled up their assignment. “So, any ideas?”

Minho scrambled to focus. “Uh, yeah. Maybe we could… compare themes? Like, how the author explores identity or something.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her expression neutral. “That’s vague.”

“Well, it’s a start,” he muttered defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

She sighed softly, but there was no malice in it. “Okay. Let’s break it down.”

They worked in relative silence, punctuated by occasional questions and the awkward brush of hands when they reached for the same notebook. Minho tried to ignore the way his heart raced at the brief contact, the way her proximity made it hard to think straight. He wasn’t used to feeling this off-balance, and it frustrated him.

But the real shift happened two hours in.

Minho leaned back in his chair, frustrated with a section they couldn’t seem to crack. “This is pointless.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, not looking up from her notes. “The project or your attitude?”

He shot her a look, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes that disarmed him. “Both,” he admitted grudgingly.

She set her pen down and tilted her head, studying him. “Why do you always act like nothing bothers you?”

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got this… façade,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “Like you’ve got everything figured out. But clearly, you don’t.”

Minho’s jaw tightened. “And you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

She shrugged. “No. But you make it pretty easy to see through the act.”

The words stung more than he expected because they were true. He looked away, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge of the table. Before he could respond, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it briefly, then stood. “I need a break. Coffee?”

Minho hesitated, then stood too. “Yeah. Sure.”

The café near campus was quiet. They sat by the glass, sipping their drinks, the tension from earlier lingering like static. Minho stirred his coffee absently, watching the steam rise in delicate swirls.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” (Y/N) said eventually, her voice soft. She stirred her own drink, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid.

Minho stared at his cup. “I’m just used to people assuming things about me, especially because my parents, well, mostly my father, aren't, well.."

He gets quieter with every word, his expression almost showing the hate he has for himself for even mentioning it, or hatred for his father, it was hard for (Y/N) to tell.

"I don’t usually care, but…”

She knew he wasn't going to continue on with the story about his parents, but (Y/N) let him, knowing that if he wanted to, he will bring it up again when he is ready to tell her.

“But?” she prompted gently, her eyes lifting to meet his.

“But you’re not ‘people,’” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended.

She blinked, clearly not expecting that. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Well, that’s vague.”

Minho laughed softly, the tension easing slightly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“You’re not as complicated as you think, Minho,” she added, her gaze steady.

And just like that, the air shifted again.

That night, back in his dorm, Minho couldn’t shake the conversation. He sat at his desk, staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the anonymous blog app.

Dae was scrolling on his phone, and Q was fiddling with his headphones, oblivious to Minho’s internal turmoil. Without overthinking, Minho typed:

“How do you stop caring about what someone thinks of you when they see through you so easily? Asking for a friend.”

He hit send before he could regret it, then tossed his phone aside, burying his face in his hands.

The next project meeting was different.

They worked in her dorm this time, Kitty buzzing around briefly before leaving with a sly, knowing grin. Minho tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the papers spread across the floor. For whatever reason, (Y/N), decided to dress up. Not that it mattered, in Minho's Eyes, she, for whatever reason, wasnt physically capable of ever looking bad anyway. She always looked… effortless.

“Do you ever write just for yourself?” Minho asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

She glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. Minho wondered what that look was about, but decided not to question it for now

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Just curious.”

She hesitated, then reached for a notebook tucked under a pile of papers. “I guess writing helps me make sense of things. Even if no one reads it.”

Minho nodded, understanding more than he wanted to admit. “Yeah. I get that.”

After a pause, she added softly, “It’s scary, though. Being honest on paper.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “But it’s scarier being honest out loud.”

Their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the weight of their shared vulnerability hanging in the air.

"I..", Minho hesitated, his eyes flicking between hers and the wall behind her.

The Room was dim, light enough to see the papers, but dark enough to hide (Y/N)'s quick glance at the subtle twitch in Minho's jaw.

Which is exactly why her next movement caught him so off-guard.

She lifted her hand, placing it on his cheek and softly caressing his jawline with her thumb.

Minho was used to romantic affection and the touches that came with it, with this many people wanting to get atleast a part of you it was like a handshake at best, at least thats what he would usually think.

But this was...something else entirely.

His eyes went wide, looking at her without even attempting to hide it.

She chuckled, giving him a smile before leaning close to him, his eyes quickly switching from her eyes to her lips, only to repeat the same motion.

To his dissatisfaction, she only wrapped her arms around him tightly, rubbing small circles into his back. He hugged her back just as tight, without thinking about it at all

Minho was uncertain, but they almost felt heart shaped. Whether that was just his imagination, or reality, he didnt dare to ponder about it further.

She let go of him, resorting to only grabbing his hand and giving in three subtle squeezes.

Before either of them could break the moment by saying anything, Kitty burst through the door, dramatically complaining about Yuri, effectively shattering the tension.

But it didn’t matter.

Because the only thing he could think about, was how she didnt move her hand, not even by an inch, and to him, it felt like a promise.

[sanjoongie]

𝕺𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖁𝖎𝖓𝖊

A ~Cotton Tails and Simmering Fires~ Chapter

ღA series collab with @starlitmark

ღPairing: Dragon hybrid! Jongho x Bunny Hybrid! Reader (f)

ღGenre: smut

ღAu: hybrid au

ღTrope: poly, established relationship

ღWord Count: 3,697

ღRated: 18+ MDNI

ღWarnings: reader is described as smaller than all members (bunny hybrid), negotiation of scene, bdsm (usage of vines), use of the light system (green, yellow, red) and safe word, praise (with a condescending voice), edging, dom!jongho, sub!reader, oral (f), fingering (f), penetrative sex without a barrier, strength kink, dragon dick, mental aftercare for the dom

ღBeta's: @downtoamagicalland

ღSummary: after a few sessions with Jongho, some healing time with your fluffle, it’s about time that you and Jongho have some personal time together. This time, with no polite stops

ღAuthor’s Note: Hops is drinking the pregnancy prevention tea on the daily because with four boyfriends, you can never prepare enough 😵

ღMasterlist ღPrevious Chapter ღNext Chapter

Feeling refreshed after your in-house spa-cation with your fluffle, you take your bag with a happy sigh. 

Seonghwa slid his hand along your lower back only to cling to your hip. “Feel good to be home, Treasure?”

The black dragon’s scales sparkled wonderfully in the sun beaming through the big living room windows. You moved up on your tiptoes to place an impulsive peck on Seonghwa's cheek but he turned his face so that you kissed his lips instead. 

“Seonghwa!” You screeched goodnaturedly in protest. 

“I’m happy to have you back,” Seonghwa admitted. 

You pressed your head to his chest to hear his steady heartbeat. “You only had a small window between picking me up and your next appointment though, Hwa,” You reminded him. “You gotta go or you’ll get caught up in traffic.”

Seonghwa leaned forward to rub his nose against yours. “I miss you. We need to make some time for just the two of us, hmmm?”

A small, impish smile pulled at your lips. “Maybe I should schedule some time in your chair, hmmm?”

Seonghwa’s eyes went from twinkling lovey dovey, to sharp eyed and silver hued. “Don’t joke about that.” 

“What if I’m not joking?”

Seonghwa pressed his lips together, closed his eyes and breathed in and out. His strawberry jam smell practically pressed up against your olfactory senses, only spiking your own libido. “I’m going to be nursing a hard-on the entire drive to work. I hope you’re happy, you little tease.”

You rocked back and forth on your heels. “Just nurse?”

Seonghwa snarled halfheartedly and your heart skipped a beat by instinct alone. “Bye, Hwa,” You called out sweetly as he practically ripped the door off its hinges and left. 

You hefted your overnight bag and made your way to your room. Having been vacant from your room, it smelled less like you but surprisingly much like your boyfriends. You smiled fondly at the thought of San coming in and rubbing himself like a cat in your nest, just for you to be met with his tangy sea breeze scent. 

You gasped in delight when you found a box and a note on your work desk. It was from Yeosang. Inside the box was a string of dragon and cloud lights that made you chuckle. 

Maybe you can hang these in your room back with your fluffle next time you visit and you can think of us

-Yeosang

“Treasure?” Jongho’s loving tone pulled you out of your reverie of crushing over Yeosang. 

Deciding to drop off your overnight bag near the ensuite laundry room with plans to wash your clothes, you made your way towards Jongho’s bedroom, where his voice had come from. 

You had expected to see Jongho in his semi-professional, typical wear, sitting at his desk, making notes and humming an indiscernible tune. What you were met with was Jongho in a soft sweater and jeans, his red hair parted dashingly, sitting on his bed. He sent you an excited smile that exposed his gums, making your heart skip a beat once again. 

“C’mere, Treasure,” Jongho caressed the spot next to him, “I want to talk to you about something.”

Your nose twitched nervously. “Is everything okay?”

Once you came a few steps closer, Jongho curled an arm around your waist and pulled you down to sit nice and tight beside him. “Everything is fine. This is a serious conversation but you shouldn’t be jumping to bad conclusions. We talked about this.”

You nodded and sighed, attempting to empty out any negativity that was gnawing at your conscience. “I’m ready.”

“I would love to spend some time with you today,” Jongho said. His musky book smell permeates your nose immediately and you quickly realize what kind of time Jongho would like to spend with you.

With your polycule working through some difficulties as of late, you and Jongho had kept it pretty pg 13 between the two of you. You hadn't been in the right headspace to entertain a new sex  partner but Jongho must have judged it might be a good time to try.

“Our first time?” You gnawed at your bottom lip. 

“You can have a foursome with three other boyfriends but still get nervous at the idea of a first time?” Jongho couldn’t help but tease.

You shuddered delicately. Something about the way that Jongho seemed to be praising you but in a condescending tone flat did it for you. “Yes,” You whispered.

“Excited nervousness or anxiety nervousness, Treasure?” Jongho checked in.

“Excited,” You admitted. 

It had become something of a past time, noting the subtle differences between your dragon boyfriends. Something instinctual told you that Jongho would not be a let down.

“There are a few things I would like to speak about then, before we begin,” Jongho said with a fond business-like tone. 

Your ears moved in a satellite motion in curiosity. Of course Jongho would be the first to set boundaries and safewords, but by the way Jongho grabbed your hand and began to caress the back of it, you were feeling like he was nervous as well for what he was about to say. 

“You know I have an affinity for greenery. Although I am in complete control of it, while in the deep throws of making love…” Jongho smiled shyly almost to himself. “...it can have a mind of its own.”

You nodded eagerly. “I know you would never unconsciously hurt me. And I’m not unnerved by the way you have used your affinity since I’ve been a part of the thunder, so I’m okay with that.”

Jongho cleared his throat. “I would like your permission to manhandle you. I don’t plan on slapping or hitting you, in that regard. But I do enjoy using my strength over my partners. That includes pinning them down, moving them in positions I prefer, that sort of thing. Is that acceptable?”

Goosebumps dot your skin and you have the answer. “Yes, Jongho.”

“We will be using the color system. So read means hard-stop, yellow means to slow down or in some cases ‘I need time to consider this’, and green means continue. I’d also like a safeword, even though I don’t think we’ll get to that. I can… push boundaries when it comes to how much my partner can endure, so if you feel that you can no longer take any more teasing, then just utter the word ‘cookie’ and I’ll give you that sweet release you crave.”

You smiled sweetly at the thought of your safeword being the scent that the other’s had described to you. “I can do that,” You agreed.

“From what I understand, your initial introduction to San and Seonghwa was non-negotiated degradation sex, which I know you enjoyed, but you should know I work in a different branch of the same tree. I don’t enjoy being outright mean to my partners but there is an air of judgment. I prefer praising but you will get a sense of that you feel being below me. It’s very specific and I don’t want you to be turned off if I go that route.”

“Jongho,” You said rather huskily.

“Yes, Treasure?”

“Can you kiss me now?” You asked, your tail struggling against your dress. 

Jongho cupped one side of your face, his eyes speaking volumes on how his negotiation speech had turned him on. “I would love to.”

Jongho’s kisses always have had a slip of tongue, though it’s not overbearing. The way he coaxed it against your lips, like it was a little extra perk, made you whimper into his mouth. You moved to tuck your legs under you, to get a bit of a height advantage on the dragon hybrid but that was shot down immediately. Jongho was in charge and in no way would you be dictating anything. Jongho is quick to spin you to your back, pressing you into the bed. His kisses were full of heat but he did nothing more than that, tempting you with the promise of more.

Eventually he broke the liplock, only to kiss and suck a line down your neck. After extracting an agreement that he could mark you up, you felt the love bites bloom along your skin. Your hands meandered to dig your fingers into Jongho’s shoulder blades, needing a purchase to cling to, but even that was too much for Jongho. He moaned at the sensation of pain but you marking him was a matter not discussed and not approved.

“Treasure,” He growled gently, extracting your hands from around his body.

“I need…I need to hold onto something,” You pleaded with him.

Jongho raised your arms above your head, clasping your hands together and then entwining his own hand into yours. “I got you, Treasure.”

Jongho’s lower half pinned your body to the bed, but much to your chagrin, he didn’t use it to grind into you. His attention was solely on leaving marks all over your skin and still the both of you were clothed. Your impatience got the better of you and you started to whine about it.

“Jongho, you’re killing me,” You groaned.

Jongho laughed quietly under his breath. “I have been waiting patiently to do this, Treasure. You won’t rush me. But it’s cute that you can’t wait.”

“You won’t let me touch you,” You whined. “Can’t I have something more?”

Jongho sighed gently. “Those big eyes work on the others, don’t they?” Still, the blue dragon used his free hand to unbutton the top of your dress. You whimpered as the cool air hit your skin. 

Jongho’s eyes darken upon viewing your see-through bralette covering your tits. He could see the shadow of your nipples, however, and it made his hand move to tighten around one of your breasts. 

Your breath came out in a squeak, feeling his strength against your body. “Oh my god.”

“Color?” Jongho said gruffly.

“Green, definitely green,” You squealed.

“I know you said yes to being manhandled but I think I might have to rip this dress off you, Treasure,” Jongho grunted as he continued to squeeze your breast. 

Your breath left you lungs in a rush at how much you approved of the thought. San had bought it for you but what was the cost of another dress when you could experience Jongho becoming so overcome with lust that he ripped your dress? “Please,” You agreed immediately.

Jongho gripped two corners of the collar of your dress, and with a great yank, your dress ripped in literal half. Jongho tossed the leftovers of your dress to the floor and drank in the sight of the pastel green set you had on. Your underwear was also see-through. Jongho’s nostrils flared briefly. 

“What’s this?” His thumb caressed your mound next.

You felt your face heat up. Part of the spa day with your fluffle included getting waxed and groomed. Your pussy was completely hair-free other than a brief patch just above your clit that was in the shape of a heart. “The waxer said it was in style.”

“Treasure,” Jongho let out a low moan. 

You felt movement near your hands and glanced upwards. The vines that decorated Jongho’s headboard were growing and moving to intertwine along your hands and forearms. 

“Do you like it?” You ventured. 

To answer, Jongho pushed your thighs apart and dipped his head between them. His hands pushed down your thighs, keeping them wide open, while admiring your cunt closely. He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled your scent. The room spiked with intensity as Jongho only got more turned on. 

“There’s a wet spot on your underwear,” Jongho said hoarsely. “Are you wet for me?”

“Jongho, I’m drenched,” You whimpered.

“Such a good little bunny for me,” Jongho cooed. He ran a finger up your slit and your hips bucked upwards, finally able to feel some relief. 

“God, Jongho, please!” You moaned, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Jongho’s golden eyes moved up and down your body, taking everything you were offering to him. His index and middle finger absentmindedly moved up and down your slit, stroking and admiring the way your wet spot grew. 

“I could make you wetter,” Jongho offered. Your legs practically snapped shut on Jongho and he chuckled at your immediate response. “But I need to hear what you want.”

You babbled like an eager bunny, mind on only one thing. “Please eat me out. Please stuff me with your pretty fingers. Please hold me down and deny me and show me who is in charge. Please, I want to see my slick on your lips, I want--”

You didn’t go long, fortunately for you, because Jongho couldn't take it either. He wasn’t a complete monster, however, and clearly a fan of your lingerie. So he carefully pulled your underwear off and went to town now that your cunt was laid bare for him.

His tongue plied long licks along your folds, like he was savoring an ice cream cone. He seemed to gather your wetness on his tongue, because his eyes would close and he would hum in content. “You taste so good, Treasure. No wonder your scent is sugar cookies. You are a treat.”

You try to be good for Jongho and keep your hips down on the mattress but the measured, tantalizing licks he was running along your pussy lips was almost too good to not want more. You restricted yourself to clamping down on nothing, a plea building on your lips for more. You needed him in ways that made any of your other boyfriends flee your mind. You only had thoughts of Jongho. 

“Looking at you clenching down for me,” Jongho cooed mockingly. “Do you need me that badly, Treasure?”

“Mmmmm!” You mindlessly agreed. “I need… Jongho!”

“Use your words,” Jongho encouraged you. He took some mercy on you and placed soft, heated kisses on your inner thigh. “It’s so adorable you need me to stop eating you out in order to speak. Are you this dumb for all your boyfriends or do I get that honor solely?”

You felt your skin heat up in embarrassment. This Jongho was magnificent. “Cookies.”

Jongho pouted. “That didn’t take long.”

You struggled slightly in your vine bindings and Jongho’s yellow eyes laser-focused on the way your breasts moved with it. “I need you. Please,” You whined.

Jongho took his time removing his fluffy sweater and jeans. Your sharp intake of breath when his snake tattoo intertwining around his collarbones was revealed made the dragon smirk. The smattering of blue scales, however, dotting his body made you swallow loudly. 

“Jongho, you’re beautiful,” You found yourself saying in awe.

Jongho ducked his head, a shy smile pulling at his lips. “Thank you, Treasure, I truly appreciate that.”

Jongho crawled on the bed and laid his body between your legs once again. His arms bulged as he held himself aloft. You could feel the heat from his skin kissing yours but no amount of skin was actually in contact with your body. Both of your eyes were glued to the lower half of his body, where his cock stood proud against his stomach. 

“You’re going to enjoy this, I think,” Jongho mused out loud. “Want you cute and dumb on my cock.”

You watched with wide-eyed disbelief as Jongho simply canted his hips and his cock head split your pussy lips perfectly with no aid. His hands stayed on your breasts, squeezing. The dragon watched with blown pupils, making his molten gold irises disappear, as your breasts spilled between his fingers.

"That's it, Treasure, take all of me, there's a good girl. You can do it, right? You have three other boyfriend's who stretch you out properly, don’t you? Your pussy is good to all of them. It can be good for me too, can't it?"

The choked moan that falls from your lips sounded desperate even to your well-tuned bunny ears. "Jo-Jongho."

Jongho halted his progress pushing into you and you whined at the even look he sent to you. How is he not going out of his mind with the pleasure the two of you were creating? "Treasure?"

You pushed your lips together, trying to not yap about how you were pretty sure he was ruining you for the others. "Your cock is so good," is what you said instead and it was not any better.

Jongho chuckled throatily, his sunshine smile peaking through the lust fog of your brain. "Careful Treasure, you're gonna make a man think he's the only one in this polycule."

"I--" You swallowed but you have long lost the moisture in your mouth. "More. I need more."

Jongho canted his hips again and you moaned deeper as his cock further penetrated inside of you. "Shhh, Treasure, I'm not even fully inside of you."

The way that Jongho pushed aside your velvet-soft walls, stretching you out without a struggle on his part, was one of the most delicious feelings you had ever received. Jongho took his time, eyes closed, focused on the task at hand. No strain marred his perfect features but you couldn't help but want to kiss his pink lips as you shared being one for the first time. 

Jongho leaned in to whisper into your ear. “You’re so wet, you’re spilling out of your tiny hole. I can feel you dripping down my balls and making a mess of my pelvis. How can one bunny be so wet for her boyfriend, hmmm?”

“Jongho!” You whined in embarrassment. “Because it’s you!”

“I’m going to make you come so hard, Treasure,” Jongho chuckled lowly. “Be a good girl and be nice and loud for me.”

Jongho would grunt deep in the back of his throat when he thrusted into you. He would pull out slowly, completely, and then push back in with a sharp thrust. It was both torturous and glorious, the pace he set. It seemed that he was looking to provoke you to use your safe word again so that he would have an excuse to jackhammer you into his bed but instead you were genuinely dumb on his cock. Your sole focus was feeling his cock move in and out of you and there was no eagerness to get to your climax; you simply wanted to ride the wave that was sex with Choi Jongho. 

“Your little bunny pussy is taking me so well,” Jongho grunted. “You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you? I fucking adore this cunt.”

“It’s all for you, Jongho,” You managed to whimper. 

“Fuck,” Jongho cursed. 

Although outwardly Jongho did not seem to be struggling, the vines around your hands and arms said otherwise. They had tightened so much with your last sentence that you knew it wasn’t on the side of safe anymore.

“Jongho, it’s too tight,” You gasped. 

The vines loosened immediately even though you had been certain Jongho had not been testing you. He was just that attuned to his flora. “Sorry, Treasure. You make me lose my control.”

That sentence made you feel some type of way. The butterflies in your stomach migrated to your chest. Your blossoming love for Jongho was seeded and rooted deep inside of you but in moments like these, the love blossomed into flowers. 

Jongho knew his limits however, and now was the time. “I want you to come for me, Treasure. Come around my cock and let me feel what it’s like to take you to the highest peak imaginable.”

Jongho’s words unlocked something inside of you. Your cunt convulsed around his length immediately and you cried out with pleasure. 

“Oh fuck yes,” Jongho’s words became muffled as he bit down on his lower lip. “That’s it, little bunny, fucking milk my cock. I’m coming with you!”

Jongho let out a long, drawn out moan and stilled inside of you. His nose was scrunched up but he wasn’t the only sight to behold. You glanced up when a flash of color caught your attention. The vines on Jongho’s headrest had bloomed when he had come. It was so beautiful. 

Jongho followed your gaze and chuckled in embarrassment. “Oh yeah, they seem to do that.” 

“Jongho,” You gasped. “That was more than anything I could have imagined.”

You felt the vines completely pull back so you could get your arms back. You immediately wound your arms around Jongho’s neck. He managed, while still remaining inside of you, to sit up and cross his legs. 

“You were wonderful,” He said softly. “It wasn’t too much?”

You shook your head. “No. I loved it.”

Jongho had a lopsided grin on his face in answer to your statement. “Wanna sit like this together?” He bumped his forehead to yours fondly. “I just want to soothe myself with you.”

“I’m yours, right now, Jongho,” You found yourself reassured him.

You made a mental note that perhaps, even though Jongho wasn’t the meanest dominant in your polycule, that he might need more aftercare than your other boyfriends. “We can take all the time you need. I’m here for you, Jongho.”

His head rested on your shoulder and his tail tucked itself around your waste. “You were amazing, Treasure. You are amazing.”

The two of you rested there for a while, just drinking in each other’s presence and what you two had done together, but you lived with seven other dragons, and alone time was rare.

A brisk knock on the door made you jump and Jongho tightened his arms around your body. “Treasure? Jongho? I finished with the shower if you want it.”

You pulled back and stared at Jongho. Had San been home the entire time?

You breathed in to respond to San but Jongho cut you to the chase. “Thanks, San!”

You leaned back farther and a small smile began to pull at the corner of your lips. “Choi Jongho, are you being possessive right now?”

Jongho hugged you so tightly your breath came out in a squeal. “You said you were mine,” he grumbled.

Your tail wiggled happily. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Don’t act cute,” Jongho grumbled again.

You laughed softly, utterly pleased. You ran a hand fondly over his hair. At that moment, everything was utterly perfect.

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[boyfriendunsolved]

"do you have any idea how much money their new content costs to produce?" the insane part is that no one asked for higher production quality. the people watching ryan bergara and shane madej are in it for their personalities, not professional cinematography and expensive locations. if they want to create bigger budget things, good for them. but doing it at the expense of a majority of their audience isn't going to get them where they think it is. and the fact of the matter is that very few people are going to pay a monthly fee for so little content.

if they wanted to do this in a way that had a semi-decent shot at working, they should've been building a catalogue for this service for A While now. only people with money to burn are going to pay $6 a month for a platform with a weekly upload schedule and no back catalogue, this decision literally makes no financial sense and they are most definitely going to feel that