#WHERE DID THE BROWN AND CLEAR COME FROM HELLO???

[kingflups]

Holy shit my shrimp cross bred into a color I've never ever seen before the only reason I'm seeing them now is because they're snacking on the calcium I put in for my snails????? This is so magical holy shit I thought everything in here was slowly dying out but NO they're CAMOUFLAGING HOLY SHIT

[honeypiehotchner]

Juno (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Hello again! This goes from zero to 100 in two seconds flat don't @ me!! Sabrina's new album came out and reawakened something in me (everyone say thank you Sabrina) (also this is not beta'd I wrote this in a short n' sweet haze)

Summary: Aaron is working from home but what paperwork he needs to do is the absolute last thing on your mind.

Warnings: smut! 18+ only! this is so filthy! in no particular order: multiple orgasms, cockwarming, choking, brat tendencies, stoplight system, unprotected sex, breeding kink (briefly), face fucking, overstimulation

WC: like 3,400 I lost my damn mind clearly

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you. Blame it on period hormones (probably) or the fact that Aaron looks absolutely delicious right now in his tight black t-shirt (most likely), but you’re going to go insane if either of you have clothes on for another five minutes. 

The problem is, Aaron is trying to focus. It’s one of his days where he works from home, an idea you gave him when you realized how easy it would be for him to do the same paperwork just from the comfort of your living room. It was a brilliant idea at first. You got to see him more, and were able to do your own thing around the house while he did his work. You got to have lunch together, and offer a genuine mental break in between his mountain of paperwork. 

Now, though, you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck about whatever needs to be signed, who needs to clear what, and what phone calls he still needs to make. 

“Honey,” you call sweetly from the kitchen. You watch him from over the island, your thoughts going all sorts of ways -- namely, deep into the gutter. “Want to break for lunch?”

You see Aaron shake his head, still typing furiously on his laptop. “It’s not even noon yet.”

“Brunch?” you try again, walking out of the kitchen. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest in the way you know he loves because of the view it gives him of your cleavage. And you’re wearing a v-neck shirt today for that exact reason, too.

Aaron still doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry honey, maybe in an hour?”

You let out a huff that you know he hears because he finally looks up, eyebrows raised just so. It’s a look that you love. Curious, veering toward that playful annoyance that you can’t seem to go a few hours without his undivided attention. 

Which, you can, by the way. You’re more than capable. It’s just that right now, it’s a crime that his eyes have been looking at paperwork when they should be looking at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and there’s some hesitation in his voice. You know he’s assuming the worst. That you’re not okay mentally, and that’s why you need him to take his lunch break now or maybe for the rest of the day. He’s done it before on your darker days.

But you’re okay. You’re perfectly fine. You’d just be even better if he put the damn laptop away and put his fingers to use somewhere else.

Which is exactly why you come to a stop in front of him and reach forward, tilting his screen down and down until it closes. He lets you.

He lets you take his laptop and put it on the table beside the couch. He watches you, his fiery brown eyes taking in every second. He lets you straddle his hips, your arms circling his neck.

“I see now,” he smirks, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist and squeezing lovingly. “By ‘lunch break’ you mean…”

“Put a baby in me,” you blurt, rocking your hips against his.

He stills, his hands making you stop your movements, too. His eyes are darker now in a way you haven’t seen in a while. “What?”

“Please,” you say, leaning your forehead down onto his, trying to move your hips again. “Need you.���

“Honey, we can’t have--”

“Yes I know the semantics, Aaron,” you mutter, now annoyed and lifting your head to glare at him. He has a vasectomy, you get that. “I mean fuck me like you’re putting a baby in me.”

His hands squeeze again. “I see.”

You frown. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” he smirks, one hand leaving your waist to stroke your cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re horny.”

You roll your eyes, peeling yourself off his lap. He lets you go, albeit with a curious look. You turn and head for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he calls out after you, still with that damn smirk lacing his words.

“To get myself off,” you reply in a deadpan. “Since someone--”

You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence before Aaron is right behind you, hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him. That look full of fire is back again, stern this time.

“Did I say you could do that?” he says in a low tone.

“Did I ask?” you retort, backing out of his grasp and darting into the bedroom. 

Now there’s a smirk on your lips. It’s quickly approaching shit-eating grin territory, which you know will only egg Aaron on further. This little game of cat and mouse happens to be your favorite, and he knows it.

You’re barely two steps into the bedroom when Aaron is attached to your back yet again, this time wrapping his arms around your waist, locking you in.

“Color?” he whispers, his lips right at your ear, sending shivers straight down your spine.

You groan. “Green. Neon green. So green, I need you to--”

He spins you again, this time backing you into the wall and attacking your lips. Finally, you think, though you know you’re in for it now. The thought has a grin crawling up your lips, and you’re unable to stop it.

“What’s so funny, hm?” he scolds, moving his lips to your neck instead, to the exact spot he knows makes you weak in the knees. Like clockwork, he has to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you upright, your knees buckling when he bites down just so.

“Nothing,” you manage through a moan, tipping your head back onto the wall. “Shit.”

“You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling against your skin. “Can’t let me focus on work because you need me to fuck you.”

“In my defense,” you try, your hands scrambling for his shoulders, for something to ground you. “You didn’t fuck me this morning.”

“I fucked you last night,” he reminds you, as if you needed the reminder. It’s the reason you slept so soundly. “Was that not enough?”

You can’t help it; you laugh. 

He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. The same question as before on his lips.

“Sorry, I thought you were joking,” you say. 

“You’re insatiable.” 

“Guilty,” you grin, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for another kiss.

You make out against the wall for too long like two teenagers behind the bleachers at school. You hook one leg around his hips, pulling him in and grinding against his obvious erection. It’s enough to have him groaning into your mouth, pressing you against the wall with renowned vigor. 

You can feel how wet you’re becoming and fuck, neither of you have even taken a single article of clothing off yet.

Aaron notices, one hand traveling south without you paying attention, too busy relishing the way he licks into your mouth, stealing your every breath. The kissing becomes increasingly sloppy when he works his hand into your leggings, under the waistband of your underwear, and into you.

“Oh my god,” your back arches against the wall, pushing his fingers deeper. He doesn’t bother with one, starting right away with two, curling them when you grind harder.

“You’re soaking my hand,” he practically growls into the next kiss, adding a third finger after only a few thrusts. Your body accepts it willingly, always ready for him. “Jesus.”

“More,” you gasp, pushing him deeper. “Aaron, more, I’m serious--” Your words break off as he scissors his fingers, making your eyes roll back instantly.

“I can feel you already,” he smirks against your cheek, pressing a kiss there, an action so sweet and gentle compared to what the rest of him is doing. “Come on, honey. You’re cumming as many times as you want.”

That makes you inch closer to the edge at a frightening speed. He says you can cum as many times as you want, but what he means is he’s going to force as many orgasms out of you as he can. Until you tell him to stop or he decides you need a break. 

The thought of being an overstimulated mess in his embrace later has you climaxing against his fingers, your head falling onto his shoulder as his movements never cease, milking every last wave out of you. 

You lift your head in search of his lips again, which he willingly gives to you, his fingers slowing to soothing strokes as you whimper into his mouth. You’ve only had one orgasm and you already feel ruined. He can tell the way you tremble against him, so he checks in once more.

“Green?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

You nod. “Green. You?”

He smirks. “Absolutely.”

He picks you up into his arms, inelegantly tossing you onto the bed behind you. You giggle as you bounce on the mattress, tugging your shirt over your head as he does the same to his. His hands move for his belt and you practically jump to the end of the bed, swatting his hands away.

“Since when is that your job?” you frown up at him, unbuckling his belt without looking.

He laughs, petting your head gently. “So sorry, you’re right.”

“What was that?” you tease. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you smirk, pulling his belt out of the loops and tossing it somewhere. You don’t wait for him to reply before you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down with his boxers.

There’s just something about his dick. You hate that you love it, or maybe you don’t hate it at all. All you know is you need it in your mouth right now.

So, you do that, without any warning. Aaron thrusts forward into your mouth on pure instinct, not expecting you to wrap your lips around him so soon. You slide down the edge of the bed onto your knees, pulling him back to you by his thighs. 

You take your time, pushing his jeans and boxers down further. When you pull back for air, he steps out of them and kicks them elsewhere, returning to you quickly, knowing better than to keep you waiting. 

You swallow him down again, moaning around him in the way you know he loves. It takes all of two seconds before he gently holds the back of your head, asking silently for permission that you were already about to grant. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you squeeze his thigh twice. Go ahead.

The thing about Aaron fucking your face is that it took a while for him to do it as hard as you really wanted. He’s always so gentle, a quality that drew you to him initially. You love how gentle he can be. But you love it equally as much when he is rougher with you.

Like now, when he has you pinned against the bed, one hand on the back of your head as he fucks into your throat. It’s blissful, quite frankly, the way he feels, and you thank the universe every time for your lack of a gag reflex. 

He holds you there with a deep groan, and you feel him twitch in your throat once before he pulls you off entirely. You frown up at him, once again not getting what you wanted, but he doesn’t have any time for that.

He picks you up by your armpits, hauling you back onto the bed. Your leggings and underwear are gone in a single second, along with your bra. He’s crawling up your body and crowding your space before you have a second to protest that he wasn’t down your throat for near as long as you wanted him to be. 

All frustrations leave your mind the second he pushes inside of you, immediately sliding home, his hips flush against yours. 

It’s a feeling you’ve grown to love, the way he hits you so deep. Another thing it took him a while to be comfortable doing.

He’s not average sized by any means, and you’re the first to admit it made you salivate the first time you saw. The first time he fed himself into you and worried that he was hurting you, meanwhile you were clawing his back because you wanted more. It hurt for a moment, only an uncomfortable pressure because he was bigger than your vibrator, but as soon as you were used to the size of him, you wanted all of him.

He stays there, deep in you without moving for a moment, grinding against you. His lips attack yours again before he pauses to lean his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath.

“You drive me crazy,” he says on a shaky exhale.

You wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips up to take him a little more. His hips stutter, pushing in the way you wanted him to, the way you know you can make him do involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he bites out, turning his attention to your neck again.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging. “Exactly. So why aren’t you moving?”

He nips at your neck. “Because if I move, I will cum right away.”

“Who said I only want you to cum inside me once?”

He groans again, fingers digging into your hips as you circle them, though he doesn’t try to stop you. “Greedy” is all he says, but he finally moves.

The thrusts are slow at first, Aaron clearly trying to pace himself. You can’t say you’re doing the same, already chasing your second high as he slams his hips into yours. Your hand reaches down to rub your clit, but is promptly smacked away by Aaron’s hand as he glares at you.

“Since when is that your job?” he echoes you from earlier, only this time, there’s more heat to it. He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head to stop any other temptation. “Not this time.”

His thrusts pick up speed and depth, his body moving against yours in the exact way that makes you fall apart. It’s not often that he doesn’t let you cum from added clit stimulation -- not that you can’t without it; it just makes the high feel that much better -- but sometimes he does. It’s an ego trip for him as much as it is for you.

It also adds an unpredictable nature to it, which is why your second orgasm takes you by such surprise. You seize against him, your hands doing all sorts of squirming to try to break free of his grasp, but he doesn’t let you, and he doesn’t let up. You don’t realize why until you feel the warmth spreading into you as he reaches his own peak. 

You’ve clearly worked him up as much as you worked yourself up because his thrusts barely slow down, and he doesn’t soften inside of you. 

Instead, he pulls out only to flip you on your side, sliding in behind you and pulling your leg up and back over his hips. The action causes some of his cum to spill out of you, but you don’t have any time to focus on that before he fucks back into you. 

You’ve ceased to have any coherent thoughts as Aaron whispers dirty nothings into your ear, one arm wrapped around your body to keep you pinned against him. The pleasure doesn’t stop and at one point, you question if your second orgasm stopped at all or if it has continued this entire time.

Aaron reaches underneath the pillow where he knows he’ll find one of your vibrators because he heard you using it this morning. No, he didn’t fuck you this morning, but you fucked yourself, and truly, at 8am, he should’ve known you’d end up like this by eleven. 

Your mind doesn’t register what the sound means until the vibrator is pressed against your clit. Your body jerks, scrambling for some grounding, your hands finding it in wrapping them around his arm. 

He switches hands on the vibrator, so one hand is free to wrap around your throat. Your eyes roll back as soon as you feel the gentle pressure, your body practically going limp against him. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs directly into your ear, his thrusts slowing to deep strokes. “You’ve got a couple more in you.”

“A couple?” is all you manage to say, your hand squeezing his wrist so he knows to squeeze your throat a little more.

“Mhm,” his voice rumbles in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. “Is it too much?” His question is laced with just the right amount of pity that makes you shake your head against him. “I thought so,” he replies, switching the vibrator to a higher setting.

It sends you into your third orgasm instantly, squirming violently against him as he pushes into you deeper. He knows how much you love that, and loves how much you squeeze around him as he slides inside, fighting against your muscles that threaten to force him out. You’ve done it before, a mesmerized look on his face and yours when you both realized what happened. Since then, you told him you liked it more when he fought to stay inside. 

He takes the vibrator away as you calm down, his hips also pausing, keeping himself deep inside you. The pressure is soothing, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. His palm falls away from your throat, instead propping underneath your cheek.

It takes a few seconds before you feel yourself spasming around him. He chuckles against your back, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Still?”

You nod dumbly, rocking your hips again. “Yeah. I don’t know, I just-- Need more.”

“I’ve got you,” he soothes, pulling out again to roll you onto your stomach instead, one of your favorite positions.

You’re floating as you settle into the pillows, letting Aaron manhandle you wherever you need to be. You groan in your happy, blissed out state as he slides home again, draping himself over your back.

He is gentler now, knowing that’s exactly what you need at this point. The last orgasm he pulls from you is just as gentle, and he pushes deeper into you, letting you ride it out. 

He pulls your hips up and thrusts once, twice before he’s spilling into you. You didn’t realize he was that close again. The warmth is soothing this time as it spreads through you. 

Aaron leaves you only to settle behind you, spooning you once again. Your hand reaches behind you to find him, and he catches your wrist. 

“You need to rest,” he chides softly.

“I know,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slides in again, still half-hard, but it’s enough. You settle down as soon as the weight of him is tucked inside you again. “Better?”

“Mhm,” you sleepily nod, pushing back into him so he holds you tighter. “Do you have to go back to work?”

He chuckles against you, sighing. “No, I’m done for the day, I think,” he says. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”

That makes you laugh. “We need a better excuse.”

“Or I need to go back to working in the office.”

You roll your eyes. “Like that’ll make a difference.”

He shakes his head, his mind remembering the same memories that you are. The many lunch hours when you went to eat with him, and ended up with your back pressed into the couch, his tie stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ll make us lunch when we wake up.”

“Perfect,” you smile, nuzzling into him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” he says, pressing little kisses to your neck and cheeks, wherever he can reach. “Now sleep.”

You’re already halfway there. The combination of him nestled inside of you and the post-orgasm exhaustion is enough to lull you into a restful sleep.

[meelusinee]

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

word count \ 3.7k | fluff & stuff | slash / mattheo riddle x reader

in which mattheo is absolutely in love with you before you two even talk for the first time (part one to lovesick!mattheo) author's note at the end!

part one | part two | part three | part four

NOW SHE HAS ME UNDER HER SKIRT | M.R x READER

Mattheo didn’t know much about love. 

Between being raised by a dictator and his craziest follower, he already didn’t have a very good start. Especially whenever he would get in trouble, the Cruciatus Curse was definitely no joke. Not to mention everyone pestering him about the legacy he led. News flash to the Gryffindors who would try to pick on him, he found it quite obvious that he was Voldemort’s son.

Suffice to say that he didn’t know much about love. He never had a true showcase of it, never had an example of it to compare to anything. The closest he ever had being another stunted teenager by the name of Theodore that considered him his brother, but even then there was still distance.

That was until he met you.

You, the most beautiful person he had ever met in his entire existence on this Earth. Anything he  lol looked at on you he would find absolutely perfect, from the color of your eyes to the way your hair bounced in the sunlight.

That alone made it hard to approach you. Your nice demeanor seemed to make it even harder.

So, he settled with admiring from afar. Mattheo knew your schedule, the classes that you would take and every time that it varied. He would subtly watch you in classes, hang around the same areas you did during your break periods, or even where you went for fun. And, to the best of his ability, he tried to avoid things that looked bad. No more fights or cursing, not unless he was truly provoked.

His mind also got its grubby hands on the idea of a journal. A place he could write about you freely, one he charmed so only he could read it. Entries, song ideas, anything he could think of. You made him an artist, you as his perfect muse.

And it all got even better when you two finally met.

You had just walked down to the courtyard, Mary Janes clacking along the rocks as you made your way over to a small pillar.

Recently, you noticed someone sitting by the pillars a lot more than usual. He was tall, his face usually covered by his brown curls as he wrote inna small journal he always carried with him. Said tall man with a face covered by his brown curls was your current potions partner, you had both been assigned to create a Liquid Luck potion.

“Hello?” you called out gently. face tilted down just a bit as you looked down at him. His eyes locked with yours when he looked up, the most beautiful shade of molten honey you had ever seen meeting your eyes. “Hi there, stranger.”

“Hello?” he whispered back at you, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. His face looked rather cute when it was all scrunched up like that, a light blush covering his cheeks.

“I’m your Potions partner.” you said with a smile, flattening your skirt before moving to sit down next to him. “For the Liquid Luck project.”

“Oh,” he whispered, nodding as he closed his journal. It had a rather pretty leather cover, the pages aged and covered in ink from what you could tell. “Yeah, I remember. Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, nodding. “And you’re Mattheo.”

“Yes I am.” he said, a soft smile coming on his face as he heard that. He looked at you with something special in his eyes, eyes that carved themselves deep into your soul with the most intricate patterns you could think of.

The trance both of you seemed to be stuck in was broken when he cleared his throat, fingers tapping on his journal. “Did you have any ideas for the project?”

“Oh,” you whispered, nodding. “Yes, yes I do. I was thinking that we head to the library and research different potion methods and whatnot. Based on Slughorn’s instructions, I’m assuming that the instructions in the books won’t help much.”

“You’re a genius.” he whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“What was that?” you asked him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat as he began to sit up. “Do you want to go now?”

Mattheo thought that he was dreaming, if he was being honest.

The girl of his dreams, the girl that he had wrote almost obsessively day and night about for almost six years, that same girl was currently sitting across from him. Laughing.

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiled at his joke, her voice sweet like a piece of cotton candy melting on your tongue. He didn’t even remember what he had joked about at this point, his mind turning to mush the moment he heard that sound pass your lips.

Those lips that haunted his dreams every single night, the image of them so plush and pure he wanted to worship them like one would a holy angel. They looked absolutely perfect.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling softly as he rested his chin on his hand. He probably looked like a lovesick puppy, but he didn’t mind. 

“I found something really interesting in this book  by the way,” you said, Mattheo’s eyes instantly darting to where your hands were resting on the page. “It says in the recipe that we need to juice a squill bulb, which most people just cut it for. But this recipe here notes that squeezing ingredients over a funnel gets more juice out.”

“That’s really interesting.” he whispered, his gaze looking at your face as you spoke. 

“Isn’t it?” you asked with a smile. “And here it says that adding the entire Murtlap makes the potion last longer, rather than just growth.”

“That’s also really interesting.” he whispered again, gaze still stuck on your face. You looked so pretty whenever you were concentrating on things, the way your eyebrows furrowed making him think of a million different songs and rhythms. 

“Is it?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered, looking at you with a small smile on his face. “I always found Potions an interesting topic.”

“Always is not a word. It’s more of a concept.” you said, humming as you continued reading the pages. Mattheo chuckled softly, looking at you like a lovesick puppy.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. 

Theo was sitting in his bed reading a book, his curtains almost completely closed as he flipped between page to page. At least, he pretended to.

Recently, he had noticed Mattheo’s obsessive journaling habits. How his hands would be covered in ink by the time he was finished, or how he’d write until his new candle burnt out. Sometimes Mattheo would write even when the candle burnt out, instead opting for yet another one.

It was rather concerning to Theo, to say the least. Out of all of the things Mattheo could do, he was changing who he was. Self-improvement was one thing, but it seemed like he changed an obsession from fighting to writing.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Mattheo mumbled, looking back over at where Theo was sitting.

“I’m surprised you can,” Theo said under his breath, closing his book and standing up. “With how much you’ve been writing, I’d assume you get sucked in by a black hole sometime soon.”

“Oh hush,” he whispered, looking up from the journal. His hands were stained black and red with quill ink, the candle beside him still burning brightly. “Why do you keep staring at me? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“Your journal.” Theo smirked, walking behind Mattheo and placing his hands on his Mattheo’s shoulder. “What’s inside?”

“Why would I tell you?” Mattheo grumbled, continuing to write in the journal. Theo’s eyes squinted as they tried to read whatever was on the page, but the words were too jumbled to make any sense to him. No doubt a charm.

“You charmed the journal?” Theo asked curiously, looking down at Mattheo.

“Like you care.” he whispered under his breath, the quill scratching loudly against the paper. The room was quiet other than that, nothing but the quill scratching and the candle crackling.

“I do.” Theo said, his voice a bit more stern. He pulled up a chair next to Mattheo, resting his elbow on the table. “Mattheo, you’re pushing everyone away. Even me, and it’s not healthy. All you do is write in this journal, it’s kind of worrying.”

“I just like writing,” Mattheo whispered, moving his legs to rest his knees near his chest.

“About what?” Theo asked, his voice more soft than teasing.

“You’ll judge.” Mattheo whispered again, flicking the quill back and forth as his eyes glanced over at Theo. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Theo whispered. “I promise I won’t judge.”

Mattheo sighed before turning to the journal, pressing his wand against it as the words came into view more clearly. His handwriting was a lot more cursive than Theo first remembered, no doubt changing the more he wrote. 

“It’s a journal about her,” Mattheo whispered, flipping through some of the pages. “Love letters, poems, songs and stuff.”

“Her?” Theo asked curiously. “Who’s her?”

“Her,” Mattheo muttered to Theo, picking at his fingernails as he spoke. He looked like a blushing schoolboy who found his first love, it was rather cute to watch. “It’s, like, she’s a girl I just really like. I think about her a lot, you know? And I’m just trying to improve myself for her.”

“What’s her name?” Theo asked, resting his head against his hand as he crossed his legs.

“Y/N.” Mattheo sighed, like the word itself was a part of some holy prophecy. “She’s so beautiful, you know? Like something from heaven, just beautiful. And I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“Have you ever tried talking to her?” Theo asked, a small smile on his face.

“We have this project together right now.” he said, chuckling softly as he spoke. He was so down bad. “She took me to the library to research more about potions. Merlin, she’s so smart Theo. She figured the reason why nobody could make the potion was because the instructions were wrong.”

“So you both started researching?” Theo asked.

“She researched, yeah,” Mattheo said, before chuckling again. His hand moved to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I kind of just sat watching her the entire time.” 

“Mattheo,” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” Mattheo protested.

“I’m not judging.” Theo chuckled, looking down at the journal. “I’m just confused on how you think you’ll get your girl if you can’t even talk to her. Journaling can only go so far.”

“I know,” Mattheo whispered, looking down at his journal again. “But it still helps.”

Theo nodded, looking down at the journal again. “What are you writing about right now?”

“Uh,” he muttered, looking at the pages. “It’s a song. She said something at the library that made me think of a song, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”  

“What’s it sound like.” Theo asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Uhm,” he whispered, picking at his nails again as he pushed the journal towards Theo. He hummed softly as he picked it up, eyes squinting as he tried to read his handwriting.

Darling, just calm with your voice

Let your heart sing, how I always enjoy 

When you say “always” is not a word

You think love is a bit absurd.

“That’s really nice,” Theo said, looking up at Mattheo with a small smirk. “This is a lot better than I thought it’d be, to be honest.”

“What did you think I was writing about?” Mattheo asked confusedly.

“Dark magic or something.” Theo chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Like you were possessed by a ghost to figure out how to resurrect themselves.”

Mattheo chuckled at that, taking his journal back. “I think you’ll find someone like this, you know. It makes life really nice.”

“Being in love?” Theo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Mattheo whispered. “In love.”

“Well, there’s always an opportunity for that. And when it happens, it’ll happen.” Theo said, patting his pockets and pulling out a box of cigarettes. “But until then, there’s cigarettes.”

“You know the way to my heart, don’t you?” Mattheo snickered at that, using the lit candle to light his own cigarette.

It had been a couple of weeks since you and Mattheo had started working on your project. You had figured out how to maximize the efficiency of your potion brewing, including changing methods of brewing and preparing ingredients. After about three different trials, you had finally found the perfect way to brew the potion. 

“That’s perfect.” Mattheo smiled softly at you, chuckling softly as he scratched the back of his neck. In all honesty, it looked like a regular potion to him. “I think that’s perfect, right?”

“That is perfect.” you said, giggling softly as his reaction You found it rather cute, if you were being honest. He seemed rather nervous around you. “Thank you for doing all of this with me, the potion work and all. Most people would probably just leave it to me, you know?”

“Why would they leave?” Mattheo asked, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrugged, looking down at the potion still set in the cauldron as you spoke. “I don’t really know. I guess people consider me weird or something like that. Someone said that I was whimsical once, I don’t think it was a nice way though.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” Mattheo spat. He couldn’t understand the logic of that. In his eyes, you were absolutely perfect. He would give anything in the world to hang out with you more often than he got too, and people gave that up for free? The thought was absolutely ridiculous.

You chuckled quietly at that, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

“Definitely. I mean,” he paused, looking up at you like that was the most absurd thing in the entire world. He had a small flush on his face, no doubt questioning what he was going to say. “I mean, you’re such a nice person. And I think that hanging around you is comforting.”

“And I think that you’re rather sweet.” you chuckled, looking at him with a soft smile.

“I’m being serious!” Mattheo said, looking you in the eyes. You hadn’t heard him talk this much in the entire time that you had been working with him, and you especially didn’t expect it to be him defending you. “You’re just, like, you. Which is really sweet, you know? I really like you and your whimsy, or whatever they try to call you.”

You giggled again, smiling softly at him as you scooted a bit closer. “You’re rather nice yourself, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you.” he whispered, his voice raising a pitch as he looked at the potion. “Do we need to test this?”

“I think so.” she nodded. “Do you want to do it?”

Mattheo looked at the potion, a small frown coming on her face. If anything went wrong with the podcast, he wouldn’t want you to be hurt by it. Which led to him nodding, the best option for him obviously being him taking the potion himself. 

“I’ll bottle it for you.” you said, grabbing the small ladle and pouring it inside the potion vial. “Here, one vial of Liquid Luck for you.”

Mattheo smiled softly as he took a sniff of it. “Is it meant to smell like something?”

“No, just air. I mean, clean air. Not like toxic air or anything.” you said, before ending your small speel. “It doesn’t smell like anything.”

Mattheo nodded again, taking a swig of it before coughing. “That’s definitely hot.”

“It did just come off the cauldron.” you chuckled, fingers fidgeting slightly. “Do you feel lucky?”

Mattheo looked up at you with a look you could only describe as a lovesick puppy, a small flush covering his face as he admired you. You could only assume the amount of thoughts running through his mind were plenty, some very hard to sort through. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he looked at you. “Very lucky.”

You chuckled softly at that, your face flushing as you watched his eyes lock onto your lips. “Do I have something on my lips or something?”

“No,” he whispered softly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he spoke. “No, I just,”

“Something on my teeth?” you asked, shining your teeth to him.

“I want to kiss you.” he whispered. 

Your mouth closed again as you heard that, eyes locking onto his after he spoke. That didn’t last long though, as his eyes focused back on your lips again. “You what?”

“I want to kiss you.” he said a bit more clearly, his voice hoarse as he spoke. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you. But I really want to kiss you.”

“You can kiss me.” you whispered softly to him, scooting a bit closer to him in return. 

Mattheo blinked for a couple of seconds, the shock of your answer plastered on his face. It filled you with a small sense of confidence, the blush on his face fueling your own. “I can?”

“You can.” you smiled.

Mattheo smiled brightly at that, the burn of it brighter than the sun sucking his lips in like a blackhole would. His lips immediately met yours, burning like fireworks against his skin. It was absolute bliss to him, burning through his skin and turning him into nothing but lovesick ash.

“Your lips are absolutely perfect, my love.” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours with a gaze full of adoration. “So perfect.”

“Was your luck to try and kiss me, Riddle?” you chuckled softly at him. 

“This is the luckiest moment of my life.” he whispered. 

“Theo!” Mattheo spat out, opening the dorm room door as he stormed in. His palms looked sweaty, and his face was absolutely covered in a bright blush. 

“Mattheo.” Theo said his name back, closing his book as he looked at where Mattheo had stormed in. He looked absolutely wrecked, almost drenched in sweat. “You look like you just got your ass kicked on the Quidditch field.”

“I just,” he whispered, walking closer to Theo as he paced around the room. “I just kissed her.”

“Y/N?” Theo asked, a small smile crossing her face. “You kissed her?”

“It was so perfect.” he whispered, laying down on Theo’s bed. “Like, it was like her lips had a magnetic pull on me. I couldn’t stop for the next hour. A whole hour!”

“That’s wild, mate.” he chuckled softly, patting Mattheo on the head.

“It was just perfect,” he whispered under his breath, sighing softly. “Like, I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe like looking at a supernova for the first time.”

“You are down bad, Mattheo.” he chuckled softly at that, continuing to pat his friend on the head.

“And then we, after that right?” he said, the smile on his face only growing larger. “We snuck off to this broom closet. You know the ones. And we did, we had,” he paused, sighing in frustration as his words jumbled in his head. “You know?”

“I know.” Theo chuckled.

“I have a song idea again.” Mattheo said, sitting up again as he rushed to the journal he kept so dearly to his heart. “I will be dead to the world for the next few hours.”

“You want me to go tell Y/N that, lover boy?” Theo smirked.

“She can come in whenever.” Mattheo said, dipping his quill in black ink. “I already gave her our dormitory password.”

“You what?”

“I have a present for you.” Mattheo whispered under his breath, a small smile on his face as he walked towards you.

It was the 6 month anniversary of one of the happiest relationships you had ever been in. There was communication and there was love. Small dates near the Black Lake at midnight, with breakfast you stole from the Great Hall earlier. Times where he’d take you into town and let you dress up however you wanted, all on the cards he stole from Malfoy. Or small get-togethers like this, hangouts at the top of the Astronomy Tower. 

And the presents were always lovely. Small poems that he wrote for you, or love letters that he hand wrapped himself. A small blush or dress you had been eyeing for more than two seconds, or room decor that went with your forever indecisive aesthetics. 

“You do?” you giggled softly, gasping softly as he pulled out a small guitar. “A song?”

“I’ve written a couple for you,” he whispered. “And I wanted to sing them to you. For our anniversary.”

“I love you.” you giggled, smiling as he sat down.

He cleared his throat as he made sure the guitar was in tune, strumming a few chords before eventually developing a melody. It seemed almost hypnotic the way his hands moved, his voice humming along as he figured out the rhythm.

“Yesterday, I was a word. Left with no voice to speak it,” he hummed softly, his voice and the guitar both vibrating through the walls. You smiled brightly as you heard his voice, not realizing how pretty his voice actually sounded.

“Now I am a happy song, placed on the lips of a woman.” he sang, winking at you. He continued for a few lines, a small smirk growing on his lips as he got to the instrumental part.

“What are you going to sing next?” you asked, watching him giggle softly. “Seriously!”

“Patience,” he whispered, chuckling as he strung the melody again, his eyes darting down at the guitar. “Now she has me, under her skirt,”

“Mattheo!” you flushed, slapping his arm and breaking the rhythm of his song. “My skirt?”

The both of you burst out into a laugh at that, the sound breaking through the cold night air that breezed through the alcove you sat in. Or maybe you just felt warm in his presence, a constant feeling of love rushing through your body.

“Can I finish my song now?” he smirked.

“I suppose you could.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to sing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

my second post oh my GOD this one took a hot minute to get through. beta-reading and proof reading is definitely not my jam, and there's definitely things that i missed in this. but i hope it still works out well, especially the whole lovesick angle i was going for. if you guys haven't already, please please please go check out tamino's music. it is actually so. good. if you listen to hozier or adrianne lenker, i think you'd really like his songs (my favorites are the first disciple and habibi)

if you would like to read the second part, click here!

as always, please like, comment, and reblog! it really helps out, and i really appreciate everyone who does! if you guys have any requests or something you can request in the ask box!

[gf2bellamy]

hello again <333 i loved what you did with my other request btw

i was wondering if you could write a fic where reader is late night baker. so spencer comes home near like 2am expecting reader to be asleep but instead finds them goofing off in the kitchen while waiting for their bake goods to be done?

- 🦔

cookies — spencer reid

pairing: sencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: hi hi 🦔 !! i'm glad you liked the other one <333 hope you like this too :) ( i'm craving cookies now )

Spencer opened the door as quietly as possible, careful not to let it creak. After all, it was nearly 2 AM, and the last thing he wanted was to wake you. But before he could even set his bag down, he heard a sudden clatter from the kitchen.

His brows furrowed. That wasn’t the sound of someone asleep.

He hesitated for only a second before shutting the door behind him, placing his bag on the ground, and slipping off his shoes. As he hung up his jacket, more noises drifted through the apartment.

Spencer slowly stepped closer, rounding the corner to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him made him pause.

You were sitting on the counter, legs swinging absentmindedly, a book open in your lap. The kitchen was a disaster—flour dusted the countertops, sugar spilled in little trails, and an open bag of chocolate chips was dangerously close to tipping over.

Spencer’s lips twitched. “Should I be concerned?”

You tossed your book onto the counter, grinning as he stepped closer. He chuckled, settling between your legs and resting his hands on your thighs as he glanced at the oven. Through the glass, golden cookies were baking, chocolate still glistening from the heat.

“Cookies?” he asked, amusement clear in his voice.

You hummed in confirmation, looping your arms around his neck. “Midnight cookies.”

Spencer tilted his head. “It’s 2 AM.”

“Fine, late-night cookies,” you corrected. “I got bored.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, his thumbs brushing against your skin. “So your solution to boredom was turning the kitchen into a crime scene?”

You scoffed. “First of all, rude. Second, it’s controlled chaos.”

Spencer glanced at the counter. “That sugar bag is on the verge of death.”

“…semi-controlled.” You grabbed a spoon from beside you, holding it up to his lips. “Taste.”

He eyed it warily. “There’s raw egg in this, isn’t there?”

“You solve murders for a living, but this is where you draw the line?”

Spencer sighed but leaned forward, taking a small taste. The second it hit his tongue, his eyebrows lifted. “That’s… actually really good.”

You smirked. “Exactly.”

You reached up, brushing your thumb across his cheek, taking in the faint shadows under his eyes. “You must be exhausted.”

“I was,” he murmured. “But this is… nice.”

Your smile softened, and before you could stop yourself, you pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “You should go to bed,” you murmured. “I’ll clean up and—”

Spencer shook his head. “Not tired anymore.”

You shot him a knowing look. “You’re lying.”

“I’m just delaying the inevitable,” he corrected, squeezing your thighs lightly. “Besides, if I go to bed now, I won’t get to steal a fresh cookie.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s your priority right now?”

He nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”

Before you could respond, the oven timer beeped, breaking the moment.

Spencer stepped back as you hopped off the counter, grabbing an oven mitt and carefully pulling the tray out. The cookies were golden brown, the chocolate still slightly melted. The smell alone was enough to make Spencer’s exhaustion momentarily fade.

You pointedly ignored his comment, instead breaking a cookie in half and blowing on it dramatically. You then held it up to his lips. “Here.”

Spencer leaned in, taking a bite. The warmth of the cookie combined with the rich chocolate made a pleased hum escape his throat. “Okay,” he admitted, chewing thoughtfully. “This was worth you staying up.”

You beamed. “Told you.”

Spencer reached for the other half of the cookie in your hand, but before he could grab it, you popped it into your mouth, grinning mischievously.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, but the fondness in his voice betrayed him.

You giggled, grabbing another cookie and pressing it into his hands. “You deserve a whole one, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer shook his head, laughing softly as he took a bite. He hadn’t planned on staying up much longer, but if late-night baking sessions with you meant stolen bites of cookies and laughter in the kitchen, maybe sleep could wait just a little while longer.

[millerscoffee]

Hello!! 🤍 I was wondering if you could write something where Joel is the reader’s college professor, and then Prof. Miller INSISTS that reader comes over to his home for tutoring assistance, (because of failed tests or bad essays), and then finally coaxes her into letting him have his way with her.

hi nonnie! here it is! i hope you enjoy 💖

extra credit

6.2k | joel miller x afab!reader (professor!joel au)

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: professor!joel au, age gap (joel is 46, reader is 21), soft!dom joel, pining, consensual sex, pet names (darlin', doll, baby), oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, piv (unprotected, wrap it folks), squirting, joel spitting over the reader's ass for 0.5 seconds (OOPS IDK???), a pretty dress with easy access, hints of after care, spoiler: honestly prof. miller could've told reader to just do the paper in a different format but – that's the point 🤭

When you picked your major, English was a necessary credit needed to achieve your goals.  It wasn’t your strong suit, but you weren’t one to quit just because you were bad at it.  So far you were coasting through, getting a mix of good and bad grades in your English Lit class when the last essay before finals was presented.

Among the crowd in Professor Miller’s lecture hall, you typically sat in the front.  He hands out papers, hovering by your desk.  Giving you a look of disapproval, he places the grade face down.  You peel the pages in anticipation, a sense of dread falling over you when you scan the big, red mark of failings.  “Shit,” you say to yourself.  That was it.  That was the grade that was the defining factor of whether or not you had to retake this course.  You use the side of your hand to wipe sneaky tears in falling.  You failed.  Doing your best to keep it together, you’re not sure you even heard the rest of the lecture from the possibilities running through your mind.  What were you to do?  How would you recover?

Class was over before you knew it.  The sounds of bags zipping and feet stepping, you stayed seated until you were able to look over to Professor Miller.  Dressed in black slacks, a brown button-up with leather shoes.  His hair was slick, the slightest bit of salt and pepper patched at his sideburns.  He looked like he had it all figured out, and that struck a nerve.  A feeling of jealousy that he knew what he was doing, and you obviously did not.

Professor Miller calls your name when the class is emptied, and you sniffle, standing up to straighten your skirt.  Your manicured nails pick up your essay as you walk over in an attempt to hand it to him.  “I guess you want this back,” you hold your full bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you read the material?”  Professor Miller inquires, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  His voice is so dark and honied in comparison to his scowl.  Proving not to judge a book by its cover.  The irony.

“Well, I did, but… I struggle with this stuff.  Predicates and imagery?  I’d rather be learning about biology.  But I need this course, you know.  And I…,” you swallow hard.  God, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of your teacher.  He doesn’t know you, out of the hundreds of people he teaches – how could he possibly even remember your name?

“Hey,”  Professor Miller takes his glasses off, putting them on the table.  He looks as concerned as you are over it and crosses his arms.  Keeps his distance.  “It happens, you know.  There are things we can do to accommodate.  You’re very bright, I’d hate to see you fail.  You have options.  I can’t let you rewrite the paper, but I could tutor you for your final.  Another option is getting a student tutor, but it’s rare.  You know the workload of this university.  Not a lot of people are willing to sacrifice their precious time.”

“And you are?”  You look up at him with grateful, bright eyes and he loves it.  The praise just from your stare alone is cause for him to clear his throat.

“Listen, for someone like you, I believe it is important to help.  You just need a little more time understanding what you’re doing, is all.  I’m not in my office for the rest of the weekend, though.  You’d have to come by my house…,”  he watches those pretty eyes widen again, and that makes a smirk fall over his greying features, “if that’s okay, of course.  If it’s not, we could work something else out.”

You think about it.  You’ve never had a teacher invite you over, much less someone who looked the way he did.  Though, that was neither here nor there.  His lips formed words you couldn’t even pay attention half the time in hearing.  Maybe that was part of the reason why you were failing in the first place.  But you needed to pass, and if he could help you – and was so kind enough to do it in the first place, you should jump at the first opportunity.

“Okay.  Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

What the fuck. That makes your heart race.  Tonight?  Tonight?!  Ton–

“Tonight… tonight is good.”  How did you even form the words?

“Perfect,” he started, bending down to write his address on a sticky note – his cologne wafts in your direction, and you clamp your legs shut reflexively.  “Here’s my address.  7 o’clock.”

“Seven.  Okay… thank you, Professor Miller.”

“Please, call me Joel.”  His teeth gleamed in a smile, and his personality shined through it.

A personality you didn’t get to see too often from your position behind a desk.

Shit.

---

According to your phone, he didn’t live very far from campus, and you were able to walk to his house without breaking too much of a sweat.  You decided on a black dress, although it was a casual one, that paired nicely with your sneakers.  It had buttons down the front with a relaxed collar.  Your bag slung over your shoulder when you knocked on his door, a nervousness fluttering in your stomach.  It was such a weird thing, meeting your professor in his home.  Much less having him request you call him by his first name.

Your knees all but buckled when you saw him on the other side of the door.

He looks… young in his jeans.  His t-shirt stretched over the broadness of his shoulders, but it’s still loose enough that it doesn’t look ill-fitted.  His stomach, soft at the bottom.  You flash him a smile, but internally you’re reeling over how casual he looks.  You’d never seen him like this, not even during those school meetings that were informal.

“Hey, you,” he’s bright, too.  Charismatic as he invites you into his home.  Takes your bag, lets you take your shoes off until you’re in your socks.  His words hit your stomach, how easy it is for him to talk to you like you’re the brightest sunflower.  What’d you even do to deserve it?

“Hi, Prof– uh, Joel,” you titter, taking in the curated decor of his home.  It was sophisticated, yet a little cheesy at the same time.  His alumni cover his walls and a mix of pictures.  Some with a couple of young girls you assumed were his children.  He has children, you swallow.

“Wasn’t too hard to find this place, right?  When I moved here, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t too far – not much of a mornin’ person,” Joel laughs and you do, too.  Fuck, this feels so easy.  But it’s nothing – it’s nothing.

What you don’t pick up on right away is his open body language.  He places your bag on his couch and you follow him like a puppy – he likes that.  You look so soft under the sienna hue of his lights, your hair falling into place naturally.  Plump and ripe for the taking.  Of course, he meant it when he said he’d tutor you, but the air got thick the moment the door was shut behind the two of you.  What were you doing to him?

Joel’s large frame walks over to his bar cart, turning on his heel to face you, “Interested?”

“Huh?” You blink and he laughs again at your deer caught in the headlights expression.  You’re cute.

“Do you drink?”

“Oh, uh… water would be nice.”

“Water it is,” Joel’s pleasant, gesturing his hand for you to follow him.  And you do – that puppy he was coming to know, right to his kitchen.  You study the marble countertops, the farmhouse style kitchen sink.

“So, tutoring,” he starts, taking a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with filtered water before handing it to you – you thank him with a nod, “I was thinking we could look at your paper, and then go over how to fix things in the future?”  When you take the water from him, your fingers graze.  The first sign of contact, your head continues to nod unthinkingly, but all that scorches your mind is how his skin feels.

“That sounds good,” you overcompensate, shoving the ideas from your mind.  He was your teacher, and it was easy to get back into the mode of why you were here.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change much, still the same grin with hooded eyes and wrinkles at his forehead.  The two lines between his brow.  “Alright, well I have it on the coffee table.  Let’s get settled on the couch, and we’ll get started, okay?”

So you agree.  You take your glass of water and follow him back to the couch where everything was set up – your paper, his laptop.  All of the correction marks in your face as you sit down.  You take another sip of water before placing it down on the coaster.  You dread it, you really do.  Going over your failures?  You scrunch your nose up to yourself, but Joel notices when you’re both settled on the cushions.

“You know, Voltaire said, ‘perfect is the enemy of good’,”  Joel bends his knee on the couch, thigh pressing into the cushion to turn to you and it causes the couch to shift.  The quote makes you giggle a little to yourself, and you shake your head.  “What?” His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.

“Voltaire also popularised the story of Newton’s apple, doesn’t make it true.”

“Huh…,” Joel trailed off, keeping his eye on you – his tongue skating over his bottom lip in thought.  You were so quick all he could really do was laugh, and that made your shoulders relax.  Makes you feel more in control and comfortable to laugh at yourself.  “You got an answer for everything?”

“Not everything.  See this,” you pick up your paper, thumbing over the ink of corrections the man on the couch made and you shrug, “I don’t really understand why this got marked wrong.”  Joel’s gaze flashes over your mouth when your teeth press into the plushness of your bottom lip – he should be given some damn award for having so much self control around you.

“Wrong format.  This citation works for your research papers, right?”  He nods with you before leaning in closer, that damn cologne coming back in full force just like earlier in the day.  You all but freeze when his warm touch graces you again – this time, fingers tracing over where you’re holding the paper.  “Oh,” your voice is soft, a bit of disappointment pangs at your ribs.  You were so busy you didn’t even realise that was the majority of the issues you had.

“So… it’s not really what I wrote, it’s how I wrote it?  You asked if I read the material?”

“Exactly.  If you read the syllabus, you’d see the required format.  Listen, there are some ways for extra credit, I do think this is salvageable.”

You suddenly feel silly.

You did all that work, Professor Miller was kind enough to let you into his home, and it was all for some redundant formatting.  An open palm curls over your chin as you look at the paper in deep contemplation.

“I really fucked up,” you say, hushed in the space.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” you manage an exhale of amusement at the sound of your teacher curse.  You shift your gaze to look at him.  The curls at the nape of his neck, the way his t-shirt dropped enough so you could see his neck, his chest.  The freckles that splayed over his aged skin.  “You just needed someone to tell you what to do.”

That was the loaded statement.  And a pointed one, it seems.  Someone to tell you what to do.  And Joel wanted to be that person?  Your eyebrows raise for a flash, thumbing over the paper.

“That would be too easy,” you scratch at your neck idly before going for the glass of water, sipping in contemplation. “...I mean, I should’ve known better.”

Joel takes the glass from you, offering himself a sip of your water and it stuns you speechless, doing your best not to convey it.  Maybe he did that just because this was his house.  That must’ve been it.  He was comfortable, but goddamn – the eye contact he gave you when he swallowed the liquid.

It felt intentional.

He watches your features, vague as they were, in what to do next.  He honestly wasn’t so sure what he was doing either.  What?  I know how to give you extra credit, sweetheart.  Too forward, too boastful, too… cheap.  You deserved better than that.  He saw you in class, how hard you were on yourself.  He talked to your other teachers, how well you were doing in your other classes.  He felt for you.  And he was a bit lost in your eyes.  You were all too pretty, too brilliant to be dimmed down to a fuck for extra credit.  Joel could see that.  He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, you had him distracted.  You threw him off without even trying.  The plight within him grew stronger as he handed back the glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Joel straightens up, his hand cups over your forearm in a way that’s understanding, but also makes goosebumps rise.  You look down to see where you connect and he pulls away slightly.  “Sorry, I–,” “No, it’s okay,” you agree, “It’s okay.  You’re right.”

“It’s just, I see hundreds of bright, beautiful young people every year, but none of them have stood out to me like you.”  He can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.  The candor, the nerve.  A filthy old man, that’s all he was in the eyes of someone as sweet and innocent as you were.  Even if you happened to be experienced – god, what was he thinking?!

Joel clears his throat, shifting a bit in his seat, but he sees the way your lips part, but your eyes don’t show an ounce of shock or distain.  They look soft, and… willing.  You know that is because the pull at your core feels too strong to think of anything else.  You look down at his left hand, making sure you’re not dreaming.  He’s not married?  You’d casually look at his hands from time to time during class and ignored the ache it gave you, but this?  So close?  Backed by the glow of his house?  It was so different from the boys you were used to.  In their dorms or disgusting apartments.  It smelled as nice as it looked.  You realise you’re not speaking, but the way you lean into him says more than you really ever could.

“I don’t know what to say,” shyly, you touch your knuckles to your cheek, “you should teach the guys that go here how to chat with someone.”

It’s a mutter, but not to yourself.  You drink one more mouthful of what you were offered before putting it back on the coaster.  Honestly, any distraction was welcome to defer from the ever-present density in the room.

“Those guys don’t know what they’re talkin’ about anyway.  I know I didn’t at that age.”

There.  The topic right in front of both of your faces.

“How old at you, anyway?”  You inquire, thumb mindlessly circling over your knee.  Joel tracks it, licking over his lips as he answers.  “Forty-six.  You?”

“Twenty-one.”

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s this standstill, as if you’re both in the air together looking at each other in slow motion.  How will this land?  What are you both even doing here like this?

“I’m sure your boyfriend takes good care of you,” Joel’s eyes, round and bright brown, get lost in yours – the way your breath hitches, the shift of your thighs on his sofa.  He wondered what you tasted like, what sounds you make when these boys who don’t know what they’re doing with their tongue attempt to eat you out.  Do you fake it?  Do you give it to them straight?  Neither of you had a drink from that bar cart in the corner of the room, but somehow you’ve become closer – and more intoxicated.

“Don’t have one,” you respond softly, orbs flickering to the set of plush lips that grow more red the longer you let the tension build, “what about you?  N-no partner?”

Your attempt in confidence wavering the longer he stares at you.  It’s like staring back into the sun and you have your brows knit together until the tug of muscle makes your forehead hurt – smoothing them apart with the twitch of muscle fibers.

“No partner,” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh and you can’t hold it back; you gasp.  But you do something he doesn’t anticipate, or well, you don’t do something: you don’t pull away.

How did you two get to the topic, anyhow?

How did you end up straddling his lap, for that matter?

It’s within six eager seconds that his hand, hot and rough, touches your soft skin, and you – green, you – fervent, throw all inhibitions aside and lunge.  It’s more fluid than you realise, and his hands (both now) grip the backs of your bare thighs and you whimper at the sensation of him squeezing you.  Your wetness against your cotton panties grows from the kneading alone.  No, absolutely not, the boys back in the dorms didn’t know how to do this.

It takes an even shorter time for your mouths to meet.  He’s first to kiss, and he tastes like coffee and his dinner, and the faintness of a cigarette – maybe early in the day?  You couldn’t tell, your head was swimming too deep in now to come back from.

And although his calloused fingers roll patterns into your soft skin, he’s just as willing.  Just as desireful and you can feel it beg to be set free at the seam of his jeans.  His tongue skirts against yours, hips rolling up the second yours tempt to roll down; causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

It gets feverish after that.  All teeth, tongue, bite.

You don’t want to stop, you don’t want to take a moment to breathe because fuck, that could stop things.  That could make him realise what is happening.

But that only is another item to your list of naivety.

Because Joel, he’s ready.  His masculine arms wrap around your frame to lift you up just enough so he can get out of his fucking jeans that he now regrets wearing.  Shoulda been wearin’ sweats, but it’s effortless… eventually.  He hurriedly pushes the thick fabric down until they hit at his thighs and you’re pushed down onto his boxers that – holy fucking shit – leave nothing to the imagination.  “Joel, J-,” you pant between kisses, fingernails digging into the base of his neck, he pauses.  Pulls away, gets a good look at your face.

“Y’want this?” And goddamn, you can’t see yourself, but you imagine you look just as fucked out as he does.  On the cusp of every little fantasy he’s had about you from the moment you sat down behind that desk.

“I want this,” you repeat.  You weren’t sure exactly when the nerves subsided, maybe because all of the blood is now rushed at the apex of your thighs, but you mean it.

You want this.  You want Professor Miller.

“You got me,” his breath dances over your lips before guiding you back a bit, “here… I’m going to lie back, I want you to– I’ll show you.”  Your lips quirk up at the fact he’s so flushed he can’t even finish his sentence.

But that soon turns to you flushing when you realise his request.  “I – what?”

“No?”  Joel sits up on his elbows, looking over to you and you’re worried you’ve killed the mood.  It’s just, straddling his face?  Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“I’ve never done that… What if it’s bad?”  His eyes, reassuring, but a deep shade of black now beckons you.

“Darlin’, I think you’ll be a natural.  But I can teach you, if that’s what you want.”

You swallow, straddling his knees somewhere at the bottom of the couch and you think about it.

Joel, on the other hand, was living in a fantasy of teaching you things in and out of school.  Showing you how to make yourself feel good on his mouth – make you forget all about the essay that caused you grief today.  He leans over, pushing it under the couch out of view for good measure.

“Okay,” you agree, though nerves still flood you.  “Okay, you wanna take your panties off?”  You lick your lips at that, biting back another whimper that brought you to this predicament in the first place.  And you did – you wanted nothing more than to slip your underwear off and give into your pleasures.  His voice was deep, graveled with the prospect of him fucking you senseless on his couch and who were you to deny him that?

Who were you to deny yourself that, more importantly.

“Yeah,” doing as you say, you slip off your lace-trimmed undies and abandon them somewhere on your Professor’s floor.  “Fuck,” you mutter.  This was naughty.

“Already so good for me,” you weren’t even sure that Joel’s voice could get deeper, or more inviting, but it does.  You bite your lip and oblige when he pats his chest.  Going over to him, you straddle just above his broad shoulders, and he’s almost out of view with him like this – somehow making it easier to just feel what he could do to you.

Joel on the other hand?  All he can do is see the outline of your glistening core from the shadowed tent you’ve made of your dress and his groans are muffled slightly from the fabric, “Fuckin’ Christ,” he wants to devour you, but he takes his time instead.

Peppers kisses along your thighs that make you claw the armrest, causes you shiver at the contact and you can’t believe this is happening.  “J-Joel,” you hesitate, but his hands are wrapped around your hips now, fingers digging into the breadth of your ass.

“Sit.”  Joel commands.

Oh, fuck.

You’re almost certain you’ll break skin at your lips from biting down so hard, but you do as you’re told.  Anchoring down, it’s subtle at first – the brushing of his facial hair against your folds, his chin prying you apart.  Then, it’s incredibly palpable.  His lips are the first thing you feel as they press and kiss over your middle and as you shudder it only makes your muscles sink deeper on him.  You’re the first to moan, and then Joel, and his mouth is open when he invites you inside it.

“Oh, my god,” thighs shaking, Joel flattens his tongue under the hood of your clit, a body part you were certain hadn’t been touched by anyone else but yourself.  There was no time to compare, the white hot pleasure coursed through your veins and he took his time with it, too.  Made sure he was teasing you, his tongue dipping inside your entrance, as sloppy as it felt.  “Hmmn,” you can’t speak, forearms resting on the armrest now as your head hangs between your shoulders and his fingers make pliable work of your asscheeks.  Pushing you down, using your hips to move back and forth against his mouth – like he’s using you while you use him.

The air is thick under your dress, sticky and humid, as Joel swirls this tip of his devilish tongue in the most astonishing circles you’ve ever experienced, and you know it’s because he has more experience than you do.  Has so much to teach you, if you let him.  Your mouth hangs open as you try to inhale, but it’s just too much.  Especially with the way he thumbs into your stomach, then your pubic bone – lifting it just slightly to expose your clit to him.  An angle, not even you have found yourself.

It almost feels like too much.  It’s intentional, the way his tongue flicks over that bundle of nerves right at the top of your cunt.  Delicious, deliberate.  Two fingers greet your entrance and it startles you, the way he’s rubbing your hole with his two fingers in slow circles before pressing them where you want them most.

“Tell me you want it,” you hear, muffled and fucked, and you shiver at the slightest bit of lack of contact.

“I want it, I want your fingers – please!”

And that seems to send him over the edge of how much he’s willing to hold back because he’s exactly where he was.  Mouth on your clit, but fingers skillfully pressing inside of you and you don’t know how long you’ll last.  Not with the pads of his fingers tapping in the perfect tempo against the ridged spot inside you.

That’s when a weird sensation comes over you.  A pressure, you felt like you had to pee and your insides pulled in more trying to keep it all contained.  “I–,” you start, but it happens so suddenly.  Your orgasm rushes through you, convulsing and almost falling over the edge of the couch, you dig your fingernails into the upholstery.  Your eyes roll back, and fuck, so are your hips.  Unable to stop yourself using Joel’s mouth to keep you exactly right there.  Pleasure pricks your skin, it feels like every cell is ignited – but you jump when you feel a rush of fluid come out of you.  The pressure rebounding out, then rippling pleasure back inside you.  Joel fucks you with his tongue and fingers until he feels you calm down.

“W-what, what… did I do?” You pant, and Joel is groaning, too.  He lifts your hips to get lungfuls of oxygen, so dizzy on you and you notice how soaked his pair of fingers feel on your skin.  Sits you down on his chest and you can see his face finally.  Can see his mouth parting, gasping as his eyes are hooded and so gone.  Curls stick to his forehead, his shirt a dampened colour at the collar.  You blush heavily, embarrassed because you aren’t even sure what that was.  Did he hate that, was that weird?

“C’mere,” he growls with gritted teeth and sits up, the tables turning instantly.  Joel’s stripping his shirt off, kicking every last bit of the bottom half he had on to be abandoned on the floor.  His fingers remove the buttons, but he can’t really get them – those fingers too big for the buttons.  “Here,” you whisper, an intense feeling of lust falling over any self-conscious self talk you had.  You undo the top of your dress one button at a time until your breasts are released from your bra – you moan when he has no problem spilling your tits from the satin, nipples in stiff peaks from your orgasm.  And everything else.

“You know what you did?”  Joel asks, taking both of your nipples between his fingers from each hand.  You moan, lifting your hips and he bites his lip when he sees your cunt front under your dress.  “What was it?”  You ask, curiously.  Innocently.

“You squirted f’me, baby,” he slurs, thumbing over your clit now as he gets a good look at you and he’s drunk on you.  His cock throbbing against your thigh, he taps it against your skin before realising what he needed.

 “Fuck,” Joel mutters and you can tell by the tone it’s not just at your appearance.  “What is it?”  You inquire, eyebrows knit.

“Gotta get a condom,” you hear him mutter, getting onto one foot and you stop him.  “No.  No.  I want to feel you.  It’s okay, I don’t get pregnant–” well that sentence isn’t exactly how you mean for it to come out, but your mind is mush, your body feels boneless underneath him, and he chuckles at that.  At how gone your brain is.  Here he was, thinking he was the only one.  “Okay, okay, darlin’.  I believe ya.”

And really, maybe he should be using more discretion.  But he can’t get the feeling of you out of his head.  You were everywhere.  His mouth, his glistening chest and beard.  He takes you by the hips then, sitting back to flip you on your hands and knees with your help and you moan at the sensation.  Joel looks down at you, groaning of your ass in the air, pushing back for his cock.  “Such a needy little thing, now,”  it’s as if someone else is talking.  This isn’t the Professor Miller you know.  This man has layers and you’re first in line to know exactly what that entails.

Joel takes the base of his cock, bobbing it as it throbs alive in his hand and runs through your slick with the head of it.  “So fucking wet.  Beginning to think you’ve been wanting this for as long as I have.”

You bite a whine and he can see the back of your head nodding as you crane your neck back enough to make eye contact, but his eyes fall down to your ass pressing eagerly on his cock.  Doing your best to press him inside yourself.

“Go ahead,” he slaps his cock on your folds and you mewl at the wet sounds coming from it.  “Take my cock.”

And take, you do.  Joel holds it out for you, keeps it steady and you push back slow on his cock.  Clenching around the head and he growls at that.  “You dirty thing.  This how you fuck all your teachers?”  It burns your skin, pushing your face into your arm and you shake your head.

“Words.” He warns.

“Just you!  Just you, Joel!”

“Just me,” he parrots, hissing when you shift back and you both twitch and groan when you take him to the hilt of you.  It was so thick, stretching you out until you felt split apart from him.  “Just me, show me then.  Show me how you fuck me.”

You bite into your arm then, choking on a sob as you push your ass back over and over.  Your cunt taking him deep like this, it almost feels like too much and not enough at once.  Torturously slow against the spongy spot again

 It felt so amazing taking him yourself, but it was like an itch you couldn’t scratch on your own.  The tapping of his balls against your clit was too far apart in tempo, his cock speared inside you at a pace that didn’t have quite the same leverage as Joel did behind you.

His hands busied themselves on your ass, peeling the muscle apart – pressing his digits to leave bruises and just when you think it’s too much to take, he gives you something else.  His spit falling from his lips right to the velvet of your asshole.  You shudder and flutter around him when it falls to where you’re connected.  Your fingertips grip the other armrest now, cheek resting atop of your hand and you can’t do it yourself anymore.  “Fuck me, Joel!  Professor Miller, please!”

“Shit – you know where to push, don’t you?”  Joel’s wide hands slide up your sides, keeping them locked in place as he pulls your hips to him at first.  Using your whole lower body, your head hands doing your best to keep yourself up but you’re so close when he uses you like this.  When he picks up the pace and you let your head fall on his throw pillow – your screams of desire are targeted into the plush cushion.

Joel is bound up in amazement behind you.  How you feel around him, your gorgeous figure in front of him as he gives you every bit of power he can now.  His hips hammering into you, but with the right amount of speed – not too fast, not too slow.  The sound of his balls slapping against your clit is faster now, and the difference is what you focus on.  The way it sounds.  Joel feels you tighten, pulse around his own pulse and he has to say something to you.  Has to talk you through it, even if he’s not sure you’ll like it.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he drapes his body over your back, huffing into your ear as the controlled weight of him pushes your ass down just enough to make your thighs shake.  You are soaked, sticky against his abdomen, between your thighs.  Over your own stomach.  You move your face so you can feel his skin closer against your.  His lips staying on your cheekbone, he grunts and nods.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it.  I know you can take it.  Those shaky fuckin’ thighs better hold on.”

You feel yourself coil and he is quick to sooth over your hips with his palms.

“Relax, baby.  That’s it, that’s good, darlin’.  Shh, easy.  Do you feel that heat?”

You nod hopelessly, the buildup was so strong you couldn’t do anything but curl your fingers into fists and whimper repeatedly.

“Give into that heat.  Come for me, I know you can be so good for me.  Good for – fuck – fuck.  Good for my cock,” Joel groaning in your ear makes you flutter uncontrollably, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arm around your front, rolling quick circles at the split of your cunt, right at your clit.  “Milkin’ my fuckin’ cock like that, don’t stop.  Don’t fuckin’ stop,” he grits, and you’re gasping.

Clawing at the pillow, head craning up and back as you come.  Mouth gaped, Joel takes advantage – pouring his tongue into it, swirling and drinking you while his cock bottoms into you repeatedly until he can’t take it anymore.  You feel too good.  Perfect, even.

“Joel!” Your whine is high, as your wet folds take his merciless shoves.  “You feel so good, youfeelsogood!”  Your lip quivers, jerking in aftershocks that feel a lot like multiple orgasms.  You aren’t even sure how you feel, but he knows he has to pull out.  So he tells you, rough and pained against your ear.  He doesn’t want to any more than you do.  But as soon as he does, that reward feels just as sweet.

He exhales roughly through his nose, a popping sound filling the room when he pulls out.  Not even needing to touch himself to spill himself over the small of your back.

“Fuck,” he’s out of breath, grunting, and doing his best not to collide into you.  You’re still, the nape of your neck dews with sweat and you can feel it stick to your dress instantly.

“Stay there,” Joel pulls away, and you sit up on your elbows now that you’re fully flat and study his frame walk into the kitchen.

The back of him is just as irresistible as the front.

You hum hungrily at the landscape of his back.  But you do as you say, you don’t move a muscle.  When he comes back, you take note of the splotches of his chest, his neck red and sheened with sweat, too.  He’s just as disheveled.  The paper towel he comes back with is rough against your lower back, but tickles more than anything else.

Makes you wriggle and laugh.

“What did I say?”  He threatens, but his voice is much more smoother and tender.  More playful.  More like what you’re used to.

“Tickles!”

“You must endure it if you know what’s good for you.”  he’s finished enough for you to roll over.  You pull your tits back into your bra with another low laugh, but to yourself at how exposed and a mess you’re sure you look on your professor’s couch.

“I think I like that threat.”

“No more,” and that makes your heart drop.  He must be able to see the disappointed look on your face, so he rephrases his sentence in an instant.  “No more tonight.”

“Maybe I should be teaching you the importance of ambiguity.”

“Next lesson.”

Your heart soars just as fast as it dropped.

---

While you slip on your sneakers, you turn your heel to him – bag in tow.  “Listen, I don’t want this to be why I passed.”

“It’s not – it won’t be,”  Joel chews up the space between you – his hand pressing against the doorframe that your delicate hand adorns at the knob, fully dressed himself, now.  “You will pass by your own volition.  I meant it – you are bright.  You won’t let anybody take that from you, will you?” You knew that wasn’t a question as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but you still swayed your head ‘no’.

“Not even me.”  He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead before dropping his arm – allowing you to leave.  And that’s exactly what he’ll let you believe.

“Especially not you.”  You smile, leaning up to kiss his lips – your flavour lingers over his facial hair and tongue.  Your panties in his pocket.

“Goodnight, Professor Miller.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

taglist: @cool-iguana – comment to be added!

[ch0llies]

REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: this story includes very toxic and abusive behavior. none of the actions or words in this series are justified and are written exclusively for entertainment purposes only. under no circumstances are they personally associated with chris other than just using him as the main character. read at your own discretion. now that that is cleared up, there will be filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 8.9k

CHAPTER ONE:

You had been eyeing him all night. The longer the party went on, the stronger the ache between your legs became. 

You could blame it on the alcohol that was coursing through your body, or the fact that you hadn’t fucked in nearly a month since you dumped your piece of shit ex-boyfriend. 

But you knew the real reason. It had been a year since you’d seen him, and it was undeniable that Christopher Owen Sturniolo had grown into a man.

He was no longer the lanky little boy you shared your first kiss with in seventh grade or the awkward acne-ridden teenager who took your virginity sophomore year, and he most certainly wasn’t the wavy-haired senior who was irrevocably heartbroken when you got into a relationship and ghosted him. 

No, this Chris was different. 

His features had grown since you last saw him. He had sharp cheekbones, a strong and prominent jawline, and light stubble that made you crazy.

The freckles you used to tease him about but truly loved more than anything in the world were still there, scattered across his nose, but now they added to his charm rather than taking away from it.  

His thick brown hair, which he used to grow out and flaunt endlessly, was now cut shorter and only added to the maturity he seemed to be radiating. It framed his face perfectly. The brown strands were darker now and looked almost unreal next to his light blue eyes. 

He’d filled out too. The smaller frame you remembered was gone, replaced by wide shoulders and slightly toned arms.

He looked good. Too good. 

He stood across the room, laughing at something you assumed his friend had said.

You tried not to stare, you really did, but your eyes betrayed you. Every movement he made, every time he laughed, or ran his fingers through his hair, you felt your stomach tighten. 

And it wasn’t just lust– it was the past of everything unresolved coming back from the deep dark corners of your mind where you had hidden them.

Chris hadn’t acknowledged you yet— not really. Sure, you’d exchanged nonchalant hellos when you first arrived, but the conversation ended there. 

So technically he knew you were there. He was just refusing to recognize you and every feeling and emotion you would bring with you. 

So, you were just another face in a crowd, and he was the man you couldn’t stop thinking about.  

Maybe this was your karma.

Part of you was mourning the Chris you once knew. That Chris would have been glued to your side the second you walked in, his eyes lighting up like you were the only person in the room. This Chris didn’t even flinch when he saw you. His face was so incredibly straight that it made you feel like a goddamn stranger.  

You were only here because of Ava. She’d practically dragged you out of the apartment you shared that her dad bought for you two with promises that “It’ll be fun, I swear,” and “You have to be there—Matt’s expecting you.” Matt, of course, being her boyfriend, and Chris’s triplet brother. It was almost laughable. You had no desire to see Chris, no desire to stir up all the feelings you’d spent the past year pushing down. Yet, here you were.

He was standing near the kitchen now, leaning casually against the counter with a beer in his hand, talking to a girl you didn’t recognize. She was laughing at something he said, touching his arm lightly, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. A wave of something—anger, jealousy, regret—surged through you, and you tried to ignore it, trying to focus on anything else.

Ava leaned in closer, her hand lightly touching your elbow. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you lied, plastering on a smile that probably looked as thin as it felt. You glanced over at her, noting the way her cheeks still flushed whenever she talked about Matt even after they’ve been dating for years.

Your gaze flickered back to Chris—like it had a will of its own—and you caught his profile just as he threw his head back in laughter. The sight of his throat working, the slight scruff along his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners… It was too much. You swore you could feel your stomach flip in response.

Ava followed your line of sight, sighing softly when she realized what had your attention. “You can still talk to him, you know,” she whispered, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “He’s still—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. You were grateful for the pounding bass that swallowed the tension in your tone. “We said hi, and that’s all that’s needed.”

She gave you a look—equal parts sympathy and frustration—but didn’t push. You both knew there was more to this story, a history you hadn’t even begun to unpack.

You let out a breath, forcing your gaze anywhere but him. “Listen,” you said, nudging Ava gently, “go find Matt before he starts complaining you’re ignoring him.”

Ava hesitated for a second, like she wanted to say something else, but then she nodded. “I’ll be back ,” she promised, and with a smile, she slipped away into the crowd.

With her gone, you were left in the crowd of half-drunken strangers, music pulsing around you. You tried to dance a little, tried to lose yourself in the haze of alcohol and conversation, but it was nearly impossible.

He still hadn’t looked your way again—at least not that you’d noticed. But it felt like you could sense him, the same way you used to be able to tell he was approaching before you ever heard his footsteps.

You hated how your body seemed attuned to him even now, how the ache between your legs grew every time you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. He was close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw as he spoke, see the way his fingers curled and uncurled around his beer bottle.

The girl who had been talking to him drifted off, pulling someone else onto the dance floor. Chris stayed where he was, sipping his drink and scanning the crowd, a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t read from this distance.

Ava reappeared in your peripheral vision, weaving her way through the crowd with practiced ease. You watched as she sidled up to Chris, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you couldn’t make out. A flash of surprise flickered across his features, followed by something you could only describe as annoyance. Then, as if he could feel your stare all the way from across the room, his gaze snapped to yours.

Your stomach dropped.

He didn’t break eye contact—not even when Ava squeezed his shoulder in parting and drifted away into the crowd. Instead, he kept those intense blue eyes fixed on you as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips, took a slow sip, and set it down on the counter behind him.

You could practically feel the tension crackling in the air by the time he started moving toward you. Your heart thudded in your chest with each step he took, every cell in your body screaming for you to look away, to find someplace else to be. But your feet remained rooted to the spot, as though glued there by all the unresolved tension between you.

Finally, he stopped in front of you. Close enough that you caught the faint hint of cologne and the warmth radiating from him. Close enough that all the old memories you’d tried to bury threatened to resurface in an instant.

“Hey.” His tone was clipped, casual on the surface but laced with something sharper—like he was testing you, waiting to see if you’d crack first.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

An uncomfortable beat of silence passed. You couldn’t read the look in his eyes—there was anger there, maybe some hurt, and definitely that lingering spark of attraction that neither of you had ever truly extinguished.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, of all places.”

“Yeah, well,” you forced a shrug, fighting to keep your voice steady, “Ava’s my best friend. Matt’s her boyfriend. I got dragged along.”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. “Still letting other people call the shots for you, huh?”

The jab was subtle, but you felt the sting immediately. You square your shoulders, ignoring the faint tremor in your knees. “Acting as if I didn’t walk you like a dog all throughout high school”

He nodded slowly, as though taking in your words. “This isn’t high school anymore, clearly.” He said, looking you up and down disgustingly.

The tension between you felt almost suffocating, thick with memories of late-night phone calls, stolen kisses, and the bittersweet aftermath of what happened senior year. The way you ended things—ghosting him right when he thought your relationship might finally become something more.

“You don’t have to act like this,” you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it level.

He arched an eyebrow. “Act like what?”

You hesitated. “Like I’m some kind of inconvenience.”

He scoffed. “If that’s how you’re feeling, I wonder why.” He glanced away, jaw tightening. 

Your heart clenched, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to let your emotions spill out for everyone to see. “We don’t have to do this,” you repeated softly.

He shrugged, and the movement was painfully casual. “You’re right. We don’t have to do anything.” He flicked his gaze past you, scanning the crowd like you might bore him any second. “So why are we?”

You swallowed, a soft ache in your chest. Because despite all the time and distance, you both knew there was still something here—something electric, something that made it impossible for you to pass each other by like strangers.

“Chris—”

“Look,” he cut you off, his voice lowering enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m happy to see you. And I’m not gonna pretend everything’s fine. Because it’s not.”

Your pulse hammered in your ears at his bluntness. “Okay,” you whispered. It was all you could manage.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But we’re here,” he finally said, a slight tremor lacing his words. “And I can’t just—” He paused, jaw working as though wrestling with something unspoken. “I can’t ignore you,” he finished in a harsh exhale.

You felt your chest tighten. He was right; he’d tried ignoring you all night, and you’d tried to ignore him, and still you’d both ended up here, facing each other, every unspoken thing hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his eyes flickered to yours. “So what now?”

You swallowed, heart pounding so hard you wondered if he could hear it over the pulsing music. His question—“What now?”—hung in the air, thick with a tension that set your nerves on fire.

You wanted to say something—anything—but words felt woefully inadequate. Instead, you met his gaze, letting him see the swirl of emotions that had taken up permanent residence in your chest: guilt, anger, desire. Especially desire.

For a beat, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was so charged you could practically feel it crackle. Your body felt hypersensitive to every shift in the air, every faint brush of his scent. All you could think about was how easy it would be to close the distance, to press your body against his and say the things you’d been holding back.

But instead, you let the moment slip by.

Chris exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with a torrent of his own. “You know,” he said at last, his voice low, “this isn’t exactly how I pictured seeing you again.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Yeah, me neither.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but instead he just shook his head and turned away, jaw clenched. “I’m gonna get another drink,” he muttered, barely meeting your eyes before he disappeared into the crowd.

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding hissed from your lungs. You stood there, your entire body humming with the tension that still vibrated in the wake of his departure. It was as if every nerve ending had been lit on fire—burning with all the words left unspoken.

Hours later, the party was winding down, though the music still thumped in the background. You’d spent most of the time dancing with other friends, forcibly ignoring the steady undercurrent of longing that tugged you toward Chris like some gravitational pull. If he noticed you looking, he never showed it, except for a few fleeting moments where your eyes met across the room, sparks flying before you both turned away again.

Eventually, Ava found you. She looked disheveled, eyes glassy and a lazy grin on her face. Matt clung to her side, equally worse for wear—his hair mussed, his speech slurred. They were hanging off each other, giggling like teenagers.

“Hey,” Ava said, her words blending together, “I—uh—we need to go home.” She hiccuped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Like, now.”

You glanced at the two of them, realizing just how hammered they were. Rolling your eyes affectionately, you hooked an arm around Ava’s waist to keep her steady. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you guys out of here.”

Getting Matt to focus was a chore, but between you and Ava’s coaxing, he finally managed to shuffle toward the exit. You kept an arm around your best friend, her head lolled onto your shoulder as she slurred something about how much she loved you.

Matt grinned drunkenly. “Y/N… you’re… you’re the best,” he mumbled, stumbling.

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get you home in one piece.”

Ava’s apartment—yours and hers, really—was close enough to walk, but considering how unsteady they both were, you worried it might be a disaster. Halfway to the door, you felt a presence behind you, a telltale warmth that made your skin prickle.

“Mind explaining where you’re taking my brother?”

Chris.

You turned, finding him standing there with his hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking between you and Matt, who was practically leaning his entire weight on your shoulder. Chris’s face was a complicated mask—some concern, a lot of annoyance, and just a hint of that ever-present tension.

Your chin lifted. “Home. With his girlfriend?” you said simply. “They’re both wrecked, so I’m taking them back to our place.”

A shadow of doubt passed over his expression. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

You arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward Matt. “I can’t leave my brother with you—” he gestured to Ava clinging to your arm, “—and that drunk fool. No offense, Ava.”

You bristled, even as a very small part of you was relieved that he cared enough to intervene. “Ava’s not that drunk. She just needs some water and a good night’s sleep, and Matt clearly needs the same.”

Chris’s gaze hardened. “Look, we can argue all night if you want, but at the end of the day, I’m not letting you carry his drunk ass home alone.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Matt swayed dangerously, cutting you off. Chris moved closer in an instant, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and steadying him. Matt mumbled something incoherent, then blinked as if just recognizing Chris was there.

“Hey, kid,” Matt slurred, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Missed you… or something.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the fleeting look of concern. “You see?” he said flatly. “He needs someone who can actually hold him upright.”

You blew out a breath, too exhausted and too buzzed to keep up the argument. Fine. Let him play the hero. “Alright,” you relented. “Let’s just get them home.”

With that, the four of you spilled out into the cool night air, Matt and Ava clutching onto each other and you, while Chris hovered on the other side. The walk was short but felt endless with your two drunken companions swaying and stumbling. Chris moved in to help whenever Matt nearly toppled over.

Every time his arm brushed yours, every time your shoulders bumped, the tension between you flared to life again—like an ember bursting into flame. It was maddening how your body seemed to respond to him, no matter how much you tried to tamp it down.

Finally, you reached your apartment building. You fumbled with the keys, grateful when the door clicked open. Inside, you guided Ava to her bedroom, where she promptly collapsed onto the bed. Matt, half-lidded and swaying on his feet, followed suit, flopping down next to her without a second thought.

You stood there, watching them, heart still pounding with adrenaline—or maybe something else. You could feel Chris behind you, close enough that warmth radiated off his body. The quiet of the apartment only amplified your awareness of him, every breath and shift in his stance sending your nerves sparking.

You turned, finding yourself nearly chest to chest with him, the small hallway leaving little room to maneuver. His eyes pinned you in place, a swirl of emotions dancing across those blue irises—conflict, frustration, and under it all, that magnetic pull you knew too well.

“So,” you murmured, voice low, “I guess you’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Chris swallowed, and for a moment, you saw the mask slip. “No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

You turned, finding yourself nearly chest to chest with him, the small hallway leaving little room to maneuver. His eyes pinned you in place, a swirl of emotions dancing across those blue irises—conflict, frustration, and under it all, that magnetic pull you knew too well.

“So,” you murmured, voice low, “I guess you’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Chris swallowed, and for a moment, you saw the mask slip. “No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

The tension hovering in the narrow space was almost suffocating, so thick it felt like you could reach out and touch it. But before either of you could say another word, a sudden commotion broke the moment.

A door creaked behind you. Ava, looking pale and disoriented, stumbled out of the bedroom. She blinked blearily in the dim light. You recognized that look immediately: she was about to be sick.

“Ava,” you said in alarm, stepping forward. “Oh no—”

But it was too late. Her face contorted, and she heaved forward. Chris, seeing what was about to happen, darted sideways to avoid the inevitable spray—only to crash directly into you.

“Shit!” you yelped as he slammed your shoulder. You lost your balance, stumbling back until the sharp corner of the wall made harsh contact with your head. Pain exploded at your temple, and you winced, hissing through your teeth.

Meanwhile, poor Chris was still caught in the line of fire, a portion of Ava’s vomit hitting his arm and splattering onto his shirt. He recoiled, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

Ava wiped her mouth, tears in her eyes, and mumbled something close to an apology. “I—I’m sorry… ‘m so sorry—”

You pressed a hand to your head, anger flaring as throbbing pain pulsed behind your skull. “What the hell, Chris?” you snapped, forcing yourself to straighten. “You didn’t have to knock me over!”

He turned on you, face drawn tight with frustration and disgust from the mess on his sleeve. “You were in the way,” he ground out. “I’m not exactly going to stand there and get covered in puke—though apparently, that happened anyway.”

Your brows shot up, temper sparking. “Oh, so that makes it okay to push me? You’re a real gentleman.”

Chris’s jaw flexed. “Don’t start with me. I’m not the one who can’t hold down a drink.”

“Hey!” Ava croaked from behind him, her voice wuavering. She slumped against the wall, looking miserable. “I didn’t mean—”

“Ava,” Matt’s voice interrupted from the doorway. He appeared with bleary eyes, hair sticking up in every direction. He took in the scene—Ava hunched over, you rubbing your head, Chris spattered in vomit—and promptly turned on his brother. “Chris, why the hell are you yelling at her?”

Chris took a breath, trying to calm himself, but the frustration was evident in every line of his posture. “I’m not yelling at her,” he said through gritted teeth, yanking at the soiled fabric of his sleeve. “But maybe try not to puke on people next time!”

Matt’s face darkened, protective anger flaring up. “Dude, she’s drunk and sick. Back off.”

A tense beat of silence followed, the four of you standing in that cramped hallway, hearts pounding, heads throbbing—some from booze, others from bruises, and Chris from equal parts disgust and fury.

You rubbed the spot on your head again, wincing at the dull ache that pulsed beneath your fingers. Ava slid down the wall to sit, eyes closed, still mumbling apologies. Matt hovered beside her, steadying her as best he could.

You pressed a hand gingerly to your head, wincing at the dull throb that had settled behind your temple. Meanwhile, Ava slumped on the floor, still half-groggy and covered in the remnants of her unfortunate mishap. Matt hovered next to her, one hand on her shoulder to keep her steady.

“Let’s get you two cleaned up,” you sighed, ignoring the furious pulse of pain at your temple.

Ava groaned but let you help her to her feet. Chris stayed by the wall, still looking half-annoyed, half-disgusted, but when Matt stumbled, he automatically reached out to steady him. Despite the tension in the air, the four of you worked together to guide your drunken friends toward the bathroom.

Once inside, you managed to get Ava to rinse her mouth while Matt hovered behind her, swaying dangerously. Chris stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, that exasperated expression never leaving his face.

“Brush her teeth,” he said gruffly, nodding to the unopened toothbrush sitting on the counter.

“I know how to take care of my best friend, thanks,” you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual bite. Your head hurt too much to spar properly.

He rolled his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll handle Matt.”

You and Chris maneuvered around each other in the cramped space, exchanging occasional glares whenever you nearly bumped hips. Eventually, you got Ava’s teeth brushed—despite her half-hearted protests—and Chris convinced Matt to rinse his face with cold water, muttering warnings all the while about “not throwing up on me, too.”

By the time Ava and Matt were more or less presentable, both of them looked ready to pass out on the spot. You guided Ava back to her bedroom while Chris helped Matt stumble in behind her. They collapsed onto the bed, Matt’s arm draped protectively over Ava’s waist, and within seconds, both were out like lights.

You stood there for a moment, catching your breath, still nursing the throbbing pain in your skull. Chris lingered behind you, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You alright?” he asked finally, voice lower now that Matt and Ava were asleep.

Your head still pounded, but there was no ignoring the fact that Chris’s shirt was splattered with sink water and vomit stains. “I’ll live,” you muttered, pressing your fingers gingerly to your temple.

He huffed, his tone edging into that familiar snark. “You sure? Looked like you smacked your head pretty hard.”

“I wouldn’t have smacked it if you hadn’t used me as a human shield,” you shot back, though there was more weariness than heat in your voice.

Chris dragged a hand across his jaw, clearly wrestling with another sarcastic comeback. But instead of firing off a retort, he let out a frustrated groan. “This shirt is disgusting,” he grumbled, glancing down at the dark splotches. With a brusque motion, he yanked it over his head.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him bare-chested—this close, the hallway lighting throwing every muscle into relief. You tried to be discreet, but your gaze couldn’t help but linger on the defined planes of his chest, the way his shoulders had broadened since high school. You forced yourself to snap out of it, shifting your eyes quickly back to his face, hoping he hadn’t noticed the heat creeping up your cheeks.

He shot you a quick look that might have been amusement or annoyance, you couldn’t tell. “What?” he asked, almost daring you to say something.

You cleared your throat, ignoring the traitorous flutter in your stomach. “Nothing. Let’s just… get you cleaned up.”

Without another word, you led the way to the kitchen, pressing a hand against your throbbing head as you walked. Chris followed with the soiled shirt balled in one hand.

“Sit,” he ordered once you reached the small table, his voice unusually gentle.

Too tired to bicker, you sank into a chair. Chris rummaged in the freezer and emerged with a bag of frozen peas, wrapping them in a kitchen towel. He offered it without meeting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pressing the makeshift ice pack to your temple. The cold relief was almost instantaneous, dulling the worst of the ache.

Chris turned toward the sink to rinse out the vomit-stained shirt, muscles in his back flexing as he scrubbed the fabric. You found yourself staring again, and you silently cursed the unwelcome rush of heat that flooded you from head to toe.

Trying to distract yourself, you forced your gaze elsewhere. “Let me… let me grab some dish soap,” you said, pushing yourself up. A bolt of pain in your head nearly made you stumble.

He cut you a sideways glance. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered. But the sudden movement left your head throbbing again, so you settled for just handing him the soap from the counter.

He muttered his thanks, squeezing a little onto the shirt and scrubbing at the stain. The quiet felt thick, loaded with tension that had nothing to do with the earlier chaos.

You tried to focus on the peas pressed to your temple, but your eyes kept wandering. Finally, you gave a short laugh, more at yourself than at him. “You know,” you said, “for a guy who’s half-naked in my kitchen, you’re pretty grouchy.”

He snorted softly, still working on the shirt. “Guess you bring out the best in me.”

A spark of irritation lanced through you, though it was tempered by the undeniable awareness of just how good he looked—tanned skin, toned arms, the faint spattering of freckles you remembered from years before. “You’re not exactly a delight either,” you shot back, pressing the ice pack firmly against your head.

He finished rinsing and wringing out his shirt, then turned off the faucet. Water dripped across his arms, sliding down the lines of his muscles. You forced yourself to keep your eyes level with his, ignoring the tilt in your stomach.

After a moment, Chris set the damp shirt aside and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He eyed you for a second, then jerked his chin at the peas you clutched. “How’s the head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints,” you smirked and his eyes widened at your innuendo.

You laughed at his reaction but actually answered the question this time. “It’s a little bit better, though.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair, obviously uncertain where to go from here. “Look,” he said, voice quieter now, “about earlier. I wasn’t trying to push you. I just—”

“Didn’t want to get puked on,” you finished for him. “Yeah, I got that memo.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I’m sorry if I knocked you over.”

You held his gaze, a wry smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “You’re forgiven. Now, are we done acting like idiots, or do we want to keep this up all night?”

A muscle flickered in his jaw, and for a second you thought he’d snap back with another sarcastic remark. But he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah,” he said softly. “I’m good.”

An awkward beat passed, the both of you taking stock of what remained. Matt and Ava were unconscious in the next room, you had a knot forming on your head, and Chris was half-naked in your kitchen, still dripping water.

“Well,” you said, pushing your chair back, “I guess we should try to sleep. Unless you want to stay up and make sure no one else hurls on you.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “I’ll take my chances on the couch.”

He grabbed a spare towel off the counter and scrubbed at the stray droplets on his arms. You couldn’t help a quick glance at the way the movement flexed his shoulders, and you hoped your expression didn’t betray how flustered you felt.

“Night, then,” you managed, your voice a little tight.

Chris nodded, stepping around you to head for the living room. “Night.”

You stood there for a moment, the makeshift ice pack pressed to your head, watching him go. As he disappeared around the corner—shirt still in hand—you exhaled slowly, muscles taut from all the pent-up tension of the night.

The morning light drifted through the blinds, prickling against your eyelids as you stirred awake. The dull ache in your temple reminded you exactly why you’d gone to bed last night with a bag of frozen peas pressed to your head. You blinked, slowly registering the muffled sounds coming from the living room.

You pushed the blankets aside and slipped out of bed, wincing at the minor throb that still pulsed behind your temple. Padding into the hallway, you paused at the sight of Chris sprawled on your couch, arms folded over his chest. He looked about as comfortable as one could be when sleeping on a lumpy couch in someone else’s apartment.

He stirred at the sound of your footsteps. His eyes cracked open—still heavy with sleep but alert enough to narrow in on you as you stepped closer.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

Your first instinct was to snap at him—some half-baked comment about overstaying his welcome. But before you could open your mouth, he cut you off, lifting a hand as if to ward off your tirade.

“Before you bitch me out,” he said, “I’m waiting for Matt to wake up so I can take him home.”

A quick wave of annoyance flared in your chest, but you only sighed. He had a point—Matt was definitely in no state to hop on an Uber last night, and Chris wasn’t the type to leave his brother behind. Instead of biting back, you nodded reluctantly.

“Fine,” you muttered. “At least you didn’t run off in the middle of the night.”

He shot you a look, somewhere between exasperated and amused, but said nothing. A fragile ceasefire, at best.

Just then, you heard a low groan from the hallway. Ava appeared, bleary-eyed and leaning heavily against the wall as if the sheer act of walking was a Herculean effort. Her hair was a mess, and she looked about as hungover as a person could be.

“Ow, my head,” she mumbled. “Did anyone catch the license plate of the truck that ran me the fuck over?”

You grimaced sympathetically. “Welcome to the consequences of your own actions.”

Ava rubbed her temples, squinting as she glanced around the living room. Her eyes fell on Chris, who was watching her with a mild, unreadable expression. She blinked once, twice, then turned to you, face twisted in confusion.

“Um… why is Chris here? Did you guys… fuck?”

Your jaw dropped. Chris actually closed his eyes like he was silently wishing himself elsewhere. After a beat of stunned silence, he cleared his throat. “Where is Matt?”

Ava shot him a mischievous smile despite her pallor. “Oh, you know,” she drawled, her tone teasing, “he’s probably hiding in my room because you two were up all night going at it.”

You and Chris both spluttered in protest. “Ava!” you snapped, cheeks heating. “We did not—”

She raised an eyebrow, wiggling it suggestively, but then cringed as her headache reeled her back in. “Ow. Okay, sorry. Too loud.”

“And too wrong,” Chris added flatly. “The only ‘going at it’ last night was you puking all over me.”

Ava’s eyes went wide, suddenly looking mortified. “Wait, what?”

You let out a half-amused snort, remembering the chaos. “You really don’t remember? You staggered into the hallway and threw up on Chris, then he tried to dodge and slammed me against the wall.”

Chris nodded, eyes flicking pointedly to your temple. “Which gave her that nice bump on her head.”

Ava cringed again, glancing at you with genuine guilt. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I… I blacked out.” She turned to Chris, noticing the faint dried stain still on his forearm. “Oh my God,” she repeated, horror-struck. “Did I really—?”

He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey, a shower and about twenty gallons of soap later, I’m mostly fine.”

Ava buried her face in her hands. “This is humiliating.” But then, despite her headache, she cracked a small laugh. “I guess that explains why you’re in the living room, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, as the absurdity of the whole situation sank in. Chris let out a resigned chuckle, shaking his head.

“Believe me, I’d have been long gone if I didn’t have to cart Matt’s drunk ass out of here in a bit,” Chris said.

“I can’t believe I slept through all that,” Ava muttered. “Did I at least apologize?”

“Yes,” you said dryly, “though I’m not sure how coherent it was.”

“Enough to rub vomit in my hair again,” Chris grumbled good-naturedly.

Ava groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Ugh. I’m never drinking like that again.”

Chris smirked. “I’m holding you to that.”

A wry grin tugged at your own lips. After all the tension and drama last night, there was a strange relief in being able to stand here and laugh about it—like all of you were finally exhaling.

“How about I make some coffee?” you offered, tossing a glance at Ava’s pale face. “I think we could all use a little caffeine.”

“Oh, God, yes,” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead.

Chris nodded in agreement. “Sure. Then I can drag Matt home to sleep this off somewhere that’s not your couch.”

The faintest hint of warmth stirred in your chest at the idea of him staying just a little bit longer—even if it was just for coffee. But you pushed that down, focusing on the task at hand.

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, leading the way to the kitchen. Behind you, Chris and Ava followed, still chuckling under their breath at the mess they’d all endured last night.

As you flicked on the coffee maker, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once Matt woke up, once Chris left, once this bizarre morning after turned into actual daylight. But for now, at least, you had peace—and, surprisingly enough, even a laugh or two to share.

You settle around the small kitchen table with Chris and Ava, nursing your cup of coffee. The early sunlight streaming through the window does little to mask the awkwardness lingering from the night before. Ava, sporting a messy bun and still looking a bit drained, leans an elbow on the table and eyes Chris over the rim of her mug.

“So,” she drawls, voice scratchy with sleep but brimming with sass, “get comfortable, Chris. I’m gonna go wake Matt up, and it’s gonna be a while.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “You and Y/N can, I don’t know, get cozy and touch tips while Matt takes me to pound town again.”

You nearly choke on your coffee. Chris’s face goes through about three different shades of horror before settling on exasperated. “First off,” he mutters, setting down his mug a little too hard, “I really don’t need to know the specifics of my brother’s sex life.”

Ava just laughs, utterly unapologetic. “Suit yourself,” she shrugs, sliding off the chair. “But don’t blame me if you two get bored. Find something to do, or each other to do—whatever.”

“Ava, seriously,” you groan, pressing your palms to your eyes. “At least use protection, okay?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Mom,” she shoots back sarcastically. “You’re so thoughtful.” Then she winks at Chris for good measure. “Think of me fondly while I’m gone.”

With that, she downed the rest of her coffee, set her mug in the sink, and strutted upstairs to Matt’s room, shutting the door with a pointed click behind her.

An awkward hush settles over the kitchen. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, fiddling with the handle of your mug. Chris avoids your gaze at first, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck.

“So,” you say finally, deadpan, “that was subtle of her.”

He huffs a half-laugh, glancing up at the ceiling like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Yeah, subtle as a car crash.”

You both fall silent. Then, from above, a soft thud—followed by the unmistakable sounds of Ava and Matt… reacquainting themselves with each other.

“Oh, God,” you mutter under your breath, cheeks heating. You rub your temples, trying to will the noise away, but it only grows louder.

Chris grimaces, then tries to play it off with a roll of his eyes. “Guess they didn’t waste any time.”

You make a face, sipping your coffee in hopes the caffeine will distract you. “They’re in for round two, apparently.”

A moment passes, filled with an increasingly steady rhythm of moans that filter down the stairs. You and Chris exchange a glance—equal parts discomfort and wry amusement at the sheer absurdity of it.

He breaks the tension by arching an eyebrow. “Reminds me of some of our high school experiences.” There’s a dryness to his tone—like he’s testing how far he can push you.

You sputter, nearly spilling your coffee. “Wow. That’s a throwback.”

A half-smile ghosts across his lips. “Well, she’s not moaning as loud as you did back then.”

Heat flares in your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment, and, annoyingly, part amusement. “Excuse you?”

He shrugs, crossing his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Just saying, I’ve got a good memory.”

Your eyes narrow as you set your mug aside. “No one asked you to remember. And I’m pretty sure I was never that loud.”

Chris smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You can keep telling yourself that.”

“Ugh.” You glare at him, ignoring the slight flutter in your stomach that you really wish wasn’t there. “And here I thought we’d have a civil morning.”

“I’m plenty civil.” He lifts his coffee cup, giving a mock toast. “You’re the one who let your best friend invite me to loiter in your living room.”

“As if you had no choice in the matter?” you counter, eyebrows shooting up. “You could’ve left at any time—”

“Except for the part where my brother was drunk off his ass and still is, apparently.” He nods toward the ceiling, where Matt and Ava’s very enthusiastic “recovery” session continues.

You roll your eyes, even as a small twinge of guilt twists in your gut. “Fine. You win that one.”

He sets his cup down, a flicker of genuine concern crossing his features. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Better,” you admit grudgingly, resisting the urge to rub the lingering bump. “Still a little sore. You’re lucky I don’t sue you for damages.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, good luck explaining that to a judge: ‘Your honor, he dodged puke, and I paid the price.’”

The corners of your mouth quirk up despite yourself. “I’ll have to come up with something a little more dramatic.”

His gaze lingers on you, a hint of that familiar tension creeping into the air between you. For a second, neither of you speak. The echo of moans from upstairs fills the silence, but you try to tune it out, focusing on Chris’s expression. It’s a mix of exasperation and something you can’t quite pin down.

Eventually, he clears his throat, looking away. “Anyway. As soon as they’re done, I’m taking Matt home.”

“Fair enough,” you say, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from his lingering stare. “I’m just glad he’s not making an even bigger mess down here.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

You share a moment of uneasy quiet, sipping at your drinks and trying to pretend the floor isn’t practically vibrating with Ava and Matt’s activities. Each moan or thump from upstairs seems to underscore the unresolved tension between you and Chris—like the universe is mocking you both.

You collapse onto the couch, remote in hand, while Chris drops heavily onto the opposite end. Neither of you seems particularly eager to be in the kitchen, where the sound of Ava and Matt’s increasingly enthusiastic activities upstairs is even more obvious. Even here, though, you can still catch the muffled rhythms and gasps emanating through the ceiling.

“Want to put something on?” you offer, brandishing the remote as a distraction.

Chris shrugs. “Sure. Maybe it’ll drown them out.”

You flip through streaming services, settling on some mindless show you’ve both seen before—something you can half-watch, half-ignore. Anything to keep the awkward silence at bay.

Except the background noise doesn’t stop. Ava’s voice floats downstairs in a series of moans, clearly not worried about volume control. You feel your face heat, trying hard not to picture what’s happening up there, but it’s impossible to completely shut it out.

Chris catches the faint color in your cheeks and smirks. “You okay?”

You shoot him a glare. “Fine.”

He snorts, eyes flicking toward the ceiling with a knowing tilt of his head. “I guess some people really enjoy their mornings.”

“Can we not analyze it, please?” you mutter, turning up the volume on the TV.

For a few minutes, the two of you watch the show in a tense silence, interrupted only by the occasionally awkward clearing of throats. On the screen, the characters are bantering, their dialogue a hollow cover for the more intimate soundscape filtering down from upstairs.

Eventually, Chris shifts, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as though suppressing a grin. “Kinda like old times, huh?”

You glance at him warily. “Old times… meaning what exactly?” even though you knew exactly what he was reffering to.

He lifts a shoulder. “High school. All that sneaking around we did.” He nods at the ceiling again with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Not that we ever woke the whole house up—but you sure knew how to make noise back then.”

A spike of heat floods your cheeks. “Oh, shut up. I told you I wasn’t that loud.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I distinctly remember having to clamp a hand over your mouth one time, so your parents wouldn’t figure out I was in your bedroom.”

Your crotch thrums at the memory, even as you roll your eyes. “You’re making that up.”

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nope. That was, like… sophomore year?”

“Junior,” you correct quietly, the mental images flashing unbidden behind your eyes—late-night kisses, stolen touches, the muffled giggles when the floor creaked.

Chris spreads his hands, as though he’s proved his point. “See, you do remember.”

You hate the surge of warmth pooling in your stomach, especially with the unmistakable moans from upstairs fueling the tension. Your gaze flicks to him, noticing the way he’s tugging at the collar of his still-bare torso as if he’s feeling the heat, too.

Desperate to reclaim some composure, you turn back to the TV and raise the volume a couple more notches. The show’s bright laughter and goofy dialogue bounce off the living room walls. It helps—just a little—until there’s a particularly loud thud from above, followed by Ava’s not-so-subtle cry of Matt’s name.

You cringe, flicking Chris a sideways glance. His eyebrows are raised, and the corner of his mouth twitches with restrained amusement. “They’re really going for it, huh?”

“Stop it,” you hiss, trying to ignore the thudding of your own heart.

He chuckles, low and mocking. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re blushing. Maybe it’s bringing back memories for you, too?”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, because the best soundtrack for nostalgia is my best friend hooking up with your brother.”

His gaze slides over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the lines of your legs tucked up on the couch. “Pretty sure I’m remembering a different soundtrack…”

A fresh wave of tension courses through you, courtesy of those teasing words and the faint recollection of your younger selves entwined in the dark. You can’t help the jittery sensation in your stomach—part annoyance, part undeniable attraction.

“That was forever ago,” you say, voice a little tight.

“Was it, though?” he counters, his voice dropping just enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You scowl, holding his gaze even though your pulse hammers. “Yes, Chris. It was.”

From upstairs, Ava’s delighted shriek rattles through the ceiling. You stifle a groan, covering your face with one hand. “Oh my God, I am never letting her live this down.”

Chris laughs, and it’s surprisingly genuine. “She’ll do the same to you if the roles were reversed.”

“Probably,” you admit.

You try to refocus on the TV show, but all you can hear is Matt and Ava’s muffled moans, and all you can feel is Chris’s eyes tracking you from the other side of the couch. The air feels charged, like a static storm on the verge of sparking, and you can’t decide if you hate it or crave it.

Finally, you shoot him a sharp look, hoping to douse the tension. “Got something to say?”

He smirks. “No, not really. Just reminded that you and I used to have this effect on each other… and it was never quiet.”

Your cheeks burn, and you set your jaw, refusing to let him rile you up any further. “Keep it up, and I’ll crank the TV so loud the neighbors call the cops.”

“And here I was, thinking we could just talk about the old days,” he drawls, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his bare skin shifting with the motion. “But hey, if the thought of me dicking you down is too much for you to control yourself right now, then I get it.

You open your mouth to retort—except your heart is pounding and your mind can’t help flipping through flashes of those stolen nights in high school. The way his hands felt on you, the desperate hushes whenever there was a risk of being caught, the rush of young desire you never quite forgot.

Upstairs, Ava lets out another moan that makes you cringe and press the remote’s volume button a few more times. “God, they better wrap this up soon.”

Chris arches an eyebrow, smirk widening. “Jealous?”

Your eyes snap to his. “Of them?”

He lifts a shoulder, carefully casual. ‘You tell me.”

A beat passes, and you can’t help flicking a glance at his bare torso—at the taut muscles that were far less defined back in high school, the confident air that certainly wasn’t there as a lanky teenager. You snap your eyes back to the TV, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

He chuckles, and it’s a low, lazy sound that does nothing to steady your heart rate. You pretend you’re enthralled by the sitcom characters on the screen, hoping the next few minutes pass quickly—or that Ava and Matt finally decide they’ve had enough.

But as you stare at the screen, you find your mind wandering, remembering the feel of his lips on yours, that electric rush you once craved. And judging by the heavy silence from Chris’s side of the couch, he’s remembering, too.

You and Chris remain on opposite ends of the couch, the TV blaring in a desperate attempt to drown out Ava and Matt’s enthusiastic finale. Finally, the unmistakable moans and muffled thuds from upstairs taper off. A few minutes later, you hear shuffling footsteps on the stairs.

Ava appears in the living room doorway, hair even more disheveled than before, cheeks flushed. She looks from you to Chris, who’s still shirtless, arms crossed as he lounges in an almost-too-casual pose. Something in her gaze flickers—mischief, curiosity—and you realize she’s not missing a single detail.

“All right,” she says, stretching her arms over her head like she’s been in a yoga class instead of a bedroom romp. “We’re done. For now.” Then she eyes you and Chris. “So, did you two fuck while we were busy, or…?”

Your face heats instantly. “No!” you blurt out, a little too fast. “Of course not.”

Chris just huffs a low laugh, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “No,” he echoes, nonchalantly. But he doesn’t deny the tension that’s been crackling between you both all morning.

Ava narrows her eyes, scanning the room. “Mmm-hmm, sure,” she says with a knowing drawl. She lets her gaze settle on Chris for a moment, then glances back to you. Though she doesn’t say anything outright, it’s like she’s clocked something beneath the waistband of his sweats—and is doing her best not to cackle.

Before you can overthink her silent observation, Matt stumbles down the stairs behind her, hair sticking up in every possible direction. He looks like he barely has the energy to walk straight.

Chris pushes up from the couch—maybe a little too abruptly, as if trying to hide any…obvious issues. “C’mon, man,” he mutters, grabbing Matt by the arm with more force than necessary. “Time to get you home.”

Matt, still half-asleep, doesn’t protest. He just mumbles something incoherent, kisses Ava goodbye,  and lets Chris steer him toward the door. Ava steps aside, watching them go, biting back a grin.

“Uh, thanks for the hospitality, I guess,” Chris calls over his shoulder, still wearing that faint smirk. He glances at you once, eyes lingering a beat longer than normal before he hauls Matt outside.

The door clicks shut. Silence falls—blessedly free of moaning and snark. You exhale, slumping back against the couch cushion. All the tension of the morning seems to settle in your shoulders, and you rub the knot at the back of your neck.

Then Ava whips around, hands on her hips, eyes dancing with amusement. “Holy shit, girl,” she hisses, scurrying over to flop down beside you. “Did you see the giant hard-on Chris had?”

You choke on air, cheeks flaming. “Ava!”

She throws her head back, laughing despite her obvious hangover. “I’m serious! Dude was packing some serious heat under those sweatpants. And you’re telling me you two didn’t get busy?”

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “We did not—no! Absolutely not,” you insist, shaking your head. “And can we not talk about…that?”

Ava props an elbow on the back of the couch, eyeing you like she sees right through your protest. “So you’re telling me he was just sitting here, sporting a massive boner, and nothing happened?” She snorts. “He’s still into you, obviously.”

You swallow hard, memories of the heated banter and near-constant tension flashing through your mind. “It’s not like that,” you try again, but the argument sounds weak even to your own ears. “He’s just waiting for Matt—well, was waiting—to get home safe.”

“Right,” she says, drawing the word out. Then she pats your leg in mock sympathy, still clearly amused. “You know you’re free to live your life, right? Even if it includes hooking up with your old…whatever the fuck he was.”

You set your jaw, refusing to meet her gleeful gaze. “He’s annoying. We bicker. That’s it.”

Ava shrugs, standing up to stretch again. “Annoying plus bickering can sometimes equal good, angry sex. Just saying.”

You toss a couch pillow at her, sending her into another wave of laughter. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

She catches the pillow and smirks. “And you’re in denial, babe.” Then she lifts her hands in surrender. “But hey, my job here is done. I’m all freshened up, physically satisfied, and apparently, I missed quite a show down here, too.”

Rolling your eyes dramatically, you bury your face in your hands. “I cannot deal with this conversation before lunch.”

Ava laughs again, patting your shoulder and leaning in conspiratorially. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you think about Chris’s, um, situation in peace.”

With that, she saunters off to the kitchen, presumably for more coffee—or to nurse her hangover with some Advil. You remain on the couch, heart still beating a tad too fast, unable to stop yourself from recalling the way Chris smirked when Ava asked if you’d hooked up.

Because maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as opposed to the idea as you claimed to be. And if Ava’s not wrong about the whole “obvious interest” thing, then the next time you see him, it might be a whole new kind of mess.

tags: @mattsobvimyfav

comment to be on the tag list!

MASTERLIST

[amirasainz]

Hello! Could I request some Amira where Lando kind of wants her attention after the Bahrain race, but Oscar has it.

Thank you! I miss your stories so much. You havent written anything in a very long time.

Hey guys! Enjoy reading this story and send some requests! I will focus more on the 'Amira Sainz series' again.

-xoxo, Amira🧡

Having her attention

The Bahrain paddock was buzzing, lights still shining bright under the desert night as teams packed up and fans screamed from behind the barriers. It had been a hell of a race.

Oscar had won it—clean, clinical, brilliant. Lando had driven the race of his life too, finishing third after a wild series of overtakes and wheel-to-wheel drama. Everyone was pumped, sweaty, and buzzing with adrenaline.

But none more than Lando.

He'd pulled himself out of the McLaren hospitality suite, eager eyes scanning the crowd. There was only one person he wanted to see. One person he wanted to celebrate with. Amira.

Amira was Carlos' little sister. Twenty-one, radiant, and far too charming for her own good. Every single driver on the grid was in love with her, Lando included. Hell, even the drivers' girlfriends were probably a little in love with her.

She had this way of listening—really listening—that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. When she laughed, it was the kind that made you feel like you’d won something.

And Lando wanted to win. Her.

He found her near the back of the McLaren hospitality, her long brown curls bouncing as she laughed at something someone was saying. He smiled instinctively, already imagining her throwing her arms around him and gushing about his overtakes.

Then he saw who she was talking to.

Oscar.

Of course.

Oscar had a hand on her waist—her waist—and was talking animatedly, his face lit up with boyish excitement. Amira’s eyes sparkled up at him, completely enraptured.

Lando’s smile dropped.

He walked toward them anyway, fixing on a more casual, lopsided grin. “Hey,” he said brightly, leaning in to press a kiss to Amira’s cheek. “There’s my favorite girl.”

Amira turned her head slightly, offering him her cheek but not her attention. “Hey, Lando,” she said warmly, but her gaze never left Oscar.

Lando cleared his throat and launched right in. “Did you see that battle with George? Lap 49? Honestly thought I was done for, but I sent it.”

Amira nodded absently, eyes still locked on Oscar. “Mm-hmm.”

Oscar chuckled, finally turning to glance at Lando. “It was a good one, mate.”

“Oh, come on,” Lando said, trying to laugh. “She’s not even listening to me!”

Amira blinked and turned, smiling sweetly. “I heard you. Lap 49. George. You sent it. Very cool.”

Oscar snorted, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.

“I mean, I was side by side with three cars at one point. And I kept the podium.” Lando insisted.

“That’s amazing,” Amira said politely. “Anyway, Oscar, you were saying about the pit stop?”

Lando stared in disbelief as Oscar smoothly picked up the story again, sliding his arm more firmly around her waist and guiding her away from him.

Lando blinked. “Are you—are you seriously—”

Oscar turned over his shoulder, walking backward for a second, and smirked. “Better luck next time, mate.” He pulled Amira even closer.

Lando was left standing there, seething.

“Hey!” came Carlos’ voice.

Lando tensed.

Carlos appeared beside him, eyes sharp as knives. “Are you looking at my sister again?”

Lando hesitated. “No? Maybe? She’s literally right there.”

Carlos followed his gaze, jaw clenching as he spotted Oscar and Amira—now practically whispering to each other under the string lights.

“Óscar,” Carlos muttered in disgust. “Of course it’s Óscar.”

Lando sighed. “She didn’t even care about my race, man.”

Carlos turned slowly to him. “And you’re upset?”

“Yes!”

“Well I’m upset that you’re upset, because that means you think you had a chance in the first place!”

Lando threw his arms up. “Mate, you know everyone’s in love with her. I’m just being honest.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “I will throw you into the Gulf.”

“Join the queue,” Lando muttered.

Just then, Charles strolled by, holding a very aesthetically pleasing glass of something suspiciously expensive-looking. He took a long, deliberate sip, then fixed Lando with a perfectly blank look.

“I wouldn’t want to be you right now,” Charles said lightly, then walked off.

Lando’s jaw dropped. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Carlos patted him once—very hard—on the back. “Means you should go home, cry in the shower, and rethink your life choices.”

Lando groaned.

Meanwhile, Oscar was telling Amira about every tiny moment of his race, and she was hanging onto every word like he was Shakespeare behind the wheel.

Carlos started marching toward them.

“Wait, wait—are you seriously going to ruin this for her?” Lando asked.

Carlos didn’t look back. “I’m going to ruin it for him.”

Lando stayed behind, jaw clenched, watching Amira throw her head back laughing at something Oscar said.

Charles passed by again, now with Pierre.

Pierre gave Lando a sympathetic nod. “She likes the quiet ones.”

“I’M a quiet one!” Lando protested.

Charles sipped again. “You’re loudly quiet.” Again, he walked away like nothing happened.

Lando sat down on the nearest crate, stunned, as Oscar dipped his head and whispered something into Amira’s ear, making her blush.

He was still sitting there when Carlos exploded onto the scene like an angry hurricane.

Let’s just say, the post-race celebrations were a little more chaotic than usual that night.

And Lando? Lando was plotting his redemption arc.

[nicnak20]

A detailed examination; Charlie Mayhew:

*When Yn goes in for a regular checkup with her new doctor, she ends getting examined by a handsome young doctor who provides a very detailed examination on her. *

Yn swayed her feet back and forth against the cushiony leather table- the paper crinkling underneath her. Her arms prickled goosebumps- they always did whenever she stepped into the sterile domain of the hospital.

If it wasn't the muffled sounds of hospital chatter, then it was the metallic of the shiny instruments hanging on the walls. Feeling the thin paper gown bellow over her body, Yn felt her body flush with heat. The hair over her arms stuck up like pins in a cushion. She had an appointment with a new doctor: Doctor Mayhew. Maybe he was an older doctor; gray hair on the sides of her hair, a kind worn in smile that he gave to all his patients. Or maybe a sweet but stern woman with crinkles in around her eyes and subtle blue eyes that stared back at her with a sympathetic seriousness.

Yn found that thinking of the mysterious Doctor Mayhew distracted her from the waiting that seemed to be lingering on and on.

A knock on the door sounded and it startled Yn a bit. "Come in,"

In walked a young doctor- dark brown hair slicked and styled, a rich dimpled smile and settled down demeanor. "Hello, Miss Yn," he scanned the clipboard, "I'm Dr. Mayhew and I'll be taking care of you today." He reached out his hand for Yn to shake, before heading over to the counter.

Yn felt her heart speed up. Her face flushed a bit as Dr. Mayhew settled on the stool as he went over Yn's medical history. Feeling a bit small in his presence, Yn turned her attention to her thumbs that kept shuffling over and under each other- a nervous habit she picked up in the third grade.

Dr. Mayhew cleared his throat before holding the clipboard up and turning his attention to Yn.

"Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Engage in any form of drug use?" "No."

"Drink more than twice a day?" Yn shook her head.

A silence fell over the room until the questions became more invasive. "How are your cycles- are your periods regular?"

"...yes."

"Have you ever had any STDs?" "No... I'm a virgin." Dr. Mayhew's eyebrows lifted a bit. "This is just routine but- do you suspect pregnancy or have been pregnant in the past?"

"No." Dr. Mayhew wrote something down on the clipboard before setting it down on the counter and moving towards the foot of the table. Grabbing the little light from his lab coat, he shined it in Yn's eyes, then her ears and then inside her mouth and nose.

"Checks out nicely...." Dr. Mayhew then swiveled over and grabbed a small swivel tray where he set down a few supplies, but Yn's eyes zeroed in on a speculum and a few sample brushes.

Understanding what this exam was about: the period questions, the STDs and the pregnancy routine questions, Yn understood that she was about to receive a very detailed examination by the handsome doctor she had felt so intimidated by.

Her face flushed even warmer when he pulled the thick metal stirrups out that seemed to be hidden under the table. "Before I preform the pelvic exam, I would like to do a breast exam first. It checks for any cancers that might be there."

Carefully undoing the top of Yn's gown, it slid down leaving Yn's bare breast to pop out. They felt cold and care against the air of the room. Dr. Mayhew warmed up his hands after washing them in the sink. Walking back over, he carefully touched Yn's breast and squeezed it carefully- tickling the sensitive nipples with his palms.

Checking the other breast, Yn turned her attention to the stirrups that stuck out; like Dr. Mayhew wanted to taunt her with the looming exam that was to befall her after her simple breast check she was being given in the moment. Yn felt herself become wet but tried to stifle any reactions; professionally as she would've liked it to be for herself as well.

Her nipples became denser the more they were touched. They bounced back from the doctor's touches until they were surprisingly squeezed and pinched a bit from the clamps being placed over them. Five seconds turned into a minute as Dr. Mayhew wrote down some information on his clipboard.

"Alright," he removed the clips from Yn's nipples that were now hard and pointed. He helped Yn dress her gown over her chest before scooting down to end of the table again. "Just lay back Yn," A shudder fell down Yn's spine as she complied and laid back against the table. She felt the thin paper press against the nape of her back as Dr. Mayhew gentle guided her feet into the stirrups.

Feeling the warmth of his hands touch her cool feet, Yn's body warmed. Hearing the loud elastic snap of latex gloves made her cheeks flush with a deep redness. Glancing over and seeing the white gloves wrapped over Dr. Mayhew's large hands made a red fall over face- warming her cheeks with a burning sting.

Grabbing her hips, Dr. Mayhew scooted Yn down to the edge of the table and spread her legs gently, pushing back the gown from around her legs until her inner thighs hit the light and her vagina was exposed in front of the doctor. He kindly shined the light over her intimates, enlivening the peachy rose-colored flesh of her bottom too.

Exposed and artless, Yn felt herself sink deeper and deeper into the bitter hole of humiliation. Feeling Dr. Mayhew's gloved hands touch the lips of her vagina, Yn blushed. Alert to the wetness of herself, Dr. Mayhew seemed to take note of this and arched his eyebrow about the other. A smirk appeared across his face as without warning, his finger dug into Yn's little hole. Hearing the silk wet sounds of his finger adventuring inside of Yn, she tried to drum out the exam with the slight buzzing ring of the overhead lights.

"Okay..." grabbing the speculum, Dr. Mayhew touched it to Yn's inner thigh. "I'm going to insert the speculum now... it might feel a bit cool."

As the smooth metallic slid into you, the coolness penetrated through your body. Afraid to even glance up between your legs and see a focused- and determined- Dr. Mayhew poking and prodding around inside of you. Feeling the tingling cramping from the brush ticking her cervix, Yn was instructed to breathe deep and focus on the celling.

Yn could feel herself leaking her fluids. The speculum was removed with a string of cum still sticking to the tip. Dr. Mayhew used his finger as an interrupter and wrapped the string around his finger before setting it down on the sterile cloth. He stood up and lubricated his two fingers. "I'm going to do the bimanual exam now; you'll feel me go inside and palpate your ovaries. This is to check for any abnormalities."

Before Yn could reply, she felt the cool gelled fingers slid inside her and twist around- mixing in with her own juices. With his other hand, Dr. Mayhew lifted Yn's gown and exposed her mid-section. She knew he was staring at her slim waist and body frame, taking in the etches of her slender, soft curves. Pressing down just above her pubic bone, Yn adverted her attention to anything else- even though she could feel the doctor's eyes on her. He's just seeing if I'm in pain she thought to herself, daring not to even take one simple look into his intense eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Mayhew's fingers slid out and he discarded the used glove. Donning on another one, Yn flinched at the sound of rubbery latex. "I'm going to do the rectal vaginal exam and then a digital rectal exam now."

The squirting sound of lube echoed again and soon Dr. Mayhew's fingers were deep inside Yn's other puckered hole and her vagina. The pressure was becoming too much, and Yn truly wanted the earth to swallow her whole. As the procedure ended, Yn thought the worst to be behind her.

Then she was instructed to get on all fours.

Her feet were guided out of the stirrups and as Dr. Mayhew was sliding them back up into the table, Yn was positioned like a dog or cat wanting to be pet.

The backside of her gown was flung open, and her round bottom was fully exposed against the glaring lights and the handsome doctor's eyes. Hearing more gloves being snapped on, Yn felt her cheeks being spread and she realized that she was at no mercy anymore. A cool wet feeling touched her hidden hole and soon not one, not two, but a whole hand was sliding into her backside, disappearing within her crack.

"A standard hemorrhoid check," Dr. Mayhew said, "it also helps detect for any intestinal problems." Yn understood it meant constipation. Her backside now wet with a determined hand rooting around inside her like she was hiding something in there.

Her face turned scarlet- destroyed by being so undignified by a 'routine physical' that she began to regret even showing up for. Gasping, trying to hide her obvious discomfort and embarrassment became more of the same ambition that Dr. Mayhew had within himself to even suggest an exam like this. Hiding her face in the paper sheets, Yn could only just endure the horrifying treatment of being dug into.

"All done." Dr. Mayhew announced as his hand was removed. Grabbing tissues, he cleaned Yn up and discarded his used gloves. "Your exam went very well, Miss Yn." Helping the young woman sit back up, Yn had to force herself to make eye contact.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Yn. I'll send the samples to the lab, and they'll have your results in a week or so." He smiled.

"Thank you." Yn sheepishly said. "It was my pleasure." Dr. Mayhew shook Yn's hand again before excusing himself out of the room, dismissing Yn from her appointment.

Gathering her clothes, Yn changed into them as quickly as possible, before running out of the hospital, hoping to leave behind the deep shame that had brewed from it.

"A nice warm bubble bath outa do the trick." She said to herself on the car ride home.

She hoped deep down that maybe it would soothe the humiliating procedures from her mind, but not totally erase the doctor that she genuinely did have a pleasure meeting.

[xiaominghao]

Midnight present

Genre: Fluff. Literally fluff.

Pairing: Dokyeom x reader.

Warnings: Seokmin was careless, but only a little.

Yuin's note: i actually have a seal pillow and called him Mimi bc why not??

"Hello, can you come to the door? I don't want the neighbors to wake up"

You rubbed your sleepy eyes while lazily turned on the lights along your way, as you opened the door a very enthusiastic Seokmin jumped in and closing the door, he wraped his arms on you.

"Happy birthday!" he exclaimed as he squeezed you tightly against his chest. At that moment, you noticed he was holding a gift bag in his hand.

“Did you drive all the way here at midnight just to wish me happy birthday?” you replied, a little confused, a little happy.

“It’s our first birthday together, of course I did!” Seokmin took you by the wrist to the living room, where he placed the gift bag in your lap. “I hope you like it.”

It was too late and all you wanted to do was just cover up with your blankets, but he was so eager... He wasn’t going to sleep without seeing your reaction. Inside the bag was a stuffed animal, a soft and very fluffy stuffed seal.

"Mimi!" you exclaimed while laughing, looking at him and then looking at the seal. "But, why...?"

"Remember that day, when we're looking at that online store and you said you wanted it?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, congratulations, is now yours!"

“Ah! Just look how cute it is! Thank you!”

Although you seemed very calm and not that happy, you were holding your present tightly against your chest. It wasn't just another stuffed animal for your big collection; it was a gift he had bought especially for you, and that made it even more valuable.

"I'm delighted to see you like it" Seokmin tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and brushed a soft kiss on your cheek. "Okay then, ready for the sleepover?"

"Sleep... What!?"

Because of the excitement of the moment, you hadn't noticed, but he was wearing very comfortable and very suspicious clothes...

"What? I'm far from home and it's too dark to get back". Seokmin smirked at you, but you raised one brown in protest making him burst in laughter. “I was really excited to come and I didn’t plan it, will you forgive me this time?”

You thought about punish him and letting him sleep on the couch, but his beautiful eyes were shining, pleading, as if he were screaming inside how much he wanted to be by your side. You sighed in resignation.

"Fine, but my bed is small"

"Who talked about sleeping?"

"I did. Now" One glare was enough to make him understand that you weren't playing around.

Entering your room, he couldn't help but let out a sigh, moved by the scene before his eyes. It was his first time in your room, your personal space, the bed was set with pastel-colored blankets, and surrounded by all of your plushies.

"Sorry, there's just too much here..." You said as you made room, placing the stuffed animals in a corner with the clean clothes. "I need some shelves… You'll make me run out of space".

"You can move in to my place" Seokmin whispered, though his tone made it clear he wanted you to hear.

"I'll still need the shelves"

Despite the efforts, you had to leave a few stuffed animals around the bed. You scratched your head, a little frustrated, but there wasn't much you could or wanted to do.

“Well, if you don’t mind waking up with a cramp…” you leaned against the wall, making as much space as possible, and patted the bed, “you’re more than welcome.”

A happy Seokmin laid down beside you, both of you staring at each other’s eyes as you were wrapped in the thick blankets and the warmth of his embrace. The dim moonlight filtered through the window behind you, illuminating Seokmin’s face, who smiled serenely as he caressed your cheek with his finger.

Yeah, he had given you a beautiful birthday gift, but being honest… He himself was the best gift you could ever had, and you closed your eyes feeling your chest beat with happiness…

“y/n” he suddenly murmured.

“Tell me.”

“You left the seal on the desk.”

“There wasn’t any space,” you rested your forehead against his, placing your hand on his neck; he chuckled softly. “Goodnight, Mimi.”

[projectionistwrites]

Literally would read any moon knight smut from you 🥵 can I request something with the boys having a marking/spit kink? I feel like it is most in Marc’s character but tbh I’m not particular heh

sorry this took so long hehe i hope you like it <3

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

Marc Spector x afab!reader (mentions of Steven Grant x reader) (2.2k)

Marc Spector didn’t fancy himself a jealous man—but you knew exactly how to push his buttons.

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ mdni) WARNINGS: arguing, jealousy, SMUT (oral (f! and m! receiving), degradation, a bit of choking, facefucking, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, mean!dom!marc)

It was an accident, really—you hadn’t meant for it to slip out. And yet, there wasn’t a single part of you that felt bad about it.

Marc had already been in a bad mood when he’d woken up that morning, sulking and brooding and generally unpleasant to be around. When you’d asked him what was wrong, he’d brushed you off, insisting he was just tired and had a headache. You knew better than to believe him.

Truthfully, you had a suspicion that Marc had been feeling neglected. After he’d introduced you to Steven several weeks ago, the two of you had been inseparable—you and Marc had been dating for a year and half, so getting to know Steven was like the honeymoon phase all over again. He was sweet, and gentle, and shy, and many other things that Marc simply wasn’t. The contrast excited you, but you could tell that the puppy love between you and Steven had begun to take a toll on Marc.

When you’d gotten home from work today, you had planned on offering to cook a nice meal for you and Marc in an attempt to smooth things over and ease his worried mind, but he clearly was in no mood for reconciliation.

“Honey, I’m hooome.”

You sing-songed jokingly as you walked in the door, keys jingling in the lock. When you received no response, your joviality quickly dissipated and a deep frown etched itself into your face.

“Hello?”

You called again, brows furrowed in confusion. You took a few steps into the apartment, hanging your bag on the coatrack and slipping your shoes from your feet. Again, silence.

You went to turn the corner towards where the bedroom side of the studio apartment was, but quickly collided with a warm body as you rounded the bookshelf.

“Jesus fuck!”

You yelped as a hand came out to steady your shoulder, saving you from stumbling backwards on impact.

“You scared me....”

You hesitated, looking up at the man before you cautiously. The scrunch between his brows and hardness in his brown eyes quickly confirmed your suspicions.

“...Marc.”

Marc mistook your brief moment of pause as disappointment, and he sneered, releasing your arm with a small shove and sidestepping you.

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to disappoint.”

You blinked a few times in disbelief, frozen in place as his words took a moment to sink in. When they finally did, you were left reeling, whirling around to face his retreating figure with an incredulous expression.

“What?”

Marc huffed angrily, nostrils flaring as he threw himself onto the couch, a hand reaching up to run through his dark hair.

“I said, sorry to disappoint. I’m sure you’d much rather have Steven greeting you when you get home.”

“I never said that.”

You scoffed, approaching him slowly with your arms crossed over your chest. His brown eyes darted up to your face, his lips curled into a scowl.

“You didn’t have to. You’ve made it pretty clear.”

“Where is this coming from, Marc?”

It was a stupid question—both of you knew the answer already. Marc’s nostrils flared as he averted his gaze from you, sulking silently and staring off at some point in the distance.

A pang of guilt accompanied the sigh that fell from your lips as you noticed the slight quiver of his lip, and you made your way to the empty spot next to him.

“Hey.”

You started gently, letting your hand trace across the veins of his forearm before your slid your fingers between his own.

“I’m sorry, Marc. I know—I know things have been moving pretty fast between me and Steven, and I know I haven’t made as much time for you as I should have. I’m sorry.”

You leaned into him, head ducking slightly in an attempt to catch his gaze with your own. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he drew in a long, deep inhalation, before he finally opened them again and fixed them on you.

“No, it’s—it’s okay, baby. I’m glad you and Steven are getting along, that’s exactly what I hoped would happen. And I’m sorry I—I freaked out. Just—miss you, s’all.”

He confessed, a slight blush creeping up his neck and ruddying his cheeks. Marc wasn’t often open about his feelings, so the brief moment of vulnerability was significant. You smiled softly at him, reaching up to brush your fingers through his soft curls.

“Why didn’t you just say so, huh, handsome?”

A smirk quickly made its way across his lips at the insinuation in your tone, his arms swiftly wrapping around your body to haul you up onto his lap and into a searing kiss.

It wasn’t until you were seconds away from an orgasm, Marc’s face buried between your thighs, that you’d fucked up.

“Shit, shit—”

You cried, fisting at the sheets on either side of you as Marc’s tongue swirled over your clit, two of his thick fingers buried in your weeping cunt.

“Oh, God, yes, m’gonna cum, gonna—ahh, fuck, don’t stop, yes, Steven, fuu—”

Your hips lurched off the bed when the stimulation abruptly ceased, your eyes shooting open in alarm only to come face-to-face with Marc’s hardened expression, his lips still shining with your slick.

“Fuck, why’d you—?”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He interrupted your whiny plea with his threatening words, growled lowly as his eyes narrowed at you. Your rapid heartrate only sped up when you thought back on your pleasured cries, quickly realizing your mistake. You bolted upright in an instant, your eyes wide and panicked, reaching to grip Marc’s bare shoulders.

“Oh, Marc, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He pulled away from you, rising to his knees on the bed so he loomed over you.

“Get on your knees.”

Your breath stuttered.

“What?”

You yelped when Marc lunged forward, his hand coming to twist in your hair to yank you harshly forward so you were face to face.

“I said,”

he growled, his breath hot on your face and fingers taut in your hair,

“get on your fucking knees.”

He released you with a rough shove and you scrambled off the bed onto your knees, quickly obeying his order. You watched as he slipped off his last remaining layer of clothing before he slowly made his way over to you, his figure towering over you with intimidation and malice. Excitement was beginning to swirl in the pit of your stomach—you’d never seen Marc so angry before, so domineering and unhinged. Still, a small pang of guilt shot through you at your earlier mistake.

“Marc, really, I’m so sorry—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He snapped, and you immediately obliged, eyes blowing wide at the sternness in his tone. His chest was heaving with labored breaths and his nostrils were flared, eyes alight with fury.

“You just don’t know when to stop fucking talking.”

He was right in front of you, now, languidly stroking his hardened length inches away from your face, precum beading at the slit. He reached forward and roughly grabbed your jaw in his other hand, fingers curling to squeeze your cheeks.

“You wanna keep moaning his name? Guess I’ll have to make you shut up.”

His hand migrated up and wrapped in your hair before yanking your neck back. When your lips parted with a surprised gasp, he immediately plunged his thick length into your mouth, forcing himself down your throat without warning. The sudden and abrupt intrusion caused you to gag harshly, and he pulled out only long enough for you to draw in a gasping breath before he thrusted forward again, sinking his cock all the way back into your throat and beginning a steady rhythm of fucking your face.

“Only way you’ll be quiet is if you’ve got a mouth full of dick, huh?”

He grunted, hips snapping forward. There was drool foaming at the sides of your lips, tears streaming down your cheeks as you forced yourself to sit back and let him use you, the tip of his cock bruising the back of your throat and his balls slapping noisily against your chin.

“Bet you miss him now, don’t you? Steven doesn’t treat you like this—doesn’t know how much of a fucking slut you are.”

You felt yourself grow impossibly wetter at his words, reaching up to brace your hands on his muscular thighs in order to prevent them from reaching between your legs to touch yourself. You felt his arm reach down until his fingers curled around your neck, allowing him to feel each stroke of his cock down your throat.

“Fuck, baby—such a pretty little whore.”

Finally, finally, he pulled out of your mouth, a long string of saliva still connecting the tip of his ruddy cock to your swollen lips. You gasped harshly, letting the mixture of tears and drool drip from your chin as you gazed up and him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Marc, thank you, I love you, I—”

Marc growled, his grip on your throat tightening and briefly cutting off your airflow.

“Shut. Up.”

He hissed, pulling you upwards with his hand on your neck and tossing you towards the bed. You fell backwards, immediately pliant beneath him as he reached to lift both of your ankles above your head before abruptly plunging his spit-soaked cock into your dripping folds.

A pornographic mewl escaped you at the feeling of him penetrating you, your hole still tight and unprepared for the thickness of his cock. The burn of the stretch was intoxicating, but you were quickly pulled away from the feeling when Marc’s fingers found your jaw again, squeezing your cheeks so your lips involuntarily parted.

“Open.”

He growled, and you obliged, allowing him to spit straight into your awaiting mouth. You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as he kept railing into you, your mouth closing as his taste overwhelmed you.

“You don’t swallow until I tell you—you hear me?”

You nodded vigorously, eyes silently pleading as tears continued to stream down your face, the sound of slapping skin filling the room as Marc bared his teeth.

“Yeah, that outta wash his name outta your filthy fuckin’ mouth, huh?”

You could barely hear him over the static humming in your ears, an orgasm creeping up and washing over you without warning. You choked on your sob, desperately following Marc’s orders and keeping your mouth full of his saliva despite your desperation to cry out.

Marc felt you clench down on him, and his pace quickened.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby—you cum all over this cock.”

He leaned forward and sank his teeth into the flesh of your collarbone, licking and sucking bruises into your neck and up your throat. You lay helpless beneath him, body melting into the mattress as he continued to pound into you relentlessly, the sting of his lips hot against your sweat-sheened skin.

“Gonna keep you covered in these, baby—he’s never gonna forget who you fuckin’ belong to.”

He grunted in your ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth briefly before sitting back up, shifting up onto his knees and wrapping your legs around his waist before jackhammering into you once again.

He reached forward a final time to wrap his hand around your throat, now covered with red and purple bruises in the shape of his mouth.

“Swallow.”

He panted, his eyes wild and pace faltering.

"Swallow, and tell me who you belong to.”

You swallowed the fluid the had gathered across your tongue and finally let out a salacious moan, back arching off the bed as a second orgasm began building in your abdomen. You could hardly even remember what had started this thing in the first place, and you definitely didn’t care—your entire existence was overwhelmed with Marc, Marc, Marc.

"You, Marc—belong to you."

You cried, and you felt his fingers curl into your neck as he leaned over you, the heat of his body absolutely smothering you as his free hand reached between you to circle your clit. You keened.

“Again. Louder. Who do you belong to?”

“You, Marc—fuck, fuck, Marc, I belong to you, fuck—"

Your climax peaked fiercely, white hot and blinding as your toes curled and your entire body trembled beneath him. The rhythmic clenching of your tight cunt around him had Marc following close behind, his release punctuated by a sharp yelp before he buried himself to the hilt, allowing his seed to fill you completely, offering a few more deep thrusts before stilling.

Marc’s tension-laden body immediately collapsed on top of you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck as his cock stayed nestled inside of you. Your arms wrapped around his clammy torso, one hand stroking a soothing line down his spine and the other brushing through his hair, your lips planting a soft kiss to his forehead. His frantic exhales were hot against your neck.

“I mean it, Marc. I’m yours.”

You assured in a whisper, and Marc tilted his head up to look at you, his once cold eyes now softened with a familiar gentleness.

“I know, baby.”

He leaned up and pecked you on the lips.

“And now you’ll never forget it.”

You let out an airy giggle, sinking back into the comfortable and familiar weight of his body on yours. After a few moments, you bit your lip and gave him a mischievous smile.

“So...when do I get to meet Jake?”

[ggardengirl]

HELLO LET’S TALK JACKIESHAUNA GROCERY STORE SCENE

this scene is so fucking insane for a lot of reasons, and there’s so much to say about it, but here are the main two things i took away from it:

A) not only does this dream version jackie feel so much more like real-jackie, but B) it’s also the first time we see shauna envision jackie as anything but what she’d been in life.

shauna’s hallucinations are based on memory. (visually, not so much auditorily. hallucination-jackie says a lot of things real-jackie never would.) her mind can’t conjure any image of jackie she hasn’t already seen.

shauna always sees jackie as she exists in her mind: wearing her uniform, wearing the clothes she died in; as her fourteen-year-old self.

but then she dreams of jackie in the grocery store, and it’s nothing shauna remembers. because jackie never got to be this.

she never got to go to college, to get space from shauna and come back to find her with a clear head on her shoulders, to dye her hair brown and experiment with her sense of self.

yet, shauna dreams of a world in which she did.

she dreams of a life where she’s still paying penance for all the things she’s done, but where jackie appears to have moved on, changed, and is thriving; all while shauna bags groceries, drowing in her own misery.

and the only thing that can snap shauna out of this monotony, out of this prison of her own making, is jackie.

(this then parallels with shauna seeing melissa’s “perfect” life and calling her out on living a lie. shauna likes to think of herself as self aware—even though she’s anything but—and this dream reminds the audience that shauna, to some degree, knows she’s living a lie. she knows she’s not allowed to have a normal life; she’s done too many horrible things.)

(that’s what’s happening in the adult timeline: shauna’s letting go of the lie and embracing the violent truth.)

of course, dream-jackie acknowledges that she’s dead, so it’s not a true fantasy come to life. i don’t think shauna will ever be able to imagine a world where jackie lived, no matter how much she tries, or how much she wants to.

shauna’s never been capable of seeing jackie differently than how she appeared in life. but this jackie comes to her, different as can be, but still jackie, more jackie than any other version.

which makes me think this was *actually* jackie, not a figment of shauna’s imagination. this was the real, true jackie, looking mournfully at shauna, wishing things could be different. but hey, they should’ve known better than to expect anything different, don’t you think?

in conclusion: jackie taylor, you will ALWAYS haunt the narrative <3

[whimsicalpolitical]

Drunk business - Matty Healy x Reader

matty and you only get together when one of you is drunk

a/n: maybe a little series is going to happen? if you want

content warning: 18+ mdni, smut, alcohol, p in v, oral (f receiving)

Around midnight Matty went into the pub with his mates only a few streets from where you live so you figured he’s going to come over eventually.

By 3am you are finally starting to wind down, your eyes heavy as you sink into bed. Just as you are on the edge of sleep, your phone lights up, vibrating non-stop. One text after another from Matty floods your screen, pulling you back from the brink of sleep.

darling xxxxxx

are you awake??

can I come over ?

know it’s late x sorry

Before you can even register what his messages are saying, your phone starts to ring. Matty’s name flashes on the screen, and you groan out loud, swiping to answer.

"Matty, what?" you ask, rubbing your temple.

"Hi," he slurs. Of course, he is drunk.

"What do you want?" you ask, already tired of this conversation.

"You," he replies, his voice thick with alcohol.

"Oh, Jesus." You sigh, trying to push the irritation out of your tone. "Matty, it's 3 am. Go home."

"But I'm all alone, love. Can I come over?" he ask, the desperation clear.

You already knew where this was going. Matty gets drunk, shows up, you hook up, and then he's gone by morning. It is a stupid routine, one you aren’t in the mood for tonight. You know he doesn’t want anything real with you, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling something for him, and that just makes it worse.

“I’m not really in the mood, Matty,” you say, hoping he’d take the hint, “really-“

“Alright, alright, we can, we can just talk. Yeah let’s talk, please? Give me some company, darling.”

“Where are you?” You ask, hoping you can still convince him to turn around and just go home. Give you one free night of not feeling guilty or disgusting or used.

“Outside you house,” he says casually.

“What?!” You shoot up from bed, heart racing and before you can process it, the doorbell rings. You groan, louder this time.

You hang up and start walking through your house, your dog following you, barking one time before you shush him.

“Easy, Asher, s’just Matty, shh.”

You don’t want to admit it but Matty’s really good with your border collie and Asher loves him. Usually he’s not keen on new people but- Matty’s not new.

“Angel, come on!” Matty yells from outside. You hear him loud and clear while you stand in front of the front door.

“God,” you mutter under your breath.

You open the door, and there he is, leaning on the frame in his leather jacket, a sloppy grin on his face. "Hello, lovely," he slurs, grinning like he didn’t just disturb you at 3am.

You roll your eyes at him.

“May I come in?” He asks, swaying a bit.

“What did I say on the phone?” You exhale sharply, reminding him you aren’t going to fuck around tonight just because he’s lonely.

Matty’s brown eyes glow in the moonlight, begging for something moor, “you said no,” he pouts, his lip sticking out like a kid.

“So..?” You ask, teasing and pretending you won’t let him in the next few days.

“Means let me in,” he whines, “come on, love. I’m pretty decent, ‘nd behaving like a gentlemen.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. As much as you don’t want to, you step aside and let him in. He stands by the door, smiling at you, the strong smell of whiskey and cigarettes filling the room.

"How many have you had?" you ask, half laughing, half annoyed.

"Enough," he grins, trying to sound smooth.

He leans in to kiss you, but you stop him, gently holding his face. "I mean what I said, Matty," you whisper, kissing his cheek instead before walking away. He stays by the door, looking lost as you leave the room.

You only leave to get Matty a glass of water from the kitchen.

Meanwhile Matty crouches down in the dim light of the hallway, his knees creaking a little as he gets to Asher's level. He lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing his hand through the dog's fur, ruffling it in that familiar, affectionate way.

"I've missed you, mate," Matty murmurs, his voice low and thick with that familiar late-night rasp. He reaches out, giving Asher's ears a gentle scratch, earning a happy wag of the tail.

Asher barks, quick and sharp, his tail thumping the floor. Matty nods, as if understanding him completely. "Yeah, loads. It’s been too long."

Asher’s big brown eyes stay fixed on Matty, clearly overjoyed by the sudden attention. Matty leans in closer, his head resting slightly against the dog’s, almost like he’s confessing a secret. "You’re such a good boy, you know that?" he says softly. His hand keeps stroking Asher’s fur, slower now, more thoughtful.

"Would come over a lot more, but... your mum, she’s a bit mean on me." He shakes his head, still smiling. "Not that I blame her though. Not that I blame her."

Asher whines, nudging Matty's hand with his nose. Matty chuckles, his fingers brushing lightly against the dog's snout. "You don’t judge, though, do you? Nah, not you. Always happy to see me, no matter what state I’m in."

Matty pulls his shoes off knowing you hate shoes in your house especially in the living room where Matty collapses on the couch.

When you come back, you nudged his foot with yours. "Move," you smile, seeing him stretched out, taking up the whole couch. He sits up and you hand him the water before sitting next to him, pulling your knees up to your chest.

"I wish you wouldn't slick your hair back like that," you tease, tucking a loose strand behind his ear that had fallen over his face.

"If you don't like it, I'll stop," he says with a lopsided smile.

"Whatever," you smile back, shaking your head acting like he didn't just make your stomach flutter.

He sets the water down, looking over at you. "Are you really not in the mood?" he asks, his voice softer now.

"No, sorry, Matty," you say, giving him a fake smile.

"Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. l'm only here when... you know... he trails off, avoiding your eyes.

"Yeah," you sigh, understanding what he meant. It was always like this.

"S’ the only thing you'll do with me though, can you blame me?" he mumbles, the words slurring a bit, his face clouded with something sadder.

"What?" you ask, confused.

"Sex. It's the only thing you wanna do with me," he frowns, his eyes downcast, like he'd been holding that in for a while. “I’ve got no choice, have I? Either I stay away from you for good or we’ll shag.”

“What the fuck are you on about?!” You ask, eyebrows raised.

Matty places a hand on your leg, like he needs some excuse to touch you. "I just feel like you only want me when I'm drunk or high or some shit.”

"Why do you think that?" you ask, trying to make sense of where this is coming from.

"You never call or text me after we do anything. S’just -“ he muttered, looking down like it was some shameful secret.

You shift in your seat, stunned by his vulnerability. “That’s not true. You know it’s not like that.”

Matty shakes his head slowly, his hand still lingering on your leg, but there's a nervous energy in his touch now. “Feels like it though, doesn’t it? I mean, we don’t talk... not really. Not unless we’re in bed.”

"Yeah, because I think you only want me when you're drunk or high," you admit, feeling a knot form in your chest as you said it out loud.

"I don't!" he blurts, stumbling over his words. "I wanna-fuck, I'm sorry. I wanna see you all the time. I just thought you don’t actually want me." He looks at you, a bit more sober in his eyes now, like he'd been carrying that thought around for a while.

Matty’s grip tightens just a little on your leg, like he is afraid you’d pull away, like he is holding on to you for dear life. His thumb traces a slow circle over the fabric of your jeans, a small gesture, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm sorry I come off like that. I don't mean to," he says, staring into your eyes with those big, soft brown eyes of his.

You stay quiet for a moment to think about all the times where you had an amazing night together and you were all alone the next day.

“I hate it when you leave in the morning,” you whisper, feeling more vulnerable than you intend to.

“I know, love. I’m sorry, I wanna stay, I really fucking do.” He whispers, his face inching closer, his hand slowly trailing up your thigh, sending a shiver through you.

“Then stay.”

“For as long as I like?” He asks, his lips hovering near yours.

“How long’s that?” You chuckle.

“Forever? If you’ll have me.”

"I'll have you," you smile back, finally leaning in and pressing your lips to his, the kiss soft but full of all the words neither of you had been able to say.

His tongue slips into your mouth, and you can taste the whiskey on him. "I'm sorry you said you weren't in the mood, he murmurs, pulling away carefully, not wanting to push you.

You momentarily forgot you'd said that, realizing you'd kind of lied to yourself. You straddle his lap, feeling bold. "You have an effect, Matty..." you whisper, pushing off his leather jacket, leaving him in a dark T-shirt that complements him VERY well.

“Do I now?” His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing along the curve of your bottom lip. You wrap your hand around his wrist, and press a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

Matty’s other hand rests on the back of your neck, pulling your lips down to his. The kiss is messy and hungry, his tongue slipping past your lips and gliding against your own. You let out a whimper when he bites down on your bottom lip, and Matty’s hands tighten around you.

Matty’s erection is pressing against the inside of your thigh, and when you grind yourself against him, he grunts into your mouth.

"Like that, love, fuck,” Matty murmurs.

Your hips buck at his words, and you continue rolling yourself against his cock, trying to get the friction you crave. Matty’s hands roam your body, sliding down to grip your ass, then back up to palm at your tits.

He lifts your shirt over your head, and his lips found their way to the valley of your breasts.

“You’re such a good girl,” He says sweetly, “fucking gorgeous girl.”

You could cum like that. Rolling your hips and grinding on his cock until you explode. You follow his lead, lifting his shirt off of his head and watching the expanse of his large chest move as his breath grows ragged.

Matty is a hungry kisser, he bites, claws and sucks his way across your jaw and down your neck.

You run your hands down to his belt buckle, and start to undo it, and Matty’s fingers fumble with the button and zipper of your shorts.

He pulls your shorts off and throws them to the side, and when you go to undo his belt, he stops you.

"Wait, hold on,” Matty pants

"What, Matt-,”

“One touch of you right now and I’ll cum,” he admits, “don’t want to, let’s take care of you first.”

He smiles and stands up from the sofa, your legs wrapping around his waist. He almost loses his balance, making both of you laugh. "You're so pissed, you giggle, enjoying the moment.

"Shut up, you twat," he laughs, leaning in to kiss you again as he carries you toward your bedroom.

You’re both giggling when he gently lays you down on the bed, pulling his shirt over his head before crashing his lips onto yours.

He’s drunk. You think that over and over again, what if he’s using you again.

You visibly frown and Matty pulls back, “is something bothering you?”

“I-,” you sigh, “you’re drunk, what if-“

Matty knows what you’re going to say, he knows you’re doubting him. He quickly shuts you up by kissing you, soft, no rush, just a kiss as a promise.

“I’ll stay, love. I’ve always wanted to stay.”

Matty’s hand starts to pull at the waistband of your panties until they’re down at the middle of your thighs.

“Relax,” he says while moving his head lower, “do that for me.”

Matty lazily drags your panties down your legs, flinging them across the room to be found later before dropping his head between your knees, littering small, slow kisses along the insides of your thighs. "Beautiful girl," he hums, inspecting your glistening sex with peaked interest.

Your cunt clenches around nothing at his words, earning a chuckle from Matty as he sets on top of your mound, pulling the skin taut before blowing cool air on you. You jump in response, looking down at where he's smirking from between your legs.

He hums absentmindedly, "Just making sure you're paying attention," he teases.

His movements are calculated as he exposes your clit to the air, leaning his head down and pressing his tongue flat against your folds, licking a stripe before readjusting himself on the bed.

A constellation of feather-light kisses is left everywhere, your inner thighs, up toward your hip bone-everywhere except where you really need him.

Your clit aches with need as he continues to tease you, the pad of his thumb skimming ever so slightly over the sensitive bud, relieving only a fraction of the pressure that's building up. "Matty," you breathe.

"Hm?need something?" He asks, lifting his head up and looking at you curiously.

“You’re a mean drunk,” you whine.

Usually he can’t wait to get his hands or mouth on you.

“Don’t be a beg,” he laughs before moving his head lower again.

His hand ghosts over your folds, running a finger over your slit and chuckling when your hips buck up in response to the stimulation.

"fucking perfect," he murmurs, watching you intently.

You gasp as he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flat and wide as he drags it through your folds, groaning like he is savoring every drop.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking hard, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your body. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping tightly as your legs tremble, and he groans again, the vibration making you whimper.

“Christ, love,” Matty mumbles against you, his voice muffled as he licks you with long, languid strokes. "This cunt is all mine, yeah?”

He sucks noisily, deliberately making sure every stroke of his tongue is loud, wet, and filthy. You can hear the lewd slurping sounds as he devours you, his mouth greedy and desperate as if he'd been starving for this moment.

His tongue plunges into you, fucking you with wet, deep strokes, his nose brushing against your swollen clit as he grunts against you. "Missed this so much, you can’t even imagine how much, always so drenched for me, soaking me.”

You can’t help but whimper, your hips bucking against his face as he groans, his tongue thrusting deeper, his lips and chin coated with your arousal. He pulls back for just a second, his breath heavy, his eyes wild as he looks up at you.

"Fuck, I could eat you all night," he murmurs, his voice almost a snarl as he grips your thighs tighter, pulling you even closer. "S’ my favorite taste, you know why? ‘Cause you’re my favorite girl.”

With that, he dives back in, his tongue swirling over your clit as he sucks you harder, his mouth relentless. You moan louder, your fingers tugging at his hair as your body arches off the wall, pleasure crashing through you with every filthy stroke of his tongue.

He groans again, louder this time, savoring every moment as he devours you, his mouth hot and hungry, like he can’t get enough.

He alternates between sucking your clit hard, his lips tight around the sensitive bud, and sliding his tongue deep inside you, fucking your pussy with slow, torturous strokes.

Each time you gasp, your body trembling as the pleasure builds higher and higher, his hands gripping your thighs so hard it feels like he is staking a claim.

"Yeah, that's it," he murmurs between licks, his voice raw. "Let me have it, darling.”

Your moans grew louder, filling the bathroom as Joel's tongue worked you harder, faster, his groans matching your own as he lost himself in the taste of you.

His hands slide up your body, gripping your breasts roughly as he continues to feast on you, the pleasure so intense it is overwhelming. You can’t stop yourself anymore-every nerve is on fire, your mind blank as you give in completely.

"Matty, fuck, I'm gonna-" you gasp, your thighs trembling as you teeter on the edge of release.

"Cum for me, love," he growls, his voice hoarse as his tongue flicks over your clit again, harder, faster, relentless. "Want to taste all ‘f it.”

With a final, devastating suck on your clit, you shatter.. Pleasure slamming into you, your entire body shaking as you scream his name, your nails digging into his scalp as he holds you in place, his mouth still working you through the waves of your orgasm.

Matty doesn’t stop, he keeps licking, keeps sucking, devouring every drop as your body convulses, the intensity of it making your legs shake.

He moans against you, his tongue softening slightly but still teasing your swollen clit as you come down, his grip on your hips loosening just enough to let you catch your breath.

When he stops he moves upwards again, a boyish grin on his face.

“S’ delightful,” he says, leaning down to convince you you do taste good.

While his tongue slips past your lips he ruts into you, the friction of his jeans adding another feel of pleasure.

You gasp into his mouth, “matty, need you.”

“Need you ‘s well,” his hand slips behind your back unclasping your bra.

His mouth waters at the side and he can’t help but immediately latch his tongue onto one nipple.

“Matty,” you whine, your hands traveling down between your body’s to find his jeans.

Matty pulls back, helping you get off his jeans and boxers, throwing them on the floor before he’s on you again.

He kisses you deeply, lovingly. You can still taste yourself on his lips, and the realization sends another jolt of pleasure through you. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

You can feel his hardness against your stomach, his need pressing into you. Matty breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. His breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with lust and something else - something deeper.

"Need you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "right now n’ so bad" he shifts his weight, positioning himself between your legs.

You nod, unable to form words. You need him just as fiercely, your body aching with emptiness and need.

Matty adjusts himself, pressing against you. The feeling of his tip brushing against your entrance sends another wave of pleasure through you. You lift your hips, your body silently begging him to fill you. Matty presses into you slowly.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your breath catching in your throat. Matty pauses, the alcohol in his body making you feel even more good.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and concerned.

You nod, biting your lip against the pleasure and pain intermingling within you. "I’m good," you whisper, your voice slightly shaky. "just, just fuck me matty."

Matty lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes darkening further at your words. He begins to move, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, deep rhythm. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing all of him. Each thrust is like a spark, igniting a fire within you that spreads through your entire body.

Matty’s eyes are trained on your face, watching your every reaction, adjusting his pace and angle to drive you wild. His hands roam over your body, touching you everywhere, as if he can’t get enough of your skin.

You are lost in a sea of bliss, the pleasure building with each stroke. You can feel yourself getting close again, the pressure growing once more within you.

Matty’s breath is coming in ragged gasps, his movements becoming more urgent. He leans down, his lips seeking yours, kissing you hungrily. One of his hands slide down to your hip, gripping you tightly, as if he is anchoring himself to you.

Your eyes roll back. "more, please." you beg.

Matty groans, his hips pistoning against you harder and faster. He is close, you can tell. His body is taut, his fingers biting into your flesh. His lips tound your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving tiny marks behind.

"Fuckin’ hell, you feel so good.”

You can feel him getting close, his thrusts becoming erratic, less measured. "tell me... you're close." Matty whispers, his voice heavy with need.

You nod, your words coming out in broken gasps.

"So close." you manage to say, your nails digging into his back.

He shifts slightly, hitting a spot inside you that sends white hot stars exploding in your vision. "oh god, matty... right there."

"yeah?" he asks, his voice strangled and low. "right there?" he knows just how to drive you wild, how to push you to the edge and leave you hanging. His fingers tangle in your hair, his mouth seeking yours again. His lips are hungry, desperate for more.

You can feel yourself getting closer, the pressure building within you with each intense stroke. You are on the brink of something huge, and you know Matty could feel it too.

"Look at me." he demands, his voice rough and urgent. "Look at me when you come."

You force your eyes open, meeting his fervent gaze. It is more than you can handle, the intensity of his look, the feeling of his body against yours, is driving you crazy. You hold his stare, your whole body tensing, waiting for that final push that will send you over the edge.

"Come for me." he commands, his voice a hot whisper in your ear. "Come for me now." It was all it took. Your body obeys his words with almost no will of its own, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, drowning you in sensation.

You cry out, your body arching up against his, your eyes locked with his as you come completely undone. The waves of pleasure seem to go on and on, each ripple making you shiver and gasp. Matty’s hands are on your hips, holding you tightly as he watches you fall apart, his own body taut with need.

His eyes darken, his own need taking over. "I’m going to come," he warns, his voice hoarse and rough.

You nod, your eyes still dilated from the intensity of your climax. "do it," you tell him, your voice shaky.

"want it,” you moan.

He lets out a guttural moan at your words, his body shuddering as he comes, his release pouring into you, claiming you as his own. It is a feeling like no other, primal and intimate.

Matty collapses onto you, his body heavy and warm. You hold him close holding onto each other as the final ripples of pleasure ebbs and subsides. For a moment, there is only the sound of your uneven breathing, mingling together in the quiet of the room.

Matty eventually lifts himself up, his eyes seeking yours. He looks wrecked, hair disheveled, skin sheets with sweat. But in his eyes, there is tenderness, that only comes out in moments like this.

He reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice softer now, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

“Perfect,” you smile.

"M’ glad,” he kisses your cheek, “think I’ve gone sober now.”

You giggle and hit his shoulder playfully.

Matty smiles back, his eyes still glimmering with a mixture of satisfaction and affection. He carefully withdraws from you, moving to lie down beside you, pulling you against him.

You cuddle closer, resting your head on his chest. Beneath your ear, you can hear the steady beat of his heart, a soothing rhythm that lulls you in a peaceful, fuzzy headspace. His fingers play with tendrils of your hair, his touch light and caressing.

"I don't think i'll ever get tired of that." he says, his hand moving to your back, tracing lazy circles on your skin. "of you."

You smile against his chest, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "The feeling's mutual." you murmur. With Matty, everything is easy, comfortable. There’s something keeping you from being together fully though, you don’t know what it is.

He chuckles lowly, his chest rumbling beneath you. "Wasn’t to rough with you, was I?" he teases, his fingers tracing a path of fire down your spine.

You shiver at his touch, and then chuckle. "i can handle it, big guy." you reply, lifting your head to look up at him.

“Course you do,” he laughs.

You stay and the heat between your bodies, the sound of his heartbeat and his steady breathing all take part in getting you to fall asleep.

You think that this time is different, you’ll wake up with maybe you’ll even discuss why you’re always ending up together.

You want to. Because there is more from the both of you and you can’t deny it.

You smile before you open your eyes in the morning but you’re suddenly cold.

Your heart drops and you sigh already knowing what had happened.

You open your eyes to find out Matty has left. His clothes are gone, he didn’t leave a note and your phone is without messages.

Your heart drops and you feel as though your heart got broken by somebody who promised you only hours ago he will stay.

[lavandiors]

( 📁 kiss marks. by lee taeyong ＿ ⭐ O1O1 )

where taeyong prefers to smoke away from you, but when that happens, you should always make it clear that he is not alone.

𓍯 . ݁ ✦ ݁ . ─── pairing. lee taeyong x fem!reader. genre. fluff, established relationship and many many kisses. warnings. none i believe.

lily notes. this is my first one shot, and i really hope you like it! soon a little more. <3

you and taeyong had decided that after a long time, many comebacks and promotions, it would be a good idea to go shopping, go for some things that were needed and others on a whim.

but no matter what, taeyong valued that quality time with you because it was what he missed the most when he was at the company. your touch, your body heat, your aroma, your everything. you were what he was missing.

and as you walked the streets of seoul looking for somewhere to spend more money, he couldn't help but look for what he had missed the most. he had his entire arm around your waist, with his waist pressed against yours while his head rested on yours, occasionally smelling the scent of your hair.

it made you laugh when you heard him take a deep breath or when he pressed you closer to him, but that was who he was, that was your, forever, taeyong.

you could see in the distance a store that particularly caught your attention, you were not a big fan of sanrio or hello kitty, but it was especially so beautiful, that it was pleasant to the eye.

"bubu" you called him by his nickname, he turned his head immediately at your call, looking at you with his beautiful big brown eyes before saying, "yes, my love?"

you appreciated him for a few seconds, before pointing to the store that had taken your attention. "i want to go there," you told him.

he can't help but smile a little before nodding, "as you wish, my love," he kissed your head and continued walking. he didn't know that you were a big fan of hello kitty and all that stuff, but clearly, from now on he would take it into account.

when you were close and almost about to enter, taeyong stopped and moved away from you, allowing you to feel the absence of his warmth. you turned when you felt him walk away, looking at him confused.

"where are you going, bubu?" you asked as you watched him pull something out of his pocket. "i want to smoke a little, my love. go inside, i'll watch you from here." he replied, putting the cigarette in his mouth.

"you are really crazy if you think i will leave my beautiful boyfriend alone" you approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he laughed.

taeyong did the same, now rocking with you in his arms and as you lifted your head, he let his forehead rest against yours. your nose was as red as the reindeer's, so in the middle of that love attack, he rubbed his nose against yours.

"someone is going to try to steal it from me!" you said, kissing him lightly on his lips. you heard a sigh come from deep in his chest, you laughed and placed another kiss on his lips.

"no one is going to steal me from you, i am as much yours as you are mine" he told you, tightening his grip on your waist as he was now the one kissing you; taeyong's kisses were different, deep and full of love, that was one of his thousand ways to show how big his love for you was.

when the kiss ended, and they became small and momentary kisses, you nodded "i'm glad to hear that."

you let your arms wander over his waist, chest, arms and shoulders, as if your movements intoxicated the man. your cold hands reached the sides of his face, you rubbed your nose and fingers at the same time as he closed his eyes and sighed.

you guided his cheek to your lips, where you left a loud, long, moving kiss, wanting to leave your lips marked there. then, you went for his jaw, and he could swear he would melt under your touch.

you left one, two, three, probably four kisses, taeyong had already lost count from the second.

and when you were done there, you left one on his nose and finally, on his lips.

you moved a little away from his face, observing your work of art, taeyong was your canvas that you could always paint, especially with the marks of your kisses.

“perfect” you said, taeyong opened his eyes, smiling at the image of your figure, smiling at his face full of red kisses as you continued caressing his face with your thumbs.

he take the opportunity to take your hand and kiss your palm, loosening his grip a little. "i love this process so much" he said in a breath, his hot breath hitting your hand.

you laughed "i know, bubu" you walked over and stole a kiss from him, quickly walking away to enter the store.

when you entered the store, you looked at him, bringing the lit cigarette closer to his red lips, leaving the cigar marked when it touched his lips.

a red mark.

like his whole face. from his jaw to his nose. his eyes did not stop looking at you with a smile on his lips.

he really loved when you did that.

© LAVANDIORS | do not copy, translate or steal my works.

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate (11) - Just a Staff Member

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 11 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 11,999

Work count for Story: 81,331

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children, one of whom has special needs, and the other loves everyone. I started a Patreon, and I would be grateful if you donated to help me make ends meet while I am out of work.

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This chapter does have pack dynamics, comfort, Alpha/Luna vibes, possessiveness, and self-doubt.

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

Ring Ring Ring

Ring Ring Ring

Stirring from your sleep because of a phone ringing, you look around groggily. Momentarily forgetting where you are, you sit up quickly, and that is when you see—the dress and the night before come flooding back to you.

It starts with the letters and conversations, the outfit and pampering, and ends with his smiles and warmth. It was a date you will never forget. The only problem is… it wasn’t a date. Your heart wants to soar, but you must remind yourself it’s just a job.

Remembering that Jin had made it clear that it wasn’t something he would do for a fan. Even though he said you were special, you couldn’t believe it. Bangtan Pack would do this for any playmate, even if Seokjin thinks you are someone special.

Ring Ring Ring

Oh shit! That’s right, the phone. Scrambling over your pillow wall, you find your plugged-in phone and answer it.

“Hello, hello! Sorry, this is Y/n. Who is this?” you ask as you try to untangle yourself from your blanket fort. It isn’t easy with a broken hand.

“Hey Y/n, it’s Derek! Umm, did I wake you up?” he says brightly.

“Oh hey, ah yeah, and now I am wrapped in my blankets. I'm going to put you on speakerphone so I can untangle myself,” you growl in frustration, placing the phone near your head while you wrestle your way out.

“Did you just growl? You know what, never mind. You are gonna need to hurry,” Derek says with a hint of amusement.

“Yes, I did growl,” you say with a huff. “These damn blankets. Wait… Why?” you ask after finally freeing one leg. “I don’t have any plans for today.”

“Well, now you do,” he says in a sing-song-like voice. “You have about two hours to be at PMS to review the final contract.”

“No way… what? Two hours! But I thought we were going to sign it tomorrow or Monday. Why now? Did they get everything back in time?” I say, pushing the blankets down my leg and wiggling backward.

Thud.

Groan

“Y/n! What was that?”  calls Derek, who hears you fall while on speakerphone because of his fox hybrid hearing.

“Ah… I slid off the bed,” I said with a slight giggle. Standing up, I lean over my phone. “The duvet is made of satin, so it's slippery, and I got a little bit too close to the edge.”

A rapid knock on your door startles you as you hear your name called from the other side: “Y/n, are you okay? What happened? Princess? Princess!”

Quickly making my way to the door with the phone in hand, you open it to be engulfed by a warm body, then pushed away with Yoongi’s eyes, scanning your form to ensure nothing is wrong. His eyes flashed between their usual deep brown and his Alpha’s golden yellow.

“I am fine, Kisa,” you say with a smile and a giggle as you spin around to show him that you are, indeed, intact and not bleeding.

“Kisa, who is there with you, one of their staff?” Derek, who is still on speakerphone, asks.

“Oh no, it’s Yoongi. Sorry, in my head, I have been calling him ‘my Kisa’ for a bit now. Guess I have never said it out loud,” you say, moving back into your room to sit on your bed with the jaguar in tow.

“Why are you calling me a Japanese woman’s name, Princess?” the jaguar asks. Inside, he jumps for joy because you not only gave him a nickname but also said—My.

You are starting to claim him, and he is over the moon.

“It’s a Japanese woman’s name? Shit, I will stop. I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” you say with wide eyes while waiting for an adverse reaction from the very non-girly, totally male predator hybrid.

Yoongi shakes his head, his face holding curiosity rather than disgust. “If you didn’t know, then why were you calling me that?”

“For me, it's an acronym: K—Knight, I—In, S—Shining, A—Armour, Kisa,” you say this with a slight blush tinting your cheeks, which is mirrored by the hybrid.

“Oh, you have pet names now? For all of them? First, is Thumper, and now Kisa? Who else have you claimed with a famous Y/n’s pet name?” Derek teasingly inquires.

“Ah, Derek, why are you on the phone with me now? Something about two hours?” you say, trying to redirect the conversation away from the new nickname and avoid Yoongi’s gaze.

“Yes, you now have an hour and forty-five to get to PMS. The Pack Alpha is being notified as well. Please be aware that you, your Kisa,” Derek says with a teasing hilt. “The Prime Alpha and anyone who wants to come must be here by then.”

Glancing at Yoongi, he still has dusted cheeks but a silly smile. “Okay. One, you can’t use that name, and two, we will be there. See you soon, yeah?”

“Yep, see you soon, Y/n, Mr. Min!” Derek calls before promptly hanging up.

You hear a deep but soft chuckle beside you, “So I’m your knight in shining armor?”

Hiding your face in your hands, you nod, “Well, think about it. You saved me from hurting myself worse than a banged-up wrist the first day you met me, you saved me from panicking with the offer from Namjoon, and you sounded like you were ready to break down the door because I fell off the bed.”

You feel fur wrapping around your wrists, pulling down softly, effectively removing you from your hiding place. You keep your eyes on your hands and watch the black fur tail wiggle around your wrists.

Once Yoongi realizes you are avoiding his gaze, he grasps your chin and turns to face him. Your eyes automatically lock.

“I will always come to rescue you. I am honored to be your Kisa for as long as you have me, Princess,” Yoongi tells you.

His emotions are so thick with happiness that you find him as your safe place. His Alpha was filled with pride, and his scent was like waves of fresh spring rain.

Your face lights up with a kind smile, and your vanilla mate scent grows more potent. It mixes beautifully with your sweet pea, becoming one of Yoongi’s favorite scents.

The vanilla strengthening could only mean you are falling into the mate bond more with him. He is so happy that it is building naturally with you, even if your meeting wasn’t a pleasant experience.

He can see the nervousness, the longing, and something else in your eyes, which gives him hope that the changes in your scent aren’t just happening subconsciously. A gummy smile grows on his face as he observes you with almost heart eyes.

Pulling away from his hand and tail, you walk toward the door. With a controlled smile, you say, “We should start getting ready for the meeting. Can you please make sure the rest of your pack knows? Please.”

When you turn around, Yoongi can see your eyes look more distant, your posture is no longer relaxed, and your scent is slightly perfumed. Keeping his face neutral (ish), he walks up to you, taking note that you seem to be struggling with something but clearly don’t want to discuss it.  Yoongi walks up to you, stopping to give you a second to say something else but when you don’t, he agrees, saying, “Sure thing, Princess. I will let them know.”

You close the door behind you and huff. You must find a way to stop doing this. You can’t feel like you are anything more than a playmate or an employee to them, even though they make it so hard.

First, their declarations before you agreed to be their playmate. Then Jin asked you to give them all a chance. Now, Yoongi is pledging fealty to you like it’s going to last a lifetime.

Shaking your head, you glance at the clock. Whelp, time sure does fly when you contemplate professionalism struggles, attempting to hide mental instabilities and licentious thoughts of bonded mates.

Climbing the stairs, Yoongi finds one of the two, “Namjoon-ah, we need to talk. Where is Jin-hyung?”

“Oh, ah, Jin left about five minutes ago. I was just coming to find you and Y/n. Is everything okay?” he asks with concern.

“Yes and no,” he says, continuing up the stairs, “If you were going to tell Princess about the meeting being moved, Derek beat you to it. She knows and wants me to make sure my pack knows.”

It doesn’t get past the Prime Alpha at the emphasis in Yoongi’s words, even if he looks like nothing is amiss.

“Oh, that is nice of Derek. Then again, she is his Luna, so that only makes sense. So, what is wrong?” Namjoon asks again, following Yoongi into his den.

Yoongi rummaged through his drawers, looking for something presentable to wear to the meeting, instinctually wanting to continue making a good impression with your Beta.

“Y/n. The mate scent is getting stronger. I think,” Yoongi says, still looking for anything to wear.

“Isn’t that a good thing, hyung?” Namjoon questions as he sits on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, watching the jaguar scampering around.

“Well, it would be if not, but a few moments later, her scent turned into that fake flower perfume scent she gets when she is worried about something, and it caused our mate scent to almost disappear,” grumbled Yoongi.

“What were you two doing?” Namjoon asks as he tries to determine what caused the shift.

“Well, I think I may have reacted too much to the “pet” name, as her Beta called it, that she gave me. Ah, I found it!” Yoongi exclaims as he pulls out one of his few button-up shirts in a cream color to go with dark sandy-colored pants and brown loafers.

“Pet name?” questions Namjoon.

“Yeah, she accidentally called me her Kisa while speaking with the Beta. It stands for a knight in shining armor because I keep saving her from getting hurt or unpleasant situations,” he says, changing out of his sleepwear and getting dressed for the meeting.

“Kisa?” giggles Taehyung from the doorway. “Oh my, how appropriate for you. Bet she doesn’t even realize it. I don’t think you do either.”

Both Alphas in the room look at the newcomer, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s Japanese and typically used for females, but it originated in Old Greek as an endearing term,” says Taehyung as he saunters into the room. With his voice dropping into his deeper register, he says, “It means kitty.”

Yoongi is coughing as he chokes on the air and turns bright red with embarrassment. His ears twitched every which way but what, and his tail almost wagged like a dog.

“It looks like your Princess fell onto one of your kinks,” says Namjoon with a smirk.

“Hush you, both of you.  Am I the only one here who is worried about the meeting we must prepare for?” Yoongi challenges while pulling Namjoon up to push him out the door while he deals with embarrassment.

“Nope, I am dressed and ready,” Namjoon says, smirkingly, pointing out that he is in a suit.

“I was the one who requested the meeting. I have been on the phone since early morning trying to get things to move along faster,” the Prime Alpha proudly states.

“Possessive much, Hyung?” Tae teases the pack leader. “I thought that was my job.”

Namjoon may be the Prime Alpha of the Bangtan Pack, but Taehyung is known for being the possessive one. The whole world knew how possessive Taehyung was, especially with his only younger mate.

“Hey! I can be possessive of my mates, even if she is unaware of being one,” complained the wolf hybrid.

“Jin-hyung came home last night, and we had a good conversation about their date. I just knew I wanted to settle this now. I don’t want her going anywhere,” justifies Namjoon.

“Oh yeah, the date went well, I take it?” asks Yoongi as he finishes getting ready in the bathroom.

“Yes, very much so, but he wouldn’t tell me much. He said he didn’t want to spoil anything for me when we finally go on our date… if she even agrees,” Namjoon says as his scent gets duller.

“Are you worried that Y/n will reject you?” Taehyung asks as he hugs the older Alpha around the waist. Namjoon nods his head.

“I don’t see Y/n doing that. She may end up acting a bit more professionally with you, but that's when you have to use those dimples to your advantage.” says the younger one while poking those same dimples.

“Returning to the current issue, we must talk to Jin-hyung about the mate scent. See if he got any hints of changes. Maybe try to find out why she is so nervous about things. I guess your meeting with her family pack will be good,” says Yoongi on his way out of the bathroom, ready to go.

“Looking good there, kitty,” Taehyung teases.

“Ah, no. Don’t you start that now, Taehyung-ah, please. We have a meeting to go to. Are you coming with?” Yoongi asks, trying to avoid blushing further.

“Yeah, Jimin and Jungkook are coming, too. Hobi-hyung and Jin-hyung couldn’t come because of some vlog and video-clip requirements that Bang PD came up with since we left two weeks early.”

“I think they are doing it close to the Playmate Services office. They both want to try to make it before the meeting starts. It would be nice to show support and acceptance as a mate-bonded pack,” laments Namjoon.

“HYUNGS LET’S GO!” Jungkook yells from downstairs.

“Guess that means everyone else is ready,” snickers Taehyung.

Yoongi is wearing a light tan look, which is different from what you would ever think he would wear—the duality of a man.

Jungkook and Taehyung are in their typical but stylish black-on-black with– that's right, black.

Namjoon looks like a lawyer in a three-piece suit of dark blue with light blue pinstripes.

Then there is Jimin in classy-looking beachwear. With this look, he could attend a meeting, a dance class, or a day in Malibu.

You, however, are in something very professional. A dark blue pantsuit with a light blue blouse goes well with the pedicure and manicure you got from Mare Salon. Every time you look at the nail polish, a smile blooms as you remember how perfect last night was.

The boys had all expressed how beautiful you looked. Taehyung let out a low growl as his eyes roamed over your features. Yoongi mentioned how you would be the most attractive person in the room, leading you to blush.

It took every ounce of willpower for the Prime Alpha to drag you next to him because the two of you matched. The two of you looked like you could be the power couple of Bangtan, especially since you dressed without trying to match.

As you exit the packhouse, everyone is having small conversations, like Jungkook worrying about being late when, in reality, you will still be early to the meeting. Then there is Yoongi, who wants to know what to do after the contract signing or if we could just come back.

You smile and listen to their various conversations while still caught up in the conversation with Jimin about where you got your suit. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t know what a Torrid and a Ross were. While you tried to find a way to explain it without sounding like a cheapskate, you missed the lowered volumes around you.

Taehyung had stopped talking with Yoongi and Namjoon to glare off into the distance.

“What is it, Tae Tae?” asks Namjoon, but before he can answer, the smell of male arousal gets stronger the closer they get to the vans.

Glancing at each other, Jimin over his shoulder briefly with a slight twitch of his brow, they all conclude… They are not the only ones enjoying how well your suit fits your figure, but the question is which of the two drivers was attracted to their mate.

When the group gets closer to the cars, the boys huddle together like last time. You start to think this must be a regular thing since Bangtan is a large, bonded pack. You understand that the six of you will have to split up since there are too many of you to fit in the luxury 5-passenger vans.

Looking back at the black, highly tinted vans, you wonder who will go with whom. Seeing that you are not needed in or understanding whatever they are discussing in rapid-fire Korean, you head to the van with the driver you have seen before and greet him.

Watching your step because, for some reason, you had decided to wear heeled pumps, you miss the driver’s eyes as they roam over your figure.

You double-check to see if the boys have moved, but note that they are still huddled. Taehyung and Yoongi are facing your way and looking between the two vans. Neither one of them seems happy at the moment, but you keep to yourself and keep heading the rest of the way.

“Hello, James. It is nice to see you again. Am I going in your van today?” You smile as you approach the driver you met on the faithful day this all started. In doing so, you ended up drawing the attention of the pack.

“Y/n, having you in my van would be a pleasure,” says the driver, his eyes, again, roaming your figure while stepping forward with his hand out to help you down the last step.

You go to take his hand, a smile growing at his kind words and gentlemanly qualities, but a deep growl sounds behind you.  The sound induces a fear that can only come from a predatory animal. Logically, you know it must be one of the Alphas behind you, but your heart and instincts are causing you to freeze.

The driver, James, is having a similar reaction, with wide eyes looking behind you as someone approaches.

“Mr. Green,” says Taehyung, placing an arm around your waist. “You will show her respect by calling her Miss Y/l/n when she speaks to you.”

“Yes, Sir. My apologies, Mr. Kim. I mean you and Miss Y/l/n, no disrespect,” James says as he bows in respect for offending the tiger hybrid.

While Taehyung’s touch brings you out of your unwarranted fear, you roll your eyes at his notion that James was being rude. It isn’t that big of a deal, and you go to explain why James was so bold as to use your first name, but Taehyung continues.

“You also will never have the pleasure of doing anything with her if you wish to keep your job. Keep your eyes off her,” growls the Alpha while still holding you, his grip tightening on your hip.

“Taehyung! What are you doing?” you said, stepping out of his hold and facing him.

Blocking the view of the now trembling man behind you, you add, “You cannot just growl at someone like that. It’s rude, for one. Besides, I asked James to call me by my first name. He was kind to me the day I got injured.”

Taehyung looks at you with a gaping mouth, his scent burning at feeling your reprimand. “I was… he was ogling and flirting with you. He isn’t supposed to call you by your first name. He has to remember his place. He is just a staff member.”

By this point, the other Alphas are focused on this little interaction and look at the group of you with anger, confusion, and other emotions you can’t identify right now as your scent clashes with Taehyung’s. His burning wood does not mix well with your soured lemon, putting everyone on edge.

“Staff,” you say as you look past Taehyung at the rest of the pack that has gathered along his side.

Jungkook’s eyes are round with worry, and he is nibbling on his lower lip and holding onto Jimin, who has the decency of looking somewhat ashamed of what has happened.

Yoongi and Namjoon are the calmest looking of the bunch as they take everything in. Neither one of them knows what to do. They understand Taehyung’s reaction, especially with you being a new mate that hasn’t been marked.

Clicking your tongue, you focus back on the tiger hybrid. “Alpha Kim Taehyung-ssi, I will also be on your pack’s payroll, which makes me– just a staff member,” you say.

Yoongi and Jungkook move to take a step forward but stop when you level them with a glare. Shaking your head, you walk backward to stand next to the driver.

Then, as you bow to a full 90 degrees, you continue, “My apologies, Alpha Kim Taehyung-ssi, for overstepping my position. It won’t happen again.”

A chorus of voiced concerns comes from all the Alphas except Taehyung, who is shocked by your reaction. You take a beat before you stand as tall as you can, your face straight and unyielding, and your scent losing any hint of sweet pea and morphing to lemon with a hint of mold.

Only three of them understand that you have gone into your Luna mode. Yoongi places a hand on the offending Alpha to signal him to keep his mouth shut. At the same time, a soft but unmistakable growl from the Prime Alpha is loud enough to be heard within the Alpha group.

“Since I am not a member of your staff currently, which grants me no regulations or benefits… I will find a way to get to the Playmate Services office on my own. Prime Alpha, Alphas,” you curtly say with a nod.

Spinning around, you give James a sympathetic smile and walk away. Pulling out your phone, you request an Uber.  You can hear scuffling, growling, and loud whispers.

It’s not loud enough for your human ears to hear what is being said. At this point, you do not care (you do, but you don’t), and it slowly fades away as you reach the main gate.

Approaching the gate, you nod to the guard, asking to be let out the side door, when you notice he stops and looks behind you.

Great, someone followed you.

You are 100% sure it’s someone coming to force you into the van with them or apologize to Taehyung. Maybe even worse, someone is here to have you get into the van with Taehyung, so you must be near him and apologize.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Reading yourself for whatever you need to do to hold your position and remain as far as possible from Mr. High-and-Mighty-I-am-an-Alpha-Tiger Kim Taehyung.

“Prin… Y/n… Miss Y/n,” says Yoongi with insecurity bleeding into his words.

You turn around and glare at him, waiting for him to tell you what he wants or what the pack's demands are. Hands on your hips, tapping your foot with a look of sternness but a hint of frustration, “What?”

“I understand you are upset at Taehyung-ah.” Your face glowers at the mention of the Alpha, but he continues, “Would you be okay if I went with you to the office?”

You continue to stand there and stare at him. You want time alone, to be away from them all, because it has been a lot. Even with how amazing it was last night with Seokjin and the compliments from this morning, Taehyung’s actions knocked you off the cloud you were sitting on and back into reality.

“You… I want…My Alpha is screaming in my head that you are hurt and need to be with one of us,” Yoongi says firmly, but his eyes show he is actually concerned.

You shift your weight to tell him to leave you alone. While you understand that his Alpha has instinctual needs, you are a big girl and can handle yourself.

Before you can say anything, he adds, “More so, I would like to be by your side right now. Princess, I know you are mad at him, and not only do I understand, but so does the pack. Trust me, he is getting his own punishment from the pack right now.”

He takes a step forward. His tail is low, his hands grip the bottom of his shirt, and his ears are flat. “Please, Y/n-ah. My princess, allow me to come with you. I won’t say anything the whole way there.”

Hearing a car pull up near the gate, your phone dings at the arrival of your Uber. You turn around and step toward the gate; speaking over your shoulder, you say, “Not a word. Let’s go.”

After not seeing Yoongi on the side of the road as they left, Namjoon settled into his seat. His eyes return to the younger Alpha and appraise the hunch of his back, downcast eyes, flat ears, and tail wrapped around his waist in a self-soothing manner.

Good. He knows he messed up.

“What are you going to do?” Namjoon asks, his voice firm in his Prime Alpha role.

“Joon,” he starts but is cut off with a growl.

“Right now, I am not your Joonie-hyung. I am your Prime Alpha, leader of the Bangtan Pack, and you just…” Namjoon sighs, his eyes looking around, trying to figure out how to say everything without creating a more significant problem.

“Prime Alpha Kim, I know. I messed up. I shouldn’t have growled at the driver rudely,” admits Taehyung.

“And??” hints Namjoon that the younger mate shouldn’t be finished.

“And I should not have been so possessive of our new mate, especially since she doesn’t know yet,” says Taehyung with a growl. “It’s just so hard. He was practically drooling over her like a piece of meat or candy.”

“That may be the case, but Y/n either didn’t notice or didn’t care. So, correcting him with her presence and in that manner was not okay. Taehyung-ah, do you realize how much you may have set us back with her because of this?” chides Namjoon.

“She wasn’t that upset, Prime Alpha. She is a woman. She’ll get over it. Besides, she has to forgive because of the mate bond. We just need to give her time, flowers, or gifts and what-not,” says the younger Alpha.

“The mate bond doesn’t work like that. She can reject you and, in turn, reject us. We don’t know how much a human can feel the bond because it is so rare.” Namjoon sighs, “You know apologizing to a mate isn’t the same as to a friend. Flowers or gifts… really? Is that how you apologize to our mates?”

“Well, no, not really,” mumbles Taehyung with a shrug.

“Y/n already has obstacles that we have to help her overcome. Obstacles that we must conquer to prove to her that we are different from anyone she has been with and not just because we are hybrids,” Namjoon declares.  “We have to show her how genuine we are. She deserves, and the rest of our pack will demand that she be shown the same love, devotion, and care we already show each other. She may need more reassurance than the others because of her past.”

Leaning forward, Namjoon reaches out a hand to grasp Taehyung’s chin, forcing him to make eye contact, “Today, you will stay in the van away from Y/n for the meeting. After this, you will be at her beck and call like the staff you have not shown respect for, and it will be up to Y/n when you are forgiven. Understood?”

“Yes, Prime Alpha. I will seek forgiveness and serve her until she forgives me, even though it will not be easy for my Alpha or me,” gripes Taehyung half-heartedly. He knows that he went about today the wrong way, but he still doesn’t feel what he did was done with the wrong intent.

“Good. Pray that she is as forgiving with you as she was for Yoongi-hung. If she doesn’t… I don’t know. I just don’t know,” sighs Namjoon.

After inquiring where Derek is, they are directed into the conference room. He is busy setting up the meeting and laying out copies of the updated contract inside the room.

At the pack's entrance, he greets them, “Oh, Mr. Kim, Mr. Park, and Mr. Jeon, Hello!”

Looking behind the three Alphas, Derek expects to see Y/n, but no one else enters. With a confused look, he asks, “Where is Y/n-ah? Is she coming with another packmate?”

“She is coming with Yoongi-hyung, and Manager Sejin is also coming in a moment. We came a bit early because we wanted to ask you a question,” Namjoon asks as he steps forward.

“Beta Derek, temporary Alpha of the Y/l/n Pack, I, Prime Alpha Namjoon of the Bangtan Pack, would like to request an audience with you and your pack Omega,” requests the Prime Alpha with a bowed head, mirrored by the other Alphas present. The formality shown honors this as a traditional request, and Derek gapes like a fish out of water.

“You are requesting… Why not ask my Luna?” Asks the weary Beta, his scent hinting at worry and his body language on edge.

Lowering his head even further, Namjoon responds, “We wish to discuss your Luna and our future with her. I would rather not say something here because it would not be the right place. Please, will you meet with select members of the Bangtan Pack?”

“Very well. As temporary Alpha of the Y/l/n Pack, I accept your request. As the receiving pack, I will offer to meet at the Y/l/n Packhouse tomorrow at 11 a.m. I think the utilities are still one until Monday. Most likely, because none of us are actual Alphas, and our Luna will not be present, our Omega’s mate may join us. Are the terms acceptable?” says Derek without wavering and holding himself high.

“They are. Thank you for accepting our request. Myself, Seokjin-hyung, Hoseok-hyung, and Taehyung-ah will be present from Bangtan Pack,” responds Namjoon, standing up.

“Oh, that is a lot,” comments Derek, as the packhouse is not very big and has no couch. The fox hybrid scent shows his stress at figuring out seating arrangements.

“Derek-ssi? As the visiting pack, they will be fine with sitting on the floor of your packhouse. Respectfully and traditionally, you and your pack representatives should take any other proper seating,” Jungkook says, his big bunny smile on display.

At the other Alphas' nodding, Derek visibly relaxes and smiles back, “I will make sure you are comfortable, Alphas; don’t worry. For today, please sit on the table's far side where your nameplate is, and we will start when everyone is here.”

You are upset. You were thrown for a loop. You lost some of the footing that you thought was solid. You wanted to be left alone.

Technically, this is what you are getting, but now that you are here, it’s not what you want.

Your fur leash is missing, and the soft stroking of Yoongi’s tail on your leg to calm and reassure you is absent.  You miss the subtle touches you have gotten from the jaguar in the past few days. That is when you realize that it is not the action itself but who it was that was doing that made it mean so much more. You are growing attached and don’t know how to stop it.

You start thinking it would be good to express your concerns to Prime Alpha Namjoon and find another solution before signing the contract. Your mind continues to be riddled with thoughts of how caring Yoongi and Jungkook have been, how Jimin opened up, and your beautiful time with Seokjin. You feel a connection with these four. Well, maybe not so much Jimin, but at least he has started making progress toward not being a stranger to you.

Hoseok, on the other hand, started flirty but, so far, hasn’t looked to spend more time with you even when the pack was all there. Then again, his schedule has been the fullest out of everyone.

You were primarily worried about Namjoon. Without him tolerating you being involved with his pack, you can bet all the money in your account that this contract would never happen no matter who else wanted you around, especially after the last Playmate.

Taehyung.

Until this morning, Taehyung was someone you thought you had found a connection with. You met his Alpha briefly in the breakroom, and he seemed so caring even with the slight distance. He was one of the pillars you planned to build over the next several weeks.

What if you now screwed up everything?

You had just scolded your Omega about how reactions can ruin everything, and then you turned around and did the same thing. Glancing at Yoongi, you wonder if you ruined everything with him by speaking out against his mate. However, you are not willing to compromise your ethics and morals—period.

“Princess?” he calls, attempting to get your attention while in the elevator.

At the sound of Yoongi’s voice and the use of his nickname for you, your shoulders relax just a tad. You hadn’t realized how much his silence and distance were affecting you.

Looking at him standing next to you, you are met with hard-set eyes and a tall, dominating posture. He says, “Taehyung has a good reason for what he did, but he was not entirely correct in his actions. Our Prime Alpha will correct that with him, so you don’t have to worry.”

Turning to face him, you open your mouth to respond, only to have Yoongi quickly take your hand and continue, “Please don’t cancel the contract.”

It isn’t a demand. You take in his words, posture, and scent of strong vanilla and ocean. He is shaken and worried, which shocks you because you figured he would side with his younger mate.

“Let us prove to you that we mean everything we have told you. Look at Seokjin, Jungkook, and me for examples of how things will be in the future.” His eyes tell you he is being honest. They are hard-set, but at the same time, they are glossing over with unshed tears.

“Yoongi, my Kisa, I won’t cancel the contract, nor will I force anyone to partake in it,” you reassure him. Your words act like a breath of fresh air for the Alpha. “What happened today is just one in the pack of seven. What he did is not a reflection of all of you.”

Pulling you in for a hug that startles you at first, Yoongi kisses your temple, mumbling against your skin, “Thank you, Princess.”

When the elevator doors open, you pull out of his hold and take his hand. You weren’t sure how you would feel around Taehyung, but you didn’t want anyone else to be uncomfortable.

“Yoongi, what do you mean I don’t have to worry about Taehyung?” you ask.

“Namjoon-ah will take care of it and let you know what was done,” he answers. “That’s how Bangtan works. When there is a disagreement or incident like the one this morning, it gets deferred to Prime Alpha.”

“Oh, I wonder what my punishment will be,” you muse.

Pulling you to a stop, Yoongi asks, “Why would you get punished?”

“I spoke out against an Alpha. An Alpha that is a bonded mate to all of you. Then left without being granted permission to leave by the Prime Alpha,” you say, looking at the office doors.

“Princess,” Yoongi says as he lifts a finger to your chin, directing you to look at him again, “You stood up for someone, stood your ground against a pack member, and demanded space. Nothing you did was wrong. I mean, sure, it would have been better to talk it out, but you aren’t used to us yet.”

Leaning up, Yoongi kisses you on the forehead, “No one is going to punish you. In fact, I see some groveling happening really soon.”

“Will that happen before or after the Prime Alpha?” You feel a blush crawling up your face, attempting to lighten the mood.

Yoongi knows you are avoiding the situation in your own unique way. He chuckles at your joke but is still worried because your sweet pea hasn't returned yet, and only the lemon and vanilla scent is present.

Any other nearby hybrids will notice your scent and likely think something is wrong. To them, this could mean either that the hybrid with you is unsolicited or that you are being forced into something. Neither one of these options is good for either of you.

He opens the office door, his tail curling around your waist, and you head in. He hopes you will naturally fall into petting his tail or your scent will change before gaining unwanted attention.

The temporary front desk assistant greets you and directs the two of you to the correct office. Yoongi opens the conference door to reveal Namjoon, Jimin, Jungkook, and Derek sitting around the conference room.

While the Alphas stand at your arrival, Derek jumps up and tilts his head in submission, pulling a shocked “oh” from you. As you walk closer to your family pack member, he drops to a knee and whimpers slightly.

“Derek? What’s wrong?” you ask, looking to the room full of Alphas for help. Each of them seems also to be avoiding your gaze.

“Luna, what has caused you to be so upset?” asks Derek, his eyes still cast down and his neck bared to you.

“Did you say something?” You question the Bangtan pack members who were present before you arrived.

“No, Luna Y/n, we have said nothing, but your scent says plenty. Yoongi-hyung, did you not comfort her and explain?” questions Namjoon.

“I explained...” Yoongi starts, but you cut him off.

“He did, Prime Alpha. I didn’t understand how affected I was… am. He needs to do nothing more. He did as you requested,” you clarify. “I will see to my pack.”

Focusing back on your Beta, you lean down and scent him lightly with your wrist to show that you are not upset with him. “Beta, I am not upset at you. There was a… misunderstanding this morning. I am sorry if my scent is still soured.”

Finally, Derek looks at you, his gaze flitting over all of you to make sure you are not physically hurt. You smile at him and hold your hand, helping him stand.

“Luna, are you sure you are okay? What happened?” asks Derek.

“Don’t worry about it,” you glance around. “It is something that must be dealt with between the parties involved. You know how I do not like bringing in more people than required.”

“Luna Y/n, Taehyung-ah will not be present for the meeting if you wish. He is waiting down in the van.  He will remain distant from you until you are willing to have him in your presence, and then he will work for your forgiveness,” says Namjoon with an air of authority.

“Oh. I see.” You then blatantly say to Namjoon while you pick at invisible lint on your pants and sleeve, “Strange that Young Mr. Kim has been made to keep distance when others who are also looking for forgiveness are not, Prime Alpha.”

Looking at your Beta, you ask, “Am I correct in saying that if he wishes to receive services, he must be present at PMS to sign the contract?”

“He does, Luna, but we can have him come do it later. Just like Mr. Jung and the eldest, Mr. Kim,” answers Derek as he moves to his seat again.

“I see.”  You move to the seat with your name on it and notice that Yoongi is slated to sit next to you, with the Director on your other side.

“He is welcome to be present for the meeting. It does affect him and his bonded mates. I will not stand in his way, Prime Alpha,” you state with the clarity of a Luna, leaving no room for discussion.

“It is still his decision to join this contract of his own free will and no one else’s. Or am I mistaken, Prime Alpha?” you say as your Luna side continues showing her strength.

“You are correct. I will go get him then, Luna Y/n,” Namjoon says, making his way to the door as you and the rest take your respectable seats.

“Director Johnson, it is good to see you again. I hope this hasn’t caused you too much trouble,” you say as he sits beside you.

“Oh no, it has been interesting but nothing troubling,” the director says with a professional smile. “How are you handling all of this? It must not be easy since you have no Playmate training.”

As the director speaks, you feel Yoongi’s tail slowly wrap around you again, as if he is trying not to make it noticeable. Remembering someone mentioned that the Bangtan pack does not have a good relationship with the director, you maintain a smile in hopes that no other issues will come up.

“Not to worry. As you know, I have a family pack with Derek as my Beta. So, I am not completely unaware of pack dynamics, and I have read more than my fair share of contracts and witnessed playmate interactions in the past,” you try to sound sure of yourself.

Before he could respond, the door to the conference room opened again. Namjoon and Taehyung enter, with Namjoon taking his place back on the other side of the table. You pay no mind to what Taehyung is doing to the best of your ability, still being upset.

“Just as in any honest pack, there will be differences of opinions, challenges to positions, and discussions to occur. This will happen as we get to know… each… ooothherr.” Your words stop as you see the odd look on Derek’s face as he pointedly looks at you, then behind you and back several times.

You also note that Yoongi has stiffened, the three other Alphas in your eye line are looking behind you, and the director has also turned to look. Following their lead, you turn in your seat to find Taehyung standing behind you against the wall, looking directly at you, “May I help you, Mr. Kim?”

“Y/n,” starts the young Alpha before several growls cut him off.

“She is Luna Y/n right now, Taehyung-ah. You will take note of her scent and address her as such,” Namjoon says.

“Yes, Prime Alpha,” he answers without his eyes drifting from you and taking a deeper breath. “Luna Y/n, I would like to apologize for my actions this morning. You are your own person. It was wrong of me to assume that you were being mistreated and disrespected by Mr. Green.”

Your eyes widen at his words. Glancing at the director, you notice he frowns deeply at hearing that something has already happened. You can also see that Derek has a look of irritation. However, your attention is pulled back to Taehyung as he kneels on the floor, causing you to stand immediately. You are shocked to have an Alpha do that, but you hear someone clearing your throat before you can process anything.

“Luna Y/n, from this moment until you have forgiven him, Taehyung will be your personal attendant. It is an older tradition but one that Bangtan Pack has utilized for a long time,” informs the Prime Alpha.

“Luna Y/n,” Yoongi gathers your attention. “Remember what I said in the elevator? This is it. Don’t think that because you are new to the pack or where your position is within the pack means that you have to forgive him right away. I think Hobi had him in service for almost a month.”

“27 days. I was in service to him for 27 days, and I will serve you, Luna Y/n, for as long as you see fit,” Taehyung informs you as he sits on the floor behind your chair.

“But why are you on the floor?” you ask, his eyes widening momentarily as he looks to his packmates for help.

“Luna,” calls Derek, “If they are following the traditional Acts of Forgiveness, then the one looking for forgiveness must serve the one who can grant that forgiveness at all times. They must never be found higher than or in front of the grantor. Plus, they must be in close proximity unless the grantor orders otherwise.”

“But he is taller than me! How is that gonna work? He can’t sit on the floor. What will Army think if they get wind of this?” You, not so gracefully, plop back into your seat, “I’m a dead man.”

“Luna Y/n, while I will not go against the traditions of the Acts while within the presence of our Bangtan pack, if it makes you more comfortable, might I suggest something?” Taehyung offers, seemingly unaffected while sitting on the floor like it’s normal.

Glancing at Yoongi for guidance, as you have never dealt with any of these Acts before, much less heard of them before today, he subtly nods his head once. Clearly, this is not something that is not out of sorts for the Bangtan Pack. With that knowledge, you look back at Taehyung and wave your hand for him to continue.

“Why don’t I always walk behind you and sit on a designated side when someone outside the pack can see us? I don’t care about what Army thinks. I care about what you think,” offers the tiger hybrid, still sitting on the floor.

“You don’t… Mr. Kim, you must think of Army. They are the key to your success. I am, by far, not someone to risk a scandal over,” you huff out. Another sharp spike in your lemon-ed scent supports the determination of your words.

“Now, your ideas will work. You still cannot sit on the floor, though. That is not right. You are not a slave. What about using a pillow?” you ask, looking between Namjoon and Derek.

But it's again, Taehyung answers, “If you order for me to use a pillow, I will be grateful for your kindness.”

One thing you loved picking up from Evie’s family when you were young was the ability to identify scents. Scents became your comfort afterward.  Right now, you need that support.

Taking a deep breath, the scent of your Beta with the present members of Bangtan that have found a place in your heart, you say, “Fine. I will follow the Acts of Forgiveness. You can walk behind me, sit to my left in public, and use a pillow when sitting on the floor. Is that agreeable, Mr. Kim?”

Yoongi gives a pleased rumble beside you, and Taehyung nods, “As you wish, Luna.”

You had thought that Taehyung would have taken a seat with the pack or somewhere to your left after agreeing, but he refused because the Director was sitting there. He also refused a pillow “because he caused enough of a delay.”

Deciding that this was a battle you had no desire to pursue because you doubted you would win, you let it slide. You also make a mental note to place an over-stuffed or large pillow in each room you might end up with him in to ensure he is comfortable.

At the same time, you still feel awkward about the Acts of Forgiveness and debate forgiving him when you leave the office. However, your thoughts get pulled to the paperwork in front of you as the meeting officially starts.

Halfway through the contract reading, Seokjin and Hoseok arrive. Both take note of Taehyung sitting on the floor and your still acidic, lemony scent but say nothing. Only a smirk on Hoseok’s face gives you a clue that he at least understands what is going on.

“Jin! Hoseok! You both made it,” you smile, standing up and hugging the eldest Alpha.

“Hello, my dear. Of course, we made it. This is an important meeting,” Seokjin says while he returns your hug.

“I made sure that my dance practice ended on time. My instructor kept trying to make me take breaks, but I wasn’t having it. They understood once I explained it,” says Hoseok as he ruffles your hair on his way to his seat.

“Thank you for joining us. Please take a seat. We are about halfway through. Do you want a moment to catch up?” asks Director Johnson.

At the sound of his voice, Seokjin stiffens, and his face drops. “No, Director. Our Prime Alpha takes care of the pack, including Miss Y/n, as a proper leader should, and neither of us has any reason to question him.”

“Jin,” you whisper harshly, “Be nice. Please, he is still my boss.”

Looking down at you, Seokjin takes a moment to admire you. His Alpha wants to argue that Bangtan has a claim on you that ‘your boss’ will never have.

“I am sorry, my dear.” Seokjin glances at the director, “Thank you for your offer, but we can continue from wherever you are.”

As the eldest Alpha sits next to Namjoon, the meeting moves forward. The preliminary one you agreed to back at their packhouse seemed the same as the contract in front of you once you passed the results from Dr. Blackwell and Ryan’s report.

That is until you get to the last few clauses:

·        The Bangtan Pack will not seek additional Playmates for companion or partner contracts as Y/n is the sole Playmate of the Bangtan Pack. ·        There will be no sexual or intimate contact outside of the contracted individuals. ·        Y/n will have the option to be integrated into the Bangtan Pack by agreement of all members, at which time the Playmate Partner Contract will be null and void.

“Okay, wait. Why does this last clause even need to be included? What do you mean by ‘no sexual or intimate contact’... What does that mean to Alpha hybrids?” you ask as you read and re-read the last clause.

“Integrated? Why is there an option to be integrated into your pack, Prime Alpha?” you ask with your eyes wide.

You look at Namjoon, waiting for his explanation. When he doesn’t answer immediately, you look to Derek, “You wrote the contract. What does this mean? Are you kicking me out of our family pack at the end of this? Are you ashamed of me?”

“What?!? No, Luna, that isn’t happening. That will NEVER happen. Family packs are for life. These were added per last night's eldest Mr. Kim’s email request,” Derek quickly responded, looking to Seokjin to explain.

“Luna Y/n, I want to be very clear with you,” starts Seokjin. “You are someone that none of us were expecting. You intrigue us all. Alpha Yoon has never… NEVER… protected someone outside of Bangtan.”

You glance over at Yoongi, the tips of his ears fluttering, his cheeks hinting rose, and his tail wrapping around your braced wrist.

“Alpha Chim, not Jimin but his Alpha, hasn’t initiated scenting of anyone, mate or not, since Seul-ki left,” your eyes snap to Jimin’s as he nods. “Not only did Jimin-ah tell you about what happened, but Alpha Chim scented you on his own.”

“You have also met Alpha Tae and Alpha Kook. Luna Y/n, you have met over half of our Alphas, and as a mate-bonded high-profile pack, that shouldn’t happen unless there is something special about you.”

“But, I am just me,” you utter softly as a sweet pea, the mate vanilla, and a soft peach scent slowly replaces the lemon tangy.

“Sweets, you are just you, and what you are is amazing. Never forget that,” piped Jungkook.

“Luna Y/n,” Namjoon summons your attention. “I know you ever expected us, and Seokjin-hyung is correct– we never expected you.”

Looking slowly at each of his mates, the Prime Alpha settles back on you, “The additional clause is included because we all feel this longing to be close to you. One of the ways we, as hybrids, get close to someone is through physical means, like how Yoongi-hyung is holding you by his tail right now, or Hoseok-hyung did by scenting your hair when he came in.”

“However, the average human considers most of what we do to be close to one another as intimate. As a pack, we want not to limit our interactions with you. We want to see where we end up naturally with you, Luna,” explains Namjoon.

“Princess, remember that no matter what we want, if you do not want something… please tell us. This goes for anything from holding hands and hugs to cuddling and scenting. If any of the pack members do not listen, I will declare a Challenge to them, and I expect them to do the same with me,” Yoongi adds quickly to ensure clarity and security.

A few comments of agreement are heard, along with Derek muttering under his breath that he “will Challenge if they don’t,” which also causes snickers around the table.

“Ah… well… okay…. I think that is understandable. From what I have experienced so far with getting closer to some of you, the scenting has been very different from what happens with Y/l/n Pack. So, it makes sense that you have that included,” you concur. “But what about the integration part?”

“As you saw with Taehyung-ah’s display this morning, Alphas protect what we consider ours,” Jimin says with a sight smirk. “He isn’t the only one wanting to make it known to others that you are not theirs.”

Next to Jimin, Jungkook’s ears drop as he hides behind them. The action causes you to giggle, and the vanilla mate scent from you grows, drawing the attention of the Bangtan Pack to you.

Yoongi tries to hide his amusement at the awe he finds on the faces of his bonded mates at the change in your scent. Their reaction answers his question about the bond becoming stronger.

Your attention, however, has gone to the contract before you, and the reality of your situation is starting to settle in. You are becoming a Playmate of the Bangtan Pack, and they don’t want to limit interactions. Are they changing yet another part of the contract because of you, or is it for you?

Does that mean you are not alone in your reactions to their advances? You can call those behaviors advances now, can’t you? All you know is that nothing will be the same over the next seven weeks. While your mind is imagining a trillion things that could go wrong, your heart and soul cannot wait for the adventure ahead.

The others around the table agree with everything said so far. Even Director Johnson and Derek have huge smiles and a knowing glint in their eyes.

“Sugar, your scent is turning again. What are you thinking about?” Worries the youngest Alpha, reaching out towards you but stops as he is unsure if it will help.

You attempt to give him a reassuring smile before you turn to sit sideways in your seat. Sitting like this allows you to see Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung.

The three wild cards. You need to talk to them. You want to ensure they want this and not just consent to the contract because of some ‘majority rules’ thing. You need to talk to them without Namjoon or Yoongi around.

“Prime Alpha, Sir, I wish to discuss a few questions with some of your bonded mates. Do I have your permission to speak with them privately?” you ask.

You can feel the room tense up. Looking at Namjoon, you see his face is pensive, but he nods, “You may, Luna Y/n. Do you wish for us to relocate, or do you have another room that you would like to use?”

“Miss Y/n, why don’t we step out? I could use a coffee, and I am sure a few of us may need a break,” Director Johnson offers. He knows the other conference room wouldn’t grant you privacy because of the observation room.

“Thank you, Director. I think that would be a good idea. If Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung would be so kind as to remain, we could discuss a few things,” you say, but your eyes never leave Namjoon's. Watching the expression change to one of understanding.

“As you wish, Luna,” responds Taehyung, but your heart tugs at the thought he is only willing to stay because he is in trouble with you and the Prime Alpha because of this morning.

“Hoseok-hyung and Jimin-ah, are you comfortable staying?” asks Derek. The questioned Alphas nod and smile, prompting the PMS representation to stand.

“Wonderful. If the rest come with me, I can show you where the cafe and restrooms are. Also, answer any questions you may have,” informs the Director, giving the remaining Bangtan packmates no room to wiggle their way into staying.

At this point, you are actively avoiding Yoongi’s staring as it is boring into your head. You know that if you were to look at him, you would give in and ask him to stay.

Doing this, however, allows you to see the concerned look shared between Jungkook and Hoseok and the quiet conversation between Seokjin, Namjoon, and Derek. Slowly, you feel the drag of Yoongi’s tail uncurling from you as he and the others follow the director out.

After what feels like the longest tour ever, the Director leaves with Derik with the mention to let the front desk know when everyone is ready to resume the meeting.

Coming out of his fog, Jin realizes they have returned to the break room where it all started. Looking around, he takes in his pack mates.

Jungkook has attached himself to Yoongi, looking like he lost his best friend. Yoongi attempts to comfort the young Alpha, but his ears are pinned on the break room door, and he is undoubtedly listening for any indication that Y/n and the others are ready to continue.

Namjoon also watches them, his tail hanging low and his ears flicking between laying flat and listening for something. Jin is thankful that the Prime Alpha could hold the conversation during the tour, allowing the rest to be in their own world.

Jungkook is the first to break the silence. With hushed tones, he asks, “Do you… why do you… she isn’t leaving, right, Joon-hyung?”

Looking at the door, Namjoon sighs. “I don’t think she is. I think she just has questions. It’s best not to jump to conclusions, Kookie.”

“Y/n knows our scents,” Jin blurts out to the room. His eyes bounced between them all.

“She can do what?” Namjoon steps closer to Jin. “How can she do that?”

“I don’t know, Joon. While on our date, she told me that she knows Yoongi’s, Kook’s, mine, and even Jimin’s scents. Guys, she was right in them all,” he says with wide eyes.

“She knows my scent. Our new mate knows my scent. She has to be bonding with us then, right?” asks a hopeful Jungkook.

“I mentioned earlier that her vanilla mate scent was getting stronger around me. That is an indication that the bond is becoming solidified. She must be growing the bonds with the mates that have shown their Alphas or scented her,” offers Yoongi.

“I figured she is bonding with Jimin and Taehyung, so why the private meeting with them? I would think she would want to meet with those she cannot recognize,” contemplates Seokjin as he moves to sit next to his mates on the small couch.

“I don’t know, hyung. I just hope that whatever answers they give her are the answers she needs to hear,” laments the Prime Alpha.

With Namjoon’s last words, the room falls silent, and each speculates what is happening in the conference room.

“If you are waiting for the pack to be far enough away to not listen in to the conversation, they are. I can’t hear anything,” Taehyung offers.

“I wasn’t, but that is good to know. Thank you. Can you please take a seat? I want to talk to Alpha Taehyung and not “currently being punished” Taehyung,” you ask, gesturing to the seats next to his packmates.

Taehyung looks at you with confusion and then looks past you to Hoseok, who subtly shakes his head. Standing up, Taehyung takes the seat to your left. “Luna, what is it you want to talk about?”

Turning to sit straight in your chair, you clasp your hands together on the table and take a deep breath.

This is it.

“I know I came outta nowhere,” you state plainly.  “I can see that you were happy and untroubled before I crashed into your lives and the lives of your mates. I have absolutely no desire to ruin your bond with Yoongi, Jungkook, and Seokjin.”

“Y/n, you aren’t…” Hoseok starts to say, but you cut him off. “Let me finish. Please?”

After a moment of silence, you continue, “I understand there is a cultural and instinctual obligation between Yoongi and me, but it doesn’t have to involve everyone else. Seokjin and Jungkook have also grown an attachment to me. For the life of me, I have also grown attached to them. All three of them.”

Feeling the tightness in your chest and the slight tremble of your hands, you take a deep breath, hoping to remain calm and not cry. You can hear one of the hybrids in the room shifting in their seat, probably impatient with you for keeping you from getting this over with.

“I know your Prime Alpha signs onto any contract the pack enters into, as most pack leaders do, but the three of you have a choice.” A sharp intake of breath. A scrap of a chair, you continue, “I will support and stand against Namjoon if any of you wants to back out of the contract presented to us today.”

Silence followed your words, but you didn’t dare look at them.

Your words strike Jimin with strength beyond description right now. Even if it meant going against a Prime Alpha hybrid, you would support them. Most other Alphas, heck… hybrids refuse to challenge a Prime Alpha, much less a human, but here you are. Do you understand how selfless your actions are?

Taehyung is cursing himself in every language he knows, maybe even some he makes up. Before this morning’s fiasco, he would have bet money that you would allow him to have a scenting session with you, but with what you are saying right now, he isn’t even sure you would let him get close enough to do it on accident.

If you only knew who you are, it would explain why the choice you gave them is not an option, even if it has a meaningful impact. It would also help you see why he had to act as he did this morning, whether it was over the top or not.

The only calm one in the room is Hoseok. Unlike the younger mates in the room, he remembers the words that your Beta has said before and the warnings that were given. One of the things Hoseok can tell is how touch-starved you are; your actions also show that you are trained to deny it, and it coincides with the warnings. This presents a problem for later since he has also been watching you around his mates. Observing how the mate bonds between you and Yoongi and you and Jungkook are practically glowing because it seems your mate bond only grows through that physical touch.

However, right now, the three of them must find a way to convince you that they want to be there. Despite their lack of skinship with you, they would want nothing more than you to be by their side for the rest of their days.

“Y/n, I would like to address you as just Y/n, not Luna Y/n or Miss Y/l/n. May I do that?” Hoseok asks with a gentle tone.

Finally, looking away from your hands, you meet the marten hybrid gaze, “Of course, Hoseok.”

“First, I would like to offer my apologies for not being available to get to know you better. Tomorrow is one of my free days, and I would enjoy nothing more than spending time with you and my other available mates.”

Leaning forward, he continues, “Second, I want to apologize for not following through on my promise to keep you laughing. I have every intention of signing the contract and following through.”

“Hyung is right,” Jimin joins in. “I promised to be your friend, but a friend is just the start. Any strong relationship that lasts has a friendship deeply entwined within. My Alpha has been after me to close the distance between us, and I also want to. I have never even thought of not signing the contract, nor will I ever.”

Your breathing starts to return to normal as they speak, and your scent begins to blend into your sweet pea because two of the Alphas want to keep going. You can tell by their honest expressions, the sincerity of their words, and the openness of their posture that they are following their own path and not being forced, as you had worried.

That leaves one more. Both Alphas across from you have turned their attention to the tiger sitting next to you with fondness in their eyes.

“Y/n, can you look at me please?” Taehyung asks with uncertainty. Your eyes are still on Hoseok when he glances back at you and nods toward the awaiting Alpha.

Closing your eyes and tilting your face downward, you turn in your seat to angle yourself to face him. Taking the chance, you open your eyes and look at the man before you.

The intensity of his stare is not what you were expecting. A swirl of emotions in his eyes conveys dominance, worry, anger, hope, and panic. Meanwhile, you can almost feel the tension he is holding in his posture.  His back isn’t straight because he is trying to look at you from the same level, his tail is snapping behind him, and his ears are pinned so far down that you can’t see them anymore.

Simultaneously, you want to run from the predator before you and lose yourself in him. All you end up doing is saying his name in a way that shows just how breathless he has made you, “Taehyung.”

“No.”

That word breaks you out of the enthrallment you swore the tiger hybrid turned vampire had you under. Shaking your head in confusion, you open your mouth to question everything when he continues.

“No, you didn’t crash into our lives. We wanted you before you got injured. Jin-hyung, Jimin-ah, and Jungkook-ah had all asked about making you ours before we met anyone else.

“No, you cannot and would not ruin any bond that any of the Bangtan bonded mates have. In fact, despite what you may think, all of us have grown attached to you.” Taehyung takes your hands in. His eyes soften into a fondness you haven’t seen before, saying, “There is no way that contract will be missing any of our signatures. Everyone wants you in our lives.”

You are still trying to process it all and are at a loss for words.

Taehyung just gave you a surplus of information that you never thought possible. Your heart fluttered and skipped beats. It’s slightly overwhelming but comforting.

A gentle thumb on your cheek pulls you out of your gaze at Taehyung, and you see Hoseok kneeling next to your chair, wiping the tears you didn’t know had fallen.

“Pretty, Taehyung is correct in everything he said. We all want to be around you for at least the next eight weeks. Each of us wants to grow this connection with you to see where it goes,” Hoseok says, now cradling your face in his palm.

“Y/n,” Jimin calls your attention as he stands behind the kneeling Alpha. “None of us are signing the contract or inviting you into our lives because of an accident.”

“No one is being forced, either,” Jimin clarifies before you can express any doubt. “Maybe one day you should ask Manager Sejin and Namjoon about the argument they had with Bang PD-nim while we were on the flight after he heard your voice over the phone.”

“You guys have no idea… No, I have no idea what to say. You three have said plenty,” you chuckle at your misspoken words.

Pulling your hands out of Taehyung’s, you lay one over Hoseok’s and snuggle into the warmth. After collecting yourself, you say, “Thank you for everything you have expressed. I feel a lot calmer about everything. Yoongi had said to look to him, Jungkook, and Seokjin to see how things should be.”

“He isn’t wrong. However, I would much rather have what you have with them be experienced with the rest of us,” says Taehyung as he slides the contract closer to you.

The contract's last page rests on top; it’s the signature page. Per standard procedure, Derik and Director Johson sign the copies before the meeting.

But that is not what catches your attention.

Every signature line is filled but one…

Yours.

“Luna y/n, Miss Y/n, Yoongi’s princess, Seokjin’s dear, Jungkook’s sugar, my pretty, and all the additional names to come…” Hoseok holds out a pen to you and asks, “Will you please give us a chance?”

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Taglist - Closed

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[agirlnamedstar]

I feel like Neige’s ideal type is a literal princess/prince.

Like he sees you in the forest and you’re sleeping or dozing off and animals and insects are just surrounding you. And they’re not hurting you, they’re admiring you.

And he’s immediately like, “I want them.”

Btw, can y’all tell that I love Neige??? And Vil?? Sorry I write about them sm, but GAGSGVS I love them!!!!

Also this definitely ties into my little imagine I did a week or so ago about Vil being super mad if he ever found out you were close with Neige. This is how you two originally met!!!!

ᶻ𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓𐰁✰

You sigh as you step foot in the forest, feeling the wind blow through your hair.

You hear birds chirping and fluttering in the trees, and squirrels and rabbits skittering about.

Finally you get to hear something other than a boring lecture or Crowley.

Why are you here, you ask?

After some much needed begging from you (and your friends and teachers) Crowley is letting you have a week long break from school.

And thank the great seven for that, because god do you need it.

I mean, with 4 overblots back to back, and practically being the school therapist and Crowley’s lovely assistant…?

Yeah you’re definitely a little stressed. And you definitely deserve a break.

A break from school and everyone else.

Your goal today was to not talk to any of your friends. You love them but god, they can be a bit…obnoxious sometimes.

As you walk and think to yourself, you come across a clearing in the woods.

The clearing is covered in plush, green grass. Flowers of all colors grow around it, making it look like a bed meant for a fairy. The sun hits the clearing as well, making the grass just warm enough for a nap.

It looks like a scene from a fairytale!!

..a little nap wouldn’t hurt, right?

….

…right.

You stretch as you step over the flowers, not wanting to break or hurt them. And as you lay down onto the grass, you sigh contently.

This patch of grass was more comfortable than your actual bed back at Ramshackle!!

You close your eyes, listening to the buzzing of the bees around you as you fall asleep…

And as you snoozed away, animals gathered around you, looking at you as if you were some foreign being.

A butterfly lands softly on the tip of your nose, as a couple more cuddle up into your hair.

A rabbit nudges your hand, before cuddling up into your arm.

A doe lays at your feet, and a couple of cardinals and blue jays perch upon a branch by your head, chirping curiously.

You were surrounded and loved by animals and insects of all kinds, yet you didn’t stir from your slumber.

But suddenly, a twig broke, releasing a loud crack throughout the once silent forest.

The animals and insects turned their heads and came face to face with a boy in white.

The boy was young looking, short and had black hair. His skin was fair and well, to put it simply, he was absolutely gorgeous.

With big brown eyes and a round face, he looked as innocent and as sweet as can be.

“Why, hello there birdies!” He spoke softly, yet excitedly as the birds tweeted happily and landed on his out stretched hand.

“How are you guys doing today?”

The birds chirped in response, turning their heads towards you. Who, somehow, was still asleep despite the amount of animals around you.

“Oh..? And who..who is this?” The boy in white spoke softly once again, kneeling down and moving some hair out of your face.

He blushed softly, realizing that one, you’re sleeping, and two?

…you are absolutely ethereal..

“Who are you?..you look oh so..familiar?” You look like someone he’d see in a dream. A dream where he met a beautiful princess/prince and practically married them on the spot.

He touched your face with his hand. He touched you softly and delicately, as if you were made of porcelain.

Your skin was soft and flushed, a result of Vils skincare routine and the sun brushing against your face like a warm blanket as you slept.

Who were you?…

You stirred in your sleep, eyes slowly opening.

And as you began to wake up, the boy in white jumped up and ran the other direction!! Which startled a couple of the animals around you.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up is that your eyes were covered. And as you came more and more to your senses, you realized a butterfly was sitting upon your nose!!

“Well, good afternoon to you as well Mr. Butterfly.” You hummed, smiling as the butterfly flapped its blue wings happily.

“Here, I’m sure these flowers will be more comfortable than my nose.”

You picked up the butterfly gently and set it on a white flower next to you, giggling as it flew off the flower and instead found comfort on your head.

“Fine, fine. You may lay on me. But I really do think the flowers would be….more..”

You paused, looking around and seeing the surplus of animals surrounding you.

“Uh…when did I inherit a petting zoo?” You giggled to yourself, petting the rabbit softly.

The rabbit thumped the ground with its back paw happily as you pet it, leaning into your touch.

You stared up at the sky, realizing how late it was. Your nap was supposed to be pretty short, but it seemed it ended up a couple hours long.

You sighed, standing up and stretching. Paying no mind to the butterfly’s that flew out of your hair and onto the flowers surrounding you.

“It was nice to meet y’all, but I’ve gotta head back.” You spoke, scratching the doe behind the ear, “as soft as this grass was, I don’t think sleeping outside in the dark would be safe for me.”

You waved goodbye to your newly found animal friends, smiling softly as you began to make the walk back to Ramshackle.

But.

“Oof!” “Woah!”

You bumped into someone, landing on top of them.

“I’m so-” You started, before realizing how close you two were.

One wrong move and you two would definitely…

Ki…

No!!!!

Don’t think about that, this is a stranger!

You frantically scrambled off of the person, standing up and brushing yourself off before apologizing profusely.

As the person stood up, you realized it was a guy.

He was dressed in white, shorter than you, and, to put it simply? He was beautiful.

He probably rivaled Vil!!

(Never tell Vil that.)

He had black hair, a round face, and brown puppy dog eyes.

Overall? Total cutie.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going..” You broke the stare you two were holding, hands waving frantically.

“Oh please, it was all my fault!! Don’t worry. I’m fine. Are you okay?” He asked, his face twisted in concern.

“Of course I’m okay!! I landed on top of you, after all.” Oh My Goddddd why would you say that?!?!

“You probably took most of the hit.” You awkwardly laughed out.

“So, what’s your name? And are you sure you’re okay?” You questioned, breaking the silence.

You didn’t know who he was?

Neige wasn’t one to be egotistical, but he knew he was quite well known around Twisted Wonderland.

If anything he was expecting you to ask for an autograph or something.

But this? Someone who didn’t know him?

Now this was exciting.

And as he heard you talk more, he realized something.

He KNEW you.

No, no, not from a dream.

From the news!! From the papers! From Magicam!!!

You’re-

“*ahem*? Hey dude, you okay? Maybe you did fall a lot harder than we thought…I can take you to the nurse if you’d like!” You interrupted his train of thought, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Oh!!! No, no, I don’t need a nurse. It’s nothing. Just got lost in thought.” Neige giggled out, grabbing one of your hands.

“I’m Neige, Neige Leblanche! Who are you?”

“I’m-”

You’re Y/N L/N, you’re from NRA, and you’re the hero who’s been stopping overblot after overblot since the school year began.

He knows you. And he’s been wanting to meet you the moment he heard about you from Che’nya.

Neige stared at your eyes, getting lost in them as you spoke about yourself.

But he quickly snapped out of it when you asked him a rather interesting question.

“So, do you go to school here? I’ve never seen you around…if you were in a dorm? It’d definitely be Pomefiore. You’re way too pretty to NOT be in there!” You said, making his pale face turn pink.

The prettiest person he’s ever met just called HIM pretty!?!

Now he really thinks he’s dreaming…

“But you’re dressed in white. Kids at NRA don’t tend to wear white. Except for Kalim and me occasionally. And that’s only when Rook and Vil have some little outfits they wanna shove me in!” You joked, giggling to yourself.

“Oh no, I don’t go here! I go to RSA!” He spoke softly, ignoring the fact you knew Vil as he moved closer to you.

“That definitely fits you better,” you laughed again, “you look too nice and act too nice to be in NRA.”

“I could say the same thing about you too, you know.” He said almost immediately, the words slipping out of his mouth as smooth as butter.

Your face flushed, looking at him in surprise before looking away.

“I’d say you look even nicer than I do, Y/N.”

Your face darkened even more, not even daring to look him in the eyes.

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of everything.

Especially how soft his hand was on yours.

How long has he been holding your hand?

It’s so…tense.

Are you always this weird around pretty people?

“Anyways, it’s getting late. And pretty people need their beauty sleep, right? I think it’s time you head home, Y/N.” Neige smiled brightly up at you, moving into the next topic with ease as if he didn’t just fluster you to no end.

“But first!! Give me your number, or at least your Magicam. I wanna talk to you more!! You’re so interesting!”

You’ve told the poor boy practically nothing about yourself other than your name, yet he’s head over heels and ready to try and win you over.

You agreed, wanting to talk to him more too.

After all, there’s no harm in talking to a literal Prince Charming, is there?

“I’ll see you later, Neige. Goodnight, and sweet dreams.” You spoke tiredly, yawning as you began to walk away.

“Goodnight to you as well Y/N!! I’ll text you in the morning! Sleep well!!”

And as you walked back to Ramshackle, Neige couldn’t help but giggle in glee as he stared at your number and Magicam.

(You gave him both. You couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes:(((( )

He can’t believe he met his princess/prince, it was just like a fairytale he’d read when he was younger.

Now, he just needs to make you fall for him!!

But how?

ᶻ𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁✰ᶻ 𝗓𐰁✰

I always end up making people unintentionally obsessive/possessive:(((

But luckily, I think it fits Neige.

Bro NEEDS his happy ending and he needs it NOW.

[the-kr8tor]

So

Y'know what I'm gonna ask, right? 💅

About that SpiderPunk x Criminal!Reader idea

Please include all of that ideas that we talked about

I'm craving it

I would love it if it turns into a series ou mini series, if it's not too much trouble of course 👉👈

You're the best 💅❤

I finally got to this req!! Thank you for requesting this cool ass prompt! Hope you like it ❤️ and thank you for being patient ❤️☺️

Also requested by @rexlroze : I copied and pasted the idea from @hao-ming-8 reblog cuz I'm too lazy to write it down so I apologize 💀 Y/N and Hobie (Hobie, not SpiderPunk) have a history. Then R got arrested and shit, but she managed to scape by herself. BUT she needs to stay low for a while. Then she just disappear for a long time, leaves the city or whatever. After a long time she comes back with this new persona, the criminal one, she uses mask and stuff, never showing they real face. At this point, Hobie has already become SpiderPunk. They starts robbing rich people, Hobie/SpiderPunk makes this deal where R only steals from the rich and gives it to those who need it.After some time, they start to get quite close in the meantime, then they discover they true identity.There may be times like where Criminal!R reminds SpiderPunk of Y/N and/or vice versa.

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), mention of death, CW vomit mention, CW violence and implied violence to R (not from Hobie), Hallucinations, established relationship, CW injury, R has her own vigilante persona, A dash of hurt/comfort, angst.

Navigation

The room is dark, moist clinging on its metal walls. Save for a single lightbulb hanging on the low ceiling, James could barely see. His hands are tied behind a creaky wooden chair, feet bound together. Sweat dribbles off his brow as his fear claws on his throat, unable to scream with the handkerchief gag shoved in his mouth. He blinks as the room sways slightly, metal creaking and groaning. His stomach flips from the movement, the chair slides a bit to the right before the room shifts back in its upright position.

He feels like he's gonna hurl. Eyes frantically roaming, he makes out a shape in the far corner. Its shadow looming over him, a clear threat to his well being.

“Hello, James Jameson.” A voice echoes from the corner, tone reverberating all over the dank walls. A pair of glowing red eyes appear within the dark, and he swears he felt his heart stop for a moment.

His muffled desperate yells increase as heels clang against the rusted metal floors.

“Did I rough you up too much, rich boy?” The seemingly familiar voice gets closer and closer until James can see a pair of boots. His eyes shoot up just in time as arms cage him in, gloved hands grasping the chair and a masked face of a fox greets him head on.

The fox tilts her head, clawed finger gently lifting up his chin as she rubs her thumb over his jaw. “You did not change one bit.”

James blinks, realization hitting him like a truck. The voice was a dead giveaway, even with your different look and face hidden, he knows his band mate anywhere.

You've been missing for years.

His muddled words are tamped out by the cloth gag. And he swears he heard you chuckle. With a careful hand, you yank out the piece of cloth and James dry heaves on the floor, making you forcefully grab his chin to face you once again.

“Look at me. You remember me don't you?” The intimidating red eyes of yours glows in the dark.

“You're alive?” He says in bewilderment. “H–How?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, crack in your façade. “I saved myself.”

“I– we've been looking everywhere for you!” James leans forward, smile slowly growing on his lips, and relief flooding his senses. “But you weren't in any system! We checked hospitals, prisons, shit— even goddamn farms just to look for you! Hobie would be so happy to—!”

“Enough!” Your fists tightens around the chair. With a swift kick, you twirl James around on the rickety chair until his head is spinning. He never really had a strong stomach for vertigo.

“Shit!” He suddenly stops mid turn, almost emptying the contents of his stomach on the cold floor. “C’mon, mate! What did I ever do to you!”

“You left me!” Your booming voice rings in his ears. “Hobie—” your neck cranes at an odd angle, as if you've hurt yourself from saying his name. “—left me in that fucking river to drown and for what? Just for a few quid?”

James hears shuffling behind him, and you suddenly crouch down in front of him. Elbows placed on your knees, head atop of your palms. If he could see through your mask, he knows you'd be smiling. And not the same sweet smile the band is used to.

“It was a botched job! We tried to get back to you but the coppers were on our arse!” He exclaims, fear etching back on his face as you make your clawed fingers walk on his legs. “We didn't mean to fucking leave you!”

“I was in the fucking raft, did you know that? Five years in that hell hole with only one thing on my mind.”

“Fuck.” He whispers in bewilderment. “W–Why were you put there, that's maximum security—!?”

“I don't fucking know.” You suddenly grab his ankle in a neck breaking grip. “All I know is that the band left me. I waited for everyone to save me, five years of waiting on nothing! But now that I'm finally out...” You exhale. “Tell me where the rest are and I might consider letting you go.” Your jaw clenches, eyes watering from the name etched in your mind. “Where's Hobie?”

“W–Why?! Fuck no!”

“Aww and here I thought we were mates.” You pout under the mask, nails digging into his skin.

“I–I don't fucking know you anymore.” A tear escapes from his blue eyes.

Somewhere deep in your memories, your heart breaks from his harsh words.

Rage fills you, but before you could break his ankle, a string of webs shoot right at you, flinging you away from James and into the wall in a thud. Your wrists are restrained, chest heaving and frustration rolling off of you.

“Oi oi, you're not allowed to do that without knowin’ his safe word.”

You kick and scream, his voice echoing deep into your mind. Head shaking, you try to tamp out the voices bouncing around in your skull, overlapping with the stranger's voice.

“You alright, bruv?” The leather clad vigilante unties James while keeping his eyes on the threat— you.

“Shit, Spider-Man!” He yelps and jumps up to embrace him.

Your head tilts at his punk suit, flashes of memories flowing in your mind with every detail you see on him. The buttons on his vest move, as if they're laughing at you. His spikes glimmer in the single light, blinding you. And his laced up boot gives you waves of memories from the past before you were dragged into hell and faced death itself.

“What's up with fox ‘ere?” He clasps James’ shoulder, eyes wandering around your twitching form.

“Don't know, but I have to warn my band mates.” James stretches his aching wrists.

“Why?” The vigilante asks, tugging James back to question his band mate. Sometimes he forgets that his friends don't know his identity. Not yet anyway.

“She's bonkers, thinks we did this… whatever this is—” he gestures to you whilst you bang your head against the metal walls. “to her.”

“Who's she?” His palms sweat underneath his gloves, the eyes on his mask widens, heart thumping loudly. Hope sparks in him, but also fear of what you've become all these years.

Then James says your name. The same name he whispers everyday, the same name he wishes to see written somewhere— on the news, the paper, anywhere, he even checks the obituary everyday. He wants closure to what exactly happened to you, everyday his guilt eats at him that he wasn't fast enough to save you in that raging river. All he has left of you are memories and a jacket you left in his houseboat before that fateful day.

He has wished to see you alive again, but he never thought it would be in this circumstance.

As he turns to face you, you've managed to free yourself from the webs, already lunging at him at breakneck speed. Hobie pushes James away, your name slipping from his tongue as his arms shield his face.

“Who are you?!” Your guttural yells ricochet around the walls as James slinks away from the scene. Fists gripping his vest tightly, you straddle him while he doesn't even fight back. “And why— why do I know you?!”

What have they done to you?

“I—” Hobie lifts his hand up slowly to hold your cheek. The mask prevents him from feeling you, finally touching what his soul craves. He'd do anything to see you smile again. To stare into your eyes once more. “Love—!”

“No!” Raising your fist, Hobie aims above him and outside the room. He shoots up and away from you before your punch could connect at his face. “Get back here!” A headache throbs on the back of your head, another memory flashes, one that has the sun shining on you and a face smiling down on you but his face is blurred, scratched out from your memories. You hold onto the floor before shaking your head and bolting after him.

Heels clicking rapidly against the ship's bow, you see him raise his hands up in surrender. The moon shines on him, making you close your eyes tightly under the mask, knuckles trembling as another headache rips through your skull.

“Look, I don't know what they've done to you—”

You groan, voices whispering and screaming in your ears. “You have no idea!”

“Then let me understand.” His boots thump on the floor as water laps against the fishing boat’s hull. Hobie slowly makes his way towards you to not startle you. His hand reaching, heart beating loudly on his chest.

He lost you once, he's not going to lose you again.

“Please, let me help you.” Hobie's warm hand touches your shoulder, and you immediately feel the voices fade. Vision returning to normal and heart beating at a normal pace. He smiles underneath his mask. “There, breathe slowly, yeah?”

You snatch his other wrist, pulling him closer and placing his hand right atop your heart. His warmth eases you in place like nothing else has done in years. Taking deep breaths, you stagger backwards until the small of your back hits the cold metal railings of the boat.

“Who are you?” You ask, and your voice has never been this stable before. It's like his mere touch alone has saved you. “Do you— is that your power?”

Hobie chuckles, teary eyes blinking at you beneath his mask. He has dreamed of the day that he gets to hear your voice again. If only he was brave enough to ask you to take off your mask. But he has to be patient for this to work, something was done to you, and he intends to help you find your old self, even if it takes him years of not seeing your face. Or for you to not know him truly like before.

“That's not my power. Spiders have the opposite effect on some people, y’know.” He shrugs, acting nonchalant in front of you when it's the opposite. Hand sliding down your bicep, he expected for you to move away, but you can't seem to find it in yourself to move. It's as if you're magnetized to him.

“I guess it's different this time.”

“Yeah, I guess it's different with you.” He only hopes that he could reach into you and bring back your old self. Yet, in all those years, will he still be able to find you in there? “You the same bird that terrorized Oscorp last week?”

“And the one before that.” You nod, eyes searching his mask, not truly knowing what you're even searching for.

“Big fan, foxy.” He smiles, and you can briefly see it underneath his mask. Your mind is still quiet, peace that you haven't felt in forever.

“Let's make a deal then, Spider-Man.” You put up your walls again, and yet your hand never left his own.

“Name your terms.”